Act 5 — Scene I. A Room in Sir Patient Fancy’s House. A Table, and six Chairs.

Scene I. A Room in Sir Patient Fancy’s House. A Table, and six Chairs.

Enter Isabella reading a Letter, Betty tricking her.

Isab. How came you by this Letter?

Bet. Miss Fanny receiv’d it by a String from his Window, by which he took up that you writ to him this Morning.

Isab. What means this nicety? forbear I say.— Puts Betty from her.

Bet. You cannot be too fine upon your Wedding-day.

Isab. Thou art mistaken, leave me,—whatever he says here to satisfy my Jealousy, I am confirm’d that he was false: yet this assurance to free me from this intended Marriage, makes me resolve to pardon him, however guilty.—

Enter Wittmore.

How now! what means this Insolence? How dare you, having so lately made your guilty approaches, venture again into my presence?

Wit. Why? Is there any danger, but what’s so visible in those fair Eyes?

Isab. And there may lie enough, Sir, when they’re angry. By what Authority do you make this saucy Visit?

Wit. That of a Husband, Madam; I come to congratulate the mighty Joy this Day will bring you.

Isab. Thou darst not marry me, there will be danger in’t.

Wit. Why, sure you do not carry Death in your Embraces, I find no Terror in that lovely Shape, no Daggers in that pretty scornful Look; that Breath that utters so much Anger now, last night was sweet as new-blown Roses are,—and spoke such Words, so tender and so kind.

Isab. And canst thou think they were address’d to thee?

Wit. No, nor cou’d the Shade of Night hide the Confusion which disorder’d you, at the discovery that I was not he, the blessed he you look’d for.

Isab. Leave me, thou hated Object of my Soul.

Wit. This will not serve your turn, for I must marry you.

Isab. Then thou art a Fool, and drawest thy Ruin on; why, I will hate thee,—hate thee most extremely.

Wit. That will not anger me.

Isab. Why, I will never let thee touch me, nor kiss my Hand, nor come into my sight.

Wit. Are there no other Women kind, fair, and to be purchas’d? he cannot starve for Beauty in this Age, that has a stock to buy.

Isab. Why, I will cuckold thee, look to’t, I will most damnably.

Wit. So wou’d you, had you lov’d me, in a year or two; therefore like a kind civil Husband, I’ve made provision for you, a Friend, and one I dare trust my Honour with,—’tis Mr. Knowell, Madam.

Isab. Lodwick! What Devil brought that Name to his knowledge?—Canst thou know him, and yet dare hope to marry me?

Wit. We have agreed it, and on these conditions.

Isab. Thou basely injurest him, he cannot do a Deed he ought to blush for: Lodwick do this! Oh, do not credit it,—prithee be just and kind for thy own Honour’s sake; be quickly so, the hasty minutes fly, and will anon make up the fatal Hour that will undo me.

Wit. ’Tis true, within an hour you must submit to Hymen, there’s no avoiding it.

Isab. Nay, then be gone, my poor submissive Prayers, and all that dull Obedience Custom has made us Slaves to.—Do sacrifice me, lead me to the Altar, and see if all the holy mystick Words can conjure from me the consenting Syllable: No, I will not add one word to make the Charm complete, but stand as silent in the inchanting Circle, as if the Priests were raising Devils there.

Enter Lodwick.

Lod. Enough, enough, my charming Isabella, I am confirm’d.

Isab. Lodwick! what good Angel conducted thee hither?

Lod. E’en honest Charles Wittmore here, thy Friend and mine, no Bug-bear Lover he.

Isab. Wittmore! that Friend I’ve often heard thee name? Now some kind mischief on him, he has so frighted me, I scarce can bring my Sense to so much order, to thank him that he loves me not.

Lod. Thou shalt defer that payment to more leisure; we’re Men of business now. My Mother, knowing of a Consultation of Physicians which your Father has this day appointed to meet at his House, has bribed Monsieur Turboone his French Doctor in Pension, to admit of a Doctor or two of her recommending, who shall amuse him with discourse till we get ourselves married; and to make it the more ridiculous, I will release Sir Credulous from the Basket, I saw it in the Hall as I came through, we shall have need of the Fool.

Exit Wittmore.

Enter Wittmore, pulling in the Basket.

Wit. ’Twill do well.

Lod. Sir Credulous, how is’t, Man? Opens the Basket.

Sir Cred. What, am I not at the Carrier’s yet?—Oh Lodwick, thy Hand, I’m almost poison’d—This Basket wants airing extremely, it smells like an old Lady’s Wedding Gown of my acquaintance.—But what’s the danger past, Man?

Lod. No, but there’s a necessity of your being for some time disguis’d to act a Physician.

Sir Cred. How! a Physician! that I can easily do, for I understand Simples.

Lod. That’s not material, so you can but banter well, be very grave, and put on a starch’d Countenance.

Sir Cred. Banter! what’s that, Man?

Lod. Why, Sir, talking very much, and meaning just nothing; be full of Words without any connection, sense or conclusion. Come in with me, and I’ll instruct you farther.

Sir Cred. Pshaw, is that all? say no more on’t, I’ll do’t, let me alone for Bantering—But this same damn’d Rival—

Lod. He’s now watching for you without and means to souse upon you; but trust to me for your security; come away, I have your Habit ready. Goes out. —This day shall make thee mine, dear Isabella.— Exit Lodwick and Wittmore.

Enter Sir Patient, Leander, and Roger.

Sir Pat. Marry Lucretia! is there no Woman in the City fit for you, but the Daughter of the most notorious fantastical Lady within the Walls?

Lean. Yet that fantastical Lady you thought fit for a Wife for me, Sir.

Sir Pat. Yes, Sir, Foppery with Money had been something; but a poor Fop, hang’t, ’tis abominable.

Lean. Pray hear me, Sir.

Sir Pat. Sirrah, Sirrah, you’re a Jackanapes, ingenuously you are, Sir: marry Lucretia, quoth he?

Lean. If it were so, Sir, where’s her fault?

Sir Pat. Why, Mr. Coxcomb, all over. Did I with so much care endeavour to marry thee to the Mother, only to give thee opportunity with Lucretia?

Enter Lady Knowell.

Lean. This Anger shews your great Concern for me.

Sir Pat. For my Name I am, but ’twere no matter if thou wert hang’d, and thou deservest it for thy leud cavaliering Opinion.—They say thou art a Papist too, or at least a Church-of-England Man, and I profess there’s not a Pin to chuse.—Marry Lucretia!

L. Kno. Were I querimonious, I shou’d resent the Affront this Balatroon has offer’d me.

Isab. Dear Madam, for my sake do not anger him now. Aside to her.

L. Kno. Upon my Honour, you are very free with my Daughter, Sir.

Sir Pat. How! she here! now for a Peal from her eternal Clapper; I had rather be confin’d to an Iron-mill.

L. Kno. Sure Lucretia merits a Husband of as much worth as your Nephew, Sir.

Sir Pat. A better, Madam, for he’s the leudest Hector in the Town; he has all the Vices of Youth, Whoring, Swearing, Drinking, Damning, Fighting,—and a thousand more, numberless and nameless.

L. Kno. Time, Sir, may make him more abstemious.

Sir Pat. Oh, never, Madam! ’tis in’s Nature, he was born with it, he’s given over to Reprobation, ’tis bred i’th’ bone,—he’s lost.

Lean. This is the first good Office that ever he did me.

L. Kno. What think you, Sir, if in defiance of your Inurbanity, I take him with all these Faults my self?

Sir Pat. How, Madam!

L. Kno. Without more Ambages, Sir, I have consider’d your former Desires, and have consented to marry him, notwithstanding your Exprobrations.

Sir Pat. May I believe this, Madam? and has your Ladyship that Goodness?—and hast thou, my Boy, so much Wit? Why, this is something now.—Well, he was ever the best and sweetest-natur’d Youth.—Why, what a notable Wag’s this? and is it true, my Boy, hah?

Lean. Yes, Sir, I had told you so before, had you permitted me to speak.

Sir Pat. Well, Madam, he is only fit for your excellent Ladyship, he is the prettiest civillest Lad.—Well, go thy ways; I shall never see the like of thee; no—Ingenuously, the Boy’s made for ever; two thousand Pounds a Year, besides Money, Plate and Jewels; made for ever.—Well, Madam, the satisfaction I take in this Alliance, has made me resolve to give him immediately my Writings of all my Land in Berkshire, five hundred Pounds a year, Madam: and I wou’d have you married this Morning with my Daughter, so one Dinner and one Rejoicing will serve both.

L. Kno. That, Sir, we have already agreed upon.

Sir Pat. Well, I’ll fetch the Writings. Come, Isabella, I’ll not trust you out of my sight to day. Ex. Sir Pat. and Isab.

Lean. Well then, Madam, you are resolv’d upon this business of Matrimony.

L. Kno. Was it not concluded between us, Sir, this Morning? and at the near approach do you begin to fear?

Lean. Nothing, Madam, since I’m convinc’d of your Goodness.

L. Kno. You flatter, Sir, this is mere Adulation.

Lean. No, I am that wild Extravagant my Uncle render’d me, and cannot live confin’d.

L. Kno. To one Woman you mean? I shall not stand with you for a Mistress or two; I hate a dull morose unfashionable Blockhead to my Husband; nor shall I be the first example of a suffering Wife, Sir. Women were created poor obedient things.

Lean. And can you be content to spare me five or six nights in a week?

L. Kno. Oh, you’re too reasonable.

Lean. And for the rest, if I get drunk, perhaps I’ll give to you: yet in my drink I’m damn’d ill-natur’d too, and may neglect my Duty; perhaps shall be so wicked, to call you cunning, deceitful, jilting, base, and swear you have undone me, swear you have ravish’d from my faithful Heart all that cou’d make it bless’d or happy.

Enter Lucretia weeping.

L. Kno. How now, Lucretia!

Lucr. Oh Madam, give me leave to kneel before, and tell you, if you pursue the Cruelty I hear you’re going to commit, I am the most lost, most wretched Maid that breathes; we two have plighted Faiths, and shou’d you marry him, ’twere so to sin as Heaven would never pardon.

L. Kno. Rise, Fool.

Lucr. Never till you have given me back Leander, or leave to live no more.—Pray kill me, Madam; and the same Flowers that deck your nuptial Bed,

L. Kno. Rise; I still design’d him yours.—I saw with pleasure, Sir, your reclination from my Addresses.—I have proved both your Passions, and ’twere unkind not to crown ’em with the due Præmium of each others Merits. Gives her to Lean.

Lean. Can Heaven and you agree to be so bountiful?

L. Kno. Be not amaz’d at this turn, Rotat omne fatum.—But no more,—keep still that mask of Love we first put on, till you have gain’d the Writings: for I have no Joy beyond cheating that filthy Uncle of thine.—Lucretia, wipe your Eyes, and prepare for Hymen, the Hour draws near. Thalessio, Thalessio, as the Romans cry’d.

Lucr. May you still be admir’d as you deserve!

Enter Sir Patient with Writings, and Isabella.

Sir Pat. How, Madam Lucretia, and in Tears?

L. Kno. A little disgusted, Sir, with her Father-in-law, Sir.

Sir Pat. Oh, is that all? hold up thy Head, Sweet-heart, thy turn’s next.—Here, Madam, I surrender my Title, with these Writings, and with ’em my Joy, my Life, my Darling, my Leander.—Now let’s away, where’s Mr. Fainlove?

Isab. He’s but stept into Cheapside, to fit the Ring, Sir, and will be here immediately.

Sir Pat. I have Business anon about eleven of the Clock, a Consultation of Physicians, to confer about this Carcase of mine.

Lean. Physicians, Sir, what to do?

Sir Pat. To do! why, to take their advice, Sir, and to follow it.

Lean. For what, I beseech you, Sir?

Sir Pat. Why, Sir, for my Health.

Lean. I believe you are not sick, Sir, unless they make you so.

Sir Pat. They make me so!—Do you hear him, Madam—Am not I sick, Sir? not I, Sir Patient Fancy, sick?

L. Kno. He’ll destroy my Design.—How, Mr. Fancy, not Sir Patient sick? or must he be incinerated before you’ll credit it?

Sir Pat. Ay, Madam, I want but dying to undeceive him, and yet I am not sick!

Lean. Sir, I love your Life, and wou’d not have you die with Fancy and Conceit.—

Sir Pat. Fancy and Conceit! do but observe him, Madam,—what do you mean, Sir, by Fancy and Conceit?

L. Kno. He’ll ruin all;—why, Sir,—he means—

Sir Pat. Nay, let him alone, let him alone, (with your Ladyship’s pardon)—Come, Sir,—Fancy and Conceit, I take it, was the Question in debate.—

Lean. I cannot prove this to you, Sir, by force of Argument, but by Demonstration I will, if you will banish all your cozening Quacks, and take my wholesome Advice.

Sir Pat. Do but hear him, Madam: not prove it!

L. Kno. Sir, he means nothing.—Not sick! alas, Sir, you’re very sick.

Sir Pat. Ay, ay, your Ladyship is a Lady of profound Knowledge.—Why, have I not had the advice of all the Doctors in England, and have I not been in continual Physick this twenty Years:—and yet I am not sick! Ask my dear Lady, Sir, how sick I am, she can inform you. L. Kno. goes and talks to Isab.

Lean. She does her endeavour, Sir, to keep up the Humour.

Sir Pat. How, Sir?

Lean. She wishes you dead, Sir.

Sir Pat. What said the Rascal? wishes me dead!

Lean. Sir, she hates you.

Sir Pat. How! hate me! what, my Lady hate me?

Lean. She abuses your Love, plays tricks with ye, and cheats ye, Sir.

Sir Pat. Was ever so profane a Wretch! What, you will not prove this neither?

Lean. Yes, by demonstration too.

Sir Pat. Why, thou saucy Varlet, Sirrah, Sirrah, thank my Lady here I do not cudgel thee.—Well, I will settle the rest of my Estate upon her to morrow, I will, Sir; and thank God you have what you have, Sir, make much on’t.

Lean. Pardon me, Sir, ’tis not my single Opinion, but the whole City takes notice on’t: that I tell it you, Sir, is the Effect of my Duty, not Interest. Pray give me leave to prove this to you, Sir.

Sir Pat. What, you are at your Demonstration again?—come—let’s hear.

Lean. Why, Sir, give her frequent opportunities,—and then surprize her;—or, by pretending to settle all upon her,—give her your Power, and see if she do not turn you out of Doors;—or—by feigning you are sick to death—or indeed by dying.

Sir Pat. I thank you, Sir,—this indeed is Demonstration, I take it. Pulls off his Hat.

Lean. I mean but feigning, Sir; and be a witness your self of her Sorrow, or Contempt.

Sir Pat. Pauses. Hah—hum,—why, ingenuously, this may be a very pretty Project.—Well, Sir, suppose I follow your advice?—nay, I profess I will do so, not to try her Faith, but to have the pleasure to hear her conjugal Lamentations, feel her Tears bedew my Face, and her sweet Mouth kissing my Cheeks a thousand times; verily a wonderful Comfort.—And then, Sir, what becomes of your Demonstration?—

Enter Wittmore with the Ring.

Oh—Mr. Fainlove, come, come, you’re tardy, let’s away to Church.

Enter Roger.

Rog. Sir, here is Doctor Turboon, and those other Doctors your Worship expected.

Enter Lady Fancy and Bartholomew.

Sir Pat. The Doctors already!—well, bring ’em up; come, Madam, we have waited for your Ladyship,—bring up the Doctors, Roger. Exit Roger.

L. Fan. Wittmore, I have now brought that design to a happy Conclusion, for which I married this formal Ass; I’ll tell thee more anon,—we are observ’d.

L. Kno. Oh, Lodwick’s come!

Enter Lodwick, Monsieur Turboon, Fat Doctor, Amsterdam, Leyden, Sir Credulous.

Sir Pat. Doctor Turboon, your Servant, I expected you not this two hours.

Turb. Nor had ee com, Sir, bot for dese wordy Gentlemen, whos Affairs wode not permit dem to come at your hoar.

Sir Pat. Are they English pray?

Turb. Dis is, Sir,— Pointing to Lod. an admirable Physician, and a rare Astrologer.—Dis speaks good English, bot a Collender born. Points to Sir Cred.

Sir Cred. What a pox, does the Fellow call me a Cullender?

Lod. He means a High-Dutch-man of the Town of Collen, Sir.

Sir Pat. Sir, I have heard of your Fame.—Doctor, pray entertain these Gentlemen till my return, I’ll be with you presently.

Lod. Sir, I hope you go not forth to day. Gazing on his Face.

Sir Pat. Not far, Sir.

Lod. There is a certain Star has rul’d this two days, Sir, of a very malignant Influence to Persons of your Complection and Constitution.—Let me see—within this two hours and six minutes, its Malice will be spent, till then it will be fatal.

Sir Pat. Hum, reign’d this two Days?—I profess and things have gone very cross with me this two Days,—a notable Man this.

L. Kno. Oh, a very profound Astrologer, Sir, upon my Honour, I know him.

Sir Pat. But this is an Affair of that Importance, Sir,—

Lod. If it be more than Health or Life, I beg your pardon, Sir.

Sir Pat. Nay, no Offence, Sir, I beseech you, I’ll stay, Sir.

L. Kno. How! Sir Patient not see us married?

Sir Pat. You shall excuse me, Madam.

L. Fan. This was lucky; Oh Madam, wou’d you have my Dear venture out, when a malignant Star reigns! not for the World.

Sir Pat. No, I’ll not stir; had it been any Star but a malignant Star, I had waited on your Ladyship: but these malignant Stars are very pernicious Stars. Nephew, take my Lady Knowell, Mr. Fainlove my Daughter; and Bartholomew do you conduct my Lady, the Parson stays for you, and the Coaches are at the Door.

Exeunt L. Kno. Lean. Wit. and Isab. L. Fancy and Bartholomew.

Enter Boy.

Boy. Sir, my Lady has sent for you. Exit.

Lod. Sir, I’ll be with you presently; Sir Credulous, be sure you lug him by the Ears with any sort of Stuff till my return. I’ll send you a Friend to keep you in countenance.

Sir Pat. Please you to sit, Gentlemen? Exit Lod.

Amst. Please you, Sir. To Sir Cred. who bows and runs back.

Sir Cred. Oh Lord, sweet Sir, I hope you do not take me—Nay, I beseech you, Noble Sir—Reverend Sir. Turning from one to t’other.

Leyd. By no means, Sir, a Stranger.

Sir Cred. I beseech you—Scavantissimi Doctores,—incomparable Sir,—and you—or you.

Fat D. In troth, Sir, these Compliments are needless, I am something corpulent, and love my ease. Sits.

Sir Cred. Generous Sir, you say well; therefore Conlicentia, as the Grecians have it. Sits.

Amst. —Brother.—

Leyd. Nay, good Brother,—Sir Patient—

Sir Pat. Ingenuously, not before you, Mr. Doctor.

Leyd. Excuse me, Sir, an Alderman, and a Knight.—

Sir Pat. Both below the least of the learned Society.

Leyd. Since you will have it so. All sit and cry hum,—and look gravely.

Sir Cred. Hum—hum, most Worthy, and most Renowned—Medicinæ Professores, qui hic assemblati estis, & vos altri Messiores; I am now going to make a Motion for the publick Good of us all, but will do nothing without your Doctorships Approbation.

Sir Pat. Judiciously concluded.

Sir Cred. The question then is, Reverentissimi Doctores, whether—for mark me, I come to the matter in hand, hating long Circumstances of Words; there being no necessity, as our learned Brother Rabelais observes in that most notorious Treatise of his call’d Garagantua; there is, says he, no necessity of going over the Hedge when the Path lies fair before ye: therefore, as I said before, I now say again, coming to my Question; for as that admirable Welch Divine says, in that so famous Sermon of his, upon her Creat Cranfather Hadam and her Creat Cranmother Heeve concerning the Happell,—and her will, warrant her, her will keep her to her Text still,—so I stick close to my question, which is, Illustrissimi Doctores, whether it be not necessary to the Affair in hand—to take—a Bottle; and if your Doctorships are of my opinion—hold up your Thumbs. All hold up their Thumbs.

—Look, Sir, you observe the Votes of the learned Cabalists.

Sir Pat. Which shall be put in Act forthwith—I like this Man well, he does nothing without mature Deliberation.

Enter Brunswick.

Brun. By your leaves, Gentlemen—Sir Credulous— Whispers.

Sir Cred. Oh—’tis Lodwick’s Friend, the Rascal’s dress’d like Vanderbergen in the Strand:—Sir Patient, pray know this glorious Doctor, Sir.

Sir Pat. A Doctor, Sir?

Sir Cred. A Doctor, Sir! yes, and as eloquent a Doctor, Sir, as ever set Bill to Post: why, ’tis—the incomparable—Brunswick, High-Dutch Doctor.

Sir Pat. You’re welcome, Sir,—Pray sit; ah.—Well, Sir, you are come to visit a very crazy sickly Person, Sir.

Brun. Pray let me feel your Pulse, Sir;—what think you, Gentlemen, is he not very far gone?— Feels his Pulse, they all feel.

Sir Cred. Ah, far, far.—Pray, Sir, have you not a certain wambling Pain in your Stomach, Sir, as it were, Sir, a—a pain, Sir.

Sir Pat. Oh, very great, Sir, especially in a Morning fasting.

Sir Cred. I knew it by your stinking Breath, Sir—and are you not troubled with a Pain in your Head, Sir?

Sir Pat. In my Head, Sir?

Sir Cred. I mean a—kind of a—Pain,—a kind of a Vertigo, as the Latins call it; and a Whirligigoustiphon, as the Greeks have it, which signifies in English, Sir, a Dizzie-swimming kind—of a do ye see—a thing—that—a—you understand me.

Sir Pat. Oh, intolerable, intolerable!—why, this is a rare Man!

Fat D. Your Reason, Sir, for that? To Sir Cred.

Sir Cred. My Reason, Sir? why, my Reason, Sir, is this, Haly the Moore, and Rabbi Isaac, and some thousands more of learned Dutchmen, observe your dull Wall Eye and your Whir—Whirligigoustiphon, to be inseparable.

Brun. A most learned Reason!

Fat D. Oh, Sir, inseparable.

Sir Cred. And have you not a kind of a—something—do ye mark me, when you make Water, a kind of a stopping—and—a—do ye conceive me, I have forgot the English Term, Sir, but in Latin ’tis a Stronggullionibus.

Sir Pat. Oh, Sir, most extremely, ’tis that which makes me desperate, Sir.

Sir Cred. Your ugly Face is an infallible Sign; your Dysurie, as the Arabicks call it, and your ill-favour’d Countenance, are constant Relatives.

All. Constant, constant.

Sir Cred. Pray how do you eat, Sir?

Sir Pat. Ah, Sir, there’s my distraction. Alas, Sir, I have the weakest Stomach—I do not make above four Meals a-day, and then indeed I eat heartily—but alas, what’s that to eating to live?—nothing, Sir, nothing.—

Sir Cred. Poor Heart, I pity him.

Sir Pat. And between Meals, good Wine, Sweet-meats, Caudles,—Cordials and Mirabilises, to keep up my fainting Spirits.

Sir Cred. A Pox of his Aldermanship: an the whole Bench were such notable Swingers, ’twould famish the City sooner than a Siege.

Amst. Brothers, what do you think of this Man?

Leyd. Think, Sir? I think his Case is desperate.

Sir Cred. Shaw, Sir, we shall soon rectify the quiblets and quillities of his Blood, if he observes our Directions and Diet, which is to eat but once in four or five days.

Sir Pat. How, Sir, eat but once in four or five days? such a Diet, Sir, would kill me; alas, Sir, kill me.

Sir Cred. Oh no, Sir, no; for look ye, Sir, the Case is thus, do you mind me—so that the Business lying so obvious, do ye see, there is a certain Method, do ye mark me—in a—Now, Sir, when a Man goes about to alter the course of Nature,—the case is very plain, you may as well arrest the Chariot of the Sun, or alter the Eclipses of the Moon; for, Sir, this being of another Nature, the Nature of it is to be unnatural, you conceive me, Sir?—therefore we must crave your absence, Sir, for a few Minutes, till we have debated this great Affair.

Sir Pat. With all my heart, Sir, since my Case is so desperate, a few hours were not too much. Ex. Sir Pat.

Sir Cred. Now, Sir, my service to you. Drinks.

Enter Fanny.

Fan. Oh living heart! what do all these Men do in our House? sure they are a sort of new-fashion’d Conventiclers:—I’ll hear ’em preach. They drink round the while.

Amst. Sir, my service to you, and to your good Lady, Sir.

Leyd. Again to you, Sir, not forgetting your Daughters: they are fine Women, Sir, let Scandal do its worst. Drinks.

Turb. To our better trading, Sir.

Brun. Faith, it goes but badly on, I had the weekly Bill, and ’twas a very thin Mortality; some of the better sort die indeed, that have good round Fees to give.

Turb. Verily, I have not kill’d above my five or six this Week.

Brun. How, Sir, kill’d?

Turb. Kill’d, Sir! ever whilst you live, especially those who have the grand Verole; for ’tis not for a Man’s Credit to let the Patient want an Eye or a Nose, or some other thing. I have kill’d ye my five or six dozen a Week—but times are hard.

Brun. I grant ye, Sir, your Poor for Experiment and Improvement of Knowledge: and to say truth, there ought to be such Scavengers as we to sweep away the Rubbish of the Nation. Sir Cred. and Fat seeming in Discourse.

Sir Cred. Nay, an you talk of a Beast, my service to you, Sir— Drinks. Ay, I lost the finest Beast of a Mare in all Devonshire.

Fat D. And I the finest Spaniel, Sir.

Here they all talk together till you come to —purpose, Sir.

Turb. Pray, what News is there stirring?

Brun. Faith, Sir, I am one of those Fools that never regard whether Lewis or Philip have the better or the worst.

Turb. Peace is a great Blessing, Sir, a very great Blessing.

Brun. You are i’th right, Sir, and so my service to you, Sir.

Leyd. Well, Sir, Stetin held out nobly, though the Gazettes are various.

Amst. There’s a world of Men kill’d they say; why, what a shame ’tis so many thousands should die without the help of a Physician.

Leyd. Hang ’em, they were poor Rogues, and not worth our killing; my service to you, Sir, they’ll serve to fill up Trenches.

Sir Cred. Spaniel, Sir! no Man breathing understands Dogs and Horses better than my self.

Fat D. Your pardon for that, Sir.

Sir Cred. For look ye, Sir, I’ll tell you the Nature of Dogs and Horses.

Fat D. So can my Groom and Dog-keeper; but what’s this to th’ purpose, Sir?

Here they leave off.

Sir Cred. To th’ purpose, Sir! good Mr. Hedleburgh, do you understand what’s to th’ purpose? you’re a Dutch Butter-ferkin, a Kilderkin, a Double Jug.

Fat D. You’re an ignorant Blockhead, Sir.

Sir Cred. You lye, Sir, and there I was with you again.

Amst. What, quarrelling, Men of your Gravity and Profession.

Sir Cred. That is to say, Fools and Knaves: pray, how long is’t since you left Toping and Napping, for Quacking, good Brother Cater-tray?—but let that pass, for I’ll have my Humour, and therefore will quarrel with no Man, and so I drink.— Goes to fill again.

Brun. —But, what’s all this to the Patient, Gentlemen?

Sir Cred. Ay,—the Wine’s all out,—and Quarrels apart, Gentlemen, as you say, what do you think of our Patient? for something I conceive necessary to be said for our Fees.

Fat D. I think that unless he follows our Prescriptions he’s a dead Man.

Sir Cred. Ay, Sir, a dead Man.

Fat D. Please you to write, Sir, you seem the youngest Doctor. To Amst.

Amst. Your Pardon, Sir, I conceive there maybe younger Doctors than I at the Board.

Sir Cred. A fine Punctilio this, when a Man lies a dying Aside. —Sir, you shall excuse me, I have been a Doctor this 7 Years. They shove the Pen and Paper from one to the other.

Amst. I commenc’d at Paris twenty years ago.

Leyd. And I at Leyden, almost as long since.

Fat D. And I at Barcelona thirty.

Sir Cred. And I at Padua, Sir.

Fat D. You at Padua?

Sir Cred. Yes, Sir, I at Padua; why, what a pox, do ye think I never was beyond Sea?

Brun. However, Sir, you are the youngest Doctor, and must write.

Sir Cred. I will not lose an inch of my Dignity.

Fat D. Nor I.

Amst. Nor I.

Leyd. Nor I. Put the Paper from each other.

Brun. Death, what Rascals are these?

Sir Cred. Give me the Pen—here’s ado about your Paduas and Punctilioes. Sets himself to write.

Amst. Every morning a Dose of my Pills Merda queorusticon, or the Amicable Pill.

Sir Cred. Fasting?

Leyd. Every Hour sixscore drops of Adminicula Vitæ.

Sir Cred. Fasting too? Sir Cred. writes still.

Fat D. At Night twelve Cordial Pills, Gallimofriticus.

Turb. Let Blood once a Week, a Glister once a day.

Brun. Cry Mercy, Sir, you’re a French Man.—After his first Sleep, threescore restorative Pills, call’d Cheatus Redivivus.

Sir Cred. And lastly, fifteen Spoonfuls of my Aqua Tetrachymagogon, as often as ’tis necessary; little or no Breakfast, less Dinner, and go supperless to Bed.

Fat D. Hum, your Aqua Tetrachymagogon?

Sir Cred. Yes, Sir, my Tetrachymagogon; for look ye, do you see, Sir, I cur’d the Arch-Duke of Strumbulo of a Gondileero, of which he dy’d, with this very Aqua Tetrachymagogon.

Enter Sir Patient.

Sir Pat. Well, Gentlemen, am I not an intruder?

Fat D. Sir, we have duly consider’d the state of your Body; and are now about the Order and Method you are to observe.

Brun. Ay, this Distemper will be the occasion of his Death.

Sir Cred. Hold, Brothers, I do not say the occasion of his Death; but the occasional Cause of his Death. Sir Pat. reads the Bill.

Sir Pat. Why, here’s no time allow’d for eating, Gentlemen.

Amst. Sir, we’ll justify this Prescription to the whole College.

Leyd. If he will not follow it, let him die.

All. Ay, let him die.

Enter Lodwick and Leander.

Lod. What, have you consulted without me, Gentlemen? Lod. reads the Bill.

Sir Pat. Yes, Sir, and find it absolutely necessary for my Health, Sir, I shou’d be starv’d: and yet you say I am not sick, Sir. To Lean.

Lod. Very well, very well.

Sir Pat. No Breakfast, no Dinner, no Supper?

Sir Cred. Little or none, but none’s best.

Sir Pat. But, Gentlemen, consider, no small thing?

All. Nothing, nothing.

Sir Cred. Sir, you must write for your Fee. To Lod.

Lod. Now I think on’t, Sir, you may eat Writes.

a roasted Pippin cold upon a Vine-leaf, at night.

Lean. Do you see, Sir, what damn’d canting Rascals these Doctors are?

Sir Pat. Ay, ay, if all Doctors were such, ingenuously, I shou’d soon be weary of Physick.

Lean. Give ’em their Fees, Sir, and send ’em to the Devil for a Company of Cheats.

Sir Pat. Truth is, there is no faith in ’em,—well, I thank you for your Care and Pains. Gives ’em Fees.

Sir Cred. Sir, if you have any occasion for me, I live at the red-colour’d Lanthorn, with eleven Candles in’t, in the Strand; where you may come in privately, and need not be ashamed, I having no Creature in my House but my self, and my whole Family.—

Ick quam Van Neder Landt te spreken

End helpen Van Pocken end ander gebreken.

That’s a top of my Bill, sweet Sir. Exeunt Doctors.

Fan. Lord, Sir Father, why do you give ’em Money?

Lean. For talking Nonsense this Hour or two upon his Distemper.

Fan. Oh lemini, Sir, they did not talk one word of you, but of Dogs and Horses, and of killing Folks, and of their Wives and Daughters; and when the Wine was all out, they said they wou’d say something for their Fees.

Sir Pat. Say you so!—Knaves, Rogues, Cheats, Murderers! I’ll be reveng’d on ’em all,—I’ll ne’er be sick again,—or if I be, I’ll die honestly of my self without the assistance of such Rascals,—go, get you gone.— To Fan. who goes out.

Lean. A happy resolution! wou’d you wou’d be so kind to your self as to make a trial of your Lady too; and if she prove true, ’twill make some kind of amends for your so long being cozen’d this way.

Sir Pat. I’ll about it, this very minute about it,—give me a Chair.— He sits.

Lean. So, settle your self well, disorder your Hair,—throw away your Cane, Hat and Gloves,—stare, and rowl your Eyes, squeeze your Face into Convulsions,—clutch your Hands, make your Stomach heave, so, very well,—now let me alone for the rest—Oh, help, help, my Lady, my Aunt, for Heavens sake, help,—come all and see him die. Weeps.

Enter Wittmore, Lady Fancy, Isabella, Lucretia, Lady Knowell, Roger, and Nurse.

Wit. Leander, what’s the matter?

Lean. See, Madam, see my Uncle in the Agonies of Death.

L. Fan. My dearest Husband dying, Oh! Weeps.

Lean. How hard he struggles with departing Life!

Isab. Father, dear Father, must I in one day receive a Blessing with so great a Curse? Oh,—he’s just going, Madam.— Weeps.

L. Fan. Let me o’ertake him in the Shades below, why do you hold me, can I live without him? do I dissemble well?— Aside to Wit.

Sir Pat. Not live without me!—do you hear that, Sirrah? Aside to Lean.

Lean. Pray mark the end on’t, Sir,—feign,—feign.—

L. Kno. We left him well, how came he thus o’th’ sudden?

Lean. I fear ’tis an Apoplexy, Madam.

L. Fan. Run, run for his Physician; but do not stir a foot. Aside to Roger.

Look up, and speak but one kind word to me.

Sir Pat. What crys are these that stop me on my way?

L. Fan. They’re mine,—your Lady’s—oh, surely he’ll recover. Aside.

Your most obedient Wife’s.

Sir Pat. My Wife’s, my Heir, my sole Executrix.

L. Fan. Hah, is he in’s Senses? Aside to Wit.

Oh my dear Love, my Life, my Joy, my All, Crys.

Oh, let me go; I will not live without him. Seems to faint in Wittmore’s Arms. All run about her.

Sir Pat. Do ye hear that, Sirrah?

Lean. Have yet a little Patience, die away,—very well—Oh, he’s gone,—quite gone. L. Fan. swoons.

L. Kno. Look to my Lady there, Swoons again.

—Sure she can but counterfeit. Aside.

They all go about her.

Sir Pat. Hah, my Lady dying!

Lean. Sir, I beseech you wait the event. Death! the cunning Devil will dissemble too long and spoil all,—here—carry the dead Corps of my dearest Uncle to his Chamber. Nurse, to your Care I commit him now.

Exeunt with Sir Pat. in a Chair.

All follow but Wittmore; who going the other way, meets Sir Credulous and Lodwick, as before.

Wit. Lodwick! the strangest unexpected News, Sir Patient’s dead!

Sir Cred. How, dead! we have play’d the Physicians to good purpose, i’faith, and kill’d the Man before we administer’d our Physick.

Wit. Egad, I fear so indeed.

Lod. Dead!

Wit. As a Herring, and ’twill be dangerous to keep these habits longer.

Sir Cred. Dangerous! Zoz, Man, we shall all be hang’d, why, our very Bill dispatch’d him, and our Hands are to’t,—Oh, I’ll confess all.— Offers to go.

Lod. Death, Sir, I’ll cut your Throat if you stir.

Sir Cred. Wou’d you have me hang’d for Company, Gentlemen? Oh, where shall I hide my self, or how come at my Clothes?

Lod. We have no time for that; go get you into your Basket again, and lie snug, till I have convey’d you safe away,—or I’ll abandon you.— Aside to him.

’Tis not necessary he shou’d be seen yet, he may spoil Leander’s Plot. Aside.

Sir Cred. Oh, thank ye, dear Lodwick,—let me escape this bout, and if ever the Fool turn Physician again, may he be choak’d with his own Tetrachymagogon.

Wit. Go, haste and undress you, whilst I’ll to Lucia. Exeunt Lod. and Sir Cred.

As Wittmore is going out at one Door, enter Sir Patient and Leander at the other Door.

Lean. Hah, Wittmore there! he must not see my Uncle yet. Puts Sir Pat. back.

Exit Wit.

Sir Pat. Nay, Sir, never detain me, I’ll to my Lady, is this your Demonstration?—Was ever so virtuous a Lady—Well, I’ll to her, and console her poor Heart; ah, the Joy ’twill bring her to see my Resurrection!—I long to surprize her. Going off cross the Stage.

Lean. Hold, Sir, I think she’s coming,—blest sight, and with her Wittmore! Puts Sir Pat. back to the Door.

Enter Lady Fancy and Wittmore.

Sir Pat. Hah, what’s this?

L. Fan. Now, my dear Wittmore, claim thy Rites of Love without controul, without the contradiction of wretched Poverty or Jealousy: Now undisguised thou mayst approach my Bed, and reign o’er all my Pleasures and my Fortunes, of which this Minute I create thee Lord, And thus begin my Homage.— Kisses him.

Sir Pat. Sure ’tis some Fiend! this cannot be my Lady.

Lean. ’Tis something uncivil before your face, Sir, to do this.

Wit. Thou wondrous kind, and wondrous beautiful; that Power that made thee with so many Charms, gave me a Soul fit only to adore ’em; nor wert thou destin’d to another’s Arms, but to be render’d still more fit for mine.

Sir Pat. Hah, is not that Fainlove, Isabella’s Husband? Oh Villain! Villain! I will renounce my Sense and my Religion. Aside.

Sir Pat. Oh Woman! Woman! damn’d dissembling Woman. Aside.

L. Fan. Come, let me lead thee to that Mass of Gold he gave me to be despis’d;

Draw in the Basket which I told you of, and is amongst the Rubbish in the Hall. Exit Wittmore. That which the Slave so many Years was toiling for, I in one moment barter for a Kiss, as Earnest of our future Joys.

Sir Pat. Was ever so prodigal a Harlot? was this the Saint? was this the most tender Consort that ever Man had?

Lean. No, in good faith, Sir.

Enter Wittmore pulling in the Basket.

L. Fan. This is it, with a direction on’t to thee, whither I design’d to send it.

L. Fan. O Heavens! what thing art thou?

Sir Cred. O, Pardon, Pardon, sweet Lady, I confess I had a hand in’t.

L. Fan. In what, thou Slave?—

Sir Cred. Killing the good believing Alderman;—but ’twas against my Will.

L. Fan. Then I’m not so much oblig’d to thee,—but where’s the Money, the 8000l. the Plate and Jewels, Sirrah?

Wit. Death, the Dog has eat it.

Sir Cred. Eat it! Oh Lord, eat 8000l. Wou’d I might never come out of this Basket alive, if ever I made such a Meal in my Life.

Wit. Ye Dog, you have eat it; and I’ll make ye swallow all the Doses you writ in your Bill, but I’ll have it upward or downward. Aside.

Sir Pat. Hah, one of the Rogues my Doctors.

Sir Cred. Oh, dear Sir, hang me out of the way rather.

Enter Maundy.

Maun. Madam, I have sent away the Basket to Mr. Wittmore’s Lodgings.

L. Fan. You might have sav’d your self that Labour, I now having no more to do, but to bury the stinking Corps of my quandom Cuckold, dismiss his Daughters, and give thee quiet possession of all. To Wit.

Sir Pat. Fair Lady, you’ll take me along with you? Snaps, pulls off his Hat, and comes up to her.

L. Fan. My Husband!—I’m betray’d—

Sir Pat. Husband! I do defy thee, Satan, thou greater Whore than she of Babylon; thou Shame, thou Abomination to thy Sex.

L. Fan. Rail on, whilst I dispose my self to laugh at thee.

Sir Pat. Leander, call all the House in to be a Witness of our Divorce. Exit Lean.

L. Fan. Do, and all the World, and let ’em know the Reason.

Sir Pat. Methinks I find an Inclination to swear,—to curse my self and thee, that I cou’d no better discern thee; nay, I’m so chang’d from what I was, that I think I cou’d even approve of Monarchy and Church-Discipline, I’m so truly convinc’d I have been a Beast and an Ass all my Life.

Enter Lady Knowell, Isabella, Lucretia, Leander, Lodwick, Fanny, &c.

L. Kno. Hah, Sir Patient not dead?

Sir Pat. Ladies and Gentlemen, take notice that I am a Cuckold, a crop-ear’d snivelling Cuckold.

Sir Cred. A Cuckold! sweet Sir, shaw, that’s a small matter in a Man of your Quality.

Sir Pat. And I beg your pardon, Madam, for being angry that you call’d me so. To L. Kno. And yours, dear Isabella, for desiring you to marry my good Friend there Points to Wit. whose name I perceive I was mistaken in:—and yours, Leander, that I wou’d not take your Advice long since: and yours, fair Lady, for believing you honest,—’twas done like a credulous Coxcomb:—and yours, Sir, for taking any of your Tribe for wise, learned or honest. To Sir Credulous.

Wit. Faith, Sir, I deceiv’d ye only to serve my Friend; and, Sir, your Daughter is married to Mr Knowell: your Wife had all my stock of Love before, Sir. Lod. and Isab. kneel.

Sir Pat. Why, God-a-mercy—some comfort that,—God bless ye.—I shall love Disobedience while I live for’t.

Lod. I am glad on’t, Sir, for then I hope you will forgive Leander, who has married my Sister, and not my Mother.

Sir Pat. How! has he served me so?—I’ll make him my Heir for’t, thou hast made a Man of me, my Boy, and, faith, we will be merry,—Fair Lady, you may depart in peace, fair Lady, restoring my Money, my Plate, my Jewels and my Writings, fair Lady.—

L. Fan. You gave me no Money, Sir, prove it if you can; and for your Land, ’twas not settled with this Proviso, if she be honest?

Sir Pat. ’Tis well thou dost confess I am a Cuckold, for I wou’d have it known, fair Lady.

L. Fan. ’Twas to that end I married you, good Alderman.

Sir Pat. I’faith, I think thou didst, Sweet-heart, i’faith, I think thou didst.

Wit. Right, Sir, we have long been Lovers, but want of Fortune made us contrive how to marry her to your good Worship. Many a wealthy Citizen, Sir, has contributed to the maintenance of a younger Brother’s Mistress; and you are not the first Man in Office that has been a Cuckold, Sir.

Sir Pat. Some comfort that too, the Brethren of the Chain cannot laugh at me.

Sir Cred. A very pleasant old Fellow this: faith, I cou’d be very merry with him now, but that I am damnable sad.—Madam, I shall desire to lay the Saddle on the right Horse. To L. Kno.

L. Kno. What mean you, Sir?

Sir Cred. Only, Madam, if I were as some Men are, I should not be as I am.

L. Kno. It may be so, Sir.

Sir Cred. I say no more, but matters are not carried so swimmingly, but I can dive into the meaning on’t. Sir Patient talks this while to Lodwick.

L. Kno. I hate this hypothetical way of arguing, answer me categorically.

Sir Cred. Hypothetical and Categorical! what does she mean now? Aside. —Madam, in plain English, I am made a John-a-Nokes of, Jack-hold-my-staff, a Merry Andrew Doctor, to give Leander time to marry your Daughter; and ’twas therefore I was hoisted up in the Basket;—but as the play says, ’tis well ’tis no worse: I’d rather lose my Mistress than my Life.

Sir Pat. But how came this Rascal Turboon to admit you?

Lod. For the Lucre of our Fees, Sir, which was his recompence.

Sir Pat. I forgive it you, and will turn Spark, they live the merriest Lives—keep some City Mistress, go to Court, and hate all Conventicles.

You see what a fine City-Wife can do

Of the true-breed; instruct her Husband too:

I wish all civil Cuckolds in the Nation

Would take example by my Reformation.

EPILOGUE,

Spoken by Mrs. Gwin.

I here and there o’erheard a Coxcomb cry, Looking about.

Ah, Rot it—’tis a Woman’s Comedy,

One, who because she lately chanc’d to please us,

With her damn’d Stuff, will never cease to teeze us.

What has poor Woman done, that she must be

Debar’d from Sense, and sacred Poetry?

Why in this Age has Heaven allow’d you more,

And Women less of Wit than heretofore?

We once were fam’d in story, and could write

Equal to Men; cou’d govern, nay, cou’d fight.

We still have passive Valour, and can show, Wou’d Custom give us leave, the active too, Since we no Provocations want from you.

For who but we cou’d your dull Fopperies bear,

Your saucy Love, and your brisk Nonsense hear;

Indure your worse than womanish Affectation,

Which renders you the Nusance of the Nation;

Scorn’d even by all the Misses of the Town,

A Jest to Vizard Mask, the Pit-Buffoon;

A Glass by which the admiring Country Fool

May learn to dress himself en Ridicule:

Both striving who shall most ingenious grow

In Leudness, Foppery, Nonsense, Noise and Show.

And yet to these fine things we must submit

Our Reason, Arms, our Laurels, and our Wit.

Because we do not laugh at you, when leud,

And scorn and cudgel ye when you are rude.

That we have nobler Souls than you, we prove,

By how much more we’re sensible of Love;

Quickest in finding all the subtlest ways

To make your Joys, why not to make you Plays?

We best can find your Foibles, know our own, And Jilts and Cuckolds now best please the Town; Your way of Writing’s out of fashion grown.

Method, and Rule—you only understand;

Pursue that way of Fooling, and be damn’d.

Your learned Cant of Action, Time and Place,

Must all give way to the unlabour’d Farce.

To all the Men of Wit we will subscribe:

But for your half Wits, you unthinking Tribe,

We’ll let you see, whate’er besides we do,

How artfully we copy some of you:

And if you’re drawn to th’ Life, pray tell me then,

Why Women should not write as well as Men.

Notes on the Text.

Sir Patient Fancy.

To the Reader

p. 7, l. 1 To the Reader. Only in 4to 1678.

Dramatis Personæ

p. 10 Dramatis Personæ. I have added ‘Abel (Bartholmew), Clerk to Sir Patient Fancy; Brunswick, a friend to Lodwick Knowell; Antic, Waiting-woman to Lucretia; Nurse; Guests.’ In former editions the physicians are grouped together as ‘Five Doctors’, and The Lady Knowell is mistakenly termed ‘Mother to Lodwick and Isabella’, which I have corrected to ‘and Lucretia’. I have noted the confusion of ‘Abel’ and ‘Bartholmew’ in the introduction, pp. 5-6.

Act I: Scene i

p. 11, l. 2 I have added ‘in Lady Knowell’s House.’

p. 13, l. 14 Foibles. 4to 1678 ‘feables’.

p. 14, l. 17 apamibominous ... podas. 4to 1678 ‘apamibominus ... Podis’.A

p. 15, l. 3 Mudd. 1724 ‘mad’.

Act I: Scene ia

p. 16, l. 12 now, Curry, from. 1724 omits ‘Curry’.

p. 16, l. 25 Branford. 1724 here and infra ‘Brentford’.

p. 16, l. 30 Cuffet’s. 1724 ‘Cusset’s’.

p. 22, l. 22 not. Erroneously omitted by 4to 1678.

p. 23, l. 2 a Dog. 4to 1678 ‘the Dog.’

p. 23, l. 16 with Page. I have added the Page’s exit.

p. 25, l. 20 Ex. severally. 4to 1678 adds ‘The End of the First Act.’

Act II: Scene i

p. 25, l. 22 to Sir Patient Fancy’s House. I have added these words.

p. 33, l. 27 Exit with L. Fan. I have added the necessary ‘with L. Fan.’ 4to 1678 reads ‘Goes out.’

p. 35, l. 2 Roger attending. I have added this entrance of Roger here.

p. 36, l. 21 Enter Sir Patient. 4to 1678 gives this entrance after ‘mercy’, l. 22.

p. 40, l. 25 Exit Roger. I have added this exit here, and at p. 43, l. 2.

Act II: Scene ii

p. 44, l. 6 Exeunt severally. 4to 1678 adds ‘The End of the Second Act.’

Act III: Scene i

p. 44, l. 9 to a room in Sir Patient Fancy’s house. I have supplied this locale.

p. 45, l. 11 and Maundy. I have supplied Maundy’s entrance here.

Act III: Scene ii

p. 47, l. 1 a thousand Faults. 1724 mistakenly reads ‘a thousand hidden Faults’.

p. 48, l. 34 in spite to. 1724 ‘in spite of’ which makes nonsense of the passage.

Act III: Scene iii

p. 49, l. 8 Scene III. I have numbered this and all the succeeding scenes of Act III.

Act III: Scene vii

p. 53, l. 32 Within. Not in any previous edition.

p. 54, l. 10 Within. All previous editions print this stage direction as part of Sir Patient’s speech.

p. 54, l. 19 Discovery. All previous editions here have ‘Enter Sir Patient’, which is a very patent error. I have supplied ‘Within’ as stage direction.

p. 59, l. 6 Isabella, Fanny. I have supplied ‘Fanny’ to this stage direction.

p. 59, l. 19 D’on. 4to 1678 misprints ‘D’on on Flannel’.

p. 60, l. 13 Enter Roger. I have supplied the names ‘Roger’ and ‘Abel’ to this stage direction.

p. 61, l. 13 Exeunt. 4to 1678 adds ‘The End of the Third Act.’

Act IV: Scene i

p. 71, l. 27 are. 4to 1678, not so well, ‘were’.

Act IV: Scene ii

p. 72, l. 19 A Chamber in Sir Patient Fancy’s House. I have supplied this locale.

p. 77, l. 2 come. 4to 1678 ‘came’.

p. 77, l. 33 but for my sending him, Madam, credit me. 1724 omits this sentence.

p. 79, l. 13 sad. 1724 ‘said’.

p. 79, l. 31 Exit. I have supplied this stage direction.

Act IV: Scene iii

p. 81, l. 1 Exit Roger. I have supplied this.

p. 81, l. 11 little. 1724 misprints ‘letter’.

p. 82, l. 30 Fanny and Nurse go. All previous editions have ‘Fanny goes’.

Act IV: Scene iv

p. 82, l. 31 Scene IV. I have numbered this scene.

p. 82, l. 33 Entering. I have supplied this necessary stage direction.

p. 87, l. 15 Hogsdowne. 1724 ‘Hogsdon’.

p. 89, l. 3 leading her. Omitted in 1724. 4to 1678 here has ‘The End of the Fourth Act.’

Act V: Scene i

p. 89, l. 5 Scene I. A Room. All previous editions have ‘Scene I. A Table and Six Chairs.’

p. 89, l. 28 come. 4to 1678 ‘came’.

p. 95, l. 20 fatum. 4to 1678 ‘facum.’

p. 96, l. 2 and will. 1724, very erroneously, ‘and I will’.

p. 98, l. 13 and Bartholomew. I have added this entrance, unmarked in former editions, as later in the scene (p. 99, l. 30) he is addressed.

p. 98, l. 16 Exit Roger. I have supplied this.

p. 99, l. 35 Exit. I have added this stage direction.

p. 100, l. 4 Exit Lod. This is unmarked in previous editions.

p. 100, l. 25 Medicinæ Professores. 1724 ‘Medicina Presessores, qui hic assemblati esti, & vos altra Mesioris’. Critical Note

p. 101, l. 12 Deliberation. 4to 1678 here has ‘[Goes out.’ which must obviously be a mistake.

p. 102, l. 2 Whirligigoustiphon. 1724 ‘Whirligigousticon’.

p. 107, l. 36 Exeunt Doctors. All previous editions faultily have ‘Exeunt.’ after ‘whole Family.—’ I have added ‘Doctors.’

p. 108, l. 27 and Nurse. I have added these words as she is addressed later in the scene (p. 109, l. 31.)

p. 110, l. 24 and Sir Cred. I have added these words.

p. 111, l. 34 Consort. 1724 ‘Comfort’.

Notes: Critical And Explanatory.

Sir Patient Fancy.

To the Reader

p. 7 to show their breeding (as Bays sayes). cf. The Rehearsal, ii, II:—

Act I: Scene i

p. 14 Armida. cf. Tasso’s La Gerusalemme Liberata, canto xiv, &c. Armida is called Corcereis owing to the beauty and wonder of her enchanted garden. Corcyra was the abode of King Alcinous, of whose court, parks and orchards a famous description is to be found in the seventh Odyssey. Martial (xiii, 37), speaks of ‘Corcyraei horti’, a proverbial phrase.

Act I: Scene ia

p. 20 Mum budget. ‘Mum budget’, meaning ‘hush’, was originally the name of a children’s game which required silence, cf. Merry Wives of Windsor, v, IV: ‘I ... cried mum and she cried budget.’ cf. also the term ‘Whist’.

p. 22 Beginning at Eight. The idea of this little speech is, of course, from Bonnecorse’s La Montre, Mrs. Behn’s translation of which will be found with an introduction in Vol. VI, p. 1.

p. 22 the Bergere. cf. The Feign’d Curtezans (Vol. II, p. 346): ‘The hour of the Berjere’; and the note on that passage (p. 441). Cross-Reference: The Feign’d Curtezans

Act II: Scene i

p. 32 Ay and No Man. cf. Prologue to The False Count (Vol. III, p. 100): ‘By Yea and Nay’; and note on that passage (p. 480). Cross-Reference: The False Count

Act III: Scene i

p. 44 Within a Mile of an Oak. A proverbial saw. cf. D’Urfey’s Don Quixote (1696), III, Act v, I, where Teresa cries: ‘The Ass was lost yesterday, and Master Carasco tells us your Worship can tell within a mile of an Oak where he is.’

p. 44 Rustick Antick. A quaint country dance.

Act IV: Scene i

p. 62 Hypallages. A figure of speech by which attributes are transferred from their proper subjects to others.

p. 62 Belli fugaces. Ovid, Amorum, I, 9, has ‘Militat omnis amans et habet sua castra Cupido’, and the idea is common. I have made no attempt to correct the tags of Latinity in this play. Mrs. Behn openly confessed she knew no Latin, and she was ill supplied here. I do not conceive that the words are intentionally faulty and grotesque. Lady Knowell is a pedant, but not ignorant.

p. 65 Madame Brenvilliers. Marie-Marguerite d’Aubray, Marquise de Brinvilliers, was executed at Paris 16 July, 1676.

p. 66 Bilbo-Blades! Or oftener ‘bilbo-lords’, = swash-bucklers, cf. The Pilgrim (folio, 1647), v, VI, where Juletta calls the old angry Alphonso ‘My Bilbo Master’.

p. 70 whip slap-dash. These nonsensical bywords, which were very popular, are continually in the mouth of Sir Samuel Harty, a silly coxcomb in Shadwell’s The Virtuoso (1676). Nokes, who was acting Sir Credulous, had created Sir Samuel Harty.

p. 71 The Bell in Friday-street. The Bell was an inn of note in Friday Street, Cheapside. cf. Cal. State Papers (1603-10, p. 455): ‘Sir Thomas Estcourt ... to Thomas Wilson. Is about to leave London and proffers his services. If he has occasion to write to him he may have weekly messengers ... at the Bell, Friday Street.’

Act IV: Scene i

p. 79 th’ Exercise. The puritanical term for private worship, cf. 1663 Flagellum; or, O. Cromwell (1672), 21. ‘The Family was called together to prayers; at which Exercise ... they continued long.’ cf. The Roundheads (Vol. I), Act ii, I: ‘his Prayers; from which long-winded Exercise I have of late withdrawn my self.’

Act IV: Scene iv

p. 83 Mirabilis. Aqua mirabilis, a well-known invigorating cordial, cf. Dryden’s Marriage à la Mode (1672), iii, I: ‘The country gentlewoman ... who ... opens her dear bottle of Mirabilis beside, for a gill glass of it at parting.’

p. 84 Tranghams. Nick-nacks, toys, trinkets, cf. Arbuthnot, History of John Ball (1712-3), Pt. II, c. vi: ‘What’s the meaning of all these trangrams and gimcracks?’

Act V: Scene i

p. 92 to souse. cf. Florio (ed. 1611): ‘to leape or seaze greedily upon, to souze downe as a hauke.’

p. 93 this Balatroon. A rogue. The word is very rare. cf. Cockeram (1623): ‘Ballatron, a rascally base knave.’

p. 95 Rotat omne fatum. This would be an exceptionally rare use of rotare = rotari, intransitive. But Mrs. Behn, as Dryden tells us in his preface to the translation of Ovid’s Heroides (1680) ‘by many hands’, insisted upon the fact that she knew no Latin.

p. 100 Medicinæ Professores. This is from the Troisième Intermède of Le Malade Imaginaire which commences:—

p. 101 Vanderbergen. A well-known empiric of the day.

p. 102 Haly the Moore, and Rabbi Isaac. Ali Bey (Bobrowski), a Polish scholar, died at Constantinople 1675. He wrote, amongst other treatises, De Circumcisione; De Aegrotorum Visitatione. These were published at Oxford in 1691. Isaac Levita or Jean Isaac Levi was a celebrated rabbi of the sixteenth century. A professor at Cologne, he practised medicine and astrology.

p. 104 Stetin. Stettin, the capital of Pomerania, was one of the chief towns of the Hanseatic league. Occupied by Sweden 1637-1713, it was the centre of continual military operations.

p. 105 A Dutch Butter-ferkin, a Kilderkin. These terms are common abuse as applied to a corpulent person. A firkin (Mid. Dut., vierdekijn) = a small cask for holding liquids or butter; originally half-a-kilderkin. Dictionary of the Canting Crew (1700) has ‘Firkin of foul Stuff; a ... Coarse, Corpulent Woman’. cf. Dryden’s Mac Flecknoe (1682):—

Shadwell was extremely gross in habit and of an unwieldy size.

p. 105 Toping and Napping. ‘To top’ and ‘to nap’ are slang terms signifying to cheat, especially with dice. cf. R. Head, Canting Academy (1673), ‘What chance of the dye is soonest thrown in topping, shoring, palming, napping.’ Both words occur very frequently, and are amply explained in the Slang Dictionaries.

p. 105 Cater-Tray. Quatre-trois; a cast at dice.

p. 112 Good morrow. Wittmore quotes the opening lines of Volpone, Act i, I:

p. 115 John-a-Nokes. The fictitious name for the one party in a legal action. The term came to have the same meaning as ‘Jack-hold-my-staff’ = any fool or nincompoop.

Epilogue

p. 116 Vizard Mask. The commonest Restoration synonym for a ‘bona roba’, especially as plying the theatre.

ARGUMENT.

Frederick, ‘the Amorous Prince,’ a mercurial young gallant, son to the Duke of Florence, under a solemn promise of marriage debauches Cloris, sister to his friend and confidant, Curtius. The girl has always led a secluded country life, and this relationship is unknown to the Prince, who upon hearing the praises of Laura, beloved by Curtius, straightway resolves to win this lady also. Laura’s brother Lorenzo, a wanton madcap favourite of Frederick’s, gladly effects the required introduction, and when Curtius interrupts and forbids, Salvator, father to Laura and Lorenzo, promptly turns the quondam lover out of the house. Lorenzo himself is idly pursuing Clarina, wife to a certain Antonio, an abortive intrigue carried on to his own impoverishment, but the enrichment of Isabella, Clarina’s woman, a wench who fleeces him unmercifully. Antonio being of a quaint and jealous humour would have his friend Alberto make fervent love to Clarina, in order that by her refusals and chill denials her spotless conjugal fidelity may be proved. However, Ismena, Clarina’s sister, appears in a change of clothes as the wife, and manifold complications ensue, but eventually all is cleared and Ismena accepts Alberto, whom she has long loved; not before Isabella, having by a trick compelled Lorenzo to declare himself her husband, enforces the bargain. Cloris, meanwhile, disguised as a boy under the name of Philibert, attaches herself to Frederick, first succouring him when he is wounded in a duel by Curtius. Curtius to avenge his wrongs disguises himself, and as a pandar entices Frederick into a snare by promises of supplying the amorous Prince with lovely cyprians. Bravos, however, are in waiting, but these prove to be in the service of Antonio, who appears with Alberto and their friends, completely frustrating the plot, whilst Clarina, Ismena, and other ladies have acted the courtezans to deceive Curtius, and at the same time read the Prince a salutary lesson. He profits so much by this experience that he takes Cloris, whose sex is discovered, to be his bride, whilst Laura bestows her hand on the repentant and forgiven Curtius.

SOURCE.

Mrs. Behn has taken her episode of Antonio’s persuading Alberto to woo Clarina from Robert Davenport’s fine play, The City Night-Cap (4to 1661, but licensed 24 October, 1624) where Lorenzo induces Philippo to test Abstemia in the same way. Astrea, however, has considerably altered the conduct of the intrigue. Bullen (The Works of Robert Davenport, 1890) conclusively and exhaustively demonstrates that Davenport made use of Greene’s popular Philomela; the Lady Fitzwater’s Nightingale (1592, 1615, and 1631), wherein Count Philippo employs Giovanni Lutesio to ‘make experience of his wife’s [Philomela’s] honesty’, rather than was under any obligation to Cervantes’ Curioso Impertinente, Don Quixote, Book IV, ch. vi-viii. Read, Dunlop, and Hazlitt all had express’d the same opinion. The Spanish tale turns upon the fact of Anselmo, the Curious Impertinent, enforcing his friend Lothario to tempt his wife Camilla. Such a theme, however, is common, and with variations is to be found in Italian novelle. Recent authorities are inclined to suggest that the plot of Beaumont and Fletcher’s The Coxcomb (1610), much of which runs on similar lines, is not founded on Cervantes. Southerne, in his comedy, The Disappointment; or, The Mother in Fashion (1684) and ‘starch Johnny Crowne’ in The Married Beau (1694), both comedies of no little wit and merit, are patently indebted to The Curious Impertinent. Cervantes had also been used three quarters of a century before by Nat Field in his Amends for Ladies (4to, 1618), where Sir John Loveall tries his wife in an exactly similar manner to Lorenzo, Count Philippo and Anselmo.

The amours of the Florentine court are Mrs. Behn’s own invention; but the device by which Curtius ensnares Frederick is not unlike Vendice and Hippolito’s trapping of the lecherous old Duke in The Revenger’s Tragedy (4to, 1607), albeit the saturnine Tourneur gives the whole scene a far more terrible and tragic catastrophe.

In January, 1537, Lorenzino de Medici having enticed Duke Alessandro of Florence to his house under pretext of an assignation with a certain Caterina Ginori, after a terrible struggle assassinated him with the aid of a notorious bravo. Several plays have been founded upon this history. Notable amongst them are Shirley’s admirable tragedy, The Traitor (licensed May, 1631, 4to 1635) and in later days de Musset’s Lorenzaccio (1834).

The Mask in Act v of The Amorous Prince is in its purport most palpably akin to the Elizabethans.

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The Amorous Prince was produced by the Duke’s Company in the spring of 1671 at their Lincoln’s Inn Fields theatre, whence they migrated in November of the same year to the magnificent new house in Dorset Garden. No performers’ names are given to the comedy, which met with a very good reception. It seems to have kept the boards awhile, but there is no record of any particular revival.

THE AMOROUS PRINCE.

PROLOGUE.

Well! you expect a Prologue to the Play,

And you expect it too Petition-way;

With Chapeau bas beseeching you t’ excuse

A damn’d Intrigue of an unpractis’d Muse;

Tell you it’s Fortune waits upon your Smiles,

And when you frown, Lord, how you kill the whiles!

Or else to rally up the Sins of th’ Age,

And bring each Fop in Town upon the Stage;

And in one Prologue run more Vices o’er,

Than either Court or City knew before:

Ah! that’s a Wonder which will please you too,

But my Commission’s not to please you now.

First then for you grave Dons, who love no Play

But what is regular, Great Johnson’s way;

Who hate the Monsieur with the Farce and Droll,

But are for things well said with Spirit and Soul;

’Tis you I mean, whose Judgments will admit

No Interludes of fooling with your Wit;

You’re here defeated, and anon will cry,

’Sdeath! wou’d ’twere Treason to write Comedy.

So! there’s a Party lost; now for the rest,

Who swear they’d rather hear a smutty Jest

Spoken by Nokes or Angel, than a Scene

Of the admir’d and well penn’d Cataline;

Who love the comick Hat, the Jig and Dance,

Things that are fitted to their Ignorance:

You too are quite undone, for here’s no Farce

Damn me! you’ll cry, this Play will be mine A——

Not serious, nor yet comick, what is’t then?

Th’ imperfect issue of a lukewarm Brain:

’Twas born before its time, and such a Whelp;

As all the after-lickings could not help.

Bait it then as ye please, we’ll not defend it,

But he that dis-approves it, let him mend it.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

MEN.

Frederick, Son to the Duke.

Curtius, his Friend.

Lorenzo, a rich extravagant Lord, a kind of Favourite to Frederick.

Salvator, Father to Lorenzo and Laura.

Antonio, a Nobleman of Florence.

Alberto, his dear Friend, a Nobleman also.

Pietro, Man to Curtius.

Galliard, Servant to the Prince.

Guilliam, Man to Cloris, a Country-fellow.

Valet to Antonio.

WOMEN.

Clarina, Wife to Antonio.

Ismena, Sister to Antonio, in love with Alberto.

Laura, Sister to Lorenzo, in love with Curtius.

Cloris, Sister to Curtius, disguis’d like a Country Maid, in love with Frederick.

Isabella, Woman to Clarina.

Lucia, Maid to Cloris.

Pages and Musick.

SCENE, The Court of Florence.