Old Bachelor — Act 2
SHARP.
Sure that’s he, and alone.
SIR JO.
Um—Ay, this, this is the very damned place; the inhuman cannibals, the bloody-minded villains, would have butchered me last night.
No doubt they would have flayed me alive, have sold my skin, and devoured, etc. SHARP.
How’s this!
SIR JO.
An it hadn’t been for a civil gentleman as came by and frighted ’em away—but, agad, I durst not stay to give him thanks.
SHARP.
This must be Bellmour he means.
Ha!
I have a thought— SIR JO.
Zooks, would the captain would come; the very remembrance makes me quake; agad, I shall never be reconciled to this place heartily.
SHARP.
’Tis but trying, and being where I am at worst, now luck!
—cursed fortune!
this must be the place, this damned unlucky place— SIR JO.
Agad, and so ’tis.
Why, here has been more mischief done, I perceive.
SHARP.
No, ’tis gone, ’tis lost—ten thousand devils on that chance which drew me hither; ay, here, just here, this spot to me is hell; nothing to be found, but the despair of what I’ve lost.
[_Looking about as in search_.
] SIR JO.
Poor gentleman!
By the Lord Harry I’ll stay no longer, for I have found too— SHARP.
Ha!
who’s that has found?
What have you found?
Restore it quickly, or by— SIR JO.
Not I, sir, not I; as I’ve a soul to be saved, I have found nothing but what has been to my loss, as I may say, and as you were saying, sir.
SHARP.
Oh, your servant, sir; you are safe, then, it seems.
’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody good.
Well, you may rejoice over my ill fortune, since it paid the price of your ransom.
SIR JO.
I rejoice!
agad, not I, sir: I’m very sorry for your loss, with all my heart, blood and guts, sir; and if you did but know me, you’d ne’er say I were so ill-natured.
SHARP.
Know you!
Why, can you be so ungrateful to forget me?
SIR JO.
O Lord, forget him!
No, no, sir, I don’t forget you—because I never saw your face before, agad.
Ha, ha, ha!
SHARP.
How!
[_Angrily_.
] SIR JO.
Stay, stay, sir, let me recollect—he’s a damned angry fellow—I believe I had better remember him, until I can get out of his sight; but out of sight out of mind, agad.
[_Aside_.
] SHARP.
Methought the service I did you last night, sir, in preserving you from those ruffians, might have taken better root in your shallow memory.
SIR JO.
Gads-daggers-belts-blades and scabbards, this is the very gentleman!
How shall I make him a return suitable to the greatness of his merit?
I had a pretty thing to that purpose, if he ha’n’t frighted it out of my memory.
Hem!
hem!
sir, I most submissively implore your pardon for my transgression of ingratitude and omission; having my entire dependence, sir, upon the superfluity of your goodness, which, like an inundation, will, I hope, totally immerge the recollection of my error, and leave me floating, in your sight, upon the full-blown bladders of repentance—by the help of which, I shall once more hope to swim into your favour.
[_Bows_.
] SHARP.
So-h, oh, sir, I am easily pacified, the acknowledgment of a gentleman— SIR JO.
Acknowledgment!
Sir, I am all over acknowledgment, and will not stick to show it in the greatest extremity by night or by day, in sickness or in health, winter or summer; all seasons and occasions shall testify the reality and gratitude of your superabundant humble servant, Sir Joseph Wittoll, knight.
Hem!
hem!
SHARP.
Sir Joseph Wittoll?
SIR JO.
The same, sir, of Wittoll Hall in _Comitatu_ Bucks.
SHARP.
Is it possible!
Then I am happy to have obliged the mirror of knighthood and pink of courtesie in the age.
Let me embrace you.
SIR JO.
O Lord, sir!
SHARP.
My loss I esteem as a trifle repaid with interest, since it has purchased me the friendship and acquaintance of the person in the world whose character I admire.
SIR JO.
You are only pleased to say so, sir.
But, pray, if I may be so bold, what is that loss you mention?
SHARP.
Oh, term it no longer so, sir.
In the scuffle last night I only dropt a bill of a hundred pound, which, I confess, I came half despairing to recover; but, thanks to my better fortune— SIR JO.
You have found it, sir, then, it seems; I profess I’m heartily glad— SHARP.
Sir, your humble servant.
I don’t question but you are, that you have so cheap an opportunity of expressing your gratitude and generosity, since the paying so trivial a sum will wholly acquit you and doubly engage me.
SIR JO.
What a dickens does he mean by a trivial sum?
[_Aside_.
] But ha’n’t you found it, sir!
SHARP.
No otherwise, I vow to Gad, but in my hopes in you, sir.
SIR JO.
Humh.
SHARP.
But that’s sufficient.
’Twere injustice to doubt the honour of Sir Joseph Wittoll.
SIR JO.
O Lord, sir.
SHARP.
You are above, I’m sure, a thought so low, to suffer me to lose what was ventured in your service; nay, ’twas in a manner paid down for your deliverance; ’twas so much lent you.
And you scorn, I’ll say that for you— SIR JO.
Nay, I’ll say that for myself, with your leave, sir, I do scorn a dirty thing.
But, agad, I’m a little out of pocket at present.
SHARP.
Pshaw, you can’t want a hundred pound.
Your word is sufficient anywhere.
’Tis but borrowing so much dirt.
You have large acres, and can soon repay it.
Money is but dirt, Sir Joseph—mere dirt.
SIR JO.
But, I profess, ’tis a dirt I have washed my hands of at present; I have laid it all out upon my Back.
SHARP.
Are you so extravagant in clothes, Sir Joseph?
SIR JO.
Ha, ha, ha, a very good jest, I profess, ha, ha, ha, a very good jest, and I did not know that I had said it, and that’s a better jest than t’other.
’Tis a sign you and I ha’n’t been long acquainted; you have lost a good jest for want of knowing me—I only mean a friend of mine whom I call my Back; he sticks as close to me, and follows me through all dangers—he is indeed back, breast, and head-piece, as it were, to me.
Agad, he’s a brave fellow.
Pauh, I am quite another thing when I am with him: I don’t fear the devil (bless us) almost if he be by.
Ah!
had he been with me last night— SHARP.
If he had, sir, what then?
he could have done no more, nor perhaps have suffered so much.
Had he a hundred pound to lose?
[_Angrily_.
] SIR JO.
O Lord, sir, by no means, but I might have saved a hundred pound: I meant innocently, as I hope to be saved, sir (a damned hot fellow), only, as I was saying, I let him have all my ready money to redeem his great sword from limbo.
But, sir, I have a letter of credit to Alderman Fondlewife, as far as two hundred pound, and this afternoon you shall see I am a person, such a one as you would wish to have met with— SHARP.
That you are, I’ll be sworn.
[_Aside_.
] Why, that’s great and like yourself.
SCENE II.
[_To them_] CAPTAIN BLUFFE.
SIR JO.
Oh, here a’ comes—Ay, my Hector of Troy, welcome, my bully, my Back; agad, my heart has gone a pit pat for thee.
BLUFF.
How now, my young knight?
Not for fear, I hope; he that knows me must be a stranger to fear.
SIR JO.
Nay, agad, I hate fear ever since I had like to have died of a fright.
But— BLUFF.
But?
Look you here, boy, here’s your antidote, here’s your Jesuits’ powder for a shaking fit.
But who hast thou got with thee?
is he of mettle?
[_Laying his hand upon his sword_.
] SIR JO.
Ay, bully, a devilish smart fellow: ’a will fight like a cock.
BLUFF.
Say you so?
Then I honour him.
But has he been abroad?
for every cock will fight upon his own dunghill.
SIR JO.
I don’t know, but I’ll present you— BLUFF.
I’ll recommend myself.
Sir, I honour you; I understand you love fighting, I reverence a man that loves fighting.
Sir, I kiss your hilts.
SHARP.
Sir, your servant, but you are misinformed, for, unless it be to serve my particular friend, as Sir Joseph here, my country, or my religion, or in some very justifiable cause, I’m not for it.
BLUFF.
O Lord, I beg your pardon, sir, I find you are not of my palate: you can’t relish a dish of fighting without sweet sauce.
Now, I think fighting for fighting sake’s sufficient cause; fighting to me’s religion and the laws.
SIR JO.
Ah, well said, my Hero; was not that great, sir?
by the Lord Harry he says true; fighting is meat, drink, and cloth to him.
But, Back, this gentleman is one of the best friends I have in the world, and saved my life last night—you know I told you.
BLUFF.
Ay!
Then I honour him again.
Sir, may I crave your name?
SHARP.
Ay, sir, my name’s Sharper.
SIR JO.
Pray, Mr. Sharper, embrace my Back.
Very well.
By the Lord Harry, Mr. Sharper, he’s as brave a fellow as Cannibal, are not you, Bully-Back?
SHARP.
Hannibal, I believe you mean, Sir Joseph.
BLUFF.
Undoubtedly he did, sir; faith, Hannibal was a very pretty fellow—but, Sir Joseph, comparisons are odious—Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days, it must be granted—but alas, sir!
were he alive now, he would be nothing, nothing in the earth.
SHARP.
How, sir!
I make a doubt if there be at this day a greater general breathing.
BLUFF.
Oh, excuse me, sir!
Have you served abroad, sir?
SHARP.
Not I, really, sir.
BLUFF.
Oh, I thought so.
Why, then, you can know nothing, sir: I am afraid you scarce know the history of the late war in Flanders, with all its particulars.
SHARP.
Not I, sir, no more than public letters or gazettes tell us.
BLUFF.
Gazette!
Why there again now.
Why, sir, there are not three words of truth the year round put into the Gazette.
I’ll tell you a strange thing now as to that.
You must know, sir, I was resident in Flanders the last campaign, had a small post there, but no matter for that.
Perhaps, sir, there was scarce anything of moment done but an humble servant of yours, that shall be nameless, was an eye-witness of.
I won’t say had the greatest share in’t, though I might say that too, since I name nobody you know.
Well, Mr. Sharper, would you think it?
In all this time, as I hope for a truncheon, this rascally gazette-writer never so much as once mentioned me—not once, by the wars—took no more notice than as if Nol.
Bluffe had not been in the land of the living.
SHARP.
Strange!
SIR JO.
Yet, by the Lord Harry, ’tis true, Mr. Sharper, for I went every day to coffee-houses to read the gazette myself.
BLUFF.
Ay, ay, no matter.
You see, Mr. Sharper, after all I am content to retire; live a private person.
Scipio and others have done it.
SHARP.
Impudent rogue.
[_Aside_.
] SIR JO.
Ay, this damned modesty of yours.
Agad, if he would put in for’t he might be made general himself yet.
BLUFF.
Oh, fie!
no, Sir Joseph; you know I hate this.
SIR JO.
Let me but tell Mr. Sharper a little, how you ate fire once out of the mouth of a cannon.
Agad, he did; those impenetrable whiskers of his have confronted flames— BLUFF.
Death, what do you mean, Sir Joseph?
SIR JO.
Look you now.
I tell you he’s so modest he’ll own nothing.
BLUFF.
Pish, you have put me out, I have forgot what I was about.
Pray hold your tongue, and give me leave.
[_Angrily_.
] SIR JO.
I am dumb.
BLUFF.
This sword I think I was telling you of, Mr. Sharper.
This sword I’ll maintain to be the best divine, anatomist, lawyer, or casuist in Europe; it shall decide a controversy or split a cause— SIR JO.
Nay, now I must speak; it will split a hair, by the Lord Harry, I have seen it.
BLUFF.
Zounds, sir, it’s a lie; you have not seen it, nor sha’n’t see it; sir, I say you can’t see; what d’ye say to that now?
SIR JO.
I am blind.
BLUFF.
Death, had any other man interrupted me— SIR JO.
Good Mr. Sharper, speak to him; I dare not look that way.
SHARP.
Captain, Sir Joseph’s penitent.
BLUFF.
Oh, I am calm, sir, calm as a discharged culverin.
But ’twas indiscreet, when you know what will provoke me.
Nay, come, Sir Joseph, you know my heat’s soon over.
SIR JO.
Well, I am a fool sometimes, but I’m sorry.
BLUFF.
Enough.
SIR JO.
Come, we’ll go take a glass to drown animosities.
Mr. Sharper, will you partake?
SHARP.
I wait on you, sir.
Nay, pray, Captain; you are Sir Joseph’s back.
SCENE III.
ARAMINTA, BELINDA, BETTY _waiting_, _in Araminta’s apartment_.
BELIN.
Ah!
nay, dear; prithee, good, dear, sweet cousin, no more.
O
Gad!
I swear you’d make one sick to hear you.
ARAM.
Bless me!
what have I said to move you thus?
BELIN.
Oh, you have raved, talked idly, and all in commendation of that filthy, awkward, two-legged creature man.
You don’t know what you’ve said; your fever has transported you.
ARAM.
If love be the fever which you mean, kind heaven avert the cure.
Let me have oil to feed that flame, and never let it be extinct till I myself am ashes.
BELIN.
There was a whine!
O Gad, I hate your horrid fancy.
This love is the devil, and, sure, to be in love is to be possessed.
’Tis in the head, the heart, the blood, the—all over.
O Gad, you are quite spoiled.
I shall loathe the sight of mankind for your sake.
ARAM.
Fie!
this is gross affectation.
A little of Bellmour’s company would change the scene.
BELIN.
Filthy fellow!
I wonder, cousin— ARAM.
I wonder, cousin, you should imagine I don’t perceive you love him.
BELIN.
Oh, I love your hideous fancy!
Ha, ha, ha, love a man!
ARAM.
