The Beaux-Stratagem: A comedy in five acts. George Farquhar
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Enter Cherry
Cher. D'ye call, father?
Bon. Ay, child, you must lay by this box for the gentleman, 'tis full of money.
Cher. Money! all that money! why sure, father, the gentleman comes to be chosen parliament man. Who is he?
Bon. I don't know what to make of him; he talks of keeping his horses ready saddled, and of going, perhaps, at a minute's warning; or of staying, perhaps, till the best part of this be spent.
Cher. Ay! ten to one, father, he's a highwayman.
Bon. A highwayman! upon my life, girl, you have hit it, and this box is some new purchased booty. – Now, could we find him out, the money were ours.
Cher. He don't belong to our gang.
Bon. What horses have they?
Cher. The master rides upon a black.
Bon. A black! ten to one the man upon the black mare: and since he don't belong to our fraternity, we may betray him with a safe conscience: I don't think it lawful to harbour any rogues but my own. Lookye, child, as the saying is, we must go cunningly to work; proofs we must have; the gentleman's servant loves drink; I'll ply him that way, and ten to one he loves a wench; you must work him t'other way.
Cher. Father, would you have me give my secret for his?
Bon. Consider, child, there's two hundred pound, to boot. [Ringing without.] Coming, coming – child, mind your business.
Cher. What a rogue is my father! My father! I deny it – My mother was a good, generous, free-hearted woman, and I can't tell how far her goodnature might have extended for the good of her children. This landlord of mine, for I think I can call him no more, would betray his guest, and debauch his daughter into the bargain, – by a footman too!
Arch. What footman, pray, mistress, is so happy as to be the subject of your contemplation?
Cher. Whoever he is, friend, he'll be but little the better for't.
Arch. I hope so, for, I'm sure, you did not think of me.
Cher. Suppose I had?
Arch. Why then you're but even with me; for the minute I came in, I was considering in what manner I should make love to you.
Cher. Love to me, friend!
Arch. Yes, child.
Cher. Child! manners; if you kept a little more distance, friend, it would become you much better.
Arch. Distance! good night, saucebox. [Going.
Cher. A pretty fellow; I like his pride. – Sir – pray, sir – you see, sir. [Archer returns.] I have the credit to be entrusted with your master's fortune here, which sets me a degree above his footman; I hope, sir, you an't affronted.
Arch. Let me look you full in the face, and I'll tell you whether you can affront me or no. – 'Sdeath, child, you have a pair of delicate eyes, and you don't know what to do with them.
Cher. Why, sir, don't I see every body!
Arch. Ay, but if some women had them, they would kill every body. – Pr'ythee instruct me; I would fain make love to you, but I don't know what to say.
Cher. Why, did you never make love to any body before?
Arch. Never to a person of your figure, I can assure you, madam; my addresses have been always confined to people within my own sphere, I never aspired so high before.
But you look so bright,
And are dress'd so tight,
That a man would swear you're right,
As arm was e'er laid over.
Cher. Will you give me that song, sir?
Arch. Ay, my dear, take it while it is warm. [Kisses her.] Death and fire! her lips are honeycombs.
Cher. And I wish there had been a swarm of bees too, to have stung you for your impudence.
Arch. There's a swarm of Cupids, my little Venus, that has done the business much better.
Cher. This fellow is misbegotten, as well as I. [Aside.] What's your name, sir?
Arch. Name! egad, I have forgot it. [Aside.] Oh, Martin.
Cher. Where were you born?
Arch. In St. Martin's parish.
Cher. What was your father?
Arch. Of – of – St. Martin's parish.
Cher. Then, friend, goodnight.
Arch. I hope not.
Cher. You may depend upon't.
Arch. Upon what?
Cher. That you're very impudent.
Arch. That you're very handsome.
Cher. That you're a footman.
Arch. That you're an angel.
Cher. I shall be rude.
Arch. So shall I.
Cher. Let go my hand.
Arch. Give me a kiss. [Kisses her.
Boniface. [Calls without.] Cherry, Cherry!
Cher. I'm – My father calls; you plaguy devil, how durst you stop my breath so? – Offer to follow me one step, if you dare. [Exit.
Arch. A fair challenge, by this light; this is a pretty fair opening of an adventure; but we are knight-errants, and so fortune be our guide! [Exit.
ACT THE SECOND
SCENE I
Dor. 'Morrow, my dear sister; are you for church this morning?
Mrs. Sul. Any where to pray; for Heaven alone can help me: but I think, Dorinda, there's no form of prayer in the Liturgy against bad husbands.
Dor. But there's a form of law at Doctors' Commons; and I swear, sister Sullen, rather than see you thus continually discontented, I would advise you to apply to that: for besides the part that I bear in your vexatious broils, as being sister to the husband, and friend to the wife, your examples give me such an impression of matrimony, that I shall be apt to condemn my person to a long vacation all its life – But supposing, madam, that you brought it to a case of separation, what can you urge against your husband? my brother is, first, the most constant man alive.
Mrs. Sul. The most constant husband, I grant ye.
Dor. He never sleeps from you.
Mrs. Sul. No, he always sleeps with me.
Dor. He allows you a maintenance suitable to your quality.
Mrs. Sul. A maintenance! do you take me, madam, for an hospital child, that I must sit down and bless my benefactors, for meat, drink, and clothes? As I take it, madam, I brought your brother ten thousand pounds, out of which I might expect some pretty things, called pleasures.
Dor. You share in all the pleasures that the country affords.
Mrs. Sul. Country pleasures! racks and torments! dost think, child, that my limbs were made for leaping of ditches, and clambering over stiles; or that my parents, wisely foreseeing my future happiness in country pleasures, had early instructed me in the rural accomplishments of drinking fat ale, playing at whist, and smoaking tobacco with my husband; and stilling rosemary water,