The Country Wife by William Wycherley (ebook reader ink .TXT) 📕

for her? Aside. Sparkish You sorry for’t? why, do you know any ill by her? Horner No, I know none but by thee; ’tis for her sake, not yours, and another man’s sake that might have hoped, I thought. Sparkish Another man! another man! what is his name? Horner Nay, since ’tis past, he shall be nameless.⁠—Aside. Poor Harcourt! I am sorry thou hast missed her. Pinchwife He seems to be much troubled at the match. Aside. Sparkish Prithee, tell me⁠—Nay, you shan’t go, brother. Pinchwife I must of necessity, but I’ll come to you to dinner. Exit. Sparkish But, Harry, what, have I a rival in my wife already? But with all my heart, for he may be of use to me hereafter; for though my hunger is now my sauce, and I can fall on heartily without, the time will come, when a rival will be as good sauce for a married man to a wife, as an orange to veal. Horner O thou damned rogue! thou hast set my teeth on edge with thy orange. Sparkish Then let’s to dinner⁠—there I was with you again. Come. Horner But who dines with thee? Sparkish My friends and relations, my brother Pinchwife, you see, of your acquaintance. Horner And his wife? Sparkish No, ’gad, he’ll ne’er let her come amongst us good fellows; your stingy country coxcomb keeps his wife from his friends, as he does his little firkin of ale, for his own drinking, and a gentleman can’t get a smack on’t; but his servants, when his back is turned, broach it at their pleasures, and dust it away, ha! ha! ha!⁠—’Gad, I am witty, I think, considering I was married today, by the world; but come⁠— Horner No, I will not dine with you, unless you can fetch her too. Sparkish Pshaw! what pleasure canst thou have with women now, Harry? Horner My eyes are not gone; I love a good prospect yet, and will not dine with you unless she does too; go fetch her, therefore, but do not tell her husband ’tis for my sake. Sparkish Well, I’ll go try what I can do; in the meantime, come away to my aunt’s lodging, ’tis in the way to Pinchwife’s. Horner The poor woman has called for aid, and stretched forth her hand, doctor; I cannot but help her over the pale out of the briars. Exeunt. Scene IV

A room in Pinchwife’s house.

Mrs. Pinchwife alone, leaning on her elbow.⁠—A table, pen, ink and paper. Mrs. Pinchwife Well, ’tis e’en so, I have got the London disease they call love; I am sick of my husband, and for my gallant. I have heard this distemper called a fever, but methinks ’tis like an ague; for when I think of my husband, I tremble, and am in a cold sweat, and have inclinations to vomit; but when I think of my gallant, dear Mr. Horner, my hot fit comes, and I am all in a fever indeed; and, as in other fevers, my own chamber is tedious to me, and I would fain be removed to his, and then methinks I should be well. Ah, poor Mr. Horner! Well, I cannot, will not stay here; therefore I’ll make an end of my letter to him, which shall be a finer letter than my last, because I have studied it like anything. Oh sick, sick! Takes the pen and writes. Enter Pinchwife, who seeing her writing, steals softly behind her and looking over her shoulder, snatches the paper from her. Pinchwife What, writing more letters? Mrs. Pinchwife O Lord, bud, why d’ye fright me so? She offers to run out; he stops her, and reads. Pinchwife How’s this? nay, you shall not stir, madam:⁠—“Dear, dear, dear Mr. Horner”⁠—very well⁠—I have taught you to write letters to good purpose⁠—but let us see’t. “First, I am to beg your pardon for my boldness in writing to you, which I’d have you to know I would not have done, had not you said first you loved me so extremely, which if you do, you will never suffer me to lie in the arms of another man whom I loathe, nauseate, and detest.”⁠—Now you can write these filthy words. But what follows?⁠—“Therefore, I hope you will speedily find some way to free me from this unfortunate match, which was never, I assure you, of my choice, but I’m afraid ’tis already too far gone; however, if you love me, as I do you, you will try what you can do; but you must help me away before tomorrow, or else, alas! I shall be forever out of your reach, for I can defer no longer our⁠—our⁠—” what is to follow “our”?⁠—speak, what⁠—our journey into the country I suppose⁠—Oh woman, damned woman! and Love, damned Love, their old tempter! for this is one of his miracles; in a moment he can make those blind that could see, and those see that were blind, those dumb that could speak, and those prattle who were dumb before; nay, what is more than all, make these dough-baked, senseless, indocile animals, women, too hard for us their politic lords and rulers, in a moment. But make an end of your letter, and then I’ll make an end of you thus, and all my plagues together. Draws his sword. Mrs. Pinchwife O Lord, O Lord, you are such a passionate man, bud! Enter Sparkish. Sparkish How now, what’s here to do? Pinchwife This fool here now! Sparkish What! drawn upon your wife? You should never do that, but at night in the dark, when you can’t hurt her. This is my sister-in-law, is it not? ay, faith, e’en our country Margery; Pulls aside her handkerchief one may know her. Come, she and you must go dine with me; dinner’s ready, come. But where’s my wife? is she not come home yet? where is she? Pinchwife Making you a cuckold; ’tis that they all do, as soon as they can. Sparkish What, the wedding-day? no, a wife that designs to make a cully of her husband will be sure to let