The Country Wife was first performed in January 1672 at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. It traces several plot lines, the principle of which follows notorious rake Harry Horner’s attempt to carry on affairs by spreading a rumor that he was now a eunuch and no longer a threat to any man’s wife. It was controversial for its sexual explicitness even in its own time, having several notorious scenes filled with extended sexual innuendo and women carousing, singing riotous songs, and behaving exactly like their male counterparts.
With the restoration of the monarchy in 1660 the eighteen year ban on theater imposed by the Puritans was lifted. Charles II’s time in France had nurtured a fascination with the stage and, with his enthusiastic support, Restoration drama was soon once again a thriving part of the London culture—but it provided a completely different experience from Jacobean theater.
Christopher Wren’s newly built Theatre Royal provided a modern stage that accommodated innovations in scenic design and created a new relationship between actors and the audience. Another novelty, imported from France, was the presence of women on stage for the first time in British history. Restoration audiences were fascinated and often aghast to see real women perform, matching their male counterparts both in their wit and use of double entendre.
William Wycherley had spent some of the Commonwealth years in France and become interested in French drama. Borrowing extensively from Molière and others, he wrote several plays for this new theater, with his last two comedies, The Country Wife and The Plain Dealer, being the most famous. At the time, The Country Wife was considered the bawdiest and wittiest play yet seen on the English stage. It enjoyed popularity throughout the period but, as mores shifted and became more strict, the play was eventually considered too outrageous to be performed at all and between 1753 and 1924 was generally replaced on the stage by David Garrick’s cleaned-up, bland version.
and has been there a fortnight.
Dorilant
A pox! I can hear no more, prithee.
Horner
No, hear him out; let him tune his crowd a while.
Harcourt
The worst music, the greatest preparation.
Sparkish
Nay, faith, I’ll make you laugh.—It cannot be, says a third lady.—Yes, yes, quoth I again.—Says a fourth lady—
Horner
Look to’t, we’ll have no more ladies.
Sparkish
No—then mark, mark, now. Said I to the fourth, Did you never see Mr. Horner? he lodges in Russel-street, and he’s a sign of a man, you know, since he came out of France; ha! ha! ha!
Horner
But the devil take me if thine be the sign of a jest.
Sparkish
With that they all fell a-laughing, till they bepissed themselves. What, but it does not move you, methinks? Well, I see one had as good go to law without a witness, as break a jest without a laugher on one’s side.—Come, come, sparks, but where do we dine? I have left at Whitehall an earl, to dine with you.
Dorilant
Why, I thought thou hadst loved a man with a title, better than a suit with a French trimming to’t.
Harcourt
Go to him again.
Sparkish
No, sir, a wit to me is the greatest title in the world.
Horner
But go dine with your earl, sir; he may be exception. We are your friends, and will not take it ill to be left, I do assure you.
Harcourt
Nay, faith, he shall go to him.
Sparkish
Nay, pray, gentlemen.
Dorilant
We’ll thrust you out, if you won’t; what, disappoint anybody for us?
Sparkish
Nay, dear gentlemen, hear me.
Horner
No, no, sir, by no means; pray go, sir.
Sparkish
Why, dear rogues—
Dorilant
No, no.
They all thrust him out of the room.
All
Ha! ha! ha!
Re-enter Sparkish.
Sparkish
But, sparks, pray hear me. What, d’ye think I’ll eat then with gay shallow fops and silent coxcombs? I think wit as necessary at dinner, as a glass of good wine; and that’s the reason I never have any stomach when I eat alone.—Come, but where do we dine?
Horner
Even where you will.
Sparkish
At Chateline’s?
Dorilant
Yes, if you will.
Sparkish
Or at the Cock?5
Dorilant
Yes, if you please.
Sparkish
Or at the Dog and Partridge?
Horner
Ay, if you have a mind to’t; for we shall dine at neither.
Sparkish
Pshaw! with your fooling we shall lose the new play; and I would no more miss seeing a new play the first day, than I would miss sitting in the wit’s row. Therefore I’ll go fetch my mistress, and away.
Exit.
Enter Pinchwife.
Horner
Who have we here? Pinchwife?
Pinchwife
Gentlemen, your humble servant.
Horner
Well, Jack, by thy long absence from the town, the grumness of thy countenance, and the slovenliness of thy habit, I should give thee joy, should I not, of marriage?
Pinchwife
Aside. Death! does he know I’m married too? I thought to have concealed it from him at least.—Aloud. My long stay in the country will excuse my dress; and I have a suit of law that brings me up to town, that puts me out of humour. Besides, I must give Sparkish tomorrow five thousand pounds to lie with my sister.
Horner
Nay, you country gentlemen, rather than not purchase, will buy anything; and he is a cracked title, if we may quibble. Well, but am I to give thee joy? I heard thou wert married.
Pinchwife
What then?
Horner
Why, the next thing that is to be heard, is, thou’rt a cuckold.
Pinchwife
Insupportable name! Aside.
Horner
But I did not expect marriage from such a whoremaster as you; one that knew the town so much, and women so well.
Pinchwife
Why, I have married no London wife.
Horner
Pshaw! that’s all one. That grave circumspection in marrying a country wife, is like refusing a deceitful pampered Smithfield jade, to go and be cheated by a friend in the country.
Pinchwife
Aside. A pox on him and his simile!—Aloud. At least we are a little surer of the breed there, know what her keeping has been, whether foiled or unsound.
Horner
Come, come, I have known a clap gotten in Wales; and there are cousins, justices’ clerks, and chaplains in the country, I won’t say coachmen. But she’s handsome and young?
Pinchwife
Aside. I’ll answer as I should do.—Aloud. No, no; she has no beauty but her youth, no attraction but her modesty: wholesome, homely, and huswifely; that’s all.
Dorilant
He talks as like a grazier as he looks.
Pinchwife
She’s too awkward, ill-favoured, and silly to bring to town.
Harcourt
Then methinks you should bring her to be taught breeding.
Pinchwife
To be taught! no, sir, I thank you. Good wives and private soldiers should be ignorant—I’ll keep her from your instructions, I warrant you.
Harcourt
The rogue is as jealous as if his wife were not ignorant. Aside.
Horner
Why, if she be ill-favoured, there will be less danger here for you than by leaving her in the country. We have such variety of dainties that we are seldom hungry.
Dorilant
But they have always coarse, constant, swingeing stomachs in the country.
Harcourt
Foul feeders indeed!
Dorilant
And your hospitality is great there.
Harcourt
Open house; every man’s welcome.
Pinchwife
So, so, gentlemen.
Horner
But prithee, why shouldst thou marry her? If she be ugly, ill-bred, and silly, she must be rich then.
Pinchwife
As rich as if she brought me twenty thousand pound out of this town; for she’ll be as sure not to spend her moderate portion, as a London baggage would be to spend hers, let it be what it would: so ’tis all one. Then, because she’s ugly, she’s the likelier to be my own; and being ill-bred, she’ll hate conversation; and since silly and innocent, will not know the difference betwixt a man of one-and-twenty and one of forty.
Horner
Nine—to my knowledge. But if she be silly, she’ll expect as much from a man of forty-nine, as from him of one-and-twenty. But methinks wit is more necessary than beauty; and I think no young woman ugly that has it, and no handsome woman agreeable without it.
Pinchwife
’Tis my maxim, he’s
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