![William Wycherley [Four Plays] - William Wycherley](/cover_866146.jpg "William Wycherley [Four Plays] - William Wycherley")
knows yourself, and knows me, for I am none of those—
L. Flip. [Aside.] Now they are in—Mrs. Joyner, I'll go before to your house, you'll be sure to come after me.
Mrs. Joyn. Immediately.—[Exit Lady Flippant.] But as I was saying, I am none of those—
Gripe. No, Mrs. Joyner, you cannot sew pillows under folks' elbows; you cannot hold a candle to the devil; you cannot tickle a trout to take him; you—
Mrs. Joyn. Lord, how well you do know me indeed!—and you shall see I know your worship as well. You cannot backslide from your principles; you cannot be terrified by the laws; nor bribed to allegiance by office or preferment; you—
Gripe. Hold, hold, my praise must not interrupt yours.
Mrs. Joyn. With your worship's pardon, in truly, I must on.
Gripe. I am full of your praise, and it will run over.
Mrs. Joyn. Nay, sweet sir, you are—
Gripe. Nay, sweet Mrs. Joyner, you are—
Mrs. Joyn. Nay, good your worship, you are—[Stops her mouth with his handkerchief.
Gripe. I say you are—
Mrs. Joyn. I must not be rude with your worship.
Gripe. You are a nursing mother to the saints; through you they gather together; through you they fructify and increase; and through you the child cries from out of the hand-basket.
Mrs. Joyn. Through you virgins are married, or provided for as well; through you the reprobate's wife is made a saint; and through you the widow is not disconsolate, nor misses her husband.
Gripe. Through you—
Mrs. Joyn. Indeed you will put me to the blush.
Gripe. Blushes are badges of imperfection:—saints have no shame. You are—are the flower of matrons, Mrs. Joyner.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the pink of courteous aldermen.
Gripe. You are the muffler of secrecy.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the head-band of justice.
Gripe. Thank you, sweet Mrs. Joyner: do you think so indeed? You are—you are the bonfire of devotion.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the bellows of zeal.
Gripe. You are the cupboard of charity.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the fob of liberality.
Gripe. You are the rivet of sanctified love or wedlock.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the picklock and dark-lantern of policy; and, in a word, a conventicle of virtues.
Gripe. Your servant, your servant, sweet Mrs. Joyner! you have stopped my mouth.
Mrs. Joyn. Your servant, your servant, sweet alderman! I have nothing to say.
Sir Sim. The half pullet will be cold, sir.
Gripe. Mrs. Joyner, you shall sup with me.
Mrs. Joyn. Indeed I am engaged to supper with some of your man's friends; and I came on purpose to get leave for him too.
Gripe. I cannot deny you anything. But I have forgot to tell you what a kind of fellow my sister's Dapperwit is: before a full table of the coffee-house sages, he had the impudence to hold an argument against me in the defence of vests and protections; and therefore I forbid him my house; besides, when he came I was forced to lock up my daughter for fear of him, nay, I think the poor child herself was afraid of him.—Come hither, child, were you not afraid of Dapperwit?
Mrs. Mar. Yes indeed, sir, he is a terrible man.—Yet I durst meet with him in a piazza at midnight. [Aside.
Gripe. He shall never come into my doors again.
Mrs. Mar. Shall Mr. Dapperwit never come hither again then?
Gripe. No, child.
Mrs. Mar. I am afraid he will.
Gripe. I warrant thee.
Mrs. Mar. [Aside.] I warrant you then I'll go to him.—I am glad of that, for I hate him as much as a bishop.
Gripe. Thou art no child of mine, if thou dost not hate bishops and wits.—Well, Mrs. Joyner, I'll keep you no longer. [To Addleplot.] Jonas, wait on Mrs. Joyner.
Mrs. Joyn. Good night to your worship.
Gripe. But stay, stay, Mrs. Joyner: have you spoken with the widow Crossbite about her little daughter, as I desired?
Mrs. Joyn. I will to-morrow early; it shall be the first thing I'll do after my prayers.
Gripe. If Dapperwit should contaminate her!—I cannot rest till I have redeemed her from the jaws of that lion.—Good night.
Mrs. Joyn. Good gentleman. [Exeunt Gripe and Mrs. Martha.
Sir Sim. Ha! ha! ha! Mrs. Joyner.
Mrs. Joyn. What's the matter, Sir Simon?
Sir Sim. Ha! ha! ha!—let us make haste to your house, or I shall burst, faith and troth, to see what fools you and I make of these people.
Mrs. Joyn. I will not rob you of any of the credit; I am but a feeble instrument, you are an engineer.
Sir Sim. Remember what you say now when things succeed, and do not tell me then—I must thank your wit for all.
Mrs. Joyn. No, in truly, Sir Simon.
Sir Sim. Nay, I am sure Dapperwit and I have been partners in many an intrigue, and he uses to serve me so.
Mrs. Joyn. He is an ill man to intrigue with, as you call it.
Sir Sim. Ay, so are all your wits; a pox! if a man's understanding be not so public as theirs, he cannot do a wise action but they go away with the honour of it, if he be of their acquaintance.
Mrs. Joyn. Why do you keep such acquaintance then?
Sir Sim. There is a proverb, Mrs. Joyner, "You may know him by his company."
Mrs. Joyn. No, no, to be thought a man of parts, you must always keep company with a man of less wit than yourself.
Sir Sim. That's the hardest thing in the world for me to do, faith and troth.
Mrs. Joyn.
