![William Wycherley [Four Plays] - William Wycherley](/cover_866146.jpg "William Wycherley [Four Plays] - William Wycherley")
a man of less wit than yourself? Pardon my raillery, Sir Simon.
Sir Sim. No, no, I cannot keep company with a fool:—I wonder how men of parts can do't, there's something in't.
Mrs. Joyn. If you could, all your wise actions would be your own, and your money would be your own too.
Sir Sim. Nay, faith and troth, that's true; for your wits are plaguily given to borrow. They'll borrow of their wench, coachman, or linkboy, their hire, Mrs. Joyner; Dapperwit has that trick with a vengeance.
Mrs. Joyn. Why will you keep company with him then, I say? for, to be plain with you, you have followed him so long, that you are thought but his cully;[27] for every wit has his cully, as every squire his led captain.
Sir Sim. I his cully, I his cully, Mrs. Joyner! Lord, that I should be thought a cully to any wit breathing!
Mrs. Joyn. Nay, do not take it so to heart, for the best wits of the town are but cullies themselves.
Sir Sim. To whom, to whom, to whom, Mrs. Joyner?
Mrs. Joyn. To sempstresses and bawds.
Sir Sim. To your knowledge, Mrs. Joyner.—[Aside.] There I was with her.
Mrs. Joyn. To tailors and vintners, but especially to the French houses.
Sir Sim. But Dapperwit is a cully to none of them; for he ticks.
Mrs. Joyn. I care not, but I wish you were a cully to none but me; that's all the hurt I wish you.
Sir Sim. Thank you, Mrs. Joyner. Well, I will throw off Dapperwit's acquaintance when I am married, and will only be a cully to my wife; and that's no more than the wisest husband of 'em all is.
Mrs. Joyn. Then you think you shall carry Mrs. Martha?
Sir Sim. Your hundred guineas are as good as in your lap.
Mrs. Joyn. But I am afraid this double plot of yours should fail: you would sooner succeed if you only designed upon Mrs. Martha, or only upon my Lady Flippant.
Sir Sim. Nay, then, you are no woman of intrigue, faith and troth: 'tis good to have two strings to one's bow. If Mrs. Martha be coy, I tell the widow I put on my disguise for her; but if Mrs. Martha be kind to Jonas, Sir Simon Addleplot will be false to the widow: which is no more than widows are used to; for a promise to a widow is as seldom kept as a vow made at sea, as Dapperwit says.
Mrs. Joyn. I am afraid they should discover you.
Sir Sim. You have nothing to fear; you have your twenty guineas in your pocket for helping me into my service, and if I get into Mrs. Martha's quarters, you have a hundred more; if into the widow's, fifty:—happy go lucky! Will her ladyship be at your house at the hour?
Mrs. Joyn. Yes.
Sir Sim. Then you shall see when I am Sir Simon Addleplot and myself I'll look like myself; now I am Jonas, I look like an ass. You never thought Sir Simon Addleplot could have looked so like an ass by his ingenuity.
Mrs. Joyn. Pardon me, Sir Simon.
Sir Sim. Nay, do not flatter, faith and troth.
Mrs. Joyn. Come let us go, 'tis time.
Sir Sim. I will carry the widow to the French house.
Mrs. Joyn. If she will go.
Sir Sim. If she will go! why, did you ever know a widow refuse a treat? no more than a lawyer a fee, faith and troth: yet I know too—
No treat, sweet words, good mien, but sly intrigue
That must at length the jilting widow fegue.[28] [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—The French House. A table, wine and candles.
Enter Vincent, Ranger, and Dapperwit.
Dap. Pray, Mr. Ranger, let's have no drinking to-night.
Vin. Pray, Mr. Ranger, let's have no Dapperwit to-night.
Ran. Nay, nay, Vincent.
Vin. A pox! I hate his impertinent chat more than he does the honest Burgundy.
Dap. But why should you force wine upon us? we are not all of your gusto.
Vin. But why should you force your chawed jests, your damned ends of your mouldy lampoons, and last year's sonnets, upon us? we are not all of your gusto.
Dap. The wine makes me sick, let me perish!
Vin. Thy rhymes make me spew.
Ran. At repartee already! Come, Vincent. I know you would rather have him pledge you: here, Dapperwit—[Gives him the glass.]—But why are you so eager to have him drink always?
Vin. Because he is so eager to talk always, and there is no other way to silence him.
Enter Waiter.
Wait. Here is a gentleman desires to speak with Mr. Vincent.
Vin. I come. [Exit Vincent with Waiter.
Dap. He may drink, because he is obliged to the bottle for all the wit and courage he has; 'tis not free and natural like yours.
Ran. He has more courage than wit, but wants neither.
Dap. As a pump gone dry, if you pour no water down you will get none out, so—
Ran. Nay, I bar similes too, to-night.
Dap. Why, is not the thought new? don't you apprehend it?
Ran. Yes, yes, but—
Dap. Well, well, will you comply with his sottishness too, and hate brisk things in complaisance to the ignorant dull age? I believe shortly 'twill be as hard to find a patient friend to communicate one's wit to, as a faithful friend to communicate one's secret to. Wit has as few true judges as painting, I see.
Ran. All people pretend to be judges of both.
Dap. Ay, they pretend; but set you aside, and one or two more—
Ran. But why, has Vincent neither courage nor wit?
Dap. He has no courage, because he beat his wench for giving me les doux yeux once; and no wit, because he does not comprehend my thoughts; and he is a son of a whore for his ignorance. I take ignorance worse from any man than the lie, because 'tis as much as to say I am no wit.
Re-enter Vincent.
You
