DELIA.
Jocu.
Harkye, dear Madam Delia, a Word with you, if you
please.
Delia.
No Impertinence, Sir.
Jocu. [Aside.]
Hah! Madam Pert! A true Abigail every
Inch of her: I'll have a little Diversion with her since that's
the Case.—Harkye, Mrs. Delia, I would advise you not to be
so coy; 'tis quite out of fashion, upon my Honour it is.—Besides
-- 24 --
you can't afford it now-a-days; if you don't get you a
Husband before you are One-and-twenty you'll be sure never
to get one at all.
Delia.
Hah! and why so pray, Sir?
Jocu.
Because you can neither keep your Features or Complexion
any longer.
Delia.
No, for what reason, wise Sir?
Jocu.
By reason of your playing Cards all Night, Madam,
and drinking Strong-Waters all Day.
Delia.
Fool, farewel, I keep no such unmannerly Company.
[Running from him.
Jocu. [Catching her.]
Nay, pr'ythee stay you dear hard-hearted
Creature; if Gremio was to desire it you'd consent, I
warrant ye.
Delia.
And what then, art thou a Gremio? No, he diverts
and pleases me with his sweet Voice; you deafen me with your
impertinent Clack; I hate and despise a Fool's Wit as much as
I do his ridiculous Coat: When you sing as sweetly as Gremio
does I'll promise to stay and hear you.
Jocu.
Indeed, Delia, you must stay now.
Delia.
Well, I will stay then, provided thou wilt promise
me one thing.
Jocu.
Ay, ay, with all my Heart.—But hold, what is it
tho?
Delia.
Why, that you'll go, Booby.
Jocu.
Heyday, Madam Delia, that is not right for you to
turn Jester, and take my Business off my Hands.
Delia.
You should give your Mistress better Jests then, or
else her Fool's Jacket is ill bestow'd.
Jocu.
O Mistress Delia, the Business of a Jester is not like
that of a Chambermaid; to lye well, and jest well, are two
different things.—'Tis much easier to cheat People, than to
make 'em laugh.
Delia.
Silence, Impudence, and don't open thy booby Chops,
or else I'll leave the Place this Moment.
Jocu.
What! not speak?
Delia.
No, be sure you don't.
Jocu.
Well, I won't then.
[Courting her in dumb Shew.
Delia.
Pr'ythee don't distort that little scurvy Carcase of
thine; thou need'st not take pains to make ugly Faces, for thou
-- 25 --
hast one ready made to thy Hands.—Where is this Gremio? I
wish he was here to entertain one with a Song.
Jocu.
Ay, all your fine Ladies now-a-days are to be taken
by the Ear: If a Man has but a tuneable Gullet 'tis enough.
'Sbobs! why can't I sing as well as another? Han't I a pair
of Lungs? Han't I a Throat? Han't I a Tongue as well as
he? And I was not born in England, was I? Yes, yes, I can
sing, I'm sure I can, tho' no body has happen'd to find it out
yet, and tho' I don't know it myself neither.
Delia.
I should be glad to hear thee for the rarity of the
thing. But harkye, Joculo, there's but one way you can possibly
gain my Affection; I want the glory of having somebody
die for Love of me; that's a Pleasure I have never had
yet, and I find I should love a Man prodigiously that lov'd
me enough to hang or drown himself for me.
Jocu.
You'd love a Man that was to kill himself for you,
would you?
Delia.
Yes.
Jocu.
And that's the only thing that can please you; is it,
Madam?
Delia.
Ay.
Jocu.
Um—I believe 'twill be some time then before I
shall please you that way. Ha, ha, ha! kill myself, with a
murrain! no, I'm not quite enough in Love to be such a Fool
as that comes to neither. Let your Song-monger sing some
dismal Ditty now, and then cut his warbling Gullet in two
for your sake.—Since, Madam Delia, you must needs have
a Sacrifice, I don't know a Calf that's fitter for the purpose.
Delia.
Is this the Heroism of a Lover, Joculo, when you
had such an Opportunity to eternalise yourself?
Jocu.
I don't know whether 'tis good Heroism or not, but
I'm sure 'tis good Politicks; I'd rather People should say—
In this Place Joculo was cowardly enough to refuse to kill himself
at Delia's Request, than—On this illustrious Spot of Earth
the heroick Joculo shot himself thro' the Head for Love of the
beauteous Delia.
Delia.
Very well!
Jocu.
Yes, with Glory's leave, I'd rather live two Days
in the World than a thousand Years in History; so Madam
-- 26 --
Delia, your Servant, I'll ev'n go seek out a Mistress that will
be contented with what a Man can do for her in this Life;
and you may take your Sign of a Man, your Echo, your
Semiquaver, to pipe with.
[Exit Joculo.
Delia.
Get thee gone, thou Bear, thou unpolish'd Brute.—
But here comes my Lady and Liberia in earnest Discourse; I
believe I had e'en best leave 'em to themselves.
[Exit.
Enter LUCILIA and LIBERIA.
Lucil.
I have one Request to make you, Cousin, which you
must absolutely grant me; the Lord Bellario loves you, and is
resolv'd to ask you of my Father.
Lib.
The Lord Bellario!
Lucil.
Yes, but I conjure you to reject his Addresses; I desire
and beg it of you that you'll gratify me in this.
Lib.
But, Cousin, if he lov'd you, you would not have him,
you say—which is a Fib, by the by, [Aside.]—and yet
you'll not let him be another's.
Lucil.
No, I can't bear to see him happy with another; if he
was I believe I should die with Vexation; he shan't have the
Pleasure of braving me intirely.
Lib.
Well, well, don't be afraid, my dear Child, I'll not steal
thy Bird's Nest from thee.—And d'ye really think me so blind
as not to see plainly what you'd be at?—Well, I say nothing;
I only wonder how any body can take it in their Head to like
such a gloomy Mortal as that is.—All I know is, that if ever
I do dance the Wedding-Dance, I'll not have an Elbow-Chair
for my Partner.
Lucil.
I must confess, Cousin, he's rather of too solitary a
Disposition.
Lib.
It would be an excellent Man that were made just in
the midway between him and Protheus; the one is too like an
Image, and says nothing; the other too like my Lady's eldest
Son perpetually tatling.
Lucil.
Then half Protheus' Impertinence in Bellario's Mouth,
and half Bellario's Melancholy in Protheus' Face.—
Lib.
With a good Leg, white Teeth, and Mony enough in
his Purse, Cousin, would win any Woman in Europe—if he
could but get her Good-will.
Lucil.
O' my Conscience, Cousin, thou will't never get a
Man to venture upon thee with that persecuting Wit of thine.
-- 27 --
Lib.
For which Blessing I am on my Knees every Morning
and Evening.—Lud! I could not endure a Husband with a
Beard on his Face; I had rather lie in Woollen.
Lucil.
Suppose a Husband of no Beard, Child—
Lib.
Ah lah! what should I do with him? dress him in my
cast Clothes, and make him my Waiting-Gentlewoman: He
that hath a Beard is more than a Youth, and he that hath no
Beard must be less than a Man; so that he who's more than a
Youth is not fit for me; and he that's less than a Man, I believe,
I should not be fit for him.
Lucil.
Poor Liberia! doom'd to die a Virgin at last.
Lib.
Even so, my Dear, and then, Heigh for Elysium
where the Batchelors sit, and there live as merry as the Day
is long.—And yet, my Dear, I'm sadly afraid sometimes
that I shan't be able to hold out to the last; I now and then
feel some strange kind of Twitchings about this silly Heart
of mine, that makes me fear I should surrender if I was closely
besieg'd.
SONG.
I like the am'rous Youth that's free
His Passion to declare,
For vig'rous Importunity
Ne'er fails to win the Fair.
None Cupid fear but Fools, the Boy
Hurts none who valiant prove;
He's Sweetness all, and gentle Joy,
To those who're skill'd in Love.
Then love, my Dear, and since Life's Prime
So swiftly flies away,
Let's by the Forelock seize old Time,
And revel whilst we may.
[Exeunt Hand in Hand.
End of the Second Act.
-- 28 --
James Miller [1737], The universal passion. A comedy. As it is Acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, By His Majesty's Servants (Printed for J. Watts at the Printing-Office in Wild-Court [etc.], London) [word count] [S34700].
