[1]A WIFE WELL MANAG'D.

ACT I. SCENE I.

AH, Inis! My Indiſpoſition is not to be cur'd.

Not without apply⯑ing the proper Medicine I grant ye.—Well, had I ſuch a Confeſſor as Father Bernardo—I ſay no more—but I ſancy nothing wou'd trouble my Conſcience long.

My Meaning depends upon yours, Ma⯑dam; pray what do you mean by painting Farther Bernardo's Picture in every Room in the Houſe, at your Beds-head, your Toilet, at the Bottom of your Crucifix, at every Cor⯑ner of your Handkerchief, nay upon your ve⯑ry Fan too, as if the Good Father, like the Traveller in the Fable, cou'd heat and cool at once?

Is there any harm in wearing a good Man's Picture? Is he not one of the Pillars of our Church? Eminent for de claiming againſt Heriſy and Schiſm, and fain wou'd reconcile the World to Rome s pure Religion? Oh they are bleſt that he Converts, happy the Pair, who e'er they be, that are in Wedlock joyn'd by him. Wou'd I had been one of thoſe.

If the Good Father has this healing Art, Why are you uneaſy? A little of his comfortable Conſolation wou'd revive the Co⯑lour in thoſe Cheeks, and give great Satiſ⯑faction to your Mind, or I have loſt my Judg⯑ment, and I don't uſe to be out in my Gueſs, where Love's the Riddle.

Well, ſince thou haſt hit my Diſtem⯑per ſo exactly, Girl, I'll confeſs ingeniouſly to thee, I do love Father Bernardo to Diſtra⯑ction, but how to diſcover my Paſſion, or what Reception it may meet with when diſ⯑cover'd, is that which wracks me.

A kind one I warrant you, Madam: For tho' Prieſts are forbid to marry, as a mortal Sin, Fornication was never reckon'd [3] more than Venial; and for Diſcovery, whilſt there's Pen, Ink, and Paper in the World, a Woman can never be at a loſs to tell her Mind. Write to him Madam, write to him.

But who ſhall carry it?

Your Iriſh Footman; he's a ſimple ho⯑neſt Fellow, and may eaſily be manag'd; do you write your Letter, Madam, and I'll give him Inſtructions in the mean Time.

I'll do it this Minute.

Well Mrs. Inis; What Commands have you for Teague now?

Do you think you can do a Meſſage cunningly, Teague?

Cunningly! Yes Faith, we are all ſo cunning now—What for a Meſſage is it?

It is a Letter for Father Bernardo at the Convent of St. Francis; if you do it handſom⯑ly, a Moider is your Reward; do you hear, but if you make any Miſtake—

Hub, bub, bub, bu, Miſtake! No Faith won't I, Arra! An will you be after giving me the Moider indeed, and by my Shoul now?

Upon Honour.—

Arra, ſay no more now—I will be here agen in a Quarter of an Hour.

But you muſt ſtay for the Letter, Teague.

No, no, 'tis no Matter; I have a [4] very clean Letter in my Pocket which will do very well, upon my Shoul.

and ſave Time, yes Faith will it.

Ha ha; no, no, Teague, that won't do; come along with me, and I'll give you the Letter; but if you ſhou'd meet my Maſter Don Piſalto, not a Word of the Letter for your Life—And I charge you to give it into no Hands but the Prieſts, and bring me an Anſwer, and then the Moider is your own.

Faith will I.—

Arra, pon my Shoul, I have for⯑got this plaguy Prieſt's Name—Yes Faith have I—Father Bom, Bom, Bom,—By St. Patrick I don't know who to ask for now—Arra, What ſhall I do?—Who the Devil ſhall I get to read the Outſide of this Letter now?

For Father Bernardo.

Oh, pon my Shoulvation dat is the Name now.

Ha, my Maiſtre! What ſhall I ſay now,

Whither are you going with that Letter Sirrah? It is my Wives Hand,

Ha ha, pon my Shoul, a very good [5] Jeſt, firſt reads the Direction, and then asks me whither it goes.

It may not prove ſo good a Jeſt as you think Sirrah—Who gave you that Letter?

Arra Maiſtre, you are very uncivil now to enquire into other Folks Buſineſs, ſo you are, yes Faith are you.

I ſhall be ſo very uncivil to break your Head Raſcal, if you don't anſwer me to the Purpoſe; give me the Letter you Dog you.

Faith won't I—That's the Way to loſe the Moider, which I am to have for carrying it.

A Moider for carrying it! Sure the Buſineſs muſt be very urgent, when the Poſtage is ſo dear. Give it me, I ſay, or or,

No pon my Shoul won't I.

Won't you Sirrah?

Arra, take the Letter

Pox upon me, if I don't wiſh the Devil had you both, yes Faith do I; for poor Teague loſes his Moider now, and Mrs. Inis will never ſend me of no more Arrands, no Faith won't ſhe.

Inis, Ho! Did ſhe give it you—

Yes indeed now, and I believe there is ſome very great Sin in the Letter now, that the Good Father was to ſend his Pardon for, ſo I do.

Monſtrous! What do I ſee? Yes here is a Sin with a Witneſs—

Dear Father, you'll forgive me when I tell you, that the more I ſee you, the more I hate my Husband, (very fine) and the more I pray a⯑gainſt Temptation, the more powerfully my Inclinations plead in your Behalf, (Furies and Diſtraction,)—I implore your charitable Aſſiſtance to conquer this unruly Sin— (Yes I'll help you with a Vengance to you)—No⯑thing but your Company can prolong the Life of Flora.

Very well. Inis gave you this Letter you ſay!

Yes Faith did ſhe—Arra dear honny Maiſtre, an you have don with the Letter give it now, that I may carry it to the Good Father, what de ye call him, or I ſhall loſe the Moider, yes Faith ſhall I.

Ha! A lucky Thought comes in⯑to my Head, and this Fellows Simplicity is of uſe: Hark ye, Teague, come you along with me, I am acquainted with Father Ber⯑nardo, I'll procure you an Anſwer to this Let⯑ter—It is as you ſay, a Letter of Confeſſion, and I believe Inis might not perform Articles with you, if ſhe knew I had ſeen it; but take you no Notice of that, do you hear—And there is two Moiders for you Sirrah.

Oh. by my Shoul Teague is dumb—Now I ſhall have three Moiders; Faith this is a lucky beating for poor Teague; now will I drink St. Patrick's Health till I am as red as a Potato, yes Faith will I

I have had very odd Dreams to Night; methought I was in Bed with Lady Piſalto—Ah, wou'd it was true, for ſhe is a charming Woman; by St. Anthony I never hear her Confeſſion, but my Virtue is much ſtagger'd; the Fleſh and Spirit hold ſtrong Contention; Oh, ſhe's a delicious Morſel.

Ha! Her Husband, I hope did not overhear me.

So, I have diſpatch'd the Iriſhman. Ha! Father Bernardo, well met; I was go⯑ing to your Convent, I have a Favour to ask of you.

You command me, Senior, Piſalto, pray what is it?

Why I muſt deſire you to procure me a Habit of your Order for an Hour or two.

I hope you have no Enterprize in View, that may ſcandalize the Prieſthood.

Fy, fy, does a Man of my Years give you Room for Suſpicion? Beſides, I am a married Man you know.

And to the moſt beautiful Lady in Madrid—A Religious, Virtuous Lady; Ah, you are a happy Man, Senior.

A Curſe of the Happineſs—Her Virtue, and your Sanctity, Father, might have begot a Monſter, call'd a Cuckold, if For⯑tune [8] had not flung me in the Way to prevent it.

What ſay you, Senior!

I ſay I am contented, Father.

Contented! Why another Man wou'd be tranſported, raviſh'd, nay almoſt guilty of Idolatry.

Humph! There wou'd have been fine Work if they had come together; Oh, theſe Prieſts are full of Abſtinence, and Piety!

If you'll oblige me with a Habit, let it be immediately, and I ſhou'd be proud if you'd give me your Company this Evening to ſup with my Wife and I; I'll aſſure you Fa⯑ther, ſhe has a profound Reſpect for you.

I am much oblig'd to her, Senior, I'll not fail to accept your kind Invitation, come along with me and I'll give you the Habit.—A profound Reſpect for me—Oh, that it were Love.

I'll ſend for them this Minute, Fa⯑ther, but now I muſt pay a Viſit to my vir⯑tuous Wife, and ſee how ſhe bears her Ex⯑pectation.

SCENE Changes.

He has anſwer'd me as I cou'd wiſh—Dear, dear Inis, how ſhall I reward thee? [9] Take that in Earneſt of my future Kindneſs, he ſays he will come in the Twilight, which will ſoon be here, tho' not ſo ſoon as I cou'd wiſh it:—He deſires, for Reaſons which he will give me, he ſays, to be admitted in the Dark, which caution does not diſpleaſe me, ſince it will prevent the Confuſion I ſhou'd be in after ſuch a Declaration.—

He did that on purpoſe, Madam; he is a true Cavalier, and underſtands his Buſi⯑neſs to a Hair; he knows Darkneſs is neceſ⯑ſary upon rheſe Occaſions; it prevents a La⯑dy's Bluſhes.—Ods heart, Madam, here's my Lord, I hear him cough.

Oh miſchevious Minute;—Here, here, run down the back Stairs, and burn that Letter immediately.

I'll to my Book.

There ſhe ſits,—as if ſhe knew nothing of the Matter,—a Cockatrice,—What always at thy Devotion, Figgup?

How can I paſs my Time better in your Abſence, Pudſey? Were it not for theſe good Books, I ſhou'd be very melancholy, when you are from me, Pudſey.

Hell confound her for a deſembling Witch.

What ails my Pudſey? You look out of Humour with your nown Figgup, What have I done, ha?

Nothing yet I hope;—But that's no Fault of hers.

Nay, what are you ſtudying for, Pud, ha!

Why if you muſt know, little Figgey,—then I'll tell thee; Don Cammaray lays claim to Part of that Eſtate I bought laſt Year, and I muſt he oblig'd to leave my dear Figgup for two or three Hours this Evening, in order to conſult my Lawyers about that Matter, that's all Figgey;—And I was afraid thou ſhould'ſt take it ill of thy nown Pud.

Lucky beyond Expreſſion:

No, no, Pud, I am not ſo unreaſonable nei⯑ther;—I can divert my ſelf with my Books till thy return.—But do Puddey—make all the Haſte you can to your nown Figgup—

Ay, ay, more haſte than you'd wiſh I dare ſwear.

That I will my Precious.—

What never a parting Kiſs, Pudſey? Oh you don't love your Figgup! Go, go, you are a naughty Hubby;—I I I I wiſh I cou'd love you leſs than I do, ſo I do.

Did ever Woman make a Cuckold with a better Grace? Ounds ſhe outdoes an Engliſh Wife.—Nay don't weep Figgup; I'll ſtay with thee, let the Eſtate go how it will, rather than diſpleaſe my little Figgey.—

Heaven forbid, that wou'd be carry⯑ing the Jeſt too far.

No, no, I don't deſire that, Pud.

No, I dare ſwear it.

Go, but give me a kind Kiſs firſt, Pudſey.

Ah you are a coaxing Baggage.

Well, Good by Figgey.

Good by Pudſey—with all my Heart.

He is gone Girl moſt fortunately.

I overheard all, and wiſh you Joy of this lucky Opportunity,—Come, come, Ma⯑dam, away to your Chamber, 'tis near the Time,—and there contemplate on your coming Joy; whilſt I, your Harbinger of Bliſs, wait to conduct the Man that is to crown your Happineſs.

I fly, I fly Girl.

SCENE changes, and diſcovers Lady Piſalto leaning on a Couch.

Bleſs me, what Noiſe was that!—My Heart akes horridly leſt this old Cuff ſhou'd return and prevent my charming Prieſt.

Fear nothing, Father, ſtrait forward is your Way to Happineſs.

A Happineſs, I fear, will bode ſomebody no Good. Hiſt, hiſt, Daughter! Where are you?

Ha! He's come,—here, here, my too charming Father, can you forgive a Wo⯑man's Weakneſs—

Common Frailties of Fleſh and Blood,

if thou haſt pray'd a⯑gainſt it, thou haſt done thy Part, and we are bound to comfort thoſe that faint.

Oh, I have often pray'd, Father, but to no Purpoſe; you are the only Object of my Wiſhes, I bluſh, tho' in the Dark, to own how much I love you.—

Come to my Arms, and hide thoſe Bluſhes in my Boſom.

Is your Husband ſafe▪

Safe enough, tho' long he will not ſtay, Fortune ſmil'd upon my Wiſhes, and call'd him luckily abroad.—

Then let us improve the little Time we have; thus let me cool the raging Feaver in your Blood.

Oh! What do you mean, to murder me? Inhumane Monſter! Oh! Murder, Mur⯑der, Murder,—oh, oh, oh,

Bleſs me! What's the Matter, Madam?

Only adminiſtring a little Penance, Miſtreſs; it won't be amiſs to beſtow a little Charity upon you too.

The Devil take you, and your Pe⯑nance too, you old ſanctify'd Dog you: Thieves, Thieves; I'll have you equip'd for the Opera, Sarrah, I will ſo: A Light there a Light, here's Thieves in the Houſe—Oh, oh, Murder, Thieves,—my Lady's mur⯑der'd.—

I muſt not ſtay for a Light, leaſt they diſcover who I am:—One farewel Stroke—And now remember your Bene⯑factor, Miſtreſs Bawd.

Yeſs, I ſhall remember with a Ven⯑geance.

Arra by my Shoul what is de Matter now? Is de Houſe haunted? Has de great Devil and de little Devil put de Fright up⯑on you both together now?

Begon impertinent Fool.

Fool! Pon my Shoul Iriſhman are no Fools;—By St. Patrick, we make Fools of de very great many Engliſh, yes Faith and of de Spaniards too.

Get out Sirrah, or I'll fling the Can⯑dle at your Head.

Arra, Pox take your ugly Face, and him that wou'd put a Kiſs upon't, for Teague.

Oh, I am kill'd Inis! This curſed Prieſt has kill'd me.

Was there ever ſuch a Monſter? I dare ſwear I am black from Head to Foot, he laid on moſt unmercifully:—Well my Mind [14] miſgives me, this Prieſt is no Man, this feels like an occaſional Correction.

Occaſional, do you call it? I'm ſure he has given me occaſion to remember it this Twelve-Month.

Figgup, why Figgup—where are you Child?

Ah Heaven, my Husband's Voice—return'd ſo ſoon! What ſhall I ſay for my In⯑diſpoſition?

Oh Invention! Where art thou?

What, aſleep little Figgy?

Aſleep, Senior, no, no, alas my poor Lady had like to have been kill'd ſince you went.

Kill'd! As how? You make me tremble.

Going down Stairs, her Foot ſlipt, and down ſhe tumbled from Top to Bottom, and bruiz'd her ſelf ſo ſadly, that ſhe is not able to ſtir a Finger; it is a Mercy ſhe was not kill'd out right.

Excellent Wench.

Here's a pure Jade at Invention.—They ſay the Devil's a Lyar, but I'll be hang'd if this Wench won't out-lye the Devil.—I'm heartily ſorry for this Misfortune, poor dear Figgy;—but I hope thou haſt not broke any Bones, my dear Figgup?

But I am much hurt, Pudſey.

I'm ſorry for't, for I have invited Father Bernardo to ſup wirh us; I met him hard by here, and brought him back with me,—becauſe I know he is a Favourite with my Figgy.

Not ſo great a Favorite as he was, if you knew all.

I beg you wou'd excuſe me, Pudſey, I cannot come down, beſides I have no Sto⯑mach.

No! The Prieſt has given her and me Supper enough, more than we can digeſt this Twelve-month.

Well, if thou can'ſt not eat, there's no more to be ſaid. Take Care of your Lady, Inis.—We'll drink thy Health little Figgup.

My Heart riſes at the Villain, if I ſhou'd ſee him, I think in my Soul I ſhould tear his Eyes out; Oh that I cou'd be reveng'd.

Reveng'd! What Revenge cou'd you take bad enough, Madam? 'Tis impoſſible to find Revenge equal to the Affront; A Ropes End to a Lady that expected!—I cou'd flea him alive, ſo I cou'd.

My Head akes greiveouſly.

Let me cover you up upon the Bed, Madam, a little Sleep will Settle your Head agen.

SCENE changes

Your Lady poſſeſt ſay you?

'Tis even ſo Father, I left her well, and ſound in her Senſes, I thought, a⯑bout Two Hours ago; but now ſhe raves, calls Names, Fights, and talks of being beat by every Body that comes near her.

Poor Lady, I am exceeding ſorry, I'll take Care ſhe ſhall be pray'd for by the whole Convent.

I wiſh you wou'd ſee her Father, perhaps your Ghoſtly Admonition might do her good. Men of your Holy Function have Power over unclean Spirits; pray try what you can do for her.

Withal my Heart, but I have no Holy Water about me;—nothing frights the Devil like Holy Water,—thence comes the Pro⯑verb, you know.

I can help you to ſome, pleaſe to walk this Way, Father.

SCENE changes, and diſcovers Lady Piſalto on a Couch, aſleep.

Peace be here—Ha! She ſleeps:—How invitingly ſhe lies? Why what a deli⯑cious [17] Morſel has this old ſapleſs Long every Night to ſnoar over.

Well ſaid Prieſt;—Oh this is a Holy Man; no Wonder he's the Women's Favourite.—

I feel a ſtrange Diſorder on the Sud⯑dain,—my Pulſe beats quick, and every Senſe ſeems raviſh'd at this Object.—Ha! We are alone,—What hinders me to make uſe of the Opportunity?—

Zounds, I ſhall be Cuckolded be⯑fore my Face.

Beſides, none dare to preſs upon our Privacy,—we have that Advantage above the Laity, I'll try; if ſhe ſhould prove vir⯑tuous, and reſiſt, the Noiſe will paſs upon her Husband, as the Effect of her Poſſeſſion, for I ſhrewdly ſuſpect, ſhe is not mad indeed, and only puts it on to avoid the Embraces of that Skeleton, unfit for a Woman of her Youth and Fire.

Well, for a thorough pac'd Whore⯑maſter, commend me to a Prieſt, I ſay.

I'll try I'm reſolv'd.

Very well,—Zounds, I ſhan't contain my ſelf.—

Rapture! Her very Lips gives Ex⯑taſie!—She ſleeps very ſound—once more,

I dreamt! Ha! Bleſs me, the Mon⯑ſter's [18] here! Oh that I could look him dead.—

Oh do not riſe my charming Angel, let me feaſt my Eyes upon that lovely Face, the perfect Image of the Bleſt above.

Do not inſult me, thou ungrateful Traytor! Do not.

What means my Charmer? Oh for⯑give my raſh Proceeding, and blame your Eyes, thoſe dear bewitching Eyes, for all that I have done.

Off Monſter, Devil, worſe, if worſe can be, than Devil, thou very Prieſt.—

Excellent, it works now as I wou'd have it.—

You thought you had kill'd me, I ſuppoſe,—but you ſhall find, I live to tear your Eyes out, Monſter.

Help, Help, Help, bleſs me! She is really poſſeſt.

Ha! You here agen, Old Belzebub! but I'll be even with you now, I will ſo.

Ha, ha, I ſhall dye with Laugh⯑ing.

What do you mean Madam, pray be calm, I wou'd comfort you.

As how pray Father; I am much [19] miſtaken if you have any Thing that can com⯑fort a Lady.

Oh Wickedneſs! Have I nothing that can comfort a Lady?

Yes Villain, I can ſhow your Marks of Comfort, I can ſo; but I'll be reveng'd on thee, I will.

Yes, and I can ſhow 'em too; this for my Lady, this for my ſelf.

Ha, ha, O rare Figgup, O rare Inis.

Bleſs me! By St. Anthony they are both poſſeſt, the Maid has caught her Frenzy too, in Nomine Domine.—

Ha, ha, O rare Prieſt, ha, ha.

I'll Nomine Domine you, you had better have hang'd your ſelf in your Rope's End, than have uſed it about me, I'll make it a dear beating to you, Sirrah.

Oh Maria Mater ora pro nobis.

Ah! He'll drown me.—

Avant Sathan, I conjure thee, by St. Anthony, St. Bridget, and our Lady of Lo⯑retta.

—What, hoa, A Rape, A Rape, I'll cant you, I'll have you hang'd;—I'll ſhew the World the Jewel they doat on: I ſaw you when you [20] wou'd have raviſh'd my Lady,—thou Monſter of Iniquity.

Mercy on me, the Devil is very ſtrong in them both.

Ha, ha, I muſt releaſe the Prieſt, or they'll murder him between them.—Oh the Rage of a diſappointed Woman.—What's the Matter here? Pray Father withdraw, I am heartily ſorry for your ill Treatment, it is their height of Frenzy you ſee Father; I'll wait upon you in the next Room immediately, you can do them no Good I ſee, Father.

Alas Senior, they are ſo ſtrongly poſſeſt that no one Man can deal with them both.

Will you let him go Senior, why he wou'd have raviſh'd my Lady, if I had not cry'd out.

No Miſtreſs, you cry'd out be⯑cauſe he had not raviſh'd your Lady.—Go troop Miſtreſs, I ll reckon with you within.

And now Madam for you.—Do you know this Letter?

Ha! My Letter to Father Bernardo! the Villain has betray'd me!—and I'm un⯑done!

Why don't you anſwer me? What, are you dumb? Then I muſt fetch you to your Speech with this.

Ah! Defend me Heaven.

But why name I Heaven;—I have offended that in wronging you, tho' but in Thought;—Oh forgive me, have Pity on my Youth, and let me live, puniſh me as ſeverely as you pleaſe, let even him who has betray'd me, name my Penance, and then I'm ſure it will be harſh enough, what e'er it be, I will perform it moſt religiouſly.

I melt,—the cunning Baggage knows her Power.—

Oh! Do Pudſey do, won't you for⯑give your nown Figgup, can you pierce this Boſom you have kiſs'd ſo often, and ſee your Figgeys Blood run trickling down?—

I am conquer'd, I can hold no lon⯑ger.—Riſe Figgup, for this Time I will for⯑give thee; but on Condition you ne'er ſee your Ghoſtly Father more, no more Har⯑rangues in Praiſe of his Sanctity, and Holy⯑neſs of Life; Do you hear, Figgey?

No never indeed, Pudſey.

Take heed, for if again I catch you faulty, look to it, expect no Pardon.