[To them] TATTLE and MRS FRAIL.
MRS FRAIL. O sister, the most unlucky accident.
MRS FORE. What's the matter?
TATT. Oh, the two most unfortunate poor creatures in the world we are.
FORE. Bless us! How so?
MRS FRAIL. Ah, Mr Tattle and I, poor Mr Tattle and I are--I can't speak it out.
TATT. Nor I. But poor Mrs Frail and I are -
MRS FRAIL. Married.
MRS FORE. Married! How?
TATT. Suddenly--before we knew where we were--that villain Jeremy, by the help of disguises, tricked us into one another.
FORE. Why, you told me just now you went hence in haste to be married.
ANG. But I believe Mr Tattle meant the favour to me: I thank him.
TATT. I did, as I hope to be saved, madam; my intentions were good.
But this is the most cruel thing, to marry one does not know how, nor why, nor wherefore. The devil take me if ever I was so much concerned at anything in my life.
ANG. 'Tis very unhappy, if you don't care for one another.
TATT. The least in the world--that is for my part: I speak for myself. Gad, I never had the least thought of serious kindness.--I never liked anybody less in my life. Poor woman! Gad, I'm sorry for her too, for I have no reason to hate her neither; but I believe I shall lead her a damned sort of a life.
MRS FORE. He's better than no husband at all--though he's a coxcomb. [To FRAIL.]
MRS FRAIL [to her]. Ay, ay, it's well it's no worse.--Nay, for my part I always despised Mr Tattle of all things; nothing but his being my husband could have made me like him less.
TATT. Look you there, I thought as much. Pox on't, I wish we could keep it secret; why, I don't believe any of this company would speak of it.
MRS FRAIL. But, my dear, that's impossible: the parson and that rogue Jeremy will publish it.
TATT. Ay, my dear, so they will, as you say.
ANG. Oh, you'll agree very well in a little time; custom will make it easy to you.
TATT. Easy! Pox on't, I don't believe I shall sleep to-night.
SIR SAMP. Sleep, quotha! No; why, you would not sleep o' your wedding-night? I'm an older fellow than you, and don't mean to sleep.
BEN. Why, there's another match now, as thof a couple of privateers were looking for a prize and should fall foul of one another. I'm sorry for the young man with all my heart. Look you, friend, if I may advise you, when she's going--for that you must expect, I have experience of her--when she's going, let her go. For no matrimony is tough enough to hold her; and if she can't drag her anchor along with her, she'll break her cable, I can tell you that. Who's here?
The madman?
SCENE the Last.
VALENTINE, SCANDAL, SIR SAMPSON, ANGELICA, FORESIGHT, MRS FORESIGHT, TATTLE, MRS FRAIL, BEN, JEREMY, BUCKRAM.
VAL. No; here's the fool, and if occasion be, I'll give it under my hand.
SIR SAMP. How now?
VAL. Sir, I'm come to acknowledge my errors, and ask your pardon.
SIR SAMP. What, have you found your senses at last then? In good time, sir.
VAL. You were abused, sir: I never was distracted.
FORE. How! Not mad! Mr Scandal -
SCAN. No, really, sir. I'm his witness; it was all counterfeit.
VAL. I thought I had reasons--but it was a poor contrivance, the effect has shown it such.
SIR SAMP. Contrivance! What, to cheat me? to cheat your father?
Sirrah, could you hope to prosper?
VAL. Indeed, I thought, sir, when the father endeavoured to undo the son, it was a reasonable return of nature.
SIR SAMP. Very good, sir. Mr Buckram, are you ready? Come, sir, will you sign and seal?
VAL. If you please, sir; but first I would ask this lady one question.
SIR SAMP. Sir, you must ask me leave first. That lady? No, sir, you shall ask that lady no questions till you have asked her blessing, sir: that lady is to be my wife.
VAL. I have heard as much, sir; but I would have it from her own mouth.
SIR SAMP. That's as much as to say I lie, sir, and you don't believe what I say.
VAL. Pardon me, sir. But I reflect that I very lately counterfeited madness; I don't know but the frolic may go round.
SIR SAMP. Come, chuck, satisfy him, answer him. Come, come, Mr Buckram, the pen and ink.
BUCK. Here it is, sir, with the deed; all is ready. [VALENTINE goes to ANGELICA.]
ANG. 'Tis true, you have a great while pretended love to me; nay, what if you were sincere? Still you must pardon me if I think my own inclinations have a better right to dispose of my person than yours.
