[_Lod._ and _Isab._ kneel.
Sir _Pat._ Why, God-a-mercy--some comfort that,--God bless ye.--I shall love Disobedience while I live for't.
_Lod._ I am glad on't, Sir, for then I hope you will forgive _Leander_, who has married my Sister, and not my Mother.
Sir _Pat._ How! has he served me so?--I'll make him my Heir for't, thou hast made a Man of me, my Boy, and, faith, we will be merry,--Fair Lady, you may depart in peace, fair Lady, restoring my Money, my Plate, my Jewels and my Writings, fair Lady.--
L. _Fan._ You gave me no Money, Sir, prove it if you can; and for your Land, 'twas not settled with this Proviso, if she be honest?
Sir _Pat._ 'Tis well thou dost confess I am a Cuckold, for I wou'd have it known, fair Lady.
L. _Fan._ 'Twas to that end I married you, good Alderman.
Sir _Pat._ I'faith, I think thou didst, Sweet-heart, i'faith, I think thou didst.
_Wit._ Right, Sir, we have long been Lovers, but want of Fortune made us contrive how to marry her to your good Worship. Many a wealthy Citizen, Sir, has contributed to the maintenance of a younger Brother's Mistress; and you are not the first Man in Office that has been a Cuckold, Sir.
Sir _Pat._ Some comfort that too, the Brethren of the Chain cannot laugh at me.
Sir _Cred._ A very pleasant old Fellow this: faith, I cou'd be very merry with him now, but that I am damnable sad.--Madam, I shall desire to lay the Saddle on the right Horse.
[To L. _Kno._
L. _Kno._ What mean you, Sir?
Sir _Cred._ Only, Madam, if I were as some Men are, I should not be as I am.
L. _Kno._ It may be so, Sir.
Sir _Cred._ I say no more, but matters are not carried so swimmingly, but I can dive into the meaning on't.
[Sir _Patient_ talks this while to _Lodwick_.
L. _Kno._ I hate this hypothetical way of arguing, answer me categorically.
Sir _Cred._ Hypothetical and Categorical! what does she mean now?
[Aside.] --Madam, in plain _English_, I am made a _John-a-Nokes_ of, _Jack-hold-my-staff_, a _Merry Andrew_ Doctor, to give _Leander_ time to marry your Daughter; and 'twas therefore I was hoisted up in the Basket;--but as the play says, 'tis well 'tis no worse: I'd rather lose my Mistress than my Life.
Sir _Pat._ But how came this Rascal _Turboon_ to admit you?
_Lod._ For the Lucre of our Fees, Sir, which was his recompence.
Sir _Pat._ I forgive it you, and will turn Spark, they live the merriest Lives--keep some City Mistress, go to Court, and hate all Conventicles.
_You see what a fine City-Wife can do Of the true-breed; instruct her Husband too: I wish all civil Cuckolds in the Nation Would take example by my Reformation._
EPILOGUE,
Spoken by Mrs. _Gwin_.
I here and there o'erheard a Coxcomb cry, [Looking about.
Ah, Rot it--'tis a Woman's Comedy, One, who because she lately chanc'd to please us, With her damn'd Stuff, will never cease to teeze us.
What has poor Woman done, that she must be Debar'd from Sense, and sacred Poetry?
Why in this Age has Heaven allow'd you more, And Women less of Wit than heretofore?
We once were fam'd in story, and could write Equal to Men; cou'd govern, nay, cou'd fight.
We still have passive Valour, and can show, } Wou'd Custom give us leave, the active too, } Since we no Provocations want from you. } For who but we cou'd your dull Fopperies bear, Your saucy Love, and your brisk Nonsense hear; Indure your worse than womanish Affectation, Which renders you the Nusance of the Nation; Scorn'd even by all the Misses of the Town, A Jest to Vizard Mask, the _Pit-Buffoon_; A Glass by which the admiring Country Fool May learn to dress himself _en Ridicule:_ Both striving who shall most ingenious grow In Leudness, Foppery, Nonsense, Noise and Show.
And yet to these fine things we must submit Our Reason, Arms, our Laurels, and our Wit.
Because we do not laugh at you, when leud, And scorn and cudgel ye when you are rude.
That we have nobler Souls than you, we prove, By how much more we're sensible of Love; Quickest in finding all the subtlest ways To make your Joys, why not to make you Plays?
We best can find your Foibles, know our own, } And Jilts and Cuckolds now best please the Town; } Your way of Writing's out of fashion grown. } Method, and Rule--you only understand; Pursue that way of Fooling, and be damn'd.
Your learned Cant of Action, Time and Place, Must all give way to the unlabour'd Farce.
To all the Men of Wit we will subscribe: But for your half Wits, you unthinking Tribe, We'll let you see, whate'er besides we do, How artfully we copy some of you: And if you're drawn to th' Life, pray tell me then, Why Women should not write as well as Men.
NOTES: Sir Patient Fancy
NOTES ON THE TEXT.
+To the Reader+
p. 7, l. 1 _To the Reader._ Only in 4to 1678.
+Dramatis Personae+
p. 10 _Dramatis Personae._ I have added '_Abel_ (_Bartholmew_), Clerk to _Sir Patient Fancy_; _Brunswick_, a friend to _Lodwick Knowell_; _Antic_, Waiting-woman to _Lucretia_; Nurse; Guests.' In former editions the physicians are grouped together as 'Five Doctors', and The Lady _Knowell_ is mistakenly termed 'Mother to _Lodwick_ and _Isabella_', which I have corrected to 'and _Lucretia_'. I have noted the confusion of 'Abel' and 'Bartholmew' in the introduction, pp. 5-6.
+ACT I: Scene i+
p. 11, l. 2 I have added 'in Lady Knowell's House.'
p. 13, l. 14 _Foibles._ 4to 1678 'feables'.
p. 14, l. 17 _apamibominous ... podas._ 4to 1678 'apamibominus ...
Podis'.
p. 15, l. 3 _Mudd._ 1724 'mad'.
+ACT I: Scene ia+
p. 16, l. 12 _now, Curry, from._ 1724 omits 'Curry'.
p. 16, l. 25 _Branford._ 1724 here and _infra_ 'Brentford'.