The Double-Dealer | Page 8

William Congreve
'em.
SCENE IV.
[To them] LORD TOUCHWOOD, LORD FROTH, SIR PAUL PLYANT, and BRISK.
LORD TOUCH. Out upon't, nephew. Leave your father-in-law and me to maintain our ground against young people!
MEL. I beg your lordship's pardon. We were just returning.
SIR PAUL. Were you, son? Gadsbud, much better as it is. Good, strange! I swear I'm almost tipsy; t'other bottle would have been too powerful for me,--as sure as can be it would. We wanted your company, but Mr. Brisk--where is he? I swear and vow he's a most facetious person, and the best company. And, my Lord Froth, your lordship is so merry a man, he, he, he.
LORD FROTH. Oh, foy, Sir Paul, what do you mean? Merry! Oh, barbarous! I'd as lieve you called me fool.
SIR PAUL. Nay, I protest and vow now, 'tis true; when Mr. Brisk jokes, your lordship's laugh does so become you, he, he, he.
LORD FROTH. Ridiculous! Sir Paul, you're strangely mistaken, I find champagne is powerful. I assure you, Sir Paul, I laugh at nobody's jest but my own, or a lady's, I assure you, Sir Paul.
BRISK. How? how, my lord? what, affront my wit! Let me perish, do I never say anything worthy to be laughed at?
LORD FROTH. Oh, foy, don't misapprehend me; I don't say so, for I often smile at your conceptions. But there is nothing more unbecoming a man of quality than to laugh; 'tis such a vulgar expression of the passion; everybody can laugh. Then especially to laugh at the jest of an inferior person, or when anybody else of the same quality does not laugh with one--ridiculous! To be pleased with what pleases the crowd! Now when I laugh, I always laugh alone.
BRISK. I suppose that's because you laugh at your own jests, i'gad, ha, ha, ha.
LORD FROTH. He, he, I swear though, your raillery provokes me to a smile.
BRISK. Ay, my lord, it's a sign I hit you in the teeth, if you show 'em.
LORD FROTH. He, he, he, I swear that's so very pretty, I can't forbear.
CARE. I find a quibble bears more sway in your lordship's face than a jest.
LORD TOUCH. Sir Paul, if you please we'll retire to the ladies, and drink a dish of tea to settle our heads.
SIR PAUL. With all my heart. Mr. Brisk, you'll come to us, or call me when you joke; I'll be ready to laugh incontinently.
SCENE V.
MELLEFONT, CARELESS, LORD FROTH, BRISK.
MEL. But does your lordship never see comedies?
LORD FROTH. Oh yes, sometimes; but I never laugh.
MEL. No?
LORD FROTH. Oh no; never laugh indeed, sir.
CARE. No! why, what d'ye go there for?
LORD FROTH. To distinguish myself from the commonalty and mortify the poets; the fellows grow so conceited, when any of their foolish wit prevails upon the side-boxes. I swear,--he, he, he, I have often constrained my inclinations to laugh,--he, he, he, to avoid giving them encouragement.
MEL. You are cruel to yourself, my lord, as well as malicious to them.
LORD FROTH. I confess I did myself some violence at first, but now I think I have conquered it.
BRISK. Let me perish, my lord, but there is something very particular in the humour; 'tis true it makes against wit, and I'm sorry for some friends of mine that write; but, i'gad, I love to be malicious. Nay, deuce take me, there's wit in't, too. And wit must be foiled by wit; cut a diamond with a diamond, no other way, i'gad.
LORD FROTH. Oh, I thought you would not be long before you found out the wit.
CARE. Wit! In what? Where the devil's the wit in not laughing when a man has a mind to't?
BRISK. O Lord, why can't you find it out? Why, there 'tis, in the not laughing. Don't you apprehend me? My lord, Careless is a very honest fellow, but harkee, you understand me, somewhat heavy, a little shallow, or so. Why, I'll tell you now, suppose now you come up to me--nay, prithee, Careless, be instructed. Suppose, as I was saying, you come up to me holding your sides, and laughing as if you would--well--I look grave, and ask the cause of this immoderate mirth. You laugh on still, and are not able to tell me, still I look grave, not so much as smile.
CARE. Smile, no, what the devil should you smile at, when you suppose I can't tell you!
BRISK. Pshaw, pshaw, prithee don't interrupt me. But I tell you, you shall tell me at last, but it shall be a great while first.
CARE. Well, but prithee don't let it be a great while, because I long to have it over.
BRISK. Well then, you tell me some good jest or some very witty thing, laughing all the while as if you were ready to die, and I hear it, and look thus. Would not you be disappointed?
CARE. No;
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