The Works of John Dryden, Volume 6 | Page 8

but I have a finger in them.
_Wood._ Then, I suppose, you are a gainer by your pains.
_Aldo._ No, I do all gratis, and am most commonly a loser; only a
buck sometimes from this good lord, or that good lady in the country:
and I eat it not alone, I must have company.
_Wood._ Pray, what company do you invite?
_Aldo._ Peace, peace, I am coming to you: Why, you must know I am
tender-natured; and if any unhappy difference have arisen betwixt a
mistress and her gallant, then I strike in, to do good offices betwixt
them; and, at my own proper charges, conclude the quarrel with a
reconciling supper.
_Wood._ I find the ladies of pleasure are beholden to you.
_Aldo._ Before George, I love the poor little devils. I am indeed a
father to them, and so they call me: I give them my counsel, and assist
them with my purse. I cannot see a pretty sinner hurried to prison by
the land-pirates, but nature works, and I must bail her; or want a supper,
but I have a couple of crammed chickens, a cream tart, and a bottle of
wine to offer her.

_Wood._ Sure you expect some kindness in return.
_Aldo._ Faith, not much: Nature in me is at low water-mark; my body's
a jade, and tires under me; yet I love to smuggle still in a corner; pat
them down, and pur over them; but, after that, I can do them little harm.
_Wood._ Then I'm acquainted with your business: You would be a kind
of deputy-fumbler under me.
_Aldo._ You have me right. Be you the lion, to devour the prey; I am
your jackall, to provide it for you: There will be a bone for me to pick.
_Wood._ Your humility becomes your age. For my part, I am vigorous,
and throw at all.
_Aldo._ As right as if I had begot thee! Wilt thou give me leave to call
thee son?
_Wood._ With all my heart.
_Aldo._ Ha, mad son!
_Wood._ Mad daddy!
_Aldo._ Your man told me, you were just returned from travel: What
parts have you last visited?
_Wood._ I came from France.
_Aldo._ Then, perhaps, you may have known an ungracious boy of
mine there.
_Wood._ Like enough: Pray, what's his name?
_Aldo._ George Aldo.
_Wood._ I must confess I do know the gentleman; satisfy yourself, he's
in health, and upon his return.

_Aldo._ That's some comfort: But, I hear, a very rogue, a lewd young
fellow.
_Wood._ The worst I know of him is, that he loves a wench; and that
good quality he has not stolen. [_Music at the Balcony over head: Mrs_
TRICKSY and JUDITH _appear._]--Hark! There's music above.
_Aldo._ 'Tis at my daughter Tricksy's lodging; the kept mistress I told
you of, the lass of mettle. But for all she carries it so high, I know her
pedigree; her mother's a sempstress in Dog-and-Bitch yard, and was, in
her youth, as right as she is.
_Wood._ Then she's a two-piled punk, a punk of two descents.
_Aldo._ And her father, the famous cobler, who taught Walsingham to
the black-birds. How stand thy affections to her, thou lusty rogue?
_Wood._ All on fire: A most urging creature!
_Aldo._ Peace! they are beginning.
A SONG.
I.
_'Gainst keepers we petition, Who would inclose the common: 'Tis
enough to raise sedition In the free-born subject, woman. Because for
his gold, I my body have sold, He thinks I'm a slave for my life; He
rants, domineers, He swaggers and swears, And would keep me as bare
as his wife._
II.
_'Gainst keepers we petition, &c. 'Tis honest and fair, That a feast I
prepare; But when his dull appetite's o'er, I'll treat with the rest Some
welcomer guest, For the reckoning was paid me before._
_Wood._ A song against keepers! this makes well for us lusty lovers.

_Trick._ [_Above._] Father, father Aldo!
_Aldo._ Daughter Tricksy, are you there, child? your friends at Barnet
are all well, and your dear master Limberham, that noble Hephestion, is
returning with them.
_Trick._ And you are come upon the spur before, to acquaint me with
the news.
_Aldo._ Well, thou art the happiest rogue in a kind keeper! He drank
thy health five times, supernaculum,[2] to my son Brain-sick; and dipt
my daughter Pleasance's little finger, to make it go down more glibly:[3]
And, before George, I grew tory rory, as they say, and strained a
brimmer through the lily-white smock, i'faith.
_Trick._ You will never leave these fumbling tricks, father, till you are
taken up on suspicion of manhood, and have a bastard laid at your door:
I am sure you would own it, for your credit.
_Aldo._ Before George, I should not see it starve, for the mother's sake:
For,