The Way of the World, William Congreve [best books to read for self development .txt] 📗

so let him follow his own way. Ha! ha! ha! Pardon me, dear creature, I must laugh; ha! ha! ha! Though I grant you ’tis a little barbarous; ha! ha! ha! Mrs. Marwood What pity ’tis so much fine raillery, and delivered with so significant gesture, should be so unhappily directed to miscarry. Mrs. Millamant Heh? Dear creature, I ask your pardon⁠—I swear I did not mind you. Mrs. Marwood Mr. Mirabell and you both may think it a thing impossible, when I shall tell him by telling you⁠— Mrs. Millamant Oh dear, what? For it is the same thing, if I hear it⁠—ha! ha! ha! Mrs. Marwood That I detest him, hate him, madam. Mrs. Millamant O madam, why, so do I⁠—and yet the creature loves me, ha! ha! ha! How can one forbear laughing to think of it.⁠—I am a sibyl if I am not amazed to think what he can see in me. I’ll take my death,51 I think you are handsomer⁠—and within a year or two as young. If you could but stay for me, I should overtake you⁠—but that cannot be.⁠—Well, that thought makes me melancholic.⁠—Now I’ll be sad. Mrs. Marwood Your merry note may be changed sooner than you think. Mrs. Millamant D’ye say so? Then I’m resolved I’ll have a song to keep up my spirits. Re-enter Mincing. Mincing The gentlemen stay but to comb, madam, and will wait on you. Mrs. Millamant Desire Mrs.⁠—that is in the next room, to sing the song I would have learnt yesterday. You shall hear it, madam. Not that there’s any great matter in it⁠—but ’tis agreeable to my humour.

Song

Love’s but the frailty of the mind
When ’tis not with ambition joined;
A sickly flame, which if not fed, expires,
And feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires.

’Tis not to wound a wanton boy
Or am’rous youth, that gives the joy;
But ’tis the glory to have pierced a swain,
For whom inferior beauties sighed in vain.

Then I alone the conquest prize,
When I insult a rival’s eyes;
If there’s delight in love, ’tis when I see
That heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.

Enter Petulant and Witwoud. Mrs. Millamant Is your animosity composed, gentlemen? Witwoud Raillery, raillery, madam; we have no animosity. We hit off a little wit now and then, but no animosity. The falling out of wits is like the falling out of lovers:⁠—we agree in the main,52 like treble and bass.⁠—Ha, Petulant? Petulant Aye, in the main. But when I have a humour to contradict⁠— Witwoud Aye, when he has a humour to contradict, then I contradict too. What, I know my cue. Then we contradict one another like two battledores; for contradictions beget one another like Jews. Petulant If he says black’s black⁠—if I have a humour to say ’tis blue⁠—let that pass⁠—all’s one for that. If I have a humour to prove it, it must be granted. Witwoud Not positively must⁠—but it may⁠—it may. Petulant Yes, it positively must, upon proof positive. Witwoud Aye, upon proof positive it must; but upon proof presumptive it only may.⁠—That’s a logical distinction now, madam. Mrs. Marwood I perceive your debates are of importance, and very learnedly handled. Petulant Importance is one thing and learning’s another; but a debate’s a debate, that I assert. Witwoud Petulant’s an enemy to learning; he relies altogether on his parts. Petulant No, I’m no enemy to learning; it hurts not me. Mrs. Marwood That’s a sign indeed it’s no enemy to you. Petulant No, no, it’s no enemy to anybody but them that have it. Mrs. Millamant Well, an illiterate man’s my aversion: I wonder at the impudence of any illiterate man to offer to make love. Witwoud That I confess I wonder at, too. Mrs. Millamant Ah, to marry an ignorant that can hardly read or write. Petulant Why should a man be any further from being married, though he can’t read, than he is from being hanged? The ordinary’s paid for setting the psalm,53 and the parish priest for reading the ceremony. And for the rest which is to follow in both cases, a man may do it without book⁠—so all’s one for that. Mrs. Millamant D’ye hear the creature?⁠—Lord, here’s company; I’ll begone. Exit. Enter Sir Wilfull Witwoud in a riding dress, followed by Footman. Witwoud In the name of Bartlemew and his fair,54 what have we here? Mrs. Marwood ’Tis your brother, I fancy. Don’t you know him? Witwoud Not I.⁠—Yes, I think it is he⁠—I’ve almost forgot him; I have not seen him since the Revolution. Footman To Sir Wilful. Sir, my lady’s dressing. Here’s company, if you please to walk in, in the meantime. Sir Wilful Dressing! What, it’s but morning here, I warrant, with you in London; we should count it towards afternoon in our parts down in Shropshire:⁠—why, then, belike my aunt han’t dined yet, ha, friend? Footman Your aunt, sir? Sir Wilful My aunt, sir! Yes my aunt, sir, and your lady, sir; your lady is my aunt, sir.⁠—Why, what dost thou not know me, friend? Why, then, send somebody hither that does. How long hast thou lived with thy lady, fellow, ha? Footman A week, sir; longer than anybody in the house, except my lady’s woman. Sir Wilful Why, then, belike thou dost not know thy lady, if thou seest her, ha, friend? Footman Why, truly, sir, I cannot safely swear to her face in a morning, before she is dressed. ’Tis like I may give a shrewd guess at her by this time. Sir Wilful Well, prithee try what thou canst do; if thou canst not guess, enquire her out, dost hear, fellow? And tell her her nephew, Sir Wilfull Witwoud, is in the house. Footman I shall, sir. Sir Wilful Hold ye, hear me, friend, a word with you in your ear: prithee who are these gallants? Footman Really, sir, I can’t tell; here come so many here, ’tis hard to know ’em all. Exit. Sir Wilful Oons, this fellow knows less than a starling: I don’t think a’ knows his own name. Mrs. Marwood Mr. Witwoud, your brother is not behindhand in forgetfulness. I fancy he has forgot you too. Witwoud I hope so. The devil take him that remembers first, I say. Sir Wilful Save