[]THE WIVES REVENG'D; A COMIC OPERA.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

Ah! ha!—I have not beat my drum in vain—here come two volunteers alrea⯑dy—Mrs. Tokay, and Mrs. Dimity, I am charm'd to ſee you.—You are punctual to a mi⯑nute.

No wonder, when the ſummons was of ſuch a ſerious nature.—You muſt ſee us it ſeems on buſineſs, which concerns us as near⯑ly as our lives.

This buſineſs is to ſup with me here this evening,—where I mean to give you a delicious repaſt.

But, my dear, what neceſſity fo ſuch a meſſage?

More than you are aware of.—Are you diſengaged?

Yes,—my huſband is gone into the country, on ſome particular buſineſs, 'till to⯑morrow.

And I am alſo a widow 'till that time.

They told you ſo, did they?—O men, how many ways do you deceive and cheat us!

What do you mean?

Why, I mean, that both your Huſband, Alderman Tokay, the Wine-mer⯑chant of Portſoken ward, and your Huſband, Deputy Dimity the Taylor, of Candlewick, ex⯑pect the pleaſure of ſupping this evening, in this houſe.

Here!

With you?

Why your huſband is out of town.

How! Ma'am!—And you all alone?

Liſten to me:—They have both formally made me a declaration of love, and I confeſs to you, I thought myſelf not a little flat⯑ter'd, at attracting the attention of two men, whoſe wives are ſo univerſally admired.—Says Mr. Alderman, you know his jocular way, Ma'am—

[11] Now, Ma'am, for a ſpecimen of your huſ⯑ſband's eloquence in love.—Mr. Dimity.

Well, Ladies, to ſo much gallantry, I could not but make a moſt obliging anſwer.—You ſhall hear it.

Why you ſeem thunderſtruck.

What a villain!

The Traitor! But I'll give him his own.

And for Mr. Tokay, I'll make him bluſh with ſhame—you ſhall ſee ſuch a ſcene.—

I'll expoſe his infidelity to the whole world.

And my wrongs ſhall be known all over the town.

And ſo expoſe yourſelves.—No, no, if you'll be guided by me, we'll be better reveng'd of them than all this.

How?—I'll do any thing.

Speak, dear Mrs. Vermilion!

Time preſſes, let me therefore tell you my ſcheme in as few words as poſſible; I have acquainted Mr. Vermilion with every thing, who is not out of town, but has only had it ſo reported to favour our deſign.—Your huſ⯑bands are coming here.—I ſhall receive them in this painting room, becauſe nothing can poſ⯑ſibly paſs in theſe two chambers adjoining, which cannot be over-heard.—And thus—but [13] on my conſcience, one of them knocks at the door now—do you ſlip down theſe back ſtairs, and ſlide out after I have conducted them up.—Then be ready for me at your houſe, which is but two ſteps off,—where I ſhall preſently come and fetch you, and tell you every thing you have to do.

Well, well, we'll be guided by you.—Could I have believed it!—

Adieu. We'll hold ourſelves in readineſs.—Oh! I could tear his eyes out.

You hear, they are impatient, Ma'am!—Come, come, decamp, quick!—

SCENE III.

Ah! my charming neighbour!

My dear, Mrs. Vermilion!

Gentlemen! to what do I owe the pleaſure of ſeeing you? don't ſay any thing be⯑fore him that I aſked you to ſupper:

he has a ſcandalous tongue.

Scandalous as a tea table, Ma'am!—I don't know what put it in the damn'd fellow's head to come here—Well, neighbour Dimity, I'm glad to ſee you. We happen'd to meet together, Madam, at your door, juſt as I was coming to pay my reſpects to you.

Yes, I came according to inſtructions to take meaſure.

Huſh, huſh! don't ſay I invited you here—he'd expoſe us—

O Lord! to the whole world.—I ſay, Ma'am, the remnant of the evening lay on my hands, and ſo I thought I could not piece it out better, than in coming to aſk you how you did.

Well, Gentlemen, ſince it happens ſo, if you have no better engagement, I ſhall be glad of your company to eat a bit of ſupper with me.

You are infinitely kind. Could not you ſend him away?

No, no, 'twould create ſuſpicion.

Vaſtly kind, indeed—Could not we get rid of him?

'Tis impoſſible—Come, Gentlemen, I muſt uſe you without ceremony—We have the houſe to ourſelves—I gave the maid leave to ſee her aunt, and the man is gone with my huſband—I am a widow for a whole week.

A week! zounds, I ſhall be elected without a ſcrutiny.

A week! Damn me, I ſhall cut out a fine parcel of work here!

Mr. Tokay, help me to fetch the table; and do you, Mr. Dimity, look in that clo⯑ſet for the table cloth, and knives and forks—Come, come, ſtir.

Diſpoſe of me as you pleaſe.

Ah, my dear Mr. Tokay, if that fool was not here—

My turtle! let me kiſs you for that thought.

Huſh! huſh! he'll ſee us!

that's right—

now do you ſearch in that cupboard, and you'll find a ſallad ready for dreſſing—

'Twas very kind of you to come, dear Mr. Dimi⯑ty. What a pity 'tis we are not alone!

I wiſh to Heaven he was in one of his buts of Madeira.

Well, one journey more and all will be ready. You ſee I have nothing but a cold ſupper, but ſuch as it is—

Oh! Madam! your company is green peas at Chriſtmas.

Oh! truce with compliments, and ſit down without ceremony.

How many jealous ones we ſhould make now, if your huſband, and our wives, knew of this.

Come, Ma'am, ſit.

Huſh!

What's the matter?

Surely ſome one knocks.

Do you expect any body?

Not a ſoul.

Zounds! I hope 'tis not your huſ⯑band.

Oh! no.

But if by hazard—

I hardly think it—however, in that caſe, I can hide you in this room—but don't con⯑cern yourſelves—It can't be him; and for any body elſe, I'll ſoon ſend them away—

Heavens! 'tis my huſband ſure [17] enough; I would not have him ſee you for the world; get in, get in.

Stuff us in any where.

If I can, I'll ſend him out—Don't ſtir for you lives—

SCENE IV.

Ah! wife; you ought to have a thouſand obligations to me—I did not find my man—and tho' it was ſo late, I was determined not to loſe a moment—But I think you receive me coldly.

No love, I don't—I only—

Hey! what the devil's this?—you were going to have good cheer—a patê of partridges! Three covers! why, who the devil have you in⯑vited to ſupper?

Zounds! ſhe'll never draw herſelf out of this ſcrape.

Huſh! huſh!

Why, my dear—I—a—I have—aſked ſome ladies to ſup with me.

Ay! who?

Why, Mrs. Tokay, and Mrs. Di⯑mity.

Our wives!

What, our two handſome neighbours?

Yes, love; and I wonder they don't come—I wiſh you'd go and fetch them.

My ſoul, there is nothing I would not do ſooner for thee, than walk.

Well, 'tis but a ſtep, I'll go my⯑ſelf.

I would not trouble you, but I am ſo tired with my journey.

SCENE V.

Good Heaven! how fortunate—thou little di⯑vineſt, my ſweet wife, what a ſervice thou art go⯑ing to do me—I ſhall ſup with her I adore.

Do you hear him, Alderman? he ſays he ſhall ſup with her he adores.

There is not her equal in the world, and my love is like her's, perfect—ſhe is more majeſtic than Juno.

Ay, that's your wife, for ſhe is the moſt talleſt.

More willing than Io.

That's your's.

More lively than Sappho; but, to my misfortune, too virtuous.

Yes, yes, I fancy he means my wife, indeed!

Heavens! what tranſport! what tender, delightful extaſy, to preſs her panting, yielding to my boſom—What is there but love makes our lives deſirable?

SCENE VI.

Ah! I am charmed—How d'ye do, La⯑dies?

How d'ye do, Mr. Vermilion.

How d'ye do, Mr. Vermilion.

Give me leave to embrace you, my dear neighbour, and you, Mrs. Dimity.

Lord! how you kiſs one, in⯑deed!

Why, what a devil of a fellow it is!

Come, wife, we muſt have another co⯑ver. Where's the ſervant?

I have given her leave to go out.

What exquiſite pleaſure to paſs a few hours with you, my dear Mrs. Dimity.

My dear Mrs. Dimity! do you hear him?

Come, wife, let us ſet at table.—How I am tranſported to ſee my ſweet Mrs. Tokay!

Sweet Mrs. Tokay.—Alderman, do you hear him?

Never was happineſs equal to mine, flatter'd and careſs'd by three charming objects, equally amiable.

An admirable thought.—Part, then, my love, between you in the ſame manner.

Lord, Mr. Vermilion, how you do rattle.

Oh! we forgive him.

Well, wife, what wine do you give us?

I have forgot to fetch it.

Come, get it then, pray, my dear—you ſeem uneaſy—Oh! I know what it is—ſhe has to croſs the garden in her way to the cellar, and ſhe is afraid of ſpirits.

Well, Lord, every one is not ſo brave as you are.—I confeſs I'm fooliſh enough to have this abſurd terror ſometimes.

Dear Ma'am! I'll go with you.

Why does not he go himſelf?

I would go myſelf, if I was not ſo ex⯑ceedingly tired.

What a devil of a reaſon!

Oh! we don't want you—Come, Mrs. Vermilion—

SCENE VII.

Ah! my charming Mrs. Dimity.

Ah! Mr. Vermilion.

Don't you underſtand me?

Alas!

What the devil are they going to ſay to one another?

We are alone.

Well!

Permit me then, heavenly creature, to ſeize this opportunity,

This is pretty plain, I think, neigh⯑bour Dimity.

Dim. Pray be quiet.

Ceaſe then the fire of thoſe bewitching eyes, thoſe ſmiles, thoſe lips like roſes, that vo⯑luptuous carnation in your cheeks, where comely health reſides; deprive yourſelf of theſe which feed the fire of my tender love.

Flattering creature!

Poor Maſter Dimity!

Heavens! how beautiful ſhe looks!—Come, charming creature, let us not loſe this [24] favourable moment—Believe me, never was love ſo ardent, or ſo faithful as mine,—you anſwer nothing,—you muſt not deny me.

Dear me you are ſo preſſing—I am all in a flurry—I muſt take a walk in the garden to recover myſelf.

Do, my Angel,—I'll conduct you to a delicious retreat, where the ſoft zephyr alone ſhall be witneſs to our love.

You agreeable devil, you!

What do you think of this? He is not tired now?

SCENE VIII.

They are gone out, let me paſs you.

Poor neighbour Dimity!

I'll ſnip the ſcoundrel's noſe off;

they have locked the door.

Ha! ha! this brings to my mind an old ſong, that I ſometimes give 'em at a meet⯑ing of the livery, I'll ſing it you, neighbour.

I could not have believed it—my wife, who I thought the pattern card of virtue!

Women are frail, neighbour! women are frail!

Mr. Alderman, you have the advan⯑tage, but if it had been your's—

Mine! No, no, Mr. Dimity, Mrs. Tokay is perhaps the moſt diſcreet matron in all the ward of Portſoken—But, come, bear your diſgrace like a man—let us ſee—Zounds, I'll ſeize ſome of theſe cakes, if 'tis only to fortify the ſtomach—And—ſtay—there is nothing to drink—If the wine was but come, I'd drink the lady and gentleman in the garden.

'Tis cruel in you, Alderman, to rip up the ſubject in this manner.

Huſh! I hear them, let us retire.

Well, I'll ſew up my mouth for a lit⯑tle while—However, I'll trim them yet, before I put the work out of hand.—

SCENE IX.

Dear me! what ſhall I do?

Don't cry; believe me, my reſpect and caution ſhall ever equal my love.

If my huſband ſhould know it—

How can he know it?—No, believe me, he'll carry his honours as contentedly as the beſt.

My honours! there's a ſcoundrel for you.

And will you be always conſtant?

For ever, my angel—Huſh! here's my wife, and Mrs. Tokay.

So, have you well employed your time ſince we have been gone?

If to be wiſe, is to profit of each mo⯑ment, we have well employed our time, I aſſure you.

Yes, yes, that we can witneſs for them.

Here's the wine.

Come, ladies, take your places.

I fancy we ſhall be here ſome time. Come, neighbour Dimity, eat ſome of this cake.

No, I thank you, Mr. Alderman—I have no appetite.

Come, Mrs. Tokay, take care of your⯑ſelf—my dear Mrs. Dimity, what makes you ſo ſerious?—Here's Mr. Dimity's health; he is a man I like; clever, ſenſible, well furniſhed, here.—

Did you ever hear ſuch a villain!

Ladies, let us drink round, and then ſuppoſe we ſing a little catch to put us in ſpirits.

With all my heart; what ſhall it be?

The Wives Revenged.

Ha! ha! ha!

Charming!—raviſhing!—my dear Mrs. Dimity, and you, beautiful Mrs. Tokay—how you [29] enchant me—but how's this, wife?—but one bottle?—Heavens! you ſhould have brought half a dozen at leaſt; at ſuch a delightful feaſt ought any thing to be ſpared?

Half a dozen!—what the devil are we to ſtay all night here?

Come, come, one more journey—I am ſorry to trouble you, and I confeſs 'tis not very polite, but I am dead, and can't ſtir a ſtep.

Oh! the impoſtor!

Come, ladies, which of you will accompany me?

Mrs. Tokay loves walking.

There, there, ſhe wants to ſtay with him again—the vixen!

No, Ma'am! you ſhall have your turn as well as me.

Hang my buttons now if—

With all my heart.—Come, Mrs. Vermilion.

SCENE X.

Are you not aſhamed, Sir, to look me in the face?

Why, Madam?

Why, Sir?—Do you think if your [30] wife was inſenſible to your behaviour, it would paſs upon me?—No, Sir, not one leer, nor whiſper eſcaped me.

Ha! ha! ha! jealous, by all that's charm⯑ing.

Jealous!—no, Sir, my love is not alarmed, 'tis my pride that's hurt—Mrs. Dimity, indeed! I'll Mrs. Dimity her; to leave me for ſuch a Gill-ſlirt,

Why, Alderman, how's this?

Why, really, I don't know.

You know, the firſt time I was weak enough to liſten to you, was at my Lord Mayor's ball—You danced, you enchanted me, and while my dear good Mr. Tokay was getting himſelf into a ſtate of intoxication, with his own champaign, you looked, and perſuaded, and ſwore yourſelf into my affections—and now—I could cry my eyes out.

Come, come, no more of this—you are as dear to me as ever. Let us not then loſe the moments in frivolous converſation—rather let me lead you where ſilence and the night ſhall hide thoſe raptures—

Heavens! you were born to per⯑ſuade me—And don't you love that creature at all?

How can you do yourſelf the injuſtice to think ſo? I was piqued at your late coolneſs, and ſo put on all this to try if your affection was as ſtrong as ever.

Is it poſſible?

You know it is—Come, loſe no time!

SCENE XI.

Zounds! I'm ſtruck as dumb as an oiſter.

Why, Alderman! I thought your wife was the moſt diſcreet matron of all the ward of Portſoken.

A dauber of canvas to make a cuckold of an Alderman!

Come, come, 'tis ſome comfort that you are not out of work any more than me.

A damn'd plaiſterer of train oil, and yellow oker!

Stay, have I never a ſnip of a ſong now that will ſuit you?

But women are frail, neighbour!—Women are frail!—Come, Alderman, will you eat any of this cake?—

Here's the Lady and Gentleman in in the garden—but, zounds, I hear them, let us retire—

SCENE XII.

Heavens! I am undone!—ruin'd!

I tell you, my love, they did not ſee us.

You are miſtaken, and that malici⯑ous Mrs. Dimity—

Huſh! they are here.

Your ſervant, Madam, I muſt give up my place to you, I find.

Yes, Madam, you did not ſlide out of the little ſummer-houſe ſo cunningly, but that we ſaw you.

What do you mean, Ladies?

I can't conceive what they would be at—This Lady has never ſtirred from hence, I aſ⯑ſure you, all the time you have been gone.

All this is mighty well, Sir, but we part to-morrow.

Yes, indeed! I wonder how ſhe has the impudence to look Mrs. Vermilion in the face!

Well, Ladies, ſince you are determin'd upon quarrelling, you had better wiſh one another good night. If you'll give me leave, I'll ſee you home.

No, I won't be ſeen in her Company.

Madam, whatever your delicacy may be injur'd at, as it is dark, you had better, I think, take this opportunity of guarding yourſelf from danger.

Well, for the matter of that, ſince no one will ſee us together—good night to you, my dear Mrs. Vermilion—I am ſure I pity you.

SCENE XIII.

Dear Ma'am! revenge yourſelf.

Do, Ma'am,

my devil of a wife, for all her demure looks, has tore a hole in my coat, as large as that in the Alderman's.

Upon my knees I entreat of you.

And ſo do I upon mine—'tis the only way to repair the rent in your reputation.

SCENE THE LAST.

Ha! ha! ha!

How! this my dearee?

What do I ſee, the Alderman!

Yes, Ma'am, but not ſo contented as you may imagine.

And for me, Ma'am, I ſhall not quietly wear my honours, whatever that gentleman may think of the matter.

I don't underſtand you.

What, you know nothing of the ſum⯑mer houſe?

No, I warrant them, pretty creatures, nor of the garden, the jealouſy, the carnation in the cheeks, the intoxication, the zephyr, and the Lord Mayor's ball.

Hark ye, Mr. Alderman Tokay, and Mr. Deputy Dimity, never go a poaching again on other peoples grounds, for fear they, in your ab⯑ſence, ſhould take it in their heads to beat up the game about your's.

Come, 'tis I who muſt explain all this—You have both had the arrogance to make love to me; and the ſummer houſe, your coming here to ſupper, and, in ſhort, all that has paſſed, was only a laugh at your expence, and you may thank your ſtars you are no worſe off.

Neighbour Dimity, we cut a good figure here.

Yes, for if this is the caſe, all our work's returned upon our hands.

Come, come, the beſt thing you can do, is to beg pardon of your wives, to whom I'll be an advocate for you.

To ſhew you what good creatures we are, they have their pardon, even before they aſk it.

Generouſly done—and now let us ſit down, and forget all animoſities over a bottle of the Alderman's Tokay.