The way between the worlds epub

Death, am I not married? Am I not imprisoned, fettered? Have I not a wife? Nay, a wife that was a widow, a young widow, a handsome widow, and would be again a widow, but that I have a heart of proof, and something of a constitution to bustle through the ways of wedlock and this world. Will you yet be reconciled to truth and me?

Truth and you are inconsistent. I loathe the name of love after such usage; and next to the guilt with which you would asperse me, I scorn you most. I care not. Let me go. What is it not?

What is it not yet? It is not yet too late—. But not to loathe, detest, abhor mankind, myself, and the whole treacherous world. Nay, this is extravagance. Come, I ask your pardon. No tears—I was to blame, I could not love you and be easy in my doubts.

You have a mask: wear it a moment. This way, this way: be persuaded. Mirabell and Mrs. You should have just so much disgust for your husband as may be sufficient to make you relish your lover.

You have been the cause that I have loved without bounds, and would you set limits to that aversion of which you have been the occasion? Why did you make me marry this man? Why do we daily commit disagreeable and dangerous actions? To save that idol, reputation. I knew Fainall to be a man lavish of his morals, an interested and professing friend, a false and a designing lover, yet one whose wit and outward fair behaviour have gained a reputation with the town, enough to make that woman stand excused who has suffered herself to be won by his addresses.

A better man ought not to have been sacrificed to the occasion; a worse had not answered to the purpose. When you are weary of him you know your remedy. In justice to you, I have made you privy to my whole design, and put it in your power to ruin or advance my fortune. Care is taken for that.

She is won and worn by this time. They were married this morning. Waitwell and Foible. I would not tempt my servant to betray me by trusting him too far. If your mother, in hopes to ruin me, should consent to marry my pretended uncle, he might, like Mosca in the Fox , stand upon terms; so I made him sure beforehand. Yes, upon condition that she consent to my marriage with her niece, and surrender the moiety of her fortune in her possession.

She talked last night of endeavouring at a match between Millamant and your uncle. Well, I have an opinion of your success, for I believe my lady will do anything to get an husband; and when she has this, which you have provided for her, I suppose she will submit to anything to get rid of him. Female frailty! We must all come to it, if we live to be old, and feel the craving of a false appetite when the true is decayed.

Millamant , Witwoud , Mincing. You seem to be unattended, madam. You used to have the beau monde throng after you, and a flock of gay fine perukes hovering round you. Like moths about a candle. I had like to have lost my comparison for want of breath. Oh, I have denied myself airs to-day. I have walked as fast through the crowd—.

As a physician of a good air. Do, Mrs. Mincing, like a screen before a great fire. I confess I do blaze to-day; I am too bright.

Lord, have I not made violent haste? I have asked every living thing I met for you; I have enquired after you, as after a new fashion. Madam, truce with your similitudes. By your leave, Witwoud, that were like enquiring after an old fashion to ask a husband for his wife. Oh, but then I had—Mincing, what had I? Why was I so long? Oh, ay, letters—I had letters—I am persecuted with letters—I hate letters.

Is that the way? Pray, madam, do you pin up your hair with all your letters? I find I must keep copies. Only with those in verse, Mr. I never pin up my hair with prose. I think I tried once, Mincing. And all to no purpose. But when your laship pins it up with poetry, it fits so pleasant the next day as anything, and is so pure and so crips. Mirabell, did you take exceptions last night? Oh, ay, and went away.

You would affect a cruelty which is not in your nature; your true vanity is in the power of pleasing. Oh, I ask your pardon for that. The ugly and the old, whom the looking-glass mortifies, yet after commendation can be flattered by it, and discover beauties in it: for that reflects our praises rather than your face. Oh, the vanity of these men! If they did not commend us, we were not handsome!

Now you must know they could not commend one if one was not handsome. Lord, what is a lover, that it can give? Why, one makes lovers as fast as one pleases, and they live as long as one pleases, and they die as soon as one pleases; and then, if one pleases, one makes more.

Very pretty. Why, you make no more of making of lovers, madam, than of making so many card-matches. They can but reflect what we look and say: vain empty things if we are silent or unseen, and want a being. Yet, to those two vain empty things, you owe two the greatest pleasures of your life. To your lover you owe the pleasure of hearing yourselves praised, and to an echo the pleasure of hearing yourselves talk.

Millamant , Mirabell , Mincing. I would beg a little private audience too. You had the tyranny to deny me last night, though you knew I came to impart a secret to you that concerned my love. You had the leisure to entertain a herd of fools: things who visit you from their excessive idleness, bestowing on your easiness that time which is the incumbrance of their lives. How can you find delight in such society? It is impossible they should admire you; they are not capable; or, if they were, it should be to you as a mortification: for, sure, to please a fool is some degree of folly.

And yet our distemper in all likelihood will be the same; for we shall be sick of one another. What would you give that you could help loving me?

I say that a man may as soon make a friend by his wit, or a fortune by his honesty, as win a woman with plain-dealing and sincerity. Sententious Mirabell! What, with that face? Well, after all, there is something very moving in a lovesick face. Well, Mirabell, if ever you will win me, woo me now. Which of the two it may have been, I will leave you to consider; and when you have done thinking of that, think of me. I have something more.

Think of you? A fellow that lives in a windmill has not a more whimsical dwelling than the heart of a man that is lodged in a woman. There is no point of the compass to which they cannot turn, and by which they are not turned, and by one as well as another; for motion, not method, is their occupation.

To know this, and yet continue to be in love, is to be made wise from the dictates of reason, and yet persevere to play the fool by the force of instinct.

What, billing so sweetly? Sirrah, Waitwell, why, sure, you think you were married for your own recreation and not for my conveniency. Your pardon, sir. With submission, we have indeed been solacing in lawful delights; but still with an eye to business, sir. I have instructed her as well as I could. If she can take your directions as readily as my instructions, sir, your affairs are in a prosperous way. But I protest, sir, I made as much haste as I could.

I told her, sir, because I did not know that you might find an opportunity; she had so much company last night. Stand off, sir, not a penny. Go on and prosper, Foible. The lease shall be made good and the farm stocked, if we succeed. Your servant, Sir. Mirabell , Waitwell. Sir Rowland, if you please.

Come, sir, will you endeavour to forget yourself—and transform into Sir Rowland? Why, sir, it will be impossible I should remember myself. Married, knighted, and attended all in one day! The difficulty will be how to recover my acquaintance and familiarity with my former self, and fall from my transformation to a reformation into Waitwell. Lady Wishfort at her toilet , Peg waiting. I have no more patience. Fetch me the red—the red, do you hear, sweetheart? Look you how this wench stirs! Why dost thou not fetch me a little red?

Didst thou not hear me, Mopus? Ratafia, fool? No, fool. Not the ratafia, fool—grant me patience! Paint, paint, paint, dost thou understand that, changeling, dangling thy hands like bobbins before thee? Why dost thou not stir, puppet? Thou wooden thing upon wires! Lord, madam, your ladyship is so impatient. Foible has locked it up, and carried the key with her. Wench, come, come, wench, what art thou doing?

Save thee, dost thou not know the bottle? Lady Wishfort , Peg with a bottle and china cup. A cup, save thee, and what a cup hast thou brought! Dost thou take me for a fairy, to drink out of an acorn?

Why didst thou not bring thy thimble? I warrant thee. Come, fill, fill. So, again. See who that is. Here, here, under the table:—what, wouldst thou go with the bottle in thy hand like a tapster?

No Foible yet? I saw her but now, as I came masked through the park, in conference with Mirabell. With Mirabell? You call my blood into my face with mentioning that traitor. She durst not have the confidence. Oh, he carries poison in his tongue that would corrupt integrity itself.

If she has given him an opportunity, she has as good as put her integrity into his hands. I hear her. Lady Wishfort , Foible. But a man so enamoured—so transported! Well, if worshipping of pictures be a sin—poor Sir Rowland, I say.

The miniature has been counted like. But hast thou not betrayed me, Foible? Hast thou not detected me to that faithless Mirabell? What hast thou to do with him in the park?

Answer me, has he got nothing out of thee? So, the devil has been beforehand with me; what shall I say? Was I in fault? Humh, says he, what, you are a-hatching some plot, says he, you are so early abroad, or catering, says he, ferreting for some disbanded officer, I warrant.

Half pay is but thin subsistence, says he. Well, what pension does your lady propose? Where does he eat? Poison him? Starve him, madam, starve him; marry Sir Rowland, and get him disinherited. Oh, you would bless yourself to hear what he said. Humh, says he, I hear you are laying designs against me too, says he, and Mrs. Audacious villain! Handle me? Would he durst? Old frippery? Was there ever such a foul-mouthed fellow?

Incontinently, madam. Superannuated frippery? A slander-mouthed railer! Yes, he shall have my niece with her fortune, he shall. I hope to see him lodge in Ludgate first, and angle into Blackfriars for brass farthings with an old mitten. Ay, dear Foible; thank thee for that, dear Foible. He has put me out of all patience. I shall never recompose my features to receive Sir Rowland with any economy of face. This wretch has fretted me that I am absolutely decayed.

Look, Foible. Your ladyship has frowned a little too rashly, indeed, madam. There are some cracks discernible in the white vernish. Let me see the glass. Why, I am arrantly flayed: I look like an old peeled wall. Thou must repair me, Foible, before Sir Rowland comes, or I shall never keep up to my picture. I warrant you, madam: a little art once made your picture like you, and now a little of the same art must make you like your picture.

Your picture must sit for you, madam. But art thou sure Sir Rowland will not fail to come? Or will a not fail when he does come? Will he be importunate, Foible, and push? For if he should not be importunate I shall never break decorums. I shall die with confusion if I am forced to advance—oh no, I can never advance; I shall swoon if he should expect advances.

No, I hope Sir Rowland is better bred than to put a lady to the necessity of breaking her forms. But a little disdain is not amiss; a little scorn is alluring. Yes, but tenderness becomes me best—a sort of a dyingness. You see that picture has a sort of a—ha, Foible? A swimmingness in the eyes. My niece affects it; but she wants features. Is Sir Rowland handsome?

Is he handsome? Is he? I shall save decorums if Sir Rowland importunes. I have a mortal terror at the apprehension of offending against decorums. Let my things be removed, good Foible. Fainall , Foible. O Foible, I have been in a fright, lest I should come too late. Nay, nay, put not on that strange face. O dear madam, I beg your pardon. It was not my confidence in your ladyship that was deficient; but I thought the former good correspondence between your ladyship and Mr. Mirabell might have hindered his communicating this secret.

O dear madam, Mr. Mirabell is such a sweet winning gentleman. But your ladyship is the pattern of generosity. Sweet lady, to be so good! Mirabell cannot choose but be grateful. I find your ladyship has his heart still. Now, madam, I can safely tell your ladyship our success: Mrs. Marwood had told my lady, but I warrant I managed myself. I turned it all for the better. I told my lady that Mr. Mirabell railed at her.

Madam, I beg your ladyship to acquaint Mr. Mirabell of his success. I would be seen as little as possible to speak to him—besides, I believe Madam Marwood watches me. Madam, your servant. Indeed, Mrs. Engine, is it thus with you? Are you become a go-between of this importance?

Yes, I shall watch you. My friend Fainall, have you carried it so swimmingly? Your loathing is not from a want of appetite then, but from a surfeit. Else you could never be so cool to fall from a principal to be an assistant, to procure for him!

A pattern of generosity, that I confess. Well, Mr. Fainall, you have met with your match. Woman, woman! Man should have his head and horns, and woman the rest of him. Poor, simple fiend! Here comes the good lady, panting ripe, with a heart full of hope, and a head full of care, like any chymist upon the day of projection. O dear Marwood, what shall I say for this rude forgetfulness? But my dear friend is all goodness. But I have such an olio of affairs, really I know not what to do. Methinks Sir Wilfull should rather think of marrying than travelling at his years.

I hear he is turned of forty. It will be time enough when he comes back, and has acquired discretion to choose for himself. Methinks Mrs. Millamant and he would make a very fit match. He may travel afterwards. I assure you I will; I value your judgment extremely. Come, come, Foible—I had forgot my nephew will be here before dinner—I must make haste. Dear friend, excuse me. Marwood , Mrs. Millamant , Mincing.

That horrid fellow Petulant has provoked me into a flame—I have broke my fan—Mincing, lend me yours. Nay, he has done nothing; he has only talked. Nay, he has said nothing neither; but he has contradicted everything that has been said. For my part, I thought Witwoud and he would have quarrelled. If we had that liberty, we should be as weary of one set of acquaintance, though never so good, as we are of one suit, though never so fine.

A fool and a doily stuff would now and then find days of grace, and be worn for variety. They are such drap de Berri things!

Or what think you of the playhouse? A fine gay glossy fool should be given there, like a new masking habit, after the masquerade is over, and we have done with the disguise.

If you would but appear barefaced now, and own Mirabell, you might as easily put off Petulant and Witwoud as your hood and scarf. Indeed, Millamant, you can no more conceal it than my Lady Strammel can her face, that goodly face, which in defiance of her Rhenish-wine tea will not be comprehended in a mask. My aunt is not dressing here; their folly is less provoking than your malice. Millamant , Mrs. The town has found it? What has it found? That Mirabell loves me is no more a secret than it is a secret that you discovered it to my aunt, or than the reason why you discovered it is a secret.

O silly! I could laugh immoderately. Poor Mirabell! His constancy to me has quite destroyed his complaisance for all the world beside. I swear I never enjoined it him to be so coy. But I despair to prevail, and so let him follow his own way. Pardon me, dear creature, I must laugh; ha, ha, ha!

Mirabell and you both may think it a thing impossible, when I shall tell him by telling you—. 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. If you could but stay for me, I should overtake you—but that cannot be. Well, that thought makes me melancholic. Desire Mrs. You shall hear it, madam. 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, like treble and bass. Ha, Petulant? Ay, 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. If I have a humour to prove it, it must be granted. Ay, upon proof positive it must; but upon proof presumptive it only may. And for the rest which is to follow in both cases, a man may do it without book.

Sir Wilfull Witwoud in a riding dress , Mrs. Marwood , Petulant , Witwoud , Footman. Not I:—yes, I think it is he. Ha, friend? 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? Why, then, belike thou dost not know thy lady, if thou seest her. Why, truly, sir, I cannot safely swear to her face in a morning, before she is dressed. 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.

Hold ye, hear me, friend, a word with you in your ear: prithee who are these gallants? Witwoud, your brother is not behindhand in forgetfulness. I fancy he has forgot you too. This is a vile dog, I see that already. No offence? Ha, ha, ha. To him, to him, Petulant, smoke him. It seems as if you had come a journey, sir; hem, hem. If I am not mistaken, you are Sir Wilfull Witwoud? Brother Antony! What, dost thou not know me? Your servant? Why, yours, sir. Why, brother Wilfull of Salop, you may be as short as a Shrewsbury cake, if you please.

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