It is agreed, I replied.
But to go on with my Theme: a Coroner's Jury had been summoned and met to make an Inquiry how the Party (as they called him) came by his Death, and such Witnesses as could be got besides Walter were examined; but their Testimonies appeared very obscure in the apprehension of most People. Some under examination confirmed that they had seen a lofty man in a dark Coat waiting about Midnight at the end of Pope's Head Alley, while others declared that they had observed a drunken Man by the New Church, and yet others beleeved that they had heard violent Singing in the Dusk of the Evening. All these had but a confus'd sense of Time, and it became clear that there was nothing Certain. So it is that the World makes its own Demons, which then the People see.
Mean-while the villain Hayes was clean'd and shav'd and put into his Shift: he was left to lie in his Coffin for just one Day, with a square peece of Flannel over his Face and Neck to obscure the Signs of his Death, before he was taken thro' Cheapside and Poultry to be buried by the east wall of St Mary Woolnoth. Sir Chris, had conceeved a great Dislike of Funerals and, sighing, he looked upon the Walls new built rather than down into the Grave. Mr Vannbrugghe glanced around at the Company with a melancholy Air but, as we threw sprigs of Rosemary upon the Coffin, he repeated in a jovial Tone the words of the Service: From dust to dust, says he, From dust to dust. Then he leaned over to whisper at me behind his Hand: I do not see you at your Devotions, Mr Dyer.
I have faith in the true Religion, 7 replied unthinking.
Well, well, says he smiling, Mr Hayes is now our Scholar in these Matters.
Then we returned down Cheapside in the same Order as we came, Walter still being absent and, it was thought, suffering from melan chollic Sicknesse after being surpriz'd by the Discovery of the horrid Corse. Yet all of us (save Sir Chris.) made Merry, taking Heart from that Catch, and I yet alive!: at five o'clock of the same Day, we made our way thro' New Inn, crossed Russell Court and steered to the Playhouse.
Mr Vannbrugghe, after his Devotions at the Barbers, was all improved by Powder, Washballs and Perfume so that he was as fragrant as a Bermoodoes Breez or any sweet-bag: here is a self- conceited Puppy who was born a Boy and will die before he is a Man.
Coming too soon for the Play we took a Turn in the Lobby, which is nothing but a Rendez-vous of all Extravagances, or rather the Shambles where young and old are expos'd to Sale. For among the Saunterers with their Hands in their Pockets come the Ladies from the Stews: all of them patched and painted, where beneath they are Old and Yellow and fit only to turn Stomachs. And then on a sudden Glance I observed the Harlot who had encounter'd me on that fa tall Night: at once I turned away from her and busied myself in the reading of Advertisements fix'd to the Pillars.
Well, well, says she walking up close to me and talking to some black Devil in a Mask, do you see how the Captain stared at us and gnashed his Teeth as if he could eat us for looking at Him? Captain, says she again coming beside me, you turn your Back upon me as you have done before. And she laugh'd as I shuddered and burned. Here now, she goes on taking my sweating Hands in her own, these are mighty Hands which could work much Mischief. Before I could speak, the Porter moved among the Company saying, The Play begins when it is exactly six by your Watches, will you please to go in, will you please to go in? Another Day then, Captain, says she, or let it be another Night?
And she took herself off with a Smile.
After a Pause to find my Breath I walked into the Pit where the others were already sat upon the Benches: they were not the best Seats neither, since the Gentlemen in front of us had so powdered their Perriwigs that they endangered my Eyes as soon as they turned round to stare at the Company. At first I beleeved they stared at me for the most part, since I was sadly discomfited after my Discourse with the Harlot, but my Perturbation soon passed when I saw that there was no Meaning to their Looks, either to Themselves or each other. So it was with an easier Mien that I settled my self down to watch this Assembly with its Amorous Smirks, its A la Mode Grins, its Antick Bows -the World being but a Masquerade, yet one in which the Characters do not know their Parts and must come to the Play-House in order to studdy them. Let there be no Stop to Bawdy so that those in the Pit can see themselves; fill the Stage with Villainy, with Swearing and Blaspheming and Open Lewdness. The grossest Touches will be most true.
And now the Curtain was drawn to show a dark Room where some one was playing a Pack of Cards; above him some dozen Clouds were trimm'd with Black, and there was a new Moon something decay'd.
And then for a moment I was environ'd by these painted Scenes and lived among them even as I sat in the Pitt: now my Lord All-Pride leads Doll Common away, and the Scene is drawn to show a Chamber of Tortures where he says, Do you like this Ribbon (pointing to a Whip), this Cutt of the Sleeve (pointing to a Knife), this Stocking (pointing to a hanging Rope)? And I was a Child again, watching the bright World.
But the Spell broke when at this Juncture some Gallants jumped from the Pitt onto the Stage and behaved as so many Merry-Andrews among the Actors, which reduced all to Confusion. I laugh'd with them also, for I like to make Merry among the Fallen and there is pleasure to be had in the Observation of the Deformity of Things. Thus when the Play resumed after the Disturbance, it was only to excite my Ridicule with its painted Fichons, wicked Hypocrisies and villainous Customs, all depicted with a little pert Jingle of Words and a rambling kind of Mirth to make the Insipidnesse and Sterility pass. There was no pleasure in seeing it, and nothing to burden the Memory after: like a voluntarie before a Lesson it was absolutely forgotten, nothing to be remembered or repeated.
When this Masquerade was complete, the prattler Vanbrugghe led us on to the Grey Bear tavern, where the whimzey-headed and the slender-witted and the shallow-brained come to sip their Brandy and make their Chit-chat on what they have just view'd. And so sir, he cried as we waited for the Tapster, how did you like the Play?
I have forgot it, sir.
So soon?
I asked him what he said, for there was such a mish-mash of Conversation around us that I could scarcely understand him -the frequenters of Taverns have Hearts of Curd and Souls of Milk Sop, but they have Mouths like Cannons which stink of Tobacco and their own foul Breath as they cry What News? What's a Clock? Methinks it's Cold to Day! Thus is it a Hospital For Fools: DRAMATIS PERSONAE John Vanbrugghe: An Architect in Fashion Nicholas Dyer: A Nothing, a Neighbour Sir Philip Bareface: A Courtier Moneytrap: A Jobber Various Gentlemen of the Town, Rakes, Bullies and Servants vannbrugghe. (Taking up his glass) I said, sir, forgot so soon? dyer. (Sits down) There was nothing that I recall save that the Sunne was a Round flat shining Disc and the Thunder was a Noise from a Drum or a Pan. vannbrugghe. (Aside) What a Child is this! (To Dyer) These are only our Devices, and are like the Paint of our Painted Age. dyer. But in Meditation the Sunne is a vast and glorious Body, and Thunder is the most forcible and terrible Phaenomenon: it is not to be mocked, for the highest Passion is Terrour. And why was it, too, that this Scribbler mock'd Religion? It is a perilous Case. vannbrugghe. Amen to that. I pray the Lord. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! But let me tell you plainly, sir, this Scribbler was just; Religion is only the quaint Leger-de-main of strong-pated Statesmen who, to overawe the Capriciousness of the giddy Multitude, did forge the Image of some Punisher of all Humane actions. dyer. (Aside) A small rational Sir Fopling this! vannbrugghe. Have I told you this Story? When a Widow, hearing in a Sermon of the Crucifixion, came to the Priest after, dropped him a Courtsie and asked him how long ago this sad Accident happened?