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25 B WILLIAM CONGREVE [ACT iv
muny of chiromancy with astrology? Ah! pox on't, that I
that know the world, and men and manners, that don't
believe a syllable in the sky and stars, and suns, and almanacs,
and trash, should be directed by a dreamer, an
omen-hunter, and defer business in expectation of a lucky
hour! when, body D' me, there never was a lucky hour after
the first opportunity. [Exit Sir SAMPSON.
Fore. Ah, Sir Sampson, Heaven help your head! This is
none of your lucky hour! Nemo omnibus horis sapit.
What, is he gone, and in contempt of science? Ill stars and
unconvertible ignorance attend him I
Scan. You must excuse his passion, Mr. Foresight, for he
has been heartily vexed.—His son is non compos mentis, and
thereby incapable of making any conveyance in law; so that
all his measures are disappointed.
Fore. Ha! say you so?
Mrs. Frail. [Aside to Mrs. FORESIGHT.] What, has my sealover
lost his anchor of hope then?
Mrs. Fore. Oh, sister, what will you do with him?
Mrs. Frail. Do with him! send him to sea again in the
next foul weather.—He's used to an inconstant element, and
won't be surprised to see the tide turned.
Fore. Wherein was I mistaken, not to foresee this?
[ Considers.
Scan. [Aside to Mrs. FORESIGHT.] Madam, you and I can
tell him something else that he did not foresee, and more
particularly relating to his own fortune.
Mrs. Fore. [Aside to SCANDAL.] What do you mean? I
don't understand you.
Scan. Hush, softlv—the pleasures of last night, my dear!
too considerable to be forgot so soon.
Mrs. Fore. Last night! and what would your impudence
infer from last night! last night was like the night before, I
think.
Scan. 'Sdeath, do you make no difference between me and
your husband?
Mrs. Fore. Not much;—he's superstitious, and you are
mad, in my opinion.
Scan. You make me mad.—You are not serious;—pray,
recollect yourself.
Mrs. Fore. O yes, now I remember, you were very impertinent
and impudent,—and would have come to bed to