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272 WILLIAM CONGREVE [ACT v
a young fellow that is neither a wit in his own eye, nor a
fool in the eye of the world, is a very hard task. But, faith
and troth, you speak very discreetly; for I hate both a wit
and a fool.
Ang. She that marries a fool, Sir Sampson, forfeits the
reputation of her honesty or understanding: and she that
marries a very witty man is a slave to the severity and insolent
conduct of her husband. I should like a man of wit
for a lover, because I would have such a one in my power;
but I would no more be his wife than his enemy. For his
malice is not a more terrible consequence of his aversion
than his jealousy is of his love.
Sir Samp. None of old Foresight's Sibyls ever uttered such
a truth. Odsbud, you have won my heart! I hate a wit; I
had a son that was spoiled among 'em; a good hopeful
lad, till he learned to be a wit—and might have risen in the
state.—But a pox on't! his wit run him out of his money,
and now his poverty has run him out of his wits.
Ang. Sir Sampson, as your friend, I must tell you, you
are very much abused in that matter: he's no more mad
than you are.
Sir Samp. How, madam! would I could prove itl
Ang. I can tell you how that may be done.—But it is
a thing that would make me appear to be too much concerned
in your affairs.
Sir Samp. [Aside.] Ddsbud, I believe she likes me!
[Alvud.] Ah, madam, all my affairs are scarce worthy to be
laid at your feet; and I wish, madam, they were in a better
posture, that I might make a more becoming offer to a lady
of your incomparable beauty and merit.—If I had Peru in
one hand, and Mexico in t'other, and the eastern empire
under my feet, it would make me only a more glorious
victim to be offered at the shrine of your beauty.
Ang. Bless me, Sir Sampson, what's the matter?
Sir Samp. Odd, madam, I love you!—and if you would
take my advice in a husband—
Ang. Hold, hold, Sir Sampson. I asked your advice for
a husband, and you are giving me your consent.—I was
indeed thinking to propose something like it in jest, to
satisfy you about Valentine: for if a match were seemingly
carried on between you and me, it would oblige him to
throw off his disguise of madness, in apprehension of losing