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diff --git a/old/10039.txt b/old/10039.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..36a6475 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10039.txt @@ -0,0 +1,23550 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. III, by Aphra Behn + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. III + +Author: Aphra Behn + +Release Date: November 10, 2003 [EBook #10039] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN, VOL. III *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen +and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN, VOL. III + + +EDITED BY MONTAGUE SUMMERS + + +MCMXV + + + +CONTENTS: + +THE TOWN-FOP; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TAWDREY +THE FALSE COUNT +THE LUCKY CHANCE; OR, AN ALDERMAN'S BARGAIN +THE FORC'D MARRIAGE; OR, THE JEALOUS BRIDEGROOM +THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON +NOTES + + + + + + +THE TOWN-FOP; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TAWDREY. + + + +ARGUMENT. + +Sir Timothy Tawdrey is by the wishes of his mother and the lady's father +designed for Celinda, who loves Bellmour, nephew to Lord Plotwell. A +coxcomb of the first water, Sir Timothy receives a sharp rebuff when he +opens his suit, and accordingly he challenges Bellmour, but fails to +appear at the place of meeting. Celinda's old nurse, at night, admits +Bellmour to her mistress' chamber, where they are surprized by +Friendlove, her brother, who is, however, favourable to the union, the +more so as he is a friend of Bellmour, and they have but newly returned +from travelling together in Italy. Lord Plotwell warmly welcomes his +nephew home, and proceeds to unfold his design of giving him his niece +Diana in marriage. When he demurs, the old lord threatens to deprive him +of his estate, and he is compelled eventually to acquiesce in the +matrimonial schemes of his guardian. Bellmour sends word to Celinda, who +replies in a heart-broken letter; and at the wedding feast Friendlove, +who himself is deeply enamoured of Diana, appears in disguise to observe +the traitor. He is followed by his sister disguised as a boy, and upon +Friendlove's drawing on Bellmour a scuffle ensues which, however, ends +without harm. In the nuptial chamber Bellmour informs Diana that he +cannot love her and she quits him maddened with rage and disappointment. +Sir Timothy serenades the newly-mated pair and is threatened by +Bellmour, whilst Celinda, who has been watching the house, attacks the +fop and his fiddlers. During the brawl Diana issuing forth meets +Celinda, and taking her for a boy leads her into the house and shortly +makes advances of love. They are interrupted by Friendlove, disguised, +and he receives Diana's commands to seek out and challenge Bellmour. At +the same time he reveals his love as though he told the tale of another, +but he is met with scorn and only bidden to fight the husband who has +repulsed her. Bellmour, meantime, in despair and rage at his misery +plunges into reckless debauchery, and in company with Sir Timothy visits +a bagnio, where they meet Betty Flauntit, the knight's kept mistress, +and other cyprians. Hither they are tracked by Charles, Bellmour's +younger brother, and Trusty, Lord Plotwell's old steward. Sharp words +pass, the brothers fight and Charles is slighted wounded. Their Uncle +hears of this with much indignation, and at the same time receiving a +letter from Diana begging for a divorce, he announces his intention to +further her purpose, and to abandon wholly Charles and Phillis, his +sister, in consequence of their elder brother's conduct. Sir Timothy, +induced by old Trusty, begins a warm courtship of Phillis, and arranges +with a parasite named Sham to deceive her by a mock marriage. Sham, +however, procures a real parson, and Sir Timothy is for the moment +afraid he has got a wife without a dowry or portion. Lord Plotwell +eventually promises to provide for her, and at Diana's request, now she +recognizes her mistake in trying to hold a man who does not love her, +Bellmour is forgiven and allowed to wed Celinda as soon as the divorce +has been pronounced, whilst Diana herself rewards Friendlove with +her hand. + + + +SOURCE. + +_The Town-Fop; or, Sir Timothy Tawdrey_ is materially founded upon +George Wilkins' popular play, _The Miseries of Enforced Marriage_ (4to, +1607, 1611, 1629, 1637), reprinted in Dodsley. Sir Timothy himself is +moulded to some extent upon Sir Francis Ilford, but, as Geneste aptly +remarks, he may be considered a new character. In the older drama, +Clare, the original of Celinda, dies tragically of a broken heart. It +cannot be denied that Mrs. Behn has greatly improved Wilkins' scenes. +The well-drawn character of Betty Flauntit is her own, and the +realistically vivacious bagnio episodes of Act iv replace a not very +interesting or lively tavern with a considerable accession to wit and +humour, although perhaps not to strict propriety. + + + +THEATRICAL HISTORY. + +_The Town-Fop; or, Sir Timothy Tawdrey_ was produced at the Duke's +Theatre, Dorset Garden, in September, 1676. There is no record of its +performance, and the actors' names are not given. It was a year of +considerable changes in the company, and any attempt to supply these +would be the merest surmise. + + + + +THE TOWN-FOP; +or, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_. + + +PROLOGUE. + +_As Country Squire, who yet had never known +The long-expected Joy of being in Town; +Whose careful Parents scarce permitted Heir +To ride from home, unless to neighbouring Fair; +At last by happy Chance is hither led, +To purchase Clap with loss of Maidenhead; +Turns wondrous gay, bedizen'd to Excess; +Till he is all Burlesque in Mode and Dress: +Learns to talk loud in Pit, grows wily too, +That is to say, makes mighty Noise and Show. + +So a young Poet, who had never been +Dabling beyond the Height of Ballading; +Who, in his brisk Essays, durst ne'er excel +The lucky Flight of rhyming Doggerel, +Sets up with this sufficient Stock on Stage, +And has, perchance, the luck to please the Age. +He draws you in, like cozening Citizen; +Cares not how bad the Ware, so Shop be fine. + +As tawdry Gown and Petticoat gain more +(Tho on a dull diseas'd ill-favour'd Whore) +Than prettier Frugal, tho on Holy-day, | +When every City-Spark has leave to play_, | +--Damn her, she must be sound, she is so gay; | +_So let the Scenes be fine, you'll ne'er enquire +For Sense, but lofty Flights in nimble Wire. +--What we present to Day is none of these, +But we cou'd wish it were, for we wou'd please, +And that you'll swear we hardly meant to do: +Yet here's no Sense; Pox on't, but here's no Show; +But a plain Story, that will give a Taste +Of what your Grandsires lov'd i'th' Age that's past_. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + +MEN. + +Lord _Plotwell_. +_Bellmour_, Nephew to the Lord _Plotwell_, contracted to _Celinda_. +_Charles_, Brother to _Bellmour_. +_Friendlove_, Brother to _Celinda_, in love with _Diana_. +Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_, a Fop-Knight, design'd to marry _Celinda_. +_Sham_, | Hangers on to Sir _Timothy_. +_Sharp_, | +_Trusty_, An old Steward to _Bellmour's_ Family. +Page to _Bellmour_. +Page to Lord _Plotwell_. +Sir _Timothy's_ Page. +Guests, Dancers, Fiddlers, and Servants. + + +WOMEN. + +The Lady _Diana_, Niece to the Lord _Plotwell_. +_Celinda_, Sister to _Friendlove_, contracted to _Bellmour_. +_Phillis_, Sister to _Bellmour_. +_Betty Flauntit_, kept by Sir _Timothy_. +_Driver_, A Bawd. +_Jenny_, | Two Whores +_Doll_, | +_Nurse_, +Ladies and Guests. + +SCENE, _Covent-Garden_. + + + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I. _The Street_. + + + _Enter Sir_ Timothy Tawdrey, Sham, _and_ Sharp. + +Sir _Tim_. Hereabouts is the House wherein dwells the Mistress of my +Heart; for she has Money, Boys, mind me, Money in abundance, or she were +not for me--The Wench her self is good-natur'd, and inclin'd to be +civil: but a Pox on't--she has a Brother, a conceited Fellow, whom the +World mistakes for a fine Gentleman; for he has travell'd, talks +Languages, bows with a _bonne mine_, and the rest; but, by Fortune, he +shall entertain you with nothing but Words-- + +_Sham_. Nothing else!-- + +Sir _Tim_. No--He's no Country-Squire, Gentlemen, will not game, whore; +nay, in my Conscience, you will hardly get your selves drunk in his +Company--He treats A-la-mode, half Wine, half Water, and the rest--But +to the Business, this Fellow loves his Sister dearly, and will not trust +her in this leud Town, as he calls it, without him; and hither he has +brought her to marry me. + +_Sham_. A Pox upon him for his Pains-- + +Sir _Tim_. So say I--But my Comfort is, I shall be as weary of her, as +the best Husband of 'em all. But there's Conveniency in it; besides, the +Match being as good as made up by the old Folks in the Country, I must +submit--The Wench I never saw yet, but they say she's handsom--But no +matter for that, there's Money, my Boys. + +_Sharp_. Well, Sir, we will follow you--but as dolefully as People do +their Friends to the Grave, from whence they're never to return, at +least not the same Substance; the thin airy Vision of a brave good +Fellow, we may see thee hereafter, but that's the most. + +Sir _Tim_. Your Pardon, sweet _Sharp_, my whole Design in it is to be +Master of my self, and with part of her Portion to set up my Miss, +_Betty Flauntit_; which, by the way, is the main end of my marrying; the +rest you'll have your shares of--Now I am forc'd to take you up Suits at +treble Prizes, have damn'd Wine and Meat put upon us, 'cause the +Reckoning is to be book'd: But ready Money, ye Rogues! What Charms it +has! makes the Waiters fly, Boys, and the Master with Cap in +Hand--excuse what's amiss, Gentlemen--Your Worship shall command the +best--and the rest--How briskly the Box and Dice dance, and the ready +Money submits to the lucky Gamester, and the gay Wench consults with +every Beauty to make her self agreeable to the Man with ready Money! In +fine, dear Rogues, all things are sacrific'd to its Power; and no Mortal +conceives the Joy of Argent Content. 'Tis this powerful God that makes +me submit to the Devil, Matrimony; and then thou art assur'd of me, my +stout Lads of brisk Debauch. + +_Sham_. And is it possible you can be ty'd up to a Wife? Whilst here in +_London_, and free, you have the whole World to range in, and like a +wanton Heifer, eat of every Pasture. + +Sir _Tim_. Why, dost think I'll be confin'd to my own dull Enclosure? +No, I had rather feed coarsely upon the boundless Common; perhaps two or +three days I may be in love, and remain constant, but that's the most. + +_Sharp_. And in three Weeks, should you wed a _Cynthia_, you'd be a +Monster. + +Sir _Tim_. What, thou meanest a Cuckold, I warrant. God help thee! But a +Monster is only so from its Rarity, and a Cuckold is no such strange +thing in our Age. + + _Enter_ Bellmour _and_ Friendlove. + +But who comes here? _Bellmour!_ Ah, my little dear Rogue! how dost thou? +--_Ned Friendlove_ too! Dear Lad, how dost thou too? Why, welcome to +Town, i'faith, and I'm glad to see you both. + +_Friend_. Sir _Timothy Tawdrey!_-- + +Sir _Tim_. The same, by Fortune, dear _Ned_: And how, and how, Man, how +go Matters? + +_Friend_. Between who, Sir? + +Sir _Tim_. Why, any Body, Man; but, by Fortune, I'm overjoy'd to meet +thee: But where dost think I was going? + +_Friend_. Is't possible one shou'd divine? + +Sir _Tim_. Is't possible you shou'd not, and meet me so near your +Sister's Lodgings? Faith, I was coming to pay my Respects and Services, +and the rest--Thou know'st my meaning--The old Business of the +Silver-World, _Ned_; by Fortune, it's a mad Age we live in, _Ned_; and +here be so many--wicked Rogues, about this damn'd leud Town, that, +'faith, I am fain to speak in the vulgar modish Style, in my own +Defence, and railly Matrimony and the rest. + +_Friend_. Matrimony!--I hope you are so exactly refin'd a Man of the +Town, that you will not offer once to think of so dull a thing: let that +alone for such cold Complexions as _Bellmour_ here, and I, that have not +attain'd to that most excellent faculty of Keeping yet, as you, Sir +_Timothy_, have done; much to your Glory, I assure you. + +Sir _Tim_. Who, I, Sir? You do me much Honour: I must confess I do not +find the softer Sex cruel; I am received as well as another Man of +my Parts. + +_Friend_. Of your Money you mean, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Why, 'faith, _Ned_, thou art i'th' right; I love to buy my +Pleasure: for, by Fortune, there's as much pleasure in Vanity and +Variety, as any Sins I know; What think'st thou, _Ned?_ + +_Friend_. I am not of your Mind, I love to love upon the square; and +that I may be sure not to be cheated with false Ware, I present 'em +nothing but my Heart. + +Sir _Tim_. Yes, and have the Consolation of seeing your frugal huswifery +Miss in the Pit, at a Play, in a long Scarf and Night-gown, for want of +Points, and Garniture. + +_Friend_. If she be clean, and pretty, and drest in Love, I can excuse +the rest, and so will she. + +Sir _Tim_. I vow to Fortune, _Ned_, thou must come to _London_, and be a +little manag'd: 'slife, Man, shouldst thou talk so aloud in good +Company, thou wouldst be counted a strange Fellow. Pretty--and drest +with Love--a fine Figure, by Fortune: No, _Ned_, the painted Chariot +gives a Lustre to every ordinary Face, and makes a Woman look like +Quality; Ay, so like, by Fortune, that you shall not know one from +t'other, till some scandalous, out-of-favour'd laid-aside Fellow of the +Town, cry--Damn her for a Bitch--how scornfully the Whore regards +me--She has forgot since _Jack_--such a one, and I, club'd for the +keeping of her, when both our Stocks well manag'd wou'd not amount to +above seven Shillings six Pence a week; besides now and then a Treat of +a Breast of Mutton from the next Cook's.--Then the other laughs, and +crys--Ay, rot her--and tells his Story too, and concludes with, Who +manages the Jilt now; Why, faith, some dismal Coxcomb or other, you may +be sure, replies the first. But, _Ned_, these are Rogues, and Rascals, +that value no Man's Reputation, because they despise their own. But +faith, I have laid aside all these Vanities, now I have thought of +Matrimony; but I desire my Reformation may be a Secret, because, as you +know, for a Man of my Address, and the rest--'tis not altogether +so Jantee. + +_Friend_. Sir, I assure you, it shall be so great a Secret for me, that +I will never ask you who the happy Woman is, that's chosen for this +great Work of your Conversion. + +Sir _Tim_. Ask me--No, you need not, because you know already. + +_Friend_. Who, I? I protest, Sir _Timothy_-- + +Sir _Tim_. No Swearing, dear _Ned_, for 'tis not such a Secret, but I +will trust my Intimates: these are my Friends, _Ned_; pray know +them--This Mr. _Sham_, and this--by Fortune, a very honest Fellow +[_Bows to 'em_] Mr. _Sharp_, and may be trusted with a Bus'ness that +concerns you as well as me. + +_Friend_. Me! What do you mean, Sir _Timothy_? + +Sir _Tim_. Why, Sir, you know what I mean. + +_Friend_. Not I, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. What, not that I am to marry your Sister _Celinda_? + +_Friend_. Not at all. + +_Bel_. O, this insufferable Sot! [_Aside_. + +_Friend_. My Sister, Sir, is very nice. + +Sir _Tim_. That's all one, Sir, the old People have adjusted the matter, +and they are the most proper for a Negotiation of that kind, which saves +us the trouble of a tedious Courtship. + +_Friend_. That the old People have agreed the matter, is more than +I know. + +Sir _Tim_. Why, Lord, Sir, will you persuade me to that? Don't you know +that your Father (according to the Method in such Cases, being certain +of my Estate) came to me thus--Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_,--you are a young +Gentleman, and a Knight, I knew your Father well, and my right +worshipful Neighbour, our Estates lie together; therefore, Sir, I have a +desire to have a near Relation with you--At which, I interrupted him, +and cry'd--Oh Lord, Sir, I vow to Fortune, you do me the greatest +Honour, Sir, and the rest-- + +_Bel_. I can endure no more; he marry fair _Celinda_! + +_Friend_. Prithee let him alone. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Tim_. To which he answer'd--I have a good Fortune--have but my Son +_Ned_, and this Girl, call'd _Celinda_, whom I will make a Fortune, +sutable to yours; your honoured Mother, the Lady _Tawdrey_, and I, have +as good as concluded the Match already. To which I (who, though I say +it, am well enough bred for a Knight) answered the Civility thus--I vow +to Fortune, Sir--I did not swear, but cry'd--I protest, Sir, _Celinda_, +deserves--no, no, I lye again, 'twas merits--Ay, _Celinda_--merits a +much better Husband than I. + +_Friend_. You speak more Truth than you are aware of. [_Aside_.] +Well, Sir, I'll bring you to my Sister; and if she likes you, as well as +My Father does, she's yours; otherwise, I have so much Tenderness for +her, as to leave her Choice free. + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, Sir, you compliment. _Alons, Entrons. + + [Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. _A Chamber_. + + + _Enter_ Celinda, _and_ Nurse. + +_Cel_. I wonder my Brother stays so long: sure Mr. _Bellmour_ is not +yet arriv'd, yet he sent us word he would be here to day. Lord, how +impatient I grow! + +_Nur_. Ay, so methinks; if I had the hopes of enjoying so sweet a +Gentleman as Mr. _Bellmour_, I shou'd be so too--But I am past it--Well, +I have had my Pantings, and Heavings, my Impatience, and Qualms, my +Heats, and my Colds, and my I know not whats--But I thank my Stars, I +have done with all those Fooleries. + +_Cel_. Fooleries!-- +Is there any thing in Life but Love? +Wou'dst thou praise Heaven for thy Being, +Without that grateful part of it? +For I confess I love. + +_Nur_. You need not, your Sighs, and daily (nay, and nightly too) +Disorders, plainly enough betray the Truth. + +_Cel_. Thou speak'st as if it were a Sin: +But if it be so, you your self help'd to make me wicked. +For e'er I saw Mr. _Bellmour_, you spoke the kindest things of him, +As would have mov'd the dullest Maid to love; +And e'er I saw him, I was quite undone. + +_Nur_. Quite undone! Now God forbid it; what, for loving? +You said but now there was no Life without it. + +_Cel_. But since my Brother came from _Italy_, +And brought young _Bellmour_ to our House, +How very little thou hadst said of him! +How much above thy Praise, I found the Youth! + +_Nur_. Very pretty! You are grown a notable Proficient in Love--And you +are resolv'd (if he please) to marry him? + +_Cel_. Or I must die. + +_Nur_. Ay, but you know the Lord _Plotwell_ has the Possession of all +his Estate, and if he marry without his liking, has Power to take away +all his Fortune, and then I think it were not so good marrying him. + +_Cel_. Not marrying him! Oh, canst thou think so poorly of me? +Yes, I would marry him, though our scanty Fortune +Cou'd only purchase us +A lonely Cottage, in some silent Place, +All cover'd o'er with Thatch, +Defended from the Outrages of Storms +By leafless Trees, in Winter; and from Heat, +With Shades, which their kind Boughs wou'd bear anew; +Under whose Covert we'd feed our gentle Flock, +That shou'd in gratitude repay us Food, +And mean and humble Clothing. + +_Nur_. Very fine! + +_Cel_. There we wou'd practise such degrees of Love, +Such lasting, innocent, unheard of Joys, +As all the busy World should wonder at, +And, amidst all their Glories, find none such. + +_Nur_. Good lack! how prettily Love teaches his Scholars to prattle.-- +But hear ye, fair Mrs. _Celinda_, you have forgot to what end and purpose +you came to Town; not to marry Mr. _Bellmour_, as I take it--but Sir +_Timothy Tawdrey_, that Spark of Men. + +_Cel_. Oh, name him not--Let me not in one Moment +Descend from Heaven to Hell-- +How came that wretched thing into thy Noddle? + +_Nur_. Faith, Mistress, I took pity of thee, I saw you so elevated with +Thoughts of Mr. _Bellmour_, I found it necessary to take you down a +degree lower. + +_Cel_. Why did not Heaven make all Men like lo _Bellmour_? +So strangely sweet and charming! + +_Nur_. Marry come up, you speak well for your self; +Oh intolerable loving Creature! +But here comes the utmost of your Wishes. + +_Cel_. My Brother, and _Bellmour_! with strange Men! + + _Enter_ Friendlove, Bellmour, _Sir_ Timothy, Sham, _and_ Sharp. + +_Friend_. Sister, I've brought you here a Lover, this is the worthy +Person you have heard of, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_. + +Sir _Tim_. Yes, faith, Madam, I am Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_, at your +Service--Pray are not you Mrs. _Celinda Dresswell_? + +_Cel_. The same, but cannot return your Compliment. + +Sir _Tim_. Oh Lord, oh Lord, not return a Compliment. Faith, _Ned_, thy +Sister's quite spoil'd, for want of Town-Education; 'tis pity, for she's +devilish pretty. + +_Friend_. She's modest, Sir, before Company; therefore these Gentlemen +and I will withdraw into the next Room. + +_Cel_. Inhuman Brother! Will you leave me alone with this Sot? + +_Friend_. Yes, and if you would be rid of the trouble of him, be not +coy, nor witty; two things he hates. + +_Bel_. 'Sdeath! Must she be blown upon by that Fool? + +_Friend_. Patience, dear _Frank_, a little while. + + [_Exeunt_ Friend. Bell. Sham _and_ Sharp. + + [Sir Timothy _walks about the Room, expecting when_ + Celinda _should speak_. + +_Cel_. Oh, dear Nurse, what shall I do? + +_Nur_. I that ever help you at a dead Lift, will not fail you now. + +Sir _Tim_. What a Pox, not a Word? + +_Cel_. Sure this Fellow believes I'll begin. + +Sir _Tim_. Not yet--sure she has spoke her last-- + +_Nur_. The Gentleman's good-natur'd, and has took pity on you, and will +not trouble you, I think. + +Sir _Tim_.--Hey day, here's Wooing indeed--Will she never begin, trow? +--This some would call an excellent Quality in her Sex--But a pox on't, +I do not like it--Well, I see I must break Silence at last--Madam--not +answer me--'shaw, this is mere ill breeding--by Fortune--it can be +nothing else--O' my Conscience, if I should kiss her, she would bid me +stand off--I'll try-- + +_Nur_. Hold, Sir, you mistake your Mark. + +Sir _Tim_. So I should, if I were to look in thy mouldy Chaps, good +Matron--Can your Lady speak? + +_Nur_. Try, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Which way? + +_Nur_. Why, speak to her first. + +Sir _Tim_. I never knew a Woman want a Cue for that; but all that I +Have met with were still before-hand with me in tittle tattle. + +_Nur_. Likely those you have met with may, but this is no such +Creature, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. I must confess, I am unus'd to this kind of Dialogue; and +I am an Ass, if I know what to say to such a Creature. +--But come, will you answer me to one Question? + +_Cel_. If I can, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. But first I should ask you if you can speak? For that's a +Question too. + +_Cel_. And if I cannot, how will you be answer'd? + +Sir _Tim_. Faith, that's right; why, then you must do't by signs. + +_Cel_. But grant I can speak, what is't you'll ask me? + +Sir _Tim_. Can you love? + +_Cel_. Oh, yes, Sir, many things; I love my Meat, I love abundance of +Adorers, I love choice of new Clothes, new Plays; and, like a right +Woman, I love to have my Will. + +Sir _Tim_. Spoke like a well-bred Person, by Fortune: I see there's +hopes of thee, Celinda; thou wilt in time learn to make a very +fashionable Wife, having so much Beauty too. I see Attracts, and +Allurements, wanton Eyes, the languishing turn of the Head, and all +That invites to Temptation. + +_Cel_. Would that please you in a Wife? + +Sir _Tim_. Please me! Why, Madam, what do you take me to be? a Sot?-- +a Fool?--or a dull _Italian_ of the Humour of your Brother?--No, no, +I can assure you, she that marries me, shall have Franchise--But, my +pretty Miss, you must learn to talk a little more-- + +_Cel_. I have not Wit, and Sense enough, for that. + +Sir _Tim_. Wit! Oh la, O la, Wit! as if there were any Wit requir'd +in a Woman when she talks; no, no matter for Wit, or Sense: talk but +loud, and a great deal to shew your white Teeth, and smile, and be very +confident, and 'tis enough--Lord, what a Sight 'tis to see a pretty +Woman Stand right up an end in the middle of a Room, playing with her +Fan, for want of something to keep her in Countenance. No, she that is +mine, I will teach to entertain at another rate. + +_Nur_. How, Sir? Why, what do you take my young Mistress to be? + +Sir _Tim_. A Woman--and a fine one, and so fine as she ought to permit +her self to be seen, and be ador'd. + +_Nur_. Out upon you, would you expose your Wife? by my troth, and I +were she, I know what I wou'd do-- + +Sir _Tim_. Thou do--what thou wouldst have done sixty Years ago, +thou meanest. + +_Nur_. Marry come up, for a stinking Knight; worse than I have gone +down with you, e'er now--Sixty Years ago, quoth ye--As old as I am-- +I live without Surgeons, wear my own Hair, am not in Debt to my Taylor, +as thou art, and art fain to kiss his Wife, to persuade her Husband +to be merciful to thee--who wakes thee every Morning with his Clamour +and long Bills, at thy Chamber-door. + +Sir _Tim_. Prithee, good Matron, Peace; I'll compound with thee. + +_Nur_. 'Tis more than thou wilt do with thy Creditors, who, poor Souls, +despair of a Groat in the Pound for all thou ow'st them, for Points, +Lace, and Garniture--for all, in fine, that makes thee a complete Fop. + +Sir _Tim_. Hold, hold thy eternal Clack. + +_Nur_. And when none would trust thee farther, give Judgments for twice +the Money thou borrowest, and swear thy self at Age; and lastly--to +patch up your broken Fortune, you wou'd fain marry my sweet Mistress +_Celinda_ here--But, Faith, Sir, you're mistaken, her Fortune shall not +go to the Maintenance of your Misses; which being once sure of, she, +poor Soul, is sent down to the Country-house, to learn Housewifery, and +live without Mankind, unless she can serve her self with the handsom +Steward, or so--whilst you tear it away in Town, and live like Man and +Wife with your Jilt, and are every Day seen in the Glass Coach, whilst +your own natural Lady is hardly worth the Hire of a Hack. + +Sir _Tim_. Why, thou damnable confounded Torment, wilt thou never cease? + +_Nur_. No, not till you raise your Siege, and be gone; go march to your +Lady of Love, and Debauch--go--You get no _Celinda_ here. + +Sir _Tim_. The Devil's in her Tongue. + +_Cel_. Good gentle Nurse, have Mercy upon the poor Knight. + +_Nur_. No more, Mistress, than he'll have on you, if Heaven had so +abandon'd you, to put you into his Power--Mercy--quoth ye--no--, no +more than his Mistress will have, when all his Money's gone. + +Sir _Tim_. Will she never end? + +_Cel_. Prithee forbear. + +_Nur_. No more than the Usurer would, to whom he has mortgag'd the best +part of his Estate, would forbear a Day after the promis'd Payment of +the Money. Forbear!-- + +Sir _Tim_. Not yet end! Can I, Madam, give you a greater Proof of my +Passion for you, than to endure this for your sake? + +_Nur_. This--thou art so sorry a Creature, thou wilt endure any thing +for the lucre of her Fortune; 'tis that thou hast a Passion for: not +that thou carest for Money, but to sacrifice to thy Leudness, to +purchase a Mistress, to purchase the Reputation of as errant a Fool as +ever arriv'd at the Honour of keeping; to purchase a little Grandeur, +as you call it; that is, to make every one look at thee, and consider +what a Fool thou art, who else might pass unregarded amongst the common +Croud. + +Sir _Tim_. The Devil's in her Tongue, and so 'tis in most Women's of her +Age; for when it has quitted the Tail, it repairs to her upper Tire. + +_Nur_. Do not persuade me, Madam, I am resolv'd to make him weary of his +Wooing. + +Sir _Tim_. So, God be prais'd, the Storm is laid--And now, Mrs. _Celinda_, +give me leave to ask you, if it be with your leave, this Affront is put +on a Man of my Quality? + +_Nur_. Thy Quality-- + +Sir _Tim_. Yes; I am a Gentleman, and a Knight. + +_Nur_. Yes, Sir, Knight of the ill-favour'd Countenance is it? + +Sir _Tim_. You are beholding to _Don Quixot_ for that, and 'tis so many +Ages since thou couldst see to read, I wonder thou hast not forgot all +that ever belong'd to Books. + +_Nur_. My Eye-sight is good enough to see thee in all thy Colours, thou +Knight of the burning Pestle thou. + +Sir _Tim_. Agen, that was out of a Play--Hark ye, Witch of _Endor_, hold +your prating Tongue, or I shall most well-favour'dly cudgel ye. + +_Nur_. As your Friend the Hostess has it in a Play too, I take it, Ends +which you pick up behind the Scenes, when you go to be laught at even by +the Player-Women. + +Sir _Tim_. Wilt thou have done? By Fortune, I'll endure no more-- + +_Nur_. Murder, Murder! + +Cel. Hold, hold. + + _Enter_ Friendlove, Bellmour, Sham _and_ Sharp. + +_Friend_. Read here the worst of News that can arrive, + [_Gives_ Bellm. _a Letter_. +--What's the matter here? Why, how now, +Sir _Timothy_, what, up in Arms with the Women? + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, Ned, I'm glad thou'rt come--never was _Tom Dove_ baited +as I have been. + +_Friend_. By whom? my Sister? + +Sir _Tim_. No, no, that old Mastiff there--the young Whelp came not on, +thanks be prais'd. + +_Bel_. How, her Father here to morrow, and here he says, that shall be +the last Moment, he will defer the Marriage of _Celinda_ to this Sot-- +Oh God, I shall grow mad, and so undo 'em all--I'll kill the Villain at +the Altar--By my lost hopes, I will--And yet there is some left--Could I +but--speak to her--I must rely on _Dresswell's_ Friendship--Oh God, to +morrow--Can I endure that thought? Can I endure to see the Traytor there, +who must to morrow rob me of my Heaven?--I'll own my Flame--and boldly +tell this Fop, she must be mine-- + +_Friend_. I assure you, Sir _Timothy_, I am sorry, and will chastise her. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, Sir, I that am a Knight--a Man of Parts and Wit, and one +that is to be your Brother, and design'd to be the Glory of marrying +_Celinda_. + +_Bel_. I can endure no more--How, Sir--You marry fair _Celinda!_ + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, _Frank_, ay--is she not a pretty little plump white +Rogue, hah? + +_Bel_. Yes. + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, I had forgot thou art a modest Rogue, and to thy eternal +Shame, hadst never the Reputation of a Mistress--Lord, Lord, that I +could see thee address thy self to a Lady--I fancy thee a very ridiculous +Figure in that Posture, by Fortune. + +_Bel_. Why, Sir, I can court a Lady-- + +Sir _Tim_. No, no, thou'rt modest; that is to say, a Country Gentleman; +that is to say, ill-bred; that is to say, a Fool, by Fortune, as the +World goes. + +_Bel_. Neither, Sir--I can love--and tell it too--and that you may +believe me--look on this Lady, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Look on this Lady, Sir--Ha, ha, ha,--Well, Sir--Well, Sir-- +And what then? + +_Bel_. Nay, view her well, Sir-- + +Sir. _Tim_. Pleasant this--Well, _Frank_, I do--And what then? + +_Bel_. Is she not charming fair--fair to a wonder! + +Sir _Tim_. Well, Sir, 'tis granted-- + +_Bel_. And canst thou think this Beauty meant for thee, for thee, dull +common Man? + +Sir _Tim_. Very well, what will he say next? + +_Bel_. I say, let me no more see thee approach this Lady. + +Sir _Tim_. How, Sir, how? + +_Bel_. Not speak to her, not look on her--by Heaven--not think of her. + +Sir _Tim_. How, _Frank_, art in earnest? + +_Bel_. Try, if thou dar'st. + +Sir _Tim_. Not think of her!-- + +_Bel_. No, not so much as in a Dream, could I divine it. + +Sir _Tim_. Is he in earnest, Mr. _Friendlove_? + +_Friend_. I doubt so, Sir _Timothy_. + +Sir _Tim_. What, does he then pretend to your Sister? + +_Bel_. Yes, and no Man else shall dare do so. + +Sir _Tim_. Take notice I am affronted in your Lodgings--for you, +_Bellmour_--You take me for an Ass--therefore meet me to morrow Morning +about five, with your Sword in your Hand, behind _Southampton_ House. + +_Bel_. 'Tis well--there we will dispute our Title to _Celinda_. + [_Exit Sir_ Tim. +_Dull Animal! The Gods cou'd ne'er decree +So bright a Maid shou'd be possest by thee_. + + [Exeunt. + + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I. _A Palace_. + + + _Enter_ Nurse _with a Light_. + +_Nur_. Well, 'tis an endless trouble to have the Tuition of a Maid in +love, here is such Wishing and Longing.--And yet one must force them to +what they most desire, before they will admit of it--Here am I sent out +a Scout of the Forlorn Hope, to discover the Approach of the Enemy--Well +--Mr. _Bellmour_, you are not to know, 'tis with the Consent of _Celinda_, +that you come--I must bear all the blame, what Mischief soever comes of +these Night-Works. + + _Enter_ Bellmour. + +Oh, are you come--Your Hour was Twelve, and now 'tis almost Two. + +_Bel_. I could not get from _Friendlove_--Thou hast not told _Celinda_ +of my coming? + +_Nur_. No, no, e'en make Peace for me, and your self too. + +_Bel_. I warrant thee, Nurse--Oh, how I hope and fear this Night's +Success! + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. _A Chamber_. + + + Celinda _in her Night-Attire, leaning on a Table. + Enter to her_ Bellmour _and_ Nurse. + +_Cel_. Oh Heavens! Mr. _Bellmour_ at this late Hour in my Chamber! + +_Bel_. Yes, Madam; but will approach no nearer till you permit me; +And sure you know my Soul too well to fear. + +_Cel_. I do, Sir, and you may approach yet nearer, +And let me know your Business. + +_Bel_. Love is my bus'ness, that of all the World; +Only my Flame as much surmounts the rest, +As is the Object's Beauty I adore. + +_Cel_. If this be all, to tell me of your Love, +To morrow might have done as well. + +_Bel_. Oh, no, to morrow would have been too late, +Too late to make returns to all my Pain. +--What disagreeing thing offends your Eyes? +I've no Deformity about my Person; +I'm young, and have a Fortune great as any +That do pretend to serve you; +And yet I find my Interest in your Heart, +Below those happy ones that are my Rivals. +Nay, every Fool that can but plead his Title, +And the poor Interest that a Parent gives him, +Can merit more than I. +--What else, my lovely Maid, can give a freedom +To that same talking, idle, knighted Fop? + +_Cel_. Oh, if I am so wretched to be his, +Surely I cannot live; +For, Sir, I must confess I cannot love him. + +_Bel_. But thou may'st do as bad, and marry him, +And that's a Sin I cannot over-live; +--No, hear my Vows-- + +_Cel_. But are you, Sir, in earnest? + +_Bel_. In earnest? Yes, by all that's good, I am; +I love you more than I do Life, or Heaven! + +_Cel_. Oh, what a pleasure 'tis to hear him say so! [_Aside_. +--But pray, how long, Sir, have you lov'd me so? + +_Bel_. From the first moment that I saw your Eyes, +Your charming killing Eyes, I did adore 'em; +And ever since have languisht Day and Night. + +_Nur_. Come, come, ne'er stand asking of Questions, +But follow your Inclinations, and take him at his Word. + +_Bel_. Celinda, take her Counsel, +Perhaps this is the last opportunity; +Nay, and, by Heaven, the last of all my Life, +If you refuse me now-- +Say, will you never marry Man but me? + +_Cel_. Pray give me till to morrow, Sir, to answer you; +For I have yet some Fears about my Soul, +That take away my Rest. + +_Bel_. To morrow! You must then marry--Oh fatal Word! +Another! a Beast, a Fool, that knows not how to value you. + +_Cel_. Is't possible my Fate shou'd be so near? + +_Nur_. Nay, then dispose of your self, I say, and leave dissembling; +'tis high time. + +_Bel_. This Night the Letter came, the dreadful News +Of thy being married, and to morrow too. +Oh, answer me, or I shall die with Fear. + +_Cel_. I must confess it, Sir, without a blush, +(For 'tis no Sin to love) that I cou'd wish-- +Heaven and my Father were inclin'd my way: +But I am all Obedience to their Wills. + +_Bel_. That Sigh was kind, +But e'er to morrow this time, +You'll want this pitying Sense, and feel no Pantings, +But those which Joys and Pleasures do create. + +_Cel_. Alas, Sir! what is't you'd have me do? + +_Bel_. Why--I wou'd have you love, and after that +You need not be instructed what to do. +Give me your Faith, give me your solemn Vow +To be my Wife, and I shall be at Peace. + +_Cel_. Have you consider'd, Sir, your own Condition? +'Tis in your Uncle's Power to take your Fortune, +If in your Choice you disobey his Will. +--And, Sir, you know that mine is much below you. + +_Bel_. Oh, I shall calm his Rage, +By urging so much Reason as thy Beauty, +And my own Flame, on which my Life depends. +--He now has kindly sent for me to _London_, +I fear his Bus'ness-- +Yet if you'll yield to marry me, +We'll keep it secret, till our kinder Stars +Have made provision for the blest Discovery. +Come, give me your Vows, or we must part for ever. + +_Cel_. Part! Oh, 'tis a fatal Word! +I will do any thing to save that Life, +To which my own so nearly is ally'd. + + _Enter_ Friendlove. + +_Friend_. So, forward Sister! + +_Bel_. Ha, _Friendlove!_ + +_Friend_. Was it so kindly done, to gain my Sister +Without my knowledge? + +_Bel_. Ah, Friend! 'Twas from her self alone +That I wou'd take the Blessing which I ask. + +_Friend_. And I'll assist her, Sir, to give it you. +Here, take him as an Honour, and be thankful. + +_Bel_. I as a Blessing sent from Heaven receive her, +And e'er I sleep will justify my Claim, +And make her mine. + +_Friend_. Be not so hasty, Friend: +Endeavour first to reconcile your Uncle to't. + +_Bel_. By such Delays we're lost: Hast thou forgot? +To morrow she's design'd another's Bride! + +_Friend_. For that let me alone t'evade. + +_Bel_. If you must yet delay me, +Give me leave not to interest such Wealth without Security. +And I, _Celinda_, will instruct you how to satisfy my Fears. + [_Kneels, and takes her by the Hand_. +Bear witness to my Vows-- +May every Plague that Heaven inflicts on Sin, +Fall down in Thunder on my Head, +If e'er I marry any but _Celinda_ +Or if I do not marry thee, fair Maid. + +_Nur_. Heartily sworn, as I vow. + +_Cel_. And here I wish as solemnly the same: +--May all arrive to me, +If e'er I marry any Man but _Bellmour_! + +_Nur_. We are Witnesses, as good as a thousand. + +_Friend_. But now, my Friend, I'd have you take your leave; the day +comes on apace, and you've not seen your Uncle since your Arrival. + +_Bel_. 'Tis Death to part with thee, my fair Celinda; +But our hard Fates impose this Separation: +--Farewel--Remember thou'rt all mine. + +_Cel_. What have I else of Joy to think upon? +--Go--go--depart. + +_Bel_. I will--but 'tis as Misers part with Gold, +Or People full of Health depart from Life. + +_Friend_. Go, Sister, to your Bed, and dream of him. + + [_Ex_. Cel. _and_ Nurse. + +_Bel_. Whilst I prepare to meet this Fop to fight him. + +_Friend_. Hang him, he'll ne'er meet thee; to beat a Watch, or kick +a Drawer, or batter Windows, is the highest pitch of Valour he e'er +arriv'd to. + +_Bel_. However, I'll expect him, lest he be fool-hardy enough to keep +his Word. + +_Friend_. Shall I wait on thee? + +_Bel_. No, no, there's no need of that--Good-morrow, my best Friend. + +_Friend_. But e'er you go, my dearest Friend and Brother, +Now you are sure of all the Joys you wish +From Heaven, do not forgetful grow of that great Trust +I gave you of all mine; but, like a Friend, +Assist me in my great Concern of Love +With fair Diana, your lovely Cousin. +You know how long I have ador'd that Maid; +But still her haughty Pride repell'd my Flame, +And all its fierce Efforts. + +_Bel_. She has a Spirit equal to her Beauty, +As mighty and tyrannick; yet she has Goodness, +And I believe enough inclin'd to Love, +When once her Pride's o'ercome. I have the Honour +To be the Confident of all her Thoughts: +And to augment thy Hopes, 'tis not long since +She did with Sighs confess to me, she lov'd +A Man, she said, scarce equal to her Fortune: +But all my Interest could not learn the Object; +But it must needs be you, by what she said. +This I'll improve, and so to your Advantage-- + +_Friend_. I neither doubt thy Industry, nor Love; +Go, and be careful of my Interest there, +Whilst I preserve thine as intirely here. + + [_Ex. severally_. + + + +SCENE III. _Sir_ Timothy's _House_. + + + _Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham, Sharp, _and_ Boy. + +_Sharp_. Good morrow, Sir _Timothy_; what, not yet ready, and to meet +Mr. _Bellmour_ at Five? the time's past. + +Sir _Tim_.--Ay, Pox on't--I han't slept to Night for thinking on't. + +_Sham_. Well, Sir _Timothy_, I have most excellent News for you, that +will do as well; I have found out-- + +Sir _Tim_. A new Wench, I warrant--But prithee, _Sham_, I have other +matters in hand; 'Sheart, I am so mortify'd with this same thought of +Fighting, that I shall hardly think of Womankind again. + +_Sharp_. And you were so forward, Sir Timothy-- + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, _Sharp_, I am always so when I am angry; had I been but +A little more provok'd then, that we might have gone to't when the heat +was brisk, I had done well--but a Pox on't, this fighting in cool +Blood I hate. + +_Sham_. 'Shaw, Sir, 'tis nothing, a Man wou'd do't for Exercise in a +Morning. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, if there were no more in't than Exercise; if a Man cou'd +take a Breathing without breathing a Vein--but, _Sham_, this Wounds, and +Blood, sounds terribly in my Ears; but since thou say'st 'tis nothing, +prithee do thou meet _Bellmour_ in my stead; thou art a poor Dog, and +'tis no matter if the World were well rid of thee. + +_Sham_. I wou'd do't with all my Soul--but your Honour, Sir-- + +Sir _Tim_.--My Honour! 'tis but Custom that makes it honourable to fight +Duels--I warrant you the wise _Italian_ thinks himself a Man of Honour; +and yet when did you hear of an _Italian_, that ever fought a Duel? Is't +not enough, that I am affronted, have my Mistress taken away before my +Face, hear my self call'd, dull, common Man, dull Animal, and the +rest?--But I must after all give him leave to kill me too, if he +can--And this is your damn'd Honourable _English_ way of shewing a +Man's Courage. + +_Sham_. I must confess I am of your mind, and therefore have been +studying a Revenge, sutable to the Affront: and if I can judge any +thing, I have hit it. + +Sir _Tim_. Hast thou? dear _Sham_, out with it. + +_Sham_. Why, Sir--what think you of debauching his Sister? + +Sir _Tim_. Why, is there such a thing in Nature? + +_Sham_. You know he has a Sister, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Yes, rich, and fair. + +_Sham_. Both, or she were not worthy of your Revenge. + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, how I love Revenge, that has a double Pleasure in it--and +where--and where is this fine piece of Temptation? + +_Sham_. In being, Sir--but _Sharp_ here, and I, have been at some cost +in finding her out. + +Sir _Tim_. Ye shall be overpaid--there's Gold, my little _Maquere_--but +she's very handsom? + +_Sharp_. As a Goddess, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. And art thou sure she will be leud? + +_Sharp_. Are we sure she's a Woman, Sir?--Sure, she's in her Teens, has +Pride and Vanity--and two or three Sins more that I cou'd name, all +which never fail to assist a Woman in Debauchery--But, Sir, there are +certain People that belong to her, that must be consider'd too. + +Sir _Tim_. Stay, Sir, e'er I part with more Money, I'll be certain what +returns 'twill make me--that is, I'll see the Wench, not to inform my +self, how well I like her, for that I shall do, because she is new, and +_Bellmour's_ Sister--but to find what possibility there is in gaining +her.--I am us'd to these things, and can guess from a Look, or a Kiss, +or a Touch of the Hand--but then I warrant, 'twill come to the knowledge +of _Betty Flauntit_. + +_Sham_. What, Sir, then it seems you doubt us? + +Sir _Tim_. How do you mean, your Honesty or Judgment? I can assure you, +I doubt both. + +_Sharp_. How, Sir, doubt our Honesty! + +Sir _Tim_. Yes--why, I hope neither of you pretend to either, do you? + +_Sham_. Why, Sir, what, do you take us for Cheats? + +Sir _Tim_. As errant, as any's in Christendom. + +_Sharp_. How, Sir? + +Sir _Tim_. Why, how now--what, fly in my Face? Are your Stomachs so +queasy, that Cheat won't down with you? + +_Sham_. Why, Sir, we are Gentlemen; and though our ill Fortunes have +thrown us on your Bounty, we are not to be term'd-- + +Sir _Tim_. Why, you pair of Hectors--whence this Impudence?--Do ye know +me, ye Raggamuffins? + +_Sham_. Yes, but we knew not that you were a Coward before. You talkt +big, and huft where-e'er you came, like an errant Bully; and so long we +reverenc'd you--but now we find you have need of our Courage, we'll +stand on our own Reputations. + +Sir _Tim_. Courage and Reputation!--ha, ha, ha--why, you lousy +Tatterdemallions--dare ye talk of Courage and Reputation? + +_Sharp_. Why, Sir, who dares question either? + +Sir _Tim_. He that dares try it. [Kicks 'em. + +_Sharp_. Hold, Sir, hold. + +_Sham_. Enough, enough, we are satisfy'd. + +Sir _Tim_. So am not I, ye mangy Mungrels, till I have kickt Courage and +Reputation out of ye. + +_Sham_. Hold there, Sir, 'tis enough, we are satisfy'd, that you have +Courage. + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, are you so? then it seems I was not to be believ'd--I +told you I had Courage when I was angry. + +_Sham_. Ay, Sir, we have prov'd it, and will now swear it.--But we had +an Inclination to try, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. And all you did, was but to try my Courage, hah! + +_Sharp_. On our Honours, nothing else, Sir _Timothy_. + +Sir _Tim_. Though I know ye to be cursed cowardly lying Rogues, yet +because I have use of ye, I must forgive ye.--Here, kiss my Hand, and +be forgiven. + +_Sham_. 'Tis an Honour we are proud of, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, is it so, Rascallians? then I hope I am to see the Lady +without Indentures. + +_Sharp_. Oh Lord, Sir, any thing we can serve you in. + +_Sham_. And I have brib'd her Maid to bring her this Morning into the +_Mall_. + +Sir _Tim_. Well, let's about it then; for I am for no fighting to +day--D'ye hear, Boy--Let the Coach be got ready whilst I get my +self drest. + +_Boy_. The Coach, Sir! Why, you know Mr. _Shatter_ has pawn'd the +Horses. + +Sir _Tim_. I had forgot it--A pox on't, this 'tis to have a Partner in +A Coach; by Fortune, I must marry and set up a whole one. + + [Exeunt. + + + +SCENE IV. Lord Plotwell's House. + + + Enter Charles Bellmour, and Trusty. + +_Trusty_. Mr. _Charles_, your Brother, my young Master _Bellmour_, +is come. + +_Char_. I'm glad on't; my Uncle began to be impatient that he came not, +you saying you left him but a day's Journey behind you yesterday. My +Uncle has something of importance to say to him, I fancy it may be about +A Marriage between him and my Lady _Diana_--such a Whisper I heard-- + +_Trusty_. Ay, marry, Sir, that were a Match indeed, she being your +Uncle's only Heir. + +_Char_. Ay, but they are Sisters Children, and too near a-kin to +be happy. + +_Trusty_. 'Twere pity my young Master shou'd be unhappy in a Wife; for +he is the sweetest-natur'd Gentleman--But one Comfort is, Mr. _Charles_, +you, and your Sister Mrs. _Phillis_, will have your Portions assign'd +you if he marry. + +_Char_. Yes, that he can't deny us the very Day after his Marriage. + +_Trusty_. I shall be glad to see you all dispos'd of well; but I was +half afraid, your Brother would have married Mrs. _Celinda Friendlove_, +to whom he made notable Love in _Yorkshire_ I thought: not but she's a +fine Lady; but her Fortune is below that of my young Master's, as much +as my Lady _Diana's_ is above his--But see, they come; let us retire, +to give 'em leave to talk alone. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter_ _Lord_ Plotwell, _and_ Bellmour. + +_Lord_. And well, _Frank_, how dost thou find thy self inclin'd? thou +should'st begin to think of something more than Books. Do'st thou not +wish to know the Joys that are to be found in a Woman, _Frank_? I well +remember at thy Age I fancy'd a thousand fine things of that kind. + +_Bel_. Ay, my Lord, a thousand more perhaps than are to be found. + +_Lord_. Not so; but I confess, _Frank_, unless the Lady be fair, and +there be some Love too, 'tis not altogether so well; therefore I, who +am still busy for thy good, have fix'd upon a Lady-- + +_Bel_. Ha!-- + +_Lord_. What, dost start? Nay, I'll warrant thee she'll please; A Lady +rich, and fair, and nobly born, and thou shalt marry her, _Frank_. + +_Bel_. Marry her, my Lord-- + +_Lord_. Why, yes, marry her--I hope you are none of the fashionable +Fops, that are always in Mutiny against Marriage, who never think +themselves very witty, but when they rail against Heaven and a Wife-- +But, _Frank_, I have found better Principles in thee, and thou hast the +Reputation of a sober young Gentleman; thou art, besides, a Man of great +Fortune, _Frank_. + +_Bel_. And therefore, Sir, ought the less to be a Slave. + +_Lord_. But, _Frank_, we are made for one another; and ought, by the +Laws of God, to communicate our Blessings. + +_Bel_. Sir, there are Men enough, fitter much than I, to obey those +Laws; nor do I think them made for every one. + +_Lord_. But, _Frank_, you do not know what a Wife I have provided +for you. + +_Bel_. 'Tis enough I know she's a Woman, Sir. + +_Lord_. A Woman! why, what should she be else? + +_Bel_. An Angel, Sir, e'er she can be my Wife. + +_Lord_. In good time: but this is a Mortal, Sir--and must serve your +turn--but, _Frank_, she is the finest Mortal-- + +_Bel_. I humbly beg your Pardon, if I tell you, +That had she Beauty such as Heav'n ne'er made, +Nor meant again t'inrich a Woman with, +It cou'd not take my Heart. + +_Lord_. But, Sir, perhaps you do not guess the Lady. + +_Bel_. Or cou'd I, Sir, it cou'd not change my Nature. + +_Lord_. But, Sir, suppose it be my Niece _Diana_. + +_Bel_. How, Sir, the fair _Diana_! + +_Lord_. I thought thou'dst come about again; +What think you now of Woman-kind, and Wedlock? + +_Bel_. As I did before, my Lord. + +_Lord_. What, thou canst not think I am in earnest; I confess, _Frank_, +she is above thee in point of Fortune, she being my only Heir--but +suppose 'tis she. + +_Bel_. Oh, I'm undone!--Sir, I dare not suppose so greatly in favour +of my self. + +_Lord_. But, _Frank_, you must needs suppose-- + +_Bel_. Oh, I am ruin'd, lost, for ever lost. + +_Lord_. What do you mean, Sir? + +_Bel_. I mean, I cannot marry fair _Diana_. + +_Lord_. Death! how's this? + +_Bel_. She is a thing above my humble wishes-- + +_Lord_. Is that all? Take you no care for that; for she loves you +already, and I have resolv'd it, which is better yet. + +_Bel_. Love me, Sir! I know she cannot, +And Heav'n forbid that I should injure her. + +_Lord_. Sir, this is a Put-off: resolve quickly, or I'll compel you. + +_Bel_. You wou'd not use Extremity; +What is the Forfeit of my Disobedience? + +_Lord_. The loss of all your Fortune, +If you refuse the Wife I have provided-- +Especially a handsom Lady, as she is, _Frank_. + +_Bel_. Oh me, unhappy! +What cursed Laws provided this Severity? + +_Lord_. Even those of your Father's Disposal, who seeing so many +Examples in this leud Age, of the ruin of whole Families by imprudent +Marriages, provided otherwise for you. + +_Bel_. But, Sir, admit _Diana_ be inclin'd, +And I (by my unhappy Stars so curs'd) +Should be unable to accept the Honour. + +_Lord_. How, Sir! admit!--I can no more admit, +Than you can suppose--therefore give me your final Answer. + +_Bel_. Sir, can you think a Blessing e'er can fall +Upon that Pair, whom Interest joins, not Love? + +_Lord_. Why, what's in _Diana_, that you shou'd not love her? + +_Bel_. I must confess she has a thousand Virtues, +The least of which wou'd bless another Man; +But, Sir, I hope, if I am so unhappy +As not to love that Lady, you will pardon me. + +_Lord_. Indeed, Sir, but I will not; love me this Lady, and marry me +this Lady, or I will teach you what it is to refuse such a Lady. + +_Bel_. Sir, 'tis not in my power to obey you. + +_Lord_. How! not in your pow'r? + +_Bel_. No, Sir, I see my fatal Ruin in your Eyes, +And know too well your Force, and my own Misery. +--But, Sir--when I shall tell you who I've married-- + +_Lord_. Who you've married;--By all that's sacred, if that be true, +thou art undone for ever. + +_Bel_. O hear me, Sir! +I came with Hopes to have found you merciful. + +_Lord_. Expect none from me; no, thou shalt not have +So much of thy Estate, as will afford thee Bread: +By Heav'n, thou shalt not. + +_Bel_. Oh, pity me, my Lord, pity my Youth; +It is no Beggar, nor one basely born, +That I have given my Heart to, but a Maid, +Whose Birth, whose Beauty, and whose Education +Merits the best of Men. + +_Lord_. Very fine! where is the Priest that durst dispose of you without +my Order? Sirrah, you are my Slave--at least your whole Estate is at my +mercy--and besides, I'll charge you with an Action of 5000 pounds. For +your ten Years Maintenance: Do you know that this in my power too? + +_Bel_. Yes, Sir, and dread your Anger worse than Death. + +_Lord_. Oh Villain! thus to dash my Expectation! + +_Bel_. Sir, on my bended Knees, thus low I fall +To beg your mercy. + +_Lord_. Yes, Sir, I will have mercy; +I'll give you Lodging--but in a Dungeon, Sir, +Where you shall ask your Food of Passers by. + +_Bel_. All this, I know, you have the Pow'r to do; +But, Sir, were I thus cruel, this hard Usage +Would give me Cause to execute it. +I wear a Sword, and I dare right my self; +And Heaven wou'd pardon it, if I should kill you: +But Heav'n forbid I shou'd correct that Law, +Which gives you Power, and orders me Obedience. + +_Lord_. Very well, Sir, I shall tame that Courage, and punish that +Harlot, whoe'er she be, that has seduc'd ye. + +_Bel_. How, Harlot, Sir!--Death, such another Word, +And through all Laws and Reason I will rush, +And reach thy Soul, if mortal like thy Body. +--No, Sir, she's chaste, as are the new-made Vows +I breath'd upon her Lips, when last we parted. + +_Lord_. Who waits there? + + Enter Trusty and Servants. + +--Shall I be murder'd in my own House? +'Tis time you were remov'd-- +Go, get an Action of 5000 pounds, enter'd against him, +With Officers to arrest him. + +_Trusty_. My Lord, 'tis my young Master _Bellmour_. + +_Lord_. Ye all doat upon him, but he's not the Man you take him for. + +_Trusty_. How, my Lord! not this Mr. _Bellmour_! + +_Lord_. Dogs, obey me. + [_Offers to go_. + +_Bel_. Stay, Sir--oh, stay--what will become of me? +'Twere better that my Life were lost, than Fortune-- +For that being gone, _Celinda_ must not love me. +--But to die wretchedly-- +Poorly in Prison--whilst I can manage this-- +Is below him, that does adore _Celinda. [Draws_. +I'll kill my self--but then--I kill _Celinda_. +Shou'd I obey this Tyrant--then too she dies. +Yes, Sir--You may be cruel--take the Law, +And kill me quickly, 'twill become your Justice. [_Weeps_. + +_Lord_. Was I call'd back for this? Yes, I shall take it, Sir; +do not fear. + [_Offers to go_. + +_Bel_. Yet, stay, Sir--Have you lost all Humanity? +Have you no Sense of Honour, nor of Horrors? + +_Lord_. Away with him--go, be gone. + +_Bel_. Stay, Sir. Oh, God! what is't you'd have me do? +--Here--I resign my self unto your Will-- +But, Oh _Celinda_! what will become of thee? [_Weeps_. +--Yes, I will marry--and _Diana_ too. + +_Lord_. 'Tis well you will; had I not been good-natur'd now, +You had been undone, and miss'd _Diana_ too. + +_Bel_. But must I marry--needs marry, Sir? +Or lose my Fortune, and my Liberty, +Whilst all my Vows are given to another? + +_Lord_. By all means, Sir-- + +_Bel_. If I must marry any but _Celinda_, +I shall not, Sir, enjoy one moment's Bliss: +I shall be quite unman'd, cruel and brutal; +A Beast, unsafe for Woman to converse with. +Besides, Sir, I have given my Heart and Faith, +And my second Marriage is Adultery. + +_Lord_. Heart and Faith, I am glad 'tis no worse; if the Ceremony of +the Church has not past, 'tis well enough. + +_Bel_. All, Sir, that Heaven and Love requires, is past. + +_Lord_. Thou art a Fool, _Frank_, come--dry thy Eyes. And receive +_Diana_--_Trusty_, call in my Niece. + +_Bel_. Yet, Sir, relent, be kind, and save my Soul. + + [_Ex_. Trusty. + +_Lord_. No more--by Heaven, if you resist my Will, I'll make a strange +Example of thee, and of that Woman, whoe'er she be, that drew you to +this Folly. Faith and Vows, quoth ye! + +_Bel_. Then I obey. + + _Enter_ Trusty _and_ Diana. + +_Lord_. Look ye here, _Frank_; Is this a Lady to be dislik'd? Come +hither, _Frank--Trusty_, haste for Dr. _Tickletext_, my Chaplain's not +in Town; I'll have them instantly married--Come hither, _Diana_--will +you marry your Cousin, _Frank Bellmour_? + +_Dia_. Yes, if it be your pleasure; +Heaven cou'd not let fall a greater Blessing. [_Aside_. + +_Lord_. And you, _Frank_, will you marry my Niece _Diana_? + +_Bel_. Since you will have it so. + +_Lord_. Come, follow me then, and you shall be both pleas'd. + +_Bel_. Oh my _Celinda_!-- + + _To preserve thee, what is't I wou'd not do? + Forfeit my Heaven, nay more, I forfeit you_. + + [_Exit_. + + + +SCENE V. _The Street_. + + + _Enter Sir_ Timothy Tawdrey, Sham _and_ Sharp. + +Sir _Tim_. Now, _Sham_, art not thou a damn'd lying Rogue, to make me +saunter up and down the _Mall_ all this Morning, after a Woman that thou +know'st in thy Conscience was not likely to be there? + +_Sham_. Why, Sir--if her Maid will be a jilting Whore, how can I help +it?--_Sharp_, thou know'st we presented her handsomly, and she protested +she'd do't. + +_Sharp_. Ay, ay, Sir: But the Devil a Maid we saw. [_Aside_. + +_Sham_. Sir, it may be Things have so fallen out, that she could not +possibly come. + +Sir _Tim_. Things! a Pox of your Tricks--Well, I see there's no trusting +a poor Devil--Well, what Device will your Rogueship find out to cheat +me next? + +_Sham_. Prithee help me out at a dead lift, _Sharp_. [_Aside_. + +_Sharp_. Cheat you, Sir!--if I ben't reveng'd on this She-Counsellor of +the Patching and Painting, this Letter-in of Midnight Lovers, this +Receiver of Bribes for stol'n Pleasures; may I be condemn'd never to +make love to any thing of higher Quality. + +Sir _Tim_. Nay, nay, no threatning, _Sharp_; it may be she's innocent +yet--Give her t'other Bribe, and try what that will do. + [_Gives him Money_. + +_Sham_. No, Sir, I'll have no more to do with frail Woman, in this Case; +I have a surer way to do your Business. + + _Enter_ Page _with a Letter_. + +Sir _Tim_. Is not that _Bellmour's_ Page? + +_Sharp_. It is, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, the Rogue's looking for me; he has a Challenge +in his hand too. + +_Sham_. No matter, Sir, huff it out. + +Sir _Tim_. Prithee do thee huff him, thou know'st the way on't. + +_Sham_. What's your Bus'ness with Sir _Timothy_, Sir? + +_Page_. Mine, Sir, I don't know the Gentleman; pray which is he? + +Sir _Tim_. I, I, 'tis so--Pox on him. + +_Sharp_. Well, Boy, I am he--What--Your Master. + +_Page_. My Master, Sir-- + +_Sharp_. Are not you _Bellmour's_ Page? + +_Page_. Yes, Sir. + +_Sharp_. Well, your News. + +_Page_. News, Sir? I know of none, but of my Master's being this +Morning-- + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, there it is--behind _Southampton_ House. + +_Page_. Married this Morning. + +Sir _Tim_. How! Married! 'Slife, has he serv'd me so? + +_Sham_. The Boy is drunk--_Bellmour_ married! + +_Page_. Yes, indeed, to the Lady _Diana_. + +Sir _Tim_. _Diana!_ Mad, by Fortune; what _Diana_? + +_Page_. Niece to the Lord _Plotwell_. + +Sir _Tim_. Come hither, Boy--Art thou sure of this? + +_Page_. Sir, I am sure of it; and I am going to bespeak Musick for the +Ball anon. + +Sir _Tim_. What hast thou there--a Letter to the Divine _Celinda_? +A dainty Boy--there's Money for to buy thee Nickers. + +_Page_. I humbly thank you. + [_Exit_. + +_Sharp_. Well, Sir, if this be true, _Celinda_ will be glad of you again. + +Sir. _Tim_. Ay, but I will have none of her--For, look you, _Sham_, +there is but two sorts of Love in this World--Now I am sure the Rogue +did love her; and since it was not to marry her, it was for the thing +you wot on, as appears by his writing to her now--But yet, I will not +believe what this Boy said, till I see it. + +_Sham_. Faith, Sir, I have thought of a thing, that may both clear your +doubt, and give us a little Mirth. + +Sir _Tim_. I conceive thee. + +_Sham_. I know y'are quick of Apprehension, Sir _Timothy_. + +Sir _Tim_. O, your Servant, dear _Sham_--But to let thee see, I am none +of the dullest, we are to Jig it in Masquerade this Evening, hah. + +_Sham_. Faith, Sir, you have it, and there you may have an Opportunity +to court _Bellmour's_ Sister. + +Sir _Tim_. 'Tis a good Motion, and we will follow it; send to the Duke's +House, and borrow some Habits presently. + +_Sham_. I'll about it, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Make haste to my Lodging--But hark ye--not a word of this to +_Betty Flauntit_, she'll be up in Arms these two Days, if she go not +with us; and though I think the fond Devil is true to me, yet it were +worse than Wedlock, if I should be so to her too. + + _Tho Whores in all things else the Mastery get, + In this alone, like Wives, they must submit_. + + Exeunt. + + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I. _A Room in Lord_ Plotwell's _House_. + + + _Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Bellmour _leading in_ Diana, _follow'd by + _Charles Bellmour, Phillis, _and other Ladies and Gentlemen_. + [_Musick plays, till they are all seated_. + +_Lord_. Here, Nephew, I resign that Trust, which was repos'd in me by +your dead Father; which was, that on your Wedding-Day I should thus-- +make you Master of your whole Fortune, you being married to my liking-- +And now, _Charles_, and you, my Niece _Phillis_, you may demand your +Portions to morrow, if you please, for he is oblig'd to pay you the Day +after that of his Marriage. + +_Phil_. There's time enough, my Lord. + +_Lord_. Come, come, Ladies, in troth you must take but little Rest to +Night, in complaisance to the Bride and Bridegroom, who, I believe, will +take but little--_Frank_--why, _Frank_--what, hast thou chang'd thy +Humour with thy Condition? Thou wert not wont to hear the Musick play +in vain. + +_Bel_. My Lord, I cannot dance. + +_Dia_. Indeed, you're wondrous sad, +And I, methinks, do bear thee Company, +I know not why; and yet excess of Joy +Have had the same Effects with equal Grief. + +_Bel_. 'Tis true, and I have now felt the Extremes of both. + +_Lord_. Why, Nephew _Charles_--has your Breeding at the Academy +instructed your Heels in no Motion? + +_Char_. My Lord, I'll make one. + +_Phil_. And I another, for Joy that my Brother's made happy in so fair +a Bride. + +_Bel_. Hell take your Ignorance, for thinking I am happy,-- +Wou'd Heaven wou'd strike me dead, +That by the loss of a poor wretched Life +I might preserve my Soul--But Oh, my Error! +That has already damn'd it self, when it consented +To break a Sacred Vow, and Marry here. + +_Lord_. Come, come, begin, begin, Musick to your Office. + + [_Soft Musick_. + +_Bel_. Why does not this hard Heart, this stubborn Fugitive, +Break with this Load of Griefs? but like ill Spirits +It promis'd fair, till it had drawn me in, +And then betray'd me to Damnation. + +_Dia_. There's something of disorder in his Soul, +Which I'm on fire to know the meaning of. + + _Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham, _and_ Sharp, _in Masquerade_. + +Sir _Tim_. The Rogue is married, and I am so pleas'd, I can forgive him +our last Night's Quarrel. Prithee, _Sharp_, if thou canst learn that +young Thing's Name, 'tis a pretty airy Rogue, whilst I go talk to her. + +_Sharp_. I will, Sir, I will. + + [_One goes to take out a Lady_. + +_Char_. Nay, Madam, you must dance. [_Dance_. + +_Bel_. I hope you will not call it Rudeness, Madam, if I refuse you here. + + [_The Lady that danced goes to take out the Bridegroom. After the + Dance she takes out Sir_ Timothy, _they walk to a Courant_. + +Am I still tame and patient with my Ills? +Gods! what is Man, that he can live and bear, +Yet know his Power to rid himself of Grief? +I will not live; or if my Destiny +Compel me to't, it shall be worse than dying. + + _Enter_ Page _with a Table-Book_. + +_Bel_. What's this? + +_Page_. The Answer of a Letter, Sir, you sent the divine _Celinda_; +for so it was directed. + +_Bel_.--Hah--_Celinda_--in my Croud of Thoughts +I had forgot I sent--come nearer, Boy-- +What did she say to thee?--Did she not smile? +And use thee with Contempt and Scorn?--tell me. + +_Page_. How scorn, Sir! + +_Bel_. Or she was angry--call'd me perjur'd Villain, +False, and forsworn--nay, tell me truth. + +_Page_. How, Sir? + +_Bel_. Thou dost delay me--say she did, and please me. + +_Page_. Sir! + +_Bel_. Again--tell me, what answer, Rascal, did she send me? + +_Page_. You have it, Sir, there in the Table-Book. + +_Bel_. Oh, I am mad, and know not what I do. +--Prithee forgive me, Boy--take breath, my Soul, +Before thou do'st begin; for this--perhaps, may be +So cruel kind, +To leave thee none when thou hast ended it. + [_Opens it, and reads_. + + LETTER. + + _I have took in the Poison which you sent, in those few fatal + Words, "Forgive me, my_ Celinda, _I am married"--'Twas + thus you said--And I have only Life left to return, "Forgive + me my sweet_ Bellmour, _I am dead_." CELINDA. + +Can I hear this, and live?--I am a Villian! +In my Creation destin'd for all Mischief, +--To commit Rapes, and Murders, to break Vows, +As fast as Fools do Jests. +Come hither, Boy-- +And said the Lady nothing to thee? + +_Page_. Yes, e'er she read the Letter, ask'd your Health, +And Joy dispers'd it self in Blushes through her Cheeks. + +_Bel_. Her Beauty makes the very Boy adore it. + +_Page_. And having read it, +She drew her Tablets from her Pocket, +And trembling, writ what I have brought you, Sir. + +_Bel_. Though I before had loaded up my Soul +With Sins, that wou'd have weigh'd down any other, +Yet this one more it bears, this Sin of Murder; +And holds out still--What have I more to do, +But being plung'd in Blood, to wade it through? + + _Enter_ Friendlove _in Masquerade. A Jigg_. + +_Friend_. There stands the Traitor, with a guilty Look, +That Traitor, who the easier to deceive me, +Betray'd my Sister; yet till I came and saw +The Perjury, I could not give a Faith to't. +By Heaven, _Diana_ loves him, nay, dotes on him, +I find it in her Eyes; all languishing, +They feed the Fire in his: arm'd with a double Rage, +I know I shall go through with my Revenge. + +Sir _Tim_. Fair Maid-- + +_Phil_. How do you know that, Sir? + +Sir _Tim_. I see y'are fair, and I guess you're a Maid. + +_Phil_. Your Guess is better than your Eye-sight, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Whate'er you are, by Fortune, I wish you would permit me to +love you with all your Faults. + +_Phil_. You? Pray who are you? + +Sir _Tim_. A Man, a Gentleman--and more, a Knight too, by Fortune. + +_Phil_. Then 'twas not by Merit, Sir--But how shall I know you are +either of these? + +Sir _Tim_. That I'm a Man, the Effects of my vigorous Flame shall prove +--a Gentleman, my Coat of Arms shall testify; and I have the King's +Patent for my Title. + +_Phil_. For the first you may thank your Youth, for the next your Father, +and the last your Money. + +Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, I love thee for thy Pertness. + +_Phil_. Is it possible you can love at all? + +Sir _Tim_. As much as I dare. + +_Phil_. How do you mean? + +Sir _Tim_. Not to be laught at; 'tis not the Mode to love much; A +Platonick Fop I have heard of, but this is an Age of sheer Enjoyment, +and little Love goes to that; we have found it incommode, and loss of +time, to make long Addresses. + + _Enter_ Celinda _like a Boy_. + +_Phil_. I find, Sir, you and I shall never agree upon this matter; +But see, Sir, here's more Company. + +_Cel_. Oh Heaven! 'tis true, these Eyes confirm my Fate. +Yonder he is--and that fair splendid Thing, +That gazes on him with such kind Desire, +Is my blest Rival--Oh, he is married! +--Gods! And yet you let him live; +Live too with all his Charms, as fine and gay, +As if you meant he shou'd undo all easy Maids, +And kill 'em for their Sin of loving him. +Wretched _Celinda_! +But I must turn my Eyes from looking on +The fatal Triumphs of my Death--Which of all these +Is my Brother? Oh, that is he: I know him +By the Habit he sent for to the Play-House. + [Points to Sir Tim. +And hither he's come in Masquerade, +I know with some Design against my _Bellmour_, +Whom though he kill me, I must still preserve: +Whilst I, lost in despair, thus as a Boy +Will seek a Death from any welcome Hand, +Since I want Courage to perform the Sacrifice. + + _Enter one and dances an Entry, and a Jig at the end on't_. + +_Lord_. Enough, enough at this time, let's see the Bride to bed, the +Bridegroom thinks it long. + +_Friend_. Hell! Can I endure to hear all this with Patience? +Shall he depart with Life to enjoy my Right, +And to deprive my Sister of her due? +--Stay, stay, and resign +That Virgin. + +_Bel_. Who art thou that dar'st lay a Claim to ought that's here? + +_Friend_. This Sword shall answer ye. + [_Draws_. + +_Bel_. Though I could spare my Life, I'll not be robb'd of it. + [_Draws_. + +_Dia_. Oh, my dear _Bellmour_! + + [_All draw on_ Bellmour's side_--Diana _holds_ Bellmour, + Celinda _runs between their Swords, and defends_ Bellmour; + _Sir_ Tim. Sham, _and_ Sharp _draw, and run into several + Corners, with signs of Fear_. + +_Friend_. Who art thou, that thus fondly guard'st his Heart? + [_To_ Celinda. +--Be gone, and let me meet it. + +_Cel_. That thou mayst do through mine, but no way else. + +_Friend_. Here are too many to encounter, and I'll defer my Vengeance. + +_Char_. Stay, Sir, we must not part so. + + [_Ex. Drawing at the same Door, that Sir_ Tim. _is sneaking out at_. + +Come back I say. [_Pulls in Sir_ Tim. +Slave! Dost thou tremble?-- + +Sir _Tim_. Sir, I'm not the Man you look for-- +By Fortune, _Sham_, we're all undone: +He has mistook me for the fighting Fellow. + +_Char_. Villain, defend thy Life. + +Sir _Tim_. Who, I, Sir? I have no quarrel to you, nor no man breathing, +not I, by Fortune. + +_Cel_. This Coward cannot be my Brother. [_Aside_. + +_Char_. What made thee draw upon my Brother? + +Sir _Tim_. Who, I, Sir? by Fortune, I love him--I draw upon him! + +_Char_. I do not wonder thou canst lye, for thou'rt a Coward! +Didst not thou draw upon him? Is not thy Sword yet out? +Did I not see thee fierce, and active too, as if thou hadst dar'd? + +Sir _Tim_. Why, he's gone, Sir; a Pox of all Mistakes and Masqueradings +I say--this was your Plot, _Sham_. + +_Char_. Coward! Shew then thy Face. + +Sir _Tim_. I'll be hang'd first, by Fortune; for then 'twill be plain +'twas I, because I challeng'd _Bellmour_ last Night, and broke my +Assignation this Morning. [_Aside_. + +_Char_. Shew thy Face without delay, or-- + +Sir _Tim_. My Face, Sir! I protest, by Fortune, 'tis not worth seeing. + +_Char_. Then, Sirrah, you are worth a kicking--take that--and that-- + [_Kicks him_. + +Sir _Tim_. How, Sir? how? + +_Char_. So, Sir, so. + [_Kicks him again_. + +Sir _Tim_. Have a care, Sir--by Fortune, I shall fight with a little +more. + +_Char_. Take that to raise you. + [_Strikes him_. + +Sir _Tim_. Nay, then I am angry, and I dare fight. + + [_They fight out_. + +_Lord_. Go, Ladies, see the Bride to her Chamber. + + [_Ex. Women_. + +_Bel_. The Knight, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_; +--The Rascal mist me at the appointed place, +And comes to attack me here-- + [_Turns to_ Cel. +--Brave Youth, I know not how +I came to merit this Relief from thee: +Sure thou art a Stranger to me, thou'rt so kind. + +_Cel_. Sir, I believe those happy ones that know you +Had been far kinder, but I'm indeed a Stranger. + +_Bel_. Mayst thou be ever so to one so wretched; +I will not ask thy Name, lest knowing it, +(I'm such a Monster) I should ruin thee. + +_Cel_. Oh, how he melts my Soul! I cannot stay, +Lest Grief, my Sex, my Bus'ness shou'd betray. [_Aside_. +--Farewel, Sir-- +May you be happy in the Maid you love. + [_Exit_ Cel. + +_Bel_. O, dost thou mock my Griefs? by Heaven, he did. +--Stay, Sir, he's gone. + + _Enter_ Charles Bellmour. + +_Char_. The Rogue took Courage, when he saw there was no Remedy; but +there's no hurt done on either side. + +_Lord_. 'Tis fit such as he shou'd be chastis'd, that do abuse +Hospitality. Come, come, to Bed; the Lady, Sir, expects you. + +_Bel_. Gentlemen, good Night. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II_. A Bed Chamber_. + + + _Enter_ Diana. + +_Dia_. I long to know the Cause of _Bellmour's_ Disorder to Night, and +here he comes. + + _Enter_ Bellmour, Lord, Charles, _and the rest_. + +_Char_. Shan't we see you laid, Brother? + +_Bel_. Yes, in my Grave, dear _Charles_; +But I'll excuse that Ceremony here. + +_Char_. Good Night, and no Rest to you, Brother. + + [_Ex. all but_ Bellmour _and_ Diana. + +_Dia_. Till now, my _Bellmour_, I wanted Opportunity +To ask the Cause, why on a joyful Day, +When Heav'n has join'd us by a sacred Tie, +Thou droop'st like early Flowers with Winter-storms. + +_Bel_. Thou art that Winter-storm that nips my Bud; +All my young springing Hopes, my gay Desires, +The prospect of approaching Joys of Love, +Thou in a hapless Minute hast took from me, +And in its room, +Hast given me an eternal Desperation. + +_Dia_. Have you then given me Vows ye can repent of? + +_Bel_. I given ye Vows! be witness, ye just Pow'rs, +How far I was from giving any Vows: +No, no, _Diana_, I had none to give. + +_Dia_. No Vows to give! +What were they which unto the Holy Man +Thou didst repeat, when I was made all thine? + +_Bel_. The Effects of low Submission, such as Slaves +Condemn'd to die, yield to the angry Judge. + +_Dia_. Dost thou not love me then? + +_Bel_. Love thee! No, by Heaven: yet wish I were so happy, +For thou art wondrous fair and wondrous good. + +_Dia_. Oh, what a Defeat is here! +The only Man, who from all Nature's store +I found most charming, fit for my Desires; +And now after a thousand Expectations, +Such as all Maids that love like me do hope, +Just ready for the highest Joys of Love! +Then to be met thus cold--nay, worse, with scorn. [_Aside_. +--Why, since you could not love me, did you marry me? + +_Bel_. Because I was a Beast, a very Villain! +That stak'd a wretched Fortune to all my Joys of Life, +And like a prodigal Gamester lost that all. + +_Dia_. How durst you, Sir, knowing my Quality, +Return me this false Pay, for Love so true? +Was this a Beauty, Sir, to be neglected? + +_Bel_. Fair angry Maid, frown on, frown till you kill, +And I shall dying bless those Eyes that did so. +For shou'd I live, I shou'd deprive the happier World +Of Treasures, I'm too wretched to possess. +And were't not pity that vast store of Beauty +Shou'd, like rich Fruit, die on the yielding Boughs? + +_Dia_. And are you then resolved to be a Stranger to me? + +_Bel_. For ever! for a long Eternity! + +_Dia_. O thou'st undone me then; hast thou found out +A Maid more fair, more worthy of thy Love? +Look on me well. + +_Bel_. I have consider'd thee, +And find no Blemish in thy Soul, or Form; +Thou art all o'er Divine, yet I must hate thee, +Since thou hast drawn me to a mortal Sin, +That cannot be forgiven by Men, or Heaven. +--Oh, thou hast made me break a Vow, _Diana_, +A sacred solemn Vow; +And made me wrong the sweetest Innocence, +That ever blest the Earth. + +_Dia_. Instead of cooling this augments my Fire; +No Pain is like defeated new Desire. [_Aside_. +'Tis false, or but to try my Constancy. +Your Mistress is not so divine as I, +And shou'd I, 'gainst himself, believe the Man +Who first inspir'd my Heart with Love's soft Flame? + +_Bel_. What Bliss on me insensibly you throw! +I'd rather hear thee swear, thou art my Foe, +And like some noble and romantick Maid +With Poniards wou'd my stubborn Heart invade; +And whilst thou dost the faithful Relique tear, +In every Vein thoud'st find _Celinda_ there. + +_Dia_. Come, Sir, you must forget _Celinda's_ Charms, +And reap Delights within my circling Arms, +Delights that may your Errors undeceive, +When you find Joys as great as she can give. + +_Bel_. What do I hear?--is this the kind Relief +Thou dost allow to my Despair and Grief? +Is this the Comfort that thou dost impart +To my all-wounded, bleeding, dying Heart? +Were I so brutal, cou'd thy Love comply +To serve it self with base Adultery? +For cou'd I love thee, cou'd I love again, +Our Lives wou'd be but one continu'd Sin: +A Sin of that black dye, a Sin so foul, +'Twou'd leave no Hopes of Heav'n for either's Soul. + +_Dia_. Dull Man! Dost think a feeble vain Excuse +Shall satisfy me for this Night's abuse? +No, since my Passion thou'st defeated thus, +And robb'd me of my long-wish'd Happiness, +I'll make thee know what a wrong'd Maid can do, +Divided 'twixt her Love and Injuries too. + +_Bel_. I dare thy worst; +Shou'd Hell assist thy Aims, thou cou'dst not find, +New Plagues, unless thou shou'dst continue kind, +Hard Fate, _Diana_, when thy Love must be +The greatest Curse that can arrive to me. +--That Friendship which our Infant Years begun, +And till this Day has still continued on, +I will preserve; and my Respects shall be +Profound, as what was ever paid by me: +But for my Love, 'tis to _Celinda_ due, +And I can pay you none that's just and true. + +_Dia_. The rest I'd have thee know I do despise, +I better understand my conquering Eyes; +Those Eyes that shall revenge my Love and Shame, +I'll kill thy Reputation and thy Name. + [_Exit_. + +_Bel_. My Honour! and my Reputation, now! +They both were forfeit, when I broke my Vow, +Nor cou'd my Honour with thy Fame decline; +Whoe'er profanes thee, injures nought of mine. +This Night upon the Couch my self I'll lay, +And like _Franciscans_, let th'ensuing Day +Take care for all the Toils it brings with it; +Whatever Fate arrives, I can submit. + + [_Exit_. + + + +SCENE III. _A Street_. + + + _Enter_ Celinda, _drest as before_. + +_Cel_. Not one kind Wound to send me to my Grave, +And yet between their angry Swords I ran, +Expecting it from _Bellmour_, or my Brother's: +Oh, my hard Fate! that gave me so much Misery, +And dealt no Courage to prevent the shock. +--Why came I off alive, that fatal Place +Where I beheld my _Bellmour_, in th'embrace +Of my extremely fair, and lovely Rival? +--With what kind Care she did prevent my Arm, +Which (greedy of the last sad-parting twine) +I wou'd have thrown about him, as if she knew +To what intent I made the passionate Offer? +--What have I next to do, but seek a Death +Wherever I can meet it--Who comes here? [_Goes aside_. + + _Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham _and_ Sharp, _with Fidlers and Boy_. + +Sir _Tim_. I believe this is the Bed-chamber Window where the Bride +and Bridegroom lies. + +_Sham_. Well, and what do you intend to do, if it be, Sir? + +Sir _Tim_. Why, first sing a Baudy Song, and then break the Windows, +in revenge for the Affront was put upon me to night. + +_Sharp_. Faith, Sir, that's but a poor Revenge, and which every Footman +may take of his Lady, who has turn'd him away for filching--You know, +Sir, Windows are frail, and will yield to the lusty Brickbats; 'tis an +Act below a Gentleman. + +Sir _Tim_. That's all one, 'tis my Recreation; I serv'd a Woman so the +other night, to whom my Mistress had a Pique. + +_Sham_. Ay, Sir, 'tis a Revenge fit only for a Whore to take--And the +Affront you receiv'd to Night, was by mistake. + +Sir _Tim_. Mistake! how can that be? + +_Sham_. Why, Sir, did you not mind, that he that drew upon _Bellmour_, +was in the same Dress with you. + +Sir _Tim_. How shou'd his be like mine? + +_Sham_. Why, by the same Chance, that yours was like his--I suppose +sending to the Play-house for them, as we did, they happened to send +him such another Habit, for they have many such for dancing Shepherds. + +Sir _Tim_. Well, I grant it a Mistake, and that shall reprieve the +Windows. + +_Sharp_. Then, Sir, you shew'd so much Courage, that you may bless the +Minute that forc'd you to fight. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, but between you and I, 'twas well he kick'd me first, +and made me angry, or I had been lustily swing'd, by Fortune--But thanks +to my Spleen, that sav'd my Bones that bout--But then I did well--hah, +came briskly off, and the rest. + +_Sham_. With Honour, Sir, I protest. + +Sir _Tim_. Come then, we'll serenade him. Come, Sirrah, tune your Pipes, +and sing. + +_Boy_. What shall I sing, Sir? + +Sir _Tim_. Any thing sutable to the Time and Place. + + SONG. + + I. + + _The happy Minute's come, the Nymph is laid, + Who means no more to rise a Maid. + Blushing, and panting, she expects th'Approach + Of Joys that kill with every touch: + Nor can her native Modesty and Shame + Conceal the Ardour of her Virgin Flame_. + + II. + + _And now the amorous Youth is all undrest, + Just ready for Love's mighty Feast; + With vigorous haste the Veil aside he throws, + That doth all Heaven at once disclose. + Swift as Desire, into her naked Arms + Himself he throws, and rifles all her Charms_. + +Good morrow, Mr. _Bellmour_, and to your lovely Bride, long may you +live and love. + + _Enter_ Bellmour _above_. + +_Bel_. Who is't has sent that Curse? + +Sir _Tim_. What a Pox, is that _Bellmour_? The Rogue's in choler, the +Bride has not pleas'd him. + +_Bel_. Dogs! Do you upbraid me? I'll be with you presently. + +Sir _Tim_. Will you so?--but I'll not stay your coming. + +_Cel_. But you shall, Sir. + +_Bel_. Turn, Villains! + + [_Sir_ Tim. _&c. offers to go off_, Celinda _steps forth, and + draws, they draw, and set upon her. Enter_ Bellmour _behind them: + They turn, and_ Celinda _sides with_ Bellmour, _and fights. Enter_ + Diana, Bellmour _fights 'em out, and leaves_ Celinda _breathless, + leaning on her Sword_. + +_Dia_. I'll ne'er demand the cause of this disorder, +But take this opportunity to fly +To the next hands will take me up--who's here? + +_Cel_. Not yet, my sullen Heart! + +_Dia_. Who's here? one wounded--alas-- + +_Cel_. 'Tis not so lucky--but who art thou +That dost with so much pity ask? + +_Dia_. He seems a Gentleman--handsome and young-- [_Aside_. +Pray ask no Questions, Sir; but if you are what you seem, +Give a Protection to an unhappy Maid. +--Do not reply, but let us haste away. + +_Cel_. Hah--What do I hear! sure, 'tis _Diana_. +--Madam, with haste, and joy, I'll serve you. +--I'll carry her to my own Lodgings. +Fortune, in this, has done my Sufferings right, +My Rival's in my Power, upon her Wedding-Night. [_Aside_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter_ Bellmour, _Sir_ Tim. Sham, _and_ Sharp. + +Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, that you should not know your Friend and humble +Servant, _Tim. Tawdrey_--But thou look'st as if thou hadst not been +a-bed yet. + +_Bel_. No more I have. + +Sir _Tim_. Nay, then thou losest precious time, I'll not detain thee. + [_Offers to go_. + +_Bel_. Thou art mistaken, I hate all Woman-kind-- + +Sir _Tim_. How, how! + +_Bel_, Above an Hour--hark ye, Knight--I am as leud, and as debaucht +as thou art. + +Sir _Tim_. What do you mean, _Frank_? + +_Bel_. To tell a Truth, which yet I never did. +--I whore, drink, game, swear, lye, cheat, rob, pimp, hector, all, +all I do that's vitious. + +Sir _Tim_. Bless me! + +_Bel_. From such a Villian, hah! + +Sir _Tim_. No, but that thou should'st hide it all this while. + +_Bel_. Till I was married only, and now I can dissemble it no longer-- +come--let's to a Baudy-House. + +Sir _Tim_. A Baudy-house! What, already! +This is the very quintessence of Leudness. +--Why, I thought that I was wicked, but, by Fortune, +This dashes mine quite out of Countenance. + +_Bel_. Oh, thou'rt a puny Sinner!--I'll teach thee Arts (so rare) of Sin, +the least of them shall damn thee. + +Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, _Frank_, I do not like these Arts. + +_Bel_. Then thou'rt a Fool--I'll teach thee to be rich too. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, that I like. + +_Bel_. Look here, my Boys! + [_Hold up his Writings, which he takes out of his Pockets_. +The Writings of 3000 pounds a Year: +--All this I got by Perjury. + +Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, a thriving Sin. + +_Bel_. And we will live in Sin while this holds out. +_And then to my cold Home--Come let's be gone: +Oh, that I ne'er might see the rising Sun_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I. Celinda's _Chamber_. + + + _Discovers_ Celinda _as before sitting in a Chair_, + Diana _by her in another, who sings_. + + SONG. + + I. + + Celinda, _who did Love disdain, + For whom had languished many a Swain, + Leading her bleating Flocks to drink, + She spy'd upon the River's brink + A Youth, whose Eyes did well declare + How much he lov'd, but lov'd not her_. + + II. + + _At first she laugh'd, but gaz'd the while, + And soon it lessen'd to a Smile; + Thence to surprize and wonder came, + Her Breast to heave, her Heart to flame; + Then cry'd she out, Ah, now I prove + Thou art a God, Almighty Love_. + + III. + + _She wou'd have spoke, but Shame deny'd, + And bad her first consult her Pride; + But soon she found that Aid was gone, + For Love, alas, had left her none. + Oh, how she burns, but 'tis too late, + For in his Eyes she reads her Fate_. + +_Cel_. Oh, how numerous are her Charms +--How shall I pay this generous Condescension? +Fair lovely Maid-- + +_Dia_. Why do you flatter, Sir? + +_Cel_. To say you're lovely, by your self I do not, +I'm young, and have not much convers'd with Beauty: +Yet I'll esteem my Judgment, since it knows +Where my Devotions shou'd be justly paid. +--But, Madam, may I not yet expect +To hear the Story, you so lately promis'd me? + +_Dia_. I owe much to your Goodness, Sir--but-- + +_Cel_. I am too young, you think, to hear a Secret; +Can I want Sense to pity your Misfortunes, +Or Passion to incite me to revenge 'em? + +_Dia_. Oh, would he were in earnest! + +_Cel_. She's fond of me, and I must blow that flame, +Do any thing to make her hate my _Bellmour_. [_Aside_. +--But, Madam, I'm impatient for your Story, +That after that, you may expect my Service. + +_Dia_. The Treatment you this night have given a distressed Maid, +enough obliges me; nor need I tell you, I'm nobly born; something +about my Dress, my Looks and Mien, will doubtless do me reason. + +_Cel_. Sufficiently-- + +_Dia_. But in the Family where I was educated, a Youth of my own Age, +a Kinsman too, I chanc'd to fall in love with, but with a Passion my +Pride still got the better of; and he, I thought, repaid my young +Desires. But Bashfulness on his part, did what Pride had done on mine, +And kept his too conceal'd--At last my Uncle, who had the absolute +Dominion of us both, thought good to marry us together. + +_Cel_. Punish him, Heaven, for a Sin so great. +--And are you married then? + +_Dia_. Why is there Terror in that Word? + +_Cel_. By all that's Sacred, 'tis a Word that kills me. +Oh, say thou art not; +And I thus low will fall, and pay thee Thanks. [_Kneels_. + +_Dia_. You'll wish indeed I were not, when you know +How very, very wretched it has made me. + +_Cel_. Shou'd you be telling me a Tale all day, +Such as would melt a Heart that ne'er could love, +'Twould not increase my Reason for the wish +That I had dy'd e'er known you had been married. + +_Dia_. So many soft Words from my _Bellmour's_ mouth +Had made me mad with Joy, and next to that +I wish to hear 'em from this Youth; +If they be real, how I shall be reveng'd! [_Aside_. +--But why at my being married should you sigh? + +_Cel_. Because I love, is that a Wonder, Madam? +Have you not Charms sufficient at first sight +To wound a Heart tender and young as mine? +Are you not heavenly fair? Oh, there's my Grief-- +Since you must be another's. + +_Dia_. Pray hear me out; and if you love me after, +Perhaps you may not think your self unhappy. +When Night was come, the long'd for Night, and all +Retir'd to give us silent Room for Joy-- + +_Cel_. Oh, I can hear no more--by Heav'n, I cannot. +--Here--stab me to the Heart--let out my Life, +I cannot live, and hear what follow'd next. + +_Dia_. Pray hear me, Sir-- + +_Cel_. Oh, you will tell me he was kind-- +Yes, yes--oh God--were not his balmy Kisses +Sweeter than Incense offer'd up to Heaven? +Did not his Arms, softer and whiter far +Than those of _Jove's_ transform'd to Wings of Swans, +Greedily clasp thee round?--Oh, quickly speak, +Whilst thy fair rising Bosom met with his; +And then--Oh--then-- + +_Dia_. Alas, Sir! What's the matter?--sit down a while. + +_Cel_. Now--I am well--pardon me, lovely Creature, +If I betray a Passion, I'm too young +To've learnt the Art of hiding; +--I cannot hear you say that he was kind. + +_Dia_. Kind! yes, as Blasts to Flow'rs, or early Fruit; +All gay I met him full of youthful Heat: +But like a Damp, he dasht my kindled Flame, +And all his Reason was--he lov'd another, +A Maid he call'd _Celinda_. + +_Cel_. Oh blessed Man! + +_Dia_. How, Sir? + +_Cel_. To leave thee free, to leave thee yet a Virgin. + +_Dia_. Yes, I have vow'd he never shall possess me. + +_Cel_. Oh, how you bless me--but you still are married, +And whilst you are so--I must languish-- + +_Dia_. Oh, how his Softness moves me! [_Aside_. +--But can all this Disorder spring from Love? + +_Cel_. Or may I still prove wretched. + +_Dia_. And can you think there are no ways +For me to gratify that Love? +What ways am I constrain'd to use to work out my Revenge! [_Aside_. + +_Cel_. How mean you, Madam? + +_Dia_. Without a Miracle, look on my Eyes-- +And Beauty--which you say can kindle Fires; +--She that can give, may too retain Desires. + +_Cel_. She'll ravish me--let me not understand you. + +_Dia_. Look on my Wrongs-- +Wrongs that would melt a frozen Chastity, +That a religious Vow had made to Heaven: +--And next survey thy own Perfections. + +_Cel_. Hah-- + +_Dia_. Art thou so young, thou canst not apprehend me? +Fair bashful Boy, hast thou the Power to move, +And yet not know the Bus'ness of thy Love? + +_Cel_. How in an instant thou hast chill'd my Blood, +And made me know no Woman can be good? +'Tis Sin enough to yield--but thus to sue +Heav'n--'tis my Business--and not meant for you. + +_Dia_. How little Love is understood by thee, +'Tis Custom, and not Passion you pursue; +Because Enjoyment first was nam'd by me, +It does destroy what shou'd your Flame renew: +My easy yielding does your Fire abate, +And mine as much your tedious Courtship hate. +Tell Heaven--you will hereafter sacrifice, +--And see how that will please the Deities. +The ready Victim is the noblest way, +Your Zeal and Obligations too to pay. + +_Cel_. I think the Gods wou'd hardly be ador'd, +If they their Blessings shou'd, unask'd, afford; +And I that Beauty can no more admire, +Who ere I sue, can yield to my Desire. + +_Dia_. Dull Youth, farewel: +For since 'tis my Revenge that I pursue +Less Beauty and more Man as well may do. + [_Offers to go_. + + _Enter_ Friendlove _disguised, as one from a Camp_. + +_Cel_. Madam, you must not go with this Mistake. + [_Holds her_. + +_Friend_. _Celinda_ has inform'd me true--'tis she-- +Good morrow, Brother, what, so early at your Devotions? + +_Cel_. O, my Brother's come, and luckily relieves me. [_Aside_. + +_Friend_. Your Orizons are made to a fair Saint. +--Pray, Sir, what Lady's that? +--Or is it blasphemy to repeat her Name? +--By my bright Arms, she's fair--With what a charming +Fierceness, she charges through my Body to my Heart. +--Death! how her glittering Eyes give Fire, and wound! +And have already pierc'd my very Soul! +--May I approach her, Brother? + +_Cel_. Yes, if you dare, there's danger in it though, +She has Charms that will bewitch you: +--I dare not stand their Mischief. + [_Exit_. + +_Friend_. Lady, I am a Soldier--yet in my gentlest Terms +I humbly beg to kiss your lovely Hands-- +Death! there's Magick in the Touch. +By Heaven, you carry an Artillery in every part. + +_Dia_. This is a Man indeed fit for my purpose. [_Aside_. + +_Friend_. Nay, do not view me, I am no lovely Object; +I am a Man bred up to Noise and War, +And know not how to dress my Looks in Smiles; +Yet trust me, fair one, I can love and serve +As well as an _Endymion_, or _Adonis_. +Wou'd you were willing to permit that Service! + +_Dia_. Why, Sir?--What cou'd you do? + +_Friend_. Why--I cou'd die for you. + +_Dia_. I need the Service of the living, Sir. +But do you love me, Sir? + +_Friend_. Or let me perish, flying from a single Enemy. +I am a Gentleman, and may pretend to love you; +And what you can command, I can perform. + +_Dia_. Take heed, Sir, what you say, for I'm in earnest. + +_Friend_. Command me any thing that's just and brave; +And, by my Eyes, 'tis done. + +_Dia_. I know not what you call just or brave; +But those whom I do the Honour to command, +Must not capitulate. + +_Friend_. Let him be blasted with the Name of Coward, +That dares dispute your Orders. + +_Dia_. Dare you fight for me? + +_Friend_. With a whole Army; 'tis my Trade to fight. + +_Dia_. Nay, 'tis but a single Man. + +_Friend_. Name him. + +_Dia_. _Bellmour_. + +_Friend_. Of _Yorkshire_? Companion to young _Friendlove_, that came +lately from _Italy_? + +_Dia_. Yes, do you know him? + +_Friend_. I do, who has oft spoke of _Bellmour_; +We travel'd into _Italy_ together--But since, I hear, +He fell in love with a fair cruel Maid, +For whom he languishes. + +_Dia_. Heard you her Name? + +_Friend_. _Diana_, rich in Beauty, as in Fortune. +--Wou'd she had less of both, and more of Pity; +And that I knew not how to wish, till now +That I became a Lover, perhaps as unsuccessful. [_Aside_. + +_Dia_. I knew my Beauty had a thousand Darts, +But knew not they cou'd strike so quick and home. [_Aside_. +Let your good Wishes for your Friend alone, +Lest he being happy, you shou'd be undone. +For he and you cannot be blest at once. + +_Friend_. How, Madam! + +_Dia_. I am that Maid he loves, and who hates him. + +_Friend_. Hate him! + +_Dia_. To Death. + +_Friend_. Oh, me unhappy! [_Aside_. + +_Dia_. He sighs and turns away--am I again defeated? +Surely I am not fair, or Man's insensible. + +_Friend_. She knows me not-- +And 'twas discreetly done to change my Shape: +For Woman is a strange fantastick Creature; +And where before, I cou'd not gain a Smile, +Thus I may win her Heart. [_Aside_. +--Say, Madam, can you love a Man that dies for you? + +_Dia_. The way to gain me, is to fight with _Bellmour_. +Tell him from me you come, the wrong'd _Diana_; +Tell him you have an Interest in my Heart, +Equal to that which I have made in yours. + +_Friend_. I'll do't; I will not ask your Reason, but obey. +Swear e'er I go, that when I have perform'd it, +You'll render me Possession of your Heart. + +_Dia_. By all the Vows that Heaven ties Hearts together with, +I'll be entirely yours. + +_Friend_. And I'll not be that conscientious Fool, +To stop at Blessings 'cause they are not lawful; +But take 'em up, when Heaven has thrown 'em down, +Without the leave of a Religious Ceremony. [_Aside_. +Madam, this House, which I am Master of, +You shall command; whilst I go seek this _Bellmour_. + +_Dia_. But e'er you go, I must inform you why +I do pursue him with my just Revenge. + +_Friend_. I will attend, and hear impatiently. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. _A Baudy House_. + + + _Enter Mrs_. Driver _and_ Betty Flauntit. + +_Flaunt_. _Driver_, prithee call for a Glass, that I may set my self +in order, before I go up; for really my Knight has not been at home all +this Night, and I am so confus'd-- + + _Enter one with a Glass, and two Wenches_, Jenny _and_ Doll. + +Lord, Mrs. _Driver_, I wonder you shou'd send for me, when other Women +are in Company; you know of all things in the World, I hate Whores, they +are the pratingst leudest poor Creatures in Nature; and I wou'd not, for +any thing, Sir _Timothy_ shou'd know that I keep Company, 'twere enough +to lose him. + +Mrs. _Driv_. Truly, Mrs. _Flauntit_, this young Squire that you were +Sent to for, has two or three Persons more with him that must be +accommodated too. + +_Flaunt_. _Driver_, though I do recreate my self a little sometimes, +yet you know I value my Reputation and Honour. + +_Jenny_. Mrs. _Driver_, why shou'd you send for us where _Flauntit_ is? +a stinking proud Flirt, who because she has a tawdry Petticoat, I warrant +you, will think her self so much above us, when if she were set out in +her own natural Colours, and her original Garments, wou'd be much below +us in Beauty. + +Mrs. _Driv_. Look ye, Mrs. _Jenny_, I know you, and I know Mrs. +_Flauntit_; but 'tis not Beauty or Wit that takes now-a-days; the Age +is altered since I took upon me this genteel Occupation: but 'tis a fine +Petticoat, right Points, and clean Garnitures, that does me Credit, and +takes the Gallant, though on a stale Woman. And again, Mrs. _Jenny_, +she's kept, and Men love as much for Malice, as for Lechery, as they +call it. Oh, 'tis a great Mover to Joy, as they say, to have a Woman +that's kept. + +_Jen_. Well! Be it so, we may arrive to that excellent Degree of +Cracking, to be kept too one day. + +Mrs. _Driv_. Well, well, get your selves in order to go up to the +Gentlemen. + +_Flaunt_. _Driver_, what art thou talking to those poor Creatures? +Lord, how they stink of Paint and Pox, faugh-- + +Mrs. _Driv_. They were only complaining that you that were kept, +shou'd intrude upon the Privileges of the Commoners. + +_Flaunt_. Lord, they think there are such Joys in Keeping, when I vow, +_Driver_, after a while, a Miss has as painful a Life as a Wife; our +Men drink, stay out late, and whore, like any Husbands. + +_Driv_. But I hope in the Lord, Mrs. _Flauntit_, yours is no such Man; +I never saw him, but I have heard he's under decent Correction. + +_Flaunt_. Thou art mistaken, _Driver_, I can keep him within no moderate +Bounds without Blows; but for his filthy Custom of Wenching, I have +almost broke him of that--but prithee, _Driver_, who are these Gentlemen? + +_Driv_. Truly, I know not; but they are young, and fine as Princes: two +of 'em were disguis'd in masking Habits last Night, but they have sent +'em away this Morning, and they are free as Emperors--One of 'em has +lost a Thousand Pound at Play, and never repin'd at it; one's a Knight, +and I believe his Courage is cool'd, for he has ferreted my Maids over +and over to Night--But 'tis the fine, young, handsom Squire that I +design you for. + +_Flaunt_. No matter for his Handsomness, let me have him that has +most Money. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE III. _Another Chamber in the Brothel, a Table with Box and Dice_. + + + _Enter_ Bellmour, _Sir_ Timothy, Sham _and_ Sharp. + +_Bel_. Damn it, give us more Wine. [_Drinks_. +Where stands the Box and Dice?--Why, _Sham_. + +_Sham_. Faith, Sir, Your Luck's so bad, I han't the Conscience to play +longer--Sir _Timothy_ and you play off a hundred Guineas, and see if +Luck will turn. + +_Bel_. Do you take me for a Country Squire, whose Reputation will be +crackt at the loss of a petty Thousand? You have my Note for it to my +Goldsmith. + +_Sham_. 'Tis sufficient if it were for ten thousand. + +_Bel_. Why, Sir _Timothy_--Pox on't, thou'rt dull, we are not half +debauch'd and leud enough, give us more Wine. + +Sir _Tim_. Faith, _Frank_, I'm a little maukish with sitting up all +Night, and want a small refreshment this Morning--Did we not send +for Whores? + +_Bel_. No, I am not in humour for a Wench-- +By Heaven, I hate the Sex. +All but divine _Celinda_, +Appear strange Monsters to my Eyes and Thoughts. + +Sir _Tim_. What, art Italianiz'd, and lovest thy own Sex? + +_Bel_. I'm for any thing that's out of the common Road of Sin; I love +a Man that will be damn'd for something: to creep by slow degrees to +Hell, as if he were afraid the World shou'd see which way he went, I +scorn it, 'tis like a Conventicler--No, give me a Man, who to be certain +of's Damnation, will break a solemn Vow to a contracted Maid. + +Sir _Tim_. Ha, ha, ha, I thought thou would'st have said at least--had +murder'd his Father, or ravish'd his Mother--Break a Vow, quoth ye--by +Fortune, I have broke a thousand. + +_Bel_. Well said, my Boy! A Man of Honour! And will be ready whene'er +the Devil calls for thee--So--ho--more Wine, more Wine, and Dice. + + _Enter a Servant with Dice and Wine_. + +Come, Sir, let me-- + [_Throws and loses_. + +Sir _Tim_. What will you set me, Sir? + +_Bel_. Cater-tray--a hundred Guineas--oh, damn the Dice--'tis mine--come, +a full Glass--Damnation to my Uncle. + +Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, I'll do thee reason--give me the Glass, and, +_Sham_, to thee--Confusion to the musty Lord. + +_Bel_. So--now I'm like my self, profanely wicked. +A little room for Life--but such a Life +As Hell it self shall wonder at--I'll have a care +To do no one good deed in the whole course on't, +Lest that shou'd save my Soul in spite of Vow-breach. +--I will not die--that Peace my Sins deserve not. +I'll live and let my Tyrant Uncle see +The sad effects of Perjury, and forc'd Marriage. +--Surely the Pow'rs above envy'd my Bliss; +Marrying _Celinda_, I had been an Angel, +So truly blest, and good. [_Weeps_. + +Sir _Tim_. Why, how now, _Frank_--by Fortune, the Rogue is Maudlin--So, +ho, ho, so ho. + +_Bel_. The matter? + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, art awake--What a Devil ail'st thou, _Frank_? + +_Bel_. A Wench, or any thing--come, let's drink a round. + +_Sham_. They're come as wisht for. + + _Enter_ Flauntit, Driver, Doll _and_ Jenny _mask'd_. + +_Bel_. Oh, damn 'em! What shall I do? +Yet it would look like Virtue to avoid 'em. +No, I must venture on--Ladies, y'are welcome. + +Sir _Tim_. How, the Women?--Hold, hold, _Bellmour_, let me choose too-- +Come, come, unmask, and shew your pretty Faces. + +_Flaunt_. How, Sir _Timothy_! What Devil ow'd me a spite. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Tim_. Come, unmask, I say: a willing Wench would have shew'd all +in half this time. + +_Flaunt_. Wou'd she so, Impudence! + [_Pulls off her Mask_. + +Sir _Tim_. How, my _Betty_! + +_Flaunt_. This is the Trade you drive, you eternal Fop, when I sit at +home expecting you Night after Night. + +Sir _Tim_. Nay, dear Betty! + +_Flaunt_. 'Tis here you spend that which shou'd buy me Points and +Petticoats, whilst I go like no body's Mistress; I'd as live be your +Wife at this rate, so I had: and I'm in no small danger of getting the +foul Disease by your Leudness. + +Sir _Tim_. Victorious _Betty_, be merciful, and do not ruin my Reputation +amongst my Friends. + +_Flaunt_. Your Whores you mean, you Sot you. + +Sir _Tim_. Nay, triumphant _Betty_, hear thy poor _Timmy_. + +_Flaunt_. My poor _Ninny_, I'm us'd barbarously, and won't endure it. + +Sir _Tim_. I've won Money to Night, _Betty_, to buy thee Clothes--hum +--hum--Well said, _Frank_, towse the little Jilts, they came for that +purpose. + +_Flaunt_. The Devil confound him, what a Prize have I lost by his being +here--my Comfort is, he has not found me out though, but thinks I came +to look for him, and accordingly I must dissemble. + +_Bel_. What's here? A Lady all in Tears! + +Sir _Tim_. An old Acquaintance of mine, that takes it unkindly that I +am for Change--_Betty_, say so too, you know I can settle nothing till +I'm marry'd; and he can do it swingingly, if we can but draw him in. + +_Flaunt_. This mollifies something, do this, and you'll make your Peace; +if not, you Rascal, your Ears shall pay for this Night's Transgression. + +Sir _Tim_. Come hither, _Frank_, is not this a fine Creature? + +_Bel_. By Heaven, a very Devil! + +Sir _Tim_. Come, come, approach her; for if you'll have a Miss, this has +all the good Qualities of one--go, go Court her, thou art so bashful-- + +_Bel_. I cannot frame my Tongue to so much Blasphemy, as 'tis to say kind +things to her--I'll try my Heart though--Fair Lady--Damn her, she is not +fair--nor sweet--nor good--nor--something I must say for a beginning. +Come, Lady--dry your Eyes: +This Man deserves not all the Tears you shed. +--So--at last the Devil has got the better of me, +And I am enter'd. + +_Flaunt_. You see, Sir, how miserable we Women are that love you Men. + +_Bel_. How, did you love him? Love him against his Will? + +_Flaunt_. So it seems, Sir. + +_Bel_. Oh, thou art wretched then indeed; no wonder if he hate thee-- +Does he not curse thee? +Curse thee till thou art damn'd, as I do lost _Diana_. [_Aside_. + +_Flaunt_. Curse me! He were not best in my hearing; +Let him do what he will behind my Back. +What ails the Gentleman? + +_Bel_. Gods! what an odious thing mere Coupling is! +A thing which every sensual Animal +Can do as well as we--but prithee tell me, +Is there nought else between the nobler Creatures? + +_Flaunt_. Not that I know of, Sir-- +Lord, he's very silly, or very innocent, I hope he has his Maidenhead; +if so, and rich too. Oh, what a booty were this for me! [_Aside_. + +_Bel_. 'Tis wondrous strange; +Why was not I created like the rest, +Wild, and insensible, to fancy all? + +_Flaunt_. Come, Sir, you must learn to be gay, to sing, to dance, and +talk of any thing, and fancy any thing that's in your way too. + +_Bel_. Oh, I can towse, and ruffle, like any Leviathan, when I begin-- +Come, prove my Vigor. [_Towses her_. + +_Flaunt_. Oh, Lord, Sir! You tumble all my Garniture. + +_Bel_. There's Gold to buy thee more-- + +_Flaunt_. Oh, sweet Sir--wou'd my Knight were hang'd, so I were well +rid of him now--Well, Sir, I swear you are the most agreeable Person-- + +_Bel_. Am I?--let us be more familiar then--I'll kiss thy Hand, thy +Breast, thy Lips--and-- + +_Flaunt_. All--you please, Sir-- + +_Bel_. A tractable Sinner! [_Offers to kiss her_. +Faugh--how she smells--had I approach'd so near divine _Celinda_, what +A natural Fragrancy had sent it self through all my ravisht Senses! + [_Aside_. + +_Flaunt_. The Man's extasy'd, sure, I shall take him. +Come, Sir, you're sad. + +_Bel_. As Angels fall'n from the Divine Abode, +And now am lighted on a very Hell! +--But this is not the way to thrive in Wickedness; +I must rush on to Ruin--Come, fair Mistress, +Will you not shew me some of your Arts of Love? +For I am very apt to learn of Beauty--Gods-- +What is't I negotiate for?--a Woman! +Making a Bargain to possess a Woman! +Oh, never, never! + +_Flaunt_. The Man is in love, that's certain--as I was saying, Sir-- + +_Bel_. Be gone, Repentance! Thou needless Goodness, +Which if I follow, canst lead me to no Joys. +Come, tell me the Price of all your Pleasures. + +Sir _Tim_. Look you, Mistress, I am but a Country Knight. +Yet I shou'd be glad of your farther Acquaintance. +--Pray, who may that Lady be-- + +_Driv_. Who, Mrs. Flauntit, Sir? + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, she: she's tearing fine, by Fortune. + +_Driv_. I'll assure you, Sir, she's kept, and is a great Rarity, +but to a Friend, or so-- + +Sir _Tim_. Hum--kept--pray, by whom? + +_Driv_. Why, a silly Knight, Sir, that-- + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, silly indeed--a Pox upon her--a silly Knight, +you say-- + +_Driv_. Ay, Sir, one she makes a very Ass of. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, so methinks--but she's kind, and will do reason for +all him. + +_Driv_. To a Friend, a Man of Quality--or so. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, she blinds the Knight. + +_Driv_. Alas, Sir, easily--he, poor Cully, thinks her a very Saint--but +when he's out of the way, she comes to me to pleasure a Friend. + +Sir _Tim_. But what if the Fool miss her? + +_Driv_. She cries Whore first, brings him upon his Knees for her Fault; +and a piece of Plate, or a new Petticoat, makes his Peace again. + +Sir _Tim. Why--look you, Mistress, I am that Fop, that very silly Knight, +and the rest that you speak of. + +_Driv_. How, Sir? then I'm undone, she's the Upholder of my Calling, the +very Grace of my Function. + +Sir _Tim_. Is she so? e'en keep her to your self then, I'll have no more +of her, by Fortune--I humbly thank you for your Intelligence, and the +rest. Well--I see there's not one honest Whore i'th' Nation, by Fortune. + + _Enter_ Charles Bellmour, _and_ Trusty. + +Hark ye, Mistress, what was your Bus'ness here? + +_Flaunt_. To meet a Rogue!-- + +Sir _Tim_. And I to meet a Whore, and now we are well met. + +_Flaunt_. How, Sir? + +Sir _Tim_. Nay, never be surpriz'd, for your Intrigues are discover'd, + the good Matron of the House (against her Will) has done me that +kindness--you know how to live without your Keeper, and so I'll +leave you. + +_Flaunt_. You're too serviceable a Fool to be lost so. [_Aside_. + +_Bel_. Who knows this bold Intruder? + +_Char_. How, Sir, am I a Stranger to you? But I shou'd wonder at it, +since all your last Night's Actions betray'd a strange depravity of +Sense.--Sir, I have sought you long, and wish I had not found you yet, +since both the Place and Company declare, how grossly you've dissembled +Virtue all this while. + +_Bel_. Take hence that prating Boy. + +_Char_. How, Sir--You are my elder Brother, yet I may be allow'd to do +the Business that I came for, and from my Uncle to demand your Wife. + +_Bel_. You may return, and tell him that she's dead. + +_Char_. Dead! sure, Sir, you rave. + [_Turns him about_. + +_Bel_. Indeed I do--but yet she's dead, they say. + +_Char_. How came she dead? + +_Bel_. I kill'd her--ask no more, but leave me. + [_Turns him about again_. + +_Char_. Sir, this is Madman's Language, and not to be believed. + +_Bel_. Go to--y'are a saucy Boy. + +_Char_. Sir, I'm an angry Boy-- +But yet can bear much from a Brother's Mouth; +Y'ave lost your sleep: pray, Sir, go home and seek it. + +_Bel_. Home! I have no Home, unless thou mean'st my Grave, +And thither I cou'd wish thou wou'd conduct me. [_Weeps_. + +_Flaunt_. Pray Heaven this young virtuous Fellow don't spoil all. +--Sir, shall I send for a Scrivener to draw the Settlement you +promis'd me? + +_Bel_. Do so, and I'll order him to get it ready. + +_Char_. A Settlement! On whom? This Woman, Sir? + +_Bel_. Yes, on this Woman, Sir. + +_Char_. Are you stark mad?--Know you where you are? + +_Bel_. Yes, in a Baudy-house. + +_Char_. And this Woman, Sir.-- + +_Bel_. A very Whore--a tawdry mercenary Whore! +And what of this? + +_Char_. And can you love her, Sir? + +_Bel_. No, if I did, I wou'd not gratify her. + +_Char_. What, is't in Charity to keep her honest? + +_Bel_. Neither. + +_Char_. Is your Lust grown so high-- + +_Bel_. Take that-- [_Strikes him_. +For naming but so base a thing to me. + +_Char_. I wear a Sword, but not to draw on Mad-men. But since y'are so +free, Sir, I demand that Fortune, which by my Father's Will y'are bound +to pay the day after your Wedding-Day; my Sister's too is due. + +_Bel_. Ha, ha, ha,--Sir _Timothy_, come hither--who dost think this is? + +Sir _Tim_. A Fidler, perhaps--let him play in the next Room. + +_Bel_. No, my Brother--come to demand his Portion of me; he says I am in +leud Company, and, like a Boy, he wou'd correct me. + +Sir _Tim_. Why, this comes of Idleness; thou should'st have bound him +Prentice in time, the Boy would have made a good saucy Taylor. + +_Char_. Sirrah, y'are a Rascal, whom I must thus chastise. + [_Kicks him_. + + [_They all draw, and_ Bellmour _stands foremost, and fights + with_ Charles; _the Women run squeaking out, Sir_ Tim. + Sham, _and_ Sharp _sneak behind_; Trusty _interposes_. + +_Trust_. Hold, hold, I beseech you, my dear Masters! Oh, what a fight +is this? Two Brothers fighting with each other! Oh, were my old Master +alive, this wou'd break his Heart: Oh, Sir, you've kill'd your Brother! + +_Bel_. Why, then his Portion's paid. + [Charles _wounded_. + +Sir _Tim_. How, kill'd! Nay, 'tis time we departed then, and shifted +for ourselves. + + [_Ex. Sir_ Tim. Sham _and_ Sharp. + +_Trust_. Oh, Sir, shall I send for a Chyrurgion? + +_Char_. No, for a Coach rather, I am not wounded much. + + [_Ex_. Trusty. + +_Bel_. How dar'st thou trust thy self alone with me? + +_Char_. Why should I fear thee? + +_Bel_. Because I'm mad, +Mad as a Tygress rob'd of her dear Young. + +_Char_. What is't that makes you so? + +_Bel_. My Uncle's Politicks, Hell take him for't, +Has ruin'd me, thou and my Sister too, +By marrying me to a fair hated Maid, +When I had plighted all my Faith before. + + _Enter_ Trusty. + +_Trust_. Sir, here's a Coach. + +_Char_. Come, Brother, will you go home with me? + +_Bel_. Home!--no, never to that place thou call'st so. +If, when I'm dead, thou wouldst behold thy Brother, +And take the last Adieu from his cold Lips, +(If those so perjur'd can deserve that kindness) +Inquire for lost _Celinda_, at whose Feet +Thou shalt behold me fall'n a Sacrifice. +Till then, I'll let mistaken Parents know +The mischiefs that ensue a broken Vow. + + [_Ex. severally_. + + + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I. _Covent Garden_. + + + _Enter_ Betty Flauntit _alone_. + +_Flaunt_. Sure I rose the wrong way to day, I have had such damn'd ill +luck every way: First, to be sent for to such a Man as this _Bellmour_, +and, as the Devil wou'd have it, to find my Knight there; then to be +just upon the Point of making my Fortune, and to be interrupted by that +virtuous Brother of his; then to have a Quarrel happen, that (before I +could whisper him in the Ear, to say so much as, Meet me here again-- +anon) forc'd me to quit the House, lest the Constable had done it for +me; then that that silly Baud should discover all to my Cully. If this +be not ill Luck, the Devil's in't--But _Driver_ must bring matters +about, that I may see this liberal Squire again--But here comes my +Noddy, I must pretend to be angry. + + _Enter Sir_ Timothy. + +Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, how ye look now, as if you had committed no +Misdemeanour: Alas, good Innocent, what canst thou say for thy self, +thou Renegado thou, for being false to my Bosom, say? + +_Flaunt_. False to your Bosom! You silly impudent Sot you--who dares +accuse me? + +Sir _Tim_. E'en your trusty and well-beloved Friend, Mrs. _Driver_ +the Baud. + +_Flaunt_. She! She's an impudent confounded Lyar--and because she wou'd +have your worshipful Custom--scandaliz'd me, to breed a difference +between us. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, if you could make me believe that indeed, when she knew +Me not, nor ever saw me all the Days of her Life before. + +_Flaunt_. I know that, Simpleton; but when I went to enquire for you by +your Name, and told her my Bus'ness, our Amours are not kept so secret, +nor was she so dull, as not to understand how matters went between us. + +Sir _Tim_. Now though I know this to be a damn'd Lye, yet the Devil has +assisted her to make it look so like Truth, that I cannot in Honour but +forgive her. + +_Flaunt_. Forgive me!--Who shall forgive you your debauch'd Whoring and +Drinking?--marry, ye had need so, you are such a Ruffler, at least if +y'are every where as you are at home with me--No, Sirrah, I'll never bed +with you more; here I live sneaking without a Coach, or any thing to +appear withal; when even those that were scandalous two Ages ago, can be +seen in _Hide-Park_ in their fine Chariots, as if they had purchas'd it +with a Maidenhead; whilst I, who keep myself intirely for you, can get +nothing but the Fragments of your Debauches--I'll be damn'd before I'll +endure it. + +Sir _Tim_. Just as the Baud said; yet I am mollify'd--nay, dear _Betty_, +forgive me, and I'll be very good for the future. + +_Flaunt_. Will you swear to be so? + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, by Fortune, I will. + +_Flaunt_. Come, what will you give me then to be Friends? for you won +Money last Night. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, that's it that appeases her highest Storms--here, my +Jewel, here's a hundred Guineas to buy thee fine things. + +_Flaunt_. Yes, great store of fine things indeed, with this pitiful Sum; +let me feel in your Pockets, and see if you have no more. + [_She feels in his Pockets_. + +Sir _Tim_. So, 'twas well I laid by the rest, my Peace had not been +Made under every Rag on't else; and what I was painfully cheating for +All this Night, would have been laid out at the Mercers and Lacemans +in half an Hour. +--Well, are you satisfy'd I have no more? + +_Flaunt_. Have you sunk none indeed and indeed, my _Timmy?_ + +Sir _Tim_. No, I need not, you sink mine fast enough, I thank ye. + [_Aside_. + +_Flaunt_. Well, get your self ready to go abroad with me. + + [_Exit_ Flaunt. + +Sir _Tim_. I have other Matters in hand--now have I four hundred +Guineas in Bank, which I won last Night of _Bellmour_, which I'll make +use of to debauch his Sister, with whom I'm damnably in love, and long +for the return of my two Setting-dogs, to bring me News of the Game. + + _Enter_ Sham _and_ Sharp. + +Oh, are you come? + +_Sham_. Ay, Sir, with News worth the hearing; I have been diligent, +Sir, and got my self acquainted with the old Steward of the Family, an +avaricious _Judas_, that will betray for Gold. + +Sir _Tim_. And that we'll furnish him with--his Master's Gold, like all +other mortal things, must return from whence it came. + +_Sharp_. Not all, Sir; for _Sham_ and I have dispos'd of part. + +Sir _Tim_. Indeed you are a little shabby. + +_Sham_. Ay, Sir, Fools were made to repair the Breaches of us that have +Wit enough to manage 'em. + +Sir _Tim_. What--the Goldsmith paid the Money at sight, without +demanding why? + +_Sharp_. Readily, Sir--he's a brave Fellow, and must not be lost so. + +_Sham_. By no means, we must make use of him whilst he is hot; for I +doubt the Humour is not natural, and I fear he may cool. + +Sir _Tim_. But to our Business. + +_Sharp_. Ay, Sir, this same Sister of his you must have; +if it be but to put this insolent Whore _Flauntit_ out of favour, who +manages this Fop intirely. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, but art thou sure there is no danger in this Enterprize? +Shall I not have my Throat cut? and the rest. + +_Sham_. We have none of that _Italian_ Humour now-a-days, I can assure +ye; they will sooner, with a brotherly kindness, assist the yielding +Sister to the willing Gallant. + +Sir _Tim_. A good thriving Inclination, by Fortune. + +_Sham_. And, Sir, you have all Encouragement; her Brother, you heard, +refus'd to pay her Portion, and you know the Fate of a handsom young +Wench in this Town, that relies on weak Virtue--Then because she is in +The House with her Uncle, this same Steward has contriv'd matters so, +to bring you in at the Back-door, her Lodgings being in the Garden. + +Sir _Tim_. This is something--Oh, I'm impatient to be with her--Well, I +must in, and make some Lye to _Betty_ for my Absence, and be with you +presently. + [_Exit Sir_ Tim. + +_Sharp_. What Design hast thou in hand? for I suppose there is no such +real thing as debauching of this Lady. + +_Sham_. Look ye, _Sharp_, take to thee an implicit Faith, and believe +Impossibilities; for thou and I must cozen this Knight. + +_Sharp_. What, our Patron? + +_Sham_. Ay, _Sharp_, we are bound to labour in our Callings, but mum-- +here he comes. + + _Enter Sir_ Timothy. + +Sir _Tim_. Come, let's away, my Lyoness begins to roar.--You, _Sharp_, +go seek after _Bellmour_, watch his Motions, and give us notice. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Flaunt_. He is gone, and I believe [Betty Flauntit _peeping out_.] for +no Goodness; I'll after him, and watch him. + + [_Exit cross the Stage_. + + + +SCENE II. _Lord_ Plotwell's _House_. + + + _Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Charles, Trusty, _and two Servants_. + +_Lord_. In a Baudy-house, with Whores, Hectors, and Dice! Oh, that I +should be so deceiv'd in Mankind, he whom I thought all Virtue and +Sobriety! But go some of you immediately, and take Officers along with +you, and remove his Quarters from a Baudy-house to a Prison: charge him +with the Murder of his Wife. + +_Char_. My Lord, when I demanded her, he said indeed that she was dead, +and kill'd by him; but this I guess was the Effects of Madness, which +Debauchery, and want of Sleep has brought him to. + +_Lord_. That shall be try'd; go to the Place where _Charles_ has +directed you, and do as I command you. + + [_Ex. Servants_. + +--Oh, sweet _Diana_, in whom I had plac'd my absolute Delight, +And gave thee to this Villain, because I wish'd thee happy. +And are my Expectations fall'n to this? +Upon his Wedding Night to abandon thee, +And shew his long dissembled natural Leudness! + +_Char_. My Lord, I hope, 'tis not his natural Temper; +For e'er we parted, from a brutal Rudeness, +He grew to all the Softness Grief could dictate. +He talkt of breach of Vows, of Death, and Ruin, +And dying at the Feet of a wrong'd Maid; +I know not what he meant. + +_Lord_. Ay, there's his Grief; there is some jilting Hussy has drawn +him in; but I'll revenge my self on both. + + _Enter_ Page. + +_Page_. A Letter for your Lordship. + +Lord _reads_. + + My LORD, + + _As your Goodness has been ever great towards me, so I + humbly beseech you to continue it; and the greatest Proofs you + can give me of it, is to use all your Interest to undo that tye + between_ Bellmour _and my self, which with such Joy you + knit. I will say no more, but as you love my Life, and my + dearer Honour, get a Divorce, or you will see both ruin'd in + Your_ Diana. + + [_Gives_ Charles _the Letter_. + +_Lord_. A Divorce! yes, if all my Interest or Estate can purchase it-- +some Joy yet that thou art well. + +_Char_. Doubtless her Reasons must be great for this Request. + +_Lord_. Yes, for she lov'd him passionately; when I first told her of +my Designs to marry 'em together, she could not hide her Joy; which was +one Motive, I urg'd it to him with such Violence. + +_Char_. Persons so near of Kin do seldom prosper in the Marriage-Bed. + +_Lord_. However 'tis, I now think fit to unmarry 'em; +And as for him, I'll use him with what Rigor +The utmost Limits of the Law allows me. + +_Char_. Sir, I beseech you-- + +_Lord_. You beseech me! You, the Brother of the +Villain! that has abus'd the best of all my Hopes!--No, +I think--I shall grow (for his sake) to hate all that belong to him. + +_Char_. Sir, how, have I offended? + +_Lord_. Yes, Sir, you have offended me, and Nature has offended me; +you are his Brother, and that's an Offence to me. + +_Char_. Is that a Fault, my Lord? + +_Lord_. Yes, Sir, a great one, and I'll have it so; and let me tell you, +you nor your Sister (for that reason) must expect no more Friendship at +my Hands, than from those that are absolute Strangers to you: Your +Brother has refus'd you your Portions, and I'll have as little Mercy +As he, and so farewel to you--But where's the Messenger that brought +the Letter? + +_Page_. Without, my Lord. + + [_Ex_. Lord _and_ Page. + +_Trust_. Here's like to be a hopeful end of a noble Family. My Comfort +is, I shall die with Grief, and not see the last of ye. [_Weeps_. + +_Char_. No, _Trusty_, I have not been so meanly educated, but I know how +to live, and like a Gentleman: All that afflicts me in this Misfortune, +is my dear Sister _Phillis_, she's young; and to be left poor in this +loose Town, will ruin her for ever. + +_Trust_. Sir, I think we were best to marry her out of the way. + +_Char_. Marry her! To whom? who is't regards poor Virtue? + +_Trust_. For that let me alone; and if you dare trust her to my +Management, I'll undertake to marry her to a Man of 2000 pounds a Year; +and if it fail, I'll be sure to keep her Honour safe. + +_Char_. Prithee how wilt do this? + +_Trust_. Sir, I have serv'd your Family these thirty Years, with Faith +and Love; and if I lose my Credit now, I'll never pretend to't more. + +_Char_. Do what thou wilt, for I am sure thou'rt honest, +And I'll resign my Sister to thy Conduct, +Whilst I endeavour the Conversion of my Brother. + [_Exit_ Charles. + + _Enter_ Phillis. + +_Phil_. No News yet of my Brother? + +_Trust_. None: The Next you'll hear is, that he's undone, and that you +must go without your Portions; and worse than that, I can tell you, your +Uncle designs to turn you out of Doors. + +_Phil_. Alas! what shou'd I do, if he shou'd be so cruel? Wou'd I were +in _Flanders_ at my Monastery again, if this be true. + +_Trust_. I have better Bus'ness for you, than telling of Beads--No, +Mrs. _Phillis_, you must be married. + +_Phil_. Alas! I am too young, and sad for Love. + +_Trust_. The younger, and the less Love, the better. + + _Enter_ Page. + +_Page_. Mr. _Trusty_, here's a Gentleman would speak with you, he says +his Name's Mr. _Sham_. + +_Trust_. Gud's me, Mistress, put on all your Holiday Looks; for this is +the little Merchant of Love by Retail, that brings you the Husband I +promis'd you. + + _Enter_ Sham. + +_Sham_. Well, Mr. _Trusty_, I have brought Sir _Timothy_ as I promis'd, +he is at the Garden-door. + +_Trust_. The best time in the World, my Lord's out of the way. + +_Sham_. But you know our Conditions. + +_Trust_. Yes, that if he marry her, you are to have all the Money that +he offers to debauch her. + +_Sham_. Right. + +_Trust_. Bring him in then, and I'll civilly withdraw. + [_Exit_ Trusty. + + _Enter_ Sham, _bringing in Sir_ Timothy. + +Sir _Tim_. Well, _Sham_, thou hast prepar'd all things, and there needs +no Ceremony. + +_Sham_. None, none, Sir; you may fall down-right to the Business. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter_ Phillis. + +Sir _Tim_. _sings_. + + _Come, my_ Phillis, _let us improve + Both our Joys of equal Love; + Whilst we in yonder shady Grove, + Count Minutes by our Kisses_. + +_Phil_. What sort of Courtship's this? 'tis very odd! + +Sir _Tim_. Pox on formal Fops; we have high-born and generous Souls, +and scorn the common Road--Come, let's enjoy, whilst Youth and Beauty +lasts. + +_Phil_. What means this Rudeness? I'll tell my Brother. + +Sir _Tim_. Your Brother! by Fortune, he's so leud, that should I he so +unconscionable to leave thee a Virgin but this Night, he wou'd ravish +thee himself, and that at cheaper Rates than I design to do it. + +_Phil_. How dare you talk to me at this rate? + +Sir _Tim_. Talk to thee--by Fortune, I'll play the _Tarquin_ with thee, +if thou yieldest not quickly--for thou hast set me all on fire. + +_Phil_. Defend me, Heaven, from such a Man. + +Sir _Tim_. Then it must defend you from all the Sex; for all Mankind are +like me, nay, and all Womankind are, or wou'd be, what I must make thee. + +_Phil_. What's that, a Wench? + +Sir _Tim_. Fie, fie, that's a gross Name; no, a Miss, that's the Word-- +a Lady of Delight, a Person of Pleasure and the rest; I'll keep thee, +not a Woman of Quality shall be half so fine--Come, dear _Phillis_, +yield. Oh, I am mad for the happy hour--come, say the word, 'tis but +inclining thy Head a little thus, thy pretty Eyes down, and thy Cheeks +all Blushes, and fetching a long Sigh--thus--with--do--what you please +--at the end on't--and I shall take it for granted. + +_Phil_. That, Sir, you'll never hear me say to any thing but a Husband, +if I must say it then. + +Sir _Tim_. A Husband! it is enough to spoil a Man's Appetite, the very +naming on't--By Fortune, thou hast been bred with thy great Grand-mother, +some old Queen _Elizabeth_ Lady, that us'd to preach Warnings to young +Maidens; but had she liv'd in this Age, she wou'd have repented her +Error, especially had she seen the Sum that I offer thee--Come, let's in, +by Fortune, I'm so vigorous, I shall ravish else. + +_Phil_. Unhand me, or I'll call out. I assure you, this is not the way +to gain me. + +Sir _Tim_. I know there is a way to gain all mortal Womankind; but how +to hit the critical Minute of the Berjere-- + +_Phil_. It is past your Politicks at this time, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. I'll try all ways, and the Devil's in it, if I don't hit +upon the right at last. [_Aside_. +All the soft things I've said-- + +_Phil_. That a Knight of your Parts ought to say. + +Sir _Tim_. Then I have kneel'd--and cry'd, and swore--and-- + +_Phil_. And damn'd your self five hundred times. + +Sir _Tim_. Yet still y'are impregnable--I'll make another Proposition to +you, which is both reasonable and modish--if it prove a Boy--I'll marry +you--the Devil's in't, if that be not fair. + +_Phil_. You get no earnest of me, Sir, and so farewel to you. + [_Ex_. Phillis. + + _Enter_ Sham. + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, _Sham_, I am all over fire, mad to enjoy. I have done +what Man can do (without doing what I wou'd do) and still she's Flint; +nothing will down with her but Matrimony--what shall I do? for thou +know'st I cannot marry a Wife without a Fortune. + +_Sham_. Sir, you know the old Cheat; hire a Lay Rascal in a Canonical +Habit, and put a false Marriage upon her. + +Sir _Tim_. Lord, that this shou'd not enter into my Coxcomb before! +haste then and get one--I'll have it done immediately, whilst I go after +her to keep up my flame. + [_Ex. Sir_ Tim. + +_Sham_. And I will fit you with a Parson presently. + + [_Ex_. + + + +SCENE III. _A Street_. + + + _Enter_ Friendlove _disguis'd as before_. + +_Friend_. I find _Diana_ knows me not; and this Year's absence, since I +first made my Addresses to her, has alter'd me much, or she has lost +the remembrance of a Man, whom she ever disesteem'd till in this lucky +Dress: the price of her Favour is _Bellmour's_ Life. I need not have +been brib'd for that, his Breach of Faith both to my Sister and my self, +enough incites me to Revenge--He has not yet enjoy'd her, that Blessing +is reserv'd for me alone; and though the Priest have joyn'd 'em, that +Marriage may be disannull'd, and she has a Fortune sufficient to excuse +her other Faults. + + _Enter_ Bellmour _sad_. + +--Hah! the Man I seek--so near my Lodgings too--Sir! + +_Bel_. Sir! + +_Friend_. Traitor! thou know'st me, and my bus'ness.-- +Look on this Face, if thou dar'st look on him +Whom thou hast doubly wrong'd--and draw thy Sword. + +_Bel_. Thou should'st be _Friendlove_, Brother to _Celinda_. + +_Friend_. And Lover of _Diana_ too--Oh, quickly draw, +Or I shall leave thee, like a Coward, dead. + +_Bel_. No, rather like a Sacrifice, [_Offers to embrace him_. +And thou should'st be the Priest should offer it; +But that I have yet, +For some few moments, business for my Life. + +_Friend_. I can allow no time for business now, +My Injuries are in haste, and so am I. + +_Bel_. Shou'dst thou stab here a thousand gaping Wounds, +Upon this false, this perjur'd Heart of mine, +It wou'd not part with Life, unless 'twere laid +Near to the Sacred Altar of my Vows, +Low at the Feet of my fair injur'd Wife. + +_Friend_. Ha!--means he his Wife? [_Aside_. +Canst thou repent thy Injuries to her, +And leave the rest of all thy Sins neglected? + +_Bel_. Those I have done to thee, though foul and barbarous, +May plead the Excuse of Force--but those to her, +Not thou, nor I, nor she, or Heav'n can pardon. + +_Friend_. Heav'ns! +My Sister's Wrongs, and mine, may plead Excuse, +But those to her alone can ne'er be pardon'd. +--This place, Sir, is too open--come with me, +For I've desir'd, and now resolve to kill thee. + +_Bel_. And so thou shalt; defenceless, I will yield, +And leave my Bosom open to thy Sword. +--But first conduct me to my Wife; +For I will see her--nor can I die unpardon'd. + +_Friend_. See his Wife!--Of whom do you demand her. + +_Bel_. Of thee!--dar'st thou detain me? [_Offers to go in_. + +_Friend_. Death! how shou'd he know she's here? [_Aside_. +--Stay, Sir, this way our Business lies. [_Pulls him back_. + +_Bel_. I ask not thine, but mine lies only this way. + [_Offers to go in again_. + +_Friend_. By Heav'n, you shall not enter here. + +_Bel_. I know thou lov'st her. +And 'tis with Reason thou deny'st an Entrance +To one so much unworthy to approach her. + +_Friend_. Yes, I do love her, and dare own it too; +And will defend her from one so base and treacherous. + +_Bel_. Who dares deny thy Reasons? + +_Friend_. Sh'has made me take an Oath, to fight with thee; +And every Wound my lucky Sword shou'd make, +She bad me say, was sent thee from her Hate. + +_Bel_. Oh, I believe thee: prithee tell on, young Man, +That I may die without the aid of Wounds. + +_Friend_. To break thy Heart, know then, she loves another, +And has took back the Vows she made to thee, +And given 'em to a Man more worthy of 'em. + +_Bel_. Alas! I credit thee--yet--then, by Heav'n, she's false! +And I will know, why 'tis she is thus perjur'd. [_Offers to go_. +--Nay, now--nor Heaven, nor Hell, shall hinder me. +--Stand off, or to the number I'll add one Sin more, +And make my Passage to it through thy Heart. + +_Friend_. And so you shall, Sir. + + [_They fight_, Bellmour disarms Friend, and runs in_. + +--Disarm'd! by Heav'n, you shall not so escape +A Rage that is too just here to give o'er. + + + +SCENE IV. _Changes to the Inside of_ Friendlove's _Lodgings_. + + + _Enter_ Celinda, _as before, met by_ Nurse. + +_Nur_. Oh, Madam, here's Mr. Bellmour; he has wounded my young Master, +who deny'd him Entrance, and is come into the House, and all in Rage +demands his Wife. + +_Cel_. Oh Heav'n! Demands his Wife! Is that sad Curse +Added to all the rest?--Does he then love her? + + _Enter_ Bellmour _with two Swords_. + +_Nur_. Whither do you press, Sir? and what's your business? + +_Bel_. To see my Wife, my Wife, Impertinence; +And must I meet with nought but Opposition? + [_Pushes her roughly away_. + +_Cel_. Let him come in. + +_Nur_. Marry, he lets himself in, I thank him. + +_Cel_. What Man art thou thus cover'd o'er with Horror? + +_Bel_. One sent from Hell to punish Perjury! +--Where's this perfidious Fair? this blushless Maid, +That has by my Example broke her Vows? +A Precedent that Fiends wou'd shame to follow. + +_Cel_. Who is't you mean, Sir? + +_Bel_. A thing that has no Name, she is so bad; +One who so lately gave her self to me, +And now is flown into another's Arms: +One that attacks my Life, for the same Sins +Which she her self commits--and thinks to live too. +--Yet still she is my Wife, whom I have injur'd: +Till when, she was a Saint--come, lead me to her, +Though she be false as I, yet I'll forgive it. + [_Throws by the Swords_. + +_Cel_. Heav'ns! he repents his Cruelty to her, +And never mentions me! Ah then 'tis time to die. +And that I may be sure of Death-- [_Aside_. +Well, Sir, I will conduct this happy Lady to you. + [_Ex_. Cel. + +_Bel_. Gods! Happy!--whilst I am wretched. +--Oh, what an Ague chills my shivering Limbs, +Turns my hot Rage to softest Love, and Shame! +Were I not here to die--here at her Feet, +I wou'd not stand the Shock of her Reproaches. +--But yet she need not speak, a Look's sufficient +To call up all my Sins to my undoing-- +She comes--Oh Heav'n! she comes-- + + _Enter_ Celinda _and_ Diana. + +--Like penitent Criminals thus--with my Eyes declin'd, +I bow my Head down, for the last sad Blow. + [_Stands bow'd_. + +_Cel_. Sir, in Obedience to your Commands, +I've brought the Lady. + +_Dia_. How! The perfidious _Bellmour_! +The only Object of my Hate and Scorn. + +_Bel_. Say on, my angry Deity-- [_Kneels_. +Whilst I thus trembling hear my fatal Doom, +Like Sinners, conscious ne'er to be forgiven, +I dare not lift my guilty Eyes towards Heaven. + +_Cel_. Can I hear this, and yet retain my Life? + +_Dia_. Had I but two days since beheld this Youth +Thus prostrate at my Feet, I should have thought +My self more blest, +Than to have been that Deity he calls me. + + _Enter_ Friendlove. + +_Friend_. Defend me! The Traitor here! And at _Diana's_ Feet! +The fittest Altar for my Sacrifice! +--Turn, turn, from what thou lov'st, and meet my Justice. + +_Cel_. Oh, hold, my dearest Brother. + + [Bellmour _rises, and turns about_. + +_Bel_. Nay, now I'm ready for the welcome Sword, +Since my _Celinda's_ false, and cannot pardon. + +_Cel_. Oh, do not die with that profane Opinion. +_Celinda_ false! or cannot pardon thee! + +_Dia_. Stay, generous Sir, my Pity has forgiven him. + +_Bel_. Thou! Why, who art thou--_Diana_? + +_Dia_. Yes, that _Diana_, +Whom, maugre all the Penitence thou shew'st, +Can scarce forgive the Injuries thou hast done her. + +_Bel_. I shew a Penitence for injuring thee! +By Heav'n, I never cou'd do one, or other; +All that I am is the divine _Celinda's_. + +_Friend_. He's stark mad! [_Aside_. + +_Bel_. But since she cannot pardon, I can die. + [_Offers to fall on his Sword_. + +_Cel_. Canst thou not credit me? She pardons thee. +Live--and enjoy--_Diana_. + [_Turns her Face from him_. + +_Bel_. What art thou, who know'st her Heart so well? +Art thou my Rival? the blessed Youth, to whom +She has given her Vows?--Live, and enjoy, _Diana_! +--Yes, yes, thou art my Rival, and I'll kill thee. + +_Cel_. Do, whilst I meet thy Sword. + + [_Opens her Arms_, Diana _stays him; he lets fall + his Sword, and gazes_. + +_Bel_, Dull--dull Adorer! Not to know my Saint. +Oh, how I have profan'd! To what strange Idol +Was that I kneel'd, +Mistaking it for a Divinity? + +_Cel_. To your fair Wife _Diana_. + +_Bel_. Oh cruel Maid! +Has Heav'n design'd me any but _Celinda_? + +_Dia_. Maid! Bless me!--did I then love a Woman? +--I am pleas'd thou should'st renounce me; make it good, +And set me free from Fetters which I hate. + +_Bel_. If all our Laws can do't, I will--for here +Ends all my Claim. [_To_ Celinda. + +_Friend_. Was this the Wife you did demand of me? + +_Bel_. Yes, I had no other. + +_Dia_. Fair Maid! forgive me all my shameful Passion, +And charge my Fault upon your Beauty only. + +_Cel_. Excellent Creature! I shou'd sue for that, +Which my Deceit will never make me hope. + +_Bel_. And art thou true to Love, and all thy Vows? +Whilst I to save my Fortune, +(That only which you'd make me merit thee) +Gave my unwilling Hand to this fair noble Maid. +--Ah, _Friendlove_, when thou hear'st my Story told, +Thou wilt forgive, and pity me. + +_Dia_. What was't you said, Sir? _Friendlove_! + +_Friend_. Yes, Madam, I hope the Name can make no difference; +Or hate that still, so you but love the Man. + +_Dia_. Though I'm again defeated, yet this last +Proves least offensive; nor shall an empty Word +Alter my fix'd Resolves, to love you still. + +_Friend_. Then I am blest! + +_Bel_. But yet the Office of the Priest has past: +What Remedy for that? + +_Dia_. My Uncle's Pow'r, the Nearness of our Blood, +The Contradiction of our Circumstances. + +_Bel_. And above all that, my Contract with _Celinda_. +--Methinks I feel a Joy spread o'er my Heart, +The blessed Omen of approaching Happiness. + +_Cel_. I do believe thee; for by Sympathy, +Mine takes new Fire and Hope. + +_Dia_. I have already writ to my Uncle, and the Messenger assur'd me, +he would gratify my Desires; that done, I will be yours. + [_To_ Friendlove. + +_Bel_. But why thus drest? it might have led my Rage, +Full of Despair and Jealousy to have hurt thee. + +_Cel_. Sir, when the Letter came of your being married, +I will not tell you all the Effects it had +Upon my desperate Soul; +But this I know, I had resolv'd to die, +But first to see you. Your Page inform'd the Nurse +All that had past, and of the last Night's Ball; +And much concern'd, she got this Habit for me, +And inform'd me how 'twas I was to act, +And that my Brother (describing of his Dress) was gone before. +This made me haste, lest e'er I came +His Rage had done the Business which it went for. + +_Friend_. And so it had, hadst thou not hinder'd me; +For I, Sir, was the Man who drew on you. + +_Bel_. And was it thou that didst defend my Heart, +That I might live to pay thy Goodness back? + +_Cel_. It was to save your Life, and to expose my own. + +_Dia_. Come, let's in, and consult what's best for us to do. + +_Bel_. Come, my _Celinda_. +Let us no longer doubt, the Pow'rs above +Will be propitious to united Love. + + [_Ex_. Cel. + + _Enter_ Servant. + +_Serv_. Sir, my Lord Plotwell is at the Door in his Coach. + +_Dia_. My Uncle come! Sir, we will not doubt our Fortune. +But how came he to know of my being here? + +_Serv_. Madam, I fear he follow'd me after I had given him the Letter. + + _Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Charles, Trusty. + +_Lord_. _Bellmour_ and _Diana_ kneeling! + [Bel. _and_ Diana _kneel_. +--Rise; the Joy I have to see you thus, makes me +Resolve to grant you any thing, and pardon +All that's past. + +_Bel_. Be not so hasty in your Goodness, Sir, +Lest you repent as fast. + +_Dia_. Sir, we have an humble Suit to you. + +_Lord_. What is it ye can jointly ask, I will not grant? + +_Dia_. By all that Love you ever had for me, +By all those Infant Charms which us'd to please you, +When on your Lap you taught my Tongue that Art +Which made those dear Impressions on your Heart, +Which ever since to my Advantage grew, +I do conjure you hear me now I sue, +And grant the mighty Grace I beg of you. + +_Lord_. What is it you wou'd ask? + +_Bel_. Oh, dress your Face and Eyes in gentler Looks, +If you wou'd have us hope for any Mercy. + +_Lord_. Rise, and whate'er you ask, I'll freely grant. + +_Dia_. That you'll undo that Knot, that ties us two. + +_Lord_. How! this Request from thee! who lov'd him once, +And wish'd no good beyond possessing him. + +_Dia_. Heav'n has not, Sir, decreed us for each other: +Something of Fate or Chance +Has otherwise dispos'd those first Resolves. + +_Lord_. Too virtuous Maid, I know thou dost but feign, +His Wickedness has forc'd thee to this change. + +_Dia_. No, Sir, were he the only Man +Of kind and good, I never wou'd be his. +--And if you shou'd compel me, I shou'd live +The infamous Reproach of my whole Sex. + +_Lord_. Well, and you, Sir, that are the cause of this, +What canst thou say to move me for thy Pardon? + +_Bel_. I am so guilty in your Opinion, +My Prayers wou'd but make you merciless; +I only say _Celinda_ is my Wife, +And I shou'd injure this too generous Maid, +Not to adore her equal to her Merit. + +_Lord_. I see, Sir, you have found your Wits again. +--Well, I see there's no opposing Destiny; +And I have still such tenderness for thee, [_To_ Dia. +That hadst thou pleaded his Cause to me before, +I shou'd have been less cruel to him. +--Where is that Lady which you so admire, +Whose Beauty does eclipse that of _Diana_? + + [Bellmour _goes out, and brings in_ Celinda. + +_Dia_. This, Sir, is she who merits more than I. + +_Lord_. She's fair indeed; here, _Frank_, +I give thee thy _Celinda_, whose Beauty +Excuses all thy Faults of Disobedience. + +_Bel_. Thus low, I thank you for this Goodness, Sir. [_Kneels_. + +_Lord_. There only wants the Ceremony of the Law to undo what's between +you and _Diana_, if she remain a Virgin. + +_Bel_. For me, by Heav'n she is; +And for the rest, I do not doubt her Virtue. + +_Dia_. You may believe him, Sir; and this alone's the Man, in whom I +will, or never will be happy. + +_Lord_. Mr. _Friendlove_! I give Consent to't, he has a noble Character; +and what he wants in Fortune, has in Virtue--take her, young Man. + +_Friend_. 'Tis such an Honour, Sir, that my Gratitude, without the +mighty Passion I have for her, would make me ever thankful. + +_Lord_. This Term, we shall make the former Marriage void; till then +love on, and fear no Frowns from Fortune--but Nephew--now I hope your +Brother shall have his Portion. + +_Bel_. My dearest _Charles_, forgive me all that's past, +And share the Fortune Heaven has given thy Brother. + +_Char_. The Joy I have, Sir, to be undeceived, +Is much the greatest Blessing Heav'n can send me. + + _Enter Sir_ Timothy, _follow'd by_ Phillis, Sham, + Sharp, _and_ Betty Flauntit. + +Sir _Tim_. I am pursu'd by two impertinent Women; prithee, _Friendlove_, +tell 'em I am gone out at the Backdoor, and send 'em away. + +_Lord_. What's the News here? + +Sir _Tim_. How, _Celinda_ here, and _Bellmour_ too! Nay, now wou'd I +compound for my Life, at any rate, by Fortune. + +_Phil_. Sir, this Villain here has abus'd me, and with a false Marriage +has rob'd me of my Honour. + +_Bel_. How! + +Sir _Tim_. My Lord, I say this young Jilt would have rob'd me of my self; +and courting her, and enjoying her only for a Miss, would persuade me I +am married to her. + +_Flaunt_. Sir, I say, I am doubly wrong'd; first by this false Knight, +who has belong'd to me this three Years, which gives me a right to him, +as good as if I were married to him; who has now unlawfully left my Bed, +for that of this Gilflurt, who, on the other side, takes away my Knight, +and consequently eats the Bread out of my Mouth. + +_Bel_. What means all this? +Speak some of ye that know. + +_Flaunt_. Oh Lord! Who's here? The fine Squire? [_Aside_. + +_Trust_. Sir _Timothy Tawdry_, Sir, is married to Mrs. _Phillis_. + +Sir _Tim_. How can that be a Marriage, when he who join'd us, was but +a hired Fellow, dress'd like a Parson? + +_Trust_. Sir, 'twas Parson _Tickletext_ that marry'd 'em. + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, what a damn'd lying Pimp is this!--_Sham_, didst thou +not hire a Fellow, (because I was damnably in Love, and in haste) to +marry us, that was no Parson? + +_Sham_. Why, truly, Sir--I did go to hire such a one-- + +Sir _Tim_. Look ye there now. + +_Sham_. But you'd meet with none; and because you said you shou'd die +if you enjoy'd her not presently, and that she would not yield on any +other Terms, but those of Marriage, I e'en brought the Parson that +_Trusty_ had provided for you. + +Sir _Tim_. Oh Villain, to betray me! and for no Reward! + +_Trust_. Yes, indeed, Sir, the four hundred Guineas you left behind my +young Mistress's Looking-glass fell to his share. + +Sir _Tim_. What's my Money gone! and I am marry'd too! This 'tis not to +use to go to Church; for then I might have chanc'd to know the Parson. + +_Bel_. Death, you Dog! you deserve to die, for your base Designs upon +a Maid of her Quality--How durst you, Sister, without my leave, marry +that Rascal? + +_Phil_. Sir, you deny'd me my Portion, and my Uncle design'd to turn me +out of doors, and in my Despair I accepted of him. + +_Flaunt_. Married! and to a Wife of no Fortune! that's the worst part +on't--what shall I do? + +_Bel_. Renounce this leud Fool, and I'll make thee a Fortune suitable +to thy Quality. + +Sir _Tim_. Say you so?--Renounce me, Sir! I'd have you to know I merit +her: And as for Leudness, I name no body, _Bellmour_--but only some have +the Art of hiding it better than I--but for Whoring, Drinking, Dicing, +and all the deadly Sins that thereupon depend, I thank my Stars, I come +short of you: And since you say, I shall not have your Sister, by +Fortune, I will have your Sister, and love your Sister, and lie with +your Sister, inspite of you. + +_Lord_. Well, Sir _Timothy_, since my Niece has done amiss, 'tis too +late to mend it--and that you may not repent, I'll take care her Fortune +shall be suitable to the Jointure you'll make her. + +_Bel_. With this Proviso, that you make no Settlement to Misses, Sir +_Timothy_--I am not so unreasonable to tie you up from all of that +Profession; that were to spoil a fashionable Husband, and so put you +quite out of Fop-road. + +_Lord_. This Day we'll set apart for Mirth, +And all must make my House their happy home. + +_Bel_. To thee, _Celinda_! all my Good I owe, +My Life, my Fortune, and my Honour too, +Since all had perish'd by a broken Vow. + +_Flaunt_. What, am I like to lose my _Timmy_? Canst thou have the Heart +to leave me for ever? I who have been true and constant to you? + +Sir _Tim_. Alas! now I must melt again, by Fortune--thou art a Fool, +dost think I wou'd have had her, but for her Fortune? which shall only +serve to make thee out-flaunt all the Cracks in Town--go--go home and +expect me, thou'lt have me all to thy self within this Day or two: + + Since Marriage but a larger Licence is + For every Fop of Mode to keep a Miss. + + + +EPILOGUE. + +Spoken by Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_. + +_Sir_ Timothy, _Gallants, at last is come +To know his Sentence, and receive his Doom, +But pray before you are resolv'd to be +Severe, look on your selves, and then on me; +Observe me well, I am a Man of Show, +Of Noise, and Nonsense, as are most of you. +Though all of you don't share with me in Title, +In Character you differ very little. +Tell me in what you find a Difference? +It may be you will say, you're Men of Sense; +But Faith-- +Were one of you o'th' Stage, and I i'th' Pit, +He might be thought the Fop, and I the Wit. +On equal Grounds you'll scarce know one from t'other; +We are as like, as Brother is to Brother. +To judge against me then wou'd be Ill-Nature, +For Men are kind to those they're like in Feature. +For Judges therefore I accept you all; +By you, Sir_ Timothy _will stand or fall. +He's too faint-hearted that his Sentence fears, +Who has the Honour to be try'd by's Peers_. + +Written by Mr. _E.R_. + + + + + + +THE FALSE COUNT. + + + +ARGUMENT. + +Don Carlos, Governor of Cadiz, who has been contracted to Julia, now +married to a rich old churl, Francisco, in order to gain her, mans a +galley, which has been captured from the Turks, with some forty or fifty +attendants disguised as ferocious Ottomans; and whilst she, her husband +and a party of friends are taking a pleasure trip in a yacht, they are +suddenly boarded and all made prisoners by the supposed corsairs, who +carry them off to a country villa a few miles from the town belonging to +Carlos' friend, Antonio, which, however, they are firmly convinc'd is a +palace inhabited by the Great Turk himself. Here Carlos appears, dressed +as the Sultan, with much pomp, and Francisco, overwhelmed with terror, +speedily relinquishes Julia to his captor. In order to punish her for +her intolerable arrogance, Isabella, Francisco's daughter by his former +wife, who is designed to wed Antonio, is introduced to a chimney-sweep, +Guiliom, masquerading as a noble of high degree. She forthwith strikes +up a match with the False Count, leaving Antonio free to marry Clara, +Julia's sister, whom he loves. No sooner, however, has the knot been +securely tied than Guiliom, appearing in his sooty rags and with +smutched face, publicly demands and humiliates his haughty bride. The +trick of the feigned Turks is discovered by the arrival at the villa of +Baltazer, Julia's father. Don Carlos, however, claims his mistress by +reason of his former contract, which is perforce allowed. + + + +SOURCE. + +Guiliom, masquerading as a Count, is of course directly derived from _Les +Precieuses Ridicules_, first performed 18 November, 1659, and Isabella +is a close copy of Cathos and Magdelon. Flecknoe had already adapted +Moliere in _The Damoiselles a la Mode_, unacted (4to 1667); and seven +years later than Mrs. Behn, Shadwell, in his fine comedy, _Bury Fair_ +(1689), drew largely from the same source. His mock noble is a French +peruke-maker, La Roch, who marries Lady Fantast's affected daughter. +Miller, in his _The Man of Taste; or, The Guardian_ (1735), blended +the same plot with _L'Ecole des Maris_. The stratagem of the feigned +Turkish ship capturing the yacht is a happy extension of a hint from the +famous galley scene (Que diable allait-il faire a cette galere?), Act +ii, 7, _Les Fourberies de Scapin_. This, however, is not original with +Moliere, being entirely borrowed from _Le Pedant Joue_, Act ii, 4, of +Cyrano de Bergerac (1654). What is practically a translation of _Les +Fourberies de Scapin_ by Otway, was produced at the Duke's Theatre in +1677, and in the same year Ravenscroft included a great part of it in +his _Scaramouch a Philosopher, Harlequin a Schoolboy, Bravo, Merchant, +and Magician_. + +In the Epilogue Mrs. Behn asserts that she wrote _The False Count_ with +ease in something less than a week. This may be a pardonable +exaggeration; but there are certainly distinct marks of haste in the +composition of the play. In Act iii, I, she evidently intended Francisco +and his party to be seized as they were returning home by sea, at the +end of the act she arranges their sea trip as an excursion on a yacht. + + + +THEATRICAL HISTORY. + +_The False Count; or, A New Way to Play an Old Game_ was produced at the +Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in the autumn of 1682, not later than the +end of October. An excellent rattling farce, it seems to have kept the +stage at intervals for some twenty years. On 11 August, 1715, there was +a revival at Lincoln's Inn Fields. It is billed as 'not acted ten +years'. Spiller played Guiliom, Mrs. Moor Isabella, and Mrs. Thurmond +Julia. There is no further record of its performance. + + + + +THE FALSE COUNT: or, A New Way to play an old Game. + + + +PROLOGUE. + +Spoken by Mr. _Smith_. + +_Know all ye Whigs and Tories of the Pit, +(Ye furious Guelphs and Gibelins of Wit, +Who for the Cause, and Crimes of Forty One +So furiously maintain the Quarrel on) +Our Author, as you'll find it writ in Story, +Has hitherto been a most wicked Tory; +But now, to th'joy o'th' Brethren be it spoken, +Our Sister's vain mistaken Eyes are open; +And wisely valuing her dear Interest now, +All-powerful Whigs, converted is to you. +'Twas long she did maintain the Royal Cause, +Argu'd, disputed, rail'd with great Applause; +Writ Madrigals and Doggerel on the Times, +And charg'd you all with your Fore-fathers Crimes; +Nay, confidently swore no Plot was true, +But that so slily carried on by you: +Raised horrid Scandals on you, hellish Stories, +In Conventicles how you eat young Tories; +As_ Jew _did heretofore eat_ Christian _Suckling; +And brought an _Odium_ on your pious Gutling: +When this is all Malice it self can say, +You for the good Old Cause devoutly eat and pray. +Though this one Text were able to convert ye, +Ye needy Tribe of Scriblers to the Party; +Yet there are more advantages than these, +For write, invent, and make what Plots you please, +The wicked Party keep your Witnesses; +Like frugal Cuckold-makers you beget +Brats that secur'd by others fires shall sit. +Your Conventicling Miracles out-do +All that the Whore of_ Babylon _e'er knew: +By wondrous art you make Rogues honest Men, +And when you please transform 'em Rogues again. +To day a Saint, if he but hang a Papist, +Peach a true Protestant, your Saint's turn'd Atheist: +And dying Sacraments do less prevail, +Than living ones, though took in Lamb's-Wool-Ale. +Who wou'd not then be for a Common-weal, +To have the Villain covered with his Zeal? +A Zeal, who for Convenience can dispense +With Plays provided there's no Wit nor Sense. +For Wit's profane, and Jesuitical, +And Plotting's Popery, and the Devil and all. +We then have fitted you with one to day, +'Tis writ as 'twere a Recantation Play; +Renouncing all that has pretence to witty, +T'oblige the Reverend_ Brumighams _o'th' City: +No smutty Scenes, no Jests to move your Laughter, +Nor Love that so debauches all your Daughters. +But shou'd the Torys now,--who will desert me, +Because they find no dry bobs on your Party, +Resolve to hiss, as late did Popish Crew, | +By Yea and Nay, she'll throw her self on you, | +The grand Inquest of Whigs, to whom she's true. | +Then let 'em rail and hiss, and damn their fill, +Your Verdict will be_ Ignoramus _still_. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + +MEN. + +Don _Carlos_, Governour of _Cadiz_, young and rich, + in love with _Julia_, Mr. _Smith_ +_Antonio_, a Merchant, young and rich. Friend to _Carlos_, + in love with _Clara_, but promis'd to _Isabella_, Mr. _Wiltshire_ +_Francisco_, old and rich, Husband to _Julia_, and + Father to _Isabella_, Mr. _Nokes_. +_Baltazer_, Father to _Julia_ and _Clara_, Mr. _Bright_. +_Sebastian_, Father to _Antonio_, Mr. _Freeman_. +_Guzman_, Gentlemen to _Carlos_, Mr. _Underhill_. +_Guiliom_, a Chimney-Sweeper; the False Count, Mr. _Lee_. +Two overgrown Pages to the False Count, +A little Page to the False Count. +_Petro_, Cashier to _Antonio_. +Page to Don _Carlos_. +Captain of a Gally. +Two Seamen. +_Lopez_, Servant to _Baltazer_. +Several disguis'd like _Turks_. + + +WOMEN. + +_Julia_, Wife to _Francisco_, young and handsom, + in love with _Carlos_, Mrs. _Davis_. +_Clara_, Sister to _Julia_, in love with _Antonio_, Mrs. _Petty_. +_Isabella_, Daughter to _Francisco_; proud, vain and + foolish, despising all Men under the degree of Quality, + and falls in love with _Guiliom_, Mrs. _Corror_. +_Jacinta_, Woman to _Julia_, Mrs. _Osborne_. +Wife to _Petro_. + +Dancers, Singers, &c. + + + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I. _The Street_. + + + _Enter_ Carlos, Antonio _and_ Guzman. + +_Car_. By all that's good, I'm mad, stark raving mad, +To have a Woman young, rich, beautiful, +Just on the point of yielding to my Love, +Snatcht from my Arms by such a Beast as this; +An old ridiculous Buffoon, past Pleasure, +Past Love, or any thing that tends that way; +Ill-favour'd, ill-bred, and ill-qualify'd, +With more Diseases than a Horse past Service; +And only blest with Fortune and my _Julia_; +For him, I say, this Miser, to obtain her, +After my tedious nights and days of Love, +My midnight Watchings, Quarrels, Wounds and Dangers; +--My Person not unhandsom too, +By Heav'n, 'twas wondrous strange! + +_Ant_. And old _Francisco_, without the expence of an hour's Courtship, +a _Billet-Doux_, or scarce a sight of her, could gain her in a day; and +yet 'tis wonder, your Fortune and your Quality, should be refus'd by Don +_Baltazer_ her Father. + +_Car_. A Pox upon't, I went the wrong way to work, and courted the +Daughter; but indeed my Father, the late Governour of _Cadiz_, whose +Estate and Honour I now enjoy, was then living; and, fearing he would +not consent to my Passion, I endeavoured to keep it secret, though +sacred Vows had past between us two. + +_Ant_. Did she not tell you of this Marriage with old _Francisco_? + +_Car_. The night before, she did; but only by a Letter from her Window +dropt; which when by the help of a dark Lanthorn, I had read, I was +struck dead with Grief. + [_Gives him the Letter_. + +_Ant_. [reads.] + + _Expect to morrow night to hear I'm dead, since the next + Sun will guide me to a fatal Marriage with old_ Francisco. + _Your_ Julia. + +_Car_. Judge, dear _Antonio_, my Surprize and Grief; +A-while I stood unmov'd, thoughtless, and silent, +But soon Rage wak'd me to new Life again; +But what I said and did, I leave to raging Lovers, +Like disappointed me, to guess and judge; +She heard--and only answer'd me in Tears, +Nor could I beg one tender Word from her, +She sigh'd, and shut the Window too, and vanish'd. + +_Ant_. And she accordingly next day was married. + +_Car_. She was--and I have since endeavoured all the Arts and Ways I can +to cuckold him; 'tis now two months since the Wedding, and I hear he +keeps her as close as a Relict, jealous as Age and Impotence can make +him. She hitherto has been absent at _Sevil_, but Expectation of her +Daughter-in-law's Wedding with you has brought 'em hither,--and, I ask +your Pardon, _Antonio_, for raillying your Father-in-law that shall be, +old _Francisco_. + +_Ant_. I hope you are mistaken, Sir. + +_Car_. How, are you not to marry his Daughter, _Isabella_? + +_Ant_. Not if I can help it, Sir,--the Honour you have done me in your +Friendship to me, a Person so much above me in Title and Birth, makes me +think it my Duty to conceal no part of my Heart to you,--Know then this +_Isabella_, Daughter to old _Francisco_, and your Cuckold that shall be +I hope, is, though fair, most ridiculously proud, vain and fantastical; +as all of her Birth and Education, grown rich, are. + +_Car_. Prithee, what was her Birth? + +_Ant_. Why, her Father, old _Francisco_, was in his youth an English +Cordwainer, that is to say, a Shoemaker, which he improv'd in time to a +Merchant; and the Devil and his Knavery helping him to a considerable +Estate, he set up for Gentleman; and being naturally a stingey, +hide-bound Rascal, and in the Humour of Jealousy even out-doing the most +rigid of us _Spaniards_, he came over into _Spain_, to settle with his +whole Family, where his Wife dying, to heighten the Vice, marries this +young _Julia_, your Mistress, Sir;--and now this Daughter of his having +wholly forgot her original Dunghill, sets up for a Viscountess at least, +though her Father has design'd me the Blessing; but I have fixt my Heart +and Eyes else-where, _Clara_, the young Sister of your Mistress, Sir, +commands my Liberty. + +_Car_. I've seen her, she has Youth and Beauty capable to make a +Conquest any where,--but does she know your Love? + +_Ant_. She does, and makes me think my Love return'd. + +_Car_. Then know, _Antonio_, I must be your Rival. + +_Ant_. How, Sir! + +_Car_. You said but now you were my Friend, _Antonio_; If true, you must +assist in my design. + +_Ant_. I listen, Sir, impatiently. + +_Car_. Then thus; before I knew she was your Mistress, I had resolv'd +upon Addresses to her, in order to't, have treated with her Father about +a Marriage. + +_Ant_. How! and wou'd the false, forsworn, receive your Vows? + +_Car_. No; but with Tears implores her Father daily, whene'er he speaks +to her about my Passion; nor can I undeceive her, for indeed I have but +feign'd a Love, (she living in the same house with _Julia_ whilst here +at _Cadiz_) to get an opportunity with that dear, charming Creature; +for, coming as a Brother, sure they'll admit me kindly; nor will +_Francisco_, who has heard of what has past 'twixt me and _Julia_, +suspect me any more. + +_Ant_. I knew I had a Rival, Sir, whom _Clara_ lov'd not; but ne'er +cou'd get it from her who he was, for fear of mischief: I have often the +Liberty to see her, under the name and pretence of _Isabella's_ Lover. + +_Car_. And I visit her only to get a sight of _Julia_, which hitherto +has been impossible, though I have oft endeavour'd it. I beg you'll not +be jealous; for this, by Heav'n, is only my Design. + +_Ant_. I'll trust my Life, my Honour and my Mistress in so good hands at +any time. + +_Car_. You oblige me; but though I find your _Clara_ cold and cruel, +_Isabella_ would invite me to her Love, and makes so many kind +advances to me-- + +_Ant_. So would she for your Title, were you deform'd, and had no shape +of Man about you; but me, because a little Citizen and Merchant, she so +reviles, calling me base Mechanick, saucy Fellow; and wonders where I +got the Impudence to speak of Love to her--in fine, I am resolved to be +reveng'd on all her Pride and Scorn; by Heav'n, I will invent some dire +Revenge:--I'm bent upon't, and will about it instantly. + +_Car_. And would you do it home and handsomly, and have a good occasion +of being disengaged from her, and make her self the instrument? + +_Ant_. Ay, such a Plot were worth the Prosecution. + +_Car_. And such a one I have in my head: _Guzman_, my Servant, knows a +fellow here in _Cadiz_, whom for his pleasant humour I have oft +observ'd, as I have past the Streets, but too mean to be convers'd with, +by almost any human thing, by Trade a Chimney-Sweeper. + +_Ant_. On, Sir, I beseech you. + +_Car_. This Fellow's of a quick Wit and good Apprehension, though +possibly he cannot act the Don so well, yet that which makes up the +best part of our young Gallants now a-days, he shall not want; that is, +good Clothes, Money, and an Equipage,--and a little Instruction will +serve turn. + +_Ant_. I'm ravisht with the Fancy;--let me see--he shall be an _English_ +Lord, or a _French_ Count. + +_Car_. Either, we'll furnish him with Bills on Signior Don _Francisco_, +--Men and Baggage, and the business is done--he shall make Love to her. + +_Ant_. Most excellent. + +_Car_. _Guzman_, have you not observ'd this Fellow I am speaking of. + +_Guz_. Observ'd him, Sir! I know him particularly, I'll fetch him to you +now, Sir; he always stands for new Imployment with the rest of his Gang +under St. _Jago's_ Church-wall. + +_Car_. Bring him anon to my Lodgings, where we'll prepare him for the +Adventure. + +_Ant_. And if the proud _Isabella_ bite not at so gay a bait, I'll be +bound to be married to her. + +_Car_. And if she do not, possibly that may be your Fate--but in +return, you must let _Clara_ know the Design I have, and, undeceiving +her opinion of my Love, make her of our Party. + +_Ant_. Trust my Friendship, Sir, and Management. I'll to her instantly, +that is, make a visit to _Isabella_, and get an opportunity to speak +with _Clara_. + +_Car_. And I must write a Letter to _Julia_, to undeceive her Fears too, +could I but get it to her. + +_Guz_. For that let me alone. + + [_Exeunt severally, bowing_. + + + +SCENE II. _A Chamber_. + + + _Enter_ Julia _and_ Jacinta. + +_Jac_. Lord, Madam, you are as melancholy as a sick Parrot. + +_Jul_. And can you blame me, _Jacinta_? have I not many Reasons to be +sad? first have I not lost the only Man on earth in Don _Carlos_, that I +cou'd love? and worse than that, am married to a Thing, fit only for his +Tomb; a Brute, who wanting sense to value me, treats me more like a +Prisoner than a Wife?--and his Pretence is, because I should not see nor +hear from Don _Carlos_. + +_Jac_. Wou'd I were in your room, Madam, I'd cut him out work enough, +I'd warrant him; and if he durst impose on me, i'faith, I'd transform +both his Shape and his Manners; in short, I'd try what Woman-hood cou'd +do. And indeed, the Revenge wou'd be so pleasant, I wou'd not be without +a jealous Husband for all the World; and really, Madam, Don _Carlos_ is +so sweet a Gentleman. + +_Jul_. Ay, but the Sin, _Jacinta_! + +_Jac_. O' my Conscience, Heav'n wou'd forgive it; for this match of +yours, with old _Francisco_, was never made there. + +_Jul_. Then if I wou'd, alas, what opportunities have I, for I confess +since his first Vows made him mine-- + +_Jac_. Right--that lying with old _Francisco_ is flat Adultery. + +_Jul_. I might, with some excuse, give my self away to _Carlos_--But oh, +he's false, he takes unjustly all the Vows he paid me, and gives 'em to +my Sister _Clara_ now. + +_Jac_. Indeed that's something uncivil, Madam, if it be true. + +_Jul_. True! my Father has with joy consented to it, and he has leave to +visit her; and can I live to see't? No, Mischief will ensue, my Love's +too high, too nicely true to brook Affronts like that. + +_Jac_. Yet you first broke with him. + +_Jul_. Not I; be witness, Heav'n, with what reluctancy I forc'd my +breaking heart; and can I see that charming Body in my Sister's Arms! +that Mouth that has so oft sworn Love to me kist by another's Lips! no, +_Jacinta_, that night that gives him to another Woman, shall see him +dead between the Charmer's Arms. My Life I hate, and when I live no more +for _Carlos_, I'll cease to be at all; it is resolv'd. + +_Jac_. Faith, Madam, I hope to live to see a more comical end of your +Amours--but see where your amiable Spouse comes with Don _Baltazer_ +your Father. + + _Enter_ Francisco _and_ Baltazer. + +_Fran_. So--you two are damnable close together, 'tis for no goodness +I'll warrant, you have your trade betimes. + +_Jac_. Meaning me, Sir? + +_Fran_. Yes, you, one of my Wife's evil Counsellors,--go, get you up +both to your respective Chambers, go-- + + [_Ex. both_. + +_Bal_. Barring your Compliments, good Son, give me leave to speak. + +_Fran_. Shaw, I know as well as your self what you wou'd say now; you +wou'd assure me I am sole Master of your House, and may command; that +you are heartily glad to see me at _Cadiz_, and that you desire I wou'd +resolve upon a Week's stay, or so; that you'll spare nothing for my +entertainment: why, I know all this, and therefore pray take my word, +good Father-in-Law, without any more ado. + +_Bal_. Well, Sir, pray answer me one question, what drew you to _Cadiz_? + +_Fran_. Why, I'll tell you; in the first place, a Pox of all Lovers, I +say; for my Daughter _Isabella_ is to be married, as you know, to +_Antonio_, a young rich Merchant of this Town; in the second place, my +Wife, with a Vengeance, must be gadding to visit you and her Sister, +whom we heard also was to be married to the young Governor Don _Carlos_; +'tis shreudly against my will, Heav'n knows, for my Wits are in an +uproar already about this business--your Gallants, Father, your young +Gallants,--I wish my Wife were secure at home again. + +_Bal_. Pray, why so? + +_Fran_. Alas, I see the Trick, Sir, a mere Trick put upon a Man, +a married Man, and a married Man to a handsome young Woman,--you +apprehend me. + +_Bal_. Not I, Sir. + +_Fran_. Not you, Sir! why, look ye, your young Governor who now is, made +most desperate love to her who is now my Wife, d'ye mind me?--but you, +being a Man of an exact Judgment, to her great grief, gave her to me, +who best deserv'd her, both for my civil Behaviour, and comely +Personage, d'ye understand me? but now this _Carlos_, by his Father's +death, being made Governor, d'ye see? is to marry me your other daughter +_Clara_, and to exasperate me, wou'd never let me be at quiet till he +had got both of us hither to _Cadiz_, to grace his Wedding; a Pox of his +Invitation, was I so civil to invite him to mine? + +_Bal_. If this be your Affliction, you may avoid it. + +_Fran_. No, no, I'll try to force Nature a little, and be civil, or so; +but as soon as the Ceremony's over, I'll steal out of Town, whip a way, +presto, i'faith. + +_Bal_. But shou'd you do so rude a thing to your new Brother, your Wife +wou'd think you were jealous of her. No, dissemble that Fault, I beseech +you, 'twill make you odious to her and all the world, when 'tis needless, +'tis natural for Women to hate what they fear. + +_Fran_. Say you so, then I will hide it as much as I can in words, I can +dissemble too upon occasion. + +_Bal_. Let her remain awhile amongst us. + +_Fran_. The Devil a bit she shall, good Father mine, no, no, I have more +years than you, Sir Father, and understand what Women are, especially +when married to ancient Men, and have the Conversation of young +Men--whose Eyes like Basilisks destroy Modesty with looking on 'em; the +very Thought on't has rais'd a Bump in my Forehead already. + +_Bal_. I am sorry you should suspect my Daughter's Virtue. + +_Fran_. May be you are, Sir--but Youth you know-- +Opportunity--Occasion--or so--there are Winks, and Nods, and Signs, and +Twirs--and--well--in short I am satisfied, and they that are not may go +whistle: and so I'll to my Wife, whom I have left too long alone, evil +thoughts will grow upon her--Wife, Love--Duckling-- + [_Calls her_. + + _Enter_ Julia _and_ Jacinta. + +_Bal_. Wou'd I had never married her to this Sot. + +_Jul_. Your pleasure, Sir. + +_Fran_. Only to see thee, Love. + +_Jul_. I have a Suit to you. + +_Fran_. What is't, my Chicken. + +_Jul_. I wou'd go make a Visit to my Aunt, my Sister _Clara's_ there, +and I'll go fetch her home. + +_Fran_. Hum--perhaps the Governor's there too? + +_Jul_. What if he be? we ought to make him a visit too, who so kindly +sent for us to _Cadiz_. + +_Fran_. How! Make a visit to the Governor? What have I to do with the +Governor, or what have you to do with the Governor? you are no Soldier, +Love. As for a Visit to your Aunt, there's some reason in't; but for the +Governor, think no more upon him, I say no more. + +_Jul_. Since he's to marry my Sister, why shou'd you refuse him that +Civility. + +_Fran_. Your Sister, so much the worse. + +_Jul_. So much the worse? + +_Fran_. I, so much the worse, I tell you; for mark me, you have been +Lovers lately; and old Stories may arise that are not yet forgotten; and +having under the Cloke of a Husband both Sisters at command, one for a +Wife, t'other for a Mistress, hoyte toyte, there will be mad work, +i'faith; What a mixture of Brother by the Father's side, and Uncle by +the Mother's side there will be; Aunt by the Mother's side, and Sister +by the Father's side; a man may find as good kindred amongst a kennel of +Beagles.--No, no, no Visits to the Governor, I beseech you, fair Madam. + +_Bal_. So, you are at your Jealousy again. + +_Fran_. Come, come, I love plain dealing; besides, when she named the +Governor, Flesh and Blood could not contain. + +_Jul_. I spoke in reference to his Quality. + +_Fran_. A Pox of your Civility; I tell you, I scorn my Wife should be +civil. Why, what a Coil's here about a Governor! I'll stand to't, a Man +had better have a Mule to his Wife than a Woman, and 'twere easier +govern'd. + +_Bal_. But hear reason, Son. + +_Fran_. What, from a Woman and a Wife? Lord, Lord, where are your Wits, +good Father-in-Law? Why, what a Devil, shall I be made ridiculous, a +Coxcomb, Cuckold, to shew my Wife? No, no, there's no Necessity of your +Civility, Mistress; leave that to me who understand the due Punctilios +of it. + +_Bal_. Harkye, Son, Harkye! + +_Fran_. Father mine, every Man to his business, I say, therefore say no +more of this; for I'll give my Mother's Son to the Devil, when any Wife +of mine ever makes a Visit to the Governor; and there's an end on't. Was +ever so horrid a Plot contriv'd against her own lawful Husband? Visit +the Governor with a Pox! + +_Bal_. 'Tis an Honour due to all Men of his Rank. + +_Fran_. I care not for that, my opinion is, my Wife's my Slave, and let +him keep his Rank to himself. + + _Enter_ Guzman. + + [Fran. _gets his Wife behind him, and fences her with his Cloke_. + +_Guz_. He's here, and with his Wife; how shall I do to deliver my Letter +to her;--Sir, by the order of my Master, Don _Carlos_, the Governour, I +am commanded to come hither to the end that, going from hence, and +returning to my Master, I may be able to inform him-- + +_Fran_. That I am in health,--very well, I was afraid he wou'd have been +harping upon my Wife in the first place--the Devil take her, she looks +for't. [_Makes signs to have her gone_. + +_Guz_. Farther, Sir, he kisses your hand, with a more than ordinary +friendship. + +_Fran_. A Pox of his Compliments.-- [_Aside_. + +_Guz_. But he charg'd me, Sir, most passionately to present his Service +to your Lady. + +_Fran_. Yes, yes; I thought as much. + +_Guz_.--In a more particular manner. + +_Fran_. Friend, my Wife, or Lady, has no need of his Service in a more +particular manner, and so you may return it. + +_Jac_. Indeed, but she has great need of his service in a very particular +manner. + +_Guz_. Sir, I meant no hurt, but 'tis always the fashion of your true +bred Courtier, to be more ceremonious in his Civilities to Ladies than +Men;--and he desires to know how she does. + +_Fran_. How strong this _Carlos_ smells of the Devil--Friend, tell your +Master she's very well, but since she was married, she has forgot her +gentile Civility and good Manners, and never returns any Compliments +to Men. + +_Guz_.--How shall I get it to her?--Sir, the Governor hopes he shall +have the honour of entertaining you both at his House. He's impatient of +your coming, and waits at home on purpose. + +_Fran_. Friend, let your Master know we are here in very good quarters +already, and he does us both too much honour; and that if we have notice +of the Wedding-day, and I have nothing else to do, we'll certainly wait +on him, and the next morning we intend to take our leaves, which I send +him word of beforehand to prevent surprize. + +_Guz_. But, Sir-- + + [_Approaching him, he puts his Wife farther_. + +_Fran_. Go, Sir, and deliver your Message. + +_Guz_. But I have order, Sir-- + +_Fran_. There's no such thing in this World. + +_Guz_. I'm resolv'd to teaze him, if I can do nothing else, in +revenge;--But, Sir, he most earnestly desires to entertain your fair +Lady in his own house. + +_Fran_. Yes, yes; I know he does; but I'll give him to the Devil +first.--Troth, Sir, this _Cadiz_ Air does not agree with my fair Lady, +she has ventured out but once, and has got an Ague already. + +_Guz_. Agues, Sir, are kind Diseases, they allow of Truces and +Cessations. + +_Fran_. No, no; she has no Cessation, Friend, her Ague takes her night +and day, it shakes her most unmercifully, and it shall shake her till +the Wedding-day. + +_Guz_. Were this Fellow to be tried by a Jury of Women, I would not be +in his Coat to lie with his Lady.--What shall I do to deliver this +Letter?--Well, Sir, since I see you are so averse to what the Governor +desires, I'll return--but, Sir, I must tell you as a Friend, a Secret; +that to a man of your temper may concern you;--Sir,--he's resolv'd when +he comes next to visit his Mistress, to make another visit to your +Apartment, to your Lady too. + + [_Goes to whisper him, and gives Julia the Letter over his Shoulder_. + +_Fran_. Is he so, pray tell him he need not take that pains; there's no +occasion for't; besides 'twill be but in vain; for the Doctors have +prescribed her Silence and Loneliness, 'tis good against the Fit; how +this damn'd Fellow of a Rival torments me! honest Friend, adieu. + +_Guz_. Now is this Fellow so afraid of being made a Cuckold that he +fears his own Shadow, and dares not go into his Wife's Chamber if the +Sun do but shine into the room-- + [_Ex_. Guz. + +_Fran_. So, your Mercury's gone; Lord, how simply you look now, as if +you knew nothing of the matter! + +_Jul_. Matter! what matter? I heard the civil Message the Governor sent, +and the uncivil Answer you return'd back. + +_Fran_. Very good; did that grieve your heart? alas, what pity 'twas I +carried you not in my hand, presented you to him my self, and beg'd him +to favour me so much to do my office a little for me, or the like; hah,-- + +_Jul_. And there's need enough, and the truth were known. + +_Jac_. Well said, Madam. + +_Fran_. Peace, thou wicked Limb of _Satan_--but for you, Gentlewoman, +since you are so tarmagant, that your own natural Husband cannot please +you, who, though I say it, am as quiet a Bed-fellow, and sleep as +sweetly, for one of my years, as any in _Spain_--I'll keep you to hard +meat, i'faith. + +_Jul_. I find no fault with your sleeping, 'tis the best quality you +have a-bed. + +_Fran_. Why so then, is the Devil in an unmerciful Woman? Come, come, +'tis a good Tenant that pays once a quarter. + +_Jac_. Of an hour do you mean, Sir?-- + +_Fran_. Peace, I say--thou damnable Tormentor, this is the Doctrine you +preach to your Mistress, but you shall do't it private, for I'm resolv'd +to lock ye both up, and carry the Keys in my Pocket. + +_Jul_. Well, I am a wicked Creature to teaze thee so, Dear; but I'll do +what thou wilt; come, come, be friends, I vow, I care not for the +Governor, not I, no more than I do for my--own Soul. + +_Fran_. Why so, this is something; Come, come your ways in,--who have we +here? a Man! ad's my life, away, away. + +_Jul_. Yes, up to my Chamber, to write an answer to this dear Letter. + [_Ex_ Julia. + + _Enter_ Isabella. + +_Fran_. No, 'tis not a Man, but my Daughter _Isabella_. + +_Jac_. Now will I stay, and set her on to teaze the Dotard: wou'd I +could teaze him to Death, that my Mistress might be rid of him. + +_Fran_. How now, what makes you look so scurvily to day? Sure the Devil +rides once a day through a Woman, that she may be sure to be inspired +with some ill Qualities--what wou'd you have now? + +_Isa_. Something. + +_Fran_. Something? what thing? have I not provided you a Husband whom +you are to marry within a day or two. + +_Isa_. There's a Husband indeed, pray keep him to your self, if you +please; I'll marry none of him, I'll see him hanged first. + +_Fran_. Hey day;--what, is he not young and handsome enough, forsooth? + +_Isa_. Young and handsome; is there no more than that goes to the making +up of a Husband--Yes, there's Quality. + +_Fran_. Quality!--Why, is he not one of the richest Merchants of his +standing in all _Cadiz_. + +_Isa_. Merchant! a pretty Character! a Woman of my Beauty, and five +Thousand Pound, marry a Merchant--a little, petty, dirty-heel'd +Merchant; faugh, I'd rather live a Maid all the days of my life, or be +sent to a Nunnery, and that's Plague enough I'm sure. + +_Jac_. Have a care of a Nunnery, lest he take you at your word. + +_Isa_. I would not for the world; no, _Jacinta_, when ever thou seest me +in holy Orders, the World will be at an end. + +_Fran_. Merchant! why, what Husband do you expect? + +_Isa_. A Cavalier at least, if not a Nobleman. + +_Fran_. A Nobleman, marry come up, your Father, Huswife, meaning my +self, was a Leather-seller at first, till, growing rich, I set up for a +Merchant, and left that mechanick Trade; and since turned Gentleman; and +Heav'n blest my Endeavours so as I have an Estate for a _Spanish_ +Grandee; and, are you so proud, forsooth, that a Merchant won't down +with you, but you must be gaping after a Cap and Feather, a Silver Sword +with a more dreadful Ribbon at the hilt?--Come, come, I fear me, +Huswise, you are one that puff's her up with Pride thus;--but lay thy +hand upon thy Conscience now.-- [_To Jacinta_. + +_Jac_. Who, I, Sir? No, no, I am for marrying her out of hand to any +reasonable Husband, except a Merchant; for Maids will long, and that's +_Probatum est_ against the prevailing distemper of Longing. Hitherto I +dare answer for her, but Batteries will be made, and I dare not be +always responsible for frail Mortality. + +_Fran_. Well, I have provided her one that I like, but if she be so +squeamish, let her fast, with a Murrain to her. + +_Isa_. Dear Father. + +_Fran_. Dear me no Dears: wou'd your old Mother were alive, she wou'd +have strapt your Just-au-corps, for puleing after Cavaliers and +Nobleman, i'faith, that wou'd she; a Citizen's Daughter, and would be a +_Madona_--in good time. + +_Isa. Why, Father, the Gentry and Nobility now-a-days frequently marry +Citizens Daughters. + +_Fran_. Come, come, Mistress, I got by the City, and I love and honour +the City; I confess 'tis the Fashion now-a-days, if a Citizen get but a +little Money, one goes to building Houses, and brick Walls; another must +buy an Office for his Son, a third hoists up his Daughter's Topsail, and +flaunts it away, much above her breeding; and these things make so many +break, and cause the decay of Trading: but I am for the honest _Dutch_ +way of breeding their Children, according to their Fathers Calling. + +_Isa_. That's very hard, because you are a laborious, ill-bred +Tradesman, I must be bound to be a mean Citizen's Wife. + +_Fran_. Why, what are you better than I, forsooth, that you must be a +Lady, and have your Petticoats lac'd four Stories high; wear your false +Towers, and cool your self with your _Spanish_ Fan? Come, come, Baggage, +wear me your best Clothes a Sunday, and brush 'em up a Monday Mornings, +and follow your Needle all the Week after; that was your good old +Mother's way, and your Grandmother's before her; and as for the Husband, +take no care about it, I have designed it _Antonio_, and _Antonio_ you +are like to wed, or beat the hoof, Gentlewoman, or turn poor _Clare_, +and die a begging Nun, and there's an end on't--see where he +comes--I'll leave you to ponder upon the business. + [_Exit_.] + + _Enter_ Antonio. Isabella _weeps_. + +_Ant_. What, in Tears, _Isabella?_ what is't can force that tribute from +your Eyes? + +_Isa_. A Trifle, hardly worth the naming, your self.-- + +_Ant_. Do I? pray, for what Sin of mine must your fair Eyes be punish'd? + +_Isa_. For the Sin of your odious Addresses to me, I have told you my +mind often enough, methinks your Equals should be fitter for you, and +sute more with your Plebeian Humour. + +_Ant_. My Equals! 'Tis true, you are fair; but if there be any +Inequality in our births, the advantage is on my side. + +_Isa_. Saucy Impertinent, you shew your City breeding; you understand +what's due to Ladys! you understand your Pen and Ink, how to count your +dirty Money, trudge to and fro chaffering of base commodities, and +cozening those you deal with, till you sweat and stink again like an +o'er heated Cook, faugh, I smell him hither. + +_Ant_. I must confess I am not perfum'd as you are, to stifle Stinks you +commonly have by Nature; but I have wholesom, cleanly Linen on; and for +my Habit wore I but a Sword, I see no difference between your Don and +me, only, perhaps, he knows less how to use it. + +_Isa_. Ah, name not a Don, the very sound from the Mouth of a little Cit +is disagreeable--Bargain and Sale, Bills, Money, Traffick, Trade, are +words become you better. + +_Jac_. Well said, use him scurvily that Mrs. _Clara_ may have him. + [_Aside_. + +_Ant_. The best of those you think I should not name, dare hardly tell +me this. + +_Isa_. Good Lord, you think your self a very fine Fellow now, and +finical your self up to be thought so; but there's as much difference +between a Citizen and a true bred Cavalier-- + +_Ant_. As between you and a true bred Woman of Honour. + +_Isa_. Oh, Sir, you rail, and you may long enough, before you rail me +out of my Opinion, whilst there are Dons with Coaches and fine Lackeys, +and I have Youth and Beauty, with a Fortune able to merit one, so +farewel, Cit. + [_Ex_. + +_Ant_. Farewel, proud Fool. + +_Jac_. Sir, be this Evening at the Door, Donna _Clara_ has something to +say to you. + +_Ant_. Bless thee for this Tidings, dear _Jacinta_. + + [_Ex_. Jacinta. + + --I find let Man be brave, or good, or wise, + His Virtue gains no Smiles from Woman's Eyes; + 'Tis the gay Fool alone that takes the Heart, + Foppery and Finery still guide the Dart. + + [_Ex_. + + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I. _A Chamber_. + + + _Enter_ Jacinta _with a Light, and_ Julia. + +_Jac_. Well, Madam, have you writ to Don _Carlos_? + +_Jul_. No, nor is it possible I shou'd, this Devil haunts me so from +room to room, like my evil Genius to prevent that Good; oh, for an +opportunity of one kind Minute to return Acknowledgments for this kind +Letter he has sent me. + +_Jac_. I'm glad you find me a Sybil: Madam, I ever prophesy'd a happier +end of that Amour than your ill Fortune has hitherto promised,--but what +said the lovely Cavalier? + +_Jul_. All that a Man inspir'd with Love cou'd say, all that was soft +and charming. + +_Jac_. Nay, I believe his Art. + +_Jul_. Judge then what my Heart feels, which like a Fire but lightly +cover'd o'er with the cold Ashes of Despair, with the least blast breaks +out into a Flame; I burn, I burn, _Jacinta_, and only charming _Carlos_ +can allay my Pain--but how? Ay, there's the question. + +_Jac_. Some way I will contrive to speak with him, for he has lost his +old wont if he traverse not the Street where you live: but see Donna +_Clara_.-- + + _Enter_ Clara. + +_Jul_. Hah, my Sister, whom yet my jealous heart can scarce be +reconciled to; so deeply was my fear of Rivalship fixt there, +--so sad, my Sister, and so near the happy day with _Carlos_? + +_Cla_. 'Tis pity she that thinks it so shou'd want him; the Blessing's +thrown away on me, but we are both unhappy to be match'd to those we +cannot love. _Carlos_, though young, gay, handsom, witty, rich, I hate +as much as you the old _Francisco_; for since I cannot marry my +_Antonio_, both Youth and Beauty are but lost on me, and Age decrepid +would be equal torment. + +_Jul_. Wou'd _Carlos_ knew your heart, sure he'd decline; for he has too +much Honor to compel a Maid to yield that loves him not. + +_Cla_. 'Tis true, he is above me every way, and the Honor my Father +thinks to do our Family by this Match, makes him resolve upon't; but I +have given my Vows to young _Antonio_. + +_Jul_. And young _Antonio_ you are like to have, for any thing that +_Carlos_ cares; for know, to thy eternal joy, my _Clara_, he has but +feigned to thee, as much as thy _Antonio_ to _Isabella_. + +_Cla_. But are you sure of this? + +_Jul_. Most certain; this Night if you can let _Antonio_ see you, he'll +tell you all the Cheat, and beg your Pardon. + +_Cla_. Which he will soon obtain, and in return, what Service I can +render him in your behalf he shall not want. + +_Jul_. _Antonio_ will engage you they are Friends. + +_Cla_. You amaze me. + +_Jac_. I have appointed him this night to wait, and, if possible, I +would get him a Minute's time with you. + +_Cla_. Dear _Jacinta_, thou art the kindest Maid.-- + +_Jac_. Hang't, why should we young Women pine and languish for what our +own natural Invention may procure us; let us three lay our Heads +together, and if _Machiavel_ with all his Politicks can out-wit us, 'tis +pity but we all lead Apes in Hell, and die without the _Jewish_ Blessing +of Consolation. + +_Jul_. No more, here comes the Dragon. + +_Enter_ Francisco. + +_Fran_. So, together consulting and contriving. + +_Jac_. What, are you jealous of the Petticoat? + +_Fran_. Petticoat! Come, come, Mistress _Pert_, I have known as much +danger hid under a Petticoat, as a pair of Breeches. I have heard of two +Women that married each other--oh abominable, as if there were so +prodigious a scarcity of Christian Mans Flesh. + +_Jac_. No, the Market's well enough stored, thanks be praised, might +every Woman be afforded a reasonable Allowance. + +_Fran_. Peace, I say, thou Imp of Lucifer; wou'd thou hadst thy +Bellyful, that I might be fairly rid of thee--go get you up to your +Chamber, and, d'ye hear, stir not from thence, on pain of our severe +displeasure, for I am sent for in all haste, to Signior Don +_Sebastian's_, 'tis but hard by, I shall soon return;--what, are +you here? + + _Enter_ Isabella. + +I have a high commendation of your fine Behaviour, Gentlewoman, to +_Antonio_; his Father has sent for me, and I shall know all anon, this +shall but hasten your Wedding, Huswise, I tell you that, and so farewel +to you-- + [_Ex_. Isabella _crying_. + +_Cla_. Say you so, then 'tis time for me to look about me. + +_Jul_. But will you go out so late, Love? indeed some hurt will come +to thee. + +_Fran_. No, look ye, I go arm'd. [_Shews his Girdle round with Pistols_. +Go, get you to your Chambers. + + [_He goes out, they go in_. + + + +SCENE II. _Changes to the Street_. + + + _Enter_ Carlos, Antonio. + +_Car_. I wonder where this Man of mine should be, whom I sent this +Evening with my Letter to _Julia_. What art thou? + + _Enter_ Guzman, _runs against_ Carlos. + +_Guz_. My Lord, 'tis I, your trusty Trojan, _Guzman_.--what makes you +here, Sir, so near the Door of your Mistress? + +_Car_. To wait my Doom; what Tidings hast thou, _Guzman_? + +_Guz_. Why, Sir, I went as you directed me, to Don _Baltazer's_. + +_Car_. And didst thou deliver it? + +_Guz_. And the first thing I met with was old _Francisco_. + +_Car_. So. + +_Guz_. To whom I civilly addrest my self--told him, you presented your +Service to him,--sent to know how his Lady and he did. Which word Lady +I no sooner named, but I thought he would have saluted me with a +Cudgel,--in fine, observing her behind him, whom he shelter'd all he +could with his Cloke, I taking an occasion to whisper him, gave it her +over his shoulder, whilst she return'd some Smiles and Looks of +Joy,--but for an answer, 'twas impossible to get the least sign of one. + +_Car_. No matter, that joy was evident she wisht me one, and by the +first opportunity my diligent waiting will be recompensed; but where +hast thou been all this while? + +_Guz_. Finding out the Chimney-sweeper you spoke of, Sir, and whom you +ordered me to bring this Evening. + +_Car_. And hast thou found him? + +_Guz_. He's here, at the corner of the Street, I'll call him. + [Ex. Guz. + +_Car_. I have, _Antonio_, besides your particular Revenge, one of my own +to act by this deceit, since all my Industry to see the charming _Julia_ +has hitherto been vain, I have resolv'd upon a new project, if this +False Count pass upon 'em, as I doubt not but he will, and that he gets +admittance into the House, I'll pass for one of his Domesticks. + + _Enter_ Guzman _and_ Guiliom. Page _holding his lanthorn to his face_. + +_Guz_. Here's the Fellow, Sir. + +_Ant_. Fellow! he may be the Devil's Fellow by his countenance. + +_Car_. Come nearer, Friend; dost think thou canst manage a Plot well? + +_Guil_. As any Man in _Cadiz_, Sir, with good instructions. + +_Car_. That thou shalt have, thou art apprehensive. + +_Guil_. So, so, I have a pretty memory for mischief. + +_Ant_. Hast thou Assurance and Courage? + +_Guil_. To kill the honestest Man in _Spain_, if I be well paid. + +_Car_. That thou shalt be. + +_Guil_. I'll do't, say no more, I'll do't. + +_Car_. But canst thou swear stoutly, and lye handsomely. + +_Guil_. Prettily, by Nature, Sir, but with good instructions I shall +improve; I thank Heaven I have Docity, or so. + +_Car_. Thou want'st not Confidence. + +_Guil_. No, nor Impudence neither; how should a man live in this wicked +world without that Talent? + +_Ant_. Then know our Design is only comical, though if you manage not +Matters well, it may prove tragical to you; in fine, dost think thou +canst personate a Lord? + +_Guil_. A Lord! marry, that's a hard question: but what sort of a Lord? + +_Car_. Why, any Lord. + +_Guil_. That I cannot do, but I can do some sort of a Lord, as some +Lords are wiser than other-some; there is your witty Lord,--him I defie; +your wise Lord, that is to say, your knavish Lord, him I renounce; then +there's your Politick Lord, him I wou'd have hang'd; then there's your +Foolish Lord, let him follow the Politician; then there's your brisk, +pert, noisy Lord, and such a small insignificant Fiend I care not if I +am possest with; I shall deal well enough with a Devil of his capacity. + +_Car_. Very well, then there needs no more but that you go along with my +man to my house, my Authority shall secure you from all the injuries +that shall accrue from a discovery, but I hope none will happen: +Equipage, Clothes and Money we'll furnish you with.--Go home with him, +and dress, and practise the Don till we come, who will give you ample +instructions what to do. + +_Guil_. And if I do not fit you with a Don better than _Don Del Phobos_, +or _Don Quixote_, let me be hang'd up for the Sign of the Black Boy on +my own Poles at a _Spanish_ Inn door. + +_Ant_. We'll be with you presently. + +_Guil_. And if you find me not en Cavalier, say Clothes, Garniture, +Points, and Feathers have lost their Power of making one. + + [_Ex_. Guz. _and_ Page, _and_ Guil. + + _Enter, opening the door_, Jacinta. + +_Car_. Hah, the Door opens, and surely 'tis a Woman that advances: dear +_Antonio_, wait a little farther;--who's there? + +_Jac_. Hah, if it should be old _Francisco_ now. + +_Car_. Let it be who it will, I'll tell my name, it cannot injure +either;--I'm _Carlos_, who are you? + +_Jac_. A thing that looks for him you name--_Jacinta_;--are you alone? + +_Car_. Never since _Julia_ did possess my heart; what news, my dearest +Messenger of Love? what may I hope?-- + + _Enter_ Julia. + +_Jul_. All that the kindest Mistress can bestow, If _Carlos_ loves, and +still will keep his Vows. + +_Car_. _Julia_, my Life, my Soul, what happy Stars Conspir'd to give me +this dear lucky minute? + +_Jul_. Those that conducted old _Francisco_ out, +And will too soon return him back again; +I dare not stay to hear thy love or chiding, +Both which have power to charm, since both proceed +From a kind heart, that's mine. + +_Car_. Oh, take not this dear Body from my Arms, +For if you do, my Soul will follow it. + +_Jul_. What would'st thou have me do? + +_Car_. Be wondrous kind, be lavish of thy Heart, +Be generous in thy Love, and give me all. + +_Jul_. Oh Heavens! what mean you? I shall die with fear. + +_Car_. Fear! let coward Lovers fear, who love by halves, +We that intirely love are bold in Passion, +Like Soldiers fir'd with glory dread no Danger. + +_Jul_. But should we be unthrifty in our Loves, +And for one Moment's joy give all away, +And be hereafter damn'd to pine at distance? + +_Car_. Mistaken Miser, Love like Money put +Into good hands increases every day, +Still as you trust me, still the Sum amounts: +Put me not off with promise of to morrow, +To morrow will take care for new delights, +Why shou'd that rob us of a present one? + +_Jul_. Ah, _Carlos_! How fondly do I listen to thy words, +And fain would chide, and fain wou'd boast my Virtue, +But mightier Love laughs at those poor delays; +And I should doubtless give you all your _Julia_, +Did not my fear prevent my kinder business; +--And should _Francisco_ come and find me absent, +Or take thee with me, we were lost, my _Carlos_. + +_Car_. When then, my _Julia_, shall we meet again? + +_Jul_. You _Spaniards_ are a jealous Nation, +But in this _English Spaniard_ Old _Francisco_, +That mad Passion's doubled; wholly deprives him of his Sense, and turns +his Nature Brute; wou'd he but trust me only with my Woman, I wou'd +contrive some way to see my _Carlos_. + +_Car_. 'Tis certain, _Julia_, that thou must be mine. + +_Jul_. Or I must die, my _Carlos_. + + [Ant. _listning advances_. + +_Ant_.--I'm sure 'tis _Carlos's_ voice, and with a Woman; +And though he be my Rival but in Jest, +I have a natural curiosity to see who 'tis he entertains. + +_Jul_. Oh Heavens! Sir, here's _Francisco_; step aside, +Lest mischief shou'd befall you. + [_Runs in_. + +_Car_. Now Love and wild Desire prompt me to kill this happy Rival,-- +he's old, and can't be long in his Arrears to Nature.--What if I paid +the debt? [_Draws halfway_. One single push wou'd do't, and _Julia's_ +mine;--but, hang't, Adultery is a less sin than Murder, and I will wait +my Fortune.-- + +_Ant_. Where are you,--Don _Carlos_? + +_Car_. Who's there, _Antonio_? I took thee for my Rival, and ten to one +but I had done thy business. + +_Ant_. I heard ye talking and believ'd you safe, and came in hopes to +get a little time to speak to _Clara_ in;--hah!--_Jacinta_-- + +_Jac_. Who's there, _Antonio_? + [_Peeping out of the door_. + +_Ant_. The same; may I not speak with _Clara_? + +_Jac_. Come in, she's here.-- + +_Car_. And prithee, dear _Jacinta_, let me have one word with _Julia_ +more, she need not fear surprize; just at the door let me but kiss her +hand. + [_Going in_. + +_Jac_. I'll see if I can bring her.-- + + _Enter_ Francisco. + +_Fran_. A proud ungracious Flirt,--a Lord with a Pox! here's a fine +business, i'faith, that she should be her own Carver,--well I'll home, +and thunder her together with a vengeance. + +_Car_. Who's here? sure this is he indeed; I'll step aside, lest my +being seen give him an occasion of jealousy, and make him affront his +Wife. + [_Goes aside as_ Fran. _was going in_. + + _Enter_ Julia. + +_Fran_. Hum, what have we here, a Woman? + +_Jul_. Heavens! what, not gone yet, my Dear? + +_Fran_. So, so, 'tis my confounded Wife, who expecting some body wou'd +have me gone now. + +_Jul_. Are you not satisfied with all I've said, +With all the Vows I've made, +Which here anew, in sight of Heaven, I breathe? + +_Fran_. Yes, yes, you can promise fair, but hang him that trusts ye. + +_Jul_. Go, go, and pray be satisfyed with my eternal Love.-- + +_Fran_. How fain she'd have me gone now; ah, subtle Serpent! is not this +plain demonstration,--I shall murder her, I find the Devil great with +me. [_Aside still_. + +_Jul_.--What is't thou pausest on? + +_Fran_. The wicked Dissimulation of villainous Woman. [_Aloud to her_. + +_Jul_. _Francisco!_ + +_Fran_. Oh thou Monster of Ingratitude, have I caught thee? You'd have +me gone, wou'd ye? ay, to Heaven, I believe, like a wicked Woman as you +are, so you were rid of me. Go,--and be satisfyed of my eternal love +--ah, Gipsey,--no, Gentlewoman, I am a tuff bit, and will hold you +tugging till your heart ake. + +_Jul_. Why, was there such hurt in desiring you to go that you might +make haste back again,--Oh, my fears! + +_Fran_. That you might receive a Lover,--'tis plain--and my +Indignation's high. + +_Jul_. Heav'n knows I meant-- + +_Fran_. Only to cuckold me a little,--get you in,--where I will swear +thee by Bell, Book and Candle,--get you in, I say,--go, go,--I'll +watch for your Lover, and tell him how unkind he was to stay so long, +I will.-- + + [_Ex_. Julia, _he stands just in the door_, Carlos _advances_. + +_Car_. I hear no noise, sure 'twas he,--and he's gone in-- +To reap those Joys he knows not how to value, +And I must languish for; I'll stay a little--perhaps _Jacinta_ may +return again, for anything belonging to my _Julia_ is dear, even to +my Soul. + + [_Goes just to the door_, Fran. _bolts out on him_. + +_Fran_. Who's there?--what wou'd you have?--who wou'd you speak to?--who +do you come from?--and what's your business? + +_Car_. Hah, 'tis the Sot himself;--my name is _Carlos_. + +_Fran_. _Carlos_! what Father of _Belzebub_ sent him hither?--a plain +case;--I'll murder her out of hand. + +_Car_.--And I wou'd speak to any body, Friend, that belongs to the fair +_Clara_,--if you are any of this house. + +_Fran_. Only the Cuckold of the house, that's all;--my name, Sir, is +_Francisco_; but you, perhaps, are better acquainted with my Wife. + +_Car_. _Francisco_, let me embrace you, my noble Brother, and chide you, +that you wou'd not visit me. + [_Going to embrace him, he flies off_. + +_Fran_. And bring my Wife along with me. + +_Car_. Both had been welcome--and all I have, you shou'd command. + +_Fran_. For my Wife's sake--what if I shou'd pistol him now;--and I am +damnably provok'd to't, had I but Courage to shoot off one. [_Aside_. + +_Car_. Methinks you make not so kind returns as my Friendship to you, +and the Alliance shall be between us, deserves. + +_Fran_. I am something ill-bred, I confess, Sir;--'tis dark, and if I +shou'd do't no body wou'd know 'twas I. [_Aside_. + +_Car_. I fear there's some Misunderstanding between us, pray let us go +in a while, I'll talk you from your error. + [_Offers to go, he gets between him and the door_. + +_Fran_. Between us, Sir! oh Lord, not in the least, Sir, I love and +honour you so heartily--I'd be content to give you to the Devil, but the +noise of the Pistol wou'd discover the business. [_Aside_. + +_Car_. Come, let's in, and talk a while. + +_Fran_. I'm sorry I cannot do't, Sir, we are something incommoded being +not at our own house. + +_Car_. Brother, I am afraid you are a little inclined to be jealous, +that will destroy all Friendship.-- + +_Fran_. So, how finely the Devil begins to insinuate! + +_Car_. That makes a Hell of the Heav'n of Love, and those very Pains you +fear, are less tormenting than that Fear; what say you, Brother, is't +not so with you? + +_Fran_. I find you wou'd have me turn a Husband of the Mode, a fine +convenient Tool, one of the modern Humour, a civil Person, that +understands Reason, or so; and I doubt not but you wou'd be as modish +a Gallant. + +_Car_. Ha, ha, ha. + +_Fran_. What, do you laugh, Sir? + +_Car_. Who can chuse, to hear your Suspicions, your needless Fears. +Come, come, trust your Wife's Discretion, and Modesty--and I doubt not +but you will find your self-- + +_Fran_. In the Road to Heaven, whither they say all Cuckolds go--I thank +you for your advice; I perceive you wou'd willingly help me onwards of +my Journey. + +_Car_. I'm glad I know you, Sir,--farewel to you-- + [_Goes out_. + +_Fran_. No matter for that, so you know not my Wife--and so farewel to +you, Sir, and, the Devil take all Cuckoldmakers. + + [_Exit_. + + + +SCENE III. _The inside of the House_. + + + _Enter_ Clara, Julia, Antonio, Jacinta _running to 'em_. + +_Jac_. He has seen Don _Carlos_, and they have been in great discourse +together, I cou'd not hear one word, but you'll have it at both ears +anon, I'll warrant you. Ha, he's coming. + + _Enter_ Francisco. + +_Cla_. Heavens, he must not see you here. [_To_ Ant. + +_Jac_. Here, step into _Clara's_ Bed-chamber. [_He goes in_. + +_Fran_. So the Plot's at last discover'd,--he was a Cavalier of his +Parole. + +_Jul_. Who speak you of? + +_Fran_. Only the Governor, the fine young Governor, I deliver'd him the +message, told him my mind and the like. + +_Jul_. So kind to visit us, and have you sent him away already? + +_Fran_. Ah, Witch; already! why, have I any lodging for him? + +_Jul_. But I am glad you brought him not in, I being so unready. + +_Fran_. But you are always ready for him, my dear victorious Man-slayer. + +_Jul_. What means he, sure he has a Gad-bee in his Brain. + +_Fran_. Satan's she Advocate--peace, I say;--so, you look as innocently +now, as a little Devil of two years old, I'll warrant;--come, come, look +me full in the face--thus,--turn your nose just to mine--so--now tell +me whose damnable Plot this was, to send your Gallant with his +Eloquence, Querks and Conundrums, to tutor me into better manners? + +_Jul_. Send him! I'll answer no such idle questions. + +_Fran_. He has taken a world of pains about your particular Chapter, and +no doubt but he preach'd according to instructions;--what say you for +your self, that Judgment may not pass? + +_Jul_. I say you're an old jealous Fool; have I seen Don _Carlos_, or +heard from Don _Carlos_, or sent to Don _Carlos_? here's a-do indeed. + +_Fran_. What made you at the door against my positive commands,--the +very Street-door,--in the night,--alone,--and undrest,--this is a +matter of Fact, Gentlewoman; you hastened me away,--a plain case,--and +presently, after Don _Carlos_ comes to the door,--positive proof,--sees +me and falls right down upon my Jealousy,--clear conviction,--'twas +pity but I had follow'd his counsel, yes, when the Devil turns student +in Divinity;--but no matter, I'll see your back fairly turn'd upon this +Town to morrow; I'll marry my Daughter in the morning to _Antonio_, and +a fair wind or not, we'll home; the Gally lies ready in the Harbour-- +therefore prepare, pack up your tools, for you are no woman of this +world. + +_Ant_. How! marry me to morrow to his daughter;--and carry his Wife +from my Friend; this misfortune must be prevented. [_Aside peeping_. + +_Fran_. And so, Mistress, come your ways to your Chamber. + +_Jul_. And study how to prevent this cruel separation. + [_Aside, goes out with him and_ Jacinta. + +_Cla_. Ah, _Antonio_, I find by that sad look of yours, you have +over-heard our hasty Doom. + +_Ant_. I have, and am a little surpriz'd at the suddenness of it; and I +my self am the unlucky occasion of it,--to break it off, I told my +Father how scurvily _Isabella_ treated me,--he thereupon sends for old +_Francisco_, tells him of my complaint, and instead of disengaging my +self, I find my self more undone. + +_Cla_. What shall we do? I'm sure thou wilt not marry her, thou canst +not do't and hope to go to Heaven. + +_Ant_. No, I have one prevention left, and if that fail, I'll utterly +refuse to marry her, a thing so vainly proud; no Laws of Nature or +Religion, sure, can bind me to say yes; and for my Fortune, 'tis my own, +no Father can command it. + +_Cla_. I know thou wilt be true, and I'll not doubt it. + + _Enter_ Jacinta. + +_Jac_. Ah! Madam, the saddest news-- + +_Cla_. Hah! what? + +_Jac_. Poor Gentleman, I pity you of all things in the World,--you must +be forc'd--how can I utter it,--to the most lamentable torment that ever +Lover endur'd--to remain all night in your Mistress's Chamber. + +_Ant_. Alas, how shall I endure so great an Affliction? + +_Cla_. And I. + +_Jac_. Ha, ha, ha, how I am griev'd to think on it; ha, ha, ha, that you +shou'd both be so hardly put to it; ha, ha, ha, for the old Gentleman +has lock'd all the doors, and took the keys to bed to him,--go, get you +in,--ha, ha, ha.-- + +_Ant_. Oh, my dear _Clara_, this is a blessing I could not hope. + +_Cla_. _So large a Freedom shall my Virtue prove, + I'll trust my Honour with_ Antonio's _Love_. + + [_They go in_. + + [_Ex_. Jacinta _laughing_. + + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I. _Don_ Carlos' _house_. + + + _Enter Don_ Carlos _in his Night-gown_, Antonio, + _and_ Guzman _with Clothes_. + +_Car_. All night with _Clara_ say'st thou? that was lucky; +But was she kind, my friend? + +_Ant_. As I desir'd, or Honour wou'd permit her; +Nor wou'd I press her farther. + +_Car_. A very moderate Lover. + +_Ant_. For some part of my Virtue, Sir, I owe to you; in midst of all my +Love, even in the kindest moments of Delight, my Joys were broken by +concern for you.--_Julia_ this day, or very suddenly, leaves _Cadiz_. + +_Car_. By Heaven, and so will _Carlos_ then; for I'm so resolutely bent +to possess that dear Creature, +That I will do't with hazard of my Life, +Expence of Fortune, or what's dear to me. + +_Guz_. And how wou'd you reward that politick head, that shou'd contrive +the means to bring this handsomly about; not for an a hour, or a night, +but even as long as you please, with freedom; without the danger of +venturing your honourable neck, in showing Feats of Activity three +stories high, with a Dagger in one hand, and a Pistol in t'other, like a +Ropedancer? + +_Car_. But how? Thou talkest of Impossibilities. + +_Ant_. Dost think she'll e'er consent to quit her Husband? + +_Guz_. No, Heaven forbid, I am too good a Christian to part Man and +Wife; but being naturally inclined to works of Charity, I will with one +project I have in this noddle of mine,--make old _Francisco_ a Cuckold, +accommodate my Lord and _Julia_, serve you, Sir,--and give our selves a +good Scene of Mirth. + +_Car_. Thou amazest me. + +_Guz_. If I do't not, send me to the Galleys; nay, and so far cure the +Jealousy of the old Fellow, that from a rigid suspicious troublesom +Fool, he shall become so tame and gentle a Husband,--that he shall +desire you to favour him so much as to lie with his dear Wife. + +_Car_. By what strange Witchcraft shall this be brought to pass? + +_Guz_. E'en honest Invention, Sir, good Faith, listen and believe:--When +he goes, he certainly goes by Sea, to save the charges of Mules. + +_Ant_. Right, I heard him say so; in the Galley that lies in the Port. + +_Guz_. Good, there is a Galley also, in the Harbour, you lately took +from the _Turks_; Habits too were taken in her enough to furnish out +some forty or fifty as convenient _Turks_ as a man wou'd wish at +the Devil. + +_Car_. Ah, Rogue, I begin to apprehend already. + +_Guz_. Our _Turkish_ Galley thus man'd, I'll put to Sea, and about a +League from Land, with a sham-fight set on that of Old _Francisco_, take +it, make 'em all Slaves, clap the Old Fellow under hatches, and then you +may deal with the fair Slave his Wife, as _Adam_ did with _Eve_. + +_Car_. I'm ravish'd with the thought. + +_Ant_. But what will be the event of this? + +_Car_. I will not look so far, but stop at the dear Joys, and fear no +Fate beyond 'em. + +_Guz_. Nay, with a little cudgelling this dull Brain of mine I shall +advance it farther for the Jest-sake;--as I take it, Signior Don +_Antonio_, you have a fine Villa, within a Bow-shot of this City +belonging to your self. + +_Ant_. I have with pleasant Gardens, Grotto's, Waterworks.-- + +_Car_. A most admirable Scene for Love and our Designs. + +_Ant_. 'Tis yours, Sir. + +_Guz_. Then, Sir, when we have taken this old Fool, on whom the grossest +cheat wou'd pass, much more this, which shall carry so seeming a Truth +in't, he being clapt under hatches in the Dark, we'll wind round a +League or two at Sea, turn in, and land at this Garden, Sir, of yours, +which we'll pretend to be a _Seraglio_, belonging to the _Grand +Seignior_; whither, in this hot part o'th' year, he goes to regale +himself with his She-Slaves. + +_Car_. But the distance of Place and Time allow not such a Fallacy. + +_Guz_. Why he never read in's life; knows neither Longitude nor +Latitude, and _Constantinople_ may be in the midst of _Spain_ for any +thing he knows; besides, his Fear will give him little leisure +for thinking. + +_Ant_. But how shall we do with the Seamen of this other Gally? + +_Guz_. There's not above a Dozen, besides the Slaves that are chain'd to +the Oar, and those Dozen, a Pistole apiece wou'd not only make 'em +assist in the design, but betray it in earnest to the _Grand Seignior_; +--for them I'll undertake, the Master of it being _Pier de Sala_, your +Father's old Servant, Sir. [_To_ Carlos. + +_Ant_. But possibly his mind may alter upon the Arrival of this False +Count of ours? + +_Car_. No matter, make sure of those Seamen however; that they may be +ready upon occasion. + +_Ant_. 'Tis high time for me that your Count were arriv'd, for this +morning is destin'd the last of my Liberty. + +_Car_. This Morning--Come, haste and dress me-- +[_To_ Guz.]--_Guzman_, where's our Count? + + _Enter_ Guiliom _drest fine, two great_ Pages + _and a little one following_. + +_Guz_. Coming to give you the good morrow, Sir; +And shew you how well he looks the Part. + +_Car_. Good day to your Lordship-- [_Bowing_. + +_Guil_. Morrow, morrow, Friend. + +_Ant_. My Lord, your most humble Servant. + +_Guil_. Thank you, Friend, thank you; Page, Boy--what's a-Clock, +Sirrah? + +_Page_. About Eight, my Lord. + +_Ant_. Your Lordship's early up. + +_Guil_. My Stomach was up before me, Friend; and I'm damnably hungry; +'tis strange how a man's Appetite increases with his Greatness; I'll +swinge it away now I'm a Lord,--then I will wench without Mercy; I'm +resolv'd to spare neither Man, Woman, nor Child, not I; hey, Rogues, +Rascals, Boys, my Breakfast, quickly, Dogs--let me see, what shall I +have now that's rare? + +_Page_. What will your Honour please to have? + +_Guil_. A small rasher of delicate Bacon, Sirrah--of about a Pound, or +two, with a small Morsel of Bread--round the Loaf, d'ye hear, quickly, +Slaves. + +_Ant_. That's gross meat, Sir, a pair of Quails--or-- + +_Guil_. I thank you for that, i'faith, take your Don again, an you +please, I'll not be starv'd for ne'er a Don in Christendom. + +_Ant_. But you must study to refine your Manners a little. + +_Guil_. Manners! you shall pardon me for that; as if a Lord had not more +privilege to be more saucy, more rude, impertinent, slovenly and foolish +than the rest of his Neighbours, or Mankind. + +_Car_. Ay, ay, 'tis great. + +_Guil_. Your saucy Rudeness, in a Grandee, is Freedom; your +Impertinence, Wit; your Sloven, careless; and your Fool, good natur'd; +as least they shall pass so in me, I'll warrant ye. + +_Car_. Well, you have your full Instructions; your Baggage, Bills and +Letters, from _Octavio_ the _Sevilian_ Merchant. + +_Guz_. All, all, Sir, are ready, and his Lordship's breakfast waits. + +_Car_. Which ended, we advance, +Just when _Aurora_ rose from _Thetis'_ Bed, +Where he had wantoned a short Summer's night, +Harness'd his bright hoov'd Horses to begin +His gilded course above the Firmament, +Out sallied Don _Gulielmo Rodorigo de Chimney Sweperio_, and so forth. +Gad, this adventure of ours will be worthy to be sung in Heroick Rhime +Doggerel, before we have finisht it; Come-- + [_Goes out_. + +_Guil_. Hey, Rogues, Rascals, Boys, follow me just behind. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. Francisco's _house_. + + + _Enter_ Clara _and_ Jacinta. + +_Jac_. Nay, I knew he would be civil, Madam, or I would have borne you +Company; but neither my Mistress nor I, cou'd sleep one wink all Night, +for fear of a Discovery in the Morning; and to save the poor Gentleman a +tumbling Cast from the Window, my Mistress, just at day-break, feigned +her self wondrous sick,--I was called, desired to go to Signior +_Spadilio's_ the Apothecary's, at the next Door, for a Cordial; and so +he slipt out;--but the Story of this false Count pleases me extremely, +and, if it should take, Lord, what mirth we shall have. Ha, ha, ha, I +can't forbear with the thoughts on't. + +_Cla_. And to see the Governor his Man? + +_Jac_. Ah, what a Jest that would be too--Ha, ha, ha! but here comes +_Isabella_; let's puff up her Pride with Flatteries on her Beauty. + + _Enter_ Isabella _looking in a Glass, and seeing her Face_. + +_Isa_. Ah, Heavens, those Eyes--that Look,--that pretty Leer,--that my +Father shou'd be so doating an old Fool to think these Beauties fit for +a little Merchandize; a Marchioness wou'd so much better become me. + [Looks again. +--Ah, what a Smile's there--and then that scornful Look--'tis great-- +Heavens, who's here? + [Sees them. + +_Cla_. Only those Friends that wish you better Fortune than this day +promises. + +_Jac_. Look on that Face; are there not Lines that foretel a world of +Greatness, and promise much Honour? + +_Cla_. Her Face, her Shape, her Mein, her every part declares her +Lady--or something more. + +_Isa_. Why, so, and yet this little Creature of a Father, ridiculously +and unambitious, would spoil this Lady, to make up a simple Citizen's +Wife--in good time. + +_Jac_. That very look had some presaging Grandeur. + +_Isa_. Do you think so, _Jacinta_? Ha, ha, ha. + +_Jac_. That Laugh again, oh Heavens, how it charms! + +_Cla_. And how graceful 'tis! + +_Jac_. Ah, nothing but a great gilt Coach will become it. + +_Cla_. With six _Spanish_ Mares.-- + +_Jac_. And embroidered Trappings. + +_Cla_. With four Lackeys. + +_Jac_. And a Page at the tail on't. + +_Cla_. She's evidently design'd for a Person of Quality. + +_Isa_. Besides I have so natural an Inclination for a Don, that if my +Father do force me to marry this small Creature of a Merchant, I shall +make an Intrigue with some body of Quality. + +_Cla_. Cou'd you but manage it well, and keep it from _Antonio_. + +_Isa_. Keep it from _Antonio_,--is it think you for a little silly Cit, +to complain when a Don does him the Honour to visit his Lady? Marry, +that were pretty. + + _Enter_ Francisco, _and_ Lopez. + +_Fran_. How, a Count to speak with me! with me, I say,--here at _Cadiz_. + +_Lop_. A Count, Sir, and to speak with you. + +_Fran_. Art sure 'tis not the Governor?--I'll go lock up my Wife. + +_Lop_. Governor, Sir! No, no, 'tis a mere Stranger, Sir, a rare Count +whom I never saw all days of my life before. + +_Fran_. And with me wou'd he speak? I hope he comes not to my Wife. + + _Enter_ Julia. + +_Jul_. Oh Husband, the delicatest fine Person of Quality, just alighted +at the Door, Husband. + +_Fran_. What, have you seen him then? the Devil's in these Women, and +there be but a Loop-hole to peep out of they'll spy a man,--I'm resolved +to see this thing,--go, retire, you Women, here's Men coming up. + +_Isa_. And will Men eat us? + +_Fran_. No, but they may do worse, they may look on ye, and Looking +breeds Liking; and Liking, Love; and Love a damn'd thing, call'd Desire; +and Desire begets the Devil and all of Mischief to young Wenches--Get ye +gone in, I say--here's a Lord coming--and Lords are plaguy things +to Women. + +_Isa_. How, a Lord! oh, heavens! _Jacinta_, my Fan, and set my Hair in +order, oh, the Gods! I would not but see a Lord for all the World! how +my Heart beats already--keep your Distance behind, _Jacinta_,--bless +me, how I tremble--a little farther, _Jacinta_. + +_Fran_. Come, come, Huswife, you shall be married anon, and then let +your Husband have the plague of you--but for my Gentlewoman,--Oh Lord +--they're here. + + _Enter_ Guiliom, Carlos, _and_ Pages, _&c_. + +_Gull_. How now, Fellow, where's this old Don _Francisco_? + +_Fran_. I'm the Person, Sir. + +_Isa_. Heavens, what an Air he has! + +_Guil_. Art thou he? Old Lad, how dost thou do? Hah! + +_Fran_. I don't know. + +_Guil_. Thou knowest me not it seems, old Fellow, hah! + +_Fran_. Know you--no, nor desire to do,--on what acquaintance, pray? + +_Guil_. By Instinct; such as you ought to know a Person of Quality, and +pay your Civilities naturally; in _France_, where I have travel'd, so +much good manners is used, your Citizen pulls off his hat, thus--to +every Horse of Quality, and every Coach of Quality; and do you pay my +proper Person no more respect, hah! + +_Isa_. What a Dishonour's this to me, to have so dull a Father, that +needs to be instructed in his Duty. + +_Guil_. But, Sir, to open the eyes of your understanding--here's a +Letter to you, from your Correspondent a Merchant of _Sevil_. + + [_Gives him a dirty Letter which he wipes on his Cloke and reads, + and begins to pull off his hat, and reading on bows lower and lower + till he have finisht it_. + +_Fran_. Cry Mercy, my Lord,--and yet I wou'd he were a thousand Leagues +off. + +_Guil_. I have Bills of Exchange too, directed to thee, old Fellow, at +_Sevil_; but finding thee not there, and I (as most Persons of my +Quality are) being something idle, and never out of my way, came to this +Town, to seek thee, Fellow--being recommended as thou seest here, old +Vermin--here-- + [_Gives him Bills_. + +_Isa_. Ah, what a graceful Mein he has! how fine his Conversation! ah, +the difference between him and a filthy Citizen! + +_Jul_.--_Clara_ has told me all.-- [Jac. _whispering to_ Jul. + +_Car_. That's she in the middle; stand looking on her languishingly, +--your head a little on one side,--so,--fold your Arms,--good,--now +and then heave your breast with a sigh,--most excellent.-- + [_He groans_. + +_Fran_. Bills for so many thousands. + +_Jac_. He has you in his eye already. + +_Isa_. Ah, _Jacinta_, thou flatterest me. + +_Jac_. Return him some kind looks in pity. + [_She sets her Eyes, and bows, &c_. + +_Car_. That other's my Mistress,--couldst thou but keep this old Fellow +in discourse whilst I give her the sign to retire a little.-- + +_Guil_. I'll warrant you I'll banter him till you have cuckolded him, if +you manage matters as well as I. + +_Fran_. My Lord, I ask your pardon for my rudeness in not knowing you +before, which I ought to have done in good manners I confess; who the +Devil does he stare at so?--Wife, I command you to withdraw, upon pain +of our high displeasure.--my Lord, I shall dispatch your affairs,--he +minds me not,--Ay, 'tis my Wife, I say, Minion, be gone,--your Bills, my +Lord, are good, and I accept 'em;--why a Devil he minds me not yet, +[Julia _goes to t'other side to_ Carlos.]--and though I am not at my +proper home,--I am where I can command Money,--hum,--sure 'tis my +Daughter,--Ay, ay,--'tis so, how if he should be smitten now; the plaguy +Jade had sure the Spirit of Prophecy in her; 'tis so--'tis she--my Lord. + +_Guil_. Prithee, old Fellow, Peace,--I am in love. + +_Fran_. In love,--what, shall I be the Father of a Lord? wou'd it become +me, think ye?--he's mighty full of Cogitabund--my Lord,--sure his Soul +has left the Tenement of his Body--I have his Bills here, and care not +if it never return more. + [_Looks over the Bills_. + +_Car_. Dear _Julia_, let's retire, our time's but short. + +_Jul_. I dare not with you, the venture wou'd be too bold in a young +beginner in the Thefts of Love. + +_Guil_. Her Eyes are Suns, by _Jove_. + +_Car_. Oh, nothing is so ventrous as Love, if it be true. + +_Guil_. Or else, two Morning Stars, All other Beauties are but Soot +to her. + +_Jul_. But shou'd my Husband-- + +_Car_. He's safe for one dear half hour, I'll warrant you, come. + +_Fran_. Um--my Wife here still, must I begin to thunder. + +_Jul_. Lord, and you be so froward, I'll be gone.-- + +_Car_. So, her Husband, kind heart, lest she should be cruel, has +himself given me the dear opportunity.--[_Aside_.--Be sure you keep the +old Fellow in discourse awhile. + +_Guil_. Be you as sure to cuckold him.-- [_Ex_. Car. _and_ Jul. +--Old Fellow,--prithee what Person of Quality is that? + +_Fran_. Person of Quality! alas, my Lord, 'tis a silly Citizen's +Daughter. + +_Guil_. A Citizen's! what clod of Earth cou'd bring forth such a Beauty? + +_Fran_. Alas, my Lord, I am that clod of Earth, and to Earth, if you +call it so, she must return again, for she's to be married to a Citizen +this Morning. + +_Guil_. Oh! I am doubly wounded, first with her harmonious Eyes, +Who've fir'd my Heart to that Degree, +No Chimney ever burnt like me. +Fair Lady,--suffer the Broom of my Affection to sweep all other Lovers +from your heart. + +_Isa_. Ah, my Lord, name it not, I'm this day to be married. + +_Guil_. To day! name me the Man; Man did I say? the Monster, that dares +lay claim to her I deign to love,--none answer me,--I'll make him +smoak, by _Vulcan_--and all the rest of the Goddesses. + +_Fran_. Bless me, what a furious thing this Love is? + +_Guil_. By this bright Sword, that is so used to slaughter, he dies; +[_Draws_.] old Fellow, say--the Poltroon's name. + +_Fran_. Oh, fearful--alas, dread Sir! + +_Isa_. Ah! sheath your Sword, and calm your generous Rage. + +_Guil_. I cannot brook a Rival in my Love, the rustling Pole of my +Affection is too strong to be resisted. + _Runs raging up and down the Stage with his Sword in his hand_. + +_Isa_. I cannot think, my Lord, so mean a Beauty can so suddenly charm a +Heart so great as yours. + +_Guil_. Oh! you're mistaken, as soon as I cast my eyes upon the +Full-moon of your Countenance, I was struck blind and dumb. + +_Fran_. Ay, and deaf too, I'll be sworn, he cou'd neither hear, see nor +understand; this Love's a miraculous thing. + +_Guil_. And that Minute, the most renoun'd Don _Gulielmo Roderigo de +Chimeny Sweperio_, became your Gally-Slave,--I say no more, but that I +do love,--and I will love,--and that if you are but half so willing as +I, I will dub you, Viscountess _de Chimeny Sweperio_. + +_Isa_. I am in Heaven, ah! I die, _Jacinta_. How can I credit this, that +am so much unworthy? + +_Guil_. I'll do't, say no more, I'll do't. + +_Fran_. Do't, but, my Lord, and with what face can I put off Signior +_Antonio_, hum. + +_Guil_. _Antonio_,--hy, Pages, give order that _Antonio_ be instantly +run through the Lungs--d'ye hear? + +_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! run through the Lungs! + +_Page_. It shall be done, my Lord! but what _Antonio_? + +_Guil_. Why, any _Antonio_; all the _Antonio's_ that you find in +_Cadiz_. + +_Fran_. Oh, what bloody-minded Monsters these Lords are!--But, my Lord, +I'll ne'er give you the trouble of killing him, I'll put him off with a +handsom Compliment; as thus,--Why, look ye, Friend _Antonio_, the +business is this, my Daughter _Isabella_ may marry a Lord, and you may +go fiddle.-- + +_Guil_. Ay, that's civil,--and if he do not desist, I'll unpeople +_Spain_ but I'll kill him; for, Madam, I'll tell you what happened to me +in the Court of _France_--there was a Lady in the Court in love with +me,--she took a liking to my Person which--I think,--you will confess-- + +_Isa_. To be the most accomplisht in the World. + +_Guil_. I had some sixscore Rivals, they all took Snuff; that is, were +angry--at which I smiled;--they were incensed; at which I laught, ha, +ha, ha,--i'faith; they rag'd, I--when I met 'em,--Cockt, thus--_en +passant_--justled 'em--thus,--[_Overthrows_ Fran.] They turn'd and +frown'd,--thus,--I drew.-- + +_Fran_. What, on all the sixscore, my Lord? + +_Guil_. All, all; sa, sa, quoth I, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa. + [_Fences him round the Stage_. + +_Fran_. Hold, hold, my Lord, I am none of the sixscore. + +_Guil_. And run 'em all through the Body! + +_Fran_. Oh Heavens! and kill'd 'em all. + +_Guil_. Not a Man,--only run 'em through the body a little, that's all, +my two Boys were by, my Pages here. + +_Isa_. Is it the fashion, Sir, to be attended by Pages so big? + +_Guil_. Pages of Honour always;--these were stinted at nurse, or they +had been good proper Fellows. + +_Fran_. I am so frighted with this relation, that I must up to my +Wife's Chamber for a little of that strong Cordial that recovered her +this morning. + [_Going out_ Guil. _stays him_. + +_Guil_. Why, I'll tell you, Sir, what an odd sort of a Wound I received +in a Duel the other day,--nay, Ladies, I'll shew it you; in a very odd +place--in my back parts. + [_Goes to untuck his Breeches, the Ladies squeak_. + +_Isa_. Ah. + +_Page_. Shew a Wound behind, Sir! the Ladies will think you are a +Coward. + +_Guil_. Peace, Child, peace, the Ladies understand Dueling as little as +my self; but, since you are so tender-hearted, Ladies, I'll not shew you +my wound; but faith, it spoiled my dancing. + + _Page comes in_. + +_Page_. My Lord, now you talk of dancing, here's your Baggage brought +from a-board the Gally by your Seamen, who us'd to entertain you with +their rustick Sports. + +_Guil_. Very well; Sir, with your permission, I am resolved whether you +will or no, to give the Ladies some divertisement,--bid 'em come in; +nay, Sir, you stir not. [Ex. Page. +'Tis for your delight, Sir, I do't; for, Sir, you must understand, a +Man, if he have any thing in him, Sir, of Honour, for the case, Sir, +lies thus, 'tis not the business of an Army to droll upon an +Enemy--truth is, every man loves a whole skin;--but 'twas the fault of +the best Statesmen in Christendom to be loose in the hilts,--you +conceive me. + +_Fran_. Very well, my Lord, I'll swear he's a rare spoken man;--why, +what a Son-in-law shall I have? I have a little business, my Lord, but +I'll wait on you presently. + [Going out. + +_Guil_. Sir, there is nothing like your true jest; a thing once well +done, is twice done, and I am the happiest Man in the World in your +Alliance; for, Sir, a Nobleman if he have any tolerable parts,--is a +thing much above the Vulgar;--oh,--here comes the Dancers. + + _Enter Dancers_. + +Come, sit down by me. + +_Fran_. 'Tis my duty to stand, my Lord. + +_Guil_. Nay, you shall sit. + + [They dance. + + _Enter_ Antonio. + +_Ant_. Good day, Sir, I hope you will not chide my tardiness, I have a +little overslept my self, and am ashamed to see my lovely Bride, and all +this worthy Company attend. +--But you, fair Creature-- [_To_ Isabella. + +_Isa_. No marrying to day, Sir. + +_Fran_. No, Sir, no marrying to day. + +_Ant_. How, do I dream, or hear this from _Francisco_? + +_Guil_. How now, Fellow, what art thou? + +_Ant_. The Husband of that proud disdainful Woman. + +_Guil_. Another word like that--and thou art-- + +_Ant_. What, Sir? + +_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! _Antonio_, I must tell you, you're +uncivil. + +_Guil_. Dost know, dull Mortal, that I am a Lord, And _Isabella_ my +adopted Lady. + +_Ant_. I beg your pardon, Sir, if it be so, poor Mortals can but grieve +in silence. + +_Guil_. Alas, poor Mortal! + +_Ant_. But, for you, _Francisco_. + +_Fran_. Ah, dear _Antonio_, I vow and swear I cannot chuse but weep to +lose thee; but my Daughter was born for a Lady, and none can help +their destiny. + +_Ant_. And is it possible thou canst use me thus? [_To_ Isa. + +_Isa_. Take away that little Fellow; in pity of your life, I deign to +bid you withdraw and be safe. + +_Guil_. D'ye hear, hah?--this Lady has beg'd your life. + +_Ant_. Beg'd my Life! + +_Guil_. Vile Wretch, dar'st thou retort? + [Draws, the Women hold him. + +_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my noble Son-in-law, he shall do any thing;-- +dear _Antonio_, consider, I was never Father to a Lord all days of my +Life before:--my Lord, be pacified, my Daughter shall be a Lady. + +_Isa_. For my sake spare him, and be Friends with him, as far as you may +deign to be with a little Citizen. + +_Guil_. Fellow, I forgive thee,--here's my hand to kiss in sign and +token I am appeased. + [_Gives him his hand to kiss, 'tis all black_. + +_Ant_. A Pox of his honourable hand, 't had like to have spoiled all, +--well, since it must be so, I am content. + +_Guil_. So, now Peace is concluded on, on all sides, what shall we do +to day besides eating and drinking in abundance; for to morrow I shall +get my self in order for my Marriage. + +_Cla_. What thinks your Honour of taking the Air upon the Sea, in a +Galley, a League or two? + +_Guil_. With Fiddles, Drums and Trumpets, Westphalia hams and Pidgeons, +and the like: Hey, Rogues, Scoundrels, Dogs. + +_Isa_. Ah, how fine is every Action of a great Man! + +_Guil_. Command a Galley to attend us presently. +--You shall along, old Boy. [To Fran. + +_Fran_. Alas, I must stay at home with my Wife, my Lord. + +_Guil_. A Wife! have I a Mother-in-law too?--she must along with us, and +take a frisk,--no denial. + + _Enter_ Carlos. + +--Oh, are you come? [Aside. + +_Car_. Yes, and thank thee for the best moment of my Life--Hast thou +contrived the Voyage then? + +_Guil_. Take no care--come, haste on board--our Honour will not lose the +Fresco of the Morning,--Follow me, Pages. + +_Page_. At your heels, my Lord-- + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I. + + + Enter, _as aboard the Ship_, Guiliom, Isabella, Francisco, Julia, + Antonio, Clara, Jacinta, Pedro _and his Wife_, Pages. + +_Guil_. Ladies and Gentlemen, you are very welcome aboard--Come, put off +to Sea, Rogues, Scoundrels, Tarpaulins, to your Business, and then, +every man his Bottle,--hey, Page, Rogues, where are my Men? Come, spread +the Table--for we are very hungry. + +_Isa_. Heav'ns, what a peculiar Grace there is in every word that comes +from the Mouth of a Cavalier. + +_Guil_. By _Mars_, the God of Love! + +_Page_. By _Cupid_, Sir. [Aside to him. + +Guil. _Cupid_, Sirrah! I say, I'll have it _Mars_, there's more Thunder +in the Sound: I say, by _Mars_, these Gallies are pretty neat convenient +Tenements--but a--I see ne'er a Chimney in 'em:--Pox on't, what have I +to do with a Chimney now? + +_Isa_. He is a delicate fine Person, _Jacinta_; but, methinks he does +not make Love enough to me. + +_Jac_. Oh, Madam, Persons of his Quality never make Love in Words, the +greatness of their Actions show their Passion. + +_Jac_. Ay, 'tis true all the little Fellows talk of Love. + +_Guil_. Come, Ladies, set; Come, _Isabella_, you are melancholy,--Page +--Fill my Lady a Beer-glass. + +_Isa_. Ah, Heav'ns, a Beer-glass. + +_Guil_. O, your Viscountess never drinks under your Beer-glass, your +Citizens Wives simper and sip, and will be drunk without doing Credit to +the Treater; but in their Closets, they swinge it away, whole Slashes, +i'faith, and egad, when a Woman drinks by her self, Glasses come thick +about: your Gentlewoman, or your little Lady, drinks half way, and +thinks in point of good manners, she must leave some at the bottom; but +your true bred Woman of Honour drinks all, _Supernaculum_, by _Jove_. + +_Isa_. What a misfortune it was, that I should not know this before, but +shou'd discover my want of so necessary a piece of Grandeur. + +_Jac_. And nothing, but being fuddled, will redeem her Credit. + +_Guil_. Come--fall to, old Boy,--thou art not merry; what, have we none +that can give us a Song? + +_Ant_. Oh Sir, we have an Artist aboard I'll assure you; Signior +_Cashier_, shall I beg the favour of you to shew your Skill? + +_Pet_. Sir, my Wife and I'm at your service. + +_Guil_. Friend, what Language can you sing? + +_Pet_. Oh, Sir, your Singers speak all Languages. + +_Guil_. Say'st thou so, prithee then let's have a touch of Heathen +_Greek_. + +_Pet_. That you shall, Sir, Sol la me fa sol, &c. + +_Fran_. Hum, I think this is indeed Heathen _Greek_, I'm sure 'tis so +to me. + +_Guil_. Ay, that may be, but I understand every word on't. + +_Fran_. Good lack, these Lords are very learned Men. + +_Pet_. Now, Sir, you shall hear one of another Language from my Wife and +I. [_Sing a Dialogue_ in French. + + _Enter the_ Captain. + +_Capt_. Well, Gentlemen, though the news be something unpleasant that I +bring, yet to noble minds 'tis sport and pastime. + +_Guil_. Hah, Fellow! What's that that's sport and pastime to noble +minds. + +_Fran_. Oh Lord, no goodness, I'll warrant. + +_Capt_. But, Gentlemen, pluck up your Spirits, be bold and resolute. + +_Fran_. Oh Lord, bold and resolute! why, what's the matter, Captain? + +_Capt_. You are old, Signior, and we expect no good from you but Prayers +to Heaven? + +_Fran_. Oh Lord, Prayers to Heaven! Why, I hope, Captain, we have no +need to think of Heaven. + +_Capt_. At your own Peril be it then, Signior, for the _Turks_ are +coming upon us. + +_Fran_. Oh Lord, Turks, Turks! + + [_Ex_. Cap. + +_Guil_. Turks, oh, is that all? [_Falls to eating_. + +_Fran_. All--why, they'll make Eunuchs of us, my Lord, Eunuchs of us +poor men, and lie with all our Wives. + +_Guil_. Shaw, that's nothing, 'tis good for the Voice.--how sweetly we +shall sing, ta, la, ta la la, ta la, &c. + +_Fran_. Ay, 'twill make you sing another note, I'll warrant you. + + _Enter a Seaman_. + +_Sea_. For Heaven's sake, Sirs, do not stand idle here; Gentlemen, if +you wou'd save your lives,--draw and defend 'em. + [_Exit_. + +_Fran_. Draw! I never drew any thing in my Life, but my Purse, and +that most damnably against my will; oh, what shall I do? + + _Enter_ Captain. + +_Capt_. Ah, my Lord, they bear up briskly to us, with a fresh Gale and +full Sails. + +_Fran_. Oh, dear Captain, let us tack about and go home again. + +_Capt_. 'Tis impossible to scape, we must fight it out. + +_Fran_. Fight it out! oh, I'm not able to indure it,--why, what the +Devil made me a ship-board? + + [_Ex_. Cap. + +_Guil_. Why, where be these _Turks_? set me to 'em, I'll make 'em smoke, +Dogs, to dare attack a man of Quality. + +_Isa_. Oh, the Insolence of these _Turks_! do they know who's aboard? +for Heaven's sake, my Lord, do not expose your noble Person. + +_Guil_. What, not fight?--Not fight! A Lord, and not fight? Shall I +submit to Fetters, and see my Mistress ravish'd by any great _Turk_ in +Christendom, and not fight? + +_Isa_. I'd rather be ravish'd a thousand times, than you should venture +your Person. + + [_Seamen shout within_. + +_Fran_. Ay, I dare swear. + + _Enter Seaman_. + +_Sea_. Ah, Sirs, what mean you? Come on the Deck for shame. + +_Ant_. My Lord, let us not tamely fall, there's danger near. [_Draws_. + +_Guil_. Ay, ay, there's never smoke, but there's some fire--Come, let's +away--ta la, tan ta la, la la, &c. [Draws. + + [Exit _singing, and_ Antonio _and_ Pet. + +_Fran_. A Pox of all Lords, I say, you must be janting in the Devil's +name, and God's dry Ground wou'd not serve your turn. [_Shout here_. +Oh, how they thunder! What shall I do?--oh, for some Auger-hole to +thrust my head into, for I could never indure the noise of Cannons,--oh, +'tis insupportable,--intolerable--and not to be indur'd. + [_Running as mad about the Stage_. + +_Isa_. Dear Father, be not so frighted. [_Weeps_. + +_Fran_. Ah, Crocodile, wou'd thou hadst wept thy Eyes out long ago, that +thou hadst never seen this Count; then he had never lov'd thee, and then +we had never been invited a ship-board. + [_A noise of fighting_. + + _Enter_ Guiliom, Pet. _and_ Antonio, driven in fighting + by Guzman _and other_ Turks. + +_Ant_. Ah, Sir, the _Turks_ have boarded us, we're lost, we're lost. + +_Fran_. Oh, I am slain, I'm slain. [_Falls down_. + +_Guil_. Hold, hold, I say, you are now in the presence of Ladies, and +'tis uncivil to fight before Ladies. + +_Guz_. Yield then, you are our Slaves. + +_Guil_. Slaves, no Sir, we're Slaves to none but the Ladies. + [_Offers to fight_. + +_Isa_. Oh, hold, rude man,--d'ye know whom you encounter? + +_Guz_. What's here--one dead-- + [_Looking on_ Francisco. + +_Fran_. Oh, Lord! + +_Guz_. Or, if he be not, he's old, and past service, we'll kill the +Christian Dog out of the way. + +_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, I'm no Christian, Gentlemen; but as errant a +Heathen as your selves. + +_Guz_. Bind him strait, neck and heels, and clap him under hatches. + +_Jul_. Oh, spare him, Sir, look on his Reverend Age. + +_Guz_. For your sake, Lady, much may be done, we've need of handsom +Women. + [_Gives her to some Turks that are by_. + +_Fran_. Hah,--my Wife! My Wife ravish'd--oh, I'm dead. + +_Jul_. Fear not, my dear, I'll rather die than do thee wrong. + +_Fran_. Wou'd she wou'd, quickly,--then there's her Honour sav'd, and +her Ransom, which is better. + +_Guz_. Down with the muttering Dog; [_He descends_. +--And takes the Ladies to several Cabins. + [_The Turks take hold of the Men_. + +_Isa_. Must we be parted then?--ah, cruel Destiny! [_Weeps_. + +_Guil_. Alas! this Separation's worse than Death. + +_Isa_. You possibly may see some _Turkish_ Ladies, that may insnare your +Heart, and make you faithless;--but I, ah Heavens! if ever I change my +Love, may I become deformed, and lose all hopes of Title or of Grandure. + +_Guil_. But should the _Grand Seignior_ behold thy Beauty, thou wou'dst +despise thine own dear hony Viscount to be a _Sultana_. + +_Isa_. A _Sultana_, what's that? + +_Guil_. Why, 'tis the great _Turk_, a Queen of _Turkey_. + +_Isa_. These dear expressions go to my Heart. [_Weeps_. +And yet a _Sultana_ is a tempting thing-- [_Aside smiling_. +--And you shall find your Isabella true,--though the _Grand Seignior_ +wou'd lay his Crown at my feet,--wou'd he wou'd try me though--Heavens! +to be Queen of _Turkey_. [_Aside_. + +_Guil_. May I believe thee,--but when thou seest the difference, alas, I +am but a Chimney--hum, nothing to a great _Turk_. + +_Isa_. Is he so rare a thing?--Oh, that I were a she great _Turk_. + [_Aside_. + +_Guz_. Come, come, we can't attend your amorous Parleys. + [_Parts 'em_. + +_Jul_. Alas, what shall we poor Women do? + + [_Ex. Men_. + +_Isa_. We must e'en have patience, Madam, and be ravisht. + +_Cla_. Ravisht! Heavens forbid. + +_Jac_. An please the Lord, I'll let my nails grow against that direful +day. + +_Isa_. And so will I, for I'm resolv'd none should ravish me but the +great _Turk_. + +_Guz_. Come, Ladies, you are Dishes to be serv'd up to the board of the +_Grand Seignior_. + +_Isa_. Why, will he eat us all? + +_Guz_. A slice of each, perhaps, as he finds his Appetite inclin'd. + +_Isa_. A slice, uncivil Fellow,--as if this Beauty were for a bit and +away;--Sir, a word,--if you will do me the favour, to recommend me to be +first served up to the _Grand Seignior_, I shall remember the Civility +when I am great. + +_Guz_. Lady, he is his own Carver, a good word by the bye, or so, will +do well, and I am--a Favorite-- + +_Isa_. Are you so? here, take this Jewel,--in earnest of greater +Favours-- + [_Gives him a Jewel_. + + [Exeunt all. + + + +SCENE II. _A Garden_. + + + _Enter Don Carlos and_ Lopez. + +_Car_. But, why so near the Land? by Heaven, I saw each action of the +Fight, from yonder grove of Jessamine; and doubtless all beheld it +from the Town. + +_Lop_. The Captain, Sir, design'd it so, and at the Harbour gave it out +those two Galleys were purposely prepared to entertain the Count and the +Ladies with the representation of a Sea-fight; lest the noise of the +Guns should alarm the Town, and, taking it for a real fight, shou'd have +sent out Supplies, and so have ruin'd our Designs. + +_Car_. Well, have we all things in readiness? + +_Lop_. All, Sir, all. + + _Enter_ Page. + +_Page_. My Lord, a Barge from the Galley is just arriv'd at the +Garden-Stairs. + + _Enter_ Guzman. + +_Car_. I'll retire then, and fit me for my part of this Farce. + +_Guz_. My Lord, you must retire, they're just bringing the Old Gentleman +ashore. + +_Car_. Prithee how does he take his Captivity? + +_Guz_. Take it, Sir! he has cast himself into a Fit, and has lain like +one in a Trance this half hour; 'tis impossible for him to speak Sense +this fortnight; I'll secure his Reason a play-day for so long at least; +your Servants, in _Turkish_ habits, are now his Guards, who will keep +him safe enough from hindering your designs with _Julia_. + +_Car_. Whatever you do, have a care you do not overfright the Coxcomb, +and make a Tragedy of our Comedy. + +_Guz_. I'll warrant you, Sir, mind your Love-affairs,--he's coming +in,--retire, Sir.-- + + [_Ex_. Car. _and_ Page _and_ Lop. + + _Enter some _Turks _with the body of _Francisco _in chains, + and lay him down on a Bank_. + +1st _Turk_. Christian, so ho ho, Slave, awake.-- + [_Rubbing and calling him_. + +_Fran_. Hah! where am I?--my Wife,--my Wife--where am I?--hah! what +are you?--Ghosts,--Devils,--Mutes,--no answer?--hah, bound in chains, +--Slaves, where am I? + +1st _Turk_. They understand not your Language; but I, who am a _Renegade +Spaniard_, understand you when you speak civilly, which I advise you +to do. + +_Fran_. Do you know me, Friend? + +1st _Turk_. I know you to be a Slave, and the Great _Turk's_ Slave too. + +_Fran_. The Great Turk,--the Great Devil, why, where am I, Friend? + +1st _Turk_. Within the Territories of the _Grand Seignior_, and this a +Palace of Pleasure, where he recreates himself with his Mistresses. + +_Fran_. And how far is that from _Cadiz_?--but what care I? my Wife, +Friend, my own Wife. + +1st _Turk_. Your own,--a true Musselman cou'd have said no more; but take +no care for her, she's provided for. + +_Fran_. Is she dead? That wou'd be some comfort. + +1st _Turk_. No, she's alive, and in good hands. + +_Fran_. And in good hands! oh, my head! and, oh, my heart! ten thousand +tempests burst the belly of this day, wherein old _Francisco_ ventur'd +Life and Limbs, Liberty and Wife to the mercy of these Heathen _Turks_. + +1st _Turk_. Friend, you need not thus complain; a good round Ransom +redeems ye. + +_Fran_. A round Ransom! I'll rot in my chains first, before I'll part +with a round ransom. + +1st _Turk_. You have a fair Wife, and need not fear good usage, if she +knows how to be kind. You apprehend me. + +_Fran_. Patience, good Lord. + +1st _Turk_. Perhaps the _Grand Seignior_ may like her, and to be favour'd +by him in such a Glory-- + +_Fran_. As the Devil take me if I desire. + +1st _Turk_. And then you may in triumph laugh at all the rest of your +Brother Cuckolds. + +_Fran_. Hum, and has the Devil serv'd me thus?--but no matter, I must be +gadding, like an old Coxcomb, to _Cadiz_,--and then, jaunting to Sea, +with a Pox, to take pains to be a Cuckold, to bring my Wife into a +strange Land, amongst Unbelievers, with a vengeance, as if we had not +honest Christian Cuckold-makers enough at home; Sot that I was, not to +consider how many Merchants have been undone by trusting their +Commodities out at Sea; why, what a damn'd ransom will the Rogues exact +from me, and more for my Wife, because she's handsome; and then, 'tis +ten to one, I have her turned upon my hands the worse for wearing; oh, +damn'd Infidels! no, 'tis resolv'd, I'll live a Slave here, rather than +enrich them. + +1st _Turk_. Friend, you'll know your Destiny presently; for 'tis the +custom of the Great _Turk_ to view the Captives, and consider of their +Ransoms and Liberties, according to his pleasure. See, he is coming +forth with the _Vizier Bassa_. + + _Enter_ Carlos _and_ Guzman _as_ Turks _with Followers_. + +Most mighty Emperor, behold your Captive. + +_Fran_. Is this the Great _Turk_? + +1st _Turk_. Peace. + +_Fran_. Bless me! as we at home describe him, I thought the Great _Turk_ +had been twice as big; but I shall find him Tyrant big enough, I'll +warrant him. + +_Guz_. Of what Nation art thou, Slave? speak to the Emperor, he +understands thee, though he deign not to hold discourse with +Christian Dogs. + +_Fran_. Oh fearful!--_Spain_, so please you, Sir. + +_Guz_. By _Mahomet_, he'll make a reverend Eunuch. + +_Fran_. An Eunuch! oh, Lord! + +_Turk_. Ay, Sir, to guard his Mistresses, 'tis an honour. + +_Fran_. Oh! Mercy, Sir, that honour you may spare, Age has done my +business already. + +_Guz_. Fellow, what art? + +_Fran_. An't please your Worship, I cannot tell. + +_Guz_. How, not tell? + +_Fran_. An't please your Lordship, my Fears have so transform'd me, I +cannot tell whether I'm any thing or nothing. + +_Guz_. Thy name, dull Mortal, know'st thou not that? + +_Fran_. An't please your Grace, now I remember me, methinks I do. + +_Guz_. Dog, how art thou call'd? + +_Fran_. An't like your Excellence, Men call'd me Signior Don _Francisco_, +but now they will call me Coxcomb. + +_Guz_. Of what Trade? + +_Fran_. An't please your Highness, a Gentleman. + +_Guz_. How much dost thou get a day by that Trade? Hah! + +_Fran_. An't like your Majesty, our Gentlemen never get but twice in all +their lives; that is, when Fathers die, they get good Estates; and when +they marry, they get rich Wives: but I know what your Mightiness wou'd +get by going into my Country and asking the Question. + +_Guz_. What, Fool? + +_Fran_. A good Cudgelling, an't please your Illustriousness. + +_Guz_. Slave! To my Face!--Take him away, and let him have the Strapado. + +_Car_. _Baridama, Dermack_. + +_Fran_. Heavens, what says he? + +_I Turk_. He means to have you castrated. + +_Fran_. Castrated! Oh, that's some dreadful thing, I'll warrant,-- +Gracious Great Turk, for Mahomet's sake, excuse me; alas, I've lost +my wits. + +_Car_. _Galero Gardines_? + +_Guz_. The Emperor asks if thou art married, Fellow. + +_Fran_. Hah--Married--I was, an't like your Monsterousness, but, I +doubt, your People have spoiled my Property. + +_Guz_. His Wife, with other Ladies, in a Pavillion in the Garden, attend +your Royal pleasure. + +_Car_. Go, fetch her hither presently. + + [_Ex_. Guz. + +1st _Turk_. This is no common Honour, that the Great Turk deigns to speak +your Language; 'tis to sign you'll rise. + +_Fran_. Yes, by the height of a pair of Horns. + +_Car_. Is she handsom? + +_Fran_. Oh, what an Ague shakes my Heart,--handsom! alas, no, dread Sir; +what shou'd such a deform'd Polecat as I do with a handsom Wife? + +_Car_. Is she young? + +_Fran_. Young, what shou'd such an old doting Coxcomb as I do with a +young Wife? Pox on him for a Heathen Whoremaster. + +_Car_. Old is she then? + +_Fran_. Ay, very old, an't please your Gloriousness. + +_Car_. Is she not capable of Love? + +_Fran_. Hum, so, so,--like Fire conceal'd in a Tinderbox,--I shall +run mad. + +_Car_. Is she witty? + +_Fran_. I'm no competent Judge, an't like your Holiness, +--This Catechism was certainly of the Devil's own making. [Aside. + + _Enter_ Guzman, _bringing in_ Julia, Clara, Isabella, Jacinta, + Guiliom, Antonio, &c. _Women veil'd_. + +_Car_. These, Sir, are all the Slaves of Note are taken. + +_Isa_. Dost think, _Jacinta_, he'll chuse me? + +_Jac_. I'll warrant you, Madam, if he looks with my Eyes. + +_Guz_. Stand forth. [_To the Men_. + +_Guil_. Stand forth, Sir! why, so I can, Sir, I dare show my Face, Sir, +before any Great _Turk_ in Christendom. + +_Car_. What are you, Sir? + +_Guil_. What am I, Sir? Why, I'm a Lord, a Lord. + +_Fran_. What, are you mad to own your Quality, he'll ask the Devil and +all of a ransom. + +_Guil_. No matter for that, I'll not lose an Inch of my Quality for a +King's ransom; disgrace my self before my fair Mistress! + +_Isa_. That's as the _Great Turk_ and I shall agree. [_Scornfully_. + +_Car_. What are you, Sir? + +_Ant_. A Citizen of _Cadiz_. + +_Car_. Set 'em by, we'll consider of their ransoms--now unveil the +Ladies. + [Guzman _unveils_ Jacinta. + +_Fran_. Oh, dear Wife, now or never show thy Love, make a damnable face +upon the filthy Ravisher,--glout thy Eyes thus--and thrust out thy upper +lip, thus.-- + [Guzman _presents_ Jacinta. + +_Guil_. Oh, dear _Isabella_, do thee look like a Dog too. + +_Isa_. No, Sir, I'm resolv'd I'll not lose an Inch of my Beauty, to save +so trifling a thing as a Maiden head. + +_Car_. Very agreeable, pretty and chearful-- + + [_She is veil'd and set by: Then Clara is unveil'd_. + +A most divine bud of Beauty--all Nature's Excellence--drawn to the life +in little,--what are you, fair one? + +_Cla_. Sir, I'm a Maid. + +_Fran_. So, I hope he will pitch upon her. + +_Cla_. Only, by promise, Sir, I've given my self away. + +_Car_. What happy Man cou'd claim a title in thee, +And trust thee to such danger? + +_Isa_. Heavens, shall I be defeated by this little Creature? What pity +'twas he saw me not first? + +_Cla_. I dare not name him, Sir, lest this small Beauty which you say +adorns me, shou'd gain him your displeasure; he's in your presence, Sir, +and is your Slave. + +_Car_. Such Innocence this plain Confession shows, name me the man, and +I'll resign thee back to him. + +_Fran_. A Pox of his Civility. + +_Ant_. This Mercy makes me bold to claim my right. [_Kneels_. + +_Car_. Take her, young Man, and with it both your Ransoms. + +_Guil_. Hum--hum--very noble, i'faith, we'll e'en confess our loves too, +_Isabella_. + +_Isa_. S'life, he'll spoil all,--hold--pray let your Betters be serv'd +before you. + +_Guil_. How! Is the Honour of my Love despised?--wer't not i'th presence +of the Great _Turk_, for whom I have a reverence because he's a man of +quality--by _Jove_, I'd draw upon you. + +_Isa_. Because you were my Lover once, when I'm Queen I'll pardon you. + + [Guzman _unveils her, and leads her to_ Carlos, _she making + ridiculous actions of Civility_. + +_Car_. What aukard, fond, conceited thing art thou? Veil her, and take +the taudry Creature hence. + +_Guil_. Hum--your Majesty's humble Servant. + [_Putting off his Hat ridiculously_. + +_Fran_. How! refuse my Daughter too! I see the Lot of a Cuckold will +fall to my share. + +_Guz_. This is the Wife, Great Sir, of this old Slave. + [_Unveils_ Julia. + +_Car_. Hah! what do I see, by _Mahomet_, she's fair. + +_Fran_. So, so, she's condemn'd; oh, damn'd _Mahometan_ Cannibal! will +nothing but raw flesh serve his turn. + +_Car_. I'll see no more,--here I have fix'd my heart. + +_Fran_. Oh, Monster of a _Grand Seignior_! + +_Guz_. Have you a mind to be flead, Sir? + +_Car_. Receive my Handkerchief. [_Throws it to her_. + +_Fran_. His Handkerchief! bless me, what does he mean? + +_Guz_. To do her the honour to lie with her to night. + +_Fran_. Oh, hold, most mighty _Turk_. [_Kneeling_. + +_Guz_. Slave, darest thou interrupt 'em,--die, Dog. + +_Fran_. Hold, hold, I'm silent. + +_Car_. I love you, fair one, and design to make you-- + +_Fran_. A most notorious Strumpet. A Pox of his Courtesy. + +_Car_. What Eyes you have like Heaven blue and charming, a pretty Mouth, +Neck round and white as polisht Alabaster, and a Complexion beauteous as +an Angel, a Hair fit to make Bonds to insnare the God of Love,--a +sprightly Air,--a Hand like Lillies white, and Lips, no Roses opening in +a Morning are half so sweet and soft. + +_Fran_. Oh, damn'd circumcised _Turk_. + +_Car_. You shall be call'd the beautiful _Sultana_, And rule in my +Seraglio drest with Jewels. + +_Fran_. Sure, I shall burst with Vengeance. + +_Jul_. Sir, let your Virtue regulate your Passions; +For I can ne'er love any but my Husband. + +_Fran_. Ah, dissembling Witch! + +_Jul_. And wou'd not break my Marriage Vows to him, +For all the honour you can heap upon me. + +_Fran_. Say, and hold; but _Sultana_ and precious Stones are damnable +Temptations,--besides, the Rogue's young and handsome,--What a scornful +look she casts at me; wou'd they were both handsomely at the Devil +together. + +_Guz_. Dog, do you mutter? + +_Fran_. Oh! nothing, nothing, but the Palsy shook my Lips a little. + +_Guz_. Slave, go, and on your knees resign your Wife. + +_Fran_. She's of years of discretion, and may dispose of her self; but I +can hold no longer: and is this your _Mahometan_ Conscience, to take +other Mens Wives, as if there were not single Harlots enough in the +World? [_In rage_. + +_Guz_. Peace, thou diminutive Christian. + +_Fran_. I say, Peace thou over-grown _Turk_. + +_Guz_. Thou _Spanish_ Cur. + +_Fran_. Why, you're a _Mahometan_ Bitch, and you go to that. + +_Guz_. Death, I'll dissect the bald-pated Slave. + +_Fran_. I defy thee, thou foul filthy Cabbage-head, for I am mad, and +will be valiant. + + [Guz. _throws his Turbant at him_. + +_Car_. What Insolence is this!--Mutes--strangle him.-- + + [_They put a Bow-string about his neck_. + +_Jul_. Mercy, dread Sir, I beg my Husband's life. + +_Car_. No more,--this fair one bids you live,--henceforth, _Francisco_, +I pronounce you a Widower, and shall regard you, for the time to come, +as the deceased Husband of the Great _Sultana_, murmur not upon pain of +being made an Eunuch--take him away. + +_Jul_. Go, and be satisfied, I'll die before I'll yield. + +_Fran_. Is this my going to Sea?--the Plague of losing Battels light +on thee. + + _When ill success shall make thee idle lie, + Mayst thou in bed be impotent as I_. + +_Car_. Command our Slaves to give us some diversion; Dismiss his Chains, +and use him with respect, because he was the Husband of our beloved +_Sultana_. + +_Fran_. I see your Cuckold might have a life good enough if he cou'd be +contented. + [_They pull off his Chains_. + + [Carlos _and_ Julia _sit under an Umbrella_. + + + The SONG. + + _How strangely does my Passion grow, + Divided equally twixt two_? + Damon _had ne'er subdued my Heart, + Had not_ Alexis _took his part: + Nor cou'd_ Alexis_ powerful prove, + Without my_ Damon's _aid, to gain my Love. + + When my_ Alexis _present is, + Then I for_ Damon _sigh and mourn; + But when_ Alexis _I do miss_, + Damon _gains nothing but my Scorn: + And, if it chance they both are by, + For both, alas! I languish, sigh, and die. + + Cure then, thou mighty winged God, + This raging Fever in my Blood. + One golden-pointed Dart take back; + But which, O_ Cupid, _wilt thou take? + if_ Damon's, _all my hopes are crost: + Or, that of my_ Alexis, _I am lost_. + + _Enter Dancers, which dance an Antick_. + +_Car_. Come, my dear _Julia_, let's retire to shades. [_Aside to her_. +Where only thou and I can find an entrance; +These dull, these necessary delays of ours +Have drawn my Love to an impatient height. +--Attend these Captives, at a respectful distance. + + [_Ex. all but _Isa_. who stays_ Guil. + +_Guil_. What wou'd the Great _Sultana_? + +_Isa_. Ah! do not pierce my Heart with this unkindness. + +_Guil_. Ha, ha, ha,--Pages,--give order, I have Letters writ to _Sevil_, +to my Merchant,--I will be ransomed instantly. + +_Isa_. Ah, cruel Count! + +_Guil_. Meaning me, Lady! ah, fy! no, I am a Scoundrel; I a Count, no, +not I, a Dog, a very Chim--hum,--a Son of a Whore, I, not worthy +your notice. + +_Isa_. Oh, Heavens! must I lose you then? no, I'll die first. + +_Guil_. Die, die, then; for your Betters must be served before you. + +_Isa_. Oh! I shall rave; false and lovely as you are, did you not swear +to marry me, and make me a Viscountess. + +_Guil_. Ay, that was once when I was a Lover; but, now you are a Queen, +you're too high i'th' mouth for me. + +_Isa_. Ah! name it not; will you be still hard-hearted? + +_Guil_. As a Flint, by _Jove_. + +_Isa_. Have you forgot your Love? + +_Guil_. I've a bad memory. + +_Isa_. And will you let me die? + +_Guil_. I know nothing of the matter. + +_Isa_. Oh Heavens! and shall I be no Viscountess? + +_Guil_. Not for me, fair Lady, by _Jupiter_,--no, no,--Queen's much +better,--Death, affront a man of Honour, a Viscount that wou'd have took +you to his Bed,--after half the Town had blown upon you,--without +examining either Portion or Honesty, and wou'd have took you for better +for worse--Death, I'll untile Houses, and demolish Chimneys, but I'll be +revenged. + [_Draws and is going out_. + +_Isa_. Ah, hold! your Anger's just, I must confess: yet pardon the +frailty of my Sex's vanity; behold my Tears that sue for pity to you. + + [_She weeps, he stands looking on her_. + +_Guil_. My rage dissolves. + +_Isa_. I ask but Death, or Pity. [_He weeps_. + +_Guil_. I cannot hold;--but if I shou'd forgive, and marry you, +you wou'd be gadding after honour still, longing to be a she Great +_Turk_ again. + +_Isa_. Break not my heart with such suspicions of me. + +_Gull_. And is it pure and tender Love for my Person, +And not for my glorious Titles? + +_Isa_. Name not your Titles, 'tis your self I love, +Your amiable, sweet and charming self, +And I cou'd almost wish you were not great, +To let you see my Love. + +_Guil_. I am confirm'd-- + + _'Tis no respect of Honour makes her weep_; + _Her Loves the same shou'd I cry--Chimney Sweep. + + [_Ex_. + + + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I. _A Garden_. + + + _Enter_ Francisco _alone_. + +_Fran_. Now am I afraid to walk in this Garden, lest I shou'd spy my own +natural Wife lying with the Great _Turk_ in Fresco, upon some of these +fine fiowry Banks, and learning how to make Cuckolds in _Turkey_. + + _Enter_ Guzman _and_ Jacinta. + +_Guz_. Nay, dear _Jacinta_, cast an eye of pity on me.--What, deny the +_Vizier Bassa_? + +_Jac_. When you are honest _Guzman_ again, I'll tell you a piece of my +mind. + +_Guz_. But opportunity will not be kind to _Guzman_, as to the Grand +_Bassa_; therefore, dear Rogue, let's retire into these kind shades, or, +if foolish Virtue be so squeamish, and needless Reputation so nice, that +Mr. _Vicar_ must say _Amen_ to the bargain, there is an old lousy Frier, +belonging to this _Villa_, that will give us a cast of his Office; for I +am a little impatient about this business, Greatness having infus'd a +certain itch in my Blood, which I felt not whilst a common Man. + +_Fran_. Um, why, what have we here, pert Mrs. _Jacinta_ and the _Bassa_? +I hope the Jade will be Turkefied with a vengeance, and have Circumcision +in abundance; and the Devil shall ransom her for old _Francisco_. + +_Jac_. Hah, the old Gentleman! + +_Fran_. What, the Frolick is to go round, I see, you Women have a happy +time on't. + +_Guz_. Men that have kind Wives may be as happy; you'll have the honour +of being made a Cuckold, Heaven be prais'd. + +_Fran_. Ay, Sir, I thank ye,--pray, under the Rose, how does my Wife +please his Grace the Great _Turk_? + +_Guz_. Murmuring again, thou Slave. + +_Fran. Who_, I? O Lord, Sir! not I, why, what hurt is there in being a +Cuckold? + +_Guz_. Hurt, Sirrah, you shall be swinged into a belief, that it is an +honour for the Great _Turk_ to borrow your Wife. + +_Fran_. But for the Lender to pay Use-money, is somewhat severe;--but, +see, he comes,--bless me, how grim he looks! + + _Enter_ Carlos, _and Mutes attending_. + +_Car_. Come hither, Slave,--why, was it that I gave you Life? dismiss'd +the Fetters from your aged Limbs? + +_Fran_. For love of my Wife, and't please your Barbarousness. + +_Car_. Gave you free leave to range the Palace round, excepting my +Apartment only? + +_Fran_. Still for my Wife's sake, I say, and't like your Hideousness. + +_Car_. And yet this Wife, this most ungrateful Wife of yours, again +wou'd put your Chains on, expose your Life to Dangers and new Torments, +by a too stubborn Virtue, she does refuse my Courtship, and foolishly +is chaste. + +_Fran_. Alas! what pity's that! + +_Car_. I offer'd much, lov'd much, but all in vain; Husband and Honour +still was the reply. + +_Fran_. Good lack! that she shou'd have no more Grace before her Eyes. + +_Car_. But, Slave, behold these Mutes; that fatal Instrument of Death +behold too, and in 'em read thy doom, if this coy Wife of yours be not +made flexible to my Addresses. + +_Fran_. O Heavens! I make her. + +_Car_. No more, thy Fate is fix'd--and, here attend, till he himself +deliver his willing Wife into my Arms; _Bassa_, attend, and see it be +perform'd-- [_To his Mutes, then to_ Guz. + [_Ex_. Car. + +_Guz_. Go, one of you, and fetch the fair Slave hither. + + [_Ex_. Turk. + +_Fran_. I pimp for my own Wife! I hold the door to my own Flesh and +Blood! _monstrum horrendum_! + +_Guz_. Nay, do't, and do't handsomly too, not with a snivelling +Countenance, as if you were compell'd to't; but with the face of +Authority, and the awful command of a Husband--or thou dyest. + + _Enter_ Turk _and_ Julia. + +_Fran_. My dear _Julia_, you are a Fool, my Love. + +_Jul_. For what, dear Husband? + +_Fran_. I say, a silly Fool, to refuse the Love of so great a _Turk_; +why, what a Pox makes you so coy? [_Angrily_. + +_Jul_. How! this from you, _Francisco_. + +_Fran_. Now does my Heart begin to fail me; and yet I shall ne'er endure +strangling neither; why, am not I your Lord and Master, hah? + +_Jul_. Heavens! Husband, what wou'd you have me do? + +_Fran_. Have you do;--why, I wou'd have ye--d'ye see--'twill not out; +why, I wou'd have ye lie with the _Sultan_, Huswife; I wonder how the +Devil you have the face to refuse him, so handsom, so young a Lover; +come, come, let me hear no more of your Coyness, Mistress, for if I do, +I shall be hang'd; [_Aside_. +The Great _Turk's_ a most worthy Gentleman, and therefore I advise you +to do as he advises you; and the Devil take ye both. [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. This from my Husband, old _Francisco_! he advise me to part with +my dear Honour. + +_Fran_. Rather than part with his dear Life, I thank ye. [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. Have you considered the Virtue of a Wife? + +_Fran_. No, but I have considered the Neck of a Husband. [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. Which Virtue, before I'll lose, I'll die a thousand Deaths. + +_Fran_. So will not I one; a Pox of her Virtue,--these Women are always +virtuous in a wrong place. [_Aside_. +I say you shall be kind to the sweet _Sultan_. + +_Jul_. And rob my Husband of his right! + +_Fran_. Shaw, Exchange is no Robbery. + +_Jul_. And forsake my Virtue, and make nown Dear a Cuckold. + +_Fran_. Shaw, most of the Heroes of the World were so;--go, prithee, +Hony, go, do me the favour to cuckold me a little, if not for Love, +for Charity. + +_Jul_. Are you in earnest? + +_Fran_. I am. + +_Jul_. And would it not displease you? + +_Fran_. I say, no; had it been _Aquinius_ his Case, to have sav'd the +pinching of his Gullet he wou'd have been a Cuckold. [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. Fear has made you mad, or you're bewitcht; and I'll leave you to +recover your Wits again. [_Going out_. + +_Fran_. O gracious Wife, leave me not in despair; [_Kneels to her and +holds her_.] I'm not mad, no, nor no more bewitcht than I have been +these forty years; 'tis you're bewitcht to refuse so handsom, so young, +and so--a Pox on him, she'll ne'er relish me again after him. [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. Since you've lost your Honour with your wits, I'll try what mine +will do. + + _Enter_ Carlos, Turks. + +_Fran_. Oh, I am lost, I'm lost--dear Wife,--most mighty Sir, I've +brought her finely to't--do not make me lose my credit with his +_Mahometan_ Grace,--my Wife has a monstrous Affection for your Honour, +but she's something bashful; but when alone your Magnanimousness will +find her a swinger. + +_Car_. Fair Creature-- + +_Jul_. Do you believe my Husband, Sir? he's mad. + +_Car_. Dog. [_Offers to kill him_. + +_Fran_. Hold, mighty Emperor; as I hope to be saved, 'tis but a copy of +her Countenance--inhuman Wife--lead her to your Apartment, Sir! +barbarous honest Woman,--to your Chamber, Sir,--wou'd I had married thee +an errant Strumpet; nay, to your Royal Bed, Sir, I'll warrant you she +gives you taunt for taunt: try her, Sir, try her. [_Puts 'em out_. + +_Jac_. Hark you, Sir, are you possest, or is it real reformation in you? +what mov'd this kind fit? + +_Fran_. E'en Love to sweet Life; and I shall think my self ever obliged +to my dear Wife, for this kind Reprieve;--had she been cruel, I had +been strangled, or hung in the Air like our Prophet's Tomb. + + _Enter First_ Turk. + +_Turk_. Sir, boast the honour of the News I bring you. + +_Fran_. Oh, my Head! how my Brows twinge. + +_Turk_. The mighty _Sultan_, to do you honour, has set your Daughter and +her Lover free, ransomless;--and this day gives 'em liberty to solemnize +the Nuptials in the Court;--but Christian Ceremonies must be private; +but you're to be admitted, and I'll conduct you to 'em. + +_Fran_. Some Comfort, I shall be Father to a Viscount, and for the +rest--Patience-- + + _All Nations Cuckolds breed, but I deny + They had such need of Cuckolding as I_. + + [_Goes out with the_ Turk. + + _Enter_ Antonio, _and_ Clara _to_ Jacinta. + +_Jac_. Madam, the rarest sport--Ha, ha, ha. + +_Ant_. You need not tell us, we have been witness to all. But to our own +Affairs, my dearest _Clara_, Let us not lose this blessed opportunity, +Which Art nor Industry can give again if this be idly lost. + +_Cla_. Nay, hang me if it be my fault, _Antonio_: Charge it to the +number of your own Sins; it shall not lie at my door. + +_Ant_. 'Tis generously said, and take notice, my little dear Virago, +_Guzman_ has a Priest ready to tie you to your word. + +_Cla_. As fast as you please; hang her that fears the conjuring knot for +me: But what will our Fathers say--mine who expects me to be the +Governor's Lady; and yours, who designs _Isabella_ for a Daughter-in-Law? + +_Ant_. Mine will be glad of the Change; and, for yours, if he be not +pleased, let him keep his Portion to himself--that's the greatest +mischief he can do us: and for my Friend, the Governor, he's above +their Anger. + +_Cla_. Why do we lose precious time? I long to be at--I _Clara_ take +thee _Antonio_,--the very Ceremony will be tedious, so much I wish thee +mine; and each delay gives me a fear something will snatch me from thee. + +_Ant_. No power of Man can do't, thou art so guarded; but now the Priest +is employed in clapping up the honourable Marriage between the False +Count and Isabella. + +_Jac_. Lord, what a jest 'twill be to see 'em coupled, ha, ha. + +_Cla_. Unmerciful _Antonio_, to drive the Jest so far; 'tis too +unconscionable! + +_Ant_. By Heaven, I'm so proud I cannot think my Revenge sufficient for +Affronts, nor does her Birth, her Breeding and her Vanity--deserve a +better Fortune; besides,--he has enough to set up for a modern Spark-- +the Fool has just Wit and good Manners to pass for a Fop of Fashion; +and, where he is not known, will gain the Reputation of a fine +accomplish'd Gentleman,--yet I'm resolved she shall see him in his +Geers, in his original Filthiness, that my Revenge may be home upon the +foolish Jilt. + +_Cla_. Cruel _Antonio_, come, lets go give 'em Joy. + +_Ant_. And finish our Affair with Mr. Vicar. + + _Enter_ Isabella, _her Train borne by the great_ Page, Guiliom, + _with the other great_ Page, _and_ Francisco _bare_. + +--Joy to my noble Lord, and you, fair _Isabella_! + +_Isa_. Thank thee, Fellow,--but, surely, I deserved my Titles from thee. + +_Cla_. Your Honour I hope will pardon him. + +_Isa_. How now, _Clara_! [_Nodding to her_. + +_Jac_. I give your Honour joy. + +_Isa_. Thank thee, poor Creature.-- + +_Fran_. My Lord, this Honour you have done my Daughter is so signal, +that whereas I designed her but five thousand Pound, I will this happy +day settle on her ten. + +_Guil_. Damn dirty trash, your Beauty is sufficient--hum +--Signior Don _Antonio_, get the Writings ready. [_Aside_. +Money--hang Money. + +_Fran_. How generous these Lords are; nay, my Lord, you must not refuse +a Father's Love, if I may presume to call you Son--I shall find enough +besides for my Ransom, if the Tyrant be so unmerciful to ask more than +my Wife pays him. + +_Guil_. Nay, if you will force it upon me. + +_Isa_. Ay, take it, the trifling sum will serve to buy our Honour Pins. + +_Ant_. Well, Sir, since you will force it on him, my Cashier shall draw +the Writings. + +_Guil_. And have 'em signed by a publick Notary. [_Aside_. + +_Fran_. With all my Soul, Sir, I'll go to give him order, and subscribe. + [_Ex_. Francisco. + +_Guil_. Let him make 'em strong and sure--you shall go halves. [_Aside_. + +_Ant_. No, you will deserve it dearly, who have the plague of such a +Wife with it;--but harkye, Count--these goods of Fortune are not to be +afforded you, without Conditions. + +_Guil_. Shaw, Conditions, any Conditions, noble _Antonio_. + +_Ant_. You must disrobe anon, and do'n your native Habiliments--and in +the Equipage give that fair Viscountess to understand the true quality +of her Husband. + +_Guil_. Hum--I'm afraid, 'tis a harder task to leap from a Lord to a +Rogue, than 'tis from a Rogue to a Lord. + +_Ant_. Not at all, we have examples of both daily. + +_Guil_. Well, Sir, I'll show you my agility--but, Sir, I desire I may +consummate, d'ye see,--consummate--a little like a Lord, to make the +Marriage sure. + +_Ant_. You have the Freedom to do so--the Writings I'll provide. + +_Guil_. I'll about it then, the Priest waits within for you, and +_Guzman_ for you, _Jacinta_,--haste, for he is to arrive anon Ambassador +from _Cadiz_. + +_Jac_. I know not, this noise of Weddings has set me agog, and I'll e'en +in, and try what 'tis. + + [_Ex_. Antonio, Clara, _and_ Jacinta. + +_Guil_. Come, Madam, your Honour and I have something else to do, before +I have fully dub'd you a Viscountess. + +_Isa_. Ah, Heav'ns, what's that? + +_Guil_. Why a certain Ceremony, which must be performed between a pair +of Sheets,--but we'll let it alone till Night. + +_Isa_. Till Night, no; whate'er it be, I wou'd not be without an Inch +of that Ceremony, that may compleat my Honour for the World; no, for +Heaven's sake, let's retire, and dub me presently. + +_Guil_. Time enough, time enough. + +_Isa_. You love me not, that can deny me this. + +_Guil_. Love--no, we are married now, and People of our Quality never +Love after Marriage; 'tis not great. + +_Isa_. Nay, let's retire, and compleat my Quality, and you will find me +a Wife of the Mode, I'll warrant you. + +_Guil_. For once you have prevail'd. + + _Enter_ Francisco. + +_Fran_. Whither away? + +_Isa_. Only to consummate a little, pray keep your distance. + [_She pulls off his hat_. + +_Fran_. Consummate! + +_Isa_. Ay, Sir, that is to make me an absolute Viscountess--we cannot +stay--farewel. + [Guiliom _leads her out_. + +_Fran_. Hum--this _Turkey_ Air has a notable faculty, where the Women +are all plaguy kind. + + _Enter_ Carlos _and_ Julia. + +_Car_. By Heav'n, each Moment makes me more your Slave. + +_Fran_. The Business is done. + +_Jul_. My Husband! [_Aside_. + +_Car_. And all this constant love to old _Francisco_ has but engaged +me more. + +_Fran_. Ha, Love to me? [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. Sir, if this Virtue be but real in you, how happy I shou'd be; +but you'll relapse again, and tempt my virtue, which if you do-- + +_Fran_. I'll warrant she wou'd kill herself. [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. I should be sure to yield. [_In a soft tone to him_. + +_Car_. No, thou hast made an absolute Conquest o'er me--and if that +Beauty tempt me every hour, I shall still be the same I was the last. + +_Fran_. Pray Heaven he be _John_. + + _Enter First_ Turk. + +1st _Turk_. Most mighty Emperor, a Messenger from _Cadiz_ has Letters for +your Highness. + +_Car_. Conduct him in; in this retreat of ours we use no State. + + _Enter_ Guzman, _as himself, gives_ Carlos _Letters_. + +_Guz_. Don _Carlos_, Governor of _Cadiz_, greets your Highness. + +_Carlos_ reads. + + High and Mighty, + + _For seven_ Christian _Slaves, taken lately by a Galley of yours, + we offer you twice the number of_ Mahometans _taken from you by us. + --If this suffice not,--propose your Ransoms, and they shall be paid + by Don_ Carlos, _Governor of_ Cadiz. + +--Know you this _Carlos_ offers so fair for you? + +_Fran_. Most potent Lord, I do, and wonder at the Compliment,--and yet +I am not jealous--I have so overacted the complaisant Husband, that I +shall never fall into the other Extreme again. + +_Car_. Go, let the Christian Governor understand his Request is granted. + +_Guz_. The Slaves are ready, Sir, and a Galley to carry off the +Christians. + +_Jul_. How shall we make this Governor amends? + +_Fran_. I do even weep for joy; alas, I must leave it to thee, Love. + +_Jul_. To me, Sir? do you mock me? + +_Fran_. Mock thee! no; I know thy Virtue, and will no more be jealous, +believe me, Chicken, I was an old Fool. + +_Car_. Your Wife is chaste--she overcame my unruly Passion with her +Prayers and Tears. + + _Enter_ Isabella _at one door_; Clara, Antonio, Jacinta, + _at another_; Isabella's _Train carried up_. + +_Fran_. Rare News,--we are all free and ransom'd! All's well, and the +Man has his Mare again. + +_Isa_. You still forget your Duty and your Distance. + +_Fran_. A pox of your troublesom Honour; a man can't be overjoy'd in +quiet for't. + + _Enter_ Baltazer _and_ Sebastian. + +_Seb_. Sure, I am not mistaken, this is the House of my Son _Antonio_. + +_Bal_. Let it be whose house 'twill, I think the Devil's broke loose +in't. + +_Seb_.--Or the _Turks_; for I have yet met with ne'er a Christian thing +in't. + +_Fran_. Hah,--do I dream, or is that my Father-in-law, and Signior +_Sebastian_? + +_Ant_. My Father here? + +_Car_. _Baltazer_! [_Aside_. + +_Bal_. Son _Francisco_, why do you gaze on me so? + +_Fran_. Bless me, Sir, are you taken by the Great _Turk_ too? + +_Bal_. Taken,--Great _Turk_,--what do mean? + +_Fran_. Mean, Sir! why, how the Devil came you into _Turkey_? + +_Bal_. Sure, Jealousy has crack'd his brains. + +_Fran_. Crack me no Cracks, good Father mine;--am not I a Slave in +_Turkey_? and is not this the _Grand Seignior's_ Palace? + +_Car_. So,--all will come out, there's no prevention. [_Aside_. + +_Seb_. Some that are wiser answer us: You, Son,--are you infected +too?--was not yesterday to have been your Wedding-day? + +_Ant_. To day has done as well, Sir, I have only chang'd _Isabella_ +for _Clara_. + +_Seb_. How, _Francisco_, have you juggled with me? + +_Fran_. My Daughter's a Lady, Sir. + +_Bal_. And you, Mistress, you have married _Antonio_, and left the +Governor. + +_Cla_. I thought him the fitter Match, Sir, and hope your Pardon. + +_Jul_. We cannot scape. + +_Fran_. But how came you hither, Gentlemen, how durst you venture? + +_Seb_. Whither, Sir, to my own Son's house; is there such danger in +coming a mile or two out of _Cadiz_? + +_Fran_. Is the Devil in you, or me, or both? Am not I in the Possession +of _Turks_ and Infidels? + +_Bal_. No, Sir; safe in _Antonio Villa_, within a League of _Cadiz_. + +_Fran_. Why, what a Pox, is not this the Great _Turk_ himself? + +_Bal_. This, Sir,--cry mercy, my Lord,--'tis Don _Carlos_, Sir, the +Governor. + +_Fran_. The Governor! the worst Great _Turk_ of all; so, I am cozened, +--most rarely cheated; why, what a horrid Plot's here carried on, to +bring in heretical Cuckoldom? + +_Car_. Well, Sir, since you have found it out, I'll own my Passion. + +_Jul_. Well, if I have been kind you forced me to't, nay, begged on your +knees, to give my self away. + +_Fran_. Guilty, guilty, I confess,--but 'twas to the Great _Turk_, +Mistress, not Don _Carlos_. + +_Jul_. And was the Sin the greater? + +_Fran_. No, but the Honour was less. + +_Bal_. Oh horrid! What, intreat his Wife to be a Whore? + +_Car_. Sir, you're mistaken, she was my Wife in sight of Heaven before; +and I but seiz'd my own. + +_Fran_. Oh,--Sir, she's at your Service still. + +_Car_. I thank you, Sir, and take her as my own. + +_Bal_. Hold, my Honour's concerned. + +_Fran_. Not at all, Father mine, she's my Wife, my Lumber now, and, I +hope, I may dispose of my Goods and Chattels--if he takes her we are +upon equal terms, for he makes himself my Cuckold, as he has already +made me his;--for, if my memory fail me not, we did once upon a time +consummate, as my Daughter has it. + + _Enter_ Guiliom _in his own dress; crying Chimney-Sweep_. + +_Guil_. Chimney-sweep,--by your leave, Gentlemen. + +_Ant_. Whither away, Sirrah? + +_Guil_. What's that to you, Sir?-- + +_Ant_. Not to me, Sirrah;--who wou'd you speak with? + +_Guil_. What's that to you, Sir? why, what a Pox, may not a man speak +with his own Lady and Wife? + +_Cla_. Heavens! his Wife! to look for his Wife amongst Persons of +Quality! + +_Car_. Kick out the Rascal. + +_Guil_. As soon as you please, my Lord; but let me take my Wife along +with me. + [_Takes_ Isa. _by the hand_. + +_Isa_. Faugh! what means the Devil? + +_Guil_. Devil; 'twas not long since you found me a human creature within +there. + +_Isa_. Villain, Dog; help me to tear his Eyes out. + +_Guil_. What, those Eyes, those lovely Eyes, that wounded you so deeply? + +_Fran_. What's the meaning of all this? why, what, am I cozen'd? and is +my Daughter cozen'd? + +_Guil_. Cozen'd! why, I am a Man, Sir. + +_Fran_. The Devil you are, Sir, how shall I know that? + +_Guil_. Your Daughter does, Sir; and that's all one. + +_Isa_. Oh! I'm undone; am I no Viscountess then. + +_Guil_. Hang Titles; 'twas my self you lov'd, my amiable sweet and +charming self: In fine, sweet-heart, I am your Husband; no Viscount, but +honest _Guiliom_, the Chimney-sweeper.--I heard your Father design'd to +marry you to a Tradesman, and you were for a Don; and to please you +both, you see how well I have managed matters. + +_Fran_. I'll not give her a farthing. + +_Guil_. No matter, her Love's worth a million; and, that's so great, +that I'm sure she'll be content to carry my Soot basket after me. + +_Isa_. Ah! I die, I die. + +_Guil_. What, and I so kind? + [_Goes and kisses her, and blacks her face_. + +_Isa_. Help! murder, murder! + +_Guil_. Well, Gentlemen, I am something a better fortune than you +believe me, by some thousands. + [_Shows_ Car. _his Writings_. + +_Car_. Substantial and good! faith, Sir, I know not where you'll find a +better fortune for your Daughter, as cases stand. [_To_ Francisco. + +_Guil_. And, for the Viscount, Sir, gay Clothes, Money and Confidence +will set me up for one, in any ground in Christendom. + +_Car_. Faith, Sir, he's i'th' right; take him home to _Sevil_, your +Neighbours know him not, and he may pass for what you please to make +him; the Fellow's honest, witty and handsom. + +_Fran_. Well, I have considered the matter: I was but a Leather-seller +my self, and am grown up to a Gentleman; and, who knows but he, being a +Chimney-sweeper, may, in time, grow up to a Lord? Faith, I'll trust to +Fortune, for once--here--take her and rid me of one Plague, as you, I +thank you, Sir, have done of another. [_To_ Carlos. + +_Guil_. Prithee be pacified, thou shalt see me within this hour as +pretty a fluttering Spark as any's in Town.--My noble Lord, I give you +thanks and joy; for, you are happy too. + +_Car_. As Love and Beauty can make me. + +_Fran_. And I, as no damn'd Wife, proud Daughter, or tormenting +Chamber-maid can make me. + +_Ant_. And I, as Heaven and _Clara_ can. +_--You base-born Beauties, whose ill-manner'd Pride, +Th'industrious noble Citizens deride. +May you all meet with_ Isabella's _doom_. + +_Guil_. _--And all such Husbands as the Count_ Guiliome. + + + +EPILOGUE. + +Spoken by Mrs. Barry, made by a Person of Quality. + +_I Come not a Petitioner to sue, +This Play the Author has writ down to you; +'Tis a slight Farce, five Days brought forth with ease, +So very foolish that it needs must please; +For though each day good Judges take offence, | +And Satir arms in Comedy's defence, | +You are still true to your _Jack-Pudding_ Sense. | +No Buffoonry can miss your Approbation, +You love it as you do a new_ French _Fashion: +Thus in true hate of Sense, and Wit's despite, +Bantring and Shamming is your dear delight. +Thus among all the Folly's here abounding, +None took like the new Ape-trick of Dumfounding. +If to make People laugh the business be, | +You Sparks better Comedians are than we; | +You every day out-fool ev'n_ Nokes _and_ Lee. | +_They're forc'd to stop, and their own Farces quit, +T'admire the Merry-Andrews of the Pit; +But if your Mirth so grate the Critick's ear, +Your Love will yet more Harlequin appear. +--You everlasting Grievance of the Boxes, +You wither'd Ruins of stum'd Wine and Poxes; +What strange Green-sickness do you hope in Women +Should make 'em love old Fools in new Point Linen? +The Race of Life you run off-hand too fast, +Your fiery Metal is too hot to last; +Your Fevers come so thick, your Claps so plenty, +Most of you are threescore at five and twenty. +Our Town-bred Ladys know you well enough, +Your courting Women's like your taking Snuff; +Out of mere Idleness you keep a pother, +You've no more need of one than of the other. + Ladies-- +Wou'd you be quit of their insipid noise, +And vain pretending take a Fool's advice; +Of the faux Braves I've had some little trial, +There's nothing gives 'em credit but Denial: +As when a Coward will pretend to Huffing, +Offer to fight, away sneaks Bully-Ruffian, +So when these Sparks, whose business is addressing, +In Love pursuits grow troublesom and pressing; +When they affect to keep still in your eye, | +When they send_ Grisons _every where to spy, | +And full of Coxcomb dress and ogle high; | +Seem to receive their Charge, and face about, +I'll pawn my life they never stand it out. + + + + + + +THE LUCKY CHANCE; OR, AN ALDERMAN'S BARGAIN. + + + +ARGUMENT. + +Harry Bellmour, having killed his man in a duel, flies to Brussels, +perforce leaving behind him Leticia, to whom he is affianced. During his +absence Sir Feeble Fainwou'd, a doting old alderman and his rival, +having procured his pardon from the King to prevent it being granted if +applied for a second time, and keeping this stratagem secret, next +forges a letter as if from the Hague which describes in detail +Bellmour's execution for killing a toper during a tavern brawl. He then +plies his suit with such ardour that Leticia, induced by poverty and +wretchedness, reluctantly consents to marry him. On the wedding morning +Bellmour returns in disguise and intercepts a letter that conveys news +of the arrival of Sir Feeble's nephew, Frank, whom his uncle has never +seen. The lover straightway resolves to personate the expected +newcomer, and he is assisted in his design by his friend Gayman, a town +gallant, who having fallen into dire need is compelled to lodge, under +the name of Wasteall, with a smith in Alsatia. His estate has been +mortgaged to an old banker, Sir Cautious Fulbank, whose wife Julia he +loves, and to her he pretends to have gone to Northamptonshire to his +uncle's death bed. He is discovered, unknown to himself, in his slummy +retreat by Bredwel, Sir Cautious' prentice, who has to convey him a +message with reference to the expiration of the mortgage, and who +reveals the secret to Lady Fulbank. She promptly abstracts five hundred +pounds from her husband's strong box and forwards it to her lover by +Bredwel, disguised as a devil, with an amorous message purporting to be +from some unknown bidding him attend at a certain trysting place that +night without fail. Gayman, now able to redeem his forfeited estates, +dresses in his finest clothes and appears at Sir Feeble Fainwou'd's +wedding. Bellmour has meanwhile revealed himself to Leticia, who is +plunged in despair at the nuptials. Lady Fulbank, who is present, greets +Gayman and asks him to give her an assignation in the garden, but he +excuses himself in order to keep his prior appointment, and she leaves +him in dissembled anger. Bredwel then in his satanic masquerade meets +Gayman, and bringing him a roundabout way, introduces him into Sir +Cautious' house, where, after having been entertained with a masque of +dances and songs as by spirits, he is conducted to Lady Fulbank's +chamber by her maid disguised as an ancient crone, and admitted to his +mistress' embraces. Meanwhile Sir Feeble Fainwou'd, who just at the +moment of entering the bridal chamber has been hurriedly fetched away by +Bellmour under the pretext of an urgent message from Sir Cautious +concerning some midnight plot and an outbreak in the city, arrives at +the house in great terror, and Sir Cautious (not knowing the reason of +so late a visit) and he sit opposite each other for a while, gaping and +staring in amaze. Bredwel, to pass Gayman out undetected, ushers him +through the room white-sheeted like a ghost, and the two old fools are +well frightened, but eventually they conclude there has been some +mistake or trick. Sir Feeble returns home to find Leticia with her +jewels about to flee, but she succeeds in reassuring him. Gayman now +visits Lady Fulbank and gives her some account of his adventures with +the she-devil, all of which he half jestingly ascribes to magic. Sir +Cautious and various guests enter, dice are produced and, luck favouring +the gallant, Gayman wins one hundred pounds from the old Banker, and a +like sum from several others of the company. As the niggardly Sir +Cautious bewails his losses the victor offers to stake three hundred +pounds against a night with Julia, the bargain, of course, being kept +from the lady. After some rumination Sir Cautious accepts and Gayman +wins the throw. That night he causes himself to be conveyed to Sir +Cautious' house in a chest and Sir Cautious leads him to Lady Fulbank in +bed, she supposing him to be her husband. Meanwhile Sir Feeble being +with Leticia is about to enter her bed when from behind the curtains +Bellmour appears unmasqued, dressed in a torn and blood-stained shirt +and brandishing a dagger. Sir Feeble flies in terror. The next morning +Lady Fulbank discovers the trick which has been played upon her and +rates both her husband and lover soundly. Bellmour and Leticia arriving +throw themselves on her protection. Sir Feeble and Sir Cautious are at +length obliged to acquiesce in the existing state of things and to +resign their ladies to their two gallants. They are unable to protest +even when Sir Feeble finds that his daughter Diana has married Bredwel +instead of Sir Cautious' nephew Bearjest for whom she was designed, +whilst the choused fop is wedded to Pert, Lady Fulbank's woman, to whom +he had been previously contracted. + + + +SOURCE. + +The plot of _The Lucky Chance; or, An Alderman's Bargain_ is original +save for the details of Lady Fulbank's design upon Gayman, when he is +conveyed to her house by masqued devils and conducted to her chamber by +Pert dressed as a withered beldame. In this Mrs. Behn exactly copies +Shirley's excellent comedy, _The Lady of Pleasure_, produced at the +Private House in Drury Lane, October, 1635, (4to 1637). In the course of +Lady Bornwell's intrigue with Kickshaw he is taken blindfold to the +house of the procuress, Decoy, who, in the guise of a doting crone, +leads him to a chamber where he imagines he is to meet a succubus, +whilst the Lady, unknown to him, entertains him herself. + + + +THEATRICAL HISTORY. + +_The Lucky Chance; or, An Alderman's Bargain_, produced at the Theatre +Royal, Drury Lane, in 1687, was, with the exception of the disapproval +of a certain pudibond clique, received with great favour, and kept the +stage for a decade or more. During the summer season of 1718 there was, +on 24 July, a revival, 'not acted twenty years,' of this witty comedy at +Lincoln's Inn Fields. Gayman was played by Frank Leigh, son of the +famous low comedian; Sir Feeble Fainwou'd by Bullock. + +On 25 November, 1786, there was produced at Drury Lane a comedy by Mrs. +Hannah Cowley (1743-1809), a prolific but mediocre dramatist, entitled, +_A School for Greybeards; or, The Mourning Bride_ (4to 1786 and 1787). +Genest writes: 'On the first night it struck me that I had seen +something like the play before and when the 4th act came I was fully +satisfied--that part of the plot which concerns Antonia, Henry, and +Gasper [Donna Antonia (The Mourning Bride), Mrs. Crouch; Don Henry, +Kemble; Don Gasper (a Greybeard), Parsons; Donna Seraphina, Miss +Farren]; and even the outlines of Seraphina's character, are taken from +_The Lucky Chance_--as Mrs. Behn's play, though a very good one is too +indecent to be ever represented again. Mrs. Cowley might without any +disgrace to herself have borrowed whatever she pleased provided she had +made a proper acknowledgement--instead of which she says in her preface +"--The idea of the business which concerns Antonia, Henry and Gasper was +presented to me in an obsolete Comedy; I say the _idea_, for when it is +known that in the original the scene lay among traders in London--and +those traders of the lowest and most detestable manners, it will be +conceived at once, that in removing it to Portugal and fixing the +characters among the nobility, it was hardly possible to carry with me +_more_ than the idea"--the traders whom Mrs. Cowley mentions, are both +Knights, the one an Alderman, the other a Banker.' Genest then compares +various scenes and expressions from _The Lucky Chance_ with Mrs. Cowley +and concludes 'The other scenes though they may differ in the dialogue +yet agree in essentials--the scene in the 5th act between Alexis and +Gasper bears the strongest resemblance to that between Sir Feeble and +Sir Cautious in The Lucky Chance. Mrs. Cowley was ashamed to advance a +direct lie, but she was not ashamed to insinuate a falsehood--_A Naeuio +uel sumpsisti multa, si fateris; uel, si negas surripuisti_--Cicero.' +The strictures of our stage historian are entirely apposite and correct. +Henry, Don Gasper and Antonia of the Georgian comedy are none other but +Bellmour, Sir Feeble, and Leticia. With regard to the reception of _The +School for Greybeards_ 'the audience took needless offence at a scene in +the 4th act, and an unfortunate expression in Young Bannister's part +[Don Sebastian. Bannister, jun., also spoke the prologue], revived the +opposition in the last scene--no more was heard till King [Don Alexis] +advanced to speak the last speech--some alteration was made on the 2nd +night, and the play was acted 9 times or more in the course of the +season, but never afterwards [It was played at Bath 28 October, 1813. +Chatterley acted Don Gasper; Miss Greville (from the Pantheon theatre), +Donna Seraphina. It had little success]--it is a good Comedy and was +very well acted.' + +The audience must indeed have been qualmish prudes. Of all plays it is +the most harmless. The scene in the fourth Act to which exception was +taken seems to have been No. II, after the marriage of Gasper and +Antonia, a most trifling and inept business. In Act V, IV, Alexis says +to Viola: 'As for you Madam bread and water, and a dark chamber shall be +your lot--' but Sebastian (Bannister, jun.), who has married Viola, +breaks in crying: 'No, Sir,--I am the arbiter of her lot;--however, I +confirm half your punishment; and a dark chamber she shall certainly +have.' To this speech in the 4to Mrs. Cowley appends the following note: +'This is the expression, I am told, which had nearly prov'd fatal to the +Comedy. I should not have printed it, but from the resolution I have +religiously kept, of restoring every thing that was objected to.' +Imagination and ingenuity fail to fathom the cryptic indecency. _The +School for Greybeards_ is, in fine, a modest and mediocre comedy of +little value. + +12 December, 1786, Walpole, writing from Berkeley Square to the Countess +of Upper Ossary, says: 'To-night ... I am going to Mrs. Cowley's new +play, which I suppose is as _instructive_ as the _Marriage of Figaro_, +for I am told it approaches to those of Mrs. Behn in spartan delicacy; +but I shall see Miss Farren, who, in my poor opinion, is the first of +all actresses.' Writing three days later to the same lady he has: '_The +Greybeards_ have certainly been chastised, for we did not find them at +all gross. The piece is farcical and improbable, but has some good +things, and is admirably acted.' Those 'good things' are entirely due to +Mrs. Behn. + + + +To the Right Honourable _Laurence_, Lord _Hyde_, Earl of _Rochester_, +one of his Majesty's most Honourable Privy Council, Lord High Treasurer +of _England_, and Knight of the Noble Order of the Garter. + + +My Lord, + +When I consider how Ancient and Honourable a Date Plays have born, how +they have been the peculiar Care of the most Illustrious Persons of +_Greece_ and _Rome_, who strove as much to outdoe each other in +Magnificence, (when by Turns they manag'd the great Business of the +Stage, as if they had contended for the Victory of the Universe;) I say, +my Lord, when I consider this, I with the greater Assurance most humbly +address this Comedy to your Lordship, since by right of Antient Custom, +the Patronage of Plays belong'd only to the great Men, and chiefest +Magistrates. Cardinal _Richelieu_, that great and wise Statesman, said, +That there was no surer Testimony to be given of the flourishing +Greatness of a State, than publick Pleasures and Divertisements--for +they are, says he--the Schools of Vertue, where Vice is always either +punish't, or disdain'd. They are secret Instructions to the People, in +things that 'tis impossible to insinuate into them any other Way. 'Tis +Example that prevails above Reason or DIVINE PRECEPTS. (Philosophy not +understood by the Multitude;) 'tis Example alone that inspires Morality, +and best establishes Vertue, I have my self known a Man, whom neither +Conscience nor Religion cou'd perswade to Loyalty, who with beholding in +our Theatre a Modern Politician set forth in all his Colours, was +converted, renounc'd his opinion, and quitted the Party. + +The Abbot of _Aubignac_ to show that Plays have been ever held most +important to the very Political Part of Government, says, The Phylosophy +of _Greece_, and the Majesty and Wisdom of the Romans, did equally +concern their Great Men in making them Venerable, Noble, and +Magnificent: Venerable, by their Consecration to their Gods: Noble, by +being govern'd by their chiefest Men; and their Magnificency was from +the publick Treasury, and the liberal Contributions of their Noble Men. + +It being undeniable then, that Plays and publick Diversions were thought +by the Greatest and Wisest of States, one of the most essential Parts of +good Government, and in which so many great Persons were interested; +suffer me to beg your Lordships Patronage for this little Endeavour, +and believe it not below the Grandure of your Birth and State, the +Illustrious Places you so justly hold in the Kingdom, nor your +Illustrious Relation to the greatest Monarch of the World, to afford it +the Glory of your Protection; since it is the Product of a Heart and +Pen, that always faithfully serv'd that Royal Cause, to which your +Lordship is by many Tyes so firmly fixt: It approaches you with that +absolute Veneration, that all the World is oblig'd to pay you; and has +no other Design than to express my sense of those excellent Vertues, +that make your Lordship so truly admir'd and lov'd. Amongst which we +find those two so rare in a Great Man and a Statesman, those of Gracious +Speech and easie Access, and I believe none were ever sent from your +Presence dissatisfied. You have an Art to please even when you deny; and +something in your Look and Voice has an Air so greatly good, it +recompences even for Disappointment, and we never leave your Lordship +but with Blessings. It is no less our Admiration, to behold with what +Serenity and perfect Conduct, that great Part of the Nations Business is +carry'd on, by one single Person; who having to do with so vast Numbers +of Men of all Qualitys, Interests, and Humours, nevertheless all are +well satisfi'd, and none complain of Oppression, but all is done with +Gentleness and Silence, as if (like the first Creator) you cou'd finish +all by a Word. You have, my Lord, a Judgment so piercing and solid, a +Wisdom so quick and clear, and a Fortitude so truly Noble, that those +Fatigues of State, that wou'd even sink a Spirit of less Magnitude, is +by yours accomplish't without Toil, or any Appearance of that harsh and +crabbed Austerity, that is usually put on by the buisy Great. You, my +Lord, support the Globe, as if you did not feel its Weight; nor so much +as seem to bend beneath it: Your Zeal for the Glorious Monarch you love +and serve, makes all things a Pleasure that advance his Interest, which +is so absolutely your Care. You are, my Lord, by your generous Candor, +your unbyast Justice, your Sweetness, Affability, and Condescending +Goodness (those never-failing Marks of Greatness) above that Envy which +reigns in Courts, and is aim'd at the most elevated Fortunes and Noblest +Favourites of Princes: And when they consider your Lordship, with all +the Abilitys and Wisdom of a great Counsellor, your unblemisht Vertue, +your unshaken Loyalty, your constant Industry for the Publick Good, how +all things under your Part of Sway have been refin'd and purg'd from +those Grossnesses, Frauds, Briberys, and Grievances, beneath which so +many of his Majestys Subjects groan'd, when we see Merit establish't and +prefer'd, and Vice discourag'd; it imposes Silence upon Malice it self, +and compells 'em to bless his Majesty's Choice of such a Pillar of the +State, such a Patron of Vertue. + +Long may your Lordship live to remain in this most Honourable Station, +that his Majesty may be serv'd with an entire Fidelity, and the Nation +be render'd perfectly Happy. Since from such Heads and Hearts, the +Monarch reaps his Glory, and the Kingdom receives its Safety and +Tranquility. This is the unfeign'd Prayer of, + + My Lord, + Your Lordships most Humble + And most Obedient Servant + A. Behn + + + +PREFACE. + +The little Obligation I have to some of the witty Sparks and Poets of +the Town, has put me on a Vindication of this Comedy from those Censures +that Malice, and ill Nature have thrown upon it, tho in vain: The Poets +I heartily excuse, since there is a sort of Self-Interest in their +Malice, which I shou'd rather call a witty Way they have in this Age, of +Railing at every thing they find with pain successful, and never to shew +good Nature and speak well of any thing; but when they are sure 'tis +damn'd, then they afford it that worse Scandal, their Pity. And nothing +makes them so thorough-stitcht an Enemy as a full Third Day, that's +Crime enough to load it with all manner of Infamy; and when they can no +other way prevail with the Town, they charge it with the old never +failing Scandal--That 'tis not fit for the Ladys: As if (if it were as +they falsly give it out) the Ladys were oblig'd to hear Indecencys only +from their Pens and Plays and some of them have ventur'd to treat 'em as +Coursely as 'twas possible, without the least Reproach from them; and in +some of their most Celebrated Plays have entertained 'em with things, +that if I should here strip from their Wit and Occasion that conducts +'em in and makes them proper, their fair Cheeks would perhaps wear a +natural Colour at the reading them: yet are never taken Notice of, +because a Man writ them, and they may hear that from them they blush at +from a Woman--But I make a Challenge to any Person of common Sense and +Reason--that is not wilfully bent on ill Nature, and will in spight of +Sense wrest a double _Entendre_ from every thing, lying upon the Catch +for a Jest or a Quibble, like a Rook for a Cully; but any unprejudic'd +Person that knows not the Author, to read any of my Comedys and compare +'em with others of this Age, and if they find one Word that can offend +the chastest Ear, I will submit to all their peevish Cavills; but Right +or Wrong they must be Criminal because a Woman's; condemning them +without having the Christian Charity, to examine whether it be guilty or +not, with reading, comparing, or thinking; the Ladies taking up any +Scandal on Trust from some conceited Sparks, who will in spight of +Nature be Wits and _Beaus_; then scatter it for Authentick all over the +Town and Court, poysoning of others Judgments with their false Notions, +condemning it to worse than Death, Loss of Fame. And to fortifie their +Detraction, charge me with all the Plays that have ever been offensive; +though I wish with all their Faults I had been the Author of some of +those they have honour'd me with. For the farther Justification of this +Play; it being a Comedy of Intrigue Dr. _Davenant_ out of Respect to the +Commands he had from Court, to take great Care that no Indecency should +be in Plays, sent for it and nicely look't it over, putting out anything +he but imagin'd the Criticks would play with. After that, Sir Roger +_L'Estrange_ read it and licens'd it, and found no such Faults as 'tis +charg'd with: Then Mr. _Killigrew_, who more severe than any, from the +strict Order he had, perus'd it with great Circumspection; and lastly +the Master Players, who you will I hope in some Measure esteem Judges of +Decency and their own Interest, having been so many Years Prentice to +the Trade of Judging. + +I say, after all these Supervisors the Ladys may be convinc'd, they left +nothing that could offend, and the Men of their unjust Reflections on so +many Judges of Wit and Decencys. When it happens that I challenge any +one, to point me out the least Expression of what some have made their +Discourse, they cry, _That Mr_. Leigh _opens his Night Gown, when he +comes into the Bride-chamber_; if he do, which is a Jest of his own +making, and which I never saw, I hope he has his Cloaths on underneath? +And if so, where is the Indecency? I have seen in that admirable Play of +_Oedipus_, the Gown open'd wide, and the Man shown, in his Drawers and +Waist coat, and never thought it an Offence before. Another crys, _Why +we know not what they mean, when the Man takes a Woman off the Stage, +and another is thereby cuckolded_; is that any more than you see in the +most Celebrated of your Plays? as the _City Politicks_, the _Lady +Mayoress_, and the _Old Lawyers Wife_, who goes with a Man she never saw +before, and comes out again the joyfull'st Woman alive, for having made +her Husband a Cuckold with such Dexterity, and yet I see nothing +unnatural nor obscene: 'tis proper for the Characters. So in that lucky +Play of the _London Cuckolds_, not to recite Particulars. And in that +good Comedy of _Sir Courtly Nice_, the _Taylor to the young Lady_--in +the fam'd Sir _Fopling Dorimont and Bellinda_, see the very Words--in +_Valentinian_, see the Scene between the _Court Bawds_. And +_Valentinian_ all loose and ruffld a Moment after the Rape, and all this +you see without Scandal, and a thousand others The _Moor of Venice_ in +many places. The _Maids Tragedy_--see the Scene of undressing the Bride, +and between the _King_ and _Amintor_, and after between the _King_ and +_Evadne_--All these I Name as some of the best Plays I know; If I +should repeat the Words exprest in these Scenes I mention, I might +justly be charg'd with course ill Manners, and very little Modesty, and +yet they so naturally fall into the places they are designed for, and so +are proper for the Business, that there is not the least Fault to be +found with them; though I say those things in any of mine wou'd damn the +whole Peice, and alarm the Town. Had I a Day or two's time, as I have +scarce so many Hours to write this in (the Play, being all printed off +and the Press waiting,) I would sum up all your Beloved Plays, and all +the Things in them that are past with such Silence by; because written +by Men: such Masculine Strokes in me, must not be allow'd. I must +conclude those Women (if there be any such) greater Critics in that sort +of Conversation than my self, who find any of that sort in mine, or any +thing that can justly be reproach't. But 'tis in vain by dint of Reason +or Comparison to convince the obstinate Criticks, whose Business is to +find Fault, if not by a loose and gross Imagination to create them, for +they must either find the Jest, or make it; and those of this sort fall +to my share, they find Faults of another kind for the Men Writers. And +this one thing I will venture to say, though against my Nature, because +it has a Vanity in it: That had the Plays I have writ come forth under +any Mans Name, and never known to have been mine; I appeal to all +unbyast Judges of Sense, if they had not said that Person had made as +many good Comedies, as any one Man that has writ in our Age; but a Devil +on't the Woman damns the Poet. + +Ladies, for its further Justification to you, be pleas'd to know, that +the first Copy of this Play was read by several Ladys of very great +Quality, and unquestioned Fame, and received their most favourable +Opinion, not one charging it with the Crime, that some have been pleas'd +to find in the Acting. Other Ladys who saw it more than once, whose +Quality and Vertue can sufficiently justifie any thing they design to +favour, were pleas'd to say, they found an Entertainment in it very far +from scandalous; and for the Generality of the Town, I found by my +Receipts it was not thought so Criminal. However, that shall not be an +Incouragement to me to trouble the Criticks with new Occasion of +affronting me, for endeavouring at least to divert; and at this rate, +both the few Poets that are left, and the Players who toil in vain will +be weary of their Trade. + +I cannot omit to tell you, that a Wit of the Town, a Friend of mine at +Wills Coffee House, the first Night of the Play, cry'd it down as much +as in him lay, who before had read it and assured me he never 'saw a +prettier Comedy. So complaisant one pestilent Wit will be to another, +and in the full Cry make his Noise too; but since 'tis to the witty Few +I speak, I hope the better Judges will take no Offence, to whom I am +oblig'd for better Judgments; and those I hope will be so kind to me, +knowing my Conversation not at all addicted to the Indecencys alledged, +that I would much less practice it in a Play, that must stand the Test +of the censoring World. And I must want common Sense, and all the +Degrees of good Manners, renouncing my Fame, all Modesty and Interest +for a silly Sawcy fruitless Jest, to make Fools laugh, and Women blush, +and wise Men asham'd; My self all the while, if I had been guilty of +this Crime charg'd to me, remaining the only stupid, insensible. Is this +likely, is this reasonable to be believ'd by any body, but the wilfully +blind? All I ask, is the Priviledge for my Masculine Part the Poet in +me, (if any such you will allow me) to tread in those successful Paths +my Predecessors have so long thriv'd in, to take those Measures that +both the Ancient and Modern Writers have set me, and by which they have +pleas'd the World so well: If I must not, because of my Sex, have this +Freedom, but that you will usurp all to your selves; I lay down my +Quill, and you shall hear no more of me, no not so much as to make +Comparisons, because I will be kinder to my Brothers of the Pen, than +they have been to a defenceless Woman; for I am not content to write for +a Third day only. I value Fame as much as if I had been born a _Hero_; +and if you rob me of that, I can retire from the ungrateful World, and +scorn its fickle Favours. + + + + +THE LUCKY CHANCE; + +or, An Alderman's Bargain. + + +PROLOGUE, + +Spoken by Mr. _Jevon_. + +_Since with old Plays you have so long been cloy'd, +As with a Mistress many years enjoy'd, +How briskly dear Variety you pursue; +Nay, though for worse ye change, ye will have New. +Widows take heed some of you in fresh Youth +Have been the unpitied Martyrs of this Youth. +When for a drunken Sot, that had kind hours, +And taking their own freedoms, left you yours; +'Twas your delib'rate choice your days to pass +With a damn'd, sober, self-admiring Ass, +Who thinks good usage for the Sex unfit, +And slights ye out of Sparkishness and Wit. +But you can fit him--Let a worse Fool come, +If he neglect, to officiate in his room. +Vain amorous Coxcombs every where are found, +Fops for all uses, but the Stage abound. +Though you shou'd change them oftener than your Fashions, +There still wou'd be enough for your Occasions: +But ours are not so easily supplied, +All that cou'd e'er quit cost, we have already tried. +Nay, dear sometimes have bought the Frippery stuff. | +This, Widows, you--I mean the old and tough-- | +Will never think, be they but Fool enough. | + +Such will with any kind of Puppies play; | +But we must better know for what we pay: | +We must not purchase such dull Fools as they. | +Shou'd we shew each her own partic'lar Dear, +What they admire at home, they wou'd loath here. +Thus, though the Mall, the Ring, the Pit is full, +And every Coffee-House still swarms with Fool; +Though still by Fools all other Callings live, +Nay our own Women by fresh Cullies thrive, +Though your Intrigues which no Lampoon can cure, +Promise a long Succession to ensure; +And all your Matches plenty do presage: +Dire is the Dearth and Famine on the Stage. +Our Store's quite wasted, and our Credit's small, +Not a Fool left to bless our selves withal. +We re forc't at last to rob, (which is great pity, +Though 'tis a never-failing Bank) the City. + +We show you one to day intirely new, +And of all Jests, none relish like the true. +Let that the value of our Play inhance, +Then it may prove indeed the_ Lucky Chance. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + +MEN. + +Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd_, an old Alderman to be married Mr. _Leigh_. + to _Leticia_, +Sir _Cautious Fulbank_, an old Banker married to _Julia_, Mr. _Nokes_. +Mr. _Gayman_, a Spark of the Town, Lover of _Julia_, Mr. _Betterton_. +Mr. _Bellmour_. contracted to _Leticia_. disguis'd, and + passes for Sir _Feeble's_ Nephew, Mr. _Kynaston_. +Mr. _Bearjest_, Nephew to Sir _Cautious_, a Fop, Mr. _Jevon_. +Capt. _Noisey_, his Companion, Mr. _Harris_. +Mr. _Bredwel_, Prentice to Sir _Cautious_, and Brother + to _Leticia_, in love with _Diana_, Mr. _Bowman_. +_Rag_, Footman to _Gayman_. +_Ralph_, Footman to Sir _Feeble_. +_Dick_, Footman to Sir _Cautious_. +_Gingle_, a Music Master. +A Post-man. +Two Porters. +A Servant. + +WOMEN. + +Lady _Fulbank_, in love with _Gayman_, honest and + generous, Mrs. _Barry_. +_Leticia_. contracted to _Bellmour, married to Sir + _Feeble_, young and virtuous, Mrs. _Cook_. +_Diana_, Daughter to Sir _Feeble_, in love with Bredwel; + virtuous, Mrs. _Mountford_. +_Pert_, Lady _Fulbank's_ Woman. +Gammer _Grime_, Landlady to _Gayman_, a Smith's + Wife in _Alsatia_, Mrs. _Powell_. +_Susan_, Servant to Sir _Feeble_. +_Phillis, Leticia's_ Woman. + +A Parson, Fidlers, Dancers and Singers. + +_The Scene_, LONDON. + + + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I. _The Street, at break of Day_. + + _Enter_ Bellmour _disguis'd in a travelling Habit_. + +_Bel_. Sure 'tis the day that gleams in yonder East, +The day that all but Lovers blest by Shade +Pay chearful Homage to: +Lovers! and those pursu'd like guilty me +By rigid Laws, which put no difference +'Twixt fairly killing in my own Defence, +And Murders bred by drunken Arguments, +Whores, or the mean Revenges of a Coward. +--This is _Leticia's_ Father's House-- [_Looking about_. +And that the dear Balcony +That has so oft been conscious of our Loves; +From whence she has sent me down a thousand Sighs, +A thousand looks of Love, a thousand Vows. +O thou dear witness of those charming Hours, +How do I bless thee, how am I pleas'd to view thee +After a tedious Age of Six Months Banishment. + + _Enter Mr_. Gingle _and several with Musick_. + +_Fid_. But hark ye, Mr. _Gingle_, is it proper to play before the +Wedding? + +_Gin_. Ever while you live, for many a time in playing after the first +night, the Bride's sleepy, the Bridegroom tir'd, and both so out of +humour, that perhaps they hate any thing that puts 'em in mind they +are married. + + [_They play and sing_. + + _Enter_ Phillis _in the Balcony, throws 'em Money_. + + _Rise_, Cloris, _charming Maid, arise! + And baffle breaking Day, + Shew the adoring World thy Eyes + Are more surprizing gay; + + The Gods of Love are smiling round, + And lead the Bridegroom on, + And_ Hymen _has the Altar crown'd. + While all thy sighing Lovers are undone. + + To see thee pass they throng the Plain; + The Groves with Flowers are strown, + And every young and envying Swain + Wishes the hour his own. + Rise then, and let the God of Day, + When thou dost to the Lover yield, + Behold more Treasure given away + Than he in his vast Circle e'er beheld_. + +_Bel_. Hah, _Phillis, Leticia's_ Woman! + +_Ging_. Fie, Mrs. _Phillis_, do you take us for Fiddlers that play for +Hire? I came to compliment Mrs. _Leticia_ on her Wedding-Morning because +she is my Scholar. + +_Phil_. She sends it only to drink her Health. + +_Ging_. Come, Lads, let's to the Tavern then-- + [_Ex. Musick_. + +_Bel_. Hah! said he _Leticia_? Sure, I shall turn to Marble at this +News: I harden, and cold Damps pass through my senseless Pores.--Hah, +who's here? + + _Enter_ Gayman _wrapt in his Cloke_. + +_Gay_. 'Tis yet too early, but my Soul's impatient, +And I must see _Leticia_. + [_Goes to the door_. + +_Bel_. Death and the Devil--the Bridegroom! Stay, Sir, by Heaven, you +pass not this way. + [_Goes to the door as he is knocking, pushes him away, and draws_. + +_Gay_. Hah! what art thou that durst forbid me Entrance?--Stand off. + + [_They fight a little, and closing view each other_. + +_Bel_. _Gayman_! + +_Gay_. My dearest _Bellmour_! + +_Bel_. Oh thou false Friend, thou treacherous base Deceiver! + +_Gay_. Hah, this to me, dear _Harry_? + +_Bel_. Whither is Honour, Truth and Friendship fled? + +_Gay_. Why, there ne'er was such a Virtue, +'Tis all a Poet's Dream. + +_Bel_. I thank you, Sir. + +_Gay_. I'm sorry for't, or that ever I did any thing that could deserve +it: put up your Sword--an honest man wou'd say how he's offended, before +he rashly draws. + +_Bel_. Are not you going to be married, Sir? + +_Gay_. No, Sir, as long as any Man in _London_ is so, that has but a +handsom Wife, Sir. + +_Bel_. Are you not in love, Sir? + +_Gay_. Most damnably,--and wou'd fain lie with the dear jilting Gipsy. + +_Bel_. Hah, who would you lie with, Sir? + +_Gay_. You catechise me roundly--'tis not fair to name, but I am no +Starter, _Harry_; just as you left me, you find me. I am for the +faithless _Julia_ still, the old Alderman's Wife.--'Twas high time the +City should lose their Charter, when their Wives turn honest: But pray, +Sir, answer me a Question or two. + +_Bel_. Answer me first, what makes you here this Morning? + +_Gay_. Faith, to do you service. Your damn'd little Jade of a Mistress +has learned of her Neighbours the Art of Swearing and Lying in +abundance, and is-- + +_Bel_. To be married! [Sighing. + +_Gay_. Even so, God save the Mark; and she'll be a fair one for many an +Arrow besides her Husband's, though he an old _Finsbury_ Hero this +threescore Years. + +_Bel_. Who mean you? + +_Gay_. Why, thy Cuckold that shall be, if thou be'st wise. + +_Bel_. Away; Who is this Man? thou dalliest with me. + +_Gay_. Why, an old Knight, and Alderman here o'th' City, Sir _Feeble +Fainwou'd_, a jolly old Fellow, whose Activity is all got into his +Tongue, a very excellent Teazer; but neither Youth nor Beauty can grind +his Dudgeon to an Edge. + +_Bel_. Fie, what Stuff's here! + +_Gay_. Very excellent Stuff, if you have but the Grace to improve it. + +_Bel_. You banter me--but in plain _English_, tell me, +What made you here thus early, +Entring yon House with such Authority? + +_Gay_. Why, your Mistress _Leticia_, your contracted Wife, is this +Morning to be married to old Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd_, induc'd to't I +suppose by the great Jointure he makes her, and the improbability +of your ever gaining your Pardon for your high Duel--Do I speak +_English_ now, Sir? + +_Bel_. Too well, would I had never heard thee. + +_Gay_. Now I being the Confident in your Amours, the Jack-go-between-- +the civil Pimp or so--you left her in charge with me at your Departure. + +_Bel_. I did so. + +_Gay_. I saw her every day; and every day she paid the Tribute of a +shower of Tears, to the dear Lord of all her Vows, young _Bellmour_: +Till faith at last, for Reasons manifold, I slackt my daily Visits. + +_Bel_. And left her to Temptation--was that well done? + +_Gay_. Now must I afflict you and my self with a long tale of Causes why; +Or be charg'd with want of Friendship. + +_Bel_. You will do well to clear that Point to me. + +_Gay_. I see you're peevish, and you shall be humour'd.--You know my +_Julia_ play'd me e'en such another Prank as your false one is going to +play you, and married old Sir _Cautious Fulbank_ here i'th' City; at +which you know I storm'd, and rav'd, and swore, as thou wo't now, and +to as little purpose. There was but one way left, and that was +cuckolding him. + +_Bel_. Well, that Design I left thee hot upon. + +_Gay_. And hotly have pursu'd it: Swore, wept, vow'd, wrote, upbraided, +prayed and railed; then treated lavishly, and presented high--till, +between you and I, _Harry_, I have presented the best part of Eight +hundred a year into her Husband's hands, in Mortgage. + +_Bel_. This is the Course you'd have me steer, I thank you. + +_Gay_. No, no, Pox on't, all Women are not Jilts. Some are honest, and +will give as well as take; or else there would not be so many broke +i'th' City. In fine, Sir, I have been in Tribulation, that is to say, +Moneyless, for six tedious Weeks, without either Clothes, or Equipage to +appear withal; and so not only my own Love-affair lay neglected--but +thine too--and I am forced to pretend to my Lady, that I am i'th' +Country with a dying Uncle--from whom, if he were indeed dead, I expect +two thousand a Year. + +_Bel_. But what's all this to being here this Morning? + +_Gay_. Thus have I lain conceal'd like a Winter-Fly, hoping for some +blest Sunshine to warm me into life again, and make me hover my flagging +Wings; till the News of this Marriage (which fills the Town) made me +crawl out this silent Hour, to upbraid the fickle Maid. + +_Bel_. Didst thou?--pursue thy kind Design. Get me to see her; and sure +no Woman, even possest with a new Passion, +Grown confident even to Prostitution, +But when she sees the Man to whom she's sworn so very--very much, will +find Remorse and Shame. + +_Gay_. For your sake, though the day be broke upon us, +And I'm undone, if seen--I'll venture in-- + [_Throws his Cloke over_. + + _Enter Sir_ Feeble Fainwou'd, _Sir_ Cautious Fulbank, Bearjest + _and_ Noisey. [_Pass over the Stage, and go in_. + +Hah--see the Bridegroom! And with him my destin'd Cuckold, old Sir +_Cautious Fulbank_.--Hah, what ail'st thou, Man? + +_Bel_. The Bridegroom! Like _Gorgon's_ Head he'as turned me into Stone. + +_Gay_. _Gorgon's_ Head--a Cuckold's Head--'twas made to graft upon. + +_Bel_. By Heaven, I'll seize her even at the Altar, +And bear her thence in Triumph. + +_Gay_. Ay, and be borne to _Newgate_ in Triumph, and be hanged in +Triumph--'twill be cold Comfort, celebrating your Nuptials in the +Press-Yard, and be wak'd next Morning, like Mr. _Barnardine_ in the +Play--Will you please to rise and be hanged a little, Sir? + +_Bel_. What wouldst thou have me do? + +_Gay_. As many an honest Man has done before thee--Cuckold him-- +cuckold him. + +_Bel_. What--and let him marry her! She that's mine by sacred Vows +already! By Heaven, it would be flat Adultery in her! + +_Gay_. She'll learn the trick, and practise it the better with thee. + +_Bel_. Oh Heavens! _Leticia_ marry him! and lie with him!-- +Here will I stand and see this shameful Woman, +See if she dares pass by me to this Wickedness. + +_Gay_. Hark ye, _Harry_--in earnest have a care of betraying your self; +and do not venture sweet Life for a fickle Woman, who perhaps hates you. + +_Bel_. You counsel well--but yet to see her married! +How every thought of that shocks all my Resolution!-- +But hang it, I'll be resolute and saucy, +Despise a Woman who can use me ill, +And think my self above her. + +_Gay_. Why, now thou art thy self--a Man again. +But see, they're coming forth, now stand your ground. + + _Enter Sir_ Feeble, _Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Noisey, Leticia + _sad_, Diana, Phillis. [_Pass over the Stage_. + +_Bel_. 'Tis she; support me, _Charles_, or I shall sink to Earth, +--Methought in passing by she cast a scornful glance at me; +Such charming Pride I've seen upon her Eyes, +When our Love-Quarrels arm'd 'em with Disdain-- +I'll after 'em, if I live she shall not 'scape me. + [_Offers to go_, Gay. _holds him_. + +_Gay_. Hold, remember you're proscribed, +And die if you are taken. + +_Bel_. I've done, and I will live, but he shall ne'er enjoy her. +--Who's yonder, _Ralph_, my trusty Confident? + + _Enter_ Ralph. + +Now though I perish I must speak to him. +--Friend, what Wedding's this? + +_Ral_. One that was never made in Heaven, Sir; +'Tis Alderman _Fainwou'd_, and Mrs. _Leticia Bredwel_. + +_Bel_. Bredwel--I have heard of her,--she was Mistress-- + +_Ral_. To fine Mr. _Bellmour_, Sir,--ay, there was a Gentleman +--But rest his Soul--he's hang'd, Sir. [_Weeps_. + +_Bel_. How! hang'd? + +_Ral_. Hang'd, Sir, hang'd--at the _Hague_ in _Holland_. + +_Gay_. I heard some such News, but did not credit it. + +_Bel_. For what, said they, was he hang'd? + +_Ral_. Why, e'en for High Treason, Sir, he killed one of their Kings. + +_Gay_. Holland's a Commonwealth, and is not rul'd by Kings. + +_Ral_. Not by one, Sir, but by a great many; this was a Cheesemonger +--they fell out over a Bottle of Brandy, went to Snicker Snee; Mr. +_Bellmour_ cut his Throat, and was hang'd for't, that's all, Sir. + +_Bel_. And did the young Lady believe this? + +_Ral_. Yes, and took on most heavily--the Doctors gave her over--and +there was the Devil to do to get her to consent to this Marriage--but +her Fortune was small, and the hope of a Ladyship, and a Gold Chain at +the Spittal Sermon, did the Business--and so your Servant, Sir. + [_Ex_. Ralph. + +_Bel_. So, here's a hopeful Account of my sweet self now. + + _Enter Post-man with Letters_. + +_Post_. Pray, Sir, which is Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd's_? + +_Bel_. What wou'd you with him, Friend? + +_Post_. I have a Letter here from the _Hague_ for him. + +_Bel_. From the _Hague_! Now have I a curiosity to see it--I am his +Servant--give it me--[_Gives it him, and Exit_.--Perhaps here may be +the second part of my Tragedy, I'm full of Mischief, _Charles_--and have +a mind to see this Fellow's Secrets. For from this hour I'll be his evil +Genius, haunt him at Bed and Board; he shall not sleep nor eat; disturb +him at his Prayers, in his Embraces; and teaze him into Madness. Help +me, Invention, Malice, Love, and Wit: [_Opening the Letter_. +Ye Gods, and little Fiends, instruct my Mischief. [_Reads_. + + Dear Brother, + + _According to your desire I have sent for my Son from + _St. Omer's_, whom I have sent to wait on you in_ England; + _he is a very good Accountant, and fit for Business, and much + pleased he shall see that Uncle to whom he's so obliged, and + which is so gratefully acknowledged by--Dear Brother, your + affectionate Brother_, + Francis Fainwou'd. + +--Hum--hark ye, _Charles_, do you know who I am now? + +_Gay_. Why, I hope a very honest Friend of mine, _Harry Bellmour_. + +_Bel_. No, Sir, you are mistaken in your Man. + +_Gay_. It may be so. + +_Bel_. I am, d'ye see, _Charles_, this very individual, numerical young +Mr.--_what ye call 'um Fainwou'd_, just come from _St. Omers_ into +_England_--to my Uncle the Alderman. I am, _Charles_, this very Man. + +_Gay_. I know you are, and will swear't upon occasion. + +_Bel_. This lucky Thought has almost calm'd my mind. +And if I don't fit you, my dear Uncle, +May I never lie with my Aunt. + +_Gay_. Ah, Rogue--but prithee what care have you taken about your +Pardon? 'twere good you should secure that. + +_Bel_. There's the Devil, _Charles_,--had I but that--but I have had a +very good Friend at work, a thousand Guyneys, that seldom fails; but yet +in vain, I being the first Transgressor since the Act against Duelling. +But I impatient to see this dear delight of my Soul, and hearing from +none of you this six weeks, came from _Brussels_ in this disguise--for +the _Hague_ I have not seen, though hang'd there--but come--let's away, +and compleat me a right _St. Omer's_ Spark, that I may present my self +as soon as they come from Church. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. _Sir_ Cautious Fulbank's _House_. + + +_Enter Lady_ Fulbank, Pert _and_ Bredwel. Bredwel _gives her a Letter_. + +_Lady_ Fulbank _reads_. + + _Did my_ Julia _know how I languish in this cruel Separation, + she would afford me her pity, and write oftner. If only the + Expectation of two thousand a year kept me from you, ah!_ + Julia, _how easily would I abandon that Trifle for your more + valued sight; but that I know a fortune will render me + more agreeable to the charming_ Julia, _I should quit all my + Interest here, to throw my self at her Feet, to make her + sensible how I am intirely her Adorer_. + Charles Gayman. + +--Faith, _Charles_, you lie--you are as welcome to me now, +Now when I doubt thy Fortune is declining, +As if the Universe were thine. + +_Pert_. That, Madam, is a noble Gratitude. For if his Fortune be +declining, 'tis sacrificed to his Passion for your Ladyship. +--'Tis all laid out on Love. + +L. _Ful_. I prize my Honour more than Life, +Yet I had rather have given him all he wish'd of me, +Than be guilty of his Undoing. + +_Pert_. And I think the Sin were less. + +L. _Ful_. I must confess, such Jewels, Rings and Presents as he made me, +must needs decay his Fortune. + +_Bred_. Ay, Madam, his very Coach at last was turned into a Jewel for +your Ladyship. Then, Madam, what Expences his Despair have run him on +--As Drinking and Gaming, to divert the Thought of your marrying my +old Master. + +L. _Ful_. And put in Wenching too.-- + +_Bred_. No, assure your self, Madam-- + +L. _Ful_. Of that I would be better satisfied--and you too must assist +me, as e'er you hope I should be kind to you in gaining you _Diana_. + [_To_ Bredwel. + +_Bred_. Madam, I'll die to serve you. + +_Pert_. Nor will I be behind in my Duty. + +L. _Ful_. Oh, how fatal are forc'd Marriages! +How many Ruins one such Match pulls on! +Had I but kept my Sacred Vows to _Gayman_, +How happy had I been--how prosperous he! +Whilst now I languish in a loath'd embrace, +Pine out my Life with Age--Consumptions, Coughs. +--But dost thou fear that Gayman is declining? + +_Bred_. You are my Lady, and the best of Mistresses-- +Therefore I would not grieve you, for I know +You love this best--but most unhappy Man. + +L. _Ful_. You shall not grieve me--prithee on. + +_Bred_. My Master sent me yesterday to Mr. _Crap_, his Scrivener, to +send to one Mr. _Wasteall_, to tell him his first Mortgage was out, +which is two hundred pounds a Year--and who has since ingaged five or +six hundred more to my Master; but if this first be not redeem'd, he'll +take the Forfeit on't, as he says a wise Man ought. + +L. _Ful_. That is to say, a Knave, according to his Notion of a wise +Man. + +_Bred_. Mr. _Crap_, being busy with a borrowing Lord, sent me to Mr. +_Wasteall_, whose Lodging is in a nasty Place called _Alsatia_, at a +Black-Smith's. + +L. _Ful_. But what's all this to _Gayman_? + +_Bred_. Madam, this _Wasteall_ was Mr. _Gayman_. + +L. _Ful_. _Gayman_! Saw'st thou _Gayman_? + +_Bred_. Madam, Mr. _Gayman_, yesterday. + +L. _Ful_. When came he to Town? + +_Bred_. Madam, he has not been out of it. + +L. _Ful_. Not at his Uncle's in _Northamptonshire_? + +_Bred_. Your Ladyship was wont to credit me. + +L. _Ful_. Forgive me--you went to a Black-Smith's-- + +_Bred_. Yes, Madam; and at the door encountred the beastly thing he +calls a Landlady; who lookt as if she had been of her own Husband's +making, compos'd of moulded Smith's Dust. I ask'd for Mr. _Wasteall_, +and she began to open--and did so rail at him, that what with her +_Billinsgate_, and her Husband's hammers, I was both deaf and dumb--at +last the hammers ceas'd, and she grew weary, and call'd down Mr. +_Wasteall_; but he not answering--I was sent up a Ladder rather than a +pair of Stairs; at last I scal'd the top, and enter'd the inchanted +Castle; there did I find him, spite of the noise below, drowning his +Cares in Sleep. + +L. _Ful_. Whom foundst thou? _Gayman_? + +_Bred_. He, Madam, whom I waked--and seeing me, Heavens, what Confusion +seiz'd him! which nothing but my own Surprize could equal. Asham'd--he +wou'd have turn'd away; +But when he saw, by my dejected Eyes, I knew him, +He sigh'd, and blusht, and heard me tell my Business: +Then beg'd I wou'd be secret; for he vow'd his whole +Repose and Life depended on my silence. Nor had I told it now, +But that your Ladyship may find some speedy means to draw him from +this desperate Condition. + +L. _Ful_. Heavens, is't possible? + +_Bred_. He's driven to the last degree of Poverty-- +Had you but seen his Lodgings, Madam! + +L. _Ful_. What were they? + +_Bred_. 'Tis a pretty convenient Tub, Madam. He may lie a long in't, +there's just room for an old join'd Stool besides the Bed, which one +cannot call a Cabin, about the largeness of a Pantry Bin, or a Usurer's +Trunk; there had been Dornex Curtains to't in the days of Yore; but they +were now annihilated, and nothing left to save his Eyes from the Light, +but my Landlady's Blue Apron, ty'd by the strings before the Window, in +which stood a broken six-penny Looking-Glass, that shew'd as many Faces +as the Scene in _Henry_ the Eighth, which could but just stand upright, +and then the Comb-Case fill'd it. + +L. _Ful_. What a leud Description hast thou made of his Chamber? + +_Bred_. Then for his Equipage, 'tis banisht to one small Monsieur, who +(saucy with his Master's Poverty) is rather a Companion than a Footman. + +L. _Ful_. But what said he to the Forfeiture of his Land? + +_Bred_. He sigh'd and cry'd, Why, farewel dirty Acres; It shall not +trouble me, since 'twas all but for Love! + +L. _Ful_. How much redeems it? + +_Bred_. Madam, five hundred Pounds. + +L. _Ful_. Enough--you shall in some disguise convey this Money to him, +as from an unknown hand: I wou'd not have him think it comes from me, +for all the World: That Nicety and Virtue I've profest, I am resolved +to keep. + +_Pert_. If I were your Ladyship, I wou'd make use of Sir _Cautious's_ +Cash: pay him in his own Coin. + +_Bred_. Your Ladyship wou'd make no Scruple of it, if you knew how this +poor Gentleman has been us'd by my unmerciful Master. + +L. _Ful_. I have a Key already to his Counting-House; it being lost, he +had another made, and this I found and kept. + +_Bred_. Madam, this is an excellent time for't, my Master being gone to +give my Sister _Leticia_ at Church. + +L. _Ful_. 'Tis so, I'll go and commit the Theft, whilst you prepare to +carry it, and then we'll to dinner with your Sister the Bride. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE III. _The House of Sir_ Feeble. + + + _Enter Sir_ Feeble, Leticia, _Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Diana, Noisey. + _Sir_ Feeble _sings and salutes 'em_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Welcome, _Joan Sanderson_, welcome, welcome. [_Kisses the +Bride_. Ods bobs, and so thou art, Sweet-heart. [_So to the rest_. + +_Bear_. Methinks my Lady Bride is very melancholy. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, Women that are discreet, are always thus upon their +Wedding-day. + +Sir _Feeb_. Always by day-light, Sir _Cautious_. + + _But when bright_ Phoebus _does retire, + To_ Thetis' _Bed to quench his fire. + And do the thing we need not name, + We Mortals by his influence do the same. + Then then the blushing Maid lays by + Her simpering, and her Modesty; + And round the Lover clasps and twines + Like Ivy, or the circling Vines_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Here, _Ralph_, the Bottle, Rogue, of Sack, ye Rascal; hadst +thou been a Butler worth hanging, thou wou'dst have met us at the door +with it.--Ods bods, Sweet-heart, thy health. + +_Bear_. Away with it, to the Bride's _Haunce in Kelder_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Gots so, go to, Rogue, go to, that shall be, Knave, that +shall be the morrow morning; he--ods bobs, we'll do't, Sweet heart; +here's to't. [_Drinks again_. + +_Let_. I die but to imagine it, wou'd I were dead indeed. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hah--hum--how's this? Tears upon the Wedding day? Why, +why--you Baggage, you, ye little Thing, Fools-face--away, you Rogue, +you're naughty, you're naughty. [_Patting and playing, and following +her_. Look--look--look now,--buss it--buss it--buss it--and Friends; +did'ums, did'ums beat its none silly Baby--away, you little Hussey, +away, and pledge me-- + [_She drinks a little_. + +Sir _Cau_. A wise discreet Lady, I'll warrant her; my Lady would +prodigally have took it off all. + +Sir _Feeb_. Dear's its nown dear Fubs; buss again, buss again, away, +away--ods bobs, I long for Night--look, look, Sir _Cautious_, what an +Eye's there! + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, so there is, Brother, and a modest Eye too. + +Sir _Feeb_. Adad, I love her more and more, _Ralph_--call old _Susan_ +hither--come, Mr. _Bearjest_, put the Glass about. Ods bobs, when I was +a young Fellow, I wou'd not let the young Wenches look pale and wan--but +would rouse 'em, and touse 'em, and blowze 'em, till I put a colour in +their Cheeks, like an Apple _John_, affacks--Nay, I can make a shift +still, and Pupsey shall not be jealous. + + _Enter_ Susan, _Sir_ Feeble _whispers her, she goes out_. + +_Let_. Indeed, not I; Sir. I shall be all Obedience. + +Sir _Cau_. A most judicious Lady; would my _Julia_ had a little of her +Modesty; but my Lady's a Wit. + + _Enter_ Susan _with a Box_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Look here, my little Puskin, here's fine Playthings for its +nown little Coxcomb--go--get you gone--get you gone, and off with this +St. _Martin's_ Trumpery, these Play-house Glass Baubles, this Necklace, +and these Pendants, and all this false Ware; ods bobs, I'll have no +Counterfeit Geer about thee, not I. See--these are right as the Blushes +on thy Cheeks, and these as true as my Heart, my Girl. Go, put'em on, +and be fine. + [_Gives 'em her_. + +_Let_. Believe me, Sir, I shall not merit this kindness. + +Sir _Feeb_. Go to--More of your Love, and less of your Ceremony--give +the old Fool a hearty buss, and pay him that way--he, ye little wanton +Tit, I'll steal up--and catch ye and love ye--adod, I will--get ye +gone--get ye gone. + +_Let_. Heavens, what a nauseous thing is an old Man turn'd Lover! + [_Ex_. Leticia _and_ Diana. + +Sir _Cau_. How, steal up, Sir _Feeble_--I hope not so; I hold it most +indecent before the lawful hour. + +Sir _Feeb_. Lawful hour! Why, I hope all hours are lawful with a Man's +own Wife. + +Sir _Cau_. But wise Men have respect to Times and Seasons. + +Sir _Feeb_. Wise young Men, Sir _Cautious_; but wise old Men must nick +their Inclinations; for it is not as 'twas wont to be, for it is not as +'twas wont to be-- + [_Singing and Dancing_. + + _Enter_ Ralph. + +_Ral_. Sir, here's a young Gentleman without wou'd speak with you. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hum--I hope it is not that same Bellmour come to forbid the +Banes--if it be, he comes too late--therefore bring me first my long +Sword, and then the Gentleman. + [_Exit_ Ralph. + +_Bear_. Pray, Sir, use mine, it is a travell'd Blade I can assure you, +Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. I thank you, Sir. + + _Enter_ Ralph _and_ Bellmour _disguised, gives him a Letter, + he reads_. + +How--my Nephew! +_Francis Fainwou'd_! [_Embraces him_. + +_Bel_. I am glad he has told me my Christian name. + +Sir _Feeb_. Sir _Cautious_, know my Nephew--'tis a young _St. Omers_ +Scholar--but none of the Witnesses. + +Sir _Cau_. Marry, Sir, and the wiser he; for they got nothing by't. + +_Bea_. Sir, I love and honour you, because you are a Traveller. + +Sir _Feeb_. A very proper young Fellow, and as like old _Frank +Fainwou'd_ as the Devil to the Collier; but, _Francis_, you are come +into a very leud Town, _Francis_, for Whoring, and Plotting, and +Roaring, and Drinking; but you must go to Church, _Francis_, and avoid +ill Company, or you may make damnable Havock in my Cash, _Francis_, +--what, you can keep Merchants Books? + +_Bel_. That's been my study, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. And you will not be proud, but will be commanded by me, +_Francis_? + +_Bel_. I desire not to be favour'd as a Kinsman, Sir, but as your +humblest Servant. + +Sir _Feeb_. Why, thou'rt an honest Fellow, _Francis_,--and thou'rt +heartily welcome--and I'll make thee fortunate. But come, Sir +_Cautious_, let you and I take a turn i'th' Garden, and get a right +understanding between your Nephew Mr. _Bearjest_, and my Daughter _Dye_. + +Sir _Cau_. Prudently thought on, Sir, I'll wait on you.-- + + [_Ex. Sir_ Feeble, _and Sir_ Cautious. + +_Bea_. You are a Traveller, I understand. + +_Bel_. I have seen a little part of the World, Sir. + +_Bea_. So have I, Sir, I thank my Stars, and have performed most of my +Travels on Foot, Sir. + +_Bel_. You did not travel far then, I presume, Sir? + +_Bea_. No, Sir, it was for my diversion indeed; but I assure you, I +travell'd into _Ireland_ a-foot, Sir. + +_Bel_. Sure, Sir, you go by shipping into _Ireland_? + +_Bea_. That's all one, Sir, I was still a-foot, ever walking on the +Deck. + +_Bel_. Was that your farthest Travel, Sir? + +_Bea_. Farthest--why, that's the End of the World--and sure a Man can +go no farther. + +_Bel_. Sure, there can be nothing worth a Man's Curiosity? + +_Bea_. No, Sir, I'll assure you, there are the Wonders of the World, +Sir: I'll hint you this one. There is a Harbour which since the Creation +was never capable of receiving a Lighter, yet by another Miracle the +King of _France_ was to ride there with a vast Fleet of Ships, and to +land a hundred thousand Men. + +_Bel_. This is a swinging Wonder--but are there store of Mad-men there, +Sir? + +_Bea_. That's another Rarity to see a Man run out of his Wits. + +_Noi_. Marry, Sir, the wiser they I say. + +_Bea_. Pray, Sir, what store of Miracles have you at _St. Omers?_ + +_Bel_. None, Sir, since that of the wonderful _Salamanca_ Doctor, who +was both here and there at the same Instant of time. + +_Bea_. How, Sir? why, that's impossible. + +_Bel_. That was the Wonder, Sir, because 'twas impossible. + +_Noi_. But 'twas a greater, Sir, that 'twas believed. + + _Enter L_. Fulb. _and_ Pert, _Sir_ Cau. _and Sir_ Feeb. + +Sir _Feeb_. Enough, enough, Sir _Cautious_, we apprehend one another. +Mr. _Bearjest_, your Uncle here and I have struck the Bargain, the Wench +is yours with three thousand Pound present, and something more after +Death, which your Uncle likes well. + +_Bea_. Does he so, Sir? I'm beholding to him; then 'tis not a Pin matter +whether I like or not, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. How, Sir, not like my Daughter _Dye_? + +_Bea_. Oh, Lord, Sir,--die or live, 'tis all one for that, Sir--I'll +stand to the Bargain my Uncle makes. + +_Pert_. Will you so, Sir? you'll have very good luck if you do. + [_Aside_. + +_Bea_. Prithee hold thy Peace, my Lady's Woman. + +L. _Ful_. Sir, I beg your pardon for not waiting on you to Church-- +I knew you wou'd be private. + + _Enter_ Let_. fine in Jewels_. + +Sir _Feeb_. You honour us too highly now, Madam. + [_Presents his Wife, who salutes her_. + +L. _Ful_. Give you Joy, my dear _Leticia_! I find, Sir, you were +resolved for Youth, Wit and Beauty. + +Sir _Feeb_. Ay, ay, Madam, to the Comfort of many a hoping Coxcomb: but +_Lette_,--Rogue _Lette_--thou wo't not make me free o'th' City a second +time, wo't thou entice the Rogues with the Twire and the wanton Leer +--the amorous Simper that cries, come, kiss me--then the pretty round +Lips are pouted out--he, Rogue, how I long to be at 'em!--well, she +shall never go to Church more, that she shall not. + +L. _Ful_. How, Sir, not to Church, the chiefest Recreation of a City +Lady? + +Sir _Feeb_. That's all one, Madam, that tricking and dressing, and +prinking and patching, is not your Devotion to Heaven, but to the young +Knaves that are lick'd and comb'd and are minding you more than the +Parson--ods bobs, there are more Cuckolds destin'd in the Church, than +are made out of it. + +Sir _Cau_. Hah, ha, ha, he tickles ye, i'faith, Ladies. [_To his Lady_. + +_Bel_. Not one chance look this way--and yet +I can forgive her lovely Eyes, +Because they look not pleas'd with all this Ceremony; +And yet methinks some sympathy in Love +Might this way glance their Beams--I cannot hold-- +Sir, is this fair Lady my Aunt? + +Sir _Feeb_. Oh, _Francis_! Come hither, _Francis_. +_Lette_, here's a young Rogue has a mind to kiss thee. + [_Puts them together, she starts back_. +--Nay, start not, he's my own Flesh and Blood, +My Nephew--Baby--look, look how the young +Rogues stare at one another; like will to like, I see that. + +_Let_. There's something in his Face so like my _Bellmour_, it calls my +Blushes up, and leaves my Heart defenceless. + + _Enter_ Ralph. + +_Ralph_. Sir, Dinner's on the Table. + +Sir _Feeb_. Come, come--let's in then--Gentlemen and Ladies, +And share to day my Pleasures and Delight, +But-- +Adds bobs, they must be all mine own at Night. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I. Gayman's _Lodging_. + + + _Enter _Gayman_ in a Night-Cap, and an old Campaign Coat + tied about him, very melancholy_. + +_Gay_. Curse on my Birth! Curse on my faithless Fortune! +Curse on my Stars, and curst be all--but Love! +That dear, that charming Sin, though t'have pull'd +Innumerable Mischiefs on my head, +I have not, nor I cannot find Repentance for. +Nor let me die despis'd, upbraided, poor: +Let Fortune, Friends and all abandon me-- +But let me hold thee, thou soft smiling God, +Close to my heart while Life continues there. +Till the last pantings of my vital Blood, +Nay, the last spark of Life and Fire be Love's! + + _Enter_ Rag. + +--How now, _Rag_, what's a Clock? + +_Rag_. My Belly can inform you better than my Tongue. + +_Gay_. Why, you gormandizing Vermin you, what have you done with the +Three pence I gave you a fortnight ago. + +_Rag_. Alas, Sir, that's all gone long since. + +_Gay_. You gutling Rascal, you are enough to breed a Famine in a Land. I +have known some industrious Footmen, that have not only gotten their own +Livings, but a pretty Livelihood for their Masters too. + +_Rag_. Ay, till they came to the Gallows, Sir. + +_Gay_. Very well, Sirrah, they died in an honourable Calling--but hark +ye, _Rag_,--I have business, very earnest business abroad this Evening; +now were you a Rascal of Docity, you wou'd invent a way to get home my +last Suit that was laid in Lavender--with the Appurtenances thereunto +belonging, as Perriwig, Cravat, and so forth. + +_Rag_. Faith, Master, I must deal in the black Art then, for no human +means will do't--and now I talk of the black Art, Master, try your Power +once more with my Landlady. + +_Gay_. Oh! name her not, the thought on't turns my Stomach--a sight of +her is a Vomit; but he's a bold Hero that dares venture on her for a +kiss, and all beyond that sure is Hell it self--yet there's my last, +last Refuge--and I must to this Wedding--I know not what,--but +something whispers me,--this Night I shall be happy--and without _Julia_ +'tis impossible! + +_Rag. Julia_, who's that? my Lady _Fulbank_, Sir? + +_Gay_. Peace, Sirrah--and call--a--no--Pox on't, come back--and +yet--yes--call my fulsome Landlady. + + [_Exit_ Rag. + +Sir _Cautious_ knows me not by Name or Person. +And I will to this Wedding, I'm sure of seeing _Julia_ there. +And what may come of that--but here's old Nasty coming. +I smell her up--hah, my dear Landlady. + + _Enter _Rag_ and _Landlady. + +Quite out of breath--a Chair there for my Landlady. + +_Rag_. Here's ne'er a one, Sir. + +_Land_. More of your Money and less of your Civility, good Mr. +_Wasteall_. + +_Gay_. Dear Landlady-- + +_Land_. Dear me no Dears, Sir, but let me have my Money--Eight Weeks +Rent last Friday; besides Taverns, Ale-houses, Chandlers, Landresses' +Scores, and ready Money out of my Purse; you know it, Sir. + +_Gay_. Ay, but your Husband don't; speak softly. + +_Land_. My Husband! what, do you think to fright me with my Husband?-- +I'd have you to know I'm an honest Woman, and care not this--for my +Husband. Is this all the thanks I have for my kindness, for patching, +borrowing and shifting for you; 'twas but last Week I pawn'd my best +Petticoat, as I hope to wear it again, it cost me six and twenty +shillings besides Making; then this Morning my new _Norwich_ Mantua +followed, and two postle Spoons, I had the whole dozen when you came +first; but they dropt, and dropt, till I had only _Judas_ left for +my Husband. + +_Gay_. Hear me, good Landlady. + +_Land_. Then I've past my word at the _George Tavern_, for forty +Shillings for you, ten Shillings at my Neighbour _Squabs_ for Ale, +besides seven Shillings to Mother _Suds_ for Washing; and do you fob me +off with my Husband? + +_Gay_. Here, _Rag_, run and fetch her a Pint of Sack--there's no other +way of quenching the Fire in her flabber Chops. + + [_Exit_ Rag. + +--But, my dear Landlady, have a little Patience. + +_Land_. Patience! I scorn your Words, Sir--is this a place to trust in? +tell me of Patience, that us'd to have my money before hand; come, come, +pay me quickly--or old _Gregory Grimes_ house shall be too hot to +hold you. + +_Gay_. Is't come to this, can I not be heard? + +_Land_. No, Sir, you had good Clothes when you came first, but they +dwindled daily, till they dwindled to this old Campaign--with tan'd +coloured Lining--once red--but now all Colours of the Rain-bow, a Cloke +to sculk in a Nights, and a pair of piss-burn'd shammy Breeches. Nay, +your very Badge of Manhood's gone too. + +_Gay_. How, Landlady! nay then, i'faith, no wonder if you rail so. + +_Land_. Your Silver Sword I mean--transmogrified to this two-handed +Basket Hilt--this old Sir _Guy_ of _Warwick_--which will sell for +nothing but old Iron. In fine, I'll have my money, Sir, or i'faith, +_Alsatia_ shall not shelter you. + + _Enter_ Rag. + +_Gay_. Well, Landlady--if we must part--let's drink at parting; here, +Landlady, here's to the Fool--that shall love you better than I have +done. [_Sighing, drinks_. + +_Land_. Rot your Wine--dy'e think to pacify me with Wine, Sir? + + [_She refusing to drink, he holds open her Jaws_, Rag + _throws a Glass of Wine into her Mouth_. + +--What, will you force me?--no--give me another Glass, I scorn to be so +uncivil to be forced, my service to you, Sir--this shan't do, Sir. + + [_She drinks, he, embracing her, sings_. + + _Ah_, Cloris, _'tis in vain you scold, + Whilst your Eyes kindle such a Fire. + Tour Railing cannot make me cold, + So fast as they a Warmth inspire_. + +_Land_. Well, Sir, you have no reason to complain of my Eyes nor my +Tongue neither, if rightly understood. [_Weeps_. + +_Gay_. I know you are the best of Landladies, +As such I drink your Health-- [_Drinks_. +But to upbraid a Man in Tribulation--fie--'tis not done like a Woman +of Honour, a Man that loves you too. + + [She drinks. + +_Land_. I am a little hasty sometimes, but you know my good Nature. + +_Gay_. I do, and therefore trust my little wants with you. I shall be +rich again--and then, my dearest Landlady-- + +_Land_. Wou'd this Wine might ne'er go through me, if I wou'd not go, +as they say, through Fire and Water--by Night or by Day for you. + [_She drinks_. + +_Gay_. And as this is Wine I do believe thee. [_He drinks_. + +_Land_. Well--you have no money in your Pocket now, I'll warrant you-- +here--here's ten Shillings for you old _Greg'ry_ knows not of. + [_Opens a great greasy purse_. + +_Gay_. I cannot in Conscience take it, good Faith, I cannot--besides, +the next Quarrel you'll hit me in the Teeth with it. + +_Land_. Nay, pray no more of that; forget it, forget it. I own I was to +blame--here, Sir, you shall take it. + +_Gay_. Ay,--but what shou'd I do with Money in these damn'd Breeches? +--No, put it up--I can't appear abroad thus--no, I'll stay at home, and +lose my business. + +_Land_. Why, is there no way to redeem one of your Suits? + +_Gay_. None--none--I'll e'en lay me down and die. + +_Land_. Die--marry, Heavens forbid--I would not for the World--let me +see--hum--what does it lie for? + +_Gay_. Alas! dear Landlady, a Sum--a Sum. + +_Land_. Well, say no more, I'll lay about me. + +_Gay_. By this kiss but you shall not--_Assafetida_, by this Light. + +_Land_. Shall not? that's a good one, i'faith: shall you rule, or I? + +_Gay_. But shou'd your Husband know it?-- + +_Land_. Husband--marry come up, Husbands know Wives secrets? No, sure, +the World's not so bad yet--where do your things lie? and for what? + +_Gay_. Five Pounds equips me--_Rag_ can conduct you--but I say you shall +not go, I've sworn. + +_Land_. Meddle with your matters--let me see, the Caudle Cup that +_Molly's_ Grandmother left her, will pawn for about that sum--I'll sneak +it out--well, Sir, you shall have your things presently--trouble not +your head, but expect me. + + [_Ex_. Landlady _and_ Rag. + +_Gay_. Was ever man put to such beastly shifts? 'Sdeath, how she stunk-- +my senses are most luxuriously regal'd--there's my perpetual Musick too-- + + [_Knocking of Hammers on a Anvil_. + +The ringing of Bells is an Ass to't. + + _Enter_ Rag. + +_Rag_. Sir, there's one in a Coach below wou'd speak to you. + +_Gay_. With me, and in a Coach! who can it be? + +_Rag_. The Devil, I think, for he has a strange Countenance. + +_Gay_. The Devil! shew your self a Rascal of Parts, Sirrah, and wait on +him up with Ceremony. + +_Rag_. Who, the Devil, Sir? + +_Gay_. Ay, the Devil, Sir, if you mean to thrive. + [_Exit_ Rag. +Who can this be--but see he comes to inform me--withdraw. + + _Enter_ Bredwel _drest like a Devil_. + +_Bred_. I come to bring you this-- + [_Gives him a Letter_. + +Gayman _reads_. + + _Receive what Love and Fortune present you with, be grateful + and be silent, or 'twill vanish like a dream, and leave you + more wretched that it found You_. + Adieu. + +--Hah-- + [Gives him a bag of Money. + +_Bred_. Nay, view it, Sir, 'tis all substantial Gold. + +_Gay_. Now dare not I ask one civil question for fear it vanish all-- + [_Aside_. +But I may ask, how 'tis I ought to pay for this great Bounty. + +_Bred_. Sir, all the Pay is Secrecy-- + +_Gay_. And is this all that is required, Sir? + +_Bred_. No, you're invited to the Shades below. + +_Gay_. Hum, Shades below!--I am not prepared for such a Journey, Sir. + +_Bred_. If you have Courage, Youth or Love, you'll follow me: +When Night's black Curtain's drawn around the World, +And mortal Eyes are safely lockt in sleep, [_In feign'd Heroick Tone_. +And no bold Spy dares view when Gods caress, +Then I'll conduct thee to the Banks of Bliss. +--Durst thou not trust me? + +_Gay_. Yes, sure, on such substantial security. [_Hugs the Bag_. + +_Bred_. Just when the Day is vanish'd into Night, +And only twinkling Stars inform the World, +Near to the Corner of the silent Wall, +In Fields of _Lincoln's-Inn_, thy Spirit shall meet thee. +--Farewell. + [_Goes out_. + +_Gay_. Hum--I am awake sure, and this is Gold I grasp. +I could not see this Devil's cloven Foot; +Nor am I such a Coxcomb to believe, +But he was as substantial as his Gold. +Spirits, Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Furies, Fiends and Devils, +I've often heard old Wives fright Fools and Children with, +Which, once arriv'd to common Sense, they laugh at. +--No, I am for things possible and Natural: +Some Female Devil, old and damn'd to Ugliness, +And past all Hopes of Courtship and Address, +Full of another Devil called Desire, +Has seen this Face--this Shape--this Youth, +And thinks it's worth her Hire. It must be so: +I must moil on in the damn'd dirty Road, +And sure such Pay will make the Journey easy: + + _And for the Price of the dull drudging Night, + All Day I'll purchase new and fresh Delight_. + + [_Exit_. + + + +SCENE II. _Sir_ Feeble's _House_. + + + _Enter_ Leticia, _pursu'd by_ Phillis. + +_Phil_. Why, Madam, do you leave the Garden, +For this retreat to Melancholy? + +_Let_. Because it suits my Fortune and my Humour; +And even thy Presence wou'd afflict me now. + +_Phil_. Madam, I was sent after you; my Lady _Fulbank_ has challeng'd +Sir _Feeble_ at Bowls, and stakes a Ring of fifty Pound against his +new Chariot. + +_Let_. Tell him I wish him Luck in every thing, +But in his Love to me-- +Go tell him I am viewing of the Garden. + + [_Ex_. Phillis. + + _Enter_ Bellmour _at a distance behind her_. + +--Blest be this kind Retreat, this 'lone Occasion, +That lends a short Cessation to my Torments, +And gives me leave to vent my Sighs and Tears. [_Weeps_. + +_Bel_. And doubly blest be all the Powers of Love, +That give me this dear Opportunity. + +_Let_. Where were you, all ye pitying Gods of Love? +That once seem'd pleas'd at _Bellmour's_ Flame and mine, +And smiling join'd our Hearts, our sacred Vows, +And spread your Wings, and held your Torches high. + +_Bel_. Oh-- + [_She starts, and pauses_. + +_Let_. Where were you now? When this unequal Marriage +Gave me from all my Joys, gave me from _Bellmour_; +Your Wings were flag'd, your Torches bent to Earth, +And all your little Bonnets veil'd your Eyes; +You saw not, or were deaf and pitiless. + +_Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_! + +_Let_. Hah, 'tis there again; that very voice was _Bellmour's_: +Where art thou, Oh thou lovely charming Shade? +For sure thou canst not take a Shape to fright me. +--What art thou?--speak! + [_Not looking behind her yet for fear_. + +_Bel_. Thy constant true Adorer, +Who all this fatal Day has haunted thee +To ease his tortur'd Soul. [_Approaching nearer_. + +_Let_. My Heart is well acquainted with that Voice, +But Oh, my Eyes dare not encounter thee. + [_Speaking with signs of fear_. + +_Bel_. Is it because thou'st broken all thy Vows? +--Take to thee Courage, and behold thy Slaughters. + +_Let_. Yes, though the Sight wou'd blast me, I wou'd view it. [_Turns_. +--'Tis he--'tis very _Bellmour!_ or so like-- +I cannot doubt but thou deserv'st this Welcome. [_Embraces him_. + +_Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_! + +_Let_. I'm sure I grasp not Air; thou art no Fantom: +Thy Arms return not empty to my Bosom, +But meet a solid Treasure. + +_Bel_. A Treasure thou so easily threw'st away; +A Riddle simple Love ne'er understood. + +_Let_. Alas, I heard, my _Bellmour_, thou wert dead. + +_Bel_. And was it thus you mourn'd my Funeral? + +_Let_. I will not justify my hated Crime: +But Oh! remember I was poor and helpless, +And much reduc'd, and much impos'd upon. + + [Bellmour _weeps_. + +_Bel_. And Want compell'd thee to this wretched Marriage--did it? + +_Let_. 'Tis not a Marriage, since my _Bellmour_ lives; +The Consummation were Adultery. +I was thy Wife before, wo't thou deny me? + +_Bel_. No, by those Powers that heard our mutual Vows, +Those Vows that tie us faster than dull Priests. + +_Let_. But oh my _Bellmour_, thy sad Circumstances +Permit thee not to make a publick Claim: +Thou art proscribed, and diest if thou art seen. + +_Bel_. Alas! + +_Let_. Yet I wou'd wander with thee o'er the World, +And share thy humblest Fortune with thy Love. + +_Bel_. Is't possible, _Leticia_, thou wou'dst fly +To foreign Shores with me? + +_Let_. Can _Bellmour_ doubt the Soul he knows so well? + +_Bel_. Perhaps in time the King may find my Innocence, and may extend + his Mercy: +Mean time I'll make provision for our Flight. + +_Let_. But how 'twixt this and that can I defend +My self from the loath'd Arms of an impatient Dotard, +That I may come a spotless Maid to thee? + +_Bel_. Thy native Modesty and my Industry +Shall well enough secure us. +Feign your nice Virgin-Cautions all the day; +Then trust at night to my Conduct to preserve thee. +--And wilt thou yet be mine? Oh, swear a-new, +Give me again thy Faith, thy Vows, thy Soul; +For mine's so sick with this Day's fatal Business, +It needs a Cordial of that mighty strength; +Swear--swear, so as if thou break'st-- +Thou mayst be--any thing--but damn'd, _Leticia_. + +_Let_. Thus then, and hear me, Heaven! [_Kneels_. + +_Bel_. And thus--I'll listen to thee. [_Kneels_. + + _Enter Sir_ Feeble, _L_. Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious. + +Sir _Feeb_. _Lette, Lette, Lette_, where are you, little Rogue, _Lette_? +--Hah--hum--what's here-- + + _Bel_. snatches her to his Bosom, as if she fainted. + +_Bel_. Oh Heavens, she's gone, she's gone! + +Sir _Feeb_. Gone--whither is she gone?--it seems she had the Wit to +take good Company with her-- + + [_The Women go to her, take her up_. + +_Bel_. She's gone to Heaven, Sir, for ought I know. + +Sir _Cau_. She was resolv'd to go in a young Fellow's Arms, I see. + +Sir _Feeb_. Go to, _Francis_--go to. + +L. _Ful_. Stand back, Sir, she recovers. + +_Bel_. Alas, I found her dead upon the Floor, +--Shou'd I have left her so--if I had known your mind-- + +Sir _Feeb_. Was it so--was it so?--Got so, by no means, _Francis_.-- + +_Let_. Pardon him, Sir, for surely I had died, +Bur for his timely coming. + +Sir _Feeb_. Alas, poor Pupsey--was it sick--look here--here's a fine +thing to make it well again. Come, buss, and it shall have it--oh, how I +long for Night. _Ralph_, are the Fidlers ready? + +_Ral_. They are tuning in the Hall, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. That's well, they know my mind. I hate that same twang, +twang, twang, fum, fum, fum, tweedle, tweedle, tweedle, then scrue go +the Pins, till a man's Teeth are on an edge; then snap, says a small +Gut, and there we are at a loss again. I long to be in bed with a--hey +tredodle, tredodle, tredodle,--with a hay tredool, tredodle, tredo-- + [_Dancing and playing on his Stick like a Flute_. + +Sir _Cau_. A prudent Man would reserve himself--Good-facks, I danc'd so +on my Wedding-day, that when I came to Bed, to my Shame be it spoken, I +fell fast asleep, and slept till morning. + +L. _Ful_. Where was your Wisdom then, Sir _Cautious_? But I know what a +wise Woman ought to have done. + +Sir _Feeb_. Odsbobs, that's Wormwood, that's Wormwood--I shall have my +young Hussey set a-gog too; she'll hear there are better things in the +World than she has at home, and then odsbobs, and then they'll ha't, +adod, they will, Sir _Cautious_. Ever while you live, keep a Wife +ignorant, unless a Man be as brisk as his Neighbours. + +Sir _Cau_. A wise Man will keep 'em from baudy Christnings then, and +Gossipings. + +Sir _Feeb_. Christnings and Gossipings! why, they are the very Schools +that debauch our Wives, as Dancing-Schools do our Daughters. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, when the overjoy'd good Man invites 'em all against that +time Twelve-month: Oh, he's a dear Man, cries one--I must marry, cries +another, here's a Man indeed--my Husband--God help him-- + +Sir _Feeb_. Then he falls to telling of her Grievance, till (half +maudlin) she weeps again: Just my Condition, cries a third: so the +Frolick goes round, and we poor Cuckolds are anatomiz'd, and turn'd the +right side outwards; adsbobs, we are, Sir _Cautious_. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, this Grievance ought to be redrest, Sir _Feeble_; the +grave and sober part o'th' Nation are hereby ridicul'd,--Ay, and +cuckolded too for ought I know. + +L. _Ful_. Wise Men knowing this, should not expose their Infirmities, by +marrying us young Wenches; who, without Instruction, find how we are +impos'd upon. + + _Enter Fiddles playing, Mr_. Bearjest _and_ Diana _dancing_; + Bredwel, Noisey, &c. + +L. _Ful_. So, Cousin, I see you have found the way to Mrs. _Dy's_ Heart. + +_Bea_. Who, I, my dear Lady Aunt? I never knew but one way to a Woman's +Heart, and that road I have not yet travelled; for my Uncle, who is a +wise Man, says Matrimony is a sort of a--kind of a--as it were, d'ye +see, of a Voyage, which every Man of Fortune is bound to make one time +or other: and Madam--I am, as it were--a bold Adventurer. + +_Dia_. And are you sure, Sir, you will venture on me? + +_Bea_. Sure!--I thank you for that--as if I could not believe my Uncle; +For in this case a young Heir has no more to do, but to come and see, +settle, marry, and use you scurvily. + +_Dia_. How, Sir, scurvily? + +_Bea_. Very scurvily, that is to say, be always fashionably drunk, +despise the Tyranny of your Bed, and reign absolutely--keep a Seraglio +of Women, and let my Bastard Issue inherit; be seen once a Quarter, or +so, with you in the Park for Countenance, where we loll two several ways +in the gilt Coach like _Janus_, or a Spread-Eagle. + +_Dia_. And do you expect I shou'd be honest the while? + +_Bea_. Heaven forbid, not I, I have not met with that Wonder in all my +Travels. + +L. _Ful_. How, Sir, not an honest Woman? + +_Bea_. Except my Lady Aunt--Nay, as I am a Gentleman and the first of my +Family--you shall pardon me, here--cuff me, cuff me soundly. + [_Kneels to her_. + + _Enter_ Gayman _richly drest_. + +_Gay_. This Love's a damn'd bewitching thing--Now though I should lose +my Assignation with my Devil, I cannot hold from seeing _Julia_ to +night: hah--there, and with a Fop at her Feet.--Oh Vanity of Woman! + [_Softly pulls her_. + +L. _Ful_. Oh, Sir, you're welcome from _Northamptonshire_. + +_Gay_. Hum--surely she knows the Cheat. [_Aside_. + +L. _Ful_. You are so gay, you save me, Sir, the labour of asking if your +Uncle be alive. + +_Gay_. Pray Heaven she have not found my Circumstances! +But if she have, Confidence must assist me-- [_Aside_. +--And, Madam, you're too gay for me to inquire +Whether you are that _Julia_ which I left you? + +L. _Ful_. Oh, doubtless, Sir-- + +_Gay_. But why the Devil do I ask--Yes, you are still the same; one of +those hoiting Ladies, that love nothing like Fool and Fiddle; Crouds of +Fops; had rather be publickly, though dully, flatter'd, than privately +ador'd: you love to pass for the Wit of the Company, by talking all +and loud. + +L. _Ful_. Rail on, till you have made me think my Virtue at so low Ebb, +it should submit to you. + +_Gay_. What--I'm not discreet enough; +I'll babble all in my next high Debauch, +Boast of your Favours, and describe your Charms +To every wishing Fool. + +L. _Ful_. Or make most filthy Verses of me-- +Under the name of _Cloris_--you _Philander_, +Who in leud Rhimes confess the dear Appointment; +What Hour, and where, how silent was the Night, +How full of Love your Eyes, and wishing mine. +Faith, no; if you can afford me a Lease of your Love, +Till the old Gentleman my Husband depart this wicked World, +I'm for the Bargain. + +Sir _Cau_. Hum--what's here, a young Spark at my Wife? + [_Goes about 'em_. + +_Gay_. Unreasonable _Julia_, is that all, +My Love, my Sufferings, and my Vows must hope? +Set me an Age--say when you will be kind, +And I will languish out in starving Wish: +But thus to gape for Legacies of Love, +Till Youth be past Enjoyment, +The Devil I will as soon--farewel. + [_Offers to go_. + +L. _Ful_. Stay, I conjure you stay. + +_Gay_. And lose my Assignation with my Devil. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Cau_. 'Tis so, ay, ay, 'tis so--and wise Men will perceive it; 'tis +here--here in my forehead, it more than buds; it sprouts, it flourishes. + +Sir _Feeb_. So, that young Gentleman has nettled him, stung him to the +quick: I hope he'll chain her up--the Gad-Bee's in his Quonundrum--in +Charity I'll relieve him--Come, my Lady _Fulbank_, the Night grows old +upon our hands; to dancing, to jiggiting--Come, shall I lead your +Ladyship? + +L. _Ful_. No, Sir, you see I am better provided-- + [_Takes_ Gayman's _hand_. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, no doubt on't, a Pox on him for a young handsome Dog. + + [_They dance all_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Very well, very well, now the Posset; and then--ods bobs, +and then-- + +_Dia_. And then we'll have t'other Dance. + +Sir _Feeb_. Away, Girls, away, and steal the Bride to Bed; they have +a deal to do upon their Wedding-nights; and what with the tedious +Ceremonies of dressing and undressing, the smutty Lectures of the Women, +by way of Instruction, and the little Stratagems of the young Wenches +--odds bobs, a Man's cozen'd of half his Night: Come, Gentlemen, one +Bottle, and then--we'll toss the Stocking. + + [_Exeunt all but L_. Ful. Bred, _who are talking, and_ Gayman. + +L. _Ful_. But dost thou think he'll come? + +_Bred_. I do believe so, Madam-- + +L. _Ful_. Be sure you contrive it so, he may not know whither, or to +whom he comes. + +_Bred_. I warrant you, Madam, for our Parts. + [_Exit_ Bredwel, _stealing out_ Gayman. + +L. _Ful_. How now, what, departing? + +_Gay_. You are going to the Bride-Chamber. + +L. _Ful_. No matter, you shall stay-- + +_Gay_. I hate to have you in a Croud. + +L. _Ful_. Can you deny me--will you not give me one lone hour i'th' +Garden? + +_Gay_. Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull kissing, +and part with the same Appetite we met--No, Madam; besides, I have +business-- + +L. _Ful_. Some Assignation--is it so indeed? + +_Gay_. Away, you cannot think me such a Traitor; 'tis more important +business-- + +L. _Ful_. Oh, 'tis too late for business--let to morrow serve. + +_Gay_. By no means--the Gentleman is to go out of Town. + +L. _Ful_. Rise the earlier then-- + +_Gay_.--But, Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously--sick--and should he +die-- + +L. _Ful_. 'Tis not a dying Uncle, I hope, Sir? + +_Gay_. Hum-- + +L. _Ful_. The Gentleman a dying, and to go out of Town to morrow? + +_Gay_. Ay--a--he goes--in a Litter--'tis his Fancy, Madam--Change of Air +may recover him. + +L. _Ful_. So may your change of Mistress do me, Sir--farewel. + [_Goes out_. + +_Gay_. Stay, _Julia_--Devil, be damn'd--for you shall tempt no more, +I'll love and be undone--but she is gone-- +And if I stay, the most that I shall gain +Is but a reconciling Look, or Kiss. +No, my kind Goblin-- + + _I'll keep my Word with thee, as the least Evil; + A tantalizing Woman's worse than Devil_. + + [_Exit_. + + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I. _Sir_ Feeble's _House_. + + + _The Second Song before the Entry_. + + A SONG made by Mr. _Cheek_. + + _No more, Lucinda, ah! expose no more + To the admiring World those conquering Charms: + In vain all day unhappy Men adore, + What the kind Night gives to my longing Arms. + Their vain Attempts can ne'er successful prove, + Whilst I so well maintain the Fort of Love. + + Yet to the World with so bewitching Arts, + Your dazling Beauty you around display, + And triumph in the Spoils of broken Hearts, + That sink beneath your feet, and croud your Way. + Ah! suffer now your Cruelty to cease, + And to a fruitless War prefer a Peace_. + + _Enter_ Ralph _with Light, Sir_ Feeble, _and_ Bellmour + +Sir _Feeb_. So, so, they're gone--Come, _Francis_, you shall have the +Honour of undressing me for the Encounter; but 'twill be a sweet one, +_Francis_. + +_Bel_. Hell take him, how he teazes me! [_Undressing all the while_. + +Sir _Feeb_. But is the young Rogue laid, _Francis_--is she stoln to Bed? +What Tricks the young Baggages have to whet a man's Appetite? + +_Bel_. Ay, Sir--Pox on him--he will raise my Anger up to Madness, and I +shall kill him to prevent his going to Bed to her. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Feeb_. A pise of those Bandstrings--the more haste the less speed. + +_Bel_. Be it so in all things, I beseech thee, _Venus_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Thy aid a little, _Francis_--oh, oh--thou choakest me, +'sbobs, what dost mean? [_Pinches him by the Throat_. + +_Bel_. You had so hamper'd 'em, Sir--the Devil's very mischievous +in me. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Come, come, quick, good _Francis_, adod, I'm as yare as a +Hawk at the young Wanton--nimbly, good _Francis_, untruss, untruss. + +_Bel_. Cramps seize ye--what shall I do? the near Approach distracts +me. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Feeb_. So, so, my Breeches, good _Francis_. But well, _Francis_, +how dost think I got the young Jade my Wife? + +_Bel_. With five hundred pounds a year Jointure, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. No, that wou'd not do, the Baggage was damnably in love with +a young Fellow they call _Bellmour_, a handsome young Rascal he was, +they say, that's truth on't; and a pretty Estate: but happening to kill +a Man he was forced to fly. + +_Bel_. That was great pity, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. Pity! hang him, Rogue, 'sbobs, and all the young Fellows in +the Town deserve it; we can never keep our Wives and Daughters honest +for rampant young Dogs; and an old Fellow cannot put in amongst 'em, +under being undone, with Presenting, and the Devil and all. But what +dost think I did? being damnably in love--I feign'd a Letter as from the +_Hague_, wherein was a Relation of this same _Bellmour's_ being hang'd. + +_Bel_. Is't possible, Sir, you cou'd devise such News? + +Sir _Feeb_. Possible, Man! I did it, I did it; she swooned at the News, +shut her self up a whole Month in her Chamber; but I presented high: she +sigh'd and wept, and swore she'd never marry: still I presented; she +hated, loathed, spit upon me; still, adod, I presented, till I presented +my self effectually in Church to her; for she at last wisely considered +her Vows were cancell'd, since _Bellmour_ was hang'd. + +_Bel_. Faith, Sir, this was very cruel, to take away his Fame, and then +his Mistress. + +Sir _Feeb_. Cruel! thou'rt an Ass, we are but even with the brisk +Rogues, for they take away our Fame, cuckold us, and take away our +Wives: so, so, my Cap, _Francis_. + +_Bel_. And do you think this Marriage lawful, Sir? + +Sir _Feeb_. Lawful! it shall be when I've had Livery and Seisin of her +Body--and that shall be presently Rogue,--quick--besides, this +_Bellmour_ dares as well be hang'd as come into _England_. + +_Bel_. If he gets his Pardon, Sir-- + +Sir _Feeb_. Pardon! no, no, I have took care for that, for I have, you +must know, got his Pardon already. + +_Bel_. How, Sir! got his Pardon, that's some amends for robbing him of +his Wife. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hold, honest _Francis_: What, dost think 'twas in kindness +to him! No, you Fool, I got his Pardon my self, that no body else should +have it, so that if he gets any body to speak to his Majesty for it, his +Majesty cries he has granted it; but for want of my appearance, he's +defunct, trust up, hang'd, _Francis_. + +_Bel_. This is the most excellent revenge I ever heard of. + +Sir _Feeb_. Ay, I learnt it of a great Politician of our Times. + +_Bel_. But have you got his Pardon?-- + +Sir _Feeb_. I've done't, I've done't; Pox on him, it cost me five +hundred pounds though: Here 'tis, my Solicitor brought it me this +Evening. [_Gives it him_. + +_Bel_. This was a lucky hit--and if it scape me, let me be hang'd by a +Trick indeed. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Feeb_. So, put it into my Cabinet,--safe, _Francis_, safe. + +_Bel_. Safe, I'll warrant you, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. My Gown, quick, quick,--t'other Sleeve, Man--so now my +Night-cap; well, I'll in, throw open my Gown to fright away the Women, +and jump into her Arms. + [_Exit Sir_ Feeble. + +_Bel_. He's gone, quickly, oh Love inspire me! + + _Enter a Footman_. + +_Foot_. Sir, my Master, Sir _Cautious Fulbank_, left his Watch on the +little Parlor-Table to night, and bid me call for't. + +_Bel_. Hah--the Bridegroom has it, Sir, who is just gone to Bed, it +shall be sent him in the Morning. + +_Foot_. 'Tis very well, Sir--your Servant-- + [_Exit_ Footman. + +_Bel_. Let me see--here is the Watch, I took it up to keep for him--but +his sending has inspir'd me with a sudden Stratagem, that will do better +than Force, to secure the poor trembling _Leticia_--who, I am sure, is +dying with her Fears. + + [_Exit_ Bellmour. + + + +SCENE II. _Changes to the Bed-chamber; _Leticia_ in an undressing by the +Women at the Table_. + + + _Enter to them Sir_ Feeble Fainwou'd. + +Sir _Feeb_. What's here? what's here? the prating Women still. Ods bobs, +what, not in Bed yet? for shame of Love, _Leticia_. + +_Let_. For shame of Modesty, Sir; you wou'd not have me go to Bed before +all this Company. + +Sir _Feeb_. What, the Women! why, they must see you laid, 'tis the +fashion. + +_Let_. What, with a Man? I wou'd not for the World. +Oh, _Bellmour_, where art thou with all thy promised aid? [_Aside_. + +_Dia_. Nay, Madam, we shou'd see you laid indeed. + +_Let_. First in my Grave, _Diana_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Ods bobs, here's a Compact amongst the Women--High Treason +against the Bridegroom--therefore, Ladies, withdraw, or, adod, I'll lock +you all in. + [_Throws open his Gown, they run all away, he locks the Door_. + +So, so, now we're alone, _Leticia_--off with this foolish Modesty, and +Night Gown, and slide into my Arms. + [_She runs from him_. +H'e', my little Puskin--what, fly me, my coy _Daphne_, + [_He pursues her. Knocking_. +Hah--who's that knocks--who's there?-- + +_Bel_. [_Within_.] 'Tis I, Sir, 'tis I, open the door presently. + +Sir _Feeb_. Why, what's the matter, is the House o-fire? + +_Bel_. [_Within_.] Worse, Sir, worse-- + + [_He opens the door, _Bellmour_ enters with the Watch in his hand_. + +_Let_. 'Tis _Bellmour's_ Voice! + +_Bel_. Oh, Sir, do you know this Watch? + +Sir _Feeb_. This Watch! + +_Bel_. Ay, Sir, this Watch? + +Sir _Feeb_. This Watch!--why, prithee, why dost tell me of a Watch? 'tis +Sir _Cautious Fulbank's_ Watch; what then, what a Pox dost trouble me +with Watches? [_Offers to put him out, he returns_. + +_Bel_. 'Tis indeed his Watch, Sir, and by this Token he has sent for +you, to come immediately to his House, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. What a Devil, art mad, _Francis_? or is his Worship mad, or +does he think me mad?--go, prithee tell him I'll come to him to morrow. + [_Goes to put him out_. + +_Bel_. To morrow, Sir! why all our Throats may be cut before to morrow. + +Sir _Feeb_. What sayst thou, Throat cut? + +_Bel_. Why, the City's up in Arms, Sir, and all the Aldermen are met at +_Guild-Hall_; some damnable Plot, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hah--Plot--the Aldermen met at _Guild-Hall!_--hum--why, let +'em meet, I'll not lose this Night to save the Nation. + +_Let_. Wou'd you to bed, Sir, when the weighty Affairs of State require +your Presence? + +Sir _Feeb_.--Hum--met at _Guild-Hall_;--my Clothes, my Gown again, +_Francis_, I'll out--out! what, upon my Wedding-night? No--I'll in. + [_Putting on his Gown pausing, pulls it off again_. + +_Let_. For shame, Sir, shall the Reverend Council of the City debate +without you? + +Sir _Feeb_. Ay, that's true, that's true; come truss again, _Francis_, +truss again--yet now I think on't, _Francis_, prithee run thee to the +Hall, and tell 'em 'tis my Wedding-night, d'ye see, _Francis_; and let +some body give my Voice for-- + +_Bel_. What, Sir? + +Sir _Feeb_. Adod, I cannot tell; up in Arms, say you! why, let 'em fight +Dog, fight Bear; mun, I'll to Bed--go-- + +_Let_. And shall his Majesty's Service and his Safety lie unregarded for +a slight Woman, Sir? + +Sir _Feeb_. Hum, his Majesty!--come, haste, _Francis_, I'll away, and +call _Ralph_, and the Footmen, and bid 'em arm; each Man shoulder his +Musket, and advance his Pike--and bring my Artillery Implements +quick--and let's away: Pupsey--b'u'y, Pupsey, I'll bring it a fine thing +yet before Morning, it may be--let's away: I shall grow fond, and forget +the business of the Nation--Come, follow me, _Francis_.-- + + [_Exit Sir_ Feeble, Bellmour _runs to_ Leticia. + +_Bel_. Now, my _Leticia_, if thou e'er didst Love, If ever thou +design'st to make me blest--Without delay fly this adulterous Bed. + +Sir _Feeb_. Why, _Francis_, where are you, Knave? + [_Sir _Feeb_. within_. + +_Bel_. I must be gone, lest he suspect us--I'll lose him, and return to +thee immediately--get thy self ready.-- + +_Let_. I will not fail, my Love. + + [_Exit_ Bellmour. + + _Old Man forgive me--thou the Aggressor art, + Who rudely forc'd the Hand without the Heart. + She cannot from the Paths of Honour rove, + Whose Guide's Religion, and whose End is Love_. + + [_Exit_. + + + +SCENE III. _Changes to a Wash-house, or Out-House_. + + _Enter with a Dark-lanthorn_ Bredwel _disguis'd like a Devil, + leading_ Gayman. + +_Bred_. Stay here till I give notice of your coming. + [_Exit_ Bredwel, _leaves his Dark-Lanthorn_. + +_Gay_. Kind Light, a little of your aid--now must I be peeping, though +my Curiosity should lose me all--hah--Zouns, what here--a Hovel or a +Hog-sty? hum, see the Wickedness of Man, that I should find no time to +swear in, but just when I'm in the Devil's Clutches. + + _Enter_ Pert, _as an old Woman, with a Staff_. + +_Old W_. Good Even to you, fair Sir. + +_Gay_. Ha--defend me; if this be she, I must rival the Devil, that's +certain. + +_Old W_. Come, young Gentleman, dare not you venture? + +_Gay_. He must be as hot as _Vesuvius_ that does--I shall never earn my +Morning's Present. + +_Old W_. What, do you fear a longing Woman, Sir? + +_Gay_. The Devil I do--this is a damn'd Preparation to Love. + +_Old W_. Why stand you gazing, Sir? A Woman's Passion is like the Tide, +it stays for no man when the hour is come-- + +_Gay_. I'm sorry I have took it at its Turning; I'm sure mine's ebbing +out as fast. + +_Old W_. Will you not speak, Sir--will you not on? + +_Gay_. I wou'd fain ask--a civil Question or two first. + +_Old W_. You know too much Curiosity lost Paradise. + +_Gay_. Why, there's it now. + +_Old W_. Fortune and Love invite you, if you dare follow me. + +_Gay_. This is the first thing in Petticoats that ever dar'd me in vain. +Were I but sure she were but human now--for sundry Considerations she +might down--but I will on-- + + [_She goes, he follows; both go out_. + + + +SCENE IV. _A Chamber in the Apartments of L. _Fulbank. + + + _Enter_ Old Woman _followed by_ Gayman _in the dark_. + + [_Soft Musick plays, she leaves him_. + +_Gay_.--Hah, Musick--and Excellent! + + SONG. + + _Oh! Love, that stronger art than Wine, + Pleasing Delusion, Witchery divine, + Want to be prized above all Wealth, + Disease that has more Joys than Health; + Though we blaspheme thee in our Pain, + And of thy Tyranny complain, + We all are bettered by thy Reign. + + What Reason never can bestow, + We to this useful Passion owe. + Love wakes the dull from sluggish Ease, + And learns a Clown the Art to please: + Humbles the Vain, kindles the Cold, + Makes Misers free, and Cowards bold. + 'Tis he reforms the Sot from Drink, + And teaches airy Fops to think. + + When full brute Appetite is fed, + And choak'd the Glutton lies, and dead; + Thou new Spirits dost dispense, + And fine'st the gross Delights of Sense. + Virtue's unconquerable Aid, + That against Nature can persuade; + And makes a roving Mind retire + Within the Bounds of just Desire. + Chearer of Age, Youth's kind Unrest, + And half the Heaven of the blest_. + +_Gay_. Ah, _Julia, Julia!_ if this soft Preparation +Were but to bring me to thy dear Embraces; +What different Motions wou'd surround my Soul, +From what perplex it now. + + _Enter Nymphs and Shepherds, and dance_. + + [_Then two dance alone. All go out but_ Pert _and a Shepherd_. + +--If these be Devils, they are obliging ones: +I did not care if I ventur'd on that last Female Fiend. + +Man sings. + + _Cease your Wonder, cease your Guess, + Whence arrives your happiness. + Cease your Wonder, cease your Pain, + Human Fancy is in vain_. + +Chorus. + + _'Tis enough, you once shall find, + Fortune may to Worth be kind_; [gives him Gold. + _And Love can leave off being blind_. + +Pert sings. + + _You, before you enter here + On this sacred Ring must swear_, + [Puts it on his Finger, holds his Hand. + _By the Figure which is round, + Your Passion constant and profound; + By the Adamantine Stone, + To be fixt to one alone: + + By the Lustre, which is true, + Ne'er to break your sacred Vow. + Lastly, by the Gold that's try'd, + For Love all Dangers to abide_. + +They all dance about him, while those same two sing. + +Man. _Once about him let us move, + To confirm him true to Love_. [bis. + +Pert. _Twice with mystick turning Feet, + Make him silent and discreet_. [bis. + +Man. _Thrice about him let us tread, + To keep him ever young in Bed_. [bis. + +Gives him another part. + +Man. _Forget_ Aminta's _proud Disdain; + Haste here, and sigh no more in vain, + The Joy of Love without the Pain_. + +Pert. _That God repents his former Slights, + And Fortune thus your Faith requites_. + +Both. _Forget_ Aminta's _proud Disdain; + Then taste, and sigh no more in vain, + The Joy of Love without the Pain, + The Joy of Love without the Pain_. + + [_Exeunt_ all Dancers. Looks on himself, and feels about him. + +_Gay_. What the Devil can all this mean? If there be a Woman in the +Case--sure I have not liv'd so bad a Life, to gain the dull Reputation +of so modest a Coxcomb, but that a Female might down with me, without +all this Ceremony. Is it care of her Honour?--that cannot be--this Age +affords none so nice: Nor Fiend nor Goddess can she be, for these I saw +were Mortal. No--'tis a Woman--I am positive. Not young nor handsom, for +then Vanity had made her glory to have been seen. No--since 'tis +resolved, a Woman--she must be old and ugly, and will not balk my Fancy +with her sight, but baits me more with this essential Beauty. + + _Well--be she young or old, Woman or Devil, + She pays, and I'll endeavour to be civil_. + + [_Exit_. + + + +SCENE V. _In the same House. The flat Scene of the Hall_. + + _After a Knocking, enter_ Bredwel _in his masking Habit, with + his Vizard in the one Hand, and a Light in t'other, in haste_. + +_Bred_. Hah, knocking so late at our Gate-- + [_Opens the door_. + + _Enter Sir_ Feeble _drest, and arm'd Cap-a-pee, with a broad + Waste-Belt stuck round with Pistols, a Helmet, Scarf, Buff-coat + and half Pike_. + +Sir _Feeb_. How now, how now, what's the matter here? + +_Bred_. Matter, what, is my Lady's innocent Intrigue found out?-- +Heavens, Sir, what makes you here in this warlike Equipage? + +Sir _Feeb_. What makes you in this showing Equipage, Sir? + +_Bred_. I have been dancing among some of my Friends. + +Sir _Feeb_. And I thought to have been fighting with some of my Friends. +Where's Sir _Cautious_, where's Sir _Cautious_? + +_Bred_. Sir _Cautious_--Sir, in Bed. + +Sir _Feeb_. Call him, call him--quickly, good _Edward_. + +_Bred_. Sure my Lady's Frolick is betray'd, and he comes to make +Mischief. However, I'll go and secure Mr. _Gayman_. + [_Exit_ Bredwel. + + _Enter Sir_ Cautious _and_ Dick _his Boy with Light_. + +_Dick_. Pray, Sir, go to Bed, here's no Thieves; all's still and well. + +Sir _Cau_. This last Night's misfortune of mine, _Dick_, has kept me +waking, and methought all night, I heard a kind of a silent Noise. I am +still afraid of Thieves; mercy upon me, to lose five hundred Guineas at +one clap, _Dick_.--Hah--bless me! what's yonder? Blow the great Horn, +_Dick_--Thieves--Murder, Murder! + +Sir _Feeb_. Why, what a Pox, are you mad? 'Tis I, 'tis I, man. + +Sir _Cau_. I, who am I? Speak--declare--pronounce. + +Sir _Feeb_. Your Friend, old _Feeble Fainwou'd_. + +Sir _Cau_. How, Sir _Feeble_! At this late hour, and on his Wedding-Night +--why, what's the matter, Sir--is it Peace or War with you? + +Sir _Feeb_. A Mistake, a Mistake, proceed to the business, good Brother, +for time you know is precious. + +Sir _Cau_. Some strange Catastrophe has happened between him and his +Wife to Night, and makes him disturb me thus-- [_Aside_. +--Come, sit, good Brother, and to the business as you say-- + + [_They sit one at one end of the Table, the other at the other; + _Dick_ sets down the Light and goes out--both sit gaping and + staring, and expecting when either should speak_. + +Sir _Feeb_. As soon as you please, Sir. +Lord, how wildly he stares! He's much disturb'd in's mind +--Well, Sir, let us be brief-- + +Sir _Cau_. As brief as you please, Sir--Well, Brother-- + [_Pausing still_. + +Sir _Feeb_. So, Sir. + +Sir _Cau_. How strangely he stares and gapes--some deep concern. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hum--hum-- + +Sir _Cau_. I listen to you, advance-- + +Sir _Feeb_. Sir? + +Sir _Cau_. A very distracted Countenance--pray Heaven he be not mad, +and a young Wife is able to make an old Fellow mad, that's the Truth +on't. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Sure 'tis something of his Lady--he's so loth to bring it out +--I am sorry you are thus disturb'd, Sir. + +Sir _Cau_. No disturbance to serve a Friend-- + +Sir _Feeb_. I think I am your Friend indeed, Sir _Cautious_, or I wou'd +not have been here upon my Wedding-Night. + +Sir _Cau_. His Wedding-Night--there lies his Grief, poor Heart! Perhaps +she has cuckolded him already-- [_Aside_. +--Well, come, Brother--many such things are done-- + +Sir _Feeb_. Done--hum--come, out with it; Brother--what troubles you to +Night? + +Sir _Cau_. Troubles me--why, knows he I am robb'd? [_Aside_. + +Sir _Feeb_. I may perhaps restore you to the Rest you've lost. + +Sir _Cau_. The Rest; why, have I lost more since? Why, know you then who +did it?--Oh, how I'd be reveng'd upon the Rascal! + +Sir _Feeb_. 'Tis--Jealousy, the old Worm that bites-- [_Aside_. +Who is it you suspect? + +Sir _Cau_. Alas, I know not whom to suspect, I wou'd I did; but if you +cou'd discover him--I wou'd so swinge him-- + +Sir _Feeb_. I know him--what, do you take me for a Pimp, Sir? I know +him--there's your Watch again, Sir; I'm your Friend, but no Pimp, +Sir-- + [_Rises in Rage_. + +Sir _Cau_. My Watch; I thank you, Sir--but why Pimp, Sir? + +Sir _Feeb_. Oh, a very thriving Calling, Sir,--and I have a young Wife +to practise with. I know your Rogues. + +Sir _Cau_. A young Wife!--'tis so, his Gentlewoman has been at +Hot-Cockles without her Husband, and he's Horn-mad upon't. I suspected +her being so close in with his Nephew--in a Fit with a Pox--[_Aside_.] +Come, come, Sir _Feeble_, 'tis many an honest Man's Fortune. + +Sir _Feeb_. I grant it, Sir--but to the business, Sir, I came for. + +Sir _Cau_. With all my Soul-- + + [_They sit gaping, and expecting when either should speak. + Enter_ Bredwel _and_ Gayman _at the door_. Bredwel _sees them, + and puts_ Gayman_ back again_. + +_Bred_. Hah--Sir _Feeble_, and Sir _Cautious_ there--what shall I do? +For this way we must pass, and to carry him back wou'd discover my Lady +to him, betray all, and spoil the Jest--retire, Sir, your Life depends +upon your being unseen. [_Go out_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Well, Sir, do you not know that I am married, Sir? and this +my Wedding Night? + +Sir _Cau_. Very good, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. And that I long to be in bed? + +Sir _Cau_. Very well, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. Very good, Sir, and very well, Sir--why then what the Devil +do I make here, Sir? [_Rises in a rage_. + +Sir _Cau_. Patience, Brother--and forward. + +Sir _Feeb_. Forward! lend me your hand, good Brother; let's feel your +Pulse; how has this Night gone with you? + +Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha--this is the oddest Quonudrum--sure he's mad--and +yet now I think on't, I have not slept to night, nor shall I ever sleep +again, till I have found the Villain that robb'd me. [_Weeps_. + +Sir _Feeb_. So, now he weeps--far gone--this Laughing and Weeping is a +very bad sign! [_Aside_.] Come, let me lead you to your Bed. + +Sir _Cau_. Mad, stark mad--no, now I'm up 'tis no matter--pray ease your +troubled Mind--I am your Friend--out with it--what, was it acted? or +but designed? + +Sir _Feeb_. How, Sir? + +Sir _Cau_. Be not asham'd, I'm under the same Premunire I doubt, little +better than a--but let that pass. + +Sir _Feeb_. Have you any Proof? + +Sir _Cau_. Proof of what, good Sir? + +Sir _Feeb_. Of what! why, that you're a Cuckold; Sir, a Cuckold, if +you'll ha't. + +Sir _Cau_. Cuckold! Sir, do ye know what ye say? + +Sir _Feeb_. What I say? + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, what you say, can you make this out? + +Sir _Feeb_. I make it out! + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir--if you say it, and cannot make it out, you're a-- + +Sir _Feeb_. What am I, Sir? What am I? + +Sir _Cau_. A Cuckold as well as my self, Sir; and I'll sue you for +_Scandalum Magnatum_; I shall recover swinging Damages with a City-Jury. + +Sir _Feeb_. I know of no such thing, Sir. + +Sir _Cau_. No, Sir? + +Sir _Feeb_. No, Sir. + +Sir _Cau_. Then what wou'd you be at, Sir? + +Sir _Feeb_. I be at, Sir! what wou'd you be at, Sir? + +Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha--why this is the strangest thing--to see an old +Fellow, a Magistrate of the City, the first Night he's married, forsake +his Bride and Bed, and come arm'd Cap-a-pee, like _Gargantua_, to +disturb another old Fellow, and banter him with a Tale of a Tub; and all +to be-cuckold him here--in plain _English_, what's your Business? + +Sir _Feeb_. Why, what the Devil's your Business, and you go to that? + +Sir _Cau_. My Business, with whom? + +Sir _Feeb_. With me, Sir, with me; what a Pox do you think I do here? + +Sir _Cau_. 'Tis that I wou'd be glad to know, Sir. + + _Enter _Dick. + +Sir _Feeb_. Here, _Dick_, remember I've brought back your Master's +Watch; next time he sends for me o'er Night, I'll come to him in +the Morning. + +Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha, I send for you! Go home and sleep, Sir--Ad, and +ye keep your Wife waking to so little purpose, you'll go near to be +haunted with a Vision of Horns. + + [_Exit_ Dick. + +Sir _Feeb_. Roguery, Knavery, to keep me from my Wife--Look ye, this was +the Message I receiv'd. + [_Tells him seemingly_. + + _Enter_ Bredwel _to the Door in a white Sheet like a Ghost, + speaking to_ Gayman _who stands within_. + +_Bred_. Now, Sir, we are two to two, for this way you must pass or be +taken in the Lady's Lodgings--I'll first adventure out to make you pass +the safer, and that he may not, if possible, see Sir _Cautious_, whom I +shall fright into a Trance, I am sure. +And Sir _Feeble_, the Devil's in't if he know him. [_Aside_. + +_Gay_. A brave kind Fellow this. + + _Enter_ Bredwel _stalking on as a Ghost by them_. + +Sir _Cau_. Oh--undone,--undone; help, help;--I'm dead, I'm dead. + [_Falls down on his Face; Sir_ Feeble _stares,--and stands still_. + +_Bred_. As I could wish. [_Aside, turns_. +Come on, thou ghastly thing, and follow me. + + _Enter_ Gayman _like a Ghost, with a Torch_. + +Sir _Cau_. Oh Lord, oh Lord! + +_Gay_. Hah!--old Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd_--why, where the Devil am I? +--'Tis he:--and be it where it will, I'll fright the old Dotard for +cozening my Friend of his Mistress. [_Stalks on_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Oh, guard me,--guard me--all ye Pow'rs! [_Trembling_. + +_Gay_. Thou call'st in vain, fond Wretch--for I am _Bellmour_, + + _Whom first thou robb'st of Fame and Life, + And then what dearer was,--his Wife_. + + [_Goes out, shaking his Torch at him_. + +Sir _Cau_. Oh Lord--oh Lord! + + _Enter L_. Fulbank _in an undress, and_ Pert _undrest. + +L. _Ful_. Heavens, what noise is this?--So he's got safe out I see--hah, +what thing art thou? [_Sees Sir _Feeble_ arm'd_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Stay, Madam, stay--'tis I, a poor trembling Mortal. + +L. _Ful_. Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd!_--rise,--are you both mad? + +Sir _Cau_. No, no,--Madam, we have seen the Devil. + +Sir _Feeb_. Ay, and he was as tall as the Monument. + +Sir _Cau_. With Eyes like a Beacon--and a Mouth,--Heaven bless us, like +_London_ Bridge at a full Tide. + +Sir _Feeb_. Ay, and roar'd as loud. + +L. _Ful_. Idle Fancies, what makes you from your Bed? and you, Sir, from +your Bride? + + _Enter_ Dick _with Sack_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Oh! that's the business of another day, a mistake only, +Madam. + +L. _Ful_. Away, I'm asham'd to see wise Men so weak; the Fantoms of the +Night, or your own Shadows, the Whimseys of the Brain for want of Rest, +or perhaps _Bredwel_, your Man--who being wiser than his Master, play'd +you this Trick to fright you both to Bed. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hum--adod, and that may be, for the young Knave when he let +me in to Night, was drest up for some Waggery-- + +Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha, 'twas even so, sure enough, Brother-- + +Sir _Feeb_. Ads bobs, but they frighted me at first basely--but I'll +home to Pupsey, there may be Roguery, as well as here--Madam, I ask your +Pardon, I see we're all mistaken. + +L. _Ful_. Ay, Sir _Feeble_, go home to your Wife. + + [_Ex. severally_. + + + +SCENE VI. _The Street_. + + + _Enter_ Bellmour _at the door, knocks, and enter to him + from the House_, Phillis. + +_Phil_. Oh, are you come, Sir? I'll call my Lady down. + +_Bel_. Oh, haste, the Minutes fly--leave all behind. +And bring _Leticia_ only to my Arms. + [_A noise of People_. +--Hah, what noise is that? 'Tis coming this way, +I tremble with my fears--hah, Death and the Devil, +'Tis he-- + + _Enter Sir_ Feeble _and his Men arm'd, goes to the door, knocks_. + +Ay, 'tis he, and I'm undone--what shall I do to kill him now? besides, +the Sin wou'd put me past all Hopes of pardoning. + +Sir _Feeb_. A damn'd Rogue to deceive me thus.-- + +_Bel_. Hah--see, by Heaven _Leticia_, Oh, we are ruin'd! + +Sir _Feeb_. Hum--what's here, two Women?-- + [_Stands a little off_. + + _Enter_ Leticia _and_ Phillis _softly, undrest, with a Box_. + +_Let_. Where are you, my best Wishes? Lord of my Vows--and Charmer of my +Soul? Where are you? + +_Bel_. Oh, Heavens!-- + [_Draws his Sword half-way_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hum, who's here? My Gentlewoman--she's monstrous kind of the +sudden. But whom is't meant to? [_Aside_. + +_Let_. Give me your hand, my Love, my Life, my All--Alas! where are you? + +Sir _Feeb_. Hum--no, no, this is not to me--I am jilted, cozen'd, +cuckolded, and so forth.-- + [_Groping, she takes hold of Sir_ Feeb. + +_Let_. Oh, are you here? indeed you frighted me with your Silence--here, +take these Jewels, and let us haste away. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hum--are you thereabouts, Mistress? was I sent away with a +Sham-Plot for this!--She cannot mean it to me. [_Aside_. + +_Let_. Will you not speak?--will you not answer me?--do you repent +already?--before Enjoyment are you cold and false? + +Sir _Feeb_. Hum, before Enjoyment--that must be me. Before Injoyment-- +Ay, ay, 'tis I--I see a little Prolonging a Woman's Joy, sets an Edge +upon her Appetite. [_Merrily_. + +_Let_. What means my Dear? shall we not haste away? + +Sir _Feeb_. Haste away! there 'tis again--No--'tis not me she means: +what, at your Tricks and Intrigues already?--Yes, yes, I am destin'd +a Cuckold-- + +_Let_. Say, am I not your Wife? can you deny me? + +Sir _Feeb_. Wife! adod, 'tis I she means--'tis I she means--[_Merrily_. + +_Let_. Oh _Bellmour, Bellmour_. + + [_Sir _Feeb_. starts back from her hands_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hum--what's that--_Bellmour_! + +_Let_. Hah! Sir _Feeble_!--he would not, Sir, have us'd me thus +unkindly. + +Sir _Feeb_. Oh--I'm glad 'tis no worse--_Bellmour_, quoth a! I thought +the Ghost was come again. + +_Phil_. Why did you not speak, Sir, all this while?--my Lady weeps with +your Unkindness. + +Sir _Feeb_. I did but hold my peace, to hear how prettily she prattled +Love: But, fags, you are naught to think of a young Fellow--ads bobs, +you are now. + +_Let_. I only say--he wou'd not have been so unkind to me. + +Sir _Feeb_. But what makes ye out at this Hour, and with these Jewels? + +_Phil_. Alas, Sir, we thought the City was in Arms, and packt up our +things to secure 'em, if there had been a necessity for Flight. For +had they come to plundering once, they wou'd have begun with the rich +Aldermen's Wives, you know, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. Ads bobs, and so they would--but there was no Arms, nor +Mutiny--where's _Francis_? + +_Bel_. Here, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. Here, Sir--why, what a story you made of a Meeting in the +Hall, and--Arms, and--a--the Devil of any thing was stirring, but a +couple of old Fools, that sat gaping and waiting for one another's +business-- + +_Bel_. Such a Message was brought me, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. Brought! thou'rt an Ass, _Francis_--but no more--come, come, +let's to bed-- + +_Let_. To Bed, Sir! what, by Day-light?--for that's hasting on--I wou'd +not for the World--the Night wou'd hide my Blushes--but the Day--wou'd +let me see my self in your Embraces. + +Sir _Feeb_. Embraces, in a Fiddlestick; why, are we not married? + +_Let_. 'Tis true, Sir, and Time will make me more familiar with you, but +yet my Virgin Modesty forbids it. I'll to _Diana's_ Chamber, the Night +will come again. + +Sir _Feeb_. For once you shall prevail; and this damn'd Jant has pretty +well mortified me:--a Pox of your Mutiny, _Francis_.--Come, I'll conduct +thee to _Diana_, and lock thee in, that I may have thee safe, Rogue.-- + + _We'll give young Wenches leave to whine and blush, + And fly those Blessings which--ads bobs, they wish_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I. _Sir _Feeble's_ House_. + + + _Enter Lady_ Fulbank, Gayman _fine, gently pulling her back + by the hand; and_ Ralph _meets 'em_. + +L. _Ful_. How now, _Ralph_--Let your Lady know I am come to wait on her. + + [_Exit _Ralph. + +_Gay_. Oh, why this needless Visit-- +Your Husband's safe, at least till Evening safe. +Why will you not go back, +And give me one soft hour, though to torment me? + +L. _Ful_. You are at leisure now, I thank you, Sir. +Last Night when I with all Love's Rhetorick pleaded, +And Heaven knows what last Night might have produced, +You were engag'd! False Man, I do believe it, +And I am satisfied you love me not. + [_Walks away in scorn_. + +_Gay_. Not love you! +Why do I waste my Youth in vain pursuit, +Neglecting Interest, and despising Power? +Unheeding and despising other Beauties. +Why at your feet are all my Fortunes laid, +And why does all my Fate depend on you? + +L. _Ful_. I'll not consider why you play the Fool, +Present me Rings and Bracelets; why pursue me; +Why watch whole Nights before my senseless Door, +And take such Pains to shew your self a Coxcomb. + +_Gay_. Oh! why all this? +By all the Powers above, by this dear Hand, +And by this Ring, which on this Hand I place, +On which I've sworn Fidelity to Love; +I never had a Wish or soft Desire +To any other Woman, +Since _Julia_ sway'd the Empire of my Soul. + +L. _Ful_. Hah, my own Ring I gave him last night. [_Aside_. +--Your Jewel, Sir, is rich: +Why do you part with things of so much value, +So easily, and so frequently? + +_Gay_. To strengthen the weak Arguments of Love. + +L. _Ful_. And leave your self undone? + +_Gay_. Impossible, if I am blest with _Julia_. + +L. _Ful_. Love's a thin Diet, nor will keep out Cold. +You cannot satisfy your Dunning Taylor, +To cry--I am in Love! +Though possible you may your Seamstress. + +_Gay_. Does ought about me speak such Poverty? + +L. _Ful_. I am sorry that it does not, since to maintain +This Gallantry, 'tis said you use base means, +Below a Gentleman. + +_Gay_. Who dares but to imagine it's a Rascal, +A Slave, below a beating--what means my _Julia_? + +L. _Ful_. No more dissembling, I know your Land is gone +--I know each Circumstance of all your Wants; +Therefore--as e'er you hope that I should love you ever-- +Tell me--where 'twas you got this Jewel, Sir. + +_Gay_. Hah--I hope 'tis no stol'n Goods; [_Aside_. +Why on the sudden all this nice examining? + +L. _Ful_. You trifle with me, and I'll plead no more. + +_Gay_. Stay--why--I bought it, Madam-- + +L. _Ful_. Where had you Money, Sir? You see I am +No Stranger to your Poverty. + +_Gay_. This is strange--perhaps it is a secret. + +L. _Ful_. So is my Love, which shall be kept from you. + [_Offers to go_. + +_Gay_. Stay, _Julia_--your Will shall be obey'd, [_Sighing_. +Though I had rather die than be obedient, +Because I know you'll hate me when 'tis told. + +L. _Ful_. By all my Vows, let it be what it will, +It ne'er shall alter me from loving you. + +_Gay_. I have--of late--been tempted-- +With Presents, Jewels, and large Sums of Gold. + +L. _Ful_. Tempted! by whom? + +_Gay_. The Devil, for ought I know. + +L. _Ful_. Defend me, Heaven! the Devil? +I hope you have not made a Contract with him. + +_Gay_. No, though in the Shape of Woman it appear'd. + +L. _Ful_. Where met you with it? + +_Gay_. By Magick Art I was conducted--I know not how, +To an inchanted Palace in the Clouds, +Where I was so attended-- +Young dancing, singing Fiends innumerable. + +L. _Ful_. Imagination all! + +_Gay_. But for the amorous Devil, the old _Proserpine_.-- + +L. _Ful_. Ay, she--what said she?-- + +_Gay_. Not a word: Heaven be prais'd, she was a silent Devil--but she +was laid in a Pavilion, all form'd of gilded Clouds, which hung by +Geometry, whither I was conveyed, after much Ceremony, and laid in Bed +with her; where with much ado, and trembling with my Fears--I forc'd my +Arms about her. + +L. _Ful_. And sure that undeceiv'd him. [_Aside_. + +_Gay_. But such a Carcase 'twas--deliver me--so rivell'd, lean and +rough--a Canvas Bag of wooden Ladles were a better Bed-fellow. + +L. _Ful_. Now though I know that nothing is more distant than I from +such a Monster--yet this angers me. Death! cou'd you love me and submit +to this? + +_Gay_. 'Twas that first drew me in-- +The tempting Hope of Means to conquer you, +Wou'd put me upon any dangerous Enterprize: +Were I the Lord of all the Universe, +I am so lost in Love, +For one dear Night to clasp you in my Arms, +I'd lavish all that World--then die with Joy. + +L. _Ful_. 'Slife, after all to seem deform'd, old, ugly-- + [_Walking in a fret_. + +_Gay_. I knew you would be angry when you heard it. + [_He pursues her in a submissive posture_. + + _Enter Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Noisey _and_ Bredwel. + +Sir _Cau_. How, what's here?--my Lady with the Spark that courted her +last Night?--hum--with her again so soon?--Well, this Impudence and +Importunity undoes more City-Wives than all their unmerciful Finery. + +_Gay_. But, Madam-- + +L. _Ful_. Oh, here's my Husband--you'd best tell him your Story--what +makes him here so soon?-- [_Angry_. + +Sir _Cau_. Me his Story! I hope he will not tell me he'as a mind to +cuckold me. + +_Gay_. A Devil on him, what shall I say to him? + +L. _Ful_. What, so excellent at Intrigues, and so dull at an Excuse? + [_Aside_. + +_Gay_. Yes, Madam, I shall tell him-- + + _Enter _Bellmour. + +L. _Ful_.--Is my Lady at leisure for a Visit, Sir? + +_Bel_. Always to receive your Ladyship. + + [_She goes out_. + +Sir _Cau_. With me, Sir, wou'd you speak? + +_Gay_. With you, Sir, if your name be _Fulbank_. + +Sir _Cau_. Plain _Fulbank_! methinks you might have had a Sirreverence, +under your Girdle, Sir; I am honoured with another Title, Sir-- + [_Goes talking to the rest_. + +_Gay_. With many, Sir, that very well become you-- + [_Pulls him a little aside_. +I've something to deliver to your Ear. + +Sir _Cau_. So, I'll be hang'd if he do not tell me, I'm a Cuckold now: I +see it in his Eyes. My Ear, Sir! I'd have you to know I scorn any man's +secrets, Sir;--for ought I know you may whisper Treason to me, Sir. +Pox on him, how handsom he is, I hate the sight of the young Stallion. + [_Aside_. + +_Gay_. I wou'd not be so uncivil, Sir, before all this Company. + +Sir _Cau_. Uncivil! Ay, ay, 'tis so, he cannot be content to cuckold, +but he must tell me so too. + +_Gay_. But since you will have it, Sir--you are--a Rascal--a most +notorious Villain, Sir, d'ye hear-- + +Sir _Cau_. Yes, yes, I do hear--and am glad 'tis no worse. [_Laughing_. + +_Gay_. Griping as Hell--and as insatiable--worse than a Brokering Jew, +not all the Twelve Tribes harbour such a damn'd Extortioner. + +Sir _Cau_. Pray, under favour, Sir, who are you? + [_Pulling off his Hat_. + +_Gay_. One whom thou hast undone-- + +Sir _Cau_. Hum--I'm glad of that however. [_Aside smiling_. + +_Gay_. Racking me up to a starving Want and Misery, +Then took advantages to ruin me. + +Sir _Cau_. So, and he'd revenge it on my Wife-- [_Aside smiling_. + +_Gay_. Do not you know one _Wasteall_, Sir? + + _Enter_ Ralph _with Wine, sets it on a Table_. + +Sir _Cau_. _Wasteall_--ha, ha, ha,--if you are any Friend to that poor +Fellow--you may return and tell him, Sir--d'ye hear--that the Mortgage +of two hundred pound a Year is this day out, and I'll not bait him an +hour, Sir--ha, ha, ha,--what, do you think to hector civil Magistrates? + +_Gay_. Very well, Sir, and is this your Conscience? + +Sir _Cau_. Conscience! what do you tell me of Conscience? Why, what a +noise is here--as if the undoing a young Heir were such a Wonder; ods so +I've undone a hundred without, half this ado. + +_Gay_. I do believe thee--and am come to tell you--I'll be none of that +Number--for this Minute I'll go and redeem it--and free myself from the +Hell of your Indentures. + +Sir _Cau_. How, redeem it! sure the Devil must help him then.--Stay, +Sir--stay--Lord, Sir, what need you put your self to that trouble? your +Land is in safe hands, Sir; come, come, sit down--and let us take a +Glass of Wine together, Sir-- + +_Bel_. Sir, my service to you. [_Drinks to him_. + +_Gay_. Your Servant, Sir. Wou'd I cou'd come to speak to _Bellmour_, +which I dare not do in publick, lest I betray him. I long to be resolv'd +where 'twas Sir _Feeble_ was last night--if it were he--by which I might +find out my invisible Mistress. + +_Noi_. Noble Mr. _Wasteall_-- + [_Salutes him, so does_ Bearjest. + +_Bel_. Will you please to sit, Sir? + +_Gay_. I have a little business, Sir--but anon I'll wait on you--your +Servant, Gentlemen--I'll to _Crap_ the Scrivener's. + [_Goes out_. + +Sir _Cau_. Do you know this _Wasteall_, Sir?-- [_To_ Noisey. + +_Noi_. Know him, Sir! ay, too well-- + +_Bea_. The World's well amended with him, Captain, since I lost my Money +to him and you at the _George_ in _White-Fryers_. + +_Noi_. Ay, poor Fellow--he's sometimes up, and sometimes down, as the +Dice favour him-- + +_Bea_. Faith, and that's pity; but how came he so fine o'th' sudden? +'Twas but last week he borrowed eighteen pence of me on his Waste-Belt +to pay his Dinner in an Ordinary. + +_Bel_. Were you so cruel, Sir, to take it? + +_Noi_. We are not all one Man's Children; faith, Sir, we are here to +Day, and gone to Morrow-- + +Sir _Cau_. I say 'twas done like a wise Man, Sir; but under favour, +Gentlemen, this _Wasteall_ is a Rascal-- + +_Noi_. A very Rascal, Sir, and a most dangerous Fellow--he cullies in +your Prentices and Cashiers to play--which ruins so many o'th' young +Fry i'th' City-- + +Sir _Cau_. Hum--does he so--d'ye hear that, _Edward_? + +_Noi_. Then he keeps a private Press, and prints your _Amsterdam_ and +_Leyden_ Libels. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, and makes 'em too, I'll warrant him; a dangerous Fellow-- + +_Noi_. Sometimes he begs for a lame Soldier with a wooden Leg. + +_Bea_. Sometimes as a blind Man, sells Switches in _New-Market_ Road. + +_Noi_. At other times he runs the Country like a Gipsey--tells Fortunes +and robs Hedges, when he's out of Linen. + +Sir _Cau_. Tells Fortunes too!--nay, I thought he dealt with the Devil +--Well, Gentlemen, you are all wide o' this Matter--for to tell you +the Truth--he deals with the Devil, Gentlemen +--otherwise he could never have redeem'd his Land. [Aside. + +_Bel_. How, Sir, the Devil! + +Sir _Cau_. I say the Devil; Heaven bless every wise Man from the Devil. + +_Bea_. The Devil, sha! there's no such Animal in Nature; I rather think +he pads. + +_Noi_. Oh, Sir, he has not Courage for that--but he's an admirable +Fellow at your Lock. + +Sir _Cau_. Lock! My Study-Lock was pickt--I begin to suspect him-- + +_Bea_. I saw him once open a Lock with the Bone of a Breast of Mutton, +and break an Iron Bar asunder with the Eye of a Needle. + +Sir _Cau_. Prodigious!--well, I say the Devil still. + + _Enter Sir_ Feeble. + +Sir _Feeb_. Who's this talks of the Devil?--a Pox of the Devil, I say, +this last night's Devil has so haunted me-- + +Sir _Cau_. Why, have you seen it since, Brother? + +Sir _Feeb_. In Imagination, Sir. + +_Bel_. How, Sir, a Devil? + +Sir _Feeb_. Ay, or a Ghost. + +_Bel_. Where, good Sir? + +_Bea_. Ay, where? I'd travel a hundred Mile to see a Ghost-- + +_Bel_. Sure, Sir, 'twas Fancy. + +Sir _Feeb_. If 'twere a Fancy, 'twas a strong one; and Ghosts and Fancy +are all one if they can deceive. I tell you--if ever I thought in my +Life--I thought I saw a Ghost--Ay, and a damnable impudent Ghost too; he +said he was a--a Fellow here--they call _Bellmour_. + +_Bel_. How, Sir! + +_Bea_. Well, I wou'd give the world to see the Devil, provided he were a +civil affable Devil, such an one as _Wasteall's_ Acquaintance is-- + +Sir _Cau_. He can show him too soon, it may be. I'm sure as civil as he +is, he helps him to steal my Gold, I doubt--and to be sure--Gentlemen, +you say he's a Gamester--I desire when he comes anon, that you wou'd +propose to sport a Dye, or so--and we'll fall to play for a Teaster, or +the like--and if he sets any money, I shall go near to know my own Gold, +by some remarkable Pieces amongst it; and if he have it, I'll hang him, +and then all his six hundred a Year will be my own, which I have +in Mortgage. + +_Bea_. Let the Captain and I alone to top upon him--mean time, Sir, I +have brought my Musick, to entertain my Mistress with a Song. + +Sir _Feeb_. Take your own methods, Sir--they are at leisure--while we go +drink their Healths within. Adod, I long for night, we are not half in +kelter, this damn'd Ghost will not out of my Head yet. + + [_Exeunt all but_ Bellmour. + +_Bel_. Hah--a Ghost! what can he mean? A Ghost, and _Bellmour's_! +--Sure my good Angel, or my Genius, +In pity of my Love, and of _Leticia_-- +But see _Leticia_ comes, but still attended-- + + _Enter_ Leticia, _Lady_ Fulbank, Diana. + +--Remember--oh, remember to be true? + [Aside to her, passing by goes out. + +L. _Ful_. I was sick to know with what Christian Patience you bore the +Martyrdom of this Night. + +_Let_. As those condemn'd bear the last Hour of Life. A short Reprieve I +had--and by a kind Mistake, _Diana_ only was my Bedfellow-- [_Weeps_. + +_Dia_. And I wish for your Repose you ne'er had seen my Father. + [_Weeps_. + +_Let_. And so do I, I fear he has undone me-- + +_Dia_. And me, in breaking of his word with _Bredwel_-- + +L. _Ful_.--So--as _Trincolo_ says, wou'd you were both hang'd for me, +for putting me in mind of my Husband. For I have e'en no better luck +than either of you--Let our two Fates warn your approaching one: I +love young _Bredwel_ and must plead for him. + +_Dia_. I know his Virtue justifies my Choice: +But Pride and Modesty forbids I shou'd unlov'd pursue him. + +_Let_. Wrong not my Brother so, who dies for you-- + +_Dia_. Cou'd he so easily see me given away, +Without a Sigh at parting? +For all the day a Calm was in his Eyes, +And unconcern'd he look'd and talk'd to me; +In dancing never prest my willing Hand, +Nor with a scornful Glance reproach'd my Falshood. + +_Let_. Believe me, that Dissembling was his Master-piece. + +_Dia_. Why should he fear, did not my Father promise him? + +_Let_. Ay, that was in his wooing time to me: +But now 'tis all forgotten-- + [_Musick at the door_. + + _After which enter_ Bearjest _and_ Bredwel. + +L. _Ful_. How now, Cousin! Is this high piece of Gallantry from you? + +_Bea_. Ay, Madam, I have not travel'd for nothing-- + +L. _Ful_. I find my Cousin is resolv'd to conquer, he assails with all +his Artillery of Charms; we'll leave him to his success, Madam.-- + + [_Ex_. Leticia _and L_. Fulbank. + +_Bea_. Oh Lord, Madam, you oblige me--look, _Ned_, you had a mind to +have a full view of my Mistress, Sir, and--here she is. + [_He stands gazing_. +Go, salute her--look how he stands now; what a sneaking thing is a +Fellow who has never travel'd and seen the World!--Madam--this is a very +honest Friend of mine, for all he looks so simply. + +_Dia_. Come, he speaks for you, Sir. + +_Bea_. He, Madam! though he be but a Banker's Prentice, Madam, he's as +pretty a Fellow of his Inches as any i'th' City--he has made love in +Dancing-Schools, and to Ladies of Quality in the middle Gallery, and +shall joke ye--and repartee with any Fore-man within the Walls--prithee +to her--and commend me, I'll give thee a new Point Crevat. + +_Dia_. He looks as if he cou'd not speak to me. + +_Bea_. Not speak to you! yes, Gad, Madam, and do any thing to you too. + +_Dia_. Are you his Advocate, Sir? [_In scorn_. + +_Bea_. For want of a better-- + [_Stands behind him, pushing him on_. + +_Bred_. An Advocate for Love I am, +And bring you such a Message from a Heart-- + +_Bea_. Meaning mine, dear Madam. + +_Bred_. That when you hear it, you will pity it. + +_Bea_. Or the Devil's in her-- + +_Dia_. Sir, I have many Reasons to believe, +It is my Fortune you pursue, not Person. + +_Bea_. There is something in that, I must confess. [_Behind him_. +But say what you will, _Ned_. + +_Bred_. May all the Mischiefs of despairing Love Fall on me if it be. + +_Bea_. That's well enough-- + +_Bred_. No, were you born an humble Village-Maid, +That fed a Flock upon the neighbouring Plain; +With all that shining Vertue in your Soul, +By Heaven, I wou'd adore you--love you--wed you-- +Though the gay World were lost by such a Nuptial. + [Bear. _looks on him_. +--This--I wou'd do, were I my Friend the Squire + [_Recollecting_. + +_Bea_. Ay, if you were me--you might do what you pleas'd; but I'm of +another mind. + +_Dia_. Shou'd I consent, my Father is a Man whom Interest sways, not +Honour; and whatsoever Promises he 'as made you, he means to break 'em +all, and I am destin'd to another. + +_Bea_. How, another--his Name, his Name, Madam--here's _Ned_ and I fear +ne'er a single Man i'th' Nation, What is he--what is he?-- + +_Dia_. A Fop, a Fool, a beaten Ass--a Blockhead. + +_Bea_. What a damn'd Shame's this, that Women shou'd be sacrificed to +Fools, and Fops must run away with Heiresses--whilst we Men of Wit and +Parts dress and dance, and cock and travel for nothing but to be tame +Keepers. + +_Dia_. But I, by Heaven, will never be that Victim: But where my Soul is +vow'd, 'tis fix'd for ever. + +_Bred_. Are you resolv'd, are you confirm'd in this? Oh my _Diana_, +speak it o'er again. [_Runs to her, and embraces her_. +Bless me, and make me happier than a Monarch. + +_Bea_. Hold, hold, dear _Ned_--that's my part, I take it. + +_Bred_. Your Pardon, Sir, I had forgot my self. +--But time is short--what's to be done in this? + +_Bea_. Done! I'll enter the House with Fire and Sword, d'ye see, not +that I care this--but I'll not be fob'd off--what, do they take me for +a Fool--an Ass? + +_Bred_. Madam, dare you run the risk of your Father's Displeasure, and +run away with the Man you love? + +_Dia_. With all my Soul-- + +_Bea_. That's hearty--and we'll do it--_Ned_ and I here--and I love an +Amour with an Adventure in't like _Amadis de Gaul_--Harkye, _Ned_, get a +Coach and six ready to night when 'tis dark, at the back Gate-- + +_Bred_. And I'll get a Parson ready in my Lodging, to which I have a Key +through the Garden, by which we may pass unseen. + +_Bea_. Good--Mun, here's Company-- + + _Enter_ Gayman _with his Hat and Money in't, Sir_ Cautious + _in a rage, Sir_ Feeble, _Lady_ Fulbank, Leticia, _Captain_ + Noisey, Bellmour. + +Sir _Cau_. A hundred Pound lost already! Oh Coxcomb, old Coxcomb, and +a wise Coxcomb--to turn Prodigal at my Years, why, I was bewitcht! + +Sir _Feeb_. Shaw, 'twas a Frolick, Sir, I have lost a hundred Pound as +well as you. My Lady has lost, and your Lady has lost, and the rest-- +what, old Cows will kick sometimes, what's a hundred Pound? + +Sir _Cau_. A hundred Pound! why, 'tis a sum, Sir--a sum--why, what the +Devil did I do with a Box and Dice! + +L. _Ful_. Why, you made a shift to lose, Sir? And where's the harm of +that? We have lost, and he has won; anon it may be your Fortune. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, but he could never do it fairly, that's certain. Three +hundred Pound! why, how came you to win so unmercifully, Sir? + +_Gay_. Oh, the Devil will not lose a Gamester of me, you see, Sir. + +Sir _Cau_. The Devil!--mark that, Gentlemen-- + +_Bea_. The Rogue has damn'd luck sure, he has got a Fly-- + +Sir _Cau_. And can you have the Conscience to carry away all our Money, +Sir? + +_Gay_. Most assuredly, unless you have the courage to retrieve it. I'll +set it at a Throw, or any way: what say you, Gentlemen? + +Sir _Feeb_. Ods bobs, you young Fellows are too hard for us every way, +and I'm engag'd at an old Game with a new Gamester here, who will +require all an old Man's stock. + +L. _Ful_. Come, Cousin, will you venture a Guinea? Come, Mr. _Bredwel_. + +_Gay_. Well, if no body dare venture on me, I'll send away my Cash-- + + [_They all go to play at the Table, but Sir_ Cau. + _Sir_ Feeb. _and_ Gay. + +Sir _Cau_. Hum--must it all go?--a rare sum, if a Man were but sure the +Devil wou'd but stand Neuter now-- [Aside. +--Sir, I wish I had any thing but ready Money to stake: three hundred +Pound--a fine Sum! + +_Gay_. You have Moveables, Sir, Goods--Commodities-- + +Sir _Cau_. That's all one, Sir; that's Money's worth, Sir: but if I had +any thing that were worth nothing-- + +_Gay_. You wou'd venture it,--I thank you, Sir,--I wou'd your Lady were +worth nothing-- + +Sir _Cau_. Why, so, Sir? + +_Gay_. Then I wou'd set all this against that Nothing. + +Sir _Cau_. What, set it against my Wife? + +_Gay_. Wife, Sir! ay, your Wife-- + +Sir _Cau_. Hum, my Wife against three hundred Pounds! What, all my Wife, +Sir? + +_Gay_. All your Wife! Why, Sir, some part of her wou'd serve my turn. + +Sir _Cau_. Hum--my Wife--why, if I shou'd lose, he cou'd not have the +Impudence to take her. [Aside. + +_Gay_. Well, I find you are not for the Bargain, and so I put up-- + +Sir _Cau_. Hold, Sir--why so hasty--my Wife? no--put up your Money, +Sir--what, lose my Wife for three hundred Pounds!-- + +_Gay_. Lose her, Sir!--why, she shall be never the worse for my wearing, +Sir--the old covetous Rogue is considering on't, I think--What say you +to a Night? I'll set it to a Night--there's none need know it, Sir. + +Sir _Cau_. Hum--a Night!--three hundred Pounds for a Night! why, what a +lavish Whore-master's this! We take Money to marry our Wives, but very +seldom part with 'em, and by the Bargain get Money--For a Night, say +you?--Gad, if I shou'd take the Rogue at his word, 'twou'd be a pure +Jest. [Aside. + +Sir _Feeb_. You are not mad, Brother. + +Sir _Cau_. No, but I'm wise--and that's as good; let me consider.-- + +Sir _Feeb_. What, whether you shall be a Cuckold or not? + +Sir _Cau_. Or lose three hundred Pounds--consider that. A Cuckold!--why, +'tis a word--an empty sound--'tis Breath--'tis Air--'tis nothing:--but +three hundred Pounds--Lord, what will not three hundred Pounds do? You +may chance to be a Cuckold for nothing, Sir-- + +Sir _Feeb_. It may be so--but she shall do't discretly then. + +Sir _Cau_. Under favour, you're an Ass, Brother; this is the discreetest +way of doing it, I take it. + +Sir _Feeb_. But wou'd a wise man expose his Wife? + +Sir _Cau_. Why, _Cato_ was a wiser Man than I, and he lent his Wife to a +young Fellow they call'd _Hortensius_, as Story says; and can a wise Man +have a better Precedent than _Cato_? + +Sir _Feeb_. I say, _Cato_ was an Ass, Sir, for obliging any young Rogue of +'em all. + +Sir _Cau_. But I am of _Cato's_ mind. Well, a single Night you say. + +_Gay_. A single Night--to have--to hold--possess--and so forth, at +discretion. + +Sir _Cau_. A Night--I shall have her safe and sound i'th' Morning. + +Sir _Feeb_. Safe, no doubt on't--but how sound.-- + +_Gay_. And for Non-performance, you shall pay me three hundred Pounds, +I'll forfeit as much if I tell-- + +Sir _Cau_. Tell?--why, make your three hundred pounds six hundred, and +let it be put into the _Gazet_, if you will, Man.--But it's a Bargain? + +_Gay_. Done--Sir Feeble shall be witness--and there stands my Hat. + + [_Puts down his Hat of Money, and each of em take a Box and Dice, + and kneel on the Stage, the rest come about 'em_. + +Sir _Cau_. He that comes first to One and thirty wins-- + + [_They throw and count_. + +L. _Ful_. What are you playing for? + +Sir _Feeb_. Nothing, nothing--but a Trial of Skill between an old Man +and a Young--and your Ladyship is to be Judge. + +L. _Ful_. I shall be partial, Sir. + +Sir _Cau_. Six and five's Eleven-- + [_Throws, and pulls the Hat towards him_. + +_Gay_. Cater Tray--Pox of the Dice-- + +Sir _Cau_. Two fives--one and twenty-- + [_Sets up, pulls the Hat nearer_. + +_Gay_. Now, Luck--Doublets of sixes--nineteen. + +Sir _Cau_. Five and four--thirty-- + [_Draws the Hat to him_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Now if he wins it, I'll swear he has a Fly indeed--'tis +impossible without Doublets of sixes-- + +_Gay_, Now Fortune smile--and for the future frown. [_Throws_. + +Sir _Cau_.--Hum--two sixes-- + [_Rises and looks dolefully round_. + +L. _Ful_. How now? what's the matter you look so like an Ass, what have +you lost? + +Sir _Cau_. A Bauble--a Bauble--'tis not for what I've lost--but because +I have not won-- + +Sir _Feeb_. You look very simple, Sir--what think you of _Cato_ now? + +Sir _Cau_. A wise Man may have his failings-- + +L. _Ful_. What has my Husband lost?-- + +Sir _Cau_. Only a small parcel of Ware that lay dead upon my hands, +Sweet-heart. + +_Gay_. But I shall improve 'em, Madam, I'll warrant you. + +L. _Ful_. Well, since 'tis no worse, bring in your fine Dancer, +Cousin, you say you brought to entertain your Mistress with. + + [Bearjest _goes out_. + +_Gay_. Sir, you'll take care to see me paid to Night? + +Sir _Cau_. Well, Sir--but my Lady, you must know, Sir, has the common +frailties of her Sex, and will refuse what she even longs for, if +persuaded to't by me. + +_Gay_. 'Tis not in my Bargain to sollicit her, Sir, you are to procure +her--or three hundred pounds, Sir; chuse you whether. + +Sir _Cau_. Procure her! with all my soul, Sir; alas, you mistake my +honest meaning, I scorn to be so unjust as not to see you a-bed +together; and then agree as well as you can, I have done my part--In +order to this, Sir--get but your self conveyed in a Chest to my house, +with a Direction upon't for me; and for the rest-- + +_Gay_. I understand you. + +Sir _Feeb_. _Ralph_, get supper ready. + + _Enter_ Bea. _with Dancers; all go out but Sir_ Cautious. + +Sir _Cau_. Well, I must break my Mind, if possible, to my Lady--but if +she shou'd be refractory now--and make me pay Three hundred Pounds--why, +sure she won't have so little Grace--Three hundred Pounds sav'd, is +three hundred pounds got--by our account--Cou'd All-- + + _Who of this City-Privilege are free, + Hope to be paid for Cuckoldom like me; + Th'unthriving Merchant, whom gray Hair adorns, + Before all Ventures wou'd ensure his Horns; + For thus, while he but lets spare Rooms to hire, + His Wife's cracked Credit keeps his own entire_. + + [_Exit_. + + + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I. _Sir_ Cautious _his House_. + + + _Enter_ Bellmour _alone, sad_. + +_Bel_. The Night is come, oh my _Leticia_! +The longing Bridegroom hastens to his Bed; +Whilst she with all the languishment of Love, +And sad Despair, casts her fair Eyes on me, +Which silently implore, I would deliver her. +But how! ay, there's the Question--hah-- [_Pausing_. +I'll get my self hid in her Bed-chamber-- +And something I will do--may serve us yet-- +If all my Arts should fail--I'll have recourse [_Draws a dagger_. +To this--and bear _Leticia_ off by force. +--But see she comes-- + + _Enter Lady_ Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious, _Sir_ Feeble, + Leticia, Bearjest, Noisey, Gayman. _Exit_ Bellmour. + +Sir _Feeb_. Lights there, _Ralph_. +And my Lady's Coach there-- + + [Bearjest _goes to_ Gayman. + +_Bea_. Well, Sir, remember you have promised to grant me my diabolical +Request, in shewing me the Devil-- + +_Gay_. I will not fail you, Sir. + +L. _Ful_. Madam, your Servant; I hope you'll see no more Ghosts, Sir +_Feeble_. + +Sir _Feeb_. No more of that, I beseech you, Madam: +Prithee, Sir _Cautious_, take away your Wife--Madam, your Servant-- + [_All go out after the Light_. +--Come, _Lette, Lette_; hasten, Rogue, hasten to thy Chamber; away, +here be the young Wenches coming-- + [_Puts her out, he goes out_. + + _Enter_ Diana, _puts on her Hood and Scarf_. + +_Dia_. So--they are gone to Bed; and now for _Bredwel_ +--the Coach waits, and I'll take this opportunity. + + _Father, farewell--if you dislike my course, + Blame the old rigid Customs of your Force_. + + [_Goes out_. + + + +SCENE II. _A Bed-chamber_. + + + _Enter Sir_ Feeble, Leticia, _and_ Phillis. + +_Let_. Ah, _Phillis_! I am fainting with my Fears, +Hast thou no comfort for me? + + [_He undresses to his Gown_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Why, what art doing there--fiddle fadling--adod, you young +Wenches are so loth to come to--but when your hand's in, you have no +mercy upon us poor Husbands. + +_Let_. Why do you talk so, Sir? + +Sir _Feeb_. Was it anger'd at the Fool's Prattle? tum a-me, tum a-me, +I'll undress it, effags, I will--Roguy. + +_Let_. You are so wanton, Sir, you make me blush--I will not go to bed, +unless you'll promise me-- + +Sir _Feeb_. No bargaining, my little Hussey--what, you'll tie my hands +behind me, will you? + [_She goes to the Table_. + +_Let_.--What shall I do?--assist me, gentle Maid, +Thy Eyes methinks put on a little hope. + +_Phil_. Take Courage, Madam--you guess right--be confident. + +Sir _Feeb_. No whispering, Gentlewoman--and putting Tricks into her +head; that shall not cheat me of another Night--Look on that silly +little round Chitty-face--look on those smiling roguish loving Eyes +there--look--look how they laugh, twire, and tempt--he, Rogue--I'll +buss 'em there, and here, and every where--ods bods--away, this is +fooling and spoiling of a Man's Stomach, with a bit here, and a bit +there--to Bed--to Bed-- + + [_As she is at the Toilet, he looks over her shoulder, + and sees her Face in the Glass_. + +_Let_. Go you first, Sir, I will but stay to say my Prayers, +which are that Heaven wou'd deliver me. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Say thy Prayers!--What, art thou mad! Prayers upon thy +Wedding-night! a short Thanksgiving or so--but Prayers quoth a--'Sbobs, +you'll have time enough for that, I doubt-- + +_Le_. I am asham'd to undress before you, Sir; go to Bed-- + +Sir _Feeb_. What, was it asham'd to shew its little white Foots, and its +little round Bubbies--well, I'll go, I'll go--I cannot think on't, no I +cannot-- + + [_Going towards the Bed_, Bellmour _comes forth from between + the Curtains, his Coat off, his Shirt bloody, a Dagger in his + hand, and his Disguise off_. + +_Bel_. Stand-- + +Sir _Feeb_. Ah-- + +_Let_. and _Phil_. [_squeak_]--Oh, Heavens! +--why, is it _Bellmour_? [_Aside to_ Phil. + +_Bel_. Go not to Bed, I guard this sacred Place, +And the Adulterer dies that enters here. + +Sir _Feeb_. Oh--why do I shake?--sure I'm a Man, what art thou? + +_Bel_. I am the wrong'd, the lost and murder'd _Bellmour_. + +Sir _Feeb_. O Lord! it is the same I saw last night--Oh!--hold thy +dread Vengeance--pity me, and hear me--Oh! a Parson--a Parson--what +shall I do--Oh! where shall I hide my self? + +_Bel_. I'th' utmost Borders of the Earth I'll find thee-- +Seas shall not hide thee, nor vast Mountains guard thee: +Even in the depth of Hell I'll find thee out, +And lash thy filthy and adulterous Soul. + +Sir _Feeb_. Oh! I am dead, I'm dead; will no Repentence save me? 'twas +that young Eye that tempted me to sin; Oh!-- + +_Bel_. See, fair Seducer, what thou'st made me do; +Look on this bleeding Wound, it reach'd my Heart, +To pluck my dear tormenting Image thence, +When News arriv'd that thou hadst broke thy Vow. + +Sir _Feeb_. Oh Lord! oh! I'm glad he's dead though. + +_Let_. Oh, hide that fatal Wound, my tender Heart faints with a Sight +so horrid! [_Seems to Weep_. + +Sir _Feeb_. So, she'll clear her self, and leave me in the Devil's +Clutches. + +_Bel_. You've both offended Heaven, and must repent or die. + +Sir _Feeb_. Ah,--I do confess I was an old Fool,--bewitcht with Beauty, +besotted with Love, and do repent most heartily. + +_Bel_. No, you had rather yet go on in Sin: +Thou wou'dst live on, and be a baffled Cuckold. + +Sir _Feeb_. Oh, not for the World, Sir! I am convinc'd and mortifi'd. + +_Bel_. Maintain her fine, undo thy Peace to please her, and still be +Cuckol'd on,--believe her,--trust her, and be Cuckol'd still. + +Sir _Feeb_. I see my Folly--and my Age's Dotage--and find the Devil was +in me--yet spare my Age--ah! spare me to repent. + +_Bel_. If thou repent'st, renounce her, fly her sight;-- +Shun her bewitching Charms, as thou wou'dst Hell, +Those dark eternal Mansions of the dead-- +Whither I must descend. + +Sir _Feeb_. Oh--wou'd he were gone!-- + +_Bel_. Fly--be gone--depart, vanish for ever from her to some more safe +and innocent Apartment. + +Sir _Feeb_. Oh, that's very hard!-- + + [_He goes back trembling_, Bellmour _follows in with + his Dagger up; both go out_. + +_Let_. Blest be this kind Release, and yet methinks it grieves me to +consider how the poor old Man is frighted. + + [Bellmour _re-enters, puts on his Coat_. + +_Bel_.--He's gone, and lock'd himself into his Chamber-- +And now, my dear _Leticia_, let us fly-- + + _Despair till now did my wild Heart invade, + But pitying Love has the rough Storm allay'd_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE III. _Sir_ Cautious _his Garden_. + + _Enter two Porters and_ Rag, _bearing_ Gayman _in a Chest; + set it down, he comes forth with a Dark-lanthorn_. + +_Gay_. Set down the Chest behind yon hedge of Roses--and then put on +those Shapes I have appointed you--and be sure you well-favour'dly bang +both _Bearjest_ and _Noisey_, since they have a mind to see the Devil. + +_Rag_. Oh, Sir, leave 'em to us for that; and if we do not play the +Devil with 'em, we deserve they shou'd beat us. But, Sir, we are in Sir +_Cautious_ his Garden, will he not sue us for a Trespass? + +_Gay_. I'll bear you out; be ready at my Call. + + [_Exeunt_. + +--Let me see--I have got no ready stuff to banter with--but no matter, +any Gibberish will serve the Fools--'tis now about the hour of Ten--but +Twelve is my appointed lucky Minute, when all the Blessings that my Soul +could wish, shall be resign'd to me. + + _Enter_ Bredwel. + +--Hah! who's there? _Bredwel_? + +_Bred_. Oh, are you come, Sir--and can you be so kind to a poor Youth, +to favour his Designs, and bless his Days? + +_Gay_. Yes, I am ready here with all my Devils, both to secure you your +Mistress, and to cudgel your Captain and Squire, for abusing me behind +my Back so basely. + +_Bred_. 'Twas most unmanly, Sir, and they deserve it--I wonder that they +come not. + +_Gay_. How durst you trust her with him? + +_Bred_. Because 'tis dangerous to steal a City-Heiress, and let the +Theft be his--so the dear Maid be mine--Hark--sure they come-- + + _Enter_ Bearjest, _runs against_ Bredwel. + +--Who's there? Mr. _Bearjest_? + +_Bea_. Who's that? _Ned_? Well, I have brought my Mistress, hast thou +got a Parson ready, and a License? + +_Bred_. Ay, ay, but where's the Lady? + +_Bea_. In the Coach, with the Captain at the Gate. I came before, to see +if the Coast be clear. + +_Bred_. Ay, Sir; but what shall we do? here's Mr. _Gayman_ come on +purpose to shew you the Devil, as you desir'd. + +_Bea_. Sho! a Pox of the Devil, Man--I can't attend to speak with +him now. + +_Gay_. How, Sir! D'ye think my Devil of so little Quality, to suffer an +Affront unrevenged? + +_Bea_. Sir, I cry his Devilship's Pardon: I did not know his Quality. I +protest, Sir, I love and honour him, but I am now just going to be +married, Sir; and when that Ceremony's past, I'm ready to go to the +Devil as soon as you please. + +_Gay_. I have told him your Desire of seeing him, and shou'd you baffle +him? + +_Bea_. Who, I, Sir! Pray, let his Worship know, I shall be proud of the +Honour of his Acquaintance; but, Sir, my Mistress and the Parson wait in +_Ned's_ Chamber. + +_Gay_. If all the World wait, Sir, the Prince of Hell will stay for no +Man. + +_Bred_. Oh, Sir, rather than the Prince of the Infernals shall be +affronted, I'll conduct the Lady up, and entertain her till you +come, Sir. + +_Bea_. Nay, I have a great mind to kiss his--Paw, Sir; but I cou'd wish +you'd shew him me by day-light, Sir. + +_Gay_. The Prince of Darkness does abhor the Light. But, Sir, I will for +once allow your Friend the Captain to keep you company. + + _Enter_ Noisey _and_ Diana. + +_Bea_. I'm much oblig'd to you, Sir; oh, Captain-- [_Talks to him_. + +_Bred_. Haste, Dear; the Parson waits, +To finish what the Powers design'd above. + +_Dia_. Sure nothing is so bold as Maids in Love! [_They go out_. + +_Noi_. Psho! he conjure--he can flie as soon. + +_Gay_. Gentlemen, you must be sure to confine your selves to this +Circle, and have a care you neither swear, nor pray. + +_Bea_. Pray, Sir! I dare say neither of us were ever that way gifted. + + A horrid Noise. + +_Gay_. + + _Cease your Horror, cease your Haste. + And calmly as I saw you last, + Appear! Appear! + By thy Pearls and Diamond Rocks, + By thy heavy Money-Box, + By thy shining Petticoat, + That hid thy cloven Feet from Note; + By the Veil that hid thy Face, + Which else had frighten'd humane Race_: + [Soft Musick ceases. + _Appear, that I thy Love may see, + Appear, kind Fiends, appear to me_. + +A Pox of these Rascals, why come they not? + + _Four enter from the four corners of the Stage, to Musick + that plays; they dance, and in the Dance, dance round 'em, + and kick, pinch, and beat 'em_. + +_Bea_. Oh, enough, enough! Good Sir, lay 'em, and I'll pay the Musick-- + +_Gay_. I wonder at it--these Spirits are in their Nature kind, and +peaceable--but you have basely injur'd some body--confess, and they will +be satisfied-- + +_Bea_. Oh, good Sir, take your _Cerberuses_ off--I do confess, the +Captain here, and I have violated your Fame. + +_Noi_. Abus'd you,--and traduc'd you,--and thus we beg your pardon-- + +_Gay_. Abus'd me! 'Tis more than I know, Gentlemen. + +_Bea_. But it seems your Friend the Devil does. + +_Gay_. By this time _Bredwel's_ married. +--Great _Pantamogan_, hold, for I am satisfied, + [_Ex. Devils_. +And thus undo my Charm-- + [_Takes away the Circle, they run out_. +So, the Fools are going, and now to _Julia's_ Arms. + + [_Going_. + + + +SCENE IV. _Lady_ Fulbank's _Anti-chamber_. + + + _She discover'd undrest at her Glass; Sir_ Cautious _undrest_. + +L. _Ful_. But why to Night? indeed you're wondrous kind methinks. + +Sir _Cau_. Why, I don't know--a Wedding is a sort of an Alarm to Love; +it calls up every Man's courage. + +L. _Ful_. Ay, but will it come when 'tis call'd? + +Sir _Cau_. I doubt you'll find it to my Grief-- [_Aside_. +--But I think 'tis all one to thee, thou car'st not for my Complement; +no, thou'dst rather have a young Fellow. + +L. _Ful_. I am not us'd to flatter much; if forty Years were taken +from your Age, 'twou'd render you something more agreeable to my Bed, +I must confess. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, no doubt on't. + +L. _Ful_. Yet you may take my word without an Oath, +Were you as old as Time, and I were young and gay +As _April_ Flowers, which all are fond to gather; +My Beauties all should wither in the Shade, +E'er I'd be worn in a dishonest Bosom. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, but you're wondrous free methinks, sometimes, which gives +shreud suspicions. + +L. _Ful_. What, because I cannot simper, look demure, +and justify my Honour, when none questions it? +--Cry fie, and out upon the naughty Women, +Because they please themselves--and so wou'd I. + +Sir _Cau_. How, wou'd, what cuckold me? + +L. _Ful_. Yes, if it pleas'd me better than Vertue, Sir. +But I'll not change my Freedom and my Humour, +To purchase the dull Fame of being honest. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, but the World, the World-- + +L. _Ful_. I value not the Censures of the Croud. + +Sir _Cau_. But I am old. + +L. _Ful_. That's your fault, Sir, not mine. + +Sir _Cau_. But being so, if I shou'd be good-natur'd, and give thee +leave to love discreetly-- + +L. _Ful_. I'd do't without your leave, Sir. + +Sir _Cau_. Do't--what, cuckold me? + +L. _Ful_. No, love discreetly, Sir, love as I ought, love honestly. + +Sir _Cau_. What, in love with any body, but your own Husband? + +L. _Ful_. Yes. + +Sir _Cau_. Yes, quoth a--is that your loving as you ought? + +L. _Ful_. We cannot help our Inclinations, Sir, +No more than Time, or Light from coming on-- +But I can keep my Virtue, Sir, intire. + +Sir _Cau_. What, I'll warrant, this is your first Love, _Gayman_? + +L. _Ful_. I'll not deny that Truth, though even to you. + +Sir _Cau_. Why, in consideration of my Age, and your Youth, I'd bear a +Conscience--provided you do things wisely. + +L. _Ful_. Do what thing, Sir? + +Sir _Cau_. You know what I mean-- + +L. _Ful_. Hah--I hope you wou'd not be a Cuckold, Sir. + +Sir _Cau_. Why--truly in a civil way--or so. + +L. _Ful_. There is but one way, Sir, to make me hate you; +And that wou'd be tame suffering. + +Sir _Cau_. Nay, and she be thereabouts, there's no discovering. + +L. _Ful_. But leave this fond discourse, and, if you must, +Let us to Bed. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, I did but try your Virtue, mun--dost think I was in +earnest? + + _Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Sir, here's a Chest directed to your Worship. + +Sir _Cau_. Hum, 'tis _Wasteall_--now does my heart fail me--A Chest +say you--to me--so late;--I'll warrant it comes from Sir _Nicholas +Smuggle_--some prohibited Goods that he has stoln the Custom of, and +cheated his Majesty--Well, he's an honest Man, bring it in-- + + [_Exit Servant_. + +L. _Ful_. What, into my Apartment, Sir, a nasty Chest! + +Sir _Cau_. By all means--for if the Searchers come, they'll never be so +uncivil to ransack thy Lodgings; and we are bound in Christian Charity +to do for one another--Some rich Commodities, I am sure--and some fine +Knick-knack will fall to thy share, I'll warrant thee +--Pox on him for a young Rogue, how punctual he is! [_Aside_. + + _Enter with the Chest_. + +--Go, my Dear, go to Bed--I'll send Sir _Nicholas_ a Receit for the +Chest, and be with thee presently-- + + [_Ex. severally_. + + [Gayman _peeps out of the Chest, and looks round him wondring_. + +_Gay_. Hah, where am I? By Heaven, my last Night's Vision--'Tis that +inchanted Room, and yonder's the Alcove! Sure 'twas indeed some Witch, +who knowing of my Infidelity--has by Inchantment brought me hither-- +'tis so--I am betray'd--[_Pauses_. Hah! or was it _Julia_, that last +night gave me that lone Opportunity?--but hark, I hear some coming-- + [_Shuts himself in_. + + _Enter Sir_ Cautious. + +Sir _Cau_. [_Lifting up the Chest-lid_.] So, you are come, I see-- + [_Goes, and locks the door_. + +_Gay_. Hah--he here! nay then, I was deceiv'd, and it was _Julia_ that +last night gave me the dear Assignation. [_Aside_. + + [_Sir_ Cautious _peeps into the Bed-chamber_. + +L. _Ful_. [_Within_.] Come, Sir _Cautious_, I shall fall asleep, and +then you'll waken me. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, my Dear, I'm coming--she's in Bed--I'll go put out the +Candle, and then-- + +_Gay_. Ay, I'll warrant you for my part-- + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, but you may over-act your part, and spoil all--But, Sir, +I hope you'll use a Christian Conscience in this business. + +_Gay_. Oh, doubt not, Sir, but I shall do you Reason. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir, but-- + +_Gay_. Good Sir, no more Cautions; you, unlike a fair Gamester, will +rook me out of half my Night--I am impatient-- + +Sir _Cau_. Good Lord, are you so hasty? if I please, you shan't go +at all. + +_Gay_. With all my soul, Sir; pay me three hundred Pound, Sir-- + +Sir _Cau_. Lord, Sir, you mistake my candid meaning still. I am content +to be a Cuckold, Sir--but I wou'd have things done decently, d'ye +mind me? + +_Gay_. As decently as a Cuckold can be made, Sir.--But no more +disputes, I pray, Sir. + +Sir _Cau_. I'm gone--I'm gone--but harkye, Sir, you'll rise before day? + [_Going out, returns_. + +_Gay_. Yet again-- + +Sir _Cau_. I vanish, Sir--but harkye--you'll not speak a word, but let +her think 'tis I? + +_Gay_. Be gone, I say, Sir-- [_He runs out_. +I am convinc'd last night I was with _Julia_. +Oh Sot, insensible and dull! + + _Enter softly Sir_ Cautious. + +Sir _Cau_. So, the Candle's out--give me your hand. + + [_Leads him softly in_. + + + +SCENE V. _Changes to a Bed-chamber_. + + _Lady_ Fulbank _suppos'd in Bed. Enter Sir_ Cautious + _and_ Gayman _by dark_. + +Sir _Cau_. Where are you, my Dear? [_Leads him to the bed_. + +L. _Ful_. Where shou'd I be--in Bed; what, are you by dark? + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, the Candle went out by Chance. + + [Gayman _signs to him to be gone; he makes grimaces + as loath to go, and Exit_. + + + +SCENE VI. _Draws over, and represents another Room in the same House_. + + + _Enter_ Parson, Diana, _and_ Pert _drest in_ Diana's _Clothes_. + +_Dia_. I'll swear, Mrs. _Pert_, you look very prettily in my Clothes; +and since you, Sir, have convinc'd me that this innocent Deceit is not +unlawful, I am glad to be the Instrument of advancing Mrs. _Pert_ to a +Husband, she already has so just a Claim to. + +_Par_. Since she has so firm a Contract, I pronounce it a lawful +Marriage--but hark, they are coming sure-- + +_Dia_. Pull your Hoods down, and keep your Face from the Light. + [_Diana runs out_. + + _Enter_ Bearjest _and_ Noisey _disordered_. + +_Bea_. Madam, I beg your Pardon--I met with a most devilish Adventure; +--your Pardon too, Mr. Doctor, for making you wait.--But the business +is this, Sir--I have a great mind to lie with this young Gentlewoman +to Night, but she swears if I do, the Parson of the Parish shall know it. + +_Par_. If I do, Sir, I shall keep Counsel. + +_Bea_. _And that's civil, Sir--Come, lead the way, + With such a Guide, the Devil's in't if we can go astray_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE VII. _Changes to the Anti-chamber_. + + + _Enter Sir_ Cautious. + +Sir _Cau_. Now cannot I sleep, but am as restless as a Merchant in +stormy Weather, that has ventur'd all his Wealth in one Bottom.--Woman +is a leaky Vessel.--if she should like the young Rogue now, and they +should come to a right understanding--why, then I am a--Wittal--that's +all, and shall be put in Print at _Snow-hill_, with my Effigies o'th' +top, like the sign of Cuckolds Haven.--Hum--they're damnable +silent--pray Heaven he have not murdered her, and robbed her--hum--hark, +what's that?--a noise!--he has broke his Covenant with me, and shall +forfeit the Money--How loud they are? Ay, ay, the Plot's discovered, +what shall I do?--Why, the Devil is not in her sure, to be refractory +now, and peevish; if she be, I must pay my Money yet--and that would be +a damn'd thing.--sure they're coming out--I'll retire and hearken how +'tis with them. [_Retires_. + + _Enter Lady_ Fulbank _undrest_, Gayman, _half undrest upon + his Knees, following her, holding her Gown_. + +L. _Ful_. Oh! You unkind--what have you made me do? Unhand me, false +Deceiver--let me loose-- + +Sir _Cau_. Made her do?--so, so--'tis done--I'm glad of that-- + [_Aside peeping_. + +_Gay_. Can you be angry, _Julia_? +Because I only seiz'd my Right of Love. + +L. _Ful_. And must my Honour be the Price of it? +Could nothing but my Fame reward your Passion? +--What, make me a base Prostitute, a foul Adulteress? +Oh--be gone, be gone--dear Robber of my Quiet. [_Weeping_. + +Sir _Cau_. Oh, fearful!-- + +_Gay_. Oh! Calm your rage, and hear me; if you are so, +You are an innocent Adulteress. +It was the feeble Husband you enjoy'd +In cold imagination, and no more; +Shily you turn'd away--faintly resign'd. + +Sir _Cau_. Hum, did she so?-- + +_Gay_. Till my Excess of Love betray'd the Cheat. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, that was my Fear. + +L. _Ful_. Away, be gone--I'll never see you more-- + +_Gay_. You may as well forbid the Sun to shine. +Not see you more!--Heavens! I before ador'd you, +But now I rave! And with my impatient Love, +A thousand mad and wild Desires are burning! +I have discover'd now new Worlds of Charms, +And can no longer tamely love and suffer. + +Sir _Cau_. So--I have brought an old House upon my Head, +Intail'd Cuckoldom upon my self. + +L. _Ful_. I'll hear no more--Sir _Cautious_,--where's my Husband? +Why have you left my Honour thus unguarded? + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, she's well enough pleas'd, I fear, for all. + +_Gay_. Base as he is, 'twas he expos'd this Treasure; +Like silly Indians barter'd thee for Trifles. + +Sir _Cau_. O treacherous Villain!-- + +L. _Ful_. Hah--my Husband do this? + +_Gay_. He, by Love, he was the kind Procurer, +Contriv'd the means, and brought me to thy Bed. + +L. _Ful_. My Husband! My wise Husband! +What fondness in my Conduct had he seen, +To take so shameful and so base Revenge? + +_Gay_. None--'twas filthy Avarice seduc'd him to't. + +L. _Ful_. If he cou'd be so barbarous to expose me, +Cou'd you who lov'd me--be so cruel too? + +_Gay_. What--to possess thee when the Bliss was offer'd? +Possess thee too without a Crime to thee? +Charge not my Soul with so remiss a flame, +So dull a sense of Virtue to refuse it. + +L. _Ful_. I am convinc'd the fault was all my Husband's-- +And here I vow--by all things just and sacred, +To separate for ever from his Bed. [_Kneels_. + +Sir _Cau_. Oh, I am not able to indure it-- +Hold--oh, hold, my Dear-- + [_He kneels as she rises_. + +L. _Ful_. Stand off--I do abhor thee-- + +Sir _Cau_. With all my Soul--but do not make rash Vows. +They break my very Heart--regard my Reputation. + +L. _Ful_. Which you have had such care of, Sir, already-- +Rise, 'tis in vain you kneel. + +Sir _Cau_. No--I'll never rise again--Alas! Madam, I was merely drawn +in; I only thought to sport a Dye or so: I had only an innocent design +to have discover'd whether this Gentleman had stoln my Gold, that so I +might have hang'd him-- + +_Gay_. A very innocent Design indeed! + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir, that's all, as I'm an honest man.-- + +L. _Ful_. I've sworn, nor are the Stars more fix'd than I. + + _Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. How! my Lady and his Worship up?--Madam, a Gentleman and +a Lady below in a Coach knockt me up, and say they must speak with +your Ladyship. + +L. _Ful_. This is strange!--bring them up-- [_Exit Servant_. +Who can it be, at this odd time of neither Night nor Day? + + _Enter_ Leticia, Bellmour, _and_ Phillis. + +_Let_. Madam, your Virtue, Charity and Friendship to me, has made me +trespass on you for my Life's security, and beg you will protect me, and +my Husband-- [_Points at_ Bellmour. + +Sir _Cau_. So, here's another sad Catastrophe! + +L. _Ful_. Hah--does _Bellmour_ live? is't possible? +Believe me, Sir, you ever had my Wishes; +And shall not fail of my Protection now. + +_Bel_. I humbly thank your Ladyship. + +_Gay_. I'm glad thou hast her, _Harry_; but doubt thou durst not own her; +nay dar'st not own thy self. + +_Bel_. Yes, Friend, I have my Pardon-- +But hark, I think we are pursu'd already-- +But now I fear no force. + + [_A noise of some body coming in_. + +L. _Ful_. However, step into my Bed-chamber. + + [_Exeunt_ Leticia, Gayman _and_ Phillis. + + _Enter Sir_ Feeble _in an Antick manner_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hell shall not hold thee--nor vast Mountains cover thee, but +I will find thee out--and lash thy filthy and Adulterous Carcase. + [_Coming up in a menacing manner to Sir _Cau. + +Sir _Cau_. How--lash my filthy Carcase?--I defy thee, Satan-- + +Sir _Feeb_. 'Twas thus he said. + +Sir _Cau_. Let who's will say it, he lies in's Throat. + +Sir _Feeb_. How, the Ghostly--hush--have a care--for 'twas the Ghost of +_Bellmour_--Oh! hide that bleeding Wound, it chills my Soul!-- + [_Runs to the Lady_ Fulbank. + +L. _Ful_. What bleeding Wound?--Heavens, are you frantick, Sir? + +Sir _Feeb_. No--but for want of rest, I shall e'er Morning. [_Weeps_. +--She's gone--she's gone--she's gone-- [_He weeps_. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, she's gone, she's gone indeed. + [_Sir_ Cau. _weeps_. + +Sir _Feeb_. But let her go, so I may never see that dreadful Vision +--harkye, Sir--a word in your Ear--have a care of marrying a young Wife. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, but I have married one already. [_Weeping_. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hast thou? Divorce her--flie her, quick--depart--be gone, +she'll cuckold thee--and still she'll cuckold thee. + +Sir _Cau_. Ay, Brother, but whose fault was that?--Why, are not you +married? + +Sir _Feeb_. Mum--no words on't, unless you'll have the Ghost about your +Ears; part with your Wife, I say, or else the Devil will part ye. + +L. _Ful_. Pray go to Bed, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. Yes, for I shall sleep now, I shall lie alone; [_Weeps_. +Ah, Fool, old dull besotted Fool--to think she'd love me--'twas by base +means I gain'd her--cozen'd an honest Gentleman of Fame and Life-- + +L. _Ful_. You did so, Sir, but 'tis not past Redress--you may make that +honest Gentleman amends. + +Sir _Feeb_. Oh, wou'd I could, so I gave half my Estate-- + +L. _Ful_. That Penitence atones with him and Heaven.--Come forth, +_Leticia_, and your injur'd Ghost. + + _Enter_ Leticia, Bellmour, _and_ Phillis. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hah, Ghost--another Sight would make me mad indeed. + +_Bel_. Behold me, Sir, I have no Terror now. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hah--who's that, _Francis!_--my Nephew _Francis_? + +_Bel_. _Bellmour_, or _Francis_, chuse you which you like, and I am +either. + +Sir _Feeb_. Hah, _Bellmour!_ and no Ghost? + +_Bel. Bellmour_--and not your Nephew, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. But art alive? Ods bobs, I'm glad on't, Sirrah;--But are +you real, _Bellmour_? + +_Bel_. As sure as I'm no Ghost. + +_Gay_. We all can witness for him, Sir. + +Sir _Feeb_. Where be the Minstrels, we'll have a Dance--adod, we will +--Ah--art thou there, thou cozening little Chits-face?--a Vengeance +on thee--thou madest mean old doting loving Coxcomb--but I forgive +thee--and give thee all thy Jewels, and you your Pardon, Sir, so you'll +give me mine; for I find you young Knaves will be too hard for us. + +_Bel_. You are so generous, Sir, that 'tis almost with grief I receive +the Blessing of _Leticia_. + +Sir _Feeb_. No, no, thou deservest her; she would have made an old fond +Blockhead of me, and one way or other you wou'd have had her--ods bobs, +you wou'd-- + + _Enter_ Bearjest, Diana, Pert, Bredwel, _and_ Noisey. + +_Bea_. Justice, Sir, Justice--I have been cheated--abused--assassinated +and ravisht! + +Sir _Cau_. How, my Nephew ravisht!-- + +_Pert_. No, Sir, I am his Wife. + +Sir _Cau_. Hum--my Heir marry a Chamber-maid! + +_Bea_. Sir, you must know I stole away Mrs. _Dy_, and brought her to +_Ned's_ Chamber here--to marry her. + +Sir _Feeb_. My Daughter _Dy_ stoln-- + +_Bea_. But I being to go to the Devil a little, Sir, whip--what does +he, but marries her himself, Sir; and fob'd me off here with my Lady's +cast Petticoat-- + +_Noi_. Sir, she's a Gentlewoman, and my Sister, Sir. + +_Pert_. Madam, 'twas a pious Fraud, if it were one; for I was contracted +to him before--see, here it is-- [_Gives it 'em_. + +_All_. A plain Case, a plain Case. + +Sir _Feeb_. Harkye, Sir, have you had the Impudence to marry my +Daughter, Sir? + [_To_ Bredwel, _who with_ Diana _kneels_. + +_Bred_. Yes, Sir, and humbly ask your Pardon, and your Blessing-- + +Sir _Feeb_. You will ha't, whether I will or not--rise, you are still +too hard for us: Come, Sir, forgive your Nephew-- + +Sir _Cau_. Well, Sir, I will--but all this while you little think the +Tribulation I am in, my Lady has forsworn my Bed. + +Sir _Feeb_. Indeed, Sir, the wiser she. + +Sir _Cau_. For only performing my Promise to this Gentleman. + +Sir _Feeb_. Ay, you showed her the Difference, Sir; you're a wise man. +Come, dry your Eyes--and rest your self contented, we are a couple of +old Coxcombs; d'ye Hear, Sir, Coxcombs. + +Sir _Cau_. I grant it, Sir; and if I die, Sir, I bequeath my Lady to +you--with my whole Estate--my Nephew has too much already for a Fool. + [_To_ Gayman. + +_Gay_. I thank you, Sir--do you consent, my _Julia_? + +L. _Ful_. No, Sir--you do not like me--a canvas Bag of wooden Ladles +were a better Bed-fellow. + +_Gay_. Cruel Tormenter! Oh, I could kill myself with shame and anger! + +L. _Ful_. Come hither, _Bredwel_--witness for my Honour--that I had no +design upon his Person, but that of trying his Constancy. + +_Bred_. Believe me, Sir, 'tis true--I feigned a danger near--just as you +got to bed--and I was the kind Devil, Sir, that brought the Gold to you. + +_Bea_. And you were one of the Devils that beat me, and the Captain +here, Sir? + +_Gay_. No truly, Sir, those were some I hired--to beat you for abusing +me to day. + +_Noi_. To make you 'mends, Sir, I bring you the certain News of the +death of Sir _Thomas Gayman_, your Uncle, who has left you Two thousand +pounds a year-- + +_Gay_. I thank you, Sir--I heard the news before. + +Sir _Cau_. How's this; Mr. _Gayman_, my Lady's first Lover? I find, Sir +_Feeble_, we were a couple of old Fools indeed, to think at our Age to +cozen two lusty young Fellows of their Mistresses; 'tis no wonder that +both the Men and the Women have been too hard for us; we are not fit +Matches for either, that's the truth on't. + + _The Warrior needs must to his Rival yield, + Who comes with blunted Weapons to the Field_. + + + +EPILOGUE. + +Written by a Person of Quality, Spoken by Mr. _Betterton_. + +_Long have we turn'd the point of our just Rage +On the half Wits, and Criticks of the Age. +Oft has the soft, insipid Sonneteer +In_ Nice _and_ Flutter, _seen his Fop-face here. +Well was the ignorant lampooning Pack +Of shatterhead Rhymers whip'd on_ Craffey's _back; +But such a trouble Weed is Poetaster, +The lower 'tis cut down, it grows the faster. +Though Satir then had such a plenteous crop, +An After Math of Coxcombs is come up; +Who not content false Poetry to renew, +By sottish Censures wou'd condemn the true. +Let writing like a Gentleman--fine appear, +But must you needs judge too_ en Cavalier? +_These whiffling Criticks, 'tis our Auth'ress fears, +And humbly begs a Trial by her Peers: +Or let a Pole of Fools her fate pronounce, +There's no great harm in a good quiet Dunce. +But shield her, Heaven! from the left-handed blow +Of airy Blockheads who pretend to know. +On downright Dulness let her rather split, +Than be Fop-mangled under colour of Wit. + +Hear me, ye Scribling Beaus,-- +Why will you in sheer Rhyme, without one stroke | +Of Poetry, Ladies just Disdain provoke, | +And address Songs to whom you never spoke? | +In doleful Hymns for dying Felons fit, +Why do you tax their Eyes, and blame their Wit? +Unjustly of the Innocent you complain, +'Tis Bulkers give, and Tubs must cure your pain. +Why in Lampoons will you your selves revile? +'Tis true, none else will think it worth their while: +But thus you're hid! oh, 'tis a politick Fetch; +So some have hang'd themselves to ease_ Jack Ketch. +_Justly your Friends and Mistresses you blame, | +For being so they well deserve the shame, | +'Tis the worst scandal to have borne that name. | + [See the late Satir on Poetry] +At Poetry of late, and such whose Skill | +Excels your own, you dart a feeble Quill; | +Well may you rail at what you ape so ill. | +With virtuous Women, and all Men of Worth, +You're in a state of mortal War by Birth. +Nature in all her Atom-Fights ne'er knew +Two things so opposite as Them and You. +On such your Muse her utmost fury spends, +They're slander'd worse than any but your Friends. +More years may teach you better; the mean while, +If you can't mend your Morals, mend your Style_. + + + + + + +THE FORC'D MARRIAGE; OR, THE JEALOUS BRIDEGROOM. + + + +ARGUMENT. + +The King of France to reward his favourite Alcippus, at the motion of +prince Philander, gladly assents to his being created general in place +of old Orgulius, who seeks to resign his office, and further on his +royal word pledges the new-made commander, Erminia, Orgulius' daughter, +in marriage. The lady, however, loves the dauphin, whilst the princess +Galatea is enamoured of Alcippus. All three are plunged into despair, +and the brother and sister knowing each other's passion bemoan their +hapless fate. The prince, indeed, threatens to kill Alcippus, upon which +Galatea declares she will poniard Erminia. On the wedding night the +bride confesses her love for Philander and refuses to admit Alcippus to +her love. The dauphin at the same time serenades Erminia at her chamber +door, but Pisaro, a friend to Alcippus, meeting him, there is a scuffle +during which Alcander, the prince's companion, wounds the intruder. The +noise rouses Erminia who issues from her room and encounters Philander. +Alcippus, seeing them together, mad with jealousy, attacks the prince. +He is, however, beaten back and even wounded, and later his fury is +inflamed by Pisaro's tale, who also informs the favourite that Galatea, +for whom the narrator cherishes a hopeless love, dotes fondly upon him. +Erminia, now that she has been joined in wedlock with Alcippus, guards +herself carefully from the dauphin's passion, but when the general is +obliged by his duties to leave for the camp Philander hopes to persuade +her to yield to him. Alcippus, however, whose departure is a feint, +returns secretly, leaving Pisaro to continue the journey alone. Isillia, +Erminia's woman, has already admitted Philander to her mistress' +chamber, when the lovers are surprised by the arrival of Alcippus on the +scene. The prince is concealed, although the meeting had been purely +innocent, but he is betrayed owing to the fact of his inadvertently +leaving his hat and sword upon a table. He departs unmolested, but once +he is gone Alcippus, beside himself with blind fury, strangles Erminia +with an embroidered garter--Pisaro, coming in a few moments after, +reproaches him with the murder but hurries him away to concealment. The +deed, however, is discovered and noised abroad by Falatius, a busy +coxcomb courtier. Orgulius demands Alcippus' life from the King, but +Galatea, heart-broken, pleads for the man she loves. Philander is +distraught with grief, and the King decides that if he harms himself +Alcippus shall straightway pay the forfeit. The prince is about to wreak +his vengeance on the cruel husband when he is met by Erminia herself, +who, owing to her maid's attentions, has recovered from the swoon +Alcippus took for death. It is resolved that Alcippus, who is now torn +with agony and remorse, must be fittingly punished, and accordingly as +he lies sick at heart in his chamber Erminia enters as a spirit, and so +looking over his shoulder into a mirror wherein he is gazing tells him +plainly of Galatea's love. The princess then passes by as it were a +phantom, and after a masque, which he takes for a dream, he is conducted +to a room draped in black wherein is placed a catafalque. Here he +encounters Philander and as they are at hot words the King, who has been +privy to the whole design, enters and the two are reconciled. Erminia +next appears, and the happy accident explained, Erminia is bestowed upon +the dauphin, whilst the princess is united to the favourite. + +There is a slight underplot which deals with the amours of Aminta, +sister to Pisaro, and Alcander. She is also courted by the cowardly +fop, Falatius. + + + +SOURCE. + +_The Forc'd Marriage; or, The Jealous Bridegroom_ is the earliest, and +most certainly one of the weakest of Mrs. Behn's plays. This is, +however, far from saying that it is not a very good example of the +Davenant, Howard, Porter, Stapylton school of romantic tragi-comedy. But +Aphara had not yet hit upon her brilliant vein of intrigue. In _The +Forced Marriage_ she seems to have remembered _The Maid's Tragedy_. The +situation between Alcippus and Erminia, Act ii, III, has some vague +resemblance to that of Amintor and Evadne, Act ii, I. Aminta also +faintly recalls Dula, whilst the song 'Hang love, for I will never pine' +has a far-off echo of 'I could never have the power.' But Mrs. Behn has +not approached within measuring distance of that supreme masterpiece. + + + +THEATRICAL HISTORY. + +The stage history of _The Forc'd Marriage; or, The Jealous Bridegroom_ +is best told in the quaint phrase of old Downes. Produced in December, +1670 at the Duke's Theatre, Lincoln's Inn Fields, _The Jealous +Bridegroom_, says the veteran prompter, 'wrote by Mrs. Behn, a good play +and lasted six days'. This, it must be remembered, was by no means a +poor run at that time. 'Note,' continues the record, 'In this play, Mr. +Otway the poet having an inclination to turn actor; Mrs. Behn gave him +the King in this play for a probation part, but he being not us'd to the +stage, the full house put him to such a sweat and tremendous agony, +being dash'd, spoilt him for an actor.' + +To quote Mr. Gosse's excellent and classic essay on Otway:--'The choice +of the part showed the kindly tact of the shrewd Mrs. Behn. The king had +to speak the few first words, to which the audience never listens, to +make some brief replies in the first scene, and then not to speak again +until the end of the fourth act. In the fifth act he had to make rather +a long speech to Smith [Mr. Gosse by a slip writes 'Betterton'. The King +(v, III) is talking to Philander, acted by Smith. Betterton played the +favourite Alcippus.], explaining that he was "old and feeble, and could +not long survive," and this is nearly all he had to say till the very +end, where he was in great force as the kind old man who unites the +couples and speaks the last words. It was quite a crucial test, and +Otway proved his entire inability to face the public. He trembled, was +inaudible, melted in agony, and had to leave the stage. The part was +given to Westwood, a professional actor, and Otway never essayed to +tread the boards again.' + +_The Forced Marriage_ seems never to have been revived since its +production. On the title page of the second quarto (1690), _The Forc'd +Marriage_ is said to have been played at the Queen's Theatre. This is +because the Duke's House temporarily changed its name thus. It does not +refer to a second run of the play. + + + +THE FORC'D MARRIAGE; + +or, the Jealous Bridegroom. + + + +_Va mon enfant! prends ta fortune_. + + +PROLOGUE. + +_Gallants, our Poets have of late so us'd ye, +In Play and Prologue too so much abus'd ye, +That should we beg your aids, I justly fear, +Ye're so incens'd you'd hardly lend it here. +But when against a common Foe we arm, +Each will assist to guard his own concern. +Women those charming Victors, in whose Eyes +Lie all their Arts, and their Artilleries, +Not being contented with the Wounds they made, +Would by new Stratagems our Lives invade. +Beauty alone goes now at too cheap rates; +And therefore they, like Wise and Politick States, +Court a new Power that may the old supply, +To keep as well as gain the Victory. +They'll join the force of Wit to Beauty now, +And so maintain the Right they have in you. +If the vain Sex this privilege should boast, +Past cure of a declining Face we're lost. +You'll never know the bliss of Change; this Art +Retrieves (when Beauty fades) the wandring Heart; +And though the Airy Spirits move no more, +Wit still invites, as Beauty did before. +To day one of their Party ventures out, +Not with design to conquer, but to scout. +Discourage but this first attempt, and then +They'll hardly dare to sally out again. +The Poetess too, they say, has Spies abroad, +Which have dispersed themselves in every road, +I'th' Upper Box, Pit, Galleries; every Face +You find disguis'd in a Black Velvet Case. +My life on't; is her Spy on purpose sent, +To hold you in a wanton Compliment; +That so you may not censure what she 'as writ, +Which done, they face you down 'twas full of Wit. +Thus, while some common Prize you hope to win, +You let the Tyrant Victor enter in. +I beg to day you'd lay that humour by, +Till your Rencounter at the Nursery; +Where they, like Centinels from duty free, +May meet and wanton with the Enemy_. + + Enter an Actress. + +_How hast thou labour'd to subvert in vain, +What one poor Smile of ours calls home again? +Can any see that glorious Sight and say_ + + [Woman pointing to the ladies. + +_A Woman shall not Victor prove to day? +Who is't that to their Beauty would submit, +And yet refuse the Fetters of their Wit? +He tells you tales of Stratagems and Spies; +Can they need Art that have such powerful Eyes? +Believe me, Gallants, he'as abus'd you all; +There's not a Vizard in our whole Cabal: +Those are but Pickeroons that scour for prey +And catch up all they meet with in their way; +Who can no Captives take, for all they do +Is pillage ye, then gladly let you go. +Ours scorns the petty Spoils, and do prefer +The Glory not the Interest of the War: +But yet our Forces shall obliging prove, +Imposing nought but Constancy in Love: +That's all our Aim, and when we have, it too, +We'll sacrifice it all to pleasure you_. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + +MEN. + +King, Mr. _Westwood_. +_Philander_, his Son, betrothed to _Erminia_, Mr. _Smith_. +_Alcippus_, Favourite, in love with _Erminia_, Mr. _Betterton_. +_Orgulius_, late General, Father to _Erminia_, Mr. _Norris_. +_Alcander_, Friend to the Prince, in love with + _Aminta_, Mr. _Young_. +_Pisaro_, Friend to the young General _Alcippus_, Mr. _Cademan_. +_Falatius_, a fantastick Courtier, Mr. _Angel_. +_Labree_, his Man. +_Cleontius_, Servant to the Prince, and Brother Mr. _Crosby_. + to _Isillia_, +Page to _Pisaro_. + +WOMEN. + +_Galatea_, Daughter to the King, Mrs. _Jennings_. +_Erminia_, Daughter to _Orgulius_, espous'd to the Mrs. _Betterton_. + Prince, +_Aminta_, Sister to _Pisaro_, in love with _Alcander_, Mrs. _Wright_. +_Olinda_, Sister to _Alcander_, Maid of Honour to Mrs. _Lee_. + the Princess, +_Isillia_, Sister to _Cleontius_, Woman to _Erminia_, Mrs. _Clough_. +_Lysette_, Woman to _Aminta_. +Clergy, Officers, Pages and Attendants. + +_Scene within the Court of_ FRANCE. + + + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I. _The Palace_. + + + _Enter_ King, Philander, Orgulius, Alcippus, Alcander, + Pisaro, Cleontius, Falatius; _and Officers_. + +_King_. How shall I now divide my Gratitude, +Between a Son, and one that has oblig'd me, +Beyond the common duty of a Subject? + +_Phil_. Believe me, Sir, he merits all your Bounty, +I only took example by his Actions; +And all the part o'th' Victory which I gain'd, +Was but deriv'd from him. + +_King_. Brave Youth, whose Infant years did bring us Conquests; +And as thou grew'st to Man, thou grew'st in Glory, +And hast arriv'd to such a pitch of it, +As all the slothful Youth that shall succeed thee, +Shall meet reproaches of thy early Actions: +When Men shall say, thus did the brave _Alcippus_; +And that great Name shall every Soul inspire +With Emulation to arrive at something, +That's worthy of Example. + +_Alcip_. I must confess I had the honour, Sir, +To lead on twenty thousand fighting Men, +Whom Fortune gave the Glory of the Day to. +I only bid them fight, and they obey'd me; +But 'twas my Prince that taught them how to do so. + +_King_. I do believe _Philander_ wants no courage; +But what he did was to preserve his own. +But thine the pure effects of highest Valour; +For which, if ought below my Crown can recompense, +Name it, and take it, as the price of it. + +_Alcip_. The Duty which we pay your Majesty, +Ought to be such, as what we pay the Gods; +Which always bears its Recompence about it. + +_King_. Yet suffer me to make thee some return, +Though not for thee, yet to incourage Bravery. +I know thy Soul is generous enough, +To think a glorious Act rewards it self. +But those who understand not so much Virtue, +Will call it my neglect, and want of Gratitude; +In this thy Modesty will wrong thy King. +_Alcippus_, by this pause you seem to doubt +My Power or Will; in both you are to blame. + +_Alcip_. Your pardon, Sir; I never had a thought +That could be guilty of so great a Sin. +That I was capable to do you service, +Was the most grateful Bounty Heaven allow'd me, +And I no juster way could own that Blessing, +Than to imploy the Gift for your repose. + +_King_. I shall grow angry, and believe your Pride +Would put the guilt off on your Modesty, +Which would refuse what that believes below it. + +_Phil_. Your Majesty thinks too severely of him; +Permit me, Sir, to recompense his Valour, +I saw the wonders on't, and thence may guess +In some Degree, what may be worthy of it. + +_King_. I like it well, and till thou hast perform'd it, +I will divest my self of all my Power, +And give it thee, till thou hast made him great. + +_Phil_. I humbly thank you, Sir-- + + [_Bows to the_ King, _takes the Staff from_ Orgulius, + _and gives it to_ Alcippus, _who looks amazedly_. + +And here I do create him General. +You seem to wonder, as if I dispossess'd +The brave _Orgulius_; but be pleas'd to know, +Such Reverence and Respect I owe that Lord, +As had himself not made it his Petition, +I sooner should have parted with my Right, +Than have discharg'd my debt by injuring him. + +_King_. _Orgulius_, are you willing to resign it? + +_Org_. With your permission, Sir, most willingly; +His vigorous Youth is fitter for't than Age, +Which now has render'd me uncapable +Of what that can with more success perform. +My Heart and Wishes are the same they were, +But Time has quite depriv'd me of that power +That should assist a happy Conqueror. + +_King_. Yet Time has added little to your years, +Since I restor'd you to this great Command, +And then you thought it not unfit for you. + +_Org_. Sir, was it fit I should refuse your Grace? +That was your act of Mercy: and I took it +To clear my Innocence, and reform the Errors +Which those receiv'd who did believe me guilty, +Or that my Crimes were greater than that Mercy. +I took it, Sir, in scorn of those that hated me, +And now resign it to the Man you love. + +_King_. We need not this proof to confirm thy Loyalty; +Nor am I yet so barren of Rewards, +But I can find a way, without depriving +Thy noble Head of its victorious Wreaths, +To crown another's Temples. + +_Org_. I humbly beg your Majesty's consent to't, +If you believe _Alcippus_ worthy of it; +The generous Youth I have bred up to Battles, +Taught him to overcome, and use that Conquest +As modestly as his submissive Captive, +His Melancholy, (but his easy Fetters) +To meet Death's Horrors with undaunted looks: +How to despise the Hardships of a Siege; +To suffer Cold and Hunger, want of Sleep. +Nor knew he other rest than on his Horse-back, +Where he would sit and take a hearty Nap; +And then too dreamt of fighting. +I could continue on a day in telling +The Wonders of this Warrior. + +_King_. I credit all, and do submit to you. +But yet _Alcippus_ seems displeas'd with it. + +_Alcip_. Ah, Sir! too late I find my Confidence +Has overcome my unhappy Bashfulness; +I had an humbler Suit to approach you with; +But this unlook'd for Honour +Has soon confounded all my lesser aims, +As were they not essential to my Being, +I durst not name them after what y'have done. + +_King_. It is not well to think my Kindness limited; +This, from the Prince you hold, the next from me; +Be what it will, I here declare it thine. +--Upon my life, designs upon a Lady; +I guess it from thy blushing. +--Name her, and here thy King engages for her. + +_Phi_. O Gods!--What have I done? [_Aside_. + +_Alcip_. _Erminia_, Sir.-- [_Bows_. + +_Phi_. I'm ruin'd.-- [_Aside_. + +_King_. _Alcippus_, with her Father's leave, she's thine. + +_Org_. Sir, 'tis my Aim and Honour. + +_Phi. Alcippus_, is't a time to think of Weddings, +When the disorder'd Troops require your Presence? +You must to the Camp to morrow. + +_Alcip_. You need not urge that Duty to me, Sir. + +_King_. A Day or two will finish that affair, +And then we'll consummate the happy Day, +When all the Court shall celebrate your Joy. + + [_They all go out, but_ Alcan. Pisa, _and_ Fal. + +_Pis. Falatio_, you are a swift Horseman; +I believe you have a Mistress at Court, +You made such haste this Morning. + +_Fal_. By _Jove_, _Pisaro_, I was weary enough of the +Campaign; and till I had lost sight of it, +I clapt on all my Spurs-- +But what ails _Alcander_? + +_Pis_. What, displeas'd? + +_Alcan_. It may be so, what then? + +_Pis_. Then thou mayst be pleas'd again. + +_Alcan_. Why the Devil should I rejoice? +Because I see another rais'd above me; +Let him be great, and damn'd with all his Greatness. + +_Pis_. Thou mean'st _Alcippus_, who I think merits it. + +_Alcan_. What is't that thou cal'st Merit? +He fought, it's true, so did you, and I, +And gain'd as much as he o'th' Victory, +But he in the Triumphal Chariot rode, +Whilst we ador'd him like a Demi-God. +He with the Prince an equal welcome found, +Was with like Garlands, though less Merit, crown'd. + +_Fal_. He's in the right for that, by _Jove_. + +_Pis_. Nay, now you wrong him. + +_Alcan_. What's he I should not speak my sense of him? + +_Pis_. He is our General. + +_Alcan_. What then? +What is't that he can do, which I'll decline? +Has he more Youth, more Strength, or Arms than I? +Can he preserve himself i'th' heat of the Battle? +Or can he singly fight a whole Brigade? +Can he receive a thousand Wounds, and live? + +_Fal_. Can you or he do so? + +_Alcan_. I do not say I can; but tell me then, +Where be the Virtues of this mighty Man, +That he should brave it over all the rest? + +_Pis_. Faith, he has many Virtues, and much Courage; +And merits it as well as you or I: +_Orgulius_ was grown old. + +_Alcan_. What then? + +_Pis_. Why then he was unfit for't, +But that he had a Daughter that was young. + +_Alcan_. Yes, he might have lain by, +Like rusty Armour, else, +Had she not brought him into play again; +The Devil take her for't. + +_Fal_. By _Jove_, he's dissatisfy'd with every thing. + +_Alcan_. She has undone my Prince, +And he has most unluckily disarm'd himself, +And put the Sword into his Rival's hand, +Who will return it to his grateful Bosom. + +_Phi_. Why, you believe _Alcippus_ honest-- + +_Alcan_. Yes, in your sense, _Pisaro_, +But do not like the last demand he made; +'Twas but an ill return upon his Prince, +To beg his Mistress, rather challeng'd her. + +_Pis_. His ignorance that she was so, may excuse him. + +_Alcan_. The Devil 'twill, dost think he knew it not? + +_Pis. Orgulius_ still design'd him for _Erminia_; +And if the Prince be disoblig'd from this, +He only ought to take it ill from him. + +_Alcan_. Too much, _Pisaro_, you excuse his Pride, +But 'tis the Office of a Friend to do so. + +_Pis_. 'Tis true, I am not ignorant of this, +That he despises other Recompence +For all his Services, but fair _Erminia_, +I know 'tis long since he resign'd his Heart, +Without so much as telling her she conquer'd; +And yet she knew he lov'd; whilst she, ingrate, +Repay'd his Passion only with her Scorn. + +_Alcan_. In loving him, she'd more ingrateful prove +To her first Vows, to Reason, and to Love. + +_Pis_. For that, _Alcander_, you know more than I. + +_Fal_. Why sure _Aminta_ will instruct her better, +She's as inconstant as the Seas and Winds, +Which ne'er are calm but to betray Adventurers. + +_Alcan_. How came you by that knowledg, Sir? + +_Fal_. What a Pox makes him ask me that question now? [_Aside_. + +_Pis_. Prithee, _Alcander_, now we talk of her, +How go the Amours 'twixt you and my wild Sister? +Can you speak yet, or do you tell your tale +With Eyes and Sighs, as you were wont to do? + +_Alcan_. Faith, much at that old rate, _Pisaro_, +I yet have no incouragement from her +To make my Court in any other language. + +_Pis_. You'll bring her to't, she must be overcome, +And you're the fittest for her fickle Humour. + +_Alcan_. Pox on't, this Change will spoil our making Love, +We must be sad, and follow the Court-Mode: +My life on't, you'll see desperate doings here; +The Eagle will not part so with his Prey; +_Erminia_ was not gain'd so easily, +To be resign'd so tamely.--But come, my Lord, +This will not satisfy our appetites, +Let's in to Dinner, and when warm with Wine, +We shall be fitter for a new Design. + + [_They go out_. Fal. _stays_. + +_Fal_. Now am I in a very fine condition, +A comfortable one, as I take it: +I have ventur'd my Life to some purpose now; +What confounded luck was this, that he of all men +Living, should happen to be my Rival? +Well, I'll go visit _Aminta_, and see how +She receives me.-- +Why, where a duce hast thou dispos'd of _Enter_ Labree. +Thy self all this day? I will be bound to be +Hang'd if thou hast not a hankering after +Some young Wench; thou couldst never loiter +Thus else; but I'll forgive thee now, and prithee go to +My Lady _Aminta's_ Lodgings; kiss her hand +From me; and tell her, I am just returned from +The Campain: mark that word, Sirrah. + +_Lab_. I shall, Sir, 'tis truth. + +_Fal_. Well, that's all one; but if she should +Demand any thing concerning me, (for +Love's inquisitive) dost hear? as to my Valour, or so, +Thou understand'st me; tell her +I acted as a man that pretends to the glory of +Serving her. + +_Lab_. I warrant you, Sir, for a Speech. + +_Fal_. Nay, thou mayst speak as well too much +As too little; have a care of that, dost hear? +And if she ask what Wounds I have, dost mind me? +Tell her I have many, very many. + +_Lab_. But whereabouts, Sir? + +_Fal_. Let me see--let me see; I know not where +To place them--I think in my Face. + +_Lab_. By no means, Sir, you had much better +Have them in your Posteriors: for then the Ladies +Can never disprove you; they'll not look there. + +_Fal_. The sooner, you Fool, for the Rarity on't. + +_Lab_. Sir, the Novelty is not so great, I assure you. + +_Fal_. Go to, y'are wicked; +But I will have them in my Face. + +_Lab_. With all my heart, Sir, but how? + +_Fal_. I'll wear a patch or two there, and I'll +Warrant you for pretending as much as any man; +And who, you Fool, shall know the fallacy? + +_Lab_. That, Sir, will all that know you, both in the +Court and Camp. + +_Fal_. Mark me, _Labree_, once for all; if thou takest +Delight continually thus to put me in mind of +My want of Courage, I shall undoubtedly +Fall foul on thee, and give thee most fatal proofs +Of more than thou expectest. + +_Lab_. Nay, Sir, I have done, and do believe 'tis only +I dare say you are a man of Prowess. + +_Fal_. Leave thy simple fancies, and go about thy business. + +_Lab_. I am gone; but hark, my Lord, +If I should say your Face were wounded, +The Ladies would fear you had lost your Beauty. + +_Fal_. O, never trouble your head for that, _Aminta_ +Is a Wit, and your Wits care not how ill-favour'd +Their Men be, the more ugly the better. + +_Lab_. An't be so, you'll fit them to a hair. + +_Fal_. Thou art a Coxcomb, to think a man of my +Quality needs the advantage of Handsomness: +A trifle as insignificant as Wit or Valour; poor +Nothings, which Men of Fortune ought to despise. + +_Lab_. Why do you then keep such a stir, to gain +The reputation of this thing you so despise? + +_Fal_. To please the peevish humour of a Woman, +Who in that point only is a Fool. + +_Lab_. You had a Mistress once, if you have not +Forgotten her, who would have taken you with +All these faults. + +_Fal_. There was so; but she was poor, that's the Devil, +I could have lov'd her else. +--But go thy ways; what dost thou muse on? + +_Lab_. Faith, Sir, I am only fearful you will never +Pass with those Patches you speak of. + +_Fal_. Thou never-to-be-reclaim'd Ass, shall I never +Bring thee to apprehend as thou ought'st? I tell thee, +I will pass and repass, where and how I please; +Know'st thou not the difference yet, between a Man +Of Money and Titles, and a Man of only Parts, +As they call them? poor Devils of no Mein nor Garb: +Well, 'tis a fine and frugal thing, this Honour, +It covers a multitude of Faults: +Even Ridicule in one of us is a-la-mode. +But I detain thee; go haste to _Aminta_. + + [_Exeunt severally_. + + + +SCENE II. Galatea's _Apartments_. + + + _Enter_ Galatea, Aminta, _and_ Olinda. + +_Gal_. Will _Erminia_ come? + +_Oli_. Madam, I thought she'd been already here. + +_Gal_. But prithee how does she support this news? + +_Oli_. Madam, as those unreconciled to Heaven +Would bear the pangs of death. + +_Am_. Time will convince her of that foolish error, +Of thinking a brisk young Husband a torment. + +_Gal_. What young Husband? + +_Am_. The General, Madam. + +_Gal_. Why, dost thou think she will consent to it? + +_Am_. Madam, I cannot tell, the World's inconstant. + +_Gal_. Ay, _Aminta_, in every thing but Love; +And sure they cannot be in that: +What say'st thou, _Olinda_? + +_Oli_. Madam, my Judgment's naught. +Love I have treated as a stranger Guest, +Receiv'd him well, not lodg'd him in my Breast. +I ne'er durst give the unknown Tyrant room; +Lest he should make his resting place his home. + +_Gal_. Then thou art happy; but if _Erminia_ fail, +I shall not live to reproach her. + +_Am_. Nay, Madam, do not think of dying yet: +There is a way, if we could think of it. + +_Gal. Aminta_, when will thou this Humour lose? + +_Am_. Faith, never, if I might my Humour chuse. + +_Gal_. Methinks thou now should'st blush to bid me live. + +_Am_. Madam, 'tis the best counsel I can give. + +_Gal_. Thy Counsel! Prithee, what dost counsel now? + +_Am_. What I would take my self I counsel you. + +_Gal_. You must my Wounds and my Misfortunes bear +Before you can become my Counsellor. +You cannot guess the Torments I endure: +Not knowing the Disease you'll miss the Cure. + +_Am_. Physicians, Madam, can the Patient heal +Although the Malady they ne'er did feel; +But your Disease is epidemical, +Nor can I that evade that conquers all. +I lov'd, and never did like pleasure know, +Which Passion did with time less vigorous grow. + +_Gal_. Why, hast thou lost it? + +_Am_. It, and half a score. + +_Gal_. Losing the first, sure thou couldst love no more. + +_Am_. With more facility, than when the Dart +Arm'd with resistless fire first seiz'd my Heart; +'Twas long then e'er the Boy could entrance get, +And make his little Victory compleat; +And now he'as got the knack on't, 'tis with ease +He domineers, and enters when he please. + +_Gal_. My Heart, _Aminta_, is not like to thine. + +_Am_. Faith, Madam, try, you'll find it just like mine. +The first I lov'd was _Philocles_, and then +Made Protestations ne'er to love again, +Yet after left him for a faithless crime; +But then I languisht even to death for him; +--But Love who suffer'd me to take no rest, +New fire-balls threw, the old scarce dispossest; +And by the greater flame the lesser light, +Like Candles in the Sun extinguished quite, +And left no power _Alcander_ to resist, +Who took, and keeps possession of my breast. + +_Gal_. Art thou a Lover then, and look'st so gay, +But thou hast ne'er a Father to obey. [_Sighing_. + +_Am_. Why, if I had I would obey him too. + +_Gal_. And live? + +_Am_. And live. + +_Gal_. 'Tis more than I can do. + + _Enter_ Erminia _weeping_. + +--Thy Eyes, _Erminia_, do declare thy Heart + [Gal. _meets her, embraces her, and weeps_. +Has nothing but Despairs and Death t'impart, +And I alas, no Comfort can apply, +But I as well as you can weep and die. + +_Er_. I'll not reproach my Fortune, since in you +Grief does the noblest of your Sex subdue; +When your great Soul a sorrow can admit, +I ought to suffer from the sense of it; +Your cause of grief too much like mine appears, +Not to oblige my Eyes to double tears; +And had my heart no sentiments at home, +My part in yours had doubtless fill'd the room. +But mine will no addition more receive, +Fate has bestow'd the worst she had to give; +Your mighty Soul can all its rage oppose, +Whilst mine must perish by more feeble blows. + +_Gal_. Indeed I dare not say my cause of grief +Does yours exceed, since both are past relief. +But if your Fates unequal do appear, +_Erminia_, 'tis my heart that odds must bear. + +_Er_. Madam, 'tis just I should to you resign, +But here you challenge what is only mine: +My Fate so cruel is, it will not give +Leave to _Philander_ (if I die) to live: +Might I but suffer all, 'twere some content, +But who can live and see this languishment? +You, Madam, do alone your Sorrows bear, +Which would be less, did but _Alcippus_ share; +As Lovers we agree, I'll not deny, +But thou art lov'd again, so am not I. + +_Am_. Madam, that grief the better is sustain'd, +That's for a loss that never yet was gain'd; +You only lose a man that does not know +How great the honour is which you bestow; +Who dares not hope you love, or if he did, +Your Greatness would his just return forbid; +His humble thoughts durst ne'er to you aspire, +At most he would presume but to admire; +Or if it chanc'd he durst more daring prove, +You still must languish and conceal your Love. + +_Gal_. This which you argue lessens not my Pain, +My Grief's the same were I belov'd again. +The King my Father would his promise keep, +And thou must him enjoy for whom I weep. + +_Er_. Ah, would I could that fatal gift deny; +Without him you; and with him, I must die; +My Soul your royal Brother does adore, +And I, all Passion, but from him, abhor; +But if I must th'unsuit _Alcippus_ wed, +I vow he ne'er shall come into my Bed. + +_Gal_. That's bravely sworn, and now I love thee more +Than e'er I was oblig'd to do before, +--But yet, _Erminia_, guard thee from his Eyes, +Where so much love, and so much Beauty lies; +Those charms may conquer thee, which made me bow, +And make thee love as well as break this Vow. + +_Er_. Madam, it is unkind, though but to fear +Ought but _Philander_ can inhabit here. + [_Lays her hand on her heart_. + +_Gal_. Ah, that _Alcippus_ did not you approve, +We then might hope these mischiefs to remove; +The King my Father might be won by Prayer, +And my too powerful Brother's sad despair, +To break his word, which kept will us undo: +And he will lose his dear _Philander_ too, +Who dies and can no remedies receive: +But vows that 'tis for you alone he'll live. + +_Er_. Ah, Madam, do not tell me how he dies, +I've seen too much already in his Eyes: +They did the sorrows of his Soul betray, +Which need not be confest another way: +'Twas there I found what my misfortune was, +Too sadly written in his lovely face. +But see, my Father comes: Madam, withdraw a while, +And once again I'll try my interest with him. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE III. _A room in the house of_ Orgulius. + + + _Enter_ Orgulius, Erminia _weeping, and_ Isillia. + +_Er_. Sir, does your fatal resolution hold? + +_Org_. Away, away, you are a foolish Girl, +And look with too much pride upon your Beauty; +Which like a gaudy flower that springs too soon, +Withers e'er fully blown. +Your very Tears already have betray'd +Its weak inconstant nature; +_Alcippus_, should he look upon thee now, +would swear thou wert not that fine thing he lov'd. + +_Er_. Why should that blessing turn to my despair? +Curse on his Faith that told him I was fair. + +_Org_. 'Tis strange to me you shou'd despise this Fortune, +I always thought you well inclin'd to love him, +I would not else have thus dispos'd of you. + +_Er_. I humbly thank you, Sir, though't be too late, +And wish you yet would try to change my Fate; +What to _Alcippus_ you did Love believe, +Was such a Friendship as might well deceive; +'Twas what kind Sisters do to Brothers pay; +_Alcippus_ I can love no other way. +--Sir, lay the Interest of a Father by, +And give me leave this Lover to deny. + +_Org. Erminia_, thou art young, and canst not see +The advantage of the Fortune offer'd thee. + +_Er_. Alas, Sir, there is something yet behind. [_Sighs_. + +_Org_. What is't, _Erminia_? freely speak thy mind. + +_Er_. Ah, Sir, I dare not, you inrag'd will grow. + +_Org. Erminia_, you have seldom found me so; +If no mean Passion have thy Soul possest, +Be what it will I can forgive the rest. + +_Er_. No, Sir, it is no crime, or if it be, +Let Prince _Philander_ make the Peace for me; +He 'twas that taught the Sin (if Love be such.) + +_Org. Erminia_, peace, he taught you then too much. + +_Er_. Nay, Sir, you promis'd me you wou'd not blame +My early Love, if 'twere a noble Flame. + +_Org_. Than this a more unhappy could not be; +Destroy it, or expect to hear of me. + [_Offers to go out_. + +_Er_. Alas, I know 'twould anger you, when known. + [_She stays him_. + +_Org. Erminia_, you are wondrous daring grown. +Where got you courage to admit his Love, +Before the King or I did it approve? + +_Er_. I borrow'd Courage from my Innocence, +And my own Virtue, Sir, was my defence. +_Philander_ never spoke but from a Soul, +That all dishonest Passions can controul; +With Flames as chaste as Vestals that did burn, +From whence I borrow'd mine, to make return. + +_Org_. Your Love from Folly, not from Virtue grew; +You never could believe he'd marry you. + +_Er_. Upon my life no other thing he spoke, +But those from dictates of his Honour took. + +_Org_. Though by his fondness led he were content +To marry thee, the King would ne'er consent. +Cease then this fruitless Passion, and incline +Your Will and Reason to agree with mine, +_Alcippus_ I dispos'd you to before, +And now I am inclin'd to it much more. +Some days I had design'd t'have given thee +To have prepar'd for this solemnity; +But now my second thoughts believe it fit, +You should this night to my desires submit. + +_Er_. This night! Ah, Sir, what is't you mean to do? + +_Org_. Preserve my Credit, and thy Honour too. + +_Er_. By such resolves you me to ruin bring. + +_Org_. That's better than to disoblige my King. + +_Er_. But if the King his liking do afford, +Would you not with _Alcippus_ break your word? +Or would you not to serve your Prince's life, +Permit your Daughter to become his Wife? + +_Org_. His Wife, _Erminia_! if I did believe +Thou could'st to such a thought a credit give, +I would the interest of a Father quit, +And you, _Erminia_, have no need of it: +Without his aid you can a Husband chuse; +Gaining the Prince you may a Father lose. + +_Er_. Ah, Sir, these words are Poniards to my Heart; +And half my Love to Duty does convert; +Alas, Sir, I can be content to die, +But cannot suffer this Severity: [_Kneels_. +That care you had, dear Sir, continue still, +I cannot live and disobey your will. [_Rises_. + +_Org_. This duty has regain'd me, and you'll find +A just return; I shall be always kind. +--Go, reassume your Beauty, dry your Eyes; +Remember 'tis a Father does advise. [_Goes out_. + +_Er_. Ungrateful Duty, whose uncivil Pride +By Reason is not to be satisfy'd; +Who even Love's Almighty Power o'erthrows, +Or does on it too rigorous Laws impose; +Who bindest up our Virtue too too strait, +And on our Honour lays too great a weight. +Coward, whom nothing but thy power makes strong; +Whom Age and Malice bred t'affright the young; +Here thou dost tyrannize to that degree, +That nothing but my Death will set me free. + + [_Ex_. Erm. _and_ Isil. + + + +SCENE IV. Philander's _Apartments_. + + + _Enter_ Philander _and_ Alcander. + +_Phil_. Urge it no more, your Reasons do displease me; +I offer'd her a Crown with her _Philander_, +And she was once pleas'd to accept of it. +She lov'd me too, yes, and repaid my flame, +As kindly as I sacrific'd to her: +The first salute we gave were harmless Love, +Our Souls then met, and so grew up together, +Like sympathizing Twins. +And must she now be ravish'd from my Arms? +Will you, _Erminia_, suffer such a Rape? +What though the King have said it shall be so, +'Tis not his pleasure can become thy Law, +No, nor it shall not. +And though he were my God as well as King, +I would instruct thee how to disobey him; +Thou shalt, _Erminia_, bravely say, I will not; +He cannot force thee to't against thy will. +--Oh Gods, shall duty to a King and Father +Make thee commit a Murder on thy self, +Thy sacred self, and me that do adore thee? +No, my _Erminia_, quit this vain devoir, +And follow Love that may preserve us all: +--Presumptuous Villain, bold Ingratitude-- +Hadst thou no other way to pay my favours? +By Heaven, 'twas bravely bold, was it not, _Alcander_? + +_Alcan_. It was somewhat strange, Sir; +But yet perhaps he knew not that you lov'd her. + +_Phil_. Not know it! yes, as well as thou and I. +The world was full on't, and could he be ignorant? +Why was her Father call'd from banishment, +And plac'd about the King, but for her sake? +What made him General, but my Passion for her? +What gave him twenty thousand Crowns a year, +But that which made me captive to _Erminia_, +Almighty Love, of which thou say'st he is ignorant? +How has he order'd his audacious flame, +That I cou'd ne'er perceive it all this while. + +_Alcan_. Then 'twas a flame conceal'd from you alone, +To the whole Court, besides, 'twas visible. +He knew you would not suffer it to burn out; +And therefore waited till his services +Might give encouragement to's close design. +If that could do't he nobly has endeavour'd it, +But yet I think you need not yield her, Sir. + +_Phi_. _Alcippus_, I confess, is brave enough, +And by such ways I'll make him quit his claim; +He shall to morrow to the Camp again, +And then I'll own my Passion to the King; +He loves me well, and I may hope his pity. + + _Till then be calm, my Heart, for if that fail_, + [_Points to his Sword_. + _This is the argument that will prevail_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +ACT II. + + +THE REPRESENTATION OF THE WEDDING. + +_The Curtain must be let down, and soft Musick must play: The Curtain +being drawn up, discovers a scene of a Temple: The_ King _sitting on a +Throne, bowing down to join the hands_ Alcippus _and_ Erminia, _who +kneel on the steps of the Throne; the Officers of the Court and Clergy +standing in order by, with_ Orgulius. _This within the Scene. + +Without on the Stage_, Philander _with his Sword half drawn, held by_ +Galatea, _who looks ever on_ Alcippus: Erminia _still fixing her Eyes +on_ Philander; Pisaro _passionately gazing on_ Galatea: Aminta _on_ +Fallatio, _and he on her_: Alcander, Isillia, Cleontius, _in other +several postures, with the rest, all remaining without motion, whilst +the Musick softly plays; this continues a while till the Curtain falls; +and then the Musick plays aloud till the Act begins_. + + + +SCENE I. _The Palace_. + + + _Enter_ Philander _and_ Galatea _inrag'd_. + +_Phi_. 'Tis done, 'tis done, the fatal knot is ty'd, +_Erminia_ to _Alcippus_ is a Bride; +Methinks I see the Motions of her Eyes, +And how her Virgin Breasts do fall and rise: +Her bashful Blush, her timorous Desire, +Adding new Flame to his too vigorous Fire; +Whilst he the charming Beauty must embrace, +And shall I live to suffer this Disgrace? +Shall I stand tamely by, and he receive +That Heaven of bliss, defenceless she can give? +No, Sister, no, renounce that Brother's name, +Suffers his Patience to surmount his Flame; +I'll reach the Victor's heart, and make him see, +That Prize he has obtain'd belongs to me. + +_Gal_. Ah, dear _Philander_, do not threaten so, +Whilst him you wound, you kill a Sister too. + +_Phi_. Though all the Gods were rallied on his side, +They should too feeble prove to guard his Pride. +Justice and Honour on my Sword shall sit, +And my Revenge shall guide the lucky hit. + +_Gal_. Consider but the danger and the crime, +And, Sir, remember that his life is mine. + +_Phi_. Peace, Sister, do not urge it as a sin, +Of which the Gods themselves have guilty been: +The Gods, my Sister, do approve Revenge +By Thunder, which th'Almighty Ports unhinge, +Such is their Lightning when poor Mortals fear, +And Princes are the Gods inhabit here; +Revenge has charms that do as powerful prove +As those of Beauty, and as sweet as Love, +The force of Vengeance will not be withstood, +Till it has bath'd and cool'd it self in Blood. +_Erminia_, sweet _Erminia_, thou art lost, +And he yet lives that does the conquest boast. + +_Gal_. Brother, that Captive you can ne'er retrieve +More by the Victor's death, than if he live, +For she in Honour cannot him prefer, +Who shall become her Husband's Murderer; +By safer ways you may that blessing gain, +When venturing thus through Blood and Death prove vain. + +_Phi_. With hopes already that are vain as Air, +You've kept me from Revenge, but not Despair. +I had my self acquitted, as became +_Erminia's_ wrong'd Adorer, and my Flame; +My Rival I had kill'd, and set her free, +Had not my Justice been disarm'd by thee. +--But for thy faithless Hope, I 'ad murder'd him, +Even when the holy Priest was marrying them, +And offer'd up the reeking Sacrifice +To th'Gods he kneel'd to, when he took my price; +By all their Purity I would have don't. +But now I think I merit the Affront: +He that his Vengeance idly does defer, +His Safety more than his Success must fear: +I, like that Coward, did prolong my Fate, +But brave Revenge can never come too late. + +_Gal_. Brother, if you can so inhuman prove +To me your Sister, Reason, and to Love: +I'll let you see that I have sentiments too, +Can love and be reveng'd as well as you; +That hour that shall a death to him impart, +Shall send this Dagger to _Erminia's_ heart. + [_Shews a Dagger_. + +_Phi_. Ah, Coward, how these words have made thee pale, +And Fear above thy Courage does prevail: +Ye Gods, why did you such a way invent? + +_Gal_. None else was left thy madness to prevent. + +_Phi_. Ah, cruel Sister, I am tame become, +And will reverse my happy Rival's doom: +Yes, he shall live to triumph o'er my Tomb. +--But yet what thou hast said, I needs must blame, +For if my resolutions prove the same, +I now should kill thee, and my life renew; +But were it brave or just to murder you? +At worst, I should an unkind Sister kill, +Thou wouldst the sacred blood of Friendship spill. +I kill a Man that has undone my Fame, +Ravish'd my Mistress, and contemn'd my Name, +And, Sister, one who does not thee prefer: +But thou no reason hast to injure her. +Such charms of Innocence her Eyes do dress, +As would confound the cruel'st Murderess: +And thou art soft, and canst no Horror see, +Such Actions, Sister, you must leave to me. + +_Gal_. The highest Love no Reason will admit, +And Passion is above my Friendship yet. + +_Phi_. Then since I cannot hope to alter thee, +Let me but beg that thou wouldst set me free; +Free this poor Soul that such a coil does keep; +'Twill neither let me wake in Peace, nor sleep. +Comfort I find a stranger to my heart, +Nor canst thou ought of that but thus impart; +Thou shouldst with joy a death to him procure, +Who by it leaves _Alcippus'_ life secure. + +_Gal_. Dear Brother, you out-run your Patience still, +We'll neither die our selves, nor others kill; +Something I'll do that shall thy joys restore, +And bring thee back that health thou had'st before; +--We're now expected at the Banquet, where +I'd have thy Eyes more Love than Anger wear: +This night be cheerful, and on me depend, +On me, that am thy Sister, and thy Friend: +A little raise _Alcippus'_ Jealousy +And let the rest be carried on by me; +Nor would it be amiss should you provide +A Serenade to entertain the Bride: +'Twill give him Fears that may perhaps disprove +The fond opinion of his happy Love. + +_Phi_. Though Hope be faithless, yet I cannot chuse, +Coming from thee, but credit the abuse. + +_Gal. Philander_, do not your Hope's power distrust, +'Tis time enough to die, when that's unjust. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. _The Court Gallery_. + + + _Enter_ Aminta _as passing over the Stage, is stayed by_ Olinda. + +_Oli_. Why so hasty, _Aminta_? + +_Am_. The time requires it, _Olinda_. + +_Oli_. But I have an humble suit to you. + +_Am_. You shall command me any thing. + +_Oli_. Pray Heaven you keep your word. + +_Am_. That sad tone of thine, _Olinda_, has almost +Made me repent of my promise; but come, what is't? + +_Oli_. My Brother, Madam. + +_Am_. Now fie upon thee, is that all thy business? + [_Offers to go off_. + +_Oli_. Stay, Madam, he dies for you. + +_Am_. He cannot do't for any Woman living; +But well--it seems he speaks of Love to you; +To me he does appear a very Statue. + +_Oli_. He nought but sighs and calls upon your name, +And vows you are the cruell'st Maid that breathes. + +_Am_. Thou can'st not be in earnest sure. + +_Oli_. I'll swear I am, and so is he. + +_Am_. Nay, thou hast a hard task on't, to make +Vows to all the Women he makes love to; +Indeed I pity thee; ha, ha, ha. + +_Oli_. You should not laugh at those you have undone. + +Aminta _sings_. + + _Hang Love, for I will never pine + For any Man alive; + Nor shall this jolly Heart of mine + The thoughts of it receive; + I will not purchase Slavery + At such a dangerous rate; + But glory in my Liberty, + And laugh at Love and Fate_. + +_Oli_. You'll kill him by this cruelty. + +_Am_. What is't thou call'st so? +For I have hitherto given no denials, +Nor has he given me cause; +I have seen him wildly gaze upon me often, +And sometimes blush and smile, but seldom that; +And now and then found fault with my replies, +And wonder'd where the Devil lay that wit, +Which he believ'd no Judge of it could find. + +_Oli_. Faith, Madam, that's his way of making love. + +_Am_. It will not take with me, I love a Man +Can kneel, and swear, and cry, and look submiss, +As if he meant indeed to die my Slave: +Thy Brother looks--but too much like a Conqueror. [_Sighs_. + +_Oli_. How, _Aminta_, can you sigh in earnest? + +_Am_. Yes, _Olinda_, and you shall know its meaning; +I love _Alcander_, and am not asham'd o'th' secret, +But prithee do not tell him what I say. +--Oh, he's a man made up of those Perfections, +Which I have often lik'd in several men; +And wish'd united to compleat some one, +Whom I might have the glory to o'ercome. +--His Mein and Person, but 'bove all his Humour, +That surly Pride, though even to me addrest, +Does strangely well become him. + +_Oli_. May I believe this? + +_Am_. Not if you mean to speak on't, +But I shall soon enough betray my self. + + _Enter_ Falatius _with a patch or two on his Face_. + +_Falatius_, welcome from the Wars; +I'm glad to see y'ave scap'd the dangers of them. + +_Fal_. Not so well scap'd neither, Madam, but I +Have left still a few testimonies of their +Severity to me. [_Points to his face_. + +_Oli_. That's not so well, believe me. + +_Fal_. Nor so ill, since they be such as render us +No less acceptable to your fair Eyes, Madam! +But had you seen me when I gain'd them, Ladies, +In that heroick posture. + +_Am_. What posture? + +_Fal_. In that of fighting, Madam; +You would have call'd to mind that antient story +Of the stout Giants that wag'd War with Heaven; +Just so I fought, and for as glorious prize, +Your excellent Ladiship. + +_Am_. For me, was it for me you ran this hazard then? + +_Fal_. Madam, I hope you do not question that, +Was it not all the faults you found with me, +The reputation of my want of Courage, +A thousand Furies are not like a Battle; +And but for you, +By _Jove_, I would not fight it o'er again +For all the glory on't; and now do you doubt me? +Madam, your heart is strangely fortified +That can resist th'efforts I have made against it, +And bring to boot such marks of valour too. + + _Enter to them_ Alcander, _who seeing them would + turn back, but_ Olinda _stays him_. + +_Oli_. Brother, come back. + +_Fal_. Advance, advance, what, Man, afraid of me? + +_Alcan_. How can she hold discourse with that Fantastick. [_Aside_. + +_Fal_. Come forward, and be complaisant. [_Pulls him again_. + +_Alcan_. That's most proper for your Wit, _Falatius_. + +_Am_. Why so angry? + +_Alcan_. Away, thou art deceiv'd. + +_Am_. You've lost your sleep, which puts you out of humour. + +_Alcan_. He's damn'd will lose a moment on't for you. + +_Am_. Who is't that has displeas'd you? + +_Alcan_. You have, and took my whole repose away, +And more than that, which you ne'er can restore; +I can do nothing as I did before. +When I would sleep, I cannot do't for you, +My Eyes and Fancy do that form pursue; +And when I sleep, you revel in my Dreams, +And all my Life is nothing but extremes. +When I would tell my love, I seem most rude, +For that informs me how I am subdu'd. +Gods, you're unjust to tyrannize o'er me, +When thousands fitter for't than I go free. + [_Ex_. + +_Fal_. Why, what the Devil has possest _Alcander_? + +_Oli_. How like you this, _Aminta_? + +_Am_. Better and better, he's a wondrous man. + + [_Exeunt_ Am. _and_ Oli. + +_Fal_. 'Tis the most unjanty humour that ever I saw; +Ay, ay, he is my Rival, +No marvel an he look'd so big upon me; +He is damnable valiant, and as jealous as +He is valiant; how shall I behave my +Self to him, and these too idle humours of his +I cannot yet determine; the comfort is, +He knows I am a Coward whatever face I set upon it. +Well, I must either resolve never to provoke +His Jealousy, or be able to rencounter his +Other fury, his Valour; that were a good +Resolve if I be not past all hope. + + [_Ex_. + + + +SCENE III. + + + _Enter_ Alcippus _and_ Erminia, _as in a Bed-Chamber_. + +_Alcip_. But still methinks, _Erminia_, you are sad, +A heaviness appears in those fair Eyes, +As if your Soul were agitating something +Contrary to the pleasure of this night. + +_Er_. You ought in Justice, Sir, t'excuse me here, +Prisoners when first committed are less gay, +Than when they're us'd to Fetters every day, +But yet in time they will more easy grow. + +_Alcip_. You strangely bless me in but saying so. + +_Er. Alcippus_, I've an humble suit to you. + +_Alcip_. All that I have is so intirely thine, +And such a Captive thou hast made my Will, +Thou needst not be at the expence of wishing +For what thou canst desire that I may grant; +Why are thy Eyes declin'd? + +_Er_. To satisfy a little modest scruple; +I beg you would permit me, Sir-- + +_Alcip_. To lie alone to night, is it not so, _Erminia_? + +_Er_. It is-- + +_Alcip_. That's too severe, yet I will grant it thee? +But why, _Erminia_, must I grant it thee? + +_Er_. The Princess, Sir, questions my Power, and says, +I cannot gain so much upon your Goodness. + +_Alcip_. I could have wish'd some other had oblig'd thee +to't. + +_Er_. You would not blame her if you knew her reason. + +_Alcip_. Indeed I do not much, for I can guess +She takes the party of the Prince her Brother; +And this is only to delay those Joys, +Which she perhaps believes belong to him. +--But that, _Erminia_, you can best resolve; +And 'tis not kindly done to hide a truth, +The Prince so clearly own'd. + +_Er_. What did he own? + +_Alcip_. He said, _Erminia_, that you were his Wife; +If so, no wonder you refuse my Bed: [_She weeps_. +The Presence of the King hinder'd my knowledge, +Of what I willingly would learn from you; +--Come, ne'er deny a truth that plain appears; +I see Hypocrisy through all your Tears. + +_Er_. You need not ask me to repeat again, +A Knowledge which, you say, appears so plain: +The Prince his word methinks should credit get, +Which I'll confirm whene'er you call for it: +My heart before you ask't it, was his prize, +And cannot twice become a Sacrifice. + +_Alcip. Erminia_, is this brave or just in you, +To pay his score of Love with what's my due? +What's your design to treat me in this sort? +Are sacred Vows of Marriage made your sport? +Regard me well, _Erminia_, what am I? + +_Er_. One, Sir, with whom, I'm bound to live and die, +And one to whom, by rigorous command, +I gave (without my Heart) my unwilling Hand. + +_Alcip_. But why, _Erminia_, did you give it so? + +_Er_. T'obey a King and cruel Father too. +A Friendship, Sir, I can on you bestow, +But that will hardly into Passion grow; +And 'twill an Act below your Virtue prove, +To force a Heart you know can never love. + +_Alcip_. Am I the mask to hide your Blushes in, +I the contented Fool to veil your Sin? +Have you already learnt that trick at Court, +Both how to practise and secure your sport? +Brave Mistress of your Art, is this the way, +My Service and my Passion to repay? +Will nothing but a Prince your pleasure fit, +And could you think that I would wink at it? +Recal that Folly, or by all that's good, +I'll free the Soul that wantons in thy Blood. + [_He in rage takes her by the arm, shews a dagger_. + +_Er_. I see your Love your Reason has betray'd, +But I'll forgive the Faults which Love has made: +'Tis true, I love, and do confess it too; +Which if a Crime, I might have hid from you; +But such a Passion 'tis as does despise +Whatever Rage you threaten from your Eyes. +--Yes--you may disapprove this flame in me, +But cannot hinder what the Gods decree; +--Search here this truth; Alas, I cannot fear; +Your Steel shall find a welcome entrance here. + + [_He holds her still and gazes on her_. + +_Alcip_. Where dost thou think thy ungrateful Soul will go, +Loaded with wrongs to me, should I strike now? + +_Er_. To some blest place, where Lovers do reside, +Free from the noise of Jealousy and Pride; +Where we shall know no other Power but Love, +And where even thou wilt soft and gentle prove; +So gentle, that if I should meet thee there, +Thou would'st allow, what thou deny'st me here. + +_Alcip_. Thou hast disarm'd my Rage, and in its room +A world of Shame and softer Passions come, +Such as the first efforts of Love inspir'd, +When by thy charming Eyes my Soul was fir'd. + +_Er_. I must confess your Fears are seeming just, +But here to free you from the least mistrust, +I swear, whilst I'm your Wife I'll not allow +Birth to a Thought that tends to injuring you. + +_Alcip_. Not to believe thee, were a sin above +The Injuries I have done thee by my Love. +--Ah, my _Erminia_, might I hope at last +To share the pity of that lovely Breast, +By slow degrees I might approach that Throne, +Where now the blest _Philander_ reigns alone: +Perhaps in time my Passion might redeem +That now too faithful Heart y'ave given to him; +Do but forbear to hear his amorous Tales, +Nor from his moving Eyes learn what he ails: +A Fire that's kindled cannot long survive, +If one add nought to keep the flame alive. + +_Er_. I will not promise; what I mean to do +My Virtue only shall oblige me to. + +_Alcip_. But, Madam, what d'you mean by this reserve? +To what intent does all this Coldness serve? +Is there no pity to my Sufferings due? +And will you still my Languishments renew? +Come, come, recal what you have rashly said; +And own to morrow that thou art no Maid: +Thy Blushes do betray thy willingness, +And in thy lovely Eyes I read success. + +_Er_. A double tie obliges me to be +Strict to my Vows, my Love and Amity; +For my own sake the first I'll ne'er decline, +And I would gladly keep the last for thine. + +_Alcip_. Madam, you strangely do improve my pain, +To give me hopes you must recal again. + +_Er. Alcippus_, you this language will forbear, +When you shall know how powerful you are; +For whilst you here endeavour to subdue, +The best of Women languishes for you. + +_Alcip. Erminia_, do not mock my misery, +For though you cannot love, yet pity me; +That you allow my Passion no return, +Is weight enough, you need not add your Scorn, +In this your Cruelty is too severe. + +_Er. Alcippus_, you mistake me every where. + +_Alcip_. To whom, _Erminia_, do I owe this Fate? + +_Er_. To morrow all her story I'll relate. +Till then the promise I the Princess made, +I beg you would permit might be obey'd. + +_Alcip_. You, Madam, with so many charms assail, +You need not question but you shall prevail; +Thy power's not lessen'd in thy being mine, +But much augmented in my being thine, +The glory of my chains may raise me more, +But I am still that Slave I was before. + + [_Exeunt severally_. + + + +SCENE IV. Philander's _Bed-chamber_. + + + _Enter_ Philander _and_ Alcander. [_The Prince half undrest_. + +_Phi_. What's a Clock, _Alcander_? + +_Alcan_. 'Tis midnight, Sir, will you not go to bed? + +_Phi_. To bed, Friend; what to do? + +_Alcan_. To sleep, Sir, as you were wont to do. + +_Phi_. Sleep, and _Erminia_ have abandon'd me; +I'll never sleep again. + +_Alcan_. This is an humour, Sir, you must forsake. + +_Phi_. Never, never, oh _Alcander_. +Dost know where my _Erminia_ lies to night? + +_Alcan_. I guess, Sir. + +_Phi_. Where? Nay, prithee speak, +Indeed I shall not be offended at it. + +_Alcan_. I know not why you should, Sir; +She's where she ought, abed with young _Alcippus_. + +_Phi_. Thou speak'st thy real Thoughts. + +_Alcan_. Why should your Highness doubt it? + +_Phi_. By Heaven, there is no faith in Woman-kind; +_Alcander_, dost thou know an honest Woman? + +_Alcan_. Many, Sir. + +_Phi_. I do not think it, 'tis impossible; +_Erminia_, if it could have been, were she, +But she has broke her Vows, which I held sacred, +And plays the wanton in another's arms. + +_Alcan_. Sir, do you think it just to wrong her so? + +_Phi_. Oh, would thou couldst persuade me that I did so. +Thou know'st the Oaths and Vows she made to me, +Never to marry other than my self, +And you, _Alcander_, wrought me to believe them. +But now her Vows to marry none but me, +Are given to _Alcippus_, and in his bosom breath'd, +With balmy whispers, whilst the ravisht Youth +For every syllable returns a kiss, +And in the height of all his extasy, +_Philander's_ dispossess'd and quite forgotten. +Ah, charming Maid, is this your Love to me? +Yet now thou art no Maid, nor lov'st not me, +And I the fool to let thee know my weakness. + +_Alcan_. Why do you thus proceed to vex your self? +To question what you list, and answer what you please? +Sir, this is not the way to be at ease. + +_Phi_. Ah, dear _Alcander_, what would'st have me do? + +_Alcan_. Do that which may preserve you; +Do that which every Man in love would do; +Make it your business to possess the object. + +_Phi_. What meanest thou, is she not married?-- + +_Alcan_. What then? she'as all about her that she had, +Of Youth and Beauty she is Mistress still, +And may dispose it how and where she will. + +_Phi_. Pray Heaven I do not think too well of thee: +What means all this discourse, art thou honest? + +_Alcan_. As most Men of my Age. + +_Phi_. And wouldst thou counsel me to such a Sin? +For--I do understand--thee. + +_Alcan_. I know not what you term so. + +_Phi_. I never thought thou'dst been so great a Villain, +To urge me to a crime would damn us all; +Why dost thou smile, hast thou done well in this? + +_Alcan_. I thought so, or I'ad kept it to my self. +Sir, e'er you grow in rage at what I've said, +Do you think I love you, or believe my life +Were to be valued more than your repose? +You seem to think it is not. + +_Phi_. Possibly I may. + +_Alcan_. The sin of what I have propos'd to you +You only seem to hate: Sir, is it so? +--If such religious thoughts about you dwell, +Why is it that you thus perplex your self? +Self-murder sure is much the greater sin. +_Erminia_ too you say has broke her Vows, +She that will swear and lye, will do the rest. +And of these evils, this I think the least; +And as for me, I never thought it sin. + +_Phi_. And canst thou have so poor a thought of her? + +_Alcan_. I hope you'll find her, Sir, as willing to't +As I am to suppose it; nay, believe't, +She'll look upon't as want of Love and Courage +Should you not now attempt it; +You know, Sir, there's no other remedy, +Take no denial, but the Game pursue, +For what she will refuse, she wishes you. + +_Phi_. With such pretensions--she may angry grow. + +_Alcan_. I never heard of any that were so, +For though the will to do't, and power they want, +They love to hear of what they cannot grant. + +_Phi_. No more, +Is this your duty to your Prince, _Alcander_? +You were not wont to counsel thus amiss, +'Tis either Disrespect or some Design; +I could be wondrous angry with thee now, +But that my Grief has such possession here, +'Twill make no room for Rage. + +_Alcan_. I cannot, Sir, repent of what I've said, +Since all the errors which I have committed +Are what my passion to your interest led me to, +But yet I beg your Highness would recal +That sense which would persuade you 'tis unjust. + +_Phi_. Name it no more, and I'll forgive it thee. + +_Alcan_. I can obey you, Sir. + +_Phi_. What shall we do to night, I cannot sleep. + +_Alcan_. I'm good at watching, and doing any thing. + +_Phi_. We'll serenade the Ladies and the Bride. +--The first we may disturb, but she I fear +Keeps watch with me to night, though not like me. + + _Enter a_ Page _of the_ Prince's. + +_Phi_. How now, Boy, +Is the Musick ready which I spoke for? + +_Page_. They wait your Highness's command. + +_Phi_. Bid them prepare, I'm coming. [_Ex. Page_. +Soft touches may allay the Discords here, +And sweeten, though not lessen my Despair. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE V. _The Court Gallery_. + + + _Enter_ Pisaro _alone_. + +_Pis_. Ha! who's that? a Lover, on my life, +This amorous malady reigns every where; +Nor can my Sister be an ignorant +Of what I saw this night in _Galatea_: +I'll question her--Sister, _Aminta_, Sister. + [_Calls as at her Lodgings_. + + _Enter_ Lysette. + +_Lys_. Who calls my Lady? + +_Pis_. Where's my Sister? + +_Lys_. I cry your Lordship's mercy; +My Lady lies not in her Lodgings to night; +The Princess sent for her, +Her Highness is not well. + [_She goes in_. + +_Pis_. I do believe it, good night, _Lysette_. + + _Enter a_ Page. + +--Who's there? + +_Page_. Your Lordship's Page. + +_Pis_. Where hast thou been? I wanted thee but now. + +_Page_. I fell asleep i'th' Lobby, Sir, and had not waken'd +Yet, but for the Musick which plays at the Lodgings +Of my Lady _Erminia_. + +_Pis_. Curse on them; will they not allow him nights to himself; + 'tis hard. +This night I'm wiser grown by observation, +My Love and Friendship taught me jealousy, +Which like a cunning Spy brought in intelligence +From every eye less wary than its own; +They told me that the charming _Galatea_, +In whom all power remains, +Is yet too feeble to encounter Love; +I find she has receiv'd the wanton God, +Maugre my fond opinion of her Soul. +And 'tis my Friend too that's become my Rival. +I saw her lovely Eyes still turn on him, +As Flowers to th'Sun: and when he turn'd away +Like those she bow'd her charming head again. +--On th'other side the Prince with dying looks +Each motion watch'd of fair _Erminia's_ eyes, +Which she return'd as greedily again, +And if one glance t' _Alcippus_ she directed, +He'd stare as if he meant to cut his throat for't. + + _Well, Friend, thou hast a sure defence of me, + My Love is yet below my Amity_. + + [_Ex_. + + + +SCENE VI. _Draws off, discovers_ Philander_ and_ Alcander _with Musick +at the Chamber-door of_ Erminia; _to them_ Pisaro, _who listens whilst +the Song is sung_. + + +The Song for the _Page_ to sing at _Erminia's_ Chamber-door. + + Amintas _that true-hearted Swain + Upon a River's bank was laid, + Where to the pitying streams he did complain + Of_ Sylvia _that false charming Maid, + But she was still regardless of his pain: + Oh faithless_ Sylvia! _would he cry, + And what he said the Echoes would reply_. + Be kind or else I die, _E_. I die. + Be kind or else I die, _E_. I die. + + _A shower of tears his eyes let fall, + Which in the River made impress, + Then sigh'd, and_ Sylvia _false again would call, + A cruel faithless Shepherdess. + Is Love with you become a criminal? + Ah lay aside this needless scorn, + Allow your poor Adorer some return_, + Consider how I burn, _E_. I burn. + Consider, &c. + + _Those Smiles and Kisses which you give. + Remember_, Sylvia, _are my due; + And all the Joys my Rival does receive + He ravishes from me, not you. + Ah_ Sylvia, _can I live and this believe? + Insensibles are touched to see + My languishments, and seem to pity me_. + Which I demand of thee, _E_. of thee, + Which I demand, &c. + +_Pis_. What's all this? + +_Phi_. Who's there? + +_Pis_. A Man, a Friend to the General. + +_Phi_. Then thou'rt an Enemy to all good Men. +Does the ungrateful Wretch hide his own head, +And send his Spies abroad? + +_Pis_. He is too great to fear, and needs them not: +And him thou termest so, scorns the Office too. + +_Phi_. What makest thou here then, when the whole World's asleep? +Be gone, there lies thy way, where'er thy business be. + +_Pis_. It lies as free for thee, and here's my business. + +_Phi_. Thou lyest, rude man. + +_Pis_. Why, what art thou darest tell me so i'th' dark? +Day had betray'd thy blushes for this Boldness. + +_Phi_. Tell me who 'tis that dares capitulate? + +_Pis_. One that dares make it good. + +_Phi_. Draw then, and keep thy word. + +_Alcan_. Stand by, and let me do that duty, Sir. + [_He steps between them, they fight_, Pisaro _falls_. +--Here's thy reward, whoe'er thou art. + +_Phi_. Hast thou no hurt? + +_Alcan_. I think not much, yet somewhere 'tis I bleed. + +_Pis_. What a dull beast am I! + + [_Exeunt_ Prince _and_ Alcan. + + _Enter_ Page. + +_Page_. My Lord, is't you are fallen? +Help, Murder! Murder! + +_Pis_. Hold, bawling Dog. + + _Enter_ Alcippus _in a Night-gown, with a Sword + in his hand, a_ Page _with Lights_. + +_Alcip_. 'Twas hereabouts--who's this, _Pisaro_ wounded? + [_He looks up_. +How cam'st thou thus? Come up into my Arms. + +_Pis_. 'Twas Jealousy, _Alcippus_, that wild Monster, +Who never leaves us till he has thus betray'd us. +--Pox on't, I am asham'd to look upon thee. +I have disturb'd you to no purpose, Sir. +I am not wounded, go to bed again. + +_Alcan_. I'll see thee to thy Lodgings first, _Pisaro_. + +_Pis_. 'Twill be unkind both to your self and me. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE VII. The Court Gallery. + + + _Enter_ Philander _and_ Alcander _with a Light_. + +_Alcan_. He's gone, whoe'er he be. + +_Phi_. It could not be _Alcippus_. + +_Alcan_. I rather fear _Pisaro_, +--But we soon enough shall know: Who's this? + + _Enter_ Erminia _in her Night-gown, and_ lsillia _with Lights_. + +_Er_. Methought I heard _Alcippus_ and the Prince +Before the cry of Murder. +I die if those two Rivals have encounter'd. + +_Phi_. Ah, Madam, cease that fear, they both are safe +From all but from the Wounds which you have given them. + +_Er_. Oh Gods, what make you here! and where's _Alcippus_? + +_Phi_. Where I had been had Heaven been bountiful. + +_Er_. Alas, Sir, what do you mean? what have you done? +And where have you bestow'd him? + +_Phi_. Why all this high concern, _Erminia_? +Has he so reconcil'd you to him since I saw you last? +This is not kind to me. + +_Er_. Oh, tell me not of kindness, where's _Alcippus_? + +_Alcan_. Madam, of whom do you demand _Alcippus_? +Neither of us have seen him. + +_Phi_. Go, you are a Woman, a vain peevish Creature. + +_Er_. Sir, 'tis but just you should excuse my Fear, +_Alcippus_ is my Husband, and his Safety +Ought to become my care. + +_Phi_. How, _Erminia_! +Can you so soon yield up my right to him, +And not blush whilst you own your Perjury? + +_Er_. Now, Sir, you are much to blame; +I could have borne the rest, but this concerns me: +I fear I have but too well kept my Vows with you, +Since you are grown but to suspect I have not. + +_Phi_. Pardon me, Dear, the errors of my Passion; +It was a Sin so natural, +That even thy unkindly taking it +Approach'd too near it, not to gain my Pardon; +But tell me why you askt me for _Alcippus_? + +_Er_. Sir, e'er I could dispose my Eyes to sleep, +I heard the Musick at my Chamber-door, +And such a Song as could be none but yours; +But that was finish'd in a noise less pleasant, +In that of Swords and Quarrel; +And amongst which, +I thought I heard yours and _Alcippus'_ Voice: +(For I have kept my word, and lay not with him) +This brought me hither; but if I mistook, +Once more I beg your pardon. + +_Phi_. Thou hast restor'd me to a world of Joys, +By what thou now hast said. + + _Enter_ Alcippus, _his Sword in his Hand, a_ + Page _with Light, he stands a while_. + +_Alcip. Erminia_! and the Prince! embracing too! +I dream, and know she could not be thus base, +Thus false and loose-- +But here I am inform'd it is no Vision; +--This was design'd before, I find it now. + [_Lays his hand on his heart_. + +_Er. Alcippus_, oh my fears! + [_Goes to them, takes her by the hand_. + +_Alcip_. Yes, Madam, +Too soon arriv'd for his and your repose. + +_Phi. Alcippus_, touch her not. + +_Alcip_. Not touch her! by Heaven, I will, +And who shall hinder me? +Who is't dares say I shall not touch my Wife? + +_Phi_. Villain, thou ly'st. + +_Alcip_. That y'are my Prince shall not defend you here. +Draw, Sir, for I have laid respect aside. + + [_Strikes, they fight a little_, Alcippus _is + wounded_, Alcander _supports him_. + +_Er_. Oh Gods, what mean you? hold, _Philander_, hold. + +_Phi_. Life of my Soul, retire, +I cannot hear that Voice and disobey; +And you must needs esteem him at low rates, +Who sells thee and his Honour for a Tear. + +_Er_. Upon my knees I beg to be obey'd, [_She kneels_. +--But if I must not, here discharge your Anger. + +_Phi_. You are too great a Tyrant where you may. + + [_Exeunt_ Erminia _and_ Alcippus. + +_Phi_. Stay, shall I let her go? shall her Commands, +Though they have power to take my Life away, +Have force to suffer me to injure her? +Shall she be made a prey, and I permit it, +Who only have the interest to forbid it? +--No, let me be accurst then. + [_Offers to follow_. + +_Alcan_. What mean you, Sir? + +_Phi_. Force the bold Ravisher to resign my Right. +_Alcander_, is not she my Wife, and I his Prince? + +_Alcan_. 'Tis true, Sir: +And y'ave both power and justice on your side; +And there are times to exercise 'em both. + +_Phi_. Fitter than this, _Alcander_? + +_Alcan_. This night _Erminia's_ Promise may repose you; +To morrow is your own-- +Till then I beg you'd think your interest safe. + +_Phi. Alcander_, thou hast peace about thee, and canst judge +Better than I, 'twixt what is just and fit. + [_Puts up his Sword_. +I hitherto believ'd my Flame was guided +By perfect Reason: so we often find +Vessels conducted by a peaceful Wind, +And meet no opposition in their way, +Cut a safe passage through the flattering Sea: +But when a Storm the bounding Vessel throws, +It does each way with equal rage oppose; +For when the Seas are mad, could that be calm +Like me, it wou'd be ruin'd in the Storm. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I. _The apartments of_ Alcippus. + + + _Enter_ Alcippus _and_ Pisaro. + +_Pis_. 'Tis much, my Lord, you'll not be satisfy'd. + +_Alcip_. Friendship's too near a-kin to Love, _Pisaro_, +To leave me any Peace, whilst in your Eyes +I read Reserves, which 'tis not kind to hide; +--Come, prithee tell me what the quarrel was, +And who 'twas with; thou shalt, my dear _Pisaro_. + +_Pis_. Nay, now you urge me to impossibility: +Good faith, I cannot tell, but guess the Prince. + +_Alcip_. 'Tis true, _Pisaro_, 'twas indeed the Prince. +But what was th'occasion? + +_Pis_. He call'd me Spy, and I return'd th'affront, +But took no notice that he was my Prince: +It was a Folly I repented of; +But 'twas in a damn'd melancholy Mood. + +_Alcip_. Was it a going in or coming out? + +_Pis_. From whence? + +_Alcip. Erminia's_ Chamber; prithee let me know, +For I have fears that take away my sleep, +Fears that will make me mad, stark mad, _Pisaro_. + +_Pis_. You do not well to fear without a cause. + +_Alcip_. O Friend, I saw what thou canst ne'er conceive; +Last night I saw it when I came from thee: +And if thou go'st about t'impose upon me, +I'll cast thee from my Soul. Come out with it, +I see thy breast heave with a generous ardour, +As if it scorn'd to harbour a reserve, +Which stood not with its Amity to me. +Could I but know my Fate, I could despise it: +But when 'tis clad in Robes of Innocence, +The Devil cannot 'scape it: Something +Was done last night that gnaws my heart-strings; +And many things the Princess too let fall, +Which, Gods! I know not how to put together. +And prithee be not thou a Ridler too: +But if thou knew'st of ought that may concern me, +Make me as wise as thou art. + +_Pis_. Sir, you are of so strange a jealous Humour, +And I so strangely jealous of your Honour, +That 'twixt us both we may make work enough; +But on my Soul I know no wrong you have. + +_Alcip_. I must believe thee, yet methinks thy Face +Has put on an unwonted gravity. + +_Pis_. That, _Alcippus_, you'll not wonder at, +When you shall know you are my Rival. + +_Alcip_. Nay, why shouldst thou delay me thus with stories? +This shall not put me off. + +_Pis_. Sir, I'm in earnest, you have gain'd that Heart, +For which I have receiv'd so many wounds; +Venturing for Trophies where none durst appear, +To gain at my Return one single smile, +Or that she would submit to hear my story: +And when sh'has said, 'twas bravely done, _Pisaro_, +I thought the Glory recompens'd the Toil; +And sacrificed my Laurels at her feet, +Like those who pay their first-fruits to the Gods, +To beg a blessing on the following Crop: +And never made her other signs of Love, +Nor knew I that I had that easy flame, +Till by her Eyes I found that she was mortal, +And could love too, and that my Friend is you. + +_Alcip_. Thou hast amaz'd me, prithee speak more clearly. + +_Pis_. My Lord, the Princess has a passion for you, +Have I not reason now to be your Enemy? + +_Alcip_. Not till I make returns: +But now I'm past redemption miserable. +'Twas she _Erminia_ told me dy'd for me; +And I believ'd it but a slight of hers, +To put me from my Courtship. + +_Pis_. No, 'twas a fatal Truth: +_Alcippus_, hadst thou seen her, whilst the Priest +Was giving thee to fair _Erminia_, +What languishment appear'd upon her Eyes, +Which never were remov'd from thy lov'd Face, +Through which her melting Soul in drops distill'd, +As if she meant to wash away thy Sin, +In giving up that Right belong'd to her, +Thou hadst without my aid found out this truth: +A sweet composure dwelt upon her looks, +Like Infants who are smiling whilst they die; +Nor knew she that she wept, so unconcern'd +And freely did her Soul a passage find; +Whilst I transported had almost forgot +The Reverence due t'her sacred self and Place, +And every moment ready was to kneel, +And with my lips gather the precious drops, +And rob the Holy Temple of a Relick, +Fit only there t'inhabit. + +_Alcip_. I never thought thou'dst had this Softness in thee. +How cam'st thou, Friend, to hide all this from me? + +_Pis_. My Lord, I knew not that I was a Lover; +I felt no flame, but a religious Ardour, +That did inspire my Soul with adoration; +And so remote I was from ought but such, +I knew not Hope, nor what it was to wish +For other blessings than to gaze upon her: +Like Heaven I thought she was to be possess'd, +Where carnal Thoughts can no admittance find; +And had I not perceiv'd her Love to you, +I had not known the nature of my flame: +But then I found it out by Jealousy, +And what I took for a Seraphick motion, +I now decline as criminal and earthly. + +_Alcip_. When she can love to a discovery, +It shows her Passion eminent and high; +--But I am married--to a Maid that hates me: +What help for that, _Pisaro_? +And thou hast something too to say of her, +What was't? for now thou hast undone me quite. + +_Pis_. I have nought to say to her dishonour, Sir, +But something may be done may give you cause +To stand upon your Guard; +And if your Rage do not the mastery get, +I cannot doubt but what you'll be happy yet. + +_Alcip_. Without _Erminia_ that can hardly be, +And yet I find a certain shame within +That will not suffer me to see the Princess; +I have a kind of War within my Soul, +My Love against my Glory and my Honour; +And I could wish,--alas, I know not what: +Prithee instruct me. + +_Pis_. Sir, take a resolution to be calm, +And not like Men in love abandon Reason. +--You may observe the actions of these Lovers, +But be not passionate whate'er you find; +That headstrong Devil will undo us all; +If you'll be happy, quit its company. + +_Alcip_. I fain would take thy counsel-- [_Pauses_. + +_Pis_. Come, clear up, my Lord, and do not hang the head +Like Flowers in storms; the Sun will shine again. +Set _Galatea's_ Charms before your Eyes, +Think of the Glory to divide a Kingdom; +And do not waste your noble Youth and Time +Upon a peevish Heart you cannot gain. +This day you must to th'Camp, and in your absence +I'll take upon me what I scorn'd last night, +The Office of a Spy-- +Believe me, Sir, for by the Gods I swear, +I never wish'd the glory of a Conquest +With half that zeal as to compose these differences. + +_Alcip_. I do believe thee, and will tell thee something +That past between the Prince and I last night; +And then thou wilt conclude me truly miserable. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. _The Palace_. + + + _Enter_ Falatius, Labree, _as passing by they meet_ Cleontius. + +_Cle_. Your Servant, my Lord. +--So coldly, stay--your reason, Sir. + + [Fal. _puts off his Hat a little, and passes on_. + +_Fal_. How mean you, Sir? + +_Cle_. Do you not know me? + +_Fal_. Yes, I have seen you, and think you are _Cleontius_, +A Servant of the Prince's; wert i'th' Campania too, +If I mistake not. + +_Cle_. Can you recal me by no better instances? + +_Fal_. What need of any, pray? + +_Cle_. I am a Gentleman. + +_Fal_. Ha, _Labree_, what means he now? +By _Jove_, I do not question it, _Cleontius_: +What need this odd Punctilio? +I call thee to no account. + +_Cle_. That's more than I can say to you, Sir. + +_Fal_. I'll excuse you for that. + +_Cle_. But shall not need, Sir; stay, I have a Sister. + +_Fal_. Oh, the Devil, now he begins. + +_Cle_. A handsome Sister too, or you deceiv'd her. + +_Lab_. Bear up, Sir, be not huft. [_Aside_. + +_Fal_. It may be so, but is she kind, _Cleontius_? + [Fal. _bears up_. + +_Cle_. What mean you by that word? + +_Lab_. Again, Sir, here's two to one. [_Aside_. + +_Fal_. Will she do reason, or so? you understand me. + +_Cle_. I understand that thou'rt an impudent fellow, +Whom I must cudgel into better manners. + +_Fal_. Pox on't, who bears up now, _Labree_? + +_Cle_. Beat thee till thou confess thou art an Ass, +And on thy knees confess it to _Isillia_, +Who after that shall scorn thee. + +_Lab_. Railly with him, Sir, 'tis your only way, and put it +Off with a jest; for he's in fury, but dares not +Strike i'th' Court. + +_Fal_. But must you needs do this, needs fight, _Cleontius_? + +_Cle_. Yes, by all means, I find my self inclin'd to't. + +_Fal_. You shall have your desire, Sir, farewel. + +_Cle_. When, and where? + +_Fal_. Faith, very suddenly, for I think it will not be +Hard to find men of your trade, +Men that will fight as long as you can do, +And Men that love it much better than I, +Men that are poor and damn'd, fine desperate Rogues, +Rascals that for a Pattacoon a Man +Will fight their Fathers, +And kiss their Mothers into peace again: +Such, Sir, I think will fit you. + +_Cle_. Abusive Coward, hast thou no sense of honour? + +_Fal_. Sense of honour! ha, ha, ha, poor _Cleontius_. + + _Enter_ Aminta _and_ Olinda. + +_Am_. How now, Servant, why so jovial? + +_Fal_. I was laughing, Madam--at-- + +_Cle_. At what, thou thing of nothing-- + +_Am_. Cousin _Cleontius_, you are angry. + +_Cle_. Madam, it is unjustly then, for Fools +Should rather move the Spleen to Mirth than Anger. + +_Am_. You've too much wit to take ought ill from him: +Let's know your quarrel. + +_Fal_. By _Jove, Labree_, I am undone again. + +_Cle_. Madam, it was about-- + +_Fal_. Hold, dear _Cleontius_, hold, and I'll do any thing. [_Aside_. + +_Cle_. Just nothing-- + +_Fal_. He was a little too familiar with me. + +_Cle_. Madam, my Sister _Isillia_-- + +_Fal_. A curse, he will out with it-- + [_Aside, pulls him by the Arm_. + +_Cle_. Confess she is your Mistress. [_Aside_. + +_Fal_. I call my Mistress, Madam. + +_Am_. My Cousin _Isillia_ your Mistress! +Upon my word, you are a happy Man. + +_Fal_. By _Jove_, if she be your Cousin, Madam, +I love her much the better for't. + +_Am_. I am beholding to you, +But then it seems I have lost a Lover of you. + +_Cle_. Confess she has, or I'll so handle you. + + [_Ex_. Labree. + +_Fal_. That's too much, _Cleontius_--but I will, +By _Jove_, Madam, I must not have a Mistress that +Has more Wit than my self, they ever require +More than a Man's able to give them. + +_Oli_. Is this your way of Courtship to _Isillia_? + + [_Ex_. Cle. + +_Fal_. By _Jove_, Ladies, you get no more of that from me, +'Tis that has spoiled you all; I find _Alcander_ can +Do more with a dumb show, than I with all my +Applications and Address. + +_Oli_. Why, my Brother can speak. + +_Fal_. Yes, if any body durst hear him; by _Jove_, if you +Be not kind to him, he'll hector you all; I'll get +The way on't too, 'tis the most prosperous one; I see no +Other reason you have to love _Alcander_ +Better than I. + +_Am_. Why should you think I do? + +_Fal_. Devil, I see't well enough by your continual +Quarrels with him. + +_Am_. Is that so certain a proof? + +_Fal_. Ever while you live, you treat me too +Well ever to hope. + + _Enter_ Alcander, _kneels, offers his Sword to_ Aminta. + +--What new Masquerade's this? by _Jove, Alcander_ +Has more tricks than a dancing Bear. + +_Am_. What mean you by this present? + +_Alcan_. Kill me. + +_Am_. What have you done to merit it? + +_Alcan_. Do not ask, but do't. + +_Am_. I'll have a reason first. + +_Alcan_. I think I've kill'd _Pisaro_. + +_Am_. My Brother dead! + [_She falls into the arms of_ Oli. + +_Fal_. Madam, look up, 'tis I that call. + +_Am_. I care not who thou beest, but if a Man, +Revenge me on _Alcander_. + [_She goes out with_ Oli. + +_Fal_. By _Jove_, she has mistook her Man, +This 'tis to be a Lover now: +A Man's never out of one broil or other; +But I have more Wit than _Aminta_ this bout. [_Offers to go_. + +_Alcan_. Come back and do your duty e'er you go. [_Pulls him_. + +_Fal_. I owe you much, _Alcander_. + +_Alcan. Amimta_ said you should revenge her on me. + +_Fal_. Her Word's not Law I hope. + +_Alcan_. And I'll obey-- + +_Fal_. That may do much indeed. + [Fal. _answers with great signs of fear_. + +_Alcan_. This, if thou wert a Man, she bad thee do, +Why dost thou shake? + +_Fal_. No, no, Sir, I am not the man she meant. + +_Alcan_. No matter, thou wilt serve as well. +A Lover! and canst disobey thy Mistress? + +_Fal_. I do disown her, since she is so wicked +To bid me kill my Friend. +Why, thou'rt my Friend, _Alcander_. + +_Alcan_. I'll forgive thee that. + +_Fal_. So will not his Majesty: I may be hang'd for't. + +_Alcan_. Thou should'st be damn'd e'er disobey thy Mistress. + +_Fal_. These be degrees of Love I am not yet arriv'd at; +When I am, I shall be as ready to be damn'd +In honour as any Lover of you all. + +_Alcan_. Ounds, Sir, d'ye railly with me? + +_Fal_. Your pardon, sweet _Alcander_, I protest I am +Not in so gay an humour. + +_Alcan_. Farewell, I had forgot my self. + [_Exit_. + +_Fal_. Stark mad, by _Jove_--yet it may be not, for _Alcander_ has + many unaccountable humours. +Well, if this be agreeable to _Aminta_, she's e'en as mad +As he, and 'twere great pity to part them. + + _Enter_ Pisaro, Aminta, _and_ Olinda. + +_Am_. Well, have you kill'd him? + +_Fal_. Some wiser than some, Madam. +--My Lord--what, alive?-- + [_Sees_ Pisaro, _runs to him, and embraces him_. + +_Pis_. Worth two dead men, you see. + +_Fal_. That's more than I could have said within +This half hour. _Alcander's_ very _Orlando_, by _Jove_, and gone +To seek out one that's madder yet than himself +That will kill him. + +_Am_. Oh, dear _Falatius_, run and fetch him back. + +_Fal_. Madam, I have so lately 'scap'd a scouring, +That I wish you would take it for a mark +Of my Passion to disobey you; +For he is in a damn'd humour. + +_Am_. He's out of it by this, I warrant you; +But do not tell him that _Pisaro_ lives. + +_Fal_. That's as I shall find occasion. + [_Exit_ Fal. + +_Pis. Alcander_ is a worthy Youth and brave, +I wish you would esteem him so; +'Tis true, there's now some difference between us, +Our Interests are dispos'd to several ways, +But Time and Management will join us all: +I'll leave you; but prithee make it thy business +To get my Pardon for last night's rudeness. + +_Am_. I shall not fail. + + [_Exit_ Pis. + + _Re-enter_ Falatius, _with_ Alcander _melancholy_. + +_Fal_. Here, Madam, here he is. + +_Am_. Tell me, _Alcander_, why you treat me thus? +You say you love me, if I could believe you. + +_Alcan_. Believe a Man! away, you have no wit, +I'll say as much to every pretty Woman. + +_Am_. But I have given you no cause to wrong me. + +_Alcan_. That was my Fate, not Fault, I knew him not: +But yet to make up my offence to you, +I offer you my life; for I'm undone, +If any faults of mine should make you sad. + +_Am_. Here, take your Sword again, my Brother's well. + [_She gives him his Sword again_. + +_Fal_. Yes, by _Jove_, as I am: you had been finely serv'd, +If I had kill'd you now. + +_Am_. What, sorry for the news? ha, ha, ha. + +_Alcan_. No, sorry y'are a Woman, a mere Woman. + +_Am_. Why, did you ever take me for a Man? ha, ha. + +_Alcan_. Thy Soul, I thought, was all so; but I see +You have your weakness, can dissemble too; +--I would have sworn that Sorrow in your face +Had been a real one: +Nay, you can die in jest, you can, false Woman: +I hate thy Sex for this. + +_Fal_. By Jove, there is no truth in them, that's flat. + [_She looks sad_. + +_Alcan_. Why that repentant look? what new design? +Come, now a tear or two to second that, +And I am soft again, a very Ass. +--But yet that Look would call a Saint from th'Altar, +And make him quite forget his Ceremony, +Or take thee for his Deity: +--But yet thou hast a very Hell within, +Which those bewitching Eyes draw Souls into. + +_Fal_. Here's he that fits you, Ladies. + +_Am_. Nay, now y'are too unjust, and I will leave you. + +_Alcan_. Ah, do not go, I know not by what Magick, + [_Holds her_. +But as you move, my Soul yields that way too. + +_Fal_. The truth on't is, she has a strong magnetick Power, that I find. + +_Alcan_. But I would have none find it but my self, +No Soul but mine shall sympathize with hers. + +_Fal_. Nay, that you cannot help. + +_Alcan_. Yes, but I can, and take it from thee, if I thought it did so. + +_Oli_. No quarrels here, I pray. + +_Fal_. Madam, I owe a Reverence to the Place. + +_Alcan_. I'll scarce allow thee that; +Madam, I'll leave you to your Lover. + +_Am_. I hate thee but for saying so. + +_Alcan_. Quit him then. + +_Am_. So I can and thee too. [_Offers to go out_. + +_Alcan_. The Devil take me if you escape me so. [_Goes after her_. + +_Fal_. And I'll not be out-done in importunity. + + [_Goes after_. + + + +SCENE III. Galatea's _Apartments_. + + + _Enter_ Galatea _and_ Erminia. + +_Er_. And 'tis an act below my Quality, +Which, Madam, will not suffer me to fly. + +_Gal. Erminia_, e'er you boast of what you are, +Since you're so high I'll tell you what you were: +Your Father was our General 'tis true, +That Title justly to his Sword was due; +'Twas nobly gain'd, and worth his Blood and Toils, +Had he been satisfied with noble Spoils: +But with that single honour not content, +He needs must undermine the Government; +And 'cause h'ad gain'd the Army to his side, +Believ'd his Treason must be justify'd. +For this (and justly) he was banished; +Where whilst a low and unknown life he led, +Far from the hope and glory of a Throne, +In a poor humble Cottage you were born; +Your early Beauty did it self display, +Nor could no more conceal it self than Day: +Your Eyes did first _Philander's_ Soul inspire, +And Fortune too conform'd her to his fire. +That made your Father greater than before, +And what he justly lost that did restore. +'Twas that which first thy Beauty did disclose, +Which else had wither'd like an unseen Rose; +'Twas that which brought thee to the Court, and there +Dispos'd thee next my self, i'th' highest Sphere: +Alas, obscurely else thou'dst liv'd and died, +Not knowing thy own Charms, nor yet this Pride. + +_Er_. Madam, in this your Bounty is severe, +Be pleas'd to spare that repetition here. +I hope no Action of my Life should be +So rude to charge your Generosity: +But, Madam, do you think it just to pay +Your great Obligements by so false a way? +_Alcippus'_ Passion merits some return, +And should that prove but an ingrateful scorn? +Alas, I am his Wife; to disobey, +My Fame as well as Duty I betray. + +_Gal_. Perfidious Maid, I might have thought thou'dst prove +False to thy Prince, and Rival in my Love. +I thought too justly he that conquer'd me +Had a sufficient power to captive thee; +Thou'st now reveng'd thy Father's shame and thine, +In taking thus _Philander's_ Life and mine. + + [Er. _weeps_. + +_Er_. Ah, Madam, that you would believe my tears, +Or from my Vows but satisfy your Fears. +By all the Gods, _Alcippus_ I do hate, +And would do any thing to change my fate; +Ought that were just and noble I dare do. + +_Gal_. Enough, _Erminia_, I must credit you, +And will no other proof of it require, +But that you'll now submit to my desire; +Indeed, _Erminia_, you must grant my suit, +Where Love and Honour calls, make no dispute. +Pity a Youth that never lov'd before, +Remember 'tis a Prince that does adore; +Who offers up a Heart that never found +It could receive, till from your Eyes, a wound. + +_Er_. To your command should I submit to yield, +Where could I from _Alcippus_ be conceal'd? +What could defend me from his jealous Rage? + +_Gal_. Trust me, _Erminia_, I'll for that engage. + +_Er_. And then my Honour by that flight's o'erthrown. + +_Gal_. That being _Philander's_, he'll preserve his own; +And that, _Erminia_, sure you'll ne'er distrust. + +_Er_. Ah, Madam, give me leave to fear the worst. + + _Enter_ Aminta. + +_Am_. Madam, _Alcippus_ waits for your Commands, +He's going to the Camp. + +_Gal_. Admit him. + + _Enter_ Alcippus _and_ Pisaro. + +_Gal. Alcippus_, 'tis too soon to leave _Erminia_. + +_Alcip_. I wish she thought so, Madam, +Or could believe with what regret I do so; +She then would think the fault were much too small +For such a Penance as my Soul must suffer. + +_Am_. No matter, Sir, you have the Year before you. + +_Alcip_. Yes, Madam, so has every Galley Slave, +That knows his Toil, but not his Recompence: +To morrow I expect no more content, +Than this uneasy Day afforded me; +And all before me is but one grand piece +Of endless Grief and Madness: +--You, Madam, taught _Erminia_ to be cruel, +A Vice without your aid she could have learnt; +And now to exercise that new taught Art, +She tries the whole experience on my Heart. + +_Gal_. If she do so, she learnt it not of me, +I love, and therefore know no Cruelty: +Such outrage cannot well with Love reside, +Which only is the mean effect of Pride: +--I merit better thoughts from you, _Alcippus_. + +_Alcip_. Pardon me, Madam, if my Passion stray +Beyond the limits of my high respect; [_He kneels_. +--'Tis a rude gust, and merits your reproaches: +But yet the saucy Flame can ne'er controul +That Adoration which I owe my Princess: +That, with Religion, took possession here, +And in my Prayers I mix with you the Deities. + +_Gal_. I'ad rather you should treat me as a Mortal, +Rise and begin to do so. + + [_He rises and bows_. + +_Alcip_. Now, Madam, what must I expect from you? + +_Er. Alcippus_, all that's to your Virtue due. + +_Alcip_. In that but common Justice you allow. + +_Er_. That Justice, Sir, is all I can bestow. + +_Alcip_. In justice then you ought to me resign, +That which the Holy Priest intitled mine; +Yet that, without your Heart, I do despise, +For uncompell'd I'd have that sacrifice: +--Come ease me of that Pain that presses here, +Give me but Hope that may secure my Fear, +I'm not asham'd to own my Soul possest +With Jealousy, that takes away my rest. +--Tell me you'll love, or that my Suit is vain, +Do any thing to ease me of my pain. +Gods, Madam, why d'ye keep me in suspence? +This cannot be the effects of Innocence; +By Heaven, I'll know the cause, where e'er it lies, +Nor shall you fool me with your feign'd disguise. + +_Pis_. You do forget your promise, and this Presence. + [_Aside to_ Alcip. + +_Alcip_. 'Twas kindly urg'd, prithee be near me still, +And tell me of the faults that look unmanly. + +_Gal_. Dear, if thou lov'st me, flatter him a little. + [_To_ Er. _aside_. + +_Er_. 'Tis hard to do, yet I will try it, Madam. + +_Gal_. I'll leave you, that you may the better do so. +--I hope, _Alcippus_, you'll revisit us +With Lover's speed: +And whatsoever treatment now you find, +At your return you'll find us much more kind. + [_He bows, she goes out_. + +_Alcip_. Can you forgive the rashness of a Man, +That knows no other Laws but those of Passion? + +_Er_. You are unkind to think I do not, Sir; +--Yes, and am grown so softned by my pity, +That I'm afraid I shall neglect my Vows, +And to return your Passion, grow ingrate. + +_Alcip_. A few more syllables express'd like these, +Will raise my Soul up to the worst extreme, +And give me with your Scorn an equal torment. + +_Er_. See what power your language has upon me. [_Weeps_. + +_Alcip_. Ah, do not weep, a tear or two's enough +For the Completion of your Cruelty, +That when it fail'd to exercise your will, +Sent those more powerful Weapons from your Eyes, +And what by your severity you mist of, +These (but a more obliging way) perform. +Gently, _Erminia_, pour the Balsam in, +That I may live, and taste the sweets of Love. +--Ah, should you still continue, as you are, +Thus wondrous good, thus excellently fair, +I should retain my growing name in War, +And all the Glories I have ventur'd for, +And fight for Crowns to recompense thy Bounty. +--This can your Smiles; but when those Beams are clouded, +Alas, I freeze to very Cowardice, +And have not Courage left to kill my self. + +_Er_. A Fate more glorious does that Life attend, +And does preserve you for a nobler end. + +_Alcip. Erminia_, do not sooth my easy Heart, +For thou my Fate, and thou my Fortune art; +Whatever other blessings Heaven design, +Without my dear _Erminia_, I'll decline. +Yet, Madam, let me hope before I go, +In pity that you ought to let me do: +'Tis all you shall allow m'impatient heart. + +_Er_. That's what against my will I must impart: +But wish it please the Gods, when next we meet, +We might as Friends, and not as Lovers greet. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I. _The Palace_. + + + _Enter_ Galatea _and_ Aminta, _met by_ Philander _and_ Alcander. + +_Phi_. So hasty, Sister! + +_Gal_. Brother, I am glad to meet you. +_Aminta_ has some welcome News for you. + +_Am_. My Lord! +_Erminia_ yet is hardly brought to yield; +She wants but some encouragement from you, +That may assist her weakness to subdue, +And 'twas but faintly she deny'd to see you. + +_Phi_. However, I will venture, +She can but chide, and that will soon be past: +A Lover's Anger is not long to last. + +_Am. Isillia_ I have won to give you entrance. + +_Phi_. Love furnish me with powerful Arguments: +Direct my Tongue, that my disorder'd Sense +May speak my Passion more than Eloquence. [_Aside_. + +_Gal_. But is _Alcippus_ gone? + +_Alcan_. Madam, an hour since. + +_Phi_. 'Tis well; and Sister, +Whilst I persuade _Erminia_ to this flight, +Make it your business to persuade the King, +Hang on his neck, and kiss his willing cheek: +Tell him how much you love him, and then smile, +And mingle Words with Kisses; 'twill o'ercome him +Thou hast a thousand pretty Flatteries, +Which have appeas'd his highest fits of Passion: +A Song from thee has won him to that rest, +Which neither Toil nor Silence could dispose him to. +Thou know'st thy power, and now or never use it. + +_Gal_. 'Twas thither I was going. + +_Phi_. May'st thou be prosperous. + + [_Exeunt_ Phi. _and_ Gal. Aminta _and_ Alcander _stay_. + +_Am_. What now, _Alcander_? + +_Alcan_. As 'twas, _Aminta_. + +_Am_. How's that? + +_Alcan_. Such a distracted Lover as you left me. + +_Am_. Such as I found you too, I fear, _Alcander_. + +_Alcan_. Ah, Madam, do not wrong me so; +Till now I never knew the joys and sorrows +That do attend a Soul in love like mine: +My Passion only fits the Object now; +I hate to tell you so, 'tis a poor low means +To gain a Mistress by, of so much wit: +_Aminta_, you're above that common rate +Of being won. +Mean Beauties should be flatter'd into praise, +Whilst you need only Sighs from every Lover, +To tell you who you conquer, and not how, +Nor to instruct you what attracts you have. + +_Am_. This will not serve to convince me, +But you have lov'd before. + +_Alcan_. And will you never quit that error, Madam? + +_Am_. 'Tis what I've reason to believe, _Alcander_, +And you can give me none for loving me: +I'm much unlike _Lucinda_ whom you sigh'd for, +I'm not so coy, nor so reserv'd as she; +Nor so designing as _Florana_ your next Saint, +Who starv'd you up with hope, till you grew weary; +And then _Ardelia_ did restore that loss, +The little soft _Ardelia_, kind and fair too. + +_Alcan_. You think you're wondrous witty now, _Aminta_, +But hang me if you be. + +_Am_. Indeed, _Alcander_, no, 'tis simple truth: +Then for your bouncing Mistress, long _Brunetta_, +O that majestick Garb, 'tis strangely taking, +That scornful Look, and Eyes that strike all dead +That stand beneath them. + +_Alcander_, I have none of all these Charms: +But well, you say you love me; could you be +Content to dismiss these petty sharers in your Heart, +And give it all to me; on these conditions +I may do much. + +_Alcan. Aminta_, more perhaps than I may like. + +_Am_. Do not fear that, _Alcander_. + +_Alcan_. Your Jealousy incourages that Fear. + +_Am_. If I be so, I'm the fitter for your humour. + +_Alcan_. That's another reason for my fears; that ill-Luck owes us a +spite, and will be sure to pay us with loving one another, a thought I +dread. Farewel, _Aminta_; when I can get loose from _Ardelia_, I may +chance wait on you, till then your own Pride be your Companion. + + [_Holds him_. + +_Am_. Nay, you shall not go, _Alcander_. + +_Alcan_. Fy on't, those Looks have lost their wonted Force, +I knew you'd call me back to smile upon me, +And then you have me sure; no, no, Aminta, +I'll no more of that. [_Goes out_. + +_Am_. I have too much betray'd my Passion for him, +--I must recal it, if I can I must:-- +I will--for should I yield, my power's o'erthrown, +And what's a Woman when that glory's gone? + + [_Exit_. + + + +SCENE II. _The Apartments of_ Alcippus. + + + _Enter_ Alcippus _and_ Pisaro. + +_Pis_. You seem'd then to be pleas'd with what she said. + +_Alcip_. And then methought I was so, +But yet even then I fear'd she did dissemble. +--Gods, what's a Man possest with Jealousy? + +_Pis_. A strange wild thing, a Lover without reason; +I once have prov'd the torture on't, +But as unlike to thine as good from evil; +Like fire in Limbecks, mine was soft and gentle, +Infusing kindly heat, till it distill'd +The spirits of the Soul out at my Eyes, +And so it ended. +But thine's a raging Fire, which never ceases +Till it has quite destroy'd the goodly Edifice +Where it first took beginning. +Faith, strive, Sir, to suppress it. + +_Alcip_. No, I'll let it run to its extent, +And see what then 'twill do. +Perhaps 'twill make me mad, or end my life, +Either of which will ease me. + +_Pis_. Neither of these, _Alcippus_; +It will unman you, make you too despis'd; +And those that now admire will pity you. + +_Alcip_. What wouldst thou have me do? +Am I not ty'd a Slave to follow Love, +Whilst at my back Freedom and Honour waits, +And I have lost the power to welcome them? +Like those who meet a Devil in the night, +And all afrighted gaze upon the Fury, +But dare not turn their backs to what they fear, +Though safety lie behind them. +Alas! I would as willingly as those +Fly from this Devil, Love. + +_Pis_. You may, like those afrighted, by degrees +Allay your sense of terror in the Object, +And then its Power will lesson with your Fear, +And 'twill be easy to forgo the Fantasm. + +_Alcip_. No, then like the damn'd Ghost it follows me. + +_Pis_. Let Reason then approach it, and examine it. + +_Alcip_. Love is a surly and a lawless Devil, +And will not answer Reason. +I must encounter it some other way, +For I will lay the Fiend. + +_Pis_. What would you have, _Alcippus_? + +_Alcip_. I'd have fair play, _Pisaro_. +--I find the cheat, and will not to the Camp; +--Thou shalt supply my place, and I'll return: +The Night grows on, and something will be done +That I must be acquainted with. + +_Pis_. Pardon me, Sir, if I refuse you here; +I find you're growing up to Jealousies, +Which I'll not trust alone with you. + +_Alcip_. Thou know'st perhaps of something worthy it. + +_Pis_. I must confess, your Passions give me cause, +If I had any Secrets, to conceal them; +But 'tis no time nor place to make disputes in: +Will you to Horse? + +_Alcip_. Will you not think fit I should return then? +I can be calm. + +_Pis_. What is't you mean by this return, _Alcippus_? + +_Alcip_. To see _Erminia_, is not that enough +To one in love, as I am? + +_Pis_. But, Sir, suppose you find _Philander_ there? + +_Alcip_. Then I suppose I shall not much approve on't. + +_Pis_. You would be at your last night's rage again. +_Alcippus_, this will ruin you for ever, +Nor is it all the Power you think you have +Can save you, if he once be disoblig'd. +Believe me 'twas the Princess' passion for you +Made up that breach last night. + +_Alcip_. All this I know as well as you, _Pisaro_, +But will not be abus'd; alas, I'm lost: +Could I recal these two last days are past, +Ah, I should be my self again, _Pisaro_. +I would refuse these Fetters which I wear, +And be a Slave to nothing but to Glory. + +_Pis_. That were a Resolution worthy of you. +--But come, 'tis late, what you resolve conclude. + +_Alcip_. I am resolv'd I will not to the Camp, +A secret inclination does persuade me +To visit my _Erminia_ to night. + +_Pis_. Comes it from Love or Jealousy? + +_Alcip_. The first, good faith, _Pisaro_; thou'rt so fearful-- +You shall to th'Camp before, +And I'll be with you early in the Morning. + +_Pis_. Give me your hand, and promise to be calm. + +_Alcip_. By all our Friendships, as the Western Winds, + [_Gives his hand_. +Nothing that's done shall e'er inrage me more, +Honour's the Mistress I'll henceforth adore. + [_Exit_. + +_Pis_. I will not trust you though. + + [_Goes out another way_. + + + +SCENE III. _The Court Gallery_. + + + _Enter_ Philander _and_ Alcander _in their Clokes + muffled as in the dark_. + +_Alcan_. _Isillia_. + [_Calls at the lodgings of_ Erminia. + +_Isil_. [_Entering_.] Who's there? + +_Alcan_. A Friend. + +_Isil_. My Lord _Alcander_? + +_Alcan_. The same. + +_Isil_. Where's the Prince? + +_Phi_. Here, _Isillia_. + +_Isil_. Give me your hand, my Lord, and follow me. + +_Phi_. To such a Heaven as thou conduct'st me to, +Though thou should'st traverse Hell, I'd follow thee. + +_Alcan_. You'll come back in charity, _Isillia_? + +_Isil_. Yes, if I dare trust you alone with me. + + [_They go all in_. + + + +SCENE IV. + + + _Draws off, a Chamber, discovers_ Erminia _in a dishabit, sitting; + to her_ Philander, _who falls at her feet, on his knees_. + +_Er_. My Lord the Prince, what makes your Highness here? + +_Phi. Erminia_, why do ask that needless question? +'Twas Love, Love that's unsatisfied, which brought me hither. + [_Kneels_. + +_Er_. Rise, Sir, this posture would become me better. + +_Phi_. Permit me, dear _Erminia_--to remain thus. +'Tis only by these signs I can express +What my Confusion will not let me utter. +I know not what strange power thou bear'st about thee, +But at thy sight or touch my Sense forsakes me, +And that, withal I had design'd to say, +Turns to a strange disorder'd Rapture in me. +--Oh _Erminia_-- + +_Er_. How do you, Sir? + +_Phi_. I am not well; +Too suddenly I pass from one extreme +To this of Joy, more insupportable: +But I shall re-assume my health anon, +And tell thee all my story. + +_Er_. Dear Sir, retire into this inner room, +And there repose awhile: +Alas, I see disorder in your Face. + +_Phi_. This confidence of me, is generous in thee. + + [_They go into the Scene which draws over_. + + + +SCENE V. _The Court Gallery_. + + + _Enter_ Alcippus. + +_Alcip_. The Night is calm and silent as my Thoughts, +Where nothing now but Love's soft whispers dwell; +Who in as gentle terms upbraids my Rage, +Which strove to dispossess the Monarch thence: +It tells me how dishonest all my Fears are, +And how ungrateful all my Jealousies; +And prettily persuades those Infidels +To be less rude and mutinous hereafter. +Ah, that I could remain in this same state, +And be contented with this Monarchy: +I would, if my wild multitude of Passions +Could be appeas'd with it; but they're for Liberty, +And nothing but a Common-wealth within +Will satisfy their appetites of Freedom. +--Pride, Honour, Glory, and Ambition strive +How to expel this Tyrant from my Soul, +But all too weak, though Reason should assist them. + [_He knocks_. Alcander _looks out at the door_. + +_Alcan_. Who's there? + +_Alcip_. A Friend. + +_Isil_. [_Within_.] Oh Heavens! it is my Lord _Alcippus'_ voice. + +_Alcan_. Peace, _Isillia_. + +_Alcip_. I hear a Man within--open the door. +Now, Love, defend thy Interest, or my Jealousy +Will grow the mightier Devil of the two else. [Alcan. _comes out_. +--Who's this? one muffled in a Cloke? +What art thou, who at this dead time of Night +Hast took possession here? +--Speak, or I'll kill thee. + +_Alcan_. This were an opportunity indeed +To do my Prince a service, but I dare not. + +_Alcip_. What darest not do? + +_Alcan_. Not kill thee. + +_Alcip_. Is that thy business then? have at thee, Slave? +I'll spoil your keeping doors. [_Runs at him_. + + [_They fight, and grapling_, Alcander _gets the Sword of_ Alcippus. + +He'as got my Sword, however, I'll lose no time: +It may be 'tis his office to detain me. [_He goes in_. + +_Alcan_. I'm wounded, yet I will not leave him so; +There may be Mischief in him, though unarm'd. + + [_Goes in_. + + + +SCENE VI. A Bed-chamber. + + + _Discovers_ Erminia, Philander _sitting on the Bed, to them_ + Isillia, _a Sword and Hat on the Table_. + +_Isil_. Ah, Madam, _Alcippus_. + +_Er. Alcippus_, where? + +_Isil_. I left him in a quarrel with _Alcander_, +And hear him coming up. + +_Er_. For Heaven's sake, Sir, submit to be conceal'd. + +_Phi_. Not for the world, _Erminia_, +My Innocence shall be my guard and thine. + +_Er_. Upon my knees I'll beg you'll be conceal'd, [_A noise_. +He comes; _Philander_, for my safety go. + +_Phi_. I never did obey with more regret. + + [_He hides himself behind the Bed, and in haste leaves + his Sword and Hat on the Table_; Alcippus _comes in_. + +_Alcip_. How now, _Erminia_? +How comes it you are up so late? + +_Er_. I found my self not much inclin'd to sleep; +I hope 'tis no offence. +Why do you look so wildly round about you? + +_Alcip_. Methinks, _Erminia_, you are much confus'd. + +_Er_. Alas, you cannot blame me; +_Isillia_ tells me you were much inrag'd +Against a Lover she was entertaining. + +_Alcip_. A Lover--was that a time for Courtship? +Such Actions, Madam, will reflect on you. + + [Isillia _goes to take the Hat and Sword and slide + into her lap, which he sees, calls to her_. + +--What have you there, _Isillia_? +Come back, and let me see what 'tis. + [_He takes them from her_. +--Ha--a Sword and Hat--_Erminia_, whose be these? + +_Er_. Why do you ask-- + +_Alcip_. To be inform'd, is that so great a wonder? + +_Er_. They be my Father's, Sir-- + +_Alcip_. Was that well said, _Erminia_?--speak again. + +_Er_. What is't you would know? + +_Alcip_. The truth, _Erminia_, 'twould become you best. +Do you think I take these things to be your Father's? +No, treacherous Woman, I have seen this Sword, + [_Draws the Sword_. +Worn by a Man more vigorous than thy Father, +It had not else been here. +--Where have you hid this mighty Man of valour? +Have you exhausted so his stock of Courage, +He has not any left t'appear withal? + +_Phi_. Yes, base _Alcippus_, I have still that Courage, +Th'effects of which thou hast beheld with wonder; +And now being fortified by Innocence, +Thou't find sufficient to chastise thy boldness: +Restore my Sword, and prove the truth of this. + +_Alcip_. I've hardly so much Calmness left to answer thee, +And tell thee, Prince, thou art deceiv'd in me. +--I know 'tis just I should restore thy Sword, +But thou hast show'd the basest of thy play, +And I'll return th'uncivil Treachery; +You merit Death for this base Injury. +But you're my Prince, and that I own you so, +Is all remains in me of Sense or Justice; +The rest is Rage, which if thou gett'st not hence +Will eat up that small morsel too of Reason, +And leave me nothing to preserve thy life with. + +_Phi_. Gods, am I tame, and hear the Traytor brave me? + [_Offers to run into him_. +I have resentment left, though nothing else. + +_Alcip_. Stand off, by all that's good, I'll kill thee else. + [Er. _puts her self between_. + +_Er_. Ah, hold, Sir, hold, the Prince has no defence, +And you are more than arm'd; [_To_ Alcip. +What honour is't to let him murder you? [_To the_ Prince. +--Nor would your Fame be lessen'd by retreat. + +_Phi_. Alas, I dare not leave thee here with him. + +_Er_. Trust me, Sir, I can make him calm again. + +_Alcip_. She counsels well, and I advise you take it. + +_Phi_. I will, but not for fear of thee or Death, +But from th'assurance that her Power's sufficient +To allay this unbecoming Fury in thee, +And bring thee to repentance. + + [_He gives him his Sword_; Philander _goes out_, + Alcippus _locks the door after him_. + +_Er. Alcippus_, what do you mean? + +_Alcip_. To know where 'twas you learn'd this Impudence? +Which you're too cunning in, +Not to have been a stale practitioner. + +_Er_. Alas, what will you do? + +_Alcip_. Preserve thy Soul, if thou hast any sense +Of future Joys, after this vile damn'd Action. + +_Er_. Ah, what have I done? + +_Alcip_. That which if I should let thee live, _Erminia_, +Would never suffer thee to look abroad again. +--Thou'st made thy self and me-- +Oh, I dare not name the Monsters.-- +But I'll destroy them while the Gods look down, +And smile upon my Justice. + + [_He strangles her with a Garter, which he snatches + from his Leg, or smothers her with a pillow_. + +_Er_. Hold, hold, and hear my Vows of Innocence. + +_Alcip_. Let me be damn'd as thou art, if I do; + [_Throws her on a Bed, he sits down in a Chair_. +--So now, my Heart, I have redeem'd thee nobly, +Sit down and pause a while-- +But why so still and tame, is one poor Murder +Enough to satisfy thy storm of Passion? +If it were just, it ought not here to end; +--If not--I've done too much-- + + [_One knocks, he rises after a little pause, + and opens the door; enter_ Page. + +_Page_. My Lord, _Pisaro_-- + +_Alcip. Pisaro_,--Oh, that Name has wakened me, +A Name till now had never Terror in't! +--I will not speak with him. + +_Page_. My Lord, he's here. + [Page _goes out_. + + _Enter_ Pisaro. + +_Pis_. Not speak with me! nay then I fear the worst. + +_Alcip_. Not for the world, _Pisaro_-- + + [_Hides his face with his hand_, Pis. _sees_ Erminia. + +_Pis_. Thy guilt is here too plain, +I need not read it in thy blushing face, +She's dead and pale: Ah, sweet _Erminia_! + +_Alcip_. If she be dead, the fitter she's for me, +She'll now be coy no more, nor cry I cannot love, +And frown and blush, when I but kiss her hand: +Now I shall read no terror in her Eyes, +And what is better yet, shall ne'er be jealous. + +_Pis_. Why didst thou make such haste to be undone? +Had I detain'd thee but an hour longer, +Thou'dst been the only happy of thy Sex. +--I knew thou didst dissemble when we parted, +And therefore durst not trust thee with thy Passions: +I only staid to gather from my Sister +What news I might concerning your affairs, +Which I with joy came to impart to you, +But most unfortunately came too late: +Why didst thou yield obedience to that Devil, +Which urg'd thee to destroy this Innocent? + +_Alcip. Pisaro_, do not err; +I found the Prince and she alone together, +He all disorder'd like a Ravisher, +Loose and unbutton'd for the amorous play; +O that she had another Life to lose! + +_Pis_. You wrong her most inhumanly, you do; +Her Blood, yet sensible of the injury, +Flows to her face to upbraid thy Cruelty. +--Where dost thou mean, bad Man, to hide thy head? +Vengeance and Justice will pursue thee close, +And hardly leave thee time for Penitence. +--What will the Princess say to this return +You've made to all the offers she has sent +This Night by Prince _Philander_? + +_Alcip_. Oh, when you name the Princess and _Philander_, +Such different Passions do at once possess me, +As sink my over-laden Soul to Hell. +--Alas, why do I live? 'tis losing time; +For what is Death, a pain that's sooner ended +Than what I felt from every frown of hers? +--It was but now that lovely thing had Life, +Could speak and weep, and had a thousand Charms, +That had oblig'd a Murder, and Madness't self +To've been her tame Adorers. +Yet now should even her best belov'd, the Prince, +With all his Youth, his Beauties and Desires, +Fall at her Feet, and tell his tale of Love, +She hardly would return his amorous Smiles, +Or pay his meeting Kisses back again; +Is not that fine, _Pisaro_? + +_Pis_. Sir, 'tis no time to talk in, come with me, +For here's no safety for a Murderer. + +_Alcip_. I will not go, alas I seek no Safety. + +_Pis_. I will not now dispute that vain reply, +But force you to security. + + [Pisaro _draws him out, the Scene closes_. + + + +SCENE VII. _The Palace_. + + + _Enter_ Philander, Alcander, Galatea, Aminta, _and_ Falatius. + +_Fal_. Ah, fly, Sir, fly from what I have to tell you. + +_Alcan_. What's the news? + +_Fal_. Ah, Sir, the dismal'st heavy news that e'er was told or heard. + +_Gal_. No matter, out with it. + +_Fal. Erminia_, Madam-- + +_Phi. Erminia_, what of her? + +_Fal_. Is dead, Sir. + +_Alcan_. What, hast thou lost thy Wits? + +_Fal_. I had them not about me at the sight, +I else had been undone: Alas, _Erminia's_ dead, +Murder'd, and dead. + +_Alcan_. It cannot be, thou ly'st. + +_Fal_. By _Jove_, I do not, Sir, I saw her dead: +Alas, I ran as I was wont to do, +Without demanding licence, to her Chamber, +But found her not, as I was wont to do, [_The Women weep_. +In a gay humour, but stone-dead and cold. + +_Phi. Alcander_, am I awake?--or being so, +Dost not perceive this senseless Flesh of mine +Hardened into a cold benumbed Statue? +--Methinks--it does--support me--or I fall; +And so--shall break to pieces-- + [_Falls into his Arms. He leads him out_. + +_Gal_. Ah, lovely Maid, was this thy destiny? +Did Heaven create thy Beauties to this end? +--I must distrust their Bounties, who neglected +The best and fairest of their handy-work; +This will incourage Sin, when Innocence +Must perish thus, and meet with no defence. + + _Enter the_ King _and_ Orgulius. + +_Org_. If murder'd Innocence do cry for Justice, +Can you, great Sir, make a defence against it? + +_King_. I think I cannot. + +_Org_. Sir, as you are pious, as you are my King, +The Lover and Protector of your People, +Revenge _Erminia's_ Murder on _Alcippus_. + +_Gal_. If e'er my Mother, Sir, were dear to you, +As from your Tears I guest whene'er you nam'd her; +If the remembrance of those Charms remain, +Whose weak resemblance you have found in me, +For which you oft have said you lov'd me dearly; +Dispense your mercy, and preserve this Copy, +Which else must perish with th'Original. + +_King_. Why all this Conjuration, _Galatea_? + +_Gal_. To move you, Sir, to spare _Alcippus'_ Life. + +_King_. You are unjust, if you demand a Life +Must fall a Sacrifice to _Erminia's_ Ghost, +That is a debt I have ingag'd to pay. + +_Gal_. Sir, if that Promise be already past, +And that your Word be irrevocable, +I vow I will not live a moment after him. + +_King_. How, _Galatea_! I'd rather hop'd you'd join'd +Your Prayers with his. + +_Gal_. Ah, Sir, the late Petition which I made you +Might have inform'd you why these Knees are bow'd; +'Twas but this night I did confess I lov'd him, +And you would have allow'd that Passion in me, +Had he not been _Erminia's_: +And can you question now what this Address meant? + +_Org_. Remember, Sir, _Erminia_ was my Daughter. + +_Gal_. And, Sir, remember that I am your Daughter. + +_Org_. And shall the Traitor live that murder'd her? + +_Gal_. And will you by his Death, Sir, murder me? +In dear _Erminia's_ Death too much is done; +If you revenge that Death, 'tis two for one. + +_Org_. Ah, Sir, to let him live's unjust in you. + +_Gal_. And killing me, you more injustice do. + +_Org. Alcippus_, Madam, merits not your Love, +That could so cruel to _Erminia_ prove. + +_Gal_. If Lovers could be rul'd by Reason's Laws, +For this complaint on him we'ad had no cause. +'Twas Love that made him this rash act commit; +Had she been kind, 't had taught him to submit. +--But might it not your present Griefs augment, +I'd say that you deserve this punishment, +By forcing her to marry with the General; +By which you have destroy'd _Philander_ too, +And now you would _Alcippus'_ Life undo. + +_Org_. That was a fault of duty to your Majesty. + +_King_. Though that were honest, 'twere not wisely done; +For had I known the passion of my Son, +And how essential 'twas to his content +I willingly had granted my consent; +Her Worth and Beauty had sufficient been +T'ave rais'd her to the Title of a Queen. +Did not my glorious Father, great _Gonzal_, +Marry the Daughter of his Admiral? +And I might to my Son have been as kind, +As then my Father did my Grandsire find. + +_Org_. You once believ'd that I had guilty been, +And had the Punishment, but not the Sin; +I suffer'd when 'twas thought I did aspire, +And should by this have rais'd my crimes yet higher. + +_King_. How did _Philander_ take _Erminia's_ death? + +_Gal_. My own surprize and grief was so extream, +I know not what effects it had in him; +But this account of him, I'm forc'd to give, +Since she is dead, I know he cannot live. + +_King_. I'll know _Philander's_ fate e'er I proceed; +And if he die, _Alcippus_ too shall bleed. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE VIII. _The Gallery_. + + + _Enter_ Falatius _and_ Labree. + +_Fal_. Wert thou never valiant, _Labree_? + +_Lab_. Yes, Sir, before I serv'd you, and since too: I +Am provok'd to give you proofs on't sometimes; +For when I am angry I am a very Hector. + +_Fal_. Ay, the Devil when a body's angry, but that's +Not the Valour in mode; Men fight now a-days +Without that, and even embrace whilst they draw +Their Swords on one another. + +_Lab_. Ay, Sir, those are Men that despise their lives. + +_Fal_. Why, that's it, _Labree_, that I would learn to do, +And which I fear, nothing but Poverty will make me do; +_Jove_ defend me from that experiment. + + _Enter_ Erminia _veil'd with a thin Tiffany_. + +_Lab_. What's the matter, Sir? +Does the fit take you now? + +_Fal_. Save us, save us, from the Fiend. + +_Lab_. A Ghost, a Ghost! O, O, O! + + [_They fall shaking on the ground_. + +_Er_. This was a happy mistake, +Now I may pass with safety. + [_Ex_. + +_Fal_. Look up, _Labree_, if thou hast any of that +Courage thou spakest of but now. + +_Lab_. I dare not, Sir, experience yours I pray. + +_Fal_. Alas, alas, I fear we are both rank Cowards. + +_Lab_. Rise, Sir, 'tis gone. + +_Fal_. This was worse than the fright _Alcander_ put +Me into by much. + + [_They rise and go out_. + + + +SCENE IX. Philander's _Apartments_. + + + _Enter_ Philander _and_ Cleontius. + +_Phi_. I know he's fled to the Camp, +For there he only can secure himself. + +_Cle_. I do not think it, Sir. +He's too brave to justify an Action +Which was the Outrage only of his Passion, +That soon will toil it self into a Calm, +And then will grow considerate again, +And hate the Rashness it provok'd him to. + +_Phi_. That shall not serve his turn--go +Tell him I'll get his Pardon of the King, +And set him free from other fears of Justice, +But those which I intend to execute. +If he be brave, he'll not refuse this offer; +If not, I'll do as he has done by me, +And meet his hated Soul by Treachery. [Cle_. goes out_. +--And then I've nothing more to do but die. +--Ah, how agreeable are the thoughts of Death! +How kindly do they entertain my Soul, +And tell it pretty tales of Satisfaction in the other world, +That I shall dwell for ever with _Erminia_?--but stay, +That sacred Spirit yet is unreveng'd, +--I'll send that Traitor's Soul to eternal Night, +Then mine shall take its so desired Flight. [_Going out_. + + _Enter _Erminia, _calls him_. + +_Er_. Return, Philander, whither wouldst thou fly? + +_Phi_. What Voice is that? [_Turns, sees her, and is frighted_. + +_Er_. 'Tis I, my Prince, 'tis I. + +_Phi_. Thou--Gods--what art thou--in that lovely shape? + +_Er_. A Soul that from Elysium made escape, + [_As she comes towards him, he goes back in great amaze_. +To visit thee; why dost thou steal away? +I'll not approach thee nearer than I may. + +_Phi_. Why do I shake--it is _Erminia's_ form-- +And can that Beauty ought that's ill adorn? +--In every part _Erminia_ does appear, +And sure no Devil can inhabit there. + + [_He comes on and kneels, one knocks, she steals back in at a door_. + +_Alcan_. [_Within_.] My Lord the Prince! + +_Phi_. Ha--Oh Gods, I charge thee not to vanish yet! +I charge thee by those Powers thou dost obey, +Not to deprive me of thy blessed sight. + +_Er_. I will revisit thee. [_Ex_. + + _Enter_ Alcander. + +_Phi_. I'm not content with that. +--Stay, stay, my dear _Erminia_. + +_Alcan_. What mean you, Sir? + [_He rises and looks still afrighted_. + +_Phi_. _Alcander_, look, look, how she glides away, +Dost thou not see't? + +_Alcan_. Nothing, Sir, not I. + +_Phi_. No, now she's gone again. + +_Alcan_. You are disorder'd, pray sit down a while. + +_Phi_. No, not at all, _Alcander_; I'm my self, +I was not in a Dream, nor in a Passion +When she appear'd, her Face a little pale, +But else my own _Erminia_, she her self, +I mean a thing as like, nay, it spoke too, +And I undaunted answer'd it again; +But when you knockt it vanisht. + +_Alcan_. 'Twas this _Aminta_ would persuade me to, +And, faith, I laught at her, +And wish I might have leave to do so now. + +_Phi_. You do displease me with your Unbelief. + +_Alcan_. Why, Sir, do you think there can indeed be Ghosts? + +_Phi_. Pray do not urge my Sense to lose its nature. + +_Er_. It is _Alcander_, I may trust him too. +[_She peeps in on them, and comes out_. + +_Phi_. Look where she comes again, credit thy Eyes, +Which did persuade thee that they saw her dead. + +_Alcan_. By Heaven, and so they did. +[_Both seem frighted_. +--Gods--this is wondrous strange! yet I can bear it, +If it were the Devil himself in that fair shape. + +_Phi_. And yet thou shakest. + +_Alcan_. I do, but know not why. +--Inform us, lovely Spirit, what thou art, +A God--or Devil; if either, thou art welcome. + +_Er_. You cannot think, _Alcander_, there be Ghosts. +[_She gives her hands to him and_ Phi. _which +they refuse to touch_. +No, give me your hand, and prove mine flesh and blood. +--Sir, you were wont to credit what I said, +And I would still merit that kind opinion. + +_Phi_. _Erminia_, Soul of Sweetness, is it you? +--How do you ravish with excess of Joys? + +_Er_. Softly, dear Sir, do not express that Joy, +Lest you destroy it by your doing so. +I fly for sanctuary to your Arms; +As yet none knows I live, but poor _Isillia_, +Who bathing of my cold face with her tears, +Perceiv'd some signs of life, and us'd what means +Her Love and Duty did instruct her in; +And I in half an hour was so reviv'd, +As I had sense of all was past and done; +And to prevent a death I yet might fear, +If mad _Alcippus_ had return'd again, +--Alone I came to you, where I could find +Alone my Safety too. + +_Phi_. From Gods and Men, _Erminia_, thou art safe, +My best and blest _Erminia_. + +_Er_. Sir, in my coming hither I met _Aminta_, +Who I may fear has alarm'd all the Court; +She took me for a Ghost, and ran away, +E'er I cou'd undeceive her. +--_Falatius_ too, afrighted even to death-- + +_Alcan_. Faith, that was lucky, Madam. +--Hark, some body knocks, you'd best retire a little. + [_Leads her into the door_. + + _Enter_ Galatea _and_ Aminta _lighted_. + +_Gal_. Ah, Brother, there's such news abroad-- + +_Phi_. What, dear Sister, for I am here confin'd, +And cannot go to meet it? + +_Gal_. _Erminia's_ Ghost is seen, and I'm so frighted-- + +_Phi_. You would not fear it though it should appear. + +_Gal_. Oh, do not say so; +For though the World had nought I held more dear, +I would not see her Ghost for all the World. + +_Alcan_. But, Madam, 'tis so like _Erminia_-- + +_Am_. Why, have you seen it too? + +_Alcan_. Yes, _Aminta_. + +_Am_. Then there be Ghosts, _Alcander_. + +_Phi_. _Aminta_, we'll convince him. +[Phi. _leads out_ Er. _who comes smiling to the_ Princess. + +_Gal_. But how, dear Creature, wert thou thus preserv'd? + +_Phi_. Another time for that, but now let's think + [Aminta _embraces her_. +How to preserve her still. +Since all believe her dead, but who are present, +And that they may remain in that blest error, +I will consult with you; but you, my dearest, +Shall as the Spirit of _Erminia_ act, +And reap the glory of so good a part: +It will advance the new design I have; +And, Sister, to your care +I must commit the Treasure of my Life. + +_Gal_. It was not kind, she came not first to me. + +_Er_. Madam, I fear'd the safety of my Prince, +And every moment that I found I liv'd, +Were more tormenting than those of death, +Till I had undeceiv'd his Apprehensions. + +_Phi_. 'Twas like thy self, generous and kind, my Dear, +Thou mightst have come too late else. + +_Er_. But, Sir, pray where's my Murderer? for yet +A better name I cannot well afford him. + +_Gal_. All that we know of him, +_Pisaro_ now inform'd me, +Who came just as he thought he had murder'd thee, +And begg'd he would provide for his own safety. +But he who gave him sober promises, +No sooner found himself out of his arms, +But frantick and i'th' dark he got away. +But out o'th' Court he knows he cannot pass +At this dead time of night; +But he believes he is i'th' Groves or Gardens, +And thither he is gone to find him out. + +_Alcan_. This is no place to make a longer stay in, +The King has many Spies about the Prince, +'Twere good you would retire to your Apartment. + +_Gal_. We'll take your Counsel, Sir. +--Good night, Brother. + +_Phi_. _Erminia_, may thy Dreams be calm and sweet, +As thou hast made my Soul; +May nothing of the Cruelty that's past, +Approach thee in a rude uneasy thought; +Remember it not so much as in thy Prayers, +Let me alone to thank the Gods for thee, +To whom that Blessing only was ordain'd. + + _And when I lose my Gratitude to Heaven, + May they deprive me of the Joys they've given_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I. Galatea's _Apartments_. + + + _Enter_ Galatea, Erminia, Pisaro, Aminta. + +_Gal_. And hast thou found him? Ease my misery. + +_Pis_. I have, and done as you commanded me. +I found him sitting by a Fountain side, +Whose Tears had power to swell the little tide, +Which from the Marble Statues breasts still flows: +As silent and as numberless were those. +I laid me down behind a Thicket near, +Where undiscover'd I could see and hear; +The Moon the Day supply'd, and all below +Instructed, even as much as Day could do. +I saw his postures, heard him rave and cry, +_'Twas I that kill'd_ Erminia, _yes 'twas I_; +Then from his almost frantick Head he'd tear +Whole handfuls of his well-becoming Hair: +Thus would he, till his Rage was almost spent, +And then in softer terms he would lament: +Then speak as if _Erminia_ still did live, +And that Belief made him forget to grieve. +--The Marble Statue _Venus_ he mistook +For fair _Erminia_, and such things he spoke, +Such unheard passionate things, as e'en wou'd move +The marble Statue's self to fall in love; +He'd kiss its Breast, and say she kind was grown, +And never mind, alas, 'twas senseless Stone; +He took its Hand, and to his Mouth had laid it, +But that it came not, and its stay betray'd it; +Then would he blush, and all asham'd become, +His Head declining, for awhile be dumb: +His Arms upon his Breast across would lay, +Then sensibly and calmly walk away; +And in his walk a thousand things he said, +Which I forgot, yet something with me staid; +He did consult the nature of the Crime, +And still concluded that 'twas just in him; +He run o'er all his life, and found no act +That was ungenerous in him, but this fact, +From which the Justice took off the Disgrace, +And might even for an act of Virtue pass; +He did consult his Glory and his Pride; +And whilst he did so, laid his grief aside; +--Then was as calm as e'er he seem'd to be. + +_Gal_. And all this while did he ne'er mention me? + +_Pis_. Yes, Madam, and a thousand things he said, +By which much Shame and Passion he betray'd: +And then 'twas, Madam, I stept in and gave +Counsels, I thought him fittest to receive; +I sooth'd him up, and told him that the Crime +I had committed, had the case been mine. +I all things said that might his Griefs beguile, +And brought him to the sweetness of a Smile. +--To all I said he lent a willing ear, +And my reproaches too at last did hear. +With this insensibly I drew him on, +And with my flatteries so upon him won, +Such Gentleness infus'd into his Breast, +As has dispos'd his wearied Soul to rest: +Sleeping upon a Couch I've left him now, +And come to render this account to you. [_Bows_. + +_Gal_. _Pisaro_, 'twas the office of a Friend, +And thou'st perform'd it to a generous end: +Go on and prosper in this new design, +And when thou'st done, the glory shall be thine. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. _The Bedchamber of_ Alcippus. + + + _Draws off, discovers_ Alcippus _rising from the Couch_. + +_Alcip_. I cannot sleep, my Soul is so unfurnish'd +Of all that Sweetness which allow'd it rest. +--'Tis flown, 'tis flown, for ever from my breast, +And in its room eternal discords dwell, +Such as outdo the black intrigues of Hell-- +Oh my fortune-- + + [_Weeps, pulling out his handkerchief, drops a + Picture with a Glass on the reverse_. + +--What's here? Alas, that which I dare not look on, +And yet, why should I shun that Image here, +Which I continually about me bear? +But why, dear Picture, art thou still so gay, +Since she is gone from whom those Charms were borrow'd? +Those Eyes that gave this speaking life to thine, +Those lovely Eyes are clos'd in endless darkness; +There's not a Star in all the face of Heaven, +But now out-shines those Suns: +Suns at Noon-day dispens'd not kindlier influence. +And thou blest Mirror, that hast oft beheld +That Face, which Nature never made a fairer; +Thou that so oft her Beauties back reflected, +And made her know what wondrous power there lay +In every Feature of that lovely Face. +But she will smile no more! no more! no more! +--Why, who shall hinder her? Death, cruel Death. +--'Twas I that murder'd her-- +Thou lyest--thou durst as well be damn'd as touch her, +She was all sacred; and that impious Hand +That had profanely touch'd her, +Had wither'd from the Body. +--I lov'd her--I ador'd her, and could I, +Could I approach her with unhallowed thoughts? +--No, no, I durst not-- +But as devoutest Pilgrims do the Shrine. +--If I had done't, +The Gods who take the part of Innocence, +Had been reveng'd-- +Why did not Thunder strike me in the Action? +Why, if the Gods be just, and I had done't, +Did they not suffer Earth to swallow me, +Quick--quick into her bosom? +--But yet I say again, it was not I, +--Let me behold this face, +That durst appear in such a Villany. + [_He looks in the glass_. + + _Enter_ Pisaro, _and_ Erminia _drest like an Angel with Wings_. + +_Pis_. Look where he is. + +_Er_. Alas, I tremble at the sight of him. + +_Pis_. Fear nothing, Madam, I'll be near you still. + +_Er_. Pray stay a little longer. + +_Alcip_.--My Face has Horror in't pale and disfigur'd, +And lean as Envy's self-- +My Eyes all bloody,--and my hanging lids +Like Midnight's mischief, hide the guilty Balls, +--And all about me calls me Murderer: +--Oh horrid Murderer! +That very Sound tears out my hated Soul, +--And to compleat my ruin, +I'll still behold this face where Murder dwells. + + [_He looks in the glass_, Erminia _steals behind him, and + looks into it over his shoulder; he is frighted_. + +Ha--what does this Glass present me? +What art thou?--speak--What art thou? + [_Turns by degrees towards it_. +--Sure I am fixt, what, shall the Devil fright me? +--Me shall he fright, +Who stood the Execution of a Murder? +--But 'tis that Shape, and not thy Nature frights me, +--That calls the blood out of my panting Heart, +That Traytor Heart that did conspire thy death. + +_Er_. Sit down and hear me-- + + [_In a tone like a Spirit, and points to a Chair; soft + Musick begins to play, which continues all this Scene_. + +To disobey, thy punishment shall be; +To live in endless torments, but ne'er die. + +_Alcip_. Thou threatnest high, bold Rebel, + [_He sits within the Scene, bows_. + +Er. Alcippus, _tell me what you see, + What is't that I appear to be_? + +_Alcip_. My blest _Erminia_ deify'd. + +Er. Alcippus, _you inform me true; + I am thus deify'd by you; + To you I owe this blest abode, + For I am happy as a God; + I only come to tell thee so, + And by that tale to end thy Woe; + Know, Mighty Sir, your Joy's begun, + From what last night to me was done; + In vain you rave, in vain you weep, + For what the Gods must ever keep; + In vain you mourn, in vain deplore + A loss which tears can ne'er restore. + The Gods their Mercies will dispense, + In a more glorious Recompence; + A World of Blessings they've in store, + A World of Honours, Vict'ries more; + Thou shalt the Kingdom's Darling be, + And Kings shall Homage pay to thee; + Thy Sword no bounds to Conquest set, + And thy Success that Sword shall whet; + Princes thy Chariot-wheel shall grace, + Whilst thou in Triumph bring'st home Peace. + + This will the Gods; thy King yet more + Will give thee what those Gods adore; + And what they did create for thee_, + Alcippus, _look, for that is she_. + +_Enter the_ Princess, _who goes over the Stage as a Spirit, +bows a little to_ Alcippus, _and goes off_. + +_Alcip_. The Princess! [_He offers to rise_. + +Er. _Be still; 'tis she you must possess, + 'Tis she must make your happiness; + 'Tis she must lead you on to find + Those Blessings Heaven has design'd: + 'Tis she'll conduct you, where you'll prove + The perfect Joys of grateful Love_. + +Enter _Aminta_ like Glory, _Alcander_ representing _Honour_. +They pass over and bow, and go out. + + _Glory and Honour wait on her_. + +Enter two more representing _Mars_ and _Pallas_, bow and go out. + + _With_ Pallas _and the God of War_, + +Enter _Olinda_ like _Fortune_, a _Page_ like _Cupid_, bow and go out. + + _Fortune and Love which ne'er agree, + Do now united bow to thee. + --Be wise, and of their Bounties share; + For if_ Erminia _still was here, + Still subject to the toils of Life, + She never could have been thy Wife, + Who by the Laws of Men and Heaven + Was to another's bosom given: + --And what Injustice thou hast done, + Was only to thy Prince alone; + But he has mercy, can redeem + Those Ills which thou hast done to him. + --But see, they all return again_. + +[All the Disguis'd enter again and dance, with _Love_ in the midst, +to whom as they dance, they in order make an offer of what they carry, +which must be something to represent them by; which _Love_ refuses +with Nods, still pointing to _Alcippus_: the Dance done, they lay them +at his feet, or seem to do so, and go out. + + _What think'st thou of thy Destiny, + Is't not agreeable to thee? + Tell me_, Alcippus, _is't not brave? + Is it not better than a Grave? + Cast off your Tears, abandon Grief, + And give what you have seen belief. + Dress all your Looks, and be as gay + As Virgins in the Month of_ May; + _Deck up that Face where Sorrow grows, + And let your Smiles adorn your brows; + Recal your wonted Sweetness home, + And let your Eyes all Love become: + For what the Gods have willed and said, + Thou hast no power to evade. + What they decree none can withstand, + You must obey what they command_. + +[She goes out, he remains immoveable for a while. + + _Enter_ Pisaro. + +_Pis_. How is it, man?--what, speechless? + +_Alcip_. No. + +_Pis_. I left thee on the Bed, how camest thou here? + +_Alcip_. I know not. + +_Pis_. Have you slept? + +_Alcip_. Yes, ever since you left me; +And 'twas a kindness in thee now to wake me; +For Sleep had almost flatter'd me to Peace, +Which is a vile injustice. +Hah, _Pisaro_, I had such a Dream, +Such a fine flattering Dream-- + +_Pis_. How was it, pray? + +_Alcip_. Nay, I will forget it; +I do not merit so much peace of mind, +As the relation of that Dream will give me: +Oh, 'twas so perfect, too, +I hardly can persuade my self I slept! +Dost thou believe there may be Apparitions? + +_Pis_. Doubtless, my Lord, there be. + +_Alcip_. I never could believe it till this hour, +By Heavens, I think I saw them too, _Pisaro_. + +_Pis_. 'Tis very possible you're not deceiv'd. + +_Alcip_. _Erminia's_ Spirit, in a glorious form. + +_Pis_. I do believe you. + +_Alcip_. Why, is't not strange? + +_Pis_. It would have been, had I not heard already +She has this night appear'd to several Persons, +In several Shapes; the first was to the Prince; +And said so many pretty things for you, +As has persuaded him to pardon you. + +_Alcip_. Oh Gods, what Fortune's mine! +I do believe the Prince is innocent +From all that thou hast said. +--But yet I wish he would dispose his Bounties +On those that would return acknowledgments; +I hate he should oblige me. + +_Pis_. You are too obstinate, and must submit. + +_Alcip_. It cannot be, and yet methinks I give +A strange and sudden credit to this Spirit, +It beckon'd me into another room; +I'll follow it, and know its business there. [_Aside_. + +_Pis_. Come, Sir, I am a kind of Prophet, +And can interpret Dreams too. +We'll walk a while, and you shall tell me all, +And then I would advise you what to do. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE III. _The King's Chamber_. + + + _Enter_ Philander _with the_ King. + +_King_. Thou'st entertain'd me with a pretty Story, +And call'd up so much Nature to thy Cause, +That I am half subjected to its Laws; +I find thy lovely Mother plead within too, +And bids me put no force upon thy Will; +Tells me thy Flame should be as unconfin'd +As that we felt when our two Souls combin'd. +Alas, _Philander_, I am old and feeble, +And cannot long survive: +But thou hast many Ages yet to number +Of Youth and Vigour; and should all be wasted +In the Embraces of an unlov'd Maid? +No, my _Philander_, if that after death +Ought could remain to me of this World's Joys, +I should remember none with more delight, +Than those of having left thee truly happy. + +_Phi_. This Goodness, Sir, resembles that of Heaven, +Preserving what it made, and can be paid +Only with grateful Praise as we do that. + +_King_. Go, carry on your innocent design, +And when you've done, the last act shall be mine. + + [_Exeunt_ + + + +SCENE IV. _The Court Gallery_. + + + _Enter_ Aminta _followed by_ Alcander, Erminia _and_ Galatea; + _they go out: re-enter_ Alcander, _and stays_ Aminta. + +_Alcan_. Stay, dear _Aminta_, do not fly so fast. + +_Am_. Methinks, _Alcander_, you should shun that Maid, +Of whose too much of kindness you're afraid. +'Twas not long since you parted in such feud, +And swore my treatment of you was too rude; +You vow'd you found no Beauty in my eyes, +And can you now pursue what you despise? [_Offers to go_. + +_Alcan_. Nay, do not leave me yet, for still your Scorn +Much better than your Absence may be borne. + +_Am_. Well, Sir, your business, for mine requires haste. + +_Alcan_. Say, fair _Aminta_, shall I never find +You'll cease this Rigour, and be kind? +Will that dear Breast no Tenderness admit? +And shall the Pain you give no Pity get? +Will you be never touch'd with what I say? +And shall my Youth and Vows be thrown away? +You know my Passion and my Humour too, +And how I die, though do not tell you so. + +_Am_. What arguments will you produce to prove +You love? for yet I'll not believe you love. + +_Alcan_. Since, fair _Aminta_, I did thee adore, +Alas, I am not what I was before: +My Thoughts disorder'd from my Heart do break; +And Sighs destroy my Language when I speak. +My Liberty and my Repose I gave, +To be admitted but your Slave; +And can you question such a Victory? +Or must I suffer more to make it sure? +It needs not, since these Languishments can be +Nought but the Wounds which you alone can cure. + +_Am. Alcander_, you so many Vows have paid, +So many Sighs and Tears to many a Maid, +That should I credit give to what you say, +I merit being undone as well as they. +--No, no, _Alcander_, I'll no more of that. + +_Alcan_. Farewel, _Aminta_, mayst thou want a Lover, +When I shall hate both thee and thy whole Sex; +I can endure your sober Cruelty, +But do despise it clad in Jollity. + + [_Exeunt severally_. + + + +SCENE V. + + + _Discovers a Room hung with Black, a Hearse standing in it with + Tapers round about it_, Alcippus _weeping at it, with_ Isillia, + _and other Women with long black Veils round about the Hearse_. + +_Isil_. I humbly beg, my Lord, you would forbear. + +_Alcip_. Oh _Isillia_, +Thou knowest not what vast Treasure this incloses, +This sacred Pile; is there no Sorrow due to it? +Alas, I bad her not farewel at parting. +Nor did receive so much as one poor Kiss. +--Ah wretched, wretched Man! + + _Enter the_ Prince. + +How, the Prince! +How suddenly my Grief submits to Rage. + +_Phi. Alcippus_, why dost thou gaze thus on me? +What Horror have I in my looks that frights thee? + +_Alcip_. Why, Sir, what makes you here? +I have no more Wives, no more _Erminias_; +Alas, she is dead-- +Will you not give her leave to rest in peace? + +_Phi_. Is this the Gratitude you pay my Favours, +That gave ye life, after your wrongs to me? +But 'twas my Sister's Kindness that preserv'd thee +And I prefer'd my Vengeance to the Gods. + +_Alcip_. Your Sister is a Saint whom I adore; +But I refuse a Life that comes from you. + +_Isil_. What mean you, Sir? + +_Alcip_. To speak a truth, as dying Men should do. + +_Phi. Alcippus_, for my Sister's sake who loves you, +I can bear more than this--you know my power, +And I can make you fear. [_Offers to go out_. + +_Alcip_. No, Prince, not whilst I am in love with dying. + +_Phi_. Your love to that I see has made you impudent. + +_Isil_. The Storm comes on, your Highness should avoid it. + +_Phi_. Let him give place, I'll keep possession here. + +_Isil_. It is the Prince's pleasure, Sir, you quit the Presence. + +_Alcip_. No, this I call my Home; +And since _Erminia's_ here that does entitle it so, +I will not quit the Presence. + +_Phi_. Gave thee a Title to't, _Alcippus_? + +_Alcip_. Me, _Philander_! + + [_They come to each other's breast, and so draw_. + +_Phi_. Thee. + +_Alcip_. Me, what dare you now? + +_Phi_. I dare declare that I can hear no more; +Be witness, Heaven, how justly I'm compell'd. + +_Alcip_. Now, Sir, you are brave and love _Erminia_ too. + + [_The Women run all away crying; they draw out some + one way, and some another, leaving some their Veils + behind them, some half off, half on_. + +_Phi_. We are here not safe, these Women will betray us. + +_Alcip_. Sir, 'tis a work that will soon be dispatcht, +And this a place and time most proper for't. + + [_A pass or two_. Fal. _peeps in and runs away. + + Enter_ Pisaro, _runs between_. + +_Pis_. Hold, Sir, are you grown desperate? +What means your Highness? [_To the_ Prince. +_Alcippus_, what is't you design in this? + +_Alcip_. To fight, _Pisaro_, and be kill'd. + +_Pis_. By Heaven, you shall not fight, unless with me, +And you have so anger'd me with this rash action, +I could almost provoke you to it. + + _Enter_ Alcander. + +_Alcan_. Gods, Sir, that you should thus expose your self, +The World's great Heir, against a desperate Madman! + +_Pis_. Have you forgot your Apparition, Sir? + +_Alcip_. Oh, 'twas an idle lying one, _Pisaro_, +And came but to intrap me. + + _To them_ Galatea, Aminta, _and_ Olinda. + +_Gal_. Ah, Brother, why so cruel to your Sister? + +_Phi_. Here, _Galatea_, punish my misfortune, +For yet I want the will to injure thee. +Heaven knows what provocations I receiv'd +E'er I would draw a Sword on him you lov'd. + +_Gal_. Unjust _Alcippus_, how dost thou reward me? + +_Alcip_. Ah, Madam, I have too much shame to live. +Had Heaven preserv'd my Innocence intire, +That I with confidence might have ador'd you, +Though I had been successless; +Yet I had liv'd and hop'd, and aim'd to merit you: +But since all hopes of that are taken from me, +My Life is but too poor a Sacrifice, +To make atonement for my Sins to you. + +_Gal_. I will not answer thee to what thou hast said, +But only beg thou wilt preserve thy life, +Without which mine will be of little use to me. + +_Alcip_. Might I without a sin believe this Blessing, +Sure I should be immortal. + + Falatio _peeps in again_. + +_Fal_. I think I may venture, the fury is past, and the great shot +spent, the mad Captain General's wounded; so, I hope 'twill let out +some of his hot blood-- + + _Enter the_ King, Cleontius, _and Attendants_. + +_King_. My Love, _Alcippus_, is despis'd I see, +And you in lieu of that return you owe me, +Endeavour to destroy me. +--Is this an Object for your Rage to work on? +Behold him well, _Alcippus_, 'tis your Prince. +--Who dares gaze on him with irreverend Eyes? +The good he does you ought to adore him for, +But all his evils 'tis the Gods must punish, +Who made no Laws for Princes. + +_Alcip_. Sir, I confess I'm culpable, +And were it not a sin equal to that, +To doubt you could forgive me, +I durst not hope your mercy after it. + +_King_. I think with all the Tenderness I'm guilty of, +I hardly shall be brought to pardon thee. + +_Phi_. I humbly beg you will forgive him, Sir, +I drew him to it against his will; I forc'd him, +And gave him language not to be indur'd +By any gallant man. + +_King_. Whilst you intreat for him, who pleads for you? +For you are much the guiltier of the two, +And need'st a greater interest to persuade me. + +_Alcip_. It were not just to contradict my Prince, +A Prince to whom I've been so late a Traitor; +But, Sir, 'tis I alone am criminal, +And 'twas I, +Justly I thought provok'd him to this hazard: +'Tis I was rude, impatient, insolent, +Did like a Madman animate his Anger, +Not like a generous Enemy. +Sir, when you weigh my Sorrows with this Action, +You'll find no base Design, no Villany there; +But being weary of a Life I hated, +I strove to put it off, and missing that way, +I come to make an offer of it here. + +_King_. If I should take it, 'twere no more than just; +Yet once again I will allow it thee, +That thou mayst owe me for't a second time: +Manage it better than the last I gave-- + [_Ex_. King. + +_Phi. Alcippus_, may I credit what thou'st said, +Or do you feign repentance to deceive me? + +_Alcip_. I never could dissemble at my best, +And now methinks your Highness should believe me, +When my despairs and little love to life +Make me despise all ways that may preserve it. + +_Phi_. If thou wouldst have me credit thee, _Alcippus_, +Thou shouldst not disesteem a Life, which ought +To be preserv'd, to give a proof that what thou say'st +Is true, and dispossess me of those fears I have, +That 'tis my Life makes thine displeasing to thee. + +_Alcip_. 'Tis a high proof to give you of my Duty, +Yet that's more ease to me than your Unbelief. + +_Phi_. Let me embrace and thank thee for this goodness. + [_He offers to embrace him, but he is shy, and keeps a little off_. +Why dost receive me coldly? I'm in earnest; +As I love Honour, and esteem thee generous, +I mean thee nothing but a perfect Friendship; +By all my hopes I've no more quarrels to thee, +All ends in this Embrace, and to confirm it +I give thee here my Sister to thy Wife. + +_Alcip_. Your Pardon, Sir, +I must refuse your bounty, till I know +By what strange turn of Fate I came thus blest. +To you, my Prince, I've done unheard-of injuries, +And though your Mercy do afford me life, +With this rich present too; +Till I could know I might deserve them both, +That Life will prove a Plague, and this great Gift +Turn to the torment of it. + +_Phi. Alcippus_, 'tis not kind to doubt me still, +Is this a present for a Man I hate? + +_Alcip_. 'Tis true, Sir, and your bounty does amaze me; +Can I receive a blessing of this magnitude +With hands, yet have not wash'd away the sin +Of your _Erminia's_ murder? think of that, Sir; +For though to me it did appear most just, +Yet you must hate the Man that has undone you. + +_Gal_. I see _Erminia_ still usurps your thoughts. + +_Alcip_. I must confess my Soul is scarce diverted +Of that fond Passion which I had for her; +But I protest before the Gods and you, +Did she still live, and I might still possess her, +I would refuse it, though I were ignorant +Of what the Gods and your fair self design me. + +_Phi_. To doubt thee were a sin below my nature, +And to declare my faith above my fear, +Behold what I present thee with. + + [_Goes out, and enters again with_ Erminia. + +_Alcip_. Ha--_Erminia_? [_He looks afrighted_. +--It is the same appear'd to me last night, +--And my deluded Fancy +Would have persuaded me 'twas but a dream. + +_Phi_. Approach her, Sir, 'tis no fantasm. + +_Alcip_. 'Tis she her self, Oh Gods, _Erminia_! + [_She goes a little back, as afraid, he kneels_. +--Ah, Madam, do not fear me in this posture, +Which I will never quit till you have pardon'd me; +It was a fault the most excusable, +That ever wretched Lover did commit; +And that which hinder'd me from following thee, +Was that I could not well repent the Crime; +But like a surly Sinner fac'd it out, +And said, I thought 'twas just, yes, fair _Erminia_; +Hadst thou been mine, I would i'th' face of Heaven, +Proclaim it just and brave revenge: +But, Madam, you were Wife to my Prince, +And that was all my sin: +Alas, in vain I hop'd for some return, +And grew impatient of th'unkind delay, +And frantickly I then out-run my happiness. + +_Er_. Rise, I forgive thee, from my soul I do; +Mayst thou be happier +In thy more glorious Passion for the Princess, +And all the Joys thou e'er couldst hope from me, +Mayst thou find there repeated. + + _Enter_ King, Orgulius, _and the rest_. + +_Org_. First, I'll keep my word with thee, +Receive the welcome present which I promis'd. + + [_Gives him_ Erminia, _she kneels_. + +_Er_. Can you forgive the Griefs I've made you suffer? + +_Org_. I can forgive, though 'twas not kind +To let me languish in a desperate Error; +Why was this Blessing hid from me alone? + +_Er_. Ah, Sir, so well I knew you lov'd _Alcippus_, +That had you known it e'er the Prince had own'd me, +I fear you had restor'd me back again, +A Sin too great to load your Soul withal. + +_Org_. My King already has forgiven that Error, +And now I come to make my Peace with thee, +And that I may with greatest speed obtain it, +--To you, Sir, I resign her with as much Joy, [_To the Prince_. +And when they undeceiv'd me +Of my opinion of her being dead-- + +_Phi_. And I with greater Joy receive your gift. + [_Bows and takes her_. + +_King_. My Lord _Alcippus_, are you pleas'd with this? + +_Alcip_. Sir, I am so pleas'd, so truly pleas'd with it, +That Heaven, without this Blessing on my Prince, +Had found but little trouble from my thanks, +For all they have shower'd on me; +'Twas all I wisht, next my Pretensions here. + +_King_. Then to compleat thy happiness, +Take _Galatea_, since her Passion merits thee, +As do thy Virtues her. + + [_Gives him_ Gal. _they both bow_. + +_Er_. Sir, I've an humble suit t'your Majesty. + +_King_. Conclude it granted then. + +_Er. Falatius_, Sir, has long made love t' _Isillia_, +And now he'as gain'd her Heart, he slights the Conquest, +Yet all the fault he finds is that she's poor. + +_King. Isillia's_ Beauty can supply that want; +_Falatius_, what d'ye say to't? + +_Fal_. By _Jove_, Sir, I'll agree to any thing; for I believe a +handsome young Wife at Court may bring a Man a greater Fortune +than he can in Conscience desire. + [_Takes_ Isillia. + +_Er. Aminta_, be persuaded. [_Aside to_ Am. + +_Am_. He'd use me scurvily then. + +_Alcan_. That's according as you behav'd yourself, _Aminta_. + +_Am_. I should domineer. + +_Alcan_. I then should make love elsewhere. + +_Am_. Well, I find we shall not agree then. + +_Alcan_. Faith--now we have disputed a point I never thought on +before, I would willingly pursue it for the humour on't, not that +I think I shall much approve on't. + +_Pis_. Give him your hand, _Aminta_, and conclude, +'Tis time this haughty humour were subdu'd. +By your submission, whatsoe'er he seem, +In time you'll make the greater Slave of him. + +_Am_. Well--not from the hope of that, but from my Love, +His change of humour I'm content to prove. +Here take me, _Alcander_; +Whilst to Inconstancy I bid adieu, +I find variety enough in you. + + [_He takes her and bows_. + +_King_. Come my brave Youths, we'll toil our selves with Joys, +And when we're weary of the lazy play, +We'll search abroad to find new Conquests out, +And get fresh Appetites to new Delights: +It will redouble your vast stock of Courage, +And make th'uneasy Humour light and gentle; +When you remember even in heat of Battle, +That after all your Victories and Spoil, +You'll meet calm Peace at home in soft Embraces. +Thus may you number out your happy years, + + _Till Love and Glory no more proofs can give + Of what they can bestow, or you receive_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +EPILOGUE, + +By a Woman. + +_We charged you boldly in our first advance, +And gave the Onset_ a la mode de France, +_As each had been a_ Joan of Orleance. + +_Like them our Heat as soon abated too; +Alas we could not vanquish with a Show, +Much more than that goes to the conquering you. + +The Trial though will recompense the Pain, +It having wisely taught us how to reign; +'Tis Beauty only can our Power maintain. + +But yet, as tributary Kings, we own +It is by you that we possess that Throne, +Where had we Victors been, we'ad reign'd alone. + +And we have promised what we could not do; +A fault, methinks, might be forgiven too, +Since 'tis but what we learnt of some of you. + +But we are upon equal treatment yet, +For neither conquer, since we both submit; +You to our Beauty bow, we to your Wit_. + + + + + + +THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON. + + + +ARGUMENT. + +Doctor Baliardo, a Neapolitan philosopher, has so applied himself to the +study of the Moon, and is enraptured to such an extent with the +mysteries of that orb, that he has come steadfastly to believe in a +lunar world, peopled, ruled and regulated like the earth. This wholly +fills and absorbs his every waking thought, and, in consequence, he +denies his daughter Elaria and his niece Bellemante to their respective +lovers, the Viceroy's two nephews, Don Cinthio and Don Charmante, as +being men of men of mere terrestial mould. The girls are, however, +secretly assisted in their amours by Scaramouch, the doctor's man, who +is himself a rival of Harlequin, Cinthio's valet, for the hand of +Mopsophil, duenna to the young ladies. Harlequin, hoping to find his way +to his mistress, gets to Bellemante's chamber but when she appears +conceals himself. The doctor, however, who has been hastily summoned to +the bedside of his brother, reported dying, returns a moment after he +has set out for a key which has been accidently dropped from his bunch +and finds Cinthio and Elaria. The gallant can only escape by pretending +to be a lunatic brought to the house for medical treatment and cure. But +during the doctor's subsequent absence, whilst the two lovers are, as +they suppose, securely entertaining their mistresses, the father is +suddenly heard to return. For the moment they evade him by feigning to +be figures in a rich tapestry (their masquing habits aiding the trick), +which Scaramouch declares he has just purchased. But this sham being +discovered, Scaramouch runs off with the candles and all slip away in +the darkness and confusion, leaving him to return in his shirt as newly +risen from bed. The doctor is bawling for help when the wily servant +totters out yawning and rubbing his eyes to explain the whole affair +away as a delusion or a vision produced by lunar agency, declaring that +there has been a visit from the Moon World of their King and the Prince +of Thunderland, who have descended a-courting Elaria and Bellemante. +This is borne out by the girls themselves, who have previously been well +primed by Mopsophil. After some intriguing between Harlequin and +Scaramouch for the duenna's hand, in the course of which the former +disguises himself in female attire and again as a country lad, the +latter as a learned apothecary, Charmante visits the doctor, and +feigning to be a cabalist profound in occult lore, bids him prepare that +night to receive Irednozor, monarch of the Moon, and the Prince of +Thunderland who will appear to wed his daughter and his niece. Harlequin +shortly after makes his entry as an ambassador from the celestial +spheres to confirm this news, and as Baliardo, overjoyed, is conversing +with him strains of music are heard to herald the arrival of the lunar +potentates. All repair to an ancient gallery, long disused, whence the +sound proceeds, and here, indeed, a pageant has been secretly arranged. +The room is discovered to be richly adorned with costly hangings and +pictures, ablaze with lights, and presently, after various masqueraders +have appeared dressed as the astronomers Keplair and Galileus, as the +different signs of the zodiac, and in other fantastic garbs, Cinthio and +Charmante are seen in a silver chariot like a half-moon, attended by a +train of heroes and amorini. There is no delay, the lovers are united in +matrimony, Baliardo being overwhelmed at the honour done his house. But +when Scaramouch and Harlequin fight a ridiculous duel, in which the +former wins, for the favour of Mopsophil, the doctor discovers the whole +trick, to wit, that the lunar courtiers are in reality his own friends +and neighbours. He soon, however, yields to the persuasions of the +lovers and the common-sense of his physician, who has taken part in the +masque, and, realizing the folly of the fables he has so long implicitly +believed, condemns his books to the fire and joins in the nuptial +rejoicings with a merry heart. + + + +SOURCE. + +Mrs. Behn's farce is derived from _Arlequin Empereur dans la Lune_, +which was played in Paris by Guiseppe-Domenico Biancolelli, a famous +Harlequin and the leading member of the Italian theatre there from 1660 +to 1688. The original Italian scenes from which the French farce is +taken belonged to that impromptu Comedy, 'Commedia dell' Arte all' +Improviso,' which so far from being printed was but rarely even +committed to writing. 'The development of the intrigue by dialogue and +action was left to the native wit of the several players,' writes J.A. +Symonds in his excellent and most scholarly introduction prefacing Carlo +Gozzi's _Memoirs_. In the case of a new play, or rather a new theme, the +choregus or manager would call the company together, read out the plot, +sketch the scenario, explain all business, and leave the dialogue to the +humour and smartness of the individual performer. Their aptitude was +amazing. In Kyd's _Spanish Tragedy_ we find Heironymo, who wishes to +have a subject mounted in a hurry, saying:-- + + The Italian tragedians were so sharp of wit, + That in one hour's meditation + They would perform anything in action. + +And Lorenzo rejoins:-- + + I have seen the like + In Paris, among the French tragedians. + +Of course much was bound to become stereotyped and fixed, but much was +ever fluctuating and new. + +When Biancolelli died on 2 August, 1688, of pneumonia, contracted +through neglecting to change damp clothes, the loss to the Italian +theatre seemed irreparable, but in the following year an equally +celebrated Harlequin, finer and wittier if not more popular than he, +appeared in the person of Evariste Gherardi. Gherardi was a man of +culture, and he collected and edited a number of scenes, written in +French, which were on the boards intermingled and played with the +Italian farces in order to raise the tone of, and give something more +solid and durable to, these entertainments. In 1695 three volumes of +these scenes were published at Amsterdam, 'chez Adrian Braakman,' under +the title _Le Theatre Italien, ou le Recueil de toutes les Comedies et +Scenes Francoises qui ont ete jouees sur le Theatre Italien par la +Troupe des Comediens du Roy de l'Hotel de Bourgogne a Paris. + +Arlequin Empereur dans la Lune_ had been published in its entirety +eleven years previously (1684), but it was sufficiently popular for +Gherardi to include various scenes therefrom in his collection. +Accordingly he commences his first volume by giving the 'Scene de la +Fille de Chambre', where Harlequin, disguised as a woman, pretends to +be seeking a place as waiting-maid to the Doctor--_Emperor of the Moon_, +Act ii, v. In the French, Pierrot, dressed as the Doctor's wife, +interviews the applicant. Gherardi also gives a scene between Isabella +(Elaria) and Colombine (Mopsophil); a scene where Harlequin arrives +tricked out as an Apothecary to win Colombine (in Mrs. Behn it is +Scaramouch who thus attempts to gain Mopsophil); and the final scene +which differs considerably from the conclusion of the English farce. In +Vol. II there are two further extracts 'obmises dans le premier Tome', +a dialogue between the Doctor and Harlequin, 'recit que fait Arlequin au +Docteur, du Voyage qu'il a fait dans le Monde de la Lune', and a short +passage between Harlequin and Colombine, both of which can be closely +paralleled in the English version. Mrs. Behn of course used the edition +of 1684. Her statement that she only took 'a very barren and thin hint +of the Plot' from the Italian, and again that 'all the Words are wholly +new, without one from the Original' must not be pressed too strictly, +although she has undeniably infused a new life, new wit and humour into +the alien scenes. + +In Maurice Sand's standard work on Italian comedy, _Masques et Bouffons_ +(Paris, 1860) there will be found copious citations from this pantomime, +the popularity of which he attributes wholly to Gherardi. It was +Biancolelli, however, who first brought it into favour and in whose +lifetime it was actually printed, a rare honour, although doubtless it +was owing to the great Gherardi that it retained and renewed its +success. Gherardi died 31 August, 1700. + +As the author himself states in his preface, _Harlequin roi dans la +Lune_, a three act comedy by Bodard de Tezay, produced at the Varietes +Amusantes, 17 December, 1785, has nothing to do with the old Italian +scenes. An opera by Settle, entitled _The World in the Moon_, put on at +Drury Lane in 1697, is quite different from Mrs. Behn's farce. Settle +has written a comedy which deals with the rehearsal of a new opera, _The +New World in the Moon_. Tom Dawkins, a country lout just arrived in +London, is taken to the theatre to see the rehearsal, and ordinary comic +scenes intermingled with provision for elaborate sets, as the opera +proceeds, form the strangest jumble. The piece takes its name from the +first operatic scene, which represents a huge silver moon that gradually +wanes, whilst a song, 'Within this happy world above', is performed. + + + +THEATRICAL HISTORY. + +_The Emperor of the Moon_, which is certainly as Lowe says 'one of the +best pantomimic farces ever seen' on the English boards at any rate, was +produced with great success at the Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in +1687. The character of Scaramouch was admirably suited to Tony Leigh, a +low comedian 'of the mercurial kind', who 'in humour ... loved to take a +full career', whilst Tom Jevon, young, slim and most graceful of +dancers, proved the King of all Harlequins, past, present and to come. +Lee and Jevon also acted the parts of Scaramouch and Harlequin in +Mountford's three act extravaganza, _Dr. Faustus_ (4to 1697), but +produced a decade earlier, probably November, 1685. Scaramouch is the +necromancer's man, and the comic scenes, although the stage tricks are +old, prove very good pantomime. It will be remembered that Harlequin and +Scaramouch are to be found in _The Rover_, Part II. Mrs. Behn's farce +kept its place in the repertory and long remained a favourite. On 18 +September, 1702, at Drury Lane, Will Pinkethman, complying with the wish +of several friends and critics, essayed Harlequin without the +traditional black mask, 'but, alas! in vain: Pinkethman could not take +to himself the shame of the character without being concealed; he was no +more _Harlequin_; his humour was quite disconcerted; his conscience +could not, with the same effrontery, declare against nature, without the +cover of that unchanging face, which he was sure would never blush for +it; no, it was quite another case; without that armour his courage could +not come up to the bold strokes that were necessary to get the better of +common sense.' + +Amongst the more notable performances of _The Emperor of the Moon_ were +two at Dorset Garden on the 16 and 21 November, 1706, when Estcourt +acted Scaramouch, and Pinkethman, Harlequin. On 3 September, 1708, at +Drury Lane, Bullock was Scaramouch; Bickerstaffe, Harlequin; Johnson, +the old Doctor; Powell, Don Cinthio. At Lincoln's Inn Fields, 28 June, +1717, Bullock again sustained Scaramouch and had Spiller as his +Harlequin. Four years later, 6 February, 1721, they were acting the same +roles at this theatre, with Mrs. Cross as Bellemante, and Quin, Ryan, in +the cast. The farce was repeated on 25 October of the same year. Bullock +and Spiller kept their favourite parts, Hall was Baliardo; Quin, +Cinthio; Ryan, Charmante; Mrs. Egleton, Mopsophil; Mrs. Bullock, +Bellemante. Doggett's _The Country Wake_ was played the same night. Ten +years later, still at this theatre, on 20 October, 1731, Hall was again +Baliardo and Mrs. Egleton, Mopsophil. On this occasion Pinkethman played +Harlequin; Hippisley, Scaramouch; Milward, Charmante; and Chapman, +Cinthio. The farce was put on as a first piece at Covent Garden, 14 +February, 1739. Pinkethman was Harlequin; Rosco, Scaramouch; Arthur, the +Doctor; Hallam, Charmante; Hall, Cinthio; Mrs. James, Mopsophil; Mrs. +Vincent, Elaria; and the fair Bellamy, Bellemante. In 1748 there was a +curious rivalry between the two theatres when both produced _The Emperor +of the Moon_ on the same night, 26 December. At Covent Garden, where it +was billed 'not acted 10 years', and produced as a first piece at +considerable expense with magnificent decorations, Cushing played +Harlequin; Dunstall, Scaramouch; Sparks, Baliardo; Ryan, Charmante; +Delane, Cinthio; Peg Woffington, Bellemante; and the Bellamy, Elaria. +It was, however, a dead failure and only acted twice. Contrary to +expectation Cushing was very bad as Harlequin, whilst at Drury Lane +Woodward was excellent. At the Lane, where it was played with Mrs. +Centlivre's _A Bold Stroke for a Wife_ and billed 'not acted 20 years', +Yates took Scaramouch; Palmer, Charmante; King, Cinthio; Winstone, +Baliardo; Miss Murgatroyd, Bellemante; and the inimitable Mrs. Green, +Mopsophil. A great effect was produced when Harlequin is tossed in a +blanket, Act iii. Two long strips were sewn to the sides of the blanket +by which he held. From the front, however, they were invisible, and as +it seemed that Woodward was being thrown to a dangerous height this +spectacle immensely pleased the galleries. + +In 1777 _The Emperor of the Moon_, very unnecessarily altered and by no +means bettered 'with the addition of several airs, duets, and choruses +selected from other compositions' (8vo, 1777), was produced at the +Patagonian Theatre. This theatre was situated in Exeter Change, Strand, +on a portion of the site of Burleigh House, the town house of the great +Lord Treasurer, which was afterwards known as Exeter House. It is very +doubtful if the theatre existed as such later than 1779. + +There is an amusing reference to _The Emperor of the Moon_ in _The +Spectator_, No. 22 (Steele), Monday, 26 March, 1711. '_Your most humble +servant_, William Serene' writes to Mr. Spectator bewailing the fact +that nobody on the stage rises according to merit. Although grown old in +the playhouse service, and having often appeared on the boards, he has +never had a line given him to speak. None the less 'I have acted', he +asserts, 'several Parts of Household-stuff with great Applause for many +years: I am one of the Men in the Hangings in the _Emperour of the +Moon_.' [The allusion is of course to Act ii, III.] Ralph Simple, +Serene's friend, in a subsequent letter begs that upon the gentleman's +promotion to speaking parts 'I may succeed him in the Hangings, with my +Hand in the Orange-trees'. These humorous allusions are ample evidence +of the popularity of Mrs. Behn's pantomime and the frequency with which +it was performed. + + + +TO THE LORD MARQUESS OF WORCESTER, &. + + +My Lord + +It is a common Notion, that gathers as it goes, and is almost become a +vulgar Error, That Dedications in our Age, are only the effects of +Flattery, a form of Complement, and no more; so that the Great, to whom +they are only due, decline those Noble Patronages that were so generally +allow'd the Ancient Poets; since the Awful Custom has been so +scandaliz'd by mistaken Addresses, and many a worthy piece is lost for +want of some Honourable Protection, and sometimes many indifferent ones +traverse the World with that advantagious Pasport only. + +This humble Offering, which I presume to lay at your Lordship's Feet, is +of that Critical Nature, that it does not only require the Patronage of +a great Title, but a great Man too, and there is often times a vast +difference between these two great things; and amongst all the most +Elevated, there are but very few in whom an illustrious Birth and equal +Parts compleat the Hero; but among these, your Lordship bears the first +Rank, from a just Claim, both of the glories of your Race and Vertues. +Nor need we look back into long past Ages, to bring down to ours the +Magnanimous deeds of your Ancestors: We need no more than to behold +(what we have so often done with wonder) those of the Great Duke of +_Beauford_, your Illustrious Father, whose every single Action is a +glorious and lasting President to all the future Great; whose unshaken +Loyalty, and all other eminent Vertues, have rendred him to us, +something more than Man, and which alone, deserving a whole Volume, +wou'd be here but to lessen his Fame, to mix his Grandeurs with those of +any other; and while I am addressing to the Son, who is only worthy of +that Noble Blood he boasts, and who gives the World a Prospect of those +coming Gallantries that will Equal those of his Glorious Father; +already, My Lord, all you say and do is admir'd, and every touch of your +Pen reverenc'd; the Excellency and Quickness of your Wit, is the Subject +that fits the World most agreeably. For my own part, I never presume to +contemplate your Lordship, but my Soul bows with a perfect Veneration to +your Mighty Mind; and while I have ador'd the delicate Effects of your +uncommon Wit, I have wish'd for nothing more than an Opportunity of +expressing my infinite Sense of it; and this Ambition, my Lord, was one +Motive of my present Presumption in Dedicating this Farce to your +Lordship. + +I am sensible, my Lord, how far the Word Farce might have offended some, +whose Titles of Honour, a Knack in dressing, or his Art in writing a +Billet Doux, had been his chiefest Talent, and who, without considering +the Intent, Character, or Nature of the thing, wou'd have cry'd out upon +the Language, and have damn'd it (because the Persons in it did not all +talk like Heros) as too debas'd and vulgar as to entertain a Man of +Quality; but I am secure from this Censure, when your Lordship shall be +its Judge, whose refin'd Sence, and Delicacy of Judgment, will, thro' +all the humble Actions and trivialness of Business, find Nature there, +and that Diversion which was not meant for the Numbers, who comprehend +nothing beyond the Show and Buffoonry. + +A very barren and thin hint of the Plot I had from the Italian, and +which, even as it was, was acted in _France_ eighty odd times without +intermission. 'Tis now much alter'd, and adapted to our English Theatre +and Genius, who cannot find an Entertainment at so cheap a Rate as the +French will, who are content with almost any Incoherences, howsoever +shuffled together under the Name of a Farce; which I have endeavour'd as +much as the thing wou'd bear, to bring within the compass of Possibility +and Nature, that I might as little impose upon the Audience as I cou'd; +all the Words are wholly new, without one from the Original. 'Twas +calculated for His late Majesty of Sacred Memory, that Great Patron of +Noble Poetry, and the Stage, for whom the Muses must for ever mourn, +and whose Loss, only the Blessing of so Illustrious a Successor can ever +repair; and 'tis a great Pity to see that best and most useful Diversion +of Mankind, whose Magnificence of old, was the most certain sign of a +flourishing State, now quite undone by the Misapprehension of the +Ignorant, and Mis-representing of the Envious, which evidently shows the +World is improv'd in nothing but Pride, Ill Nature, and affected Nicety; +and the only Diversion of the Town now, is high Dispute, and publick +Controversies in Taverns, Coffee-houses, &. and those things which ought +to be the greatest Mysteries in Religion, and so rarely the Business of +Discourse, are turn'd into Ridicule, and look but like so many fanatical +Stratagems to ruine the Pulpit as well as the Stage. The Defence of the +first is left to the Reverend Gown, but the departing Stage can be no +otherwise restor'd, but by some leading Spirits, so Generous, so Publick, +and so Indefatigable as that of your Lordship, whose Patronages are +sufficient to support it, whose Wit and Judgment to defend it, and whose +Goodness and Quality to justifie it; such Encouragement wou'd inspire the +Poets with new Arts to please, and the Actors with Industry. 'Twas this +that occasion'd so many Admirable Plays heretofore, as Shakespear's, +Fletcher's_, and _Johnson's_, and 'twas this alone that made the Town +able to keep so many Play-houses alive, who now cannot supply one. +However, My Lord, I, for my part, will no longer complain, if this +Piece find but favour in your Lordship's Eyes, and that it can be so +happy to give your Lordship one hour's Diversion, which is the only +Honour and Fame is wish'd to crown the Endeavours of, + + My Lord, + Your Lordship's + Most Humble, and + Most Obedient + Servant, + A. BEHN. + + + + +THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON. + + +PROLOGUE, + +Spoken by Mr. _Jevern_. + +_Long, and at vast Expence, th'industrious Stage +Has strove to please a dull ungrateful Age: +With Heroes and with Gods we first began, +And thunder'd to you in heroick Strain: +Some dying Love-sick Queen each Night you injoy'd, +And with Magnificence at last were cloy'd: +Our Drums and Trumpets frighted all the Women; +Our Fighting scar'd the Beaux and Billet-Doux Men. +So Spark in an Intrigue of Quality, +Grows weary of his splendid Drudgery; +Hates the Fatigue, and cries a Pox upon her, +What a damn'd Bustle's here with Love and Honour? + +In humbler Comedy we next appear, +No Fop or Cuckold, but slap-dash we had him here; +We showed you all, but you malicious grown, | +Friends Vices to expose, and hide your own; | +Cry, damn it--This is such, or such a one. | +Yet nettled, Plague, what does the Scribler mean? +With his damn'd Characters, and Plot obscene. +No Woman without Vizard in the Nation +Can see it twice, and keep her reputation-- +That's certain, Forgetting-- +That he himself, in every gross Lampoon, +Her leuder Secrets spread about the Town; +Whilst their feign'd Niceness is but cautious Fear, +Their own Intrigues should be unravel'd here. + +Our next Recourse was dwindling down to Farce, +Then--Zounds, what Stuff's here? 'tis all o'er my-- +Well, Gentlemen, since none of these has sped, +Gad, we have bought a Share i'th' speaking Head. +So there you'll save a Sice, | +You love good Husbandry in all but Vice; | +Whoring and drinking only bears a Price. |_ + + [The Head rises upon a twisted Post, on a Bench from + under the Stage. After _Jevern_ speaks to its Mouth. + +_Oh!--Oh!--Oh_! + +Stentor. _Oh!--Oh!--Oh_! + + [After this it sings _Sawny_, laughs, crys God bless + the King in order. + +Stentor answers. + +_Speak louder_, Jevern, _if you'd have me repeat; +Plague of this Rogue, he will betray the Cheat_. + [He speaks louder, it answers indirectly. +_--Hum--There 'tis again, +Pox of your Eccho with a Northern Strain. +Well--This will be but a nine days Wonder too; +There's nothing lasting but the Puppets Show. +What Ladies Heart's so hard, but it would move, +To hear_ Philander _and_ Irene's _Love? +Those Sisters too the scandalous Wits do say, +Two nameless keeping Beaux have made so gay; +But those Amours are perfect Sympathy, +Their Gallants being as mere Machines as they. +Oh! how the City Wife, with her nown Ninny, +Is charm'd with, Come into my Coach,--Miss_ Jenny, _Miss_ Jenny. +_But overturning_--Frible _crys--Adznigs, +The jogling Rogue has murder'd all his Kids. +The Men of War cry, Pox on't, this is dull, +We are for rough Sports,--Dog Hector, and the Bull. +Thus each in his degree, Diversion finds, +Your Sports are suited to your mighty Minds; +Whilst so much Judgment in your Choice you show, +The Puppets have more Sense than some of you_. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + +MEN. + +_Doctor_ Baliardo, Mr. _Underhill_. +Scaramouch, _his Man_, Mr. _Lee_. +Pedro, _his Boy_. +Don Cinthio, Don Charmante, _both Nephews_ Young Mr. _Powel_. + _to the Vice-Roy, and Lovers of_ Elaria _and_ Mr. _Mumford_. + Bellemante, +Harlequin, Cinthio's _Man_, Mr. _Jevern_. +_Officer and Clerk_. +_Page_. + +WOMEN. + +Elaria, _Daughter to the Doctor_, Mrs. _Cooke_. +Bellemante, _Niece to the Doctor_, Mrs. _Mumford_. +Florinda, _Cousin to_ Elaria _and_ Bellemante. +Mopsophil, _Governante to the young Ladies_, Mrs. _Cory_. +_The Persons in the Moon, are_ Don Cinthio, _Emperor_; + Don Charmante, _Prince of_ Thunderland. +_Their Attendants, Persons that represent the Court Cards_. +Keplair _and_ Galileus, _two Philosophers_. +_Twelve Persons, representing the Figures of the twelve Signs of the + Zodiack_. +_Negroes, and Persons that dance_. +_Musick, Kettle-Drums, and Trumpets_. + +The SCENE, _NAPLES_. + + + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I. _A Chamber_. + + + _Enter_ Elaria _and_ Mopsophil. + + I. + + _A Curse upon that faithless Maid, + Who first her Sex's Liberty betray'd; + Born free as Man to Love and Range, + Till nobler Nature did to Custom change, + Custom, that dull excuse for Fools, + Who think all Virtue to consist in Rules_. + + II. + + _From Love our Fetters never sprung; + That smiling God, all wanton, gay and young, + Shows by his Wings he cannot be + Confined to a restless Slavery; + But here and there at random roves, + Not fix'd to glittering Courts, or shady Groves_. + + III. + + _Then she that Constancy profess'd + Was but a well Dissembler at the best; + And that imaginary Sway + She feign'd to give, in seeming to obey, + Was but the height of prudent Art, + To deal with greater liberty her Heart_. + + [After the Song _Elaria_ gives her Lute to _Mopsophil_. + +_Ela_. This does not divert me; +Nor nothing will, till _Scaramouch_ return, +And bring me News of _Cinthio_. + +_Mop_. Truly I was so sleepy last Night, I know nothing of the +Adventure, for which you are kept so close a Prisoner to day, and more +strictly guarded than usual. + +_Ela. Cinthio_ came with Musick last Night under my Window, which my +Father hearing, sallied out with his _Mirmidons_ upon him; and clashing +of Swords I heard, but what hurt was done, or whether _Cinthio_ were +discovered to him, I know not; but the Billet I sent him now by +_Scaramouch_ will occasion me soon Intelligence. + +_Mop_. And see, Madam, where your trusty _Roger_ comes. + + _Enter_ Scaramouch, _peeping on all sides before he enters_. + +You may advance, and fear none but your Friends. + +_Scar_. Away, and keep the door. + +_Ela_. Oh, dear _Scaramouch_! hast thou been at the Vice-Roy's? + +_Scar_. Yes, yes. [_In heat_. + +_Ela_. And hast thou delivered my Letter to his Nephew, Don _Cinthio_? + +_Scar_. Yes, yes, what should I deliver else? + +_Ela_. Well--and how does he? + +_Scar_. Lord, how should he do? Why, what a laborious thing it is to be +a Pimp? [_Fanning himself with his Cap_. + +_Ela_. Why, well he shou'd do. + +_Scar_. So he is, as well as a Night-adventuring Lover can be,--he has +got but one Wound, Madam. + +_Ela_. How! wounded say you? Oh Heavens! 'tis not mortal. + +_Scar_. Why, I have no great skill; but they say it may be dangerous. + +_Ela_. I die with Fear, where is he wounded? + +_Scar_. Why, Madam, he is run--quite through the Heart,--but the Man may +live, if I please. + +_Ela_. Thou please! torment me not with Riddles. + +_Scar_. Why, Madam, there is a certain cordial Balsam, call'd a Fair +Lady; which outwardly applied to his Bosom, will prove a better cure +than all your Weapon or sympathetick Powder, meaning your Ladyship. + +_Ela_. Is _Cinthio_ then not wounded? + +_Scar_. No otherwise than by your fair Eyes, Madam; he got away unseen +and unknown. + +_Ela_. Dost know how precious time is, and dost thou fool it away thus? +What said he to my Letter? + +_Scar_. What should he say? + +_Ela_. Why, a hundred dear soft things of Love, kiss it as often, and +bless me for my Goodness. + +_Scar_. Why, so he did. + +_Ela_. Ask thee a thousand Questions of my Health after my last night's +fright. + +_Scar_. So he did. + +_Ela_. Expressing all the kind concern Love cou'd inspire, for the +Punishment my Father has inflicted on me, for entertaining him at my +Window last night. + +_Scar_. All this he did. + +_Ela_. And for my being confin'd a Prisoner to my Apartment, without the +hope or almost possibility of seeing him any more. + +_Scar_. There I think you are a little mistaken; for besides the Plot +that I have laid to bring you together all this Night,--there are such +Stratagems a brewing, not only to bring you together, but with your +Father's consent too; such a Plot, Madam-- + +_Ela_. Ay, that would be worthy of thy Brain; prithee what?-- + +_Scar_. Such a Device-- + +_Ela_. I'm impatient. + +_Scar_. Such a Conundrum,--Well, if there be wise Men and Conjurers in +the World, they are intriguing Lovers. + +_Ela_. Out with it. + +_Scar_. You must know, Madam, your Father (my Master, the Doctor) is a +little whimsical, romantick, or Don-Quicksottish, or so. + +_Ela_. Or rather mad. + +_Scar_. That were uncivil to be supposed by me; but lunatic we may call +him, without breaking the Decorum of good Manners; for he is always +travelling to the Moon. + +_Ela_. And so religiously believes there is a World there, that he +Discourses as gravely of the People, their Government, Institutions, +Laws, Manners, Religion, and Constitution, as if he had been bred a +_Machiavel_ there. + +_Scar_. How came he thus infected first? + +_Ela_. With reading foolish Books, _Lucian's Dialogue of the Lofty +Traveller_, who flew up to the Moon, and thence to Heaven; an heroick +Business, call'd _The Man in the Moon_, if you'll believe a _Spaniard_, +who was carried thither, upon an Engine drawn by wild Geese; with +another Philosophical Piece, _A Discourse of the World in the Moon_; +with a thousand other ridiculous Volumes, too hard to name. + +_Scar_. Ay, this reading of Books is a pernicious thing. I was like to +have run mad once, reading Sir _John Mandevil_;--but to the business,--I +went, as you know, to Don _Cinthio's_ Lodgings, where I found him with +his dear Friend _Charmante_, laying their Heads together for a Farce. + +_Ela_. Farce! + +_Scar_. Ay, a Farce, which shall be call'd,--_The World in the Moon_: +Wherein your Father shall be so impos'd on, as shall bring matters most +magnificently about. + +_Ela_. I cannot conceive thee, but the Design must be good, since +_Cinthio_ and _Charmante_ own it. + +_Scar_. In order to this, _Charmante_ is dressing himself like one of +the Caballists of the _Rosycrusian_ Order, and is coming to prepare my +credulous Master for the greater Imposition. I have his Trinkets here to +play upon him, which shall be ready. + +_Ela_. But the Farce, where is it to be acted? + +_Scar_. Here, here, in this very House; I am to order the Decorations, +adorn a Stage, and place Scenes proper. + +_Ela_. How can this be done without my Father's Knowledge? + +_Scar_. You know the old Apartment next the great Orchard, and the +Worm-eaten Gallery that opens to the River; which place for several +Years no body has frequented; there all things shall be acted proper for +our purpose. + + _Enter_ Mopsophil _running_. + +_Mop_. Run, run, _Scaramouch_, my Master's conjuring for you like mad +below, he calls up all his little Devils with horrid Names, his +Microscope, his Horoscope, his Telescope, and all his Scopes. + +_Scar_. Here, here,--I had almost forgot the Letters; here's one for +you, and one for Mrs. _Bellemante_. + [_Runs out_. + + _Enter_ Bellemante _with a Book_. + +_Bell_. Here, take my Prayer-Book, _Oh Ma tres chere_. [_Embraces her_. + +_Ela_. Thy Eyes are always laughing, _Bellemante_. + +_Bell_. And so would yours, had they been so well employ'd as mine, this +morning. I have been at the Chapel, and seen so many Beaus, such a +number of Plumeys, I cou'd not tell which I should look on most; +sometimes my Heart was charm'd with the gay Blonding, then with the +melancholy Noire, anon the amiable Brunet; sometimes the bashful, then +again the bold; the little now, anon the lovely tall: In fine, my Dear, +I was embarass'd on all sides, I did nothing but deal my Heart _tout +autour_. + +_Ela_. Oh, there was then no danger, Cousin. + +_Bell_. No, but abundance of pleasure. + +_Ela_. Why, this is better than sighing for _Charmante_. + +_Bell_. That's when he's present only, and makes his Court to me; I can +sigh to a Lover, but will never sigh after him:--but Oh, the Beaus, the +Beaus, Cousin, that I saw at Church. + +_Ela_. Oh, you had great devotion to Heaven then! + +_Bell_. And so I had; for I did nothing but admire its Handy-work, but I +cou'd not have pray'd heartily, if I had been dying; but a duce on't, +who shou'd come in and spoil all but my Lover _Charmante_, so dress'd, +so gallant, that he drew together all the scatter'd fragments of my +Heart, confin'd my wandering Thoughts, and fixt 'em all on him: Oh, how +he look'd, how he was dress'd! + + SINGS. + + _Chevalier a Cheveux blonds, + Plus de Mouche, plus de Poudre, + Plus de Ribons et Cannons_. + +--Oh, what a dear ravishing thing is the beginning of an Amour! + +_Ela_. Thou'rt still in Tune, when wilt thou be tame, _Bellemante_? + +_Bell_. When I am weary of loving, _Elaria_. + +_Ela_. To keep up your Humour, here's a Letter from your _Charmante_. + +Bellemante _reads_. + + _Malicious Creature, when wilt thou cease to torment + me, and either appear less charming, or more kind? I languish + when from you, and am wounded when I see you, and yet I am + eternally courting my Pain. _Cinthio_ and I, are contriving + how we shall see you to Night. Let us not toil in vain; we + ask but your consent; the Pleasure will be all ours, 'tis therefore + fit we suffer all the Fatigue. Grant this, and love me, if you + will save the Life of_ + Your _Charmante_. + +--Live then, _Charmante_! Live as long as Love can last! + +_Ela_. Well, Cousin, _Scaramouch_ tells me of a rare design's a +hatching, to relieve us from this Captivity; here are we mew'd up to be +espous'd to two Moon-calfs for ought I know; for the Devil of any human +thing is suffer'd to come near us without our Governante and Keeper, Mr. +_Scaramouch_. + +_Bell_. Who, if he had no more Honesty and Conscience than my Uncle, +wou'd let us pine for want of Lovers: but thanks be prais'd, the +Generosity of our Cavaliers has open'd their obdurate Hearts with a +Golden Key, that lets 'em in at all Opportunities. Come, come, let's in, +and answer their Billet-Doux. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. _A Garden_. + + + _Enter_ Doctor, _with all manner of Mathematical Instruments + hanging at his Girdle_; Scaramouch _bearing a Telescope twenty + (or more) Foot long_. + +_Doct_. Set down the Telescope.--Let me see, what Hour is it? + +_Scar_. About six a Clock, Sir. + +_Doct_. Then 'tis about the Hour that the great Monarch of the Upper +World enters into his Closet; Mount, mount the Telescope. + +_Scar_. What to do, Sir? + +_Doct_. I understand, at certain moments critical, one may be snatch'd +of such a mighty consequence, to let the Sight into the Secret Closet. + +_Scar_. How, Sir, peep into the King's Closet! under favour, Sir, that +will be something uncivil. + +_Doct_. Uncivil! it were flat Treason if it should be known; but thus +unseen, and as wise Politicians shou'd, I take survey of all: This is +the Statesman's Peeping-hole, thorow which he steals the Secrets of his +King, and seems to wink at distance. + +_Scar_. The very Key-hole, Sir, thorow which, with half an Eye, he sees +him even at his Devotion, Sir. + + [_A knocking at the Garden-gate_. + +_Doct_. Take care none enter. + + [Scar. _goes to the Door_. + +_Scar_. Oh, Sir, Sir, here's some strange great Man come to wait on you. + +_Doct_. Great Man! from whence? + +_Scar_. Nay, from the Moon-World, for ought I know, for he looks not +like the People of the lower Orb. + +_Doct_. Ha! and that may be; wait on him in. + + [_Exit_ Scar. + + _Enter_ Scaramouch _bare, bowing before_ Charmante, _dress'd in + a strange fantastical Habit, with_ Harlequin; _salutes the_ Doctor. + +_Char_. Doctor _Baliardo_, most learned Sir, all Hail! Hail from the +great Caballa of _Eutopia_. + +_Doct_. Most reverend _Bard_, thrice welcome. [_Salutes him low_. + +_Char_. The Fame of your great Learning, Sir, and Virtue is known with +Joy to the renown'd Society. + +_Doct_. Fame, Sir, has done me too much Honour, to bear my Name to the +renown'd _Caballa_. + +_Char_. You must not attribute it all to Fame, Sir, they are too learned +and wise to take up things from Fame, Sir: our Intelligence is by ways +more secret and sublime, the Stars, and little Daemons of the Air inform +us all things, past, present, and to come. + +_Doct_. I must confess the Count of _Gabalis_ renders it plain, from +Writ divine and humane, there are such friendly and intelligent Daemons. + +_Char_. I hope you do not doubt that Doctrine, Sir, which holds that the +Four Elements are peopled with Persons of a Form and Species more divine +than vulgar Mortals--those of the fiery Regions we call the +_Salamanders_, they beget Kings and Heroes, with Spirits like their +Deietical Sires; the lovely Inhabitants of the Water, we call Nymphs; +those of the Earth are Gnomes or Fairies; those of the Air are Sylphs. +These, Sir, when in Conjunction with Mortals, beget immortal Races; such +as the first-born Man, which had continu'd so, had the first Man ne'er +doated on a Woman. + +_Doct_. I am of that opinion, Sir; Man was not made for Woman. + +_Char_. Most certain, Sir, Man was to have been immortaliz'd by the Love +and Conversation of these charming Sylphs and Nymphs, and Women by the +Gnomes and Salamanders, and to have stock'd the World with Demi-Gods, +such as at this Day inhabit the Empire of the Moon. + +_Doct_. Most admirable Philosophy and Reason!--But do these Sylphs and +Nymphs appear in Shapes? + +_Char_. The most beautiful of all the Sons and Daughters of the +Universe: Fancy, Imagination is not half so charming: And then so soft, +so kind! but none but the _Caballa_ and their Families are blest with +their divine Addresses. Were you but once admitted to that Society-- + +_Doct_. Ay, Sir, what Virtues or what Merits can accomplish me for that +great Honour? + +_Char_. An absolute abstinence from carnal thought, devout and pure of +Spirit; free from Sin. + +_Doct_. I dare not boast my Virtues, Sir; Is there no way to try my +Purity? + +_Char_. Are you very secret? + +_Doct_. 'Tis my first Principle, Sir. + +_Char_. And one, the most material in our _Rosycrusian_ order.--Please +you to make a Tryal? + +_Doct_. As how, Sir, I beseech you? + +_Char_. If you be thorowly purg'd from Vice, the Opticles of your Sight +will be so illuminated, that glancing through this Telescope, you may +behold one of these lovely Creatures, that people the vast Region of +the Air. + +_Doct_. Sir, you oblige profoundly. + +_Char_. Kneel then, and try your strength of Virtue. Sir,--Keep your Eye +fix'd and open. [_He looks in the Telescope_. + + [_While he is looking_, Charmante _goes to the Door to_ Scaramouch, + _who waited on purpose without, and takes a Glass with a Picture of + a Nymph on it, and a Light behind it; that as he brings it, it shews + to the Audience. Goes to the end of the Telescope_. + +--Can you discern, Sir? + +_Doct_. Methinks, I see a kind of glorious Cloud drawn up--and now, 'tis +gone again. + +_Char_. Saw you no Fuger? + +_Doct_. None. + +_Char_. Then make a short Prayer to _Alikin_, the Spirit of the East; +shake off all earthly Thoughts, and look again. + + [_He prays_. Charmante _puts the Glass into the Mouth + of the Telescope_. + +_Doct_.--Astonish'd, ravish'd with Delight, I see a Beauty young and +Angel-like, leaning upon a Cloud. + +_Char_. Seems she on a Bed? then she's reposing, and you must not gaze. + +_Doct_. Now a Cloud veils her from me. + +_Char_. She saw you peeping then, and drew the Curtain of the Air +between. + +_Doct_. I am all Rapture, Sir, at this rare Vision--is't possible, Sir, +that I may ever hope the Conversation of so divine a Beauty? + +_Char_. Most possible, Sir; they will court you, their whole delight is +to immortalize--_Alexander_ was begot by a Salamander, that visited his +Mother in the form of a Serpent, because he would not make King _Philip_ +jealous; and that famous Philosopher _Merlin_ was begotten on a Vestal +Nun, a certain King's Daughter, by a most beautiful young Salamander; as +indeed all the Heroes, and Men of mighty Minds are. + +_Doct_. Most excellent! + +_Char_. The Nymph _Egeria_, inamour'd on _Numa Pompilius_, came to him +invisible to all Eyes else, and gave him all his Wisdom and Philosophy. +_Zoroaster, Trismegistus, Apuleius, Aquinius, Albertus Magnus, Socrates_ +and _Virgil_ had their Zilphid, which the Foolish call'd their Daemon or +Devil. But you are wise, Sir. + +_Doct_. But do you imagine, Sir, they will fall in love with an old +Mortal? + +_Char_. They love not like the Vulgar, 'tis the immortal Part they doat +upon. + +_Doct_. But, Sir, I have a Niece and Daughter which I love equally, were +it not possible they might be immortaliz'd? + +_Char_. No doubt on't, Sir, if they be pure and chaste. + +_Doct_. I think they are, and I'll take care to keep 'em so; for I +confess, Sir, I would fain have a Hero to my Grandson. + +_Char_. You never saw the Emperor of the Moon, Sir, the mighty +_Iredonozar_? + +_Doct_. Never, Sir; his Court I have, but 'twas confusedly too. + +_Char_. Refine your Thoughts, Sir, by a Moment's Prayer, and try again. + + [_He prays_. Char. _claps the Glass with the Emperor on it, + he looks in and sees it_. + +_Doct_. It is too much, too much for mortal Eyes! I see a Monarch seated +on a Throne--but seems most sad and pensive. + +_Char_. Forbear then, Sir; for now his Love-Fit's on, and then he wou'd +be private. + +_Doct_. His Love-Fit, Sir! + +_Char_. Ay, Sir, the Emperor's in love with some fair Mortal. + +_Doct_. And can he not command her? + +_Char_. Yes, but her Quality being too mean, he struggles, though a +King, 'twixt Love and Honour. + +_Doct_. It were too much to know the Mortal, Sir? + +_Char_. 'Tis yet unknown, Sir, to the Caballists, who now are using all +their Arts to find her, and serve his Majesty; but now my great Affair +deprives me of you: To morrow, Sir, I'll wait on you again; and now I've +try'd your Virtue, tell you Wonders. + +_Doct_. I humbly kiss your Hands, most learned Sir. + + [Charmante _goes out_. Doctor _waits on him to the Door, + and returns: to him_ Scaramouch. _All this while_ Harlequin + _was hid in the Hedges, peeping now and then, and when his + Master went out he was left behind_. + +_Scar_. So, so, Don _Charmante_ has played his Part most exquisitely; +I'll in and see how it works in his Pericranium. +--Did you call, Sir? + +_Doct. Scaramouch_, I have, for thy singular Wit and Honesty, always +had a Tenderness for thee above that of a Master to a Servant. + +_Scar_. I must confess it, Sir. + +_Doct_. Thou hast Virtue and Merit that deserves much. + +_Scar_. Oh Lord, Sir! + +_Doct_. And I may make thee great;--all I require, is, that thou wilt +double thy diligent Care of my Daughter and my Niece; for there are +mighty things design'd for them, if we can keep 'em from the sight +of Man. + +_Scar_. The sight of Man, Sir! + +_Doct_. Ay, and the very Thoughts of Man. + +_Scar_. What Antidote is there to be given to a young Wench, against the +Disease of Love and Longing? + +_Doct_. Do you your Part, and because I know thee discreet and very +secret, I will hereafter discover Wonders to thee. On pain of Life, look +to the Girls; that's your Charge. + +_Scar_. Doubt me not, Sir, and I hope your Reverence will reward my +faithful Services with _Mopsophil_, your Daughter's Governante, who is +rich, and has long had my Affection, Sir. + + [Harlequin _peeping, cries Oh Traitor_! + +_Doct_. Set not thy Heart on transitory Mortal, there's better things in +store--besides, I have promis'd her to a Farmer for his Son.--Come in +with me, and bring the Telescope. + + [_Ex_. Doctor _and_ Scaramouch. + + Harlequin _comes out on the Stage_. + +_Har_. My Mistress _Mopsophil_ to marry a Farmer's Son! What, am I then +forsaken, abandon'd by the false fair One? If I have Honour, I must die +with Rage; Reproaching gently, and complaining madly. It is resolv'd, +I'll hang my self--No, when did I ever hear of a Hero that hang'd him +self?--No, 'tis the Death of Rogues. What if I drown my self?--No, +Useless Dogs and Puppies are drown'd; a Pistol or a Caper on my own +Sword wou'd look more nobly, but that I have a natural Aversion to Pain. +Besides, it is as vulgar as Rats-bane, or the slicing of the Weasand. +No, I'll die a Death uncommon, and leave behind me an eternal Fame. I +have somewhere read an Author, either antient or modern, of a Man that +laugh'd to death.--I am very ticklish, and am resolv'd to die that +Death.--Oh, _Mopsophil_, my cruel _Mopsophil_! + [_Pulls off his Hat, Sword and Shoes_. +And now, farewel the World, fond Love, and mortal Cares. + + [_He falls to tickle himself, his Head, his Ears, his Armpits, + Hands, Sides, and Soles of his Feet; making ridiculous Cries + and Noises of Laughing several ways, with Antick Leaps and Skips, + at last falls down as dead. + + Enter_ Scaramouch. + +_Scar. Harlequin_ was left in the Garden, I'll tell him the News +of _Mopsophil_. [Going forward, tumbles over him. +Ha, what's here? _Harlequin_ dead! + [_Heaving him up, he flies into a Rage_. + +_Har_. Who is't that thus wou'd rob me of my Honour? + +_Scar_. Honour, why I thought thou'dst been dead. + +_Ha_. Why, so I was, and the most agreeably dead. + +_Scar_. I came to bemoan with thee the mutual loss of our Mistress. + +_Har_. I know it, Sir, I know it, and that thou art as false as she: +Was't not a Covenant between us, that neither shou'd take advantage of +the other, but both shou'd have fair play, and yet you basely went to +undermine me, and ask her of the Doctor; but since she's gone, I scorn +to quarrel for her--But let's like loving Brothers, hand in hand, leap +from some Precipice into the Sea. + +_Scar_. What, and spoil all my Clothes? I thank you for that; no, I have +a newer way: you know I lodge four pair of Stairs high, let's ascend +hither, and after saying our Prayers-- + +_Har_. Prayers! I never heard of a dying Hero that ever pray'd. + +_Scar_. Well, I'll not stand with you for a Trifle--Being come up, I'll +open the Casement, take you by the Heels, and sling you out into the +Street; after which, you have no more to do, but to come up and throw me +down in my turn. + +_Har_. The Atchievement's great and new; but now I think on't, I'm +resolv'd to hear my Sentence from the Mouth of the perfidious Trollop, +for yet I cannot credit it. + + I'll to the Gipsy, though I venture banging, + To be undeceiv'd, 'tis hardly worth the hanging. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE III. _The Chamber of_ Bellemante. + + + _Enter_ Scaramouch _groping_. + +_Scar_. So, I have got rid of my Rival, and shall here get an +Opportunity to speak with _Mopsophil_; for hither she must come anon, +to lay the young Lady's Night-things in order; I'll hide my self in +some Corner till she come. + [_Goes on to the further side of the Stage_. + + _Enter_ Harlequin _groping_. + +_Har_. So, I made my Rival believe I was gone, and hid my self till I +got this Opportunity to steal to _Mopsophil's_ Apartment, which must be +hereabouts; for from these Windows she us'd to entertain my Love. + [_Advances_. + +_Scar_. Ha, I hear a soft Tread,--if it were _Mopsophil's_, she wou'd +not come by dark. + + [Harlequin _advancing runs against a Table, and almost + strikes himself backwards_. + +_Har_. What was that?--a Table, there I may obscure my self. + [_Groping for the Table_. +What a Devil, is it vanish'd? + +_Scar_. Devil,--vanish'd! What can this mean? 'Tis a Man's Voice.--If it +should be my Master the Doctor now, I were a dead Man;--he can't see me; +and I'll put my self into such a Posture, that if he feel me, he shall +as soon take me for a Church Spout as a Man. + + [_He puts himself into a Posture ridiculous, his Arms a-kimbo, + his Knees wide open, his Backside almost touching the Ground, + his Mouth stretched wide, and Eyes staring_. Har. _groping + thrusts his Hand into his Mouth, he bites him, the other dares + not cry out_. + +_Har_. Ha, what's this? all Mouth, with twenty rows of Teeth.--Now dare +not I cry out, lest the Doctor shou'd come, find me here, and kill +me--I'll try if it be mortal. + + [_Making damnable Faces and signs of Pain, he draws a Dagger_. Scar. + _feels the Point of it, and shrinks back, letting go his Hand_. + +_Scar_. Who the Devil can this be? I felt a Poniard, and am glad I sav'd +my Skin from pinking. [_Steals out_. + + [Harlequin _groping about, finds the Table, on which + there is a Carpet, and creeps under it, listening_. + + _Enter_ Bellemante, _with a Candle in one Hand, + and a Book in the other_. + +_Bell_. I am in a _Belle_ Humor for Poetry to-night; +I'll make some Boremes on Love. [_She writes and studies_. +_Out of a great Curiosity,--A Shepherd did demand of me_.-- +No, no,--_A Shepherd this implor'd of me_. + [_Scratches out, and writes a-new_. +Ay, ay, so it shall go.--_Tell me, said he, can you resign?-- +Resign_, ay, what shall rhyme to _Resign?--Tell me, said he_.-- + [_She lays down the Tablets, and walks about_. + + [Harlequin _peeps from under the Table, takes the Book, + writes in it, and lays it up before she can turn_. + +[_Reads_.] Ay, ay, so it shall be,--_Tell me, said he, my_ +Bellemante; _Will you be kind to your_ Charmante? + [_Reads those two lines, and is amaz'd_. +Ha, Heav'ns! What's this? I am amaz'd! +--And yet I'll venture once more. [_Writes and studies_. +--_I blushed and veil'd my wishing Eyes_. + [_Lays down the Book, and walks as before_. +--_Wishing Eyes_! [Har. _writes as before_. + [_She turns and takes the Tablet_. +--_And answer'd only with my Sighs_. +Ha! What is this? Witchcraft, or some Divinity of Love? +Some Cupid sure invisible. +Once more I'll try the Charm. [_Writes_. +--Cou'd I a better way my Love impart? + [_Studies and walks_. +--_Impart_-- [_He writes as before_. +--_And without speaking, tell him all my Heart_. +--'Tis here again, but where's the Hand that writ it? + [_Looks about_. +--The little Deity that will be seen +But only in his Miracles. It cannot be a Devil, +For here's no Sin nor Mischief in all this. + + _Enter_ Charmante. _She hides the Tablet, he steps + to her, and snatches it from her and reads_. + +_Char_. reads. + + _Out of a great Curiosity, + A Shepherd this implor'd of me. + Tell me, said he, my_ Bellemante, + _Will you be kind to your_ Charmante? + _I blush'd, and veil'd my wishing Eyes, + And answer'd only with my Sighs. + Cou'd I a better way my Love impart? + And without speaking, tell him all my Heart_. + +_Char_. Whose is this different Character? [_Looks angry_. + +_Bell_. 'Tis yours for ought I know. + +_Char_. Away, my Name was put here for a blind. +What Rhiming Fop have you been clubbing Wit withal? + +_Bell_. Ah! _mon Dieu!--Charmante_ jealous? + +_Char_. Have I not cause?--Who writ these Boremes? + +_Bell_. Some kind assisting Deity, for ought I know. + +_Char_. Some kind assisting Coxcomb, that I know. +The Ink's yet wet, the Spark is near I find.-- + +_Bell_. Ah, _Malheureuse_! How was I mistaken in this Man? + +_Char_. Mistaken! What, did you take me for an easy Fool to be impos'd +upon?--One that wou'd be cuckolded by every feather'd Fool; that you'd +call a _Beau un Gallant Homme_. 'Sdeath! Who wou'd doat upon a fond +She-Fop?--a vain conceited amorous Coquette. + [_Goes out, she pulls him back_. + + _Enter_ Scaramouch _running_. + +_Sea_. Oh Madam! hide your Lover, or we are all undone. + +_Char_. I will not hide, till I know the thing that made the Verses. + [_The Doctor calling as on the Stairs_. + +_Doct. Bellemante_, Niece,--_Bellemante_. + +_Scar_. She's coming, Sir.--Where, where shall I hide him? +--Oh, the Closet's open! + [_Thrusts him into the Closet by force_. + +_Enter_ Doctor. + +_Doct_. Oh Niece! Ill Luck, Ill Luck, I must leave you to night; my +Brother the Advocate is sick, and has sent for me; 'tis three long +Leagues, and dark as 'tis, I must go.--They say he is dying. Here, take +my Keys, [_Pulls out his Keys, one falls down_. +and go into my Study, and look over all my Papers, and bring me all those +mark'd with a Cross and figure of Three, they concern my Brother and I. + + [_She looks on_ Scaramouch, _and makes pitiful Signs, and goes out_. + +--Come, _Scaramouch_, and get me ready for my Journey; and on your Life, +let not a Door be open'd till my Return. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter_ Mopsophil. Har. _peeps from under the Table_. + +_Har_. Ha! _Mopsophil_, and alone! + +_Mop_. Well, 'tis a delicious thing to be rich; what a world of Lovers +it invites: I have one for every Hand, and the Favorite for my Lips. + +_Har_. Ay, him wou'd I be glad to know. [_Peeping_. + +_Mop_. But of all my Lovers, I am for the Farmer's Son, because he keeps +a Calash--and I'll swear a Coach is the most agreeable thing about +a Man. + +_Har_. Ho, ho! + +_Mop_. Ah, me,--What's that? + + [_He answers in a shrill Voice_. + +_Har_. The Ghost of a poor Lover, dwindled into a Heyho. + + [_He rises from under the Table, and falls at her Feet_. + Scaramouch _enters. She runs off squeaking_. + +_Scar_. Ha, My Rival and my Mistress!--Is this done like a Man of +Honour, Monsieur _Harlequin_, to take advantages to injure me? [_Draws_. + +_Har_. Advantages are lawful in Love and War. + +_Scar_. 'Twas contrary to our League and Covenant; therefore I defy thee +as a Traytor. + +_Har_. I scorn to fight with thee, because I once call'd thee Brother. + +_Scar_. Then thou art a Poltroon, that's to say, a Coward. + +_Har_. Coward! nay, then I am provok'd, come on. + +_Scar_. Pardon me, Sir, I gave the Coward, and you ought to strike. + + [_They go to fight ridiculously, and ever as_ Scaramouch + _passes_, Harlequin _leaps aside, and skips so nimbly about, + he cannot touch him for his Life; which after a while + endeavouring in vain, he lays down his Sword_. + +--If you be for dancing, Sir, I have my Weapons for all occasions. + + [Scar. _pulls out a Flute Doux, and falls to playing_. Har. + _throws down his, and falls a dancing; after the Dance, they + shake hands_. + +_Har_. _Ha mon bon ami_.--Is not this better than duelling? + +_Scar_. But not altogether so heroick, Sir. Well, for the future, let us +have fair play; no Tricks to undermine each other, but which of us is +chosen to be the happy Man, the other shall be content. + +_Ela_. [_Within_.] Cousin _Bellemante_, Cousin. + +_Scar_. 'Slife, let's be gone, lest we be seen in the Ladies Apartment. + + [Scar. _slips_ Harlequin _behind the Door_. + + _Enter_ Elaria. + +_Ela_. How now, how came you here?-- + +_Scar_. [_Signs to_ Har. _to go out_.] I came to tell you, Madam, my +Master's just taking Mule to go his Journey to Night, and that Don +_Cinthio_ is in the Street, for a lucky moment to enter in. + +_Ela_. But what if any one by my Father's Order, or he himself should by +some chance surprize us? + +_Scar_. If we be, I have taken order against a Discovery. I'll go see if +the old Gentleman be gone, and return with your Lover. + [_Goes out_. + +_Ela_. I tremble, but know not whether 'tis with Fear or Joy. + + _Enter_ Cinthio. + +_Cin_. My dear _Elaria_-- + [_Runs to imbrace her, She starts from him_. +--Ha,--shun my Arms, _Elaria_! + +_Ela_. Heavens! Why did you come so soon? + +_Cin_. Is it too soon, whene'er 'tis safe, _Elaria_? + +_Ela_. I die with Fear--Met you not _Scaramouch_? He went to bid you +wait a while; what shall I do? + +_Cin_. Why this Concern? none of the House has seen me. I saw your +Father taking Horse. + +_Ela_. Sure you mistake, methinks I hear his Voice. + +_Doct_. [_Below_.]--My Key--The Key of my Laboratory. +Why, Knave _Scaramouch_, where are you? + +_Ela_. Do you hear that, Sir?--Oh, I'm undone! +Where shall I hide you?--He approaches. + [_She searches where to hide him_. +Ha! my Cousin's Closet's open,--step in a little. + [_He goes in, she puts out the Candle_. + + _Enter the_ Doctor. _She gets round the Chamber to the + Door, and as he advances in, she steals out_. + +_Doct_. Here I must have dropt it; a Light, a Light there. + + _Enter_ Cinthio, _from the Closet, pulls_ Charmante + _out, they not knowing each other_. + +_Cin_. Oh, this perfidious Woman! No marvel she was so surpriz'd and +angry at my Approach to Night. + +_Cha_. Who can this be?--but I'll be prepar'd. + [_Lays his Hand on his Sword_. + +_Doct_. Why, _Scaramouch_, Knave, a Light! + [_Turns to the Door to call_. + + _Enter_ Scaramouch _with a Light, and seeing the two Lovers + there, runs against his Master, puts out the Candle, and + flings him down and falls over him. At the entrance of the + Candle_, Charmante _slipt from_ Cinthio _into the Closet_. + Cinthio _gropes to find him; when_ Mopsophil _and_ Elaria, + _hearing a great Noise, enter with a Light_. Cinthio _finding + he was discovered falls to acting a Mad-man, _Scaramouch + _helps up the Doctor, and bows_. + +Ha,--a Man,--and in my House,--Oh dire Misfortune! +--Who are you, Sir? + +_Cin_. Men call me _Gog Magog_, the Spirit of Power; +My Right-hand Riches holds, my Left-hand Honour. +Is there a City Wife wou'd be a Lady?--Bring her to me, +Her easy Cuckold shall be dubb'd a Knight. + +_Ela_. Oh Heavens! a Mad-man, Sir. + +_Cin_. Is there a tawdry Fop wou'd have a Title? +A rich Mechanick that wou'd be an Alderman? +Bring 'em to me, +And I'll convert that Coxcomb, and that Blockhead, into Your Honour +and Right-Worshipful. + +_Doct_. Mad, stark mad! Why, Sirrah, Rogue--_Scaramouch_ +--How got this Mad-man in? + + [_While the_ Doctor _turns to_ Scaramouch, Cinthio + _speaks softly to_ Elaria. + +_Cin_. Oh, thou perfidious Maid! Who hast thou hid in yonder conscious +Closet? [_Aside to her_. + +_Scar_. Why, Sir, he was brought in a Chair for your Advice; but how he +rambled from the Parlour to this Chamber, I know not. + +_Cin_. Upon a winged Horse, ycleped _Pegasus_, Swift as the fiery Racers +of the Sun,--I fly--I fly--See how I mount, and cut the liquid Sky. + [_Runs out_. + +_Doct_. Alas, poor Gentleman, he's past all Cure.--But, Sirrah, for the +future, take you care that no young mad Patients be brought into my +House. + +_Scar_. I shall, Sir,--and see,--here's your Key you look'd for. + +_Doct_. That's well; I must be gone--Bar up the Doors, and upon Life or +Death let no man enter. + [_Exit_ Doctor, _and all with him, with the Light_. + + Charmante _peeps out--and by degrees comes all out, + listning every step_. + +_Char_. Who the Devil cou'd that be that pull'd me from the Closet? but +at last I'm free, and the Doctor's gone; I'll to _Cinthio_, and bring +him to pass this Night with our Mistresses. + [_Exit_. + + _As he is gone off, enter_ Cinthio _groping_. + +_Cin_. Now for this lucky Rival, if his Stars will make this last part +of his Adventure such. I hid my self in the next Chamber, till I heard +the Doctor go, only to return to be reveng'd. + [_He gropes his way into the Closet, with his Sword drawn_. + + _Enter_ Elaria _with a Light_. + +_Ela_. _Scaramouch_ tells me _Charmante_ is conceal'd in the Closet, +whom _Cinthio_ surely has mistaken for some Lover of mine, and is +jealous; but I'll send _Charmante_ after him, to make my peace and +undeceive him. [_Goes to the Door_. +--Sir, Sir, where are you? they are all gone, you may adventure out. + [Cinthio _comes out_. +Ha,--_Cinthio_ here? + +_Cin_. Yes, Madam, to your shame: +Now your Perfidiousness is plain, false Woman, +'Tis well your Lover had the dexterity of escaping, I'ad spoil'd his +making Love else. [_Goes from her, she holds him_. + +_Ela_. Prithee hear me. + +_Cin_. But since my Ignorance of his Person saves his Life, live and +possess him, till I can discover him. [_Goes out_. + +_Ela_. Go, peevish Fool-- +Whose Jealousy believes me given to change, +Let thy own Torments be my just Revenge. + + [_Exit_. + +_The End of the First Act_. + + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I. _A Chamber in the_ Doctor's _House_. + + + _An Antick Dance_. + + _After the Musick has plaid, enter_ Elaria; _to her_ Bellemante. + +_Ela_. Heavens, _Bellemante_! Where have you been? + +_Bell_. Fatigu'd with the most disagreeable Affair, for a Person of my +Humour, in the World. Oh, how I hate Business, which I do no more mind, +than a Spark does the Sermon, who is ogling his Mistress at Church all +the while: I have been ruffling over twenty Reams of Paper for my +Uncle's Writings. + + _Enter_ Scaramouch. + +_Scar_. So, so, the old Gentleman is departed this wicked World, and the +House is our own for this Night.--Where are the Sparks? where are the +Sparks? + +_Ela_. Nay, Heaven knows. + +_Bell_. How! I hope not so; I left _Charmante_ confin'd to my Closet, +when my Uncle had like to have surpriz'd us together: Is he not here? + +_Ela_. No, he's escap'd, but he has made sweet doings. + +_Bell_. Heavens, Cousin! What? + +_Ela_. My Father was coming into the Chamber, and had like to have taken +_Cinthio_ with me, when, to conceal him, I put him into your Closet, not +knowing of _Charmante's_ being there, and which, in the dark, he took +for a Gallant of mine; had not my Father's Presence hinder'd, I believe +there had been Murder committed; however they both escap'd unknown. + +_Scar_. Pshaw, is that all? Lovers Quarrels are soon Adjusted; I'll to +'em, unfold the Riddle, and bring 'em back--take no care, but go in and +dress you for the Ball; _Mopsophil_ has Habits which your Lovers sent to +put on: the Fiddles, Treat, and all are prepar'd. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter_ Mopsophil. + +_Mop_. Madam, your Cousin _Florinda_, with a Lady, are come to visit +you. + +_Bell_. I'm glad on't, 'tis a good Wench, and we'll trust her with our +Mirth and Secret. + + [_They go out_. + + + +SCENE II. _Changes to the Street_. + + + _Enter Page with a Flambeaux, followed by_ Cinthio; _passes over + the Stage_. Scaramouch _follows_ Cinthio _in a Campaign Coat_. + +_Scar_. 'Tis _Cinthio_--Don _Cinthio_. [_Calls, he turns_. +Well, what's the Quarrel?--How fell ye out? + +_Cin_. You may inform your self I believe, for these close Intrigues +cannot be carried on without your Knowledge. + +_Scar_. What Intrigues, Sir? be quick, for I'm in haste. + +_Cin_. Who was the Lover I surpriz'd i'th' Closet? + +_Scar. Deceptio visus_, Sir; the Error of the Eyes. + +_Cin_. Thou Dog, I felt him too; but since the Rascal 'scaped me, +I'll be reveng'd on thee. + + [_Goes to beat him; he running away, runs against_ + Harlequin, _who is entering with_ Charmante, _and + like to have thrown 'em both down_. + +_Char_. Ha,--What's the matter here? + +_Scar_. Seignior Don _Charmante_. + [_Then he struts courageously in with 'em_. + +_Char_. What, _Cinthio_ in a Rage! +Who's the unlucky Object? + +_Cin_. All Man and Woman Kind: _Elaria's_ false. + +_Char. Elaria_ false! take heed, sure her nice Virtue +Is proof against the Vices of her Sex. +Say rather _Bellemante_, +She who by Nature's light and wavering. +The Town contains not such a false Impertinent. +This Evening I surpriz'd her in her Chamber, +Writing of Verses, and between her Lines +Some Spark had newly pen'd his proper Stuff. +Curse of the Jilt, I'll be her Fool no more. + +_Har_. I doubt you are mistaken in that, Sir, for 'twas +I was the Spark that writ the proper Stuff +To do you service. + +_Char_. Thou! + +_Scar_. Ay, we that spend our Lives and Fortunes here to serve you,--to +be us'd like Pimps and Scoundrels. Come, Sir, satisfy him who 'twas was +hid i'th' Closet, when he came in and found you. + +_Cin_. Ha,--is't possible? Was it _Charmante_? + +_Char_. Was it you, _Cinthio_? Pox on't, what Fools are we, we cou'd not +know one another by Instinct? + +_Scar_. Well, well, dispute no more this clear Case, but let's hasten to +your Mistresses. + +_Cin_. I'm asham'd to appear before _Elaria_. + +_Char_. And I to _Bellemante_. + +_Scar_. Come, come, take Heart of Grace; pull your Hats down over your +Eyes; put your Arms across; sigh and look scurvily; your simple Looks +are ever a Token of Repentance: come--come along. + + [_Exeunt Omnes_. + + + +SCENE III. _Changes to the Inside of the House. The Front of the Scene +is only a Curtain or Hangings, to be drawn up at Pleasure_. + + + _Enter_ Elaria, Bellemante, Mopsophil, Florinda, _and Ladies, + dress'd in Masking Habits_. + +_Ela_. I am extremely pleas'd with these Habits, Cousin. + +_Bell_. They are _a la Gothic_ and _Uncommune_. + +_Flor_. Your Lovers have a very good Fancy, Cousin, I long to see 'em. + +_Ela_. And so do I. I wonder _Scaramouch_ stays so, and what Success +he has. + +_Bell_. You have no cause to doubt, you can so easily acquit your self; +but I, what shall I do? who can no more imagine who shou'd write those +Boremes, than who I shall love next, if I break off with _Charmante_. + +_Flor_. If he be a Man of Honour, Cousin, when a Maid protests her +Innocence-- + +_Bell_. Ay, but he's a Man of Wit too, Cousin, and knows when Women +protest most, they likely lye most. + +_Ela_. Most commonly, for Truth needs no asseveration. + +_Bell_. That's according to the Disposition of your Lover, for some +believe you most, when you most abuse and cheat 'em; some are so +obstinate, they wou'd damn a Woman with Protesting, before she can +convince 'em. + +_Ela_. Such a one is not worth convincing, I wou'd not make the World +wise at the expence of a Virtue. + +_Bell_. Nay, he shall e'en remain as Heaven made him for me, since there +are Men enough for all uses. + + _Enter_ Charmante _and_ Cinthio, _dress'd in their Gothic Habits_, + Scaramouch, Harlequin _and Musick_. Charmante _and_ Cinthio _kneel_. + +_Cin_. Can you forgive us? + + [Elaria _takes him up_. + +_Bell_. That, _Cinthio_, you're convinc'd, I do not wonder; but how +_Charmante_ is inspir'd, I know not. + + [_Takes him up_. + +_Char_. Let it suffice, I'm satisfy'd, my _Bellemante_. + +_Ela_. Pray know my Cousin _Florinda_. + + [_They salute the Lady_. + +_Bell_. Come, let us not lose time, since we are all Friends. + +_Char_. The best use we can make of it, is to talk of Love. + +_Bell_. Oh! we shall have time enough for that hereafter; besides, you +may make Love in Dancing as well as in Sitting; you may gaze, sigh, and +press the Hand, and now and then receive a Kiss, what wou'd you more? + +_Char_. Yes, wish a little more. + +_Bell_. We were unreasonable to forbid you that cold Joy, nor shall you +wish long in vain, if you bring Matters so about, to get us with my +Uncle's Consent. + +_Ela_. Our Fortunes depending solely on his Pleasure, which are too +considerable to lose. + +_Cin_. All things are order'd as I have written you at large; our Scenes +and all our Properties are ready; we have no more to do but to banter +the old Gentleman into a little more Faith, which the next Visit of our +new Cabalist _Charmante_ will complete. + + [_The Musick plays_. + + _Enter some Anticks, and dance. They all sit the while_. + +_Ela_. Your Dancers have performed well, but 'twere fit we knew who we +have trusted with this Evening's Intrigue. + +_Cin_. Those, Madam, who are to assist us in carrying on a greater +Intrigue, the gaining of you. They are our Kinsmen. + +_Ela_. Then they are doubly welcome. + + [_Here is a Song in Dialogue, with Flute Doux and Harpsicals, + between a Shepherd and Shepherdess; which ended, they all dance + a Figure Dance_. + +_Cin_. Hark, what Noise is that? sure 'tis in the next Room. + +_Doctor [Within.] Scaramouch, Scaramouch_! + + [Scaramouch _runs to the Door, and holds it fast_. + +_Scar_. Ha,--the Devil in the likeness of my old Master's Voice, for it +is impossible it should be he himself. + +_Char_. If it be he, how got he in? did you not secure the Doors? + +_Ela_. He always has a Key to open 'em. Oh! what shall we do? there's no +escaping him; he's in the next Room, through which you are to pass. + +_Doct. [Within.] Scaramouch_, Knave, where are you? + +_Scar_. 'Tis he, 'tis he, follow me all-- + + [_He goes with all the Company behind the Front Curtain_. + +_Doct. [Within.]_ I tell you, Sirrah, I heard the noise of Fiddles. + +_Peter. [_Within.]_ No surely, Sir, 'twas a Mistake. + + [_Knocking at the Door_. + + [Scaramouch _having placed them all in the Hanging, in which they + make the Figures, where they stand without Motion in Postures, he + comes out. He opens the Door with a Candle in his Hand_. + + _Enter the_ Doctor _and_ Peter _with a Light_. + +_Scar_. Bless me, Sir! Is it you--or your Ghost? + +_Doct_. 'Twere good for you, Sir, if I were a thing of Air; but as I am +a substantial Mortal, I will lay it on as substantially-- + [_Canes him. He cries_. + +_Scar_. What d'ye mean, Sir? what d'ye mean? + +_Doct_. Sirrah, must I stand waiting your Leisure, while you are roguing +here? I will reward ye. [_Beats him_. + +_Scar_. Ay, and I shall deserve it richly, Sir, when you know all. + +_Doct_. I guess all, Sirrah, and I heard all, and you shall be rewarded +for all. Where have you hid the Fiddles, you Rogue? + +_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir! + +_Doct_. Ay, Fiddles, Knave. + +_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir!--Where? + +_Doct_. Here, here I heard 'em, thou false Steward of thy Master's +Treasure. + +_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir! Sure 'twas Wind got into your Head, and whistled +in your Ears, riding so late, Sir. + +_Doct_. Ay, thou false Varlet, there's another debt I owe thee, for +bringing me so damnable a Lye: my Brother's well--I met his Valet but a +League from Town, and found thy Roguery out. [_Beats him. He cries_. + +_Scar_. Is this the Reward I have for being so diligent since you went? + +_Doct_. In what, thou Villain? in what? + + [_The Curtain is drawn up, and discovers the Hangings where + all of them stand_. + +_Scar_. Why, look you, Sir, I have, to surprize you with Pleasure, +against you came home, been putting up this Piece of Tapestry, the best +in Italy, for the Rareness of the Figures, Sir. + +_Doct_. Ha! hum--It is indeed a Stately Piece of Work; how came I by 'em? + +_Scar_. 'Twas sent your Reverence from the _Virtuoso_, or some of the +Cabalists. + +_Doct_. I must confess, the Workmanship is excellent;--but still I do +insist I heard the Musick. + +_Scar_. 'Twas then the tuning of the Spheres, some Serenade, Sir, from +the Inhabitants of the Moon. + +_Doct_. Hum, from the Moon,--and that may be. + +_Scar_. Lord, d'ye think I wou'd deceive your Reverence? + +_Doct_. From the Moon, a Serenade,--I see no signs on't here, indeed it +must be so--I'll think on't more at leisure. [_Aside_. +--Prithee what Story's this? [_Looks on the Hangings_. + +_Scar_. Why, Sir,--'Tis-- + +_Doct_. Hold up the Candles higher, and nearer. + + [Peter _and_ Scaramouch _hold Candles near. He takes a Perspective, + and looks through it; and coming nearer_ Harlequin, _who is placed + on a Tree in the Hangings, hits him on the Head with his Trunchion. + He starts and looks about_. Harlequin _sits still. + +_Scar_. Sir-- + +_Doct_. What was that struck me? + +_Scar_. Struck you, Sir! Imagination. + +_Doct_. Can my Imagination feel, Sirrah? + +_Scar_. Oh, the most tenderly of any part about one, Sir! + +_Doct_. Hum--that may be. + +_Scar_. Are you a great Philosopher, and know not that, Sir? + +_Doct_. This Fellow has a glimpse of Profundity. [_Aside. Looks again_. +--I like the Figures well. + +_Scar_. You will, when you see 'em by Day-light, Sir. + + [Har. _hits him again. The_ Doctor _sees him_. + +_Doct_. Ha,--Is that Imagination too?--Betray'd, betray'd, undone! run +for my Pistols, call up my Servants, _Peter_, a Plot upon my Daughter +and my Niece! + + [_Runs out with_ Peter. Scaramouch _puts out the Candle, + they come out of the Hanging, which is drawn away. He places + 'em in a Row just at the Entrance_. + +_Scar_. Here, here, fear nothing, hold by each other, that when I go +out, all may go; that is, slip out, when you hear the Doctor is come +in again, which he will certainly do, and all depart to your respective +Lodgings. + +_Cin_. And leave thee to bear the Brunt? + +_Scar_. Take you no care for that, I'll put it into my Bill of Charges, +and be paid all together. + + _Enter the_ Doctor _with Pistols, and_ Peter. + +_Doct_. What, by dark? that shall not save you, Villains, Traitors to my +Glory and Repose.--_Peter_, hold fast the Door, let none 'scape. + + [_They all slip out_. + +_Pet_. I'll warrant you, Sir. + + [Doctor _gropes about, stamps and calls_. + +_Doct_. Lights there--Lights--I'm sure they cou'd not 'scape. + +_Pet_. Impossible, Sir. + + _Enter_ Scaramouch _undress'd in his Shirt, with a Light; he starts_. + +_Scar_. Bless me!--what's here? + +_Doct_. Ha--Who art thou? [_Amaz'd to see him enter so_. + +_Scar_. I, who the Devil are you, and you go to that? + [_Rubs his Eyes, and brings the Candle nearer, looks on him_. +--Mercy upon us!--Why, what, is't you, Sir, return'd so soon? + +_Doct_. Return'd! [_Looking sometimes on him, sometimes about_. + +_Scar_. Ay, Sir, did you not go out of Town last night, to your Brother +the Advocate? + +_Doct_. Thou Villain, thou question'st me, as if thou knew'st not that I +was return'd. + +_Scar_. I know, Sir! how shou'd I know? I'm sure I am but just awakened +from the sweetest Dream.-- + +_Doct_. You dream still, Sirrah, but I shall wake your Rogueship.--Were +you not here but now, shewing me a piece of Tapestry, you Villain? + +_Scar_. Tapestry! + + [Mopsophil _listning all the while_. + +_Doct_. Yes, Rogue, yes, for which I'll have thy Life. + [_Offering a Pistol_. + +_Scar_. Are you stark mad, Sir? or do I dream still? + +_Doct_. Tell me, and tell me quickly, Rogue, who were those Traitors +that were hid but now in the Disguise of a piece of Hangings. + [_Holds the Pistol to his Breast_. + +_Scar_. Bless me! you amaze me, Sir. What conformity has every Word you +say, to my rare Dream! Pray let me feel you, Sir,--Are you human? + +_Doct_. You shall feel I am, Sirrah, if thou confess not. + +_Scar_. Confess, Sir! What shall I confess?--I understand not your +Cabalistical Language; but in mine, I confess that you wak'd me from the +rarest Dream--Where methought the Emperor of the Moon World was in our +House, dancing and revelling; and methoughts his Grace was fallen +desperately in love with Mistriss _Elaria_, and that his Brother, the +Prince, Sir, of _Thunderland_, was also in love with Mistriss +_Bellemante_; and methoughts they descended to court 'em in your +Absence--And that at last you surpriz'd 'em, and that they transform'd +themselves into a Suit of Hangings to deceive you. But at last, +methought you grew angry at something, and they all fled to Heaven +again; and after a deal of Thunder and Lightning, I wak'd, Sir, and +hearing human Voices here, came to see what the Matter was. + + [_This while the_ Doctor _lessens his signs of Rage by degrees, + and at last stands in deep Contemplation_. + +_Doct_. May I credit this? + +_Scar_. Credit it! By all the Honour of your House, by my unseparable +Veneration for the Mathematicks, 'tis true, Sir. + +_Doct_. That famous _Rosycrusian_, who yesterday visited me, and told me +the Emperor of the Moon was in love with a fair Mortal--This Dream is +Inspiration in this Fellow--He must have wondrous Virtue in him, to be +worthy of these divine Intelligences. [_Aside_.--But if that Mortal +shou'd be _Elaria_! but no more, I dare not yet suppose it--perhaps the +thing was real and no Dream, for oftentimes the grosser part is hurried +away in Sleep by the force of Imagination, and is wonderfully agitated +--This Fellow might be present in his Sleep,--of this we've frequent +Instances--I'll to my Daughter and my Niece, and hear what Knowledge +they may have of this. + +_Mop_. Will you so? I'll secure you, the Frolick shall go round. + [_Aside, and Exit_. + +_Doct. Scaramouch_, if you have not deceiv'd me in this Matter, time +will convince me farther; if it rest here, I shall believe you false. + +_Scar_. Good Sir, suspend your Judgment and your Anger till then. + +_Doct_. I'll do't, go back to bed. + + [_Ex_. Doct. _and_ Peter. + +_Scar_. No, Sir, 'tis Morning now--and I'm up for all day.--This Madness +is a pretty sort of pleasant Disease, when it tickles but in one +Vein--Why, here's my Master now, as great a Scholar, as grave and wise a +Man, in all Argument and Discourse, as can be met with; yet name but the +Moon, and he runs into ridicule, and grows as mad as the Wind. + + Well, Doctor, if thou canst be madder yet, + We'll find a Medicine that shall cure your Fit, + +--Better than all _Galenicus_. + + [_Goes out_. + + + +SCENE IV. _Draws off to_ Bellemante's _Chamber, discovers_ Elaria, +Bellemante _and_ Mopsophil _in Night-Gowns_. + + +_Mop_. You have your Lessons, stand to it bravely, and the Town's our +own, Madam. + + [_They put themselves in Postures of Sleeping, leaning on the + Table_, Mopsophil _lying at their Feet. Enter_ Doctor _softly_. + +_Doct_. Ha, not in Bed! this gives me mortal Fears. + +_Bell_. Ah, Prince-- [_She speaks as in her Sleep_. + +_Doct_. Ha, Prince! [_Goes nearer, and listens_. + +_Bell_. How little Faith I give to all your Courtship, who leaves our +Orb so soon. [_In a feign'd Voice_. + +_Doct_. Ha, said she Orb? [_Goes nearer_. + +_Bell_. But since you are of a celestial Race, +And easily can penetrate +Into the utmost limits of the Thought, +Why shou'd I fear to tell you of your Conquest? +--And thus implore your Aid. + + [_Rises and runs to the_ Doctor; _kneels, + and holds him fast. He shews signs of Joy_. + +_Doct_. I am ravish'd! + +_Bell_. Ah, Prince Divine, take pity on a Mortal. + +_Doct_. I am rapt! + +_Bell_. And take me with you to the World above! + +_Doct_. The Moon, the Moon she means; I am transported, over-joy'd, and +ecstasyd! + [_Leaping and jumping from her Hands, she seems to wake_. + +_Bell_. Ha, my Uncle come again to interrupt us! + +_Doct_. Hide nothing from me, my dear _Bellemante_, since all already is +discover'd to me--and more. + +_Ela_. Oh, why have you wak'd me from the softest Dream that ever Maid +was blest with? + +_Doct_. What--what, my best _Elaria_? [_With over-joy_. + +_Ela_. Methought I entertain'd a Demi-God, one of the gay Inhabitants of +the Moon. + +_Bell_. I'm sure mine was no Dream--I wak'd, I heard, I saw, I +spoke--and danc'd to the Musick of the Spheres; and methought my +glorious Lover ty'd a Diamond Chain about my Arm--and see 'tis all +substantial. [_Shows her Arm_. + +_Ela_. And mine a Ring, of more than mortal Lustre. + +_Doct_. Heaven keep me moderate! lest excess of Joy shou'd make my +Virtue less. [_Stifling his Joy_. +--There is a wondrous Mystery in this, +A mighty Blessing does attend your Fates. +Go in and pray to the chaste Powers above +To give you Virtue for such Rewards. [_They go in_. +--How this agrees with what the learned Cabalist inform'd me of last +Night! He said, that great _Iredonozor_, the Emperor of the Moon, was +enamour'd on a fair Mortal. It must be so--and either he descended to +court my Daughter personally, which for the rareness of the Novelty, +she takes to be a Dream; or else, what they and I beheld, was visionary, +by way of a sublime Intelligence:--And possibly--'tis only thus: the +People of that World converse with Mortals.--I must be satisfy'd in this +main Point of deep Philosophy. + + I'll to my Study,--for I cannot rest, + Till I this weighty Mystery have discuss'd. + + [_Ex. very gravely_. + + + +SCENE V. _The Garden_. + + + _Enter_ Scaramouch _with a Ladder_. + +_Scar_. Though I am come off _en Cavalier_ with my Master, I am not with +my Mistress, whom I promised to console this Night, and 'tis but just I +shou'd make good this Morning; 'twill be rude to surprize her sleeping, +and more gallant to wake her with a Serenade at her Window. + + [_Sets the Ladder to her Window, fetches his Lute and goes + up the ladder_. + + He plays and sings this Song. + + _When Maidens are young and in their Spring + Of Pleasure, of Pleasure, let 'em take their full Swing, + full Swing,--full Swing, + And love, and dance, and play, and sing. + For_ Silvia, _believe it, when Youth is done, + There's nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum; + There's nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum. + + Then_ Silvia _be wise--be wise--be wise, + Though Painting and Dressing for awhile are Supplies, + And may--surprise-- + But when the Fire's going out in your Eyes, + It twinkles, it twinkles, it twinkles, and dies. + And then to hear Love, to hear Love from you, + I'd as live hear an Owl cry--Wit to woo, + Wit to woo, wit to woo_. + + _Enter _Mopsophil_ above_. + +_Mop_. What woful Ditty-making Mortal's this, +That e'er the Lark her early Note has sung, +Does doleful Love beneath my Casement thrum? +-Ah, Seignior _Scaramouch_, is it you? + +_Scar_. Who shou'd it be that takes such pains to sue! + +_Mop_. Ah, Lover most true blue. + + _Enter_ Harlequin _in Woman's Clothes_. + +_Har_. If I can now but get admittance, I shall not only deliver the +young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers, but get some opportunity, +in this Disguise, to slip this _Billet-Doux_ into _Mopsophil's_ Hand, +and bob my Comrade _Scaramouch_.--Ha, What do I see?--My Mistress at the +Window, courting my Rival! Ah Gipsy! + +_Scar_. But we lose precious time, since you design me a kind Hour in +your Chamber. + +_Har_. Oh Traitor! + +_Mop_. You'll be sure to keep it from _Harlequin_. + +_Har_. Ah yes, he, hang him, Fool, he takes you for a Saint. + +_Scar. Harlequin_! Hang him, shotten Herring. + +_Har_. Ay, a Cully, a Noddy. + +_Mop_. A meer Zany. + +_Har_. Ah, hard-hearted _Turk_. + +_Mop_. Fit for nothing but a Cuckold. + +_Har_. Monster of Ingratitude! How shall I be reveng'd? + [_Scar, going over the Balcony_. +--Hold, hold, thou perjur'd Traitor. + [_Cries out in a Woman's Voice_. + +_Mop_. Ha, discover'd!--A Woman in the Garden! + +_Har_. Come down, come down, thou false perfidious Wretch. + +_Scar_. Who in the Devil's Name, art thou? And to whom dost thou speak? + +_Har_. To thee, that false Deceiver, thou hast broke thy Vows, thy +lawful Vows of Wedlock. [_Bawling out_. +Oh, oh, that I shou'd live to see the Day. [_Crying_. + +_Scar_. Who mean you, Woman? + +_Har_. Whom shou'd I mean but thou,--my lawful Spouse? + +_Mop_. Oh Villain! Lawful Spouse!--Let me come to her. + + [Scar, _comes down, as_ Mopsophil _flings out of the Balcony_. + +_Scar_. The Woman's mad--hark ye, Jade, how long have you been thus +distracted? + +_Har_. E'er since I lov'd and trusted thee, false Varlet.--See here, the +Witness of my Love and Shame. + + [_Bawls, and points to her Belly. + + Just then_ Mopsophil _enters_. + +_Mop_. How! with Child! Out, Villain! was I made a Property? + +_Scar_. Hear me. + +_Har_. Oh, thou Heathen Christian! was not one Woman enough? + +_Mop_. Ay, Sirrah, answer to that. + +_Scar_. I shall be sacrific'd. + +_Mop_. I am resolv'd to marry to morrow--either to the Apothecary or the +Farmer, Men I never saw, to be reveng'd on thee, thou termagant Infidel. + + _Enter the_ Doctor. + +_Doct_. What Noise, what Out-cry, what Tumult's this? + +_Har_. Ha, the Doctor!--What shall I do? + [_Gets to the Door_, Scar. _pulls her in_. + +_Doct_. A Woman! some Baud I am sure;--Woman, what's your Business here? +ha. + +_Har_. I came, an't like your Seigniorship, to Madam the Governante here, +to serve her in the Quality of a _Fille de Chambre_ to the young Ladies. + +_Doct_. A _Fille de Chambre_! 'tis so, a she Pimp. + +_Har_. Ah, Seignior-- + [_Makes his little dapper Leg, instead of a Curt'sy_. + +_Doct_. How now, what, do you mock me? + +_Har_. Oh Seignior! [_Gets nearer the Door_. + +_Mop_. Stay, stay, Mistress; and what Service are you able to do the +Seignior's Daughters? + +_Har_. Is this Seignior Doctor _Baliardo_, Madam? + +_Mop_. Yes. + +_Har_. Oh! he's a very handsome Gentleman--indeed. + +_Doct_. Ay, ay, what Service can you do, Mistress? + +_Har_. Why, Seignior, I can tie a Crevat the best of any Person in +_Naples_, and I can comb a Periwig--and I can-- + +_Doct_. Very proper Service for young Ladies; you, I believe, have been +_Fille de Chambre_ to some young Cavaliers? + +_Har_. Most true, Seignior; why shou'd not the Cavaliers keep _Filles de +Chambre_, as well as great Ladies _Valets de Chambre_? + +_Doct_. Indeed 'tis equally reasonable.--'Tis a Baud. [_Aside_. +But have you never serv'd Ladies? + +_Har_. Oh yes, I serv'd a Parson's Wife? + +_Doct_. Is that a great Lady? + +_Har_. Ay, surely, Sir, what is she else? for she wore her Mantuas of +_Brocade d'or_, Petticoats lac'd up to the Gathers, her Points, her +Patches, Paints and Perfumes, and sat in the uppermost place in the +Church too. + +_Mop_. But have you never serv'd Countesses and Dutchesses? + +_Har_. Oh, yes, Madam; the last I serv'd, was an Alderman's Wife in the +City. + +_Mop_. Was that a Countess or a Dutchess? + +_Har_. Ay, certainly--for they have all the Money; and then for Clothes, +Jewels, and rich Furniture, and eating, they out-do the very _Vice-Reine_ +her self. + +_Doct_. This is a very ignorant running Baud,--therefore first search +her for _Billets-Doux_, and then have her pump'd. + +_Har_. Ah, Seignior,--Seignior. + + [Scar. _searches him, finds Letters_. + +_Scar_. Ha, to _Elaria_--and _Bellemante_! + [_Reads the Outside, pops 'em into his Bosom_. +These are from their Lovers.--Ha, a Note to _Mopsophil_.--Oh, Rogue! +have I found you? + +_Har_. If you have, 'tis but Trick for your Trick, Seignior _Scaramouch_, +and you may spare the Pumping. + +_Scar_. For once, Sirrah, I'll bring you off, and deliver your Letters. +--Sir, do you not know who this is? Why, 'tis a Rival of mine, who put +on this Disguise to cheat me of Mistress _Mopsophil_.--See, here's a +Billet to her. + +_Doct_. What is he? + +_Scar_. A Mungrel Dancing-Master; therefore, Sir, since all the Injury's +mine, I'll pardon him for a Dance, and let the Agility of his Heels save +his Bones, with your Permission, Sir. + +_Doct_. With all my Heart, and am glad he comes off so comically. + + [Harlequin _dances_. + + [_A knocking at the Gate_. Scar. _goes and returns_. + +_Scar_. Sir, Sir, here's the rare Philosopher who was here yesterday. + +_Doct_. Give him Entrance, and all depart. + + _Enter_ Charmante. + +_Char_. Blest be those Stars that first conducted me to so much Worth +and Virtue; you are their Darling, Sir, for whom they wear their +brightest Lustre. Your Fortune is establish'd, you are made, Sir. + +_Doct_. Let me contain my Joy. [_Keeping in an impatient Joy_. +--May I be worthy, Sir, to apprehend you? + +_Char_. After long searching, watching, fasting, praying, and using all +the virtuous means in Nature, whereby we solely do attain the highest +Knowledge in Philosophy; it was resolv'd, by strong Intelligence--you +were the happy Sire of that bright Nymph, that had infascinated, +charm'd, and conquer'd the mighty Emperor _Iredonozor_, the Monarch +of the Moon. + +_Doct_. I am undone with Joy! ruin'd with Transport. [_Aside_. +--Can it--can it, Sir,--be possible? + [_Stifling his Joy, which breaks out_. + +_Char_. Receive the Blessing, Sir, with Moderation. + +_Doct_. I do, Sir, I do. + +_Char_. This very Night, by their great Art, they find, +He will descend, and shew himself in Glory. +An Honour, Sir, no Mortal has receiv'd +This sixty hundred years. + +_Doct_. Hum--say you so, Sir; no Emperor ever descend this sixty hundred +years? [_Looks sad_. +--Was I deceiv'd last Night? [_Aside_. + +_Char_. Oh! yes, Sir, often in Disguise, in several Shapes and Forms, +which did of old occasion so many fabulous Tales of all the Shapes of +_Jupiter_--but never in their proper Glory, Sir, as Emperors. This is an +Honour only design'd to you. + +_Doct_. And will his Grace--be here in Person, Sir? [_Joyful_. + +_Char_. In Person--and with him, a Man of mighty Quality, Sir, 'tis +thought, the Prince of _Thunderland_--but that's but whisper'd, Sir, in +the Cabal, and that he loves your Niece. + +_Doct_. Miraculous! how this agrees with all I've seen and heard +--To Night, say you, Sir? + +_Char_. So 'tis conjectur'd, Sir,--some of the Cabalists are of opinion, +that last Night there was some Sally from the Moon. + +_Doct_. About what Hour, Sir? + +_Char_. The Meridian of the Night, Sir, about the Hours of Twelve or +One; but who descended, or in what Shape, is yet uncertain. + +_Doct_. This I believe, Sir. + +_Char_. Why, Sir? + +_Doct_. May I communicate a Secret of that nature? + +_Char_. To any of the Cabalists, but none else. + +_Doct_. Then know--last Night, my Daughter and my Niece were entertain'd +by those illustrious Heroes. + +_Char_. Who, Sir, the Emperor, and Prince his Cousin? + +_Doct_. Most certain, Sir. But whether they appear'd in solid Bodies, or +Fantomical, is yet a Question; for at my unlucky approach, they all +transform'd themselves into a Piece of Hangings. + +_Char_. 'Tis frequent, Sir, their Shapes are numerous; and 'tis also in +their power to transform all they touch, by virtue of a certain Stone +they call the _Ebula_. + +_Doct_. That wondrous _Ebula_, which _Gonzales_ had? + +_Char_. The same, by virtue of which, all Weight was taken from him, and +then with ease the lofty Traveller flew from _Parnassus Hill_, and from +_Hymethus Mount_, and high _Gerania_, and _Acrocorinthus_, thence to +_Taygetus_, so to _Olympus_ Top, from whence he had but one step to the +Moon. Dizzy he grants he was. + +_Doct_. No wonder, Sir, Oh happy great _Gonzales_! + +_Char_. Your Virtue, Sir, will render you as happy--but I must haste-- +this Night prepare your Daughter and your Niece, and let your House be +dress'd, perfum'd, and clean. + +_Doct_. It shall be all perform'd, Sir. + +_Char_. Be modest, Sir, and humble in your Elevation; for nothing shews +the Wit so poor, as Wonder, nor Birth so mean, as Pride. + +_Doct_. I humbly thank your Admonition, Sir, and shall, in all I can, +struggle with human Frailty. + + [_Brings_ Char. _to the Door bare. Exeunt_. + + _Enter_ Scaramouch, _peeping at the other Door_. + +_Scar_. So, so, all things go gloriously forward, but my own Amour, and +there is no convincing this obstinate Woman, that 'twas that Rogue +_Harlequin_ in Disguise, claim'd me; so that I cannot so much as come to +deliver the young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers. I must get in +with this damn'd Mistress of mine, or all our Plot will be spoil'd for +want of Intelligence. +--Hum, the Devil does not use to fail me at a dead Lift. I must deliver +these Letters, and I must have this Wench--though but to be reveng'd on +her for abusing me--Let me see--she is resolv'd for the Apothecary or +the Farmer. Well, say no more, honest _Scaramouch_; thou shalt find a +Friend at need of me--and if I do not fit you with a Spouse, say that a +Woman has out-witted me. + + [_Exit_. + +_The End of the Second Act_. + + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I. _The Street, with the Town-Gate, where an Officer stands with a +Staff like a_ London _Constable_. + + + _Enter_ Harlequin _riding in a Calash, comes through the Gate + towards the Stage, dress'd like a Gentleman sitting in it. The_ + Officer _lays hold of his Horse_. + +_Off_. Hold, hold, Sir, you I suppose know the Customs that are due to +this City of _Naples_, from all Persons that pass the Gates in Coach, +Chariot, Calash, or _Siege Volant_. + +_Har_. I am not ignorant of the Custom, Sir, but what's that to me. + +_Off_. Not to you, Sir! why, what Privilege have you above the rest? + +_Har_. Privilege, for what, Sir? + +_Off_. Why, for passing, Sir, with any of the before-named Carriages. + +_Har_. Art mad?--Dost not see I am a plain Baker, and this my Cart, that +comes to carry Bread for the Vice-Roy's, and the City's Use?--ha. + +_Off_. Are you mad, Sir, to think I cannot see a Gentleman Farmer and a +Calash, from a Baker and a Cart. + +_Har_. Drunk by this Day--and so early too? Oh, you're a special +Officer? unhand my Horse, Sirrah, or you shall pay for all the Damage +you do me. + +_Off_. Hey Day! here's a fine Cheat upon the Vice-Roy: Sir, pay me, or +I'll seize your Horse. + [Har. _strikes him. They scuffle a little_. +--Nay, and you be so brisk, I'll call the Clerk from his Office. +[_Calls_.]--Mr. Clerk, Mr. Clerk. + + [_Goes to the Entrance to call the_ Clerk, _the mean time_ Har. + _whips a Frock over himself, and puts down the hind part of the + Chariot, and then 'tis a Cart. + + Enter_ Clerk. + +_Cler_. What's the matter here? + +_Off_. Here's a Fellow, Sir, will persuade me, his Calash is a Cart, and +refuses the Customs for passing the Gate. + +_Cler_. A Calash--Where?--I see only a Carter and his Cart. + + [_The_ Officer _looks on him_. + +_Off_. Ha, what a Devil, was I blind? + +_Har_. Mr. Clerk, I am a Baker, that came with Bread to sell, and this +Fellow here has stopt me this Hour, and made me lose the sale of my +Ware; and being drunk, will out-face me I am a Farmer, and this Cart +a Calash. + +_Cler_. He's in an Error, Friend, pass on. + +_Har_. No, Sir, I'll have satisfaction first, or the Vice-Roy shall know +how he's serv'd by drunken Officers, that are a Nuisance to a Civil +Government. + +_Cler_. What do you demand, Friend? + +_Har_. Demand,--I demand a Crown, Sir. + +_Off_. This is very hard--Mr. Clerk--If ever I saw in my Life, I thought +I saw a Gentleman and a Calash. + +_Cler_. Come, come, gratify him, and see better hereafter. + +_Off_. Here, Sir,--if I must, I must. [_Gives him a Crown_. + +_Cler_. Pass on, Friend. + [_Ex_. Clerk. + + [Har. _unseen, puts up the back of his Calash, and whips off + his Frock, and goes to drive on. The_ Officer _looks on him, + and stops him again_. + +_Off_. Hum, I'll swear it is a Calash--Mr. Clerk--Mr. Clerk, come back, +come back. + [_Runs out to call him. He changes as before_. + + _Enter_ Officer _and_ Clerk. + +--Come, Sir, let your own Eyes convince you, Sir. + +_Cler_. Convince me, of what, you Sot? + +_Off_. This is a Gentleman, and that a--ha-- + [_Looks about on_ Har. + +_Cler_. Stark drunk! Sirrah, if you trouble me at every Mistake of yours +thus, you shall quit your Office. + +_Off_. I beg your Pardon, Sir, I am a little in Drink I confess--a +little blind and mad--Sir, +--This must be the Devil, that's certain. + + [_The_ Clerk _goes out_. + + [Har. _puts up his Calash again, and pulls off his Frock + and drives out_. + +--Well, now to my thinking, 'tis as plain a Calash again as ever I saw +in my Life, and yet I'm satisfy'd 'tis nothing but a Cart. + + [_Ex_. + + + +SCENE II. _Changes to the_ Doctor's _House. The Hall_. + + + _Enter_ Scaramouch _in a Chair, which is set down and open'd + on all sides, and on the top represents an Apothecary's Shop, + the Inside being painted with Shelves, and rows of Pots and + Bottles_; Scaramouch _sitting in it dress'd in Black, with a + short black Cloke, a Ruff, and little Hat_. + +_Scar_. The Devil's in't, if either the Doctor, my Master, or +_Mopsophil_, know me in this Disguise--And thus I may not only gain my +Mistress, and out-wit _Harlequin_, but deliver the Ladies those Letters +from their Lovers, which I took out of his Pocket this Morning; and who +wou'd suspect an Apothecary for a Pimp?--Nor can the Jade _Mopsophil_, +in Honour, refuse a Person of my Gravity, and so well set up.-- + [_Pointing to his Shop_. +--Hum, the Doctor here first, this is not so well, but I'm prepar'd +with Impudence for all Encounters. + + _Enter the_ Doctor. Scaramouch _salutes him gravely_. + +--Most Reverend Doctor _Baliardo_. [_Bows_. + +_Doct_. Seignior-- [_Bows_. + +_Scar_. I might through great Pusillanimity, blush to give you this +Anxiety, did not I opine you were as gracious as communicative and +eminent; and though you have no Cognisance of me, your humble +Servant,--yet I have of you,--you being so gravely fam'd for your +admirable Skill both in Galenical and Paracelsian _Phaenomena's_, +and other approv'd Felicities in Vulnerary Emeticks, and purgative +Experiences. + +_Doct_. Seignior,--your Opinion honours me--rare Man this. + +_Scar_. And though I am at present busied in writing--those few +Observations I have accumulated in my Peregrinations, Sir; yet the +Ambition I aspir'd to, of being an ocular and aurial Witness of your +Singularity, made me trespass on your sublimer Affairs. + +_Doct_. Seignior-- + +_Scar_.--Besides a violent Inclination, Sir, of being initiated into the +Denomination of your learned Family, by the Conjugal Circumference of a +Matrimonial Tye, with that singularly accomplish'd Person--Madam, the +Governante of your Hostel-- + +_Doct_. Hum--A Sweet-heart for _Mopsophil_! [_Aside_. + +_Scar_. And if I may obtain your Condescension to my Hymenaeal +Propositions, I doubt not my Operation with the Fair One. + +_Doct_. Seignior, she's much honour'd in the Overture, and my Abilities +shall not be wanting to fix the Concord.--But have you been a Traveller, +Sir? + +_Scar_. Without Circumlocutions, Sir, I have seen all the Regions +beneath the Sun and Moon. + +_Doct_. Moon, Sir! You never travell'd thither, Sir? + +_Scar_. Not in _Propria Persona, Seignior_, but by Speculation, I have, +and made most considerable Remarks on that incomparable _Terra Firma_, +of which I have the compleatest Map in Christendom--and which _Gonzales_ +himself omitted in his _Cosmographia_ of the _Lunar Mundus_. + +_Doct_. A Map of the _Lunar Mundus_, Sir! may I crave the Honour of +seeing it? + +_Scar_. You shall, Sir, together with a Map of _Terra Incognita_; a +great Rarity, indeed, Sir. + + _Enter_ Bellemante. + +_Doct_. Jewels, Sir, worth a King's Ransom! + +_Bell_. Ha,--What Figure of a Thing have we here, bantering my credulous +Uncle?--This must be some Scout sent from our _Forlorn Hope_, to +discover the Enemy, and bring in fresh Intelligence.--Hum, that Wink +tipt me some Tidings, and she deserves not a good Look, who understands +not the Language of the Eyes.--Sir, Dinner's on the Table. + +_Doct_. Let it wait, I am employ'd-- + + [_She creeps to the other side of_ Scaramouch, _who makes + Signs with his Hand to her_. + +_Bell_. Ha, 'tis so:--This Fellow has some Novel for us, some Letter or +Instructions, but how to get it-- + + [_As_ Scar. _talks to the_ Doctor, _he takes the Letters by degrees + out of his Pocket, and unseen, given 'em_ Bellemante _behind him_. + +_Doct_. But this Map, Seignior; I protest you have fill'd me with +Curiosity. Has it signify'd all things so exactly, say you? + +_Scar_. Omitted nothing, Seignior, no City, Town, Village, or Villa; +no Castle, River, Bridge, Lake, Spring, or Mineral. + +_Doct_. Are any, Sir, of those admirable Mineral Waters there, so +frequent in our World? + +_Scar_. In abundance, Sir: the Famous _Garamanteen_, a young _Italian_, +Sir, lately come from thence, gives an account of an excellent +_Scaturigo_, that has lately made an Ebulation there, in great +Reputation with the Lunary Ladies. + +_Doct_. Indeed, Sir! be pleas'd, Seignior, to 'solve me some Queries +that may enode some appearances of the Virtue of the Water you speak of. + +_Scar_. Pox upon him, what Questions he asks--but I must on. [_Aside_.] +Why, Sir, you must know,--the Tincture of this Water upon Stagnation +ceruleates, and the Crocus upon the Stones flaveces; this he observes +--to be, Sir, the Indication of a generous Water. + +_Doct_. Hum-- [_Gravely nodding_. + +_Scar_. Now, Sir, be pleas'd to observe the three Regions: if they be +bright, without doubt _Mars_ is powerful; if the middle Region or Camera +be palled, _Filia Solis_ is breeding. + +_Doct_. Hum. + +_Scar_. And then the third Region, if the Faeces be volatile, the Birth +will soon come _in Balneo_. This I observed also in the Laboratory of +that ingenious Chymist _Lysidono_, and with much Pleasure animadverted +that Mineral of the same Zenith and Nadir, of that now so famous Water +in _England_, near that famous Metropolis, call'd _Islington_. + +_Doct_. Seignior-- + +_Scar_. For, Sir, upon the Infusion, the Crows Head immediately procures +the Seal of _Hermes_; and had not _Lac Virginis_ been too soon suck'd +up, I believe we might have seen the Consummation of _Amalgama_. + + [Bellemante _having got her Letters, goes off. She makes Signs + to him to stay a little. He nods_. + +_Doct_. Most likely, Sir. + +_Scar_. But, Sir, this _Garamanteen_ relates the strangest Operation of +a Mineral in the Lunar World, that ever I heard of. + +_Doct_. As how, I pray, Sir? + +_Scar_. Why, Sir, a Water impregnated to a Circulation with _prima +Materia_; upon my Honour, Sir, the strongest I ever drank of. + +_Doct_. How, Sir! did you drink of it? + +_Scar_. I only speak the words of _Garamanteen_, Sir. +--Pox on him, I shall be trapt. [_Aside_. + +_Doct_. Cry Mercy, Sir.-- [_Bows_. + +_Scar_. The Lunary Physicians, Sir, call it _Urinam Vulcani_, it +calybeates every ones Excrements more or less according to the Gradus +of the natural Calor.--To my Knowledge, Sir, a Smith of a very fiery +Constitution is grown very opulent by drinking these Waters. + +_Doct_. How, Sir, grown rich by drinking the Waters, and to your +Knowledge? + +_Scar_. The Devil's in my Tongue. To my Knowledge, Sir; for what a Man +of Honour relates, I may safely affirm. + +_Doct_. Excuse me, Seignior-- + [_Puts off his Hat again gravely_. + +_Scar_. For, Sir, conceive me how he grew rich! since he drank those +Waters he never buys any Iron, but hammers it out of _Stercus Proprius_. + + _Enter_ Bellemante _with a Billet_. + +_Bell_. Sir, 'tis three a Clock, and Dinner will be cold. + + [_Goes behind_ Scaramouch, _and gives him the Note and goes out_. + +_Doct_. I come, Sweet-heart; but this is wonderful. + +_Scar_. Ay, Sir, and if at any time Nature be too infirm, and he prove +Costive, he has no more to do, but apply a Load-stone _ad Anum_. + +_Doct_. Is't possible? + +_Scar_. Most true, Sir, and that facilitates the Journey _per Viscera_. +--But I detain you, Sir;--another time, Sir,--I will now only beg the +Honour of a Word or two with the Governante, before I go. + +_Doct_. Sir, she shall wait on you, and I shall be proud of the Honour +of your Conversation. + [_Ex_. Doctor. + + _Enter to him_ Harlequin, _dress'd like a Farmer, as before_. + +_Har_. Hum--What have we here, a Taylor or a Tumbler? + +_Scar_. Ha--Who's this?--Hum--What if it shou'd be the Farmer that the +Doctor has promis'd _Mopsophil_ to? My Heart misgives me. + [_They look at each other a while_. +Who wou'd you speak with, Friend? + +_Har_. This is, perhaps, my Rival the Apothecary.--Speak with, Sir! why, +what's that to you? + +_Scar_. Have you Affairs with Seignor Doctor, Sir? + +_Har_. It may be I have, it may be I have not. What then, Sir? + + _While they seem in angry Dispute, enter_ Mopsophil. + +_Mop_. Seignior Doctor tells me I have a Lover waits me, sure it must be +the Farmer or the Apothecary. No matter which, so a Lover that welcomest +Man alive. I am resolv'd to take the first good Offer, though but in +revenge of _Harlequin_ and _Scaramouch_, for putting Tricks upon me. +--Ha,--Two of 'em! + +_Scar_. My Mistress here! + + [_They both bow, and advance, putting each other by_. + +_Mop_. Hold, Gentlemen,--do not worry me. Which of you wou'd speak +with me? + +_Both_. I, I, I, Madam-- + +_Mop_. Both of you? + +_Both_. No, Madam, I, I. + +_Mop_. If both Lovers, you are both welcome; but let's have fair Play, +and take your turns to speak. + +_Har_. Ay, Seignior, 'tis most uncivil to interrupt me. + +_Scar_. And disingenuous, Sir, to intrude on me. + + [_Putting one another by_. + +_Mop_. Let me then speak first. + +_Har_. I'm dumb. + +_Scar_. I acquiesce. + +_Mop_. I was inform'd there was a Person here had Propositions of +Marriage to make me. + +_Har_. That's I, that's I-- + [_Shoves_ Scar. _away_. + +_Scar_. And I attend to that consequential _Finis_. + [_Shoves_ Har. _away_. + +_Har_. I know not what you mean by your Finis, Seignior; but I am come +to offer my self this Gentlewoman's Servant, her Lover, her Husband, her +Dog in a Halter, or any thing. + +_Scar_. Him I pronounce a Paltroon, and an ignominious Utensil, that +dare lay claim to the renowned Lady of my _Primum Mobile_; that is, my +best Affections. [_In Rage_. + +_Har_. I fear not your hard Words, Sir, but dare aloud pronounce, if +_Donna Mopsophil_ like me, the Farmer, as well as I like her, 'tis a +Match, and my Chariot's ready at the Gate to bear her off, d'ye see. + +_Mop_. Ah, how that Chariot pleads. [_Aside_. + +_Scar_. And I pronounce, that being intoxicated with the sweet Eyes of +this refulgent Lady, I come to tender her my noblest Particulars, being +already most advantageously set up with the circumstantial Implements of +my Occupation. [_Points to the Shop_. + +_Mop_. A City Apothecary, a most genteel Calling--Which shall I chuse? +--Seignior Apothecary, I'll not expostulate the circumstantial Reasons +that have occasion'd me this Honour. + +_Scar_. Incomparable Lady, the Elegancy of your Repartees most +excellently denotes the Profundity of your Capacity. + +_Har_. What the Devil's all this? Good Mr. Conjurer, stand by--and don't +fright the Gentlewoman with your elegant Profundities. [_Puts him by_. + +_Scar_. How, a Conjurer! I will chastise thy vulgar Ignorance, that +yclepes a Philosopher a Conjurer. [_In Rage_. + +_Har_. Losaphers!--Prithee, if thou be'st a Man, speak like a Man--then. + +_Scar_. Why, what do I speak like? what do I speak like? + +_Har_. What do you speak like!--why you speak like a Wheel-Barrow. + +_Scar_. How! + +_Har_. And how. + + [_They come up close together at half Sword Parry; stare on each + other for a while, then put up and bow to each other civilly_. + +_Mop_. That's well, Gentlemen, let's have all Peace, while I survey you +both, and see which likes me best. + + [_She goes between 'em, and surveys 'em both, they making + ridiculous bows on both sides, and Grimaces the while_. + +--Ha, now on my Conscience, my two foolish Lovers, _Harlequin_ and +_Scaramouch_; how are my Hopes defeated?--but, faith, I'll fit you +both. + [_She views 'em both_. + +_Scar_. So she's considering still, I shall be the happy Dog. [_Aside_. + +_Har_. She's taking aim, she cannot chuse but like me best. [_Aside_. + +_Scar_. Well, Madam, how does my Person propagate? + [_Bowing and smiling_. + +_Mop_. Faith, Seignior, now I look better on you, I do not like your +Phisnomy so well as your Intellects; you discovering some circumstantial +Symptoms that ever denote a villanous Inconstancy. + +_Scar_. Ah, are you pleas'd, Madam. + +_Mop_. You are mistaken, Seignior. I am displeas'd at your Grey-Eyes, +and black Eye-brows, and Beard; I never knew a Man with those Signs, +true to his Mistress or his Friend. And I wou'd sooner wed that +Scoundrel _Scaramouch_, that very civil Pimp, that mere pair of chymical +Bellows that blow the Doctor's projecting Fires, that Deputy-urinal +Shaker, that very Guzman of _Salamanca_. than a Fellow of your +infallible _Signum Mallis_. + +_Har_. Ha, ha, ha, you have your Answer, Seignior Friskin--and may shut +up your Shop and be gone.--Ha, ha, ha. + +_Scar_. Hum, sure the Jade knows me. [_Aside_. + +_Mop_. And as for you, Seignior-- + +_Har_. Ha, Madam. [_Bowing and smiling_. + +_Mop_. Those Lanthorn Jaws of yours, with that most villanous Sneer and +Grin, and a certain fierce Air of your Eyes, looks altogether most +fanatically--which with your notorious Whey Beard, are certain Signs of +Knavery and Cowardice; therefore I'ad rather wed that Spider _Harlequin_, +that Sceleton Buffoon, that Ape of Man, that Jack of Lent, that very Top, +that's of no use, but when 'tis whip'd and lash'd, that piteous Property +I'ad rather wed than thee. + +_Har_. A very fair Declaration. + +_Mop_. You understand me--and so adieu, sweet Glisterpipe, and Seignior +Dirty-Boots, Ha, ha, ha. + [_Runs out_. + + [_They stand looking simply on each other, without speaking a while_. + +_Scar_. That I shou'd not know that Rogue _Harlequin_. [_Aside_. + +_Har_. That I shou'd take this Fool for a Physician. [_Aside_. +--How long have you commenc'd Apothecary, Seignior? + +_Scar_. Ever since you turn'd Farmer.--Are not you a damn'd Rogue to +put these Tricks upon me, and most dishonourably break all Articles +between us? + +_Har_. And are not you a dam'd Son of a--something--to break Articles +with me? + +_Scar_. No more Words, Sir, no more Words, I find it must come to +Actions, draw. [_Draws_. + +_Har_. Draw!--so I can draw, Sir. [_Draws_. + + [_They make a ridiculous cowardly Fight. Enter the Doctor, + which they seeing, come on with more Courage. He runs between, + and with his Cane beats the Swords down_. + +_Doct_. Hold, hold, what mean you, Gentlemen? + +_Scar_. Let me go, Sir, I am provok'd beyond measure, Sir. + +_Doct_. You must excuse me, Seignior. + [_Parlies with Harlequin_. + +_Scar_. I dare not discover the Fool for his Master's sake, and it may +spoil our Intrigue anon; besides, he'll then discover me, and I shall be +discarded for bantering the Doctor. [_Aside_. +--Man of Honour to be so basely affronted here. + + [_The_ Doctor _comes to appease_ Scaramouch. + +_Har_. Shou'd I discover this Rascal, he wou'd tell the old Gentleman I +was the same that attempted his House to day in Woman's Clothes, and I +should be kick'd and beaten most insatiably. + +_Scar_. What, Seignior, for a Man of Parts to be impos'd upon, and +whip'd through the Lungs here--like a Mountebank's Zany for sham Cures +--Mr. Doctor, I must tell you 'tis not civil. + +_Doct_. I am extremely sorry for it, Sir,--and you shall see how I will +have this fellow handled for the Affront to a Person of your Gravity, +and in my House.--Here, _Pedro_. + + _Enter_ Pedro. + +--Take this Intruder, or bring some of your Fellows hither, and toss him +in a Blanket. + + [_Exit_ Pedro. + + [Har. _going to creep away_, Scar, _holds him_. + +_Har_. Hark ye, bring me off, or I'll discover all your Intrigue. + [Aside to _him_. + +_Scar_. Let me alone. + +_Doct_. I'll warrant you some Rogue that has some Plot on my Niece and +Daughter. + +_Scar_. No, no, Sir, he comes to impose the grossest Lye upon you, that +ever was heard of. + + _Enter_ Pedro _with others, with a Blanket. They put_ Harlequin + _into it, and toss him_. + +_Har_. Hold, hold, I'll confess all, rather than indure it. + +_Doct_. Hold, what will you confess, Sir. + + [_He comes out, makes sick Faces_. + +_Scar_.--That he's the greatest Impostor in Nature. Wou'd you think it, +Sir? he pretends to be no less than an Ambassador from the Emperor of +the Moon, Sir. + +_Doct_. Ha, Ambassador from the Emperor of the Moon! + [_Pulls off his Hat_. + +_Scar_. Ay, Sir, thereupon I laugh'd, thereupon he grew angry--I laugh'd +at his Resentment, and thereupon we drew, and this was the high Quarrel, +Sir. + +_Doct_. Hum--Ambassador from the Moon. [_Pauses_. + +_Scar_. I have brought you off, manage him as well as you can. + +_Har_. Brought me off, yes, out of the Frying-pan into the Fire. +Why, how the Devil shall I act an Ambassador? [_Aside_. + +_Doct_. It must be so, for how shou'd either of these know I expected +that Honour? + [_He addresses him with profound Civility to_ Har. +Sir, if the Figure you make, approaching so near ours of this World, +have made us commit any undecent Indignity to your high Character, you +ought to pardon the Frailty of our mortal Education and Ignorance, +having never before been bless'd with the Descension of any from your +World. + +_Har_. What the Devil shall I say now? [_Aside_. +--I confess I am, as you may see by my Garb, Sir, a little _Incognito_, +because the publick Message I bring is very private--which is, that the +mighty _Iredonozor_, Emperor of the Moon, with his most worthy Brother, +the Prince of _Thunderland_, intend to sup with you to Night.--Therefore +be sure you get good Wine.--Though by the way let me tell you, 'tis for +the sake of your fair Daughter. + +_Scar_. I'll leave the Rogue to his own Management. I presume, by your +whispering, Sir, you wou'd be private, and humbly begging pardon, take +my leave. + [_Exit_. + +_Har_. You have it, Friend. Does your Niece and Daughter drink, Sir? + +_Doct_. Drink, Sir? + +_Har_. Ay, Sir, drink hard? + +_Doct_. Do the Women of your World drink hard, Sir? + +_Har_. According to their Quality, Sir, more or less; the greater the +Quality, the more profuse the Quantity. + +_Doct_. Why, that's just as 'tis here; but your Men of Quality, your +Statesmen, Sir, I presume they are sober, learned, and wise. + +_Har_. Faith, no, Sir; but they are, for the most part, what's as good, +very proud and promising, Sir, most liberal of their Word to every +fauning Suiter, to purchase the state of long Attendance, and cringing +as they pass; but the Devil of a Performance, without you get the Knack +of bribing in the right Place and Time; but yet they all defy it, Sir. + +_Doct_. Just, just, as 'tis here.--But pray, Sir, how do these Great men +live with their Wives? + +_Har_. Most nobly, Sir, my Lord keeps his Coach, my Lady hers; my Lord +his Bed, my Lady hers; and very rarely see one another, unless they +chance to meet in a Visit, in the _Park_, the _Mall_, the _Tour_, or at +the _Basset-Table_, where they civilly salute and part, he to his +Mistress, she to play. + +_Doct_. Good lack! just as 'tis here. + +_Har_.--Where, if she chance to lose her Money, rather than give out, +she borrows of the next amorous Coxcomb, who, from that Minute, hopes, +and is sure to be paid again one way or other, the next kind +Opportunity. + +_Doct_.--Just as 'tis here. + +_Har_. As for the young Fellows that have Money, they have no Mercy upon +their own Persons, but wearing Nature off as fast as they can, Swear, +and Whore and Drink, and borrow as long as any Rooking Citizen will lend +till, having dearly purchased the heroick Title of a Bully or a Sharper, +they live pity'd of their Friends, and despis'd by their Whores, and +depart this Transitory World, diverse and sundry ways. + +_Doct_. Just, just as 'tis here! + +_Har_. As for the Citizen, Sir, the Courtier lies with his Wife; he in +revenge, cheats him of his Estate, till rich enough to marry his +Daughter to a Courtier, again gives him all--unless his Wife's +over-gallantry breaks him; and thus the World runs round. + +_Doct_. The very same 'tis here--Is there no preferment, Sir, for Men of +Parts and Merit? + +_Har_. Parts and Merit! what's that? a Livery, or the handsome tying a +Cravat; for the great Men prefer none but their Foot-men and Valets. + +_Doct_. By my Troth, just as 'tis here.--Sir, I find you are a Person +of most profound Intelligence--under Favour, Sir, are you a Native of +the Moon, or this World? + +_Har_. The Devil's in him for hard Questions. +--I am a _Neapolitan_, Sir? + +_Doct_. Sir, I Honour you; good luck, my Countryman! How got you to the +Region of the Moon, Sir? + +_Har_. A plaguy inquisitive old Fool! +--Why, Sir, +--Pox on't, what shall I say? +--I being--one day in a musing Melancholy, walking by the Sea-side-- +there arose, Sir, a great Mist, by the Sun's exhaling of the Vapours +of the Earth, Sir. + +_Doct_. Right, Sir. + +_Har_. In this Fog, or Mist, Sir, I was exhal'd. + +_Doct_. The Exhalations of the Sun draw you to the Moon, Sir? + +_Har_. I am condemn'd to the Blanket again. +--I say, Sir, I was exhal'd up, but in my way--being too heavy, was +drop'd into the Sea. + +_Doct_. How, Sir, into the Sea? + +_Har_. The Sea, Sir, where the Emperor's Fisherman casting his Nets, +drew me up, and took me for a strange and monstrous Fish, Sir,--and as +such, presented me to his Mightiness,--who going to have me Spitchcock'd +for his own eating-- + +_Doct_. How, Sir, eating? + +_Har_. What did me I, Sir (Life being sweet) but fall on my Knees, and +besought his Gloriousness not to eat me, for I was no Fish, but a Man; +he ask'd me of what Country, I told him of _Naples_; whereupon the +Emperor overjoy'd ask'd me if I knew that most reverend and learned +Doctor _Baliardo_, and his fair Daughter. I told him I did: whereupon +he made me his Bed-fellow, and the Confident to his Amour to Seigniora +_Elaria_. + +_Doct_. Bless me, Sir! how came the Emperor to know my Daughter? + +_Har_. There he is again with his damn'd hard Questions. +--Know her, Sir,--Why--you were walking abroad one day. + +_Doct_. My Daughter never goes abroad, Sir, farther than our Garden. + +_Har_. Ay, there it was indeed, Sir,--and as his Highness was taking a +Survey of this lower World--through a long Perspective, Sir,--he saw you +and your Daughter and Neice, and from that very moment fell most +desperately in love.--But hark, the sound of Timbrels, Kettle-Drums and +Trumpets.--The Emperor, Sir, is on his way, prepare for his Reception. + + [_A strange Noise is heard of Brass Kettles, and Pans, + and Bells, and many tinkling things_. + +_Doct_. I'm in a Rapture--How shall I pay my Gratitude for this great +Negotiation?--but as I may, I humbly offer, Sir. + [_Presents him with a rich Ring and a Purse of Gold_. + +_Har_. Sir, as an Honour done the Emperor, I take your Ring and Gold. I +must go meet his Highness. + [_Takes leave_. + + _Enter to him_ Scaramouch, _as himself_. + +_Scar_. Oh, Sir! we are astonish'd with the dreadful sound of the +sweetest Musick that ever Mortal heard, but know not whence it comes. +Have you not heard it, Sir? + +_Doct_. Heard it, yes, Fool,--'tis the Musick of the Spheres, the +Emperor of the Moon World is descending. + +_Scar_. How, Sir, no marvel then, that looking towards the South, I saw +such splendid Glories in the Air. + +_Doct_. Ha, saw'st thou ought descending in the Air? + +_Scar_. Oh, yes, Sir, Wonders! haste to the old Gallery, whence, with +the help of your Telescope, you may discover all. + +_Doct_. I would not lose a moment for the lower Universe. + + _Enter_ Elaria, Bellemante, Mopsophil, _dressed in rich Antick Habits_. + +_Ela_. Sir, we are dress'd as you commanded us, what is your farther +Pleasure? + +_Doct_. It well becomes the Honour you're design'd for, this Night to +wed two Princes--come with me and know your happy Fate. + + [_Ex_. Doctor _and_ Scar. + +_Ela_. Bless me! My Father, in all the rest of his Discourse shows so +much Sense and Reason, I cannot think him mad, but feigns all this +to try us. + +_Bell_. Not mad! Marry, Heavens forbid, thou art always creating Fears +to startle one; why, if he be not mad, his want of Sleep this eight and +forty hours, the Noise of strange unheard of Instruments, with the +fantastick Splendour of the unusual Sight, will so turn his Brain and +dazzle him, that in Grace and Goodness, he may be mad, if he be not;-- +come, let's after him to the Gallery, for I long to see in what showing +Equipage our princely Lovers will address to us. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE III. _The Last. The Gallery richly adorn'd with Scenes and +Lights_. + + + _Enter_ Doctor, Elaria, Bellemante, _and_ Mopsophil. + _Soft Musick is heard_. + +_Bell_. Ha--Heavens! what's here? what Palace is this?--No part of our +House, I'm sure. + +_Ela_. 'Tis rather the Apartment of some Monarch. + +_Doct_. I'm all amazement too; but must not show my Ignorance. +--Yes, _Elaria_, this is prepar'd to entertain two Princes. + +_Bell_. Are you sure on't, Sir? are we not, think you, in that World +above, I often heard you speak of? in the Moon, Sir? + +_Doct_. How shall I resolve her--For ought I know, we are. [_Aside_. + +_Ela_. Sure, Sir, 'tis some Inchantment. + +_Doct_. Let not thy female Ignorance profane the highest Mysteries of +natural Philosophy: To Fools it seems Inchantment--but I've a Sense can +reach it--sit and expect the Event.--Hark, I am amaz'd, but must conceal +my Wonder, that Joy of Fools--and appear wise in Gravity. + +_Bell_. Whence comes this charming Sound, Sir? + +_Doct_. From the Spheres--it is familiar to me. + + [_The Scene in the Front draws off, and shews the Hill of_ + Parnassus; _a noble large Walk of Trees leading to it, with + eight or ten Negroes upon Pedestals, ranged on each side of + the Walks. Next_ Keplair _and_ Galileus _descend on each side, + opposite to each other, in Chariots, with Perspectives in + their Hands, as viewing the Machine of the Zodiack. + Soft Musick plays still. + +_Doct_. Methought I saw the Figure of two Men descend from yonder Cloud +on yonder Hill. + +_Ela_. I thought so too, but they are disappear'd, and the wing'd +Chariot's fled. + + _Enter_ Keplair _and_ Galileus. + +_Bell_. See, Sir, they approach. + + [_The_ Doctor _rises and bows_. + +_Kep_. Most reverend Sir, we, from the upper World, thus low salute +you--_Keplair_ and _Galileus_ we are call'd, sent as Interpreters to +Great _Iredonozor_, the Emperor of the Moon, who is descending. + +_Doct_. Most reverend Bards--profound Philosophers--thus low I bow to +pay my humble Gratitude. + +_Kep_. The Emperor, Sir, salutes you, and your fair Daughter. + +_Gal_. And, Sir, the Prince of _Thunderland_ salutes you, and your fair +Neice. + +_Doct_. Thus low I fall to thank their Royal Goodness. + + [_Kneels. They take him up_. + +_Bell_. Came you, most reverend Bards, from the Moon World? + +_Kep_. Most lovely Maid, we did. + +_Doct_. May I presume to ask the manner how? + +_Kep_. By Cloud, Sir, through the Regions of the Air, down to the fam'd +_Parnassus_; thence by Water, along the River _Helicon_, the rest by +Post upon two wing'd Eagles. + +_Doct_. Sir, are there store of our World inhabiting the Moon? + +_Kep_. Oh, of all Nations, Sir, that lie beneath it in the Emperor's +Train! Sir, you will behold abundance; look up and see the Orbal World +descending; observe the Zodiack, Sir, with her twelve Signs. + + [_Next the Zodiack descends, a Symphony playing all the while; + when it is landed, it delivers the twelve Signs: Then the Song, + the Persons of the Zodiack being the Singers. After which, the + Negroes dance and mingle in the_ Chorus. + + A Song for the Zodiack. + + _Let murmuring Lovers no longer repine, + But their Hearts and their Voices advance; + Let the Nymphs and the Swains in the kind Chorus join, + And the Satyrs and Fauns in a Dance. + Let Nature put on her Beauty of May, + And the Fields and the Meadows adorn; + Let the Woods and the Mountains resound with the Joy, + And the Echoes their Triumph return_. + + Chorus. + + _For since Love wore his Darts, + And Virgins grew Coy; + Since these wounded Hearts, + And those cou'd destroy, + There ne'er was more Cause for your Triumphs and Joy. + + Hark, hark, the Musick of the Spheres, + Some Wonder approaching declares; + Such, such, as has not bless'd your Eyes and Ears + This thousand, thousand, thousand Years. + See, see what the Force of Love can make, + Who rules in Heaven, in Earth and Sea; + Behold how he commands the Zodiack, + While the fixt Signs unhinging all obey. + Not one of which, but represents + The Attributes of Love, + Who governs all the Elements + In Harmony above_. + + Chorus. + + _For since Love wore his Darts + And Virgins grew coy; + Since these wounded Hearts, + And those cou'd destroy, + There ne'er was more Cause for your Triumphs and Joy. + + The wanton Aries first descends, + To show the Vigor and the Play, + Beginning Love, beginning Love attends, + When the young Passion is all-over Joy, + He bleats his soft Pain to the fair curled Throng, + And he leaps, and he bounds, and loves all the day long. + At once Love's Courage and his Slavery + In_ Taurus _is expressed, + Though o'er the Plains the Conqueror be, + The generous Beast + Does to the Yoke submit his noble Breast; + While_ Gemini _smiling and twining of Arms, + Shews Love's soft Indearments and Charms; + And_ Cancer's _slow Motion the degrees do express, + Respectful Love arrives to Happiness_. + Leo _his strength and Majesty_, + Virgo _her blushing Modesty, + And_ Libra _all his Equity. + His Subtilty does_ Scorpio _show, + And_ Sagittarius _all his loose desire, + By_ Capricorn _his forward Humour know, + And_ Aqua, _Lovers Tears that raise his Fire, + While_ Pisces, _which intwin'd do move, + Shew the soft Play, and wanton Arts of Love_. + + Chorus. + + _For since Love wore his Darts, + And Virgins grew coy; + Since these wounded Hearts, + And those you'd destroy, + There ne'er was more Cause for Triumphs and Joy_. + +--See how she turns, and sends her Signs to Earth.--Behold the Ram, +_Aries_--see _Taurus_ next descends; then _Gemini_--see how the Boys +embrace.--Next _Cancer_, then _Leo_, then the _Virgin_; next to her +_Libra--Scorpio, Sagittary, Capricorn, Aquarius, Pisces_. This eight +thousand Years no Emperor has descended, but _Incognito_; but when he +does, to make his Journey more magnificent, the Zodiack, Sir, +attends him. + +_Doct_. 'Tis all amazing, Sir. + +_Kep_. Now, Sir, behold the Globick World descends two thousand Leagues +below its wonted Station, to shew Obedience to its proper Monarch. + + [_After which, the Globe of the Moon appears, first like + a new Moon, as it moves forward it increases till it comes + to the Full. When it is descended, it opens and shews the + Emperor and the Prince. They come forth with all their Train, + the Flutes playing a Symphony before them, which prepares the + Song. Which ended the Dancers mingle as before_. + + A SONG. + + _All Joy to Mortals, Joy and Mirth, + Eternal_ IO'S _sing; + The Gods of Love descend to Earth, + Their Darts have lost the Sting. + The Youth shall now complain no more + Of_ Sylvia's _needless Scorn, + But she shall love, if he adore, + And melt when he shall burn. + + The Nymph no longer shall be shy, + But leave the jilting Road; + And_ Daphne _now no more shall fly + The wounded panting God; + But all shall be serene and fair, + No sad Complaints of Love + Shall fill the gentle whispering Air, + No echoing Sighs the Grove. + + Beneath the Shades young_ Strephon _lies, + Of all his Wish possess'd; + Gazing on_ Sylvia's _charming Eyes, + Whose Soul is there confessed. + All soft and sweet the Maid appears, + With Looks that know no Art, + And though she yields with trembling Fears, + She yields with all her Heart_. + +--See, Sir, the Cloud of Foreigners appears, French, English, Spaniards, +Danes, Turks, Russians, Indians, and the nearer Climes of Christendom; +and lastly, Sir, behold the mighty Emperor.-- + + [_A Chariot appears, made like a Half Moon, in which is_ Cinthio + _for the Emperor, richly dressed, and_ Charmante _for the Prince, + rich, with a good many Heroes attending_. Cinthio's _Train born by + four Cupids. The Song continues while they descend and land. They + address themselves to_ Elaria _and_ Bellemante.--Doctor _falls on his + Face, the rest bow very low as they pass. They make signs to_ Keplair. + +_Kep_. The Emperor wou'd have you rise, Sir, he will expect no Ceremony +from the Father of his Mistress. + [_Takes him up_. + +_Doct_. I cannot, Sir, behold his Mightiness--the Splendor of his +Majesty confounds me. + +_Kep_. You must be moderate, Sir, it is expected. + + [_The two Lovers make all the Signs of Love in dumb show to the + Ladies, while the soft Musick plays again from the end of the Song_. + +_Doct_. Shall I not have the Joy to hear their heavenly Voices, Sir? + +_Kep_. They never speak to any Subject, Sir, when they appear in Royalty, +but by Interpreters, and that by way of Stentraphon, in manner of the +Delphick Oracles. + +_Doct_. Any way, so I may hear the Sense of what they wou'd say. + +_Kep_. No doubt you will--But see the Emperor commands by Signs his +Foreigners to dance. + + [_Soft Musick changes_. + + [_A very Antick Dance. The Dance ended, the Front Scene draws + off, and shows a Temple, with an Altar, one speaking through a + Stentraphon from behind it. Soft Musick plays the while_. + +_Kep_. Most Learned Sir, the Emperor now is going to declare himself, +according to his Custom, to his Subjects. Listen.-- + +_Sten_. Most Reverend Sir, whose Virtue did incite us, +Whose Daughter's Charms did more invite us; +We come to grace her with that Honour, +That never Mortal yet had done her; +Once only, _Jove_ was known in Story, +To visit _Semele_ in Glory. +But fatal 'twas, he so enjoy'd her, +Her own ambitious Flame destroy'd her. +His Charms too fierce for Flesh and Blood, +She dy'd embracing of her God, +We gentler marks of Passion give, +The Maid we love, shall love and live; +Whom visibly we thus will grace, +Above the rest of human Race, +Say, is't your Will that we shou'd wed her, +And nightly in Disguises bed her? + +_Doct_. The Glory is too great for Mortal Wife. + [_Kneels with Transport_. + +_Sten_. What then remains, but that we consummate +This happy Marriage in our splendid State? + +_Doct_. Thus low I kneel, in thanks for this great Blessing. + + [Cinthio _takes_ Elaria _by the Hand_; Charmante, Bellemante; + _two of the Singers in white being Priests, they lead 'em to the + Altar, the whole Company dividing on either side. Where, while a + Hymeneal Song is sung, the Priest joins their Hands: The Song + ended, and they marry'd, they come forth; but before they come + forward, two Chariots descend one on one side above, and the other + on the other side; in which is_ Harlequin _dress'd like a Mock Hero, + with others; and_ Scaramouch _in the other, dress'd so in Helmets_. + +_Scar_. Stay, mighty Emperor, and vouchsafe to be the Umpire of our +Difference. [Cinthio _signs to_ Keplair. + +_Kep_. What are you? + +_Scar_. Two neighbouring Princes to your vast Dominion. + +_Har_. Knights of the Sun, our honourable Titles, +And fight for that fair Mortal, _Mopsophil_. + +_Mop_. Bless us!--my two precious Lovers, I'll warrant; well, I had +better take up with one of them, than lie alone to Night. + +_Scar_. Long as two Rivals we have lov'd and hop'd, +Both equally endeavour'd, and both fail'd. +At last by joint Consent, we both agreed +To try our Titles by the Dint of Lance, +And chose your Mightiness for Arbitrator. + +_Kep_. The Emperor gives Consent. + + [_They both all arm'd--with gilded Lances and Shields of Black, + with golden Suns painted. The Musick plays a fighting Tune. They + fight at Barriers, to the Tune_.--Harlequin _is often foil'd, but + advances still; at last_ Scaramouch _throws him, and is Conqueror; + all give Judgment for him_. + +_Kep_. The Emperor pronounces you are Victor.-- [_To_ Scar. + +_Doct_. Receive your Mistress, Sir, as the Reward of your undoubted +Valour-- + [_Presents_ Mopsophil. + +_Scar_. Your humble Servant, Sir, and _Scaramouch_ returns you humble +Thanks. [_Puts off his Helmet_. + +_Doct_. Ha,--_Scaramouch_! + [_Bawls out, and falls in a Chair. They all go to him_. +My Heart misgives me--Oh, I am undone and cheated every way. + [_Bawling out_. + +_Kep_. Be patient, Sir, and call up all your Virtue, +You're only cur'd, Sir, of a Disease +That long has reign'd over your nobler Faculties. +Sir, I am your Physician, Friend and Counsellor; +It was not in the Power of Herbs or Minerals, +Of Reason, common Sense, and right Religion, +To draw you from an Error that unmann'd you. + +_Doct_. I will be patient, Gentlemen, and hear you. +--Are not you _Ferdinand_? + +_Kep_. I am,--and these are Gentlemen of Quality, +That long have lov'd your Daughter and your Niece; +_Don Cinthio_ this, and this is _Don Charmante_, +The Vice-Roy's Nephews both. +Who found as Men--'twas impossible to enjoy 'em, +And therefore try'd this Stratagem. + +_Cin_. Sir, I beseech you, mitigate your Grief, +Although indeed we are but mortal Men, +Yet we shall love you, serve you, and obey you. + +_Doct_. Are not you then the Emperor of the Moon? +And you the Prince of _Thunderland_? + +_Cin_. There's no such Person, Sir. +These Stories are the Fantoms of mad Brains, +To puzzle Fools withal--the Wise laugh at 'em-- +Come, Sir, you shall no longer be impos'd upon. + +_Doct_. No Emperor of the Moon, and no Moon World! + +_Char_. Ridiculous Inventions. +If we 'ad not lov'd you you'ad been still impos'd on; +You had brought a Scandal on your learned Name, +And all succeeding Ages had despis'd it. + + [Doct. _leaps up_. + +_Doct_. Burn all my Books and let my study blaze, +Burn all to Ashes, and be sure the Wind +Scatter the vile contagious monstrous Lyes. +--Most Noble Youths--you've honour'd me with your Alliance, and you, +and all your Friends, Assistances in this glorious Miracle, I invite +to Night to revel with me.--Come all and see my happy Recantation of +all the Follies, Fables have inspir'd till now. Be pleasant to repeat +your Story, to tell me by what kind degrees you cozen'd me. +I see there's nothing in Philosophy-- [_Gravely to himself_. +Of all that writ, he was the wisest Bard, who spoke this mighty Truth-- + + "He that knew all that ever Learning writ, + Knew only this--that he knew nothing yet." + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +EPILOGUE, + +To be spoken by _Mrs. Cooke_. + +_With our old Plays, as with dull Wife it fares, +To whom you have been marry'd tedious Years. +You cry--She's wondrous good, it is confessed, | +But still 'tis_ Chapon Boueille _at the best; | +That constant Dish can never make a Feast: | +Yet the pall'd Pleasure you must still pursue, +You give so small Incouragement for new; +And who would drudge for such a wretched Age, +Who want the Bravery to support one Stage? +The wiser Wits have now new Measures set, +And taken up new Trades that they may hate. +No more your nice fantastick Pleasures serve, +Your Pimps you pay, but let your Poets starve, +They long in vain for better Usage hop'd, +Till quite undone and tir'd, they dropt and dropt; +Not one is left will write for thin third Day, +Like desperate Pickeroons, no Prize no Pay; +And when they have done their best, the Recompence +Is, Damn the Sot, his Play wants common Sense, +Ill-natured Wits, who can so ill requite +The drudging Slaves, who for your Pleasure write. + +Look back on flourishing_ Rome, _ye proud Ingrates, +And see how she her thriving Poets treats: +Wisely she priz'd 'em at the noblest Rate, | +As necessary Ministers of State, | +And Contributions rais'd to make 'em great. | +They from the publick Bank she did maintain, +And freed from want, they only writ for Fame; +And were as useful in a City held, +As formidable Armies in the Field. +They but a Conquest over Men pursued, +While these by gentle force the Soul subdu'd. +Not_ Rome _in all her happiest Pomp cou'd show | +A greater_ Caesar _than we boast of now_; | +Augustus _reigns, but Poets still are low. | + +May Caesar live, and while his mighty Hand +Is scattering Plenty over all the Land; +With God-like Bounty recompensing all, +Some fruitful drops may on the Muses fall; +Since honest Pens do his just cause afford +Equal Advantage with the useful Sword_. + + + + + + +NOTES ON THE TEXT. + + + +THE TOWN FOP. + + +p. 7 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added 'Page to _Bellmour_; Page to Lord +_Plotwell_; Sir _Timothy's_ Page; Guests; Fiddlers; Ladies.' + +p. 12, l. 36 _honoured_. 1724 'honourable'. + +p. 13, l. 2 _answered the Civility_. 1724 'answered her the Civility'. + +p. 13, l. 23 _whats_. 1724 'what'. + +p. 13, l. 26 _any thing in Life_. 1724 'any thing in this Life'. + +p. 14, l. 3 _God forbid it_; 1724 omits 'it'. + +p. 15, l. 11 _you speak well_. 1724 omits 'well'. + +p. 15, l. 20 _Mrs. Celinda Dresswell_. Following 4to 1677 and 1724 I +have retained the name Dresswell although it should obviously be +Friendlove. In the first draft Friendlove was called Dresswell, and in +altering the nomenclature of the character Mrs. Behn forgot to make the +change here. The same slip occurs in this same scene (p. 20, l. 23) when +Friendlove is alluded to as Dresswell. + +p. 16, l. 2 _help_. 1724 'help'd'. + +p. 16, l. 30 _me to_. 1724 omits 'to'. + +p. 17, l. 9 _and Allurements_. 1724 omits 'and'. + +p. 19, l. 29 _beholding_. 1724 'beholden'. + +p. 19, l. 31 _belong'd_. 1724 'belongs'. + +p. 20, l. 6 _Murder_. 4to 1677 has here the marginal stage direction +'[A Letter', to remind the prompter to have that property ready for +the immediate entry of Friendlove. + +p. 22, l. 4 _Exit Sir Tim_. 4to 1677 has 'Ex.' after 'Celinda.' 1724 +'Exit' after 'Southampton House.' + +p. 22, l. 6 _Exeunt_. I have supplied this stage direction. 4to 1677 has +'The End of the First Act.' + +p. 22, l. 8 _A Palace_. I have left this quaint locale untouched +although the scene is merely an antechamber in Friendlove's house, +and can have been no more than a drop cloth. + +p. 22, l. 27 _Scene II_. This Scene is not numbered in the previous +editions but considered as Scene I with the former. + +p. 24, l. 10 _To-morrow_. 1724 as prose. I follow metrical arrangement +of 4to. + +p. 26, l. 12 _impose_. 4to 1677 'imposes'. + +P. 27, l. 15 _Scene III. Sir Timothy's House_. I have supplied the +locale. In all former editions Scenes I and II being counted as one +this is numbered Scene II. + +p. 27, l. 16 _and Boy_. I have added the entrance of the Boy. + +p. 28, l. 12 _that I am_. 4to 1677 omits 'that'. + +p. 28, l. 28 _--and where--and where_. 1724 reads '--and where--' once. + +p. 29, l. 25 _Fortunes_. 1724 'Fortune'. + +p. 30, l. 32 _Exeunt_. 4to 1677 'Ex.' 1724 'Exit.' + +p. 30, l. 33 _Scene IV. Lord Plotwell's House_. I have added the locale. +The former editions, regarding Scenes I and II of this act as one, read +'Scene III.' + +p. 34, l. 21 _nor one_. 1677 'nor none'. + +p. 37, l. 14 _Scene V_. 'Scene IV' in former editions. + +p. 39, l. 34 _Exeunt_. Not in former editions. 4to 1677 has 'The End of +the Second Act.' + +p. 40, l. 2 _A Room in Lord Plotwell's House_. All former editions mark +the locale as 'The Street.' But this is obviously wrong from the +sitting, dancing and whole business of the scene. + +p. 41, l. 6 _Griefs_. 1724 'Grief.' + +p. 41, l. 9 _something of disorder_. 4to 1677 'something in disorder'. + +p. 41, l. 24 _bear_. 4to 1677 'bare'. + +p. 42, l. 19 _Life left_. 1724 omits 'left'. + +p. 43, l. 4 _plunged in Blood_. 1724 'plung'd in, in Blood.' + +p. 43, l. 5 _A Jigg_. Not in 1724. + +p. 43, l. 19 _with all your Faults_. 4to 1677 omits 'your'. + +p. 45, l. 4 _of it_. 4to 1677 'on't'. + +p. 47, l. 7 _Exeunt_. All former editions 'Exit.' + +p. 47, l. 8 _Scene II_. No former editions number this scene, but read +'Enter Diana, Scene a Bedchamber.' + +p. 47, l. 33 _unto_. 4to 1677 'to'. + +p. 49, l. 25 _Love_. 1724 'Life'. + +p. 50, l. 23 _Exit_. Not marked in former editions. + +p. 50, l. 24 _Scene III. A Street_. No former editions number this scene. + +p. 51, l. 1 _Which_. 4to 1677 'Who'. + +p. 54, l. 34 _Exeunt_. Not in 1724. 4to 1677 adds 'The End of the Third +Act.' + +p. 55, l. 2 _Celinda's Chamber_. The locale is unmarked in all former +editions, + +p. 57, l. 15 _the longed for_. 4to 1677 misprints 'she long'd for'. + +p. 59, l. 8 _Blessings_. 1724 'Blessing'. + +p. 59, l. 10 _Who ere_. 1724 'When e'er'. + +p. 61, l. 11 _and who_. 1724 'and she who'. + +p. 62, l. 6 _Scene II. The former editions have not numbered this scene. + +p. 62, l. 11 _Jenny and Doll_. I have supplied the wenches' names as +given in the Dramatis Personae. + +p. 63, l. 1 _Garnitures_. 1724 'Garments'. + +p. 64, l. 1 _Scene III_. I have numbered the scene. Former editions all +read 'Scene a Chamber, a Table with Box and Dice.' + +p. 72, l. 20 _Ex. severally_. 4to 1677 adds 'The End of the Fourth Act.' + +p. 72, l. 22 _Scene I_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 76, l. 14 _Scene II. Lord Plotwell's House_. There is no scene +division in 4to 1677. I have numbered this scene and added the locale +which is evident from the dialogue. + +p. 80, l. 5 _Exit_. 4to 1677 omits this stage direction. + +p. 82, l. 10 _Scene III_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 82, l. 27 _Look on this face_. I have metrically arranged this. It is +obviously verse. 4to 1677 and 1724 print as prose. + +p. 94, l. 24 _written by Mr. E.R_. i.e. 'Mr. Edward Ravenscroft.' +Omitted in 1724. + + + +THE FALSE COUNT. + + +p. 101 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added to the list 'Page to _Carlos_, +A little Page to the False Count; Wife to _Petro_.' + +p. 106, l. 26 _halving_. Omitted by 1724, + +p. 109, l. 7 _hither_. Omitted by 1724. + +p. 110, l. 36 _easier_. 4to 1697 and 1724 'easilier'. + +p. 111, l. 11 _Son_. 4tos 'Soul'. + +p. 115, l. 28 _Huswise_. read 'Huswife'. + +p. 116, l. 5 _Just-au-corps_. 4to 1697 'Justicore'. + +p. 120, l. 29 _He goes out_. 1724 'Exeunt severally.' + +p. 120, l. 30 Scene II_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 121, l. 34 _Page holding his lanthorn to his face_. Omitted in 1724. + +p. 125, l. 20 _Going in_. 4tos 1682 and 1697 read 'Goes in.' But Carlos, +obviously, does not leave the stage at this point. + +p. 128, l. 24 _Scene III_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 131, l. 11 _Don Carlos' house_. I have added the locale. + +p. 131, l. 26 _dear_. 1724 'dearer'. + +p. 135, l. 16 _Francisco's house_. I have added the locale. + +p. 135, l. 26 _should_. 1724 'shall'. + +p. 139, l. 15 _not yet_. 1724 repeats 'not yet'. + +p. 140, l. 2 _froward_. 1724 'forward', + +p. 143, l. 21 _They dance_. 4tos add 'with Don', which seems unsuitable +as the company are seated. + +p. 147, l. 22 _Exit Cap_. I have added this necessary direction, not in +any previous edition, although all mark his entry again a little later. + +p. 152, l. 15 _the body of Francisco_. 4tos 1682 and 1697. 1724 omits +'the body of'. + +p. 156, l. 29 _glout_. 1724 'glut'. + +p. 158, l. 6 _Mahometan_. 1724 repeats 'Mahometan'. + +p. 158, l. 33 _And wou'd not break_. These two lines, which are +obviously metrical, all former editions print as prose. + +p. 163, l. 19 _and Mutes attending_. I have added these words as Carlos +addresses the mutes a little later in the scene. + +p. 163, l. 21 _your_. 1724 'thy'. + +p. 166, l. 13 _Sir, I'll warrant_. 1724 omits 'Sir'. + +p. 167, l. 15 _that's the greatest_. 1724 omits 'that's'. + +p. 168, l. 30 _Aside_. 1724 omits. + + + +THE LUCKY CHANCE. + + +p. 177 _The Lucky Chance_. On the title of the 4to 1687, we have 'This +may be Printed, _April 23_, 1686. _R.P_.' + +p. 183, l. 1 _To The Right Honourable_. This Dedication and the Preface +(p. 185) are only found in the 4to 1687. p. 190 _Dramatis Personae_. +have added to the list '_Gingle_, a Music Master; A Post-man; _Susan_, +Servant to Sir _Feeble; Phillis, Leticia's_ Woman.' + +p. 191, l. 20 _Enter Mr. Gingle_. I have inserted Gingle's name. All +previous editions read 'Enter several with Musick.' + +p. 194, l. 5 _Dudgeon_. 4to 1687 'Dugion'. + +p. 199, l. 13 _I have had ... Guyneys_. These words have by a curiously +gross error been dropped out in all editions save the 4to 1687. + +p. 202, l. 30 _all but for_. 1724 omits 'but'. + +p. 203, l. 10 _so, I'll go_. 1724 'so, and I'll go'. + +p. 203, l. 27 _Then then_. All previous editions read 'Then thou' which +makes no sense. The emendation, if not what Mrs. Behn wrote, is at least +grammatical. + +p. 204, l. 34 _this St. Martin's Trumpery_. 1724 'these'. + +p. 205, l. 4 _my Girl_. 1724 omits 'my'. + +p. 206, l. 28 _of the World_. 1724 'of the whole World'. + +p. 207, l. 30 _beholding_. 1724 'beholden'. + +p. 207, l. 36 _Aside_. 1724 omits. + +p. 209, l. 2 _look, look how_. 1724 'look, how'. + +p. 209, l. 12 _Exeunt_. I have supplied this, which does not occur in +previous editions. 4to 1687 has 'The End of the First Act.' 1724 +gives nothing. + +p. 210, l. 3 _Livings_. 1724 'Living'. + +p. 216, l. 13 _Enter Bellmour_. I have placed this entrance here as by +his first speech Bellmour obviously overhears Leticia's words, 'Blest be +this kind Retreat'. 1724 places the entrance after 'Sighs and Tears.' +4to 1687 gives it in a bracket by Leticia's three lines. + +p. 218, l. 9 _Let. But how_. I have arranged these lines metrically. 4to +1687 and 1724 print as prose. + +p. 221, l. 1 _Seraglio_. 4to 1687 'Seraglia'. + +p. 222, l. 31 _Quonundrum_. 4to 1687 'Qunnumdrum'. + +p. 224, l. 17 _Exit_. I have supplied this. 1724 gives no direction. 4to +1687 has 'The End of the Second Act.' + +p. 225, ll. 13, 25 _Aside_. Not in 4to 1687. + +p. 226, l. 8 _swooned_. 4to 1687 'swoonded'. + +p. 227, l. 9 _Aside_. Not in 4to 1687. + +p. 227, l. 29 _Scene II_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 227, l. 29 _in an undressing_. 1724 omits 'in an'. + +p. 228, l. 7 _Aside_. Omitted in 4to 1687. + +p. 228, l. 21 _Within_. I have supplied this stage direction here and in +Bellmour's following speech. + +p. 229, l. 2 _to him_. Not in 1724. + +p. 229, l. 4 _before to morrow_. 1724 reads 'before we go to him +to-morrow.' + +p. 229, l. 27 _his Safety_. 1724 omits 'his'. + +p. 231, l. 3 _I'm sorry_. I have arranged this metrically. Former +editions as prose. + +p. 23l, l. 16 _Woman_. 4to 1687 'Women'. But Pert is alone. + +p. 231, l. 22 _Want_. 1724 misprints 'Wont'. + +p. 234, l. 4 _Exit_. I have supplied this stage direction. + +p. 234, l. 5 _Scene V_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 234, l. 27 _Dick his Boy_. Former editions 'and Boy.' But Dick's name +is given in the Dramatis Personae and later in this same scene. + +p. 235, l. 11 _you know_. Omitted by 1724. + +p. 237, l. 21 _Aside_. Former editions wrongly mark this whole speech +'aside'. The last sentence is clearly spoken aloud to Sir Cautious. + +p. 238, l. 30 _Ad, and_. 1724 'and and'. + +p. 238, l. 32 _Exit Dick_. I have added this Exit, unmarked in former +editions. Dick obviously does not remain on the stage as his entrance is +marked later. + +p. 239, l. 14 _Aside, turns_. 1724 omits 'turns'. + +p. 240, l. 29 _Scene VI_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 241, l. 28 _Aside_. Not in 4to 1687. But marked in 1724. + +p. 243, l. 18 _Exeunt_. This stage direction is in no previous edition. + +p. 244, ll. 28-36 _I am sorry ... Jewel, Sir_. Previous editions as +prose. + +p. 245, l. 5 _Where had_ ... Previous editions print as prose. + +p. 246, l. 1 _rivell'd_. 4to 1687. All later editions 'shrivel'd', which +is by no means as good. + +p. 246, l. 2 _Ladles_. 1724 misprints 'Ladies', + +p. 248, l. 31 _amended_. 1724 'mended'. + +p. 249, l. 2 _Dinner in_. 1724 'Dinner at'. + +p. 255, l. 27 _wou'd but stand_. 1724 omits 'but'. + +p. 259, l. 13 _Exit_. I have added this stage direction. 4to 1687 reads +'The End of the Fourth Act.' + +p. 260, l. 17 _Scene II_. I have numbered this scene, + +p. 263, l. 14 _Scene III_. 4to and 1724 'Scene II.' + +p. 264, l. 21 _attend_. 1724 'intend.' + +p. 265, l. 31 _Soft Musick ceases_. I put this stage direction here, +following 4to 1687. 1724 inserts it after the Song, which is not +so well. + +p. 266, l. 20 _Scene IV_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 267, l. 1 _Yet you may_. I have arranged the whole speech metrically. +1687 prints to 'April Flow'rs' as prose. 1724 prints to 'gather' +as prose. + +p. 267, l. 19 _Sir_. Omitted in 1724. + +p. 268, l. 11 _But leave_. I have arranged metrically. Previous editions +prose. + +p. 269, l. 29 _With all my Soul_. 4to 1687 gives an '[Aside' to Gayman's +speech. This is an obvious error. + +p. 270, l. 12 _Scene V_. I have numbered this and the two following +scenes. + +p. 271, l. 20 _he have not_. 1724 'he has not'. + +p. 27l, l. 31 _Oh! You_. I have arranged metrically. Previous editions +prose. + +p. 274, l. 3 _Life's_. 4to 1687 'Lives'. P. 275, l. 24 _Enter Leticia, +Bellmour, and Phillis_. I have added this necessary direction which is +in no former edition. + +p. 278, l. 20 _An After Math_. 4to 1687 reads 'An After Mach'. 1724 'An +after Match'. As neither of these forms are found, the 4to seems an +obvious misprint for 'After Math'. + +p. 278, l. 25 _whiffling_. 1724 'whistling'. + + + +THE FORC'D MARRIAGE. + + +p. 286, l. 15 _Enter an Actress_. Omitted in 4to 1671. + +p. 287 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added to the list 'Page to _Pisaro_; +Clergy; Officers;' and have named Lysette from Act iii, v. 4to 1671 +spells Orgulius, Orguilious; Falatius, Falatio; Cleontius, Cleontious in +the Dramatis Personae, but in the text I have spelled these names +throughout following 1724. It may here be noted that the 1671 quarto +swarms with errors and typographical mistakes. It is vilely printed and +seemingly issued from the press almost without revision. + +p. 288, l. 2 _The Palace_. I have added the locale. + +p. 289, l. 5 _Bravery_. 4to 1671. 4to 1690 and 1724 'Virtue'. + +p. 289, l. 11 _Alcippus_. 4to 1671 prints 'Alcip.' as a speech-prefix. +An obvious blunder. + +p. 289, l. 18 _Gift_. 4to 1671 misreads 'Guilt'. + +p. 290, l. 11 _added little_. 1724 'added a little'. + +p. 290, l. 19 _hated_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'hate'. + +p. 292, l. 9 _who_. 4to 1671 'whom'. + +p. 295, l. 5 _pretends_. 4to 1671 'pretend'. + +p. 295, l. 31 _thee most fatal proofs_. 1724 'the most fatal proof'. + +p. 296, l. 18 _There was so_. Following quartos I have printed these +lines (which 1724 gives as prose) metrically, although I confess the +result is not satisfactory. + +p. 297, l. 1 _Galatea's Apartments_. I have added this locale. + +p. 298, l. 9 _first_. Not in 4to 1671. + +p. 298, l. 29 _Sighing_. Not in 4to 1671. + +p. 299, l. 30 _Madam, that grief_. This speech, which all previous +editions give to Erminia, I have assigned to Aminta. I am, however, not +entirely satisfied that a speech of Galatea's has not dropped out here +(the first quarto is notoriously careless), and in this case the speech +may well be Erminia's. + +p. 300, l. 14 _sworn_. 4to 1690 and 1724, which I retain as better than +1671 'vow'd'. + +p. 300, l. 24 _won_. 4to 1690 and 1724, which I have preferred to 1671 +'mov'd'. + +p. 301, l. 1 _A room in the house_. I have added this locale. + +p. 303, l. 29 _and Isil_. I have added Isillia's exit. + +p. 303, l. 30 _Philanders Apartments_. I have added the locale. + +p. 305, l. 14 _The Representation of the Wedding_. This line is not in +1724. + +p. 305, l. 15 _must be let down ... must play_. 1724 'is let down ... +plays.' + +p. 305, l. 29 _The Palace_. I have added this locale. + +p. 306, l. 22 _th'Almighty_. 4to 1671 'i'th' Almighty'. + +p. 307, l. 31 _needs_. 4to 1671 'need'. 1690 'needs't'. + +p. 309, l. 1 _The Court Gallery_. I have added this locale. + +p. 309, l. 8 _That sad tone_. I have followed the quartos in their +metrical arrangement of this speech. 1724 gives it as prose. The same +rule has been observed l.21, 'Am. Nay thou hast ...' + +p. 310, l. 31 _Not so well_. In this speech and also p. 311, l. 1 I +have followed the metrical arrangement of the 4tos. 1724 prints as +prose. + +p. 312, l. 9 _Ex_. 4to 1671 'goes out.' + +p. 312, l. 13 _Exeunt_. 4to 1671 'go out.' + +p. 312, l, 14 _'Tis the most_. I have followed the two quartos in +their arrangement of these lines, which, none the less, seems far +from satisfactory. 1724 prints as prose. + +p. 313, l. 10 _Erminia_. 4to 1671 omits. + +p. 313, l. 28 _She weeps_. Not in 4to 1671, but in 4to 1690 and in 1724. + +p. 313, l. 35 _Prince his word_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'Prince's word'. + +p. 315, l. 10 _Thou would'st allow_. This is the reading of 4to 1690 and +of 1724. 4to 1671 reads 'I should allow what I deny thee here.' + +p. 316, l. 31 _Philander's Bed-chamber_. I have added the locale. + +p. 317, l. 25 _marry other_. 1724 'marry any other'. + +p. 320, l. 5 _an ignorant_. This is the reading of the 4tos. I take +'ignorant' as the obsolete substantive. 1724 omits 'an'. + +p. 320, l. 9 _Enter Lysette_. 1724 has 'Enter a Maid', but gives speech +prefix 'Lyc.', spelling Lysette, Lycette. + +p. 320, l. 12 _I cry your Lordship's_. I have followed the 4tos in the +metrical arrangement of this speech. 1724 prints as prose. + +p. 320, l. 15 _She goes in_. 1724 'She goes out.' + +p. 320, l. 21 _I fell asleep_. So 4tos. 1724 as prose. + +p. 321, l. 28 _Shepherdess_. 4tos and 1724 punctuate 'Shepherdess,'. It +has been suggested that the passage be punctuated with a full stop at +'call.' and continue 'Ah, cruel' with the punctuation of former +editions retained. + +p. 323, l. 8 _he has_. 4to 1671 'it has'. + +p. 323, l. 14 _The Court Gallery_. I have supplied this locale. + +p. 326, l. 21 _The apartments of Alcippus_. I have supplied this locale. + +p. 327, l. 26 _And I so strangely_. 4to 1671 omits 'I'. + +p. 330, l. 23 _The Palace_. I have supplied this locale. 1724 misprints +Scene IV. + +p. 330, l. 24 _as passing by_. Omitted by 1724. + +p. 331, l. 23 _Railly_. 1724 prints this speech as prose. + +p. 332, l. 29 _beholding_. 1724 'beholden'. + +p. 332, l. 32 _Fal. That's too much_. Following the 4tos I have arranged +all the speeches of Falatius, which 1724 gives as prose, metrically. The +result is, it must be confessed, not entirely satisfactory in places. + +p. 334, l. 25 _Farewell_. 4tos and 1724 all print 'For well'. + +p. 334, l. 34 _Sees Pisaro_. 1724 omitting 'sees' makes a poor +alteration in the conduct of this business. + +p. 335, l. 20 _Exit Pis_. Former editions simply 'Exit.' This confuses +the scene. + +p. 335, l. 21 _Re-enter Falatius_. The 4tos omit this stage direction. + +p. 337, l. 7 _Galatea's Apartments_. I have supplied the locale. + +p, 337, l. 12 _you were_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'you are'. + +p. 338, l. 25 _must credit you_. 4to 1671 'faith, I credit you'. + +p. 339, l. 4 _Erminia, sure you'll_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'Erminia sure +will'. + +p. 339, l. 14 _the fault_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'my faults'. + +p. 340, l. 5 _He rises_. I have inserted 'He' to make the direction +quite clear. + +p. 342, l. 5 _The Palace_. I have added the locale. + +p. 343, l. 25 _loving me_. 4to 1671 prints an unsatisfactory text: + + 'none for loving me, for + I'm much unlike Lucinda whom you ey'd.' + +p. 344, l. 28 _The Apartments of Alcippus_. I have added this locale. + +p. 344, l. 32 _fear'd_. 4to 1671 'heard'. + +p. 347, l. 17 _Entering_. I have added this stage direction. + +p, 347, l. 30 _a Chamber_. I have inserted the locale. + +p. 347, l. 30 _in a dishabit_. All editions save 4to 1671 read 'in an +undress'. + +p. 349, l. 5 _appetites_. 1724 'appetite'. + +p. 349, l. 12 _Within_. I have supplied this stage direction. + +p. 349, l. 20 _took_. 1724 'taken'. + +p. 351, l. 34 _To Alcip_. This and the following stage direction 'To the +Prince' are not in 4to 1671. + +p. 352, l. 16 _vile_. 4to 1671 omits. + +p. 352, l. 25 _or smothers her with a pillow_. This is only found in 4to +1671. + +p. 353, l. 21 _Knew_. 4to 1671 'know'. + +p. 354, l. 6 _has_. 4to 1671 'had'. + +p. 354, l. 16 _Murder_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'a Murderer'. + +p. 354, l. 29 _The Palace_. I have supplied the locale. + +p. 356, l. 30 _merits not_. 1724 'merits all'. A striking misprint. + +p. 357, l. l2 _Gonzal_. 4to 1671 'Gen'rall'. + +p. 357, l. 16 _You once_. 4to 1671 wrongly gives this to the King. + +p. 357, l. 19 _And should_. 4to 1671 omits this whole line. + +p. 357, l. 29 _Fal. Wert_. I have followed the arrangement of 4to 1671 +throughout in this scene, which 1724 prints as prose. + +p. 358, l. 7 _Tiffany_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'Taffety.' + +p. 358, l. 22 _Philander's Apartments_. I have supplied this locale. + +p. 359, l. 29 _Within_. I have added this stage direction. + +p. 360, l. 27--_Gods_--. I follow 4tos. 1724 prints these two lines as +prose. + +p. 361, l. 36 _the World_. 1724 'that World'. + +p. 362, l. 6 _smiling to the Princess_. 1724 reads 'Er. who comes out +smiling.' + +p. 363, l. 18 _Galatea's Apartments_. I have supplied the locale. + +p. 365, l. 8 _'twas_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'twere'. + +p. 365, l. 12 _The Bedchamber_. I have supplied this locale. + +p. 365, l. 14 _so_. 4to 1671 'now'. + +p. 365, l. 20 _Weeps_. 4to 1671 only has 'Weeps.' 4to 1690 and 1724 give +the stage direction in full. + +p. 365, l. 31 _Influence_. 4to 1671 'Influences' to the ruin of the +metre. + +p. 366, l. 6 _as touch her_. 4to 1690, 1724 'to touch her'. + +p. 368, l. 8 _Princes_. 4tos 1671, 1690 read 'Princess'. + +p. 368, l. 14 _who goes_. 4tos 1671, 1690 'and goes'. + +p. 368, l. 32 _Do_. 4to 1671 'So'. + +p. 369, l. 28 _what_. 4to 1671 'which'. + +p. 371, l. 8 _The King's Chamber_. I have supplied this locale and that +of the following Scene (IV). + +p. 374, l. 28 _A Pass or two_. Only in 4to 1671. + +p. 375, l. 25 _Alcip. Might I_. Only 4to 1671 gives this speech to +Alcippus. All other editions erroneously continue it as part of +Galatea's speech. + +p. 375, l. 32 _My Love_. 4to 1671 wrongly 'Thy love'. + +p. 377, l. 13 _Ease_. 4to 1671 'easie'. + +p. 381, l. 8 _Exeunt_. I have supplied this stage direction. + + + +THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON. + + +p. 390, l. 1 _To The Lord Marquess_. The dedication only occurs in 4tos +1687, 1688. + +p. 391, l. 6 _Billet Doux_. 4tos read 'Billet Deux'--The same form is +found in the _Prologue_ l. 8; but as no other instance of 'Billet Deux' +occurs I have corrected what is doubtless a misprint. + +p. 394, l. 28 _Adznigs_. 1724, 'Adzigs'. + +p. 395 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added 'Page; _Florinda_, Cousin to +_Elaria_ and _Bellemante_.' + +p. 398, l. 4 _otherwise_. 1724 'otherways'. + +p. 399, l. 30 _Rosycrusian_. 4 to 1687 'Rosacrucian.' + +p. 400, l. 16 _Ma tres chere_. 4 to 1687 'Matres chear.' 4to 1688 +'Marrois chare.' + +p,400, l. 27 _tout autour_. 4to 1687 'tout au toore.' 4to 1688 'tout au +tour.' + +p.400, l. 30 _sighing_. 1724 misprints 'fighting'. + +p.400, l. 9 _Cheveux blonds_. 4tos 'Chevave Blond'. + +p. 403, l. 30 _Sylphs_. 4to 1687 'Silfs.' + +p. 409, l. 13 _Scene III_. All the former editions have Scene II. + +p. 412, l. 21 _Enter Doctor_. Both 4tos and 1724 omit to mark this +entrance which I have supplied. + +p.413, l. 18 _Draws_. 1724 omits. + +p.417, l. 19 _The End of the First Act_. Only in 4tos 1687, 1688. + +p. 417, l. 21 _A Chamber_. I have added the locale. + +p. 418, l. 26 _the Street_. 1724 'a Street.' + +p. 418, l. 27 _a Flambeaux_. This is the reading of both 4tos. 1724 'a +Flambeau'. As Sir T. Herbert, Travels (1638), has a plural 'Flambeauxes' +I have retained 'Flambeaux' as a singular here, though no other instance +can be cited. + +p. 420, l. 6 _Scene III_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 420, l. 9 _Florinda_. I have inserted this name here and as +speech-prefix instead of 'Lady'. It is supplied by Act ii, II, and +again in this scene. + +p. 422, l. 2 _Harpsicals_. 1724 'Harpsicords'. + +p. 422, l. 15 _Within_. I have supplied this stage direction. + +p. 424, l. 3 _Doct. Hold up_. 1724 improperly puts this speech after the +stage direction. + +p. 424, l. 8 _Harlequin sits still_. 4tos 'He sits still.' + +p. 426, ll. 7, 9 _Mistriss_. 1724 'Mrs.' + +p. 426, l. 35 _Aside, and Exit_. 'Aside' only in 1724. I have supplied +'and exit.' + +p. 427, l. 16 _Scene IV_. I have numbered this scene and supplied the +locale 'to Bellemante's Chamber'. + +p. 429, l. 6 _Scene V_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 436, l. 14 _The End of the Second Act_. Only in 4tos. + +p. 438, l. 22 _Scene II_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 442, l. 5 _prima_. 4tos misprint 'Fema'. + +p. 453, l. 1 _Scene III. The Last_. I have numbered this scene. 1724 +omits 'The Last.' + +p. 454, l. 3 _the Emperor_. 1724 omits 'the'. + +p. 456, l. 28 _Sagittary_. 1724 'Sagittar'. + +p. 461, l. 32 _Gravely to himself_. Only in 4tos. + +p. 462, l. 19 _Pay_. 1724 'Play.' + +p. 462, l. 29 _Bank_. 1724 'Rank'. + + + + +NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY. + + + +THE TOWN FOP. + + +p. 15 _Mrs. Celinda Dresswell_. Dresswell was obviously the original +name of Friendlove, and Mrs. Behn forgot to alter her MS. at this +passage. The same oversight occurs later in the act when Bellmour says +'I must rely on Dresswell's friendship,' (p. 20). + +p. 18 _Glass Coach_. Coaches with glasses were a recent invention and +very fashionable amongst the courtiers and ladies of the Restoration. De +Grammont tells in his _Memoirs_ how he presented a French calash with +glasses to the King, and how, after the Queen and the Duchess of York, +had publicly appeared in it, a battle royal took place between Lady +Castlemaine and Miss Stewart as to which of the two should first be seen +therein on a fine day in Hyde Park. _The Ultimum Vale of John Carleton_ +(4to, 1663) says, 'I could wish her coach ... made of the new fashion, +with glass, very stately, ... was come for me.' + +p. 20 _Tom Dove_. A well-known bear so named and exhibited at the Bear +Garden. Besides this passage there are four other allusions to him to be +found. Dryden's _Epilogue to the King and Queen_ at the Union of the Two +Companies, 1682, has:-- + + Then for your lacquies ... + They roar so loud, you'd think behind the stairs, + Tom Dove, and all the brotherhood of bears. + +His prologue to Vanbrugh's alteration of _The Pilgrim_ (1700) begins:-- + + How wretched is the fate of those who write! + Brought muzzled to the stage, for fear they bite; + Where, like Tom Dove, they stand the common foe. + +In Southerne's _The Maid's Last Prayer_ (1693) Act ii, II, Granger on +receiving an invitation to dinner cries: 'Zounds! a man had as good be +ty'd to a stake and baited like Tom Dove on Easter Monday as be the +necessary appurtenance of a great man's table!' D'Urfey in the epilogue +(spoken by Verbruggen) to Robert Gould's _The Rival Sisters; or, The +Violence of Love_, produced at Drury Lane in 1696, writes:-- + + When the dull Crowd, unskilled in these Affairs, + To day wou'd laugh with us, to morrow with the Bears: + Careless which Pastime did most Witty prove, + Or who pleas'd best, Tom Poet, or Tom Dove. + +Tom Dove has been wrongly described as 'a bearward.' + +p. 22 _Southampton House_. Southampton House, Bloomsbury, occupied the +whole of the north side of the present Bloomsbury Square. It had 'a +curious garden behind, which lieth open to the fields,'--_Strype_. A +great rendezvous for duellists, cf. Epilogue to Mountfort's _Greenwich +Park_ (Drury Lane, 1691) spoken by Mrs. Mountfort:-- + + If you're displeased with what you've seen to-night + Behind Southampton House we'll do you right; + Who is't dares draw 'gainst me and Mrs. Knight? + +p. 39 _Nickers_. Vide note (p. 456) Vol. I, p. 398, _The Roundheads_. + +p. 41 _Courant_. A quick, lively dance frequently referred to in old +dramatists. + +p. 43 _A Jigg_. There were, in Post-Restoration times, two +interpretations of the word Jig. Commonly speaking it was taken to +mean exactly what it would now, a simple dance. Nell Gwynne and Moll +Davis were noted for the dancing of Jigs. cf. Epilogue to Buckingham's +_The Chances_ (1682):-- + + The Author dreads the strut and meen + Of new prais'd Poets, having often seen + Some of his Fellows, who have writ before, + When Nel has danc'd her Jig, steal to the Door, + Hear the Pit clap, and with conceit of that + Swell, and believe themselves the Lord knows what. + +Thus at the end of Lacy's _The Old Troop_ (31 July, 1668), we have 'a +dance of two hobby horses in armour, and a Jig.' Also shortly before the +epilogue in Shadwell's _The Sullen Lovers_ (1668) we read, 'Enter a Boy +in the habit of Pugenello and traverses the stage, takes his chair and +sits down, then dances a Jig.' + +But it must be remembered that beside the common meaning there was a +gloss upon the word derived from Elizabethan stage practice. In the +prologue to _The Fair Maid of the Inn_ (licensed 1626), good plays are +spoken of as often scurvily treated, whilst + + A Jigge shall be clapt at, and every rhime + Prais'd and applauded by a clam'rous chyme. + +The Pre-Restoration Jig was little other indeed than a ballad opera in +embryo lasting about twenty-five minutes and given as an after-piece. It +was a rhymed farce in which the dialogue was sung or chanted by the +characters to popular ballad tunes. But after the Restoration the Jig +assumed a new and more serious complexion, and came eventually to be +dovetailed with the play itself, instead of being given at the fag end +of the entertainment. Mr. W.J. Lawrence, the well-known theatrical +authority to whom I owe much valuable information contained in this +note, would (doubtless correctly) attribute the innovation to Stapylton +and Edward Howard, both of whom dealt pretty freely in these Jigs. +Stapylton has in Act v of _The Slighted Maid_ (1663) a 'Song in +Dialogue' between Aurora and Phoebus with a chorus of Cyclops, which met +with some terrible parody in _The Rehearsal_ (cf. the present editor's +edition of _The Rehearsal_, p. 145). Indeed all extrinsic songs in +dialogue, however serious the theme, were considered 'Jigs'. A striking +example would be the Song of the Spirits in Dryden's _Tyrannic Love_, +Act iv. + +In Post-Restoration days a ballad sung in the streets by two persons was +frequently called a Jig, presumably because it was a 'song in dialogue'. +Numerous examples are to be found amongst the Roxburgh Ballads. + +The Jig introduced in _Sir Timothy Tawdrey_ would seem to have been the +simple dance although not improbably an epithalamium was also sung. + +p. 44 _an Entry_. A dance which derived its name from being performed at +that point in a masque when new actors appeared. In Crowne's _The +Country Wit_ (1675) Act iii, I, there is a rather stupid play on this +sense of the word confounded with its meaning 'a hall or lobby'. + +p. 63 _Cracking_. Prostitution. A rare substantive, although 'Crack', +whence it is derived, was common, cf. p. 93 and note. + +p. 65 _Cater-tray_. cater = quatre. The numbers four and three on dice +or cards. This term was used generally as a cant name for dice; often +for cogged or loaded dice. + +p. 69 _She cries Whore first_. In allusion to the old proverb--cf. _The +Feign'd Courtezans_, Act v, iv, Vol. II, p. 409, when Mr. Tickletext on +his discovery appeals to the same saw. + +p. 81 _Berjere_. A very favourite word with Mrs. Behn. Vide Vol. II, +note (p. 346, _The hour of the Berjere_), p. 441 _The Feigned +Courtezans_. + +p. 93 _Cracks_. Whores. As early as 1678 'Crack' is the proper name of +a whore in _Tunbridge Wells_, an anonymous comedy played at the Duke's +House, cf. D'Urfey, _Madam Fickle_ (1682), Act v, ii, when Flaile says: +'Y'have killed a Mon yonder, He that you quarrell'd with about your +Crack there.' Farquhar, _Love and a Bottle_ (1698), Act v, ii, has: 'You +imagine I have got your whore, cousin, your crack.' Grose, _Dict. Vulgar +Tongue_, gives the word, and it is also explained by the _Lexicon +Balatronicum_ (1811). It was, in fact, in common use for over an +hundred years. + +p. 94 _Mr. E.R_. i.e. Edward Ravenscroft. + + + +THE FALSE COUNT. + + +p. 99 _Forty One_. cf. note, Vol. II (p. 207) p. 433, _The City +Heiress_. + +p. 99 _no Plot was true_. A patent allusion to the fictitious Popish +Plot. + +p. 99 _Conventicles_. For the accentuated last syllable, _vide_ Vol. I, +p. 454. A striking example of this accentuation occurs in a Collection +of _Loyal Songs_--1639-1661-- + + But all the Parish see it plain, + Since thou art in this pickle, + Thou art an Independent quean, + And lov'st a conventicle. + +p. 99 _Christian Suckling_. The charge of murdering young Christian +boys, especially at Passover time, and eating their flesh was +continually brought against the Jews. Little St. Hugh of Lincoln, St. +William of Norwich, the infant St. Simon of Trent and many more were +said to have been martyred in this way. But recently (1913) the trial of +Mendil Beiliss, a Jew, upon a charge of ritually murdering the Russian +lad Yushinsky has caused a world-wide sensation. + +p. 99 _Gutling_. Guzzling. Guttle is used in a secondary sense (= to +flatter) in _The City Heiress_. Vide Vol. II, note (on p. 207) p. 433. + +p. 100 _took in Lamb's-Wool Ale_. Lamb's-Wool Ale is hot ale mixed with +the pulp of roasted apples, sugared and well spiced. The allusion is to +Lord Howard of Esrick, who, having been imprisoned in the Tower on a +charge connected with the so-called Popish Plot, to prove his innocence +took the Sacrament according to the rites of the English church. It is +said, however, that on this occassion, instead of wine, lamb's-wool was +profanely used. cf. Dryden's bitter jibe--_Absalom and Achitophel_ +(November, 1681), I, 575:-- + + And canting Nadab let oblivion damn, + Who made new porridge for the paschal lamb. + +cf. also _Absalom's IX Worthies_:-- + + Then prophane Nadab, that hates all sacred things, + And on that score abominateth kings; + With Mahomet wine he damneth, with intent + To erect his Paschal-lamb's-wool-Sacrament. + +A ballad on the Rye House Plot, entitled _The Conspiracy; or, The +Discovery of the Fanatic Plot_, sings:-- + + Next valiant and noble Lord Howard, + That formerly dealt in lamb's wool; + Who knowing what it is to be towered, + By impeaching may fill the jails full. + +p. 100 _Brumighams_. Bromingham was a slang term of the day for a Whig. +Roger North says that the Tories nicknamed the opposite party +'_Birmingham_ Protestants, alluding to the false groats struck at that +place'. Birmingham was already noted for spurious coinage. cf. Dryden's +prologue to _The Spanish Friar_ (1681):-- + + What e'er base metal come + You coin as fast as groats at Bromingam. + +A panegyric on the return of the Duke and Duchess of York from Scotland +says of Shaftesbury's medal that + + 'Twas coined by stealth, like groats at Birmingham. + +For Birmingham = Whig we have _Old Jemmy, an Excellent New Ballad_: + + Let Whig and Bromingham repine, + They show their teeth in vain; + The glory of the British line, + Old Jemmy's come again. + +Also in Matthew Taubman's _A Medley on the Plot_, this stanza occurs:-- + + Confound the hypocrites, Birminghams royal, + Who think allegiance a transgression; + Since to oppose the King is counted loyal, + And to rail high at the succession. + +Dryden in his Preface to _Absalom and Achitophel_, I, speaks of 'an +Anti-Bromingham', i.e. a Tory. + +p. 100 _dry bobs_. A bob was a sarcastic jest or jibe. cf. _Sir Giles +Goosecappe_ (1606), Act. v, I. 'Marry him, sweet Lady, to answere his +bitter Bob,' and Buckingham's _The Rehearsal_ (1671), Act iii, I, where +Bayes cries: 'There's a bob for the Court.' A dry bob (literally = a +blow or fillip that does not break the skin) is an intensely bitter +taunt, cf. _Cotgrave_ (1611), _Ruade seiche_, a drie bob, jeast or nip. +_Bailey_ (1731) has '_Dry Bob_. a Taunt or Scoff'. + +p. 100 _By Yea and Nay_. 'Yea and Nay' was often derisively applied to +the Puritans, and hence to their lineal descendants the Whigs, in +allusion to the Scriptural injunction, _S. Matthew_ v, 33-7, which they +feigned exactly to follow. Timothy Thin-beard, a rascally Puritan, in +Heywood's _If you Know Not Me, You Know Nobody_, Part II (4to, 1606), is +continually asseverating 'By yea and nay', cf. Fletcher's _Monsieur +Thomas_, Act ii, III, where Thomas says:-- + + Do not ye see me alter'd? 'Yea and Nay,' gentlemen; + A much-converted man. + +In _Sir Patient Fancy_ (1678), Lady Knowell's late husband, a rank +Puritan, is said to have been 'a great Ay and No Man i'th' City, and +a painful promoter of the good Cause.' + +p. 109 _Twins_. Vide note (p. 319, _Amorous Twire_), Vol. II, p. 440, +_The Feigned Courtezans_. + +p. 113 _gives Julia the Letter_. Mrs. Behn took the hint for this device +from _L'Ecole des Maris_, ii, XIV, where Isabella feigning to embrace +Sganarelle gives her hand to Valere to kiss. + +p. 116 _Just-au-corps_. 'A sort of jacket called a _justacorps_ came +into fashion in Paris about 1650. M. Quicherat informs us that a pretty +Parisienne, the wife of a _maitre de comptes_ named Belot, was the first +who appeared in it. In a ballad called _The New-made Gentlewoman_, +written in the reign of Charles II, occurs the line "My justico and +black patches I wear". Mr. Fairholt suggested that _justico_ may be a +corruption of _juste au corps_.--Planche's _Cyclopedia of Costume_, +Vol. I, p. 318. Pepys, 26 April, 1667, saw the Duchess of Newcastle +'naked-necked, without anything about it, and a black just-au-corps'. +cf. Dryden's _Limberham; or, The Kind Keeper_ (1678), iv, I: '_Aldo_. +Give her out the flower'd Justacorps with the petticoat belonging +to't.' + +p. 116 _Towers_, The tower at this time was a curled frontlet of false +hair. cf. Crowne's _The Country Wit_ (1675), Act ii, II, where Lady +Faddle cries to her maid, 'run to my milliner's for my gloves and +essences ... run for my new towre.' Shadwell, _The Virtuoso_ (1676), Act +iii, mentions 'Tires for the head, locks, tours, frouzes, and so forth'. +_The Debauchee_ (1677), Act ii, I: Mrs. Saleware speaks of buying 'fine +clothes, and tours, and Points and knots.' _The Younger Brother_ (1696), +Act v, the last scene, old Lady Youthly anxiously asks her maid, 'is not +this Tour too brown?' During the reign of Mary II and particularly in +the time of Anne a Tower meant almost exclusively the high starched +head-dress in vogue at that period. + +p. 116 _beat the hoof_. To go packing; to trudge off on foot. _Dic. +Canting Crew_ (1690), 'Hoof it or beat it on the Hoof--to walk on foot.' +Pad the hoof is a yet commoner expression. These and similar slang are +still much used. + +p. 117 _finical_. According to the _N.E.D_. the use of finical as a verb +is a nonce word only found in this passage. + +p. 119 _lead Apes in Hell_. To die an old maid. A very common expression. +It will be remembered that Beatrice had something to say on the subject. +--_Much Ado About Nothing_, Act ii, I. + +p. 122 _Docity_. Gumption, cf. note (p. 340), Vol. II, p. 441, _The +Feign'd Curtezans_. + +p. 123 _Don Del Phobos_. The adventures of the Knight of the Sun and his +brother Rosiclair belong to the Amadis school of romance. They were +published in two volumes, folio, at Saragossa, 1580, under the title +_Espejo de principes e cavalleros; o, Cavallero del Febo_. The first +part of this romance was translated into English by Margaret Tiler, _The +Mirrour of Princely deedes and Knighthood_ (4to, 1578), other portions +appearing subsequently. The whole four parts, translated from the +original Spanish into French, appeared in eight volumes, and an abridged +version was made by the Marquis de Paulmy. The Amadis cycle long +remained immensely popular. + +p. 129 _Gad-bee in his Brain_. As we now say 'a bee in his bonnet'. For +'Gad-bee' cf. Holland's _Pliny_ (1601) I, 318. 'The bigger kind of bees +... and this vermin is called _Oestrus_ (i.e. the gad-bee or horse +fly).' cf. _The Lucky Chance_, ii, II: 'The Gad-Bee's in his Quonundrum' +and note on that passage infra. For the idea compare 'brize-stung' +(= crazed). + +p. 142 _Cockt_. Set his hat jauntily. A very frequent phrase. + +p. 146 _Slashes_. Bumpers. From the idea of vigour contained in 'slash'. +The word is extremely rare in this sense and perhaps only found here. +But cf. Scottish (Lothian) 'slash' = a great quantity of broth or any +other sorbile food. + +p. 148 _what the Devil made me a ship-board_? cf. Geronte's reiterated +complaint 'Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galere?'--_Les +Fourberies de Scapin_ (1671), ii, VII; and the phrase in Cyrano de +Bergerac's _Le Pedant Joue_ (1654): 'Ha! que diable, que diable aller +faire en cette galere?... Aller sans dessein dans une galere!... Dans la +galere d'un Turc!'--Act ii, IV. In France this phrase is proverbial. + +p. 156 _glout thy Eyes_. Scowl; frown. Glout (without 'thy Eyes') is +very common in this sense. cf. Note (p. 201), Vol. II, p. 433. + +p. 160 _an Antick_. A fantastic measure. This is a favourite word with +Mrs. Behn. + +p. 165 _Aquinius his Case_. This is, I take it, some confused allusion +to the great Dominican Doctor, S. Thomas Aquinas, who was regarded as +being the supreme Master of scholasticism and casuistry. Casuistry must +be taken in its true and original meaning--the balancing and deciding of +individual cases. + +p. 175 _Bantring and Shamming_. Banter = to chaff or make fun of, at +this time a new slang word. It is almost certain that the verb, which +came into use about 1670, was a full decade earlier than the noun. In +1688 the substantive 'Banter' was up-to-date slang. For the verb _vide_ +D'Urfey's _Madam Fickle_ (1676), Act v, I, where Zechiel cries to his +brother: 'Banter him, banter him, Toby. 'Tis a conceited old Scarab, and +will yield us excellent sport--go play upon him a little--exercise thy +Wit.' cf. Swift, _Apology_ (1710), _Talke of a Tub_: 'Where wit hath +any mixture of raillery, 'tis but calling it banter, and the work is +done. This polite word of theirs was first borrowed from the bullies in +Whitefriars, then fell among the footmen, and at last retired to the +pedants.' + +For 'shamming' cf. Wycherley's _The Plain Dealer_ (1674), iii, I, where +the Lawyer says to Manly: 'You ... shammed me all night long.' +'Shammed!' cries Manley, 'prithee what barbarous law-term is that?' +'Shamming ...' answers the lawyer, ''tis all our way of wit, Sir.' And +Freeman explains 'Shamming is telling you an insipid dull lie with a +dull face, which the sly wag the author only laughs at himself; and +making himself believe 'tis a good jest, puts the sham only upon +himself.' + +p. 176 _Dumfounding_. A rude and rough form of practical joking. The +players 'dumfounded' each other with sudden blows stealthily dealt. cf. +Shadwell's The True Widow (1678), Act iv, I. Prig in the theatre says: +'You shall see what tricks I'll play; 'faith I love to be merry'. (Raps +people on their backs, and twirls their hats, and then looks demurely, +as if he did not do it.) The pit, often a very pandemonium, was the +chief scene of this sport. Dryden, prologue to _The Prophetess_ (1690), +speaks of the gallants in the theatre indulging freely in + + That witty recreation, called dumfounding. + +p. 176 _stum'd Wine_. To stum wine is to renew dead and insipid wine by +mixing new wine with it and so raising a fresh fermentation. cf. Slang +(still in common use) 'stumer', a generic term for anything worthless, +especially a worthless cheque. + +p. 176 _Grisons_. A 'grison' is a servant employed on some private +business and so dressed in gray (gris) or a dark colour not to attract +notice. cf. Shadwell's _The Volunteers_ (1693), Act ii, sc. I: '_Sir +Nich_. I keep grisons, fellows out of livery, privately for nothing but +to carry answers.' + + + +THE LUCKY CHANCE. + + +p. 183 _Laurence, Lord Hyde_. This celebrated statesman (1641-1711) was +second son of Edward Hyde, first Earl of Clarendon. The Dedication must +have been written in 1686 when, wavering between the Catholic Faith and +Protestantism, he was still high in favour with the King. 4 January, +1687, he was dismissed from court owing to his persistent refusals to be +received into the Church. + +p. 183 _The Abbot of Aubignac_. Francois Hedelin, Abbe D'Aubignac, a +famous critic and champion of the theatre, was born at Paris, 4 August, +1604. Amongst his best known works are: _Terence justifie_ (4to, 1646, +Paris), an attack on Menage; _La Practique du theatre_ (4to, 1669, +Paris); and _Dissertations concernant le poeme dramatique en forme de +remarques sur les deux tragedies de M. Corneille, intitulees_ Sophonisbe +_et_ Sertorious (12mo, 1663, Paris). He died at Nemours, 27 July, 1676. + +p. 185 _Dr. Davenant_. Charles Davenant, LL.D, (1656-1714), eldest son +of Sir William Davenant. He sat for St. Ives, Cornwall, in the first +parliament of James II, and was appointed, along with the Master of the +Revels, to license plays. + +p. 185 _Sir Roger L'Estrange_. The celebrated Tory journalist, +pamphleteer and censor was born in 1616. He had ever been a warm +defender of James II, and upon this monarch's accession was liberally +rewarded. 21 May, 1685, a warrant was issued directing him to enforce +most strictly the regulations concerning treasonable and seditious and +scandalous publications. After the Revolution he suffered imprisonment. +He died 11 December, 1704. + +p. 185 _Mr. Killigrew_. Charles Killigrew (1655-1725), Master of the +Revels, was son of Thomas Killigrew by his second wife Charlotte de +Hesse. He had been appointed Master of the Revels in 1680, patentee of +Drury Lane Theatre in 1682. He was buried in the Savoy, 8 January, +1724-5. + +p. 186 _Mr. Leigh_. Antony Leigh, the famous comedian, who created Sir +Feeble Fainwood. The scene referred to is Act iii, sc. II, where it must +be confessed that, in spite of her protestation, Mrs. Behn gives the +stage direction--Sir Feeble 'throws open his Gown, they run all away, he +locks the Door.' + +p. 186 _Oedipus_. Dryden and Lee's excellent tragedy was produced at +Dorset Garden in 1679. Betterton created Oedipus and his wife Jocasta. +It was extraordinarily popular, as, indeed, were all the plays Mrs. Behn +marshalls forth in this preface. The scene particularly referred to is +Act ii, I: 'Oedipus enters, walking asleep in his Shirt, with a Dagger +in his Right-Hand and a Taper in his Left.' A little after 'Enter +Jocasta, attended with Lights, in a Night-Gown.' + +p. 186 _City Politicks_. This comedy by Crowne is a mordant satire upon +the Whigs. It was produced with great success at the Theatre Royal and +printed quarto 1683. A certain Florio feigns to be dying in order to +prevent the Podesta suspecting an intrigue between his wife, Rosaura, +'the Lady Mayoress', and so impotent an invalid. Artall is in love with +Lucinda, who is married to a toothless old lawyer, Bartoline. Says +Genest: 'The Podesta and Bartoline are as well cuckolded as any Tory +could wish.' cf. The conclusion of Act ii and the commencement of Act +iii; also the discovery of Florio and Rosaura in Act v. + +p. 186 _London Cuckolds_. This immensely popular play, five merry +side-splitting acts which kept the stage for a century, was produced in +1682 at Dorset Garden. Ravenscroft has no less than three cuckolds in +his Dramatis Personae: Doodle, Dashwell, and Wiseacre. The intrigues and +counter-intrigues are innumerable. At the end the cuckolds all jeer one +another. + +p. 186 _Sir Courtly Nice_. This witty comedy, Crowne's masterpiece, was +produced at the Theatre Royal in 1685. Mrs. Behn's allusion is to Act +ii, II, where Crack, disguised as a tailor, visits Leonora. The language +is often cleverly suggestive. + +p. 186 _Sir Fopling_. Etheredge's third comedy, _The Man of Mode; or, +Sir Fopling Flutter_ was produced at the Duke's Theatre in 1676. It met +'with extraordinary success'. Mrs. Behn points at Act iv, II. + +p. 186 _Valentinian_. The reference is to the Earl of Rochester's +_Valentinian_, altered from Fletcher, which was produced with great +applause at the Theatre Royal in 1684. The Court Bawds, Balbus, +Proculus, Chylax, Lycinius, with the 'lewd women belonging to the +court', Ardelia and Phorba, are important characters in the tragedy. The +direct allusion is, perhaps, to Act ii, I. The scene after the rape, Act +iv, sc. III, 'opens, discovers th'Emperor's Chamber. Lucina newly +unbound by th'Emperor'. The 'Prologue spoken by Mrs. Cook the first +day' is by Mrs. Behn (_vide_ Vol. VI). It is certain that an audience +which found no offence in Rochester's _Valentinian_ could ill have taken +umbrage at the freedoms of _The Lucky Chance_. + +p. 186 _The Moor of Venice. Othello_ was one of the first plays to be +revived at the Restoration, and was, perhaps, the most frequently seen +of all Shakespeare. On 11 October, 1660, Burt acted Othello at the +Cockpit. Downes gives Mohun as Iago; Hart, Cassio; Cartwright, +Brabantio; Beeston, Roderigo; Mrs. Hughes, Desdemona; Mrs. Rutter, +Emilia. But it is certain Clun had also acted Iago--(Pepys, 6 February, +1668). Hart soon gave up Cassio to Kynaston for the title role in which +he is said to have excelled. After his retirement in 1683 it fell to +Betterton, of whose greatness in the part Cibber gives a lively picture. +The _Tatler_ also highly commends this actor's Othello. + +p. 186 _The Maids Tragedy_. Mrs. Behn refers to Act ii, I, and Act +iii, I. Hart acted Amintor; Mohun, Melantius; Wintershall, the King; +Mrs. Marshall, Evadne. Rymer particularly praises Hart and Mohun in +this tragedy, saying: 'There we have our Roscius and Aesopus both on +the stage together.' After 1683 it was differently cast. It will be +remembered that Melantius was Betterton's last role, in which he +appeared for his benefit 13 April, 1710, to the Amintor of Wilks and +the Evadne of Mrs. Barry. He died 28 April, a fortnight after. + +p. 187 _Wills Coffee House_. This famous coffee-house was No. 1 Bow +Street, Covent Garden, on the west side corner of Russell Street. It +derived its name from Will Unwin who kept it. The wits' room was +upstairs on the first floor. Some of its reputation was due to the fact +that it was a favourite resort of Dryden. + +p. 187 _write for a Third day only_. The whole profits of the third +day's performance went to the author of the play; and upon these +occasions his friends and patrons would naturally rally to support him. +There are numberless allusions to this custom, especially in Prefaces, +Prologues and Epilogues. + +p. 189 _the Mall_. The Mall, St. James's Park, was formed for Charles +II, who was very fond of the game 'pall-mall'. The walk soon became a +popular and fashionable resort. There are innumerable references. cf. +Prologue, Dryden's _Marriage a la Mode_ (1672):-- + + Poor pensive punk now peeps ere plays begin, + Sees the bare bench, and dares not venture in; + But manages her last half-crown with care, + And trudges to the Mall, on foot, for air. + +The scene of the first Act of Otway's _The Soldier's Fortune_ (1681) is +laid in the Mall, and gives a vivid picture of the motley and not over +respectable company that was wont to foregather there. + +p. 189 _the Ring_. The Ring, Hyde Park, a favourite ride and promenade +was made in the reign of Charles I. It was very fashionable, and is +frequently alluded to in poem and play. cf. Etheredge, _The Man of Mode; +or, Sir Fopling Flutter: 'Sir Fopling_. All the world will be in the +Park to-night; Ladies, 'twere pity to keep so much beauty longer within +doors, and rob the Ring of all those charms that should adorn it.'--Act +iii sc. II. cf. also Lord Dorset's _Verses on Dorinda_ (1680):-- + + Wilt thou still sparkle in the Box, + Still ogle in the Ring? + +p. 193 _Starter_. This slang word usually means a milksop, but here it +is equivalent to 'a butterfly', 'a weathercock'--a man of changeable +disposition. A rare use. + +p. 193 _Finsbury Hero_, Finsbury Fields, which Pepys thought 'very +pleasant', had been kept open for the citizens to practise archery. An +ordinance of 1478 is extant which orders all obstacles to be removed and +Finsbury to be 'made a plain field for archers to shoot in'. As late as +1737 there were standing twenty-four 'rovers' or stone pillars for +shooting at distances. + +p. 196 _Mr. Barnardine_. This allusion must almost certainly be to a +recent revival of _Measure for Measure_, which particular play had been +amongst those set aside by the regulation of 12 December, 1660, as the +special property of Davenant's theatre. After the amalgamation of the +two companies in November, 1682, a large number of the older plays were +revived or continued to be played (with a new cast and Betterton in the +roles which had been Hart's) during the subsequent decade. Downes +mentions _Othello, The Taming of the Shrew_, and several by Beaumont and +Fletcher, Ben Jonson, and Brome. On the other hand, it is possible this +reference may merely be to _The Law Against Lovers_ (1661, folio, 1673), +in which Sir William Davenant has mixed Benedick and Beatrice with +Angelo, Claudio, Isabella and the rest. It is a curious conglomeration, +and the result is very pitiful and disastrous. Bernardine and the prison +scenes are retained. _Measure for Measure_ was again profanely altered +by Gildon in 1700, mutilated and helped out by 'entertainments of music'. + +p. 197 _Snicker Snee_. See note Vol. I, p. 449, _Snick-a-Snee, The Dutch +Lover_, iii, III (p, 278). + +p. 198 _Spittal Sermon_. The celebrated Spital Sermons were originally +preached at a pulpit cross in the churchyard (now Spital Square) of the +Priory and Hospital of St. Mary Spital, founded 1197. The cross, broken +at the Reformation, was rebuilt during Charles I's reign, but destroyed +during the Great Rebellion. The sermons, however, have been continued to +the present time and are still preached every Easter Monday and Easter +Tuesday before the Lord Mayor and Aldermen, at Christ Church, Newgate +Street. + +P. 201. _Alsatia_. This cant name had been given to the precinct of +Whitefriars before 1623, then and for many years a notorious refuge for +persons wishing to avoid bailiffs and creditors. The earliest use of the +name is Thomas Towel's quarto tract, _Wheresoever you see meet, Trust +unto Yourselfe: or the Mysterie of Lending and Borrowing_ (1623). The +second use in point of time is the Prologue to Settle's _Pastor Fido_ +(1676):-- + + And when poor Duns, quite weary, will not stay; + The hopeless Squire's into _Alsatia_ driven. + +Otway's comedy, _The Soldiers Fortune_ (4to, 1681), where Courtine +says: 'I shall be ere long as greasy as an Alsatian bully,' comes third; +and Mrs. Behn's reference to Alsatia in this play, which is often +ignored, claims fourth place. We then have Shadwell's famous comedy, +_The Squire of Alsatia_ (1688), with its well-known vocabulary of +Alsatian jargon and slang, its scenes in Whitefriars, the locus +classicus, a veritable mine of information. The particular portions of +Whitefriars forming Alsatia were Ram-Alley, Mitre Court, and a lane +called in the local cant Lombard Street. No. 50 of Tempest's _Cries of +London_ (drawn and published in James II's reign) is called 'A Squire of +Alsatia', and represents a fashionable young gallant. Steele, _Tatler_ +(No. 66), 10 September, 1709, speaks of Alsatia 'now in ruins'. It is +interesting to note that many authorities, ignoring Settle and Mrs. +Behn's allusions, quote Powel and Otway as the only two places where the +word 'Alsatia' is found before Shadwell made it so popular. + +p. 202 _Dornex_. Or dornick, a worsted or woollen fabric used for +curtains, hangings and the like, so called from Tournai, where chiefly +manufactured. cf. Shadwell's _The Miser_ (1672), Act i, I: 'a dornock +carpet'. Also _Wit and Drollery_ (1681): Penelope to Ulysses:-- + + The Stools of _Dornix_ which that you may know well + Are certain stuffs Upholsterers use to sell. + +p. 202 _Henry the Eighth_. Henry VIII had been put on by Davenant in +December, 1663 with a wealth of pomp and expenditure that became long +proverbial in the theatrical world. An extra large number of supers were +engaged. Downes dilates at quite unusual length upon the magnificence of +the new scenery and costumes. The court scene was especially crowded +with 'the Lords, the Cardinals, the Bishops, the Doctors, Proctors, +Lawyers, Tip-staves.' On New Year's Day, 1664, Pepys went to the Duke's +house and saw 'the so much cried up play of Henry VIII; which tho' I +went with resolution to like it, is so simple a thing, made up of a +great many patches, that, besides the shows and processions in it, there +is nothing in the world good or well done.' On 30 December, 1668, +however, he saw it again, 'and was mightily pleased, better than ever I +expected, with the history and shows of it.' In _The Rehearsal_ (1671), +Act v, I, Bayes says: 'I'l shew you the greatest scene that ever England +saw: I mean not for words, for those I do not value; but for state, +shew, and magnificence. In fine I'll justifie it to be as grand to the +eye every whit, I gad, as that great Scene in Harry the Eight.' + +p. 203 _Joan Sanderson_. See note Vol. I, p. 456: _Joan Sanderson. The +Roundheads_, Act iv, IV (p. 402). + +p. 204 _Haunce in Kelder_. Literally Jack-in-the-Cellar, i.e. the unborn +babe in the womb. cf. Davenant and Dryden's alteration of _The Tempest_, +Act iv, sc. II. '_Stephano_, I long to have a Rowse to her Grace's +Health, and to the _Haunse in Kelder_, or rather Haddock in Kelder, for +I guess it will be half Fish'; and also Dryden's _Amboyna_ (1673), Act +iv, sc. I, where Harman senior remarks at Towerson and Ysabinda's +wedding: 'You Englishmen ... cannot stay for ceremonies; a good honest +Dutchman would have been plying the glass all this while, and drunk to +the hopes of Hans in Kelder till 'twas bedtime.' + +p. 204 an _Apple John_. An apple John is usually explained as being a +kind of apple said to keep two years and to be in perfection when +shrivelled and withered, cf. 2 _Henry IV_, ii, IV, and the context. If +the allusion here is to such a kind of apple Sir Feeble's phrase is +singularly inept, as may perhaps be intended to be the case. + +p. 204 _St. Martin's Trumpery_. The parish of St. Martin-le-Grand was +formerly celebrated for the number of shops vending cheap and imitation +jewellery within its purlieus. 'St. Martin's ware' came to mean a +forgery. + +p. 205 _nick their Inclinations_. To nick = to thwart. A somewhat +uncommon use. Generally, to nick (slang), means 'to arrest', 'to waylay +and stop'. + +p. 207 _the wonderful Salamanca Doctor_. cf. Notes, Vol. II, p. 433. +_silken Doctor. The City Heiress_. Prologue (p. 202); and Vol. II, p. +437. _Salamanca. The City Heiress_, v, V (p. 297). + +p. 208 _the Twire_. cf. Note, Vol. II, p. 440. _Amorous Twire. The +Feign'd Curtezans_, i, II (p. 319). + +p. 210 _gutling_. Guzzling, cf. supra, p. 479. + +p. 210 _Docity_. cf. Note, Vol. II, p. 441. _Docity. The Feign'd +Curtezans_. ii, I (p. 340). + +p. 210 _laid in Lavender_. An old and common phrase for 'to pawn'. +cf. Florio, _Worlds of Wordes_ (1593): 'To lay to pawne, as we say, to +lay in Lavender.' Ben Jonson, _Every Man out of his Humour_, Act iii, +sc. III: 'And a black sattin suit of his own to go before her in; which +suit (for the more sweet'ning) now lies in Lavender.' + +p. 210 _Enter Rag and Landlady_. Mrs. Behn remembered how Don John +treated Dame Gillian, his landlady. _The Chances_, i, IX. + +p. 211 _Judas_. cf. Note, Vol. I, p. 457. _The Roundheads_. v, II +(p. 413). + +p. 211 _flabber_. Fat; puffed out. A very rare adjective, perhaps only +here. The _N.E.D_. quotes this passage with a reference to the adjective +'flaberkin' = puffed out, puffy, and a suggestion that it is akin to the +substantive 'flab' = something thick, broad, fat. + +p. 212 _this old Sir Guy of Warwick_. Sir Guy of Warwick is an old slang +name for a sword; a rapier. The name is taken from the romance (of which +there were many versions) and which proved extraordinarily popular. It +was first licensed 'in prose by Martyn Parker' to Oulton, 24 November, +1640. Smithson's version was first printed in black letter, and a second +edition appeared in 1686. John Shurley's version was published 4to, 1681 +and again 1685. Esdalle, _English Tales and Romances_, enumerates +sixteen versions, editions and abridgements, concluding with 'The +Seventh Edition' 12mo, 1733. + +p. 214 _Enter Bredwel_. Lady Fulbank supplying Gayman with money through +the medium of Bredwel 'drest like a Devil' is reminiscent of incidents +in Dryden's first comedy, _The Wild Gallant_ (1663, and revised version, +1667; 4to, 1667), where Lady Constance employs Setstone, a jeweller, to +accomodate Loveby with ready cash. Loveby is benefited to the tune of +two hundred and fifty pounds, which are filched from the study of old +Lord Nonsuch, who complains in much the same way as Sir Cautious. Loveby +declares it must be the devil who has enriched him, and forthwith +rescues his 'Suit with the Gold Lace at Sleeves from Tribulation.' Owing +to his poverty he has been unable to visit Constance, and when he +appears before her in his gay clothes he excuses his fortnight's absence +by saying, I have been 'out of Town to see a little thing that's fallen +to me upon the Death of a Grandmother.' In Act i of _The Wild Gallant_ +Loveby gives Bibber a humorous description of a garret, which may be +paralleled with Bredwel's 'lewd' picture of Cayman's chamber--_The Lucky +Chance_, Act i, II. It must be allowed that Mrs. Behn bears away the +palm in this witty passage. _The Wild Gallant_ is, by Dryden's own +confession (cf. the First Prologue), founded on a Spanish plot. In the +Preface he says: 'The Plot was not Originally my own: But so alter'd by +me, (whether for better or worse, I know not) that, whoever the Author +was, he could not have challeng'd a Scene of it.' So vast, indeed, is +the library of the Spanish Theatre that it has not as yet been +identified, a task which in view of the author's own statement may well +be deemed nigh impossible. Recent critics have pertinently suggested +that the device of furnishing Loveby with money was the chief hint for +which Dryden is indebted to Spain. The conduct of the amour between +Lady Fulbank and Gayman, founded as it is on Shirley's _The Lady of +Pleasure_, has nothing in common with Otway's intrigue between Beaugard +and Portia--_The Atheist_ (1683)--which owes itself to Scarron's novel, +_The Invisible Mistress_. + +p. 222 _the Gad-Bee's in his Quonundrum_. _Gad-Bee_, vide supra. _The +False Count_, Act ii, II (p. 129), note, p. 481. _Quonundrum_ or +Conundrum. A whim; crotchet; maggot; conceit. The _N.E.D_. quotes this +passage, cf. Jonson's _Volpone_, Act v, sc. II: 'I must ha' my +crotchets! And my conundrums!' _Dic. Cant. Crew_ (1700) has: +'_Conundrums_. Whimms, Maggots and such like.' + +p. 222 _jiggiting_. To jigget = to jig, hop or skip; to jump about, and +to fidget, cf. T. Barker, _The Female Tatler_ (1709), No. 15: 'She has a +languishing Eye, a delicious soft Hand, and two pretty jiggetting Feet.' +cf. _to giggit_. Note, Vol. II, p. 436. _fisking and giggiting_. _The +City Heiress_, ii, II (p. 262). + +p. 223 _we'll toss the Stocking_. This merry old matrimonial custom in +use at the bedding of the happy pair is often alluded to. cf. Pepys, 8 +February, 1663: 'Another story was how Lady Castlemaine, a few days +since, had Mrs. Stewart to an entertainment, and at night begun a +frolique that they two must be married; and married they were, with ring +and all other ceremonies of church service, and ribbands, and a sack +posset in bed and flinging the stocking; but in the close it is said my +Lady Castlemaine, who was the bridegroom, rose, and the King come and +take her place.' + +p. 224 _the Entry_. In the Restoration theatre it was the usual practice +for the curtain to rise at the commencement and fall at the end of the +play, so that the close of each intermediate act was only marked by a +clear stage. There are, however, exceptions to this rule, more +particularly when some elaborate set or Tableau began a new act. A +striking example is Act ii, _The Forc'd Marriage_. + +p. 224 _Mr. Cheek_. Thomas Cheek was a well-known wit and songwriter of +the day. His name not infrequently occurs to the graceful lyrics with +which he supplied the theatre. There are some pretty lines of his, +'Corinna, I excuse thy face', in Act v of Southerne's _The Wives Excuse; +or, Cuckolds make Themselves_ (1692); and a still better song, 'Bright +Cynthia's pow'r divinely great,' which was sung by Leveridge in the +second act of Southerne's _Oroonoko_ (1699), came from his prolific pen. + +p. 225 _Bandstrings_. Strings for fastening his bands or collar which +were in the seventeenth century frequently ornamented with tassels, cf. +Selden, Table-Talk (1689): 'If a man twirls his Bandstrings'; and Wood, +_Ath. Oxon_. (1691): 'He [wore] snakebone bandstrings (or bandstrings +with huge tassels).' + +p. 225 _yare_. Eager; ready; prepared from A.-S. gearo. cf. _Measure for +Measure_, iv, II: 'You shall find me yare'; and _The Tempest_, i, I: +'Cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare!'; also Act v, sc. I: 'Our ship ... is +tight and yare.' Also _Antony and Cleopatra_, v, II: 'yare, yare, good +Iras; quick.' Ray gives it as a Suffolk word, and the 'hear, hear' of +Lowestoft boatmen of to-day is probably a disguised 'yare, yare'. + +p. 226 _Livery and Seisin_. A very common error for the legal term +'livery of seisin' which signifies the delivery of property into the +corporal possession of a person. + +p. 251 _Song. Oh! Love_. Mr. Bullen, who includes this 'impassioned +song' in his _Musa Proterva: Love-Poems of the Restoration_ (1889), has +the following note: 'Did Mrs. Behn write these fine verses?... Henry +Playford, a well-known publisher of music, issued in the same year +[1687] the Fourth Book of _The Theatre of Music_, where "O Love, that +stronger art" appeared with the heading "The Song in Madam Bhen's last +New Play, sung by Mr. Bowman, set by Dr. John Blow." At the end of the +song Playford adds, "These words by Mr. Ousley." ... Mrs. Behn usually +acknowledged her obligations; but she may have been neglectful on the +present occasion. Ousley's claim cannot be lightly set aside.' There is +nothing to add to this, and we can only say that Aphra Behn had such +true lyric genius that 'Oh! Love that stronger art' is in no way beyond +her. A statement which neither disposes of nor invalidates Ousley's +claim based, as this is, upon such strong and definite evidence. + +John Bowman (or Boman) who acted Bredwel had 'as a boy' joined the +Duke's Company about 1673. He was, says Cibber, in the days of Charles +II 'a Youth fam'd for his Voice', and he often sang before the King, no +indifferent judge of music. Bowman's name appears as Peter Santlow in +_The Counterfeit Bridegroom; or, the Defeated Widow_ (1677). He soon +became an actor of considerable merit, and created Tattle in _Love for +Love_ (1695). He is said to have remained on the stage for the +extraordinary period of sixty-five years, and to have played within a +few months of his death. Davies speaks highly of his acting, even in +extreme old age. Oldys (MS. note on Langbaine) refers to him as 'old +Mr. John Bowman'. Cibber, in his _Apology_ (1740), speaks of '_Boman_ +the late Actor of venerable Memory'. + +p. 234 _half Pike_. 'Now _Hist_. A small pike having a shaft of one half +the length of the full-sized one. There were two kinds; one, also called +a _spontoon_, formerly carried by infantry officers; the other, used on +ships for repelling boarders, a boarding-pike,'--_N.E.D_. which quotes +(inter alia) Massinger, &c., _Old Law_ (4to, 1656), Act iii, II: +'Here's a half-pike'; and Froger, _Voyages_ (1698): 'Their ordinary Arms +are the Hanger, the Sagary (assagai), which is a very light Half-Pike.' + +p. 245 _Geometry_. A colloquial term for magic. + +p. 247 _a Sirreverence under your Girdle_. 'To have an M under (or by) +the Girdle' was a proverbial expression = to have a courteous address by +using the titles Mr., Mrs., Miss, &c. cf. Halliwell, _Dictionary Archaic +and Proverhial Words_; 'M. ... to keep the term "Master" out of sight, to +be wanting in proper respect.' cf. _Eastward Hoe_ (1605), Jonson, +Chapman, and Marston, iv, I: 'You might carry an M under your Girdle'; +and not infrequently. Sir- (or Save-) Reverence is an old and very +common colloquialism. It was the most usual form of apology when +mentioning anything likely to offend, or naming a word for which excuse +was thought proper or necessary. Wherefore it came to stand in place of +various words of obscene sound or meaning. There are innumerable +instances from Mandeville (1356); down to recent times, and even +Devonshire dialect to-day. + +p. 248 _the George in White-Fryers_. The George tavern was situated in +Dogwell Court, and some little time after the abolition of the vicious +privileges of Alsatia by the Act 8 and 9 William III, c. 27 (1697), it +was converted into the printing office of William Bowyer, the elder. +These premises were destroyed by fire, 30 January, 1713. Scene II, Act i +of Shadwell's _The Squire of Alsatia_ (1688), is laid 'at the George in +Whitefriars'. + +p. 249 _he cullies_. To cully = to cheat; trick. Although the verb, +which came into use circa 1670, and persisted for a full century, is +rare, the substantive 'a cully' (= a fool) is very common. For the verb, +cf. Pomfret, _Poems_ (1699), _Divine Attributes_: 'Tricks to cully +fools.' + +p. 249 _he pads_. The substantive 'pad' = a path or highway. Bailey +(1730-6) has 'to Pad ... to rob on the road on foot.' cf. Ford's _The +Lady's Trial_ (1639), v, I: 'One can ... pick a pocket, Pad for a cloak +or hat'; and also Cotton Mather's _Discourse on Witchcraft_ (1689), +chap, vii: 'As if you or I should say: We never met with any robbers on +the road, therefore there never was any Padding there.' + +p. 250 _sport a Dye_. To play at dice. 'To sport', generic for 'to +parade' or 'display' was, and is a very common phrase. It is especially +found in public school and university slang. This is a very early +example. + +p. 250 _Teaster_. i.e. a tester--sixpence, cf. Farquhar's _Love and a +Bottle_, (1698), i, I, where Brush says: 'Who throws away a Tester and a +mistress loses sixpence.' + +p. 251 _to top upon him_. To cheat him; to trick him; especially to +cheat with dice. cf. _Dictionary of the Canting Crew_ (by B.E. _gent_., +1696): 'Top. What do you Top upon me? _c_. do you stick a little Wax to +the Dice to keep them together, to get the Chance, you wou'd have? He +thought to have Topt upon me. _c_. he design'd to have Put upon me, +Sharpt me, Bullied me, or Affronted me.' + +p. 251 _we are not half in kelter_. Kelter (or kilter) = order; +condition; spirits. cf. Barrow, Sermons, I, Ser. 6: 'If the organs of +prayer are out of Kelter, or out of time, how can we pray?' _Dictionary +Canting Crew_ (1690), has: 'Out of Kelter, out of sorts.' The phrase is +by no means rare. + +p. 251 _as Trincolo says_. Lady Fulbank mistakes. The remark is made by +Stephano, not Trincalo. Dryden and Davenant's _The Tempest_ (1667), Act +ii, I: '_Ventoso_. My wife's a good old jade ... +... _Stephano_. Would you were both hanged, for putting me in thought of +mine!' + +p. 252 _Ladies of Quality in the Middle Gallery_. The jest lies in the +fact that the middle gallery or eighteenpenny place in a Restoration +theatre was greatly frequented by, if not almost entirely set aside for, +women of the town. cf. Dryden's _Epilogue on the Union_ (1682):-- + + But stay; me thinks some Vizard-Mask I see + Cast out her Lure from the mid Gallery: + About her all the fluttering Sparks are rang'd; + The Noise continues, though the Scene is chang'd: + Now growling, sputt'ring, wauling, such a clutter! + 'Tis just like Puss defendant in a Gutter. + +And again, in his Prologue to Southerne's _The Disappointment_ (1684), +he has:-- + + Last there are some, who take their first degrees + Of lewdness in our middle galleries: + The doughty bullies enter bloody drunk, + Invade and grabble one another's punk. + +p. 257 _Hortensius_. Cato Uticensis is said in 56 B.C. to have ceded his +wife Marcia to Q. Hortensius, and at the death of Hortensius in 50 B.C. +to have taken her back again--Plutarch, _Cato Min_., 25. + +p. 258 _he has a Fly_. A fly = a familiar. From the common old belief +that an attendant demon waited on warlocks and witches in the shape of +a fly, or some similar insect. cf. Jonson's _The Alchemist_, I (1610):-- + + You are mistaken, doctor, + Why he does ask one but for cups and horses, + A rifling fly, none of your great familiars. + +Also Massinger's The _Virgin Martyr_, ii, II:-- + + Courtiers have flies + That buzz all news unto them. + +p. 271 _Snow-hill_. The old Snow Hill, a very narrow and steep highway +between Holborn Bridge and Newgate, was cleared away when Holborn +Viaduct was made in 1867. In the days of Charles II it was famous for +its chapmen, vendors of ballads with rough woodcuts atop. Dorset, +lampooning Edward Howard, has the following lines: + + Whence + Does all this mighty mass of dullness spring, + Which in such loads thou to the stage dost bring? + Is't all thine own? Or hast thou from _Snow Hill_ + The assistance of some ballad-making quill? + +p. 271 _Cuckolds Haven_. This was the name given to a well-known point +in the Thames. It is depicted by Hogarth, _Industry and Idleness_, No. 6. +Nahum Tate has a farce, borrowed from _Eastward Hoe_ and _The Devil's an +Ass_, entitled _Cuckold's Haven; or, An Alderman no Conjuror_ (1685). + +p. 278 _Nice and Flutter_. The two typical Fops of the day. Sir Courtly +Nice, created by Mountford, is the hero of Crowne's excellent comedy, +_Sir Courtly Nice_ (1685). In Act v he sings a little song he has made +on his Mistress: 'As I gaz'd unaware, On a face so fair--.' Sir Fopling +Flutter is the hero of Etheredge's masterpiece, _The Man of Mode; or, +Sir Fopling Flutter_ (1676). Sir Fopling, a portrait of Beau Hewitt, +became proverbial. The role was created by Smith. + +p. 278 _shatterhead_. A rare word for shatter-(scatter) brained. cf. +The Countess of Winchilsea, _Miscellany Poems_ (1713), 'Pri'thee +shatter-headed Fop'. + +p. 278 _Craffey_. Craffy is the foolish son of the Podesta in Crowne's +_City Politicks_ (1683). He is described as 'an impudent, amorous, +pragmatical fop, that pretends to wit and poetry.' He is engaged in +writing _Husbai_ an answer to _Absalom and Achitophel_. + +p. 278 _whiffling_. Fickle; unsteady; uncertain. To whiffle = to +hesitate; waver; prevaricate. cf. Tillotson, _Sermons_, xiv (1671-94): +'Everyman ought to be stedfast ... and not suffer himself to be whiffled +... by an insignificant noise.' 1724 mistakenly reads 'whistling' in +this passage. + +p. 279 _Bulkers_. Whores. cf. Shadwell, _Amorous Widow_ (1690), Act iii: +'Her mother sells fish and she is little better than a bulker.' A bulker +was the lowest class of prostitute. cf. Shadwell's _The Scowerers_, Act +i, I: 'Every one in a petticoat is thy mistress, from humble bulker to +haughty countess.' Bailey (1790) has: 'Bulker, one that would lie down +on a bulk to any one. A common Jilt. A whore.' Swift, _A Tale of a Tub_, +Section II, has: 'They went to new plays on the first night, haunted the +chocolate houses, beat the watch, lay on bulks.' + +p. 279 _Tubs_. A patient suffering from the _lues venerea_ was +disciplined by long and severe sweating in a heated tub, which combined +with strict abstinence was formerly considered an excellent remedy for +the disease. cf. _Measure for Measure_, Act iii, sc. II: 'Troth, sir, +she has eaten up all her beef, and she is herself in the tub.' Also +_Timon of Athens_, iv, III: 'Be a whore still' ... + +p. 279 _Jack Ketch_. cf. _Dict. Canting Crew_ (by B.E. _Gent_, 1690): +'Jack Kitch. The Hangman of that Name, but now all his Successors.' He +exercised his office circa 1663-87. It was Ketch who bungled the +execution of Monmouth. There are innumerable contemporary references +to him. cf. Dryden's Epilogue to _The Duke of Guise_ (1682):-- + + 'Jack Ketch', says I, ''s an excellent physician.' + + + +THE FORC'D MARRIAGE. + + +p. 286 _The Nursery_. Vide note, _little Mrs. Ariell_, Vol. II, +p. 430-1. + +p. 287 _King. Mr. Westwood_. It has been quite mistakenly suggested that +Westwood was Otway's theatrical name. Westwood was a professional actor +of mediocre though useful attainments. He is cast for such roles as Tom +Faithfull in Revet's _The Town Shifts_ (April, 1671); Eumenes in Edward +Howard's _The Woman's Conquest_ (1671); and Battista in Crowne's +_Juliana_ (1671). + +p. 300 _unsuit_. A rare form of 'unsuitable'. + +p. 304 _devoir_. Endeavour; effort. This passage is quoted in the +_N.E.D_. + +p. 305 _The Representation of the Wedding_. This curious tableau is a +striking example of the Elizabethan 'Dumb Show' lingering on to +Restoration days. Somewhat similar, though by no means such complete, +examples may be seen in Orrery's _Henry the Fifth_ (1664), at the +commencement of Act iv, and again in the same author's _The Black +Prince_ (19 October, 1667), Act ii. It must be confessed that Mrs. Behn +has made an excellent use of this technical contrivance. In the +Restoration theatre it was the usual practice for the curtain to rise at +the beginning and fall at the end of the play, so that the close of each +intermediate act was only shown by a clear stage. Although I have marked +Act ii, sc. I of _The Forc'd Marriage_ 'The Palace', I have little doubt +that as the drama was staged Smith and Mrs. Jennings advanced and the +curtain fell behind them hiding the rest of the characters, only to rise +again upon Scene II, 'The Court Gallery'. Philander and Galatea played +upon the apron stage. If they, however, maintained their places in the +tableau, they would have immediately after entered on to the apron, +before the curtain, by way of the proscenium doors. In any case Scene I +must have been acted well forward. + +p. 312 _rencounter_. Meet. + +p. 322 _Phi. Who's there_. The Duke of Buckingham, in _The Rehearsal_ +(1671), Actus ii, scaena V, has a fray burlesquing this passage. + +p. 325 _Phi. Villain, thou ly'st_. cf. _The Rehearsal_, Actus v, scaena +I: _'Lieutenant-General. Villain, thou lyest.'_ + +p. 330 _Campania_. The operations of an army in the field during a +season. cf. Edmund Everard's _Discourses on the Present State of the +Protestant Princes of Europe_ (1679): 'Since the last campania the +Three ... have entred into the entanglement of a War.' + +p. 331 _Pattacoon_. A Spanish dollar value 4s. 8d; vide supra, Vol. I, +_The Rover_ (I), ii, I (p. 36) and note on that passage, p. 442. + +p. 347 _in a dishabit_. This word is excessively rare, if this be not +the unique example. The _N.E.D_. fails to include it. Dishabille had +been introduced from France in the reign of Charles II, and (in its +various forms) became exceedingly popular. It is noticeable that all +other editions, save the first quarto (1671), in this passage read +'in an undress'. + +p. 352 _or smothers her with a pillow_. This is only in the first +quarto. Here in particular, and throughout the whole scene, Mrs. Behn's +reminiscences of _Othello_ are very patent. + +p. 358 _Enter Erminia veil'd_. In Sir William Barclay's _The Lost Lady_ +(folio 1639), a good, if intricate, tragi-comedy, which was received +with applause after the Restoration [Pepys saw it 19 January, 1661, and +again, rather more than a week later, on the 28th of the same month], +and not forgotten by Buckingham when he penned _The Rehearsal_, Milesia +(supposed dead), the wife of Lysicles, appears to her husband as a ghost +--Act v, sc. I. It is very possible that Mrs. Behn hence took her hint +for the phantom of the living Erminia. It is noticeable that generations +after Tobin borrowed not a few incidents from _The Lost Lady_ for _The +Curfew_, produced at Drury Lane, 19 February, 1807, a posthumous play. +In Lodowick Carlell's _The Fool Would be a Favourite; or, The Discreet +Lover_ (12mo, 1657), we have Philantus confronting Lucinda as his own +ghost--(Actus Quintus). + +p. 358 _Tiffany_. A kind of thin silk gauze. cf. Philemon Holland's +_Plinie_, Bk. XI, ch. xxii: 'The invention of that fine silke, tiffanie, +sarcenet, and cypres, which instead of apparell to cover and hide, shew +women naked through them.' All subsequent editions to 4to 1671, read +'taffety' in this passage. + + + +THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON. + + +p. 390 _Lord Marquess of Worcester_. Charles, Marquis of Worcester +(1661-1698), father of Henry Somerset, second Duke of Beaufort, was the +second son [Henry, his elder brother, died young] of Henry Somerset, +first Duke of Beaufort (1629-1700), by Mary, eldest daughter of Arthur, +first Lord Capel. The first Duke of Beaufort, the staunchest of Tories, +was high in favour with Charles I, Charles II, and James II. Charles, +the son and heir, was killed through an accident to his coach in Wales, +July, 1698, and the shock is said to have hastened the old Duke's end. + +p. 391 _acted in France eighty odd times_. The original scenes were +produced by the Italian comedians at the Hotel de Bourgogne, 5 March, +1684. Their popularity did not wane for many a decade. In the fifth +edition (1721) of Gherardi's _Theatre Italien_ there are far fuller +excerpts from the farce than in the first edition (1695). + +p. 392 _who now cannot supply one_. The Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. If +Mrs. Behn's complaint about the public is true, James II was, none the +less, himself a good friend to the stage, and many excellent plays were +produced during his reign. There is, however, considerable evidence that +at this period of strife--religious and political, rebellion and revolt +--things theatrical were very badly affected, and the play-house poorly +attended. + +p. 393 _No Woman without Vizard_. cf. Cibber in his _Apology_ (1740), +ch. viii: 'I remember the ladies were then observed to be decently +afraid of venturing bare-faced to a new comedy, till they had been +assured they might do it, without the risk of an insult to their +modesty: or, if their curiosity were too strong for their patience, they +took care, at least, to save appearances, and rarely came upon the first +days of acting but in masks (then daily worn, and admitted in the pit, +the side-boxes, and gallery) which custom, however, had so many ill +consequences attending it, that it has been abolished these many years.' + +p. 394 _Sice_. Six. The number six at dice. + +p. 394 _it sings Sawny. Saunie's Neglect_. This popular old Scotch song +is to be found, with a tune, on p. 317, Vol. I, D'Urfey's _Wit and +Mirth; or, Pills to Purge Melancholy_ (1719). It had previously been +given in _Wit and Drollery_ (1681). It commences thus:-- + + Sawney was tall and of noble race + And lov'd me better than any eane + But now he ligs by another lass + And Sawney will ne'er be my true love agen. + +Ravenscroft, in _The London Cuckolds_ (1682), Act iii, introduces a +link-boy singing this verse as he passes down the street. + +p. 394 _There's nothing lasting but the Puppets Show_. About this time +there was a famous Puppet Show in Salisbury Change which was so +frequented that the actors were reduced to petition against it. cf. The +Epilogue (spoken by Jevon) to Mountfort's _The Injured Lovers_ (1688), +where the actor tells the audience they must be kind to the poet:-- + + Else to stand by him, every man has swore. + To Salisbury Court we'll hurry you next week + Where not for whores, but coaches you may seek; + And more to plague you, there shall be no Play, + But the Emperor of the Moon for every day. + +Philander and Irene are the conventional names of lovers in the novels +and puppet plays which were fashionable. It is interesting to note that +less than a century after this prologue was first spoken, _The Emperor +of the Moon_ was itself being played at the puppet show in Exeter Change. + +p. 395 _Doctor Baliardo_. The Doctor was one of the leading masks, stock +characters, in Italian impromptu comedy. Doctor Graziano, or Baloardo +Grazian, is a pedant, a philosopher, grammarian, rhetorician, +astronomer, cabalist, a savant of the first water, boasting of his +degree from Bologna, trailing the gown of that august university. +Pompous in phrase and person, his speech is crammed with lawyer's jargon +and quibbles, with distorted Latin and ridiculous metaphors. He is +dressed in black with bands and a huge shovel hat. He wears a black +vizard with wine-stained cheeks. From 1653 until his death at an +advanced age in 1694 the representative of Dr. Baloardo was Angelo +Augustino Lolli. The Doctor's speeches in _Arlequin Empereur dans la +Lune_ (1684), are a mixture of French and Italian. + +p. 395 _Scaramouch_. In the original _Arlequin Empereur dans la Lune_ +Scaramouch is Pierrot. The make-up and costume of Pierrot (Pedrolino) +circa 1673 is thus described: 'La figure blanchie. Serre-tete blanc. +Chapeau blanc. Veste et culotte de toile blanche. Bas blancs. Souliers +blancs a rubans blancs.' It will be seen that he differed little from +his modern representative. Arlechino appeared in 1671 thus: 'Veste et +pantalon a fond jaune clair. Triangles d'etoffes rouges et vertes. +Boutons de cuivre. Bas blancs, Souilers de peau blanche a rubans rouges. +Ceinture de cuir jaune a boucle de cuivre. Masque noir. Serre-tete noir. +Mentonniere noire. Chapeau gris a queue de lievre. Batte. Collerette de +mousseline.' + +Colombine (Mopsophil) in 1683 wore a traditional costume: 'Casaquin +rouge borde de noir. Jupe gris-perle. Souliers rouges bordes de noir. +Manches et collerette de mousseline. Rayon de dentelle et touffe de +rubans rose vif. Tablier blanc garni de dentelles.' + +p. 397 _your trusty Roger_. cf. John Weever's _Ancient funerall +monuments_ (folio, 1631): 'The seruant obeyed and (like a good trusty +Roger) performed his Master's commandment.' Roger stands as a generic +name. + +p. 399 _Lucian's Dialogue_. The famous [Greek: Ikaromenippos hae +hypernephelos]--'Icaromenippus; or, up in the Clouds.' Mrs. Behn no +doubt used the translation of Lucian by Ferrand Spence. 5 Vols. 1684-5. +'Icaromenippus' is given in Vol. III (1684). + +p. 399 _The Man in the Moon. The Man in the Moone_, by Domingo Gonsales +(i.e. Francis Godwin, Bishop of Llandaff, and later of Hereford), 8vo, +1638, and 12mo, 1657. This is a highly diverting work. The Second Edition +(1657) has various cuts amongst which is a frontispiece, that occurs +again at page 29 of the little volume, depicting Gonsales being drawn up +to the lunar world in a machine, not unlike a primitive parachute, to +which are harnessed his 'gansas ... 25 in number, a covey that carried +him along lustily.' + +p. 399 _A Discourse of the World in the Moon_. Cyrano de Bergerac's +[Greek Selaenarchia] _or the Government of the World in the Moon: Done +into English by Tho. St. Serf, Gent_. (16mo, 1659), and another version, +_The Comical History of the States and Empires of the Worlds of the Moon +and Sun, newly Englished by A. Lovell, A.M_. (8vo, 1687). + +p. 400 _Plumeys_. Gallants; beaus. So termed, of course, from their +feathered hats. cf. Dryden's _An Evening's Love_ (1668), Act i, I, where +Jacinta, referring to the two gallants, says: 'I guess 'em to be +Feathers of the _English_ Ambassador's train.' cf. Pope's Sir Plume in +_The Rape of the Lock_. In one of the French scenes of _La Precaution +inutile_, produced 5 March, 1692, by the Italian comedians, Gaufichon +(Act i, I) cries to Leandre: 'Je destine ma soeur a Monsieur le Docteur +Balouard, et trente Plumets comme vous ne la detourneroient pas d'un +aussi bon rencontre.' The French word = a fop is, however, extremely +rare. Plumet more often = un jeune militaire. cf. Panard (1694-1765); +_Oeuvres_ (1803), Tome III, p. 355:-- + + Que les plumets seraient aimables + Si leurs feux etaient plus constants! + +p. 401 _Cannons_. Canons were the immense and exaggerated breeches, +adorned with ribbons and richest lace, which were worn by the fops of +the court of Louis XIV. There is more than one reference to them in +Moliere. Ozell, in his translation of Moliere (1714), writes 'cannions'. +cf. _School for Husbands_, Vol. II, p. 32: 'those great cannions +wherein the legs look as tho' they were in the stocks.' + + Ces grands cannons ou, comme en des entraves, + On met tous les matins ses deux jambes esclaves. + --_Ecole des Maris_, i, I. + +cf. Pepys, 24 May, 1660: 'Up, and made myself as fine as I could, with +the linen stockings on and wide canons that I bought the other day +at Hague.' + +p. 403 _The Count of Gabalis_. The Abbe Montfaucon de Villars (1635-73) +had wittily satirized the philosophy of Paracelsus and the Rosicrucians +and their belief in sylphs and elemental spirits in his _Le Comte de +Gabalis ou Entretiens sur les sciences secretes_ (Paris, 1670), which +was 'done into English by P.A. _Gent_.' (P. Ayres), as _Count Gabalis, +or the Extravagant Mysteries of the Cabalists, exposed in five pleasant +discourses_ (1680), and thus included in Vol. II of Bentley and Magnes, +_Modern Novels_ (1681-93), twelve volumes. It will be remembered that +Pope was indebted to a hint from _Gabalis_ for his aerial machinery in +_The Rape of the Lock_. + +p. 406 _Iredonozar_. This name is from Gonsales' (Bishop Godwin) _The +Man in the Moone_: 'The first ancestor of this great monarch [the +Emperor of the Moon] came out of the earth ... and his name being +Irdonozur, his heirs, unto this day, do all assume unto themselves +that name.' + +p. 407 _Harlequin comes out on the Stage_. This comic scene, _Du +Desespoir_, which affords such opportunity for the mime, although not +given in the first edition of Le _Theatre Italien_, finds a place in the +best edition (1721). The editor has appended the following note: 'Ceux +qui ont vu cette Scene, conviendront que c'est une des plus plaisantes +qu'on ait jamais jouee sur le _Theatre Italien_.' + +p. 408 _a Man that laugh'd to death_. This is the traditional end of +l'unico Aretino. On hearing some ribald jest he is said to have flung +himself back in a chair and expired of sheer merriment. Later days +elucidate his fate by declaring that overbalancing himself he broke +his neck on the marble pavement. Sir Thomas Urquhart, the glorious +translator of Rabelais, is reported to have died of laughter on hearing +of the Restoration of Charles II. + +p. 410 _Boremes_. A corrupt form (perhaps only in these passages) of +bouts-rimes. 'They were a List of Words that rhyme to one another +drawn up by another Hand and given to a Poet, who was to make a Poem +to the Rhymes in the same Order that they were placed on the List.' +--Addison, _Spectator_, No. 60 (1711). + +p. 413 _Flute Doux_. Should be flute-douce. 'The highest pitched variety +of the old flute with a mouthpiece.'--Murray, _N.E.D_. cf. Etheredge, +_The Man of Mode_ (1676), ii, II: 'Nothing but flute doux and French +hoyboys.' + +p. 420 _a Curtain or Hangings_. When several scenes had to be set one +behind another the device of using a curtain or tapestries was common. +cf. Dryden and Lee's _The Duke of Guise_ (1682), Act v, where after four +or five sets 'the scene draws, behind it a traverse'. We then have the +Duke's assassination--he shrieks out some four lines and dies, whereon +'the traverse is drawn'. The traverse was merely a pair of curtains on a +rod. All the grooves were in use for the scenes already set. + +p. 422 _Harpsicals_. A common corruption of harpsicords on the analogy +of virginals. The two 4tos, 1687 and 1688, and the 1711 edition all read +'harpsicals'. 1724 gives 'Harpsicords'. + +p. 435 _Ebula_. The Ebelus was a jewel of great price bestowed upon +Gonzales by Irdonozur. He tells us that: 'to say nothing of the colour +(the Lunar whereof I made mention before, which notwithstanding is so +incredibly beautiful, as a man should travel 1000 Leagues to behold it), +the shape is somewhat flat of the breadth of a _Pistolett_, and twice +the thickness. The one side of this, which is somewhat more Orient of +Colour than the other, being clapt to the bare skin of a man, in any +part of his body, it taketh away from it all weight or ponderousness; +whereas turning the other side it addeth force unto the attractive beams +of the Earth, either in this world or that, and maketh the body to weigh +half so much again as it did before.' + +p. 446 _Guzman of Salamanca_. A Guzman was a common term of abuse. The +first English translation (by James Mabbe) of Aleman's famous romance +is, indeed, entitled _The Rogue_, and it had as running title _The +Spanish Rogue_. There is a novel by George Fidge entitled _The English +Gusman; or, The History of that Unparalleled Thief James Hind_ (1652, +4to). Salamanca had an unsavoury reputation owing to the fictions of +Titus Gates. cf. _The Rover_ (II), Act v: 'Guzman Medicines.' + +p. 446 _Signum Mallis_. This curious phrase, which is both distorted +cant and canine, would appear to mean 'your rogue's phiz'. + +p. 446 _Friskin_. 'A gay lively person.'--Halliwell. + +p. 446 _Jack of Lent_. A puppet set up to be thrown at; in modern +parlance, 'Aunt Sally'. Hence a butt for all. + +p. 451 _Spitchcock'd_. To spitchcock is to split lengthwise, as an eel, +and then broil. + +p. 458 _Stentraphon_. A megaphone. + +p. 460 _They fight at Barriers_. A comic combat between Harlequin and +Scaramouch forms one of the traditional incidents (_Lazzi_), which occur +repeatedly in the Italian and Franco-Italian farces. cf. Dryden's +Epilogue spoken by Hart when _The Silent Woman_ was played before the +University of Oxford in 1673:-- + + Th' _Italian_ Merry-Andrews took their place, + And quite debauch'd the Stage with lewd Grimace: + Instead of Wit and Humours, your Delight + Was there to see two Hobby-horses fight, + Stout _Scaramoucha_ with Rush Lance rode in, + And ran a Tilt at Centaure _Arlequin_. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. III, by Aphra Behn + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN, VOL. 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