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diff --git a/37645.txt b/37645.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2100a50 --- /dev/null +++ b/37645.txt @@ -0,0 +1,17861 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dryden's Works Vol. 3 (of 18), by John Dryden + +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: Dryden's Works Vol. 3 (of 18) + Sir Martin Mar-All; The Tempest; An Evening's Love; Tyrannic Love + +Author: John Dryden + +Editor: Walter Scott + +Release Date: October 6, 2011 [EBook #37645] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRYDEN'S WORKS VOL. 3 (OF 18) *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jane Robins and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + THE + WORKS + OF + JOHN DRYDEN, + + NOW FIRST COLLECTED + _IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES_. + + ILLUSTRATED + + WITH NOTES, + HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND EXPLANATORY, + + AND + + A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, + + BY + + WALTER SCOTT, ESQ. + + VOL. III. + + LONDON: + + PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET, + BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH. + + 1808. + + + + + CONTENTS + + OF + + VOLUME THIRD. + + * * * * * + + + PAGE + + Sir Martin Mar-All, or the Feigned Innocence, a Comedy, 1 + + The Tempest, or the Enchanted Island, a Comedy, 95 + + Preface, 99 + + An Evening's Love, or the Mock Astrologer, a Comedy, 207 + + Epistle Dedicatory to the Duke of Newcastle, 209 + + Preface, 218 + + Tyrannic Love, or the Royal Martyr, a Tragedy, 341 + + Epistle Dedicatory to the Duke of Monmouth + and Buccleuch, 346 + + Preface, 349 + + + + + SIR MARTIN MAR-ALL; + OR, THE + FEIGNED INNOCENCE. + + A + COMEDY. + + + + +SIR MARTIN MAR-ALL. + + +Sir Martin Mar-All is imitated from the French of Moliere: +nor, even with that qualification, is it entirely the work of +Dryden. William Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle, renowned for +his loyalty and gallantry during the civil wars, whether in compliance +with the general custom amongst the men of wit and honour +at the court of Charles, or in order to place himself upon a +level with that voluminous authoress, his Duchess, thought fit to +compose several plays. Amongst other lucubrations, he translated +Moliere's "_L'Etourdi_," and presented it to our author, by +whom it was adapted for the stage. From respect to his Grace, +it was published anonymously until 1697, when it appeared with +Dryden's name. The noble Duke being far more eminent as a soldier +and an equestrian, than as an author, it may be readily allowed, +that what is diverting in the piece has been inserted by our +author. Upon the stage, indeed, the repeated and incorrigible +blunders of Sir Martin must have appeared very diverting, since +the play ran for no less than thirty-three nights, and was four +times acted at court. Nokes, who acted this unfortunate coxcomb +with inimitable humour, is said to have contributed much +to this uncommon success. Moliere's play is followed with considerable +exactness, allowing for such variations as the change of +the scene from Paris to London appeared naturally to demand. +One remarkable difference occurs in the conclusion: Coelie is, in +the original, at length united to her inconsiderate and blundering +admirer. Mrs Millisent, the corresponding character in Sir Martin +Mar-all, rewards, with her hand and fortune, the ingenious +Warner, who has all along laboured to gain her for his master. +The alternative was a little embarrassing; but the decorum of the +French stage would not have permitted the union of a lady with +an intriguing domestic, nor would an English audience have been +less shocked with seeing her bestowed on a fool. Besides, Sir +Martin Mar-all is a more contemptible character than Lelie, who +is less conceited and foolish, than thoughtless and inconsequential. +But although the character of a menial was not quite so low in +the 17th as in the 18th century,--for pages, and the higher class +of attendants in a nobleman's family, were often men of some +birth,--yet there is much grossness in the conduct of the lady, +who, in pure admiration of wit, marries a man, who never thought +of her. + +"_L'Amant Indiscret_," of Quinault, another French play, has +also been consulted by Dryden in furbishing forth the Duke of +Newcastle's labours. In that part of the play, which occasions +its second title of "The feigned Innocence," the reader will hardly +find wit enough to counterbalance the want of delicacy. + +Sir Martin Mar-all was performed by the Duke of York's servants, +probably at the desire of the Duke of Newcastle, as Dryden +was engaged to write for the other house. It seems to have +been acted in 1667, and was published, but without the author's +name, in 1668. + + + + +PROLOGUE. + + + Fools, which each man meets in his dish each day, + Are yet the great regalios of a play; + In which to poets you but just appear, + To prize that highest, which cost them so dear; + Fops in the town more easily will pass; + One story makes a statutable ass: + But such in plays must be much thicker sown, + Like yolks of eggs, a dozen beat to one. + Observing poets all their walks invade, + As men watch woodcocks gliding through a glade: + And when they have enough for comedy, + They stow their several bodies in a pye: + The poet's but the cook to fashion it, + For, gallants, you yourselves have found the wit. + To bid you welcome, would your bounty wrong; + None welcome those who bring their cheer along. + + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + + _Lord_ DARTMOUTH, _in love with Mrs_ CHRISTIAN. + _Mr_ MOODY, _the Swash-buckler_[A]. + _Sir_ MARTIN MAR-ALL, _a fool_. + WARNER, _his man_. + _Sir_ JOHN SWALLOW, _a Kentish knight_. + + _Lady_ DUPE, _the old lady_. + _Mrs_ CHRISTIAN, _her young niece_. + _Mrs_ MILLISENT, _the Swash-buckler's daughter_. + ROSE, _her maid_. + _Mrs_ PREPARATION, _woman to the old lady_. + + _Other Servants, men and women, a Carrier, Bailiffs._ + + +SCENE--_Covent Garden_. + +[Footnote A: _Swash-buckler_ seems to have been a title for those, who +retained the old blunt manners of Queen Elizabeth's time, when sword and +buckler were the common weapons. "Of old, when Englishmen were fenced +with bucklers, as with a rampier, nothing was more common with them, +than to fight about taking the right or left hand on the wall, or upon +any unpleasing countenance: clashing of swords was then daily music in +every street." MORYSON'S _Itinerary_, Part III. Book iv.--The buckler +was disused in the latter end of Queen Elizabeth's reign; but those who +affected the old-fashioned, blunt, boisterous manners, common when that +ancient weapon was used in brawls, were, like old Moody in the play, +still termed _Swash-bucklers_.] + + + + +SIR MARTIN MAR-ALL. + + + + +ACT I. SCENE I. + + +_Enter_ WARNER _solus_. + +_Warn._ Where the devil is this master of mine? he is ever out of the +way, when he should do himself good! This 'tis to serve a coxcomb, one +that has no more brains than just those I carry for him. Well! of all +fops commend me to him for the greatest; he's so opinioned of his own +abilities, that he is ever designing somewhat, and yet he sows his +stratagems so shallow, that every daw can pick them up: From a plotting +fool, the Lord deliver me. Here he comes;--O! it seems his cousin's with +him; then it is not so bad as I imagined. + +_Enter_ Sir MARTIN MAR-ALL, _and_ Lady DUPE. + +_L. Dupe._ I think 'twas well contrived for your access, to lodge her in +the same house with you. + +_Sir Mart._ 'Tis pretty well, I must confess. + +_Warn._ Had he plotted it himself, it had been admirable. + [_Aside._ + +_L. Dupe._ For when her father Moody writ to me to take him lodgings, I +so ordered it, the choice seemed his, not mine. + +_Sir Mart._ I have hit of a thing myself sometimes, when wiser heads +have missed it; but that might be mere luck. + +_L. Dupe._ Fortune does more than wisdom. + +_Sir Mart._ Nay, for that you shall excuse me; I will not value any +man's fortune at a rush, except he have wit and parts to bear him out. +But when do you expect them? + +_L. Dupe._ This tide will bring them from Gravesend. You had best let +your man go, as from me, and wait them at the stairs in Durham-yard. + +_Sir Mart._ Lord, cousin, what a-do is here with your counsel! As though +I could not have thought of that myself. I could find in my heart not to +send him now----stay a little----I could soon find out some other way. + +_Warn._ A minute's stay may lose your business. + +_Sir Mart._ Well, go then; but you must grant, if he had staid, I could +have found a better way--you grant it. + +_L. Dupe._ For once I will not stand with you. [_Exit_ WARNER.] 'Tis a +sweet gentlewoman, this Mrs Millisent, if you can get her. + +_Sir Mart._ Let me alone for plotting. + +_L. Dupe._ But by your favour, sir, 'tis not so easy; her father has +already promised her; and the young gentleman comes up with them: I +partly know the man--but the old squire is humoursome; he's stout, and +plain in speech, and in behaviour; he loves none of the fine town tricks +of breeding, but stands up for the old Elizabeth way in all things. This +we must work upon. + +_Sir Mart._ Sure you think you have to deal with a fool, cousin? + +_Enter_ Mrs CHRISTIAN. + +_L. Dupe._ O my dear niece, I have some business with you. + [_Whispers._ + +_Sir. Mart._ Well, madam, I'll take one turn here in the Piazzas; a +thousand things are hammering in this head; 'tis a fruitful noddle, +though I say it. + [_Exit_ Sir MART. + +_L. Dupe._ Go thy ways for a most conceited fool--but to our business, +cousin: You are young, but I am old, and have had all the +love-experience that a discreet lady ought to have; and, therefore, let +me instruct you about the love this rich lord makes to you. + +_Chr._ You know, madam, he's married, so that we cannot work upon that +ground of matrimony. + +_L. Dupe._ But there are advantages enough for you, if you will be wise, +and follow my advice. + +_Chr._ Madam, my friends left me to your care, therefore I will wholly +follow your counsel, with secrecy and obedience. + +_L. Dupe._ Sweetheart, it shall be the better for you another day: Well +then, this lord that pretends to you is crafty and false, as most men +are, especially in love; therefore, we must be subtle to meet with all +his plots, and have countermines against his works, to blow him up. + +_Chr._ As how, madam? + +_L. Dupe._ Why, girl, he'll make fierce love to you, but you must not +suffer him to ruffle you, or steal a kiss: But you must weep and sigh, +and say you'll tell me on't, and that you will not be used so, and play +the innocent, just like a child, and seem ignorant of all. + +_Chr._ I warrant you I'll be very ignorant, madam. + +_L. Dupe._ And be sure, when he has towsed you, not to appear at supper +that night, that you may fright him. + +_Chr._ No, madam. + +_L. Dupe._ That he may think you have told me. + +_Chr._ Ay, madam. + +_L. Dupe._ And keep your chamber, and say your head aches. + +_Chr._ O most extremely, madam. + +_L. Dupe._ And lock the door, and admit of no night visits: At supper +I'll ask where's my cousin, and, being told you are not well, I'll start +from the table to visit you, desiring his lordship not to incommode +himself; for I will presently wait on him again. + +_Chr._ But how, when you are returned, madam? + +_L. Dupe._ Then somewhat discomposed, I'll say, I doubt the meazles or +small-pox will seize on you, and then the girl is spoiled; saying, poor +thing, her portion is her beauty, and her virtue; and often send to see +how you do, by whispers in my servant's ears, and have those whispers of +your health returned to mine: If his lordship, thereupon, asks how you +do, I will pretend it was some other thing. + +_Chr._ Right, madam, for that will bring him further in suspence. + +_L. Dupe._ A hopeful girl! then will I eat nothing that night, feigning +my grief for you; but keep his lordship company at meal, and seem to +strive to put my passion off, yet shew it still by small mistakes. + +_Chr._ And broken sentences. + +_L. Dupe._ A dainty girl! and after supper visit you again, with promise +to return strait to his lordship; but after I am gone, send an excuse, +that I have given you a cordial, and mean to watch that night in person +with you. + +_Chr._ His lordship then will find the prologue of his trouble, doubting +I have told you of his ruffling. + +_L. Dupe._ And more than that, fearing his father should know of it, and +his wife, who is a termagant lady: But when he finds the coast is clear, +and his late ruffling known to none but you, he will be drunk with joy. + +_Chr._ Finding my simple innocence, which will inflame him more. + +_L. Dupe._ Then what the lion's skin has failed him in, the fox's +subtlety must next supply, and that is just, sweetheart, as I would have +it; for crafty folks treaties are their advantage: especially when his +passion must be satisfied at any rate, and you keep shop to set the +price of love: so now you see the market is your own. + +_Chr._ Truly, madam, this is very rational; and by the blessing of +heaven upon my poor endeavours, I do not doubt to play my part. + +_L. Dupe._ My blessing and my prayers go along with thee. + +_Enter_ Sir JOHN SWALLOW, Mrs MILLISENT, _and_ ROSE, _her maid_. + +_Chr._ I believe, madam, here is the young heiress you expect, and with +her he who is to marry her. + +_L. Dupe._ However I am Sir Martin's friend, I must not seem his enemy. + +_Sir John._ Madam, this fair young lady begs the honour to be known to +you. + +_Mill._ My father made me hope it, madam. + +_L. Dupe._ Sweet lady, I believe you have brought all the freshness of +the country up to town with you. + [_They salute._ + +_Mill._ I came up, madam, as we country-gentlewomen use, at an +Easter-term, to the destruction of tarts and cheese-cakes, to see a new +play, buy a new gown, take a turn in the park, and so down again to +sleep with my fore-fathers. + +_Sir John._ Rather, madam, you are come up to the breaking of many a +poor heart, that, like mine, will languish for you. + +_Chr._ I doubt, madam, you are indisposed with your voyage; will you +please to see the lodgings your father has provided for you? + +_Mill._ To wait upon you, madam. + +_L. Dupe._ This is the door; there is a gentleman will wait you +immediately in your lodging, if he might presume on your commands. + [_In a whisper._ + +_Mill._ You mean Sir Martin Mar-all: I am glad he has entrusted his +passion with so discreet a person. [_In a whisper_.] Sir John, let me +entreat you to stay here, that my father may have intelligence where to +find us. + +_Sir John._ I shall obey you, madam. + [_Exeunt women._ + +_Enter_ Sir MARTIN MAR-ALL. + +_Sir John._ Sir Martin Mar-all! most happily encountered! how long have +you been come to town? + +_Sir Mart._ Some three days since, or thereabouts: But, I thank God, I +am very weary on't already. + +_Sir John._ Why, what's the matter, man? + +_Sir Mart._ My villainous old luck still follows me in gaming; I never +throw the dice out of my hand, but my gold goes after them: If I go to +piquet, though it be but with a novice in't, he will picque and +repicque, and capot me twenty times together: and, which most mads me, I +lose all my sets when I want but one of up. + +_Sir John._ The pleasure of play is lost, when one loses at that +unreasonable rate. + +_Sir Mart._ But I have sworn not to touch either cards or dice this half +year. + +_Sir John._ The oaths of losing gamesters are most minded; they +forswear play as an angry servant does his mistress, because he loves +her but too well. + +_Sir Mart._ But I am now taken up with thoughts of another nature; I am +in love, sir. + +_Sir John._ That's the worst game you could have played at; scarce one +woman in an hundred will play with you upon the square. You venture at +more uncertainty than at a lottery: For you set your heart to a whole +sex of blanks. But is your mistress widow, wife, or maid? + +_Sir Mart._ I can assure you, sir, mine is a maid; the heiress of a +wealthy family, fair to a miracle. + +_Sir John._ Does she accept your service? + +_Sir Mart._ I am the only person in her favour. + +_Enter_ WARNER. + +_Sir John._ Is she of town or country? + +_Warn._ How's this? + [_Aside._ + +_Sir Mart._ She is of Kent, near Canterbury. + +_Warn._ What does he mean? This is his rival. + [_Aside._ + +_Sir John._ Near Canterbury, say you? I have a small estate lies +thereabouts, and more concernments than one besides. + +_Sir Mart._ I'll tell you then. Being at Canterbury, it was my fortune +once, in the Cathedral church-- + +_Warn._ What do you mean, sir, to intrust this man with your affairs +thus? + +_Sir Mart._ Trust him? why, he's a friend of mine. + +_Warn._ No matter for that; hark you, a word, sir. + +_Sir Mart._ Pr'ythee leave fooling; and as I was saying----I was in the +church, when I first saw this fair one. + +_Sir John._ Her name, sir, I beseech you. + +_Warn._ For heaven's sake, sir, have a care. + +_Sir Mart._ Thou art such a coxcomb--Her name's Millisent. + +_Warn._ Now, the pox take you, sir, what do you mean? + +_Sir John._ Millisent, say you? That's the name of my mistress. + +_Sir Mart._ Lord! what luck is that now! well, sir, it happened one of +her gloves fell down; I stooped to take it up; and, in the stooping, +made her a compliment. + +_Warn._ The devil cannot hold him; now will this thick-skulled master of +mine tell the whole story to his rival! + +_Sir Mart._ You'll say, 'twas strange, sir; but at the first glance we +cast on one another, both our hearts leaped within us, our souls met at +our eyes, and with a tickling kind of pain slid to each other's breast, +and in one moment settled as close and warm, as if they long had been +acquainted with their lodging. I followed her somewhat at a distance, +because her father was with her. + +_Warn._ Yet hold, sir. + +_Sir Mart._ Saucy rascal, avoid my sight; must you tutor me?--So, sir, +not to trouble you, I enquired out her father's house, without whose +knowledge I did court the daughter, and both then, and often since +coming to Canterbury, I received many proofs of her kindness to me. + +_Warn._ You had best tell him too, that I am acquainted with her maid, +and manage your love under-hand with her. + +_Sir Mart._ Well remembered, i'faith; I thank thee for that, I had +forgot it, I protest! My valet de chambre, whom you see here with me, +grows me acquainted with her woman. + +_Warn._ O the devil! + +_Sir Mart._ In fine, sir, this maid, being much in her mistress's +favour, so well solicited my cause, that, in fine, I gained from fair +mistress Millisent an assurance of her kindness, and an engagement to +marry none but me. + +_Warn._ 'Tis very well! you have made a fair discovery! + +_Sir John._ A most pleasant relation, I assure you: You are a happy man, +sir! but what occasion brought you now to London? + +_Sir Mart._ That was in expectation to meet my mistress here; she writ +me word from Canterbury, she and her father shortly would be here. + +_Sir John._ She and her father, said you, sir? + +_Warn._ Tell him, sir, for heaven's sake tell him all. + +_Sir Mart._ So I will, sir, without your bidding: Her father and she are +come up already, that's the truth on't, and are to lodge by my +contrivance in yon house; the master of which is a cunning rascal as any +in town----him I have made my own, for I lodge there. + +_Warn._ You do ill, sir, to speak so scandalously of my landlord. + +_Sir Mart._ Peace, or I'll break your fool's head; so, that by his means +I shall have free egress and regress when I please, sir, without her +father's knowledge. + +_Warn._ I am out of patience to hear this. + +_Sir John._ Methinks you might do well, sir, to speak openly to her +father. + +_Sir Mart._ Thank you for that, i'faith; in speaking to old Moody, I may +soon spoil all. + +_Warn._ So, now he has told her father's name, 'tis past recovery. + +_Sir John._ Is her father's name Moody, say you? + +_Sir Mart._ Is he of your acquaintance? + +_Sir John._ Yes, sir; I know him for a man who is too wise for you to +over-reach; I am certain he will never marry his daughter to you. + +_Sir Mart._ Why, there's the jest of it: He shall never know it: 'Tis +but your keeping of my counsel; I'll do as much for you, mun. + +_Sir John._ No, sir, I'll give you better; trouble not yourself about +this lady; her affections are otherwise engaged to my knowledge----hark +in your ear----her father hates a gamester like a devil: I'll keep your +counsel for that too. + +_Sir Mart._ Nay, but this is not all, dear Sir John? + +_Sir John._ This is all, I assure you: Only I will make bold to seek +your mistress out another lodging. + [_Exit_ Sir JOHN. + +_Warn._ Your affairs are now put into an excellent posture, thank your +incomparable discretion; this was a stratagem my shallow wit could never +have reached, to make a confident of my rival. + +_Sir Mart._ I hope thou art not in earnest, man! Is he my rival? + +_Warn._ 'Slife, he has not found it out all this while! well, sir, for a +quick apprehension let you alone. + +_Sir Mart._ How the devil camest thou to know on't? and why the devil +didst thou not tell me on't? + +_Warn._ To the first of your devils I answer, her maid, Rose, told me +on't: To the second, I wish a thousand devils take him that would not +hear me. + +_Sir Mart._ O unparallelled misfortune! + +_Warn._ O unparallelled ignorance! why he left her father at the +water-side, while he led the daughter to her lodging, whither I directed +him; so that if you had not laboured to the contrary, fortune had placed +you in the same house with your mistress, without the least suspicion of +your rival, or of her father. But 'tis well you have satisfied your +talkative humour: I hope you have some new project of your own to set +all right again: For my part, I confess all my designs for you are +wholly ruined; the very foundations of them are blown up. + +_Sir Mart._ Pr'ythee insult not over the destiny of a poor undone lover; +I am punished enough for my indiscretion in my despair, and have nothing +to hope for now but death. + +_Warn._ Death is a bug-word; things are not brought to that extremity; +I'll cast about to save all yet. + +_Enter Lady_ DUPE. + +_L. Dupe._ O, Sir Martin! yonder has been such a stir within; Sir John, +I fear, smokes your design, and by all means would have the old man +remove his lodging; pray God, your man has not played false. + +_Warn._ Like enough I have: I am coxcomb sufficient to do it; my master +knows, that none but such a great calf as I could have done it, such an +overgrown ass, a self-conceited idiot as I. + +_Sir Mart._ Nay, Warner. + +_Warn._ Pray, sir, let me alone: What is it to you if I rail upon +myself? Now could I break my own logger-head. + +_Sir Mart._ Nay, sweet Warner. + +_Warn._ What a good master have I, and I to ruin him: O beast! + +_L. Dupe._ Not to discourage you wholly, Sir Martin, this storm is +partly over. + +_Sir Mart._ As how, dear cousin? + +_L. Dupe._ When I heard Sir John complain of the landlord, I took the +first hint of it, and joined with him, saying, if he were such an one, I +would have nothing to do with him: In short, I rattled him so well, that +Sir John was the first who did desire they might be lodged with me, not +knowing that I was your kinswoman. + +_Sir Mart._ Pox on't, now I think on't, I could have found out this +myself. + +_Warn._ Are you there again, sir? Now, as I have a soul---- + +_Sir Mart._ Mum, good Warner, I did but forget myself a little; I leave +myself wholly to you, and my cousin: get but my mistress for me, and +claim whatever reward you can desire. + +_Warn._ Hope of reward will diligence beget, Find you the money, and +I'll find the wit. + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + + +_Enter Lady_ DUPE, _and Mrs_ CHRISTIAN. + +_Chr._ It happened, madam, just as you said it would; but was he so +concerned for my feigned sickness? + +_L. Dupe._ So much, that Moody and his daughter, our new guests, take +notice of the trouble; but the cause was kept too close for strangers to +divine. + +_Chr._ Heaven grant he be but deep enough in love, and then---- + +_L. Dupe._ And then thou shalt distil him into gold, my girl. Yonder he +comes, I'll not be seen: you know your lesson, child. + [_Exit._ + +_Chr._ I warrant you. + +_Enter Lord_ DARTMOUTH. + +_Lord._ Pretty mistress Christian, how glad am I to meet you thus alone! + +_Chr._ O the father! what will become of me now? + +_Lord._ No harm, I warrant you; but why are you so afraid? + +_Chr._ A poor weak innocent creature as I am, heaven of his mercy, how I +quake and tremble! I have not yet clawed off your last ill usage, and +now I feel my old fit come again; my ears tingle already, and my back +shuts and opens; ay, just so it began before. + +_Lord._ Nay, my sweet mistress, be not so unjust to suspect any new +attempt: I am too penitent for my last fault, so soon to sin again. I +hope you did not tell it to your aunt. + +_Chr._ The more fool I, I did not. + +_Lord._ You never shall repent your goodness to me; but may not I +presume there was some little kindness in it, which moved you to conceal +my crime? + +_Chr._ Methought I would not have mine aunt angry with you, for all this +earthly good; but yet I'll never be alone with you again. + +_Lord._ Pretty innocence! let me sit nearer to you: You do not +understand what love I bear you. I vow it is so pure, my soul's not +sullied with one spot of sin: Were you a sister, or a daughter to me, +with a more holy flame I could not burn. + +_Chr._ Nay, now you speak high words; I cannot understand you. + +_Lord._ The business of my life shall be but how to make your fortune, +and my care and study to advance and see you settled in the world. + +_Chr._ I humbly thank your lordship. + +_Lord._ Thus I would sacrifice my life and fortunes, and in return you +cruelly destroy me. + +_Chr._ I never meant you any harm, not I. + +_Lord._ Then what does this white enemy so near me? [_Touching her hand +gloved._] Sure 'tis your champion, and you arm it thus to bid defiance +to me. + +_Chr._ Nay, fie, my lord! In faith, you are to blame. + [_Pulling her hand away._ + +_Lord._ But I am for fair wars; an enemy must first be searched for +privy armour, ere we do engage. + [_Pulls at her glove._ + +_Chr._ What does your lordship mean? + +_Lord._ I fear you bear some spells and charms about you, and, madam, +that's against the law of arms. + +_Chr._ My aunt charged me not to pull off my glove, for fear of +sun-burning my hand. + +_Lord._ She did well to keep it from your eyes, but I will thus preserve +it. + [_Hugging her bare hand._ + +_Chr._ Why do you crush it so? nay, now you hurt me, nay--if you squeeze +it ne'er so hard--there's nothing to come out on't--fie--is this loving +one--what makes you take your breath so short? + +_Lord._ The devil take me if I can answer her a word; all my senses are +quite employed another way. + +_Chr._ Ne'er stir, my lord, I must cry out. + +_Lord._ Then I must stop your mouth--this ruby for a kiss--that is but +one ruby for another. + +_Chr._ This is worse and worse. + +_Lady within._ Why, niece, where are you, niece? + +_Lord._ Pox of her old mouldy chops. + +_Chr._ Do you hear, my aunt calls? I shall be hanged for staying with +you--let me go, my lord. + [_Gets from him._ + +_Enter Lady_ DUPE. + +_L. Dupe._ My lord! heaven bless me, what makes your lordship here? + +_Lord._ I was just wishing for you, madam; your niece and I have been so +laughing at the blunt humour of your country-gentleman. I must go pass +an hour with him. + [_Exit_ LORD. + +_Chr._ You made a little too much haste; I was just exchanging a kiss +for a ruby. + +_L. Dupe._ No harm done; it will make him come on the faster: Never full +gorge an hawk you mean to fly: The next will be a necklace of pearl, I +warrant you. + +_Chr._ But what must I do next? + +_L. Dupe._ Tell him I grew suspicious, and examined you whether he made +not love; which you denied. Then tell him how my maids and daughters +watch you; so that you tremble when you see his lordship. + +_Chr._ And that your daughters are so envious, that they would raise a +false report to ruin me. + +_L. Dupe._ Therefore you desire his lordship, as he loves you, of which +you are confident, henceforward to forbear his visits to you. + +_Chr._ But how, if he should take me at my word? + +_L. Dupe._ Why, if the worst come to the worst, he leaves you an honest +woman, and there's an end on't: But fear not that; hold out his +messages, and then he'll write, and that is it, my bird, which you must +drive it to: Then all his letters will be such ecstasies, such vows and +promises, which you must answer short and simply, yet still ply out of +them your advantages. + +_Chr._ But, madam! he's in the house, he will not write. + +_L. Dupe._ You fool--he'll write from the next chamber to you; and, +rather than fail, send his page post with it, upon a hobby-horse: Then +grant a meeting, but tell me of it, and I'll prevent him by my being +there; he'll curse me, but I care not. When you are alone, he'll urge +his lust, which answer you with scorn and anger. + +_Chr._ As thus an't please you, madam. What! Does he think I will be +damn'd for him? Defame my family, ruin my name, to satisfy his pleasure? + +_L. Dupe._ Then he will be profane in his arguments, urge nature's laws +to you. + +_Chr._ By'r lady, and those are shrewd arguments; but I am resolved I'll +stop my ears. + +_L. Dupe._ Then when he sees no other thing will move you, he'll sign a +portion to you beforehand: Take hold of that, and then of what you will. + [_Exeunt._ + +SCENE II. + +_Enter Sir_ JOHN, _Mrs_ MILLISENT, _and_ ROSE. + +_Sir John._ Now, fair Mrs Millisent, you see your chamber; your father +will be busy a few minutes, and in the mean time permits me the +happiness to wait on you. + +_Mill._ Methinks you might have chose us better lodgings, this house is +full; the other, we saw first, was more convenient. + +_Sir John._ For you, perhaps, but not for me: You might have met a lover +there, but I a rival. + +_Mill._ What rival? + +_Sir John._ You know Sir Martin, I need not name it to you. + +_Mill._ I know more men besides him. + +_Sir John._ But you love none besides him: Can you deny your affection +to him? + +_Mill._ You have vexed me so, I will not satisfy you. + +_Sir John._ Then I perceive I am not likely to be so much obliged to +you, as I was to him. + +_Mill._ This is romance--I'll not believe a word on't. + +_Sir John._ That's as you please: However 'tis believed, his wit will +not much credit your choice. Madam, do justice to us both; pay his +ingratitude and folly with your scorn; my service with your love. By +this time your father stays for me: I shall be discreet enough to keep +this fault of yours from him; the lawyers wait for us to draw your +jointure; and I would beg your pardon for my absence, but that my crime +is punished in itself. + [_Exit._ + +_Mill._ Could I suspect this usage from a favoured servant! + +_Rose._ First hear Sir Martin, ere you quite condemn him; consider, 'tis +a rival who accused him. + +_Mill._ Speak not a word in his behalf: Methought too, Sir John called +him fool. + +_Rose._ Indeed he has a rare way of acting a fool, and does it so +naturally, it can be scarce distinguished. + +_Mill._ Nay, he has wit enough, that's certain. + +_Rose._ How blind love is! + +_Enter_ WARNER. + +_Mill._ How now, what's his business? I wonder, after such a crime, if +his master has the face to send him to me. + +_Rose._ How durst you venture hither? If either Sir John or my old +master see you!-- + +_Warn._ Pish! they are both gone out. + +_Rose._ They went but to the next street; ten to one but they return and +catch you here. + +_Warn._ Twenty to one I am gone before, and save them a labour. + +_Mill._ What says that fellow to you? What business can he have here? + +_Warn._ Lord, that your ladyship should ask that question, knowing whom +I serve! + +_Mill._ I'll hear nothing from your master. + +_Warn._ Never breathe, but this anger becomes your ladyship most +admirably; but though you'll hear nothing from him, I hope I may speak a +word or two to you from myself, madam. + +_Rose._ 'Twas a sweet prank your master played us: A lady's well helped +up, that trusts her honour in such a person's hands: To tell +also,----and to his rival too. Excuse him if thou canst. + [_Aside._ + +_Warn._ How the devil should I excuse him? Thou know'st he is the +greatest fop in nature. + [_Aside to_ ROSE. + +_Rose._ But my lady does not know it; if she did-- + +_Mill._ I'll have no whispering. + +_Warn._ Alas, madam, I have not the confidence to speak out, unless you +can take mercy on me. + +_Mill._ For what? + +_Warn._ For telling Sir John you loved my master, madam. But sure I +little thought he was his rival. + +_Rose._ The witty rogue has taken it on himself. + [_Aside._ + +_Mill._ Your master then is innocent? + +_Warn._ Why, could your ladyship suspect him guilty? Pray tell me, do +you think him ungrateful, or a fool? + +_Mill._ I think him neither. + +_Warn._ Take it from me, you see not the depth of him. But when he knows +what thoughts you harbour of him, as I am faithful, and must tell him, I +wish he does not take some pet, and leave you. + +_Mill._ Thou art not mad, I hope, to tell him on't; if thou dost, I'll +be sworn, I'll forswear it to him. + +_Warn._ Upon condition then you'll pardon me, I'll see what I can do to +hold my tongue. + +_Mill._ This evening, in St James's Park, I'll meet him. + [_Knock within._ + +_Warn._ He shall not fail you, madam. + +_Rose._ Somebody knocks--Oh, madam, what shall we do! 'Tis Sir John, I +hear his voice. + +_Warn._ What will become of me? + +_Mill._ Step quickly behind that door. + [WARNER _goes out_. + +_To them Sir_ JOHN. + +_Mill._ You've made a quick despatch, sir. + +_Sir John._ We have done nothing, madam; our man of law was not +within--but I must look for some writings. + +_Mill._ Where are they laid? + +_Sir John._ In the portmanteau in the drawing-room. + [_Is going to the door._ + +_Mill._ Pray stay a little, sir. + +_Warn._ [_At the door_.] He must pass just by me; and, if he sees me, I +am but a dead man. + +_Sir John._ Why are you thus concerned? why do you hold me? + +_Mill._ Only a word or two I have to tell you. 'Tis of importance to +you. + +_Sir John._ Give me leave-- + +_Mill._ I must not, before I discover the plot to you. + +_Sir John._ What plot? + +_Mill._ Sir Martin's servant, like a rogue, comes hither to tempt me +from his master, to have met him. + +_Warn._ [_At the door_.] Now, would I had a good bag of gunpowder at my +breech, to ram me into some hole! + +_Mill._ For my part, I was so startled at the message, that I shall +scarcely be myself these two days. + +_Sir John._ Oh that I had the rascal! I would teach him to come upon +such errands. + +_Warn._ Oh for a gentle composition, now! An arm or leg I would give +willingly. + +_Sir John._ What answer did you make the villain? + +_Mill._ I over-reached him clearly, by a promise of an appointment of a +place I named, where I never meant to come: But would have had the +pleasure, first, to tell you how I served him. + +_Sir John._ And then to chide your mean suspicion of me; indeed I +wondered you should love a fool. But where did you appoint to meet him? + +_Mill._ In Grays-Inn walks. + +_Warn._ By this light, she has put the change upon him! O sweet +womankind, how I love thee for that heavenly gift of lying! + +_Sir John._ For this evening I will be his mistress; he shall meet +another Penelope than he suspects. + +_Mill._ But stay not long away. + +_Sir John._ You overjoy me, madam. + [_Exit._ + +_Warn._ [_Entering_.] Is he gone, madam? + +_Mill._ As far as Grays-Inn walks: Now I have time to walk the other +way, and see thy master. + +_Warn._ Rather let him come hither: I have laid a plot, shall send his +rival far enough from watching him, ere long. + +_Mill._ Art thou in earnest? + +_Warn._ 'Tis so designed, fate cannot hinder it. Our landlord, where we +lie, vexed that his lodgings should be so left by Sir John, is resolved +to be revenged, and I have found the way. You'll see the effects on't +presently. + +_Rose._ O heavens! the door opens again, and Sir John is returned once +more. + +_Enter Sir_ JOHN. + +_Sir John._ Half my business was forgot; you did not tell me when you +were to meet him. Ho! what makes this rascal here? + +_Warn._ 'Tis well you're come, sir, else I must have left untold a +message I have for you. + +_Sir John._ Well, what's your business, sirrah? + +_Warn._ We must be private first; 'tis only for your ear. + +_Rose._ I shall admire his wit, if in this plunge he can get off. + +_Warn._ I came hither, sir, by my master's order,---- + +_Sir John._ I'll reward you for it, sirrah, immediately. + +_Warn._ When you know all, I shall deserve it, sir: I came to sound the +virtue of your mistress: which I have done so cunningly, I have at last +obtained the promise of a meeting. But my good master, whom I must +confess more generous than wise, knowing you had a passion for her, is +resolved to quit: And, sir, that you may see how much he loves you, sent +me in private to advise you still to have an eye upon her actions. + +_Sir John._ Take this diamond for thy good news; and give thy master my +acknowledgments. + +_Warn._ Thus the world goes, my masters! he, that will cozen you, +commonly gets your goodwill into the bargain. + [_Aside._ + +_Sir John._ Madam, I am now satisfied of all sides; first of your truth, +then of Sir Martin's friendship. In short, I find you two cheated each +other, both to be true to me. + +_Mill._ Warner is got off as I would wish, and the knight over-reached. + [_Aside._ + +_Enter to them the Landlord, disguised like a carrier._ + +_Rose._ How now! what would this carrier have? + +_Warn._ This is our landlord, whom I told you of; but keep your +countenance. + [_Aside to her._ + +_Land._ I was looking hereaway for one Sir John Swallow; they told me, I +might hear news of him in this house. + +_Sir John._ Friend, I am the man; what have you to say to me? + +_Land._ Nay, faith, sir, I am not so good a schollard to say much, but I +have a letter for you in my pouch, there's plaguy news in it, I can tell +you that. + +_Sir John._ From whom is your letter? + +_Land._ From your old uncle Anthony. + +_Sir John._ Give me your letter quickly. + +_Land._ Nay, soft and fair goes far.--Hold you, hold you. It is not in +this pocket. + +_Sir John._ Search in the other, then; I stand on thorns. + +_Land._ I think I feel it now, this should be who. + +_Sir John._ Pluck it out then. + +_Land._ I'll pluck out my spectacles, and see first. [_Reads_.] To Mr +Paul Grimbard--apprentice to----No, that's not for you, sir--that's for +the son of the brother of the nephew of the cousin of my gossip Dobson. + +_Sir John._ Pr'ythee despatch; dost thou not know the contents on't? + +_Land._ Yes, as well as I do my _pater noster_. + +_Sir John._ Well, what's the business on't? + +_Land._ Nay, no great business; 'tis but only that your worship's +father's dead. + +_Sir John._ My loss is beyond expression! How died he? + +_Land._ He went to bed as well to see to as any man in England; and when +he awakened the next morning-- + +_Sir John._ What then? + +_Land._ He found himself stark dead. + +_Sir John._ Well, I must of necessity take orders for my father's +funeral, and my estate; heaven knows with what regret I leave you, +madam. + +_Mill._ But are you in such haste, sir? I see you take all occasions to +be from me. + +_Sir John._ Dear madam, say not so: a few days will, I hope, return me +to you. + +_To them Sir_ MARTIN. + +Noble Sir Martin, the welcomest man alive! let me embrace my friend. + +_Rose._ How untowardly he returns the salute! Warner will be found out. + [_Aside._ + +_Sir John._ Well, friend! you have obliged me to you eternally. + +_Sir Mart._ How have I obliged you, sir? I would have you to know I +scorn your words; and I would I were hanged if it be not the farthest of +my thoughts. + +_Mill._ O cunning youth, he acts the fool most naturally. Were we alone, +how would we laugh together! + [_Aside._ + +_Sir John._ This is a double generosity, to do me favours, and conceal +'em from me; but honest Warner here has told me all. + +_Sir Mart._ What has the rascal told you? + +_Sir John._ Your plot to try my mistress for me--you understand me, +concerning your appointment. + +_Warn._ Sir, I desire to speak in private with you. + +_Sir Mart._ This impertinent rascal! when I am most busy, I am ever +troubled with him. + +_Warn._ But it concerns you I should speak with you, good sir. + +_Sir Mart._ That's a good one, i'faith; thou knowest breeding well, that +I should whisper with a serving-man before company. + +_Warn._ Remember, sir, last time it had been better---- + +_Sir Mart._ Peace, or I'll make you feel my double fists; If I don't +fright him, the saucy rogue will call me fool before the company. + +_Mill._ That was acted most naturally again. + [_Aside._ + +_Sir John._ [_To him_.] But what needs this dissembling, since you are +resolved to quit my mistress to me? + +_Sir Mart._ I quit my mistress! that's a good one, i'faith. + +_Mill._ Tell him you have forsaken me. + [_Aside._ + +_Sir Mart._ I understand you, madam, you would save a quarrel; but, +i'faith, I'm not so base: I'll see him hanged first. + +_Warn._ Madam, my master is convinced, in prudence he should say so: +But love o'ermasters him; when you are gone perhaps he may. + +_Mill._ I'll go then: Gentlemen, your servant; I see my presence brings +constraint to the company. + [_Exeunt_ MILL. _and_ ROSE. + +_Sir John._ I'm glad she's gone; now we may talk more freely; for if you +have not quitted her, you must. + +_Warn._ Pray, sir, remember yourself: did not you send me of a message +to Sir John, that for his friendship you had left mistress Millisent? + +_Sir Mart._ Why, what an impudent lying rogue art thou! + +_Sir John._ How's this! Has Warner cheated me? + +_Warn._ Do not suspect it in the least: You know, sir, it was not +generous, before a lady, to say he quitted her. + +_Sir John_ O! was that it? + +_Warn._ That was all: Say yes, good Sir John--or I'll swinge you. + [_Aside._ + +_Sir Mart._ Yes, good Sir John. + +_Warn._ That's well; once in his life he has heard good counsel. + +_Sir Mart._ Heigh, heigh, what makes my landlord here? He has put on a +fool's coat, I think, to make us laugh. + +_Warn._ The devil's in him, he's at it again; his folly's like a sore in +a surfeited horse; cure it in one place, and it breaks out in another. + +_Sir Mart._ Honest landlord, i'faith, and what makes you here? + +_Sir John._ Are you acquainted with this honest man? + +_Land._ Take heed what you say, sir. + [_To Sir_ MART. _softly_. + +_Sir Mart._ Take heed what you say, sir! Why? who should I be afraid of? +of you, sir? I say, sir, I know him, sir; and I have reason to know +him, sir; for I am sure I lodge in his house, sir--nay, never think to +terrify me, sir; 'tis my landlord here in Charles-street, sir. + +_Land._ Now I expect to be paid for the news I brought him. + +_Sir John._ Sirrah, did not you tell me that my father-- + +_Land._ Is in very good health, for aught I know, sir; I beseech you to +trouble yourself no farther concerning him. + +_Sir John._ Who set you on to tell this lie? + +_Sir Mart._ Ay, who set you on, sirrah? This was a rogue that would +cozen us both; he thought I did not know him: Down on your marrowbones, +and confess the truth: Have you no tongue, you rascal? + +_Sir John._ Sure 'tis some silenced minister: He grows so fat he cannot +speak. + +_Land._ Why, sir, if you would know, 'twas for your sake I did it. + +_Warn._ For my master's sake! why, you impudent varlet, do you think to +'scape us with a lye? + +_Sir John._ How was it for his sake? + +_Warn._ 'Twas for his own, sir; he heard you were the occasion the lady +lodged not at his house, and so he invented this lie; partly to revenge +himself of you; and partly, I believe, in hope to get her once again +when you were gone. + +_Sir John._ Fetch me a cudgel, pr'ythee. + +_Land._ O good sir! if you beat me, I shall run into oil immediately. + +_Warn._ Hang him, rogue; he's below your anger: I'll maul him for +you--the rogue's so big, I think 'twill ask two days to beat him all +over. + [_Beats him._ + +_Land._ O rogue! O villain, Warner! bid him hold, and I'll confess, +sir. + +_Warn._ Get you gone without replying: must such as you be prating? + [_Beats him out._ + +_Enter_ ROSE. + +_Rose._ Sir, dinner waits you on the table. + +_Sir John._ Friend, will you go along, and take part of a bad repast? + +_Sir Mart._ Thank you; but I am just risen from table. + +_Warn._ Now he might sit with his mistress, and has not the wit to find +it out. + +_Sir John._ You shall be very welcome. + +_Sir Mart._ I have no stomach, sir. + +_Warn._ Get you in with a vengeance: You have a better stomach than you +think you have. + [_Pushes him._ + +_Sir Mart._ This hungry Diego rogue would shame me; he thinks a +gentleman can eat like a serving-man. + +_Sir John._ If you will not, adieu, dear sir; in any thing command me. + [_Exit._ + +_Sir Mart._ Now we are alone: han't I carried matters bravely, sirrah? + +_Warn._ O yes, yes, you deserve sugar-plums; first for your quarrelling +with Sir John; then for discovering your landlord; and, lastly, for +refusing to dine with your mistress. All this is since the last +reckoning was wiped out. + +_Sir Mart._ Then why did my landlord disguise himself, to make a fool of +us? + +_Warn._ You have so little brains, that a penny-worth of butter, melted +under 'em, would set 'em afloat: He put on that disguise, to rid you of +your rival. + +_Sir Mart._ Why was not I worthy to keep your counsel then? + +_Warn._ It had been much at one: You would but have drunk the secret +down, and pissed it out to the next company. + +_Sir Mart._ Well, I find I am a miserable man: I have lost my mistress, +and may thank myself for it. + +_Warn._ You'll not confess you are a fool, I warrant. + +_Sir Mart._ Well, I am a fool, if that will satisfy you: But what am I +the nearer, for being one? + +_Warn._ O yes, much the nearer; for now fortune's bound to provide for +you; as hospitals are built for lame people, because they cannot help +themselves. Well; I have a project in my pate. + +_Sir Mart._ Dear rogue, what is't? + +_Warn._ Excuse me for that: But while 'tis set a working, you would do +well to screw yourself into her father's good opinion. + +_Sir Mart._ If you will not tell me, my mind gives me, I shall discover +it again. + + _Warn._ I'll lay it as far out of your reach as I can possibly. + ----For secrets are edged tools, + And must be kept from children and from fools. + [_Exeunt._ + +ACT III. SCENE I. + + +_Enter_ ROSE _and_ WARNER _meeting_. + +_Rose._ Your worship's most happily encountered. + +_Warn._ Your ladyship's most fortunately met. + +_Rose._ I was going to your lodging. + +_Warn._ My business was to yours. + +_Rose._ I have something to say to you that---- + +_Warn._ I have that to tell you---- + +_Rose._ Understand then---- + +_Warn._ If you'll hear me---- + +_Rose._ I believe that---- + +_Warn._ I am of opinion, that---- + +_Rose._ Pry'thee hold thy peace a little, till I have done. + +_Warn._ Cry you mercy, Mrs Rose; I'll not dispute your ancient privilege +of talking. + +_Rose._ My mistress, knowing Sir John was to be abroad upon business +this afternoon, has asked leave to see a play: And Sir John has so great +a confidence of your master, that he will trust no body with her, but +him. + +_Warn._ If my master gets her out, I warrant her, he shall shew her a +better play than any is at either of the houses--here they are: I'll run +and prepare him to wait upon her. + [_Exit._ + +_Enter old_ MOODY, _Mrs_ MILLISENT, _and Lady_ DUPE. + +_Mill._ My hoods and scarfs there, quickly. + +_L. Dupe._ Send to call a coach there. + +_Mood._ But what kind of man is this Sir Martin, with whom you are to +go? + +_L. Dupe._ A plain down-right country-gentleman, I assure you. + +_Mood._ I like him much the better for it. For I hate one of those you +call a man of the town, one of those empty fellows of mere out-side: +They have nothing of the true old English manliness. + +_Rose._ I confess, sir, a woman's in a bad condition, that has nothing +to trust to, but a peruke above, and a well-trimmed shoe below. + +_To them Sir_ MARTIN. + +_Mill._ This, sir, is Sir John's friend; he is for your humour, sir; he +is no man of the town, but bred up in the old Elizabeth way of +plainness. + +_Sir Mart._ Ay, madam, your ladyship may say your pleasure of me. + +_To them_ WARNER. + +_Warn._ How the devil got he here before me! 'Tis very unlucky I could +not see him first. + +_Sir Mart._ But, as for painting, music, poetry, and the like, I'll say +this of myself---- + +_Warn._ I'll say that for him, my master understands none of them, I +assure you, sir. + +_Sir Mart._ You impudent rascal, hold your tongue: I must rid my hands +of this fellow; the rogue is ever discrediting me before company. + +_Mood._ Never trouble yourself about it, sir, for I like a man that---- + +_Sir Mart._ I know you do, sir, and therefore I hope you'll think never +the worse of me for his prating: For, though I do not boast of my own +good parts---- + +_Warn._ He has none to boast of, upon my faith, sir. + +_Sir Mart._ Give him not the hearing, sir; for, if I may believe my +friends, they have flattered me with an opinion of more---- + +_Warn._ Of more than their flattery can make good, sir; 'tis true he +tells you, they have flattered him; but, in my conscience, he is the +most down-right simple-natured creature in the world. + +_Sir Mart._ I shall consider you hereafter, sirrah; but I am sure in all +companies I pass for a virtuoso. + +_Mood._ Virtuoso! What's that too? is not virtue enough without O so? + +_Sir Mart._ You have reason, sir. + +_Mood._ There he is again too; the town phrase; a great compliment I +wis! _you have reason, sir_; that is, you are no beast, sir. + +_Warn._ A word in private, sir; you mistake this old man; he loves +neither painting, music, nor poetry; yet recover yourself, if you have +any brains. + [_Aside to him._ + +_Sir Mart._ Say you so? I'll bring all about again, I warrant you.--I +beg your pardon a thousand times, sir; I vow to gad I am not master of +any of those perfections; for, in fine, sir, I am wholly ignorant of +painting, music, and poetry; only some rude escapes; but, in fine, they +are such, that, in fine, sir---- + +_Warn._ This is worse than all the rest. + [_Aside._ + +_Mood._ By coxbones, one word more of all this gibberish, and old Madge +shall fly about your ears: What is this, _in fine_, he keeps such a coil +with too? + +_Mill._ 'Tis a phrase _a-la-mode_, sir; and is used in conversation now, +as a whiff of tobacco was formerly in the midst of a discourse for a +thinking while. + +_L. Dupe._ In plain English, _in fine_ is, in the end, sir. + +_Mood._ But, by coxbones, there is no end on't, methinks: If thou wilt +have a foolish word to lard thy lean discourse with, take an English one +when thou speakest English! as, so sir, and then sir, and so forth; 'tis +a more manly kind of nonsense: And a pox of, _in fine_, for I'll hear no +more on't. + +_Warn._ He's gravelled, and I must help him out. [_Aside_.] Madam, +there's a coach at the door, to carry you to the play. + +_Sir Mart._ Which house do you mean to go to? + +_Mill._ The Duke's, I think. + +_Sir Mart._ It is a damn'd play, and has nothing in't. + +_Mill._ Then let us to the king's. + +_Sir Mart._ That's e'en as bad. + +_Warn._ This is past enduring. [_Aside_.] There was an ill play set up, +sir, on the posts; but I can assure you the bills are altered since you +saw them, and now there are two admirable comedies at both houses. + +_Mood._ But my daughter loves serious plays. + +_Warn._ They are tragi-comedies, sir, for both. + +_Sir Mart._ I have heard her say, she loves none but tragedies. + +_Mood._ Where have you heard her say so, sir? + +_Warn._ Sir, you forget yourself; you never saw her in your life before. + +_Sir Mart._ What, not at Canterbury, in the Cathedral church there? This +is the impudentest rascal---- + +_Warn._ Mum, sir. + +_Sir Mart._ Ah Lord, what have I done! As I hope to be saved, sir, it +was before I was aware; for if ever I set eyes on her before this day, I +wish-- + +_Mood._ This fellow is not so much fool, as he makes one believe he is. + +_Mill._ I thought he would be discovered for a wit: This 'tis to +over-act one's part! + [_Aside._ + +_Mood._ Come away, daughter, I will not trust you in his hands; there's +more in it than I imagined. + [_Exeunt_ MOODY, MILL. _Lady_ DUPE, _and_ ROSE. + +_Sir Mart._ Why do you frown upon me so, when you know your looks go to +the heart of me? What have I done besides a little _lapsus linguae_? + +_Warn._ Why, who says you have done any thing? You, a mere innocent! + +_Sir Mart._ As the child that's to be born, in my intentions; if I know +how I have offended myself any more than----in one word---- + +_Warn._ But don't follow me, however: I have nothing to say to you. + +_Sir Mart._ I'll follow you to the world's end, till you forgive me. + +_Warn._ I am resolved to lead you a dance then. + [_Exit running._ + +_Sir Mart._ The rogue has no mercy in him; but I must mollify him with +money. + [_Exit._ + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter Lady_ DUPE. + +_L. Dupe._ Truly, my little cousin's the aptest scholar, and takes out +love's lessons so exactly, that I joy to see it; She has got already the +bond of two thousand pounds sealed for her portion, which I keep for +her; a pretty good beginning: 'Tis true, I believe he has enjoyed her, +and so let him; Mark Antony wooed not at so dear a price. + +_Enter, to her_, CHRISTIAN. + +_Chr._ O madam, I fear I am breeding! + +_L. Dupe._ A taking wench! but 'tis no matter; have you told any body? + +_Chr._ I have been venturing upon your foundations, a little to +dissemble. + +_L. Dupe._ That's a good child; I hope it will thrive with thee, as it +has with me: Heaven has a blessing in store upon our endeavours. + +_Chr._ I feigned myself sick, and kept my bed; my lord, he came to visit +me, and, in the end, I disclosed it to him, in the saddest passion! + +_L. Dupe._ This frightened him, I hope, into a study how to cloak your +disgrace, lest it should have vent to his lady. + +_Chr._ 'Tis true; but all the while I subtly drove it, that he should +name you to me as the fittest instrument of the concealment; but how to +break it to you, strangely does perplex him. He has been seeking you all +over the house; therefore, I'll leave your ladyship, for fear we should +be seen together. + [_Exit._ + +_L. Dupe._ Now I must play my part; Nature, in women, teaches more than +art. + +_Enter Lord._ + +_Lord._ Madam, I have a secret to impart; a sad one too, and have no +friend to trust, but only you. + +_L. Dupe._ Your lady, or your children, sick? + +_Lord._ Not that I know. + +_L. Dupe._ You seem to be in health. + +_Lord._ In body, not in mind. + +_L. Dupe._ Some scruple of conscience, I warrant; my chaplain shall +resolve you. + +_Lord._ Madam, my soul's tormented. + +_L. Dupe._ O take heed of despair, my lord! + +_Lord._ Madam, there is no medicine for this sickness, but only you; +your friendship's my safe haven, else I am lost, and shipwrecked. + +_L. Dupe._ Pray tell me what it is. + +_Lord._ Could I express it by sad sighs and groans, or drown it with +myself in seas of tears, I should be happy,--would, and would not tell. + +_L. Dupe._ Command whatever I can serve you in; I will be faithful still +to all your ends, provided they be just and virtuous. + +_Lord._ That word has stopt me. + +_L. Dupe._ Speak out, my lord, and boldly tell what 'tis. + +_Lord._ Then, in obedience to your commands; your cousin is with child. + +_L. Dupe._ Which cousin? + +_Lord._ Your cousin Christian, here in the house. + +_L. Dupe._ Alas! then she has stolen a marriage, and undone herself: +Some young fellow, on my conscience, that's a beggar; youth will not be +advised: well, I'll never meddle more with girls; one is no more assured +of them, than grooms of mules; they'll strike when least one thinks +on't: But pray, your lordship, what is her choice then for a husband? + +_Lord._ She----is not married, that I know of, madam. + +_L. Dupe._ Not married! 'tis impossible; the girl does sure abuse you. I +know her education has been such, the flesh could not prevail; +therefore, she does abuse you, it must be so. + +_Lord._ Madam, not to abuse you longer, she is with child, and I the +unfortunate man, who did this most unlucky act. + +_L. Dupe._ You! I'll never believe it. + +_Lord._ Madam, 'tis too true; believe it, and be serious how to hide her +shame; I beg it here upon my knees. + +_L. Dupe._ Oh, oh, oh! + [_She faints away._ + +_Lord._ Who's there? Who's there? Help, help, help! + +_Enter two women_, ROSE, _and Mrs_ MILLISENT. + +_1 Wom._ O merciful God, my lady's gone! + +_2 Wom._ Whither? + +_1 Wom._ To heaven; God knows, to heaven! + +_Rose._ Rub her, rub her; fetch warm clothes! + +_2 Wom._ I say, run to the cabinet of quintessence; Gilbert's water! +Gilbert's water! + +_1 Wom._ Now all the good folks of heaven look down upon her! + +_Mill._ Set her in the chair. + +_Rose._ Open her mouth with a dagger or a key; pour, pour! Where's the +spoon? + +_2 Wom._ She stirs! she revives! merciful to us all! what a thing was +this? speak, lady, speak! + +_L. Dupe._ So, so, so! + +_Mill._ Alas! my lord, how came this fit? + +_Lord._ With sorrow, madam. + +_L. Dupe._ Now I am better: Bess, you have not seen me thus? + +_1 Wom._ Heaven forefend that I should live to see you so again. + +_L. Dupe._ Go, go, I'm pretty well; withdraw into the next room; but be +near, I pray, for fear of the worst. [_They go out_.] My lord, sit down +near me, I pray; I'll strive to speak a few words to you, and then to +bed; nearer, my voice is faint. My lord, heaven knows how I have ever +loved you; and is this my reward? Had you none to abuse but me in that +unfortunate fond girl, that you know was dearer to me than my life? This +was not love to her, but an inveterate malice to poor me. Oh, oh! + [_Faints again._ + +_Lord._ Help, help, help! + +_All the women again._ + +_1 Wom._ This fit will carry her: Alas, it is a lechery! + +_2 Wom._ The balsam, the balsam! + +_1 Wom._ No, no, the chemistry oil of rosemary: Hold her up, and give +her air. + +_Mill._ Feel whether she breathes, with your hand before her mouth. + +_Rose._ No, madam, 'tis key-cold. + +_1 Wom._ Look up, dear madam, if you have any hope of salvation! + +_2 Wom._ Hold up your finger, madam, if you have any hope of fraternity. +O the blessed saints, that hear me not, take her mortality to them! + +_L. Dupe._ Enough, so, 'tis well--withdraw, and let me rest a while; +only my dear lord remain. + +_1 Wom._ Pray your lordship keep her from swebbing. + [_Exeunt women._ + +_Lord._ Here humbly, once again, I beg your pardon and your help. + +_L. Dupe._ Heaven forgive you, and I do: Stand up, my lord, and sit +close by me: O this naughty girl! But did your lordship win her soon? + +_Lord._ No, madam, but with much difficulty. + +_L. Dupe._ I'm glad on't; it shewed the girl had some religion in her; +all my precepts were not in vain: But you men are strange tempters; good +my lord, where was this wicked act, then, first committed? + +_Lord._ In an out-room, upon a trunk. + +_L. Dupe._ Poor heart, what shifts love makes! Oh, she does love you +dearly, though to her ruin! And then, what place, my lord? + +_Lord._ An old waste room, with a decayed bed in't. + +_L. Dupe._ Out upon that dark room for deeds of darkness! and that +rotten bed! I wonder it did hold your lordship's vigour: But you dealt +gently with the girl. Well, you shall see I love you: For I will manage +this business to both your advantages, by the assistance of heaven I +will; good my lord, help, lead me out. + [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter_ WARNER _and_ ROSE. + + +_Rose._ A mischief upon all fools! do you think your master has not done +wisely? First to mistake our old man's humour; then to dispraise the +plays; and, lastly, to discover his acquaintance with my mistress: My +old master has taken such a jealousy of him, that he will never admit +him into his sight again. + +_Warn._ Thou makest thyself a greater fool than he, by being angry at +what he cannot help. I have been angry with him too; but these friends +have taken up the quarrel. [_Shews gold_.] Look you, he has sent these +mediators to mitigate your wrath: Here are twenty of them have made a +long voyage from Guinea to kiss your hands: And when the match is made, +there are an hundred more in readiness to be your humble servants. + +_Rose._ Rather than fall out with you, I'll take them; but I confess, it +troubles me to see so loyal a lover have the heart of an emperor, and +yet scarce the brains of a cobler. + +_Warn._ Well, what device can we two beget betwixt us, to separate Sir +John Swallow and thy mistress? + +_Rose._ I cannot on the sudden tell; but I hate him worse than foul +weather without a coach. + +_Warn._ Then I'll see if my project be luckier than thine. Where are the +papers concerning the jointure I have heard you speak of? + +_Rose._ They lie within, in three great bags; some twenty reams of paper +in each bundle, with six lines in a sheet: But there is a little paper +where all the business lies. + +_Warn._ Where is it? Canst thou help me to it? + +_Rose._ By good chance he gave it to my custody, before he set out for +London. You came in good time; here it is, I was carrying it to him; +just now he sent for it. + +_Warn._ So, this I will secure in my pocket; when thou art asked for it, +make two or three bad faces, and say it was left behind: By this means, +he must of necessity leave the town, to see for it in Kent. + +_Enter Sir_ JOHN, _Sir_ MARTIN, _and Mrs_ MILLISENT. + +_Sir John._ 'Tis no matter, though the old man be suspicious; I knew the +story all beforehand; and since then you have fully satisfied me of your +true friendship to me.--Where are the writings? + [_To_ ROSE. + +_Rose._ Sir, I beg your pardon; I thought I had put them up amongst my +lady's things, and it seems, in my haste, I quite forgot them, and left +them at Canterbury. + +_Sir John._ This is horribly unlucky! where do you think you left them? + +_Rose._ Upon the great box in my lady's chamber; they are safe enough, +I'm sure. + +_Sir John._ It must be so--I must take post immediately: Madam, for some +few days I must be absent; and to confirm you, friend, how much I trust +you, I leave the dearest pledge I have on earth, my mistress, to your +care. + +_Mill._ If you loved me, you would not take all occasions to leave me +thus. + +_Warn._ [_Aside_.] Do, go to Kent, and when you come again, here they +are ready for you. + [_Shews the paper._ + +_Sir Mart._ What's that you have in your hand there, sirrah? + +_Warn._ Pox, what ill luck was this! what shall I say? + +_Sir Mart._ Sometimes you have tongue enough; what, are you silent? + +_Warn._ 'Tis an account, sir, of what money you have lost since you came +to town. + +_Sir Mart._ I am very glad on't: Now I'll make you all see the severity +of my fortune----give me the paper. + +_Warn._ Heaven! what does he mean to do? It is not fair writ out, sir. + +_Sir John._ Besides, I am in haste; another time, sir---- + +_Sir Mart._ Pray, oblige me, sir; 'tis but one minute: All people love +to be pitied in their misfortunes, and so do I: will you produce it, +sirrah? + +_Warn._ Dear master! + +_Sir Mart._ Dear rascal! am I master, or you, you rogue? + +_Warn._ Hold yet, sir, and let me read it: You cannot read my hand. + +_Sir Mart._ This is ever his way to be disparaging me; but I'll let you +see, sirrah, that I can read your hand better than you yourself can. + +_Warn._ You'll repent it; there's a trick in't, sir. + +_Sir Mart._ Is there so, sirrah? but I'll bring you out of all your +tricks with a vengeance to you----[_Reads_.] How now! What's this? A +true particular of the estate of Sir John Swallow, knight, lying and +situate in, &c. + +_Sir John._ This is the very paper I had lost: I'm very glad on't; +[_Takes the paper_.] it has saved me a most unwelcome journey--but I +will not thank you for the courtesy, which now I find you never did +intend me--this is confederacy, I smoke it now--come, madam, let me wait +on you to your father. + +_Mill._ Well, of a witty man, this was the foolishest part that ever I +beheld. + [_Exeunt Sir_ JOHN, MILLISENT, _and_ ROSE. + +_Sir Mart._ I am a fool, I must confess it; and I am the most miserable +one without thy help--but yet it was such a mistake as any man might +have made. + +_Warn._ No doubt of it. + +_Sir Mart._ Pr'ythee chide me! this indifference of thine wounds me to +the heart. + +_Warn._ I care not. + +_Sir Mart._ Wilt thou not help me for this once? + +_Warn._ Sir, I kiss your hands, I have other business. + +_Sir Mart._ Dear Warner! + +_Warn._ I am inflexible. + +_Sir Mart._ Then I am resolved I'll kill myself. + +_Warn._ You are master of your own body. + +_Sir Mart._ Will you let me damn my soul? + +_Warn._ At your pleasure, as the devil and you can agree about it. + +_Sir Mart._ D'ye see, the point's ready? Will you do nothing to save my +life? + +_Warn._ Not in the least. + +_Sir Mart._ Farewell, hard-hearted Warner. + +_Warn._ Adieu, soft-headed Sir Martin. + +_Sir Mart._ Is it possible? + +_Warn._ Why don't you despatch, sir? why all these preambles? + +_Sir Mart._ I'll see thee hanged first: I know thou wouldst have me +killed, to get my clothes. + +_Warn._ I knew it was but a copy of your countenance; people in this age +are not so apt to kill themselves. + +_Sir Mart._ Here are yet ten pieces in my pocket; take 'em, and let's be +friends. + +_Warn._ You know the easiness of my nature, and that makes you work upon +it so. Well, sir, for this once I cast an eye of pity on you; but I must +have ten more in hand, before I can stir a foot. + +_Sir Mart._ As I am a true gamester, I have lost all but these; but if +thou'lt lend me them, I'll give 'em thee again. + +_Warn._ I'll rather trust you till to-morrow; Once more look up, I bid +you hope the best. Why should your folly make your love miscarry, Since +men first play the fools, and then they marry? + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + +_Enter Sir_ MARTIN MAR-ALL _and_ WARNER. + + +_Sir Mart._ But are they to be married this day in private, say you? + +_Warn._ 'Tis so concluded, sir, I dare assure you. + +_Sir Mart._ But why so soon, and in private? + +_Warn._ So soon, to prevent the designs upon her; and in private, to +save the effusion of Christian money. + +_Sir Mart._ It strikes to my heart already; in fine, I am a dead man. +Warner-- + +_Warn._ Well, go your ways, I'll try what may be done. Look if he will +stir now; your rival and the old man will see us together; we are just +below the window. + +_Sir Mart._ Thou canst not do it. + +_Warn._ On the peril of my twenty pieces be it. + +_Sir Mart._ But I have found a way to help thee out; trust to my wit but +once. + +_Warn._ Name your wit, or think you have the +least grain of wit but once more, and I'll lay it down for ever. + +_Sir Mart._ You are a saucy, masterly companion; and so I leave you. + [_Exit._ + +_Warn._ Help, help, good people! Murder, Murder! + +_Enter Sir_ JOHN _and_ MOODY. + +_Sir John and Mood._ How now, what's the matter? + +_Warn._ I am abused, I am beaten, I am lamed for ever. + +_Mood._ Who has used thee so? + +_Warn._ The rogue, my master. + +_Sir John._ What was the offence? + +_Warn._ A trifle, just nothing. + +_Sir John._ That's very strange. + +_Warn._ It was for telling him he lost too much at play: I meant him +nothing but well, heaven knows; and he, in a cursed damned humour, would +needs revenge his losses upon me: and kicked me, took away my money, and +turned me off; but, if I take it at his hands,-- + +_Mood._ By cox-nowns, it was an ill-natured part; nay, I thought no +better would come on't, when I heard him at his vow to gads, and in +fines. + +_Warn._ But, if I live, I'll cry quittance with him: he had engaged me +to get Mrs Millisent, your daughter, for him; but if I do not all I can +to make her hate him! a great booby, an overgrown oaf, a conceited +Bartlemew-- + +_Sir John._ Pr'ythee leave off thy choler, and hear me a little: I have +had a great mind to thee a long time; if thou thinkest my service better +than his, from this minute I entertain thee. + +_Warn._ With all my heart, sir; and so much the rather, that I might +spite him with it. This was the most propitious fate-- + +_Mood._ Propitious! and fate! what a damned scanderbag rogue art thou, +to talk at this rate? Hark you, sirrah, one word more of this gibberish, +and I'll set you packing from your new service: I'll have neither +propitious nor fate come within my doors. + +_Sir John._ Nay, pray, father-- + +_Warn._ Good old sir, be pacified; I was pouring out a little of the +dregs that I had left in me of my former service, and now they are gone, +my stomach's clear of them. + +_Sir John._ This fellow is come in a happy hour; for now, sir, you and I +may go to prepare the licence, and, in the mean time, he may have an eye +upon your daughter. + +_Warn._ If you please I'll wait upon her till she's ready, and then +bring her to what church you shall appoint. + +_Mood._ But, friend, you'll find she'll hang an arse, and be very loath +to come along with you, and therefore I had best stay behind and bring +her myself. + +_Warn._ I warrant you I have a trick for that, sir: She knows nothing of +my being turned away; so I'll come to her as from Sir Martin, and, under +pretence of carrying her to him, conduct her to you. + +_Sir John._ My better angel-- + +_Mood._ By the mass, 'twas well thought on; well, son, go you before, +I'll speak but one word for a dish or two at dinner, and follow you to +the licence office. Sirrah, stay you here, till my return. + [_Exeunt Sir_ JOHN _and_ MOODY. + +_Warn._ Was there ever such a lucky rogue as I? I had always a good +opinion of my wit, but could never think I had so much as now I find. I +have now gained an opportunity to carry away Mrs Millisent, for my +master to get his mistress by means of his rival, to receive all his +happiness, where he could expect nothing but misery: After this exploit, +I will have Lilly draw me in the habit of a hero, with a laurel on my +temples, and an inscription below it; _This is Warner, the flower of +serving-men._ + +_Enter Messenger._ + +_Mess._ Pray do me the favour to help me to the speech of Mr Moody. + +_Warn._ What's your business? + +_Mess._ I have a letter to deliver to him. + +_Warn._ Here he comes, you may deliver it yourself to him. + +_Enter_ MOODY. + +_Mess._ Sir, a gentleman met me at the corner of the next street, and +bid me give this into your own hands. + +_Mood._ Stay, friend, till I have read it. + +_Mess._ He told me, sir, it required no answer. + [_Exit Mess._ + +Mood. reads. _Sir, permit me, though a stranger, to give you counsel; +some young gallants have had intelligence, that this day you intend +privately to marry your daughter, the rich heiress; and, in fine, above +twenty of them have dispersed themselves to watch her going out: +Therefore, put it off, if you will avoid mischief, and be advised by_ + +_Your unknown servant._ + +_Mood._ By the mackings, I thought there was no good in't, when I saw +_in fine_ there; there are some Papishes, I'll warrant, that lie in wait +for my daughter; or else they are no Englishmen, but some of your French +Outalian-rogues; I owe him thanks, however, this unknown friend of mine, +that told me on't. Warner, no wedding to-day, Warner. + +_Warn._ Why, what's the matter, sir? + +_Mood._ I say no more, but some wiser than some; I'll keep my daughter +at home this afternoon, and a fig for all these Outalians. + [_Exit_ MOODY. + +_Warn._ So, here's another trick of fortune, as unexpected for bad, as +the other was for good. Nothing vexes me, but that I had made my game +cock-sure, and then to be back-gammoned: It must needs be the devil that +writ this letter; he owed my master a spite, and has paid him to the +purpose: And here he comes as merry too! he little thinks what +misfortune has befallen him; and, for my part, I am ashamed to tell him. + +_Enter Sir_ MARTIN _laughing_. + +_Sir Mart._ Warner, such a jest, Warner! + [_Laughs again._ + +_Warn._ What a murrain is the matter, sir? Where lies this jest that +tickles you? + +_Sir Mart._ Let me laugh out my laugh, and I'll tell thee. + [_Laughs again._ + +_Warn._ I wish you may have cause for all this mirth. + +_Sir Mart._ Hereafter, Warner, be it known unto thee, I will endure no +more to be thy May-game: Thou shalt no more dare to tell me, I spoil thy +projects, and discover thy designs; for I have played such a prize, +without thy help, of my own mother-wit, ('tis true I am hasty sometimes, +and so do harm; but when I have a mind to shew myself, there's no man in +England, though I say't, comes near me as to point of imagination) I'll +make thee acknowledge I have laid a plot that has a soul in't. + +_Warn._ Pray, sir, keep me no longer in ignorance of this rare +invention. + +_Sir Mart._ Know then, Warner, that, when I left thee, I was possessed +with a terrible fear, that my mistress should be married: Well, thought +I to myself,--and mustering up all the forces of my wit, I did produce +such a stratagem! + +_Warn._ But what was it? + +_Sir Mart._ I feigned a letter as from an unknown friend to Moody, +wherein I gave him to understand, that if his daughter went out this +afternoon, she would infallibly be snapped by some young fellows that +lay in wait for her. + +_Warn._ Very good. + +_Sir Mart._ That which follows is yet better; for he I sent assures me, +that in that very nick of time my letter came, her father was just +sending her abroad with a very foolish rascally fellow, that was with +him. + +_Warn._ And did you perform all this, a'God's name? Could you do this +wonderful miracle without giving your soul to the devil for his help? + +_Sir Mart._ I tell thee, man, I did it; and it was done by the help of +no devil, but this familiar of my own brain; how long would it have been +ere thou couldst have thought of such a project? Martin said to his +man, _Who's the fool now?_ + +_Warn._ Who's the fool! why, who uses to be the fool? he that ever was +since I knew him, and ever will be so. + +_Sir Mart._ What a pox! I think thou art grown envious; not one word in +my commendation? + +_Warn._ Faith, sir, my skill is too little to praise you as you deserve; +but if you would have it according to my poor ability, you are one that +had a knock in your cradle, a conceited lack-wit, a designing ass, a +hair-brained fop, a confounded busy-brain, with an eternal windmill in +it; this, in short, sir, is the contents of your panegyric. + +_Sir Mart._ But what the devil have I done, to set you thus against me? + +_Warn._ Only this, sir: I was the foolish rascally fellow that was with +Moody, and your worship was he to whom I was to bring his daughter. + +_Sir Mart._ But how could I know this? I am no witch. + +_Warn._ No, I'll be sworn for you, you are no conjurer. Will you go, +sir? + +_Sir Mart._ Will you hear my justification? + +_Warn._ Shall I see the back of you? speak not a word in your defence. + [_Shoves him._ + +_Sir Mart._ This is the strangest luck now---- + [_Exit._ + +_Warn._ I'm resolved this devil of his shall never weary me; I will +overcome him, I will invent something that shall stand good in spite of +his folly. Let me see-- + +_Enter Lord._ + +_Lord._ Here he is--I must venture on him, for the tyranny of this old +lady is unsupportable; since I have made her my confident, there passes +not an hour, but she passes a pull at my purse-strings; I shall be +ruined if I do not quit myself of her suddenly: I find, now, by sad +experience, that a mistress is much more chargeable than a wife, and +after a little time too, grows full as dull and insignificant.--Mr +Warner! have you a mind to do yourself a courtesy, and me another? + +_Warn._ I think, my lord, the question need not be much disputed, for I +have always had a great service for your lordship, and some little +kindness for myself. + +_Lord._ What if you should propose mistress Christian as a wife to your +master? You know he's never like to compass t'other. + +_Warn._ I cannot tell that, my lord. + +_Lord._ Five hundred pounds are yours at the day of marriage. + +_Warn._ Five hundred pounds! 'tis true, the temptation is very sweet and +powerful; the devil, I confess, has done his part, and many a good +murder and treason have been committed at a cheaper rate; but yet---- + +_Lord._ What yet? + +_Warn._ To confess the truth, I am resolved to bestow my master upon +that other lady (as difficult as your lordship thinks it), for the +honour of my wit is engaged in it: Will it not be the same to your +lordship, were she married to any other? + +_Lord._ The very same. + +_Warn._ Come, my lord, not to dissemble with you any longer, I know +where it is that your shoe wrings you: I have observed something in the +house, betwixt some parties that shall be nameless: And know, that you +have been taking up linen at a much dearer rate, than you might have had +it in any draper's in town. + +_Lord._ I see I have not danced in a net before you. + +_Warn._ As for that old lady, whom hell confound, she is the greatest +jilt in nature; cheat is her study; all her joy to cozen; she loves +nothing but herself; and draws all lines to that corrupted centre. + +_Lord._ I have found her out, though late: First, I'll undertake I ne'er +enjoyed her niece under the rate of five hundred pounds a-time; never +was woman's flesh held up so high: Every night I find out for a new +maidenhead, and she has sold it me as often as ever Mother Temple, +Bennet, or Gifford, have put off boiled capons for quails and +partridges. + +_Warn._ This is nothing to what bills you'll have when she's brought to +bed, after her hard bargain, as they call it; then crammed capons, +pea-hens, chickens in the grease, pottages, and fricasees, wine from +Shatling, and La-fronds, with New River, clearer by sixpence the pound +than ever God Almighty made it; then midwife--dry nurse--wet nurse--and +all the rest of their accomplices, with cradle, baby-clouts, and +bearing-clothes--possets, caudles, broths, jellies, and gravies; and +behind all these, glisters, suppositers, and a barbarous apothecary's +bill, more inhuman than a tailor's. + +_Lord._ I sweat to think on't. + +_Warn._ Well, my lord, cheer up! I have found a way to rid you of it +all; within a short time you shall know more; yonder appears a young +lady, whom I must needs speak with; please you go in, and prepare the +old lady and your mistress. + +_Lord._ Good luck, and five hundred pounds attend thee. + [_Exit._ + +_Enter_ MILLISENT _and_ ROSE _above_. + +_Mill._ I am resolved I'll never marry him. + +_Rose._ So far you are right, madam. + +_Mill._ But how to hinder it, I cannot possibly tell; for my father +presses me to it, and will take no denial: Would I knew some way! + +_Warn._ Madam, I'll teach you the very nearest, for I have just now +found it out. + +_Rose._ Are you there, Mr Littleplot? + +_Warn._ Studying to deserve thee, Rose, by my diligence for thy lady; I +stand here, methinks, just like a wooden Mercury, to point her out the +way to matrimony. + +_Rose._ Or, serving-man like, ready to carry up the hot meat for your +master, and then to fall upon the cold yourself. + +_Warn._ I know not what you call the cold, but I believe I shall find +warm work on't: In the first place, then, I must acquaint you, that I +have seemingly put off my master, and entered myself into Sir John's +service. + +_Mill._ Most excellent! + +_Warn._ And thereupon, but base---- + +_Enter_ MOODY. + +_Mill._ Something he would tell us; but see what luck's here! + +_Mood._ How now, sirrah? Are you so great there already? + +_Mill._ I find my father's jealous of him still. + +_Warn._ Sir, I was only teaching my young lady a new song, and if you +please you shall hear it. + + SINGS. + + _Make ready, fair lady, to-night, + And stand at the door below; + For I will be there, + To receive you with care, + And to your true love you shall go._ + +_Mood._ Ods bobs, this is very pretty. + +_Mill._ Ay, so is the lady's answer too, if I could but hit on't. + + SINGS. + + _And when the stars twinkle so bright, + Then down to the door will I creep; + To my love will I fly, + E'er the jealous can spy, + And leave my old daddy asleep._ + +_Mood._ Bodikins, I like not that so well, to cozen her old father: it +may be my own case another time. + +_Rose._ Oh, madam! yonder's your persecutor returned. + +_Enter Sir_ JOHN. + +_Mill._ I'll into my chamber, to avoid the sight of him as long as I +can. Lord! that my old doating father should throw me away upon such an +_ignoramus_, and deny me to such a wit as Sir Martin. + [_Exeunt_ MILL. _and_ ROSE _from above_. + +_Mood._ O, son! here has been the most villainous tragedy against you. + +_Sir John._ What tragedy? Has there been any blood shed since I went? + +_Mood._ No blood shed: but, as I told you, a most damnable tragedy. + +_Warn._ A tragedy! I'll be hanged if he does not mean a stratagem. + +_Mood._ Jack sauce! if I say it is a tragedy, it shall be a tragedy, in +spite of you; teach your grandam how to piss. What! I hope I am old +enough to spout English with you, sir. + +_Sir John._ But what was the reason you came not after me? + +_Mood._ 'Twas well I did not; I'll promise you, there were those would +have made bold with mistress Bride; and if she had stirred out of doors, +there were whipsters abroad, i'faith, padders of maidenheads, that would +have trussed her up, and picked the lock of her affections, ere a man +could have said, what's this? But, by good luck, I had warning of it by +a friend's letter. + +_Sir John._ The remedy for all such dangers is easy; you may send for a +parson, and have the business despatched at home. + +_Mood._ A match, i'faith; do you provide a _domine_, and I'll go tell +her our resolutions, and hearten her up against the day of battle. + [_Exit._ + +_Sir John._ Now I think on't, this letter must needs come from Sir +Martin; a plot of his, upon my life, to hinder our marriage. + +_Warn._ I see, sir, you'll still mistake him for a wit; but I'm much +deceived, if that letter came not from another hand. + +_Sir John._ From whom, I pr'ythee? + +_Warn._ Nay, for that you shall excuse me, sir; I do not love to make a +breach between persons, that are to be so near related. + +_Sir John._ Thou seemest to imply, that my mistress was in the plot. + +_Warn._ Can you make a doubt on't? Do you not know she ever loved him, +and can you hope she has so soon forsaken him? You may make yourself +miserable, if you please, by such a marriage. + +_Sir John._ When she is once mine, her virtue will secure me. + +_Warn._ Her virtue! + +_Sir John._ What, do you make a mock on't? + +_Warn._ Not I; I assure you, sir, I think it no such jesting matter. + +_Sir John._ Why, is she not honest? + +_Warn._ Yes, in my conscience is she; for Sir Martin's tongue's no +slander. + +_Sir John._ But does he say to the contrary? + +_Warn._ If one would believe him,--which, for my part, I do not,--he has +in a manner confessed it to me. + +_Sir John._ Hell and damnation! + +_Warn._ Courage, sir, never vex yourself; I'll warrant you 'tis all a +lie. + +_Sir John._ But, how shall I be sure 'tis so? + +_Warn._ When you are married, you'll soon make trial, whether she be a +maid or no. + +_Sir John._ I do not love to make that experiment at my own cost. + +_Warn._ Then you must never marry. + +_Sir John._ Ay, but they have so many tricks to cheat a man, which are +entailed from mother to daughter through all generations; there's no +keeping a lock for that door, for which every one has a key. + +_Warn._ As, for example, their drawing up their breaths, with--oh! you +hurt me, can you be so cruel? then, the next day, she steals a visit to +her lover, that did you the courtesy beforehand, and in private tells +him how she cozened you; twenty to one but she takes out another lesson +with him, to practise the next night. + +_Sir John._ All this while, miserable I must be their May-game! + +_Warn._ 'Tis well, if you escape so; for commonly he strikes in with +you, and becomes your friend. + +_Sir John._ Deliver me from such a friend, that stays behind with my +wife, when I gird on my sword to go abroad. + +_Warn._ Ay, there's your man, sir; besides, he will be sure to watch +your haunts, and tell her of them, that, if occasion be, she may have +wherewithal to recriminate: at least she will seem to be jealous of you; +and who would suspect a jealous wife? + +_Sir John._ All manner of ways I am most miserable. + +_Warn._ But, if she be not a maid when you marry her, she may make a +good wife afterwards; 'tis but imagining you have taken such a man's +widow. + +_Sir John._ If that were all; but the man will come and claim her again. + +_Warn._ Examples have been frequent of those that have been wanton, and +yet afterwards take up. + +_Sir John._ Ay, the same thing they took up before. + +_Warn._ The truth is, an honest simple girl, that's ignorant of all +things, maketh the best matrimony: There is such pleasure in instructing +her; the best is, there's not one dunce in all the sex; such a one with +a good fortune---- + +_Sir John._ Ay, but where is she, Warner? + +_Warn._ Near enough, but that you are too far engaged. + +_Sir John._ Engaged to one, that hath given me the earnest of cuckoldom +beforehand! + +_Warn._ What think you then of Mrs Christian here in the house? There's +five thousand pounds, and a better penny. + +_Sir John._ Ay, but is she fool enough? + +_Warn._ She's none of the wise virgins, I can assure you. + +_Sir John._ Dear Warner, step into the next room, and inveigle her out +this way, that I may speak to her. + +_Warn._ Remember, above all things, you keep this wooing secret; if it +takes the least wind, old Moody will be sure to hinder it. + +_Sir John._ Dost thou think I shall get her aunt's consent? + +_Warn._ Leave that to me. + [_Exit_ WARN. + +_Sir John._ How happy a man shall I be, if I can but compass this! and +what a precipice have I avoided! then the revenge, too, is so sweet, to +steal a wife under her father's nose, and leave 'em in the lurch, who +have abused me; well, such a servant as this Warner is a jewel. + +_Enter_ WARNER _and Mrs_ CHRISTIAN _to him_. + +_Warn._ There she is, sir; now I'll go to prepare her aunt. + [_Exit._ + +_Sir John._ Sweet mistress, I am come to wait upon you. + +_Chr._ Truly you are too good to wait on me. + +_Sir John._ And in the condition of a suitor. + +_Chr._ As how, forsooth? + +_Sir John._ To be so happy as to marry you. + +_Chr._ O Lord, I would not marry for any thing! + +_Sir John._ Why? 'tis the honest end of womankind. + +_Chr._ Twenty years hence, forsooth: I would not lie in bed with a man +for a world, their beards will so prickle one. + +_Sir John._ Pah!--What an innocent girl it is, and very child! I like a +colt that never yet was backed; for so I shall make her what I list, and +mould her as I will. Lord! her innocence makes me laugh my cheeks all +wet. [_Aside_.]--Sweet lady---- + +_Chr._ I'm but a gentlewoman, forsooth. + +_Sir John._ Well then, sweet mistress, if I get your friends' consent, +shall I have yours? + +_Chr._ My old lady may do what she will, forsooth; but by my truly, I +hope she will have more care of me, than to marry me yet. Lord bless me, +what should I do with a husband? + +_Sir John._ Well, sweetheart, then instead of wooing you, I must woo my +old lady. + +_Chr._ Indeed, gentleman, my old lady is married already: Cry you mercy, +forsooth, I think you are a knight. + +_Sir John._ Happy in that title, only to make you a lady. + +_Chr._ Believe me, Mr Knight, I would not be a lady; it makes folks +proud, and so humorous, and so ill huswifes, forsooth. + +_Sir John._ Pah!--she's a baby, the simplest thing that ever yet I knew: +the happiest man I shall be in the world; for should I have my wish, it +should be to keep school, and teach the bigger girls, and here, in one, +my wish it is absolved. + +_Enter Lady_ DUPE. + +_L. Dupe._ By your leave, sir: I hope this noble knight will make you +happy, and you make him-- + +_Chr._ What should I make him? + [_Sighing._ + +_L. Dupe._ Marry, you shall make him happy in a good wife. + +_Chr._ I will not marry, madam. + +_L. Dupe._ You fool! + +_Sir John._ Pray, madam, let me speak with you; on my soul, 'tis the +prettiest innocentest thing in the world. + +_L. Dupe._ Indeed, sir, she knows little besides her work, and her +prayers; but I'll talk with the fool. + +_Sir John._ Deal gently with her, dear madam. + +_L. Dupe._ Come, Christian, will you not marry this noble knight? + +_Chr._ Ye--ye--yes---- + [_Sobbingly._ + +_L. Dupe._ Sir, it shall be to night. + +_Sir John._ This innocence is a dowry beyond all price. + [_Exeunt old Lady and Mrs_ CHRISTIAN. + +_Enter Sir_ MARTIN _to Sir_ JOHN, _musing_. + +_Sir Mart._ You are very melancholy, methinks, sir. + +_Sir John._ You are mistaken, sir. + +_Sir Mart._ You may dissemble as you please, but Mrs Millisent lies at +the bottom of your heart. + +_Sir John._ My heart, I assure you, has no room for so poor a trifle. + +_Sir Mart._ Sure you think to wheedle me; would you have me imagine you +do not love her? + +_Sir John._ Love her! why should you think me such a sot? love a +prostitute, an infamous person! + +_Sir Mart._ Fair and soft, good Sir John. + +_Sir John._ You see, I am no very obstinate rival, I leave the field +free to you: Go on, sir, and pursue your good fortune, and be as happy +as such a common creature can make thee. + +_Sir Mart._ This is Hebrew-Greek to me; but I must tell you, sir, I will +not suffer my divinity to be prophaned by such a tongue as yours. + +_Sir John._ Believe it; whate'er I say, I can quote my author for. + +_Sir Mart._ Then, sir, whoever told it you, lied in his throat, d'ye +see, and deeper than that, d'ye see, in his stomach, and his guts, d'ye +see: Tell me she's a common person! he's a son of a whore that said it, +and I'll make him eat his words, though he spoke 'em in a privy-house. + +_Sir John._ What if Warner told me so? I hope you'll grant him to be a +competent judge in such a business. + +_Sir Mart._ Did that precious rascal say it?--Now I think on't, I'll not +believe you: In fine, sir, I'll hold you an even wager he denies it. + +_Sir John._ I'll lay you ten to one, he justifies it to your face. + +_Sir Mart._ I'll make him give up the ghost under my fist, if he does +not deny it. + +_Sir John._ I'll cut off his ears upon the spot, if he does not stand +to't. + +_Enter_ WARNER. + +_Sir Mart._ Here he comes, in pudding-time, to resolve the +question:--Come hither, you lying varlet, hold up your hand at the bar +of justice, and answer me to what I shall demand. + +_Warn._ What-a-goodjer is the matter, sir? + +_Sir Mart._ Thou spawn of the old serpent, fruitful in nothing but in +lies! + +_Warn._ A very fair beginning this. + +_Sir Mart._ Didst thou dare to cast thy venom upon such a saint as Mrs +Millisent, to traduce her virtue, and say it was adulterate? + +_Warn._ Not guilty, my lord. + +_Sir Mart._ I told you so. + +_Sir John._ How, Mr Rascal! have you forgot what you said but now +concerning Sir Martin and Mrs Millisent? I'll stop the lie down your +throat, if you dare deny it. + +_Sir Mart._ Say you so! are you there again, i'faith? + +_Warn._ Pray pacify yourself, sir; 'twas a plot of my own devising. + [_Aside._ + +_Sir Mart._ Leave off your winking and your pinking, with a hose-pox +t'ye. I'll understand none of it; tell me in plain English the truth of +the business; for an you were my own brother, you should pay for it: +Belie my mistress! what a pox, d'ye think I have no sense of honour? + +_Warn._ What the devil's the matter w'ye? Either be at quiet, or I'll +resolve to take my heels, and begone. + +_Sir Mart._ Stop thief, there! what, did you think to 'scape the hand of +justice? [_Lays hold on him_.] The best on't is, sirrah, your heels are +not altogether so nimble as your tongue. + [_Beats him._ + +_Warn._ Help! Murder! Murder! + +_Sir Mart._ Confess, you rogue, then. + +_Warn._ Hold your hands, I think the devil's in you,--I tell you 'tis a +device of mine. + +_Sir Mart._ And have you no body to devise it on but my mistress, the +very map of innocence? + +_Sir John._ Moderate your anger, good Sir Martin. + +_Sir Mart._ By your patience, sir, I'll chastise him abundantly. + +_Sir John._ That's a little too much, sir, by your favour, to beat him +in my presence. + +_Sir Mart._ That's a good one, i'faith; your presence shall hinder me +from beating my own servant? + +_Warn._ O traitor to all sense and reason! he's going to discover that +too. + +_Sir Mart._ An I had a mind to beat him to mummy, he's my own, I hope. + +_Sir John._ At present, I must tell you, he's mine, sir. + +_Sir Mart._ Hey-day! here's fine juggling! + +_Warn._ Stop yet, sir, you are just upon the brink of a precipice. + [_Aside._ + +_Sir Mart._ What is't thou mean'st now?--O Lord! my mind misgives me, I +have done some fault; but would I were hanged if I can find it out. + [_Aside._ + +_Warn._ There's no making him understand me. + +_Sir Mart._ Pox on't, come what will, I'll not be faced down with a lie; +I say, he is my man. + +_Sir John._ Pray remember yourself better; did not you turn him away for +some fault lately, and laid a livery of black and blue on his back, +before he went? + +_Sir Mart._ The devil of any fault, or any black and blue, that I +remember: Either the rascal put some trick upon you, or you would upon +me. + +_Sir John._ O ho, then it seems the cudgelling and turning away were +pure invention; I am glad I understand it. + +_Sir Mart._ In fine, its all so damned a lie---- + +_Warn._ Alas! he has forgot it, sir; good wits, you know, have bad +memories. + +_Sir John._ No, no, sir, that shall not serve your turn; you may return +when you please to your old master; I give you a fair discharge, and a +glad man I am to be so rid of you: Were you thereabouts, i'faith? What a +snake I had entertained in my bosom! Fare you well, sir, and lay your +next plot better between you, I advise you. + [_Exit Sir_ JOHN. + +_Warn._ Lord, sir, how you stand, as you were nipped i'the head! Have +you done any new piece of folly, that makes you look so like an ass? + +_Sir Mart._ Here's three pieces of gold yet, if I had the heart to offer +it thee. + [_Holds the gold afar off, trembling._ + +_Warn._ Noble sir, what have I done to deserve so great a liberality? I +confess, if you had beaten me for my own fault, if you had utterly +destroyed all my projects, then it might have been expected, that ten or +twenty pieces should have been offered by way of recompence or +satisfaction. + +_Sir Mart._ Nay, an you be so full of your flouts, your friend and +servant; who the devil could tell the meaning of your signs and tokens, +an you go to that? + +_Warn._ You are no ass then? + +_Sir Mart._ Well, sir, to do you service, d'ye see, I am an ass in a +fair way; will that satisfy you? + +_Warn._ For this once produce those three pieces; I am contented to +receive that inconsiderable tribute; or make 'em six, and I'll take the +fault upon myself. + +_Sir Mart._ Are we friends then? If we are, let me advise you---- + +_Warn._ Yet advising! + +_Sir Mart._ For no harm, good Warner: But pray next time make me of your +council, let me enter into the business, instruct me in every point, and +then if I discover all, I am resolved to give over affairs, and retire +from the world. + +_Warn._ Agreed, it shall be so; but let us now take breath a while, then +on again. For though we had the worst, those heats are past; We'll whip +and spur, and fetch him up at last. + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + + +_Enter Lord, Lady_ DUPE, _Mistress_ CHRISTIAN, ROSE, _and_ WARNER. + +_Lord._ Your promise is admirably made good to me, that Sir John Swallow +should be this night married to Mrs Christian; instead of that, he is +more deeply engaged than ever with old Moody. + +_Warn._ I cannot help those ebbs and flows of fortune. + +_L. Dupe._ I am sure my niece suffers most in't; he's come off to her +with a cold compliment of a mistake in his mistress's virtue, which he +has now found out, by your master's folly, to be a plot of yours to +separate them. + +_Chr._ To be forsaken, when a woman has given her consent! + +_Lord._ 'Tis the same scorn, as to have a town rendered up, and +afterwards slighted. + +_Rose._ You are a sweet youth, sir, to use my lady so, when she depended +on you; is this the faith of a valet de chambre? I would be ashamed to +be such a dishonour to my profession; it will reflect upon us in time; +we shall be ruined by your good example. + +_Warn._ As how, my dear lady embassadress? + +_Rose._ Why, they say the women govern their ladies, and you govern us: +So if you play fast and loose, not a gallant will bribe us for our good +wills; the gentle guinea will now go to the ordinary, which used as duly +to steal into our hands at the stair-foot, as into Mr Doctor's at +parting. + +_Lord._ Night's come, and I expect your promise. + +_L. Dupe._ Fail with me if you think good, sir. + +_Chr._ I give no more time. + +_Rose._ And if my mistress go to bed a maid to-night-- + +_Warn._ Hey-day! you are dealing with me, as they do with the bankrupts, +call in all your debts together; there's no possibility of payment at +this rate, but I'll coin for you all as fast as I can, I assure you. + +_L. Dupe._ But you must not think to pay us with false money, as you +have done hitherto. + +_Rose._ Leave off your mountebank tricks with us, and fall to your +business in good earnest. + +_Warn._ Faith, and I will, Rose; for, to confess the truth, I am a kind +of mountebank; I have but one cure for all your diseases, that is, that +my master may marry Mrs Millisent, for then Sir John Swallow will of +himself return to Mrs Christian. + +_Lord._ He says true, and therefore we must all be +helping to that design. + +_Warn._ I'll put you upon something, give me but a thinking time. In the +first place, get a warrant and bailiffs to arrest Sir John Swallow upon +a promise of marriage to Mrs Christian. + +_Lord._ Very good. + +_L. Dupe._ We'll all swear it. + +_Warn._ I never doubted your ladyship in the least, madam--for the rest +we will consider hereafter. + +_Lord._ Leave this to us. + [_Ex. Lord, Lady_ DUPE, _and_ CHR. + +_Warn._ Rose, where's thy lady? + +_Mill._ [_above_.] What have you to say to her? + +_Warn._ Only to tell you, madam, I am going forward in the great work of +projection. + +_Mill._ I know not whether you will deserve my thanks when the work's +done. + +_Warn._ Madam, I hope you are not become indifferent to my master? + +_Mill._ If he should prove a fool, after all your crying up his wit, I +shall be a miserable woman. + +_Warn._ A fool! that were a good jest, i'faith: but how comes your +ladyship to suspect it? + +_Rose._ I have heard, madam, your greatest wits have ever a touch of +madness and extravagance in them, so perhaps has he. + +_Warn._ There's nothing more distant than wit and folly; yet, like east +and west, they may meet in a point, and produce actions that are but a +hair's breadth from one another. + +_Rose._ I'll undertake he has wit enough to make one laugh at him a +whole day together: He's a most comical person. + +_Mill._ For all this, I will not swear he is no fool; he has still +discovered all your plots. + +_Warn._ O, madam, that's the common fate of your Machiavelians; they +draw their designs so subtle, that their very fineness breaks them. + +_Mill._ However, I'm resolved to be on the sure side: I will have +certain proof of his wit, before I marry him. + +_Warn._ Madam, I'll give you one; he wears his clothes like a great +sloven, and that's a sure sign of wit; he neglects his outward parts; +besides, he speaks French, sings, dances, plays upon the lute. + +_Mill._ Does he do all this, say you? + +_Warn._ Most divinely, madam. + +_Mill._ I ask no more; then let him give me a serenade immediately; but +let him stand in view, I'll not be cheated. + +_Warn._ He shall do't, madam:---But how, the devil knows; for he sings +like a screech-owl, and never touched the lute. + [_Aside._ + +_Mill._ You'll see't performed? + +_Warn._ Now I think on't, madam, this will but retard our enterprise. + +_Mill._ Either let him do't, or see me no more. + +_Warn._ Well, it shall be done, madam; but where's your father? will not +he overhear it? + +_Mill._ As good hap is, he's below stairs, talking with a seaman, that +has brought him news from the East Indies. + +_Warn._ What concernment can he have there? + +_Mill._ He had a bastard son there, whom he loved extremely: but not +having any news from him these many years, concluded him dead; this son +he expects within these three days. + +_Warn._ When did he see him last? + +_Mill._ Not since he was seven years old. + +_Warn._ A sudden thought comes into my head, to make him appear before +his time; let my master pass for him, and by that means he may come into +the house unsuspected by your father, or his rival. + +_Mill._ According as he performs his serenade, I'll talk with +you----make haste----I must retire a little. + [_Exit_ MILL. _from above_. + +_Rose._ I'll instruct him most rarely, he shall never be found out; but, +in the mean time, what wilt thou do for a serenade? + +_Warn._ Faith, I am a little non-plus'd on the sudden; but a warm +consolation from thy lips, Rose, would set my wits a working again. + +_Rose._ Adieu, Warner. + [_Exit._ + +_Warn._ Inhuman Rose, adieu!--Blockhead Warner, into what a premunire +hast thou brought thyself; this 'tis to be so forward to promise for +another;--but to be godfather to a fool, to promise and vow he should do +any thing like a Christian-- + +_Enter Sir_ MARTIN MAR-ALL. + +_Sir Mart._ Why, how now, bully, in a brown study? For my good, I +warrant it; there's five shillings for thee. What! we must encourage +good wits sometimes. + +_Warn._ Hang your white pelf: Sure, sir, by your largess, you mistake me +for Martin Parker, the ballad-maker; your covetousness has offended my +muse, and quite dulled her. + +_Sir Mart._ How angry the poor devil is! In fine, thou art as choleric +as a cook by a fireside. + +_Warn._ I am overheated, like a gun, with continual discharging my wit: +'Slife, sir, I have rarified my brains for you, 'till they are +evaporated; but come, sir, do something for yourself like a man: I have +engaged you shall give to your mistress a serenade in your proper +person: I'll borrow a lute for you. + +_Sir Mart._ I'll warrant thee I'll do't, man. + +_Warn._ You never learned: I do not think you know one stop. + +_Sir Mart._ 'Tis no matter for that, sir; I'll play as fast as I can, +and never stop at all. + +_Warn._ Go to, you are an invincible fool, I see. Get up into your +window, and set two candles by you; take my landlord's lute in your +hand, and fumble on it, and make grimaces with your mouth, as if you +sung; in the mean time, I'll play in the next room in the dark, and +consequently your mistress, who will come to her balcony over against +you, will think it to be you; and at the end of every tune, I'll ring +the bell that hangs between your chamber and mine, that you may know +when to have done. + +_Sir Mart._ Why, this is fair play now, to tell a man beforehand what he +must do; gramercy, i'faith, boy, now if I fail thee---- + +_Warn._ About your business, then, your mistress and her maid appear +already: I'll give you the sign with the bell when I am prepared, for my +lute is at hand in the barber's shop. + [_Exeunt._ + +_Enter Mrs_ MILLISENT, _and_ ROSE, _with a candle by them, above._ + +_Rose._ We shall have rare music. + +_Mill._ I wish it prove so; for I suspect the knight can neither play +nor sing. + +_Rose._ But if he does, you are bound to pay the music, madam. + +_Mill._ I'll not believe it, except both my ears and eyes are witnesses. + +_Rose._ But 'tis night, madam, and you cannot see him; yet he may play +admirably in the dark. + +_Mill._ Where's my father? + +_Rose._ You need not fear him, he's still employed with that same +seaman; and I have set Mrs Christian to watch their discourse, that, +betwixt her and me, Warner may have wherewithal to instruct his master. + +_Mill._ But yet there's fear my father will find out the plot. + +_Rose._ Not in the least; for my old lady has provided two rare +disguises for the master and the man. + +_Mill._ Peace, I hear them beginning to tune the lute. + +_Rose._ And see, madam, where your true knight, Sir Martin, is placed +yonder like Apollo, with his lute in his hand, and his rays about his +head. [SIR MARTIN _appears at the adverse window; a tune is played; when +it is done_, WARNER _rings, and_ SIR MARTIN _holds_.] Did he not play +most excellently, Madam? + +_Mill._ He played well, and yet methinks he held his lute but +untowardly. + +_Rose._ Dear madam, peace; now for the song. + + THE SONG[B]. + + _Blind love, to this hour, + Had never, like me, a slave under his power: + Then blest be the dart, + That he threw at my heart; + For nothing can prove + A joy so great, as to be wounded with love. + + My days, and my nights, + Are filled to the purpose with sorrows and frights: + From my heart still I sigh, + And my eyes are ne'er dry; + So that, Cupid be praised, + I am to the top of love's happiness raised. + + My soul's all on fire, + So that I have the pleasure to doat and desire: + Such a pretty soft pain, + That it tickles each vein; + 'Tis the dream of a smart, + Which makes me breathe short, when it beats at my heart. + + Sometimes, in a pet, + When I am despised, I my freedom would get: + But strait a sweet smile + Does my anger beguile, + And my heart does recal; + Then the more I do struggle, the lower I fall. + + Heaven does not impart + Such a grace, as to love, unto every ones heart; + For many may wish + To be wounded, and miss: + Then blest be loves fire, + And more blest her eyes, that first taught me desire._ + +_The Song being done_, WARNER _rings again; but_ SIR MARTIN _continues +fumbling, and gazing on his Mistress_. + +_Mill._ A pretty humoured song. But stay, methinks he plays and sings +still, and yet we cannot hear him. Play louder, Sir Martin, that we may +have the fruits on't. + +_Warn._ [_Peeping_.] Death! this abominable fool will spoil all again. +Damn him, he stands making his grimaces yonder; and he looks so +earnestly upon his mistress, that he hears me not. + [_Rings again._ + +_Mill._ Ah, ah! have I found you out, sir? Now, as I live and breathe, +this is pleasant: Rose, his man played and sung for him, and he, it +seems, did not know when he should give over. + [MILL. _and_ ROSE _laugh_. + +_Warn._ They have found him out, and laugh yonder, as if they would +split their sides. Why, Mr Fool, Oaf, Coxcomb, will you hear none of +your names? + +_Mill._ Sir Martin, Sir Martin, take your man's counsel, and keep time +with your music. + +_Sir Mart._ [_Peeping_.] Hah! What do you say, madam? How does your +ladyship like my music? + +_Mill._ O most heavenly! just like the harmony of the spheres, that is +to be admired, and never heard. + +_Warn._ You have ruined all, by your not leaving off in time. + +_Sir Mart._ What the devil would you have a man do, when my hand is in! +Well, o'my conscience, I think there is a fate upon me. + [_Noise within._ + +_Mill._ Look, Rose, what's the matter. + +_Rose._ 'Tis Sir John Swallow pursued by the bailiffs, madam, according +to our plot; it seems they have dogged him thus late to his lodging. + +_Mill._ That's well; for though I begin not to love this fool, yet I am +glad I shall be rid of him. + [_Exeunt_ MILL. _and_ ROSE. + +_Enter_ SIR JOHN, _pursued by three Bailiffs over the stage_. + +_Sir Mart._ Now I'll redeem all again; my mistress shall see my valour, +I'm resolved on't. Villains, rogues, poltroons! What? three upon one? In +fine, I'll be with you immediately. + [_Exit._ + +_Warn._ Why, sir, are you stark mad? have you no grain of sense left? +He's gone! now is he as earnest in the quarrel as Cokes among the +puppets; 'tis to no purpose whatever I do for him. + [_Exit_ WARNER. + +_Enter_ SIR JOHN _and_ SIR MARTIN (_having driven away the Bailiffs_); +SIR MARTIN _flourishes his sword_. + +Sir Mart. _Victoria! Victoria!_ What heart, Sir John? you have received +no harm, I hope? + +_Sir John._ Not the least; I thank you, sir, for your timely assistance, +which I will requite with any thing, but the resigning of my mistress. +Dear Sir Martin, a goodnight. + +_Sir Mart._ Pray let me wait upon you in, Sir John. + +_Sir John._ I can find my way to Mrs Millisent without you, sir, I thank +you. + +_Sir Mart._ But pray, what were you to be arrested for? + +_Sir John._ I know no more than you; some little debts perhaps I left +unpaid by my negligence: Once more, good night, sir. + [_Exit._ + +_Sir Mart._ He's an ungrateful fellow; and so, in fine, I shall tell him +when I see him next--Monsieur---- + +_Enter_ WARNER. + +Warner, _a propos_! I hope you'll applaud me now. I have defeated the +enemy, and that in sight of my mistress; boy, I have charmed her, +i'faith, with my valour. + +_Warn._ Ay, just as much as you did e'en now with your music; go, you +are so beastly a fool, that a chiding is thrown away upon you. + +_Sir Mart._ Fool in your face, sir; call a man of honour fool, when I +have just achieved such an enterprise--Gad, now my blood's up, I am a +dangerous person, I can tell you that, Warner. + +_Warn._ Poor animal, I pity thee! + +_Sir Mart._ I grant I am no musician, but you must allow me for a +swordsman: I have beat them bravely; and, in fine, I am come off unhurt, +save only a little scratch in the head. + +_Warn._ That's impossible; thou hast a skull so thick, no sword can +pierce it; but much good may it do you, sir, with the fruits of your +valour: You rescued your rival, when he was to be arrested, on purpose +to take him off from your mistress. + +_Sir Mart._ Why, this is ever the fate of ingenious men; nothing thrives +they take in hand. + +_Enter_ ROSE. + +_Rose._ Sir Martin, you have done your business with my lady, she'll +never look upon you more; she says, she's so well satisfied of your wit +and courage, that she will not put you to any further trial. + +_Sir Mart._ Warner, is there no hopes, Warner? + +_Warn._ None that I know. + +_Sir Mart._ Let's have but one civil plot more before we part. + +_Warn._ 'Tis to no purpose. + +_Rose._ Yet, if he had some golden friends, that would engage for him +the next time---- + +_Sir Mart._ Here's a Jacobus and a Carolus will enter into bonds for me. + +_Rose._ I'll take their royal words for once. + [_She fetches two disguises._ + +_Warn._ The meaning of this, dear Rose? + +_Rose._ 'Tis in pursuance of thy own invention, Warner; a child which +thy wit hath begot upon me: But let us lose no time. Help! help! dress +thy master, that he may be Anthony, old Moody's bastard, and thou his, +come from the East Indies. + +_Sir Mart._ Hey-tarock it--now we shall have Rose's device too; I long +to be at it, pray let's hear more on it. + +_Rose._ Old Moody, you must know, in his younger years, when he was a +Cambridge-scholar, made bold with a townsman's daughter there, by whom +he had a bastard, whose name was Anthony, whom you, Sir Martin, are to +represent. + +_Sir Mart._ I warrant you; let me alone for Tony: But pray go on, Rose. + +_Rose._ This child, in his father's time, he durst not own, but bred him +privately in the isle of Ely, till he was seven years old, and from +thence sent him with one Bonaventure, a merchant, for the East Indies. + +_Warn._ But will not this over-burden your memory, sir? + +_Sir Mart._ There's no answering thee any thing; thou thinkest I am good +for nothing. + +_Rose._ Bonaventure died at Surat within two years, and this Anthony has +lived up and down in the Mogul's country, unheard of by his father till +this night, and is expected within these three days: Now if you can pass +for him, you may have admittance into the house, and make an end of all +the business before the other Anthony arrives. + +_Warn._ But hold, Rose, there's one considerable point omitted; what was +his mother's name? + +_Rose._ That indeed I had forgot; her name was Dorothy, daughter to one +Draw-water, a vintner at the Rose. + +_Warn._ Come, sir, are you perfect in your lesson? Anthony Moody, born +in Cambridge, bred in the isle of Ely, sent into the Mogul's country at +seven years old, with one Bonaventure, a merchant, who died within two +years; your mother's name Dorothy Draw-water, the vintner's daughter at +the Rose. + +_Sir Mart._ I have it all _ad unguem_--what! do'st think I'm a sot? But +stay a little,----how have I lived all this while in that same country? + +_Warn._ What country?--Pox, he has forgot already! + +_Rose._ The Mogul's country. + +_Sir Mart._ Ay, ay, the Mogul's country. What the devil, any man may +mistake a little; but now I have it perfect: But what have I been doing +all this while in the Mogul's country?--He's a heathen rogue, I am +afraid I shall never hit upon his name. + +_Warn._ Why, you have been passing your time there no matter how. + +_Rose._ Well, if this passes upon the old man, I'll bring your business +about again with my mistress, never fear it; stay you here at the door, +I'll go tell the old man of your arrival. + +_Warn._ Well, sir, now play your part exactly, and I'll forgive all your +former errors. + +_Sir Mart._ Hang them, they were only slips of youth. How peremptory and +domineering this rogue is, now he sees I have need of his service! Would +I were out of his power again, I would make him lie at my feet like any +spaniel. + +_Enter_ MOODY, _Sir_ JOHN, _Lord_, _Lady_ DUPE, MILLISENT, CHRISTIAN, +_and_ ROSE. + +_Mood._ Is he here already, say'st thou? Which is he? + +_Rose._ That sun-burned gentleman. + +_Mood._ My dear boy, Anthony, do I see thee again before I die? Welcome, +welcome. + +_Sir Mart._ My dear father, I know it is you by instinct; for, methinks, +I am as like you, as if I were spit out of your mouth. + +_Rose._ Keep it up, I beseech your lordship. + [_Aside to the Lord._ + +_Lord._ He's wonderous like indeed. + +_L. Dupe._ The very image of him. + +_Mood._ Anthony, you must salute all this company: This is my Lord +Dartmouth, this my Lady Dupe, this her niece Mrs Christian. + [_He salutes them._ + +_Sir Mart._ And that's my sister; methinks I have a good resemblance of +her too: Honest sister, I must needs kiss you, sister. + +_Warn._ This fool will discover himself; I foresee it already by his +carriage to her. + +_Mood._ And now, Anthony, pray tell us a little of your travels. + +_Sir Mart._ Time enough for that, forsooth, father; but I have such a +natural affection for my sister, that, methinks, I could live and die +with her: Give me thy hand, sweet sister. + +_Sir John._ She's beholden to you, sir. + +_Sir Mart._ What if she be, sir? what's that to you, sir? + +_Sir John._ I hope, sir, I have not offended you? + +_Sir Mart._ It may be you have, and it may be you have not, sir; you see +I have no mind to satisfy you, sir: What a devil! a man cannot talk a +little to his own flesh and blood, but you must be interposing, with a +murrain to you. + +_Mood._ Enough of this, good Anthony; this gentleman is to marry your +sister. + +_Sir Mart._ He marry my sister! Ods foot, sir, there are some bastards, +that shall be nameless, that are as well worthy to marry her, as any +man; and have as good blood in their veins. + +_Sir John._ I do not question it in the least, sir. + +_Sir Mart._ 'Tis not your best course, sir; you marry my sister! what +have you seen of the world, sir? I have seen your hurricanos, and your +calentures, and your ecliptics, and your tropic lines, sir, an you go to +that, sir. + +_Warn._ You must excuse my master; the sea's a little working in his +brain, sir. + +_Sir Mart._ And your Prester Johns of the East Indies, and your great +Turk of Rome and Persia. + +_Mood._ Lord, what a thing it is to be learned, and a traveller! +Bodikin, it makes me weep for joy; but, Anthony, you must not bear +yourself too much upon your learning, child. + +_Mill._ Pray, brother, be civil to this gentleman for my sake. + +_Sir Mart._ For your sake, sister Millisent, much may be done, and here +I kiss your hand on it. + +_Warn._ Yet again, stupidity? + +_Mill._ Nay, pray, brother, hands off; now you are too rude. + +_Sir Mart._ Dear sister, as I am a true East India gentleman---- + +_Mood._ But pray, son Anthony, let us talk of other matters; and tell me +truly, had you not quite forgot me? And yet I made woundy much of you, +when you were young. + +_Sir Mart._ I remember you as well as if I saw you but yesterday: A fine +grey-headed--grey-bearded old gentleman, as ever I saw in all my life. + +_Warn. aside._] Grey-bearded old gentleman! when he was a scholar at +Cambridge! + +_Mood._ But do you remember where you were bred up? + +_Sir Mart._ O yes, sir, most perfectly, in the isle--stay--let me see, +oh--now I have it--in the isle of Scilly. + +_Mood._ In the Isle of Ely, sure you mean? + +_Warn._ Without doubt, he did, sir; but this damn'd isle of Scilly runs +in his head, ever since his sea voyage. + +_Mood._ And your mother's name was--come, pray let me examine you--for +that, I'm sure, you cannot forget. + +_Sir Mart._ Warner! what was it, Warner? + [_Aside._ + +_Warn._ Poor Mrs Dorothy Draw-water, if she were now alive, what a +joyful day would this be to her! + +_Mood._ Who the devil bid you speak, sirrah? + +_Sir Mart._ Her name, sir, was Mrs Dorothy Draw-water. + +_Sir John._ I'll be hanged if this be not some cheat. + +_Mill._ He makes so many stumbles, he must needs fall at last. + +_Mood._ But you remember, I hope, where you were born? + +_Warn._ Well, they may talk what they will of Oxford for an university, +but Cambridge for my money. + +_Mood._ Hold your tongue, you scanderbag rogue you; this is the second +time you have been talking when you should not. + +_Sir Mart._ I was born at Cambridge; I remember it as perfectly as if it +were but yesterday. + +_Warn._ How I sweat for him! he's remembering ever since he was born. + +_Mood._ And who did you go over with to the East-Indies? + +_Sir Mart_. Warner! + [_Aside._ + +_Warn._ 'Twas a happy thing, sir, you lighted upon so honest a merchant +as Mr Bonaventure, to take care of him. + +_Mood._ Saucy rascal! This is past all sufferance. + +_Rose._ We are undone, Warner, if this discourse go on any further. + +_Lord._ Pray, sir, take pity on the poor gentleman; he has more need of +a good supper, than to be asked so many questions. + +_Sir John._ These are rogues, sir, I plainly perceive it; pray let me +ask him one question--Which way did you come home, sir? + +_Sir Mart._ We came home by land, sir. + +_Warn._ That is, from India to Persia, from Persia to Turkey, from +Turkey to Germany, from Germany to France. + +_Sir John._ And from thence, over the narrow seas on horse-back. + +_Mood._ 'Tis so, I discern it now; but some shall smoke for it. Stay a +little, Anthony, I'll be with you presently. + [_Exit_ MOOD. + +_Warn._ That wicked old man is gone for no good, I'm afraid; would I +were fairly quit of him. + [_Aside._ + +_Mill. aside._] Tell me no more of Sir Martin, Rose; he wants natural +sense, to talk after this rate: but for this Warner, I am strangely +taken with him; how handsomely he brought him off! + +_Enter_ MOODY, _with two cudgels_. + +_Mood._ Among half a score tough cudgels I had in my chamber, I have +made choice of these two, as best able to hold out. + +_Mill._ Alas! poor Warner must be beaten now, for all his wit; would I +could bear it for him! + +_Warn._ But to what end is all this preparation, sir? + +_Mood._ In the first place, for your worship, and in the next, for this +East-India apostle, that will needs be my son Anthony. + +_Warn._ Why, d'ye think he is not? + +_Mood._ No, thou wicked accomplice in his designs, I know he is not. + +_Warn._ Who, I his accomplice? I beseech you, sir, what is it to me, if +he should prove a counterfeit? I assure you he has cozened me in the +first place. + +_Sir John._ That's likely, i'faith, cozen his own servant! + +_Warn._ As I hope for mercy, sir, I am an utter stranger to him; he +took me up but yesterday, and told me the story, word for word, as he +told it you. + +_Sir Mart._ What will become of us two now? I trust to the rogue's wit +to bring me off. + +_Mood._ If thou wouldst have me believe thee, take one of these two +cudgels, and help me to lay it on soundly. + +_Warn._ With all my heart. + +_Mood._ Out, you cheat, you hypocrite, you impostor! Do you come hither +to cozen an honest man? + [_Beats him._ + +_Sir Mart._ Hold, hold, sir! + +_Warn._ Do you come hither, with a lye, to get a father, Mr Anthony of +East India? + +_Sir Mart._ Hold, you inhuman butcher! + +_Warn._ I'll teach you to counterfeit again, sir. + +_Sir Mart._ The rogue will murder me. + [_Exit Sir_ MART. + +_Mood._ A fair riddance of 'em both: Let's in and laugh at 'em. + [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter again Sir_ MARTIN _and_ WARNER. + + +_Sir Mart._ Was there ever such an affront put upon a man, to be beaten +by his servant? + +_Warn._ After my hearty salutations upon your backside, sir, may a man +have leave to ask you, what news from the Mogul's country? + +_Sir Mart._ I wonder where thou hadst the impudence to move such a +question to me, knowing how thou hast used me. + +_Warn._ Now, sir, you may see what comes of your indiscretion and +stupidity: I always give you warning of it; but, for this time, I am +content to pass it without more words, partly, because I have already +corrected you, though not so much as you deserve. + +_Sir Mart._ Do'st thou think to carry it off at this rate, after such an +injury? + +_Warn._ You may thank yourself for't; nay, 'twas very well I found out +that way, otherwise I had been suspected as your accomplice. + +_Sir Mart._ But you laid it on with such a vengeance, as if you were +beating of a stock-fish. + +_Warn._ To confess the truth on't, you had angered me, and I was willing +to evaporate my choler; if you will pass it by so, I may chance to help +you to your mistress: No more words of this business, I advise you, but +go home and grease your back. + +_Sir Mart._ In fine, I must suffer it at his hands: for if my shoulders +had not paid for this fault, my purse must have sweat blood for't: The +rogue has got such a hank upon me---- + +_Warn._ So, so! here's another of our vessels come in, after the storm +that parted us. + +_Enter_ ROSE. + +What comfort, Rose? no harbour near? + +_Rose._ My lady, as you may well imagine, is most extremely incensed +against Sir Martin; but she applauds your ingenuity to the skies. I'll +say no more, but thereby hangs a tale. + +_Sir Mart._ I am considering with myself about a plot, to bring all +about again. + +_Rose._ Yet again plotting! if you have such a mind to't, I know no way +so proper for you, as to turn poet to Pugenello. + +_Warn._ Hark! is not that music in your house? + [_Music plays._ + +_Rose._ Yes, Sir John has given my mistress the fiddles, and our old man +is as jocund yonder, and does so hug himself, to think how he has been +revenged upon you! + +_Warn._ Why, he does not know 'twas me, I hope? + +_Rose._ 'Tis all one for that. + +_Sir Mart._ I have such a plot!--I care not, I will speak, an I were to +be hanged for't. Shall I speak, dear Warner? let me now; it does so +wamble within me, just like a clyster, i'faith la, and I can keep it no +longer, for my heart. + +_Warn._ Well, I am indulgent to you; out with it boldly, in the name of +nonsense. + +_Sir Mart._ We two will put on vizards, and with the help of my +landlord, who shall be of the party, go a mumming there, and by some +device of dancing, get my mistress away, unsuspected by them all. + +_Rose._ What if this should hit now, when all your projects have failed, +Warner? + +_Warn._ Would I were hanged, if it be not somewhat probable: Nay, now I +consider better on't--exceedingly probable; it must take, 'tis not in +nature to be avoided. + +_Sir Mart._ O must it so, sir! and who may you thank for't? + +_Warn._ Now am I so mad he should be the author of this device! How the +devil, sir, came you to stumble on't? + +_Sir Mart._ Why should not my brains be as fruitful as yours, or any +man's? + +_Warn._ This is so good, it shall not be your plot, sir; either disown +it, or I will proceed no further. + +_Sir Mart._ I would not lose the credit of my plot, to gain my mistress: +The plot's a good one, and I'll justify it upon any ground in England; +an you will not work upon't, it shall be done without you. + +_Rose._ I think the knight has reason. + +_Warn._ Well, I'll order it however to the best advantage: Hark you, +Rose. + [_Whispers._ + +_Sir Mart._ If it miscarry by your ordering, take notice, 'tis your +fault; 'tis well invented, I'll take my oath on't. + +_Rose._ I must into them, for fear I should be suspected; but I'll +acquaint my lord, my old lady, and all the rest, who ought to know it, +with your design. + +_Warn._ We'll be with you in a twinkling: You and I, Rose, are to follow +our leaders, and be paired to night.---- + +_Rose._ To have, and to hold, are dreadful words, Warner; but, for your +sake, I'll venture on 'em. + [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter Lord, Lady_ DUPE, _and_ CHRISTIAN. + + +_L. Dupe._ Nay! good my lord, be patient. + +_Lord._ Does he think to give fiddles and treatments in a house, where +he has wronged a lady? I'll never suffer it. + +_L. Dupe._ But upon what ground will you raise your quarrel? + +_Lord._ A very just one,--as I am her kinsman. + +_L. Dupe._ He does not know yet why he was to be arrested; try that way +again. + +_Lord._ I'll hear of nothing but revenge. + +_Enter_ ROSE. + +_Rose._ Yes, pray hear me one word, my lord; Sir Martin himself has made +a plot. + +_Chr._ That's like to be a good one. + +_Rose._ A fool's plot may be as lucky as a fool's handsel; 'tis a very +likely one, and requires nothing for your part, but to get a parson in +the next room; we'll find work for him. + +_L. Dupe._ That shall be done immediately; Christian, make haste, and +send for Mr Ball, the non-conformist; tell him, here are two or three +angels to be earned. + +_Chr._ And two or three possets to be eaten: May I not put in that, +madam? + +_L. Dupe._ Surely you may. + [_Exit_ CHR. + +_Rose._ Then for the rest--'tis only this--Oh! they are here! pray take +it in a whisper: My lady knows of it already. + +_Enter_ MOODY, _Sir_ JOHN, _and Mrs_ MILLISENT. + +_Mill._ Strike up again, fiddle, I'll have a French dance. + +_Sir John._ Let's have the brawls. + +_Mood._ No, good sir John, no quarrelling among friends. + +_L. Dupe._ Your company is like to be increased, sir; some neighbours, +that heard your fiddles, are come a mumming to you. + +_Mood._ Let them come in, and we'll be jovy; an I had but my hobby-horse +at home---- + +_Sir John._ What, are they men, or women? + +_L. Dupe._ I believe some 'prentices broke loose. + +_Mill._ Rose, go, and fetch me down two Indian gowns and +vizard-masks----you and I will disguise too, and be as good a mummery to +them, as they to us. + [_Exit_ ROSE. + +_Mood._ That will be most rare. + +_Enter Sir_ MARTIN MAR-ALL, WARNER, _Landlord, disguised like a Tony_. + +_Mood._ O here they come! Gentlemen maskers, you are welcome--[WARNER +_signs to the music for a dance_.] He signs for a dance, I believe; you +are welcome. Mr Music, strike up; I'll make one, as old as I am. + +_Sir John._ And I'll not be out. + [_Dance._ + +_Lord._ Gentlemen maskers, you have had your frolic, the next turn is +mine; bring two flute-glasses and some stools, ho! we'll have the +ladies' healths. + +_Sir John._ But why stools, my lord? + +_Lord._ That you shall see: the humour is, that two men at a time are +hoisted up: when they are above, they name their ladies, and the rest of +the company dance about them while they drink: This they call the frolic +of the altitudes. + +_Mood._ Some highlander's invention, I'll warrant it. + +_Lord._ Gentlemen-maskers, you shall begin. + [_They hoist Sir_ MART. _and_ WARN. + +_Sir John._ They point to Mrs Millisent and Mrs Christian, _A Lou's +touche! touche!_ + +[_While they drink, the company dances and sings: They are taken down._ + +_Mood._ A rare toping health this: Come, Sir John, now you and I will be +in our altitudes. + +_Sir John._ What new device is this, trow? + +_Mood._ I know not what to make on't. + +[_When they are up, the company dances about them: They dance off. Tony +dances a jigg._ + +_Sir John._ Pray, Mr Fool, where's the rest of your company? I would +fain see 'em again. + [_To Tony._ + +_Land._ Come down, and tell them so, Cudden. + +_Sir John._ I'll be hanged if there be not some plot in it, and this +fool is set here to spin out the time. + +_Mood._ Like enough! undone! undone! my daughter's gone! let me down, +sirrah. + +_Land._ Yes, Cudden. + +_Sir John._ My mistress is gone, let me down first. + +_Land._ This is the quickest way, Cudden. + [_He offers to pull down the stools._ + +_Sir John._ Hold! hold! or thou wilt break my neck. + +_Land._ An you will not come down, you may stay there, Cudden. + [_Exit Landlord, dancing._ + +_Mood._ O scanderbag villains! + +_Sir John._ Is there no getting down? + +_Mood._ All this was long of you, Sir Jack. + +_Sir John._ 'Twas long of yourself, to invite them hither. + +_Mood._ O you young coxcomb, to be drawn in thus! + +_Sir John._ You old Scot you, to be caught so sillily! + +_Mood._ Come but an inch nearer, and I'll so claw thee. + +_Sir John._ I hope I shall reach to thee. + +_Mood._ An 'twere not for thy wooden breast-work there---- + +_Sir John._ I hope to push thee down from Babylon. + +_Enter Lord, Lady_ DUPE, _Sir_ MARTIN, WARNER, ROSE, MILLISENT _veiled, +and Landlord_. + +_Lord._ How, gentlemen! what, quarrelling among yourselves! + +_Mood._ Coxnowns! help me down, and let me have fair play; he shall +never marry my daughter. + +_Sir Mart._ [_Leading_ ROSE.] No, I'll be sworn that he shall not; +therefore never repine, sir, for marriages, you know, are made in +heaven; in fine, sir, we are joined together in spite of fortune. + +_Rose._ [_Pulling off her mask_.] That we are, indeed, Sir Martin, and +these are witnesses; therefore, in fine, never repine, sir, for +marriages, you know, are made in heaven. + +_Omn._ Rose! + +_Warn._ What, is Rose split in two? Sure I have got one Rose! + +_Mill._ Ay, the best Rose you ever got in all your life. + [_Pulls off her mask._ + +_Warn._ This amazeth me so much, I know not what to say, or think. + +_Mood._ My daughter married to Warner! + +_Sir Mart._ Well, I thought it impossible that any man in England should +have over-reached me: Sure, Warner, there is some mistake in this: +Pr'ythee, Billy, let's go to the parson to make all right again, that +every man have his own, before the matter go too far. + +_Warn._ Well, sir! for my part, I will have nothing farther to do with +these women, for, I find, they will be too hard for us; but e'en sit +down by the loss, and content myself with my hard fortune: But, madam, +do you ever think I will forgive you this, to cheat me into an estate of +two thousand pounds a-year? + +_Sir Mart._ An I were as thee, I would not be so served, Warner. + +_Mill._ I have served him but right, for the cheat he put upon me, when +he persuaded me you were a wit----now, there's a trick for your trick, +sir. + +_Warn._ Nay, I confess you have outwitted me. + +_Sir John._ Let me down, and I'll forgive all freely. + [_They let him down._ + +_Mood._ What am I kept here for? + +_Warn._ I might in policy keep you there, till your daughter and I had +been in private, for a little consummation: But for once, sir, I'll +trust your good nature. + [_Takes him down too._ + +_Mood._ An thou wert a gentleman, it would not grieve me. + +_Mill._ That I was assured of before I married him, by my lord here. + +_Lord._ I cannot refuse to own him for my kinsman, though his father's +sufferings in the late times have ruined his fortunes. + +_Mood._ But yet he has been a serving man. + +_Warn._ You are mistaken, sir, I have been a master; and, besides, there +is an estate of eight hundred pounds a year, only it is mortgaged for +six thousand pounds. + +_Mood._ Well, we'll bring it off; and, for my part, I am glad my +daughter has missed _in fine_ there. + +_Sir John._ I will not be the only man that must sleep without a +bed-fellow to-night, if this lady will once again receive me. + +_L. Dupe._ She's yours, sir. + +_Lord._ And the same parson, that did the former execution, is still in +the next chamber; what with candles, wine, and quidding, which he has +taken in abundance, I think he will be able to wheedle two more of you +into matrimony. + +_Mill._ Poor Sir Martin looks melancholy! I am half afraid he is in +love. + +_Warn._ Not with the lady that took him for a wit, I hope. + +_Rose._ At least, Sir Martin can do more than you, Mr Warner; for he can +make me a lady, which you cannot my mistress. + +_Sir Mart._ I have lost nothing but my man, and, in fine, I shall get +another. + +_Mill._ You'll do very well, Sir Martin, for you'll never be your own +man, I assure you. + +_Warn._ For my part, I had loved you before, if I had followed my +inclination. + +_Mill._ But now I am afraid you begin of the latest, except your love +can grow up, like a mushroom, at a night's warning. + +_Warn._ For that matter, never trouble yourself; I can love as fast as +any man, when I am nigh possession; my love falls heavy, and never moves +quick till it comes near the centre; he's an ill falconer, that will +unhood before the quarry be in sight. + +Love's an high-mettled hawk that beats the air, But soon grows weary +when the game's not near. + [_Exeunt omnes._ + + +[Footnote B: This song is translated from Voiture.] + + + + +EPILOGUE. + + + As country vicars, when the sermon's done, + Run headlong to the benediction; + Well knowing, though the better sort may stay, + The vulgar rout will run unblest away: + So we, when once our play is done, make haste + With a short epilogue to close your taste. + In thus withdrawing, we seem mannerly; + But, when the curtain's down, we peep, and see + A jury of the wits, who still stay late, + And in their club decree the poor play's fate; + Their verdict back is to the boxes brought, + Thence all the town pronounces it their thought. + Thus, gallants, we, like Lilly, can foresee; + But if you ask us what our doom will be, + We by to-morrow will our fortune cast, + As he tells all things when the year is past. + + + + + THE + + TEMPEST; + + + OR, THE + + ENCHANTED ISLAND. + + + A + + COMEDY. + + + + +THE TEMPEST. + + +In this alteration of the "Tempest," Dryden acknowledges his obligation +to Sir William Davenant, whom he extols for his quick and piercing +imagination. Sir William was the son of an inn-keeper in Oxford, whose +house was frequented by our immortal Shakespeare; and hence an +ill-founded tradition ascribed to him a paternal interest in young +Davenant: But this slander on Shakespeare's moral character has been +fully refuted in the Prolegomena to Johnson and Steevens' edition of his +plays. Davenant was appointed poet laureat upon the death of Ben Jonson. +During the civil wars, he distinguished himself on the royal side, was +lieutenant-general of ordnance to the earl of Newcastle, and was +knighted by Charles at the siege of Gloucester. He was afterwards much +trusted by Henrietta, the queen-dowager; and was finally made prisoner +by an English man of war, in attempting to convey a colony of loyalists +to Virginia. After a long captivity in the Tower, he was liberated +through the intercession of the lord-keeper, Whitelocke; the wisest and +most temperate of the counsellors of the ruling power. Through his +countenance, Sir William was protected, or connived at, in bringing +forward certain interludes and operas, even during the rigid sway of +fanaticism. After the restoration, he became manager of a company of +players, called the duke of York's servants, in distinction to the +king's company, which was directed by Killigrew. He introduced upon the +stage much pomp in dress, scenery, and decoration, as if to indemnify +the theatrical muses for the poor shifts to which they had been reduced +during the usurpation. Sir William Davenant died in 1668, at the age of +63. + +"Gondibert," his greatest performance, incurred, when first published, +more ridicule, and in latter times more neglect, than its merits +deserve. An epic poem, in elegiac stanzas, must always be tedious, +because no structure of verse is more unfavourable to narration than +that which almost peremptorily requires each sentence to be restricted, +or protracted, to four lines. But the liveliness of Davenant's +imagination, which Dryden has pointed out as his most striking +attribute, has illuminated even the dull and dreary path which he has +chosen; and perhaps few poems afford more instances of vigorous +conceptions, and even felicity of expression, than the neglected +"Gondibert.[C]" + +The alteration of the Tempest was Davenant's last work; and it seems to +have been undertaken, chiefly, with a view to give room for scenical +decoration. Few readers will think the play much improved by the +introduction of the sea-language, which Davenant had acquired during the +adventurous period of his life. Nevertheless, the ludicrous contest +betwixt the sailors, for the dukedom and viceroyship of a barren island, +gave much amusement at the time, and some of the expressions were long +after proverbial[D]. Much cannot be said for Davenant's ingenuity, in +contrasting the character of a woman, who had never seen a man, with +that of a man, who had never seen a woman, or in inventing a sister +monster for Caliban. The majestic simplicity of Shakespeare's plan is +injured by thus doubling his characters; and his wild landscape is +converted into a formal parterre, where "each alley has its brother." In +sketching characters drawn from fancy, and not from observation, the +palm of genius must rest with the first inventor; others are but +copyists, and a copy shews no where to such disadvantage as when placed +by the original. Besides, although we are delighted with the feminine +simplicity of Miranda, it becomes unmanly childishness in Hippolito; and +the premature coquetry of Dorinda is disgusting, when contrasted with +the maidenly purity that chastens the simplicity of Shakespeare's +heroine. The latter seems to display, as it were by instinct, the innate +dignity of her sex; the former, to shew, even in solitude, the germ of +those vices, by which, in a voluptuous age, the female character becomes +degraded. The wild and savage character of Caliban is also sunk into low +and vulgar buffoonery. + +Dryden has not informed us of the share he had in this alteration: It +was probably little more than the care of adapting it to the stage. The +prologue is one of the most masterly tributes ever paid at the shrine of +Shakespeare. + +From the epilogue, the Tempest appears to have been acted in 1667. +Although Dryden was under engagements to the king's company, this play +was performed by the duke's servants, probably because written in +conjunction with Davenant, their manager. It was not published until +1670. + + +Footnotes. + +[Footnote C: An excellent critical essay upon the beauties and defects +of Davenant's epic, may be found in Aikin's Miscellanies. Those who are +insensible to theme rits of the poem, may admire the courage of the +author, who wrote some part of it when he conceived himself within a +week of being hanged. A tradition prevails, that his life was saved by +Milton, whose life, in return, he saved at the Restoration. Were the +story true, how vast was the requital!] + +[Footnote D: As, "Peace and the But," &c.] + + + + +PREFACE. + +The writing of prefaces to plays was probably invented by some very +ambitious poet, who never thought he had done enough: Perhaps by some +ape of the French eloquence, which uses to make a business of a letter +of gallantry, an examen of a farce; and, in short, a great pomp and +ostentation of words on every trifle. This is certainly the talent of +that nation, and ought not to be invaded by any other. They do that out +of gaiety, which would be an imposition[E] upon us. + +We may satisfy ourselves with surmounting them in the scene, and safely +leave them those trappings of writings, and flourishes of the pen, with +which they adorn the borders of their plays, and which are indeed no +more than good landscapes to a very indifferent picture. I must proceed +no farther in this argument, lest I run myself beyond my excuse for +writing this. Give me leave, therefore, to tell you, reader, that I do +not set a value on any thing I have written in this play, but out of +gratitude to the memory of Sir William Davenant, who did me the honour +to join me with him in the alteration of it. + +It was originally Shakespeare's; a poet for whom he had particularly a +high veneration, and whom he first taught me to admire. The play itself +had formerly been acted with success in the Black Friars: And our +excellent Fletcher had so great a value for it, that he thought fit to +make use of the same design, not much varied, a second time. Those, who +have seen his "Sea-Voyage," may easily discern that it was a copy of +Shakespeare's "Tempest:" The storm, the desert island, and the woman who +had never seen a man, are all sufficient testimonies of it. But Fletcher +was not the only poet who made use of Shakespeare's plot: Sir John +Suckling, a professed admirer of our author, has followed his footsteps +in his "Goblins;" his _Regmella_ being an open imitation of +Shakespeare's _Miranda_, and his spirits, though counterfeit, yet are +copied from _Ariel_. But Sir William Davenant, as he was a man of a +quick and piercing imagination, soon found that somewhat might be added +to the design of Shakespeare, of which neither Fletcher nor Suckling had +ever thought: And, therefore, to put the last hand to it, he designed +the counter-part to Shakespeare's plot, namely, that of a man who had +never seen a woman; that by this means those two characters of innocence +and love might the more illustrate and commend each other. This +excellent contrivance he was pleased to communicate to me, and to desire +my assistance in it. I confess, that from the very first moment it so +pleased me, that I never writ any thing with more delight. I must +likewise do him that justice to acknowledge, that my writing received +daily his amendments; and that is the reason why it is not so faulty, as +the rest which I have done, without the help or correction of so +judicious a friend. The comical parts of the sailors were also of his +invention, and, for the most part, his writing, as you will easily +discover by the style. In the time I writ with him, I had the +opportunity to observe somewhat more nearly of him, than I had formerly +done, when I had only a bare acquaintance with him: I found him then of +so quick a fancy, that nothing was proposed to him, on which he could +not suddenly produce a thought, extremely pleasant and surprising: and +those first thoughts of his, contrary to the old Latin proverb, were not +always the least happy. And as his fancy was quick, so likewise were the +products of it remote and new. He borrowed not of any other; and his +imagination's were such as could not easily enter into any other man. +His corrections were sober and judicious: and he corrected his own +writings much more severely than those of another man, bestowing twice +the time and labour in polishing, which he used in invention. It had +perhaps been easy enough for me to have arrogated more to myself than +was my due, in the writing of this play, and to have passed by his name +with silence in the publication of it, with the same ingratitude which +others have used to him, whose writings he hath not only corrected, as +he hath done this, but has had a greater inspection over them, and +sometimes added whole scenes together, which may as easily be +distinguished from the rest, as true gold from counterfeit, by the +weight. But, besides the unworthiness of the action, which deterred me +from it, (there being nothing so base as to rob the dead of his +reputation,) I am satisfied I could never have received so much honour, +in being thought the author of any poem, how excellent soever, as I +shall from the joining my imperfections with the merit and name of +Shakespeare and Sir William Davenant. + JOHN DRYDEN. + + _December 1. 1669._ + + +[Footnote E: A task imposed on us.] + + + + +PROLOGUE. + +As when a tree's cut down, the secret root Lives under ground, and +thence new branches shoot; So, from old Shakespeare's honoured dust, +this day Springs up and buds a new-reviving play: Shakespeare, who +(taught by none) did first impart To Fletcher wit, to labouring Jonson +art. He, monarch-like, gave those, his subjects, law; And is that nature +which they paint and draw. Fletcher reached that which on his heights +did grow, Whilst Jonson crept, and gathered all below. This did his +love, and this his mirth, digest: One imitates him most, the other best. +If they have since outwrit all other men, 'Tis with the drops which fell +from Shakespeare's pen, The storm, which vanished on the neighbouring +shore, Was taught by Shakespeare's Tempest first to roar. That innocence +and beauty, which did smile In Fletcher, grew on this enchanted isle. +But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be; Within that circle none +durst walk but he. I must confess 'twas bold, nor would you now That +liberty to vulgar wits allow, Which works by magic supernatural things: +But Shakespeare's power is sacred as a king's. Those legends from old +priesthood were received, And he then writ, as people then believed. But +if for Shakespeare we your grace implore, We for our theatre shall want +it more: Who, by our dearth of youths, are forced to employ One of our +women to present a boy; And that's a transformation, you will say, +Exceeding all the magic in the play. Let none expect, in the last act, +to find Her sex transformed from man to womankind. Whate'er she was +before the play began, All you shall see of her is perfect man. Or, if +your fancy will be farther led To find her woman--it must be a-bed. + + + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + + ALONZO, _Duke of Savoy, and Usurper of the Dukedom of Mantua_. + + FERDINAND, _his Son_. + + PROSPERO, _right Duke of Milan_. + + ANTONIO, _his Brother, Usurper of the Dukedom_. + + GONZALO, _a Nobleman of Savoy_. + + HIPPOLITO, _one that never saw woman, right Heir of the Dukedom of + Mantua_. + + STEPHANO, _Master of the Ship_. + + + + + THE + + TEMPEST; + + OR, THE + + ENCHANTED ISLAND. + + A + + COMEDY. + + + + + MUSTACHO, _his Mate_. + + TRINCALO, _Boatswain_. + + VENTOSO, _a Mariner_. + + _Several Mariners_. + + _A Cabin-Boy_. + + MIRANDA, } _Daughters to_ PROSPERO, + DORINDA, } _that never saw man_. + + ARIEL, _an airy Spirit, Attendant on_ PROSPERO. + + _Several Spirits, Guards to_ PROSPERO. + + CALIBAN, } _Two Monsters of the Isle_. + SYCORAX, _his Sister_. } + + + + + THE + + TEMPEST. + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_The front of the stage is opened, and the band of twenty-four +violins, with the harpsicals and theorbos which accompany the voices, +are placed between the pit and the stage. While the overture is playing, +the curtain rises, and discovers a new frontispiece, joined to the great +pilasters, on each side of the stage. This frontispiece is a noble arch, +supported by large wreathed columns of the Corinthian order; the +wreathings of the columns are beautified with roses wound round them, +and several Cupids flying about them. On the cornice, just over the +capitals, sits on either side a figure, with a trumpet in one hand, and +a palm in the other, representing Fame. A little farther, on the same +cornice, on each side of a compass-pediment, lie a lion and a unicorn, +the supporters of the royal arms of England. In the middle of the arch +are several angels, holding the king's arms, as if they were placing +them in the midst of that compass-pediment. Behind this is the scene, +which represents a thick cloudy sky, a very rocky coast, and a +tempestuous sea in perpetual agitation. This tempest (supposed to be +raised by magick) has many dreadful objects in it, as several spirits +in horrid shapes flying down amongst the sailors, then rising and +crossing in the air. And when the ship is sinking, the whole house is +darkened, and a shower of fire falls upon them. This is accompanied with +lightning, and several claps of thunder, to the end of the storm._ + +_Enter_ MUSTACHO _and_ VENTOSO. + + + _Vent._ What a sea comes in! + + _Must._ A foaming sea; we shall have foul weather. + +_Enter_ TRINCALO. + + _Trinc._ The scud comes against the wind, 'twill blow hard. + + _Enter_ STEPHANO. + + _Steph._ Boatswain! + + _Trinc._ Here, master, what say you? + + _Steph._ Ill weather; let's off to sea. + + _Must._ Let's have sea room enough, and then let it blow the devil's + head off. + + _Steph._ Boy! Boy! + +_Enter Cabin Boy._ + + _Boy._ Yaw, yaw, here, master. + + _Steph._ Give the pilot a dram of the bottle. + [_Exeunt_ STEPHANO _and boy_. + +_Enter Mariners, and pass over the stage._ + + _Trinc._ Bring the cable to the capstorm. + + _Enter_ ALONSO, ANTONIO, _and_ GONZALO. + + _Alon._ Good boatswain, have a care; where's the master? Play the men. + + _Trinc._ Pray keep below. + + _Anto._ Where's the master, boatswain? + + _Trinc._ Do you not hear him? You hinder us: Keep your cabins, you help + the storm. + + _Gonz._ Nay, good friend, be patient. + + _Trinc._ Ay, when the sea is: Hence! what care these roarers for the + name of duke? To cabin; silence; trouble us not. + + _Gonz._ Good friend, remember whom thou hast aboard. + + _Trinc._ None that I love more than myself: You are a counsellor; if you + can advise these elements to silenuse your wisdom: if yon cannot, make + yourself ready in the cabin for the ill hour. Cheerly, good hearts! out + of our way, sirs. + [_Exeunt_ TRINCALO _and mariners_. + + _Gonz._ I have great comfort from this fellow; methinks his complexion + is perfect gallows: stand fast, good fate, to his hanging; make the rope + of his destiny our cable, for our own does little advantage us; if he be + not born to be hanged, we shall be drowned. + [_Exit._ + +_Enter_ TRINCALO _and_ STEPHANO. + + _Trinc._ Up aloft, lads. Come, reef both topsails. + + _Steph._ Make haste, let's weigh, let's weigh, and off to sea. + [_Exit_ STEPH. + +_Enter two Mariners, and pass over the stage._ + + _Trinc._ Hands down! Man your main capstorm. + + _Enter_ MUSTACHO _and_ VENTOSO _at the other door_. + + _Must._ Up aloft! and man your seere capstorm. + + _Vent._ My lads, my hearts of gold, get in your capstorm-bar. Hoa up, + hoa up! + [_Exeunt_ MUSTACHO _and_ VENTOSO. + +_Enter_ STEPHANO. + + _Steph._ Hold on well! hold on well! Nip well there; quarter-master, + get's more nippers. + [_Exit_ STEPH. + + _Enter two Mariners, and pass over again._ + + _Trinc._ Turn out, turn out all hands to capstorm. You dogs, is this a + time to sleep? Lubbord. Heave together, lads. + [TRINCALO _whistles_. + [_Exeunt_ MUSTACHO _and_ VENTOSO. + + _Must. within._ Our vial's broke. + + _Vent. within._ 'Tis but our vial-block has given way. Come, heave, + lads! we are fixed again. Heave together, bullies. + +_Enter_ STEPHANO. + + _Steph._ Cut down the hammocks! cut down the hammocks! come, my lads: + Come, bullies, chear up! heave lustily. The anchor's apeak. + + _Trinc._ Is the anchor apeak? + + _Steph._ Is a weigh! is a weigh. + + _Trinc._ Up aloft, my lads, upon the fore-castle; cut the anchor, cut + him. + + _All within._ Haul catt, haul catt, haul catt, haul: Haul catt, haul. + Below. + + _Steph._ Aft, aft, and loose the mizen! + + _Trinc._ Get the mizen-tack aboard. Haul aft mizen-sheet. + +_Enter_ MUSTACHO. + + _Must._ Loose the main-top sail! + + _Steph._ Let him alone, there's too much wind. + + _Trinc._ Loose fore-sail! haul aft both sheets! trim her right before + the wind. Aft! aft! lads, and hale up the mizen here. + + _Must._ A mackrel-gale, master. + + _Steph. within._ Port hard, port! the wind veers forward, bring the tack + aboard-port is. Starboard, starboard, a little steady; now steady, keep + her thus, no nearer you cannot come, 'till the sails are loose. + +_Enter_ VENTOSO. + + _Vent._ Some hands down: The guns are loose. + [_Exit_ MUST. + + _Trinc._ Try the pump, try the pump. + [_Exit_ VENT. + +_Enter_ MUSTACHO _at the other door_. + + _Must._ O master! six foot water in hold. + + _Steph._ Clap the helm hard aweather! flat, flat, flat-in the fore-sheet + there. + + _Trinc._ Over-haul your fore-bowling. + + _Steph._ Brace in the larboard. + [_Exit._ + + _Trinc._ A curse upon this howling, [_A great cry within_.] They are + louder than the weather. + + _Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ GONZALO. + + Yet again, what do you here? Shall we give over, and drown? Have you a + mind to sink? + + _Gonz._ A pox on your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, uncharitable + dog. + + _Trinc._ Work you then, and be poxed. + + _Anto._ Hang, cur, hang, you whorson insolent noise-maker! We are less + afraid to be drowned than you are. + + _Trinc._ Ease the fore-brace a little. + [_Exit._ + + _Gonz._ I'll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger + than a nut-shell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench. + +_Enter_ ALONZO _and_ FERDINAND. + + _Ferd._ For myself I care not, but your loss brings a thousand deaths to + me. + + _Alon._ O name not me, I am grown old, my son; + I now am tedious to the world, and that, + By use, is so to me: But, Ferdinand, + I grieve my subjects' loss in thee: Alas! + I suffer justly for my crimes, but why + Thou should'st--O heaven! + [_A cry within._ + Hark! farewell, my son, a long farewell! + +_Enter_ TRINCALO, MUSTACHO, _and_ VENTOSO. + + _Trinc._ What, must our mouths be cold then? + + _Vent._ All's lost. To prayers, to prayers. + + _Gonz._ The duke and prince are gone within to prayers. Let's assist + them. + + _Must._ Nay, we may e'en pray too, our Case is now alike. + + _Ant._ Mercy upon us! we split, we split! + + _Gonz._ Let's all sink with the duke, and the young prince. + [_Exeunt._ + +_Enter_ STEPHANO _and_ TRINCALO. + + _Trinc._ The ship is sinking. + [_A new cry within._ + + _Steph._ Run her ashore! + + _Trinc._ Luff! luff! or we are all lost! there's a rock upon the + starboard-bow. + + _Steph._ She strikes, she strikes! All shift for themselves. + [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE II.--_In the midst of the shower of fire, the scene changes. The +cloudy sky, rocks, and sea vanish; and, when the lights return, discover +that beautiful part of the island, which was the habitation of_ +PROSPERO: _'Tis composed of three walks of cypress-trees; each side-walk +leads to a cave, in one of which_ PROSPERO _keeps his daughter, in the +other_ HIPPOLITO: _The middle-walk is of great depth, and leads to an +open part of the island_. + +_Enter_ PROSPERO _and_ MIRANDA. + + + _Prosp._ Miranda, where's your sister? + + _Mir._ I left her looking from the pointed rock, + At the walk's end, on the huge beat of waters. + + _Prosp._ It is a dreadful object. + + _Mir._ If by your art, + My dearest father, you have put them in + This roar, allay them quickly. + + _Prosp._ I have so ordered, + That not one creature in the ship is lost: + I have done nothing but in care of thee, + My daughter, and thy pretty sister: + You both are ignorant of what you are, + Not knowing whence I am, nor that I'm more + Than Prospero, master of a narrow cell, + And thy unhappy father. + + _Mir._ I ne'er endeavoured + To know more than you were pleased to tell me. + + _Prosp._ I should inform thee farther. + + _Mir._ You often, sir, began to tell me what I am, + But then you stopt. + + _Prosp._ The hour's now come; + Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember + A time, before we came into this cell? + I do not think thou canst, for then thou wert not + Full three years old. + + _Mir._ Certainly I can, sir. + + _Prosp._ Tell me the image then of any thing, + Which thou dost keep in thy remembrance still. + + _Mir._ Sir, had I not four or five women once, that tended me? + + _Prosp._ Thou hadst, and more, Miranda: What seest thou else, + In the dark back-ward, and abyss of time? + If thou rememberest aught, ere thou cam'st here, + Then how thou cam'st thou mayest remember too. + + _Mir._ Sir, that I do not. + + _Prosp._ Fifteen years since, Miranda, + Thy father was the duke of Milan, and + A prince of power. + + _Mir._ Sir, are not you my father? + + _Prosp._ Thy mother was all virtue, and she said + Thou wast my daughter, and thy sister too. + + _Mir._ O heavens! what foul play had we, that + We hither came? or was't a blessing that we did? + + _Prosp._ Both, both, my girl. + + _Mir._ But, sir, I pray, proceed. + + _Prosp._ My brother, and thy uncle, called Antonio, + To whom I trusted then the manage of my state, + While I was wrapped with secret studies,--that false uncle, + Having attained the craft of granting suits, + And of denying them; whom to advance, + Or lop, for over-topping,--soon was grown + The ivy, which did hide my princely trunk, + And sucked my verdure out: Thou attend'st not. + + _Mir._ O good sir, I do. + + _Prosp._ I thus neglecting worldly ends, and bent + To closeness, and the bettering of my mind, + Waked in my false brother an evil nature: He did believe + He was indeed the duke, because he then + Did execute the outward face of sovereignty---- + Do'st thou still mark me? + + _Mir._ Your story would cure deafness. + + _Prosp._ This false duke + Needs would be absolute in Milan, and confederate + With Savoy's duke, to give him tribute, and + To do him homage. + + _Mir._ False man! + + _Prosp._ This duke of Savoy, being an enemy + To me inveterate, strait grants my brother's suit; + And on a night, mated to his design, + Antonio opened the gates of Milan, and + In the dead of darkness hurried me thence, + With thy young sister, and thy crying self. + + _Mir._ But wherefore did they not that hour destroy us? + + _Prosp._ They durst not, girl, in Milan, for the love + My people bore me; in short, they hurried us + Away to Savoy, and thence aboard a bark at Nissa's port, + Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared + A rotten carcase of a boat, not rigged, + No tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats + Instinctively had quit it. + + _Mir._ Alack! what trouble + Was I then to you? + + _Prosp._ Thou and thy sister were + Two cherubims, which did preserve me: You both + Did smile, infused with fortitude from heaven. + + _Mir._ How came we ashore? + + _Prosp._ By providence divine. + Some food we had, and some fresh water, which + A nobleman of Savoy, called Gonzalo, + Appointed master of that black design, + Gave us; with rich garments, and all necessaries, + Which since have steaded much; And of his gentleness + (Knowing I loved my books) he furnished me, + From mine own library, with volumes, which + I prize above my dukedom. + + _Mir._ Would I might see that man! + + _Prosp._ Here in this island we arrived, and here + Have I your tutor been. But by my skill + I find, that my mid-heaven doth depend + On a most happy star, whose influence + If I now court not, but omit, my fortunes + Will ever after droop: Here cease more questions; + Thou art inclined to sleep: 'Tis a good dulness, + And give it way; I know thou can'st not chuse. + [_She falls asleep._ + Come away, my spirit: I am ready now; approach, + My Ariel, come. + +_Enter_ ARIEL. + + _Ariel._ All hail, great master, grave + Sir, hail! I come to answer thy best pleasure, + Be it to fly, to swim, to shoot into the fire, + To ride into the curled clouds; to thy strong bidding + Task Ariel, and all his qualities. + + _Prosp._ Hast thou, spirit, performed to point + The tempest, that I bade thee? + + _Ariel._ To every article. + I boarded the duke's ship; now on the beak, + Now in the waste, the deck, in every cabin, + I flamed amazement; and sometimes I seemed + To burn in many places; on the top-mast, + The yards, and bow-sprit, I did flame distinctly; + Nay, once I rained a shower of fire upon them. + + _Prosp._ My brave spirit!-- + Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil + Did not infect his reason? + + _Ariel._ Not a soul, + But felt a fever of the mind, and played + Some tricks of desperation; all, + But mariners, plunged in the foaming brine, + And quit the vessel: The duke's son, Ferdinand, + With hair upstaring, (more like reeds than hair) + Was the first man that leaped; cried, _Hell is empty! + And all the devils are here!_ + + _Prosp._ Why, that's my spirit!-- + But, was not this nigh shore? + + _Ariel._ Close by, my master. + + _Prosp._ But, Ariel, are they safe? + + _Ariel._ Not a hair perished. + In troops I have dispersed them round this isle: + The duke's son I have landed by himself, + Whom I have left warming the air with sighs, + In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, + His arms enfolded in this sad knot. + + _Prosp._ Say how thou hast disposed the mariners + Of the duke's ship, and all the rest o'the fleet? + + _Ariel._ Safely in harbour + Is the duke's ship; in the deep nook, where once + Thou called'st me up, at midnight, to fetch dew + From the still vexed Bermoothes, there she's hid; + The mariners all under hatches stowed; + Whom, with a charm, joined to their suffered labour, + I have left asleep: And for the rest o'the fleet, + Which I dispersed, they all have met again, + And are upon the Mediterranean float, + Bound sadly home for Italy; + Supposing that they saw the duke's ship wrecked, + And his great person perish. + + _Prosp._ Ariel, thy charge + Exactly is performed: But there's more work;-- + What is the time o'the day? + + _Ariel._ Past the mid season. + + _Prosp._ At least two glasses. + The time 'tween six and now must by us both + Be spent most preciously. + + _Ariel._ Is there more toil? + Since thou dost give me pains, let me remember + Thee what thou hast promised, which is not yet + Performed me. + + _Prosp._ How now, moody! + What is't thou canst demand? + + _Ariel._ My liberty. + + _Prosp._ Before the time be out?--no more! + + _Ariel._ I pr'ythee, + Remember I have done thee faithful service; + Told thee no lies; made thee no mistakings; + Served without or grudge, or grumblings; + Thou didst promise to bate me a full year. + + _Prosp._ Dost thou forget + From what a torment I did free thee? + + _Ariel._ No. + + _Prosp._ Thou dost; and think'st it much to tread the ooze + Of the salt deep; + To run against the sharp wind of the north; + To do my business in the veins of the earth, + When it is baked with frost. + + _Ariel._ I do not, sir. + + _Prosp._ Thou liest, malignant thing!--Hast thou forgot + The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy, + Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her? + + _Ariel._ No, sir. + + _Prosp._ Thou hast! Where was she born? Speak, tell me. + + _Ariel._ Sir, in Argier. + + _Prosp._ Oh, was she so!--I must, + Once every month, recount what thou hast been, + Which thou forgettest. This damned Witch Sycorax, + For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries + Too terrible to enter human hearing, + From Argier, thou know'st, was banished: + But, for one thing she did, + They would not take her life.--Is not this true? + + _Ariel._ Ay, sir. + + _Prosp._ This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child, + And here was left by the sailors: Thou, my slave, + As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant; + And, 'cause thou wast a spirit too delicate + To act her earthy and abhorred commands, + Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, + By help of her more potent ministers, + (In her unmitigable rage) into a cloven pine; + Within whose rift imprisoned, thou didst painfully + Remain a dozen years, within which space she died, + And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans, + As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this isle + (Save for two brats, which she did litter here, + The brutish Caliban, and his twin-sister, + Two freckled hag-born whelps) not honoured with + A human shape. + + _Ariel._ Yes; Caliban her son, and Sycorax his sister. + + _Prosp._ Dull thing! I say so.--He, + That Caliban, and she, that Sycorax, + Whom I now keep in service. Thou best know'st + What torment I did find thee in; thy groans + Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts + Of ever-angry bears; it was a torment + To lay upon the damned, which Sycorax + Could ne'er again undo: It was my art, + When I arrived and heard thee, that made the pine + To gape, and let thee out. + + _Ariel._ I thank thee, master. + + _Prosp._ If thou more murmurest, I will rend an oak, + And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till thou + Hast howled away twelve winters more. + + _Ariel._ Pardon, master; + I will be correspondent to command, + And be a gentle spirit. + + _Prosp._ Do so; and after two days I'll discharge thee. + + _Ariel._ Thanks, my great master. But I have yet one request. + + _Prosp._ What's that, my spirit? + + _Ariel._ I know that this day's business is important, + Requiring too much toil for one alone. + I have a gentle spirit for my love, + Who, twice seven years has waited for my freedom: + Let it appear, it will assist me much, + And we with mutual joy shall entertain + Each other. This, I beseech you, grant me. + + _Prosp._ You shall have your desire. + + _Ariel._ That's my noble master.--Milcha! + [MILCHA _flies down to his assistance_. + + _Milc._ I am here, my love. + + _Ariel._ Thou art free! Welcome, my dear!-- + What shall we do? Say, say, what shall we do? + + _Prosp._ Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible + To every eye-ball else. Hence, with diligence; + Anon thou shalt know more. + [_They both fly up, and cross in the air._ + Thou hast slept well, my child. + [_To_ MIR. + + _Mir._ The sadness of your story put heaviness in me. + + _Prosp._ Shake it off.--Come on, I'll now call Caliban, + my slave, who never yields us a kind answer. + + _Mir._ 'Tis a creature, sir, I do not love to look on. + + _Prosp._ But, as it is, we cannot miss him: He does make our fire, fetch + in our wood, and serve in offices that profit us.--What ho, slave! + Caliban! thou earth, thou, speak! + + _Calib._ [_within_.] There's wood enough within. + + _Prosp._ Thou poisonous slave! got by the devil himself + Upon thy wicked dam, come forth! + +_Enter_ CALIBAN. + +_Calib._ As wicked dew, as e'er my mother brushed with raven's feather +from unwholesome fens, drop on you both! A south-west wind blow on you, +and blister you all o'er! + +_Prosp._ For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps, +side-stitches, that shall pen thy breath up: Urchins shall prick thee +till thou bleed'st: Thou shalt be pinched as thick as honey-combs, each +pinch more stinging than the bees which made them. + +_Calib._ I must eat my dinner: This island's mine by Sycorax my mother, +which thou took'st from me. When thou earnest first, thou stroak'dst me, +and madest much of me; would'st give me water with berries in't, and +teach me how to name the bigger light, and how the less, that burn by +day and night; and then I loved thee, and showed thee all the qualities +of the isle, the fresh-springs, brine-pits, barren places, and fertile. +Cursed be I, that I did so! All the charms of Sycorax, toads, beetles, +bats, light on thee! for I am all the subjects that thou hast. I first +was mine own lord; and here thou stayest me in this hard rock, while +thou dost keep from me the rest o'the island. + +_Prosp._ Thou most lying slave, whom stripes may move, not kindness! I +have used thee, filth as thou art! with human care; and lodged thee in +mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate the honour of my +children. + +_Calib._ Oh, ho! oh, ho! would it had been done! Thou didst prevent me, +I had peopled else this isle with Calibans. + +_Prosp._ Abhorred slave! who ne'er wouldst any print of goodness take, +being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, took pains to make thee speak, +taught thee each hour one thing or other: When thou didst not, savage! +know thy own meaning, but wouldst gabble like a thing most brutish, I +endowed thy purposes with words, which made them known.--But thy wild +race (though thou didst learn) had that in't, which good natures could +not abide to be with; therefore wast thou deservedly pent up into this +rock. + +_Calib._ You taught me language; and my profit by it is, that I know to +curse. The red botch rid you for learning me your language! + + _Prosp._ Hag-seed, hence! + Fetch us in fuel, and be quick + To answer other business.--Shrug'st thou, malice! + If thou neglectest, or dost unwillingly + What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps; + Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar, + That beasts shall tremble at thy din. + + _Calib._ No, pr'ythee! + I must obey. His art is of such power, + It would controul my dam's god, Setebos, + And make a vassal of him. + + _Prosp._ So, slave, hence! + [_Exeunt_ PROSP. _and_ CALIB. _severally_. + + _Enter_ DORINDA. + + _Dor._ Oh, sister! what have I beheld! + + _Mir._ What is it moves you so? + + _Dor._ From yonder rock, + As I my eyes cast down upon the seas, + The whistling winds blew rudely on my face, + And the waves roared; at first, I thought the war + Had been between themselves, but straight I spied + A huge great creature. + + _Mir._ O, you mean the ship? + + _Dor._ Is't not a creature then?--It seemed alive. + + _Mir._ But what of it? + + _Dor._ This floating ram did bear his horns above, + All tied with ribbands, ruffling in the wind: + Sometimes he nodded down his head a-while, + And then the waves did heave him to the moon, + He clambering to the top of all the billows; + And then again he curtsied down so low, + I could not see him: Till at last, all side-long, + With a great crack, his belly burst in pieces. + + _Mir._ There all had perished, + Had not my father's magic art relieved them.-- + But, sister, I have stranger news to tell you: + In this great creature there were other creatures; + And shortly we may chance to see that thing, + Which you have heard my father call a man. + + _Dor._ But, what is that? For yet he never told me. + + _Mir._ I know no more than you:--But I have heard + My father say, we women were made for him. + + _Dor._ What, that he should eat us, sister? + + _Mir._ No sure; you see my father is a man, and yet + He does us good. I would he were not old. + + _Dor._ Methinks, indeed, it would be finer, if + We two had two young fathers. + + _Mir._ No, sister, no: If they were young, my father + Said, we must call them brothers. + + _Dor._ But, pray, how does it come, that we two are + Not brothers then, and have not beards like him? + + _Mir._ Now I confess you pose me. + + _Dor._ How did he come to be our father too? + + _Mir._ I think he found us when we both were little, + And grew within the ground. + + _Dor._ Why could he not find more of us? Pray, sister, + Let you and I look up and down one day, + To find some little ones for us to play with. + + _Mir._ Agreed; but now we must go in. This is + The hour wherein my father's charm will work, + Which seizes all who are in open air: + The effect of this great art I long to see, + Which will perform as much as magic can. + + _Dor._ And I, methinks, more long to see a man. + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + +_The scene changes to the wilder part of the Island. It is composed of +divers sorts of trees and barren places, with a prospect of the sea at a +great distance._ + + +_Enter_ STEPHANO, MUSTACHO, _and_ VENTOSO. + +_Vent._ The runlet of brandy was a loving runlet, and floated after us +out of pure pity. + +_Must._ This kind bottle, like an old acquaintance, swam after it. And +this scollop-shell is all our plate now. + + _Vent._ 'Tis well we have found something since we landed. + I pr'ythee fill a sup, and let it go round.-- + Where hast thou laid the runlet? + +_Must._ In the hollow of an old tree. + +_Vent._ Fill apace; we cannot live long in this barren island, and we +may take a sup before death, as well as others drink at our funerals. + +_Must._ This is prize brandy; we steal custom, and it costs nothing. +Let's have two rounds more. + +_Vent._ Master, what have you saved? + +_Steph._ Just nothing but myself. + +_Vent._ This works comfortably on a cold stomach. + +_Steph._ Fill us another round. + +_Vent._ Look! Mustacho weeps. Hang losses, as long as we have brandy +left!--Pr'ythee leave weeping. + +_Steph._ He sheds his brandy out of his eyes: He shall drink no more. + +_Must._ This will be a doleful day with old Bess. She gave me a gilt +nutmeg at parting; that's lost too: But, as you say, hang losses! +Pr'ythee fill again. + +_Vent._ Beshrew thy heart, for putting me in mind +of thy wife; I had not thought of mine else. Nature will shew itself, I +must melt. I pr'ythee fill again: My wife's a good old jade, and has but +one eye left; but she will weep out that too, when she hears that I am +dead. + +_Steph._ 'Would you were both hanged, for putting me in thought of mine! + +_Vent._ But come, master, sorrow is dry: There's for you again. + +_Steph._ A mariner had e'en as good be a fish as a man, but for the +comfort we get ashore. O! for an old dry wench, now I am wet. + +_Must._ Poor heart, that would soon make you dry again. But all is +barren in this isle: Here we may lie at hull, till the wind blow nor' +and by south, ere we can cry, a sail! a sail! a sight of a white apron: +And, therefore, here's another sup to comfort us. + +_Vent._ This isle's our own, that's our comfort; for the duke, the +prince, and all their train, are perished. + +_Must._ Our ship is sunk, and we can never get home again: We must e'en +turn savages, and the next that catches his fellow may eat him. + +_Vent._ No, no, let us have a government; for if we live well and +orderly, heaven will drive shipwrecks ashore to make us all rich: +Therefore let us carry good consciences, and not eat one another. + +_Steph._ Whoever eats any of my subjects, I'll break out his teeth with +my sceptre; for I was master at sea, and will be duke on land: You, +Mustacho, have been my mate, and shall be my viceroy. + +_Vent._ When you are duke, you may chuse your viceroy; but I am a free +subject in a new plantation, and will have no duke without my voice: And +so fill me the other sup. + +_Steph._ [_whispering_.] Ventoso, dost thou hear, I will advance thee; +pr'ythee, give me thy voice. + +_Vent._ I'll have no whisperings to corrupt the election; and, to show +that I have no private ends, I declare aloud, that I will be viceroy, or +I'll keep my voice for myself. + +_Must._ Stephano, hear me! I will speak for the people, because there +are few, or rather none, in the isle, to speak for themselves. Know, +then, that to prevent the farther shedding of christian blood, we are +all content Ventoso shall be viceroy, upon condition I may be viceroy +over him. Speak, good people, are you well agreed? what, no man answer? +Well, you may take their silence for consent. + +_Vent._ You speak for the people, Mustacho! I'll speak for them, and +declare generally with one voice, one and all, that there shall be no +viceroy but the duke, unless I be he. + +_Must._ You declare for the people, who never saw your face? Cold iron +shall decide it! + [_Both draw._ + +_Steph._ Hold, loving subjects! We will have no civil war during our +reign. I do hereby appoint you both to be my viceroys over the whole +island. + +_Both._ Agreed, agreed! + + _Enter_ TRINCALO, _with a great bottle, half drunk_. + + _Vent._ How! Trincalo, our brave boatswain! + + _Must._ He reels: Can he be drunk with sea-water? + + _Trinc._ [sings.] _I shall no more to sea, to sea, + Here I shall die ashore_. + This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral; + but here's my comfort. + [_Drinks._ + + SINGS. + + _The master, the swabber, the gunner, and I, + The surgeon, and his mate, + Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, + But none of us cared for Kate. + For she had a tongue with a twang, + Would cry to a sailor_, Go hang!-- + _She loved not the savour of tar, nor of pitch, + Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch._ + + This is a scurvy tune too; but here's my comfort again. + [_Drinks._ + +_Steph._ We have got another subject now: Welcome, welcome, into our +dominions! + +_Trinc._ What subject, or what dominions? Here's old sack, boys; the +king of good fellows can be no subject. I will be old Simon the king. + +_Must._ Ha, old boy! how didst thou scape? + +_Trinc._ Upon a butt of sack, boys, which the sailors threw +overboard.--But are you alive, hoa! for I will tipple with no ghosts, +till I'm dead. Thy hand, Mustacho, and thine, Ventoso; the storm has +done its worst.--Stephano alive too! give thy boatswain thy hand, +master. + +_Vent._ You must kiss it then; for I must tell you, we have chosen him +duke, in a full assembly. + +_Trinc._ A duke! where? What's he duke of? + +_Must._ Of this island, man. Oh, Trincalo, we are all made: The island's +empty; all's our own, boy; and we will speak to his grace for thee, that +thou mayest be as great as we are. + +_Trinc._ You great! what the devil are you? + +_Vent._ We two are viceroys over all the island; and, when we are weary +of governing, thou shalt succeed us. + +_Trinc._ Do you hear, Ventoso? I will succeed you in both places, before +you enter into them. + +_Steph._ Trincalo, sleep, and be sober; and make no more uproars in my +country. + +_Trinc._ Why, what are you, sir; what are you? + +_Steph._ What I am, I am by free election; and you, Trincalo, are not +yourself: but we pardon your first fault, because it is the first day of +our reign. + +_Trinc._ Umph, were matters carried so swimmingly against me, whilst I +was swimming, and saving myself for the good of the people of this +island! + +_Must._ Art thou mad, Trincalo? Wilt thou disturb a settled government, +where thou art a mere stranger to the laws of the country? + +_Trinc._ I'll have no laws. + +_Vent._ Then civil war begins. [VENT. _and_ MUST. _draw_. + +_Steph._ Hold, hold! I'll have no bloodshed; my subjects are but few: +Let him make a rebellion by himself; and a rebel, I, duke Stephano, +declare him.--Viceroys, come away. + +_Trinc._ And duke Trincalo declares, that he will make open war wherever +he meets thee, or thy viceroys. + [_Exeunt_ STEPH. MUST. _and_ VENT. + +_Enter_ CALIBAN, _with wood upon his back_. + +_Trinc._ Ha! who have we here? + +_Calib._ All the infections, that the sun sucks up from fogs, fens, +flats, on Prospero fall, and make him by inch-meal a disease! His +spirits hear me, and yet I needs must curse; but they'll not pinch, +fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i'the mire, nor lead me in the +dark out of my way, unless he bid them. But for every trifle he sets +them on me: Sometimes, like baboons, they mow and chatter at me, and +often bite me; like hedge-hogs, then, they mount their prickles at me, +tumbling before me in my barefoot way. Sometimes I am all wound about +with adders, who, with their cloven tongues, hiss me to madness.--Ha! +yonder stands one of his spirits, sent to torment me. + +_Trinc._ What have we here, a man, or a fish? This is some monster of +the isle. Were I in England, as once I was, and had him painted, not a +holiday fool there but would give me sixpence for the sight of him. +Well, if I could make him tame, he were a present for an emperor.--Come +hither, pretty monster; I'll do thee no harm: Come hither! + +_Calib._ Torment me not; I'll bring the wood home faster. + +_Trinc._ He talks none of the wisest; but I'll give him a dram o'the +bottle, that will clear his understanding.--Come on your ways, master +monster, open your mouth: How now, you perverse moon-calf! what, I think +you cannot tell who is your friend?--Open your chops, I say. + [_Pours wine down his throat._ + +_Calib._ This is a brave god, and bears celestial liquor: I'll kneel to +him. + +_Trinc._ He is a very hopeful monster.--Monster, what say'st thou, art +thou content to turn civil and sober, as I am? for then thou shalt be my +subject. + +_Calib._ I'll swear upon that bottle to be true; for the liquor is not +earthly. Did'st thou not drop from heaven? + +_Trinc._ Only out of the moon; I was the man in her, when time was.--By +this light, a very shallow monster. + +_Calib._ I'll shew thee every fertile inch in the isle, and kiss thy +foot: I pr'ythee be my god, and let me drink. + [_Drinks again._ + +_Trinc._ Well drawn, monster, in good faith! + +_Calib._ I'll shew thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries; I'll +fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.--A curse upon the tyrant whom I +serve! I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee. + +_Trinc._ The poor monster is loving in his drink. + +_Calib._ I pr'ythee let me bring thee where crabs grow; and I, with my +long nails, will dig thee pig-nuts, shew thee a jay's nest, and instruct +thee how to snare the marmozet: I'll bring thee to clustered filberts. +Wilt thou go with me? + +_Trinc._ This monster comes of a good-natured race.--Is there no more of +thy kin in this island? + +_Calib._ Divine, here is but one besides myself; my lovely sister, +beautiful and bright as the full moon! + +_Trinc._ Where is she? + +_Calib._ I left her clambering up a hollow oak, and plucking thence the +dropping honey-combs.--Say, my king, shall I call her to thee? + +_Trinc._ She shall swear upon the bottle too. If she proves handsome, +she is mine.--Here, monster, drink again for thy good news; thou shalt +speak a good word for me. + [_Gives him the bottle._ + +_Calib._ Farewell, old master, farewell, farewell! + + SINGS. + + _No more dams I'll make for fish; + Nor fetch in firing, at requiring; + Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish: + Ban, ban, Ca-caliban, + Has a new master, get a new man._ + +Hey-day! freedom, freedom! + +_Trinc._ Here's two subjects got already, the monster, and his sister: +Well, duke Stephano, I say, and say again, wars will ensue, and so I +drinks. [_Drinks_.] From this worshipful monster, and mistress monster, +his sister, I'll lay claim to this island by alliance.--Monster, I say, +thy sister shall be my spouse; come away, brother monster; I'll lead +thee to my butt, and drink her health. + [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE II.--_Cypress trees and a Cave._ + +_Enter_ PROSPERO _alone_. + + + _Prosp._ 'Tis not yet fit to let my daughters know, + I keep the infant duke of Mantua + So near them in this isle; + Whose father, dying, bequeathed him to my care; + Till my false brother (when he designed to usurp + My dukedom from me) exposed him to that fate, + He meant for me. + By calculation of his birth, I saw + Death threat'ning him, if, till some time were past, + He should behold the face of any woman: + And now the danger's nigh.--Hippolito! + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO. + + _Hip._ Sir, I attend your pleasure. + + _Prosp._ How I have loved thee, from thy infancy, + Heaven knows, and thou thyself canst bear me witness; + Therefore accuse not me of thy restraint. + + _Hip._ Since I knew life, you've kept me in a rock; + And you, this day, have hurried me from thence, + Only to change my prison, not to free me. + I murmur not, but I may wonder at it. + + _Prosp._ O, gentle youth! fate waits for thee abroad; + A black star threatens thee; and death, unseen, + Stands ready to devour thee. + + _Hip._ You taught me + Not to fear him in any of his shapes:-- + Let me meet death rather than be a prisoner. + + _Prosp._ 'Tis pity he should seize thy tender youth. + + _Hip._ Sir, I have often heard you say, no creature + Lived in this isle, but those which man was lord of. + Why, then, should I fear? + + _Prosp._ But here are creatures which I named not to thee, + Who share man's sovereignty by nature's laws, + And oft depose him from it. + + _Hip._ What are those creatures, sir? + + _Prosp._ Those dangerous enemies of men, called women. + + _Hip._ Women! I never heard of them before.-- + What are women like? + + _Prosp._ Imagine something between young men and angels; + Fatally beauteous, and have killing eyes; + Their voices charm beyond the nightingale's; + They are all enchantment: Those, who once behold them, + Are made their slaves for ever. + + _Hip._ Then I will wink, and fight with them. + + _Prosp._ 'Tis but in vain; + They'll haunt you in your very sleep. + + _Hip._ Then I'll revenge it on them when I wake. + + _Prosp._ You are without all possibility of revenge; + They are so beautiful, that you can ne'er attempt, + Nor wish, to hurt them. + + _Hip._ Are they so beautiful? + + _Prosp._ Calm sleep is not so soft; nor winter suns, + Nor summer shades, so pleasant. + + _Hip._ Can they be fairer than the plumes of swans? + Or more delightful than the peacock's feathers? + Or than the gloss upon the necks of doves? + Or have more various beauty than the rainbow?-- + These I have seen, and, without danger, wondered at. + + _Prosp._ All these are far below them: Nature made + Nothing but woman dangerous and fair. + Therefore if you should chance to see them, + Avoid them straight, I charge you. + + _Hip._ Well, since you say they are so dangerous, + I'll so far shun them, as I may with safety + Of the unblemished honour, which you taugt me. + But let them not provoke me, for I'm sure + I shall not then forbear them. + + _Prosp._ Go in, and read the book I gave you last. + To-morrow I may bring you better news. + + _Hip._ I shall obey you, sir. + [_Exit_ HIP. + + _Prosp._ So, so; I hope this lesson has secured him, + For I have been constrained to change his lodging + From yonder rock, where first I bred him up, + And here have brought him home to my own cell, + Because the shipwreck happened near his mansion. + I hope he will not stir beyond his limits, + For hitherto he hath been all obedience: + The planets seem to smile on my designs, + And yet there is one sullen cloud behind: + I would it were dispersed! + +_Enter_ MIRANDA _and_ DORINDA. + + How, my daughters! + I thought I had instructed them enough: + Children! retire; why do you walk this way? + + _Mir._ It is within our bounds, sir. + + _Prosp._ But both take heed, that path is very + dangerous; remember what I told you. + + _Dor._ Is the man that way, sir? + + _Prosp._ All that you can imagine ill is there. + The curled lion, and the rugged bear, + Are not so dreadful as that man. + + _Mir._ Oh me, why stay we here then? + + _Dor._ I'll keep far enough from his den, I warrant him. + + _Mir._ But you have told me, sir, you are a man; + And yet you are not dreadful. + + _Prosp._ Ay, child; but I + Am a tame man; old men are tame by nature, + But all the danger lies in a wild young man. + + _Dor._ Do they run wild about the woods? + + _Prosp._ No, they are wild within doors, in chambers, and in closets. + + _Dor._ But, father, I would stroak them, and make them gentle; then sure + they would not hurt me. + + _Prosp._ You must not trust them, child: No woman can come near them, + but she feels a pain, full nine months. Well, I must in; for new affairs + require my presence: Be you, Miranda, your sister's guardian. + [_Exit_ PROS. + + _Dor._ Come, sister, shall we walk the other way? + The man will catch us else: We have but two legs, + And he, perhaps, has four. + + _Mir._ Well, sister, though he have; yet look about you. + + _Dor._ Come back! that way is towards his den. + + _Mir._ Let me alone; I'll venture first, for sure he can + Devour but one of us at once. + + _Dor._ How dare you venture? + + _Mir._ We'll find him sitting like a hare in's form, + And he shall not see us. + + _Dor._ Ay, but you know my father charged us both. + + _Mir._ But who shall tell him on't? we'll keep each other's counsel. + + _Dor._ I dare not, for the world. + + _Mir._ But how shall we hereafter shun him, if we do not know him first? + + _Dor._ Nay, I confess I would fain see him too. + I find it in my nature, because my father has forbidden me. + + _Mir._ Ay, there's it, sister; if he had said nothing, I had been quiet. + Go softly, and if you see him first, be quick, and beckon me away. + + _Dor._ Well, if he does catch me, I'll humble myself to him, and ask him + pardon, as I do my father, when I have done a fault. + + _Mir._ And if I can but escape with life, I had rather be in pain nine + months, as my father threatened, than lose my longing. + [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO. + + + _Hip._ Prospero has often said, that nature makes + Nothing in vain: Why then are women made? + Are they to suck the poison of the earth, + As gaudy coloured serpents are? I'll ask + That question, when next I see him here. + +_Enter_ MIRANDA _and_ DORINDA _peeping_. + + _Dor._ O sister, there it is! it walks about + Like one of us. + + _Mir._ Ay, just so, and has legs as we have too. + + _Hip._ It strangely puzzles me: Yet 'tis most likely, + Women are somewhat between men and spirits. + + _Dor._ Hark! it talks:--sure this is not it my father meant, + For this is just like one of us: Methinks, + I am not half so much afraid on't as + I was; see, now it turns this way. + + _Mir._ Heaven! what a goodly thing it is! + + _Dor._ I'll go nearer it. + + _Mir._ O no, 'tis dangerous, sister! I'll go to it. + I would not for the world that you should venture. + My father charged me to secure you from it. + + _Dor._ I warrant you this is a tame man; dear sister, + He'll not hurt me, I see it by his looks. + + _Mir._ Indeed he will! but go back, and he shall eat me first: Fie, are + you not ashamed to be so inquisitive? + + _Dor._ You chide me for it, and would give him yourself. + + _Mir._ Come back, or I will tell my father. + Observe how he begins to stare already! + I'll meet the danger first, and then call you. + + _Dor._ Nay, sister, you shall never vanquish me in kindness. I'll + venture you no more than you will me. + + _Prosp._ [_within_.] Miranda, child, where are you? + + _Mir._ Do you not hear my father call? Go in. + + _Dor._ 'Twas you he named, not me; I will but + say my prayers, and follow you immediately. + + _Mir._ Well, sister, you'll repent it. + [_Exit_ MIR. + + _Dor._ Though I die for it, I must have the other peep. + + _Hip._ What thing is that? [_Seeing her_.] Sure 'tis some infant of + The sun, dressed in his father's gayest beams, + And comes to play with birds: My sight is dazzled, + And yet I find I'm loth to shut my eyes: + I must go nearer it;--but stay a while; + May it not be that beauteous murderer, woman, + Which I was charged to shun? Speak, what art thou, + Thou shining vision! + + _Dor._ Alas, I know not; but I'm told I am + A woman; do not hurt me, pray, fair thing. + + _Hip._ I'd sooner tear my eyes out, than consent + To do you any harm; though I was told, + A woman was my enemy. + + _Dor._ I never knew + What 'twas to be an enemy, nor can I e'er + Prove so to that, which looks like you: For though + I've been charged by him (whom yet I ne'er disobeyed,) + To shun your presence, yet I'd rather die + Than lose it; therefore, I hope you will not have the heart + To hurt me: Though I fear you are a man, + The dangerous thing of which I have been warned. + Pray, tell me what you are? + + _Hip._ I must confess, I was informed I am a man; + But if I fright you, I shall wish I were some other creature. + I was bid to fear you too. + + _Dor._ Ah me! Heaven grant we be not poison to + Each other! Alas, can we not meet, but we must die? + + _Hip._ I hope not so! for, when two poisonous creatures, + Both of the same kind, meet, yet neither dies. + I've seen two serpents harmless to each other, + Though they have twined into a mutual knot: + If we have any venom in us, sure, we cannot be + More poisonous, when we meet, than serpents are. + You have a hand like mine--may I not gently touch it? + [_Takes her hand._ + + _Dor._ I've touched my father's and my sister's hands, + And felt no pain; but now, alas! there's something, + When I touch yours, which makes me sigh: Just so + I've seen two turtles mourning when they met: + Yet mine's a pleasing grief; and so, methought, + Was theirs: For still they mourned, and still they seemed + To murmur too, and yet they often met. + + _Hip._ Oh heavens! I have the same sense too: your hand, + Methinks, goes through me; I feel it at my heart, + And find it pleases, though it pains me. + + _Prosp._ [_within_.] Dorinda! + + _Dor._ My father calls again; ah, I must leave you. + + _Hip._ Alas, I'm subject to the same command. + + _Dor._ This is my first offence against my father, + Which he, by severing us, too cruelly does punish. + + _Hip._ And this is my first trespass too: But he + Hath more offended truth, than we have him: + He said our meeting would destructive be, + But I no death, but in our parting, see. + [_Exeunt severally._ + + +SCENE IV.--_A Wild Island._ + +_Enter_ ALONZO, ANTONIO, _and_ GONZALO. + + + _Gonz._ 'Beseech your grace, be merry: You have cause, + So have we all, of joy, for our strange escape; + Then wisely, good sir, weigh our sorrow with + Our comfort. + + _Alon._ Pr'ythee peace; you cram these words + Into my ears, against my stomach; how + Can I rejoice, when my dear son, perhaps + This very moment, is made a meal to some strange fish? + + _Anto._ Sir, he may live; + I saw him beat the billows under him, + And ride upon their backs; I do not doubt + He came alive to land. + + _Alon._ No, no, he's gone; + And you and I, Antonio, were those + Who caused his death. + + _Anto._ How could we help it? + + _Alon._ Then, then we should have helped it, + When thou betray'dst thy brother Prospero, + And Mantua's infant sovereign, to my power: + And when I, too ambitious, took by force + Another's right: Then lost we Ferdinand; + Then forfeited our navy to this tempest. + + _Anto._ Indeed we first broke truce with heaven; + You to the waves an infant prince exposed, + And on the waves have lost an only son. + I did usurp my brother's fertile lands, + And now am cast upon this desert-isle. + + _Gonz._ These, sirs, 'tis true, were crimes of a black dye; + But both of you have made amends to heaven, + By your late voyage into Portugal; + Where, in defence of christianity, + Your valour has repulsed the Moors of Spain. + + _Alon._ O name it not, Gonzalo; + No act but penitence can expiate guilt! + Must we teach heaven what price to set on murder? + What rate on lawless power and wild ambition? + Or dare we traffic with the powers above, + And sell by weight a good deed for a bad? + [_A flourish of music._ + + _Gonz._ Music! and in the air! sure we are shipwrecked + On the dominions of some merry devil! + + _Anto._ This isle's enchanted ground; for I have heard + Swift voices flying by my ear, and groans + Of lamenting ghosts. + + _Alon._ I pulled a tree, and blood pursued my hand. + Heaven deliver me from this dire place, + And all the after-actions of my life + Shall mark my penitence and my bounty. + [_Music again louder._ + Hark, the sounds approach us! + [_The stage opens in several places._ + + _Anto._ Lo! the earth opens to devour us quick. + These dreadful horrors, and the guilty sense + Of my foul treason, have unmanned me quite. + + _Alon._ We on the brink of swift destruction stand; + No means of our escape is left. + [_Another flourish of voices under the stage._ + + _Anto._ Ah! what amazing sounds are these we hear! + + _Gonz._ What horrid masque will the dire fiends present? + + SUNG UNDER THE STAGE. + + 1 Dev. _Where does the black fiend Ambition reside, + With the mischievous devil of Pride?_ + + 2 Dev. _In the lowest and darkest caverns of hell, + Both Pride and Ambition do dwell._ + + 1 Dev. _Who are the chief leaders of the damned host?_ + + 3 Dev. _Proud monarchs, who tyrannize most._ + + 1 Dev. _Damned princes there + The worst of torments bear;_ + + 3 Dev. _Who on earth all others in pleasures excel, + Must feel the worst torments of hell._ + [_They rise singing this chorus._ + + _Anto._ O heavens! what horrid vision's this? + How they upbraid us with our crimes! + + _Alon._ What fearful vengeance is in store for us! + + 1 Dev. _Tyrants, by whom their subjects bleed, + Should in pains all others exceed;_ + + 1 Dev. _And barbarous monarchs, who their neighbours invade, + And their crowns unjustly get; + And such who their brothers to death have betrayed, + In hell upon burning thrones shall be set._ + + 3 Dev. {--_In hell, in hell with flames they shall reign,_ + Chor. {_And for ever, for ever shall suffer the pain._ + + _Anto._ O my soul! for ever, for ever shall suffer the pain! + + _Alon._ Has heaven, in all its infinite stock of mercy, + No overflowings for us? poor, miserable, guilty men! + + _Gonz._ Nothing but horrors do encompass us! + For ever, for ever must we suffer! + + _Alon._ For ever we shall perish! O dismal words, + For ever! + + 1 Dev. _Who are the pillars of the tyrants court?_ + + 2 Dev. _Rapine and Murder his crown must support!_ + + 3 Dev. ----_His cruelty does tread + On orphans' tender breasts, and brothers dead!_ + + 2 Dev. _Can heaven permit such crimes should be + Attended with felicity?_ + + 1 Dev. _No; tyrants their sceptres uneasily bear, + In the midst of their guards they their consciences fear._ + + 2 Dev. {_Care their minds when they wake unquiet will keep;_ + Chor. {_And we with dire visions disturb all their sleep._ + + _Anto._ Oh horrid sight! how they stare upon us! + The fiend will hurry us to the dark mansion. + Sweet heaven, have mercy on us! + + 1 Dev. _Say, say, shall we bear these bold mortals from hence?_ + + 2 Dev. _No, no, let us shew their degrees of offence._ + + 3 Dev. _Let's muster their crimes upon every side, + And first let's discover their pride._ + +Enter PRIDE. + + Pride. _Lo here is Pride, who first led them astray, + And did to ambition their minds then betray._ + + Enter FRAUD. + + Fraud. _And Fraud does next appear, + Their wandering steps who led; + When they from virtue fled, + They in my crooked paths their course did steer._ + + Enter RAPINE. + + Rapine. _From fraud to force they soon arrive, + Where Rapine did their actions drive._ + + Enter MURDER. + + Murder. _There long they could not stay; + Down the steep hill they run; + And to perfect the mischief which they had begun, + To murder they bent all their way._ + + Chorus of all. _Around, around we pace, + About this cursed place; + While thus we compass in + These mortals and their sin._ + [Devils vanish. + + _Anto._ Heaven has heard me, they are vanished! + + _Alon._ But they have left me all unmanned; + I feel my sinews slacken with the fright; + And a cold sweat trills down o'er all my limbs, + As if I were dissolving into water. + Oh Prospero, my crimes against thee sit heavy on my heart! + + _Anto._ And mine against him and young Hippolito. + + _Gonz._ Heaven have mercy on the penitent! + + _Anto._ Lead from this cursed ground; + The seas in all their rage are not so dreadful. + This is the region of despair and death. + + _Alon._ Beware all fruit, but what the birds have pecked. + The shadows of the trees are poisonous too: + A secret venom slides from every branch. + My conscience does distract me! O my son! + Why do I speak of eating or repose, + Before I know thy fortune? + [_As they are going out, a Devil rises just before + them, at which they start, and are frighted._ + + _Alon._ O heavens! yet more apparitions! + + DEVIL SINGS. + + _Arise, arise! ye subterranean winds, + More to disturb their guilty minds: + And all ye filthy damps and vapours rise, + Which use to infect the earth, and trouble all the skies; + Rise you, from whom devouring plagues have birth: + You, that in the vast and hollow womb of earth + Engender earthquakes, make whole countries shake, + And stately cities into deserts turn; + And you, who feed the flames by which earth's entrails burn. + Ye raging winds, whose rapid force can make + All but the fixed and solid centre shake, + Come drive these wretches to that part of the isle, + Where nature never yet did smile: + Cause fogs and storms, whirlwinds, and earthquakes there: + There let them howl and languish in despair. + Rise and obey the powerful prince of the air._ + + [Two Winds rise, ten more enter and dance. At the end of + the dance, three Winds sink, the rest drive ALONZO, + ANTONIO and GONZALO off. + + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE I.--_A Wild Island._ + +_Enter_ FERDINAND, ARIEL, _and_ MILCHA _invisible_. + + + Ariel. _Come unto these yellow sands, + And then take hands, + Curtsied when you have, and kissed; + And wild waves whist. + Foot it featly here and there, + And sweet sprites the burthen bear. + Hark! hark! + Bow waugh, the watch-dogs bark. + Bow waugh. Hark! hark! I hear + The strain of strutting Chanticleer, + Cry, Cock a doodle do._ + + _Ferd._ Where should this music be? in the air, or earth? + It sounds no more, and sure it waits upon + Some God in the island: Sitting on a bank, + Weeping against the duke my father's wreck, + This music hovered on the waters, + Allaying both their fury, and my passion, + With charming airs. Thence I have followed it, + (Or it has drawn me rather) but 'tis gone: + No, it begins again. + + MILCHA SINGS. + + _Full fathom five thy father lies, + Of his bones is coral made: + Those are pearls that were his eyes; + Nothing of him, that does fade, + But does suffer a sea change, + Into something rich and strange: + Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell; + Hark! now I hear them, ding dong bell._ + + _Ferd._ This mournful ditty mentions my drowned father. + This is no mortal business, nor a sound + Which the earth owns----I hear it now before me; + However, I will on, and follow it. + [_Exit_ FERD. _following_ ARIEL. + + +SCENE II.--_The Cypress Trees and Cave._ + +_Enter_ PROSPERO _and_ MIRANDA. + + + _Prosp._ Excuse it not, Miranda, for to you + (The elder, and, I thought, the more discreet,) + I gave the conduct of your sister's actions. + + _Mir._ Sir, when you called me thence, I did not fail + To mind her of her duty to depart. + + _Prosp._ How can I think you did remember hers, + When you forgot your own? did you not see + The man, whom I commanded you to shun? + + _Mir._ I must confess I saw him at a distance. + + _Prosp._ Did not his eyes infect and poison you? + What alteration found you in yourself? + + _Mir._ I only wondered at a sight so new. + + _Prosp._ But have you no desire once more to see him? + Come, tell me truly what you think of him. + + _Mir._ As of the gayest thing I ever saw, + So fine, that it appeared more fit to be + Beloved than feared, and seemed so near my kind, + That I did think I might have called it sister. + + _Prosp._ You do not love it? + + _Mir._ How is it likely that I should, + Except the thing had first loved me? + + _Prosp._ Cherish those thoughts: You have a generous soul; + And since I see your mind not apt to take + The light impressions of a sudden love, + I will unfold a secret to your knowledge. + That creature, which you saw, is of a kind, + Which nature made a prop and guide to yours. + + _Mir._ Why did you then propose him as an object + Of terror to my mind? You never used + To teach me any thing but god-like truths, + And what you said, I did believe as sacred. + + _Prosp._ I feared the pleasing form of this young man + Might unawares possess your tender breast, + Which for a nobler guest I had designed; + For shortly, my Miranda, you shall see + Another of this kind, the full blown flower, + Of which this youth was but the opening bud. + Go in, and send your sister to me. + + _Mir._ Heaven still preserve you, sir. + [_Exit_ MIR. + + _Prosp._ And make thee fortunate. + +_Enter_ DORINDA. + + Oh, come hither: you have seen a man to-day, + Against my strict command. + + _Dor._ Who, I? Indeed I saw him but a little, sir. + + _Prosp._ Come, come, be clear. Your sister told me all. + + _Dor._ Did she? + Truly she would have seen him more than I, + But that I would not let her. + + _Prosp._ Why so? + + _Dor._ Because, methought, he would have hurt me less, + Than he would her. + But if I knew you'd not be angry with me, + I could tell you, sir, that he was much to blame. + + _Prosp._ Ha! was he to blame? + Tell me, with that sincerity I taught you, + How you became so bold to see the man? + + _Dor._ I hope you will forgive me, sir, because + I did not see him much, till he saw me. + Sir, he would needs come in my way, and stared, + And stared upon my face, and so I thought + I would be revenged of him, and, therefore, + I gazed on him as long; but if I e'er + Come near a man again! + + _Prosp._ I told you he + Was dangerous; but you would not be warned. + + _Dor._ Pray be not angry, sir, if I tell you, + You are mistaken in him; for he did + Me no great hurt. + + _Prosp._ But he may do you more harm hereafter. + + _Dor._ No, sir, I'm as well as e'er I was in all my life, + But that I cannot eat nor drink for thought of him. + That dangerous man runs ever in my mind. + + _Prosp._ The way to cure you is, no more to see him. + + _Dor._ Nay, pray, sir, say not so. I promised him + To see him once again; and you know, sir, + You charged me I should never break my promise. + + _Prosp._ Would you see him, who did you so much mischief? + + _Dor._ I warrant you + I did him as much harm as he did me; + For when I left him, sir, he sighed so, as it grieved + My heart to hear him. + + _Prosp._ Those sighs were poisonous, they infected you; + You say, they grieved you to the heart. + + _Dor._ 'Tis true; but yet his looks and words were gentle. + + _Prosp._ These are the day-dreams of a maid in love; + But still I fear the worst. + + _Dor._ O fear not him, sir. + + _Prosp._ You speak of him with too much passion; tell me, + (And on your duty tell me true, Dorinda,) + What passed betwixt you and that horrid creature? + + _Dor._ How, horrid, sir? if any else but you + Should call it so, indeed, I should be angry. + + _Prosp._ Go to! You are a foolish girl; but answer + To what I ask; what thought you when you saw it? + + _Dor._ At first it stared upon me, and seemed wild, + And then I trembled; yet it looked so lovely, + That when I would have fled away, my feet + Seemed fastened to the ground, when it drew near, + And with amazement asked to touch my hand; + Which, as a ransom for my life, I gave: + But when he had it, with a furious gripe + He put it to his mouth so eagerly, + I was afraid he would have swallowed it. + + _Prosp._ Well, what was his behaviour afterwards? + + _Dor._ He on a sudden grew so tame and gentle, + That he became more kind to me than you are; + Then, sir, I grew I know not how, and, touching + His hand again, my heart did beat so strong, + As I lacked breath to answer what he asked. + + _Prosp._ You've been too fond, and I should chide you for it. + + _Dor._ Then send me to that creature to be punished. + + _Prosp._ Poor child! Thy passion, like a lazy ague, + Has seized thy blood; instead of striving, thou humourest + And feed'st thy languishing disease: Thou fight'st + The battles of thy enemy, and 'tis one part of what + I threatened thee, not to perceive thy danger. + + _Dor._ Danger, sir? + If he would hurt me, yet he knows not how: + He hath no claws, nor teeth, nor horns to hurt me, + But looks about him like a callow-bird, + Just straggling from the nest: Pray trust me, sir, + To go to him again. + + _Prosp._ Since you will venture, + I charge you bear yourself reservedly to him; + Let him not dare to touch your naked hand, + But keep at distance from him. + + _Dor._ This is hard! + + _Prosp._ It is the way to make him love you more; + He will despise you, if you grow too kind. + + _Dor._ I'll struggle with my heart to follow this; + But if I lose him by it, will you promise + To bring him back again? + + _Prosp._ Fear not, Dorinda; + But use him ill, and he'll be yours for ever. + + _Dor._ I hope you have not cozened me again. + [_Exit_ DOR. + + + _Prosp._ Now my designs are gathering to a head; + My spirits are obedient to my charms. + What, Ariel! My servant Ariel, where art thou? + +_Enter_ ARIEL. + + _Ariel._ What would my potent master? Here I am. + + _Prosp._ Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service + Did worthily perform, and I must use you + In such another work: How goes the day? + + _Ariel._ On the fourth, my lord; and on the sixth, + You said our work should cease. + + _Prosp._ And so it shall; + And thou shalt have the open air at freedom. + + _Ariel._ Thanks, my great lord. + + _Prosp._ But tell me first, my spirit, + How fares the duke, my brother, and their followers? + + _Ariel._ Confined together, as you gave me order, + In the lime-grove, which weather-fends your cell; + Within that circuit up and down they wander, + But cannot stir one step beyond their compass. + + _Prosp._ How do they bear their sorrows? + + _Ariel._ The two dukes appear like men distracted, their + Attendants, brim-full of sorrow, mourning over them; + But chiefly he, you termed the good Gonzalo: + His tears run down his beard, like winter drops + From eaves of reeds; your vision did so work them, + That, if you now beheld them, your affections + Would become tender. + + _Prosp._ Dost thou think so, spirit? + + _Ariel._ Mine would, sir, were I human. + + _Prosp._ And mine shall: + Hast thou, who art but air, a touch, a feeling + Of their afflictions, and shall not I (a man + Like them, one, who as sharply relish passions + As they) be kindlier moved than thou art? + Though they have pierced me to the quick with injuries, + Yet with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury, + I will take part; the rarer action is + In virtue, than in vengeance. Go, my Ariel, + Refresh with needful food their famished bodies, + With shows and chearful musick comfort them. + + _Ariel._ Presently, master? + + _Prosp._ With a twinkle, Ariel.--But stay, my spirit; + What is become of my slave, Caliban, + And Sycorax, his sister? + + _Ariel._ Potent sir, + They have cast off your service, and revolted + To the wrecked mariners, who have already + Parcelled your island into governments. + + _Prosp._ No matter, I have now no need of them. + But, spirit, now I stay thee on the wing; + Haste to perform what I have given in charge: + But see they keep within the bounds I set them. + + _Ariel._ I'll keep them in with walls of adamant, + Invisible as air to mortal eyes, + But yet unpassable. + + _Prosp._ Make haste then. + [_Exeunt severally._ + + +SCENE III.--_Wild Island._ + +_Enter_ ALONZO, ANTONIO, _and_ GONZALO. + + +_Gonz._ I am weary, and can go no further, sir. + + _Alon._ Old lord, I cannot blame thee, who am myself seized with a + weariness, to the dulling of my spirits: + [_They sit._ + Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it + No longer for my flatterers: He is drowned, + Whom thus we stray to find. I'm faint with hunger, + And must despair of food. + [_Music without._ + What! harmony again? My good friends, hark! + + _Anto._ I fear some other horrid apparition. + Give us kind keepers, heaven, I beseech thee! + + _Gonz._ 'Tis chearful music this, unlike the first. + + ARIEL _and_ MILCHA _invisible, sing_. + + _Dry those eyes which are o'erflowing, + All your storms are overblowing: + While you in this isle are biding, + You shall feast without providing: + Every dainty you can think of, + Every wine which you would drink of, + Shall be yours; all want shall shun you, + Ceres' blessing so is on you._ + + _Alon._ This voice speaks comfort to us. + + _Anto._ Would 'twere come; + There is no music in a song to me, + My stomach being empty. + + _Gonz._ O for a heavenly vision of boiled, + Baked, and roasted! + [_Dance of fantastic Spirits; after the dance, + in by two a table furnished with meat and fruit + is brought Spirits._ + + _Anto._ My lord, the duke, see yonder! + A table, as I live, set out and furnished + With all varieties of meats and fruits. + + _Alon._ 'Tis so indeed; but who dares taste this feast, + Which fiends provide, to poison us? + + _Gonz._ Why that dare I; if the black gentleman + Be so ill natured, he may do his pleasure. + + _Anto._ 'Tis certain we must either eat or famish: + I will encounter it, and feed. + + _Alon._ If both resolve, I will adventure too. + + _Gonz._ The devil may fright me, yet he shall not starve me. + [_Two Spirits descend, and fly away with the table._ + + _Alon._ Heaven! behold, it is as you suspected: + 'Tis vanished. + Shall we be always haunted with these fiends? + + _Anto._ Here we shall wander till we famish. + + _Gonz._ Certainly one of you was so wicked as to say grace; this comes + on it, when men will be godly out of season. + + _Anto._ Yonder's another table, let's try that. + [_Exeunt._ + +_Enter_ TRINCALO _and_ CALIBAN. + +_Trinc._ Brother monster, welcome to my private palace. But where's thy +sister? is she so brave a lass? + +_Calib._ In all this isle there are but two more, the daughters of the +tyrant Prospero; and she is bigger than them both. O, here she comes! +now thou mayest judge thyself, my lord. + +_Enter_ SYCORAX. + +_Trinc._ She's monstrous fair indeed. Is this to be my spouse? Well, +she's heir of all this isle (for I will geld monster). The Trincalos, +like other wise men, have anciently used to marry for estate, more than +for beauty. + +_Syc._ I pr'ythee let me have the gay thing about thy neck, and that +which dangles at thy wrist. + [Sycorax _points to his whistle and his bottle_. + +_Trinc._ My dear blubber-lips! this--observe, my chuck--is a badge of my +sea-office; my fair fuss, thou dost not know it. + +_Syc._ No, my dread lord. + +_Trinc._ It shall be a whistle for our first babe, and when the next +shipwreck puts me again to swimming, I'll dive to get a coral to it. + +_Syc._ I'll be thy pretty child, and wear it first. + +_Trinc._ I pr'ythee, sweet baby, do not play the wanton, and cry for my +goods ere I'm dead. When thou art my widow, thou shalt have the devil +and all. + +_Syc._ May I not have the other fine thing? + +_Trinc._ This is a sucking-bottle for young Trincalo. + +_Calib._ Shall she not taste of that immortal liquor? + +_Trinc._ Umph! that's another question: For if she be thus flippant in +her water, what will she be in her wine? + +_Enter_ ARIEL _(invisible) and changes the Bottle which stands upon the +Ground._ + +_Ariel._ There's water for your wine. + [_Exit_ ARIEL. + + _Trinc._ Well! since it must be so. + [_Gives her the bottle._ + How do you like it now, my queen that must be? + [_She drinks._ + +_Syc._ Is this your heav'nly liquor? I'll bring you to a river of the +same. + +_Trinc._ Wilt thou so, Madam Monster? What a mighty prince shall I be +then! I would not change my dukedom to be great Turk Trincalo. + +_Syc._ This is the drink of frogs. + +_Trinc._ Nay, if the frogs of this island drink such, they are the +merriest frogs in Christendom. + +_Calib._ She does not know the virtue of this liquor: I pr'ythee, let me +drink for her. + [Caliban _drinks_. + +_Trinc._ Well said, Subject Monster! + +_Calib._ My lord, this is mere water. + +_Trinc._ 'Tis thou hast changed the wine then, and drunk it up, like a +debauched fish as thou art. Let me see't, I'll taste it myself--Element! +mere element, as I live! It was a cold gulp, such as this, which killed +my famous predecessor, old Simon the king[F]. + +_Calib._ How does thy honour? pr'ythee, be not angry, and I will lick +thy shoe. + +_Trinc._ I could find in my heart to turn thee out of my dominions, for +a liquorish monster. + +_Calib._ O, my lord, I have found it out; this must be done by one of +Prospero's spirits. + + _Trinc._ There's nothing but malice in these devils; + I would it had been holy-water for their sakes! + +_Syc._ 'Tis no matter, I will cleave to thee. + +_Trinc._ Lovingly said, in troth: Now cannot I hold out against her. +This wife-like virtue of her's has overcome me. + +_Syc._ Shall I have thee in my arms? + +_Trinc._ Thou shalt have Duke Trincalo in thy arms: But, pr'ythee, be +not too boisterous with me at first; do not discourage a young beginner. +[_They embrace_.] Stand to your arms, my spouse, and subject monster,-- + +_Enter_ STEPHANO, MUSTACHO, _and_ VENTOSO. + + The enemy is come to surprise us in our quarters. + You shall know, rebels, that I am married to a + witch, and we have a thousand spirits of our party. + +_Steph._ Hold! I ask a truce; I and my viceroys (finding no food, and +but a small remainder of brandy,) are come to treat a peace betwixt us, +which may be for the good of both armies; therefore, Trincalo, disband. + +_Trinc._ Plain Trincalo! methinks I might have been a duke in your +mouth; I'll not accept of your embassy without my title. + +_Steph._ A title shall break no squares betwixt us: Viceroys, give him +his style of duke, and treat with him whilst I walk by in state. + +[VENTOSO _and_ MUSTACHO _bow, whilst_ TRINCALO _puts on his Cap_. + +_Must._ Our lord and master, Duke Stephano, has sent us, in the first +place, to demand of you, upon what ground you make war against him; +having no right to govern here, as being elected only by your own voice. + +_Trinc._ To this I answer, That, having in the face of the world +espoused the lawful inheretrix of this island, Queen Blouze the First, +and having homage done me by this hectoring spark her brother; from +these two I claim a lawful title to this island. + +_Must._ Who, that monster? He a Hector? + +_Calib._ Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord? + +_Trinc._ Viceroys! keep good tongues in your heads, I advise you, and +proceed to your business. + +_Must._ First and foremost, as to your claim, that you have answered. + +_Vent._ But, second and foremost, we demand of you, that if we make a +peace, the butt also may be comprehended in the treaty. + +_Trinc._ I cannot treat with my honour, without your submission. + +_Steph._ I understand, being present, from my ambassadors, what your +resolution is, and ask an hour's time of deliberation, and so I take our +leave; but first I desire to be entertained at your butt, as becomes a +prince and his ambassadors. + +_Trinc._ That I refuse, till acts of hostility be ceased. These rogues +are rather spies than ambassadors. I must take heed of my butt. They +come to pry into the secrets of my dukedom. + +_Vent._ Trincalo, you are a barbarous prince, and so farewell. + [_Exeunt_ STEPH. MUST. _and_ VENT. + +_Trinc._ Subject-monster! stand you sentry before my cellar; my queen +and I will enter, and feast ourselves within. + [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE IV. + +_Enter_ FERDINAND, _and_ ARIEL _and_ MILCHA _invisible_. + + + _Ferd._ How far will this invisible musician + Conduct my steps? he hovers still about me; + Whether for good or ill, I cannot tell, + Nor care I much; for I have been so long + A slave to chance, that I'm as weary of + Her flatteries as her frowns; but here I am---- + + _Ariel._ Here I am. + + _Ferd._ Ha! art thou so? the spirit's turned an echo: + This might seem pleasant, could the burden of + My griefs accord with any thing but sighs; + And my last words, like those of dying men, + Need no reply. Fain I would go to shades, + Where few would wish to follow me. + + _Ariel._ Follow me. + + _Ferd._ This evil spirit grows importunate, + But I'll not take his counsel. + + _Ariel._ Take his counsel. + + _Ferd._ It may be the devil's counsel, I'll never take it. + + _Ariel._ Take it. + + _Ferd._ I will discourse no more with thee, + Nor follow one step further. + + _Ariel._ One step further. + + _Ferd._ This must have more importance than an echo; + Some spirit tempts me to a precipice. + I'll try if it will answer when I sing + My sorrows, to the murmur of this brook. + + HE SINGS. + + _Go thy way._ + + Ariel. _Go thy way._ + + Ferd. _Why shouldst thou stay?_ + + Ariel. _Why shouldst thou stay?_ + + Ferd. _Where the winds whistle, and where the streams creep, + Under yon willow-tree fain would I sleep. + Then let me alone, + For 'tis time to be gone._ + + Ariel. _For 'tis time to be gone._ + + Ferd. _What cares or pleasures can be in this isle? + Within this desart place, + There lives no human race; + Fate cannot frown here, nor kind fortune smile._ + + Ariel. _Kind fortune smiles, and she + Has yet in store for thee + Some strange felicity. + Follow me, follow me, + And thou shalt see._ + + _Ferd._ I'll take thy word for once; + Lead on, musician. + [_Exeunt and return._ + + +SCENE V.--_The Cypress-trees and Caves._ + +_Scene changes, and discovers_ PROSPERO _and_ MIRANDA. + + + _Prosp._ Advance the fringed curtains of thine eyes, + And say what thou seest yonder. + + _Mir._ Is it a spirit? + Lord, how it looks about! Sir, I confess + it carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit. + + _Prosp._ No, girl, it eats, and sleeps, and has such senses + As we have. This young gallant, whom thou see'st, + Was in the wreck; were he not somewhat stained + With grief, (beauty's worst canker) thou might'st call him + A goodly person; he has lost his company, + And strays about to find them. + + _Mir._ I might call him + A thing divine, for nothing natural + I ever saw so noble. + + _Prosp._ It goes on, + As my soul prompts it: Spirit, fine spirit, + I'll free thee within two days for this. + [_Aside._ + + _Ferd._ She's sure the mistress on whom these airs attend. + Fair excellence! if, as your form declares, + You are divine, be pleased to instruct me how + You will be worshipped; so bright a beauty + Cannot sure belong to human kind. + + _Mir._ I am, like you, a mortal, if such you are. + + _Ferd._ My language, too! O heavens! I am the best + Of them who speak this speech, when I'm in my + Own country. + + _Prosp._ How, the best? what wert thou, if + The duke of Savoy heard thee? + + _Ferd._ As I am now; + Who wonders to hear thee speak of Savoy; + He does hear me, and that he does, I weep. + Myself am Savoy, whose fatal eyes (ne'er since at ebb) beheld + The duke, my father, wrecked. + + _Mir._ Alack! for pity! + + _Prosp._ At the first sight they have changed eyes. + Dear Ariel, I'll set thee free for this.-- + [_Aside._ + Young sir, a word. + With hazard of yourself you do me wrong. + + _Mir._ Why speaks my father so ungently? This is + The third man that I ever saw, the first + Whom e'er I sighed for; sweet heaven, move my father + To be inclined my way. + + _Ferd._ O! if a virgin, + And your affections not gone forth, I'll make you + Mistress of Savoy. + + _Prosp._ Soft, sir, one word more.-- + They're in each other's power; but this swift business + I must uneasy make, lest too light winning + Make the prize light.--One word more. Thou usurp'st + The name not due to thee, hast put thyself + Upon this island as a spy, to get + The government from me, the lord of it. + + _Ferd._ No, as I'm a man. + + _Mir._ There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: + If the evil spirit hath so fair a house, + Good things will strive to dwell with it. + + _Prosp._ No more. Speak not for him, he is a traitor. + Come! thou art my prisoner, and shalt be in bonds. + Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be + The fresh brook-muscles, withered roots and husks, + Wherein the acorn cradled;----follow. + + _Ferd._ No, I will resist such entertainment, + Till my enemy has more power. + [_He draws, and is charmed from moving._ + + _Mir._ O dear father! make not too rash a trial + Of him; for he is gentle, and not fearful. + + _Prosp._ My child my tutor! put thy sword up, + Traitor, who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike: + Thy conscience is possessed with guilt. + Come from thy ward, + For I can here disarm thee with this wand, + And make thy weapon drop. + + _Mir._ 'Beseech you, father. + + _Prosp._ Hence: Hang not on my garment. + + _Mir._ Sir, have pity! + I'll be his surety! + + _Prosp._ Silence! one word more + Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee: What! + An advocate for an impostor? sure + Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as his; + To the most of men this is a Caliban, + And they to him are angels. + + _Mir._ My affections are then most humble; + I have no ambition to see a goodlier man. + + _Prosp._ Come on, obey: + Thy nerves are in their infancy again, + And have no vigour in them. + + _Ferd._ So they are: + My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up: + My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, + The wreck of all my friends, and this man's threats, + To whom I am subdued, would seem light to me, + Might I but once a day thorough my prison + Behold this maid: All corners else o' the earth + Let liberty make use of: I have space + Enough in such a prison. + + _Prosp._ It works: Come on: + Thou hast done well, fine Ariel: Follow me. + Hark what thou shalt do for me. + [_Whispers_ ARIEL. + + _Mir._ Be of comfort! + My father's of a better nature, sir, + Than he appears by speech: This is unwonted, + Which now came from him. + + _Prosp._ Thou shalt be free as mountain winds: + But then + Exactly do all points of my command. + + _Ariel._ To a syllable. + [_Exit_ ARIEL. + + _Prosp. to Mir._ Go in that way, speak not a word for him: + I'll separate you. + [_Exit_ MIRANDA. + + _Ferd._ As soon thou may'st divide the waters, when + Thou strik'st 'em, which pursue thy bootless blow, + And meet when it is past. + + _Prosp._ Go practise your philosophy within, + And if you are the same you speak yourself, + Bear your afflictions like a prince.--That door + Shews you your lodging. + + _Ferd._ 'Tis in vain to strive, I must obey. + [_Exit_ FERD. + + _Prosp._ This goes as I would wish it. + Now for my second care, Hippolito. + I shall not need to chide him for his fault, + His passion is become his punishment. + Come forth, Hippolito. + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO. + + _Hip._ 'Tis Prospero's voice. + + _Prosp._ Hippolito, I know you now expect + I should severely chide you: You have seen + A woman, in contempt of my commands. + + _Hip._ But, sir, you see I am come off unharmed; + I told you, that you need not doubt my courage. + + _Prosp._ You think you have received no hurt? + + _Hip._ No, none, sir. + Try me again; whene'er you please I'm ready: + I think I cannot fear an army of them. + + _Prosp._ How much in vain it is to bridle nature! + [_Aside._ + Well, what was the success of your encounter? + + _Hip._ Sir, we had none, we yielded both at first; + For I took her to mercy, and she me. + + _Prosp._ But are you not much changed from what you were? + + _Hip._ Methinks, I wish, and wish!--for what I know not,-- + But still I wish:--Yet if I had that woman, + She, I believe, could tell me what I wish for. + + _Prosp._ What would you do to make that woman yours? + + _Hip._ I'd quit the rest o'the world, that I might live + Alone with her; she never should be from me: + We two would sit and look till our eyes ached. + + _Prosp._ You'd soon be weary of her. + + _Hip._ O, sir, never. + + _Prosp._ But you'll grow old and wrinkled, as you see + Me now, and then you will not care for her. + + _Hip._ You may do what you please; but, sir, we two + Can never possibly grow old. + + _Prosp._ You must, Hippolito. + + _Hip._ Whether we will or no, sir! who shall make us? + + _Prosp._ Nature, which made me so. + + _Hip._ But you have told me, that her works are various: + She made you old, but she has made us young. + + _Prosp._ Time will convince you.-- + Meanwhile, be sure you tread in honour's paths, + That you may merit her: And that you may not + Want fit occasions to employ your virtue, + In this next cave there is a stranger lodged, + One of your kind, young, of a noble presence, + And, as he says himself, of princely birth; + He is my prisoner, and in deep affliction: + Visit, and comfort him; it will become you. + + _Hip._ It is my duty, sir. + [_Exit_ HIP. + + _Prosp._ True, he has seen a woman, yet he lives!-- + Perhaps I took the moment of his birth + Amiss: Perhaps my art itself is false.-- + On what strange grounds we build our hopes and fears! + Man's life is all a mist! and, in the dark, + Our fortunes meet us. + If fate be not, then what can we foresee? + Or how can we avoid it, if it be? + If by free will in our own paths we move, + How are we bounded by decrees above? + Whether we drive, or whether we are driven, + If ill, 'tis ours: if good, the act of heaven. + [_Exit._ + +SCENE VI.--_A Cave_. + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO _and_ FERDINAND. + + + _Ferd._ Your pity, noble youth, doth much oblige me. + Indeed, 'twas sad to lose a father so. + + _Hip._ Ay, and an only father too; for sure + You said, you had but one. + + _Ferd._ But one father! He's wondrous simple. + [_Aside._ + + _Hip._ Are such misfortunes frequent in your world, + Where many men live? + + _Ferd._ Such are we born to.-- + But, gentle youth, as you have questioned me, + So give me leave to ask you, what you are? + + _Hip._ Do not you know? + + _Ferd._ How should I? + + _Hip._ I well hoped + I was a man, but, by your ignorance + Of what I am, I fear it is not so.-- + Well, Prospero! this is now the second time + You have deceived me. + + _Ferd._ Sir, there is no doubt + You are a man: But I would know, of whence? + + _Hip._ Why, of this world; I never was in yours. + + _Ferd._ Have you a father? + + _Hip._ I was told I had one, + And that he was a man; yet I have been + So much deceived, I dare not tell't you for + A truth: But I have still been kept a prisoner, + For fear of women. + + _Ferd._ They, indeed, are dangerous; + For, since I came, I have beheld one here, + Whose beauty pierced my heart. + + _Hip._ How did she pierce? You seem not hurt. + + _Ferd._ Alas! the wound was made by her bright eyes, + And festers by her absence. + But, to speak plainer to you, sir, I love her. + + _Hip._ Now, I suspect that love's the very thing, + That I feel too!--Pray tell me truly, sir, + Are you not grown unquiet since you saw her? + + _Ferd._ I take no rest. + + _Hip._ Just, just, my disease.-- + Do you not wish, you do not know for what? + + _Ferd._ O, no! I know too well for what I wish. + + _Hip._ There, I confess, I differ from you, sir: + But you desire she may be always with you? + + _Ferd._ I can have no felicity without her. + + _Hip._ Just my condition.--Alas, gentle sir! + I'll pity you, and you shall pity me. + + _Ferd._ I love so much, that, if I have her not, + I find I cannot live. + + _Hip._ How! do you love her, + And would you have her too? That must not be: + For none but I must have her. + + _Ferd._ But perhaps we do not love the same: + All beauties are not pleasing alike to all. + + _Hip._ Why, are there more fair women, sir, + Besides that one I love? + + _Ferd._ That's a strange question. There are many more, + Besides that beauty which you love. + + _Hip._ I will have all + Of that kind, if there be a hundred of them. + + _Ferd._ But, noble youth, you know not what you say. + + _Hip._ Sir, they are things I love, I cannot be + Without them!--O, how I rejoice!--More women! + + _Ferd._ Sir, if you love, you must be tied to one. + + _Hip._ Tied! How tied to her? + + _Ferd._ To love none but her. + + _Hip._ But, sir, I find it is against my nature. + I must love where I like; and, I believe, I may like all,-- + All that are fair. Come, bring me to this woman, + For I must have her. + + _Ferd._ His simplicity + Is such, that I can scarce be angry with him.-- + [_Aside._ + Perhaps, sweet youth, when you behold her, you + Will find you do not love her. + + _Hip._ I find already + I love, because she is another woman. + + _Ferd._ You cannot love two women both at once. + + _Hip._ Sure 'tis my duty to love all who do + Resemble her, whom I've already seen. + I'll have as many as I can, that are + So good, and angel-like, as she I love; + And will have yours. + + _Ferd._ Pretty youth, you cannot. + + _Hip._ I can do any thing for that I love. + + _Ferd._ I may, perhaps, by force, restrain you from it. + + _Hip._ Why, do so, if you can. But either promise me + To love no woman, or you must try your force. + + _Ferd._ I cannot help it, I must love. + + _Hip._ Well, you may love; + For Prospero taught me friendship too. You shall + Love me, and other men, if you can find them; + But all the angel women shall be mine. + + _Ferd._ I must break off this conference, or he + Will urge me else beyond what I can bear.-- + [_Aside._ + Sweet youth, some other time we will speak + Farther concerning both our loves; at present + I am indisposed with weariness and grief, + And would, if you're so pleased, retire a while. + + _Hip._ Some other time be it; but, sir, remember, + That I both seek and much entreat your friendship; + For, next to women, I find I can love you. + + _Ferd._ I thank you, sir, I will consider of it. + [_Exit_ FERD. + + _Hip._ This stranger does insult, and comes into + My world, to take those heavenly beauties from me, + Which, I believe, I am inspired to love.-- + And yet he said, he did desire but one: + He would be poor in love, but I'll be rich.-- + I now perceive that Prospero was cunning; + For when he frightened me from womankind, + Those precious things he for himself designed. + [_Exit._ + +[Footnote F: This personage, who has bequeathed his name to a well-known +tune, is believed to have been Simon Wadloe, or Wadlow, master of the +Devil Tavern, when frequented by Ben Jonson.] + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + + +_Cypress trees and a Cave._ + +_Enter_ PROSPERO _and_ MIRANDA. + + _Prosp._ Your suit has pity in't, and has prevailed. + Within this cave he lies, and you may see him: + But yet take heed; let prudence be your guide: + You must not stay, your visit must be short.-- + [_She's going._ + One thing I had forgot; insinuate into his mind + A kindness to that youth, whom first you saw; + I would have friendship grow betwixt them. + + _Mir._ You shall be obeyed in all things. + + _Prosp._ Be earnest to unite their very souls. + + _Mir._ I shall endeavour it. + + _Prosp._ This may secure + Hippolito from that dark danger, which + My art forebodes; for friendship does provide + A double strength to oppose the assaults of fortune. + [_Exit_ PROSP. + +_Enter_ FERDINAND. + + _Ferd._ To be a prisoner where I dearly love, + Is but a double tie, a link of fortune + Joined to the chain of love; but not to see her, + And yet to be so near her, there's the hardship!-- + I feel myself as on a rack, stretched out + And nigh the ground, on which I might have ease, + Yet, cannot reach it. + + _Mir._ Sir!--my lord!--where are you? + + _Ferd._ Is it your voice, my love? or do I dream? + + _Mir._ Speak softly, it is I. + + _Ferd._ O heavenly creature! + Ten times more gentle than your fathers cruel!-- + How, on a sudden, all my griefs are vanished! + + _Mir._ How do you bear your prison? + + _Ferd._ 'Tis my palace, + While you are here, and love and silence wait + Upon our wishes; do but think we chuse it, + And 'tis what we would chuse. + + _Mir._ I'm sure what I would. + But how can I be certain that you love me? + Look to't; for I will die when you are false. + I've heard my father tell of maids, who died, + And haunted their false lovers with their ghosts. + + _Ferd._ Your ghost must take another form to fright me, + This shape will be too pleasing.--Do I love you? + O, heaven! O, earth! bear witness to this sound, + If I prove false!-- + + _Mir._ O, hold! you shall not swear, + For heaven will hate you if you prove forsworn. + + _Ferd._ Did I not love, I could no more endure + This undeserved captivity, than I + Could wish to gain my freedom, with the loss + Of you. + + _Mir._ I am a fool, to weep at what + I'm glad of: But I have a suit to you, + And that, sir, shall + Be now the only trial of your love. + + _Ferd._ You've said enough, never to be denied, + Were it my life; for you have far o'er-bid + The price of all that human life is worth. + + _Mir._ Sir, 'tis to love one for my sake, who, for + His own, deserves all the respect which you + Can ever pay him. + + _Ferd._ You mean your father: Do not think his usage + Can make me hate him; when he gave you being, + He then did that, which cancelled all these wrongs. + + _Mir._ I meant not him; for that was a request, + Which, if you love, I should not need to urge. + + _Ferd._ Is there another whom I ought to love; + And love him for your sake? + + _Mir._ Yes, such a one, + Who, for his sweetness and his goodly shape, + (If I, who am unskilled in forms, may judge) + I think can scarce be equalled: 'Tis a youth, + A stranger, too, as you are. + + _Ferd._ Of such a graceful feature! and must I, + For your sake, love him? + + _Mir._ Yes, sir: Do you scruple + To grant the first request I ever made? + He's wholly unacquainted with the world, + And wants your conversation. You should have + Compassion on so mere a stranger. + + _Ferd._ Those need compassion whom you discommend, + Not whom you praise. + + _Mir._ Come, you must love him for my sake:-- + You shall! + + _Ferd._ Must I for yours, and cannot for my own? + Either you do not love, or think that I don't: + But, when you bid me love him, I must hate him. + + _Mir._ Have I so far offended you already, + That he offends you only for my sake?-- + Yet sure you would not hate him, if you saw + Him as I've done, so full of youth and beauty. + + _Ferd._ O, poison to my hopes!-- + When he did visit me, and I did mention + This beauteous creature to him, he then did tell + Me, he would have her. + [_Aside._ + + _Mir._ Alas! what mean you? + + _Ferd._ It is too plain: Like most of her frail sex, + She's false, but has not learned the art to hide it. + Nature has done her part, she loves variety:-- + Why did I think that any woman could + Be innocent, because she's young? No, no! + Their nurses teach them change, when, with two nipples, + They do divide their liking. + [_Aside._ + + _Mir._ I fear I have offended you, and yet + I meant no harm: But, if you please to hear me,-- + [_A noise within._ + Hark, sir! now I am sure my father comes, + I know his steps: Dear love! retire a while; + I fear I've staid too long. + + _Ferd._ Too long indeed, and yet not long enough: + Oh, jealousy! Oh, love! how you distract me! + [_Exit_ FERD. + + _Mir._ He appears displeased with that young man, I know + Not why: But, 'till I find from whence his hate proceeds, + I must conceal it from my father's knowledge; + For he will think that guiltless I have caused it, + And suffer me no more to see my love. + +_Enter_ PROSPERO. + + _Prosp._ Now I have been indulgent to your wish; + You have seen the prisoner? + + _Mir._ Yes. + + _Prosp._ And he spoke to you? + + _Mir._ He spoke; but he received short answers from me. + + _Prosp._ How like you his converse? + + _Mir._ At second sight, + A man does not appear so rare a creature. + + _Prosp._ I find she loves him much, because she hides it. + Love teaches cunning even to innocence.-- + [_Aside._ + Well, go in. + + _Mir._ Forgive me, truth! for thus disguising thee. + If I can make him think, I do not love + The stranger much, he'll let me see him oftener. + [_Exit_ MIR. + + _Prosp._ Stay, stay!----I had forgot to ask her, + What she has said of young Hippolito.-- + Oh, here he comes! and, with him, my Dorinda: + I'll not be seen; let their loves grow in secret. + [_Exit._ + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO _and_ DORINDA. + + _Hip._ But why are you so sad? + + _Dor._ But why are you so joyful? + + _Hip._ I have within me + All, all the various music of the woods. + Since last I saw you, I have heard brave news! + I will tell you, and make you joyful for me. + + _Dor._ Sir, when I saw you first, I, through my eyes, + Drew something in, I know not what it is; + But still it entertains me with such thoughts, + As make me doubtful whether joy becomes me. + + _Hip._ Pray believe me, + As I'm a man, I'll tell you blessed news: + I've heard, there are more women in the world, + As fair as you are too. + + _Dor._ Is this your news? You see it moves not me. + + _Hip._ And I will have them all. + + _Dor._ What will become of me then? + + _Hip._ I'll have you too.-- + But are not you acquainted with these women? + + _Dor._ I never saw but one. + + _Hip._ Is there but one here?-- + This is a base poor world, I'll go to the other; + I've heard men have abundance of them there.-- + But, pray, where's that one woman? + + _Dor._ Who, my sister? + + _Hip._ Is she your sister? I'm glad of that. You shall + Help me to her, and I will love you for it. + [_Offers to take her hand._ + + _Dor._ Away! I will not have you touch my hand.-- + My father's counsel, which enjoined reservedness, + Was not in vain, I see. + [_Aside._ + + _Hip._ What makes you shun me? + + _Dor._ You need not care, you'll have my sister's hand. + + _Hip._ Why, must not he, who touches hers, touch yours? + + _Dor._ You mean to love her too? + + _Hip._ Do not you love her? + Then why should I not do so? + + _Dor._ She's my sister; + And, therefore, I must love her: But you cannot + Love both of us. + + _Hip._ I warrant you I can:-- + Oh, that you had more sisters! + + _Dor._ You may love her, + But then I'll not love you. + + _Hip._ O, but you must; + One is enough for you, but not for me. + + _Dor._ My sister told me, she had seen another; + A man like you, and she liked only him: + Therefore, if one must be enough for her, + He is that one, and then you cannot have her. + + _Hip._ If she like him, she may like both of us. + + _Dor._ But how if I should change, and like that man: + Would you be willing to permit that change? + + _Hip._ No, for you liked me first. + + _Dor._ So you did me. + + _Hip._ But I would never have you see that man; + I cannot bear it. + + _Dor._ I'll see neither of you. + + _Hip._ Yes, me you may, for we are now acquainted: + But he's the man, of whom your father warned you; + O, he's a terrible, huge, monstrous creature! + I'm but a woman to him. + + _Dor._ I will see him, + Except you'll promise not to see my sister. + + _Hip._ Yes, for your sake, I needs must see your sister. + + _Dor._ But she's a terrible, huge creature too! + If I were not her sister, she would eat me; + Therefore take heed. + + _Hip._ I heard that she was fair, + And like you. + + _Dor._ No, indeed, she's like my father, + With a great beard; 'twould fright you to look on her: + Therefore that man and she may go together, + They are fit for nobody but one another. + + _Hip._ [_Looking in_.] Yonder he comes with glaring eyes; fly! fly! + Before he sees you. + + _Dor._ Must we part so soon? + + _Hip._ You're a lost woman if you see him. + + _Dor._ I would not willingly be lost, for fear + You should not find me. I'll avoid him. + [_Exit_ DOR. + + _Hip._ She fain would have deceived me, but I know + Her sister must be fair, for she's a woman; + All of a kind, that I have seen, are like + To one another: All the creatures of + The rivers and the woods are so. + +_Enter_ FERDINAND. + + _Ferd._ O, well encountered! you are the happy man! + You've got the hearts of both the beauteous women. + + _Hip._ How, sir! pray, are you sure on't? + + _Ferd._ One of them charged me to love you for her sake. + + _Hip._ Then I must have her. + + _Ferd._ No, not till I am dead. + + _Hip._ How dead? what's that?--But whatsoe'er it be, + I long to have her. + + _Ferd._ Time and my grief may make me die. + + _Hip._ But, for a friend, you should make haste; I ne'er + Asked any thing of you before. + + _Ferd._ I see your ignorance, + And, therefore, will instruct you in my meaning. + The woman, whom I love, saw you, and loved you; + Now, sir, if you love her, you'll cause my death. + + _Hip._ Be sure I'll do it then. + + _Ferd._ But I am your friend; + And I request you that you would not love her. + + _Hip._ When friends request unreasonable things, + Sure they're to be denied. You say she's fair; + And I must love all who are fair: for, to tell you + A secret, sir, which I have lately found + Within myself, they're all made for me. + + _Ferd._ That's but a fond conceit: You're made for one, + And one for you. + + _Hip._ You cannot tell me, sir; + I know I'm made for twenty hundred women, + (I mean, if there so many be i'the world,) + So that, if I once see her, I shall love her. + + _Ferd._ Then do not see her. + + _Hip._ Yes, sir, I must see her: + For I would fain have my heart beat again, + Just as it did when I first saw her sister. + + _Ferd._ I find I must not let you see her then. + + _Hip._ How will you hinder me? + + _Ferd._ By force of arms. + + _Hip._ By force of arms! + My arms, perhaps, may be as strong as yours. + + _Ferd._ He's still so ignorant, that I pity him, + And fain would avoid force. [_Aside_.]--Pray do not see her, + She was mine first; you have no right to her. + + _Hip._ I have not yet considered what is right; + But, sir, I know my inclinations are + To love all women; and I have been taught, + That to dissemble what I think is base. + In honour, then, of truth, I must declare, + That I do love, and I will see your woman. + + _Ferd._ Would you be willing I should see and love + Your woman, and endeavour to seduce her + From that affection, which she vowed to you? + + _Hip._ I would not you should do it, but if she + Should love you best, I cannot hinder her. + But, sir, for fear she should, I will provide + Against the worst, and try to get your woman. + + _Ferd._ But I pretend no claim at all to yours; + Besides, you are more beautiful than I, + And fitter to allure unpractised hearts: + Therefore I once more beg you will not see her. + + _Hip._ I'm glad you let me know I have such beauty; + If that will get me women, they shall have it + As far as ere 'twill go: I'll never want them. + + _Ferd._ Then, since you have refused this act of friendship, + Provide yourself a sword, for we must fight. + + _Hip._ A sword! what's that? + + _Ferd._ Why such a thing as this. + + _Hip._ What should I do with it? + + _Ferd._ You must stand thus, + And push against me, while I push at you, + 'Till one of us fall dead. + + _Hip._ This is brave sport: + But we have no swords growing in our world. + + _Ferd._ What shall we do then to decide our quarrel? + + _Hip._ We'll take the sword by turns, and fight with it. + + _Ferd._ Strange ignorance! [_Aside_.]--You must defend your life, + And so must I. But since you have no sword, + Take this: [_Gives him his sword_.] For in a corner of my cave + I found a rusty one; perhaps 'twas his, + Who keeps me pris'ner here: That I will fit: + When next we meet, prepare yourself to fight. + + _Hip._ Make haste then, this shall ne'er be yours again. + I mean to fight with all the men I meet, + And, when they're dead, their women shall be mine. + + _Ferd._ I see you are unskilful: I desire not + To take your life, but, if you please, we'll fight + On these conditions; he, who first draws blood, + Or who can take the other's weapon from him, + Shall be acknowledged as the conqueror, + And both the women shall be his. + + _Hip._ Agreed, + And every day I'll fight for two more with you. + + _Ferd._ But win these first. + + _Hip._ I'll warrant you I'll push you. + [_Exeunt severally._ + + +SCENE III.--_The wild Island._ + +_Enter_ TRINCALO, CALIBAN, _and_ SYCORAX. + +_Calib._ My lord, I see 'em coming yonder. + +_Trinc._ Whom? + +_Calib._ The starved prince, and his two thirsty subjects, that would +have our liquor. + +_Trinc._ If thou wert a monster of parts, I would make thee my master of +ceremonies, to conduct 'em in. The devil take all dunces! thou hast lost +a brave employment, by not being a linguist, and for want of behaviour. + +_Syc._ My lord, shall I go meet 'em? I'll be kind to all of 'em, just as +I am to thee. + +_Trinc._ No, that's against the fundamental laws of my dukedom: You are +in a high place, spouse, and must give good example. Here they come; +we'll put on the gravity of statesmen, and be very dull, that we may be +held wise. + +_Enter_ STEPHANO, VENTOSO, _and_ MUSTACHO. + +_Vent._ Duke Trincalo, we have considered. + +_Trinc._ Peace or war? + +_Must._ Peace, and the butt. + +_Steph._ I come now as a private person, and promise to live peaceably +under your government. + +_Trinc._ You shall enjoy the benefits of peace; and the first fruits of +it, amongst all civil nations, is to be drunk for joy: Caliban, skink +about. + +_Steph._ I long to have a rouse to her grace's health, and to the +_haunse in kelder_, or rather haddock in kelder, for I guess it will be +half fish. + [_Aside._ + +_Trinc._ Subject Stephano, here's to thee; and let old quarrels be +drowned in this draught. + [_Drinks._ + +_Steph._ Great magistrate, here's thy sister's health to thee. + [_Drinks to_ CALIB. + +_Syc._ He shall not drink of that immortal liquor; my lord, let him +drink water. + +_Trinc._ O sweetheart, you must not shame yourself to-day. Gentlemen +subjects, pray bear with her good huswifery: She wants a little +breeding, but she's hearty. + +_Must._ Ventoso, here's to thee. Is it not better to pierce the butt, +than to quarrel and pierce one another's bellies? + +_Vent._ Let it come, boy. + +_Trinc._ Now would I lay greatness aside, and shake my heels, if I had +but music. + +_Calib._ O my lord! my mother left us in her will a hundred spirits to +attend us, devils of all sorts, some great roaring devils, and some +little singing spirits. + +_Syc._ Shall we call? And thou shalt hear them in the air. + +_Trinc._ I accept the motion: Let us have our mother-in-law's legacy +immediately. + + CALIBAN SINGS. + + _We want music, we want mirth. + Up, dam, and cleave the earth: + We have no lords that wrong us, + Send thy merry spirits among us._ + +_Trinc._ What a merry tyrant am I, to have my music, and pay nothing +for't! + +_A table rises, and four Spirits with wine and meat enter, placing it, +as they dance, on the table: The dance ended, the bottles vanish, and +the table sinks again._ + +_Vent._ The bottle's drunk. + +_Must._ Then the bottle's a weak shallow fellow, if it be drunk first. + +_Trinc._ Stephano, give me thy hand: thou hast been a rebel, but here's +to thee: [_Drinks_.] Pr'ythee, why should we quarrel? Shall I swear two +oaths? By bottle, and by butt, I love thee: In witness whereof I drink +soundly. + +_Steph._ Your grace shall find there's no love lost, for I will pledge +you soundly. + +_Trinc._ Thou hast been a false rebel, but that's all one; pledge my +grace faithfully.--Caliban, go to the butt, and tell me how it sounds. +[_Exit_ CALIBAN.] Peer Stephano, dost thou love me? + +_Steph._ I love your grace, and all your princely family. + +_Trinc._ 'Tis no matter, if thou lov'st me; hang my family: Thou art my +friend, pr'ythee tell me what thou think'st of my princess: + +_Steph._ I look on her, as on a very noble princess. + +_Trinc._ Noble! indeed she had a witch to her mother; and the witches +are of great families in Lapland: but the devil was her father; and I +have heard of the Monsieur De Villes in France: but look on her +beauty,--is she a fit wife for Duke Trincalo? Mark her behaviour +too,--she's tippling yonder with the serving-men. + +_Steph._ An't please your grace, she's somewhat homely, but that's no +blemish in a princess. She is virtuous. + +_Trinc._ Umph! virtuous! I am loath to disparage her; but thou art my +friend,--canst thou be close? + +_Steph._ As a stopt bottle, an't please your grace. + +_Enter_ CALIBAN _again with a bottle_. + +_Trinc._ Why then I'll tell thee,--I found her an hour ago under an +elder-tree, upon a sweet bed of nettles, singing Tory Rory, and Rantum +Scantum, with her own natural brother. + +_Steph._ O Jew! make love in her own tribe? + +_Trinc._ But 'tis no matter; to tell thee true, I married her to be a +great man, and so forth: But make no words on't, for I care not who +knows it, and so here's to thee again.--Give me the bottle, Caliban! did +you knock the butt? How does it sound? + +_Calib._ It sounds as though it had a noise within. + +_Trinc._ I fear the butt begins to rattle in the throat, and is +departing: give me the bottle. + [_Drinks._ + +_Must._ A short life and a merry, I say. + [STEPH. _whispers_ SYCORAX. + +_Syc._ But did he tell you so? + +_Steph._ He said you were as ugly as your mother, and that he married +you only to get possession of the island. + +_Syc._ My mother's devils fetch him for't! + +_Steph._ And your father's too. Hem! skink about his grace's health +again. O if you will but cast an eye of pity upon me-- + +_Syc._ I will cast two eyes of pity on thee; I love thee more than haws +or blackberries. I have a hoard of wildings in the moss, my brother +knows not of 'em; but I'll bring thee where they are. + +_Steph._ Trincalo was but my man, when time was. + +_Syc._ Wert thou his god, and didst thou give him liquor? + +_Steph._ I gave him brandy, and drunk sack myself: Wilt thou leave him, +and thou shalt be my princess? + +_Syc._ If thou canst make me glad with this liquor. + +_Steph._ I'll warrant thee; we'll ride into the country where it grows. + +_Syc._ How wilt thou carry me thither? + +_Steph._ Upon a hackney-devil of thy mother's. + +_Trinc._ What's that you will do? Ha! I hope you have not betrayed me? +How does my pigsnye? + [_To_ SYCORAX. + +_Syc._ Begone! thou shalt not be my lord; thou say'st I'm ugly. + +_Trinc._ Did you tell her so?--ha! he's a rogue, do not believe him, +chuck. + +_Steph._ The foul words were yours: I will not eat 'em for you. + +_Trinc._ I see, if once a rebel, then ever a rebel. Did I receive thee +into grace for this? I will correct thee with my royal hand. + [_Strikes_ STEPH. + +_Syc._ Dost thou hurt my love? + [_Flies at_ TRINC. + +_Trinc._ Where are our guards? Treason! Treason! + [VENT. MUST. CALIB. _run betwixt_. + +_Vent._ Who took up arms first, the prince or the people? + +_Trinc._ This false traitor has corrupted the wife of my bosom. +[_Whispers_ MUSTACHO _hastily_.] Mustacho, strike on my side, and thou +shalt be my viceroy. + +_Must._ I am against rebels. Ventoso, obey your viceroy. + +_Vent._ You a viceroy? + [_They two fight off from the rest._ + +_Steph._ Ha! Hector monster! do you stand neuter? + +_Calib._ Thou would'st drink my liquor, I will not help thee. + +_Syc._ 'Twas his doing that I had such a husband, but I'll claw him. + +[SYC. _and_ CALIB. _fight_, SYC. _beating him off the stage_. + +_Trinc._ The whole nation is up in arms, and shall I stand idle? + [TRINC. _beats off_ STEPH. _to the door. Exit_ STEPH. +I'll not pursue too far, for fear the enemy will rally again, and +surprise my butt in the citadel. Well, I must be rid of my Lady +Trincalo, she will be in the fashion else; first, cuckold her husband, +and then sue for a separation, to get alimony. + [_Exit._ + +SCENE IV.--_The Cypress-trees and Cave._ + +_Enter_ FERDINAND _and_ HIPPOLITO, _with their swords drawn_. + + _Ferd._ Come, sir, our cave affords no choice of place, + But the ground's firm and even: Are you ready? + + _Hip._ As ready as yourself, sir. + + _Ferd._ You remember + On what conditions we must fight? Who first + Receives a wound is to submit. + + _Hip._ Come, come, + This loses time; now for the women, sir. + [_They fight a little_, FERDINAND _hurts him_. + + _Ferd._ Sir, you are wounded. + + _Hip._ No. + + _Ferd._ Believe your blood. + + _Hip._ I feel no hurt, no matter for my blood. + + _Ferd._ Remember our conditions. + + _Hip._ I will not leave, till my sword hits you too. + [HIP. _presses on_, FERD. _retires and wards_. + + _Ferd._ I'm loth to kill you; you are unskilful, sir. + + _Hip._ You beat aside my sword, but let it come + As near as yours, and you shall see my skill. + + _Ferd._ You faint for loss of blood, I see you stagger; + Pray, sir, retire. + + _Hip._ No! I will ne'er go back.-- + Methinks the cave turns round, I cannot find-- + + _Ferd._ Your eyes begin to dazzle. + + _Hip._ Why do you swim so, and dance about me? + Stand but still till I have made one thrust. + [HIP. _thrusts and falls._ + + _Ferd._ O help, help, help! + Unhappy man! what have I done? + + _Hip._ I'm going to a cold sleep, but when I wake, + I'll fight again. Pray stay for me. + [_Swoons._ + + _Ferd._ He's gone! + He's gone! O stay, sweet, lovely youth! Help! help! + +_Enter_ PROSPERO. + + _Prosp._ What dismal noise is that? + + _Ferd._ O see, sir, see, + What mischief my unhappy hand has wrought! + + _Prosp._ Alas! how much in vain doth feeble art + Endeavour to resist the will of heaven? + [_Rubs_ HIP. + He's gone for ever; O thou cruel son + Of an inhuman father! all my designs + Are ruined and unravelled by this blow. + No pleasure now is left me but revenge. + + _Ferd._ Sir, if you knew my innocence-- + + _Prosp._ Peace, peace! + Can thy excuses give me back his life? + What, Ariel? sluggish spirit, where art thou? + +_Enter_ ARIEL. + + _Ariel._ Here, at thy beck, my lord. + + _Prosp._ Ay, now thou comest, + When fate is past, and not to be recalled. + Look there, and glut the malice of thy nature; + For, as thou art thyself, thou canst not but + Be glad to see young virtue nipt i' the blossom. + + _Ariel._ My lord, the Being, high above, can witness, + I am not glad; we airy spirits are not of + A temper so malicious as the earthy, + But of a nature more approaching good. + For which we meet in swarms, and often combat + Betwixt the confines of the air and earth. + + _Prosp._ Why didst thou not prevent, at least foretel, + This fatal action then? + + _Ariel._ Pardon, great sir, + I meant to do it, but I was forbidden + By the ill genius of Hippolito, + Who came and threatened me, if I disclosed it, + To bind me in the bottom of the sea, + Far from the lightsome regions of the air, + (My native fields) above a hundred years. + + _Prosp._ I'll chain thee in the north for thy neglect, + Within the burning bowels of Mount Hecla; + I'll singe thy airy wings with sulph'rous flames, + And choke thy tender nostrils with blue smoke; + At ev'ry hickup of the belching mountain, + Thou shalt be lifted up to taste fresh air, + And then fall down again. + + _Ariel._ Pardon, dread lord. + + _Prosp._ No more of pardon than just heaven intends thee, + Shalt thou e'er find from me: Hence! fly with speed, + Unbind the charms which hold this murderer's father, + And bring him, with my brother, straight before me. + + _Ariel._ Mercy, my potent lord! and I'll outfly + Thy thought. + [_Exit_ ARIEL. + + _Ferd._ O heavens! what words are these I heard, + Yet cannot see who spoke 'em? Sure the woman + Whom I loved was like this, some airy vision. + + _Prosp._ No, murderer! she's, like thee, of mortal mould, + But much too pure to mix with thy black crimes; + Yet she has faults, and must be punished for them. + Miranda and Dorinda! where are ye? + The will of heaven's accomplished: I have now + No more to fear, and nothing left to hope; + Now you may enter. + +_Enter_ MIRANDA _and_ DORINDA. + + _Mir._ My love! is it permitted me to see + You once again? + + _Prosp._ You come to look your last; + I will for ever take him from your eyes. + But, on my blessing, speak not, nor approach him. + + _Dor._ Pray, father, is not this my sister's man? + He has a noble form; but yet he's not + So excellent as my Hippolito. + + _Prosp._ Alas, poor girl! thou hast no man: Look yonder; + There's all of him that's left. + + _Dor._ Why, was there ever any more of him? + He lies asleep, sir; shall I waken him? + [_She kneels by_ HIPPOLITO, _and jogs him_. + + _Ferd._ Alas! he's never to be waked again. + + _Dor._ My love, my love! wilt thou not speak to me? + I fear you have displeased him, sir, and now + He will not answer me; he's dumb and cold too; + But I'll run straight, and make a fire to warm him. + [_Exit_ DORINDA, _running_. + +_Enter_ ALONZO, GONZALO, ANTONIO; _and_ ARIEL _invisible_. + + _Alon._ Never were beasts so hunted into toils, + As we have been pursued by dreadful shapes.-- + But is not that my son? O Ferdinand! + If thou art not a ghost, let me embrace thee. + + _Ferd._ My father! O sinister happiness! + Is it decreed I should recover you + Alive, just in that fatal hour, when this + Brave youth is lost in death, and by my hand? + + _Ant._ Heaven! what new wonder's this? + + _Gonz._ This isle is full of nothing else. + + _Prosp._ You stare upon me, as you ne'er had seen me; + Have fifteen years so lost me to your knowledge, + That you retain no memory of Prospero? + + _Gonz._ The good old duke of Milan! + + _Prosp._ I wonder less, + That thou, Antonio, knowest me not, because + Thou didst long since forget I was thy brother + Else I had ne'er been here. + + _Ant._ Shame choaks my words. + + _Alonz._ And wonder mine. + + _Prosp._ For you, usurping prince, + [_To_ ALONZ. + Know, by my art you were shipwrecked on this isle, + Where, after I a while had punished you, + My vengeance would have ended; I designed + To match that son of yours with this my daughter. + + _Alonz._ Pursue it still, I am most willing to it. + + _Prosp._ So am not I. No marriages can prosper, + Which are with murderers made; look on that corpse. + This, whilst he lived, was young Hippolito; + That infant duke of Mantua, sir, whom you + Exposed with me; and here I bred him up, + Till that blood-thirsty man, that Ferdinand---- + But why do I exclaim on him, when justice + Calls to unsheath her sword against his guilt? + + _Alonz._ What do you mean? + + _Prosp._ To execute heaven's laws. + Here I am placed by heaven, here I am prince, + Though you have dispossessed me of my Milan. + Blood calls for blood; your Ferdinand shall die, + And I, in bitterness, have sent for you, + To have the sudden joy of seeing him alive, + And then the greater grief to see him die. + + _Alonz._ And think'st thou I, or these, will tamely stand, + To view the execution? + [_Lays hand upon his sword._ + + _Ferd._ Hold, dear father! + I cannot suffer you to attempt against + His life, who gave her being, whom I love. + + _Prosp._ Nay, then appear my guards--I thought no more + To use their aid; (I'm cursed because I used it.) + [_He stamps, and many Spirits appear._ + But they are now the ministers of heaven, + Whilst I revenge this murder. + + _Alonz._ Have I for this + Found thee, my son, so soon again to lose thee? + Antonio, Gonzalo, speak for pity. + + _Ferd._ Adieu, my fairest mistress. + [_To_ MIR. + + _Mir._ Now I can hold no longer; I must speak, + Though I am loth to disobey you, sir: + Be not so cruel to the man I love, + Or be so kind to let me suffer with him. + + _Ferd._ Recall that prayer, or I shall wish to live, + Though death be all the 'mends that I can make. + + _Prosp._ This night I will allow you, Ferdinand, + To fit you for your death; that cave's your prison. + + _Alonz._ Ah, Prospero! hear me speak. You are a father:-- + Look on my age, and look upon his youth. + + _Prosp._ No more! all you can say is urged in vain, + I have no room for pity left within me. + Do you refuse? help, Ariel, with your fellows, + To drive them in; Alonzo and his son + Bestow in yonder cave, and here Gonzalo + Shall with Antonio lodge. + [_Spirits drive them in, as they are appointed._ + +_Enter_ DORINDA. + + _Dor._ Sir, I have made a fire; shall he be warmed? + + _Prosp._ He's dead, and vital warmth will ne'er return. + + _Dor._ Dead, sir! what's that? + + _Prosp._ His soul has left his body. + + _Dor._ When will it come again? + + _Prosp._ O never, never! + He must be laid in earth, and there consume. + + _Dor._ He shall not lie in earth; you do not know + How well he loves me: Indeed he'll come again. + He told me he would go a little while, + But promised me he would not tarry long. + + _Prosp._ He's murdered by the man who loved your sister. + Now both of you may see what 'tis to break + A father's precept; you would needs see man, + And by that sight are made for ever wretched; + Hippolito is dead, and Ferdinand + Must die for murdering him. + + _Mir._ Have you no pity? + + _Prosp._ Your disobedience has so much incensed me, + That I this night can leave no blessing with you. + Help to convey the body to my couch, + Then leave me to mourn over it alone. + [_They bear off the body of_ HIP. + +_Enter_ MIRANDA _and_ DORINDA _again_. ARIEL _behind them_. + + _Ariel._ I've been so chid for my neglect by Prospero, + That I must now watch all, and be unseen. + + _Mir._ Sister, I say again, 'twas long of you, + That all this mischief happened. + + _Dor._ Blame not me + For your own fault; your curiosity + Brought me to see the man. + + _Mir._ You safely might + Have seen him, and retired, but you would needs + Go near him, and converse; you may remember + My father called me thence, and I called you. + + _Dor._ That was your envy, sister, not your love; + You called me thence, because you could not be + Alone with him yourself; but I am sure + My man had never gone to heaven so soon, + But that yours made him go. + [_Crying._ + + _Mir._ Sister, I could not wish that either of them + Should go to heaven without us; but it was + His fortune, and you must be satisfied. + + _Dor._ I'll not be satisfied: My father says + He'll make your man as cold as mine is now; + And when he is made cold, my father will + Not let you strive to make him warm again. + + _Mir._ In spite of you, mine never shall be cold. + + _Dor._ I'm sure 'twas he that made me miserable, + And I will be revenged. Perhaps you think + 'Tis nothing to lose a man. + + _Mir._ Yes, but there is + Some difference betwixt my Ferdinand, + And your Hippolito. + + _Dor._ Ay, there's your judgment: + Your's is the oldest man I ever saw, + Except it were my father. + + _Mir._ Sister, no more; + It is not comely in a daughter, when + She says her father's old. + + _Dor._ But why do I + Stay here, whilst my cold love perhaps may want me? + I'll pray my father to make yours cold too. + + _Mir._ Sister, I'll never sleep with you again. + + _Dor._ I'll never more meet in a bed with you, + But lodge on the bare ground, and watch my love. + + _Mir._ And at the entrance of that cave I'll lie, + And echo to each blast of wind a sigh. + [_Exeunt severally, looking discontentedly on one another._ + + _Ariel._ Harsh discord reigns throughout this fatal isle, + At which good angels mourn, ill spirits smile. + Old Prospero, by his daughters robbed of rest, + Has in displeasure left them both unblest. + Unkindly they abjure each other's bed, + To save the living, and revenge the dead. + Alonzo, and his son, are prisoners made, + And good Gonzalo does their crimes upbraid. + Antonio and Gonzalo disagree, + And would, though in one cave, at distance be. + The seamen all that cursed wine have spent, + Which still renewed their thirst of government; + And wanting subjects for the food of power, + Each would, to rule alone, the rest devour. + The monsters, Sycorax and Caliban, + More monstrous grow by passions learned from man. + Even I, not framed of warring elements, + Partake and suffer in these discontents. + Why should a mortal, by enchantments, hold + In chains a spirit of etherial mould? + Accursed magic we ourselves have taught, + And our own power has our subjections wrought! + [_Exit._ + + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + + +_Enter_ PROSPERO _and_ MIRANDA. + + _Prosp._ You beg in vain; I cannot pardon him; + He has offended heaven. + + _Mir._ Then let heaven punish him. + + _Prosp._ It will, by me. + + _Mir._ Grant him, at least, some respite for my sake. + + _Prosp._ I, by deferring justice, should incense + The deity against myself and you. + + _Mir._ Yet I have heard you say, the powers above + Are slow in punishing; and should not you + Resemble them? + + _Prosp._ The argument is weak. + But I want time to let you see your errors; + Retire, and, if you love him, pray for him. + [_He's going._ + + _Mir._ And can you be his judge and executioner? + + _Prosp._ I cannot force Gonzalo or my brother, + Much less the father to destroy the son; + It must be then the monster Caliban, + And he's not here; but Ariel strait shall fetch him. + +_Enter_ ARIEL. + + _Ariel._ My potent lord, before thou callest I come, + To serve thy will. + + _Prosp._ Then, spirit, fetch me here my savage slave. + + _Ariel._ My lord, it does not need. + + _Prosp._ Art thou then prone to mischief, wilt thou be + Thyself the executioner? + + _Ariel._ Think better of thy airy minister, + Who, for thy sake, unbidden, this night has flown + O'er almost all the habitable world. + + _Prosp._ But to what purpose was all thy diligence? + + _Ariel._ When I was chidden by my mighty lord, + For my neglect of young Hippolito, + I went to view his body, and soon found + His soul was but retired, not sallied out: + Then I collected + The best of simples underneath the moon, + The best of balms, and to the wound applied + The healing juice of vulnerary herbs. + His only danger was his loss of blood, + But now he's waked, my lord, and just this hour + He must be dressed again, as I have done it. + Anoint the sword which pierced him with this weapon-salve, + and wrap it close from air, till I have + time to visit him again. + + _Prosp._ Thou art my faithful servant; + It shall be done: be it your task, Miranda, + Because your sister is not present here; + While I go visit your dear Ferdinand, + From whom I will a while conceal the news, + That it may be more welcome. + + _Mir._ I obey you, + And with a double duty, sir: For now, + You twice have given me life. + + _Prosp._ My Ariel, follow me. + [_Exeunt severally._ + + +SCENE II. + +HIPPOLITO _discovered on a couch_, DORINDA _by him_. + + _Dor._ How do you find yourself? + + _Hip._ I'm somewhat cold; + Can you not draw me nearer to the sun? + I am too weak to walk. + + _Dor._ My love, I'll try. + [_She draws the chair nearer to the audience._ + I thought you never would have walked again; + They told me you were gone to heaven; + Have you been there? + + _Hip._ I know not where I was. + + _Dor._ I will not leave you, till you promise me, + You will not die again. + + _Hip._ Indeed, I will not. + + _Dor._ You must not go to heaven, unless we go + Together; for I have heard my father say, + That we must strive to be each other's guide, + The way to it will else be difficult, + Especially to those who are so young; + But I much wonder what it is to die. + + _Hip._ Sure 'tis to dream, a kind of breathless sleep, + When once the soul's gone out. + + _Dor._ What is the soul? + + _Hip._ A small blue thing, that runs about within us. + + _Dor._ Then I have seen it in a frosty morning, + Run smoaking from my mouth. + + _Hip._ But, dear Dorinda, + What is become of him who fought with me? + + _Dor._ O! I can tell you joyful news of him; + My father means to make him die to-day, + For what he did to you. + + _Hip._ That must not be, + My dear Dorinda; go, and beg your father, + He may not die; it was my fault he hurt me, + I urged him to it first. + + _Dor._ But if he live, he'll never leave killing you. + + _Hip._ O no! I just remember when I fell asleep, + I heard him calling me a great way off, + And crying over me as you would do; + Besides, we have no cause of quarrel now. + + _Dor._ Pray, how began your difference first? + + _Hip._ I fought with him, for all the women in the world. + + _Dor._ That hurt you had, was justly sent from heaven, + For wishing to have any more but me. + + _Hip._ Indeed I think it was, but I repent it; + The fault was only in my blood, for now + 'Tis gone, I find I do not love so many. + + _Dor._ In confidence of this, I'll beg my father + That he may live; I'm glad the naughty blood, + That made you love so many, is gone out. + + _Hip._ My dear, go quickly, lest you come too late. + [_Exit_ DOR. + +_Enter_ MIRANDA _at the other door, with_ HIPPOLITO'S _sword wrapt up_. + + _Hip._ Who's this, who looks so fair and beautiful, + As nothing but Dorinda can surpass her? + O! I believe it is that angel woman, + Whom she calls sister. + + _Mir._ Sir, I am sent hither + To dress your wound; how do you find your strength? + + _Hip._ Fair creature, I am faint with loss of blood. + + _Mir._ I am sorry for it. + + _Hip._ Indeed, and so am I, + For if I had that blood, I then should find + A great delight in loving you. + + _Mir._ But, sir, + I am another's, and your love is given + Already to my sister. + + _Hip._ Yet I find, + That, if you please, I can love still a little. + + _Mir._ I cannot be inconstant, nor should you. + + _Hip._ O my wound pains me. + + _Mir._ I am come to ease you. + [_She unwraps the sword._ + + _Hip._ Alas! I feel the cold air come to me; + My wound shoots worse than ever. + [_She wipes, and anoints the sword._ + + _Mir._ Does it still grieve you? + + _Hip._ Now methinks, there's something + Laid just upon it. + + _Mir._ Do you find no ease? + + _Hip._ Yes, yes, upon the sudden, all the pain + Is leaving me: Sweet heaven, how I am eased! + +_Enter_ FERDINAND _and_ DORINDA _to them_. + + _Ferd._ [_to Dor_.] Madam, I must confess my life is yours, + I owe it to your generosity. + + _Dor._ I am overjoyed my father lets you live, + And proud of my good fortune, that he gave + Your life to me. + + _Mir._ How? gave his life to her! + + _Hip._ Alas! I think she said so, and he said, + He owed it to her generosity. + + _Ferd._ But is not that your sister with Hippolito? + + _Dor._ So kind already? + + _Ferd._ I came to welcome life, and I have met + The cruellest of deaths. + + _Hip._ My dear Dorinda with another man? + + _Dor._ Sister, what business have you here? + + _Mir._ You see I dress Hippolito. + + _Dor._ You're very charitable to a stranger. + + _Mir._ You are not much behind in charity, + To beg a pardon for a man, whom you + Scarce ever saw before. + + _Dor._ Henceforward let your surgery alone, + For I had rather he should die, than you + Should cure his wound. + + _Mir._ And I wish Ferdinand had died, before + He owed his life to your entreaty. + + _Ferd._ to _Hip._ Sir, I am glad you are so well recovered. + You keep your humour still to have all women? + + _Hip._ Not all, sir; you except one of the number, + Your new love there, Dorinda. + + _Mir._ Ah, Ferdinand! can you become inconstant? + If I must lose you, I had rather death + Should take you from me, than you take yourself. + + _Ferd._ And if I might have chose, I would have wished + That death from Prospero, and not this from you. + + _Dor._ Ay, now I find why I was sent away, + That you might have my sister's company. + + _Hip._ Dorinda, kill me not with your unkindness; + This is too much, first to be false yourself, + And then accuse me too. + + _Ferd._ We all accuse + Each other, and each one denies their guilt: + I should be glad it were a mutual error; + And, therefore, first to clear myself from fault, + Madam, I beg your pardon, while I say, + I only love your sister. + [_To_ DOR. + + _Mir._ O, blest word! + I'm sure I love no man but Ferdinand, + + _Dor._ Nor I, heaven knows, but my Hippolito. + + _Hip._ I never knew I loved so much, before + I feared Dorinda's constancy; but now + I am convinced, that I loved none but her; + Because none else can recompense her loss. + + _Ferd._ 'Twas happy, then, we had this little trial; + But how we all so much mistook I know not. + + _Mir._ I have only this to say in my defence; + My father sent me hither, to attend + The wounded stranger. + + _Dor._ And Hippolito + Sent me to beg the life of Ferdinand. + + _Ferd._ From such small errors, left at first unheeded, + Have often sprung sad accidents in love.-- + But see, our fathers and our friends are come + To mix their joys with ours. + +_Enter_ PROSPERO, ALONZO, ANTONIO, _and_ GONZALO. + + _Alon._ to _Prosp._ Let it no more be thought of; + Your purpose, though it was severe, was just. + In losing Ferdinand, I should have mourned, + But could not have complained. + + _Pros._ Sir, I am glad + Kind heaven decreed it otherwise. + + _Dor._ O, wonder! + How many goodly creatures are there here! + How beauteous mankind is! + + _Hip._ O, brave new world, + That has such people in't! + + _Alon._ to _Ferd._ Now all the blessings + Of a glad father compass thee about, + And make thee happy in thy beauteous choice. + + _Gonz._ I've inward wept, or should have spoken ere this.-- + Look down, sweet heaven! and on this couple drop + A blessed crown; for it is you chalked out + The way, which brought us hither. + + _Anto._ Though penitence, + Forced by necessity, can scarce seem real, + Yet, dearest brother, I have hope my blood + May plead for pardon with you: I resign + Dominion, which, 'tis true, I could not keep, + But heaven knows too, I would not. + + _Prosp._ All past crimes + I bury in the joy of this blessed day. + + _Alon._ And, that I may not be behind in justice, + To this young prince I render back his dukedom, + And as the duke of Mantua thus salute him. + + _Hip._ What is it that you render back? methinks + You give me nothing. + + _Prosp._ You are to be lord + Of a great people, and o'er towns and cities. + + _Hip._ And shall these people be all men and women? + + _Gonz._ Yes, and shall call you lord. + + _Hip._ Why, then, I'll live no longer in a prison, + But have a whole cave to myself hereafter. + + _Prosp._ And, that your happiness may be complete, + I give you my Dorinda for your wife: + She shall be yours for ever, when the priest + Has made you one. + + _Hip._ How can he make us one? Shall I grow to her? + + _Prosp._ By saying holy words, you shall be joined + In marriage to each other. + + _Dor._ I warrant you, those holy words are charms: + My father means to conjure us together. + + _Prosp._ My Ariel told me, when last night you quarrelled, + [_To his daughters._ + You said you would for ever part your beds. + But what you threatened in your anger, heaven + Has turned to prophecy; + For you, Miranda, must with Ferdinand, + And you, Dorinda, with Hippolito, + Lie in one bed hereafter. + + _Alon._ And heaven make + Those beds still fruitful in producing children, + To bless their parents' youth, and grandsires' age. + + _Mir._ to _Dor._ If children come by lying in a bed, + I wonder you and I had none between us. + + _Dor._ Sister, it was our fault; we meant, like fools, + To look 'em in the fields, and they, it seems, + Are only found in beds. + + _Hip._ I am o'er-joyed, + That I shall have Dorinda in a bed; + We'll lie all night and day together there, + And never rise again. + + _Ferd._ [_Aside to him_.] Hippolito! You yet + Are ignorant of your great happiness; + But there is something, which, for your own and fair + Dorinda's sake, I must instruct you in. + + _Hip._ Pray teach me quickly, + How men and women, in your world, make love; + I shall soon learn, I warrant you. + +_Enter_ ARIEL, _driving in_ STEPHANO, TRINCALO, MUSTACHO, VENTOSO, +CALIBAN _and_ SYCORAX. + + _Prosp._ Why that's my dainty Ariel; I shall miss thee, + But yet thou shalt have freedom. + + _Gonz._ O look, sir, look! The master and the sailors-- + The boatswain too--my prophecy is out, + That if a gallows were on land, that man + Could ne'er be drowned. + + _Alon._ Now, blasphemy; what, not one oath ashore! + Hast thou no mouth by land? Why starest thou so? + [_To_ TRINCALO. + + _Trinc._ What! more dukes yet? I must resign my dukedom; + But 'tis no matter, I was almost starved in't. + + _Must._ Here's nothing but wild sallads, without + oil, or vinegar. + + _Steph._ The duke and prince alive! Would I had now + Our gallant ship again, and were her master: + I'd willingly give all my island for her. + + _Vent._ And I my viceroyship. + + _Trinc._ I shall need no hangman; for I shall even + hang myself, now my friend Butt has shed his last + drop of life. Poor Butt is quite departed. + + _Anto._ They talk like madmen. + + _Prosp._ No matter, time will bring 'em to themselves, + And now their wine is gone, they will not quarrel. + Your ship is safe and tight, and bravely rigged, + As when you first set sail. + + _Alon._ This news is wonderful. + + _Ariel._ Was it well done, my lord? + + _Prosp._ Rarely, my diligence. + + _Gonz._ But pray, sir, what are those mis-shapen creatures? + + _Prosp._ Their mother was a witch; and one so strong, + She would controul the moon, make flows and ebbs, + And deal in her command without her power. + + _Syc._ O Setebos! these be brave spirits indeed. + + _Prosp._ Go, sirrah, to my cell, and, as you hope + For pardon, trim it up. + [_To_ CALIB. + + _Calib._ Most carefully. I will be wise hereafter. + What a dull fool was I, to take those drunkards + For gods, when such as these were in the world? + + _Prosp._ Sir, I invite your highness and your train + To my poor cave this night; a part of which + I will employ, in telling you my story. + + _Alon._ No doubt it must be strangely taking, sir. + + _Prosp._ When the morn draws, I'll bring you to your ship, + And promise you calm seas, and happy gales. + My Ariel, that's thy charge: Then to the elements + Be free, and fare thee well! + + _Ariel._ I'll do it, master. + + _Prosp._ Now, to make amends + For the rough treatment you have found to-day, + I'll entertain you with my magic art; + I'll, by my power, transform this place, and call + Up those, that shall make good my promise to you. + + +SCENE II.--_Changes to the Rocks, with the arch of Rocks, and calm Sea. +Music playing on the Rocks._ + + _Prosp._ Neptune, and your fair Amphitrite, rise; + Oceanus, with your Tethys too, appear; + All ye sea-gods, and goddesses, appear! + Come, all ye Tritons; all ye Nereids, come, + And teach your saucy element to obey: + For you have princes now to entertain, + And unsoiled beauties, with fresh youthful lovers. + +NEPTUNE, AMPHITRITE, OCEANUS _and_ TETHYS, _appear in a Chariot drawn +with Sea-horses; on each side of the Chariot, Sea-Gods, and Goddesses, +Tritons, and Nereids_. + + _Alon._ This is prodigious! + + _Anto._ Ah! what amazing objects do we see? + + _Gonz._ This art doth much exceed all human skill. + + + SONG. + + Amph. _My lord, great Neptune, for my sake, + Of these bright beauties pity take; + And to the rest allow + Your mercy too. + Let this enraged element be still, + Let AEolus obey my will: + Let him his boisterous prisoners safely keep + In their dark caverns; and no more + Let them disturb the bosom of the deep, + Till these arrive upon their wished-for shore._ + + Nept. _So much my Amphitrite's love I prize, + That no commands of her's I can despise. + Tethys no furrows now shall wear, + Oceanus no wrinkles on his brow, + Let your serenest looks appear! + Be calm and gentle now._ + + Nept. and Amph. + { _Be calm, ye great parents of the floods and the springs, + { While each Nereid and Triton plays, revels, and sings._ + + Ocean. _Confine the roaring winds, and we + Will soon obey you cheerfully._ + + _Chorus of_ Trit. & Ner. + {_Tie up the winds, and we'll obey;_ + {_Upon the floods we'll sing and play,_ + {_And celebrate a Halcyon day._ + + [Here the Dancers mingle with the Singers, and perform a dance. + + Nept. _Great nephew, AEolus, make no noise, + Muzzle your roaring boys._ [AEOLUS _appears._ + + Amph. _Let 'em not bluster to disturb our ears, + Or strike these noble passengers with fears._ + + Nept. _Afford 'em only such an easy gale, + As pleasantly may swell each sail._ + + Amph. _While fell sea-monsters cause intestine jars, + This empire you invade by foreign wars._ + + Nept. _But you shall now be still, + And shall obey my Amphitrite's will._ + + AEolus _descends + {_You I'll obey, who at one stroke can make,_ + {_With your dread trident, the whole earth to quake._ + _Come down, my blusterers, swell no more, + Your stormy rage give o'er._ + [Winds from the four corners appear. + + _Let all black tempests cease, + And let the troubled ocean rest: + Let all the sea enjoy as calm a peace, + As where the halcyon builds her quiet nest. + To your prisons below, + Down, down you must go: + You in the earth's entrails your revels may keep; + But no more till I call shall you trouble the deep._ + [Winds fly down. + _Now they are gone, all stormy wars shall cease; + Then let your trumpeters proclaim a peace._ + + Amph. _Tritons, my sons, your trumpets sound, + And let the noise from neighbouring shores rebound._ + + Chorus.{ _Sound a calm._ + { _Sound a calm._ + { _Sound a calm._ + { _a calm._ + { _Sound a calm._ + +[Here the Tritons, at every repeat of _Sound a calm_, changing their +figure and postures, seem to sound their wreathed trumpets made of +shells. + +A symphony of music, like trumpets, to which four +Tritons dance. + + Nept. _See, see, the heavens smile; all your troubles are past, + Your joys, by black clouds, shall no more be o'ercast._ + + Amph. _On this barren isle ye shall lose all your fears, + Leave behind all your sorrows, and banish your cares._ + + Both. { _And your loves and your lives shall in safety enjoy;_ + { _No influence of stars shall your quiet destroy._ + + Chorus of all. + { _And your loves, &c._ + { _No influence, &c._ + [Here the Dancers mingle with the Singers. + + Ocean. _We'll safely convey you to your own happy shore, + And your's and your country's soft peace will restore._ + + Tethys. _To treat you, blest lovers, as you sail on the deep, + The Tritons and sea-nymphs their revels shall keep._ + + Both. { _On the swift dolphins' backs they shall sing and shall play;_ + { _They shall guard you by night, and delight you by day._ + + Chorus of all. + { _On the swift, &c._ + { _And shall guard, &c._ + [Here the Dancers mingle with the Singers. + [A dance of twelve Tritons. + + _Mir._ What charming things are these? + + _Dor._ What heavenly power is this? + + _Prosp._ Now, my Ariel, be visible, + And let the rest of your aerial train + Appear, and entertain them with a song, + And then farewell, my long-loved Ariel. + + +SCENE III.--_Changes to the Rising Sun, and a number of Aerial Spirits +in the Air_; ARIEL _flying from the Sun, advances towards the Pit_. + + _Alon._ Heaven! What are these we see? + + _Prosp._ They are spirits, with which the air abounds + In swarms, but that they are not subject + To poor feeble mortal eyes. + + _Anto._ O wondrous skill! + + _Gonz._ O power divine! + + ARIEL, _and the rest, sing the following Song._ + + _Where the bee sucks, there suck I; + In a cowslip's bed I lie; + There I couch when owls do cry. + On the swallow's wings I fly, + After summer merrily. + Merrily, merrily shall I live now, + Under the blossom that hangs on the bough._ + + _Song ended_, ARIEL _speaks, hovering in the air_. + + _Ariel._ My noble master! + May theirs and your blest joys never impair! + And for the freedom I enjoy in air. + I will be still your Ariel, and wait + On airy accidents that work for fate. + Whatever shall your happiness concern, + From your still faithful Ariel you shall learn. + + _Prosp._ Thou hast been always diligent and kind. + Farewell, my long-loved Ariel! thou shalt find + I will preserve thee ever in my mind. + Henceforth this isle to the afflicted be + A place of refuge, as it was to me: + The promises of blooming spring live here, + And all the blessings of the ripening year. + On my retreat let heaven and nature smile, + And ever flourish the Enchanted Isle. + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +EPILOGUE. + + + Gallants, by all good signs it does appear, + That sixty-seven's a very damning year, + For knaves abroad, and for ill poets here. + + Among the muses there's a general rot, + The rhiming monsieur, and the Spanish plot: + Defy or court, all's one, they go to pot. + + The ghosts of poets walk within this place, + And haunt us actors wheresoe'er we pass, + In visions bloodier than King Richard's was. + + For this poor wretch, he has not much to say, + But quietly brings in his part o'th' play, + And begs the favour to be damned to-day, + + He sends me only like a sheriff's man here, + To let you know the malefactor's near, + And that he means to die, _en cavalier_. + + For, if you should be gracious to his pen, + The example will prove ill to other men, + And you'll be troubled with them all again. + + + + + AN + + EVENING'S LOVE; + + OR, THE + + MOCK ASTROLOGER. + + A + + COMEDY. + + + + + TO HIS GRACE, + WILLIAM, + DUKE OF NEWCASTLE[G], + + ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S + MOST HONOURABLE PRIVY COUNCIL, AND OF THE + MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, &c. + + * * * * * + +MAY IT PLEASE YOUR GRACE, + +Amongst those few persons of wit and honour, whose favourable opinion I +have desired, your own virtue, and my great obligations to your grace, +have justly given you the precedence. For what could be more glorious to +me, than to have acquired some part of your esteem, who are admired and +honoured by all good men; who have been, for so many years together, +the pattern and standard of honour to the nation; and whose whole life +has been so great an example of heroic virtue, that we might wonder how +it happened into an age so corrupt as ours, if it had not likewise been +a part of the former. As you came into the world with all the advantages +of a noble birth and education, so you have rendered both yet more +conspicuous by your virtue. Fortune, indeed, has perpetually crowned +your undertakings with success, but she has only waited on your valour, +not conducted it. She has ministered to your glory like a slave, and has +been led in triumph by it; or, at most, while honour led you by the hand +to greatness, fortune only followed to keep you from sliding back in the +ascent. That, which Plutarch accounted her favour to Cymon and Lucullus, +was but her justice to your grace; and, never to have been overcome +where you led in person, as it was more than Hannibal could boast, so it +was all that Providence could do for that party, which it had resolved +to ruin. Thus, my lord, the last smiles of victory were on your arms; +and, everywhere else declaring for the rebels, she seemed to suspend +herself, and to doubt, before she took her flight, whether she were able +wholly to abandon that cause, for which you fought[H]. + +But the greatest trials of your courage and constancy were yet to come: +Many had ventured their fortunes, and exposed their lives to the utmost +dangers for their king and country, who ended their loyalty with the +war; and, submitting to the iniquity of the times, chose rather to +redeem their former plenty, by acknowledging an usurper, than to suffer +with an unprofitable fidelity (as those meaner spirits called it) for +their lawful sovereign. But, as I dare not accuse so many of our +nobility, who were content to accept their patrimonies from the clemency +of the conqueror, and to retain only a secret veneration for their +prince, amidst the open worship which they were forced to pay to the +usurper, who had dethroned him; so, I hope, I may have leave to extol +that virtue which acted more generously; and which was not satisfied +with an inward devotion to monarchy, but produced itself to view, and +asserted the cause by open martyrdom. Of these rare patterns of loyalty, +your grace was chief: Those examples you could not find, you made. Some +few Cato's there were with you, whose invincible resolution could not be +conquered by that usurping Caesar. Your virtue opposed itself to his +fortune, and overcame it, by not submitting to it. The last and most +difficult enterprize he had to effect, when he had conquered three +nations, was to subdue your spirit; and he died weary of that war, and +unable to finish it. + +In the mean time, you lived more happily in your exile, than the other +on his throne. Your loyalty made you friends and servants amongst +foreigners; and you lived plentifully without a fortune; for you lived +on your own desert and reputation. The glorious name of the valiant and +faithful Newcastle, was a patrimony which could never be exhausted. + +Thus, my lord, the morning of your life was clear and calm; and, though +it was afterwards overcast, yet, in that general storm, you were never +without a shelter. And now you are happily arrived to the evening of a +day, as serene as the dawn of it was glorious; but such an evening as, I +hope, and almost prophecy, is far from night: 'Tis the evening of a +summer's sun, which keeps the day-light long within the skies. The +health of your body is maintained by the vigour of your mind: Neither +does the one shrink from the fatigue of exercise, nor the other bend +under the pains of study. Methinks, I behold in you another Caius +Marius, who, in the extremity of his age, exercised himself almost every +morning in the Campus Martius, amongst the youthful nobility of Rome. +And afterwards in your retirements, when you do honour to poetry, by +employing part of your leisure in it, I regard you as another Silius +Italicus, who, having passed over his consulship with applause, +dismissed himself from business, and from the gown, and employed his +age, amongst the shades, in the reading and imitation of Virgil. + +In which, lest any thing should be wanting to your happiness, you have, +by a rare effect of fortune, found, in the person of your excellent +lady, not only a lover, but a partner of your studies; a lady whom our +age may justly equal with the Sappho of the Greeks, or the Sulpitia of +the Romans; who, by being taken into your bosom, seems to be inspired +with your genius; and, by writing the history of your life[I], in so +masculine a style, has already placed you in the number of the heroes. +She has anticipated that great portion of fame, which envy often hinders +a living virtue from possessing; which would, indeed, have been given to +your ashes, but with a later payment; and of which you could have no +present use, except it were by a secret presage of that which was to +come, when you were no longer in a possibility of knowing it. So that if +that were a praise, or satisfaction to the greatest of emperors, which +the most judicious of poets gives him-- + + _Praesenti tibi maturos largimur honores, &c._ + +that the adoration, which was not allowed to Hercules and Romulus till +after death, was given to Augustus living, then certainly it cannot be +denied, but that your grace has received a double satisfaction: the one, +to see yourself consecrated to immortality while you are yet alive; the +other, to have your praises celebrated by so dear, so just, and so pious +an historian. + +It is the consideration of this that stops my pen; though I am loth to +leave so fair a subject, which gives me as much field as poetry could +wish, and yet no more than truth can justify. But to attempt any thing +of a panegyric, were to enterprize on your lady's right; and to seem to +affect those praises, which none but the duchess of Newcastle can +deserve, when she writes the actions of her lord. I shall, therefore, +leave that wider space, and contract myself to those narrow bounds, +which best become my fortune and employment. + +I am obliged, my lord, to return you not only my own acknowledgments, +but to thank you in the names of former poets; the names of Jonson and +D'Avenant[J] seem to require it from me, that those favours, which you +placed on them, and which they wanted opportunity to own in public, yet +might not be lost to the knowledge of posterity, with a forgetfulness +unbecoming of the Muses, who are the daughters of memory. And give me +leave, my lord, to avow so much of vanity, as to say, I am proud to be +their remembrancer: For, by relating how gracious you have been to them, +and are to me, I, in some measure, join my name with theirs: And the +continued descent of your favours to me is the best title which I can +plead for my succession. I only wish, that I had as great reason to be +satisfied with myself, in the return of our common acknowledgments, as +your grace may justly take in the conferring them: For I cannot but be +very sensible, that the present of an ill comedy, which I here make you, +is a very unsuitable way of giving thanks for them, who, themselves, +have written so many better. This pretends to nothing more, than to be a +foil to those scenes, which are composed by the most noble poet of our +age and nation; and to be set as a water-mark of the lowest ebb, to +which the wit of my predecessor has sunk, and run down in me. But, +though all of them have surpassed me in the scene, there is one part of +glory, in which I will not yield to any of them: I mean, my lord, that +honour and veneration which they had for you in their lives; and which I +preserve after them, more holily than the vestal fires were maintained +from age to age; but with a greater degree of heat, and of devotion, +than theirs, as being with more respect and passion than they ever were. + + Your GRACE'S + + Most obliged, most humble, + + and most obedient Servant, + + JOHN DRYDEN. + + +[Footnote G: William Cavendish, duke of Newcastle, distinguished himself +in the civil wars of Charles I. He might have possessed himself of Hull, +had the king more early resolved on an open rupture with the parliament. +When the war broke out, he levied an army of 8000 men, secured the +northern counties for the king, and raised the siege of York. The +invasion of the Scots prevented his farther success; but he defeated the +parliamentary forces in several actions, and shewed all the talents of a +great soldier. After the loss of the battle of Marston Moor, which +Prince Rupert hazarded in opposition to his advice, he left England in +disgust, and did not return till the Restoration. He was much respected +when abroad, and acquired the favour of many princes, and, amongst +others, of Don John of Austria. His skill in the equestrian art was, +perhaps, as great a recommendation, as his noble birth and unstained +loyalty. During the wars, he had been raised from the rank of earl to +that of marquis; and after the Restoration he was created duke of +Newcastle. He wrote several plays, of which we know only the names; "The +Country Captain," "Variety," "The Humourous Lovers," and "The Triumphant +Widow." He also translated Moliere's "_L'Etourdi,"_ which our author +converted into "Sir Martin Mar-all". But his most noted work is a +splendid folio on Horsemanship, with engravings; in which, after his +grace has been represented in every possible attitude and dress, he is +at length depicted mounted on Pegasus, and in the act of ascending from +a circle of Houyhnhnms, kneeling around him in the act of adoration. + +His once celebrated duchess was Margaret, daughter of Sir Charles Lucas. +She was his grace's second wife, and married to him during his exile. A +most voluminous author; she wrote nineteen plays, besides philosophical +essays, letters, and orations. For the former she has condescended to +leave the following apology: + +The Latin phrases I could never tell, But Jonson could, which made him +write so well. Greek, Latin poets I could never read, Nor their +historians, but our English Speed. I could not steal their wit, nor +plots out-take, All my plays plots my own poor brain did make. From +Plutarch's story I ne'er took a plot, Nor from romances, nor from Don +Quixote. + +Her grace's assiduity was equal to her originality. She kept a bevy of +maidens of honour, who were obliged, at all hours of the night, to +attend the summons of her bell, with a light, and materials "to register +her grace's conceptions," which, we beg the reader to understand, were +all of a literary or philosophical nature. + +The good duchess's conceptions are now forgotten; but it should not be +forgotten, that her kind solicitude soothed and supported her husband +through a weary exile of eighteen years, when their fortunes were +reduced to the lowest ebb. In gratitude, he appears to have encouraged +her pursuits, and admired the productions of her muse. In the "Sessions +of Poets" he is introduced as founding upon her literary pretensions, +rather than his own. + + Newcastle and's horse for entrance next strives, + Well-stuffed was his cloak-bag, and so was his breeches, + And ---- ---- + Pulled out his wife's poems, plays, essays, and speeches. + Whoop! quoth Apollo, what a devil have we here? + Put up thy wife's trumpery, good noble marquis, + And home again, home again take thy career, + To provide her fresh straw, and a chamber that dark is. + +Such were the noble personages whom Dryden deemed worthy of the fine +strains of eulogy conveyed in this dedication.] + +[Footnote H: This compliment is overstrained. But though Charles gained +many advantages after the earl of Newcastle had left England, the north +was irrecoverably lost to his cause.] + +[Footnote I: The duchess wrote her husband's Life, which was translated +into Latin. It is certainly the best of her grace's performances.] + +[Footnote J: Jonson and D'Avenant were both protected by the duke of +Newcastle. Jonson has addressed several verses to him, and composed a +Masque for the splendid entertainment which he gave to Charles I., at +his house at Wellbeck, when the king was on his first northern +journey.] + + + + +AN EVENING'S LOVE. + + +Our author acknowledges, that this play of "The Mock Astrologer" is +founded on "_Le feint Astrologue_," by the younger Corneille, which he, +in his turn, had imitated from "_El Astrologo fingido_" of Calderon. But +Dryden has also laid Moliere under contribution. Most part of the +quarrelling scene betwixt Wildblood and Jacintha, in the fourth act, is +literally copied from that betwixt Lucile Eraste, Marinette, and Gros +Rene, in "_Le Depit Amoureux_." The absurd loquacity of Don Alonzo, and +his friend's mode of silencing him, by ringing a bell in his ears, is +imitated from the scene betwixt Albert and Metaphraste, in the same +play; and, it must be allowed, it is an expedient which might be more +decently resorted to against an inundation of nonsense from a pedantic +schoolmaster, as in Moliere, than to stop the mouth of a noble old +Spaniard, the uncle of Don Lopez' mistress. The play itself is more +lively than most of Dryden's comedies. Wildblood and Jacintha are far +more pleasant than their prototypes, Celadon and Florimel; and the +Spanish bustle of the plot is well calculated to keep up the attention. +The character of Aurelia was perhaps suggested by the "_Precieuses +Ridicules_" of Moliere, but cannot, with any justice, be said to be +copied from them. The Preface contains some excellent remarks on the old +comedy. There is also an elaborate defence, the first our poet deigned +to make, against the charge of plagiarism. On this point he quotes the +words of Charles II., who had only desired, that they, who accused +Dryden of theft, would steal him such plays as Dryden's: And he +vindicates the right of an author to take his plot where he could best +find it, in history or romance, providing that the conduct and +disposition of the action, with the dialogue, character, and poetical +ornaments, were original. Our author's use of the terms and technical +phrases of judicial astronomy intimate his acquaintance with that +pretended science, in which he is known to have placed some confidence. + +The "Mock Astrologer" appears to have been acted and published in 1668. + + + + + THE + + PREFACE. + + * * * * * + +I had thought, reader, in this preface, to have written somewhat +concerning the difference betwixt the plays of our age, and those of our +predecessors, on the English stage: To have shewn in what parts of +dramatic poesy we were excelled by Ben Jonson, I mean, humour, and +contrivance of comedy; and in what we may justly claim precedence of +Shakespeare and Fletcher, namely in heroic plays: But this design I have +waved on second considerations; at least, deferred it till I publish The +Conquest of Granada, where the discourse will be more proper. I had also +prepared to treat of the improvement of our language since Fletcher's +and Jonson's days, and consequently of our refining the courtship, +raillery, and conversation of plays: But as I am willing to decline that +envy which I should draw on myself from some old _opiniatre_ judges of +the stage, so likewise I am prest in time so much that I have not +leisure, at present, to go through with it. Neither, indeed, do I value +a reputation gained from comedy, so far as to concern myself about it, +any more than I needs must in my own defence: For I think it, in its +own nature, inferior to all sorts of dramatick writing. Low comedy +especially requires, on the writer's part, much of conversation with the +vulgar, and much of ill nature in the observation of their follies. But +let all men please themselves according to their several tastes: That +which is not pleasant to me, may be to others who judge better: And, to +prevent an accusation from my enemies, I am sometimes ready to imagine, +that my disgust of low comedy proceeds not so much from my judgment as +from my temper; which is the reason why I so seldom write it; and that +when I succeed in it, (I mean so far as to please the audience) yet I am +nothing satisfied with what I have done; but am often vexed to hear the +people laugh, and clap, as they perpetually do, where intended them no +jest; while they let pass the better things, without taking notice of +them. Yet even this confirms me in my opinion of slighting popular +applause, and of contemning that approbation which those very people +give, equally with me, to the zany of a mountebank; or to the appearance +of an antick on the theatre, without wit on the poet's part, or any +occasion of laughter from the actor, besides the ridiculousness of his +habit and his grimaces. + +But I have descended, before I was aware, from comedy to farce; which +consists principally of grimaces. That I admire not any comedy equally +with tragedy, is, perhaps, from the sullenness of my humour; but that I +detest those farces, which are now the most frequent entertainments of +the stage, I am sure I have reason on my side. Comedy consists, though +of low persons, yet of natural actions and characters; I mean such +humours, adventures, and designs, as are to be found and met with in the +world. Farce, on the other side, consists of forced humours, and +unnatural events. Comedy presents us with the imperfections of human +nature: Farce entertains us with what is monstrous and chimerical. The +one causes laughter in those who can judge of men and manners, by the +lively representation of their folly or corruption: The other produces +the same effect in those who can judge of neither, and that only by its +extravagances. The first works on the judgment and fancy; the latter on +the fancy only: There is more of satisfaction in the former kind of +laughter, and in the latter more of scorn. But, how it happens, that an +impossible adventure should cause our mirth, I cannot so easily imagine. +Something there may be in the oddness of it, because on the stage it is +the common effect of things unexpected, to surprise us into a delight: +and that is to be ascribed to the strange appetite, as I may call it, of +the fancy; which, like that of a longing woman, often runs out into the +most extravagant desires; and is better satisfied sometimes with loam, +or with the rinds of trees, than with the wholesome nourishments of +life. In short, there is the same difference betwixt farce and comedy, +as betwixt an empirick, and a true physician: Both of them may attain +their ends; but what the one performs by hazard, the other does by +skill. And as the artist is often unsuccessful, while the mountebank +succeeds; so farces more commonly take the people than comedies. For, to +write unnatural things, is the most probable way of pleasing them, who +understand not nature. And a true poet often misses of applause, because +he cannot debase himself to write so ill as to please his audience. + +After all, it is to be acknowledged, that most of those comedies, which +have been lately written, have been allied too much to farce: And this +must of necessity fall out, till we forbear the translation of French +plays: For their poets, wanting judgment to make or to maintain true +characters, strive to cover their defects with ridiculous figures and +grimaces. While I say this, I accuse myself as well as others: And this +very play would rise up in judgment against me, if I would defend all +things I have written to be natural: But I confess I have given too much +to the people in it, and am ashamed for them as well as for myself, that +I have pleased them at so cheap a rate. Not that there is any thing here +which I would not defend to an ill-natured judge; (for I despise their +censures, who I am sure would write worse on the same subject:) but, +because I love to deal clearly and plainly, and to speak of my own +faults with more criticism, than I would of another poet's. Yet I think +it no vanity to say, that this comedy has as much of entertainment in +it, as many others which have been lately written: And, if I find my own +errors in it, I am able, at the same time, to arraign all my +contemporaries for greater. As I pretend not that I can write humour, so +none of them can reasonably pretend to have written it as they ought. +Jonson was the only man, of all ages and nations, who has performed it +well; and that but in three or four of his comedies: The rest are but a +_crambe bis cocta_; the same humours a little varied and written worse. +Neither was it more allowable in him, than it is in our present poets, +to represent the follies of particular persons; of which many have +accused him. _Parcere personis, dicere de vitiis_, is the rule of plays. +And Horace tells you, that the old comedy amongst the Grecians was +silenced for the too great liberties of the poets: + + ----_In vitium libertas excidit et vim + Dignam lege regi: Lex est accepta, chorusque + Turpiter obticuit, sublato jure nocendi._ + +Of which he gives you the reason in another place: where, having given +the precept, + + _Neve immunda crepent, ignominiosaque dicta,_ + +He immediately subjoins, + + _Offenduntur enim quibus est equus, et pater, et res._ + +But Ben Jonson is to be admired for many excellencies; and can be taxed +with fewer failings than any English poet. I know I have been accused as +an enemy of his writings; but without any other reason, than that I do +not admire him blindly, and without looking into his imperfections. For +why should he only be exempted from those frailties, from which Homer +and Virgil are not free? Or why should there be any _ipse dixit_ in our +poetry, any more than there is in our philosophy? I admire and applaud +him where I ought: Those, who do more, do but value themselves in their +admiration of him; and, by telling you they extol Ben Jonson's way, +would insinuate to you that they can practise it. For my part, I declare +that I want judgment to imitate him; and should think it a great +impudence in myself to attempt it. To make men appear pleasantly +ridiculous on the stage, was, as I have said, his talent; and in this he +needed not the acumen of wit, but that of judgment. For the characters +and representations of folly are only the effects of observation; and +observation is an effect of judgment. Some ingenious men, for whom I +have a particular esteem, have thought I have much injured Ben Jonson, +when I have not allowed his wit to be extraordinary: But they confound +the notion of what is witty, with what is pleasant. That Ben Jonson's +plays were pleasant, he must want reason who denies: But that +pleasantness was not properly wit, or the sharpness of conceit; but the +natural imitation of folly: Which I confess to be excellent in its kind, +but not to be of that kind which they pretend. Yet if we will believe +Quintilian, in his chapter _de movendo risu_, he gives his opinion of +both in these following words: _Stulta reprehendere facillimum est; nam +per se sunt ridicula, et a derisu non procul abest risus: Sed rem +urbanam facit aliqua ex nobis adjectio_. + +And some perhaps would be apt to say of Jonson, as it was said of +Demosthenes,--_non displicuisse illi jocos, sed non contigisse_. I will +not deny, but that I approve most the mixt way of comedy; that which is +neither all wit, nor all humour, but the result of both. Neither so +little of humour as Fletcher shews, nor so little of love and wit as +Jonson; neither all cheat, with which the best plays of the one are +filled, nor all adventure, which is the common practice of the other. I +would have the characters well chosen, and kept distant from interfering +with each other; which is more than Fletcher or Shakespeare did: But I +would have more of the _urbana, venusta, salsa, faceta_, and the rest +which Quintilian reckons up as the ornaments of wit; and these are +extremely wanting in Ben Jonson. As for repartee, in particular; as it +is the very soul of conversation, so it is the greatest grace of comedy, +where it is proper to the characters. There may be much of acuteness in +a thing well said; but there is more in a quick reply: _Sunt enim longe +venustiora omnia in respondendo quam in provocando_. Of one thing I am +sure, that no man ever will decry wit, but he who despairs of it +himself; and who has no other quarrel to it, but that which the fox had +to the grapes. Yet, as Mr Cowley (who had a greater portion of it than +any man I know) tells us in his _Character of Wit_,--rather than all +wit, let there be none. I think there is no folly so great in any poet +of our age, as the superfluity and waste of wit was in some of our +predecessors: particularly we may say of Fletcher and of Shakespeare, +what was said of Ovid, _In omni ejus ingenio, facilius quod rejici, quam +quod adjici potest, invenies:_ The contrary of which was true in Virgil, +and our incomparable Jonson. + +Some enemies of repartee have observed to us, that there is a great +latitude in their characters, which are made to speak it: and that it is +easier to write wit than humour; because, in the characters of humour, +the poet is confined to make the person speak what is only proper to it; +whereas, all kind of wit is proper in the character of a witty person. +But, by their favour, there are as different characters in wit as in +folly. Neither is all kind of wit proper in the mouth of every ingenious +person. A witty coward, and a witty brave, must speak differently. +_Falstaff_ and the _Liar_ speak not like _Don John_ in the "Chances," +and _Valentine_ in "Wit without Money." And Jonson's _Truewit_ in the +"Silent Woman," is a character different from all of them. Yet it +appears, that this one character of wit was more difficult to the +author, than all his images of humour in the play: for those he could +describe and manage from his observations of men; this he has taken, at +least a part of it, from books; Witness the speeches in the first act, +translated _verbatim_ out of Ovid, "_De Arte Amandi_." To omit what +afterwards he borrowed from the sixth satire of Juvenal against women. + +However, if I should grant, that there were a greater latitude in +characters of wit, than in those of humour; yet that latitude would be +of small advantage to such poets, who have too narrow an imagination to +write it. And to entertain an audience perpetually with humour, is to +carry them from the conversation of gentlemen, and treat them with the +follies and extravagancies of Bedlam. + +I find I have launched out farther than I intended in the beginning of +this preface; and that, in the heat of writing, I have touched at +something, which I thought to have avoided. It is time now to draw +homeward; and to think rather of defending myself, than assaulting +others. I have already acknowledged, that this play is far from perfect: +But I do not think myself obliged to discover the imperfections of it to +my adversaries, any more than a guilty person is bound to accuse himself +before his judges. It is charged upon me that I make debauched persons +(such as, they say, my Astrologer and Gamester are) my protagonists, or +the chief persons of the drama; and that I make them happy in the +conclusion of my play; against the law of comedy, which is to reward +virtue, and punish vice. I answer, first, that I know no such law to +have been constantly observed in comedy, either by the ancient or modern +poets. _Chaerea_ is made happy in the "Eunuch," after having deflowered a +virgin; and Terence generally does the same through all his plays, where +you perpetually see, not only debauched young men enjoy their +mistresses, but even the courtezans themselves rewarded and honoured in +the catastrophe. The same may be observed in Plautus almost everywhere. +Ben Jonson himself, after whom I may be proud to err, has given me more +than once the example of it. That in "The Alchemist" is notorious, where +_Face_, after having contrived and carried on the great cozenage of the +play, and continued in it without repentance to the last, is not only +forgiven by his master, but enriched, by his consent, with the spoils of +those whom he had cheated. And, which is more, his master himself, a +grave man, and a widower, is introduced taking his man's counsel, +debauching the widow first, in hope to marry her afterward. In the +"Silent Woman," _Dauphine_ (who, with the other two gentlemen, is of the +same character with my _Celadon_ in the "Maiden Queen," and with +_Wildblood_ in this) professes himself in love with all the collegiate +ladies: and they likewise are all of the same character with each other, +excepting only _Madam Otter_, who has something singular: Yet this +naughty _Dauphine_ is crowned in the end with the possession of his +uncle's estate, and with the hopes of enjoying all his mistresses; and +his friend, _Mr Truewit_, (the best character of a gentleman which Ben +Jonson ever made) is not ashamed to pimp for him. As for Beaumont and +Fletcher, I need not allege examples out of them; for that were to quote +almost all their comedies. But now it will be objected, that I patronise +vice by the authority of former poets, and extenuate my own faults by +recrimination. I answer, that as I defend myself by their example, so +that example I defend by reason, and by the end of all dramatic poesy. +In the first place, therefore, give me leave to shew you their mistake, +who have accused me. They have not distinguished, as they ought, betwixt +the rules of tragedy and comedy. In tragedy, where the actions and +persons are great, and the crimes horrid, the laws of justice are more +strictly observed; and examples of punishment to be made, to deter +mankind from the pursuit of vice. Faults of this kind have been rare +amongst the ancient poets: for they have punished in _Oedipus_, and in +his posterity, the sin which he knew not he had committed. _Medea_ is +the only example I remember at present, who escapes from punishment +after murder. Thus tragedy fulfils one great part of its institution; +which is, by example, to instruct. But in comedy it is not so; for the +chief end of it is divertisement and delight: and that so much, that it +is disputed, I think, by Heinsius, before Horace's "Art of Poetry," +whether instruction be any part of its employment. At least I am sure it +can be but its secondary end: for the business of the poet is to make +you laugh: when he writes humour, he makes folly ridiculous; when wit, +he moves you, if not always to laughter, yet to a pleasure that is more +noble. And if he works a cure on folly, and the small imperfections in +mankind, by exposing them to public view, that cure is not performed by +an immediate operation: For it works first on the ill-nature of the +audience; they are moved to laugh by the representation of deformity; +and the shame of that laughter teaches us to amend what is ridiculous in +our manners. This being then established, that the first end of comedy +is delight, and instruction only the second; it may reasonably be +inferred, that comedy is not so much obliged to the punishment of faults +which it represents, as tragedy. For the persons in comedy are of a +lower quality, the action is little, and the faults and vices are but +the sallies of youth, and the frailties of human nature, and not +premeditated crimes: such to which all men are obnoxious; not such as +are attempted only by few, and those abandoned to all sense of virtue: +such as move pity and commiseration; not detestation and horror: such, +in short, as may be forgiven; not such as must of necessity be punished. +But, lest any man should think that I write this to make libertinism +amiable, or that I cared not to debase the end and institution of +comedy, so I might thereby maintain my own errors, and those of better +poets, I must further declare, both for them and for myself, that we +make not vicious persons happy, but only as Heaven makes sinners so; +that is, by reclaiming them first from vice. For so it is to be supposed +they are, when they resolve to marry; for then, enjoying what they +desire in one, they cease to pursue the love of many. So _Chaerea_ is +made happy by Terence, in marrying her whom he had deflowered: and so +are _Wildblood_ and the _Astrologer_ in this play. + +There is another crime with which I am charged, at which I am yet much +less concerned, because it does not relate to my manners, as the former +did, but only to my reputation as a poet: a name of which I assure the +reader I am nothing proud; and therefore cannot be very solicitous to +defend it. I am taxed with stealing all my plays, and that by some, who +should be the last men from whom I would steal any part of them. There +is one answer which I will not make; but it has been made for me, by him +to whose grace and patronage I owe all things, + + _Et spes et ratio studiorum in Caesare tantum_-- + +and without whose command they should no longer be troubled with any +thing of mine;--that he only desired, that they, who accused me of +theft, would always steal him plays like mine. But though I have reason +to be proud of this defence, yet I should wave it, because I have a +worse opinion of my own comedies than any of my enemies can have. It is +true, that wherever I have liked any story in a romance, novel, or +foreign play, I have made no difficulty, nor ever shall, to take the +foundation of it, to build it up, and to make it proper for the English +stage. And I will be so vain to say, it has lost nothing in my hands: +But it always cost me so much trouble to heighten it for our theatre, +(which is incomparably more curious in all the ornaments of dramatic +poesy than the French or Spanish,) that when I had finished my play, it +was like the hulk of Sir Francis Drake, so strangely altered, that there +scarcely remained any plank of the timber which first built it. To +witness this, I need go no farther than this play: it was first Spanish, +and called "El Astrologo Fingido;" then made French by the younger +Corneille; and is now translated into English, and in print, under the +name of "The Feigned Astrologer." What I have performed in this will +best appear by comparing it with those: You will see that I have +rejected some adventures which I judged were not divertising; that I +have heightened those which I have chosen; and that I have added others, +which were neither in the French nor Spanish. And, besides, you will +easily discover, that the walk of the _Astrologer_ is the least +considerable in my play: For the design of it turns more on the parts of +_Wildblood_ and _Jacinta_, who are the chief persons in it. I have +farther to add, that I seldom use the wit and language of any romance or +play, which I undertake to alter: because my own invention (as bad as it +is) can furnish me with nothing so dull as what is there. Those who have +called Virgil, Terence, and Tasso, plagiaries, (though they much injured +them) had yet a better colour for their accusation; for Virgil has +evidently translated Theocritus, Hesiod, and Homer, in many places; +besides what he has taken from Ennius in his own language. Terence was +not only known to translate Menander, (which he avows also in his +prologues) but was said also to be helped in those translations by +Scipio the African, and Laelius. And Tasso, the most excellent of modern +poets, and whom I reverence next to Virgil, has taken both from Homer +many admirable things, which were left untouched by Virgil, and from +Virgil himself, where Homer could not furnish him. Yet the bodies of +Virgil's and Tasso's poems were their own; and so are all the ornaments +of language and elocution in them. The same (if there were any thing +commendable in this play) I could say for it. But I will come nearer to +our own countrymen. Most of Shakespeare's plays, I mean the stories of +them, are to be found in the "Hecatomithi," or "Hundred Novels" of +Cinthio. I have myself read in his Italian, that of "Romeo and Juliet," +the "Moor of Venice," and many others of them. Beaumont and Fletcher had +most of theirs from Spanish novels: Witness "The Chances," "The Spanish +Curate," "Rule a Wife and have a Wife," "The Little French Lawyer," and +so many others of them as compose the greatest part of their volume in +folio. Ben Jonson, indeed, has designed his plots himself; but no man +has borrowed so much from the ancients as he has done: and he did well +in it, for he has thereby beautified our language. + +But these little critics do not well consider what is the work of a +poet, and what the graces of a poem: the story is the least part of +either: I mean the foundation of it, before it is modelled by the art of +him who writes it; who forms it with more care, by exposing only the +beautiful parts of it to view, than a skilful lapidary sets a jewel. On +this foundation of the story, the characters are raised: and, since no +story can afford characters enough for the variety of the English stage, +it follows, that it is to be altered and enlarged with new persons, +accidents, and designs, which will almost make it new. When this is +done, the forming it into acts and scenes, disposing of actions and +passions into their proper places, and beautifying both with +descriptions, similitudes, and propriety of language, is the principal +employment of the poet; as being the largest field of fancy, which is +the principal quality required in him: for so much the word [Greek: +poietes] implies. Judgment, indeed, is necessary in him; but it is fancy +that gives the life-touches, and the secret graces to it; especially in +serious plays, which depend not much on observation. For, to write +humour in comedy, (which is the theft of poets from mankind) little of +fancy is required; the poet observes only what is ridiculous and +pleasant folly, and by judging exactly what is so, he pleases in the +representation of it. + +But, in general, the employment of a poet is like that of a curious +gunsmith, or watchmaker: the iron or silver is not his own; but they are +the least part of that which gives the value: the price lies wholly in +the workmanship. And he who works dully on a story, without moving +laughter in a comedy, or raising concernment in a serious play, is no +more to be accounted a good poet, than a gunsmith of the Minories is to +be compared with the best workman of the town. + +But I have said more of this than I intended; and more, perhaps, than I +needed to have done: I shall but laugh at them hereafter, who accuse me +with so little reason; and withal contemn their dulness, who, if they +could ruin that little reputation I have got, and which I value not, yet +would want both wit and learning to establish their own; or to be +remembered in after ages for any thing, but only that which makes them +ridiculous in this. + + + + +PROLOGUE. + + + When first our poet set himself to write, + Like a young bridegroom on his wedding-night; + He laid about him, and did so bestir him, + His muse could never lie in quiet for him: + But now his honey-moon is gone and past, + Yet the ungrateful drudgery must last: + And he is bound, as civil husbands do, + To strain himself, in complaisance to you: + To write in pain, and counterfeit a bliss, + Like the faint smacking of an after-kiss. + But you, like wives ill pleased, supply his want; + Each writing monsieur is a fresh gallant: + And though, perhaps, 'twas done as well before, + Yet still there's something in a new amour. + Your several poets work with several tools, + One gets you wits, another gets you fools: + This pleases you with some by-stroke of wit, + This finds some cranny that was never hit. + But should these janty lovers daily come + To do your work, like your good man at home, + Their fine small-timbered wits would soon decay; + These are gallants but for a holiday. + Others you had, who oftner have appeared, + Whom, for mere impotence, you have cashiered: + Such as at first came on with pomp and glory, + But, overstraining, soon fell flat before ye. + Their useless weight, with patience, long was born, + But at the last you threw them off with scorn. + As for the poet of this present night, } + Though now he claims in you a husband's right, } + He will not hinder you of fresh delight. } + He, like a seaman, seldom will appear; + And means to trouble home but thrice a-year: + That only time from your gallants he'll borrow; + Be kind to-day, and cuckold him to-morrow. + + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + + WILDBLOOD, } + } _Two young English gentlemen_. + BELLAMY, } + + MASKALL, _their servant_. + + _Don_ ALONZO DE RIBERA, _an old Spanish gentleman_. + + _Don_ LOPEZ DE GAMBOA, _a young noble Spaniard_. + + _Don_ MELCHOR DE GUZMAN, _a gentleman of a great family; but of a + decayed fortune_. + + _Donna_ THEODOSIA, } + } _Daughters to Don_ ALONZO. + _Donna_ JACINTHA, } + + _Donna_ AURELIA, _their cousi_. + + BEATRIX, _woman and confident to the two Sisters_. + + CAMILLA, _woman to_ AURELIA. + + _Servants to Don_ LOPEZ _and Don_ ALONZO. + + + SCENE--_Madrid, in the Year 1665_. + + _The Time, the last Evening of the Carnival_. + + + + + AN + + EVENING'S LOVE; + + OR, THE + + MOCK ASTROLOGER. + + + + +ACT I. SCENE I. + + +_Don_ LOPEZ, _and a Servant walking over the stage. Enter another +Servant, and follows him_. + + _Serv._ Don Lopez. + + _Lop._ Any new business? + + _Serv._ My master had forgot this letter, + Which he conjures you, as you are his friend, + To give Aurelia from him. + + _Lop._ Tell Don Melchor, + 'Tis a hard task which he enjoins me: + He knows I love her, and much more than he; + For I love her alone, but he divides + His passion betwixt two. Did he consider + How great a pain 'tis to dissemble love, + He would never practise it. + + _Serv._ He knows his fault, but cannot mend it. + + _Lop._ To make the poor Aurelia believe + He's gone for Flanders, whilst he lies concealed, + And every night makes visits to her cousin-- + When will he leave this strange extravagance? + + _Serv._ When he can love one more, or t'other less. + + _Lop._ Before I loved myself, I promised him + To serve him in his love; and I'll perform it, + Howe'er repugnant to my own concernments. + + _Serv._ You are a noble cavalier. + [_Exit Servant._ + +_Enter_ BELLAMY, WILDBLOOD, _and_ MASKALL. + + _2 Serv._ Sir, your guests, of the English ambassador's retinue. + + _Lop._ Cavaliers, will you please to command my coach to take the air + this evening? + + _Bel._ We have not yet resolved how to dispose of ourselves; but, + however, we are highly acknowledging to you for your civility. + + _Lop._ You cannot more oblige me, than by laying your commands on me. + + _Wild._ We kiss your hand. + [_Exeunt_ LOPEZ _and Serv_. + + _Bel._ Give the Don his due, he entertained us nobly this carnival. + + _Wild._ Give the devil the Don, for any thing I liked in his + entertainment. + + _Bel._ I hope we had variety enough. + +_Wild._ Ay, it looked like variety, till we came to taste it; there were +twenty several dishes to the eye, but in the palate, nothing but spices. +I had a mind to eat of a pheasant, and as soon as I got it into my +mouth, I found I was chewing a limb of cinnamon; then I went to cut a +piece of kid, and no sooner it had touched my lips, but it turned to red +pepper: At last I began to think myself another kind of Midas, that +every thing I touched should be turned to spice. + +_Bel._ And, for my part, I imagined his Catholic majesty had invited us +to eat his Indies. But pr'ythee, let's leave the discourse of it, and +contrive together how we may spend the evening; for in this hot country, +'tis as in the creation, the evening and the morning make the day. + +_Wild._ I have a little serious business. + +_Bel._ Put it off till a fitter season: For the truth is, business is +then only tolerable, when the world and the flesh have no baits to set +before us for the day. + +_Wild._ But mine, perhaps, is public business. + +_Bel._ Why, is any business more public than drinking and wenching? Look +on those grave plodding fellows, that pass by us as though they were +meditating the reconquest of Flanders: Fly them to a mark, and I'll +undertake three parts of four are going to their courtezans. I tell +thee, Jack, the whisking of a silk gown, and the rush of a tabby +petticoat, are as comfortable sounds to one of these rich citizens, as +the chink of their pieces of eight. + +_Wild._ This being granted to be the common design of human kind, it is +more than probable it is yours; therefore I'll leave you to the +prosecution of it. + +_Bel._ Nay, good Jack, mine is but a mistress in embryo; the possession +of her is at least some days off; and till that time, thy company will +be pleasant, and may be profitable to carry on the work. I would use +thee like an under kind of chemist, to blow coals; it will be time +enough for me to be alone, when I come to projection. + +_Wild._ You must excuse me, Frank; I have made an appointment at the +gaming-house. + +_Bel._ What to do there, I pr'ythee? To mis-spend that money, which kind +fortune intended for a mistress? Or to learn new oaths and curses to +carry into England? That is not it--I heard you were to marry when you +left home: Perhaps that may be still running in your head, and keep you +virtuous. + +_Wild._ Marriage, quotha! what, dost thou think +I have been bred in the deserts of Africa, or among the savages of +America? Nay, if I had, I must needs have known better things than so; +the light of nature would not have let me go so far astray. + +_Bel._ Well, what think you of the Prado this evening? + +_Wild._ Pox upon't, 'tis worse than our contemplative Hyde-Park. + +_Bel._ Oh, but we must submit to the custom of the country for +courtship: Whatever the means are, we are sure the end is still the same +in all places. But who are these? + +_Enter_ DON ALONZO DE RIBERA, _with his two Daughters_, THEODOSIA _and_ +JACINTHA, _and_ BEATRIX, _their Woman, passing by_. + +_Theo._ Do you see those strangers, sister, that eye us so earnestly? + +_Jac._ Yes, and I guess them to be feathers of the English ambassador's +train; for I think I saw them at the grand audience--and have the +strongest temptation in the world to talk to them: A mischief on this +modesty! + +_Beat._ A mischief of this father of yours, that haunts you so. + +_Jac._ 'Tis very true, Beatrix; for though I am the younger sister, I +should have the grace to lay modesty first aside: However, sister, let +us pull up our veils, and give them an essay of our faces. + [_They pull up their veils, and pull them down again._ + +_Wild._ Ah, Bellamy! undone, undone! Dost thou see those beauties? + +_Bel._ Pr'ythee, Wildblood, hold thy tongue, and do not spoil my +contemplation: I am undoing myself as fast as ever I can, too. + +_Wild._ I must go to them. + +_Bel._ Hold, madman! Dost thou not see their father? Hast thou a mind to +have our throats cut? + +_Wild._ By a Hector of fourscore? Hang our throats: What! a lover, and +cautious? + [_Is going towards them._ + +_Alon._ Come away, daughters; we shall be late else. + +_Bel._ Look you, they are on the wing already. + +_Wild._ Pr'ythee, dear Frank, let's follow them: I long to know who they +are. + +_Mask._ Let me alone, I'll dog them for you. + +_Bel._ I am glad on't; for my shoes so pinch me, I can scarce go a step +farther. + +_Wild._ Cross the way there lives a shoemaker: Away quickly, that we may +not spoil our design. + [_Exeunt_ BEL. _and_ WILD. + +_Alon._ [_offers to go off_.] Now, friend! what's your business to +follow us? + +_Mask._ Noble Don, 'tis only to recommend my service to you: A certain +violent passion I have had for your worship, since the first moment that +I saw you. + +_Alon._ I never saw thee before, to my remembrance. + +_Mask._ No matter, sir; true love never stands upon ceremon +y. + +_Alon._ Pr'ythee be gone, my saucy companion, or +I'll clap an alguazil upon thy heels: I tell thee I have no need of thy +service. + +_Mask._ Having no servant of your own, I cannot, in good manners, leave +you destitute. + +_Alon._ I'll beat thee, if thou followest me. + +_Mask._ I am your spaniel, sir; the more you beat me, the better I'll +wait on you. + +_Alon._ Let me entreat thee to be gone; the boys will hoot at me to see +me followed thus against my will. + +_Mask._ Shall you and I concern ourselves for what the boys do, sir? +Pray do you hear the news at court? + +_Alon._ Pr'ythee, what's the news to thee or me? + +_Mask._ Will you be at the next _juego de cannas_? + +_Alon._ If I think good. + +_Mask._ Pray go on, sir; we can discourse as we walk together: And +whither were you now a-going, sir? + +_Alon._ To the devil, I think. + +_Mask._ O, not this year or two, sir, by your age. + +_Jac._ My father was never so matched for talking in all his life +before; he who loves to hear nothing but himself: Pr'ythee, Beatrix, +stay behind, and see what this impudent Englishman would have. + +_Beat._ Sir, if you'll let my master go, I'll be his pawn. + +_Mask._ Well, sir, I kiss your hand, in hope to wait on you another +time. + +_Alon._ Let us mend our pace, to get clear of him. + +_Theo._ If you do not, he'll be with you again, like Atalanta in the +fable, and make you drop another of your golden apples. + [_Exeunt_ ALON. THEO. _and_ JACINTHA. + [MASKALL _whispers_ BEATRIX _the while_. + +_Beat._ How much good language is here thrown away, to make me betray my +ladies? + +_Mask._ If you will discover nothing of them, let me discourse with you +a little. + +_Beat._ As little as you please. + +_Mask._ They are rich, I suppose? + +_Beat._ Now you are talking of them again: But they are as rich, as they +are fair. + +_Mask._ Then they have the Indies: Well, but their names, my sweet +mistress. + +_Beat._ Sweet servant, their names are---- + +_Mask._ Their names are--out with it boldly-- + +_Beat._ A secret--not to be disclosed. + +_Mask._ A secret, say you? Nay, then, I conjure you, as you are a woman, +tell it me. + +_Beat._ Not a syllable. + +_Mask._ Why, then, as you are a waiting-woman; as you are the sieve of +all your lady's secrets, tell it me. + +_Beat._ You lose your labour; nothing will strain through me. + +_Mask._ Are you so well stopped in the bottom? + +_Beat._ It was enjoined me strictly as a secret. + +_Mask._ Was it enjoined thee strictly, and canst thou hold it? Nay, +then, thou art invincible: But, by that face, that more than ugly face, +which I suspect to be under thy veil, disclose it to me. + +_Beat._ By that face of thine, which is a natural visor, I will not tell +thee. + +_Mask._ By thy---- + +_Beat._ No more swearing, I beseech you. + +_Mask._ That woman's worth little, that is not worth an oath: Well, get +thee gone; now I think on't, thou shalt not tell me. + +_Beat._ Shall I not? Who shall hinder me? They are Don Alonzo de +Ribera's daughters. + +_Mask._ Out, out: I'll stop my ears. + +_Beat._ They live hard by, in the _Calle maior_. + +_Mask._ O, infernal tongue-- + +_Beat._ And are going to the next chapel with their father. + +_Mask._ Wilt thou never have done tormenting me? In my conscience, anon +thou wilt blab out their names too. + +_Beat._ Their names are Theodosia and Jacintha. + +_Mask._ And where's your great secret now? + +_Beat._ Now, I think, I am revenged on you, for running down my poor old +master. + +_Mask._ Thou art not fully revenged, till thou hast told me thy own name +too. + +_Beat._ 'Tis Beatrix, at your service, sir; pray remember I wait on +them. + +_Mask._ Now I have enough, I must be going. + +_Beat._ I perceive you are just like other men; when you have got your +ends, you care not how soon you are going. Farewell:--you'll be constant +to me? + +_Mask._ If thy face, when I see it, do not give me occasion to be +otherwise. + +_Beat._ You shall take a sample, that you may praise it, when you see it +next. + [_She pulls up her veil._ + +_Enter_ WILDBLOOD _and_ BELLAMY. + +_Wild._ Look, there's your dog with a duck in's mouth.--Oh, she's got +loose, and dived again. + [_Exit_ BEATRIX. + +_Beat._ Well, Maskall, what news of the ladies of the lake? + +_Mask._ I have learned enough to embark you in an adventure. They are +daughters to one Don Alonzo de Ribera, in the _Calle maior_, their names +Theodosia and Jacintha, and they are going to their devotions in the +next chapel. + +_Wild._ Away then, let us lose no time. I thank heaven, I never found +myself better inclined to godliness, than at this present. + [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE II.--_A Chapel_. + +_Enter_ ALONZO, THEODOSIA, JACINTHA, BEATRIX, _other Ladies, and +Cavaliers at their devotions_. + +_Alon._ By that time you have told your beads, I'll be again with you. + [_Exit._ + +_Jac._ Do you think the Englishmen will come after us? + +_Beat._ Do you think they can stay from you? + +_Jac._ For my part, I feel a certain qualm upon my heart, which makes me +believe I am breeding love to one of them. + +_Theo._ How, love, Jacintha! in so short a time? Cupid's arrow was well +feathered, to reach you so suddenly. + +_Jac._ Faith, as good at first as at last, sister; 'tis a thing that +must be done, and therefore 'tis best dispatching it out o'the way. + +_Theo._ But you do not mean to tell him so, whom you love? + +_Jac._ Why should I keep myself and servant in +pain, for that which may be cured at a day's warning? + +_Beat._ My lady tells you true, madam; long tedious courtship may be +proper for cold countries, where their frosts are long a thawing; but, +heaven be praised, we live in a warm climate. + +_Theo._ The truth is, in other countries they have opportunities of +courtship, which we have not; they are not mewed up with double locks +and grated windows; but may receive addresses at their leisure. + +_Jac._ But our love here is like our grass; if it be not mowed quickly, +'tis burnt up. + +_Enter_ BELLAMY, WILDBLOOD, and MASKALL: _They look about them_. + +_Theo._ Yonder are your gallants; send you comfort of them: I am for my +devotions. + +_Jac._ Now for my heart can I think of no other prayer, but only that +they may not mistake us. Why, sister, sister, will you pray? What injury +have I ever done you, that you should pray in my company? If your +servant Don Melchor were here, we should have you mind heaven as little +as the best of us. + +_Beat._ They are at a loss, madam; shall I put up my veil, that they may +take aim? + +_Jac._ No, let them take their fortune in the dark: We shall see what +archers these English are. + +_Bel._ Which are they, think'st thou? + +_Wild._ There's no knowing them, they are all children of darkness. + +_Bel._ I'll be sworn they have one sign of godliness among them, there's +no distinction of persons here. + +_Wild._ Pox o'this blind-man's-buff; they may be ashamed to provoke a +man thus, by their keeping themselves so close. + +_Bel._ You are for the youngest, you say; 'tis the eldest has smitten +me. And here I fix; if I am right, happy man be his dole. + [_By_ THEODOSIA. + + _Wild._ I'll take my fortune here. + [_By_ JACINTHA. + Madam, I hope a stranger may take the liberty, without offence, to + offer his devotions by you? + +_Jac._ That, sir, would interrupt mine, without being any advantage to +your own. + +_Wild._ My advantage, madam, is very evident; for the kind saint, to +whom you pray, may, by the neighbourhood, mistake my devotions for +yours. + +_Jac._ O, sir! our saints can better distinguish between the prayers of +a Catholic and a Lutheran. + +_Wild._ I beseech you, madam, trouble not yourself for my religion; for, +though I am a heretic to the men of your country, to your ladies I am a +very zealous Catholic; and for fornication and adultery, I assure you I +hold with both churches. + +_Theo. to Bel._ Sir, if you will not be more devout, be at least more +civil; you see you are observed. + +_Bel._ And pray, madam, what do you think the lookers on imagine I am +employed about? + +_Theo._ I will not trouble myself to guess. + +_Bel._ Why, by all circumstances, they must conclude that I am making +love to you; and, methinks, it were scarce civil to give the opinion of +so much good company the lie. + +_Theo._ If this were true, you would have little reason to thank them +for their divination. + +_Bel._ Meaning, I should not be loved again? + +_Theo._ You have interpreted my riddle, and may take it for your pains. + +_Enter_ ALONZO, _and goes apart to his devotion_. + +_Beat._ Madam, your father is returned. + +_Bel._ She has nettled me; would, I could be revenged on her! + +_Wild._ Do you see their father? Let us make as though we talked to one +another, that we may not be suspected. + +_Beat._ You have lost your Englishmen. + +_Jac._ No, no, 'tis but design, I warrant you: You shall see these +island cocks wheel about immediately. + [_The English gather up close to them._ + +_Beat._ Perhaps they thought they were observed. + +_Wild. to Bel._ Talk not of our country ladies: I declare myself for the +Spanish beauties. + +_Bel._ Pr'ythee, tell me what thou canst find to doat on in these +Castilians? + +_Wild._ Their wit and beauty. + +_Theo._ Now for our champion, St Jago, for Spain. + +_Bel._ Faith, I can speak no such miracles of either; for their beauty, +'tis much as the Moors left it; not altogether so deep a black as the +true Ethiopian; a kind of beauty that is too civil to the lookers-on to +do them any mischief. + +_Jac._ This was your frowardness, that provoked +him, sister. + +_Theo._ But they shall not carry it off so. + +_Bel._ As for their wit, you may judge it by their breeding, which is +commonly in a nunnery; where the want of mankind, while they are there, +makes them value the blessing ever after. + +_Theo._ Pr'ythee, dear Jacintha, tell me, what kind of creatures were +those we saw yesterday at the audience? Those, I mean, that looked so +like Frenchmen in their habits, but only became their apishness so much +worse. + +_Jac._ Englishmen, I think, they called them. + +_Theo._ Cry you mercy; they were of your wild English, indeed; that is, +a kind of northern beast, that is taught its feats of activity in +Monsieurland; and, for doing them too lubberly, is laughed at all the +world over. + +_Bel._ Wildblood, I perceive the women understand little of discourse; +their gallants do not use them to it: They get upon their jennets, and +prance before their ladies' windows; there the palfrey curvets and +bounds, and, in short, entertains them for his master. + +_Wild._ And this horseplay they call making love. + +_Beat._ Your father, madam---- + +_Alon._ Daughters! what cavaliers are those which were talking by you? + +_Jac._ Englishmen, I believe, sir, at their devotions.--Cavalier, would +you would try to pray a little better than you have rallied. + [_Aside to_ WILD. + +_Wild._ Hang me if I put all my devotions out of order for you: I +remember I prayed but on Tuesday last, and my time comes not till +Tuesday next. + +_Mask._ You had as good pray, sir: she will not stir till you have: Say +any thing. + +_Wild._ Fair lady, though I am not worthy of the least of your favours, +yet give me the happiness this evening to see you at your father's door, +that I may acquaint you with part of my sufferings. + [_Aside to_ JAC. + +_Alon._ Come, daughters, have you done? + +_Jac._ Immediately, sir.--Cavalier, I will not fail to be there at the +time appointed, if it be but to teach you more wit, henceforward, than +to engage your heart so lightly. + [_Aside to_ WILD. + +_Wild._ I have engaged my heart with so much zeal and true devotion to +your divine beauty, that---- + +_Alon._ What means this cavalier? + +_Jac._ Some zealous ejaculation. + +_Alan._ May the saint hear him! + +_Jac._ I'll answer for her. + [_Exeunt Father and Daughters._ + +_Wild._ Now, Bellamy, what success? + +_Bel._ I prayed to a more marble saint than that +was in the shrine; but you, it seems, have been successful. + +_Wild._ And so shalt thou; let me alone for both. + +_Bel._ If you'll undertake it, I'll make bold to indulge my love, and +within these two hours be a desperate inamorato. I feel I am coming +apace to it. + +_Wild._ Faith, I can love at any time with a wish, at my rate: I give my +heart according to the old law of pawns, to be returned me before +sunset. + +_Bel._ I love only that I may keep my heart warm; for a man's a pool, if +love stir him not; and to bring it to that pass, I first resolve whom to +love, and presently after imagine I am in love: for a strong imagination +is required in a lover as much as in a witch. + +_Wild._ And is this all your receipt? + +_Bel._ These are my principal ingredients; as for piques, jealousies, +duels, daggers, and halters, I let them alone to the vulgar. + +_Wild._ Pr'ythee, let's round the street a little; till Maskall watches +for their woman. + +_Bel._ That's well thought on: He shall about it immediately. We will +attempt the mistress by the maid: Women by women still are best +betrayed. + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + + +_Enter_ WILDBLOOD, BELLAMY, _and_ MASKALL. + +_Wild._ Did you speak with her woman? + +_Mask._ Yes, but she was in haste, and bid me wait her hereabouts when +she returned. + +_Bel._ Then you have discovered nothing more? + +_Mask._ Only, in general, that Donna Theodosia is engaged elsewhere; so +that all your courtship will be to no purpose--But for your mistress, +sir, [_To_ WILD.] she is waded out of her depth in love to you already. + +_Wild._ That's very hard, when I am scarce knee-deep with her: 'Tis +true, I have given her hold of my heart; but, if she take not heed, it +will slip through her fingers. + +_Bel._ You are prince of the soil, sir, and may take your pleasure when +you please; but I am the eve to your holiday, and must fast for being +joined to you. + +_Wild._ Were I as thou art, I would content myself with having but one +fair flight at her, without wearying myself on the wing for a retrieve; +for, when all is done, the quarry is but a woman. + +_Bel._ Thank you, sir, you would fly them both yourself; and while I +turn tail, we should have you come, gingling with your bells in the neck +of my partridge. Do you remember who encouraged me to love, and promised +me his assistance? + +_Wild._ Ay, while there was hope, Frank! while there was hope! but +there's no contending with one's destiny. + +_Bel._ Nay, it may be I care as little for her as another man; but, +while she flies before me, I must follow: I can love a woman first with +ease; but if she begins to fly before me, I grow _opiniatre_ as the +devil. + +_Wild._ What a secret have you found out? Why, 'tis the nature of all +mankind: We love to get our mistresses, and purr over them, as cats do +over mice, and let them go a little way; and all the pleasure is, to pat +them back again: But yours, I take it, Frank, is gone too far. Pr'ythee, +how long dost thou intend to love at this rate? + +_Bel._ Till the evil constellation be past over me: Yet, I believe, it +would hasten my recovery, if I knew whom she loved. + +_Mask._ You shall not be long without that satisfaction. + +_Wild._ 'St, the door opens; and two women are coming out. + +_Bel._ By their stature, they should be thy gracious mistress and +Beatrix. + +_Wild._ Methinks you should know your cue then, and withdraw. + +_Bel._ Well, I'll leave you to your fortune; but, if you come to close +fighting, I shall make bold to run in, and part you. + [BELLAMY _and_ MASKALL, _withdrawing_. + +_Wild._ Yonder she comes, with full sails i'faith! I'll hail her amain, +for England. + +_Enter_ JACINTHA _and_ BEATRIX, _at the other end of the stage_. + +_Beat._ You do love him then? + +_Jac._ Yes, most vehemently! + +_Beat._ But set some bounds to your affection. + +_Jac._ None but fools confine their pleasure: What usurer ever thought +his coffers held too much? No, I'll give myself the swing, and love +without reserve. If I keep a passion, I'll not starve it in my service. + +_Beat._ But are you sure he will deserve this kindness? + +_Jac._ I never trouble myself so long beforehand. Jealousies and +disquiets are the dregs of an amour; but I'll leave mine before I have +drawn it off so low. When it once grows troubled, I'll give vent to a +fresh draught. + +_Beat._ Yet it is but prudence to try him first; no pilot ventures on an +unknown coast without sounding. + +_Jac._ Well, to satisfy thee, I am content; partly, too, because I find +a kind of pleasure in laying baits for him. + +_Beat._ The two great virtues of a lover are constancy and liberality; +if he possess those two, you may be happy in him. + +_Jac._ Nay, if he be not lord and master of both those qualities, I +disown him----But who goes there? + +_Beat._ He, I warrant you, madam; for his servant told me he was waiting +hereabout. + +_Jac._ Watch the door; give me notice, if any come. + + _Beat._ I'll secure you, madam. + [_Exit_ BEAT. + +_Jac._ [_To_ WILD.] What, have you laid an ambush for me? + +_Wild._ Only to make a reprisal of my heart. + +_Jac._ 'Tis so wild, that the lady, who has it in her keeping, would be +glad she were well rid on't, it does so flutter about the cage. 'Tis a +mere Bajazet; and if it be not let out the sooner, will beat out its +brains against the grates. + +_Wild._ I am afraid the lady has not fed it, and 'tis wild for hunger. + +_Jac._ Or, perhaps it wants company; shall she put another to it? + +_Wild._ Ay; but then it were best to trust them out of the cage +together; let them hop about at liberty. + +_Jac._ But, if they should lose one another in the wide world! + +_Wild._ They'll meet at night, I warrant them. + +_Jac._ But is not your heart of the nature of those birds, that breed in +one country, and go to winter in another? + +_Wild._ Suppose it does so; yet, I take my mate along with me. And now, +to leave our parables, and speak in the language of the vulgar, what +think you of a voyage to merry England? + +_Jac._ Just as AEsop's frog did, of leaping into a deep well in a +drought: If he ventured the leap, there might be water; but, if there +were no water, how should he get out again? + +_Wild._ Faith, we live in a good honest country, where we are content +with our old vices; partly because we want wit to invent more new. A +colony of Spaniards, or spiritual Italians, planted among us, would make +us much more racy. 'Tis, true, our variety is not much; but, to speak +nobly of our way of living, 'tis like that of the sun, which rises, and +looks upon the same thing he saw yesterday, and goes to bed again. + +_Jac._ But I hear your women live most blessedly; there is no such thing +as jealousy among the husbands; if any man has horns, he bears them as +loftily as a stag, and as inoffensively. + +_Wild._ All this, I hope, gives you no ill character of the country? + +_Jac._ But what need we go into another climate? as our love was born +here, so let it live and die here, and be honestly buried in its native +country. + +_Wild._ Faith, agreed with all my heart. For I am none of those +unreasonable lovers, that propose to themselves the loving to eternity. +The truth is, a month is commonly my stint; but, in that month, I love +so dreadfully, that it is after a twelve-month's rate of common love. + +_Jac._ Or, would not a fortnight serve our turn? for, in troth, a month +looks somewhat dismally; 'tis a whole Egyptian year. If a moon changes +in my love, I shall think my Cupid grown dull, or fallen into an +apoplexy. + +_Wild._ Well, I pray heaven we both get off as clear as we imagine; for +my part, I like your humour so damnably well, that I fear I am in for a +week longer than I proposed: I am half afraid your Spanish planet and my +English one have been acquainted, and have found out some by-room or +other in the twelve houses: I wish they have been honourable. + +_Jac._ The best way for both were to take up in time; yet I am afraid +our forces are engaged so far, that we must make a battle on't. What +think you of disobliging one another from this day forward; and shewing +all our ill humours at the first, which lovers use to keep as a reserve, +till they are married? + +_Wild._ Or let us encourage one another to a breach, by the dangers of +possession: I have a song to that purpose. + +_Jac._ Pray let me hear it: I hope it will go to the tune of one of our +_Passa-calles_. + + + SONG. + + _You charmed me not with that fair face, + Though it was all divine; + To be another's is the grace, + That makes me wish you mine. + The gods and fortune take their part, + Who, like young monarchs, fight, + And boldly dare invade that heart, + Which is another's right. + First, mad with hope, we undertake + To pull up every bar; + But, once possessed, we faintly make + A dull defensive war. + Now, every friend is turned a foe, + In hope to get our store: + And passion make us cowards grow, + Which made us brave before._ + +_Jac._ Believe it, cavalier, you are a dangerous person: Do you hold +forth your gifts, in hopes to make me love you less? + +_Wild._ They would signify little, if we were once married: Those +gaieties are all nipt and frost-bitten in the marriage-bed, i'faith. + +_Jac._ I am sorry to hear 'tis so cold a place: But 'tis all one to us, +who do not mean to trouble it. The truth is, your humour pleases me +exceedingly; how long it will do so, I know not; but so long as it does, +I am resolved to give myself the content of seeing you. For, if I should +once constrain myself, I might fall in love in good earnest: But I have +stayed too long with you, and would be loth to surfeit you at first. + +_Wild._ Surfeit me madam? why, you have but tantalized me all this +while! + +_Jac._ What would you have? + +_Wild._ A hand, or lip, or any thing that you can spare; when you have +conjured up a spirit, he must have some employment, or he'll tear you +apieces. + +_Jac._ Well, here's my picture, to help your contemplation in my +absence. + +_Wild._ You have already the original of mine: But some revenge you must +allow me: A locket of diamonds, or some such trifle, the next time I +kiss your hand. + +_Jac._ Fie, fie! you do not think me mercenary? Yet, now I think on't, +I'll put you into our Spanish mode of love: Our ladies here use to be +the bankers of their servants, and to have their gold in keeping. + +_Wild._ This is the least trial you could have made of me: I have some +three hundred pistoles by me; those I'll send by my servant. + +_Jac._ Confess freely, you mistrust me: But if you find the least qualm +about your gold, pray keep it for a cordial. + +_Wild._ The cordial must be applied to the heart, and mine's with you, +madam. Well; I say no more; but these are dangerous beginnings for +holding on: I find my month will have more than one-and-thirty days +in't. + +_Enter_ BEATRIX, _running_. + +_Beat._ Madam, your father calls in haste for you, +and is looking for you about the house. + +_Jac._ Adieu, servant; be a good manager of your stock of love, that it +may hold out your month; I am afraid you'll waste so much of it before +to-morrow night, that you'll shine but with a quarter moon upon me. + +_Wild._ It shall be a crescent. + [_Exeunt_ WILD. _and_ JAC. _severally_. + [BEATRIX _is going, and_ MASKALL _runs and stops her_. + +_Mask._ Pay your ransom; you are my prisoner. + +_Beat._ What! do you fight after the French fashion; take towns before +you declare a war? + +_Mask._ I shall be glad to imitate them so far, to be in the middle of +the country before you could resist me. + +_Beat._ Well, what composition, monsieur? + +_Mask._ Deliver up your lady's secret; what makes her so cruel to my +master? + +_Beat._ Which of my ladies, and which of your masters? For, I suppose, +we are factors for both of them. + +_Mask._ Your eldest lady, Theodosia. + +_Beat._ How dare you press your mistress to an inconvenience? + +_Mask._ My mistress? I understand not that language; +the fortune of the valet ever follows that of the master; and his is +desperate: if his fate were altered for the better, I should not care if +I ventured upon you for the worse. + +_Beat._ I have told you already, Donna Theodosia loves another. + +_Mask._ Has he no name? + +_Beat._ Let it suffice, he is born noble, though without a fortune. His +poverty makes him conceal his love from her father; but she sees him +every night in private; and, to blind the world, about a fortnight ago +he took a solemn leave of her, as if he were going into Flanders: In the +mean time, he lodges at the house of Don Lopez de Gamboa; and is himself +called Don Melchor de Guzman. + +_Mask._ Don Melchor de Guzman! O heavens! + +_Beat._ What amazes you? + +_Theo._ [_Within_.] Why, Beatrix, where are you? + +_Beat._ You hear I am called.--Adieu; and be sure you keep my counsel. + +_Mask._ Come, sir, you see the coast is clear. + [_Exit_ BEAT. + +_Enter_ BELLAMY. + +_Bel._ Clear, dost thou say? No, 'tis full of rocks and quicksands: Yet +nothing vexes me so much, as that she is in love with such a poor rogue. + +_Mask._ But that she should lodge privately in the same house with us! +'twas oddly contrived of fortune. + +_Bel._ Hang him, rogue! methinks I see him, perching, like an owl, by +day, and not daring to flutter out till moonlight. The rascal invents +love, and brews his compliments all day, and broaches them at night; +just as some of our dry wits do their stories, before they come into +company. Well, if I could be revenged on either of them! + +_Mask._ Here she comes again, with Beatrix; but, good sir, moderate your +passion. + +_Enter_ THEODOSIA _and_ BEATRIX. + +_Bel._ Nay, madam; you are known; and must not pass till I have spoken +with you. + [BEL. _lifts up_ THEODOSIA'S _veil_. + +_Theo._ This rudeness to a person of my quality may cost you dear. Pray, +when did I give you encouragement for so much familiarity? + +_Bel._ When you scorned me in the chapel. + +_Theo._ The truth is, I denied you as heartily as I could, that I might +not be twice troubled with you. + +_Bel._ Yet you have not this aversion for all the world: However, I was +in hope, though the day frowned, the night might prove as propitious to +me as it is to others. + +_Theo._ I have now a quarrel both to the sun and moon, because I have +seen you both by their lights. + +_Bel._ Spare the moon, I beseech you, madam; she is a very trusty planet +to you. + +_Beat._ O, Maskall, you have ruined me! + +_Mask._ Dear sir, hold yet! + +_Bel._ Away! + +_Theo._ Pray, sir, expound your meaning; for, I confess, I am in the +dark. + +_Bel._ Methinks you should discover it by moonlight. Or, if you would +have me speak clearer to you, give me leave to wait on you at a midnight +assignation; and, that it may not be discovered, I'll feign a voyage +beyond sea, as if I were going a captaining to Flanders. + +_Mask._ A pox on his memory! he has not forgot one syllable! + +_Theo._ Ah, Beatrix! you have betrayed and sold me! + +_Beat._ You have betrayed and sold yourself, madam, by your own rashness +to confess it; heaven knows I have served you but too faithfully. + +_Theo._ Peace, impudence! and see my face no more! + +_Mask._ Do you know what work you have made, sir? + +_Bel._ Let her see what she has got by slighting me. + +_Mask._ You had best let Beatrix be turned away for me to keep: If you +do, I know whose purse shall pay for't. + +_Bel._ That's a curse I never thought on: Cast about quickly, and save +all yet. Range, quest, and spring a lie immediately! + +_Theo. [To_ BEAT.] Never importune me farther; you shall go; there's no +removing me. + +_Beat._ Well; this is ever the reward of innocence---- + [_Going._ + +_Mask._ Stay, guiltless virgin, stay; thou shalt not go! + +_Theo._ Why, who should hinder it? + +_Mask._ That will I, in the name of truth,--if this hard-bound lie would +but come from me. + [_Aside._ +Madam, I must tell you it lies in my power to appease this tempest with +one word. + +_Beat._ Would it were come once! + +_Mask._ Nay, sir, 'tis all one to me, if you turn me away upon't; I can +hold no longer. + +_Theo._ What does the fellow mean? + +_Mask._ For all your noddings, and your mathematical grimaces--in short, +madam, my master has been conversing with the planets; and from them has +had the knowledge of your affairs. + +_Bel._ This rogue amazes me! + +_Mask._ I care not, sir, I am for truth; that will shame you, and all +your devils: In short, madam, this master of mine, that stands before +you, without a word to say for himself, so like an oaf, as I might say, +with reverence to him---- + +_Bel._ The rascal makes me mad! + +_Mask._ Is the greatest astrologer in Christendom. + +_Theo._ Your master an astrologer? + +_Mask._ A most profound one. + +_Bel._ Why, you dog, you do not consider what an improbable lie this is; +which, you know, I can never make good! Disgorge it, you cormorant! or +I'll pinch your throat out.---- + [_Takes him by the throat._ + +_Mask._ 'Tis all in vain, sir! you are, and shall be an astrologer, +whatever I suffer; you know all things; see into all things; foretell +all things; and if you pinch more truth out of me, I will confess you +are a conjurer. + +_Bel._ How, sirrah! a conjurer? + +_Mask._ I mean, sir, the devil is in your fingers: Own it--you had best, +sir, and do not provoke me farther. [_While he is speaking_, BELLAMY +_stops his mouth by fits_.] What! did not I see you an hour ago turning +over a great folio, with strange figures in it, and then muttering to +yourself, like any poet; and then naming Theodosia, and then staring up +in the sky, and then poring upon the ground; so that, betwixt God and +the devil, madam, he came to know your love. + +_Bel._ Madam, if ever I knew the least term in astrology, I am the +arrantest son of a whore breathing. + +_Beat._ O, sir, for that matter, you shall excuse my lady: Nay, hide +your talents if you can, sir. + +_Theo._ The more you pretend ignorance, the more we are resolved to +believe you skilful. + +_Bel._ You'll hold your tongue yet. + [_To_ MASK. + +_Mask._ You shall never make me hold my tongue, except you conjure me to +silence: What! did you not call me to look into a crystal, and there +shewed me a fair garden, and a Spaniard stalking in his narrow +breeches, and walking underneath a window? I should know him again +amongst a thousand. + +_Beat._ Don Melchor, in my conscience, madam. + +_Bel._ This rogue will invent more stories of me, than e'er were +fathered upon Lilly! + +_Mask._ Will you confess, then? do you think I'll stain my honour to +swallow a lie for you? + +_Bel._ Well, a pox on you, I am an astrologer. + +_Beat._ O, are you so, sir? + +_Theo._ I hope then, learned sir, as you have been +curious in enquiring into my secrets, you will be so much a cavalier as +to conceal them. + +_Bel._ You need not doubt me, madam; I am more in your power than you +can be in mine: Besides, if I were once known in town, the next thing, +for aught I know, would be to bring me before the fathers of the +inquisition. + +_Beat._ Well, madam, what do you think of me now? I have betrayed you, I +have sold you! how can you ever make me amends for this imputation? I +did not think you could have used me so---- + [_Cries, and claps her hands at her._ + +_Theo._ Nay, pr'ythee, Beatrix, do not cry; I'll +leave off my new gown to-morrow, and thou shalt have it. + +_Beat._ No, I'll cry eternally! you have taken away my good name from +me; and you can never make me recompence----except you give me your new +gorget too. + +_Theo._ No more words; thou shalt have it, girl. + +_Beat._ O, madam, your father has surprised us! + +_Enter_ DON ALONZO, _and frowns_. + +_Bel._ Then, I'll begone, to avoid suspicion. + +_Theo._ By your favour, sir, you shall stay a little; the happiness of +so rare an acquaintance ought to be cherished on my side by a longer +conversation. + +_Alon._ Theodosia, what business have you with this cavalier? + +_Theo._ That, sir, which will make you as ambitious of being known to +him as I have been: Under the habit of a gallant, he conceals the +greatest astrologer this day living. + +_Alon._ You amaze me, daughter! + +_Theo._ For my own part, I have been consulting with him about some +particulars of my fortunes past and future; both which he has resolved +me with that admirable knowledge---- + +_Bel._ Yes, faith, sir, I was foretelling her of a disaster that +severely threatened her: And--one thing I foresee already by my stars, +that I must bear up boldly, or I am lost. + [_Aside._ + +_Mask._ [_To_ BEL.] Never fear him, sir; he's an +ignorant fellow, and credulous, I warrant him. + +_Alon._ Daughter, be not too confident in your belief; there's nothing +more uncertain than the old prophecies of these Nostradamusses; but of +what nature was the question which you asked him? + +_Theo._ What should be my fortune in marriage. + +_Alon._ And, pray, what did you answer, sir? + +_Bel._ I answered her the truth, that she is in danger of marrying a +gentleman without a fortune. + +_Theo._ And this, sir, has put me in such a fright-- + +_Alon._ Never trouble yourself about it, daughter; follow my advice, and +I warrant you a rich husband. + +_Bel._ But the stars say she shall not follow your advice: If it happens +otherwise, I'll burn my folio volumes, and my manuscripts too, I assure +you that, sir. + +_Alon._ Be not too confident, young man; I know +somewhat in astrology myself; for, in my younger +years, I studied it; and, though I say it, made +some small proficiency in it. + +_Bel._ Marry, heaven forbid!---- + [_Aside._ + +_Alon._ And I could only find it was no way demonstrative, but +altogether fallacious. + +_Mask._ On what a rock have we split ourselves! + +_Bel._ Now my ignorance will certainly come out! + +_Beat._ Sir, remember you are old and crazy, sir; and if the evening air +should take you----beseech you, sir, retire. + +_Alon._ Knowledge is to be preferred before health; I must needs discuss +a point with this learned cavalier, concerning a difficult question in +that art, which almost gravels me. + +_Mask._ How I sweat for him, Beatrix, and myself too, who have brought +him into this _praemunire_! + +_Beat._ You must be impudent; for our old man will stick like a burr to +you, now he's in a dispute. + +_Alon._ What judgment may a man reasonably form from the trine aspect of +the two infortunes in angular houses? + +_Bel._ That's a matter of nothing, sir; I'll turn my man loose to you +for such a question. + [_Puts_ MASKALL _forward_. + +_Alon._ Come on, sir. I am the quaerent. + +_Mask._ Meaning me, sir! I vow to God, and your worship knows it, I +never made that science my study in the least, sir. + +_Bel._ The gleanings of mine are enough for that: Why, you impudent +rogue you, hold forth your gifts, or I'll--What a devil, must I be +pestered with every trivial question, when there's not a master in town +of any science, but has his usher for these mean offices? + +_Theo._ Try him in some deeper question, sir; you see he will not put +himself forth for this. + +_Alon._ Then I'll be more abstruse with him: What think you, sir, of the +taking Hyleg? or of the best way of rectification for a nativity? Have +you been conversant in the Centiloquium of Trismegistus: What think you +of Mars in the tenth, when 'tis his own house, or of Jupiter +configurated with malevolent planets? + +_Bel._ I thought what your skill was! to answer your question in two +words, Mars rules over the martial, and Jupiter over the jovial; and so +of the rest, sir. + +_Alon._ This every school-boy could have told me. + +_Bel._ Why then you must not ask such school-boy's questions. But your +carcase, sirrah, shall pay for this. + [_Aside to_ MASKALL. + +_Alon._ You seem not to understand the terms, sir. + +_Bel._ By your favour, sir, I know there are five of them; do not I know +your Michaelmas, your Hillary, your Easter, your Trinity, and your Long +Vocation term, sir? + +_Alon._ I do not understand a word of this jargon. + +_Bel._ It may be not, sir; I believe the terms are not the same in Spain +they are in England. + +_Mask._ Did one ever hear so impudent an ignorance? + +_Alon._ The terms of art are the same every where. + +_Bel._ Tell me that! you are an old man, and they are altered since you +studied them. + +_Alon._ That may be, I must confess; however, if you please to discourse +something of the art to me, you shall find me an apt scholar. + +_Enter a Servant to_ ALONZO. + +_Ser._ Sir---- + [_Whispers._ + +_Alon._ Sir, I am sorry a business of importance +calls me hence; but I'll wait on you some other time, to discourse more +at large of astrology. + +_Bel._ Is your business very pressing? + +_Alon._ It is, I assure you, sir. + +_Bel._ I am very sorry, for I should have instructed you in such rare +secrets! I have no fault, but that I am too communicative. + +_Alon._ I'll dispatch my business, and return immediately; come away, +daughter. + [_Exeunt_ ALON. THEO. BEAT. _and Serv_. + +_Bel._ A devil on his learning; he had brought me to +my last legs; I was fighting as low as ever was 'Squire Widdrington. + +_Mask._ Who would have suspected it from that wicked elder? + +_Bel._ Suspected it? why 'twas palpable from his very physiognomy; he +looks like Haly, and the spirit Fircue in the fortune-book. + +_Enter_ WILDBLOOD. + +_Wild._ How now, Bellamy! in wrath! pr'ythee, what's the matter? + +_Bel._ The story is too long to tell you; but this rogue here has made +me pass for an arrant fortune-teller. + +_Mask._ If I had not, I am sure he must have passed for an arrant mad +man; he had discovered, in a rage, all that Beatrix had confessed to me +concerning her mistress's love; and I had no other way to bring him off, +but to say he knew it by the planets. + +_Wild._ And art thou such an oaf to be vexed at this? as the adventure +may be managed, it may make the most pleasant one in all the carnival. + +_Bel._ Death! I shall have all Madrid about me in these two days. + +_Wild._ Nay, all Spain, i'faith, as fast as I can divulge thee: Not a +ship shall pass out from any port, but shall ask thee for a wind; thou +shalt have all the trade of Lapland within a month. + +_Bel._ And do you think it reasonable for me to stand defendant to all +the impertinent questions, that the town can ask me? + +_Wild._ Thou shalt do't, boy: Pox on thee, thou dost not know thine own +happiness; thou wilt have the ladies come to thee; and if thou dost not +fit them with fortunes, thou art bewitched. + +_Mask._ Sir, 'tis the easiest thing in nature; you need but speak +doubtfully, or keep yourself in general terms, and, for the most part, +tell good rather than bad fortune. + +_Wild._ And if at any time thou venturest at particulars, have an +evasion ready like Lilly; as thus,--It will infallibly happen, if our +sins hinder not.--I would undertake, with one of his almanacks, to give +very good content to all Christendom, and what good luck fell not out in +one kingdom, should in another. + +_Mask._ The pleasure on't will be to see how all his customers will +contribute to their own deceiving; and verily believe he told them that, +which they told him. + +_Bel._ Umph! now I begin to taste it; I am like the drunken tinker in +the play, a great prince, and never knew it. + +_Wild._ A great prince! a great Turk; we shall have thee, within these +two days, do grace to the ladies, by throwing out a handkerchief; 'life, +I could feast upon thy fragments. + +_Bel._ If the women come, you shall be sure to help me to undergo the +burden; for, though you make me an astronomer, I am no Atlas, to bear +all upon my back. But who are these? + +_Enter Musicians, with disguises; and some in their hands._ + +_Wild._ You know the men, if their masking habits were off; they are the +music of our ambassador's retinue. My project is to give our mistress a +serenade, this being the last evening of the carnival; and, to prevent +discovery, here are disguises for us too. + +_Bel._ 'Tis very well; come, Maskall, help on with them, while they tune +their instruments. + +_Wild._ Strike up, gentlemen; we'll entertain them with a song _a +l'Angloise_; pray, be ready with your chorus. + + + SONG. + + _After the pangs of a desperate lover, + When day and night I have sighed all in vain; + Ah, what a pleasure it is to discover + In her eyes pity, who causes my pain! + + When, with unkindness, our love at a stand is, + And both have punished ourselves with the pain; + Ah, what a pleasure the touch of her hand is! + Ah, what a pleasure to press it again! + + When the denial comes fainter and fainter, + And her eyes give what her tongue does deny; + Ah, what a trembling I feel, when I venture! + Ah, what a trembling does usher my joy! + + When, with a sigh, she accords me the blessing, + And her eyes twinkle 'twixt pleasure and pain; + Ah, what a joy 'tis, beyond all expressing! + Ah, what a joy to hear--shall we again!_ + +THEODOSIA _and_ JACINTHA _above_. JACINTHA _throws down her +handkerchief, with a favour tied to it_. + +_Jac._ Ill musicians must be rewarded: There, cavalier, 'tis to buy your +silence. + [_Exeunt women from above._ + +_Wild._ By this light, which at present is scarce an oath, an +handkerchief, and a favour! + [_Music and guittars tuning on the other side of the Stage._ + +_Bel._ Hark, Wildblood! do you hear? There's more melody: On my life, +some Spaniards have taken up this post for the same design. + +_Wild._ I'll be with their catguts immediately. + +_Bel._ Pr'ythee, be patient; we shall lose the sport else. + +_Don_ LOPEZ and _Don_ MELCHOR _disguised, with Servants and Musicians on +the other side_. + +_Wild._ 'Tis some rival of yours or mine, Bellamy; for he addresses to +this window. + +_Bel._ Damn him, let's fall on then. + + [_The two Spaniards and the English fight: The Spaniards are beaten off + the Stage; the Musicians on both sides, and Servants, fall confusedly + one over the other. They all get off, only_ MASKALL _remains upon the + ground_. + +_Mask._ [_Rising_.] So all's past, and I am safe: A pox on these +fighting masters of mine, to bring me into this danger, with their +valours and magnanimities. When I go a-serenading again with them, I'll +give them leave to make fiddle-strings of my small-guts. + +_To him Don_ LOPEZ. + +_Lop._ Who goes there? + +_Mask._ 'Tis Don Lopez, by his voice. + +_Lop._ The same; and, by yours, you should belong to my two English +guests. Did you hear no tumult hereabouts? + +_Mask._ I heard a clashing of swords, and men a fighting. + +_Lop._ I had my share in't; but how came you here? + +_Mask._ I came hither by my master's order, to see if you were in any +danger. + +_Lop._ But how could he imagine I was in any? + +_Mask._ 'Tis all one for that, sir; he knew it, by----Heaven, what was I +a going to say! I had like to have discovered all! + +_Lop._ I find there is some secret in't, and you dare not trust me. + +_Mask._ If you will swear on your honour to be very secret, I will tell +you. + +_Lop._ As I am a cavalier, and by my beard, I will. + +_Mask._ Then, in few words, he knew it by astrology, or magic. + +_Lop._ You amaze me! Is he conversant in the occult sciences? + +_Mask._ Most profoundly. + +_Lop._ I always thought him an extraordinary person; but I could never +imagine his head lay that way. + +_Mask._ He shewed me yesterday, in a glass, a lady's maid at London, +whom I well knew; and with whom I used to converse on a pallet in a +drawing-room, while he was paying his devotions to her lady in the +bed-chamber. + +_Lop._ Lord, what a treasure for a state were here! and how much might +we save by this man, in foreign intelligence! + +_Mask._ And just now he shewed me, how you were assaulted in the dark by +foreigners. + +_Lop._ Could you guess what countrymen? + +_Mask._ I imagined them to be Italians. + +_Lop._ Not unlikely; for they played most furiously at our backsides. + +_Mask._ I will return to my master with the good news of your safety; +but once again be secret; or disclose it to none but friends.--So, +there's one woodcock more in the springe.---- + [_Exit._ + +_Lop._ Yes, I will be very secret; for I will tell it only to one +person; but she is a woman. I will to Aurelia, and acquaint her with the +skill of this rare artist: She is curious, as all women are; and, 'tis +probable, will desire to look into the glass to see Don Melchor, whom +she believes absent; so that by this means, without breaking my oath to +him, he will be discovered to be in town. Then his intrigue with +Theodosia will come to light too, for which Aurelia will, I hope, +discard him, and receive me. I will about it instantly: + +Success, in love, on diligence depends; No lazy lover e'er attained his +ends. + [_Exit._ + + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. + + +_Enter_ BELLAMY _and_ MASKALL. + +_Bel._ Then, they were certainly Don Lopez and Don Melchor, with whom we +fought. + +_Mask._ Yes, sir. + +_Bel._ And when you met Lopez, he swallowed all you told him? + +_Mask._ As greedily, as if it had been a new saint's miracle. + +_Bel._ I see 'twill spread. + +_Mask._ And the fame of it will be of use to you in your next amour; for +the women, you know, run mad after fortune-tellers and preachers. + +_Bel._ But for all my bragging, this amour is not yet worn off. I find +constancy, and once a night, come naturally upon a man towards thirty; +only we set a face on't, and call ourselves inconstant for our +reputation. + +_Mask._ But what say the stars, sir? + +_Bel._ They move faster than you imagine; for I have got me an argol, +and an English almanack, by help of which, in one half hour, I have +learned to cant with an indifferent good grace: Conjunction, opposition, +trine, square, and sextile, are now no longer bugbears to me, I thank my +stars for't. + +_Enter_ WILDBLOOD. + +Monsieur Wildblood, in good time! What, you have been taking pains, too, +to divulge my talent? + +_Wild._ So successfully, that shortly there will be no talk in town, but +of you only: Another miracle or two, and a sharp sword, and you stand +fair for a new prophet. + +_Bel._ But where did you begin to blow the trumpet? + +_Wild._ In the gaming-house, where I found most of the town-wits; the +prose-wits playing, and the verse-wits rooking. + +_Bel._ All sorts of gamesters are so superstitious, that I need not +doubt of my reception there. + +_Wild._ From thence I went to the latter end of a comedy, and there +whispered it to the next man I knew, who had a woman by him. + +_Mask._ Nay, then, it went like a train of powder, if once they had it +by the end. + +_Wild._ Like a squib upon a line, i'faith; it ran through one row, and +came back upon me in the next. At my going out I met a knot of +Spaniards, who were formally listening to one, who was relating it; but +he told the story so ridiculously, with his marginal notes upon it, +that I was forced to contradict him. + +_Bel._ 'Twas discreetly done. + +_Wild._ Ay, for you, but not for me: What, says he, must such Boracho's +as you take upon you to vilify a man of science? I tell you, he's of my +intimate acquaintance, and I have known him long for a prodigious +person.--When I saw my Don so fierce, I thought it not wisdom to quarrel +for so slight a matter as your reputation, and so withdrew. + +_Bel._ A pox of your success! now shall I have my chamber besieged +to-morrow morning: There will be no stirring out for me; but I must be +fain to take up their questions in a cleft-cane, or a begging-box, as +they do charity in prisons. + +_Wild._ Faith, I cannot help what your learning +has brought you to. Go in and study; I foresee you will have but few +holidays: In the mean time, I'll not fail to give the world an account +of your endowments. Farewell: I'll to the gaming-house. + [_Exit_ WILD. + +_Mask._ O, sir, here is the rarest adventure, and, which is more, come +home to you! + +_Bel._ What is it? + +_Mask._ A fair lady, and her woman, wait in the outer room to speak with +you. + +_Bel._ But how know you she is fair? + +_Mask._ Her woman plucked up her veil when she spoke to me; so that +having seen her this evening, I know her mistress to be Donna Aurelia, +cousin to your mistress Theodosia, and who lodges in the same house with +her: She wants a star or two, I warrant you. + +_Bel._ My whole constellation is at her service: But what is she for a +woman? + +_Mask._ Fair enough, as Beatrix has told me; but sufficiently +impertinent. She is one of those ladies, who make ten visits in an +afternoon; and entertain her they see, with speaking ill of the last, +from whom they parted: In few words, she is one of the greatest +coquettes in Madrid; and to shew she is one, she cannot speak ten words +without some affected phrase that is in fashion. + +_Bel._ For my part, I can suffer any impertinence from a woman, provided +she be handsome: My business is with her beauty, not with her morals; +let her confessor look to them. + +_Mask._ I wonder what she has to say to you? + +_Bel._ I know not; but I sweat for fear I should be gravelled. + +_Mask._ Venture out of your depth, and plunge boldly, sir; I warrant you +will swim. + +_Bel._ Do not leave me, I charge you; but when I look mournfully upon +you, help me out. + +_Enter_ AURELIA _and_ CAMILLA. + + _Mask._ Here they are already. + [AUR. _plucks up her veil._ + +_Aur._ How am I dressed to-night, Camilla? is nothing disordered in my +head? + +_Cam._ Not the least hair, madam. + +_Aur._ No! let me see: Give me the counsellor of the graces. + +_Cam._ The counsellor of the graces, madam! + +_Aur._ My glass, I mean: What, will you never be so spiritual as to +understand refined language? + +_Cam._ Madam! + +_Aur._ Madam me no madam, but learn to retrench your words; and say +ma'am; as, yes ma'am, and no ma'am, as other ladies' women do. Madam! +'tis a year in pronouncing. + +_Cam._ Pardon me, madam. + +_Aur._ Yet again, ignorance! Par-don, madam! fie, fie, what a +superfluity is there, and how much sweeter the cadence is--parn me, +ma'am! and for your ladyship, your la'ship.--Out upon't, what a furious +indigence of ribbands is here upon my head! This dress is a libel to my +beauty; a mere lampoon. Would any one, that had the least revenue of +common sense, have done this? + +_Cam._ Ma'am, the cavalier approaches your la'ship. + +_Bel._ to _Mask._ Maskall, pump the woman; and see if you can discover +any thing to save my credit. + +_Aur._ Out upon it! now I should speak, I want assurance. + +_Bel._ Madam, I was told you meant to honour me with your commands. + +_Aur._ I believe, sir, you wonder at my confidence in this visit; but I +may be excused for waving a little modesty, to know the only person of +the age. + +_Bel._ I wish my skill were more, to serve you, madam. + +_Aur._ Sir, you are an unfit judge of your own merits: For my own part, +I confess, I have a furious inclination for the occult sciences; but at +present, 'tis my misfortune---- + [_Sighs._ + +_Bel._ But why that sigh, madam? + +_Aur._ You might spare me the shame of telling you; since I am sure you +can divine my thoughts: I will, therefore, tell you nothing. + +_Bel._ What the devil will become of me now! + [_Aside._ + +_Aur._ You may give me an essay of your science, by declaring to me the +secret of my thoughts. + +_Bel._ If I know your thoughts, madam, 'tis in vain for you to disguise +them to me: Therefore, as you tender your own satisfaction, lay them +open without bashfulness. + +_Aur._ I beseech you let us pass over that chapter; for I am shame-faced +to the last point. Since, therefore, I cannot put off my modesty, +succour it, and tell me what I think. + +_Bel._ Madam, madam, that bashfulness must be laid aside: Not but that I +know your business perfectly; and will, if you please, unfold it to you +all immediately. + +_Aur._ Favour me so far, I beseech you, sir; for I furiously desire it. + +_Bel._ But then I must call up before you a most dreadful spirit, with +head upon head, and horns upon horns: Therefore, consider how you can +endure it. + +_Aur._ This is furiously furious; but rather than fail of my +expectances, I'll try my assurance. + +_Bel._ Well then, I find you will force me to this unlawful, and +abominable act of conjuration: Remember the sin is yours too. + +_Aur._ I espouse the crime also. + +_Bel._ I see, when a woman has a mind to't, she'll never boggle at a +sin. Pox on her, what shall I do? [_Aside_.]--Well, I'll tell you your +thoughts, madam; but after that expect no farther service from me; for +'tis your confidence must make my art successful.----Well, you are +obstinate, then; I must tell you your thoughts? + +_Aur._ Hold, hold, sir; I am content to pass over that chapter, rather +than be deprived of your assistance. + +_Bel._ 'Tis very well; what need these circumstances between us two? +Confess freely; is not love your business? + +_Aur._ You have touched me to the quick, sir. + +_Bel._ Look you there! you see I knew it; nay, I'll tell you more, 'tis +a man you love. + +_Aur._ O prodigious science! I confess I love a man most furiously, to +the last point, sir. + +_Bel._ Now proceed, lady, your way is open; I am resolved, I'll not tell +you a word farther. + +_Aur._ Well then, since I must acquaint you with what you know much +better than myself, I will tell you. I loved a cavalier, who was noble, +young, and handsome; this gentleman is since gone for Flanders; now +whether he has preserved his passion inviolate, or not, is that which +causes my inquietude. + +_Bel._ Trouble not yourself, madam; he's as constant as a romance hero. + +_Aur._ Sir, your good news has ravished me most furiously; but that I +may have a confirmation of it, I beg only, that you would lay your +commands upon his genius, or idea, to appear to me this night, that I +may have my sentence from his mouth. This, sir, I know is a slight +effect of your science, and yet will infinitely oblige me. + +_Bel._ What the devil does she call a slight effect! [_Aside_.]--Why, +lady, do you consider what you say? you desire me to shew you a man, +whom yourself confess to be in Flanders. + +_Aur._ To view him in a glass is nothing; I would speak with him in +person, I mean his idea, sir. + +_Bel._ Ay, but, madam, there is a vast sea betwixt us and Flanders; and +water is an enemy to conjuration. A witch's horse, you know, when he +enters into water, returns into a bottle of hay again. + +_Aur._ But, sir, I am not so ill a geographer, or, to speak more +properly, a chorographer, as not to know there is a passage by land from +hence to Flanders. + +_Bel._ That's true, madam; but magic works in a direct line. Why should +you think the devil such an ass to go about? 'Gad, he'll not stir a step +out of his road for you, or any man. + +_Aur._ Yes, for a lady, sir; I hope he's a person that wants not that +civility for a lady; especially a spirit that has the honour to belong +to you, sir. + +_Bel._ For that matter, he's your servant, madam; but his education has +been in the fire, and he's naturally an enemy to water, I assure you. + +_Aur._ I beg his pardon, for forgetting his antipathy; but it imports +not much, sir; for I have lately received a letter from my servant, that +he is yet in Spain, and stays for a wind in St Sebastian's. + +_Bel._ Now I am lost, past all redemption.--Maskall, must you be +smickering after wenches, while I am in calamity? + [_Aside._ + +_Mask._ It must be he, I'll venture on't. [_Aside_.]--Alas, sir, I was +complaining to myself of the condition of poor Don Melchor, who, you +know, is wind-bound at St Sebastian's. + +_Bel._ Why, you impudent villain, must you offer to name him publicly, +when I have taken so much care to conceal him all this while? + +_Aur._ Mitigate your displeasure, I beseech you; and, without making +farther testimony of it, gratify my expectances. + +_Bel._ Well, madam, since the sea hinders not, you shall have your +desire. Look upon me with a fixed eye----so----or a little more +amorously, if you please----good. Now favour me with your hand. + +_Aur._ Is it absolutely necessary you should press my hand thus? + +_Bel._ Furiously necessary, I assure you, madam; for now I take +possession of it in the name of the idea of Don Melchor. Now, madam, I +am farther to desire of you, to write a note to his genius, wherein you +desire him to appear, and this we men of art call a compact with the +ideas. + +_Aur._ I tremble furiously. + + _Bel._ Give me your hand, I'll guide it. + [_They write._ + +_Mask. to Cam._ Now, lady mine, what think you of my master? + +_Cam._ I think, I would not serve him for the world: Nay, if he can know +our thoughts by looking on us, we women are hypocrites to little +purpose. + +_Mask._ He can do that and more; for, by casting his eyes but once upon +them, he knows whether they are maids, better than a whole jury of +mid-wives. + +_Cam._ Now heaven defend me from him! + +_Mask._ He has a certain small familiar, which he carries still about +him, that never fails to make discovery. + +_Cam._ See, they have done writing; not a word more, for fear he knows +my voice. + +_Bel._ One thing I had forgot, madam; you must subscribe your name to +it. + +_Aur._ There 'tis; farewell, cavalier, keep your promise, for I expect +it furiously. + + _Cam._ If he sees me, I am undone. + [_Hiding her face._ + +_Bel._ Camilla! + +_Cam._ [_starts and shrieks_.] Ah, he has found me; I am ruined! + +_Bel._ You hide your face in vain; for I see into your heart. + +_Cam._ Then, sweet sir, have pity on my frailty; for if my lady has the +least inkling of what we did last night, the poor coachman will be +turned away. + [_Exit after her Lady._ + +_Mask._ Well, sir, how like you your new profession? + +_Bel._ Would I were well quit on't; I sweat all over. + +_Mask._ But what faint-hearted devils yours are, that will not go by +water! Are they all Lancashire devils, of the brood of Tybert and +Grimalkin, that they dare not wet their feet? + +_Bel._ Mine are honest land devils, good plain foot-posts, that beat +upon the hoof for me: But to save their labour, here take this, and in +some disguise deliver it to Don Melchor. + +_Mask._ I'll serve it upon him within this hour, when he sallies out to +his assignation with Theodosia: 'Tis but counterfeiting my voice a +little; for he cannot know me in the dark. But let me see, what are the +words? + +Reads.] _Don Melchor, if the magic of love have any power upon your +spirit, I conjure you to appear this night before me: You may guess the +greatness of my passion, since it has forced me to have recourse to art; +but no shape which resembles you can fright_ + AURELIA. + +_Bel._ Well, I am glad there's one point gained; for, by this means, he +will be hindered to-night from entertaining Theodosia.--Pox on him, is +he here again? + +_Enter Don_ ALONZO. + +_Alon._ Cavalier Inglis, I have been seeking you: +I have a present in my pocket for you; read it by your art, and take it. + +_Bel._ That I could do easily: But, to shew you I am generous, I'll none +of your present; do you think I am mercenary? + +_Alon._ I know you will say now 'tis some astrological question; and so +'tis perhaps. + +_Bel._ Ay, 'tis the devil of a question, without dispute. + +_Alon._ No, 'tis within dispute: 'Tis a certain difficulty in the art; +a problem, which you and I will discuss, with the arguments on both +sides. + +_Bel._ At this time I am not problematically given; I have a humour of +complaisance upon me, and will contradict no man. + +_Alon._ We'll but discuss a little. + +_Bel._ By your favour, I'll not discuss; for I see by the stars, that, +if I dispute to-day, I am infallibly threatened to be thought ignorant +all my life after. + +_Alon._ Well then, we'll but cast an eye together upon my eldest +daughter's nativity. + +_Bel._ Nativity!---- + +_Alon._ I know what you would say now, that there wants the table of +direction for the five hylegiacalls; the ascendant, _medium coeli_, sun, +moon, and stars: But we'll take it as it is. + +_Bel._ Never tell me that, sir---- + +_Alon._ I know what you would say again, sir---- + +_Bel._ 'Tis well you do, for I'll be sworn I do not.---- + [_Aside._ + +_Alon._ You would say, sir---- + +_Bel._ I say, sir, there is no doing without the sun and moon, and all +that, sir; and so you may make use of your paper for your occasions. +Come to a man of art without the sun and moon, and all that, sir---- + [_Tears it._ + +_Alon._ 'Tis no matter; this shall break no squares betwixt us. +[_Gathers up the torn papers_.] I know what you would say now, that men +of parts are always choleric; I know it by myself, sir. + [_He goes to match the papers._ + +_Enter Don_ LOPEZ. + +_Lop._ Don Alonzo in my house! this is a most happy opportunity to put +my other design in execution; for, if I can persuade him to bestow his +daughter on Don Melchor, I shall serve my friend, though against his +will; and, when Aurelia sees she cannot be his, perhaps she will accept +my love. + +_Alon._ I warrant you, sir, 'tis all pieced right, both top, sides, and +bottom; for, look you, sir, here was Aldeboran, and there Cor +Scorpii---- + +_Lop._ Don Alonzo, I am happy to see you under my roof; and shall take +it---- + +_Alon._ I know what you would say, sir; that though I am your neighbour, +this is the first time I have been here.--[_To_ BELLAMY.] But, come, +sir, by Don Lopez' permission, let us return to our nativity. + +_Bel._ Would thou wert there, in thy mother's belly again! + [_Aside._ + +_Lop._ But, sennor---- + [_To_ ALONZO. + +_Alon._ It needs not, sennor; I'll suppose your compliment; you would +say, that your house, and all things in it, are at my service.--But let +us proceed, without this interruption. + +_Bel._ By no means, sir; this cavalier is come on purpose to perform the +civilities of his house to you. + +_Alon._ But, good sir---- + +_Bel._ I know what you would say, sir. + [_Exeunt_ BELLAMY _and_ MASKALL. + +_Lop._ No matter, let him go, sir. I have long desired +this opportunity, to move a suit to you in the behalf of a friend of +mine, if you please to allow me the hearing of it. + +_Alon._ With all my heart, sir. + +_Lop._ He is a person of worth and virtue, and is infinitely ambitious +of the honour---- + +_Alon._ Of being known to me; I understand you, sir. + +_Lop._ If you will please to favour me with your patience, which I beg +of you a second time. + +_Alon._ I am dumb, sir. + +_Lop._ This cavalier, of whom I was speaking, is in love---- + +_Alon._ Satisfy yourself, sir, I'll not interrupt you. + +_Lop._ Sir, I am satisfied of your promise. + +_Alon._ If I speak one syllable more, the devil take me! Speak when you +please. + +_Lop._ I am going, sir. + +_Alon._ You need not speak twice to me to be silent: Though I take it +somewhat ill of you to be tutored. + + _Lop._ This eternal old man will make me mad. + [_Aside._ + +_Alon._ Why, when do you begin, sir? How long must a man wait for you? +Pray make an end of what you have to say quickly, that I may speak in my +turn too. + +_Lop._ This cavalier is in love---- + +_Alon._ You told me that before, sir; do you speak oracles, that you +require this strict attention? Either let me share the talk with you, or +I am gone. + +_Lop._ Why, sir, I am almost mad to tell you, and you will not suffer +me. + +_Alon._ Will you never have done, sir? I must tell you, sir, you have +tattled long enough; and 'tis now good manners to hear me speak. Here's +a torrent of words indeed; a very _impetus dicendi_; will you never have +done? + +_Lop._ I will be heard in spite of you. + + [_This next speech of_ LOPEZ, _and the next of_ ALONZO'S, _with both + their replies, are to be spoken at one time, both raising their voices + by little and little, till they bawl, and come up close to shoulder one + another._ + +_Lop._ There's one Don Melchor de Guzman, a friend and acquaintance of +mine, that is desperately in love with your eldest daughter Donna +Theodosia. + +_Alon._ [_At the same time_.] 'Tis the sentence of a philosopher, +_Loquere ut te videam_; speak, that I may know thee; now, if you take +away the power of speaking from me-- + [_Both pause a little; then speak together again._ + +_Lop._ I'll try the language of the law; sure the devil cannot out-talk +that gibberish.--For this Don Melchor, of Madrid aforesaid, as premised, +I request, move, and supplicate, that you would give, bestow, marry, and +give in marriage, this your daughter aforesaid, to the cavalier +aforesaid.--Not yet, thou devil of a man! thou shalt be silent. + [_Exit_ LOPEZ _running_. + +_Alon._ [_At the same time with_ LOPEZ'S _last speech, and after_ LOPEZ +_is run out_.] Oh, how I hate, abominate, detest, and abhor, these +perpetual talkers, disputants, controverters, and duellers of the +tongue! But, on the other side, if it be not permitted to prudent men to +speak their minds, appositely, and to the purpose, and in few words; if, +I say, the prudent must be tongue-tied, then let great nature be +destroyed; let the order of all things be turned topsy-turvy; let the +goose devour the fox; let the infants preach to their great-grandsires; +let the tender lamb pursue the wolf, and the sick prescribe to the +physician; let fishes live upon dry land, and the beasts of the earth +inhabit in the water; let the fearful hare-- + +_Enter_ LOPEZ _with a bell, and rings it in his ears_. + + _Alon._ Help, help, murder, murder, murder! + [_Exit_ ALONZO, _running_. + +_Lop._ There was no way but this to be rid of him. + +_Enter a Servant._ + +_Serv._ Sir, there are some women without in masquerade, and, I +believe, persons of quality, who are come to play here. + +_Lop._ Bring them in with all respect. + +_Enter again the Servant, after him_ JACINTHA, BEATRIX, _and other +Ladies and Gentlemen: all masqued_. + +_Lop._ Cavaliers, and ladies, you are welcome: I wish I had more company +to entertain you:--Oh, here comes one sooner than I expected. + +_Enter_ WILDBLOOD _and_ MASKALL. + + _Wild._ I have swept your gaming house, i'faith; _Ecce signum_. + [_Shows gold._ + +_Lop._ Well, here's more to be had of these ladies, if it be your +fortune. + +_Wild._ The first stakes I would play for, should be their veils and +visor masks. + +_Jac. to Beat._ Do you think he will not know us? + +_Beat._ If you keep your design of passing for an African. + +_Jac._ Well, now I shall make an absolute trial of him; for, being thus +_incognita_, I shall discover if he make love to any of you. As for the +gallantry of his serenade, we will not be indebted to him, for we will +make him another with our guitars. + +_Beat._ I'll whisper your intention to the servant, who shall deliver it +to Don Lopez. + [BEAT. _whispers to the Serv._ + +_Serv. to Lopez._ Sir, the ladies have commanded me to tell you, that +they are willing, before they play, to present you with a dance; and to +give you an essay of their guitars. + +_Lop._ They much honour me. + +A DANCE. + +_After the dance, the Cavaliers take the Ladies, and court them_. +WILDBLOOD _takes_ JACINTHA. + +_Wild._ While you have been singing, lady, I have been praying: I mean, +that your face and wit may not prove equal to your dancing; for, if they +be, there's a heart gone astray, to my knowledge. + +_Jac._ If you pray against me before you have seen me, you'll curse me +when you have looked on me. + +_Wild._ I believe I shall have cause to do so, if your beauty be as +killing as I imagine it. + +_Jac._ 'Tis true, I have been flattered in my own country, with an +opinion of a little handsomeness; but how it will pass in Spain is a +question. + +_Wild._ Why, madam, are you not of Spain? + +_Jac._ No, sir, of Morocco: I only came hither to +see some of my relations, who are settled here, and turned Christians, +since the expulsion of my countrymen, the Moors. + +_Wild._ Are you then a Mahometan? + +_Jac._ A Mussulman, at your service. + +_Wild._ A Mussulwoman, say you? I protest, by your voice, I should have +taken you for a Christian lady of my acquaintance. + +_Jac._ It seems you are in love then: If so, I have done with you. I +dare not invade the dominions of another lady; especially in a country +where my ancestors have been so unfortunate. + +_Wild._ Some little liking I might have, but that was only a +morning-dew; 'tis drawn up by the sunshine of your beauty: I find your +African Cupid is a much surer archer than ours of Europe. Yet would I +could see you; one look would secure your victory. + +_Jac._ I'll reserve my face to gratify your imagination with it; make +what head you please, and set it on my shoulders. + +_Wild._ Well, madam, an eye, a nose, or a lip shall break no squares: +The face is but a span's breadth of beauty; and where there is so much +besides, I'll never stand with you for that. + +_Jac._ But, in earnest, do you love me? + +_Wild._ Ay, by Alla, do I, most extremely: You have wit in abundance, +you dance to a miracle, you sing like an angel, and, I believe, you look +like a cherubim. + +_Jac._ And can you be constant to me? + +_Wild._ By Mahomet, can I. + +_Jac._ You swear like a Turk, sir; but, take heed; for our prophet is a +severe punisher of promise breakers. + +_Wild._ Your prophet's a cavalier. I honour your prophet and his law, +for providing so well for us lovers in the other world, black eyes, and +fresh maidenheads every day: go thy way, little Mahomet; i'faith, thou +shalt have my good word. But, by his favour, lady, give me leave to tell +you, that we of the uncircumcised, in a civil way, as lovers, have +somewhat the advantage of your mussulman. + +_Jac._ The company are rejoined, and set to play; we must go to them. +Adieu; and when you have a thought to throw away, bestow it on your +servant Fatima. + [_She goes to the company._ + +_Wild._ This lady Fatima pleases me most infinitely: Now am I got among +the Hamets, the Zegrys, and the Bencerrages. Hey, what work will the +Wildbloods make among the Cids and the Bens of the Arabians? + +_Beat. to Jac._ False, or true, madam? + +_Jac._ False as hell; but, by heaven, I'll fit him for't! Have you the +high-running dice about you? + +_Beat._ I got them on purpose, madam. + +_Jac._ You shall see me win all their money; and when I have done, I'll +return in my own person, and ask him for the money which he promised +me. + +_Beat._ 'Twill put him upon a strait to be surprised: But, let us to the +table; the company stays for us. + [_The company sit._ + +_Wild._ What is the ladies' game, sir? + +_Lop._ Most commonly they use raffle; that is, to throw with three dice, +till duplets, and a chance be thrown; and the highest duplet wins, +except you throw in and in, which is called raffle; and that wins all. + +_Wild._ I understand it: Come, lady, 'tis no matter what I lose; the +greatest stake, my heart, is gone already. + [_To_ JACINTHA. + [_They play; and the rest by couples._ + +_Wild._ So, I have a good chance, two quarters and a sice. + +_Jac._ Two sixes and a trey wins it. + [_Sweeps the money._ + +_Wild._ No matter; I'll try my fortune once again: What have I here, two +sixes and a quarter?--An hundred pistoles on that throw. + +_Jac._ I take you, sir.--Beatrix, the high running dice. + [_Aside._ + +_Beat._ Here, madam. + +_Jac._ Three fives: I have won you, sir. + +_Wild._ Ay, the pox take me for't, you have won me: It would never have +vext me to have lost my money to a Christian; but to a pagan, an +infidel-- + +_Mask._ Pray, sir, leave off while you have some money. + +_Wild._ Pox of this lady Fatima! Raffle thrice together! I am out of +patience. + +_Mask._ [_To him_.] Sir, I beseech you, if you will lose, to lose _en +cavalier_. + +_Wild._ Tol de ra, tol de ra--pox and curse--tol de ra. What the devil +did I mean, to play with this brunette of Afric? [_The Ladies rise_.] +Will you be gone already, ladies? + +_Lop._ You have won our money; but, however, we are acknowledging to you +for the honour of your company. + [JAC. _makes a sign of farewell to_ WILD. + +_Wild._ Farewell, lady Fatima. + [_Exeunt all but_ WILD. _and_ MASK. + +_Mask._ All the company took notice of your concernment. + +_Wild._ 'Tis no matter; I do not love to fret inwardly, as your silent +losers do, and, in the mean time, be ready to choak for want of vent. + +_Mask._ Pray consider your condition a little; a younger brother, in a +foreign country, living at a high rate, your money lost, and without +hope of a supply. Now curse, if you think good. + +_Wild._ No, now I will laugh at myself most unmercifully; for my +condition is so ridiculous, that 'tis past cursing. The pleasantest part +of the adventure is, that I have promised three hundred pistoles to +Jacintha: But there is no remedy, they are now fair Fatima's. + +_Mask._ Fatima! + +_Wild._ Ay, ay, a certain African lady of my acquaintance, whom you know +not. + +_Mask._ But who is here, sir? + +_Enter_ JACINTHA _and_ BEATRIX, _in their own shapes_. + +_Wild._ Madam, what happy star has conducted you hither to night!--A +thousand devils of this fortune. + [_Aside._ + +_Jac._ I was told you had ladies here, and fiddles; so I came partly for +the divertisement, and partly out of jealousy. + +_Wild._ Jealousy! Why sure you do not think me a pagan, an infidel? But +the company's broke up, you see. Am I to wait upon you home, or will +you be so kind to take a hard lodging with me to-night? + +_Jac._ You shall have the honour to lead me to my father's. + +_Wild._ No more words, then; let's away, to prevent discovery. + +_Beat._ For my part, I think he has a mind to be rid of you. + +_Wild._ No: But if your lady should want sleep, 'twould spoil the lustre +of her eyes to-morrow. There were a conquest lost. + +_Jac._ I am a peaceable princess, and content with my own; I mean your +heart and purse; for the truth is, I have lost my money to-night in +masquerade, and am come to claim your promise of supplying me. + +_Wild._ You make me happy by commanding me: To-morrow morning my servant +shall wait upon you with three hundred pistoles. + +_Jac._ But I left my company, with promise to return to play. + +_Wild._ Play on tick, and lose the Indies, I'll discharge it all +to-morrow. + +_Jac._ To-night, if you'll oblige me. + +_Wild._ Maskall, go and bring me three hundred pistoles immediately. + +_Mask._ Are you mad, sir? + +_Wild._ Do you expostulate, you rascal! How he stares; I'll be hanged if +he have not lost my gold at play: If you have, confess; you had best, +and perhaps I'll pardon you; but if you do not confess, I'll have no +mercy. Did you lose it? + +_Mask._ Sir, 'tis not for me to dispute with you. + +_Wild._ Why, then, let me tell you, you did lose it. + +_Jac._ Ay, as sure as e'er he had it, I dare swear for him: But commend +me to you for a kind master, that can let your servant play off three +hundred pistoles, without the least sign of anger to him. + +_Beat._ 'Tis a sign he has a greater bank in store, to comfort him. + +_Wild._ Well, madam, I must confess I have more than I will speak of at +this time; but till you have given me satisfaction---- + +_Jac._ Satisfaction! why, are you offended, sir? + +_Wild._ Heaven! that you should not perceive it in me: I tell you, I am +mortally offended with you. + +_Jac._ Sure, 'tis impossible. + +_Wild._ You have done nothing, I warrant, to make a man jealous: Going +out a gaming in masquerade, at unseasonable hours, and losing your money +at play; that loss, above all, provokes me. + +_Beat._ I believe you; because she comes to you for more. + [_Aside._ + +_Jac._ Is this the quarrel? I'll clear it immediately. + +_Wild._ 'Tis impossible you should clear it: I'll stop my ears, if you +but offer it. There's no satisfaction in the point. + +_Jac._ You'll hear me?-- + +_Wild._ To do this in the beginning of an amour, and to a jealous +servant as I am! had I all the wealth of Peru, I would not let go one +maravedis to you. + +_Jac._ To this I answer---- + +_Wild._ Answer nothing, for it will but inflame the quarrel betwixt us: +I must come to myself by little and little; and when I am ready for +satisfaction, I will take it: But at present it is not for my honour to +be friends. + +_Beat._ Pray let us neighbour princes interpose a little. + +_Wild._ When I have conquered, you may interpose; but at present the +mediation of all Christendom would be fruitless. + +_Jac._ Though Christendom can do nothing with you, yet I hope an African +may prevail. Let me beg you, for the sake of the lady Fatima. + +_Wild._ I begin to suspect, that lady Fatima is no better than she +should be. If she be turned Christian again, I am undone. + +_Jac._ By Alla, I am afraid on't too: By Mahomet, I am. + +_Wild._ Well, well, madam, any man may be overtaken with an oath; but I +never meant to perform it with her: You know, no oaths are to be kept +with infidels. But---- + +_Jac._ No; the love you made was certainly a design of charity you had +to reconcile the two religions. There's scarce such another man in +Europe, to be sent apostle to convert the Moor ladies. + +_Wild._ Faith, I would rather widen their breaches, than make them up. + +_Jac._ I see there's no hope of a reconcilement with you; and therefore +I give it over as desperate. + +_Wild._ You have gained your point, you have my money; and I was only +angry, because I did not know 'twas you, who had it. + +_Jac._ This will not serve your turn, sir: what I have got, I have +conquered from you. + +_Wild._ Indeed you use me like one that's conquered; for you have +plundered me of all I had. + +_Jac._ I only disarmed you, for fear you should rebel again; for if you +had the sinews of war, I am sure you would be flying out. + +_Wild._ Dare but to stay without a new servant, till I am flush again; +and I will love you, and treat you, and present you at that unreasonable +rate, that I will make you an example to all unbelieving mistresses. + +_Jac._ Well, I will try you once more; but you must make haste then, +that we may be within our time; methinks our love is drawn out so +subtle already, that 'tis near breaking. + +_Wild._ I will have more care of it on my part, than the kindred of an +old pope have to preserve him. + +_Jac._ Adieu; for this time I wipe off your score, till you are caught +tripping in some new amour. + [_Exeunt Women._ + +_Mask._ You have used me very kindly, sir; I thank you. + +_Wild._ You deserved it for not having a lie ready for my occasions. A +good servant should be no more without it, than a soldier without his +arms. But, pr'ythee, advise me what's to be done to get Jacintha. + +_Mask._ You have lost her, or will lose her by your submitting: If we +men could but learn to value ourselves, we should soon take down our +mistresses from all their altitudes, and make them dance after our +pipes, longer perhaps than we had a mind to't. But I must make haste, or +I shall lose Don Melchor. + +_Wild._ Call Bellamy, we'll both be present at thy enterprize: Then I'll +once more to the gaming-house with my small stock, for my last refuge: +If I win, I have wherewithal to mollify Jacintha. + + If I throw out, I'll bear it off with huffing, + And snatch the money like a bully-ruffin. + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + + +_Enter_ BELLAMY, WILDBLOOD, MASKALL, _in a Visor_. + +_Bel._ Here comes one, and in all probability it must be Don Melchor, +going to Theodosia. + +_Mask._ Stand close, and you shall see me serve the writ upon him. + +_Enter Don_ MELCHOR. + +_Wild._ Now, Maskall. + +_Mask._ I stayed here, sir, by express order from the lady Aurelia, to +deliver you this note; and to desire you, from her, to meet her +immediately in the garden. + +_Mel._ Do you hear, friend! + +_Mask._ Not a syllable more, sir; I have performed my orders. + [MASK. _retires to his Masters_. + +_Mel._ He's gone, and 'tis in vain for me to look after him. What +envious devil has discovered to Aurelia that I am in town? It must be +Don Lopez, who, to advance his own pretensions to her, has endeavoured +to ruin mine. + +_Wild._ It works rarely. + +_Mel._ But I am resolved to see Aurelia; if it be but to defeat him. + [_Exit_ MEL. + +_Wild._ Let's make haste after him; I long to see the end of this +adventure. + +_Mask._ Sir, I think I see some women coming yonder. + +_Bel._ Well, I'll leave you to your adventures, while I prosecute my +own. + +_Wild._ I warrant you have made an assignation to instruct some lady in +the mathematics. + +_Bel._ I'll not tell you my design; because, if it does not succeed, you +shall not laugh at me. + [_Exit Bel._ + +_Enter_ BEATRIX; _and_ JACINTHA, _in the habit of a Mulatto_. + +_Wild._ Let us withdraw a little, and see if they will come this way. + +_Beat._ We are right, madam; 'tis certainly your Englishman, and his +servant with him. But, why this second trial, when you engaged to break +with him, if he failed in the first? + +_Jac._ 'Tis true, he has been a little inconstant, choleric, or so. + +_Beat._ And it seems you are not contented with those vices, but are +searching him for more. This is the folly of a bleeding gamester, who +will obstinately pursue a losing hand. + +_Jac._ On t'other side, you would have me throw up my cards, before the +game be lost: Let me make this one more trial, when he has money, +whether he will give it me; and then, if he fails-- + +_Beat._ You'll forgive him again. + +_Jac._ He's already in purgatory; but the next offence shall put him in +the pit, past all redemption; pr'ythee sing, to draw him nearer: Sure he +cannot know me in this disguise. + +_Beat._ Make haste, then; for I have more irons in the fire: When I have +done with you, I have another assignation of my Lady Theodosia's to Don +Melchor. + + + SONG. + + _Calm was the even, and clear was the sky, + And the new-budding flowers did spring, + When all alone went Amyntas and I, + To hear the sweet nightingale sing: + I sate, and he laid him down by me, + But scarcely his breath he could draw; + For when, with a fear, he began to draw near, + He was dashed with, A ha, ha, ha, ha! + + He blushed to himself, and lay still for a while, + And his modesty curbed his desire; + But strait I convinced all his fear with a smile, + Which added new flames to his fire. + + O Sylvia, said he, you are cruel, + To keep your poor lover in awe! + Then once more he prest with his hand to my breast, + But was dashed with, A ha, ha, ha, ha! + + I knew 'twas his passion that caused all his fear, + And therefore I pitied his case; + I whispered him softly, There's nobody near, + And laid my cheek close to his face: + But as he grew bolder and bolder, + A shepherd came by us and saw; + And just as our bliss we began with a kiss, + He laughed out with, A ha, ha, ha, ha!_ + +_Wild._ If you dare be the Sylvia, lady, I have brought you a more +confident Amyntas, than that bashful gentleman in your song. + [_Goes to lay hold of her._ + +_Jac._ Hold, hold, sir; I am only an ambassadress sent you from a lady: +I hope you will not violate the laws of nations. + +_Wild._ I was only searching for your letters of credence: but methinks, +with that beauty, you look more like a herald that comes to denounce war +to all mankind. + +_Jac._ One of the ladies in the masque to-night has taken a liking to +you; and sent you by me this purse of gold, in recompence of that she +saw you lose. + +_Wild._ And she expects in return of it, that I should wait on her: I'll +do't,--where lives she? I am desperately in love with her. + +_Jac._ Why, can you love her unknown? + +_Wild._ I have a bank of love, to supply every one's occasions; some for +her, some for another, and some for you; charge what you will upon me, +I pay all at sight, and without questioning who brought the bill. + +_Jac._ Hey-day! you dispatch your mistresses as fast, as if you meant to +o'er-run all womankind: Sure you aim at the universal-monarchy. + +_Wild._ Now I think on't, I have a foolish fancy to send the lady a +taste of my love by thee. + +_Jac._ 'Tis impossible your love should be so humble, to descend to a +mulatto. + +_Wild._ One would think so, but I cannot help it. Gad, I think the +reason is, because there's something more of sin in thy colour than in +ours. I know not what's the matter, but a turkey-cock is not more +provoked at red, than I bristle at the sight of black. Come, be kinder +to me. Young, and slip an opportunity? 'Tis an evening lost out of your +life. + +_Jac._ These fine things you have said over a thousand times; your cold +compliment's the cold pye of love, which you serve up to every guest +whom you invite. + +_Wild._ Come; because thou art very moving, here's part of the gold, +which thou brought'st to corrupt me for thy lady: Truth is, I had +promised a sum to a Spanish lady; but thy eyes have allured it from me. + +_Jac._ You'll repent it to-morrow. + +_Wild._ Let to-morrow starve, or provide for himself, as to-night has +done: To-morrow is a cheat in love, and I will not trust it. + +_Jac._ Ay, but heaven, that sees all things---- + +_Wild._ Heaven, that sees all things, will say nothing: That is all +eyes, and no tongue; _Et la lune, et les estoiles_,--you know the song. + +_Jac._ A poor slave, as I am---- + +_Wild._ It has been always my humour to love downward. I love to stoop +to my prey, and to have it in my power to souse at, when I please. When +a man comes to a great lady, he is fain to approach her with fear and +reverence; methinks there's something of godliness in't. + +_Jac._ Yet I cannot believe, but the meanness of my habit must needs +scandalize you. + +_Wild._ I tell thee, my friend, and so forth, that I exceedingly honour +coarse linen; 'tis as proper sometimes in an under garment, as a coarse +towel is to rub and scrub me. + +_Jac._ Now I am altogether of the other side; I can love no where but +above me: Methinks the rattling of a coach and six sounds more +eloquently than the best harangue a wit could make me. + +_Wild._ Do you make no more esteem of a wit then? + +_Jac._ His commendations serve only to make others have a mind to me; he +does but say grace to me like a chaplain, and, like him, is the last +that shall fall on. He ought to get no more by it, than a poor +silk-weaver does by the ribband which he works, to make a gallant fine. + +_Wild._ Then what is a gentleman to hope from you? + +_Jac._ To be admitted to pass my time with, while a better comes: To be +the lowest step in my staircase, for a knight to mount upon him, and a +lord upon him, and a marquis upon him, and a duke upon him, till I get +as high as I can climb. + +_Wild._ For aught I see, the great ladies have the appetites, which you +slaves should have; and you slaves the pride, which ought to be in +ladies. For, I observe, that all women of your condition are like women +of the play-house, still picking at each other, who shall go the best +dressed, and the richest habits; till you work up one another by your +high flying, as the heron and jerfalcon do. If you cannot out-shine +your fellow with one lover, you fetch her up with another: And, in +short, all you get by it is only to put finery out of countenance; and +to make the ladies of quality go plain, because they will avoid the +scandal of your bravery. + +_Beat._ [_Running in_.] Madam, come away; I hear company in the garden. + +_Wild._ You are not going? + +_Jac._ Yes, to cry out a rape, if you follow me. + +_Wild._ However, I am glad you have left your treasure behind you: +Farewell, fairy! + +_Jac._ Farewell, changeling!--Come, Beatrix. + [_Exeunt Women._ + +_Mask._ Do you know how you came by this money, sir? You think, I +warrant, that it came by fortune. + +_Wild._ No, sirrah, I know it came by my own industry. Did not I come +out diligently to meet this gold, in the very way it was to come? What +could fate do less for me? They are such thoughtless, and undesigning +rogues as you, that make a drudge of poor Providence, and set it a +shifting for you. Give me a brave fellow like myself, that, if you throw +him down into the world, lights every where upon his legs, and helps +himself without being beholden to fate, that is the hospital of fools. + +_Mask._ But, after all your jollity, what think you if it was Jacintha +that gave it you in this disguise? I am sure I heard her call Beatrix as +she went away. + +_Wild._ Umh! thou awaken'st a most villainous apprehension in me! +methought, indeed, I knew the voice: but the face was such an evidence +against it! if it were so, she is lost for ever. + +_Mask._ And so is Beatrix. + +_Wild._ Now could I cut my throat for madness. + +_Mask._ Now could I break my neck for despair, if I could find a +precipice absolutely to my liking. + +_Wild._ 'Tis in vain to consider on't. There's but one way; go you, +Maskall, and find her out, and invent some excuse for me, and be sure to +beg leave I may come and wait upon her with the gold, before she sleeps. + +_Mask._ In the mean time you'll be thinking at your lodging. + +_Wild._ But make haste then to relieve me; for I think over all my +thoughts in half an hour. + [_Exit_ MASK. + +_Wild._ [_Solus_.] Hang it! now I think on't, I shall be but melancholic +at my lodging; I'll go pass my hour at the gaming-house, and make use of +this money while I have tools, to win more to it. Stay, let me see,--I +have the box and throw. My Don he sets me ten pistoles; I nick him: Ten +more, I sweep them too. Now, in all reason, he is nettled, and sets me +twenty: I win them too. Now he kindles, and butters me with forty. They +are all my own: In fine, he is vehement, and bleeds on to fourscore or +an hundred; and I, not willing to tempt fortune, come away a moderate +winner of two hundred pistoles. + + +SCENE II. + +_The_ SCENE _opens and discovers_ AURELIA _and_ CAMILLA: _Behind them a +table and lights set on it. The Scene is a Garden with an arbour in it._ + +The garden-door opens! How now, Aurelia and Camilla in expectation of +Don Melchor at the garden door! I'll away, least I prevent the design, +and within this half hour come sailing back with full pockets, as +wantonly as a laden galleon from the Indies. + [_Exit._ + +_Aur._ But dost thou think the Englishman can keep his promise? For, I +confess, I furiously desire to see the idea of Don Melchor. + +_Cam._ But, madam, if you should see him, it will not be he, but the +devil in his likeness; and then why should you desire it? + +_Aur._ In effect 'tis a very dark enigma; and one must be very spiritual +to understand it. But be what it will, body or phantom, I am resolved to +meet it. + +_Cam._ Can you do it without fear? + +_Aur._ No; I must avow it, I am furiously fearful; but yet I am resolved +to sacrifice all things to my love. Therefore, let us pass over that +chapter. + [_Don_ MELCHOR, _without_. + +_Cam._ Do you hear, madam, there's one treading already; how if it be +he? + +_Aur._ If it be he! that is to say his spectre, that is to say his +phantom, that is to say his idea, that is to say, he, and not he. + +_Cam._ [_Crying out_.] Ah, madam, 'tis he himself; but he's as big again +as he used to be, with eyes like saucers. I'll save myself. + [_Runs under the table._ + +_Enter Don_ MELCHOR: _They both shriek_. + +_Aur._ Oh heaven! humanity is not able to support it. + [_Running._ + +_Mel._ Dear Aurelia, what mean you? + +_Aur._ The tempter has imitated his voice too; avoid, avoid, spectre. + +_Cam._ If he should find me under the table now! + +_Mel._ Is it thus, my dear, that you treat your servant? + +_Aur._ I am not thy dear; I renounce thee, spirit of darkness! + +_Mel._ This spirit of darkness is come to see an angel of light by her +command; and to assure her of his constancy, that he will be her's +eternally. + +_Aur._ Away, infernal! 'tis not thee; 'tis the true Don Melchor that I +would see. + +_Mel._ Hell and furies! + +_Aur._ Heaven and angels! Ah---- + [_Runs out, shrieking._ + +_Mel._ This is a riddle past my finding out, to send for me, and then to +shun me; but here's one shall resolve it for me: Camilla, what dost thou +there? + +_Cam._ Help, help! I shall be carried away bodily. + [_She rises up, overthrows the table and lights, and runs out. + The scene shuts._ + +_Mel._ [_Alone_.] Why, Aurelia, Camilla! they are both run out of +hearing! this amazes me; what can the meaning of it be? Sure she has +heard of my unfaithfulness, and was resolved to punish me by this +contrivance! to put an affront upon me by this abrupt departure, as I +did on her by my seeming absence. + +_Enter_ THEODOSIA _and_ BEATRIX. + +_Theo._ Don Melchor! is it you, my love, that have frighted Aurelia so +terribly? + +_Mel._ Alas, madam! I know not; but, coming hither by your appointment, +and thinking myself secure in the night without disguise, perhaps it +might work upon her fancy, because she thought me absent. + +_Theo._ Since 'tis so unluckily fallen out, that she knows you are at +Madrid, it can no longer be kept a secret; therefore, you must now +pretend openly to me, and run the risk of a denial from my father. + +_Mel._ O, madam, there's no question but he'll refuse me: For, alas! +what is it he can see in me worthy of that honour? Or, if he should be +so partial to me, as some in the world are, to think me valiant, +learned, and not altogether a fool, yet my want of fortune would weigh +down all. + +_Theo._ When he has refused you his consent, I may +with justice dispose of myself; and that, while you are constant, shall +never be to any but yourself: In witness of which, accept this diamond, +as a pledge of my heart's firmness to you. + +_Beat._ Madam, your father is coming this way. + +_Theo._ 'Tis no matter; do not stir: since he must know you are +returned, let him now see you. + +_Enter Don_ ALONZO. + +_Alon._ Daughter, what make you here at this unseasonable hour? + +_Theo._ Sir---- + +_Alon._ I know what you would say, that you heard a noise, and ran +hither to see what it might be----Bless us! who is this with you? + +_Mel._ 'Tis your servant, Don Melchor; just returned from St Sebastians. + +_Alon._ But, sir, I thought you had been upon the sea for Flanders. + +_Mel._ I had so designed it. + +_Alon._ But, why came you back from St Sebastians? + +_Mel._ As for that, sir, 'tis not material. + +_Theo._ An unexpected law-suit has called him back from St Sebastians. + +_Alon._ And how fares my son-in-law, that lives there? + +_Mel._ In Catholic health, sir. + +_Alon._ Have you brought no letters from him? + +_Mel._ I had, sir, but I was set upon by the way, by picarons: and, in +spite of my resistance, robbed, and my portmanteau taken from me. + +_Theo._ And this was that which he was now desiring me to excuse to +you. + +_Alon._ If my credit, friends, or counsel, can do you any service in +your suit, I hope you will command them freely. + +_Mel._ When I have dispatched some private business, I shall not fail to +trouble you; till then, humbly kisses your hands the most obliged of +your servants. + [_Exit_ MELCHOR. + +_Alon._ Daughter, now this cavalier is gone, what occasion brought you +out so late?--I know what you would say, that it is melancholy; a +tincture of the hypochondria you mean: But, what cause have you for this +melancholy? Give me your hand, and answer me without ambages, or +ambiguities. + +_Theo._ He will find out I have given away my ring--I must prevent +him--Sir, I am ashamed to confess it to you; but, in hope of your +indulgence, I have lost the table diamond you gave me. + +_Alon._ You would say, The fear of my displeasure has caused the +perturbation in you; well, do not disquiet yourself too much; you say +'tis gone, I say so too. 'Tis stolen; and that by some thief, I take it: +But, I will go and consult the astrologer immediately. + [_He is going._ + +_Theo._ What have I done? To avoid one inconvenience, I have run into +another: This devil of an astrologer will discover that Don Melchor has +it. + [_Aside._ + +_Alon._ When did you lose this diamond? The minute and second I should +know; but the hour will serve for the degree ascending. + +_Theo._ Sir, the precise time I know not; but it was betwixt six and +seven in the evening, as near as I can guess. + +_Alon._ 'Tis enough; by all the stars, I'll have it for you: Therefore, +go in, and suppose it on your finger. + +_Beat._ I'll watch you at a distance, sir, that my Englishman may have +wherewithal to answer you. + [_Aside. Exeunt_ THEO. BEAT. + +_Alon._ This melancholy, wherewith my daughter laboureth, is--a--I know +what I would say, is a certain species of the hysterical disease; or a +certain motion, caused by a certain appetite, which, at a certain time, +heaveth in her, like a certain motion of an earthquake-- + +_Enter_ BELLAMY. + +_Bel._ This is the place, and very near the time that Theodosia appoints +her meeting with Don Melchor. He is this night otherwise disposed of +with Aurelia: 'Tis but trying my fortune, to tell her of his infidelity, +and my love. If she yields, she makes me happy; if not, I shall be sure +Don Melchor has not planted the arms of Spain in the fort before me. +However, I'll push my fortune, as sure as I am an Englishman. + +_Alon._ Sennor Inglis, I know your voice, though I cannot perfectly +discern you. + +_Bel._ How the devil came he to cross me? + +_Alon._ I was just coming to have asked another favour of you. + +_Bel._ Without ceremony, command me, sir. + +_Alon._ My daughter Theodosia has lost a fair diamond from her finger, +the time betwixt six and seven this evening; now, I desire you, sir, to +erect a scheme for it, and if it be lost, or stolen, to restore it to +me. This is all, sir. + +_Bel._ There is no end of this old fellow; thus will he bait me from day +to day, till my ignorance be found out. + [_Aside._ + +_Alon._ Now is he casting a figure by the art of memory, and making a +judgment of it to himself. This astrology is a very mysterious +speculation. + [_Aside._ + +_Bel._ 'Tis a madness for me to hope I can deceive him longer. Since +then he must know I am no astrologer, I'll discover it myself to him, +and blush once for all. + [_Aside._ + +_Alon._ Well, sir, and what do the stars hold forth? What says nimble +master Mercury to the matter? + +_Bel._ Sir, not to keep you longer in ignorance, I must ingenuously +declare to you, that I am not the man for whom you take me. Some +smattering in astrology I have; which my friends, by their indiscretion, +have blown abroad, beyond my intentions. But you are not a person to be +imposed on like the vulgar: Therefore, to satisfy you in one word, my +skill goes not far enough to give you knowledge of what you desire from +me. + +_Alon._ You have said enough, sir, to persuade me of your science; if +fame had not published it, yet this very humility of yours were enough +to confirm me in the belief of it. + +_Bel._ Death, you make me mad, sir! Will you have me swear? As I am a +gentleman, a man of the town, one who wears good cloaths, eats, drinks, +and wenches abundantly, I am a damned ignorant, and senseless fellow. + +_Enter_ BEATRIX. + +_Alon._ How now, gentlewoman?--What, are you going to relief by +moonshine? + +_Beat._ I was going on a very charitable office, to help a friend that +was gravelled in a very doubtful business. + +_Bel._ Some good news, fortune, I beseech thee. + +_Beat._ But now I have found this learned gentleman, I shall make bold +to propound a question to him from a lady. + +_Alon._ I will have my own question first resolved. + +_Bel._ O, sir, 'tis from a lady. + +_Beat._ If you please, sir, I'll tell it in your ear--My lady has given +Don Melchor the ring; in whose company her father found her just now at +the garden-door. + [_In a whisper._ + +_Bel._ [_Aloud_.] Come to me to-morrow, and you shall receive an answer. + +_Beat._ Your servant, sir. + [_Exit_ BEATRIX. + +_Alon._ Sir, I shall take it very unkindly if you satisfy any other, and +leave me in this perplexity. + +_Bel._ Sir, if my knowledge were according-- + +_Alon._ No more of that, sir, I beseech you. + +_Bel._ Perhaps I may know something by my art concerning it; but, for +your quiet, I wish you would not press me. + +_Alon._ Do you think I am not master of my passions? + +_Bel._ Since you will needs know what I would willingly have concealed, +the person, who has your diamond, is he whom you saw last in your +daughter's company. + +_Alon._ You would say 'tis Don Melchor de Guzman. Who the devil would +have suspected him of such an action? But he is of a decayed family, and +poverty, it seems, has enforced him to it. Now I think on't better, he +has e'en stolen it for a fee, to bribe his lawyer; to requite a lie with +a theft. I'll seek him out, and tell him part of my mind before I sleep. + [_Exit_ ALON. + +_Bel._ So, once more I am at liberty: But this astrology is so +troublesome a science--Would I were well rid on't! + +_Enter Don_ LOPEZ, _and a Servant_. + +_Lop._ Astrology, does he say? O, cavalier, is it you? not finding you +at home, I came on purpose to seek you out: I have a small request to +the stars by your mediation. + +_Bel._ Sir, for pity let them shine in quiet a little; for what for +ladies, and their servants, and younger brothers, they scarce get a +holiday in a twelve-month. + +_Lop._ Pray, pardon me, if I am a little curious of my destiny, since +all my happiness depends on your answer. + +_Bel._ Well, sir, what is it you expect? + +_Lop._ To know whether my love to a lady will be successful. + +_Bel._ 'Tis Aurelia, he means. [_Aside_.]--Sir, in one word I answer +you, that your mistress loves another; one, who is your friend: But +comfort yourself; the dragon's tail is between him and home, he never +shall enjoy her. + +_Lop._ But what hope for me? + +_Bel._ The stars have partly assured me, you shall be happy, if you +acquaint her with your passion, and with the double-dealing of your +friend, who is false to her. + +_Lop._ You speak like an oracle. But, I have engaged my promise to that +friend, to serve him in his passion to my mistress. + +_Bel._ We English seldom make such scruples; women are not comprised in +our laws of friendship. They are _ferae naturae_; our common game, like +hare and partridge: Every man has equal right to them, as he has to the +sun and elements. + +_Lop._ Must I then betray my friend? + +_Bel._ In that case my friend is a Turk to me, if he will be so +barbarous as to retain two women to his private use. I will be factious +for all distressed damsels; who would much rather have their cause tried +by a full jury, than a single judge. + +_Lop._ Well, sir, I will take your counsel; and if I err, the fault be +on love and you. + [_Exit_ LOP. + +_Bel._ Were it not for love, I would run out of the town, that's the +short on't; for I have engaged myself in so many promises, for the sun +and moon, and those little minced-meats of them, that I must hide before +my day of payment comes. In the mean time I forget Theodosia; but now I +defy the devil to hinder me. + +_As he is going out, he meets_ AURELIA, _and almost justles her down. +With her_ CAMILLA _enters_. + +_Aur._ What rudeness is this? + +_Bel._ Madam Aurelia, is it you? + +_Aur._ Monsieur Bellamy! + +_Bel._ The same, madam. + +_Aur._ My uncle told me he left you here: And, indeed, I came hither to +complain of you. For you have treated me so inhumanly, that I have some +reason to resent it. + +_Bel._ What occasion can I have given you for a complaint? + +_Aur._ Don Melchor, as I am informed by my uncle, is effectively at +Madrid: So that it was not his idea, but himself in person, whom I saw. +And since you knew this, why did you conceal it from me? + +_Bel._ When I spoke with you, I knew it not: But I discovered it in the +erecting of my figure. Yet if, instead of his idea, I constrained +himself to come, in spite of his resolution to remain concealed, I think +I have shown a greater effect of my art than what I promised. + +_Aur._ I render myself to so convincing an argument: But by over-hearing +a discourse just now betwixt my cousin Theodosia and her maid, I find +that he has concealed himself upon her account, which has given me +jealousy to the last point; for, to avow an incontestible truth, my +cousin is furiously handsome. + +_Bel._ Madam, madam, trust not your ears too far; she talked on purpose, +that you might hear her. But, I assure you, the true cause of Don +Melchor's concealment was not love of her, but jealousy of you. He staid +in private to observe your actions: Build upon't, madam, he is +inviolably yours. + +_Aur._ Then will he sacrifice my cousin to me? + +_Bel._ 'Tis furiously true, madam. + +_Aur._ O most agreeable assurance! + +_Cam._ Albricias, madam, for my good news! Don Melchor is coming this +way; I know him by his voice: but he is in company with another person. + +_Aur._ It will not be convenient to give him any umbrage, by seeing me +with another person; therefore, I will go before; do you stay here, and +conduct him to my apartment. Good-night, sir. + [_Exit._ + +_Bel._ I have promised Don Lopez, he shall possess her; and I have +promised her, she shall possess Don Melchor: 'Tis a little difficult, I +confess, as to the matrimonial part of it: But, if Don Melchor will be +civil to her, and she be civil to Don Lopez, my credit is safe without +the benefit of my clergy. But all this is nothing to Theodosia. + [_Exit_ BEL. + +_Enter Don_ ALONZO _and Don_ MELCHOR. + +_Cam._ Don Melchor, a word in private. + +_Mel._ Your pleasure, lady.--Sir, I will wait on you immediately. + +_Cam._ I am sent to you from a fair lady, who bears you no ill will. You +may guess whom I mean. + +_Mel._ Not by my own merits, but by knowing whom you serve. But, I +confess, I wonder at her late strange usage, when she fled from me. + +_Cam._ That was only a mistake; but I have now, by her command, been in +a thousand places in quest of you. + +_Mel._ You overjoy me. + +_Cam._ And where, amongst the rest, do you think I have been looking +you? + +_Mel._ Pray refresh my memory. + +_Cam._ In that same street, by the same shop--you know where, by a good +token. + +_Mel._ By what token? + +_Cam._ Just by that shop, where, out of your nobleness, you promised me +a new silk gown. + +_Mel._ O, now I understand you. + +_Cam._ Not that I press you to a performance-- + +_Mel._ Take this, and please yourself in the choice of it. + [_Gives her money._ + +_Cam._ Nay, dear sir, now you make me blush; in faith I--am ashamed--I +swear, 'tis only because I would keep something for your sake;--but my +lady expects you immediately in her apartment. + +_Mel._ I'll wait on her, if I can possibly. [_Exit_ CAM.] But, if I can +prevail with Don Alonzo for his daughter, then will I again consider, +which of the ladies best deserves me. [_Aside_.] Sir, I beg your pardon +for this rudeness in leaving you. + [_To_ ALON. + +_Alon._ I cannot possibly resolve with myself to tell him openly he is a +thief; but I'll gild the pill for him to swallow. + [_Aside._ + +_Mel._ I believe he has discovered our amour: How he surveys me for a +son-in-law! + [_Aside._ + +_Alon._ Sir, I am sorry for your sake, that true nobility is not always +accompanied with riches to support it in its lustre. + +_Mel._ You have a just exception against the capriciousness of destiny; +yet, if I were owner of any noble qualities, (which I am not) I should +not much esteem the goods of fortune. + +_Alon._ But pray conceive me, sir; your father did not leave you +flourishing in wealth. + +_Mel._ Only a very fair seat in Andalusia, with all the pleasures +imaginable about it: That alone, were my poor deserts according,--which, +I confess, they are not,--were enough to make a woman happy in it. + +_Alon._ But give me leave to come to the point, I beseech you, sir. I +have lost a jewel, which I value infinitely, and I hear it is in your +possession: But I accuse your wants, not you, for it. + +_Mel._ Your daughter is indeed a jewel; but she were not lost, were she +in possession of a man of parts. + +_Alon._ A precious diamond, sir---- + +_Mel._ But a man of honour, sir---- + +_Alon._ I know what you would say, sir,--that a man of honour is not +capable of an unworthy action; and, therefore, I do not accuse you of +the theft: I suppose the jewel was only put into your hands. + +_Mel._ By honourable ways, I assure you, sir. + +_Alon._ Sir, sir, will you restore my jewel? + +_Mel._ Will you please, sir, to give me leave to be the unworthy +possessor of her? I know how to use her with that respect---- + +_Alon._ I know what you would say, sir; but if it belong to our family? +otherwise, I assure you, it were at your service. + +_Mel._ As it belongs to your family, I covet it; not that I plead my own +deserts, sir. + +_Alon._ Sir, I know your deserts; but, I protest, I cannot part with it: +For, I must tell you, this diamond ring was originally my +great-grandfather's. + +_Mel._ A diamond ring, sir, do you mean?---- + +_Alon._ By your patience, sir; when I have done, you may speak your +pleasure. I only lent it to my daughter; but, how she lost it, and how +it came upon your finger, I am yet _in tenebris_. + +_Mel._ Sir---- + +_Alon._ I know it, sir; but spare yourself the trouble, I'll speak for +you; you would say you had it from some other hand; I believe it, sir. + +_Mel._ But, sir---- + +_Alon._ I warrant you, sir, I'll bring you off without your +speaking;--from another hand you had it; and now, sir, as you say, sir, +and as I am saying for you, sir, you are loth to part with it. + +_Mel._ Good sir,----let me---- + +_Alon._ I understand you already, sir,--that you have taken a fancy to +it, and would buy it; but, to that I answer, as I did before, that it is +a relick of my family: Now, sir, if you can urge aught farther, you have +liberty to speak without interruption. + +_Mel._ This diamond you speak of, I confess---- + +_Alon._ But what need you confess, sir, before you are accused? + +_Mel._ You promised you would hear me in my turn, sir, but---- + +_Alon._ But, as you were saying, it is needless, because I have already +spoken for you. + +_Mel._ The truth is, sir, I was too presumptuous to take this pledge +from Theodosia without your knowledge; but you will pardon the +invincible necessity, when I tell you---- + +_Alon._ You need not tell me; I know your necessity was the reason of +it, and that place and opportunity have caused your error. + +_Mel._ This is the goodest old man I ever knew; he prevents me in my +motion for his daughter. + [_Aside._ +Since, sir, you know the cause of my errors, and are pleased to lay part +of the blame upon youth and opportunity, I beseech you, favour me so far +to accept me, as fair Theodosia already has---- + +_Alon._ I conceive you, sir,--that I would accept of your excuse: Why, +restore the diamond, and 'tis done. + +_Mel._ More joyfully than I received it: And, with it, I beg the honour +to be received by you as your son-in-law. + +_Alon._ My son-in-law! this is the most pleasant proposition I ever +heard. + +_Mel._ I am proud you think it so; but, I protest, I think not I deserve +this honour. + +_Alon._ Nor I, I assure you, sir; marry my daughter--ha, ha, ha! + +_Mel._ But, sir---- + +_Alon._ I know what you would say, sir--that there is too much hazard in +the profession of a thief, and therefore you would marry my daughter to +become rich, without venturing your neck for't. I beseech you, sir, +steal on, be apprehended, and, if you please, be hanged, it shall make +no breach betwixt us. For my part, I'll keep your counsel, and so, good +night, sir. + [_Exit_ ALON. + +_Mel._ Is the devil in this old man, first to give me occasion to +confess my love, and, when he knew it, to promise he would keep my +counsel? But who are these? I'll not be seen; but to my old appointment +with Theodosia, and desire her to unriddle it. + [_Exit_ MEL. + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter_ MASKALL, JACINTHA, _and_ BEATRIX. + +_Mask._ But, madam, do you take me for a man of honour? + +_Jac._ No. + +_Mask._ Why there's it! if you had, I would have sworn that my master +has neither done nor intended you any injury. I suppose you'll grant he +knew you in your disguise? + +_Beat._ Nay, to know her, and use her so, is an aggravation of his +crime. + +_Mask._ Unconscionable Beatrix! would you two have all the carnival to +yourselves? He knew you, madam, and was resolved to countermine you in +all your plots. But, when he saw you so much piqued, he was too good +natured to let you sleep in wrath, and sent me to you to disabuse you: +for, if the business had gone on till to-morrow, when Lent begins, you +would have grown so peevish (as all good Catholics are with fasting) +that the quarrel would never have been ended. + +_Jac._ Well; this mollifies a little: I am content he shall see me. + +_Mask._ But that you may be sure he knew you, he will bring the +certificate of the purse along with him. + +_Jac._ I shall be glad to find him innocent. + +_Enter_ WILDBLOOD, _at the other end of the stage_. + +_Wild._ No mortal man ever threw out so often. It could not be me, it +must be the devil that did it: He took all the chances, and changed them +after I had thrown them. But, I'll be even with him; for, I'll never +throw one of his dice more. + +_Mask._ Madam, 'tis certainly my master; and he is so zealous to make +his peace, that he could not stay till I called him to you.----Sir. + +_Wild._ Sirrah, I'll teach you more manners than to leave me another +time: You rogue, you have lost me two hundred pistoles, you and the +devil your accomplice; you, by leaving me to myself, and he, by tempting +me to play it off. + +_Mask._ Is the wind in that door? Here's like to be fine doings. + +_Wild._ O mischief! am I fallen into her ambush? I must face it out with +another quarrel. + [_Aside._ + +_Jac._ Your man has been treating your accommodation; 'tis half made +already. + +_Wild._ Ay, on your part it may be. + +_Jac._ He says you knew me. + +_Wild._ Yes; I do know you so well, that my poor heart aches for't. I +was going to bed without telling you my mind; but, upon consideration, I +am come---- + +_Jac._ To bring the money with you. + +_Wild._ To declare my grievances, which are great and many. + +_Mask._ Well, for impudence, let thee alone. + +_Wild._ As, in the first place---- + +_Jac._ I'll hear no grievances; where's the money? + +_Beat._ Ay, keep to that, madam. + +_Wild._ Do you think me a person to be so used? + +_Jac._ We will not quarrel; where's the money? + +_Wild._ By your favour we will quarrel. + +_Beat._ Money, money!---- + +_Wild._ I am angry, and can hear nothing. + +_Beat._ Money, money, money, money! + +_Wild._ Do you think it a reasonable thing to put on two disguises in a +night, to tempt a man? (Help me, Maskall, for I want arguments +abominably.) I thank heaven I was never so barbarously used in all my +life. + +_Jac._ He begins to anger me in good earnest. + +_Mask._ A thing so much against the rules of modesty! So indecent a +thing! + +_Wild._ Ay so indecent a thing: Nay, now I do not wonder at myself for +being angry. And then to wonder I should love her in those disguises! To +quarrel at the natural desires of human kind, assaulted by powerful +temptations; I am enraged at that. + +_Jac._ Heyday! you had best quarrel too for my bringing you the money. + +_Wild._ I have a grudging to you for't: (Maskall, the money, Maskall! +now help, or we are gone.) + +_Mask._ Would she offer to bring money to you? first, to affront your +poverty---- + +_Wild._ Ay, to affront my poverty: But that's no great matter; and +then---- + +_Mask._ And then to bring you money, sir. (I stick fast, sir.) + +_Wild._ (Forward, you dog, and invent, or I'll cut your throat.) And +then, as I was saying, to bring me money---- + +_Mask._ Which is the greatest and most sweet of all temptations; and to +think you could resist it: Being also aggravated by her handsomeness, +who brought it. + +_Wild._ Resist it? No; I would she would understand it; I know better +what belongs to flesh and blood than so. + +_Beat._ to _Jac._ This is plain confederacy: I smoke it; he came on +purpose to quarrel with you; break first with him, and prevent it. + +_Jac._ If it be come to that once, the devil take the hindmost! I'll not +be last in love, for that will be a dishonour to my sex. + +_Wild._ And then---- + +_Jac._ Hold, sir, there needs no more; you shall fall out, and I'll +gratify you with a new occasion: I only tried you in hope you would be +false; and, rather than fail of my design, brought gold to bribe you +to't. + +_Beat._ As people, when they have an ill bargain, are content to lose by +it, that they may get it off their hands. + +_Mask._ Beatrix, while our principals are engaged, I hold it not for our +honour to stand idle. + +_Beat._ With all my heart: Please you let us draw off to some other +ground. + +_Mask._ I dare meet you on any spot, but one. + +_Wild._ I think we shall do well to put it to an issue: this is the last +time you shall ever be troubled with my addresses. + +_Jac._ The favour had been greater to have spared this too. + +_Mask._ Beatrix, let us dispatch; or they'll break off before us. + +_Beat._ Break as fast as thou wilt; I am as brittle as thou art, for thy +heart. + +_Wild._ Because I will absolutely break off with you, I will keep +nothing that belongs to you; therefore take back your picture, and your +handkerchief. + +_Jac._ I have nothing of yours to keep; therefore take back your liberal +promises. Take them in imagination. + +_Wild._ Not to be behindhand with you in your frumps, I give you back +your purse of gold: Take you that--in imagination. + +_Jac._ To conclude with you, take back your oaths and protestations; +they are never the worse for the wearing, I assure you: Therefore take +them, spick and span new, for the use of your next mistress. + +_Mask._ Beatrix, follow your leader; here's the six-penny whittle you +gave me, with the mutton haft: I can spare it, for knives are of little +use in Spain. + +_Beat._ There's your scissars with the stinking brass chain to them: +'Tis well there was no love betwixt us; for they had been too dull to +cut it. + +_Mask._ There's the dandriff comb you lent me. + +_Beat._ There's your ferret-ribbanding for garters. + +_Mask._ I would never have come so near as to have taken them from you. + +_Beat._ For your letter, I have it not about me; but upon reputation +I'll burn it. + +_Mask._ And for yours, I have already put it to a fitting +employment.--Courage, sir; how goes the battle on your wing? + +_Wild._ Just drawing off on both sides. Adieu, Spain. + +_Jac._ Farewell, old England. + +_Beat._ Come away in triumph; the day's your own, madam. + +_Mask._ I'll bear you off upon my shoulders, sir; we have broke their +hearts. + +_Wild._ Let her go first then; I'll stay, and keep the honour of the +field. + +_Jac._ I'll not retreat, if you stay till midnight. + +_Wild._ Are you sure then we have done loving? + +_Jac._ Yes, very sure; I think so. + +_Wild._ 'Tis well you are so; for otherwise I feel my stomach a little +maukish. I should have doubted another fit of love were coming up. + +_Jac._ No, no; your inconstancy secures you enough for that. + +_Wild._ That's it which makes me fear my own returning: Nothing vexes +me, but that you should part with me so slightly, as though I were not +worth your keeping. Well, 'tis a sign you never loved me. + +_Jac._ 'Tis the least of your care whether I did or did not: It may be +it had been more for the quiet of myself, if I--but 'tis no matter, +I'll not give you that satisfaction. + +_Wild._ But what's the reason you will not give it me? + +_Jac._ For the reason that we are quite broke off. + +_Wild._ Why, are we quite, quite broke off? + +_Jac._ Why, are we not? + +_Wild._ Well, since 'tis past, 'tis past; but a pox of all foolish +quarrelling, for my part. + +_Jac._ And a mischief of all foolish disguisements, for my part. + +_Wild._ But if it were to do again with another mistress, I would even +plainly confess I had lost my money. + +_Jac._ And if I had to deal with another servant, I would learn more wit +than to tempt him in disguises: for that's to throw a Venice-glass to +the ground, to try if it would not break. + +_Wild._ If it were not to please you, I see no necessity of our parting. + +_Jac._ I protest, I do it only out of complaisance to you. + +_Wild._ But if I should play the fool, and ask your pardon, you would +refuse it. + +_Jac._ No, never submit; for I should spoil you again with pardoning +you. + +_Mask._ Do you hear this, Beatrix! They are just upon the point of +accommodation; we must make haste, or they'll make a peace by +themselves, and exclude us from the treaty. + +_Beat._ Declare yourself the aggressor then, and I'll take you into +mercy. + +_Wild._ The worst that you can say of me is, that I have loved you +thrice over. + +_Jac._ The prime articles between Spain and England are sealed; for the +rest, concerning a more strict alliance, if you please, we'll dispute +them in the garden. + +_Wild._ But, in the first place, let us agree on the article of +navigation, I beseech you. + +_Beat._ These leagues, offensive and defensive, will be too strict for +us, Maskall: A treaty of commerce will serve our turn. + +_Mask._ With all my heart; and when our loves are veering, We'll make no +words, but fall to privateering. + [_Exeunt, the men leading the women._ + + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + + +_Enter_ LOPEZ, AURELIA, _and_ CAMILLA. + +_Lop._ 'Tis true, if he had continued constant to you, I should have +thought myself obliged in honour to be his friend; but I could no longer +suffer him to abuse a person of your worth and beauty, with a feigned +affection. + +_Aur._ But is it possible Don Melchor should be false to love? I'll be +sworn I did not imagine such a treachery could have been in nature; +especially to a lady who had so obliged him. + +_Lop._ 'Twas this, madam, which gave me the confidence to wait upon you +at an hour, which would be otherwise unseasonable. + +_Aur._ You are the most obliging person in the world. + +_Lop._ But to clear it to you that he is false, he is, at this very +minute, at an assignation with your cousin in the garden; I am sure he +was endeavouring it not an hour ago. + +_Aur._ I swear this evening's air begins to incommode me extremely with +a cold: but yet, in hope of detecting this perjured man, I am content +to stay abroad. + +_Lop._ But withal, you must permit me to tell you, madam, that it is but +just I should have some share in a heart, which I endeavour to redeem: +In the law of arms, you know that they, who pay the ransom, have right +to dispose of the prisoner. + +_Aur._ The prize is so very inconsiderable, that 'tis not worth the +claiming. + +_Lop._ If I thought the boon were small, I would not importune my +princess with the asking it: But since my life depends upon the grant-- + +_Cam._ Ma'am, I must needs tell your la'ship, that Don Lopez has +deserved you, for he has acted all along like a cavalier, and more for +your interest than his own. Besides, ma'am, Don Melchor is as poor as he +is false: For my part, I shall never endure to call him master. + +_Aur._ Don Lopez, go along with me. I can promise nothing, but I swear I +will do my best to disengage my heart from this furious tender, which I +have for him. + +_Cam._ If I had been a man, I could never have forsaken you: Ah those +languishing casts, ma'am; and that pouting lip of your la'ship, like a +cherry-bough, weighed down with the weight of fruit! + +_Aur._ And that sigh too, I think, is not altogether disagreeable; but +something _charmante_ and _mignonne_. + +_Cam._ Well, Don Lopez, you'll be but too happy. + +_Lop._ If I were once possessor-- + +_Enter_ BELLAMY _and_ THEODOSIA. + +_Theo._ O we are surprised. + +_Bel._ Fear nothing, madam; I think, I know them: Don Lopez? + +_Lop._ Our famous astrologer, how come you here? + +_Bel._ I am infinitely happy to have met you with Donna Aurelia, that +you may do me the favour to satisfy this lady of a truth, which I can +scarce persuade her to believe. + +_Lop._ I am glad our concernments are so equal; for I have the like +favour to ask from Donna Theodosia. + +_Theo._ Don Lopez is too noble to be refused any thing within my power; +and I am ready to do him any service, after I have asked my cousin, if +ever Don Melchor pretended to her? + +_Aur._ 'Tis the very question which I was furiously resolved to have +asked of you. + +_Theo._ I must confess he has made some professions to me: And withal, I +will acknowledge my own weakness so far as to tell you, I have given way +he should often visit me, when the world believed him absent. + +_Aur._ O cavalier astrologer, how have you betrayed me! did you not +assure me, that Don Melchor's tender and inclination was for me only? + +_Bel._ I had it from his star, madam, I do assure you; and if that +twinkled false, I cannot help it. The truth is, there's no trusting the +planet of an inconstant man; he was moving to you when I looked on it, +and if since it has changed the course, I am not to be blamed for it. + +_Lop._ Now, madam, the truth is evident. And for this cavalier, he might +easily be deceived in Melchor; for I dare affirm it to you both, he +never knew to which of you he was most inclined: For he visited one, and +writ letters to the other. + +_Bel._ to _Theo._ Then, madam, I must claim your promise, (since I have +discovered to you that Don Melchor is unworthy of your favours) that you +would make me happy, who, amongst my many imperfections, can never be +guilty of such a falsehood. + +_Theo._ If I have been deceived in Melchor, whom I have known so long, +you cannot reasonably expect, I should trust you at a day's +acquaintance. + +_Bel._ For that, madam, you may know as much of me in a day, as you can +in all your life: All my humours circulate like my blood, at farthest +within twenty-four hours. I am plain and true, like all my countrymen; +you see to the bottom of me as easily, as you do to the gravel of a +clear stream in autumn. + +_Lop._ You plead so well, sir, that I desire you would speak for me too: +My cause is the same with yours, only it has not so good an advocate. + +_Aur._ Since I cannot make myself happy, I will have the glory to +felicitate another: and, therefore, I declare, I will reward the +fidelity of Don Lopez. + +_Theo._ All that I can say at present is, that I will never be Don +Melchor's: The rest, time and your service must make out. + +_Bel._ I have all I can expect, to be admitted as eldest servant; as +preferment falls, I hope you will remember my seniority. + +_Cam._ Ma'am, Don Melchor. + +_Aur._ Cavaliers, retire a little; we shall see to which of us he will +make his court. + [_The men withdraw._ + +_Enter_ DON MELCHOR. + +Don Melchor, I thought you had been a-bed before this time. + +_Mel._ Fair Aurelia, this is a blessing beyond expectation, to see you +again so soon. + +_Aur._ What important business brought you hither? + +_Mel._ Only to make my peace with you before I slept. You know you are +the saint to whom I pay my devotions. + +_Aur._ And yet it was beyond your expectances to meet me? This is +furiously incongruous. + +_Theo._ [_advancing_.] Don Melchor, whither were you bound so late? + +_Mel._ What shall I say? I am so confounded, that I know not to which of +them I should excuse myself. + [_Aside._ + +_Theo._ Pray answer me truly to one question: Did you ever make any +addresses to my cousin? + +_Mel._ Fie, fie, madam, there's a question indeed. + +_Aur._ How, monster of ingratitude! can you deny the declaration of your +passion to me? + +_Mel._ I say nothing, madam. + +_Theo._ Which of us is it, for whom you are concerned? + +_Mel._ For that, madam, you must excuse me; I have more discretion than +to boast a lady's favour. + +_Aur._ Did you counterfeit an address to me? + +_Mel._ Still I say nothing, madam; but I will satisfy either of you in +private; for these matters are too tender for public discourse. + +_Enter_ LOPEZ _and_ BELLAMY _hastily, with their swords drawn_. + +Bellamy and Lopez! This is strange! + +_Lop._ Ladies, we would not have disturbed you, but as we were walking +to the garden door, it opened suddenly against us, and we confusedly +saw, by moonlight, some persons entering, but who they were we know not. + +_Bel._ You had best retire into the garden-house, and leave us to take +our fortunes, without prejudice to your reputations. + +_Enter_ WILDBLOOD, MASKALL, JACINTHA, _and_ BEATRIX. + +_Wild._ [_To Jacintha entering_.] Do not fear, madam, I think I heard my +friend's voice. + +_Bel._ Marry hang you, is it you that have given us this hot alarm? + +_Wild._ There's more in it than you imagine; the whole house is up: For +seeing you two, and not knowing you, after I had entered the +garden-door, I made too much haste to get out again, and have left the +key broken in it. With the noise, one of the servants came running in, +whom I forced back; and, doubtless, he is gone for company, for you may +see lights running through every chamber. + +_Theo. Jac._ What will become of us? + +_Bel._ We must have recourse to our former resolution. Let the ladies +retire into the garden-house. And, now I think on it, you gentlemen +shall go in with them, and leave me and Maskall to bear the brunt of it. + +_Mask._ Me, sir! I beseech you let me go in with the ladies too; dear +Beatrix, speak a good word for me! I protest 'tis more out of love to +thy company than for any fear I have. + +_Bel._ You dog, I have need of your wit and counsel. We have no time to +deliberate. Will you stay, sir? + [_To_ MASKALL. + +_Mask._ No, sir, 'tis not for my safety. + +_Bel._ Will you in, sir? + [_To_ MELCHOR. + +_Mel._ No, sir, 'tis not for my honour, to be assisting to you: I'll to +Don Alonzo, and help to revenge the injury you are doing him. + +_Bel._ Then we are lost, I can do nothing. + +_Wild._ Nay, an you talk of honour, by your leave, sir. I hate your +Spanish honour, ever since it spoiled our English plays, with faces +about and t'other side. + [_Falls upon him and throws him down._ + +_Mel._ What do you mean, you will not murder me? Must valour be +oppressed by multitudes? + +_Wild._ Come yarely, my mates, every man to his share of the burden. +Come, yarely, hay. + [_The four men take him each by a limb, and carry him + out, he crying murder._ + +_Theo._ If this Englishman save us now, I shall admire his wit. + +_Beat._ Good wits never think themselves admired till they are well +rewarded: You must pay him in specie, madam; give him love for his wit. + +_Enter the Men again._ + +_Bel._ Ladies, fear nothing, but enter into the garden-house +with these cavaliers. + +_Mask._ O that I were a cavalier too! + [_Is going with them._ + +_Bel._ Come you back, sirrah. [_Stops him_.] Think yourselves as safe as +in a sanctuary; only keep quiet, whatever happens. + +_Jac._ Come away then, they are upon us. + [_Exeunt all but_ BEL. _and_ MASK. + +_Mask._ Hark, I hear the foe coming: Methinks they threaten too, sir; +pray let me go in for a guard to the ladies and poor Beatrix. I can +fight much better, when there is a wall betwixt me and danger. + +_Bel._ Peace, I have occasion for your wit to help me to lie. + +_Mask._ Sir, upon the faith of a sinner, you have had my last lie +already; I have not one more to do me credit, as I hope to be saved, +sir. + +Bel. _Victoire, victoire!_ knock under, you rogue, and confess me +conqueror, and you shall see I'll bring all off. + +_Enter_ DON ALONZO, _and six Servants; with lights, and swords drawn._ + +_Alon._ Search about there. + +_Bel._ Fear nothing, do but vouch what I shall say. + +_Mask._ For a passive lie I can yet do something. + +_Alon._ Stand: who goes there? + +_Bel._ Friends. + +_Alon._ Friends! Who are you? + +_Bel._ Noble Don Alonzo, such as are watching for your good. + +_Alon._ Is it you, Sennor Inglis? Why all this noise and tumult? Where +are my daughters and my niece? But, in the first place, though last +named, how came you hither, sir? + +_Bel._ I came hither--by astrology, sir. + +_Mask._ My master's in; heavens send him good shipping with his lie, and +all kind devils stand his friends! + +_Alon._ How! by astrology, sir? Meaning, you came hither by art magic. + +_Bel._ I say by pure astrology, sir; I foresaw by my art, a little after +I had left you, that your niece and daughters would this night run a +risque of being carried away from this very garden. + +_Alon._ O the wonders of this speculation! + +_Bel._ Thereupon I called immediately for my sword, and came in all +haste to advertise you; but I see there's no resisting destiny; for just +as I was entering the garden door, I met the women with their gallants +all under sail, and outward bound. + +_Mask._ Thereupon what does me he, but draws, by my advice-- + +_Bel._ How now, Mr Rascal? Are you itching to be in? + [_Aside._ + +_Mask._ Pray, sir, let me go snip with you in this lie, and be not too +covetous of honour. You know I never stood with you; now my courage is +come to me, I cannot resist the temptation. + [_Aside._ + +_Bel._ Content; tell on. + +_Mask._ So, in short, sir, we drew, first I, and then my master; but, +being overpowered, they have escaped us, so that I think you may go to +bed, and trouble yourself no further, for gone they are. + +_Bel._ You tell a lie! you have curtailed my invention: You are not fit +to invent a lie for a bawd, when she would wheedle a young squire. + [_Aside._ + +_Alon._ Call up the officers of justice, I'll have the town searched +immediately. + +_Bel._ 'Tis in vain, sir; I know, by my art, you'll +never recover them: Besides, 'tis an affront to my friends, the stars, +who have otherwise disposed of them. + +_Enter a Servant._ + +_Ser._ Sir, the key is broken in the garden-door, and the door locked, +so that of necessity they must be in the garden yet. + +_Alon._ Disperse yourselves, some into the wilderness, some into the +alleys, and some into the parterre: You, Diego, go try to get out the +key, and run to the corrigidor for his assistance: In the mean time, +I'll search the garden-house myself. + [_Exeunt all the servants but one._ + +_Mask._ I'll be unbetted again, if you please, sir, and leave you all +the honour of it. + [_To_ BELLAMY _aside_. + +_Alon._ Come, cavalier, let us in together. + +_Bel._ [_holding him_.] Hold, sir, for the love of heaven! you are not +mad? + +_Alon._ We must leave no place unsearched. A light there. + +_Bel._ Hold, I say! do you know what you are undertaking? And have you +armed yourself with resolution for such an adventure? + +_Alon._ What adventure? + +_Bel._ A word in private--The place you would go into is full of +enchantments; there are at this time, for aught I know, a legion of +spirits in it. + +_Alon._ You confound me with wonder, sir! + +_Bel._ I have been making there my magical operations, to know the event +of your daughters' flight; and, to perform it rightly, have been forced +to call up spirits of several orders: And there they are humming like a +swarm of bees, some stalking about upon the ground, some flying, and +some sticking upon the walls like rear-mice. + +_Mask._ The devil's in him, he's got off again. + +_Alon._ Now, sir, I shall try the truth of your friendship to me. To +confess the secret of my soul to you, I have all my life been curious to +see a devil; and to that purpose have conned Agrippa through and +through, and made experiment of all his rules, _Pari die et incremento +Lunae_, and yet could never compass the sight of one of these +_daemoniums_: If you will ever oblige me, let it be on this occasion. + +_Mask._ There's another storm arising. + +_Bel._ You shall pardon me, sir; I'll not expose you to that peril for +the world, without due preparations of ceremony. + +_Alon._ For that, sir, I always carry a talisman about me, that will +secure me: And therefore I will venture in, a God's name, and defy them +all at once. + [_Going in._ + +_Mask._ How the pox will he get off from this? + +_Bel._ Well, sir, since you are so resolved, send off your servant, that +there may be no noise made on't, and we'll take our venture. + +_Alon._ Pedro, leave your light, and help the fellows to search the +garden. + [_Exit Servant._ + +_Mask._ What does my incomprehensible master mean? + +_Bel._ Now, I must tell you, sir, you will see that, which will very +much astonish you, if my art fail me not. [_Goes to the door_.] You +spirits and intelligences, that are within there, stand close, and +silent, at your peril, and fear nothing, but appear in your own shapes, +boldly.--Maskall, open the door. + + [MASKALL _goes to one side of the scene, which draws, and discovers_ + THEO. JAC. AUR. BEAT. CAM. LOP. WILD., _standing all without motion + in a rank_. + +Now, sir, what think you? + +_Alon._ They are here, they are here: We need search no farther. Ah you +ungracious baggages! + [_Going toward them._ + +_Bel._ Stay, or you'll be torn in pieces: These are the very shapes I +conjured up, and truly represent to you in what company your niece and +daughters are, this very moment. + +_Alon._ Why, are they not they? I durst have sworn that some of them had +been my own flesh and blood.--Look; one of them is just like that rogue, +your comrade. + [WILD. _shakes his head, and frowns at him._ + +_Bel._ Do you see how you have provoked that English devil? Take heed of +him; if he gets you once into his clutches-- + [WILD. _embracing_ JAC. + +_Alon._ He seems to have got possession of the spirit of my Jacintha, by +his hugging her. + +_Bel._ Nay, I imagined as much: Do but look upon his physiognomy--you +have read Baptista Porta? Has he not the leer of a very lewd, debauched +spirit? + +_Alon._ He has indeed: Then there's my niece Aurelia, with the spirit of +Don Lopez; but that's well enough; and my daughter Theodosia all alone: +Pray how comes that about? + +_Bel._ She's provided for with a familiar too: One that is in this very +room with you, and by your elbow; but I'll shew you him some other time. + +_Alon._ And that baggage Beatrix, how I would swinge her, if I had her +here: I'll lay my life she was in the plot for the flight of her +mistresses. + [BEAT. _claps her hands at him._ + +_Bel._ Sir, you do ill to provoke her; for being the spirit of a woman, +she is naturally mischievous: You see she can scarce hold her hands from +you already. + +_Mask._ Let me alone to revenge your quarrel upon Beatrix: If e'er she +come to light, I'll take a course with her, I warrant you, sir. + +_Bel._ Now come away, sir, you have seen enough; the spirits are in pain +whilst we are here: We keep them too long condensed in bodies; if we +were gone, they would rarify into air immediately.--Maskall, shut the +door. + [MASK. _goes to the scene, and it closes._ + +Alon. _Monstrum hominis!_ O prodigy of science! + +_Enter two Servants with Don_ MELCHOR. + +_Bel._ Now help me with a lie, Maskall, or we are lost. + +_Mask._ Sir, I could never lie with man or woman in a fright. + +_Serv._ Sir, we found this gentleman bound and gagged, and he desired us +to bring him to you with all haste imaginable. + +_Mel._ O, sir, sir! your two daughters and your niece---- + +_Bel._ They are gone; he knows it:--But are you mad, sir, to set this +pernicious wretch at liberty? + +_Mel._ I endeavoured all that I was able---- + +_Mask._ Now, sir, I have it for you. [_Aside to his master_.]--He was +endeavouring, indeed, to have got away with them; for your daughter +Theodosia was his prize. But we prevented him, and left him in the +condition in which you see him. + +_Alon._ I thought somewhat was the matter, that Theodosia had not a +spirit by her, as her sister had. + +_Bel._ This was he I meant to shew you. + +_Mel._ Do you believe him, sir? + +_Bel._ No, no, believe him, sir: You know his truth, ever since he stole +your daughter's diamond. + +_Mel._ I swear to you, by my honour-- + +_Alon._ Nay, a thief I knew him; and yet, after that, he had the +impudence to ask me for my daughter. + +_Bel._ Was he so impudent? The case is plain, sir; put him quickly into +custody. + +_Mel._ Hear me but one word, sir, and I'll discover all to you. + +_Bel._ Hear him not, sir; for my art assures me, if he speaks one +syllable more, he will cause great mischief. + +_Alon._ Will he so? I'll stop my ears; away with him. + +_Mel._ Your daughters are yet in the garden, hidden by this fellow and +his accomplices. + +_Alon._ [_At the same time, drowning him_.] I'll stop my ears, I'll stop +my ears. + +_Bel. Mask._ [_At the same time also_.] A thief, a thief! away with him. + [_Servants carry_ MELCHOR _off struggling_. + +_Alon._ He thought to have borne us down with his confidence. + +_Enter another Servant._ + +_Serv._ Sir, with much ado we have got out the key, and opened the door. + +_Alon._ Then, as I told you, run quickly to the corrigidor, and desire +him to come hither in person to examine a malefactor. [WILDBLOOD +_sneezes within_.] Hark! what noise is that within? I think one sneezes. + +_Bel._ One of the devils, I warrant you, has got a cold, with being so +long out of the fire. + +_Alon._ Bless his devilship, as I may say. + [WILDBLOOD _sneezes again._ + +_Serv._ [_To Don_ ALONZO.] This is a man's voice; do not suffer yourself +to be deceived so grossly, sir. + +_Mask._ A man's voice! that's a good one indeed, that you should live to +these years, and yet be so silly as not to know a man from a devil. + +_Alon._ There's more in't than I imagined: Hold +up your torch, and go in first, Pedro, and I'll follow +you. + +_Mask._ No, let me have the honour to be your usher. + [_Takes the torch and goes in._ + +_Mask._ [_Within_.] Help, help, help! + +_Alon._ What's the matter? + +_Bel._ Stir not upon your life, sir. + +_Enter_ MASKALL _again, without the torch_. + +_Mask._ I was no sooner entered, but a huge giant seized my torch, and +felled me along, with the very whiff of his breath, as he passed by me. + +_Alon._ Bless us! + +_Bel._ [_At the door to them within_.] Pass out now, while you have +time, in the dark: The officers of justice will be here immediately; the +garden-door is open for you. + +_Alon._ What are you muttering there, sir? + +_Bel._ Only dismissing these spirits of darkness, that they may trouble +you no further.--Go out, I say. + [_They all come out upon the stage, groping their way_. + WILDBLOOD _falls into_ ALONZO'S _hands_. + +_Alon._ I have caught somebody: Are these your spirits? Another light +quickly, Pedro. + +_Mask._ [_Slipping between_ ALON. _and_ WILD.] 'Tis Maskall you have +caught, sir; do you mean to strangle me, that you press me so hard +between your arms? + +_Alon._ [_Letting_ WILD. _go_.] Is it thee, Maskall? I durst have sworn +it had been another. + +_Bel._ Make haste now, before the candle comes. + [AURELIA _falls into_ ALONZO'S _arms_. + +_Alon._ Now I have another. + +_Aur._ 'Tis Maskall you have caught, sir. + +_Alon._ No, I thank you, niece, this artifice is too gross: I know your +voice a little better. What ho, bring lights there! + +_Bel._ Her impertinence has ruined all. + +_Enter Servants with lights, and swords drawn._ + +_Serv._ Sir, the corrigidor is coming, according to your desire: In the +mean time, we have secured the garden doors. + +_Alon._ I'm glad on't: I'll make some of them severe examples. + +_Wild._ Nay, then, as we have lived merrily, so let us die together: But +we'll shew the Don some sport first. + +_Theo._ What will become of us! + +_Jac._ We'll die for company: Nothing vexes me, but that I am not a man, +to have one thrust at that malicious old father of mine before I go. + +_Lop._ Let us break our way through the corrigidor's band. + +_Jac._ A match, i'faith. We'll venture our bodies with you: You shall +put the baggage in the middle. + +_Wild._ He that pierces thee, I say no more, but I shall be somewhat +angry with him.--[_To_ ALON.] In the mean time, I arrest you, sir, in +the behalf of this good company. As the corrigidor uses us, so we'll +use you. + +_Alon._ You do not mean to murder me! + +_Bel._ You murder yourself, if you force us to it. + +_Wild._ Give me a razor there, that I may scrape his weeson, that the +bristles may not hinder me, when I come to cut it. + +_Bel._ What need you bring matters to that extremity? You have your +ransom in your hand: Here are three men, and there are three women; you +understand me. + +_Jac._ If not, here's a sword, and there's a throat; you understand me. + +_Alon._ This is very hard! + +_Theo._ The propositions are good, and marriage is as honourable as it +used to be. + +_Beat._ You had best let your daughters live branded with the name of +strumpets; for whatever befals the men, that will be sure to be their +share. + +_Alon._ I can put them into a nunnery. + +_All the Women._ A nunnery! + +_Jac._ I would have thee to know, thou graceless old man, that I defy a +nunnery: Name a nunnery once more, and I disown thee for my father. + +_Lop._ You know the custom of the country, in this case, sir: 'Tis +either death or marriage. The business will certainly be public; and if +they die, they have sworn you shall bear them company. + +_Alon._ Since it must be so, run, Pedro, and stop the corrigidor: Tell +him it was only a carnival merriment, which I mistook for a rape and +robbery. + +_Jac._ Why now you are a dutiful father again, and I receive you into +grace. + +_Bel._ Among the rest of your mistakes, sir, I must desire you to let my +astrology pass for one: My mathematics, and art magic, were only a +carnival device; and now that's ending, I have more mind to deal with +the flesh, than with the devil. + +_Alon._ No astrologer! 'tis impossible! + +_Mask._ I have known him, sir, these seven years, and dare take my oath, +he has been always an utter stranger to the stars; and indeed to any +thing that belongs to heaven. + +_Lop._ Then I have been cozened among the rest. + +_Theo._ And I; but I forgive him. + +_Beat._ I hope you will forgive me, madam, who have been the cause on't; +but what he wants in astrology, he shall make up to you some other way, +I'll pass my word for him. + +_Alon._ I hope you are both gentlemen? + +_Bel._ As good as the cid himself, sir. + +_Alon._ And for your religion, right Romans---- + +_Wild._ As ever was Mark Anthony. + +_Alon._ For your fortunes and courages---- + +_Mask._ They are both desperate, sir; especially their fortunes. + +_Theo._ [_To_ BEL.] You should not have had my consent so soon, but only +to revenge myself upon the falseness of Don Melchor. + +_Aur._ I must avow, that gratitude for Don Lopez is as prevalent with +me, as revenge against Don Melchor. + +_Alon._ Lent, you know, begins to-morrow; when that's over, marriage +will be proper. + +_Jac._ If I stay till after Lent, I shall be to marry when I have no +love left: I'll not bate you an ace of to-night, father; I mean to bury +this man ere Lent be done, and get me another before Easter. + +_Alon._ Well, make a night on't then. + [_Giving his daughters._ + +_Wild._ Jacintha Wildblood, welcome to me: Since our stars have doomed +it so, we cannot help it; but 'twas a mere trick of fate, to catch us +thus at unawares; to draw us in, with a what do you lack, as we passed +by: Had we once separated to-night, we should have had more wit, than +ever to have met again to-morrow. + +_Jac._ 'Tis true, we shot each other flying: We were both upon the wing, +I find; and, had we passed this critical minute, I should have gone for +the Indies, and you for Greenland, ere we had met in a bed, upon +consideration. + +_Mask._ You have quarrelled twice to-night without bloodshed; beware the +third time. + +Jac. _Apropos!_ I have been retrieving an old song of a lover, that was +ever quarrelling with his mistress: I think it will fit our amour so +well, that, if you please, I'll give it you for an epithalamium; and you +shall sing it. + [_Gives him a paper._ + +_Wild._ I never sung in all my life; nor ever durst try, when I was +alone, for fear of braying. + +_Jac._ Just me, up and down; but for a frolic, let's sing together; for +I am sure, if we cannot sing now, we shall never have cause when we are +married. + +_Wild._ Begin then; give me my key, and I'll set my voice to't. + +_Jac._ Fa la, fa la, fa la. + +_Wild._ Fala, fala, fala. Is this your best, upon the faith of a virgin? + +_Jac._ Ay, by the muses, I am at my pitch. + +_Wild._ Then do your worst; and let the company be judge who sings +worst. + +_Jac._ Upon condition the best singer shall wear the breeches. Prepare +to strip, sir; I shall put you into your drawers presently. + +_Wild._ I shall be revenged, with putting you into your smock anon; St +George for me. + +_Jac._ St James for me: Come, start, sir. + + + SONG. + + Damon. _Celimena, of my heart + None shall e'er bereave you: + If, with your good leave, I may + Quarrel with you once a day, + I will never leave you._ + + Celimena. _Passion's but an empty name, + Where respect is wanting: + Damon, you mistake your aim; + Hang your heart, and burn your flame, + If you must be ranting._ + + Damon. _Love as dull and muddy is, + As decaying liquor: + Anger sets it on the lees, + And refines it by degrees, + Till it works the quicker._ + + Celimena. _Love by quarrels to beget + Wisely you endeavour; + With a grave physician's wit, + Who, to cure an ague fit, + Put me in a fever._ + + Damon. _Anger rouses love to fight, + And his only bait is, + 'Tis the spur to dull delight, + And is but an eager bite, + When desire at height is._ + + Celimena. _If such drops of heat can fall + In our wooing weather; + If such drops of heat can fall, + We shall have the devil and all + When we come together._ + +_Wild._ Your judgment, gentlemen; a man, or a maid? + +_Bel._ An you make no better harmony after you are married, than you +have before, you are the miserablest couple in Christendom. + +_Wild._ 'Tis no great matter; if I had had a good voice, she would have +spoiled it before to-morrow. + +_Bel._ When Maskall has married Beatrix, you may learn of her. + +_Mask._ You shall put her life into a lease, then. + +_Wild._ Upon condition, that when I drop into your house from hunting, I +may set my slippers at your door, as a Turk does at a Jew's, that you +may not enter. + +_Theo._ And while you refresh yourself within, he shall wind the horn +without. + +_Mask._ I'll throw up my lease first. + +_Bel._ Why, thou wouldst not be so impudent, to marry Beatrix for +thyself only? + +_Beat._ For all his ranting and tearing now, I'll pass my word, he shall +degenerate into as tame and peaceable a husband, as a civil woman would +wish to have. + +_Enter Don_ MELCHOR, _with a Servant_. + +_Mel._ Sir---- + +_Alon._ I know what you would say, but your discovery comes too late +now. + +_Mel._ Why, the ladies are found. + +_Aur._ But their inclinations are lost, I can assure you. + +_Jac._ Look you, sir, there goes the game: Your plate-fleet is divided; +half for Spain, and half for England. + +_Theo._ You are justly punished for loving two. + +_Mel._ Yet I have the comfort of a cast lover: I will think well of +myself, and despise my mistresses. + [_Exit._ + +DANCE. + +_Bel._ Enough, enough; let's end the carnival abed. + +_Wild._ And for these gentlemen, whene'er they try, May they all speed +as soon, and well as I. + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +EPILOGUE. + + + My part being small, I have had time to-day, + To mark your various censures of our play. + First, looking for a judgment or a wit, + Like Jews, I saw them scattered through the pit; + And where a knot of smilers lent an ear + To one that talked, I knew the foe was there. + The club of jests went round; he, who had none, + Borrowed o'the next, and told it for his own. + Among the rest, they kept a fearful stir, + In whispering that he stole the Astrologer; + And said, betwixt a French and English plot, + He eased his half-tired muse, on pace and trot. + Up starts a Monsieur, new come o'er, and warm + In the French stoop, and the pull-back o'the arm; + _Morbleu, dit il_, and cocks, I am a rogue, + But he has quite spoiled the feigned _Astrologue_. + 'Pox, says another, here's so great a stir + With a son of a whore farce that's regular, + A rule, where nothing must decorum shock! + Damme, 'tis as dull, as dining by the clock. + An evening! Why the devil should we be vext, + Whether he gets the wench this night or next? + When I heard this, I to the poet went, } + Told him the house was full of discontent, } + And asked him what excuse he could invent. } + He neither swore or stormed, as poets do, + But, most unlike an author, vowed 'twas true; + Yet said, he used the French like enemies, + And did not steal their plots, but made them prize. + But should he all the pains and charges count + Of taking them, the bill so high would mount, + That, like prize-goods, which through the office come, + He could have had them much more cheap at home. + He still must write; and, banquier-like, each day + Accept new bills, and he must break, or pay. + When through his hands such sums must yearly run, + You cannot think the stock is all his own. + His haste his other errors might excuse, + But there's no mercy for a guilty muse; + For, like a mistress, she must stand or fall, + And please you to a height, or not at all. + + + + + TYRANNIC LOVE; + + OR, THE + + ROYAL MARTYR. + + A + + TRAGEDY. + + + + +TYRANNIC LOVE. + + +The "Royal Martyr" is one of Dryden's most characteristic productions. +The character of Maximin, in particular, is drawn on his boldest plan, +and only equalled by that of Almanzor, in the "Conquest of Granada." +Indeed, although, in action, the latter exhibits a larger proportion of +that extravagant achievement peculiar to the heroic drama, it may be +questioned, whether the language of Maximin does not abound more with +the flights of fancy, which hover betwixt the confines of the grand and +the bombast, and which our author himself has aptly termed the Dalilahs +of the theatre. Certainly, in some of those rants which occasionally +burst from the emperor, our poet appears shorn of his locks; as for +example, + + Look to it, Gods; for you the aggressors are: + Keep you your rain and sunshine in your skies, + And I'll keep back my flame and sacrifice; + Your trade of heaven will soon be at a stand, + And all your goods lie dead upon your hand. + +Indeed, Dryden himself acknowledged, in the Dedication to the "Spanish +Friar," that some verses of Maximin and Almanzor cry vengeance upon him +for their extravagance, and heartily wishes them in the same fire with +Statius and Chapman. But he pleads in apology, that he knew they were +bad enough to please, even when he wrote them, although he is now +resolved no longer to seek credit from the approbation of fools. Johnson +has doubted, with apparent reason, whether this confession be +sufficiently ample; and whether the poet did not really give his love to +those enticing seducers of his imagination, although he contemned them +in his more sober judgment. In the Prologue, he has boldly stated and +justified his determination to rush forwards, and hazard the disgrace of +a fall, rather than the loss of the race. Certainly a genius, which +dared so greatly as that of Dryden, cannot always be expected to check +its flight upon the verge of propriety; and we are often hurried along +with it into the extravagant and bombast, when we can seldom discover +the error till a second reading of the passage. Take, for example, the +often quoted account of the death of Charinus; + + With a fierce haste he led our troops the way; + While fiery showers of sulphur on him rained; + Nor left he, till the battlements he gained: + There with a forest of their darts he strove, + And stood, like Capaneus defying Jove. + With his broad sword the boldest beating down, + While fate grew pale, lest he should win the town, + And turned the iron leaves of its dark book, + To make new dooms, or mend what it mistook: + Till sought by many deaths, he sunk, though late, + And by his fall asserted doubtful fate. + +Although this passage, upon examination, will be found to contain much +tumid bombast, yet, like others in the same tone, it conveys, at first, +a dark impression of grandeur and sublimity, which only vanishes on a +critical examination. Such passages, pronounced with due emphasis on the +stage, will always meet with popular applause. They are like the +fanciful shapes into which a mist is often wreathed; it requires a near +approach, and an attentive consideration, to discover their emptiness +and vanity. On the other hand, we meet with many passages in Maximin, +where the impression of sublimity becomes more deep, in proportion to +the attention we bestow on them. Such is the speech of St Catharine to +her mother: + + Could we live always, life were worth our cost; + But now we keep with care what must be lost. + Here we stand shivering on the bank, and cry, + When we should plunge into eternity. + One moment ends our pain; + And yet the shock of death we dare not stand, + By thought scarce measured, and too swift for sand: + 'Tis but because the living death ne'er knew, + They fear to prove it, as a thing that's new. + Let me the experiment before you try, + I'll show you first how easy 'tis to die. + +In the same scene occurs an instance of a different kind of beauty, less +commonly found in Dryden. The tender description given by Felicia of her +attachment to her child, in infancy, is exquisitely beautiful. + +The introduction of magic, and of the astral spirits, who have little to +do with the catastrophe, was perhaps contrived for the sake of music and +scenery. The supernatural has, however, been fashionable at all periods; +and we learn, from a passage in the dedication to "Prince Arthur," that +the Duchess of Monmouth, whom Dryden calls his first and best patroness, +was pleased with the parts of airy and earthy spirits, and with that +fairy kind of writing, which depends upon the force of imagination. It +is probable, therefore, that, in a play inscribed to her husband, that +style of composition was judiciously intermingled, to which our poet +knew the duchess was partial. There is much fine description in the +first account of the wizard; but the lyrical dialogue of the spirits is +rather puerile, and is ridiculed, with great severity, in the +"Rehearsal." + +Mr Malone has fixed the first acting of this play to the end of 1668, or +beginning of 1669. It was printed in 1670, and a revised edition came +forth in 1672. + + + + + TO THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE, + + JAMES, + + DUKE OF MONMOUTH AND BUCCLEUGH, + + ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S MOST HONOURABLE PRIVY-COUNCIL; AND KNIGHT OF THE + MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, &C.[K] + + +Sir, + +The favourable reception which your excellent lady afforded to one of my +former plays[L], has encouraged me to double my presumption, in +addressing this to your grace's patronage. So dangerous a thing it is to +admit a poet into your family, that you can never afterwards be free +from the chiming of ill verses, perpetually sounding in your ears, and +more troublesome than the neighbourhood of steeples. I have been +favourable to myself in this expression; a zealous fanatick would have +gone farther, and have called me the serpent, who first presented the +fruit of my poetry to the wife, and so gained the opportunity to seduce +the husband. Yet, I am ready to avow a crime so advantageous to me; but +the world, which will condemn my boldness, I am sure will justify and +applaud my choice. All men will join with me in the adoration which I +pay you; they would wish only I had brought you a more noble sacrifice. +Instead of an heroick play, you might justly expect an heroick poem, +filled with the past glories of your ancestors, and the future +certainties of your own. Heaven has already taken care to form you for +an hero. You have all the advantages of mind and body, and an +illustrious birth, conspiring to render you an extraordinary person. The +Achilles and the Rinaldo are present in you, even above their originals; +you only want a Homer, or a Tasso, to make you equal to them. Youth, +beauty, and courage (all which you possess in the height of their +perfection) are the most desirable gifts of heaven: and heaven is never +prodigal of such treasures, but to some uncommon purpose. So goodly a +fabric was never framed by an Almighty architect for a vulgar guest. He +shewed the value which he set upon your mind, when he took care to have +it so nobly, and so beautifully lodged. To a graceful fashion and +deportment of body, you have joined a winning conversation, and an easy +greatness, derived to you from the best, and best-beloved of princes. +And with a great power of obliging, the world has observed in you a +desire to oblige, even beyond your power. This, and all that I can say +on so excellent and large a subject, is only history, in which fiction +has no part; I can employ nothing of poetry in it, any more than I do in +that humble protestation which I make, to continue ever + + Your Grace's most obedient + + And most devoted servant, + + JOHN DRYDEN. + +[Footnote K: For some account of the Duke of Monmouth, we refer our +readers to the poem of Absalom and Achitophel, in which Dryden has +described that unfortunate young nobleman under the character of +Absalom]. + +[Footnote L: See the Dedication to the "Indian Emperor."] + + + + +PREFACE. + +I was moved to write this play by many reasons: Amongst others, the +commands of some persons of honour, for whom I have a most particular +respect, were daily sounding in my ears, that it would be of good +example to undertake a poem of this nature. Neither were my own +inclinations wanting to second their desires. I considered that pleasure +was not the only end of poesy; and that even the instructions of +morality were not so wholly the business of a poet, as that the precepts +and examples of piety were to be omitted. For, to leave that employment +altogether to the clergy, were to forget that religion was first taught +in verse, which the laziness, or dulness, of succeeding priesthood, +turned afterwards into prose; and it were also to grant (which I never +shall) that representations of this kind may not as well be conducing to +holiness, as to good manners. Yet far be it from me to compare the use +of dramatick poesy with that of divinity: I only maintain, against the +enemies of the stage, that patterns of piety, decently represented, and +equally removed from the extremes of superstition and profaneness, may +be of excellent use to second the precepts of our religion. By the +harmony of words we elevate the mind to a sense of devotion, as our +solemn musick, which is inarticulate poesy, does in churches; and by the +lively images of piety, adorned by action, through the senses allure the +soul; which while it is charmed in a silent joy of what it sees and +hears, is struck, at the same time, with a secret veneration of things +celestial: and is wound up insensibly into the practice of that which it +admires. Now if, instead of this, we sometimes see on our theatres the +examples of vice rewarded, or, at least, unpunished; yet it ought not to +be an argument against the art, any more than the extravagances and +impieties of the pulpit, in the late times of rebellion, can be against +the office and dignity of the clergy. + +But many times it happens, that poets are wrongfully accused; as it is +my own case in this very play; where I am charged by some ignorant or +malicious persons, with no less crimes than profaneness and irreligion. + +The part of _Maximin_, against which these holy critics so much declaim, +was designed by me to set off the character of _St Catharine_. And +those, who have read the Roman history, may easily remember, that +Maximin was not only a bloody tyrant, _vastus corpore, animo ferus_, as +Herodian describes him; but also a persecutor of the church, against +which he raised the Sixth Persecution. So that whatsoever he speaks or +acts in this tragedy, is no more than a record of his life and manners; +a picture, as near as I could take it, from the original. If, with much +pains, and some success, I have drawn a deformed piece, there is as much +of art, and as near an imitation of nature, in a lazar, as in a Venus. +Maximin was an heathen, and what he speaks against religion, is in +contempt of that which he professed. He defies the gods of Rome, which +is no more than St Catharine might with decency have done. If it be +urged, that a person of such principles, who scoffs at any religion, +ought not to be presented on the stage; why then are the lives and +sayings of so many wicked and profane persons, recorded in the Holy +Scriptures? I know it will be answered, That a due use may be made of +them; that they are remembered with a brand of infamy fixed upon them; +and set as sea-marks for those who behold them to avoid. And what other +use have I made of Maximin? have I proposed him as a pattern to be +imitated, whom, even for his impiety to his false gods, I have so +severely punished? Nay, as if I had foreseen this objection, I purposely +removed the scene of the play, which ought to have been at Alexandria in +Egypt, where St Catharine suffered, and laid it under the walls of +Aquileia in Italy, where Maximin was slain; that the punishment of his +crime might immediately succeed its execution. + +This, reader, is what I owed to my just defence, and the due reverence +of that religion which I profess, to which all men, who desire to be +esteemed good, or honest, are obliged. I have neither leisure nor +occasion to write more largely on this subject, because I am already +justified by the sentence of the best and most discerning prince in the +world, by the suffrage of all unbiassed judges, and, above all, by the +witness of my own conscience, which abhors the thought of such a crime; +to which I ask leave to add my outward conversation, which shall never +be justly taxed with the note of atheism or profaneness. + +In what else concerns the play, I shall be brief: For the faults of the +writing and contrivance, I leave them to the mercy of the reader. For I +am as little apt to defend my own errors, as to find those of other +poets. Only, I observe, that the great censors of wit and poetry, +either produce nothing of their own, or what is more ridiculous than any +thing they reprehend. Much of ill nature, and a very little judgment, go +far in finding the mistakes of writers. + +I pretend not that any thing of mine can be correct: This poem, +especially, which was contrived, and written in seven weeks, though +afterwards hindered by many accidents from a speedy representation, +which would have been its just excuse. + +Yet the scenes are every where unbroken, and the unities of place and +time more exactly kept, than perhaps is requisite in a tragedy; or, at +least, than I have since preserved them in the "Conquest of Granada." + +I have not everywhere observed the equality of numbers, in my verse; +partly by reason of my haste; but more especially, because I would not +have my sense a slave to syllables. + +It is easy to discover, that I have been very bold in my alteration of +the story, which of itself was too barren for a play; and that I have +taken from the church two martyrs, in the persons of Porphyrius, and the +empress, who suffered for the Christian faith, under the tyranny of +Maximin. + +I have seen a French play, called the "Martyrdom of St Catharine:" But +those, who have read it, will soon clear me from stealing out of so dull +an author. I have only borrowed a mistake from him, of one Maximin for +another; for finding him in the French poet, called the son of a +Thracian herdsman, and an Alane woman, I too easily believed him to have +been the same Maximin mentioned in Herodian. Till afterwards, consulting +Eusebius and Metaphrastes, I found the Frenchman had betrayed me into an +error, when it was too late to alter it, by mistaking that first Maximin +for a second, the contemporary of Constantine the Great, and one of the +usurpers of the eastern empire. + +But neither was the other name of my play more fortunate; for, as some, +who had heard of a tragedy of St Catharine, imagined I had taken my plot +from thence; so others, who had heard of another play, called "L'Amour +Tyrannique," with the same ignorance, accused me to have borrowed my +design from it, because I have accidentally given my play the same +title; not having to this day seen it, and knowing only by report that +such a comedy is extant in French, under the name of "Monsieur Scudery." + +As for what I have said of astral or aerial spirits, it is no invention +of mine, but taken from those who have written on that subject. Whether +there are such beings or not, it concerns not me; it is sufficient for +my purpose, that many have believed the affirmative; and that these +heroic representations, which are of the same nature with the epic, are +not limited, but with the extremest bounds of what is credible. + +For the little critics, who pleased themselves with thinking they have +found a flaw in that line of the prologue, + + And he, who servilely creeps after sense, Is safe, &c.[M], + +as if I patronized my own nonsense, I may reasonably suppose they have +never read Horace. _Serpit humi tutus_, &c. are his words: He, who +creeps after plain, dull, common sense, is safe from committing +absurdities; but can never reach any height, or excellence of wit; and +sure I could not mean, that any excellence were to be found in +nonsense. With the same ignorance, or malice, they would accuse me for +using--_empty arms_, when I write of a ghost, or shadow; which has only +the appearance of a body or limbs, and is empty, or void, of flesh and +blood; and _vacuis amplectitur ulnis_, was an expression of Ovid's on +the same subject. Some fool before them had charged me in "The Indian +Emperor" with nonsense in these words, + + And follow fate, which does too fast pursue; + +Which was borrowed from Virgil, in the eleventh of his AEneids, + + _Eludit gyro interior, sequiturque sequentem_[N]. + +I quote not these to prove, that I never writ nonsense; but only to +shew, that they are so unfortunate as not to have found it. + + VALE. + + +[Footnote M: See the prologue to this play.] + +[Footnote N: We may be allowed to suspect that this resemblance was +discovered _ex post facto_.] + + + + +PROLOGUE. + + + Self-love, which, never rightly understood, + Makes poets still conclude their plays are good, + And malice, in all critics, reigns so high, + That for small errors, they whole plays decry; + So that to see this fondness, and that spite, + You'd think that none but madmen judge or write. + Therefore our poet, as he thinks not fit + T' impose upon you what he writes for wit; + So hopes, that, leaving you your censures free, } + You equal judges of the whole will be: } + They judge but half, who only faults will see. } + Poets, like lovers, should be bold and dare, + They spoil their business with an over-care; + And he, who servilely creeps after sense, + Is safe, but ne'er will reach an excellence. + Hence 'tis, our poet, in his conjuring, + Allowed his fancy the full scope and swing. + But when a tyrant for his theme he had, + He loosed the reins, and bid his muse run mad: + And though he stumbles in a full career, + Yet rashness is a better fault than fear. + He saw his way; but in so swift a pace, + To chuse the ground might be to lose the race. + They then, who of each trip the advantage take, + Find but those faults, which they want wit to make. + + + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + + MAXIMIN, _Tyrant of Rome_. + + PORPHYRIUS, _Captain of the Praetorian Bands_. + + CHARINUS, _the Emperor's son_. + + PLACIDIUS, _a great officer_. + + VALERIUS, } + } _Tribunes of the army_. + ALBINUS, } + + NIGRINUS, _a Tribune and conjurer_. + + AMARIEL, _guardian-angel to St_ CATHARINE. + + APOLLONIUS, _a Heathen philosopher_. + + + BERENICE, _wife to_ MAXIMIN. + + VALERIA, _daughter to_ MAXIMIN. + + _St_ CATHERINE, _Princess of Alexandria_. + + FELICIA, _her mother_. + + EROTION, } + } _Attendants_. + CYDNON, } + + +SCENE--_The camp of Maximin, under the walls of Aquileia_. + + + + + TYRANNIC LOVE, + + OR, THE + + ROYAL MARTYR. + + + + +ACT I. + + +SCENE I.--_A Camp, or Pavilion Royal_. + +_Enter_ MAXIMIN, CHARINUS, PLACIDIUS, ALBINUS, VALERIUS, APOLLONIUS, +_and Guards_. + + _Max._ Thus far my arms have with success been crowned, + And found no stop, or vanquished what they found. + The German lakes my legions have o'erpast, + With all the bars which art or nature cast: + My foes, in watery fastnesses inclosed, + I fought alone, to their whole war exposed; + Did first the depth of trembling marshes sound, + And fixed my eagles in unfaithful ground; + By force submitted to the Roman sway + Fierce nations, and unknowing to obey; + And now, for my reward, ungrateful Rome, + For which I fought abroad, rebels at home. + + _Alb._ Yet 'tis their fear which does this war maintain; + They cannot brook a martial monarch's reign: + Your valour would their sloth too much accuse; + And therefore, like themselves they princes chuse. + + _Plac._ Two tame gown'd princes, who at ease debate, + In lazy chairs, the business of the state; + Who reign but while the people they can please, + And only know the little arts of peace. + + _Char._ In fields they dare not fight, where honour calls; + But breathe a faint defiance from their walls. + The very noise of war their souls does wound; + They quake, but hearing their own trumpets sound. + + _Val._ An easy summons but for form they wait, + And to your fame will open wide the gate. + + _Plac._ I wish our fame that swift success may find; + But conquests, sir, are easily designed. + However soft within themselves they are, + To you they will be valiant by despair: + For, having once been guilty, well they know, + To a revengeful prince they still are so. + + _Alb._ 'Tis true, that, since the senate's succours came, + They grow more bold. + + _Max._ That senate's but a name: + Or they are pageant princes which they make; + That power they give away, they would partake. + Two equal powers two different ways will draw, + While each may check, and give the other law. + True, they secure propriety and peace; + But are not fit an empire to increase. + When they should aid their prince, the slaves dispute; + And fear success should make him absolute. + They let foes conquer, to secure the state, + And lend a sword, whose edge themselves rebate. + + _Char._ When to increase the gods you late are gone, + I'll swiftly chuse to die, or reign alone: + But these half kings our courage cannot fright; + The thrifty state will bargain ere they fight: + Give just so much for every victory, + And rather lose a fight than overbuy. + + _Max._ Since all delays are dangerous in war, + Your men, Albinus, for assault prepare; + Crispinus and Meniphilus, I hear, + Two consulars, these Aquileians cheer; + By whom they may, if we protract the time, + Be taught the courage to defend their crime. + + _Plac._ Put off the assault but only for this day: + No loss can come by such a small delay. + + _Char._ We are not sure to-morrow will be ours: + Wars have, like love, their favourable hours. + Let us use all; for if we lose one day, + That white one, in the crowd, may slip away. + + _Max._ Fate's dark recesses we can never find; + But fortune, at some hours, to all is kind: + The lucky have whole days, which still they chuse; + The unlucky have but hours, and those they lose. + + _Plac._ I have consulted one, who reads heaven's doom, + And sees, as present, things which are to come. + 'Tis that Nigrinus, made by your command + A tribune in the new Pannonian band. + Him have I seen (on Ister's banks he stood, + Where last we wintered), bind the headlong flood + In sudden ice; and, where most swift it flows, + In crystal nets the wond'ring fishes close. + Then, with a moment's thaw, the streams enlarge, + And from the mesh the twinkling guests discharge. + In a deep vale, or near some ruined wall, + He would the ghosts of slaughtered soldiers call; + Who slow to wounded bodies did repair, + And, loth to enter, shivered in the air; + These his dread wand did to short life compel, + And forced the fates of battles to foretel. + + _Max._ 'Tis wonderous strange! But, good Placidius, say, + What prophecies Nigrinus of this day? + + _Plac._ In a lone tent, all hung with black, I saw, + Where in a square he did a circle draw; + Four angles, made by that circumference, + Bore holy words inscribed, of mystic sense. + When first a hollow wind began to blow, + The sky grew black, and bellied down more low; + Around the fields did nimble lightning play, + Which offered us by fits, and snatched the day. + 'Midst this was heard the shrill and tender cry + Of well-pleased ghosts, which in the storm did fly; + Danced to and fro, and skimmed along the ground, + Till to the magic circle they were bound. + They coursing it, while we were fenced within, + We saw this dreadful scene of fate begin. + + _Char._ Speak without fear; what did the vision shew? + + _Plac._ A curtain, drawn, presented to our view + A town besieged; and on the neighbouring plain + Lay heaps of visionary soldiers slain. + A rising mist obscured the gloomy head + Of one, who, in imperial robes, lay dead. + Near this, in fetters, stood a virgin crowned, + Whom many Cupids strove in vain to wound: + A voice,--_To-morrow_, still _To-morrow_ rung; + Another,--_lo, lo Paean_ sung. + + _Char._ Visions and oracles still doubtful are, + And ne'er expounded till the event of war. + The gods' foreknowledge on our swords will wait: + If we fight well, they must foreshow good fate. + +_To them a Centurion._ + + _Cent._ A rising dust, which troubles all the air, + And this way travels, shews some army near. + + _Char._ I hear the sound of trumpets from afar. + [_Exit_ ALBINUS. + + _Max._ It seems the voice of triumph, not of war. + +_To them_ ALBINUS _again_. + + _Alb._ Health and success our emperor attends; + The forces, marching on the plain, are friends. + Porphyrius, whom you Egypt's praetor made, + Is come from Alexandria to your aid. + + _Max._ It well becomes the conduct and the care + Of one so famed and fortunate in war. + You must resign, Placidius, your command; + To him I promised the praetorian band. + Your duty in your swift compliance show; + I will provide some other charge for you. + + _Plac._ May Caesar's pleasure ever be obeyed, + With that submission, which by me is paid. + Now all the curses envy ever knew, + Or could invent, Porphyrius pursue! + [_Aside._ + + _Alb._ Placidius does too tamely bear his loss; + [_To_ CHARINUS. + This new pretender will all power engross: + All things must now by his direction move, + And you, sir, must resign your father's love. + + _Char._ Yes; every name to his repute must bow; + There grow no bays for any other brow. + He blasts my early honour in the bud, + Like some tall tree, the monster of the wood; + O'ershading all which under him would grow, + He sheds his venom on the plants below. + + _Alb._ You must some noble action undertake, + Equal with his your own renown to make. + + _Char._ I am not for a slothful envy born; + I'll do't this day, in the dire vision's scorn. + He comes: We two like the twin stars appear; + Never to shine together in one sphere. + [_Exeunt_ CHAR. _and_ ALBINUS. + +_Enter_ PORPHYRIUS _attended_. + + _Max._ Porphyrius, welcome; welcome as the light + To cheerful birds, or as to lovers night; + Welcome as what thou bring'st me, victory. + + _Por._ That waits, sir, on your arms, and not on me. + You left a conquest more than half achieved, + And for whose easiness I almost grieved. + Yours only the Egyptian laurels are; + I bring you but the reliques of your war. + The Christian princess, to receive your doom, + Is from her conquered Alexandria come; + Her mother, in another vessel sent, + A storm surprised, nor know I the event: + Both from your bounty must receive their state, + Or must on your triumphant chariot wait. + + _Max._ From me they can expect no grace, whose minds + An execrable superstition blinds. + + _Apol._ The gods, who raised you to the world's command, + Require these victims from your grateful hand. + + _Por._ To minds resolved, the threats of death are vain; + They run to fires, and there enjoy their pain; + Not Mucius made more haste his hand to expose + To greedy flames, than their whole bodies those. + + _Max._ How to their own destruction they are blind! + Zeal is the pious madness of the mind. + + _Por._ They all our famed philosophers defy, + And would our faith by force of reason try. + + _Apol._ I beg it, sir, by all the powers divine. + That in their right this combat may be mine. + + _Max._ It shall; and fifty doctors of our laws + Be added to you, to maintain the cause. + +_Enter_ BERENICE, _the Empress_; VALERIA, _daughter to the Emperor, and_ +EROTION. + + _Plac._ The empress and your daughter, sir, are here. + + _Por._ What dangers in those charming eyes appear! + [_Looking on the Empress._ + How my old wounds are opened at this view, + And in my murderer's presence bleed anew! + + _Max._ I did expect your coming, to partake + [_To the Ladies._ + The general gladness which my triumphs make. + You did Porphyrius as a courtier know; + But as a conqueror behold him now. + + _Ber._ You know (I read it in your blushing face), + [_To_ POR. + To merit, better than receive a grace: + And I know better silently to own, + Than with vain words to pay your service done. + + _Por._ Princes, like gods, reward ere we deserve; + [_Kneeling to kiss her hand._ + And pay us, in permitting us to serve. + O might I still grow here, and never move! + [_Lower._ + + _Ber._ How dangerous are these ecstacies of love! + He shews his passion to a thousand eyes; + He cannot stir, nor can I bid him rise. + That word my heart refuses to my tongue! + [_Aside._ + + _Max._ Madam, you let the general kneel too long. + + _Por._ Too long! as if eternity were so. + [_Aside._ + + _Ber._ Rise, good Porphyrius--since it must be so. + [_Aside._ + + _Por._ Like hermits from a vision I retire, + [_Rising._ + With eyes too weak to see what I admire. + [_Aside._ + + _Val._ The empress knows your worth; but, sir, there be + [_To_ PORPHYRIUS, _who kisses her hand_. + Those who can value it as high as she. + And 'tis but just (since in my father's cause + You fought) your valour should have my applause. + + _Plac._ O jealousy, how art thou eagle-eyed! + She loves; and would her love in praises hide: + How am I bound this rival to pursue, + Who ravishes my love and fortune too! + [_Aside._ + [_A dead march within, and trumpets._ + + _Max._ Somewhat of mournful, sure, my ears does wound; + Like the hoarse murmurs of a trumpet's sound, + And drums unbraced, with soldiers' broken cries. + +_Enter_ ALBINUS. + + Albinus, whence proceeds this dismal noise? + + _Alb._ Too soon you'll know what I want words to tell. + + _Max._ How fares my son? Is my Charinus well? + Not answer me! Oh my prophetic fear! + + _Alb._ How can I speak, or how, sir, can you hear? + Imagine that which you would most deplore, + And that, which I would speak, is it, or more. + + _Max._ Thy mournful message in thy looks I read: + Is he (oh that I live to ask it!) dead? + + _Alb._ Sir-- + + _Max._ Stay; if thou speak'st that word, thou speak'st thy last: + Some God now, if he dares, relate what's past: + Say but he's dead, that God shall mortal be. + + _Alb._ Then, what I dare not speak, look back and see. + [CHARINUS _borne in dead by soldiers_. + + _Max._ See nothing, eyes, henceforth, but death and woe; + You've done me the worst office you can do. + You've shewn me destiny's preposterous crime; + An unripe fate, disclosed ere nature's time. + + _Plac._ Assuage, great prince, your passion, lest you shew + There's somewhat in your soul which fate can bow. + + _Por._ Fortune should by your greatness be controuled: + Arm your great mind, and let her take no hold. + + _Max._ To tame philosophers teach constancy; + There is no farther use of it in me. + Gods!--but why name I you! + All that was worth a prayer to you is gone;-- + I ask not back my virtue, but my son. + + _Alb._ His too great thirst of fame his ruin brought; + Though, sir, beyond all human force he fought. + + _Plac._ This was my vision of this fatal day! + + _Alb._ With a fierce haste he led our troops the way, + While fiery showers of sulphur on him rained; + Nor left he, till the battlements he gained: + There with a forest of their darts he strove, + And stood, like Capaneus defying Jove; + With his broad sword the boldest beating down, + While fate grew pale lest he should win the town; + And turned the iron leaves of its dark book, + To make new dooms, or mend what it mistook; + Till, sought by many deaths, he sunk, though late, + And by his fall asserted doubtful fate. + + _Val._ Oh my dear brother! whom heaven let us see, + And would not longer suffer him to be! + + _Max._ And didst not thou a death with honour chuse, + [_To_ ALB. + But impudently liv'st to bring this news? + After his loss how did'st thou dare to breathe? + But thy base ghost shall follow him in death. + A decimation I will strictly make + Of all, who my Charinus did forsake; + And of each legion, each centurion + Shall die:--Placidius, see my pleasure done. + + _Por._ Sir, you will lose, by this severity, + Your soldiers' hearts. + + _Max._ Why, they take pay to die. + + _Por._ Then spare Albinus only. + + _Max._ I consent + To leave his life to be his punishment. + Discharged from trust, branded with infamy, + Let him live on, till he ask leave to die. + + _Ber._ Let me petition for him. + + _Max._ I have said; + And will not be intreated, but obeyed. + But, empress, whence does your compassion grow? + + _Ber._ You need not ask it, since my birth you know. + The race of Antonines was named the good: + I draw my pity from my royal blood. + + _Max._ Still must I be upbraided with your line? + I know you speak it in contempt of mine. + But your late brother did not prize me less, + Because I could not boast of images; + And the Gods own me more, when they decreed, + A Thracian shepherd should your line succeed. + + _Ber._ The Gods! O do not name the powers divine, + They never mingled their decrees with thine. + My brother gave me to thee for a wife, + And for my dowry thou didst take his life. + + _Max._ The Gods by many victories have shewn, + That they my merits and his death did own. + + _Ber._ Yes, they have owned it; witness this just day, + When they begin thy mischiefs to repay. + See the reward of all thy wicked care + Before thee; thy succession ended there. + Yet, but in part my brother's ghost is pleased; + Restless till all the groaning world be eased. + For me, no other happiness I own, + Than to have borne no issue to thy throne. + + _Max._ Provoke my rage no farther, lest I be + Revenged at once upon the gods and thee. + + _Por._ What horrid tortures seize my labouring mind, + O, only excellent of all thy kind, + To hear thee threatened, while I idle stand! + Heaven! was I born to fear a tyrant's hand? + [_Aside._ + + _Max._ [_to Ber_.] Hence from my sight!--thy blood, + If thou dost stay---- + + _Ber._ Tyrant! too well to that thou knowest the way. + [_Going._ + + _Por._ Let baser souls from falling fortunes fly: + I'll pay my duty to her, though I die. + [_Exit, leading her._ + + _Max._ What made Porphyrius so officious be? + The action looked as done in scorn of me. + + _Val._ It did, indeed, some little freedom shew; + But somewhat to his services you owe. + + _Max._ Yet if I thought it his presumption were-- + + _Plac._ Perhaps he did not your displeasure hear. + + _Max._ My anger was too loud, not to be heard. + + _Plac._ I'm loth to think he did it not regard. + + _Max._ How, not regard! + + _Val._ Placidius, you foment, + On too light grounds, my father's discontent. + But when an action does two faces wear, + 'Tis justice to believe what is most fair. + I think, that, knowing what respect there rests + For her late brother in the soldiers' breasts, + He went to serve the emperor; and designed + Only to calm the tempest in her mind, + Lest some sedition in the camp should rise. + + _Max._ I ever thought him loyal as he's wise. + Since therefore all the Gods their spite have shewn + To rob my age of a successive throne; + And you who now remain, + The only issue of my former bed, + In empire cannot, by your sex, succeed; + To bind Porphyrius firmly to the state, + I will this day my Caesar him create: + And, daughter, I will give him you for wife. + + _Val._ O day, the best and happiest of my life! + + _Plac._ O day, the most accurst I ever knew! + [_Aside._ + + _Max._ See to my son performed each funeral due: + Then to the toils of war we will return, + And make our enemies our losses mourn. + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT II. + + +SCENE I.--_The Royal Camp_. + +_Enter_ BERENICE _and_ PORPHYRIUS. + + _Ber._ Porphyrius, you too far did tempt your fate, + In owning her, the emperor does hate. + 'Tis true, your duty to me it became; + But, praising that, I must your conduct blame. + + _Por._ Not to have owned my zeal at such a time, + Were to sin higher than your tyrant's crime. + + _Ber._ 'Twas too much, my disgrace to accompany; + A silent wish had been enough for me. + + _Por._ Wishes are aids faint servants may supply, + Who ask heaven for you what themselves deny. + Could I do less than my respect to pay, + Where I before had given my heart away? + + _Ber._ You fail in that respect you seem to bear, + When you speak words unfit for me to hear. + + _Por._ Yet you did once accept those vows I paid. + + _Ber._ Those vows were then to Berenice made; + But cannot now be heard without a sin, + When offered to the wife of Maximin. + + _Por._ Has, then, the change of fortune changed your will? + Ah! why are you not Berenice still? + To Maximin you once declared your hate; + Your marriage was a sacrifice to th' state: + Your brother made it to secure his throne, + Which this man made a step to mount it on. + + _Ber._ Whatever Maximin has been, or is, + I am to bear, since heaven has made me his; + For wives, who must themselves of power divest, + When they love blindly, for their peace love best. + + _Por._ If mutual love be vowed when faith you plight, + Then he, who forfeits first, has lost his right. + + _Ber._ Husbands a forfeiture of love may make; + But what avails the forfeit none can take? + As, in a general wreck, + The pirate sinks with his ill-gotten gains, + And nothing to another's use remains, + So, by his loss, no gain to you can fall: + The sea, and vast destruction swallows all. + + _Por._ Yet he, who from the shore the wreck descries, + May lawfully enrich him with the prize. + + _Ber._ Who sees the wreck, can yet no title plead, + Till he be sure the owner first is dead. + + _Por._ If that be all the claim I want to love, + This pirate of your heart I'll soon remove, + And, at one stroke, the world and you set free. + + _Ber._ Leave to the care of heaven that world and me. + + _Por._ Heaven as its instrument my courage sends. + + _Ber._ Heaven ne'er sent those who fight for private ends. + We both are bound by trust, and must be true; + I to his bed, and to his empire you. + For he who to the bad betrays his trust, + Though he does good, becomes himself unjust. + + _Por._ When Brutus did from Caesar Rome redeem, + The act was good. + + _Ber._ But was not good in him. + You see the Gods adjudged it parricide, + By dooming the event on Caesar's side. + 'Tis virtue not to be obliged at all; + Or not conspire our benefactor's fall. + + _Por._ You doom me then to suffer all this ill, + And yet I doom myself to love you still. + + _Ber._ Dare not Porphyrius suffer then with me, + Since what for him, I for myself decree? + + _Por._ How can I bear those griefs you disapprove? + + _Ber._ To ease them, I'll permit you still to love. + + _Por._ That will but haste my death, if you think fit + Not to reward, but barely to permit. + Love without hope does like a torture wound, + Which makes me reach in pain, to touch the ground. + + _Ber._ If hope, then, to your life so needful be, + Hope still. + + _Por._ Blest news! + + _Ber._ But hope in heaven, not me. + + _Por._ Love is too noble such deceits to use: + Referring me to heaven, your gift I lose. + So princes cheaply may our wants supply, + When they give that, their treasurers deny. + + _Ber._ Love blinds my virtue:--If I longer stay + It will grow dark, and I shall lose my way. + + _Por._ One kiss from this fair hand can be no sin;-- + ask not that you gave to Maximin. + In full reward of all the pains I've past, + Give me but one. + + _Ber._ Then let it be your last. + + _Por._ 'Tis gone! + Like soldiers prodigal of their arrears, + One minute spends the pay of many years. + Let but one more be added to the sum, + And pay at once for all my pains to come. + + _Ber._ Unthrifts will starve, if we beforehand give: + [_Pulling back her hand._ + I'll see you shall have just enough to live. + +_Enter_ EROTION. + + _Ero._ Madam, the emperor is drawing near; + And comes, they say, to seek Porphyrius here. + + _Ber._ Alas! + + _Por._ I will not ask what he intends; + My life, or death, alone on you depends. + + _Ber._ I must withdraw; but must not let him know + [_Aside._ + How hard the precepts of my virtue grow! + But whate'er fortune is for me designed, + Sweet heaven, be still to brave Porphyrius kind! + [_Exit with_ EROTION. + + _Por._ She's gone unkindly, and refused to cast + One glance to feed me for so long a fast. + +_Enter_ MAXIMIN, PLACIDIUS, _and guards_. + + _Max._ Porphyrius, since the Gods have ravished one, + I come in you to seek another son. + Succeed him then in my imperial states; + Succeed in all, but his untimely fate. + If I adopt you with no better grace, + Pardon a father's tears upon my face, + And give them to Charinus' memory: + May they not prove as ominous to thee! + + _Por._ With what misfortunes heaven torments me still! + Why must I be obliged to one so ill? + [_Aside._ + + _Max._ Those offers which I made you, sir, were such, + No private man should need to balance much. + + _Por._ Who durst his thoughts to such ambition lift? + [_Kneeling._ + The greatness of it made me doubt the gift. + The distance was so vast, that to my view + It made the object seem at first untrue; + And now 'tis near, the sudden excellence + Strikes through, and flashes on my tender sense. + + _Max._ Yet heaven and earth, which so remote appear, + [_Raising him._ + Are by the air, which flows betwixt them, near; + And 'twixt us two my daughter be the chain, + One end with me, and one with you remain. + + _Por._ You press me down with such a glorious fate, + [_Kneeling again._ + I cannot rise against the mighty weight. + Permit I may retire some little space, + And gather strength to bear so great a grace. + [_Exit bowing._ + + _Plac._ How love and fortune lavishly contend, + Which should Porphyrius' wishes most befriend! + The mid-streams his; I, creeping by the side, + Am shouldered off by his impetuous tide. + [_Aside._ + +_Enter_ VALERIUS _hastily_. + + _Val._ I hope my business may my haste excuse; + For, sir, I bring you most surprising news. + The Christian princess in her tent confers + With fifty of our learned philosophers; + Whom with such eloquence she does persuade, + That they are captives to her reasons made. + I left them yielding up their vanquished cause, + And all the soldiers shouting her applause; + Even Apollonius does but faintly speak, + Whose voice the murmurs of the assistants break. + + _Max._ Conduct this captive Christian to my tent; + She shall be brought to speedy punishment. + I must in time some remedy provide, + [_Exit_ VAL. + Lest this contagious error spread too wide. + + _Plac._ To infected zeal you must no mercy shew; + For, from religion all rebellions grow. + + _Max._ The silly crowd, by factious teachers brought + To think that faith untrue, their youth was taught, + Run on in new opinions, blindly bold, + Neglect, contemn, and then assault the old. + The infectious madness seizes every part, + And from the head distils upon the heart. + And first they think their prince's faith not true, + And then proceed to offer him a new; + Which if refused, all duty from them cast, + To their new faith they make new kings at last. + + _Plac._ Those ills by mal-contents are often wrought, + That by their prince their duty may be bought. + They head those holy factions which they hate, + To sell their duty at a dearer rate. + But, sir, the tribune is already here, + With your fair captive. + + _Max._ Bid them both appear. + +_Enter St_ CATHERINE, VALERIUS, APOLLONIUS, _and Guards_. + + See where she comes, with that high air and mein, + Which marks, in bonds, the greatness of a queen. + What pity 'tis!--but I no charms must see + In her, who to our gods is enemy.---- + Fair foe of heaven, whence comes this haughty pride, + [_To her._ + Or, is it frenzy does your mind misguide + To scorn our worship, and new gods to find? + + _S. Cath._ Nor pride, nor frenzy, but a settled mind, + Enlightened from above, my way does mark. + + _Max._ Though heaven be clear, the way to it is dark. + + _S. Cath._ But where our reason with our faith does go, + We're both above enlightened, and below. + But reason with your fond religion fights, + For many gods are many infinites: + This to the first philosophers was known, + Who, under various names, adored but one; + Though your vain poets, after, did mistake, + Who every attribute a god did make; + And so obscene their ceremonies be, + As good men loath, and Cato blushed to see. + + _Max._ War is my province!--Priest, why stand you mute? + You gain by heaven, and, therefore, should dispute. + + _Apol._ In all religions, as in ours, there are + Some solid truths, and some things popular. + The popular in pleasing fables lie; + The truths, in precepts of morality. + And these to human life are of that use, + That no religion can such rules produce. + + _S. Cath._ Then let the whole dispute concluded be + Betwixt these rules, and christianity. + + _Apol._ And what more noble can your doctrine preach, + Than virtue, which philosophy does teach? + To keep the passions in severest awe, + To live to reason, nature's greatest law; + To follow virtue, as its own reward; + And good and ill, as things without regard. + + _S. Cath._ Yet few could follow those strict rules they gave; + For human life will human frailties have; + And love of virtue is but barren praise, + Airy as fame; nor strong enough to raise + The actions of the soul above the sense. + Virtue grows cold without a recompence. + We virtuous acts as duty do regard; + Yet are permitted to expect reward. + + _Apol._ By how much more your faith reward assures, + So much more frank our virtue is than yours. + + _S. Cath._ Blind men! you seek e'en those rewards you blame: + But ours are solid; yours an empty name. + Either to open praise your acts you guide, + Or else reward yourselves with secret pride. + + _Apol._ Yet still our moral virtues you obey; + Ours are the precepts, though applied your way. + + _S. Cath._ 'Tis true, your virtues are the same we teach; + But in our practice they much higher reach. + You but forbid to take another's due, + But we forbid even to desire it too: + Revenge of injuries you virtue call; + But we forgiveness of our wrongs extol: + Immodest deeds you hinder to be wrought, + But we proscribe the least immodest thought. + So much your virtues are in ours refined, + That yours but reach the actions, ours the mind. + + _Max._ Answer, in short, to what you heard her speak. + [_To_ APOL. + + _Apol._ Where truth prevails, all arguments are weak. + To that convincing power I must give place; + And with that truth that faith I will embrace. + + _Max._ O traitor to our gods--but more to me! + Dar'st thou of any faith but of thy prince's be? + But sure thou rav'st; thy foolish error find: + Cast up the poison that infects thy mind, + And shun the torments thou art sure to feel. + + _Apol._ Nor fire, nor torture, nor revenging steel + Can on my soul the least impression make: + How gladly, truth, I suffer for thy sake! + Once I was ignorant of what was so; + But never can abandon truth I know. + My martyrdom I to thy crown prefer; + Truth is a cause for a philosopher. + + _S. Cath._ Lose not that courage which heaven does inspire; + [_To_ APOL. + But fearless go to be baptised in fire. + Think 'tis a triumph, not a danger near: + Give him your blood; but give him not a tear. + Go, and prepare my seat; and hovering be + Near that bright space, which is reserved for me. + + _Max._ Hence with the traitor; bear him to his fate. + + _Apol._ Tyrant, I fear thy pity, not thy hate: + A life eternal I by death obtain. + + _Max._ Go, carry him, where he that life may gain. + [_Exeunt_ APOL. VAL. _and Guards_. + + _Plac._ From this enchantress all these ills are come: + You are not safe till you pronounce her doom. + Each hour she lives a legion sweeps away; + She'll make your army martyrs in a day. + + _Max._ 'Tis just: This Christian sorceress shall die. + Would I had never proved her sorcery! + Not that her charming tongue this change has bred; + I fear 'tis something that her eyes have said. + I love; and am ashamed it should be seen. + [_Aside._ + + _Plac._ Sir, shall she die? + + _Max._ Consider, she's a queen. + + _Plac._ Those claims in Cleopatra ended were. + + _Max._ How many Cleopatra's live in her! + [_Aside._ + + _Plac._ When you condemned her, sir, she was a queen. + + _Max._ No, slave! she only was a captive then. + + _S. Cath._ My joyful sentence you defer too long. + + _Max._ I never knew that life was such a wrong. + But if you needs will die,--it shall be so. + --Yet think it does from your perverseness flow. + Men say, indeed, that I in blood delight; + But you shall find--haste, take her from my sight! + --For Maximin I have too much confest; + And, for a lover, not enough exprest. + Absent, I may her martyrdom decree; + But one look more will make that martyr me. + [_Exit St_ CATHARINE, _guarded_. + + _Plac._ What is it, sir, that shakes your mighty mind? + + _Max._ Somewhat I am ashamed that thou shouldst find. + + _Plac._ If it be love, which does your soul possess---- + + _Max._ Are you my rival, that so soon you guess? + + _Plac._ Far, mighty prince, be such a crime from me; + [_Kneeling._ + Which, with the pride, includes impiety. + Could you forgive it, yet the gods above + Would never pardon me a Christian love. + + _Max._ Thou liest:--There's not a God inhabits there, + But for this Christian would all heaven forswear. + Even Jove would try more shapes her love to win, } + And in new birds, and unknown beasts, would sin: } + At least, if Jove could love like Maximin. } + + _Plac._ A captive, sir, who would a martyr die? + + _Max._ She courts not death, but shuns captivity. + Great gifts, and greater promises I'll make: + And what religion is't, but they can shake? + She shall live high;--Devotion in distress + Is born, but vanishes in happiness. + [_Exit_ MAX. + + _Plac._ [_Solus_.] His son forgot, his empress unappeased-- + How soon the tyrant with new love is seized! + Love various minds does variously inspire: + He stirs, in gentle natures, gentle fire, + Like that of incense on the altars laid; + But raging flames tempestuous souls invade; + A fire, which every windy passion blows; + With pride it mounts, and with revenge it glows. + But I accursed, who servilely must move, + And sooth his passion, for his daughters love! + Small hope, 'tis true, attends my mighty care; + But of all passions love does last despair. + [_Exit._ + + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE I.--_The Royal Pavilion_. + +_Enter_ MAXIMIN, PLACIDIUS, _Guards, and Attendants_. + + _Max._ This love, that never could my youth engage, + Peeps out his coward head to dare my age. + Where hast thou been thus long, thou sleeping form, + That wak'st, like drowsy seamen, in a storm? + A sullen hour thou chusest for thy birth: + My love shoots up in tempests, as the earth + Is stirred and loosened in a blust'ring wind, + Whose blasts to waiting flowers her womb unbind. + + _Plac._ Forgive me, if I say your passions are + So rough, as if in love you would make war. + But love is soft-- + And with soft beauty tenderly complies; + In lips it laughs, and languishes in eyes. + + _Max._ There, let it laugh; or, like an infant, weep: + I cannot such a supple passion keep. + Mine, stiff with age, and stubborn as my arms, + Walks upright; stoops not to, but meets her charms. + + _Plac._ Yet fierceness suits not with her gentle kind; + They brave assaults, but may be undermined. + + _Max._ Till I in those mean arts am better read, + Court thou, and fawn, and flatter in my stead. + +_Enter St_ CATHARINE. + + She comes; and now, methinks, I could obey; + Her form glides through me, and my heart gives way: + This iron heart, which no impression took + From wars, melts down, and runs, if she but look. + [_Exit_ MAXIMIN. + + _Plac._ Madam, I from the emperor am come, + To applaud your virtue, and reverse your doom. + He thinks, whatever your religion be, + This palm is owing to your constancy. + + _S. Cath._ My constancy from him seeks no renown; + Heaven, that proposed the course, will give the crown. + + _Plac._ But monarchs are the gods' vicegerents here; + Heaven gives rewards; but what it gives they bear: + From heaven to you the Egyptian crown is sent, + Yet 'tis a prince who does the gift present. + + _S. Cath._ The deity I serve, had he thought fit, + Could have preserved my crown unconquered yet: + But when his secret Providence designed + To level that, he levelled too my mind; + Which, by contracting its desires, is taught + The humble quiet of possessing nought. + + _Plac._ To stoicks leave a happiness so mean: + Your virtue does deserve a nobler scene. + You are not for obscurity designed, + But, like the sun, must cheer all human kind. + + _S. Cath._ No happiness can be, where is no rest: + Th' unknown, untalked of man is only blest. + He, as in some safe cliff, his cell does keep, + From whence he views the labours of the deep: + The gold-fraught vessel, which mad tempests beat, + He sees now vainly make to his retreat; + And when, from far, the tenth wave does appear, + Shrinks up in silent joy, that he's not there. + + _Plac._ You have a pilot who your ship secures; + The monarch both of earth and seas is yours; + He, who so freely gives a crown away, + Yet asks no tribute but what you may pay. + One smile on him a greater wealth bestows, + Than Egypt yields, when Nilus overflows. + + _S. Cath._ I cannot wholly innocent appear, + Since I have lived such words as these to hear. + O heaven, which dost of chastity take care-- + + _Plac._ Why do you lose an unregarded prayer? + If happiness, as you believe, be rest, + That quiet sure is by the gods possest:-- + 'Tis greatness to neglect, or not to know, + The little business of the world below. + + _S. Cath._ This doctrine well befitted him, who thought + A casual world was from wild atoms wrought: + But such an order in each chance we see, + (Chained to its cause, as that to its decree,) + That none can think a workmanship so rare + Was built, or kept, without a workman's care. + +_To them_ MAXIMIN, _Attendants, and Guards_. + + _Max._ Madam, you from Placidius may have heard + Some news, which will your happiness regard; + For what a greater happiness can be, + Than to be courted and be loved by me? + The Egyptian crown I to your hands remit; + And, with it, take his heart, who offers it. + [_She turns aside._ + Do you my person and my gift contemn? + + _S. Cath._ My hopes pursue a brighter diadem. + + _Max._ Can any brighter than the Roman be? + I find my proffered love has cheapen'd me: + Since you neglect to answer my desires, + Know, princess, you shall burn in other fires. + ----Why should you urge me to so black a deed? + Think all my anger did from love proceed. + + _S. Cath._ Nor threats nor promises my mind can move; + Your furious anger, nor your impious love. + + _Max._ The love of you can never impious be; + You are so pure---- + That in the act 'twould change the impiety. + Heaven would unmake it sin!---- + + _S. Cath._ I take myself from that detested sight: + To my respect thou hast no longer right: + Such power in bonds true piety can have, + That I command, and thou art but a slave. + [_Exit St_ CATH. + + + _Max._ To what a height of arrogance she swells! + Pride, or ill-nature, still with virtue dwells. + Her death shall set me free this very hour; + ----But is her death within a lover's power? + Wild with my rage, more wild with my desire, + Like meeting tides--but mine are tides of fire. + What petty promise was't that caused this frown? + + _Plac._ You heard: No less than the Egyptian crown. + + _Max._ Throw Egypt's by, and offer, in the stead, + Offer----the crown on Berenice's head. + I am resolved to double till I win; + About it straight, and send Porphyrius in. + [_Exit_ PLAC. + We look like eagles towering in the sky; + While her high flight still raises mine more high. + +_To him_ PORPHYRIUS. + + _Por._ I come, sir, to expect your great commands. + + _Max._ My happiness lies only in thy hands; + And, since I have adopted thee my son, + I'll keep no secret from thy breast unknown. + Led by the interest of my rising fate, + I did espouse this empress, whom I hate; + And, therefore, with less shame I may declare, + That I the fetters of thy captive wear. + + _Por._ Sir, you amaze me with so strange a love. + + _Max._ Pity, my son, those flames you disapprove. + The cause of love can never be assigned; + 'Tis in no face, but in the lover's mind. + + _Por._ Yet there are beauties which attract all hearts, + And all mankind lies open to their darts; + Whose sovereignty, without dispute, we grant; + Such graces, sure, your empress does not want. + + _Max._ Beauty has bounds---- + And can no more to every heart be so, + Than any coin through every land can go. + Some secret grace, which is but so to me, + Though not so great, may yet more powerful be. + All guard themselves when stronger foes invade; } + Yet, by the weak, surprises may be made: } + But you, my son, are not to judge, but aid. } + + _Por._ What is it, sir, you can require of me? + + _Max._ I would from Berenice's bonds be free; + This yoke of marriage from us both remove, + Where two are bound to draw, though neither love. + + _Por._ Neither the gods nor man will give consent + To put in practice your unjust intent. + + _Max._ Both must consent to that which I decree. + + _Por._ The soldiers love her brother's memory; + And for her sake some mutiny will stir. + + _Max._ Our parting, therefore, shall be sought by her. + Go, bid her sue for a divorce, or die; + I'll cut the knot, if she will not untie: + Haste to prepare her, and thyself return; + Thy Hymen's torch this day with mine shall burn. + [_Exit._ + + _Por._ Rather my funeral-torch; for, though I know + Valeria's fair, and that she loves me too, + 'Gainst her my soul is armed on every part: + Yet there are secret rivets to my heart, + Where Berenice's charms have found the way; + Subtle as lightnings, but more fierce than they. + How shall I this avoid, or gain that love! + So near the rock, I to the port must move. + +_To him_ VALERIA _attended_. + + _Val._ Porphyrius, now my joy I may express, + Nor longer hide the love I must possess. + Should I have staid till marriage made us one, + You might have thought it was by duty done; + But of my heart I now a present make; + And give it you, ere it be yours to take. + Accept it as when early fruit we send; + And let the rareness the small gift commend. + + _Por._ Great monarchs, like your father, often give + What is above a subject to receive. + But faithful officers should countermand + And stop the gift, that passes through their hand; + And to their prince that mass of wealth restore, + Which, lavished thus, would make whole nations poor. + + _Val._ But to this gift a double right you have: + My father gives but what before I gave. + + _Por._ In vain you such unequal presents make, + Which I still want capacity to take. + Such fatal bounty once the Gauls did show; + They threw their rings, but threw their targets too. + Bounty, so placed, does more like ruin look; + You pour the ocean on a narrow brook. + + _Val._ Yet, if your love before prepares a boat, + The stream so poured, drowns not, but makes it float. + + _Por._ But when the vessel is on quicksands cast, + The flowing tide does more the sinking haste. + + _Val._ And on what quicksands can your heart be thrown? + Can you a love besides Valeria's own? + + _Por._ If he who at your feet his heart would lay, + Be met with first, and robbed upon the way, + You may indeed the robber's strength accuse, + But pardon him, who did the present lose. + + _Val._ Who is this thief, that does my right possess? + Name her, and then we of her strength may guess.-- + From whence does your unwonted silence come? + + _Por._ She bound and gagged me, and has left me dumb. + + _Val._ But of my wrongs I will aloud complain. + False man, thou wouldst excuse thyself in vain; + For thee I did a maiden's blush forsake; + And owned a love thou hast refused to take. + + _Por._ Refused it!--like a miser, midst his store, + Who grasps and grasps, till he can hold no more; + And when his strength is wanting to his mind, + Looks back, and sighs on what he left behind. + + _Val._ No, I resume that heart thou didst possess; + My father shall my injuries redress: + With me thou losest his imperial crown, + And speedy death attends upon his frown. + + _Por._ You may revenge your wrongs a nobler way; + Command my death, and I will soon obey. + + _Val._ No, live! for, on thy life my cure depends: + In debtors' deaths all obligation ends: + 'Twill be some ease ungrateful thee to call; + And, bankrupt-like, say, trusting him lost all. + + _Por._ Upbraided thus, what generous man would live! + But fortune will revenge what you forgive. + When I refuse, (as in few hours I must) + This offered grace, your father will be just. + + _Val._ Be just! say rather he will cruel prove, + To kill that only person I can love. + Yet so it is!---- + Your interest in the army is so high, + That he must make you his, or you must die. + It is resolved! whoe'er my rival be, + [_Aside, after a pause._ + I'll show that I deserve him more than she; + And if, at last, he does ungrateful prove, + My constancy itself rewards my love. + [_Exit._ + + _Por._ She's gone, and, gazing round about, I see + Nothing but death, or glorious misery; + Here empire stands, if I could love displace; + There, hopeless love, with more imperial grace; + Thus, as a sinking hero, compassed round. + Beckons his bravest foe for his last wound, + And him into his part of fame does call, + I'll turn my face to love, and there I'll fall. + +_To him_ BERENICE, _and_ EROTION. + + _Ber._ I come, Porphyrius, to congratulate + This happy change of your exalted fate: + You to the empire are, I hear, designed; + And fair Valeria must the alliance bind. + + _Por._ Would heaven had my succession so decreed, + That I in all might Maximin succeed! + He offers me the imperial crown, 'tis true: + I would succeed him, but it is in you. + + _Ber._ In me! I never did accept your love: + But you, I see, would handsomely remove; + And I can give you leave, without a frown: + I always thought you merited a crown. + + _Por._ I never sought that crown but on your brow; + But you with such indifference would allow + My change, that you have killed me with that breath; + I feel your scorn cold as the hand of death. + + _Ber._ You'll come to life in your Valeria's arms. + 'Tis true, I cannot boast of equal charms; + Or, if I could, I never did admit + Your love to me, but only suffered it. + I am a wife, and can make no return; + And 'twere but vain in hopeless fires to burn. + + _Por._ Unkind! can you, whom only I adore, + Set open to your slave the prison-door? + You use my heart just as you would afford + A fatal freedom to some harmless bird, + Whom, breeding, you ne'er taught to seek its food; + And now let fly to perish in the wood. + + _Ber._ Then, if you will love on, and disobey, + And lose an empire for my sake, you may. + Will a kind look from me pay all this score, + For you well know you must expect no more? + + _Por._ All I deserve it will, not all I wish: + But I will brave the tyrant's rage for this. + If I refuse, my death must needs ensue; + But you shall see that I dare die for you. + + _Ber._ Would you, for me, + A beauty, and an empire too deny? + I love you now so well--that you shall die. + Die mine! 'tis all I can, with honour, give: + Nor should you die, if after, I would live. + But when your marriage and your death I view, + That, makes you false, but this will keep you true. + + _Por._ Unbind thy brows, and look abroad to see, + O mighty love, thy mightiest victory! + + _Ber._ And yet----is there no other way to try? + 'Tis hard to say I love, and let you die. + + _Por._ Yes, there remains some help which you might give, + If you, as I would die for love, would live. + + _Ber._ If death for love be sweet, sure life is more: + Teach me the means your safety to restore. + + _Por._ Your tyrant the Egyptian princess loves; + And to that height his swelling passion moves, + That, fearing in your death the soldiers' force, + He from your bed does study a divorce. + + _Ber._ The Egyptian princess I disputing heard, + And as a miracle her mind regard. + But yet I wish that this divorce be true. + [_Gives her hand._ + + _Por._ 'Tis, madam, but it must be sought by you. + By this he will all mutinies prevent; + And this as well secures your own content. + + _Ber._ I hate this tyrant, and his bed I loath; + But, once submitting, I am tied to both: + Tied to that honour, which all women owe, + Though not their husband's person, yet their vow. + Something so sacred in that bond there is, + That none should think there could be aught amiss: + And if there be, we should in silence hide + Those faults, which blame our choice, when they are spied. + + _Por._ But, since to all the world his crimes are known. + And by himself the civil war's begun, + Would you the advantage of the fight delay, + If, striking first, you were to win the day? + + _Ber._ I would, like Jews upon their sabbath, fall; + And, rather than strike first, not strike at all. + + _Por._ Against yourself you sadly prophecy: + You either this divorce must seek, or die. + + _Ber._ Then death from all my griefs shall set me free. + + _Por._ And would you rather chuse your death, than me? + + _Ber._ My earthly part---- + Which is my tyrant's right, death will remove; + I'll come all soul and spirit to your love. + With silent steps I'll follow you all day, + Or else before you, in the sun beams, play: + I'll lead you thence to melancholy groves, + And there repeat the scenes of our past loves: + At night, I will within your curtains peep; + With empty arms embrace you while you sleep: + In gentle dreams I often will be by, + And sweep along before your closing eye: + All dangers from your bed I will remove; + But guard it most from any future love: + And when, at last, in pity, you will die, + I'll watch your birth of immortality: + Then, turtle-like, I'll to my mate repair, + And teach you your first flight in open air. + [_Exit_ BERENICE _and_ ERATION. + + _Por._ She has but done what honour did require; + Nor can I blame that love, which I admire. + But then her death! + I'll stand betwixt, it first shall pierce my heart: + We will be stuck together on his dart. + But yet the danger not so high does grow: + I'll charge death first, perhaps repulse him too. + But if, o'erpowered, I must be overcome, + Forced back, I'll fight each inch into my tomb. + [_Exit._ + + + + +ACT IV. + + +SCENE I.--_An Indian cave_. + +_Enter_ PLACIDIUS _and_ NIGRINUS. NIGRINUS, _with two drawn swords, held +upward in his hands_. + + _Plac._ All other means have failed to move her heart; + Our last resource is, therefore, to your art. + + _Nig._ Of wars, and bloodshed, and of dire events, + Of fates, and fighting kings, their instruments, + I could with greater certainty foretell; + Love only does in doubts and darkness dwell. + For, like a wind, it in no quarter stays, + But points and veers each hour a thousand ways. + On women love depends, and they on will; + Chance turns their orb, while destiny sits still. + + _Plac._ Leave nothing unattempted in your power: + Remember you oblige an emperor. + + _Nig._ An earthy fiend by compact me obeys; + But him to light intents I must not raise. + Some astral forms I must invoke by prayer, + Framed all of purest atoms of the air; + Not in their natures simply good or ill; + But most subservient to bad spirits' will, + Nakar of these does lead the mighty band, + For eighty legions move at his command: + Gentle to all, but, far above the rest, + Mild Nakar loves his soft Damilcar best. + In airy chariots they together ride, + And sip the dew as through the clouds they glide: + These are the spirits, which in love have power. + + _Plac._ Haste, and invoke them in a happy hour. + + _Nig._ And so it proves: For, counting seven from noon, + 'Tis Venus' hour, and in the waxing moon, + With chalk I first describe a circle here, + Where these etherial spirits must appear. + Come in, come in; for here they will be strait: + Around, around, the place I fumigate: + My fumigation is to Venus just: + The souls of roses, and red coral's dust; + A lump of Sperma Ceti; and to these + The stalks and chips of Lignum Aloes; + And, last, to make my fumigation good, + 'Tis mixt with sparrows' brains, and pigeons' blood. + [NIGRINUS _takes up the swords._ + They come, they come, they come! I hear them now. + + _Plac._ A death-like damp sits cold upon my brow, + And misty vapours swim before my sight. + + _Nig._ They come not in a shape to cause your fright. + +NAKAR and DAMILCAR descend in clouds, and sing, + + Nakar. _Hark, my Damilcar, we are called below!_ + + Dam. _Let us go, let us go! + Go to relieve the care + Of longing lovers in despair!_ + + Nakar. _Merry, merry, merry, we sail from the east, + Half tippled at a rainbow feast._ + + Dam. _In the bright moonshine while winds whistle loud, + Tivy, tivy, tivy, we mount and we fly, + All racking along in a downy white cloud: + And lest our leap from the sky should prove too far, + We slide on the back of a new-falling star._ + + Nakar. _And drop from above + In a jelly of love!_ + + Dam. _But now the sun's down, and the element's red, + The spirits of fire against us make head!_ + + Nakar. _They muster, they muster, like gnats in the air: + Alas! I must leave thee, my fair; + And to my light horse-men repair._ + + Dam. _O stay, for you need not to fear them to-night; + The wind is for us, and blows full in their sight: + And o'er the wide ocean we fight! + Like leaves in the autumn our foes will fall down; + And hiss in the water._ + + Both. _And hiss in the water, and drown!_ + + Nakar. _But their men lie securely intrenched in a cloud, + And a trumpeter-hornet to battle sounds loud._ + + Dam. _Now mortals that spy + How we tilt in the sky, + With wonder will gaze; + And fear such events as will ne'er come to pass._ + + Nakar. _Stay you to perform what the men will have done._ + + Dam. _Then call me again when the battle is won._ + + Both. _So ready and quick is a spirit of air + To pity the lover, and succour the fair, + That, silent and swift, the little soft god + Is here with a wish, and is gone with a nod._ + [The clouds part, NAKAR flies up, and DAMILCAR down. + + _Nig._ I charge thee, spirit, stay; and by the power + [_To_ DAMILCAR. + Of Nakar's love, and of this holy wand, + On the north quarter of my circle stand, + (Seven foot around for my defence I take.) + To all my questions faithful answers make! + So mayest thou live thy thousand years in peace, + And see thy airy progeny increase: + So mayest thou still continue young and fair, + Fed by the blast of pure aetherial air, + And, thy full term expired, without all pain, + Dissolve into thy astral source again. + + _Dam._ Name not my hated rival Gemory, + And I'll speak true whate'er thy questions be. + + _Nig._ Thy rival's hated name I will refrain: + Speak, shall the emperor his love obtain? + + _Dam._ Few hours shall pass before your emperor shall be + Possessed of that he loves, or from that love be free. + + _Plac._ Shall I enjoy that beauty I adore? + + _Dam._ She, suppliant-like, ere long, thy succour shall implore: + And thou with her thou lovest in happiness may'st live, + If she not dies before, who all thy joys can give. + + _Nig._ Say, what does the Egyptian princess now? + + _Dam._ A gentle slumber sits upon her brow. + + _Nig._ Go, stand before her in a golden dream: + Set all the pleasures of the world to shew, + And in vain joys let her loose spirit flow. + + _Dam._ Twice fifty tents remove her from your sight, + But I'll cut through them all with rays of light; + And covering other objects to your eyes, + Shew where entranced in silent sleep she lies. + +DAMILCAR _stamps, and the bed arises with St_ CATHARINE _in it_. + + DAMILCAR singing. + + _You pleasing dreams of love and sweet delight, + Appear before this slumbering virgins sight: + Soft visions set her free + From mournful piety. + Let her sad thoughts from heaven retire; + And let the melancholy love + Of those remoter joys above + Give place to your more sprightly fire. + Let purling streams be in her fancy seen; + And flowery meads, and vales of chearful green: + And in the midst of deathless groves + Soft sighing wishes lie, + And smiling hopes fast by, + And just beyond them ever-laughing loves._ + +_A_ SCENE _of a Paradise is discovered_. + + _Plac._ Some pleasing objects do her mind employ; + For on her face I read a wandering joy. + + + SONG. + + Dam. _Ah how sweet it is to love! + Ah how gay is young desire! + And what pleasing pains we prove + When we first approach love's fire! + Pains of love be sweeter far + Than all other pleasures are._ + + _Sighs, which are from lovers blown, + Do but gently heave the heart: + Even the tears they shed alone, + Cure, like trickling balm, their smart. + Lovers when they lose their breath, + Bleed away in easy death._ + + _Love and time with reverence use, + Treat them like a parting friend: + Nor the golden gifts refuse, + Which in youth sincere they send: + For each year their price is more, + And they less simple than before._ + + _Love, like spring-tides full and high, + Swells in every youthful vein; + But each tide does less supply, + Till they quite shrink in again: + If a flow in age appear, + 'Tis but rain, and runs not clear._ + +_At the end of the Song a Dance of Spirits. After which_ AMARIEL, _the +Guardian-Angel of St_ CATHARINE, _descends to soft music, with a flaming +sword. The spirits crawl off the stage amazedly, and_ DAMILCAR _runs to +a corner of it_. + + _Amar._ From the bright empire of eternal day, + Where waiting minds for heaven's commission stay, + Amariel flies: A darted mandate came + From that great will which moves this mighty frame; + Bid me to thee, my royal charge, repair, + To guard thee from the daemons of the air; + My flaming sword above them to display, + (All keen, and ground upon the edge of day;) + The flat to sweep the visions from thy mind, + The edge to cut them through that stay behind. + Vain spirits, you, that, shunning heaven's high noon, + Swarm here beneath the concave of the moon, + What folly, or what rage, your duty blinds, + To violate the sleep of holy minds? + Hence, to the task assigned you here below! + Upon the ocean make loud tempests blow; + Into the wombs of hollow clouds repair, + And crush out thunder from the bladdered air; + From pointed sun-beams take the mists they drew, + And scatter them again in pearly dew; + And of the bigger drops they drain below, + Some mould in hail, and others stamp in snow. + + _Dam._ Mercy, bright spirit! I already feel + The piercing edge of thy immortal steel: + Thou, prince of day, from elements art free; + And I all body when compared to thee. + Thou tread'st the abyss of light, + And where it streams with open eyes canst go: + We wander in the fields of air below, + Changelings and fools of heaven; and thence shut out, + Wildly we roam in discontent about: + Gross heavy-fed, next man in ignorance and sin, + And spotted all without, and dusky all within. + Without thy sword I perish by thy sight; + I reel, and stagger, and am drunk with light. + + _Amar._ If e'er again thou on this place art found, + Full fifty years I'll chain thee under ground; + The damps of earth shall be thy daily food, + All swoln and bloated like a dungeon toad: + And when thou shalt be freed, yet thou shalt lie + Gasping upon the ground, too faint to fly, + And lag below thy fellows in the sky. + + _Dam._ O pardon, pardon this accursed deed, + And I no more on magic fumes will feed, + Which drew me hither by their powerful steams. + + _Amar._ Go expiate thy guilt in holy dreams. + [_Exit_ DAM. + But thou, sweet saint, henceforth disturb no more + [_To_ S. CATH. + With dreams not thine, thy thoughts to heaven restore. + [_The Angel ascends, and the scene shuts._ + + _Nig._ Some holy being does invade this place, + And from their duty does my spirits chase. + I dare no longer near it make abode: + No charms prevail against the Christians' God. + [_Exit._ + + _Plac._ How doubtfully these spectres fate foretell! + In double sense, and twilight truth they dwell: + Like fawning courtiers for success they wait, + And then come smiling, and declare for fate. + +_Enter_ MAXIMIN _and_ PORPHYRIUS, _attended by_ VALERIUS _and guards_. + + But see, the tyrant and my rival come: + I, like the fiends, will flatter in his doom: + None but a fool distasteful truth will tell, + So it be new and please, 'tis full as well. + [PLAC. _whispers with the Emperor, who seems pleased._ + + _Max._ You charm me with your news, which I'll reward; + By hopes we are for coming joys prepared: + Possess her love, or from that love be free;-- + Heaven speaks me fair: If she as kind can prove, + I shall possess, but never quit my love. + Go, tell me when she wakes. + [_Exit_ PLAC. + [PORPHYRIUS _seems to beg something of him._ + --Porphyrius, no; + She has refused, and I will keep my vow. + + _Por._ For your own sake your cruel vow defer; + The time's unsafe, your enemies are near, + And to displease your men when they should fight-- + + _Max._ My looks alone my enemies will fright; + And o'er my men I'll set my careful spies, + To watch rebellion in their very eyes. + No more, I cannot bear the least reply. + + _Por._ Yet, tyrant, thou shalt perish ere she die. + [_Aside._ + +_Enter_ VALERIA. + + Valeria here! how fortune treats me still + With various harms, magnificently ill! + + _Max._ Valeria, I was sending to your tent, + [_To_ VAL. + But my commands your presence does prevent. + This is the hour, wherein the priest shall join + Your holy loves, and make Porphyrius mine. + + _Val._ Now hold, my heart! and Venus I implore, + Be judge if she he loves deserves him more. + [_Aside._ + + _Por._ Past hope! and all in vain I would preserve + My life, not for myself, but her I serve. + [_Aside._ + + _Val._ I come, great sir, your justice to demand. + [_To the Emperor._ + + _Max._ You cannot doubt it from a father's hand. + + _Por._ Sir, I confess, before her suit be known; + And by myself condemned, my crime I own. + I have refused. + + _Val._ Peace, peace, while I confess + I have refused thee for unworthiness. + + _Por._ I am amazed. + + _Max._ What riddles do you use? + Dare either of you my commands refuse? + + _Val._ Yes, I dare own, howe'er 'twas wisely done + To adopt so mean a person for your son, + So low you should not for your daughter chuse; + And, therefore, sir, this marriage I refuse. + + _Max._ You liked the choice when first I thought, it fit. + + _Val._ I had not then enough considered it. + + _Max._ And you have now considered it too much: + Secrets of empire are not safe to touch. + + _Por._ Let not your mighty anger rise too high; + 'Tis not Valeria merits it, but I: + My own unworthiness so well I knew, + That from her love I consciously withdrew. + + _Val._ Thus rather than endure the little shame + To be refused, you blast a virgin's name. + You to refuse, and I to be denied! + Learn more discretion, or be taught less pride. + + _Por._ O heaven, in what a labyrinth am I led! + I could get out, but she detains the thread. + Now must I wander on, till I can see, + Whether her pity or revenge it be. + [_Aside._ + + _Max._ With what child's anger do you think you play? + I'll punish both, if either disobey. + + _Val._ Since all the fault was mine, I am content, + Porphyrius should not share the punishment. + + _Por._ Blind that I was till now, that could not see + 'Twas all the effect of generosity! + She loves me, even to suffer for my sake; + And on herself would my refusal take. + [_Aside._ + + _Max._ Children to serve their parents int'rest live; + Take heed what doom against yourself you give. + [_To_ VAL. + + _Por._ Since she must suffer, if I do not speak, + 'Tis time the laws of decency to break. + She told me, sir, that she your choice approved, + And (though I blush to own it) said she loved; + Loved me desertless, who, with shame, confest + Another flame had seized upon my breast; + Which when, too late, the generous princess knew, + And feared your justice would my crime pursue, + Upon herself she makes the tempest fall, + And my refusal her contempt would call. + + _Val._ He raves, sir, and, to cover my disdain, + Unhandsomely would his denial feign: + And, all means failing him, at last would try + To usurp the credit of a scorn, and die. + But, let him live: His punishment shall be + The grief his pride will bring for losing me. + + _Max._ You both obnoxious to my justice are; + And, daughter, you have not deserved my care. + 'Tis my command you strictly guarded be, + Till your fantastic quarrel you agree. + + _Por._ Sir-- + + _Max._ I'll not hear you speak, her crime is plain; + She owns her pride, which you perhaps may feign. + She shall be prisoner till she bend her mind + To that, which is for both of you designed. + + _Val._ You'll find it hard my free-born will to bound. + + _Max._ I'll find that power o'er wills, which heaven ne'er found. + Free-will's a cheat in any one but me; + In all but kings, 'tis willing slavery; + An unseen fate which forces the desire; + The will of puppets danced upon a wire. + A monarch is + The spirit of the world in every mind; + He may match wolves to lambs, and make it kind. + Mine is the business of your little fates; + And though you war, like petty wrangling states, + You're in my hand; and, when I bid you cease, + You shall be crushed together into peace. + + _Val._ Thus by the world my courage will be prized; + [_Aside._ + Seeming to scorn, who am, alas, despised: + Dying for love's, fulfilling honour's laws; + A secret martyr, while I own no cause. + [_Exit_ VAL. + + _Max._ Porphyrius, stay; there's some thing I would hear: + You said you loved, and you must tell me where. + + _Por._ All heaven is to my sole destruction bent. + [_Aside._ + + _Max._ You would, it seems, have leisure to invent. + + _Por._ Her name in pity, sir, I must forbear, + Lest my offences you revenge on her. + + _Max._ My promise for her life I do engage. + + _Por._ Will that, sir, be remembered in your rage? + + _Max._ Speak, or your silence more my rage will move; + 'Twill argue that you rival me in love. + + _Por._ Can you believe that my ambitious flame + Should mount so high as Berenice's name? + + _Max._ Your guilt dares not approach what it would hide; + But draws me off, and (lapwing-like) flies wide. + 'Tis not my wife, but mistress, you adore: + Though that affront, yet this offends me more. + Who courts my wife, + Does to my honour more injurious prove; + But he, who courts my mistress, wrongs my love. + + _Por._ The Egyptian princess ne'er could move my heart. + + _Max._ You could not perish by a nobler dart. + + _Por._ Sir, I presume not beauties to compare; + But in my eyes my princess is as fair. + + _Max._ Your princess! then it seems, though you deny + Her name you love, you own her quality. + + _Por._ Though not by birth or title so, yet she, + Who rules my heart, a princess is to me. + + _Max._ No, no; + 'Tis plain that word you unawares did use, + And told a truth which now you would excuse. + Besides my wife and mistress, here are none, + Who can the title of a princess own. + + _Por._ There is one more, + Your daughter, sir: Let that your doubt remove. + + _Max._ But she is not that princess whom you love. + + _Por._ I named not love, though it might doubtful seem: + She's fair, and is that princess I esteem. + + _Max._ Go, and to passion your esteem improve, + While I command her to receive your love. + [_Exit_ POR. + +_Enter_ ST CATHARINE. + + _S. Cath._ I come not now, as captive to your power, + To beg; but as high heaven's ambassador, + The laws of my religion to fulfil: + Heaven sends me to return you good for ill. + Your empress to your love I would restore, + And to your mind the peace it had before. + + _Max._ While in another's name you peace declare, + Princess, you in your own proclaim a war. + Your too great power does your design oppose; + You make those breaches which you strive to close. + + _S. Cath._ That little beauty, which too much you prize, + Seeks not to move your heart, or draw your eyes: + Your love to Berenice is due alone; + Love, like that power which I adore, is one. + When fixed to one, it safe at anchor rides, + And dares the fury of the winds and tides; + But losing once that hold, to the wide ocean borne. + It drives away at will, to every wave a scorn. + + _Max._ If to new persons I my love apply, + The stars and nature are in fault, not I: + My loves are like my old praetorian bands, + Whose arbitrary power their prince commands: + I can no more make passion come or go, + Than you can bid your Nilus ebb or flow. + 'Tis lawless, and will love, and where it list; + And that's no sin, which no man can resist: + Those who impute it to me as a crime, + Would make a god of me before my time. + + _S. Cath._ A god indeed, after the Roman stile, + An eagle mounting from a kindled pile: + But you may make yourself a god below; + For kings, who rule their own desires, are so. + You roam about, and never are at rest, + By new desires, that is, new torments, still possest; + Qualmish and loathing all you had before, + Yet with a sickly appetite to more: + As in a feverish dream you still drink on, + And wonder why your thirst is never gone; + Love, like a ghostly vision, haunts your mind, + 'Tis still before you what you left behind. + + _Max._ How can I help those faults which nature made? + My appetite is sickly and decayed, + And you forbid me change, the sick man's ease! + Who cannot cure, must humour his disease. + + _S. Cath._ Your mind should first the remedy begin; + You seek without the cure that is within. + The vain experiments you make each day, + To find content, still finding it decay, + Without attempting more, should let you see, + That you have sought it where it ne'er could be. + But when you place your joys on things above, + You fix the wandering planet of your love: + Thence you may see + Poor human kind, all dazed in open day, + Err after bliss, and blindly miss their way: + The greatest happiness a prince can know, + Is to love heaven above, do good below. + +_To them_ BERENICE _and Attendants_. + + _Ber._ That happiness may Berenice find, + Leaving these empty joys of earth behind; + And this frail being, where so short a while + The unfortunate lament, and prosperous smile. + Yet a few days, and those which now appear + In youth and beauty like the blooming year, + In life's swift scene shall change; and cares shall come, + And heavy age, and death's relentless doom. + + _S. Cath._ Yet man, by pleasures, seeks that fate which he would shun; + And, sucked in by the stream, does to the whirlpool run. + + _Max._ How, madam, are you to new ways inclined? + I fear the Christian sect perverts your mind. + [_To_ BER. + + _Ber._ Yes, tyrant, know, that I their faith embrace, + And own it in the midst of my disgrace; + That faith, which, abject as it seems to thee, + Is nobler than thy purple pageantry; + A faith, which still with nature is at strife, + And looks beyond it to a future life; + A faith, which vicious souls abhor and fear, + Because it shows eternity too near: + And therefore every one, + With seeming scorn of it the rest deceives; + All joining not to own what each believes. + + _S. Cath._ O happy queen! whom power leads not astray, + Nor youth's more powerful blandishments betray. + + _Ber._ Your arguments my reason first inclined, + And then your bright example fixed my mind. + + _Max._ With what a holy empress am I blest! + What scorn of earth dwells in her heavenly breast! + My crown's too mean; but He, whom you adore, + Has one more bright, of martyrdom, in store. + She dies, and I am from the envy freed: + [_Aside._ + She has, I thank her, her own death decreed. + No soldier now will in her rescue stir; + Her death is but in complaisance to her. + I'll haste to gratify her holy will;-- + Heaven grant her zeal may but continue still! + Tribune, a guard to seize the empress strait; + [_To_ VAL. + Secure her person prisoner to the state. + [_Exit_ MAX. + + _Val._ [_going to her_.] Madam, believe 'tis with regret I come, + To execute my angry prince's doom. + +_Enter_ PORPHYRIUS. + + _Por._ What is it I behold! Tribune, from whence + Proceeds this more than barbarous insolence? + + _Val._ Sir, I perform the emperor's commands. + + _Por._ Villain, hold off thy sacrilegious hands, + Or, by the gods--retire without reply; + And, if he asks who bid thee, say 'twas I. + [VAL. _retires to a distance._ + + _Ber._ Too generously your safety you expose, + To save one moment her, whom you must lose. + + _Por._ 'Twixt you and death ten thousand lives there stand; + Have courage, madam; the praetorian band + Will all oppose your tyrant's cruelty. + + _S. Cath._ And I have heaven implored she may not die: + As some to witness truth heaven's call obey, + So some on earth must, to confirm it, stay. + + _Por._ What faith, what witness, is it that you name? + + _Ber._ Knowing what she believes, my faith's the same. + + _Por._ How am I crossed, what way soe'er I go! + To the unlucky every thing is so. + Now, fortune, thou hast shown thy utmost spite; + The soldiers will not for a Christian fight: + And, madam, all that I can promise now, + Is but to die, before death reaches you. + + _Ber._ Now death draws near, a strange perplexity + Creeps coldly on me, like a fear to die: + Courage uncertain dangers may abate; + But who can bear the approach of certain fate? + + _S. Cath._ The wisest and the best some fear may show, + And wish to stay, though they resolve to go. + + _Ber._ As some faint pilgrim, standing on the shore, + First views the torrent he would venture o'er; + And then his inn upon the farther ground, + Loth to wade through, and lother to go round; + Then dipping in his staff, does trial make + How deep it is, and, sighing, pulls it back; + Sometimes resolved to fetch his leap, and then + Runs to the bank, but there stops short again; + So I at once + Both heavenly faith and human fear obey, + And feel before me in an unknown way. + For this blest voyage I with joy prepare, + Yet am ashamed to be a stranger there. + + _S. Cath._ You are not yet enough prepared to die; + Earth hangs too heavy for your soul to fly. + + _Por._ One way (and heaven, I hope, inspires my mind) + I for your safety in this strait can find; + But this fair queen must further my intent. + + _S. Cath._ Name any way your reason can invent. + + _Por._ to _Ber._ Though your religion (which I cannot blame, + Because my secret soul avows the same) + Has made your life a forfeit to the laws, + The tyrant's new-born passion is the cause. + Were this bright princess once removed away, + Wanting the food, the flame would soon decay; + And I'll prepare a faithful guard this night + To attend her person, and secure her flight. + + _Ber._ to _S. Cath._ By this way I shall both from death be freed, + And you unforced to any wicked deed. + + _S. Cath._ Madam, my thoughts are with themselves at strife, + And heaven can witness how I prize your life; + But 'tis a doubtful conflict I must try, + Betwixt my pity and my piety: + Staying, your precious life I must expose; + Going, my crown of martyrdom I lose. + + _Por._ Your equal choice when heaven does thus divide, + You should, like heaven, still lean on mercy's side. + + _S. Cath._ The will of heaven, judged by a private breast, + Is often what's our private interest; + And therefore those, who would that will obey, + Without their interest must their duty weigh. + As for myself, I do not life despise, + But as the greatest gift of nature prize. + My sex is weak, my fears of death are strong, + And whate'er is, its being would prolong. + Were there no sting in death, for me to die, + Would not be conquest, but stupidity; + But if vain honour can confirm the soul, + And sense of shame the fear of death controul; + How much more then should faith uphold the mind, + Which, showing death, shows future life behind? + + _Ber._ Of death's contempt heroic proofs you give; + But, madam, let my weaker virtue live. + Your faith may bid you your own life resign; + But not when yours must be involved with mine. + Since then you do not think me fit to die, + Ah, how can you that life I beg deny! + + _S. Cath._ Heaven does in this my greatest trial make, + When I, for it, the care of you forsake; + But I am placed, as on a theatre, + Where all my acts to all mankind appear, + To imitate my constancy or fear: + Then, madam, judge what course I should pursue, + When I must either heaven forsake, or you. + + _Por._ Were saving Berenice's life a sin, + Heaven had shut up your flight from Maximin. + + _S. Cath._ Thus with short plummets heaven's deep will we sound, + That vast abyss where human wit is drowned! + In our small skiff we must not launch too far; + We here but coasters, not discoverers, are. + Faith's necessary rules are plain and few; + We many, and those needless, rules pursue: + Faith from our hearts into our heads we drive, + And make religion all contemplative. + You on heaven's will may witty glosses feign; + But that which I must practise here is plain: + If the All-great decree her life to spare, + He will the means, without my crime, prepare. + [_Exit St_ CATH. + + _Por._ Yet there is one way left! it is decreed, + To save your life, that Maximin shall bleed; + 'Midst all his guards I will his death pursue, + Or fall a sacrifice to love and you. + + _Ber._ So great a fear of death I have not shown, + That I would shed his blood to save my own; + My fear is but from human frailty brought, + And never mingled with a wicked thought. + + _Por._ 'Tis not a crime, since one of you must die, + Or is excused by the necessity. + + _Ber._ I cannot to a husband's death consent, + But, by revealing, will your crime prevent. + The horror of this deed + Against the fear of death has armed my mind, + And now less guilt in him than you I find. + If I a tyrant did detest before, + I hate a rebel, and a traitor more: + Ungrateful man, + Remember whose successor thou art made, + And then thy benefactor's life invade. + Guards, to your charge I give your prisoner back, + And will from none but heaven my safety take. + [_Exit with_ VALERIUS _and Guards_. + + _Por._ [_Solus._] 'Tis true, what she has often urged before, + He's both my father, and my emperor! + O honour, how can'st thou invent a way + To save my queen, and not my trust betray! + Unhappy I, that e'er he trusted me! + As well his guardian-angel may his murderer be. + And yet----let honour, faith, and virtue fly, + But let not love in Berenice die. + She lives!---- + That's put beyond dispute, as firm as fate; + Honour and faith let argument debate. + +_Enter_ MAXIMIN _and_ VALERIUS _talking, and Guards_. + + _Max._ 'Tis said, but I am loth to think it true, + [_To_ POR. + That my late orders were contemned by you: + That Berenice from her guards you freed. + + _Por._ I did it, and I glory in the deed. + + _Max._ How, glory my commands to disobey! + + _Por._ When those commands would your renown betray. + + _Max._ Who should be judge of that renown you name, + But I? + + _Por._ Yes, I, and all who love your fame. + + _Max._ Porphyrius, your replies are insolent. + + _Por._ Sir, they are just, and for your service meant. + If for religion you our lives will take, + You do not the offenders find, but make. + All faiths are to their own believers just; + For none believe, because they will, but must. + Faith is a force from which there's no defence; + Because the reason it does first convince: + And reason conscience into fetters brings; + And conscience is without the power of kings. + + _Max._ Then conscience is a greater prince than I, + At whose each erring call a king may die! + Who conscience leaves to its own free command, + Puts the worst weapon in a rebel's hand. + + _Por._ Its empire, therefore, sir, should bounded be, + And, but in acts of its religion, free: + Those who ask civil power and conscience too, + Their monarch to his own destruction woo. + With needful arms let him secure his peace; + Then, that wild beast he safely may release. + + _Max._ I can forgive these liberties you take, + While but my counsellor yourself you make: + But you first act your sense, and then advise; + That is, at my expence you will be wise. + My wife I for religion do not kill; + But she shall die--because it is my will. + + _Por._ Sir, I acknowledge I too much have done, + And therefore merit not to be your son: + I render back the honours which you gave; + My liberty's the only gift I crave. + + _Max._ You take too much----but, ere you lay it down, + Consider what you part with in a crown: + Monarchs of cares in policy complain, + Because they would be pitied, while they reign; + For still the greater troubles they confess, + They know their pleasures will be envied less. + + _Por._ Those joys I neither envy nor admire; + But beg I from the troubles may retire. + + _Max._ What soul is this which empire cannot stir! + Supine and tame as a philosopher! + Know then, thou wert adopted to a throne, + Not for thy sake so much as for my own. + My thoughts were once about thy death at strife; + And thy succession's thy reprieve for life. + + _Por._ My life and death are still within your power; + But your succession I renounce this hour. + Upon a bloody throne I will not sit, + Nor share the guilt of crimes which you commit. + + _Max._ If you are not my Caesar, you must die. + + _Por._ I take it as the nobler destiny. + + _Max._ I pity thee, and would thy faults forgive; + But, thus presuming on, thou canst not live. + + _Por._ Sir, with your throne your pity I restore; + I am your foe, nor will I use it more. + Now all my debts of gratitude are paid, + I cannot trusted be, nor you betrayed. + [_Is going._ + + _Max._ Stay, stay! in threatening me to be my foe, + You give me warning to conclude you so. + Thou to succeed a monarch in his seat! + +_Enter_ PLACIDIUS. + + No, fool, thou art too honest to be great! + Placidius, on your life this prisoner keep: + Our enmity shall end before I sleep. + + _Plac._ I still am ready, sir, whene'er you please, + [_To_ POR. + To do you such small services as these. + + _Max._ The sight, with which my eyes shall first be fed, + Must be my empress' and this traitor's head. + + _Por._ Where'er thou stand'st, I'll level at that place + My gushing blood, and spout it at thy face. + Thus, not by marriage, we our blood will join; + Nay more, my arms shall throw my head at thine. + [_Exit guarded._ + + _Max._ There, go, adoption: I have now decreed, + That Maximin shall Maximin succeed: + Old as I am, in pleasures I will try + To waste an empire yet before I die: + Since life is fugitive, and will not stay, + I'll make it fly more pleasantly away. + [_Exit._ + + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + + +_Enter_ VALERIA _and_ PLACIDIUS. + + _Val._ If, as you say, you silently have been + So long my lover, let my power be seen: + One hour's discourse before Porphyrius die, + Is all I ask, and you too may be by. + + _Plac._ I must not break + The order, which the emperor did sign. + + _Val._ Has then his hand more power with you than mine? + + _Plac._ This hand, if given, would far more powerful be + Than all the monarchs of the world to me: + But 'tis a bait which would my heart betray; + And, when I'm fast, will soon be snatched away. + + _Val._ O say not so; for I shall ever be + Obliged to him, who once obliges me. + + _Plac._ Madam, I'll wink, and favour the deceit; + But know, fair cozener, that I know the cheat: + Though to these eyes I nothing can refuse, + I'll not the merit of my ruin lose: + It is enough I see the hook, and bite; + But first I'll pay my death with my delight. + [_Kisses her hand, and exit._ + + _Val._ What can I hope from this sad interview? + And yet my brave design I will pursue. + By many signs I have my rival found; + But fortune him, as deep as me, does wound. + For, if he loves the empress, his sad fate + More moves my pity, than his scorn my hate. + +_To her_ PLACIDIUS, _with_ PORPHYRIUS. + + _Plac._ I am, perhaps, the first, + Who, forced by fate, and in his own despite, + Brought a loved rival to his mistress' sight. + + _Val._ But, in revenge, let this your comfort be, + That you have brought a man who loves not me. + However, lay your causeless envy by; + He is a rival, who must quickly die. + + _Por._ And yet I could, with less concernment, bear + That death of which you speak, than see you here. + So much of guilt in my refusal lies, + That, debtor-like, I dare not meet your eyes. + + _Val._ I do not blame you, if you love elsewhere: + And would to heaven I could your sufferings bear! + Or once again could some new way invent, + To take upon myself your punishment: + I sent for you, to let you know, that still, + Though now I want the power, I have the will. + + _Plac._ Can all this ocean of your kindness be + Poured upon him, and not one drop on me? + + _Val._ 'Tis poured; but falls from this ungrateful man, + Like drops of water from a rising swan. + Upon his breast no sign of wet remains; + He bears his love more proudly than his chains. + + _Por._ This thankless man his death will soon remove, + And quickly end so undeserved a love. + + _Val._ Unthankful as you are, I know not why, + But still I love too well, to see you die. + Placidius, can you love, and see my grief, + And for my sake not offer some relief? + + _Plac._ Not all the gods his ruin shall prevent; + Your kindness does but urge his punishment. + Besides, what can I for his safety do? + He has declared himself your father's foe. + + _Val._ Give out he has escaped, and set him free; + And, if you please, lay all the fault on me. + + _Por._ O, do not on those terms my freedom name! + Freed by your danger, I should die with shame. + + _Plac._ I must not farther by your prayers be won: + All I could do, I have already done. + [_To her._ + + _Val._ To bring Porphyrius only to my sight, + Was not to show your pity, but your spite: + Would you but half oblige her you adore? + You should not have done this, or should do more. + + _Plac._ Alas! what hope can there be left for me, + When I must sink into the mine I see? + My heart will fall before you, if I stay; + Each word you speak saps part of it away. + ----Yet all my fortune on his death is set; + And he may love her, though he loves not yet. + He must--and yet she says he must not die.-- + O, if I could but wink, I could deny! + +_To them_ ALBINUS. + + _Alb._ The emperor expects your prisoner strait; + And with impatience for his death does wait. + + _Plac._ Nay, then it is too late my love to weigh; + Your pardon, madam, if I must obey. + [_Exit_ ALBINUS. + + _Por._ I am prepared; he shall not long attend. + + _Val._ Then here my prayers and my submissions end. + Placidius, know, that hour in which he dies, + My death (so well I love) shall wait on his. + + _Plac._ O, madam, do not fright me with your death! + + _Val._ My life depends alone upon his breath. + But, if I live in him, you do not know + How far my gratitude to you may go. + I do not promise--but it so may prove, + That gratitude, in time, may turn to love. + Try me-- + + _Plac._ Now I consider it, I will: + [_Musing a little._ + 'Tis in your power to save him, or to kill. + I'll run the hazard to preserve his life, + If, after that, you vow to be my wife. + + _Val._ Nay, good Placidius, now you are too hard: + Would you do nothing but for mere reward? + Like usurers to men in want you prove, + When you would take extortion for my love. + + _Plac._ You have concluded then that he must die? + [_Going with_ PORPHYRIUS. + + _Val._ O stay! if no price else his life can buy, + My love a ransom for his life I give: + Let my Porphyrius for another live. + [_Holding her handkerchief before her face._ + + _Por._ You too much value the small merchandise: + My life's o'er-rated, when your love's the price. + +_Enter_ ALBINUS. + + _Alb._ I long have listened to your generous strife, + As much concerned for brave Porphyrius' life. + For mine I to his favour owed this day; + Which with my future service I will pay. + + _Plac._ Lest any your intended flight prevent, + I'll lead you first the back-way to my tent; + Thence, in disguise, you may the city gain, + While some excuse for your escape I feign. + + _Val._ Farewell! I must not see you when you part: + [_Turning her face away._ + For that last look would break my tender heart. + Yet--let it break--I must have one look more: + [_Looking on him._ + Nay, now I'm less contented than before; + For that last look draws on another too; + Which sure I need not, to remember you. + For ever--yet I must one glance repeat; + But quick and short as starving people eat. + So much humanity dwell in your breast, + Sometimes to think on her who loves you best. + [_Going--he takes her hand and kisses it._ + + _Por._ My wandering steps wherever fortune bear, + Your memory I in my breast will wear; + Which, as a precious amulet, I still + Will carry, my defence and guard from ill. + Though to my former vows I must be true, + I'll ever keep one love entire for you; + That love, which brothers with chaste sisters make: + And by this holy kiss, which now I take + From your fair hand-- + This common sun, which absent both shall see, + Shall ne'er behold a breach of faith in me. + + _Val._ Go, go! my death will your short vows restore; + You've said enough, and I can hear no more. + [_Exeunt_ VAL. _one way, and_ POR. _and_ ALB. _another_. + + _Plac._ Love and good nature, how do you betray! + Misleading those who see and know their way! + I, whom deep arts of state could ne'er beguile, + Have sold myself to ruin for a smile. + Nay, I am driven so low, that I must take + That smile, as alms, given for my rival's sake. + +_Enter_ MAXIMIN, _talking with_ VALERIUS. + + _Max._ And why was I not told of this before? + + _Val._ Sir, she this evening landed on the shore; + For with her daughter being prisoner made, + She in another vessel was conveyed. + + _Max._ Bring hither the Egyptian princess strait. + [_To_ PLAC. + And you, Valerius, on her mother wait. + [_Exit_ VAL. + + _Plac._ The mother of the Egyptian princess here! + + _Max._ Porphyrius' death I will a while defer, + And this new opportunity improve, + To make my last effort upon her love-- + [_Exit_ PLAC. + Those, who have youth, may long endure to court; + But he must swiftly catch, whose race is short. + I in my autumn do my siege begin; + And must make haste, ere winter comes, to win. + This hour--no longer shall my pains endure: + Her love shall ease me, or her death shall cure. + +_Enter at one door_ FELICIA _and_ VALERIUS, _at the other St_ CATHARINE +_and_ PLACIDIUS. + + _S. Cath._ O, my dear mother! + + _Fel._ With what joy I see + My dearest daughter from the tempest free! + + _S. Cath._ Dearer than all the joys vain empire yields, + Or than to youthful monarchs conquered fields! + Before you came--my soul, + All filled with heaven, did earthly joys disdain: + But you pull back some part of me again. + + _Plac._ You see, sir, she can own a joy below. + + _Max._ It much imports me that this truth I know. + + _Fel._ How dreadful death does on the waves appear, + Where seas we only see, and tempests hear! + Such frightful images did then pursue + My trembling soul, that scarce I thought of you. + + _Plac._ All circumstances to your wish combine: + Her fear of death advances your design. + [_To_ MAX. + + _Fel._ But to that only power we serve I prayed, + Till He, who bid it rise, the tempest laid. + + _Max._ You are a Christian then! + [_To_ FELICIA. + For death this very hour you must prepare: + I have decreed no Christian's life to spare. + + _Fel._ For death! I hope you but my courage try: + Whatever I believe, I dare not die. + Heaven does not, sure, that seal of faith require; + Or, if it did, would firmer thoughts inspire. + A woman's witness can no credit give + To truths divine, and therefore I would live. + + _Max._ I cannot give the life which you demand: + But that and mine are in your daughter's hand: + Ask her, if she will yet her love deny, + And bid a monarch, and her mother, die. + + _Fel._ Now, mighty prince, you cancel all my fear: + My life is safe, when it depends on her. + How can you let me languish thus in pain! + [_To St_ CATH. + Make haste to cure those doubts which yet remain. + Speak quickly, speak, and ease me of my fear. + + _S. Cath._ Alas, I doubt it is not you I hear! + Some wicked fiend assumes your voice and face, + To make frail nature triumph over grace. + It cannot be-- + That she, who taught my childhood piety, + Should bid my riper age my faith deny; + That she, who bid my hopes this crown pursue, + Should snatch it from me when 'tis just in view. + + _Fel._ Peace, peace! too much my age's shame you show: + How easy 'tis to teach! how hard to do! + My labouring thoughts are with themselves at strife: + I dare not die, nor bid you save my life. + + _Max._ You must do one, and that without delay; + Too long already for your death I stay. + I cannot with your small concerns dispense; + For deaths of more importance call me hence. + Prepare to execute your office strait. + [_To his Guards._ + + _Fel._ O stay, and let them but one minute wait! + Such quick commands for death you would not give, + If you but knew how sweet it were to live. + + _Max._ Then bid her love. + + _Fel._ Is duty grown so weak, + [_To St_ CATHARINE. + That love's a harder word than death to speak? + + _S. Cath._ Oh! + + _Fel._ Mistake me not; I never can approve + A thing so wicked as the tyrant's love. + I ask you would but some false promise give, + Only to gain me so much time to live. + [_Privately to St_ CATHARINE. + + _S. Cath._ That promise is a step to greater sin: + The hold, once lost, we seldom take again. + Each bound to heaven we fainter essays make, + Still losing somewhat, till we quite go back. + + _Max._ Away! I grant no longer a reprieve. + + _Fel._ O do but beg my life, and I may live. + [_To St_ CATH. + Have you not so much pity in your breast? + He stays to have you make it your request. + + _S. Cath._ To beg your life---- + Is not to ask a grace of Maximin: + It is a silent bargain for a sin. + Could we live always, life were worth our cost; + But now we keep with care what must be lost. + Here we stand shivering on the bank, and cry, + When we should plunge into eternity. + One moment ends our pain; + And yet the shock of death we dare not stand, + By thought scarce measured, and too swift for sand: + 'Tis but because the living death ne'er knew, + They fear to prove it as a thing that's new. + Let me the experiment before you try, + I'll show you first how easy 'tis to die. + + _Max._ Draw then that curtain, and let death appear, + And let both see how easy 'twill be there. + +_The_ SCENE _opens, and shews the Wheel_. + + _Fel._ Alas, what torments I already feel! + + _Max._ Go, bind her hand and foot beneath that wheel: + Four of you turn the dreadful engine round; + Four others hold her fastened to the ground; + That, by degrees, her tender breasts may feel, + First, the rough razings of the pointed steel; + Her paps then let the bearded tenters stake, + And on each hook a gory gobbet take; + Till the upper flesh, by piece-meal torn away, + Her beating heart shall to the sun display. + + _Fel._ My dearest daughter, at your feet I fall; + [_Kneeling._ + Hear, oh yet hear your wretched mother's call! + Think, at, your birth, ah think what pains I bore, + And can your eyes behold me suffer more? + You were the child, which from your infancy + I still loved best, and then you best loved me. + About my neck your little arms you spread, + Nor could you sleep without me in the bed; + But sought my bosom when you went to rest, + And all night long would lie across my breast. + Nor without cause did you that fondness show: + You may remember when our Nile did flow, + While on the bank you innocently stood, + And with a wand made circles in the flood, + That rose, and just was hurrying you to death, + When I, from far, all pale and out of breath, + Ran and rushed in---- + And from the waves my floating pledge did bear, + So much my love was stronger than my fear. + But you---- + + _Max._ Woman, for these long tales your life's too short; + Go, bind her quickly, and begin the sport. + + _Fel._ No, in her arms my sanctuary's placed; + Thus I will cling for ever to her waist. + [_Running to her daughter._ + + _Max._ What, must my will by women be controuled? + Haste, draw your weapons, and cut off her hold! + + _S. Cath._ Thus my last duty to you let me pay: + [_Kissing her mother._ + Yet, tyrant, I to thee will never pray. + Tho' hers to save I my own life would give, + Yet by my sin my mother shall not live. + To thy foul lust I never can consent; + Why dost thou then defer my punishment? + I scorn those Gods thou vainly dost adore; + Contemn thy empire, but thy bed abhor. + If thou would'st yet a bloodier tyrant be, + I will instruct thy rage; begin with me. + + _Max._ I thank thee that thou dost my anger move; + It is a tempest that will wreck my love. + I'll pull thee hence, close hidden as thou art, + [_Claps his hand to his breast._ + And stand with my drawn sword before my heart. + Yes, you shall be obeyed, though I am loth;-- + Go, and while I can bid you, bind them both; + Go, bind them ere my fit of love return; + Fire shall quench fire, and anger love shall burn. + Thus I prevent those follies I should do; + And 'tis the nobler fever of the two. + + _Fel._ Torn piece by piece! alas, what horrid pains! + + _S. Cath._ Heaven is all mercy, who that death ordains; + And that, which heaven thinks best, is surely so: + But bare, and naked, shame to undergo, + 'Tis somewhat more than death! + Exposed to lawless eyes I dare not be; + My modesty is sacred, heaven, to thee! + Let not my body be the tyrant's spoil; + Nor hands nor eyes thy purity defile. + [AMERIEL _descends swiftly with a flaming sword, + and strikes at the Wheel, which breaks in pieces; + then he ascends again._ + + _Max._ Is this the effect of all your boasted skill? + These brittle toys to execute my will? + A puppet-shew of death I only find, + Where I a strong and sinewy pain designed. + By what weak infant was this engine wrought? + + _Val._ From Bilbilis the tempered steel was brought; + Metal more tough the anvil ne'er did beat, + Nor, from the forge, did hissing waters heat. + + _Plac._ I saw a youth descend all heavenly fair, + Who in his hand a flaming sword did bear, + And, whirlwind-like, around him drove the air. + At his raised arm the rigid iron shook, + And, bending backwards, fled before the stroke. + + _Max._ What! miracles, the tricks of heaven to me? + I'll try if she be wholly iron free. + If not by sword, then she shall die by fire; + And one by one her miracles I'll tire. + If proof against all kind of death she be; + My love's immortal, and she's fit for me. + + _S. Cath._ No, heaven has shewn its power, and now thinks fit + Thee to thy former fury to remit. + Had providence my longer life decreed, + Thou from thy passion hadst not yet been freed. + But heaven, which suffered that, my faith to prove, + Now to itself does vindicate my love. + A power controuls thee, which thou dost not see; + And that's a miracle it works in thee. + + _Max._ The truth of this new miracle we'll try; + To prove it, you must take the pains to die. + Bring me their heads. + + _Fel._ That mercy, tyrant, thou deny'st to me, + At thy last breath may heaven refuse to thee! + My fears are going, and I death can view: + I see, I see him there thy steps pursue, + And, with a lifted arm, and silent pace, + Stalk after thee, just aiming in his chace. + + _S. Cath._ No more, dear mother; ill in death it shews + Your peace of mind by rage to discompose: + No streak of blood (the relics of the earth) + Shall stain my soul in her immortal birth; + But she shall mount all pure, a white and virgin mind, + And full of all that peace, which there she goes to find. + [_Exeunt St_ CATHARINE _and_ FELICIA, _with_ VALERIUS, + _and guards. The scene shuts_. + + _Max._ She's gone, and pulled my heart-strings as she went. + Were penitence no shame, I could repent. + Yet, 'tis of bad example she should live; + For I might get the ill habit to forgive. + Thou soft seducer of my heart, away---- + Who ling'ring would'st about its confines stay, + To watch when some rebellion would begin, + And ready at each sigh to enter in. + In vain; for thou + Dost on the outside of the body play, + And, when drawn nearest, shalt be whirl'd away. + What ails me, that I cannot lose thy thought!---- + Command the empress hither to be brought; + [_To_ PLAC. + I in her death shall some diversion find, + And rid my thoughts at once of womankind. + + _Plac._ 'Tis well he thinks not of Porphyrius yet. + [_Aside, Exit._ + + _Max._ How hard it is this beauty to forget! + My stormy rage has only shook my will: + She crept down lower, but she sticks there still. + Fool that I am to struggle thus with love! + Why should I that, which pleases me, remove? + True, she should die, were she concerned alone; + But I love, not for her sake, but my own. + Our Gods are Gods, 'cause they have power and will; + Who can do all things, can do nothing ill. + Ill is rebellion 'gainst some higher power: + The world may sin, but not its emperor. + My empress then shall die, my princess live; + If this be sin, I do myself forgive. + +_To him_, VALERIUS. + + _Val._ Your will's obeyed; for, mighty emperor, + The princess and her mother are no more. + + _Max._ She is not dead! + + _Val._ Great sir, your will was so. + + _Max._ That was my will of half an hour ago. + But now 'tis altered; I have changed her fate, + She shall not die. + + _Val._ Your pity comes too late. + Betwixt her guards she seemed by bride-men led, + Her checks with chearful blushes were o'erspread; + When, smiling, to the axe she bowed her head, + Just, at the stroke, + AEtherial music did her death prepare, + Like joyful sounds of spousals in the air; + A radiant light did her crown'd temples gild, + And all the place with fragrant scents was filled; + The balmy mist came thickening to the ground, + And sacred silence covered all around. + But when (its work performed) the cloud withdrew, + And day restored us to each other's view, + I sought her head, to bring it on my spear; + In vain I sought it, for it was not there; + No part remained; but, from afar, our sight + Discovered in the air long tracts of light; + Of charming notes we heard the last rebounds, + And music dying in remoter sounds. + + _Max._ And dost thou think + This lame account fit for a love-sick king? + Go, from the other world a better bring. + [_Kills him, then sets his foot on him, and speaks on._ + When in my breast two mighty passions strove, + Thou had'st erred better in obeying love. + 'Tis true, that way thy death had followed too, + But I had then been less displeased than now. + Now I must live unquiet for thy sake; + And this poor recompence is all I take. + [_Spurns the body._ + +_Here the Scene opens, and discovers_ BERENICE _on a scaffold, the +guards by her, and amongst them_ PORPHYRIUS _and_ ALBINUS, _like Moors, +as all the guards are_. PLACIDIUS _enters, and whispers the Emperor +whilst_ PORPHYRIUS _speaks_. + + _Por._ From Berenice I cannot go away, + But, like a ghost, must near my treasure stay. + + _Alb._ Night and this shape secure them from their eyes. + + _Por._ Have courage then for our bold enterprize. + Duty and faith no tie on me can have, + Since I renounced those honours which he gave. + + _Max._ The time is come we did so long attend, + [_To_ BER. + Which must these discords of our marriage end. + Yet Berenice, remember you have been + An empress, and the wife of Maximin. + + _Ber._ I will remember I have been your wife; + And therefore, dying, beg from heaven your life: + Be all the discords of our bed forgot, + Which, virtue witness, I did never spot. + What errors I have made, though while I live + You cannot pardon, to the dead forgive. + + _Max._ How much she is to piety inclined! + Behead her, while she's in so good a mind. + + _Por._ Stand firm, Albinus; now the time is come + To free the empress. + + _Alb._ And deliver Rome. + + _Por._ Within I feel my hot blood swell my heart, + And generous trembling in each outward part. + 'Tis done, tyrant, this is thy latest hour. + [PORPHYRIUS _and_ ALBINUS _draw, + and are making at the Emperor_. + + _Ber._ Look to yourself, my lord the emperor! + Treason, help, help, my lord! + [MAXIMIN _turns and defends himself, the Guards + set on_ PORPHYRIUS _and_ ALBINUS. + + _Max._ Disarm them, but their lives I charge you spare. + [_After they are disarmed._ + Unmask them, and discover who they are.-- + Good Gods, is it Porphyrius whom I see! + + _Plac._ I wonder how he gained his liberty. + + _Max._ Traitor! + + _Por._ Know, tyrant, I can hear that name, + Rather than son, and bear it with less shame. + Traitor's a name, which, were my arm yet free, + The Roman senate would bestow on thee. + Ah, madam, you have ruined my design, + [_To_ BER. + And lost your life; for I regard not mine. + Too ill a mistress, and too good a wife. + + _Ber._ It was my duty to preserve his life. + + _Max._ Now I perceive + [_To_ POR. + In what close walk your mind so long did move: + You scorned my throne, aspiring to her love. + + _Ber._ In death I'll own a love to him so pure, + As will the test of heaven itself endure; + A love so chaste, as conscience could not chide; + But cherish it, and keep it by its side. + A love, which never knew a hot desire, + But flamed as harmless as a lambent fire; + A love, which pure from soul to soul might pass, + As light transmitted through a crystal glass; + Which gave Porphyrius all without a sin, + Yet kept entire the right of Maximin. + + _Max._ The best return that I to both can make, + Shall be to suffer for each other's sake. + + _Por._ Barbarian, do not dare, her blood to shed, + Who from my vengeance saved thy cursed head; + A flight, no honour ever reached before, + And which succeeding ages will adore. + + _Ber._ Porphyrius, I must die! + That common debt to nature paid must be; + But I have left a debt unpaid to thee. + To Maximin + I have performed the duty of a wife; + But, saving his, I cast away thy life. + Ah, what ill stars upon our loves did shine, + That I am more thy murd'rer, than he mine! + + _Max._ Make haste. + + _Por._ So hasty none in execution are, + But they allow the dying time for prayer. + Farewell, sweet saint! my prayer shall be to you: + My love has been unhappy, but 'twas true. + Remember me!--Alas, what have I said? + You must die too! + But yet remember me when you are dead. + + _Ber._ If I die first, I will + Stop short of heaven, and wait you in a cloud; + For fear we lose each other in the crowd. + + _Por._ Love is the only coin in heaven will go: + Then take all with you, and leave none below. + + _Ber._ 'Tis want of knowledge, not of love, I fear; + Lest we mistake when bodies are not there. + O, as a mark, that I could wear a scroll, + With this inscription,--Berenice's soul. + + _Por._ That needs not, sure, for none will be so bright, + So pure, or with so small allays of light. + + _Max._ From my full eyes fond tears begin to start:---- + Dispatch,--they practise treason on my heart. + + _Por._ Adieu: This farewell sigh I as my last bequeath; + Catch it,--'tis love expiring in a breath. + + _Ber._ This sigh of mine shall meet it half the way, + As pledges given that each for other stay. + +_Enter_ VALERIA _and_ CYDON. + + _Val._ What dismal scene of death is here prepar'd! + + _Max._ Now strike. + + _Val._ They shall not strike till I am heard. + + _Max._ From whence does this new impudence proceed, + That you dare alter that which I decreed? + + _Val._ Ah, sir, to what strange courses do you fly, + To make yourself abhorred for cruelty! + The empire groans under your bloody reign, + And its vast body bleeds in every vein. + Gasping and pale, and fearing more, it lies; + And now you stab it in the very eyes: + Your Caesar and the partner of your bed! + Ah, who can wish to live when they are dead? + If ever gentle pity touch'd your breast---- + I cannot speak--my tears shall speak the rest. + [_Weeping and sobbing._ + + _Por._ She adds new grief to what I felt before, + And fate has now no room to put in more. + + _Max._ Away, thou shame and slander of my blood! + [_To_ VALERIA. + Who taught thee to be pitiful or good? + + _Val._ What hope have I, + The name of virtue should prevail with him, + Who thinks even it, for which I plead, a crime?-- + Yet nature, sure, some argument may be; + If them you cannot pity, pity me. + + _Max._ I will, and all the world shall judge it so: + I will the excess of pity to you shew. + You ask to save + A dangerous rebel, and disloyal wife; + And I in mercy--will not take your life. + + _Val._ You more than kill me by this cruelty, + And in their persons bid your daughter die. + I honour Berenice's virtue much; + But for Porphyrius my love is such, + I cannot, will not live, when he is gone. + + _Max._ I'll do that cure for you, which on myself is done. + You must, like me, your lover's life remove; + Cut off your hope, and you destroy your love. + If it were hard, I would not bid you try + The medicine; but 'tis but to let him die. + Yet since you are so soft, (which you call good,) + And are not yet confirmed enough in blood, + To see his death; + Your frailty shall be favoured with this grace, + That they shall suffer in another place. + If, after they are dead, their memory + By any chance into your mind be brought, + Laugh, and divert it with some other thought. + Away with them. + + [_Exeunt_ BERENICE, PORPHYRIUS, _and_ ALBINUS, _carried off by Guards_. + + _Val._ Since prayers nor tears can bend his cruel mind, + [_Looking after_ POR. + Farewell, the best and bravest of mankind! + How I have loved, heaven knows; but there's a fate, + Which hinders me from being fortunate. + My father's crimes hang heavy on my head, + And like a gloomy cloud about me spread. + I would in vain be pious; that's a grace, + Which heaven permits not to a tyrant's race. + + _Max._ Hence to her tent the foolish girl convey. + + _Val._ Let me be just before I go away.-- + Placidius, I have vowed to be your wife; + Take then my hand, 'tis yours while I have life.-- + One moment here I must another's be; + But this, Porphyrius, gives me back to thee. + [_Stabs herself twice, and then_ PLACIDIUS _wrests the Dagger from her_. + + _Plac._ Help, help the princess, help! + + _Max._ What rage has urged this act, which thou hast done? + + _Val._ Thou, tyrant, and thy crimes, have pulled it on. + Thou, who canst death with such a pleasure see, + Now take thy fill, and glut thy sight in me. + But--I'll the occasion of my death forget; + Save him I love, and be my father yet: + I can no more--Porphyrius, my dear-- + + _Cyd._ Alas, she raves, and thinks Porphyrius here. + + _Val._ Have I not yet deserved thee, now I die? + Is Berenice still more fair than I? + Porphyrius, do not swim before my sight; + Stand still, and let me, let me aim aright! + Stand still, but while thy poor Valeria dies, + And sighs her soul into her lover's eyes. + [_Dies._ + + _Plac._ She's gone from earth, and with her went away + All of the tyrant that deserved to stay: + I've lost in her all joys that life can give; + And only to revenge her death would live. + [_Aside._ + + _Cyd._ The gods have claimed her, and we must resign. + + _Max._ What had the Gods to do with me or mine? + Did I molest your heaven? + Why should you then make Maximin your foe + Who paid you tribute, which he need not do? + Your altars I with smoke of gums did crown, + For which you leaned your hungry nostrils down, + All daily gaping for my incense there, + More than your sun could draw you in a year. + And you for this these plagues on me have sent! + But by the Gods, (by Maximin, I meant,) + Henceforth I, and my world, + Hostility with you, and yours, declare. + Look to it, Gods; for you the aggressors are. + Keep you your rain and sunshine in your skies, + And I'll keep back my flame and sacrifice. + Your trade of heaven shall soon be at a stand, + And all your goods lie dead upon your hand. + + _Plac._ Thus, tyrant, since the Gods the aggressors are, + [_Stabbing him._ + Thus by this stroke they have begun the war. + [MAXIMIN _struggles with him, and gets the dagger from him._ + + _Max._ Thus I return the strokes which they have given; + [_Stabbing_ PLACIDIUS. + Thus, traitor, thus, and thus I would to heaven. + [PLACIDIUS _falls, and the Emperor staggers after him, + and sits down upon him; the Guards come to help the Emperor._ + + _Max._ Stand off, and let me, ere my strength be gone, + Take my last pleasure of revenge, alone. + +_Enter a Centurion._ + + _Cent._ Arm, arm, the camp is in a mutiny: + For Rome and liberty the soldiers cry. + Porphyrius moved their pity, as he went + To rescue Berenice from punishment; + And now he heads their new attempted crime. + + _Max._ Now I am down, the Gods have watch'd their time. + You think + To save your credit, feeble deities; + But I will give myself the strength to rise. + [_He strives to get up, and, being up, staggers._ + It wonnot be---- + My body has not power my mind to bear.---- + I must return again--and conquer here. + [_Sits down upon the body._ + My coward body does my will controul; + Farewell, thou base deserter of my soul! + I'll shake this carcase off, and be obeyed; + Reign an imperial ghost without its aid. + Go, soldiers, take my ensigns with you; fight, + And vanquish rebels in your sovereign's right: + Before I die---- + Bring me Porphyrius and my empress dead:-- + I would brave heaven, in my each hand a head. + + _Plac._ Do not regard a dying tyrant's breath, + He can but look revenge on you in death. + [_To the Soldiers._ + + _Max._ Vanquished, and dar'st thou yet a rebel be? + Thus, I can more than look revenge on thee. + [_Stabs him again._ + + _Plac._ Oh, I am gone! + [_Dies._ + + _Max._ And after thee I go, + Revenging still, and following ev'n to the other world my blow; + [_Stabs him again._ + And shoving back this earth on which I sit, + I'll mount, and scatter all the Gods I hit. + [_Dies._ + +_Enter_ PORPHYRIUS, BERENICE, ALBINUS, _Soldiers_. PORPHYRIUS _looks on +the Bodies entering, and speaks_. + + _Por._ Tis done before, (this mighty work of fate!) + And I am glad your swords are come too late. + He was my prince, and though a bloody one, + I should have conquered, and have mercy shewn. + Sheath all your swords, and cease your enmity; + They are not foes, but Romans, whom you see. + + _Ber._ He was my tyrant, but my husband too; + And therefore duty will some tears allow. + + _Por._ Placidius here! + And fair Valeria, new deprived of breath! + Who can unriddle this dumb-show of death? + + _Cyd._ When, sir, her father did your life deny, + She killed herself, that she with you might die. + Placidius made the emperor's death his crime; + Who, dying, did revenge his death on him. + [PORPHYRIUS _kneels, and takes_ VALERIA'S _hand_. + + _Por._ For thy dear sake, I vow, each week I live, + One day to fasting and just grief I'll give: + And what hard fate did to thy life deny, + My gratitude shall pay thy memory. + + _Cent._ Meantime to you belongs the imperial power: + We, with one voice, salute you emperor. + + _Sold._ Long life, Porphyrius, emperor of the Romans! + + _Por._ Too much, my countrymen; your love you shew, + That you have thought me worthy to be so; + But, to requite that love, I must take care, + Not to engage you in a civil war. + Two emperors at Rome the senate chose, + And whom they chuse, no Roman should oppose. + In peace or war, let monarchs hope or fear; + All my ambition shall be bounded here. + [_Kissing_ BERENICE'S _hand_. + + _Ber._ I have too lately been a prince's wife, + And fear the unlucky omen of the life. + Like a rich vessel, beat by storms to shore, + 'Twere madness should I venture out once more. + Of glorious trouble I will take no part, + And in no empire reign, but of your heart. + + _Por._ Let to the winds your golden eagles fly; + [_To the Soldiers._ + Your trumpets sound a bloodless victory: + Our arms no more let Aquileia fear, + But to her gates our peaceful ensigns bear; + While I mix cypress with my myrtle wreath,-- + Joy for your life, and mourn Valeria's death. + [_Exeunt._ + + + + + EPILOGUE + + SPOKEN BY + MRS ELLEN[O], WHEN SHE WAS TO BE CARRIED OFF DEAD BY THE BEARERS. + + +TO THE BEARER. + + Hold; are you mad? You damn'd confounded dog! + I am to rise, and speak the epilogue. + +TO THE AUDIENCE. + + I come, kind gentlemen, strange news to tell ye; + I am the ghost of poor departed Nelly. + Sweet ladies, be not frighted; I'll be civil, + I'm what I was, a little harmless devil. + For, after death, we spirits have just such natures, + We had, for all the world, when human creatures; + And, therefore, I, that was an actress here, + Play all my tricks in hell, a goblin there. + Gallants, look to't, you say there are no sprites; + But I'll come dance about your beds at nights. + And faith you'll be in a sweet kind of taking, + When I surprise you between sleep and waking. + To tell you true, I walk, because I die + Out of my calling, in a tragedy. + O poet, damn'd dull poet, who could prove + So senseless, to make Nelly die for love! + Nay, what's yet worse, to kill me in the prime + Of Easter-term, in tart and cheese-cake time! + I'll fit the fop; for I'll not one word say, + To excuse his godly out-of-fashion play; + A play, which, if you dare but twice sit out, + You'll all be slandered, and be thought devout. + But, farewell, gentlemen, make haste to me, + I'm sure e'er long to have your company. + As for my epitaph when I am gone, + I'll trust no poet, but will write my own:-- + Here Nelly lies, who, though she lived a slattern, + Yet died a princess, acting in St Catharine. + +[Footnote O: The celebrated Mrs Nell Gwyn.] + + +_END OF THE THIRD VOLUME._ + +Edinburgh, +Printed by James Ballantyne & Co. + +------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + Note: Tags that surround the word =G. P.= indicate bold. + Tags that surround the word _Hartford Courant._ indicate italics. + + Transcribers notes: + + P. 163 Original reads 'brigh'" changed to bright. + P. 214 Original reads 'manes'" changed to names. + P. 237 Original reads 'he'" changed to be. + P. 267 Original reads 'guittars'" changed to guitars. + p. 432. Original reads 'wishout'" changed to without. + + Also actioned: + + word 'scander-bag' taken out hyphen. + word 'sun-shine', taken out hyphen. + word 'sweet-heart', taken out hyphen. + word 'rain-bow', taken out hyphen. + Added hyphen to 'to-night'. + Taken out hyphen for 'woman-kind', majority are 'womankind'. + Taken out hyphen for 'moon-light', 'moonlight' present. + Taken out hyphen for 'moon-shine', 'moonshine' present. + Taken out hyphen for 'cap-storm', majority are 'capstorm'. + Taken out hyphen for .before-hand', majority are 'beforehand'. + +------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Dryden's Works Vol. 3 (of 18), by John Dryden + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRYDEN'S WORKS VOL. 3 (OF 18) *** + +***** This file should be named 37645.txt or 37645.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/6/4/37645/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jane Robins and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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