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diff --git a/old/8aph210.txt b/old/8aph210.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b8a43af --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8aph210.txt @@ -0,0 +1,20564 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. II, by Aphra Behn + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. II + +Author: Aphra Behn + +Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8885] +[This file was first posted on August 20, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN, VOL. II *** + + + + +E-text prepared by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders + + + +THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN + +VOL. II + +EDITED BY + +MONTAGUE SUMMERS + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +ABDELAZER; OR, THE MOOR'S REVENGE +THE YOUNG KING; OR, THE MISTAKE +THE CITY HEIRESS; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TREAT-ALL +THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; OR, A NIGHT'S INTRIGUE +NOTES + + + + +ABDELAZER; OR, THE MOOR'S REVENGE. + + + +ARGUMENT. + + +The old King of Spain, having conquered Fez and killed the Moorish +monarch, has taken the orphaned prince Abdelazer under his protection and +in time made him General. Abdelazer, though always courageous, has the +desire of revenge ever uppermost, and to gain influence, rather than from +any love, he becomes the Queen's paramour. She, being a lustful and +wicked woman, joins with the Moor in poisoning her husband, at whose +death Philip, her second son, newly returned victor from a martial +expedition, leaving his army at some distance, rushes in mad with rage +and publicly accuses his mother of adultery with Abdelazer. She is +greatly incensed, but Cardinal Mendozo, as Protector of the King, +promptly banishes her gallant. The young King Ferdinand, however, to +please Florella, the Moor's wife, whom he loves, revokes this decree. +Abdelazer, in revenge, next orders his native officer Osmin to kill +Philip and the Cardinal. They escape by night disguised as monks, whilst +Abdelazer alarms the castle with cries of treason and tells the King that +Philip and the Cardinal are plotting to murder him. Ferdinand orders +Abdelazer to follow them, intending to visit Florella during her +husband's absence. Abdelazer, fully aware of his plan, out of pride +and mischief furnishes Florella with a dagger, bidding her stab the +King if he persists in his suit. Elvira, the Queen Mother's confidante, +Watches the King enter Florella's apartment and conveys the news to her +Mistress who, with dissembled reluctance, informs Alonzo, the Moor's +brother-in-law. Florella resists the King's solicitations and produces +the dagger threatening to stab herself. At this juncture the Queen rushes +in and, feigning to think that Florella was about to attempt the King's +life, kills her. Her motive for this deed is, in reality, jealousy. +Whilst the King falls weeping at his dead mistress' feet Abdelazer enters, +and in the ensuing fight Ferdinand is slain. Philip is then proclaimed +King, but Abdelazer announcing he is a bastard, an avowal backed by the +Queen, declares himself Protector of Spain, Overpowered by his following, +The lords accept him. Alonzo, however, flies to Philip's camp with the +tidings. A battle between the two parties follows, but the Queen +treacherously detaches Mendozo, who loves her, from Philip, and although +the Moors are at first beaten back they now gain the advantage and Philip +is captured. At a general assembly of the nobles the Queen relates the +false tale of Philip's illegitimacy and asserts that the Cardinal is his +father. She privately bids Mendozo acknowledge this and so gain the +crown, but he refuses to support the lie and is promptly arrested as a +traitor. Abdelazer now brings forward the Infanta Leonora and proclaims +her Queen of Spain, He next disposes of the Queen Mother by bidding +Roderigo, a creature of his own, assassinate her forthwith. Roderigo +gains admittance disguised as a friar and stabs her, upon which +Abdelazer, to screen himself, rushes in and cuts him down. He next openly +declares his love for Leonora and is about to force her when Osmin, his +officer, enters to inform him that Alonzo, to whom Leonora is affianced, +has resisted arrest but is at last secured. Abdelazer, enraged at the +interruption, wounds Osmin in the arm. Leonora pities the blow; and the +Moorish soldier, deeply hurt at the insult, resolves to betray his +master. He accordingly goes to the prison where Philip, the Cardinal, and +Alonzo are confined, and killing his fellow Zarrack who was to have been +their executioner, sets them free. When Abdelazer enters he finds himself +entrapped. He glories, however, in his crimes, and as they set on him +kills Osmin, himself falling dead in the mêleé. The Cardinal is forgiven, +Leonora and Alonzo are united, whilst Philip ascends the throne. + + + +SOURCE. + + +_Abdelazer; or, the Moor's Revenge_ is an alteration of the robustious +_Lust's Dominion; or, the _Lascivious Queen_, printed 12mo, 1657, and then +attributed to Marlowe, who was certainly not the author. It is now +generally identified with _The Spanish Moor's Tragedy_ by Dekker +(Haughton and Day, 1600), although, as Fleay justly says, there is 'an +under-current of pre-Shakespearean work' unlike either Dekker or Day. +There are marked crudities of form and a rough conduct of plot which +stamp it as of very early origin. Probably it was emended and pruned by +the three collaborators. + +Although often keeping close to her original, Mrs. Behn has dealt with +the somewhat rude material in a very apt and masterly way: she has, to +advantage, omitted the old King, Emanuel, King of Portugal, Alvero, +father to Maria (Florella), and the two farcical friars, Crab and Cole; +she adds Elvira, and whereas in _Lust's Dominion_ the Queen at the +conclusion is left alive, declaiming:-- + + 'I'll fly unto some solitary residence + When I'll spin out the remnant of my life + In true contrition for my past offences.'-- + +Mrs. Behn far more dramatically kills her Isabella. Perhaps the famous +assassination of Henri III of France by the Dominican, Jacques Clement, +gave a hint for Roderigo masqued as a monk. + +The sexual passion, the predominance of which in this tragedy a recent +critic has not a little carpingly condemned, is entirely natural in such +an untamed savage as Abdelazer, whilst history affords many a parallel to +the lascivious Queen. + + + +THEATRICAL HISTORY. + + +_Abdelazer; or, The Moor's Revenge_ was first produced at the Duke's +Theatre in Dorset Garden during the late autumn of 1677. It was supported +by a strong cast, and Betterton, whose Othello, Steele--writing +exquisitely in the _Tatler_--seems to have considered artistically quite +perfect, was no doubt n wonderful representative of the ferocious Afric. +The effective rôle of Queen Isabella fell to Mrs. Mary Lee, the first +tragedienne of the day, Mrs. Marshall, the leading lady of the King's +Company, having at this time just retired from the stage. [Footnote: Her +last rôle was Berenice in Crowne's heroic tragedy, _The Destruction of +Jerusalem_ (1677).] It is interesting to notice that Mrs. Barry on her +way to fame played the secondary part of Leonora. + +_Abdelazer_ seems to have met with good success, and on Easter Monday, +April, 1695, the patentees, after the secession of Betterton, Mrs. Barry, +Mrs. Bracegirdle and their following to Lincoln's Inn Fields, chose the +tragedy to reopen Drury Lane. The Moor was played by George Powell, a +vigorous and passionate actor, who also spoke a new prologue written for +the nonce by Cibber, then a mere struggler in the ranks. Colley's verses +were accepted at the eleventh hour in default of better, and he tells us +how chagrined he was not to be allowed to deliver them in person. The +house was very full the first day, but on the morrow it was empty, +probably owing to the inexperience of many of the actors and a too hasty +rehearsing of the play. + +On the stage _Abdelazer_ was superseded by Edward Young's _The Revenge_, +a tragedy largely borrowed in theme and design from Mrs. Behn, with +reminiscences of _Othello_. Produced at Drury Lane, 18 April, 1721, with +Mills, Booth, Wilks, Mrs. Porter and Mrs. Horton in the cast, it attained +considerable success, and Zanga, the Moor, was long a favourite part with +our greatest actors even down to the days of Kean, who excelled in it, +and Macready. _The Revenge_ is not without merit, and it stands out well +before the lean and arid tragedies of its time, but this, unfortunately, +is not much to say. It is not for a moment to be compared with the +magnificent tapestry of _Abdelazer_, woven though the latter may be in +colours strong and daring. + + + + +ABDELAZER; or, The Moor's Revenge. + + + +PROLOGUE. + + +_Gallants, you have so long been absent hence, +That you have almost cool'd your Diligence; +For while we study or revive a Play, +You, like good Husbands, in the Country stay, +There frugally wear out your Summer Suit, +And in Prize Jerkin after Beagles toot; +Or, in Montero-Caps, at Feldfares shoot. +Nay, some are so obdurate in their Sin, +That they swear never to come up again, +But all their Charge of Clothes and Treat retrench, +To Gloves and Stockings for some Country Wench: +Even they, who in the Summer had Mishaps, +Send up to Town for Physick for their Claps. +The Ladies too are as resolved as they, +And having Debts unknown to them, they stay, +And with the Gain of Cheese and Poultry pay. +Even in their Visits, they from Banquets fall, +To entertain with Nuts and Bottle-Ale; +And in Discourse with Secresy report +State-News, that past a Twelve-month since at Court. +Those of them who are most refind, and gay, +Now learn the Songs of the last Summer's Play: +While the young Daughter does in private mourn, +Her Lovers in Town, and hopes not to return. +These Country Grievances too great appear: +But cruel Ladies, we have greater here; +You come not sharp, as you are wont, to Plays; +But only on the first and second Days: +This made our Poet, in her Visits, look +What new strange Courses, for your time you took, +And to her great Regret she found too soon, +Damn'd Beasts and Ombre spent the Afternoon; +So that we cannot hope to see you here +Before the little Net-work Purse be clear. +Suppose you should have Luck-- +Yet sitting up so late, as I am told, +You'll lose in Beauty what you win in Gold: +And what each Lady of another says, +Will make you new Lampoons, and us new Plays. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + +MEN. + +_Ferdinand_, a young King of Spain, in love with + _Florella_. Mr. _Harris_. +_Philip_, his Brother. Mr. _Smith_. +_Akdelazer_, the Moor. Mr. _Betterton_. +_Mendozo_, Prince Cardinal, in love with the Queen. Mr. _Medburn_. +_Alonzo_, a young Nobleman of _Spain_, contracted to + _Leonora_. Mr. _Crasbie_. +_Roderigo_, a Creature to the Moor, Mr. _Norris_. +_Antonio_, | +_Sebastian_, Two Officers of _Phillip's_. | Mr. _John Lee_. +_Osmin_, | Mr. _Percivall_. +_Zarrack_, Moors and Officers to _Abdelazer_. | Mr. _Richards_. +_Ordonio_, a Courtier. +A Swain, and Shepherds. +Courtiers, Officers, Guards, Soldiers, Moors, Pages, and Attendants. + +WOMEN. + +_Isabella_, Queen of _Spain_, Mother to _Ferdinand_ + and _Philip_, in love with _Abdelazer_. Mrs. _Lee_. +_Leonora_, her Daughter, Sister to _Ferdinand_ + and _Philip_. Mrs. _Barrey_. +_Florella_, Wife to _Abdelazer_, and Sister to Mrs. _Betterton_. + _Alonzo_. +_Elvira_, Woman to the Queen. Mrs. _Osborne_. +A Nymph, and Shepherdesses. +Other Women Attendants. + +SCENE _Spain_, and in the Camp. + + + +ACT I. + + +SCENE I. _A rich Chamber_. + + _A Table with Lights_, Abdelazer _sullenly leaning his Head + on his Hands: after a little while, still Musick plays_. + + + SONG. + + _Love _in fantastick Triumph sat, + Whilst bleeding Hearts around him flow'd, + For whom fresh Pains he did create, + And strange Tyrannick Pow'r he shewed; + From thy bright Eyes he took his Fires, + Which round about in sport he hurl'd; + But 'twas from mine he took Desires, + Enough t'undo the amorous World. + + From me he took his Sighs and Tears, + From thee his Pride and Cruelty; + From me his Languishments and Fears, + And ev'ry killing Dart from thee: + Thus thou, and I, the God have arrri'd, + And set him up a Deity; + But my poor Heart alone is harm'd, + Whilst thine the Victor is, and free_. + + [_After which he rouzes, and gazes_. + +_Abd_. On me this Musick lost?--this Sound on me +That hates all Softness?--What, ho, my Slaves! + + _Enter_ Osmin, Zarrack. + +_Osm_. My gracious Lord-- + + [_Enter_ Queen, Elvira. + +_Qu_. My dearest _Abdelazer_-- + +_Abd_. Oh, are you there?--Ye Dogs, how came she in? +Did I not charge you on your Lives to watch, +That none disturb my Privacy? + +_Qu_. My gentle _Abdelazer_, 'tis thy Queen, +Who 'as laid aside the Business of her State, +To wanton in the kinder Joys of Love-- +Play all your sweetest Notes, such as inspire +The active Soul with new and soft Desire, + [_To_ the Musick, they play softly. +Whilst we from Eyes--thus dying, fan the Fire. + [_She sits down by him_. + +_Abd_. Cease that ungrateful Noise. + [_Musick_ ceases. + +_Qu_. Can ought that I command displease my Moor? + +_Abd_. Away, fond Woman. + +_Qu_. Nay, prithee be more kind. + +_Abd_. Nay, prithee, good Queen, leave me--I am dull, +Unfit for Dalliance now. + +_Qu_. Why dost thou frown?--to whom was that Curse sent? + +_Abd_. To thee-- + +_Qu_. To me?--it cannot be--to me, sweet Moor?-- +No, no, it cannot--prithee smile upon me-- +Smile, whilst a thousand Cupids shall descend +And call thee Jove, and wait upon thy Smiles, +Deck thy smooth Brow with Flowers; +Whilst in my Eyes, needing no other Glass, +Thou shalt behold and wonder at thy Beauty. + +_Abd_. Away, away, be gone-- + +_Qu_. Where hast thou learnt this Language, that can say +But those rude Words--Away, away, be gone? +Am I grown ugly now? + +_Abd_. Ugly as Hell-- + +_Qu_. Didst thou not love me once, and swore that Heav'n +Dwelt in my Face and Eyes? + +_Abd_. Thy Face and Eyes!--Baud, fetch me here a Glass, + [_To_ Elvira. +And thou shalt see the Balls of both those Eyes +Burning with Fire of Lust: +That Blood that dances in thy Cheeks so hot, +That have not I to cool it +Made an Extraction even of my Soul, +Decay'd my Youth, only to feed thy Lust? +And wou'dst thou still pursue me to my Grave? + +_Qu_. All this to me, my _Abdelazer_? + +_Abd_. I cannot ride through the _Castilian_ Streets, +But thousand Eyes throw killing Looks at me, +And cry--That's he that does abuse our King-- +There goes the Minion of the _Spanish_ Queen, +Who, on the lazy Pleasures of his Love, +Spends the Revenues of the King of _Spain_-- +This many-headed Beast your Lust has arm'd. + +_Qu_. How dare you, Sir, upbraid me with my Love? + +_Abd_. I will not answer thee, nor hear thee speak. + +_Qu_. Not hear me speak!--Yes, and in Thunder too; +Since all my Passion, all my soft Intreaties +Can do no good upon thee, +I'll see (since thou hast banish'd all thy Love, +That Love, to which I've sacrific'd my Honour) +If thou hast any Sense of Gratitude, +For all the mighty Graces I have done thee. + +_Abd_. Do;--and in thy Story too, do not leave out +How dear those mighty Graces I have purchas'd; +My blooming Youth, my healthful vigorous Youth, +Which Nature gave me for more noble Actions +Than to lie fawning at a Woman's Feet, +And pass my Hours in Idleness and Love-- +If I cou'd blush, I shou'd thro all this Cloud +Send forth my Sense of Shame into my Cheeks. + +_Qu_. Ingrate! +Have I for this abus'd the best of Men, +My noble Husband? +Depriving him of all the Joys of Love, +To bring them all intirely to thy Bed; +Neglected all my Vows, and sworn 'em here a-new, +Here, on thy Lips-- +Exhausted Treasures that wou'd purchase Crowns, +To buy thy Smiles--to buy a gentle Look; +And when thou didst repay me--blest the Giver? +Oh, _Abdelazer_, more than this I've done-- +This very Hour, the last the King can live, +Urg'd by thy Witch-craft, I his Life betray'd; +And is it thus my Bounties are repaid? +Whate'er a Crime so great deserves from Heav'n, +By _Abdelazer_ might have been forgiven: [_Weeps_. +But I will be reveng'd by penitence, +And e'er the King dies, own my black Offence-- +And yet that's not enough--_Elvira_-- [_Pauses_. +Cry murder, murder, help, help. + + [_She and her Women cry aloud, he is surpriz'd, + the_ Queen _falls_, _he draws a Dagger_ at Elvira. + +_Elv_. Help, murder, murder!-- + +_Abd_. Hell, what's this?--peace, Baud--'sdeath, +They'll raise the Court upon me, and then I'm lost-- +My Queen--my Goddess--Oh raise your lovely Eyes, +I have dissembled Coldness all this while; +And that Deceit was but to try thy Faith. + [_Takes her up, sets her in a Chair, then kneels_. +Look up--by Heav'n,'twas Jealousy-- +Pardon your Slave--pardon your poor Adorer. + +_Qu_. Thou didst upbraid me with my shameful Passion. + +_Abd_. I'll tear my Tongue out for its Profanation. + +_Qu_. And when I woo'd thee but to smile upon me, +Thou cry'st--Away, I'm dull, unfit for Dalliance. + +_Abd_. Call back the frighted Blood into thy Cheeks, +And I'll obey the Dictates of my Love, +And smile, and kiss, and dwell for ever here-- + _Enter_ Osmin hastily. +How now--why star'st thou so? + +_Osm_. My Lord--the King is dead. + +_Abd_. The King dead!--'Twas time then to dissemble. [_Aside_. +What means this Rudeness?-- + [_One knocks_. + + _Enter_ Zarrack. + +_Zar_. My Lord--the Cardinal inquiring for the Queen, +The Court is in an uproar, none can find her. + +_Abd_. Not find the Queen! and wou'd they search her here? + +_Qu_. What shall I do? I must not here be found. + +_Abd_. Oh, do not fear--no Cardinal enters here; +No King--no God, that means to be secure-- +Slaves guard the Doors, and suffer none to enter, +Whilst I, my charming Queen, provide for your Security-- +You know there is a Vault deep under Ground, +Into the which the busy Sun ne'er enter'd, +But all is dark, as are the Shades of Hell, +Thro which in dead of Night I oft have pass'd, +Guided by Love, to your Apartment, Madam-- +They knock agen--thither, my lovely Mistress, [_Knock_. +Suffer your self to be conducted-- + +_Osmin_, attend the Queen--descend in haste, + [Queen, Osm. _and_ Elv. _descend the Vault_. +My Lodgings are beset. + +_Zar_. I cannot guard the Lodgings longer-- +Don _Ordonio_, Sir, to seek the Queen-- + +_Abd_. How dare they seek her here? + +_Zar_. My Lord, the King has swounded twice, +And being recover'd, calls for her Majesty. + +_Abd_. The King not dead!--go, _Zafrack_, and aloud +Tell Don _Ordonio_ and the Cardinal, +He that dares enter here to seek the Queen, + [_Puts his Hand to his Sword_. +Had better snatch the She from the fierce side +Of a young amorous Lion, and 'twere safer.-- +Again, more knocking!-- + [_Knocking_. + +_Zar_. My gracious Lord, it is your Brother, Don _Alonzo_. + +_Abd_. I will not have him enter--I am disorder'd. + +_Zar_. My Lord, 'tis now too late. + _Enter_ Alonzo. + +_Alon_. Saw you not the Queen, my Lord? + +_Abd_. My Lord! + +_Alon_. Was not the Queen here with you? + +_Abd_. The Queen with me! +Because, Sir, I am married to your Sister, +You, like your Sister, must be jealous too: +The Queen with me! with me! a Moor! a Devil! +A Slave of _Barbary_! for so +Your gay young Courtiers christen me--But, Don, +Altho my Skin be black, within my Veins +Runs Blood as red, and royal as the best.-- +My Father, Great _Abdela_, with his Life +Lost too his Crown; both most unjustly ravish'd +By Tyrant _Philip_, your old King I mean. +How many Wounds his valiant Breast receiv'd +E'er he would yield to part with Life and Empire: +Methinks I see him cover'd o'er with Blood, +Fainting amidst those numbers he had conquer'd. +I was but young, yet old enough to grieve, +Tho not revenge, or to defy my Fetters: +For then began my Slavery; and e'er since +Have seen that Diadem by this Tyrant worn, +Which crown'd the sacred Temples of my Father, +And shou'd adorn mine now--shou'd! nay, and must-- +Go tell him what I say--'twill be but Death-- +Go, Sir,--the Queen's not here. + +_Alon_. Do not mistake me, Sir,--or if I wou'd, +I've no old King to tell--the King is dead-- +And I am answer'd, Sir, to what I came for, +And so good night. + [_Exit_. + +_Abd_. Now all that's brave and villain seize my Soul, +Reform each Faculty that is not ill, +And make it fit for Vengeance, noble Vengeance. +Oh glorious Word! fit only for the Gods, +For which they form'd their Thunder, +Till Man usurp'd their Power, and by Revenge +Sway'd Destiny as well as they, and took their trade of killing. +And thou, almighty Love, +Dance in a thousand forms about my Person, +That this same Queen, this easy Spanish Dame, +May be bewitch'd, and dote upon me still; +Whilst I make use of the insatiate Flame +To set all _Spain_ on fire.-- +Mischief, erect thy Throne, +And sit on high; here, here upon my Head. +Let Fools fear Fate, thus I my Stars defy: +The influence of this--must raise my Glory high. + [_Pointing to his Sword. + + [Exit_. + + +SCENE II. _A Room in the Palace_. + + _Enter_ Ferdinand _weeping_, Ordonio _bearing the Crown, + followed by_ Alonzo, _leading_ Leonora _weeping_; Florella, + Roderigo, Mendozo, _met by the_ Queen _weeping_; + Elvira _and Women_. + +_Qu_. What doleful Cry was that, which like the Voice +Of angry Heav'n struck thro my trembling Soul? +Nothing but horrid Shrieks, nothing but Death; +Whilst I, bowing my Knees to the cold Earth, +Drowning my Cheeks in Rivulets of Tears, +Sending up Prayers in Sighs, t' implore from Heaven +Health for the Royal Majesty of _Spain_-- +All cry'd, the Majesty of _Spain_ is dead. +Whilst the sad Sound flew through the ecchoing Air, +And reach'd my frighted Soul--Inform my Fears, +Oh my _Fernando_, oh my gentle Son-- + [_Weeps_. + +_King_. Madam, read here the truth, if looks can shew +That which I cannot speak, and you wou'd know: +The common Fare in ev'ry face appears; +A King's great loss the publick Grief declares, +But 'tis a Father's Death that claims my Tears. + [Card. _leads in the_ Queen _attended_. + +_Leon_. Ah, Sir! +If you thus grieve, who ascend by what y'ave lost, +To all the Greatness that a King can boast; +What Tributes from my Eyes and Heart are due, +Who've lost at once a King and Father too? + +_King_. My _Leonora_ cannot think my Grief +Can from those empty Glories find relief; +Nature within my Soul has equal share, +And that and Love surmount my Glory there. +Had Heav'n continu'd Royal _Philip's_ Life, +And giv'n me bright _Florella_ for a Wife, + [_Bows to_ Florella. +To Crown and Scepters I had made no claim, +But ow'd my Blessings only to my Flame. +But Heav'n well knew in giving thee away, [_To_ Flor. +I had no bus'ness for another Joy. [_Weeps_. +The King, _Alanzo_, with his dying Breath, + [_Turns to_ Alon. _and_ Leon. +To you my beauteous Sister did bequeath; +And I his Generosity approve, +And think you worthy _Leonora's_ Love. + + _Enter_ Card. _and_ Queen _weeping_. + +_Alon_. Too gloriously my Services are paid, +In the possession of this Royal Maid, +To whom my guilty Heart durst ne'er aspire, +But rather chose to languish in its Fire. + + _Enter_ Philip _in a Rage_, Antonio _and_ Sebastian. + +_Phil_. I know he is not dead; what envious Powers +Durst snatch him hence? he was all great and good, +As fit to be ador'd as they above. +Where is the Body of my Royal Father? +That Body which inspir'd by's sacred Soul, +Aw'd all the Universe with ev'ry Frown, +And taught 'em all Obedience with his Smiles. +Why stand you thus distracted--Mother--Brother-- +My Lords--Prince Cardinal-- +Has Sorrow struck you dumb? +Is this my Welcome from the Toils of War? +When in his Bosom I shou'd find repose, +To meet it cold and pale!--Oh, guide me to him, +And with my Sighs I'll breathe new Life into't. + +_King_. There's all that's left of Royal _Philip_ now, + [Phil, _goes out_. +Pay all thy Sorrow there--whilst mine alone +Are swoln too high t' admit of Lookers on. + [_Ex_. King _weeping_. + + Philip _returns weeping_. + +_Phil_. His Soul is fled to all Eternity; +And yet methought it did inform his Body, +That I, his darling _Philip_, was arriv'd +With Conquest on my Sword; and even in Death +Sent me his Joy in Smiles. + +_Qu_. If Souls can after Death have any Sense +Of human things, his will be proud to know +That _Philip_ is a Conqueror. + _Enter_ Abdelazer. +But do not drown thy Laurels thus in Tears, +Such Tributes leave to us, thou art a Soldier. + +_Phil_. Gods! this shou'd be my Mother-- + +_Men_. It is, great Sir, the Queen. + +_Phil_. Oh, she's too foul for one or t'other Title. + +_Qu_. How, Sir, do you not know me? + +_Phil_. When you were just, I did, +And with a Reverence, such as we pay Heav'n, +I paid my awful Duty;-- +But as you have abus'd my Royal Father, +For such a Sin the basest of your Slaves +Wou'd blush to call you Mother. + +_Qu_. What means my Son? + +_Phil_. Son! by Heav'n, I scorn the Title. + +_Qu_. Oh Insolence!--out of my sight, rude Boy. + +_Phil_. We must not part so, Madam; +I first must let you know your Sin and Shame;-- +Nay, hear me calmly--for, by Heav'n, you shall-- +My Father whilst he liv'd, tir'd his strong Arm +With numerous Battles 'gainst the Enemy, +Wasting his Brains in warlike Stratagems; +To bring Confusion on the faithless Moors, +Whilst you, lull'd in soft Peace at home, betray'd +His Name to everlasting Infamy; +Suffer'd his Bed to be defil'd with Lust, +Gave up your self, your Honour, and your Vows, +To wanton in yon sooty Lecher's Arms. + [_Points to_ Abd. + +_Abd_. Me, dost thou mean? + +_Phil_. Yes, Villain, thee, thou Hell-begotten Fiend, +'Tis thee I mean. + +_Qu_. Oh most unnatural, to dishonour me! + +_Phil_. That Dog you mean, that has dishonour'd you, +Dishonour'd me, these Lords, nay, and all Spain; +This Devil's he, that-- + +_Abd_. That--what--Oh pardon me if I throw off +All Ties of Duty:--wert thou ten King's Sons, +And I as many Souls as I have Sins, +Thus I would hazard all. + [Draws, they all run between. + +_Phil_. Stand off--or I'll make way upon thy Bosom. + +_Abd_. How got you, Sir, this daring? + +_Phil_. From injur'd _Philip's_ Death, +Who, whilst he liv'd, unjustly cherish'd thee, +And set thee up beyond the reach of Fate; +Blind with thy brutal Valor, deaf with thy Flatteries, +Discover'd not the Treason thou didst act, +Nor none durst let him know 'em--but did he live, +I wou'd aloud proclaim them in his Ears. + +_Abd_. You durst as well been damn'd. + +_Phil_. Hell seize me if I want Revenge for this-- +Not dare! +Arise, thou injur'd Ghost of my dead King, +And thro thy dreadful Paleness dart a Horror, +May fright this pair of Vipers from their Sins. + +_Abd_. Oh insupportable! dost hear me, Boy? + +_Qu_. Are ye all mute, and hear me thus upbraided? + [_To the Lords_. + +_Phil_. Dare ye detain me whilst the Traitor braves me? + +_Men_. Forbear, my Prince, keep in that noble Heat +That shou'd be better us'd than on a Slave. + +_Abd_. You politick Cheat-- + +_Men. Abdelazer_-- +By the Authority of my Government, +Which yet I hold over the King of _Spain_, +By Warrant of a Council from the Peers, +And (as an Unbeliever) from the Church, +I utterly deprive thee of that Greatness, +Those Offices and Trusts you hold in _Spain_. + +_Abd_. Cardinal--who lent thee this Commission? +Grandees of Spain, do you consent to this? + +_All_. We do. + +_Alon_. What Reason for it? let his Faith be try'd. + +_Men_. It needs no tryal, the Proofs are evident, +And his Religion was his Veil for Treason. + +_Alon_. Why should you question his Religion, Sir? +He does profess Christianity. + +_Men_. Yes, witness his Habit which he still retains +In scorn to ours-- +His Principles are too as unalterable. + +_Abd_. Is that the only Argument you bring? +I tell thee, Cardinal, not thy Holy Gown +Covers a Soul more sanctify'd than this +Moorish Robe. + +_Phil_. Damn his Religion--he has a thousand Crimes +That will yet better justify your Sentence. + +_Men_. Come not within the Court; for if you do, +Worse mischief shall ensue--you have your Sentence. + [_Ex_. Phil, _and_ Men. + +_Alon_. My Brother banish'd! 'tis very sudden; +For thy sake, Sister, this must be recall'd. [_To_ Flor. + +_Qu. Alonzo_, join with me, I'll to the King, +And check the Pride of this insulting Cardinal. + [_Exeunt all, except_ Abdelazer, Florella. + +_Abd_. Banish'd! if I digest this Gall, +May Cowards pluck the Wreath from off my Brow, +Which I have purchas'd with so many Wounds, +And all for Spain; for _Spain_! ingrateful _Spain_!-- +Oh, my _Florella_, all my Glory's vanish'd, +The Cardinal (Oh damn him) wou'd have me banish'd. + +_Flor_. But, Sir, I hope you will not tamely go. + +_Abd_. Tamely!--ha, ha, ha,--yes, by all means-- +A very honest and religious Cardinal! + +_Flor_. I wou'd not for the World you should be banish'd. + +_Abd_. Not Spain, you mean--for then she leaves the King. [_Aside_. +What if I be?--Fools! not to know--All parts o' th' World +Allow enough for Villany; for I'll be brave no more. +It is a Crime--and then I can live any where-- +But say I go from hence--I leave behind me +A Cardinal that will laugh--I leave behind me +A _Philip_ that will clap his Hands in sport-- +But the worst Wound is this, I leave my Wrongs, +Dishonours, and my Discontents, all unreveng'd-- +Leave me, _Florella_--prithee do not weep; +I love thee, love thee wondrously--go leave me-- +I am not now at leisure to be fond-- +Go to your Chamber--go. + +_Flor_. No, to the King I'll fly, +And beg him to revenge thy Infamy. [_Ex_. Flor. + _To him_ Alonzo. + +_Alon_. The Cardinal's mad to have thee banish'd Spain. +I've left the Queen in angry Contradiction, +But yet I fear the Cardinal's Reasoning. + +_Abd_. This Prince's Hate proceeds from Love, +He's jealous of the Queen, and fears my Power. [_Aside_. + +_Alon_. Come, rouse thy wonted Spirits, awake thy Soul, +And arm thy Justice with a brave Revenge. + +_Abd_. I'll arm no Justice with a brave Revenge. + [_Sullenly_. + +_Alon_. Shall they then triumph o'er thee, who were once +Proud to attend thy conqu'ring Chariot-Wheels? + +_Abd_. I care not--I am a Dog, and can bear wrongs. + +_Alon_. But, Sir, my Honour is concern'd with yours, +Since my lov'd Sister did become your Wife; +And if yours suffer, mine too is unsafe. + +_Abd_. I cannot help it-- + +_Alon_. What Ice has chill'd thy Blood? +This Patience was not wont to dwell with thee. + +_Abd_. 'Tis true; but now the World is chang'd you see. +Thou art too brave to know what I resolve-- [_Aside_. +No more--here comes the King with my _Florella_. +He loves her, and she swears to me she's chaste; +'Tis well, if true--well too, if it be false: [_Aside_. +I care not, 'tis Revenge +That I must sacrifice my Love and Pleasure to. + [Alon. _and_ Abd. _stand aside_. + + _Enter King, _Lords, Guards passing over the Stage_, + Florella _in a suppliant posture weeping_. + +_King_. Thou woo'st me to reverse thy Husband's Doom, +And I woo thee for Mercy on my self, +Why shoud'st thou sue to him for Life and Liberty, +For any other, who himself lies dying, +Imploring from thy Eyes a little Pity? + +_Flor_. Oh mighty King! in whose sole Power, like Heav'n, +The Lives and Safeties of your Slaves remain, +Hear and redress my _Abdelazer's_ Wrongs. + +_King_. All Lives and Safeties in my Power remain! +Mistaken charming Creature, if my Power +Be such, who kneel and bow to thee, +What must thine be, +Who hast the Sovereign Command o'er me and it? +Wou'dst thou give Life? turn but thy lovely Eyes +Upon the wretched thing that wants it, +And he will surely live, and live for ever. +Canst thou do this, and com'st to beg of me? + +_Flor_. Alas, Sir, what I beg's what you alone can give, +My _Abdelazer's_ Pardon. + +_King_. Pardon! can any thing ally'd to thee offend? +Thou art so sacred and so innocent, +That but to know thee, and to look on thee, +Must change even Vice to Virtue. +Oh my _Florella_! +So perfectly thou dost possess my Soul, +That ev'ry Wish of thine shall be obey'd: +Say, wou'dst thou have thy Husband share my Crown? +Do but submit to love me, and I yield it. + +_Flor_. Such Love as humble Subjects owe their King. + [_Kneels, he takes her up_. +And such as I dare pay, I offer here. + +_King_. I must confess it is a Price too glorious: +But, my _Florella_-- + +_Abd_. I'll interrupt your amorous Discourse. [_Aside_. + [Abd. _comes up to them_. + +_Flor_. Sir, _Abdelazer's_ here. + +_King_. His Presence never was less welcome to me;-- + [_Aside_. +But, Madam, durst the Cardinal use this Insolence? +Where is your noble Husband? + +_Abd_. He sees me, yet inquires for me. [_Aside_. + +_Flor_. Sir, my Lord is here. + +_King. Abdelazer_, I have heard with much surprize, +O' th' Injuries you've receiv'd, and mean to right you: +My Father lov'd you well, made you his General, +I think you worthy of that Honour still. + +_Abd_. True--for my Wife's sake. [_Aside_. + +_King_. When my Coronation is solemnized, +Be present there, and re-assume your wonted State and Place; +And see how I will check the insolent Cardinal. + +_Abd_. I humbly thank my Sovereign-- + [_Kneels, and kisses the_ King's _Hand_. +That he loves my Wife so well. [_Aside_. + [_Exeunt_. + _Manent_ Abdelazer, Florella. + +_Flor_. Wilt thou not pay my Service with one Smile? +Have I not acted well the Suppliant's part? + +_Abd_. Oh wonderfully! y'ave learnt the Art to move. +Go, leave me. + +_Flor_. Still out of humour, thoughtful and displeas'd? +And why at me, my _Abdelazer_? what have I done? + +_Abd_. Rarely! you cannot do amiss you are so beautiful. +So very fair--Go, get you in, I say-- + [_Turns her in roughly_. +She has the art of dallying with my Soul, +Teaching it lazy softness from her Looks. +But now a nobler Passion's enter'd there, +And blows it thus--to Air--Idol Ambition, +_Florella_ must to thee a Victim fall: +Revenge,--to thee--a Cardinal and Prince: +And to my Love and Jealousy, a King-- +More yet, my mighty Deities, I'll do, +None that you e'er inspir'd like me shall act; +That fawning servile Crew shall follow next, +Who with the Cardinal cry'd, banish _Abdelazer_. + + _Like Eastern Monarchs I'll adorn thy Fate, + And to the Shades thou shalt descend in State. + + [Exit_. + + + +ACT II. + + +SCENE I. _A Chamber of State_. + + _Enter the_ King _crown'd_, Philip, Mendozo, Queen, Leonora, + Florella, Elvira, Alonzo, Roderigo, Ordonio, Sebastian, + Antonio, _Officers and Guards; met by_ Abdelazer _follow'd + by_ Osmin, Zarrack, _and Moors attending. He comes in with + Pride, staring on_ Philip _and_ Mendozo, _and takes his stand + next the_ King. + +_Phil_. Why stares the Devil thus, as if he meant +From his infectious Eyes to scatter Plagues, +And poison all the World? Was he not banish'd? +How dares the Traitor venture into th' Presence?-- +Guards, spurn the Villain forth. + +_Abd_. Who spurns the _Moor_ +Were better set his foot upon the Devil-- +Do, spurn me, and this Hand thus justly arm'd, +Shall like a Thunder-bolt, breaking the Clouds, +Divide his Body from his Soul--stand back-- + [_To the Guards_. +Spurn _Abdelazer_!-- + +_Phil_. Death, shall we bear this Insolence? + +_Alon_. Great Sir, I think his Sentence was unjust. + [_To the_ King. + +_Men_. Sir, you're too partial to be judge in this, +And shall not give your Voice. + +_Abd_. Proud Cardinal--but he shall--and give it loud. +And shall not!--who shall hinder him? + +_Phil_. This--and cut his Wind-pipe too. + [_Offers to draw_. +To spoil his whisp'ring. + [Abd. _offers to draw, his Attendants do the same_. + +_King_. What means this Violence? +Forbear to draw your Swords--'tis we command. + +_Abd_. Sir, do me Justice, I demand no more. + [_Kneels, and offers his Sword_. +And at your Feet we lay our Weapons down. + +_Men_. Sir, _Abdelazer_ has had Justice done, +And stands by me banish'd the Court of _Spain_. + +_King_. How, Prince Cardinal! +From whence do you derive Authority +To banish him the Court without our leave? + +_Men_. Sir, from my Care unto your royal Person, +As I'm your Governor--then for the Kingdom's Safety. + +_King_. Because I was a Boy, must I be still so? +Time, Sir, has given me in that formal Ceremony, +And I am of an age to rule alone; +And from henceforth discharge you of your Care. +We know your near relation to this Crown, +And wanting Heirs, that you must fill the Throne; +Till when, Sir, I am absolute Monarch here, +And you must learn Obedience. + +_Men_. Pardon my zealous Duty, which I hope +You will approve, and not recal his Banishment. + +_King_. Sir, but I will; and who dares contradict +It, is a Traitor. + +_Phil_. I dare the first, yet do defy the last. + +_King_. My hot-brain'd Sir, I'll talk to you anon. + +_Men_. Sir, I am wrong'd, and will appeal to _Rome_. + +_Phil_. By Heav'n, I'll to the Camp--Brother, farewel, +When next I meet thee, it shall be in Arms, +If thou can'st get loose from thy Mistress' Chains, +Where thou ly'st drown'd in idle wanton Love. + +_Abd_. Hah--his Mistress--who is't Prince _Philip_ means? + +_Phil_. Thy Wife, thy Wife, proud Moor, whom thou'rt content +To sell for Honour to eternal Infamy-- +Does't make thee snarl?--Bite on, whilst thou shalt see, +I go for Vengeance, and 'twill come with me. + [_Going out, turns and draws_. + +_Abd_. Stay! for 'tis here already--turn, proud Boy. + [Abd. _draws_. + +_King_. What mean you, _Philip_?--[_Talks to him aside_. + +_Qu_. Cease, cease your most impolitick Rage. [_To_ Abd. +Is this a time to shew't?--Dear Son, you are a King, +And may allay this Tempest. + +_King_. How dare you disobey my Will and Pleasure? [_To_ Abd. + +_Abd_. Shall I be calm, and hear my Wife call'd Whore? +Were he great _Jove_, and arm'd with all his Lightning, +By Heav'n, I could not hold my just Resentment. + +_Qu_. 'Twas in his Passion, noble _Abdelazer_-- + [King _talking to_ Phil. _aside_. +Imprudently thou dost disarm thy Rage, +And giv'st the Foe a warning, e'er thou strik'st; +When with thy Smiles thou might'st securely kill. +You know the Passion that the Cardinal bears me; +His Pow'r too o'er _Philip_, which well manag'd +Will serve to ruin both: put up your Sword-- +When next you draw it, teach it how to act. + +_Abd_. You shame me, and command me. + +_Qu_. Why all this Rage?--does it become you, Sir? + [_To_ Men. _aside_. +What is't you mean to do? + +_Men_. You need not care, whilst _Abdelazer's_ safe. + +_Qu_. Jealousy, upon my Life--how gay it looks! + +_Men_. Madam, you want that pitying Regard +To value what I do, or what I am; +I'll therefore lay my Cardinal's Hat aside, +And in bright Arms demand my Honour back. + +_Qu_. Is't thus, my Lord, you give me Proofs of Love? +Have then my Eyes lost all their wonted Power? +And can you quit the hope of gaining me, +To follow your Revenge?--go--go to fight, +Bear Arms against your Country, and your King, +All for a little worthless Honour lost. + +_Men_. What is it, Madam, you would have me do? + +_Qu_. Not side with _Philip_, as you hope my Grace-- +Now, Sir, you know my Pleasure, think on't well. + +_Men_. Madam, you know your Power o'er your Slave, +And use it too tyrannically--but dispose +The Fate of him, whose Honour, and whose Life, +Lies at your Mercy-- +I'll stay and die, since 'tis your gracious Pleasure. + +_King. Philip_, upon your Life, +Upon your strict Allegiance, I conjure you +To remain at Court, till I have reconcil'd you. + +_Phil_. Never, Sir; +Nor can you bend my Temper to that Tameness. + +_King_. 'Tis in my Power to charge you as a Prisoner; +But you're my Brother--yet remember too +I am your King--No more. + +_Phil_. I will obey. + +_King. Abdelazer_, +I beg you will forget your Cause of Hate +Against my Brother _Philip_, and the Cardinal; +He's young, and rash, but will be better temper'd. + +_Abd_. Sir, I have done, and beg your royal Pardon. + +_King_. Come, _Philip_, give him your Hand. + +_Phil_. I can forgive without a Ceremony. + +_King_. And to confirm ye Friends, +I invite you all to Night to banquet with me; +Pray see you give Attendance--Come, Brother, +You must along with us. + + [_Exeunt all but_ Abd. Queen _and Women_. + +_Qu_. Leave me-- + [_To the Women, who go out_. +Now my dear Moor. + +_Abd_. Madam. + +_Qu_. Why dost thou answer with that cold Reserve-- +Is that a Look--an Action for a Lover? + +_Abd_. Ah, Madam-- + +_Qu_. Have I not taken off thy Banishment? +Restor'd thee to thy former State and Honours? +Nay, and heap'd new ones too, too mighty for thy Hopes; +And still to raise thee equal to this Heart, +Where thou must ever reign. + +_Abd_. 'Tis true, my bounteous Mistress, all this you've done-- +But-- + +_Qu_. But what, my _Abdelazer_? + +_Abd_. I will not call it to your Memory. + +_Qu_. What canst thou mean? + +_Abd_. Why was the King remov'd? + +_Qu_. To make thy way more easy to my Arms. + +_Abd_. Was that all? + +_Qu_. All! + +_Abd_. Not but it is a Blessing Gods would languish for-- +But as you've made it free, so make it just. + +_Qu_. Thou mean'st, marry thee. + +_Abd_. No, by the Gods-- [_Aside_. +Not marry thee, unless I were a King. + +_Qu_. What signifies the Name to him that rules one? + +_Abd_. What use has he of Life, that cannot live +Without a Ruler? + +_Qu_. Thou wouldst not have me kill him. + +_Abd_. Oh, by no means, not for my wretched Life! +What, kill a King!--forbid it, Heaven: +Angels stand like his Guards about his Person. +The King! +Not so many Worlds as there be Stars +Twinkling upon the embroider'd Firmament! +The King! +He loves my Wife _Florella_, shou'd he die-- +I know none else durst love her. + +_Qu_. And that's the Reason you wou'd send him hence. + +_Abd_. I must confess, I wou'd not bear a wrong: +But do not take me for a Villain, Madam; +He is my King, and may do what he pleases. + +_Qu_. 'Tis well, Sir. + +_Abd_. Again that Frown, it renders thee more charming +Than any other Dress thou could'st put on. + +_Qu_. Away, you do not love me. + +_Abd_. Now mayst thou hate me, if this be not pretty. + +_Qu_. Oh, you can flatter finely-- + +_Abd_. Not I, by Heaven: +Oh, that this Head were circled in a Crown, +And I were King, by Fortune, as by Birth! +And that I was, till by thy Husband's Power +I was divested in my Infancy-- +Then you shou'd see, I do not flatter ye. +But I, instead of that, must see my Crown +Bandy'd from Head to Head, and tamely see it: +And in this wretched state I live, 'tis true; +But with what Joy, you, if you lov'd, might guess. + +_Qu_. We need no Crowns; Love best contented is +In shady Groves, and humble Cottages, +Where when 'twould sport, it safely may retreat, +Free from the Noise and Danger of the Great; +Where Victors are ambitious of no Bays, +But what their Nymphs bestow on Holy-days; +Nor Envy can the amorous Shepherd move, +Unless against a Rival in his Love. + +_Abd_. Love and Ambition are the same to me, +In either I'll no Rivals brook. + +_Qu_. Nor I: +And when the King you urge me to remove, +It may be from Ambition, not from Love. + +_Abd_. Those Scruples did not in your Bosom dwell, +When you a King did in a Husband kill. + +_Qu_. How, Sir, dare you upbraid me with that Sin, +To which your Perjuries first drew me in? + +_Abd_. You interrupt my Sense; I only meant +A Sacrifice to Love so well begun +Shou'd not Devotion want to finish it; +And if that stop to all our Joys were gone, +The envying World wou'd to our Power submit: +But Kings are sacred, and the Gods alone +Their Crimes must judge, and punish too, or none-- +Yet he alone destroys his Happiness. + +_Qu_. There's yet one more-- + +_Abd_. One more! give me his Name, +And I will turn it to a Magick Spell, +To bind him ever fast. + +_Qu. Florella_. + +_Abd. Florella_! Oh, I cou'd gnaw my Chains | +That humble me so low as to adore her: | [_Aside_. +But the fond Blaze must out--while I erect | +A nobler Fire more fit for my Ambition. | +--_Florella_ dies--a Victim to your Will. +I will not let you lose one single Wish, +For a poor Life, or two; +Tho I must see my Glories made a Prey, +And not demand 'em from the Ravisher; +Nor yet complain--because he is my King: +But _Philip's_ Brow no sacred Ointment deifies, +If he do wrong, stands fair for the Revenger. + +_Qu. Philip_! instruct me how t' undo that Boy I hate; +The publick Infamy I have receiv'd, +I will revenge with nothing less than Death. + +_Abd_. 'Tis well we can agree in our Resentments, +For I have vow'd he shall not live a day; +He has an Art to pry into our Secrets: +To all besides our Love is either hid, +Or else they dare not see--But this Prince +Has a most dangerous Spirit must be calm'd. + +_Qu_. I have resolv'd his Death, +And now have waiting in my Cabinet, +Engines to carry on this mighty Work of my Revenge. + +_Abd_. Leave that to me, who equally am injur'd; +You, like the Gods, need only but command, +And I will execute your sacred Will-- +That done, there's none dare whisper what we do. + +_Qu_. Nature, be gone, I chase thee from my Soul, +Who Love's almighty Empire does controul: +And she that will to thy dull Laws submit, +In spite of thee, betrays the Hypocrite. +No rigid Virtue shall my Soul possess, +Let Gown-men preach against the Wickedness; +Pleasures were made by Gods, and meant for us, +And not t' enjoy 'em, were ridiculous. + +_Abd_. Oh perfect, great and glorious of thy Sex! +Like thy great self 'twas spoke, resolv'd and brave-- +I must attend the King--where I will watch +All _Philip's_ Motions. + +_Qu_. And--after that--if you will beg Admittance, +I'll give you leave to visit me to Night. + +_Abd_. Madam, that Blessing now must be defer'd. + [_Leads her to the Door_. +My Wrongs and I will be retir'd to Night, +And bring forth Vengeance with the Morning's Light. + + _Enter_ Osmin, Zarrack. + +_Osm_. My gracious Lord. + +_Abd_. Come near--and take a Secret from my Lips; +And he who keeps not silent hears his Death.-- +This Night the Prince and Cardinal--do you mark me-- +Are murder'd. + +_Osm_. Where, Sir? + +_Abd_. Here in the Court. + +_Osm_. By whom, great Sir? + +_Abd_. By thee--I know thou darst. + +_Osm_. Whatever you command. + +_Abd_. Good!--then see it be perform'd. +_Osmin_, how goes the Night? + +_Osm_. About the hour of Eight, +And you're expected at the Banquet, Sir: +Prince _Philip_ storms, and swears you're with the Queen. + +_Abd_. Let him storm on; the Tempest will be laid-- +Where's my Wife? + +_Osm_. In the Presence, Sir, with the Princess and +Other Ladies. + +_Abd_. She's wondrous forward!--what the King-- +(I am not jealous tho)--but he makes court to her. +--Hah, _Osmin_! +He throws out Love from Eyes all languishing;-- +Come tell me,--he does sigh to her,--no matter if he do-- +And fawns upon her Hand,--and kneels;--tell me, Slave! + +_Osm_. Sir, I saw nothing like to Love; he only treats her +Equal to her Quality. + +_Abd_. Oh, damn her Quality. + +_Zar_. I came just now +From waiting on his Person to the Banquet, +And heard him ask, if he might visit her to Night, +Having something to impart to her, that concern'd his Life. + +_Abd_. And so it shall, by Heav'n! [_Aside_. + +_Zar_. But she deny'd, and he the more intreated-- +But all in vain, Sir. + +_Abd_. Go, _Osmin_, (you the Captain of my Guard of Moors) +Chuse out the best affected Officers, +To keep the Watch to Night-- +Let every Guard be doubled--you may be liberal too-- +And when I gave the Word, be ready all. + +_Osm_. What shall the Word be? + [_Ex_. Zarrack. + +_Abd_. Why--Treason--mean time make it your Business, +To watch the Prince's coming from the Banquet; +Heated with Wine, and fearless of his Person, +You'll find him easily to be attack'd. + +_Osm_. Sir, do not doubt my Management nor Success. + [_Ex_. Osmin. + +_Abd_. So, I thank thee, Nature, that in making me, +Thou didst design me Villain; +Hitting each Faculty for active Mischief: +Thou skilful Artist, thank thee for my Face, +It will discover nought that's hid within. +Thus arm'd for Ills, +Darkness, and Horrour, I invoke your aid; +And thou dread Night, shade all your busy Stars +In blackest Clouds, +And let my Dagger's Brightness only serve +To guide me to the Mark--and guide it so, +It may undo a Kingdom at one Blow. + + [Exit. + + +SCENE II. _A Banqueting Hall_. + + _A Banquet, under a Canopy the_ King, Leonora, Florella, + _Ladies waiting_; Philip, Mendozo, Alonzo, Ordonio, + Antonio, Sebastian, _Lords and Attendants: As soon as + the Scene draws off, they all rise, and come forward_. + +_King_. My Lords, you're sad to Night; give us loud Musick-- +I have a double Cause to mourn; +And Grief has taken up his dwelling here-- +Beyond the Art of Love, or Wine to conquer-- +'Tis true, my Father's dead--and possibly +'Tis not so decent to appear thus gay; +But Life, and Death, are equal to the wretched, +And whilst _Florella_ frowns--'tis in that Number [_To_ Flor. +I must account her Slave--_Alonzo_, +How came thy Father so bewitch'd to Valour, +(For _Abdelazer_ has no other Virtue) +To recompense it with so fair a Creature? +Was this--a Treasure t' inrich the Devil with? + +_Alon_. Sir, he has many Virtues, more than Courage, +Royally born, serv'd well his King, and Country; +My Father brought him up to martial Toils, +And taught him to be brave; I hope, and good;-- +Beside, he was your Royal Father's Favourite. + +_King_. No, _Alonzo_, 'twas not his Love to Virtue, +But nice Obedience to his King, and Master, +Who seeing my increase of Passion for her, +To kill my Hopes, he gave her to this _Moor_. + +_Alon_. She's now a virtuous Woman, Sir. + +_King_. Politick Sir, who would have made her other? +Against her Will, he forc'd her to his Arms, +Whilst all the World was wondring at his Madness. + +_Alon_. He did it with her Approbation, Sir. + +_King_. With thine, _Florella!_ cou'dst thou be so criminal? + +_Flor_. Sir, I was ever taught Obedience; +My humble Thoughts durst ne'er aspire to you, +And next to that--Death, or the Moor, or any thing. + +_King_. Oh God! had I then told my Tale +So feebly, it could not gain Belief. +Oh my _Florella_! this little Faith of thine +Has quite undone thy King--_Alonzo_, +Why didst not thou forbid this fatal Marriage, +She being thy only Sister? + +_Alon_. Great Sir, I did oppose it with what Violence +My Duty would permit; and wou'd have dy'd +In a just Quarrel of her dear Defence; +And, Sir, though I submitted to my Father, +The Moor and I stand on unequal Terms. + +_Phil_. Come, who dares drink Confusion to this Moor? + +_Ant_. That, Sir, will I. + +_Sebast_. And I. + +_Phil_. Page, fill my Glass, I will begin the Round, +Ye all shall pledge it--_Alonzo_, first to thee. + [_Drinks_. + +_Alon_. To me, Sir! + +_Phil_. Why, yes, thou lovest him--therefore-- +Nay, you shall drink it, tho 'twere o'th' _Stygian_ Lake. +Take it--by Heaven, thoud'st pimp for him to my Mother-- +Nay, and after that, give him another Sister. + +_Alon_. 'Tis well you are my Prince. + +_Phil_. I'd rather be a Prince of Curs--come pledge me-- + +_Alon_. Well, Sir, I'll give you way. + [_Drinks_. + +_Phil_. So wou'dst thou any--though they trod on thee. +So--nay, Prince Cardinal, tho it be not decent +For one so sanctify'd to drink a Health; +Yet 'tis your Office both to damn and bless-- +Come, drink and damn the Moor. + +_Men_. Sir, I'm for no carousing. + +_Phil_. I'm in an Humour now to be obey'd, +And must not be deny'd--But see, the Moor + _Enter_ Abdelazer, _gazes on them_. +Just come to pledge at last--Page, fill again-- + +_Abd_. I'll do you Reason, Prince, what'er it be. + [_Gives him the Glass_. + +_Phil_. 'Twas kindly said--Confusion to the Moor. + +_Abd_. Confusion to the Moor--if this vain Boy, +See the next rising Sun. [_Aside_. + +_Phil_. Well done, my Lad. + +_King_. _Abdelazer_, you have been missing long, +The publick Good takes up your whole Concern, +But we shall shortly ease you of that Load-- +Come, let's have some Musick; +_Ordonio_, did I not call for Musick? + +_Ord_. You did, Sir. + +_Abd_. _Roderigo!_ + +_Rod_. My gracious Lord-- + [Roderigo _whispers to_ Abd. + +_Abd_. No more--the Prince observes us. + +_Phil_. There's no good towards when you are whisp'ring. + +_Ord_. The Musick you commanded, Sir, is ready. + + SONG. + +Nymph. + + _Make haste_, Amintas, _come away, + The Sun is up and will not stay; + And oh how very short's a Lover's_ Day! + _Make haste_, Amintas, _to this Grove, + Beneath whose Shade so oft I've sat, + And heard my dear lay'd Swain repeat, + How much he_ Galatea _lov'd; + Whilst all the listening Birds around, + Sung to the Musick of the blessed Sound. + + _Make haste_, Amintas, _come away, + The Sun is up and will not stay; + And oh how very short's a Lover's Day_! + +Swain enters, with Shepherds and Shepherdesses, and Pipes. + + _I hear thy charming Voice, my Fair, + And see, bright Nymph, thy Swain is here; + Who his Devotions had much earlier paid, + But that a Lamb of thine was stray'd; + And I the little Wanderer have brought, + That with one angry Look from thy fair Eyes, + Thou may'st the little Fugitive chastise, + Too great a Punishment for any Fault. + Come_, Galatea, _haste away, + The Sun is up and will not stay, + And oh how very short's a Lover's Day_! [Dance. + +_King_. How likes _Florella_ this? + +_Flor_. Sir, all Delight's so banish'd from my Soul, +I've lost the Taste of every single Joy. + +_Abd_. God's! this is fine! Give me your Art of Flattery, +Or something more of this, will ruin me-- +Tho I've resolv'd her Death, yet whilst she's mine, +I would not have her blown by Summer Flies. + +_Phil_. Mark how he snarls upon the King! +The Cur will bite anon. + +_Abd_. Come, my _Florella_, is't not Bed-time, Love? + +_Flor_. I'll wait upon you, Sir. + [Going out. + +_Phil_. The Moor has ta'en away, we may depart. + +_Abd_. What has he ta'en away? + [_Turns about_. + +_Phil_. The fine gay play-thing, that made us all so merry. + +_Abd_. Was this your Sport? [To his Wife. + +_King_. _Abdelazer_, keep your way--Good night, fair Creature! + +_Abd_. I will obey for once. + + [_Ex_. Abd. _and_ Flor. + +_King_. Why this Resentment, Brother, and in publick? + +_Phil_. Because he gives me Cause, and that in Publick. +And, Sir, I was not born to bear with Insolence; +I saw him dart Revenge from both his Eyes, +And bite his angry Lip between his Teeth, +To keep his Jealousy from breaking forth, +Which, when it does--stand fast, my King. + +_King_. But, _Philip_, we will find a way to check him; +Till when we must dissemble--take my Counsel--Good night. + +_Phil_. I cannot, nor I will not--yet good Night. + [_Exit_ King, _and all but_ Philip's _Party_. +Well, Friends, I see the King will sleep away his Anger, +And tamely see us murder'd by this Moor; +But I'll be active, Boys-- +Therefore, _Antonio_, you command the Horse; +Get what more Numbers to our Cause you can: +'Tis a good Cause, and will advance our Credit. +We will awake this King out of his Lethargy of Love, +And make him absolute--Go to your Charge, +And early in the Morning I'll be with you-- + [_Ex. all but_ Phil. +If all fail, Portugal shall be my Refuge, +Those whom so late I conquer'd, shall protect me-- +But this Alanzo I shou'd make an Interest in; +Cou'd I but flatter--'tis a Youth that's brave. + + _Enter_ Cardinal _in haste_. + +_Men_. Fly, fly, my Prince, we are betray'd and lost else. + +_Phil_. Betray'd and lost! Dreams, idle Coward Dreams. + +_Men_. Sir, by my Holy Order, I'm in earnest, +And you must either quickly fly, or die; +'Tis so ordain'd--nor have I time to tell +By what strange Miracle I learn'd our Fate. + +_Phil_. Nor care I, I will stay, and brave it. + +_Men_. That, Sir, you shall not, there's no safety here, +And 'tis the Army only can secure us. + +_Phil_. Where had you this Intelligence? + +_Men_. I'll tell you as we go to my Apartment; +Where we must put ourselves in Holy Dress; +For so the Guards are set in every Place, +(And those all Moors, the Slaves of _Abdelazer_) +That 'tis impossible in any other Habit to escape. +Come, haste with me, and let us put 'em on. + +_Phil_. I had rather stay and kill till I am weary-- +Let's to the Queen's Apartment and seize this Moor; +I'm sure there the Mongrel's kennel'd. + +_Men_. Sir, we lose time in talking--Come with me. + +_Phil_. Where be these lousy Gaberdines? + +_Men_. I will conduct you to 'em. + +_Phil_. Mother--and Moor, farewel, +I'll visit you again; and if I do, +My black Infernal, I will conjure you. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE I. _A Gallery in the Palace_. + + _Enter_ Abdelazer _and_ Zarrack. + +_Zar. Osmin_ (my Lord) by this has done his Task, +And _Philip_ is no more among the living: +Will you not rest to night? + +_Abd_. Is this a time for Sleep and Idleness--dull Slaves? + +_Zar_. The Bus'ness we have Order, Sir, to do, +We can without your Aid. + + _Enter_ Osmin. + +_Abd. Osmin_! +Thy ominous Looks presage an ill Success; +Thy Eyes no joyful News of Murders tell: +I thought I shou'd have seen thee drest in Blood-- +Speak! Speak thy News-- +Say that he lives, and let it be thy last. + +_Osm_. Yes, Sir, he lives. + +_Abd_. Lives! thou ly'st, base Coward--lives!--renounce thy Gods! +It were a Sin less dangerous--speak again. + +_Osm_. Sir, _Philip_ lives. + +_Abd_. Oh treacherous Slave! + +_Osm_. Not by my Fault, by Heav'n! + +_Abd_. By what curst Chance, +If not from thee, could he evade his Fate? + +_Osm_. By some Intelligence from his good Angel. + +_Abd_. From his good Devil! +Gods! must the Earth another Day at once +Bear him and me alive? + +_Osm_. Another Day!--an Age for ought I know; +For, Sir, the Prince is fled, the Cardinal too. + +_Abd_. Fled! fled--say'st thou? +Oh, I cou'd curse the Stars, that rule this Night: +'Tis to the Camp they're fled; the only Refuge +That Gods, or Men cou'd give 'em-- +Where got you this Intelligence? + +_Osm_. My Lord, inquiring for the Prince +At the Apartment of the Cardinal, (whither he went) +His Pages answer'd me, he was at his Devotions: +A lucky time (I thought) to do the Deed; +And breaking in, found only their empty Habits, +And a poor sleepy Groom, who with much threatning, +Confess'd that they were fled, in holy Robes. + +_Abd_. That Case of Sanctity was first ordain'd, +To cheat the honest World: +Twas an unlucky Chance--but we are idle-- +Let's see, how from this ill, we may advance a good-- + [_Pauses_. +'Tis now dead time of Night, when Rapes, and Murders +Are hid beneath the horrid Veil of Darkness-- +I'll ring thro all the Court, with doleful Sound +The sad Alarms of Murder--Murder--_Zarrack_, +Take up thy standing yonder--_Osmin_, thou +At the Queen's Apartment--cry out, Murder: +Whilst I, like his ill Genius, do awake the King; +Perhaps in this Disorder I may kill him. [_Aside_. +--Treason--Murder--Murder--Treason. + + _Enter_ Alonzo, _and Courtiers_. + +_Alon_. What dismal Crys are these?-- + +_Abd_. Where is the King?--Treason--Murder! +Where--is the sleeping Queen?--Arise, arise. + +_Osm_. The Devil taught him all his Arts of Falshood. [_Aside_. + + _Enter_ King _in a Night-Gown, with Lights_. + +_King_. Who frights our quiet Slumbers with this Noise? + + _Enter_ Queen _and Women, with Lights_. + +_Qu_. Was it a Dream, or did I hear the Sound +Of Treason, call me from my silent Griefs? + +_King_. Who rais'd this Rumour, _Abdelazer_, you? + +_Abd_. I did, Great Sir. + +_King_. Your Reasons. + +_Abd_. Oh Sir, your Brother _Philip_, and the Cardinal, +Both animated by a Sense of Wrongs, +(And envying, Sir, the Fortune of your Slave) +Had laid a Plot this Night, to murder you: +And 'cause they knew it was my waiting Night, +They wou'd have laid the Treason, Sir, on me. + +_King_. The Cardinal, and my Brother! bring them forth, +Their Lives shall answer it. + +_Abd_. Sir, 'tis impossible: +For when they found their Villany discover'd, +They in two Friers Habits made escape. + +_King_. That Cardinal is subtle, and ambitious, +And from him _Philip_ learnt his dangerous Principles. + +_Qu_. The Ambition of the one infects the other, +And they are both too dangerous to live-- +But might a Mother's Counsel be obey'd, +I wou'd advise you, send the valiant Moor +To fetch 'em back, e'er they can reach the Camp: +For thither they are fled--where they will find +A Welcome fatal to us all. + +_King_. Madam, you counsel well; and, _Abdelazer_, +Make it your Care to fetch these Traitors back, +Not only for my Safety, and the Kingdom's, +But as they are your Enemies; and th' envious World +Will say, you made this story to undo 'em. + +_Abd_. Sir, I'll obey; nor will I know repose, +Till I have justify'd this fatal Truth. + [Abd. _goes to the_ Queen, _and talks to her_. + +_King_. Mean time I will to my _Florella's_ Lodging, +Silence, and Night, are the best Advocates [_Aside_. +To plead a Lover's Cause--_Abdelazer_--haste. +Madam, I'll wait on you to your Chamber. + +_Abd_. Sir, that's my Duty. + +_King_. Madam, good Night--_Alonzo_, to your rest. + [_Ex. all but_ Qu. _and_ Abd. + +_Qu. Philip_ escap'd! +Oh, that I were upon some Desart Shoar, +Where I might only to the Waves and Winds +Breathe out my Sense of Rage for this Defeat. + +_Abd_. Oh, 'tis no time for Rage, but Action, Madam. + +_Qu_. Give me but any Hopes of blest Revenge, +And I will be as calm as happy Lovers. + +_Abd_. There is a way, and is but that alone; +But such a way, as never must be nam'd. + +_Qu_. How! not be nam'd! Oh, swear thou hat'st me rather, +It were a Torment equal to thy Silence. + +_Abd_. I'll shew my Passion rather in that Silence. + +_Qu_. Kind Torturer, what mean'st thou? + +_Abd_. To shew you, Madam, I had rather live +Wrong'd and contemn'd by _Philip_, +Than have your dearer Name made infamous. + +_Qu_. Heavens! dost thou mock my Rage? can any Sin +I could commit, undo my Honour more +Than his late Insolence? +Oh, name me something may revenge that Shame: +I wou'd encounter killing Plagues, or Fire, +To meet it--Come, oh quickly give me ease. + +_Abd_. I dare no more reveal the guilty Secret, +Than you dare execute it when 'tis told. + +_Qu_. How little I am understood by thee-- +Come, tell me instantly, for I grow impatient; +You shall obey me--nay, I do command you. + +_Abd_. Durst you proclaim--_Philip_ a Bastard, Madam? + +_Qu_. Hah! proclaim my self--what he wou'd have me thought! +What mean'st thou?-- + +_Abd_. Instruct you in the way to your Revenge. + +_Qu_. Upon my self thou meanest-- + +_Abd_. No-- +He's now fled to th' Camp, where he'll be fortify'd +Beyond our Power to hurt, but by this means; +Which takes away his Hopes of being a King, +(For he'd no other Aim in taking Arms) +And leaves him open to the People's Scorn; +Whom own'd as King, Numbers wou'd assist him, +And then our Lives he may dispose, +As he has done our Honours. + +_Qu_. There's Reason in thy Words: but oh my Fame! + +_Abd_. Which I, by Heaven, am much more tender of, +Than my own Life or Honour; and I've a way +To save that too, which I'll at leisure tell you. +In the mean time send for your Confessor, +And with a borrow'd Penitence confess, +Their Idol _Philip_ is a Bastard; +And zealously pretend you're urg'd by Conscience, +A cheap Pretence to cozen Fools withal. + +_Qu_. Revenge, although I court you with my fatal Ruin, +I must enjoy thee: there's no other way, +And I'm resolv'd upon the mighty Pleasure; +He has profan'd my purer Flame for thee, +And merits to partake the Infamy. + [_He leads her out_. + +_Abd_. Now have at my young King-- +I know he means to cuckold me to Night, +Whilst he believes I'll tamely step aside-- +No, let _Philip_ and the Cardinal gain the Camp, +I will not hinder 'em-- +I have a nobler Sacrifice to make +To my declining Honour, shall redeem it, +And pay it back with Interest--well, then in order to't, +I'll watch about the Lodgings of _Florella_, +And if I see this hot young Lover enter, +I'll save my Wife the trouble of allaying +The amorous Heat--this--will more nimbly do't, + [_Snatches out his Dagger_. +And do it once for all-- + + _Enter_ Florella _in her Night-Clothes_. + +_Flor_. My _Abdelazer_--why in that fierce posture, +As if thy Thoughts were always bent on Death? +Why is that Dagger out?--against whom drawn? + +_Abd_. Or stay,--suppose I let him see _Florella_, +And when he's high with the expected Bliss, +Then take him thus--Oh, 'twere a fine surprize! + +_Flor_. My Lord--dear _Abdelazer_. + +_Abd_. Or say--I made her kill him--that were yet +An Action much more worthy of my Vengeance. + +_Flor_. Will you not speak to me? what have I done? + +_Abd_. By Heaven, it shall be so. + +_Flor_. What shall be so? + +_Abd_. Hah-- + +_Flor_. Why dost thou dress thy Eyes in such unusual wonder? +There's nothing here that is a stranger to thee, +Or what is not intirely thine own. + +_Abd_. Mine! + +_Flor_. Thou canst not doubt it. + +_Abd_. No,--and for a proof that thou art so,--take this Dagger. + +_Flor_. Alas, Sir!--what to do? + +_Abd_. To stab a Heart, _Florella_, a Heart that loves thee. + +_Flor_. Heaven forbid! + +_Abd_. No matter what Heaven will, I say it must-- + +_Flor_. What must? + +_Abd_. That Dagger must enter the Heart of him +That loves thee best, _Florella_;--guess the Man. + +_Flor_. What means my Moor? +Wouldst thou have me kill thy self? + +_Abd_. Yes--when I love thee better than the King. + +_Flor_. Ah, Sir! what mean you? + +_Abd_. To have you kill this King, +When next he does pursue thee with his Love-- +What, do you weep?-- +By Heaven, they shall be bloody Tears then. + +_Flor_. I shall deserve them--when I suffer Love +That is not fit to hear;--but for the King, +That which he pays me, is so innocent-- + +_Abd_. So innocent! damn thy dissembling Tongue; +Did I not see, with what fierce wishing Eyes +He gazed upon thy Face, whilst yours as wantonly +Returned, and understood the amorous Language? + +_Flor_. Admit it true, that such his Passions were, +As (Heaven's my witness) I've no cause to fear; +Have not I Virtue to resist his Flame, +Without a pointed Steel? + +_Abd_. Your Virtue!--Curse on the weak Defence; +Your Virtue's equal to his Innocence. +Here, take this Dagger, and if this Night he visit thee, +When he least thinks on't--send it to his Heart. + +_Flor_. If you suspect me, do not leave me, Sir. + +_Abd_. Oh--I'm dispatch'd away--to leave you free-- +About a wonderful Affair--mean time, +I know you will be visited--but as you wish to live, +At my return let me behold him dead.-- +Be sure you do't--'tis for thy Honour's safety-- +I love thee so, that I can take no rest, +Till thou hast kill'd thy Image in his Breast. +--Adieu, my dear _Florella_. + [Exit_. + +_Flor_. Murder my King! the Man that loves me too-- +What Fiend, what Fury such an act wou'd do? +My trembling Hand wou'd not the Weapon bear, +And I should sooner strike it here--than there. + [_Pointing to her Breast_. +No! though of all I am, this Hand alone +Is what thou canst command, as being thy own; +Yet this has plighted no such cruel Vow; +No Duty binds me to obey thee 'now. +To save my King's, my Life I will expose, +No Martyr dies in a more glorious Cause. + + [_Exit_. + + +SCENE II. _The Queen's Apartments_. + + _Enter the_ Queen _in an undress alone, with a Light_. + +_Qu_. Thou grateful Night, to whom all happy Lovers +Make their devout and humble Invocations; +Thou Court of Silence, where the God of Love, +Lays by the awful Terror of a Deity, +And every harmful Dart, and deals around +His kind Desires; whilst thou, blest Friend to Joys, +Draw'st all thy Curtains, made of gloomy Shades, +To veil the Blushes of soft yielding Maids; +Beneath thy Covert grant the Love-sick King, +May find admittance to _Florella's_ Arms; +And being there, keep back the busy Day; +Maintain thy Empire till my Moor returns; +Where in her Lodgings he shall find his Wife, +Amidst her amorous Dalliance with my Son.-- +My watchful Spies are waiting for the Knowledge; +Which when to me imparted, I'll improve, +Till my Revenge be equal to my Love. + _Enter_ Elvira. +--_Elvira_, in thy Looks I read Success; +What hast thou learnt? + +_Elv_. Madam, the King is gone as you imagin'd, +To fair _Florella's_ Lodging. + +_Qu_. But art thou sure he gain'd Admittance? + +_Elv_. Yes, Madam; +But what Welcome he has found, to me's unknown; +But I believe it must be great, and kind. + +_Qu_. I am of thy Opinion.-- +But now, _Elvira_, for a well-laid Plot, +To ruin this _Florella_;--though she be innocent, +Yet she must die; so hard a Destiny +My Passion for her Husband does decree: +But 'tis the way I stop at.-- +His Jealousy already I have rais'd; +That's not enough, his Honour must be touch'd. +This Meeting twixt the King and fair _Florella_, +Must then be render'd publick; +'Tis the Disgrace, not Action, must incense him-- +Go you to Don _Alonzo's_ Lodging strait, +Whilst I prepare my Story for his Ear.-- + [Exit Elvira. +Assist me all that's ill in Woman-kind, +And furnish me with Sighs, and feigned Tears, +That may express a Grief for this Discovery.-- +My Son, be like thy Mother, hot and bold; +And like the noble Ravisher of Rome, +Court her with Daggers, when thy Tongue grows faint, +Till thou hast made a Conquest o'er her Virtue. + _Enter_ Alonzo, Elvira. +--Oh, _Alonzo_, I have strange News to tell thee! + +_Alon_. It must be strange indeed, that makes my Queen +Dress her fair Eyes in Sorrow. + +_Qu_. It is a Dress that thou wilt be in love with, +When thou shalt hear my Story.-- +You had a Sister once. + +_Alon_. Had! + +_Qu_. Yes, had,--whilst she was like thy self, all Virtue; +Till her bewitching Eyes kindled such Flames, +As will undo us all. + +_Alon_. My Sister, Madam! sure it cannot be:-- +What Eyes? what Flames?--inform me strait. + +_Qu. Alonzo_, thou art honest, just and brave: +And should I tell thee more,-- +(Knowing thy Loyalty's above all Nature) +It would oblige thee to commit an Outrage, +Which baser Spirits will call Cruelty. + +_Alon_. Gods, Madam! do not praise my Virtue thus, +Which is so poor, it scarce affords me patience +To attend the end of what you wou'd deliver-- +Come, Madam, say my Sister--is a Whore. +I know 'tis so you mean; and being so, +Where shall I kneel for Justice? +Since he that shou'd afford it me, +Has made her Criminal.-- +Pardon me, Madam, 'tis the King I mean. + +_Qu_. I grieve to own, all thy prophetick Fears +Are true, _Alonzo_, 'tis indeed the King. + +_Alon_. Then I'm disarm'd, +For Heaven can only punish him. + +_Qu_. But, _Alonzo_, +Whilst that religious Patience dwells about thee, +All Spain must suffer, nay, Ages that shall ensue +Shall curse thy Name, and Family; +From whom a Race of Bastards shall proceed, +To wear that Crown. + +_Alon_. No, Madam, not for mine, +My Sister's in my power, her Honour's mine; +I can command her Life, though not my King's. +Her Mother is a Saint, and shou'd she now +Look down from Heaven upon a Deed so foul, +I think even there she wou'd invent a Curse, +To thunder on her Head.-- +But, Madam, whence was this Intelligence? + +_Qu. Elvira_ saw the King enter her Lodgings, +With Lover's haste, and Joy. + +_Alon_. Her Lodgings!--when? + +_Qu_. Now, not an Hour ago, +Now, since the Moor departed. + +_Alon_. Damnation on her! can she be thus false? +Come, lead me to the Lodgings of this Strumpet, +And make me see this truth, [_To_ Elvira. +Or I will leave thee dead, for thus abusing me. + +_Qu_. Nay, dear _Alonzo_, do not go inrag'd, +Stay till your Temper wears a calmer look; +That if, by chance, you shou'd behold the Wantons, +In little harmless Dalliance, such as Lovers +(Aided with Silence, and the shades of Night) +May possibly commit, +You may not do that which you may repent of. + +_Alon_. Gods! should I play the Pander! +And with my Patience, aid the amorous Sin-- +No, I shall scarce have so much Tameness left, +To mind me of my Duty to my King. +Ye Gods! behold the Sacrifice I make +To my lost Honour: behold, and aid my Justice. + [_Ex_. Alon. + +_Qu_. It will concern me too to see this Wonder, +For yet I scarce can credit it. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. Florella's _Lodgings_. + + _Enter the_ King, _leading in_ Florella _all in fear_. + +_Flor_. Ah, Sir, the Gods and you would be more merciful, +If by a Death less cruel than my Fears, +You would preserve my Honour; begin it quickly, +And after that I will retain my Duty, +And at your Feet breathe Thanks in dying Sighs. + +_King_. Where learnt you, Fairest, so much Cruelty +To charge me with the Power of injuring thee? +Not from my Eyes, where Love and Languishment +Too sensibly inform thee of my Heart. + +_Flor_. Call it not Injury, Sir, to free my Soul +From fears which such a Visit must create, +In dead of Night, when nought but frightful Ghosts +Of restless Souls departed walk the Round. + +_King_. That fleeting thing am I, whom all Repose, +All Joys, and every good of Life abandon'd, +That fatal Hour thou gavest thy self away; +And I was doom'd to endless Desperation: +Yet whilst I liv'd, all glorious with my hopes, +Some sacred Treasures in thy Breast I hid, +And near thee still my greedy Soul will hover. + +_Flor_. Ah, rather like a Ravisher you come, +With Love and Fierceness in your dangerous Eyes; +And both will equally be fatal to me. + +_King_. Oh, do not fear me, as the fair _Lucretia_ +Did the fierce Roman Youth; I mean no Rapes, +Thou canst not think that I wou'd force those Joys, +Which cease to be so, when compell'd, _Florella_-- +No, I would sooner pierce this faithful Heart, +Whose Flame appears too criminal for your Mercy. + +_Flor_. Why do you fright me, Sir? methinks your Looks +All pale, your Eyes thus fixt, and trembling Hands, +The awful Horror of the dark and silent Night, +Strike a cold Terror round my fainting Heart, +That does presage some fatal Accident. + +_King_. 'Tis in your cruel Eyes the Danger lies-- +Wou'd you receive me with that usual Tenderness, +Which did express it self in every Smile, +I should dismiss tin's Horror from my Face, +And place again its native Calmness there; +And all my Veins shall re-assume their Heat, +And with a new and grateful Ardour beat. + +_Flor_. Sir, all my Soul is taken up with fear, +And you advance your Fate, by staying here-- +Fly, fly, this place of Death--if _Abdelazer_ +Shou'd find you here--all the Divinity +About your sacred Person could not guard you. + +_King_. Ah, my _Florella_, cease thy needless Fear, +And in thy Soul let nothing reign but Love; +Love, that with soft Desires may fill thy Eyes, +And save thy Tongue the pain t' instruct my Heart, +In the most grateful Knowledge Heaven can give me. + +_Flor_. That Knowledge, Sir, wou'd make us both more wretched, +Since you, I know, wou'd still be wishing on, +And I shou'd grant, till we were both undone. +And, Sir, how little she were worth your care, +Cou'd part with all her honourable Fame, +For an inglorious Life--short and despis'd-- + +_King_. Canst thou believe a Flame thy Eyes have kindled, +Can urge me to an infamous pursuit?-- +No, my _Florella_, I adore thy Virtue, +And none profane those Shrines, to whom they offer; +--Say but thou lov'st--and I thus low will bow-- + [_Kneels_. +And sue to thee, to be my Sovereign Queen? +I'll circle thy bright Forehead with the Crowns +Of _Castile, Portugal_, and _Arragon_; +And all those petty Kingdoms, which do bow +Their Tributary Knees to thy Adorer. + +_Flor_. Ah, Sir! have you forgot my sacred Vow? +All that I am, is _Abdelazer's_ now. + +_King_. By Heav'n, it was a sacrilegious Theft; +But I the Treasure from his Breast will tear, +And reach his Heart, though thou art seated there. + +_Flor_. A Deed like that my Virtue wou'd undo, +And leave a Stain upon your Glories too; +A Sin, that wou'd my Hate, not Passion move; +I owe a Duty, where I cannot love. + +_King_. Thou think'st it then no Sin to kill thy King; +For I must die, without thy Love, _Florella_. + +_Flor_. How tamely, Sir, you with the Serpent play, +Whose fatal Poison must your Life betray; +And though a King, cannot divine your Fate; +Kings only differ from the Gods in that.-- +See, Sir, with this--I am your Murderer made; + [_Holds up a Dagger_. +By those we love, we soonest are betray'd. + +_King_. How! can that fair Hand acquaint it self with Death? +--What wilt thou do, _Florella_? + +_Flor_. Your Destiny divert, +And give my Heart those Wounds design'd for yours. +--If you advance, I'll give the deadly Blow. + +_King_. Hold!--I command thee hold thy impious Hand, +My Heart dwells there, and if you strike--I die. + + _Enter_ Queen, Alonzo, _and_ Elvira. + +_Qu. Florella_! arm'd against the King? + [_Snatches the Dagger and stabs her: the_ King _rises_. +Oh Traitress! + +_King_. Hold, hold, inhuman Murdress; +What hast thou done, most barbarous of thy Sex! + [_Takes_ Flor. _in his Arms_. + +_Qu_. Destroy'd thy Murdress,--and my too fair Rival. [_Aside_. + +_King_. My Murdress!--what Devil did inspire thee +With Thoughts so black and sinful? cou'd this fair Saint +Be guilty of a Murder?--No, no, too cruel Mother, +With her Eyes, her charming lovely Eyes, +She might have kill'd, and her too virtuous Cruelty. +--Oh my _Florella_! Sacred lovely Creature! + +_Flor_. My Death was kind, since it prevented yours, +And by that Hand, which sav'd mine from a Guilt. + [_Points to the_ Queen. +--That Dagger I receiv'd of _Abdelazer_, +To stab that Heart,--he said, that lov'd me best; +But I design'd to overcome your Passion, +And then to have vanquish'd _Abdelazer's_ Jealousy: +But finding you too faithful to be happy, +I did resolve to die--and have my wish. +--Farewel--my King--my Soul begins its flight, +--And now--is hovering--in eternal--Night. + [Dies. + +_King_. She's gone--she's gone--her sacred Soul is fled +To that Divinity, of which it is a part; +Too excellent to inhabit Earthly Bodies. + +_Alon_. Oh, Sir, you grieve too much, for one so foul. + +_King_. What profane Breath was that pronounc'd her foul? +Thy Mother's Soul, though turn'd into a Cherubim, +Was black to hers--Oh, she was all divine. +--_Alonzo_, was it thou?--her Brother! + +_Alon_. When she was good, I own'd that Title, Sir. + +_King_. Good!--by all the Gods, she was as chaste as Vestals, +As Saints translated to Divine Abodes. +I offer'd her to be my Queen, _Alonzo_, +To share the growing Glories of my Youth; +But uncorrupted she my Crown contemn'd, +And on her Virtue's Guard stood thus defended. + [Alon. _weeps_. +--Oh my _Florella_! let me here lie fix'd, + [_Kneels_. +And never rise, till I am cold and pale +As thou, fair Saint, art now--But sure +She cou'd not die;--that noble generous Heart, +That arm'd with Love and Honour, did rebate +All the fierce Sieges of my amorous Flame, +Might sure defend it self against those Wounds +Given by a Woman's Hand,--or rather 'twas a Devil's. + [_Rises_. +--What dost thou merit for this Treachery? +Thou vilest of thy Sex-- +But thou'rt a thing I have miscall'd a Mother, +And therefore will not touch thee--live to suffer +By a more shameful way;--but here she lies, +Whom I, though dead, must still adore as living. + +_Alon_. Sir, pray retire, there's danger in your stay; +When I reflect upon this Night's Disorder, +And the Queen's Art to raise my Jealousy; +And after that my Sister's being murder'd, +I must believe there is some deeper Plot, +Something design'd against your sacred Person. + +_King. Alonzo_, raise the Court, I'll find it, + [_Ex_. Alonzo. +Tho 'twere hid within my Mother's Soul. + +_Qu_. My gentle Son, pardon my kind mistake, +I did believe her arm'd against thy Life. + +_King_. Peace, Fury! Not ill boding Raven Shrieks, +Nor midnight Cries of murder'd Ghosts, are more +Ungrateful, than thy faint and dull Excuses. +--Be gone! and trouble not the silent Griefs, +Which will insensibly decay my Life, +Till like a Marble Statue I am fixt, +Dropping continual Tears upon her Tomb. + [_Kneels and--weeps at_ Florella's _Feet_. + +_Abd. [Within]_. Guard all the Chamber-Doors--Fire and Confusion +Consume the _Spanish_ Dogs--was I for this +Sent to fetch back a _Philip_, and a Cardinal, +To have my Wife abus'd? + + _Enter_ Abdelazer. + +_Qu_. Patience, dear _Abdelazer_. + +_Abd_. Patience and I am Foes: where's my _Florella_? +The King! and in _Florella's_ Bed-Chamber! +_Florella_ dead too!-- +Rise, thou eternal Author of my Shame; +Gay thing--to you I speak, [King _rises_. +And thus throw off Allegiance. + +_Qu_. Oh, stay your Fury, generous _Abdelazer_. + +_Abd_. Away, fond Woman. + [_Throws her from him_. + +_King_. Villain, to me this Language? + +_Abd_. To thee, young amorous King. +How at this dead and silent time of Night, +Durst you approach the Lodgings of my Wife? + +_King_. I scorn to answer thee. + +_Abd_. I'll search it in thy Heart then. + + [_They fight_, Queen _and_ Elv. _run out crying Treason_. + +_King_. The Devil's not yet ready for his Soul, +And will not claim his due.--Oh, I am wounded. [_Falls_. + +_Abd_. No doubt on't, Sir, these are no Wounds of Love. + +_King_. Whate'er they be, you might have spar'd 'em now, +Since those _Florella_ give me were sufficient: +--And yet a little longer, fixing thus +Thou'dst seen me turn to Earth, without thy aid. +_Florella!--Florella!_--is thy Soul fled so far +It cannot answer me, and call me on? +And yet like dying Ecchoes in my Ears, +I hear thee cry, my Love--I come--I come, fair Soul. +--Thus at thy Feet--my Heart shall bleeding--lie. +Who since it liv'd for thee--for thee--will die. [_Dies_. + +_Abd_. So--thou art gone--there was a King but now, +And now a senseless, dull, and breathless nothing. + [_A noise of fighting without_. + _Enter_ Queen _running_. + +_Qu_. Oh Heavens! my Son--the King, the King is kill'd!-- +Yet I must save his Murderer:--Fly, my Moor; + +_Alonzo_, Sir, assisted by some Friends, +Has set upon your Guards, +And with resistless Fury is making hither. + +_Abd_. Let him come on. + + _Enter Alonzo and others, led in by Osmin, Zarrack, and Moors_. + +Oh, are you fast? + [_Takes away their Swords_. + +_Alon_. What mean'st thou, Villain? + +_Abd_. To put your Swords to better uses, Sir, +Than to defend the cause of Ravishers. + +_Alon_. Oh Heavens, the King is murder'd! + +_Abd_. Look on that Object, +Thy Sister and my Wife, who's doubly murder'd, +First in her spotless Honour, then her Life. + +_Alon_. Heaven is more guilty than the King in this. + +_Qu_. My Lords, be calm; and since your King is murder'd. +Think of your own dear Safeties; chuse a new King, +That may defend you from the Tyrant's Rage. + +_Alon_. Who should we chuse? Prince _Philip_ is our King. + +_Abd_. By Heaven, but _Philip_ shall not be my King; +_Philip's_ a Bastard, and Traytor to his Country: +He braves us with an Army at our Walls, +Threatning the Kingdom with a fatal Ruin. +And who shall lead you forth to Conquest now, +But _Abdelazer_, whose Sword reap'd Victory, +As oft as 'twas unsheath'd?--and all for _Spain_ +--How many Laurels has this Head adorn'd? +Witness the many Battles I have won; +In which I've emptied all my youthful Veins!-- +And all for _Spain!_--ungrateful of my Favours! +--I do not boast my Birth, +Nor will not urge to you my Kingdom's Ruin; +But loss of Blood, and numerous Wounds receiv'd-- +And still for _Spain!_-- +And can you think, that after all my Toils, +I wou'd be still a Slave?--to Bastard _Philip_ too? +That dangerous Foe, who with the Cardinal, +Threatens with Fire and Sword.--I'll quench those Flames, +Such an esteem I still preserve for _Spain_. + +_Alon_. What means this long Harangue? what does it aim at? + +_Abd_. To be Protector of the Crown of _Spain_, +Till we agree about a lawful Successor. + +_Alon_. Oh Devil! + +_Qu_. We are betray'd, and round beset with Horrors; +If we deny him this--the Power being his, +We're all undone, and Slaves unto his Mercy.-- +Besides--Oh, give me leave to blush when I declare, +That _Philip_ is--as he has rendred him.-- +But I in love to you, love to my _Spain_, +Chose rather to proclaim my Infamy, +Than an ambitious Bastard should be crown'd. + +_Alon_. Here's a fine Plot, +What Devil reigns in Woman, when she doats? [_Aside_. + +_Rod_. My Lords, I see no remedy but he must be Protector. + +_Alon_. Oh, Treachery--have you so soon forgot +The noble _Philip_, and his glorious Heir, +The murder'd _Ferdinand?_-- +And, Madam, you so soon forgot a Mother's Name, +That you wou'd give him Power that kill'd your Son? + +_Abd_. The Modesty wherewith I'll use that Power, +Shall let you see, I have no other Interest +But what's intirely _Spain's_.--Restore their Swords, +And he amongst you all who is dissatisfy'd, +I set him free this minute. + +_Alon_. I take thee at thy word-- +And instantly to _Philip's_ Camp will fly. + [_Exit_. + +_Abd_. By all the Gods my Ancestors ador'd, +But that I scorn the envying World shou'd think +I took delight in Blood--I wou'd not part so with you. +--But you, my Lords, who value _Spain's_ Repose, +Must for it instantly with me take Arms. +Prince _Philip_, and the Cardinal, now ride +Like _Jove_ in Thunder; we in Storms must meet them. +To Arms! to Arms! and then to Victory, +Resolv'd to conquer, or resolv'd to die. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. + + +SCENE I. Abdelazer's _Tent_. + + _Enter_ Abdelazer, Osmin _bearing his Helmet of Feathers_, + Zarrack _with his Sword and Truncheon_. + +_Abd_. Come, _Osmin_, arm me quickly; for the Day +Comes on apace, and the fierce Enemy +Will take advantages by our delay. + + _Enter_ Queen _and_ Elvira. + +_Qu_. Oh, my dear Moor! +The rude, exclaiming, ill-affected Multitude +(Tempestuous as the Sea) run up and down, +Some crying, kill the Bastard--some the Moor; +These for King _Philip_,--those for _Abdelazer_. + +_Abd_. Your Fears are idle,--blow 'em into Air. +I rush'd amongst the thickest of their Crouds, +And with the awful Splendor of my Eyes, +Like the imperious Sun, dispers'd the Clouds. +But I must combat now a fiercer Foe, +The hot-brain'd _Philip_, and a jealous Cardinal. + +_Qu_. And must you go, before I make you mine? + +_Abd_. That's my Misfortune--when I return with Victory, +And lay my Wreaths of Laurel at your Feet, +You shall exchange them for your glorious Fetters. + +_Qu_. How canst thou hope for Victory, when their Numbers +So far exceed thy Powers? + +_Abd_. What's wanting there, we must supply with Conduct. +I know you will not stop at any thing +That may advance our Interest, and Enjoyment. + +_Qu_. Look back on what I have already done; +And after that look forward with Assurance. + +_Abd_. You then (with only Women in your Train) +Must to the Camp, and to the Cardinal's Tent;-- +Tell him, your Love to him hath drawn you thither: +Then undermine his Soul--you know the way on't. +And sooth him into a Belief, that the best way +To gain your Heart, is to leave _Philip's_ Interest; +Urge 'tis the Kingdom's safety, and your own; +And use your fiercest Threats, to draw him to a Peace with me; +Not that you love me, but for the Kingdom's good: +Then in a Tent which I will pitch on purpose, +Get him to meet me: He being drawn off, +Thousands of Bigots (who think to cheat the World +Into an Opinion, that fighting for the Cardinal is +A pious Work) will (when he leaves the Camp) +Desert it too. + +_Qu_. I understand you, and more than I have time to be +Instructed in, I will perform; and possibly +Before you can begin, I'll end my Conquests. + +_Abd_. 'Twill be a Victory worthy of your Beauty. +--I must to Horse, farewel, my generous Mistress. + +_Qu_. Farewel! and may thy Arms as happy prove, +As shall my Art, when it dissembles Love. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. Philip's _Tent_. + + _Enter_ Philip, Alonzo, _and Guards_. + +_Phil_. 'Tis a sad Story thou hast told, _Alonzo_; +Yet 'twill not make me shed one single Tear: +They must be all of Blood that I will offer +To my dear Brother's Ghost-- +But, gallant Friend, this Good his Ills have done, +To turn thee over to our juster Interest, +For thou didst love him once. + +_Alon_. Whilst I believ'd him honest, and for my Sister's sake; +But since, his Crimes have made a Convert of me. + +_Phil_. Gods! is it possible the Queen should countenance +His horrid Villanies? + +_Alon_. Nay, worse than so,'tis thought she'll marry him. + +_Phil_. Marry him! then here upon my Knees I vow, + [_Kneels_. +To shake all Duty from my Soul; +And all that Reverence Children owe a Parent, +Shall henceforth be converted into Hate. [_Rises_. +--Damnation! marry him! Oh, I cou'd curse my Birth! +This will confirm the World in their Opinion, +That she's the worst of Women; +That I am basely born too, (as she gives it out) +That Thought alone does a just Rage inspire, +And kindles round my Heart an active Fire. + +_Alan_. A Disobedience, Sir, to such a Parent, +Heaven must forgive the Sin, if this be one: +--Yet do not, Sir, in Words abate that Fire, +Which will assist you a more effectual way. + +_Phil_. Death! I could talk of it an Age; +And, like a Woman, fret my Anger high: +Till like my Rage, I have advanc'd my Courage, +Able to fight the World against my Mother. + +_Alan_. Our Wrongs without a Rage, will make us fight, +Wrongs that wou'd make a Coward resolute. + +_Phil_. Come, noble Youth, +Let us join both our several Wrongs in one, +And from them make a solemn Resolution, +Never to part our Interest, till this Moor, +This worse than Devil Moor be sent to Hell. + +_Alon_. I do. + +_Phil_. Hark--hark--the Charge is sounded, let's to Horse, +St. _Jaques_ for the Right of _Spain_ and me. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. _A Grave_. + + _Drums and Trumpets afar off,--with noise of fighting at a + distance: After a little while, enter_ Philip _in a Rage_. + +_Phil_. Oh unjust Powers! why d'ye protect this Monster?-- +And this damn'd Cardinal, that comes not up +With the Castilian Troops? curse on his formal Politicks-- + _Enter_ Alonzo. +--_Alonzo_, where's the Moor? + +_Alon_. The Moor--a Devil--never did Fiend of Hell, +Compell'd by some Magician's Charms, +Break thro the Prison of the folded Earth +With more swift Horrour, than this Prince of Fate +Breaks thro our Troops in spite of Opposition. + +_Phil_. Death! 'tis not his single Arm that works the Wonders, +But our Cowardice--Oh, this Dog Cardinal! + + _Enter_ Antonio. + +_Ant_. Sound a Retreat, or else the Day is lost. + +_Phil_. I'll beat that Cur to Death that sounds Retreat. + + _Enter_ Sebastian. + +_Sebast_. Sound a Retreat. + +_Phil_. Who is't that tempts my Sword?--continue the Alarm, +Fight on Pell-mell--fight--kill--be damn'd--do any thing +But sound Retreat--Oh, this damn'd Coward Cardinal! + [_Exeunt_. + + _The noise of fighting near; after a little while enter + Philip again_. + +_Phil_. Not yet, ye Gods! Oh, this eternal Coward! + + _Enter_ Alonzo. + +_Alon_. Sir, bring up your Reserves, or all is lost; +Ambition plumes the Moor, that makes him act +Deeds of such Wonder, that even you wou'd envy them. + +_Phil_. 'Tis well--I'll raise my Glories to that dazling height, +Shall darken his, or set in endless Night. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE IV. _A Grove_. + + _Enter_ Card. and Queen; _the noise of a Battel continuing + afar off all the Scene_. + +_Qu_. By all thy Love, by all thy Languishments, +By all those Sighs and Tears paid to my Cruelty, +By all thy Vows, thy passionate Letters sent, +I do conjure thee, go not forth to fight: +Command your Troops not to engage with _Philip_, +Who aims at nothing but the Kingdom's ruin. +--_Fernando's_ kill'd--the Moor has gain'd the Power, +A Power that you nor _Philip_ can withstand; +And is't not better he were lost than _Spain_, +Since one must be a Sacrifice? +Besides--if I durst tell it, +There's something I cou'd whisper to thy Soul, +Wou'd make thee blush at ev'ry single Good +Thou'ast done that insolent Boy;--But 'tis not now +A time for Stories of so strange a Nature,-- +Which when you know, you will conclude with me, +That every Man that arms for _Philip's_ Cause, +Merits the name of Traitor.-- +Be wise in time, and leave his shameful Interest, +An Interest thou wilt curse thy self for taking; +Be wise, and make Alliance with the Moor. + +_Card_. And, Madam, should I lay aside my Wrongs, +Those publick Injuries I have receiv'd, +And make a mean and humble Peace with him? +--No, let Spain be ruin'd by our Civil Swords, +E'er for its safety I forego mine Honour.-- + + _Enter an Officer_. + +_Offi_. Advance, Sir, with your Troops, or we are lost. + +_Card_. Give order-- + +_Qu_. That they stir not on their Lives; +Is this the Duty that you owe your Country? +Is this your Sanctity--and Love to me? +Is't thus you treat the Glory I have offer'd +To raise you to my Bed? +To rule a Kingdom, be a Nation's Safety, +To advance in hostile manner to their Walls; +Walls that confine your Countrymen, and Friends, +And Queen, to whom you've vow'd eternal Peace, +Eternal Love? And will you court in Arms? +Such rude Addresses wou'd but ill become you. +No, from this hour renounce all Claims to me, +Or _Philip's_ Interest; for let me tell you, Cardinal, +This Love, and that Revenge, are inconsistent. + +_Card_. But, Madam-- + +_Qu_. No more--disband your Rebel Troops, +And strait with me to _Abdelazer's_ Tent, +Where all his Claims he shall resign to you, +Both in my self, the Kingdom, and the Crown: +You being departed, thousands more will leave him, +And you're alone the Prop to his Rebellion. + + _Enter_ Sebastian. + +_Sebast_. Advance, advance, my Lord, with all your Force, +Or else the Prince and Victory is lost, +Which now depends upon his single Valour; +Who, like some ancient Hero, or some God, +Thunders amongst the thickest of his Enemies, +Destroying all before him in such numbers, +That Piles of Dead obstruct his passage to the living-- +Relieve him strait, my Lord, with our last Cavalry and +Hopes. + +_Card_. I'll follow instantly.-- + [_Ex_. Sebast. + +_Qu_. Sir, but you shall not, unless it be to Death-- +Shall you preserve the only Man I hate, +And hate with so much reason?--let him fall +A Victim to an injur'd Mother's Honour. +--Come, I will be obey'd--indeed I must--[_Fawns on him_. + +_Card_. When you're thus soft, can I retain my Anger? +Oh, look but ever thus--in spite of Injuries-- +I shall become as tame and peaceable, +As are your charming Eyes, when dress'd in Love, +Which melting down my Rage, leave me defenceless. +--Ah, Madam, have a generous care of me, +For I have now resign'd my Power to you. + + [_Shouts within_. + +_Qu_. What Shouts are these? + + _Enter_ Sebastian. + +_Sebast_. My Lord, the Enemy is giving ground, +And _Philip's_ Arm alone sustains the day: +Advance, Sir, and compleat the Victory. + [_Exit_. + +_Qu_. Give order strait, that a Retreat be sounded; +And whilst they do so, by me conducted, +We'll instantly to _Abdelazer's_ Tent-- +Haste--haste, my Lord, whilst I attend you here. + [_Ex. severally_. + [Cardinal _going out, is met by_ Philip. + +_Phil_. Oh, damn your lazy Order, where have you been, Sir? +--But 'tis no time for Questions, +Move forward with your Reserves. + +_Card_. I will not, Sir. + +_Phil_. How, will not! + +_Card_. Now to advance would be impolitick; +Already by your desperate Attempts, +You've lost the best part of our Hopes. + +_Phil_. Death! you lye. + +_Card_. Lye, Sir! + +_Phil_. Yes, lye, Sir,--therefore come on, +Follow the desperate Reer-Guard, which is mine, +And where I'll die, or conquer--follow my Sword +The bloody way it leads, or else, by Heaven, +I'll give the Moor the Victory in spite, +And turn my Force on thee-- +Plague of your Cowardice--Come, follow me. + + [_Ex_. Card. + + +SCENE V. _The Grove_. + + _As_ Philip _is going off, he is overtook by_ Alonzo, Antonio, + Sebastian, _and other Officers: At the other side some Moors, + and other of_ Abdelazer's _Party, enter and fall on_ Philip _and + the rest--the Moors are beaten off--one left + dead on the Stage_.-- + + _Enter_ Abdelazer, _with_ Roderigo _and some others_. + +_Abd_. Oh, for more Work--more Souls to send to Hell! +--Ha, ha, ha, here's one going thither,--Sirrah--Slave +Moor--who kill'd thee?--how he grins--this Breast, +Had it been temper'd and made proof like mine, +It never wou'd have been a Mark for Fools. + + Abd. _going out: Enter_ Philip, Alonzo, Sebastian, Antonio, + _and Officers, as passing over the Stage_. + +_Phil_. I'll wear my Sword to th' Hilt, but I will find +The Subject of my Vengeance.-- +Moor, 'tis for thee I seek, where art thou, Slave?-- + +_Abd_. Here, _Philip_. [Abd. _turns_. + +_Phil_. Fate and Revenge, I thank thee.-- + +_Abd_. Why--thou art brave, whoe'er begot thee. + +_Phil_. Villain, a King begot me. + +_Abd_. I know not that, +But I'll be sworn thy Mother was a Queen, +And I will kill thee handsomly for her sake. + + [_Offers to fight, their Parties hinder them_. + +_Alon_. Hold--hold, my Prince. + +_Osm_. Great Sir, what mean you? [_To_ Abd. +The Victory being yours, to give your Life away +On one so mad and desperate. + [_Their Parties draw_. + +_Phil. Alonzo_, hold, +We two will be the Fate of this great Day. + +_Abd_. And I'll forego all I've already won, +And claim no Conquest; the whole heaps of Bodies, +Which this Right-hand has slain, declare me Victor. + +_Phil_. No matter who's the Victor; I have thee in my view, +And will not leave thee, +Till thou hast crown'd those Heaps, and made 'em all +The glorious Trophies of my Victory--Come on, Sir. + +_Alon_. You shall not fight thus single; +If you begin, by Heaven, we'll all fall on. + +_Phil_. Dost thou suspect my Power? +Oh, I am arm'd with more than compleat Steel, +The Justice of my Quarrel; when I look +Upon my Father's Wrongs, my Brother's Wounds, +My Mother's Infamy, _Spain's_ Misery, +I am all Fire; and yet I am too cold +To let out Blood enough for my Revenge: +--Therefore stir not a Sword on my side. + +_Abd_. Nor on mine. + + _They fight; both their Parties engage on either side; the + Scene draws off, and discovers both the Armies, which + all fall on and make the main Battel:_ Philip _prevails, + the_ Moors _give ground: Then the Scene closes to the + the Grove. Enter some_ Moors _flying in disorder_. + + +SCENE VI. _Changes to a Tent_. + + _Enter_ Abdelazer, Roderigo, Osmin, Zarrack, _and some + others of his Party_. + +_Rod_. Oh, fly, my Lord, fly, for the Day is lost. + +_Abd_. There are three hundred and odd Days i'th Year, +And cannot we lose one? dismiss thy Fears, +They'll make a Coward of thee. + +_Osm_. Sir, all the noble _Spaniards_ have forsook you; +Your Soldiers faint, are round beset with Enemies, +Nor can you shun your Fate, but by your Flight. + +_Abd_. I can--and must--in spite of Fate: +The Wheel of War shall turn about again, +And dash the Current of his Victories.-- +This is the Tent I've pitched, at distance from the Armies, +To meet the Queen and Cardinal; +Charm'd with the Magick of Dissimulation, +I know by this h'as furl'd his Ensigns up, +And is become a tame and coward Ass. + [_A Retreat is sounded_. +--Hark--hark, 'tis done: oh, my inchanting Engine! +--Dost thou not hear Retreat sounded? + +_Rod_. Sure 'tis impossible. + +_Abd_. She has prevail'd--a Woman's Tongue and Eyes +Are Forces stronger than Artilleries. + _Enter_ Queen, Cardinal, _Women, and Soldiers_. +--We are betray'd-- + +_Qu_. What means this Jealousy? lay by your Weapons. +And embrace--the sight of these beget Suspicion: +--_Abdelazer_, by my Birth he comes in peace; +Lord Cardinal, on my Honour so comes he. + +_Abd_. Let him withdraw his Troops then. + +_Qu_. They're Guards for all our Safeties: +Give me your Hand, Prince Cardinal--thine, _Abdelazer_-- + [_She brings them together, they embrace_. +This blest Accord I do behold with Joy. + +_Card. Abdelazer_, +I at the Queen's Command have met you here, +To know what 'tis you will propose to us. + +_Abd_. Peace and eternal Friendship 'twixt us two. +How much against my Will I took up Arms, +Be witness, Heav'n: nor was it in revenge to you, +But to let out th' infected Blood of _Philip_, +Whose sole aim +Is to be King--which Spain will never suffer; +Spain gave me Education, though not Birth, +Which has intitled it my native Home, +To which such Reverence and Esteem I bear, +I will preserve it from the Tyrant's Rage. +The People who once lov'd him, now abhor him, +And 'tis your Power alone that buoys him up: +And when you've lifted him into a Throne, +'Tis time to shake you off. + +_Card_. Whilst I behold him as my native Prince, +My Honour and Religion bids me serve him; +Yet not when I'm convinc'd that whilst I do so, +I injure _Spain_. + +_Abd_. If he were so, the Powers above forbid +We should not serve, adore, and fight for him; +But _Philip_ is a Bastard:--nay, 'twill surprize ye, +But that 'tis Truth, the Queen will satisfy you. + +_Qu_. With one bold Word he has undone my Honour. + [_Weeps_. +Too bluntly, _Abdelazer_, you repeat +That which by slow Degrees you shou'd have utter'd. + +_Abd_. Pardon my Roughness, Madam, I meant well. + +_Card. Philip_ a Bastard! +If by such Arts you wou'd divide me from him, +I shall suspect you wou'd betray us both. + +_Qu_. Sir, he informs you Truth; and I blush less +To own him so, than that he is a Traitor. + +_Card. Philip_ a Bastard! oh, it cannot be-- +Madam, take heed you do not for Revenge, +Barter your dearer Honour, and lose both. + +_Qu_. I know what's due to Honour, and Revenge, +But better what I owe to _Spain_, and you-- +You are a Prince o'th' Blood, and may put off +The Cardinal when you please, and be a Monarch. + +_Card_. Though my Ambition's equal to my Passion, +Neither shall make me act against those Principles +My Honour ever taught me to obey. +--And, Madam-- +'Tis less a Sin, not to believe you her, +Than 'tis to doubt your Virtue. + +_Qu_. I wish it were untold, if it must forfeit +The least of your Esteem--but that 'tis Truth, +Be witness, Heav'n, my Shame, my Sighs, and Tears. + [_Weeps_. + +_Card_. Why, Madam, was't so long conceal'd from me? + +_Qu_. The Circumstances I shall at leisure tell you: +And for the present, +Let it suffice, he cannot rule in _Spain_, +Nor can you side with him, without being made +As much incapable to reign as he. + +_Card_. Though Love and Honour I have always made +The Business of my Life; +My Soul retains too so much of Ambition, +As puts me still in mind of what I am, +A Prince, and Heir to Spain: +Nor shall my blinded Zeal to Loyalty, +Make me that glorious Interest resign, +Since _Philip's_ Claims are not so great as mine. +--Madam, tho I'm convinc'd I've done amiss +In taking Arms for _Philip_, +Yet 'twill be difficult to disengage my self. + +_Abd_. Most easily-- +Proclaim it in the head of all your Troops, +The Justice of your Cause for leaving him; +And tell 'em, 'tis a Work of Piety +To follow your Example. +The giddy Rout are guided by Religion, +More than by Justice, Reason, or Allegiance. +--The Crown which I as a good Husband keep, +I will lay down upon the empty Throne; +Marry you the Queen, and fill it--and for me, +I'll ever pay you Duty as a Subject. + [_Bows low_. + +_Card_. On these Conditions all I am is yours; +_Philip_ we cannot fear, all he can do +Is to retire for refuge into _Portugal_. + +_Abd_. That wou'd be dangerous-- +Is there no Arts to get him in our Power? + +_Card_. Perhaps by Policy, and seeming Friendship, +For we have reason yet to fear his Force; +And since I'm satisfy'd he's not my lawful Prince, +I cannot think it an Impiety +To sacrifice him to the Peace of _Spain_, +And every Spirit that loves Liberty: +First we'll our Forces join, and make 'em yours, +Then give me your Authority to arrest him; +If so we can surprize him, we'll spare the hazard +Of a second Battel. + +_Abd_. My Lord, retire into my inner Tent, +And all things shall be instantly perform'd. + + [_Exeunt all_. + + +SCENE VII. _The Grove_. + + _Enter some of_ Philip's _Party running over the Stage, + pursued by_ Philip, Alonzo, Sebastian, Antonio, + _and some few Officers more_. + +_Alon_. Do not pursue 'em, Sir, such coward Slaves +Deserve not Death from that illustriate Hand. + +_Phil_. Eternal Plagues consume 'em in their flight; +Oh, this damn'd coward Cardinal has betray'd us! +When all our Swords were nobly dy'd in Blood, +When with red Sweat that trickled from our Wounds +We'ad dearly earn'd the long disputed Victory, +Then to lose all, then to sound base Retreat, +It swells my Anger up to perfect Madness. + +_Alon_. Indeed 'twas wondrous strange. + +_Sebast_. I'm glad, Sir-- + +_Phil_. Art glad of it? art glad we are abandon'd? +That I, and thou have lost the hopeful'st Day-- + +_Sebast_. Great Sir, I'm glad that you came off alive. + +_Phil_. Thou hast a lean Face--and a carrion Heart-- +A plague upon the Moor, and thee--Oh, _Alonzo_, +To run away--follow'd by all the Army! +Oh, I cou'd tear my Hair, and curse my Soul to Air! +--Cardinal--thou Traitor, _Judas_, that would'st sell +Thy God again, as thou hast done thy Prince. +--But come--we're yet a few, +And we will fight till there be left but one-- +If I prove him, I'll die a glorious death. +Ant. Yes, but the Cardinal has took pious Care +It shall be in our Beds. + +_Sebast_. We are as bad as one already, Sir; for all our +Fellows are crawl'd home, some with ne'er a Leg, others +with ne'er a Arm, some with their Brains beat out, and +glad they escaped so. + +_Phil_. But, my dear Countrymen, you'll stick to me. + +_1 Sold_. Ay, wou'd I were well off-- [_Aside_. + +_Phil_. Speak, stout _Sceva_, wilt thou not? + +_1 Sold. Sceva_, Sir, who's that? + +_Phil_. A gallant _Roman_, that fought by _Caesar's_ side, +Till all his Body cover'd o'er with Arrows, +Shew'd like a monstrous Porcupine. + +_1 Sold_. And did he die, Sir? + +_Phil_. He wou'd not but have dy'd for Caesar's Empire. + +_1 Sold_. Hah--why, Sir, I'm none of _Sceva_, but honest +_Diego_, yet would as willingly die as he, but that I have +a Wife and Children; and if I die they beg. + +_Phil_. For every drop of Blood which thou shalt lose, +I'll give thy Wife--a Diadem. + +_Sold_. Stark mad, as I am valiant! + + _Enter_ Card. _Officers and Soldiers_: Philip _offers to run on + him, is held by_ Alonzo. + +_Phil_. Oh Heav'n! is not that the Cardinal? +Traitor, how dar'st thou tempt my Rage, and Justice? + +_Card_. Your Pardon, Sir, I come in humble Love +To offer happy Peace. + +_Phil_. Was that thy aim when base Retreat was sounded? +Oh, thou false Cardinal--let me go, _Alonzo_-- +Death! offer happy Peace! no, offer War, +Bring Fire and Sword--Hell and Damnation-Peace! +Oh, damn your musty Peace--No, will you fight and cry, +Down with the Moor! and then I'll die in peace. +I have a Heart, two Arms, a Soul, a Head, +I'll hazard these--I can but hazard all-- +Come--I will kneel to thee--and be thy Slave-- + [_Kneels_. +I'll let thee tread on me, do any thing, +So this damn'd Moor may fall. + +_Card_. Yes, Sir, he shall-- + +_Phil_. Gods! shall he--thy noble Hand upon't, +And for this Promise, take my grateful Heart. + [_Embraces him_. +--Shall _Abdelazer_ fall? + +_Card_. Yes, upon thee-- +Like the tall Ruins of a falling Tower, +To crush thee into Dust-- + [_As they embrace, the Guards seize him and the rest_. +Traitor and Bastard, I arrest thee of High-Treason. + +_Phil_. Hah!--Traitor!--and Bastard--and from thee! + [_They hold_ Philip's _Hands_. + +_Card_. Guards, to your Hands the Prisoner is committed. +There's your Warrant--_Alonzo_, you are free. + [_Ex_. Card. + +_Phil_. Prithee lend me one Hand--to wipe my Eyes, +And see who 'tis dares authorize this Warrant: +--The Devil and his Dam!--the Moor and Queen! +Their Warrant!--Gods! _Alonzo_, must we obey it? +Villains, you cannot be my Jailors; there's no Prison, +No Dungeon deep enough; no Gate so strong, +To keep a Man confin'd--so mad with Wrong. +--Oh, dost thou weep, _Alonzo_? + +_Alon_. I wou'd fain shed a Tear, +But from my Tears so many Show'rs are gone, +They are too poor to pay your Sorrow's Tribute; +There is no Remedy, we must to Prison. + +_Phil_. Yes, and from thence to Death-- +I thought I should have had a Tomb hung round +With tatter'd Ensigns, broken Spears and Javelins; +And that my Body, with a thousand Wounds, +Shou'd have been borne on some triumphant Chariot, +With solemn Mourning, Drums, and Trumpets sounding; +Whilst all the wondring World with Grief and Envy, +Had wish'd my glorious Destiny their own: +But now, _Alonzo_--like a Beast I fall, +And hardly Pity waits my Funeral. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT V. + + +SCENE I. _A Presence-Chamber, with a Throne and Canopy. + + Enter_ Abdelazer, Cardinal, Alonzo, Ordonio, Roderigo, + _and other Lords, one bearing the Crown, which is laid on + the Table on a Cushion; the_ Queen, Leonora, _and Ladies. + They all seat themselves, leaving the Throne and Chair + of State empty_. Abdelazer _rises and bows_, Roderigo + _kneeling, presents him with the Crown_. + +_Abd_. Grandees of _Spain_, if in this royal Presence +There breathes a Man, who having laid his hold +So fast on such a Jewel, and dares wear it, +In the Contempt of Envy, as I dare; +Yet uncompell'd (as freely as the Gods +Bestow their Blessings) wou'd give such Wealth away; +Let such a Man stand forth--are ye all fix'd? +No wonder, since a King's a Deity. +And who'd not be a God? +This glorious Prospect, when I first saw the Light, +Met with my Infant Hopes; nor have those Fetters +(Which e'er they grew towards Men, Spain taught me how to wear) +Made me forget what's due to that illustrious Birth; +--Yet thus--I cast aside the Rays of Majesty-- + [_Kneels, and lays the Crown on the Table_. +And on my Knee do humbly offer up +This splendid powerful thing, and ease your Fears +Of Usurpation and of Tyranny. + +_Alon_. What new Device is this? [_Aside_. + +_Card_. This is an Action generous and just-- +Let us proceed to new Election. + +_Abd_. Stay, Peers of _Spain_, +If young Prince _Philip_ be King _Philip's_ Son, +Then is he Heir to _Philip_, and his Crown; +But if a Bastard, then he is a Rebel, +And as a Traitor to the Crown shou'd bleed: +That dangerous popular Spirit must be laid, +Or _Spain_ must languish under civil Swords; +And _Portugal_ taking advantage of those Disorders, +(Assisted by the Male-contents within, +If _Philip_ live) will bring Confusion home. +--Our Remedy for this is first to prove, +And then proclaim him Bastard. + +_Alon_. That Project wou'd be worth your Politicks [_Aside_. +--How shou'd we prove him Bastard? + +_Abd_. Her Majesty being lately urg'd by Conscience, +And much above her Honour prizing _Spain_, +Declar'd this Secret, but has not nam'd the Man; +If he be noble and a _Spaniard_ born, +He shall repair her Fame by marrying her. + +_Card_. No; Spaniard, or Moor, the daring Slave shall die. + +_Qu_. Would I were cover'd with a Veil of Night, + [_Weeps_. +That I might hide the Blushes on my Cheeks! +But when your Safety comes into Dispute, +My Honour, nor my Life must come in competition. +--I'll therefore hide my Eyes, and blushing own, +That _Philip's_ Father is i'th' Presence now. + +_Alon_. I'th' Presence! name him. + +_Qu_. The Cardinal-- + [_All rise in Amazement_. + +_Card_. How's this, Madam! + +_Abd_. How! the Cardinal! + +_Card_. I _Philip's_ Father, Madam! + +_Qu_. Dull Lover--is not all this done for thee! +Dost thou not see a Kingdom and my self, +By this Confession, thrown into thy Arms? + +_Card_. On Terms so infamous I must despise it. + +_Qu_. Have I thrown by all Sense of Modesty, +To render you the Master of my Bed, +To be refus'd--was there any other way?-- + +_Card_. I cannot yield; this Cruelty transcends +All you have ever done me--Heavens! what a Contest +Of Love and Honour swells my rising Heart! + +_Qu_. By all my Love, if you refuse me now, +Now when I have remov'd all Difficulties, +I'll be reveng'd a thousand killing ways. + +_Card_. Madam, I cannot own so false a thing, +My Conscience and Religion will not suffer me. + +_Qu_. Away with all this Canting; Conscience, and Religion! +No, take advice from nothing but from Love. + +_Card_. 'Tis certain I'm bewitch'd--she has a Spell +Hid in those charming Lips. + +_Alon_. Prince Cardinal, what say you to this? + +_Card_. I cannot bring it forth-- + +_Qu_. Do't, or thou'rt lost for ever. + +_Card_. Death! What's a Woman's Power! +And yet I can resist it. + +_Qu_. And dare you disobey me? + +_Card_. Is't not enough I've given you up my Power, +Nay, and resign'd my Life into your Hands, +But you wou'd damn me too--I will not yield-- +Oh, now I find a very Hell within me; +How am I misguided by my Passion! + +_Alon_. Sir, we attend your Answer. + +_Qu_. 'Tis now near twenty Years, when newly married, +(And 'tis the Custom here to marry young,) +King _Philip_ made a War in _Barbary_, +Won _Tunis_, conquer'd Fez, and hand to hand +Slew great _Abdela_, King of _Fez_, and Father +To this _Barbarian_ Prince. + +_Abd_. I was but young, and yet I well remember +My Father's Wound--poor _Barbary_--but no more. + +_Qu_. In absence of my King I liv'd retir'd, +Shut up in my Apartment with my Women, +Suffering no Visits, but the Cardinal's, +To whom the King had left me as his Charge; +But he, unworthy of that Trust repos'd, +Soon turned his Business into Love. + +_Card_. Heavens! how will this Story end? [_Aside_. + +_Qu_. A Tale, alas! unpleasant to my Ear, +And for the which I banish'd him my Presence, +But oh, the power of Gold! he bribes my Women, +That they should tell me (as a Secret too) +The King (whose Wars were finish'd) would return +Without acquainting any with the time; +He being as jealous, as I was fair and young, +Meant to surprize me in the dead of Night: +This pass'd upon my Youth, which ne'er knew Art. + +_Card_. Gods! is there any Hell but Woman's Falshood! [Aside. + +_Qu_. The following Night I hasted to my Bed, +To wait my expected Bliss--nor was it long +Before his gentle Steps approach'd my Ears. +Undress'd he came, and with a vigorous haste +Flew to my yielding Arms: I call'd him King, +My dear lov'd Lord; and in return he breath'd +Into my Bosom, in soft gentle Whispers, +My Queen! my Angel! my lov'd _Isabella_! +And at that word--I need not tell the rest. + +_Alon_. What's all this, Madam, to the Cardinal? + +_Qu_. Ah, Sir, the Night too short for his Caresses, +Made room for Day, Day that betray'd my Shame; +For in my guilty Arms I found the Cardinal. + +_Alon_. Madam, why did not you complain of this? + +_Qu_, Alas, I was but young, and full of Fears; +Bashful, and doubtful of a just Belief, +Knowing King _Philip's_ rash and jealous Temper; +But from your Justice I expect Revenge. + +_Rod_. His Crime, my Lords, is Death, by all our Laws. + +_Card_. Have you betray'd me by my too much Faith? +Oh shameless Creature, am I disarm'd for this? +Had I but so much Ease to be inrag'd, +Sure I shou'd kill thee for this Treachery: +But I'm all Shame, and Grief--By all that's holy, +My Lords, I never did commit this Crime. + +_Abd_. 'Tis but in vain, Prince Cardinal, to deny it. + +_Qu_. Do not believe him, Lords;-- +Revenge--let Sentence pass upon the Traitor. + +_Card_. I own that Name with Horror, which you drew me to, +When I betray'd the best of Men, and Princes; +And 'tis but just you fit me for Despairs, +That may instruct me how to follow him in Death: +Yet as I'm Prince o'th' Blood, and Cardinal too, +You cannot be my Judges. + +_Abd_. You shall be try'd, Sir, as becomes your Quality. +_Osmin_, we commit the Cardinal to your Charge. + +_Card_. Heaven! should I live to that! No, +I have within me a private Shame, +That shall secure me from the publick one. + +_Alon_. A pretty turn of State!--we shall all follow, Sir. + +_Card_. The Powers above are just: +Thus I my Prince a Sacrifice first made, +And now my self am on the Altar laid. + [_Ex_. Card, _guarded_. + +_Abd_. Madam, retire, you've acted so divinely, +You've fill'd my Soul with new admiring Passion: +I'll wait on you in your Apartment instantly, +And at your Feet pay all my Thanks, and Love. + +_Qu_. Make haste, my dearest Moor, whilst I retire, +And fit my Soul to meet thy kind Desire. + + [_Ex_. Queen _and her Train_; Leon, _advancing to + follow, is staid by_ Abd. + +_Abd_. Stay, beauteous Maid, stay, and receive that Crown, + [_Leads her back_. +Which as your due, Heav'n and all _Spain_ present you with. + +_Alon_. But granting _Philip_ is--that thing you call him, +If we must grant him so, who then shall reign? +Not that we do not know who ought to reign, +But ask who 'tis you will permit to do so. [_To_ Abd. + +_Abd_. Who but bright _Leonora_! the Royal Off-spring +Of noble _Philip_, whose Innocence and Beauty, +Without th' advantage of her glorious Birth, +Merits all Adoration. + +_All_. With Joy we do salute her Queen. + +_Abd_. Live _Leonora_! beauteous Queen of _Spain! + [Shout_. + +_Alon_. From _Abdelazer_ this! it cannot be, +At least not real. [_Aside_. + +_Abd_. My Lords, +Be it now your Care magnificently to provide +Both for the Coronation, and the Marriage +Of the fair Queen; +Let nothing be omitted that may shew, +How we can pay, where we so vastly owe. + [_Bows_. + +_Alon_. I am much bound to _Spain_, and you, my Lords, +For this great Condescenion. + +_Leo_. My Lords, I thank ye all, +And most the gallant Moor--I am not well-- + [_Turns to Alon_. +Something surrounds my Heart so full of Death, +I must retire to give my Sorrow Breath. + + [_Ex_. Leo. _followed by all but_ Abd. _and_ Rod. _who + looks on_ Abd. + +_Rod_. Sir,--what have you done? + +_Abd_. What every Man that loves like me shou'd do; +Undone my self for ever, to beget +One Moment's thought in her, that I adore her; +That she may know, none ever lov'd like me, +I've thrown away the Diadem of _Spain_-- +'Tis gone! and there's no more to set but this-- +(My Heart) at all, and at this one last Cast, +Sweep up my former Losses, or be undone. + +_Rod_. You court at a vast Rate, Sir. + +_Abd_. Oh, she's a Goddess! a Creature made by Heaven +To make my prosperous Toils all sweet and charming! +She must be Queen, I and the Gods decree it. + +_Rod_. Sir, is she not designed _Alonzo's_ Bride? + +_Abd_. Yes, so her self and he have ill agreed; +But Heav'n and I am of another Mind, +And must be first obey'd. + +_Rod. Alonzo_ will not yield his Interest easily. + +_Abd_. Wou'd that were all my stop to Happiness; +But, _Roderigo_, this fond amorous Queen +Sits heavy on my Heart. + +_Rod_. She's but a Woman, nor has more Lives than one. + +_Abd_. True, _Roderigo_, and thou hast dealt in Murders, +And knowest the safest way to-- + +_Rod_. How, Sir!-- + +_Abd_. Thou dar'st not sure pretend to any Virtue; +Had Hell inspir'd thee with less Excellency +Than Arts of killing Kings, thou'dst ne'er been rais'd +To that exalted Height, t' have known my Secrets. + +_Rod_. But, Sir-- + +_Abd_. Slave, look back upon the Wretchedness I took thee from; +What Merits had thou to deserve my Bounty, +But Vice, brave prosperous Vice? +Thou'rt neither wise, nor valiant. + +_Rod_. I own my self that Creature rais'd by you, +And live but to repay you, name the way. + +_Abd_. My business is--to have the Queen remov'd; +She does expect my coming this very Hour; +And when she does so, 'tis her Custom to be retir'd, +Dismissing all attendance, but _Elvira_. + +_Rod_. The rest I need not be instructed in. + [_Ex_. Rod. + + _Enter_ Osmin. + +_Osm_. The Cardinal, Sir, is close confin'd with _Philip_. + +_Abd_. 'Tis well. + +_Osm_. And do you think it fit, Sir, they shou'd live? + +_Abd_. No, this day they both must die, some sort of Death, +That may be thought was given them by themselves: +I'm sure I give them cause--_Osmin_, view well this Ring; +Whoever brings this Token to your Hands, +Without considering Sex, or Quality, +Let 'em be kill'd. + +_Osm_. Your Will shall be obey'd in every thing. + + [_Exeunt severally_. + + +SCENE II. _A fine Chamber. A Table and Chair_. + + _Enter_ Queen _and_ Elvira. + +_Qu. Elvira_, hast thou drest my Lodgings up, +Fit to receive my Moor? +Are they all gay, as Altars, when some Monarch +Is there to offer up rich Sacrifices? +Hast thou strew'd all the Floor his Feet must press, +With the soft new-born Beauties of the Spring? + +_Elv_. Madam, I've done as you commanded me. + +_Qu_. Let all the Chambers too be fill'd with Lights; +There's a Solemnity methinks in Night, +That does insinuate Love into the Soul, +And make the bashful Lover more assur'd. + +_Elv_. Madam, +You speak as if this were your first Enjoyment. + +_Qu_. My first! Oh _Elvira_, his Power, like his Charms, +His Wit, or Bravery, every hour renews; +Love gathers Sweets like Flow'rs, which grow more fragrant, +The nearer they approach Maturity. + [_Knock_. +--Hark! 'tis my Moor,--give him admittance strait, +The Thought comes o'er me like a gentle Gale, +Raising my Blood into a thousand Curls. + +_Elv_. Madam, it is a Priest-- + +_Qu_. A Priest! Oh, send him quickly hence; +I wou'd not have so cold and dull an Object, +Meet with my nobler Sense, 'tis mortifying. + +_Elv_. Perhaps 'tis some Petition from the Cardinal. + +_Qu_. Why, what have I to do with Priest or Cardinal? +Let him not enter-- + + [Elv. _goes out, and returns with_ Roderigo _drest like a Fryar_. + +_Elv_. From _Abdelazer_, Madam. + +_Qu_. H'as named a Word will make all Places free. + +_Rod_. Madam, be pleas'd to send your Woman hence, +I've something to deliver from the Moor, +Which you alone must be acquainted with. + +_Qu_. Well, your Formality shall be allowed--retire-- + [_To_ Elv. _Exit_ Elv. +What have you to deliver to me now? + +_Rod_. This-- + + [_Shews a Dagger, and takes her roughly by the Hands_. + +_Qu_. Hah!-- + +_Rod_. You must not call for help, unless to Heaven. + +_Qu_. What daring thing art thou? + +_Rod_. One that has now no time to answer thee. + + [_Stabs her, she struggles, her Arm bleeds_. + +_Qu_. Oh, hold thy killing Hand! I am thy Queen. + +_Rod_. Thou may'st be Devil too, for ought I know; +I'll try thy Substance thus-- + [_Stabs again_. + +_Qu_. Oh, _Abdelazer_!-- +Thou hast well reveng'd me--on my Sins of Love;-- + [_He seats her in the Chair_. +But shall I die thus tamely unrcveng'd? +--Help--murder--help-- + [_He offers to stab again_. + + _Enter_ Elvira, _and other Women_. + +_Elv_. Oh Heavens! the Queen is murder'd--help the Queen! + + [Rod. _offers to stab_ Elv. + + _Enter_ Abdelazer. + +_Abd_. Hah! the Queen! what sacrilegious Hand, +Or Heart so brutal-- +Durst thus profane the Shrine ador'd by me? +Guard well the Passages.-- + +_Qu_. Thou art that sacrilegious--brutal thing!-- +And false as are the Deities thou worship'st. + +_Abd_. Gods! let me not understand that killing Language? +--Inform me quickly, how you came thus wounded, +Lest looking on that sacred Stream of Blood, +I die e'er I've reveng'd you on your Murderer. + +_Qu_. Haste then, and kill thy self; thou art my Murderer. +Nor had his Hand, if not by thee instructed, +Aim'd at a Sin so dangerous-- + +_Abd_. Surely she'll live--[_Aside_.]--This!-- +Can Mischief dwell beneath this reverend Shape? +Confess who taught thee so much Cruelty. +Confess, or I will kill thee. + +_Rod_. The Cardinal. + +_Qu_. The Cardinal! + +_Abd_. Oh impious Traitor! +How came I mention'd then? + +_Rod_. To get Admittance. + +_Abd_. But why do I delay thy Punishment? +Die,--and be damn'd together. [_Aside.] + [Stabs him_. +But oh, my Queen!--_Elvira_, call for help. +Have I remov'd all that oppos'd our Flame, + [_Kneels_. +To have it thus blown out, thus in a Minute? +When I, all full of youthful Fire, all Love, +Had rais'd my Soul with Hopes of near Delights, +To meet thee cold, and pale; to find those Eyes, +Those charming Eyes thus dying--Oh ye Powers! +Take all the Prospect of my future Joys, +And turn it to Despair, since thou art gone. + +_Qu_. Cease,--cease--your kind Complaints--my struggling Soul, +'Twixt Death--and Love--holds an uneasy Contest; +This will not let it stay--nor that depart;-- +And whilst I hear thy Voice--thus breathing Love, +It hovers still--about--the grateful--Sound. +My Eyes--have took--an everlasting Leave-- +Of all that blest their Sight; and now a gloomy Darkness +Benights the wishing Sense,--that vainly strives-- +To take another View;--but 'tis too late,-- +And Life--and Love--must yield--to Death--and-- +Fate. + [_Dies_. + +_Abd_. Farewell, my greatest Plague, + [_He rises with Joy_. +Thou wert a most impolitick loving thing; +And having done my Bus'ness which thou wert born for, +'Twas time thou shouldst retire, +And leave me free to love, and reign alone. + + _Enter_ Leonora, Alonzo, Ordonio, _and other Men and Women_. + +Come all the World, and pay your Sorrows here, +Since all the World has Interest in this Loss. + +_Alon_. The Moor in Tears! nay, then the Sin was his. + +_Leon_. The Queen my Mother dead! +How many Sorrows will my Heart let in, +E'er it will break in pieces. + [_Weeps over her_. + +_Alon_. I know the Source of all this Villany, +And need not ask you how the Queen came murder'd. + +_Elv_. My Lord, that Fryer, from the Cardinal, did it. + +_Alon_. The Cardinal! +'Tis possible,--for the Injuries she did him +Cou'd be repaid with nothing less than Death. [Aside. +My Fair, your Griefs have been so just of late, +I dare not beg that you would weep no more; +Though every Tear those lovely Eyes let fall, +Give me a killing Wound--Remove the Body. + + [_Guards remove the Body. Ex. all but_ Alon. _and_ Leon. + +Such Objects suit not Souls so soft as thine. + +_Leon_. With Horrors I am grown of late familiar; +I saw my Father die, and liv'd the while; +I saw my beauteous Friend, and thy lov'd Sister, +_Florella_, whilst her Breast was bleeding fresh; +Nay, and my Brother's too, all full of Wounds, +The best and kindest Brother that ever Maid was blest with; +Poor _Philip_ bound, and led like Victims for a Sacrifice; +All this I saw and liv'd-- +And canst thou hope for Pity from that Heart, +Whose harden'd Sense is Proof 'gainst all these Miseries? +This Moor, _Alonzo_, is a subtle Villain, +Yet of such Power we scarce dare think him such. + +_Alon_. 'Tis true, my charming Fair, he is that Villain, +As ill and powerful too; yet he has a Heart +That may be reach'd with this--but 'tis not time, + [_Points to his Sword_. +We must dissemble yet, which is an Art +Too foul for Souls so innocent as thine. + _Enter_ Abdelazer. +The Moor! +Hell! will he not allow us sorrowing time? + +_Abd_. Madam, I come to pay my humblest Duty, +And know what Service you command your Slave. + +_Leon_. Alas, I've no Commands; or if I had, +I am too wretched now to be obey'd. + +_Abd_. Can one so fair, and great, ask any thing +Of Men, or Heaven, they wou'd not grant with Joy? + +_Leon_. Hea'vns Will I'm not permitted to dispute, +And may implore in vain; but 'tis in you +To grant me what may yet preserve my Life. + +_Abd_. In me! in me! the humblest of your Creatures! +By yon bright Sun, or your more splendid Eyes, +I wou'd divest my self of every Hope, +To gratify one single Wish of yours. +--Name but the way. + +_Leon_. I am so unhappy, that the only thing +I have to ask, is what you must deny; +--The Liberty of _Philip_-- + +_Abd_. How! _Philip's_ Liberty--and must I grant it? +I (in whose Hands Fortune had put the Crown) +Had I not lov'd the Good and Peace of _Spain_, +Might have dispos'd it to my own Advantage; +And shall that Peace, +Which I've preferr'd above my proper Glories, +Be lost again in him, in him a Bastard? + +_Alon_. That he's a Bastard, is not, Sir, believ'd; +And she that cou'd love you, might after that +Do any other Sin, and 'twas the least +Of all the Number to declare him Bastard. + +_Abd_. How, Sir! that you'd love me! what is there here, +Or in my Soul, or Person, may not be belov'd? + +_Alon_. I spoke without Reflection on your Person, +But of dishonest Love, which was too plain, +From whence came all the Ills we have endur'd; +And now being warm in Mischiefs, +Thou dost pursue the Game, till all be thine. + +_Abd_. Mine! + +_Alon_. Yes, thine-- +The little humble Mask which you put on +Upon the Face of Falshood, and Ambition, +Is easily seen thro; you gave a Crown, +But you'll command the Kingly Power still, +Arm and disband, destroy or save at Pleasure. + +_Abd_. Vain Boy, (whose highest Fame, +Is that thou art the great _Alvaro's_ Son) +Where learnt you so much daring, to upbraid +My generous Power thus falsly--do you know me? + +_Alon_. Yes, Prince, and 'tis that Knowledge makes me dare; +I know thy Fame in Arms; I know in Battels +Thou hast perform'd Deeds much above thy Years: +My Infant Courage too +(By the same Master taught) grew up to thine, +When thou in Rage out-didst me, not in Bravery. +--I know thou'st greater Power too--thank thy Treachery! + +_Abd_. Dost thou not fear that Power? + +_Alon_. By Heaven, not I, +Whilst I can this--command. + [_Lays his Hand on his Sword_. + +_Abd_. I too command a Sword. + [Abd. _lays his Hand on his, and comes close up to him_. +But not to draw on thee, _Alonzo_; +Since I can prove thy Accusation false +By ways more grateful--take this Ring, _Alonzo_; +The sight of it will break down Prison-Gates, +And set all free, as was the first-born Man. + +_Alon_. What means this turn? + +_Abd_. To enlarge _Philip_; but on such Conditions, +As you think fit to make for my Security: +And as thou'rt brave, deal with me as I merit. + +_Alon_. Art thou in earnest? + +_Abd_. I am, by all that's sacred. + +_Leon_. Oh, let me fall before you, and ne'er rise, +Till I have made you know what Gratitude +Is fit for such a Bounty!-- +Haste, my _Alonzo_--haste--and treat with _Philip_; +Nor do I wish his Freedom, but on such Terms +As may be advantageous to the Moor. + +_Alon_. Nor I, by Heaven! I know the Prince's Soul, +Though it be fierce, has Gratitude and Honour; +And for a Deed like this, will make returns, +Such as are worthy of the brave Obliger. + [_Exit_ Alon. + +_Abd_. Yes, if he be not gone to Heaven before you come. [_Aside_. +--What will become of _Abdelazer_ now, +Who with his Power has thrown away his Liberty? + +_Leon_. Your Liberty! Oh, Heaven forbid that you, +Who can so generously give Liberty, +Should be depriv'd of it! +It must not be whilst _Leonora_ lives. + +_Abd_. 'Tis she that takes it from me. + +_Leon_. I! Alas, I wou'd not for the World +Give you one minute's Pain. + +_Abd_. You cannot help it, 'tis against your Will; +Your Eyes insensibly do wound and kill. + +_Leon_. What can you mean? and yet I fear to know. + +_Abd_. Most charming of your Sex! had Nature made +This clouded Face, like to my Heart, all Love, +It might have spar'd that Language which you dread; +Whose rough harsh sound, unfit for tender Ears, +Will ill express the Business of my Life. + +_Leon_. Forbear it, if that Business, Sir, be Love. + +_Abd_. Gods! +Because I want the art to tell my Story +In that soft way, which those can do whose Business +Is to be still so idly employ'd, +I must be silent and endure my Pain, +Which Heaven ne'er gave me so much lameness for. +Love in my Soul is not that gentle thing +It is in other Breasts; instead of Calms, +It ruffles mine into uneasy Storms. +--I wou'd not love, if I cou'd help it, Madam; +But since 'tis not to be resisted here-- +You must permit it to approach your Ear. + +_Leon_. Not when I cannot hear it, Sir, with Honour. + +_Abd_. With Honour! +Nay, I can talk in the Defence of that: +By all that's sacred, 'tis a Flame as virtuous, +As every Thought inhabits your fair Soul, +And it shall learn to be as gentle too; +--For I must merit you-- + +_Leon_. I will not hear this Language; merit me! + +_Abd_. Yes--why not? +You're but the Daughter of the King of _Spain_, +And I am Heir to great Abdela, Madam; +I can command this Kingdom you possess, +(Of which my Passion only made you Queen) +And re-assume that which your Father took +From mine--a Crown as bright as that of _Spain_. + +_Leon_. You said you wou'd be gentle-- + +_Abd_. I will; this sullen Heart shall learn to bow, +And keep it self within the Bounds of Love; +Its Language I'll deliver out in Sighs, +Soft as the Whispers of a yielding Virgin. +I cou'd transform my Soul to any Shape; +Nay, I could even teach my Eyes the Art +To change their natural Fierceness into Smiles; +--What is't I wou'd not do to gain that Heart! + +_Leon_. Which never can be yours! that and my Vows, +Are to _Alonzo_ given; which he lays claim to +By the most sacred Ties, Love and Obedience; +All _Spain_ esteems him worthy of that Love. + +_Abd_. More worthy it than I! it was a Woman, +A nice, vain, peevish Creature that pronounc'd it; +Had it been Man, 't had been his last Transgression. +--His Birth! his glorious Actions! are they like mine? + +_Leon_. Perhaps his Birth wants those Advantages, +Which Nature has laid out in Beauty on his Person. + +_Abd_. Ay! there's your Cause of Hate! Curst be my Birth, +And curst be Nature that has dy'd my Skin +With this ungrateful Colour! cou'd not the Gods +Have given me equal Beauty with _Alonzo_! +--Yet as I am, I've been in vain ador'd, +And Beauties great as thine have languish'd for me. +The Lights put out, thou in thy naked Arms +Will find me soft and smooth as polish'd Ebony; +And all my Kisses on thy balmy Lips as sweet, +As are the Breezes, breath'd amidst the Groves +Of ripening Spices in the height of Day: +As vigorous too, +As if each Night were the first happy Moment +I laid thy panting Body to my Bosom. +Oh, that transporting Thought-- +See--I can bend as low, and sigh as often, + [Kneels. +And sue for Blessings only you can grant; +As any fair and soft _Alonzo_ can-- +If you could pity me as well-- +But you are deaf, and in your Eyes I read + [_Rises with Anger_. +A Scorn which animates my Love and Anger; +Nor know I which I should dismiss or cherish. + +_Leon_. The last is much more welcome than the first; +Your Anger can but kill; but, Sir, your Love-- +Will make me ever wretched, since 'tis impossible +I ever can return it. + +_Abd_. Why, kill me then! you must do one or t'other. + [_Kneels_. +For thus--I cannot live--why dost thou weep? +Thy every Tear's enough to drown my Soul! +How tame Love renders every feeble Sense! + [_Rises_. +--Gods! I shall turn Woman, and my Eyes inform me +The Transformation's near--Death! I'll not endure it, +I'll fly before sh'as quite undone my Soul-- + [_Offers to go_. +But 'tis not in my Power--she holds it fast-- +And I can now command no single part-- + [Returns. +Tell me, bright Maid, if I were amiable, +And you were uningag'd, could you then love me? + +_Leon_. No! I could die first. + +_Abd_. Hah!--awake, my Soul, from out this drousy Fit, +And with thy wonted Bravery scorn thy Fetters. +By Heaven, 'tis gone! and I am now my self. +Be gone, my dull Submission! my lazy Flame +Grows sensible, and knows for what 'twas kindled. +Coy Mistress, you must yield, and quickly too: +Were you devout as Vestals, pure as their Fire, +Yet I wou'd wanton in the rifled Spoils +Of all that sacred Innocence and Beauty. +--Oh, my Desire's grown high! +Raging as midnight Flames let loose in Cities, +And, like that too, will ruin where it lights. +Come, this Apartment was design'd for Pleasure, +And made thus silent, and thus gay for me; +There I'll convince that Error, that vainly made thee think +I was not meant for Love. + +_Leon_. Am I betray'd? are all my Women gone? +And have I nought but Heaven for my Defence? + +_Abd_. None else, and that's too distant to befriend you. + +_Leon_. Oh, take my Life, and spare my dearer Honour! +--Help, help, ye Powers that favour Innocence. + [_Enter Women_. + _Just as the Moor is going to force in_ Leonora, + _enters to him_ Osmin _in haste_. + +_Osm_. My Lord, _Alonzo_-- + +_Abd_. What of him, you Slave--is he not secur'd? +Speak, dull Intruder, that know'st not times and seasons, +Or get thee hence. + +_Osm_. Not till I've done the Business which I came for. + +_Abd_. Slave!--that thou cam'st for. + [_Stabs him in the Arm_. + +_Osm_. No, 'twas to tell you, that _Alonzo_, +Finding himself betray'd, made brave resistance; +Some of your Slaves h'as killed, and some h'as wounded. + +_Abd_. 'Tis time he were secured; +I must assist my Guards, or all is lost. + [_Exit_. + +_Leon_. Sure, _Osmin_, from the Gods thou cam'st, +To hinder my undoing; and if thou dy'st, +Heaven will almost forgive thy other Sins +For this one pious Deed.-- +But yet I hope thy Wound's not mortal. + +_Osm_. 'Tis only in my Arm--and, Madam, for this pity, +I'll live to do you Service. + +_Leon_. What Service can the Favourite of the Moor, +Train'd up in Blood and Mischiefs, render me? + +_Osm_. Why, Madam, I command the Guard of Moors, +Who will all die, when e'er I give the Word. +Madam, 'twas I caus'd _Philip_ and the Cardinal +To fly to th' Camp, +And gave 'em warning of approaching Death. + +_Leon_. Heaven bless thee for thy Goodness. + +_Osm_. I am weary now of being a Tyrant's Slave, +And bearing Blows too; the rest I could have suffer'd. +Madam, I'll free the Prince. +But see, the Moor returns. + +_Leon_. That Monster's Presence I must fly, as from a killing Plague. + + [_Ex. with her Women_. + _Enter_ Abdelazer _with_ Zarrack, _and a Train of Moors_. + +_Abd_. It is prodigious, that a single Man +Should with such Bravery defend his Life +Amongst so many Swords;--but he is safe. +_Osmin_, I am not us'd to sue for Pardon, +And when I do, you ought to grant it me. + +_Osm_. I did not merit, Sir, so harsh a Usage. + +_Abd_. No more; I'm asham'd to be upbraided, +And will repair the Injury I did thee. + +_Osm_. Acknowledgment from you is pay sufficient. + +_Abd_. Yet, _Osmin_, I shou'd chide your Negligence, +Since by it _Philip_ lives still, and the Cardinal. + +_Osm_. I had design'd it, Sir, this Evening's Sacrifice. + +_Abd_. _Zarrack_ shall now perform it--and instantly: +_Alonzo_ too must bear 'em company. + +_Zar_. I'll shew my Duty in my haste, my Lord. + [_Ex_. Zar. + +_Osm_. Death! I'm undone; I'll after him, and kill him. + [_Offers to go_. + +_Abd. Osmin_, I've business with you.-- + + [Osm. _comes back bowing. + As they are going off, enter_ Leonora, Ordonio, _other + Lords, and Women_. + +_Leon_. Oh Prince! for Pity hear and grant my Suit. + [_Kneels_. + +_Abd_. When so much Beauty's prostrate at my Feet, +What is't I can deny?--rise, thou brightest Virgin +That ever Nature made; +Rise, and command my Life, my Soul, my Honour. + +_Leon_. No, let me hang for ever on your Knees, +Unless you'll grant _Alonzo_ Liberty. + +_Abd_. Rise, I will grant it; though _Alonzo_, Madam, +Betray'd that Trust I had repos'd in him. + +_Leon_. I know there's some Mistake; let me negotiate +Between my Brother and the Gallant Moor. +I cannot force your Guards, +There is no Danger in a Woman's Arm. + +_Abd_. In your bright Eyes there is, that may corrupt 'em more +Than all the Treasures of the Eastern Kings. +Yet, Madam, here I do resign my Power; +Act as you please, dismiss _Alonzo's_ Chains. +And since you are so generous, to despise +This Crown, which I have given you, +_Philip_ shall owe his Greatness to your Bounty, +And whilst he makes me safe, shall rule in Spain. +--_Osmin_-- + [_Whispers_. + +_Ord_. And will you trust him, Madam? + +_Leon_. If he deceive me, 'tis more happy far +To die with them, than live where he inhabits. + +_Osm_. It shall be done. + +_Abd_. Go, _Osmin_, wait upon the Queen; +And when she is confin'd, I'll visit her, +Where if she yield, she reigns; if not, she dies. [_Aside_. + + [_Ex_. Abd. _one way_, Leon. Osm. _and the rest another_. + + + +SCENE III. _A Prison_. + + _Discovers_ Philip _chain'd to a Post, and over against him + the_ Cardinal _and_ Alonzo _in Chains_. + +_Phil_. Oh, all ye cruel Powers! is't not enough +I am depriv'd of Empire, and of Honour? +Have my bright Name stol'n from me, with my Crown! +Divested of all Power! all Liberty! +And here am chain'd like the sad Andromede, +To wait Destruction from the dreadful Monster! +Is not all this enough, without being damn'd, +To have thee, Cardinal, in my full view? +If I cou'd reach my Eyes, I'd be reveng'd +On the officious and accursed Lights, +For guiding so much torment to my Soul. + +_Card_. My much wrong'd Prince! you need not wish to kill +By ways more certain, than by upbraiding me +With my too credulous, shameful past misdeeds. + +_Phil_. If that wou'd kill, I'd weary out my Tongue +With an eternal repetition of thy Treachery;-- +Nay, and it shou'd forget all other Language, +But Traitor! Cardinal! which I wou'd repeat, +Till I had made my self as raging mad, +As the wild Sea, when all the Winds are up; +And in that Storm, I might forget my Grief. + +_Card_. Wou'd I cou'd take the killing Object from your Eyes. + +_Phil_. Oh _Alonzo_, to add to my Distraction, +Must I find thee a sharer in my Fate? + +_Alon_. It is my Duty, Sir, to die with you.-- +But, Sir, my Princess +Has here--a more than equal claim to Grief; +And Fear for her dear Safety will deprive me +Of this poor Life, that shou'd have been your Sacrifice. + + _Enter_ Zarrack _with a Dagger; gazes on_ Philip. + +_Phil_. Kind Murderer, welcome! quickly free my Soul, +And I will kiss the sooty Hand that wounds me. + +_Zar_. Oh, I see you can be humble. + +_Phil_. Humble! I'll be as gentle as a Love-sick Youth, +When his dear Conqu'ress sighs a Hope into him, +If thou wilt kill me!--Pity me and kill me. + +_Zar_. I hope to see your own Hand do that Office. + +_Phil_. Oh, thou wert brave indeed, +If thou wou'dst lend me but the use of one. + +_Zar_. You'll want a Dagger then. + +_Phil_. By Heaven, no, I'd run it down my Throat, +Or strike my pointed Fingers through my Breast. + +_Zar_. Ha, ha, ha, what pity 'tis you want a Hand. + + _Enter_ Osmin. + +_Phil. Osmin_, sure thou wilt be so kind to kill me! +Thou hadst a Soul was humane. + +_Osm_. Indeed I will not, Sir, you are my King. + [_Unbinds him_. + +_Phil_. What mean'st thou? + +_Osm_. To set you free, my Prince. + +_Phil_. Thou art some Angel sure, in that dark Cloud. + +_Zar_. What mean'st thou, Traitor? + +_Osm_. Wait till your Eyes inform you. + +_Card_. Good Gods! what mean'st thou? + +_Osm_. Sir, arm your Hand with this. + [_Gives_ Phil. _a Sword, goes to undo_ Alonzo. + +_Zar_. Thou art half-damn'd for this! +I'll to my Prince-- + +_Phil_. I'll stop you on your way--lie there--your Tongue + [_Kills him_. +Shall tell no Tales to day--Now, Cardinal--but hold, +I scorn to strike thee whilst thou art unarm'd, +Yet so thou didst to me; +For which I have not leisure now to kill thee. +--Here, take thy Liberty;--nay, do not thank me; +By Heaven, I do not mean it as a Grace. + +_Osm_. My Lord, take this-- + [_To_ Alon. _and the_ Card. +And this--to arm your Highness. + +_Alon_. Thou dost amaze me! + +_Osm_. Keep in your Wonder with your Doubts, my Lord. + +_Phil_. We cannot doubt, whilst we're thus fortify'd-- + [_Looks on his Sword_. +Come, _Osmin_, let us fall upon the Guards. + +_Osm_. There are no Guards, great Sir, but what are yours; +And see--your Friends I've brought to serve ye too. + + [_Opens a back Door. + _Enter_ Leonora _and Women_, Ordonio, Sebastian, + Antonio, _etc_. + +_Phil_. My dearest Sister safe! + +_Leon_. Whilst in your Presence, Sir, and you thus arm'd. + +_Osm_. The Moor approaches,--now be ready all. + +_Phil_. That Name I never heard with Joy till now; +Let him come on, and arm'd with all his Powers, +Thus singly I defy him. [_Draws_. + + _Enter_ Abdelazer. + [Osmin _secures the Doors_. + +_Abd_. Hah! betray'd! and by my Slaves! by _Osmin_ too! + +_Phil_. Now, thou damn'd Villain! true-born Soul of Hell! +Not one of thy infernal Kin shall save thee. + +_Abd_. Base Coward Prince! +Whom the admiring World mistakes for Brave; +When all thy boasted Valour, fierce and hot +As was thy Mother in her height of Lust, +Can with the aid of all these--treacherous Swords, +Take but a single Life; but such a Life, +As amongst all their Store the envying Gods +Have not another such to breathe in Man. + +_Phil_. Vaunt on, thou monstrous Instrument of Hell! +For I'm so pleas'd to have thee in my Power, +That I can hear thee number up thy Sins, +And yet be calm, whilst thou art near Damnation. + +_Abd_. Thou ly'st, thou canst not keep thy Temper in; +For hadst thou so much Bravery of Mind, +Thou'dst fight me singly; which thou dar'st not do. + +_Phil_. Not dare! +By Heaven, if thou wert twenty Villains more, +And I had all thy Weight of Sins about me, +I durst thus venture on;--forbear, _Alonzo_. + +_Alon_. I will not, Sir. + +_Phil_. I was indeed too rash; 'tis such a Villain, +As shou'd receive his Death from nought but Slaves. + +_Abd_. Thou'st Reason, Prince! nor can they wound my Body +More than I've done thy Fame; for my first step +To my Revenge, I whor'd the Queen thy Mother. + +_Phil_. Death! though this I knew before, yet the hard Word +Runs harshly thro my Heart;-- +If thou hadst murder'd fifty Royal _Ferdinands_, +And with inglorious Chains as many Years +Had loaded all my Limbs, 't had been more pardonable +Than this eternal Stain upon my Name: +--Oh, thou hast breath'd thy worst of Venom now. + +_Abd_. My next advance was poisoning of thy Father. + +_Phil_. My Father poison'd! and by thee, thou Dog! +Oh, that thou hadst a thousand Lives to lose, +Or that the World depended on thy single one, +That I might make a Victim +Worthy to offer up to his wrong'd Ghost.-- +But stay, there's something of thy Count of Sins untold, +That I must know; not that I doubt, by Heaven, +That I am _Philip's_ Son-- + +_Abd_. Not for thy Ease, but to declare my Malice, +Know, Prince, I made thy amorous Mother +Proclaim thee Bastard, when I miss'd of killing rhee. + +_Phil_. Gods! let me contain my Rage! + +_Abd_. I made her too betray the credulous Cardinal, +And having then no farther use of her, +Satiated with her Lust, +I set _Roderigo_ on to murder her. +Thy Death had next succeeded; and thy Crown +I wou'd have laid at _Leonora's_ Feet. + +_Alon_. How! durst you love the Princess? + +_Abd_. Fool, durst! had I been born a Slave, +I durst with this same Soul do any thing: +Yes, and the last Sense that will remain about me, +Will be my Passion for that charming Maid, +Whom I'd enjoy'd e'er now, but for thy Treachery. + [_To_ Osmin. + +_Phil_. Deflour'd my Sister! Heaven punish me eternally, +If thou out-liv'st the Minute thou'st declar'd it. + +_Abd_. I will, in spite of all that thou canst do. +--Stand off, fool-hardy Youth, if thou'dst be safe, +And do not draw thy certain Ruin on, +Or think that e'er this Hand was arm'd in vain. + +_Phil_. Poor angry Slave, how I contemn thee now! + +_Abd_. As humble Huntsmen do the generous Lion; +Now thou darst see me lash my Sides, and roar, +And bite my Snare in vain; who with one Look +(Had I been free) hadst shrunk into the Earth, +For shelter from my Rage: +And like that noble Beast, though thus betray'd, +I've yet an awful Fierceness in my Looks, +Which makes thee fear t'approach; and 'tis at distance +That thou dar'st kill me; for come but in my reach, +And with one Grasp I wou'd confound thy Hopes. + +_Phil_. I'll let thee see how vain thy Boastings are, +And unassisted, by one single Rage, +Thus--make an easy Passage to thy Heart. + + [_Runs on him, all the rest do the like in the same Minute_. + Abd. _aims at the_ Prince, _and kills_ Osmin, _and falls + dead himself_. + +--Die with thy Sins unpardon'd, and forgotten-- + + [_Shout within_. + +_Alon_. Great Sir, your Throne and Kingdom want you now; +Your People rude with Joy, do fill each Street, +And long to see their King--whom Heaven preserve. + +_All_. Long live _Philip_, King of _Spain_-- + +_Phil_. I thank ye all;--and now, my dear _Alonzo_, +Receive the Recompence of all thy Sufferings, +Whilst I create thee Duke of _Salamancha_. + +_Alon_. Thus low I take the Bounty from your Hands. + [_Kneels_. + +_Leon_. Rise, Sir, my Brother now has made us equal. + +_Card_. And shall this joyful Day, that has restor'd you +To all the Glories of your Birth and Merits, +That has restor'd all _Spain_ the greatest Treasure +That ever happy Monarchy possess'd, +Leave only me unhappy, when, Sir, my Crime +Was only too much Faith?--Thus low I fall, [_Kneels_. +And from that Store of Mercy Heaven has given you, +Implore you wou'd dispense a little here. + +_Phil_. Rise, (though with much ado) I will forgive you. + +_Leon_. Come, my dear Brother, to that glorious business, +Our Birth and Fortunes call us, let us haste, +For here methinks we are in danger still. + +_Phil_. So after Storms, the joyful Mariner +Beholds the distant wish'd-for Shore afar, +And longs to bring the rich-fraight Vessel in, +Fearing to trust the faithless Seas again. + + + +EPILOGUE. + +Spoken by little Mrs. _Ariell_. + + +_With late Success being blest, I'm come agen; +You see what Kindness can do, Gentlemen, +Which when once shewn, our Sex cannot refrain. +Yet spite of such a Censure I'll proceed, +And for our Poetess will intercede: +Before, a Poet's wheedling Words prevail'd, +Whose melting Speech my tender Heart assail'd, +And I the flatt'ring Scribler's Cause maintain'd; +So by my means the Fop Applauses gain'd. +'Twas wisely done to chuse m' his Advocate, +Since I have prov'd to be his better Fate; +For what I lik'd, I thought you could not hate. +Respect for you, Gallants, made me comply, +Though I confess he did my Passion try, +And I am too good-natur'd to deny. +But now not Pity, but my Sex's Cause, +Whose Beauty does, like Monarchs, give you Laws, +Should now command, being join'd with Wit, Applause. +Yet since our Beauty's Power's not absolute, +She'll not the Privilege of your Sex dispute, +But does by me submit.--Yet since you've been +For my sake kind, repeat it once agen. +Your Kindness, Gallants, I shall soon repay, +If you'll but favour my Design to Day: +Your last Applauses, like refreshing Showers, +Made me spring up and bud like early Flow'rs; +Since then I'm grown at least an Inch in height, +And shall e'er long be full-blown for Delight_. + + Written by a Friend. + + + + +THE YOUNG KING; OR, THE MISTAKE. + + + +ARGUMENT. + + +Orsames, heir to the Dacian throne, has been kept in a castle from +His infancy, never having seen any human being save his old tutor, +Geron, owing to an Oracle which foretold great cruelties and mischiefs +If he should be allowed to wear the crown. The Queen of Dacia designs +Her daughter Cleomena as her successor, and with this intent gives her +An Amazonian education. The Dacians and Scythians are at war, but +Thersander, The Scythian prince, has joined the Dacians under the name +Of Clemanthis, inasmuch as he loves the princess, who in her turn +Becomes enamoured of him. He is recognized but not betrayed by Urania, +a Scythian lady who, her lover Amintas having been previously captured, +allows herself to be taken prisoner and presented to Cleomena. Amintas +is confined in the old castle where Urania, visiting him, is accidently +seen by Orsames. He is, however, persuaded by Geron that it is an +apparition. Amintas is freed by Urania, who has gained Cleomena's +friendship. Honorius, the Dacian general, offers Thersander his daughter +Olympia, and the young Scythian is obliged to feign acceptance. Cleomena +hears Honorius telling the Queen his design and goes off enraged, only to +see Thersander seemingly courting Olympia. She raves and threatens to +kill him, but eventually parts with disdain, bidding him quit the place. +Orsames is now brought from the castle during his sleep, crowned, seated +on the throne and treated in every respect as King. His power is +acknowledged, the Queen kneels before him, and Olympia entering, he +falls violently in love with her. At a supposed contradiction he orders +one courtier to instant execution and another to be cast into the sea. +Immediately after, during a banquet, a narcotic is mingled with his wine +and he is conveyed back to the castle whilst under its influence, +leaving the Queen fearful that her experiment is of no avail as he has +displayed so tyrannical and cruel a nature. + +A battle between the Dacians and Scythians follows, in which the +Latter are victorious owing to Thersander having, under his own name, +Returned to their camp. The Dacian chiefs then challenge him to single +Combat. He crosses over once again as Clemanthis and the lot falls upon +himself. He thereupon dresses Amintas in the clothes of Clemanthis and +arranges that in a pretended duel with him himself shall gain the upper +hand. Meanwhile two rival princes to the hand of Cleomena post assassins +in the wood to kill Thersander, and these, deceived by the garb of +Clemanthis, mistake Amintas for the prince, and leaving him half dead on +the ground and covered with blood and wounds, take their flight, +imagining they have fully carried out their masters' wishes. Amintas is +just able to gasp the name 'Thersander', and Cleomena promptly concludes +that Thersander has slain Clemanthis. She then herself assumes the attire +of Clemanthis and goes out to the duel. She is wounded, her sex +discovered, and she is borne from the field, whilst Thersander remains +plunged in despair. + +Meanwhile Orsames in his prison forces Geron to tell him the truth as to +his adventure, whilst outside the populace are clamouring for him as +king. Cleomena, disguised as a shepherd-boy, carries a letter to +Thersander, and stabs him as he reads it. The Scythian king has her +thrown into a dungeon, but Thersander obtains her release. Amintas +meanwhile has been cured of his wounds by a Druid leech. Thersander is +visited by Cleomena and reveals to her his identity with Clemanthis. +They are at length united, and this event, with the arrival of Orsames, +Who has been placed on the throne by the Dacians, joins the two +countries in a lasting peace. It is explained that the Oracle is +satisfied by his previous reign of a night. + + + +SOURCE. + + +The plot of _The Young King_, which, as the _Biograpbia Dramatitca_ well +remarks, 'is very far from being a bad one', is taken from the eighth +part of La Calprenède's famous romance, _Cléopatre_. The adventures of +Alcamenes (Thersander) and Menalippa (Cleomena) are therein related for +the benefit of Cleopatra and Artemisa, temporarily imprisoned on +shipboard. The narrative, which occupies some hundred pages, is n good +example of those prolix detached episodes and histories peculiar to this +school, which by their perpetual crossing and intertwining render the +consecutive reading of a heroic romance so confused and difficult a task. +Yet in this particular instance the tale is extraordinarily well told and +highly interesting. Mrs. Behn has altered the names for the better. +Barzanes in the novel becomes Honorius in the play; Euardes, Ismenes; +Phrataphernes, Artabazes; Beliza, Semiris; whilst La Calprenède dubs the +Scythian king, Arontes and the queen of Dacia, Amalthea. + +_Cléopatre_, commenced in 1646, was eventually completed in twelve +volumes. There is an English translation of the eighth part by James Webb +(8vo, 1658), which he terms _Hymen's Praeludia, or, Love's Masterpiece_, +and dedicates with much flowery verbiage to his aunt, Jane, Viscountess +Clanebuy. A translation of the whole romance, by Robert Loveday, was +published folio, 1668. + +The story, however, is not original even in La Calprenède, being taken +with changed names from _Il Calsandro_ smascherato di Giovanni Ambrogio +Marini (Part 1, Fiorenza, 1646; Part 2, Bologna, 1651), a French version +of which, by Georges de Scudéri, appeared in 1668. + +Some critics have seen a resemblance between the character of the young +prince Orsames and that of Hippolito, 'one that never saw woman,' in +Dryden and Davenant's alteration of _The Tempest_ (1667).[1] But the +likeness is merely superficial. Mrs. Behn has undoubtedly taken the +whole episode of Orsames directly from Calderon's great philosophic and +symbolical comedia, _La Vida es Sueño_ (1633).[2] That Mrs. Behn had a +good knowledge of Spanish is certain, and she has copied with the closest +fidelity minute but telling details of her original. Calderon himself +probably derived his plot from Rojas' _Viaje Entretenido_. Basilio, King +of Poland, to thwart the fulfilling of a horoscope, imprisons his son +Segismundo from infancy in a lonely tower. The youth is, however, as a +test of his character, one night whilst under the influence of a +soporofic conveyed from his prison and wakes to find himself in a +sumptuous apartment amidst crowds of adulating courtiers. He shows +himself, however, a very despot, and throws an officious servant, who +warns him to proffer greater respect to the infanta Estella, his cousin, +clean out of window; he nearly kills his tutor Clotaldo, who interrupts +his violent wooing; and, in fine, is seen to be wholly unfit to reign. +A potion is deftly administered, and once more, asleep, he is carried +back to the castle. The populace, however, rise and set him on the +throne, and eventually the astrological forecast comes true; but at the +same time he proves himself a worthy sovereign. All these details are +to be found in _The Young King_, as well as Calderon's scene where +Rosaura, in pursuit of her lover, accidently encounters Segismundo in +his prison. + +The story itself is, of course, world-wide with a thousand variants. +Oriental in origin, it is familiar to all readers of the Thousand and One +Nights, when Abou Hassan is drugged by Haroun al Raschid, and for one day +allowed to play the caliph with power complete and unconfined. The same +trick is said to have been tried upon a drunkard at Bruges by Philip the +Good, Duke of Burgundy, during his marriage festivities, 1440. +Christopher Sly, well drubbed by Marian Hacket and bawling for a pot of +small ale, will at once occur to every mind. Richard Edwardes has the +same story in his _Collection of Tales_ (1570); the old _Ballad of the +Frolicsome Duke_ sings it; Sir Richard Barckley repeats it in his +_Discourse of the Felicitie of Man_ (1598); and Burton found a niche for +it in his _Anatomy of Melancholy_ (1621). Simon Goulart included it in +the _Tresor d'histoires admirables et memorables_ (circa 1600), whence it +was Englished by Grimeston (1607). In fact it is a common property of all +times and all nations. + +Although Mrs. Behn confessedly does not attain (nor was such her +intention) the deep philosophy and exquisite melody of the great Spanish +poet, she has produced a first-rate specimen of the romance drama, rococo +perhaps, and with quaint ornaments, but none the less full of life, +incident and interest. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +1. This version of Shakespeare, and particularly the part of Hippolito, +belong to Davenant, for, as Dryden says in the preface, Sir William 'to +put the last hand to it, design'd the counterpart to Shakespeare's plot, +namely that of a man who had never seen a woman.'] + +2. _Life is a Dream_. English translation by John Oxenford, Monthly +Magazine, Vol. XCVI; by Archbishop Trench, 1856; by Denis Florence +Mac-Carthy, 1873; by FitzGerald (a private edition), 'Such Stuff as +Dreams are Made Of'. It has also been excellently edited by Norman +Maccoll, _Select Plays from Calderon_ (1888). + + + +THEATRICAL HISTORY. + + +The earliest sketch of _The Young King; or, The Mistake_ was written by +Mrs. Behn whilst she was still a young girl at Surinam. Upon her return +to England the rhyming play had made its appearance, and soon heroic +tragedy was carrying all before it on the London stage. Influenced no +doubt by this tremendous vogue, she turned to her early MS. and proceeded +to put her work, founded on one of the most famous of the heroic +romances, into the fashionable couplets. Traces of this may be found in +the scene between Cleomena and Urania, i, II; in Orsames' speech, iv, +III, and elsewhere. Whilst she was busy, however, _The Rehearsal_ was +produced at the King's Theatre, 8 December, 1671, and for the moment gave +a severe blow to the drama it parodied. Accordingly, Mrs. Behn with no +little acumen put her tragi-comedy on one side until the first +irresistible influence of Buckingham's burlesque had waned ever so +slightly, and then, when her dramatic reputation was firmly established +by the triumphant success of _The Rover_, the applause that had been +given to _Sir Patient Fancy_ and half-a-dozen more of her plays, she +bethought of her earlier efforts, and after subjecting _The Toung King_ +to a thorough revision, in which, however, it retained marked traces of +its original characteristics, she had it produced at the Duke's Theatre +in the spring of 1679. Mr. Gosse goes so far as to say that she had +previously offered it to the theatres and publishers, but could find +neither manager nor printer who would accept it. This, which he deduces +from her dedication to Philaster, seems to me unwarrantable, and is not +borne out by the play itself, which, baroque as it may appear to us, is +certainly equal to, and indeed far better, than the rank and file of +Restoration tragi-comedy. There is no record of its performance, and it +never kept the boards. But although we have no direct evidence of its +success, on the other hand it would be rash to suggest it was in any +sense a failure. Indeed, since two editions were published we may safely +assert its popularity. The actors' names are not preserved, but Mrs. Mary +Lee doubtless created Cleomena; Mrs. Barry, Urania; Betterton, +Thersander; and Smith, Orsames. + + + +TO PHILASTER. + + +'Tis the glory of the Great and Good to be the Refuge of the Distress'd; +their Virtues create 'em troubles; and he that has the God like Talent to +oblige, is never free from Impunity, you, Philaster, have a Thousand ways +merited my Esteem and Veneration; and I beg you wou'd now permit the +effects of it, which cou'd not forbear, though unpermitted, to dedicate +this youthful sally of my Pen, this first Essay of my Infant-Poetry to +your Self: 'Tis a Virgin-Muse, harmless and unadorn'd, unpractis'd in the +Arts to please; and if by chance you find any thing agreeable, 'tis +natural and unskill'd Innocence. Three thousand Leagues of spacious Ocean +she has measured, visited many and distant Shores, and found a welcome +every where; but in all that vast tract of Sea and Land cou'd never meet +with one whose Person and Merits cou'd oblige her to yield her ungarded +self into his protection: A thousand Charms of Wit, good Nature, and +Beauty at first approach she found in _Philaster_; and since she knew she +cou'd not appear upon the too-critical English Stage without making +choice of some Noble Patronage, she waited long, look'd round the judging +World, and fix't on you. She fear'd the reproach of being an American, +whose Country rarely produces Beauties of this kind: The Muses seldom +inhabit there; or if they do, they visit and away; but for variety a +Dowdy Lass may please: Her youth too should attone for all her faults +besides; and her being a Stranger will beget civility, and you that are +by nature kind and generous, tender and soft to all that's new and gay, +will not, I hope refuse her the Sanctuary I am so sensible she will have +need of in this loose Age of Censure. You have goodness enough to excuse +all her weaknesses, and Wit enough to defend 'em; and that's sufficient +to render her Estimable to all the World that knows the generous and +excellent Philaster; whilst this occasion to celebrate you under this +Name, is both a Pleasure and Honour to. ASTERA. + + + + +THE YOUNG KING; or, The Mistake. + + + +PROLOGUE. + + +_Beauty like Wit, can only charm when new; +Is there no Merit then in being true? +Wit rather should an Estimation hold +With Wine, which is still best for being old. +Judgment in both, with vast Expence and Thought, +You from their native Soil, from Paris brought: +The Drops that from that sacred Sodom fall, +You like industrious Spiders suck up all. +Well might the French a Conquest here design, +Were but their Swords as dangerous as their Wine. +Their Education yet is worse than both; +They make our Virgins Nuns, unman our Youth. +We that don't know 'em, think 'em Monsters too; +And will, because we judge of them by you. +You'll say this once was so, but now you're grown +So wise t'invent new Follies of your own: +Their slavish Imitations you disdain; +A Pox of Fops that purchase Fame with Pain: +You're no such Fools as first to mount a Wall, +Or for your King and Country venture all. +With such like grinning Honour 'twas perchance, +Your dull Forefathers first did conquer France. +Whilst they have sent us, in Revenge for these, +Their Women, Wine, Religion, and Disease. +Yet for Religion, it's not much will down, +In this ungirt, unblest, and mutinous Town. +Nay, I dare swear, not one of you in seven, +E'er had the Impudence to hope for Heaven. +In this you're modest-- +But as to Wit, most aim before their time, +And he that cannot spell, sets up for Rhyme: +They're Sparks who are of Noise and Nonsense full, +At fifteen witty, and at twenty dull; +That in the Pit can huff, and talk hard Words, +And briskly draw Bamboo instead of Swords: +But never yet Rencounter cou'd compare +To our late vigorous Tartarian War: +Cudgel the Weapon was, the Pit the Field; +Fierce was the Hero, and too brave to yield. +But stoutest Hearts must bow; and being well can'd, +He crys, Hold, hold, you have the Victory gained. +All laughing call-- +Turn out the Rascal, the eternal Blockhead; +--Zounds, crys Tartarian, I am out of Pocket: +Half Crown my Play, Sixpence my Orange cast; +Equip me that, do you the Conquest boast. +For which to lie at ease, a Gathering's made, +And out they turn the Brother of the Blade. +--This is the Fruit of Idleness and Ease: +Heaven bless the King that keeps the Land in Peace, +Or he'll be sweetly served by such as these_. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + +DACIANS. + +_Queen of Dacia_. +_Orsames_, her Son, kept from his Infancy in a Castle on a Lake, + ignorant of his Quality, and of all the World besides; never + having seen any human thing save only his old Tutor. +_Cleomena_, his Sister, bred up in War, and design'd to reign + instead of _Orsames_; the Oracle having foretold the bloody + Cruelties should be committed during his short Reign, if ever + suffered to wear the Crown. +_Honorius_, General of the Army, and Uncle to _Orsames_ and _Cleomena_. +_Olympia_, his Daughter, young and beautiful. +_Ismenes_ and | Two Rival Princes in love with _Cleomena_. +_Artabazes_, | +_Geron_, the old Tutor to _Orsames_. +_Pimante_, a Fop Courtier. +_Arates_, a Courtier. +_Semeris_, Woman to _Cleomena_. +_Vallentio_, a Colonel of the Army. +_Gorel_, a Citizen. +Keeper of the Castle. +A Druid. + +SCYTHIANS. + +_King of Scythia_. +_Thersander_, his Son, under the Name of _Clemanthis_, when on the + _Dacian_ side. +_Amintas_, a young Nobleman, belov'd by _Thersander_, and Lover of + _Urania_. +_Lysander_, Page to _Thersander_. +_Urania_, in love with _Amintas_. +_Lyces_, a Shepherdess. +Pages and Attendants, Courtiers (men and women), Officers, + Guards, Soldiers, Huntsmen, Shepherds, Shepherdesses, + Assassins, and all a Rabble of the Mobile. + +SCENE, the Court of _Dacia_, between the two +Armies just before the Town. + + + +ACT I. + + +SCENE I. _A Grove near the Camp_. + + _Enter_ Pimante _with Letters_. + +Gone! Well, I have never the Luck, I thank my Stars, to meet with any of +these mighty Men of Valour.--_Vallentio_! Noble Colonel. + + _Enter_ Vallentio. + +_Val. Pimante_! Why, what the Devil brought thee to the Camp? + +_Pim_. Affairs, Affairs-- + +_Val_. They must be wondrous pressing that made thee venture; but the +Fighting's past, and all the Noise over; every Man of Fame gone to +receive what's due to his Merit; and the whole Camp looks now like a City +in a great Plague, no stirring--But what's thy Business here? + +_Pim_. Why, I brought Letters from the Queen to that same mighty Man of +Prowess--what d'ye call him? + +_Val_. The brave Clemanthis? + +_Pim_. The same--But, Colonel, is he indeed so very terrible a thing as +Fame gives out?--But she was ever a notable Wag at History. + +_Val_. How dare thy Coward-thoughts venture upon any thing so terrible as +the remembrance of that Gallant Man? Is not his Name like Thunder to thy +Ears? Does it not make thee shrink into thy self? + +_Pim_. Lord, Colonel, why so hot? 'Tis the cursed'st thing in the World +to be thus continually us'd to fighting; why, how uncivil it renders a +Man! I spake by way of Question. + +_Val_. Oh! how soft and wanton I could grow in the Description I could +make of him--He merits all in Peace as well as War; Compos'd of Charms +would take all Womankind, As those of's Valour overcome the Men. + +_Pim_. Well said, i'faith, Colonel; but if he be so fine a Man, why did +you not keep him here amongst you to do Execution on the _Scythians_? +for I think e'er long you'll give 'em Battel. + +_Val_. The General, whose noble Life he sav'd, +Us'd all his Interest with him, but in vain: +He neither could oblige his stay i'th' Camp, +Nor get him to the Court. Oh! were his Quality +But like his Actions great, he were a Man +To merit _Cleomena_, +Whose Worth and Beauty, as a thing Divine, +I reverence. +But I abhor the feeble Reign of Women; +It foretels the Downfal of the noblest Trade, War. +Give me a Man to lead me on to Dangers, +Such as _Clemanthis_ is, or as _Orsames_ might have been. + +_Pim_. Colonel, 'tis Treason but to name _Orsames_, and much more to wish +he were as King. + +_Val_. Not wish he were! by all those Gods I will, +Who did conspire against him in their Oracles. +Not wish him King! yes, and may live to see it. + +_Pim_. What should we do with such a King? The Gods foretel he shall be +fierce and bloody, a Ravisher, a Tyrant o'er his People; his Reign but +short, and so unfit for Reign. + +_Val_. The Gods! I'll not trust 'em for a Day's Pay--let them but give +one a taste of his Reign, tho but an hour, and I'll be converted to them. + +_Pim_. Besides, he is very ill bred for a King; he knows nothing of the +World, cannot dress himself, nor sing, nor dance, or play on any Musick; +ne'er saw a Woman, nor knows how to make use of one if he had her. +There's an old fusty Philosopher that instructs him; but 'tis in nothing +ever that shall make a fine Gentleman of him: He teaches him a deal of +Awe and Reverence to the Gods; and tells him that his natural Reason's +Sin--But, Colonel, between you and I, he'll no more of that Philosophy, +but grows as sullen as if you had the breeding of him here i'th' Camp. + +_Val_. Thou tell'st me heavenly News; a King, a King again! Oh, for a +mutinous Rabble, that would break the Prison-Walls, and set _Orsames_ free, +both from his Fetters and his Ignorance. + +_Pim_. There is a Discourse at Court, that the Queen designs to bring him +out, and try how he would behave himself: But I'm none of that Counsel, +she's like to make a fine Court on't; we have enough in the Virago he +Daughter, who, if it were not for her Beauty, one would swear were no +Woman, she's so given to Noise and Fighting. + +_Val_. I never saw her since she was a Child, and then she naturally +hated _Scythia_. + +_Pim_. Nay, she's in that mind still; and the superstitious Queen, who +thinks that Crown belongs to _Cleomena_-- + +_Val_. Yes, that was the Promise of the Oracle too. + +_Pim_. Breeds her more like a General than a Woman. Ah, how she loves +fine Arms! a Bow, a Quiver! and though she be no natural Amazon, she's +capable of all their martial Fopperies--But hark, what Noise is that? + + [_Song within_. + +_Val_. 'Tis what we do not use to hear--Stand by. + + SONG. + +(1.) + +_Damon, I cannot blame your Will, +'Twas Chance, and not Design, did kill; +For whilst you did prepare your Arms +On purpose Celia to subdue, +I met the Arrows as they flew, +And sav'd her from their Harms. + + (2.) +Alas, she could not make returns. +Who for a Swain already turns, +A Shepherd, who does her caress +With all the softest Marks of Love; +And 'tis in vain thou seek'st to move +The cruel Shepherdess. + +(3.) +Content thee with this Victory, +I'm Young and Beautiful as she; +I'll make thee Garlands all the Day, +And in the Shades we'll sit and sing; +I'll crown thee with the Pride o'th' Spring, +When thou art Lord o'th' May_. + + _Enter_ Urania _dress'd gay_, Lyces _a Shepherdess_. + +_Ly_. Still as I sing you sigh. + +_Uran_. I cannot hear thy Voice, and the returns +The Echoes of these shady Groves repeat, +But I must find some Softness at my Heart. +--Wou'd I had never known another Dwelling, +But this too happy one where thou wert born! [Sighs. + +_Ly_. You sigh again: such things become +None but unhappy Maids that are forsaken; +Your Beauty is too great to suffer that. + +_Ura_. No Beauty's proof against false perjur'd Man. + +_Ly_. Is't possible you can have lost your Love? + +_Ura_. Yes, pretty Maid, canst tell me any tidings of him? + +_Ly_. I cannot tell, by what marks do you know him? + +_Ura_. Why, by these--a tempting Face and Shape, +A Tongue bewitching soft, and Breath as sweet, +As is the welcome Breeze that does restore +Life to a Man half kill'd with heat before; +But has a Heart as false as Seas in Calms, +Smiles first to tempt, then ruins with its Storms. + +_Ly_. Oh, fair Urania! there are many more +So like your Love, if such a one he be: +That you wou'd take each Shepherd to be he: +'Tis grown the fashion now to be forsworn; +Oaths are like Garlands made of finest Flowers, +Wither as soon as finish'd; +They change their Loves as often as their Scrips, +And lay their Mistresses aside like Ribbons, +Which they themselves have sullied. + +_Pim_. Gad, I'll venture in-- + +_Val_. Fair Women, and so near the Camp! +What are ye, and from whence? + +_Pim_. Ha! 'tis no matter for that; ask no Questions, but fall to. + [_Goes to_ Lyces. + +_Ura_. I'm not asham'd to tell the one or t'other; +I am a Maid, and one of gentle Birth, +A _Scythian_ born, an Enemy to thee, +Not as thou art a Man, but Friend to _Dacia_. + +_Val_. What Sin have I committed, that so fair a Creature should become +my Enemy? but since you are so, you must be my Prisoner, unless your Eyes +prevent me, and make me yours. + +_Pim_. How, take a Woman Prisoner! I hope you are a finer Gentleman than +so. + +_Val_. But, Madam, do not fear, for I will use you As well as such a Man +as I can do. + +_Ura_. Though thou be'st rough, thou hast a noble look, And I believe my +Treatment will be gentle. + +_Val_. Fair Maid, this Confidence is brave in thee; +And though I am not us'd to make returns, +Unless in Thunder on my Enemies, +Yet name the way, and I will strive to serve you. + +_Ura_. Then, Sir, I beg that you would set me free, +Nor yet retain me here a Prisoner; +But as thou'rt brave, conduct me to the Castle on the Lake, +Where young Amintas lies, the Spoil of War. + +_Val. Amintas_, Madam, is a gallant Youth, +And merits more from Fortune than his Chains; +But I could wish (since I have vow'd to serve you) +You would command me something +Worthy your Beauty, and of that Resolution. + +_Ura_. There is no other way to do me service. + +_Val_. Then most willingly I will obey you. + +_Ura_. But, Sir, I beg this Virgin may depart, +Being a _Dacian_, and a neighbouring Villager. + +_Val_. All your Commands shall strictly be obey'd. + +_Pim_. Pox on her, she's coy, and let her go. Well, +Colonel, I doubt you'll be for the Queen by and by. + +_Ura_. Here--take this Jewel as a part of payment, +For all thy goodness to an unknown Maid. [_To_ Lyces. +And if by chance I ever see thee more, +Believe me, _Lyces_, I will quit the score. + [_Ex_. Lyces _weeping_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. _A Grove of Trees_. + + _Within the Scene lies_ Thersander _sleeping, his Cap and + Feather at a distance from him_. + + _Enter_ Cleomena _drest like an_ Amazon, _with a Bow in + her Hand, and a Quiver of Arrows at her Back, with_ + Semiris _attired like her_. + +_Cleo_. I'm almost tir'd with holding out the Chase. + +_Sem_. That's strange! methought your Highness followed not +So fast to Day as I have seen you heretofore. + +_Cleo_. I do not use to leave the Game unvanquish'd, +Yet now by what strange inclination led I know not, +The Sport growing dull, I wish to meet a place +Far from the noise and business of the Day: +Hast thou ty'd fast my Horses? + +_Sem_. Madam, I have. + +_Cleo_. What place is this, _Semiris_? + +_Sem_. I know not, Madam, but 'tis wondrous pleasant. + +_Cleo_. How much more charming are the Works of Nature +Than the Productions of laborious Art? +Securely here the wearied Shepherd sleeps, +Guiltless of any fear, but the disdain +His cruel Fair procures him. +How many Tales the Echoes of these Woods +Cou'd tell of Lovers, if they would betray, +That steal delightful hours beneath their Shades! + +_Sem_. You'd rather hear 'em echo back the sound +Of Horns and Dogs, or the fierce noise of War. + +_Cleo_. You charge me with the faults of Education, +That cozening Form that veils the Face of Nature, +But does not see what's hid within, _Semiris_: +I have a Heart all soft as thine, all Woman, +Apt to melt down at every tender Object. +--Oh, _Semiris_! there's a strange change within me. + +_Sem_. How, Madam! + +_Cleo_. I would thou knew'st it; +Till now I durst do any thing--but fear, +Yet now I tremble with the thoughts of telling thee +What none but thou must know--I am in love. + +_Sem_. Why do you blush, my Princess? 'tis no sin; +But, Madam, who's the happy glorious Object? + +_Cleo_. Why, canst thou not guess then? + +_Sem_. How is it possible I should? + +_Cleo_. Oh Gods! not guess the Man! +Or, rather think some God! Dull stupid Maid, +Hast thou not heard of something more than mortal! +'Twixt Human and Divine! our Country's Genius, +Our young God of War! not heard of him! + +_Sem_. 'Tis not Prince _Artabazes_, or _Ismenes_? + +_Cleo_. Away, thou anger'st me. + +_Sem_. Pardon me, Madam, +It can be none at Court, if none of these? +And all besides are much below that Glory. + +_Cleo_. What call'st thou much below, mistaken thing? +Can a gay Name give Virtue, Wit, or Beauty? +Can it gain Conquest, or in Fields or Courts? +No, nor defend its own fantastick Owner. +--Come, guess again. + +_Sem_. I can guess no further than a Man, and that I'm sure he is. + +_Cleo_. I know not-- +For yet I never saw him, but in's Character, +Unless sometimes in Dreams. + +_Sem_. Is't not enough he conquers where he comes, +But that his Fame prevents his Sword and Eyes? +Perhaps his Person may not be agreeable; +The best in Camps are not the best in Courts. + +_Cleo_. So brave a Mind must have as brave an Outside. +My Uncle's Letters from the Camp contain +Nothing but Wonders of his Worth and Valour, +And 'tis impossible but such a Man +Must merit Love as well as Admiration. + +_Sem_. Does he not come to Court? + +_Cleo_. The Queen has made him many Invitations; +But he for some unknown and cruel Cause, +Humbly implores her Pardon for refusing: +Nor can the General learn his Quality; +But like his Deeds, believes it must be great. + +_Sem_. 'Tis most likely; but I should never fall in love +with Fame alone. + +_Cleo_. I hope it is not Love--but strange Curiosity +To see this brave Unknown--and yet I fear-- +I've hid this new Impatience of my Soul, +Even from thee, till it grew too importunate; +And strove by all my lov'd Divertisements, +To chase it from my Bosom, but in vain: +'Tis too great for little Sports to conquer; +The Musick of the Dogs displeas'd to day, +And I was willing to retire with thee, +To let thee know my Story: +And this lone Shade, as if design'd for Love, +Is fittest to be conscious of my Crime. +--Therefore go seek a Bank where we may sit; +And I will sigh whilst thou shall pity me. + + [_Stands with her Arms across_. + [Sem. _looks about, finds the Cap and Feathers_. + +_Sem_. See, Madam, what I've found. + +_Cleo_. 'Tis a fine Plume, and well adorn'd, +And must belong to no uncommon Man: +--And look, _Semiris_, where its Owner lies +--Ha! he sleeps, tread softly lest you wake him: +--Oh Gods! who's this with so divine a Shape? + +_Sem_. His Shape is very well. + +_Cleo_. Gently remove the Hair from off his Face, + [Sem. _puts back his Hair_. +And see if that will answer to the rest: +--All lovely! all surprizing! Oh, my Heart, +How thou betray'st the weakness of our Sex! +--Look on that Face, where Love and Beauty dwells-- +And though his Eyes be shut, tell me, _Semiris_, +Has he not wondrous Charms? + +_Sem_. Yes, Madam, and I wou'd excuse you, if you +shou'd now fall in Love, here's Substance; but that same +Passion for Fame alone, I do not like. + +_Cleo_. Ah, do not call my Blushes to my Face, +But pardon all my weakness: +May not my Eyes have leave to gaze a while? +Since after this there's not another Object +Can merit their Attention-- +But I'll no longer view that pleasing Form-- + [_Turns from him_. +And yet I've lost all power of removing-- + [_Turns and gazes_. +Even now I was in love with mere Report, +With Words, with empty Noise; +And now that Flame, like to the Breath that blew it, +Is vanish'd into Air, and in its room +An Object quite unknown, unfam'd, unheard of, +Informs my Soul; how easily 'tis conquer'd! +How angry am I with my Destiny! +Till now, with much disdain I have beheld +The rest of all his Sex; and shall I here +Resign a Heart to one I must not love? +Must this be he must kill the King of _Scythia_? +For I must lay no claim to any other: +Grant, Oh ye Gods, who play with Mortals thus, +That him for whom ye have design'd your Slave, +May look like this Unknown, +And I'll be ever grateful for the Bounty. +--But these are vain imaginary Joys. + + [Thersander _wakes, rises, and gazes_. + +_Ther_. Am I awake, or do my Dreams present me +Ideas much more bright and conquering, +Than e'er approach'd my waking Sense by far? +--Sure 'tis _Diana_, the Goddess of these Woods, +That Beauty and that Dress confirm me 'tis. [_Kneels_. +--Great Goddess, pardon an unlucky Stranger, +The Errors he commits 'gainst your Divinity, +Who, had he known this Grove had sacred been, +He wou'd not have profan'd it by his Presence. + +_Cleo_. Rise, Sir, I am no Deity; +Or if I were, I cou'd not be offended [_He rises_. +To meet so brave a Man--Gods, how he looks! + +_Ther_. Can you be mortal! +What happy Land contains you? or what Men +Are worthy to adore you? + +_Cleo_. I find you are a Stranger to this place, +You else had known me to be _Cleomena_. + +_Ther_. The Princess _Cleomena_! my mortal Enemy! [_Aside_. + +_Cleo_. You seem displeas'd at the knowledge of my Name; +But give me leave to tell you, yours on me +Wou'd have another Sense. + +_Ther_. The knowledge of your Name has not displeas'd me; + [_Kneels_. +But, Madam, I had sooner took you for +The Sovereign of the World than that of Dacia; +Nor ought you to expect less Adoration +From all that World, than those who're born your Slaves. +--And amongst those devout ones number him, +Whom happy Fate conducted to your Feet, +And who'll esteem himself more fortunate, +If by that little service he had rendred you, +_Clemanthis'_ Name have ever reach'd your Ear. + +_Cleo. Clemanthis_! what cou'd the Gods do more, [_Aside_. +To make me ever bless'd!--Rise, noble Youth-- + [_Raises him_. +Cou'dst thou salute me Mistress of the World, +Or bring me news of Conquest over _Scythia_, +It would not reach so kindly to my Soul, +As that admir'd illustrious Name of thine. +This Crown's in debt to your all-conquering Sword; +And I'm the most oblig'd to make Returns, +Which if you knew me, sure you wou'd not doubt, +If to those Favours you've already done us, +You'll add one more, and go with me to Court. + +_Ther_. To th' Court? to th' utmost Bounds of all the Universe. +At your Command, through Dangers worse than Death, +I'd fly with hasty Joy-- +Like Gods, do but decree, and be obey'd. + +_Sem_. Madam, the Company we left are coming this +way, and with them Prince _Honorius_. + +_Ther_. The General here so soon! [_Aside_. + + _Enter_ Honorius, Ismenes, _Women, and Huntsmen_. + +_Cleo_. Welcome, victorious Uncle. + [Hon. _kisses_ Cleo's _Hand_. + +_Hon_. Madam, I heard the Noise of Horns and Dogs, +And thought your Highness was abroad to Day; +Following the Cry, it brought me to this Company, +Who were in search for you, and 'twas my Duty to attend them. +--My gallant Friend _Clemanthis_ here! +This was above my hopes; let me embrace thee,-- +And tell thee with what Joy I find thee in the presence +Of my fair Niece, who must prevail upon you +To wait on her to Court; what I cou'd not intreat, let her command. + +_Ther_. Where Duty and my Inclination leads me, +There needs no Invitation. + +_Cleo_. Already, Uncle, he has promis'd it. + +_Ism_. Sir, is this the Man to whom all _Dacia_ is so much oblig'd? + +_Hon_. This is that gallant Man, whose single Valour +Has gain'd the Victory over the Nomades, +Who kill'd their King, and scatter'd all their Forces; +And when my feeble Strength (which Age and Wars +Had made unfit for mighty Toils) grew faint, +He, like _Aeneas_, bore my aged Limbs +Through all the fiery Dangers of the Battel. + +_Ther_. Too much you've said to my Advantage, Sir, +Robbing the Gods and Fortune of their Glory. + +_Ism_. Rank me amongst your Captives; for I find, +Whether you fight or not, you must be Victor. + [_Embraces_ Ther. + + _Enter_ Vallentio, Urania, Pimante; Vallentio _kneels and delivers_ + Urania _to the Princess_. + +_Cleo_. What new Encounter's this? + +_Val_. I need not ask where I shall pay my Duty: +My Wonder will direct me to your Feet. + +_Cleo_. Who knows the Man that makes me such a Present? + +_Hon_. Madam, he is an Officer of mine, +A worthy gallant Fellow; +But one that hardly knows what Cities are, +But as he'as view'd 'em through their batter'd Walls, +And after join'd 'em to your Territories. + +_Cleo_. Rise high in her Esteem that loves a Soldier. + [_He rises_. + +_Val_. I need say nothing for my Prisoner, Madam, +Whose Looks will recommend her: only this, +It was against my Will I made her so, +Who ne'er refus'd till then to take your Enemies. + +_Ther_. It is Urania, she'll know me, and betray me. [_Aside_. + +_Cleo_. Say, lovely Maid, whom, and from whence thou art? + +_Ura_. A _Scythian_, Madam, and till now your Foe. + +_Pim_. Ay, Madam, we took her, we took her. + +_Cleo_. So fair an one must merit my Esteem: +I hope there are not many such fine Creatures +Brought into the Camp against us; if there be, +The _Scythians_ cannot doubt of Victory. +--Thy Name and Business here? + +_Ura. Urania_, Madam-- +My Story were too tedious for your Ear, +Nor were it fit I should relate it here. +--But 'tis not as an Enemy I come, +'Tis rather, Madam, to receive my Doom; +Nor am I by the chance of War betray'd, +But 'tis a willing Captive I am made: +Your Pity, not your Anger I shall move, +When I confess my Fault is only Love, +Love to a Youth, who never knew till now +How to submit, nor cou'd to ought but you. +--His Liberty for Ransom you deny; +I dare not say that this is Cruelty, +Since yet you may be pleas'd to give me leave +To die with him, with whom I must not live. + +_Ther_. Excellent Maid! what Generosity her Love has taught her! + [_Aside_. + +_Cleo_. That you esteem me cruel, is unkind, +But Faults of Lovers must Forgiveness find: +_Amintas'_ Chains had far more easy been, +Had he been less a Favorite to his King. +--But you, _Urania_, may perhaps redeem +That Captive which I would not render them. + +_Ura_. Madam, this Bounty wou'd exceed Belief, +But you too generous are to mock my Grief: +And when you shall m' unhappy Story learn, +'Twill justify my Tears, and your Concern. + +_Cleo_. I need no Arguments for what I do, +But that I will, and then it must be so. + +_Ura_. The Prince of _Scythia_ in the Camp of _Dacia_! +If I could be mistaken in that form, +I'd hate my Eyes for thus deluding me: +But Heaven made nothing but _Amintas_ like him. [_Aside_. + +_Cleo_. Come, let's to Court, by this the Queen expects us: +--You, my fair Prisoner, must along with me: + [_Takes her Hand_. +--Thy Hand, _Clemanthis_, too--Now tell me, Uncle, + [Takes him with the other Hand. +--What _Scythian_ that beholds me thus attended, +Would not repine at my Felicity, +Having so brave a Friend, so fair an Enemy? + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. + + +SCENE I. _A Castle or Prison on the Sea_. + + _After a little playing on the Lute,--enter_ Orsames + _with his Arms across, looking melancholy, follow'd by_ + Geron _with a Lute in his Hand_. + +_Ors_. I do not like this Musick; +It pleases me at first, +But every Touch thou giv'st that's soft and low +Makes such Impressions here, +As puzzles me beyond Philosophy +To find the meaning of; +Begets strange Notions of I know not what, +And leaves a new and unknown thought behind it, +That does disturb my Quietness within. + +_Ger_. You were not wont to think so. + +_Ors_. 'Tis true-- +But since with time grown ripe and vigorous, +I will be active, though but ill employ'd. +--_Geron_, thou'st often told me, +That this same admirable Frame of Nature, +This Order and this Harmony of things, +Was worthy admiration. +--And yet thou say'st all Men are like to us, +Poor, insignificant Philosophers. +I to my self could an Idea frame +Of Man, in much more excellence. +Had I been Nature, I had varied still, +And made such different Characters of Men, +They should have bow'd and made a God of me, +Ador'd, and thank'd me for their great Creation. +--Now, tell me, who's indebted to her Bounties, +Whose needless Blessings we despise, not praise? + +_Ger_. Why, what wou'd you have done, had you been Nature? + +_Ors_. Some Men I wou'd have made with mighty Souls, +With Thoughts unlimited by Heaven or Man; +I wou'd have made 'em--as thou paint'st the Gods. + +_Ger_. What to have done? + +_Ors_. To have had Dominion o'er the lesser World, +A sort of Men with low submissive Souls, +That barely shou'd content themselves with Life, +And should have had the Infirmities of Men, +As Fear, and Awe, as thou hast of the Gods; +And those I wou'd have made as numberless +As Curls upon the Face of yonder Sea, +Of which each Blast drives Millions to the Shore, +Which vanishing, make room for Millions more. + +_Ger_. But what if these, so numerous, though so humble, +Refuse Obedience to the mighty few? + +_Ors_. I would destroy them, and create anew. +--Hast not observ'd the Sea, +Where every Wave that hastens to the Bank, +Though in its angry Course it overtake a thousand petty ones, +How unconcern'd 'twill triumph o'er their Ruin, +And make an easy Passage to the Shore?-- + +_Ger_. Which in its proud career 'twill roughly kiss, +And then 'twill break to nothing. + +_Ors_. Why, thou and I, though tame and peaceable, +Are mortal, and must unregarded fall. +--Oh, that thought! that damn'd resistless thought! +Methinks it hastens Fate before its time, +And makes me wish for what I fain wou'd shun. + +_Ger_. Appease your self with thoughts of future Bliss. + +_Ors_. Future Bliss! the Dreams of lazy Fools; +Why did my Soul take Habitation here, +Here in this dull unactive piece of Earth! +Why did it not take Wing in its Creation, +And soar above the hated Bounds of this? +What does it lingring here? + +_Ger_. To make itself fit for that glorious End +'Twas first design'd for,-- +By patient suffering here. + +_Ors_. But, Geron, still to live! still thus to live +In expectation of that future Bliss, +(Though I believ'd it) is a sort of Virtue +I find the Gods have not inspir'd me with. + +_Ger_. Philosophy will teach you, Sir,-- + +_Ors_. Not to be wise, or happy-- +I'll hear no more of your Philosophy. +--Leave me.--for I of late desire to be without thee. + +_Ger_. This Disobedience, Sir, offends the Gods-- + +_Ors_. Let 'em do their worst, +For I am weary of the Life they gave. + +_Ger_. He grows too wise to be impos'd upon, +And I unable to withstand his Reasons.-- + [Ger. _goes out_. + [Ors. _lies on the Ground_. + + _Enter_ Urania, _and Keeper_. + +_Keeper_. The Ring is sufficient Warrant, and your Path +on the right Hand will lead you to the Lord _Amintas_-- +but have a care you advance no further that way.-- + [_Exit Keeper_. + +_Ura_. What strange Disorder does possess my Soul! +And how my Blood runs shivering through my Veins, +As if, alas, 't had need of all its Aid. +At this encounter with my dear _Amintas_. + +_Ors_. Ha! what Noise is that? [_He rouzes_. + +_Ura_. I heard a Voice that way--or else it was the fear +This gloomy Place possesses all that enter it: +--Stay, I was forbad that Walk. +--Heavens! I have forgot which 'twas I should have taken, +I'll call my Love to guide me--_Amintas, Amintas_-- + +_Ors_. What Voice is that? +Methought it had more sweetness in't than _Geron's_-- + [_Rises, gazes, then runs fiercely to her_. +--Ha--what charming thing art thou? + +_Ura_. 'Tis not _Amintas_--yet I should not fear, +He looks above the common rate of Men. +--Sir, can you direct my way +To find a Prisoner out they call _Amintas_! + +_Ors_.--Oh Gods! it speaks, and smiles, and acts like me; +It is a Man, a wondrous lovely Man! +Whom Nature made to please me. +--Fair thing, pray speak again: +Thy Voice has Musick in't that does exceed +All _Geron's_ Lutes, pray bless my Ears again. + +_Ura_. Sir, as you're Noble, as you are a Gentleman, +Instruct me where to find my Lord _Amintas_. + +_Ors_. Bright Creature! sure thou wert born i'th' upper World, +Thy Language is not what we practise here; +Speak on, thou Harmony to every Sense, +Ravish my Ear as well as Sight and Touch. + +_Ura_. Surely he's mad--nay, Sir, you must not touch me. + +_Ors_. Perhaps thou art some God descended hither, + [_Retires and bows_. +And cam'st to punish, not to bless thy Creatures? +Instruct me how to adore you so, +As to retain you here my Houshold God, +And I and Geron still will kneel and pray to you. + +_Ura_. Alas, I am a Woman. + +_Ors_. A Woman! what's that? +Something more powerful than a Deity; +For sure that Word awes me no less than t'other. + +_Ura_. What can he mean?--oh, I shall die with fear-- + [_Aside_. +--Sir, I must leave you. + +_Ors_. Leave me! oh no, not for my future Being! +You needs must live with me, and I will love you; +I've many things that will invite you to't, +I have a Garden compass'd round with Sea, +Which every day shall send fresh Beauties forth, +To make the Wreaths to crown thy softer Temples. +Geron shall deck his Altar up no more; +The gaudy Flowers shall make a Bed for thee, +Where we will wanton out the heat o'th' day-- +What things are these, that rise and fall so often, + [_Touches her Breasts_. +Like Waves, blown gently up by swelling Winds? +Sure thou hast other Wonders yet unseen, +Which these gay things maliciously do hide. + +_Ura_. Alas, I am undone, what shall I do?-- [_Aside_. + +_Ors_. Nature, thy Conduct's wise! nor could thy Favours +Be giv'n to one more apprehensive of 'em? +--Say, lovely Woman! for I am all on fire, +Impatient of delay, +Can you instruct me what I am to do? [_Sighs_. +Undress, and let me lead thee to my Bed. + +_Ura_. Alas, Sir, what to do? defend me, Heaven! [_Aside_. + +_Ors_. Why, I will hold thee--thus, between my Arms, +--I'll see thee sleep, and wonder at thy Form, +--Then wake thee to be gazing on thy Eyes, +--And something more--but yet I know not what. + +_Ura_. His whole Discourse amazes me, +And has more Ignorance than Madness in't: +--But how shall I get free? + +_Ors_. Thou grow'st impatient too, come, let us in-- + + [_Goes to take her in, she strives to get free, + he struggles with her_. + +_Ura_. Hold off, you are too rude. + +_Ors_. This is the prettiest play I e'er was at, +But I shall gain the better.-- + [_Takes her in his Arms to carry her off_. + +_Ura_. Help, help! + + _Enter_ Amintas _in Fetters_. + +_Amin_. A Woman's Voice!--Villain, unhand the Lady. + +_Ors_. Ha! what new thing art thou? + +_Amin. One sent from Heaven to punish Ravishers.-- + [_Snatches_ Ura. _while_ Ors. _is gazing on him_. + +_Ors_. Thou'st call'd up an unwonted Passion in me, +And these be the effects on't. + [Ors. _strikes him_; _they struggle and fall_. + + _Enter_ Geron. + +_Ger_. Hah! what's the matter here? a Woman too! +We are undone--Madam, I pray retire-- +For here's no safety for your Sex. + +_Ura_. I gladly take your Counsel. + [Ura. _goes into_ Amintas' _Apartment_. + +_Ors_. What art thou? + +_Amin_. That which I seem to be. + +_Ors_. Then thou'rt a God; for till I saw a Woman, +I never saw a thing so fine as thou: +And 'tis but just thou shouldst be more than Mortal, +That durst command that Creature from my Arms. + +_Amim_. It is the King--I know it by his Innocence, +and Ignorance-- [_Aside_. +--Rise, I beseech you, Sir, and pardon me. + +_Ors_. So I could live a Year with looking on thee; +--But where's the Creature call'd it self a Woman? + +_Ger_. What Woman, Sir? + +_Ors_. Ha! Geron, where's the Woman? + +_Ger_. What do you mean, Sir? + +_Ors_. The Heavenly Woman, that was here but now. + +_Ger_. I saw none such, nor know I what you mean. + +_Ors_. Not what I mean? thou could'st not be so dull: +What is't that I have strove for all this while? + +_Amin_. I'll leave him too, my Presence may be hurtful, +And follow the Lady that's fled to my Apartment. + [_Ex_. Amin. + +_Ors_. Go, fetch the Woman, or, by Heaven, I'll fling thee into the Sea. + +_Ger_. I must delude'him. [_Aside_. + +_Ors_. Fly, why stay'st thou dully here? go bring the Woman. + +_Ger_. Sure you are frantick. + +_Ors_. I am so, and thou shalt feel the effect on't. +Unless thou render back that lovely Creature. + +_Ger_. Oh! this is perfect Madness, Sir, you're lost; +Call back your noble Temper, and be calm. + +_Ors_. No, there's a furious Tempest in my Soul, +Which nothing can allay but that fine thing. + +_Ger_. Hear Reason yet--no human Being can get entrance here; +Look round this Castle, and no other Object +Will meet your Eyes, but a watery Wilderness, +And distant and unhabitable Lands. +--What airy Vision has possess'd your Fancy? +For such the Gods sometimes afflict Men with. + +_Ors_. Ha! an airy Vision!--Oh, but it cannot be; +By all that's good,'twas real Flesh and Blood. + +_Ger_. And are you sure you are awake? + +_Ors_. As thou art now. + +_Ger_. Then 'twas an Apparition. + +_Ors_. Away--thou'st often told me of such Fooleries, +And I as often did reprove thee for't. + +_Ger_. From whence, or how should any living thing get hither? + +_Ors_. It dropt, perhaps, from Heaven, or how, I know not; +But here it was, a solid living thing; +You might have heard how long we talk'd together. + +_Ger_. I heard you talk, which brought me to this place, +And found you struggling on the ground alone; +But what you meant I know not. + +_Ors_. 'Tis so--I grant you that it was a Vision +--How strong is Fancy!--yet--it is impossible-- +Have I not yet the Musick of its Words? +Like answering Echoes less'ning by degrees, +Inviting all the yielding Sense to follow. +Have not my Lips (that fatally took in-- +Unrest from ev'ry touch of that fair Hand) +The sweet remains of warmth receiv'd from thence, +Besides the unerring Witness of my Eyes? +And can all these deceive me? tell me, can they? + +_Ger_. Most certainly they have. + +_Ors_. Then let the Gods take back what they so vainly gave. + +_Ger_. Cease to offend, and they will cease to punish. + +_Ors_. But why a Woman? cou'd they secure my Faith +By nothing more afflicting? + +_Ger_. Shapes Divine are most perplexing. +To Souls, like yours, whom Terrors cannot fright, +It leaves desires of what it cannot gain, +And still to wish for that-- +Is much the greatest torment of the Mind. + +_Ors_. Well said--but, _Geron_, thou'st undone thy Aim, +And us'd the only Argument cou'd invite me +T' offend again, that thus I might be punish'd: +The Gods themselves invite me to the Sin! +Not seeing a Woman, I had never bin. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. _Another Room in the Prison. +Enter_ Amintas _in Fetters with _Urania. + +_Amin_. My gallant Maid! this Generosity, +Above thy Sex, and much above my Merit, +I never can repay: my dear _Urania_, +Thou did'st outdo thy Sex before in Beauty, +In all the Charms that make 'em so ador'd: +But this last Act, this noble Mark of Love, +Begets a reverend Wonder in my Soul, +And I behold thee as some sacred thing, +That--this way should be worship'd-- + [_Kneels_, _and kisses her Hand_. + +_Ura_. I'm glad you have so kind a Sense of that +Which ev'ry Maid that lov'd like me wou'd do; +What cou'd you less expect?--Ah, my _Amintas_, +That fatal Night before our Wedding-day, +Being alarm'd by the Enemy, +And you were sent to try your Force with theirs, +My Heart foretold your Fate; and that same Night, +Whose darkness veiled my Blushes all alone, +Drest like a Youth I hasted from the Court, +And being well mounted, soon o'ertook the Army, +When, all unknown, I got so near your Person, +That in the Fight I had the Glory twice +To serve you, when your Horses being kill'd, +I still presented you with fresh, whose Riders +Thy Valour had dismounted. + +_Amin_. Oh Gods! wert thou that Boy, +Whom oft I said, I thought was sent from Heaven, +And beg'd t' encounter when the Fight was ended? + +_Ura_. The same, 'twas all you'd time to say; for after that, +Venturing too far, they took you Prisoner. + +_Amin_. Oh, with what Shame I look upon your Bounty, +Which all my Life's too little to acknowledge; +What follow'd then, my dearest fair _Urania_? + +_Ura_. I gladly wou'd have been a Prisoner too, +But I appear'd a poor dejected Boy, +That was not worth their Fetters. +--Then I resolv'd upon this last Adventure, +To make my Application to the Princess, +Knowing her noble Nature, +To try (since mighty Ransoms were refus'd) +What simple Love would do; and in my way +I lighted on a Druid, who in's Youth +Had liv'd in Courts, but now retir'd to Shades, +And is a little Monarch o'er his Flocks; +To him I told my Story, who encourag'd me in my resolv'd design, +And I so luckily have made an Interest +In _Cleomena's_ Heart, +These Chains she'as given me Freedom to dismiss, +And you must only wear Love's Fetters now: + [_She takes off his Chains_. +--Come, haste, _Amintas_, from this horrid Place, +And be thy self again, appear in Arms. +The _Scythians_ are encampt within thy View, +And e'er three Births of Day the Armies meet; +Th' Event of which, I at the _Druid_'s Cell +Will wait; sending continual Vows to Heaven +For thy dear Safety: there when the Fight is done, +I wish to meet thee; +--But now your Country and your King expect you, +And I love Glory equal to _Amintas_. + +_Amin_. But yet the generous Bounty of the Princess +Obliges here, no less than Duty there; +I know not how the Gods of War to move +To grant me Victor, or the vanquish'd prove; +My Heart to either is not well inclin'd, +Since--vanquish'd I am lost, conquering unkind. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. _A Grove_. + + _Enter_ Thersander, Lysander. + +_Ther_. Urge it no more, _Lysander_,'tis in vain, +My Liberty past all retrieve is lost; +But they're such glorious Fetters that confine me, +I wou'd not quit them to preserve that Life +Thou justly say'st I hazard by my Love. + +_Lys_. The _Scythian_ Gods defend it! + +_Ther_. The Gods inspire it, 'tis their Work alone; +--I know she is my Enemy, hates _Thersander_, +Has sent for all the neighbouring Kings for aid, +That hither Artabases and Ismenes +Have brought their Powers t' assist against my Crown. +But what of this? She loves me as _Clemanthis_, +Which will surmount her Hatred to the _Scythians_. +Oh, my _Lysander_! didst thou know her Charms, +Thou'dst also know 'tis not a mortal Force +That can secure the Heart: She's all divine! +All Beauty, Wit, and Softness! and she loves! +Already I have found the grateful Secret; +She scorns the little Customs of her Sex, +And her belief of being so much above me, +Permits her to encourage my Design; +She gives a Boldness to my bashful Flame, +And entertains me with much Liberty. + +_Lys_. Were all this true, you're equally unhappy; +She must be only his that conquers you, +That wins your Crown, and lays it at her Feet. + +_Ther_. Love ne'er considers the Event of things, +The Path before me's fair, and I'll pursue it; +Fearing no other Forces than her Eyes, +Bright as the Planets under which they're born. + +_Lys_. And will you let her know you are in love? + +_Ther_. If all my Sighs, if Eyes still fix'd on hers +With Languishment and Passion, will inform her, +I'll let her know my Flame, or perish in th' Attempt. + +_Lys_. Dare you declare it as you now appear? +And can you hope, that under the Degree +Of what indeed you are, she will permit it? +And your Discovery is your certain ruin. + +_Ther_. Thy Counsel, dear _Lysander_, comes too late, +She's in the Grove, where now I must attend her, +And see where she approaches-- + + _Enter_ Cleomena, Semiris. + +_Cleo_. The Stranger, say you, grown of late so pensive! +--I must enquire the Cause--what if it shou'd be Love? +And that too not for me! hah, my _Semiris_! +That Thought has given me Pains I never felt; +--Gods! why comes he not? I grow impatient now; +--Say, didst thou bid him wait me in the Grove? + +_Sem_. Madam, I spoke to him my self-- + +_Cleo_. And told him I wou'd speak with him? + +_Sem_. As you commanded me, I said. + +_Cleo_. It seems he values my Commands but little, +Who is so slow in his Obedience: +--Where found you him? + +_Sem_. I'th' Antick Gallery, Madam. + +_Cleo_. Gallery! what did he there? tell me exactly, +--I have no Picture there. + +_Sem_. Madam, he was viewing that of _Olympia_, your fair Cousin, +But for the Excellency of the Work, not Beauty. + +_Cleo_. Thou art deceiv'd; viewing her Picture, say you? +--Oh, thou hast touch'd a tender part, _Semiris_; +--But yonder's he that can allay my Rage [_Sees_ Thersander. +And calm me in that Love by every Look. +--_Clemanthis_, you absent your self too much +From those to whom your Presence is agreeable; +I hear that you are grown retir'd of late, +And visit shady Groves, walk thus--and sigh, +Like melancholy Lovers. Has the Court +(Who for your Entertainment has put on +More Gaiety than in an Age before) +Nothing that can divert you? Cease your Ceremony; + [_He bows low_. +I am your Friend, and if ought harbour there +Within that sullen Breast, impart it here-- +And I'll contribute any thing to ease you. +--Come--boldly tell thy Griefs; +I have an Interest in thy noble Life. +--Perhaps, since you're arriv'd at Court, you've seen +Some Beauty that has made a Conquest o'er your Heart; +--Whoe'er she be, you cannot fear Success. + +_Ther_. The Honours you have heap'd upon your Slave, +Have been sufficient +To have encourag'd any bold Attempt; +And here are Beauties would transform a God, +Much more a Soldier, into an amorous Shape. +--But, I confess, with shame, I brought no Heart +Along with me to Court, and after that +What acceptable Sacrifice can I offer? +This makes me shun the Pleasures of your Court, +And seek Retirements silent as my Griefs. + +_Cleo_, It seems you were a Lover e'er I saw you, +And Absence from your Mistress makes you languish. + +_Ther_. Ah, Madam, do not ask me many Questions, +Lest I offend where I should merit Pity; +The Boldness may arrive unto her Knowledge, +And then you'll lose the humblest of your Creatures, +Whilst as I am, I may among the Croud +Of daily Worshippers, pay my Devotions. + +_Cleo_. Give me your Hand, we'll walk a little. + [_They go and sit dawn on a Bank_. +--How do you like this Grove? + +_Ther_. As I do every place you're pleas'd to bless. +Heaven were not Heaven, were Gods not present there; +And where you are, 'tis Heaven every where. + +_Cleo_. Look, Clemanthis--on yonder tuft of Trees, +Near which there is a little murmuring Spring, +From whence a Rivulet does take its rise, +And branches forth in Channels through the Garden; +--'Twas near a place like that--where first I saw _Clemanthis_. + [_Sighing_. + +_Ther_. Madam, be pleas'd to add, 'twas also there +_Clemanthis_ left his Liberty at the Feet +Of Divine _Cleomena_; +And charg'd himself with those too glorious Chains, +Never to be dismist but with his Life. + [_She rising in anger, he kneels_. + +_Cleo_. How, _Clemanthis_! + +_Ther_. Ah! Madam, if I too presumptuous grow, +From your Commands, and all your Bounties to me, +You should forgive the Pride you do create, +And all its strange Effects; +Which if I have mistaken, let me die. +Only this Mercy grant me, to believe, +That if our Adorations please the Gods, +Mine cannot be offensive to my Princess, +Since they are equally Religious. + +_Cleo_. Stranger--before I punish thy Presumption, +Inform me who it is that has offended? +Who giving me no other knowledge of him, +Than what his sword has done--dares raise his Eyes to me? + +_Ther_. Madam, what you demand is just, +And I had rather die than disobey you; +But I am constrain'd by a Necessity +(Which when you know, you certainly will pardon) +For some time to conceal my Birth and Name. + +_Cleo_. Till then you should have kept your Flame conceal'd, +'T had been less disobliging from a criminal one, +Whose Quality had justify'd his Boldness. + +_Ther_. Ah! Madam, wou'd Heaven and you wou'd find +no other Difficulty +Than want of Quality to merit you! + +_Cleo_. I must confess, _Clemanthis_, with a Blush, +That nothing of the rest displeases me. + +_Ther_. Ah, Madam, how you bless me! +And now with Confidence I dare assure you, +That which should render me more worthy of you, +Shall be in me found more to your Advantage, +Than in those Princes who have taken on 'em +The Glory of your Service. + +_Cleo_. As I am very reasonable, and do act +With more Sincerity than Artifice, +I'll now desire no more. +But have a care you use my Bounty well; +For I am now grown kind enough to think +That all you say is true. + +_Ther_. Madam, banish me your Presence, as the Man +Of all the World unworthy to adore you, +If I present not to you in _Clemanthis_ +A Man enough considerable to hope. + +_Cleo_. But oh! Clemanthis, I forgot my Fate, +My Destiny depends upon my People; +Urg'd by the Queen, they've made a Resolution +To give me to that Prince who does most powerfully +Advance the Ruin of the King of _Scythia_. + +_Ther_. Madam, I am not ignorant of the Conditions +That are impos'd on those who pretend to you; +I will not only serve you in this War +With more Success than any, +But set the Crown of _Scythia_ on your Head. + +_Cleo_. That's bravely said. + +_Ther_. Perhaps it seems extravagantly spoken, +In the Condition you behold me now; +But here I vow--I never will demand + [_Kneels_. +The Divine _Cleomena_ till I have crown'd her-- +Yes, Madam, till I have crown'd her Queen of _Scythia_. +--Till then--give me but hope--enough, to live-- + [Rises. + +_Cleo_. That's to your Passion due; and when I know +Who 'tis I favour--I will more allow. + +_Sem_. Madam, the Queen is here. + + _Enter_ Queen, Honorius, Artabazes, Ismenes, _Guards, + Attendants, &c_. + +_Queen_. I am glad to see you all in Readiness; +To morrow I intend to be i'th' Camp, +--And _Cleomena_ is your General; +Since 'tis her Cause we fight, it is but just +She share the Danger of it with the Glory. + +_Arta_. We all approve it, Madam, and are proud +Fair _Cleomena_ shall a Witness be +Of what we do to serve her, +And see the easy Conquest we shall make +Upon the Persons of her Enemies. + +_Hon_. I know not, Sir, what you may do, +But we have found it not so easy. + +_Arta_. Oh, there's no doubt, but we'll depopulate _Scythia_, +And lead its King, with the vain Prince his Son, +Loaden with Irons, to adorn your Triumphs. + +_Ther_. Madam, I must confess your Force is great, +And the Assistance of these Men considerable; +Yet I advise your Majesty to prepare +For the Defeat of the great King of _Scythia_, +As to a Business much more difficult +Than they present it to you: for I know +The Forces of that Nation are not less. + [_Looks with scorn on them_. +--Consider too, that King was never conquer'd, +Though these believe to do't with so much ease. +I oft have seen _Thersander_, that young Prince, +Upon whose Sword Fortune her self depends, +--And I can tell--he's not so easily chain'd, +As, _Artabazes_, you imagine him. + +_Arta_. What, do you think to fright us with the Praises +You give our Enemies? +--I have heard of that King, and of _Thersander_ too; +But never heard of so much Terror in 'em, +Should make us apprehend an ill Success; +--And you, _Clemanthis_, do not know us well, +To think we'll tremble for the Prince of _Scythia_, +Though many such as you should take his part. + +_Ther_. How, many such as I! + [_Gomes up to his Breast_. +Gods! with your selves no other Enemies +To join with that young Prince; +To conquer him and many such as I, +Requires a Number of such Kings as you. + +_Ism_. It is too much, _Clemanthis_; were you well +Affected to the Service of the Queen, +You would not thus commend her Enemies. + +_Ther_. Madam, I humbly beg your Pardon, +I have fail'd in the Respect I owe you, +By what I've said in favour of your Enemies, +Whom, whilst you think so easily o'ercome, +You will neglect that Power should make you Victor. + +_Qu_. 'Tis Virtue, Sir, that makes you give what's due, +Though to the Advantage of those Men you hate-- +--I must not have you take ought ill from him. [_To the_ King. +But as you've all unanimously join'd +To assist us in this War, so all embrace, + [Ther. _salutes 'em coldly_. +Be one and ever Friends. +Brother, I leave the Conduct of this hopeful Army [_To_ Hon. +To your unquestion'd Care; and if you can, +Oblige this noble Stranger for ever in our Service. + +_Cleo_. Uncle, I'll to the Camp with you; +And you, _Clemanthis_, must be near me still. + + [Ther. _bows. All go out but_ Ther. Hon. Lysan. + +_Hon. Clemanthis_, you are troubled. + +_Ther_. I was a little ruffled, but 'tis gone. + +_Hon_. You shou'd not blame them, Sir, for envying you, +A Man so young, and such a Name in War. + +_Ther_. That, Sir, is only your Esteem of it. + +_Hon_. No, dear _Clemanthis_, that I may declare +To all the World and thee, how much I prize it, +Without consulting of your Quality, +I'll make you absolute Master of my Fortune. + +_Ther_. Heav'ns! whence this Generosity? [_Aside_. + +_Hon_. I have a Daughter, Sir, an only Child, +Whom all the World esteems a virtuous one, +And for whose Love Princes have su'd in vain, +I now with Joy will render you in Marriage. + +_Ther_. I am undone! [_Aside_. +It is a Princess, Sir, I must admire, +But never durst behold her with Eyes of Love, +A Maid so much above me. + +_Hon_. I am a Man, whose martial Disposition +Renders me too unartful in my Language; +I cannot study Fineness in my Words, +But with Sincerity declare my Heart, +And do propose this Marriage with _Olympia_, +For your Advantage and the publick Interest, +Besides my own Content. + +_Ther_. Have you consider'd, Sir, I am below her? + +_Hon_. No more of that; go visit my _Olympia_, +She is prepared to give you Entertainment. + [_Ex_. Hon. + +_Ther_. Marry _Olympia_! +No, cou'd he with Olympia give the World, +I could not love, nor marry her. +--Oh, my Lysander! what evasion now? +--Didst hear the noble Offer of the General? + +_Lys_. I did, great Sir, and what will you return? + +_Ther_. If I refuse, I must offend the Man +To whom of all the World I am most oblig'd, +And one who knowing me but by my Services, +Offers me what _Thersander_ might accept. + +_Lys_. It's fit you should consult the Princess, Sir, +What 'tis you ought to do. + +_Ther_. I'll take thy Counsel--and wait upon _Olympia_: +--Yes, I will go visit her, though but to prove +No Torment can be like dissembled Love. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE IV. _A Chamber_. + + _Enter Queen, Cleomena, Honorius. + +_Qu_. Is't possible, my Brother, you can have +So great a Passion for the publick good, +As willingly to sacrifice your Child to its Repose, +And make her Arms the soft and easy Chains +To link this gallant Stranger to our Interest? + +_Hon_. His Virtue I prefer above a Crown. + +_Cleo_. You shou'd love Virtue as you ought to love it; +Not give it over-measure--But are you sure he will accept it? + +_Hon_. I am not certain, being not come so far; +But I propos'd it, and no doubt he lik'd it. + +_Cleo_. This cannot be his Malice; for he was ever noble, + [Hon. _talks to the_ Queen. +But false or feign'd, I can endure no more on't: +--By Heaven, this Stranger's false! false as his Name! +--_Semiris_ found him gazing on her Picture: +--'Tis so--he loves _Olympia_! +And when I ask the Name of her he lov'd, +I urg'd it with such softness in my Eyes, +That he in Pity of me swore 'twas I: +--Now can I find how much my Soul's possest +With Love, since 'tis with Jealousy opprest. + [_Goes out_. + +_Qu_. How do you like the Trial of _Orsames_, +Which I intend to make? + +_Hon_. You'll oblige your People, and do a Mother's Duty. + +_Qu_. You know 'twas not the Tyrant in my Nature, +That from his Infancy has kept him ignorant +Of what he was--but the Decrees of Heaven. + +_Hon_. Madam, 'tis true; and if the Gods be just, +He must be King too, though his Reign be short: +You cannot alter those Decrees of Heaven. + +_Qu_. The Gods are Witness how these eighteen Years +I have with much Regret conceal'd his Birth. + +_Hon_. You know the last Defeat the _Scythians_ gave us, +Th' impatient People broke the Castle-gates, +And against all your Powers were ready to have crown'd him; +And shou'd we now be conquer'd, nothing less +Will still the mutinous Army: try him, Madam, +He may be fit for great Impressions, +Had he but good Examples to dispose him. + +_Qu_. I'll have it done to night. +Heaven, if it be thy Will, inspire my Son +With Virtue fit to wear his Father's Crown. + [_Exeunt_. + + _Scene draws off, discovers_ Thersander _seemingly courting_ + Olympia. _Enter_ Cleomena; _sees them, starts, gazes + on them, then goes out unseen. The Scene closes and + changes to her Apartment.--She enters in a Rage_-- + +_Cleo_. Perfidious Man! am I abandon'd then? [_Rage_. +Abandon'd for _Olympia_! my Slave-- +And yet I lov'd him more than I did Heaven-- [_Soft_. +And shall he quit me thus? +Without being punish'd for this Infidelity? +--No, let me be a shame to all my Sex then +--Oh, _Clemanthis_! to whom I fondly gave my Liberty, +When first I saw thee sleeping in the Wood. +--But I grow soft, a Passion too unfit +For so much Anger as my Soul's possess'd with; +'Twas but even now he lov'd me with such Ardor, +And he who promis'd me the Crown of _Scythia_, +Dar'st thou become unjust, ungrateful Stranger! +Who having rais'd thy Eyes to _Cleomena_, +Would sacrifice her to another Mistress? +--This Heart, which ought not to've been given away, +But by the Services and Blood of Kings, +How hast thou lost it on a false Unknown, +Without being paid for it one single Sigh!-- + + _Enter_ Thersander; _she draws a Dagger; offers to kill + him, but cannot_. + +Traitor--hast thou the impudence to appear before me, +Or dost thou come to meet thy just Reward? + [_Offers to stab him_. +--There's something in his Looks that does preserve him, +Or I'm not truly brave, and dare not kill him. +--Go, treacherous Unknown, whom I've preferr'd +Before so many Princes, who in vain +Sue for this credulous Heart which thou'st betray'd. + +_Ther_. Ah! Madam, can you be thus cruel to me, +And not inform me how I have offended? + +_Cleo_. Be gone, I say, if thou would'st save a Life, +Which those that dare do evil fear to lose. + +_Ther_. Those Eyes thus order'd are far worse than Death. +End what you have so well begun, +And kill me; +Yet from another's Hand +The Blow would he less cruel. + +_Cleo_. Oh, Impudence! +Still he wou'd cheat my Rage, as he has abus'd my Love; +But, Monster, though thou art below my Hand, +I'm yet a Princess, and I can command. +By Heaven, I'll try how much Rage can invent. +_Semiris_, call _Qlympia_ to me strait; +She shall in Triumph with me stand and smile, +To see thee by some Vassal bleed. + +_Ther_. There needs no other witness of my Death. +But her I have offended; +To you alone I offer up my Life: for dying, +I've something to relate may justify your Rage, +Though not deserve your Pity. + +_Cleo_. Hell! +Now I'm confirm'd, he fears that she should see +Him die, lest it should cost her but a Tear; +--Why should I want the Strength? +--But Oh, I cannot. + [_Offers to present the Dagger_. +But canst thou live, false Man, and see me frown? + +_Ther_. No, Madam, I can die--thus-- + [_Offers to fall on his Sword_. + +_Cleo_. Stay-- +Thou shalt not so much Glory gain: +No, live, and prove wretched enough to know +How very poorly thou hast lost my Heart. + [_Ex. raving_. + [Ther. _gazes after her_. + +_Ther_. Must I then live?--I will obey--farewel, +The fairest and unkindest of thy Sex; +If e'er it be thy chance to meet with one +That loves more than _Thersander_, if thou canst +Treat him worse than thou hast done me-- +For oh! how miserable is the Wretch, whose Prayer +Repuls'd, like me, lives only to despair. + + [_Exit_. + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE I. + + _The Curtain is let down--being drawn up, discovers_ Orsames + _seated on a Throne asleep, drest in Royal Robes, the Crown + and Sctpter lying by on a Table_. Geron _near the Throne. + On either side of the Stage, Courtiers ready drest, and multitude + of Lights. Above is discovered the_ Queen, Olympia, + _and Women_, Pimante, Artabazes, Ismenes; _Soft Musick + plays;--whilst he wakes by degrees, and gazes round + about him, and on himself with Wonder_. + +_Ors_.--Gods! what am I? +--Or, is there any other God but I? + +_Ger_. Yes, my great Lord; +But you're a King, a mighty Monarch, Sir. + +_Ors_. I understand thee, 'tis some God thou mean'st. + +_Ger_. On Earth it is: your Power too is as great; +Your Frowns destroy, and when you smile you bless; +At every Nod the whole Creation bows, +And lay their grateful Tributes at your Feet; +Their Lives are yours, and when you deign to take 'em, +There's not a Mortal dares defend himself: +But that you may the more resemble Heaven, +You should be merciful and bountiful. + +_Ors_. I do believe I am the King thou speak'st of. + +_Ger_. Behold this Crown--this sacred Thing is yours. + + [_Kneels and gives him the Scepter and Crown; he puts + it on, and walks about_. + +_Ors_. It is a glorious Object-- +And fit for none but me-- + +_Olymp_. Madam, methinks the King is the finest Man +That e'er I saw--shall he not still be King? + +_Qu_. I hope he will deserve it. + +_Ors_. So, now methinks I move like Heaven itself, +All circled round with Stars, +--Hah! what's this that kneels? + + [_The_ Queen _kneels, he snatches her up_. + +_Ger_. The Queen your Mother, Sir.-- + +_Ors_. By my great self it is another Woman, +Which I have burnt with a desire of seeing. +--Be gone, and leave us here alone together; +I've something to impart to this fair Thing, +Must not be understood by you. + +_Qu_. Why, Sir, what is it you can impart to me, +Which those about you must not understand? + +_Ors_. A new Philosophy inspir'd by Nature, +And much above whatever Geron taught. +--Come and augment my Knowledge. + +_Qu_. Why me, Sir, more than any one about you? + +_Ors_. Thou art all soft and sweet like springing Flowers, +And gentle as the undisturbed Air. + +_Qu_. But I am your Mother. + +_Ors_. No matter; thou'rt a Woman, art thou not? +And being so, the Mother cannot awe me. + +_Ger_. Sir, 'tis the Person gave you Life and Being. + +_Ors_. That gave me Life! oh, how I love thee for't! +Come--and I'll pay thee back such kind Returns-- + +_Ger_. Most Royal Sir, this Woman was +Not made by Heaven--for you. + +_Ors_. Away with your Philosophy; but now you said-- +I was a King, a mighty God on Earth, +And by that Power I may do any thing. + +_Ger_. But Kings are just as well as powerful, Sir. + +_Ors_. I am so to my self, do not oppose me. + +_Ger_. Sir, this one is not meant, not form'd for you. + +_Ors_. Am I a God, and can be disobey'd? +Remove that Contradiction from my sight, +And let him live no longer: ha, more Women! + [Exit Geron. + + _Enter_ Olympia _and other Women_. + +Oh Nature, how thou'st furnish'd me with Store! +And finer far than this-- + [_Gazes on_ Olympia. +--But what is that whose Eyes give Laws to all, +And like the Sun, eclipse the lesser Lights? + +_Qu_. Speak to him, _Olympia_. + +_Ors_. Who tells me what she is? + +_Olym_. Oh, how I tremble!--Sir, I am a Maid. + +_Ors_. A Maid! and may you be approacht with Knees and Prayers + [_Kneels_. + +_Olym_. I am your Slave, you must not kneel to me-- +Takes him up. + +_Ors_. How soon my Glory's vanisht! +Till now I did believe I was some God, +And had my Power and my Divinity +Within my Will; but by this awful Fear, +I find thou art the greater Deity: +--Pray tell me, fairest, are you not a Woman? + +_Olym_. I am a Woman, and a Virgin, Sir. + +_Ors_. I did believe that thou wert something more, +For I have seen a Woman, and ne'er knew +So much Disorder in my Soul before: +--For every Look of thine gives me a Pain, +And draws my Heart out of its wonted Seat. + +_Olym_. Alas, Sir, have I hurt you? + +_Ors_. Extremely hurt me, thou hast a secret Power, +And canst at distance wound, +Which none but Heaven and you cou'd ever do. +--But 'twas my Fault; had I not gaz'd on thee, +I had been still a King, and full of Health. +--Here--receive this Crown, 'tis now unfit for me, +Since thou hast greater Power--whilst it sits here-- + [_He takes off his Crown, and puts it on her_. +It looks like Stars fall'n from their proper Sphere: +--So, now they're fixt again. + +_Qu. Pimante_, speak to him to take it back. + +_Pim_. He kills me with his Looks. +--Sir, when you part with this, you'll be despis'd; +Your Glory, and your Thunder, all will vanish. + +_Ors_. I yet have something that shall make thee fear, +I'm still a King, though I must bow to her; +Take him away to Death immediately-- + +_Pim_. Any where to be out of your Sight-- +A King, quotha? [_Exit_. + +_Ors_. Come, my fair Virgin, this shall be my Altar, +And I will place thee here, my Deity. + +_Qu_. Great Sir, that Throne is only fit for you. + +_Ors_. I say again, I'll have it fit for two: +Thou art a Woman, thank the Gods for that: +--Ascend, my lovely Virgin, and adorn it; +Ascend, and be immortal as my self. + +_Art_. That Throne she was not born to. + +_Ors_. Into the Sea with that bold Counsellor, +And let him there dispute with Winds and Waves. [_Art. ex_. + + _Being seated on a Throne, enter several in Masquerades, + and dance_. + +--Cou'd I be sensible of any Pleasure, +But what I take in thee, this had surpriz'd me. + +_Olym_. A Banquet, Sir, attends you. + +_Ors_. Dispose me as you please, my lovely Virgin; +For I've resign'd my Being to your Will, +And have no more of what I call my own, +Than Sense of Joys and Pains, which you create. + [_They rise, and sit down at a Banquet. He gazes on her_. + +_Olym_. Will you not please to eat? + +_Ors_. It is too gross a Pleasure for a King. +Sure, if they eat, 'tis some celestial Food, +As I do by gazing on thy Eyes-- +Ah, lovely Maid-- + +_Olym_. Why do you sigh, Sir? + +_Ors_. For something which I want; yet having thee, +What more can Heaven bestow to gratify +My Soul and Sense withal? + +_Olym_. Sir, taste this Wine; +Perhaps 'twill alter that deceiv'd Opinion, +And let you know the Error of your Passion; +'Twill cause at least some Alteration in you. + +_Ors_. Why shouldst thou ask so poor a Proof of me? +But yet, I will obey,--give me the Wine. + + [_They put something into the Bowl_. + +_Olym_. How do you like it, Sir? + +_Ors_. Why--well; but I am still the same. +Come, give it me again--'tis very pleasant-- +Will you not taste it too?-- +Methinks my Soul is grown more gay and vigorous; +What I have drank, has deify'd thee more, +Heightens the Pleasure which I take to gaze on thee, +And sends a thousand strange uneasy Joys, +That play about my Heart, and more transport me-- +Drink, my fair Virgin, and perhaps thy Eyes +May find some Charms in me to make thee thus. + +_Olym_. Alas, they've found already but too many. [_Aside_. + +_Ors_. I thought I must have gaz'd on thee for ever; +--But oh! my Eyes grow heavy in the Play, +As if some strange Divinity about me +Told me my Safety lay in their Declension. +--It is not Sleep!--sure, Kings do never sleep; +That were a low submission to a Power +A Monarch shou'd despise--but yet 'tis so: +Ye Gods, am I but mortal then? +Or do you ever sleep? I find ye do! +But I must--and lose this lovely Object: +Grant, oh ye Gods, that I may find it in a Dream, +Let her Idea hover about my Soul, +And keep it still in this harmonious Order +--And gently blow the Flame't has kindled there. + [_Falls asleep_. + + _Enter_ Geron, Pimante, _and_ Arates. + +_Pim_. Are you sure he's asleep? + +_Ger_. How do you like him, Madam? + +_Qu_. I fear he is a Tyrant in his Nature. + +_Ger_. But since he can be tam'd by Love and Beauty, +You should not doubt but he'll be fit to reign. + +_Qu_. Remove him now into his own Apartment, +And still continue to impose upon him, +Till you receive new Orders. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. _A Grove near the Camp_. + + _Enter_ Cleo. _with a Truncheon in her Hand, a Sword and + a Quiver of Arrows by her side, with_ Semiris. + +_Sem_. Madam, you are sad, +As if you doubted your Success to day. + +_Cleo_. There are some Moments wherein I do repent me +The too rash Banishment of poor _Clemanthis_. +How did he take the Letter which I sent? + +_Sem_. As Persons innocent and full of Health +Receive unlookt-for Sentences of Death; +He sigh'd, and said he wou'd obey your Will: +And, Madam, had you seen his silent Grief, +You wou'd have thought him innocent. + +_Cleo_. Innocent! banish that foolish Pity from your Heart, +That wou'd persuade thee he is innocent. +Did I not see him courting of Olympia? +And can my Eyes deceive me? + +_Sem. Olympia_, Madam! Gods, what do I hear! +Till now I did not know his Fault of Banishment. + +_Cleo_. And was't not cause enough? + +_Sem_. Ah, Madam, what Injustice have you done? +Before _Clemanthis_ came into your Cabinet, +He entertain'd me for a pretty while +With the Intentions of your generous Uncle; +He told me how he offer'd him _Olympia_, +And that he durst not seem to disesteem it, +Being your Uncle, and a Man to whom +He ow'd so much; but most to hide his Passion: +And then was coming to consult with you, +How he should manage this Affair with him. + +_Cleo_. And is this Truth thou tell'st me, dear _Semiris_? + +_Sem_. Madam, I do not use t'abuse your Credit. + +_Cleo_. Fly then, _Semiris_, and reverse his Doom. + +_Sem_. Would I knew whither, Madam. + +_Cleo_. Why, is he no longer then in the Camp? + +_Sem_. Ah, Madam, is he longer in the World? +For 'tis impossible to be imagin'd +He parted hence with any Thought of Life. + +_Cleo_. Send ev'ry way to find him--hark, I'm call'd-- + [_Trumpets sound_. +And he that finds him first, is made for ever. +Oh Jealousy, thou Passion most ingrate! +Thy Ills procure more Mischief than thy Hate. +'Tis thou art Tyrant, when Love bears the blame, +'Tis pity thou'rt consistent with Love's Flame. +I'll not my Weakness nor Resentment show; +A Heart like mine, should sooner break than bow. +--Come, my _Semiris_, we too long have stay'd; +That Call, till now, was never disobey'd. + + [_Trumpets sound. Ex_. + + +SCENE III. _Scythian Tents_. + + _Enter_ Amintas, _drest fine, with_ Urania. + +_Ura_. Within this Shade till the black Day be past, +I will attend thy Fortune, or thy Fate. + +_Amin_. The King has taken Horse, the Fight's begun, +And I must leave thee to the Gods and Prayer. + +_Ura_. Why was I made a Woman? or being so, +Why had I not a masculine Courage given me? +That side by side I might have shar'd thy Glory, +Or have expir'd together? + +_Amin_. Thou wilt undo me with this Tenderness. +Come send me kindly from thee, +With Joys about my Heart that may preserve it; +Here rest till my Return; farewel, my Fair. + +_Ura_. And if I never see thee more, farewel-- + [Amin. _exit_. +Here I will lay me down, and never rise, +Till thou return'st with Laurel, or with Cypress. + [_Sits down_. +Now I cou'd curse the Fortune of my Prince, +Who quits a Father for an Enemy, +To satisfy a Flame will ruin him. + [_A noise of Fighting_. +--The Fight increases; Oh ye Gods of Battel, +In midst of all your Rage preserve my Love. + + _Enter_ Artabazes _over the Stage, and goes out_. + +_Art_. My Nephew kill'd! and I dismounted too! oh curst Fate! + +_Ura_. This Noise has comfort in't, it sounds like Victory. + + [_A hollowing within amongst the noise of Fighting. + Enter_ Amintas. + +--Oh Gods! _Amintas_! what has Fortune done? + +_Amin_. The undaunted _Scythians_ never lost the Field; +Yet now at first 'twas doubtful +To which side Fortune would incline her self +_Ismenes_ kill'd where'er he turn'd his Sword, +And quite defeated our _Agrippian_ Forces; +Yet was not satisfy'd, knowing the King +To be the Price of _Cleomena's_ Heart, +But sought him out on all sides, +Whom 'twas not hard to find; +For he was hurrying now from Rank to Rank, +Distributing a Death to all Opposers. +But young _Ismenes_ having pierc'd the Squadrons, +And knowing our great King by several Marks, +Boldly cry'd out,--Defend the Life I claim. +The King made no Reply, but at that Word +Prepar'd himself to fight. + +_Ura_. Thou kill'st me, till thou bring'st him off again. + +_Amin_. Disorder'd thus--the _Dacian_ took Advantage, +And charg'd with so much Vigour--we gave Ground; +When on that side the single Combat was, +There appear'd a Body of two thousand Horse, +Led by a Man, whose Looks brought Victory, +And made the conquering Foe retire again: +But when he did perceive the King engag'd, +With unresisted Fury he made up, +And rushing in between them, +Gave the young Prince a blow upon his Head, +That struck him from his Horse. +After this Victory _Thersander's_ Name +Did fly from Mouth to Mouth, +Inspiring every _Scythian_ with new Valour: +He kill'd _Philemon_, and forc'd _Artabazes_ +To seek his Safety by his Horse's Flight; +--But here's the King--retire into this Wood. + [Ura. _Ex_. + + _Enter_ King, Thersander, _Officers, and Soldiers_. + +_King_. Let me once more embrace my dear _Thersander_. + +_Amin_. The Prince is wounded, Sir. + +_King_. He is--but they look lovely on him. + +_Ther_. They're too slight Marks to give you of my Duty; +Your Majesty has greater need of Care. + +_King_. Thou art my best Physician, and thy sight +Heals all the Wounds I have: come in with me, +And let me lay thee to my panting Bosom, +Thou great Preserver of my Crown and Life. + +_Ther_. I'll wait upon you, Sir, + [_Exeunt all but_ Ther. _and_ Amin. +Now let me take thee to my Arms, my Friend; +For thou art half my self, my dear _Amintas_: +I have strange News to tell thee since we parted, +And need thy Counsel in an Affair of Love +--Thou know'st my business to the Dacian Court +Was to have set thee free; but oh, my Friend! +In lieu of that I've made my self a Captive. + +_Amin_. Your Story, Sir, I know, but heard withal, +The Princess did repay your grateful Flame. + +_Ther_. I thought she did, for so a while she seem'd; +And when I thought my self the most secure, +Being fortify'd with all her new-made Promises, +My blooming Hopes were blasted e'er full-blown, +And I receiv'd her Orders for my Banishment, +Which I as soon obey'd: but by the way, +I did conceive a thousand Revolutions, +Sometimes to serve my Princess--then my Father; +Sometimes 'twas Nature got the upper hand, +And then again 'twas Love: in this Dispute +I met the Levies of the _Isadons_, +Who were the last of all our Cavalry, +To whom I made me known, and came so luckily, +As gain'd the yet-disputing Victory. + +_Amin_. 'Twas in an happy Moment. + +_Ther_. Thus I comply'd with what I ow'd my Duty. +But these of Love are still unsatisfy'd: +Dare I, who could offend to that degree, +As to deserve a Banishment from her, +Approach her uninvited? + +_Amin_. 'Twas dangerous, Sir. + +_Ther_. Then 'twere the fitter for my Enterprise: +--But her Displeasure--oh, my _Cleomena_! +If, for the Punishment of my Disobedience, +You'd only take away that Life you threaten, +How willingly I wou'd resign it up, +Rather than undergo this Separation! + +_Amin_. You'll certainly expose your Life by going: +What other Reason could she have to banish you, +But from her Knowledge that you were _Thersander_? +And, Sir, you see her Passion for _Clemanthis_ +Cou'd not o'ercome her Hatred for her Enemy. + +_Ther_. No, when I call to mind her cruel Words; +If chusing me before so many Kings, +I find 'twas to the Stranger, not the _Scythian_, +She killingly addrest 'em; therefore I'll venture on in my Design: +--Give order that our Horses be made ready, +Whilst I excuse our Absence to the King; our stay will not be long: +Mean time it may be thought +We're gone to view the Camp; +Interest and Love but rarely do agree, +Yet I must reconcile 'em both to me. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE IV. _The Dacian Tents_. + + _Enter_ Queen, Cleo. Hon. Arta. Ism. _Women, Attendants_. + +_Cleo_. 'Twas strangely lost, and yet I dare affirm, +The Victory had been ours but for _Thersander_, +Who like the impetuous Sea oppos'd by Land, +Made Breaches, and o'erflow'd all that lay near it. + +_Ism_. I had reveng'd you on the King of _Scythia_, +Had his Arrival not prevented me. + +_Cleo_. He is brave, without dispute. + +_Ism_. And 'tis as certain that he did surprize me, +Without permitting time for my Defence, +He had not else so soon dismounted me. +But, Madam, I design (if you approve it) +To fight _Thersander_ in a single Combat. + +_Art_. That Justice I may hope as well as you; +He kill'd my Nephew, young _Philemon_, +For which I'll be reveng'd. + +_Qu_. I cannot but commend that noble Ardor +That carries you to those Designs of Glory; +What thinks my Brother of it? + +_Hon_. I like it, if the Victor will accept it. + +_Cleo_. And so do I; +And that we may do equal Justice to you all, +We'll write _Thersander's_ Name, +And he who draws that Name shall fight the Combat. + +_Hon_. But are you sure he will accept the Offer? + +_Ism_. I dare engage he will. + +_Cleo_. I am of your Opinion; +The only brave are never proud of Conquest, +I'll write his Name my self. + + _Enter_ Page. + +_Hon_. What Shouts are these? [_A Shout without_. + +_Page_. Madam, _Clemanthis_ is arriv'd. + +_Qu_. The News is welcome. + + _Enter_ Ther. _kneels, kisses the_ Queen's _Hand; + the same to_ Cleomena--_salutes all_. + +_Ther_. Madam, the great Necessity which made me leave you, +When I believ'd my self unprofitable, +Could not detain me when I was assur'd +My Sword could do you Service. + +_Qu_. This Visit recompenses all our Loss, +You've made it in a time you may redeem +The Opinion your Absence almost forfeited. + +_Hon_. Sir, I cou'd chide you too, but that your Sight +Changes my Anger into kinder Welcomes. + +_Ther_. I ought to suffer, Sir, in your Opinion, +Till my Excuses may redeem my Credit. + +_Cleo_. How great at once, and innocent he seems, +And how his Eyes his past Offence redeems! +Whilst all my Cruelties they seem t' upbraid, +They pardon too the Faults themselves have made. + +_Qu_. I'm satisfy'd, and you are fitly come +To share a Danger we are now disputing. + +_Ther_. 'Tis not the Danger, Madam, can divert me +From enterprizing ought that is to serve you. + +_Art_. Madam, consider who we are, +And ought not to be rank'd with one below us. + +_Ther_. Your Honour, _Artabazes_, is too nice; +Would we could find in this Dispute, whate'er it be, +That were the greatest Difficulty: +--Madam, name your Commands. + +_Qu_. We are drawing of a Lot +To fight _Thersander_ in a single Combat. + +_Ther_. Hah--_Thersander_, Madam, is a Conqueror. + +_Ism_. Since you're so nice, we will excuse you, Sir. + +_Ther_. What an unlucky accident was this! +One Moment's longer stay had made me happy, [_Aside_. +And render'd up these Rivals to my Power. + +_Hon_. Come, Sir, the Lots are ready. + [_They draw Lots. It falls to_ Ther. + +_Ther_. My Fears are all compleated-- [_Aside_. +The Lot is mine. + +_Cleo. Clemanthis_, I'm so sensible of the Danger [_Aside to him_. +Whereto you must expose your self for me, +I cannot think with Pleasure on the Victory +You possibly may gain. + +_Ther_. Encourag'd thus, I cannot fail of Conquest; + [_Bows to her, and speaks low_. +But, Madam, if _Thersander_ be as nice + [_Turns to the Queen_. +As these two Princes are, it will be hard +To get him to accept a Challenge from me. + +_Cleo. Clemanthis'_ Deeds has rais'd his Fame too high +To be esteem'd unworthy of that Justice; +Nor can we find the _Scythian_ Prince a Foe +More equal to his Youth and Valour too. + +_Ther_. If Fortune bless me with Success to Day, +I'll owe it to your Cause and not my Sword. + +_Qu_. May'st thou be ever Victor. [_They lead him out. + Manent_ Arta. Ism. + +_Art_. My Art shall fail me then. + +_Ism_. You are displeas'd, Sir. + +_Art_. Is that a Wonder? +Who can be tame, and see an unknown Youth, +Who brings no Forces but his single Arm, +Ravish the Hope and Spoil of Victory from us. +And rival us in Love as well as Glory, +Whilst both our Claims to _Cleomena's_ Heart +Must be neglected since we want Success? + +_Ism_. We could pretend to her no other way. + +_Art_. Have you, or I, less Virtue than _Clemanthis_? + +_Ism_. Yes, if we envy at his Merits. + +_Art_. Pursue your virtuous Road, and in the end +See whether you or I reach first the Goal. +I'll take Revenge. + [Art. exit. + +_Ism_. I Honour will pursue, +A Path which never led me to Repentance. +--_Clemanthis_, if thy Life I basely sought, +Like him, I'd save the Hazard of my own; +But as thou'rt brave, so thou shalt bravely fall +Before _Thersander_ rob me of thy Life, +Or thou the Fortune hast to vanquish him-- +And if in this Encounter I expire, +I do but fall a Victim to an hopeless Fire. + + [_Exit_. + + +SCENE V. _Changes to the Wood_. + + _Discovers_ Ther. _and_ Amin. _among the Trees, changing + Clothes; after which they come forth_. + +_Ther_. So, now thou dost appear so like _Clemanthis_, +That not a _Dacian_ but will be mistaken in thee. + +_Amin_. My Lord, I know not how I may appear, +But I am ignorant how I am to act. + +_Ther_. Remain within the Covert of this Wood, +Until the Sign be given for the Combat, +And then appear upon the Place appointed, +Where I will meet and fight with thee; +But so I'll order all the Blows I give, +They shall not wound nor hurt thee, +For still remember I must be the Victor. + +_Amin_. I will endeavour to perform it so, + [_Noise_. +That none shall know the Fallacy. + +_Ther_. Be gone, I hear a Noise; farewel, dear _Amintas_, +Remember that you act Clemanthis well. + [_Ex_. Ther. + + _Enter some Fellows in Clokes_. + +1 _Fel_. That's he that goes into the Wood, I know him by his Plume; are +ye all ready? + +2 _Fel_. Yes, for a greater Murder than the killing of one single Man; +and here's a Place as fit as we could wish; shall we set upon him +altogether? + +1 _Fel_. Ay, ay, Neatness in this Affair is not required: kill him, and +_Artabazes_ desires no more. + + [The Fellows go behind the Trees, they fight, Amintas falls. + + Enter _Ismenes_. + +_Ism_. Into this Wood he went, as if he knew my Business, +Here we unseen may end the Difference-- + [Noise within. +--Hark--what Noise of fighting's that? +Perhaps my Aid's requir'd. + [_Exit_. + +Ism. _goes in, Scene draws open, discovers_ Amintas _lying as dead all +bloody_, Pimante _peeping_; Ism. _re-enters_. + +_Ism_. It is _Clemanthis_, and this barbarous Deed +Is done by _Artabazes_. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter_ Pimante. + +_Pim_. Had ever Cavalier such damn'd Luck? I have heard it disputed, that +this same Danger was to be courted by the Brave and Bold; but I, who took +the best Care I could whilst the Fight lasted to secure my self by this +Retreat, find my self even here surrounded with it; and poor Clemanthis, +who, I'll warrant, came too with my Design, has met here what he +endeavour'd to shun: Yonder's Ismenes too--well, we are all but Men. + +_Ism_. Here's yet some Breath remaining; oh, _Pimante_, lend thy +Assistance. +--_Clemanthis_, if thou yet hast so much Sense, Inform us how thou cam'st +thus wounded? + +_Amin_. Know, Sir, _Thersander_--Prince of _Scythia_--_Thersander_-- +Prince of _Scythia_. + [_Faints_. + +_Pim_. Alas, he's dead, Sir, trouble him no further. + +_Ism_. The Prince of _Scythia_ do this! + +_Pim_. Ay, ay, this mighty Prince fearing to encounter a single Man, has +set a dozen to kill him; Mercy upon us, 'twas a bloody Fight: but, Sir, +what shall we do with the Body? + +_Ism_. If I could command thee any thing it should be Silence, +Till I have met _Thersander_ in his Room. + [Ism. _exit_. + +_Pim_. You should command me, though I was never good at Secrets. + + _Enter_ Cleomena, Semiris. + +_Cleo_. Let the Coach wait at the Entrance of the Wood: +I find I am a perfect Woman now, +And have my Fears, and fits of Cowardice. + +_Sem_. Madam, will you not see the Combat then? + +_Cleo_. I dare not, something here assures me _Clemanthis_ will be +conquer'd. + +_Pim_. Ha! the Princess here? on my Conscience there was never Mischief +but a Woman was at one end o'nt. + +_Sem_. How now, _Pimante_, why do you look so scurvily? + +_Pim_. Ah, Madam, such a Sight so dismal and bloody! + +_Cleo_. What says he? + +_Pim. Clemanthis_, Madam-- + +_Cleo. Clemanthis_! Oh, what of him? +Why, my prophetick Heart, dost thou betray me? + +_Sem_. For Heaven's sake, Madam, reassume your Courage. + +_Cleo_. Yes--I will hear--the fatal Story--out. + +_Pim_. Truth is, Madam, to retire from the Noise and Fury of the Battle, +I came into this Wood; and when I thought all Danger past, I heard even +here the Noise of Swords and Fighting; which endeavouring to avoid, I +fell almost into the Danger of them. + +_Sem_. Leave out the History of your own Fears, and come to the Business. + +_Pim_. But ah, Madam, unseen I saw: who did I see-- +Ah, who should I see but _Clemanthis_, Madam, +Fixt with his Back against yon Cypress-tree, +Defending himself against a dozen Murderers. +I was, alas, too weak to take the weaker side, +And therefore came not forth to his Assistance. +Prince _Ismenes_ would have taken his Part, but came too late too; +But e'er he died we begg'd to know his Murderers, +And he could answer nothing but--_Thersander_. + +_Cleo_. Remove me to the Body of my Love-- + + [_They lead her to_ Amin. _who lies wounded; she + gazes on him a while, his Face being all bloody_. + +--I will not now deplore as Women use, +But call up all my Vengeance to my Aid. +Expect not so much Imbecillity-- +From her whose Love nor Courage was made known +Sufficiently to thee. Oh, my _Clemanthis_! +I wou'd not now survive thee, +Were it not weak and cowardly to die, +And leave thee unreveng'd. +--Be calm, my Eyes, and let my Soul supply ye; +A silent broken Heart must be his Sacrifice: +Ev'ry indifferent Sorrow claims our Tears, +Mine do require Blood, and 'tis with that +These must be washt away-- + [_Rises, wipes her Eyes_. +Whatever I design to execute, +Pimante, and Semiris, I conjure ye, +Go not about to hinder, but be silent, +Or I will send my Dagger to this Heart. +Remove this Body further into the Wood, +And strip it of these glittering Ornaments, +And let me personate this dear dead Prince. +Obey, and dress me strait without reply. +There is not far from hence a Druid's Cell, +A Man for Piety and Knowledge famous: +Thither convey the breathless sacred Corps, +Laid gently in my Chariot, +There to be kept conceal'd till further Orders. + +_Sem_. Ah, Madam, what is't you intend to do? + +_Cleo_. What shou'd I do but die--ah! do not weep, +But haste to do as I command ye: +Haste, haste, the Time and my Revenge require it. + +_Sem_. For Heaven's sake, Madam, for your royal self, +Do not pursue this cruel fatal Enterprize; +Pity the Queen, your Servants, and all Mankind. + +_Cleo_. Away, thou feeble thing, that never knew'st the +real Joys of Love, +Or ever heard of any Grief like mine; +If thou wou'dst give me Proofs of thy Esteem, +Forget all Words, all Language, but Revenge. +Let me not see so much of Woman in thee +To shed one Tear, but dress thy Eyes with fierceness, +And send me forth to meet my Love, as gay, +As if intended for my nuptial Day. +That Soul that sighs in pity of my Fate, +Shall meet returns of my extremes! Hate: +Pity with my Revenge must find no room; +I'll bury all but Rage within thy Tomb. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. + + +SCENE I. _A Flat Wood_. + + _Enter_ Cleomena _drest in_ Clemanthis's _Clothes_, Semiris + _bearing the Cap and Feather_, Pimante _the Sword_. + +_Cleo_. Come, my _Semiris_, you must assist a little, +And you, _Pimante_, buckle on my Sword. + +_Pim_. I never parted with a Sword so unwillingly in my Life. + +_Cleo_. So--How dost thou like me now? +Might I not pass, thus habited, for _Clemanthis_? + +_Pim_. Yes, Madam, till you come to the fighting part. + +_Cleo_. Now go, and do as I have ordered you. + +_Sem_. Ah, Madam, though I must not wait on you to fight, +I will in Death, 'tis my first Act, and last of Disobedience. + [_Weeps_. + +_Cleo_. Do not disturb me with thy Grief, _Semiris_: +Go leave me to my self, and Thoughts of Vengeance: +And thou, base Traitor-Prince, shalt buy thy Life +At such a Rate shall ruin thee for ever; +And if I fall--as I believe I shall-- +The very Shame to know I am a Woman, +Shall make thee curse thy Fortune and thy Arms, +If thou hast any Sense of Manhood left, +After the barbarous Murder thou hast done: +But if my better Fortune guide my Arm, +This Arm (whom Love direct) to meet thy Heart, +Then I shall die with real Satisfaction. +The time draws on when I should try my Fate; +Assist me, mighty Love, in my Design, +That I may prove no Passion equals mine. + +_Sem_. Madam, consider whom you must encounter. + +_Cleo_. Consider thou who's dead, the brave _Clemanthis_! + [_Weeps_. +Oh, 'tis a Shame to weep, being thus attir'd; +Let me once more survey my self-- +And yet I need not borrow Resolution: +_Clemanthis_, thou art murder'd, that's the Word, +'Tis that creates me Man, and valiant too, +And all incensed Love can prompt me to. +Hark--hark--the joyful Summons to my Death. + [_Trumpets sound_. +Go, leave me to approach it solemnly-- +Come, my dear Sword, from thee I must expect +That Service which my Arm may fail to affect; +And if thou ever did'st thy Master love, +Be sure each Stroke thou mak'st may mortal prove. + + [_Exeunt severally_. + + +SCENE II. _Between the two Camps_. + + _After a Noise of Trumpets at some distance and fighting, + the Scene draws, and discovers_ Cleomena _and_ Thersander + _fighting_: Lysander. _On one side stands the_ King of Scythia + _with his Party: on the other, the_ Queen of Dacia, Hon. + Artabazes, _and her Party_: Vallentio. + +_Ther_. What mak'st thou to fight as if indeed thou wert _Clemanthis_? +But since thou art not him thou represent'st, +Whoe'er thou be'st, 'twas indiscreetly done, +To draw me from an order might have sav'd thee; +--Whois't that dares assume _Clemanthis'_ shape? + [_They fight_. + +_Cleo_. Unworthy _Scythian_, whose reported Valour +Unjustly was admir'd, cou'dst thou believe the covert of the Wood + [Cleo. _falls, he stoops to look on her_. +Cou'd hide thy Treason--Treason which thou durst own too? + [_A cry of Joy on the_ Scythian's _side_. + +_Ther_. Ah! _Cleomena_, is it you? +What have I done that could so far transport you? +_Clemanthis'_ Boldness has incur'd your Hate, +But he has been severely punisht for't; +And here in lieu of that unhappy Stranger, +Receive _Thersander_ with his equal Passions, +But not his equal Crimes. + +_Cleo_. Oh, Villain, since thou'st punish'd _Clemanthis_, +Punish the unhappy _Cleomena_ too, +And take her Life who came to have taken thine. + +_Qu_. 'Tis not _Clemanthis_, but my _Cleomena_-- +With whom _Thersander_ fights--ah, cruel Child; + [_They carry her off_. + +_Ther_. Oh, whither, whither do you bear my Goddess? +Return, and here resign your sacred Load, +That whilst't has Life it may behold the Sacrifice +That I will make of this wild wretched Man +That has so much offended--Disobey'd! +--My Arms, my Arms, Lysander, mount me strait, +And let me force the disobedient Troops; +Those Coward-Slaves that could behold her bleed, +And not revenge her on the Murderer: +Quickly my Arms, kill, burn, and scatter all; +Whilst 'midst the Ruins of the World I fall. + + [_The_ Scythian _Guards carry him off by force. + Enter_ Ismenes _with his Sword. They all descend_. + +_Ism_. Still thus defeated and outstript by Fate, +Resolv'd betimes, but sallied out too late; +Fortune and Love are equally unkind: +--Who can resist those mighty Powers combin'd? + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. _A Prison_. + + _Enter_ Orsames, Geron. + +_Ger_. May I not know what 'tis afflicts you so? +You were not wont to hide your Soul from me. + +_Ors_. Nor wou'd I now, knew I but how to tell thee; +Oh, _Geron_, thou hast hitherto so frighted me +With thoughts of Death, by Stories which thou tell'st +Of future Punishment i'th' other World, +That now I find thou'st brought me to endure +Those Ills from Heaven thou say'st our Sins procure. +There's not a little God of all the Number +That does not exercise his Arts on me, +And practise Power, which by my suffering +He grows more mighty in--I'll not endure it. + +_Ger_. Why not, as well as I? + +_Ors_. Thou may'st do what thou wilt; but there's a Difference +(As vast as 'twixt the Sun and lesser Lights) +Between thy Soul and mine; +Thou canst contented sit whole Days together, +And entertain thy Lute, that dull Companion, +Till duller Sleep does silence it and thee: +But I, whose active Soul despise that drousy God, +Can ever dare him in his height of Power: +Then when he ties thee to thy lazy Couch, +Where thou'rt so far from Sense, thou'st lost thy Soul; +Even then, my Geron, my divertive Fancy +Possesses me, beyond thy waking Thought-- +But, _Geron_, all was but an airy Dream; +I wak'd, and found my self a thing like thee. + +_Ger_. What was your Dream? + +_Ors_. Why, I will try to tell it thee +--Methought I saw the Firmament divide, +And all the Clouds, like Curtains, draw aside; +The Sun in all his Glories, ne'er put on +So bright a Ray, nor Heaven with more Lustre shon! +The Face of Heaven too bright for mortal Eye +Appear'd, and none durst gaze upon't but I; +In Jove's illustrious Throne I only sat, +Whilst all the lesser Gods did round me wait; +My Habit, such as cannot be exprest; +Iris in all her various Colours drest, +The Morning-Sun, nor Sun-declining Sky, +Was half so beautiful, so gay, as I. +The brightest Stars in all Heaven's Canopy +Were chosen out to make a Crown for me; +With which methought they glorify'd my Brow, +And in my Hand they plac'd the Thunder too; +The World was mine, and thousands such as thou, +Still as I moved, low to the Earth did bow; +Like thronging Curls upon the wanton Sea, +They strove, and were as numerous as they: +Thither I soon descended in a Cloud; +But in the midst of the adoring Croud, +Almighty Woman at my Feet did bow, +Adorn'd with Beauties more than Heaven can show: +But one among the rest (for there were store) +Whilst all did me, I did that one adore; +She did unking me, and her wondrous Eyes +Did all my Power and Thunder too despise; +Her Smiles could calm me, and her Looks were Law; +And when she frown'd, she kept my Soul in awe. +Oh, _Geron_, while I strive to tell the rest, +I feel so strange a Passion in my Breast, +That though I only do relate a Dream, +My Torments here would make it real seem. + +_Ger_. 'Tis lucky that he takes it for a Dream. [Aside. +--Pray do not form Ideas in your Fancy, +And suffer them to discompose your Thoughts. + +_Ors_. In spite of your Philosophy, they make +A strange Impression on me. + +_Ger_. That's perfect Madness, Sir. + +_Ors. Geron_, I will no longer be impos'd upon, +But follow all the Dictates of my Reason. +--Come tell me, for thou hast not done so yet, +How Nature made us; by what strange Devices. +Tell me where 'twas you lighted on me first; +And how I came into thy dull Possession? +Thou say'st we are not born immortal, +And I remember thou wert still as now, +When I could hardly call upon thy Name, +But as thou wouldst instruct my lisping Tongue; +And when I ask'd thee who instructed thee, +Thoud'st sigh, and say a Man out-worn by Age, +And now laid in the Earth--but tell me, Geron, +When time has wasted thee, for thou'rt decaying, +Where shall I find some new-made Work of Nature, +To teach those Precepts to, I've learnt of thee? +--Why art thou silent now? + +_Ger_. You ought not, Sir, to pry into the hidden Secrets of the Gods. + +_Ors_. Come, tell not me of Secrets, nor of Gods-- +What is't thou studiest for, more new Devices? +Out with 'em--this Sulleness betrays thee; +And I have been too long impos'd upon. +I find my self enlightened on a sudden, +And ev'ry thing I see instructs my Reason; +'T has been enslav'd by thee--come, out without it. + +_Ger_. I dare not, Sir. + +_Ors_. Who is't thou fear'st? + +_Ger_. The Anger of the Gods, +Who will not have their high Decrees reveal'd, +Till they themselves unfold 'em in their Oracles. + +_Ors_. What are those Oracles? + +_Ger_. Heavenly Voices, Sir, that expound what's writ +In the Eternal Book of Destiny. + +_Ors_. I'll know what's writ in that eternal Book, +Or let thee know what it contains of thee. + +_Ger_. What will you do? + +_Ors_. Throw thee into the Sea; by Jupiter, I will. + [_Offers to take him up_. + +_Ger_. Stay, _Orsames_-- +'Tis true, I have Commands from _Cleomena_, +But yet the Time is hardly ripe for the Design. [_Aside_. + +_Ors_. Begin your Story--or, by Heaven-- + +_Ger_. I shall--When you consider who I am, +With how much Care and Toil I've brought you up; +How I have made my aged Arms your Cradle, +And in my Bosom lull'd you to your rest; +How when you wept, my Tears kept time with yours, +And how your Smiles would dry again those Showers; +You will believe 'tis my Concern for you, +And not your Threats, makes me declare a Truth. + +_Ors_. Forward, my dearest _Geron_, +Whilst I as silent as a healthy Sleep, +As growth of Flowers, or motion of the Air, +Attend each long'd-for Syllable thou breath'st. + +_Ger_. Be pleas'd to walk into the Garden, Sir, +And there I'll tell you Wonders to ensue; +But first, great Sir, your Pardon for the past. + [_Kneels_. + +_Ors_. I give it thee--Gods, this is fine indeed! +Thy Language and thy Mien are altered. +Oh, how my Soul's inlarg'd already! go, lead the way. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE IV. _The_ Scythian _Tents_. + + _Enter_ Thersander, Lysander. + +_Ther_. Leave me, I will be calm, + [_Exit_ Lysander. +For this same change of _Cleomena's_ Habit +Has but increas'd my Love--and all my Softness-- +'Twas in that Habit that I left _Amintas_. +Gods! has he betray'd me then? +No, I must not have so mean a Thought of him; +'Tis certain that she knows I am _Thersander_-- +But if the bold _Clemanthis_ be _Thersander_, +Son to the Enemy of _Cleomena_; +Yet still 'tis that _Clemanthis_ that ador'd her, +And whom she once made happy with her Love. +But I have wounded her, and here remain [_Draws his Sword_. +The Marks of my Dishonour in her Blood. +Oh cruel Instrument of my shameful Crime! +Must the first Service thou hast render'd me +Prove to my Soul so fatal? That Sword I left _Amintas_, +Wou'd have deny'd Obedience to this Hand, +This sacrilegious Hand drew it against her. + + _Enter_ King. + +_King_. How now, _Thersander_, what, still melancholy? +Upon the first Appearance of your Sadness, +I thought't had been for fighting with a Woman; +But now I fear that could not be the Cause, +Unless 'twere fortify'd by stronger Passions-- +'Tis not impossible, but when you saw +The Eyes of _Cleomena_ in the Combat +They might disarm your Rage, and teach you Love. +If this be all, I'll offer Peace in such a time +As they're not able to make War against us, +And with it Propositions of a Marriage. + +_Ther_. Happy Mistake! Great Sir, +I'll not deny the Eyes of _Cleomena_ +Have given me Wounds which nothing else can cure; +And in that Moment when I would have kill'd her, +They staid my guilty Hand, and overcame +The shameful Conqueror-- +I'll say no more, nor give Laws to your Bounty; +But if your Majesty approve my Flame, +I shall receive her as the greatest Blessing +Heaven can bestow upon me. + +_King_. I'm glad to find my Son of my Opinion; +For I have already propos'd it to 'em, +Which I believe they will with Joy embrace. + +_Ther_. All but the lovely Princess, whose Aversion +Is still so great against our Family, +That I despair she ever will be drawn to't. + +_King_. They'll hardly rally up their routed Forces +To make fresh War upon us; they're at our Mercy now, +And as an Honour will embrace the Alliance. + +_Ther_. Pray Heaven they may. + +_King_. If they refuse I will recall my Mercy, +And make them dearly buy their Scorn; +Come, we expect our Herald from their Tents. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE V. Cleomena's _Apartments_. + + _Enter_ Queen, Cleomena _in a Night-Gown_, Semiris. + A Table with Pen and Ink. + +_Cleo_. Madam, I confess my self unworthy of your Tenderness. + +_Qu_. Ah, _Cleomena_! you value my Repose at too cheap a Rate, +When you expose a Life so dear to me +To so much Danger, as to fight _Thersander_. + +_Cleo_. I am not the first Person of my Sex +Has drawn a Sword upon an Enemy; +Do you not say he is my Father's Murderer? +And does he not deprive me of that Crown, +You say the Gods have destin'd me to wear? + +_Qu_. 'Tis true, he's Son to him that kill'd thy Father; +But bating that, he has committed nothing +But what wou'd rather cause esteem than hate. + +_Cleo_. Pardon me, Madam, if I am forc'd to say, +My Sentiments cannot correspond with yours. + +_Qu_. What think you of a Husband in this Prince? + +_Cleo_. How, Madam, marry _Thersander_! + +_Qu_. The King has generously offered it; +My Council do approve it, and the Army +Cannot contain their Joy for the blest News. + +_Cleo_. Gods! let the Council and the Army perish, +E'er I lose one single Moment of my Satisfaction; +Is this the Hate which with my Milk you made me suck +For all that Race? is this th' Effect of my fierce Education? + +_Qu_. All things must be preferr'd to th' Publick Good, +When join'd with my Commands. + +_Cleo_. What you command, I dare not disobey: +But, Madam, I beseech you do not claim +That cruel Duty here. + +_Qu_. You'll find it fit to change that peevish Humour, +And I will leave you to consider of it. + [_Exit_. + +_Cleo_. Gods! marry me, marry me to _Thersander_! +No, not whilst this--remains in my Possession; + [_Pulls out a dagger_. +--I must confess it is a generous Offer; +How came it in their Souls? + +_Sem_. Madam, perhaps Love has inspir'd it. + +_Cleo_. Hah, Love--that Miracle may be; +When I reflect upon the Prince's words, +When he had vanquish'd me--I do not doubt it; +Then he confess'd he had a Passion for me; +I wonder at the sudden Birth of it-- + +_Sem_. Madam, your Eyes make Captives at first sight. + +_Cleo_. Oh my dear Eyes, how shall I love ye now, +For wounding more than my dull Sword could do? +'Twas Anger and Revenge that gave ye Charms, +Only to help the weakness of my Arms; +And when my Woman's Courage feeble grew, +My Heart did kindly send its Aids to you. +And thou, _Thersander_, surely canst not blame +My Cruelty, who do allow thy Flame: +Love on, love on; and if thou dost despise +All other ways, I'll kill thee with my Eyes. + +_She sits down, and writes_. _Enter_ a Page. + +_Page_. Madam, there is without an Officer +Who bad me tell your Highness that he waits. + +_Cleo_. Admit him--and, Page, give you this Letter to the Queen. + +_Sem_. Madam, it is _Vallentio_ whom you sent for. + + _Enter_ Vallentio. + +_Cleo_. _Vallentio_, I believe thee brave and honest. + +_Val_. Madam, the last I dare affirm. + +_Cleo_. Tell me, _Vallentio_, didst thou ever love? + +_Val_. Madam, your Interest, my Arms, and a brave Enemy. + +_Cleo_. But didst thou never feel a softer Passion? + +_Val_. Madam, I own, though with a Blush I do so, +I've felt the Power of two fair Eyes; +And I have Wounds that yet would bleed afresh, +Should but the cruel Murderess appear. + +_Cleo_. Then thou art fit to hear a Secret from me; +--But first, _Vallentio_ tell me who I am. + +_Val_. My Princess, Madam, and my General; +And one, who from your Power of Beauty holds +No less Dominion o'er th' adoring World, +Than from the Greatness you were born to. + +_Cleo_. And you're contented I should be your Queen? + +_Val_. Madam, I am--_Pimante_ has been prating. [_Aside_. + +_Cleo_. The Army too are of your mind. + +_Val_. I cannot answer for the Army, Madam. + +_Cleo_. But--what think you of _Orsames_? + +_Val_. Madam, I think he merits to be King +In any other World but where you reign. + +_Cleo_. And what if I would have him King of this? + +_Val_. Why then he shall be King, if you would have it so. + +_Cleo_. Yes, I would have it, by my self I would; +This is the time to let the Monarch know +The Glories he was born to; +Nor can I die in Peace till he be crown'd. [_Aside_. +I'll have this Nation happy in a Prince, +A Prince they long in silence have bemoan'd, +Which every slight occasion breaks out loud, +And soon will raise them up to a Rebellion, +The common People's God on Holy-days. +--And this, _Vallentio_, I have often observ'd; +And 'tis an Act too humble for my Soul, +To court my self into security. + +_Sem_. Madam, the Gods do disapprove his Reign, +Which they not only say shall be but short, +But Bloody and Tyrannick. + +_Cleo_. I will expound that Oracle, +Which Priests unridling make more intricate: +They said that he should reign, and so he did, +Which lasted not above a pair of Hours. +But I my self will be his Oracle now, +And speak his kinder Fate, +And I will have no other Priest but thee, [_To_ Vallentio. +Who shall unfold the Mystery in plain terms. + +_Val_. Madam, the City and the Army are, by this Defeat, +Enough inclin'd to hear that Reason. + +_Cleo_. _Geron_ already has Instructions what to do, +And you need none, wanting no Resolution. + +_Val_. If I miscarry, Madam, I'll be condemn'd, +Never to look my Foe i'th' Face again. + +_Cleo_. Haste, and be prosperous-- + + [_Exit_. Val. + +_Semiris_, are those Garments ready I spoke for? + +_Sem_. Madam, they're here--but now what will you do? + +_Cleo_. Now, I will die--and now thou know'st my Will. + +_Sem_. Ah, Madam, 'tis too much you let me know, +Denying me t' attend you where you go, +With such a Guide I cannot err. + +_Cleo_. Alone I'll go, the Journey is not far +In passing; though I miss the aids of Day, +Yet my _Clemanthis_ lights me on my way. +Why dost thou weep? indeed thou art unkind. + +_Sem_. I weep because you'd leave me here behind; +Doubting my Love, I beg you wou'd permit +That I might give you the last proof of it. +I in your last adventure was too slow, +And will not be deny'd my Duty now. + +_Cleo_. Thou show'st a Soul so generous and free, +That I'm contented thou shou'dst follow me; +Come, dry thy Eyes, such helps we do not need; +To ease our Griefs, we must not weep but bleed. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE VI. _A Street_. + + _Enter_ Vallentio _passing over the Stage, is met by a + Rabble of Citizens_. + +_1 Cit_. Well, Colonel, have you delivered our Grievances to the Queen? + +_Val_. Yes, I have. + +_1 Cit_. Well, and what Success? shall we have a King? + +_Val_. And why a King? why should you be thus earnest +for a King? what good will a King do you? he's but a +single Man, cannot redeem the lost Victory, cannot raise +up your dead Members, no, nor levy new ones. + +_1 Cit_. That's all one, Colonel, we will have a King: +for look ye, Colonel, we have thought of a King, and +therefore we will have one. Hah, Neighbours! a substantial +Reason. + +_All_. Ay, ay, a King, a King. + +_Val_. I like your Resolution, but not your Reason; and +must have a better than that. + +_1 Cit_. 'Sha, Sir, we can give you many, though that's +sufficient; as look you, Sir, 'tis first a new thing to have +a King--a thing--a thing--we have not been acquainted +with in our Age: besides, we have lost the Victory, and +we are very angry with some body, and must vent it somewhere. +You know, Colonel, we have busy Heads, working +Brains, which must be executed; therefore, what say you, +are we to have leave to shut up Shop, and go to work with +long Staff and Bilbo, or are we to be very mutinous, and +do't in spite of you? + +_Val_. You shall not need; go, shut up your Shops, gather +your Fellow-mutineers together, and meet me at the Citadel; +but be sure you're well arm'd, lest the Queen's Guards +prevent you. + +_1 Cit_. I warrant you for honest true Hearts enough +at any mischief, though not to go against the _Scythians_; for, +Colonel, we love Civil Wars, Colonel, Civil Wars. + +_Val_. Make haste, and then I'll shew you my Orders +for the King's Deliverance. + +_Cit_. Oh, incomparable Colonel! we will raise thy Statue +in Brass in the Market-place, and worship it when we have +done--but harkye, Colonel, are we to give no Quarter? + +_Val_. None to those that oppose you. + +_All_. No, no, none, none. + +_Cit_. Oh, how this will please ye all, my Mates-- + + [_Citizens goes out. + Enter_ Pimante. + +_Pim_. Oh, Colonel, the Princess, Colonel. + +_Val_. Well, Sir. + +_Pim_. She's fled away, and none knows whither. + +_Val_. I left her in her Tent just now. + +_Pim_. Ay, ay, Colonel, that's all one, she's gone just as she +shou'd have been married too--there's the Devil on't! Oh, +the Days we shou'd have seen! the dancing, loving Days! + +_Val_. Gone alone? + +_Pim_. No, no, that dissembling thing _Semiris_ is with her; +she only left a Letter for the Queen, which she has sent +to the Prince of _Scythia_. Oh, adieu, adieu, to Love and Musick. + [_Goes out crying_. + +_Val_. This is strange--if she be gone, 'tis time the King +were free--I'll haste to meet the Rabble, that it may not +look like an act of my own. + [_Exit_. + + +SCENE VII. Thersander's _Tent_. + + _He enters with a Letter in his Hand open--with + Attendants_. + +_Ther_. Be gone, I'll read the Letter o'er again, + [_Exeunt Attendants_. +And here impress thy Cruelty, and see what that will do +To set me free. + _Ther_. reads the Letter-- +_Finding it impossible to obey your unkind Commands, I am +fled, and do resolve never to marry that_ Barbarian, _whose +Crimes are only known to me; no, nor any other that cannot +bring me his Head; whereto sollicite_ Artabazes, _and_ Ismenes, +if they will obey_. Cleomena. + +If I consult my Reason and my Courage, +They say I should not love this cruel Maid. +But oh, my Reason, you're weak to counsel; +I'll think of nothing else but dying for her, +Since 'tis my Life she asks, and here demands it. +But 'tis in vain to arm my happy Rivals, +For I my self can more devoutly serve you. +'Tis I will pierce this unaccepted Heart, +Whose Flames are found so criminal-- + + _Enter_ Lysander. + +_Lys_. Sir, there's without a Youth that desires admittance. + +_Ther_. From whom comes he? + +_Lys_. He would not tell me that, but has a Letter, +Which he'll deliver only to your Highness. + +_Ther_. Bring him in, it may be from _Amintas_. + + _Enter_ Cleomena _drest like a Country-Shepherd, comes + bowing to him, gives him a Note_. + +_Ther_. reads to himself-- +Guard thee well, _Thersander_; for thou shalt die by the +Hand that brings thee this. + + [_She stabs him; he falls into_ Lysander's _Arms_. + +_Cleo_. Here's to thee, dear _Clemanthis_-- + +_Lys_. Help, Treason, help-- + +_Ther_. Ah, lovely Youth, who taught thee so much cruelty? +And why that Language with that angry Blow? + +_Cleo_. Behold this Face, and then inform thy self. + [_Discovers her self_. + +_Ther_. 'Tis _Cleomena_! oh ye Gods, I thank ye! +It is her Hand that wounds me, +And I'll receive my Death with perfect Joy, +If I may be permitted but to kiss +That blessed Hand that sent it. + + _Enter_ King _and Guards_. + +_King. Thersander_ murder'd! oh, inhumane Deed! +Drag the Traitor to a Dungeon, till we have +Invented unheard of Tortures to destroy him by-- + [_The Guards seize_ Cleo. _and_ Sem. _who was just entring_. +My Wounds are deep as thine, my dear _Thersander_; +Oh, fatal Day, wherein one fatal Stroke. +Has laid the Hopes of _Scythia_ in his Tomb! + + _The Guards go to carry_ Cleo. _and_ Sem. + Ther. _calls 'em back_. + +_Ther_. Oh, stay, and do not bear so rudely off +Treasures you cannot value. +--Sir,--do not treat her as my Murderer, +But as my Sovereign Deity-- +Instead of Fetters, give her Crowns and Scepters; +And let her be conducted into Dacia, +With all the Triumphs of a Conqueror. +For me, no other Glory I desire, +Than at her Feet thus willingly to expire. + + [_Goes to throw himself at her Feet, they prevent it and go off_. + + + +ACT V. + + +SCENE I. + + _A Council-Table: The_ King of Scythia _seated + on a Throne, Officers, Attendants, Guards_. + +_King_. Bring the fair Prisoner forth, and let's examine +What Reasons could inspire her with this Cruelty; +--How beautiful she is! [_Gazes on her_. + + _Enter_ Cleomena _in Fetters_, Lysander, _with Guards_. + +_Cleo_. Thy Silence seems to license me to speak, +And tell thee, King, that now our Faults are equal; +My Father thou hast kill'd, and I thy Son; +This will suffice to tell thee who I am. +--Now take my Life, since I have taken his, +And thou shalt see I neither will implore +Thy needless Clemency by any Word or Sign: +But if my Birth or Sex can merit ought, +Suffer me not to languish any longer +Under these shameful Irons. + [_With scorn_. + +_King_. Cruel as Fair, 'tis with too much injustice +Thou say'st our Crimes are equal: +For thou hast kill'd a Prince that did adore thee; +And I depriv'd thy Father of his Life, +When he assaulted mine in open Field, +And so, as cannot leave a stain on thee, +Or give thee Cause to say I've done thee wrong, +But if I had, wherefore (oh, cruel Maid) +Didst thou not spare that Heart that dy'd for thee, +And bend thy Rage against thy Father's Foe? +But thou well know'st, in killing of _Tkersander_, +The Father's Life would quickly follow after. + +_Cleo_. I will not seek excuses for my actions, +But I protest to thee before the Gods, +It was not to revenge my self on thee +I kill'd thy Son; +But what he suffered was for his own Sin, +For he has banish'd from me all on Earth +That could compleat my Happiness-- + [_Weeps_. +--And now dispose my Destiny as you please, +Only remember that I am a Woman. + +_King_. What thou hast said will find but little credit: +--But yet if _Thersander_ lives, +And if it please the Gods to spare that Life, +I shall have Generosity enough +To set thee free in favour of thy Sex, +And my _Thersander's_ Love. + +_Cleo_. Not dead? Why should the Gods protect him? + +_King_. Her Soul's possest with some despair. +Madam, I doubt you need not fear his Life, +He will obey, and die as you desire-- [_Weeps_. +But not with Satisfaction, till he see you +Conducted into _Dacia_. +I should not of my self have been so generous, +T' have given you freedom with the Life of him +Who did deserve a kinder Destiny; +But 'tis his Will--and possible his last. +Therefore you're free, and may depart this Camp +Whene'er you please; only this favour grant, +(If an unhappy King may hope for any) +You'll suffer him to take his last farewel. + +_Cleo_. Immortal Gods! how can it be? a Man +Whose Wickedness arm'd me against his Life, +Shou'd shew such Virtue in the rest of's Actions. +--Sir, I will see the Prince, +Not as the Price of what you offer'd me, +But that he may confess he did deserve +A Death less glorious than I have given him: +And I shall take it well if he will own +That which may justify my Offence to you. + +_King_. Madam, I thank you-- +Dismiss her Fetters, and if she please, +Let her have Garments suitable to her Sex, +Only the Guards attend her at a distance. + + [_Go out severally_. + + +SCENE II. _The Grove_. + + _Enter_ Amintas, _drest like a Shepherd_, Urania _like + a Shepherdess, the Druid_, Lyces, _and other dancing Swains, &c_. + +_Druid_. Sir, I'm afraid you have made too bold a venture; +And though your Wounds were more numerous than dangerous, +I am not willing you should trust 'em to the Air. + +_Amin_. Father, your Skill has wrought a perfect Cure, +For which, the Life you sav'd you shall command. + +_Ura_. Me too h' has freed of all my jealous Fears, +By this eternal Knot 'twixt thee and me +Which he has tied, and Fate can ne'er undo. +--Father--to you I owe _Amintas'_ Liberty-- +To you his Life; and now for all my Joys, +Which if my future Service can repay, +Command with Freedom her you have preserv'd. + +_Amin_. Come, dear _Urania_, let's hasten to the Camp; +For I impatient grow to see my Prince; +Heaven knows what my Mishap may have procur'd him. + +_Ura_. How loth I am to leave these pretty Shades, +The Gods and Nature have design'd for Love: +Oh, my _Amintas_, wou'd I were what I seem, +And thou some humble Villager hard by, +That knew no other pleasure than to love, +To feed thy little Herd, to tune a Pipe, +To which the Nymphs should listen all the Day; +We'd taste the Waters of these Crystal Springs, +With more delight than all delicious Wines; +And being weary, on a Bed of Moss, +Having no other Canopy but Trees, +We'd lay us down, and tell a thousand Stories. + +_Amin_. For ever so I'd be content to dwell, +I wou'd put off all frightful Marks of War, +And wou'd appear as soft and calm to thee, +As are thy Eyes when silently they wound. +An Army I wou'd quit to lead thy Flock, +And more esteem a Chaplet wreath'd by thee, +Than the victorious Laurel. +--But come, Love makes us idle. + +_Druid_. My Prayers ever go along with you, +And your fair Bride, _Urania_.--I cou'd wish +My Youth and Vigour were as heretofore, +When only Courts and Camps cou'd make me happy; +And then I wou'd not bid farewel so soon +To so much Virtue as I've found in you. + +_Amin_. I humbly thank you, Father, for a Goodness +That shames my poor Returns. +Come, pretty _Lyces_, and thou, honest _Damon_, +With all the rest of our kind Train; +Let's hasten to the Camp, during this Truce, +Your little rustick Sports will find a welcome. + +_Ura_. There are no Women in the Camp, my Lord. + +_Amin_. No matter, thou canst not hate a Soldier, +Since I am one; and you must be obedient, +And learn to bear my Bow and Arrows now, +It is the Duty of a _Scythian's_ Wife. + +_Ura_. She that can claim _Amintas_ by such Ties, +May find a Safety wheresoe'er she flies. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. _A Prison_. + + _Enter_ Orsames _joyful, and_ Geron. + +_Ors_. Am I indeed a King? +And is there such a thing as fair _Olympia_? +Hadst thou not been the first had told me this, +By Heaven, thou'dst dy'd for thus concealing it; +Not all the Obligations of my Youth +Should have preserv'd thee. + +_Ger_. Till now I wanted Opportunity; +For had you known your Quality before, +You wou'd have grown impatient of the Crown, +And by that Haste have overthrown your Interest. + +_Ors_. And canst thou now provide against my Ignorance? + +_Ger_. Sir, we have gain'd the Army on our side. + +_Ors_. What's that? + +_Ger_. Those Numbers that I told you should adore you. + +_Ors_. When shall I see them, _Geron_? + +_Ger_. E'er long, Sir: should your Deliverance +Be wrought by any other Means than theirs, +It were to snatch a Glory from their Hands, +Which they design their only Recompence. + +_Ors_. Oh, how I am transported with the Joy! +But, _Geron_, art thou sure we do not dream? + +_Ger_. Then Life it self's a Dream-- +Hark, I hear a noise-- + [_Noise_. + +_Within_] Kill the Dog--down with him! + +_Ors_. Oh, how I'm ravisht with this unknown Noise! + +_Within_.] Break down the Prison-Walls and Gates, and force your +Passage-- + + _Enter_ Vallentio, _followed by_ Gorel _and a Rabble of + Citizens and Officers, tearing in the Keeper all bloody_. + +_Val_. No killing to day, my Fellow-Soldiers, if you can +help it; we will not stain our Triumphs in Blood-- + [_They all stand and gaze_. Ors. _gazes on them_. +Ye Gods, instruct me where to bow my Knee-- +But this alone must be the Deity-- + + [_Kneels_, Ors. _lets him kneel, and gazes on him_. + +_1 Cit_. Is that the King, Neighbour, in such mean Clothes? + +_Gorel_. Yes, Goodman Fool, why should the Colonel kneel else? + +_2 Cit_. Oh, pray, Neighbour, let me see a little, I never saw a King in +all the days of my Life. Lord, Lord! Is that he the Colonel kneels to? + +_Gorel_. What Questions this ignorant Fellow asks! + +_3 Cit_. Good lack-a-day, 'tis as a Man may say--'tis just such another +Body as one of us, only he looks a little more terrably. + +_Ger_. Sir, why do you let him kneel? + +_Ors_. Rise, and let me look upon thee. + +_Val_. Great Sir, we come to offer you a Crown, +That long has waited for this great Support; +It ought to have been presented in a more glorious order, +But Time and your Affairs permit not that. +A thousand Dangers wait upon Delay; +But though the World be yours, it is not safe +Depending on a fickle Multitude, +Whom Interest, and not Reason renders just. + +_Ors_. Thou art a wondrous Man. + +_1 Cit_. Good _Gorel_, stand back, and let me see a little; my Wife loves +Newalties abominationly, ami I must tell her something about the King. + +_Gorel_. What a Pox have we to do with your Wife? stand back. + +_Val_. Now deign, great Sir, to arm your Hand with this-- + [_Gtves_ Ors. _a Sword, he gazes on it_. +Nay, view it well, for though it be but homely, +It carries that about it can make the Wearer proud; +--An Edge--pray feel it, Sir,--'t has dealt +Many a mortal Wound-- +See how it dares the Sun for Brightness, Sir! +Or if there be a Stain, it is an Ornament, +Dy'd in the Blood of those that were your Enemies: +It never made a Blow or Thrust in vain. +--How do you like it, Sir? + +_Ors_. So well, I know not whether this or thee +Be most agreeable to me; +You need not teach me how I am to use it, +That I will leave for those that dare offend me. +Look, _Geron_, is it not a glorious Object? +There's nothing but my bright _Olympia's_ Eyes +That can out-glitter this. + +_1 Cit_. Hah, _Simon_, did he not talk bravely? + +_Val_. Come, Sir, 'tis time you left this Dungeon for a Throne; +For now's the time to make the World your own. +All shouting--Vive le Roy, Vive le Roy. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE IV. _A Tent_. + + _Enter_ Cleomena _and_ Semiris, _drest as Women again_. + +_Sem_. Dear Madam, I cou'd wish you'd sleep awhile. + +_Cleo_. That Peace I have not been acquainted with +Since my _Clemanthis'_ Death; +Yet now methinks my Heart's more calm and still, +And I perhaps may thus expire in silence-- +Prithee, _Semiris_, take thy Lute and sing to't, +Whilst I will try to sleep. + [_Lies down on a Couch, Sem. plays and sings_. + + SONG, made by _J. Wright_ Esq: + + _Fair Nymph, remember all your Scorn + Will be by Time repaid; + Those Glories which that Face adorn, + And flourish as the rising Morn, + Must one day set and fade. + Then all your cold Disdain for me + Will but increase Deformity, + When still the kind will lovely be. + Compassion is of lasting Praise; + For that's the Beauty ne'er decays. + + Fair Nymph, avoid those Storms of Fate + Are to the Cruel due; + The Powers above, though ne'er so late. + Can be, when they revenge your Hate, + As pitiless as you. + Know, charming Maid, the Powers divine + Did never such soft Eyes design + To wound a Heart so true as mine: + That God who my dear Flame infus'd, + Will never see it thus abus'd_. + +Return, my dear _Clemanthis_, oh, return, + [Cleo. _rises as in a Dream_. +And see 'tis not into thy lovely Bosom +That I have sent my Vengeance. + +_Sem_. What mean you, Madam? + +_Cleo_. But thou, poor Ghost-- +Instead of hasting me to my Revenge, +Endeavour'st to touch me with Compassion. + +_Sem_. Madam, who is't you follow thus and speak to? + +_Cleo. Thersander_, why do'st rob me of that Face? +Is't to disarm me of my Indignation? + +_Sem_. Oh, Madam, what do you do? + +_Cleo_. Ha! dost thou see nothing? + +_Sem_. Not any thing. + +_Cleo_. Yonder's the _Scythian_ with _Clemanthis'_ Face, +Or else _Clemanthis_ with _Thersander's_ Wound. + +_Sem_. Compose your Thoughts, dear Madam, 'twas a Dream, +An idle Dream, born from a troubled Fancy. +--How was it, Madam? + +_Cleo_. Methought I saw _Clemanthis_, +As when he was most charming to my Soul, +But pale and languishing, having a Wound +Like that I gave his Murderer +To which with one of's Hands he seem'd to point; +The other stretching out with passionate Actions, +And gazing on me,--thus methought he spoke: +--See how you recompense my faithful Sufferings, +--See the performance of your Promises; +Look on this Wound which you have given my Heart, +That Heart that still ador'd you: +And yet you're not content with all these Cruelties, +Though even in your Anger and my Death, +I still continue faithful and submissive. +--Thus spoke the lovely Phantom. + + _Enter_ Pimante. + +_Pim_. Madam, there waits without a Servant to the Prince. + +_Cleo_. He may come in. + + _Enter_ Lysander. + +_Lys_. Madam, my dying Prince begs you may know +How willingly he does obey your Will, +And dying still implores you wou'd believe +He's guilty of no fault but having lov'd you, +For which presumption he deserves to die; +--But 'tis not by your Dagger, but your Eyes: +That was too weak to exercise your Will, +Your Cruelty had power alone to kill; +And now from you one visit he implores, +And after that he'll trouble you no more. [_Weeps_. + +_Cleo_. That I will grant to satisfy the King. + +_Lys_. When he is dead-- +He'll send the Spirit of _Clemanthis_ to you, +Who shall upbraid you with your Cruelty, +And let you see, in wounding of _Thersander_, +You've found the readiest way to kill _Clemanthis_. + +_Cleo_. What means he by these Words? + +_Lys_. He humbly begs you'll pardon the rough treatment +You've had among the _Scythians_, +Whose Crown, he says, _Clemanthis_ promis'd you, +And he intreats you would accept it from him. + +_Cleo_. To send the Spirit of _Clemanthis_ to me-- +How this agrees with my sad Dream! +How did thy Master know-- +_Clemanthis_ promis'd me the Crown of _Scythia_?-- + [_Advances towards_ Lys. _and she starts_. +--Sure I have seen that Face before-- +Art not _Lysander_, Page to _Clemanthis_? + +_Lys_. Madam, I am, and ever serv'd that Master. + +_Cleo_. How couldst thou then come near his Enemy? + +_Lys_. Madam, it was by his Command I came. + +_Cleo_. How could _Clemanthis_ love his Murderer? +It is no wonder then that generous Spirit +Came while I slept, and pleaded for the Prince. + +_Lys_. What means the Princess? + + _Enter_ Pimante. + +_Pim_. Oh, Madam, I have news to tell you that will +Make you forswear ever fighting again. + +_Cleo_. What mean you? + +_Pim_. As I was passing through a Street of Tents, +I saw a wounded Man stretcht on the ground; +And going, as others did, to learn his Fate, +I heard him say to those that strove to help him, +Alas, my Friends, your Succours are in vain; +For now I see the Gods will be reveng'd +For brave _Clemanthis'_ Murder. +How! cry'd I out, are you then one of those +_Thersander_ sent to kill that Cavalier? +_Thersander_, cry'd he, had no hand in it; +But _Artabazes_ set us on to kill him. +Here he began to faulter in his Speech; +And sure he spoke the truth, for 'twas his last. + +_Cleo_. This looks like Truth. _Thersander's_ every Action +Declar'd too much of Virtue and of Honour, +To be the Author of so black a Deed. +--Tell him, I'll visit him, and beg his pardon. + [_To_ Lys. _who bows and goes out_. +--Generous _Thersander_, if this News be true, +My Eyes shall spare some drops for injuring you. + + [_Excunt_. + + +SCENE V. _Changes to_ Thersander's _Tent_. + + _He in a Night-gown sitting on a Couch; by him the_ King, + _Officers, Attendants to them. Enter_ Cleomena, Semiris, + Pimante; Lysander; _the_ King _rises to meet_ Cleo. _and + seats her in a Chair by him_. + +_Cleo. Thersander_, I am come to beg thy pardon, +If thou art innocent, as I must believe thee, +And here before the King to make confession +Of what I did refuse the Queen my Mother. +--Know then, I lov'd, and with a perfect Passion, +The most unfortunate of Men, _Clemanthis_. +His Birth I never knew, but do believe +It was illustrious, as were all his Actions; +But I have lost him by a fatal accident, +That very day he should have fought with you. + [_Weeps_. + +_Ther_. Gods! where will this end? [_Aside_. + +_Cleo_. But e'er the fatal moment of his Death, +_Ismenes_ beg'd to know who did the Murder: +But he could answer nothing but _Thersander_, +And we believ'd it you. +Then Love and my Revenge made me a Soldier; +--You know the rest-- +And doubtless you've accus'd me with Ingratitude. + +_Ther_. No, I shall ne'er complain of _Cleomena_, + [_He kneels before her_. +If she still love _Clemanthis_. + +_Cleo_. There needs no more to make me know that Voice. +Oh stay, this Joy too suddenly surprizes-- + [_Ready to swound_. +--Gently distil the Bliss into my Soul, +Lest this Excess have the effects of Grief: +--Oh, my _Clemanthis_! do I hold thee fast? +And do I find thee in the Prince of _Scythia_? + +_King_. I lose my Reason by this strange encounter! + +_Ther_. Was't then a secret to my _Cleomena_, +That her _Clemanthis_ was the Prince of _Scythia_? +I still believ'd that was his only Crime. + +_Cleo_. By all my Joys I knew it not--but sure +This is Enchantment; for it is as certain +These Eyes beheld thee dead. + +_Pim_. Ay, and so did I, I'll be sworn. + +_Ther_. That must be poor _Amintas_ in my Dress, +Whose Story, when you know, you will bemoan. + +_Cleo_. But oh my Life! the cruel Wound I gave thee, +Let me be well assur'd it is not mortal, +Or I am lost again. + +_King_. The Surgeon gives me hopes, and 'twere convenient +You should forbid him not to speak too much-- + + _Enter a Soldier_. + +_Sold_. Arm, arm, great Sir, I think the Enemy +Is rallying afresh, for the Plain is cover'd +With numerous Troops, which swiftly make this way. + +_King_. They dare not break the Truce. + +_Sold_. I know not, Sir, but something of a King I heard them talk of-- + +_Cleo_. It is _Vallentio_ that has kept his word-- +Receive 'em, Sir, as Friends, not Enemies; +It is my Brother, who ne'er knew till now +Ought of a peopled World. + +_King_. I long to see that Monarch, whose Friendship I +Must court for you, fair Princess: +If you'll accept _Thersander_ whom I offer'd, +I do not doubt an happy Peace on both sides. + +_Cleo_. Sir. 'tis an honour which we ought to sue for. + +_Ther_. And 'tis to me a Blessing-- +I wanted Confidence to ask of Heaven. + + _Enter_ Ors. Val. Hon. Art. Ism. Geron. _Soldiers, &c_. Ors. + _drest gay with a Truncheon in his Hand, advances first, is + met by the_ King, _who gaze on each other_. + +_Ors_. If thou be'st he that art _Orsames'_ Enemy, +I do demand a Sister at thy Hands. + +_King_. Art thou _Orsames_? + +_Ors_. So I am call'd by all that yet have view'd me: +--Look on me well-- +Dost see no marks of Grandure in my Face? +Nothing that speaks me King? + +_King_. I do believe thou art that King, and here + [_Gives him_ Cleo. +I do resign that Sister thou demandest. + +_Ors_. It is a Woman too! another Woman! +I wou'd embrace thee if I durst approach thee. + +_Cleo_. You need not fear, you may embrace your Sister-- + [Cleo. _embraces him_. + +_Ors_. This is the kindest Women I e'er saw. + +_Cleo_. Brother, behold this King no more your Enemy, +Since I must pay him Duty as a Father. + + _Enter_ Queen, Olympia, _Women_. + +_Ors_. Hah, _Olympia_! sure 'tis an airy Vision-- + +_Ger_. Approach her, Sir, and try. + +_Qu_. Permit a wretched Mother here to kneel. + +_King_. Rise, Madam, and receive me as your Friend; +This pair of Lovers has united all our Interests. + [_Points to_ Cleo. _and_ Thers. + +_Qu_. Heavens! what's this I see, _Clemanthis_ +And the Prince of _Scythia_? + +_Ther_. Yes, Madam, and a Man that humbly begs +The happy Title of your Son--_Honorius_, +Of you I ask the greatest Pardon-- + [_Talks to_ Olympia. + +_Ors_. I am a King, and do adore thee too, +And thou shalt rule a World with me, my Fair; +A Sword I'll give thee, with a painted Bow, +Whence thou shalt shoot a thousand gilded Arrows. + +_Olym_. What to do, Sir? + +_Ors_. To save the expence of Cruelty; +For they will kill as sure, but rightly aim'd; +This noble Fellow told me so. [_To_ Val. + +_Olym_. Sir, I'll do any thing that you will have me: +But now the Queen your Mother, Sir, expects you. + +_Ors_. Instruct my Eyes, _Olympia_, for 'tis lately +I've learnt of some such thing. + +_Olym_. This, Sir, you ought to kneel to her. + +_Ors_. Must I then kneel to ought but Heaven and thee? + [_Kneels_. + +_Qu_. My dear _Orsames_, let my Tears make way. +Before I can assure thee of my Joy. + +_Ors_. Gods! how obliging is this kind Concern! +Not all my Passion for my fair _Olympia_ +Cou'd ever yet betray me to a Tear. + [_Weeps_. + +_Qu_. Thou'st greater need of Anger than of Tears, +Having before thy Eyes thy worst of Enemies, +One that has long depriv'd thee of a Crown, +Through what she thought her Duty to the Gods; +But now repents her superstitious Error, +And humbly begs thy Pardon. + +_Ors_. I will, if you'll implore _Olympia_ but to love me. + +_Qu_. I will, my _Orsames_; and 'tis the only Present +I can make to expiate my Fault. + +_Ors_. And I'll receive her as the only thing +Can make me both a happy Subject and a King. +Oh, _Geron_, still if this should prove a Dream! + +_Ger_. Sir, Dreams of Kings are much less pleasant. + + _Enter_ Lysander. + +_Lys_. Sir, there are without some Shepherdesses, +Who say they wou'd present you [_To_ Ther. +Something that will not be unwelcome to your Highness. + +_Ther_. Let them come in-- + + _They seat themselves. Enter_ Amin. Ura. _maskt, Shepherds, + Shepherdesses, followed with Pipes, or Wind-Musick. They + dance; after which_ Amin. _kneels to the Prince_, + Ura. _to the Princess_. + +--My dear _Amintas_, do I find thee live? +Fortune requites my Sufferings +With too large a share of Happiness. + +_Amin_. Sir, I do live to die again for you. + +_Ther_. This, my Divine, is he who had [_To_ Cleo. +The Glory to be bewail'd by you; for him you wept; +For him had almost dy'd. + +_Amin_. That Balm it was, that like the Weapon-salve +Heals at a distance-- + +_Cleo_. But why, Amintas, did you name _Thersander_, +When you were askt who wounded you? + +_Amin_. Madam, if loss of Blood had given me leave, +I wou'd have told you how I came so habited, +And who I was, though not how I was wounded. + +_King_. Still I am in a mist, and cannot see the happy path I tread. + +_Ther_. Anon we will explain the Mystery, Sir. + +_Hon_. Now, great _Orsames_, 'tis but just and fit +That you receive the Rites of Coronation, +Which are not to be paid you in a Camp; +The Court will add more to that joyful Day. + +_King_. And there we'll join our Souls as well as Swords, +Our Interests as our Families. + +_Ors_. I am content that thou should'st give me Laws: +Come, my _Vallentio_, it shall ne'er be said +I recompense thy Services +With any thing less grateful than a Woman: +--Here, I will chuse for thee-- +And when I know what 'tis I more can do, +If there be ought beyond this Gift, 'tis thine. + [_Gives him_ Sem. + +_Ther. Scythia_ and _Dacia_ now united are: +The God of Love o'ercomes the God of War. +_After a Dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses, the Epilogue +is spoken by Mrs_. Barry, _as a Nymph; at his Royal +Highness's second Exile into_ Flanders. + + + +EPILOGUE. + + +_After our showing Play of mighty Pains, +We here present you humble Nymphs and Swains. +Our rustick Sports sometimes may Princes please, +And Courts do oft divert in Cottages, +And prize the Joys with some young rural Maid, +On Beds of Grass beneath a lovely Shade, +'Bove all the Pride of City-Jilts, whose Arts +Are more to gain your Purses than your Hearts; +Whose chiefest Beauty lies in being fine; +And Coyness is not Virtue, but Design. +We use no Colours to adorn the Face, +No artful Looks, nor no affected Grace, +The neighbouring Stream serves for a Looking-glass. +Ambition is not known within our Groves; +Here's no Dispute for Empire, but for Loves; +The humble Swain his Birth-right here enjoys, +And fears no Danger from the publick Voice; +No Wrong nor Insolence from busy Powers, +No Rivals here for Crowns, but those of Flowers, +His Country and his Flocks enjoy with ease, +Ranges his native Fields and Groves in Peace; +Nor forc'd by Arbitrary Votes to fly +To foreign Shores for his Security. +Our humble Tributes uncompell'd we pay, +And cheerful Homage to the Lord of May; +No Emulation breaks his soft Repose, +Nor do his Wreaths or Virtues gain him Foes: +No publick Mischiefs can disturb his Reign, +And Malice would be busy here in vain. +Fathers and Sons just Love and Duty pay; +This knows to be indulgent, that t'obey. +Here's no Sedition hatcht, no other Plots, +But to entrap the Wolf that steals our Flocks. +Who then wou'd be a King, gay Crowns to wear, +Restless his Nights, thoughtful his Days with Care; +Whose Greatness, or whose Goodness cant secure +From Outrages which Knaves and Fools procure? + +Greatness, be gone, we banish you from hence, +The noblest State is lowly Innocence. +Here honest Wit in Mirth and Triumph reigns, +Musick and Love shall ever bless our Swains, +And keep the Golden Age within our Woods and Plains_. + + + + +THE CITY HEIRESS; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TREAT-ALL. + + + +ARGUMENT. + + +The scene is London. Sir Timothy Treat-all, an old seditious knight, that +keeps open house for Commonwealthsmen and true Blue Protestants, has +disinherited his nephew, Tom Wilding, a town gallant and a Tory. Wilding +is pursuing an intrigue with Lady Galliard, a wealthy widow, and also +with Chariot, heiress to the rich Sir Nicholas Get-all, recently +deceased. Lady Galliard is further hotly wooed by Sir Charles Meriwill, a +young Tory, but she favours Wilding. Sir Charles is encouraged in his +suit by his roystering uncle, Sir Anthony. Wilding introduces his +mistress Diana to Sir Timothy as the heiress Charlot; and at an +entertainment given by Sir Timothy, Charlot herself appears, disguised as +a Northern lass, to watch the progress of Tom's intrigue with the widow, +who eventually yields to him. Sir Charles, none the less, backed by Sir +Anthony, still persists, and after various passionate scenes forces her +to consent to become his bride. Meanwhile Sir Timothy has arranged a +marriage with Diana, whom he firmly believes to be Charlot. During the +progress of the entertainment he is visited by a strange nobleman and his +retinue, who offer him the crown of Poland and great honours. That night, +however, his house is rifled by thieves and his money and papers stolen. +He himself is pinioned hand and foot, the foreign lord bound fast in his +own room, and all his followers secured. Sir Timothy having married Diana +discovers that she is none other than his nephew's mistress, and, +moreover, the Polish ambassador was Tom in masquerade, the attendants and +burglars his friends, who by obtaining his treasonable correspondence are +able effectually to silence the old knight. Wilding is united to Charlot, +whilst Lady Galliard weds Charles Meriwill. + + + +SOURCE. + + +The City Heiress is most manifestly borrowed from two main sources. Sir +Anthony Meriwill and Charles are Durazzo and Caldoro from Massinger's +_The Guardian_ (licensed 31 October, 1633, 8vo, 1655). Mrs. Behn has +transferred to her play even small details and touches. The burglary, +that most wonderful of all burglaries, is taken and improved from +Middleton's _A Mad World, My Masters_ (4to, 1608), Act ii, where Sir +Bounteous Progress is robbed by Dick Folly-Wit, his grandson, in +precisely the same way as Sir Timothy is choused by Tom. On 4 February, +1715, Charles Johnson produced at Drury Lane his _The Country Lasses; or, +The Custom of the Manor_, a rifacimento of Fletcher's _The Custom of the +Country_ and _The City Heiress_. It is a well-written, lively enough +comedy, but very weak and anaemic withal when compared to Mrs. Behn. B. +G. Stephenson, in his vivacious libretto to Cellier's tuneful opera, +_Dorothy_, produced at the Gaiety Theatre, 25 September, 1886, has made +great use of Johnson's play, especially Act i, where the gallants meet +the two ladies disguised as country girls; the duel scenes of Act v; and +the pseudo-burglary of Act iii. He even gives his comic sheriff's officer +the name of Lurcher, who in Johnson is the rackety nephew that tricks his +hospitable old uncle, Sir John English. The _Biographia Dramatica_ states +that Mrs. Behn 'introduced into this play (_The City Heiress_) a great +part of the _Inner Temple Masque_ by Middleton.' This charge is +absolutely unfounded, and it would not be uninteresting to know how so +complete an error arose. The two have nothing in common. It must be +allowed that Mrs. Behn has displayed such wit and humour as amply to +justify her plagiarisms. Sir Timothy Treat-all himself is, of course, +Shaftesbury almost without disguise. There are a thousand telling hits at +the President of the Council and his vices. He was also bitterly +satirized in many other plays. In Nevil Payne's _The Siege of +Constantinople_ (1675) he appears as The Chancellor; 1680 in Otway's +Shakespearean cento cum bastard classicism _Caius Marius_ some very plain +traits can be recognized in the grim Marius senior; in Southerne's _The +Loyal Brother_ (1682) Ismael, a villainous favourite; in _Venice +Preserved_ (1682) the lecherous Antonio; in the same year Banks +caricatured him as a quite unhistorical Cardinal Wolsey, _Virtue +Betray'd; or, Anna Bullen_; in Crowne's mordant _City Politics_ (1683) +the Podesta of a most un-Italian Naples; the following year Arius the +heresiarch in Lee's _Constantine the Great_; in the operatic _Albion and +Albanius_ (1685), Dryden does not spare even physical infirmities and +disease with the crudest yet cruellest exhibition, and five years later +he attacked his old enemy once more as Benducar in that great tragedy +_Don Sebastian_. + + +THEATRICAL HISTORY. + +_The City Heiress; or, Sir Timothy Treat-all_ was produced at the Duke's +House, Dorset Garden, in 1682. Downes specially mentions it as having +been 'well acted', and it was indeed an 'all star' cast. It had a +tremendous ovation but in spite of its great merit did not become a stock +play, probably owing to the intensely political nature of much of its +satirical wit, a feature necessarily ephemeral. It seems, however, to +have been presented from time to time, and there was a notable revival on +10 July, 1707, at the Haymarket, for the benefit of Husband and Pack. Sir +Timothy was played by Cross; Tom Wilding, Mills; Sir Anthony, Bullock; +Foppington, Pack; Lady Galliard, Mrs. Bradshaw; Charlot, Mrs. Bicknall; +Clacket, Mrs. Powell. It met with a very favourable reception. + + +To the Right Honourable _Henry_ Earl of _Arundel_, and Lord _Mowbray_. + +MY LORD, + +'Tis long that I have with great impatience waited some opportunity to +declare my infinite Respect to your Lordship, coming, I may say, into the +World with a Veneration for your Illustrious Family, and being brought up +with continual Praises of the Renowned Actions of your glorious +Ancestors, both in War and Peace, so famous over the Christian World for +their Vertue, Piety, and Learning, their elevated Birth, and greatness of +Courage, and of whom all our English History are full of the Wonders of +their Lives: A Family of so Ancient Nobility, and from whom so many +Heroes have proceeded to bless and serve their King and Country, that all +Ages and all Nations mention 'em even with Adoration: My self have been +in this our Age an Eye and Ear-witness, with what Transports of Joy, with +what unusual Respect and Ceremony, above what we pay to Mankind, the very +Name of the Great Howards of Norfolk and Arundel, have been celebrated on +Foreign Shores! And when any one of your Illustrious Family have pass'd +the Streets, the People throng'd to praise and bless him as soon as his +Name has been made known to the glad Croud. This I have seen with a Joy +that became a true English heart, (who truly venerate its brave +Country-men) and joyn'd my dutiful Respects and Praises with the most +devout; but never had the happiness yet of any opportunity to express +particularly that Admiration I have and ever had for your Lordship and +your Great Family. Still, I say, I did admire you, still I wish'd and +pray'd for you; 'twas all I cou'd or durst: But, as my Esteem for your +Lordship daily increased with my Judgment, so nothing cou'd bring it to +a more absolute height and perfection, than to observe in these +troublesome times, this Age of Lying, Peaching, and Swearing with what +noble Prudence, what steadiness of Mind, what Loyalty and Conduct you +have evaded the Snare, that 'twas to be fear'd was laid for all the Good, +the Brave, and Loyal, for all that truly lov'd our best of Kings and this +distracted Country. A thousand times I have wept for fear that Impudence +and Malice wou'd extend so far as to stain your Noble and ever-Loyal +Family with its unavoidable Imputatious; and as often for joy, to see how +undauntedly both the Illustrions Duke your Father, and your Self, stem'd +the raging Torrent that threatned, with yours, the ruin of the King and +Kingdom; all which had not power to shake your Constancy or Loyalty: for +which, may Heaven and Earth reward and bless you; the noble Examples to +thousands of failing hearts, who from so great a President of Loyalty, +became confirm'd. May Heaven and Earth bless you for your pious and +resolute bravery of Mind, and Heroick honesty, when you cry'd, _Not +Guilty_; that you durst, like your great self, speak Conscientious Truths +in a Juncto so vitious, when Truth and Innocence was criminal: and I +doubt not but the Soul of that great Sufferer bows down from Heaven in +gratitude for that noble service done it. All these and a thousand marks +you give of daily growing Greatness; every day produces to those like me, +curious to learn the story of your Life and Actions, something that even +adds a Lustre to your great Name, which one wou'd think you'd be made no +more splendid: some new Goodness, some new act of Loyalty or Courage, +comes out to cheer the World and those that admire you. Nor wou'd I be +the last of those that dayly congratulate and celebrate your rising +Glory; nor durst I any other way approach you with it, but this humble +one, which carries some Excuse along with it. + +Proud of the opportunity then, I most humbly beg your Lordships' +patronage of a Comedy, which has nothing to defend it, but the Honour it +begs, and nothing to deserve that Honour, but its being in every part +true Tory! Loyal all-over! except one Knave, which I hope no body will +take to himself; or if he do, I must e'en say with _Hamlet_, + + --Then let the strucken Deer go weep-- + +It has the luck to be well received in the Town; which (not for my +Vanity) pleases me, but that thereby I find Honesty begins to come in +fashion again, when Loyalty is approv'd, and Whigism becomes a Jest +where'er 'tis met with. And, no doubt on't, so long as the Royal Cause +has such Patrons as your Lordship, such vigorous and noble Supporters, +his Majesty will be great, secure and quiet, the Nation flourishing and +happy, and seditious Fools and Knaves that have so long disturb'd the +Peace and Tranquility of the World, will become the business and sport of +Comedy, and at last the scorn of that Rabble that fondly and blindly +worshipt 'em; and whom nothing can so well convince as plain +Demonstration, which is ever more powerful and prevailent than Precept, +or even Preaching it self. If this have edifi'd effectual, 'tis all I +wish; and that your Lordship will be pleas'd to accept the humble +Offering, is all I beg, and the greatest Glory I care shou'd be done, + + MY LORD, + Your Lordship's most Humble + and most Obedient Servant, + A. BEHN. + + + + +THE CITY HEIRESS; or, Sir _Timothy Treat-all_. + + + +PROLOGUE, + +Written by Mr. _Otway_, Spoken by Mrs. _Barry_. + + +_How vain have proved the Labours of the Stage, +In striving to reclaim a vitious Age! +Poets may write the Mischief to impeach, +You care as little what the Poets teach, +As you regard at Church what Parsons preach. +But where such Follies, and such Vices reign, +What honest Pen has Patience to refrain? +At Church, in Pews, ye most devoutly snore +And here, got dully drunk, ye come to roar: +Ye go to Church to glout, and ogle there, +And come to meet more loud convenient here. +With equal Zeal ye honour either Place, +And run so very evenly your Race, +Y' improve in Wit just as you do in Grace. +It must be so, some Daemon has possest +Our Land, and we have never since been blest. +Y' have seen it all, or heard of its Renown, +In Reverend Shape it staled about the Town, +Six Yeomen tall attending on its Frown. +Sometimes with humble Note and zealous Lore, +'Twou'd play the Apostolick Function o'er: +But, Heaven have mercy on us when it swore. +Whene'er it swore, to prove the Oaths were true, +Out of its much at random Halters flew +Round some unwary Neck, by Magick thrown, +Though still the cunning Devil sav'd its own: +For when the Inchantment could no longer last, +The subtle Pug most dextrously uncas'd, +Left awful Form for one more seeming pious, +And in a moment vary'd to defy us; +From silken Doctor home-spun Ananias: +Left the leud Court, and did in City fix, +Where still, by its old Arts, it plays new Tricks, +And fills the Heads of Fools with Politicks. +This Daemon lately drew in many a Guest, +To part with zealous Guinea for--no Feast. +Who, but the most incorrigible Fops, +For ever doomed in dismal Cells, call'd Shops, +To cheat and damn themselves to get their Livings, +Wou'd lay sweet Money out in Sham-Thanksgivings? +Sham-Plots you may have paid for o'er and o'er; +But who e'er paid for a Sham-Treat before? +Had you not better sent your Offerings all +Hither to us, than Sequestrators Hall? +I being your Steward, Justice had been done ye; +I cou'd have entertain'd you worth your Money_. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + +MEN. + +Sir _Timothy Treat-all_, an old seditious Knight, | + that keeps open House for Commonwealthsmen | Mr. _Nokes_. + and true blue Protestants, Uncle to _T. | + Wilding_, | +_Tom Wilding_, a Tory, his discarded Nephew, Mr. _Bctterton_. +Sir _Anthony Meriwill_, an old Tory Knight of Mr. _Lee_. + _Devonshire_, +Sir _Charles Meriwill_, his Nephew, a Tory also, | + in love with L. _Galliard_, and Friend to | Mr. _Williams_. + _Wilding_, | +_Dresswell_, a young Gentleman, Friend to Mr. _Bowman_. + _Wilding_, +_Foppington_, a Hanger-on on _Wilding_, Mr. _Jevon_. +_Jervice_, Man to Sir _Timothy_. +_Laboir_, Man to _Tom Wilding_. +Boy, Page to Lady _Galliard_. +Boy, Page to _Diana_. +Guests, Footmen, Musick, &c. + +WOMEN. + +Lady _Galliard_, a rich City-Widow, in love with | Mrs. _Barry_. + _Wilding_, | +_Charlot_, The City-Heiress, in love with _Wilding_, Mrs. _Butler_. +_Diana_, Mistress to _Wilding_, and kept by him, Mrs. _Corror_. +Mrs. _Clacket_, a City Baud and Puritan, Mrs. _Novice_. +Mrs. _Closet_, Woman to Lady _Galliard_, Mrs. _Lee_. +Mrs. _Sensure_, Sir _Timothy's_ Housekeeper. +_Betty_, Maid to _Diana_. +Maid at _Charlot's_ lodging. + +SCENE, _Within the Walls of_ London. + + + +ACT I. + + +SCENE I. _The Street_. + + _Enter Sir_ Timothy Treat-all, _follow'd by_ Tom Wilding + bare, Sir_ Charles Meriwill, Foppington, _and + Footman with a Cloke_. + +Sir _Tim_. Trouble me no more: for I am resolv'd, deaf and obdurate, d'ye +see, and so forth. + +_Wild_. I beseech ye, Uncle, hear me. + +Sir _Tim_. No. + +_Wild_. Dear Uncle-- + +Sir _Tim_. No. + +_Wild_. You will be mortify'd-- + +Sir _Tim_. No. + +_Wild_. At least hear me out, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. No, I have heard you out too often, Sir, till +you have talkt me out of many a fair Thousand; have had +ye out of all the Bayliffs, Serjeants, and Constables Clutches +about Town, Sir; have brought you out of all the Surgeons, +Apothecaries, and pocky Doctors Hands, that ever pretended +to cure incurable Diseases; and have crost ye out of the Books +of all the Mercers, Silk-men, Exchange-men, Taylors, +Shoemakers, and Sempstresses; with all the rest of the +unconscionable City-tribe of the long Bill, that had but +Faith enough to trust, and thought me Fool enough to pay. + +Sir _Char_. But, Sir, consider, he's your own Flesh and Blood. + +Sir _Tim_. That's more than I'll swear. + +Sir _Char_. Your only Heir. + +Sir _Tim_. That's more than you or any of his wise Associates can tell, +Sir. + +Sir _Char_. Why his wise Associates? Have you any Exception to the +Company he keeps? This reflects on me and young _Dresswell_, Sir, Men +both of Birth and Fortune. + +Sir _Tim_. Why, good Sir _Charles Meriwill_, let me tell you, since +you'll have it out, That you and young _Dresswell_ are able to debauch, +destroy, and confound all the young imitating Fops in Town. + +Sir _Char_. How, Sir! + +Sir _Tim_. Nay, never huff, Sir; for I have six thousand Pound a Year, +and value no Man: Neither do I speak so much for your particular, as for +the Company you keep, such Tarmagant Tories as these, [To Fop.] who +are the very Vermin of a young Heir, and for one tickling give him a +thousand bites. + +_Fop_. Death! meaning me, Sir? + +Sir _Tim_. Yes, you, Sir. Nay, never stare, Sir; I fear you not; No Man's +hectoring signifies this--in the City, but the Constables: no body dares +be saucy here, except it be in the King's name. + +Sir _Char_. Sir, I confess he was to blame. + +Sir _Tim_. Sir _Charles_, thanks to Heaven, you may be leud, you have a +plentiful Estate, may whore, drink, game, and play the Devil: your Uncle, +Sir Anthony Meriwill, intends to give you all his Estate too. But for +such Sparks as this, and my Fop in Fashion here, why, with what Face, +Conscience, or Religion, can they be leud and vitious, keep their +Wenches, Coaches, rich Liveries, and so forth, who live upon Charity, and +the Sins of the Nation? + +Sir _Char_. If he hath youthful Vices, he has Virtues too. + +Sir _Tim_. Yes, he had, but I know not, you have bewitch'd him +Amongst ye. + [weeping. +Before he fell to Toryism, he was a sober, civil Youth, +and had some Religion in him, wou'd read ye Prayers Night and Morning +with a laudable Voice, and cry Amen to 'em; 'twou'd have done one's Heart +good to have heard him--wore decent Clothes, was drunk but on Sundays and +Holidays; and then I had Hopes of him. + [_Still weeping_. + +_Wild_. Ay, Heaven forgive me. + +Sir _Char_. But, Sir, he's now become a new Man, is casting off all his +Women, is drunk not above five or six times a week, swears not above once +in a quarter of an Hour, nor has not gam'd this two Days-- + +Sir _Tim_. 'Twas because the Devil was in's Pocket then. + +Sir _Char_.--Begins to take up at Coffee-houses, talks gravely in the +City, speaks scandalously of the Government, and rails most abominably +against the Pope and the French King. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, this shall not wheedle me out of one English Guinea; +and so I told him yesterday. + +_Wild_. You did so, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Yes; by a good Token you were witty upon me, and swore I lov'd +and honoured the King no where but on his Coin. + +Sir _Char_. Is it possible, Sir. + +_Wild_. God forgive me, Sir; I confess I was a little overtaken. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, so it shou'd seem: for he mistook his own Chamber, and +went to bed to my Maid's. + +Sir _Char_. How! to bed to your Maid's! Sure, Sir, 'tis scandal on him. + +Sir _Tim_. No, no, he makes his brags on't, Sir. Oh, that crying Sin of +Boasting! Well fare, I say, the Days of old Oliver, he by a wholesom Act +made it death to boast; so that then a Man might whore his Heart out, and +no body the wiser. + +Sir _Char_. Right, Sir, and then the Men pass'd for sober religious +Persons, and the Women for as demure Saints-- + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, then there was no scandal; but now they do not only boast +what they do, but what they do not. + +_Wild_. I'll take care that fault shall be mended, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, so will I, if Poverty has any Feats of Mortification; and +so farewel to you, Sir. + [Going. + +_Wild_. Stay, Sir, are you resolv'd to be so cruel then, and ruin all my +Fortunes now depending? + +Sir _Tim_. Most religiously-- + +_Wild_. You are? + +Sir _Tim_. I am. + +_Wild_. Death, I'll rob. + +Sir _Tim_. Do and be hang'd. + +_Wild_. Nay, I'll turn Papist. + +Sir _Tim_. Do and be damn'd. + +Sir _Char_. Bless me, Sir, what a Scandal would that be to the Family of +the _Treat-alls_! + +Sir _Tim_. Hum! I had rather indeed he turn'd Turk or Jew, for his own +sake; but as for scandalizing me, I defy it: My Integrity has been known +ever since Forty one; I bought three Thousand a year in Bishops Lands, as +'tis well known, and lost it at the King's return; for which I'm honour'd +by the City. But for his farther Satisfaction, Consolation, and +Destruction, know, That I Sir _Timothy Treat-all_, Knight and Alderman, +do think my self young enough to marry, d'ye see, and will wipe your Nose +with a Son and Heir of my own begetting, and so forth. + [_Going away_. + +_Wild_. Death! marry! + +Sir _Char_. Patience, dear Tom, or thou't spoil all. + +_Wild_. Damn him, I've lost all Patience, and can dissemble no longer, +though I lose all--Very good, Sir; harkye, I hope she's young and +handsome; or if she be not, amongst the numerous lusty-stomacht Whigs +that daily nose your publick Dinners, some maybe found, that either for +Money, Charity, or Gratitude, may requite your Treats. You keep open +House to all the Party, not for Mirth, Generosity or good Nature, but for +Roguery. You cram the Brethren, the pious City-Gluttons, with good Cheer, +good Wine, and Rebellion in abundance, gormandizing all Comers and Goers, +of all Sexes, Sorts, Opinions and Religions, young half-witted Fops, +hot-headed Fools, and Malecontents: You guttle and fawn on all, and all +in hopes of debauching the King's Liege-people into Commonwealthsmen; +and rather than lose a Convert, you'll pimp for him. These are your +nightly Debauches--Nay, rather than you shall want it, I'll cuckold you +my self in pure Revenge. + +Sir _Tim_. How! Cuckold his own natural Uncle! + +Sir _Char_. Oh, he cannot be so profane. + +_Wild_. Profane! why he deny'd but now the having any share in me; and +therefore 'tis lawful. I am to live by my Wits, you say, and your old +rich good-natur'd Cuckold is as sure a Revenue to a handsome young Cadet, +as a thousand Pound a Year. Your tolerable Face and Shape is an Estate in +the City, and a better Bank than your Six per Cent, at any time. + +Sir _Tim_. Well, Sir, since Nature has furnisht you so well, you need but +up and ride, show and be rich; and so your Servant, witty Mr. _Wilding_. + [_Goes out. He looks after him_. + +Sir _Char_. Whilst I am labouring another's good, I quite neglect my own. +This cursed, proud, disdainful Lady _Galliard_, is ever in my Head; she's +now at Church, I'm sure, not for Devotion, but to shew her Charms, and +throw her Darts amongst the gazing Croud; and grows more vain by +Conquest. I'm near the Church, and must step in, though it cost me a new +Wound. + [Wild, _stands pausing_. + +_Wild_. I am resolv'd--Well, dear _Charles_, let's sup together to night, +and contrive some way to e reveng'd of this wicked Uncle of mine. I must +leave thee now, for I have an Assignation here at Church. + +Sir _Char_. Hah! at Church! + +_Wild_. Ay, _Charles_ with the dearest She-Saint, and I hope Sinner. + +Sir _Char_. What, at Church? Pox, I shall be discover'd now in my Amours. +That's an odd place for Love-Intrigues. + +_Wild_. Oh, I am to pass for a sober, discreet Person to the Relations; +but for my Mistress, she's made of no such sanctify'd Materials; she is a +Widow, _Charles_, young, rich, and beautiful. + +Sir _Char_. Hah! if this shou'd prove my Widow, now. [_Aside_. + +_Wild_. And though at her own dispose, yet is much govern'd by Honour, +and a rigid Mother, who is ever preaching to her against the Vices of +Youth, and t'other end of the Town Sparks; dreads nothing so much as her +Daughter's marrying a villanous Tory. So the young one is forc'd to +dissemble Religion, the best Mask to hide a kind Mistress in. + +Sir _Char_. This must be my Lady _Galliard_. [_Aside_. + +_Wild_. There is at present some ill understanding between us; some +damn'd Honourable Fop lays siege to her, which has made me ill received; +and I having a new Intrigue elsewhere, return her cold Disdain, but now +and then she crosses my Heart too violently to resist her. In one of +these hot Fits I now am, and must find some occasion to speak to her. + +Sir _Char_. By Heaven, it must be she--I am studying now, amongst all our +She-Acquaintance, who this shou'd be. + +_Wild_. Oh, this is of Quality to be conceal'd; but the dearest loveliest +Hypocrite, white as Lillies, smooth as Rushes, and plump as Grapes after +a Shower, haughty her Mein, her Eyes full of Disdain, and yet bewitching +sweet; but when she loves soft, witty, wanton, all that charms a Soul, +and but for now and then a fit of Honour, Oh, damn the Nonsense! wou'd be +all my own. + +Sir _Char_. 'Tis she, by Heaven! [_Aside_.] +Methinks this Widow shou'd prove a good Income to you, as things now +stand between you and your Uncle. + +_Wild_. Ah, _Charles_, but I am otherways dispos'd of. There is the most +charming pretty thing in nature fallen in love with this Person of mine, +a rich City-Heiress, _Charles_, and I have her in possession. + +Sir _Char_. How can you love two at once? I've been as wild and as +extravagant, as Youth and Wealth cou'd render me; but ne'er arrived to +that degree of Leudness, to deal my Heart about: my Hours I might, but +Love shou'd be intire. + +_Wild_. Ah, _Charles_, two such bewitching Faces wou'd give thy Heart the +lye:--But Love divides us, and I must into Church. Adieu till Night. + [_Exit_. + +Sir _Char_. And I must follow, to resolve my Heart in what it dreads to +learn. Here, my Cloke. [_Takes his Cloke from his Man, and puts it on_.] +Hah, Church is done! See, they are coming forth! + + _Enter People cross the Stage, as from Church; amongst 'em Sir_ + Anthony Meriwill, _follow'd by Sir_ Timothy Treat-all. + +Hah, my Uncle! He must not see me here. + [_Throws his Cloke over his Face_. + +Sir _Tim_. What my old Friend and Acquaintance, Sir Anthony Meriwill! + +Sir _Anth_. Sir _Timothy Treat-all_! + +Sir _Tim_. Why, how long have you been in Town, Sir? + +Sir _Anth_. About three days, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Three days, and never came to dine with me! 'tis unpardonable! +What, you keep close to the Church, I see: You are for the Surplice +still, old Orthodox you; the Times cannot mend you, I see. + +Sir _Anth_. No, nor shall they mar me, Sir. + +Sir _Char_. They are discoursing; I'll pass by. [_Aside_. + [_Ex. Sir_ Charles. + +Sir _Anth_. As I take it, you came from Church too. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, needs must when the Devil drives. I go to save my Bacon, +as they say, once a Month, and that too after the Porridge is serv'd up. + +Sir _Anth_. Those that made it, Sir, are wiser than we. For my part, I +love good wholesom Doctrine, that teaches Obedience to the King and +Superiors, without railing at the Government, and quoting Scripture for +Sedition, Mutiny and Rebellion. Why here was a jolly Fellow this Morning +made a notable Sermon. By George, our Country-Vicars are mere Scholars to +your Gentlemen Town-Parsons! Hah, how he handled the Text, and run +Divisions upon't! 'twould make a Man sin with moderation, to hear how he +claw'd away the Vices of the Town, Whoring, Drinking, and Conventicling, +with the rest of the deadly number. + +Sir _Tim_. Good lack! an he were so good at Whoring and Drinking, you'd +best carry your Nephew, Sir _Charles Meriwill_, to Church; he wants a +little documentizing that way. + +Sir _Anth_. Hum! you keep your old wont still; a Man can begin no +Discourse to you, be it of Prester John, but you still conclude with my +Nephew. + +Sir _Tim_. Good Lord! Sir Anthony, you need not be so purty; what I say, +is the Discourse of the whole City, how lavishly you let him live, and +give ill Examples to all young Heirs. + +Sir _Anth_. The City! The City's a grumbling, lying, dissatisfy'd City, +and no wise or honest Man regards what it says. Do you, or any of the +City, stand bound to his Scrivener or Taylor? He spends what I allow him, +Sir, his own; and you're a Fool, or Knave, chuse ye whether, to concern +your self. + +Sir _Tim_. Good lack! I speak but what wiser Men discourse. + +Sir _Anth_. Wiser Men! wiser Coxcombs. What, they wou'd have me train my +Nephew up, a hopeful Youth, to keep a Merchant's Book, or send him to +chop Logick in an University, and have him returned an arrant learned +Ass, to simper, and look demure, and start at Oaths and Wenches, whilst I +fell his Woods, and grant Leases: And lastly, to make good what I have +cozen'd him of, force him to marry Mrs. Crump, the ill-favour'd Daughter +of some Right Worshipful.--A Pox of all of such Guardians! + +Sir _Tim_. Do, countenance Sin and Expenccs, do. + +Sir _Anth_. What Sin, what Expences? He wears good Clothes, why, +Trades-men get the more by him; he keeps his Coach, 'tis for his Ease; +A Mistress, 'tis for his Pleasure; he games, 'tis for his Diversion: And +where's the harm of this? is there ought else you can accuse him with? + +Sir _Tim_. Yes,--a Pox upon him, he's my Rival too. [_Aside_. +Why then I'll tell you, Sir, he loves a Lady. + +Sir _Anth_. If that be a Sin, Heaven help the Wicked! + +Sir _Tim_. But I mean honourably-- + +Sir _Anth_. Honourably! why do you know any Infirmity in him, why he +shou'd not marry? [_Angrily_. + +Sir _Tim_. Not I, Sir. + +Sir _Anth_. Not you, Sir? why then you're an Ass, Sir--But is this Lady +young and handsom? + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, and rich too, Sir. + +Sir _Anth_. No matter for Money, so she love the Boy. + +Sir _Tim_. Love him! No, Sir, she neither does, nor shall love him. + +Sir _Anth_. How, Sir, nor shall love him! By _George_, but she shall, and +lie with him too, if I please, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. How, Sir! lie with a rich City-Widow, and a Lady, and to be +married to a fine Reverend old Gentleman within a day or two? + +Sir _Anth_. His Name, Sir, his Name; I'll dispatch him presently. + [_Offers to draw_. + +Sir _Tim_. How, Sir, dispatch him!--Your Servant, Sir. + [_Offers to go_. + +Sir _Anth_. Hold, Sir! by this abrupt departure, I fancy you the Boy's +Rival: Come, draw. + [_Draws_. + +Sir _Tim_. How, draw, Sir! + +Sir _Anth_. Ay, draw, Sir; not my Nephew have the Widow! + +Sir _Tim_. With all my Soul, Sir; I love and honour your Nephew. I his +Rival! alas, Sir, I'm not so fond of Cuckoldom. Pray, Sir, let me see you +and Sir _Charles_ at my House, I may serve him in this business; and so I +take my leave, Sir--Draw quoth-a! Pox upon him for an old Tory-rory. + [_Aside_. + + [_Exit_. + + _Enter as from Church, L_. Galliard, Closet, _and Footman_: + Wilding _passes carelessly by her, Sir_ Charles Meriwill + _following, wrapt up in his Cloke_. + +Sir _Anth_. Who's here? _Charles_ muffled in a Cloke peering after a +Woman? +My own Boy to a Hair! She's handsom too. I'll step aside; for I must see +the meaning on't. + [_Goes aside_. + +L. _Gal_. Bless me! how unconcern'd he pass'd! + +_Clos_. He bow'd low, Madam. + +L. _Gal_. But 'twas in such a fashion, as exprest Indifferency, much +worse than Hate from _Wilding_. + +_Clos_. Your Ladyship has us'd him ill of late; yet if your Ladyship +please, I'll call him back. + +L. _Gal_. I'll die first--Hah, he's going! Yet now I think on't I have a +Toy of his, which to express my scorn, I'll give him back now--this Ring. + +_Clos_. Shall I carry it, Madam? + +L. _Gal_. You'll not express Disdain enough in the Delivery; and you may +call him back. + + [Clos. _goes to_ Wild. + +Sir _Char_. By Heaven, she's fond of him. [_Aside_. + +_Wild_. Oh, Mrs. Closet! is it you?--Madam, your Servant: By this +Disdain, I fear your Woman, Madam, has mistaken her Man. Wou'd your +Ladyship speak with me? + +L. _Gal_. Yes.--But what? the God of Love instruct me. [_Aside_. + +_Wild_. Command me quickly, Madam; for I have business. + +L. _Gal_. Nay, then I cannot be discreet in Love. [_Aside_. +--Your business once was Love, nor had no idle hours +To throw away on any other thought; +You lov'd, as if you had no other Faculties, +As if you'd meant to gain eternal Bliss, +By that Devotion only: And see how now you're chang'd. + +_Wild_. Not I, by Heaven; 'tis you are only chang'd. +I thought you'd lov'd me too, curse on the dull mistake! +But when I beg'd to reap the mighty Joy +That mutual Love affords, +You turn'd me off from Honour, +That Nothing, fram'd by some old sullen Maid, +That wanted Charms to kindle Flames when young. + +Sir _Anth_. By George, he's i'th' right. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Char_. Death! can she hear this Language? [_Aside_. + +L. _Gal_. How dare you name this to me any more? +Have you forgot my Fortune, and my Youth, +My Quality, and Fame? + +_Wild_. No, by Heaven, all these increase my Flame. + +L. _Gal_. Perhaps they might, but yet I wonder where +You got the boldness to approach me with it. + +_Wild_. Faith, Madam, from your own encouragement. + +L. _Gal_. From mine! Heavens, what Contempt is this? + +_Wild_. When first I paid my Vows, (good Heaven forgive me) +They were for Honour all; +But wiser you, thanks to your Mother's care too, +Knowing my Fortune an uncertain hope, +My Life of Scandal, and my leud Opinion, +Forbad me wish that way; 'twas kindly urg'd; +You cou'd not then forbid my Passion too, +Nor did I ever from your Lips or Eyes +Receive the cruel Sentence of my Death. + +Sir _Anth_. Gad, a fine Fellow this! + +L. _Gal_. To save my Life, I wou'd not marry thee. + +_Wild_. That's kindly said. +But to save mine, thou't do a kinder thing; +--I know thou wo't. + +L. _Gal_. What, yield my Honour up! +And after find it sacrific'd anew, +And made the scorn of a triumphing Wife! + +Sir _Anth_. Gad, she's i'th' right too! a noble Girl I'll warrant her. + +L. _Gal_. But you disdain to satisfy these fears; +And like a proud and haughty Conqueror, +Demand the Town, without the least Conditions. + +Sir _Char_. By Heaven, she yields apace. [_Aside_. + +_Sir. Anth_. Pox on't, wou'd I had ne'er seen her; now +I have Legions of small Cupids at Hot-cockles in my Heart. + +_Wild_. Now I am pausing on that word Conditions. +Thou say'st thou wou't not have me marry thee; +That is, as if I lov'd thee for thy Eyes +And put 'em out to hate thee; +Or like our Stage-smitten Youth, who fall in Love with a +Woman for acting finely, and by taking her off the Stage, +deprive her of the only Charm she had, +Then leave her to ill Luck. + +Sir _Anth_. Gad, he's i'th' right again too! a rare Fellow! + +_Wild_. For, Widow, know, hadst thou more Beauty, yet not all of 'em were +half so great a Charm as they not being mine. + +Sir _Anth_. Hum! how will he make that out now? + +_Wild_. The stealths of Love, the midnight kind Admittance, +The gloomy Bed, the soft breath'd murmuring Passion; +Ah, who can guess at Joys thus snatch'd by parcels? +The difficulty makes us always wishing, +Whilst on thy part, Fear makes still some resistance; +And every Blessing seems a kind of Rape. + +Sir _Anth_. H'as don't!--A Divine Fellow that; just of my Religion. I am +studying now whether I was never acquainted with his Mother. + [L. Gal. _walks away_. Wild. _follows_. + +L. _Gal_. Tempt me no more! what dull unwary Flame +Possest me all this while! Confusion on thee, [_In Rage_. +And all the Charms that dwell upon thy Tongue. +Diseases ruin that bewitching Form, +That with the soft feign'd Vows debaucht my Heart. + +Sir _Char_. Heavens! can I yet endure! [_Aside_. + +L. _Gal_. By all that's good, I'll marry instantly; +Marry, and save my last Stake, Honour, yet, +Or thou wilt rook me out of all at last. + +_Wild_. Marry! thou canst not do a better thing; +There are a thousand Matrimonial Fops, +Fine Fools of Fortune, +Good-natur'd Blockheads too, and that's a wonder. + +L. _Gal_. That will be manag'd by a Man of Wit. + +_Wild_. Right. + +L. _Gal_. I have an eye upon a Friend of yours. + +_Wild_. A Friend of mine! then he must be my Cuckold. + +Sir _Char_. Very fine! can I endure yet more? [_Aside_. + +L. _Gal_. Perhaps it is your Uncle. + +_Wild_. Hah, my Uncle! + [_Sir_ Charles _makes up to 'em_. + +Sir _Anth_. Hah, my _Charles_! why, well said, _Charles_, he bore up +briskly to her. + +Sir _Char_. Ah, Madam, may I presume to tell you-- + +Sir _Anth_. Ah, Pox, that was stark naught! he begins like a Fore-man +o'th' Shop, to his Master's Daughter. + +_Wild_. How, _Charles Meriwill_ acquainted with my Widow! + +Sir _Char_. Why do you wear that scorn upon your Face? +I've nought but honest meaning in my Passion, +Whilst him you favour so profanes your Beauties, +In scorn of Marriage and Religious Rites, +Attempts the ruin of your sacred Honour. + +L. _Gal_. Hah, _Wilding_ boast my Love! [_Aside_. + +Sir _Anth_. The Devil take him, my Nephew's quite spoil'd! +Why, what a Pox has he to do with Honour now? + +L. _Gal_. Pray leave me, Sir.-- + +_Wild_. Damn it, since he knows all, I'll boldly own my flame. +You take a liberty I never gave you, Sir. + +Sir _Char_. How, this from thee! nay, then I must take more. +And ask you where you borrow'd that Brutality, +T' approach that Lady with your saucy Passion. + +Sir _Anth_. Gad, well done, _Charles_! here must be sport anon. + +_Wild_. I will not answer every idle Question. + +Sir _Char_. Death, you dare not. + +_Wild_. How, dare not! + +Sir _Char_. No, dare not; for if you did-- + +_Wild_. What durst you, if I did? + +Sir _Char_. Death, cut your Throat, Sir. + [_Taking hold on him roughly_. + +Sir _Anth_. Hold, hold, let him have fair play, and then curse him that +parts ye. [_Taking 'em asunder, they draw_. + +L. _Gal_. Hold, I command ye, hold! + +Sir _Char_. There rest my Sword to all Eternity. + [_Lays his Sword at her Feet_. + +L. _Gal_. Now I conjure ye both, by all your Honour, +If you were e'er acquainted with that Virtue, +To see my Face no more, +Who durst dispute your Interest in me thus, +As for a common Mistress, in your Drink. + + [_She goes out, and all but_ Wild. _Sir_ Anth. _and_ + _Sir Char, who stands sadly looking after her_. + +Sir _Anth_. A Heavenly Girl!--Well, now she's gone, by George, I am for +disputing your Title to her by dint of Sword. + +Sir _Char_. I wo'not fight. + +_Wild_. Another time will decide it, Sir. + [Wild, _goes out_. + +Sir _Anth_. After your whining Prologue, Sir, who the Devil would have +expected such a Farce?--Come, _Charles_, take up thy sword, _Charles_; +and d'ye hear forget me this Woman.-- + +Sir _Char_. Forget her, Sir! there never was a thing so excellent! + +Sir _Anth_. You lye, Sirrah, you lye, there's a thousand +As fair, as young, and kinder by this day. +We'll into th' Country, _Charles_, where every Grove +Affords us rustick Beauties, +That know no Pride nor Painting, +And that will take it and be thankful, _Charles_; +Fine wholesom Girls that fall like ruddy Fruit, +Fit for the gathering, _Charles_. + +Sir _Char_. Oh, Sir, I cannot relish the coarse Fare. +But what's all this, Sir, to my present Passion? + +Sir _Anth_. Passion, Sir! you shall have no Passion, Sir. + +Sir _Char_. No Passion, Sir! shall I have Life and Breath? + +Sir _Anth_. It may be not, Sirrah, if it be my will and pleasure. +--Why how now! saucy Boys be their own Carvers? + +_Sir Char_. Sir, I am all Obedience. [Bowing and sighing. + +Sir _Anth_. Obedience! Was ever such a Blockhead! Why then, if I command +it, you will not love this Woman? + +Sir _Char_. No, Sir. + +Sir _Anth_. No, Sir! But I say, Yes, Sir, love her me; and love her me +like a Man too, or I'll renounce ye, Sir. + +Sir _Char_. I've try'd all ways to win upon her Heart, +Presented, writ, watcht, fought, pray'd, kneel'd, and wept. + +Sir _Anth_. Why, there's it now; I thought so: kneel'd +and wept! a Pox upon thee--I took thee for a prettier Fellow-- +You shou'd have huft and bluster'd at her door, +Been very impudent and saucy, Sir, +Leud, ruffling, mad; courted at all hours and seasons; +Let her not rest, nor eat, nor sleep, nor visit. +Believe me, _Charles_, Women love Importunity. +Watch her close, watch her like a Witch, Boy, +Till she confess the Devil in her,--Love. + +Sir _Char_. I cannot, Sir, +Her Eyes strike such an awe into my Soul-- + +Sir _Anth_. Strike such a Fiddle-stick.--Sirrah, I say, do't; what, you +can towse a Wench as handsomely--You can be leud enough upon occasion. I +know not the Lady, nor her Fortune; but I'm resolv'd thou shalt have her, +with practising a little Courtship of my Mode.--Come--Come, my Boy +_Charles_, since thou must needs be doing, I'll shew thee how to go a +Widow-wooing. + + + +ACT II. + + +SCENE I. _A Room_. + + _Enter_ Charlot, Foppington, _and_ Clacket. + +_Charl_. Enough, I've heard enough of _Wilding's_ Vices, to know I am +undone. + [_Weeps_. +--_Galliard_ his Mistress too? I never saw her, but I have heard her +fam'd for Beauty, Wit, and Fortune: That Rival may be dangerous. + +_Fop_. Yes, Madam, the fair, the young, the witty Lady _Galliard_, even +in the height of his Love to you; nay, even whilst his Uncle courts her +for a Wife, he designs himself for a Gallant. + +_Charl_. Wondrous Inconstancy and Impudence! + +Mrs. _Clack_. Nay, Madam, you may rely upon Mr. _Foppington's_ +Information; therefore if you respect your Reputation, retreat in time. + +_Charl_. Reputation! that I forfeited when I ran away with your Friend, +Mr. _Wilding_. + +Mrs. _Clack_. Ah, that ever I shou'd live to see + [_Weeps_] +the sole Daughter and Heir of Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, ran away with one +of the leudest Heathens about Town! + +_Charl_. How, your Friend, Mr. _Wilding_, a Heathen; and with you too, +Mrs. _Clacket_! that Friend, Mr. _Wilding_, who thought none so worthy as +Mrs. _Clacket_, to trust with so great a Secret as his flight with me; he +a Heathen! + +Mrs. _Clack_. Ay, and a poor Heathen too, Madam. 'Slife, if you must +marry a Man to buy him Breeches, marry an honest Man, a Religious Man, a +Man that bears a Conscience, and will do a Woman some Reason--Why, here's +Mr. _Foppington_, Madam; here's a Shape, here's a Face, a Back as strait +as an Arrow, I'll warrant. + +_Charl_. How! buy him Breeches! Has _Wilding_ then no Fortune? + +_Fop_. Yes, Faith, Madam, pretty well; so, so, as the Dice run; and now +and then he lights upon a Squire, or so, and between fair and foul Play, +he makes a shift to pick a pretty Livelihood up. + +_Charl_. How! does his Uncle allow him no present Maintenance? + +_Fop_. No, nor future Hopes neither: Therefore, Madam, I hope you will +see the Difference between him and a Man of Parts, that adores you. + [Smiling and bowing. + +_Charl_. If I find all this true you tell me, I shall know how to value +my self and those that love me.--This may be yet a Rascal. + + _Enter Maid_. + +_Maid_. Mistress, Mr. _Wilding's_ below. + [_Exit_. + +_Fop_. Below! Oh, Heaven, Madam, do not expose me to his Fury, for being +too zealous in your Service. + [_In great Disorder_. + +_Charl_. I will not let him know you told any thing, Sir. + +_Fop_. Death! to be seen here, would expose my Life. + [_To_ Clacket. + +Mrs. _Clack_. Here, here, step out upon the Stair-case, and slip +into my Chamber. + [_Going out, returns in fright_. + +_Fop_. Owns, he's here; lock the Door fast; let him not enter. + +Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, Heavens, I have not the Key! hold it, hold it fast, +sweet, sweet Mr. _Foppington_. Oh, should there be Murder done, what a +Scandal wou'd that be to the House of a true Protestant! + [_Knocks_. + +_Charl_. Heavens! what will he say or think, to see me shut in with a +Man? + +Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, I'll say you're sick, asleep, or out of Humour. + +_Charl_. I'd give the World to see him. [_Knocks_. + +_Wild_. [_Without_,] _Charlot, Charlot_! am I deny'd an entrance? By +Heaven, I'll break the Door. + [_Knocks again_; Fop. _still holding it_. + +_Fop_. Oh, I'm a dead Man, dear Clacket! [_Knocking still_. + +Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, hold, Sir, Mrs. _Charlot_ is very sick. + +_Wild_. How, sick, and I kept from her! + +Mrs. _Clack_. She begs you'll come again an Hour hence. + +_Wild_. Delay'd! by Heaven, I will have entrance. + +_Fop_. Ruin'd! undone! for if he do not kill me, he may starve me. + +Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, he will not break in upon us! Hold, Sir, hold a little; +Mrs. _Charlot_ is just--just--shifting her self, Sir; you will not be so +uncivil as to press in, I hope, at such a Time. + +_Charl_. I have a fine time on't, between ye, to have him think I am +stripping my self before Mr. _Foppington_--Let go, or I'll call out and +tell him all. + + [Wild, _breaks open the Door and rushes in_: Fop. _stands + close up at the entrance till he is past him, then venturing + to slip out, finds_ Wild, _has made fast the Door: so he is + forc'd to return again and stand close up behind_ Wild. + _with signs of Fear_. + +_Wild_. How now, _Charlot_, what means this new Unkindness? what, not a +Word? + +_Charl_. There is so little Musick in my Voice, you do not care to hear +it: you have been better entertain'd, I find, mightily employ'd, no +doubt. + +_Wild_. Yes, faith, and so I have, _Charlot_: damn'd Business, that Enemy +to Love, has made me rude. + +_Charl_. Or that other Enemy to Love, damn'd Wenching. + +_Wild_. Wenching! how ill hast thou tim'd thy Jealousy! What Banker, that +to morrow is to pay a mighty Sum, wou'd venture out his Stock to day in +little Parcels, and lose his Credit by it? + +_Charl_. You wou'd, perfidious as you are, though all your Fortune, all +your future Health, depended on that Credit. + [_Angry_. + +_Wild_. So, hark ye, Mrs. Clacket, you have been prating I find in my +Absence, giving me a handsom Character to _Charlot_--You hate any good +thing shou'd go by your own Nose. [_Aside to_ Clacket. + +Mrs. _Clack_. By my Nose, Mr. _Wilding_! I defy you: I'd have you to +know, I scorn any good thing shou'd go by my Nose in an uncivil way. + +_Wild_. I believe so. + +Mrs. _Clack_. Have I been the Confident to all your Secrets this three +years, in Sickness and in Health, for richer, for poorer; conceal'd the +Nature of your wicked Diseases, under the honest Name of Surfeits; call'd +your filthy Surgeons, Mr. Doctor, to keep up your Reputation; civilly +receiv'd your t'other end of the Town young Relations at all Hours-- + +_Wild_. High! + +Mrs. _Clack_. Been up with you, and down with you early and late, by +Night and by Day; let you in at all Hours, drunk and sober, single and +double; and civilly withdrawn, and modestly shut the Door after me? + +_Wild_. What! The Storm's up, and the Devil cannot lay it. + +Mrs. _Clack_. And I am thus rewarded for my Pains! + [_Weeps_. + +_Wild_. So Tempests are allay'd by Showers of Rain. + +Mrs. _Clack_. That I shou'd be charg'd with speaking ill of you, so +honest, so civil a Gentleman-- + +_Charl_. No, I have better Witness of your Falshood. + +_Fop_. Hah, 'Sdeath, she'll name me! + +_Wild_. What mean you, my _Charlot_? Do you not think I love you? + +_Charl_. Go ask my Lady _Galliard_, she keeps the best Account of all +your Sighs and Vows, And robs me of my dearest softer Hours. + [_Kindly to him_. + +Mrs. _Clack_. You cannot hold from being kind to him. [_Aside_. + +_Wild. _Galliard_! How came she by that Secret of my Life? [_Aside_.] +Why, ay, 'tis true, I am there sometimes about an Arbitration, about a +Suit in Law, about my Uncle. + +_Charl_. Ay, that Uncle too-- +You swore to me you were your Uncle's Heir; +But you perhaps may chance to get him one, +If the Lady prove not cruel. + +_Wild_. Death and the Devil, what Rascal has been prating to her! + [_Aside_. + +_Charl_. Whilst I am reserv'd for a dead Lift, if Fortune prove unkind, +or wicked Uncles refractory: Yet I cou'd love you though you were a +Slave, + [_In a soft Tone to him_. +And I were Queen of all the Universe. + +Mrs. _Clack_. Ay, there you spoil'd all again--you forgot your self. + +_Charl_. And all the World when he looks kindly on me. But I'll take +Courage and be very angry. [_Aside_. Nor do your Perjuries rest here; +you're equally as false to _Galliard_, as to me; false for a little +Mistress of the Town, whom you've set up in spite to Quality. + [_Angry_. + +Mrs. _Clack_. So, that was home and handsom. + +_Wild_. What damn'd Informer does she keep in pension? + +_Charl_. And can you think my Fortune and my Youth +Merits no better Treatment? [_Angry_. +How cou'd you have the Heart to use me so? [_Soft to him_. +I fall insensibly to Love and Fondness. [_Aside_. + +_Wild_. Ah, my dear _Charlot_! you who know my Heart, can you believe me +false? + +_Charl_. In every Syllable, in every Look; +Your Vows, your Sighs, and Eyes, all counterfeit. +You said you lov'd me, where was then your Truth? +You swore you were to be your Uncle's Heir; +Where was your Confidence of me the while. +To think my Generosity so scanted, +To love you for your Fortune? +--How every Look betrays my yielding Heart! [_Aside_. +No, since Men are grown so cunning in their +Trade of Love, the necessary Vice I'll practise too, +And chaffer with Love-Merchants for my Heart. +Make it appear you are your Uncle's Heir, +I'll marry ye to morrow. +Of all thy Cheats, that was the most unkind, +Because you thought to conquer by that Lye. +To night I'll be resolv'd. + +_Wild_. Hum! to night! + +_Charl_. To night, or I will think you love me for my Fortune; +Which if you find elsewhere to more advantage, +I may unpitied die--and I shou'd die +If you should prove untrue. [Tenderly to him. + +Mrs. _Clack_. There you've dasht all again. + +_Wild_. I'm resolv'd to keep my Credit with her-- +Here's my Hand; +This Night, _Charlot_, I'll let you see the Writings. +--But how? a Pox on him that knows for _Thomas_. [_Aside_. + +_Charl_. Hah! that Hand without the Ring! +Nay, never study for a handsom Lye. + +_Wild_. Ring? Oh, ay, I left it in my Dressing-room this Morning. + +_Charl_. See how thou hast inur'd thy Tongue to falshood! +Did you not send it to a certain Creature +They call _Diana_, +From off that Hand that plighted Faith to me? + +_Wild_. By Heaven, 'tis Witchcraft all; +Unless this Villain _Foppington_ betray me. +Those sort of Rascals would do any thing +For ready Meat and Wine--I'll kill the Fool--hah, here! + [_Turns quick, and sees him behind him_. + +_Fop_. Here, Lord! Lord! +Where were thy Eyes, dear _Wilding_? + +_Wild_. Where they have spy'd a Rascal. +Where was this Property conceal'd? + +_Fop_. Conceal'd! What dost thou mean, dear _Tom_? +Why, I stood as plain as the Nose on thy Face, mun. + +_Wild_. But 'tis the ungrateful Quality of all your sort to make such +base returns. +How got this Rogue Admittance, and when in, +The Impudence to tell his treacherous Lyes? + +_Fop_. Admittance! why thou art stark mad: Did not I come in with you, +that is, follow'd you? + +_Wild_. Whither? + +_Fop_. Why, into the House, up stairs, stood behind you when you swore +you wou'd come in, and follow'd you in! + +_Wild_. All this, and I not see! + +_Fop_. Oh, Love's blind; but this Lady saw me, Mrs. _Clacket_ saw me-- +Admittance quotha! + +_Wild_. Why did you not speak? + +_Fop_. Speak! I was so amaz'd at what I heard, the villanous Scandals +laid on you by some pick-thank Rogue or other, I had no Power. + +_Wild_. Ay, thou know'st how I am wrong'd. + +_Fop_. Oh, most damnably, Sir! + +_Wild_. Abuse me to my Mistress too! + +_Fop_. Oh, Villains! Dogs! + +_Charl_. Do you think they have wrong'd him, Sir? For I'll believe you. + +_Fop_. Do I think, Madam? Ay, I think him a Son of a Whore that said it; +and I'll cut his Throat. + +Mrs. _Clack_. Well, this Impudence is a heavenly Virtue. + +_Wild_. You see now, Madam, how Innocence may suffer. + +_Charl_. In spite of all thy villanous dissembling, I must believe, and +love thee for my quiet. + +_Wild_. That's kind; and if before to morrow I do not shew you I deserve +your Heart, kill me at once by quitting me--Farewel--I know where both my +Uncle's Will and other Writings lie, by which he made me Heir to his +whole Estate. My Craft will be in catching; which if past, Her Love +secures me the kind Wench at last. [_Aside_. + [_Goes out with_ Fop. + +Mrs. _Clack_. What if he should not chance to keep his Word now? + +_Charl_. How, if he shou'd not! by all that's good, if he shou'd not, I +am resolv'd to marry him however. We two may make a pretty Shift with +three thousand Pound a year; yet I wou'd fain be resolv'd how Affairs +stand between the old Gentleman and him. I wou'd give the World to see +that Widow too, that Lady _Galliard_. + +Mrs. _Clack_. If you're bent upon't, I'll tell you what we'll do, Madam; +There's every Day mighty Feasting here at his Uncle's hard by, and you +shall disguise your self as well as you can, and so go for a Niece of +mine I have coming out of Scotland; there you will not fail of seeing my +Lady _Galliard_, though, I doubt, not Mr. _Wilding_, who is of late +discarded. + +_Charl_. Enough; I am resolv'd upon this Design; let's in and practise +the northern Dialect. + + [_Ex. both_. + + +SCENE II. _The Street_. + + _Enter_ Wilding _and_ Foppington. + +_Wild_. But then _Diana_ took the Ring at last? + +_Fop_. Greedily, but rail'd, and swore, and ranted at your +late Unkindness, and wou'd not be appeas'd. + + _Enter_ Dresswell. + +_Wild. Dresswell_, I was just going to see for thee. + +_Dres_. I'm glad, dear _Tom_, I'm here to serve thee. + +_Wild_. And now I've found thee, thou must along with me. + +_Dres_. Whither? but I'll not ask, but obey. + +_Wild_. To a kind Sinner, _Frank_. + +_Dres_. Pox on 'em all; prithee turn out those petty Tyrants of thy +Heart, and fit it for a Monarch, Love, dear _Wilding_, of which them +never knew'st the Pleasure yet or not above a day. + +_Wild_. Not knew the Pleasure! Death, the very Essence the first Draughts +of Love. Ah, how pleasant 'tis to drink when a Man's a dry! The rest is +all but dully sipping on. + +_Dres_. And yet this _Diana_, for thither thou art going, thou hast been +constant to this three or four Years. + +_Wild_. A constant Keeper thou mean'st; which is indeed enough to get the +Scandal of a Coxcomb: But I know not, those sort of Baggages have a kind +of Fascination so inticing--and faith, after the Fatigues of formal +Visits to a Man's dull Relations, or what's as bad, to Women of Quality; +after the busy Afflictions of the Day, and the Debauches of the tedious +Night, I tell thee, _Frank_, a Man's best Retirement is with a soft kind +Wench. But to say Truth, I have a farther Design in my Visit now. Thou +know'st how I stand past hope of Grace, excommunicated the Kindness of my +Uncle. + +_Dres_. True. + +_Wild_. My leud Debauches, and being o'th' wrong Party, as he calls it, +is now become an _irreconcilable_ Quarrel, so that I having many and +hopeful Intrigues now depending, especially those of my charming Widow, +and my City-Heiress, which can by no means be carried on without that +damn'd necessary call'd ready Mony; I have stretcht my Credit, as all +young Heirs do, till 'tis quite broke. New Liveries, Coaches, and Clothes +must be had, they must, my Friend. + +_Dres_. Why do'st thou not in this Extremity clap up a Match with my Lady +_Galliard_? or this young Heiress you speak of? + +_Wild_. But Marriage, _Frank_, is such a Bugbear! And this old Uncle of +mine may one day be gathered together, and sleep with his Fathers, and +then I shall have six thousand Pound a Year, and the wide World before +me; and who the Devil cou'd relish these Blessings with the clog of a +Wife behind him?--But till then, Money must be had, I say. + +_Fop_. Ay, but how, Sir? + +_Wild_. Why, from the old Fountain, _Jack_, my Uncle; he has himself +decreed it: He tells me I must live upon my Wits, and will, _Frank_. + +_Fop_. Gad, I'm impatient to know how. + +_Wild_. I believe thee, for thou art out at Elbows; and when I thrive, +you show it i'th' Pit, behind the Scenes, and at Coffee-houses. Thy +Breeches give a better account of my Fortune, than Lilly with all his +Schemes and Stars. + +_Fop_. I own I thrive by your influence, Sir. + +_Dres_. Well, but to your Project, Friend, to which I'll set a helping +Hand, a Heart, a Sword, and Fortune. + +_Wild_. You make good what my Soul conceives of you. Let's to _Diana_ +then, and there I'll tell thee all. + [_Going out, they meet_ Diana, _who enters with her + Maid_ Betty, _and Boy, looks angrily_. +--_Diana_, I was just going to thy Lodgings! + +_Dia_. Oh, las, you are too much taken up with your rich City-Heiress. + +_Wild_. That's no cause of quarrel between you and I, _Diana_: you were +wont to be as impatient for my marrying, as I for the Death of my Uncle; +for your rich Wife ever obliges her Husband's Mistress; and Women of your +sort, _Diana_, ever thrive better by Adultery than Fornication. + +_Dia_. Do, try to appease the easy Fool with these fine Expectations--No, +I have been too often flatter'd with the hopes of your marrying a rich +Wife, and then I was to have a Settlement; but instead of that, things go +backward with me, my Coach is vanish'd, my Servants dwindled into one +necessary Woman and a Boy, which to save Charges, is too small for any +Service; my twenty Guineas a Week, into forty Shillings; a hopeful +Reformation! + +_Wild_. Patience, _Diana_, things will mend in time. + +_Dia_. When, I wonder? Summer's come, yet I am still in my embroider'd +Manteau, when I'm drest, lin'd with Velvet; 'twould give one a Fever but +to look at me: yet still I am flamm'd off with hopes of a rich Wife, +whose Fortune I am to lavish.--But I see you have neither Conscience nor +Religion in you; I wonder what a Devil will become of your Soul for thus +deluding me! + [_Weeps_. + +_Wild_. By Heaven, I love thee! + +_Dia_. Love me! what if you do? how far will that go at the Exchange for +Point? Will the Mercer take it for current Coin?--But 'tis no matter, I +must love a Wit with a Pox, when I might have had so many Fools of +Fortune: but the Devil take me, if you deceive me any longer. + [_Weeping_. + +_Wild_. You'll keep your word, no doubt, now you have sworn. + +_Dia_. So I will. I never go abroad, but I gain new Conquests. Happy's +the Man that can approach nearest the Side-box where I sit at a Play, to +look at me; but if I deign to smile on him, Lord, how the overjoy'd +Creature returns it with a Bow low as the very Benches; Then rising, +shakes his Ears, looks round with Pride, to see who took notice how much +he was in favour with charming Mrs. _Dy_. + +_Wild_. No more, come, let's be Friends, _Diana_; for you and I must +manage an Uncle of mine. + +_Dia_. Damn your Projects, I'll have none of 'em. + +_Wild_. Here, here's the best softner of a Woman's Heart; 'tis Gold, two +hundred Pieces: Go, lay it out, till you shame Quality into plain Silk +and Fringe. + +_Dia_. Lord, you have the strangest power of persuasion! Nay, if you buy +my Peace, I can afford a Pennyworth. + +_Wild_. So thou canst of anything about thee. + +_Dia_. Well, your Project, my dear _Tommy_? + +_Wild_. Thus then--Thou, dear _Frank_, shalt to my Uncle, tell him, that +Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, as he knows, being dead, and having left, as he +knows too, one only Daughter his whole Executrix, Mrs. _Charlot_, I have +by my civil and modest Behaviour, so won upon her Heart, that two Nights +since she left her Father's Country-house at _Lusum_ in _Kent_, in spite +of all her strict Guards, and run away with me. + +_Dres_. How, wilt thou tell him of it, then? + +_Wild_. Hear me--That I have hitherto secur'd her at a Friend's House +here in the City; but diligent search being now made, dare trust her +there no longer: and make it my humble Request by you, my Friend, (who +are only privy to this Secret) that he wou'd give me leave to bring her +home to his House, whose very Authority will defend her from being sought +for there. + +_Dres_. Ay, Sir, but what will come of this, I say? + +_Wild_. Why, a Settlement; you know he has already made me Heir to all he +has, after his decease: but for being a wicked Tory, as he calls me, he +has after the Writings were made, sign'd, and seal'd, refus'd to give 'em +in trust. Now when he sees I have made my self Master of so vast a +Fortune, he will immediately surrender; that reconciles all again. + +_Dres_. Very likely; but wo't thou trust him with the Woman, Thomas. + +_Wild_. No, here's _Diana_, who, as I shall bedizen, shall pass for as +substantial an Alderman's Heiress as ever fell into wicked Hands. He +never knew the right _Charlot_, nor indeed has any body ever seen her but +an old Aunt and Nurse, she was so kept up--And there, _Diana_, thou shall +have a good opportunity to lye, dissemble, and jilt in abundance, to keep +thy hand in ure. Prithee, dear _Dresswell_, haste with the News to him. + +_Dres_. Faith, I like this well enough; this Project may take, +and I'll about it. + [_Goes out_. + +_Wild_. Go, get ye home, and trick and betauder your self up like a right +City-Lady, rich, but ill-fashion'd; on with all your Jewels, but not a +Patch, ye Gypsy, nor no Spanish Paint d'ye hear. + +_Dia_. I'll warrant you for my part. + +_Wild_. Then before the old Gentleman, you must behave your self very +soberly, simple, and demure, and look as prew as at a Conventicle; and +take heed you drink not off your Glass at Table, nor rant, nor swear: one +Oath confounds our Plot, and betrays thee to be an arrant Drab. + +_Dia_. Doubt not my Art of Dissimulation. + +_Wild_. Go, haste and dress-- + [_Ex_. Dian. Bet. _and Boy_. + + _Enter Lady_ Gall, _and_ Closet, _above in the Balcony_; + Wild. _going out, sees them, stops, and reads a Paper_. + +_Wild_. Hah, who's yonder? the Widow! a Pox upon't, now have I not power +to stir; she has a damn'd hank upon my Heart, and nothing but right down +lying with her will dissolve the Charm. She has forbid me seeing her, and +therefore I am sure will the sooner take notice of me. + [_Reads_. + +_Clos_. What will you put on to night, Madam? You know you are to sup at +Sir _Timothy Treat-all's_. + +L. _Gal_. Time enough for that; prithee let's take a turn in this +Balcony, this City-Garden, where we walk to take the fresh Air of the +Sea-coal Smoak. Did the Footman go back, as I ordered him, to see how +_Wilding_ and Sir _Charles_ parted? + +_CIos_. He did, Madam, and nothing cou'd provoke Sir _Charles_ to fight +after your Ladyship's strict Commands. Well, I'll swear he's the sweetest +natur'd Gentleman--has all the advantages of Nature and Fortune: I wonder +what Exception your Ladyship has to him. + +L. _Gal_. Some small Exception to his whining Humour; but I think my +chiefest dislike is, because my Relations wish it a Match between us. It +is not hate to him, but natural contradiction. Hah, is not that _Wilding_ +yonder? he's reading of a Letter sure. + +_Wild_. So, she sees me. Now for an Art to make her lure me up: for +though I have a greater mind than she, it shall be all her own; the Match +she told me of this Morning with my Uncle, sticks plaguily upon my +Stomach; I must break the Neck on't, or break the Widow's Heart, that's +certain. If I advance towards the Door now, she frowningly retires; if I +pass on, 'tis likely she may call +me. + [_Advances_. + +L. _Gal_. I think he's passing on, +Without so much as looking towards the Window. + +_Clos_. He's glad of the excuse of being forbidden. + +L. _Gal_. But, Closet, know'st thou not he has abus'd my Fame, +And does he think to pass thus unupbraided? +Is there no Art to make him look this way? +No Trick--Prithee feign to laugh. [Clos. _laughs_. + +_Wild_. So, I shall not answer to that Call. + +L. _Gal_. He's going! Ah, Closet, my Fan!-- + [_Lets fall her Fan just as he passes by; he + takes it up, and looks up_. +Cry mercy, Sir, I am sorry I must trouble you to bring it. + +_Wild_. Faith, so am I; and you may spare my Pains, and send your Woman +for't, I'm in haste. + +L. _Gal_. Then the quickest way will be to bring it. + [_Goes out of the Balcony with_ Closet. + +_Wild_. I knew I should be drawn in one way or other. + + + +SCENE III. _Changes to a Chamber_. + + _Enter L_. Galliard, Wilding, Closet. _To them_ Wilding, + _delivers the Fan, and is retiring_. + +L. _Gal_. Stay, I hear you're wondrous free of your Tongue, when 'tis let +loose on me. + +_Wild_. Who, I, Widow? I think of no such trifles. + +L. _Gal_. Such Railers never think when they're abusive; but something +you have said, a Lye so infamous! + +_Wild_. A Lye, and infamous of you! impossible! What was it that I call'd +you, Wise or Honest? + +L. _Gal_. How can you accuse me with the want of either? + +_Wild_. Yes, of both: Had you a grain of Honesty, or intended ever to be +thought so, wou'd you have the impudence to marry an old Coxcomb, a +Fellow that will not so much as serve you for a Cloke, he is so visibly +and undeniably impotent? + +L. _Gal_. Your Uncle you mean. + +_Wild_. I do, who has not known the Joy of Fornication this thirty Year, +and now the Devil and you have put it into his Head to marry, forsooth. +Oh, the Felicity of the Wedding-Night! + +L. _Gal_. Which you, with all your railing Rhetorick, shall not have +power to hinder. + +_Wild_. Not if you can help it; for I perceive you are resolved to be a +leud incorrigible Sinner, and marry'st this seditious doting Fool my +Uncle, only to hang him out for the sign of the Cuckold, to give notice +where Beauty is to be purchas'd, for fear otherwise we should mistake, +and think thee honest. + +L. _Gal_. So much for my want of Honesty; my Wit is the part of the Text +you are to handle next. + +_Wild_. Let the World judge of that by this one Action: This Marriage +undisputably robs you both of your Reputation and Pleasure. Marry an old +Fool, because he's rich! when so many handsome proper younger Brothers +wou'd be glad of you. + +L. _Gal_. Of which hopeful number your self are one. + +_Wild_. Who, I! Bear witness, Closet; take notice I'm upon my Marriage, +Widow, and such a Scandal on my Reputation might ruin me; therefore have +a care what +you say. + +L. _Gal_. Ha, ha, ha, Marriage! Yes, I hear you give it out, you are to +be married to me: for which Defamation, if I be not reveng'd, hang me. + +_Wild_. Yes, you are reveng'd; I had the fame of vanquishing where'er I +laid my Seige, till I knew thee, hard-hearted thee; had the honest +Reputation of lying with the Magistrates Wives, when their Reverend +Husbands Were employ'd in the necessary Affairs of the Nation, +seditiously petitioning: and then I was esteemed; but now they look on me +as a monstrous thing, that makes honourable Love to you. Oh, hideous, a +Husband Lover! so that now I may protest, and swear, and lye my Heart +out, I find neither Credit nor Kindness; but when I beg for either, my +Lady _Galliard's_ thrown in my Dish: Then they laugh aloud, and cry, who +wou'd think it of gay, of fine Mr. _Wilding_? Thus the City She-wits are +let loose upon me, and all for you, sweet Widow: but I am resolv'd I will +redeem my Reputation again, if never seeing you, nor writing to you more, +will do it. And so farewel, faithless and scandalous honest Woman. + +L. _Gal_. Stay, Tyrant. + +_Wild_. I am engag'd. + +L. _Gal_. You are not. + +_Wild_. I am, and am resolv'd to lose no more time on a peevish Woman, +who values her Honour above her Lover. [_He goes out_. + +L. _Gal_. Go, this is the noblest way of losing thee. + +_Clos_. Must I not call him back? + +L. _Gal_. No, if any honest Lover come, admit him; I will forget this +Devil. Fetch me some Jewels; the Company to night at Sir Timothy's may +divert me. + [_She sits down before her Glass_. + + _Enter_ Boy. + +_Boy_. Madam, one, Sir Anthony Meriwill, wou'd speak with your Ladyship. + +L. _Gal_. Admit him; sure 'tis Sir _Charles_ his Uncle; if he come to +treat a Match with me for his Nephew, he takes me in a critical Minute. +Wou'd he but leave his whining, I might love him, if 'twere but in +Revenge. + + _Enter Sir_ Anthony Meriwill _and Sir_ Charles. + +_Sir. Anth_. So, I have tutor'd the young Rogue, I hope he'll learn in +time. Good Day to your Ladyship; _Charles_ [putting him forward] my +Nephew here, Madam--Sirrah--notwithstanding your Ladyship's Commands-- +Look how he stands now, being a mad young Rascal!--Gad, he wou'd wait on +your Ladyship--A Devil on him, see if he'll budge now--For he's a brisk +Lover, Madam, when he once begins. A Pox on him, he'll spoil all yet. + +L. _Gal_. Please you sit, Sir. + +Sir _Char_. Madam, I beg your Pardon for my Rudeness. + +L. _Gal_. Still whining?-- + [_Dressing her self carelesly_. + +Sir _Anth_. D'ye hear that, Sirrah? oh, damn it, beg Pardon! the Rogue's +quite out of's part. + +Sir _Char_. Madam, I fear my Visit is unseasonable. + +Sir _Anth_. Unseasonable! damn'd Rogue, unseasonable to a Widow?--Quite +out. + +L. _Gal_. There are indeed some Ladies that wou'd be angry at an untimely +Visit, before they've put on their best Faces, but I am none of those +that wou'd be fair in spite of Nature, Sir--Put on this Jewel here. + [_To_ Clos. + +Sir _Char_. That Beauty needs no Ornament, Heaven has been too bountiful. + +Sir _Anth_. Heaven! Oh Lord, Heaven! a puritanical Rogue, he courts her +like her Chaplain. [_Aside, vext_. + +L. _Gal_. You are still so full of University Complements-- + +Sir _Anth_. D'ye hear that, Sirrah?--Ay, so he is, indeed, Madam--To her +like a Man, ye Knave. [_Aside to him_. + +Sir _Char_. Ah, Madam, I am come-- + +Sir _Anth_. To shew your self a Coxcomb. + +L. _Gal_. To tire me with Discourses of your Passion-- +Fie, how this Curl fits! + [Looking in the Glass. + +Sir _Char_. No, you shall hear no more of that ungrateful Subject. + +Sir _Anth_. Son of a Whore, hear no more of Love, damn'd Rogue! Madam, by +George, he lyes; he does come to speak of Love, and make Love, and to do +Love, and all for Love--Not come to speak of Love, with a Pox! Owns, Sir, +behave your self like a Man; be impudent, be saucy, forward, bold, +touzing, and leud, d'ye hear, or I'll beat thee before her: why, what a +Pox! [_Aside to him, he minds it not_. + +Sir _Char_. Finding my Hopes quite lost in your unequal Favours to young +_Wilding_, I'm quitting of the Town. + +L. _Gal_. You will do well to do so--lay by that Necklace, I'll wear +Pearl to day. [_To_ Clos. + +Sir _Anth_. Confounded Blockhead!--by George, he lyes again, Madam. A +Dog, I'll disinherit him. [_Aside_.] He quit the Town, Madam! no, not +whilst your Ladyship is in it, to my Knowledge. He'll live in the Town, +nay, in the Street where you live; nay, in the House; nay, in the very +Bed, by George; I've heard him a thousand times swear it. Swear it now, +Sirrah: look, look, how he stands now! Why, dear _Charles_, good Boy, +swear a little, ruffle her, and swear, damn it, she shall have none but +thee. [_Aside to him_.] Why, you little think, Madam, that this Nephew +of mine is one of the maddest Fellows in all Devonshire. + +L. _Gal_. Wou'd I cou'd see't, Sir. + +Sir _Anth_. See't! look ye there, ye Rogue--Why, 'tis all his Fault, +Madam. He's seldom sober; then he has a dozen Wenches in pay, that he may +with the more Authority break their Windows. There's never a Maid within +forty Miles of Meriwill-Hall to work a Miracle on, but all are Mothers. +He's a hopeful Youth, I'll say that for him. + +Sir _Char_. How I have lov'd you, my Despairs shall witness: for I will +die to purchase your Content. + [_She rises_. + +Sir _Anth_. Die, a damn'd Rogue! Ay, ay, I'll disinherit him: A Dog, die, +with a Pox! No, he'll be hang'd first, Madam. + +Sir _Char_. And sure you'll pity me when I'm dead. + +Sir _Anth_. A curse on him; pity, with a Pox. I'll give him ne'er a +Souse. + +L. _Gal_. Give me that Essence-bottle. [_To_ Clos. + +Sir _Char_. But for a Recompence of all my Sufferings-- + +L. _Gal_. Sprinkle my Handkerchief with Tuberose. [_To_ Clos. + +Sir _Char_. I beg a Favour you'd afford a Stranger. + +L. _Gal_. Sooner, perhaps. What Jewel's that? [_To_ Clos. + +_Clos_. One Sir _Charles Merwill_-- + +L. _Gal_. Sent, and you receiv'd without my Order! +No wonder that he looks so scurvily. +Give him the Trifle back to mend his Humour. + +Sir _Anth_. I thank you, Madam, for that Reprimand. Look in that Glass, +Sir, and admire that sneaking Coxcomb's Countenance of yours: a pox on +him, he's past Grace, lost, gone: not a Souse, not a Groat; good b'ye to +you, Sir. Madam, I beg your Pardon; the next time I come a wooing, it +shall be for my self, Madam, and I have something that will justify it +too; but as for this Fellow, if your Ladyship have e'er a small Page at +leisure, I desire he may have Order to kick him down Stairs. A damn'd +Rogue, to be civil now, when he shou'd have behav'd himself handsomely! +Not an Acre, not a Shilling--buy Sir Softhead. + [_Going out meets Wild, and returns_.] +Hah, who have we here, hum, the fine mad Fellow? so, so, he'll swinge +him, I hope; I'll stay to have the pleasure of seeing it done. + + _Enter_ Wilding, _brushes by Sir_ Charles. + +_Wild_. I was sure 'twas Meriwill's Coach at Door. + [_Aside_. + +Sir _Char_. Hah, _Wilding_! + +Sir _Anth_. Ay, now, Sir, here's one will waken ye, Sir. + [_To Sir_ Char. + +_Wild_. How now, Widow, you are always giving Audience to Lovers, I see. + +Sir _Char_. You're very free, Sir. + +_Wild_. I am always so in the Widow's Lodgings, Sir. + +Sir _Anth_. A rare Fellow! + +Sir _Char_. You will not do't elsewhere? + +_Wild_. Not with so much Authority. + +Sir _Anth_. An admirable Fellow! I must be acquainted with him. + +Sir _Char_. Is this the Respect you pay Women of her Quality? + +_Wild_. The Widow knows I stand not much upon Ceremonies. + +Sir _Anth_. Gad, he shall be my Heir. [_Aside still_. + +L. _Gal_. Pardon him, Sir, this is his Cambridge Breeding. + +Sir _Anth_. Ay, so 'tis, so 'tis, that two Years there quite spoil'd him. + +L. _Gal_. Sir, if you've any further Business with me, speak it; if not, +I'm going forth. + +Sir _Char_. Madam, in short-- + +Sir _Anth_. In short to a Widow, in short! quite lost. + +Sir _Char_. I find you treat me ill for my Respect; +And when I court you next, +I will forget how very much I love you. + +Sir _Anth_. Sir, I shall be proud of your farther Acquaintance; for I +like, love, and honour you. + [_To_ Wild. + +_Wild_. I'll study to deserve it, Sir. + +Sir _Anth_. Madam, your Servant. A damn'd sneaking Dog, to be civil and +modest with a Pox! + [_Ex. Sir_ Char, _and Sir_ Anth. + +L. _Gal_. See if my Coach be ready. + [_Ex_. CIos. + +_Wild_. Whether are you janting now? + +L. _Gal_. Where you dare not wait on me, to your Uncle's to Supper. + +_Wild_. That Uncle of mine pimps for all the Sparks of his Party; +There they all meet and bargain without Scandal: +Fops of all sorts and sizes you may chuse, +Whig-land offers not such another Market. + + _Enter_ Closet. + +_Clos_. Madam, here's Sir _Timothy Treat-all_ come to wait on your +Ladyship to Supper. + +_Wild_. My Uncle! Oh, damn him, he was born to be my Plague: not-- +Disinheriting me had not been so great a Disappointment; and if he sees +me here, I ruin all the Plots I've laid for him. Ha, he's here. + + _Enter Sir_ Tim. + +Sir _Tim_. How, my Nephew Thomas here! + +_Wild_. Madam, I find you can be cruel too, +Knowing my Uncle has abandon'd me. + +Sir _Tim_. How now, Sir, what's your Business here? + +_Wild_. I came to beg a Favour of my Lady _Galliard_, Sir, knowing her +Power and Quality here in the City. + +Sir _Tim_. How a Favour of my Lady _Galliard_! The Rogue said indeed he +would cuckold me. [_Aside_.] Why, Sir, I thought you had been taken up +with your rich Heiress? + +_Wild_. That was my Business now, Sir: Having in my possession the +Daughter and Heir of Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, I would have made use of the +Authority of my Lady _Galliard's_ House to have secur'd her, till I got +things in order for our Marriage; but my Lady, to put me off, cries I +have an Uncle. + +L. _Gal_. A well contrived Lye. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Tim_. Well, I have heard of your good Fortune; and however a +Reprobate thou hast been, I'll not shew my self so undutiful an Uncle, as +not to give the Gentlewoman a little House-room: I heard indeed she was +gone a week ago, And, Sir, my House is at your Service. + +_Wild_. I humbly thank you, Sir. Madam, your Servant. A pox upon him and +his Association. + [_Goes out_. + +Sir _Tim_. Come, Madam, my Coach waits below. + + [_Exit_. + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE I. _A Room_. + + _Enter Sir_ Timothy Treat-all, _and_ Jervice. + +Sir _Tim_. Here, take my Sword, _Jervice_. What have you inquir'd, as I +directed you, concerning the rich Heiress, Sir _Nicholas Get-all's_ +Daughter? + +_Jer_. Alas, Sir, inquir'd! why, 'tis all the City-News that she's run +away with one of the maddest Tories about Town. + +Sir _Tim_. Good Lord! Ay, ay, 'tis so; the plaguy Rogue my Nephew has got +her. That Heaven shou'd drop such Blessings in the Mouths of the wicked! +Well, _Jervice_, what Company have we in the House, _Jervice_? + +_Jer_. Why, truly, Sir, a fine deal, considering there's no Parliament. + +Sir _Tim_. What Lords have we, _Jervice_? + +_Jer_. Lords, Sir, truly none. + +Sir _Tim_. None! what, ne'er a Lord! some mishap will befall me, some +dire mischance! Ne'er a Lord! ominous, ominous! our Party dwindles daily. +What, nor Earl, nor Marquess, nor Duke, nor ne'er a Lord! Hum, my Wine +will lie most villanously upon my Hands to Night. _Jervice_, what, have +we store of Knights and Gentlemen? + +_Jer_. I know not what Gentlemen there be, Sir; but there are Knights, +Citizens, their Wives and Daughters. + +Sir _Tim_. Make us thankful for that; our Meat will not lie upon our +Hands then, _Jervice_: I'll say that for our little Londoners, they are +as tall Fellows at a well-charg'd Board as any in Christendom. + +_Jer_. Then, Sir, there's Nonconformist-Parsons. + +Sir _Tim_. Nay, then we shall have a clear Board; for your true +Protestant Appetite in a Lay-Elder, does a Man's Table Credit. + +_Jer_. Then, Sir, there's Country Justices and Grand-Jury-Men. + +Sir _Tim_. Well enough, well enough, _Jervice_. + + _Enter Mrs_. Sensure. + +_Sen_. An't like your Worship, Mr. _Wilding_ is come in with a Lady +richly drest in Jewels, mask'd, in his Hand, and will not be deny'd +speaking with your Worship. + +Sir _Tim_. Hah, rich in Jewels! this must be she. My Sword again, +_Jervice_.--Bring 'em up, _Sensure_.--Prithee how do I look to Night, +_Jervice_? + [_Setting himself_. + +_Jer_. Oh, most methodically, Sir. + + _Enter_ Wild, _with_ Diana, _and_ Betty. + +_Wild_. Sir, I have brought into your kind protection the richest Jewel +all London can afford, fair Mrs. _Charlot Gett-all_. + +Sir _Tim_. Bless us, she's ravishing fair! Lady, I had the honour of +being intimate with your worthy Father. I think he has been dead-- + +_Dia_. If he catechize me much on that point, I shall spoil all. + [_Aside_. +Alas, Sir, name him not; for if you do, + [_weeping_. +I'm sure I cannot answer you one Question. + +_Wild_. For Heaven sake, Sir, name not her Father to her; the bare +remembrance of him kills her. [_Aside to him_. + +Sir _Tim_. Alas, poor Soul! Lady, I beg your Pardon. How soft-hearted she +is! I am in love; I find already a kind of tickling of I know not what, +run frisking through my Veins. [_Aside_. + +_Bet_. Ay, Sir, the good Alderman has been dead this twelve-month just, +and has left his Daughter here, my Mistress, three thousand Pound a Year. + [_Weeping_. + +Sir _Tim_. Three thousand Pound a Year! Yes, yes, I am in love. + [_Aside_. + +_Bet_. Besides Money, Plate, and Jewels. + +Sir _Tim_. I'll marry her out of hand, [_Aside_.] Alas, I cou'd even +weep too; but 'tis in vain. Well, Nephew, you may be gone now; for 'tis +not necessary you shou'd be seen here, d'ye see. + [_Pushing him out_. + +_Wild_. You see, Sir, now, what Heaven has done for me; and you have +often told me, Sir, when that was kind you wou'd be so. Those Writings, +Sir, by which you were so good to make me Heir to all your Estate, you +said you wou'd put into my possession, whene'er I made it appear to you I +could live without 'em, or bring you a Wife of Fortune home. + +Sir _Tim_. And I will keep my word; 'tis time enough. + [_Putting him out_. + +_Wild_. I have, 'tis true, been wicked; but I shall now turn from my evil +ways, establish my self in the religious City, and enter into the +Association. There want but these same Writings, Sir, and your good +Character of me. + +Sir _Tim_. Thou shalt have both, all in good time, Man: Go, go thy ways, +and I'll warrant thee for a good Character, go. + +_Wild_. Ay, Sir, but the Writings, because I told her, Sir, I was your +Heir; nay, forc'd to swear too, before she wou'd believe me. + +Sir _Tim_. Alas, alas! how shreudly thou wert put to't! + +_Wild_. I told her too, you'd buy a Patent for me; for nothing woos a +City-Fortune like the hopes of a Ladyship. + +Sir _Tim_. I'm glad of that; that I can settle on her presently. + [_Aside_. + +_Wild_. You may please to hint something to her of my godly Life and +Conversation; that I frequent Conventicles, and am drunk no where but at +your true Protestant Consults and Clubs, and the like. + +Sir _Tim_. Nay, if these will please her, I have her for certain. + [_Aside_. +Go, go, fear not my good word. + +_Wild_. But the Writings, Sir-- + +Sir _Tim_. Am I a Jew, a Turk? Thou shalt have any thing, now I find thee +a Lad of Parts, and one that can provide so well for thy Uncle. + [_Aside_. + [_Puts him out, and addresses himself to the Lady_. + +_Wild_. Wou'd they were hang'd that trust you, that have but the art of +Legerdemain, and can open the Japan-Cabinet in your Bed-chamber, where I +know those Writings are kept. Death, what a disappointment's here! I +wou'd ha' sworn this Sham had past upon him. [_Aside_.] But, Sir, shall +I not have the Writings now? + +Sir _Tim_. What, not gone yet! for shame, away; canst thou distrust thy +own natural Uncle? Fie, away, _Tom_, away. + +_Wild_. A Plague upon your damn'd Dissimulation, that never failing Badge +of all your Party, there's always mischief at the bottom on't; I know ye +all; and Fortune be the Word. When next I see you, Uncle, it shall cost +you dearer. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter_ Jervice. + +_Jer_. An't please your Worship, Supper's almost over, and you are askt +for. + +Sir _Tim_. They know I never sup; I shall come time enough to bid 'em +welcome. + [_Exit_ Jer. + +_Dia_. I keep you, Sir, from Supper, and better Company. + +Sir _Tim_. Lady, Were I a Glutton, I cou'd be satisfy'd +With feeding on those two bright starry Eyes. + +_Dia_. You are a Courtier, Sir; we City-Maids do seldom hear such +Language; in which you shew your kindness to your Nephew, more than your +thoughts of what my +Beauty merits. + +Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, how innocent she is! [_Aside_.] My Nephew, +Madam? yes, yes, I cannot chuse but be wondrous kind upon his score. + +_Dia_. Nay, he has often told me, you were the best of Uncles, and he +deserves your goodness, so hopeful a young Gentleman. + +Sir _Tim_. Wou'd I cou'd see't. [_Aside_. + +_Dia_. So modest. + +Sir _Tim_. Yes, ask my Maids. [_Aside_. + +_Dia_. So civil. + +Sir _Tim_. Yes, to my Neighbours Wives. [_Aside_.] But so, Madam, I +find by this high Commendation of my Nephew, your Ladyship has a very +slender opinion of your devoted Servant the while: or else, Madam, with +this not disagreeable Face and Shape of mine, six thousand Pound a year, +and other Virtues and Commodities that shall be nameless, I see no reason +why I shou'd not beget an Heir of my own Body, had I the helping hand of +a certain victorious Person in the World, that shall be nameless. + [_Bowing and smirking_. + +_Dia_. Meaning me, I am sure; if I shou'd marry him now, and disappoint +my dear Inconstant with an Heir of his own begetting, 'twou'd be a most +wicked Revenge for past Kindnesses. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Tim_. I know your Ladyship is studying now who this victorious +Person shou'd be, whom I dare not name: but let it suffice, she is, +Madam, within a Mile of an Oak. + +_Dia_. No, Sir, I was considering, if what you say be true, How +unadvisedly I have lov'd your Nephew, Who swore to me he was to be your +Heir. + +Sir _Tim_. My Heir, Madam! am I so visibly old to be so desperate? +No, I'm in my years of desires and discretion, +And I have thoughts, durst I but utter 'em; +But modestly say, Mum-- + +_Dia_. I took him for the hopefullest Gentleman-- + +Sir _Tim_. Let him hope on, so will I; and yet, Madam, in consideration +of your Love to him, and because he is my Nephew, young, handsome, witty, +and so forth, I am content to be so much a Parent to him, as if Heaven +please,--to see him fairly hang'd. + +_Dia_. How, Sir! [_In amaze_. + +Sir _Tim_. He has deserv'd it, Madam: First, for lampooning the Reverend +City with its noble Government, with the Right Honourable Gown-men; +libelling some for Feasting, and some for Fasting, some for Cuckolds, and +some for Cuckold-makers; charging us with all the seven deadly Sins, the +Sins of our Fore-fathers, adding seven score more to the number; the Sins +of Forty-One reviv'd again in Eighty-One, with Additions and Amendments; +for which, though the Writings were drawn, by which I made him my whole +Executor, I will disinherit him. Secondly, Madam, he deserves hanging for +seducing, and most feloniously bearing away a young City-Heiress. + +_Dia_. Undone, undone! Oh, with what Face can I return again! +What Man of Wealth or Reputation, now +Will think me worth the owning! + [_Feigns to weep_. + +Sir _Tim_. Yes, yes, Madam, there are honest, discreet, religious, and +true Protestant Knights in the City, that wou'd be proud to dignify and +distinguish so worthy a Gentlewoman. + [Bowing and smiling. + +_Bet_. Look to your hits, and take fortune by the forelock, Madam. + [_Aside_. +--Alas, Madam, no Knight, and poor too! + +Sir _Tim_. As a Tory Poet. + +_Bet_. Well, Madam, take Comfort; if the worst come to the worst, you +have Estate enough for both. + +_Dia_. Ay, Betty, were he but honest, Betty. + [_Weeping_. + +Sir _Tim_. Honest! I think he will not steal; but for his Body, the Lord +have mercy upon't, for he has none. + +_Dia_. 'Tis evident, I am betray'd, abus'd; + H'as lookt and sigh'd, and talkt away my Heart; +H'as sworn, and vow'd, and flatter'd me to ruin. + [_Weeping_. + +Sir _Tim_. A small fault with him; he has flatter'd and +sworn me out of many a fair Thousand: why, he has no +more Conscience than a Politician, nor no more Truth +than a Narrative (under the Rose). + +_Dia_. Is there no Truth nor Honesty i'th' World? + +Sir _Tim_. Troth, very little, and that lies all i'th' City amongst us +sober Magistrates. + +_Dia_. Were I a Man, how wou'd I be reveng'd! + +Sir _Tim_. Your Ladyship might do it better as you are +were I worthy to advise you. + +_Dia_. Name it. + +Sir _Tim_. Why, by marrying your Ladyship's most assur'd Friend, and most +humble Servant, _Timothy Treat-all_ of London, Alderman. + [_Bowing_. + +_Bet_. Ay, this is something, Mistress; here's Reason. + +_Dia_. But I have given my Faith and Troth to _Wilding, Betty_. + +Sir _Tim_. Faith and Troth! We stand upon neither Faith nor Troth in the +City, Lady. I have known an Heiress married and bedded, and yet with the +Advice of the wiser Magistrates, has been unmarried and consummated anew +with another, so it stands with our Interest: 'tis Law by Magna Charta. +Nay, had you married my ungracious Nephew, we might by this our Magna +Charta have hang'd him for a Rape. + +_Dia_. What, though he had my Consent? + +Sir _Tim_. That's nothing, he had not ours. + +_Dia_. Then shou'd I marry you by stealth, the Danger wou'd be the same. + +Sir _Tim_. No, no, Madam, we never accuse one another; 'tis the poor +Rogues, the Tory Rascals we always hang. Let 'em accuse me if they +please; alas, I come off hand-smooth with Ignoramus. + + _Enter_ Jervice. + +_Jer_. Sir, there's such a calling for your Worship! They are all very +merry, the Glasses go briskly about. + +Sir _Tim_. Go, go, I'll come when all the Healths are past; I love no +Healths. + +_Jer_. They are all over, Sir, and the Ladies are for dancing; so they +are all adjourning from the Dining-room hither, as more commodious for +that Exercise. I +think they're coming, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Hah, coming! Call _Sensure_ to wait on the Lady to her +Apartment.-- + + [_Enter_ Sensure.] + +And, Madam, I do most heartily recommend my most humble Address to your +most judicious Consideration, hoping you will most vigorously, and with +all your might, maintain the Rights and Privileges of the Honourable +City; and not suffer the Force or Persuasion of any Arbitrary Lover +whatsoever, to subvert their antient and Fundamental Laws, by seducing +and forcibly bearing away so rich and so illustrious a Lady: and, Madam, +we will unanimously stand by you with our Lives and Fortunes.--This I +learnt from a Speech at the Election of a Burgess. [_Aside_. + + [_Leads her to the Door; She goes out with_ Betty _and_ Sensure. + _Enter Musick playing, Sir_ Anthony Meriwill _dancing + with a Lady in his Hand, Sir_ Charles with Lady_ + Galliard, _several other Women and Men_. + +Sir _Anth_. [_singing_.] + + Philander _was a jolly Swain, + And lov'd by ev'ry Lass; + Whom when he met along the Plain, + He laid upon the Grass. + + And here he kist, and there he play'd + With this and then the t'other, + Till every wanton smiling Maid + At last became a Mother. + + And to her Swain, and to her Swain, + The Nymph begins to yield; + Ruffle, and breathe, then to't again, + Thou'rt Master of the Field_. + + [Clapping Sir _Char_, on the back. + +Sir _Char_. And if I keep it not, say I'm a Coward, Uncle. + +Sir _Anth_. More Wine there, Boys, I'll keep the Humour up. + [_Enter Bottles and Glasses_. + +Sir _Tim_. How! young Meriwill so close to the Widow--Madam-- + [_Addressing himself to her. Sir_ Char. _puts him by_. + +Sir _Char_. Sir Timothy, why, what a Pox dost thou bring that damn'd +Puritanical, Schismatical, Fanatical, Small-beer-Face of thine into good +Company? Give him a full Glass to the Widow's Health. + +Sir _Tim_. O lack, Sir _Charles_, no Healths for me, I pray. + +Sir _Char_. Hark ye, leave that cozening, canting, sanctify'd Sneer of +yours, and drink ye me like a sober loyal Magistrate, all those Healths +you are behind, from his sacred Majesty, whom God long preserve, with the +rest of the Royal Family, even down to this wicked Widow, whom Heaven +soon convert from her leud designs upon my Body. + [_Pulling Sir_ Tim. _to kneel_. + +Sir _Anth_. A rare Boy! he shall have all my Estate. + +Sir _Tim_. How, the Widow a leud design upon his Body! Nay, then I am +jealous. [_Aside_. + +L. _Gal_. I a leud design upon your Body; for what, I wonder? + +Sir _Char_. Why, for villanous Matrimony. + +L. _Gal_. Who, I? + +Sir _Char_. Who, you! yes, you. +Why are those Eyes drest in inviting Love? +Those soft bewitching Smiles, those rising Breasts, +And all those Charms that make you so adorable, +Is't not to draw Fools into Matrimony? + +Sir _Anth_. How's that, how's that! _Charles_ at his Adorables and +Charms! He must have t'other Health, he'll fall to his old Dog-trot again +else. Come, come, every man his Glass; Sir Timothy, you are six behind: +Come, come, _Charles_, name 'em all. + + [_Each take a Glass, and force Sir_ Tim. _on his knees_. + +Sir _Char_.--Not bate ye an Ace, Sir. Come, his Majesty's Health, and +Confusion to his Enemies. + [_They go to force his Mouth open to drink_. + +Sir _Tim_. Hold, Sir, hold, if I must drink, I must; but this is very +arbitrary, methinks. + [_Drinks_. + +Sir _Anth_. And now, Sir, to the Royal Duke of Albany. Musick, play a +Scotch Jig. + [_Music plays, they drink_. + +Sir _Tim_. This is mere Tyranny. + + _Enter_ Jervice. + +_Jer_. Sir, there is alighted at the Gate a Person of Quality, as appears +by his Train, who give him the Title of a Lord. + +Sir _Tim_. How, a strange Lord! Conduct him up with Ceremony, _Jervice_-- +'Ods so, he's here! + + _Enter_ Wilding _in disguise_, Dresswell, _and Footmen and Pages_. + +_Wild_. Sir, by your Reverend Aspect, you shou'd be the renown'd Mester +de Hotel. + +Sir _Tim_. Mater de Otell! I have not the Honour to know any of that +Name, I am call'd Sir _Timothy Treat-all_. + [_Bowing_. + +_Wild_. The same, Sir; I have been bred abroad, and thought all Persons +of Quality had spoke French. + +Sir _Tim_. Not City Persons of Quality, my Lord. + +_Wild_. I'm glad on't, Sir; for 'tis a Nation I hate, as indeed I do all +Monarchies. + +Sir _Tim_. Hum! hate Monarchy! Your Lordship is most welcome. + [_Bows_. + +_Wild_. Unless Elective Monarchies, which so resemble a Commonwealth. + +Sir _Tim_. Right, my Lord; where every Man may hope to take his turn-- +Your Lordship is most singularly welcome. + [_Bows low_. + +_Wild_. And though I am a Stranger to your Person, I am not to your Fame, +amongst the sober Party of the Amsterdamians, all the French Hugonots +throughout Geneva; even to Hungary and Poland, Fame's Trumpet sounds your +Praise, making the Pope to fear, the rest admire you. + +Sir _Anth_. I'm much oblig'd to the renowned Mobile. + +_Wild_. So you will say, when you shall hear my Embassy. The Polanders by +me salute you, Sir, and have in this next new Election prick'd ye down +for their succeeding King. + +Sir _Tim_. How, my Lord, prick'd me down for a King! Why, this is +wonderful! Prick'd me, unworthy me down for a King! How cou'd I merit +this amazing Glory! + +_Wild_. They know, he that can be so great a Patriot to his Native +Country, where but a private Person, what must he be when Power is on his +side? + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, my Lord, my Country, my bleeding Country! there's the stop +to all my rising Greatness. Shall I be so ungrateful to disappoint this +big expecting Nation? defeat the sober Party, and my Neighbours, for any +Polish Crown? But yet, my Lord, I will consider on't: Mean time my House +is yours. + +_Wild_. I've brought you, Sir, the Measure of the Crown: +Ha, it fits you to a Hair. + [_Pulls out a Ribband, measures his Head_. +You were by Heav'n and Nature fram'd that Monarch. + +Sir _Anth_. Hah, at it again! + [_Sir_ Charles _making sober Love_. +Come, we grow dull, _Charles_; where stands the Glass? +What, balk my Lady _Galliard's_ Health! + [_They go to drink_. + +_Wild_. Hah, _Galliard_--and so sweet on Meriwill! [_Aside_. + +L. _Gal_. If it be your business, Sir, to drink, I'll withdraw. + +Sir _Char_. Gad, and I'll withdraw with you, Widow. Hark ye, Lady +_Galliard_, I am damnably afraid you cannot bear Liquor well, you are so +forward to leave good Company and a Bottle. + +Sir _Tim_. Well, Gentlemen, since I have done what I never do, to oblige +you, I hope you will not refuse a Health of my Denomination. + +Sir _Anth_. We scorn to be so uncivil. + [_All take the Glasses_. + +Sir _Tim_. Why then here's a conceal'd Health that shall be nameless, to +his Grace the King of Poland. + +Sir _Char_. King of Poland! Lord, Lord, how your Thoughts ramble! + +Sir _Tim_. Not so far as you imagine; I know what I say, Sir. + +Sir _Char_. Away with it. [_Drink all_. + +_Wild_. I see, Sir, you still keep up that English Hospitality that so +renowned our Ancestors in History. + [_Looking on L_. Gal. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, my Lord, my noble Guests are my Wife and Children. + +_Wild_. Are you not married, then? Death, she smiles on him. + [_Aside_. + +Sir _Tim_. I had a Wife, but rest her Soul, she's dead; and I have no +Plague left now but an ungracious Nephew, perverted with ill Customs, +Tantivy Opinions, and Court-Notions. + +_Wild_. Cannot your pious Examples convert him? By Heaven, she's fond of + him! [_Aside_. + +Sir _Tim_. Alas, I have try'd all ways, fair and foul; nay, had settled +t'other Day my whole Estate upon him, and just as I had sign'd the +Writings, out comes me a damn'd Libel, call'd, A Warning to all good +Christians against the City-Magistrates; and I doubt he had a Hand in +Absalom and Achitophel, a Rogue. But some of our sober Party have claw'd +him home, i' faith, and given him Rhyme for his Reason. + +_Wild_. Most visibly in Love! Oh, Sir, Nature, Laws, and Religion plead +for so near a Kinsman. + +Sir _Tim_. Laws and Religion! Alas, my Lord, he deserves not the Name of +a Patriot, who does not for the publick Good, defy all Laws and Religion. + +_Wild_. Death, I must interrupt 'em--Sir, pray what Lady's that. + [Wild, salutes her. + +Sir _Tim_. I beseech your Lordship know her, 'tis my Lady _Galliard_; the +rest are all my Friends and Neighbours, true Protestants all--Well, my +Lord, how do you like my Method of doing the business of the Nation, and +carrying on the Cause with Wine, Women, and so forth? + +_Wild_. High Feeding and smart Drinking, gains more to the Party, than +your smart Preaching. + +Sir _Tim_. Your Lordship has hit it right: a rare Man this! + +_Wild_. But come, Sir, leave serious Affairs, and oblige these fair ones. + + [_Addresses himself to_ Galliard, _Sir_ Charles _puts him by. + Enter_ Charlot _disguised_, Clacket _and_ Foppington. + +Sir _Char_. Heavens, Clacket, yonder's my False one, and that my +lovely Rival. + [_Pointing to_ Wild, _and L_. Gal. + + _Enter_ Diana _and_ Sensure _masked, and_ Betty. + +_Dia_. Dear Mrs. _Sensure_, this Favour has oblig'd me. + +_Sen_. I hope you'll not discover it to his Worship, Madam. + +_Wild_. By her Mien, this shou'd be handsome-- + [_Goes to_ Diana.] +Madam, I hope you have not made a Resolution to deny me the Honour of +your Hand. + +_Dia_. Ha, _Wilding_! Love can discover thee through all Disguise. + +_Wild_. Hah, _Diana_! wou'd 'twere Felony to wear a Vizard. Gad, I'd +rather meet it on the King's Highway, with Stand and Deliver, than thus +encounter it on the Face of an old Mistress; and the Cheat were more +excusable--But how-- + [_Talks aside with her_. + +Sir _Char_. Nay, never frown nor chide: For thus do I intend to shew my +Authority, till I have made thee only fit for me. + +_Wild_. Is't so, my precious Uncle? Are you so great a Devil in +Hypocrisy? Thus had I been serv'd, had I brought him the right Woman. + [_Aside_. + +_Dia_. But do not think, dear _Tommy_, I wou'd have serv'd thee so; +married thy Uncle, and have cozen'd thee of thy Birth-right--But see, +we're observ'd. + + [Charlot _listening behind him all this while_. + +_Char_. By all that's good 'tis he! that Voice is his! + [_He going from_ Dian. _turns upon_ Charlot, _and looks_. + +_Wild_. Hah, what pretty Creature's this, that has so much of _Charlot_ +in her Face? But sure she durst not venture; 'tis not her Dress nor Mien. +Dear pretty Stranger, I must dance with you. + +_Char_. Gued deed, and see ye shall, Sir, gen you please. Though I's not +dance, Sir, I's tell ya that noo. + +_Wild_. Nor I, so we're well matcht. By Heaven, she's wondrous like her. + +_Char_. By th' Mass not so kind, Sir: 'Twere gued that ene of us shou'd +dance to guid the other weel. + +_Wild_. How young, how innocent and free she is! And wou'd you, fair one, +be guided by me? + +_Char_. In any thing that gued is. + +_Wild_. I love you extremely, and wou'd teach you to love. + +_Char_. Ah, wele aday! [_Sighs and smiles_. + +_Wild_. A thing I know you do not understand. + +_Char_. Gued faith, and ya're i'th' right, Sir; yet 'tis a thing I's +often hear ya gay men talk of. + +_Wild_. Yes, and no doubt have been told those pretty Eyes inspired it. + +_Char_. Gued deed, and so I have! Ya men make sa mickle ado about ens +Eyes, ways me, I's ene tir'd with sick-like Complements. + +_Wild_. Ah, if you give us wounds, we must complain. + +_Char_. Ye may ene keep out a harms way then. + +_Wild_. Oh, we cannot; or if we cou'd, we wou'd not. + +_Char_. Marry, and I's have ene a Song tol that tune, Sir. + +_Wild_. Dear Creature, let me beg it. + +_Char_. Gued faith, ya shall not, Sir, I's sing without entreaty. + + SONG. + + _Ah, Jenny, gen your Eyes do kill, + You'll let me tell my Pain; + Gued Faith, I lov'd against my Will, + But wad not break my Chain. + I ence was call'd a bonny Lad, + Till that fair Face of yours + Betray'd the Freedom ence I had, + And ad my bleether Howers. + + But noo ways me like Winter looks, + My gloomy showering Eyne, + And on the Banks of shaded Brooks + I pass my wearied time. + I call the Stream that gleedeth on, + To witness if it see, + On all the flowry Brink along, + A Swain so true as lee_. + +_Wild_. This very Swain am I, so true and so forlorn, unless ye pity +me.--This is an excellency _Charlot_ wants, at least I never heard +her sing. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Anth_. Why, _Charles_, where stands the Woman, _Charles_? + [Fop. _comes up to_ Charlot. + +_Wild_. I must speak to _Galliard_, though all my Fortunes depend on the +Discovery of my self. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Anth_. Come, come, a cooling Glass about. + +_Wild_. Dear _Dresswell_, entertain _Charles Meriwill_ a little, whilst I +speak to _Galliard_. + [_The Men go all to the drinking Table_. +By Heaven, I die, I languish for a Word! +--Madam, I hope you have not made a Vow +To speak with none but that young Cavalier. +They say, the Freedom English Ladies use, +Is, as their Beauty, great. + +L. _Gal_. Sir, we are none of those of so nice and delicate a Virtue, as +Conversation can corrupt; we live in a cold Climate. + +_Wild_. And think you're not so apt to be in Love, +As where the Sun shines oftner. +But you too much partake of the Inconstancy of this your fickle Climate. + [_Maliciously to her_. +One day all Sun-shine, and th' encourag'd Lover +Decks himself up in glittering Robes of Hope; +And in the midst of all their boasted Finery +Comes a dark Cloud across his Mistress' Brow, +Dashes the Fool, and spoils the gaudy Show. + [L. Gal. _observing him nearly_. + +L. _Gal_. Hah, do I not know that railing Tongue of yours? + +_Wild_. 'Tis from your Guilt, not Judgment then. +I was resolv'd to be to night a Witness +Of that sworn Love you flatter'd me so often with. +By Heaven, I saw you playing with my Rival, +Sigh'd, and lookt Babies in his gloating Eyes. +When is the Assignation? When the Hours? +For he's impatient as the raging Sea, +Loose as the Winds, and amorous as the Sun, +That kisses all the Beauties of the Spring. + +L. _Gal_. I take him for a sober Person, Sir. + +_Wild_. Have I been the Companion of his Riots +In all the leud course of our early Youth, +Where like unwearied Bees we gather'd Flowers? +But no kind Blossom could oblige our stay, +We rifled and were gone. + +L. _Gal_. Your Virtues I perceive are pretty equal; +Only his Love's the honester o'th' two. + +_Wild_. Honester! that is, he wou'd owe his good Fortune +to the Parson of the Parish; +And I would be oblig'd to you alone. +He wou'd have a Licence to boast he lies with you, +And I wou'd do't with Modesty and Silence: +For Virtue's but a Name kept free from Scandal, +Which the most base of Women best preserve, +Since Jilting and Hypocrisy cheat the World best. +--But we both love, and who shall blab the Secret? + [_In a soft Tone_. + +L. _Gal_. Oh, why were all the Charms of speaking given +To that false Tongue that makes no better use of 'em? +--I'll hear no more of your inchanting Reasons. + +_Wild_. You must. + +L. _Gal_. I will not. + +_Wild_. Indeed you must. + +L. _Gal_. By all the Powers above-- + +_Wild_. By all the Powers of Love you'll break your Oath, +Unless you swear this Night to let me see you. + +L. _Gal_. This Night. + +_Wild_. This very Night. + +L. _Gal_. I'd die first--At what Hour? + + [_First turns away, then sighs and looks on him_. + +_Wild_. Oh, name it; and if I fail-- + [_With Joy_. + +L. _Gal_. I wou'd not for the World-- + +_Wild_. That I shou'd fail! + +L. _Gal_. Not name the guilty Hour. + +_Wild_. Then I through eager haste shall come too soon, +And do your Honour wrong. + +L. _Gal_. My Honour! Oh, that Word! + +_Wild_. Which the Devil was in me for naming. [_Aside_. +--At Twelve. + +L. _Gal_. My Women and my Servants then are up. + +_Wild_. At One, or Two. + +L. _Gal_. So late! 'twill be so quickly Day! + +_Wild_. Ay, so it will; +That half our Business will be left unfinisht. + +L. _Gal_. Hah, what do you mean? what Business? + +_Wild_. A thousand tender things I have to say; +A thousand Vows of my eternal Love; +And now and then we'll kiss and-- + +L. _Gal_. Be extremely honest. + +_Wild_. As you can wish. + +L. _Gal_. Rather as I command: for should he know my wish, I were undone. + [_Aside_. + +_Wild_. The Sign-- + +L. _Gal_. Oh, press me not--yet you may come at Midnight under my +Chamber-Window. + + [_Sir_ Char. _sees 'em so close, comes to 'em_. + +Sir _Char_. Hold, Sir, hold! Whilst I am listning to the Relation of your +French Fortifications, Outworks, and Counterscarps, I perceive the Enemy +in my Quarters--My Lord, by your leave. + [_Puts him by, growing drunk_. + +_Char_. Persuade me not; I burst with Jealousy. + [Wild. _turns, sees_ Clacket. + +_Wild_. Death and the Devil, Clacket! then 'tis _Charlot_, and I'm +discover'd to her. + +_Char_. Say, are you not a false dissembling thing? + [_To_ Wild. _in anger_. + +_Wild_. What, my little Northern Lass translated into English! +This 'tis to practise Art in spite of Nature. +Alas, thy Vertue, Youth, and Innocence, +Were never made for Cunning, +I found ye out through all your forc'd disguise. + +_Char_. Hah, did you know me then? + +_Wild_. At the first glance, and found you knew me too, +And talkt to yonder Lady in revenge, +Whom my Uncle would have me marry. But to avoid +all Discourses of that nature, I came to Night in this +Disguise you see, to be conceal'd from her; that's all. + +_Char_. And is that all, on Honour? Is it, Dear? + +_Wild_. What, no Belief, no Faith in villanous Women? + +_Char_. Yes, when I see the Writings. + +_Wild_. Go home, I die if you shou'd be discover'd: +And credit me, I'll bring you all you ask. +Clacket, you and I must have an old Reckoning about +this Night's Jant of yours. [Aside to Clacket. + +Sir _Tim_. Well, my Lord, how do you like our English Beauties? + +_Wild_. Extremely, Sir; and was pressing this young Lady to give us a +Song. + + [_Here is an Italian Song in two Parts_. + +Sir _Tim_. I never saw this Lady before: pray who may she be, Neighbour? + [_To_ Clacket. + +Mrs. _Clack_. A Niece of mine, newly come out of Scotland, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Nay, then she dances by nature. Gentlemen and Ladies, please +you to sit, here's a young Neighbour of mine will honour us with a Dance. + [_They all sit_; Charl. _and_ Fop. _dance_. +So, so; very well, very well. Gentlemen and Ladies, I am for Liberty of +Conscience, and Moderation. There's a Banquet waits the Ladies, and my +Cellars are open to the Men; but for my self, I must retire; first +waiting on your Lordship to shew you your Apartment, then leave you to +_cher entire_: and to morrow, my Lord, you and I will settle the Nation, +and will resolve on what return we will make to the noble Polanders. + + [_Exeunt all but_ Wild. Dres. _and_ Fop. _Sir_ Charles + _leading out Lady_ Galliard. + +Sir _Anth_. Well said, _Charles_, thou leav'st her not till she's thy +own, Boy--And Philander was a jolly Swain, &c. + [_Exit singing_. + +_Wild_. All things succeed above my Wish, dear _Frank_, +Fortune is kind; and more, _Galliard_ is so; +This night crowns all my Wishes. +Laboir, are all things ready for our purpose? [_To his Footman_. + +_Lab_. Dark Lanthorns, Pistols, Habits and Vizards, Sir. + +_Fop_. I have provided Portmantles to carry off the Treasure. + +_Dres_. I perceive you are resolv'd to make a thorow-stitcht Robbery +on't. + +_Fop_. Faith, if it lie in our way, Sir, we had as good venture a Caper +under the Triple-Tree for one as well as t'other. + +_Wild_. We must consider on't. 'Tis now just struck eleven; within this +Hour is the dear Assignation with _Galliard_. + +_Dres_. What, whether our Affairs be finish'd or not? + +_Wild_. 'Tis but at next Door; I shall return time enough for that +trivial Business. + +_Dres_. A trivial Business of some six thousand pound a year? + +_Wild_. Trivial to a Woman, _Frank_: no more; do you make as if you went +to bed.--Laboir, do you feign to be drunk, and lie on the Hall-table: and +when I give the sign, let me softly in. + +_Dres_. Death, Sir, will you venture at such a time? + +_Wild_. My Life and future Hope--I am resolv'd. +Let Politicians plot, let Rogues go on +In the old beaten Path of Forty one; +Let City Knaves delight in Mutiny, +The Rabble bow to old Presbytery; +Let petty States be to confusion hurl'd, +Give me but Woman, I'll despise the World. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. + + +SCENE I. _A Dressing-Room_. + + _Lady_ Galliard _is discover'd in an undress at her Table, Glass + and Toilette_, Closet _attending: As soon as the Scene draws off + she rises from the Table as disturbed and out of Humour_. + +L. _Gal_. Come, leave your everlasting Chamber-maid's Chat, your dull +Road of Slandering by rote, and lay that Paint aside. Thou art fuller of +false News, than an unlicens'd Mercury. + +_Clos_. I have good Proof, Madam, of what I say. + +L. _Gal_. Proof of a thing impossible!--Away. + +_Clos_. Is it a thing so impossible, Madam, that a Man of Mr. _Wilding's_ +Parts and Person should get a City-Heiress? Such a bonne Mien, and such a +pleasant Wit! + +L. _Gal_. Hold thy fluent Tattle, thou hast Tongue +Enough to talk an Oyster-Woman deaf: +I say it cannot be. +--What means the panting of my troubled Heart! +Oh, my presaging Fears! shou'd what she says prove true, +How wretched and how lost a thing am I! [_Aside_. + +_Clos_. Your Honour may say your Pleasure; but I hope +I have not liv'd to these Years to be impertinent--No, +Madam, I am none of those that run up and down the +Town a Story-hunting, and a Lye-catching, and-- + +L. _Gal_. Eternal Rattle, peace-- +Mrs. _Charlot Gett-all_ go away with _Wilding_! +A Man of _Wilding's_ extravagant Life +Get a Fortune in the City! +Thou mightst as well have told me, a Holder-forth were married to a Nun: +There are not two such Contraries in Nature, +'Tis flam, 'tis foolery, 'tis most impossible. + +_Clos_. I beg your Ladyship's Pardon, if my Discourse offend you; but all +the World knows Mrs. Clacket to be a person-- + +L. _Gal_. Who is a most devout Baud, a precise Procurer; +A Saint in the Spirit, and Whore in the Flesh; +A Doer of the Devil's Work in God's Name. +Is she your Informer? nay, then the Lye's undoubted-- +I say once more, adone with your idle Tittle-Tattle, +--And to divert me, bid Betty sing the Song which _Wilding_ made +To his last Mistress; we may judge by that, +What little Haunts, and what low Game he follows. +This is not like the Description of a rich Citizen's Daughter +and Heir, but some common Hackney of the Suburbs. + +_Clos_. I have heard him often swear she was a Gentlewoman, and liv'd +with her Friends. + +L. _Gal_. Like enough, there are many of these Gentlewomen who live with +their Friends, as rank Prostitutes, as errant Jilts, as those who make +open profession of the Trade--almost as mercenary--But come, the Song. + + [_Enter_ Betty. + + SONG. + + _In Phillis all vile Jilts are met, + Foolish, uncertain, false, Coquette. + Love is her constant welcome Guest, + And still the newest pleases best. + Quickly she likes, then leaves as soon; + Her Life on Woman's a Lampoon. + + Yet for the Plague of human Race, + This Devil has an Angel's Face; + Such Youth, such Sweetness in her Look, + Who can be Man, and not be took? + What former Love, what Wit, what Art, + Can save a poor inclining Heart? + + In vain a thousand Times an hour + Reason rebels against her Power. + In vain I rail, I curse her charms; + One Look my feeble Rage disarms. + There is Inchantment in her Eyes; + Who sees 'em, can no more be wise_. + + _Enter_ Wilding, _who runs to embrace L_. Gal. + +_Wild_. Twelve was the lucky Minute when we met: +Most charming of your Sex, and wisest of all Widows, +My Life, my Soul, my Heaven to come, and here! +Now I have liv'd to purpose, since at last--Oh, killing Joy! +Come, let me fold you, press you in my Arms, +And kiss you Thanks for this dear happy Night. + +L. _Gal_. You may spare your Thanks, Sir, for those that will deserve +'em; I shall give you no occasion for 'em. + +_Wild_. Nay, no scruples now, dearest of Dears, no more, +'Tis most unseasonable-- +I bring a Heart full fraight with eager Hopes, +Opprest with a vast Load of longing Love; +Let me unlade me in that soft white Bosom, +That Storehouse of rich Joys and lasting Pleasures, +And lay me down as on a Bed of Lillies. + [_She breaks from him_. + +L. _Gal_. You're wondrous full of Love and Rapture, Sir; but certainly +you mistake the Person you address 'em to. + +_Wild_. Why, are you not my Lady _Galliard_, that very Lady _Galliard_, +who, if one may take her Word for't, loves _Wilding_? Am I not come +hither by your own Appointment; and can I have any other Business here at +this time of night, but Love, and Rapture, and-- + +L. _Gal_. Scandalous and vain! by my Appointment, and for so leud a +purpose; guard me, ye good Angels. If after an Affront so gross as this, +I ever suffer you to see me more, Then think me what your Carriage calls +me, An impudent, an open Prostitute, Lost to all sense of Virtue, or of +Honour. + +_Wild_. What can this mean? [_Aside_. +Oh, now I understand the Mystery. + [_Looking on_ Closet. +Her Woman's here, that troublesome piece of Train. +--I must remove her. Hark ye, Mrs. Closet, I had forgot to tell you, as I +came up I heard a Kinsman of yours very earnest with the Servants below, +and in great haste to speak with you. + +_Clos_. A Kinsman! that's very likely indeed, and at this time of night. + +_Wild_. Yes, a very near Kinsman, he said he was your Father's own +Mother's Uncle's Sister's Son; what d'ye call him? + +_Clos_. Ay, what d'ye call him indeed? I shou'd be glad to hear his Name. +Alas, Sir, I have no near Relation living that I know of, the more's my +Misfortune, poor helpless Orphan that I am. + [_Weeps_. + +_Wild_. Nay, but Mrs. Closet, pray take me right, +This Country-man of yours, as I was saying-- + +L. _Gal_. Chang'd already from a Kinsman to a Countryman! a plain +Contrivance to get my Woman out of the Room. Closet, as you value my +Service, stir not from hence. + +_Wild_. This Countryman of yours, I say, being left Executor by your +Father's last Will and Testament, is come--Dull Waiting-woman, I wou'd be +alone with your Lady; know your Cue and retire. + +_Clos_. How, Sir! + +_Wild_. Learn, I say, to understand Reason when you hear it. Leave us +awhile; Love is not a Game for three to play at. + [_Gives her Mony_. + +_Clos_. I must own to all the World, you have convinc'd me; I ask a +thousand Pardons for my Dulness. Well, I'll be gone, I'll run; you're a +most powerful Person, the very Spirit of Persuasion--I'll steal out--You +have such a taking way with you--But I forgot my self. Well, your most +obedient Servant; whenever you've occasion, Sir, be pleas'd to use me +freely. + +_Wild_. Nay, dear Impertinence, no more Complements, you see I'm busy +now; prithee be gone, you see I am busy. + +_Clos_. I'm all Obedience to you, Sir--Your most obedient-- + +L. _Gal_. Whither are you fisking and giggiting now? + +_Clos_. Madam, I am going down, and will return immediately, immediately. + [_Exit_ Clos. + +_Wild_. So, she's gone; Heaven and broad Gold be prais'd for the +Deliverance. And now, dear Widow, let's lose no more precious time; we +have fool'd away too much already. + +L. _Gal_. This to me! + +_Wild_. To you, yes, to whom else should it be? Unless being sensible you +have not Discretion enough to manage your own Affairs your self, you +resolve like other Widows, with all you're Worth to buy a Governour, +commonly call'd a Husband. I took ye to be wiser; but if that be your +Design I shall do my best to serve you--though to deal freely with you-- + +L. _Gal_. Trouble not your self, Sir, to make Excuses; I'm not so fond of +the Offer to take you at your Word. Marry you! a Rakeshame, who have not +Esteem enough for the Sex to believe your Mother honest--without Money or +Credit, without Land either in presenter prospect; and half a dozen +hungry Vices, like so many bauling Brats at your Back, perpetually +craving, and more chargeable to keep than twice the number of Children. +Besides, I think you are provided for; are you not married to Mrs. +_Charlot Gett-all_? + +_Wild_. Married to her! Do I know her, you shou'd rather ask. What Fool +has forg'd this unlikely Lye? but suppose 'twere true, cou'd you be +jealous of a Woman I marry? Do you take me for such an Ass, to suspect I +shall love my own Wife? On the other side, I have a great Charge of +Vices, as you well observe, and I must not be so barbarous to let 'em +starve. Every body in this Age takes care to provide for their Vices, +though they send their Children a begging; I shou'd be worse than an +Infidel to neglect them. No, I must marry some stiff aukward thing or +other with an ugly Face, and a handsom Estate, that's certain: but +whoever is ordain'd to make my Fortune, 'tis you only can make me happy-- +Come, do it then. + +L. _Gal_. I never will. + +_Wild_. Unkindly said, you must. + +L. _Gal_. Unreasonable Man! because you see +I have unusual Regards for you, +Pleasure to hear, and Trouble to deny you; +A fatal yielding in my Nature toward you, +Love bends my Soul that way-- +A Weakness I ne'er felt for any other; +And wou'd you be so base? and cou'd you have the Heart +To take th' advantage on't to ruin me, +To make me infamous, despis'd, loath'd, pointed at? + +_Wild_. You reason false, +According to the strictest Rules of Honour, +Beauty should still be the Reward of Love, +Not the vile Merchandize of Fortune, +Or the cheap Drug of a Church-Ceremony. +She's only infamous, who to her Bed +For Interest takes some nauseous Clown she hates: +And though a Jointure or a Vow in publick +Be her Price, that makes her but the dearer Whore. + +L. _Gal_. I understand not these new Morals. + +_Wild_. Have Patience I say, 'tis clear: +All the Desires of mutual Love are virtuous. +Can Heav'n or Man be angry that you please +Your self, and me, when it does wrong to none? +Why rave you then on things that ne'er can be? +Besides, are we not alone, and private? who can know it? + +L. _Gal_. Heaven will know't; and I--that, that's enough: +But when you are weary of me, first your Friend, +Then his, then all the World. + +_Wild_. Think not that time will ever come. + +L. _Gal_. Oh, it must, it will. + +_Wild_. Or if it should, could I be such a Villain-- +Ah cruel! if you love me as you say, +You wou'd not thus distrust me. + +L. _Gal_. You do me wrong, I love you more than e'er my Tongue, +Or all the Actions of my Life can tell you--so well-- +Your very Faults, how gross soe'er to me, +Have something pleasing in 'em. To me you're all +That Man can praise, or Woman can desire; +All Charm without, and all Desert within. +But yet my Virtue is more lovely still; +That is a Price too high to pay for you; +The Love of Angels may be bought too dear, +If we bestow on them what's kept for Heaven. + +_Wild_. Hell and the Devil! I'll hear no more +Of this religious Stuff, this godly Nonsense. +Death, Madam, do you bring me into your Chamber to preach Virtue to me? + +L. _Gal_. I bring you hither! how can you say it? +I suffer'd you indeed to come, but not +For the base end you fancy'd, but to take +A last Leave of you. Let my Heart break with Love, +I cannot be that wretched thing you'd have me; +Believe I still shall have a Kindness for you, +Always your Friend, your Mistress now no more. + +_Wild_. Cozen'd, abus'd, she loves some other Man! +Dull Blockhead, not to find it out before! [_Aside_. +--Well, Madam, may I at last believe +This is your fix'd and final Resolution? +And does your Tongue now truly speak your Heart, +That has so long bely'd it? + +L. _Gal_. It does. + +_Wild_. I'm glad on't. Good Night; and when I visit you again, +May you again thus fool me. + [_Offers to go_. + +L. _Gal_. Stay but a Moment. + +_Wild_. For what? to praise your Night-dress, or make +Court to your little Dog? No, no, Madam, send for Mr. +Flamfull, and Mr. Flutterbuz, Mr. Lap-fool and Mr. +Loveall; they'll do it better, and are more at leisure. + +L. _Gal_. Hear me a little: You know I both despise, and hate those civil +Coxcombs, as much as I esteem and love you. But why will you be gone so +soon? and why are ye so cruel to urge me thus to part either with your +good Opinion or your Kindness? I wou'd fain keep 'em both. + [_In a soft Tone_. + +_Wild_. Then keep your Word, Madam. + +L. _Gal_. My Word! and have I promis'd then to be +A Whore? A Whore! Oh, let me think of that! +A Man's Convenience, his leisure Hours, his Bed of Ease, +To loll and tumble on at idle times; +The Slave, the Hackney of his lawless Lust! +A loath'd Extinguisher of filthy Flames, +Made use of, and thrown by--Oh, infamous! + +_Wild_. Come, come, you love me not, I see it plain; +That makes your Scruples; that, that's the Reason +You start at Words, and turn away from Shadows. +Already some pert Fop, some Ribbon Fool, +Some dancing Coxcomb, has supplanted me +In that unsteady treacherous Woman's Heart of yours. + +L. _Gal_. Believe it if you will. Yes, let me be false, unjust, +ungrateful, any thing but a--Whore-- + +_Wild_. Oh, Sex on purpose form'd to plague Mankind! +All that you are, and all you do's a Lye. +False are your Faces, false your floating Hearts; +False are your Quarrels, false your Reconcilements: +Enemies without Reason, and dear without Kindness; +Your Friendship's false, but much more false your Love; +Your damn'd deceitful Love is all o'er false. + +L. _Gal_. False rather are the Joys you are so fond of. +Be wise, and cease, Sir, to pursue 'em farther. + +_Wild_. No, them I can never quit, but you most easily: +A Woman changeable and false as you. + +L. _Gal_. Said you most easily? Oh, inhuman! +Your cruel Words have wak'd a dismal Thought; +I feel 'em cold and heavy at my Heart, +And Weakness steals upon my Soul apace; +I find I must be miserable-- +I wou'd not be thought false. + [_In a soft Tone, coming near him_. + +_Wild_. Nor wou'd I think you so; give me not Cause. + +L. _Gal_. What Heart can bear distrust from what it loves? +Or who can always her own Wish deny? [_Aside_. +My Reason's weary of the unequal Strife; +And Love and Nature will at last o'ercome. +--Do you not then believe I love you? + [_To him in a soft Tone_. + +_Wild_. How can I, while you still remain unkind? + +L. _Gal_. How shall I speak my guilty Thoughts? +I have not Power to part with you; conceal my Shame, I doubt +I cannot, I fear I wou'd not any more deny you. + +_Wild_. Oh heavenly Sound! Oh charming Creature! +Speak that word again, agen, agen! for ever let me hear it. + +L. _Gal_. But did you not indeed? and will you never, +never love Mrs. _Charlot_, never? + +_Wild_. Never, never. + +_L, Gal_. Turn your Face away, and give me leave +To hide my rising Blushes: I cannot look on you. + + [_As this last Speech is speaking, she sinks into his + Arms by degrees_. + +But you must undo me if you will-- +Since I no other way my Truth can prove, +--You shall see I love. +Pity my Weakness, and admire my Love. + +_Wild_. All Heaven is mine, I have it in my Arms, +Nor can ill Fortune reach me any more. +Fate, I defy thee, and dull World, adieu. +In Love's kind Fever let me ever lie, +Drunk with Desire, and raving mad with Joy. + + [_Exeunt into the Bed-chamber_, Wild. _leading her + with his Arms about her_. + + +SCENE II. _Changes_. + + _Another Room in Lady_ Galliard's _House_. + + Enter Sir_ Charles Meriwill _and Sir_ Anthony, _Sir_ + Charles _drunk_. + +Sir _Anth_. A Dog, a Rogue, to leave her! + +Sir _Char_. Why, look ye, Uncle, what wou'd you have a Man do? I brought +her to her Coach-- + +Sir _Anth_. To her Coach! to her Coach! Did not I put her into your Hand, +follow'd you out, wink'd, smil'd and nodded; cry'd 'bye _Charles_, 'bye +Rogue; which was as much as to say, Go home with her, _Charles_, home to +her Chamber, _Charles_; nay, as much as to say, Home to her Bed, +_Charles_; nay, as much as to say--Hum, hum, a Rogue, a Dog, and yet to +be modest too! That I shou'd bring thee up with no more Fear of God +before thy Eyes! + +Sir _Char_. Nay, dear Uncle, don't break my Heart now! Why, I did +proffer, and press, and swear, and ly'd, and--but a pox on her, she has +the damn'dst wheedling way with her, as dear _Charles_, nay prithee, fie, +'tis late, to morrow, my Honour, which if you lov'd you wou'd preserve; +and such obliging Reasons. + +Sir _Anth_. Reasons! Reason! a Lover, and talk of Reason! You lye, +Sirrah, you lye. Leave a Woman for Reason, when you were so finely drunk +too, a Rascal! + +Sir _Char_. Why look ye, d'ye see, Uncle, I durst not trust my self alone +with her in this pickle, lest I shou'd ha' fallen foul on her. + +Sir _Anth_. Why, there's it; 'tis that you shou'd have done; I am +mistaken if she be not one of those Ladies that love to be ravisht of a +Kindness. Why, your willing Rape is all the Fashion, _Charles_. + +Sir _Char_. But hark ye, Uncle. + +Sir _Anth_. Why, how now, Jack-sauce, what, capitulate? + +Sir _Char_. Why, do but hear me, Uncle; Lord, you're so hasty! Why, look +ye, I am as ready, d'ye see, as any Man on these Occasions. + +Sir _Anth_. Are you so, Sir? and I'll make you willing, or try Toledo +with you, Sir--Why, what, I shall have you whining when you are sober +again, traversing your Chamber with Arms across, railing on Love and +Women, and at last defeated, turn whipping _Tom_, to revenge your self on +the whole Sex. + +Sir _Char_. My dear Uncle, come kiss me and be friends; I will be rul'd. + [_Kisses him_. + +Sir _Anth_.--A most admirable good-natur'd Boy this! [_Aside_. +Well then, dear _Charles_, know, I have brought thee now hither to the +Widow's House, with a Resolution to have thee order matters so, as before +thou quitst her, she shall be thy own, Boy. + +Sir _Char_. Gad, Uncle, thou'rt a Cherubin! Introduce me, d'ye see, and +if I do not so woo the Widow, and so do the Widow, that e'er morning she +shall be content to take me for better for worse--Renounce me! Egad, I'll +make her know the Lord God from _Tom Bell_, before I have done with her. +Nay, backt by my noble Uncle, I'll venture on her, had she all Cupid's +Arrows, genus's Beauty, and Messalina's Fire, d'ye see. + +Sir _Anth_. A sweet Boy, a very sweet Boy! Hum, thou art damnable +handsome to Night, _Charles_--Ay, thou wilt do't; I see a kind of +resistless Leudness about thee, a most triumphant Impudence, loose and +wanton. + [_Stands looking on him_. + + _Enter_ Closet. + +_Clos_. Heavens, Gentlemen, what makes you here at this time of Night? + +Sir _Char_. Where's your Lady? + +_Clos_. Softly, dear Sir. + +Sir _Char_. Why, is she asleep? Come, come, I'll wake her. + [_Offers to force in as to the Bed-chamber_. + +_Clos_. Hold, hold, Sir; No, no, she's a little busy, Sir. + +Sir _Char_. I'll have no Business done to Night, Sweetheart. + +_Clos_. Hold, hold, I beseech you, Sir, her Mother's with her; +For Heaven's sake, Sir, be gone. + +Sir _Char_. I'll not budge. + +Sir _Anth_. No, not a Foot. + +_Clos_. The City you know, Sir, is so censorious-- + +Sir _Char_. Damn the City. + +Sir _Anth_. All the Whigs, _Charles_, all the Whigs. + +Sir _Char_. In short, I am resolv'd, d'ye see, to go to the Widow's +Chamber. + +Sir _Anth_. Harkye, Mrs. Closet I thought I had entirely engag'd you this +Evening. + +_Clos_. I am perfectly yours, Sir; but how it happens so, her Mother +being there--Yet if you wou'd withdraw for half an hour, into my Chamber, +till she were gone-- + +Sir _Anth_. This is the Reason, _Charles_. Here, here's two Pieces to buy +thee a Gorget. + [_Gives her Money_. + +Sir _Char_. And here's my two, because thou art industrious. + [_Gives her Money, and they go out with her_. + + _Enter Lady_ Galliard _in rage, held by_ Wilding. + +L. _Gal_. What have I done? Ah, whither shall I fly? + [_Weeps_. + +_Wild_. Why all these Tears? Ah, why this cruel Passion? + +L. _Gal_. Undone, undone! Unhand me, false, forsworn; +Be gone, and let me rage till I am dead. +What shou'd I do with guilty Life about me? + +_Wild_. Why, where's the harm of what we two have done? + +L. _Gal_. Ah, leave me-- +Leave me alone to sigh to flying Winds, +That the Infection may be borne aloft, +And reach no human Ear. + +_Wild_. Cease, lovely Charmer, cease to wound me more. + +L. _Gal_. Shall I survive this Shame? No, if I do, +Eternal Blushes dwell upon my Cheeks, +To tell the World my Crime. +--Mischief and Hell, what Devil did possess me? + +_Wild_. It was no Devil, but a Deity; +A little gay wing'd God, harmless and innocent, +Young as Desire, wanton as Summer-breezes, +Soft as thy Smiles, resistless as thy Eyes. + +L. _Gal_. Ah, what malicious God, +Sworn Enemy to feeble Womankind, +Taught thee the Art of Conquest with thy Tongue? +Thy false deluding Eyes were surely made +Of Stars that rule our Sex's Destiny: +And all thy Charms were by Inchantment wrought, +That first undo the heedless Gazers on, +Then shew their natural Deformity. + +_Wild_. Ah, my _Galliard_, am I grown ugly then? +Has my increase of Passion lessen'd yours? + [_In a soft Tone_. + +L. _Gal_. Peace, Tempter, Peace, who artfully betrayest me, +And then upbraidest the Wretchedness thou'st made. +--Ah, Fool, eternal Fool! to know my Danger, +Yet venture on so evident a Ruin. + +_Wild_. Say,--what one Grace is faded? +Is not thy Face as fair, thy Eyes as killing? +By Heaven, much more! This charming change of Looks +Raises my Flame, and makes me wish t'invoke +The harmless God again. + [Embraces her. + +L. _Gal_. By Heaven, not all thy Art +Shall draw me to the tempting Sin again. + +_Wild_. Oh, I must, or die. + +L. _Gal_. By all the Powers, by-- + +_Wild_. Oh, do not swear, lest Love shou'd take it ill +That Honour shou'd pretend to give him Laws, +And make an Oath more powerful than his Godhead. +--Say that you will half a long Hour hence-- + +L. _Gal_. Hah! + +_Wild_. Or say a tedious Hour. + +L. _Gal_. Death, never-- + +_Wild_. Or if you--promise me then to morrow. + +L. _Gal_. No, hear my Vows. + +_Wild_. Hold, see me die; if you resolve 'em fatal to my Love, by Heaven +I'll do't. + [_Lays his Hand on his Sword_. + +L. _Gal_. Ah, what-- + +_Wild_. Revoke that fatal Never then. + +L. _Gal_. I dare not. + +_Wild_. Oh, say you will. + +L. _Gal_. Alas, I dare not utter it. + +_Wild_. Let's in, and thou shalt whisper it into my Bosom; +Or sighing, look it to me with thy Eyes. + +L. _Gal_. Ah, _Wilding_-- [_Sighs_. + +_Wild_. It toucht my Soul! Repeat that Sigh again. + +L. _Gal_. Ah, I confess I am but feeble Woman. + [_Leans on him_. + +Sir _Char_. Good Mistress Keep-door, stand by: for I must enter. + [_Sir_ Char. _without_. + +L. _Gal_. Hah, young Meriwill's Voice! + +_Clos_. Pray, Sir _Charles_, let me go and give my Lady notice. + [_She enters and goes to_ Wild. +--For Heaven's sake, Sir, withdraw, or my Lady's Honour's lost. + +_Wild_. What will you have me do? [_To_ Galliard. + +L. _Gal_. Be gone, or you will ruin me for ever. + [_In disorder_. + +_Wild_. Nay, then I will obey. + +L. _Gal_. Here, down the back-stairs-- +As you have Honour, go and cherish mine. + [_Pulling him. He goes out_. +--He's gone, and now nethinks the shivering Fit of +Honour is return'd. + + _Enter Sir_ Charles, _rudely pushing_ Closet _aside with Sir_ +Anthony. + +_Sir. Char_. Deny'd an entrance! nay, then there is a +Rival in the Case, or so; and I'm resolv'd to discover the +Hellish Plot, d'ye see. + + [_Just as he enters drunk at one Door_, + Wild. _returns at the other_. + +L. _Gal_. Ha, _Wilding_ return'd! Shield me, ye Shades of Night. + [_Puts out the Candles, and goes to_ Wild. + +_Wild_. The Back-Stairs Door is lockt. + +L. _Gal_. Oh, I am lost! curse on this fatal Night! +Art thou resolv'd on my undoing every way. + +_Clos_. Nay, now we're by dark, let me alone to guide you. Sir. + [_To_ Wild. + +Sir _Char_. What, what, all in darkness? Do you make +Love like Cats, by Star-light? [_Reeling about_. + +L. _Gal_. Ah, he knows he's here!--Oh, what a pain is Guilt! + [_Aside_. + +_Wild_. I wou'd not be surpriz'd. + + [_As_ Closet _takes him to lead him out, he takes out his + Sword, and by dark pushes by Sir_ Charles, _and almost + overthrows Sir_ Anth. _at which they both draw, whilst + he goes out with_ Closet. + +Sir _Char_. Hah, Gad, 'twas a Spark!--What, vanisht! hah-- + +Sir _Anth_. Nay, nay, Sir, I am for ye. + +Sir _Char_. Are you so, Sir? and I am for the Widow, Sir, and-- + + [_Just as they are passing at each other_, Closet _enters + with a Candle_. + +Hah, why, what have we here?--my nown Flesh and Blood? + [_Embracing his Uncle_. + +Sir _Anth_. Cry mercy, Sir! Pray, how fell we out? + +Sir _Char_. Out, Sir! Prithee where's my Rival? where's the Spark, the-- +Gad, I took thee for an errant Rival: Where is he? + [_Searching about_. + +L. _Gal_. Whom seek ye, Sir, a Man, and in my Lodgings? + [_Angrily_. + +_Clos_. A Man! Merciful, what will this scandalous lying World come to? +Here's no Man. + +Sir _Char_. Away, I say, thou damn'd Domestick Intelligence, that comest +out every half hour with some fresh Sham--No Man!--What, 'twas an +Appointment only, hum,--which I shall now make bold to unappoint, render +null, void, and of none effect. And if I find him here, [_Searches +about_.] I shall very civilly and accidentally, as it were, being in +perfect friendship with him--pray, mark that--run him through the Lungs. + +L. _Gal_. Oh, whata Coward's Guilt! what mean you, Sir? + +Sir _Char_. Mean? why I am obstinately bent to ravish thee, thou +hypocritical Widow, make thee mine by force, that so I have no obligation +to thee, and consequently use thee scurvily with a good Conscience. + +Sir _Anth_. A most delicate Boy! I'll warrant him as lend as the best +of'em, God grant him Life and Health. [Aside. + +L. _Gal_. 'Tis late, and I entreat your absence, Sir: These are my Hours +of Prayer, which this unseasonable Visit has disturb'd. + +Sir _Char_. Prayer! No more of that, Sweetheart; for let me tell you, +your Prayers are heard. A Widow of your Youth and Complexion can be +praying for nothing so late, but a good Husband; and see, Heaven has sent +him just in the crit--critical minute, to supply your Occasions. + +Sir _Anth_. A Wag, an arch Wag; he'll learn to make Lampoons presently. +I'll not give Sixpence from him, though to the poor of the Parish. + +Sir _Char_. Come, Widow, let's to Bed. + [Pulls her, she is angry. + +L. _Gal_. Hold, Sir, you drive the Jest too far; +And I am in no humour now for Mirth. + +Sir _Char_. Jest: Gad, ye lye, I was never in more earnest in all my +Life. + +Sir _Anth_. He's in a heavenly humour, thanks to good Wine, good Counsel, +and good Company. + [_Getting nearer the Door still_. + +L. _Gal_. What mean you, Sir? what can my Woman think to see me treated +thus? + +Sir _Char_. Well thought on! Nay, we'll do things decently, d'ye see-- +Therefore, thou sometimes necessary Utensil, withdraw. + [_Gives her to Sir_ Anth. + +Sir _Anth_. Ay, ay, let me alone to teach her her Duty. + [_Pushes her out, and goes out_. + +L. _Gal_. Stay, Closet, I command ye. +--What have you seen in me shou'd move you to this rudeness? + [_To Sir_ Char. + +Sir _Char_. No frowning; for by this dear Night, 'tis Charity, care of +your Reputation, Widow; and therefore I am resolv'd no body shall lie +with you but my self. You have dangerous Wasps buzzing about your Hive, +Widow--mark that--[_She flings from him_.] Nay, no parting but upon +terms, which, in short, d'ye see, are these: Down on your Knees, and +swear me heartily, as Gad shall judge your Soul, d'ye see, to marry me to +morrow. + +L. _Gal_. To morrow! Oh, I have urgent business then. + +Sir _Char_. So have I. Nay, Gad, an you be for the nearest way to the +Wood, the sober discreet way of loving, I am sorry for ye, look ye. + [_He begins to undress_. + +L. _Gal_. Hold, Sir, what mean you? + +Sir _Char_. Only to go to Bed, that's all. + [_Still undressing_. + +L. _Gal_. Hold, hold, or I'll call out. + +Sir _Char_. Ay, do, call up a Jury of your Female Neighbours, they'll be +for me, d'ye see, bring in the Bill Ignoramus, though I am no very true +blue Protestant neither; therefore dispatch, or-- + +L. _Gal_. Hold, are you mad? I cannot promise you to night. + +Sir _Char_. Well, well, I'll be content with Performance then to night, +and trust you for your Promise till to morrow. + +Sir _Anth_. [_peeping_.] Ah, Rogue! by George, he out-does my +Expectations of him. + +L. _Gal_. What Imposition's this! I'll call for help. + +_Sir. Char_. You need not, you'll do my business better alone. + [_Pulls her_. + +L. _Gal_. What shall I do? how shall I send him hence? [_Aside_. + +Sir _Anth_. He shall ne'er drink small Beer more, that's positive; I'll +burn all's Books too, they have help'd to spoil him; and sick or well, +sound or unsound, Drinking shall be his Diet, and Whoring his Study. + [_Aside, peeping unseen_. + +Sir _Char_. Come, come, no pausing; your Promise, or I'll to Bed. + + [_Offers to pull off his Breeches, having pulled + off almost all the rest of his Clothes_. + +L. _Gal_. What shall I do? here is no Witness near: And to be rid of him +I'll promise him; he'll have forgot it in his sober Passion. [_Aside_. +Hold, I do swear I will-- + [_He fumbling to undo his Breeches_. + +Sir _Char_. What? + +L. _Gal_. Marry you. + +Sir _Char_. When? + +L. _Gal_. Nay, that's too much--Hold, hold, I will to morrow--Now you are +satisfy'd, you will withdraw? + + _Enter Sir_ Anth. _and_ Closet. + +Sir _Anth. Charles_, Joy, _Charles_, give you Joy, here's two substantial +Witnesses. + +_Clos_. I deny it, Sir; I heard no such thing. + +Sir _Anth_. What, what, Mrs. Closet, a Waiting-woman of Honour, and +flinch from her Evidence! Gad, I'll damn thy Soul if thou dar'st swear +what thou say'st. + +L. _Gal_. How, upon the Catch, Sir! am I betray'd? +Base and unkind, is this your humble Love? +Is all your whining come to this, false Man? +By Heaven, I'll be reveng'd. + [_She goes out in a Rage with_ Closet. + +Sir _Char_. Nay, Gad, you're caught, struggle and flounder as you please, +Sweetheart, you'll but intangle more; let me alone to tickle your Gills, +i'faith. [_Looking after her_.--Uncle, get ye home about your Business; +I hope you'll give me the good morrow, as becomes me--I say no more, a +Word to the Wise-- + +Sir _Anth_. By George, thou'rt a brave Fellow; why, I did not think it +had been in thee, Man. Well, adieu; I'll give thee such a good morrow, +_Charles_--the Devil's in him!--'Bye, Charles--a plaguy Rogue!--'night, +Boy--a divine Youth! + + [_Going and returning, as not able to leave him. Exit_. + +Sir _Char_. Gad, I'll not leave her now, till she is mine; +Then keep her so by constant Consummation. +Let Man o' God do his, I'll do my Part, +In spite of all her Fickleness and Art; +There's one sure way to fix a Widow's Heart. + + [_Exit_. + + + +ACT V. + + +SCENE I. _Sir_ Timothy's _House_. + + _Enter_ Dresswell, Foppington, Laboir, _and five or six more + disguised with Wizards and dark Lanthorns_. + +_Fop_. Not yet! a plague of this damn'd Widow: The Devil ow'd him an +unlucky Cast, and has thrown it him to night. + + _Enter_ Wild, _in Rapture and Joy_. + +--Hah, dear _Tom_, art thou come? + +_Wild_. I saw how at her length she lay! I saw her rising Bosom bare! + +_Fop_. A Pox of her rising Bosom! My dear, let's dress and about our +Business. + +_Wild_. Her loose thin Robes, through which appear A Shape design'd for +Love and Play! + +_Dres_. Sheart, Sir, is this a time for Rapture? 'tis almost day. + +_Wild_. Ah, _Frank_, such a dear Night! + +_Dress_. A Pox of Nights, Sir, think of this and the Day to come: which I +perceive you were too well employ'd to remember. + +_Wild_. The Day to come! Death, who cou'd be so dull in such dear Joys, +To think of Time to come, or ought beyond 'em! And had I not been +interrupted by _Charles Meriwill_, who, getting drunk, had Courage enough +to venture on an untimely Visit, I'd had no more power of returning, than +committing Treason: But that conjugal Lover, who will needs be my +Cuckold, made me then give him way, that he might give it me another +time, and so unseen I got off. But come--my Disguise. + [_Dresses_. + +_Dres_. All's still and hush, as if Nature meant to favour our Design. + +_Wild_. 'Tis well: and hark ye, my Friends, I'll prescribe ye no Bounds, +nor Moderation; for I have consider'd, if we modestly take nothing but +the Writings,'twill be easy to suspect the Thief. + +_Fop_. Right; and since 'tis for the securing our Necks, 'tis lawful +Prize--Sirrah, leave the Portmantle here. + [_Exeunt as into the House_. + + _After a small time, Enter_ Jervice _undres'd, crying out, + pursued by some of the Thieves_. + +_Jer_. Murder, Murder! Thieves, Murder! + + _Enter_ Wilding _with his Sword drawn_. + +_Wild_. A plague upon his Throat; set a Gag in's Mouth +and bind him, though he be my Uncle's chief Pimp--so-- + + [_They bind and gag him_. + _Enter_ Dresswell, _and_ Laboir. + +_Dres_. Well, we have bound all within hearing in their Beds, e'er they +cou'd alarm their Fellows by crying out. + +_Wild_. 'Tis well; come, follow me, like a kind Midnight-Ghost, I will +conduct ye to the rich buried Heaps--this Door leads to my Uncle's +Apartment; I know each secret Nook conscious of Treasure. + + [_All go in, leaving_ Jervice _bound on the Stage_. + + _Enter_ Sensure _running half undressed, as from Sir_ Timothy's + _Chamber, with his Velvet-Coat on her Shoulders_. + +_Sen_. Help, help! Murder! Murder! + [Dres. Lab. _and others pursue her_. + +_Dres_. What have we here, a Female bolted from Mr. Alderman's Bed? + [Holding a Lanthorn to his Face. + +_Sen_. Ah, mercy, Sir, alas, I am a Virgin. + +_Dres_. A Virgin! Gad and that may be, for any great Miracles the old +Gentleman can do. + +_Sen_. Do! alas, Sir, I am none of the Wicked. + +_Dres_. That's well--The sanctify'd Jilt professes Innocence, yet has the +Badge of her Occupation about her Neck. + [_Pulls off the Coat_. + +_Sen_. Ah, Misfortune, I have mistook his Worship's Coat for my Gown. + [_A little Book drops out of her Bosom_. + +_Dres_. What have we here? A Sermon preacht by Richard Baxter, Divine. +Gad a mercy, Sweetheart, thou art a hopeful Member of the true Protestant +Cause. + +_Sen_. Alack, how the Saints may be scandaliz'd! I went but to tuck his +Worship up. + +_Dres_. And comment upon the Text a little, which I suppose may be, +increase and multiply--Here, gag, and bind her. + [_Exit_ Dres. + +_Sen_. Hold, hold, I am with Child! + +_Lab_. Then you'll go near to miscarry of a Babe of Grace. + + _Enter_ Wild. Fop. _and others, leading in Sir_ Timothy _in + his Night-gown and Night-Gap_. + +Sir _Tim_. Gentlemen, why, Gentlemen, I beseech you use a Conscience in +what you do, and have a feeling in what you go about--Pity my Age. + +_Wild_. Damn'd beggarly Conscience, and needless Pity-- + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, fearful--But, Gentlemen, what is't you design? is it a +general Massacre, pray? or am I the only Person aim'd at as a Sacrifice +for the Nation? I know, and all the World knows, how many Plots have been +laid against my self, both by Men, Women, and Children, the diabolical +Emissaries of the Pope. + +_Wild_. How, Sirrah! [_Fiercely, he starts_. + +Sir _Tim_. Nay, Gentlemen, not but I love and honour his Holiness with +all my Soul; and if his Grace did but know what I've done for him, d'ye +see-- + +_Fop_. You done for the Pope, Sirrah! Why, what have you done for the +Pope? + +Sir _Tim_. Why, Sir, an't like ye, I have done you very great Service, +very great Service; for I have been, d'ye see, in a small Tryal I had, +the cause and occasion of invalidating the Evidence to that degree, that +I suppose no Jury in Christendom will ever have the Impudence to believe +'em hereafter, shou'd they swear against his Holiness and all the +Conclave of Cardinals. + +_Wild_. And yet you plot on still, cabal, treat, and keep open Debauch, +for all the Renegado-Tories and old Commonwealthsmen to carry on the good +Cause. + +Sir _Tim_. Alas, what signifies that! You know, Gentlemen, that I have +such a strange and natural Agility in turning--I shall whip about yet, +and leave 'em all in the Lurch. + +_Wild_. 'Tis very likely; but at this time we shall not take your Word +for that. + +Sir _Tim_. Bloody-minded Men, are you resolv'd to assassinate me then? + +_Wild_. You trifle, Sir, and know our Business better, than to think we +come to take your Life, which wou'd not advantage a Dog, much less any +Party or Person--Come, come, your Keys, your Keys. + +_Fop_. Ay, ay, discover, discover your Money, Sir, your ready-- + +Sir _Tim_. Money, Sir, good lack, is that all? [_Smiling on 'em_.] +Why, what a Beast was I, not knowing of your coming, to put out all my +Money last Week to Alderman Draw-tooth? Alack, alack, what shift shall I +make now to accommodate you?--But if you please to come again to morrow-- + +_Fop_. A shamming Rogue; the right Sneer and Grin of a dissembling Whig. +Come, come, deliver, Sir; we are for no Rhetorick but ready Money. + [_Aloud and threatning_. + +Sir _Tim_. Hold, I beseech you, Gentlemen, not so loud; for there is a +Lord, a most considerable Person, and a Stranger, honours my House to +night; I wou'd not for the world his Lordship shou'd be disturb'd. + +_Wild_. Take no care for him, he's fast bound and all his Retinue. + +Sir _Tim_. How, bound! my Lord bound, and all his People! Undone, undone, +disgrac'd! What will the Polanders say, that I shou'd expose their +Embassador to this Disrespect and Affront? + +_Wild_. Bind him, and take away his Keys. + + [_They bind him hand and foot, and take his + Keys out of his Bosom. Ex. all_. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, what you please, Gentlemen, since my Lord's bound--Oh, +what Recompence can I make for so unhospitable Usage? I am a most +unfortunate Magistrate: hah, who's there, _Jervice_? Alas, art thou here +too? What, canst not speak? but 'tis no matter and I were dumb too; for +what Speech or Harangue will serve to beg my Pardon of my Lord?--And then +my Heiress, _Jervice_, ay, my rich Heiress, why, she'll be ravisht: Oh +Heavens, ravisht! The young Rogues will have no Mercy, _Jervice_; nay, +perhaps as thou say'st, they'll carry her away.--Oh, that thought! Gad, I +rather the City-Charter were lost. + [_Enter some with Bags of Money_. +--Why, Gentlemen, rob like Christians, Gentlemen. + +_Fop_. What, do you mutter, Dog? + +Sir _Tim_. Not in the least, Sir, not in the least; only a Conscience, +Sir, in all things does well--Barbarous Rogues. + [_They go out all again_.] +Here's your arbitrary Power, _Jervice_; here's the Rule of the Sword now +for you: These are your Tory Rogues, your tantivy Roysters; but we shall +cry quits with you, Rascals, ere long; and if we do come to our old Trade +of Plunder and Sequestration, we shall so handle ye--we'll spare neither +Prince, Peer, nor Prelate. Oh, I long to have a slice at your fat +Church-men, your Crape-Gownorums. + + _Enter_ Wild. Dresswell, Laboir, _and the rest, with more Bags_. + +_Wild_. A Prize, a Prize, my Lads, in ready Guineas; Contribution, my +beloved. + +_Dres_. Nay, then 'tis lawful Prize, in spite of Ignoramus and all his +Tribe--What hast thou here? + [_To_ Fop. _who enters with a Bag full of Papers_. + +_Fop_. A whole Bag of Knavery, damn'd Sedition, Libels, Treason, +Successions, Rights and Privileges, with a new-fashion'd Oath of +Abjuration, call'd the Association.--Ah, Rogue, what will you say when +these shall be made publick? + +Sir _Tim_. Say, Sir? why, I'll deny it, Sir; for what Jury will believe +so wise a Magistrate as I cou'd communicate such Secrets to such as you? +I'll say you forg'd 'em, and put 'em in--or print every one of 'em, and +own 'em, as long as they were writ and publisht in London, Sir. Come, +come, the World is not so bad yet, but a Man may speak Treason within the +Walls of London, thanks be to God, and honest conscientious Jury-Men. And +as for the Money, Gentlemen, take notice you rob the Party. + +_Wild_. Come, come, carry off the Booty, and prithee remove that Rubbish +of the Nation out of the way--Your servant, Sir.--So, away with it to +_Dresswell's_ Lodgings, his Coach is at the Door ready to receive it. + + [_They carry off Sir_ Timothy, _and others take up + the Bags, and go out with 'em_. + +_Dres_. Well, you are sure you have all you came for? + +_Wild_. All's safe, my Lads, the Writings all-- + +_Fop_. Come, let's away then. + +_Wild_. Away? what meanest thou? is there not a Lord to be found bound in +his Bed, and all his People? Come, come, dispatch, and each Man bind his +Fellow. + +_Fop_. We had better follow the Baggage, Captain. + +_Wild_. No, we have not done so ill, but we dare shew our Faces. Come, +come, to binding. + +_Fop_. And who shall bind the last Man? + +_Wild_. Honest Laboir, d'ye hear, Sirrah? you get drunk and lay in your +Clothes under the Hall-Table; d'ye hear me? Look to't, ye Rascal, and +carry things discreetly, or you'll be hang'd, that's certain. + [_Ex_. Wild, _and_ Dres. + +_Fop_. So, now will I i'th' Morning to _Charlot_, and give her such a +Character of her Love, as if she have Resentment, makes her mine. + [_Exit_ Fop. + +Sir _Tim_. [_calls within_.] Ho, Jenkins, Roger, Simon! Where are these +Rogues? none left alive to come to my Assistance? So ho, ho, ho, ho! +Rascals, Sluggards, Drones! so ho, ho, ho! + +_Lab_. So, now's my Cue--and stay, I am not yet sober. + [_Puts himself into a drunken Posture_. + +Sir _Tim_. Dogs, Rogues, none hear me? Fire, fire, fire! + +_Lab_. Water, water, I say; for I am damnable dry. + +Sir _Tim_. Hah, who's there? + +_Lab_. What doleful Voice is that? + +Sir _Tim_. What art thou, Friend or Foe? [_In a doleful Tone_. + +_Lab_. Very direful--why, what the Devil art thou? + +Sir _Tim_. If thou'rt a Friend, approach, approach the wretched. + +_Lab_. Wretched! What art thou, Ghost, Hobgoblin, or walking Spirit? + [_Reeling in with a Lanthorn in's Hand_. + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, neither, neither, but mere Mortal, Sir _Timothy +Treat-all_, robb'd and bound. + [_Coming out led by_ Laboir. + +_Lab_. How, our generous Host! + +Sir _Tim_. How, one of my Lord's Servants! Alas, alas, how cam'st thou to +escape? + +_Lab_. E'en by miracle, Sir; by being drunk, and falling asleep under +the Hall-Table with your Worship's Dog Tory, till just now a Dream of +Small-beer wak'd me: and crawling from my Kennel to secure the black +Jack, I stumbled upon this Lanthorn, which I took for one, till I found a +Candle in't, which helps me to serve your Worship. + [_Goes to unbind his Hands_. + +Sir _Tim_. Hold, hold, I say; for I scorn to be so uncivil to be unbound +before his Lordship: therefore run, Friend, to his Honour's Chamber, for +he, alas, is confined too. + +_Lab_. What, and leave his worthy Friend in distress? by no means, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. Well then, come, let's to my Lord, whom if I be not asham'd to +look in the Face, I am an errant Sarazen. + + [_Exit Sir_ Tim. _and_ Lab. + + +SCENE II. _Changes to_ Wilding's _Chamber_. + + _He is discovered sitting in a Chair bound, his Valet + bound by him; to them Sir_ Timothy _and_ Laboir. + +_Wild_. Peace, Sirrah, for sure I hear some coming--Villains, Rogues! I +care not for my self, but for the good pious Alderman. + [_Sir_ Tim. _as listening_. + +Sir _Tim_. Wonderful Goodness, for me! Alas, my Lord, this sight +will break my Heart. + [_Weeps_. + +_Wild_. Sir _Timothy_ safe! nay, then I do forgive 'em. + +Sir _Tim_. Alas, my Lord, I've heard of your rigid Fate. + +_Wild_. It is my Custom, Sir, to pray an Hour or two in my Chamber, +before I go to Bed; and having pray'd that drousy Slave asleep, the +Thieves broke in upon us unawares, I having laid my Sword aside. + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, Heavens, at his Prayers! damn'd Ruffians, and wou'd they +not stay till you had said your Prayers? + +_Wild_. By no Persuasion--Can you not guess who they shou'd be, Sir? + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, some damn'd Tory-rory Rogues, you may be sure, to rob a +Man at his Prayers! why, what will this World come to? + +_Wild_. Let us not talk, Sir, but pursue 'em. + [_Offering to go_. + +Sir _Tim_. Pursue 'em! alas, they're past our reach by this time. + +_Wild_. Oh, Sir, they are nearer than you imagine: some that know each +Corner of your House, I'll warrant. + +Sir _Tim_. Think ye so, my Lord? ay, this comes of keeping open House; +which makes so many shut up their Doors at Dinner-time. + + _Enter_ Dresswell. + +_Dres_. Good Morrow, Gentlemen! what, was the Devil broke loose to night? + +Sir _Tim_. Only some of his Imps, Sir, saucy Varlets, insupportable +Rascals--But well, my Lord, now I have seen your Lordship at liberty, +I'll leave you to your rest, and go see what Harm this night's Work has +done. + +_Wild_. I have a little Business, Sir, and will take this time to +dispatch it in; my Servants shall to Bed, though 'tis already day--I'll +wait on you at Dinner. + +Sir _Tim_. Your time; my House and all I have is yours; and so I take +my Leave of your Lordship. + [_Ex. Sir_ Tim. + +_Wild_. Now for my angry Maid, the young _Charlot_; +'Twill be a Task to soften her to Peace; +She is all new and gay, young as the Morn, +Blushing as tender Rose-Buds on their Stalks, +Pregnant with Sweets, for the next Sun to ravish. +--Come, thou shalt along with me, I'll trust thy Friendship. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. _Changes to_ Diana's _Chamber_. + + _She is discovered dressing, with_ Betty. + +_Dia_. Methinks I'm up as early as if I had a mind to what I'm going to +do, marry this rich old Coxcomb. + +_Bet_. And you do well to lose no time. + +_Dia_. Ah, Betty, and cou'd thy Prudence prefer an old Husband, because +rich, before so young, so handsom, and so soft a Lover as _Wilding_? + +_Bet_. I know not that, Madam; but I verily believe the way to keep your +young Lover, is to marry this old one: for what Youth and Beauty cannot +purchase, oney and Quality may. + +_Dia_. Ay, but to be oblig'd to lie with such a Beast; ay, there's the +Devil, +_Betty_. Ah, when I find the difference of their Embraces, +The soft dear Arms of _Wilding_ round my Neck. +From those cold feeble ones of this old Dotard; +When I shall meet, instead of _Tom's_ warm kisses, +A hollow Pair of thin blue wither'd Lips, +Trembling with Palsy, stinking with Disease, +By Age and Nature barricado'd up +With a kind Nose and Chin; +What Fancy or what Thought can make my Hours supportable? + +_Bet_. What? why six thousand Pounds a Year, Mistress. He'll quickly die, +and leave you rich, and then do what you please. + +_Dia_. Die! no, he's too temperate--Sure these Whigs, _Betty_, believe +there's no Heaven, they take such care to live so long in this World--No, +he'll out-live me. + [_Sighs_. + +_Bet_. In Grace a God he may be hang'd first, Mistress--Ha, one knocks, +and I believe 'tis he. + [_She goes to open the Door_. + +_Dia_. I cannot bring my Heart to like this Business; One sight of my +dear _Tom_ wou'd turn the Scale. + +_Bet_. Who's there? + + _Enter Sir_ Tim. _joyful_; Dian. _walks away_. + +Sir _Tim_. 'Tis I, impatient I, who with the Sun have welcom'd in the +Day; +This happy Day to be inroll'd +In Rubrick Letters and in Gold. +--Hum, I am profoundly eloquent this Morning. [_Aside_. +--Fair Excellence, I approach-- + [_Going toward her_. + +_Dia_. Like Physick in a Morning next one's Heart; [_Aside_. +Which, though it be necessary, is most filthy loathsom. + [_Going from him_. + +Sir _Tim_. What, do you turn away, bright Sun of Beauty? +--Hum, I'm much upon the Suns and Days this Morning. + +_Dia_. It will not down. + [_Turning on him, looks on him, and turns away_. + +Sir _Tim_. Alas, ye Gods, am I despis'd and scorn'd? +Did I for this ponder upon the Question, +Whether I should be King or Alderman? + [_Heroickly_. + +_Dia_. If I must marry him, give him Patience to endure the Cuckolding, +good Heaven. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Tim_. Heaven! did she name Heaven, Betty? + +_Bet_. I think she did, Sir. + +Sir _Tim_. I do not like that: What need has she to think of Heaven upon +her Wedding-day? + +_Dia_. Marriage is a sort of Hanging, Sir; and I was only making a short +Prayer before Execution. + +Sir _Tim_. Oh, is that all? Come, come, we'll let that alone till we're +abed, that we have nothing else to do. + [_Takes her Hand_. + +_Dia_. Not much, I dare swear. + +Sir _Tim_. And let us, Fair one, haste; the Parson stays; besides, that +heap of Scandal may prevent us--I mean, my Nephew. + +_Dia_. A Pox upon him now for naming _Wilding_. + [_Weeps_. + +Sir _Tim_. How, weep at naming my ungracious Nephew? Nay, then I am +provok'd--Look on this Head, this wise and Reverend Head; I'd have ye +know, it has been taken measure on to fit it to a Crown, d'ye see. + +_Dia_. A Halter rather. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, and it fits it too: and am I slighted, I that shall +receive Billet-Doux from Infanta's? 'tis most uncivil and impolitick. + +_Dia_. I hope he's mad, and then I reign alone. [_Aside_. +Pardon me, Sir, that parting Tear I shed indeed at naming _Wilding_, +Of whom my foolish Heart has now ta'en leave, +And from this Moment is intirely yours. + + [_Gives him her Hand, they go out followed by_ Betty. + + +SCENE IV. _Changes to a Street_. + + _Enter_ Charlot, _led by_ Foppington, _follow'd by Mrs_. Clacket. + +_Char_. Stay, my Heart misgives me, I shall be undone. +--Ah, whither was I going? + [_Pulls her Hand from_ Fop. + +_Fop_. Do, stay till the News arrives that he is married to her that had +his Company to night, my Lady _Galliard_. + +_Char_. Oh! Take heed lest you sin doubly, Sir. + +_Fop_. By Heaven, 'tis true, he past the Night with her. + +_Char_. All night! what cou'd they find to do? + +Mrs. _Clack_. A very proper Question; I'll warrant you they were not +idle, Madam. + +_Char_. Oh, no; they lookt and lov'd and vow'd and lov'd, and swore +eternal Friendship--Haste, haste, and lead me to the Church, the Altar; +I'll put it past my Power to love him more. + +_Fop_. Oh, how you charm me! + [_Takes her by the Hand_. + +_Char_. Yet what art thou? a Stranger to my Heart. Wherefore, ah why, on +what occasion shou'd I? + +Mrs. _Clack_. Acquaintance, 'tis enough, I know him, Madam, and I hope my +Word will be taken for a greater matter in the City: In troth you're +beholden to the Gentleman for marrying you, your Reputation's gone. + +_Char_. How, am I not honest then? + +Mrs. _Clack_. Marry, Heaven forbid! But who that knows you have been a +single Hour in _Wilding's_ Hands, wou'd not swear you have lost your +Maidenhead? And back again I'm sure you dare not go unmarried; that wou'd +be a fine History to be sung to your eternal Fame in a Ballad. + +_Fop_. Right; and you see _Wilding_ has left you for the Widow, to whom +perhaps you'll shortly hear he's married. + +_Char_. Oh, you trifle, Sir; lead on. + + [_They going out, meet Sir_ Anthony _with Musick: they return_. + +Sir _Anth_. Come, come, Gentlemen, this is the House, and this the Window +belonging to my Lady's Bed-chamber: Come, come, let's have some neat, +soft, brisk, languishing, sprightly Air now. + +_Fop_. Old Meriwill--how shall I pass by him! + [_Stand by_. + +Sir _Anth_. So, here's Company too; 'tis very well--Not have the Boy? +I'll warrant this does the Business--Come, come, screw up your +Chitterling. + [_They play_. +--Hold, hold a little--Good morrow, my Lady _Galliard_. +--Give your Ladyship Joy. + +_Char_. What do I hear, my Lady _Galliard_ joy'd? + +_Fop_. How, married her already? + +_Char_. Oh, yes, he has. Lovely and false, hast thou deceiv'd my Faith? + +Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, Heavens, Mr. _Foppington_, she faints.--ah me! + + [_They hold her, Musick plays. + Enter_ Wilding _and_ Dresswell, _disguis'd as before_. + +_Wild_. Ah, Musick at _Galliard's_ Door! + +Sir _Anth_. Good morrow, Sir _Charles Meriwill_: give your Worship and +your fair Lady Joy. + +_Wild_. Hah, Meriwill married the Widow! + +_Dres_. No matter; prithee advance, and mind thy own Affairs. + +_Wild_. Advance, and not inquire the meaning on't! +Bid me not eat, when Appetite invites me; +Not draw, when branded with the Name of Coward; +Nor love, when Youth and Beauty meet my Eyes-- +Hah!-- + [_Sees Sir_ Charles _come into the Balcony undrest_. + +Sir _Char_. Good morrow, Uncle. Gentlemen, I thank ye: Here, drink the +King's Health, with my Royal Master's the Duke. + [_Gives 'em Money_. + +_Fid_. Heaven bless your Honour, and your virtuous Bride. + +_Fop. Wilding_! undone. + [_Shelters_ Charlot, _that she may not see_ Wilding. + +_Wild_. Death and the Devil, Meriwill above! + +Sir _Anth_. Ah, the Boy's Rival here! By George, here may be breathing +this Morning--No matter, here's two to two; come, Gentlemen, you must in. + [_Thrusts the Musick in, and goes in_. + +_Dres_. Is't not what you expected? nay, what you wisht? + +_Wild_. What then? it comes too suddenly upon me-- +E'er my last Kiss was cold upon her Lips, +Before the pantings of her Breast were laid, +Rais'd by her joys with me; Oh, damn'd deluding Woman! + +_Dres_. Be wise, and do not ruin where you love. + +_Wild_. Nay, if thou com'st to reasoning, thou hast lost me. + [_Breaks from him, and runs in_. + +_Char_. I say 'twas _Wilding's_ Voice, and I will follow it. + +_Fop_. How, Madam, wou'd you after him? + +_Char_. Nay, force me not; by Heaven, I'll cry a Rape, +Unless you let me go--Not after him! +Yes, to the infernal Shades--Unhand me, Sir. + +_Fop_. How, Madam, have you then design'd my Ruin? + +_Char_. Oh, trust me, Sir, I am a Maid of Honour. + [_Runs in after_ Wild. + +Mrs. _Clack_. So; a Murrain of your Projects, we're all undone now: For +my part I'll e'en after her, and deny to have any hand in the Business. + [_Goes in_. + +_Fop_. Damn all ill Luck, was ever Man thus Fortune-bit, that he shou'd +cross my Hopes just in the nick? But shall I lose her thus? No, Gad, I'll +after her; and come the worst, I have an Impudence shall out-face a +Middlesex Jury, and out-swear a Discoverer. + [_Goes in_. + + +SCENE V. _Changes to a Chamber_. + + _Enter Lady_ Galliard, _pursued by Sir_ Charles, _and Footman_. + +L. _Gal_. Sirrah, run to my Lord Mayor's, and require some of his +Officers to assist me instantly; and d'ye hear, Rascal, bar up my Doors, +and let none of his mad Crew enter. + [_To the Footman who is going_. + +Sir _Char_. William, you may stay, William. + +L. _Gal_. I say, obey me, Sirrah. + +Sir _Char_. Sirrah, I say--know your Lord and Master. + +_Will_. I shall, Sir. [_Goes out_. + +L. _Gal_. Was ever Woman teaz'd thus? pursue me not. + +Sir _Char_. You are mistaken, I'm disobedient grown, +Since we became one Family; and when +I've us'd you thus a Week or two, you will +Grow weary of this peevish fooling. + +L. _Gal_. Malicious thing, I wo'not, I am resolv'd I'll tire thee out +merely in spite, to have the better of thee. + +Sir _Char_. I'm as resolv'd as you, and do your worst, +For I'm resolv'd never to quit thy House. + +L. _Gal_. But, Malice, there are Officers i'th' City, that will not see +me us'd thus, and will be here anon. + +Sir _Char_. Magistrates! why, they shall be welcome, if they be honest +and loyal; if not, they may be hang'd in Heaven's good time. + +L. _Gal_. Are you resolv'd to be thus obstinate? Fully resolv'd to make +this way your Conquest? + +Sir _Char_. Most certainly, I'll keep you honest to your Word, my Dear-- +I've Witness-- + +L. _Gal_. You will? + +Sir _Char_. You'll find it so. + +L. _Gal_. Then know, if thou darest marry me, I will so plague thee, be +so reveng'd for all those Tricks thou hast play'd me-- +Dost thou not dread the Vengeance Wives can take? + +Sir _Char_. Not at all: I'll trust thy Stock of Beauty with thy Wit. + +L. _Gal_. Death, I will cuckold thee. + +Sir _Char_. Why, then I shall be free o'th' Reverend City. + +L. _Gal_. Then I will game without cessation, till I've undone thee. + +Sir _Char_. Do, that all the Fops of empty Heads and Pockets may know +where to be sure of a Cully; and may they rook ye till ye lose, and fret, +and chafe, and rail those youthful Eyes to sinking; watch your fair Face +to pale and withered Leanness. + +L. _Gal_. Then I will never let thee bed with me, but when I please. + +Sir _Char_. For that, see who'll petition first, and then I'll change for +new ones every Night. + + _Enter_ William. + +_Will_. Madam, here's Mr. _Wilding_ at the Door, and will not be deny'd +seeing you. + +L. _Gal_. Hah, _Wilding_! Oh, my eternal Shame! Now thou hast done thy +worst. + +Sir _Char_. Now for a Struggle 'twixt your Love and Honour! +--Yes, here's the Bar to all my Happiness, +You wou'd be left to the wide World and Love, +To Infamy, to Scandal, and to _Wilding_; +But I have too much Honour in my Passion, +To let you loose to ruin: Consider and be wise. + +L. _Gal_. Oh, he has toucht my Heart too sensibly. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Anth_. [_within_.] As far as good Manners goes I'm yours; +But when you press indecently to Ladies Chambers, civil +Questions ought to askt, I take it, Sir. + +L. _Gal_. To find him here, will make him mad with Jealousy, and in the +Fit he'll utter all he knows: Oh, Guilt, what art thou! [_Aside_. + + _Enter Sir_ Anth. Wild, _and_ Dres. + +_Dres_. Prithee, dear _Wilding_, moderate thy Passion. + +_Wild_. By Heaven, I will; she shall not have the Pleasure to see I am +concern'd--Morrow, Widow; you are early up, you mean to thrive, I see, +you're like a Mill that grinds with every Wind. + +Sir _Char_. Hah, _Wilding_, this that past last Night at Sir Timothy's +for a Man of Quality? Oh, give him way, _Wilding's_ my Friend, my Dear, +and now I'm sure I have the Advantage of him in my Love. I can forgive a +hasty Word or two. + +_Wild_. I thank thee, _Charles_--what, you are married then? + +L. _Gal_. I hope you've no Exception to my Choice. + [_Scornfully_. + +_Wild_. False Woman, dost thou glory in thy Perfidy? + [_To her aside angrily_. +--Yes, Faith, I've many Exceptions to him-- + [_Aloud_. +Had you lov'd me, you'd pitcht upon a Blockhead, +Some spruce gay Fool of Fortune, and no more, +Who would have taken so much Care of his own ill-favour'd Person, +He shou'd have had no time to have minded yours, +But left it to the Care of some fond longing Lover. + +L. _Gal_. Death, he will tell him all! [_Aside_.] Oh, you are merry, Sir. + +_Wild_. No, but thou art wondrous false, +False as the Love and Joys you feign'd last Night. + [_In a soft Tone aside to her_. + +L. _Gal_. Oh, Sir, be tender of those treacherous Minutes. + [_Softly to him_. +--If this be all you have to say to me-- + [_Walking away, and speaking loud_. + +_Wild_. Faith, Madam, you have us'd me scurvily, +To marry, and not give me notice. + [_Aloud_. +--Curse on thee, did I only blow the Fire +To warm another Lover? + [To her softly aside. + +L. _Gal_. Perjur'd--was't not by your Advice I married? +--Oh, where was then your Love? + [_Softly to him aside_. + +_Wild_. So soon did I advise? +Didst thou invite me to the Feast of Love, +To snatch away my Joys as soon as tasted? +Ah, where was then you Modesty and Sense of Honour? + [_Aside to her in a low Tone_. + +L. _Gal_. Ay, where indeed, when you so quickly vanquisht? [_Soft_. +--But you, I find, are come prepared to rail. [_Aloud_. + +_Wild_. No, 'twas with thee to make my last Effort against your scorn. + [_Shews her the Writings_. +And this I hop'd, when all my Vows and Love, +When all my Languishments cou'd nought avail, +Had made ye mine for ever. + [_Aloud_. + + _Enter Sir_ Anthony, _pulling in Sir_ Tim. _and_ Diana. + +Sir _Anth_. Morrow, _Charles_; Morrow to your Ladyship: _Charles_, bid +Sir _Timothy_ welcome; I met him luckily at the Door, and am resolv'd +none of my Friends shall pass this joyful Day without giving thee Joy, +_Charles_, and drinking my Lady's Health. + +_Wild_. Hah, my Uncle here so early? [_Aside_. + +Sir _Tim_. What, has your Ladyship serv'd me so? How finely I had been +mump'd now, if I had not took Heart of Grace, and shew'd your Ladyship +Trick for Trick? for I have been this Morning about some such Business of +Life too, Gentlemen: I am married to this fair Lady, the Daughter and +Heiress of Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, Knight and Alderman. + +_Wild_. Ha, married to _Diana_! How fickle is the Faith of common Women! + [_Aside_. + +Sir _Tim_. Hum, who's here, my Lord? What, I see your Lordship has found +the way already to the fair Ladies; but I hope your Lordship will do my +Wedding-dinner the Honour to grace it with your Presence. + +_Wild_. I shall not fail, Sir. A Pox upon him, he'll discover all. + [_Aside_. + +L. _Gal_. I must own, Sir Timothy, you have made the better Choice. + +Sir _Tim_. I cou'd not help my Destiny; Marriages are made in Heaven, you +know. + + _Enter_ Charlot _weeping, and_ Clacket. + +_Charl_. Stand off, and let me loose as are my Griefs, +Which can no more be bounded: Oh, let me face +The perjur'd, false, forsworn! + +L. _Gal_. Fair Creature, who is't that you seek with so much Sorrow? + +_Charl_. Thou, thou fatally fair Inchantress. + [_Weeps_. + +_Wild. Charlot_! Nay, then I am discover'd. + +L. _Gal_. Alas, what wou'dst thou? + +_Charl_. That which I cannot have, thy faithless Husband. +Be Judge, ye everlasting Powers of Love, +Whether he more belongs to her or me. + +Sir _Anth_. How, my Nephew claim'd! Why, how now, Sirrah, have you been +dabling here? + +Sir _Char_. By Heaven, I know her not.--Hark ye, Widow, this is some +Trick of yours, and 'twas well laid: and Gad, she's so pretty, I cou'd +find in my Heart to take her at her word. + +L. _Gal_. Vile Man, this will not pass your Falshood off. +Sure, 'tis some Art to make me jealous of him, +To find how much I value him. + +Sir _Char_. Death, I'll have the Forgery out;--Tell me, thou pretty +weeping Hypocrite, who was it set thee on to lay a Claim to me? + +_Charl_. To you! Alas, who are you? for till this moment I never saw your +Face. + +L. _Gal_. Mad as the Seas when all the Winds are raging. + +Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, Madam, stark mad! Poor Soul--Neighbour, pray let her +lie i'th' dark, d'ye hear. + +Sir _Char_. How came you, pretty one, to lose your Wits thus? + +_Charl_. With loving, Sir, strongly, with too much loving. +--Will you not let me see the lovely false one? [_To L_. Gal. +For I am told you have his Heart in keeping. + +L. Gal_. Who is he? pray describe him. + +_Charl_. A thing just like a Man, or rather Angel! +He speaks, and looks, and loves, like any God! +All fine and gay, all manly, and all sweet: +And when he swears he loves, you wou'd swear too +That all his Oaths were true. + +Sir _Anth_. Who is she? some one who knows her and is wiser, speak--you, +Mistress. [_To_ Clacket. + +Mrs. _Clack_. Since I must speak, there comes the Man of Mischief: +'Tis you, I mean, for all your Leering, Sir. [_To_ Wild. + +_Wild_. So. + +Sir _Tim_. What, my Lord? + +Mrs. _Clack_. I never knew your Nephew was a Lord: +Has his Honour made him forget his Honesty? + + [Charlot. _runs, and catches him in her Arms_. + +_Charl_. I have thee, and I'll die thus grasping thee; +Thou art my own, no Power shall take thee from me. + +_Wild_. Never; thou truest of thy Sex, and dearest, +Thou soft, thou kind, thou constant Sufferer, +This moment end thy Fears; for I am thine. + +_Charl_. May I believe thou art not married then? + +_Wild_. How can I, when I'm yours? +How cou'd I, when I love thee more than Life? +Now, Madam, I am reveng'd on all your Scorn, [_To L_. Galliard. +--And, Uncle, all your Cruelty. + +Sir _Tim_. Why, what, are you indeed my Nephew Thomas? + +_Wild_. I am _Tom Wilding_, Sir, that once bore some such Title, till you +discarded me, and left me to live upon my Wits. + +Sir _Tim_. What, and are you no Polish Embassador then incognito? + +_Wild_. No, Sir, nor you no King Elect, but must e'en remain as you were +ever, Sir, a most seditious pestilent old Knave; one that deludes the +Rabble with your Politicks, then leaves 'em to be hang'd, as they +deserve, for silly mutinous Rebels. + +Sir _Tim_. I'll peach the Rogue, and then he'll be hang'd in course, +because he's a Tory. One comfort is, I have cozen'd him of his rich +Heiress; for I'm married, Sir, to Mrs. _Charlot_. + +_Wild_. Rather _Diana_, Sir; I wish you Joy: See here's _Charlot_. I was +not such a Fool to trust such Blessings with the Wicked. + +_Sir Charl_. How, Mrs. Dy Ladyfi'd! This is an excellent way of disposing +an old cast-off Mistress. + +Sir _Tim_. How, have I married a Strumpet then? + +_Dia_. You give your Nephew's Mistress, Sir, too coarse a Name. 'Tis +true, I lov'd him, only him, and was true to him. + +Sir _Tim_. Undone, undone! I shall ne'er make Guildhall-Speech more: but +he shall hang for't, if there be e'er a Witness to be had between this +and Salamanca for Money. + +_Wild_. Do your worst, Sir; Witnesses are out of fashion now, Sir, thanks +to your Ignoramus Juries. + +Sir _Tim_. Then I'm resolv'd to disinherit him. + +_Wild_. See, Sir, that's past your Skill too, thanks to my last Night's +Ingenuity; they're [shews him the Writings.] sign'd, seal'd, and +deliver'd in the presence of, &c. + +Sir _Tim_. Bear Witness, 'twas he that rob'd me last night. + +Sir _Anth_. We bear witness, Sir, we know of no such matter we. I thank +you for that, Sir; wou'd you make Witnesses of Gentlemen? + +Sir _Tim_. No matter for that, I'll have him hang'd, nay, drawn and +quarter'd. + +_Wild_. What, for obeying your Commands, and living on my Wits? + +Sir _Anth_. Nay, then 'tis a clear Case, you can neither hang him or +blame him. + +_Wild_. I'll propose fairly now; if you'll be generous and pardon all, +I'll render your Estate back during Life, and put the Writings in Sir +Anthony Meriwill's and Sir _Charles_ his Hands--I have a Fortune here +that will maintain me, Without so much as wishing for your Death. + +_All_. This is but Reason. + +_Sir Charl_. With this Proviso, that he makes not use on't to promote any +Mischief to the King and Government. + +_All_. Good and Just. [_Sir_ Tim. _pauses_. + +Sir _Tim_. Hum, I'd as good quietly agree to't, as lose my Credit by +making a Noise.--Well, _Tom_, I pardon all, and will be Friends. + [Gives him his Hand. + +_Sir Charl_. See, my dear Creature, even this hard old Man is mollify'd +at last into good Nature; yet you'll still be cruel. + +L. _Gal_. No, your unwearied Love at last has vanquisht me. Here, be as +happy as a Wife can make ye--One last look more, and then--be gone, fond +Love. + + [_Sighing and looking on_ Wilding, _giving Sir_ Charles _her Hand_. + +_Sir Charl_. Come, Sir, you must receive _Diana_ too; she is a cheerful +witty Girl, and handsome, one that will be a Comfort to your Age, and +bring no Scandal home. Live peaceably, and do not trouble your decrepid +Age with Business of State. + + Let all things in their own due Order move, + Let Caesar be the Kingdom's Care and Love; + Let the hot-headed Mutineers petition, + And meddle in the Rights of just Succession: + But may all honest Hearts as one agree + To bless the King, and Royal Albany. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +EPILOGUE. + +Written by a Person of Quality: Spoken by Mrs. _Boteler_. + + +_My Plot, I fear, will take but with a few, +A rich young Heiress to her first Lover true! +'Tis damn'd unnatural, and past enduring, +Against the fundamental Laws of Whoring. +Marrying's the Mask, which Modesty assures, +Helps to get new, and covers old Amours; +And Husband sounds so dull to a Town-Bride, +Ye now-a-days condemn him e'er he's try'd; +E'er in his Office he's confirmed Possessor, +Like Trincaloes you chuse him a Successor, +In the gay Spring of Love, when free from Doubts, +With early Shoots his Velvet Forehead sprouts, +Like a poor Parson bound to hard Indentures, +You make him pay his First-fruits e'er he enters. +But for short Carnivals of stain good Cheer, +You're after forc'd to keep Lent all the Year; +Till brought at last to a starving Nun's Condition, +You break into our Quarters for Provision; +Invade Fop-corner with your glaring Beauties, +And 'tice our Loyal Subjects from their Duties. +Pray, Ladies, leave that Province to our Care; +A Fool is the Fee-simple of a Player, +In which we Women claim a double share. +In other things the Men are Rulers made; +But catching Woodcocks is our proper Trade. +If by Stage-Fops they a poor Living get, +We can grow rich, thanks to our Mother-Wit, +By the more natural Blockheads of the Pit. +Take then the Wits, and all their useless Prattles; +But as for Fools, they are our Goods and Chattels. +Return, Ingrates, to your first Haunt the Stage; +We taught your Youth, and helped your feeble Age. +What is't you see in Quality we want? +What can they give you which we cannot grant? +We have their Pride, their Frolicks, and their Paint. +We feel the same Touth dancing in our Blood; +Our Dress as gay--All underneath as good. +Most Men have found us hitherto more true, +And if we're not abus'd by some of you, +We're full as fair--perhaps as wholesom too. +But if at best our hopeful Sport and Trade is, +And nothing now will serve you but great Ladies; +May question'd Marriages your Fortune be, +And Lawyers drain your Pockets more than we: +May Judges puzzle a clear Case with Laws, +And Musquetoon at last decide the Cause_. + + + + +THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; OR, A NIGHT'S INTRIGUE. + + + +ARGUMENT. + + +Marcella and Cornelia, nieces to Count Morosini and sisters to Julio, who +is contracted to Laura Lucretia, a lady of quality, sister of Count +Octavio, in order to avoid Marcella's marriage with this nobleman, +secretly leave Viterbo where they live, and accompanied only by their +attendants, Petro and Philippa, come to Rome, and there pass for +courtezans under the names of Euphemia and Silvianetta. Their beauty wins +them great renown in the gay world, and Sir Harry Fillamour, who loves +Marcella, and Frank Galliard, two English travellers, are keenly +attracted by this reputation. Sir Harry, however, is anxious for +matrimony, Galliard for an intrigue. Marcella in her turn is already +enamoured of Fillamour whom she has met at Viterbo. Morosini and Octavio +follow the fugitives to Rome, whilst Laura Lucretia, who loves Galliard, +disguises herself in male attire and takes a house on the Corso next door +to the supposed courtezans. Fillamour and Galliard encounter the two +ladies in the gardens of the Villa Medici, and Fillamour takes Marcella +for a courtezan, whilst Galliard engages with Cornelia. Octavio passing +with his followers spies and attacks his rival. A general mêlée ensues. +Julio, who has not seen his family for seven years, next appears, having +taken Cornelia for a cyprian and followed her from St. Peter's. Marcella, +in boy's attire, then gives Fillamour a letter from herself, signed under +her own name, making an appointment for that night; but at the same time +Galliard, claiming a former promise, drags his friend off to visit +Euphemia. The intrigue is complicated by the ridiculous amours of two +foolish travellers, Sir Signal Buffoon and Mr. Tickletext, a puritan +divine, his tutor. These, unknown to each other, make assignations with +the two bona robas by means of Petro, who dupes them thoroughly by his +clever tricks, and pockets their money. Whilst Galliard and Sir Harry are +serenading the ladies, Octavio, Julio and their bravos attack them. After +the scuffle Laura Lucretia coming from her house leads in Julio, +mistaking him for Galliard, and he her for Silvianetta. Next Sir Harry +and Galliard arrive in safety at the sisters' house, and Marcella, as a +courtezan, tempts her lover, who, however, refuses to yield and leaves +her, to her secret joy. Tickletext has been placed by Petro in bed to +await, as he supposes, Silvianetta, when Galliard in error entering the +room in the dark gropes his way to the bed and finding a man, closes with +him. The tutor escapes, and Cornelia coming in in the course of her +wooing by Galliard informs him she is not really a courtezan as he +supposed. In anger her gallant departs. Whilst he is telling Sir Harry +this tale Cornelia, dressed as a page, follows him and delivers Fillamour +a challenge as from Marcella's brother, Julio, summoning him to the +Piazza di Spagna. Julio himself, newly come from Laura Lucretia, meeting +Galliard relates to him how he passed the night with Silvianetta, which +confirms the opinion the Englishman had already formed of her treachery +and deceit. Laura Lucretia overhears and sends her maid to bring her +Galliard; but whilst he is with her, Cornelia, who has jealously +followed, feigning to be Julio's page, gives the amorous dame a letter as +from her betrothed. The trick fails, Cornelia is laughed at as a saucy +lad, repulsed and obliged to retire. Sir Harry is then met by Marcella +dressed as a man and calling herself Julio. Julio himself happens to be +at the Piazza di Spagna and he interrupts the quarrel. Octavio and +Morosini speedily join him, as Crapine has tracked the runaways to their +lodging. All these hurry into the courtezans' house, where they find +Fillamour and Galliard. Mutual explanations follow. Octavio nobly +renounces Marcella in favour of Fillamour who claims her hand, whilst +Cornelia gives herself to Galliard in sober wedlock. Tickletext and Sir +Signal are then discovered to be concealed in the room, and their mutual +frailties exposed. It is promised that the money of which Petro has +choused them shall be restored, and everything is forgiven, since "'twas +but one night's intrigue, in which all were a little faulty." + + + +SOURCE. + + +The plot of _The Feign'd Curfezans_; or, _A Night's Intrigue_ is wholly +original. It is one of those bustling pieces, quick with complicated +intrigue, of the Spanish _comedias de capa y espada_ school, which Mrs. +Behn loved, and which none could present more happily or wittily than +she. To quote the _Biographia Dramatics_, 'the play contains a vast deal +of business and intrigue; the contrivance of the two ladies to obtain +their differently disposed lovers, both by the same means, viz. by +assuming the characters of courtezans, being productive of great +variety.' Some incidents, indeed, recall _The Rover_; and the accident of +Tickletext being discovered in bed by Galliard is similar to that when +Carlo comes upon Fetherfool in the same circumstance, _Rover_ II, Act iv, +iv. On the whole, however, _The Feign'd Curtezans_ is the better play, +and may not unjustly claim to be, if not Mrs. Behn's masterpiece (a title +it disputes with _The Rover_, Part I, and _The Lucky Chance_), at least +one of the very best and wittiest of her sparkling comedies. + + + +THEATRICAL HISTORY. + + +_The Feign'd Curtezans_; or, _A Night's Intrigue_ was produced at the +Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in 1679. The cast was a star one, and +Downes remarks that it was 'well acted'; but though favourably received +it does not, for some unaccountable reason, seem to have met with the +triumphant success it certainly deserved. It continued to be played from +time to time, and there was a notable revival on 8 August, 1716, at +Lincoln's Inn Fields. Galliard was acted by J. Leigh; Sir Harry, Smith; +Sir Signal, Bullock; Tickletext, Griffin; Pedro, Spiller; Julio, Bull +jun. Cornelia, Mrs. Cross; Marcella, Mrs. Thurmond; Laura Lucretia, Mrs. +Spiller. It was performed three times that season, but soon after +disappears from the repertory. + + + +TO MRS. ELLEN GUIN. + + +Madam, + +'Tis no wonder that hitherto I followed not the good example of the +believing Poets, since less faith and zeal then you alone can inspire, +had wanted power to have reduc't me to the true worship: Your permission, +_Madam_, has inlightened me, and I with shame look back on my past +Ignorance, which suffered me not to pay an Adoration long since, where +there was so very much due, yet even now though secure in my opinion, I +make this Sacrifice with infinite fear and trembling, well knowing that +so Excellent and perfect a Creature as your self differs only from the +Divine powers in this; the Offerings made to you ought to be worthy of +you, whilst they accept the will alone; and how Madam, would your Altars +be loaded, if like heaven you gave permission to all that had a will and +desire to approach 'em who now at distance can only wish and admire, +which all mankinde agree to do; as if Madam, you alone had the pattent +from heaven to ingross all hearts and even those distant slaves whom you +conquer with your fame, pay an equall tribute to those that have the +blessing of being wounded by your Eyes, and boast the happiness of +beholding you dayly; insomuch that succeeding ages who shall with joy +survey your History shall Envy us who lived in this, and saw those +charming wonders which they can only reade of, and whom we ought in +charity to pity, since all the Pictures, pens or pencills can draw, will +give 'em but a faint Idea of what we have the honour to see in such +absolute Perfection; they can only guess She was infinitely fair, witty, +and deserving, but to what Vast degrees in all, they can only Judge who +liv'd to Gaze and Listen; for besides Madam, all the Charms and +attractions and powers of your Sex, you have Beauties peculiar to your +self, an eternal sweetness, youth and ayr, which never dwelt in any face +but yours, of which not one unimitable Grace could be ever borrow'd, or +assumed, though with never so much industry, to adorn another, they +cannot steal a look or smile from you to inhance their own beauties +price, but all the world will know it yours; so natural and so fitted are +all your Charms and Excellencies to one another, so intirely design'd and +created to make up in you alone the most perfect lovely thing in the +world; you never appear but you glad the hearts of all that have the +happy fortune to see you, as if you were made on purpose to put the whole +world into good Humour, whenever you look abroad, and when you speak, men +crowd to listen with that awfull reverence as to Holy Oracles or Divine +Prophesies, and bears away the precious words to tell at home to all the +attentive family the Graceful things you utter'd and cry, _but oh she +spoke with such an Ayr, so gay, that half the beauty's lost in the +repetition_. 'Tis this that ought to make your Sex vain enough to despise +the malicious world that will allow a woman no wit, and bless our selves +for living in an Age that can produce so wondrous an argument as your +undeniable self, to shame those boasting talkers who are Judges of +nothing but faults. + +But how much in vain Madam, I endeavour to tell you the sence of all +mankinde with mine, since to the utmost Limits of the Universe your +mighty Conquests are made known: And who can doubt the Power of that +Illustrious Beauty, the Charms of that tongue, and the greatness of that +minde, who has subdu'd the most powerfull and Glorious Monarch of the +world: And so well you bear the honours you were born for, with a +greatness so unaffected, an affability so easie, an Humour so soft, so +far from Pride or Vanity, that the most Envious & most disaffected can +finde no cause or reason to wish you less, Nor can Heaven give you more, +who has exprest a particular care of you every way, and above all in +bestowing on the world and you, two noble Branches, who have all the +greatness and sweetness of their Royal and beautiful stock; and who give +us too a hopeful Prospect of what their future Braveries will perform, +when they shall shoot up and spread themselves to that degree, that all +the lesser world may finde repose beneath their shades; and whom you have +permitted to wear those glorious Titles which you your self Generously +neglected, well knowing with the noble Poet; 'tis better far to merit +Titles then to wear 'em. + +Can you then blame my Ambition, Madam, that lays this at your feet, and +begs a Sanctuary where all pay so great a Veneration? 'twas Dedicated +yours before it had a being, and overbusy to render it worthy of the +Honour, made it less grateful; and Poetry like Lovers often fares the +worse by taking too much pains to please; but under so Gracious an +Influence my tender Lawrells may thrive, till they become fit Wreaths to +offer to the Rays that improve their Growth: which Madam, I humbly +implore, you still permit her ever to do, who is, + + Madam, + Your most Humble, + and most Obedient Servant, + _A. Behn_. + + + + +THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; or, A Night's Intrigue. + + + +PROLOGUE, + +Spoken by Mrs. _Currer_. + + +_The Devil take this cursed plotting Age, +'T has ruin'd all our Plots upon the Stage; +Suspicions, New Elections, Jealousies, +Fresh Informations, New Discoveries, +Do so employ the busy fearful Town, +Our honest Calling here is useless grown: +Each Fool turns Politician now, and wears +A formal Face, and talks of State-affairs; +Makes Acts, Decrees, and a new Model draws +For Regulation both of Church and Laws; +Tires out his empty Noddle to invent +What Rule and Method's best in Government: +But Wit, as if 'twere Jesuitical, +Is an Abomination to ye all. +To what a wretched pass will poor Plays come? +This must be damn'd, the Plot is laid in_ Rome; +_'Tis hard--yet-- +Not one amongst ye all I'll undertake, +E'er thought that we should suffer for Religion's sake: +Who wou'd have thought that wou'd have been th' occasion +Of any contest in our hopeful Nation? +For my own Principles, faith let me tell ye, +I'm still of the Religion of my Cully; +And till these dangerous times they'd none to fix on, +But now are something in mere Contradiction, +And piously pretend these are not days, +For keeping Mistresses, and seeing Plays: +Who says this Age a Reformation wants, +When_ Betty Currer's _Lovers all turns Saints? +In vain, alas, I flatter, swear, and vow, +You'll scarce do any thing for Charity now: +Yet I am handsom still, still young and mad, +Can wheedle, lye, dissemble, jilt--egad, +As well and artfully as e'er I did; +Yet not one Conquest can I gain or hope, +No Prentice, not a Foreman of a Shop, +So that I want extremely new Supplies; +Of my last Coxcomb, faith, these were the Prize; +And by the tatter'd Ensigns you may know, +These Spoils were of a Victory long ago: +Who wou'd have thought such hellish Times to have seen, +When I shou'd be neglected at Eighteen? +That Youth and Beauty shou'd be quite undone, +A Pox upon the Whore of_ Babylon. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + +_ITALIANS_. + +_Morosini_, an old Count, Uncle to _Julio_. Mr. _Norris_. +_Julio_, his Nephew, a young Count, contracted to + _Laura Lucretia_. Mr. _Crosby_. +_Octavio_ a young Count, contracted to _Marcella_, + deformed, revengeful. Mr. _Gillo_. +_Crapine_, _Morosini's_ Man. +_Petro_, supposed Pimp to the two Curtezans. Mr. _Leigh_. +_Silvio_, Page to _Laura Lucretia_. +_Antonio_, an Attendant to _Laura Lucretia_. +Page to _Julio_. + +_ENGLISH_. + +Sir _Harry Fillamour_, in love with _Marcella. Mr. _Smith_. +Mr. _Galliard_, in love with _Cornelia_. Mr. _Betterton_. +Sir _Signal Buffoon_, a Fool. Mr. _Nokes_. +Mr. _Tickletext_, his Governour. Mr. _Underbill_. +_Jack_, Sir _Signal's_ Man. +Page to _Fillamour_. + +WOMEN. + +Laura Lucretia_, a young Lady of Quality, contracted + to _Julio_, in love with _Galliard_, and + Sister to _Octavio_. Mrs. _Lee_. +_Marcella_, Mrs. _Currer_. + and +_Cornelia_, Mrs. _Barry_. + Sisters to _Julio_, and Nieces to _Morosini_, + and pass for Curtezans by the names of + _Euphemia_ and _Silvianetta_. +_Philippa_, their Woman. Mrs. _Norris_. +_Sabina_, Confident to _Laura Lucretia_. Mrs. _Seymour_. + +Pages, Musick, Footmen, and Bravos. + +SCENE, _Rome_. + + + +ACT I. + + +SCENE I. _A Street_. + + _Enter_ Laura Lucretia, _and_ Silvio _richly drest_; + Antonio _attending, coming all in haste_. + +_Sil_. Madam, you need not make such haste away, the Stranger that +follow'd us from St. _Peter's_ Church pursues us no longer, and we have +now lost sight of him: Lord, who wou'd have thought the approach of a +handsome Cavalier should have possest _Donna Laura Lucretia_ with fear? + +_Lau_. I do not fear, my _Silvio_, but I wou'd have this new Habitation +which I have design'd for Love, known to none but him to whom I've +destin'd my Heart:--ah, wou'd he knew the Conquest he has made, + [_Aside_.] +Nor went I this Evening to Church with any other Devotion, but +that which warms my heart for my young _English_ Cavalier, whom I hop'd to +have seen there; and I must find some way to let him know my Passion, +which is too high for Souls like mine to hide. + +_Sil_. Madam, the Cavalier's in view again, and hot in the pursuit. + +_Lau_. Let's haste away then; and, _Silvio_, do you lag behind, 'twill +give him an opportunity of enquiring, whilst I get out of sight.--Be sure +you conceal my Name and Quality, and tell him--any thing but truth--tell +him I am _La Silvianetta_, the young Roman Curtezan, or what you please +to hide me from his knowledge. + + [_Exeunt_ Lau. _and_ Ant. + + _Enter_ Julio _and Page in pursuit_. + +_Jul_. Boy, fall you into discourse with that Page, and learn his Lady's +Name--whilst I pursue her farther. + [_Ex_. Jul. + + [_Page salutes_ Silvio, _who returns it; they go out as + talking to each other_. + + _Enter Sir_ Harry Fillamour _and_ Galliard. + +_Fil_. He follows her close, whoe'er they be: I see this trade of Love +goes forward still. + +_Gal_. And will whilst there's difference in Sexes. But, _Harry_, the +Women, the delicate Women I was speaking of? + +_Fil_. Prithee tell me no more of thy fine Women, _Frank_; thou hast not +been in _Rome_ above a Month, and thou'ast been a dozen times in love, as +thou call's! it; to me there is no pleasure like Constancy. + +_Gal_. Constancy! and wou'dst thou have me one of those dull Lovers, who +believe it their Duty to love a Woman 'till her Hair and Eyes change +Colour, for fear of the scandalous Name of an Inconstant? No, my Passion, +like great Victors, hates the lazy stay; but having vanquisht, prepares +for new Conquests. + +_Fil_. Which you gain as they do Towns by Fire, lose 'em even in the +taking; thou wo't grow penitent, and weary of these dangerous Follys. + +_Gal_. But I am yet too young for both: Let old Age and Infirmity bring +Repentance,--there's her feeble Province, and even then too we find no +plague like being deprived of dear Woman-kind. + +_Fil_. I hate playing about a Flame that will consume me. + +_Gal_. Away with your antiquated Notions, and let's once hear sense from +thee: Examine but the whole World, _Harry_, and thou wilt find a +beautiful Woman the Desire of the noblest, and the Reward of the bravest. + +_Fil_. And the common Prize of Coxcombs: Times are alter'd now, _Frank_; +why else shou'd the Virtuous be cornuted, the Coward be caress'd, the +Villain roll with six, and the Fool lie with her Ladyship? + +_Gal_. Mere accident, Sir; and the kindness of Fortune: but a pretty +witty young Creature, such as this _Silvianetta_ and _Euphemia_, is +certainly the greatest Blessing this wicked World can afford us. + +_Fil_. I believe the lawful enjoyment of such a Woman, and honest too, +wou'd be a Blessing. + +_Gal_. Lawful Enjoyment! Prithee what's lawful Enjoyment, but to enjoy +'em according to the generous indulgent Law of Nature; enjoy 'em as we do +Meat, Drink, Air, and Light, and all the rest of her common Blessings?-- +Therefore prithee, dear Knight, let me govern thee but for a Day, and I +will shew thee such a _Signiora_, such a Beauty, another manner of piece +than your so admired _Viterboan, Donna Marcella_, of whom you boast so +much. + +_Fil_. And yet this rare piece is but a Curtezan, in coarse plain +_English_ a very Whore,--who filthily exposes all her Beauties to him can +give her most, not love her best. + +_Gal_. Why, faith, to thy comfort be it spoken, she does distribute her +Charms at that easy rate. + +_Fil_. Oh, the vast distance between an innocent Passion, and a poor +faithless Lust! + +_Gal_. Innocent Passion at _Rome_! Oh, 'tis not to be nam'd but in some +Northern Climate: to be an Anchoret here, is to be an Epicure in +_Greenland_; impossibilities, _Harry_. Sure thou hast been advising with +Sir _Signal Buffoon's_ Governour, that formal piece of Nonsense and +Hypocrisy. + +_Fil_. No, faith, I brought the humour along with me to _Rome_; and for +your Governour I have not seen him yet, though he lodge in this same +House with us, and you promis'd to bring me acquainted with him long +since. + +_Gal_. I'll do't this very minute. + +_Fil_. No, I'm oblig'd not to engage my self this Evening, because I +expect the arrival of Count _Julio_, whose last Letters assured me it +would be to night. + +_Gal_. _Julio_! What, the young _Italian_ Count you made me acquainted +with last Summer in _England_? + +_Fil_. The same, the Ambassador's Nephew, a good Youth, and one I esteem. + + _Enter_ Julio. + +_Jul_. I hope my Page will bring intelligence who this Beauty is. + +_Fil_. Hah, _Julio_! Welcome, dear Friend. + [_Embraces him_. + +_Jul_. Sir _Harry Fillamour_! how glad am I to meet you in a Country, +where I have power to repay you all those Friendships I receiv'd when I +was a stranger in yours. Monsieur _Galllard_ too! nay, then I'm sure to +want no diversion whilst I stay in _Rome_. + [_Salutes_ Galliard. + +_Fil_. But, pray, what made you leave _England_ so soon? + +_Jul_. E'en the great business of Mankind, Matrimony. I have an Uncle +here, who has provided me Fetters, which I must put on, he says they will +be easy; I lik'd the Character of my Mistress well enough, a brave +masculine Lady, a Roman of Quality, _Donna Laura Lucretia_; till as luck +wou'd have it, at my arrival this Evening, stepping into St. _Peter's_ +Church, I saw a Woman there that fir'd my heart, and whom I followed to +her house: but meeting none that cou'd inform me who she was, I left my +Page to make the discovery, whilst I with equal impatience came to look +you out; whose sight I prefer even to a new Amour, resolving not to visit +home, to which I have been a stranger this seven years, till I had kist +your hands, and gained your promise to accompany me to _Viterbo_. + +_Fil_. _Viterbo_! is that your place of Residence? + +_Jul_. Yes, 'tis a pretty Town, and many noble Familys inhabit there, +stor'd too with Beauties, at least 'twas wont to be: have you not seen +it? + +_Gal_. Yes, and a Beauty there too, lately, for his repose, who has made +him sigh and look so like an Ass ever since he came to _Rome_. + +_Jul_. I am glad you have so powerful an Argument, to invite you back; I +know she must be rare and of quality, that cou'd engage your heart. + +_Fil_. She's both; it most unluckily fell out, that I was recommended by +a Person of Quality in _England_ to a Nobleman at _Viterbo_, who being a +Man of a Temper frank and gallant, received me with less Ceremony than is +usual in _Italy_. I had the freedom of the House, one of the finest +_Villa's_ belonging to _Viterbo_, and the pleasure to see and converse at +a distance with one of the loveliest Persons in the World, a Niece of +this old Count's. + +_Jul_. Very well, and cou'd you see her but at a distance, Sir? + +_Fil_. Oh, no, 'twas all I durst desire, or she durst give; I came too +late to hope; she being before promised in Marriage to a more happy man, +the Consummation of which waits only the arrival of a Brother of hers, +who is now at the Court of _France_, and every day expected. + + _Enter_ Petro _like a Barber_. + +_Gal_. Hah! Signior _Petro_. + +_Fil_. Come, Sir, we'll take a turn i'th' Gallery, for this Pimp never +appears, but _Francis_ desires to be in private. + +_Gal_. Thou wrong'st an honest ingenious Fellow, to call him Pimp. + +_Pet_. Ah, Signior, what his Worship pleases! + +_Gal_. That thou art I'll be sworn, or what any man's Worship pleases; +for let me tell ye, _Harry_, he is capacitated to oblige in any +quality: for, Sir, he's your brokering Jew, your Fencing, Dancing, and +Civility-Master, your Linguist, your Antiquary, your Bravo, your Pathick, +Your Whore, your Pimp; and a thousand more Excellencies he has to supply +The necessities of the wanting Stranger.--Well, Sirrah--what design now +Upon Sir _Signal_ and his wise Governour?--What do you represent now? + +_Pet_. A Barber, Sir. + +_Gal_. And why a Barber, good Signior _Petro_? + +_Pet_. Oh, Sir, the sooner to take the heights of their Judgments; it +gives handsome opportunities to commend their Faces; for if they are +pleas'd with flattery, the certain sign of a Fool's to be most tickled +when most commended, I conclude 'em the fitter for my purpose; they +already put great confidence in me, will have no Masters but of my +recommending, all which I supply my self, by the help of my several +disguises; by which, and my industry, I doubt not but to pick up a good +honest painful livelihood, by cheating these two Reverend Coxcombs. + +_Gal_. How the Devil got'st thou this credit with 'em? + +_Pet_. O, easily, Sir, as Knaves get Estates, or Fools Employments. + +_Fil_. I hope amongst all your good qualities, you forgot not your more +natural one of pimping. + +_Pet_. No, I assure you, Sir; I have told Sir _Signal Buffoon_, that no +Man lives here without his Inamorata: which very word has so fir'd him, +that he's resolved to have an Inamorata whate'er it cost him; and, as in +all things else, I have in that too promised my assistance. + +_Gal_. If you assist him no better than you have done me, he may stay +long enough for his Inamorata. + +_Pet_. Why, faith, Sir, I lie at my young Lady night and day; but she is +so loth to part with that same Maiden-head of hers yet--but to morrow +night, Sir, there's hopes.-- + +_Gal_. To morrow night; Oh, 'tis an Age in Love! Desire knows no time but +the present, 'tis now I wish, and now I wou'd enjoy: a new Day ought to +bring a new Desire. + +_Pet_. Alas, Sir, I'm but an humble Bravo. + +_Gal_. Yes, thou'rt a Pimp, yet want'st the Art to procure a longing +Lover the Woman he adores, though but a common Curtezan--Oh, confound her +Maiden-head--she understands her Trade too well, to have that badge of +Innocence. + +_Pet_. I offered her her Price, Sir. + +_Gal_. Double it, give any thing, for that's the best receipt I ever +found to soften Womens hearts. + +_Pet_. Well, Sir, she will be this Evening in the Garden of _Medices +Villa_, there you may get an opportunity to advance your Interest--I must +step and trim _Mr. Tickletext_, and then am at your service. + [_Exit_ Petro. + +_Jul_. What is this Knight and his Governour, who have the blessed +Fortune to be manag'd by this Squire? + +_Fil_. Certain Fools _Galliard_ makes use of when he has a mind to laugh, +and whom I never thought worth a visit since I came to _Rome:_ and he's +like to profit much by his Travels, who keeps company with all the +_English_, especially the Fops. + +_Gal_. Faith, Sir, I came not abroad to return with the formality of a +Judge; and these are such antidotes against Melancholy as wou'd make thee +fond of fooling.--Our Knight's Father is even the first Gentleman of his +House, a Fellow, who having the good fortune to be much a Fool and Knave, +had the attendant blessing of getting an Estate of some eight thousand a +year, with this Coxcomb to inherit it; who (to aggrandize the Name and +Family of the _Buffoons_) was made a Knight; but to refine throughout, +and make a compleat Fop, was sent abroad under the Government of one Mr. +_Tickletext_, his zealous Father's Chaplain, as errant a blockhead as a +man wou'd wish to hear preach; the Father wisely foreseeing the eminent +danger that young Travellers are in of being perverted to Popery. + +_Jul_. 'Twas well considered. + +_Gal_. But for the young Spark, there is no description can reach him; +'tis only to be done by himself; let it suffice, 'tis a pert, saucy, +conceited Animal, whom you shall just now go see and admire, for he +lodges in the house with us. + +_Jul_. With all my heart, I never long'd more for a new acquaintance. + +_Fil_. And in all probability shall sooner desire to be rid on't.-- +_Allons_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. _Draws off to a room in_ Tickletext's _lodging, and discovers +Mr_. Tickletext _a trimming, his Hair under a Cap, a Cloth before him:_ +Petro _snaps his fingers, takes away the Bason, and goes to wiping his +face_. + + Tickletext _and_ Petro. + +_Pet_. Ah che Bella! Bella! I swear by these sparkling Eyes and these +soft plump dimpled Cheeks, there's not a Signiora in all _Rome_, cou'd +she behold 'em, were able to stand their Temptations; and for _La +Silvianetta_, my life on't, she's your own. + +_Tick_. Teze, teze, speak softly; but, honest _Barberacho_, do I, do I +indeed look plump, and young, and fresh and--hah! + +_Pet_. Ay, Sir, as the rosy Morn, young as old Time in his Infancy, and +plump as the pale-fac'd Moon. + +_Tick_. He--Why, this Travelling must needs improve a Man--Why, how +admirably well-spoken your very Barbers are here--[_Aside_.]--But, +_Barberacho_, did the young Gentlewoman say she lik'd me? did she, Rogue? +did she? + +_Pet_. A doated on you Signior, doated on you. + +_Tick_. Why, and that's strange now, in the Autumn of my Age too, when +Nature began to be impertinent, as a Man may say, that a young Lady +shou'd fall in love with me--[_Aside_.] Why, _Barberacho_, I do not +conceive any great matter of Sin only in visiting a Lady that loves a +man, hah. + +_Pet_. Sin, Sir! 'tis a frequent thing now-a-days in Persons of your +Complexion. + +_Tick_. Especially here at _Rome_ too, where 'tis no scandal. + +_Pet_. Ah, Signior, where the Ladies are privileg'd and Fornication +licensed. + +_Tick_. Right! and when 'tis licens'd, 'tis lawful; and when 'tis lawful, +it can be no Sin: besides, _Barberacho_, I may chance to turn her, who +knows? + +_Pet_. Turn her, Signior, alas, any way, which way you please. + +_Tick_. He, he, he! There thou wert knavish, I doubt--but I mean convert +her--nothing else I profess, _Barberacho_. + +_Pet_. True, Signior, true, she's a Lady of an easy nature, and an +indifferent Argument well handled will do't--ha--here's your head of +Hair--here's your natural [_combing out his Hair_.] Frize! And such an +Air it gives the Face!--So, Signior--Now you have the utmost my Art can +do. + [_Takes away the Cloth, and bows_. + +_Tick_. Well, Signior,--and where's your Looking-glass? + +_Pet_. My Looking-glass! + +_Tick_. Yes, Signior, your Looking-glass! an _English_ Barber wou'd as +soon have forgotten to have snapt his fingers, made his leg, or taken his +Money, as have neglected his Looking-glass. + +_Pet_. Ay, Signior, in your Country the Laity have so little Honesty, +they are not to be trusted with the taking off your Beard unless you +see't done:--but here's a Glass, Sir. + [_Gives him the Glass_. + + [Tick. _sets himself and smirks in the Glass_, Pet. _standing + behind him, making horns and grimaces, which_ Tick. _sees in the + Glass, gravely rises, turns towards_ Petro. + +_Tick_. Why, how now, _Barberacho_, what monstrous Faces are you making +there? + +_Pet_. All, my Belly, my Belly, Signior: ah, this Wind-Cholick! this +Hypocondriack does so torment me! ah-- + +_Tick_. Alas, poor Knave; _certo_, I thought thou hadst been somewhat +uncivil with me, I profess I did. + +_Pet_. Who, I, Sir, uncivil?--I abuse my Patrone!--I that have almost +made my self a Pimp to serve you? + +_Tick_. Teze, teze, honest _Barberacho!_ no, no, no, all's well, all's +well:--but hark ye--you will be discreet and secret in this business now, +and above all things conceal the knowledge of this Gentlewoman from Sir +_Signal_ and Mr. _Galliard_. + +_Pet_. The Rack, Signior, the Rack shall not extort it. + +_Tick_. Hold thy Hand--there's somewhat for thee, [_Gives him Money_.] +but shall I, Rogue--shall I see her to night?-- + +_Pet_. To night, Sir, meet me in the Piazza _D'Hispagnia_, about ten a +Clock,--I'll meet you there,--but 'tis fit, Signior--that I should +provide a Collation,--'tis the custom here, Sir.-- + +_Tick_. Well, well, what will it come to?--here's an Angel.-- + +_Pet_. Why, Sir, 'twill come to--about--for you wou'd do't handsomely-- +some twenty Crowns.-- + +_Tick_. How, man, twenty Crowns! + +_Pet_. Ay, Signior, thereabouts. + +_Tick_. Twenty Crowns!--Why, 'tis a Sum, a Portion, a Revenue. + +_Pet_. Alas, Signior, 'tis nothing with her,--she'll look it out in an +hour,--ah, such an Eye, so sparkling, with an amorous Twire--Then, Sir-- +she'll kiss it out in a moment,--such a Lip, so red, so round, so plump, +so soft, and so-- + +_Tick_. Why, has she, has she, Sirrah--hah--here, here, prithee take +money, here, and make no words on't--go, go your way, go--But to +entertain Sir _Signal_ with other matter, pray send his Masters to him; +if thou canst help him to Masters, and me to Mistresses, thou shalt be +the good Genius of us both: but see where he comes-- + + _Enter Sir_ Signal. + +Sir _Sig_. Hah! _Signior Illustrissimo Barberacho_, let me hug thee, my +little _Miphistophiloucho_--de ye see here, how fine your Brokering Jew +has made me, Signior _Rabbi Manaseth--Ben--Nebiton_, and so forth; hah-- +view me round-- + [_Turns round_. + +_Tick_. I profess 'tis as fit as if it had been made for you. + +Sir _Sig_. Made for me--Why, Sir, he swore to me by the old Law, that +'twas never worn but once, and that but by one High-German Prince--I have +forgot his name--for the Devil can never remember a fart these dam'd +_Hogan-Mogan_ Titles. + +_Tick_. No matter, Sir. + +Sir _Sig_. Ay, but I shou'd be loth to be in any man's Clothes, were he +never so high a German Prince--except I knew his name though. + +_Tick_. Sir, I hold his name unnecessary to be remembred, so long as +'twas a princely Penniworth.--_Barberacho_, get you gone, and send the +Masters. + [_Ex_. Petro. + +Sir _Sig_. Why, how now, Governour? how now, Signior _Tickletext_! +prithee how camest thou so transmogrified, ha? why, thou look'st like any +new-fledg'd _Cupid_. + +_Tick_. Do I? away, you flatter; do I? + +Sir _Sig_. As I hope to breathe, your Face shines through your pouder'd +Hairs, like you know what on a Barn-door in a frosty morning. + +_Tick_. What a filthy comparison there for a man of my Coat? + +Sir _Sig_. What, angry--_Corpo di me_, I meant no harm,--Come, shall's to +a _Bonaroba_, where thou shalt part with thy Pusilage, and that of thy +Beard together? + +_Tick_. How mean you, Sir, a Curtezan, and a Romish Curtezan? + +Sir _Sig_. Now my Tutor's up, ha, ha, ha--and ever is when one names a +Whore; be pacify'd, Man, be pacify'd, I know thou hat'st 'em worse than +Beads or Holy-water. + +_Tick_. Away, you are such another Knight--but leave this naughty +discourse, and prepare for your Fencing and Civility-Masters, who are +coming. + +Sir _Sig_. Ay, when, Governour, when? Oh, how I long for my +Civility-Master, that I may learn to out-complement all the dull +Knights and Squires in _Kent_, with a _Servitore Hulichimo--No +Signiora Bellissima, base le Mane de vos Signiora scusa mia +Illustrissimo, caspeto de Bacco_, and so I'll run on, hah, Governour, +hah! won't this be pure? + +_Tick_. Notably ingenious, I profess. + +Sir _Sig_. Well, I'll send my _Staffiera_ for him _incontinente_.--he, +_Jack_--a--_Cazo_, what a damned _English_ name is _Jack_? let me see--I +will call him _Giovanni_--which is as much as to say _John_!--he +_Giovanni_. + + _Enter_ Jack. + +_Tick_. Sir, by your favour, his _English_ Protestant Name is _John +Pepper_, and I'll call him by ne'er a Popish Name in Christendom. + +Sir _Sig_. I'll call my own man, Sir, by what name I please, Sir; and let +me tell you, Reverend Mr. _Tickletext_, I scorn to be served by any man +whose name has not an _Acho_ or an _Oucho_, or some _Italiano_ at the end +on't--therefore _Giovanni Peperacho_ is the name by which you shall be +distinguish'd and dignify'd hereafter. + +_Tick_. Sir _Signal_, Sir _Signal_, let me tell you, that to call a man +out of his name is unwarrantable, for _Peter_ is call'd _Peter_, and +_John John_; and I'll not see the poor Fellow wrong'd of his Name for +ne'er a _Giovanni_ in _Rome_. + +Sir _Sig_. Sir, I tell you that one _Italian_ Name is worth any two +_English_ Names in Europe, and I'll be judg'd by my Civility-Master. + +_Tick_. Who shall end the dispute if he be of my opinion? + +Sir _Sig_. _Multo voluntiero_, which is as much as to say, with all my +heart. + +_Jack_. But, Sir, my Grandmother wou'd never own me, if I should change +the cursen Name she gave me with her own hands, an't please your Worship. + +Sir _Sig_. He _Bestia_! I'll have no more of your Worship, Sirrah, that +old _English_ Sir Reverence, let me have you call me _Signior +Illustrissimo_ or Patrona Mea_--or-- + +_Tick_. Ay, that I like well enough now:--but hold, sure this is one of +your Masters. + + _Enter_ Petro _drest like a French Fencing-Master_. + +_Pet_. Signior _Barberacho_ has sent me to teach you de Art of Fencing. + +Sir _Sig_. _Illustrissimo Signior Monsieur_, I am the Person who am to +learn. + +_Tick_. Stay, Sir, stay--let me ask him some few questions first: for, +Sir, I have play'd at Back-Sword, and cou'd have handled ye a weapon as +well as any Man of my time in the University. + +Sir _Sig_. Say you so, Mr. _Tickletext?_ and faith, you shall have a bout +with him. + + [Tick. _gravely goes to_ Petro. + +_Tick_. Hum--hum--Mr. _Monsieur_--pray what are the Guards that you like +best? + +_Pet_. _Monsieur, eder de Quart or de Terse_, dey be both _French_ and +_Italian_: den for your Parades, Degagements, your Advancements, your +Eloynements and Retierments, dey be de same. + +_Tick_. Cart and Horse, what new-found inventions and words have we +here?--Sir, I wou'd know, whether you like St. _George's_ Guard or not. + +_Pet_. Alons--_Monsieur, Mettez vous en Guard!_ take de Flurette. + +Sir _Sig_. Nay, faith and troth, Governor, thou shalt have a Rubbers with +him. + + [Tick, _smiling refuses_. + +_Tick_. Nay, _certo_, Sir _Signal_,--and yet you shall prevail;--well, +Sir, come your ways. + [_Takes the Flurette_. + +_Pet_. Set your right foot forward, turn up your hand so--dat be _de +Quart_--now turn it dus--and dat be _de Terse_. + +_Tick_. Hocus Pocus, Hicksius Doxius--here be de Cart, and here be de +Horse--why, what's all this for; hah, Sir--and where's your Guard all +this while? + +Sir _Sig_. Ay, Sir, where's your Guard, Sir, as my Governour says, Sir, +hah? + +_Tick_. Come, come, Sir, I must instruct you, I see; Come your ways, +Sir.-- + +_Pet_. _Attende, attende une peu_--trust de right hand and de right leg +forward together.-- + +_Tick_. I marry, Sir, that's a good one indeed: What shall become of my +Head then, Sir? what Guard have I left for that, good Mr. _Monsieur_, +hah? + +_Pet_. Ah, Morbleu, is not dis for every ting? + +_Tick_. No, marry, is not it, Sir; St. _George's_ Guard is best for the +Head whilst you live--as thus, Sir. + +_Pet_. Dat, Sir, ha, ha--dat be de Guard for de Back-Sword. + +_Tick_. Back-sword, Sir, yes, Back-sword, what shou'd it be else? + +_Pet_. And dis be de Single-Rapier. + +_Tick_. Single-Rapier with a Vengeance, there's a weapon for a Gentleman +indeed; is all this stir about Single-Rapier? + +_Pet_. Single-Rapier! What wou'd you have for de Gentlemen, de Cudgel for +de Gentlemen? + +_Tick_. No, Sir, but I wou'd have it for de Rascally _Frenchman_, +who comes to abuse Persons of Quality with paltry Single-Rapier.-- +Single-Rapier! Come, Sir, come--put your self in your Cart and your +Horse as you call it, and I'll shew you the difference. + + [_Undresses himself till he appears in a ridiculous Posture_. + +_Pet_. Ah, _Monsieur_, me sall run you two three times through de Body, +and den you break a me head, what care I for dat?--Pox on his ignorance. + [_Aside_. + +_Tick_. Oh, ho, Sir, do your worst, Sir, do your worst, Sir. + + [_They put themselves into several Guards, and_ Tick. _beats_ + Pet. _about the Stage.--Enter_ Gall. Fill. _and_ Jul. + +_Pet_. Ah, _Monsieur, Monsieur_, will you kill a me? + +_Tick_. Ah, _Monsieur_, where be your Carts now, and your Horse, Mr. +_Monsieur_, hah?--and your Single-Rapier, Mr. _Monsieur_, hah?-- + +_Gal_. Why, how now, Mr. _Tickletext_, what mortal Wars are these? _Ajax_ +and _Ulysses_ contending for _Achilles_ his Armour? + +_Pet_. If I be not reveng'd on him, hang me. [_Aside_ + +Sir _Sig_. Ay, why, who the Devil wou'd have taken my Governor for so +tall a man of hands? but _Corpo de me_, Mr. _Galliard_, I have not seen +his Fellow. + +_Tick_. Ah, Sir, time was, I wou'd have play'd ye a Match at Cudgels with +e'er a Sophister in the College, but verily I have forgotten it; but +here's an Impudent _Frenchman_ that wou'd have past Single-Rapier +upon us. + +_Gal_. How, nay a my word, then he deserv'd to be chastis'd for't--but +now all's at Peace again; pray know my Kinsman, Sir _Harry Fillamour_. + +Sir _Sig_. _Yo baco les manos_, Signior _Illustrissimo Cavaliero_,--and +yours, Signiors, who are _Multo bien Venito_. + +_Tick_. Oh Lord, Sir, you take me, Sir, in such a posture, Sir, as I +protest I have not been in this many years. + + [_Dressing himself whilst he talks_. + +_Fil_. Exercise is good for health, Sir. + +_Gal_. Sir _Signal_, you are grown a perfect _Italian_: Well, Mr. +_Tickletext_, you will carry him home a most accomplish't Gentleman I +see. + +_Tick_. Hum, verily, Sir, though I say it, for a Man that never travell'd +before, I think I have done reasonably well--I'll tell you, Sir--it was +by my directions and advice that he brought over with him,--two _English_ +Knives, a thousand of _English_ Pins, four pair of _Jersey_ Stockings, +and as many pair of Buckskin Gloves. + +Sir _Sig_. Ay, Sir, for good Gloves you know are very scarce Commodities +in this Country. + +_Jul_. Here, Sir, at _Rome_, as you say, above all other places. + +_Tick_. _Certo_, mere hedging Gloves, Sir, and the clouterlest Seams. + +_Fil_. Very right, Sir,--and now he talks of _Rome_,--Pray, Sir, give me +your opinion of the Place--Are there not noble Buildings here, rare +Statues, and admirable Fountains? + +_Tick_. Your Buildings are pretty Buildings, but not comparable to our +University Buildings; your Fountains, I confess, are, pretty Springs,-- +and your Statues reasonably well carv'd--but, Sir, they are so ancient +they are of no value: then your Churches are the worst that ever I saw-- +that ever I saw. + +_Gal_. How, Sir, the Churches, why I thought _Rome_ had been famous +throughout all _Europe_ for fine Churches. + +_Fil_. What think you of St. _Peter's_ Church, Sir? Is it not a glorious +Structure? + +_Tick_. St. _Peter's_ Church, Sir, you may as well call it St. _Peter's_ +Hall, Sir; it has neither Pew, Pulpit, Desk, Steeple, nor Ring of Bells; +and call you this a Church, Sir? No, Sir, I'll say that for little +_England_, and a fig for't, for Churches, easy Pulpits, [Sir _Sig. +speaks_, And sleeping Pews,] they are as well ordered as any Churches in +Christendom: and finer Rings of Bells, Sir, I am sure were never heard. + +_Jul_. Oh, Sir, there's much in what you say. + +_Fil_. But then, Sir, your rich Altars, and excellent Pictures of the +greatest Masters of the World, your delicate Musick and Voices, make some +amends for the other wants. + +_Tick_. How, Sir! tell me of your rich Altars, your Guegaws and Trinkets, +and Popish Fopperies, with a deal of Sing-song--when I say, give me, Sir, +five hundred close Changes rung by a set of good Ringers, and I'll not +exchange 'em for all the Anthems in _Europe_: and for the Pictures, Sir, +they are Superstition, idolatrous, and flat Popery. + +_Fil_. I'll convince you of that Error, that persuades you harmless +Pictures are idolatrous. + +_Tick_. How, Sir, how, Sir, convince me! talk to me of being convinc'd, +and that in favour of Popery! No, Sir, by your favour I shall not be +convinc'd: convinc'd, quoth a!--no, Sir, fare you well, an you be for +convincing: come away, Sir _Signal_, fare you well, Sir, fare you well:-- +convinc'd! + [_Goes out_. + +Sir _Sig_. Ha, ha, ha, so now is my Governour gone in a Fustian-fume: +well, he is ever thus when one talks of Whoring and Religion: but come, +Sir, walk in, and I'll undertake, my Tutor shall beg your Pardon, and +renounce his _English_ ill-bred Opinion; nay, his _English_ Churches too--all +but his own Vicaridge. + +_Fil_. I have better diversion, Sir, I thank you--come, _Julio_, are you +for a Walk in the Garden of _Medices Villa_, 'tis hard by?-- + +_Jul_. I'll wait on you-- + [_Ex_. Fil. _and_ Julio. + +Sir _Sig_. How in the Garden of _Medices Villa_?--but, harkye, +_Galliard_, will the Ladies be there, the Curtezans, the _Bona Roba's_, +the _Inamorata's_, and the _Bell Ingrato's_, hah? + +_Gal_. Oh, doubtless, Sir. + [_Exit_. Gall. + +Sir _Sig_. I'll e'en bring my Governour thither to beg his Pardon, on +purpose to get an opportunity to see the fine Women; it may be I may get +a sight of my new Mistress, _Donna Silvianetta_, whom _Petro_ is to bring +me acquainted with. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I. _The Gardens of the Villa Medici_. + + _Enter_ Morosini _and_ Octavio. + +_Oct_. By Heaven, I will not eat, nor sleep, nor pray for any thing but +swift and sure Revenge, till I have found _Marcella_, that false +deceiving Beauty, or her Lover, my hated Rival _Fillamour_; who, wanton +in the Arms of the fair Fugitive, laughs at my shameful easiness, and +cries, these Joys were never meant for tame _Octavio_. + + _Enter_ Crapine. + +_Mar_. How now, _Crapine_! What, no News, no News of my Nieces yet, +_Marcella_ and _Cornelia_? + +_Crap_. None, Sir. + +_Oct_. That's wondrous strange, _Rome's_ a place of that general +Intelligence, methinks thou might'st have News of such trivial things as +Women, amongst the Cardinals Pages: I'll undertake to learn the Religion +_de stato_, and present juncture of all affairs in _Italy_, of a common +Curtezan. + +_Mar_. Sirrah, Sirrah, let it be your care to examine all the Nunneries, +for my own part not a Petticoat shall escape me. + +_Oct_. My task shall be for _Fillamour_. [_Aside_. + +_Mor_. I'll only make a visit to your Sister _Donna Laura Lucretia_, and +deliver her a Letter from my Nephew _Julio_, and return to you +presently.-- + [_Going out, is staid by_ Octavio. + +_Oct_. Stay, Sir, defer your visit to my Sister _Laura_, she is not yet +to know of my being in Town; 'tis therefore I have taken a Lodging in an +obscure street, and am resolv'd never to be my self again till I've +redeem'd my Honour. Come, Sir, let's walk-- + + _Enter to them, as they are going out_, Marcella _and_ Cornelia, + _drest like Curtezans_, Philippa, _and Attendance_. + +_Mor_. Stay, stay, what Women are these? + +_Oct_. Whores, Sir, and so 'tis ten to one are all the kind; only these +differ from the rest in this, they generously own their trade of Sin, +which others deal by stealth in; they are Curtezans. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Mar_. The Evening's soft and calm, as happy Lovers Thoughts; +And here are Groves where the kind meeting Trees +Will hide us from the amorous gazing Croud. + +_Cor_. What should we do there, sigh till our wandering Breath +Has rais'd a gentle Gale amongst the Boughs; +To whose dull melancholy Musick we, +Laid on a Bed of Moss, and new-fallen Leaves, +Will read the dismal tale of Echo's Love! +--No, I can make better use of famous _Ovid_. + [_Snatches a little Book from her_. +And prithee what a pox have we to do with Trees, +Flowers, Fountains, or naked Statues? + +_Mar_. But, prithee, mad _Cornelia_, let's be grave and wise, at least +enough to think a little. + +_Cor_. On what? your _English_ Cavalier _Fillamour_, of whom you tell so +many dull stories of his making Love! Oh, how I hate a civil whining +Coxcomb! + +_Mar_. And so do I, I'll therefore think of him no more. + +_Cor_. Good Lord! what a damnable wicked thing is a Virgin grown up to +Woman. + +_Mar_. What, art thou such a Fool to think I love this _Fillamour?_ + +_Cor_. It may be not at _Rome_, but at _Viterbo_, where Men are scarce, +you did; and did you follow him to _Rome_, to tell him you cou'd love no +more? + +_Mar_. A too forward Maid, _Cornelia_, hurts her own Fame, and that of +all her Sex. + +_Cor_. Her Sex! a pretty consideration, by my Youth; an Oath I shall not +violate this dozen years: my Sex shou'd excuse me, if to preserve their +Fame they expected I should ruin my own Quiet; in chasing an ill-favour'd +Husband, such as _Octavio_, before a young handsome Lover, such as you +say _Fillamour_ is. + +_Mar_. I wou'd fain persuade my self to be of thy mind,--but the World, +_Cornelia_-- + +_Cor_. Hang the malicious World-- + +_Mar_. And there's such Charms in Wealth and Honour too. + +_Cor_. None half so powerful as Love, in my opinion; 'slife, Sister, thou +art beautiful, and hast a Fortune too, which before I wou'd lay out upon +so shameful a purchase as such a Bedfellow for life as _Octavio_, I wou'd +turn errant keeping Curtezan, and buy my better Fortune. + +_Mar_. That Word too startles me. + +_Cor_. What, Curtezan! why, 'tis a noble Title, and has more Votaries +than Religion; there's no Merchandize like ours, that of Love, my +Sister:--and can you be frighted with the Vizor, which you your self put +on? + +_Mar_. 'Twas the only Disguise that cou'd secure us from the search of my +Uncle and _Octavio_. Our Brother _Julio_ is by this too arriv'd, and I +know they'll all be diligent,--and some Honour I was content to sacrifice +to my eternal Repose. + +_Cor_. Spoke like my Sister! a little impertinent Honour, we may chance +to lose, 'tis true; but our down-right Honesty I perceive you are +resolv'd we shall maintain through all the dangers of Love and Gallantry; +though to say truth, I find enough to do, to defend my Heart against some +of those Members that nightly serenade us, and daily show themselves +before our Window, gay as young Bridegrooms, and as full of expectation. + +_Mar_. But is't not wondrous, that amongst all these Crouds we should not +once see _Fillamour_? I thought the Charms of a fair young Curtezan might +have oblig'd him to some Curiosity at least. + +_Cor_. Ay! and an _English_ Cavalier too, a Nation so fond of all new +Faces. + +_Mar_. Heaven, if I should never see him, and I frequent all publick +Places to meet him! or if he be gone +from _Rome_, if he have forgot me, or some other Beauty +have employ'd his Thoughts! + +_Cor_. Why; if all these if's and or's come to pass, we +have no more to do than to advance in this same glorious +Profession, of which now we only seem to be--in which, +to give it its due, there are a thousand Satisfactions to be +found, more than in a dull virtuous Life: Oh, the world +of Dark-Lanthorn-Men we should have! the Serenades, +the Songs, the Sighs, the Vows, the Presents, the Quarrels, +and all for a Look or a Smile, which you have been +hitherto so covetous of, that _Petro_ swears our Lovers begin +to suspect us for some honest Jilts; which by some is +accounted much the leuder scandal of the two:--therefore +I think, faith, we must e'en be kind a little to redeem +our Reputations. + +_Mar_. However we may railly, certainly there's nothing +so hard to Woman, as to expose her self to villainous Man. + +_Cor_. Faith, Sister, if 'twere but as easy to satisfy the nice scruples +of Religion and Honour, I should find no great Difficulty in the rest-- +Besides, another Argument I have, our Mony's all gone, and without a +Miracle can hold out no longer honestly. + +_Mar_. Then we must sell our Jewels. + +_Cor_. When they are gone, what Jewel will you part with next? + +_Mar_. Then we must-- + +_Cor_. What, go home to _Viterbo_, ask the old Gentleman pardon, and be +receiv'd to Grace again, you to the Embraces of the amiable _Octavio_, +and I to St. _Teresa's_, to whistle through a Grate like a Bird in a +Cage,--for I shall have little heart to sing.--But come, let's leave +This sad talk, here's Men--let's walk and gain new Conquest, I love +it dearly-- + [_Walk down the Garden_. + + _Enter_ Gall. Fill, _and_ Jul. _see the Women_. + +_Gal_. Women! and by their garb for our purpose too--they're Curtezans, +let's follow 'em. + +_Fil_. What shall we get by gazing but Disquiet? If they are fair and +honest, we look, and perhaps may sigh in vain; if beautiful and loose, +they are not worth regarding. + +_Gal_. Dear notional Knight, leave your satirical Fopperies, and be at +least good-humour'd, and let's follow them. + +_Jul_. I'll leave you in the Pursuit, and take this Opportunity to write +my Uncle word of my Arrival; and wait on you here anon. + +_Fil_. Prithee do so: hah, who's that with such an Equipage? + + [_Exit_ Julio, Fil. _and_ Gal. _going after_. Marcella + _and_ Cor. _meet just entring_, Laura _with_ Silvio, + Antonio, _and her Equipage, drest like a Man_. + +_Gal_. Pox, let the Tradesmen ask, who cringe for such gay Customers, and +follow us the Women! + + [_Exit_ Fil. _and_ Gal. _down the Scene_, Lau. _looking after 'em_. + +_Lau_. 'Tis he, my Cavalier, my Conqueror: _Antonio_, let the Coaches +wait,--and stand at distance all: Now, _Silvio_, on thy Life forget my +Sex and Quality, forget my useless name of _Laura Lucretia_, and call me +Count of-- + +_Sil_. What, Madam? + +_Lau_. Madam! ah, foolish Boy, thy feminine Courage will betray us all:-- +but--call me Count--_Sans Coeur_.--And tell me, _Silvio_, how is it I +appear? +How dost thou like my Shape--my Face and Dress? My Mien and Equipage, may +I not pass for Man? Looks it _en Prince_ and Masculine? + +_Sil_. Now as I live, you look all over what you wish, and such as will +beget a Reverence and Envy in the Men, and Passion in the Women. But +what's the Cause of all this Transformation? + +_Lau_. Love! Love! dull Boy, cou'dst thou not guess 'twas Love? that dear +_Englese_ I must enjoy, my _Silvio_. + +_Sil_. What, he that adores the fair young Curtezan? + +_Lau_. That very he; my Window joins to hers, and 'twas with Charms. +Which he'ad prepar'd for her, he took this Heart, +Which met the welcome Arrows in their flight, +And sav'd her from their Dangers. +Oft I've return'd the Vows he'as made to her, +And sent him pleas'd away; +When through the errors of the Night, and distance, +He has mistook me for that happy Wanton, +And gave me Language of so soft a Power, +As ne'er was breath'd in vain to listning Maids. + +_Sil_. But with Permission, Madam, how does this Change of Petticoat for +Breeches, and shifting Houses too, advance that Love? + +_Lau_. This Habit, besides many Opportunities 'twill give me of getting +into his acquaintance, secures me too from being known by any of my +Relations in _Rome_: then I have changed my House for one so near to that +of _Silvianetta's_, and so like it too, that even you and I have oft +mistook the entrance: by which means Love, Fortune or Chance, may with my +Industry contrive some kind Mistake that may make me happier than the +rest of Womankind. + +_Sil_. But what shall be reserv'd then for Count _Julio_, whose last +Letters promise his Arrival within a Day or two, and whom you're then to +marry? + +_Lau_. Reserv'd for him! a Wife! a Wife, my _Silvio_, +That unconcern'd domestick Necessary, +Who rarely brings a Heart, or takes it soon away.-- + +_Sil_. But then your Brother, Count _Octavio_, do you not fear his +Jealousy? + +_Lau_. _Octavio!_ Oh, Nature has set his Soul and mine at odds, +And I can know no Fear but where I love. + +_Sil_. And then that thing which Ladies call their Honour.-- + +_Lau_. Honour, that hated Idol, even by those +That set it up to worship! No, +I have a Soul, my Boy, and that's all Love; +And I'll the Talent which Heaven lent improve. + + [_Going out, meets_ Marcella _and_ Cornelia _follow'd + by_ Gal. _and_ Fil. + +_Sil_. Here be the Curtezans, my Lord. + +_Lau_. Hah, _Silvianetta_ and _Euphemia_! pursu'd too by my Cavalier! +I'll round the Garden, and mix my self amongst 'em. + [_Exit with_ Silvio _and her Train_. + +_Mar_. Prithee, Sister, let's retire into the Grove, to avoid the Pursuit +of these Cavaliers. + +_Cor_. Not I, by these killing Eyes! I'll stand my ground were there a +thousand, all arm'd with conquering Beauty. + +_Mar_. Hah--now on my Conscience yonder's _Fillamour_. + +_Cor_. Hah! _Fillamour_! + +_Mar_. My Courage fails me at the sight of him--I must retire. + +_Cor_. And I'll to my Art of Love. + + [Mar. _retires, and leans against a Tree_, + Cor. _walks about reading_. + +_Gal_. 'Tis she, 'tis _Silvianetta_: Prithee advance, that thou mayst +behold her, and renounce all honest Women; since in that one young Sinner +there are Charms that wou'd excuse even to thee all frailty. + +_Fil_. The Forms of Angels cou'd not reconcile me +To Women of her Trade. + +_Gal_. This is too happy an Opportunity, to be lost in convincing thy +Singularity,-- + + [Gal. _goes bowing by the side of_ Cornelia. Fil. + _walks about in the Scene_. + +--If Creatures so fair and charming as your self, had any need of Prayer, +I shou'd believe by your profound Attention you were at your Evening's +Devotion. + +_Cor_. That you may find your Mistake in the opinion of my Charms, pray +believe I am so, and ought not to be interrupted. + +_Gal_. I hope a Man may have leave to make his Devotions by you, at least +without Danger or Offence. + +_Cor_. I know not that, I have reason to fear your Devotion may be +ominous; like a blazing Star, it comes but seldom,--but ever threatens +mischief--Pray Heaven, I share not in the Calamity. + +_Gal_. Why, I confess, Madam, my Fit of Zeal does not take me often; but +when it does, 'tis very harmless and wondrous hearty.-- + +_Cor_. You may begin then, I shall not be so wicked as to disturb you +Orisons. + +_Gal_. Wou'd I cou'd be well assur'd of that, for mine's Devotion of +great Necessity, and the Blessing I pray for infinitely concerns me; +therefore in Christian Charity keep down your Eyes, and do not ruin a +young Man's good Intentions, unless they wou'd agree to send kind Looks, +and save me the expence of Prayer. + +_Cor_. Which wou'd be better laid out, you think, upon some other +Blessing. + +_Gal_. Why, faith, 'tis good to have a little Bank upon occasion, though +I hope I shall have no great need here-after,--if the charming +_Silvianetta_ be but kind, 'tis all I ask of Heaven. + +_Cor_. You're very well acquainted with my Name, I find. + +_Gal_. Your Name! 'tis all I have to live on! +Like chearful Birds, 'tis the first Tune I sing, +To welcome in the Day: +The Groves repeat it, and the Fountains purle it, +And every pretty Sound that fills my Ear. +Turns all to _Silvianetta_. + + [Fil. _looks awhile on_ Marcella. + +_Fil. Galliard_, look there--look on that lovely Woman; 'tis _Marcella_, +the beautiful _Marcella_. + + [_Offers to run to her_, Gal. _holds him_. + +_Gal_. Hold! _Marcella_! where? + +_Fil_. That Lady there; didst ever see her equal? + +_Gal_. Why, faith, as you say, _Harry_, that Lady is beautiful--and, make +us thankful--kind: why, 'tis _Euphemia_, Sir, the very Curtezan I wou'd +have shew'd you.-- + +_Fil_. Forbear, I am not fit for Mirth. + +_Gal_. Nor I in Humour to make you merry; +I tell ye--yonder Woman--is a Curtezan. + +_Fil_. Do not profane, nor rob Heaven of a Saint. + +_Gal_. Nor you rob Mankind of such a Blessing, by giving it to Heaven +before its time.--I tell thee 'tis a Whore, a fine desirable expensive +Whore. + +_Fil_. By Heaven, it cannot be! I'll speak to her, and call her my +_Marcella_, and undeceive thy leud Opinion. + [_Offers to go, he holds him_. + +_Gal_. Do, salute her in good Company for an honest Woman--do, and spoil +her Markets:--'twill be a pretty civil spiteful Compliment, and no doubt +well taken;--come, I'll convince ye, Sir. + [_Goes and pulls_ Philippa. +--Harkye, thou kind Help meet for Man--thou gentle Child of Night--what +is the Price of a Night or two ot Pleasure with yonder Lady--_Euphemia_, +I mean, that Roman Curtezan-- + +_Fil_. Oh, Heavens! a Curtezan! + +_Phil_. Sure you're a great Stranger in _Rome_, that cannot tell her +Price. + +_Gal_. I am so; name it, prithee, here's a young _English_ Purchaser-- +Come forward, Man, and cheapen for your self-- + [_Pulls him_. + +_Phil_. Oh, spare your pains, she wants no Customers.-- + [_Flings away_. + +_Fil_. No, no, it cannot, must not be _Marcella_; +She has too much Divinity about her, +Not to defend her from all Imputation, +Scandal wou'd die to hear her Name pronounc'd. + +_Phil_. Believe me, Madam, he knows you not; I over-heard all he said to +that Cavalier, and find he's much in love. + +_Mar_. Not know me, and in love! punish him, Heaven, for his Falshood: +but I'll contribute to deceive him on, and ruin him with Perjury. + +_Fil_. I am not yet convinc'd, I'll try her farther. + [_Goes to her bowing_.]--But, Madam, is that heavenly Beauty +purchasable? I'll pay a Heart, rich with such Wounds and Flames-- + +_Gal_. Not forgetting the Money too, good Lad, or your Wounds and Flames +will be of little Use. + [Gal. _goes to_ Cornelia. + +_Mar_. He tells you Truth, Sir, we are not like the Ladies of your +Country, who tire out their Men with loving upon the square, Heart for +Heart, till it becomes as dull as Matrimony: to Women of our Profession +there's no Rhetorick like ready Money, nor Billet-deux like Bills of +Exchange. + +_Fil_. Oh! that Heaven shou'd make two Persons so resembling, and yet +such different Souls. [_Looks on her_.--'Sdeath, how she darts me +through with every Look! But if she speak, she heals the Wound again. + + _Enter_ Octavio, _with Followers_. + +_Oct_. Hah, my Rival _Fillamour_ here! fall on--draw, Sir,--and say, I +gave you one Advantage more, and fought thee fairly. + + [_Draws on_ Fil. _who fights him out; the Ladies run off_: + Gal. _falls on the Followers, with whom whilst he is + engaged, enters_ Julio, _draws and assists him, and + Laura _at the same time on the other side. Enter_ + Petro _drest like a Civility-Master; Sir_ Signal _and + Tickletext_: Sir_ Signal _climbs a Tree_, Tick _runs his + Head into a Bush, and lies on his Hands and Knees_. Pet. + assists_ Gal. _and fights out the Bravoes_. Pet. _re-enters_. + +_Lau_. Hah, my Cavalier engag'd amongst the Slaves! + +_Pet_. My Lady's Lovers! and set upon by _Octavio_! We must be diligent +in our Affairs; Sir _Signal_, where are ye? Signior _Tickletext_.--I hope +they have not miscarried in the fray. + +Sir _Sig_. Oh, _vos Servitor, vos Signiora_; miscarried! no, the Fool has +Wit enough to keep out of harm's way. + [_Comes down from the Tree_. + +_Pet_. Oh, very discreetly done, Signior.-- + [_Sees_ Tick, _in a bush, pulls him out by the heels_. + +Sir _Sig_. Why, how now, Governour, what, afraid of Swords? + +_Tick_. No, Sir, I am not afraid of Swords, but I am afraid of Danger. + + _Enter_ Gal. _embracing_ Laura; _after 'em_, Julio _and_ Fil. + Fil. _looks about_. + +_Gal_. This Bravery, Sir, was wondrous. + +_Lau_. 'Twas only Justice, Sir, you being opprest with odds. + +_Fil_. She's gone, she's gone in Triumph with my Soul. + +_Jul_. What was the matter, Sir? how came this Mischief? + +_Fil_. Oh, easily, Sir; I did but look, and infinitely loved. + +_Jul_. And therefore were you drawn upon, or was it some old Pique? + +_Fil_. I know not, Sir, Oh, tell me not of Quarrels. The Woman, Friend, +the Woman has undone me. + +_Gal_. Oh, a blessed Hearing! I'm glad of the Reformation: Sir, you were +so squeamish, forsooth, that a Whore wou'd not down with ye; no, 'twou'd +spoil your Reputation.-- + +_Fil_. A Whore! wou'd I cou'd be convinc'd she were so; 'twou'd call my +Virtue home, and make me Man again. + +_Gal_. Thou ly'st--thou'rt as weak a Brother as the best of us, and +believe me, _Harry_, these sort of Damsels are like Witches, if they once +get hold of a Man, he's their own till the Charm be ended; you guess what +that is, Sir? + +_Fil_. Oh, _Frank_, hadst thou then felt how tenderly she prest my Hand +in hers, as if she wou'd have kept it there for ever, it wou'd have made +thee mad, stark mad in Love!--and nothing but _Marcella_ cou'd have +charm'd me. [_Aside_. + +_Gal_. Ay, Gad, I'll warrant thee,--well, thou shalt this Night enjoy +her. + +_Fil_. How? + +_Gal_. How! why, faith, _Harry_, e'en the old way, I know no other. Why, +thou shalt lie with her, Man; come, let's to her. + +_Fil_. Away, let's follow her instantly. + [_Going out is stopt by Sir_ Signal_. + + _Enter Sir_ Sig. Tick. Petro. + +Sir _Sig_. Signior, I have brought Mr. _Tickletext_ to beg your Pardon-- +Sir. + +_Fil_. I've other business, Sir. [_Goes out_. + +_Gal_. Come, let's follow him; and you, my generous Cavalier, must give +me leave to beg the Honour of your Friendship. + +_Lau_. My Inclinations, Sir, have given you more--pray let me wait on you +to your Lodgings, lest a farther Insolence shou'd be offer'd you. + +_Gal_. Sir, you oblige too fast. + [_They go out_. + +Sir _Sig_. Ah, _che Diavilo Ayles_, these hot-brain'd fellows, sure, +they're drunk. + +_Pet_. Oh, fy, Signior, drunk, for a Man of Quality--'tis intolerable. + +Sir _Sig_. Ay: why how so, Signior _Morigoroso_? + +_Pet. Imbriaco_ had made it a fine Speech indeed. + +Sir _Sig_. Why, faith, and so it had, as thus,--_ach Diavilo Ayles_, +these are hot-brain'd Fellows, sure they are _imbriaco_,--Now, wou'd not +I be drunk for a thousand Crowns: _Imbriaco_ sounds _Cinquante per cent_ +better.--Come, noble Signior, let's _andiamo a casa_, which is as much as +to say, let's amble home.-- + +_Tick_. In troth, wondrous expert--_Certo_, Signior, he's an apt Scholar. + +Sir _Sig_. Ah, Sir, you shall see, when I come to my Civilities.-- + +_Pet_. Where the first Lesson you shall learn, is, how to give and how to +receive with a Bon-Grace. + +_Tick_. That receiving Lesson I will learn my self. + +_Pet_. This unfrequented part of the Garden, Signior, will fit our +purpose as well as your Lodgings.--first then--Signiors, your Address. + [_Puts himself in the middle_. + [Petro _bows on both sides, they do the like_. +--Very well, that's at the Approach of any Person of +Quality, after which you must take out your Snuff-Box. + +Sir _Sig_. Snuff-Box; why, we take no Snuff, Signior. + +_Pet_. Then, Sir, by all means you must learn: for besides the Mode and +Gravity of it, it inviveates the _Pericranium_; that is, sapientates the +Brain,--that is, inspires Wit, Thought, Invention, Understanding, and the +like--you conceive me, Signiors-- + [_Bowing_. + +Sir _Sig_. Most profoundly, Signior.-- + [_Bowing_. + +_Pet_.--Then, Signiors, it keeps you in confidence, and Countenance; and +whilst you gravely seem to take a snush, you gain time to answer to the +purpose, and in a politick Posture--as thus--to any intricate Question. + +_Tick_. Hum--_certo_, I like that well; and 'twere admirable if a Man +were allow'd to take it when he's out in's Sermon. + +_Pet_. Doubtless, Signior, you might, it helps the Memory better than +Rosemary: therefore I have brought each of you a Snuff-Box. + +Sir _Sig_. By no means: excuse me Signior. + [_Refuses to take 'em_. + +_Pet_. Ah, Baggatelles, Signior, Baggatelles; and now, Signiors, I'll +teach you how to take it with a handsom Grace: Signior, your Hand--and +yours, Signior; + [_Lays Snuff on their hands_. +--so, now draw your hand to and fro under your Noses, and snuff it hard +up--Excellent well. + + [_They daub all their Noses, and make Grimaces, and sneeze_. + +Sir _Sig_. Methinks, Signior, this Snuff stinks most damnably: pray, what +scent do you call this? + +_Pet_. _Cackamarda Orangate_, a rare Perfume I'll assure ye, Sir. + +Sir _Sig_. _Cackamarda Orangate_; and 'twere not for the Name of +_Cackamarda_, and so forth, a Man had as good have a Sir-reverence at his +Nose. + + [_Sneezes often, he crys_ bonprovache. + +_Pet_. _Bonprovache_--Signior, you do not understand it yet, +_bonprovache_. + +Sir _Sig_. Why, Sir, 'tis impossible to endure this same _Cackamarda_; +why Assafetida is odoriferous to it. + [_Sneezing_. + +_Pet_. 'Tis your right _Dulce Piquante_, believe me:--but come, Signiors, +wipe your Noses, and proceed to your giving Lesson. + +Sir _Sig_. As how, Signior? + +_Pet_. Why--present me with something--that--Diamond on your Finger, to +shew the manner of giving handsomly. + [_Sir_ Sig. _gives it him_. +--Oh, fie, Signior--between your Finger and Thumb--thus--with your other +Fingers at a distance--with a speech, and a bow.-- + +Sir _Sig_. _Illustrissimo_ Signior, the manifold Obligations. + +_Pet_. Now a fine turn of your hand--thus--Oh, that sets off the Present, +and makes it sparkle in the Eyes of the Receiver.-- + [_Sir_ Sig. _turns his hand_. + +Sir _Sig_. Which you have heap'd upon me,-- + +_Pet_. There flourish again. + [_He flourishes_. + +Sir _Sig_. Oblige me to beg your acceptance of this small Present, which +will receive a double Lustre from your fair Hand. + [_Gives it him_. + +_Pet_. Now kiss your fingers ends, and retire back with a bow. + +_Tick_. Most admirably perform'd. + +Sir _Sig_. Nay, Sir, I have Docity in me, though I say't: Come, Governor, +let's see how you can out-do me in the Art of presenting. + +_Tick_. Well, Sir, come; your Snuff-Box will serve instead of my Ring, +will it not? + +_Pet_. By no means, Sir, there is such a certain Relation between a +Finger and a Ring, that no Present becomes either the giving or the +receiving Hand half so well. + +Sir _Sig_. Why, 'twill be restor'd again, 'tis but to practise by. + +_Pet_. Ay, Signior, the next thing you are to learn is to receive. + +_Tick_. Most worthy Signior, I have so exhausted the _Cornucopia_ of your +Favours, [_Flourishes_.]--and tasted so plenteously of the fulness of +your bounteous Liberality, that to retaliate with this small Gem--is but +to offer a Spark, where I have received a Beam of superabundant Sunshine. + [_Gives it_. + +Sir _Sig_. Most rhetorically perform'd, as I hope to breathe; +Tropes and Figures all over. + +_Tick_. Oh Lord, Sir _Signal_. + +_Pet_. Excellent--Now let's see if you can refuse as civilly as you gave, +which is by an obstinate denial; stand both together--Illustrious +Signiors, upon my Honour my little Merit has not intitled me to the Glory +of so splendid an Offering; Trophies worthy to be laid only at your +Magnanimous Feet. + +Sir _Sig_. Ah, Signior, no, no. + +_Pet_. Signior _Tickletext_. + + [_He offers, they refuse going backward_. + +_Tick_. Nay, _certo_, Signior. + +_Pet_. With what confidence can I receive so rich a Present? Signior +_Tickletext_, ah--Signior-- + +Sir _Sig_. I vow, Signior--I'm ashamed you shou'd offer it. + +_Tick_. In verity, so am I. [_Still going back, he follows_.] + +_Pet. Pardio! Baccus_, most incomparable.-- + +_Tick_. But when, Signior, are we to learn to receive again?-- + +_Pet_. Oh, Sir, that's always a Lesson of it self:--but now, Signiors, +I'll teach you how to act a story. + +Sir _Sig_. How, how, Signior, to act a story? + +_Pet_. Ay, Sir, no matter for words or sense, so the Body perform its +part well. + +Sir _Sig_. How, tell a story without words! why, this were an excellent +device for Mr. _Tickletext_, when he's to hold forth to the Congregation, +and has lost his Sermon-Notes--why, this is wonderful.-- + +_Pet_. Oh, Sir, I have taught it Men born deaf [_Gets between 'em: +Makes a sign of being fat; galloping about the Stage_.] and blind:--look +ye, stand close together, and observe--closer yet:--a certain +Eclejastico, Plump and Rich--Riding along the Road, meets a Paver +strapiao,--un Pavaro strapiao, Paure strapiao:--strapiao--strapiao-- +strapiao [_Puts himself into the Posture of a lean Beggar; his hands +right down by his sides,--and picks both their Pockets_.] Elemosuna per +un Paure strapiao, par a Moure de Dievos--at last he begs a Julio--Neinte +[_makes the fat Bishop_.] the Paure strapiao begs a Mezo Julio-- +[_lean_] Neinte [_fat_]--une bacio--[_lean_]--Neinte-- +[_fat_]--at last he begs his Blessing--and see how willingly the +Ecclesiastico gave his Benediction. [_Opening his Arms, hits them both +in the face_.]--Scusa, scusa mea, Patronas-- + [_Begs their pardon_.] + +Sir _Sig_. Yes, very willingly, which by the way he had never done had it +been worth a farthing. + +_Tick_. Marry, I wou'd he had been a little sparing of that too at this +time--[_sneezes_] a shame on't, it has stir'd this same _Cackamarda_ +again most foully. + +_Pet_. Your pardon, Signior;--but come, Sir _Signal_,--let's see how you +will make this silent relation--Come, stand between us two-- + +Sir _Sig_. Nay, let me alone for a memory--come. + +_Pet_. I think I have reveng'd my Backsword-beating. + [_Goes off_.] + +Sir _Sig_. Un paureo strapado--plump and rich, no, no, the Ecclesiastico +meet un paureo strapado--and begs a Julio. + +_Tick_. Oh, no, Sir, the strapado begs the Julio. + +Sir _Sig_. Ay, ay, and the Ecclesastico crys Niente--[_snaps his nail_.] +un meze Julio!--Niente--un Bacio, Niente: your Blessing then, Signior +Ecclesastico. + [_Spreads out his Arms to give his blessing--and hits_ Tick.] + +_Tick_. Adds me, you are all a little too liberal of this same +Benediction. + +Sir _Sig_. Hah--but where's Signior _Morigoroso?_ what, is he gone?--but +now I think on't, 'tis a point of good manners to go without taking +leave. + +_Tick_. It may be so, but I wish I had my Ring again, I do not like the +giving Lesson without the taking one; why this is picking a Man's pocket, +_certo_. + +Sir _Sig_. Not so, Governour, for then I had had a considerable loss: +Look ye here,--how--how [_feeling in his Pocket_.] how--[_in another_] +how--gone? gone as I live, my Money, Governour; all the Gold _Barberacho_ +receiv'd of my Merchant to day--all gone.-- + +_Tick_. Hah--and mine--all my stock, the Money which I thought to have +made a present to the Gentlewoman, _Barberacho_ was to bring me to-- +[_Aside_.]--Undone, undone--Villains, Cutpurses--Cheats, oh, run after +him. + +Sir _Sig_. A Pox of all silent stories; Rogue, Thief--undone.-- + + [Exeunt. + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE I. _The Corso_. + + _Enter_ Julio _and his_ Page. + +_Jul_. How, the Lady whom I followed from St. _Peter's_ Church, a +Curtezan? + +_Pag_. A Curtezan, my Lord, fair as the Morning, and as young. + +_Jul_. I know she's fair and young; but is she to be had, Boy? + +_Pag_. My Lord, she is--her Footman told me she was a Zittella. + +_Jul_. How, a Zittella!--a Virgin, 'tis impossible. + +_Pag_. I cannot swear it, Sir, but so he told me; he said she had a World +of Lovers: Her name is _Silvianetta_, Sir, and her Lodgings-- + +_Jul_. I know't, are on the _Corso_; a Curtezan? and a Zittella too? a +pretty contradiction; but I'll bate her the last, so I might enjoy her as +the first: whate'er the price be, I'm resolv'd upon the adventure; and +will this minute prepare my self. [_Going off, Enter_ Mor. and Octa.]-- +hah, does the Light deceive me, or is that indeed my Uncle, in earnest +conference with a Cavalier?--'tis he--I'll step aside till he's past, +lest he hinders this Night's diversion. + [_Goes aside_. + +_Mor_. I say 'twas rashly done, to fight him unexamin'd. + +_Oct_. I need not ask; my Reason has inform'd me, and I'm convinc'd, +where-e'er he has concealed her, that she is fled with _Fillamour_. + +_Jul_. Who is't they speak of? + +_Mor_. Well, well, sure my Ancestors committed some horrid crime against +Nature, that she sent this Pest of Woman-kind into our Family,--two +Nieces for my share;--by Heaven, a Proportion sufficient to undo six +Generations. + +_Jul_. Hah? two Nieces, what of them? [_Aside_. + +_Mor_. I am like to give a blessed account of 'em to their Brother +_Julio_ my Nephew, at his return; there's a new plague now:--but my +comfort is, I shall be mad, and there's an end on't. + [_Weeps_. + +_Jul_. My Curiosity must be satisfied,--have patience, Noble Sir.-- + +_Mor_. Patience is a flatterer, Sir,--and an Ass, Sir; and I'll have none +on't--hah, what art thou? + +_Jul_. Has five or six Years made ye lose the remembrance of your +Nephew--_Julio_? + +_Mor. Julio!_ I wou'd I had met thee going to thy Grave. + [_Weeps_. + +_Jul_. Why so, Sir? + +_Mor_. Your Sisters, Sir, your Sisters are both gone.-- + [_Weeps_. + +_Jul_. How gone, Sir? + +_Mor_. Run away, Sir, flown, Sir. + +_Jul_. Heavens! which way? + +_Mor_. Nay, who can tell the ways of fickle Women--in short, Sir, your +Sister _Marcella_ was to have been married to this noble Gentleman,--nay, +was contracted to him, fairly contracted in my own Chappel; but no sooner +was his back turn'd, but in a pernicious Moon-light Night she shews me a +fair pair of heels, with the young Baggage, your other Sister _Cornelia_, +who was just come from the Monastery where I bred her, to see her Sister +married. + +_Jul_. A curse upon the Sex! why must Man's Honour Depend upon their +Frailty? +--Come--give me but any light which way they went, And I will trace 'em +with that careful Vengeance-- + +_Oct_. Spoke like a Man, that understands his Honour; And I can guess how +we may find the Fugitives. + +_Jul_. Oh, name it quickly, Sir! + +_Oct_. There was a young Cavalier--some time at _Viterbo_, Who I confess +had Charms, Heaven has denied to me, +That Trifle, Beauty, which was made to please +Vain foolish Woman, which the brave and wise +Want leisure to design.-- + +_Jul_. And what of him? + +_Oct_. This fine gay thing came in your Sister's way, +And made that Conquest Nature meant such Fools for: +And, Sir, she's fled with him. + +_Jul_. Oh, show me the Man, the daring hardy Villain, +Bring me but in the view of my Revenge,--and if I fail to take it, +Brand me with everlasting Infamy. + +_Oct_. That we must leave to Fortune, and our Industry. +--Come, Sir, let's walk and think best what to do,-- + + [_Going down the Scene, Enter_ Fil. _and_ Gal. + +_Fil_. Is not that _Julio_? Boy, run and call him back. + [_Ex. Boy, re-enters with_ Jul. + +_Jul_. Oh, _Fillamour_, I have heard such killing news +Since last I left thee-- + +_Fil_. What, prithee? + +_Jul_. I had a Sister, Friend--dear as my Life, +And bred with all the Virtues of her Sex; +No Vestals at the Holy Fire employ'd themselves +In innocenter business than this Virgin; +Till Love, the fatal Fever of her Heart, +Betray'd her harmless Hours; +And just upon the point of being married, +The Thief stole in, and rob'd us of this Treasure: +She'as left her Husband, Parents, and her Honour, +And's fled with the base Ruiner of her Virtue. + +_Fil_. And lives the Villain durst affront ye thus? + +_Jul_. He does. + +_Gal_. Where, in what distant World? + +_Jul_. I know not. + +_Fil_. What is he call'd? + +_Jul_. I know not neither,--some God direct me to the Ravisher! +And if he scape my Rage, +May Cowards point me out for one of their tame Herd. + +_Fil_. In all your Quarrels I must join my Sword. + +_Gal_. And if you want,--here's another, Sir, that, though it be not +often drawn in anger, nor cares to be, shall not be idle in good company. + +_Jul_. I thank you both; and if I have occasion, will borrow their +assistance; but I must leave you for a minute, I'll wait on you anon.-- + [_They all three walk as down the street, talking_. + + _Enter_ Laura, _with_ Silvio _and her_ Equipage. + +_Lau_. Beyond my wish, I'm got into his Friendship: +But Oh, how distant Friendship is from Love, +That's all bestow'd on the fair Prostitute! +--Ah, _Silvio_, when he took me in his Arms, +Pressing my willing Bosom to his Breast, +Kissing my Cheek, calling me lovely Youth, +And wond'ring how such Beauty, and such Bravery, +Met in a Man so young! Ah, then, my Boy, +Then in that happy minute, +How near was I to telling all my Soul! +My Blushes and my Sighs were all prepar'd; +My Eyes cast down, my trembling Lips just parting.-- +But still as I was ready to begin, +He cries out _Silvianetta_! +And to prevent mine, tells me all his Love. +--But see--he's here.-- + + [Fill. _and_ Gal. _coming up the Scene_. + +_Gal_. Come, lay by all sullen Unresolves: for now the hour of the +Berjere approaches, Night that was made for Lovers.--Hah! my Dear +_Sans-Coeur_? my Life! my Soul! my Joy! Thou art of my opinion! + +_Lau_. I'm sure I am, whate'er it be. + +_Gal_. Why, my Friend here, and I, have sent and paid our Fine for a +small Tenement of Pleasure, and I'm for taking present possession;--but +hold--if you shou'd be a Rival after all.-- + +_Lau_. Not in your _Silvianetta_! my Love has a nice Appetite, +And must be fed with high uncommon Delicates. +I have a Mistress, Sir, of Quality; +Fair, as Imagination paints young Angels; +Wanton and gay, as was the first _Corinna_, +That charm'd our best of Poets; +Young as the Spring, and chearful as the Birds +That welcome in the Day; +Witty, as Fancy makes the Revelling Gods, +And equally as bounteous when she blesses. + +_Gal_. Ah, for a fine young Whore with all these Charms! +but that same Quality allays the Joy: there's such a +damn'd ado with the Obligation, that half the Pleasure's +lost in Ceremony. +--Here for a thousand Crowns I reign alone, +Revel all day in Love without controul. +--But come to our business, I have given order for Musick, +Dark Lanthorns, and Pistols. + + [_This while_ Fil., _stands studying_. + +_Fil_. Death, if it shou'd not be _Marcella_ now! [_Pausing aside_. + +_Gal_. Prithee no more considering,--resolve, and let's about it. + +_Fil_. I wou'd not tempt my Heart again! for Love, +What e'er it may be in another's Breast, +In mine 'twill turn to a religious Fire; +And so to burn for her, a common Mistress, +Wou'd be an Infamy below her Practice. + +_Gal_. Oh, if that be all, doubt not, _Harry_, but an Hour's Conversation +with _Euphemia_ will convert it to as leud a flame, as a Man wou'd wish. + +_Lau_. What a coil's here about a Curtezan! what ado to persuade a Man to +a Blessing all _Rome_ is languishing for in vain!--Come, Sir, we must +deal with him, as Physicians do with peevish Children, force him to take +what will cure him. + +_Fil_. And like those damn'd Physicians, kill me for want of method: no, +I know my own Distemper best, and your Applications will make me mad. + +_Gal_. Pox on't, that one cannot love a Woman like a Man, but one must +love like an Ass. + +_Lau_. S'heart, I'll be bound to lie with all the Women in _Rome_, with +less ado than you are brought to one. + +_Gal_. Hear ye that, _Henry_? s'death, art not asham'd to be instructed +by one so young!--But see--the Star there appears,--the Star that +conducts thee to the Shore of Bliss,--She comes! let's feel thy +[Marcella _and_ Cornelia _above_ with_ Philippa.] Heart, she comes! +So breaks the Day on the glad Eastern Hills, +Or the bright God of Rays from _Thetis'_ Lap: +A Rapture, now, dear Lad, and then fall to; +for thou art old Dog at a long Grace. + +_Fil_. Now I'm mere Man again, with all his Frailties-- [_Aside_. +--Bright lovely Creature!-- + +_Gal_. Damn it, how like my Lady's eldest Son was that? + +_Fil_. May I hope my Sacrifice may be accepted by you; by Heaven, +it must be she! still she appears more like.-- + [_Aside_. + +_Mar_. I've only time to tell you Night approaches, +And then I will expect you. + + _Enter_ Crapine, _gazes on the Ladies_. + +_Crap_. 'Tis she, _Donna Marcella_, on my life, with the young wild +_Cornelia_!--hah--yonder's the _English_ Cavalier too; nay then, by this +Hand I'll be paid for all my fruitless jaunts, for this good news--stay, +let me mark the House.-- + +_Mar_. Now to my Disguise. + [_Ex_. Marcella. + +_Gal_. And have you no kind message to send to my Heart? cannot this good +Example instruct you how to make me happy? + +_Cor_. Faith, Stranger, I must consider first; she's skilful in the +Merchandize of Hearts, and has dealt in Love with so good success +hitherto, she may lose one Venture, and never miss it in her Stock: but +this is my first, and shou'd it prove to be a bad bargain, I were undone +for ever. + +_Gal_. I dare secure the Goods sound-- + +_Cor_. And I believe will not lie long upon my hands. + +_Gal_. Faith, that's according as you'll dispose on't, Madam--for let me +tell you--gad, a good handsome proper Fellow is as staple a Commodity as +any's in the Nation;--but I wou'd be reserv'd for your own use. Faith, +take a Sample to night, and as you like it, the whole Piece; and that's +fair and honest dealing I think, or the Devil's in't. + +_Cor_. Ah, Stranger,--you have been so over-liberal for those same +Samples of yours, that I doubt they have spoiled the sale of the rest; +Cou'd you not afford, think ye, to throw in a little Love and Constancy, +to inch out that want of Honesty of yours? + +_Gal_. Love! oh, in abundance! +By those dear Eyes, by that soft smiling Mouth, +By every secret Grace thou hast about thee, +I love thee with a vigorous, eager Passion; +--Be kind, dear _Silvianetta_--prithee do, +Say you believe, and make me blest to Night. + +_Crap. Silvianetta!_ so, that's the Name she has rifl'd for _Cornelia_, I +perceive. [_Aside_. + +_Cor_. If I shou'd be so kind-hearted, what good use wou'd you make of so +obliging an Opportunity? + +_Gal_. That which the happy Night was first ordain'd for. + +_Cor_. Well, Signior, 'tis coming on, and then I'll try what Courage the +Darkness will inspire me with:--till then--farewell.-- + +_Gal_. Till then a thousand times adieu.-- + [_Blowing up kisses to her_. + +_Phil_. Ah, Madam, we're undone,--yonder's _Crapine_, your Uncle's Valet. + +_Cor_. Now a Curse on him; shall we not have one night with our +Cavaliers?--let's retire, and continue to out-wit him, or never more +pretend to't. Adieu, Signior Cavalier--remember Night.-- + +_Gal_. Or may I lose my Sense to all Eternity. + + [_Kisses his fingers and bows, she returns it for a while. + Exit_. Crap. + +_Lau_. Gods, that all this that looks at least like Love, +Shou'd be dispens'd to one insensible! +Whilst every syllable of that dear Value, +Whisper'd to me, wou'd make my Soul all Extasy. [_Aside_. +--Oh, spare that Treasure for a grateful Purchase; +And buy that common Ware with trading Gold, +Love is too rich a Price!--I shall betray my self.--[_Aside_. + +_Gal_. Away, that's an heretical Opinion, and which +This certain Reason must convince thee of; +That Love is Love, wherever Beauty is, +Nor can the Name of Whore make Beauty less. + + _Enter_ Marcella _like a Man, with a Cloke about her_. + +_Mar_. Signior, is your Name _Fillamour?_ + +_Fil_. It is, what wou'd you, Sir?-- + +Mar_. I have a Letter for you--from _Viterbo_, and your _Marcella_, Sir. + [_Gives it him_. + +_Fil_. Hah--_Viterbo_! and _Marcella_! +It shocks me like the Ghost of some forsaken Mistress, +That met me in the way to Happiness, +With some new long'd-for Beauty! + [_Opens it, reads_. + +_Mar_. Now I shall try thy Virtue, and my Fate.-- [_Aside_. + +_Fil_. What is't that checks the Joy, that shou'd surprize me at the +receipt of this. + +_Gal_. How now! what's the cold fit coming on? [_Pauses_. + +_Fil_. I have no power to go--where this--invites me-- +By which I prove 'tis no encrease of Flame that warms my Heart, +But a new Fire just kindled from those Eyes-- +Whose Rays I find more piercing than _Marcella's_. + +_Gal_.--Ay, Gad, a thousand times--prithee, what's the matter? + +_Mar_. Oh, this false-souled Man--wou'd I had leisure +To be reveng'd for this Inconstancy! [_Aside_. + +_Fil_.--But still she wants that Virtue I admire. + +_Gal_. Virtue! 'S'death thou art always fumbling upon that dull string +that makes no Musick.--What Letter's that? [_Reads_.] If the first +Confession I ever made of Love be grateful to you, come arm'd to night +with a Friend or two; and behind the Garden of the Fountains, you will +receive--hah, _Marcella!_--Oh, damn it, from your honest Woman!--Well, I +see the Devil's never so busy with a Man, as when he has resolv'd upon +any Goodness! S'death, what a rub's here in a fair cast,--how is't man? +Alegremente! bear up, defy him and all his Works. + +_Fil_. But I have sworn, sworn that I lov'd _Marcella;_ +And Honour, Friend, obliges me to go, +Take her away and marry her. +--And I conjure thee to assist me too. + +_Gal_. What, to night, this might, that I have given to _Silvianetta!_ +and you have promis'd to the fair--_Euphemia!_ + +_Lau_. If he shou'd go, he ruins my design, [_Aside_. +--Nay, if your word, Sir--be already past-- + +_Fil_. 'Tis true, I gave my promise to _Euphemia;_ but that, to Women of +her Trade, is easily absolv'd. + +_Gal_. Men keep not Oaths for the sakes of the wise Magistrates to whom +they are made, but their own Honour, _Harry_.--And is't not much a +greater crime to rob a gallant, hospitable Man of his Niece, who has +treated you with Confidence and Friendship, than to keep touch with a +well-meaning Whore, my conscientious Friend? + +_Lau_. Infinite degrees, Sir. + +_Gal_. Besides, thou'st an hour or two good, between this and the time +requir'd to meet _Marcella_. + +_Lau_. Which an industrious Lover would manage to the best advantage. + +_Gal_. That were not given over to Virtue and Constancy; two the best +excuses I know for Idleness. + +_Fil_.--Yes--I may see this Woman. + +_Gal_. Why, Gad-a-mercy, Lad. + +_Fil_.--And break my Chains, if possible. + +_Gal_. Thou wilt give a good essay to that I'll warrant thee, +Before she part with thee; come let's about it. + + [_They are going out on either side of_ Fil. _persuading him_. + +_Mar_. He's gone, the Curtezan has got the day, [_Aside_. +Vice has the start of Virtue every way; +And for one Blessing honest Wives obtain, +The happier Mistress does a thousand gain. +I'll home--and practise all their Art to prove, +That nothing is so cheaply gain'd as Love. + [_Exit_. + +_Gal_. Stay, what Farce is this--prithee let's see a little. + [_Offering to go_. + + [_Enter Sir_ Signal, _Mr_. Tickletext, _with his Cloke ty'd + about him, a great Inkhorn ty'd at his Girdle and a + great folio under his Arm_, Petro _drest like an Antiquary_. + +--How now, Mr. _Tickletext_, what, drest as if you were +going a Pilgrimage to _Jerusalem?_ + +_Tick_. I make no such profane Journeys, Sir. + +_Gal_. But where have you been, Mr. _Tickletext?_ + +Sir _Sig_. Why, Sir, this most Reverend and Renowned Antiquary has been +showing us Monumental Rarities and Antiquities. + +_Gal_. 'Tis _Petro_, that Rogue. + +_Fil_. But what Folio have you gotten there, Sir, _Knox_, or +_Cartwright?_ + +_Pet_. Nay, if he be got into that heap of Nonsense, I'll steal off and +undress. [_Aside_.] + [_Ex_. Petro. + + [Tick, _opening the Book_. + +_Tick_. A small Volume, Sir, into which I transcribe the most memorable +and remarkable Transactions of the Day. + +_Lau_. That doubtless must be worth seeing. + +_Fil_. [_Reads_.]--April the twentieth, arose a very great Storm of Wind, +Thunder, Lightning and Rain,--which was a shrewd sign of foul Weather. +The 22th 9 of our 12 Chickens getting loose, flew overboard, the other +three miraculously escaping, by being eaten by me that Morning for +Breakfast. + +Sir _Sig_. Harkye, _Galliard_--thou art my Friend, and 'tis not like a +Man of Honour to conceal any thing from one's Friend,--know then I am +The most fortunate Rascal that ever broke bread,--I am this night to +visit, Sirrah,--the finest, the most delicious young Harlot, Mum--under +the Rose--in all _Rome_, of _Barberacho's_ acquaintance. + +_Gal_.--Hah--my Woman, on my Life! and will she be kind? + +Sir _Sig_. Kind! hang Kindness, Man, I'm resolv'd upon Conquest by Parly +or by Force. + +_Gal_. Spoke like a Roman of the first Race, when noble Rapes, not +whining Courtship, did the Lover's business. + +Sir _Sig_. 'Sha, Rapes, Man! I mean by force of Money, pure dint of Gold, +faith and troth: for I have given 500 Crowns entrance already, _& Par +Dins Bacchus, 'tis tropo Caro--tropo Caro_, Mr. _Galliard_. + +_Gal_. And what's this high-priz'd Lady's Name, Sir? + +Sir _Sig_. _La Silvianetta_,--and lodges on the _Corso_, not far from St. +James's of the Incurables--very well situated in case of disaster--hah. + +_Gal_. Very well,--and did not your wise Worship know this _Silvianetta_ +was my Mistress? + +Sir _Sig_. How! his Mistress! what a damn'd Noddy was I to name her! + [_Aside_. + +_Gal_. D'ye hear, fool! renounce me this Woman instantly, or I'll first +discover it to your Governour, and then cut your throat, Sir. + +Sir _Sig_. Oh, _Doux Ment_--dear _Galliard_--Renounce her,--_Corpo de +mi_, that I will soul and body, if she belong to thee, Man.-- + +_Gal_. No more; look to't--look you forget her Name--or but to think of +her--farewel-- + [_Nods at him_. + +Sir _Sig_. Farewell, quoth ye--'tis well I had the Art of dissembling +after all, here had been a sweet broil upon the Coast else.-- + +_Fil_. Very well, I'll trouble my self to read no more, since I know +you'l be so kind to the world to make it publick. + +_Tick_. At my return, Sir, for the good of the Nation, I will print it, +and I think it will deserve it. + +_Lau_. This is a precious Rogue, to make a Tutor of. + +_Fil_. Yet these Mooncalfs dare pretend to the breeding of our Youth; and +the time will come, I fear, when none shall be reputed to travel like a +Man of Quality, who has not the advantage of being impos'd upon by one of +these pedantick Novices, who instructs the young Heir in what himself is +most profoundly ignorant of. + +_Gal_. Come, 'tis dark, and time for our Design,--your Servant, Signiors. + [_Exeunt_ Fil. _and_ Gal. + +_Lau_. I'll home, and watch the kind deceiving Minute, that may conduct +him by mistake to me. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter_ Petro, _like_ Barberacho, _just as_ Tick. + _and Sir_ Signal _are going out_. + +Sir _Sig_. Oh, _Barberacho_, we are undone! Oh, the Diavillo take that +Master you sent me? + +_Pet_. Master, what Master? + +Sir _Sig_. Why, Signior Morigoroso! + +_Pet_. Mor--oso--what shou'd he be? + +Sir _Sig_. A Civility-Master he should have been, to have taught us good +Manners;--but the Cornuto cheated us most damnably, and by a willing +mistake taught us nothing in the world but Wit. + +_Pet_. Oh, abominable Knavery! why, what a kind of Man was he? + +Sir _Sig_.--Why--much such another as your self. + +_Tick_. Higher, Signior, higher. + +Sir _Sig_. Ay, somewhat higher--but just of his pitch. + +_Pet_. Well, Sir, and what of this Man? + +Sir _Sig_. Only pickt our Pockets, that's all. + +_Tick_. Yes, and cozen'd us of our Rings. + +Sir _Sig_. Ay, and gave us Cackamarda Orangata for Snuff. + +_Tick_. And his Blessing to boot when he had done. + +Sir _Sig_. A vengeance on't, I feel it still. + +_Pet_. Why, this 'tis to do things of your own head; for I sent no such +Signior Moroso--but I'll see what I can do to retrieve 'em--I am now a +little in haste, farewell.-- + [_Offers to go_, Tick. _goes out by him and jogs him_. + +_Tick_. Remember to meet me--farewel, _Barberacho_. + [_Goes out, Sir_ Sig. _pulls him_. + +Sir _Sig. Barberacho_--is the Lady ready? + +_Pet_. Is your Money ready? + +Sir _Sig_. Why, now, though I am threatned, and kill'd, and beaten, and +kick'd about this Intrigue, I must advance. [_Aside_.]--But dost think +there's no danger? + +_Pet_. What, in a delicate young amorous Lady, Signior? + +Sir _Sig_. No, no, mum, I don't much fear the Lady; but this same mad +fellow _Galliard_, I hear, has a kind of a hankering after her-- +Now dare not I tell him what a discovery I have made. [_Aside_. + +_Pet_. Let me alone to secure you, meet me in the _Piazzo d'Hispagnia_, +as soon as you can get yourself in order; where the two Fools shall meet, +and prevent either's coming. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Sig_. Enough,--here's a Bill for 500 Crowns more upon my Merchant, +you know him by a good token, I lost the last Sum you receiv'd for me, a +pox of that Handsel; away, here's company. + [_Ex_. Pet. _Enter_ Octavio _and_ Crapine.] +Now will I disguise my self, according to the mode of the Roman +Inamoratos; and deliver my self upon the place appointed. + [_Ex. Sir_ Sig. + +_Oct_. On the _Corso_ didst thou see 'em? + +_Crap_. On the _Corso_, my Lord, in discourse with three Cavaliers, one +of which has given me many a Pistole, to let him into the Garden a-nights +at _Viterbo_, to talk with _Donna Marcella_ from her Chamber-Window, I +think I shou'd remember him. + +_Oct_. Oh, that Thought fires me with Anger fit for my Revenge, + [_Aside_. +And they are to serenade 'em, thou say'st? + +_Crap_. I did, my Lord: and if you can have patience till they come, you +will find your Rival in this very place, if he keep his word. + +_Oct_. I do believe thee, and have prepared my Bravoes to attack him: if +I can act but my Revenge to night, how shall I worship Fortune? Keep out +of sight, and when I give the word, be ready all. I hear some coming, +let's walk off a little.-- + + _Enter_ Marcella _in Man's Clothes, and_ Philippa _as a Woman + with a Lanthorn_. Oct. _and_ Crap. _go off the other way_. + +_Mar_. Thou canst never convince me, but if _Crapine_ saw us, and gaz'd +so long upon us, he must know us too; and then what hinders but by a +diligent watch about the House, they will surprize us, e'er we have +secured our selves from 'em? + +_Phil_. And how will this exposing your self to danger prevent 'em? + +_Mar_. My design now is, to prevent _Fillamour's_ coming into danger, by +hindring his approach to this House: I wou'd preserve the kind Ingrate +with any hazard of my own; and 'tis better to die than fall into the +hands of _Octavio_. I'm desperate with that thought, and fear no danger: +however, be you ready at the door, and when I ring admit me--ha--who +comes here? + + _Enter_ Tickletext _with a Periwig and Crevat of Sir_ Signal's: + _A Sword by his side, and a dark Lanthorn; she opens + hers, looks on him, and goes out_. + +_Tick_. A Man! now am I, though an old Sinner, as timorous as a young +Thief: 'tis a great inconvenience in these Popish Countrys, that a man +cannot have liberty to steal to a Wench without danger; not that I need +fear who sees me except _Galliard_, who suspecting my business, will go +near to think I am wickedly inclin'd. Sir _Signal_ I have left hard at +his Study, and Sir _Henry_ is no nocturnal Inamorato, unless like me he +dissemble it.--Well, _certo_, 'tis a wonderful pleasure to deceive the +World: And as a learned Man well observ'd, that the Sin of Wenching lay +in the Habit only; I having laid that aside, _Timothy Tickletext_, +principal Holder-forth of the _Covent-Garden_ Conventicle, Chaplain of +_Buffoon-Hall_ in the County of _Kent_, is free to recreate himself. + + _Enter_ Gal. _with a dark Lanthorn_. + +_Gal_. Where the Devil is this _Fillamour?_ and the Mufick? which way +cou'd he go to lose me thus? + [_Looks towards the Door_. +--He is not yet come-- + +_Tick_. Not yet come--that must be _Barberacho!_-- +Where are ye, honest _Barberacho_, where are ye? + [_Groping towards_ Gal. + +_Gal_. Hah! _Barberacho?_ that Name I am sure is us'd by none but Sir +_Signal_ and his Coxcomb Tutor; it must be one of those--Where are ye, +Signior, where are ye? + [_Goes towards him, and opens the Lanthorn--and shuts it strait_. + +--Oh, 'tis the Knight,--are you there, Signior? + +_Tick_. Oh, art thou come, honest Rascal--conduct me quickly, conduct me +to the beautiful and fair _Silvianetta_. + [_Gives him his Hand_. + +_Gal_. Yes, when your Dogship's damn'd. _Silvianetta!_ Sdeath, is she a +Whore for Fools? [_Draws_. + +_Tick_. Hah, Mr. _Galliard_, as the Devil would have it;--I'm undone if +he sees me. + [_He retires hastily_, Gal. _gropes for him_. + +_Gal_. Where are you, Fop? Buffoon! Knight! + + [Tickletext _retiring hastily runs against_ Octavio, _who + is just entering, almost beats him down_; Oct. _strikes + him a good blow, beats him back and draws_: Tick, _gets + close up in a corner of the Stage_; Oct. _gropes for him, + as_ Gal. _does, and both meet and fight with each other_. + +--What, dare you draw,--you have the impudence to be valiant then in the +dark, [_they pass_.] I wou'd not kill the Rogue,--'Sdeath, you can fight +then, when there's a Woman in the case! + +_Oct_. I hope 'tis _Fillarnour_; [_Aside_.] You'll find I can, and +possibly may spoil your making Love to night. + +_Gal_. Egad, Sweet-heart, and that may be, one civil Thrust will do't;-- +and 'twere a damn'd rude thing to disappoint so fine a Woman,--therefore +I'll withdraw whilst I'm well. + [_He slips out_. + + _Enter Sir_ Signal, _with a Masquerading Coat over his + Clothes, without a Wig or Crevat, with a dark Lanthorn_. + +Sir _Sig_. Well, I have most neatly escap'd my Tutor; and in this +disguise defy the Devil to claim his own.--Ah, _Caspeto de Deavilo_;-- +What's that? + + [_Advancing softly, and groping with his hands, meets the + point of_ Oct. _Sword, as he is groping for_ Gal. + +_Oct_. Traitor, darest thou not stand my Sword? + +Sir _Sig_. Hah! Swords! no, Signior--_scusa mea_, Signioir,-- + + [_Hops to the door: And feeling for his way with his + out-stretcht Arms, runs his Lanthorn in_ Julio's + _face, who is just entring; finds he's oppos'd with + a good push backward, and slips aside into a corner + over-against_ Tickletext; Julio _meets_ Octavio, _and + fights him_; Oct. _falls_, Julio _opens his Lanthorn, + and sees his mistake_. + +_Jut_. Is it you, Sir? + +_Oct_. _Julio_! From what Mistake grew all this Violence? + +_Jul_. That I shou'd ask of you, who meet you arm'd against me. + +_Oct_. I find the Night has equally deceiv'd us; and you are fitly come +to share with me the hopes of dear Revenge. + [_Gropes for his Lanthorn, which is dropt_. + +_Jul_. I'd rather have pursu'd my kinder Passion, +Love, and Desire, that brought me forth to night. + +_Oct_. I've learnt where my false Rival is to be this Evening; +And if you'll join your Sword, you'll find it well employ'd. + +_Jul_. Lead on, I'm as impatient of Revenge as you.-- + +_Oct_. Come this way then, you'll find more Aids to serve us. + + [_Go out_. + +_Tick_.--So! Thanks be prais'd, all's still again, this Fright were +enough to mortify any Lover of less magnanimity than my self.--Well, of +all Sins, this itch of Whoring is the most hardy,--the most impudent in +Repulses, the most vigilant in watching, most patient in waiting, most +frequent in Dangers; in all Disasters but Disappointment, a Philosopher; +yet if _Barberacho_ come not quickly, my Philosophy will be put to't, +_certo_. + + [_This while Sir_ Signal _is venturing from his Post, + listening, and slowly advancing towards the middle + of the Stage_. + +Sir _Sig_. The Coast is once more clear, and I may venture my Carcase +forth again,--though such a Salutation as the last, wou'd make me very +unfit for the matter in hand.--The Battoon I cou'd bear with the +Fortitude and Courage of a Hero: But these dangerous Sharps I never +lov'd. What different Rencounters have I met withal to night, _Corpo de +me_? A Man may more safely pass the Gulf of _Lyons_, than convoy himself +into a Baudy-House in _Rome_; but I hope all's past, and I will say with +_Alexander,--Vivat Esperance en despetto del Fatto_. + [_Advances a little_. + +_Tick_. Sure I heard a noise;--No, 'twas only my surmise. + + [_They both advance softly, meeting just in the middle of + the Stage, and coming close up to each other; both + cautiously start back, and stand a tipto in the posture + of Fear, then gently feeling for each other, (after + listening and hearing no Noise) draw back their + Hands at touching each other's; and shrinking up + their Shoulders, make grimaces of more Fear_. + +_Tick_. _Que Equesto_. + +Sir _Sig_. Hah, a Man's Voice!--I'll try if I can fright him hence. + [_Aside_. +_Una Malladette Spiritto Incarnate_. + [_In a horrible tone_. + +_Tick_. Hah, _Spiritto Incarnate_! that Devil's Voice I shou'd know. + [_Aside_. + +Sir _Sig_. See, Signior! _Una Spiritto_, which is to say, _un Spiritalo, +Immortallo, Incorporallo, Inanimate, Immaterialle, Philosophicale, +Invisible--Unintelligible--Diavillo_. + [_In the same tone_. + +_Tick_. Ay, ay, 'tis my hopeful Pupil, upon the same design with me, my +life on't,--cunning young Whore-master;--I'll cool your Courage--good +Signior _Diavillo_; if you be the _Diavillo_, I have _una certaina +Immaterial Invisible Conjuratione_, that will so neatly lay your +_Inanimate unintelligible Diavilloship_.-- + [_Pulls out his wooden Sword_. + +Sir _Sig_. How! he must needs be valiant indeed that dares fight with the +Devil. + [_Endeavours to get away_, Tick, _beats him about the Stage_.] +--Ah, Signior, Signior, _Mia_! ah--_Caspeto de Baccus--he cornuto_, I am +a damn'd silly Devil that have no dexterity in vanishing. + + [_Gropes and finds the Door--going out, meets just entring_ + Fillamour, Galliard _with all the Musick--he retires, + and stands close_. + +--Hah,--what have we here, new Mischief?-- + + [Tick. _and he stands against each other, on either side + of the Stage_. + +_Fil_. Prithee how came we to lose ye? + +_Gal_. I thought I had follow'd ye--but 'tis well we are met again. Come +tune your Pipes.-- + [_They play a little, enter_ Marcella _as before_. + +_Mar_. This must be he. + [_Goes up to 'em_. + +_Gal_. Come, come, your Song, Boy, your Song. + + _Whilst 'tis singing, Enter_ Octavio, Julio, Crapine, _and Bravos_. + + The SONG. + + _Crudo Amore, Crudo Amore, | + Il mio Core non fa per te | bis + Suffrir non vo tormenti + Senza mai sperar mar ce + Belta che sia Tiranna, + Belta che sia Tiranna + Doll meo offerto recetto non e + Il tuo rigor singunna + Se le pene + Le catene + Tenta auolgere al mio pie + See see Crudel Amore | + Il mio Core non fa per te. | bis + + Lusinghiero, Lusinghiero, | + Pui non Credo alta tua fe | bis + L' incendio del tuo foce + Nel mio Core pui vivo none + Belta che li die Luoce + Belta che li die Luoce + Ma il rigor L'Ardore s'bande + Io non sato tuo gioce + Ch' il Veleno + Del mio seno + Vergoroso faggito se n'e. + See see Crudel Amore | + Il mio Core non fa per te_. | bis + +_Oct_. 'Tis they we look for, draw and be ready.-- + +_Tick_. Hah, draw--then there's no safety here, _certo_. [_Aside_. + + [Octavio, Julio _and their Party draw, and fight with_ Fil. + _and_ Gal. Marcella _ingages on their side; all fight, the + Musick confusedly amongst 'em:_ Gal. _loses his Sword, and + in the hurry gets a Base Viol, and happens to strike_ + Tickletext, _who is getting away--his Head breaks its way + quite through, and it hangs about his neck; they fight out_. + + Enter_ Petro _with a Lanthorn. Sir_ Signal _stands close still_. + +_Tick_. Oh, undone, undone! where am I, where am I? + +_Pet_. Hah--that's the voice of my amorous _Ananias_,--or I am mistaken-- +what the Devil's the matter? + [_Opens his Lanthorn_. +--Where are ye, Sir?--hah, cuts so--what new-found Pillory have we here? + +_Tick_. Oh, honest _Barberacho_, undo me, undo me quickly. + +_Pet_. So I design, Sir, as fast as I can--or lose my aim--there, Sir, +there: All's well--I have set you free, come follow me the back way into +the house. + + [_Ex_. Pet. _and_ Tickletext. + + _Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Marcella, _with their Swords drawn_, + Gal. _after 'em_. + +_Gal_. A plague upon 'em, what a quarter's here for a Wench, as if there +were no more i'th' Nation?--wou'd I'd my Sword again. + [_Gropes for it_. + +_Mar_. Which way shall I direct him to be safer?--how is it, Sir? I hope +you are not hurt. + +_Fil_. Not that I feel, what art thou ask'st so kindly? + +_Mar_. A Servant to the Roman Curtezan, who sent me forth to wait your +coming, Sir; but finding you in danger, shar'd it with you.--Come, let me +lead you into safety, Sir-- + +_Fil_. Thou'st been too kind to give me cause to doubt thee. + +_Mar_. Follow me, Sir, this Key will give us entrance through the Garden. + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter_ Octavio _with his Sword in his hand_. + +_Oct_. Oh! what damn'd luck had I so poorly to be vanquisht! When all is +hush'd, I know he will return,--therefore I'll fix me here, till I become +a furious Statue--but I'll reach his heart. + +Sir _Sig_. Oh _lamentivolo fato_--what bloody Villains these Popish +_Italians_ are! + + _Enter_ Julio. + +_Oct_. Hah--I hear one coming this way--hah--the door opens too, and he +makes toward it--pray Heaven he be the right, for this I'm sure's the +House.--Now, Luck, an't be thy will-- + [_Follows_ Julio _towards the door softly_. + +_Jul_. The Rogues are fled, but how secure I know not;-- +And I'll pursue my first design of Love, +And if this _Silvianetta_ will be kind-- + + _Enter_ Laura _from the House in a Night-gown_. + +_Lau_. Whist--who is't names _Silvianetta_? + +_Jul_. A Lover, and her Slave-- + [_She takes him by the hand_. + +_Lau_. Oh, is it you,--are you escap'd unhurt? +Come to my Bosom--and be safe for ever-- + +_Jul_. 'Tis Love that calls, and now Revenge must stay, +--This hour is thine, fond Boy; the next that is my own +I'll give to Anger.-- + +_Oct_. Oh, ye pernicious Pair,--I'll quickly change the Scene of Love +into a rougher and more unexpected Entertainment. + + [_She leads_ Julio _in_.--Oct. _follows close, they shut the door + upon 'em. Sir_ Sig. _thrusts out his head to hearken, + hears no body, and advances. + +Sir _Sig_. Sure the Devil reigns to night; wou'd I were shelter'd, and +let him rain Fire and Brimstone: for pass the streets I dare not--this +shou'd be the House--or hereabouts I'm sure 'tis.--Hah--what's this--a +String--of a Bell I hope--I'll try to enter; and if I am mistaken, 'tis +but crying Con licentia. + [_Rings, enter_ Philippa. _Phil_. Who's there? + +Sir _Sig_. 'Tis I, 'tis I, let me in quickly.-- + +_Phil_. Who--the _English_ Cavalier? + +Sir _Sig_. The same--I am right--I see I was expected. + +_Phil_. I'm glad you're come--give me your hand.-- + +Sir _Sig_. I am fortunate at last,--and therefore will say with the +famous Poet. + + _No Happiness like that atchicv'd with Danger, + --Which once overcome--I lie at Rack and Manger_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. + + +SCENE I. + + _Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Galliard, _as in_ Silvianetta's _Apartment_. + +_Fil_. How splendidly these common Women live! +How rich is all we meet with in this Palace; +And rather seems the Apartment of some Prince, +Than a Receptacle for Lust and Shame. + +_Gal_. You see, _Harry_, all the keeping Fools are not in our Dominions; +but this grave, this wise People, are Mistress-ridden too. + +_Fil_. I fear we have mistook the House, and the Youth that brought us in +may have deceived us, on some other design; however whilst I've this--I +cannot fear--[_Draws_. + +_Gal_. A good caution, and I'll stand upon my guard with this; but see-- +here's one will put us out of doubt. + [_Pulls a Pistol out of his pocket_. + +_Fil_. Hah! the fair Inchantress. + + [_Enter_ Mar. _richly and loosely drest_. + +_Mar_. What, on your guard, my lovely Cavalier? Lies there a danger +In this Face and Eyes, that needs that rough resistance? +--Hide, hide that mark of Anger from my sight, +And if thou wou'dst be absolute Conquerer here, +Put on soft Looks, with Eyes all languishing, +Words tender, gentle Sighs, and kind Desires. + +_Gal_. Death, with what unconcern he hears all this! +Art thou possest?--Pox, why dost not answer her? + +_Mar_. I hope he will not yield--[_Aside_. +--He stands unmov'd-- +Surely I was mistaken in this Face, +And I believe in Charms that have no power. + +_Gal_. 'Sdeath, thou deservest not such a noble Creature,-- +I'll have 'em both my self.--[_Aside_. + +_Fil_.--Yes, thou hast wondrous power, +And I have felt it long. [_Pausingly_. + +_Mar_. How! + +_Fil_.--I've often seen that Face--but 'twas in Dreams: +And sleeping lov'd extremely! +And waking;--sigh'd to find it but a Dream: +The lovely Phantom vanish'd with my Slumbers, +But left a strong Idea on my heart +Of what I find in perfect Beauty here, +--But with this difference, she was virtuous too. + +_Mar_. What silly she was that? + +_Fil_. She whom I dream'd I lov'd. + +_Mar_. You only dreamt that she was virtuous too; +Virtue it self's a Dream of so slight force, +The very fluttering of Love's Wings destroys it; +Ambition, or the meaner hope of Interest, wakes it to nothing; +In Men a feeble Beauty shakes the dull slumber off.-- + +_Gal_. Egad, she argues like an Angel, _Harry_. + +_Fil_.--What haste thou'st made to damn thy self so young! +Hast thou been long thus wicked? hast thou sinn'd past Repentance? +Heaven may do much to save so fair a Criminal; +Turn yet, and be forgiven. + +_Gal_. What a Pox dost thou mean by all this Canting? + +_Mar_. A very pretty Sermon, and from a Priest so gay, +It cannot chuse but edify. +Do Holy men of your Religion, Signior, wear all this Habit? +Are they thus young and lovely? Sure if they are, +Your Congregation's all compos'd of Ladies; +The Laity must come abroad for Mistresses. + +_Fil_. Oh, that this charming Woman were but honest! + +_Gal_. 'Twere better thou wert damn'd; honest! +Pox, thou dost come out with things so mal a propo-- + +_Mar_. Come leave this Mask of foolish Modesty, +And let us haste where Love and Musick calls; +Musick, that heightens Love, and makes the Soul +Ready for soft Impressions. + +_Gal_. So, she will do his business with a Vengeance. + +_Fil_. Plague of this tempting Woman, she will ruin me: +I find weak Virtue melt from round my Heart, +To give her Tyrant Image a Possession: +So the warm Sun thaws Rivers icy Tops. +Till in the stream he sees his own bright Face. + +_Gal_. Now he comes on apace,--how is't, my Friend? +Thou stand'st as thou'dst forgot thy business here, +--The Woman, _Harry_, the fair Curtezan; +Canst thou withstand her Charms? I've business of my own, +Prithee fall to--and talk of Love to her. + +_Fil_. Oh, I cou'd talk Eternity away, +In nothing else but Love;--cou'dst thou be honest? + +_Mar_. Honest! was it for that you sent two thousand Crowns, +Or did believe that trifling Sum sufficient +To buy me to the slavery of Honesty? + +_Gal_. Hold there, my brave Virago. + +_Fil_. No, I wou'd sacrifice a nobler Fortune, +To buy thy Virtue home. + +_Mar_. What shou'd it idling there? + +_Fil_. Why--make thee constant to some happy Man, +That wou'd adore thee for't. + +_Mar_. Unconscionable! constant at my years? +--Oh, 'twere to cheat a thousand, +Who between this and my dull Age of Constancy. +Expect the distribution of my Beauty. + +_Gal_. 'Tis a brave Wench-- [_Aside_. + +_Fil_. Yet charming as thou art, the time will come +When all that Beauty, like declining Flowers, +Will wither on the Stalk,--but with this difference, +The next kind Spring brings Youth to Flowers again, +But faded Beauty never more can bloom. +--If Interest make thee wicked, I can supply thy Pride.-- + +_Mar_. Curse on your necessary Trash!--which I despise, +But as 'tis useful to advance our Love. + +_Fil_. Is Love thy business? who is there born so high, +But Love and Beauty equals? +And thou mayst chuse from all the wishing World. +This Wealth together wou'd inrich one Man, +Which dealt to all, wou'd scarce be Charity. + +_Mar_. Together! 'tis a Mass wou'd ransom Kings: +Was all this Beauty given for one poor petty Conquest? +--I might have made a hundred Hearts my slaves, +In this lost time of bringing one to Reason.-- +Farewel, thou dull Philosopher in Love; +When Age has made me wise, I'll send for you again. + [_Offers to go_, Gal. _holds her_. + +_Gal_. By this good Light, a noble glorious Whore. + +_Fil_. Oh, stay, I must not let such Beauty fall, +--A Whore--consider yet the Charms of Reputation, +The Ease, the Quiet, and Content of Innocence, +The awful Reverence all good Men will pay thee, +Who, as thou art, will gaze without respect, +--And cry--what pity 'tis she is--a Whore-- + +_Mar_. O, you may give it what coarse name you please, +But all this Youth and Beauty ne'er was given, +Like Gold to Misers, to be kept from use. + [_Going out_. + +_Fil_. Lost, lost--past all Redemption. + +_Gal_. Nay, Gad, thou shalt not lose her so--I'll fetch her back, and +thou shalt ask her pardon. + [_Runs out after her_. + +_Fil_. By Heaven, it was all a Dream! an airy Dream! +The visionary Pleasure disappears,--and I'm myself again, +--I'll fly before the drousy Fit o'ertake me. + [_Going out, Enter_ Gal. _and then_ Marcella. + +_Gal_. Turn back--she yields, she yields to pardon thee. +Gone! nay, hang me if ye part. + [_Runs after him, still his Pistol in his hand_. + +_Mar_. Gone! I have no leisure now for more dissembling. + [_Takes the Candle, and goes in_. + + _Enter_ Petro, _leading in Mr_. Tickletext, _as by dark_. + +_Pet_. Remain here, Signior, whilst I step and fetch a light. + +_Tick_. Do so, do so, honest _Barberacho_.--Well, my escape even now from +Sir _Signal_ was miraculous, thanks to my Prudence and Prowess; had he +discover'd me, my Dominion had ended, and my Authority been of none +effect, _certo_. + + [Philippa _at the door puts in Sir_ Signal. + +_Phil_. Now, Signior, you're out of danger, I'll fetch a Candle, and let +my Lady know of your being here. + + [_Exit_ Phil. _Sir_ Sig. _advances a little_. + + _Enter_ Petro _with a light, goes between 'em, and starts_. + +_Tick_. Sir _Signal_!-- + +Sir _Sig_. My Governour! + +_Pet_. The two Fools met! a pox of all ill luck! Now shall I lose my +Credit with both my wise Patrons; my Knight I cou'd have put off with a +small Harlot of my own, but my Levite having seen my Lady _Cornelia_, +that is, _La Silvianetta_,--none but that _Susanna_ wou'd satisfy his +Eldership. But now they both sav'd me the labour of a farther invention +to dispatch 'em. + +Sir _Sig_. I perceive my Governour's as much confounded as my self;--I'll +take advantage by the forelock, be very impudent, and put it upon him, +faith--Ah, Governour, will you never leave your whoring? never be staid, +sober and discreet, as I am? + +_Tick_. So, so, undone, undone! just my Documents to him.-- + [_Walks about, Sir_ Sig. _follows_. + +Sir _Sig_. And must I neglect my precious studies, to follow you, in pure +zeal and tender care of your Person? Will you never consider where you +are? In a leud Papish Country, amongst the Romish Heathens! And for you, +a Governour, a Tutor, a Director of unbridled Youth, a Gownman, a +Politician; for you, I say, to be taken at this unrighteous time of the +Night, in a flaunting Cavaliero Dress, an unlawful Weapon by your side, +going the high way to Satan, to a Curtezan; and to a Romish Curtezan! Oh +Abomination! Oh _scandalum infinitum_! + +_Tick_. Paid in my own Coin. + +_Pet_. So, I'll leave the Devil to rebuke Sin: and to my young Lady, for +a little of her assistance in the management of this Affair. + [_Exit_ Pet. + +_Tick_. I do confess, I grant ye I am in the house of a Curtezan, and +that I came to visit a Curtezan, and do intend to visit each Night a +several Curtezan, till I have finished my work-- + +Sir _Sig_. Every night one! Oh Glutton! + +_Tick_. My great work of Convertion, upon the whole Nation, Generation, +and Vocation of this wicked provoking sort of Womankind call'd Curtezans. +I will turn 'em; I will turn 'em, for 'tis a shame that Man shou'd bow +down to those that worship Idols. And now I think, Sir, I have +sufficiently explain'd the business in hand,--as honest _Barberacho_ is +my witness;--And for you--to--scandalize--me--with so naughty an +Interpretation--afflicteth me wonderfully.-- + [_Pulls out his handkerchief, and weeps_. + +Sir _Sig_.--Alas, poor Mr. _Tickletext_, now as I hope to be sav'd, it +grieves my heart to see thee weep; faith and troth now, I thought thou +hadst some carnal Assignation:--but ne'er stir, I beg thy pardon, and +think thee as innocent as my self, that I do--but see, the Lady's here-- +s'life, dry your Eyes, man. + + [_Enter Cornelia, Phil, and Pet_. + +_Cor_. I cou'd beat thee for being thus mistaken, and am resolv'd to +flatter him into some Mischief, to be reveng'd on 'em for this +disappointment; go you, and watch for my Cavalier the while. + +_Tick_. Is she come? Nay, then turn me loose to her. + +_Cor_. My Cavalier! + [_Addressing to Sir Sig_. Tick. _pulls him by, and speaks_. + +_Tick_.--Lady-- + +Sir _Sig_. You, Sir! why, who the Devil made you a Cavalier? most +_Potentissima Signiora_, I am the man of Title, by name Sir _Signal +Buffoon_, sole Son and Heir to Eight Thousand Pound a year.-- + +_Tick_. Oh, Sir, are you the Man she looks for? + +Sir _Sig_. I, Sir? no, Sir: I'd have ye know, Sir, I scorn any Woman, be +she never so fair, unless her design be honest and honourable. + +_Cor_. The Man of all the World I've chosen out, from all the Wits and +Beauties I have seen,--to have most finely beaten. [_Aside_. + +Sir _Sig_. How! In love with me already,--she's damnable handsome too: +now wou'd my Tutor were hang'd a little for an hour or two, out of the +way. [_Aside_. + +_Cor_. Why fly you not into my Arms, + [_She approaching, he shunning_. +These Arms that were design'd for soft Embraces? + +Sir _Sig_. Ay, and if my Tutor were not here, the Devil take him that +wou'd hinder 'em--and I think that's civil, egad. + +_Tick_. Why, how now, _Barberacho_, what, am I cozen'd then, and is Sir +_Signal_ the Man in favour? [_Aside to_ Petro. + +_Pet_. Lord, Signior, that so wise a man as you cannot perceive her +meaning,--for the Devil take me if I can. [_Aside_.--Why this is done to +take off all suspicion from you--and lay it on him;--don't you conceive +it, Signior? + +_Tick_. Yes, honest Rogue,--Oh the witty Wag-tail,--I have a part to play +too, that shall confirm it--young Gentlewoman.-- + +_Cor_. Ah, Belle ingrate, is't thus you recompense my suffering Love? to +fly this Beauty so ador'd by all, that slight the ready Conquest of the +World, to trust a Heart with you?--Ah--_Traditor Cruella_. + +Sir _Sig_. Poor Heart, it goes to the very soul of me to be so coy and +scornful to her, that it does; but a pox on't, her over-fondness will +discover all. + +_Tick_. Fly, fly, young Man, whilst yet thou hast a spark of Virtue +shining in thee, fly the temptations of this young Hypocrite; the Love +that she pretends with so much zeal and ardour, is indecent, +unwarrantable and unlawful; first indecent, as she is Woman--for thou art +Woman--and beautiful Woman--yes, very beautiful Woman; on whom Nature +hath shew'd her height of Excellence in the out-work, but left thee +unfinisht, imperfect and impure. + +_Cor_. Heavens, what have we here? + +Sir _Sig_. A Pox of my Sir _Domine_; now is he beside his Text, and will +spoil all. + +_Tick_. Secondly, Unwarrantable; by what Authority dost thou seduce with +the Allurements of thine Eyes, and the Conjurements of thy Tongue, the +Wastings of thy Hands, and the Tinklings of thy Feet, the young Men in +the Villages? + +_Cor_. Sirrah, how got this Madman in? seize him, and take him hence. + +Sir _Sig_. _Corpo de mi_, my Governour tickles her notably, I'faith--but +had he let the care of my Soul alone to night, and have let me taken care +of my Body, 'twould have been more material at this time. + +_Tick_. Thirdly, Unlawful-- + +_Cor_. Quite distracted! in pity take him hence, and lead him into +Darkness, 'twill suit his Madness best. + +_Tick_. How, distracted! take him hence. + +_Pet_. This was lucky--I knew she wou'd come again--Take him hence--yes, +into her Bed-chamber--pretty device to get you to her self, Signior. + +_Tick_. Why, but is it?--Nay then I will facilitate my departure-- +therefore I say, Oh most beautiful and tempting Woman-- + [_Beginning to preach again_. + +_Cor_. Away with him, give him clean straw and darkness, +And chain him fast, for fear of further mischief. + +_Pet_. She means for fear of losing ye. + +_Tick_. Ah, Baggage! as fast as she will in those pretty Arms. + [_Going to lead him off_. + +Sir _Sig_. Hold, hold, man; mad, said ye!--ha, ha, ha--mad! why we have a +thousand of these in _England_ that go loose about the streets, and pass +with us for as sober discreet religious persons, as a man shall wish to +talk nonsense withal. + +_Pet_. You are mistaken, Signior, I say he is mad, stark mad. + +Sir _Sig_. Prithee, _Barberacho_, what dost thou mean? + +_Pet_. To rid him hence, that she may be alone with you--'slife, Sir, +you're madder than he--don't you conceive?-- + +Sir _Sig_. Ay, ay; nay, I confess, Illustrissima Signiora, my Governour +has a Fit that takes him now and then, a kind of frensy,--a figary--a +whimsy--a maggot, that bites always at naming of Popery: [_Exit_. Pet. +_with_ Tick.]--so--he's gone.--Bellissima Signiora,--you have most +artificially remov'd him--and this extraordinary proof of your affection +is a sign of some small kindness towards me; and though I was something +coy and reserv'd before my Governour, Excellentissima Signiora, let me +tell you, your Love is not cast away. + +_Cor_. Oh, Sir, you bless too fast; but will you ever love me? + +Sir _Sig_. Love thee! ay and lie with thee too, most magnanimous +Signiora, and beget a whole Race of Roman _Julius Caesars_ upon thee; +nay, now we're alone, turn me loose to Impudence, i'faith. + [_Ruffles her; + Enter_ Philippa _in haste, shutting the door after her_. + +_Phil_. Oh, Madam, here's the young mad _English_ Cavalier got into the +House, and will not be deny'd seeing you. + +_Cor_. This was lucky. + +Sir _Sig_. How, the mad _English_ Cavalier! if this shou'd be our young +Count _Galliard_ now--I were in a sweet taking--Oh, I know by my fears +'tis he;--Oh, prithee what kind of a manner of Man is he? + +_Phil_. A handsom--resolute--brave--bold-- + +Sir _Sig_. Oh, enough, enough--Madam, I'll take my leave--I see you are +something busy at present,--an I'll-- + +_Cor_. Not for the World:--_Philippa_, bring in the Cavalier--that you +may see there's none here fears him, Signior. + +Sir _Sig_. Oh, hold, hold--Madam, you are mistaken in that point; for, to +tell you the truth, I do fear--having--a certain--Aversion or Antipathy-- +to--Madam--a Gentleman--Why, Madam, they're the very Monsters of the +Nation, they devour every Day a Virgin.-- + +_Cor_. Good Heavens! and is he such a Fury? + +Sir _Sig_. Oh, and the veriest Beelzebub;--besides, Madam, he vow'd my +Death, if ever he catcht me near this House; and he ever keeps his word +in cases of this Nature--Oh, that's he, [_Knocking at the Door_.] I know +it by a certain trembling Instinct about me!--Oh, what shall I do-- + +_Cor_. Why--I know not,--can you leap a high Window? + +Sir _Sig_. He knocks again,--I protest I am the worst Vaulter in +Christendom.--Have you no moderate danger--between the two extremes of +the Window or the mad Count? no Closet?--Fear has dwindled me to the +scantling of a Mousehole. + +_Cor_. Let me see,--I have no leisure to pursue my Revenge farther, and +will rest satisfy'd with this,--for this time. [_Aside_.]--Give me the +Candle,--and whilst _Philippa_ is conducting the Cavalier to the Alcove +by dark, you may have an Opportunity to slip out--perhaps there may be +danger in his being seen--[_Aside_.] Farewel, Fool-- + + [_Ex_. Cornelia _with the Candle_, Phil. _goes to the Door, + lets in_ Gal. _takes him by the hand_. + +_Gal_. Pox on't, my Knight's bound for _Viterbo_, and there's no +persuading him into safe Harbour again.--He has given me but two hours to +dispatch matters here,--and then I'm to imbark with him upon this new +Discovery of honourable Love, as he call it, whose Adventurers are Fools, +and the returning Cargo, that dead Commodity called a Wife! a Voyage very +suitable to my Humour.--Who's there?-- + +_Phil_. A Slave of _Silvianetta_, Sir; give me your hand. + + [_Ex. over the stage, Sir_ Sig. _goes out softly_. + + +SCENE II. _Changes to a Bed-chamber Alcove_. + + Petro _leading in_ Tickletext. + +_Pet_. Now, Signior, you're safe and happy in the Bedchamber of your +Mistress--who will be here immediately, I'm sure; I'll fetch a Light, and +put you to Bed in the mean time-- + +_Tick_. Not before Supper I hope, honest _Barberacho_. + +_Pet_. Oh, Signior, that you shall do lying, after the manner of the +antient _Romans_. + +_Tick_. _Certo_, and that was a marvellous good lazy Custom. + + [_Ex_. Pet. + + _Enter_ Philippa _with_ Galliard _by dark_. + +_Phil_. My Lady will be with you instantly--[_Goes out_. + +_Tick_. Hah, sure I heard some body come softly in at the door: I hope +'tis the young Gentlewoman. + [_He advances forward_. + +_Gal_. Silence and Night, Love and dear Opportunity. + [_In a soft Tone_. +Join all your aids to make my _Silvia_ kind; +For I am fill'd with the expecting Bliss, + [Tick, _thrusts his Head out to listen_. +And much Delay or Disappointment kills me. + +_Tick_. Disappointment kills me,--and me too, _certo_--'tis she-- + [_Gropes about_. + +_Gal_. Oh, haste, my Fair, haste to my longing Arms, +Where are you, dear and loveliest of your Sex? + +_Tick_. That's I, that's I, _my Alma! mea Core, mea Vita!_ + [_Groping and speaking low_. + +_Gal_. Hah--art thou come, my Life! my Soul! my Joy! + [_Goes to embrace_ Tick, _they meet and kiss_. +'Sdeath, what's this, a bearded Mistress! Lights, Lights there, quickly, +Lights! nay, curse me if thou scap'st me. + + [Tick. _struggles to get away, he holds him by the Crevat + and Perriwig_; _Enter_ Petro _with a Candle_. + +_Gal_. _Barberacho_--confound him, 'tis the Fool whom I found this +Evening about the House, hovering to roost him here!--Ha--what the Devil +have I caught--a _Tartar_? escap'd again! the Devil's his Confederate.-- + + [Pet. _puts out the Candle, comes to_ Tick, _unties his + Crevat behind, and he slips his head out of the Perriwig, + and gets away, leaving both in_ Gal's _hands_. + +_Pet_. Give me your Hand, I'll lead you a back-pair of stairs through the +Garden. + +_Tick_. Oh, any way to save my Reputation--oh-- + +_Gal_. Let me but once more grasp thee, and thou shalt find more safety +in the Devil's Clutches: none but my Mistress serve ye! + [_Gropes out after him_. + + [Pet. _with_ Tick, _running over the Stage_, Gal. _after + 'em, with the Crevat and Perriwig in one Hand, + his Pistol in t'other_. + + _Enter_ Philippa _with a Light_. + +_Phil_. Mercy upon us! what's the matter? what Noise is this--hah, a +Pistol! what can this mean? + + [_A Pistol goes off_. + + _Enter Sir_ Signal _running_. + +Sir _Sig_. Oh, save me, gentle Devil, save me, the stairs are fortify'd +with Cannons and double Culverins; I'm pursu'd by a whole Regiment of +arm'd Men! here's Gold, Gold in abundance, save me.-- + +_Phil_. What Cannons? what armed Men? + +Sir _Sig_. Finding my self pursu'd as I was groping my way through the +Hall, and not being able to find the Door, I made towards the stairs +again, at the foot of which I was saluted with a great Gun--a pox of the +Courtesy. + +_Gal_. [_Without_.] Where are ye, Knight, Buffoon, Dog of _Egypt_? + +Sir _Sig_. Thunder and Lightning! 'tis _Gallaird's_ Voice. + +_Phil_. Here, step behind this Hanging--there's a Chimney which may +shelter ye till the Storm be over,--if you be not smother'd before. + [_Puts him behind the Arras_. + + _Enter_ Gal. _as before, and_ Corn, _at the other door_. + +_Cor_. Heavens! What rude noise is this? + +_Gal_. Where have you hid this Fool, this lucky Fool? +He whom blind Chance, and more ill-judging Woman, +Has rais'd to that Degree of Happiness, +That witty Men must sigh and toil in vain for? + +_Cor_. What Fool, what Happiness? + +_Gal_. Cease, cunning false one, to excuse thy self, +See here the Trophies of your shameful Choice, +And of my Ruin, cruel--fair Deceiver! + +_Cor_. Deceiver, Sir, of whom? in what despairing minute did I swear to +be a constant Mistress? to what dull whining Lover did I vow, and had the +heart to break it? + +_Gal_. Or if thou hadst, I know of no such Dog as wou'd believe thee: +No, thou art false to thy own Charms, and hast betray'd them +To the possession of the vilest Wretch +That ever Fortune curst with Happiness; +False to thy Joys, false to thy Wit and Youth: +All which thou'st damn'd with so much careful Industry +To an eternal Fool, +That all the Arts of Love can ne'er redeem thee. + +Sir _Sig_. Meaning me, meaning me. + [_Peeping out of the Chimney, his Face blackt_. + +_Cor_. A Fool! what Indiscretion have you seen in me, shou'd make ye +think I would choose a Witty man for a Lover, who perhaps loves out his +Month in pure good Husbandry, and in that time does more Mischief than a +hundred Fools. You conquer without Resistance, you treat without Pity, +and triumph without Mercy: and when you are gone, the World crys--she had +not Wit enough to keep him, when indeed you are not Fool enough to be +kept! Thus we forfeit both our Liberties and Discretion with you +villanous witty Men: for Wisdom is but good Success in things, and those +that fail are Fools. + +_Gal_. Most gloriously disputed! +You're grown a Machivellian in your Art. + +_Cor_. Oh, necessary Maxims only, and the first Politicks we learn from +Observation--I have known a Curtezan grown infamous, despis'd, decay'd, +and ruin'd, in the Possession of you witty Men, who when she had the luck +to break her Chains, and cast her Net for Fools, has liv'd in state, +finer than Brides upon their Wedding-day, and more profuse than the young +amorous Coxcomb that set her up an Idol. + +Sir _Sig_. Well argued of my side, I see the Baggage loves me! + [_Peeping out with a Face more smutted_. + +_Gal_. And hast thou? Oh, but prithee jilt me on, +And say thou hast not destin'd all thy Charms +To such a wicked Use. +Is that dear Face and Mouth for Slaves to kiss? +Shall those bright Eyes be gaz'd upon, and serve +But to reflect the Images of Fools? + +Sir _Sig_. That's I still. [_Peeping more black_. + +_Gal_. Shall that soft tender Bosom be approacht +By one who wants a Soul, to breathe in languishment +At every Kiss that presses it? + +Sir _Sig_. Soul! what a pox care I for Soul--as long as my Person is so +amiable? + +_Gal_. No, renounce that dull Discretion that undoes thee, +Cunning is cheaply to be wise; leave it to those that have +No other Powers to gain a Conquest by, +It is below thy Charms. +--Come swear, and be foresworn most damnably, +Thou hast not yielded yet; say 'twas intended only, +And though thou ly'st, by Heaven, I must believe thee; +--Say,--hast thou--given him--all? + +_Cor_. I've done as bad, we have discours'd th' Affair, +And 'tis concluded on.-- + +Gal. As bad! by Heaven, much worse! discours'd with him! +Wert thou so wretched, so depriv'd of Sense, +To hold Discourse with such an Animal? +Damn it; the Sin is ne'er to be forgiven. +--Hadst thou been wanton to that leud degree, +By dark he might have been conducted to thee; +Where silently he might have serv'd thy purpose, +And thou hadst had some poor excuse for that: +But bartering words with Fools admits of none. + +_Cor_. I grant ye,--had I talk'd sense to him, which had +been enough to have lost him for ever. + +Sir _Sig_. Poor Devil, how fearful 'tis of losing me! [_Aside_. + +_Gal_. That's some Atonement for thy other Sins,-- +Come, break thy Word, and wash it quite away. + +Sir _Sig_. That cogging won't do, my good Friend, that won't do. + +_Gal_. Thou shall be just and perjur'd, and pay my Heart the debt of Love +you owe it. + +_Cor_. And wou'd you have the Heart--to make a Whore of me? + +_Gal_. With all my Soul, and the Devil's in't if I can give thee a +greater proof of my Passion. + +_Cor_. I rather fear you wou'd debauch me into that dull slave call'd a +Wife. + +_Gal_. A Wife! have I no Conscience, no Honour in me? +Prithee believe I wou'd not be so wicked-- +No,--my Desires are generous, and noble, +To set thee up, that glorious insolent thing, +That makes Mankind such Slaves, almighty Curtezan! +--Come, to thy private Chamber let us haste, +The sacred Temple of the God of Love; +And consecrate thy Power. + [_Offers to bear her off_. + +_Cor_. Stay, do you take me then for what I seem? + +_Gal_. I am sure I do, and wou'd not be mistaken for a Kingdom: +But if thou art not, I can soon mend that fault, +And make thee so.--Come, I'm impatient to begin the +Experiment. + [_Offers again to carry her off_. + +_Cor_. Nay, then I am in earnest,--hold, mistaken Stranger--I am of noble +Birth; and shou'd I in one hapless loving Minute destroy the Honour of my +House, ruin my Youth and Beauty, and all that virtuous Education my +hoping Parents gave me? + +_Gal_. Pretty dissembled Pride and Innocence! And wounds no less than +smiles!--Come, let us in,--where I will give thee leave to frown and +jilt; such pretty Frauds advance the Appetite. + [_Offers again_. + +_Cor_. By all that's good, I am a Maid of Quality, +Blest with a Fortune equal to my Birth. + +_Gal_. I do not credit thee; or if I did, +For once I wou'd dispense with Quality, +And to express my Love, take thee with all these Faults. + +_Cor_. And being so, can you expect I'll yield? + +_Gal_. The sooner for that reason, if thou'rt wise; +The Quality will take away the Scandal. +Do not torment me longer-- + [_Offers to lead her again_. + +_Cor_. Stay and be undeceiv'd,--I do conjure ye.-- + +_Gal_. Art thou no Curtezan? + +_Cor_. Not on my life, nor do intend to be. + +_Gal_. No Prostitute? nor dost intend to be? + +_Cor_. By all that's good, I only feign'd to be so. + +_Gal_. No Curtezan! hast thou deceiv'd me then? +Tell me, thou wicked honest cozening Beauty, +Why didst thou draw me in, with such a fair Pretence, +Why such a tempting Preface to invite, +And the whole Piece so useless and unedifying? +--Heavens! not a Curtezan! +Why from thy Window didst thou take my Vows, +And make such kind Returns? Oh, damn your Quality: +What honest Whore but wou'd have scorn'd thy Cunning? + +_Cor_. I make ye kind Returns? + +_Gal_. Persuade me out of that too; 'twill be like ye. + +_Cor_. By all my Wishes I never held Discourse with you--but this +Evening, since I first saw your Face. + +_Gal_. Oh, the Impudence of Honesty and Quality in Woman! +A plague upon 'em both, they have undone me! +Bear witness, oh thou gentle Queen of Night, +Goddess of Shades, ador'd by Lovers most; +How oft under thy Covert she has damn'd her self, +With feigned Love to me! [_In Passion_. + +_Cor_. Heavens! this is Impudence: that Power I call to witness too, how +damnably thou injur'st me. [_Angry_. + +_Gal_. You never from your Window talk'd of Love to me? + +_Cor_. Never. + +_Gal_. So, nor you're no Curtezan? + +_Cor_. No, by my Life. + +_Gal_. So, nor do intend to be, by all that's good? + +_Cor_. By all that's good, never. + +_Gal_. So, and you are real honest, and of Quality? + +_Cor_. Or may I still be wretched. + +_Gal_. So, then farewel Honesty and Quality--'Sdeath, what a Night, what +Hopes, and what a Mistress, have I all lost for Honesty and Quality! + [_Offers to go_. + +_Cor_. Stay.-- + +_Gal_. I will be rack'd first, let go thy hold! + [_In fury_. +--Unless thou wou'dst repent.-- + [_In a soft tone_. + +_Cor_. I cannot of my fixt Resolves for Virtue! +--But if you could but--love me--honourably-- +For I assum'd this Habit and this Dress-- + +_Gal_. To cheat me of my Heart the readiest way: And now, like gaming +Rooks, unwilling to give o'er till you have hook'd in my last stake, my +Body too, you cozen me with Honesty.--Oh, damn the Dice--I'll have no +more on't, I, the Game's too deep for me, unless you play'd upon the +square, or I could cheat like you.-- +Farewel, Quality-- + [_Goes out_. + +_Cor_. He's gone; _Philippa_, run and fetch him back; I have but this +short Night allow'd for Liberty; Perhaps to morrow I may be a Slave. + [_Ex_. Phil. +--Now o' my Conscience there never came good of this troublesome Virtue-- +hang't, I was too serious; but a Devil on't, he looks so charmingly--and +was so very pressing, I durst trust my gay Humour and good Nature no +farther. + [_She walks about, Sir_ Signal _peeps and then comes out_. + +Sir _Sig_. He's gone!--so, ha, ha, ha. As I hope to breathe, Madam, you +have nost neatly dispatcht him; poor fool--to compare his Wit and his +Person to mine.-- + +_Cor_. Hah, the Coxcomb here still.-- + +Sir _Sig_. Well, this Countenance of mine never fail'd me yet. + +Cor. Ah-- + + [_Looking about on him, sees his face black, + squeaks and runs away_. + +Sir _Sig_. Ah, whe, what the Deavilo's that for? +--Whe, 'tis I, 'tis I, most _Serenissima Signiora_! + + [Gal. _returns and_ Philippa. + +_Gal_. What noise is that, or is't some new design +To fetch me back again? + +Sir _Sig_. How! _Galliard_ return'd! + +_Gal_. Hah! what art thou? a Mortal or a Devil? + +Sir _Sig_. How, not know me? now might I pass upon him most daintily for +a Devil, but that I have been beaten out of one Devilship already, and +dare venture no more Conjurationing. + +_Gal_. Dog, what art thou--not speak! Nay, then I'll inform my self, and +try if you be flesh and blood. + [_Kicks him, he avoids_. + +Sir _Sig_. No matter for all this--'tis better to be kickt than +discovered, for then I shall be kill'd: and I can sacrifice a Limb or two +to my Reputation at any time. + +_Gal_. Death, 'tis the Fool, the Fool for whom I am abus'd and jilted? +'tis some revenge to disappoint her Cunning, and drive the Slave before +me--Dog! were you her last reserve? + [_Kicks him, he keeps in his cry_. + +Sir _Sig_. Still I say Mum. + +_Gal_. The Ass will still appear through all disguises, +Nor can the Devil's shape secure the Fool-- + [_Kicks him, he runs out, as_ Cor. _enters and holds_ Gal. + +_Cor_. Hold, Tyrant-- + +_Gal_. Oh Women, Women, fonder in your Appetites Than Beasts, and more +unnatural! For they but couple with their Kind, but you Promiscuously +shuffle your Brutes together, The Fop of business with the lazy Gown-men +--the learned Ass with the illiterate Wit--the empty Coxcomb with the +Politician, as dull and insignificant as he; from the gay Fool made more +a Beast by Fortune to all the loath'd infirmities of Age. Farewel--I +scorn to croud with the dull Herd, or graze upon the Common where they +fatten. + [_Goes out_. + +_Phil_. I know he loves, by this concern I know it, +And will not let him part dissatisfied. + [_Goes out_. + +_Cor_. By all that's good, I love him more each moment, and know he's +destin'd to be mine.-- + + [_Enter_ Marcella. + +--What hopes, _Marcella_? what is't we next shall do? + +_Mar_. Fly to our last reserve; come, let's haste and dress in that +disguise we took our flight from _Viterbo_ in,--and something I resolve. + +_Cor_. My soul informs me what--I ha't! a Project worthy of us both-- +which whilst we dress I'll tell thee,--and by which, + + My dear _Marcella_, we will stand or fall: + 'Tis our last Stake we set; and have at all. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT V. + + +SCENE I. _The Corso_. + + _Enter_ Petro, Tickletext, _from the Garden_. + +_Tick_. Haste, honest _Barberacho_, before the Day discover us to the +wicked World, and that more wicked _Galliard_. + +_Pet_. Well, Signior, of a bad turn it was a good one, that he took you +for Sir _Signal_! the Scandal lies at his door now Sir,--so the Ladder's +fast, you may now mount and away.-- + +_Tick_. Very well, go your ways, and commend me, honest _Barberacho_, to +the young Gentlewoman, and let her know, as soon as I may be certain to +run no hazard in my Reputation, I'll visit her again. + +_Pet_. I'll warrant ye, Signior, for the future. + +_Tick_. So, now get you gone lest we be discover'd. + +_Pet_. Farewel, Signior, _a bon viage_. + [_Ex_. Pet. Tick, _descends_. + +_Tick_. 'Tis marvellous dark, and I have lost my Lanthorn in the fray! + [_Groping_.] +--hah--whereabouts am I--hum--what have we here!--ah, help, help, help! + [_Stumbles_ _at the Well, gets hold of the Rope, and slides + down in the Bucket_.] +I shall be drown'd, Fire, Fire, Fire! for I have Water enough! Oh, for +some House,--some Street; nay, wou'd _Rome_ it-self were a second time in +flames, that my Deliverance might be wrought by the necessity for Water: +but no human Help is nigh--oh! + + _Enter Sir_ Sig. _as before_. + +Sir _Sig_. Did ever any Knight-Adventurer run through so many Disasters +in one night! my worshipful Carcase has been cudgel'd most plentifully, +first bang'd for a Coward, which by the way was none of my Fault, I +cannot help Nature: then claw'd away for a _Diavillo_, there I was the +Fool; but who can help that too? frighted with _Gal's_ coming into an +Ague; then chimney'd into a Fever, where I had a fine Regale of Soot, a +Perfume which nothing but my _Cackamarda Orangate_ cou'd exceell; and +which I find by [_snuffs_] my smelling has defac'd Nature's Image, and +a second time made me be suspected for a Devil.--let me see--[_Opens +his Lanthorn, and looks on his Hands_.] 'tis so--I am in a cleanly +Pickle: if my Face be of the same Hue, I am fit to scare away old +_Beelzebub_ himself, i'faith: [_Wipes his Face_.]--ay, 'tis so, like +to like, quoth the Devil to the Collier: well I'll home, scrub my self +clean if possible, get me to Bed, devise a handsom Lye to excuse my long +stay to my Governour, and all's well, and the Man has his Mare again. +[_Shuts his Lanthorn and gropes away, runs against the Well.--Quequesto +(feels gently.)_] Make me thankful 'tis substantial Wood, by your leave-- +[_Opens his Lanthorn_.] How! a Well! sent by Providence that I may wash +my self, lest People smoke me by the scent, and beat me a-new for +stinking: [_Sets down his Lanthorn, pulls of his Masking-Coat, and goes +to draw Water_.] 'Tis a damnable heavy Bucket! now do I fancy I shall +look, when I am washing my self, like the sign of the Labour-in-vain. + +_Tick_. So, my cry is gone forth, and I am delivered by Miracle from this +Dungeon of Death and Darkness, this cold Element of Destruction-- + +Sir _Sig_. Hah--sure I heard a dismal hollow Voice. + + [Tick. _appears in the Bucket above the Well_. + +_Tick_. What, art thou come in Charity? + +Sir _Sig_. Ah, _le Diavilo, le Diavilo, le Diavilo_. + [_Lets go the Bucket, and is running frighted away_. + + _Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Page, _he returns_. + +--How, a Man! was ever wretched Wight so miserable, the Devil at one +hand, and a _Roman_ Night-walker at the other; which danger shall I +chuse? + [_Gets to the door of the House_. + +_Tick_. So, I am got up at last--thanks to my Knight, for I am sure 'twas +he! hah, he's here--I'll hear his Business. + [_Goes near to_ Fillamour. + +_Fil_. Confound this Woman, this bewitching Woman: I cannot shake her +from my sullen Heart; Spite of my Soul I linger hereabouts, and cannot to +_Viterbo_. + +_Tick_. Very good; a dainty Rascal this! + + _Enter_ Galliard _with a Lanthorn, as from_ Silvia's + _House, held by_ Philippa. + +_Fil_.--Hah, who's this coming from her House? Perhaps 'tis _Galliard_. + +_Gal_. No Argument shall fetch me back, by Heaven. + +_Fil_. 'Tis the mad Rogue. + +_Tick_. Oh Lord, 'tis _Galliard_, and angry too; now cou'd I but get off, +and leave Sir _Signal_ to be beaten, 'twere a rare project--but 'tis +impossible without discovery. + +_Phil_. But will you hear her, Signior? + +_Gal_. That is, will I lose more time about her? Plague on't, I have +thrown away already such Songs and Sonnets, such Madrigals and Posies, +such Night-walks, Sighs, and direful Lovers looks, as wou'd have +mollify'd any Woman of Conscience and Religion; and now to be popt i'th' +mouth with Quality! Well, if ever you catch me lying with any but honest +well-meaning Damsels hereafter, hang me:--farewel, old Secret, farewel. + [_Ex_. Philippa. +--Now am I asham'd of being cozen'd so damnably, _Fillamour_, that +virtuous Rascal, will so laugh at me; s'heart, cou'd I but have debaucht +him, we had been on equal terms.--but I must help my self with lying, and +swear I have--a-- + +_Fil_. You shall not need, I'll keep your Counsel, Sir. + +_Gal_. Hah--_estes vous la_?-- + +_Tick_. How, _Fillamour_ all this while! some Comfort yet, I am not the +only Professor that dissembles: but how to get away-- + +_Gal_. Oh _Harry_, the most damnably defeated! + [_A Noise of Swords_. + +_Fil_. Hold! what Noise is that? two Men coming this way as from the +house of the Curtezans. + + _Enter_ Julio _backwards, fighting_ Octavio _and Bravoes_. + +_Gal_. Hah, on retreating,--S'death, I've no Sword! + +_Fil_. Here's one, I'll take my Page's. + [_Takes the Boy's Sword_. + +_Gal_. Now am I mad for mischief; here, hold my Lanthorn, Boy. + + [_They fight on_ Julio's _side, and fight_ Octavio _out at + t'other side: Enter_ Laura _and_ Sabina _at the Fore-door, + which is the same where Sir_ Signal _stands:_ Tick. _groping + up that way, finds Sir_ Sig. _just entring in;_ Laura _and_ + Sab. _pass over the Stage_. + +Sir _Sig_. Hah, a door open! I care not who it belongs to, 'tis better +dying within Doors like a Man, than in the Street like a Dog. + [_Going in_, Tick. _in great fear comes up and pulls him_. + +_Tick_. Signior, gentle Signior, whoe'er you are that owns this Mansion, +I beseech you to give Protection to a wretched Man half dead with Fear +and Injury. + +Sir _Sig_. Nay, I defy the Devil to be more dead with Fear than I-- +Signior, you may enter, perhaps 'tis some body that will make an Excuse +for us both,--but hark, they return. + [_Both go in, just after_ Lau. _and_ Sab. _and_ Silvio _enter_. + +_Lau_. He's gone! he's gone! perhaps for ever gone.-- +Tell me, thou silly Manager of Love, +How got this Ruffian in? how was it possible +Without thy Knowledge he cou'd get Admittance? + +_Sab_. Now as I hope to live and learn, I know not, Madam, unless he +follow'd you when you let in the Cavalier, which being by dark he easily +conceal'd himself; no doubt some Lover of _Silvianetta's_, who mistaking +you for her, took him too for a Rival. + +_Lau_. 'Tis likely, and my Fortune is to blame, my cursed Fortune, +Who like Misers deals her scanty Bounties with so slow a hand, +That or we die before the Blessing falls, +Or have it snatcht e'er we can call it ours. + [_Raving_.] +To have him in my House, to have him kind, +Kind as young Lovers when they meet by stealth; +As fond as Age to Beauty, and as soft +As Love and Wit cou'd make impatient Youth, +Preventing even my Wishes and Desires, +--Oh Gods! and then, even then to be defeated, +Then from my o'erjoy'd Arms to have him snatcht; +Then when our Vows had made our Freedom lawful; +What Maid cou'd suffer a Surprize so cruel? +--The Day begins to break,--go search the Streets, +And bring me news he's safe, or I am lost. + + _Enter_ Gal. Fil. _and_ Jul. + +_Fil_. _Galliard_, where art thou? + +_Gal_. Here safe, and by thy side.-- + +_Lau_. 'Tis he! + +_Jul_. Whoe'er he were, the Rogue fought like a Fury, and but for your +timely Aid I'd been in some Danger. + +_Fil_. But, _Galliard_, thou wert telling me thy Adventure with +_Silvianetta_; there may be comfort in't. + +_Lau_. So, now I shall hear with what concern he speaks of me.-- + [_Aside_. + +_Gal_. Oh, damn her, damn her! + +_Lau_. Hah! + +_Gal_. The veriest Jilt that ever learnt the Art. + +_Lau_. Heavens! + +_Gal_. Death, the Whore took me for some amorous _English_ elder Brother, +and was for Matrimony, in the Devil's name; thought me a loving Fool, +that ne'er had seen so glorious a sight before, and wou'd at any rate +enjoy. + +_Lau_. Oh Heaven! I'm amaz'd, how much he differs from the thing he was +but a few Minutes since. [_Aside_. + +_Gal_. And to advance her Price, set up for Quality; nay, swore she was a +Maid, and that she did but act the Curtezan. + +_Lau_. Which then he seem'd to give a credit to.--O, the forsworn +Dissembler! + +_Gal_. But when I came to the matter then in debate, she was for +honourable Love forsooth, and wou'd not yield, no marry wou'd she, not +under a Licence from the Parson of the Parish. + +_Jul_. Who was it, prithee? 'twere a good Deed to be so reveng'd on her. + +_Gal_. Pox on her; no, I'm sure she's a damn'd Gipsy, for at the same +time she had her Lovers in reserve, lay hid her Bed-chamber. + +_Lau_. 'Twas that he took unkindly, And makes me guilty of that rude +Address. + +_Fil_. Another Lover had she? + +_Gal_. Yes, our Coxcomb Knight Buffoon, laid by for a relishing Bit, in +case I prov'd not season'd to her Mind. + +_Lau_. Hah, he knew him then. + +_Gal_. But damn her, she passes with the Night, the Day will bring new +Objects. + +_Fil_. Oh, do not doubt it, _Frank_. + +_Lau_. False and Inconstant! Oh, I shall rave, _Silvio_-- + [_Aside to Sil_. + + _Enter_ Cornelia _in Man's Clothes with a Letter_. + +_Cor_. Here be the Cavaliers: give me, kind Heaven, but hold of him; and +if I keep him not, I here renounce my Charms of Wit and Beauty--Signiors, +is there a Cavalier amongst ye, call'd _Fillamour_? + +_Fil_. I own that Name; what wou'd you, Sir? + +_Cor_. Only deliver this, Signior. + + [Fil. _goes aside, opens his Lanthorn, and reads_, + Jul. _and_ Gal. _talk aside_. + +_Fil_. [Reads.] _I'll only tell you I am Brother to that Marcella whom +you have injured, to oblige you to meet me an Hour hence, in the_ Piazo +Despagnia: _I need not say with your Sword in your hand, since you will +there meet_ Julio Sebastiano Morosini! +--Hah! her Brother sure return'd from Travel. [_Aside_. + +--Signior,--I will not fail to answer it as he desires. + [_To_ Cornelia. +I'll take this Opportunity to steal off undiscover'd. + [_Aside going out_. + +_Cor_. So, I've done my Sister's Business; now for my own. + +_Gal_. But, my good Friend, pray what Adventure have you been on to +night. + +_Jul_. Faith, Sir, 'twas like to have prov'd a pleasant one, I came just +now from _Silvianetta_, the fair young Curtezan. + +_Cor_. Hah! what said the Man--came from me! [_Aside_. + +_Gal_. How, Sir, you with _Silvianetta!_ when? + +_Jul_. Now, all the dear live-long Night. + +_Cor_. A Pox take him, who can this be? [_Aside_. + +_Gal_. This night! this night! that is not yet departed. + +_Jul_. This very happy Night,--I told you I saw a lovely Woman at St. +_Peter's_ Church. + +_Gal_. You did so. + +_Jul_. I told you too I follow'd her home, but you'd learn neither her +Name nor Quality; but my Page getting into the acquaintance of one of +hers, brought me News of both; her Name _Silvianetta_, her Quality a +Curtezan. + +_Cor_. I at Church yesterday! now hang me if I had any such devout +Thoughts about me: why, what a damn'd scandalous Rascal's this? + +_Jul_. Fill'd with hopes of Success, at night I made her a Visit, and +under her Window had a skirmish with some Rival, who was then serenading +her. + +_Gal_. Was't he that fought us then.--[_Aside_.-- +But it seems you were not mistaken in the House-- +On with your Story pray--Death, I grow jealous now-- +[_Aside_.] You came at Night you said? + +_Jul_. Yes, and was receiv'd at the door by the kind _Silvianetta_, who +softly whisper'd me, come to my Bosom, and be safe for ever! and +doubtless took me for some happier Man. + +_Lau_. Confusion on him, 'twas my very Language! [_Aside raving_. + +_Jul_. Then led me by dark into her Chamber. + +_Cor_. Oh, this damn'd lying Rascal! I do this? [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. But oh, the things, the dear obliging things, the kind, the fair +young Charmer said and did. + +_Gal_. To thee! + +_Jul_. To me. + +_Gal_. Did _Silvianetta_ do this, _Silvianetta_ the Curtezan? + +_Jul_. That passes, Sir, for such, but is indeed of Quality. + +_Cor_. This Stranger is the Devil, how shou'd he know that Secret else? + +_Jul_. She told me too 'twas for my sake alone, whom from the first +Minute she saw she lov'd, she had assum'd that Name and that Disguise, +the sooner to invite me. + +_Lau_. 'Tis plain, the things I utter'd!--Oh, my Heart! + +_Gal_. Curse on the publick Jilt, the very Flattery she wou'd have past +on me. + +_Cor_. Pox take him, I must draw on him, I cannot hold. [_Aside_. + +_Gal_. Was ever such a Whore? + +_Lau_. Oh, that I knew this Man, whom by mistake I lavisht all the +Secrets of my Soul to! [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. I prest for something more than dear Expressions, +And found her yield apace; +But sighing, told me of a fatal Contract, +She was oblig'd to make to one she never saw; +And yet if I wou'd vow to marry her, when she cou'd prove +To merit it, she wou'd deny me nothing. + +_Lau_. 'Twas I, by Heaven, that heedless Fool was I. + +_Jul_. Which I with Lover's' eager Joy perform'd, +And on my Knees utter'd the hasty Words, +Which she repeated o'er, and gave me back. + +_Gal_. So, he has swallow'd with a vengeance the very Bait she had +prepar'd for me, or any body that wou'd bite. [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. But e'er I cou'd receive the dear Reward of all my Vows, +I was drawn upon by a Man that lay hid in her Chamber; +Whether by chance or design I know not; who fought me out, +And was the same you found me engag'd with. + +_Cor_. A pleasant Rascal this, as e'er the Devil taught his Lesson to. + +_Gal_. So, my Comfort is, she has jilted him too most damnably. + +_Cor_. Slife, I have anger enough to make me valiant; why shou'd I not +make use on't, and beat this lying Villain whilst the Fit holds? + +_Gal_. And you design to keep these Vows, though you're contracted to +another Woman? + +_Jul_. I neither thought of breaking those, or keeping these; +My Soul was all employ'd another way. + +_Lau_. It shall be so, _Silvio_,--I've thought upon a way that must +redeem all:--hark and observe me. + [_Takes_ Sil. _and whispers to him_. + +_Jul_. But I'm impatient to pursue my Adventure, which +I must endeavour to do, before the Light discover the +Mistake.--Farewel, Sir. + [_Ex_. Julio. + +_Gal_. Go and be ruin'd quite, she has the Knack of doing it. + +_Sil_. I'll warrant ye, Madam, for my Part. + [_Ex_. Laura and Sabina. + +_Gal_. I have a damn'd hankering after this Woman: why cou'd I not have +put the cheat on her, as _Julio_ has? I stand as little on my Word as he: +a good round Oath or two had done the Business.--But a pox on't, I lov'd +too well to be so wise. + + [Silvio _comes up to him_. + +_Sil_. _Con licentia_, Signior; is your Name _Galliard_? + +_Gal_. I am the Man, sweet Heart,--let me behold thee--hah--_Sans +Coeur's_ Page! + +_Sil_. A duce of his Lanthorn, what shall I say now?--Softly, Signior, I +am that Page whose chiefest Business is to attend my Lord's Mistress, +Sir. + +_Cor_. His Mistress! whose Mistress, what Mistress? S'life, how that +little Word has nettled me! + [_Aside, listening close_. + +_Gal_. Upon my Life, the Woman that he boasted of-- + [_Aside, hugging of himself_.] +--A fair young amorous--noble--Wanton--a--And she wou'd speak with me, my +lovely Boy? + +_Sil_. You have prevented the Commands I had; but should my Lord know of +it-- + +_Gal_. Thou wert undone, I understand thee-- +And will be secret as a Confessor, +As lonely Shades, or everlasting Night. +Come, lead the way. + +_Cor_. Where I will follow thee, though to the Bed of her thou'rt going +to, and even prevent thy very Business there. [_Aside_.] + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. _A Chamber_. + + _Enter_ Laura, _as before, in a Night-Gown_. + +_Lau_. Now for a Power that never yet was known +To charm this Stranger quickly into Love. +Assist my Eyes, thou God of kind Desires; +Inspire my Language with a moving Force, +That may at once gain and secure the Victory. + + _Enter_ Silvio. + +_Sil_. Madam, your Lover's here: your time's but short; consider too, +Count _Julio_ may arrive. + +_Lau_. Let him arrive; having secur'd my self of what I love, +I'll leave him to complain his unknown Loss +To careless Winds as pitiless as I--_Silvio_, see the Rooms +Be fill'd with Lights, whilst I prepare my self to entertain him. +Darkness shall ne'er deceive me more-- + + [_Enter to_ Sil. Gal. _gazing about him_, + Cor. _peeping at the Door_. + +_Gal_. All's wondrous rich,--gay as the Court of Love, +But still and silent as the Shades of Death; +--Hah--Musick! and excellent! + [_Soft Musick whilst they speak_. +Pox on't--but where's the Woman?--I need no preparation.-- + +_Cor_. No, you are always provided for such Encounters, and can fall to +_sans_ Ceremony,--but I may spoil your Stomach. + [_A Song tuning_. + +_Gal_. A Voice too! by Heaven, and 'tis a sweet one: +Grant she be young, and I'll excuse the rest, +Yet vie for Pleasure with the happiest _Roman_. + + [_The Song as by_ Laura, _after which soft Musick till she enters_. + + The SONG by a Person of Quality. + + _Farewel the World and mortal Cares, + The ravished Strephon cry'd, + As full of Joy and tender Tears + He lay by Phillis' side: + Let others toil for Wealth and Fame, + Whilst not one Thought of mine + At any other Bliss shall aim, + But those dear Arms, but those dear Arms of thine. + + Still let me gaze in thy bright Eyes, + And hear thy charming Tongue; + I nothing ask t'increase my Joys, + But thus to feel 'em long. + In close Embraces let us lie, + And spend our Lives to come; + Then let us both together die, + And be each other's, be each other's Tomb_. + +--Death, I'm fir'd already with her Voice-- + +_Cor_. So, I am like to thrive.-- + + _Enter_ Julio. + +_Jul_. What mean these Lights in every Room, as if to make +The day without the Sun, and quite destroy my Hopes!-- +Hah, _Galliard_ here! + +_Cor_. A Man! grant it some Lover, or some Husband, Heaven, +Or any thing that will but spoil the Sport. +The Lady! Oh, blast her, how fair she is! + + _Enter_ Laura _with her Lute, drest in a careless rich Dress, + followed by_ Sabina, _to whom she gives her Lute, and_ Silvio. + +_Jul_. Hah! 'tis the same Woman. + [_She sees_ Julio _and starts_. + +_Lau_. A Stranger here! What Art can help me now? + [_She pauses_. + +_Gal_. By all my Joys, a lovely Woman 'tis. + +_Lau_. Help me, Deceit, Dissembling, all that's Woman-- + [_She starts and gazes on_ Gal. _pulling_ Silvio. + +_Cor_. Sure I shou'd know that Face.-- + +_Lau_. Ah, look, my _Silvio_, is't not he?--it is! +That Smile, that Air, that Mien, that Bow is his: +'Tis he, by all my Hopes, by all my Wishes. + +_Gal_. He! yes, yes, I am a He, I thank my Stars, +And never blest 'em half so much for being so, +As for the dear Variety of Woman. + +_Cor_. Curse on her Charms, she'll make him love in earnest. + +_Lau_. It is my Brother; and Report was false. + [_Going towards him_. + +_Gal_. How, her Brother! Gad, I'm sorry we are so near akin, with all my +Soul; for I'm damnably pleas'd with her. + +_Lau_. Ah, why do you shun my Arms? or are ye Air? +And not to be enclos'd in human Twines-- +Perhaps you are the Ghost of that dead Lord, +That comes to whisper Vengeance to my Soul. + +_Gal_. S'heart, a Ghost! This is an odd preparative to Love. + [_Aside_. + +_Cor_, 'Tis Laura, my Brother _Julio's_ Mistress, and Sister to +_Octavio_. + +_Gal_. Death, Madam! do not scare away my Love with Tales of Ghosts, and +Fancies of the Dead. I'll give ye Proofs I'm living loving Man, as errant +an amorous Mortal as Heart can wish--I hope she will not jilt me too. + [_Aside_. + +_Cor_. So! he's at his common Proof for all Arguments; if she shou'd take +him at his Word now, and she'll be sure to do't. + +_Lau_. Amiable Stranger, pardon the Mistake, +And charge it on a Passion for a Brother: +Devotion was not more retir'd than I, +Vestals or widow'd Matrons when they weep; +Till by a fatal Chance I saw in you, +The dear Resemblance of a murder'd Brother. [_Weeps_. + +_Jul_. What the Devil can she mean by this? [_Aside_. + +_Lau_. I durst not trust my Eyes, yet still I gaz'd, +And that encreas'd my Faith you were my Brother: +But since they err'd, and he indeed is dead, +Oh, give me leave to pay you all that Love, +That Tenderness and Passion that was his. [_Weeping_. + +_Cor_. So, I knew she wou'd bring Matters about some way or other. Oh +Mischief, Mischief, help me! S'life, I can be wicked enough when I have +no use on't! and now have, I'm as harmless as a Fool. + + [_As Gal. _is earnestly talking to_ Lau. Julio _pulls him + by the Sleeve_. + +_Lau_. Oh, save me, save me from the Murderer. + +_Jul_. Hah! + +_Gal_. A Murderer, where? + +_Lau_. I faint, I die with horror of the Sight! + +_Gal_. Hah--my Friend a Murderer! sure you mistake him, Madam; he saw not +Rome till yesterday; an honest Youth, Madam, and one that knows his +distance upon occasion!--S'life, how cam'st thou here?--prithee be gone +and leave us. + +_Jul_. Why, do you know this Lady, Sir? + +_Gal_. Know her!--a--ay, ay,--Man--and all her Relations, she's of +Quality:--withdraw, withdraw--Madam--a--he is my Friend, and shall be +civil.-- + +_Lau_. I have an easy Faith for all you say:--but yet however innocent he +be, or dear to you, I beg he wou'd depart--he is so like my Brother's +Murderer, that one Look more wou'd kill me-- + +_Jul_. A Murderer! charge me with Cowardice, with Rapes or Treasons-- +Gods, a Murderer! + +_Cor_. A Devil on her, she has robb'd the Sex of all their Arts of +Cunning. + +_Gal_. Pox on't, thou'rt rude; go, in good Manners go. + +_Lau_. I do conjure ye to torture me no more: +If you wou'd have me think you're not that Murderer, +Be gone, and leave your Friend to calm my Heart +Into some kinder Thoughts. + +_Gal_. Ay, prithee go, I'll be sure to do thy Business for thee. + +_Cor_. Yes, yes, you will not fail to do a friendly Part, no doubt-- + +_Jul_. 'Tis but in vain to stay--I see she did mistake her Man last +night, and 'twas to Chance I am in debt for that good Fortune;--I will +retire to shew my Obedience, Madam. + [_Exit_. Jul. Gal. _going to the door with him_. + +_Lau_. He's gone, and left me Mistress of my Wish. +Descend, ye little winged Gods of Love, +Descend and hover round our Bower of Bliss; +Play all in various Forms about the Youth, +And empty all your Quivers at his Heart. [_Aside_. + [Gal. _returns, she takes him by the hand_. +--Advance, thou dearer to my Soul than Kindred, +Thou more than Friend or Brother. +Let meaner Souls base-born conceal the God; +Love owns his Monarchy within my Heart, +So Kings that deign to visit humble Roofs, +Enter disguis'd, but in a noble Palace, +Own their great Power, and shew themselves in Glory. + +_Gal_. I am all Transport with this sudden Bliss, +And want some kind Allay to fit my Soul for Recompence. + +_Cor_. Yes, yes, my forward Friend, you shall have an Allay, if all my +Art can do't, to damp thee even to Disappointment. + +_Gal_. My Soul's all Wonder; now let us retire, +And gaze till I have softened it to Love. + [_Going out is met by_ Cor. + +_Cor_. Madam! + +_Lau_. More Interruption!--hah-- + [_Turns_. + +_Cor_. My Master, the young Count _Julio_-- + +_Lau. Julio_! + +_Gal_. What of him? [_Aside_. + +_Cor_. Being just now arriv'd at _Rome_-- + +_Lau_. Heavens, arriv'd! [_Aside_. + +_Cor_. Sent me to beg the Honour of waiting on you. + +_Lau_. Sure, Stranger, you mistake.-- + +_Cor_. If, Madam, you are _Laura Lucretia_.-- + +_Gal. Laura Lucretia_! by Heaven, the very Woman he's to marry. + [_Aside_. + +_Lau_. This would surprize a Virgin less resolv'd: +But what have I to do with ought but Love? [_Aside_. +--And can your Lord imagine this an Hour +To make a ceremonious Visit in? + +_Gal_. Riddles by Love! or is't some Trick again? [_Aside_. + +_Cor_. Madam, where Vows are past, the want of Ceremony may be pardon'd. + +_Lau_. I do not use to have my Will disputed, +Be gone, and let him know I'll be obey'd. + +_Cor_. S'life, she'll out-wit me yet,-- [_Aside_. +Madam, I see this Niceness is not general, +--You can except some Lovers. + +_Gal_. My pert young Confident, depart, and let your +Master know he'll find a better welcome from the fair +vain Curtezan, _la Silvianetta_, where he has past the Night, +and given his Vows. + +_Lau_. Dearly devis'd, and I must take the hint. + [_Aside smiling_. + +_Cor_. He knows me sure, and says all this to plague me. [_Aside_. +My Lord, my Master with a Curtezan! he's but just now arriv'd. + +_Gal_. A pretty forward saucy lying Boy this; and may do well in time.-- +Madam, believe him not, I saw his Master yesterday,--convers'd with him. +--I know him, he's my Friend;--'twas he that parted hence but now, he +told me all his Passion for a Curtezan scarce half an hour since. + +_Cor_. So! + +_Lau_. I do not doubt it, Oh, how I love him for this seasonable Lye: +--And can you think I'll see a perjur'd Man, [_To_ Cor. +Who gives my interest in him to another? +--Do I not help ye out most artfully?-- + [_Aside. Laughing to_ Gal. + +_Cor_. I see they are resolv'd to out-face me. + +_Gal_. Nay, vow'd to marry her. + +_Lau_. Heavens, to marry her! + +_Cor_. To be conquer'd at my own Weapon too!--Lying! 'tis a hard case.-- + [_Aside_. + +_Gal_. Go, Boy, you may be gone; you have you Answer, Child, and may +depart--Come, Madam, let us leave him. + +_Cor_. Gone, no help! Death, I'll quarrel with him,--nay, fight him,-- +damn him,--rather than lose him thus.--Stay, Signior. [_Pulls him_.]--You +call me Boy--but you may find your self mistaken, Sir,--And know--I've +that about me may convince ye. + [_Shewing his Sword_. +--'Thas done some Execution. + +_Gal_. Prithee, on whom or what? small Village Curs? +The barking of a Mastiff wou'd unman thee. + [_Offers to go_. + +_Cor_. Hold--follow me from the Refuge of her Arms; +As thou'rt a Man, I do conjure thee do't:--I +hope he will, I'll venture beating for't. [_Aside_. + +_Gal_. Yes, my brisk little Rascal, I will a--a-- + +_Lau_. By all that's good, you shall not stir from hence; +ho, who waits there, _Antonio, Silvio, Gaspero_? + [_Enter all_.] +--take that fierce Youth, and bear him from my sight. + +_Cor_. You shall not need; s'life, these rough Rogues will be too hard +for me; I've one prevention left,--farewel. + + _May'st thou supply her with as feeble Art, + As I should do, were I to play thy part_. + + [_Goes out with the rest_. + +_Gal_. He's gone, now let's redeem our blessed Minutes lost. + + [_Go in_. + + +SCENE III. _Changes to the Street_.--Piazo d'Hispagnia. + + _Enter_ Julio _alone_. + +_Jul_. Now by this breaking Day-light I cou'd rave: I knew she mistook me +last night, which made me so eager to improve my lucky Minutes. Sure, +_Galliard_ is not the Man, I long to know the Mystery;--hah--who's here? +--_Fillamour!_ + + _Enter_ Fillamour _met by_ Marcella _in Man's Clothes; they + pass by each other, cock and justle_. + +_Mar_. I take it, you are he I look for, Sir. + +_Fil_. My name is _Fillamour_. + +_Mar_. Mine, _Julio Sebastiano Morosini_. + +_Jul_. Hah, my Name, by Heaven! [_Aside_. + +_Fil_. I doubt it not, since in that lovely Face +I see the charming Image of _Marcella_. + +_Jul_. Hah! + +_Mar_. You might, e'er Travel ruffled me to Man. [_Aside_. +--I shou'd return thy Praise whilst I survey thee, +But that I came not here to compliment;--draw-- + [_Draws_. + +_Fil_. Why, cause thou'rt like _Marcella?_ + +_Mar_. That were sufficient reason for thy Hate, +But mine's because thou hast betray'd her basely. +--She told me all the story of her Love, +How well you meant, how honestly you swore, +And with a thousand Tears imploy'd my Aid +To break the Contract she was forc'd to make +T' _Octavio_, and give her to your Arms: +I did, and brought you word of our Design, +--I need not tell ye what returns you made; +Let it suffice, my Sister was neglected, +Neglected for a Curtezan,--a Whore; +I watcht, and saw each Circumstance of Falshood. + +_Jul_. Damnation! what means this? + +_Fil_. I scorn to save my Life by Lyes or Flatteries; +But credit me, the Visit that I made +I durst have sworn had been to my _Marcella_; +Her Face, her Eyes, her Beauty was the same, +Only the business of her Language differ'd, +And undeceiv'd my hope. + +_Mar_. In vain thou think'st to flatter me to Faith,-- +When thou'dst my Sister's Letter in thy hand, which ended that dispute, +Even then I saw with what regret you read it; +What care you took to disobey it too-- +The shivering Maid, half dead with fears and terrors of the Night, +In vain expected a Relief from Love or thee. +Draw, that I may return her the glad news I have reveng'd her. + +_Jul_. Hold, much mistaken Youth; 'tis I am _Julio_, +Thou, _Fillamour_, know'st my name, know'st I arriv'd +But yesterday at _Rome_, and heard the killing News +Of both my Sisters Flights, _Marcella_ and _Cornelia_,-- +And thou art some Imposture. [_To_ Marcella. + +_Mar_. If this now shou'd be true, I were in a fine condition.-- + [_Aside_. + +_Fil_. Fled! _Marcella_ fled! + +_Jul_. 'Twas she I told thee yesterday was lost; +But why art thou concern'd?--explain the Mystery. + +_Fil_. I lov'd her more than Life; nay, even than Heaven; +And dost thou question my concern for her? +Say how, and why, and whither is she fled? + +_Jul_. Oh, wou'd I knew, that I might kill her in her Lover's Arms; +Or if I found her innocent, restore her to _Octavio_. + +_Fil_. To _Octavio_! and is my Friendship of so little worth, +You cannot think I merit her? + +_Jul_. This is some trick between 'em; but I have sworn + +Most solemnly, have sworn by Heaven and my Honour +To resign her, and I will do't or die-- +Therefore declare quickly, declare where she is, +Or I will leave thee dead upon the place. [_To_ Marcella. + +_Mar_. So, Death or _Octavio_, a pretty hopeful Choice this! + +_Fil_. Hold! by Heaven, you shall not touch a single hair, thus--will I +guard the Secret in his bosom. + [_Puts himself between 'em, draws_. + +_Jul_. 'Tis plain thou'st injur'd me,--and to my Honour I'll sacrifice my +Friendship, follow me. + [_Ex_. Jul. Fil. + + _Enter_ Petro _and_ Cornelia. + +_Mar_. Ah, _Petro_, fly, fly, swift and rescue him.-- + [_Ex_. Pet. _with his Sword in his hand_. + +_Cor_. Oh, have I found thee, fit for my purpose too? Come, haste along +with me,--thou must present my Brother _Julio_ instantly, or I am lost, +and my Project's lost, and my Man's lost, and all's lost. + + _Enter_ Petro. + +_Pet_. _Victoria, Victoria_, your Cavalier's the Conqueror; the other +wounded in his Sword-hand, was easily disarmed. + +_Mar_. Then let's retire, if I am seen I'm lost;--_Petro_, stay here for +the Cavalier, and conduct him to me to this house;--I must be speedy +now.-- + +_Cor_. Remember this is _Julio_. + [_Pointing to_ Marcella. + +_Pet_. I know your design, and warrant ye my part:--hah, +_Octavio_ + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter_ Octavio, Morosini _and_ Crapine. + +_Oct_. Now, Cowardice, that everlasting Infamy, dwell ever on my face, +that Men may point me out that hated Lover that saw his Mistress false, +stood tamely by whilst she repeated Vows; nay, was so infamous, so dully +tame, to hear her swear her Hatred and Aversion, yet still I calmly +listen'd; though my Sword were ready, and did not cut his throat for't. + +_Mor_. I thought you'd said you'd fought. + +_Oct_. Yes, I did rouze at last, and wak'd my Wrongs; +But like an Ass, a patient Fool of Honour, +I gave him friendly notice I wou'd kill him; +And fought like Prizers, not as angry Rivals. + +_Mor_. Why, that was handsome,--I love fair play; what wou'd you else +have done? + +_Oct_. Have fall'n upon him like a sudden Storm, + [_Enter_ Pet. _and_ Fill.] +quick unexpected in his height of Love:--see--see yonder; or I'm mistaken +by this glimmering Day, or that is _Fillamour_ now entering at her door; +'tis he, by my Revenge--What say you, Sir? + +_Mor_. By th' Mass, I think 'twas he-- + + [_Enter_ Julio. + +_Oct_. _Julio_, I've caught the Wantons in their Toil, I have 'em fast, +thy Sister and her Lover. + [_Embraces him_. + +_Jul_. Eternal Shame light on me if they scape then. + +_Oct_. Follow me quick, whilst we can get Admittance. + +_Jul_. Where--here? + +_Oct_. Here,--come all and see her Shame and my Revenge. + +_Jul_. And are you not mistaken in the House? + +_Oct_. Mistaken! I saw the Ravisher enter just now, thy Uncle saw it too; +Oh, my excessive Joy! come, if I lye--say I'm a Dog, a Villain. + + [_Exeunt as into the House_. + + +SCENE IV. _Changes to a Chamber_. + + _Enter_ Sir Signal _a little groping_. + +Sir _Sig_. There's no finding my way out,--and now does Fear make me +fancy this some inchanted Castle.-- + + _Enter_ Tick, _listening_. + +_Tick_. Hah, an inchanted Castle! + +Sir _Sig_. Belonging to a monstrous Giant; who having spirited away the +King of _Tropicipopican's_ Daughter, keeps her here inclos'd, and that I +a wandring Knight am by fickle Fortune sent to her Deliverance. + [Tick _listens_. + +_Tick_. How's that! spirited away the King of _Tropicipopican's_ +Daughter; bless me, what unlawful Wickedness is practis'd in this Romish +Heathenish Country! [_Aside_. + +Sir _Sig_. And yet the Devil of any Dwarf, Squire or Damsel have I met +with yet,--wou'd I were cleanlily off this business--hah, Lights, as I +live, and People coming this way!--bless me from the Giant!--Oh Lord, +what shall I do!-- + [_Falls on his Knees_. + +_Tick_. I fear no Giants, having Justice on my Side; but Reputation makes +me tender of my Person.--Hah--what's this, a Curtain; I'll wind my self +in this, it may secure me. + [_Winds himself in a Window-Curtain_. + +Sir _Sig_.--They're entering, what shall I do?--hah--here's a Corner; +defend me from a Chimney. + + [_Creeps to the Corner of the Window, and feels a space + between Tick's Legs and the Corner; creeps in, and + stands up just behind_ Tickletext. _Enter_ Gal. _leading_ + Laura; Sab. _with Lights just after 'em_; Jul. Oct. + Mor. _and_ Crap. + +_Oct_. Just in the happy Minute! + +_Gal_. I've sworn by every God, by every Power divine, to marry thee, and +save thee from the Tyranny of a forc'd Contract.--Nay, Gad, if I lose a +fine Wench for want of Oaths this bout, the Devil's in me. + +_Oct_. What think ye now, Sir? + +_Jul_. Damnation on her, set my Rage at Liberty, +That I may kill 'em both. + + [Mor. _holds him_. + +_Mor_. I see no cause for that, she may be virtuous yet. + +_Oct_. Do ye think as such to pass her off on me, +Or that I'll bear the Infamy of your Family? +No, I scorn her now, but can revenge my Honour on a Rival. + +_Mor_. Nay, then I'll see fair Play,--turn and defend thy Life. + [_Goes to_ Gal. _who turns_. + +_Jul_. Whilst I do Justice on the Prostitute:--hah-- +Defend me, 'tis the Woman that I love. + [_He gazes, she runs to_ Gal. + +_Lau. Octavio_! + +_Oct_. _Laura!_ My Sister, perfidious shameful-- + [_Offers to kill her_. + +_Jul_. Hold, thy Sister this? that Sister I'm to marry. + +_Lau_. Is this then _Julio_? and do all the Powers conspire to make me +wretched? + +_Oct_. May I be dumb for ever. + + [_Holds his Sword down, and looks sadly;_ Jul. _holds_ + Lau. _by one hand, pleads with_ Oct. _with the other_. + + _Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Pet. + +_Fil_.--Hah, _Galliard!_ in danger too. + [_Draws, steps to 'em_, Mor. _puts between_. + +_Oct_. _Fillamour_ here! how now, what's the matter, Friend? + [_They talk whilst enter_ Marcella _and_ Cornelia. + +_Cor_. Hah, new Broils; sure the Devil's broke loose to night.--my Uncle, +as I live! + [Mor. _pleads between_ Fil. _and_ Octavio. + +_Mar_. And _Octavio!_ Where shall we fly for Safety? + +_Cor_. I'll even trust to my Breeches, 'tis too late to retreat;--s'life, +here be our Cavaliers too; nay then, ne'er fear falling into the Enemies +hands. + +_Fil_. I, I fled with _Marcella!_ had I been blest with so much Love from +her, I wou'd have boasted on't i'th' face of Heaven. + +_Mor_. La ye, Sir. [_To_ Octavio. + +_Fil_. The lovely Maid I own I have a Passion for; +But by the Powers above, the Flame was sacred, +And wou'd no more have past the Bounds of Honour +Or Hospitality, than I wou'd basely murder; and were she free, +I wou'd from all the World make her for ever mine. + +_Mor_. Look ye, Sir, a plain case this. + +_Gal_. He tells ye simple truth, Sir. + +_Oct_. Was it not you this scarce past night I fought with here, in the +House by dark, just when you had exchanged yours Vows with her? + +_Lau_. Heavens! was it he? [_Aside_. + +_Fil_. This Minute was the first I ever enter'd here. + +_Jul_. 'Twas I, Sir, was that interrupted Lover,--and this the Lady. + +_Lau_. And must I yield at last? [_Aside_. + +_Oct_. Wonders and Riddles! + +_Gal_. And was this the _Silvianetta_, Sir, you told the Story of? + [_Slily_. + +_Jul_. The same whom Inclination, Friends, and Destiny, conspire to make +me blest with. + +_Gal_. So many Disappointments in one night wou'd make a Man turn honest +in spite of Nature. + + [_Sir Sig. peeps from behind_. + +Sir _Sig_. Some Comfort yet, that I am not the only Fool defeated. Ha! +_Galllard_! + +_Oct_. I'm satisfy'd (_To_ Fil.)--but what cou'd move you, Sir--[_to_ +Gal.] to injure me, one of my Birth and Quality? + +_Gal_. Faith, Sir, I never stand upon Ceremony when there's a Woman in +the case,--nor knew I 'twas your Sister: Or if I had, I shou'd ha' lik'd +her ne'er the worse for that, had she been kind. + +_Jul_. It is my Business to account with him, And I am satisfy'd he has +not injur'd me, he is my Friend. + +_Gal_. That's frankly said; and uncompell'd, I swear she's innocent. + +_Oct_. If you're convinc'd, I too am satisfy'd, And give her to you +whilst that Faith continues. + [_Gives him her_. + +_Lau_. And must I, must I force my Heart to yield? And yet his generous +Confidence obliges me. [_Aside_. + +_Oct_. And here I vow by all the sacred Powers, + [_kneels_] +That punish Perjury, never to set my Heart +On faithless Woman;--never to love nor marry; + [_Rises_] +Travel shall be my business--thou my Heir. + [_To Julio_. + +Sir _Sig_. So, poor soul, I'll warrant he has been defeated too. + +_Mar_. _Marcella_, Sir, will take ye at your Word. + +_Fil_. _Marcella_! + +_Mar_. Who owns with Blushes Truths shou'd be conceal'd, but to prevent +more Mischief,--That I was yours, Sir, was against my Will, [_to_ Oct.] +my Soul was _Fillamour's_ e'er you claim'd a right in me; though I never +saw or held discourse with him, but at an awful distance,--nor knew he of +my Flight. + +_Oct_. I do believe, and give thee back my Claim, I scorn the brutal part +of Love; the noblest Body, where the Heart is wanting. + [_They all talk aside_, Cornelia _comes up to Galliard_. + +_Cor_. Why, how now, Cavalier, how like a discarded Favourite do you look +now, who whilst your Authority lasted, laid about ye, domineer'd, huft +and bluster'd, as if there had been no end on't: now a Man may approach +ye without terror--You see the Meat's snatcht out of your Mouth, Sir, the +Lady's dispos'd on; whose Friends and Relations you were so well +acquainted with. + +_Gal_. Peace, Boy, I shall be angry else.-- + +_Cor_. Have you never a cast Mistress, that will take compassion on you: +Faith, what think ye of the little Curtezan now? + +_Gal_. As ill as e'er I did; what's that to thee? + +_Cor_. Much more than you're aware on, Sir--and faith, to tell you Truth, +I'm no Servant to Count _Julio_, but e'en a little mischievous Instrument +she sent hither to prevent your making love to _Donna Laura_. + +_Gal_. 'Tis she herself.--how cou'd that Beauty hide itself so long from +being known? [_Aside_.]--Malicious little Dog in a Manger, that wou'd +neither eat, nor suffer the Hungry to feed themselves, what spiteful +Devil cou'd move thee to treat a Lover thus? but I am pretty well +reveng'd on ye. + +_Cor_. On me! + +_Gal_. You think I did not know those pretty Eyes, that lovely Mouth I +have so often kist in cold imagination. + +_Cor_. Softly, Tormentor. + [_They talk aside_. + +_Mar_. In this disguise we parted from _Viterbo_, attended only by +_Petro_ and _Philippa_: At Rome we took the Title and Habit of two +_Curtezans_; both to shelter us from knowledge, and to oblige _Fillamour_ +to visit us, which we believ'd he would in curiosity; and yesterday it so +fell out as we desired. + +_Fil_. Howe'er my Eyes might be imposed upon, you see my Heart was firm +to its first Object; can you forget and pardon the mistake? + +_Jul_. She shall, and with _Octavio's_ and my Uncle's leave,--thus make +your Title good.-- + [_Gives her to_ Fil. + +_Oct_. 'Tis vain to strive with Destiny. [_Gives her_. + +_Mor_. With all my heart,--but where's _Cornelia_ all this while? + +_Gal_. Here's the fair Stragler, Sir. + [_Leads her to Mor. he holds his Cane up at her_. + +_Mor_. Why, thou Baggage, thou wicked Contriver of Mischief, what excuse +had'st thou for running away? Thou had'st no Lover. + +_Cor_. 'Twas therefore, Sir, I went to find one; and if I am not mistaken +in the mark, 'tis this Cavalier I pitch upon for that use and purpose. + +_Gal_. Gad, I thank ye for that,--I hope you'll ask my leave first, I'm +finely drawn in, i'faith--Have I been dreaming all this night of the +possession of a new-gotten Mistress, to wake and find my self noos'd to a +dull Wife in the morning? + +_Fil_. Thou talk'st like a Man that never knew the Pleasures thou +despisest; faith, try it, _Frank_, and thou wilt hate thy past loose way +of living. + +_Cor_. And to encourage a young Setter up, I do here promise to be the +most Mistress-like Wife,--You know, Signior, I have learnt the trade, +though I had not stock to practise; and will be as expensive, insolent, +vain, extravagant and inconstant, as if you only had the keeping part, +and another the amorous Assignations. What think ye, Sir? + +_Fil_. Faith, she pleads well, and ought to carry the Cause. + +_Gal_. She speaks Reason, and I'm resolv'd to trust good Nature:--Give me +thy dear hand.-- + + [_They all join to give it him, he kisses it_. + +_Mor_. And now ye are both sped, pray give me leave to ask ye a civil +question; are you sure you have been honest? if you have, I know not by +what miracle you have liv'd. + +_Pet_. Oh, Sir, as for that, I had a small stock of Cash in the hands of +a couple of _English_ Bankers, one Sir _Signal Buffoon_-- + +Sir _Sig_. Sir _Signal Buffoon_, what a pox, does he mean me trow? + [_Peeping_. + +_Pet_.--And one Mr. _Tickletext_. + +_Tick_. How was that? _certo_, my Name! + + [_Peeps out, and both see each other; their faces being + close together, one at one side the Curtain, and t'other + at t'other_. + +_Gal_. and _Fil_. Ha, ha, ha. + +Sir _Sig_. And have I caught you, i'faith, Mr. Governour? Nay, ne'er put +in your head for the matter, here's none but Friends, mun. + +_Gal_. How now, what have we here? + +Sir _Sig_. Speak of the Devil, and he appears. + [_Pulls his Governour forward_. + +_Tick_. I am undone,--but, good Sir _Signal_, do not cry Whore first, as +the old Proverb says. + +Sir _Sig_. And good Mr. Governour, as another old Proverb says, do not +let the Kettle call the Pot black-arse!-- + +_Fil_. How came you hither, Gentlemen? + +Sir _Sig_. Why faith, Sir, divining of a Wedding or two forward, I +brought Mr. Chaplain to give you a cast of his Office, as the saying is. + +_Fil_. What, without Book, Mr. _Tickletext_? + +_Cor_. How now, sure you mistake, these are two Lovers of mine. + +Sig _Sig_. How, Sir, your Lovers! we are none of those, Sir, we are +_Englishmen_. + +_Gal_. You mistake, Sir _Signal_, this is _Silvianetta_. + +Sir _Sig_. and _Tick_. How! [_Aside_. + +_Gal_. Here's another Spark of your acquaintance,--do you know him? + +_Tick_. How, _Barberacho_! nay, then all will out.-- + +_Gal_. Yes, and your Fencing and Civility-Master. + +Sir _Sig_. Ay,--Why, what, was it you that pickt our Pockets then, and +cheated us? + +_Gal_. Most damnably,--but since 'twas for the supply of two fair Ladies, +all shall be restor'd again. + +_Tick_. Some comfort that. + +_Fil_. Come, let's in and forgive all; 'twas but one Night's Intrigue, in +which all were a little faulty. + +Sir _Sig_. And Governour, pray let me have no more Domineering and +Usurpation: but as we have hitherto been honest Brothers in Iniquity, so +let's wink hereafter at each others Frailties; + + Since Love and Women easily betray Man, + From the grave Gown-man to the busy Lay-man. + + + +EPILOGUE. + +Spoken by Mr. _Smith_. + + +_So hard the times are, and so thin the Town, +Though but one Playhouse, that must too lie down; +And when we fail, what will the Poets do? +They live by us as we are kept by you: +When we disband, they no more Plays will write, +But make Lampoons, and libel ye in spite; +Discover each false Heart that lies within, +Nor Man nor Woman shall in private sin; +The precise whoring Husband's haunts betray, +Which the demurer Lady to repay, +In his own coin does the just debt defray. +The brisk young Beauty linked to Lands and Age, +Shuns the dull Property and strokes the youthful Page; +And if the Stripling apprehend not soon, +Turns him aside, and takes the brawny Groom; +Whilst the kind Man so true a Husband proves, +To think all's well done by the thing he loves; +Knows he's a Cuckold, yet content to bear +Whatever Heaven sends, or Horns or lusty Heir. +Fops of all sorts he draws more artfully, +Than ever on the Stage did_ Nokes or Leigh: +_And Heaven be prais'd when these are Scarce, each Brother +O' th' Pen contrives to set on one another. + +These are the effects of angry Poets Rage, +Driven from their Winter-Quarters on the Stage; +And when we go, our Women vanish too, +What will the well-fledg'd keeping Gallant do? +And where but here can he expect to find +A gay young Damsel managed to his mind, +Who ruins him, and yet seems wondrous kind? +One insolent and false, and what is worse, +Governs his Heart, and manages his Purse; +Makes him whatever she'd have him to believe, +Spends his Estate, then learns him how to live? +I hope those weighty Considerations will +Move ye to keep us altogether still; +To treat us equal to our great Desert, +And pay your Tributes with a franker Heart; +If not, th' aforesaid Ills will come, and we must part_. + + + + +NOTES. + + + +NOTES ON THE TEXT. + + +ABDELAZER. + +p. 8 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added 'Ordonio, a Courtier. A Swain and +Shepherds. Courtiers, Guards, Soldiers, Moors, A Nymph and +Shepherdesses.' + +p. 11, l. 7 _But thousand Eyes throw killing Looks at me_. + + 4tos--'But thousand Eyes + Throw killing Looks at me.' + +p, 11, l. 26 _Than to lie fawning_. 4to misprints 'Then'. + +p. 12, l. 10 _reveng'd by penitence_. 1724 misprints 'Patience'. + +p. 12, l. 33 _Why star'st thou so_? 1724 wrongly 'Why dar'st thou so?' + +p. 13, l. 5 _wou'd they search her here_? 1724 'wou'd you search her +here?' + +p. 13, l. 25 _swounded_. 1724 'swooned'. + +p. 13, l. 33 _more knocking_! [_knocking_. 1724 omits the stage +direction. + +p. 15, l. 4 _Sway'd Destiny as well as they, and took their trade of +killing_. + + 4to--'Sway'd Destiny as well as they, + And took their trade of killing.' + +p. 15, l. 16 _Pointing to his Sword_. 4to 'Points.' + +p. 15, l. 17 _Scene II. A Room in the Palace_. I have supplied this +locale. + +p. 15, l. 18 _Enter Ferdinand weeping_. 4to 'Enter Fernando weeping.' + +p. 19, ll. 33-4 _Covers a Soul more sanctify'd than this + Moorish Robe_. +1724 gives this as one line. + +p. 20, l. 8 _except Abdelazar, Florella_. 4to 'manent Abdelazer, +Florella.' + +p. 20, l. 17 _honest and religious_. 1724 omits 'and'. + +p. 24, l. 2 _Scene I. A Chamber of State_. I have added the locale. + +p. 27, l. 27 _To the Women, who go out_. 4to 'Exeunt'. + +p. 31, l. 15 _Madam, that Blessing_. 1724 omits 'Madam'. + +p. 33, l. 8 _Scene II. A Banqueting Hall_. I have added the locale. + +p. 33, l. 15 _I have a double Cause_. 1724 omits 'a'. + +p. 34, l. 19 _though_. 1724 'tho' throughout. + +p. 34, l. 27 _thou lovest_. 1724 'lov'st'. + +p. 35, l. 13 _Aside_. The 4to omits this stage direction. + +p. 38, l. 18 _A Gallery in the Palace_. I have supplied this locale. + +p. 40, l. 11 _Queen and Women_. 1724 'Woman'. + +p. 40, l. 28 _subtle, and ambitious_. 4to 'subtle as ambitious.' 1724 is +undoubtedly the best reading. + +p. 42, ll. 23-4 _And then our Lives he may dispose, + As he has done our Honours_. +1724 gives this as one line. + +p. 45, l. 18 _The Queen's Apartments_. I have added this locale. + +p. 49, l. 10 _frightful_. 1724 'frighted'. + +p. 50, l. 18 _were worth your care_. 1724 'was worth'. + +p. 51, l. 24 _Oh Traitress!_ 1724 'Oh, Traitoress'. + +p. 57, l. 2 _Act IV. Scene I_. 4tos and 1724 'Act IV. Enter +Abdelazer...'. I have added the locale here and numbered the scenes +throughout this Act. + +p. 58, l. 4 _To gain your Heart_. 4tos 1677, 1693, print this to the +conclusion of Abdelazer's speech as prose. 1724 prints from 'Thousand of +Bigots' as prose. I have metrically divided these last lines, and +followed 1724 from 'To gain your Heart'. + +p. 61, l. 3 _afar off all the Scene_. 1724 omits this. + +p. 64, l. 3 _some Moors_. 1677 reads 'some Moor'. + +p. 65, l. 22 _Scene VI_. Neither 4tos nor 1724 number this scene. + +p. 65, l. 30 _Your Soldiers faint, are round beset_. 4tos omit comma. + +p. 69, l. 12 _Exeunt all_. 1724 'Exeunt'. + +p. 69, l. 13 _Scene VII_. Neither 4tos nor 1724 number this scene. + +p. 69, l. 18 _illustriate Hand_. 1724 'illustrious'. + +p. 75, l. 2 _Barbarian_. 4tos italic. 1724 roman. + +p. 79, l. 2 _attendance_. 1724 'attendants'. + +p. 79, l. 16 _Scene II_. 4tos and 1724 do not number this scene. + +p. 80, l. 10 _with Roderigo_. 1724 'with Rod.' + +p. 80, l. 18 _Exit Elv_. I have added this stage direction. Neither 4tos +nor 1724 mark an exit here for Elvira, although she obviously goes out +when the Queen says 'retire' as an entry is marked after the ensuing +dialogue. + +p. 80, l. 20 _roughly_. 1724 omits this. + +p. 80, l. 34 _and other Women_. 1724 'and the Women.' + +p. 81, l. 4 _Durst_. 1724 'Dares'. + +p. 82, l. 23 _Weeps over her_. 1724 omits this. + +p. 82, l. 29 _repaid_. 1724 'repair'd.' + +p. 87, l. 12 _to any Shape_. 1724 'into any Shape'. + +p. 87, l. 29 _cou'd not the Gods_. 1724 wrongly omits 'not'. + +p. 89, l. 4 _My Desire's grown high_. 4tos 'My Desires grow high'. + +p. 92, l. i _Scene III_. Neither 4tos nor 1724 number this scene. + +p. 92, l. 8 _Andromede_. 1724 'Andromeda'. + +p. 93, l. 13 _through_. 1724 'thro' throughout. + +p. 94, l. 12 _your Friends_. 4tos misprint 'your Friend'. + +p. 95, l. 23 _upon my Name_. 1724 'upon thy Name'. + +p. 96, l. 12 _that charming Maid_. 1724 'the charming Maid'. + +p. 96, l. 12 _Whom I'd enjoy'd e'er now_. 4tos 'whom I'de enjoy +e're now'. + +p. 97, l. 6 _preserve_. 4tos and 1724 here insert the stage direction +'[Kneels.' But this is repeated at the line (11) 'Thus low I take the +Bounty from your Hands' and is far more appropriate at the latter +juncture. There can be no doubt that the stage direction '[Kneels' should +also be inserted at line 19--'Thus low I fall'--and it has been misplaced +by the printer in the old copies. I have restored it. + +p. 97, l. 18 _only me unhappy, when, Sir, my Crime + Was only too much faith?_ +4tos punctuate: 'only me unhappy? When, Sir, my Crime + Was only too much Faith;' + +p. 97. l. 29 _Seas again_. At the conclusion 1677 prints 'The End of the +Play.' + +p. 98, l. 18 _Sex's_. 4tos 'Sexes'. + +p. 105 _To Philaster_. This Epistle Dedicatory only appears in the 4tos +1683, 1696. + +p. 108 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added '_Geron_ the old Tutor to +Orsames; _Gorel_, a Citizen; Keeper of the Castle; A Druid; Courtiers +(men and women); Officers: Guards; Huntsmen; Assassins'. 4to 1698 +misprints 'Ismenis' for 'Ismenes'; 'Thursander' for 'Thersander'; 'the +Court of Daca' for 'the Court of Dacia'. 1724 gives 'a Rabble of the +Mobile'; 4tos 'all a Rabble of the Mobile'. + +p. 109, l. 4 _never the Luck_. 4tos 'never the ill Luck'. + +p. 109, l. 15 _what's thy Business_. 1724 'what's the Business'. + +p. 109, l. 28 _I spake_. 4tos 'I speak'. + +p. 110, l. 23 _conspire against him_. 4tos ''gainst him'. But the metre +requires 1724 'against'. + +p. 111, l. 6 _him here_. 4to 1696 misprints 'here him'. + +p. 111, l. 14 _Virago he Daughter_. 1724 'Virago her Daughter', which is +excellent sense but lacks the point of 'he Daughter'. + +p. 112, l. 22 _Ly. You sigh_. 4tos and 1724 print as prose. I have +arranged metrically. + +p. 113, l. 16 _one of gentle Birth_. 4tos 'of the gentle Birth'. 1724 'of +genteel Birth'. + +p. 114, l. 11 _Pim. Pox on her_. 4tos divide Pimante's speech at 'let her +go.' and commence a new line with 'Well, Colonel,' as if metrically. I +have followed 1724 as it is obviously prose. + +p. 114, l. 25 _Sem. That's strange!_ 4tos wrongly print this speech as +prose. + +p. 115, l. 34 _Artabazes_. 4tos 'Artabaces'. + +p. 116, l. 3 _mistaken thing?_ 4tos punctuate 'mistaken thing;'. + +p. 116, l. 6 _fantastick_. 1724 wrongly 'fanatick'. + +p. 116, l. 24 _cruel Cause_. 4to 1696 misprints 'crul Cause'. + +p. 117, l. 9 [_Sem. looks about, finds the Cap and Feathers. + _Sem_. See, Madam, what I've found. +4tos and 1724 give the stage direction after the speech. I have +transposed these, as obviously such an arrangement is better. + +p. 118, l. 20 _Ideas_. 4tos wrongly 'Idea's'. + +p. 118, 1.29 _He rises_. 4tos and 1724 '[Rises.' But it is Thersander who +is kneeling, not Cleomena. The insertion of 'He' saves any confusion. + +p. 119, L. 9 _who're born_. 4tos 'who are born'. + +p. 119, L. 11 _Whom happy Fate_. 4tos misprint 'Whose happy Fate'. + +p. 120, l. 29 _Enter Vallentio Urania_. 4to 1696 misprints 'Urina'. + +p. 121, l. 3 _But one that_. 1724 omits 'one'. + +p. 121, l. 16 _we took her_. 4to 1696 'wa took her'. + +p. 121, l. 20 _The Scythians_. 4tos 'Th' Scythians'. + +p. 122, l. 30 _Arms across_. 1724 'Arms close'. + +p. 123, l. 9 _I will be_. 4tos 'And will be'. + +p. 123, l. 12 _this Harmony_. 4tos 'his Harmony'. + +p. 124, l. 11 _Shore?_--4tos punctuate 'Shore;'. + +p. 126, l. 18 _no less_. 4tos 'not less'. + +p. 127, l. 36 _Amintas' Apartment_. 4tos 'Amin. Apartment.' 1724 +'Amintas's Apartment.' + +p. 128, l, 7 _Amin. It is the King_. 1724 does not arrange this +metrically. + +p. 128, l. 21 _Ex. Amin_. 4tos 'Amin. exit.' + +p. 128, l. 25 _go bring_. 4tos 'and bring'. + +p. 128, l. 28 _effect_. 4tos 'effects'. + +p. 128, l. 30 _you're lost_. 4tos 'you are lost'. + +p. 129, l. 27 _Unrest_. 1724 misprints 'Undrest'. + +p. 130, l. 10 _Not seeing_. 4tos print this line--'Not seeing a Woman I +ne'er had bin.' + +p. 130, l. 10 _Exeunt_. Not in 4tos and 1724. + +p. 130, l. 11 _Another Room_. I have added the locale, unmarked in 4tos +and 1724. + +p. 131, l. 12 _dearest fair_. 4tos 'dear fair'. + +p. 132, l. 18 _Gods_. 4tos misprint 'God's'. + +p. 134, l. 14 _He bows low_. 4tos 'bows low.' + +p. 134, l. 15 _I am_. 4tos 'I'm'. + +p.. 135, l. 13 _Rivulet_. 4tos 'Rivolet'. + +p. 136, l. 9 _Ah! Madam_. 4tos divide this speech metrically. 1724 prints +as prose. + +p. 137, l. 10 _to live_. 1724 'I live'. + +p. 137, l. 11 _Passion_. 1724 'Person'. + +p. 139. l. 8 _All go out but Ther. Hon. Lysan_. 4tos add 'manent Thers. +Ho. Lysan.' which is entirely superfluous. + +p. 139, l. 23 _Aside_. 4to 1698 omits this. + +p. 139, l. 28 _Renders me too unartful_. 4tos 'Renders unartfull'. + +p. 140, l. 11 _Lys_. 4tos, misprinting, omit the speech-prefix 'Lys.' + +p. 140, l. 15 _Exeunt_. Omitted in 4tos and 1724. + +p. 141, l. 15 _eighteen Tears_. 1724 misprints 'Year'. + +p. 141, l. 32 _then? Rage_. 1724 omits 'Rage.' + +p. 144, l. 5 _a Table. Geron near the Throne_. I have added 'Geron near +the Throne', which occurs neither in 4tos nor 1724, It is extraordinary +that the old copies do not give the name of the old tutor amongst the +Dramatis Personae? nor do they mark his presence here. + +p. 144, l. 13 _any other God but I?_ 4tos 'any other God's but I?' 1724 +'any other here but I?' + +p. 145, l. 30 _Exit Geron_. Neither 4tos nor 1724 mark this exit, +although later in the scene the entrance of Geron (p. 148) is noted in +all the old copies. + +p. 147, l. 11 _Ors_. 4to 1696 by a strange misprint gives speech-prefix +'Ger.' + +p. 148, l. 9 _I have_. 4tos 'I've'. + +p. 148, l. 20 _--Itis not Sleep!--_ 4tos 'Is it not Sleep!'; but 1724 is +far better here. + +p. 148, l. 31 _Arates_. 4tos misprint 'Erates.' + +p. 149, l. 4 _A Grove near the Camp_. 4tos and 1724 omit this locale. + +p. 150, l. 5 _is he longer_. 1724 misreads 'is he no longer'. + +p. 150, l. 8 _Trumpets sound_. 4to 'Trumpet sounds.' + +p. 150, l. 18 _Trumpets sound. Exeunt_. 4tos 'Trumpet sounds.' 1724 'Ex.' + +p. 151, l. 18 _Ismenes_. 4tos 'Ismenis' throughout. + +p. 152, l. 12 _Horse's_. 4to 1696 misprints 'Horses'. + +p. 152, l. 13 _Ura. Ex_. 4tos 'Ura. Exit'. + +p. 153, l. 11 _Cavalry_. 4tos 'Chavalry'. + +p. 153, l. 13 _yet-disputing_. 1724 weakly 'yet-disputed'. + +p. 153, l. 34 _to the Stranger_. 1724 omits 'to'. + +p. 154, l. 7 _Exeunt_. Not in 4tos nor 1724. + +p. 156, l. 1 _drawing of_. 1724 omits 'of'. + +p. 156, l. 6 _Moment's_. 4tos misprint 'Moments'. + +p. 157, l. 7 _reach_. 4tos 'reaches'. + +p. 157, l. 18 _Scene V. Changes_. 4tos and 1724 'Scene changes'. I have +numbered this scene. + +p. 158, l. 15 _Ism. goes in, Scene draws_. 1724 omits 'Ism. goes in'. + +p. 158, l. 33 _Thersander--Prince of Scythia_. 1724 omits this line, +marking '[Faints.' at conclusion of previous line. + +p. 159, l. 19 _one end_. 4tos 'one hand'. + +p. 160, l. 28 _my Dagger to this Heart_. 1724 'this Dagger to my Heart'. + +p. 160, l. 30 _these_. 4tos 'those'. + +p. 160, l. 31 _dear dead Prince_. 1724 misprints 'dear dear Prince'. + +p. 161, l. 6 _require_. 4tos 'requires'. + +p. 163, l. 1 _Scene II. Between the two Camps_. 4tos 'Scene the Second.' +I have added the locale, which is unmarked in all the editions. + +p. 163, l. 7 _te fight_. 4tos 'to fight'. + +p. 164, l. 7 _The Scythian Guards_. 4to 1698 misprints 'The Scythian +Guards of'. + +p. 164, l. 13 _Exeunt_. Unmarked in 4tos. + +p. 166, l. 6 _Aside_. This is not marked in 4tos. + +p. 166, l. 27 _in the Earth_. 4tos 'in Earth'. + +p. 168, l. 7 _Exit Lysander_. No former editions mark this Exit, which, +however, is obviously necessary. + +p. 168, l. 10 _Habit that I left_. 4tos 'Habit I left'. + +p. 168, l. 16 _'tis_. 4tos 'it is'. + +p. 168, l. 18 _remain_. 4tos 'remains'. + +p. 168, l. 20 _my Dishonour_. 4to 1696 omits 'my'. + +p. 168, l. 26 _Enter King_. 4to 1698 has 'Enter King. Lysander solus.' +Lysander is a misprint for Thersander, but the whole addition is quite +unneeded. + +p. 169, l. 6 _given_. 4tos 'gave'. + +p. 169, l. 26 _Herald_. 4tos 'Herauld'. + +p. 169, l. 27 _Scene V. Cleomena's Apartments_. 4tos 'Scene the Fifth.' I +have added the locale, which is unmarked in all former editions. + +p. 170, l. 19 _Race_. 4to 1698 misprints 'Rafe'. + +p. 170, l. 26 _Exit_. 4tos 'Queen Exit'. + +p. 172, l. 18 _People's_. 4to 1698 'Peoples'. + +p. 173, l. 2 _my Foe_. 4tos omit 'my'. + +p. 173, l. 3 _Exit. Val_. 4tos 'Vall, ex.' + +p. 173, l. 23 _Scene VI. A Street_. The former editions do not mark or +number this Scene. Neither do they give locale. Their reading runs:-- + '[Exeunt. + Enter Vallentio passing over the Stage, is met'. + +p. 174, l. 7 _'Sha_. 4tos 'Sha.' + +p. 174, l. 7 _though thats_. 1724 omits 'though'. + +p. I74, l. 17 _gather_. 410 1698 'gether'. + +p. 174, l. 23 _Civil Wars_. 4to punctuates 'Civil Wars?' + +p. 174, l. 32 _Citizens goes out_. 4tos 'Cit. goes out'. + +p. 175, l. 13 _Scene VII_. 4tos 'Scene the Seventh.' + +p. 175, l. 17 _Exeunt Attendants_, This stage direction is omitted in +1724 and 4tos. + +p. 176, l. 25 _King and Guards_. 4tos omit 'and'. + +p. 177, l. 3 _Murderer_. 4tos 'Mutherer'. + +p. 177, l. 11 _Act V_. 4tos 'Act the Fifth.' + +p. 177, l. 12 _Scene I_. 4tos 'Scene the First.' + +p. 177, l. 17 _with Guards_. 4tos 'with the Guards'. + +p. 177, l. 24 _any_. 4tos 'my'. + +p. 178, l. 4 _dy'd_. 4tos 'di'd'. + +p. 179, l. 14 _Scene II_. 4tos 'Scene the Second.' + +p. 180, l. 5 _crystal_. 4tos 'chrystal'. + +p. 180, l. 29 _rustick_. 4to 1698 misprints 'ruistick'. + +p. 180, l. 33 _now_. 4tos 1698 misprints 'no'. + +p. 181, l. 6 _dy'd_. 4tos 'di'd'. + +p. 181, l. 24 _Noise_. 1724 omits this stage direction. + +p. 181, l. 29 _Gorel_. I have added this entrance. A speech-prefix +'Gorel' is marked by all old copies in this scene, but no entrance, +neither is the name given in the Dramatis Personae. + +p. 181, l. 30 _tearing_. 1724 'dragging'. + +p. 182, l. 12 _terrably_. 4tos, 1724 'terribly'. 'terrably' no doubt +denotes a clownish mispronunciation. + +p. 182, l. 17 _It ought_. 4to 1698 reads:-- + + 'It ought to have been presented + In a more glorious order.' + +p. 183, l. 1 _Dy'd_. 4tos 'Di'd'. + +p. 183, l. 18 _you'd_. 4tos 'you wou'd'. + +p. 184, l. 25 _Clemanthis_'. 4tos 'Clemanthis'. + +p. 184, l. 35 _of's_. 4tos 'of his'. + +p. 185, l. 24 _from you one visit_. 4tos 'one visit from you'. + +p. 186, l. 18 _Oh, Madam_. 4tos, which I follow, metrically. 1724 prose. + +p. 186, l. 27 _Clemanthis_'. 4tos 'Clemanthis'. + +p. 187, l. 6. _Scene V. Changes_. No former edition numbers this scene. + +p. 187, l. 8 _Attendants to them_. 1724 misprints 'Attendantsm.' + +p. 187, l. 18 _all his Actions_. 4to 1698 omits 'all'. + +p. 187, l. 34 _swound_. 1724 'swoon'. + +p. 188, l. 22 _With numerous_. 4tos divide thus:-- + + 'With numerous Troops + Which swiftly make their way.' + +p. 188, l. 30 _I long to see_. 1724 prints as far as 'fair Princess' +prosc. 4tos metrically. + +p. 189, l. 1 _Ism. Geron_. All former editions omit Geron's name here +though they give speech-prefix later in the scene. + +p. 189, l. 27 _Cleo. and Thers_. All former editions read '[Points to +Cleo.' I have added 'and Thers.', which is obviously required. + +p. 191, l. 9 _is he_. 4tos 'was he'. + +p. 191, l. 17 _told you_, 4to 'told him'. + + +THE CITY HEIRESS. + +p. 199, l. 1 _To the Right Honourable_. The Dedicatory Epistle only +occurs in 4tos 1682, 1698. + +p. 199, l. 28 _Peaching_. 4to 1698 weakly reads 'Preaching'. + +p. 201, l. 14 _glout_. 1724 'glour'. + +p. 202, l. 10. _Guinea_. 4to 1682 spells 'Guinney' here and in each other +place the word occurs. + +p. 203, l. 5 _Uncle to T. Wilding_. 4tos 1682, 1698, 'He is Uncle to Tom +Wilding'. + +p. 203 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added to the list--'_Laboir_, Man to +Tom _Wilding_; Boy, Page to Lady _Galliard_; Boy, Page to _Diana_; +Guests; Mrs. _Sensure_, Sir _Timothy's_ Housekeeper; _Betty_, Maid to +_Diana_; Maid at _Charlot's_ lodging.' + +p. 205, l. 8 _huff_. 4to 1698 'hoff'. + +p. 206, l. 33 _Feats_. 1724 misprints 'Fears'. + +p. 206, l. 35 _are you_. 1724 'you are'. + +p. 209, l. 24 _when she loves_. 1724 'then she loves'. + +p. 209, l. 32 _City-Heiress, Charles_. 1724 omits 'Charles.' + +p. 210, l. 5 _Exit_. 4tos and 1724 omit this 'Exit' which is obviously +necessary. + +p. 213, l. 32 _you had_. 4to 1682 'you'd had'. + +p. 215, l. 5 _Legions_. 4tos 1682, 1698, misprint 'a Legend'. + +p. 216, l. 30 _Wild. Damn it_. 1724 prints these lines as prose. + +p. 220, l. 24 _Mr. Foppington_. 4tos 1682, 1698, 'Mr. Foping.' + +p. 223, l. 14 _do your_. 4to 1682 'does your'. + +p. 223, l. 33 _cunning in their + Trade of Love_. +1724 divides 'cunning in their Trade of + Love.' + +p. 224, l. 6 _Charl. To-night_. 4tos 1682, 1698, print the first two +lines of Charlot's speech as prose. + +p. 224, l. 20 _hast inur'd_. 1724 misprints 'hast injur'd'. + +p. 225, l. 22 _cut his_. 4tos 1682, 1698, 'cut's'. + +p. 225, l. 34 _Goes out with Fop_. 4tos 1682, 1698, misplace this +direction in the midst of Wilding's speech after 'Farewell', line 29. + +p. 226, l. 27 _petty_. 1724 'pretty'. + +p. 226, l. 29 _Wilding_. 4to 1682 misprints 'Widling'. + +p. 227, l. 18 _those_. 4tos 1682, 1698, 'these'. + +p. 227, l. 22 _New_. 4to 1682 'Now'. + +p. 228, l. 4 _at Coffee-houses_. 4tos 1682, 1698, omit 'at'. + +p. 228, l. 31 _Manteau_. 4tos 1682, 1698, 'Manto'. + +p. 232, l. 19 _Scene III_. None of the former editions number this scene. + +p. 234, l. 25 _Sir Charles his Uncle_. 1724 'Sir Charles' Uncle'. + +p. 235, l. 36 _quitting of the Town_. 4to 1698 and 1724 read 'quitting +the Town.' + +p. 237, l. 14 _buy_. 4to 1682 'b'ye '. + +p. 241, l. 1 _with Diana_. 4tos 'and Diana'. + +p. 241, l. 8 _catechize_. 4tos misprint 'chastize'. + +p. 244, l. 15 _she is_. 4tos 'she's'. + +p. 242, l. 5 _shalt_. 4tos 'sha't'. + +p. 242, l. 22 _shalt_. 4tos 'sha't'. + +p. 242, l. 31 _shall I not have_. 1724 'shall I have'. + +p. 243, l. 27 _Commendation_. 4tos 'Commendations'. + +p. 246, l. 27 _Enter Sensure_. This entrance, obviously necessary here, +is not marked in any former edition, although all note the exit 'Betty +and Sensure.' + +p. 248, l. 3 _convert from_. 4to 1698 and 1724 read 'convert for'. + +p. 248, l. 15 _Charms that_. 4tos 1698 and 1724 'Charms which'. + +p. 249, l. 4 _Mester de Hotel_. 4tos 'Mester de Hotell.' 1724 'Maitre de +Hotel.' + +p. 249, l. 5 _Mater de Otell!_ 4tos 'Meter de Otell.' + +p. 249, l. 27 _This next_. 4to 1628 and 1724 'the next'. + +p. 252, l. 31 _I's tell_. 1724 'I'll tell'. + +p. 252, l. 33 _wondrous_. 4tos 'wonderous'. + +p. 253, l. 3 _wele aday!_ 1724 punctuates 'wele aday?'. + +p. 254, l. 2 _excellency_. 4to 1682 'excellently'. 4to 1698 +'excellensie'. + +p. 254, l. 22 _this your fickle_. 4to 1682 and 1724 omit 'this'. + +p. 257, l. 16 _old_. 4tos 1682, 1698, 'odd'. + +p. 258, l. 5 _leav'st_. 4to 1682, 1698, 'leavest'. + +p. 258, l. 12 _Vizards_. 1724 'Vizors'. + +p. 258, l. 25 _do you make as if you went to bed_. 1724 omits this +sentence. + +p. 258, l. 36 _Exeunt_. 4tos omit. + +p. 259, l. 14 _Mien_. 4tos 'Mine'. + +p. 259, l. 15 _Hold thy fluent_. 1724 prints as prose. + +p. 260, l. 1 _Who is a most_. 1724 prints this speech as prose. + +p. 261, l. 2 _Twelve was_. 4tos italicize this line as a quotation. 1724 +prints it roman. + +p. 261, l. 8 _You_. 4tos 'Ye'. + +p. 262, l. 20 _Cue. 4tos 'Que'. + +p. 262, l. 23 _three_. 1724 'thee'. + +p. 263, l. 29 _let 'em_. 4tos 'let them'. + +p. 264, l. 7 _felt for_. 4to 1698 and 1724 'felt in'. + +p. 264, l. 27 _know't_. 1724 'know it'; and prints the speech as prose. + +p. 265, l. 28 _I'm glad on't_. 1724 prints as prose. + +p. 267, _the unequal_. 4to 1698 and 1724 omit 'the'. + +p. 267, l. 16 _wou'd_. 1724 'shou'd'. + +p. 268, l. 2 _Another Room_. None of the previous editions give the +locale or number the scene. + +p. 269, l. 6 _you_. 41to 1698 and 1724 'ye'. + +p. 270, l. 20 _they go out_. 4tos 'and goes out'. + +p. 272, l. 28 _He goes out_. I have added this stage direction as we have +'Wild, returns'. + +p. 273, l. 2 _Candles_. 4to 1698 and 1724 'Candle'. + +p. 275, l. 8 _resolv'd no body_. 1724 'resolv'd that nobody'. + +p. 276, l. 13 _Nay, that's too much_. 1724 as prose. + +p. 276, l. 27 _in a Rage_. 4tos 'in Rage'. + +p. 277, l. 9 _Exit_. Not in 4tos. + +p. 277, l. 12 _Laboir_. I have added this name to the stage direction. + +p, 278, l. 1 _I'd had_. 1724 omits 'had'. + +p. 278, l. 9 _nor_. 4to 'or'. + +p. 278, l. 13 _Portmantle_. 4tos 'Portmantua'. + +p. 278, l. 29 _conscious of Treasure_. 1724 'where any Treasure is.' + +p. 279, l. 23 _Night-Cap_. 4to 1682 'Night-Caps.' + +p, 279, l. 25 _feeling in_. 1724 'feeling of'. + +p. 282, l. 4 _Dresswell, Laboir_. I have added these names to the stage +direction. + +p. 282, l. 26 _away with it_. 1724 'away with him'. + +p. 284, l. 13 _Scene II_. None of the previous editions number this +scene. + +p. 284, l. 15 _to them_. 1724 'to him'. + +p. 285, l. 18 _shall to Bed_. 4to 1698 and 1724 'shall go to Bed.' + +p. 285, l. 29 _Scene III_. None of the previous editions number this +scene. + +p. 286, l. 15 _barricado'd_. 4tos 'baracado'd'. + +p. 288, l. 2 _naming_. 1724 omits. + +p. 288, l. 6 _followed by Betty_. I have added Betty's exit to this stage +direction. + +p. 288, l. 6 _Scene IV_. None of the previous editions number this scene. + +p. 289, l. 24 _at Galliard's Door!_ 1724 'at Lady Galliard's Door!'. + +p. 289, l. 33 _meet_. 4tos 'meets'. + +p. 290, l. 29 _of your_. 1724 'on your'. + +p. 290, l. 33 _Hopes_. 1724 'Hours'. + +p. 291, l. 1 _Scene V_. None of the previous editions number this scene. + +p. 291, l. 12 _You are mistaken_. 1724 prints this speech as prose. + +p. 292, l. 27 _As far as_. 1724 prints this as prose. + +p. 292, l. 29 _to Ladies_. 4to 1698 and 1724 'to the Ladies'. + +p. 293, l. 18 _Care of_. 1724 'Care on'. + +p. 293, l. 21 _fond_. 1724 omits. + +p. 294, l. 12 _nought_. 1724 'not'. + +p. 294, l. 22 _took_. 1724 'taken'. + +p. 294, l. 23 _of Grace_. 4to 1682 'a Grace'. + +p. 295, l. 1 _made_. 1724 omits. + +p. 298, l. 32 _Exeunt_. Not in 4tos, which, however, mark 'The End.' + +p. 299, l. 30 _of_. 4tos 'in.'. + + +THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS. + +p. 301 _The Feign'd Curtezans_. 4to 1679 gives 'The Feign'd Curtizans' +and so throughout. + +p. 305, l. 1 _To Mrs. Ellen Guin_. The Dedication only occurs in 4to +1679. + +p. 309, l. 1 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added '_Silvio_, Page to _Laura +Lucretia_. _Antonio_, an Attendant to _Laura Lucretia_. Page to _Julio_. +Page to _Fillamour_.' In both 4to 1679 and 1724 there is great confusion +between _Silvio_ and _Sabina_. These characters are sometimes +intermingled as one, sometimes disentangled as two. This will be duly +noticed as it occurs. I have no doubt the confusion existed in Mrs. +Behn's MS. cf the play. + +p. 310, l. 2 _A Street_. I have added the locale, unmarked in previous +editions. + +p. 310, l. 27 _Exeunt Lau. and Ant_. All previous editions reads 'Exeunt +Lau.' + +p. 311, l. 35 _and the_. 1724 omits 'and'. + +p. 312, l. 12 _Viterboan_. 4to 1679 'Vitterboan'; and Viterbo_ 'Vitterbo' +throughout. + +p. 312, l. 16 _Why, faith_. 4to 1679 'Whe faith'. + +p. 312, l. 28 _with him_. 4to 1679 omits 'him'. + +p. 312, l. 32 _me it would_. 4to 1679 'assur'd me wou'd'. + +p. 313, l. 7 _in yours_. 4to 1679 'to yours'. + +p. 313, l. 21 _you out_. 4to 1679 'out you'. + +p. 314, l. 16 _Francis_. 4to 1679 'Frances'. + +p. 314, l. 34 _Fool's_. 4to 1679 'Fool'. + +p. 315, l. 17 _Inamorata_, 4to 1679 'Inamorato.' + +p. 315, l. 18 _young Lady_. 4to 1679 omits 'young'. + +p. 316, l. 3 _use of_. 4to 1679 'use on'. + +p. 316, l. 31 _Allons_. 4to 1679 'Aloone.' 1724 omits. + +p, 317, l. 1 _to a room in Tickletext's lodging_. I have added this +locale. + +p. 317, l. 3 _Petro snaps_. 4to 1679 'and Petro snaps'. + +p. 320, l. i _remember a fart these_. 1724 'remember these'. + +p. 320, l. 21 _Pusilage_. 1724 'Pupilage'. + +p. 321, l. 23 _voluntiero_. 4to 1679 'vollentiero'. + +p. 323, l. 10 _wou'd_. 4to 1679 'will'. + +p. 326, l. 15 _The Gardens of the Villa Medici_. This locale is unmarked +in all previous editions. + +p. 326, l. 16 _Morosini_. 4to 1679 misprints 'Murismi'. + +p. 326, l. 25 _Marcella and Cornelia_, 4to 1679 'Marcella nor Cornelia.' + +p. 328, l. 12 _dozen years_. 4to 1679 'dozen year'. + +p. 329, l. 2 _down-right_. 4to 1679 'right down'. + +p. 330, l. 9 _St Teresa's_. 4to 1679 'St. Teretia's'. + +p. 330, l. 15 _garb_. 4to 1679 'garbo'. + +p. 330, l. 27 _with Silvio, Antonio, and_. I have added these words to +the stage direction. + +p. 331, l. 3 _Sans Coeur_. 1724 omits. 4to 1679 reads 'San's Coeure.' + +p. 332, l. 22 _Exit with Silvio and her Train_. 4to 1679 'Exeunt with her +train.' 1724 'Exit with her Train.' + +p. 333, l. 24 _pray for infinitely_. 4to 1679 'pray infinitely for'. + +p. 335, l. 11 _for his Falshood_. 4ti 1679 'for Falshood'. + +p. 335, l. 24 _Bills_. 4to 1679 'Bill'. + +p. 337, l. 4 _of us_. 4to 1679 'on's'. + +p. 338, l. 5 _Cinquante per cent_. 4to 1679 'Cinquant par cent'. I have +not in any place modified and corrected the spelling of the Italian as it +stands in the old editions. + +p. 340, l. 1 _Oblige_. 4to 1679 'Obliges'. + +p. 342, l. 11 _un Bacio_. 4to 1679 misprints 'un Bacoi'. + +p. 332, l. 14 _you are all a little_. 1724 'you are a little'. + +p. 343, l. 2 _The Corso_. I have supplied the locale which all previous +editions omit. + +p. 343, l. 20 _Enter Mor. and Octa_. 4to 1679 'Enters Mur. and Octa.' +1724 'Enters Mor. and Octa.' + +p. 344, l. 21--_nay, was contracted to him, fairly contracted in my own +Chappel_;' 1724 '--nay, was contracted to him, fairly contracted to him, +fairly contracted in my own Chappel ;'. + +p. 345, l. 5 _This fine_. 1724 prints this speech as prose. + +p. 346, l. 11 _with Silvio and_. I have added these three words to the +stage direction. + +p. 348, l. 15 _with Phillipa_. I have added an entrance for Philiipa +here, although it is not marked in the former editions, as later in the +scene she speaks to Cornelia, and obviously must be in attendance on her +in the balcony. + +p. 349, l. 6 _so good_. 1724 omits these words. + +p. 350, l. 9 _Exit Crap_. I have added Crapine's exit here as he +re-enters anon with Octavio, and his exit is required by the business +of the scene. + +p. 351, l. 6 _false-souled_. Both 4to 1679 and 1724 read'false +souly', which I have ventured to alter. + +p. 352, l. 12 _They are going_. 4to 1679 and 1724 both read 'They go +out...', but it is obvious from Galliard and Fillamour's conversation +with Tickletext that they do not actually leave the stage, as also from +the direction later 'Offering to go.' + +p. 352, l. 13 _Aside_. 4to 1679 and 1724 both read 'Aside to Mar.' An +obvious mistake. + +p. 352, l. 18 _Exit_. Both 4to 1679 and 1724 have 'Exeunt.' We may +suppose Phillipa to have entered with Marcella and the former direction +to be 'Aside to Phil.' but it seems more in accordance with the scene to +make these two slight changes. + +p. 354, l. 22 _Exeunt Fil. and Gal_. 4to adds 'and Lau.' but the 1724 +'exit' at the end of her next speech is obviously correct. + +p. 354, l. 35 _and Crapine_. I have added this entrance. 4to 1679 and +1724 omit this, but both mark his exit. + +p. 365, l. 7 _to steal to a Wench_. 1724 'to steal a Wench'. + +p. 363, l. 26 _'Tis Love_. Both 4to 1679 and 1724 print this speech as +prose. It is obviously verse. + +p. 365, l. 21 _Fil.--I've_. 4to 1679 wrongly gives this speech to +Galliard. + +p. 369, l. 13 _Papish_. 1724 'Papist'. + +p. 372, l. 30 _Ex. Pet. with Tick_. I have added this stage direction +which is unmarked in the former editions, but obviously necessary here. + +p. 374, l. 22 _Scene II_. I have numbered this scene. Former editions +read 'The Scene changes to...'. + +p. 383, l. 3 _Phil_. 4to 1679 and 1724 both wrongly give these two lines +to Fillamour. + +p. 383, l. 15 _Exeunt_. Omitted in all former editions. + +p. 383, l. 17 _The Corso_. I have added the locale. + +p. 386, l. 19 _no Sword_. 4to 1679 and 1724 here needlessly repeat a +stage direction 'Enter Julio and Octavio fighting.' + +p. 386, l. 32 _Signior, gentle Signior_. 4to 1679 reads 'Signior, a +gentle Signior'. + +p. 387, l. 3 _and Silvio_. I have added this entrance of Silvio's here, +which is not marked in the former editions, but later Laura addresses +him. + +p. 387, l. 4 _He's gone_. 4to 1679 and 1724 give this speech as prose but +I have arranged it metrically. + +p. 389, l. 25 _from Silvianetta_. 4to 1679 'from the Silvianetta'. + +p. 391, l. 17 _But e'er_. 1724 prints this speech as prose. I have +followed 4to 1679. + +p. 392, l. 7 _and Sabina_. I have added Sabina's exit. There exists in +the former editions great confusion between Silvio and Sabina here. 4to +1679 and 1724 give Silvio's three speeches to Galliard with prefix 'Sab.' + +p. 393, l. 1 _Scene II_. I have numbered the scene. 4to 1679 reads 'Enter +Laura, as before, in a Night-Gown. Scene, A Chamber.' + +p. 393, l. 8 _Enter Silvio_. The confusion between Silvio and Sabina +continues in the former editions. 4to 1679 and 1724 both give Silvio's +entrance but mark his speech 'Sab.' In Laura's speech (line 14) both read +'Sabina, see the Rooms', which I have altered to 'Silvio, see the Rooms'. +Both read (line 18) 'Enter to Sil....'. + +p. 394, l. 32 _and Silvio_. I have added Silvio's entrance. The confusion +continues. + +p. 399, l. 7 _Aside_. Omitted in 1724. 4to 1679 reads 'and laughing.' + +p. 400, l. 1 _Scene III_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 400, l. 18 _Aside_. 4to omits. + +p. 401, l. 18 _Hold, much mistaken_. 4to 1679 and 1724 as prose. I have +arranged metrically. + +p. 401, l. 24 _Aside_. 4to 1679 omits. + +p. 401, l. 36 _This is_. 4to 1679 and 1724 as prose. I have arranged +metrically. + +p. 402, l. 10 _Ex. Jul. Fil_. 4to 1679 omits this. + +p. 402, l. 26 _Exeunt_. 4to 1679 gives no stage direction. 1724 reads +'exit', but obviously all go out. + +p. 403, l. 23 _Scene IV_. I have numbered this scene. + +p. 403, l. 3 _I a wandring_. 4to omits 'a'. + +p. 406, l. 31 _And here I vow_. I have arranged this speech metrically. +Former editions print as prose. + + + +NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY. + + +ABDELAZER. + +p. 6 _Montero-Caps_. Spanish _montero_ = a hunter. A Spanish hunting-cap +with two flaps for the cars. Pepys, 20 March, 1660, sees 'two monteeres +for me to take my choice of'. + +p. 7 _Beasts_. 17th century French _beste_ = an obsolete card game said +to have resembled Nap; also certain penalties at Ombre and Quadrille. The +word most frequently occurs in connection with Ombre, which is derived +from the Spanish _hombre_=man. The one who undertakes the game has to +beat each of the other two; if he fails he is said to have been beasted +and pays a forfeit to the pool. It has been suggested that 'unable to +sustain himself as a man, Hombre, he becomes beast.' c.f. _The Feign'd +Astrologer_, iii, I (4to 1668), where Lewis speaks of + + A kind of Lady-ordinary + Where they were beasting it, for that game's in + Fashion still, though _Hombre_ be more courtly. + +Butler, _Hudibras_ (1678), iii, 1, l. 1007, has-- + + These at Beste and Ombre woo + And play for love and money too. + +Lestrange, _Quovedo_ (1708), talks of spending 'whole nights at Beste or +Ombre with my Lady Pen-Tweezel.' + +p. 8 _Isabella, Queen of Spain. Mrs. Lee_. 'About the year 1670, Mrs. +Aldridge, after Mrs. Lee, after Lady Slinsgby' was 'entertain'd in the +Duke's House.' Her husband, John Lee, joined the company at the same +time. But whilst his wife became the leading tragedienne of the day, he +himself never rose above the most minor and insignificant roles. A woman +of superb and Junoesque beauty, haughty mein and imperious manners, Mrs. +Mary Lee soon won a prominent place in the theatre. Although effective in +comedy, especially in its higher flights, it was as tragedy queen she +obtained her greatest triumphs. In December, 1670, she made her debut at +Lincoln's Inn Fields as Olinda, a small part in Mrs. Behn's maiden +effort, _The Forc'd Marriage_, and early the following year acted +Daranthe, Chief Commandress of the Amazons, in Edward Howard's dull +drama, _The Women's Conquest_. A few months later, in April, she played +Leticia in Revet's _The Town Shifts_. In 1672, at Dorset Gardens, she was +Aemelia in Arrowsmith's amusing _The Reformation_; 1673, Mariamne in +Settle's heroic tragedy, _The Empress of Morocco_, a role she acted with +such excellence that it gave every token of her future greatness and +advanced her to the very front rank. 1674, ahe was Amavanga in Settle's +_The Conquest of China_; Salome, Herod's sister, in Pordage's bombastic +_Herod and Mariamne_. 1675, Chlotilda, disguised as Nigrello, in Settle's +_Love and Revenge_; Deidamia, Queen of Sparta, in Otway's first and +feeblest tragedy, _Alcibiades_, of which play she also spoke the +epilogue. 1676, Roxolana in Settle's _Ibrahim_, produced in May; and late +the same month or very early in June the Queen of Spain in Otway's +magnificent _Don Carlos_, a powerful play which, supported by Betterton +as Philip II, Smith as Carlos, Harris as Don John of Austria, and our +great tragedienne 'succeeded much better than either _Venice Preserved_ +or _The Orphan_, and was infinitely more applauded and followed for many +years.' In November she played Madam Fickle in D'Urfey's comedy of the +same name; in December Corisca in Settle's _Pastor Fido_. In 1677 Mrs. +Lee's only rival, Mrs. Marshall, the leading lady of the King's House, +retired.[1] Mrs. Barry's star was but just faintly rising on the +theatrical horizon; and it is noticeable that even when this famous +actress was at the height of her great reputation, we still find Mrs. Lee +cast for those rôles she made so peculiarly her own, and in which no one +could approach her. In February, 1677, she acted Berenice in Otway's +_Titus and Berenice_, a rather tame adaption of Racine. Mrs. Barry is +named for the small character of the queen's confident, Phoenice, and was +also Lucia in a farce from Molière, _The Cheats of Scapin_, which +followed the drama. Mrs. Lee naturally took no part in this afterpiece, +but there is a smart epilogue, 'spoken by Mrs. Mary Lee, when she was out +of Humour,' which commences:-- + + How little do you guess what I'm to say! + I'm not to ask how you like Farce or Play: + For you must know I've other Business now; + It is to tell you, Sparks, how we like you. + +In April she gave a fine performance of Cleopatra, Sedley's _Antony and +Cleopatra_; in June she was acting Circe, the title-rôle of Charles +Davenant's gorgeously mounted opera; in August, Astatius in a bucolic, +whose scene is Arcady, entitled _The Constant Nymph; or The Rambling +Shepherd_, 'written by a Person of Quality,' which proved anything but a +success. In the autumn she created the Queen in _Abdelazer_; in November, +Roxana in Pordage's tumid _The Siege of Babylon_, a play founded upon the +famous romance, _Cassandra_. In January, 1678, she played Priam's +prophetic daughter, a very strong part, in Banks' melodrama, _The +Destruction of Troy_; August of the same year, Elvira in Leanerd's witty +comedy, _The Counterfeits_, whence a quarter of a century later Colley +Gibber borrowed pretty freely for _She Wou'd and She Wou'd Not_. That +autumn Mrs. Lee acted Eurydice in Dryden and Lee's _Oedipus_. It was this +year that her husband died, and she was left a widow. In April, 1679, she +played Cressida in Dryden's _Troilus and Cressida_, and probably in the +same month, Cleomena in Mrs. Behn's _The Young King_; later in the +autumn, Laura Lucretia in _The Feign'd Curtezans;_ in October, Bellamira, +the heroine of Lee's excellent if flamboyant tragedy, _Caesar Borgia_, +to the Borgia of Betterton and Smith's Machiavel. In 1680 her rôles were +Arviola in Tate's _The Loyal General;_ Julia in Lawrence Maidwell's +capital comedy, _The Loving Enemies;_ Queen Margaret in Crowne's _The +Misery of Civil War_, a version of 2 _Henry VI_. In the winter of this +year Mrs. Lee re-married, and thenceforward is billed as Lady Slingsby, +our first titled actress. Her husband was probably Sir Charles Slingsby, +second baronet, of Bifrons in Kent, a nephew of Sir Robert Slingsby, +Comptroller of the Navy, who had died 26 October, 1661. Sir Charles is +recorded to have sold Bifrons in 1677, but we know practically nothing +about him.[2] Dr. Doran supposes Lady Slingsby to have been connected +with the Slingbys of Scriven, but he adduces no authority. In 1681 Lady +Slingsby performed Queen Margaret in Crowne's _Henry VI, the First Part +with the Murder of Gloucester_, an adaption of Shakespeare's I _Henry +VI_, suggested by the great success of his previous alteration. She also +played Regan in Tate's foolhardy tinkering with _King Lear_; Sempronia in +Lee's powerful _Lucius Junitis Brutus;_ and in December, Marguerite in +the same author's excellent _The Princess of Cleves_. In 1682 she acted +another Roman rôle, Tarpeia, in an anonymous tragedy, _Romulus and +Hersilia_, produced 10 August. She also spoke Mrs. Behn's famous epilogue +reflecting upon the Duke of Monmouth. Two days later a warrant was issued +for the arrest of 'Lady Slingsby, Comoedian, and Mrs. Aphaw Behen,' to +answer for their 'severall Misdemeanours' and 'abusive reflections upon +Persons of Quality.' Even if they were actually imprisoned, of which +there is no evidence, the detention both of actress and authoress was +very brief. On 4 December of the same year, after the union of the two +companies, Lady Slingsby created Catherine de' Medici in Dryden and Lee's +stirring tragedy, _The Duke of Guise_, produced at the Theatre Royal, In +1683 Lady Slingsby had no original part which is recorded, but her genius +successfully helped the numerous revivals of older plays that belong to +that year. In 1684 she sustained Calphurnia to the Caesar of Cardell +Goodman, the Antony of Kynaston, the Brutus and Cassius of Betterton and +Smith, the Portia of Mrs. Sarah Cook, in a notable revival of _Julius +Caesar_ (4to 1694), marred, however, by stagey alterations said to be the +work of Davenant and Dryden two decades before. The same year she played +Lucia in _The Factious Citizen;_ Lady Noble in Ravenscroft's _Dame +Dobson_. In August, 1685, Clarinda in D'Urfey's plagiarism of Fletcher's +_The Sea Voyage_, which he called _A Commonwealth of Women_. Shortly +after she appears to have retired from the stage. Dame Mary Slingsby, +widow, from St. Mary's parish, was buried in old St. Pancras graveyard, 1 +March, 1694. Careless historians and critics even now continually confuse +Mrs. Mary Lee, Lady Slingsby, with Mrs. Elizabeth Leigh, the wife of the +celebrated comedian, Antony Leigh. The two actresses must be carefully +distinguished. Geneste curiously enough gives a very incomplete list of +Lady Slingsby's roles, a selection only, as he allows; he makes several +bad mistakes as to dates, and entirely fails to appreciate the merits and +importance of this great actress in the Restoration theatre. These errors +have been largely followed, and it is become necessary to insist somewhat +strongly upon the fact that Lady Slingsby was one of the leading +performers of the day. In a contemporary _Satire on the Players_ +(1682-3), which has never been printed, she heads the list of actresses, +and Mrs. Barry is vilipended second. The lines run as follows:-- + + Imprimis Slingsby has the fatal Curse + To have a Lady's honour with a Player's Purse. + Though now she is so plaguy haughty grown | + Yet, Gad, my Lady, I a Time have known | + When a dull Whiggish Poet wou'd go down. | + That Scene's now changed, but Prithee Dandy Beast + Think not thyself an Actress in the least. + For sure thy Figure ne'er was seen before, + Such Arse-like Breasts, stiff neck, with all thy Store, + Are certain Antidotes against a Whore. + +The 'dull Whiggish Poet' alluded to is Elkanah Settle, with whom at the +beginning of her theatrical career Lady Slingsby was on terms of +considerable intimacy. Scandal further accused her of an intrigue with +Sir Gilbert Gerrard, which is referred to when the knight was attacked in +_A Satyr on Both Whigs and Tories_, (1683, unprinted MS.) + + Thou Thing made up of Buttons, Coach, and Show, + The Beasts that draw thee have more sense than thou. + Yet still thou mightst have fool'd behind the Scenes, + Have Comb'd thy Wig and set thy Cravat Strings, + Made love to Slingsby when she played the Queen, + The Coxcomb in the Crowd had passed unseen. + +p. 9 _Song_. Poets and critics have been unanimous in their praise of +this exquisite lyric, which, had she written nothing more, would alone +have been amply sufficient to vindicate Aphara Behn's genius and +immortality. It was a great favourite with Swinburne, who terms it 'that +melodious and magnificent song'; Mr. Bullen is warm in its praise, whilst +Professor Saintsbury justly acknowledges it to be 'of quite bewildering +beauty'. + +p. 70 _Stout Sceva_. The centurion M. (Valerius Max. iii. ii. 23.) +Cassius Scaeva at the battle of Dyrrachium, B.C. 48, showed heroic valour +and maintained his post although he had lost an eye, was deeply wounded +in shoulder and thigh, and his shield was pierced in 120 places. He +survived, however, and lived until after Cassar's assassination, v. +_Casar B.G_. iii 53. _Suet. Caes_, 68. _Flor_. iv. 2. 40. _Appian_, B.C. +ii. 60. He appears as a character in Fletcher's _The False One_. + +p. 98 _little Mrs. Ariell_. This actress doubtless belonged to the +Nursery, a training theatre for boys and girls intended for the stage. +Established under Royal Letters Patent issued 30 March, 1664, it is +frequently alluded to in contemporary literature. There was only one +Nursery, although, as it not infrequently changed its quarters, two are +sometimes stated to have existed simultaneously, an easy and plausible +mistake, The Nursery was originally in Hatton Garden, About 1668 it was +transferred to Vere Street, and thence finally to the Barbican. Mr. W. J. +Lawrence in an able history of _Restoration Stage Nurseries_, shows that +Wilkinson's oft-engraved view of the supposed Fortune Theatre is none +other than this Golden Lane Nursery on the site of the old Fortune +Theatre. Mrs. Ariell, a young girl, probably performed Fanny in _Sir +Patient Fancy_. Occasionally the names of other Nursery actresses occur. +We have a certain Miss Nanny, of whom nothing is known, billed as Clita, +a small part in D'Urfey's _The Commonwealth of Women_, produced August, +1685. The prefix 'Miss' as meaning a young girl occurs here in a bill for +the first time. A decade later we have Miss Allinson as Hengo, a lad, in +an alteration of Fletcher's _Bonduca_, and Miss Cross as Bonvica, +Bonduca's youngest daughter. In 1693 Miss Allison, who took the part of +Jano, a page boy, in Southerne's _The Maid's Last Prayer_, is billed as +Betty Allison. In 1696 again, Miss Cross, with Horden, spoke the prologue +to D'Urfey's _Don Quixote_, Part III. In the cast, however, when she +enacted Altisidora, she is described as Mrs. Cross, A Miss Howard acted +Kitty in Motteux's _Love's a Jest(1696) and, 'in page's habit_,' spoke +the epilogue to Dilke's _The Lover's Luck_ the same year. After that date +'Miss' instead of the heretofore 'Mrs.' became more general. + +The name of the child actress, doubtless from the Nursery, who took the +young Princess Elizabeth in Banks' _Virtue Betray'd; or, Anna Bullen_ +(1682) has not come down to us. _Wits led by the Nose; or, A Poet's +Revenge_, an alteration of Chamberlaine's unacted _Love's Victory_ (4to +1658), produced at the Theatre Royal in the summer of 1677, has +indifferent performers such as Coysh, Perrin, in the leading roles; +whilst other parts are cast thus: Sir Jasper Sympleton, Stiles; Jack +Drayner, Nathaniel Q.; Heroina, Mrs. Baker, Jun.; Theocrine, Mrs. +F[arlee?]. Stiles, Nathaniel Q., Mrs. Baker, Jun., Mrs. F[arlee?] were +all temporary recruits from the Nursery. In the spring of 1678 the +younger members act again in Leanerd's _The Rambling Justice_. Powre +played Sir John Twiford; Disney, Contentious Surley; Mr. Q., Spywell; +Mrs. Merchant, Petulant Easy; Mrs. Bates, Emilia. The Nursery disappears +about 1686. Certainly in 1690 it was the custom for young aspirants to +the sock and buskin to join the regular theatres without preliminary +training elsewhere. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +1. Her last original rôle was Berenice in Crowne's _The Destruction of +Jerusalem_, a heroic tragedy in two parts. + +2. There was a Sir Arthur Slingsby, a younger son of Sir Guildford +Slingsby, Bart. Both Pepys (20 July, 1664) and Evelyn (19 July, 1664) +mention the lottery he held with the King's permission in the Banqueting +House at Whitehall. Evelyn judged him to be 'a mere shark.' + + +THE YOUNG KING. + +p. 107 _Tartarian war_. Brawls and free fights, sometimes of a serious +character, in the pit (Tartarus) of a Restoration theatre were of +frequent occurrence. There is a well-known instance in Langbaine: 'At the +acting of this tragedy [_Macbeth_] on the stage, I saw a real one acted +in the pit; I mean the death of Mr. Scroop, who received his death's +wound from the late Sir Thomas Armstrong, and died presently after he was +remov'd to a house opposite to the Theatre, in Dorset Garden.' This was +in 1679. In April, 1682, in the pit at the Theatre Royal, Charles Dering +and Mr. Vaughan drew on each other and then clambered on to the stage to +finish their duel 'to the greater comfort of the audience'. Dering being +badly wounded, Vaughan was held in custody until he recovered. In +Shadwell's _A True Widow_ (1678) Act iv, i, there is a vivid picture of a +general scuffle and battle royal in the pit. cf. Dryden's Prologue to +_The Spanish Friar_ (1681):-- + + Now we set up for tilting in the pit, + Where 'tis agreed by bullies chicken-hearted + To fright the ladies first, and then be parted. + +p. 107 _Half crown my play_.... There are many allusions to the price of +admission to the pit. Pepys mentions it, and on one occasion notices +'ordinary' prentices and mean people in the pit at 2s 6d a-piece'. cf. +Epilogue to Carye's _The Generous Enemies_:-- + + There's a nest of devils in the pit, + By whom our plays, like children, just alive, + Pinch'd by the fairies, never after thrive: + 'Tis but your half-crown, Sirs: that won't undo. + +p. 133 _antick_.--here used in its strict and original sense, 'baroque', +'rococo'. A favourite word with Mrs. Behn. + +p. 181 _Life it self's a Dream. This is the very title of Calderon's +comedia, _La Vida es Sueño_. + +p. 183 _J. Wright, esq_. James Wright (1643-1713), barrister-at-law and +miscellaneous writer, is now chiefly remembered by his famous pamphlet, +_Historia Histrionica_ (1699), a dialogue on old plays and players, +reprinted in various editions of Dodsley. Wright was a great lover of the +theatre, and 'one of the first collectors of old plays since Cartwright.' + +p. 192 _spoken ... at his Royal Highness' second exile_. This note fixes +the date of the play as being between the latter end of March, 1679, and +August of the same year. It was probably produced in April. The Duke of +York sailed for Antwerp on 4 March, 1679. From Antwerp he went to the +Hague and thence to Brussels. In August he was summoned home as Charles +was attacked by a severe fit of ague. He returned to Brussels to escort +the Duchess back, and on 27 October left for Scotland. + + +THE CITY HEIRESS. + +p. 199 _Henry, Earl of Arundel_. Henry Howard, 1655-1701, son of Henry, +sixth Duke of Norfolk, succeeded his father 10 January, 1684. From 1678 +to 1684 he was styled Earl of Arundel, although summoned to Parliament on +27 January, 1679 as Lord Mowbray. + +p. 200 _Then let the strucken Deer. Hamlet_, Act iii, ii. + +p. 201 _to roar_. To be tipsily boisterous, deoauchcd and wantonly +destructive. The word is common. + +p. 201 _to glout_. To stare at; to make eyes at. Not here to frown or +scowl, the usual meaning, and the sole explanation given by the _N.E.D_. +For 'glout' in this sense cf. Orrery's _Guzman_ (1679) iv, 'Guzman glouts +at her, sighs, and folds his arms.' + +p. 201 _Convenient_. 'Blowing, Natural, Convenient, Tackle. Several names +for a Mistress or rather a Whore.'--'An Explanation of the Cant' prefixed +to Shadwell's _The Squire of Alsatia_ (4to, 1688). The word occurs more +than once in the course of the play. cf. Act iv, where we have + + '_Enter_ Margaret _and Mrs_. Hackum _with a Cawdle_. + _Belf. Sen_. Oh my dear _Blowing!_ my _Convenient!_ my _Tackle!_' + +p. 201 _In Reverend Shape_. The allusion throughout this prologue is to +Titus Oates. After his abominable perjuries this wretch was lodged at +Whitehall, assigned £1200 a year and a special posse of officers and +attendants. + +p. 201 _The Oaths_ ... cf. Dryden's description of Oates as Corah. +_Absalom and Achitophel_, Part I--especially-- + + Who ever asked the witnesses' high race + Whose oath with martyrdom did Stephen grace? + +p. 202 _Pug_. A quasi-proper name for a fox. cf. R.S. Surtees' _Ask +Mamma_ (1857-8), xv. 'Pug ... turns tail and is very soon in the rear of +the hounds.' + +p. 202 _silken Doctor_. Oates pretended to have taken the degree of D.D. +at the University of Salamanca. + + The spirit caught him up! the Lord knows where, + And gave him his Rabbinical degree + Unknown to foreign university.--_Absalom and Achitopbel_, i. + +Silken of course alludes to his black silk Doctor's gown. + +p. 202 _Guinea for--no Feast_. This and the following verses refer to a +circumstance much talked of and well laughed at by the Tories. The Duke +of York having been invited to dine with the Artillery Company at +Merchant-Tailors'-Hall, on 21 April, 1682; an opposition dinner was +impudently projected by the Shaftesbury party, to be held at +Haberdashers' Hall, and tickets were forthwith issued at one guinea each; +for the purpose, as it was declared, of commemorating the providential +escape of the nation from the hellish designs of the papists, etc. The +King, however, issued a salutary order forbidding the meeting as an +illegal one. This supplied the loyal party with new matter for ridicule +and satire against the Whigs, who were considerably dejected by their +disappointment. + +p. 206 _overtaken_--with liquor. cf. Steele, _Spectator_, No. 420, +Wednesday, 6 August, 1712. 'I do not remember I was ever o'ertaken in +drink.' + +p. 206 _wholesom Act_. see _supra_. Vol. I, _The Roundheads_, Act v, II, +p. 457, note: 'p. 414, an act, 24 June.' + +p. 207 _Forty one_. The year of the Grand Remonstrance and agitation for +the suppression of Episcopacy. + +p. 207 _guttle_. To flatter, to toady. The word is rare in this sense, +generally meaning to guzzle. cf. parasitus. + +p. 210 _Porridge_. A contemptuous nickname given by Dissenters to the +_Book of Common Prayer_. On 24 August, 1662, Pepys hears that there has +been 'a disturbance in a church in Friday St.; a great many young +[people] knotting together and crying out _Porridge_ often and +seditiously in the church, and took the Common Prayer Book, they say, +away.' There is a four leaved pamphlet, 4to 1642, by Gyles Calsine, +entitled 'A Messe of Pottage, very well seasoned and crumb'd with bread +of life, and easie to be digested against the contumelious slanderers of +the Divine Service, terming it Poridge.' + +p. 214. _Opinion_. Reputation, cf. Shirley, _The Gamester_ (1637), Act +i:--'_Barnacle_. Patience; I mean you have the opinion of a valiant +gentleman.' + +p. 218 _watch her like a Witch_. _vide_ Vol I, p. 448, note: _Women must +be watcht as Witches are_. + +p. 228 _i' th' Pit, behind the Scenes_. The foremost benches of the pit +were a recognized rendezvous for fops and beaux. The tiring rooms of the +actors and actresses were also a favourite resort of wits and gallants. +Pepys frequently mentions the visits he paid behind the scenes. The +Epilogue to _The Gentleman Dancing Master_ (1671) even invites cits +behind the scenes:-- + + You good men o' th' Exchange, on whom alone + We must depend when Sparks to sea are gone; + Into the pit already you are come, + 'Tis but a step more to our tiring-room + Where none of us but will be wondrous sweet + Upon an able love of Lombard-Street. + +p. 228 _flamm'd off_. Cheated, cf. Ford and Dekker's _The Witch of +Edmonton_, ii, II (1621):--'_Susan_. And then flam me off + With an old witch.' + +also South's _Sermons_ (1687):--'A God not to be flammed off with lies.' + +p. 209 _Lusum_. i.e. Lewisham. + +p. 230 _in ure_. In use; practice. cf. John Taylor's _The Pennyles +Pilgrimage_ (4to 1618);-- + + For in the time that thieving was in ure + The gentle fled to places more secure. + +p. 230 _betauder_. The meaning of this word (=to bedizen with tawdry +finery) is plain. As it is only found here, the N.E.D. suggests it may be +a nonce-verb. + +p. 230 _Spanish Paint_. Rouge, cf. Lady Wishfort in _The Way of the +World_ (1700);--'I mean the Spanish paper, idiot. Complexion, darling, +paint, paint, paint.'--Act iii, 1. + +p. 230 _prew_. Prim, modest. A very rare, affected little word. + +p. 230 _rant_. To be boisterously merry, cf. Farquhar, _The Constant +Couple_ (1700), Act iv, 1:--'_Clincher jun_. I'll court, and swear, and +rant, and rake and go to the jubilee with the best of them.' + +p. 233 _seditiously petitioning_. In allusion to the vast number of +petitions which Shaftesbury procured from the counties in support of the +Exclusion Bill. The rival factions, 'Petitioners' and 'Abhorrers' were +the nucleus of the two great parties, Whigs and Tories. + +p. 236 _Tuberose_. The most fashionable perfume of the day. cf. +Etheredge's _The Man of Mode_ (1676), Act v, 1:--'_Belinda_. I ... told +them I never wore anything but orange-flowers and tuberose.' + +p. 245 _hits_. A stroke of luck; an opportunity. + +p. 246 _ignoramus_. The partial verdict of the Middlesex Grand Jury +ignoring the bill of the indictment against Shaftesbury, 24 November, +1681. It is frequently alluded to by Dryden, Mrs. Behn, and the Tory +writers. + +p. 248 _Albany_. James (II), Duke of York and Albany. + +p. 249 _Polanders_. Shaftesbury aspired to be chosen King of Poland in +1675 when John Sobieski was elected to that Throne. This piece of foolish +ambition and a certain physical infirmity, to wit, an abscess that in +order to preserve his life had to be kept continually open by a silver +pipe, got him the nickname of Count Tapsky. In _The Medal_ (March, 1682) +Dryden speaks of 'The Polish Medal', and Otway's Prologue to _Venice +Preserv'd_ (1682) ridicules Shaftesbury's regal covetings thus:-- + + O Poland, Poland! had it been thy lot + T'have heard in time of this Venetian plot, + Thou surely chosen hadst one king from thence + And honoured them, as thou hast England since. + +An elaborate and amusing piece of sarcasm on the same subject appeared in +a pamphlet entitled _A Modest Vindication of the Earl of S----y, _In a +Letter to a Friend concerning his being elected King of Poland_, 1682. +Squibs and pasquinades such as _Scandalum Magnatum, or Potapski's case; A +Satire against Polish Oppression_ (1682), and the versified _Last Will +and Testament of Anthony, King of Poland_ abounded. + +p. 251 _Tantivy_. Reckless, dare-devil. Said by Dr. Johnson to be derived +from the sound of a hunting-horn. + +p. 251 _Absalom and Achitophel_. The first part of this great poem was +published, folio, on or a little before 17 November, 1681. A second +edition, quarto, followed during December. The work was anonymous, but +the authorship was never a secret. The second part, mainly from the pen +of Tate, appeared in November, 1682. + +p. 254 _lookt Babies_. To look babies is to gaze at the reflection of +one's face in another's eyes. cf. Beaumont, _The Woman Hater_ (1606), +iii, 1:-- + +_Gondarino_. I cannot think I shall become a coxcomb, + To ha' my hair curl'd by an idle finger, + * * * * * + Mine eyes look'd babies in. + +p. 257 _an old Reckoning_, 4to 1, 1682, reads 'an odde Reckoning'; 4to 2, +1698, reads 'an odd Reckoning'; but 1724 'old' is doubtless correct. + +p. 257 _to give us a Song_. Charlotte Butler, who played Charlot, +'proved', says Cibber, 'not only a good actress, but was allowed in those +days, to sing and dance to great perfection. In the dramatic operas of +_Dioclesian_ and _King Arthur_, she was a capital and admired performer. +In speaking too, she had a sweet-toned voice, which, with her naturally +genteel air and sensible pronunciation, rendered her wholly mistress of +the amiable in many serious characters. In parts of humour, too, she had +a manner of blending her assuasive softness, even with the gay, the +lively, and the alluring.' Fletcher's _The Prophetess_ was brought out as +an opera, _Dioclesian_, at Dorset Garden in 1690. Dryden's _King Arthur_, +'a dramatic opera', music by Purcell, was produced in 1691. In the latter +piece Mrs. Butler acted Philidel, an Airy Spirit. + +p. 257 _Charl. and Fop. dance_. Jevon, who acted Foppington, had +originally been a dancing master. He was famous for his grace and +nimbleness. + +p. 259 _Mercury_. The first foreign printed periodical circulating in +England was _Mercurius Gallobelgicus_, a bound book printed in Cologne +and written in Latin. The first number, a thick little octavo of 625 +pages, was published in March, 1594, and contained a chronicle of events +from 1588. From this 'newsbook' came the Latin title _Mercurius_, used on +so many of our periodicals. In 1625 was issued the first coranto with a +name, 'printed for Mercurius Britannicus'. The earliest number in +existence is 16, dated 7 April, 1625. Butler (_Hudibras_, II, i. 56) +speaks of + + Mercuries of furthest regions, + Diurnals writ for regulation + Of lying, to inform the nation. + +p. 259 _flam_, humbug. cf. South's Sermons (1737), II, xii, p. 443. +_Conscience_ (1692). 'All pretences to the contrary are nothing but cant +and cheat, flam and delusion.' + +p. 260 _Hackney_. A whore. Cotgrave (1611), _Bringuenaudée_, +a common hackney. Stapylton's _Juvenalls Satyrs_ (1647), III, 76: +--'And hackney-wenches that i' th' _Circus_ stand'. _Hudibras_, +III, i, 811-2:-- + + That is no more than every lover + Does from his hackney-lady suffer. + +p. 261 _Twelve was the lucky_. Tom is quoting from _The Happy Night_, a +piece which may be found in Vol. I of the _Works of the Earl of +Rochester_ (1756), and in the early pseudo-Amsterdam editions. The +following note is generally appended: 'The late Duke of Buckinghamshire +was pleased to own himself the Author of this Poem.' + +p. 262 _fisking and giggiting. Both these words have practically the same +signification, i.e., to frisk or scamper about heedlessly, cf. _Rules of +Civility_ (1675), in _Antiquary_ (1880):--'Madam ... fisking and +prattling are but ill ways to please.' + +To giggit is a very rare verb. _The N.E.D_. only notices it as a modern +U.S.A. colloquialism, quoting _Old Town Folks_ 'While the wagon and uncle +Liakim were heard giggiting away.' + +p. 263 _Rakeshame_. A common word for a profligate in the 17th century. +cf. Bishop Montagu, _Diatribae_ (1621), 'Such roysterers and rakeshames +as Mars is manned with.' + +p. 269 _whipping Tom_. The use of a whipping boy punished for another's +fault is well known. Barnaby Fitzpatrick served that office for the young +Edward VI, and Mungo Murray for Charles I. + +p. 273 _Intelligence_. Newspaper; diurnal. 'Letters of Intelligence' was +an early and common name for a periodical. In 1662 we have _A Monthly +Intelligence Relating the Affaires of the People called Quakers_. No. I, +August--September 1. (The only number.) In 1665, _Publick Intelligence_, +No. i, 28 November, 1665. By Sir Roger L'Estrange. (One number.) + +p. 277 _I saw how_. Tom is quoting these four lines from stanza vii of +_The Disappointment_ vide Vol. vi. The same poem, yclept _The +Insensible_, appears in various editions of Rochester's _Works_, and is +attributed to the Earl. _The Disappointment_ is again the title of +another poem which directly precedes _The Insensible_. + +p. 278 _Enter Sensure_. cf. Shadwell's _The Miser (1672)_, Act iv, where +Squeeze escaping from Mother Cheatley's house is exposed by being found +to have donned Letrice's red silk stocking in mistake for his own. It is +said that when Shaftesbury's house was searched for incriminating papers +a lady of some little notoriety was found concealed under his bed, p. 281 +_the City-Charter_. The Charter of the City of London was broken by the +Crown in 1683. cf. Dryden's _Prologue to the King & Queen ... upon the +Union of the Two Companies _spoken at Drury Lane, 16 November, 1682:-- + + When men will needlessly their freedom barter + For lawless power, sometimes they catch a Tartar; + (There's a damned word that rhymes to this, call'd Charter.) + +p. 282 _Crape-Goivnorums_. Clerics. Bailey (1755) defines crape as a +"sort of thin worsted stuff of which the dress of the clergy is sometimes +made", cf. _Speculum Crape-Gownsorum; or, A Looking-Glass for the young +Academicks (1682)_. An unpublished satire (Harleian MS.), _The +Convocation (1688)_, has:-- + + Whole Troops of Crape Gowns with Curtains of Lawn + In the Pale of the Church together are drawn. + +p. 282 _Association_. When Shaftesbury was apprehended and sent to the +Tower in 1681, the project of an "Association" was discovered amongst his +papers. The satire is very mordant here. There is a caustic pasquil +entitled _Massinello, or a Satyr against the Association and the +Guildhall Plot_. Dedicated to the Salamanca (No) Doctor, 1683. Cf. +Dryden's _Prologue to the King and Qucen_, spoken at the opening of their +Theatre, Drury Lane, upon the Union of the Two Companies, 16 November, +1682:-- + + How Pennsylvania's air agrees with Quakers, + And Carolina's with Associators: + Both e'en too good for madmen and for traitors. + +p. 289 _Chitterling_. Originally the smaller intestines of beasts, as of +the pig, but here used as equalling "catgut". A rare example. + +p. 290 _Discoverer_. A name given to those who belonged to Titus Oates' +gang and feigned to have knowledge of and discover the Popish Plot. + +p. 294 _mump'd_. tricked. Dutch _mompen_ = to cheat. A very common +expression. + +p. 296 _Polish Embassador then incognito_? _A Modest Vindication of the +Earl of S----y (1682)_, banters that nobleman by describing how "Polish +Deputies were immediately sent Post incognito with the Imperial Crown and +Sceptre in a Cloak-Bag". + +p. 297 _Salamanca_. The abominable Oates, prince of perjurers, feigned to +have taken his degree D.D, at Salamanca, cf. _Crowne's City Politics +(1683)_, Act v, where Crafty says to Dr. Panchy (Oates), "Where did you +take your degree--in Beargarden?' 'In a learned university, Sir,' thunders +the Doctor, to which Crafty retorts, 'I' the University of Coffee-houses, +the University of Lies." + +p. 299 _Trincaloes_. In Davenant and Dryden's version of _The Tempest_, +produced with extraordinary success at the Duke's House, 7 November, +1667: or in Shadwell's operatic alteration of Shakespeare produced at +Dorset Garden, 30 April (or very early in May), 1674. The reference is +applicable to either of these two. No sooner has Trincalo chosen Sycorax, +Caliban's sister, as his spouse, than the treacherous Stephano wins the +she-monster for himself, and a battle royal ensues. Cave Underbill, +a famous Gravedigger in _Hamlet_, excelled as Trincalo. p. 299. +_Fop-corner_. One of the corners of the pit nearest the stage much +affected by the gallants and beau critics. There are frequent allusions +in prologues, epilogues and plays, cf. the ballad epilogue to Davenant's +_The Man's the Master_ (produced 26 March, 1668, 4to, 1669):-- + + Others are bolder, and never cry, shall I? + For they make our guards quail + And'twixt curtain and rail, + Oft combing their hair, they walk in Fop-Alley. + + +THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS. + +p. 305 _To Mrs. Ellen Guin_. This adulatory epistle may be paralleled +with that prefixed by Duffet to his rhyming comedy, _The Spanish Rogue_ +(410, 1674). The only other known book beside these two plays dedicated +to Nell Gwynne is a very rare little volume entitled Janua Di'vorum: or +The Lives and Histories of the Heathen Gods, Goddesses, & Demi-Gods, by +Robert Whitcombe, published in 1678, and inscribed to 'The Illustrious +Madam Ellen Guin'. Dr. Johnson's pungent remark to the effect that Dryden +has never been equalled in the hyperbole of flattery except by Aphara +Behn in her address to Nell Gwynne is quoted to triteness. But then at +that time it was the fashion to riot in the wildest extravagances of +compliment. Neither the great laureate nor Astrea must be too harshly +taken to task for their vivid verbal colouring. + +p. 306 _two noble Branches_. Charles Beauclerk, Duke of St. Albans, born +8 May, 1670; James Beauclerk, born 25 December, 1671, ob, Septemher, +1680, the two sons of Nell Gwynne by Charles II. There is an exquisitely +voluptuous painting by Gascar, engraved by Masson, of Nell Gwynne on a +bed of roses whilst the two boys as winged amorini support flowing +curtains and draperies. Her royal lover appears in the distance. There is +also a well-known and beautiful painting of the mother and children by +Lely, engraved by Richard Tompson. + +p. 307 _Mrs. Currer_. Elizabeth Currer was born in Dublin. When quite a +girl she joined the Duke's Company in 1673, and in a few years, owing to +her beauty and extraordinary spirit, became a prime favourite with the +Town. Amongst her chief recorded parts are: 1677, Mrs. Hadland in The +Counterfeit Bridegroom, January, 1678, Lady Fancy in Mrs. Behn's _Sir +Patient Fancy_; in March, Marcella in _The Feign'd Curtezans_; June of +the same year, Madam Tricklove in D'Urfey's _Squire Oldsapp_. In 1680, +The Queen in Tate's _The Loyal General_, and Jenny Wheedle (Matilda) in +D'Urfey's entertaining comedy _The Virtuous Wife_. In 1681 she created +Ariadne in _The Rover_, Part II. and 'Lady Elianor Butler, a young lady +of great quality that was one of King Edward's mistresses,' in Crowne's +adaptation of, 2 _Henry VI_, which he dubbed _The Miseries of Civil War_. +1682, Eugenia in Ravenscroft's rollicking _The London Cuckolds_; +(probably) Lady Desbro' in _The Roundheads_; Diana in _The City Heiress_; +Isabella in _The False Count_; and, her greatest rôle, Aquilina the Greek +light o' love in _Venice Preserv'd_ to the Antonio of Leigh. 'When Leigh +and Mrs. Currer', says Davies, 'performed the parts of doting cully and +rampant courtezan the applause was as loud as the triumphant Tories could +bestow.' Subsequent decades eliminated the intrigue between Nicky Nacky +and the fumbling old senator. The scenes were thought to reek too openly +of the stews, and when indeed they were played for the last time in their +entirety at the express command of George II, then Prince of Wales, with +Pinketham as Antonio and pretty Mrs. Horton Aquilina, the house, in spite +of the high patronage, thought fit to demonstrate their pudicity in a +very audible manner.[1] The critics too, in a somewhat ductile herd, have +modestly decried these same episodes. Otway's comic and satiric powers +have been thoroughly underrated. Taine, however, boldly confessed that +Otway 'like Shakespeare ... found at least once the grand bitter +buffoonery, the harsh sentiment of human baseness', and he demonstrates +that, however odious and painful the episodes of senator and whore may +be, they are true to the uttermost. Even the great nineteenth-century +realist Zola did not disdain to take a hint thence for his chapters in +_Nana_ of the masochist Count Muffat and the 'rampant courtezan'. + +[Footnote 1: There was a notable performance of _Venice Preserv'd_ at +Drury Lane, 19 November, 1721, which is perhaps the occasion referred to; +but, as Genest says, after the original performances the role of Aquilina +is not to be found in the play bills. 2 December, 1721, Spiller acted +Antonio at Lincoln's Inn Fields.] + +In 1684 Mrs. Currer created Mrs. Featly In Ravenscroft's 'recantation +play', _Dame Dobson_; she was also Sylvia in Otway's last comedy, _The +Atheist_, and Lady Medlar in _The Factious Citizen_. In 1685 she played +Isabella in Tate's farcical _A Duke and no Duke_, and five years later +she is billed as the roystering Widow Ranter in Mrs. Behn's posthumous +comedy of the same name. Her name does not appear after 1690, latterly +her appearances were few, and she seems to have been one of those 'crept +the stage by love'. An unprinted MS. _Satire on the Players_ (1682-3) has +a sharp reference to Betty Currer and cries:-- + + Currer 'tis time thou wert to Ireland gone + Thy utmost Rate is here but Half-a-Crown + Ask Turner if thou art not fulsome grown. + +p. 309 _Silvio, Page to Laura Lucretia_. (Dramatis Personae.) I have +added 'Silvio' to the list of actors as he enters according to the stage +directions, Act i, 1, and elsewhere. Julio in the same scene refers to +him, and Laura Lucretia several times addresses him during the play. Act +ii, 1, &c. In Act v, however, he is manifestly confused with Sabina. +Laura gives Silvio certain instructions, he approaches Galliard, and his +lines have speech-prefix 'Sab.' In the following scene the direction is +'enter Silvio' and his speech is given to Sabina, Laura moreover +addressing him as Sabina. I have no doubt that this confusion existed in +Mrs. Behn's MS. + +p. 315 _Medices Villa_. The Villa Medici was erected in 1540 by Annibale +Lippi. The gardens are famous for their beauty. From the avenue of +evergreen-oaks with a fountain before the Villa can be obtained a +celebrated view of St. Peter's. + +p. 317 _I may chance to turn her_. Mr. Tickletext was much of the opinion +of the celebrated casuist Bauny, who, in his _Theologia Moralis_, +tractatus iv, _De Poenitentia_, quaestio 14, writes: 'Licitum est +cuilibet lupanar ingredi ad odium peccati ingerendum meretricibus, etsi +metus sit, et vero etiam verisimilitudo non parva se peccaturum eo quod +malo suo saepe sit expertus, blandis se muliercularum sermonibus flecci +solitum ad libidinem.' + +p. 319 _Amorous Twire_. Twire--a sly, saucy glance; a leer. cf. +Etheridge's _The Man of Mode_ (1676), Act iii, III, _Harriet_. 'I +abominate ... the affected smiles, the silly By-words, and amorous Tweers +in passing.' The verb 'to twire' occurs in Shakespeare's _Sonnets_, +xxviii, 12, and frequently elsewhere. + +p. 320 _Hogan-Mogan_. A popular corruption, or rather perversion, of +the Dutch _Hoogmogend-heiden_, 'High Mightinesses', the title of the +States-General. In a transferred manner it is used as a humorous or +Contemptuous adjective of those affecting grandeur and show; 'high and +mighty.' The phrase is common. Needham, _Mercurius Pragmaticus_, No. 7 +(1648), speaks of the 'Hogan Mogan States of Westminster'. Tom Brown +(1704), _Works_ (1760), Vol. IV, lashes 'hogan-mogan generals'. + +p. 330 _Pusilage_. French _pucelage_; virginity; maidenhead. 1724 reading +'pupilage' misses the whole point and comes near making nonsense of the +passage. cf. Otway's _The Poets Complaint of his Muse_ (4to, 1680), v-vi: + + No pair so happy as my Muse and I. + Ne'er was young lover half so fond, + When first his pusilage he lost; + Or could of half my pleasure boast. + +p. 322 _Back-Sword_. A sword with a cutting edge; or single-stick (with a +basket hilt). + +p. 322 _Parades_. 'The lessons defensive are commonly called the +parades'.--Sir W. Hope's _Compleat Fencing Master_ (2nd edition, 1692). + +p. 322 _Degagements_. André Wernesson, Sieur de Liancour, in chap. v of +_Le Maistre d' Armes_ (1686), treats 'des Dégagements' in some detail. +Hope defines 'Caveating or Dis-engaging' as 'the slipping of your +Adversaries' sword when it is going to _bind_ or secure yours'. + +p. 322 _Advancements_. Advancings. 'A man is said to _Approach_ or +_Advance_ when being out of his adversaries' reach or at a pretty +distance from him he cometh nearer to him'.--Hope, _Compleat Fencing +Master_. + +p. 322 _Eloynements_. To elonge 'is to Streatch forward one's right Arm +and Legg and to keep a close left Foot. This a Man doth when he giveth a +Thrust, and when he doth it he is said to make an _Elogne_' +(Eloynements).--Hope, _New Method of Fencing_, chap. iv, XI (2nd edition, +1714), deals in detail with 'Elonging, or making an Elonge'. + +p. 322 _Retierments_. Retreats or Retirings are very fully described in +Liancour's _Le Maistre d' Armes_, chap. iv. 'A Man is said to Retire when +being within his Adversaries' reach he goeth out of it either by stepping +or jumping backwards from his Adversary upon a Straight Line'.--Hope, +_Compleat Fencing Master_ (2nd edition, 1692). + +p. 322 _St. George's Guard_. 'A guard of the broadsword or sabre used in +warding off blows directed against the head'.--C. James, _Military +Dictionary_ (1802). + +p. 322 _Flurette_. or Fluret. A fencing foil. Hope, _New Method of +Fencing_ (1714), chap, vii says: '[The Fencing-Master] ought to ... begin +his Scholars with Fleurets'. + +p. 323 _Ajax and Ulysses contending for Achilles his armour?_ + + Bella mouet clypeus: deque armis anna feruntur. + Non ea Tydides, non audet Oïleos Aiax, + Non minor Atrides, non bello maior et aeuo + Poscere non alii: soli Telamone creato + Läertaque fuit tantae fiducia laudis.--Ovid: _Metamorphoscon_. + +xii, 621-5. Book xiii commences with a description of the contest of Ajax +(Telamonis) and Ulysses for the arms of the dead Achilles. They were +awarded to the prince of Ithaca. + +p. 324 _Clouterlest_. Clumsiest. E. Phillips, _Theatrum Poetarum_, speaks +of Spenser's 'rough hewn clouterly verses'. cf. _Pamela_, Vol. I, p. 112 +(1741), 'some clouterly ploughboy'. + +p. 338 _Rosemary_. 'There's rosemary, that's for remembrance'. Hamlet, +iv, v. + +p. 340 _Docity_. Gumption. A favourite word with Mrs. Behn. cf. _The +False Count_, ii, 11. _Guill_. 'I thank heaven I have docity', and +elsewhere, + +p. 341 _Julio_. Guilio, a silver coin worth 6_d_. It was first struck by +Pope Julius II (1503-13), hence its name. + +p. 346 _The hour of the Berjere_. L'heure du berger ou l'amant trouve +celle qu'il aime favorable à ses voeux. cf. La Fontaine, _Contes. La +Coupe Enchantée_. 'Il y fait bon, l'heure du berger sonne.' It is a +favourite expression of Mrs. Behn. cf. _Sir Patient Fancy_, Act i, l. +'From Ten to Twelve are the happy hours of the Bergere, those of intire +enjoyment.' Also the charming conclusion of _The Lover s Watch_:-- + + Damon, my watch is just and new: + And all a Lover ought to do, + My Cupid faithfully will show. + And ev'ry hour he renders there + Except _l'heure du Bergère_. + +p. 352 _Knox, or Cartwright_. The allusion here is to the Scotch reformer +and the Puritan divine, whose weighty tomes Tickletext might be supposed +to carry with him for propagandist purposes. Fillamour has already +rallied him on his Spartan orthodoxy, and anon we find the worthy +chaplain hot at the 'great work of conversion'. It has been ingeniously +suggested that a reference is intended to _The Preacher's Travels_ of +John Cartwright of Magdalen, Oxford, a book first published in 1611, and +afterwards reprinted. + +p. 353 _St. James's of the Incurables_. The church of S. Giacomo and the +adjacent Ospedale stand at the corner of the Via S. Giacomo, which leads +from the Corso towards the river. + +p. 378 _cogging_. To cog is to trick, to cheat. A word in common use. + +p. 384 _like to like_.... A very old proverbial saying. The humours of +Grim the collier are introduced by Ulpian Fulwell into his morality, +_Like Will to Like_ (1561). cf. The amusing anonymous comedy, _Grim, the +Collier of Croydon_ (1600), with its major plot of the Belphegor story. + +p. 384 _smoke_. To detect. cf. _All's Well That Ends Well_, iii, 6. 'He +was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu.' + + +END OF VOL. II + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN, VOL. II *** + +This file should be named 8aph210.txt or 8aph210.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8aph211.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8aph210a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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