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Title: The Works of Aphra Behn, Volume III

Author: Aphra Behn

Editor: Montague Summers

Release date: November 1, 2003 [eBook #10039]
                Most recently updated: December 19, 2020

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG Distributed Proofreaders


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN, VOLUME III ***




Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen
and PG Distributed Proofreaders




THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN, VOL. III


EDITED BY MONTAGUE SUMMERS


MCMXV



CONTENTS:

THE TOWN-FOP; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TAWDREY
THE FALSE COUNT
THE LUCKY CHANCE; OR, AN ALDERMAN'S BARGAIN
THE FORC'D MARRIAGE; OR, THE JEALOUS BRIDEGROOM
THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON
NOTES






THE TOWN-FOP; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TAWDREY.



ARGUMENT.

Sir Timothy Tawdrey is by the wishes of his mother and the lady's father
designed for Celinda, who loves Bellmour, nephew to Lord Plotwell. A
coxcomb of the first water, Sir Timothy receives a sharp rebuff when he
opens his suit, and accordingly he challenges Bellmour, but fails to
appear at the place of meeting. Celinda's old nurse, at night, admits
Bellmour to her mistress' chamber, where they are surprized by
Friendlove, her brother, who is, however, favourable to the union, the
more so as he is a friend of Bellmour, and they have but newly returned
from travelling together in Italy. Lord Plotwell warmly welcomes his
nephew home, and proceeds to unfold his design of giving him his niece
Diana in marriage. When he demurs, the old lord threatens to deprive him
of his estate, and he is compelled eventually to acquiesce in the
matrimonial schemes of his guardian. Bellmour sends word to Celinda, who
replies in a heart-broken letter; and at the wedding feast Friendlove,
who himself is deeply enamoured of Diana, appears in disguise to observe
the traitor. He is followed by his sister disguised as a boy, and upon
Friendlove's drawing on Bellmour a scuffle ensues which, however, ends
without harm. In the nuptial chamber Bellmour informs Diana that he
cannot love her and she quits him maddened with rage and disappointment.
Sir Timothy serenades the newly-mated pair and is threatened by
Bellmour, whilst Celinda, who has been watching the house, attacks the
fop and his fiddlers. During the brawl Diana issuing forth meets
Celinda, and taking her for a boy leads her into the house and shortly
makes advances of love. They are interrupted by Friendlove, disguised,
and he receives Diana's commands to seek out and challenge Bellmour. At
the same time he reveals his love as though he told the tale of another,
but he is met with scorn and only bidden to fight the husband who has
repulsed her. Bellmour, meantime, in despair and rage at his misery
plunges into reckless debauchery, and in company with Sir Timothy visits
a bagnio, where they meet Betty Flauntit, the knight's kept mistress,
and other cyprians. Hither they are tracked by Charles, Bellmour's
younger brother, and Trusty, Lord Plotwell's old steward. Sharp words
pass, the brothers fight and Charles is slighted wounded. Their Uncle
hears of this with much indignation, and at the same time receiving a
letter from Diana begging for a divorce, he announces his intention to
further her purpose, and to abandon wholly Charles and Phillis, his
sister, in consequence of their elder brother's conduct. Sir Timothy,
induced by old Trusty, begins a warm courtship of Phillis, and arranges
with a parasite named Sham to deceive her by a mock marriage. Sham,
however, procures a real parson, and Sir Timothy is for the moment
afraid he has got a wife without a dowry or portion. Lord Plotwell
eventually promises to provide for her, and at Diana's request, now she
recognizes her mistake in trying to hold a man who does not love her,
Bellmour is forgiven and allowed to wed Celinda as soon as the divorce
has been pronounced, whilst Diana herself rewards Friendlove with
her hand.



SOURCE.

_The Town-Fop; or, Sir Timothy Tawdrey_ is materially founded upon
George Wilkins' popular play, _The Miseries of Enforced Marriage_ (4to,
1607, 1611, 1629, 1637), reprinted in Dodsley. Sir Timothy himself is
moulded to some extent upon Sir Francis Ilford, but, as Geneste aptly
remarks, he may be considered a new character. In the older drama,
Clare, the original of Celinda, dies tragically of a broken heart. It
cannot be denied that Mrs. Behn has greatly improved Wilkins' scenes.
The well-drawn character of Betty Flauntit is her own, and the
realistically vivacious bagnio episodes of Act iv replace a not very
interesting or lively tavern with a considerable accession to wit and
humour, although perhaps not to strict propriety.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_The Town-Fop; or, Sir Timothy Tawdrey_ was produced at the Duke's
Theatre, Dorset Garden, in September, 1676. There is no record of its
performance, and the actors' names are not given. It was a year of
considerable changes in the company, and any attempt to supply these
would be the merest surmise.




THE TOWN-FOP;
or, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_.


PROLOGUE.

_As Country Squire, who yet had never known
The long-expected Joy of being in Town;
Whose careful Parents scarce permitted Heir
To ride from home, unless to neighbouring Fair;
At last by happy Chance is hither led,
To purchase Clap with loss of Maidenhead;
Turns wondrous gay, bedizen'd to Excess;
Till he is all Burlesque in Mode and Dress:
Learns to talk loud in Pit, grows wily too,
That is to say, makes mighty Noise and Show.

So a young Poet, who had never been
Dabling beyond the Height of Ballading;
Who, in his brisk Essays, durst ne'er excel
The lucky Flight of rhyming Doggerel,
Sets up with this sufficient Stock on Stage,
And has, perchance, the luck to please the Age.
He draws you in, like cozening Citizen;
Cares not how bad the Ware, so Shop be fine.

As tawdry Gown and Petticoat gain more
(Tho on a dull diseas'd ill-favour'd Whore)
Than prettier Frugal, tho on Holy-day,         |
When every City-Spark has leave to play_,      |
--Damn her, she must be sound, she is so gay;  |
_So let the Scenes be fine, you'll ne'er enquire
For Sense, but lofty Flights in nimble Wire.
--What we present to Day is none of these,
But we cou'd wish it were, for we wou'd please,
And that you'll swear we hardly meant to do:
Yet here's no Sense; Pox on't, but here's no Show;
But a plain Story, that will give a Taste
Of what your Grandsires lov'd i'th' Age that's past_.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


MEN.

Lord _Plotwell_.
_Bellmour_, Nephew to the Lord _Plotwell_, contracted to _Celinda_.
_Charles_, Brother to _Bellmour_.
_Friendlove_, Brother to _Celinda_, in love with _Diana_.
Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_, a Fop-Knight, design'd to marry _Celinda_.
_Sham_,   |  Hangers on to Sir _Timothy_.
_Sharp_,  |
_Trusty_, An old Steward to _Bellmour's_ Family.
Page to _Bellmour_.
Page to Lord _Plotwell_.
Sir _Timothy's_ Page.
Guests, Dancers, Fiddlers, and Servants.


WOMEN.

The Lady _Diana_, Niece to the Lord _Plotwell_.
_Celinda_, Sister to _Friendlove_, contracted to _Bellmour_.
_Phillis_, Sister to _Bellmour_.
_Betty Flauntit_, kept by Sir _Timothy_.
_Driver_, A Bawd.
_Jenny_,  |  Two Whores
_Doll_,   |
_Nurse_,
Ladies and Guests.

SCENE, _Covent-Garden_.




ACT I.

SCENE I. _The Street_.


    _Enter Sir_ Timothy Tawdrey, Sham, _and_ Sharp.

Sir _Tim_. Hereabouts is the House wherein dwells the Mistress of my
Heart; for she has Money, Boys, mind me, Money in abundance, or she were
not for me--The Wench her self is good-natur'd, and inclin'd to be
civil: but a Pox on't--she has a Brother, a conceited Fellow, whom the
World mistakes for a fine Gentleman; for he has travell'd, talks
Languages, bows with a _bonne mine_, and the rest; but, by Fortune, he
shall entertain you with nothing but Words--

_Sham_. Nothing else!--

Sir _Tim_. No--He's no Country-Squire, Gentlemen, will not game, whore;
nay, in my Conscience, you will hardly get your selves drunk in his
Company--He treats A-la-mode, half Wine, half Water, and the rest--But
to the Business, this Fellow loves his Sister dearly, and will not trust
her in this leud Town, as he calls it, without him; and hither he has
brought her to marry me.

_Sham_. A Pox upon him for his Pains--

Sir _Tim_. So say I--But my Comfort is, I shall be as weary of her, as
the best Husband of 'em all. But there's Conveniency in it; besides, the
Match being as good as made up by the old Folks in the Country, I must
submit--The Wench I never saw yet, but they say she's handsom--But no
matter for that, there's Money, my Boys.

_Sharp_. Well, Sir, we will follow you--but as dolefully as People do
their Friends to the Grave, from whence they're never to return, at
least not the same Substance; the thin airy Vision of a brave good
Fellow, we may see thee hereafter, but that's the most.

Sir _Tim_. Your Pardon, sweet _Sharp_, my whole Design in it is to be
Master of my self, and with part of her Portion to set up my Miss,
_Betty Flauntit_; which, by the way, is the main end of my marrying; the
rest you'll have your shares of--Now I am forc'd to take you up Suits at
treble Prizes, have damn'd Wine and Meat put upon us, 'cause the
Reckoning is to be book'd: But ready Money, ye Rogues! What Charms it
has! makes the Waiters fly, Boys, and the Master with Cap in
Hand--excuse what's amiss, Gentlemen--Your Worship shall command the
best--and the rest--How briskly the Box and Dice dance, and the ready
Money submits to the lucky Gamester, and the gay Wench consults with
every Beauty to make her self agreeable to the Man with ready Money! In
fine, dear Rogues, all things are sacrific'd to its Power; and no Mortal
conceives the Joy of Argent Content. 'Tis this powerful God that makes
me submit to the Devil, Matrimony; and then thou art assur'd of me, my
stout Lads of brisk Debauch.

_Sham_. And is it possible you can be ty'd up to a Wife? Whilst here in
_London_, and free, you have the whole World to range in, and like a
wanton Heifer, eat of every Pasture.

Sir _Tim_. Why, dost think I'll be confin'd to my own dull Enclosure?
No, I had rather feed coarsely upon the boundless Common; perhaps two or
three days I may be in love, and remain constant, but that's the most.

_Sharp_. And in three Weeks, should you wed a _Cynthia_, you'd be a
Monster.

Sir _Tim_. What, thou meanest a Cuckold, I warrant. God help thee! But a
Monster is only so from its Rarity, and a Cuckold is no such strange
thing in our Age.

    _Enter_ Bellmour _and_ Friendlove.

But who comes here? _Bellmour!_ Ah, my little dear Rogue! how dost thou?
--_Ned Friendlove_ too! Dear Lad, how dost thou too? Why, welcome to
Town, i'faith, and I'm glad to see you both.

_Friend_. Sir _Timothy Tawdrey!_--

Sir _Tim_. The same, by Fortune, dear _Ned_: And how, and how, Man, how
go Matters?

_Friend_. Between who, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Why, any Body, Man; but, by Fortune, I'm overjoy'd to meet
thee: But where dost think I was going?

_Friend_. Is't possible one shou'd divine?

Sir _Tim_. Is't possible you shou'd not, and meet me so near your
Sister's Lodgings? Faith, I was coming to pay my Respects and Services,
and the rest--Thou know'st my meaning--The old Business of the
Silver-World, _Ned_; by Fortune, it's a mad Age we live in, _Ned_; and
here be so many--wicked Rogues, about this damn'd leud Town, that,
'faith, I am fain to speak in the vulgar modish Style, in my own
Defence, and railly Matrimony and the rest.

_Friend_. Matrimony!--I hope you are so exactly refin'd a Man of the
Town, that you will not offer once to think of so dull a thing: let that
alone for such cold Complexions as _Bellmour_ here, and I, that have not
attain'd to that most excellent faculty of Keeping yet, as you, Sir
_Timothy_, have done; much to your Glory, I assure you.

Sir _Tim_. Who, I, Sir? You do me much Honour: I must confess I do not
find the softer Sex cruel; I am received as well as another Man of
my Parts.

_Friend_. Of your Money you mean, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Why, 'faith, _Ned_, thou art i'th' right; I love to buy my
Pleasure: for, by Fortune, there's as much pleasure in Vanity and
Variety, as any Sins I know; What think'st thou, _Ned?_

_Friend_. I am not of your Mind, I love to love upon the square; and
that I may be sure not to be cheated with false Ware, I present 'em
nothing but my Heart.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, and have the Consolation of seeing your frugal huswifery
Miss in the Pit, at a Play, in a long Scarf and Night-gown, for want of
Points, and Garniture.

_Friend_. If she be clean, and pretty, and drest in Love, I can excuse
the rest, and so will she.

Sir _Tim_. I vow to Fortune, _Ned_, thou must come to _London_, and be a
little manag'd: 'slife, Man, shouldst thou talk so aloud in good
Company, thou wouldst be counted a strange Fellow. Pretty--and drest
with Love--a fine Figure, by Fortune: No, _Ned_, the painted Chariot
gives a Lustre to every ordinary Face, and makes a Woman look like
Quality; Ay, so like, by Fortune, that you shall not know one from
t'other, till some scandalous, out-of-favour'd laid-aside Fellow of the
Town, cry--Damn her for a Bitch--how scornfully the Whore regards
me--She has forgot since _Jack_--such a one, and I, club'd for the
keeping of her, when both our Stocks well manag'd wou'd not amount to
above seven Shillings six Pence a week; besides now and then a Treat of
a Breast of Mutton from the next Cook's.--Then the other laughs, and
crys--Ay, rot her--and tells his Story too, and concludes with, Who
manages the Jilt now; Why, faith, some dismal Coxcomb or other, you may
be sure, replies the first. But, _Ned_, these are Rogues, and Rascals,
that value no Man's Reputation, because they despise their own. But
faith, I have laid aside all these Vanities, now I have thought of
Matrimony; but I desire my Reformation may be a Secret, because, as you
know, for a Man of my Address, and the rest--'tis not altogether
so Jantee.

_Friend_. Sir, I assure you, it shall be so great a Secret for me, that
I will never ask you who the happy Woman is, that's chosen for this
great Work of your Conversion.

Sir _Tim_. Ask me--No, you need not, because you know already.

_Friend_. Who, I? I protest, Sir _Timothy_--

Sir _Tim_. No Swearing, dear _Ned_, for 'tis not such a Secret, but I
will trust my Intimates: these are my Friends, _Ned_; pray know
them--This Mr. _Sham_, and this--by Fortune, a very honest Fellow
[_Bows to 'em_] Mr. _Sharp_, and may be trusted with a Bus'ness that
concerns you as well as me.

_Friend_. Me! What do you mean, Sir _Timothy_?

Sir _Tim_. Why, Sir, you know what I mean.

_Friend_. Not I, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. What, not that I am to marry your Sister _Celinda_?

_Friend_. Not at all.

_Bel_. O, this insufferable Sot!    [_Aside_.

_Friend_. My Sister, Sir, is very nice.

Sir _Tim_. That's all one, Sir, the old People have adjusted the matter,
and they are the most proper for a Negotiation of that kind, which saves
us the trouble of a tedious Courtship.

_Friend_. That the old People have agreed the matter, is more than
I know.

Sir _Tim_. Why, Lord, Sir, will you persuade me to that? Don't you know
that your Father (according to the Method in such Cases, being certain
of my Estate) came to me thus--Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_,--you are a young
Gentleman, and a Knight, I knew your Father well, and my right
worshipful Neighbour, our Estates lie together; therefore, Sir, I have a
desire to have a near Relation with you--At which, I interrupted him,
and cry'd--Oh Lord, Sir, I vow to Fortune, you do me the greatest
Honour, Sir, and the rest--

_Bel_. I can endure no more; he marry fair _Celinda_!

_Friend_. Prithee let him alone.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. To which he answer'd--I have a good Fortune--have but my Son
_Ned_, and this Girl, call'd _Celinda_, whom I will make a Fortune,
sutable to yours; your honoured Mother, the Lady _Tawdrey_, and I, have
as good as concluded the Match already. To which I (who, though I say
it, am well enough bred for a Knight) answered the Civility thus--I vow
to Fortune, Sir--I did not swear, but cry'd--I protest, Sir, _Celinda_,
deserves--no, no, I lye again, 'twas merits--Ay, _Celinda_--merits a
much better Husband than I.

_Friend_. You speak more Truth than you are aware of.    [_Aside_.]
Well, Sir, I'll bring you to my Sister; and if she likes you, as well as
My Father does, she's yours; otherwise, I have so much Tenderness for
her, as to leave her Choice free.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, Sir, you compliment. _Alons, Entrons.

                                                 [Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _A Chamber_.


    _Enter_ Celinda, _and_ Nurse.

_Cel_. I wonder my Brother stays so long: sure Mr. _Bellmour_ is not
yet arriv'd, yet he sent us word he would be here to day. Lord, how
impatient I grow!

_Nur_. Ay, so methinks; if I had the hopes of enjoying so sweet a
Gentleman as Mr. _Bellmour_, I shou'd be so too--But I am past it--Well,
I have had my Pantings, and Heavings, my Impatience, and Qualms, my
Heats, and my Colds, and my I know not whats--But I thank my Stars, I
have done with all those Fooleries.

_Cel_. Fooleries!--
Is there any thing in Life but Love?
Wou'dst thou praise Heaven for thy Being,
Without that grateful part of it?
For I confess I love.

_Nur_. You need not, your Sighs, and daily (nay, and nightly too)
Disorders, plainly enough betray the Truth.

_Cel_. Thou speak'st as if it were a Sin:
But if it be so, you your self help'd to make me wicked.
For e'er I saw Mr. _Bellmour_, you spoke the kindest things of him,
As would have mov'd the dullest Maid to love;
And e'er I saw him, I was quite undone.

_Nur_. Quite undone! Now God forbid it; what, for loving?
You said but now there was no Life without it.

_Cel_. But since my Brother came from _Italy_,
And brought young _Bellmour_ to our House,
How very little thou hadst said of him!
How much above thy Praise, I found the Youth!

_Nur_. Very pretty! You are grown a notable Proficient in Love--And you
are resolv'd (if he please) to marry him?

_Cel_. Or I must die.

_Nur_. Ay, but you know the Lord _Plotwell_ has the Possession of all
his Estate, and if he marry without his liking, has Power to take away
all his Fortune, and then I think it were not so good marrying him.

_Cel_. Not marrying him! Oh, canst thou think so poorly of me?
Yes, I would marry him, though our scanty Fortune
Cou'd only purchase us
A lonely Cottage, in some silent Place,
All cover'd o'er with Thatch,
Defended from the Outrages of Storms
By leafless Trees, in Winter; and from Heat,
With Shades, which their kind Boughs wou'd bear anew;
Under whose Covert we'd feed our gentle Flock,
That shou'd in gratitude repay us Food,
And mean and humble Clothing.

_Nur_. Very fine!

_Cel_. There we wou'd practise such degrees of Love,
Such lasting, innocent, unheard of Joys,
As all the busy World should wonder at,
And, amidst all their Glories, find none such.

_Nur_. Good lack! how prettily Love teaches his Scholars to prattle.--
But hear ye, fair Mrs. _Celinda_, you have forgot to what end and purpose
you came to Town; not to marry Mr. _Bellmour_, as I take it--but Sir
_Timothy Tawdrey_, that Spark of Men.

_Cel_. Oh, name him not--Let me not in one Moment
Descend from Heaven to Hell--
How came that wretched thing into thy Noddle?

_Nur_. Faith, Mistress, I took pity of thee, I saw you so elevated with
Thoughts of Mr. _Bellmour_, I found it necessary to take you down a
degree lower.

_Cel_. Why did not Heaven make all Men like lo _Bellmour_?
So strangely sweet and charming!

_Nur_. Marry come up, you speak well for your self;
Oh intolerable loving Creature!
But here comes the utmost of your Wishes.

_Cel_. My Brother, and _Bellmour_! with strange Men!

    _Enter_ Friendlove, Bellmour, _Sir_ Timothy, Sham, _and_ Sharp.

_Friend_. Sister, I've brought you here a Lover, this is the worthy
Person you have heard of, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, faith, Madam, I am Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_, at your
Service--Pray are not you Mrs. _Celinda Dresswell_?

_Cel_. The same, but cannot return your Compliment.

Sir _Tim_. Oh Lord, oh Lord, not return a Compliment. Faith, _Ned_, thy
Sister's quite spoil'd, for want of Town-Education; 'tis pity, for she's
devilish pretty.

_Friend_. She's modest, Sir, before Company; therefore these Gentlemen
and I will withdraw into the next Room.

_Cel_. Inhuman Brother! Will you leave me alone with this Sot?

_Friend_. Yes, and if you would be rid of the trouble of him, be not
coy, nor witty; two things he hates.

_Bel_. 'Sdeath! Must she be blown upon by that Fool?

_Friend_. Patience, dear _Frank_, a little while.

                     [_Exeunt_ Friend. Bell. Sham _and_ Sharp.

    [Sir Timothy _walks about the Room, expecting when_
    Celinda _should speak_.

_Cel_. Oh, dear Nurse, what shall I do?

_Nur_. I that ever help you at a dead Lift, will not fail you now.

Sir _Tim_. What a Pox, not a Word?

_Cel_. Sure this Fellow believes I'll begin.

Sir _Tim_. Not yet--sure she has spoke her last--

_Nur_. The Gentleman's good-natur'd, and has took pity on you, and will
not trouble you, I think.

Sir _Tim_.--Hey day, here's Wooing indeed--Will she never begin, trow?
--This some would call an excellent Quality in her Sex--But a pox on't,
I do not like it--Well, I see I must break Silence at last--Madam--not
answer me--'shaw, this is mere ill breeding--by Fortune--it can be
nothing else--O' my Conscience, if I should kiss her, she would bid me
stand off--I'll try--

_Nur_. Hold, Sir, you mistake your Mark.

Sir _Tim_. So I should, if I were to look in thy mouldy Chaps, good
Matron--Can your Lady speak?

_Nur_. Try, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Which way?

_Nur_. Why, speak to her first.

Sir _Tim_. I never knew a Woman want a Cue for that; but all that I
Have met with were still before-hand with me in tittle tattle.

_Nur_. Likely those you have met with may, but this is no such
Creature, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. I must confess, I am unus'd to this kind of Dialogue; and
I am an Ass, if I know what to say to such a Creature.
--But come, will you answer me to one Question?

_Cel_. If I can, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. But first I should ask you if you can speak? For that's a
Question too.

_Cel_. And if I cannot, how will you be answer'd?

Sir _Tim_. Faith, that's right; why, then you must do't by signs.

_Cel_. But grant I can speak, what is't you'll ask me?

Sir _Tim_. Can you love?

_Cel_. Oh, yes, Sir, many things; I love my Meat, I love abundance of
Adorers, I love choice of new Clothes, new Plays; and, like a right
Woman, I love to have my Will.

Sir _Tim_. Spoke like a well-bred Person, by Fortune: I see there's
hopes of thee, Celinda; thou wilt in time learn to make a very
fashionable Wife, having so much Beauty too. I see Attracts, and
Allurements, wanton Eyes, the languishing turn of the Head, and all
That invites to Temptation.

_Cel_. Would that please you in a Wife?

Sir _Tim_. Please me! Why, Madam, what do you take me to be? a Sot?--
a Fool?--or a dull _Italian_ of the Humour of your Brother?--No, no,
I can assure you, she that marries me, shall have Franchise--But, my
pretty Miss, you must learn to talk a little more--

_Cel_. I have not Wit, and Sense enough, for that.

Sir _Tim_. Wit! Oh la, O la, Wit! as if there were any Wit requir'd
in a Woman when she talks; no, no matter for Wit, or Sense: talk but
loud, and a great deal to shew your white Teeth, and smile, and be very
confident, and 'tis enough--Lord, what a Sight 'tis to see a pretty
Woman Stand right up an end in the middle of a Room, playing with her
Fan, for want of something to keep her in Countenance. No, she that is
mine, I will teach to entertain at another rate.

_Nur_. How, Sir? Why, what do you take my young Mistress to be?

Sir _Tim_. A Woman--and a fine one, and so fine as she ought to permit
her self to be seen, and be ador'd.

_Nur_. Out upon you, would you expose your Wife? by my troth, and I
were she, I know what I wou'd do--

Sir _Tim_. Thou do--what thou wouldst have done sixty Years ago,
thou meanest.

_Nur_. Marry come up, for a stinking Knight; worse than I have gone
down with you, e'er now--Sixty Years ago, quoth ye--As old as I am--
I live without Surgeons, wear my own Hair, am not in Debt to my Taylor,
as thou art, and art fain to kiss his Wife, to persuade her Husband
to be merciful to thee--who wakes thee every Morning with his Clamour
and long Bills, at thy Chamber-door.

Sir _Tim_. Prithee, good Matron, Peace; I'll compound with thee.

_Nur_. 'Tis more than thou wilt do with thy Creditors, who, poor Souls,
despair of a Groat in the Pound for all thou ow'st them, for Points,
Lace, and Garniture--for all, in fine, that makes thee a complete Fop.

Sir _Tim_. Hold, hold thy eternal Clack.

_Nur_. And when none would trust thee farther, give Judgments for twice
the Money thou borrowest, and swear thy self at Age; and lastly--to
patch up your broken Fortune, you wou'd fain marry my sweet Mistress
_Celinda_ here--But, Faith, Sir, you're mistaken, her Fortune shall not
go to the Maintenance of your Misses; which being once sure of, she,
poor Soul, is sent down to the Country-house, to learn Housewifery, and
live without Mankind, unless she can serve her self with the handsom
Steward, or so--whilst you tear it away in Town, and live like Man and
Wife with your Jilt, and are every Day seen in the Glass Coach, whilst
your own natural Lady is hardly worth the Hire of a Hack.

Sir _Tim_. Why, thou damnable confounded Torment, wilt thou never cease?

_Nur_. No, not till you raise your Siege, and be gone; go march to your
Lady of Love, and Debauch--go--You get no _Celinda_ here.

Sir _Tim_. The Devil's in her Tongue.

_Cel_. Good gentle Nurse, have Mercy upon the poor Knight.

_Nur_. No more, Mistress, than he'll have on you, if Heaven had so
abandon'd you, to put you into his Power--Mercy--quoth ye--no--, no
more than his Mistress will have, when all his Money's gone.

Sir _Tim_. Will she never end?

_Cel_. Prithee forbear.

_Nur_. No more than the Usurer would, to whom he has mortgag'd the best
part of his Estate, would forbear a Day after the promis'd Payment of
the Money. Forbear!--

Sir _Tim_. Not yet end! Can I, Madam, give you a greater Proof of my
Passion for you, than to endure this for your sake?

_Nur_. This--thou art so sorry a Creature, thou wilt endure any thing
for the lucre of her Fortune; 'tis that thou hast a Passion for: not
that thou carest for Money, but to sacrifice to thy Leudness, to
purchase a Mistress, to purchase the Reputation of as errant a Fool as
ever arriv'd at the Honour of keeping; to purchase a little Grandeur,
as you call it; that is, to make every one look at thee, and consider
what a Fool thou art, who else might pass unregarded amongst the common
Croud.

Sir _Tim_. The Devil's in her Tongue, and so 'tis in most Women's of her
Age; for when it has quitted the Tail, it repairs to her upper Tire.

_Nur_. Do not persuade me, Madam, I am resolv'd to make him weary of his
Wooing.

Sir _Tim_. So, God be prais'd, the Storm is laid--And now, Mrs. _Celinda_,
give me leave to ask you, if it be with your leave, this Affront is put
on a Man of my Quality?

_Nur_. Thy Quality--

Sir _Tim_. Yes; I am a Gentleman, and a Knight.

_Nur_. Yes, Sir, Knight of the ill-favour'd Countenance is it?

Sir _Tim_. You are beholding to _Don Quixot_ for that, and 'tis so many
Ages since thou couldst see to read, I wonder thou hast not forgot all
that ever belong'd to Books.

_Nur_. My Eye-sight is good enough to see thee in all thy Colours, thou
Knight of the burning Pestle thou.

Sir _Tim_. Agen, that was out of a Play--Hark ye, Witch of _Endor_, hold
your prating Tongue, or I shall most well-favour'dly cudgel ye.

_Nur_. As your Friend the Hostess has it in a Play too, I take it, Ends
which you pick up behind the Scenes, when you go to be laught at even by
the Player-Women.

Sir _Tim_. Wilt thou have done? By Fortune, I'll endure no more--

_Nur_. Murder, Murder!

Cel. Hold, hold.

    _Enter_ Friendlove, Bellmour, Sham _and_ Sharp.

_Friend_. Read here the worst of News that can arrive,
                             [_Gives_ Bellm. _a Letter_.
--What's the matter here? Why, how now,
Sir _Timothy_, what, up in Arms with the Women?

Sir _Tim_. Oh, Ned, I'm glad thou'rt come--never was _Tom Dove_ baited
as I have been.

_Friend_. By whom? my Sister?

Sir _Tim_. No, no, that old Mastiff there--the young Whelp came not on,
thanks be prais'd.

_Bel_. How, her Father here to morrow, and here he says, that shall be
the last Moment, he will defer the Marriage of _Celinda_ to this Sot--
Oh God, I shall grow mad, and so undo 'em all--I'll kill the Villain at
the Altar--By my lost hopes, I will--And yet there is some left--Could I
but--speak to her--I must rely on _Dresswell's_ Friendship--Oh God, to
morrow--Can I endure that thought? Can I endure to see the Traytor there,
who must to morrow rob me of my Heaven?--I'll own my Flame--and boldly
tell this Fop, she must be mine--

_Friend_. I assure you, Sir _Timothy_, I am sorry, and will chastise her.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, Sir, I that am a Knight--a Man of Parts and Wit, and one
that is to be your Brother, and design'd to be the Glory of marrying
_Celinda_.

_Bel_. I can endure no more--How, Sir--You marry fair _Celinda!_

Sir _Tim_. Ay, _Frank_, ay--is she not a pretty little plump white
Rogue, hah?

_Bel_. Yes.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, I had forgot thou art a modest Rogue, and to thy eternal
Shame, hadst never the Reputation of a Mistress--Lord, Lord, that I
could see thee address thy self to a Lady--I fancy thee a very ridiculous
Figure in that Posture, by Fortune.

_Bel_. Why, Sir, I can court a Lady--

Sir _Tim_. No, no, thou'rt modest; that is to say, a Country Gentleman;
that is to say, ill-bred; that is to say, a Fool, by Fortune, as the
World goes.

_Bel_. Neither, Sir--I can love--and tell it too--and that you may
believe me--look on this Lady, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Look on this Lady, Sir--Ha, ha, ha,--Well, Sir--Well, Sir--
And what then?

_Bel_. Nay, view her well, Sir--

Sir. _Tim_. Pleasant this--Well, _Frank_, I do--And what then?

_Bel_. Is she not charming fair--fair to a wonder!

Sir _Tim_. Well, Sir, 'tis granted--

_Bel_. And canst thou think this Beauty meant for thee, for thee, dull
common Man?

Sir _Tim_. Very well, what will he say next?

_Bel_. I say, let me no more see thee approach this Lady.

Sir _Tim_. How, Sir, how?

_Bel_. Not speak to her, not look on her--by Heaven--not think of her.

Sir _Tim_. How, _Frank_, art in earnest?

_Bel_. Try, if thou dar'st.

Sir _Tim_. Not think of her!--

_Bel_. No, not so much as in a Dream, could I divine it.

Sir _Tim_. Is he in earnest, Mr. _Friendlove_?

_Friend_. I doubt so, Sir _Timothy_.

Sir _Tim_. What, does he then pretend to your Sister?

_Bel_. Yes, and no Man else shall dare do so.

Sir _Tim_. Take notice I am affronted in your Lodgings--for you,
_Bellmour_--You take me for an Ass--therefore meet me to morrow Morning
about five, with your Sword in your Hand, behind _Southampton_ House.

_Bel_. 'Tis well--there we will dispute our Title to _Celinda_.
                                                   [_Exit Sir_ Tim.
_Dull Animal! The Gods cou'd ne'er decree
So bright a Maid shou'd be possest by thee_.

                                        [Exeunt.




ACT II.

SCENE I. _A Palace_.


    _Enter_ Nurse _with a Light_.

_Nur_. Well, 'tis an endless trouble to have the Tuition of a Maid in
love, here is such Wishing and Longing.--And yet one must force them to
what they most desire, before they will admit of it--Here am I sent out
a Scout of the Forlorn Hope, to discover the Approach of the Enemy--Well
--Mr. _Bellmour_, you are not to know, 'tis with the Consent of _Celinda_,
that you come--I must bear all the blame, what Mischief soever comes of
these Night-Works.

    _Enter_ Bellmour.

Oh, are you come--Your Hour was Twelve, and now 'tis almost Two.

_Bel_. I could not get from _Friendlove_--Thou hast not told _Celinda_
of my coming?

_Nur_. No, no, e'en make Peace for me, and your self too.

_Bel_. I warrant thee, Nurse--Oh, how I hope and fear this Night's
Success!

                                          [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _A Chamber_.


    Celinda _in her Night-Attire, leaning on a Table.
    Enter to her_ Bellmour _and_ Nurse.

_Cel_. Oh Heavens! Mr. _Bellmour_ at this late Hour in my Chamber!

_Bel_. Yes, Madam; but will approach no nearer till you permit me;
And sure you know my Soul too well to fear.

_Cel_. I do, Sir, and you may approach yet nearer,
And let me know your Business.

_Bel_. Love is my bus'ness, that of all the World;
Only my Flame as much surmounts the rest,
As is the Object's Beauty I adore.

_Cel_. If this be all, to tell me of your Love,
To morrow might have done as well.

_Bel_. Oh, no, to morrow would have been too late,
Too late to make returns to all my Pain.
--What disagreeing thing offends your Eyes?
I've no Deformity about my Person;
I'm young, and have a Fortune great as any
That do pretend to serve you;
And yet I find my Interest in your Heart,
Below those happy ones that are my Rivals.
Nay, every Fool that can but plead his Title,
And the poor Interest that a Parent gives him,
Can merit more than I.
--What else, my lovely Maid, can give a freedom
To that same talking, idle, knighted Fop?

_Cel_. Oh, if I am so wretched to be his,
Surely I cannot live;
For, Sir, I must confess I cannot love him.

_Bel_. But thou may'st do as bad, and marry him,
And that's a Sin I cannot over-live;
--No, hear my Vows--

_Cel_. But are you, Sir, in earnest?

_Bel_. In earnest? Yes, by all that's good, I am;
I love you more than I do Life, or Heaven!

_Cel_. Oh, what a pleasure 'tis to hear him say so!    [_Aside_.
--But pray, how long, Sir, have you lov'd me so?

_Bel_. From the first moment that I saw your Eyes,
Your charming killing Eyes, I did adore 'em;
And ever since have languisht Day and Night.

_Nur_. Come, come, ne'er stand asking of Questions,
But follow your Inclinations, and take him at his Word.

_Bel_. Celinda, take her Counsel,
Perhaps this is the last opportunity;
Nay, and, by Heaven, the last of all my Life,
If you refuse me now--
Say, will you never marry Man but me?

_Cel_. Pray give me till to morrow, Sir, to answer you;
For I have yet some Fears about my Soul,
That take away my Rest.

_Bel_. To morrow! You must then marry--Oh fatal Word!
Another! a Beast, a Fool, that knows not how to value you.

_Cel_. Is't possible my Fate shou'd be so near?

_Nur_. Nay, then dispose of your self, I say, and leave dissembling;
'tis high time.

_Bel_. This Night the Letter came, the dreadful News
Of thy being married, and to morrow too.
Oh, answer me, or I shall die with Fear.

_Cel_. I must confess it, Sir, without a blush,
(For 'tis no Sin to love) that I cou'd wish--
Heaven and my Father were inclin'd my way:
But I am all Obedience to their Wills.

_Bel_. That Sigh was kind,
But e'er to morrow this time,
You'll want this pitying Sense, and feel no Pantings,
But those which Joys and Pleasures do create.

_Cel_. Alas, Sir! what is't you'd have me do?

_Bel_. Why--I wou'd have you love, and after that
You need not be instructed what to do.
Give me your Faith, give me your solemn Vow
To be my Wife, and I shall be at Peace.

_Cel_. Have you consider'd, Sir, your own Condition?
'Tis in your Uncle's Power to take your Fortune,
If in your Choice you disobey his Will.
--And, Sir, you know that mine is much below you.

_Bel_. Oh, I shall calm his Rage,
By urging so much Reason as thy Beauty,
And my own Flame, on which my Life depends.
--He now has kindly sent for me to _London_,
I fear his Bus'ness--
Yet if you'll yield to marry me,
We'll keep it secret, till our kinder Stars
Have made provision for the blest Discovery.
Come, give me your Vows, or we must part for ever.

_Cel_. Part! Oh, 'tis a fatal Word!
I will do any thing to save that Life,
To which my own so nearly is ally'd.

    _Enter_ Friendlove.

_Friend_. So, forward Sister!

_Bel_. Ha, _Friendlove!_

_Friend_. Was it so kindly done, to gain my Sister
Without my knowledge?

_Bel_. Ah, Friend! 'Twas from her self alone
That I wou'd take the Blessing which I ask.

_Friend_. And I'll assist her, Sir, to give it you.
Here, take him as an Honour, and be thankful.

_Bel_. I as a Blessing sent from Heaven receive her,
And e'er I sleep will justify my Claim,
And make her mine.

_Friend_. Be not so hasty, Friend:
Endeavour first to reconcile your Uncle to't.

_Bel_. By such Delays we're lost: Hast thou forgot?
To morrow she's design'd another's Bride!

_Friend_. For that let me alone t'evade.

_Bel_. If you must yet delay me,
Give me leave not to interest such Wealth without Security.
And I, _Celinda_, will instruct you how to satisfy my Fears.
                           [_Kneels, and takes her by the Hand_.
Bear witness to my Vows--
May every Plague that Heaven inflicts on Sin,
Fall down in Thunder on my Head,
If e'er I marry any but _Celinda_
Or if I do not marry thee, fair Maid.

_Nur_. Heartily sworn, as I vow.

_Cel_. And here I wish as solemnly the same:
--May all arrive to me,
If e'er I marry any Man but _Bellmour_!

_Nur_. We are Witnesses, as good as a thousand.

_Friend_. But now, my Friend, I'd have you take your leave; the day
comes on apace, and you've not seen your Uncle since your Arrival.

_Bel_. 'Tis Death to part with thee, my fair Celinda;
But our hard Fates impose this Separation:
--Farewel--Remember thou'rt all mine.

_Cel_. What have I else of Joy to think upon?
--Go--go--depart.

_Bel_. I will--but 'tis as Misers part with Gold,
Or People full of Health depart from Life.

_Friend_. Go, Sister, to your Bed, and dream of him.

                                [_Ex_. Cel. _and_ Nurse.

_Bel_. Whilst I prepare to meet this Fop to fight him.

_Friend_. Hang him, he'll ne'er meet thee; to beat a Watch, or kick
a Drawer, or batter Windows, is the highest pitch of Valour he e'er
arriv'd to.

_Bel_. However, I'll expect him, lest he be fool-hardy enough to keep
his Word.

_Friend_. Shall I wait on thee?

_Bel_. No, no, there's no need of that--Good-morrow, my best Friend.

_Friend_. But e'er you go, my dearest Friend and Brother,
Now you are sure of all the Joys you wish
From Heaven, do not forgetful grow of that great Trust
I gave you of all mine; but, like a Friend,
Assist me in my great Concern of Love
With fair Diana, your lovely Cousin.
You know how long I have ador'd that Maid;
But still her haughty Pride repell'd my Flame,
And all its fierce Efforts.

_Bel_. She has a Spirit equal to her Beauty,
As mighty and tyrannick; yet she has Goodness,
And I believe enough inclin'd to Love,
When once her Pride's o'ercome. I have the Honour
To be the Confident of all her Thoughts:
And to augment thy Hopes, 'tis not long since
She did with Sighs confess to me, she lov'd
A Man, she said, scarce equal to her Fortune:
But all my Interest could not learn the Object;
But it must needs be you, by what she said.
This I'll improve, and so to your Advantage--

_Friend_. I neither doubt thy Industry, nor Love;
Go, and be careful of my Interest there,
Whilst I preserve thine as intirely here.

                                      [_Ex. severally_.



SCENE III. _Sir_ Timothy's _House_.


    _Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham, Sharp, _and_ Boy.

_Sharp_. Good morrow, Sir _Timothy_; what, not yet ready, and to meet
Mr. _Bellmour_ at Five? the time's past.

Sir _Tim_.--Ay, Pox on't--I han't slept to Night for thinking on't.

_Sham_. Well, Sir _Timothy_, I have most excellent News for you, that
will do as well; I have found out--

Sir _Tim_. A new Wench, I warrant--But prithee, _Sham_, I have other
matters in hand; 'Sheart, I am so mortify'd with this same thought of
Fighting, that I shall hardly think of Womankind again.

_Sharp_. And you were so forward, Sir Timothy--

Sir _Tim_. Ay, _Sharp_, I am always so when I am angry; had I been but
A little more provok'd then, that we might have gone to't when the heat
was brisk, I had done well--but a Pox on't, this fighting in cool
Blood I hate.

_Sham_. 'Shaw, Sir, 'tis nothing, a Man wou'd do't for Exercise in a
Morning.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, if there were no more in't than Exercise; if a Man cou'd
take a Breathing without breathing a Vein--but, _Sham_, this Wounds, and
Blood, sounds terribly in my Ears; but since thou say'st 'tis nothing,
prithee do thou meet _Bellmour_ in my stead; thou art a poor Dog, and
'tis no matter if the World were well rid of thee.

_Sham_. I wou'd do't with all my Soul--but your Honour, Sir--

Sir _Tim_.--My Honour! 'tis but Custom that makes it honourable to fight
Duels--I warrant you the wise _Italian_ thinks himself a Man of Honour;
and yet when did you hear of an _Italian_, that ever fought a Duel? Is't
not enough, that I am affronted, have my Mistress taken away before my
Face, hear my self call'd, dull, common Man, dull Animal, and the
rest?--But I must after all give him leave to kill me too, if he
can--And this is your damn'd Honourable _English_ way of shewing a
Man's Courage.

_Sham_. I must confess I am of your mind, and therefore have been
studying a Revenge, sutable to the Affront: and if I can judge any
thing, I have hit it.

Sir _Tim_. Hast thou? dear _Sham_, out with it.

_Sham_. Why, Sir--what think you of debauching his Sister?

Sir _Tim_. Why, is there such a thing in Nature?

_Sham_. You know he has a Sister, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, rich, and fair.

_Sham_. Both, or she were not worthy of your Revenge.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, how I love Revenge, that has a double Pleasure in it--and
where--and where is this fine piece of Temptation?

_Sham_. In being, Sir--but _Sharp_ here, and I, have been at some cost
in finding her out.

Sir _Tim_. Ye shall be overpaid--there's Gold, my little _Maquere_--but
she's very handsom?

_Sharp_. As a Goddess, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. And art thou sure she will be leud?

_Sharp_. Are we sure she's a Woman, Sir?--Sure, she's in her Teens, has
Pride and Vanity--and two or three Sins more that I cou'd name, all
which never fail to assist a Woman in Debauchery--But, Sir, there are
certain People that belong to her, that must be consider'd too.

Sir _Tim_. Stay, Sir, e'er I part with more Money, I'll be certain what
returns 'twill make me--that is, I'll see the Wench, not to inform my
self, how well I like her, for that I shall do, because she is new, and
_Bellmour's_ Sister--but to find what possibility there is in gaining
her.--I am us'd to these things, and can guess from a Look, or a Kiss,
or a Touch of the Hand--but then I warrant, 'twill come to the knowledge
of _Betty Flauntit_.

_Sham_. What, Sir, then it seems you doubt us?

Sir _Tim_. How do you mean, your Honesty or Judgment? I can assure you,
I doubt both.

_Sharp_. How, Sir, doubt our Honesty!

Sir _Tim_. Yes--why, I hope neither of you pretend to either, do you?

_Sham_. Why, Sir, what, do you take us for Cheats?

Sir _Tim_. As errant, as any's in Christendom.

_Sharp_. How, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Why, how now--what, fly in my Face? Are your Stomachs so
queasy, that Cheat won't down with you?

_Sham_. Why, Sir, we are Gentlemen; and though our ill Fortunes have
thrown us on your Bounty, we are not to be term'd--

Sir _Tim_. Why, you pair of Hectors--whence this Impudence?--Do ye know
me, ye Raggamuffins?

_Sham_. Yes, but we knew not that you were a Coward before. You talkt
big, and huft where-e'er you came, like an errant Bully; and so long we
reverenc'd you--but now we find you have need of our Courage, we'll
stand on our own Reputations.

Sir _Tim_. Courage and Reputation!--ha, ha, ha--why, you lousy
Tatterdemallions--dare ye talk of Courage and Reputation?

_Sharp_. Why, Sir, who dares question either?

Sir _Tim_. He that dares try it.    [Kicks 'em.

_Sharp_. Hold, Sir, hold.

_Sham_. Enough, enough, we are satisfy'd.

Sir _Tim_. So am not I, ye mangy Mungrels, till I have kickt Courage and
Reputation out of ye.

_Sham_. Hold there, Sir, 'tis enough, we are satisfy'd, that you have
Courage.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, are you so? then it seems I was not to be believ'd--I
told you I had Courage when I was angry.

_Sham_. Ay, Sir, we have prov'd it, and will now swear it.--But we had
an Inclination to try, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. And all you did, was but to try my Courage, hah!

_Sharp_. On our Honours, nothing else, Sir _Timothy_.

Sir _Tim_. Though I know ye to be cursed cowardly lying Rogues, yet
because I have use of ye, I must forgive ye.--Here, kiss my Hand, and
be forgiven.

_Sham_. 'Tis an Honour we are proud of, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, is it so, Rascallians? then I hope I am to see the Lady
without Indentures.

_Sharp_. Oh Lord, Sir, any thing we can serve you in.

_Sham_. And I have brib'd her Maid to bring her this Morning into the
_Mall_.

Sir _Tim_. Well, let's about it then; for I am for no fighting to
day--D'ye hear, Boy--Let the Coach be got ready whilst I get my
self drest.

_Boy_. The Coach, Sir! Why, you know Mr. _Shatter_ has pawn'd the
Horses.

Sir _Tim_. I had forgot it--A pox on't, this 'tis to have a Partner in
A Coach; by Fortune, I must marry and set up a whole one.

                                                    [Exeunt.



SCENE IV. Lord Plotwell's House.


    Enter Charles Bellmour, and Trusty.

_Trusty_. Mr. _Charles_, your Brother, my young Master _Bellmour_,
is come.

_Char_. I'm glad on't; my Uncle began to be impatient that he came not,
you saying you left him but a day's Journey behind you yesterday. My
Uncle has something of importance to say to him, I fancy it may be about
A Marriage between him and my Lady _Diana_--such a Whisper I heard--

_Trusty_. Ay, marry, Sir, that were a Match indeed, she being your
Uncle's only Heir.

_Char_. Ay, but they are Sisters Children, and too near a-kin to
be happy.

_Trusty_. 'Twere pity my young Master shou'd be unhappy in a Wife; for
he is the sweetest-natur'd Gentleman--But one Comfort is, Mr. _Charles_,
you, and your Sister Mrs. _Phillis_, will have your Portions assign'd
you if he marry.

_Char_. Yes, that he can't deny us the very Day after his Marriage.

_Trusty_. I shall be glad to see you all dispos'd of well; but I was
half afraid, your Brother would have married Mrs. _Celinda Friendlove_,
to whom he made notable Love in _Yorkshire_ I thought: not but she's a
fine Lady; but her Fortune is below that of my young Master's, as much
as my Lady _Diana's_ is above his--But see, they come; let us retire,
to give 'em leave to talk alone.

                             [_Exeunt_.

    _Enter_ _Lord_ Plotwell, _and_ Bellmour.

_Lord_. And well, _Frank_, how dost thou find thy self inclin'd? thou
should'st begin to think of something more than Books. Do'st thou not
wish to know the Joys that are to be found in a Woman, _Frank_? I well
remember at thy Age I fancy'd a thousand fine things of that kind.

_Bel_. Ay, my Lord, a thousand more perhaps than are to be found.

_Lord_. Not so; but I confess, _Frank_, unless the Lady be fair, and
there be some Love too, 'tis not altogether so well; therefore I, who
am still busy for thy good, have fix'd upon a Lady--

_Bel_. Ha!--

_Lord_. What, dost start? Nay, I'll warrant thee she'll please; A Lady
rich, and fair, and nobly born, and thou shalt marry her, _Frank_.

_Bel_. Marry her, my Lord--

_Lord_. Why, yes, marry her--I hope you are none of the fashionable
Fops, that are always in Mutiny against Marriage, who never think
themselves very witty, but when they rail against Heaven and a Wife--
But, _Frank_, I have found better Principles in thee, and thou hast the
Reputation of a sober young Gentleman; thou art, besides, a Man of great
Fortune, _Frank_.

_Bel_. And therefore, Sir, ought the less to be a Slave.

_Lord_. But, _Frank_, we are made for one another; and ought, by the
Laws of God, to communicate our Blessings.

_Bel_. Sir, there are Men enough, fitter much than I, to obey those
Laws; nor do I think them made for every one.

_Lord_. But, _Frank_, you do not know what a Wife I have provided
for you.

_Bel_. 'Tis enough I know she's a Woman, Sir.

_Lord_. A Woman! why, what should she be else?

_Bel_. An Angel, Sir, e'er she can be my Wife.

_Lord_. In good time: but this is a Mortal, Sir--and must serve your
turn--but, _Frank_, she is the finest Mortal--

_Bel_. I humbly beg your Pardon, if I tell you,
That had she Beauty such as Heav'n ne'er made,
Nor meant again t'inrich a Woman with,
It cou'd not take my Heart.

_Lord_. But, Sir, perhaps you do not guess the Lady.

_Bel_. Or cou'd I, Sir, it cou'd not change my Nature.

_Lord_. But, Sir, suppose it be my Niece _Diana_.

_Bel_. How, Sir, the fair _Diana_!

_Lord_. I thought thou'dst come about again;
What think you now of Woman-kind, and Wedlock?

_Bel_. As I did before, my Lord.

_Lord_. What, thou canst not think I am in earnest; I confess, _Frank_,
she is above thee in point of Fortune, she being my only Heir--but
suppose 'tis she.

_Bel_. Oh, I'm undone!--Sir, I dare not suppose so greatly in favour
of my self.

_Lord_. But, _Frank_, you must needs suppose--

_Bel_. Oh, I am ruin'd, lost, for ever lost.

_Lord_. What do you mean, Sir?

_Bel_. I mean, I cannot marry fair _Diana_.

_Lord_. Death! how's this?

_Bel_. She is a thing above my humble wishes--

_Lord_. Is that all? Take you no care for that; for she loves you
already, and I have resolv'd it, which is better yet.

_Bel_. Love me, Sir! I know she cannot,
And Heav'n forbid that I should injure her.

_Lord_. Sir, this is a Put-off: resolve quickly, or I'll compel you.

_Bel_. You wou'd not use Extremity;
What is the Forfeit of my Disobedience?

_Lord_. The loss of all your Fortune,
If you refuse the Wife I have provided--
Especially a handsom Lady, as she is, _Frank_.

_Bel_. Oh me, unhappy!
What cursed Laws provided this Severity?

_Lord_. Even those of your Father's Disposal, who seeing so many
Examples in this leud Age, of the ruin of whole Families by imprudent
Marriages, provided otherwise for you.

_Bel_. But, Sir, admit _Diana_ be inclin'd,
And I (by my unhappy Stars so curs'd)
Should be unable to accept the Honour.

_Lord_. How, Sir! admit!--I can no more admit,
Than you can suppose--therefore give me your final Answer.

_Bel_. Sir, can you think a Blessing e'er can fall
Upon that Pair, whom Interest joins, not Love?

_Lord_. Why, what's in _Diana_, that you shou'd not love her?

_Bel_. I must confess she has a thousand Virtues,
The least of which wou'd bless another Man;
But, Sir, I hope, if I am so unhappy
As not to love that Lady, you will pardon me.

_Lord_. Indeed, Sir, but I will not; love me this Lady, and marry me
this Lady, or I will teach you what it is to refuse such a Lady.

_Bel_. Sir, 'tis not in my power to obey you.

_Lord_. How! not in your pow'r?

_Bel_. No, Sir, I see my fatal Ruin in your Eyes,
And know too well your Force, and my own Misery.
--But, Sir--when I shall tell you who I've married--

_Lord_. Who you've married;--By all that's sacred, if that be true,
thou art undone for ever.

_Bel_. O hear me, Sir!
I came with Hopes to have found you merciful.

_Lord_. Expect none from me; no, thou shalt not have
So much of thy Estate, as will afford thee Bread:
By Heav'n, thou shalt not.

_Bel_. Oh, pity me, my Lord, pity my Youth;
It is no Beggar, nor one basely born,
That I have given my Heart to, but a Maid,
Whose Birth, whose Beauty, and whose Education
Merits the best of Men.

_Lord_. Very fine! where is the Priest that durst dispose of you without
my Order? Sirrah, you are my Slave--at least your whole Estate is at my
mercy--and besides, I'll charge you with an Action of 5000 pounds. For
your ten Years Maintenance: Do you know that this in my power too?

_Bel_. Yes, Sir, and dread your Anger worse than Death.

_Lord_. Oh Villain! thus to dash my Expectation!

_Bel_. Sir, on my bended Knees, thus low I fall
To beg your mercy.

_Lord_. Yes, Sir, I will have mercy;
I'll give you Lodging--but in a Dungeon, Sir,
Where you shall ask your Food of Passers by.

_Bel_. All this, I know, you have the Pow'r to do;
But, Sir, were I thus cruel, this hard Usage
Would give me Cause to execute it.
I wear a Sword, and I dare right my self;
And Heaven wou'd pardon it, if I should kill you:
But Heav'n forbid I shou'd correct that Law,
Which gives you Power, and orders me Obedience.

_Lord_. Very well, Sir, I shall tame that Courage, and punish that
Harlot, whoe'er she be, that has seduc'd ye.

_Bel_. How, Harlot, Sir!--Death, such another Word,
And through all Laws and Reason I will rush,
And reach thy Soul, if mortal like thy Body.
--No, Sir, she's chaste, as are the new-made Vows
I breath'd upon her Lips, when last we parted.

_Lord_. Who waits there?

    Enter Trusty and Servants.

--Shall I be murder'd in my own House?
'Tis time you were remov'd--
Go, get an Action of 5000 pounds, enter'd against him,
With Officers to arrest him.

_Trusty_. My Lord, 'tis my young Master _Bellmour_.

_Lord_. Ye all doat upon him, but he's not the Man you take him for.

_Trusty_. How, my Lord! not this Mr. _Bellmour_!

_Lord_. Dogs, obey me.
                          [_Offers to go_.

_Bel_. Stay, Sir--oh, stay--what will become of me?
'Twere better that my Life were lost, than Fortune--
For that being gone, _Celinda_ must not love me.
--But to die wretchedly--
Poorly in Prison--whilst I can manage this--
Is below him, that does adore _Celinda.    [Draws_.
I'll kill my self--but then--I kill _Celinda_.
Shou'd I obey this Tyrant--then too she dies.
Yes, Sir--You may be cruel--take the Law,
And kill me quickly, 'twill become your Justice.    [_Weeps_.

_Lord_. Was I call'd back for this? Yes, I shall take it, Sir;
do not fear.
                [_Offers to go_.

_Bel_. Yet, stay, Sir--Have you lost all Humanity?
Have you no Sense of Honour, nor of Horrors?

_Lord_. Away with him--go, be gone.

_Bel_. Stay, Sir. Oh, God! what is't you'd have me do?
--Here--I resign my self unto your Will--
But, Oh _Celinda_! what will become of thee?    [_Weeps_.
--Yes, I will marry--and _Diana_ too.

_Lord_. 'Tis well you will; had I not been good-natur'd now,
You had been undone, and miss'd _Diana_ too.

_Bel_. But must I marry--needs marry, Sir?
Or lose my Fortune, and my Liberty,
Whilst all my Vows are given to another?

_Lord_. By all means, Sir--

_Bel_. If I must marry any but _Celinda_,
I shall not, Sir, enjoy one moment's Bliss:
I shall be quite unman'd, cruel and brutal;
A Beast, unsafe for Woman to converse with.
Besides, Sir, I have given my Heart and Faith,
And my second Marriage is Adultery.

_Lord_. Heart and Faith, I am glad 'tis no worse; if the Ceremony of
the Church has not past, 'tis well enough.

_Bel_. All, Sir, that Heaven and Love requires, is past.

_Lord_. Thou art a Fool, _Frank_, come--dry thy Eyes. And receive
_Diana_--_Trusty_, call in my Niece.

_Bel_. Yet, Sir, relent, be kind, and save my Soul.

                                              [_Ex_. Trusty.

_Lord_. No more--by Heaven, if you resist my Will, I'll make a strange
Example of thee, and of that Woman, whoe'er she be, that drew you to
this Folly. Faith and Vows, quoth ye!

_Bel_. Then I obey.

    _Enter_ Trusty _and_ Diana.

_Lord_. Look ye here, _Frank_; Is this a Lady to be dislik'd? Come
hither, _Frank--Trusty_, haste for Dr. _Tickletext_, my Chaplain's not
in Town; I'll have them instantly married--Come hither, _Diana_--will
you marry your Cousin, _Frank Bellmour_?

_Dia_. Yes, if it be your pleasure;
Heaven cou'd not let fall a greater Blessing.    [_Aside_.

_Lord_. And you, _Frank_, will you marry my Niece _Diana_?

_Bel_. Since you will have it so.

_Lord_. Come, follow me then, and you shall be both pleas'd.

_Bel_. Oh my _Celinda_!--

    _To preserve thee, what is't I wou'd not do?
    Forfeit my Heaven, nay more, I forfeit you_.

                                             [_Exit_.



SCENE V. _The Street_.


    _Enter Sir_ Timothy Tawdrey, Sham _and_ Sharp.

Sir _Tim_. Now, _Sham_, art not thou a damn'd lying Rogue, to make me
saunter up and down the _Mall_ all this Morning, after a Woman that thou
know'st in thy Conscience was not likely to be there?

_Sham_. Why, Sir--if her Maid will be a jilting Whore, how can I help
it?--_Sharp_, thou know'st we presented her handsomly, and she protested
she'd do't.

_Sharp_. Ay, ay, Sir: But the Devil a Maid we saw.    [_Aside_.

_Sham_. Sir, it may be Things have so fallen out, that she could not
possibly come.

Sir _Tim_. Things! a Pox of your Tricks--Well, I see there's no trusting
a poor Devil--Well, what Device will your Rogueship find out to cheat
me next?

_Sham_. Prithee help me out at a dead lift, _Sharp_.    [_Aside_.

_Sharp_. Cheat you, Sir!--if I ben't reveng'd on this She-Counsellor of
the Patching and Painting, this Letter-in of Midnight Lovers, this
Receiver of Bribes for stol'n Pleasures; may I be condemn'd never to
make love to any thing of higher Quality.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, nay, no threatning, _Sharp_; it may be she's innocent
yet--Give her t'other Bribe, and try what that will do.
                                            [_Gives him Money_.

_Sham_. No, Sir, I'll have no more to do with frail Woman, in this Case;
I have a surer way to do your Business.

    _Enter_ Page _with a Letter_.

Sir _Tim_. Is not that _Bellmour's_ Page?

_Sharp_. It is, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, the Rogue's looking for me; he has a Challenge
in his hand too.

_Sham_. No matter, Sir, huff it out.

Sir _Tim_. Prithee do thee huff him, thou know'st the way on't.

_Sham_. What's your Bus'ness with Sir _Timothy_, Sir?

_Page_. Mine, Sir, I don't know the Gentleman; pray which is he?

Sir _Tim_. I, I, 'tis so--Pox on him.

_Sharp_. Well, Boy, I am he--What--Your Master.

_Page_. My Master, Sir--

_Sharp_. Are not you _Bellmour's_ Page?

_Page_. Yes, Sir.

_Sharp_. Well, your News.

_Page_. News, Sir? I know of none, but of my Master's being this
Morning--

Sir _Tim_. Ay, there it is--behind _Southampton_ House.

_Page_. Married this Morning.

Sir _Tim_. How! Married! 'Slife, has he serv'd me so?

_Sham_. The Boy is drunk--_Bellmour_ married!

_Page_. Yes, indeed, to the Lady _Diana_.

Sir _Tim_. _Diana!_ Mad, by Fortune; what _Diana_?

_Page_. Niece to the Lord _Plotwell_.

Sir _Tim_. Come hither, Boy--Art thou sure of this?

_Page_. Sir, I am sure of it; and I am going to bespeak Musick for the
Ball anon.

Sir _Tim_. What hast thou there--a Letter to the Divine _Celinda_?
A dainty Boy--there's Money for to buy thee Nickers.

_Page_. I humbly thank you.
                               [_Exit_.

_Sharp_. Well, Sir, if this be true, _Celinda_ will be glad of you again.

Sir. _Tim_. Ay, but I will have none of her--For, look you, _Sham_,
there is but two sorts of Love in this World--Now I am sure the Rogue
did love her; and since it was not to marry her, it was for the thing
you wot on, as appears by his writing to her now--But yet, I will not
believe what this Boy said, till I see it.

_Sham_. Faith, Sir, I have thought of a thing, that may both clear your
doubt, and give us a little Mirth.

Sir _Tim_. I conceive thee.

_Sham_. I know y'are quick of Apprehension, Sir _Timothy_.

Sir _Tim_. O, your Servant, dear _Sham_--But to let thee see, I am none
of the dullest, we are to Jig it in Masquerade this Evening, hah.

_Sham_. Faith, Sir, you have it, and there you may have an Opportunity
to court _Bellmour's_ Sister.

Sir _Tim_. 'Tis a good Motion, and we will follow it; send to the Duke's
House, and borrow some Habits presently.

_Sham_. I'll about it, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Make haste to my Lodging--But hark ye--not a word of this to
_Betty Flauntit_, she'll be up in Arms these two Days, if she go not
with us; and though I think the fond Devil is true to me, yet it were
worse than Wedlock, if I should be so to her too.

    _Tho Whores in all things else the Mastery get,
    In this alone, like Wives, they must submit_.

                                               Exeunt.




ACT III.

SCENE I. _A Room in Lord_ Plotwell's _House_.


    _Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Bellmour _leading in_ Diana, _follow'd by
    _Charles Bellmour, Phillis, _and other Ladies and Gentlemen_.
    [_Musick plays, till they are all seated_.

_Lord_. Here, Nephew, I resign that Trust, which was repos'd in me by
your dead Father; which was, that on your Wedding-Day I should thus--
make you Master of your whole Fortune, you being married to my liking--
And now, _Charles_, and you, my Niece _Phillis_, you may demand your
Portions to morrow, if you please, for he is oblig'd to pay you the Day
after that of his Marriage.

_Phil_. There's time enough, my Lord.

_Lord_. Come, come, Ladies, in troth you must take but little Rest to
Night, in complaisance to the Bride and Bridegroom, who, I believe, will
take but little--_Frank_--why, _Frank_--what, hast thou chang'd thy
Humour with thy Condition? Thou wert not wont to hear the Musick play
in vain.

_Bel_. My Lord, I cannot dance.

_Dia_. Indeed, you're wondrous sad,
And I, methinks, do bear thee Company,
I know not why; and yet excess of Joy
Have had the same Effects with equal Grief.

_Bel_. 'Tis true, and I have now felt the Extremes of both.

_Lord_. Why, Nephew _Charles_--has your Breeding at the Academy
instructed your Heels in no Motion?

_Char_. My Lord, I'll make one.

_Phil_. And I another, for Joy that my Brother's made happy in so fair
a Bride.

_Bel_. Hell take your Ignorance, for thinking I am happy,--
Wou'd Heaven wou'd strike me dead,
That by the loss of a poor wretched Life
I might preserve my Soul--But Oh, my Error!
That has already damn'd it self, when it consented
To break a Sacred Vow, and Marry here.

_Lord_. Come, come, begin, begin, Musick to your Office.

                                                [_Soft Musick_.

_Bel_. Why does not this hard Heart, this stubborn Fugitive,
Break with this Load of Griefs? but like ill Spirits
It promis'd fair, till it had drawn me in,
And then betray'd me to Damnation.

_Dia_. There's something of disorder in his Soul,
Which I'm on fire to know the meaning of.

    _Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham, _and_ Sharp, _in Masquerade_.

Sir _Tim_. The Rogue is married, and I am so pleas'd, I can forgive him
our last Night's Quarrel. Prithee, _Sharp_, if thou canst learn that
young Thing's Name, 'tis a pretty airy Rogue, whilst I go talk to her.

_Sharp_. I will, Sir, I will.

                                 [_One goes to take out a Lady_.

_Char_. Nay, Madam, you must dance.    [_Dance_.

_Bel_. I hope you will not call it Rudeness, Madam, if I refuse you here.

    [_The Lady that danced goes to take out the Bridegroom. After the
    Dance she takes out Sir_ Timothy, _they walk to a Courant_.

Am I still tame and patient with my Ills?
Gods! what is Man, that he can live and bear,
Yet know his Power to rid himself of Grief?
I will not live; or if my Destiny
Compel me to't, it shall be worse than dying.

    _Enter_ Page _with a Table-Book_.

_Bel_. What's this?

_Page_. The Answer of a Letter, Sir, you sent the divine _Celinda_;
for so it was directed.

_Bel_.--Hah--_Celinda_--in my Croud of Thoughts
I had forgot I sent--come nearer, Boy--
What did she say to thee?--Did she not smile?
And use thee with Contempt and Scorn?--tell me.

_Page_. How scorn, Sir!

_Bel_. Or she was angry--call'd me perjur'd Villain,
False, and forsworn--nay, tell me truth.

_Page_. How, Sir?

_Bel_. Thou dost delay me--say she did, and please me.

_Page_. Sir!

_Bel_. Again--tell me, what answer, Rascal, did she send me?

_Page_. You have it, Sir, there in the Table-Book.

_Bel_. Oh, I am mad, and know not what I do.
--Prithee forgive me, Boy--take breath, my Soul,
Before thou do'st begin; for this--perhaps, may be
So cruel kind,
To leave thee none when thou hast ended it.
                                   [_Opens it, and reads_.

  LETTER.

  _I have took in the Poison which you sent, in those few fatal
  Words, "Forgive me, my_ Celinda, _I am married"--'Twas
  thus you said--And I have only Life left to return, "Forgive
  me my sweet_ Bellmour, _I am dead_."          CELINDA.

Can I hear this, and live?--I am a Villian!
In my Creation destin'd for all Mischief,
--To commit Rapes, and Murders, to break Vows,
As fast as Fools do Jests.
Come hither, Boy--
And said the Lady nothing to thee?

_Page_. Yes, e'er she read the Letter, ask'd your Health,
And Joy dispers'd it self in Blushes through her Cheeks.

_Bel_. Her Beauty makes the very Boy adore it.

_Page_. And having read it,
She drew her Tablets from her Pocket,
And trembling, writ what I have brought you, Sir.

_Bel_. Though I before had loaded up my Soul
With Sins, that wou'd have weigh'd down any other,
Yet this one more it bears, this Sin of Murder;
And holds out still--What have I more to do,
But being plung'd in Blood, to wade it through?

    _Enter_ Friendlove _in Masquerade. A Jigg_.

_Friend_. There stands the Traitor, with a guilty Look,
That Traitor, who the easier to deceive me,
Betray'd my Sister; yet till I came and saw
The Perjury, I could not give a Faith to't.
By Heaven, _Diana_ loves him, nay, dotes on him,
I find it in her Eyes; all languishing,
They feed the Fire in his: arm'd with a double Rage,
I know I shall go through with my Revenge.

Sir _Tim_. Fair Maid--

_Phil_. How do you know that, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. I see y'are fair, and I guess you're a Maid.

_Phil_. Your Guess is better than your Eye-sight, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Whate'er you are, by Fortune, I wish you would permit me to
love you with all your Faults.

_Phil_. You? Pray who are you?

Sir _Tim_. A Man, a Gentleman--and more, a Knight too, by Fortune.

_Phil_. Then 'twas not by Merit, Sir--But how shall I know you are
either of these?

Sir _Tim_. That I'm a Man, the Effects of my vigorous Flame shall prove
--a Gentleman, my Coat of Arms shall testify; and I have the King's
Patent for my Title.

_Phil_. For the first you may thank your Youth, for the next your Father,
and the last your Money.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, I love thee for thy Pertness.

_Phil_. Is it possible you can love at all?

Sir _Tim_. As much as I dare.

_Phil_. How do you mean?

Sir _Tim_. Not to be laught at; 'tis not the Mode to love much; A
Platonick Fop I have heard of, but this is an Age of sheer Enjoyment,
and little Love goes to that; we have found it incommode, and loss of
time, to make long Addresses.

    _Enter_ Celinda _like a Boy_.

_Phil_. I find, Sir, you and I shall never agree upon this matter;
But see, Sir, here's more Company.

_Cel_. Oh Heaven! 'tis true, these Eyes confirm my Fate.
Yonder he is--and that fair splendid Thing,
That gazes on him with such kind Desire,
Is my blest Rival--Oh, he is married!
--Gods! And yet you let him live;
Live too with all his Charms, as fine and gay,
As if you meant he shou'd undo all easy Maids,
And kill 'em for their Sin of loving him.
Wretched _Celinda_!
But I must turn my Eyes from looking on
The fatal Triumphs of my Death--Which of all these
Is my Brother? Oh, that is he: I know him
By the Habit he sent for to the Play-House.
                                  [Points to Sir Tim.
And hither he's come in Masquerade,
I know with some Design against my _Bellmour_,
Whom though he kill me, I must still preserve:
Whilst I, lost in despair, thus as a Boy
Will seek a Death from any welcome Hand,
Since I want Courage to perform the Sacrifice.

    _Enter one and dances an Entry, and a Jig at the end on't_.

_Lord_. Enough, enough at this time, let's see the Bride to bed, the
Bridegroom thinks it long.

_Friend_. Hell! Can I endure to hear all this with Patience?
Shall he depart with Life to enjoy my Right,
And to deprive my Sister of her due?
--Stay, stay, and resign
That Virgin.

_Bel_. Who art thou that dar'st lay a Claim to ought that's here?

_Friend_. This Sword shall answer ye.
                                         [_Draws_.

_Bel_. Though I could spare my Life, I'll not be robb'd of it.
                                                         [_Draws_.

_Dia_. Oh, my dear _Bellmour_!

    [_All draw on_ Bellmour's side_--Diana _holds_ Bellmour,
    Celinda _runs between their Swords, and defends_ Bellmour;
    _Sir_ Tim. Sham, _and_ Sharp _draw, and run into several
    Corners, with signs of Fear_.

_Friend_. Who art thou, that thus fondly guard'st his Heart?
                                                    [_To_ Celinda.
--Be gone, and let me meet it.

_Cel_. That thou mayst do through mine, but no way else.

_Friend_. Here are too many to encounter, and I'll defer my Vengeance.

_Char_. Stay, Sir, we must not part so.

    [_Ex. Drawing at the same Door, that Sir_ Tim. _is sneaking out at_.

Come back I say.    [_Pulls in Sir_ Tim.
Slave! Dost thou tremble?--

Sir _Tim_. Sir, I'm not the Man you look for--
By Fortune, _Sham_, we're all undone:
He has mistook me for the fighting Fellow.

_Char_. Villain, defend thy Life.

Sir _Tim_. Who, I, Sir? I have no quarrel to you, nor no man breathing,
not I, by Fortune.

_Cel_. This Coward cannot be my Brother.    [_Aside_.

_Char_. What made thee draw upon my Brother?

Sir _Tim_. Who, I, Sir? by Fortune, I love him--I draw upon him!

_Char_. I do not wonder thou canst lye, for thou'rt a Coward!
Didst not thou draw upon him? Is not thy Sword yet out?
Did I not see thee fierce, and active too, as if thou hadst dar'd?

Sir _Tim_. Why, he's gone, Sir; a Pox of all Mistakes and Masqueradings
I say--this was your Plot, _Sham_.

_Char_. Coward! Shew then thy Face.

Sir _Tim_. I'll be hang'd first, by Fortune; for then 'twill be plain
'twas I, because I challeng'd _Bellmour_ last Night, and broke my
Assignation this Morning.    [_Aside_.

_Char_. Shew thy Face without delay, or--

Sir _Tim_. My Face, Sir! I protest, by Fortune, 'tis not worth seeing.

_Char_. Then, Sirrah, you are worth a kicking--take that--and that--
                                                           [_Kicks him_.

Sir _Tim_. How, Sir? how?

_Char_. So, Sir, so.
                        [_Kicks him again_.

Sir _Tim_. Have a care, Sir--by Fortune, I shall fight with a little
more.

_Char_. Take that to raise you.
                                   [_Strikes him_.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, then I am angry, and I dare fight.

                                       [_They fight out_.

_Lord_. Go, Ladies, see the Bride to her Chamber.

                                            [_Ex. Women_.

_Bel_. The Knight, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_;
--The Rascal mist me at the appointed place,
And comes to attack me here--
                        [_Turns to_ Cel.
--Brave Youth, I know not how
I came to merit this Relief from thee:
Sure thou art a Stranger to me, thou'rt so kind.

_Cel_. Sir, I believe those happy ones that know you
Had been far kinder, but I'm indeed a Stranger.

_Bel_. Mayst thou be ever so to one so wretched;
I will not ask thy Name, lest knowing it,
(I'm such a Monster) I should ruin thee.

_Cel_. Oh, how he melts my Soul! I cannot stay,
Lest Grief, my Sex, my Bus'ness shou'd betray.    [_Aside_.
--Farewel, Sir--
May you be happy in the Maid you love.
                                            [_Exit_ Cel.

_Bel_. O, dost thou mock my Griefs? by Heaven, he did.
--Stay, Sir, he's gone.

    _Enter_ Charles Bellmour.

_Char_. The Rogue took Courage, when he saw there was no Remedy; but
there's no hurt done on either side.

_Lord_. 'Tis fit such as he shou'd be chastis'd, that do abuse
Hospitality. Come, come, to Bed; the Lady, Sir, expects you.

_Bel_. Gentlemen, good Night.

                                 [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II_. A Bed Chamber_.


    _Enter_ Diana.

_Dia_. I long to know the Cause of _Bellmour's_ Disorder to Night, and
here he comes.

    _Enter_ Bellmour, Lord, Charles, _and the rest_.

_Char_. Shan't we see you laid, Brother?

_Bel_. Yes, in my Grave, dear _Charles_;
But I'll excuse that Ceremony here.

_Char_. Good Night, and no Rest to you, Brother.

                       [_Ex. all but_ Bellmour _and_ Diana.

_Dia_. Till now, my _Bellmour_, I wanted Opportunity
To ask the Cause, why on a joyful Day,
When Heav'n has join'd us by a sacred Tie,
Thou droop'st like early Flowers with Winter-storms.

_Bel_. Thou art that Winter-storm that nips my Bud;
All my young springing Hopes, my gay Desires,
The prospect of approaching Joys of Love,
Thou in a hapless Minute hast took from me,
And in its room,
Hast given me an eternal Desperation.

_Dia_. Have you then given me Vows ye can repent of?

_Bel_. I given ye Vows! be witness, ye just Pow'rs,
How far I was from giving any Vows:
No, no, _Diana_, I had none to give.

_Dia_. No Vows to give!
What were they which unto the Holy Man
Thou didst repeat, when I was made all thine?

_Bel_. The Effects of low Submission, such as Slaves
Condemn'd to die, yield to the angry Judge.

_Dia_. Dost thou not love me then?

_Bel_. Love thee! No, by Heaven: yet wish I were so happy,
For thou art wondrous fair and wondrous good.

_Dia_. Oh, what a Defeat is here!
The only Man, who from all Nature's store
I found most charming, fit for my Desires;
And now after a thousand Expectations,
Such as all Maids that love like me do hope,
Just ready for the highest Joys of Love!
Then to be met thus cold--nay, worse, with scorn.    [_Aside_.
--Why, since you could not love me, did you marry me?

_Bel_. Because I was a Beast, a very Villain!
That stak'd a wretched Fortune to all my Joys of Life,
And like a prodigal Gamester lost that all.

_Dia_. How durst you, Sir, knowing my Quality,
Return me this false Pay, for Love so true?
Was this a Beauty, Sir, to be neglected?

_Bel_. Fair angry Maid, frown on, frown till you kill,
And I shall dying bless those Eyes that did so.
For shou'd I live, I shou'd deprive the happier World
Of Treasures, I'm too wretched to possess.
And were't not pity that vast store of Beauty
Shou'd, like rich Fruit, die on the yielding Boughs?

_Dia_. And are you then resolved to be a Stranger to me?

_Bel_. For ever! for a long Eternity!

_Dia_. O thou'st undone me then; hast thou found out
A Maid more fair, more worthy of thy Love?
Look on me well.

_Bel_. I have consider'd thee,
And find no Blemish in thy Soul, or Form;
Thou art all o'er Divine, yet I must hate thee,
Since thou hast drawn me to a mortal Sin,
That cannot be forgiven by Men, or Heaven.
--Oh, thou hast made me break a Vow, _Diana_,
A sacred solemn Vow;
And made me wrong the sweetest Innocence,
That ever blest the Earth.

_Dia_. Instead of cooling this augments my Fire;
No Pain is like defeated new Desire.    [_Aside_.
'Tis false, or but to try my Constancy.
Your Mistress is not so divine as I,
And shou'd I, 'gainst himself, believe the Man
Who first inspir'd my Heart with Love's soft Flame?

_Bel_. What Bliss on me insensibly you throw!
I'd rather hear thee swear, thou art my Foe,
And like some noble and romantick Maid
With Poniards wou'd my stubborn Heart invade;
And whilst thou dost the faithful Relique tear,
In every Vein thoud'st find _Celinda_ there.

_Dia_. Come, Sir, you must forget _Celinda's_ Charms,
And reap Delights within my circling Arms,
Delights that may your Errors undeceive,
When you find Joys as great as she can give.

_Bel_. What do I hear?--is this the kind Relief
Thou dost allow to my Despair and Grief?
Is this the Comfort that thou dost impart
To my all-wounded, bleeding, dying Heart?
Were I so brutal, cou'd thy Love comply
To serve it self with base Adultery?
For cou'd I love thee, cou'd I love again,
Our Lives wou'd be but one continu'd Sin:
A Sin of that black dye, a Sin so foul,
'Twou'd leave no Hopes of Heav'n for either's Soul.

_Dia_. Dull Man! Dost think a feeble vain Excuse
Shall satisfy me for this Night's abuse?
No, since my Passion thou'st defeated thus,
And robb'd me of my long-wish'd Happiness,
I'll make thee know what a wrong'd Maid can do,
Divided 'twixt her Love and Injuries too.

_Bel_. I dare thy worst;
Shou'd Hell assist thy Aims, thou cou'dst not find,
New Plagues, unless thou shou'dst continue kind,
Hard Fate, _Diana_, when thy Love must be
The greatest Curse that can arrive to me.
--That Friendship which our Infant Years begun,
And till this Day has still continued on,
I will preserve; and my Respects shall be
Profound, as what was ever paid by me:
But for my Love, 'tis to _Celinda_ due,
And I can pay you none that's just and true.

_Dia_. The rest I'd have thee know I do despise,
I better understand my conquering Eyes;
Those Eyes that shall revenge my Love and Shame,
I'll kill thy Reputation and thy Name.
                                   [_Exit_.

_Bel_. My Honour! and my Reputation, now!
They both were forfeit, when I broke my Vow,
Nor cou'd my Honour with thy Fame decline;
Whoe'er profanes thee, injures nought of mine.
This Night upon the Couch my self I'll lay,
And like _Franciscans_, let th'ensuing Day
Take care for all the Toils it brings with it;
Whatever Fate arrives, I can submit.

                                 [_Exit_.



SCENE III. _A Street_.


    _Enter_ Celinda, _drest as before_.

_Cel_. Not one kind Wound to send me to my Grave,
And yet between their angry Swords I ran,
Expecting it from _Bellmour_, or my Brother's:
Oh, my hard Fate! that gave me so much Misery,
And dealt no Courage to prevent the shock.
--Why came I off alive, that fatal Place
Where I beheld my _Bellmour_, in th'embrace
Of my extremely fair, and lovely Rival?
--With what kind Care she did prevent my Arm,
Which (greedy of the last sad-parting twine)
I wou'd have thrown about him, as if she knew
To what intent I made the passionate Offer?
--What have I next to do, but seek a Death
Wherever I can meet it--Who comes here?    [_Goes aside_.

    _Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham _and_ Sharp, _with Fidlers and Boy_.

Sir _Tim_. I believe this is the Bed-chamber Window where the Bride
and Bridegroom lies.

_Sham_. Well, and what do you intend to do, if it be, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Why, first sing a Baudy Song, and then break the Windows,
in revenge for the Affront was put upon me to night.

_Sharp_. Faith, Sir, that's but a poor Revenge, and which every Footman
may take of his Lady, who has turn'd him away for filching--You know,
Sir, Windows are frail, and will yield to the lusty Brickbats; 'tis an
Act below a Gentleman.

Sir _Tim_. That's all one, 'tis my Recreation; I serv'd a Woman so the
other night, to whom my Mistress had a Pique.

_Sham_. Ay, Sir, 'tis a Revenge fit only for a Whore to take--And the
Affront you receiv'd to Night, was by mistake.

Sir _Tim_. Mistake! how can that be?

_Sham_. Why, Sir, did you not mind, that he that drew upon _Bellmour_,
was in the same Dress with you.

Sir _Tim_. How shou'd his be like mine?

_Sham_. Why, by the same Chance, that yours was like his--I suppose
sending to the Play-house for them, as we did, they happened to send
him such another Habit, for they have many such for dancing Shepherds.

Sir _Tim_. Well, I grant it a Mistake, and that shall reprieve the
Windows.

_Sharp_. Then, Sir, you shew'd so much Courage, that you may bless the
Minute that forc'd you to fight.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, but between you and I, 'twas well he kick'd me first,
and made me angry, or I had been lustily swing'd, by Fortune--But thanks
to my Spleen, that sav'd my Bones that bout--But then I did well--hah,
came briskly off, and the rest.

_Sham_. With Honour, Sir, I protest.

Sir _Tim_. Come then, we'll serenade him. Come, Sirrah, tune your Pipes,
and sing.

_Boy_. What shall I sing, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Any thing sutable to the Time and Place.

  SONG.

  I.

  _The happy Minute's come, the Nymph is laid,
    Who means no more to rise a Maid.
  Blushing, and panting, she expects th'Approach
    Of Joys that kill with every touch:
  Nor can her native Modesty and Shame
  Conceal the Ardour of her Virgin Flame_.

  II.

  _And now the amorous Youth is all undrest,
    Just ready for Love's mighty Feast;
  With vigorous haste the Veil aside he throws,
    That doth all Heaven at once disclose.
  Swift as Desire, into her naked Arms
  Himself he throws, and rifles all her Charms_.

Good morrow, Mr. _Bellmour_, and to your lovely Bride, long may you
live and love.

    _Enter_ Bellmour _above_.

_Bel_. Who is't has sent that Curse?

Sir _Tim_. What a Pox, is that _Bellmour_? The Rogue's in choler, the
Bride has not pleas'd him.

_Bel_. Dogs! Do you upbraid me? I'll be with you presently.

Sir _Tim_. Will you so?--but I'll not stay your coming.

_Cel_. But you shall, Sir.

_Bel_. Turn, Villains!

    [_Sir_ Tim. _&c. offers to go off_, Celinda _steps forth, and
    draws, they draw, and set upon her. Enter_ Bellmour _behind them:
    They turn, and_ Celinda _sides with_ Bellmour, _and fights. Enter_
    Diana, Bellmour _fights 'em out, and leaves_ Celinda _breathless,
    leaning on her Sword_.

_Dia_. I'll ne'er demand the cause of this disorder,
But take this opportunity to fly
To the next hands will take me up--who's here?

_Cel_. Not yet, my sullen Heart!

_Dia_. Who's here? one wounded--alas--

_Cel_. 'Tis not so lucky--but who art thou
That dost with so much pity ask?

_Dia_. He seems a Gentleman--handsome and young--    [_Aside_.
Pray ask no Questions, Sir; but if you are what you seem,
Give a Protection to an unhappy Maid.
--Do not reply, but let us haste away.

_Cel_. Hah--What do I hear! sure, 'tis _Diana_.
--Madam, with haste, and joy, I'll serve you.
--I'll carry her to my own Lodgings.
Fortune, in this, has done my Sufferings right,
My Rival's in my Power, upon her Wedding-Night.    [_Aside_.

                                                     [_Exeunt_.

    _Enter_ Bellmour, _Sir_ Tim. Sham, _and_ Sharp.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, that you should not know your Friend and humble
Servant, _Tim. Tawdrey_--But thou look'st as if thou hadst not been
a-bed yet.

_Bel_. No more I have.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, then thou losest precious time, I'll not detain thee.
                                                        [_Offers to go_.

_Bel_. Thou art mistaken, I hate all Woman-kind--

Sir _Tim_. How, how!

_Bel_, Above an Hour--hark ye, Knight--I am as leud, and as debaucht
as thou art.

Sir _Tim_. What do you mean, _Frank_?

_Bel_. To tell a Truth, which yet I never did.
--I whore, drink, game, swear, lye, cheat, rob, pimp, hector, all,
all I do that's vitious.

Sir _Tim_. Bless me!

_Bel_. From such a Villian, hah!

Sir _Tim_. No, but that thou should'st hide it all this while.

_Bel_. Till I was married only, and now I can dissemble it no longer--
come--let's to a Baudy-House.

Sir _Tim_. A Baudy-house! What, already!
This is the very quintessence of Leudness.
--Why, I thought that I was wicked, but, by Fortune,
This dashes mine quite out of Countenance.

_Bel_. Oh, thou'rt a puny Sinner!--I'll teach thee Arts (so rare) of Sin,
the least of them shall damn thee.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, _Frank_, I do not like these Arts.

_Bel_. Then thou'rt a Fool--I'll teach thee to be rich too.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, that I like.

_Bel_. Look here, my Boys!
        [_Hold up his Writings, which he takes out of his Pockets_.
The Writings of 3000 pounds a Year:
--All this I got by Perjury.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, a thriving Sin.

_Bel_. And we will live in Sin while this holds out.
_And then to my cold Home--Come let's be gone:
Oh, that I ne'er might see the rising Sun_.

                                       [_Exeunt_.




ACT IV.

SCENE I. Celinda's _Chamber_.


    _Discovers_ Celinda _as before sitting in a Chair_,
    Diana _by her in another, who sings_.

  SONG.

  I.

  Celinda, _who did Love disdain,
  For whom had languished many a Swain,
  Leading her bleating Flocks to drink,
  She spy'd upon the River's brink
  A Youth, whose Eyes did well declare
  How much he lov'd, but lov'd not her_.

  II.

  _At first she laugh'd, but gaz'd the while,
  And soon it lessen'd to a Smile;
  Thence to surprize and wonder came,
  Her Breast to heave, her Heart to flame;
  Then cry'd she out, Ah, now I prove
  Thou art a God, Almighty Love_.

  III.

  _She wou'd have spoke, but Shame deny'd,
  And bad her first consult her Pride;
  But soon she found that Aid was gone,
  For Love, alas, had left her none.
  Oh, how she burns, but 'tis too late,
  For in his Eyes she reads her Fate_.

_Cel_. Oh, how numerous are her Charms
--How shall I pay this generous Condescension?
Fair lovely Maid--

_Dia_. Why do you flatter, Sir?

_Cel_. To say you're lovely, by your self I do not,
I'm young, and have not much convers'd with Beauty:
Yet I'll esteem my Judgment, since it knows
Where my Devotions shou'd be justly paid.
--But, Madam, may I not yet expect
To hear the Story, you so lately promis'd me?

_Dia_. I owe much to your Goodness, Sir--but--

_Cel_. I am too young, you think, to hear a Secret;
Can I want Sense to pity your Misfortunes,
Or Passion to incite me to revenge 'em?

_Dia_. Oh, would he were in earnest!

_Cel_. She's fond of me, and I must blow that flame,
Do any thing to make her hate my _Bellmour_.    [_Aside_.
--But, Madam, I'm impatient for your Story,
That after that, you may expect my Service.

_Dia_. The Treatment you this night have given a distressed Maid,
enough obliges me; nor need I tell you, I'm nobly born; something
about my Dress, my Looks and Mien, will doubtless do me reason.

_Cel_. Sufficiently--

_Dia_. But in the Family where I was educated, a Youth of my own Age,
a Kinsman too, I chanc'd to fall in love with, but with a Passion my
Pride still got the better of; and he, I thought, repaid my young
Desires. But Bashfulness on his part, did what Pride had done on mine,
And kept his too conceal'd--At last my Uncle, who had the absolute
Dominion of us both, thought good to marry us together.

_Cel_. Punish him, Heaven, for a Sin so great.
--And are you married then?

_Dia_. Why is there Terror in that Word?

_Cel_. By all that's Sacred, 'tis a Word that kills me.
Oh, say thou art not;
And I thus low will fall, and pay thee Thanks.    [_Kneels_.

_Dia_. You'll wish indeed I were not, when you know
How very, very wretched it has made me.

_Cel_. Shou'd you be telling me a Tale all day,
Such as would melt a Heart that ne'er could love,
'Twould not increase my Reason for the wish
That I had dy'd e'er known you had been married.

_Dia_. So many soft Words from my _Bellmour's_ mouth
Had made me mad with Joy, and next to that
I wish to hear 'em from this Youth;
If they be real, how I shall be reveng'd!    [_Aside_.
--But why at my being married should you sigh?

_Cel_. Because I love, is that a Wonder, Madam?
Have you not Charms sufficient at first sight
To wound a Heart tender and young as mine?
Are you not heavenly fair? Oh, there's my Grief--
Since you must be another's.

_Dia_. Pray hear me out; and if you love me after,
Perhaps you may not think your self unhappy.
When Night was come, the long'd for Night, and all
Retir'd to give us silent Room for Joy--

_Cel_. Oh, I can hear no more--by Heav'n, I cannot.
--Here--stab me to the Heart--let out my Life,
I cannot live, and hear what follow'd next.

_Dia_. Pray hear me, Sir--

_Cel_. Oh, you will tell me he was kind--
Yes, yes--oh God--were not his balmy Kisses
Sweeter than Incense offer'd up to Heaven?
Did not his Arms, softer and whiter far
Than those of _Jove's_ transform'd to Wings of Swans,
Greedily clasp thee round?--Oh, quickly speak,
Whilst thy fair rising Bosom met with his;
And then--Oh--then--

_Dia_. Alas, Sir! What's the matter?--sit down a while.

_Cel_. Now--I am well--pardon me, lovely Creature,
If I betray a Passion, I'm too young
To've learnt the Art of hiding;
--I cannot hear you say that he was kind.

_Dia_. Kind! yes, as Blasts to Flow'rs, or early Fruit;
All gay I met him full of youthful Heat:
But like a Damp, he dasht my kindled Flame,
And all his Reason was--he lov'd another,
A Maid he call'd _Celinda_.

_Cel_. Oh blessed Man!

_Dia_. How, Sir?

_Cel_. To leave thee free, to leave thee yet a Virgin.

_Dia_. Yes, I have vow'd he never shall possess me.

_Cel_. Oh, how you bless me--but you still are married,
And whilst you are so--I must languish--

_Dia_. Oh, how his Softness moves me!    [_Aside_.
--But can all this Disorder spring from Love?

_Cel_. Or may I still prove wretched.

_Dia_. And can you think there are no ways
For me to gratify that Love?
What ways am I constrain'd to use to work out my Revenge!    [_Aside_.

_Cel_. How mean you, Madam?

_Dia_. Without a Miracle, look on my Eyes--
And Beauty--which you say can kindle Fires;
--She that can give, may too retain Desires.

_Cel_. She'll ravish me--let me not understand you.

_Dia_. Look on my Wrongs--
Wrongs that would melt a frozen Chastity,
That a religious Vow had made to Heaven:
--And next survey thy own Perfections.

_Cel_. Hah--

_Dia_. Art thou so young, thou canst not apprehend me?
Fair bashful Boy, hast thou the Power to move,
And yet not know the Bus'ness of thy Love?

_Cel_. How in an instant thou hast chill'd my Blood,
And made me know no Woman can be good?
'Tis Sin enough to yield--but thus to sue
Heav'n--'tis my Business--and not meant for you.

_Dia_. How little Love is understood by thee,
'Tis Custom, and not Passion you pursue;
Because Enjoyment first was nam'd by me,
It does destroy what shou'd your Flame renew:
My easy yielding does your Fire abate,
And mine as much your tedious Courtship hate.
Tell Heaven--you will hereafter sacrifice,
--And see how that will please the Deities.
The ready Victim is the noblest way,
Your Zeal and Obligations too to pay.

_Cel_. I think the Gods wou'd hardly be ador'd,
If they their Blessings shou'd, unask'd, afford;
And I that Beauty can no more admire,
Who ere I sue, can yield to my Desire.

_Dia_. Dull Youth, farewel:
For since 'tis my Revenge that I pursue
Less Beauty and more Man as well may do.
                               [_Offers to go_.

    _Enter_ Friendlove _disguised, as one from a Camp_.

_Cel_. Madam, you must not go with this Mistake.
                                          [_Holds her_.

_Friend_. _Celinda_ has inform'd me true--'tis she--
Good morrow, Brother, what, so early at your Devotions?

_Cel_. O, my Brother's come, and luckily relieves me.    [_Aside_.

_Friend_. Your Orizons are made to a fair Saint.
--Pray, Sir, what Lady's that?
--Or is it blasphemy to repeat her Name?
--By my bright Arms, she's fair--With what a charming
Fierceness, she charges through my Body to my Heart.
--Death! how her glittering Eyes give Fire, and wound!
And have already pierc'd my very Soul!
--May I approach her, Brother?

_Cel_. Yes, if you dare, there's danger in it though,
She has Charms that will bewitch you:
--I dare not stand their Mischief.
                                      [_Exit_.

_Friend_. Lady, I am a Soldier--yet in my gentlest Terms
I humbly beg to kiss your lovely Hands--
Death! there's Magick in the Touch.
By Heaven, you carry an Artillery in every part.

_Dia_. This is a Man indeed fit for my purpose.    [_Aside_.

_Friend_. Nay, do not view me, I am no lovely Object;
I am a Man bred up to Noise and War,
And know not how to dress my Looks in Smiles;
Yet trust me, fair one, I can love and serve
As well as an _Endymion_, or _Adonis_.
Wou'd you were willing to permit that Service!

_Dia_. Why, Sir?--What cou'd you do?

_Friend_. Why--I cou'd die for you.

_Dia_. I need the Service of the living, Sir.
But do you love me, Sir?

_Friend_. Or let me perish, flying from a single Enemy.
I am a Gentleman, and may pretend to love you;
And what you can command, I can perform.

_Dia_. Take heed, Sir, what you say, for I'm in earnest.

_Friend_. Command me any thing that's just and brave;
And, by my Eyes, 'tis done.

_Dia_. I know not what you call just or brave;
But those whom I do the Honour to command,
Must not capitulate.

_Friend_. Let him be blasted with the Name of Coward,
That dares dispute your Orders.

_Dia_. Dare you fight for me?

_Friend_. With a whole Army; 'tis my Trade to fight.

_Dia_. Nay, 'tis but a single Man.

_Friend_. Name him.

_Dia_. _Bellmour_.

_Friend_. Of _Yorkshire_? Companion to young _Friendlove_, that came
lately from _Italy_?

_Dia_. Yes, do you know him?

_Friend_. I do, who has oft spoke of _Bellmour_;
We travel'd into _Italy_ together--But since, I hear,
He fell in love with a fair cruel Maid,
For whom he languishes.

_Dia_. Heard you her Name?

_Friend_. _Diana_, rich in Beauty, as in Fortune.
--Wou'd she had less of both, and more of Pity;
And that I knew not how to wish, till now
That I became a Lover, perhaps as unsuccessful.    [_Aside_.

_Dia_. I knew my Beauty had a thousand Darts,
But knew not they cou'd strike so quick and home.    [_Aside_.
Let your good Wishes for your Friend alone,
Lest he being happy, you shou'd be undone.
For he and you cannot be blest at once.

_Friend_. How, Madam!

_Dia_. I am that Maid he loves, and who hates him.

_Friend_. Hate him!

_Dia_. To Death.

_Friend_. Oh, me unhappy!    [_Aside_.

_Dia_. He sighs and turns away--am I again defeated?
Surely I am not fair, or Man's insensible.

_Friend_. She knows me not--
And 'twas discreetly done to change my Shape:
For Woman is a strange fantastick Creature;
And where before, I cou'd not gain a Smile,
Thus I may win her Heart.    [_Aside_.
--Say, Madam, can you love a Man that dies for you?

_Dia_. The way to gain me, is to fight with _Bellmour_.
Tell him from me you come, the wrong'd _Diana_;
Tell him you have an Interest in my Heart,
Equal to that which I have made in yours.

_Friend_. I'll do't; I will not ask your Reason, but obey.
Swear e'er I go, that when I have perform'd it,
You'll render me Possession of your Heart.

_Dia_. By all the Vows that Heaven ties Hearts together with,
I'll be entirely yours.

_Friend_. And I'll not be that conscientious Fool,
To stop at Blessings 'cause they are not lawful;
But take 'em up, when Heaven has thrown 'em down,
Without the leave of a Religious Ceremony.    [_Aside_.
Madam, this House, which I am Master of,
You shall command; whilst I go seek this _Bellmour_.

_Dia_. But e'er you go, I must inform you why
I do pursue him with my just Revenge.

_Friend_. I will attend, and hear impatiently.

                                          [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _A Baudy House_.


    _Enter Mrs_. Driver _and_ Betty Flauntit.

_Flaunt_. _Driver_, prithee call for a Glass, that I may set my self
in order, before I go up; for really my Knight has not been at home all
this Night, and I am so confus'd--

    _Enter one with a Glass, and two Wenches_, Jenny _and_ Doll.

Lord, Mrs. _Driver_, I wonder you shou'd send for me, when other Women
are in Company; you know of all things in the World, I hate Whores, they
are the pratingst leudest poor Creatures in Nature; and I wou'd not, for
any thing, Sir _Timothy_ shou'd know that I keep Company, 'twere enough
to lose him.

Mrs. _Driv_. Truly, Mrs. _Flauntit_, this young Squire that you were
Sent to for, has two or three Persons more with him that must be
accommodated too.

_Flaunt_. _Driver_, though I do recreate my self a little sometimes,
yet you know I value my Reputation and Honour.

_Jenny_. Mrs. _Driver_, why shou'd you send for us where _Flauntit_ is?
a stinking proud Flirt, who because she has a tawdry Petticoat, I warrant
you, will think her self so much above us, when if she were set out in
her own natural Colours, and her original Garments, wou'd be much below
us in Beauty.

Mrs. _Driv_. Look ye, Mrs. _Jenny_, I know you, and I know Mrs.
_Flauntit_; but 'tis not Beauty or Wit that takes now-a-days; the Age
is altered since I took upon me this genteel Occupation: but 'tis a fine
Petticoat, right Points, and clean Garnitures, that does me Credit, and
takes the Gallant, though on a stale Woman. And again, Mrs. _Jenny_,
she's kept, and Men love as much for Malice, as for Lechery, as they
call it. Oh, 'tis a great Mover to Joy, as they say, to have a Woman
that's kept.

_Jen_. Well! Be it so, we may arrive to that excellent Degree of
Cracking, to be kept too one day.

Mrs. _Driv_. Well, well, get your selves in order to go up to the
Gentlemen.

_Flaunt_. _Driver_, what art thou talking to those poor Creatures?
Lord, how they stink of Paint and Pox, faugh--

Mrs. _Driv_. They were only complaining that you that were kept,
shou'd intrude upon the Privileges of the Commoners.

_Flaunt_. Lord, they think there are such Joys in Keeping, when I vow,
_Driver_, after a while, a Miss has as painful a Life as a Wife; our
Men drink, stay out late, and whore, like any Husbands.

_Driv_. But I hope in the Lord, Mrs. _Flauntit_, yours is no such Man;
I never saw him, but I have heard he's under decent Correction.

_Flaunt_. Thou art mistaken, _Driver_, I can keep him within no moderate
Bounds without Blows; but for his filthy Custom of Wenching, I have
almost broke him of that--but prithee, _Driver_, who are these Gentlemen?

_Driv_. Truly, I know not; but they are young, and fine as Princes: two
of 'em were disguis'd in masking Habits last Night, but they have sent
'em away this Morning, and they are free as Emperors--One of 'em has
lost a Thousand Pound at Play, and never repin'd at it; one's a Knight,
and I believe his Courage is cool'd, for he has ferreted my Maids over
and over to Night--But 'tis the fine, young, handsom Squire that I
design you for.

_Flaunt_. No matter for his Handsomness, let me have him that has
most Money.

                            [_Exeunt_.



SCENE III. _Another Chamber in the Brothel, a Table with Box and Dice_.


    _Enter_ Bellmour, _Sir_ Timothy, Sham _and_ Sharp.

_Bel_. Damn it, give us more Wine.    [_Drinks_.
Where stands the Box and Dice?--Why, _Sham_.

_Sham_. Faith, Sir, Your Luck's so bad, I han't the Conscience to play
longer--Sir _Timothy_ and you play off a hundred Guineas, and see if
Luck will turn.

_Bel_. Do you take me for a Country Squire, whose Reputation will be
crackt at the loss of a petty Thousand? You have my Note for it to my
Goldsmith.

_Sham_. 'Tis sufficient if it were for ten thousand.

_Bel_. Why, Sir _Timothy_--Pox on't, thou'rt dull, we are not half
debauch'd and leud enough, give us more Wine.

Sir _Tim_. Faith, _Frank_, I'm a little maukish with sitting up all
Night, and want a small refreshment this Morning--Did we not send
for Whores?

_Bel_. No, I am not in humour for a Wench--
By Heaven, I hate the Sex.
All but divine _Celinda_,
Appear strange Monsters to my Eyes and Thoughts.

Sir _Tim_. What, art Italianiz'd, and lovest thy own Sex?

_Bel_. I'm for any thing that's out of the common Road of Sin; I love
a Man that will be damn'd for something: to creep by slow degrees to
Hell, as if he were afraid the World shou'd see which way he went, I
scorn it, 'tis like a Conventicler--No, give me a Man, who to be certain
of's Damnation, will break a solemn Vow to a contracted Maid.

Sir _Tim_. Ha, ha, ha, I thought thou would'st have said at least--had
murder'd his Father, or ravish'd his Mother--Break a Vow, quoth ye--by
Fortune, I have broke a thousand.

_Bel_. Well said, my Boy! A Man of Honour! And will be ready whene'er
the Devil calls for thee--So--ho--more Wine, more Wine, and Dice.

    _Enter a Servant with Dice and Wine_.

Come, Sir, let me--
                       [_Throws and loses_.

Sir _Tim_. What will you set me, Sir?

_Bel_. Cater-tray--a hundred Guineas--oh, damn the Dice--'tis mine--come,
a full Glass--Damnation to my Uncle.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, I'll do thee reason--give me the Glass, and,
_Sham_, to thee--Confusion to the musty Lord.

_Bel_. So--now I'm like my self, profanely wicked.
A little room for Life--but such a Life
As Hell it self shall wonder at--I'll have a care
To do no one good deed in the whole course on't,
Lest that shou'd save my Soul in spite of Vow-breach.
--I will not die--that Peace my Sins deserve not.
I'll live and let my Tyrant Uncle see
The sad effects of Perjury, and forc'd Marriage.
--Surely the Pow'rs above envy'd my Bliss;
Marrying _Celinda_, I had been an Angel,
So truly blest, and good.    [_Weeps_.

Sir _Tim_. Why, how now, _Frank_--by Fortune, the Rogue is Maudlin--So,
ho, ho, so ho.

_Bel_. The matter?

Sir _Tim_. Oh, art awake--What a Devil ail'st thou, _Frank_?

_Bel_. A Wench, or any thing--come, let's drink a round.

_Sham_. They're come as wisht for.

    _Enter_ Flauntit, Driver, Doll _and_ Jenny _mask'd_.

_Bel_. Oh, damn 'em! What shall I do?
Yet it would look like Virtue to avoid 'em.
No, I must venture on--Ladies, y'are welcome.

Sir _Tim_. How, the Women?--Hold, hold, _Bellmour_, let me choose too--
Come, come, unmask, and shew your pretty Faces.

_Flaunt_. How, Sir _Timothy_! What Devil ow'd me a spite.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Come, unmask, I say: a willing Wench would have shew'd all
in half this time.

_Flaunt_. Wou'd she so, Impudence!
                            [_Pulls off her Mask_.

Sir _Tim_. How, my _Betty_!

_Flaunt_. This is the Trade you drive, you eternal Fop, when I sit at
home expecting you Night after Night.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, dear Betty!

_Flaunt_. 'Tis here you spend that which shou'd buy me Points and
Petticoats, whilst I go like no body's Mistress; I'd as live be your
Wife at this rate, so I had: and I'm in no small danger of getting the
foul Disease by your Leudness.

Sir _Tim_. Victorious _Betty_, be merciful, and do not ruin my Reputation
amongst my Friends.

_Flaunt_. Your Whores you mean, you Sot you.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, triumphant _Betty_, hear thy poor _Timmy_.

_Flaunt_. My poor _Ninny_, I'm us'd barbarously, and won't endure it.

Sir _Tim_. I've won Money to Night, _Betty_, to buy thee Clothes--hum
--hum--Well said, _Frank_, towse the little Jilts, they came for that
purpose.

_Flaunt_. The Devil confound him, what a Prize have I lost by his being
here--my Comfort is, he has not found me out though, but thinks I came
to look for him, and accordingly I must dissemble.

_Bel_. What's here? A Lady all in Tears!

Sir _Tim_. An old Acquaintance of mine, that takes it unkindly that I
am for Change--_Betty_, say so too, you know I can settle nothing till
I'm marry'd; and he can do it swingingly, if we can but draw him in.

_Flaunt_. This mollifies something, do this, and you'll make your Peace;
if not, you Rascal, your Ears shall pay for this Night's Transgression.

Sir _Tim_. Come hither, _Frank_, is not this a fine Creature?

_Bel_. By Heaven, a very Devil!

Sir _Tim_. Come, come, approach her; for if you'll have a Miss, this has
all the good Qualities of one--go, go Court her, thou art so bashful--

_Bel_. I cannot frame my Tongue to so much Blasphemy, as 'tis to say kind
things to her--I'll try my Heart though--Fair Lady--Damn her, she is not
fair--nor sweet--nor good--nor--something I must say for a beginning.
Come, Lady--dry your Eyes:
This Man deserves not all the Tears you shed.
--So--at last the Devil has got the better of me,
And I am enter'd.

_Flaunt_. You see, Sir, how miserable we Women are that love you Men.

_Bel_. How, did you love him? Love him against his Will?

_Flaunt_. So it seems, Sir.

_Bel_. Oh, thou art wretched then indeed; no wonder if he hate thee--
Does he not curse thee?
Curse thee till thou art damn'd, as I do lost _Diana_.    [_Aside_.

_Flaunt_. Curse me! He were not best in my hearing;
Let him do what he will behind my Back.
What ails the Gentleman?

_Bel_. Gods! what an odious thing mere Coupling is!
A thing which every sensual Animal
Can do as well as we--but prithee tell me,
Is there nought else between the nobler Creatures?

_Flaunt_. Not that I know of, Sir--
Lord, he's very silly, or very innocent, I hope he has his Maidenhead;
if so, and rich too. Oh, what a booty were this for me!    [_Aside_.

_Bel_. 'Tis wondrous strange;
Why was not I created like the rest,
Wild, and insensible, to fancy all?

_Flaunt_. Come, Sir, you must learn to be gay, to sing, to dance, and
talk of any thing, and fancy any thing that's in your way too.

_Bel_. Oh, I can towse, and ruffle, like any Leviathan, when I begin--
Come, prove my Vigor.    [_Towses her_.

_Flaunt_. Oh, Lord, Sir! You tumble all my Garniture.

_Bel_. There's Gold to buy thee more--

_Flaunt_. Oh, sweet Sir--wou'd my Knight were hang'd, so I were well
rid of him now--Well, Sir, I swear you are the most agreeable Person--

_Bel_. Am I?--let us be more familiar then--I'll kiss thy Hand, thy
Breast, thy Lips--and--

_Flaunt_. All--you please, Sir--

_Bel_. A tractable Sinner!    [_Offers to kiss her_.
Faugh--how she smells--had I approach'd so near divine _Celinda_, what
A natural Fragrancy had sent it self through all my ravisht Senses!
                                                              [_Aside_.

_Flaunt_. The Man's extasy'd, sure, I shall take him.
Come, Sir, you're sad.

_Bel_. As Angels fall'n from the Divine Abode,
And now am lighted on a very Hell!
--But this is not the way to thrive in Wickedness;
I must rush on to Ruin--Come, fair Mistress,
Will you not shew me some of your Arts of Love?
For I am very apt to learn of Beauty--Gods--
What is't I negotiate for?--a Woman!
Making a Bargain to possess a Woman!
Oh, never, never!

_Flaunt_. The Man is in love, that's certain--as I was saying, Sir--

_Bel_. Be gone, Repentance! Thou needless Goodness,
Which if I follow, canst lead me to no Joys.
Come, tell me the Price of all your Pleasures.

Sir _Tim_. Look you, Mistress, I am but a Country Knight.
Yet I shou'd be glad of your farther Acquaintance.
--Pray, who may that Lady be--

_Driv_. Who, Mrs. Flauntit, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, she: she's tearing fine, by Fortune.

_Driv_. I'll assure you, Sir, she's kept, and is a great Rarity,
but to a Friend, or so--

Sir _Tim_. Hum--kept--pray, by whom?

_Driv_. Why, a silly Knight, Sir, that--

Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, silly indeed--a Pox upon her--a silly Knight,
you say--

_Driv_. Ay, Sir, one she makes a very Ass of.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, so methinks--but she's kind, and will do reason for
all him.

_Driv_. To a Friend, a Man of Quality--or so.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, she blinds the Knight.

_Driv_. Alas, Sir, easily--he, poor Cully, thinks her a very Saint--but
when he's out of the way, she comes to me to pleasure a Friend.

Sir _Tim_. But what if the Fool miss her?

_Driv_. She cries Whore first, brings him upon his Knees for her Fault;
and a piece of Plate, or a new Petticoat, makes his Peace again.

Sir _Tim. Why--look you, Mistress, I am that Fop, that very silly Knight,
and the rest that you speak of.

_Driv_. How, Sir? then I'm undone, she's the Upholder of my Calling, the
very Grace of my Function.

Sir _Tim_. Is she so? e'en keep her to your self then, I'll have no more
of her, by Fortune--I humbly thank you for your Intelligence, and the
rest. Well--I see there's not one honest Whore i'th' Nation, by Fortune.

          _Enter_ Charles Bellmour, _and_ Trusty.

Hark ye, Mistress, what was your Bus'ness here?

_Flaunt_. To meet a Rogue!--

Sir _Tim_. And I to meet a Whore, and now we are well met.

_Flaunt_. How, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Nay, never be surpriz'd, for your Intrigues are discover'd,
 the good Matron of the House (against her Will) has done me that
kindness--you know how to live without your Keeper, and so I'll
leave you.

_Flaunt_. You're too serviceable a Fool to be lost so.    [_Aside_.

_Bel_. Who knows this bold Intruder?

_Char_. How, Sir, am I a Stranger to you? But I shou'd wonder at it,
since all your last Night's Actions betray'd a strange depravity of
Sense.--Sir, I have sought you long, and wish I had not found you yet,
since both the Place and Company declare, how grossly you've dissembled
Virtue all this while.

_Bel_. Take hence that prating Boy.

_Char_. How, Sir--You are my elder Brother, yet I may be allow'd to do
the Business that I came for, and from my Uncle to demand your Wife.

_Bel_. You may return, and tell him that she's dead.

_Char_. Dead! sure, Sir, you rave.
                           [_Turns him about_.

_Bel_. Indeed I do--but yet she's dead, they say.

_Char_. How came she dead?

_Bel_. I kill'd her--ask no more, but leave me.
                                   [_Turns him about again_.

_Char_. Sir, this is Madman's Language, and not to be believed.

_Bel_. Go to--y'are a saucy Boy.

_Char_. Sir, I'm an angry Boy--
But yet can bear much from a Brother's Mouth;
Y'ave lost your sleep: pray, Sir, go home and seek it.

_Bel_. Home! I have no Home, unless thou mean'st my Grave,
And thither I cou'd wish thou wou'd conduct me.    [_Weeps_.

_Flaunt_. Pray Heaven this young virtuous Fellow don't spoil all.
--Sir, shall I send for a Scrivener to draw the Settlement you
promis'd me?

_Bel_. Do so, and I'll order him to get it ready.

_Char_. A Settlement! On whom? This Woman, Sir?

_Bel_. Yes, on this Woman, Sir.

_Char_. Are you stark mad?--Know you where you are?

_Bel_. Yes, in a Baudy-house.

_Char_. And this Woman, Sir.--

_Bel_. A very Whore--a tawdry mercenary Whore!
And what of this?

_Char_. And can you love her, Sir?

_Bel_. No, if I did, I wou'd not gratify her.

_Char_. What, is't in Charity to keep her honest?

_Bel_. Neither.

_Char_. Is your Lust grown so high--

_Bel_. Take that--    [_Strikes him_.
For naming but so base a thing to me.

_Char_. I wear a Sword, but not to draw on Mad-men. But since y'are so
free, Sir, I demand that Fortune, which by my Father's Will y'are bound
to pay the day after your Wedding-Day; my Sister's too is due.

_Bel_. Ha, ha, ha,--Sir _Timothy_, come hither--who dost think this is?

Sir _Tim_. A Fidler, perhaps--let him play in the next Room.

_Bel_. No, my Brother--come to demand his Portion of me; he says I am in
leud Company, and, like a Boy, he wou'd correct me.

Sir _Tim_. Why, this comes of Idleness; thou should'st have bound him
Prentice in time, the Boy would have made a good saucy Taylor.

_Char_. Sirrah, y'are a Rascal, whom I must thus chastise.
                                                   [_Kicks him_.

    [_They all draw, and_ Bellmour _stands foremost, and fights
    with_ Charles; _the Women run squeaking out, Sir_ Tim.
    Sham, _and_ Sharp _sneak behind_; Trusty _interposes_.

_Trust_. Hold, hold, I beseech you, my dear Masters! Oh, what a fight
is this? Two Brothers fighting with each other! Oh, were my old Master
alive, this wou'd break his Heart: Oh, Sir, you've kill'd your Brother!

_Bel_. Why, then his Portion's paid.
                           [Charles _wounded_.

Sir _Tim_. How, kill'd! Nay, 'tis time we departed then, and shifted
for ourselves.

                  [_Ex. Sir_ Tim. Sham _and_ Sharp.

_Trust_. Oh, Sir, shall I send for a Chyrurgion?

_Char_. No, for a Coach rather, I am not wounded much.

                                             [_Ex_. Trusty.

_Bel_. How dar'st thou trust thy self alone with me?

_Char_. Why should I fear thee?

_Bel_. Because I'm mad,
Mad as a Tygress rob'd of her dear Young.

_Char_. What is't that makes you so?

_Bel_. My Uncle's Politicks, Hell take him for't,
Has ruin'd me, thou and my Sister too,
By marrying me to a fair hated Maid,
When I had plighted all my Faith before.

    _Enter_ Trusty.

_Trust_. Sir, here's a Coach.

_Char_. Come, Brother, will you go home with me?

_Bel_. Home!--no, never to that place thou call'st so.
If, when I'm dead, thou wouldst behold thy Brother,
And take the last Adieu from his cold Lips,
(If those so perjur'd can deserve that kindness)
Inquire for lost _Celinda_, at whose Feet
Thou shalt behold me fall'n a Sacrifice.
Till then, I'll let mistaken Parents know
The mischiefs that ensue a broken Vow.

                              [_Ex. severally_.




ACT V.

SCENE I. _Covent Garden_.


    _Enter_ Betty Flauntit _alone_.

_Flaunt_. Sure I rose the wrong way to day, I have had such damn'd ill
luck every way: First, to be sent for to such a Man as this _Bellmour_,
and, as the Devil wou'd have it, to find my Knight there; then to be
just upon the Point of making my Fortune, and to be interrupted by that
virtuous Brother of his; then to have a Quarrel happen, that (before I
could whisper him in the Ear, to say so much as, Meet me here again--
anon) forc'd me to quit the House, lest the Constable had done it for
me; then that that silly Baud should discover all to my Cully. If this
be not ill Luck, the Devil's in't--But _Driver_ must bring matters
about, that I may see this liberal Squire again--But here comes my
Noddy, I must pretend to be angry.

    _Enter Sir_ Timothy.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, how ye look now, as if you had committed no
Misdemeanour: Alas, good Innocent, what canst thou say for thy self,
thou Renegado thou, for being false to my Bosom, say?

_Flaunt_. False to your Bosom! You silly impudent Sot you--who dares
accuse me?

Sir _Tim_. E'en your trusty and well-beloved Friend, Mrs. _Driver_
the Baud.

_Flaunt_. She! She's an impudent confounded Lyar--and because she wou'd
have your worshipful Custom--scandaliz'd me, to breed a difference
between us.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, if you could make me believe that indeed, when she knew
Me not, nor ever saw me all the Days of her Life before.

_Flaunt_. I know that, Simpleton; but when I went to enquire for you by
your Name, and told her my Bus'ness, our Amours are not kept so secret,
nor was she so dull, as not to understand how matters went between us.

Sir _Tim_. Now though I know this to be a damn'd Lye, yet the Devil has
assisted her to make it look so like Truth, that I cannot in Honour but
forgive her.

_Flaunt_. Forgive me!--Who shall forgive you your debauch'd Whoring and
Drinking?--marry, ye had need so, you are such a Ruffler, at least if
y'are every where as you are at home with me--No, Sirrah, I'll never bed
with you more; here I live sneaking without a Coach, or any thing to
appear withal; when even those that were scandalous two Ages ago, can be
seen in _Hide-Park_ in their fine Chariots, as if they had purchas'd it
with a Maidenhead; whilst I, who keep myself intirely for you, can get
nothing but the Fragments of your Debauches--I'll be damn'd before I'll
endure it.

Sir _Tim_. Just as the Baud said; yet I am mollify'd--nay, dear _Betty_,
forgive me, and I'll be very good for the future.

_Flaunt_. Will you swear to be so?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, by Fortune, I will.

_Flaunt_. Come, what will you give me then to be Friends? for you won
Money last Night.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, that's it that appeases her highest Storms--here, my
Jewel, here's a hundred Guineas to buy thee fine things.

_Flaunt_. Yes, great store of fine things indeed, with this pitiful Sum;
let me feel in your Pockets, and see if you have no more.
                                         [_She feels in his Pockets_.

Sir _Tim_. So, 'twas well I laid by the rest, my Peace had not been
Made under every Rag on't else; and what I was painfully cheating for
All this Night, would have been laid out at the Mercers and Lacemans
in half an Hour.
--Well, are you satisfy'd I have no more?

_Flaunt_. Have you sunk none indeed and indeed, my _Timmy?_

Sir _Tim_. No, I need not, you sink mine fast enough, I thank ye.
                                                           [_Aside_.

_Flaunt_. Well, get your self ready to go abroad with me.

                                                  [_Exit_ Flaunt.

Sir _Tim_. I have other Matters in hand--now have I four hundred
Guineas in Bank, which I won last Night of _Bellmour_, which I'll make
use of to debauch his Sister, with whom I'm damnably in love, and long
for the return of my two Setting-dogs, to bring me News of the Game.

    _Enter_ Sham _and_ Sharp.

Oh, are you come?

_Sham_. Ay, Sir, with News worth the hearing; I have been diligent,
Sir, and got my self acquainted with the old Steward of the Family, an
avaricious _Judas_, that will betray for Gold.

Sir _Tim_. And that we'll furnish him with--his Master's Gold, like all
other mortal things, must return from whence it came.

_Sharp_. Not all, Sir; for _Sham_ and I have dispos'd of part.

Sir _Tim_. Indeed you are a little shabby.

_Sham_. Ay, Sir, Fools were made to repair the Breaches of us that have
Wit enough to manage 'em.

Sir _Tim_. What--the Goldsmith paid the Money at sight, without
demanding why?

_Sharp_. Readily, Sir--he's a brave Fellow, and must not be lost so.

_Sham_. By no means, we must make use of him whilst he is hot; for I
doubt the Humour is not natural, and I fear he may cool.

Sir _Tim_. But to our Business.

_Sharp_. Ay, Sir, this same Sister of his you must have;
if it be but to put this insolent Whore _Flauntit_ out of favour, who
manages this Fop intirely.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, but art thou sure there is no danger in this Enterprize?
Shall I not have my Throat cut? and the rest.

_Sham_. We have none of that _Italian_ Humour now-a-days, I can assure
ye; they will sooner, with a brotherly kindness, assist the yielding
Sister to the willing Gallant.

Sir _Tim_. A good thriving Inclination, by Fortune.

_Sham_. And, Sir, you have all Encouragement; her Brother, you heard,
refus'd to pay her Portion, and you know the Fate of a handsom young
Wench in this Town, that relies on weak Virtue--Then because she is in
The House with her Uncle, this same Steward has contriv'd matters so,
to bring you in at the Back-door, her Lodgings being in the Garden.

Sir _Tim_. This is something--Oh, I'm impatient to be with her--Well, I
must in, and make some Lye to _Betty_ for my Absence, and be with you
presently.
              [_Exit Sir_ Tim.

_Sharp_. What Design hast thou in hand? for I suppose there is no such
real thing as debauching of this Lady.

_Sham_. Look ye, _Sharp_, take to thee an implicit Faith, and believe
Impossibilities; for thou and I must cozen this Knight.

_Sharp_. What, our Patron?

_Sham_. Ay, _Sharp_, we are bound to labour in our Callings, but mum--
here he comes.

    _Enter Sir_ Timothy.

Sir _Tim_. Come, let's away, my Lyoness begins to roar.--You, _Sharp_,
go seek after _Bellmour_, watch his Motions, and give us notice.

                                                           [_Exeunt_.

_Flaunt_. He is gone, and I believe [Betty Flauntit _peeping out_.] for
no Goodness; I'll after him, and watch him.

                                  [_Exit cross the Stage_.



SCENE II. _Lord_ Plotwell's _House_.


    _Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Charles, Trusty, _and two Servants_.

_Lord_. In a Baudy-house, with Whores, Hectors, and Dice! Oh, that I
should be so deceiv'd in Mankind, he whom I thought all Virtue and
Sobriety! But go some of you immediately, and take Officers along with
you, and remove his Quarters from a Baudy-house to a Prison: charge him
with the Murder of his Wife.

_Char_. My Lord, when I demanded her, he said indeed that she was dead,
and kill'd by him; but this I guess was the Effects of Madness, which
Debauchery, and want of Sleep has brought him to.

_Lord_. That shall be try'd; go to the Place where _Charles_ has
directed you, and do as I command you.

                               [_Ex. Servants_.

--Oh, sweet _Diana_, in whom I had plac'd my absolute Delight,
And gave thee to this Villain, because I wish'd thee happy.
And are my Expectations fall'n to this?
Upon his Wedding Night to abandon thee,
And shew his long dissembled natural Leudness!

_Char_. My Lord, I hope, 'tis not his natural Temper;
For e'er we parted, from a brutal Rudeness,
He grew to all the Softness Grief could dictate.
He talkt of breach of Vows, of Death, and Ruin,
And dying at the Feet of a wrong'd Maid;
I know not what he meant.

_Lord_. Ay, there's his Grief; there is some jilting Hussy has drawn
him in; but I'll revenge my self on both.

    _Enter_ Page.

_Page_. A Letter for your Lordship.

Lord _reads_.

  My LORD,

  _As your Goodness has been ever great towards me, so I
  humbly beseech you to continue it; and the greatest Proofs you
  can give me of it, is to use all your Interest to undo that tye
  between_ Bellmour _and my self, which with such Joy you
  knit. I will say no more, but as you love my Life, and my
  dearer Honour, get a Divorce, or you will see both ruin'd in
                                             Your_ Diana.

            [_Gives_ Charles _the Letter_.

_Lord_. A Divorce! yes, if all my Interest or Estate can purchase it--
some Joy yet that thou art well.

_Char_. Doubtless her Reasons must be great for this Request.

_Lord_. Yes, for she lov'd him passionately; when I first told her of
my Designs to marry 'em together, she could not hide her Joy; which was
one Motive, I urg'd it to him with such Violence.

_Char_. Persons so near of Kin do seldom prosper in the Marriage-Bed.

_Lord_. However 'tis, I now think fit to unmarry 'em;
And as for him, I'll use him with what Rigor
The utmost Limits of the Law allows me.

_Char_. Sir, I beseech you--

_Lord_. You beseech me! You, the Brother of the
Villain! that has abus'd the best of all my Hopes!--No,
I think--I shall grow (for his sake) to hate all that belong to him.

_Char_. Sir, how, have I offended?

_Lord_. Yes, Sir, you have offended me, and Nature has offended me;
you are his Brother, and that's an Offence to me.

_Char_. Is that a Fault, my Lord?

_Lord_. Yes, Sir, a great one, and I'll have it so; and let me tell you,
you nor your Sister (for that reason) must expect no more Friendship at
my Hands, than from those that are absolute Strangers to you: Your
Brother has refus'd you your Portions, and I'll have as little Mercy
As he, and so farewel to you--But where's the Messenger that brought
the Letter?

_Page_. Without, my Lord.

                  [_Ex_. Lord _and_ Page.

_Trust_. Here's like to be a hopeful end of a noble Family. My Comfort
is, I shall die with Grief, and not see the last of ye.    [_Weeps_.

_Char_. No, _Trusty_, I have not been so meanly educated, but I know how
to live, and like a Gentleman: All that afflicts me in this Misfortune,
is my dear Sister _Phillis_, she's young; and to be left poor in this
loose Town, will ruin her for ever.

_Trust_. Sir, I think we were best to marry her out of the way.

_Char_. Marry her! To whom? who is't regards poor Virtue?

_Trust_. For that let me alone; and if you dare trust her to my
Management, I'll undertake to marry her to a Man of 2000 pounds a Year;
and if it fail, I'll be sure to keep her Honour safe.

_Char_. Prithee how wilt do this?

_Trust_. Sir, I have serv'd your Family these thirty Years, with Faith
and Love; and if I lose my Credit now, I'll never pretend to't more.

_Char_. Do what thou wilt, for I am sure thou'rt honest,
And I'll resign my Sister to thy Conduct,
Whilst I endeavour the Conversion of my Brother.
                                          [_Exit_ Charles.

    _Enter_ Phillis.

_Phil_. No News yet of my Brother?

_Trust_. None: The Next you'll hear is, that he's undone, and that you
must go without your Portions; and worse than that, I can tell you, your
Uncle designs to turn you out of Doors.

_Phil_. Alas! what shou'd I do, if he shou'd be so cruel? Wou'd I were
in _Flanders_ at my Monastery again, if this be true.

_Trust_. I have better Bus'ness for you, than telling of Beads--No,
Mrs. _Phillis_, you must be married.

_Phil_. Alas! I am too young, and sad for Love.

_Trust_. The younger, and the less Love, the better.

    _Enter_ Page.

_Page_. Mr. _Trusty_, here's a Gentleman would speak with you, he says
his Name's Mr. _Sham_.

_Trust_. Gud's me, Mistress, put on all your Holiday Looks; for this is
the little Merchant of Love by Retail, that brings you the Husband I
promis'd you.

    _Enter_ Sham.

_Sham_. Well, Mr. _Trusty_, I have brought Sir _Timothy_ as I promis'd,
he is at the Garden-door.

_Trust_. The best time in the World, my Lord's out of the way.

_Sham_. But you know our Conditions.

_Trust_. Yes, that if he marry her, you are to have all the Money that
he offers to debauch her.

_Sham_. Right.

_Trust_. Bring him in then, and I'll civilly withdraw.
                                               [_Exit_ Trusty.

    _Enter_ Sham, _bringing in Sir_ Timothy.

Sir _Tim_. Well, _Sham_, thou hast prepar'd all things, and there needs
no Ceremony.

_Sham_. None, none, Sir; you may fall down-right to the Business.
                                                             [_Exit_.

    _Enter_ Phillis.

Sir _Tim_. _sings_.

  _Come, my_ Phillis, _let us improve
  Both our Joys of equal Love;
  Whilst we in yonder shady Grove,
  Count Minutes by our Kisses_.

_Phil_. What sort of Courtship's this? 'tis very odd!

Sir _Tim_. Pox on formal Fops; we have high-born and generous Souls,
and scorn the common Road--Come, let's enjoy, whilst Youth and Beauty
lasts.

_Phil_. What means this Rudeness? I'll tell my Brother.

Sir _Tim_. Your Brother! by Fortune, he's so leud, that should I he so
unconscionable to leave thee a Virgin but this Night, he wou'd ravish
thee himself, and that at cheaper Rates than I design to do it.

_Phil_. How dare you talk to me at this rate?

Sir _Tim_. Talk to thee--by Fortune, I'll play the _Tarquin_ with thee,
if thou yieldest not quickly--for thou hast set me all on fire.

_Phil_. Defend me, Heaven, from such a Man.

Sir _Tim_. Then it must defend you from all the Sex; for all Mankind are
like me, nay, and all Womankind are, or wou'd be, what I must make thee.

_Phil_. What's that, a Wench?

Sir _Tim_. Fie, fie, that's a gross Name; no, a Miss, that's the Word--
a Lady of Delight, a Person of Pleasure and the rest; I'll keep thee,
not a Woman of Quality shall be half so fine--Come, dear _Phillis_,
yield. Oh, I am mad for the happy hour--come, say the word, 'tis but
inclining thy Head a little thus, thy pretty Eyes down, and thy Cheeks
all Blushes, and fetching a long Sigh--thus--with--do--what you please
--at the end on't--and I shall take it for granted.

_Phil_. That, Sir, you'll never hear me say to any thing but a Husband,
if I must say it then.

Sir _Tim_. A Husband! it is enough to spoil a Man's Appetite, the very
naming on't--By Fortune, thou hast been bred with thy great Grand-mother,
some old Queen _Elizabeth_ Lady, that us'd to preach Warnings to young
Maidens; but had she liv'd in this Age, she wou'd have repented her
Error, especially had she seen the Sum that I offer thee--Come, let's in,
by Fortune, I'm so vigorous, I shall ravish else.

_Phil_. Unhand me, or I'll call out. I assure you, this is not the way
to gain me.

Sir _Tim_. I know there is a way to gain all mortal Womankind; but how
to hit the critical Minute of the Berjere--

_Phil_. It is past your Politicks at this time, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. I'll try all ways, and the Devil's in it, if I don't hit
upon the right at last.    [_Aside_.
All the soft things I've said--

_Phil_. That a Knight of your Parts ought to say.

Sir _Tim_. Then I have kneel'd--and cry'd, and swore--and--

_Phil_. And damn'd your self five hundred times.

Sir _Tim_. Yet still y'are impregnable--I'll make another Proposition to
you, which is both reasonable and modish--if it prove a Boy--I'll marry
you--the Devil's in't, if that be not fair.

_Phil_. You get no earnest of me, Sir, and so farewel to you.
                                                       [_Ex_. Phillis.

    _Enter_ Sham.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, _Sham_, I am all over fire, mad to enjoy. I have done
what Man can do (without doing what I wou'd do) and still she's Flint;
nothing will down with her but Matrimony--what shall I do? for thou
know'st I cannot marry a Wife without a Fortune.

_Sham_. Sir, you know the old Cheat; hire a Lay Rascal in a Canonical
Habit, and put a false Marriage upon her.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, that this shou'd not enter into my Coxcomb before!
haste then and get one--I'll have it done immediately, whilst I go after
her to keep up my flame.
                    [_Ex. Sir_ Tim.

_Sham_. And I will fit you with a Parson presently.

                                                [_Ex_.



SCENE III. _A Street_.


    _Enter_ Friendlove _disguis'd as before_.

_Friend_. I find _Diana_ knows me not; and this Year's absence, since I
first made my Addresses to her, has alter'd me much, or she has lost
the remembrance of a Man, whom she ever disesteem'd till in this lucky
Dress: the price of her Favour is _Bellmour's_ Life. I need not have
been brib'd for that, his Breach of Faith both to my Sister and my self,
enough incites me to Revenge--He has not yet enjoy'd her, that Blessing
is reserv'd for me alone; and though the Priest have joyn'd 'em, that
Marriage may be disannull'd, and she has a Fortune sufficient to excuse
her other Faults.

    _Enter_ Bellmour _sad_.

--Hah! the Man I seek--so near my Lodgings too--Sir!

_Bel_. Sir!

_Friend_. Traitor! thou know'st me, and my bus'ness.--
Look on this Face, if thou dar'st look on him
Whom thou hast doubly wrong'd--and draw thy Sword.

_Bel_. Thou should'st be _Friendlove_, Brother to _Celinda_.

_Friend_. And Lover of _Diana_ too--Oh, quickly draw,
Or I shall leave thee, like a Coward, dead.

_Bel_. No, rather like a Sacrifice,    [_Offers to embrace him_.
And thou should'st be the Priest should offer it;
But that I have yet,
For some few moments, business for my Life.

_Friend_. I can allow no time for business now,
My Injuries are in haste, and so am I.

_Bel_. Shou'dst thou stab here a thousand gaping Wounds,
Upon this false, this perjur'd Heart of mine,
It wou'd not part with Life, unless 'twere laid
Near to the Sacred Altar of my Vows,
Low at the Feet of my fair injur'd Wife.

_Friend_. Ha!--means he his Wife?    [_Aside_.
Canst thou repent thy Injuries to her,
And leave the rest of all thy Sins neglected?

_Bel_. Those I have done to thee, though foul and barbarous,
May plead the Excuse of Force--but those to her,
Not thou, nor I, nor she, or Heav'n can pardon.

_Friend_. Heav'ns!
My Sister's Wrongs, and mine, may plead Excuse,
But those to her alone can ne'er be pardon'd.
--This place, Sir, is too open--come with me,
For I've desir'd, and now resolve to kill thee.

_Bel_. And so thou shalt; defenceless, I will yield,
And leave my Bosom open to thy Sword.
--But first conduct me to my Wife;
For I will see her--nor can I die unpardon'd.

_Friend_. See his Wife!--Of whom do you demand her.

_Bel_. Of thee!--dar'st thou detain me?    [_Offers to go in_.

_Friend_. Death! how shou'd he know she's here?    [_Aside_.
--Stay, Sir, this way our Business lies.    [_Pulls him back_.

_Bel_. I ask not thine, but mine lies only this way.
                                       [_Offers to go in again_.

_Friend_. By Heav'n, you shall not enter here.

_Bel_. I know thou lov'st her.
And 'tis with Reason thou deny'st an Entrance
To one so much unworthy to approach her.

_Friend_. Yes, I do love her, and dare own it too;
And will defend her from one so base and treacherous.

_Bel_. Who dares deny thy Reasons?

_Friend_. Sh'has made me take an Oath, to fight with thee;
And every Wound my lucky Sword shou'd make,
She bad me say, was sent thee from her Hate.

_Bel_. Oh, I believe thee: prithee tell on, young Man,
That I may die without the aid of Wounds.

_Friend_. To break thy Heart, know then, she loves another,
And has took back the Vows she made to thee,
And given 'em to a Man more worthy of 'em.

_Bel_. Alas! I credit thee--yet--then, by Heav'n, she's false!
And I will know, why 'tis she is thus perjur'd.    [_Offers to go_.
--Nay, now--nor Heaven, nor Hell, shall hinder me.
--Stand off, or to the number I'll add one Sin more,
And make my Passage to it through thy Heart.

_Friend_. And so you shall, Sir.

        [_They fight_, Bellmour disarms Friend, and runs in_.

--Disarm'd! by Heav'n, you shall not so escape
A Rage that is too just here to give o'er.



SCENE IV. _Changes to the Inside of_ Friendlove's _Lodgings_.


    _Enter_ Celinda, _as before, met by_ Nurse.

_Nur_. Oh, Madam, here's Mr. Bellmour; he has wounded my young Master,
who deny'd him Entrance, and is come into the House, and all in Rage
demands his Wife.

_Cel_. Oh Heav'n! Demands his Wife! Is that sad Curse
Added to all the rest?--Does he then love her?

    _Enter_ Bellmour _with two Swords_.

_Nur_. Whither do you press, Sir? and what's your business?

_Bel_. To see my Wife, my Wife, Impertinence;
And must I meet with nought but Opposition?
                                    [_Pushes her roughly away_.

_Cel_. Let him come in.

_Nur_. Marry, he lets himself in, I thank him.

_Cel_. What Man art thou thus cover'd o'er with Horror?

_Bel_. One sent from Hell to punish Perjury!
--Where's this perfidious Fair? this blushless Maid,
That has by my Example broke her Vows?
A Precedent that Fiends wou'd shame to follow.

_Cel_. Who is't you mean, Sir?

_Bel_. A thing that has no Name, she is so bad;
One who so lately gave her self to me,
And now is flown into another's Arms:
One that attacks my Life, for the same Sins
Which she her self commits--and thinks to live too.
--Yet still she is my Wife, whom I have injur'd:
Till when, she was a Saint--come, lead me to her,
Though she be false as I, yet I'll forgive it.
                                [_Throws by the Swords_.

_Cel_. Heav'ns! he repents his Cruelty to her,
And never mentions me! Ah then 'tis time to die.
And that I may be sure of Death--    [_Aside_.
Well, Sir, I will conduct this happy Lady to you.
                                          [_Ex_. Cel.

_Bel_. Gods! Happy!--whilst I am wretched.
--Oh, what an Ague chills my shivering Limbs,
Turns my hot Rage to softest Love, and Shame!
Were I not here to die--here at her Feet,
I wou'd not stand the Shock of her Reproaches.
--But yet she need not speak, a Look's sufficient
To call up all my Sins to my undoing--
She comes--Oh Heav'n! she comes--

    _Enter_ Celinda _and_ Diana.

--Like penitent Criminals thus--with my Eyes declin'd,
I bow my Head down, for the last sad Blow.
                                   [_Stands bow'd_.

_Cel_. Sir, in Obedience to your Commands,
I've brought the Lady.

_Dia_. How! The perfidious _Bellmour_!
The only Object of my Hate and Scorn.

_Bel_. Say on, my angry Deity--    [_Kneels_.
Whilst I thus trembling hear my fatal Doom,
Like Sinners, conscious ne'er to be forgiven,
I dare not lift my guilty Eyes towards Heaven.

_Cel_. Can I hear this, and yet retain my Life?

_Dia_. Had I but two days since beheld this Youth
Thus prostrate at my Feet, I should have thought
My self more blest,
Than to have been that Deity he calls me.

    _Enter_ Friendlove.

_Friend_. Defend me! The Traitor here! And at _Diana's_ Feet!
The fittest Altar for my Sacrifice!
--Turn, turn, from what thou lov'st, and meet my Justice.

_Cel_. Oh, hold, my dearest Brother.

                        [Bellmour _rises, and turns about_.

_Bel_. Nay, now I'm ready for the welcome Sword,
Since my _Celinda's_ false, and cannot pardon.

_Cel_. Oh, do not die with that profane Opinion.
_Celinda_ false! or cannot pardon thee!

_Dia_. Stay, generous Sir, my Pity has forgiven him.

_Bel_. Thou! Why, who art thou--_Diana_?

_Dia_. Yes, that _Diana_,
Whom, maugre all the Penitence thou shew'st,
Can scarce forgive the Injuries thou hast done her.

_Bel_. I shew a Penitence for injuring thee!
By Heav'n, I never cou'd do one, or other;
All that I am is the divine _Celinda's_.

_Friend_. He's stark mad!    [_Aside_.

_Bel_. But since she cannot pardon, I can die.
                              [_Offers to fall on his Sword_.

_Cel_. Canst thou not credit me? She pardons thee.
Live--and enjoy--_Diana_.
               [_Turns her Face from him_.

_Bel_. What art thou, who know'st her Heart so well?
Art thou my Rival? the blessed Youth, to whom
She has given her Vows?--Live, and enjoy, _Diana_!
--Yes, yes, thou art my Rival, and I'll kill thee.

_Cel_. Do, whilst I meet thy Sword.

    [_Opens her Arms_, Diana _stays him; he lets fall
    his Sword, and gazes_.

_Bel_, Dull--dull Adorer! Not to know my Saint.
Oh, how I have profan'd! To what strange Idol
Was that I kneel'd,
Mistaking it for a Divinity?

_Cel_. To your fair Wife _Diana_.

_Bel_. Oh cruel Maid!
Has Heav'n design'd me any but _Celinda_?

_Dia_. Maid! Bless me!--did I then love a Woman?
--I am pleas'd thou should'st renounce me; make it good,
And set me free from Fetters which I hate.

_Bel_. If all our Laws can do't, I will--for here
Ends all my Claim.    [_To_ Celinda.

_Friend_. Was this the Wife you did demand of me?

_Bel_. Yes, I had no other.

_Dia_. Fair Maid! forgive me all my shameful Passion,
And charge my Fault upon your Beauty only.

_Cel_. Excellent Creature! I shou'd sue for that,
Which my Deceit will never make me hope.

_Bel_. And art thou true to Love, and all thy Vows?
Whilst I to save my Fortune,
(That only which you'd make me merit thee)
Gave my unwilling Hand to this fair noble Maid.
--Ah, _Friendlove_, when thou hear'st my Story told,
Thou wilt forgive, and pity me.

_Dia_. What was't you said, Sir? _Friendlove_!

_Friend_. Yes, Madam, I hope the Name can make no difference;
Or hate that still, so you but love the Man.

_Dia_. Though I'm again defeated, yet this last
Proves least offensive; nor shall an empty Word
Alter my fix'd Resolves, to love you still.

_Friend_. Then I am blest!

_Bel_. But yet the Office of the Priest has past:
What Remedy for that?

_Dia_. My Uncle's Pow'r, the Nearness of our Blood,
The Contradiction of our Circumstances.

_Bel_. And above all that, my Contract with _Celinda_.
--Methinks I feel a Joy spread o'er my Heart,
The blessed Omen of approaching Happiness.

_Cel_. I do believe thee; for by Sympathy,
Mine takes new Fire and Hope.

_Dia_. I have already writ to my Uncle, and the Messenger assur'd me,
he would gratify my Desires; that done, I will be yours.
                                                [_To_ Friendlove.

_Bel_. But why thus drest? it might have led my Rage,
Full of Despair and Jealousy to have hurt thee.

_Cel_. Sir, when the Letter came of your being married,
I will not tell you all the Effects it had
Upon my desperate Soul;
But this I know, I had resolv'd to die,
But first to see you. Your Page inform'd the Nurse
All that had past, and of the last Night's Ball;
And much concern'd, she got this Habit for me,
And inform'd me how 'twas I was to act,
And that my Brother (describing of his Dress) was gone before.
This made me haste, lest e'er I came
His Rage had done the Business which it went for.

_Friend_. And so it had, hadst thou not hinder'd me;
For I, Sir, was the Man who drew on you.

_Bel_. And was it thou that didst defend my Heart,
That I might live to pay thy Goodness back?

_Cel_. It was to save your Life, and to expose my own.

_Dia_. Come, let's in, and consult what's best for us to do.

_Bel_. Come, my _Celinda_.
Let us no longer doubt, the Pow'rs above
Will be propitious to united Love.

                               [_Ex_. Cel.

    _Enter_ Servant.

_Serv_. Sir, my Lord Plotwell is at the Door in his Coach.

_Dia_. My Uncle come! Sir, we will not doubt our Fortune.
But how came he to know of my being here?

_Serv_. Madam, I fear he follow'd me after I had given him the Letter.

    _Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Charles, Trusty.

_Lord_. _Bellmour_ and _Diana_ kneeling!
                                 [Bel. _and_ Diana _kneel_.
--Rise; the Joy I have to see you thus, makes me
Resolve to grant you any thing, and pardon
All that's past.

_Bel_. Be not so hasty in your Goodness, Sir,
Lest you repent as fast.

_Dia_. Sir, we have an humble Suit to you.

_Lord_. What is it ye can jointly ask, I will not grant?

_Dia_. By all that Love you ever had for me,
By all those Infant Charms which us'd to please you,
When on your Lap you taught my Tongue that Art
Which made those dear Impressions on your Heart,
Which ever since to my Advantage grew,
I do conjure you hear me now I sue,
And grant the mighty Grace I beg of you.

_Lord_. What is it you wou'd ask?

_Bel_. Oh, dress your Face and Eyes in gentler Looks,
If you wou'd have us hope for any Mercy.

_Lord_. Rise, and whate'er you ask, I'll freely grant.

_Dia_. That you'll undo that Knot, that ties us two.

_Lord_. How! this Request from thee! who lov'd him once,
And wish'd no good beyond possessing him.

_Dia_. Heav'n has not, Sir, decreed us for each other:
Something of Fate or Chance
Has otherwise dispos'd those first Resolves.

_Lord_. Too virtuous Maid, I know thou dost but feign,
His Wickedness has forc'd thee to this change.

_Dia_. No, Sir, were he the only Man
Of kind and good, I never wou'd be his.
--And if you shou'd compel me, I shou'd live
The infamous Reproach of my whole Sex.

_Lord_. Well, and you, Sir, that are the cause of this,
What canst thou say to move me for thy Pardon?

_Bel_. I am so guilty in your Opinion,
My Prayers wou'd but make you merciless;
I only say _Celinda_ is my Wife,
And I shou'd injure this too generous Maid,
Not to adore her equal to her Merit.

_Lord_. I see, Sir, you have found your Wits again.
--Well, I see there's no opposing Destiny;
And I have still such tenderness for thee,    [_To_ Dia.
That hadst thou pleaded his Cause to me before,
I shou'd have been less cruel to him.
--Where is that Lady which you so admire,
Whose Beauty does eclipse that of _Diana_?

               [Bellmour _goes out, and brings in_ Celinda.

_Dia_. This, Sir, is she who merits more than I.

_Lord_. She's fair indeed; here, _Frank_,
I give thee thy _Celinda_, whose Beauty
Excuses all thy Faults of Disobedience.

_Bel_. Thus low, I thank you for this Goodness, Sir.    [_Kneels_.

_Lord_. There only wants the Ceremony of the Law to undo what's between
you and _Diana_, if she remain a Virgin.

_Bel_. For me, by Heav'n she is;
And for the rest, I do not doubt her Virtue.

_Dia_. You may believe him, Sir; and this alone's the Man, in whom I
will, or never will be happy.

_Lord_. Mr. _Friendlove_! I give Consent to't, he has a noble Character;
and what he wants in Fortune, has in Virtue--take her, young Man.

_Friend_. 'Tis such an Honour, Sir, that my Gratitude, without the
mighty Passion I have for her, would make me ever thankful.

_Lord_. This Term, we shall make the former Marriage void; till then
love on, and fear no Frowns from Fortune--but Nephew--now I hope your
Brother shall have his Portion.

_Bel_. My dearest _Charles_, forgive me all that's past,
And share the Fortune Heaven has given thy Brother.

_Char_. The Joy I have, Sir, to be undeceived,
Is much the greatest Blessing Heav'n can send me.

    _Enter Sir_ Timothy, _follow'd by_ Phillis, Sham,
    Sharp, _and_ Betty Flauntit.

Sir _Tim_. I am pursu'd by two impertinent Women; prithee, _Friendlove_,
tell 'em I am gone out at the Backdoor, and send 'em away.

_Lord_. What's the News here?

Sir _Tim_. How, _Celinda_ here, and _Bellmour_ too! Nay, now wou'd I
compound for my Life, at any rate, by Fortune.

_Phil_. Sir, this Villain here has abus'd me, and with a false Marriage
has rob'd me of my Honour.

_Bel_. How!

Sir _Tim_. My Lord, I say this young Jilt would have rob'd me of my self;
and courting her, and enjoying her only for a Miss, would persuade me I
am married to her.

_Flaunt_. Sir, I say, I am doubly wrong'd; first by this false Knight,
who has belong'd to me this three Years, which gives me a right to him,
as good as if I were married to him; who has now unlawfully left my Bed,
for that of this Gilflurt, who, on the other side, takes away my Knight,
and consequently eats the Bread out of my Mouth.

_Bel_. What means all this?
Speak some of ye that know.

_Flaunt_. Oh Lord! Who's here? The fine Squire?    [_Aside_.

_Trust_. Sir _Timothy Tawdry_, Sir, is married to Mrs. _Phillis_.

Sir _Tim_. How can that be a Marriage, when he who join'd us, was but
a hired Fellow, dress'd like a Parson?

_Trust_. Sir, 'twas Parson _Tickletext_ that marry'd 'em.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, what a damn'd lying Pimp is this!--_Sham_, didst thou
not hire a Fellow, (because I was damnably in Love, and in haste) to
marry us, that was no Parson?

_Sham_. Why, truly, Sir--I did go to hire such a one--

Sir _Tim_. Look ye there now.

_Sham_. But you'd meet with none; and because you said you shou'd die
if you enjoy'd her not presently, and that she would not yield on any
other Terms, but those of Marriage, I e'en brought the Parson that
_Trusty_ had provided for you.

Sir _Tim_. Oh Villain, to betray me! and for no Reward!

_Trust_. Yes, indeed, Sir, the four hundred Guineas you left behind my
young Mistress's Looking-glass fell to his share.

Sir _Tim_. What's my Money gone! and I am marry'd too! This 'tis not to
use to go to Church; for then I might have chanc'd to know the Parson.

_Bel_. Death, you Dog! you deserve to die, for your base Designs upon
a Maid of her Quality--How durst you, Sister, without my leave, marry
that Rascal?

_Phil_. Sir, you deny'd me my Portion, and my Uncle design'd to turn me
out of doors, and in my Despair I accepted of him.

_Flaunt_. Married! and to a Wife of no Fortune! that's the worst part
on't--what shall I do?

_Bel_. Renounce this leud Fool, and I'll make thee a Fortune suitable
to thy Quality.

Sir _Tim_. Say you so?--Renounce me, Sir! I'd have you to know I merit
her: And as for Leudness, I name no body, _Bellmour_--but only some have
the Art of hiding it better than I--but for Whoring, Drinking, Dicing,
and all the deadly Sins that thereupon depend, I thank my Stars, I come
short of you: And since you say, I shall not have your Sister, by
Fortune, I will have your Sister, and love your Sister, and lie with
your Sister, inspite of you.

_Lord_. Well, Sir _Timothy_, since my Niece has done amiss, 'tis too
late to mend it--and that you may not repent, I'll take care her Fortune
shall be suitable to the Jointure you'll make her.

_Bel_. With this Proviso, that you make no Settlement to Misses, Sir
_Timothy_--I am not so unreasonable to tie you up from all of that
Profession; that were to spoil a fashionable Husband, and so put you
quite out of Fop-road.

_Lord_. This Day we'll set apart for Mirth,
And all must make my House their happy home.

_Bel_. To thee, _Celinda_! all my Good I owe,
My Life, my Fortune, and my Honour too,
Since all had perish'd by a broken Vow.

_Flaunt_. What, am I like to lose my _Timmy_? Canst thou have the Heart
to leave me for ever? I who have been true and constant to you?

Sir _Tim_. Alas! now I must melt again, by Fortune--thou art a Fool,
dost think I wou'd have had her, but for her Fortune? which shall only
serve to make thee out-flaunt all the Cracks in Town--go--go home and
expect me, thou'lt have me all to thy self within this Day or two:

    Since Marriage but a larger Licence is
    For every Fop of Mode to keep a Miss.



EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_.

_Sir_ Timothy, _Gallants, at last is come
To know his Sentence, and receive his Doom,
But pray before you are resolv'd to be
Severe, look on your selves, and then on me;
Observe me well, I am a Man of Show,
Of Noise, and Nonsense, as are most of you.
Though all of you don't share with me in Title,
In Character you differ very little.
Tell me in what you find a Difference?
It may be you will say, you're Men of Sense;
But Faith--
Were one of you o'th' Stage, and I i'th' Pit,
He might be thought the Fop, and I the Wit.
On equal Grounds you'll scarce know one from t'other;
We are as like, as Brother is to Brother.
To judge against me then wou'd be Ill-Nature,
For Men are kind to those they're like in Feature.
For Judges therefore I accept you all;
By you, Sir_ Timothy _will stand or fall.
He's too faint-hearted that his Sentence fears,
Who has the Honour to be try'd by's Peers_.

Written by Mr. _E.R_.






THE FALSE COUNT.



ARGUMENT.

Don Carlos, Governor of Cadiz, who has been contracted to Julia, now
married to a rich old churl, Francisco, in order to gain her, mans a
galley, which has been captured from the Turks, with some forty or fifty
attendants disguised as ferocious Ottomans; and whilst she, her husband
and a party of friends are taking a pleasure trip in a yacht, they are
suddenly boarded and all made prisoners by the supposed corsairs, who
carry them off to a country villa a few miles from the town belonging to
Carlos' friend, Antonio, which, however, they are firmly convinc'd is a
palace inhabited by the Great Turk himself. Here Carlos appears, dressed
as the Sultan, with much pomp, and Francisco, overwhelmed with terror,
speedily relinquishes Julia to his captor. In order to punish her for
her intolerable arrogance, Isabella, Francisco's daughter by his former
wife, who is designed to wed Antonio, is introduced to a chimney-sweep,
Guiliom, masquerading as a noble of high degree. She forthwith strikes
up a match with the False Count, leaving Antonio free to marry Clara,
Julia's sister, whom he loves. No sooner, however, has the knot been
securely tied than Guiliom, appearing in his sooty rags and with
smutched face, publicly demands and humiliates his haughty bride. The
trick of the feigned Turks is discovered by the arrival at the villa of
Baltazer, Julia's father. Don Carlos, however, claims his mistress by
reason of his former contract, which is perforce allowed.



SOURCE.

Guiliom, masquerading as a Count, is of course directly derived from _Les
Précieuses Ridicules_, first performed 18 November, 1659, and Isabella
is a close copy of Cathos and Magdelon. Flecknoe had already adapted
Molière in _The Damoiselles à la Mode_, unacted (4to 1667); and seven
years later than Mrs. Behn, Shadwell, in his fine comedy, _Bury Fair_
(1689), drew largely from the same source. His mock noble is a French
peruke-maker, La Roch, who marries Lady Fantast's affected daughter.
Miller, in his _The Man of Taste; or, The Guardian_ (1735), blended
the same plot with _L'Ecole des Maris_. The stratagem of the feigned
Turkish ship capturing the yacht is a happy extension of a hint from the
famous galley scene (Que diable allait-il faire à cette galère?), Act
ii, 7, _Les Fourberies de Scapin_. This, however, is not original with
Molière, being entirely borrowed from _Le Pédant Joué_, Act ii, 4, of
Cyrano de Bergerac (1654). What is practically a translation of _Les
Fourberies de Scapin_ by Otway, was produced at the Duke's Theatre in
1677, and in the same year Ravenscroft included a great part of it in
his _Scaramouch a Philosopher, Harlequin a Schoolboy, Bravo, Merchant,
and Magician_.

In the Epilogue Mrs. Behn asserts that she wrote _The False Count_ with
ease in something less than a week. This may be a pardonable
exaggeration; but there are certainly distinct marks of haste in the
composition of the play. In Act iii, I, she evidently intended Francisco
and his party to be seized as they were returning home by sea, at the
end of the act she arranges their sea trip as an excursion on a yacht.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_The False Count; or, A New Way to Play an Old Game_ was produced at the
Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in the autumn of 1682, not later than the
end of October. An excellent rattling farce, it seems to have kept the
stage at intervals for some twenty years. On 11 August, 1715, there was
a revival at Lincoln's Inn Fields. It is billed as 'not acted ten
years'. Spiller played Guiliom, Mrs. Moor Isabella, and Mrs. Thurmond
Julia. There is no further record of its performance.




THE FALSE COUNT: or, A New Way to play an old Game.



PROLOGUE.

Spoken by Mr. _Smith_.

_Know all ye Whigs and Tories of the Pit,
(Ye furious Guelphs and Gibelins of Wit,
Who for the Cause, and Crimes of Forty One
So furiously maintain the Quarrel on)
Our Author, as you'll find it writ in Story,
Has hitherto been a most wicked Tory;
But now, to th'joy o'th' Brethren be it spoken,
Our Sister's vain mistaken Eyes are open;
And wisely valuing her dear Interest now,
All-powerful Whigs, converted is to you.
'Twas long she did maintain the Royal Cause,
Argu'd, disputed, rail'd with great Applause;
Writ Madrigals and Doggerel on the Times,
And charg'd you all with your Fore-fathers Crimes;
Nay, confidently swore no Plot was true,
But that so slily carried on by you:
Raised horrid Scandals on you, hellish Stories,
In Conventicles how you eat young Tories;
As_ Jew _did heretofore eat_ Christian _Suckling;
And brought an _Odium_ on your pious Gutling:
When this is all Malice it self can say,
You for the good Old Cause devoutly eat and pray.
Though this one Text were able to convert ye,
Ye needy Tribe of Scriblers to the Party;
Yet there are more advantages than these,
For write, invent, and make what Plots you please,
The wicked Party keep your Witnesses;
Like frugal Cuckold-makers you beget
Brats that secur'd by others fires shall sit.
Your Conventicling Miracles out-do
All that the Whore of_ Babylon _e'er knew:
By wondrous art you make Rogues honest Men,
And when you please transform 'em Rogues again.
To day a Saint, if he but hang a Papist,
Peach a true Protestant, your Saint's turn'd Atheist:
And dying Sacraments do less prevail,
Than living ones, though took in Lamb's-Wool-Ale.
Who wou'd not then be for a Common-weal,
To have the Villain covered with his Zeal?
A Zeal, who for Convenience can dispense
With Plays provided there's no Wit nor Sense.
For Wit's profane, and Jesuitical,
And Plotting's Popery, and the Devil and all.
We then have fitted you with one to day,
'Tis writ as 'twere a Recantation Play;
Renouncing all that has pretence to witty,
T'oblige the Reverend_ Brumighams _o'th' City:
No smutty Scenes, no Jests to move your Laughter,
Nor Love that so debauches all your Daughters.
But shou'd the Torys now,--who will desert me,
Because they find no dry bobs on your Party,
Resolve to hiss, as late did Popish Crew,        |
By Yea and Nay, she'll throw her self on you,    |
The grand Inquest of Whigs, to whom she's true.  |
Then let 'em rail and hiss, and damn their fill,
Your Verdict will be_ Ignoramus _still_.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


MEN.

Don _Carlos_, Governour of _Cadiz_, young and rich,
   in love with _Julia_,                                Mr. _Smith_
_Antonio_, a Merchant, young and rich. Friend to _Carlos_,
   in love with _Clara_, but promis'd to _Isabella_,    Mr. _Wiltshire_
_Francisco_, old and rich, Husband to _Julia_, and
   Father to _Isabella_,                                Mr. _Nokes_.
_Baltazer_, Father to _Julia_ and _Clara_,              Mr. _Bright_.
_Sebastian_, Father to _Antonio_,                       Mr. _Freeman_.
_Guzman_, Gentlemen to _Carlos_,                        Mr. _Underhill_.
_Guiliom_, a Chimney-Sweeper; the False Count,          Mr. _Lee_.
Two overgrown Pages to the False Count,
A little Page to the False Count.
_Petro_, Cashier to _Antonio_.
Page to Don _Carlos_.
Captain of a Gally.
Two Seamen.
_Lopez_, Servant to _Baltazer_.
Several disguis'd like _Turks_.


WOMEN.

_Julia_, Wife to _Francisco_, young and handsom,
   in love with _Carlos_,                                Mrs. _Davis_.
_Clara_, Sister to _Julia_, in love with _Antonio_,      Mrs. _Petty_.
_Isabella_, Daughter to _Francisco_; proud, vain and
   foolish, despising all Men under the degree of Quality,
   and falls in love with _Guiliom_,                     Mrs. _Corror_.
_Jacinta_, Woman to _Julia_,                             Mrs. _Osborne_.
Wife to _Petro_.

Dancers, Singers, &c.




ACT I.

SCENE I. _The Street_.


    _Enter_ Carlos, Antonio _and_ Guzman.

_Car_. By all that's good, I'm mad, stark raving mad,
To have a Woman young, rich, beautiful,
Just on the point of yielding to my Love,
Snatcht from my Arms by such a Beast as this;
An old ridiculous Buffoon, past Pleasure,
Past Love, or any thing that tends that way;
Ill-favour'd, ill-bred, and ill-qualify'd,
With more Diseases than a Horse past Service;
And only blest with Fortune and my _Julia_;
For him, I say, this Miser, to obtain her,
After my tedious nights and days of Love,
My midnight Watchings, Quarrels, Wounds and Dangers;
--My Person not unhandsom too,
By Heav'n, 'twas wondrous strange!

_Ant_. And old _Francisco_, without the expence of an hour's Courtship,
a _Billet-Doux_, or scarce a sight of her, could gain her in a day; and
yet 'tis wonder, your Fortune and your Quality, should be refus'd by Don
_Baltazer_ her Father.

_Car_. A Pox upon't, I went the wrong way to work, and courted the
Daughter; but indeed my Father, the late Governour of _Cadiz_, whose
Estate and Honour I now enjoy, was then living; and, fearing he would
not consent to my Passion, I endeavoured to keep it secret, though
sacred Vows had past between us two.

_Ant_. Did she not tell you of this Marriage with old _Francisco_?

_Car_. The night before, she did; but only by a Letter from her Window
dropt; which when by the help of a dark Lanthorn, I had read, I was
struck dead with Grief.
               [_Gives him the Letter_.

_Ant_. [reads.]

  _Expect to morrow night to hear I'm dead, since the next
  Sun will guide me to a fatal Marriage with old_ Francisco.
                                                    _Your_ Julia.

_Car_. Judge, dear _Antonio_, my Surprize and Grief;
A-while I stood unmov'd, thoughtless, and silent,
But soon Rage wak'd me to new Life again;
But what I said and did, I leave to raging Lovers,
Like disappointed me, to guess and judge;
She heard--and only answer'd me in Tears,
Nor could I beg one tender Word from her,
She sigh'd, and shut the Window too, and vanish'd.

_Ant_. And she accordingly next day was married.

_Car_. She was--and I have since endeavoured all the Arts and Ways I can
to cuckold him; 'tis now two months since the Wedding, and I hear he
keeps her as close as a Relict, jealous as Age and Impotence can make
him. She hitherto has been absent at _Sevil_, but Expectation of her
Daughter-in-law's Wedding with you has brought 'em hither,--and, I ask
your Pardon, _Antonio_, for raillying your Father-in-law that shall be,
old _Francisco_.

_Ant_. I hope you are mistaken, Sir.

_Car_. How, are you not to marry his Daughter, _Isabella_?

_Ant_. Not if I can help it, Sir,--the Honour you have done me in your
Friendship to me, a Person so much above me in Title and Birth, makes me
think it my Duty to conceal no part of my Heart to you,--Know then this
_Isabella_, Daughter to old _Francisco_, and your Cuckold that shall be
I hope, is, though fair, most ridiculously proud, vain and fantastical;
as all of her Birth and Education, grown rich, are.

_Car_. Prithee, what was her Birth?

_Ant_. Why, her Father, old _Francisco_, was in his youth an English
Cordwainer, that is to say, a Shoemaker, which he improv'd in time to a
Merchant; and the Devil and his Knavery helping him to a considerable
Estate, he set up for Gentleman; and being naturally a stingey,
hide-bound Rascal, and in the Humour of Jealousy even out-doing the most
rigid of us _Spaniards_, he came over into _Spain_, to settle with his
whole Family, where his Wife dying, to heighten the Vice, marries this
young _Julia_, your Mistress, Sir;--and now this Daughter of his having
wholly forgot her original Dunghill, sets up for a Viscountess at least,
though her Father has design'd me the Blessing; but I have fixt my Heart
and Eyes else-where, _Clara_, the young Sister of your Mistress, Sir,
commands my Liberty.

_Car_. I've seen her, she has Youth and Beauty capable to make a
Conquest any where,--but does she know your Love?

_Ant_. She does, and makes me think my Love return'd.

_Car_. Then know, _Antonio_, I must be your Rival.

_Ant_. How, Sir!

_Car_. You said but now you were my Friend, _Antonio_; If true, you must
assist in my design.

_Ant_. I listen, Sir, impatiently.

_Car_. Then thus; before I knew she was your Mistress, I had resolv'd
upon Addresses to her, in order to't, have treated with her Father about
a Marriage.

_Ant_. How! and wou'd the false, forsworn, receive your Vows?

_Car_. No; but with Tears implores her Father daily, whene'er he speaks
to her about my Passion; nor can I undeceive her, for indeed I have but
feign'd a Love, (she living in the same house with _Julia_ whilst here
at _Cadiz_) to get an opportunity with that dear, charming Creature;
for, coming as a Brother, sure they'll admit me kindly; nor will
_Francisco_, who has heard of what has past 'twixt me and _Julia_,
suspect me any more.

_Ant_. I knew I had a Rival, Sir, whom _Clara_ lov'd not; but ne'er
cou'd get it from her who he was, for fear of mischief: I have often the
Liberty to see her, under the name and pretence of _Isabella's_ Lover.

_Car_. And I visit her only to get a sight of _Julia_, which hitherto
has been impossible, though I have oft endeavour'd it. I beg you'll not
be jealous; for this, by Heav'n, is only my Design.

_Ant_. I'll trust my Life, my Honour and my Mistress in so good hands at
any time.

_Car_. You oblige me; but though I find your _Clara_ cold and cruel,
_Isabella_ would invite me to her Love, and makes so many kind
advances to me--

_Ant_. So would she for your Title, were you deform'd, and had no shape
of Man about you; but me, because a little Citizen and Merchant, she so
reviles, calling me base Mechanick, saucy Fellow; and wonders where I
got the Impudence to speak of Love to her--in fine, I am resolved to be
reveng'd on all her Pride and Scorn; by Heav'n, I will invent some dire
Revenge:--I'm bent upon't, and will about it instantly.

_Car_. And would you do it home and handsomly, and have a good occasion
of being disengaged from her, and make her self the instrument?

_Ant_. Ay, such a Plot were worth the Prosecution.

_Car_. And such a one I have in my head: _Guzman_, my Servant, knows a
fellow here in _Cadiz_, whom for his pleasant humour I have oft
observ'd, as I have past the Streets, but too mean to be convers'd with,
by almost any human thing, by Trade a Chimney-Sweeper.

_Ant_. On, Sir, I beseech you.

_Car_. This Fellow's of a quick Wit and good Apprehension, though
possibly he cannot act the Don so well, yet that which makes up the
best part of our young Gallants now a-days, he shall not want; that is,
good Clothes, Money, and an Equipage,--and a little Instruction will
serve turn.

_Ant_. I'm ravisht with the Fancy;--let me see--he shall be an _English_
Lord, or a _French_ Count.

_Car_. Either, we'll furnish him with Bills on Signior Don _Francisco_,
--Men and Baggage, and the business is done--he shall make Love to her.

_Ant_. Most excellent.

_Car_. _Guzman_, have you not observ'd this Fellow I am speaking of.

_Guz_. Observ'd him, Sir! I know him particularly, I'll fetch him to you
now, Sir; he always stands for new Imployment with the rest of his Gang
under St. _Jago's_ Church-wall.

_Car_. Bring him anon to my Lodgings, where we'll prepare him for the
Adventure.

_Ant_. And if the proud _Isabella_ bite not at so gay a bait, I'll be
bound to be married to her.

_Car_. And if she do not, possibly that may be your Fate--but in
return, you must let _Clara_ know the Design I have, and, undeceiving
her opinion of my Love, make her of our Party.

_Ant_. Trust my Friendship, Sir, and Management. I'll to her instantly,
that is, make a visit to _Isabella_, and get an opportunity to speak
with _Clara_.

_Car_. And I must write a Letter to _Julia_, to undeceive her Fears too,
could I but get it to her.

_Guz_. For that let me alone.

                       [_Exeunt severally, bowing_.



SCENE II. _A Chamber_.


    _Enter_ Julia _and_ Jacinta.

_Jac_. Lord, Madam, you are as melancholy as a sick Parrot.

_Jul_. And can you blame me, _Jacinta_? have I not many Reasons to be
sad? first have I not lost the only Man on earth in Don _Carlos_, that I
cou'd love? and worse than that, am married to a Thing, fit only for his
Tomb; a Brute, who wanting sense to value me, treats me more like a
Prisoner than a Wife?--and his Pretence is, because I should not see nor
hear from Don _Carlos_.

_Jac_. Wou'd I were in your room, Madam, I'd cut him out work enough,
I'd warrant him; and if he durst impose on me, i'faith, I'd transform
both his Shape and his Manners; in short, I'd try what Woman-hood cou'd
do. And indeed, the Revenge wou'd be so pleasant, I wou'd not be without
a jealous Husband for all the World; and really, Madam, Don _Carlos_ is
so sweet a Gentleman.

_Jul_. Ay, but the Sin, _Jacinta_!

_Jac_. O' my Conscience, Heav'n wou'd forgive it; for this match of
yours, with old _Francisco_, was never made there.

_Jul_. Then if I wou'd, alas, what opportunities have I, for I confess
since his first Vows made him mine--

_Jac_. Right--that lying with old _Francisco_ is flat Adultery.

_Jul_. I might, with some excuse, give my self away to _Carlos_--But oh,
he's false, he takes unjustly all the Vows he paid me, and gives 'em to
my Sister _Clara_ now.

_Jac_. Indeed that's something uncivil, Madam, if it be true.

_Jul_. True! my Father has with joy consented to it, and he has leave to
visit her; and can I live to see't? No, Mischief will ensue, my Love's
too high, too nicely true to brook Affronts like that.

_Jac_. Yet you first broke with him.

_Jul_. Not I; be witness, Heav'n, with what reluctancy I forc'd my
breaking heart; and can I see that charming Body in my Sister's Arms!
that Mouth that has so oft sworn Love to me kist by another's Lips! no,
_Jacinta_, that night that gives him to another Woman, shall see him
dead between the Charmer's Arms. My Life I hate, and when I live no more
for _Carlos_, I'll cease to be at all; it is resolv'd.

_Jac_. Faith, Madam, I hope to live to see a more comical end of your
Amours--but see where your amiable Spouse comes with Don _Baltazer_
your Father.

    _Enter_ Francisco _and_ Baltazer.

_Fran_. So--you two are damnable close together, 'tis for no goodness
I'll warrant, you have your trade betimes.

_Jac_. Meaning me, Sir?

_Fran_. Yes, you, one of my Wife's evil Counsellors,--go, get you up
both to your respective Chambers, go--

                                 [_Ex. both_.

_Bal_. Barring your Compliments, good Son, give me leave to speak.

_Fran_. Shaw, I know as well as your self what you wou'd say now; you
wou'd assure me I am sole Master of your House, and may command; that
you are heartily glad to see me at _Cadiz_, and that you desire I wou'd
resolve upon a Week's stay, or so; that you'll spare nothing for my
entertainment: why, I know all this, and therefore pray take my word,
good Father-in-Law, without any more ado.

_Bal_. Well, Sir, pray answer me one question, what drew you to _Cadiz_?

_Fran_. Why, I'll tell you; in the first place, a Pox of all Lovers, I
say; for my Daughter _Isabella_ is to be married, as you know, to
_Antonio_, a young rich Merchant of this Town; in the second place, my
Wife, with a Vengeance, must be gadding to visit you and her Sister,
whom we heard also was to be married to the young Governor Don _Carlos_;
'tis shreudly against my will, Heav'n knows, for my Wits are in an
uproar already about this business--your Gallants, Father, your young
Gallants,--I wish my Wife were secure at home again.

_Bal_. Pray, why so?

_Fran_. Alas, I see the Trick, Sir, a mere Trick put upon a Man,
a married Man, and a married Man to a handsome young Woman,--you
apprehend me.

_Bal_. Not I, Sir.

_Fran_. Not you, Sir! why, look ye, your young Governor who now is, made
most desperate love to her who is now my Wife, d'ye mind me?--but you,
being a Man of an exact Judgment, to her great grief, gave her to me,
who best deserv'd her, both for my civil Behaviour, and comely
Personage, d'ye understand me? but now this _Carlos_, by his Father's
death, being made Governor, d'ye see? is to marry me your other daughter
_Clara_, and to exasperate me, wou'd never let me be at quiet till he
had got both of us hither to _Cadiz_, to grace his Wedding; a Pox of his
Invitation, was I so civil to invite him to mine?

_Bal_. If this be your Affliction, you may avoid it.

_Fran_. No, no, I'll try to force Nature a little, and be civil, or so;
but as soon as the Ceremony's over, I'll steal out of Town, whip a way,
presto, i'faith.

_Bal_. But shou'd you do so rude a thing to your new Brother, your Wife
wou'd think you were jealous of her. No, dissemble that Fault, I beseech
you, 'twill make you odious to her and all the world, when 'tis needless,
'tis natural for Women to hate what they fear.

_Fran_. Say you so, then I will hide it as much as I can in words, I can
dissemble too upon occasion.

_Bal_. Let her remain awhile amongst us.

_Fran_. The Devil a bit she shall, good Father mine, no, no, I have more
years than you, Sir Father, and understand what Women are, especially
when married to ancient Men, and have the Conversation of young
Men--whose Eyes like Basilisks destroy Modesty with looking on 'em; the
very Thought on't has rais'd a Bump in my Forehead already.

_Bal_. I am sorry you should suspect my Daughter's Virtue.

_Fran_. May be you are, Sir--but Youth you know--
Opportunity--Occasion--or so--there are Winks, and Nods, and Signs, and
Twirs--and--well--in short I am satisfied, and they that are not may go
whistle: and so I'll to my Wife, whom I have left too long alone, evil
thoughts will grow upon her--Wife, Love--Duckling--
                                             [_Calls her_.

    _Enter_ Julia _and_ Jacinta.

_Bal_. Wou'd I had never married her to this Sot.

_Jul_. Your pleasure, Sir.

_Fran_. Only to see thee, Love.

_Jul_. I have a Suit to you.

_Fran_. What is't, my Chicken.

_Jul_. I wou'd go make a Visit to my Aunt, my Sister _Clara's_ there,
and I'll go fetch her home.

_Fran_. Hum--perhaps the Governor's there too?

_Jul_. What if he be? we ought to make him a visit too, who so kindly
sent for us to _Cadiz_.

_Fran_. How! Make a visit to the Governor? What have I to do with the
Governor, or what have you to do with the Governor? you are no Soldier,
Love. As for a Visit to your Aunt, there's some reason in't; but for the
Governor, think no more upon him, I say no more.

_Jul_. Since he's to marry my Sister, why shou'd you refuse him that
Civility.

_Fran_. Your Sister, so much the worse.

_Jul_. So much the worse?

_Fran_. I, so much the worse, I tell you; for mark me, you have been
Lovers lately; and old Stories may arise that are not yet forgotten; and
having under the Cloke of a Husband both Sisters at command, one for a
Wife, t'other for a Mistress, hoyte toyte, there will be mad work,
i'faith; What a mixture of Brother by the Father's side, and Uncle by
the Mother's side there will be; Aunt by the Mother's side, and Sister
by the Father's side; a man may find as good kindred amongst a kennel of
Beagles.--No, no, no Visits to the Governor, I beseech you, fair Madam.

_Bal_. So, you are at your Jealousy again.

_Fran_. Come, come, I love plain dealing; besides, when she named the
Governor, Flesh and Blood could not contain.

_Jul_. I spoke in reference to his Quality.

_Fran_. A Pox of your Civility; I tell you, I scorn my Wife should be
civil. Why, what a Coil's here about a Governor! I'll stand to't, a Man
had better have a Mule to his Wife than a Woman, and 'twere easier
govern'd.

_Bal_. But hear reason, Son.

_Fran_. What, from a Woman and a Wife? Lord, Lord, where are your Wits,
good Father-in-Law? Why, what a Devil, shall I be made ridiculous, a
Coxcomb, Cuckold, to shew my Wife? No, no, there's no Necessity of your
Civility, Mistress; leave that to me who understand the due Punctilios
of it.

_Bal_. Harkye, Son, Harkye!

_Fran_. Father mine, every Man to his business, I say, therefore say no
more of this; for I'll give my Mother's Son to the Devil, when any Wife
of mine ever makes a Visit to the Governor; and there's an end on't. Was
ever so horrid a Plot contriv'd against her own lawful Husband? Visit
the Governor with a Pox!

_Bal_. 'Tis an Honour due to all Men of his Rank.

_Fran_. I care not for that, my opinion is, my Wife's my Slave, and let
him keep his Rank to himself.

    _Enter_ Guzman.

        [Fran. _gets his Wife behind him, and fences her with his Cloke_.

_Guz_. He's here, and with his Wife; how shall I do to deliver my Letter
to her;--Sir, by the order of my Master, Don _Carlos_, the Governour, I
am commanded to come hither to the end that, going from hence, and
returning to my Master, I may be able to inform him--

_Fran_. That I am in health,--very well, I was afraid he wou'd have been
harping upon my Wife in the first place--the Devil take her, she looks
for't.    [_Makes signs to have her gone_.

_Guz_. Farther, Sir, he kisses your hand, with a more than ordinary
friendship.

_Fran_. A Pox of his Compliments.--    [_Aside_.

_Guz_. But he charg'd me, Sir, most passionately to present his Service
to your Lady.

_Fran_. Yes, yes; I thought as much.

_Guz_.--In a more particular manner.

_Fran_. Friend, my Wife, or Lady, has no need of his Service in a more
particular manner, and so you may return it.

_Jac_. Indeed, but she has great need of his service in a very particular
manner.

_Guz_. Sir, I meant no hurt, but 'tis always the fashion of your true
bred Courtier, to be more ceremonious in his Civilities to Ladies than
Men;--and he desires to know how she does.

_Fran_. How strong this _Carlos_ smells of the Devil--Friend, tell your
Master she's very well, but since she was married, she has forgot her
gentile Civility and good Manners, and never returns any Compliments
to Men.

_Guz_.--How shall I get it to her?--Sir, the Governor hopes he shall
have the honour of entertaining you both at his House. He's impatient of
your coming, and waits at home on purpose.

_Fran_. Friend, let your Master know we are here in very good quarters
already, and he does us both too much honour; and that if we have notice
of the Wedding-day, and I have nothing else to do, we'll certainly wait
on him, and the next morning we intend to take our leaves, which I send
him word of beforehand to prevent surprize.

_Guz_. But, Sir--

            [_Approaching him, he puts his Wife farther_.

_Fran_. Go, Sir, and deliver your Message.

_Guz_. But I have order, Sir--

_Fran_. There's no such thing in this World.

_Guz_. I'm resolv'd to teaze him, if I can do nothing else, in
revenge;--But, Sir, he most earnestly desires to entertain your fair
Lady in his own house.

_Fran_. Yes, yes; I know he does; but I'll give him to the Devil
first.--Troth, Sir, this _Cadiz_ Air does not agree with my fair Lady,
she has ventured out but once, and has got an Ague already.

_Guz_. Agues, Sir, are kind Diseases, they allow of Truces and
Cessations.

_Fran_. No, no; she has no Cessation, Friend, her Ague takes her night
and day, it shakes her most unmercifully, and it shall shake her till
the Wedding-day.

_Guz_. Were this Fellow to be tried by a Jury of Women, I would not be
in his Coat to lie with his Lady.--What shall I do to deliver this
Letter?--Well, Sir, since I see you are so averse to what the Governor
desires, I'll return--but, Sir, I must tell you as a Friend, a Secret;
that to a man of your temper may concern you;--Sir,--he's resolv'd when
he comes next to visit his Mistress, to make another visit to your
Apartment, to your Lady too.

    [_Goes to whisper him, and gives Julia the Letter over his Shoulder_.

_Fran_. Is he so, pray tell him he need not take that pains; there's no
occasion for't; besides 'twill be but in vain; for the Doctors have
prescribed her Silence and Loneliness, 'tis good against the Fit; how
this damn'd Fellow of a Rival torments me! honest Friend, adieu.

_Guz_. Now is this Fellow so afraid of being made a Cuckold that he
fears his own Shadow, and dares not go into his Wife's Chamber if the
Sun do but shine into the room--
                           [_Ex_. Guz.

_Fran_. So, your Mercury's gone; Lord, how simply you look now, as if
you knew nothing of the matter!

_Jul_. Matter! what matter? I heard the civil Message the Governor sent,
and the uncivil Answer you return'd back.

_Fran_. Very good; did that grieve your heart? alas, what pity 'twas I
carried you not in my hand, presented you to him my self, and beg'd him
to favour me so much to do my office a little for me, or the like; hah,--

_Jul_. And there's need enough, and the truth were known.

_Jac_. Well said, Madam.

_Fran_. Peace, thou wicked Limb of _Satan_--but for you, Gentlewoman,
since you are so tarmagant, that your own natural Husband cannot please
you, who, though I say it, am as quiet a Bed-fellow, and sleep as
sweetly, for one of my years, as any in _Spain_--I'll keep you to hard
meat, i'faith.

_Jul_. I find no fault with your sleeping, 'tis the best quality you
have a-bed.

_Fran_. Why so then, is the Devil in an unmerciful Woman? Come, come,
'tis a good Tenant that pays once a quarter.

_Jac_. Of an hour do you mean, Sir?--

_Fran_. Peace, I say--thou damnable Tormentor, this is the Doctrine you
preach to your Mistress, but you shall do't it private, for I'm resolv'd
to lock ye both up, and carry the Keys in my Pocket.

_Jul_. Well, I am a wicked Creature to teaze thee so, Dear; but I'll do
what thou wilt; come, come, be friends, I vow, I care not for the
Governor, not I, no more than I do for my--own Soul.

_Fran_. Why so, this is something; Come, come your ways in,--who have we
here? a Man! ad's my life, away, away.

_Jul_. Yes, up to my Chamber, to write an answer to this dear Letter.
                                                            [_Ex_ Julia.

    _Enter_ Isabella.

_Fran_. No, 'tis not a Man, but my Daughter _Isabella_.

_Jac_. Now will I stay, and set her on to teaze the Dotard: wou'd I
could teaze him to Death, that my Mistress might be rid of him.

_Fran_. How now, what makes you look so scurvily to day? Sure the Devil
rides once a day through a Woman, that she may be sure to be inspired
with some ill Qualities--what wou'd you have now?

_Isa_. Something.

_Fran_. Something? what thing? have I not provided you a Husband whom
you are to marry within a day or two.

_Isa_. There's a Husband indeed, pray keep him to your self, if you
please; I'll marry none of him, I'll see him hanged first.

_Fran_. Hey day;--what, is he not young and handsome enough, forsooth?

_Isa_. Young and handsome; is there no more than that goes to the making
up of a Husband--Yes, there's Quality.

_Fran_. Quality!--Why, is he not one of the richest Merchants of his
standing in all _Cadiz_.

_Isa_. Merchant! a pretty Character! a Woman of my Beauty, and five
Thousand Pound, marry a Merchant--a little, petty, dirty-heel'd
Merchant; faugh, I'd rather live a Maid all the days of my life, or be
sent to a Nunnery, and that's Plague enough I'm sure.

_Jac_. Have a care of a Nunnery, lest he take you at your word.

_Isa_. I would not for the world; no, _Jacinta_, when ever thou seest me
in holy Orders, the World will be at an end.

_Fran_. Merchant! why, what Husband do you expect?

_Isa_. A Cavalier at least, if not a Nobleman.

_Fran_. A Nobleman, marry come up, your Father, Huswife, meaning my
self, was a Leather-seller at first, till, growing rich, I set up for a
Merchant, and left that mechanick Trade; and since turned Gentleman; and
Heav'n blest my Endeavours so as I have an Estate for a _Spanish_
Grandee; and, are you so proud, forsooth, that a Merchant won't down
with you, but you must be gaping after a Cap and Feather, a Silver Sword
with a more dreadful Ribbon at the hilt?--Come, come, I fear me,
Huswise, you are one that puff's her up with Pride thus;--but lay thy
hand upon thy Conscience now.--    [_To Jacinta_.

_Jac_. Who, I, Sir? No, no, I am for marrying her out of hand to any
reasonable Husband, except a Merchant; for Maids will long, and that's
_Probatum est_ against the prevailing distemper of Longing. Hitherto I
dare answer for her, but Batteries will be made, and I dare not be
always responsible for frail Mortality.

_Fran_. Well, I have provided her one that I like, but if she be so
squeamish, let her fast, with a Murrain to her.

_Isa_. Dear Father.

_Fran_. Dear me no Dears: wou'd your old Mother were alive, she wou'd
have strapt your Just-au-corps, for puleing after Cavaliers and
Nobleman, i'faith, that wou'd she; a Citizen's Daughter, and would be a
_Madona_--in good time.

_Isa. Why, Father, the Gentry and Nobility now-a-days frequently marry
Citizens Daughters.

_Fran_. Come, come, Mistress, I got by the City, and I love and honour
the City; I confess 'tis the Fashion now-a-days, if a Citizen get but a
little Money, one goes to building Houses, and brick Walls; another must
buy an Office for his Son, a third hoists up his Daughter's Topsail, and
flaunts it away, much above her breeding; and these things make so many
break, and cause the decay of Trading: but I am for the honest _Dutch_
way of breeding their Children, according to their Fathers Calling.

_Isa_. That's very hard, because you are a laborious, ill-bred
Tradesman, I must be bound to be a mean Citizen's Wife.

_Fran_. Why, what are you better than I, forsooth, that you must be a
Lady, and have your Petticoats lac'd four Stories high; wear your false
Towers, and cool your self with your _Spanish_ Fan? Come, come, Baggage,
wear me your best Clothes a Sunday, and brush 'em up a Monday Mornings,
and follow your Needle all the Week after; that was your good old
Mother's way, and your Grandmother's before her; and as for the Husband,
take no care about it, I have designed it _Antonio_, and _Antonio_ you
are like to wed, or beat the hoof, Gentlewoman, or turn poor _Clare_,
and die a begging Nun, and there's an end on't--see where he
comes--I'll leave you to ponder upon the business.
                                             [_Exit_.]

    _Enter_ Antonio. Isabella _weeps_.

_Ant_. What, in Tears, _Isabella?_ what is't can force that tribute from
your Eyes?

_Isa_. A Trifle, hardly worth the naming, your self.--

_Ant_. Do I? pray, for what Sin of mine must your fair Eyes be punish'd?

_Isa_. For the Sin of your odious Addresses to me, I have told you my
mind often enough, methinks your Equals should be fitter for you, and
sute more with your Plebeian Humour.

_Ant_. My Equals! 'Tis true, you are fair; but if there be any
Inequality in our births, the advantage is on my side.

_Isa_. Saucy Impertinent, you shew your City breeding; you understand
what's due to Ladys! you understand your Pen and Ink, how to count your
dirty Money, trudge to and fro chaffering of base commodities, and
cozening those you deal with, till you sweat and stink again like an
o'er heated Cook, faugh, I smell him hither.

_Ant_. I must confess I am not perfum'd as you are, to stifle Stinks you
commonly have by Nature; but I have wholesom, cleanly Linen on; and for
my Habit wore I but a Sword, I see no difference between your Don and
me, only, perhaps, he knows less how to use it.

_Isa_. Ah, name not a Don, the very sound from the Mouth of a little Cit
is disagreeable--Bargain and Sale, Bills, Money, Traffick, Trade, are
words become you better.

_Jac_. Well said, use him scurvily that Mrs. _Clara_ may have him.
                                                             [_Aside_.

_Ant_. The best of those you think I should not name, dare hardly tell
me this.

_Isa_. Good Lord, you think your self a very fine Fellow now, and
finical your self up to be thought so; but there's as much difference
between a Citizen and a true bred Cavalier--

_Ant_. As between you and a true bred Woman of Honour.

_Isa_. Oh, Sir, you rail, and you may long enough, before you rail me
out of my Opinion, whilst there are Dons with Coaches and fine Lackeys,
and I have Youth and Beauty, with a Fortune able to merit one, so
farewel, Cit.
                 [_Ex_.

_Ant_. Farewel, proud Fool.

_Jac_. Sir, be this Evening at the Door, Donna _Clara_ has something to
say to you.

_Ant_. Bless thee for this Tidings, dear _Jacinta_.

                                             [_Ex_. Jacinta.

  --I find let Man be brave, or good, or wise,
  His Virtue gains no Smiles from Woman's Eyes;
  'Tis the gay Fool alone that takes the Heart,
  Foppery and Finery still guide the Dart.

                                        [_Ex_.




ACT II.

SCENE I. _A Chamber_.


    _Enter_ Jacinta _with a Light, and_ Julia.

_Jac_. Well, Madam, have you writ to Don _Carlos_?

_Jul_. No, nor is it possible I shou'd, this Devil haunts me so from
room to room, like my evil Genius to prevent that Good; oh, for an
opportunity of one kind Minute to return Acknowledgments for this kind
Letter he has sent me.

_Jac_. I'm glad you find me a Sybil: Madam, I ever prophesy'd a happier
end of that Amour than your ill Fortune has hitherto promised,--but what
said the lovely Cavalier?

_Jul_. All that a Man inspir'd with Love cou'd say, all that was soft
and charming.

_Jac_. Nay, I believe his Art.

_Jul_. Judge then what my Heart feels, which like a Fire but lightly
cover'd o'er with the cold Ashes of Despair, with the least blast breaks
out into a Flame; I burn, I burn, _Jacinta_, and only charming _Carlos_
can allay my Pain--but how? Ay, there's the question.

_Jac_. Some way I will contrive to speak with him, for he has lost his
old wont if he traverse not the Street where you live: but see Donna
_Clara_.--

    _Enter_ Clara.

_Jul_. Hah, my Sister, whom yet my jealous heart can scarce be
reconciled to; so deeply was my fear of Rivalship fixt there,
--so sad, my Sister, and so near the happy day with _Carlos_?

_Cla_. 'Tis pity she that thinks it so shou'd want him; the Blessing's
thrown away on me, but we are both unhappy to be match'd to those we
cannot love. _Carlos_, though young, gay, handsom, witty, rich, I hate
as much as you the old _Francisco_; for since I cannot marry my
_Antonio_, both Youth and Beauty are but lost on me, and Age decrepid
would be equal torment.

_Jul_. Wou'd _Carlos_ knew your heart, sure he'd decline; for he has too
much Honor to compel a Maid to yield that loves him not.

_Cla_. 'Tis true, he is above me every way, and the Honor my Father
thinks to do our Family by this Match, makes him resolve upon't; but I
have given my Vows to young _Antonio_.

_Jul_. And young _Antonio_ you are like to have, for any thing that
_Carlos_ cares; for know, to thy eternal joy, my _Clara_, he has but
feigned to thee, as much as thy _Antonio_ to _Isabella_.

_Cla_. But are you sure of this?

_Jul_. Most certain; this Night if you can let _Antonio_ see you, he'll
tell you all the Cheat, and beg your Pardon.

_Cla_. Which he will soon obtain, and in return, what Service I can
render him in your behalf he shall not want.

_Jul_. _Antonio_ will engage you they are Friends.

_Cla_. You amaze me.

_Jac_. I have appointed him this night to wait, and, if possible, I
would get him a Minute's time with you.

_Cla_. Dear _Jacinta_, thou art the kindest Maid.--

_Jac_. Hang't, why should we young Women pine and languish for what our
own natural Invention may procure us; let us three lay our Heads
together, and if _Machiavel_ with all his Politicks can out-wit us, 'tis
pity but we all lead Apes in Hell, and die without the _Jewish_ Blessing
of Consolation.

_Jul_. No more, here comes the Dragon.

_Enter_ Francisco.

_Fran_. So, together consulting and contriving.

_Jac_. What, are you jealous of the Petticoat?

_Fran_. Petticoat! Come, come, Mistress _Pert_, I have known as much
danger hid under a Petticoat, as a pair of Breeches. I have heard of two
Women that married each other--oh abominable, as if there were so
prodigious a scarcity of Christian Mans Flesh.

_Jac_. No, the Market's well enough stored, thanks be praised, might
every Woman be afforded a reasonable Allowance.

_Fran_. Peace, I say, thou Imp of Lucifer; wou'd thou hadst thy
Bellyful, that I might be fairly rid of thee--go get you up to your
Chamber, and, d'ye hear, stir not from thence, on pain of our severe
displeasure, for I am sent for in all haste, to Signior Don
_Sebastian's_, 'tis but hard by, I shall soon return;--what, are
you here?

    _Enter_ Isabella.

I have a high commendation of your fine Behaviour, Gentlewoman, to
_Antonio_; his Father has sent for me, and I shall know all anon, this
shall but hasten your Wedding, Huswise, I tell you that, and so farewel
to you--
            [_Ex_. Isabella _crying_.

_Cla_. Say you so, then 'tis time for me to look about me.

_Jul_. But will you go out so late, Love? indeed some hurt will come
to thee.

_Fran_. No, look ye, I go arm'd.  [_Shews his Girdle round with Pistols_.
Go, get you to your Chambers.

                       [_He goes out, they go in_.



SCENE II. _Changes to the Street_.


    _Enter_ Carlos, Antonio.

_Car_. I wonder where this Man of mine should be, whom I sent this
Evening with my Letter to _Julia_. What art thou?

    _Enter_ Guzman, _runs against_ Carlos.

_Guz_. My Lord, 'tis I, your trusty Trojan, _Guzman_.--what makes you
here, Sir, so near the Door of your Mistress?

_Car_. To wait my Doom; what Tidings hast thou, _Guzman_?

_Guz_. Why, Sir, I went as you directed me, to Don _Baltazer's_.

_Car_. And didst thou deliver it?

_Guz_. And the first thing I met with was old _Francisco_.

_Car_. So.

_Guz_. To whom I civilly addrest my self--told him, you presented your
Service to him,--sent to know how his Lady and he did. Which word Lady
I no sooner named, but I thought he would have saluted me with a
Cudgel,--in fine, observing her behind him, whom he shelter'd all he
could with his Cloke, I taking an occasion to whisper him, gave it her
over his shoulder, whilst she return'd some Smiles and Looks of
Joy,--but for an answer, 'twas impossible to get the least sign of one.

_Car_. No matter, that joy was evident she wisht me one, and by the
first opportunity my diligent waiting will be recompensed; but where
hast thou been all this while?

_Guz_. Finding out the Chimney-sweeper you spoke of, Sir, and whom you
ordered me to bring this Evening.

_Car_. And hast thou found him?

_Guz_. He's here, at the corner of the Street, I'll call him.
                                                        [Ex. Guz.

_Car_. I have, _Antonio_, besides your particular Revenge, one of my own
to act by this deceit, since all my Industry to see the charming _Julia_
has hitherto been vain, I have resolv'd upon a new project, if this
False Count pass upon 'em, as I doubt not but he will, and that he gets
admittance into the House, I'll pass for one of his Domesticks.

   _Enter_ Guzman _and_ Guiliom. Page _holding his lanthorn to his face_.

_Guz_. Here's the Fellow, Sir.

_Ant_. Fellow! he may be the Devil's Fellow by his countenance.

_Car_. Come nearer, Friend; dost think thou canst manage a Plot well?

_Guil_. As any Man in _Cadiz_, Sir, with good instructions.

_Car_. That thou shalt have, thou art apprehensive.

_Guil_. So, so, I have a pretty memory for mischief.

_Ant_. Hast thou Assurance and Courage?

_Guil_. To kill the honestest Man in _Spain_, if I be well paid.

_Car_. That thou shalt be.

_Guil_. I'll do't, say no more, I'll do't.

_Car_. But canst thou swear stoutly, and lye handsomely.

_Guil_. Prettily, by Nature, Sir, but with good instructions I shall
improve; I thank Heaven I have Docity, or so.

_Car_. Thou want'st not Confidence.

_Guil_. No, nor Impudence neither; how should a man live in this wicked
world without that Talent?

_Ant_. Then know our Design is only comical, though if you manage not
Matters well, it may prove tragical to you; in fine, dost think thou
canst personate a Lord?

_Guil_. A Lord! marry, that's a hard question: but what sort of a Lord?

_Car_. Why, any Lord.

_Guil_. That I cannot do, but I can do some sort of a Lord, as some
Lords are wiser than other-some; there is your witty Lord,--him I defie;
your wise Lord, that is to say, your knavish Lord, him I renounce; then
there's your Politick Lord, him I wou'd have hang'd; then there's your
Foolish Lord, let him follow the Politician; then there's your brisk,
pert, noisy Lord, and such a small insignificant Fiend I care not if I
am possest with; I shall deal well enough with a Devil of his capacity.

_Car_. Very well, then there needs no more but that you go along with my
man to my house, my Authority shall secure you from all the injuries
that shall accrue from a discovery, but I hope none will happen:
Equipage, Clothes and Money we'll furnish you with.--Go home with him,
and dress, and practise the Don till we come, who will give you ample
instructions what to do.

_Guil_. And if I do not fit you with a Don better than _Don Del Phobos_,
or _Don Quixote_, let me be hang'd up for the Sign of the Black Boy on
my own Poles at a _Spanish_ Inn door.

_Ant_. We'll be with you presently.

_Guil_. And if you find me not en Cavalier, say Clothes, Garniture,
Points, and Feathers have lost their Power of making one.

                                    [_Ex_. Guz. _and_ Page, _and_ Guil.

    _Enter, opening the door_, Jacinta.

_Car_. Hah, the Door opens, and surely 'tis a Woman that advances: dear
_Antonio_, wait a little farther;--who's there?

_Jac_. Hah, if it should be old _Francisco_ now.

_Car_. Let it be who it will, I'll tell my name, it cannot injure
either;--I'm _Carlos_, who are you?

_Jac_. A thing that looks for him you name--_Jacinta_;--are you alone?

_Car_. Never since _Julia_ did possess my heart; what news, my dearest
Messenger of Love? what may I hope?--

    _Enter_ Julia.

_Jul_. All that the kindest Mistress can bestow, If _Carlos_ loves, and
still will keep his Vows.

_Car_. _Julia_, my Life, my Soul, what happy Stars Conspir'd to give me
this dear lucky minute?

_Jul_. Those that conducted old _Francisco_ out,
And will too soon return him back again;
I dare not stay to hear thy love or chiding,
Both which have power to charm, since both proceed
From a kind heart, that's mine.

_Car_. Oh, take not this dear Body from my Arms,
For if you do, my Soul will follow it.

_Jul_. What would'st thou have me do?

_Car_. Be wondrous kind, be lavish of thy Heart,
Be generous in thy Love, and give me all.

_Jul_. Oh Heavens! what mean you? I shall die with fear.

_Car_. Fear! let coward Lovers fear, who love by halves,
We that intirely love are bold in Passion,
Like Soldiers fir'd with glory dread no Danger.

_Jul_. But should we be unthrifty in our Loves,
And for one Moment's joy give all away,
And be hereafter damn'd to pine at distance?

_Car_. Mistaken Miser, Love like Money put
Into good hands increases every day,
Still as you trust me, still the Sum amounts:
Put me not off with promise of to morrow,
To morrow will take care for new delights,
Why shou'd that rob us of a present one?

_Jul_. Ah, _Carlos_! How fondly do I listen to thy words,
And fain would chide, and fain wou'd boast my Virtue,
But mightier Love laughs at those poor delays;
And I should doubtless give you all your _Julia_,
Did not my fear prevent my kinder business;
--And should _Francisco_ come and find me absent,
Or take thee with me, we were lost, my _Carlos_.

_Car_. When then, my _Julia_, shall we meet again?

_Jul_. You _Spaniards_ are a jealous Nation,
But in this _English Spaniard_ Old _Francisco_,
That mad Passion's doubled; wholly deprives him of his Sense, and turns
his Nature Brute; wou'd he but trust me only with my Woman, I wou'd
contrive some way to see my _Carlos_.

_Car_. 'Tis certain, _Julia_, that thou must be mine.

_Jul_. Or I must die, my _Carlos_.

                             [Ant. _listning advances_.

_Ant_.--I'm sure 'tis _Carlos's_ voice, and with a Woman;
And though he be my Rival but in Jest,
I have a natural curiosity to see who 'tis he entertains.

_Jul_. Oh Heavens! Sir, here's _Francisco_; step aside,
Lest mischief shou'd befall you.
                           [_Runs in_.

_Car_. Now Love and wild Desire prompt me to kill this happy Rival,--
he's old, and can't be long in his Arrears to Nature.--What if I paid
the debt? [_Draws halfway_. One single push wou'd do't, and _Julia's_
mine;--but, hang't, Adultery is a less sin than Murder, and I will wait
my Fortune.--

_Ant_. Where are you,--Don _Carlos_?

_Car_. Who's there, _Antonio_? I took thee for my Rival, and ten to one
but I had done thy business.

_Ant_. I heard ye talking and believ'd you safe, and came in hopes to
get a little time to speak to _Clara_ in;--hah!--_Jacinta_--

_Jac_. Who's there, _Antonio_?
                      [_Peeping out of the door_.

_Ant_. The same; may I not speak with _Clara_?

_Jac_. Come in, she's here.--

_Car_. And prithee, dear _Jacinta_, let me have one word with _Julia_
more, she need not fear surprize; just at the door let me but kiss her
hand.
         [_Going in_.

_Jac_. I'll see if I can bring her.--

    _Enter_ Francisco.

_Fran_. A proud ungracious Flirt,--a Lord with a Pox! here's a fine
business, i'faith, that she should be her own Carver,--well I'll home,
and thunder her together with a vengeance.

_Car_. Who's here? sure this is he indeed; I'll step aside, lest my
being seen give him an occasion of jealousy, and make him affront his
Wife.
         [_Goes aside as_ Fran. _was going in_.

    _Enter_ Julia.

_Fran_. Hum, what have we here, a Woman?

_Jul_. Heavens! what, not gone yet, my Dear?

_Fran_. So, so, 'tis my confounded Wife, who expecting some body wou'd
have me gone now.

_Jul_. Are you not satisfied with all I've said,
With all the Vows I've made,
Which here anew, in sight of Heaven, I breathe?

_Fran_. Yes, yes, you can promise fair, but hang him that trusts ye.

_Jul_. Go, go, and pray be satisfyed with my eternal Love.--

_Fran_. How fain she'd have me gone now; ah, subtle Serpent! is not this
plain demonstration,--I shall murder her, I find the Devil great with
me.    [_Aside still_.

_Jul_.--What is't thou pausest on?

_Fran_. The wicked Dissimulation of villainous Woman.   [_Aloud to her_.

_Jul_. _Francisco!_

_Fran_. Oh thou Monster of Ingratitude, have I caught thee? You'd have
me gone, wou'd ye? ay, to Heaven, I believe, like a wicked Woman as you
are, so you were rid of me. Go,--and be satisfyed of my eternal love
--ah, Gipsey,--no, Gentlewoman, I am a tuff bit, and will hold you
tugging till your heart ake.

_Jul_. Why, was there such hurt in desiring you to go that you might
make haste back again,--Oh, my fears!

_Fran_. That you might receive a Lover,--'tis plain--and my
Indignation's high.

_Jul_. Heav'n knows I meant--

_Fran_. Only to cuckold me a little,--get you in,--where I will swear
thee by Bell, Book and Candle,--get you in, I say,--go, go,--I'll
watch for your Lover, and tell him how unkind he was to stay so long,
I will.--

         [_Ex_. Julia, _he stands just in the door_, Carlos _advances_.

_Car_. I hear no noise, sure 'twas he,--and he's gone in--
To reap those Joys he knows not how to value,
And I must languish for; I'll stay a little--perhaps _Jacinta_ may
return again, for anything belonging to my _Julia_ is dear, even to
my Soul.

            [_Goes just to the door_, Fran. _bolts out on him_.

_Fran_. Who's there?--what wou'd you have?--who wou'd you speak to?--who
do you come from?--and what's your business?

_Car_. Hah, 'tis the Sot himself;--my name is _Carlos_.

_Fran_. _Carlos_! what Father of _Belzebub_ sent him hither?--a plain
case;--I'll murder her out of hand.

_Car_.--And I wou'd speak to any body, Friend, that belongs to the fair
_Clara_,--if you are any of this house.

_Fran_. Only the Cuckold of the house, that's all;--my name, Sir, is
_Francisco_; but you, perhaps, are better acquainted with my Wife.

_Car_. _Francisco_, let me embrace you, my noble Brother, and chide you,
that you wou'd not visit me.
                [_Going to embrace him, he flies off_.

_Fran_. And bring my Wife along with me.

_Car_. Both had been welcome--and all I have, you shou'd command.

_Fran_. For my Wife's sake--what if I shou'd pistol him now;--and I am
damnably provok'd to't, had I but Courage to shoot off one.   [_Aside_.

_Car_. Methinks you make not so kind returns as my Friendship to you,
and the Alliance shall be between us, deserves.

_Fran_. I am something ill-bred, I confess, Sir;--'tis dark, and if I
shou'd do't no body wou'd know 'twas I.    [_Aside_.

_Car_. I fear there's some Misunderstanding between us, pray let us go
in a while, I'll talk you from your error.
                      [_Offers to go, he gets between him and the door_.

_Fran_. Between us, Sir! oh Lord, not in the least, Sir, I love and
honour you so heartily--I'd be content to give you to the Devil, but the
noise of the Pistol wou'd discover the business.    [_Aside_.

_Car_. Come, let's in, and talk a while.

_Fran_. I'm sorry I cannot do't, Sir, we are something incommoded being
not at our own house.

_Car_. Brother, I am afraid you are a little inclined to be jealous,
that will destroy all Friendship.--

_Fran_. So, how finely the Devil begins to insinuate!

_Car_. That makes a Hell of the Heav'n of Love, and those very Pains you
fear, are less tormenting than that Fear; what say you, Brother, is't
not so with you?

_Fran_. I find you wou'd have me turn a Husband of the Mode, a fine
convenient Tool, one of the modern Humour, a civil Person, that
understands Reason, or so; and I doubt not but you wou'd be as modish
a Gallant.

_Car_. Ha, ha, ha.

_Fran_. What, do you laugh, Sir?

_Car_. Who can chuse, to hear your Suspicions, your needless Fears.
Come, come, trust your Wife's Discretion, and Modesty--and I doubt not
but you will find your self--

_Fran_. In the Road to Heaven, whither they say all Cuckolds go--I thank
you for your advice; I perceive you wou'd willingly help me onwards of
my Journey.

_Car_. I'm glad I know you, Sir,--farewel to you--
                                              [_Goes out_.

_Fran_. No matter for that, so you know not my Wife--and so farewel to
you, Sir, and, the Devil take all Cuckoldmakers.

                                            [_Exit_.



SCENE III. _The inside of the House_.


    _Enter_ Clara, Julia, Antonio, Jacinta _running to 'em_.

_Jac_. He has seen Don _Carlos_, and they have been in great discourse
together, I cou'd not hear one word, but you'll have it at both ears
anon, I'll warrant you. Ha, he's coming.

    _Enter_ Francisco.

_Cla_. Heavens, he must not see you here.    [_To_ Ant.

_Jac_. Here, step into _Clara's_ Bed-chamber.    [_He goes in_.

_Fran_. So the Plot's at last discover'd,--he was a Cavalier of his
Parole.

_Jul_. Who speak you of?

_Fran_. Only the Governor, the fine young Governor, I deliver'd him the
message, told him my mind and the like.

_Jul_. So kind to visit us, and have you sent him away already?

_Fran_. Ah, Witch; already! why, have I any lodging for him?

_Jul_. But I am glad you brought him not in, I being so unready.

_Fran_. But you are always ready for him, my dear victorious Man-slayer.

_Jul_. What means he, sure he has a Gad-bee in his Brain.

_Fran_. Satan's she Advocate--peace, I say;--so, you look as innocently
now, as a little Devil of two years old, I'll warrant;--come, come, look
me full in the face--thus,--turn your nose just to mine--so--now tell
me whose damnable Plot this was, to send your Gallant with his
Eloquence, Querks and Conundrums, to tutor me into better manners?

_Jul_. Send him! I'll answer no such idle questions.

_Fran_. He has taken a world of pains about your particular Chapter, and
no doubt but he preach'd according to instructions;--what say you for
your self, that Judgment may not pass?

_Jul_. I say you're an old jealous Fool; have I seen Don _Carlos_, or
heard from Don _Carlos_, or sent to Don _Carlos_? here's a-do indeed.

_Fran_. What made you at the door against my positive commands,--the
very Street-door,--in the night,--alone,--and undrest,--this is a
matter of Fact, Gentlewoman; you hastened me away,--a plain case,--and
presently, after Don _Carlos_ comes to the door,--positive proof,--sees
me and falls right down upon my Jealousy,--clear conviction,--'twas
pity but I had follow'd his counsel, yes, when the Devil turns student
in Divinity;--but no matter, I'll see your back fairly turn'd upon this
Town to morrow; I'll marry my Daughter in the morning to _Antonio_, and
a fair wind or not, we'll home; the Gally lies ready in the Harbour--
therefore prepare, pack up your tools, for you are no woman of this
world.

_Ant_. How! marry me to morrow to his daughter;--and carry his Wife
from my Friend; this misfortune must be prevented.    [_Aside peeping_.

_Fran_. And so, Mistress, come your ways to your Chamber.

_Jul_. And study how to prevent this cruel separation.
                               [_Aside, goes out with him and_ Jacinta.

_Cla_. Ah, _Antonio_, I find by that sad look of yours, you have
over-heard our hasty Doom.

_Ant_. I have, and am a little surpriz'd at the suddenness of it; and I
my self am the unlucky occasion of it,--to break it off, I told my
Father how scurvily _Isabella_ treated me,--he thereupon sends for old
_Francisco_, tells him of my complaint, and instead of disengaging my
self, I find my self more undone.

_Cla_. What shall we do? I'm sure thou wilt not marry her, thou canst
not do't and hope to go to Heaven.

_Ant_. No, I have one prevention left, and if that fail, I'll utterly
refuse to marry her, a thing so vainly proud; no Laws of Nature or
Religion, sure, can bind me to say yes; and for my Fortune, 'tis my own,
no Father can command it.

_Cla_. I know thou wilt be true, and I'll not doubt it.

    _Enter_ Jacinta.

_Jac_. Ah! Madam, the saddest news--

_Cla_. Hah! what?

_Jac_. Poor Gentleman, I pity you of all things in the World,--you must
be forc'd--how can I utter it,--to the most lamentable torment that ever
Lover endur'd--to remain all night in your Mistress's Chamber.

_Ant_. Alas, how shall I endure so great an Affliction?

_Cla_. And I.

_Jac_. Ha, ha, ha, how I am griev'd to think on it; ha, ha, ha, that you
shou'd both be so hardly put to it; ha, ha, ha, for the old Gentleman
has lock'd all the doors, and took the keys to bed to him,--go, get you
in,--ha, ha, ha.--

_Ant_. Oh, my dear _Clara_, this is a blessing I could not hope.

_Cla_. _So large a Freedom shall my Virtue prove,
       I'll trust my Honour with_ Antonio's _Love_.

                                           [_They go in_.

                               [_Ex_. Jacinta _laughing_.




ACT III.

SCENE I. _Don_ Carlos' _house_.


    _Enter Don_ Carlos _in his Night-gown_, Antonio,
    _and_ Guzman _with Clothes_.

_Car_. All night with _Clara_ say'st thou? that was lucky;
But was she kind, my friend?

_Ant_. As I desir'd, or Honour wou'd permit her;
Nor wou'd I press her farther.

_Car_. A very moderate Lover.

_Ant_. For some part of my Virtue, Sir, I owe to you; in midst of all my
Love, even in the kindest moments of Delight, my Joys were broken by
concern for you.--_Julia_ this day, or very suddenly, leaves _Cadiz_.

_Car_. By Heaven, and so will _Carlos_ then; for I'm so resolutely bent
to possess that dear Creature,
That I will do't with hazard of my Life,
Expence of Fortune, or what's dear to me.

_Guz_. And how wou'd you reward that politick head, that shou'd contrive
the means to bring this handsomly about; not for an a hour, or a night,
but even as long as you please, with freedom; without the danger of
venturing your honourable neck, in showing Feats of Activity three
stories high, with a Dagger in one hand, and a Pistol in t'other, like a
Ropedancer?

_Car_. But how? Thou talkest of Impossibilities.

_Ant_. Dost think she'll e'er consent to quit her Husband?

_Guz_. No, Heaven forbid, I am too good a Christian to part Man and
Wife; but being naturally inclined to works of Charity, I will with one
project I have in this noddle of mine,--make old _Francisco_ a Cuckold,
accommodate my Lord and _Julia_, serve you, Sir,--and give our selves a
good Scene of Mirth.

_Car_. Thou amazest me.

_Guz_. If I do't not, send me to the Galleys; nay, and so far cure the
Jealousy of the old Fellow, that from a rigid suspicious troublesom
Fool, he shall become so tame and gentle a Husband,--that he shall
desire you to favour him so much as to lie with his dear Wife.

_Car_. By what strange Witchcraft shall this be brought to pass?

_Guz_. E'en honest Invention, Sir, good Faith, listen and believe:--When
he goes, he certainly goes by Sea, to save the charges of Mules.

_Ant_. Right, I heard him say so; in the Galley that lies in the Port.

_Guz_. Good, there is a Galley also, in the Harbour, you lately took
from the _Turks_; Habits too were taken in her enough to furnish out
some forty or fifty as convenient _Turks_ as a man wou'd wish at
the Devil.

_Car_. Ah, Rogue, I begin to apprehend already.

_Guz_. Our _Turkish_ Galley thus man'd, I'll put to Sea, and about a
League from Land, with a sham-fight set on that of Old _Francisco_, take
it, make 'em all Slaves, clap the Old Fellow under hatches, and then you
may deal with the fair Slave his Wife, as _Adam_ did with _Eve_.

_Car_. I'm ravish'd with the thought.

_Ant_. But what will be the event of this?

_Car_. I will not look so far, but stop at the dear Joys, and fear no
Fate beyond 'em.

_Guz_. Nay, with a little cudgelling this dull Brain of mine I shall
advance it farther for the Jest-sake;--as I take it, Signior Don
_Antonio_, you have a fine Villa, within a Bow-shot of this City
belonging to your self.

_Ant_. I have with pleasant Gardens, Grotto's, Waterworks.--

_Car_. A most admirable Scene for Love and our Designs.

_Ant_. 'Tis yours, Sir.

_Guz_. Then, Sir, when we have taken this old Fool, on whom the grossest
cheat wou'd pass, much more this, which shall carry so seeming a Truth
in't, he being clapt under hatches in the Dark, we'll wind round a
League or two at Sea, turn in, and land at this Garden, Sir, of yours,
which we'll pretend to be a _Seraglio_, belonging to the _Grand
Seignior_; whither, in this hot part o'th' year, he goes to regale
himself with his She-Slaves.

_Car_. But the distance of Place and Time allow not such a Fallacy.

_Guz_. Why he never read in's life; knows neither Longitude nor
Latitude, and _Constantinople_ may be in the midst of _Spain_ for any
thing he knows; besides, his Fear will give him little leisure
for thinking.

_Ant_. But how shall we do with the Seamen of this other Gally?

_Guz_. There's not above a Dozen, besides the Slaves that are chain'd to
the Oar, and those Dozen, a Pistole apiece wou'd not only make 'em
assist in the design, but betray it in earnest to the _Grand Seignior_;
--for them I'll undertake, the Master of it being _Pier de Sala_, your
Father's old Servant, Sir.    [_To_ Carlos.

_Ant_. But possibly his mind may alter upon the Arrival of this False
Count of ours?

_Car_. No matter, make sure of those Seamen however; that they may be
ready upon occasion.

_Ant_. 'Tis high time for me that your Count were arriv'd, for this
morning is destin'd the last of my Liberty.

_Car_. This Morning--Come, haste and dress me--
[_To_ Guz.]--_Guzman_, where's our Count?

    _Enter_ Guiliom _drest fine, two great_ Pages
    _and a little one following_.

_Guz_. Coming to give you the good morrow, Sir;
And shew you how well he looks the Part.

_Car_. Good day to your Lordship--    [_Bowing_.

_Guil_. Morrow, morrow, Friend.

_Ant_. My Lord, your most humble Servant.

_Guil_. Thank you, Friend, thank you; Page, Boy--what's a-Clock,
Sirrah?

_Page_. About Eight, my Lord.

_Ant_. Your Lordship's early up.

_Guil_. My Stomach was up before me, Friend; and I'm damnably hungry;
'tis strange how a man's Appetite increases with his Greatness; I'll
swinge it away now I'm a Lord,--then I will wench without Mercy; I'm
resolv'd to spare neither Man, Woman, nor Child, not I; hey, Rogues,
Rascals, Boys, my Breakfast, quickly, Dogs--let me see, what shall I
have now that's rare?

_Page_. What will your Honour please to have?

_Guil_. A small rasher of delicate Bacon, Sirrah--of about a Pound, or
two, with a small Morsel of Bread--round the Loaf, d'ye hear, quickly,
Slaves.

_Ant_. That's gross meat, Sir, a pair of Quails--or--

_Guil_. I thank you for that, i'faith, take your Don again, an you
please, I'll not be starv'd for ne'er a Don in Christendom.

_Ant_. But you must study to refine your Manners a little.

_Guil_. Manners! you shall pardon me for that; as if a Lord had not more
privilege to be more saucy, more rude, impertinent, slovenly and foolish
than the rest of his Neighbours, or Mankind.

_Car_. Ay, ay, 'tis great.

_Guil_. Your saucy Rudeness, in a Grandee, is Freedom; your
Impertinence, Wit; your Sloven, careless; and your Fool, good natur'd;
as least they shall pass so in me, I'll warrant ye.

_Car_. Well, you have your full Instructions; your Baggage, Bills and
Letters, from _Octavio_ the _Sevilian_ Merchant.

_Guz_. All, all, Sir, are ready, and his Lordship's breakfast waits.

_Car_. Which ended, we advance,
Just when _Aurora_ rose from _Thetis'_ Bed,
Where he had wantoned a short Summer's night,
Harness'd his bright hoov'd Horses to begin
His gilded course above the Firmament,
Out sallied Don _Gulielmo Rodorigo de Chimney Sweperio_, and so forth.
Gad, this adventure of ours will be worthy to be sung in Heroick Rhime
Doggerel, before we have finisht it; Come--
                                      [_Goes out_.

_Guil_. Hey, Rogues, Rascals, Boys, follow me just behind.

                                                     [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. Francisco's _house_.


    _Enter_ Clara _and_ Jacinta.

_Jac_. Nay, I knew he would be civil, Madam, or I would have borne you
Company; but neither my Mistress nor I, cou'd sleep one wink all Night,
for fear of a Discovery in the Morning; and to save the poor Gentleman a
tumbling Cast from the Window, my Mistress, just at day-break, feigned
her self wondrous sick,--I was called, desired to go to Signior
_Spadilio's_ the Apothecary's, at the next Door, for a Cordial; and so
he slipt out;--but the Story of this false Count pleases me extremely,
and, if it should take, Lord, what mirth we shall have. Ha, ha, ha, I
can't forbear with the thoughts on't.

_Cla_. And to see the Governor his Man?

_Jac_. Ah, what a Jest that would be too--Ha, ha, ha! but here comes
_Isabella_; let's puff up her Pride with Flatteries on her Beauty.

    _Enter_ Isabella _looking in a Glass, and seeing her Face_.

_Isa_. Ah, Heavens, those Eyes--that Look,--that pretty Leer,--that my
Father shou'd be so doating an old Fool to think these Beauties fit for
a little Merchandize; a Marchioness wou'd so much better become me.
                                                          [Looks again.
--Ah, what a Smile's there--and then that scornful Look--'tis great--
Heavens, who's here?
                        [Sees them.

_Cla_. Only those Friends that wish you better Fortune than this day
promises.

_Jac_. Look on that Face; are there not Lines that foretel a world of
Greatness, and promise much Honour?

_Cla_. Her Face, her Shape, her Mein, her every part declares her
Lady--or something more.

_Isa_. Why, so, and yet this little Creature of a Father, ridiculously
and unambitious, would spoil this Lady, to make up a simple Citizen's
Wife--in good time.

_Jac_. That very look had some presaging Grandeur.

_Isa_. Do you think so, _Jacinta_? Ha, ha, ha.

_Jac_. That Laugh again, oh Heavens, how it charms!

_Cla_. And how graceful 'tis!

_Jac_. Ah, nothing but a great gilt Coach will become it.

_Cla_. With six _Spanish_ Mares.--

_Jac_. And embroidered Trappings.

_Cla_. With four Lackeys.

_Jac_. And a Page at the tail on't.

_Cla_. She's evidently design'd for a Person of Quality.

_Isa_. Besides I have so natural an Inclination for a Don, that if my
Father do force me to marry this small Creature of a Merchant, I shall
make an Intrigue with some body of Quality.

_Cla_. Cou'd you but manage it well, and keep it from _Antonio_.

_Isa_. Keep it from _Antonio_,--is it think you for a little silly Cit,
to complain when a Don does him the Honour to visit his Lady? Marry,
that were pretty.

    _Enter_ Francisco, _and_ Lopez.

_Fran_. How, a Count to speak with me! with me, I say,--here at _Cadiz_.

_Lop_. A Count, Sir, and to speak with you.

_Fran_. Art sure 'tis not the Governor?--I'll go lock up my Wife.

_Lop_. Governor, Sir! No, no, 'tis a mere Stranger, Sir, a rare Count
whom I never saw all days of my life before.

_Fran_. And with me wou'd he speak? I hope he comes not to my Wife.

    _Enter_ Julia.

_Jul_. Oh Husband, the delicatest fine Person of Quality, just alighted
at the Door, Husband.

_Fran_. What, have you seen him then? the Devil's in these Women, and
there be but a Loop-hole to peep out of they'll spy a man,--I'm resolved
to see this thing,--go, retire, you Women, here's Men coming up.

_Isa_. And will Men eat us?

_Fran_. No, but they may do worse, they may look on ye, and Looking
breeds Liking; and Liking, Love; and Love a damn'd thing, call'd Desire;
and Desire begets the Devil and all of Mischief to young Wenches--Get ye
gone in, I say--here's a Lord coming--and Lords are plaguy things
to Women.

_Isa_. How, a Lord! oh, heavens! _Jacinta_, my Fan, and set my Hair in
order, oh, the Gods! I would not but see a Lord for all the World! how
my Heart beats already--keep your Distance behind, _Jacinta_,--bless
me, how I tremble--a little farther, _Jacinta_.

_Fran_. Come, come, Huswife, you shall be married anon, and then let
your Husband have the plague of you--but for my Gentlewoman,--Oh Lord
--they're here.

    _Enter_ Guiliom, Carlos, _and_ Pages, _&c_.

_Gull_. How now, Fellow, where's this old Don _Francisco_?

_Fran_. I'm the Person, Sir.

_Isa_. Heavens, what an Air he has!

_Guil_. Art thou he? Old Lad, how dost thou do? Hah!

_Fran_. I don't know.

_Guil_. Thou knowest me not it seems, old Fellow, hah!

_Fran_. Know you--no, nor desire to do,--on what acquaintance, pray?

_Guil_. By Instinct; such as you ought to know a Person of Quality, and
pay your Civilities naturally; in _France_, where I have travel'd, so
much good manners is used, your Citizen pulls off his hat, thus--to
every Horse of Quality, and every Coach of Quality; and do you pay my
proper Person no more respect, hah!

_Isa_. What a Dishonour's this to me, to have so dull a Father, that
needs to be instructed in his Duty.

_Guil_. But, Sir, to open the eyes of your understanding--here's a
Letter to you, from your Correspondent a Merchant of _Sevil_.

    [_Gives him a dirty Letter which he wipes on his Cloke and reads,
    and begins to pull off his hat, and reading on bows lower and lower
    till he have finisht it_.

_Fran_. Cry Mercy, my Lord,--and yet I wou'd he were a thousand Leagues
off.

_Guil_. I have Bills of Exchange too, directed to thee, old Fellow, at
_Sevil_; but finding thee not there, and I (as most Persons of my
Quality are) being something idle, and never out of my way, came to this
Town, to seek thee, Fellow--being recommended as thou seest here, old
Vermin--here--
                  [_Gives him Bills_.

_Isa_. Ah, what a graceful Mein he has! how fine his Conversation! ah,
the difference between him and a filthy Citizen!

_Jul_.--_Clara_ has told me all.--    [Jac. _whispering to_ Jul.

_Car_. That's she in the middle; stand looking on her languishingly,
--your head a little on one side,--so,--fold your Arms,--good,--now
and then heave your breast with a sigh,--most excellent.--
                                                    [_He groans_.

_Fran_. Bills for so many thousands.

_Jac_. He has you in his eye already.

_Isa_. Ah, _Jacinta_, thou flatterest me.

_Jac_. Return him some kind looks in pity.
                        [_She sets her Eyes, and bows, &c_.

_Car_. That other's my Mistress,--couldst thou but keep this old Fellow
in discourse whilst I give her the sign to retire a little.--

_Guil_. I'll warrant you I'll banter him till you have cuckolded him, if
you manage matters as well as I.

_Fran_. My Lord, I ask your pardon for my rudeness in not knowing you
before, which I ought to have done in good manners I confess; who the
Devil does he stare at so?--Wife, I command you to withdraw, upon pain
of our high displeasure.--my Lord, I shall dispatch your affairs,--he
minds me not,--Ay, 'tis my Wife, I say, Minion, be gone,--your Bills, my
Lord, are good, and I accept 'em;--why a Devil he minds me not yet,
[Julia _goes to t'other side to_ Carlos.]--and though I am not at my
proper home,--I am where I can command Money,--hum,--sure 'tis my
Daughter,--Ay, ay,--'tis so, how if he should be smitten now; the plaguy
Jade had sure the Spirit of Prophecy in her; 'tis so--'tis she--my Lord.

_Guil_. Prithee, old Fellow, Peace,--I am in love.

_Fran_. In love,--what, shall I be the Father of a Lord? wou'd it become
me, think ye?--he's mighty full of Cogitabund--my Lord,--sure his Soul
has left the Tenement of his Body--I have his Bills here, and care not
if it never return more.
              [_Looks over the Bills_.

_Car_. Dear _Julia_, let's retire, our time's but short.

_Jul_. I dare not with you, the venture wou'd be too bold in a young
beginner in the Thefts of Love.

_Guil_. Her Eyes are Suns, by _Jove_.

_Car_. Oh, nothing is so ventrous as Love, if it be true.

_Guil_. Or else, two Morning Stars, All other Beauties are but Soot
to her.

_Jul_. But shou'd my Husband--

_Car_. He's safe for one dear half hour, I'll warrant you, come.

_Fran_. Um--my Wife here still, must I begin to thunder.

_Jul_. Lord, and you be so froward, I'll be gone.--

_Car_. So, her Husband, kind heart, lest she should be cruel, has
himself given me the dear opportunity.--[_Aside_.--Be sure you keep the
old Fellow in discourse awhile.

_Guil_. Be you as sure to cuckold him.--    [_Ex_. Car. _and_ Jul.
--Old Fellow,--prithee what Person of Quality is that?

_Fran_. Person of Quality! alas, my Lord, 'tis a silly Citizen's
Daughter.

_Guil_. A Citizen's! what clod of Earth cou'd bring forth such a Beauty?

_Fran_. Alas, my Lord, I am that clod of Earth, and to Earth, if you
call it so, she must return again, for she's to be married to a Citizen
this Morning.

_Guil_. Oh! I am doubly wounded, first with her harmonious Eyes,
Who've fir'd my Heart to that Degree,
No Chimney ever burnt like me.
Fair Lady,--suffer the Broom of my Affection to sweep all other Lovers
from your heart.

_Isa_. Ah, my Lord, name it not, I'm this day to be married.

_Guil_. To day! name me the Man; Man did I say? the Monster, that dares
lay claim to her I deign to love,--none answer me,--I'll make him
smoak, by _Vulcan_--and all the rest of the Goddesses.

_Fran_. Bless me, what a furious thing this Love is?

_Guil_. By this bright Sword, that is so used to slaughter, he dies;
[_Draws_.] old Fellow, say--the Poltroon's name.

_Fran_. Oh, fearful--alas, dread Sir!

_Isa_. Ah! sheath your Sword, and calm your generous Rage.

_Guil_. I cannot brook a Rival in my Love, the rustling Pole of my
Affection is too strong to be resisted.
         _Runs raging up and down the Stage with his Sword in his hand_.

_Isa_. I cannot think, my Lord, so mean a Beauty can so suddenly charm a
Heart so great as yours.

_Guil_. Oh! you're mistaken, as soon as I cast my eyes upon the
Full-moon of your Countenance, I was struck blind and dumb.

_Fran_. Ay, and deaf too, I'll be sworn, he cou'd neither hear, see nor
understand; this Love's a miraculous thing.

_Guil_. And that Minute, the most renoun'd Don _Gulielmo Roderigo de
Chimeny Sweperio_, became your Gally-Slave,--I say no more, but that I
do love,--and I will love,--and that if you are but half so willing as
I, I will dub you, Viscountess _de Chimeny Sweperio_.

_Isa_. I am in Heaven, ah! I die, _Jacinta_. How can I credit this, that
am so much unworthy?

_Guil_. I'll do't, say no more, I'll do't.

_Fran_. Do't, but, my Lord, and with what face can I put off Signior
_Antonio_, hum.

_Guil_. _Antonio_,--hy, Pages, give order that _Antonio_ be instantly
run through the Lungs--d'ye hear?

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! run through the Lungs!

_Page_. It shall be done, my Lord! but what _Antonio_?

_Guil_. Why, any _Antonio_; all the _Antonio's_ that you find in
_Cadiz_.

_Fran_. Oh, what bloody-minded Monsters these Lords are!--But, my Lord,
I'll ne'er give you the trouble of killing him, I'll put him off with a
handsom Compliment; as thus,--Why, look ye, Friend _Antonio_, the
business is this, my Daughter _Isabella_ may marry a Lord, and you may
go fiddle.--

_Guil_. Ay, that's civil,--and if he do not desist, I'll unpeople
_Spain_ but I'll kill him; for, Madam, I'll tell you what happened to me
in the Court of _France_--there was a Lady in the Court in love with
me,--she took a liking to my Person which--I think,--you will confess--

_Isa_. To be the most accomplisht in the World.

_Guil_. I had some sixscore Rivals, they all took Snuff; that is, were
angry--at which I smiled;--they were incensed; at which I laught, ha,
ha, ha,--i'faith; they rag'd, I--when I met 'em,--Cockt, thus--_en
passant_--justled 'em--thus,--[_Overthrows_ Fran.] They turn'd and
frown'd,--thus,--I drew.--

_Fran_. What, on all the sixscore, my Lord?

_Guil_. All, all; sa, sa, quoth I, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa.
                                         [_Fences him round the Stage_.

_Fran_. Hold, hold, my Lord, I am none of the sixscore.

_Guil_. And run 'em all through the Body!

_Fran_. Oh Heavens! and kill'd 'em all.

_Guil_. Not a Man,--only run 'em through the body a little, that's all,
my two Boys were by, my Pages here.

_Isa_. Is it the fashion, Sir, to be attended by Pages so big?

_Guil_. Pages of Honour always;--these were stinted at nurse, or they
had been good proper Fellows.

_Fran_. I am so frighted with this relation, that I must up to my
Wife's Chamber for a little of that strong Cordial that recovered her
this morning.
                 [_Going out_ Guil. _stays him_.

_Guil_. Why, I'll tell you, Sir, what an odd sort of a Wound I received
in a Duel the other day,--nay, Ladies, I'll shew it you; in a very odd
place--in my back parts.
              [_Goes to untuck his Breeches, the Ladies squeak_.

_Isa_. Ah.

_Page_. Shew a Wound behind, Sir! the Ladies will think you are a
Coward.

_Guil_. Peace, Child, peace, the Ladies understand Dueling as little as
my self; but, since you are so tender-hearted, Ladies, I'll not shew you
my wound; but faith, it spoiled my dancing.

    _Page comes in_.

_Page_. My Lord, now you talk of dancing, here's your Baggage brought
from a-board the Gally by your Seamen, who us'd to entertain you with
their rustick Sports.

_Guil_. Very well; Sir, with your permission, I am resolved whether you
will or no, to give the Ladies some divertisement,--bid 'em come in;
nay, Sir, you stir not.    [Ex. Page.
'Tis for your delight, Sir, I do't; for, Sir, you must understand, a
Man, if he have any thing in him, Sir, of Honour, for the case, Sir,
lies thus, 'tis not the business of an Army to droll upon an
Enemy--truth is, every man loves a whole skin;--but 'twas the fault of
the best Statesmen in Christendom to be loose in the hilts,--you
conceive me.

_Fran_. Very well, my Lord, I'll swear he's a rare spoken man;--why,
what a Son-in-law shall I have? I have a little business, my Lord, but
I'll wait on you presently.
                      [Going out.

_Guil_. Sir, there is nothing like your true jest; a thing once well
done, is twice done, and I am the happiest Man in the World in your
Alliance; for, Sir, a Nobleman if he have any tolerable parts,--is a
thing much above the Vulgar;--oh,--here comes the Dancers.

    _Enter Dancers_.

Come, sit down by me.

_Fran_. 'Tis my duty to stand, my Lord.

_Guil_. Nay, you shall sit.

                               [They dance.

    _Enter_ Antonio.

_Ant_. Good day, Sir, I hope you will not chide my tardiness, I have a
little overslept my self, and am ashamed to see my lovely Bride, and all
this worthy Company attend.
--But you, fair Creature--    [_To_ Isabella.

_Isa_. No marrying to day, Sir.

_Fran_. No, Sir, no marrying to day.

_Ant_. How, do I dream, or hear this from _Francisco_?

_Guil_. How now, Fellow, what art thou?

_Ant_. The Husband of that proud disdainful Woman.

_Guil_. Another word like that--and thou art--

_Ant_. What, Sir?

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! _Antonio_, I must tell you, you're
uncivil.

_Guil_. Dost know, dull Mortal, that I am a Lord, And _Isabella_ my
adopted Lady.

_Ant_. I beg your pardon, Sir, if it be so, poor Mortals can but grieve
in silence.

_Guil_. Alas, poor Mortal!

_Ant_. But, for you, _Francisco_.

_Fran_. Ah, dear _Antonio_, I vow and swear I cannot chuse but weep to
lose thee; but my Daughter was born for a Lady, and none can help
their destiny.

_Ant_. And is it possible thou canst use me thus?    [_To_ Isa.

_Isa_. Take away that little Fellow; in pity of your life, I deign to
bid you withdraw and be safe.

_Guil_. D'ye hear, hah?--this Lady has beg'd your life.

_Ant_. Beg'd my Life!

_Guil_. Vile Wretch, dar'st thou retort?
                               [Draws, the Women hold him.

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my noble Son-in-law, he shall do any thing;--
dear _Antonio_, consider, I was never Father to a Lord all days of my
Life before:--my Lord, be pacified, my Daughter shall be a Lady.

_Isa_. For my sake spare him, and be Friends with him, as far as you may
deign to be with a little Citizen.

_Guil_. Fellow, I forgive thee,--here's my hand to kiss in sign and
token I am appeased.
             [_Gives him his hand to kiss, 'tis all black_.

_Ant_. A Pox of his honourable hand, 't had like to have spoiled all,
--well, since it must be so, I am content.

_Guil_. So, now Peace is concluded on, on all sides, what shall we do
to day besides eating and drinking in abundance; for to morrow I shall
get my self in order for my Marriage.

_Cla_. What thinks your Honour of taking the Air upon the Sea, in a
Galley, a League or two?

_Guil_. With Fiddles, Drums and Trumpets, Westphalia hams and Pidgeons,
and the like: Hey, Rogues, Scoundrels, Dogs.

_Isa_. Ah, how fine is every Action of a great Man!

_Guil_. Command a Galley to attend us presently.
--You shall along, old Boy.    [To Fran.

_Fran_. Alas, I must stay at home with my Wife, my Lord.

_Guil_. A Wife! have I a Mother-in-law too?--she must along with us, and
take a frisk,--no denial.

    _Enter_ Carlos.

--Oh, are you come?    [Aside.

_Car_. Yes, and thank thee for the best moment of my Life--Hast thou
contrived the Voyage then?

_Guil_. Take no care--come, haste on board--our Honour will not lose the
Fresco of the Morning,--Follow me, Pages.

_Page_. At your heels, my Lord--

                             [_Exeunt_.




ACT IV.

SCENE I.


    Enter, _as aboard the Ship_, Guiliom, Isabella, Francisco, Julia,
    Antonio, Clara, Jacinta, Pedro _and his Wife_, Pages.

_Guil_. Ladies and Gentlemen, you are very welcome aboard--Come, put off
to Sea, Rogues, Scoundrels, Tarpaulins, to your Business, and then,
every man his Bottle,--hey, Page, Rogues, where are my Men? Come, spread
the Table--for we are very hungry.

_Isa_. Heav'ns, what a peculiar Grace there is in every word that comes
from the Mouth of a Cavalier.

_Guil_. By _Mars_, the God of Love!

_Page_. By _Cupid_, Sir.    [Aside to him.

Guil. _Cupid_, Sirrah! I say, I'll have it _Mars_, there's more Thunder
in the Sound: I say, by _Mars_, these Gallies are pretty neat convenient
Tenements--but a--I see ne'er a Chimney in 'em:--Pox on't, what have I
to do with a Chimney now?

_Isa_. He is a delicate fine Person, _Jacinta_; but, methinks he does
not make Love enough to me.

_Jac_. Oh, Madam, Persons of his Quality never make Love in Words, the
greatness of their Actions show their Passion.

_Jac_. Ay, 'tis true all the little Fellows talk of Love.

_Guil_. Come, Ladies, set; Come, _Isabella_, you are melancholy,--Page
--Fill my Lady a Beer-glass.

_Isa_. Ah, Heav'ns, a Beer-glass.

_Guil_. O, your Viscountess never drinks under your Beer-glass, your
Citizens Wives simper and sip, and will be drunk without doing Credit to
the Treater; but in their Closets, they swinge it away, whole Slashes,
i'faith, and egad, when a Woman drinks by her self, Glasses come thick
about: your Gentlewoman, or your little Lady, drinks half way, and
thinks in point of good manners, she must leave some at the bottom; but
your true bred Woman of Honour drinks all, _Supernaculum_, by _Jove_.

_Isa_. What a misfortune it was, that I should not know this before, but
shou'd discover my want of so necessary a piece of Grandeur.

_Jac_. And nothing, but being fuddled, will redeem her Credit.

_Guil_. Come--fall to, old Boy,--thou art not merry; what, have we none
that can give us a Song?

_Ant_. Oh Sir, we have an Artist aboard I'll assure you; Signior
_Cashier_, shall I beg the favour of you to shew your Skill?

_Pet_. Sir, my Wife and I'm at your service.

_Guil_. Friend, what Language can you sing?

_Pet_. Oh, Sir, your Singers speak all Languages.

_Guil_. Say'st thou so, prithee then let's have a touch of Heathen
_Greek_.

_Pet_. That you shall, Sir, Sol la me fa sol, &c.

_Fran_. Hum, I think this is indeed Heathen _Greek_, I'm sure 'tis so
to me.

_Guil_. Ay, that may be, but I understand every word on't.

_Fran_. Good lack, these Lords are very learned Men.

_Pet_. Now, Sir, you shall hear one of another Language from my Wife and
I.    [_Sing a Dialogue_ in French.

    _Enter the_ Captain.

_Capt_. Well, Gentlemen, though the news be something unpleasant that I
bring, yet to noble minds 'tis sport and pastime.

_Guil_. Hah, Fellow! What's that that's sport and pastime to noble
minds.

_Fran_. Oh Lord, no goodness, I'll warrant.

_Capt_. But, Gentlemen, pluck up your Spirits, be bold and resolute.

_Fran_. Oh Lord, bold and resolute! why, what's the matter, Captain?

_Capt_. You are old, Signior, and we expect no good from you but Prayers
to Heaven?

_Fran_. Oh Lord, Prayers to Heaven! Why, I hope, Captain, we have no
need to think of Heaven.

_Capt_. At your own Peril be it then, Signior, for the _Turks_ are
coming upon us.

_Fran_. Oh Lord, Turks, Turks!

                                  [_Ex_. Cap.

_Guil_. Turks, oh, is that all?    [_Falls to eating_.

_Fran_. All--why, they'll make Eunuchs of us, my Lord, Eunuchs of us
poor men, and lie with all our Wives.

_Guil_. Shaw, that's nothing, 'tis good for the Voice.--how sweetly we
shall sing, ta, la, ta la la, ta la, &c.

_Fran_. Ay, 'twill make you sing another note, I'll warrant you.

    _Enter a Seaman_.

_Sea_. For Heaven's sake, Sirs, do not stand idle here; Gentlemen, if
you wou'd save your lives,--draw and defend 'em.
                                                    [_Exit_.

_Fran_. Draw! I never drew any thing in my Life, but my Purse, and
that most damnably against my will; oh, what shall I do?

    _Enter_ Captain.

_Capt_. Ah, my Lord, they bear up briskly to us, with a fresh Gale and
full Sails.

_Fran_. Oh, dear Captain, let us tack about and go home again.

_Capt_. 'Tis impossible to scape, we must fight it out.

_Fran_. Fight it out! oh, I'm not able to indure it,--why, what the
Devil made me a ship-board?

                       [_Ex_. Cap.

_Guil_. Why, where be these _Turks_? set me to 'em, I'll make 'em smoke,
Dogs, to dare attack a man of Quality.

_Isa_. Oh, the Insolence of these _Turks_! do they know who's aboard?
for Heaven's sake, my Lord, do not expose your noble Person.

_Guil_. What, not fight?--Not fight! A Lord, and not fight? Shall I
submit to Fetters, and see my Mistress ravish'd by any great _Turk_ in
Christendom, and not fight?

_Isa_. I'd rather be ravish'd a thousand times, than you should venture
your Person.

                [_Seamen shout within_.

_Fran_. Ay, I dare swear.

    _Enter Seaman_.

_Sea_. Ah, Sirs, what mean you? Come on the Deck for shame.

_Ant_. My Lord, let us not tamely fall, there's danger near.    [_Draws_.

_Guil_. Ay, ay, there's never smoke, but there's some fire--Come, let's
away--ta la, tan ta la, la la, &c.    [Draws.

                                  [Exit _singing, and_ Antonio _and_ Pet.

_Fran_. A Pox of all Lords, I say, you must be janting in the Devil's
name, and God's dry Ground wou'd not serve your turn.    [_Shout here_.
Oh, how they thunder! What shall I do?--oh, for some Auger-hole to
thrust my head into, for I could never indure the noise of Cannons,--oh,
'tis insupportable,--intolerable--and not to be indur'd.
                                      [_Running as mad about the Stage_.

_Isa_. Dear Father, be not so frighted.    [_Weeps_.

_Fran_. Ah, Crocodile, wou'd thou hadst wept thy Eyes out long ago, that
thou hadst never seen this Count; then he had never lov'd thee, and then
we had never been invited a ship-board.
                             [_A noise of fighting_.

    _Enter_ Guiliom, Pet. _and_ Antonio, driven in fighting
    by Guzman _and other_ Turks.

_Ant_. Ah, Sir, the _Turks_ have boarded us, we're lost, we're lost.

_Fran_. Oh, I am slain, I'm slain.    [_Falls down_.

_Guil_. Hold, hold, I say, you are now in the presence of Ladies, and
'tis uncivil to fight before Ladies.

_Guz_. Yield then, you are our Slaves.

_Guil_. Slaves, no Sir, we're Slaves to none but the Ladies.
                                                  [_Offers to fight_.

_Isa_. Oh, hold, rude man,--d'ye know whom you encounter?

_Guz_. What's here--one dead--
                                  [_Looking on_ Francisco.

_Fran_. Oh, Lord!

_Guz_. Or, if he be not, he's old, and past service, we'll kill the
Christian Dog out of the way.

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, I'm no Christian, Gentlemen; but as errant a
Heathen as your selves.

_Guz_. Bind him strait, neck and heels, and clap him under hatches.

_Jul_. Oh, spare him, Sir, look on his Reverend Age.

_Guz_. For your sake, Lady, much may be done, we've need of handsom
Women.
          [_Gives her to some Turks that are by_.

_Fran_. Hah,--my Wife! My Wife ravish'd--oh, I'm dead.

_Jul_. Fear not, my dear, I'll rather die than do thee wrong.

_Fran_. Wou'd she wou'd, quickly,--then there's her Honour sav'd, and
her Ransom, which is better.

_Guz_. Down with the muttering Dog;    [_He descends_.
--And takes the Ladies to several Cabins.
                                    [_The Turks take hold of the Men_.

_Isa_. Must we be parted then?--ah, cruel Destiny!    [_Weeps_.

_Guil_. Alas! this Separation's worse than Death.

_Isa_. You possibly may see some _Turkish_ Ladies, that may insnare your
Heart, and make you faithless;--but I, ah Heavens! if ever I change my
Love, may I become deformed, and lose all hopes of Title or of Grandure.

_Guil_. But should the _Grand Seignior_ behold thy Beauty, thou wou'dst
despise thine own dear hony Viscount to be a _Sultana_.

_Isa_. A _Sultana_, what's that?

_Guil_. Why, 'tis the great _Turk_, a Queen of _Turkey_.

_Isa_. These dear expressions go to my Heart.    [_Weeps_.
And yet a _Sultana_ is a tempting thing--    [_Aside smiling_.
--And you shall find your Isabella true,--though the _Grand Seignior_
wou'd lay his Crown at my feet,--wou'd he wou'd try me though--Heavens!
to be Queen of _Turkey_.    [_Aside_.

_Guil_. May I believe thee,--but when thou seest the difference, alas, I
am but a Chimney--hum, nothing to a great _Turk_.

_Isa_. Is he so rare a thing?--Oh, that I were a she great _Turk_.
                                                             [_Aside_.

_Guz_. Come, come, we can't attend your amorous Parleys.
                                                     [_Parts 'em_.

_Jul_. Alas, what shall we poor Women do?

                                    [_Ex. Men_.

_Isa_. We must e'en have patience, Madam, and be ravisht.

_Cla_. Ravisht! Heavens forbid.

_Jac_. An please the Lord, I'll let my nails grow against that direful
day.

_Isa_. And so will I, for I'm resolv'd none should ravish me but the
great _Turk_.

_Guz_. Come, Ladies, you are Dishes to be serv'd up to the board of the
_Grand Seignior_.

_Isa_. Why, will he eat us all?

_Guz_. A slice of each, perhaps, as he finds his Appetite inclin'd.

_Isa_. A slice, uncivil Fellow,--as if this Beauty were for a bit and
away;--Sir, a word,--if you will do me the favour, to recommend me to be
first served up to the _Grand Seignior_, I shall remember the Civility
when I am great.

_Guz_. Lady, he is his own Carver, a good word by the bye, or so, will
do well, and I am--a Favorite--

_Isa_. Are you so? here, take this Jewel,--in earnest of greater
Favours--
             [_Gives him a Jewel_.

                             [Exeunt all.



SCENE II. _A Garden_.


    _Enter Don Carlos and_ Lopez.

_Car_. But, why so near the Land? by Heaven, I saw each action of the
Fight, from yonder grove of Jessamine; and doubtless all beheld it
from the Town.

_Lop_. The Captain, Sir, design'd it so, and at the Harbour gave it out
those two Galleys were purposely prepared to entertain the Count and the
Ladies with the representation of a Sea-fight; lest the noise of the
Guns should alarm the Town, and, taking it for a real fight, shou'd have
sent out Supplies, and so have ruin'd our Designs.

_Car_. Well, have we all things in readiness?

_Lop_. All, Sir, all.

    _Enter_ Page.

_Page_. My Lord, a Barge from the Galley is just arriv'd at the
Garden-Stairs.

    _Enter_ Guzman.

_Car_. I'll retire then, and fit me for my part of this Farce.

_Guz_. My Lord, you must retire, they're just bringing the Old Gentleman
ashore.

_Car_. Prithee how does he take his Captivity?

_Guz_. Take it, Sir! he has cast himself into a Fit, and has lain like
one in a Trance this half hour; 'tis impossible for him to speak Sense
this fortnight; I'll secure his Reason a play-day for so long at least;
your Servants, in _Turkish_ habits, are now his Guards, who will keep
him safe enough from hindering your designs with _Julia_.

_Car_. Whatever you do, have a care you do not overfright the Coxcomb,
and make a Tragedy of our Comedy.

_Guz_. I'll warrant you, Sir, mind your Love-affairs,--he's coming
in,--retire, Sir.--

                       [_Ex_. Car. _and_ Page _and_ Lop.

    _Enter some _Turks _with the body of _Francisco _in chains,
    and lay him down on a Bank_.

1st _Turk_. Christian, so ho ho, Slave, awake.--
                                  [_Rubbing and calling him_.

_Fran_. Hah! where am I?--my Wife,--my Wife--where am I?--hah! what
are you?--Ghosts,--Devils,--Mutes,--no answer?--hah, bound in chains,
--Slaves, where am I?

1st _Turk_. They understand not your Language; but I, who am a _Renegade
Spaniard_, understand you when you speak civilly, which I advise you
to do.

_Fran_. Do you know me, Friend?

1st _Turk_. I know you to be a Slave, and the Great _Turk's_ Slave too.

_Fran_. The Great Turk,--the Great Devil, why, where am I, Friend?

1st _Turk_. Within the Territories of the _Grand Seignior_, and this a
Palace of Pleasure, where he recreates himself with his Mistresses.

_Fran_. And how far is that from _Cadiz_?--but what care I? my Wife,
Friend, my own Wife.

1st _Turk_. Your own,--a true Musselman cou'd have said no more; but take
no care for her, she's provided for.

_Fran_. Is she dead? That wou'd be some comfort.

1st _Turk_. No, she's alive, and in good hands.

_Fran_. And in good hands! oh, my head! and, oh, my heart! ten thousand
tempests burst the belly of this day, wherein old _Francisco_ ventur'd
Life and Limbs, Liberty and Wife to the mercy of these Heathen _Turks_.

1st _Turk_. Friend, you need not thus complain; a good round Ransom
redeems ye.

_Fran_. A round Ransom! I'll rot in my chains first, before I'll part
with a round ransom.

1st _Turk_. You have a fair Wife, and need not fear good usage, if she
knows how to be kind. You apprehend me.

_Fran_. Patience, good Lord.

1st _Turk_. Perhaps the _Grand Seignior_ may like her, and to be favour'd
by him in such a Glory--

_Fran_. As the Devil take me if I desire.

1st _Turk_. And then you may in triumph laugh at all the rest of your
Brother Cuckolds.

_Fran_. Hum, and has the Devil serv'd me thus?--but no matter, I must be
gadding, like an old Coxcomb, to _Cadiz_,--and then, jaunting to Sea,
with a Pox, to take pains to be a Cuckold, to bring my Wife into a
strange Land, amongst Unbelievers, with a vengeance, as if we had not
honest Christian Cuckold-makers enough at home; Sot that I was, not to
consider how many Merchants have been undone by trusting their
Commodities out at Sea; why, what a damn'd ransom will the Rogues exact
from me, and more for my Wife, because she's handsome; and then, 'tis
ten to one, I have her turned upon my hands the worse for wearing; oh,
damn'd Infidels! no, 'tis resolv'd, I'll live a Slave here, rather than
enrich them.

1st _Turk_. Friend, you'll know your Destiny presently; for 'tis the
custom of the Great _Turk_ to view the Captives, and consider of their
Ransoms and Liberties, according to his pleasure. See, he is coming
forth with the _Vizier Bassa_.

    _Enter_ Carlos _and_ Guzman _as_ Turks _with Followers_.

Most mighty Emperor, behold your Captive.

_Fran_. Is this the Great _Turk_?

1st _Turk_. Peace.

_Fran_. Bless me! as we at home describe him, I thought the Great _Turk_
had been twice as big; but I shall find him Tyrant big enough, I'll
warrant him.

_Guz_. Of what Nation art thou, Slave? speak to the Emperor, he
understands thee, though he deign not to hold discourse with
Christian Dogs.

_Fran_. Oh fearful!--_Spain_, so please you, Sir.

_Guz_. By _Mahomet_, he'll make a reverend Eunuch.

_Fran_. An Eunuch! oh, Lord!

_Turk_. Ay, Sir, to guard his Mistresses, 'tis an honour.

_Fran_. Oh! Mercy, Sir, that honour you may spare, Age has done my
business already.

_Guz_. Fellow, what art?

_Fran_. An't please your Worship, I cannot tell.

_Guz_. How, not tell?

_Fran_. An't please your Lordship, my Fears have so transform'd me, I
cannot tell whether I'm any thing or nothing.

_Guz_. Thy name, dull Mortal, know'st thou not that?

_Fran_. An't please your Grace, now I remember me, methinks I do.

_Guz_. Dog, how art thou call'd?

_Fran_. An't like your Excellence, Men call'd me Signior Don _Francisco_,
but now they will call me Coxcomb.

_Guz_. Of what Trade?

_Fran_. An't please your Highness, a Gentleman.

_Guz_. How much dost thou get a day by that Trade? Hah!

_Fran_. An't like your Majesty, our Gentlemen never get but twice in all
their lives; that is, when Fathers die, they get good Estates; and when
they marry, they get rich Wives: but I know what your Mightiness wou'd
get by going into my Country and asking the Question.

_Guz_. What, Fool?

_Fran_. A good Cudgelling, an't please your Illustriousness.

_Guz_. Slave! To my Face!--Take him away, and let him have the Strapado.

_Car_. _Baridama, Dermack_.

_Fran_. Heavens, what says he?

_I Turk_. He means to have you castrated.

_Fran_. Castrated! Oh, that's some dreadful thing, I'll warrant,--
Gracious Great Turk, for Mahomet's sake, excuse me; alas, I've lost
my wits.

_Car_. _Galero Gardines_?

_Guz_. The Emperor asks if thou art married, Fellow.

_Fran_. Hah--Married--I was, an't like your Monsterousness, but, I
doubt, your People have spoiled my Property.

_Guz_. His Wife, with other Ladies, in a Pavillion in the Garden, attend
your Royal pleasure.

_Car_. Go, fetch her hither presently.

                                  [_Ex_. Guz.

1st _Turk_. This is no common Honour, that the Great Turk deigns to speak
your Language; 'tis to sign you'll rise.

_Fran_. Yes, by the height of a pair of Horns.

_Car_. Is she handsom?

_Fran_. Oh, what an Ague shakes my Heart,--handsom! alas, no, dread Sir;
what shou'd such a deform'd Polecat as I do with a handsom Wife?

_Car_. Is she young?

_Fran_. Young, what shou'd such an old doting Coxcomb as I do with a
young Wife? Pox on him for a Heathen Whoremaster.

_Car_. Old is she then?

_Fran_. Ay, very old, an't please your Gloriousness.

_Car_. Is she not capable of Love?

_Fran_. Hum, so, so,--like Fire conceal'd in a Tinderbox,--I shall
run mad.

_Car_. Is she witty?

_Fran_. I'm no competent Judge, an't like your Holiness,
--This Catechism was certainly of the Devil's own making.    [Aside.

    _Enter_ Guzman, _bringing in_ Julia, Clara, Isabella, Jacinta,
    Guiliom, Antonio, &c. _Women veil'd_.

_Car_. These, Sir, are all the Slaves of Note are taken.

_Isa_. Dost think, _Jacinta_, he'll chuse me?

_Jac_. I'll warrant you, Madam, if he looks with my Eyes.

_Guz_. Stand forth.    [_To the Men_.

_Guil_. Stand forth, Sir! why, so I can, Sir, I dare show my Face, Sir,
before any Great _Turk_ in Christendom.

_Car_. What are you, Sir?

_Guil_. What am I, Sir? Why, I'm a Lord, a Lord.

_Fran_. What, are you mad to own your Quality, he'll ask the Devil and
all of a ransom.

_Guil_. No matter for that, I'll not lose an Inch of my Quality for a
King's ransom; disgrace my self before my fair Mistress!

_Isa_. That's as the _Great Turk_ and I shall agree.    [_Scornfully_.

_Car_. What are you, Sir?

_Ant_. A Citizen of _Cadiz_.

_Car_. Set 'em by, we'll consider of their ransoms--now unveil the
Ladies.
           [Guzman _unveils_ Jacinta.

_Fran_. Oh, dear Wife, now or never show thy Love, make a damnable face
upon the filthy Ravisher,--glout thy Eyes thus--and thrust out thy upper
lip, thus.--
                [Guzman _presents_ Jacinta.

_Guil_. Oh, dear _Isabella_, do thee look like a Dog too.

_Isa_. No, Sir, I'm resolv'd I'll not lose an Inch of my Beauty, to save
so trifling a thing as a Maiden head.

_Car_. Very agreeable, pretty and chearful--

            [_She is veil'd and set by: Then Clara is unveil'd_.

A most divine bud of Beauty--all Nature's Excellence--drawn to the life
in little,--what are you, fair one?

_Cla_. Sir, I'm a Maid.

_Fran_. So, I hope he will pitch upon her.

_Cla_. Only, by promise, Sir, I've given my self away.

_Car_. What happy Man cou'd claim a title in thee,
And trust thee to such danger?

_Isa_. Heavens, shall I be defeated by this little Creature? What pity
'twas he saw me not first?

_Cla_. I dare not name him, Sir, lest this small Beauty which you say
adorns me, shou'd gain him your displeasure; he's in your presence, Sir,
and is your Slave.

_Car_. Such Innocence this plain Confession shows, name me the man, and
I'll resign thee back to him.

_Fran_. A Pox of his Civility.

_Ant_. This Mercy makes me bold to claim my right.    [_Kneels_.

_Car_. Take her, young Man, and with it both your Ransoms.

_Guil_. Hum--hum--very noble, i'faith, we'll e'en confess our loves too,
_Isabella_.

_Isa_. S'life, he'll spoil all,--hold--pray let your Betters be serv'd
before you.

_Guil_. How! Is the Honour of my Love despised?--wer't not i'th presence
of the Great _Turk_, for whom I have a reverence because he's a man of
quality--by _Jove_, I'd draw upon you.

_Isa_. Because you were my Lover once, when I'm Queen I'll pardon you.

    [Guzman _unveils her, and leads her to_ Carlos, _she making
    ridiculous actions of Civility_.

_Car_. What aukard, fond, conceited thing art thou? Veil her, and take
the taudry Creature hence.

_Guil_. Hum--your Majesty's humble Servant.
                              [_Putting off his Hat ridiculously_.

_Fran_. How! refuse my Daughter too! I see the Lot of a Cuckold will
fall to my share.

_Guz_. This is the Wife, Great Sir, of this old Slave.
                                              [_Unveils_ Julia.

_Car_. Hah! what do I see, by _Mahomet_, she's fair.

_Fran_. So, so, she's condemn'd; oh, damn'd _Mahometan_ Cannibal! will
nothing but raw flesh serve his turn.

_Car_. I'll see no more,--here I have fix'd my heart.

_Fran_. Oh, Monster of a _Grand Seignior_!

_Guz_. Have you a mind to be flead, Sir?

_Car_. Receive my Handkerchief.    [_Throws it to her_.

_Fran_. His Handkerchief! bless me, what does he mean?

_Guz_. To do her the honour to lie with her to night.

_Fran_. Oh, hold, most mighty _Turk_.    [_Kneeling_.

_Guz_. Slave, darest thou interrupt 'em,--die, Dog.

_Fran_. Hold, hold, I'm silent.

_Car_. I love you, fair one, and design to make you--

_Fran_. A most notorious Strumpet. A Pox of his Courtesy.

_Car_. What Eyes you have like Heaven blue and charming, a pretty Mouth,
Neck round and white as polisht Alabaster, and a Complexion beauteous as
an Angel, a Hair fit to make Bonds to insnare the God of Love,--a
sprightly Air,--a Hand like Lillies white, and Lips, no Roses opening in
a Morning are half so sweet and soft.

_Fran_. Oh, damn'd circumcised _Turk_.

_Car_. You shall be call'd the beautiful _Sultana_, And rule in my
Seraglio drest with Jewels.

_Fran_. Sure, I shall burst with Vengeance.

_Jul_. Sir, let your Virtue regulate your Passions;
For I can ne'er love any but my Husband.

_Fran_. Ah, dissembling Witch!

_Jul_. And wou'd not break my Marriage Vows to him,
For all the honour you can heap upon me.

_Fran_. Say, and hold; but _Sultana_ and precious Stones are damnable
Temptations,--besides, the Rogue's young and handsome,--What a scornful
look she casts at me; wou'd they were both handsomely at the Devil
together.

_Guz_. Dog, do you mutter?

_Fran_. Oh! nothing, nothing, but the Palsy shook my Lips a little.

_Guz_. Slave, go, and on your knees resign your Wife.

_Fran_. She's of years of discretion, and may dispose of her self; but I
can hold no longer: and is this your _Mahometan_ Conscience, to take
other Mens Wives, as if there were not single Harlots enough in the
World?    [_In rage_.

_Guz_. Peace, thou diminutive Christian.

_Fran_. I say, Peace thou over-grown _Turk_.

_Guz_. Thou _Spanish_ Cur.

_Fran_. Why, you're a _Mahometan_ Bitch, and you go to that.

_Guz_. Death, I'll dissect the bald-pated Slave.

_Fran_. I defy thee, thou foul filthy Cabbage-head, for I am mad, and
will be valiant.

                    [Guz. _throws his Turbant at him_.

_Car_. What Insolence is this!--Mutes--strangle him.--

                    [_They put a Bow-string about his neck_.

_Jul_. Mercy, dread Sir, I beg my Husband's life.

_Car_. No more,--this fair one bids you live,--henceforth, _Francisco_,
I pronounce you a Widower, and shall regard you, for the time to come,
as the deceased Husband of the Great _Sultana_, murmur not upon pain of
being made an Eunuch--take him away.

_Jul_. Go, and be satisfied, I'll die before I'll yield.

_Fran_. Is this my going to Sea?--the Plague of losing Battels light
on thee.

  _When ill success shall make thee idle lie,
  Mayst thou in bed be impotent as I_.

_Car_. Command our Slaves to give us some diversion; Dismiss his Chains,
and use him with respect, because he was the Husband of our beloved
_Sultana_.

_Fran_. I see your Cuckold might have a life good enough if he cou'd be
contented.
              [_They pull off his Chains_.

    [Carlos _and_ Julia _sit under an Umbrella_.


  The SONG.

  _How strangely does my Passion grow,
  Divided equally twixt two_?
  Damon _had ne'er subdued my Heart,
  Had not_ Alexis _took his part:
  Nor cou'd_ Alexis_ powerful prove,
  Without my_ Damon's _aid, to gain my Love.

  When my_ Alexis _present is,
   Then I for_ Damon _sigh and mourn;
  But when_ Alexis _I do miss_,
   Damon _gains nothing but my Scorn:
  And, if it chance they both are by,
  For both, alas! I languish, sigh, and die.

  Cure then, thou mighty winged God,
  This raging Fever in my Blood.
  One golden-pointed Dart take back;
  But which, O_ Cupid, _wilt thou take?
  if_ Damon's, _all my hopes are crost:
  Or, that of my_ Alexis, _I am lost_.

    _Enter Dancers, which dance an Antick_.

_Car_. Come, my dear _Julia_, let's retire to shades.    [_Aside to her_.
Where only thou and I can find an entrance;
These dull, these necessary delays of ours
Have drawn my Love to an impatient height.
--Attend these Captives, at a respectful distance.

                                   [_Ex. all but _Isa_. who stays_ Guil.

_Guil_. What wou'd the Great _Sultana_?

_Isa_. Ah! do not pierce my Heart with this unkindness.

_Guil_. Ha, ha, ha,--Pages,--give order, I have Letters writ to _Sevil_,
to my Merchant,--I will be ransomed instantly.

_Isa_. Ah, cruel Count!

_Guil_. Meaning me, Lady! ah, fy! no, I am a Scoundrel; I a Count, no,
not I, a Dog, a very Chim--hum,--a Son of a Whore, I, not worthy
your notice.

_Isa_. Oh, Heavens! must I lose you then? no, I'll die first.

_Guil_. Die, die, then; for your Betters must be served before you.

_Isa_. Oh! I shall rave; false and lovely as you are, did you not swear
to marry me, and make me a Viscountess.

_Guil_. Ay, that was once when I was a Lover; but, now you are a Queen,
you're too high i'th' mouth for me.

_Isa_. Ah! name it not; will you be still hard-hearted?

_Guil_. As a Flint, by _Jove_.

_Isa_. Have you forgot your Love?

_Guil_. I've a bad memory.

_Isa_. And will you let me die?

_Guil_. I know nothing of the matter.

_Isa_. Oh Heavens! and shall I be no Viscountess?

_Guil_. Not for me, fair Lady, by _Jupiter_,--no, no,--Queen's much
better,--Death, affront a man of Honour, a Viscount that wou'd have took
you to his Bed,--after half the Town had blown upon you,--without
examining either Portion or Honesty, and wou'd have took you for better
for worse--Death, I'll untile Houses, and demolish Chimneys, but I'll be
revenged.
             [_Draws and is going out_.

_Isa_. Ah, hold! your Anger's just, I must confess: yet pardon the
frailty of my Sex's vanity; behold my Tears that sue for pity to you.

                               [_She weeps, he stands looking on her_.

_Guil_. My rage dissolves.

_Isa_. I ask but Death, or Pity.    [_He weeps_.

_Guil_. I cannot hold;--but if I shou'd forgive, and marry you,
you wou'd be gadding after honour still, longing to be a she Great
_Turk_ again.

_Isa_. Break not my heart with such suspicions of me.

_Gull_. And is it pure and tender Love for my Person,
And not for my glorious Titles?

_Isa_. Name not your Titles, 'tis your self I love,
Your amiable, sweet and charming self,
And I cou'd almost wish you were not great,
To let you see my Love.

_Guil_. I am confirm'd--

  _'Tis no respect of Honour makes her weep_;
  _Her Loves the same shou'd I cry--Chimney Sweep.

                                              [_Ex_.




ACT V.

SCENE I. _A Garden_.


    _Enter_ Francisco _alone_.

_Fran_. Now am I afraid to walk in this Garden, lest I shou'd spy my own
natural Wife lying with the Great _Turk_ in Fresco, upon some of these
fine fiowry Banks, and learning how to make Cuckolds in _Turkey_.

    _Enter_ Guzman _and_ Jacinta.

_Guz_. Nay, dear _Jacinta_, cast an eye of pity on me.--What, deny the
_Vizier Bassa_?

_Jac_. When you are honest _Guzman_ again, I'll tell you a piece of my
mind.

_Guz_. But opportunity will not be kind to _Guzman_, as to the Grand
_Bassa_; therefore, dear Rogue, let's retire into these kind shades, or,
if foolish Virtue be so squeamish, and needless Reputation so nice, that
Mr. _Vicar_ must say _Amen_ to the bargain, there is an old lousy Frier,
belonging to this _Villa_, that will give us a cast of his Office; for I
am a little impatient about this business, Greatness having infus'd a
certain itch in my Blood, which I felt not whilst a common Man.

_Fran_. Um, why, what have we here, pert Mrs. _Jacinta_ and the _Bassa_?
I hope the Jade will be Turkefied with a vengeance, and have Circumcision
in abundance; and the Devil shall ransom her for old _Francisco_.

_Jac_. Hah, the old Gentleman!

_Fran_. What, the Frolick is to go round, I see, you Women have a happy
time on't.

_Guz_. Men that have kind Wives may be as happy; you'll have the honour
of being made a Cuckold, Heaven be prais'd.

_Fran_. Ay, Sir, I thank ye,--pray, under the Rose, how does my Wife
please his Grace the Great _Turk_?

_Guz_. Murmuring again, thou Slave.

_Fran. Who_, I? O Lord, Sir! not I, why, what hurt is there in being a
Cuckold?

_Guz_. Hurt, Sirrah, you shall be swinged into a belief, that it is an
honour for the Great _Turk_ to borrow your Wife.

_Fran_. But for the Lender to pay Use-money, is somewhat severe;--but,
see, he comes,--bless me, how grim he looks!

    _Enter_ Carlos, _and Mutes attending_.

_Car_. Come hither, Slave,--why, was it that I gave you Life? dismiss'd
the Fetters from your aged Limbs?

_Fran_. For love of my Wife, and't please your Barbarousness.

_Car_. Gave you free leave to range the Palace round, excepting my
Apartment only?

_Fran_. Still for my Wife's sake, I say, and't like your Hideousness.

_Car_. And yet this Wife, this most ungrateful Wife of yours, again
wou'd put your Chains on, expose your Life to Dangers and new Torments,
by a too stubborn Virtue, she does refuse my Courtship, and foolishly
is chaste.

_Fran_. Alas! what pity's that!

_Car_. I offer'd much, lov'd much, but all in vain; Husband and Honour
still was the reply.

_Fran_. Good lack! that she shou'd have no more Grace before her Eyes.

_Car_. But, Slave, behold these Mutes; that fatal Instrument of Death
behold too, and in 'em read thy doom, if this coy Wife of yours be not
made flexible to my Addresses.

_Fran_. O Heavens! I make her.

_Car_. No more, thy Fate is fix'd--and, here attend, till he himself
deliver his willing Wife into my Arms; _Bassa_, attend, and see it be
perform'd--    [_To his Mutes, then to_ Guz.
                                        [_Ex_. Car.

_Guz_. Go, one of you, and fetch the fair Slave hither.

                                               [_Ex_. Turk.

_Fran_. I pimp for my own Wife! I hold the door to my own Flesh and
Blood! _monstrum horrendum_!

_Guz_. Nay, do't, and do't handsomly too, not with a snivelling
Countenance, as if you were compell'd to't; but with the face of
Authority, and the awful command of a Husband--or thou dyest.

    _Enter_ Turk _and_ Julia.

_Fran_. My dear _Julia_, you are a Fool, my Love.

_Jul_. For what, dear Husband?

_Fran_. I say, a silly Fool, to refuse the Love of so great a _Turk_;
why, what a Pox makes you so coy?    [_Angrily_.

_Jul_. How! this from you, _Francisco_.

_Fran_. Now does my Heart begin to fail me; and yet I shall ne'er endure
strangling neither; why, am not I your Lord and Master, hah?

_Jul_. Heavens! Husband, what wou'd you have me do?

_Fran_. Have you do;--why, I wou'd have ye--d'ye see--'twill not out;
why, I wou'd have ye lie with the _Sultan_, Huswife; I wonder how the
Devil you have the face to refuse him, so handsom, so young a Lover;
come, come, let me hear no more of your Coyness, Mistress, for if I do,
I shall be hang'd;    [_Aside_.
The Great _Turk's_ a most worthy Gentleman, and therefore I advise you
to do as he advises you; and the Devil take ye both.    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. This from my Husband, old _Francisco_! he advise me to part with
my dear Honour.

_Fran_. Rather than part with his dear Life, I thank ye.    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Have you considered the Virtue of a Wife?

_Fran_. No, but I have considered the Neck of a Husband.    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Which Virtue, before I'll lose, I'll die a thousand Deaths.

_Fran_. So will not I one; a Pox of her Virtue,--these Women are always
virtuous in a wrong place.    [_Aside_.
I say you shall be kind to the sweet _Sultan_.

_Jul_. And rob my Husband of his right!

_Fran_. Shaw, Exchange is no Robbery.

_Jul_. And forsake my Virtue, and make nown Dear a Cuckold.

_Fran_. Shaw, most of the Heroes of the World were so;--go, prithee,
Hony, go, do me the favour to cuckold me a little, if not for Love,
for Charity.

_Jul_. Are you in earnest?

_Fran_. I am.

_Jul_. And would it not displease you?

_Fran_. I say, no; had it been _Aquinius_ his Case, to have sav'd the
pinching of his Gullet he wou'd have been a Cuckold.    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Fear has made you mad, or you're bewitcht; and I'll leave you to
recover your Wits again.    [_Going out_.

_Fran_. O gracious Wife, leave me not in despair; [_Kneels to her and
holds her_.] I'm not mad, no, nor no more bewitcht than I have been
these forty years; 'tis you're bewitcht to refuse so handsom, so young,
and so--a Pox on him, she'll ne'er relish me again after him.  [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Since you've lost your Honour with your wits, I'll try what mine
will do.

    _Enter_ Carlos, Turks.

_Fran_. Oh, I am lost, I'm lost--dear Wife,--most mighty Sir, I've
brought her finely to't--do not make me lose my credit with his
_Mahometan_ Grace,--my Wife has a monstrous Affection for your Honour,
but she's something bashful; but when alone your Magnanimousness will
find her a swinger.

_Car_. Fair Creature--

_Jul_. Do you believe my Husband, Sir? he's mad.

_Car_. Dog.    [_Offers to kill him_.

_Fran_. Hold, mighty Emperor; as I hope to be saved, 'tis but a copy of
her Countenance--inhuman Wife--lead her to your Apartment, Sir!
barbarous honest Woman,--to your Chamber, Sir,--wou'd I had married thee
an errant Strumpet; nay, to your Royal Bed, Sir, I'll warrant you she
gives you taunt for taunt: try her, Sir, try her.    [_Puts 'em out_.

_Jac_. Hark you, Sir, are you possest, or is it real reformation in you?
what mov'd this kind fit?

_Fran_. E'en Love to sweet Life; and I shall think my self ever obliged
to my dear Wife, for this kind Reprieve;--had she been cruel, I had
been strangled, or hung in the Air like our Prophet's Tomb.

    _Enter First_ Turk.

_Turk_. Sir, boast the honour of the News I bring you.

_Fran_. Oh, my Head! how my Brows twinge.

_Turk_. The mighty _Sultan_, to do you honour, has set your Daughter and
her Lover free, ransomless;--and this day gives 'em liberty to solemnize
the Nuptials in the Court;--but Christian Ceremonies must be private;
but you're to be admitted, and I'll conduct you to 'em.

_Fran_. Some Comfort, I shall be Father to a Viscount, and for the
rest--Patience--

  _All Nations Cuckolds breed, but I deny
   They had such need of Cuckolding as I_.

                             [_Goes out with the_ Turk.

    _Enter_ Antonio, _and_ Clara _to_ Jacinta.

_Jac_. Madam, the rarest sport--Ha, ha, ha.

_Ant_. You need not tell us, we have been witness to all. But to our own
Affairs, my dearest _Clara_, Let us not lose this blessed opportunity,
Which Art nor Industry can give again if this be idly lost.

_Cla_. Nay, hang me if it be my fault, _Antonio_: Charge it to the
number of your own Sins; it shall not lie at my door.

_Ant_. 'Tis generously said, and take notice, my little dear Virago,
_Guzman_ has a Priest ready to tie you to your word.

_Cla_. As fast as you please; hang her that fears the conjuring knot for
me: But what will our Fathers say--mine who expects me to be the
Governor's Lady; and yours, who designs _Isabella_ for a Daughter-in-Law?

_Ant_. Mine will be glad of the Change; and, for yours, if he be not
pleased, let him keep his Portion to himself--that's the greatest
mischief he can do us: and for my Friend, the Governor, he's above
their Anger.

_Cla_. Why do we lose precious time? I long to be at--I _Clara_ take
thee _Antonio_,--the very Ceremony will be tedious, so much I wish thee
mine; and each delay gives me a fear something will snatch me from thee.

_Ant_. No power of Man can do't, thou art so guarded; but now the Priest
is employed in clapping up the honourable Marriage between the False
Count and Isabella.

_Jac_. Lord, what a jest 'twill be to see 'em coupled, ha, ha.

_Cla_. Unmerciful _Antonio_, to drive the Jest so far; 'tis too
unconscionable!

_Ant_. By Heaven, I'm so proud I cannot think my Revenge sufficient for
Affronts, nor does her Birth, her Breeding and her Vanity--deserve a
better Fortune; besides,--he has enough to set up for a modern Spark--
the Fool has just Wit and good Manners to pass for a Fop of Fashion;
and, where he is not known, will gain the Reputation of a fine
accomplish'd Gentleman,--yet I'm resolved she shall see him in his
Geers, in his original Filthiness, that my Revenge may be home upon the
foolish Jilt.

_Cla_. Cruel _Antonio_, come, lets go give 'em Joy.

_Ant_. And finish our Affair with Mr. Vicar.

    _Enter_ Isabella, _her Train borne by the great_ Page, Guiliom,
    _with the other great_ Page, _and_ Francisco _bare_.

--Joy to my noble Lord, and you, fair _Isabella_!

_Isa_. Thank thee, Fellow,--but, surely, I deserved my Titles from thee.

_Cla_. Your Honour I hope will pardon him.

_Isa_. How now, _Clara_!    [_Nodding to her_.

_Jac_. I give your Honour joy.

_Isa_. Thank thee, poor Creature.--

_Fran_. My Lord, this Honour you have done my Daughter is so signal,
that whereas I designed her but five thousand Pound, I will this happy
day settle on her ten.

_Guil_. Damn dirty trash, your Beauty is sufficient--hum
--Signior Don _Antonio_, get the Writings ready.    [_Aside_.
Money--hang Money.

_Fran_. How generous these Lords are; nay, my Lord, you must not refuse
a Father's Love, if I may presume to call you Son--I shall find enough
besides for my Ransom, if the Tyrant be so unmerciful to ask more than
my Wife pays him.

_Guil_. Nay, if you will force it upon me.

_Isa_. Ay, take it, the trifling sum will serve to buy our Honour Pins.

_Ant_. Well, Sir, since you will force it on him, my Cashier shall draw
the Writings.

_Guil_. And have 'em signed by a publick Notary.    [_Aside_.

_Fran_. With all my Soul, Sir, I'll go to give him order, and subscribe.
                                                       [_Ex_. Francisco.

_Guil_. Let him make 'em strong and sure--you shall go halves. [_Aside_.

_Ant_. No, you will deserve it dearly, who have the plague of such a
Wife with it;--but harkye, Count--these goods of Fortune are not to be
afforded you, without Conditions.

_Guil_. Shaw, Conditions, any Conditions, noble _Antonio_.

_Ant_. You must disrobe anon, and do'n your native Habiliments--and in
the Equipage give that fair Viscountess to understand the true quality
of her Husband.

_Guil_. Hum--I'm afraid, 'tis a harder task to leap from a Lord to a
Rogue, than 'tis from a Rogue to a Lord.

_Ant_. Not at all, we have examples of both daily.

_Guil_. Well, Sir, I'll show you my agility--but, Sir, I desire I may
consummate, d'ye see,--consummate--a little like a Lord, to make the
Marriage sure.

_Ant_. You have the Freedom to do so--the Writings I'll provide.

_Guil_. I'll about it then, the Priest waits within for you, and
_Guzman_ for you, _Jacinta_,--haste, for he is to arrive anon Ambassador
from _Cadiz_.

_Jac_. I know not, this noise of Weddings has set me agog, and I'll e'en
in, and try what 'tis.

                          [_Ex_. Antonio, Clara, _and_ Jacinta.

_Guil_. Come, Madam, your Honour and I have something else to do, before
I have fully dub'd you a Viscountess.

_Isa_. Ah, Heav'ns, what's that?

_Guil_. Why a certain Ceremony, which must be performed between a pair
of Sheets,--but we'll let it alone till Night.

_Isa_. Till Night, no; whate'er it be, I wou'd not be without an Inch
of that Ceremony, that may compleat my Honour for the World; no, for
Heaven's sake, let's retire, and dub me presently.

_Guil_. Time enough, time enough.

_Isa_. You love me not, that can deny me this.

_Guil_. Love--no, we are married now, and People of our Quality never
Love after Marriage; 'tis not great.

_Isa_. Nay, let's retire, and compleat my Quality, and you will find me
a Wife of the Mode, I'll warrant you.

_Guil_. For once you have prevail'd.

    _Enter_ Francisco.

_Fran_. Whither away?

_Isa_. Only to consummate a little, pray keep your distance.
                                          [_She pulls off his hat_.

_Fran_. Consummate!

_Isa_. Ay, Sir, that is to make me an absolute Viscountess--we cannot
stay--farewel.
                  [Guiliom _leads her out_.

_Fran_. Hum--this _Turkey_ Air has a notable faculty, where the Women
are all plaguy kind.

    _Enter_ Carlos _and_ Julia.

_Car_. By Heav'n, each Moment makes me more your Slave.

_Fran_. The Business is done.

_Jul_. My Husband!    [_Aside_.

_Car_. And all this constant love to old _Francisco_ has but engaged
me more.

_Fran_. Ha, Love to me?    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Sir, if this Virtue be but real in you, how happy I shou'd be;
but you'll relapse again, and tempt my virtue, which if you do--

_Fran_. I'll warrant she wou'd kill herself.    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. I should be sure to yield.    [_In a soft tone to him_.

_Car_. No, thou hast made an absolute Conquest o'er me--and if that
Beauty tempt me every hour, I shall still be the same I was the last.

_Fran_. Pray Heaven he be _John_.

    _Enter First_ Turk.

1st _Turk_. Most mighty Emperor, a Messenger from _Cadiz_ has Letters for
your Highness.

_Car_. Conduct him in; in this retreat of ours we use no State.

    _Enter_ Guzman, _as himself, gives_ Carlos _Letters_.

_Guz_. Don _Carlos_, Governor of _Cadiz_, greets your Highness.

_Carlos_ reads.

  High and Mighty,

  _For seven_ Christian _Slaves, taken lately by a Galley of yours,
  we offer you twice the number of_ Mahometans _taken from you by us.
  --If this suffice not,--propose your Ransoms, and they shall be paid
  by         Don_ Carlos, _Governor of_ Cadiz.

--Know you this _Carlos_ offers so fair for you?

_Fran_. Most potent Lord, I do, and wonder at the Compliment,--and yet
I am not jealous--I have so overacted the complaisant Husband, that I
shall never fall into the other Extreme again.

_Car_. Go, let the Christian Governor understand his Request is granted.

_Guz_. The Slaves are ready, Sir, and a Galley to carry off the
Christians.

_Jul_. How shall we make this Governor amends?

_Fran_. I do even weep for joy; alas, I must leave it to thee, Love.

_Jul_. To me, Sir? do you mock me?

_Fran_. Mock thee! no; I know thy Virtue, and will no more be jealous,
believe me, Chicken, I was an old Fool.

_Car_. Your Wife is chaste--she overcame my unruly Passion with her
Prayers and Tears.

    _Enter_ Isabella _at one door_; Clara, Antonio, Jacinta,
    _at another_; Isabella's _Train carried up_.

_Fran_. Rare News,--we are all free and ransom'd! All's well, and the
Man has his Mare again.

_Isa_. You still forget your Duty and your Distance.

_Fran_. A pox of your troublesom Honour; a man can't be overjoy'd in
quiet for't.

    _Enter_ Baltazer _and_ Sebastian.

_Seb_. Sure, I am not mistaken, this is the House of my Son _Antonio_.

_Bal_. Let it be whose house 'twill, I think the Devil's broke loose
in't.

_Seb_.--Or the _Turks_; for I have yet met with ne'er a Christian thing
in't.

_Fran_. Hah,--do I dream, or is that my Father-in-law, and Signior
_Sebastian_?

_Ant_. My Father here?

_Car_. _Baltazer_!    [_Aside_.

_Bal_. Son _Francisco_, why do you gaze on me so?

_Fran_. Bless me, Sir, are you taken by the Great _Turk_ too?

_Bal_. Taken,--Great _Turk_,--what do mean?

_Fran_. Mean, Sir! why, how the Devil came you into _Turkey_?

_Bal_. Sure, Jealousy has crack'd his brains.

_Fran_. Crack me no Cracks, good Father mine;--am not I a Slave in
_Turkey_? and is not this the _Grand Seignior's_ Palace?

_Car_. So,--all will come out, there's no prevention.    [_Aside_.

_Seb_. Some that are wiser answer us: You, Son,--are you infected
too?--was not yesterday to have been your Wedding-day?

_Ant_. To day has done as well, Sir, I have only chang'd _Isabella_
for _Clara_.

_Seb_. How, _Francisco_, have you juggled with me?

_Fran_. My Daughter's a Lady, Sir.

_Bal_. And you, Mistress, you have married _Antonio_, and left the
Governor.

_Cla_. I thought him the fitter Match, Sir, and hope your Pardon.

_Jul_. We cannot scape.

_Fran_. But how came you hither, Gentlemen, how durst you venture?

_Seb_. Whither, Sir, to my own Son's house; is there such danger in
coming a mile or two out of _Cadiz_?

_Fran_. Is the Devil in you, or me, or both? Am not I in the Possession
of _Turks_ and Infidels?

_Bal_. No, Sir; safe in _Antonio Villa_, within a League of _Cadiz_.

_Fran_. Why, what a Pox, is not this the Great _Turk_ himself?

_Bal_. This, Sir,--cry mercy, my Lord,--'tis Don _Carlos_, Sir, the
Governor.

_Fran_. The Governor! the worst Great _Turk_ of all; so, I am cozened,
--most rarely cheated; why, what a horrid Plot's here carried on, to
bring in heretical Cuckoldom?

_Car_. Well, Sir, since you have found it out, I'll own my Passion.

_Jul_. Well, if I have been kind you forced me to't, nay, begged on your
knees, to give my self away.

_Fran_. Guilty, guilty, I confess,--but 'twas to the Great _Turk_,
Mistress, not Don _Carlos_.

_Jul_. And was the Sin the greater?

_Fran_. No, but the Honour was less.

_Bal_. Oh horrid! What, intreat his Wife to be a Whore?

_Car_. Sir, you're mistaken, she was my Wife in sight of Heaven before;
and I but seiz'd my own.

_Fran_. Oh,--Sir, she's at your Service still.

_Car_. I thank you, Sir, and take her as my own.

_Bal_. Hold, my Honour's concerned.

_Fran_. Not at all, Father mine, she's my Wife, my Lumber now, and, I
hope, I may dispose of my Goods and Chattels--if he takes her we are
upon equal terms, for he makes himself my Cuckold, as he has already
made me his;--for, if my memory fail me not, we did once upon a time
consummate, as my Daughter has it.

    _Enter_ Guiliom _in his own dress; crying Chimney-Sweep_.

_Guil_. Chimney-sweep,--by your leave, Gentlemen.

_Ant_. Whither away, Sirrah?

_Guil_. What's that to you, Sir?--

_Ant_. Not to me, Sirrah;--who wou'd you speak with?

_Guil_. What's that to you, Sir? why, what a Pox, may not a man speak
with his own Lady and Wife?

_Cla_. Heavens! his Wife! to look for his Wife amongst Persons of
Quality!

_Car_. Kick out the Rascal.

_Guil_. As soon as you please, my Lord; but let me take my Wife along
with me.
            [_Takes_ Isa. _by the hand_.

_Isa_. Faugh! what means the Devil?

_Guil_. Devil; 'twas not long since you found me a human creature within
there.

_Isa_. Villain, Dog; help me to tear his Eyes out.

_Guil_. What, those Eyes, those lovely Eyes, that wounded you so deeply?

_Fran_. What's the meaning of all this? why, what, am I cozen'd? and is
my Daughter cozen'd?

_Guil_. Cozen'd! why, I am a Man, Sir.

_Fran_. The Devil you are, Sir, how shall I know that?

_Guil_. Your Daughter does, Sir; and that's all one.

_Isa_. Oh! I'm undone; am I no Viscountess then.

_Guil_. Hang Titles; 'twas my self you lov'd, my amiable sweet and
charming self: In fine, sweet-heart, I am your Husband; no Viscount, but
honest _Guiliom_, the Chimney-sweeper.--I heard your Father design'd to
marry you to a Tradesman, and you were for a Don; and to please you
both, you see how well I have managed matters.

_Fran_. I'll not give her a farthing.

_Guil_. No matter, her Love's worth a million; and, that's so great,
that I'm sure she'll be content to carry my Soot basket after me.

_Isa_. Ah! I die, I die.

_Guil_. What, and I so kind?
                 [_Goes and kisses her, and blacks her face_.

_Isa_. Help! murder, murder!

_Guil_. Well, Gentlemen, I am something a better fortune than you
believe me, by some thousands.
                       [_Shows_ Car. _his Writings_.

_Car_. Substantial and good! faith, Sir, I know not where you'll find a
better fortune for your Daughter, as cases stand.    [_To_ Francisco.

_Guil_. And, for the Viscount, Sir, gay Clothes, Money and Confidence
will set me up for one, in any ground in Christendom.

_Car_. Faith, Sir, he's i'th' right; take him home to _Sevil_, your
Neighbours know him not, and he may pass for what you please to make
him; the Fellow's honest, witty and handsom.

_Fran_. Well, I have considered the matter: I was but a Leather-seller
my self, and am grown up to a Gentleman; and, who knows but he, being a
Chimney-sweeper, may, in time, grow up to a Lord? Faith, I'll trust to
Fortune, for once--here--take her and rid me of one Plague, as you, I
thank you, Sir, have done of another.    [_To_ Carlos.

_Guil_. Prithee be pacified, thou shalt see me within this hour as
pretty a fluttering Spark as any's in Town.--My noble Lord, I give you
thanks and joy; for, you are happy too.

_Car_. As Love and Beauty can make me.

_Fran_. And I, as no damn'd Wife, proud Daughter, or tormenting
Chamber-maid can make me.

_Ant_. And I, as Heaven and _Clara_ can.
_--You base-born Beauties, whose ill-manner'd Pride,
Th'industrious noble Citizens deride.
May you all meet with_ Isabella's _doom_.

_Guil_. _--And all such Husbands as the Count_ Guiliome.



EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Mrs. Barry, made by a Person of Quality.

_I Come not a Petitioner to sue,
This Play the Author has writ down to you;
'Tis a slight Farce, five Days brought forth with ease,
So very foolish that it needs must please;
For though each day good Judges take offence,      |
And Satir arms in Comedy's defence,                |
You are still true to your _Jack-Pudding_ Sense.   |
No Buffoonry can miss your Approbation,
You love it as you do a new_ French _Fashion:
Thus in true hate of Sense, and Wit's despite,
Bantring and Shamming is your dear delight.
Thus among all the Folly's here abounding,
None took like the new Ape-trick of Dumfounding.
If to make People laugh the business be,         |
You Sparks better Comedians are than we;         |
You every day out-fool ev'n_ Nokes _and_ Lee.    |
_They're forc'd to stop, and their own Farces quit,
T'admire the Merry-Andrews of the Pit;
But if your Mirth so grate the Critick's ear,
Your Love will yet more Harlequin appear.
--You everlasting Grievance of the Boxes,
You wither'd Ruins of stum'd Wine and Poxes;
What strange Green-sickness do you hope in Women
Should make 'em love old Fools in new Point Linen?
The Race of Life you run off-hand too fast,
Your fiery Metal is too hot to last;
Your Fevers come so thick, your Claps so plenty,
Most of you are threescore at five and twenty.
Our Town-bred Ladys know you well enough,
Your courting Women's like your taking Snuff;
Out of mere Idleness you keep a pother,
You've no more need of one than of the other.
  Ladies--
Wou'd you be quit of their insipid noise,
And vain pretending take a Fool's advice;
Of the faux Braves I've had some little trial,
There's nothing gives 'em credit but Denial:
As when a Coward will pretend to Huffing,
Offer to fight, away sneaks Bully-Ruffian,
So when these Sparks, whose business is addressing,
In Love pursuits grow troublesom and pressing;
When they affect to keep still in your eye,     |
When they send_ Grisons _every where to spy,    |
And full of Coxcomb dress and ogle high;        |
Seem to receive their Charge, and face about,
I'll pawn my life they never stand it out.






THE LUCKY CHANCE; OR, AN ALDERMAN'S BARGAIN.



ARGUMENT.

Harry Bellmour, having killed his man in a duel, flies to Brussels,
perforce leaving behind him Leticia, to whom he is affianced. During his
absence Sir Feeble Fainwou'd, a doting old alderman and his rival,
having procured his pardon from the King to prevent it being granted if
applied for a second time, and keeping this stratagem secret, next
forges a letter as if from the Hague which describes in detail
Bellmour's execution for killing a toper during a tavern brawl. He then
plies his suit with such ardour that Leticia, induced by poverty and
wretchedness, reluctantly consents to marry him. On the wedding morning
Bellmour returns in disguise and intercepts a letter that conveys news
of the arrival of Sir Feeble's nephew, Frank, whom his uncle has never
seen. The lover straightway resolves to personate the expected
newcomer, and he is assisted in his design by his friend Gayman, a town
gallant, who having fallen into dire need is compelled to lodge, under
the name of Wasteall, with a smith in Alsatia. His estate has been
mortgaged to an old banker, Sir Cautious Fulbank, whose wife Julia he
loves, and to her he pretends to have gone to Northamptonshire to his
uncle's death bed. He is discovered, unknown to himself, in his slummy
retreat by Bredwel, Sir Cautious' prentice, who has to convey him a
message with reference to the expiration of the mortgage, and who
reveals the secret to Lady Fulbank. She promptly abstracts five hundred
pounds from her husband's strong box and forwards it to her lover by
Bredwel, disguised as a devil, with an amorous message purporting to be
from some unknown bidding him attend at a certain trysting place that
night without fail. Gayman, now able to redeem his forfeited estates,
dresses in his finest clothes and appears at Sir Feeble Fainwou'd's
wedding. Bellmour has meanwhile revealed himself to Leticia, who is
plunged in despair at the nuptials. Lady Fulbank, who is present, greets
Gayman and asks him to give her an assignation in the garden, but he
excuses himself in order to keep his prior appointment, and she leaves
him in dissembled anger. Bredwel then in his satanic masquerade meets
Gayman, and bringing him a roundabout way, introduces him into Sir
Cautious' house, where, after having been entertained with a masque of
dances and songs as by spirits, he is conducted to Lady Fulbank's
chamber by her maid disguised as an ancient crone, and admitted to his
mistress' embraces. Meanwhile Sir Feeble Fainwou'd, who just at the
moment of entering the bridal chamber has been hurriedly fetched away by
Bellmour under the pretext of an urgent message from Sir Cautious
concerning some midnight plot and an outbreak in the city, arrives at
the house in great terror, and Sir Cautious (not knowing the reason of
so late a visit) and he sit opposite each other for a while, gaping and
staring in amaze. Bredwel, to pass Gayman out undetected, ushers him
through the room white-sheeted like a ghost, and the two old fools are
well frightened, but eventually they conclude there has been some
mistake or trick. Sir Feeble returns home to find Leticia with her
jewels about to flee, but she succeeds in reassuring him. Gayman now
visits Lady Fulbank and gives her some account of his adventures with
the she-devil, all of which he half jestingly ascribes to magic. Sir
Cautious and various guests enter, dice are produced and, luck favouring
the gallant, Gayman wins one hundred pounds from the old Banker, and a
like sum from several others of the company. As the niggardly Sir
Cautious bewails his losses the victor offers to stake three hundred
pounds against a night with Julia, the bargain, of course, being kept
from the lady. After some rumination Sir Cautious accepts and Gayman
wins the throw. That night he causes himself to be conveyed to Sir
Cautious' house in a chest and Sir Cautious leads him to Lady Fulbank in
bed, she supposing him to be her husband. Meanwhile Sir Feeble being
with Leticia is about to enter her bed when from behind the curtains
Bellmour appears unmasqued, dressed in a torn and blood-stained shirt
and brandishing a dagger. Sir Feeble flies in terror. The next morning
Lady Fulbank discovers the trick which has been played upon her and
rates both her husband and lover soundly. Bellmour and Leticia arriving
throw themselves on her protection. Sir Feeble and Sir Cautious are at
length obliged to acquiesce in the existing state of things and to
resign their ladies to their two gallants. They are unable to protest
even when Sir Feeble finds that his daughter Diana has married Bredwel
instead of Sir Cautious' nephew Bearjest for whom she was designed,
whilst the choused fop is wedded to Pert, Lady Fulbank's woman, to whom
he had been previously contracted.



SOURCE.

The plot of _The Lucky Chance; or, An Alderman's Bargain_ is original
save for the details of Lady Fulbank's design upon Gayman, when he is
conveyed to her house by masqued devils and conducted to her chamber by
Pert dressed as a withered beldame. In this Mrs. Behn exactly copies
Shirley's excellent comedy, _The Lady of Pleasure_, produced at the
Private House in Drury Lane, October, 1635, (4to 1637). In the course of
Lady Bornwell's intrigue with Kickshaw he is taken blindfold to the
house of the procuress, Decoy, who, in the guise of a doting crone,
leads him to a chamber where he imagines he is to meet a succubus,
whilst the Lady, unknown to him, entertains him herself.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_The Lucky Chance; or, An Alderman's Bargain_, produced at the Theatre
Royal, Drury Lane, in 1687, was, with the exception of the disapproval
of a certain pudibond clique, received with great favour, and kept the
stage for a decade or more. During the summer season of 1718 there was,
on 24 July, a revival, 'not acted twenty years,' of this witty comedy at
Lincoln's Inn Fields. Gayman was played by Frank Leigh, son of the
famous low comedian; Sir Feeble Fainwou'd by Bullock.

On 25 November, 1786, there was produced at Drury Lane a comedy by Mrs.
Hannah Cowley (1743-1809), a prolific but mediocre dramatist, entitled,
_A School for Greybeards; or, The Mourning Bride_ (4to 1786 and 1787).
Genest writes: 'On the first night it struck me that I had seen
something like the play before and when the 4th act came I was fully
satisfied--that part of the plot which concerns Antonia, Henry, and
Gasper [Donna Antonia (The Mourning Bride), Mrs. Crouch; Don Henry,
Kemble; Don Gasper (a Greybeard), Parsons; Donna Seraphina, Miss
Farren]; and even the outlines of Seraphina's character, are taken from
_The Lucky Chance_--as Mrs. Behn's play, though a very good one is too
indecent to be ever represented again. Mrs. Cowley might without any
disgrace to herself have borrowed whatever she pleased provided she had
made a proper acknowledgement--instead of which she says in her preface
"--The idea of the business which concerns Antonia, Henry and Gasper was
presented to me in an obsolete Comedy; I say the _idea_, for when it is
known that in the original the scene lay among traders in London--and
those traders of the lowest and most detestable manners, it will be
conceived at once, that in removing it to Portugal and fixing the
characters among the nobility, it was hardly possible to carry with me
_more_ than the idea"--the traders whom Mrs. Cowley mentions, are both
Knights, the one an Alderman, the other a Banker.' Genest then compares
various scenes and expressions from _The Lucky Chance_ with Mrs. Cowley
and concludes 'The other scenes though they may differ in the dialogue
yet agree in essentials--the scene in the 5th act between Alexis and
Gasper bears the strongest resemblance to that between Sir Feeble and
Sir Cautious in The Lucky Chance. Mrs. Cowley was ashamed to advance a
direct lie, but she was not ashamed to insinuate a falsehood--_A Naeuio
uel sumpsisti multa, si fateris; uel, si negas surripuisti_--Cicero.'
The strictures of our stage historian are entirely apposite and correct.
Henry, Don Gasper and Antonia of the Georgian comedy are none other but
Bellmour, Sir Feeble, and Leticia. With regard to the reception of _The
School for Greybeards_ 'the audience took needless offence at a scene in
the 4th act, and an unfortunate expression in Young Bannister's part
[Don Sebastian. Bannister, jun., also spoke the prologue], revived the
opposition in the last scene--no more was heard till King [Don Alexis]
advanced to speak the last speech--some alteration was made on the 2nd
night, and the play was acted 9 times or more in the course of the
season, but never afterwards [It was played at Bath 28 October, 1813.
Chatterley acted Don Gasper; Miss Greville (from the Pantheon theatre),
Donna Seraphina. It had little success]--it is a good Comedy and was
very well acted.'

The audience must indeed have been qualmish prudes. Of all plays it is
the most harmless. The scene in the fourth Act to which exception was
taken seems to have been No. II, after the marriage of Gasper and
Antonia, a most trifling and inept business. In Act V, IV, Alexis says
to Viola: 'As for you Madam bread and water, and a dark chamber shall be
your lot--' but Sebastian (Bannister, jun.), who has married Viola,
breaks in crying: 'No, Sir,--I am the arbiter of her lot;--however, I
confirm half your punishment; and a dark chamber she shall certainly
have.' To this speech in the 4to Mrs. Cowley appends the following note:
'This is the expression, I am told, which had nearly prov'd fatal to the
Comedy. I should not have printed it, but from the resolution I have
religiously kept, of restoring every thing that was objected to.'
Imagination and ingenuity fail to fathom the cryptic indecency. _The
School for Greybeards_ is, in fine, a modest and mediocre comedy of
little value.

12 December, 1786, Walpole, writing from Berkeley Square to the Countess
of Upper Ossary, says: 'To-night ... I am going to Mrs. Cowley's new
play, which I suppose is as _instructive_ as the _Marriage of Figaro_,
for I am told it approaches to those of Mrs. Behn in spartan delicacy;
but I shall see Miss Farren, who, in my poor opinion, is the first of
all actresses.' Writing three days later to the same lady he has: '_The
Greybeards_ have certainly been chastised, for we did not find them at
all gross. The piece is farcical and improbable, but has some good
things, and is admirably acted.' Those 'good things' are entirely due to
Mrs. Behn.



To the Right Honourable _Laurence_, Lord _Hyde_, Earl of _Rochester_,
one of his Majesty's most Honourable Privy Council, Lord High Treasurer
of _England_, and Knight of the Noble Order of the Garter.


My Lord,

When I consider how Ancient and Honourable a Date Plays have born, how
they have been the peculiar Care of the most Illustrious Persons of
_Greece_ and _Rome_, who strove as much to outdoe each other in
Magnificence, (when by Turns they manag'd the great Business of the
Stage, as if they had contended for the Victory of the Universe;) I say,
my Lord, when I consider this, I with the greater Assurance most humbly
address this Comedy to your Lordship, since by right of Antient Custom,
the Patronage of Plays belong'd only to the great Men, and chiefest
Magistrates. Cardinal _Richelieu_, that great and wise Statesman, said,
That there was no surer Testimony to be given of the flourishing
Greatness of a State, than publick Pleasures and Divertisements--for
they are, says he--the Schools of Vertue, where Vice is always either
punish't, or disdain'd. They are secret Instructions to the People, in
things that 'tis impossible to insinuate into them any other Way. 'Tis
Example that prevails above Reason or DIVINE PRECEPTS. (Philosophy not
understood by the Multitude;) 'tis Example alone that inspires Morality,
and best establishes Vertue, I have my self known a Man, whom neither
Conscience nor Religion cou'd perswade to Loyalty, who with beholding in
our Theatre a Modern Politician set forth in all his Colours, was
converted, renounc'd his opinion, and quitted the Party.

The Abbot of _Aubignac_ to show that Plays have been ever held most
important to the very Political Part of Government, says, The Phylosophy
of _Greece_, and the Majesty and Wisdom of the Romans, did equally
concern their Great Men in making them Venerable, Noble, and
Magnificent: Venerable, by their Consecration to their Gods: Noble, by
being govern'd by their chiefest Men; and their Magnificency was from
the publick Treasury, and the liberal Contributions of their Noble Men.

It being undeniable then, that Plays and publick Diversions were thought
by the Greatest and Wisest of States, one of the most essential Parts of
good Government, and in which so many great Persons were interested;
suffer me to beg your Lordships Patronage for this little Endeavour,
and believe it not below the Grandure of your Birth and State, the
Illustrious Places you so justly hold in the Kingdom, nor your
Illustrious Relation to the greatest Monarch of the World, to afford it
the Glory of your Protection; since it is the Product of a Heart and
Pen, that always faithfully serv'd that Royal Cause, to which your
Lordship is by many Tyes so firmly fixt: It approaches you with that
absolute Veneration, that all the World is oblig'd to pay you; and has
no other Design than to express my sense of those excellent Vertues,
that make your Lordship so truly admir'd and lov'd. Amongst which we
find those two so rare in a Great Man and a Statesman, those of Gracious
Speech and easie Access, and I believe none were ever sent from your
Presence dissatisfied. You have an Art to please even when you deny; and
something in your Look and Voice has an Air so greatly good, it
recompences even for Disappointment, and we never leave your Lordship
but with Blessings. It is no less our Admiration, to behold with what
Serenity and perfect Conduct, that great Part of the Nations Business is
carry'd on, by one single Person; who having to do with so vast Numbers
of Men of all Qualitys, Interests, and Humours, nevertheless all are
well satisfi'd, and none complain of Oppression, but all is done with
Gentleness and Silence, as if (like the first Creator) you cou'd finish
all by a Word. You have, my Lord, a Judgment so piercing and solid, a
Wisdom so quick and clear, and a Fortitude so truly Noble, that those
Fatigues of State, that wou'd even sink a Spirit of less Magnitude, is
by yours accomplish't without Toil, or any Appearance of that harsh and
crabbed Austerity, that is usually put on by the buisy Great. You, my
Lord, support the Globe, as if you did not feel its Weight; nor so much
as seem to bend beneath it: Your Zeal for the Glorious Monarch you love
and serve, makes all things a Pleasure that advance his Interest, which
is so absolutely your Care. You are, my Lord, by your generous Candor,
your unbyast Justice, your Sweetness, Affability, and Condescending
Goodness (those never-failing Marks of Greatness) above that Envy which
reigns in Courts, and is aim'd at the most elevated Fortunes and Noblest
Favourites of Princes: And when they consider your Lordship, with all
the Abilitys and Wisdom of a great Counsellor, your unblemisht Vertue,
your unshaken Loyalty, your constant Industry for the Publick Good, how
all things under your Part of Sway have been refin'd and purg'd from
those Grossnesses, Frauds, Briberys, and Grievances, beneath which so
many of his Majestys Subjects groan'd, when we see Merit establish't and
prefer'd, and Vice discourag'd; it imposes Silence upon Malice it self,
and compells 'em to bless his Majesty's Choice of such a Pillar of the
State, such a Patron of Vertue.

Long may your Lordship live to remain in this most Honourable Station,
that his Majesty may be serv'd with an entire Fidelity, and the Nation
be render'd perfectly Happy. Since from such Heads and Hearts, the
Monarch reaps his Glory, and the Kingdom receives its Safety and
Tranquility. This is the unfeign'd Prayer of,

                                         My Lord,
                                    Your Lordships most Humble
                                          And most Obedient Servant
                                                     A. Behn



PREFACE.

The little Obligation I have to some of the witty Sparks and Poets of
the Town, has put me on a Vindication of this Comedy from those Censures
that Malice, and ill Nature have thrown upon it, tho in vain: The Poets
I heartily excuse, since there is a sort of Self-Interest in their
Malice, which I shou'd rather call a witty Way they have in this Age, of
Railing at every thing they find with pain successful, and never to shew
good Nature and speak well of any thing; but when they are sure 'tis
damn'd, then they afford it that worse Scandal, their Pity. And nothing
makes them so thorough-stitcht an Enemy as a full Third Day, that's
Crime enough to load it with all manner of Infamy; and when they can no
other way prevail with the Town, they charge it with the old never
failing Scandal--That 'tis not fit for the Ladys: As if (if it were as
they falsly give it out) the Ladys were oblig'd to hear Indecencys only
from their Pens and Plays and some of them have ventur'd to treat 'em as
Coursely as 'twas possible, without the least Reproach from them; and in
some of their most Celebrated Plays have entertained 'em with things,
that if I should here strip from their Wit and Occasion that conducts
'em in and makes them proper, their fair Cheeks would perhaps wear a
natural Colour at the reading them: yet are never taken Notice of,
because a Man writ them, and they may hear that from them they blush at
from a Woman--But I make a Challenge to any Person of common Sense and
Reason--that is not wilfully bent on ill Nature, and will in spight of
Sense wrest a double _Entendre_ from every thing, lying upon the Catch
for a Jest or a Quibble, like a Rook for a Cully; but any unprejudic'd
Person that knows not the Author, to read any of my Comedys and compare
'em with others of this Age, and if they find one Word that can offend
the chastest Ear, I will submit to all their peevish Cavills; but Right
or Wrong they must be Criminal because a Woman's; condemning them
without having the Christian Charity, to examine whether it be guilty or
not, with reading, comparing, or thinking; the Ladies taking up any
Scandal on Trust from some conceited Sparks, who will in spight of
Nature be Wits and _Beaus_; then scatter it for Authentick all over the
Town and Court, poysoning of others Judgments with their false Notions,
condemning it to worse than Death, Loss of Fame. And to fortifie their
Detraction, charge me with all the Plays that have ever been offensive;
though I wish with all their Faults I had been the Author of some of
those they have honour'd me with. For the farther Justification of this
Play; it being a Comedy of Intrigue Dr. _Davenant_ out of Respect to the
Commands he had from Court, to take great Care that no Indecency should
be in Plays, sent for it and nicely look't it over, putting out anything
he but imagin'd the Criticks would play with. After that, Sir Roger
_L'Estrange_ read it and licens'd it, and found no such Faults as 'tis
charg'd with: Then Mr. _Killigrew_, who more severe than any, from the
strict Order he had, perus'd it with great Circumspection; and lastly
the Master Players, who you will I hope in some Measure esteem Judges of
Decency and their own Interest, having been so many Years Prentice to
the Trade of Judging.

I say, after all these Supervisors the Ladys may be convinc'd, they left
nothing that could offend, and the Men of their unjust Reflections on so
many Judges of Wit and Decencys. When it happens that I challenge any
one, to point me out the least Expression of what some have made their
Discourse, they cry, _That Mr_. Leigh _opens his Night Gown, when he
comes into the Bride-chamber_; if he do, which is a Jest of his own
making, and which I never saw, I hope he has his Cloaths on underneath?
And if so, where is the Indecency? I have seen in that admirable Play of
_Oedipus_, the Gown open'd wide, and the Man shown, in his Drawers and
Waist coat, and never thought it an Offence before. Another crys, _Why
we know not what they mean, when the Man takes a Woman off the Stage,
and another is thereby cuckolded_; is that any more than you see in the
most Celebrated of your Plays? as the _City Politicks_, the _Lady
Mayoress_, and the _Old Lawyers Wife_, who goes with a Man she never saw
before, and comes out again the joyfull'st Woman alive, for having made
her Husband a Cuckold with such Dexterity, and yet I see nothing
unnatural nor obscene: 'tis proper for the Characters. So in that lucky
Play of the _London Cuckolds_, not to recite Particulars. And in that
good Comedy of _Sir Courtly Nice_, the _Taylor to the young Lady_--in
the fam'd Sir _Fopling Dorimont and Bellinda_, see the very Words--in
_Valentinian_, see the Scene between the _Court Bawds_. And
_Valentinian_ all loose and ruffld a Moment after the Rape, and all this
you see without Scandal, and a thousand others The _Moor of Venice_ in
many places. The _Maids Tragedy_--see the Scene of undressing the Bride,
and between the _King_ and _Amintor_, and after between the _King_ and
_Evadne_--All these I Name as some of the best Plays I know; If I
should repeat the Words exprest in these Scenes I mention, I might
justly be charg'd with course ill Manners, and very little Modesty, and
yet they so naturally fall into the places they are designed for, and so
are proper for the Business, that there is not the least Fault to be
found with them; though I say those things in any of mine wou'd damn the
whole Peice, and alarm the Town. Had I a Day or two's time, as I have
scarce so many Hours to write this in (the Play, being all printed off
and the Press waiting,) I would sum up all your Beloved Plays, and all
the Things in them that are past with such Silence by; because written
by Men: such Masculine Strokes in me, must not be allow'd. I must
conclude those Women (if there be any such) greater Critics in that sort
of Conversation than my self, who find any of that sort in mine, or any
thing that can justly be reproach't. But 'tis in vain by dint of Reason
or Comparison to convince the obstinate Criticks, whose Business is to
find Fault, if not by a loose and gross Imagination to create them, for
they must either find the Jest, or make it; and those of this sort fall
to my share, they find Faults of another kind for the Men Writers. And
this one thing I will venture to say, though against my Nature, because
it has a Vanity in it: That had the Plays I have writ come forth under
any Mans Name, and never known to have been mine; I appeal to all
unbyast Judges of Sense, if they had not said that Person had made as
many good Comedies, as any one Man that has writ in our Age; but a Devil
on't the Woman damns the Poet.

Ladies, for its further Justification to you, be pleas'd to know, that
the first Copy of this Play was read by several Ladys of very great
Quality, and unquestioned Fame, and received their most favourable
Opinion, not one charging it with the Crime, that some have been pleas'd
to find in the Acting. Other Ladys who saw it more than once, whose
Quality and Vertue can sufficiently justifie any thing they design to
favour, were pleas'd to say, they found an Entertainment in it very far
from scandalous; and for the Generality of the Town, I found by my
Receipts it was not thought so Criminal. However, that shall not be an
Incouragement to me to trouble the Criticks with new Occasion of
affronting me, for endeavouring at least to divert; and at this rate,
both the few Poets that are left, and the Players who toil in vain will
be weary of their Trade.

I cannot omit to tell you, that a Wit of the Town, a Friend of mine at
Wills Coffee House, the first Night of the Play, cry'd it down as much
as in him lay, who before had read it and assured me he never 'saw a
prettier Comedy. So complaisant one pestilent Wit will be to another,
and in the full Cry make his Noise too; but since 'tis to the witty Few
I speak, I hope the better Judges will take no Offence, to whom I am
oblig'd for better Judgments; and those I hope will be so kind to me,
knowing my Conversation not at all addicted to the Indecencys alledged,
that I would much less practice it in a Play, that must stand the Test
of the censoring World. And I must want common Sense, and all the
Degrees of good Manners, renouncing my Fame, all Modesty and Interest
for a silly Sawcy fruitless Jest, to make Fools laugh, and Women blush,
and wise Men asham'd; My self all the while, if I had been guilty of
this Crime charg'd to me, remaining the only stupid, insensible. Is this
likely, is this reasonable to be believ'd by any body, but the wilfully
blind? All I ask, is the Priviledge for my Masculine Part the Poet in
me, (if any such you will allow me) to tread in those successful Paths
my Predecessors have so long thriv'd in, to take those Measures that
both the Ancient and Modern Writers have set me, and by which they have
pleas'd the World so well: If I must not, because of my Sex, have this
Freedom, but that you will usurp all to your selves; I lay down my
Quill, and you shall hear no more of me, no not so much as to make
Comparisons, because I will be kinder to my Brothers of the Pen, than
they have been to a defenceless Woman; for I am not content to write for
a Third day only. I value Fame as much as if I had been born a _Hero_;
and if you rob me of that, I can retire from the ungrateful World, and
scorn its fickle Favours.




THE LUCKY CHANCE;

or, An Alderman's Bargain.


PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. _Jevon_.

_Since with old Plays you have so long been cloy'd,
As with a Mistress many years enjoy'd,
How briskly dear Variety you pursue;
Nay, though for worse ye change, ye will have New.
Widows take heed some of you in fresh Youth
Have been the unpitied Martyrs of this Youth.
When for a drunken Sot, that had kind hours,
And taking their own freedoms, left you yours;
'Twas your delib'rate choice your days to pass
With a damn'd, sober, self-admiring Ass,
Who thinks good usage for the Sex unfit,
And slights ye out of Sparkishness and Wit.
But you can fit him--Let a worse Fool come,
If he neglect, to officiate in his room.
Vain amorous Coxcombs every where are found,
Fops for all uses, but the Stage abound.
Though you shou'd change them oftener than your Fashions,
There still wou'd be enough for your Occasions:
But ours are not so easily supplied,
All that cou'd e'er quit cost, we have already tried.
Nay, dear sometimes have bought the Frippery stuff.  |
This, Widows, you--I mean the old and tough--        |
Will never think, be they but Fool enough.           |

Such will with any kind of Puppies play;             |
But we must better know for what we pay:             |
We must not purchase such dull Fools as they.        |
Shou'd we shew each her own partic'lar Dear,
What they admire at home, they wou'd loath here.
Thus, though the Mall, the Ring, the Pit is full,
And every Coffee-House still swarms with Fool;
Though still by Fools all other Callings live,
Nay our own Women by fresh Cullies thrive,
Though your Intrigues which no Lampoon can cure,
Promise a long Succession to ensure;
And all your Matches plenty do presage:
Dire is the Dearth and Famine on the Stage.
Our Store's quite wasted, and our Credit's small,
Not a Fool left to bless our selves withal.
We re forc't at last to rob, (which is great pity,
Though 'tis a never-failing Bank) the City.

We show you one to day intirely new,
And of all Jests, none relish like the true.
Let that the value of our Play inhance,
Then it may prove indeed the_ Lucky Chance.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE


MEN.

Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd_, an old Alderman to be married    Mr. _Leigh_.
   to _Leticia_,
Sir _Cautious Fulbank_, an old Banker married to _Julia_, Mr. _Nokes_.
Mr. _Gayman_, a Spark of the Town, Lover of _Julia_,    Mr. _Betterton_.
Mr. _Bellmour_. contracted to _Leticia_. disguis'd, and
   passes for Sir _Feeble's_ Nephew,                    Mr. _Kynaston_.
Mr. _Bearjest_, Nephew to Sir _Cautious_, a Fop,           Mr. _Jevon_.
Capt. _Noisey_, his Companion,                             Mr. _Harris_.
Mr. _Bredwel_, Prentice to Sir _Cautious_, and Brother
   to _Leticia_, in love with _Diana_,                     Mr. _Bowman_.
_Rag_, Footman to _Gayman_.
_Ralph_, Footman to Sir _Feeble_.
_Dick_, Footman to Sir _Cautious_.
_Gingle_, a Music Master.
A Post-man.
Two Porters.
A Servant.

WOMEN.

Lady _Fulbank_, in love with _Gayman_, honest and
   generous,                                               Mrs. _Barry_.
_Leticia_. contracted to _Bellmour, married to Sir
   _Feeble_, young and virtuous,                           Mrs. _Cook_.
_Diana_, Daughter to Sir _Feeble_, in love with Bredwel;
   virtuous,                                            Mrs. _Mountford_.
_Pert_, Lady _Fulbank's_ Woman.
Gammer _Grime_, Landlady to _Gayman_, a Smith's
   Wife in _Alsatia_,                                      Mrs. _Powell_.
_Susan_, Servant to Sir _Feeble_.
_Phillis, Leticia's_ Woman.

A Parson, Fidlers, Dancers and Singers.

_The Scene_, LONDON.




ACT I.

SCENE I. _The Street, at break of Day_.

    _Enter_ Bellmour _disguis'd in a travelling Habit_.

_Bel_. Sure 'tis the day that gleams in yonder East,
The day that all but Lovers blest by Shade
Pay chearful Homage to:
Lovers! and those pursu'd like guilty me
By rigid Laws, which put no difference
'Twixt fairly killing in my own Defence,
And Murders bred by drunken Arguments,
Whores, or the mean Revenges of a Coward.
--This is _Leticia's_ Father's House--    [_Looking about_.
And that the dear Balcony
That has so oft been conscious of our Loves;
From whence she has sent me down a thousand Sighs,
A thousand looks of Love, a thousand Vows.
O thou dear witness of those charming Hours,
How do I bless thee, how am I pleas'd to view thee
After a tedious Age of Six Months Banishment.

    _Enter Mr_. Gingle _and several with Musick_.

_Fid_. But hark ye, Mr. _Gingle_, is it proper to play before the
Wedding?

_Gin_. Ever while you live, for many a time in playing after the first
night, the Bride's sleepy, the Bridegroom tir'd, and both so out of
humour, that perhaps they hate any thing that puts 'em in mind they
are married.

                [_They play and sing_.

    _Enter_ Phillis _in the Balcony, throws 'em Money_.

  _Rise_, Cloris, _charming Maid, arise!
    And baffle breaking Day,
  Shew the adoring World thy Eyes
    Are more surprizing gay;

  The Gods of Love are smiling round,
    And lead the Bridegroom on,
  And_ Hymen _has the Altar crown'd.
    While all thy sighing Lovers are undone.

  To see thee pass they throng the Plain;
    The Groves with Flowers are strown,
  And every young and envying Swain
    Wishes the hour his own.
  Rise then, and let the God of Day,
    When thou dost to the Lover yield,
  Behold more Treasure given away
    Than he in his vast Circle e'er beheld_.

_Bel_. Hah, _Phillis, Leticia's_ Woman!

_Ging_. Fie, Mrs. _Phillis_, do you take us for Fiddlers that play for
Hire? I came to compliment Mrs. _Leticia_ on her Wedding-Morning because
she is my Scholar.

_Phil_. She sends it only to drink her Health.

_Ging_. Come, Lads, let's to the Tavern then--
                                       [_Ex. Musick_.

_Bel_. Hah! said he _Leticia_? Sure, I shall turn to Marble at this
News: I harden, and cold Damps pass through my senseless Pores.--Hah,
who's here?

    _Enter_ Gayman _wrapt in his Cloke_.

_Gay_. 'Tis yet too early, but my Soul's impatient,
And I must see _Leticia_.
                             [_Goes to the door_.

_Bel_. Death and the Devil--the Bridegroom! Stay, Sir, by Heaven, you
pass not this way.
    [_Goes to the door as he is knocking, pushes him away, and draws_.

_Gay_. Hah! what art thou that durst forbid me Entrance?--Stand off.

                  [_They fight a little, and closing view each other_.

_Bel_. _Gayman_!

_Gay_. My dearest _Bellmour_!

_Bel_. Oh thou false Friend, thou treacherous base Deceiver!

_Gay_. Hah, this to me, dear _Harry_?

_Bel_. Whither is Honour, Truth and Friendship fled?

_Gay_. Why, there ne'er was such a Virtue,
'Tis all a Poet's Dream.

_Bel_. I thank you, Sir.

_Gay_. I'm sorry for't, or that ever I did any thing that could deserve
it: put up your Sword--an honest man wou'd say how he's offended, before
he rashly draws.

_Bel_. Are not you going to be married, Sir?

_Gay_. No, Sir, as long as any Man in _London_ is so, that has but a
handsom Wife, Sir.

_Bel_. Are you not in love, Sir?

_Gay_. Most damnably,--and wou'd fain lie with the dear jilting Gipsy.

_Bel_. Hah, who would you lie with, Sir?

_Gay_. You catechise me roundly--'tis not fair to name, but I am no
Starter, _Harry_; just as you left me, you find me. I am for the
faithless _Julia_ still, the old Alderman's Wife.--'Twas high time the
City should lose their Charter, when their Wives turn honest: But pray,
Sir, answer me a Question or two.

_Bel_. Answer me first, what makes you here this Morning?

_Gay_. Faith, to do you service. Your damn'd little Jade of a Mistress
has learned of her Neighbours the Art of Swearing and Lying in
abundance, and is--

_Bel_. To be married!    [Sighing.

_Gay_. Even so, God save the Mark; and she'll be a fair one for many an
Arrow besides her Husband's, though he an old _Finsbury_ Hero this
threescore Years.

_Bel_. Who mean you?

_Gay_. Why, thy Cuckold that shall be, if thou be'st wise.

_Bel_. Away; Who is this Man? thou dalliest with me.

_Gay_. Why, an old Knight, and Alderman here o'th' City, Sir _Feeble
Fainwou'd_, a jolly old Fellow, whose Activity is all got into his
Tongue, a very excellent Teazer; but neither Youth nor Beauty can grind
his Dudgeon to an Edge.

_Bel_. Fie, what Stuff's here!

_Gay_. Very excellent Stuff, if you have but the Grace to improve it.

_Bel_. You banter me--but in plain _English_, tell me,
What made you here thus early,
Entring yon House with such Authority?

_Gay_. Why, your Mistress _Leticia_, your contracted Wife, is this
Morning to be married to old Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd_, induc'd to't I
suppose by the great Jointure he makes her, and the improbability
of your ever gaining your Pardon for your high Duel--Do I speak
_English_ now, Sir?

_Bel_. Too well, would I had never heard thee.

_Gay_. Now I being the Confident in your Amours, the Jack-go-between--
the civil Pimp or so--you left her in charge with me at your Departure.

_Bel_. I did so.

_Gay_. I saw her every day; and every day she paid the Tribute of a
shower of Tears, to the dear Lord of all her Vows, young _Bellmour_:
Till faith at last, for Reasons manifold, I slackt my daily Visits.

_Bel_. And left her to Temptation--was that well done?

_Gay_. Now must I afflict you and my self with a long tale of Causes why;
Or be charg'd with want of Friendship.

_Bel_. You will do well to clear that Point to me.

_Gay_. I see you're peevish, and you shall be humour'd.--You know my
_Julia_ play'd me e'en such another Prank as your false one is going to
play you, and married old Sir _Cautious Fulbank_ here i'th' City; at
which you know I storm'd, and rav'd, and swore, as thou wo't now, and
to as little purpose. There was but one way left, and that was
cuckolding him.

_Bel_. Well, that Design I left thee hot upon.

_Gay_. And hotly have pursu'd it: Swore, wept, vow'd, wrote, upbraided,
prayed and railed; then treated lavishly, and presented high--till,
between you and I, _Harry_, I have presented the best part of Eight
hundred a year into her Husband's hands, in Mortgage.

_Bel_. This is the Course you'd have me steer, I thank you.

_Gay_. No, no, Pox on't, all Women are not Jilts. Some are honest, and
will give as well as take; or else there would not be so many broke
i'th' City. In fine, Sir, I have been in Tribulation, that is to say,
Moneyless, for six tedious Weeks, without either Clothes, or Equipage to
appear withal; and so not only my own Love-affair lay neglected--but
thine too--and I am forced to pretend to my Lady, that I am i'th'
Country with a dying Uncle--from whom, if he were indeed dead, I expect
two thousand a Year.

_Bel_. But what's all this to being here this Morning?

_Gay_. Thus have I lain conceal'd like a Winter-Fly, hoping for some
blest Sunshine to warm me into life again, and make me hover my flagging
Wings; till the News of this Marriage (which fills the Town) made me
crawl out this silent Hour, to upbraid the fickle Maid.

_Bel_. Didst thou?--pursue thy kind Design. Get me to see her; and sure
no Woman, even possest with a new Passion,
Grown confident even to Prostitution,
But when she sees the Man to whom she's sworn so very--very much, will
find Remorse and Shame.

_Gay_. For your sake, though the day be broke upon us,
And I'm undone, if seen--I'll venture in--
                               [_Throws his Cloke over_.

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble Fainwou'd, _Sir_ Cautious Fulbank, Bearjest
    _and_ Noisey.    [_Pass over the Stage, and go in_.

Hah--see the Bridegroom! And with him my destin'd Cuckold, old Sir
_Cautious Fulbank_.--Hah, what ail'st thou, Man?

_Bel_. The Bridegroom! Like _Gorgon's_ Head he'as turned me into Stone.

_Gay_. _Gorgon's_ Head--a Cuckold's Head--'twas made to graft upon.

_Bel_. By Heaven, I'll seize her even at the Altar,
And bear her thence in Triumph.

_Gay_. Ay, and be borne to _Newgate_ in Triumph, and be hanged in
Triumph--'twill be cold Comfort, celebrating your Nuptials in the
Press-Yard, and be wak'd next Morning, like Mr. _Barnardine_ in the
Play--Will you please to rise and be hanged a little, Sir?

_Bel_. What wouldst thou have me do?

_Gay_. As many an honest Man has done before thee--Cuckold him--
cuckold him.

_Bel_. What--and let him marry her! She that's mine by sacred Vows
already! By Heaven, it would be flat Adultery in her!

_Gay_. She'll learn the trick, and practise it the better with thee.

_Bel_. Oh Heavens! _Leticia_ marry him! and lie with him!--
Here will I stand and see this shameful Woman,
See if she dares pass by me to this Wickedness.

_Gay_. Hark ye, _Harry_--in earnest have a care of betraying your self;
and do not venture sweet Life for a fickle Woman, who perhaps hates you.

_Bel_. You counsel well--but yet to see her married!
How every thought of that shocks all my Resolution!--
But hang it, I'll be resolute and saucy,
Despise a Woman who can use me ill,
And think my self above her.

_Gay_. Why, now thou art thy self--a Man again.
But see, they're coming forth, now stand your ground.

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble, _Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Noisey, Leticia
    _sad_, Diana, Phillis.    [_Pass over the Stage_.

_Bel_. 'Tis she; support me, _Charles_, or I shall sink to Earth,
--Methought in passing by she cast a scornful glance at me;
Such charming Pride I've seen upon her Eyes,
When our Love-Quarrels arm'd 'em with Disdain--
I'll after 'em, if I live she shall not 'scape me.
                            [_Offers to go_, Gay. _holds him_.

_Gay_. Hold, remember you're proscribed,
And die if you are taken.

_Bel_. I've done, and I will live, but he shall ne'er enjoy her.
--Who's yonder, _Ralph_, my trusty Confident?

    _Enter_ Ralph.

Now though I perish I must speak to him.
--Friend, what Wedding's this?

_Ral_. One that was never made in Heaven, Sir;
'Tis Alderman _Fainwou'd_, and Mrs. _Leticia Bredwel_.

_Bel_. Bredwel--I have heard of her,--she was Mistress--

_Ral_. To fine Mr. _Bellmour_, Sir,--ay, there was a Gentleman
--But rest his Soul--he's hang'd, Sir.    [_Weeps_.

_Bel_. How! hang'd?

_Ral_. Hang'd, Sir, hang'd--at the _Hague_ in _Holland_.

_Gay_. I heard some such News, but did not credit it.

_Bel_. For what, said they, was he hang'd?

_Ral_. Why, e'en for High Treason, Sir, he killed one of their Kings.

_Gay_. Holland's a Commonwealth, and is not rul'd by Kings.

_Ral_. Not by one, Sir, but by a great many; this was a Cheesemonger
--they fell out over a Bottle of Brandy, went to Snicker Snee; Mr.
_Bellmour_ cut his Throat, and was hang'd for't, that's all, Sir.

_Bel_. And did the young Lady believe this?

_Ral_. Yes, and took on most heavily--the Doctors gave her over--and
there was the Devil to do to get her to consent to this Marriage--but
her Fortune was small, and the hope of a Ladyship, and a Gold Chain at
the Spittal Sermon, did the Business--and so your Servant, Sir.
                                                      [_Ex_. Ralph.

_Bel_. So, here's a hopeful Account of my sweet self now.

    _Enter Post-man with Letters_.

_Post_. Pray, Sir, which is Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd's_?

_Bel_. What wou'd you with him, Friend?

_Post_. I have a Letter here from the _Hague_ for him.

_Bel_. From the _Hague_! Now have I a curiosity to see it--I am his
Servant--give it me--[_Gives it him, and Exit_.--Perhaps here may be
the second part of my Tragedy, I'm full of Mischief, _Charles_--and have
a mind to see this Fellow's Secrets. For from this hour I'll be his evil
Genius, haunt him at Bed and Board; he shall not sleep nor eat; disturb
him at his Prayers, in his Embraces; and teaze him into Madness. Help
me, Invention, Malice, Love, and Wit:    [_Opening the Letter_.
Ye Gods, and little Fiends, instruct my Mischief.   [_Reads_.

  Dear Brother,

  _According to your desire I have sent for my Son from
  _St. Omer's_, whom I have sent to wait on you in_ England;
  _he is a very good Accountant, and fit for Business, and much
  pleased he shall see that Uncle to whom he's so obliged, and
  which is so gratefully acknowledged by--Dear Brother, your
  affectionate Brother_,
                              Francis Fainwou'd.

--Hum--hark ye, _Charles_, do you know who I am now?

_Gay_. Why, I hope a very honest Friend of mine, _Harry Bellmour_.

_Bel_. No, Sir, you are mistaken in your Man.

_Gay_. It may be so.

_Bel_. I am, d'ye see, _Charles_, this very individual, numerical young
Mr.--_what ye call 'um Fainwou'd_, just come from _St. Omers_ into
_England_--to my Uncle the Alderman. I am, _Charles_, this very Man.

_Gay_. I know you are, and will swear't upon occasion.

_Bel_. This lucky Thought has almost calm'd my mind.
And if I don't fit you, my dear Uncle,
May I never lie with my Aunt.

_Gay_. Ah, Rogue--but prithee what care have you taken about your
Pardon? 'twere good you should secure that.

_Bel_. There's the Devil, _Charles_,--had I but that--but I have had a
very good Friend at work, a thousand Guyneys, that seldom fails; but yet
in vain, I being the first Transgressor since the Act against Duelling.
But I impatient to see this dear delight of my Soul, and hearing from
none of you this six weeks, came from _Brussels_ in this disguise--for
the _Hague_ I have not seen, though hang'd there--but come--let's away,
and compleat me a right _St. Omer's_ Spark, that I may present my self
as soon as they come from Church.

                             [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _Sir_ Cautious Fulbank's _House_.


_Enter Lady_ Fulbank, Pert _and_ Bredwel. Bredwel _gives her a Letter_.

_Lady_ Fulbank _reads_.

  _Did my_ Julia _know how I languish in this cruel Separation,
  she would afford me her pity, and write oftner. If only the
  Expectation of two thousand a year kept me from you, ah!_
  Julia, _how easily would I abandon that Trifle for your more
  valued sight; but that I know a fortune will render me
  more agreeable to the charming_ Julia, _I should quit all my
  Interest here, to throw my self at her Feet, to make her
  sensible how I am intirely her Adorer_.
                                    Charles Gayman.

--Faith, _Charles_, you lie--you are as welcome to me now,
Now when I doubt thy Fortune is declining,
As if the Universe were thine.

_Pert_. That, Madam, is a noble Gratitude. For if his Fortune be
declining, 'tis sacrificed to his Passion for your Ladyship.
--'Tis all laid out on Love.

L. _Ful_. I prize my Honour more than Life,
Yet I had rather have given him all he wish'd of me,
Than be guilty of his Undoing.

_Pert_. And I think the Sin were less.

L. _Ful_. I must confess, such Jewels, Rings and Presents as he made me,
must needs decay his Fortune.

_Bred_. Ay, Madam, his very Coach at last was turned into a Jewel for
your Ladyship. Then, Madam, what Expences his Despair have run him on
--As Drinking and Gaming, to divert the Thought of your marrying my
old Master.

L. _Ful_. And put in Wenching too.--

_Bred_. No, assure your self, Madam--

L. _Ful_. Of that I would be better satisfied--and you too must assist
me, as e'er you hope I should be kind to you in gaining you _Diana_.
                                                        [_To_ Bredwel.

_Bred_. Madam, I'll die to serve you.

_Pert_. Nor will I be behind in my Duty.

L. _Ful_. Oh, how fatal are forc'd Marriages!
How many Ruins one such Match pulls on!
Had I but kept my Sacred Vows to _Gayman_,
How happy had I been--how prosperous he!
Whilst now I languish in a loath'd embrace,
Pine out my Life with Age--Consumptions, Coughs.
--But dost thou fear that Gayman is declining?

_Bred_. You are my Lady, and the best of Mistresses--
Therefore I would not grieve you, for I know
You love this best--but most unhappy Man.

L. _Ful_. You shall not grieve me--prithee on.

_Bred_. My Master sent me yesterday to Mr. _Crap_, his Scrivener, to
send to one Mr. _Wasteall_, to tell him his first Mortgage was out,
which is two hundred pounds a Year--and who has since ingaged five or
six hundred more to my Master; but if this first be not redeem'd, he'll
take the Forfeit on't, as he says a wise Man ought.

L. _Ful_. That is to say, a Knave, according to his Notion of a wise
Man.

_Bred_. Mr. _Crap_, being busy with a borrowing Lord, sent me to Mr.
_Wasteall_, whose Lodging is in a nasty Place called _Alsatia_, at a
Black-Smith's.

L. _Ful_. But what's all this to _Gayman_?

_Bred_. Madam, this _Wasteall_ was Mr. _Gayman_.

L. _Ful_. _Gayman_! Saw'st thou _Gayman_?

_Bred_. Madam, Mr. _Gayman_, yesterday.

L. _Ful_. When came he to Town?

_Bred_. Madam, he has not been out of it.

L. _Ful_. Not at his Uncle's in _Northamptonshire_?

_Bred_. Your Ladyship was wont to credit me.

L. _Ful_. Forgive me--you went to a Black-Smith's--

_Bred_. Yes, Madam; and at the door encountred the beastly thing he
calls a Landlady; who lookt as if she had been of her own Husband's
making, compos'd of moulded Smith's Dust. I ask'd for Mr. _Wasteall_,
and she began to open--and did so rail at him, that what with her
_Billinsgate_, and her Husband's hammers, I was both deaf and dumb--at
last the hammers ceas'd, and she grew weary, and call'd down Mr.
_Wasteall_; but he not answering--I was sent up a Ladder rather than a
pair of Stairs; at last I scal'd the top, and enter'd the inchanted
Castle; there did I find him, spite of the noise below, drowning his
Cares in Sleep.

L. _Ful_. Whom foundst thou? _Gayman_?

_Bred_. He, Madam, whom I waked--and seeing me, Heavens, what Confusion
seiz'd him! which nothing but my own Surprize could equal. Asham'd--he
wou'd have turn'd away;
But when he saw, by my dejected Eyes, I knew him,
He sigh'd, and blusht, and heard me tell my Business:
Then beg'd I wou'd be secret; for he vow'd his whole
Repose and Life depended on my silence. Nor had I told it now,
But that your Ladyship may find some speedy means to draw him from
this desperate Condition.

L. _Ful_. Heavens, is't possible?

_Bred_. He's driven to the last degree of Poverty--
Had you but seen his Lodgings, Madam!

L. _Ful_. What were they?

_Bred_. 'Tis a pretty convenient Tub, Madam. He may lie a long in't,
there's just room for an old join'd Stool besides the Bed, which one
cannot call a Cabin, about the largeness of a Pantry Bin, or a Usurer's
Trunk; there had been Dornex Curtains to't in the days of Yore; but they
were now annihilated, and nothing left to save his Eyes from the Light,
but my Landlady's Blue Apron, ty'd by the strings before the Window, in
which stood a broken six-penny Looking-Glass, that shew'd as many Faces
as the Scene in _Henry_ the Eighth, which could but just stand upright,
and then the Comb-Case fill'd it.

L. _Ful_. What a leud Description hast thou made of his Chamber?

_Bred_. Then for his Equipage, 'tis banisht to one small Monsieur, who
(saucy with his Master's Poverty) is rather a Companion than a Footman.

L. _Ful_. But what said he to the Forfeiture of his Land?

_Bred_. He sigh'd and cry'd, Why, farewel dirty Acres; It shall not
trouble me, since 'twas all but for Love!

L. _Ful_. How much redeems it?

_Bred_. Madam, five hundred Pounds.

L. _Ful_. Enough--you shall in some disguise convey this Money to him,
as from an unknown hand: I wou'd not have him think it comes from me,
for all the World: That Nicety and Virtue I've profest, I am resolved
to keep.

_Pert_. If I were your Ladyship, I wou'd make use of Sir _Cautious's_
Cash: pay him in his own Coin.

_Bred_. Your Ladyship wou'd make no Scruple of it, if you knew how this
poor Gentleman has been us'd by my unmerciful Master.

L. _Ful_. I have a Key already to his Counting-House; it being lost, he
had another made, and this I found and kept.

_Bred_. Madam, this is an excellent time for't, my Master being gone to
give my Sister _Leticia_ at Church.

L. _Ful_. 'Tis so, I'll go and commit the Theft, whilst you prepare to
carry it, and then we'll to dinner with your Sister the Bride.

                                                         [_Exeunt_.



SCENE III. _The House of Sir_ Feeble.


   _Enter Sir_ Feeble, Leticia, _Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Diana, Noisey.
   _Sir_ Feeble _sings and salutes 'em_.

Sir _Feeb_. Welcome, _Joan Sanderson_, welcome, welcome. [_Kisses the
Bride_. Ods bobs, and so thou art, Sweet-heart. [_So to the rest_.

_Bear_. Methinks my Lady Bride is very melancholy.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, Women that are discreet, are always thus upon their
Wedding-day.

Sir _Feeb_. Always by day-light, Sir _Cautious_.

   _But when bright_ Phoebus _does retire,
   To_ Thetis' _Bed to quench his fire.
   And do the thing we need not name,
   We Mortals by his influence do the same.
   Then then the blushing Maid lays by
   Her simpering, and her Modesty;
   And round the Lover clasps and twines
   Like Ivy, or the circling Vines_.

Sir _Feeb_. Here, _Ralph_, the Bottle, Rogue, of Sack, ye Rascal; hadst
thou been a Butler worth hanging, thou wou'dst have met us at the door
with it.--Ods bods, Sweet-heart, thy health.

_Bear_. Away with it, to the Bride's _Haunce in Kelder_.

Sir _Feeb_. Gots so, go to, Rogue, go to, that shall be, Knave, that
shall be the morrow morning; he--ods bobs, we'll do't, Sweet heart;
here's to't.    [_Drinks again_.

_Let_. I die but to imagine it, wou'd I were dead indeed.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah--hum--how's this? Tears upon the Wedding day? Why,
why--you Baggage, you, ye little Thing, Fools-face--away, you Rogue,
you're naughty, you're naughty. [_Patting and playing, and following
her_. Look--look--look now,--buss it--buss it--buss it--and Friends;
did'ums, did'ums beat its none silly Baby--away, you little Hussey,
away, and pledge me--
                         [_She drinks a little_.

Sir _Cau_. A wise discreet Lady, I'll warrant her; my Lady would
prodigally have took it off all.

Sir _Feeb_. Dear's its nown dear Fubs; buss again, buss again, away,
away--ods bobs, I long for Night--look, look, Sir _Cautious_, what an
Eye's there!

Sir _Cau_. Ay, so there is, Brother, and a modest Eye too.

Sir _Feeb_. Adad, I love her more and more, _Ralph_--call old _Susan_
hither--come, Mr. _Bearjest_, put the Glass about. Ods bobs, when I was
a young Fellow, I wou'd not let the young Wenches look pale and wan--but
would rouse 'em, and touse 'em, and blowze 'em, till I put a colour in
their Cheeks, like an Apple _John_, affacks--Nay, I can make a shift
still, and Pupsey shall not be jealous.

    _Enter_ Susan, _Sir_ Feeble _whispers her, she goes out_.

_Let_. Indeed, not I; Sir. I shall be all Obedience.

Sir _Cau_. A most judicious Lady; would my _Julia_ had a little of her
Modesty; but my Lady's a Wit.

    _Enter_ Susan _with a Box_.

Sir _Feeb_. Look here, my little Puskin, here's fine Playthings for its
nown little Coxcomb--go--get you gone--get you gone, and off with this
St. _Martin's_ Trumpery, these Play-house Glass Baubles, this Necklace,
and these Pendants, and all this false Ware; ods bobs, I'll have no
Counterfeit Geer about thee, not I. See--these are right as the Blushes
on thy Cheeks, and these as true as my Heart, my Girl. Go, put'em on,
and be fine.
                [_Gives 'em her_.

_Let_. Believe me, Sir, I shall not merit this kindness.

Sir _Feeb_. Go to--More of your Love, and less of your Ceremony--give
the old Fool a hearty buss, and pay him that way--he, ye little wanton
Tit, I'll steal up--and catch ye and love ye--adod, I will--get ye
gone--get ye gone.

_Let_. Heavens, what a nauseous thing is an old Man turn'd Lover!
                                           [_Ex_. Leticia _and_ Diana.

Sir _Cau_. How, steal up, Sir _Feeble_--I hope not so; I hold it most
indecent before the lawful hour.

Sir _Feeb_. Lawful hour! Why, I hope all hours are lawful with a Man's
own Wife.

Sir _Cau_. But wise Men have respect to Times and Seasons.

Sir _Feeb_. Wise young Men, Sir _Cautious_; but wise old Men must nick
their Inclinations; for it is not as 'twas wont to be, for it is not as
'twas wont to be--
                      [_Singing and Dancing_.

    _Enter_ Ralph.

_Ral_. Sir, here's a young Gentleman without wou'd speak with you.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--I hope it is not that same Bellmour come to forbid the
Banes--if it be, he comes too late--therefore bring me first my long
Sword, and then the Gentleman.
                       [_Exit_ Ralph.

_Bear_. Pray, Sir, use mine, it is a travell'd Blade I can assure you,
Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. I thank you, Sir.

    _Enter_ Ralph _and_ Bellmour _disguised, gives him a Letter,
    he reads_.

How--my Nephew!
_Francis Fainwou'd_!     [_Embraces him_.

_Bel_. I am glad he has told me my Christian name.

Sir _Feeb_. Sir _Cautious_, know my Nephew--'tis a young _St. Omers_
Scholar--but none of the Witnesses.

Sir _Cau_. Marry, Sir, and the wiser he; for they got nothing by't.

_Bea_. Sir, I love and honour you, because you are a Traveller.

Sir _Feeb_. A very proper young Fellow, and as like old _Frank
Fainwou'd_ as the Devil to the Collier; but, _Francis_, you are come
into a very leud Town, _Francis_, for Whoring, and Plotting, and
Roaring, and Drinking; but you must go to Church, _Francis_, and avoid
ill Company, or you may make damnable Havock in my Cash, _Francis_,
--what, you can keep Merchants Books?

_Bel_. That's been my study, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. And you will not be proud, but will be commanded by me,
_Francis_?

_Bel_. I desire not to be favour'd as a Kinsman, Sir, but as your
humblest Servant.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, thou'rt an honest Fellow, _Francis_,--and thou'rt
heartily welcome--and I'll make thee fortunate. But come, Sir
_Cautious_, let you and I take a turn i'th' Garden, and get a right
understanding between your Nephew Mr. _Bearjest_, and my Daughter _Dye_.

Sir _Cau_. Prudently thought on, Sir, I'll wait on you.--

                               [_Ex. Sir_ Feeble, _and Sir_ Cautious.

_Bea_. You are a Traveller, I understand.

_Bel_. I have seen a little part of the World, Sir.

_Bea_. So have I, Sir, I thank my Stars, and have performed most of my
Travels on Foot, Sir.

_Bel_. You did not travel far then, I presume, Sir?

_Bea_. No, Sir, it was for my diversion indeed; but I assure you, I
travell'd into _Ireland_ a-foot, Sir.

_Bel_. Sure, Sir, you go by shipping into _Ireland_?

_Bea_. That's all one, Sir, I was still a-foot, ever walking on the
Deck.

_Bel_. Was that your farthest Travel, Sir?

_Bea_. Farthest--why, that's the End of the World--and sure a Man can
go no farther.

_Bel_. Sure, there can be nothing worth a Man's Curiosity?

_Bea_. No, Sir, I'll assure you, there are the Wonders of the World,
Sir: I'll hint you this one. There is a Harbour which since the Creation
was never capable of receiving a Lighter, yet by another Miracle the
King of _France_ was to ride there with a vast Fleet of Ships, and to
land a hundred thousand Men.

_Bel_. This is a swinging Wonder--but are there store of Mad-men there,
Sir?

_Bea_. That's another Rarity to see a Man run out of his Wits.

_Noi_. Marry, Sir, the wiser they I say.

_Bea_. Pray, Sir, what store of Miracles have you at _St. Omers?_

_Bel_. None, Sir, since that of the wonderful _Salamanca_ Doctor, who
was both here and there at the same Instant of time.

_Bea_. How, Sir? why, that's impossible.

_Bel_. That was the Wonder, Sir, because 'twas impossible.

_Noi_. But 'twas a greater, Sir, that 'twas believed.

    _Enter L_. Fulb. _and_ Pert, _Sir_ Cau. _and Sir_ Feeb.

Sir _Feeb_. Enough, enough, Sir _Cautious_, we apprehend one another.
Mr. _Bearjest_, your Uncle here and I have struck the Bargain, the Wench
is yours with three thousand Pound present, and something more after
Death, which your Uncle likes well.

_Bea_. Does he so, Sir? I'm beholding to him; then 'tis not a Pin matter
whether I like or not, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. How, Sir, not like my Daughter _Dye_?

_Bea_. Oh, Lord, Sir,--die or live, 'tis all one for that, Sir--I'll
stand to the Bargain my Uncle makes.

_Pert_. Will you so, Sir? you'll have very good luck if you do.
                                                          [_Aside_.

_Bea_. Prithee hold thy Peace, my Lady's Woman.

L. _Ful_. Sir, I beg your pardon for not waiting on you to Church--
I knew you wou'd be private.

    _Enter_ Let_. fine in Jewels_.

Sir _Feeb_. You honour us too highly now, Madam.
                                 [_Presents his Wife, who salutes her_.

L. _Ful_. Give you Joy, my dear _Leticia_! I find, Sir, you were
resolved for Youth, Wit and Beauty.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, ay, Madam, to the Comfort of many a hoping Coxcomb: but
_Lette_,--Rogue _Lette_--thou wo't not make me free o'th' City a second
time, wo't thou entice the Rogues with the Twire and the wanton Leer
--the amorous Simper that cries, come, kiss me--then the pretty round
Lips are pouted out--he, Rogue, how I long to be at 'em!--well, she
shall never go to Church more, that she shall not.

L. _Ful_. How, Sir, not to Church, the chiefest Recreation of a City
Lady?

Sir _Feeb_. That's all one, Madam, that tricking and dressing, and
prinking and patching, is not your Devotion to Heaven, but to the young
Knaves that are lick'd and comb'd and are minding you more than the
Parson--ods bobs, there are more Cuckolds destin'd in the Church, than
are made out of it.

Sir _Cau_. Hah, ha, ha, he tickles ye, i'faith, Ladies.    [_To his Lady_.

_Bel_. Not one chance look this way--and yet
I can forgive her lovely Eyes,
Because they look not pleas'd with all this Ceremony;
And yet methinks some sympathy in Love
Might this way glance their Beams--I cannot hold--
Sir, is this fair Lady my Aunt?

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, _Francis_! Come hither, _Francis_.
_Lette_, here's a young Rogue has a mind to kiss thee.
                               [_Puts them together, she starts back_.
--Nay, start not, he's my own Flesh and Blood,
My Nephew--Baby--look, look how the young
Rogues stare at one another; like will to like, I see that.

_Let_. There's something in his Face so like my _Bellmour_, it calls my
Blushes up, and leaves my Heart defenceless.

    _Enter_ Ralph.

_Ralph_. Sir, Dinner's on the Table.

Sir _Feeb_. Come, come--let's in then--Gentlemen and Ladies,
And share to day my Pleasures and Delight,
But--
Adds bobs, they must be all mine own at Night.

                                         [_Exeunt_.




ACT II.

SCENE I. Gayman's _Lodging_.


    _Enter _Gayman_ in a Night-Cap, and an old Campaign Coat
    tied about him, very melancholy_.

_Gay_. Curse on my Birth! Curse on my faithless Fortune!
Curse on my Stars, and curst be all--but Love!
That dear, that charming Sin, though t'have pull'd
Innumerable Mischiefs on my head,
I have not, nor I cannot find Repentance for.
Nor let me die despis'd, upbraided, poor:
Let Fortune, Friends and all abandon me--
But let me hold thee, thou soft smiling God,
Close to my heart while Life continues there.
Till the last pantings of my vital Blood,
Nay, the last spark of Life and Fire be Love's!

    _Enter_ Rag.

--How now, _Rag_, what's a Clock?

_Rag_. My Belly can inform you better than my Tongue.

_Gay_. Why, you gormandizing Vermin you, what have you done with the
Three pence I gave you a fortnight ago.

_Rag_. Alas, Sir, that's all gone long since.

_Gay_. You gutling Rascal, you are enough to breed a Famine in a Land. I
have known some industrious Footmen, that have not only gotten their own
Livings, but a pretty Livelihood for their Masters too.

_Rag_. Ay, till they came to the Gallows, Sir.

_Gay_. Very well, Sirrah, they died in an honourable Calling--but hark
ye, _Rag_,--I have business, very earnest business abroad this Evening;
now were you a Rascal of Docity, you wou'd invent a way to get home my
last Suit that was laid in Lavender--with the Appurtenances thereunto
belonging, as Perriwig, Cravat, and so forth.

_Rag_. Faith, Master, I must deal in the black Art then, for no human
means will do't--and now I talk of the black Art, Master, try your Power
once more with my Landlady.

_Gay_. Oh! name her not, the thought on't turns my Stomach--a sight of
her is a Vomit; but he's a bold Hero that dares venture on her for a
kiss, and all beyond that sure is Hell it self--yet there's my last,
last Refuge--and I must to this Wedding--I know not what,--but
something whispers me,--this Night I shall be happy--and without _Julia_
'tis impossible!

_Rag. Julia_, who's that? my Lady _Fulbank_, Sir?

_Gay_. Peace, Sirrah--and call--a--no--Pox on't, come back--and
yet--yes--call my fulsome Landlady.

                            [_Exit_ Rag.

Sir _Cautious_ knows me not by Name or Person.
And I will to this Wedding, I'm sure of seeing _Julia_ there.
And what may come of that--but here's old Nasty coming.
I smell her up--hah, my dear Landlady.

    _Enter _Rag_ and _Landlady.

Quite out of breath--a Chair there for my Landlady.

_Rag_. Here's ne'er a one, Sir.

_Land_. More of your Money and less of your Civility, good Mr.
_Wasteall_.

_Gay_. Dear Landlady--

_Land_. Dear me no Dears, Sir, but let me have my Money--Eight Weeks
Rent last Friday; besides Taverns, Ale-houses, Chandlers, Landresses'
Scores, and ready Money out of my Purse; you know it, Sir.

_Gay_. Ay, but your Husband don't; speak softly.

_Land_. My Husband! what, do you think to fright me with my Husband?--
I'd have you to know I'm an honest Woman, and care not this--for my
Husband. Is this all the thanks I have for my kindness, for patching,
borrowing and shifting for you; 'twas but last Week I pawn'd my best
Petticoat, as I hope to wear it again, it cost me six and twenty
shillings besides Making; then this Morning my new _Norwich_ Mantua
followed, and two postle Spoons, I had the whole dozen when you came
first; but they dropt, and dropt, till I had only _Judas_ left for
my Husband.

_Gay_. Hear me, good Landlady.

_Land_. Then I've past my word at the _George Tavern_, for forty
Shillings for you, ten Shillings at my Neighbour _Squabs_ for Ale,
besides seven Shillings to Mother _Suds_ for Washing; and do you fob me
off with my Husband?

_Gay_. Here, _Rag_, run and fetch her a Pint of Sack--there's no other
way of quenching the Fire in her flabber Chops.

                                           [_Exit_ Rag.

--But, my dear Landlady, have a little Patience.

_Land_. Patience! I scorn your Words, Sir--is this a place to trust in?
tell me of Patience, that us'd to have my money before hand; come, come,
pay me quickly--or old _Gregory Grimes_ house shall be too hot to
hold you.

_Gay_. Is't come to this, can I not be heard?

_Land_. No, Sir, you had good Clothes when you came first, but they
dwindled daily, till they dwindled to this old Campaign--with tan'd
coloured Lining--once red--but now all Colours of the Rain-bow, a Cloke
to sculk in a Nights, and a pair of piss-burn'd shammy Breeches. Nay,
your very Badge of Manhood's gone too.

_Gay_. How, Landlady! nay then, i'faith, no wonder if you rail so.

_Land_. Your Silver Sword I mean--transmogrified to this two-handed
Basket Hilt--this old Sir _Guy_ of _Warwick_--which will sell for
nothing but old Iron. In fine, I'll have my money, Sir, or i'faith,
_Alsatia_ shall not shelter you.

    _Enter_ Rag.

_Gay_. Well, Landlady--if we must part--let's drink at parting; here,
Landlady, here's to the Fool--that shall love you better than I have
done.    [_Sighing, drinks_.

_Land_. Rot your Wine--dy'e think to pacify me with Wine, Sir?

    [_She refusing to drink, he holds open her Jaws_, Rag
    _throws a Glass of Wine into her Mouth_.

--What, will you force me?--no--give me another Glass, I scorn to be so
uncivil to be forced, my service to you, Sir--this shan't do, Sir.

                                 [_She drinks, he, embracing her, sings_.

    _Ah_, Cloris, _'tis in vain you scold,
    Whilst your Eyes kindle such a Fire.
    Tour Railing cannot make me cold,
    So fast as they a Warmth inspire_.

_Land_. Well, Sir, you have no reason to complain of my Eyes nor my
Tongue neither, if rightly understood.    [_Weeps_.

_Gay_. I know you are the best of Landladies,
As such I drink your Health--    [_Drinks_.
But to upbraid a Man in Tribulation--fie--'tis not done like a Woman
of Honour, a Man that loves you too.

                                        [She drinks.

_Land_. I am a little hasty sometimes, but you know my good Nature.

_Gay_. I do, and therefore trust my little wants with you. I shall be
rich again--and then, my dearest Landlady--

_Land_. Wou'd this Wine might ne'er go through me, if I wou'd not go,
as they say, through Fire and Water--by Night or by Day for you.
                                                       [_She drinks_.

_Gay_. And as this is Wine I do believe thee.    [_He drinks_.

_Land_. Well--you have no money in your Pocket now, I'll warrant you--
here--here's ten Shillings for you old _Greg'ry_ knows not of.
                                         [_Opens a great greasy purse_.

_Gay_. I cannot in Conscience take it, good Faith, I cannot--besides,
the next Quarrel you'll hit me in the Teeth with it.

_Land_. Nay, pray no more of that; forget it, forget it. I own I was to
blame--here, Sir, you shall take it.

_Gay_. Ay,--but what shou'd I do with Money in these damn'd Breeches?
--No, put it up--I can't appear abroad thus--no, I'll stay at home, and
lose my business.

_Land_. Why, is there no way to redeem one of your Suits?

_Gay_. None--none--I'll e'en lay me down and die.

_Land_. Die--marry, Heavens forbid--I would not for the World--let me
see--hum--what does it lie for?

_Gay_. Alas! dear Landlady, a Sum--a Sum.

_Land_. Well, say no more, I'll lay about me.

_Gay_. By this kiss but you shall not--_Assafetida_, by this Light.

_Land_. Shall not? that's a good one, i'faith: shall you rule, or I?

_Gay_. But shou'd your Husband know it?--

_Land_. Husband--marry come up, Husbands know Wives secrets? No, sure,
the World's not so bad yet--where do your things lie? and for what?

_Gay_. Five Pounds equips me--_Rag_ can conduct you--but I say you shall
not go, I've sworn.

_Land_. Meddle with your matters--let me see, the Caudle Cup that
_Molly's_ Grandmother left her, will pawn for about that sum--I'll sneak
it out--well, Sir, you shall have your things presently--trouble not
your head, but expect me.

                  [_Ex_. Landlady _and_ Rag.

_Gay_. Was ever man put to such beastly shifts? 'Sdeath, how she stunk--
my senses are most luxuriously regal'd--there's my perpetual Musick too--

                                 [_Knocking of Hammers on a Anvil_.

The ringing of Bells is an Ass to't.

    _Enter_ Rag.

_Rag_. Sir, there's one in a Coach below wou'd speak to you.

_Gay_. With me, and in a Coach! who can it be?

_Rag_. The Devil, I think, for he has a strange Countenance.

_Gay_. The Devil! shew your self a Rascal of Parts, Sirrah, and wait on
him up with Ceremony.

_Rag_. Who, the Devil, Sir?

_Gay_. Ay, the Devil, Sir, if you mean to thrive.
                                            [_Exit_ Rag.
Who can this be--but see he comes to inform me--withdraw.

    _Enter_ Bredwel _drest like a Devil_.

_Bred_. I come to bring you this--
                    [_Gives him a Letter_.

Gayman _reads_.

  _Receive what Love and Fortune present you with, be grateful
  and be silent, or 'twill vanish like a dream, and leave you
  more wretched that it found You_.
                                       Adieu.

--Hah--
                                [Gives him a bag of Money.

_Bred_. Nay, view it, Sir, 'tis all substantial Gold.

_Gay_. Now dare not I ask one civil question for fear it vanish all--
                                                               [_Aside_.
But I may ask, how 'tis I ought to pay for this great Bounty.

_Bred_. Sir, all the Pay is Secrecy--

_Gay_. And is this all that is required, Sir?

_Bred_. No, you're invited to the Shades below.

_Gay_. Hum, Shades below!--I am not prepared for such a Journey, Sir.

_Bred_. If you have Courage, Youth or Love, you'll follow me:
When Night's black Curtain's drawn around the World,
And mortal Eyes are safely lockt in sleep,   [_In feign'd Heroick Tone_.
And no bold Spy dares view when Gods caress,
Then I'll conduct thee to the Banks of Bliss.
--Durst thou not trust me?

_Gay_. Yes, sure, on such substantial security.    [_Hugs the Bag_.

_Bred_. Just when the Day is vanish'd into Night,
And only twinkling Stars inform the World,
Near to the Corner of the silent Wall,
In Fields of _Lincoln's-Inn_, thy Spirit shall meet thee.
--Farewell.
               [_Goes out_.

_Gay_. Hum--I am awake sure, and this is Gold I grasp.
I could not see this Devil's cloven Foot;
Nor am I such a Coxcomb to believe,
But he was as substantial as his Gold.
Spirits, Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Furies, Fiends and Devils,
I've often heard old Wives fright Fools and Children with,
Which, once arriv'd to common Sense, they laugh at.
--No, I am for things possible and Natural:
Some Female Devil, old and damn'd to Ugliness,
And past all Hopes of Courtship and Address,
Full of another Devil called Desire,
Has seen this Face--this Shape--this Youth,
And thinks it's worth her Hire. It must be so:
I must moil on in the damn'd dirty Road,
And sure such Pay will make the Journey easy:

  _And for the Price of the dull drudging Night,
  All Day I'll purchase new and fresh Delight_.

                                       [_Exit_.



SCENE II. _Sir_ Feeble's _House_.


    _Enter_ Leticia, _pursu'd by_ Phillis.

_Phil_. Why, Madam, do you leave the Garden,
For this retreat to Melancholy?

_Let_. Because it suits my Fortune and my Humour;
And even thy Presence wou'd afflict me now.

_Phil_. Madam, I was sent after you; my Lady _Fulbank_ has challeng'd
Sir _Feeble_ at Bowls, and stakes a Ring of fifty Pound against his
new Chariot.

_Let_. Tell him I wish him Luck in every thing,
But in his Love to me--
Go tell him I am viewing of the Garden.

                                  [_Ex_. Phillis.

    _Enter_ Bellmour _at a distance behind her_.

--Blest be this kind Retreat, this 'lone Occasion,
That lends a short Cessation to my Torments,
And gives me leave to vent my Sighs and Tears.    [_Weeps_.

_Bel_. And doubly blest be all the Powers of Love,
That give me this dear Opportunity.

_Let_. Where were you, all ye pitying Gods of Love?
That once seem'd pleas'd at _Bellmour's_ Flame and mine,
And smiling join'd our Hearts, our sacred Vows,
And spread your Wings, and held your Torches high.

_Bel_. Oh--
               [_She starts, and pauses_.

_Let_. Where were you now? When this unequal Marriage
Gave me from all my Joys, gave me from _Bellmour_;
Your Wings were flag'd, your Torches bent to Earth,
And all your little Bonnets veil'd your Eyes;
You saw not, or were deaf and pitiless.

_Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_!

_Let_. Hah, 'tis there again; that very voice was _Bellmour's_:
Where art thou, Oh thou lovely charming Shade?
For sure thou canst not take a Shape to fright me.
--What art thou?--speak!
              [_Not looking behind her yet for fear_.

_Bel_. Thy constant true Adorer,
Who all this fatal Day has haunted thee
To ease his tortur'd Soul.    [_Approaching nearer_.

_Let_. My Heart is well acquainted with that Voice,
But Oh, my Eyes dare not encounter thee.
                           [_Speaking with signs of fear_.

_Bel_. Is it because thou'st broken all thy Vows?
--Take to thee Courage, and behold thy Slaughters.

_Let_. Yes, though the Sight wou'd blast me, I wou'd view it.  [_Turns_.
--'Tis he--'tis very _Bellmour!_ or so like--
I cannot doubt but thou deserv'st this Welcome.    [_Embraces him_.

_Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_!

_Let_. I'm sure I grasp not Air; thou art no Fantom:
Thy Arms return not empty to my Bosom,
But meet a solid Treasure.

_Bel_. A Treasure thou so easily threw'st away;
A Riddle simple Love ne'er understood.

_Let_. Alas, I heard, my _Bellmour_, thou wert dead.

_Bel_. And was it thus you mourn'd my Funeral?

_Let_. I will not justify my hated Crime:
But Oh! remember I was poor and helpless,
And much reduc'd, and much impos'd upon.

                                [Bellmour _weeps_.

_Bel_. And Want compell'd thee to this wretched Marriage--did it?

_Let_. 'Tis not a Marriage, since my _Bellmour_ lives;
The Consummation were Adultery.
I was thy Wife before, wo't thou deny me?

_Bel_. No, by those Powers that heard our mutual Vows,
Those Vows that tie us faster than dull Priests.

_Let_. But oh my _Bellmour_, thy sad Circumstances
Permit thee not to make a publick Claim:
Thou art proscribed, and diest if thou art seen.

_Bel_. Alas!

_Let_. Yet I wou'd wander with thee o'er the World,
And share thy humblest Fortune with thy Love.

_Bel_. Is't possible, _Leticia_, thou wou'dst fly
To foreign Shores with me?

_Let_. Can _Bellmour_ doubt the Soul he knows so well?

_Bel_. Perhaps in time the King may find my Innocence, and may extend
  his Mercy:
Mean time I'll make provision for our Flight.

_Let_. But how 'twixt this and that can I defend
My self from the loath'd Arms of an impatient Dotard,
That I may come a spotless Maid to thee?

_Bel_. Thy native Modesty and my Industry
Shall well enough secure us.
Feign your nice Virgin-Cautions all the day;
Then trust at night to my Conduct to preserve thee.
--And wilt thou yet be mine? Oh, swear a-new,
Give me again thy Faith, thy Vows, thy Soul;
For mine's so sick with this Day's fatal Business,
It needs a Cordial of that mighty strength;
Swear--swear, so as if thou break'st--
Thou mayst be--any thing--but damn'd, _Leticia_.

_Let_. Thus then, and hear me, Heaven!    [_Kneels_.

_Bel_. And thus--I'll listen to thee.    [_Kneels_.

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble, _L_. Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Feeb_. _Lette, Lette, Lette_, where are you, little Rogue, _Lette_?
--Hah--hum--what's here--

               _Bel_. snatches her to his Bosom, as if she fainted.

_Bel_. Oh Heavens, she's gone, she's gone!

Sir _Feeb_. Gone--whither is she gone?--it seems she had the Wit to
take good Company with her--

                    [_The Women go to her, take her up_.

_Bel_. She's gone to Heaven, Sir, for ought I know.

Sir _Cau_. She was resolv'd to go in a young Fellow's Arms, I see.

Sir _Feeb_. Go to, _Francis_--go to.

L. _Ful_. Stand back, Sir, she recovers.

_Bel_. Alas, I found her dead upon the Floor,
--Shou'd I have left her so--if I had known your mind--

Sir _Feeb_. Was it so--was it so?--Got so, by no means, _Francis_.--

_Let_. Pardon him, Sir, for surely I had died,
Bur for his timely coming.

Sir _Feeb_. Alas, poor Pupsey--was it sick--look here--here's a fine
thing to make it well again. Come, buss, and it shall have it--oh, how I
long for Night. _Ralph_, are the Fidlers ready?

_Ral_. They are tuning in the Hall, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. That's well, they know my mind. I hate that same twang,
twang, twang, fum, fum, fum, tweedle, tweedle, tweedle, then scrue go
the Pins, till a man's Teeth are on an edge; then snap, says a small
Gut, and there we are at a loss again. I long to be in bed with a--hey
tredodle, tredodle, tredodle,--with a hay tredool, tredodle, tredo--
                       [_Dancing and playing on his Stick like a Flute_.

Sir _Cau_. A prudent Man would reserve himself--Good-facks, I danc'd so
on my Wedding-day, that when I came to Bed, to my Shame be it spoken, I
fell fast asleep, and slept till morning.

L. _Ful_. Where was your Wisdom then, Sir _Cautious_? But I know what a
wise Woman ought to have done.

Sir _Feeb_. Odsbobs, that's Wormwood, that's Wormwood--I shall have my
young Hussey set a-gog too; she'll hear there are better things in the
World than she has at home, and then odsbobs, and then they'll ha't,
adod, they will, Sir _Cautious_. Ever while you live, keep a Wife
ignorant, unless a Man be as brisk as his Neighbours.

Sir _Cau_. A wise Man will keep 'em from baudy Christnings then, and
Gossipings.

Sir _Feeb_. Christnings and Gossipings! why, they are the very Schools
that debauch our Wives, as Dancing-Schools do our Daughters.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, when the overjoy'd good Man invites 'em all against that
time Twelve-month: Oh, he's a dear Man, cries one--I must marry, cries
another, here's a Man indeed--my Husband--God help him--

Sir _Feeb_. Then he falls to telling of her Grievance, till (half
maudlin) she weeps again: Just my Condition, cries a third: so the
Frolick goes round, and we poor Cuckolds are anatomiz'd, and turn'd the
right side outwards; adsbobs, we are, Sir _Cautious_.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, this Grievance ought to be redrest, Sir _Feeble_; the
grave and sober part o'th' Nation are hereby ridicul'd,--Ay, and
cuckolded too for ought I know.

L. _Ful_. Wise Men knowing this, should not expose their Infirmities, by
marrying us young Wenches; who, without Instruction, find how we are
impos'd upon.

    _Enter Fiddles playing, Mr_. Bearjest _and_ Diana _dancing_;
    Bredwel, Noisey, &c.

L. _Ful_. So, Cousin, I see you have found the way to Mrs. _Dy's_ Heart.

_Bea_. Who, I, my dear Lady Aunt? I never knew but one way to a Woman's
Heart, and that road I have not yet travelled; for my Uncle, who is a
wise Man, says Matrimony is a sort of a--kind of a--as it were, d'ye
see, of a Voyage, which every Man of Fortune is bound to make one time
or other: and Madam--I am, as it were--a bold Adventurer.

_Dia_. And are you sure, Sir, you will venture on me?

_Bea_. Sure!--I thank you for that--as if I could not believe my Uncle;
For in this case a young Heir has no more to do, but to come and see,
settle, marry, and use you scurvily.

_Dia_. How, Sir, scurvily?

_Bea_. Very scurvily, that is to say, be always fashionably drunk,
despise the Tyranny of your Bed, and reign absolutely--keep a Seraglio
of Women, and let my Bastard Issue inherit; be seen once a Quarter, or
so, with you in the Park for Countenance, where we loll two several ways
in the gilt Coach like _Janus_, or a Spread-Eagle.

_Dia_. And do you expect I shou'd be honest the while?

_Bea_. Heaven forbid, not I, I have not met with that Wonder in all my
Travels.

L. _Ful_. How, Sir, not an honest Woman?

_Bea_. Except my Lady Aunt--Nay, as I am a Gentleman and the first of my
Family--you shall pardon me, here--cuff me, cuff me soundly.
                                                        [_Kneels to her_.

    _Enter_ Gayman _richly drest_.

_Gay_. This Love's a damn'd bewitching thing--Now though I should lose
my Assignation with my Devil, I cannot hold from seeing _Julia_ to
night: hah--there, and with a Fop at her Feet.--Oh Vanity of Woman!
                                                    [_Softly pulls her_.

L. _Ful_. Oh, Sir, you're welcome from _Northamptonshire_.

_Gay_. Hum--surely she knows the Cheat.    [_Aside_.

L. _Ful_. You are so gay, you save me, Sir, the labour of asking if your
Uncle be alive.

_Gay_. Pray Heaven she have not found my Circumstances!
But if she have, Confidence must assist me--    [_Aside_.
--And, Madam, you're too gay for me to inquire
Whether you are that _Julia_ which I left you?

L. _Ful_. Oh, doubtless, Sir--

_Gay_. But why the Devil do I ask--Yes, you are still the same; one of
those hoiting Ladies, that love nothing like Fool and Fiddle; Crouds of
Fops; had rather be publickly, though dully, flatter'd, than privately
ador'd: you love to pass for the Wit of the Company, by talking all
and loud.

L. _Ful_. Rail on, till you have made me think my Virtue at so low Ebb,
it should submit to you.

_Gay_. What--I'm not discreet enough;
I'll babble all in my next high Debauch,
Boast of your Favours, and describe your Charms
To every wishing Fool.

L. _Ful_. Or make most filthy Verses of me--
Under the name of _Cloris_--you _Philander_,
Who in leud Rhimes confess the dear Appointment;
What Hour, and where, how silent was the Night,
How full of Love your Eyes, and wishing mine.
Faith, no; if you can afford me a Lease of your Love,
Till the old Gentleman my Husband depart this wicked World,
I'm for the Bargain.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--what's here, a young Spark at my Wife?
                                           [_Goes about 'em_.

_Gay_. Unreasonable _Julia_, is that all,
My Love, my Sufferings, and my Vows must hope?
Set me an Age--say when you will be kind,
And I will languish out in starving Wish:
But thus to gape for Legacies of Love,
Till Youth be past Enjoyment,
The Devil I will as soon--farewel.
                            [_Offers to go_.

L. _Ful_. Stay, I conjure you stay.

_Gay_. And lose my Assignation with my Devil.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Cau_. 'Tis so, ay, ay, 'tis so--and wise Men will perceive it; 'tis
here--here in my forehead, it more than buds; it sprouts, it flourishes.

Sir _Feeb_. So, that young Gentleman has nettled him, stung him to the
quick: I hope he'll chain her up--the Gad-Bee's in his Quonundrum--in
Charity I'll relieve him--Come, my Lady _Fulbank_, the Night grows old
upon our hands; to dancing, to jiggiting--Come, shall I lead your
Ladyship?

L. _Ful_. No, Sir, you see I am better provided--
                                 [_Takes_ Gayman's _hand_.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, no doubt on't, a Pox on him for a young handsome Dog.

                                        [_They dance all_.

Sir _Feeb_. Very well, very well, now the Posset; and then--ods bobs,
and then--

_Dia_. And then we'll have t'other Dance.

Sir _Feeb_. Away, Girls, away, and steal the Bride to Bed; they have
a deal to do upon their Wedding-nights; and what with the tedious
Ceremonies of dressing and undressing, the smutty Lectures of the Women,
by way of Instruction, and the little Stratagems of the young Wenches
--odds bobs, a Man's cozen'd of half his Night: Come, Gentlemen, one
Bottle, and then--we'll toss the Stocking.

          [_Exeunt all but L_. Ful. Bred, _who are talking, and_ Gayman.

L. _Ful_. But dost thou think he'll come?

_Bred_. I do believe so, Madam--

L. _Ful_. Be sure you contrive it so, he may not know whither, or to
whom he comes.

_Bred_. I warrant you, Madam, for our Parts.
                               [_Exit_ Bredwel, _stealing out_ Gayman.

L. _Ful_. How now, what, departing?

_Gay_. You are going to the Bride-Chamber.

L. _Ful_. No matter, you shall stay--

_Gay_. I hate to have you in a Croud.

L. _Ful_. Can you deny me--will you not give me one lone hour i'th'
Garden?

_Gay_. Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull kissing,
and part with the same Appetite we met--No, Madam; besides, I have
business--

L. _Ful_. Some Assignation--is it so indeed?

_Gay_. Away, you cannot think me such a Traitor; 'tis more important
business--

L. _Ful_. Oh, 'tis too late for business--let to morrow serve.

_Gay_. By no means--the Gentleman is to go out of Town.

L. _Ful_. Rise the earlier then--

_Gay_.--But, Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously--sick--and should he
die--

L. _Ful_. 'Tis not a dying Uncle, I hope, Sir?

_Gay_. Hum--

L. _Ful_. The Gentleman a dying, and to go out of Town to morrow?

_Gay_. Ay--a--he goes--in a Litter--'tis his Fancy, Madam--Change of Air
may recover him.

L. _Ful_. So may your change of Mistress do me, Sir--farewel.
                                                       [_Goes out_.

_Gay_. Stay, _Julia_--Devil, be damn'd--for you shall tempt no more,
I'll love and be undone--but she is gone--
And if I stay, the most that I shall gain
Is but a reconciling Look, or Kiss.
No, my kind Goblin--

  _I'll keep my Word with thee, as the least Evil;
  A tantalizing Woman's worse than Devil_.

                                      [_Exit_.




ACT III.

SCENE I. _Sir_ Feeble's _House_.


    _The Second Song before the Entry_.

  A SONG made by Mr. _Cheek_.

  _No more, Lucinda, ah! expose no more
    To the admiring World those conquering Charms:
  In vain all day unhappy Men adore,
    What the kind Night gives to my longing Arms.
  Their vain Attempts can ne'er successful prove,
  Whilst I so well maintain the Fort of Love.

  Yet to the World with so bewitching Arts,
    Your dazling Beauty you around display,
  And triumph in the Spoils of broken Hearts,
    That sink beneath your feet, and croud your Way.
  Ah! suffer now your Cruelty to cease,
  And to a fruitless War prefer a Peace_.

    _Enter_ Ralph _with Light, Sir_ Feeble, _and_ Bellmour

Sir _Feeb_. So, so, they're gone--Come, _Francis_, you shall have the
Honour of undressing me for the Encounter; but 'twill be a sweet one,
_Francis_.

_Bel_. Hell take him, how he teazes me!    [_Undressing all the while_.

Sir _Feeb_. But is the young Rogue laid, _Francis_--is she stoln to Bed?
What Tricks the young Baggages have to whet a man's Appetite?

_Bel_. Ay, Sir--Pox on him--he will raise my Anger up to Madness, and I
shall kill him to prevent his going to Bed to her.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. A pise of those Bandstrings--the more haste the less speed.

_Bel_. Be it so in all things, I beseech thee, _Venus_.

Sir _Feeb_. Thy aid a little, _Francis_--oh, oh--thou choakest me,
'sbobs, what dost mean?    [_Pinches him by the Throat_.

_Bel_. You had so hamper'd 'em, Sir--the Devil's very mischievous
in me.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. Come, come, quick, good _Francis_, adod, I'm as yare as a
Hawk at the young Wanton--nimbly, good _Francis_, untruss, untruss.

_Bel_. Cramps seize ye--what shall I do? the near Approach distracts
me.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, so, my Breeches, good _Francis_. But well, _Francis_,
how dost think I got the young Jade my Wife?

_Bel_. With five hundred pounds a year Jointure, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. No, that wou'd not do, the Baggage was damnably in love with
a young Fellow they call _Bellmour_, a handsome young Rascal he was,
they say, that's truth on't; and a pretty Estate: but happening to kill
a Man he was forced to fly.

_Bel_. That was great pity, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Pity! hang him, Rogue, 'sbobs, and all the young Fellows in
the Town deserve it; we can never keep our Wives and Daughters honest
for rampant young Dogs; and an old Fellow cannot put in amongst 'em,
under being undone, with Presenting, and the Devil and all. But what
dost think I did? being damnably in love--I feign'd a Letter as from the
_Hague_, wherein was a Relation of this same _Bellmour's_ being hang'd.

_Bel_. Is't possible, Sir, you cou'd devise such News?

Sir _Feeb_. Possible, Man! I did it, I did it; she swooned at the News,
shut her self up a whole Month in her Chamber; but I presented high: she
sigh'd and wept, and swore she'd never marry: still I presented; she
hated, loathed, spit upon me; still, adod, I presented, till I presented
my self effectually in Church to her; for she at last wisely considered
her Vows were cancell'd, since _Bellmour_ was hang'd.

_Bel_. Faith, Sir, this was very cruel, to take away his Fame, and then
his Mistress.

Sir _Feeb_. Cruel! thou'rt an Ass, we are but even with the brisk
Rogues, for they take away our Fame, cuckold us, and take away our
Wives: so, so, my Cap, _Francis_.

_Bel_. And do you think this Marriage lawful, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Lawful! it shall be when I've had Livery and Seisin of her
Body--and that shall be presently Rogue,--quick--besides, this
_Bellmour_ dares as well be hang'd as come into _England_.

_Bel_. If he gets his Pardon, Sir--

Sir _Feeb_. Pardon! no, no, I have took care for that, for I have, you
must know, got his Pardon already.

_Bel_. How, Sir! got his Pardon, that's some amends for robbing him of
his Wife.

Sir _Feeb_. Hold, honest _Francis_: What, dost think 'twas in kindness
to him! No, you Fool, I got his Pardon my self, that no body else should
have it, so that if he gets any body to speak to his Majesty for it, his
Majesty cries he has granted it; but for want of my appearance, he's
defunct, trust up, hang'd, _Francis_.

_Bel_. This is the most excellent revenge I ever heard of.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, I learnt it of a great Politician of our Times.

_Bel_. But have you got his Pardon?--

Sir _Feeb_. I've done't, I've done't; Pox on him, it cost me five
hundred pounds though: Here 'tis, my Solicitor brought it me this
Evening.    [_Gives it him_.

_Bel_. This was a lucky hit--and if it scape me, let me be hang'd by a
Trick indeed.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, put it into my Cabinet,--safe, _Francis_, safe.

_Bel_. Safe, I'll warrant you, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. My Gown, quick, quick,--t'other Sleeve, Man--so now my
Night-cap; well, I'll in, throw open my Gown to fright away the Women,
and jump into her Arms.
                           [_Exit Sir_ Feeble.

_Bel_. He's gone, quickly, oh Love inspire me!

    _Enter a Footman_.

_Foot_. Sir, my Master, Sir _Cautious Fulbank_, left his Watch on the
little Parlor-Table to night, and bid me call for't.

_Bel_. Hah--the Bridegroom has it, Sir, who is just gone to Bed, it
shall be sent him in the Morning.

_Foot_. 'Tis very well, Sir--your Servant--
                                    [_Exit_ Footman.

_Bel_. Let me see--here is the Watch, I took it up to keep for him--but
his sending has inspir'd me with a sudden Stratagem, that will do better
than Force, to secure the poor trembling _Leticia_--who, I am sure, is
dying with her Fears.

                         [_Exit_ Bellmour.



SCENE II. _Changes to the Bed-chamber; _Leticia_ in an undressing by the
Women at the Table_.


    _Enter to them Sir_ Feeble Fainwou'd.

Sir _Feeb_. What's here? what's here? the prating Women still. Ods bobs,
what, not in Bed yet? for shame of Love, _Leticia_.

_Let_. For shame of Modesty, Sir; you wou'd not have me go to Bed before
all this Company.

Sir _Feeb_. What, the Women! why, they must see you laid, 'tis the
fashion.

_Let_. What, with a Man? I wou'd not for the World.
Oh, _Bellmour_, where art thou with all thy promised aid?    [_Aside_.

_Dia_. Nay, Madam, we shou'd see you laid indeed.

_Let_. First in my Grave, _Diana_.

Sir _Feeb_. Ods bobs, here's a Compact amongst the Women--High Treason
against the Bridegroom--therefore, Ladies, withdraw, or, adod, I'll lock
you all in.
          [_Throws open his Gown, they run all away, he locks the Door_.

So, so, now we're alone, _Leticia_--off with this foolish Modesty, and
Night Gown, and slide into my Arms.
                                          [_She runs from him_.
H'e', my little Puskin--what, fly me, my coy _Daphne_,
                                   [_He pursues her. Knocking_.
Hah--who's that knocks--who's there?--

_Bel_. [_Within_.] 'Tis I, Sir, 'tis I, open the door presently.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what's the matter, is the House o-fire?

_Bel_. [_Within_.] Worse, Sir, worse--

    [_He opens the door, _Bellmour_ enters with the Watch in his hand_.

_Let_. 'Tis _Bellmour's_ Voice!

_Bel_. Oh, Sir, do you know this Watch?

Sir _Feeb_. This Watch!

_Bel_. Ay, Sir, this Watch?

Sir _Feeb_. This Watch!--why, prithee, why dost tell me of a Watch? 'tis
Sir _Cautious Fulbank's_ Watch; what then, what a Pox dost trouble me
with Watches?    [_Offers to put him out, he returns_.

_Bel_. 'Tis indeed his Watch, Sir, and by this Token he has sent for
you, to come immediately to his House, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. What a Devil, art mad, _Francis_? or is his Worship mad, or
does he think me mad?--go, prithee tell him I'll come to him to morrow.
                                                 [_Goes to put him out_.

_Bel_. To morrow, Sir! why all our Throats may be cut before to morrow.

Sir _Feeb_. What sayst thou, Throat cut?

_Bel_. Why, the City's up in Arms, Sir, and all the Aldermen are met at
_Guild-Hall_; some damnable Plot, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah--Plot--the Aldermen met at _Guild-Hall!_--hum--why, let
'em meet, I'll not lose this Night to save the Nation.

_Let_. Wou'd you to bed, Sir, when the weighty Affairs of State require
your Presence?

Sir _Feeb_.--Hum--met at _Guild-Hall_;--my Clothes, my Gown again,
_Francis_, I'll out--out! what, upon my Wedding-night? No--I'll in.
                     [_Putting on his Gown pausing, pulls it off again_.

_Let_. For shame, Sir, shall the Reverend Council of the City debate
without you?

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, that's true, that's true; come truss again, _Francis_,
truss again--yet now I think on't, _Francis_, prithee run thee to the
Hall, and tell 'em 'tis my Wedding-night, d'ye see, _Francis_; and let
some body give my Voice for--

_Bel_. What, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Adod, I cannot tell; up in Arms, say you! why, let 'em fight
Dog, fight Bear; mun, I'll to Bed--go--

_Let_. And shall his Majesty's Service and his Safety lie unregarded for
a slight Woman, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Hum, his Majesty!--come, haste, _Francis_, I'll away, and
call _Ralph_, and the Footmen, and bid 'em arm; each Man shoulder his
Musket, and advance his Pike--and bring my Artillery Implements
quick--and let's away: Pupsey--b'u'y, Pupsey, I'll bring it a fine thing
yet before Morning, it may be--let's away: I shall grow fond, and forget
the business of the Nation--Come, follow me, _Francis_.--

                         [_Exit Sir_ Feeble, Bellmour _runs to_ Leticia.

_Bel_. Now, my _Leticia_, if thou e'er didst Love, If ever thou
design'st to make me blest--Without delay fly this adulterous Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, _Francis_, where are you, Knave?
                                       [_Sir _Feeb_. within_.

_Bel_. I must be gone, lest he suspect us--I'll lose him, and return to
thee immediately--get thy self ready.--

_Let_. I will not fail, my Love.

                            [_Exit_ Bellmour.

  _Old Man forgive me--thou the Aggressor art,
  Who rudely forc'd the Hand without the Heart.
  She cannot from the Paths of Honour rove,
  Whose Guide's Religion, and whose End is Love_.

                                               [_Exit_.



SCENE III. _Changes to a Wash-house, or Out-House_.

    _Enter with a Dark-lanthorn_ Bredwel _disguis'd like a Devil,
    leading_ Gayman.

_Bred_. Stay here till I give notice of your coming.
                          [_Exit_ Bredwel, _leaves his Dark-Lanthorn_.

_Gay_. Kind Light, a little of your aid--now must I be peeping, though
my Curiosity should lose me all--hah--Zouns, what here--a Hovel or a
Hog-sty? hum, see the Wickedness of Man, that I should find no time to
swear in, but just when I'm in the Devil's Clutches.

    _Enter_ Pert, _as an old Woman, with a Staff_.

_Old W_. Good Even to you, fair Sir.

_Gay_. Ha--defend me; if this be she, I must rival the Devil, that's
certain.

_Old W_. Come, young Gentleman, dare not you venture?

_Gay_. He must be as hot as _Vesuvius_ that does--I shall never earn my
Morning's Present.

_Old W_. What, do you fear a longing Woman, Sir?

_Gay_. The Devil I do--this is a damn'd Preparation to Love.

_Old W_. Why stand you gazing, Sir? A Woman's Passion is like the Tide,
it stays for no man when the hour is come--

_Gay_. I'm sorry I have took it at its Turning; I'm sure mine's ebbing
out as fast.

_Old W_. Will you not speak, Sir--will you not on?

_Gay_. I wou'd fain ask--a civil Question or two first.

_Old W_. You know too much Curiosity lost Paradise.

_Gay_. Why, there's it now.

_Old W_. Fortune and Love invite you, if you dare follow me.

_Gay_. This is the first thing in Petticoats that ever dar'd me in vain.
Were I but sure she were but human now--for sundry Considerations she
might down--but I will on--

                    [_She goes, he follows; both go out_.



SCENE IV. _A Chamber in the Apartments of L. _Fulbank.


    _Enter_ Old Woman _followed by_ Gayman _in the dark_.

        [_Soft Musick plays, she leaves him_.

_Gay_.--Hah, Musick--and Excellent!

  SONG.

  _Oh! Love, that stronger art than Wine,
  Pleasing Delusion, Witchery divine,
  Want to be prized above all Wealth,
  Disease that has more Joys than Health;
  Though we blaspheme thee in our Pain,
  And of thy Tyranny complain,
  We all are bettered by thy Reign.

  What Reason never can bestow,
  We to this useful Passion owe.
  Love wakes the dull from sluggish Ease,
  And learns a Clown the Art to please:
  Humbles the Vain, kindles the Cold,
  Makes Misers free, and Cowards bold.
  'Tis he reforms the Sot from Drink,
  And teaches airy Fops to think.

  When full brute Appetite is fed,
  And choak'd the Glutton lies, and dead;
  Thou new Spirits dost dispense,
  And fine'st the gross Delights of Sense.
  Virtue's unconquerable Aid,
  That against Nature can persuade;
  And makes a roving Mind retire
  Within the Bounds of just Desire.
  Chearer of Age, Youth's kind Unrest,
  And half the Heaven of the blest_.

_Gay_. Ah, _Julia, Julia!_ if this soft Preparation
Were but to bring me to thy dear Embraces;
What different Motions wou'd surround my Soul,
From what perplex it now.

    _Enter Nymphs and Shepherds, and dance_.

        [_Then two dance alone. All go out but_ Pert _and a Shepherd_.

--If these be Devils, they are obliging ones:
I did not care if I ventur'd on that last Female Fiend.

Man sings.

  _Cease your Wonder, cease your Guess,
  Whence arrives your happiness.
  Cease your Wonder, cease your Pain,
  Human Fancy is in vain_.

Chorus.

  _'Tis enough, you once shall find,
  Fortune may to Worth be kind_;        [gives him Gold.
  _And Love can leave off being blind_.

Pert sings.

  _You, before you enter here
  On this sacred Ring must swear_,
          [Puts it on his Finger, holds his Hand.
  _By the Figure which is round,
  Your Passion constant and profound;
  By the Adamantine Stone,
  To be fixt to one alone:

  By the Lustre, which is true,
  Ne'er to break your sacred Vow.
  Lastly, by the Gold that's try'd,
  For Love all Dangers to abide_.

They all dance about him, while those same two sing.

Man.  _Once about him let us move,
      To confirm him true to Love_.      [bis.

Pert. _Twice with mystick turning Feet,
      Make him silent and discreet_.     [bis.

Man.  _Thrice about him let us tread,
      To keep him ever young in Bed_.    [bis.

Gives him another part.

Man.  _Forget_ Aminta's _proud Disdain;
      Haste here, and sigh no more in vain,
      The Joy of Love without the Pain_.

Pert. _That God repents his former Slights,
      And Fortune thus your Faith requites_.

Both. _Forget_ Aminta's _proud Disdain;
      Then taste, and sigh no more in vain,
      The Joy of Love without the Pain,
      The Joy of Love without the Pain_.

          [_Exeunt_ all Dancers. Looks on himself, and feels about him.

_Gay_. What the Devil can all this mean? If there be a Woman in the
Case--sure I have not liv'd so bad a Life, to gain the dull Reputation
of so modest a Coxcomb, but that a Female might down with me, without
all this Ceremony. Is it care of her Honour?--that cannot be--this Age
affords none so nice: Nor Fiend nor Goddess can she be, for these I saw
were Mortal. No--'tis a Woman--I am positive. Not young nor handsom, for
then Vanity had made her glory to have been seen. No--since 'tis
resolved, a Woman--she must be old and ugly, and will not balk my Fancy
with her sight, but baits me more with this essential Beauty.

  _Well--be she young or old, Woman or Devil,
  She pays, and I'll endeavour to be civil_.

                                        [_Exit_.



SCENE V. _In the same House. The flat Scene of the Hall_.

    _After a Knocking, enter_ Bredwel _in his masking Habit, with
    his Vizard in the one Hand, and a Light in t'other, in haste_.

_Bred_. Hah, knocking so late at our Gate--
                                   [_Opens the door_.

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble _drest, and arm'd Cap-a-pee, with a broad
    Waste-Belt stuck round with Pistols, a Helmet, Scarf, Buff-coat
    and half Pike_.

Sir _Feeb_. How now, how now, what's the matter here?

_Bred_. Matter, what, is my Lady's innocent Intrigue found out?--
Heavens, Sir, what makes you here in this warlike Equipage?

Sir _Feeb_. What makes you in this showing Equipage, Sir?

_Bred_. I have been dancing among some of my Friends.

Sir _Feeb_. And I thought to have been fighting with some of my Friends.
Where's Sir _Cautious_, where's Sir _Cautious_?

_Bred_. Sir _Cautious_--Sir, in Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Call him, call him--quickly, good _Edward_.

_Bred_. Sure my Lady's Frolick is betray'd, and he comes to make
Mischief. However, I'll go and secure Mr. _Gayman_.
                                              [_Exit_ Bredwel.

    _Enter Sir_ Cautious _and_ Dick _his Boy with Light_.

_Dick_. Pray, Sir, go to Bed, here's no Thieves; all's still and well.

Sir _Cau_. This last Night's misfortune of mine, _Dick_, has kept me
waking, and methought all night, I heard a kind of a silent Noise. I am
still afraid of Thieves; mercy upon me, to lose five hundred Guineas at
one clap, _Dick_.--Hah--bless me! what's yonder? Blow the great Horn,
_Dick_--Thieves--Murder, Murder!

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what a Pox, are you mad? 'Tis I, 'tis I, man.

Sir _Cau_. I, who am I? Speak--declare--pronounce.

Sir _Feeb_. Your Friend, old _Feeble Fainwou'd_.

Sir _Cau_. How, Sir _Feeble_! At this late hour, and on his Wedding-Night
--why, what's the matter, Sir--is it Peace or War with you?

Sir _Feeb_. A Mistake, a Mistake, proceed to the business, good Brother,
for time you know is precious.

Sir _Cau_. Some strange Catastrophe has happened between him and his
Wife to Night, and makes him disturb me thus--    [_Aside_.
--Come, sit, good Brother, and to the business as you say--

    [_They sit one at one end of the Table, the other at the other;
    _Dick_ sets down the Light and goes out--both sit gaping and
    staring, and expecting when either should speak_.

Sir _Feeb_. As soon as you please, Sir.
Lord, how wildly he stares! He's much disturb'd in's mind
--Well, Sir, let us be brief--

Sir _Cau_. As brief as you please, Sir--Well, Brother--
                                               [_Pausing still_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. How strangely he stares and gapes--some deep concern.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--hum--

Sir _Cau_. I listen to you, advance--

Sir _Feeb_. Sir?

Sir _Cau_. A very distracted Countenance--pray Heaven he be not mad,
and a young Wife is able to make an old Fellow mad, that's the Truth
on't.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. Sure 'tis something of his Lady--he's so loth to bring it out
--I am sorry you are thus disturb'd, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. No disturbance to serve a Friend--

Sir _Feeb_. I think I am your Friend indeed, Sir _Cautious_, or I wou'd
not have been here upon my Wedding-Night.

Sir _Cau_. His Wedding-Night--there lies his Grief, poor Heart! Perhaps
she has cuckolded him already--    [_Aside_.
--Well, come, Brother--many such things are done--

Sir _Feeb_. Done--hum--come, out with it; Brother--what troubles you to
Night?

Sir _Cau_. Troubles me--why, knows he I am robb'd?    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. I may perhaps restore you to the Rest you've lost.

Sir _Cau_. The Rest; why, have I lost more since? Why, know you then who
did it?--Oh, how I'd be reveng'd upon the Rascal!

Sir _Feeb_. 'Tis--Jealousy, the old Worm that bites--    [_Aside_.
Who is it you suspect?

Sir _Cau_. Alas, I know not whom to suspect, I wou'd I did; but if you
cou'd discover him--I wou'd so swinge him--

Sir _Feeb_. I know him--what, do you take me for a Pimp, Sir? I know
him--there's your Watch again, Sir; I'm your Friend, but no Pimp,
Sir--
         [_Rises in Rage_.

Sir _Cau_. My Watch; I thank you, Sir--but why Pimp, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, a very thriving Calling, Sir,--and I have a young Wife
to practise with. I know your Rogues.

Sir _Cau_. A young Wife!--'tis so, his Gentlewoman has been at
Hot-Cockles without her Husband, and he's Horn-mad upon't. I suspected
her being so close in with his Nephew--in a Fit with a Pox--[_Aside_.]
Come, come, Sir _Feeble_, 'tis many an honest Man's Fortune.

Sir _Feeb_. I grant it, Sir--but to the business, Sir, I came for.

Sir _Cau_. With all my Soul--

    [_They sit gaping, and expecting when either should speak.
    Enter_ Bredwel _and_ Gayman _at the door_. Bredwel _sees them,
    and puts_ Gayman_ back again_.

_Bred_. Hah--Sir _Feeble_, and Sir _Cautious_ there--what shall I do?
For this way we must pass, and to carry him back wou'd discover my Lady
to him, betray all, and spoil the Jest--retire, Sir, your Life depends
upon your being unseen.    [_Go out_.

Sir _Feeb_. Well, Sir, do you not know that I am married, Sir? and this
my Wedding Night?

Sir _Cau_. Very good, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. And that I long to be in bed?

Sir _Cau_. Very well, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Very good, Sir, and very well, Sir--why then what the Devil
do I make here, Sir?    [_Rises in a rage_.

Sir _Cau_. Patience, Brother--and forward.

Sir _Feeb_. Forward! lend me your hand, good Brother; let's feel your
Pulse; how has this Night gone with you?

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha--this is the oddest Quonudrum--sure he's mad--and
yet now I think on't, I have not slept to night, nor shall I ever sleep
again, till I have found the Villain that robb'd me.    [_Weeps_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, now he weeps--far gone--this Laughing and Weeping is a
very bad sign! [_Aside_.] Come, let me lead you to your Bed.

Sir _Cau_. Mad, stark mad--no, now I'm up 'tis no matter--pray ease your
troubled Mind--I am your Friend--out with it--what, was it acted? or
but designed?

Sir _Feeb_. How, Sir?

Sir _Cau_. Be not asham'd, I'm under the same Premunire I doubt, little
better than a--but let that pass.

Sir _Feeb_. Have you any Proof?

Sir _Cau_. Proof of what, good Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Of what! why, that you're a Cuckold; Sir, a Cuckold, if
you'll ha't.

Sir _Cau_. Cuckold! Sir, do ye know what ye say?

Sir _Feeb_. What I say?

Sir _Cau_. Ay, what you say, can you make this out?

Sir _Feeb_. I make it out!

Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir--if you say it, and cannot make it out, you're a--

Sir _Feeb_. What am I, Sir? What am I?

Sir _Cau_. A Cuckold as well as my self, Sir; and I'll sue you for
_Scandalum Magnatum_; I shall recover swinging Damages with a City-Jury.

Sir _Feeb_. I know of no such thing, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. No, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. No, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Then what wou'd you be at, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. I be at, Sir! what wou'd you be at, Sir?

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha--why this is the strangest thing--to see an old
Fellow, a Magistrate of the City, the first Night he's married, forsake
his Bride and Bed, and come arm'd Cap-a-pee, like _Gargantua_, to
disturb another old Fellow, and banter him with a Tale of a Tub; and all
to be-cuckold him here--in plain _English_, what's your Business?

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what the Devil's your Business, and you go to that?

Sir _Cau_. My Business, with whom?

Sir _Feeb_. With me, Sir, with me; what a Pox do you think I do here?

Sir _Cau_. 'Tis that I wou'd be glad to know, Sir.

    _Enter _Dick.

Sir _Feeb_. Here, _Dick_, remember I've brought back your Master's
Watch; next time he sends for me o'er Night, I'll come to him in
the Morning.

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha, I send for you! Go home and sleep, Sir--Ad, and
ye keep your Wife waking to so little purpose, you'll go near to be
haunted with a Vision of Horns.

                          [_Exit_ Dick.

Sir _Feeb_. Roguery, Knavery, to keep me from my Wife--Look ye, this was
the Message I receiv'd.
                [_Tells him seemingly_.

    _Enter_ Bredwel _to the Door in a white Sheet like a Ghost,
    speaking to_ Gayman _who stands within_.

_Bred_. Now, Sir, we are two to two, for this way you must pass or be
taken in the Lady's Lodgings--I'll first adventure out to make you pass
the safer, and that he may not, if possible, see Sir _Cautious_, whom I
shall fright into a Trance, I am sure.
And Sir _Feeble_, the Devil's in't if he know him.    [_Aside_.

_Gay_. A brave kind Fellow this.

    _Enter_ Bredwel _stalking on as a Ghost by them_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh--undone,--undone; help, help;--I'm dead, I'm dead.
    [_Falls down on his Face; Sir_ Feeble _stares,--and stands still_.

_Bred_. As I could wish.    [_Aside, turns_.
Come on, thou ghastly thing, and follow me.

    _Enter_ Gayman _like a Ghost, with a Torch_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh Lord, oh Lord!

_Gay_. Hah!--old Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd_--why, where the Devil am I?
--'Tis he:--and be it where it will, I'll fright the old Dotard for
cozening my Friend of his Mistress.    [_Stalks on_.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, guard me,--guard me--all ye Pow'rs!    [_Trembling_.

_Gay_. Thou call'st in vain, fond Wretch--for I am _Bellmour_,

  _Whom first thou robb'st of Fame and Life,
  And then what dearer was,--his Wife_.

                                [_Goes out, shaking his Torch at him_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh Lord--oh Lord!

    _Enter L_. Fulbank _in an undress, and_ Pert _undrest.

L. _Ful_. Heavens, what noise is this?--So he's got safe out I see--hah,
what thing art thou?    [_Sees Sir _Feeble_ arm'd_.

Sir _Feeb_. Stay, Madam, stay--'tis I, a poor trembling Mortal.

L. _Ful_. Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd!_--rise,--are you both mad?

Sir _Cau_. No, no,--Madam, we have seen the Devil.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, and he was as tall as the Monument.

Sir _Cau_. With Eyes like a Beacon--and a Mouth,--Heaven bless us, like
_London_ Bridge at a full Tide.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, and roar'd as loud.

L. _Ful_. Idle Fancies, what makes you from your Bed? and you, Sir, from
your Bride?

    _Enter_ Dick _with Sack_.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh! that's the business of another day, a mistake only,
Madam.

L. _Ful_. Away, I'm asham'd to see wise Men so weak; the Fantoms of the
Night, or your own Shadows, the Whimseys of the Brain for want of Rest,
or perhaps _Bredwel_, your Man--who being wiser than his Master, play'd
you this Trick to fright you both to Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--adod, and that may be, for the young Knave when he let
me in to Night, was drest up for some Waggery--

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha, 'twas even so, sure enough, Brother--

Sir _Feeb_. Ads bobs, but they frighted me at first basely--but I'll
home to Pupsey, there may be Roguery, as well as here--Madam, I ask your
Pardon, I see we're all mistaken.

L. _Ful_. Ay, Sir _Feeble_, go home to your Wife.

                                           [_Ex. severally_.



SCENE VI. _The Street_.


    _Enter_ Bellmour _at the door, knocks, and enter to him
    from the House_, Phillis.

_Phil_. Oh, are you come, Sir? I'll call my Lady down.

_Bel_. Oh, haste, the Minutes fly--leave all behind.
And bring _Leticia_ only to my Arms.
                                 [_A noise of People_.
--Hah, what noise is that? 'Tis coming this way,
I tremble with my fears--hah, Death and the Devil,
'Tis he--

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble _and his Men arm'd, goes to the door, knocks_.

Ay, 'tis he, and I'm undone--what shall I do to kill him now? besides,
the Sin wou'd put me past all Hopes of pardoning.

Sir _Feeb_. A damn'd Rogue to deceive me thus.--

_Bel_. Hah--see, by Heaven _Leticia_, Oh, we are ruin'd!

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--what's here, two Women?--
                               [_Stands a little off_.

    _Enter_ Leticia _and_ Phillis _softly, undrest, with a Box_.

_Let_. Where are you, my best Wishes? Lord of my Vows--and Charmer of my
Soul? Where are you?

_Bel_. Oh, Heavens!--
              [_Draws his Sword half-way_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum, who's here? My Gentlewoman--she's monstrous kind of the
sudden. But whom is't meant to?    [_Aside_.

_Let_. Give me your hand, my Love, my Life, my All--Alas! where are you?

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--no, no, this is not to me--I am jilted, cozen'd,
cuckolded, and so forth.--
                              [_Groping, she takes hold of Sir_ Feeb.

_Let_. Oh, are you here? indeed you frighted me with your Silence--here,
take these Jewels, and let us haste away.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--are you thereabouts, Mistress? was I sent away with a
Sham-Plot for this!--She cannot mean it to me.    [_Aside_.

_Let_. Will you not speak?--will you not answer me?--do you repent
already?--before Enjoyment are you cold and false?

Sir _Feeb_. Hum, before Enjoyment--that must be me. Before Injoyment--
Ay, ay, 'tis I--I see a little Prolonging a Woman's Joy, sets an Edge
upon her Appetite.    [_Merrily_.

_Let_. What means my Dear? shall we not haste away?

Sir _Feeb_. Haste away! there 'tis again--No--'tis not me she means:
what, at your Tricks and Intrigues already?--Yes, yes, I am destin'd
a Cuckold--

_Let_. Say, am I not your Wife? can you deny me?

Sir _Feeb_. Wife! adod, 'tis I she means--'tis I she means--[_Merrily_.

_Let_. Oh _Bellmour, Bellmour_.

                     [_Sir _Feeb_. starts back from her hands_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--what's that--_Bellmour_!

_Let_. Hah! Sir _Feeble_!--he would not, Sir, have us'd me thus
unkindly.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh--I'm glad 'tis no worse--_Bellmour_, quoth a! I thought
the Ghost was come again.

_Phil_. Why did you not speak, Sir, all this while?--my Lady weeps with
your Unkindness.

Sir _Feeb_. I did but hold my peace, to hear how prettily she prattled
Love: But, fags, you are naught to think of a young Fellow--ads bobs,
you are now.

_Let_. I only say--he wou'd not have been so unkind to me.

Sir _Feeb_. But what makes ye out at this Hour, and with these Jewels?

_Phil_. Alas, Sir, we thought the City was in Arms, and packt up our
things to secure 'em, if there had been a necessity for Flight. For
had they come to plundering once, they wou'd have begun with the rich
Aldermen's Wives, you know, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Ads bobs, and so they would--but there was no Arms, nor
Mutiny--where's _Francis_?

_Bel_. Here, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Here, Sir--why, what a story you made of a Meeting in the
Hall, and--Arms, and--a--the Devil of any thing was stirring, but a
couple of old Fools, that sat gaping and waiting for one another's
business--

_Bel_. Such a Message was brought me, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Brought! thou'rt an Ass, _Francis_--but no more--come, come,
let's to bed--

_Let_. To Bed, Sir! what, by Day-light?--for that's hasting on--I wou'd
not for the World--the Night wou'd hide my Blushes--but the Day--wou'd
let me see my self in your Embraces.

Sir _Feeb_. Embraces, in a Fiddlestick; why, are we not married?

_Let_. 'Tis true, Sir, and Time will make me more familiar with you, but
yet my Virgin Modesty forbids it. I'll to _Diana's_ Chamber, the Night
will come again.

Sir _Feeb_. For once you shall prevail; and this damn'd Jant has pretty
well mortified me:--a Pox of your Mutiny, _Francis_.--Come, I'll conduct
thee to _Diana_, and lock thee in, that I may have thee safe, Rogue.--

  _We'll give young Wenches leave to whine and blush,
  And fly those Blessings which--ads bobs, they wish_.

                                                  [_Exeunt_.




ACT IV.

SCENE I. _Sir _Feeble's_ House_.


    _Enter Lady_ Fulbank, Gayman _fine, gently pulling her back
    by the hand; and_ Ralph _meets 'em_.

L. _Ful_. How now, _Ralph_--Let your Lady know I am come to wait on her.

                                       [_Exit _Ralph.

_Gay_. Oh, why this needless Visit--
Your Husband's safe, at least till Evening safe.
Why will you not go back,
And give me one soft hour, though to torment me?

L. _Ful_. You are at leisure now, I thank you, Sir.
Last Night when I with all Love's Rhetorick pleaded,
And Heaven knows what last Night might have produced,
You were engag'd! False Man, I do believe it,
And I am satisfied you love me not.
                         [_Walks away in scorn_.

_Gay_. Not love you!
Why do I waste my Youth in vain pursuit,
Neglecting Interest, and despising Power?
Unheeding and despising other Beauties.
Why at your feet are all my Fortunes laid,
And why does all my Fate depend on you?

L. _Ful_. I'll not consider why you play the Fool,
Present me Rings and Bracelets; why pursue me;
Why watch whole Nights before my senseless Door,
And take such Pains to shew your self a Coxcomb.

_Gay_. Oh! why all this?
By all the Powers above, by this dear Hand,
And by this Ring, which on this Hand I place,
On which I've sworn Fidelity to Love;
I never had a Wish or soft Desire
To any other Woman,
Since _Julia_ sway'd the Empire of my Soul.

L. _Ful_. Hah, my own Ring I gave him last night.    [_Aside_.
--Your Jewel, Sir, is rich:
Why do you part with things of so much value,
So easily, and so frequently?

_Gay_. To strengthen the weak Arguments of Love.

L. _Ful_. And leave your self undone?

_Gay_. Impossible, if I am blest with _Julia_.

L. _Ful_. Love's a thin Diet, nor will keep out Cold.
You cannot satisfy your Dunning Taylor,
To cry--I am in Love!
Though possible you may your Seamstress.

_Gay_. Does ought about me speak such Poverty?

L. _Ful_. I am sorry that it does not, since to maintain
This Gallantry, 'tis said you use base means,
Below a Gentleman.

_Gay_. Who dares but to imagine it's a Rascal,
A Slave, below a beating--what means my _Julia_?

L. _Ful_. No more dissembling, I know your Land is gone
--I know each Circumstance of all your Wants;
Therefore--as e'er you hope that I should love you ever--
Tell me--where 'twas you got this Jewel, Sir.

_Gay_. Hah--I hope 'tis no stol'n Goods;    [_Aside_.
Why on the sudden all this nice examining?

L. _Ful_. You trifle with me, and I'll plead no more.

_Gay_. Stay--why--I bought it, Madam--

L. _Ful_. Where had you Money, Sir? You see I am
No Stranger to your Poverty.

_Gay_. This is strange--perhaps it is a secret.

L. _Ful_. So is my Love, which shall be kept from you.
                                              [_Offers to go_.

_Gay_. Stay, _Julia_--your Will shall be obey'd,    [_Sighing_.
Though I had rather die than be obedient,
Because I know you'll hate me when 'tis told.

L. _Ful_. By all my Vows, let it be what it will,
It ne'er shall alter me from loving you.

_Gay_. I have--of late--been tempted--
With Presents, Jewels, and large Sums of Gold.

L. _Ful_. Tempted! by whom?

_Gay_. The Devil, for ought I know.

L. _Ful_. Defend me, Heaven! the Devil?
I hope you have not made a Contract with him.

_Gay_. No, though in the Shape of Woman it appear'd.

L. _Ful_. Where met you with it?

_Gay_. By Magick Art I was conducted--I know not how,
To an inchanted Palace in the Clouds,
Where I was so attended--
Young dancing, singing Fiends innumerable.

L. _Ful_. Imagination all!

_Gay_. But for the amorous Devil, the old _Proserpine_.--

L. _Ful_. Ay, she--what said she?--

_Gay_. Not a word: Heaven be prais'd, she was a silent Devil--but she
was laid in a Pavilion, all form'd of gilded Clouds, which hung by
Geometry, whither I was conveyed, after much Ceremony, and laid in Bed
with her; where with much ado, and trembling with my Fears--I forc'd my
Arms about her.

L. _Ful_. And sure that undeceiv'd him.    [_Aside_.

_Gay_. But such a Carcase 'twas--deliver me--so rivell'd, lean and
rough--a Canvas Bag of wooden Ladles were a better Bed-fellow.

L. _Ful_. Now though I know that nothing is more distant than I from
such a Monster--yet this angers me. Death! cou'd you love me and submit
to this?

_Gay_. 'Twas that first drew me in--
The tempting Hope of Means to conquer you,
Wou'd put me upon any dangerous Enterprize:
Were I the Lord of all the Universe,
I am so lost in Love,
For one dear Night to clasp you in my Arms,
I'd lavish all that World--then die with Joy.

L. _Ful_. 'Slife, after all to seem deform'd, old, ugly--
                                         [_Walking in a fret_.

_Gay_. I knew you would be angry when you heard it.
                     [_He pursues her in a submissive posture_.

    _Enter Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Noisey _and_ Bredwel.

Sir _Cau_. How, what's here?--my Lady with the Spark that courted her
last Night?--hum--with her again so soon?--Well, this Impudence and
Importunity undoes more City-Wives than all their unmerciful Finery.

_Gay_. But, Madam--

L. _Ful_. Oh, here's my Husband--you'd best tell him your Story--what
makes him here so soon?--    [_Angry_.

Sir _Cau_. Me his Story! I hope he will not tell me he'as a mind to
cuckold me.

_Gay_. A Devil on him, what shall I say to him?

L. _Ful_. What, so excellent at Intrigues, and so dull at an Excuse?
                                                              [_Aside_.

_Gay_. Yes, Madam, I shall tell him--

    _Enter _Bellmour.

L. _Ful_.--Is my Lady at leisure for a Visit, Sir?

_Bel_. Always to receive your Ladyship.

                                  [_She goes out_.

Sir _Cau_. With me, Sir, wou'd you speak?

_Gay_. With you, Sir, if your name be _Fulbank_.

Sir _Cau_. Plain _Fulbank_! methinks you might have had a Sirreverence,
under your Girdle, Sir; I am honoured with another Title, Sir--
                                       [_Goes talking to the rest_.

_Gay_. With many, Sir, that very well become you--
                                  [_Pulls him a little aside_.
I've something to deliver to your Ear.

Sir _Cau_. So, I'll be hang'd if he do not tell me, I'm a Cuckold now: I
see it in his Eyes. My Ear, Sir! I'd have you to know I scorn any man's
secrets, Sir;--for ought I know you may whisper Treason to me, Sir.
Pox on him, how handsom he is, I hate the sight of the young Stallion.
                                                               [_Aside_.

_Gay_. I wou'd not be so uncivil, Sir, before all this Company.

Sir _Cau_. Uncivil! Ay, ay, 'tis so, he cannot be content to cuckold,
but he must tell me so too.

_Gay_. But since you will have it, Sir--you are--a Rascal--a most
notorious Villain, Sir, d'ye hear--

Sir _Cau_. Yes, yes, I do hear--and am glad 'tis no worse.   [_Laughing_.

_Gay_. Griping as Hell--and as insatiable--worse than a Brokering Jew,
not all the Twelve Tribes harbour such a damn'd Extortioner.

Sir _Cau_. Pray, under favour, Sir, who are you?
                                          [_Pulling off his Hat_.

_Gay_. One whom thou hast undone--

Sir _Cau_. Hum--I'm glad of that however.    [_Aside smiling_.

_Gay_. Racking me up to a starving Want and Misery,
Then took advantages to ruin me.

Sir _Cau_. So, and he'd revenge it on my Wife--    [_Aside smiling_.

_Gay_. Do not you know one _Wasteall_, Sir?

    _Enter_ Ralph _with Wine, sets it on a Table_.

Sir _Cau_. _Wasteall_--ha, ha, ha,--if you are any Friend to that poor
Fellow--you may return and tell him, Sir--d'ye hear--that the Mortgage
of two hundred pound a Year is this day out, and I'll not bait him an
hour, Sir--ha, ha, ha,--what, do you think to hector civil Magistrates?

_Gay_. Very well, Sir, and is this your Conscience?

Sir _Cau_. Conscience! what do you tell me of Conscience? Why, what a
noise is here--as if the undoing a young Heir were such a Wonder; ods so
I've undone a hundred without, half this ado.

_Gay_. I do believe thee--and am come to tell you--I'll be none of that
Number--for this Minute I'll go and redeem it--and free myself from the
Hell of your Indentures.

Sir _Cau_. How, redeem it! sure the Devil must help him then.--Stay,
Sir--stay--Lord, Sir, what need you put your self to that trouble? your
Land is in safe hands, Sir; come, come, sit down--and let us take a
Glass of Wine together, Sir--

_Bel_. Sir, my service to you.    [_Drinks to him_.

_Gay_. Your Servant, Sir. Wou'd I cou'd come to speak to _Bellmour_,
which I dare not do in publick, lest I betray him. I long to be resolv'd
where 'twas Sir _Feeble_ was last night--if it were he--by which I might
find out my invisible Mistress.

_Noi_. Noble Mr. _Wasteall_--
                     [_Salutes him, so does_ Bearjest.

_Bel_. Will you please to sit, Sir?

_Gay_. I have a little business, Sir--but anon I'll wait on you--your
Servant, Gentlemen--I'll to _Crap_ the Scrivener's.
                                            [_Goes out_.

Sir _Cau_. Do you know this _Wasteall_, Sir?--    [_To_ Noisey.

_Noi_. Know him, Sir! ay, too well--

_Bea_. The World's well amended with him, Captain, since I lost my Money
to him and you at the _George_ in _White-Fryers_.

_Noi_. Ay, poor Fellow--he's sometimes up, and sometimes down, as the
Dice favour him--

_Bea_. Faith, and that's pity; but how came he so fine o'th' sudden?
'Twas but last week he borrowed eighteen pence of me on his Waste-Belt
to pay his Dinner in an Ordinary.

_Bel_. Were you so cruel, Sir, to take it?

_Noi_. We are not all one Man's Children; faith, Sir, we are here to
Day, and gone to Morrow--

Sir _Cau_. I say 'twas done like a wise Man, Sir; but under favour,
Gentlemen, this _Wasteall_ is a Rascal--

_Noi_. A very Rascal, Sir, and a most dangerous Fellow--he cullies in
your Prentices and Cashiers to play--which ruins so many o'th' young
Fry i'th' City--

Sir _Cau_. Hum--does he so--d'ye hear that, _Edward_?

_Noi_. Then he keeps a private Press, and prints your _Amsterdam_ and
_Leyden_ Libels.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, and makes 'em too, I'll warrant him; a dangerous Fellow--

_Noi_. Sometimes he begs for a lame Soldier with a wooden Leg.

_Bea_. Sometimes as a blind Man, sells Switches in _New-Market_ Road.

_Noi_. At other times he runs the Country like a Gipsey--tells Fortunes
and robs Hedges, when he's out of Linen.

Sir _Cau_. Tells Fortunes too!--nay, I thought he dealt with the Devil
--Well, Gentlemen, you are all wide o' this Matter--for to tell you
the Truth--he deals with the Devil, Gentlemen
--otherwise he could never have redeem'd his Land.    [Aside.

_Bel_. How, Sir, the Devil!

Sir _Cau_. I say the Devil; Heaven bless every wise Man from the Devil.

_Bea_. The Devil, sha! there's no such Animal in Nature; I rather think
he pads.

_Noi_. Oh, Sir, he has not Courage for that--but he's an admirable
Fellow at your Lock.

Sir _Cau_. Lock! My Study-Lock was pickt--I begin to suspect him--

_Bea_. I saw him once open a Lock with the Bone of a Breast of Mutton,
and break an Iron Bar asunder with the Eye of a Needle.

Sir _Cau_. Prodigious!--well, I say the Devil still.

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble.

Sir _Feeb_. Who's this talks of the Devil?--a Pox of the Devil, I say,
this last night's Devil has so haunted me--

Sir _Cau_. Why, have you seen it since, Brother?

Sir _Feeb_. In Imagination, Sir.

_Bel_. How, Sir, a Devil?

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, or a Ghost.

_Bel_. Where, good Sir?

_Bea_. Ay, where? I'd travel a hundred Mile to see a Ghost--

_Bel_. Sure, Sir, 'twas Fancy.

Sir _Feeb_. If 'twere a Fancy, 'twas a strong one; and Ghosts and Fancy
are all one if they can deceive. I tell you--if ever I thought in my
Life--I thought I saw a Ghost--Ay, and a damnable impudent Ghost too; he
said he was a--a Fellow here--they call _Bellmour_.

_Bel_. How, Sir!

_Bea_. Well, I wou'd give the world to see the Devil, provided he were a
civil affable Devil, such an one as _Wasteall's_ Acquaintance is--

Sir _Cau_. He can show him too soon, it may be. I'm sure as civil as he
is, he helps him to steal my Gold, I doubt--and to be sure--Gentlemen,
you say he's a Gamester--I desire when he comes anon, that you wou'd
propose to sport a Dye, or so--and we'll fall to play for a Teaster, or
the like--and if he sets any money, I shall go near to know my own Gold,
by some remarkable Pieces amongst it; and if he have it, I'll hang him,
and then all his six hundred a Year will be my own, which I have
in Mortgage.

_Bea_. Let the Captain and I alone to top upon him--mean time, Sir, I
have brought my Musick, to entertain my Mistress with a Song.

Sir _Feeb_. Take your own methods, Sir--they are at leisure--while we go
drink their Healths within. Adod, I long for night, we are not half in
kelter, this damn'd Ghost will not out of my Head yet.

                                             [_Exeunt all but_ Bellmour.

_Bel_. Hah--a Ghost! what can he mean? A Ghost, and _Bellmour's_!
--Sure my good Angel, or my Genius,
In pity of my Love, and of _Leticia_--
But see _Leticia_ comes, but still attended--

    _Enter_ Leticia, _Lady_ Fulbank, Diana.

--Remember--oh, remember to be true?
                   [Aside to her, passing by goes out.

L. _Ful_. I was sick to know with what Christian Patience you bore the
Martyrdom of this Night.

_Let_. As those condemn'd bear the last Hour of Life. A short Reprieve I
had--and by a kind Mistake, _Diana_ only was my Bedfellow--    [_Weeps_.

_Dia_. And I wish for your Repose you ne'er had seen my Father.
                                                               [_Weeps_.

_Let_. And so do I, I fear he has undone me--

_Dia_. And me, in breaking of his word with _Bredwel_--

L. _Ful_.--So--as _Trincolo_ says, wou'd you were both hang'd for me,
for putting me in mind of my Husband. For I have e'en no better luck
than either of you--Let our two Fates warn your approaching one: I
love young _Bredwel_ and must plead for him.

_Dia_. I know his Virtue justifies my Choice:
But Pride and Modesty forbids I shou'd unlov'd pursue him.

_Let_. Wrong not my Brother so, who dies for you--

_Dia_. Cou'd he so easily see me given away,
Without a Sigh at parting?
For all the day a Calm was in his Eyes,
And unconcern'd he look'd and talk'd to me;
In dancing never prest my willing Hand,
Nor with a scornful Glance reproach'd my Falshood.

_Let_. Believe me, that Dissembling was his Master-piece.

_Dia_. Why should he fear, did not my Father promise him?

_Let_. Ay, that was in his wooing time to me:
But now 'tis all forgotten--
                                [_Musick at the door_.

    _After which enter_ Bearjest _and_ Bredwel.

L. _Ful_. How now, Cousin! Is this high piece of Gallantry from you?

_Bea_. Ay, Madam, I have not travel'd for nothing--

L. _Ful_. I find my Cousin is resolv'd to conquer, he assails with all
his Artillery of Charms; we'll leave him to his success, Madam.--

                                       [_Ex_. Leticia _and L_. Fulbank.

_Bea_. Oh Lord, Madam, you oblige me--look, _Ned_, you had a mind to
have a full view of my Mistress, Sir, and--here she is.
                                                   [_He stands gazing_.
Go, salute her--look how he stands now; what a sneaking thing is a
Fellow who has never travel'd and seen the World!--Madam--this is a very
honest Friend of mine, for all he looks so simply.

_Dia_. Come, he speaks for you, Sir.

_Bea_. He, Madam! though he be but a Banker's Prentice, Madam, he's as
pretty a Fellow of his Inches as any i'th' City--he has made love in
Dancing-Schools, and to Ladies of Quality in the middle Gallery, and
shall joke ye--and repartee with any Fore-man within the Walls--prithee
to her--and commend me, I'll give thee a new Point Crevat.

_Dia_. He looks as if he cou'd not speak to me.

_Bea_. Not speak to you! yes, Gad, Madam, and do any thing to you too.

_Dia_. Are you his Advocate, Sir?    [_In scorn_.

_Bea_. For want of a better--
                                 [_Stands behind him, pushing him on_.

_Bred_. An Advocate for Love I am,
And bring you such a Message from a Heart--

_Bea_. Meaning mine, dear Madam.

_Bred_. That when you hear it, you will pity it.

_Bea_. Or the Devil's in her--

_Dia_. Sir, I have many Reasons to believe,
It is my Fortune you pursue, not Person.

_Bea_. There is something in that, I must confess.    [_Behind him_.
But say what you will, _Ned_.

_Bred_. May all the Mischiefs of despairing Love Fall on me if it be.

_Bea_. That's well enough--

_Bred_. No, were you born an humble Village-Maid,
That fed a Flock upon the neighbouring Plain;
With all that shining Vertue in your Soul,
By Heaven, I wou'd adore you--love you--wed you--
Though the gay World were lost by such a Nuptial.
                                    [Bear. _looks on him_.
--This--I wou'd do, were I my Friend the Squire
                                    [_Recollecting_.

_Bea_. Ay, if you were me--you might do what you pleas'd; but I'm of
another mind.

_Dia_. Shou'd I consent, my Father is a Man whom Interest sways, not
Honour; and whatsoever Promises he 'as made you, he means to break 'em
all, and I am destin'd to another.

_Bea_. How, another--his Name, his Name, Madam--here's _Ned_ and I fear
ne'er a single Man i'th' Nation, What is he--what is he?--

_Dia_. A Fop, a Fool, a beaten Ass--a Blockhead.

_Bea_. What a damn'd Shame's this, that Women shou'd be sacrificed to
Fools, and Fops must run away with Heiresses--whilst we Men of Wit and
Parts dress and dance, and cock and travel for nothing but to be tame
Keepers.

_Dia_. But I, by Heaven, will never be that Victim: But where my Soul is
vow'd, 'tis fix'd for ever.

_Bred_. Are you resolv'd, are you confirm'd in this? Oh my _Diana_,
speak it o'er again.    [_Runs to her, and embraces her_.
Bless me, and make me happier than a Monarch.

_Bea_. Hold, hold, dear _Ned_--that's my part, I take it.

_Bred_. Your Pardon, Sir, I had forgot my self.
--But time is short--what's to be done in this?

_Bea_. Done! I'll enter the House with Fire and Sword, d'ye see, not
that I care this--but I'll not be fob'd off--what, do they take me for
a Fool--an Ass?

_Bred_. Madam, dare you run the risk of your Father's Displeasure, and
run away with the Man you love?

_Dia_. With all my Soul--

_Bea_. That's hearty--and we'll do it--_Ned_ and I here--and I love an
Amour with an Adventure in't like _Amadis de Gaul_--Harkye, _Ned_, get a
Coach and six ready to night when 'tis dark, at the back Gate--

_Bred_. And I'll get a Parson ready in my Lodging, to which I have a Key
through the Garden, by which we may pass unseen.

_Bea_. Good--Mun, here's Company--

    _Enter_ Gayman _with his Hat and Money in't, Sir_ Cautious
    _in a rage, Sir_ Feeble, _Lady_ Fulbank, Leticia, _Captain_
    Noisey, Bellmour.

Sir _Cau_. A hundred Pound lost already! Oh Coxcomb, old Coxcomb, and
a wise Coxcomb--to turn Prodigal at my Years, why, I was bewitcht!

Sir _Feeb_. Shaw, 'twas a Frolick, Sir, I have lost a hundred Pound as
well as you. My Lady has lost, and your Lady has lost, and the rest--
what, old Cows will kick sometimes, what's a hundred Pound?

Sir _Cau_. A hundred Pound! why, 'tis a sum, Sir--a sum--why, what the
Devil did I do with a Box and Dice!

L. _Ful_. Why, you made a shift to lose, Sir? And where's the harm of
that? We have lost, and he has won; anon it may be your Fortune.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but he could never do it fairly, that's certain. Three
hundred Pound! why, how came you to win so unmercifully, Sir?

_Gay_. Oh, the Devil will not lose a Gamester of me, you see, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. The Devil!--mark that, Gentlemen--

_Bea_. The Rogue has damn'd luck sure, he has got a Fly--

Sir _Cau_. And can you have the Conscience to carry away all our Money,
Sir?

_Gay_. Most assuredly, unless you have the courage to retrieve it. I'll
set it at a Throw, or any way: what say you, Gentlemen?

Sir _Feeb_. Ods bobs, you young Fellows are too hard for us every way,
and I'm engag'd at an old Game with a new Gamester here, who will
require all an old Man's stock.

L. _Ful_. Come, Cousin, will you venture a Guinea? Come, Mr. _Bredwel_.

_Gay_. Well, if no body dare venture on me, I'll send away my Cash--

        [_They all go to play at the Table, but Sir_ Cau.
        _Sir_ Feeb. _and_ Gay.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--must it all go?--a rare sum, if a Man were but sure the
Devil wou'd but stand Neuter now--    [Aside.
--Sir, I wish I had any thing but ready Money to stake: three hundred
Pound--a fine Sum!

_Gay_. You have Moveables, Sir, Goods--Commodities--

Sir _Cau_. That's all one, Sir; that's Money's worth, Sir: but if I had
any thing that were worth nothing--

_Gay_. You wou'd venture it,--I thank you, Sir,--I wou'd your Lady were
worth nothing--

Sir _Cau_. Why, so, Sir?

_Gay_. Then I wou'd set all this against that Nothing.

Sir _Cau_. What, set it against my Wife?

_Gay_. Wife, Sir! ay, your Wife--

Sir _Cau_. Hum, my Wife against three hundred Pounds! What, all my Wife,
Sir?

_Gay_. All your Wife! Why, Sir, some part of her wou'd serve my turn.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--my Wife--why, if I shou'd lose, he cou'd not have the
Impudence to take her.    [Aside.

_Gay_. Well, I find you are not for the Bargain, and so I put up--

Sir _Cau_. Hold, Sir--why so hasty--my Wife? no--put up your Money,
Sir--what, lose my Wife for three hundred Pounds!--

_Gay_. Lose her, Sir!--why, she shall be never the worse for my wearing,
Sir--the old covetous Rogue is considering on't, I think--What say you
to a Night? I'll set it to a Night--there's none need know it, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--a Night!--three hundred Pounds for a Night! why, what a
lavish Whore-master's this! We take Money to marry our Wives, but very
seldom part with 'em, and by the Bargain get Money--For a Night, say
you?--Gad, if I shou'd take the Rogue at his word, 'twou'd be a pure
Jest.    [Aside.

Sir _Feeb_. You are not mad, Brother.

Sir _Cau_. No, but I'm wise--and that's as good; let me consider.--

Sir _Feeb_. What, whether you shall be a Cuckold or not?

Sir _Cau_. Or lose three hundred Pounds--consider that. A Cuckold!--why,
'tis a word--an empty sound--'tis Breath--'tis Air--'tis nothing:--but
three hundred Pounds--Lord, what will not three hundred Pounds do? You
may chance to be a Cuckold for nothing, Sir--

Sir _Feeb_. It may be so--but she shall do't discretly then.

Sir _Cau_. Under favour, you're an Ass, Brother; this is the discreetest
way of doing it, I take it.

Sir _Feeb_. But wou'd a wise man expose his Wife?

Sir _Cau_. Why, _Cato_ was a wiser Man than I, and he lent his Wife to a
young Fellow they call'd _Hortensius_, as Story says; and can a wise Man
have a better Precedent than _Cato_?

Sir _Feeb_. I say, _Cato_ was an Ass, Sir, for obliging any young Rogue of
'em all.

Sir _Cau_. But I am of _Cato's_ mind. Well, a single Night you say.

_Gay_. A single Night--to have--to hold--possess--and so forth, at
discretion.

Sir _Cau_. A Night--I shall have her safe and sound i'th' Morning.

Sir _Feeb_. Safe, no doubt on't--but how sound.--

_Gay_. And for Non-performance, you shall pay me three hundred Pounds,
I'll forfeit as much if I tell--

Sir _Cau_. Tell?--why, make your three hundred pounds six hundred, and
let it be put into the _Gazet_, if you will, Man.--But it's a Bargain?

_Gay_. Done--Sir Feeble shall be witness--and there stands my Hat.

    [_Puts down his Hat of Money, and each of em take a Box and Dice,
    and kneel on the Stage, the rest come about 'em_.

Sir _Cau_. He that comes first to One and thirty wins--

                                             [_They throw and count_.

L. _Ful_. What are you playing for?

Sir _Feeb_. Nothing, nothing--but a Trial of Skill between an old Man
and a Young--and your Ladyship is to be Judge.

L. _Ful_. I shall be partial, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Six and five's Eleven--
                             [_Throws, and pulls the Hat towards him_.

_Gay_. Cater Tray--Pox of the Dice--

Sir _Cau_. Two fives--one and twenty--
                                     [_Sets up, pulls the Hat nearer_.

_Gay_. Now, Luck--Doublets of sixes--nineteen.

Sir _Cau_. Five and four--thirty--
                                      [_Draws the Hat to him_.

Sir _Feeb_. Now if he wins it, I'll swear he has a Fly indeed--'tis
impossible without Doublets of sixes--

_Gay_, Now Fortune smile--and for the future frown.    [_Throws_.

Sir _Cau_.--Hum--two sixes--
                                [_Rises and looks dolefully round_.

L. _Ful_. How now? what's the matter you look so like an Ass, what have
you lost?

Sir _Cau_. A Bauble--a Bauble--'tis not for what I've lost--but because
I have not won--

Sir _Feeb_. You look very simple, Sir--what think you of _Cato_ now?

Sir _Cau_. A wise Man may have his failings--

L. _Ful_. What has my Husband lost?--

Sir _Cau_. Only a small parcel of Ware that lay dead upon my hands,
Sweet-heart.

_Gay_. But I shall improve 'em, Madam, I'll warrant you.

L. _Ful_. Well, since 'tis no worse, bring in your fine Dancer,
Cousin, you say you brought to entertain your Mistress with.

                                                [Bearjest _goes out_.

_Gay_. Sir, you'll take care to see me paid to Night?

Sir _Cau_. Well, Sir--but my Lady, you must know, Sir, has the common
frailties of her Sex, and will refuse what she even longs for, if
persuaded to't by me.

_Gay_. 'Tis not in my Bargain to sollicit her, Sir, you are to procure
her--or three hundred pounds, Sir; chuse you whether.

Sir _Cau_. Procure her! with all my soul, Sir; alas, you mistake my
honest meaning, I scorn to be so unjust as not to see you a-bed
together; and then agree as well as you can, I have done my part--In
order to this, Sir--get but your self conveyed in a Chest to my house,
with a Direction upon't for me; and for the rest--

_Gay_. I understand you.

Sir _Feeb_. _Ralph_, get supper ready.

    _Enter_ Bea. _with Dancers; all go out but Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Cau_. Well, I must break my Mind, if possible, to my Lady--but if
she shou'd be refractory now--and make me pay Three hundred Pounds--why,
sure she won't have so little Grace--Three hundred Pounds sav'd, is
three hundred pounds got--by our account--Cou'd All--

  _Who of this City-Privilege are free,
  Hope to be paid for Cuckoldom like me;
  Th'unthriving Merchant, whom gray Hair adorns,
  Before all Ventures wou'd ensure his Horns;
  For thus, while he but lets spare Rooms to hire,
  His Wife's cracked Credit keeps his own entire_.

                                               [_Exit_.




ACT V.

SCENE I. _Sir_ Cautious _his House_.


    _Enter_ Bellmour _alone, sad_.

_Bel_. The Night is come, oh my _Leticia_!
The longing Bridegroom hastens to his Bed;
Whilst she with all the languishment of Love,
And sad Despair, casts her fair Eyes on me,
Which silently implore, I would deliver her.
But how! ay, there's the Question--hah--    [_Pausing_.
I'll get my self hid in her Bed-chamber--
And something I will do--may serve us yet--
If all my Arts should fail--I'll have recourse    [_Draws a dagger_.
To this--and bear _Leticia_ off by force.
--But see she comes--

    _Enter Lady_ Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious, _Sir_ Feeble,
    Leticia, Bearjest, Noisey, Gayman. _Exit_ Bellmour.

Sir _Feeb_. Lights there, _Ralph_.
And my Lady's Coach there--

                                [Bearjest _goes to_ Gayman.

_Bea_. Well, Sir, remember you have promised to grant me my diabolical
Request, in shewing me the Devil--

_Gay_. I will not fail you, Sir.

L. _Ful_. Madam, your Servant; I hope you'll see no more Ghosts, Sir
_Feeble_.

Sir _Feeb_. No more of that, I beseech you, Madam:
Prithee, Sir _Cautious_, take away your Wife--Madam, your Servant--
                                          [_All go out after the Light_.
--Come, _Lette, Lette_; hasten, Rogue, hasten to thy Chamber; away,
here be the young Wenches coming--
                                           [_Puts her out, he goes out_.

    _Enter_ Diana, _puts on her Hood and Scarf_.

_Dia_. So--they are gone to Bed; and now for _Bredwel_
--the Coach waits, and I'll take this opportunity.

  _Father, farewell--if you dislike my course,
  Blame the old rigid Customs of your Force_.

                                       [_Goes out_.



SCENE II. _A Bed-chamber_.


    _Enter Sir_ Feeble, Leticia, _and_ Phillis.

_Let_. Ah, _Phillis_! I am fainting with my Fears,
Hast thou no comfort for me?

                                [_He undresses to his Gown_.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what art doing there--fiddle fadling--adod, you young
Wenches are so loth to come to--but when your hand's in, you have no
mercy upon us poor Husbands.

_Let_. Why do you talk so, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Was it anger'd at the Fool's Prattle? tum a-me, tum a-me,
I'll undress it, effags, I will--Roguy.

_Let_. You are so wanton, Sir, you make me blush--I will not go to bed,
unless you'll promise me--

Sir _Feeb_. No bargaining, my little Hussey--what, you'll tie my hands
behind me, will you?
                        [_She goes to the Table_.

_Let_.--What shall I do?--assist me, gentle Maid,
Thy Eyes methinks put on a little hope.

_Phil_. Take Courage, Madam--you guess right--be confident.

Sir _Feeb_. No whispering, Gentlewoman--and putting Tricks into her
head; that shall not cheat me of another Night--Look on that silly
little round Chitty-face--look on those smiling roguish loving Eyes
there--look--look how they laugh, twire, and tempt--he, Rogue--I'll
buss 'em there, and here, and every where--ods bods--away, this is
fooling and spoiling of a Man's Stomach, with a bit here, and a bit
there--to Bed--to Bed--

    [_As she is at the Toilet, he looks over her shoulder,
    and sees her Face in the Glass_.

_Let_. Go you first, Sir, I will but stay to say my Prayers,
which are that Heaven wou'd deliver me.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. Say thy Prayers!--What, art thou mad! Prayers upon thy
Wedding-night! a short Thanksgiving or so--but Prayers quoth a--'Sbobs,
you'll have time enough for that, I doubt--

_Le_. I am asham'd to undress before you, Sir; go to Bed--

Sir _Feeb_. What, was it asham'd to shew its little white Foots, and its
little round Bubbies--well, I'll go, I'll go--I cannot think on't, no I
cannot--

    [_Going towards the Bed_, Bellmour _comes forth from between
    the Curtains, his Coat off, his Shirt bloody, a Dagger in his
    hand, and his Disguise off_.

_Bel_. Stand--

Sir _Feeb_. Ah--

_Let_. and _Phil_. [_squeak_]--Oh, Heavens!
--why, is it _Bellmour_?    [_Aside to_ Phil.

_Bel_. Go not to Bed, I guard this sacred Place,
And the Adulterer dies that enters here.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh--why do I shake?--sure I'm a Man, what art thou?

_Bel_. I am the wrong'd, the lost and murder'd _Bellmour_.

Sir _Feeb_. O Lord! it is the same I saw last night--Oh!--hold thy
dread Vengeance--pity me, and hear me--Oh! a Parson--a Parson--what
shall I do--Oh! where shall I hide my self?

_Bel_. I'th' utmost Borders of the Earth I'll find thee--
Seas shall not hide thee, nor vast Mountains guard thee:
Even in the depth of Hell I'll find thee out,
And lash thy filthy and adulterous Soul.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh! I am dead, I'm dead; will no Repentence save me? 'twas
that young Eye that tempted me to sin; Oh!--

_Bel_. See, fair Seducer, what thou'st made me do;
Look on this bleeding Wound, it reach'd my Heart,
To pluck my dear tormenting Image thence,
When News arriv'd that thou hadst broke thy Vow.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh Lord! oh! I'm glad he's dead though.

_Let_. Oh, hide that fatal Wound, my tender Heart faints with a Sight
so horrid!    [_Seems to Weep_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, she'll clear her self, and leave me in the Devil's
Clutches.

_Bel_. You've both offended Heaven, and must repent or die.

Sir _Feeb_. Ah,--I do confess I was an old Fool,--bewitcht with Beauty,
besotted with Love, and do repent most heartily.

_Bel_. No, you had rather yet go on in Sin:
Thou wou'dst live on, and be a baffled Cuckold.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, not for the World, Sir! I am convinc'd and mortifi'd.

_Bel_. Maintain her fine, undo thy Peace to please her, and still be
Cuckol'd on,--believe her,--trust her, and be Cuckol'd still.

Sir _Feeb_. I see my Folly--and my Age's Dotage--and find the Devil was
in me--yet spare my Age--ah! spare me to repent.

_Bel_. If thou repent'st, renounce her, fly her sight;--
Shun her bewitching Charms, as thou wou'dst Hell,
Those dark eternal Mansions of the dead--
Whither I must descend.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh--wou'd he were gone!--

_Bel_. Fly--be gone--depart, vanish for ever from her to some more safe
and innocent Apartment.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, that's very hard!--

    [_He goes back trembling_, Bellmour _follows in with
    his Dagger up; both go out_.

_Let_. Blest be this kind Release, and yet methinks it grieves me to
consider how the poor old Man is frighted.

                              [Bellmour _re-enters, puts on his Coat_.

_Bel_.--He's gone, and lock'd himself into his Chamber--
And now, my dear _Leticia_, let us fly--

  _Despair till now did my wild Heart invade,
  But pitying Love has the rough Storm allay'd_.

                                          [_Exeunt_.



SCENE III. _Sir_ Cautious _his Garden_.

    _Enter two Porters and_ Rag, _bearing_ Gayman _in a Chest;
    set it down, he comes forth with a Dark-lanthorn_.

_Gay_. Set down the Chest behind yon hedge of Roses--and then put on
those Shapes I have appointed you--and be sure you well-favour'dly bang
both _Bearjest_ and _Noisey_, since they have a mind to see the Devil.

_Rag_. Oh, Sir, leave 'em to us for that; and if we do not play the
Devil with 'em, we deserve they shou'd beat us. But, Sir, we are in Sir
_Cautious_ his Garden, will he not sue us for a Trespass?

_Gay_. I'll bear you out; be ready at my Call.

                                        [_Exeunt_.

--Let me see--I have got no ready stuff to banter with--but no matter,
any Gibberish will serve the Fools--'tis now about the hour of Ten--but
Twelve is my appointed lucky Minute, when all the Blessings that my Soul
could wish, shall be resign'd to me.

    _Enter_ Bredwel.

--Hah! who's there? _Bredwel_?

_Bred_. Oh, are you come, Sir--and can you be so kind to a poor Youth,
to favour his Designs, and bless his Days?

_Gay_. Yes, I am ready here with all my Devils, both to secure you your
Mistress, and to cudgel your Captain and Squire, for abusing me behind
my Back so basely.

_Bred_. 'Twas most unmanly, Sir, and they deserve it--I wonder that they
come not.

_Gay_. How durst you trust her with him?

_Bred_. Because 'tis dangerous to steal a City-Heiress, and let the
Theft be his--so the dear Maid be mine--Hark--sure they come--

    _Enter_ Bearjest, _runs against_ Bredwel.

--Who's there? Mr. _Bearjest_?

_Bea_. Who's that? _Ned_? Well, I have brought my Mistress, hast thou
got a Parson ready, and a License?

_Bred_. Ay, ay, but where's the Lady?

_Bea_. In the Coach, with the Captain at the Gate. I came before, to see
if the Coast be clear.

_Bred_. Ay, Sir; but what shall we do? here's Mr. _Gayman_ come on
purpose to shew you the Devil, as you desir'd.

_Bea_. Sho! a Pox of the Devil, Man--I can't attend to speak with
him now.

_Gay_. How, Sir! D'ye think my Devil of so little Quality, to suffer an
Affront unrevenged?

_Bea_. Sir, I cry his Devilship's Pardon: I did not know his Quality. I
protest, Sir, I love and honour him, but I am now just going to be
married, Sir; and when that Ceremony's past, I'm ready to go to the
Devil as soon as you please.

_Gay_. I have told him your Desire of seeing him, and shou'd you baffle
him?

_Bea_. Who, I, Sir! Pray, let his Worship know, I shall be proud of the
Honour of his Acquaintance; but, Sir, my Mistress and the Parson wait in
_Ned's_ Chamber.

_Gay_. If all the World wait, Sir, the Prince of Hell will stay for no
Man.

_Bred_. Oh, Sir, rather than the Prince of the Infernals shall be
affronted, I'll conduct the Lady up, and entertain her till you
come, Sir.

_Bea_. Nay, I have a great mind to kiss his--Paw, Sir; but I cou'd wish
you'd shew him me by day-light, Sir.

_Gay_. The Prince of Darkness does abhor the Light. But, Sir, I will for
once allow your Friend the Captain to keep you company.

    _Enter_ Noisey _and_ Diana.

_Bea_. I'm much oblig'd to you, Sir; oh, Captain--    [_Talks to him_.

_Bred_. Haste, Dear; the Parson waits,
To finish what the Powers design'd above.

_Dia_. Sure nothing is so bold as Maids in Love!    [_They go out_.

_Noi_. Psho! he conjure--he can flie as soon.

_Gay_. Gentlemen, you must be sure to confine your selves to this
Circle, and have a care you neither swear, nor pray.

_Bea_. Pray, Sir! I dare say neither of us were ever that way gifted.

            A horrid Noise.

_Gay_.

  _Cease your Horror, cease your Haste.
  And calmly as I saw you last,
  Appear! Appear!
  By thy Pearls and Diamond Rocks,
  By thy heavy Money-Box,
  By thy shining Petticoat,
  That hid thy cloven Feet from Note;
  By the Veil that hid thy Face,
  Which else had frighten'd humane Race_:
                           [Soft Musick ceases.
  _Appear, that I thy Love may see,
  Appear, kind Fiends, appear to me_.

A Pox of these Rascals, why come they not?

    _Four enter from the four corners of the Stage, to Musick
    that plays; they dance, and in the Dance, dance round 'em,
    and kick, pinch, and beat 'em_.

_Bea_. Oh, enough, enough! Good Sir, lay 'em, and I'll pay the Musick--

_Gay_. I wonder at it--these Spirits are in their Nature kind, and
peaceable--but you have basely injur'd some body--confess, and they will
be satisfied--

_Bea_. Oh, good Sir, take your _Cerberuses_ off--I do confess, the
Captain here, and I have violated your Fame.

_Noi_. Abus'd you,--and traduc'd you,--and thus we beg your pardon--

_Gay_. Abus'd me! 'Tis more than I know, Gentlemen.

_Bea_. But it seems your Friend the Devil does.

_Gay_. By this time _Bredwel's_ married.
--Great _Pantamogan_, hold, for I am satisfied,
                                        [_Ex. Devils_.
And thus undo my Charm--
                            [_Takes away the Circle, they run out_.
So, the Fools are going, and now to _Julia's_ Arms.

                                              [_Going_.



SCENE IV. _Lady_ Fulbank's _Anti-chamber_.


    _She discover'd undrest at her Glass; Sir_ Cautious _undrest_.

L. _Ful_. But why to Night? indeed you're wondrous kind methinks.

Sir _Cau_. Why, I don't know--a Wedding is a sort of an Alarm to Love;
it calls up every Man's courage.

L. _Ful_. Ay, but will it come when 'tis call'd?

Sir _Cau_. I doubt you'll find it to my Grief--    [_Aside_.
--But I think 'tis all one to thee, thou car'st not for my Complement;
no, thou'dst rather have a young Fellow.

L. _Ful_. I am not us'd to flatter much; if forty Years were taken
from your Age, 'twou'd render you something more agreeable to my Bed,
I must confess.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, no doubt on't.

L. _Ful_. Yet you may take my word without an Oath,
Were you as old as Time, and I were young and gay
As _April_ Flowers, which all are fond to gather;
My Beauties all should wither in the Shade,
E'er I'd be worn in a dishonest Bosom.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but you're wondrous free methinks, sometimes, which gives
shreud suspicions.

L. _Ful_. What, because I cannot simper, look demure,
and justify my Honour, when none questions it?
--Cry fie, and out upon the naughty Women,
Because they please themselves--and so wou'd I.

Sir _Cau_. How, wou'd, what cuckold me?

L. _Ful_. Yes, if it pleas'd me better than Vertue, Sir.
But I'll not change my Freedom and my Humour,
To purchase the dull Fame of being honest.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but the World, the World--

L. _Ful_. I value not the Censures of the Croud.

Sir _Cau_. But I am old.

L. _Ful_. That's your fault, Sir, not mine.

Sir _Cau_. But being so, if I shou'd be good-natur'd, and give thee
leave to love discreetly--

L. _Ful_. I'd do't without your leave, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Do't--what, cuckold me?

L. _Ful_. No, love discreetly, Sir, love as I ought, love honestly.

Sir _Cau_. What, in love with any body, but your own Husband?

L. _Ful_. Yes.

Sir _Cau_. Yes, quoth a--is that your loving as you ought?

L. _Ful_. We cannot help our Inclinations, Sir,
No more than Time, or Light from coming on--
But I can keep my Virtue, Sir, intire.

Sir _Cau_. What, I'll warrant, this is your first Love, _Gayman_?

L. _Ful_. I'll not deny that Truth, though even to you.

Sir _Cau_. Why, in consideration of my Age, and your Youth, I'd bear a
Conscience--provided you do things wisely.

L. _Ful_. Do what thing, Sir?

Sir _Cau_. You know what I mean--

L. _Ful_. Hah--I hope you wou'd not be a Cuckold, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Why--truly in a civil way--or so.

L. _Ful_. There is but one way, Sir, to make me hate you;
And that wou'd be tame suffering.

Sir _Cau_. Nay, and she be thereabouts, there's no discovering.

L. _Ful_. But leave this fond discourse, and, if you must,
Let us to Bed.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, I did but try your Virtue, mun--dost think I was in
earnest?

    _Enter Servant_.

_Serv_. Sir, here's a Chest directed to your Worship.

Sir _Cau_. Hum, 'tis _Wasteall_--now does my heart fail me--A Chest
say you--to me--so late;--I'll warrant it comes from Sir _Nicholas
Smuggle_--some prohibited Goods that he has stoln the Custom of, and
cheated his Majesty--Well, he's an honest Man, bring it in--

                                                       [_Exit Servant_.

L. _Ful_. What, into my Apartment, Sir, a nasty Chest!

Sir _Cau_. By all means--for if the Searchers come, they'll never be so
uncivil to ransack thy Lodgings; and we are bound in Christian Charity
to do for one another--Some rich Commodities, I am sure--and some fine
Knick-knack will fall to thy share, I'll warrant thee
--Pox on him for a young Rogue, how punctual he is!    [_Aside_.

    _Enter with the Chest_.

--Go, my Dear, go to Bed--I'll send Sir _Nicholas_ a Receit for the
Chest, and be with thee presently--

                             [_Ex. severally_.

        [Gayman _peeps out of the Chest, and looks round him wondring_.

_Gay_. Hah, where am I? By Heaven, my last Night's Vision--'Tis that
inchanted Room, and yonder's the Alcove! Sure 'twas indeed some Witch,
who knowing of my Infidelity--has by Inchantment brought me hither--
'tis so--I am betray'd--[_Pauses_. Hah! or was it _Julia_, that last
night gave me that lone Opportunity?--but hark, I hear some coming--
                                                  [_Shuts himself in_.

    _Enter Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Cau_. [_Lifting up the Chest-lid_.] So, you are come, I see--
                                          [_Goes, and locks the door_.

_Gay_. Hah--he here! nay then, I was deceiv'd, and it was _Julia_ that
last night gave me the dear Assignation.    [_Aside_.

                          [_Sir_ Cautious _peeps into the Bed-chamber_.

L. _Ful_. [_Within_.] Come, Sir _Cautious_, I shall fall asleep, and
then you'll waken me.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, my Dear, I'm coming--she's in Bed--I'll go put out the
Candle, and then--

_Gay_. Ay, I'll warrant you for my part--

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but you may over-act your part, and spoil all--But, Sir,
I hope you'll use a Christian Conscience in this business.

_Gay_. Oh, doubt not, Sir, but I shall do you Reason.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir, but--

_Gay_. Good Sir, no more Cautions; you, unlike a fair Gamester, will
rook me out of half my Night--I am impatient--

Sir _Cau_. Good Lord, are you so hasty? if I please, you shan't go
at all.

_Gay_. With all my soul, Sir; pay me three hundred Pound, Sir--

Sir _Cau_. Lord, Sir, you mistake my candid meaning still. I am content
to be a Cuckold, Sir--but I wou'd have things done decently, d'ye
mind me?

_Gay_. As decently as a Cuckold can be made, Sir.--But no more
disputes, I pray, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. I'm gone--I'm gone--but harkye, Sir, you'll rise before day?
                                                 [_Going out, returns_.

_Gay_. Yet again--

Sir _Cau_. I vanish, Sir--but harkye--you'll not speak a word, but let
her think 'tis I?

_Gay_. Be gone, I say, Sir--    [_He runs out_.
I am convinc'd last night I was with _Julia_.
Oh Sot, insensible and dull!

    _Enter softly Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Cau_. So, the Candle's out--give me your hand.

                                    [_Leads him softly in_.



SCENE V. _Changes to a Bed-chamber_.

    _Lady_ Fulbank _suppos'd in Bed. Enter Sir_ Cautious
    _and_ Gayman _by dark_.

Sir _Cau_. Where are you, my Dear?    [_Leads him to the bed_.

L. _Ful_. Where shou'd I be--in Bed; what, are you by dark?

Sir _Cau_. Ay, the Candle went out by Chance.

    [Gayman _signs to him to be gone; he makes grimaces
    as loath to go, and Exit_.



SCENE VI. _Draws over, and represents another Room in the same House_.


    _Enter_ Parson, Diana, _and_ Pert _drest in_ Diana's _Clothes_.

_Dia_. I'll swear, Mrs. _Pert_, you look very prettily in my Clothes;
and since you, Sir, have convinc'd me that this innocent Deceit is not
unlawful, I am glad to be the Instrument of advancing Mrs. _Pert_ to a
Husband, she already has so just a Claim to.

_Par_. Since she has so firm a Contract, I pronounce it a lawful
Marriage--but hark, they are coming sure--

_Dia_. Pull your Hoods down, and keep your Face from the Light.
                                                     [_Diana runs out_.

    _Enter_ Bearjest _and_ Noisey _disordered_.

_Bea_. Madam, I beg your Pardon--I met with a most devilish Adventure;
--your Pardon too, Mr. Doctor, for making you wait.--But the business
is this, Sir--I have a great mind to lie with this young Gentlewoman
to Night, but she swears if I do, the Parson of the Parish shall know it.

_Par_. If I do, Sir, I shall keep Counsel.

_Bea_. _And that's civil, Sir--Come, lead the way,
       With such a Guide, the Devil's in't if we can go astray_.

                                                     [_Exeunt_.



SCENE VII. _Changes to the Anti-chamber_.


    _Enter Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Cau_. Now cannot I sleep, but am as restless as a Merchant in
stormy Weather, that has ventur'd all his Wealth in one Bottom.--Woman
is a leaky Vessel.--if she should like the young Rogue now, and they
should come to a right understanding--why, then I am a--Wittal--that's
all, and shall be put in Print at _Snow-hill_, with my Effigies o'th'
top, like the sign of Cuckolds Haven.--Hum--they're damnable
silent--pray Heaven he have not murdered her, and robbed her--hum--hark,
what's that?--a noise!--he has broke his Covenant with me, and shall
forfeit the Money--How loud they are? Ay, ay, the Plot's discovered,
what shall I do?--Why, the Devil is not in her sure, to be refractory
now, and peevish; if she be, I must pay my Money yet--and that would be
a damn'd thing.--sure they're coming out--I'll retire and hearken how
'tis with them.    [_Retires_.

    _Enter Lady_ Fulbank _undrest_, Gayman, _half undrest upon
    his Knees, following her, holding her Gown_.

L. _Ful_. Oh! You unkind--what have you made me do? Unhand me, false
Deceiver--let me loose--

Sir _Cau_. Made her do?--so, so--'tis done--I'm glad of that--
                                                     [_Aside peeping_.

_Gay_. Can you be angry, _Julia_?
Because I only seiz'd my Right of Love.

L. _Ful_. And must my Honour be the Price of it?
Could nothing but my Fame reward your Passion?
--What, make me a base Prostitute, a foul Adulteress?
Oh--be gone, be gone--dear Robber of my Quiet.    [_Weeping_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh, fearful!--

_Gay_. Oh! Calm your rage, and hear me; if you are so,
You are an innocent Adulteress.
It was the feeble Husband you enjoy'd
In cold imagination, and no more;
Shily you turn'd away--faintly resign'd.

Sir _Cau_. Hum, did she so?--

_Gay_. Till my Excess of Love betray'd the Cheat.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, that was my Fear.

L. _Ful_. Away, be gone--I'll never see you more--

_Gay_. You may as well forbid the Sun to shine.
Not see you more!--Heavens! I before ador'd you,
But now I rave! And with my impatient Love,
A thousand mad and wild Desires are burning!
I have discover'd now new Worlds of Charms,
And can no longer tamely love and suffer.

Sir _Cau_. So--I have brought an old House upon my Head,
Intail'd Cuckoldom upon my self.

L. _Ful_. I'll hear no more--Sir _Cautious_,--where's my Husband?
Why have you left my Honour thus unguarded?

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, she's well enough pleas'd, I fear, for all.

_Gay_. Base as he is, 'twas he expos'd this Treasure;
Like silly Indians barter'd thee for Trifles.

Sir _Cau_. O treacherous Villain!--

L. _Ful_. Hah--my Husband do this?

_Gay_. He, by Love, he was the kind Procurer,
Contriv'd the means, and brought me to thy Bed.

L. _Ful_. My Husband! My wise Husband!
What fondness in my Conduct had he seen,
To take so shameful and so base Revenge?

_Gay_. None--'twas filthy Avarice seduc'd him to't.

L. _Ful_. If he cou'd be so barbarous to expose me,
Cou'd you who lov'd me--be so cruel too?

_Gay_. What--to possess thee when the Bliss was offer'd?
Possess thee too without a Crime to thee?
Charge not my Soul with so remiss a flame,
So dull a sense of Virtue to refuse it.

L. _Ful_. I am convinc'd the fault was all my Husband's--
And here I vow--by all things just and sacred,
To separate for ever from his Bed.    [_Kneels_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh, I am not able to indure it--
Hold--oh, hold, my Dear--
                             [_He kneels as she rises_.

L. _Ful_. Stand off--I do abhor thee--

Sir _Cau_. With all my Soul--but do not make rash Vows.
They break my very Heart--regard my Reputation.

L. _Ful_. Which you have had such care of, Sir, already--
Rise, 'tis in vain you kneel.

Sir _Cau_. No--I'll never rise again--Alas! Madam, I was merely drawn
in; I only thought to sport a Dye or so: I had only an innocent design
to have discover'd whether this Gentleman had stoln my Gold, that so I
might have hang'd him--

_Gay_. A very innocent Design indeed!

Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir, that's all, as I'm an honest man.--

L. _Ful_. I've sworn, nor are the Stars more fix'd than I.

    _Enter Servant_.

_Serv_. How! my Lady and his Worship up?--Madam, a Gentleman and
a Lady below in a Coach knockt me up, and say they must speak with
your Ladyship.

L. _Ful_. This is strange!--bring them up--    [_Exit Servant_.
Who can it be, at this odd time of neither Night nor Day?

    _Enter_ Leticia, Bellmour, _and_ Phillis.

_Let_. Madam, your Virtue, Charity and Friendship to me, has made me
trespass on you for my Life's security, and beg you will protect me, and
my Husband--    [_Points at_ Bellmour.

Sir _Cau_. So, here's another sad Catastrophe!

L. _Ful_. Hah--does _Bellmour_ live? is't possible?
Believe me, Sir, you ever had my Wishes;
And shall not fail of my Protection now.

_Bel_. I humbly thank your Ladyship.

_Gay_. I'm glad thou hast her, _Harry_; but doubt thou durst not own her;
nay dar'st not own thy self.

_Bel_. Yes, Friend, I have my Pardon--
But hark, I think we are pursu'd already--
But now I fear no force.

                       [_A noise of some body coming in_.

L. _Ful_. However, step into my Bed-chamber.

                 [_Exeunt_ Leticia, Gayman _and_ Phillis.

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble _in an Antick manner_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hell shall not hold thee--nor vast Mountains cover thee, but
I will find thee out--and lash thy filthy and Adulterous Carcase.
                           [_Coming up in a menacing manner to Sir _Cau.

Sir _Cau_. How--lash my filthy Carcase?--I defy thee, Satan--

Sir _Feeb_. 'Twas thus he said.

Sir _Cau_. Let who's will say it, he lies in's Throat.

Sir _Feeb_. How, the Ghostly--hush--have a care--for 'twas the Ghost of
_Bellmour_--Oh! hide that bleeding Wound, it chills my Soul!--
                                            [_Runs to the Lady_ Fulbank.

L. _Ful_. What bleeding Wound?--Heavens, are you frantick, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. No--but for want of rest, I shall e'er Morning.    [_Weeps_.
--She's gone--she's gone--she's gone--    [_He weeps_.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, she's gone, she's gone indeed.
                                          [_Sir_ Cau. _weeps_.

Sir _Feeb_. But let her go, so I may never see that dreadful Vision
--harkye, Sir--a word in your Ear--have a care of marrying a young Wife.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but I have married one already.    [_Weeping_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hast thou? Divorce her--flie her, quick--depart--be gone,
she'll cuckold thee--and still she'll cuckold thee.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, Brother, but whose fault was that?--Why, are not you
married?

Sir _Feeb_. Mum--no words on't, unless you'll have the Ghost about your
Ears; part with your Wife, I say, or else the Devil will part ye.

L. _Ful_. Pray go to Bed, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Yes, for I shall sleep now, I shall lie alone;    [_Weeps_.
Ah, Fool, old dull besotted Fool--to think she'd love me--'twas by base
means I gain'd her--cozen'd an honest Gentleman of Fame and Life--

L. _Ful_. You did so, Sir, but 'tis not past Redress--you may make that
honest Gentleman amends.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, wou'd I could, so I gave half my Estate--

L. _Ful_. That Penitence atones with him and Heaven.--Come forth,
_Leticia_, and your injur'd Ghost.

    _Enter_ Leticia, Bellmour, _and_ Phillis.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah, Ghost--another Sight would make me mad indeed.

_Bel_. Behold me, Sir, I have no Terror now.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah--who's that, _Francis!_--my Nephew _Francis_?

_Bel_. _Bellmour_, or _Francis_, chuse you which you like, and I am
either.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah, _Bellmour!_ and no Ghost?

_Bel. Bellmour_--and not your Nephew, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. But art alive? Ods bobs, I'm glad on't, Sirrah;--But are
you real, _Bellmour_?

_Bel_. As sure as I'm no Ghost.

_Gay_. We all can witness for him, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Where be the Minstrels, we'll have a Dance--adod, we will
--Ah--art thou there, thou cozening little Chits-face?--a Vengeance
on thee--thou madest mean old doting loving Coxcomb--but I forgive
thee--and give thee all thy Jewels, and you your Pardon, Sir, so you'll
give me mine; for I find you young Knaves will be too hard for us.

_Bel_. You are so generous, Sir, that 'tis almost with grief I receive
the Blessing of _Leticia_.

Sir _Feeb_. No, no, thou deservest her; she would have made an old fond
Blockhead of me, and one way or other you wou'd have had her--ods bobs,
you wou'd--

    _Enter_ Bearjest, Diana, Pert, Bredwel, _and_ Noisey.

_Bea_. Justice, Sir, Justice--I have been cheated--abused--assassinated
and ravisht!

Sir _Cau_. How, my Nephew ravisht!--

_Pert_. No, Sir, I am his Wife.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--my Heir marry a Chamber-maid!

_Bea_. Sir, you must know I stole away Mrs. _Dy_, and brought her to
_Ned's_ Chamber here--to marry her.

Sir _Feeb_. My Daughter _Dy_ stoln--

_Bea_. But I being to go to the Devil a little, Sir, whip--what does
he, but marries her himself, Sir; and fob'd me off here with my Lady's
cast Petticoat--

_Noi_. Sir, she's a Gentlewoman, and my Sister, Sir.

_Pert_. Madam, 'twas a pious Fraud, if it were one; for I was contracted
to him before--see, here it is--    [_Gives it 'em_.

_All_. A plain Case, a plain Case.

Sir _Feeb_. Harkye, Sir, have you had the Impudence to marry my
Daughter, Sir?
                  [_To_ Bredwel, _who with_ Diana _kneels_.

_Bred_. Yes, Sir, and humbly ask your Pardon, and your Blessing--

Sir _Feeb_. You will ha't, whether I will or not--rise, you are still
too hard for us: Come, Sir, forgive your Nephew--

Sir _Cau_. Well, Sir, I will--but all this while you little think the
Tribulation I am in, my Lady has forsworn my Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Indeed, Sir, the wiser she.

Sir _Cau_. For only performing my Promise to this Gentleman.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, you showed her the Difference, Sir; you're a wise man.
Come, dry your Eyes--and rest your self contented, we are a couple of
old Coxcombs; d'ye Hear, Sir, Coxcombs.

Sir _Cau_. I grant it, Sir; and if I die, Sir, I bequeath my Lady to
you--with my whole Estate--my Nephew has too much already for a Fool.
                                                        [_To_ Gayman.

_Gay_. I thank you, Sir--do you consent, my _Julia_?

L. _Ful_. No, Sir--you do not like me--a canvas Bag of wooden Ladles
were a better Bed-fellow.

_Gay_. Cruel Tormenter! Oh, I could kill myself with shame and anger!

L. _Ful_. Come hither, _Bredwel_--witness for my Honour--that I had no
design upon his Person, but that of trying his Constancy.

_Bred_. Believe me, Sir, 'tis true--I feigned a danger near--just as you
got to bed--and I was the kind Devil, Sir, that brought the Gold to you.

_Bea_. And you were one of the Devils that beat me, and the Captain
here, Sir?

_Gay_. No truly, Sir, those were some I hired--to beat you for abusing
me to day.

_Noi_. To make you 'mends, Sir, I bring you the certain News of the
death of Sir _Thomas Gayman_, your Uncle, who has left you Two thousand
pounds a year--

_Gay_. I thank you, Sir--I heard the news before.

Sir _Cau_. How's this; Mr. _Gayman_, my Lady's first Lover? I find, Sir
_Feeble_, we were a couple of old Fools indeed, to think at our Age to
cozen two lusty young Fellows of their Mistresses; 'tis no wonder that
both the Men and the Women have been too hard for us; we are not fit
Matches for either, that's the truth on't.

  _The Warrior needs must to his Rival yield,
  Who comes with blunted Weapons to the Field_.



EPILOGUE.

Written by a Person of Quality, Spoken by Mr. _Betterton_.

_Long have we turn'd the point of our just Rage
On the half Wits, and Criticks of the Age.
Oft has the soft, insipid Sonneteer
In_ Nice _and_ Flutter, _seen his Fop-face here.
Well was the ignorant lampooning Pack
Of shatterhead Rhymers whip'd on_ Craffey's _back;
But such a trouble Weed is Poetaster,
The lower 'tis cut down, it grows the faster.
Though Satir then had such a plenteous crop,
An After Math of Coxcombs is come up;
Who not content false Poetry to renew,
By sottish Censures wou'd condemn the true.
Let writing like a Gentleman--fine appear,
But must you needs judge too_ en Cavalier?
_These whiffling Criticks, 'tis our Auth'ress fears,
And humbly begs a Trial by her Peers:
Or let a Pole of Fools her fate pronounce,
There's no great harm in a good quiet Dunce.
But shield her, Heaven! from the left-handed blow
Of airy Blockheads who pretend to know.
On downright Dulness let her rather split,
Than be Fop-mangled under colour of Wit.

Hear me, ye Scribling Beaus,--
Why will you in sheer Rhyme, without one stroke   |
Of Poetry, Ladies just Disdain provoke,           |
And address Songs to whom you never spoke?        |
In doleful Hymns for dying Felons fit,
Why do you tax their Eyes, and blame their Wit?
Unjustly of the Innocent you complain,
'Tis Bulkers give, and Tubs must cure your pain.
Why in Lampoons will you your selves revile?
'Tis true, none else will think it worth their while:
But thus you're hid! oh, 'tis a politick Fetch;
So some have hang'd themselves to ease_ Jack Ketch.
_Justly your Friends and Mistresses you blame,     |
For being so they well deserve the shame,          |
'Tis the worst scandal to have borne that name.    |
                           [See the late Satir on Poetry]
At Poetry of late, and such whose Skill     |
Excels your own, you dart a feeble Quill;   |
Well may you rail at what you ape so ill.   |
With virtuous Women, and all Men of Worth,
You're in a state of mortal War by Birth.
Nature in all her Atom-Fights ne'er knew
Two things so opposite as Them and You.
On such your Muse her utmost fury spends,
They're slander'd worse than any but your Friends.
More years may teach you better; the mean while,
If you can't mend your Morals, mend your Style_.






THE FORC'D MARRIAGE; OR, THE JEALOUS BRIDEGROOM.



ARGUMENT.

The King of France to reward his favourite Alcippus, at the motion of
prince Philander, gladly assents to his being created general in place
of old Orgulius, who seeks to resign his office, and further on his
royal word pledges the new-made commander, Erminia, Orgulius' daughter,
in marriage. The lady, however, loves the dauphin, whilst the princess
Galatea is enamoured of Alcippus. All three are plunged into despair,
and the brother and sister knowing each other's passion bemoan their
hapless fate. The prince, indeed, threatens to kill Alcippus, upon which
Galatea declares she will poniard Erminia. On the wedding night the
bride confesses her love for Philander and refuses to admit Alcippus to
her love. The dauphin at the same time serenades Erminia at her chamber
door, but Pisaro, a friend to Alcippus, meeting him, there is a scuffle
during which Alcander, the prince's companion, wounds the intruder. The
noise rouses Erminia who issues from her room and encounters Philander.
Alcippus, seeing them together, mad with jealousy, attacks the prince.
He is, however, beaten back and even wounded, and later his fury is
inflamed by Pisaro's tale, who also informs the favourite that Galatea,
for whom the narrator cherishes a hopeless love, dotes fondly upon him.
Erminia, now that she has been joined in wedlock with Alcippus, guards
herself carefully from the dauphin's passion, but when the general is
obliged by his duties to leave for the camp Philander hopes to persuade
her to yield to him. Alcippus, however, whose departure is a feint,
returns secretly, leaving Pisaro to continue the journey alone. Isillia,
Erminia's woman, has already admitted Philander to her mistress'
chamber, when the lovers are surprised by the arrival of Alcippus on the
scene. The prince is concealed, although the meeting had been purely
innocent, but he is betrayed owing to the fact of his inadvertently
leaving his hat and sword upon a table. He departs unmolested, but once
he is gone Alcippus, beside himself with blind fury, strangles Erminia
with an embroidered garter--Pisaro, coming in a few moments after,
reproaches him with the murder but hurries him away to concealment. The
deed, however, is discovered and noised abroad by Falatius, a busy
coxcomb courtier. Orgulius demands Alcippus' life from the King, but
Galatea, heart-broken, pleads for the man she loves. Philander is
distraught with grief, and the King decides that if he harms himself
Alcippus shall straightway pay the forfeit. The prince is about to wreak
his vengeance on the cruel husband when he is met by Erminia herself,
who, owing to her maid's attentions, has recovered from the swoon
Alcippus took for death. It is resolved that Alcippus, who is now torn
with agony and remorse, must be fittingly punished, and accordingly as
he lies sick at heart in his chamber Erminia enters as a spirit, and so
looking over his shoulder into a mirror wherein he is gazing tells him
plainly of Galatea's love. The princess then passes by as it were a
phantom, and after a masque, which he takes for a dream, he is conducted
to a room draped in black wherein is placed a catafalque. Here he
encounters Philander and as they are at hot words the King, who has been
privy to the whole design, enters and the two are reconciled. Erminia
next appears, and the happy accident explained, Erminia is bestowed upon
the dauphin, whilst the princess is united to the favourite.

There is a slight underplot which deals with the amours of Aminta,
sister to Pisaro, and Alcander. She is also courted by the cowardly
fop, Falatius.



SOURCE.

_The Forc'd Marriage; or, The Jealous Bridegroom_ is the earliest, and
most certainly one of the weakest of Mrs. Behn's plays. This is,
however, far from saying that it is not a very good example of the
Davenant, Howard, Porter, Stapylton school of romantic tragi-comedy. But
Aphara had not yet hit upon her brilliant vein of intrigue. In _The
Forced Marriage_ she seems to have remembered _The Maid's Tragedy_. The
situation between Alcippus and Erminia, Act ii, III, has some vague
resemblance to that of Amintor and Evadne, Act ii, I. Aminta also
faintly recalls Dula, whilst the song 'Hang love, for I will never pine'
has a far-off echo of 'I could never have the power.' But Mrs. Behn has
not approached within measuring distance of that supreme masterpiece.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The stage history of _The Forc'd Marriage; or, The Jealous Bridegroom_
is best told in the quaint phrase of old Downes. Produced in December,
1670 at the Duke's Theatre, Lincoln's Inn Fields, _The Jealous
Bridegroom_, says the veteran prompter, 'wrote by Mrs. Behn, a good play
and lasted six days'. This, it must be remembered, was by no means a
poor run at that time. 'Note,' continues the record, 'In this play, Mr.
Otway the poet having an inclination to turn actor; Mrs. Behn gave him
the King in this play for a probation part, but he being not us'd to the
stage, the full house put him to such a sweat and tremendous agony,
being dash'd, spoilt him for an actor.'

To quote Mr. Gosse's excellent and classic essay on Otway:--'The choice
of the part showed the kindly tact of the shrewd Mrs. Behn. The king had
to speak the few first words, to which the audience never listens, to
make some brief replies in the first scene, and then not to speak again
until the end of the fourth act. In the fifth act he had to make rather
a long speech to Smith [Mr. Gosse by a slip writes 'Betterton'. The King
(v, III) is talking to Philander, acted by Smith. Betterton played the
favourite Alcippus.], explaining that he was "old and feeble, and could
not long survive," and this is nearly all he had to say till the very
end, where he was in great force as the kind old man who unites the
couples and speaks the last words. It was quite a crucial test, and
Otway proved his entire inability to face the public. He trembled, was
inaudible, melted in agony, and had to leave the stage. The part was
given to Westwood, a professional actor, and Otway never essayed to
tread the boards again.'

_The Forced Marriage_ seems never to have been revived since its
production. On the title page of the second quarto (1690), _The Forc'd
Marriage_ is said to have been played at the Queen's Theatre. This is
because the Duke's House temporarily changed its name thus. It does not
refer to a second run of the play.



THE FORC'D MARRIAGE;

or, the Jealous Bridegroom.



_Va mon enfant! prends ta fortune_.


PROLOGUE.

_Gallants, our Poets have of late so us'd ye,
In Play and Prologue too so much abus'd ye,
That should we beg your aids, I justly fear,
Ye're so incens'd you'd hardly lend it here.
But when against a common Foe we arm,
Each will assist to guard his own concern.
Women those charming Victors, in whose Eyes
Lie all their Arts, and their Artilleries,
Not being contented with the Wounds they made,
Would by new Stratagems our Lives invade.
Beauty alone goes now at too cheap rates;
And therefore they, like Wise and Politick States,
Court a new Power that may the old supply,
To keep as well as gain the Victory.
They'll join the force of Wit to Beauty now,
And so maintain the Right they have in you.
If the vain Sex this privilege should boast,
Past cure of a declining Face we're lost.
You'll never know the bliss of Change; this Art
Retrieves (when Beauty fades) the wandring Heart;
And though the Airy Spirits move no more,
Wit still invites, as Beauty did before.
To day one of their Party ventures out,
Not with design to conquer, but to scout.
Discourage but this first attempt, and then
They'll hardly dare to sally out again.
The Poetess too, they say, has Spies abroad,
Which have dispersed themselves in every road,
I'th' Upper Box, Pit, Galleries; every Face
You find disguis'd in a Black Velvet Case.
My life on't; is her Spy on purpose sent,
To hold you in a wanton Compliment;
That so you may not censure what she 'as writ,
Which done, they face you down 'twas full of Wit.
Thus, while some common Prize you hope to win,
You let the Tyrant Victor enter in.
I beg to day you'd lay that humour by,
Till your Rencounter at the Nursery;
Where they, like Centinels from duty free,
May meet and wanton with the Enemy_.

    Enter an Actress.

_How hast thou labour'd to subvert in vain,
What one poor Smile of ours calls home again?
Can any see that glorious Sight and say_

    [Woman pointing to the ladies.

_A Woman shall not Victor prove to day?
Who is't that to their Beauty would submit,
And yet refuse the Fetters of their Wit?
He tells you tales of Stratagems and Spies;
Can they need Art that have such powerful Eyes?
Believe me, Gallants, he'as abus'd you all;
There's not a Vizard in our whole Cabal:
Those are but Pickeroons that scour for prey
And catch up all they meet with in their way;
Who can no Captives take, for all they do
Is pillage ye, then gladly let you go.
Ours scorns the petty Spoils, and do prefer
The Glory not the Interest of the War:
But yet our Forces shall obliging prove,
Imposing nought but Constancy in Love:
That's all our Aim, and when we have, it too,
We'll sacrifice it all to pleasure you_.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


MEN.

King,                                                  Mr. _Westwood_.
_Philander_, his Son, betrothed to _Erminia_,          Mr. _Smith_.
_Alcippus_, Favourite, in love with _Erminia_,         Mr. _Betterton_.
_Orgulius_, late General, Father to _Erminia_,         Mr. _Norris_.
_Alcander_, Friend to the Prince, in love with
   _Aminta_,                                           Mr. _Young_.
_Pisaro_, Friend to the young General _Alcippus_,      Mr. _Cademan_.
_Falatius_, a fantastick Courtier,                     Mr. _Angel_.
_Labree_, his Man.
_Cleontius_, Servant to the Prince, and Brother        Mr. _Crosby_.
   to _Isillia_,
Page to _Pisaro_.

WOMEN.

_Galatea_, Daughter to the King,                       Mrs. _Jennings_.
_Erminia_, Daughter to _Orgulius_, espous'd to the     Mrs. _Betterton_.
   Prince,
_Aminta_, Sister to _Pisaro_, in love with _Alcander_, Mrs. _Wright_.
_Olinda_, Sister to _Alcander_, Maid of Honour to      Mrs. _Lee_.
   the Princess,
_Isillia_, Sister to _Cleontius_, Woman to _Erminia_,  Mrs. _Clough_.
_Lysette_, Woman to _Aminta_.
Clergy, Officers, Pages and Attendants.

_Scene within the Court of_ FRANCE.




ACT I.

SCENE I. _The Palace_.


    _Enter_ King, Philander, Orgulius, Alcippus, Alcander,
    Pisaro, Cleontius, Falatius; _and Officers_.

_King_. How shall I now divide my Gratitude,
Between a Son, and one that has oblig'd me,
Beyond the common duty of a Subject?

_Phil_. Believe me, Sir, he merits all your Bounty,
I only took example by his Actions;
And all the part o'th' Victory which I gain'd,
Was but deriv'd from him.

_King_. Brave Youth, whose Infant years did bring us Conquests;
And as thou grew'st to Man, thou grew'st in Glory,
And hast arriv'd to such a pitch of it,
As all the slothful Youth that shall succeed thee,
Shall meet reproaches of thy early Actions:
When Men shall say, thus did the brave _Alcippus_;
And that great Name shall every Soul inspire
With Emulation to arrive at something,
That's worthy of Example.

_Alcip_. I must confess I had the honour, Sir,
To lead on twenty thousand fighting Men,
Whom Fortune gave the Glory of the Day to.
I only bid them fight, and they obey'd me;
But 'twas my Prince that taught them how to do so.

_King_. I do believe _Philander_ wants no courage;
But what he did was to preserve his own.
But thine the pure effects of highest Valour;
For which, if ought below my Crown can recompense,
Name it, and take it, as the price of it.

_Alcip_. The Duty which we pay your Majesty,
Ought to be such, as what we pay the Gods;
Which always bears its Recompence about it.

_King_. Yet suffer me to make thee some return,
Though not for thee, yet to incourage Bravery.
I know thy Soul is generous enough,
To think a glorious Act rewards it self.
But those who understand not so much Virtue,
Will call it my neglect, and want of Gratitude;
In this thy Modesty will wrong thy King.
_Alcippus_, by this pause you seem to doubt
My Power or Will; in both you are to blame.

_Alcip_. Your pardon, Sir; I never had a thought
That could be guilty of so great a Sin.
That I was capable to do you service,
Was the most grateful Bounty Heaven allow'd me,
And I no juster way could own that Blessing,
Than to imploy the Gift for your repose.

_King_. I shall grow angry, and believe your Pride
Would put the guilt off on your Modesty,
Which would refuse what that believes below it.

_Phil_. Your Majesty thinks too severely of him;
Permit me, Sir, to recompense his Valour,
I saw the wonders on't, and thence may guess
In some Degree, what may be worthy of it.

_King_. I like it well, and till thou hast perform'd it,
I will divest my self of all my Power,
And give it thee, till thou hast made him great.

_Phil_. I humbly thank you, Sir--

    [_Bows to the_ King, _takes the Staff from_ Orgulius,
    _and gives it to_ Alcippus, _who looks amazedly_.

And here I do create him General.
You seem to wonder, as if I dispossess'd
The brave _Orgulius_; but be pleas'd to know,
Such Reverence and Respect I owe that Lord,
As had himself not made it his Petition,
I sooner should have parted with my Right,
Than have discharg'd my debt by injuring him.

_King_. _Orgulius_, are you willing to resign it?

_Org_. With your permission, Sir, most willingly;
His vigorous Youth is fitter for't than Age,
Which now has render'd me uncapable
Of what that can with more success perform.
My Heart and Wishes are the same they were,
But Time has quite depriv'd me of that power
That should assist a happy Conqueror.

_King_. Yet Time has added little to your years,
Since I restor'd you to this great Command,
And then you thought it not unfit for you.

_Org_. Sir, was it fit I should refuse your Grace?
That was your act of Mercy: and I took it
To clear my Innocence, and reform the Errors
Which those receiv'd who did believe me guilty,
Or that my Crimes were greater than that Mercy.
I took it, Sir, in scorn of those that hated me,
And now resign it to the Man you love.

_King_. We need not this proof to confirm thy Loyalty;
Nor am I yet so barren of Rewards,
But I can find a way, without depriving
Thy noble Head of its victorious Wreaths,
To crown another's Temples.

_Org_. I humbly beg your Majesty's consent to't,
If you believe _Alcippus_ worthy of it;
The generous Youth I have bred up to Battles,
Taught him to overcome, and use that Conquest
As modestly as his submissive Captive,
His Melancholy, (but his easy Fetters)
To meet Death's Horrors with undaunted looks:
How to despise the Hardships of a Siege;
To suffer Cold and Hunger, want of Sleep.
Nor knew he other rest than on his Horse-back,
Where he would sit and take a hearty Nap;
And then too dreamt of fighting.
I could continue on a day in telling
The Wonders of this Warrior.

_King_. I credit all, and do submit to you.
But yet _Alcippus_ seems displeas'd with it.

_Alcip_. Ah, Sir! too late I find my Confidence
Has overcome my unhappy Bashfulness;
I had an humbler Suit to approach you with;
But this unlook'd for Honour
Has soon confounded all my lesser aims,
As were they not essential to my Being,
I durst not name them after what y'have done.

_King_. It is not well to think my Kindness limited;
This, from the Prince you hold, the next from me;
Be what it will, I here declare it thine.
--Upon my life, designs upon a Lady;
I guess it from thy blushing.
--Name her, and here thy King engages for her.

_Phi_. O Gods!--What have I done?    [_Aside_.

_Alcip_. _Erminia_, Sir.--    [_Bows_.

_Phi_. I'm ruin'd.--    [_Aside_.

_King_. _Alcippus_, with her Father's leave, she's thine.

_Org_. Sir, 'tis my Aim and Honour.

_Phi. Alcippus_, is't a time to think of Weddings,
When the disorder'd Troops require your Presence?
You must to the Camp to morrow.

_Alcip_. You need not urge that Duty to me, Sir.

_King_. A Day or two will finish that affair,
And then we'll consummate the happy Day,
When all the Court shall celebrate your Joy.

        [_They all go out, but_ Alcan. Pisa, _and_ Fal.

_Pis. Falatio_, you are a swift Horseman;
I believe you have a Mistress at Court,
You made such haste this Morning.

_Fal_. By _Jove_, _Pisaro_, I was weary enough of the
Campaign; and till I had lost sight of it,
I clapt on all my Spurs--
But what ails _Alcander_?

_Pis_. What, displeas'd?

_Alcan_. It may be so, what then?

_Pis_. Then thou mayst be pleas'd again.

_Alcan_. Why the Devil should I rejoice?
Because I see another rais'd above me;
Let him be great, and damn'd with all his Greatness.

_Pis_. Thou mean'st _Alcippus_, who I think merits it.

_Alcan_. What is't that thou cal'st Merit?
He fought, it's true, so did you, and I,
And gain'd as much as he o'th' Victory,
But he in the Triumphal Chariot rode,
Whilst we ador'd him like a Demi-God.
He with the Prince an equal welcome found,
Was with like Garlands, though less Merit, crown'd.

_Fal_. He's in the right for that, by _Jove_.

_Pis_. Nay, now you wrong him.

_Alcan_. What's he I should not speak my sense of him?

_Pis_. He is our General.

_Alcan_. What then?
What is't that he can do, which I'll decline?
Has he more Youth, more Strength, or Arms than I?
Can he preserve himself i'th' heat of the Battle?
Or can he singly fight a whole Brigade?
Can he receive a thousand Wounds, and live?

_Fal_. Can you or he do so?

_Alcan_. I do not say I can; but tell me then,
Where be the Virtues of this mighty Man,
That he should brave it over all the rest?

_Pis_. Faith, he has many Virtues, and much Courage;
And merits it as well as you or I:
_Orgulius_ was grown old.

_Alcan_. What then?

_Pis_. Why then he was unfit for't,
But that he had a Daughter that was young.

_Alcan_. Yes, he might have lain by,
Like rusty Armour, else,
Had she not brought him into play again;
The Devil take her for't.

_Fal_. By _Jove_, he's dissatisfy'd with every thing.

_Alcan_. She has undone my Prince,
And he has most unluckily disarm'd himself,
And put the Sword into his Rival's hand,
Who will return it to his grateful Bosom.

_Phi_. Why, you believe _Alcippus_ honest--

_Alcan_. Yes, in your sense, _Pisaro_,
But do not like the last demand he made;
'Twas but an ill return upon his Prince,
To beg his Mistress, rather challeng'd her.

_Pis_. His ignorance that she was so, may excuse him.

_Alcan_. The Devil 'twill, dost think he knew it not?

_Pis. Orgulius_ still design'd him for _Erminia_;
And if the Prince be disoblig'd from this,
He only ought to take it ill from him.

_Alcan_. Too much, _Pisaro_, you excuse his Pride,
But 'tis the Office of a Friend to do so.

_Pis_. 'Tis true, I am not ignorant of this,
That he despises other Recompence
For all his Services, but fair _Erminia_,
I know 'tis long since he resign'd his Heart,
Without so much as telling her she conquer'd;
And yet she knew he lov'd; whilst she, ingrate,
Repay'd his Passion only with her Scorn.

_Alcan_. In loving him, she'd more ingrateful prove
To her first Vows, to Reason, and to Love.

_Pis_. For that, _Alcander_, you know more than I.

_Fal_. Why sure _Aminta_ will instruct her better,
She's as inconstant as the Seas and Winds,
Which ne'er are calm but to betray Adventurers.

_Alcan_. How came you by that knowledg, Sir?

_Fal_. What a Pox makes him ask me that question now?    [_Aside_.

_Pis_. Prithee, _Alcander_, now we talk of her,
How go the Amours 'twixt you and my wild Sister?
Can you speak yet, or do you tell your tale
With Eyes and Sighs, as you were wont to do?

_Alcan_. Faith, much at that old rate, _Pisaro_,
I yet have no incouragement from her
To make my Court in any other language.

_Pis_. You'll bring her to't, she must be overcome,
And you're the fittest for her fickle Humour.

_Alcan_. Pox on't, this Change will spoil our making Love,
We must be sad, and follow the Court-Mode:
My life on't, you'll see desperate doings here;
The Eagle will not part so with his Prey;
_Erminia_ was not gain'd so easily,
To be resign'd so tamely.--But come, my Lord,
This will not satisfy our appetites,
Let's in to Dinner, and when warm with Wine,
We shall be fitter for a new Design.

                         [_They go out_. Fal. _stays_.

_Fal_. Now am I in a very fine condition,
A comfortable one, as I take it:
I have ventur'd my Life to some purpose now;
What confounded luck was this, that he of all men
Living, should happen to be my Rival?
Well, I'll go visit _Aminta_, and see how
She receives me.--
Why, where a duce hast thou dispos'd of      _Enter_ Labree.
Thy self all this day? I will be bound to be
Hang'd if thou hast not a hankering after
Some young Wench; thou couldst never loiter
Thus else; but I'll forgive thee now, and prithee go to
My Lady _Aminta's_ Lodgings; kiss her hand
From me; and tell her, I am just returned from
The Campain: mark that word, Sirrah.

_Lab_. I shall, Sir, 'tis truth.

_Fal_. Well, that's all one; but if she should
Demand any thing concerning me, (for
Love's inquisitive) dost hear? as to my Valour, or so,
Thou understand'st me; tell her
I acted as a man that pretends to the glory of
Serving her.

_Lab_. I warrant you, Sir, for a Speech.

_Fal_. Nay, thou mayst speak as well too much
As too little; have a care of that, dost hear?
And if she ask what Wounds I have, dost mind me?
Tell her I have many, very many.

_Lab_. But whereabouts, Sir?

_Fal_. Let me see--let me see; I know not where
To place them--I think in my Face.

_Lab_. By no means, Sir, you had much better
Have them in your Posteriors: for then the Ladies
Can never disprove you; they'll not look there.

_Fal_. The sooner, you Fool, for the Rarity on't.

_Lab_. Sir, the Novelty is not so great, I assure you.

_Fal_. Go to, y'are wicked;
But I will have them in my Face.

_Lab_. With all my heart, Sir, but how?

_Fal_. I'll wear a patch or two there, and I'll
Warrant you for pretending as much as any man;
And who, you Fool, shall know the fallacy?

_Lab_. That, Sir, will all that know you, both in the
Court and Camp.

_Fal_. Mark me, _Labree_, once for all; if thou takest
Delight continually thus to put me in mind of
My want of Courage, I shall undoubtedly
Fall foul on thee, and give thee most fatal proofs
Of more than thou expectest.

_Lab_. Nay, Sir, I have done, and do believe 'tis only
I dare say you are a man of Prowess.

_Fal_. Leave thy simple fancies, and go about thy business.

_Lab_. I am gone; but hark, my Lord,
If I should say your Face were wounded,
The Ladies would fear you had lost your Beauty.

_Fal_. O, never trouble your head for that, _Aminta_
Is a Wit, and your Wits care not how ill-favour'd
Their Men be, the more ugly the better.

_Lab_. An't be so, you'll fit them to a hair.

_Fal_. Thou art a Coxcomb, to think a man of my
Quality needs the advantage of Handsomness:
A trifle as insignificant as Wit or Valour; poor
Nothings, which Men of Fortune ought to despise.

_Lab_. Why do you then keep such a stir, to gain
The reputation of this thing you so despise?

_Fal_. To please the peevish humour of a Woman,
Who in that point only is a Fool.

_Lab_. You had a Mistress once, if you have not
Forgotten her, who would have taken you with
All these faults.

_Fal_. There was so; but she was poor, that's the Devil,
I could have lov'd her else.
--But go thy ways; what dost thou muse on?

_Lab_. Faith, Sir, I am only fearful you will never
Pass with those Patches you speak of.

_Fal_. Thou never-to-be-reclaim'd Ass, shall I never
Bring thee to apprehend as thou ought'st? I tell thee,
I will pass and repass, where and how I please;
Know'st thou not the difference yet, between a Man
Of Money and Titles, and a Man of only Parts,
As they call them? poor Devils of no Mein nor Garb:
Well, 'tis a fine and frugal thing, this Honour,
It covers a multitude of Faults:
Even Ridicule in one of us is a-la-mode.
But I detain thee; go haste to _Aminta_.

                              [_Exeunt severally_.



SCENE II. Galatea's _Apartments_.


        _Enter_ Galatea, Aminta, _and_ Olinda.

_Gal_. Will _Erminia_ come?

_Oli_. Madam, I thought she'd been already here.

_Gal_. But prithee how does she support this news?

_Oli_. Madam, as those unreconciled to Heaven
Would bear the pangs of death.

_Am_. Time will convince her of that foolish error,
Of thinking a brisk young Husband a torment.

_Gal_. What young Husband?

_Am_. The General, Madam.

_Gal_. Why, dost thou think she will consent to it?

_Am_. Madam, I cannot tell, the World's inconstant.

_Gal_. Ay, _Aminta_, in every thing but Love;
And sure they cannot be in that:
What say'st thou, _Olinda_?

_Oli_. Madam, my Judgment's naught.
Love I have treated as a stranger Guest,
Receiv'd him well, not lodg'd him in my Breast.
I ne'er durst give the unknown Tyrant room;
Lest he should make his resting place his home.

_Gal_. Then thou art happy; but if _Erminia_ fail,
I shall not live to reproach her.

_Am_. Nay, Madam, do not think of dying yet:
There is a way, if we could think of it.

_Gal. Aminta_, when will thou this Humour lose?

_Am_. Faith, never, if I might my Humour chuse.

_Gal_. Methinks thou now should'st blush to bid me live.

_Am_. Madam, 'tis the best counsel I can give.

_Gal_. Thy Counsel! Prithee, what dost counsel now?

_Am_. What I would take my self I counsel you.

_Gal_. You must my Wounds and my Misfortunes bear
Before you can become my Counsellor.
You cannot guess the Torments I endure:
Not knowing the Disease you'll miss the Cure.

_Am_. Physicians, Madam, can the Patient heal
Although the Malady they ne'er did feel;
But your Disease is epidemical,
Nor can I that evade that conquers all.
I lov'd, and never did like pleasure know,
Which Passion did with time less vigorous grow.

_Gal_. Why, hast thou lost it?

_Am_.                          It, and half a score.

_Gal_. Losing the first, sure thou couldst love no more.

_Am_. With more facility, than when the Dart
Arm'd with resistless fire first seiz'd my Heart;
'Twas long then e'er the Boy could entrance get,
And make his little Victory compleat;
And now he'as got the knack on't, 'tis with ease
He domineers, and enters when he please.

_Gal_. My Heart, _Aminta_, is not like to thine.

_Am_. Faith, Madam, try, you'll find it just like mine.
The first I lov'd was _Philocles_, and then
Made Protestations ne'er to love again,
Yet after left him for a faithless crime;
But then I languisht even to death for him;
--But Love who suffer'd me to take no rest,
New fire-balls threw, the old scarce dispossest;
And by the greater flame the lesser light,
Like Candles in the Sun extinguished quite,
And left no power _Alcander_ to resist,
Who took, and keeps possession of my breast.

_Gal_. Art thou a Lover then, and look'st so gay,
But thou hast ne'er a Father to obey.    [_Sighing_.

_Am_. Why, if I had I would obey him too.

_Gal_. And live?

_Am_.            And live.

_Gal_.                     'Tis more than I can do.

    _Enter_ Erminia _weeping_.

--Thy Eyes, _Erminia_, do declare thy Heart
          [Gal. _meets her, embraces her, and weeps_.
Has nothing but Despairs and Death t'impart,
And I alas, no Comfort can apply,
But I as well as you can weep and die.

_Er_. I'll not reproach my Fortune, since in you
Grief does the noblest of your Sex subdue;
When your great Soul a sorrow can admit,
I ought to suffer from the sense of it;
Your cause of grief too much like mine appears,
Not to oblige my Eyes to double tears;
And had my heart no sentiments at home,
My part in yours had doubtless fill'd the room.
But mine will no addition more receive,
Fate has bestow'd the worst she had to give;
Your mighty Soul can all its rage oppose,
Whilst mine must perish by more feeble blows.

_Gal_. Indeed I dare not say my cause of grief
Does yours exceed, since both are past relief.
But if your Fates unequal do appear,
_Erminia_, 'tis my heart that odds must bear.

_Er_. Madam, 'tis just I should to you resign,
But here you challenge what is only mine:
My Fate so cruel is, it will not give
Leave to _Philander_ (if I die) to live:
Might I but suffer all, 'twere some content,
But who can live and see this languishment?
You, Madam, do alone your Sorrows bear,
Which would be less, did but _Alcippus_ share;
As Lovers we agree, I'll not deny,
But thou art lov'd again, so am not I.

_Am_. Madam, that grief the better is sustain'd,
That's for a loss that never yet was gain'd;
You only lose a man that does not know
How great the honour is which you bestow;
Who dares not hope you love, or if he did,
Your Greatness would his just return forbid;
His humble thoughts durst ne'er to you aspire,
At most he would presume but to admire;
Or if it chanc'd he durst more daring prove,
You still must languish and conceal your Love.

_Gal_. This which you argue lessens not my Pain,
My Grief's the same were I belov'd again.
The King my Father would his promise keep,
And thou must him enjoy for whom I weep.

_Er_. Ah, would I could that fatal gift deny;
Without him you; and with him, I must die;
My Soul your royal Brother does adore,
And I, all Passion, but from him, abhor;
But if I must th'unsuit _Alcippus_ wed,
I vow he ne'er shall come into my Bed.

_Gal_. That's bravely sworn, and now I love thee more
Than e'er I was oblig'd to do before,
--But yet, _Erminia_, guard thee from his Eyes,
Where so much love, and so much Beauty lies;
Those charms may conquer thee, which made me bow,
And make thee love as well as break this Vow.

_Er_. Madam, it is unkind, though but to fear
Ought but _Philander_ can inhabit here.
                       [_Lays her hand on her heart_.

_Gal_. Ah, that _Alcippus_ did not you approve,
We then might hope these mischiefs to remove;
The King my Father might be won by Prayer,
And my too powerful Brother's sad despair,
To break his word, which kept will us undo:
And he will lose his dear _Philander_ too,
Who dies and can no remedies receive:
But vows that 'tis for you alone he'll live.

_Er_. Ah, Madam, do not tell me how he dies,
I've seen too much already in his Eyes:
They did the sorrows of his Soul betray,
Which need not be confest another way:
'Twas there I found what my misfortune was,
Too sadly written in his lovely face.
But see, my Father comes: Madam, withdraw a while,
And once again I'll try my interest with him.

                                        [_Exeunt_.



SCENE III. _A room in the house of_ Orgulius.


    _Enter_ Orgulius, Erminia _weeping, and_ Isillia.

_Er_. Sir, does your fatal resolution hold?

_Org_. Away, away, you are a foolish Girl,
And look with too much pride upon your Beauty;
Which like a gaudy flower that springs too soon,
Withers e'er fully blown.
Your very Tears already have betray'd
Its weak inconstant nature;
_Alcippus_, should he look upon thee now,
would swear thou wert not that fine thing he lov'd.

_Er_. Why should that blessing turn to my despair?
Curse on his Faith that told him I was fair.

_Org_. 'Tis strange to me you shou'd despise this Fortune,
I always thought you well inclin'd to love him,
I would not else have thus dispos'd of you.

_Er_. I humbly thank you, Sir, though't be too late,
And wish you yet would try to change my Fate;
What to _Alcippus_ you did Love believe,
Was such a Friendship as might well deceive;
'Twas what kind Sisters do to Brothers pay;
_Alcippus_ I can love no other way.
--Sir, lay the Interest of a Father by,
And give me leave this Lover to deny.

_Org. Erminia_, thou art young, and canst not see
The advantage of the Fortune offer'd thee.

_Er_. Alas, Sir, there is something yet behind.    [_Sighs_.

_Org_. What is't, _Erminia_? freely speak thy mind.

_Er_. Ah, Sir, I dare not, you inrag'd will grow.

_Org. Erminia_, you have seldom found me so;
If no mean Passion have thy Soul possest,
Be what it will I can forgive the rest.

_Er_. No, Sir, it is no crime, or if it be,
Let Prince _Philander_ make the Peace for me;
He 'twas that taught the Sin (if Love be such.)

_Org. Erminia_, peace, he taught you then too much.

_Er_. Nay, Sir, you promis'd me you wou'd not blame
My early Love, if 'twere a noble Flame.

_Org_. Than this a more unhappy could not be;
Destroy it, or expect to hear of me.
                           [_Offers to go out_.

_Er_. Alas, I know 'twould anger you, when known.
                                        [_She stays him_.

_Org. Erminia_, you are wondrous daring grown.
Where got you courage to admit his Love,
Before the King or I did it approve?

_Er_. I borrow'd Courage from my Innocence,
And my own Virtue, Sir, was my defence.
_Philander_ never spoke but from a Soul,
That all dishonest Passions can controul;
With Flames as chaste as Vestals that did burn,
From whence I borrow'd mine, to make return.

_Org_. Your Love from Folly, not from Virtue grew;
You never could believe he'd marry you.

_Er_. Upon my life no other thing he spoke,
But those from dictates of his Honour took.

_Org_. Though by his fondness led he were content
To marry thee, the King would ne'er consent.
Cease then this fruitless Passion, and incline
Your Will and Reason to agree with mine,
_Alcippus_ I dispos'd you to before,
And now I am inclin'd to it much more.
Some days I had design'd t'have given thee
To have prepar'd for this solemnity;
But now my second thoughts believe it fit,
You should this night to my desires submit.

_Er_. This night! Ah, Sir, what is't you mean to do?

_Org_. Preserve my Credit, and thy Honour too.

_Er_. By such resolves you me to ruin bring.

_Org_. That's better than to disoblige my King.

_Er_. But if the King his liking do afford,
Would you not with _Alcippus_ break your word?
Or would you not to serve your Prince's life,
Permit your Daughter to become his Wife?

_Org_. His Wife, _Erminia_! if I did believe
Thou could'st to such a thought a credit give,
I would the interest of a Father quit,
And you, _Erminia_, have no need of it:
Without his aid you can a Husband chuse;
Gaining the Prince you may a Father lose.

_Er_. Ah, Sir, these words are Poniards to my Heart;
And half my Love to Duty does convert;
Alas, Sir, I can be content to die,
But cannot suffer this Severity:    [_Kneels_.
That care you had, dear Sir, continue still,
I cannot live and disobey your will.    [_Rises_.

_Org_. This duty has regain'd me, and you'll find
A just return; I shall be always kind.
--Go, reassume your Beauty, dry your Eyes;
Remember 'tis a Father does advise.    [_Goes out_.

_Er_. Ungrateful Duty, whose uncivil Pride
By Reason is not to be satisfy'd;
Who even Love's Almighty Power o'erthrows,
Or does on it too rigorous Laws impose;
Who bindest up our Virtue too too strait,
And on our Honour lays too great a weight.
Coward, whom nothing but thy power makes strong;
Whom Age and Malice bred t'affright the young;
Here thou dost tyrannize to that degree,
That nothing but my Death will set me free.

                           [_Ex_. Erm. _and_ Isil.



SCENE IV. Philander's _Apartments_.


    _Enter_ Philander _and_ Alcander.

_Phil_. Urge it no more, your Reasons do displease me;
I offer'd her a Crown with her _Philander_,
And she was once pleas'd to accept of it.
She lov'd me too, yes, and repaid my flame,
As kindly as I sacrific'd to her:
The first salute we gave were harmless Love,
Our Souls then met, and so grew up together,
Like sympathizing Twins.
And must she now be ravish'd from my Arms?
Will you, _Erminia_, suffer such a Rape?
What though the King have said it shall be so,
'Tis not his pleasure can become thy Law,
No, nor it shall not.
And though he were my God as well as King,
I would instruct thee how to disobey him;
Thou shalt, _Erminia_, bravely say, I will not;
He cannot force thee to't against thy will.
--Oh Gods, shall duty to a King and Father
Make thee commit a Murder on thy self,
Thy sacred self, and me that do adore thee?
No, my _Erminia_, quit this vain devoir,
And follow Love that may preserve us all:
--Presumptuous Villain, bold Ingratitude--
Hadst thou no other way to pay my favours?
By Heaven, 'twas bravely bold, was it not, _Alcander_?

_Alcan_. It was somewhat strange, Sir;
But yet perhaps he knew not that you lov'd her.

_Phil_. Not know it! yes, as well as thou and I.
The world was full on't, and could he be ignorant?
Why was her Father call'd from banishment,
And plac'd about the King, but for her sake?
What made him General, but my Passion for her?
What gave him twenty thousand Crowns a year,
But that which made me captive to _Erminia_,
Almighty Love, of which thou say'st he is ignorant?
How has he order'd his audacious flame,
That I cou'd ne'er perceive it all this while.

_Alcan_. Then 'twas a flame conceal'd from you alone,
To the whole Court, besides, 'twas visible.
He knew you would not suffer it to burn out;
And therefore waited till his services
Might give encouragement to's close design.
If that could do't he nobly has endeavour'd it,
But yet I think you need not yield her, Sir.

_Phi_. _Alcippus_, I confess, is brave enough,
And by such ways I'll make him quit his claim;
He shall to morrow to the Camp again,
And then I'll own my Passion to the King;
He loves me well, and I may hope his pity.

  _Till then be calm, my Heart, for if that fail_,
                                [_Points to his Sword_.
  _This is the argument that will prevail_.

                                             [_Exeunt_.




ACT II.


THE REPRESENTATION OF THE WEDDING.

_The Curtain must be let down, and soft Musick must play: The Curtain
being drawn up, discovers a scene of a Temple: The_ King _sitting on a
Throne, bowing down to join the hands_ Alcippus _and_ Erminia, _who
kneel on the steps of the Throne; the Officers of the Court and Clergy
standing in order by, with_ Orgulius. _This within the Scene.

Without on the Stage_, Philander _with his Sword half drawn, held by_
Galatea, _who looks ever on_ Alcippus: Erminia _still fixing her Eyes
on_ Philander; Pisaro _passionately gazing on_ Galatea: Aminta _on_
Fallatio, _and he on her_: Alcander, Isillia, Cleontius, _in other
several postures, with the rest, all remaining without motion, whilst
the Musick softly plays; this continues a while till the Curtain falls;
and then the Musick plays aloud till the Act begins_.



SCENE I. _The Palace_.


    _Enter_ Philander _and_ Galatea _inrag'd_.

_Phi_. 'Tis done, 'tis done, the fatal knot is ty'd,
_Erminia_ to _Alcippus_ is a Bride;
Methinks I see the Motions of her Eyes,
And how her Virgin Breasts do fall and rise:
Her bashful Blush, her timorous Desire,
Adding new Flame to his too vigorous Fire;
Whilst he the charming Beauty must embrace,
And shall I live to suffer this Disgrace?
Shall I stand tamely by, and he receive
That Heaven of bliss, defenceless she can give?
No, Sister, no, renounce that Brother's name,
Suffers his Patience to surmount his Flame;
I'll reach the Victor's heart, and make him see,
That Prize he has obtain'd belongs to me.

_Gal_. Ah, dear _Philander_, do not threaten so,
Whilst him you wound, you kill a Sister too.

_Phi_. Though all the Gods were rallied on his side,
They should too feeble prove to guard his Pride.
Justice and Honour on my Sword shall sit,
And my Revenge shall guide the lucky hit.

_Gal_. Consider but the danger and the crime,
And, Sir, remember that his life is mine.

_Phi_. Peace, Sister, do not urge it as a sin,
Of which the Gods themselves have guilty been:
The Gods, my Sister, do approve Revenge
By Thunder, which th'Almighty Ports unhinge,
Such is their Lightning when poor Mortals fear,
And Princes are the Gods inhabit here;
Revenge has charms that do as powerful prove
As those of Beauty, and as sweet as Love,
The force of Vengeance will not be withstood,
Till it has bath'd and cool'd it self in Blood.
_Erminia_, sweet _Erminia_, thou art lost,
And he yet lives that does the conquest boast.

_Gal_. Brother, that Captive you can ne'er retrieve
More by the Victor's death, than if he live,
For she in Honour cannot him prefer,
Who shall become her Husband's Murderer;
By safer ways you may that blessing gain,
When venturing thus through Blood and Death prove vain.

_Phi_. With hopes already that are vain as Air,
You've kept me from Revenge, but not Despair.
I had my self acquitted, as became
_Erminia's_ wrong'd Adorer, and my Flame;
My Rival I had kill'd, and set her free,
Had not my Justice been disarm'd by thee.
--But for thy faithless Hope, I 'ad murder'd him,
Even when the holy Priest was marrying them,
And offer'd up the reeking Sacrifice
To th'Gods he kneel'd to, when he took my price;
By all their Purity I would have don't.
But now I think I merit the Affront:
He that his Vengeance idly does defer,
His Safety more than his Success must fear:
I, like that Coward, did prolong my Fate,
But brave Revenge can never come too late.

_Gal_. Brother, if you can so inhuman prove
To me your Sister, Reason, and to Love:
I'll let you see that I have sentiments too,
Can love and be reveng'd as well as you;
That hour that shall a death to him impart,
Shall send this Dagger to _Erminia's_ heart.
                                    [_Shews a Dagger_.

_Phi_. Ah, Coward, how these words have made thee pale,
And Fear above thy Courage does prevail:
Ye Gods, why did you such a way invent?

_Gal_. None else was left thy madness to prevent.

_Phi_. Ah, cruel Sister, I am tame become,
And will reverse my happy Rival's doom:
Yes, he shall live to triumph o'er my Tomb.
--But yet what thou hast said, I needs must blame,
For if my resolutions prove the same,
I now should kill thee, and my life renew;
But were it brave or just to murder you?
At worst, I should an unkind Sister kill,
Thou wouldst the sacred blood of Friendship spill.
I kill a Man that has undone my Fame,
Ravish'd my Mistress, and contemn'd my Name,
And, Sister, one who does not thee prefer:
But thou no reason hast to injure her.
Such charms of Innocence her Eyes do dress,
As would confound the cruel'st Murderess:
And thou art soft, and canst no Horror see,
Such Actions, Sister, you must leave to me.

_Gal_. The highest Love no Reason will admit,
And Passion is above my Friendship yet.

_Phi_. Then since I cannot hope to alter thee,
Let me but beg that thou wouldst set me free;
Free this poor Soul that such a coil does keep;
'Twill neither let me wake in Peace, nor sleep.
Comfort I find a stranger to my heart,
Nor canst thou ought of that but thus impart;
Thou shouldst with joy a death to him procure,
Who by it leaves _Alcippus'_ life secure.

_Gal_. Dear Brother, you out-run your Patience still,
We'll neither die our selves, nor others kill;
Something I'll do that shall thy joys restore,
And bring thee back that health thou had'st before;
--We're now expected at the Banquet, where
I'd have thy Eyes more Love than Anger wear:
This night be cheerful, and on me depend,
On me, that am thy Sister, and thy Friend:
A little raise _Alcippus'_ Jealousy
And let the rest be carried on by me;
Nor would it be amiss should you provide
A Serenade to entertain the Bride:
'Twill give him Fears that may perhaps disprove
The fond opinion of his happy Love.

_Phi_. Though Hope be faithless, yet I cannot chuse,
Coming from thee, but credit the abuse.

_Gal. Philander_, do not your Hope's power distrust,
'Tis time enough to die, when that's unjust.

                                       [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _The Court Gallery_.


    _Enter_ Aminta _as passing over the Stage, is stayed by_ Olinda.

_Oli_. Why so hasty, _Aminta_?

_Am_. The time requires it, _Olinda_.

_Oli_. But I have an humble suit to you.

_Am_. You shall command me any thing.

_Oli_. Pray Heaven you keep your word.

_Am_. That sad tone of thine, _Olinda_, has almost
Made me repent of my promise; but come, what is't?

_Oli_. My Brother, Madam.

_Am_. Now fie upon thee, is that all thy business?
                                      [_Offers to go off_.

_Oli_. Stay, Madam, he dies for you.

_Am_. He cannot do't for any Woman living;
But well--it seems he speaks of Love to you;
To me he does appear a very Statue.

_Oli_. He nought but sighs and calls upon your name,
And vows you are the cruell'st Maid that breathes.

_Am_. Thou can'st not be in earnest sure.

_Oli_. I'll swear I am, and so is he.

_Am_. Nay, thou hast a hard task on't, to make
Vows to all the Women he makes love to;
Indeed I pity thee; ha, ha, ha.

_Oli_. You should not laugh at those you have undone.

Aminta _sings_.

    _Hang Love, for I will never pine
    For any Man alive;
    Nor shall this jolly Heart of mine
    The thoughts of it receive;
    I will not purchase Slavery
    At such a dangerous rate;
    But glory in my Liberty,
    And laugh at Love and Fate_.

_Oli_. You'll kill him by this cruelty.

_Am_. What is't thou call'st so?
For I have hitherto given no denials,
Nor has he given me cause;
I have seen him wildly gaze upon me often,
And sometimes blush and smile, but seldom that;
And now and then found fault with my replies,
And wonder'd where the Devil lay that wit,
Which he believ'd no Judge of it could find.

_Oli_. Faith, Madam, that's his way of making love.

_Am_. It will not take with me, I love a Man
Can kneel, and swear, and cry, and look submiss,
As if he meant indeed to die my Slave:
Thy Brother looks--but too much like a Conqueror.    [_Sighs_.

_Oli_. How, _Aminta_, can you sigh in earnest?

_Am_. Yes, _Olinda_, and you shall know its meaning;
I love _Alcander_, and am not asham'd o'th' secret,
But prithee do not tell him what I say.
--Oh, he's a man made up of those Perfections,
Which I have often lik'd in several men;
And wish'd united to compleat some one,
Whom I might have the glory to o'ercome.
--His Mein and Person, but 'bove all his Humour,
That surly Pride, though even to me addrest,
Does strangely well become him.

_Oli_. May I believe this?

_Am_. Not if you mean to speak on't,
But I shall soon enough betray my self.

    _Enter_ Falatius _with a patch or two on his Face_.

_Falatius_, welcome from the Wars;
I'm glad to see y'ave scap'd the dangers of them.

_Fal_. Not so well scap'd neither, Madam, but I
Have left still a few testimonies of their
Severity to me.    [_Points to his face_.

_Oli_. That's not so well, believe me.

_Fal_. Nor so ill, since they be such as render us
No less acceptable to your fair Eyes, Madam!
But had you seen me when I gain'd them, Ladies,
In that heroick posture.

_Am_. What posture?

_Fal_. In that of fighting, Madam;
You would have call'd to mind that antient story
Of the stout Giants that wag'd War with Heaven;
Just so I fought, and for as glorious prize,
Your excellent Ladiship.

_Am_. For me, was it for me you ran this hazard then?

_Fal_. Madam, I hope you do not question that,
Was it not all the faults you found with me,
The reputation of my want of Courage,
A thousand Furies are not like a Battle;
And but for you,
By _Jove_, I would not fight it o'er again
For all the glory on't; and now do you doubt me?
Madam, your heart is strangely fortified
That can resist th'efforts I have made against it,
And bring to boot such marks of valour too.

    _Enter to them_ Alcander, _who seeing them would
    turn back, but_ Olinda _stays him_.

_Oli_. Brother, come back.

_Fal_. Advance, advance, what, Man, afraid of me?

_Alcan_. How can she hold discourse with that Fantastick.    [_Aside_.

_Fal_. Come forward, and be complaisant.    [_Pulls him again_.

_Alcan_. That's most proper for your Wit, _Falatius_.

_Am_. Why so angry?

_Alcan_. Away, thou art deceiv'd.

_Am_. You've lost your sleep, which puts you out of humour.

_Alcan_. He's damn'd will lose a moment on't for you.

_Am_. Who is't that has displeas'd you?

_Alcan_. You have, and took my whole repose away,
And more than that, which you ne'er can restore;
I can do nothing as I did before.
When I would sleep, I cannot do't for you,
My Eyes and Fancy do that form pursue;
And when I sleep, you revel in my Dreams,
And all my Life is nothing but extremes.
When I would tell my love, I seem most rude,
For that informs me how I am subdu'd.
Gods, you're unjust to tyrannize o'er me,
When thousands fitter for't than I go free.
                                        [_Ex_.

_Fal_. Why, what the Devil has possest _Alcander_?

_Oli_. How like you this, _Aminta_?

_Am_. Better and better, he's a wondrous man.

                               [_Exeunt_ Am. _and_ Oli.

_Fal_. 'Tis the most unjanty humour that ever I saw;
Ay, ay, he is my Rival,
No marvel an he look'd so big upon me;
He is damnable valiant, and as jealous as
He is valiant; how shall I behave my
Self to him, and these too idle humours of his
I cannot yet determine; the comfort is,
He knows I am a Coward whatever face I set upon it.
Well, I must either resolve never to provoke
His Jealousy, or be able to rencounter his
Other fury, his Valour; that were a good
Resolve if I be not past all hope.

                                [_Ex_.



SCENE III.


    _Enter_ Alcippus _and_ Erminia, _as in a Bed-Chamber_.

_Alcip_. But still methinks, _Erminia_, you are sad,
A heaviness appears in those fair Eyes,
As if your Soul were agitating something
Contrary to the pleasure of this night.

_Er_. You ought in Justice, Sir, t'excuse me here,
Prisoners when first committed are less gay,
Than when they're us'd to Fetters every day,
But yet in time they will more easy grow.

_Alcip_. You strangely bless me in but saying so.

_Er. Alcippus_, I've an humble suit to you.

_Alcip_. All that I have is so intirely thine,
And such a Captive thou hast made my Will,
Thou needst not be at the expence of wishing
For what thou canst desire that I may grant;
Why are thy Eyes declin'd?

_Er_. To satisfy a little modest scruple;
I beg you would permit me, Sir--

_Alcip_. To lie alone to night, is it not so, _Erminia_?

_Er_. It is--

_Alcip_. That's too severe, yet I will grant it thee?
But why, _Erminia_, must I grant it thee?

_Er_. The Princess, Sir, questions my Power, and says,
I cannot gain so much upon your Goodness.

_Alcip_. I could have wish'd some other had oblig'd thee
to't.

_Er_. You would not blame her if you knew her reason.

_Alcip_. Indeed I do not much, for I can guess
She takes the party of the Prince her Brother;
And this is only to delay those Joys,
Which she perhaps believes belong to him.
--But that, _Erminia_, you can best resolve;
And 'tis not kindly done to hide a truth,
The Prince so clearly own'd.

_Er_. What did he own?

_Alcip_. He said, _Erminia_, that you were his Wife;
If so, no wonder you refuse my Bed:    [_She weeps_.
The Presence of the King hinder'd my knowledge,
Of what I willingly would learn from you;
--Come, ne'er deny a truth that plain appears;
I see Hypocrisy through all your Tears.

_Er_. You need not ask me to repeat again,
A Knowledge which, you say, appears so plain:
The Prince his word methinks should credit get,
Which I'll confirm whene'er you call for it:
My heart before you ask't it, was his prize,
And cannot twice become a Sacrifice.

_Alcip. Erminia_, is this brave or just in you,
To pay his score of Love with what's my due?
What's your design to treat me in this sort?
Are sacred Vows of Marriage made your sport?
Regard me well, _Erminia_, what am I?

_Er_. One, Sir, with whom, I'm bound to live and die,
And one to whom, by rigorous command,
I gave (without my Heart) my unwilling Hand.

_Alcip_. But why, _Erminia_, did you give it so?

_Er_. T'obey a King and cruel Father too.
A Friendship, Sir, I can on you bestow,
But that will hardly into Passion grow;
And 'twill an Act below your Virtue prove,
To force a Heart you know can never love.

_Alcip_. Am I the mask to hide your Blushes in,
I the contented Fool to veil your Sin?
Have you already learnt that trick at Court,
Both how to practise and secure your sport?
Brave Mistress of your Art, is this the way,
My Service and my Passion to repay?
Will nothing but a Prince your pleasure fit,
And could you think that I would wink at it?
Recal that Folly, or by all that's good,
I'll free the Soul that wantons in thy Blood.
        [_He in rage takes her by the arm, shews a dagger_.

_Er_. I see your Love your Reason has betray'd,
But I'll forgive the Faults which Love has made:
'Tis true, I love, and do confess it too;
Which if a Crime, I might have hid from you;
But such a Passion 'tis as does despise
Whatever Rage you threaten from your Eyes.
--Yes--you may disapprove this flame in me,
But cannot hinder what the Gods decree;
--Search here this truth; Alas, I cannot fear;
Your Steel shall find a welcome entrance here.

                    [_He holds her still and gazes on her_.

_Alcip_. Where dost thou think thy ungrateful Soul will go,
Loaded with wrongs to me, should I strike now?

_Er_. To some blest place, where Lovers do reside,
Free from the noise of Jealousy and Pride;
Where we shall know no other Power but Love,
And where even thou wilt soft and gentle prove;
So gentle, that if I should meet thee there,
Thou would'st allow, what thou deny'st me here.

_Alcip_. Thou hast disarm'd my Rage, and in its room
A world of Shame and softer Passions come,
Such as the first efforts of Love inspir'd,
When by thy charming Eyes my Soul was fir'd.

_Er_. I must confess your Fears are seeming just,
But here to free you from the least mistrust,
I swear, whilst I'm your Wife I'll not allow
Birth to a Thought that tends to injuring you.

_Alcip_. Not to believe thee, were a sin above
The Injuries I have done thee by my Love.
--Ah, my _Erminia_, might I hope at last
To share the pity of that lovely Breast,
By slow degrees I might approach that Throne,
Where now the blest _Philander_ reigns alone:
Perhaps in time my Passion might redeem
That now too faithful Heart y'ave given to him;
Do but forbear to hear his amorous Tales,
Nor from his moving Eyes learn what he ails:
A Fire that's kindled cannot long survive,
If one add nought to keep the flame alive.

_Er_. I will not promise; what I mean to do
My Virtue only shall oblige me to.

_Alcip_. But, Madam, what d'you mean by this reserve?
To what intent does all this Coldness serve?
Is there no pity to my Sufferings due?
And will you still my Languishments renew?
Come, come, recal what you have rashly said;
And own to morrow that thou art no Maid:
Thy Blushes do betray thy willingness,
And in thy lovely Eyes I read success.

_Er_. A double tie obliges me to be
Strict to my Vows, my Love and Amity;
For my own sake the first I'll ne'er decline,
And I would gladly keep the last for thine.

_Alcip_. Madam, you strangely do improve my pain,
To give me hopes you must recal again.

_Er. Alcippus_, you this language will forbear,
When you shall know how powerful you are;
For whilst you here endeavour to subdue,
The best of Women languishes for you.

_Alcip. Erminia_, do not mock my misery,
For though you cannot love, yet pity me;
That you allow my Passion no return,
Is weight enough, you need not add your Scorn,
In this your Cruelty is too severe.

_Er. Alcippus_, you mistake me every where.

_Alcip_. To whom, _Erminia_, do I owe this Fate?

_Er_. To morrow all her story I'll relate.
Till then the promise I the Princess made,
I beg you would permit might be obey'd.

_Alcip_. You, Madam, with so many charms assail,
You need not question but you shall prevail;
Thy power's not lessen'd in thy being mine,
But much augmented in my being thine,
The glory of my chains may raise me more,
But I am still that Slave I was before.

                              [_Exeunt severally_.



SCENE IV. Philander's _Bed-chamber_.


    _Enter_ Philander _and_ Alcander. [_The Prince half undrest_.

_Phi_. What's a Clock, _Alcander_?

_Alcan_. 'Tis midnight, Sir, will you not go to bed?

_Phi_. To bed, Friend; what to do?

_Alcan_. To sleep, Sir, as you were wont to do.

_Phi_. Sleep, and _Erminia_ have abandon'd me;
I'll never sleep again.

_Alcan_. This is an humour, Sir, you must forsake.

_Phi_. Never, never, oh _Alcander_.
Dost know where my _Erminia_ lies to night?

_Alcan_. I guess, Sir.

_Phi_. Where? Nay, prithee speak,
Indeed I shall not be offended at it.

_Alcan_. I know not why you should, Sir;
She's where she ought, abed with young _Alcippus_.

_Phi_. Thou speak'st thy real Thoughts.

_Alcan_. Why should your Highness doubt it?

_Phi_. By Heaven, there is no faith in Woman-kind;
_Alcander_, dost thou know an honest Woman?

_Alcan_. Many, Sir.

_Phi_. I do not think it, 'tis impossible;
_Erminia_, if it could have been, were she,
But she has broke her Vows, which I held sacred,
And plays the wanton in another's arms.

_Alcan_. Sir, do you think it just to wrong her so?

_Phi_. Oh, would thou couldst persuade me that I did so.
Thou know'st the Oaths and Vows she made to me,
Never to marry other than my self,
And you, _Alcander_, wrought me to believe them.
But now her Vows to marry none but me,
Are given to _Alcippus_, and in his bosom breath'd,
With balmy whispers, whilst the ravisht Youth
For every syllable returns a kiss,
And in the height of all his extasy,
_Philander's_ dispossess'd and quite forgotten.
Ah, charming Maid, is this your Love to me?
Yet now thou art no Maid, nor lov'st not me,
And I the fool to let thee know my weakness.

_Alcan_. Why do you thus proceed to vex your self?
To question what you list, and answer what you please?
Sir, this is not the way to be at ease.

_Phi_. Ah, dear _Alcander_, what would'st have me do?

_Alcan_. Do that which may preserve you;
Do that which every Man in love would do;
Make it your business to possess the object.

_Phi_. What meanest thou, is she not married?--

_Alcan_. What then? she'as all about her that she had,
Of Youth and Beauty she is Mistress still,
And may dispose it how and where she will.

_Phi_. Pray Heaven I do not think too well of thee:
What means all this discourse, art thou honest?

_Alcan_. As most Men of my Age.

_Phi_. And wouldst thou counsel me to such a Sin?
For--I do understand--thee.

_Alcan_. I know not what you term so.

_Phi_. I never thought thou'dst been so great a Villain,
To urge me to a crime would damn us all;
Why dost thou smile, hast thou done well in this?

_Alcan_. I thought so, or I'ad kept it to my self.
Sir, e'er you grow in rage at what I've said,
Do you think I love you, or believe my life
Were to be valued more than your repose?
You seem to think it is not.

_Phi_. Possibly I may.

_Alcan_. The sin of what I have propos'd to you
You only seem to hate: Sir, is it so?
--If such religious thoughts about you dwell,
Why is it that you thus perplex your self?
Self-murder sure is much the greater sin.
_Erminia_ too you say has broke her Vows,
She that will swear and lye, will do the rest.
And of these evils, this I think the least;
And as for me, I never thought it sin.

_Phi_. And canst thou have so poor a thought of her?

_Alcan_. I hope you'll find her, Sir, as willing to't
As I am to suppose it; nay, believe't,
She'll look upon't as want of Love and Courage
Should you not now attempt it;
You know, Sir, there's no other remedy,
Take no denial, but the Game pursue,
For what she will refuse, she wishes you.

_Phi_. With such pretensions--she may angry grow.

_Alcan_. I never heard of any that were so,
For though the will to do't, and power they want,
They love to hear of what they cannot grant.

_Phi_. No more,
Is this your duty to your Prince, _Alcander_?
You were not wont to counsel thus amiss,
'Tis either Disrespect or some Design;
I could be wondrous angry with thee now,
But that my Grief has such possession here,
'Twill make no room for Rage.

_Alcan_. I cannot, Sir, repent of what I've said,
Since all the errors which I have committed
Are what my passion to your interest led me to,
But yet I beg your Highness would recal
That sense which would persuade you 'tis unjust.

_Phi_. Name it no more, and I'll forgive it thee.

_Alcan_. I can obey you, Sir.

_Phi_. What shall we do to night, I cannot sleep.

_Alcan_. I'm good at watching, and doing any thing.

_Phi_. We'll serenade the Ladies and the Bride.
--The first we may disturb, but she I fear
Keeps watch with me to night, though not like me.

    _Enter a_ Page _of the_ Prince's.

_Phi_. How now, Boy,
Is the Musick ready which I spoke for?

_Page_. They wait your Highness's command.

_Phi_. Bid them prepare, I'm coming.    [_Ex. Page_.
Soft touches may allay the Discords here,
And sweeten, though not lessen my Despair.

                                        [_Exeunt_.



SCENE V. _The Court Gallery_.


    _Enter_ Pisaro _alone_.

_Pis_. Ha! who's that? a Lover, on my life,
This amorous malady reigns every where;
Nor can my Sister be an ignorant
Of what I saw this night in _Galatea_:
I'll question her--Sister, _Aminta_, Sister.
                        [_Calls as at her Lodgings_.

    _Enter_ Lysette.

_Lys_. Who calls my Lady?

_Pis_. Where's my Sister?

_Lys_. I cry your Lordship's mercy;
My Lady lies not in her Lodgings to night;
The Princess sent for her,
Her Highness is not well.
                             [_She goes in_.

_Pis_. I do believe it, good night, _Lysette_.

    _Enter a_ Page.

--Who's there?

_Page_. Your Lordship's Page.

_Pis_. Where hast thou been? I wanted thee but now.

_Page_. I fell asleep i'th' Lobby, Sir, and had not waken'd
Yet, but for the Musick which plays at the Lodgings
Of my Lady _Erminia_.

_Pis_. Curse on them; will they not allow him nights to himself;
   'tis hard.
This night I'm wiser grown by observation,
My Love and Friendship taught me jealousy,
Which like a cunning Spy brought in intelligence
From every eye less wary than its own;
They told me that the charming _Galatea_,
In whom all power remains,
Is yet too feeble to encounter Love;
I find she has receiv'd the wanton God,
Maugre my fond opinion of her Soul.
And 'tis my Friend too that's become my Rival.
I saw her lovely Eyes still turn on him,
As Flowers to th'Sun: and when he turn'd away
Like those she bow'd her charming head again.
--On th'other side the Prince with dying looks
Each motion watch'd of fair _Erminia's_ eyes,
Which she return'd as greedily again,
And if one glance t' _Alcippus_ she directed,
He'd stare as if he meant to cut his throat for't.

  _Well, Friend, thou hast a sure defence of me,
  My Love is yet below my Amity_.

                                   [_Ex_.



SCENE VI. _Draws off, discovers_ Philander_ and_ Alcander _with Musick
at the Chamber-door of_ Erminia; _to them_ Pisaro, _who listens whilst
the Song is sung_.


The Song for the _Page_ to sing at _Erminia's_ Chamber-door.

  Amintas _that true-hearted Swain
  Upon a River's bank was laid,
  Where to the pitying streams he did complain
  Of_ Sylvia _that false charming Maid,
  But she was still regardless of his pain:
  Oh faithless_ Sylvia! _would he cry,
  And what he said the Echoes would reply_.
    Be kind or else I die, _E_. I die.
    Be kind or else I die, _E_. I die.

  _A shower of tears his eyes let fall,
  Which in the River made impress,
  Then sigh'd, and_ Sylvia _false again would call,
  A cruel faithless Shepherdess.
  Is Love with you become a criminal?
  Ah lay aside this needless scorn,
  Allow your poor Adorer some return_,
    Consider how I burn, _E_. I burn.
    Consider, &c.

  _Those Smiles and Kisses which you give.
  Remember_, Sylvia, _are my due;
  And all the Joys my Rival does receive
  He ravishes from me, not you.
  Ah_ Sylvia, _can I live and this believe?
  Insensibles are touched to see
  My languishments, and seem to pity me_.
    Which I demand of thee, _E_. of thee,
    Which I demand, &c.

_Pis_. What's all this?

_Phi_. Who's there?

_Pis_. A Man, a Friend to the General.

_Phi_. Then thou'rt an Enemy to all good Men.
Does the ungrateful Wretch hide his own head,
And send his Spies abroad?

_Pis_. He is too great to fear, and needs them not:
And him thou termest so, scorns the Office too.

_Phi_. What makest thou here then, when the whole World's asleep?
Be gone, there lies thy way, where'er thy business be.

_Pis_. It lies as free for thee, and here's my business.

_Phi_. Thou lyest, rude man.

_Pis_. Why, what art thou darest tell me so i'th' dark?
Day had betray'd thy blushes for this Boldness.

_Phi_. Tell me who 'tis that dares capitulate?

_Pis_. One that dares make it good.

_Phi_. Draw then, and keep thy word.

_Alcan_. Stand by, and let me do that duty, Sir.
        [_He steps between them, they fight_, Pisaro _falls_.
--Here's thy reward, whoe'er thou art.

_Phi_. Hast thou no hurt?

_Alcan_. I think not much, yet somewhere 'tis I bleed.

_Pis_. What a dull beast am I!

               [_Exeunt_ Prince _and_ Alcan.

    _Enter_ Page.

_Page_. My Lord, is't you are fallen?
Help, Murder! Murder!

_Pis_. Hold, bawling Dog.

    _Enter_ Alcippus _in a Night-gown, with a Sword
    in his hand, a_ Page _with Lights_.

_Alcip_. 'Twas hereabouts--who's this, _Pisaro_ wounded?
                                                 [_He looks up_.
How cam'st thou thus? Come up into my Arms.

_Pis_. 'Twas Jealousy, _Alcippus_, that wild Monster,
Who never leaves us till he has thus betray'd us.
--Pox on't, I am asham'd to look upon thee.
I have disturb'd you to no purpose, Sir.
I am not wounded, go to bed again.

_Alcan_. I'll see thee to thy Lodgings first, _Pisaro_.

_Pis_. 'Twill be unkind both to your self and me.

                                             [_Exeunt_.



SCENE VII. The Court Gallery.


    _Enter_ Philander _and_ Alcander _with a Light_.

_Alcan_. He's gone, whoe'er he be.

_Phi_. It could not be _Alcippus_.

_Alcan_. I rather fear _Pisaro_,
--But we soon enough shall know: Who's this?

    _Enter_ Erminia _in her Night-gown, and_ lsillia _with Lights_.

_Er_. Methought I heard _Alcippus_ and the Prince
Before the cry of Murder.
I die if those two Rivals have encounter'd.

_Phi_. Ah, Madam, cease that fear, they both are safe
From all but from the Wounds which you have given them.

_Er_. Oh Gods, what make you here! and where's _Alcippus_?

_Phi_. Where I had been had Heaven been bountiful.

_Er_. Alas, Sir, what do you mean? what have you done?
And where have you bestow'd him?

_Phi_. Why all this high concern, _Erminia_?
Has he so reconcil'd you to him since I saw you last?
This is not kind to me.

_Er_. Oh, tell me not of kindness, where's _Alcippus_?

_Alcan_. Madam, of whom do you demand _Alcippus_?
Neither of us have seen him.

_Phi_. Go, you are a Woman, a vain peevish Creature.

_Er_. Sir, 'tis but just you should excuse my Fear,
_Alcippus_ is my Husband, and his Safety
Ought to become my care.

_Phi_. How, _Erminia_!
Can you so soon yield up my right to him,
And not blush whilst you own your Perjury?

_Er_. Now, Sir, you are much to blame;
I could have borne the rest, but this concerns me:
I fear I have but too well kept my Vows with you,
Since you are grown but to suspect I have not.

_Phi_. Pardon me, Dear, the errors of my Passion;
It was a Sin so natural,
That even thy unkindly taking it
Approach'd too near it, not to gain my Pardon;
But tell me why you askt me for _Alcippus_?

_Er_. Sir, e'er I could dispose my Eyes to sleep,
I heard the Musick at my Chamber-door,
And such a Song as could be none but yours;
But that was finish'd in a noise less pleasant,
In that of Swords and Quarrel;
And amongst which,
I thought I heard yours and _Alcippus'_ Voice:
(For I have kept my word, and lay not with him)
This brought me hither; but if I mistook,
Once more I beg your pardon.

_Phi_. Thou hast restor'd me to a world of Joys,
By what thou now hast said.

    _Enter_ Alcippus, _his Sword in his Hand, a_
    Page _with Light, he stands a while_.

_Alcip. Erminia_! and the Prince! embracing too!
I dream, and know she could not be thus base,
Thus false and loose--
But here I am inform'd it is no Vision;
--This was design'd before, I find it now.
                       [_Lays his hand on his heart_.

_Er. Alcippus_, oh my fears!
                       [_Goes to them, takes her by the hand_.

_Alcip_. Yes, Madam,
Too soon arriv'd for his and your repose.

_Phi. Alcippus_, touch her not.

_Alcip_. Not touch her! by Heaven, I will,
And who shall hinder me?
Who is't dares say I shall not touch my Wife?

_Phi_. Villain, thou ly'st.

_Alcip_. That y'are my Prince shall not defend you here.
Draw, Sir, for I have laid respect aside.

    [_Strikes, they fight a little_, Alcippus _is
    wounded_, Alcander _supports him_.

_Er_. Oh Gods, what mean you? hold, _Philander_, hold.

_Phi_. Life of my Soul, retire,
I cannot hear that Voice and disobey;
And you must needs esteem him at low rates,
Who sells thee and his Honour for a Tear.

_Er_. Upon my knees I beg to be obey'd,    [_She kneels_.
--But if I must not, here discharge your Anger.

_Phi_. You are too great a Tyrant where you may.

                       [_Exeunt_ Erminia _and_ Alcippus.

_Phi_. Stay, shall I let her go? shall her Commands,
Though they have power to take my Life away,
Have force to suffer me to injure her?
Shall she be made a prey, and I permit it,
Who only have the interest to forbid it?
--No, let me be accurst then.
                                 [_Offers to follow_.

_Alcan_. What mean you, Sir?

_Phi_. Force the bold Ravisher to resign my Right.
_Alcander_, is not she my Wife, and I his Prince?

_Alcan_. 'Tis true, Sir:
And y'ave both power and justice on your side;
And there are times to exercise 'em both.

_Phi_. Fitter than this, _Alcander_?

_Alcan_. This night _Erminia's_ Promise may repose you;
To morrow is your own--
Till then I beg you'd think your interest safe.

_Phi. Alcander_, thou hast peace about thee, and canst judge
Better than I, 'twixt what is just and fit.
                                        [_Puts up his Sword_.
I hitherto believ'd my Flame was guided
By perfect Reason: so we often find
Vessels conducted by a peaceful Wind,
And meet no opposition in their way,
Cut a safe passage through the flattering Sea:
But when a Storm the bounding Vessel throws,
It does each way with equal rage oppose;
For when the Seas are mad, could that be calm
Like me, it wou'd be ruin'd in the Storm.

                                     [_Exeunt_.




ACT III.

SCENE I. _The apartments of_ Alcippus.


    _Enter_ Alcippus _and_ Pisaro.

_Pis_. 'Tis much, my Lord, you'll not be satisfy'd.

_Alcip_. Friendship's too near a-kin to Love, _Pisaro_,
To leave me any Peace, whilst in your Eyes
I read Reserves, which 'tis not kind to hide;
--Come, prithee tell me what the quarrel was,
And who 'twas with; thou shalt, my dear _Pisaro_.

_Pis_. Nay, now you urge me to impossibility:
Good faith, I cannot tell, but guess the Prince.

_Alcip_. 'Tis true, _Pisaro_, 'twas indeed the Prince.
But what was th'occasion?

_Pis_. He call'd me Spy, and I return'd th'affront,
But took no notice that he was my Prince:
It was a Folly I repented of;
But 'twas in a damn'd melancholy Mood.

_Alcip_. Was it a going in or coming out?

_Pis_. From whence?

_Alcip. Erminia's_ Chamber; prithee let me know,
For I have fears that take away my sleep,
Fears that will make me mad, stark mad, _Pisaro_.

_Pis_. You do not well to fear without a cause.

_Alcip_. O Friend, I saw what thou canst ne'er conceive;
Last night I saw it when I came from thee:
And if thou go'st about t'impose upon me,
I'll cast thee from my Soul. Come out with it,
I see thy breast heave with a generous ardour,
As if it scorn'd to harbour a reserve,
Which stood not with its Amity to me.
Could I but know my Fate, I could despise it:
But when 'tis clad in Robes of Innocence,
The Devil cannot 'scape it: Something
Was done last night that gnaws my heart-strings;
And many things the Princess too let fall,
Which, Gods! I know not how to put together.
And prithee be not thou a Ridler too:
But if thou knew'st of ought that may concern me,
Make me as wise as thou art.

_Pis_. Sir, you are of so strange a jealous Humour,
And I so strangely jealous of your Honour,
That 'twixt us both we may make work enough;
But on my Soul I know no wrong you have.

_Alcip_. I must believe thee, yet methinks thy Face
Has put on an unwonted gravity.

_Pis_. That, _Alcippus_, you'll not wonder at,
When you shall know you are my Rival.

_Alcip_. Nay, why shouldst thou delay me thus with stories?
This shall not put me off.

_Pis_. Sir, I'm in earnest, you have gain'd that Heart,
For which I have receiv'd so many wounds;
Venturing for Trophies where none durst appear,
To gain at my Return one single smile,
Or that she would submit to hear my story:
And when sh'has said, 'twas bravely done, _Pisaro_,
I thought the Glory recompens'd the Toil;
And sacrificed my Laurels at her feet,
Like those who pay their first-fruits to the Gods,
To beg a blessing on the following Crop:
And never made her other signs of Love,
Nor knew I that I had that easy flame,
Till by her Eyes I found that she was mortal,
And could love too, and that my Friend is you.

_Alcip_. Thou hast amaz'd me, prithee speak more clearly.

_Pis_. My Lord, the Princess has a passion for you,
Have I not reason now to be your Enemy?

_Alcip_. Not till I make returns:
But now I'm past redemption miserable.
'Twas she _Erminia_ told me dy'd for me;
And I believ'd it but a slight of hers,
To put me from my Courtship.

_Pis_. No, 'twas a fatal Truth:
_Alcippus_, hadst thou seen her, whilst the Priest
Was giving thee to fair _Erminia_,
What languishment appear'd upon her Eyes,
Which never were remov'd from thy lov'd Face,
Through which her melting Soul in drops distill'd,
As if she meant to wash away thy Sin,
In giving up that Right belong'd to her,
Thou hadst without my aid found out this truth:
A sweet composure dwelt upon her looks,
Like Infants who are smiling whilst they die;
Nor knew she that she wept, so unconcern'd
And freely did her Soul a passage find;
Whilst I transported had almost forgot
The Reverence due t'her sacred self and Place,
And every moment ready was to kneel,
And with my lips gather the precious drops,
And rob the Holy Temple of a Relick,
Fit only there t'inhabit.

_Alcip_. I never thought thou'dst had this Softness in thee.
How cam'st thou, Friend, to hide all this from me?

_Pis_. My Lord, I knew not that I was a Lover;
I felt no flame, but a religious Ardour,
That did inspire my Soul with adoration;
And so remote I was from ought but such,
I knew not Hope, nor what it was to wish
For other blessings than to gaze upon her:
Like Heaven I thought she was to be possess'd,
Where carnal Thoughts can no admittance find;
And had I not perceiv'd her Love to you,
I had not known the nature of my flame:
But then I found it out by Jealousy,
And what I took for a Seraphick motion,
I now decline as criminal and earthly.

_Alcip_. When she can love to a discovery,
It shows her Passion eminent and high;
--But I am married--to a Maid that hates me:
What help for that, _Pisaro_?
And thou hast something too to say of her,
What was't? for now thou hast undone me quite.

_Pis_. I have nought to say to her dishonour, Sir,
But something may be done may give you cause
To stand upon your Guard;
And if your Rage do not the mastery get,
I cannot doubt but what you'll be happy yet.

_Alcip_. Without _Erminia_ that can hardly be,
And yet I find a certain shame within
That will not suffer me to see the Princess;
I have a kind of War within my Soul,
My Love against my Glory and my Honour;
And I could wish,--alas, I know not what:
Prithee instruct me.

_Pis_. Sir, take a resolution to be calm,
And not like Men in love abandon Reason.
--You may observe the actions of these Lovers,
But be not passionate whate'er you find;
That headstrong Devil will undo us all;
If you'll be happy, quit its company.

_Alcip_. I fain would take thy counsel--    [_Pauses_.

_Pis_. Come, clear up, my Lord, and do not hang the head
Like Flowers in storms; the Sun will shine again.
Set _Galatea's_ Charms before your Eyes,
Think of the Glory to divide a Kingdom;
And do not waste your noble Youth and Time
Upon a peevish Heart you cannot gain.
This day you must to th'Camp, and in your absence
I'll take upon me what I scorn'd last night,
The Office of a Spy--
Believe me, Sir, for by the Gods I swear,
I never wish'd the glory of a Conquest
With half that zeal as to compose these differences.

_Alcip_. I do believe thee, and will tell thee something
That past between the Prince and I last night;
And then thou wilt conclude me truly miserable.

                                           [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _The Palace_.


    _Enter_ Falatius, Labree, _as passing by they meet_ Cleontius.

_Cle_. Your Servant, my Lord.
--So coldly, stay--your reason, Sir.

               [Fal. _puts off his Hat a little, and passes on_.

_Fal_. How mean you, Sir?

_Cle_. Do you not know me?

_Fal_. Yes, I have seen you, and think you are _Cleontius_,
A Servant of the Prince's; wert i'th' Campania too,
If I mistake not.

_Cle_. Can you recal me by no better instances?

_Fal_. What need of any, pray?

_Cle_. I am a Gentleman.

_Fal_. Ha, _Labree_, what means he now?
By _Jove_, I do not question it, _Cleontius_:
What need this odd Punctilio?
I call thee to no account.

_Cle_. That's more than I can say to you, Sir.

_Fal_. I'll excuse you for that.

_Cle_. But shall not need, Sir; stay, I have a Sister.

_Fal_. Oh, the Devil, now he begins.

_Cle_. A handsome Sister too, or you deceiv'd her.

_Lab_. Bear up, Sir, be not huft.    [_Aside_.

_Fal_. It may be so, but is she kind, _Cleontius_?
                                          [Fal. _bears up_.

_Cle_. What mean you by that word?

_Lab_. Again, Sir, here's two to one.    [_Aside_.

_Fal_. Will she do reason, or so? you understand me.

_Cle_. I understand that thou'rt an impudent fellow,
Whom I must cudgel into better manners.

_Fal_. Pox on't, who bears up now, _Labree_?

_Cle_. Beat thee till thou confess thou art an Ass,
And on thy knees confess it to _Isillia_,
Who after that shall scorn thee.

_Lab_. Railly with him, Sir, 'tis your only way, and put it
Off with a jest; for he's in fury, but dares not
Strike i'th' Court.

_Fal_. But must you needs do this, needs fight, _Cleontius_?

_Cle_. Yes, by all means, I find my self inclin'd to't.

_Fal_. You shall have your desire, Sir, farewel.

_Cle_. When, and where?

_Fal_. Faith, very suddenly, for I think it will not be
Hard to find men of your trade,
Men that will fight as long as you can do,
And Men that love it much better than I,
Men that are poor and damn'd, fine desperate Rogues,
Rascals that for a Pattacoon a Man
Will fight their Fathers,
And kiss their Mothers into peace again:
Such, Sir, I think will fit you.

_Cle_. Abusive Coward, hast thou no sense of honour?

_Fal_. Sense of honour! ha, ha, ha, poor _Cleontius_.

    _Enter_ Aminta _and_ Olinda.

_Am_. How now, Servant, why so jovial?

_Fal_. I was laughing, Madam--at--

_Cle_. At what, thou thing of nothing--

_Am_. Cousin _Cleontius_, you are angry.

_Cle_. Madam, it is unjustly then, for Fools
Should rather move the Spleen to Mirth than Anger.

_Am_. You've too much wit to take ought ill from him:
Let's know your quarrel.

_Fal_. By _Jove, Labree_, I am undone again.

_Cle_. Madam, it was about--

_Fal_. Hold, dear _Cleontius_, hold, and I'll do any thing.   [_Aside_.

_Cle_. Just nothing--

_Fal_. He was a little too familiar with me.

_Cle_. Madam, my Sister _Isillia_--

_Fal_. A curse, he will out with it--
                         [_Aside, pulls him by the Arm_.

_Cle_. Confess she is your Mistress.    [_Aside_.

_Fal_. I call my Mistress, Madam.

_Am_. My Cousin _Isillia_ your Mistress!
Upon my word, you are a happy Man.

_Fal_. By _Jove_, if she be your Cousin, Madam,
I love her much the better for't.

_Am_. I am beholding to you,
But then it seems I have lost a Lover of you.

_Cle_. Confess she has, or I'll so handle you.

                                        [_Ex_. Labree.

_Fal_. That's too much, _Cleontius_--but I will,
By _Jove_, Madam, I must not have a Mistress that
Has more Wit than my self, they ever require
More than a Man's able to give them.

_Oli_. Is this your way of Courtship to _Isillia_?

                                               [_Ex_. Cle.

_Fal_. By _Jove_, Ladies, you get no more of that from me,
'Tis that has spoiled you all; I find _Alcander_ can
Do more with a dumb show, than I with all my
Applications and Address.

_Oli_. Why, my Brother can speak.

_Fal_. Yes, if any body durst hear him; by _Jove_, if you
Be not kind to him, he'll hector you all; I'll get
The way on't too, 'tis the most prosperous one; I see no
Other reason you have to love _Alcander_
Better than I.

_Am_. Why should you think I do?

_Fal_. Devil, I see't well enough by your continual
Quarrels with him.

_Am_. Is that so certain a proof?

_Fal_. Ever while you live, you treat me too
Well ever to hope.

    _Enter_ Alcander, _kneels, offers his Sword to_ Aminta.

--What new Masquerade's this? by _Jove, Alcander_
Has more tricks than a dancing Bear.

_Am_. What mean you by this present?

_Alcan_. Kill me.

_Am_. What have you done to merit it?

_Alcan_. Do not ask, but do't.

_Am_. I'll have a reason first.

_Alcan_. I think I've kill'd _Pisaro_.

_Am_. My Brother dead!
                          [_She falls into the arms of_ Oli.

_Fal_. Madam, look up, 'tis I that call.

_Am_. I care not who thou beest, but if a Man,
Revenge me on _Alcander_.
                             [_She goes out with_ Oli.

_Fal_. By _Jove_, she has mistook her Man,
This 'tis to be a Lover now:
A Man's never out of one broil or other;
But I have more Wit than _Aminta_ this bout.    [_Offers to go_.

_Alcan_. Come back and do your duty e'er you go.    [_Pulls him_.

_Fal_. I owe you much, _Alcander_.

_Alcan. Amimta_ said you should revenge her on me.

_Fal_. Her Word's not Law I hope.

_Alcan_. And I'll obey--

_Fal_. That may do much indeed.
                 [Fal. _answers with great signs of fear_.

_Alcan_. This, if thou wert a Man, she bad thee do,
Why dost thou shake?

_Fal_. No, no, Sir, I am not the man she meant.

_Alcan_. No matter, thou wilt serve as well.
A Lover! and canst disobey thy Mistress?

_Fal_. I do disown her, since she is so wicked
To bid me kill my Friend.
Why, thou'rt my Friend, _Alcander_.

_Alcan_. I'll forgive thee that.

_Fal_. So will not his Majesty: I may be hang'd for't.

_Alcan_. Thou should'st be damn'd e'er disobey thy Mistress.

_Fal_. These be degrees of Love I am not yet arriv'd at;
When I am, I shall be as ready to be damn'd
In honour as any Lover of you all.

_Alcan_. Ounds, Sir, d'ye railly with me?

_Fal_. Your pardon, sweet _Alcander_, I protest I am
Not in so gay an humour.

_Alcan_. Farewell, I had forgot my self.
                                     [_Exit_.

_Fal_. Stark mad, by _Jove_--yet it may be not, for _Alcander_ has
  many unaccountable humours.
Well, if this be agreeable to _Aminta_, she's e'en as mad
As he, and 'twere great pity to part them.

        _Enter_ Pisaro, Aminta, _and_ Olinda.

_Am_. Well, have you kill'd him?

_Fal_. Some wiser than some, Madam.
--My Lord--what, alive?--
        [_Sees_ Pisaro, _runs to him, and embraces him_.

_Pis_. Worth two dead men, you see.

_Fal_. That's more than I could have said within
This half hour. _Alcander's_ very _Orlando_, by _Jove_, and gone
To seek out one that's madder yet than himself
That will kill him.

_Am_. Oh, dear _Falatius_, run and fetch him back.

_Fal_. Madam, I have so lately 'scap'd a scouring,
That I wish you would take it for a mark
Of my Passion to disobey you;
For he is in a damn'd humour.

_Am_. He's out of it by this, I warrant you;
But do not tell him that _Pisaro_ lives.

_Fal_. That's as I shall find occasion.
                                 [_Exit_ Fal.

_Pis. Alcander_ is a worthy Youth and brave,
I wish you would esteem him so;
'Tis true, there's now some difference between us,
Our Interests are dispos'd to several ways,
But Time and Management will join us all:
I'll leave you; but prithee make it thy business
To get my Pardon for last night's rudeness.

_Am_. I shall not fail.

                  [_Exit_ Pis.

    _Re-enter_ Falatius, _with_ Alcander _melancholy_.

_Fal_. Here, Madam, here he is.

_Am_. Tell me, _Alcander_, why you treat me thus?
You say you love me, if I could believe you.

_Alcan_. Believe a Man! away, you have no wit,
I'll say as much to every pretty Woman.

_Am_. But I have given you no cause to wrong me.

_Alcan_. That was my Fate, not Fault, I knew him not:
But yet to make up my offence to you,
I offer you my life; for I'm undone,
If any faults of mine should make you sad.

_Am_. Here, take your Sword again, my Brother's well.
                       [_She gives him his Sword again_.

_Fal_. Yes, by _Jove_, as I am: you had been finely serv'd,
If I had kill'd you now.

_Am_. What, sorry for the news? ha, ha, ha.

_Alcan_. No, sorry y'are a Woman, a mere Woman.

_Am_. Why, did you ever take me for a Man? ha, ha.

_Alcan_. Thy Soul, I thought, was all so; but I see
You have your weakness, can dissemble too;
--I would have sworn that Sorrow in your face
Had been a real one:
Nay, you can die in jest, you can, false Woman:
I hate thy Sex for this.

_Fal_. By Jove, there is no truth in them, that's flat.
                                         [_She looks sad_.

_Alcan_. Why that repentant look? what new design?
Come, now a tear or two to second that,
And I am soft again, a very Ass.
--But yet that Look would call a Saint from th'Altar,
And make him quite forget his Ceremony,
Or take thee for his Deity:
--But yet thou hast a very Hell within,
Which those bewitching Eyes draw Souls into.

_Fal_. Here's he that fits you, Ladies.

_Am_. Nay, now y'are too unjust, and I will leave you.

_Alcan_. Ah, do not go, I know not by what Magick,
                                              [_Holds her_.
But as you move, my Soul yields that way too.

_Fal_. The truth on't is, she has a strong magnetick Power, that I find.

_Alcan_. But I would have none find it but my self,
No Soul but mine shall sympathize with hers.

_Fal_. Nay, that you cannot help.

_Alcan_. Yes, but I can, and take it from thee, if I thought it did so.

_Oli_. No quarrels here, I pray.

_Fal_. Madam, I owe a Reverence to the Place.

_Alcan_. I'll scarce allow thee that;
Madam, I'll leave you to your Lover.

_Am_. I hate thee but for saying so.

_Alcan_. Quit him then.

_Am_. So I can and thee too.    [_Offers to go out_.

_Alcan_. The Devil take me if you escape me so.    [_Goes after her_.

_Fal_. And I'll not be out-done in importunity.

                                        [_Goes after_.



SCENE III. Galatea's _Apartments_.


    _Enter_ Galatea _and_ Erminia.

_Er_. And 'tis an act below my Quality,
Which, Madam, will not suffer me to fly.

_Gal. Erminia_, e'er you boast of what you are,
Since you're so high I'll tell you what you were:
Your Father was our General 'tis true,
That Title justly to his Sword was due;
'Twas nobly gain'd, and worth his Blood and Toils,
Had he been satisfied with noble Spoils:
But with that single honour not content,
He needs must undermine the Government;
And 'cause h'ad gain'd the Army to his side,
Believ'd his Treason must be justify'd.
For this (and justly) he was banished;
Where whilst a low and unknown life he led,
Far from the hope and glory of a Throne,
In a poor humble Cottage you were born;
Your early Beauty did it self display,
Nor could no more conceal it self than Day:
Your Eyes did first _Philander's_ Soul inspire,
And Fortune too conform'd her to his fire.
That made your Father greater than before,
And what he justly lost that did restore.
'Twas that which first thy Beauty did disclose,
Which else had wither'd like an unseen Rose;
'Twas that which brought thee to the Court, and there
Dispos'd thee next my self, i'th' highest Sphere:
Alas, obscurely else thou'dst liv'd and died,
Not knowing thy own Charms, nor yet this Pride.

_Er_. Madam, in this your Bounty is severe,
Be pleas'd to spare that repetition here.
I hope no Action of my Life should be
So rude to charge your Generosity:
But, Madam, do you think it just to pay
Your great Obligements by so false a way?
_Alcippus'_ Passion merits some return,
And should that prove but an ingrateful scorn?
Alas, I am his Wife; to disobey,
My Fame as well as Duty I betray.

_Gal_. Perfidious Maid, I might have thought thou'dst prove
False to thy Prince, and Rival in my Love.
I thought too justly he that conquer'd me
Had a sufficient power to captive thee;
Thou'st now reveng'd thy Father's shame and thine,
In taking thus _Philander's_ Life and mine.

                                     [Er. _weeps_.

_Er_. Ah, Madam, that you would believe my tears,
Or from my Vows but satisfy your Fears.
By all the Gods, _Alcippus_ I do hate,
And would do any thing to change my fate;
Ought that were just and noble I dare do.

_Gal_. Enough, _Erminia_, I must credit you,
And will no other proof of it require,
But that you'll now submit to my desire;
Indeed, _Erminia_, you must grant my suit,
Where Love and Honour calls, make no dispute.
Pity a Youth that never lov'd before,
Remember 'tis a Prince that does adore;
Who offers up a Heart that never found
It could receive, till from your Eyes, a wound.

_Er_. To your command should I submit to yield,
Where could I from _Alcippus_ be conceal'd?
What could defend me from his jealous Rage?

_Gal_. Trust me, _Erminia_, I'll for that engage.

_Er_. And then my Honour by that flight's o'erthrown.

_Gal_. That being _Philander's_, he'll preserve his own;
And that, _Erminia_, sure you'll ne'er distrust.

_Er_. Ah, Madam, give me leave to fear the worst.

    _Enter_ Aminta.

_Am_. Madam, _Alcippus_ waits for your Commands,
He's going to the Camp.

_Gal_. Admit him.

    _Enter_ Alcippus _and_ Pisaro.

_Gal. Alcippus_, 'tis too soon to leave _Erminia_.

_Alcip_. I wish she thought so, Madam,
Or could believe with what regret I do so;
She then would think the fault were much too small
For such a Penance as my Soul must suffer.

_Am_. No matter, Sir, you have the Year before you.

_Alcip_. Yes, Madam, so has every Galley Slave,
That knows his Toil, but not his Recompence:
To morrow I expect no more content,
Than this uneasy Day afforded me;
And all before me is but one grand piece
Of endless Grief and Madness:
--You, Madam, taught _Erminia_ to be cruel,
A Vice without your aid she could have learnt;
And now to exercise that new taught Art,
She tries the whole experience on my Heart.

_Gal_. If she do so, she learnt it not of me,
I love, and therefore know no Cruelty:
Such outrage cannot well with Love reside,
Which only is the mean effect of Pride:
--I merit better thoughts from you, _Alcippus_.

_Alcip_. Pardon me, Madam, if my Passion stray
Beyond the limits of my high respect;    [_He kneels_.
--'Tis a rude gust, and merits your reproaches:
But yet the saucy Flame can ne'er controul
That Adoration which I owe my Princess:
That, with Religion, took possession here,
And in my Prayers I mix with you the Deities.

_Gal_. I'ad rather you should treat me as a Mortal,
Rise and begin to do so.

                [_He rises and bows_.

_Alcip_. Now, Madam, what must I expect from you?

_Er. Alcippus_, all that's to your Virtue due.

_Alcip_. In that but common Justice you allow.

_Er_. That Justice, Sir, is all I can bestow.

_Alcip_. In justice then you ought to me resign,
That which the Holy Priest intitled mine;
Yet that, without your Heart, I do despise,
For uncompell'd I'd have that sacrifice:
--Come ease me of that Pain that presses here,
Give me but Hope that may secure my Fear,
I'm not asham'd to own my Soul possest
With Jealousy, that takes away my rest.
--Tell me you'll love, or that my Suit is vain,
Do any thing to ease me of my pain.
Gods, Madam, why d'ye keep me in suspence?
This cannot be the effects of Innocence;
By Heaven, I'll know the cause, where e'er it lies,
Nor shall you fool me with your feign'd disguise.

_Pis_. You do forget your promise, and this Presence.
                                            [_Aside to_ Alcip.

_Alcip_. 'Twas kindly urg'd, prithee be near me still,
And tell me of the faults that look unmanly.

_Gal_. Dear, if thou lov'st me, flatter him a little.
                                          [_To_ Er. _aside_.

_Er_. 'Tis hard to do, yet I will try it, Madam.

_Gal_. I'll leave you, that you may the better do so.
--I hope, _Alcippus_, you'll revisit us
With Lover's speed:
And whatsoever treatment now you find,
At your return you'll find us much more kind.
                                   [_He bows, she goes out_.

_Alcip_. Can you forgive the rashness of a Man,
That knows no other Laws but those of Passion?

_Er_. You are unkind to think I do not, Sir;
--Yes, and am grown so softned by my pity,
That I'm afraid I shall neglect my Vows,
And to return your Passion, grow ingrate.

_Alcip_. A few more syllables express'd like these,
Will raise my Soul up to the worst extreme,
And give me with your Scorn an equal torment.

_Er_. See what power your language has upon me.    [_Weeps_.

_Alcip_. Ah, do not weep, a tear or two's enough
For the Completion of your Cruelty,
That when it fail'd to exercise your will,
Sent those more powerful Weapons from your Eyes,
And what by your severity you mist of,
These (but a more obliging way) perform.
Gently, _Erminia_, pour the Balsam in,
That I may live, and taste the sweets of Love.
--Ah, should you still continue, as you are,
Thus wondrous good, thus excellently fair,
I should retain my growing name in War,
And all the Glories I have ventur'd for,
And fight for Crowns to recompense thy Bounty.
--This can your Smiles; but when those Beams are clouded,
Alas, I freeze to very Cowardice,
And have not Courage left to kill my self.

_Er_. A Fate more glorious does that Life attend,
And does preserve you for a nobler end.

_Alcip. Erminia_, do not sooth my easy Heart,
For thou my Fate, and thou my Fortune art;
Whatever other blessings Heaven design,
Without my dear _Erminia_, I'll decline.
Yet, Madam, let me hope before I go,
In pity that you ought to let me do:
'Tis all you shall allow m'impatient heart.

_Er_. That's what against my will I must impart:
But wish it please the Gods, when next we meet,
We might as Friends, and not as Lovers greet.

                                         [_Exeunt_.




ACT IV.

SCENE I. _The Palace_.


    _Enter_ Galatea _and_ Aminta, _met by_ Philander _and_ Alcander.

_Phi_. So hasty, Sister!

_Gal_. Brother, I am glad to meet you.
_Aminta_ has some welcome News for you.

_Am_. My Lord!
_Erminia_ yet is hardly brought to yield;
She wants but some encouragement from you,
That may assist her weakness to subdue,
And 'twas but faintly she deny'd to see you.

_Phi_. However, I will venture,
She can but chide, and that will soon be past:
A Lover's Anger is not long to last.

_Am. Isillia_ I have won to give you entrance.

_Phi_. Love furnish me with powerful Arguments:
Direct my Tongue, that my disorder'd Sense
May speak my Passion more than Eloquence.    [_Aside_.

_Gal_. But is _Alcippus_ gone?

_Alcan_. Madam, an hour since.

_Phi_. 'Tis well; and Sister,
Whilst I persuade _Erminia_ to this flight,
Make it your business to persuade the King,
Hang on his neck, and kiss his willing cheek:
Tell him how much you love him, and then smile,
And mingle Words with Kisses; 'twill o'ercome him
Thou hast a thousand pretty Flatteries,
Which have appeas'd his highest fits of Passion:
A Song from thee has won him to that rest,
Which neither Toil nor Silence could dispose him to.
Thou know'st thy power, and now or never use it.

_Gal_. 'Twas thither I was going.

_Phi_. May'st thou be prosperous.

            [_Exeunt_ Phi. _and_ Gal. Aminta _and_ Alcander _stay_.

_Am_. What now, _Alcander_?

_Alcan_. As 'twas, _Aminta_.

_Am_. How's that?

_Alcan_. Such a distracted Lover as you left me.

_Am_. Such as I found you too, I fear, _Alcander_.

_Alcan_. Ah, Madam, do not wrong me so;
Till now I never knew the joys and sorrows
That do attend a Soul in love like mine:
My Passion only fits the Object now;
I hate to tell you so, 'tis a poor low means
To gain a Mistress by, of so much wit:
_Aminta_, you're above that common rate
Of being won.
Mean Beauties should be flatter'd into praise,
Whilst you need only Sighs from every Lover,
To tell you who you conquer, and not how,
Nor to instruct you what attracts you have.

_Am_. This will not serve to convince me,
But you have lov'd before.

_Alcan_. And will you never quit that error, Madam?

_Am_. 'Tis what I've reason to believe, _Alcander_,
And you can give me none for loving me:
I'm much unlike _Lucinda_ whom you sigh'd for,
I'm not so coy, nor so reserv'd as she;
Nor so designing as _Florana_ your next Saint,
Who starv'd you up with hope, till you grew weary;
And then _Ardelia_ did restore that loss,
The little soft _Ardelia_, kind and fair too.

_Alcan_. You think you're wondrous witty now, _Aminta_,
But hang me if you be.

_Am_. Indeed, _Alcander_, no, 'tis simple truth:
Then for your bouncing Mistress, long _Brunetta_,
O that majestick Garb, 'tis strangely taking,
That scornful Look, and Eyes that strike all dead
That stand beneath them.

_Alcander_, I have none of all these Charms:
But well, you say you love me; could you be
Content to dismiss these petty sharers in your Heart,
And give it all to me; on these conditions
I may do much.

_Alcan. Aminta_, more perhaps than I may like.

_Am_. Do not fear that, _Alcander_.

_Alcan_. Your Jealousy incourages that Fear.

_Am_. If I be so, I'm the fitter for your humour.

_Alcan_. That's another reason for my fears; that ill-Luck owes us a
spite, and will be sure to pay us with loving one another, a thought I
dread. Farewel, _Aminta_; when I can get loose from _Ardelia_, I may
chance wait on you, till then your own Pride be your Companion.

                                [_Holds him_.

_Am_. Nay, you shall not go, _Alcander_.

_Alcan_. Fy on't, those Looks have lost their wonted Force,
I knew you'd call me back to smile upon me,
And then you have me sure; no, no, Aminta,
I'll no more of that.     [_Goes out_.

_Am_. I have too much betray'd my Passion for him,
--I must recal it, if I can I must:--
I will--for should I yield, my power's o'erthrown,
And what's a Woman when that glory's gone?

                                      [_Exit_.



SCENE II. _The Apartments of_ Alcippus.


    _Enter_ Alcippus _and_ Pisaro.

_Pis_. You seem'd then to be pleas'd with what she said.

_Alcip_. And then methought I was so,
But yet even then I fear'd she did dissemble.
--Gods, what's a Man possest with Jealousy?

_Pis_. A strange wild thing, a Lover without reason;
I once have prov'd the torture on't,
But as unlike to thine as good from evil;
Like fire in Limbecks, mine was soft and gentle,
Infusing kindly heat, till it distill'd
The spirits of the Soul out at my Eyes,
And so it ended.
But thine's a raging Fire, which never ceases
Till it has quite destroy'd the goodly Edifice
Where it first took beginning.
Faith, strive, Sir, to suppress it.

_Alcip_. No, I'll let it run to its extent,
And see what then 'twill do.
Perhaps 'twill make me mad, or end my life,
Either of which will ease me.

_Pis_. Neither of these, _Alcippus_;
It will unman you, make you too despis'd;
And those that now admire will pity you.

_Alcip_. What wouldst thou have me do?
Am I not ty'd a Slave to follow Love,
Whilst at my back Freedom and Honour waits,
And I have lost the power to welcome them?
Like those who meet a Devil in the night,
And all afrighted gaze upon the Fury,
But dare not turn their backs to what they fear,
Though safety lie behind them.
Alas! I would as willingly as those
Fly from this Devil, Love.

_Pis_. You may, like those afrighted, by degrees
Allay your sense of terror in the Object,
And then its Power will lesson with your Fear,
And 'twill be easy to forgo the Fantasm.

_Alcip_. No, then like the damn'd Ghost it follows me.

_Pis_. Let Reason then approach it, and examine it.

_Alcip_. Love is a surly and a lawless Devil,
And will not answer Reason.
I must encounter it some other way,
For I will lay the Fiend.

_Pis_. What would you have, _Alcippus_?

_Alcip_. I'd have fair play, _Pisaro_.
--I find the cheat, and will not to the Camp;
--Thou shalt supply my place, and I'll return:
The Night grows on, and something will be done
That I must be acquainted with.

_Pis_. Pardon me, Sir, if I refuse you here;
I find you're growing up to Jealousies,
Which I'll not trust alone with you.

_Alcip_. Thou know'st perhaps of something worthy it.

_Pis_. I must confess, your Passions give me cause,
If I had any Secrets, to conceal them;
But 'tis no time nor place to make disputes in:
Will you to Horse?

_Alcip_. Will you not think fit I should return then?
I can be calm.

_Pis_. What is't you mean by this return, _Alcippus_?

_Alcip_. To see _Erminia_, is not that enough
To one in love, as I am?

_Pis_. But, Sir, suppose you find _Philander_ there?

_Alcip_. Then I suppose I shall not much approve on't.

_Pis_. You would be at your last night's rage again.
_Alcippus_, this will ruin you for ever,
Nor is it all the Power you think you have
Can save you, if he once be disoblig'd.
Believe me 'twas the Princess' passion for you
Made up that breach last night.

_Alcip_. All this I know as well as you, _Pisaro_,
But will not be abus'd; alas, I'm lost:
Could I recal these two last days are past,
Ah, I should be my self again, _Pisaro_.
I would refuse these Fetters which I wear,
And be a Slave to nothing but to Glory.

_Pis_. That were a Resolution worthy of you.
--But come, 'tis late, what you resolve conclude.

_Alcip_. I am resolv'd I will not to the Camp,
A secret inclination does persuade me
To visit my _Erminia_ to night.

_Pis_. Comes it from Love or Jealousy?

_Alcip_. The first, good faith, _Pisaro_; thou'rt so fearful--
You shall to th'Camp before,
And I'll be with you early in the Morning.

_Pis_. Give me your hand, and promise to be calm.

_Alcip_. By all our Friendships, as the Western Winds,
                                          [_Gives his hand_.
Nothing that's done shall e'er inrage me more,
Honour's the Mistress I'll henceforth adore.
                                          [_Exit_.

_Pis_. I will not trust you though.

                                    [_Goes out another way_.



SCENE III. _The Court Gallery_.


    _Enter_ Philander _and_ Alcander _in their Clokes
    muffled as in the dark_.

_Alcan_. _Isillia_.
              [_Calls at the lodgings of_ Erminia.

_Isil_. [_Entering_.] Who's there?

_Alcan_. A Friend.

_Isil_. My Lord _Alcander_?

_Alcan_. The same.

_Isil_. Where's the Prince?

_Phi_. Here, _Isillia_.

_Isil_. Give me your hand, my Lord, and follow me.

_Phi_. To such a Heaven as thou conduct'st me to,
Though thou should'st traverse Hell, I'd follow thee.

_Alcan_. You'll come back in charity, _Isillia_?

_Isil_. Yes, if I dare trust you alone with me.

                                    [_They go all in_.



SCENE IV.


    _Draws off, a Chamber, discovers_ Erminia _in a dishabit, sitting;
    to her_ Philander, _who falls at her feet, on his knees_.

_Er_. My Lord the Prince, what makes your Highness here?

_Phi. Erminia_, why do ask that needless question?
'Twas Love, Love that's unsatisfied, which brought me hither.
                                                      [_Kneels_.

_Er_. Rise, Sir, this posture would become me better.

_Phi_. Permit me, dear _Erminia_--to remain thus.
'Tis only by these signs I can express
What my Confusion will not let me utter.
I know not what strange power thou bear'st about thee,
But at thy sight or touch my Sense forsakes me,
And that, withal I had design'd to say,
Turns to a strange disorder'd Rapture in me.
--Oh _Erminia_--

_Er_. How do you, Sir?

_Phi_. I am not well;
Too suddenly I pass from one extreme
To this of Joy, more insupportable:
But I shall re-assume my health anon,
And tell thee all my story.

_Er_. Dear Sir, retire into this inner room,
And there repose awhile:
Alas, I see disorder in your Face.

_Phi_. This confidence of me, is generous in thee.

                      [_They go into the Scene which draws over_.



SCENE V. _The Court Gallery_.


    _Enter_ Alcippus.

_Alcip_. The Night is calm and silent as my Thoughts,
Where nothing now but Love's soft whispers dwell;
Who in as gentle terms upbraids my Rage,
Which strove to dispossess the Monarch thence:
It tells me how dishonest all my Fears are,
And how ungrateful all my Jealousies;
And prettily persuades those Infidels
To be less rude and mutinous hereafter.
Ah, that I could remain in this same state,
And be contented with this Monarchy:
I would, if my wild multitude of Passions
Could be appeas'd with it; but they're for Liberty,
And nothing but a Common-wealth within
Will satisfy their appetites of Freedom.
--Pride, Honour, Glory, and Ambition strive
How to expel this Tyrant from my Soul,
But all too weak, though Reason should assist them.
                 [_He knocks_. Alcander _looks out at the door_.

_Alcan_. Who's there?

_Alcip_. A Friend.

_Isil_. [_Within_.] Oh Heavens! it is my Lord _Alcippus'_ voice.

_Alcan_. Peace, _Isillia_.

_Alcip_. I hear a Man within--open the door.
Now, Love, defend thy Interest, or my Jealousy
Will grow the mightier Devil of the two else.    [Alcan. _comes out_.
--Who's this? one muffled in a Cloke?
What art thou, who at this dead time of Night
Hast took possession here?
--Speak, or I'll kill thee.

_Alcan_. This were an opportunity indeed
To do my Prince a service, but I dare not.

_Alcip_. What darest not do?

_Alcan_. Not kill thee.

_Alcip_. Is that thy business then? have at thee, Slave?
I'll spoil your keeping doors.     [_Runs at him_.

    [_They fight, and grapling_, Alcander _gets the Sword of_ Alcippus.

He'as got my Sword, however, I'll lose no time:
It may be 'tis his office to detain me.     [_He goes in_.

_Alcan_. I'm wounded, yet I will not leave him so;
There may be Mischief in him, though unarm'd.

                                            [_Goes in_.



SCENE VI. A Bed-chamber.


    _Discovers_ Erminia, Philander _sitting on the Bed, to them_
    Isillia, _a Sword and Hat on the Table_.

_Isil_. Ah, Madam, _Alcippus_.

_Er. Alcippus_, where?

_Isil_. I left him in a quarrel with _Alcander_,
And hear him coming up.

_Er_. For Heaven's sake, Sir, submit to be conceal'd.

_Phi_. Not for the world, _Erminia_,
My Innocence shall be my guard and thine.

_Er_. Upon my knees I'll beg you'll be conceal'd,    [_A noise_.
He comes; _Philander_, for my safety go.

_Phi_. I never did obey with more regret.

    [_He hides himself behind the Bed, and in haste leaves
    his Sword and Hat on the Table_; Alcippus _comes in_.

_Alcip_. How now, _Erminia_?
How comes it you are up so late?

_Er_. I found my self not much inclin'd to sleep;
I hope 'tis no offence.
Why do you look so wildly round about you?

_Alcip_. Methinks, _Erminia_, you are much confus'd.

_Er_. Alas, you cannot blame me;
_Isillia_ tells me you were much inrag'd
Against a Lover she was entertaining.

_Alcip_. A Lover--was that a time for Courtship?
Such Actions, Madam, will reflect on you.

    [Isillia _goes to take the Hat and Sword and slide
    into her lap, which he sees, calls to her_.

--What have you there, _Isillia_?
Come back, and let me see what 'tis.
                      [_He takes them from her_.
--Ha--a Sword and Hat--_Erminia_, whose be these?

_Er_. Why do you ask--

_Alcip_. To be inform'd, is that so great a wonder?

_Er_. They be my Father's, Sir--

_Alcip_. Was that well said, _Erminia_?--speak again.

_Er_. What is't you would know?

_Alcip_. The truth, _Erminia_, 'twould become you best.
Do you think I take these things to be your Father's?
No, treacherous Woman, I have seen this Sword,
                                        [_Draws the Sword_.
Worn by a Man more vigorous than thy Father,
It had not else been here.
--Where have you hid this mighty Man of valour?
Have you exhausted so his stock of Courage,
He has not any left t'appear withal?

_Phi_. Yes, base _Alcippus_, I have still that Courage,
Th'effects of which thou hast beheld with wonder;
And now being fortified by Innocence,
Thou't find sufficient to chastise thy boldness:
Restore my Sword, and prove the truth of this.

_Alcip_. I've hardly so much Calmness left to answer thee,
And tell thee, Prince, thou art deceiv'd in me.
--I know 'tis just I should restore thy Sword,
But thou hast show'd the basest of thy play,
And I'll return th'uncivil Treachery;
You merit Death for this base Injury.
But you're my Prince, and that I own you so,
Is all remains in me of Sense or Justice;
The rest is Rage, which if thou gett'st not hence
Will eat up that small morsel too of Reason,
And leave me nothing to preserve thy life with.

_Phi_. Gods, am I tame, and hear the Traytor brave me?
                                 [_Offers to run into him_.
I have resentment left, though nothing else.

_Alcip_. Stand off, by all that's good, I'll kill thee else.
                                 [Er. _puts her self between_.

_Er_. Ah, hold, Sir, hold, the Prince has no defence,
And you are more than arm'd;               [_To_ Alcip.
What honour is't to let him murder you?    [_To the_ Prince.
--Nor would your Fame be lessen'd by retreat.

_Phi_. Alas, I dare not leave thee here with him.

_Er_. Trust me, Sir, I can make him calm again.

_Alcip_. She counsels well, and I advise you take it.

_Phi_. I will, but not for fear of thee or Death,
But from th'assurance that her Power's sufficient
To allay this unbecoming Fury in thee,
And bring thee to repentance.

    [_He gives him his Sword_; Philander _goes out_,
    Alcippus _locks the door after him_.

_Er. Alcippus_, what do you mean?

_Alcip_. To know where 'twas you learn'd this Impudence?
Which you're too cunning in,
Not to have been a stale practitioner.

_Er_. Alas, what will you do?

_Alcip_. Preserve thy Soul, if thou hast any sense
Of future Joys, after this vile damn'd Action.

_Er_. Ah, what have I done?

_Alcip_. That which if I should let thee live, _Erminia_,
Would never suffer thee to look abroad again.
--Thou'st made thy self and me--
Oh, I dare not name the Monsters.--
But I'll destroy them while the Gods look down,
And smile upon my Justice.

    [_He strangles her with a Garter, which he snatches
    from his Leg, or smothers her with a pillow_.

_Er_. Hold, hold, and hear my Vows of Innocence.

_Alcip_. Let me be damn'd as thou art, if I do;
            [_Throws her on a Bed, he sits down in a Chair_.
--So now, my Heart, I have redeem'd thee nobly,
Sit down and pause a while--
But why so still and tame, is one poor Murder
Enough to satisfy thy storm of Passion?
If it were just, it ought not here to end;
--If not--I've done too much--

    [_One knocks, he rises after a little pause,
    and opens the door; enter_ Page.

_Page_. My Lord, _Pisaro_--

_Alcip. Pisaro_,--Oh, that Name has wakened me,
A Name till now had never Terror in't!
--I will not speak with him.

_Page_. My Lord, he's here.
                    [Page _goes out_.

    _Enter_ Pisaro.

_Pis_. Not speak with me! nay then I fear the worst.

_Alcip_. Not for the world, _Pisaro_--

        [_Hides his face with his hand_, Pis. _sees_ Erminia.

_Pis_. Thy guilt is here too plain,
I need not read it in thy blushing face,
She's dead and pale: Ah, sweet _Erminia_!

_Alcip_. If she be dead, the fitter she's for me,
She'll now be coy no more, nor cry I cannot love,
And frown and blush, when I but kiss her hand:
Now I shall read no terror in her Eyes,
And what is better yet, shall ne'er be jealous.

_Pis_. Why didst thou make such haste to be undone?
Had I detain'd thee but an hour longer,
Thou'dst been the only happy of thy Sex.
--I knew thou didst dissemble when we parted,
And therefore durst not trust thee with thy Passions:
I only staid to gather from my Sister
What news I might concerning your affairs,
Which I with joy came to impart to you,
But most unfortunately came too late:
Why didst thou yield obedience to that Devil,
Which urg'd thee to destroy this Innocent?

_Alcip. Pisaro_, do not err;
I found the Prince and she alone together,
He all disorder'd like a Ravisher,
Loose and unbutton'd for the amorous play;
O that she had another Life to lose!

_Pis_. You wrong her most inhumanly, you do;
Her Blood, yet sensible of the injury,
Flows to her face to upbraid thy Cruelty.
--Where dost thou mean, bad Man, to hide thy head?
Vengeance and Justice will pursue thee close,
And hardly leave thee time for Penitence.
--What will the Princess say to this return
You've made to all the offers she has sent
This Night by Prince _Philander_?

_Alcip_. Oh, when you name the Princess and _Philander_,
Such different Passions do at once possess me,
As sink my over-laden Soul to Hell.
--Alas, why do I live? 'tis losing time;
For what is Death, a pain that's sooner ended
Than what I felt from every frown of hers?
--It was but now that lovely thing had Life,
Could speak and weep, and had a thousand Charms,
That had oblig'd a Murder, and Madness't self
To've been her tame Adorers.
Yet now should even her best belov'd, the Prince,
With all his Youth, his Beauties and Desires,
Fall at her Feet, and tell his tale of Love,
She hardly would return his amorous Smiles,
Or pay his meeting Kisses back again;
Is not that fine, _Pisaro_?

_Pis_. Sir, 'tis no time to talk in, come with me,
For here's no safety for a Murderer.

_Alcip_. I will not go, alas I seek no Safety.

_Pis_. I will not now dispute that vain reply,
But force you to security.

                   [Pisaro _draws him out, the Scene closes_.



SCENE VII. _The Palace_.


    _Enter_ Philander, Alcander, Galatea, Aminta, _and_ Falatius.

_Fal_. Ah, fly, Sir, fly from what I have to tell you.

_Alcan_. What's the news?

_Fal_. Ah, Sir, the dismal'st heavy news that e'er was told or heard.

_Gal_. No matter, out with it.

_Fal. Erminia_, Madam--

_Phi. Erminia_, what of her?

_Fal_. Is dead, Sir.

_Alcan_. What, hast thou lost thy Wits?

_Fal_. I had them not about me at the sight,
I else had been undone: Alas, _Erminia's_ dead,
Murder'd, and dead.

_Alcan_. It cannot be, thou ly'st.

_Fal_. By _Jove_, I do not, Sir, I saw her dead:
Alas, I ran as I was wont to do,
Without demanding licence, to her Chamber,
But found her not, as I was wont to do,    [_The Women weep_.
In a gay humour, but stone-dead and cold.

_Phi. Alcander_, am I awake?--or being so,
Dost not perceive this senseless Flesh of mine
Hardened into a cold benumbed Statue?
--Methinks--it does--support me--or I fall;
And so--shall break to pieces--
             [_Falls into his Arms. He leads him out_.

_Gal_. Ah, lovely Maid, was this thy destiny?
Did Heaven create thy Beauties to this end?
--I must distrust their Bounties, who neglected
The best and fairest of their handy-work;
This will incourage Sin, when Innocence
Must perish thus, and meet with no defence.

    _Enter the_ King _and_ Orgulius.

_Org_. If murder'd Innocence do cry for Justice,
Can you, great Sir, make a defence against it?

_King_. I think I cannot.

_Org_. Sir, as you are pious, as you are my King,
The Lover and Protector of your People,
Revenge _Erminia's_ Murder on _Alcippus_.

_Gal_. If e'er my Mother, Sir, were dear to you,
As from your Tears I guest whene'er you nam'd her;
If the remembrance of those Charms remain,
Whose weak resemblance you have found in me,
For which you oft have said you lov'd me dearly;
Dispense your mercy, and preserve this Copy,
Which else must perish with th'Original.

_King_. Why all this Conjuration, _Galatea_?

_Gal_. To move you, Sir, to spare _Alcippus'_ Life.

_King_. You are unjust, if you demand a Life
Must fall a Sacrifice to _Erminia's_ Ghost,
That is a debt I have ingag'd to pay.

_Gal_. Sir, if that Promise be already past,
And that your Word be irrevocable,
I vow I will not live a moment after him.

_King_. How, _Galatea_! I'd rather hop'd you'd join'd
Your Prayers with his.

_Gal_. Ah, Sir, the late Petition which I made you
Might have inform'd you why these Knees are bow'd;
'Twas but this night I did confess I lov'd him,
And you would have allow'd that Passion in me,
Had he not been _Erminia's_:
And can you question now what this Address meant?

_Org_. Remember, Sir, _Erminia_ was my Daughter.

_Gal_. And, Sir, remember that I am your Daughter.

_Org_. And shall the Traitor live that murder'd her?

_Gal_. And will you by his Death, Sir, murder me?
In dear _Erminia's_ Death too much is done;
If you revenge that Death, 'tis two for one.

_Org_. Ah, Sir, to let him live's unjust in you.

_Gal_. And killing me, you more injustice do.

_Org. Alcippus_, Madam, merits not your Love,
That could so cruel to _Erminia_ prove.

_Gal_. If Lovers could be rul'd by Reason's Laws,
For this complaint on him we'ad had no cause.
'Twas Love that made him this rash act commit;
Had she been kind, 't had taught him to submit.
--But might it not your present Griefs augment,
I'd say that you deserve this punishment,
By forcing her to marry with the General;
By which you have destroy'd _Philander_ too,
And now you would _Alcippus'_ Life undo.

_Org_. That was a fault of duty to your Majesty.

_King_. Though that were honest, 'twere not wisely done;
For had I known the passion of my Son,
And how essential 'twas to his content
I willingly had granted my consent;
Her Worth and Beauty had sufficient been
T'ave rais'd her to the Title of a Queen.
Did not my glorious Father, great _Gonzal_,
Marry the Daughter of his Admiral?
And I might to my Son have been as kind,
As then my Father did my Grandsire find.

_Org_. You once believ'd that I had guilty been,
And had the Punishment, but not the Sin;
I suffer'd when 'twas thought I did aspire,
And should by this have rais'd my crimes yet higher.

_King_. How did _Philander_ take _Erminia's_ death?

_Gal_. My own surprize and grief was so extream,
I know not what effects it had in him;
But this account of him, I'm forc'd to give,
Since she is dead, I know he cannot live.

_King_. I'll know _Philander's_ fate e'er I proceed;
And if he die, _Alcippus_ too shall bleed.

                                      [_Exeunt_.



SCENE VIII. _The Gallery_.


    _Enter_ Falatius _and_ Labree.

_Fal_. Wert thou never valiant, _Labree_?

_Lab_. Yes, Sir, before I serv'd you, and since too: I
Am provok'd to give you proofs on't sometimes;
For when I am angry I am a very Hector.

_Fal_. Ay, the Devil when a body's angry, but that's
Not the Valour in mode; Men fight now a-days
Without that, and even embrace whilst they draw
Their Swords on one another.

_Lab_. Ay, Sir, those are Men that despise their lives.

_Fal_. Why, that's it, _Labree_, that I would learn to do,
And which I fear, nothing but Poverty will make me do;
_Jove_ defend me from that experiment.

    _Enter_ Erminia _veil'd with a thin Tiffany_.

_Lab_. What's the matter, Sir?
Does the fit take you now?

_Fal_. Save us, save us, from the Fiend.

_Lab_. A Ghost, a Ghost! O, O, O!

                    [_They fall shaking on the ground_.

_Er_. This was a happy mistake,
Now I may pass with safety.
                               [_Ex_.

_Fal_. Look up, _Labree_, if thou hast any of that
Courage thou spakest of but now.

_Lab_. I dare not, Sir, experience yours I pray.

_Fal_. Alas, alas, I fear we are both rank Cowards.

_Lab_. Rise, Sir, 'tis gone.

_Fal_. This was worse than the fright _Alcander_ put
Me into by much.

                    [_They rise and go out_.



SCENE IX. Philander's _Apartments_.


    _Enter_ Philander _and_ Cleontius.

_Phi_. I know he's fled to the Camp,
For there he only can secure himself.

_Cle_. I do not think it, Sir.
He's too brave to justify an Action
Which was the Outrage only of his Passion,
That soon will toil it self into a Calm,
And then will grow considerate again,
And hate the Rashness it provok'd him to.

_Phi_. That shall not serve his turn--go
Tell him I'll get his Pardon of the King,
And set him free from other fears of Justice,
But those which I intend to execute.
If he be brave, he'll not refuse this offer;
If not, I'll do as he has done by me,
And meet his hated Soul by Treachery.    [Cle_. goes out_.
--And then I've nothing more to do but die.
--Ah, how agreeable are the thoughts of Death!
How kindly do they entertain my Soul,
And tell it pretty tales of Satisfaction in the other world,
That I shall dwell for ever with _Erminia_?--but stay,
That sacred Spirit yet is unreveng'd,
--I'll send that Traitor's Soul to eternal Night,
Then mine shall take its so desired Flight.    [_Going out_.

    _Enter _Erminia, _calls him_.

_Er_. Return, Philander, whither wouldst thou fly?

_Phi_. What Voice is that? [_Turns, sees her, and is frighted_.

_Er_. 'Tis I, my Prince, 'tis I.

_Phi_. Thou--Gods--what art thou--in that lovely shape?

_Er_. A Soul that from Elysium made escape,
   [_As she comes towards him, he goes back in great amaze_.
To visit thee; why dost thou steal away?
I'll not approach thee nearer than I may.

_Phi_. Why do I shake--it is _Erminia's_ form--
And can that Beauty ought that's ill adorn?
--In every part _Erminia_ does appear,
And sure no Devil can inhabit there.

    [_He comes on and kneels, one knocks, she steals back in at a door_.

_Alcan_. [_Within_.] My Lord the Prince!

_Phi_. Ha--Oh Gods, I charge thee not to vanish yet!
I charge thee by those Powers thou dost obey,
Not to deprive me of thy blessed sight.

_Er_. I will revisit thee. [_Ex_.

    _Enter_ Alcander.

_Phi_. I'm not content with that.
--Stay, stay, my dear _Erminia_.

_Alcan_. What mean you, Sir?
            [_He rises and looks still afrighted_.

_Phi_. _Alcander_, look, look, how she glides away,
Dost thou not see't?

_Alcan_. Nothing, Sir, not I.

_Phi_. No, now she's gone again.

_Alcan_. You are disorder'd, pray sit down a while.

_Phi_. No, not at all, _Alcander_; I'm my self,
I was not in a Dream, nor in a Passion
When she appear'd, her Face a little pale,
But else my own _Erminia_, she her self,
I mean a thing as like, nay, it spoke too,
And I undaunted answer'd it again;
But when you knockt it vanisht.

_Alcan_. 'Twas this _Aminta_ would persuade me to,
And, faith, I laught at her,
And wish I might have leave to do so now.

_Phi_. You do displease me with your Unbelief.

_Alcan_. Why, Sir, do you think there can indeed be Ghosts?

_Phi_. Pray do not urge my Sense to lose its nature.

_Er_. It is _Alcander_, I may trust him too.
[_She peeps in on them, and comes out_.

_Phi_. Look where she comes again, credit thy Eyes,
Which did persuade thee that they saw her dead.

_Alcan_. By Heaven, and so they did.
[_Both seem frighted_.
--Gods--this is wondrous strange! yet I can bear it,
If it were the Devil himself in that fair shape.

_Phi_. And yet thou shakest.

_Alcan_. I do, but know not why.
--Inform us, lovely Spirit, what thou art,
A God--or Devil; if either, thou art welcome.

_Er_. You cannot think, _Alcander_, there be Ghosts.
[_She gives her hands to him and_ Phi. _which
they refuse to touch_.
No, give me your hand, and prove mine flesh and blood.
--Sir, you were wont to credit what I said,
And I would still merit that kind opinion.

_Phi_. _Erminia_, Soul of Sweetness, is it you?
--How do you ravish with excess of Joys?

_Er_. Softly, dear Sir, do not express that Joy,
Lest you destroy it by your doing so.
I fly for sanctuary to your Arms;
As yet none knows I live, but poor _Isillia_,
Who bathing of my cold face with her tears,
Perceiv'd some signs of life, and us'd what means
Her Love and Duty did instruct her in;
And I in half an hour was so reviv'd,
As I had sense of all was past and done;
And to prevent a death I yet might fear,
If mad _Alcippus_ had return'd again,
--Alone I came to you, where I could find
Alone my Safety too.

_Phi_. From Gods and Men, _Erminia_, thou art safe,
My best and blest _Erminia_.

_Er_. Sir, in my coming hither I met _Aminta_,
Who I may fear has alarm'd all the Court;
She took me for a Ghost, and ran away,
E'er I cou'd undeceive her.
--_Falatius_ too, afrighted even to death--

_Alcan_. Faith, that was lucky, Madam.
--Hark, some body knocks, you'd best retire a little.
                                 [_Leads her into the door_.

    _Enter_ Galatea _and_ Aminta _lighted_.

_Gal_. Ah, Brother, there's such news abroad--

_Phi_. What, dear Sister, for I am here confin'd,
And cannot go to meet it?

_Gal_. _Erminia's_ Ghost is seen, and I'm so frighted--

_Phi_. You would not fear it though it should appear.

_Gal_. Oh, do not say so;
For though the World had nought I held more dear,
I would not see her Ghost for all the World.

_Alcan_. But, Madam, 'tis so like _Erminia_--

_Am_. Why, have you seen it too?

_Alcan_. Yes, _Aminta_.

_Am_. Then there be Ghosts, _Alcander_.

_Phi_. _Aminta_, we'll convince him.
[Phi. _leads out_ Er. _who comes smiling to the_ Princess.

_Gal_. But how, dear Creature, wert thou thus preserv'd?

_Phi_. Another time for that, but now let's think
                                   [Aminta _embraces her_.
How to preserve her still.
Since all believe her dead, but who are present,
And that they may remain in that blest error,
I will consult with you; but you, my dearest,
Shall as the Spirit of _Erminia_ act,
And reap the glory of so good a part:
It will advance the new design I have;
And, Sister, to your care
I must commit the Treasure of my Life.

_Gal_. It was not kind, she came not first to me.

_Er_. Madam, I fear'd the safety of my Prince,
And every moment that I found I liv'd,
Were more tormenting than those of death,
Till I had undeceiv'd his Apprehensions.

_Phi_. 'Twas like thy self, generous and kind, my Dear,
Thou mightst have come too late else.

_Er_. But, Sir, pray where's my Murderer? for yet
A better name I cannot well afford him.

_Gal_. All that we know of him,
_Pisaro_ now inform'd me,
Who came just as he thought he had murder'd thee,
And begg'd he would provide for his own safety.
But he who gave him sober promises,
No sooner found himself out of his arms,
But frantick and i'th' dark he got away.
But out o'th' Court he knows he cannot pass
At this dead time of night;
But he believes he is i'th' Groves or Gardens,
And thither he is gone to find him out.

_Alcan_. This is no place to make a longer stay in,
The King has many Spies about the Prince,
'Twere good you would retire to your Apartment.

_Gal_. We'll take your Counsel, Sir.
--Good night, Brother.

_Phi_. _Erminia_, may thy Dreams be calm and sweet,
As thou hast made my Soul;
May nothing of the Cruelty that's past,
Approach thee in a rude uneasy thought;
Remember it not so much as in thy Prayers,
Let me alone to thank the Gods for thee,
To whom that Blessing only was ordain'd.

  _And when I lose my Gratitude to Heaven,
  May they deprive me of the Joys they've given_.

                                         [_Exeunt_.




ACT V.

SCENE I. Galatea's _Apartments_.


    _Enter_ Galatea, Erminia, Pisaro, Aminta.

_Gal_. And hast thou found him? Ease my misery.

_Pis_. I have, and done as you commanded me.
I found him sitting by a Fountain side,
Whose Tears had power to swell the little tide,
Which from the Marble Statues breasts still flows:
As silent and as numberless were those.
I laid me down behind a Thicket near,
Where undiscover'd I could see and hear;
The Moon the Day supply'd, and all below
Instructed, even as much as Day could do.
I saw his postures, heard him rave and cry,
_'Twas I that kill'd_ Erminia, _yes 'twas I_;
Then from his almost frantick Head he'd tear
Whole handfuls of his well-becoming Hair:
Thus would he, till his Rage was almost spent,
And then in softer terms he would lament:
Then speak as if _Erminia_ still did live,
And that Belief made him forget to grieve.
--The Marble Statue _Venus_ he mistook
For fair _Erminia_, and such things he spoke,
Such unheard passionate things, as e'en wou'd move
The marble Statue's self to fall in love;
He'd kiss its Breast, and say she kind was grown,
And never mind, alas, 'twas senseless Stone;
He took its Hand, and to his Mouth had laid it,
But that it came not, and its stay betray'd it;
Then would he blush, and all asham'd become,
His Head declining, for awhile be dumb:
His Arms upon his Breast across would lay,
Then sensibly and calmly walk away;
And in his walk a thousand things he said,
Which I forgot, yet something with me staid;
He did consult the nature of the Crime,
And still concluded that 'twas just in him;
He run o'er all his life, and found no act
That was ungenerous in him, but this fact,
From which the Justice took off the Disgrace,
And might even for an act of Virtue pass;
He did consult his Glory and his Pride;
And whilst he did so, laid his grief aside;
--Then was as calm as e'er he seem'd to be.

_Gal_. And all this while did he ne'er mention me?

_Pis_. Yes, Madam, and a thousand things he said,
By which much Shame and Passion he betray'd:
And then 'twas, Madam, I stept in and gave
Counsels, I thought him fittest to receive;
I sooth'd him up, and told him that the Crime
I had committed, had the case been mine.
I all things said that might his Griefs beguile,
And brought him to the sweetness of a Smile.
--To all I said he lent a willing ear,
And my reproaches too at last did hear.
With this insensibly I drew him on,
And with my flatteries so upon him won,
Such Gentleness infus'd into his Breast,
As has dispos'd his wearied Soul to rest:
Sleeping upon a Couch I've left him now,
And come to render this account to you.    [_Bows_.

_Gal_. _Pisaro_, 'twas the office of a Friend,
And thou'st perform'd it to a generous end:
Go on and prosper in this new design,
And when thou'st done, the glory shall be thine.

                                             [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _The Bedchamber of_ Alcippus.


    _Draws off, discovers_ Alcippus _rising from the Couch_.

_Alcip_. I cannot sleep, my Soul is so unfurnish'd
Of all that Sweetness which allow'd it rest.
--'Tis flown, 'tis flown, for ever from my breast,
And in its room eternal discords dwell,
Such as outdo the black intrigues of Hell--
Oh my fortune--

    [_Weeps, pulling out his handkerchief, drops a
    Picture with a Glass on the reverse_.

--What's here? Alas, that which I dare not look on,
And yet, why should I shun that Image here,
Which I continually about me bear?
But why, dear Picture, art thou still so gay,
Since she is gone from whom those Charms were borrow'd?
Those Eyes that gave this speaking life to thine,
Those lovely Eyes are clos'd in endless darkness;
There's not a Star in all the face of Heaven,
But now out-shines those Suns:
Suns at Noon-day dispens'd not kindlier influence.
And thou blest Mirror, that hast oft beheld
That Face, which Nature never made a fairer;
Thou that so oft her Beauties back reflected,
And made her know what wondrous power there lay
In every Feature of that lovely Face.
But she will smile no more! no more! no more!
--Why, who shall hinder her? Death, cruel Death.
--'Twas I that murder'd her--
Thou lyest--thou durst as well be damn'd as touch her,
She was all sacred; and that impious Hand
That had profanely touch'd her,
Had wither'd from the Body.
--I lov'd her--I ador'd her, and could I,
Could I approach her with unhallowed thoughts?
--No, no, I durst not--
But as devoutest Pilgrims do the Shrine.
--If I had done't,
The Gods who take the part of Innocence,
Had been reveng'd--
Why did not Thunder strike me in the Action?
Why, if the Gods be just, and I had done't,
Did they not suffer Earth to swallow me,
Quick--quick into her bosom?
--But yet I say again, it was not I,
--Let me behold this face,
That durst appear in such a Villany.
                      [_He looks in the glass_.

    _Enter_ Pisaro, _and_ Erminia _drest like an Angel with Wings_.

_Pis_. Look where he is.

_Er_. Alas, I tremble at the sight of him.

_Pis_. Fear nothing, Madam, I'll be near you still.

_Er_. Pray stay a little longer.

_Alcip_.--My Face has Horror in't pale and disfigur'd,
And lean as Envy's self--
My Eyes all bloody,--and my hanging lids
Like Midnight's mischief, hide the guilty Balls,
--And all about me calls me Murderer:
--Oh horrid Murderer!
That very Sound tears out my hated Soul,
--And to compleat my ruin,
I'll still behold this face where Murder dwells.

    [_He looks in the glass_, Erminia _steals behind him, and
    looks into it over his shoulder; he is frighted_.

Ha--what does this Glass present me?
What art thou?--speak--What art thou?
                           [_Turns by degrees towards it_.
--Sure I am fixt, what, shall the Devil fright me?
--Me shall he fright,
Who stood the Execution of a Murder?
--But 'tis that Shape, and not thy Nature frights me,
--That calls the blood out of my panting Heart,
That Traytor Heart that did conspire thy death.

_Er_. Sit down and hear me--

    [_In a tone like a Spirit, and points to a Chair; soft
    Musick begins to play, which continues all this Scene_.

To disobey, thy punishment shall be;
To live in endless torments, but ne'er die.

_Alcip_. Thou threatnest high, bold Rebel,
                         [_He sits within the Scene, bows_.

Er. Alcippus, _tell me what you see,
    What is't that I appear to be_?

_Alcip_. My blest _Erminia_ deify'd.

Er. Alcippus, _you inform me true;
    I am thus deify'd by you;
    To you I owe this blest abode,
    For I am happy as a God;
    I only come to tell thee so,
    And by that tale to end thy Woe;
    Know, Mighty Sir, your Joy's begun,
    From what last night to me was done;
    In vain you rave, in vain you weep,
    For what the Gods must ever keep;
    In vain you mourn, in vain deplore
    A loss which tears can ne'er restore.
    The Gods their Mercies will dispense,
    In a more glorious Recompence;
    A World of Blessings they've in store,
    A World of Honours, Vict'ries more;
    Thou shalt the Kingdom's Darling be,
    And Kings shall Homage pay to thee;
    Thy Sword no bounds to Conquest set,
    And thy Success that Sword shall whet;
    Princes thy Chariot-wheel shall grace,
    Whilst thou in Triumph bring'st home Peace.

    This will the Gods; thy King yet more
    Will give thee what those Gods adore;
    And what they did create for thee_,
    Alcippus, _look, for that is she_.

_Enter the_ Princess, _who goes over the Stage as a Spirit,
bows a little to_ Alcippus, _and goes off_.

_Alcip_. The Princess!    [_He offers to rise_.

Er. _Be still; 'tis she you must possess,
    'Tis she must make your happiness;
    'Tis she must lead you on to find
    Those Blessings Heaven has design'd:
    'Tis she'll conduct you, where you'll prove
    The perfect Joys of grateful Love_.

Enter _Aminta_ like Glory, _Alcander_ representing _Honour_.
They pass over and bow, and go out.

    _Glory and Honour wait on her_.

Enter two more representing _Mars_ and _Pallas_, bow and go out.

    _With_ Pallas _and the God of War_,

Enter _Olinda_ like _Fortune_, a _Page_ like _Cupid_, bow and go out.

   _Fortune and Love which ne'er agree,
   Do now united bow to thee.
   --Be wise, and of their Bounties share;
   For if_ Erminia _still was here,
   Still subject to the toils of Life,
   She never could have been thy Wife,
   Who by the Laws of Men and Heaven
   Was to another's bosom given:
   --And what Injustice thou hast done,
   Was only to thy Prince alone;
   But he has mercy, can redeem
   Those Ills which thou hast done to him.
   --But see, they all return again_.

[All the Disguis'd enter again and dance, with _Love_ in the midst,
to whom as they dance, they in order make an offer of what they carry,
which must be something to represent them by; which _Love_ refuses
with Nods, still pointing to _Alcippus_: the Dance done, they lay them
at his feet, or seem to do so, and go out.

   _What think'st thou of thy Destiny,
   Is't not agreeable to thee?
   Tell me_, Alcippus, _is't not brave?
   Is it not better than a Grave?
   Cast off your Tears, abandon Grief,
   And give what you have seen belief.
   Dress all your Looks, and be as gay
   As Virgins in the Month of_ May;
   _Deck up that Face where Sorrow grows,
   And let your Smiles adorn your brows;
   Recal your wonted Sweetness home,
   And let your Eyes all Love become:
   For what the Gods have willed and said,
   Thou hast no power to evade.
   What they decree none can withstand,
   You must obey what they command_.

[She goes out, he remains immoveable for a while.

    _Enter_ Pisaro.

_Pis_. How is it, man?--what, speechless?

_Alcip_. No.

_Pis_. I left thee on the Bed, how camest thou here?

_Alcip_. I know not.

_Pis_. Have you slept?

_Alcip_. Yes, ever since you left me;
And 'twas a kindness in thee now to wake me;
For Sleep had almost flatter'd me to Peace,
Which is a vile injustice.
Hah, _Pisaro_, I had such a Dream,
Such a fine flattering Dream--

_Pis_. How was it, pray?

_Alcip_. Nay, I will forget it;
I do not merit so much peace of mind,
As the relation of that Dream will give me:
Oh, 'twas so perfect, too,
I hardly can persuade my self I slept!
Dost thou believe there may be Apparitions?

_Pis_. Doubtless, my Lord, there be.

_Alcip_. I never could believe it till this hour,
By Heavens, I think I saw them too, _Pisaro_.

_Pis_. 'Tis very possible you're not deceiv'd.

_Alcip_. _Erminia's_ Spirit, in a glorious form.

_Pis_. I do believe you.

_Alcip_. Why, is't not strange?

_Pis_. It would have been, had I not heard already
She has this night appear'd to several Persons,
In several Shapes; the first was to the Prince;
And said so many pretty things for you,
As has persuaded him to pardon you.

_Alcip_. Oh Gods, what Fortune's mine!
I do believe the Prince is innocent
From all that thou hast said.
--But yet I wish he would dispose his Bounties
On those that would return acknowledgments;
I hate he should oblige me.

_Pis_. You are too obstinate, and must submit.

_Alcip_. It cannot be, and yet methinks I give
A strange and sudden credit to this Spirit,
It beckon'd me into another room;
I'll follow it, and know its business there.     [_Aside_.

_Pis_. Come, Sir, I am a kind of Prophet,
And can interpret Dreams too.
We'll walk a while, and you shall tell me all,
And then I would advise you what to do.

                                   [_Exeunt_.



SCENE III. _The King's Chamber_.


    _Enter_ Philander _with the_ King.

_King_. Thou'st entertain'd me with a pretty Story,
And call'd up so much Nature to thy Cause,
That I am half subjected to its Laws;
I find thy lovely Mother plead within too,
And bids me put no force upon thy Will;
Tells me thy Flame should be as unconfin'd
As that we felt when our two Souls combin'd.
Alas, _Philander_, I am old and feeble,
And cannot long survive:
But thou hast many Ages yet to number
Of Youth and Vigour; and should all be wasted
In the Embraces of an unlov'd Maid?
No, my _Philander_, if that after death
Ought could remain to me of this World's Joys,
I should remember none with more delight,
Than those of having left thee truly happy.

_Phi_. This Goodness, Sir, resembles that of Heaven,
Preserving what it made, and can be paid
Only with grateful Praise as we do that.

_King_. Go, carry on your innocent design,
And when you've done, the last act shall be mine.

                                             [_Exeunt_



SCENE IV. _The Court Gallery_.


    _Enter_ Aminta _followed by_ Alcander, Erminia _and_ Galatea;
    _they go out: re-enter_ Alcander, _and stays_ Aminta.

_Alcan_. Stay, dear _Aminta_, do not fly so fast.

_Am_. Methinks, _Alcander_, you should shun that Maid,
Of whose too much of kindness you're afraid.
'Twas not long since you parted in such feud,
And swore my treatment of you was too rude;
You vow'd you found no Beauty in my eyes,
And can you now pursue what you despise?    [_Offers to go_.

_Alcan_. Nay, do not leave me yet, for still your Scorn
Much better than your Absence may be borne.

_Am_. Well, Sir, your business, for mine requires haste.

_Alcan_. Say, fair _Aminta_, shall I never find
You'll cease this Rigour, and be kind?
Will that dear Breast no Tenderness admit?
And shall the Pain you give no Pity get?
Will you be never touch'd with what I say?
And shall my Youth and Vows be thrown away?
You know my Passion and my Humour too,
And how I die, though do not tell you so.

_Am_. What arguments will you produce to prove
You love? for yet I'll not believe you love.

_Alcan_. Since, fair _Aminta_, I did thee adore,
Alas, I am not what I was before:
My Thoughts disorder'd from my Heart do break;
And Sighs destroy my Language when I speak.
My Liberty and my Repose I gave,
To be admitted but your Slave;
And can you question such a Victory?
Or must I suffer more to make it sure?
It needs not, since these Languishments can be
Nought but the Wounds which you alone can cure.

_Am. Alcander_, you so many Vows have paid,
So many Sighs and Tears to many a Maid,
That should I credit give to what you say,
I merit being undone as well as they.
--No, no, _Alcander_, I'll no more of that.

_Alcan_. Farewel, _Aminta_, mayst thou want a Lover,
When I shall hate both thee and thy whole Sex;
I can endure your sober Cruelty,
But do despise it clad in Jollity.

                            [_Exeunt severally_.



SCENE V.


    _Discovers a Room hung with Black, a Hearse standing in it with
    Tapers round about it_, Alcippus _weeping at it, with_ Isillia,
    _and other Women with long black Veils round about the Hearse_.

_Isil_. I humbly beg, my Lord, you would forbear.

_Alcip_. Oh _Isillia_,
Thou knowest not what vast Treasure this incloses,
This sacred Pile; is there no Sorrow due to it?
Alas, I bad her not farewel at parting.
Nor did receive so much as one poor Kiss.
--Ah wretched, wretched Man!

    _Enter the_ Prince.

How, the Prince!
How suddenly my Grief submits to Rage.

_Phi. Alcippus_, why dost thou gaze thus on me?
What Horror have I in my looks that frights thee?

_Alcip_. Why, Sir, what makes you here?
I have no more Wives, no more _Erminias_;
Alas, she is dead--
Will you not give her leave to rest in peace?

_Phi_. Is this the Gratitude you pay my Favours,
That gave ye life, after your wrongs to me?
But 'twas my Sister's Kindness that preserv'd thee
And I prefer'd my Vengeance to the Gods.

_Alcip_. Your Sister is a Saint whom I adore;
But I refuse a Life that comes from you.

_Isil_. What mean you, Sir?

_Alcip_. To speak a truth, as dying Men should do.

_Phi. Alcippus_, for my Sister's sake who loves you,
I can bear more than this--you know my power,
And I can make you fear.     [_Offers to go out_.

_Alcip_. No, Prince, not whilst I am in love with dying.

_Phi_. Your love to that I see has made you impudent.

_Isil_. The Storm comes on, your Highness should avoid it.

_Phi_. Let him give place, I'll keep possession here.

_Isil_. It is the Prince's pleasure, Sir, you quit the Presence.

_Alcip_. No, this I call my Home;
And since _Erminia's_ here that does entitle it so,
I will not quit the Presence.

_Phi_. Gave thee a Title to't, _Alcippus_?

_Alcip_. Me, _Philander_!

        [_They come to each other's breast, and so draw_.

_Phi_. Thee.

_Alcip_. Me, what dare you now?

_Phi_. I dare declare that I can hear no more;
Be witness, Heaven, how justly I'm compell'd.

_Alcip_. Now, Sir, you are brave and love _Erminia_ too.

    [_The Women run all away crying; they draw out some
    one way, and some another, leaving some their Veils
    behind them, some half off, half on_.

_Phi_. We are here not safe, these Women will betray us.

_Alcip_. Sir, 'tis a work that will soon be dispatcht,
And this a place and time most proper for't.

        [_A pass or two_. Fal. _peeps in and runs away.

    Enter_ Pisaro, _runs between_.

_Pis_. Hold, Sir, are you grown desperate?
What means your Highness?     [_To the_ Prince.
_Alcippus_, what is't you design in this?

_Alcip_. To fight, _Pisaro_, and be kill'd.

_Pis_. By Heaven, you shall not fight, unless with me,
And you have so anger'd me with this rash action,
I could almost provoke you to it.

    _Enter_ Alcander.

_Alcan_. Gods, Sir, that you should thus expose your self,
The World's great Heir, against a desperate Madman!

_Pis_. Have you forgot your Apparition, Sir?

_Alcip_. Oh, 'twas an idle lying one, _Pisaro_,
And came but to intrap me.

        _To them_ Galatea, Aminta, _and_ Olinda.

_Gal_. Ah, Brother, why so cruel to your Sister?

_Phi_. Here, _Galatea_, punish my misfortune,
For yet I want the will to injure thee.
Heaven knows what provocations I receiv'd
E'er I would draw a Sword on him you lov'd.

_Gal_. Unjust _Alcippus_, how dost thou reward me?

_Alcip_. Ah, Madam, I have too much shame to live.
Had Heaven preserv'd my Innocence intire,
That I with confidence might have ador'd you,
Though I had been successless;
Yet I had liv'd and hop'd, and aim'd to merit you:
But since all hopes of that are taken from me,
My Life is but too poor a Sacrifice,
To make atonement for my Sins to you.

_Gal_. I will not answer thee to what thou hast said,
But only beg thou wilt preserve thy life,
Without which mine will be of little use to me.

_Alcip_. Might I without a sin believe this Blessing,
Sure I should be immortal.

        Falatio _peeps in again_.

_Fal_. I think I may venture, the fury is past, and the great shot
spent, the mad Captain General's wounded; so, I hope 'twill let out
some of his hot blood--

    _Enter the_ King, Cleontius, _and Attendants_.

_King_. My Love, _Alcippus_, is despis'd I see,
And you in lieu of that return you owe me,
Endeavour to destroy me.
--Is this an Object for your Rage to work on?
Behold him well, _Alcippus_, 'tis your Prince.
--Who dares gaze on him with irreverend Eyes?
The good he does you ought to adore him for,
But all his evils 'tis the Gods must punish,
Who made no Laws for Princes.

_Alcip_. Sir, I confess I'm culpable,
And were it not a sin equal to that,
To doubt you could forgive me,
I durst not hope your mercy after it.

_King_. I think with all the Tenderness I'm guilty of,
I hardly shall be brought to pardon thee.

_Phi_. I humbly beg you will forgive him, Sir,
I drew him to it against his will; I forc'd him,
And gave him language not to be indur'd
By any gallant man.

_King_. Whilst you intreat for him, who pleads for you?
For you are much the guiltier of the two,
And need'st a greater interest to persuade me.

_Alcip_. It were not just to contradict my Prince,
A Prince to whom I've been so late a Traitor;
But, Sir, 'tis I alone am criminal,
And 'twas I,
Justly I thought provok'd him to this hazard:
'Tis I was rude, impatient, insolent,
Did like a Madman animate his Anger,
Not like a generous Enemy.
Sir, when you weigh my Sorrows with this Action,
You'll find no base Design, no Villany there;
But being weary of a Life I hated,
I strove to put it off, and missing that way,
I come to make an offer of it here.

_King_. If I should take it, 'twere no more than just;
Yet once again I will allow it thee,
That thou mayst owe me for't a second time:
Manage it better than the last I gave--
                                   [_Ex_. King.

_Phi. Alcippus_, may I credit what thou'st said,
Or do you feign repentance to deceive me?

_Alcip_. I never could dissemble at my best,
And now methinks your Highness should believe me,
When my despairs and little love to life
Make me despise all ways that may preserve it.

_Phi_. If thou wouldst have me credit thee, _Alcippus_,
Thou shouldst not disesteem a Life, which ought
To be preserv'd, to give a proof that what thou say'st
Is true, and dispossess me of those fears I have,
That 'tis my Life makes thine displeasing to thee.

_Alcip_. 'Tis a high proof to give you of my Duty,
Yet that's more ease to me than your Unbelief.

_Phi_. Let me embrace and thank thee for this goodness.
     [_He offers to embrace him, but he is shy, and keeps a little off_.
Why dost receive me coldly? I'm in earnest;
As I love Honour, and esteem thee generous,
I mean thee nothing but a perfect Friendship;
By all my hopes I've no more quarrels to thee,
All ends in this Embrace, and to confirm it
I give thee here my Sister to thy Wife.

_Alcip_. Your Pardon, Sir,
I must refuse your bounty, till I know
By what strange turn of Fate I came thus blest.
To you, my Prince, I've done unheard-of injuries,
And though your Mercy do afford me life,
With this rich present too;
Till I could know I might deserve them both,
That Life will prove a Plague, and this great Gift
Turn to the torment of it.

_Phi. Alcippus_, 'tis not kind to doubt me still,
Is this a present for a Man I hate?

_Alcip_. 'Tis true, Sir, and your bounty does amaze me;
Can I receive a blessing of this magnitude
With hands, yet have not wash'd away the sin
Of your _Erminia's_ murder? think of that, Sir;
For though to me it did appear most just,
Yet you must hate the Man that has undone you.

_Gal_. I see _Erminia_ still usurps your thoughts.

_Alcip_. I must confess my Soul is scarce diverted
Of that fond Passion which I had for her;
But I protest before the Gods and you,
Did she still live, and I might still possess her,
I would refuse it, though I were ignorant
Of what the Gods and your fair self design me.

_Phi_. To doubt thee were a sin below my nature,
And to declare my faith above my fear,
Behold what I present thee with.

          [_Goes out, and enters again with_ Erminia.

_Alcip_. Ha--_Erminia_?    [_He looks afrighted_.
--It is the same appear'd to me last night,
--And my deluded Fancy
Would have persuaded me 'twas but a dream.

_Phi_. Approach her, Sir, 'tis no fantasm.

_Alcip_. 'Tis she her self, Oh Gods, _Erminia_!
        [_She goes a little back, as afraid, he kneels_.
--Ah, Madam, do not fear me in this posture,
Which I will never quit till you have pardon'd me;
It was a fault the most excusable,
That ever wretched Lover did commit;
And that which hinder'd me from following thee,
Was that I could not well repent the Crime;
But like a surly Sinner fac'd it out,
And said, I thought 'twas just, yes, fair _Erminia_;
Hadst thou been mine, I would i'th' face of Heaven,
Proclaim it just and brave revenge:
But, Madam, you were Wife to my Prince,
And that was all my sin:
Alas, in vain I hop'd for some return,
And grew impatient of th'unkind delay,
And frantickly I then out-run my happiness.

_Er_. Rise, I forgive thee, from my soul I do;
Mayst thou be happier
In thy more glorious Passion for the Princess,
And all the Joys thou e'er couldst hope from me,
Mayst thou find there repeated.

    _Enter_ King, Orgulius, _and the rest_.

_Org_. First, I'll keep my word with thee,
Receive the welcome present which I promis'd.

                    [_Gives him_ Erminia, _she kneels_.

_Er_. Can you forgive the Griefs I've made you suffer?

_Org_. I can forgive, though 'twas not kind
To let me languish in a desperate Error;
Why was this Blessing hid from me alone?

_Er_. Ah, Sir, so well I knew you lov'd _Alcippus_,
That had you known it e'er the Prince had own'd me,
I fear you had restor'd me back again,
A Sin too great to load your Soul withal.

_Org_. My King already has forgiven that Error,
And now I come to make my Peace with thee,
And that I may with greatest speed obtain it,
--To you, Sir, I resign her with as much Joy,    [_To the Prince_.
And when they undeceiv'd me
Of my opinion of her being dead--

_Phi_. And I with greater Joy receive your gift.
                                 [_Bows and takes her_.

_King_. My Lord _Alcippus_, are you pleas'd with this?

_Alcip_. Sir, I am so pleas'd, so truly pleas'd with it,
That Heaven, without this Blessing on my Prince,
Had found but little trouble from my thanks,
For all they have shower'd on me;
'Twas all I wisht, next my Pretensions here.

_King_. Then to compleat thy happiness,
Take _Galatea_, since her Passion merits thee,
As do thy Virtues her.

            [_Gives him_ Gal. _they both bow_.

_Er_. Sir, I've an humble suit t'your Majesty.

_King_. Conclude it granted then.

_Er. Falatius_, Sir, has long made love t' _Isillia_,
And now he'as gain'd her Heart, he slights the Conquest,
Yet all the fault he finds is that she's poor.

_King. Isillia's_ Beauty can supply that want;
_Falatius_, what d'ye say to't?

_Fal_. By _Jove_, Sir, I'll agree to any thing; for I believe a
handsome young Wife at Court may bring a Man a greater Fortune
than he can in Conscience desire.
                           [_Takes_ Isillia.

_Er. Aminta_, be persuaded.    [_Aside to_ Am.

_Am_. He'd use me scurvily then.

_Alcan_. That's according as you behav'd yourself, _Aminta_.

_Am_. I should domineer.

_Alcan_. I then should make love elsewhere.

_Am_. Well, I find we shall not agree then.

_Alcan_. Faith--now we have disputed a point I never thought on
before, I would willingly pursue it for the humour on't, not that
I think I shall much approve on't.

_Pis_. Give him your hand, _Aminta_, and conclude,
'Tis time this haughty humour were subdu'd.
By your submission, whatsoe'er he seem,
In time you'll make the greater Slave of him.

_Am_. Well--not from the hope of that, but from my Love,
His change of humour I'm content to prove.
Here take me, _Alcander_;
Whilst to Inconstancy I bid adieu,
I find variety enough in you.

                          [_He takes her and bows_.

_King_. Come my brave Youths, we'll toil our selves with Joys,
And when we're weary of the lazy play,
We'll search abroad to find new Conquests out,
And get fresh Appetites to new Delights:
It will redouble your vast stock of Courage,
And make th'uneasy Humour light and gentle;
When you remember even in heat of Battle,
That after all your Victories and Spoil,
You'll meet calm Peace at home in soft Embraces.
Thus may you number out your happy years,

  _Till Love and Glory no more proofs can give
  Of what they can bestow, or you receive_.

                                        [_Exeunt_.



EPILOGUE,

By a Woman.

_We charged you boldly in our first advance,
And gave the Onset_ à la mode de France,
_As each had been a_ Joan of Orleance.

_Like them our Heat as soon abated too;
Alas we could not vanquish with a Show,
Much more than that goes to the conquering you.

The Trial though will recompense the Pain,
It having wisely taught us how to reign;
'Tis Beauty only can our Power maintain.

But yet, as tributary Kings, we own
It is by you that we possess that Throne,
Where had we Victors been, we'ad reign'd alone.

And we have promised what we could not do;
A fault, methinks, might be forgiven too,
Since 'tis but what we learnt of some of you.

But we are upon equal treatment yet,
For neither conquer, since we both submit;
You to our Beauty bow, we to your Wit_.






THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON.



ARGUMENT.

Doctor Baliardo, a Neapolitan philosopher, has so applied himself to the
study of the Moon, and is enraptured to such an extent with the
mysteries of that orb, that he has come steadfastly to believe in a
lunar world, peopled, ruled and regulated like the earth. This wholly
fills and absorbs his every waking thought, and, in consequence, he
denies his daughter Elaria and his niece Bellemante to their respective
lovers, the Viceroy's two nephews, Don Cinthio and Don Charmante, as
being men of men of mere terrestial mould. The girls are, however,
secretly assisted in their amours by Scaramouch, the doctor's man, who
is himself a rival of Harlequin, Cinthio's valet, for the hand of
Mopsophil, duenna to the young ladies. Harlequin, hoping to find his way
to his mistress, gets to Bellemante's chamber but when she appears
conceals himself. The doctor, however, who has been hastily summoned to
the bedside of his brother, reported dying, returns a moment after he
has set out for a key which has been accidently dropped from his bunch
and finds Cinthio and Elaria. The gallant can only escape by pretending
to be a lunatic brought to the house for medical treatment and cure. But
during the doctor's subsequent absence, whilst the two lovers are, as
they suppose, securely entertaining their mistresses, the father is
suddenly heard to return. For the moment they evade him by feigning to
be figures in a rich tapestry (their masquing habits aiding the trick),
which Scaramouch declares he has just purchased. But this sham being
discovered, Scaramouch runs off with the candles and all slip away in
the darkness and confusion, leaving him to return in his shirt as newly
risen from bed. The doctor is bawling for help when the wily servant
totters out yawning and rubbing his eyes to explain the whole affair
away as a delusion or a vision produced by lunar agency, declaring that
there has been a visit from the Moon World of their King and the Prince
of Thunderland, who have descended a-courting Elaria and Bellemante.
This is borne out by the girls themselves, who have previously been well
primed by Mopsophil. After some intriguing between Harlequin and
Scaramouch for the duenna's hand, in the course of which the former
disguises himself in female attire and again as a country lad, the
latter as a learned apothecary, Charmante visits the doctor, and
feigning to be a cabalist profound in occult lore, bids him prepare that
night to receive Irednozor, monarch of the Moon, and the Prince of
Thunderland who will appear to wed his daughter and his niece. Harlequin
shortly after makes his entry as an ambassador from the celestial
spheres to confirm this news, and as Baliardo, overjoyed, is conversing
with him strains of music are heard to herald the arrival of the lunar
potentates. All repair to an ancient gallery, long disused, whence the
sound proceeds, and here, indeed, a pageant has been secretly arranged.
The room is discovered to be richly adorned with costly hangings and
pictures, ablaze with lights, and presently, after various masqueraders
have appeared dressed as the astronomers Keplair and Galileus, as the
different signs of the zodiac, and in other fantastic garbs, Cinthio and
Charmante are seen in a silver chariot like a half-moon, attended by a
train of heroes and amorini. There is no delay, the lovers are united in
matrimony, Baliardo being overwhelmed at the honour done his house. But
when Scaramouch and Harlequin fight a ridiculous duel, in which the
former wins, for the favour of Mopsophil, the doctor discovers the whole
trick, to wit, that the lunar courtiers are in reality his own friends
and neighbours. He soon, however, yields to the persuasions of the
lovers and the common-sense of his physician, who has taken part in the
masque, and, realizing the folly of the fables he has so long implicitly
believed, condemns his books to the fire and joins in the nuptial
rejoicings with a merry heart.



SOURCE.

Mrs. Behn's farce is derived from _Arlequin Empereur dans la Lune_,
which was played in Paris by Guiseppe-Domenico Biancolelli, a famous
Harlequin and the leading member of the Italian theatre there from 1660
to 1688. The original Italian scenes from which the French farce is
taken belonged to that impromptu Comedy, 'Commedia dell' Arte all'
Improviso,' which so far from being printed was but rarely even
committed to writing. 'The development of the intrigue by dialogue and
action was left to the native wit of the several players,' writes J.A.
Symonds in his excellent and most scholarly introduction prefacing Carlo
Gozzi's _Memoirs_. In the case of a new play, or rather a new theme, the
choregus or manager would call the company together, read out the plot,
sketch the scenario, explain all business, and leave the dialogue to the
humour and smartness of the individual performer. Their aptitude was
amazing. In Kyd's _Spanish Tragedy_ we find Heironymo, who wishes to
have a subject mounted in a hurry, saying:--

    The Italian tragedians were so sharp of wit,
    That in one hour's meditation
    They would perform anything in action.

And Lorenzo rejoins:--

    I have seen the like
    In Paris, among the French tragedians.

Of course much was bound to become stereotyped and fixed, but much was
ever fluctuating and new.

When Biancolelli died on 2 August, 1688, of pneumonia, contracted
through neglecting to change damp clothes, the loss to the Italian
theatre seemed irreparable, but in the following year an equally
celebrated Harlequin, finer and wittier if not more popular than he,
appeared in the person of Evariste Gherardi. Gherardi was a man of
culture, and he collected and edited a number of scenes, written in
French, which were on the boards intermingled and played with the
Italian farces in order to raise the tone of, and give something more
solid and durable to, these entertainments. In 1695 three volumes of
these scenes were published at Amsterdam, 'chez Adrian Braakman,' under
the title _Le Théâtre Italien, ou le Recueil de toutes les Comédies et
Scènes Françoises qui ont été jouées sur le Théâtre Italien par la
Troupe des Comediens du Roy de l'Hôtel de Bourgogne à Paris.

Arlequin Empereur dans la Lune_ had been published in its entirety
eleven years previously (1684), but it was sufficiently popular for
Gherardi to include various scenes therefrom in his collection.
Accordingly he commences his first volume by giving the 'Scène de la
Fille de Chambre', where Harlequin, disguised as a woman, pretends to
be seeking a place as waiting-maid to the Doctor--_Emperor of the Moon_,
Act ii, v. In the French, Pierrot, dressed as the Doctor's wife,
interviews the applicant. Gherardi also gives a scene between Isabella
(Elaria) and Colombine (Mopsophil); a scene where Harlequin arrives
tricked out as an Apothecary to win Colombine (in Mrs. Behn it is
Scaramouch who thus attempts to gain Mopsophil); and the final scene
which differs considerably from the conclusion of the English farce. In
Vol. II there are two further extracts 'obmises dans le premier Tome',
a dialogue between the Doctor and Harlequin, 'recit que fait Arlequin au
Docteur, du Voyage qu'il a fait dans le Monde de la Lune', and a short
passage between Harlequin and Colombine, both of which can be closely
paralleled in the English version. Mrs. Behn of course used the edition
of 1684. Her statement that she only took 'a very barren and thin hint
of the Plot' from the Italian, and again that 'all the Words are wholly
new, without one from the Original' must not be pressed too strictly,
although she has undeniably infused a new life, new wit and humour into
the alien scenes.

In Maurice Sand's standard work on Italian comedy, _Masques et Bouffons_
(Paris, 1860) there will be found copious citations from this pantomime,
the popularity of which he attributes wholly to Gherardi. It was
Biancolelli, however, who first brought it into favour and in whose
lifetime it was actually printed, a rare honour, although doubtless it
was owing to the great Gherardi that it retained and renewed its
success. Gherardi died 31 August, 1700.

As the author himself states in his preface, _Harlequin roi dans la
Lune_, a three act comedy by Bodard de Tézay, produced at the Variétés
Amusantes, 17 December, 1785, has nothing to do with the old Italian
scenes. An opera by Settle, entitled _The World in the Moon_, put on at
Drury Lane in 1697, is quite different from Mrs. Behn's farce. Settle
has written a comedy which deals with the rehearsal of a new opera, _The
New World in the Moon_. Tom Dawkins, a country lout just arrived in
London, is taken to the theatre to see the rehearsal, and ordinary comic
scenes intermingled with provision for elaborate sets, as the opera
proceeds, form the strangest jumble. The piece takes its name from the
first operatic scene, which represents a huge silver moon that gradually
wanes, whilst a song, 'Within this happy world above', is performed.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_The Emperor of the Moon_, which is certainly as Lowe says 'one of the
best pantomimic farces ever seen' on the English boards at any rate, was
produced with great success at the Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in
1687. The character of Scaramouch was admirably suited to Tony Leigh, a
low comedian 'of the mercurial kind', who 'in humour ... loved to take a
full career', whilst Tom Jevon, young, slim and most graceful of
dancers, proved the King of all Harlequins, past, present and to come.
Lee and Jevon also acted the parts of Scaramouch and Harlequin in
Mountford's three act extravaganza, _Dr. Faustus_ (4to 1697), but
produced a decade earlier, probably November, 1685. Scaramouch is the
necromancer's man, and the comic scenes, although the stage tricks are
old, prove very good pantomime. It will be remembered that Harlequin and
Scaramouch are to be found in _The Rover_, Part II. Mrs. Behn's farce
kept its place in the repertory and long remained a favourite. On 18
September, 1702, at Drury Lane, Will Pinkethman, complying with the wish
of several friends and critics, essayed Harlequin without the
traditional black mask, 'but, alas! in vain: Pinkethman could not take
to himself the shame of the character without being concealed; he was no
more _Harlequin_; his humour was quite disconcerted; his conscience
could not, with the same effrontery, declare against nature, without the
cover of that unchanging face, which he was sure would never blush for
it; no, it was quite another case; without that armour his courage could
not come up to the bold strokes that were necessary to get the better of
common sense.'

Amongst the more notable performances of _The Emperor of the Moon_ were
two at Dorset Garden on the 16 and 21 November, 1706, when Estcourt
acted Scaramouch, and Pinkethman, Harlequin. On 3 September, 1708, at
Drury Lane, Bullock was Scaramouch; Bickerstaffe, Harlequin; Johnson,
the old Doctor; Powell, Don Cinthio. At Lincoln's Inn Fields, 28 June,
1717, Bullock again sustained Scaramouch and had Spiller as his
Harlequin. Four years later, 6 February, 1721, they were acting the same
rôles at this theatre, with Mrs. Cross as Bellemante, and Quin, Ryan, in
the cast. The farce was repeated on 25 October of the same year. Bullock
and Spiller kept their favourite parts, Hall was Baliardo; Quin,
Cinthio; Ryan, Charmante; Mrs. Egleton, Mopsophil; Mrs. Bullock,
Bellemante. Doggett's _The Country Wake_ was played the same night. Ten
years later, still at this theatre, on 20 October, 1731, Hall was again
Baliardo and Mrs. Egleton, Mopsophil. On this occasion Pinkethman played
Harlequin; Hippisley, Scaramouch; Milward, Charmante; and Chapman,
Cinthio. The farce was put on as a first piece at Covent Garden, 14
February, 1739. Pinkethman was Harlequin; Rosco, Scaramouch; Arthur, the
Doctor; Hallam, Charmante; Hall, Cinthio; Mrs. James, Mopsophil; Mrs.
Vincent, Elaria; and the fair Bellamy, Bellemante. In 1748 there was a
curious rivalry between the two theatres when both produced _The Emperor
of the Moon_ on the same night, 26 December. At Covent Garden, where it
was billed 'not acted 10 years', and produced as a first piece at
considerable expense with magnificent decorations, Cushing played
Harlequin; Dunstall, Scaramouch; Sparks, Baliardo; Ryan, Charmante;
Delane, Cinthio; Peg Woffington, Bellemante; and the Bellamy, Elaria.
It was, however, a dead failure and only acted twice. Contrary to
expectation Cushing was very bad as Harlequin, whilst at Drury Lane
Woodward was excellent. At the Lane, where it was played with Mrs.
Centlivre's _A Bold Stroke for a Wife_ and billed 'not acted 20 years',
Yates took Scaramouch; Palmer, Charmante; King, Cinthio; Winstone,
Baliardo; Miss Murgatroyd, Bellemante; and the inimitable Mrs. Green,
Mopsophil. A great effect was produced when Harlequin is tossed in a
blanket, Act iii. Two long strips were sewn to the sides of the blanket
by which he held. From the front, however, they were invisible, and as
it seemed that Woodward was being thrown to a dangerous height this
spectacle immensely pleased the galleries.

In 1777 _The Emperor of the Moon_, very unnecessarily altered and by no
means bettered 'with the addition of several airs, duets, and choruses
selected from other compositions' (8vo, 1777), was produced at the
Patagonian Theatre. This theatre was situated in Exeter Change, Strand,
on a portion of the site of Burleigh House, the town house of the great
Lord Treasurer, which was afterwards known as Exeter House. It is very
doubtful if the theatre existed as such later than 1779.

There is an amusing reference to _The Emperor of the Moon_ in _The
Spectator_, No. 22 (Steele), Monday, 26 March, 1711. '_Your most humble
servant_, William Serene' writes to Mr. Spectator bewailing the fact
that nobody on the stage rises according to merit. Although grown old in
the playhouse service, and having often appeared on the boards, he has
never had a line given him to speak. None the less 'I have acted', he
asserts, 'several Parts of Household-stuff with great Applause for many
years: I am one of the Men in the Hangings in the _Emperour of the
Moon_.' [The allusion is of course to Act ii, III.] Ralph Simple,
Serene's friend, in a subsequent letter begs that upon the gentleman's
promotion to speaking parts 'I may succeed him in the Hangings, with my
Hand in the Orange-trees'. These humorous allusions are ample evidence
of the popularity of Mrs. Behn's pantomime and the frequency with which
it was performed.



TO THE LORD MARQUESS OF WORCESTER, &.


My Lord

It is a common Notion, that gathers as it goes, and is almost become a
vulgar Error, That Dedications in our Age, are only the effects of
Flattery, a form of Complement, and no more; so that the Great, to whom
they are only due, decline those Noble Patronages that were so generally
allow'd the Ancient Poets; since the Awful Custom has been so
scandaliz'd by mistaken Addresses, and many a worthy piece is lost for
want of some Honourable Protection, and sometimes many indifferent ones
traverse the World with that advantagious Pasport only.

This humble Offering, which I presume to lay at your Lordship's Feet, is
of that Critical Nature, that it does not only require the Patronage of
a great Title, but a great Man too, and there is often times a vast
difference between these two great things; and amongst all the most
Elevated, there are but very few in whom an illustrious Birth and equal
Parts compleat the Hero; but among these, your Lordship bears the first
Rank, from a just Claim, both of the glories of your Race and Vertues.
Nor need we look back into long past Ages, to bring down to ours the
Magnanimous deeds of your Ancestors: We need no more than to behold
(what we have so often done with wonder) those of the Great Duke of
_Beauford_, your Illustrious Father, whose every single Action is a
glorious and lasting President to all the future Great; whose unshaken
Loyalty, and all other eminent Vertues, have rendred him to us,
something more than Man, and which alone, deserving a whole Volume,
wou'd be here but to lessen his Fame, to mix his Grandeurs with those of
any other; and while I am addressing to the Son, who is only worthy of
that Noble Blood he boasts, and who gives the World a Prospect of those
coming Gallantries that will Equal those of his Glorious Father;
already, My Lord, all you say and do is admir'd, and every touch of your
Pen reverenc'd; the Excellency and Quickness of your Wit, is the Subject
that fits the World most agreeably. For my own part, I never presume to
contemplate your Lordship, but my Soul bows with a perfect Veneration to
your Mighty Mind; and while I have ador'd the delicate Effects of your
uncommon Wit, I have wish'd for nothing more than an Opportunity of
expressing my infinite Sense of it; and this Ambition, my Lord, was one
Motive of my present Presumption in Dedicating this Farce to your
Lordship.

I am sensible, my Lord, how far the Word Farce might have offended some,
whose Titles of Honour, a Knack in dressing, or his Art in writing a
Billet Doux, had been his chiefest Talent, and who, without considering
the Intent, Character, or Nature of the thing, wou'd have cry'd out upon
the Language, and have damn'd it (because the Persons in it did not all
talk like Heros) as too debas'd and vulgar as to entertain a Man of
Quality; but I am secure from this Censure, when your Lordship shall be
its Judge, whose refin'd Sence, and Delicacy of Judgment, will, thro'
all the humble Actions and trivialness of Business, find Nature there,
and that Diversion which was not meant for the Numbers, who comprehend
nothing beyond the Show and Buffoonry.

A very barren and thin hint of the Plot I had from the Italian, and
which, even as it was, was acted in _France_ eighty odd times without
intermission. 'Tis now much alter'd, and adapted to our English Theatre
and Genius, who cannot find an Entertainment at so cheap a Rate as the
French will, who are content with almost any Incoherences, howsoever
shuffled together under the Name of a Farce; which I have endeavour'd as
much as the thing wou'd bear, to bring within the compass of Possibility
and Nature, that I might as little impose upon the Audience as I cou'd;
all the Words are wholly new, without one from the Original. 'Twas
calculated for His late Majesty of Sacred Memory, that Great Patron of
Noble Poetry, and the Stage, for whom the Muses must for ever mourn,
and whose Loss, only the Blessing of so Illustrious a Successor can ever
repair; and 'tis a great Pity to see that best and most useful Diversion
of Mankind, whose Magnificence of old, was the most certain sign of a
flourishing State, now quite undone by the Misapprehension of the
Ignorant, and Mis-representing of the Envious, which evidently shows the
World is improv'd in nothing but Pride, Ill Nature, and affected Nicety;
and the only Diversion of the Town now, is high Dispute, and publick
Controversies in Taverns, Coffee-houses, &. and those things which ought
to be the greatest Mysteries in Religion, and so rarely the Business of
Discourse, are turn'd into Ridicule, and look but like so many fanatical
Stratagems to ruine the Pulpit as well as the Stage. The Defence of the
first is left to the Reverend Gown, but the departing Stage can be no
otherwise restor'd, but by some leading Spirits, so Generous, so Publick,
and so Indefatigable as that of your Lordship, whose Patronages are
sufficient to support it, whose Wit and Judgment to defend it, and whose
Goodness and Quality to justifie it; such Encouragement wou'd inspire the
Poets with new Arts to please, and the Actors with Industry. 'Twas this
that occasion'd so many Admirable Plays heretofore, as Shakespear's,
Fletcher's_, and _Johnson's_, and 'twas this alone that made the Town
able to keep so many Play-houses alive, who now cannot supply one.
However, My Lord, I, for my part, will no longer complain, if this
Piece find but favour in your Lordship's Eyes, and that it can be so
happy to give your Lordship one hour's Diversion, which is the only
Honour and Fame is wish'd to crown the Endeavours of,

                                              My Lord,
                                                Your Lordship's
                                                  Most Humble, and
                                                    Most Obedient
                                                      Servant,
                                                        A. BEHN.




THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON.


PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. _Jevern_.

_Long, and at vast Expence, th'industrious Stage
Has strove to please a dull ungrateful Age:
With Heroes and with Gods we first began,
And thunder'd to you in heroick Strain:
Some dying Love-sick Queen each Night you injoy'd,
And with Magnificence at last were cloy'd:
Our Drums and Trumpets frighted all the Women;
Our Fighting scar'd the Beaux and Billet-Doux Men.
So Spark in an Intrigue of Quality,
Grows weary of his splendid Drudgery;
Hates the Fatigue, and cries a Pox upon her,
What a damn'd Bustle's here with Love and Honour?

In humbler Comedy we next appear,
No Fop or Cuckold, but slap-dash we had him here;
We showed you all, but you malicious grown,       |
Friends Vices to expose, and hide your own;       |
Cry, damn it--This is such, or such a one.        |
Yet nettled, Plague, what does the Scribler mean?
With his damn'd Characters, and Plot obscene.
No Woman without Vizard in the Nation
Can see it twice, and keep her reputation--
That's certain, Forgetting--
That he himself, in every gross Lampoon,
Her leuder Secrets spread about the Town;
Whilst their feign'd Niceness is but cautious Fear,
Their own Intrigues should be unravel'd here.

Our next Recourse was dwindling down to Farce,
Then--Zounds, what Stuff's here? 'tis all o'er my--
Well, Gentlemen, since none of these has sped,
Gad, we have bought a Share i'th' speaking Head.
So there you'll save a Sice,               |
You love good Husbandry in all but Vice;   |
Whoring and drinking only bears a Price.   |_

    [The Head rises upon a twisted Post, on a Bench from
    under the Stage. After _Jevern_ speaks to its Mouth.

_Oh!--Oh!--Oh_!

Stentor. _Oh!--Oh!--Oh_!

    [After this it sings _Sawny_, laughs, crys God bless
    the King in order.

Stentor answers.

_Speak louder_, Jevern, _if you'd have me repeat;
Plague of this Rogue, he will betray the Cheat_.
            [He speaks louder, it answers indirectly.
_--Hum--There 'tis again,
Pox of your Eccho with a Northern Strain.
Well--This will be but a nine days Wonder too;
There's nothing lasting but the Puppets Show.
What Ladies Heart's so hard, but it would move,
To hear_ Philander _and_ Irene's _Love?
Those Sisters too the scandalous Wits do say,
Two nameless keeping Beaux have made so gay;
But those Amours are perfect Sympathy,
Their Gallants being as mere Machines as they.
Oh! how the City Wife, with her nown Ninny,
Is charm'd with, Come into my Coach,--Miss_ Jenny, _Miss_ Jenny.
_But overturning_--Frible _crys--Adznigs,
The jogling Rogue has murder'd all his Kids.
The Men of War cry, Pox on't, this is dull,
We are for rough Sports,--Dog Hector, and the Bull.
Thus each in his degree, Diversion finds,
Your Sports are suited to your mighty Minds;
Whilst so much Judgment in your Choice you show,
The Puppets have more Sense than some of you_.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


MEN.

_Doctor_ Baliardo,                                   Mr. _Underhill_.
Scaramouch, _his Man_,                               Mr. _Lee_.
Pedro, _his Boy_.
Don Cinthio, Don Charmante, _both Nephews_           Young Mr. _Powel_.
   _to the Vice-Roy, and Lovers of_ Elaria _and_     Mr. _Mumford_.
   Bellemante,
Harlequin, Cinthio's _Man_,                          Mr. _Jevern_.
_Officer and Clerk_.
_Page_.

WOMEN.

Elaria, _Daughter to the Doctor_,                    Mrs. _Cooke_.
Bellemante, _Niece to the Doctor_,                   Mrs. _Mumford_.
Florinda, _Cousin to_ Elaria _and_ Bellemante.
Mopsophil, _Governante to the young Ladies_,         Mrs. _Cory_.
_The Persons in the Moon, are_ Don Cinthio, _Emperor_;
   Don Charmante, _Prince of_ Thunderland.
_Their Attendants, Persons that represent the Court Cards_.
Keplair _and_ Galileus, _two Philosophers_.
_Twelve Persons, representing the Figures of the twelve Signs of the
   Zodiack_.
_Negroes, and Persons that dance_.
_Musick, Kettle-Drums, and Trumpets_.

The SCENE, _NAPLES_.




ACT I.

SCENE I. _A Chamber_.


      _Enter_ Elaria _and_ Mopsophil.

  I.

  _A Curse upon that faithless Maid,
  Who first her Sex's Liberty betray'd;
  Born free as Man to Love and Range,
  Till nobler Nature did to Custom change,
  Custom, that dull excuse for Fools,
  Who think all Virtue to consist in Rules_.

  II.

  _From Love our Fetters never sprung;
  That smiling God, all wanton, gay and young,
  Shows by his Wings he cannot be
  Confined to a restless Slavery;
  But here and there at random roves,
  Not fix'd to glittering Courts, or shady Groves_.

  III.

  _Then she that Constancy profess'd
  Was but a well Dissembler at the best;
  And that imaginary Sway
  She feign'd to give, in seeming to obey,
  Was but the height of prudent Art,
  To deal with greater liberty her Heart_.

      [After the Song _Elaria_ gives her Lute to _Mopsophil_.

_Ela_. This does not divert me;
Nor nothing will, till _Scaramouch_ return,
And bring me News of _Cinthio_.

_Mop_. Truly I was so sleepy last Night, I know nothing of the
Adventure, for which you are kept so close a Prisoner to day, and more
strictly guarded than usual.

_Ela. Cinthio_ came with Musick last Night under my Window, which my
Father hearing, sallied out with his _Mirmidons_ upon him; and clashing
of Swords I heard, but what hurt was done, or whether _Cinthio_ were
discovered to him, I know not; but the Billet I sent him now by
_Scaramouch_ will occasion me soon Intelligence.

_Mop_. And see, Madam, where your trusty _Roger_ comes.

    _Enter_ Scaramouch, _peeping on all sides before he enters_.

You may advance, and fear none but your Friends.

_Scar_. Away, and keep the door.

_Ela_. Oh, dear _Scaramouch_! hast thou been at the Vice-Roy's?

_Scar_. Yes, yes.    [_In heat_.

_Ela_. And hast thou delivered my Letter to his Nephew, Don _Cinthio_?

_Scar_. Yes, yes, what should I deliver else?

_Ela_. Well--and how does he?

_Scar_. Lord, how should he do? Why, what a laborious thing it is to be
a Pimp?    [_Fanning himself with his Cap_.

_Ela_. Why, well he shou'd do.

_Scar_. So he is, as well as a Night-adventuring Lover can be,--he has
got but one Wound, Madam.

_Ela_. How! wounded say you? Oh Heavens! 'tis not mortal.

_Scar_. Why, I have no great skill; but they say it may be dangerous.

_Ela_. I die with Fear, where is he wounded?

_Scar_. Why, Madam, he is run--quite through the Heart,--but the Man may
live, if I please.

_Ela_. Thou please! torment me not with Riddles.

_Scar_. Why, Madam, there is a certain cordial Balsam, call'd a Fair
Lady; which outwardly applied to his Bosom, will prove a better cure
than all your Weapon or sympathetick Powder, meaning your Ladyship.

_Ela_. Is _Cinthio_ then not wounded?

_Scar_. No otherwise than by your fair Eyes, Madam; he got away unseen
and unknown.

_Ela_. Dost know how precious time is, and dost thou fool it away thus?
What said he to my Letter?

_Scar_. What should he say?

_Ela_. Why, a hundred dear soft things of Love, kiss it as often, and
bless me for my Goodness.

_Scar_. Why, so he did.

_Ela_. Ask thee a thousand Questions of my Health after my last night's
fright.

_Scar_. So he did.

_Ela_. Expressing all the kind concern Love cou'd inspire, for the
Punishment my Father has inflicted on me, for entertaining him at my
Window last night.

_Scar_. All this he did.

_Ela_. And for my being confin'd a Prisoner to my Apartment, without the
hope or almost possibility of seeing him any more.

_Scar_. There I think you are a little mistaken; for besides the Plot
that I have laid to bring you together all this Night,--there are such
Stratagems a brewing, not only to bring you together, but with your
Father's consent too; such a Plot, Madam--

_Ela_. Ay, that would be worthy of thy Brain; prithee what?--

_Scar_. Such a Device--

_Ela_. I'm impatient.

_Scar_. Such a Conundrum,--Well, if there be wise Men and Conjurers in
the World, they are intriguing Lovers.

_Ela_. Out with it.

_Scar_. You must know, Madam, your Father (my Master, the Doctor) is a
little whimsical, romantick, or Don-Quicksottish, or so.

_Ela_. Or rather mad.

_Scar_. That were uncivil to be supposed by me; but lunatic we may call
him, without breaking the Decorum of good Manners; for he is always
travelling to the Moon.

_Ela_. And so religiously believes there is a World there, that he
Discourses as gravely of the People, their Government, Institutions,
Laws, Manners, Religion, and Constitution, as if he had been bred a
_Machiavel_ there.

_Scar_. How came he thus infected first?

_Ela_. With reading foolish Books, _Lucian's Dialogue of the Lofty
Traveller_, who flew up to the Moon, and thence to Heaven; an heroick
Business, call'd _The Man in the Moon_, if you'll believe a _Spaniard_,
who was carried thither, upon an Engine drawn by wild Geese; with
another Philosophical Piece, _A Discourse of the World in the Moon_;
with a thousand other ridiculous Volumes, too hard to name.

_Scar_. Ay, this reading of Books is a pernicious thing. I was like to
have run mad once, reading Sir _John Mandevil_;--but to the business,--I
went, as you know, to Don _Cinthio's_ Lodgings, where I found him with
his dear Friend _Charmante_, laying their Heads together for a Farce.

_Ela_. Farce!

_Scar_. Ay, a Farce, which shall be call'd,--_The World in the Moon_:
Wherein your Father shall be so impos'd on, as shall bring matters most
magnificently about.

_Ela_. I cannot conceive thee, but the Design must be good, since
_Cinthio_ and _Charmante_ own it.

_Scar_. In order to this, _Charmante_ is dressing himself like one of
the Caballists of the _Rosycrusian_ Order, and is coming to prepare my
credulous Master for the greater Imposition. I have his Trinkets here to
play upon him, which shall be ready.

_Ela_. But the Farce, where is it to be acted?

_Scar_. Here, here, in this very House; I am to order the Decorations,
adorn a Stage, and place Scenes proper.

_Ela_. How can this be done without my Father's Knowledge?

_Scar_. You know the old Apartment next the great Orchard, and the
Worm-eaten Gallery that opens to the River; which place for several
Years no body has frequented; there all things shall be acted proper for
our purpose.

    _Enter_ Mopsophil _running_.

_Mop_. Run, run, _Scaramouch_, my Master's conjuring for you like mad
below, he calls up all his little Devils with horrid Names, his
Microscope, his Horoscope, his Telescope, and all his Scopes.

_Scar_. Here, here,--I had almost forgot the Letters; here's one for
you, and one for Mrs. _Bellemante_.
                             [_Runs out_.

    _Enter_ Bellemante _with a Book_.

_Bell_. Here, take my Prayer-Book, _Oh Ma tres chère_.  [_Embraces her_.

_Ela_. Thy Eyes are always laughing, _Bellemante_.

_Bell_. And so would yours, had they been so well employ'd as mine, this
morning. I have been at the Chapel, and seen so many Beaus, such a
number of Plumeys, I cou'd not tell which I should look on most;
sometimes my Heart was charm'd with the gay Blonding, then with the
melancholy Noire, anon the amiable Brunet; sometimes the bashful, then
again the bold; the little now, anon the lovely tall: In fine, my Dear,
I was embarass'd on all sides, I did nothing but deal my Heart _tout
autour_.

_Ela_. Oh, there was then no danger, Cousin.

_Bell_. No, but abundance of pleasure.

_Ela_. Why, this is better than sighing for _Charmante_.

_Bell_. That's when he's present only, and makes his Court to me; I can
sigh to a Lover, but will never sigh after him:--but Oh, the Beaus, the
Beaus, Cousin, that I saw at Church.

_Ela_. Oh, you had great devotion to Heaven then!

_Bell_. And so I had; for I did nothing but admire its Handy-work, but I
cou'd not have pray'd heartily, if I had been dying; but a duce on't,
who shou'd come in and spoil all but my Lover _Charmante_, so dress'd,
so gallant, that he drew together all the scatter'd fragments of my
Heart, confin'd my wandering Thoughts, and fixt 'em all on him: Oh, how
he look'd, how he was dress'd!

  SINGS.

  _Chevalier à Cheveux blonds,
  Plus de Mouche, plus de Poudre,
  Plus de Ribons et Cannons_.

--Oh, what a dear ravishing thing is the beginning of an Amour!

_Ela_. Thou'rt still in Tune, when wilt thou be tame, _Bellemante_?

_Bell_. When I am weary of loving, _Elaria_.

_Ela_. To keep up your Humour, here's a Letter from your _Charmante_.

Bellemante _reads_.

  _Malicious Creature, when wilt thou cease to torment
  me, and either appear less charming, or more kind? I languish
  when from you, and am wounded when I see you, and yet I am
  eternally courting my Pain. _Cinthio_ and I, are contriving
  how we shall see you to Night. Let us not toil in vain; we
  ask but your consent; the Pleasure will be all ours, 'tis therefore
  fit we suffer all the Fatigue. Grant this, and love me, if you
  will save the Life of_
                                    Your _Charmante_.

--Live then, _Charmante_! Live as long as Love can last!

_Ela_. Well, Cousin, _Scaramouch_ tells me of a rare design's a
hatching, to relieve us from this Captivity; here are we mew'd up to be
espous'd to two Moon-calfs for ought I know; for the Devil of any human
thing is suffer'd to come near us without our Governante and Keeper, Mr.
_Scaramouch_.

_Bell_. Who, if he had no more Honesty and Conscience than my Uncle,
wou'd let us pine for want of Lovers: but thanks be prais'd, the
Generosity of our Cavaliers has open'd their obdurate Hearts with a
Golden Key, that lets 'em in at all Opportunities. Come, come, let's in,
and answer their Billet-Doux.

                          [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _A Garden_.


    _Enter_ Doctor, _with all manner of Mathematical Instruments
    hanging at his Girdle_; Scaramouch _bearing a Telescope twenty
    (or more) Foot long_.

_Doct_. Set down the Telescope.--Let me see, what Hour is it?

_Scar_. About six a Clock, Sir.

_Doct_. Then 'tis about the Hour that the great Monarch of the Upper
World enters into his Closet; Mount, mount the Telescope.

_Scar_. What to do, Sir?

_Doct_. I understand, at certain moments critical, one may be snatch'd
of such a mighty consequence, to let the Sight into the Secret Closet.

_Scar_. How, Sir, peep into the King's Closet! under favour, Sir, that
will be something uncivil.

_Doct_. Uncivil! it were flat Treason if it should be known; but thus
unseen, and as wise Politicians shou'd, I take survey of all: This is
the Statesman's Peeping-hole, thorow which he steals the Secrets of his
King, and seems to wink at distance.

_Scar_. The very Key-hole, Sir, thorow which, with half an Eye, he sees
him even at his Devotion, Sir.

                                 [_A knocking at the Garden-gate_.

_Doct_. Take care none enter.

                                 [Scar. _goes to the Door_.

_Scar_. Oh, Sir, Sir, here's some strange great Man come to wait on you.

_Doct_. Great Man! from whence?

_Scar_. Nay, from the Moon-World, for ought I know, for he looks not
like the People of the lower Orb.

_Doct_. Ha! and that may be; wait on him in.

                                                [_Exit_ Scar.

    _Enter_ Scaramouch _bare, bowing before_ Charmante, _dress'd in
    a strange fantastical Habit, with_ Harlequin; _salutes the_ Doctor.

_Char_. Doctor _Baliardo_, most learned Sir, all Hail! Hail from the
great Caballa of _Eutopia_.

_Doct_. Most reverend _Bard_, thrice welcome.    [_Salutes him low_.

_Char_. The Fame of your great Learning, Sir, and Virtue is known with
Joy to the renown'd Society.

_Doct_. Fame, Sir, has done me too much Honour, to bear my Name to the
renown'd _Caballa_.

_Char_. You must not attribute it all to Fame, Sir, they are too learned
and wise to take up things from Fame, Sir: our Intelligence is by ways
more secret and sublime, the Stars, and little Daemons of the Air inform
us all things, past, present, and to come.

_Doct_. I must confess the Count of _Gabalis_ renders it plain, from
Writ divine and humane, there are such friendly and intelligent Daemons.

_Char_. I hope you do not doubt that Doctrine, Sir, which holds that the
Four Elements are peopled with Persons of a Form and Species more divine
than vulgar Mortals--those of the fiery Regions we call the
_Salamanders_, they beget Kings and Heroes, with Spirits like their
Deietical Sires; the lovely Inhabitants of the Water, we call Nymphs;
those of the Earth are Gnomes or Fairies; those of the Air are Sylphs.
These, Sir, when in Conjunction with Mortals, beget immortal Races; such
as the first-born Man, which had continu'd so, had the first Man ne'er
doated on a Woman.

_Doct_. I am of that opinion, Sir; Man was not made for Woman.

_Char_. Most certain, Sir, Man was to have been immortaliz'd by the Love
and Conversation of these charming Sylphs and Nymphs, and Women by the
Gnomes and Salamanders, and to have stock'd the World with Demi-Gods,
such as at this Day inhabit the Empire of the Moon.

_Doct_. Most admirable Philosophy and Reason!--But do these Sylphs and
Nymphs appear in Shapes?

_Char_. The most beautiful of all the Sons and Daughters of the
Universe: Fancy, Imagination is not half so charming: And then so soft,
so kind! but none but the _Caballa_ and their Families are blest with
their divine Addresses. Were you but once admitted to that Society--

_Doct_. Ay, Sir, what Virtues or what Merits can accomplish me for that
great Honour?

_Char_. An absolute abstinence from carnal thought, devout and pure of
Spirit; free from Sin.

_Doct_. I dare not boast my Virtues, Sir; Is there no way to try my
Purity?

_Char_. Are you very secret?

_Doct_. 'Tis my first Principle, Sir.

_Char_. And one, the most material in our _Rosycrusian_ order.--Please
you to make a Tryal?

_Doct_. As how, Sir, I beseech you?

_Char_. If you be thorowly purg'd from Vice, the Opticles of your Sight
will be so illuminated, that glancing through this Telescope, you may
behold one of these lovely Creatures, that people the vast Region of
the Air.

_Doct_. Sir, you oblige profoundly.

_Char_. Kneel then, and try your strength of Virtue. Sir,--Keep your Eye
fix'd and open.    [_He looks in the Telescope_.

    [_While he is looking_, Charmante _goes to the Door to_ Scaramouch,
    _who waited on purpose without, and takes a Glass with a Picture of
    a Nymph on it, and a Light behind it; that as he brings it, it shews
    to the Audience. Goes to the end of the Telescope_.

--Can you discern, Sir?

_Doct_. Methinks, I see a kind of glorious Cloud drawn up--and now, 'tis
gone again.

_Char_. Saw you no Fuger?

_Doct_. None.

_Char_. Then make a short Prayer to _Alikin_, the Spirit of the East;
shake off all earthly Thoughts, and look again.

    [_He prays_. Charmante _puts the Glass into the Mouth
    of the Telescope_.

_Doct_.--Astonish'd, ravish'd with Delight, I see a Beauty young and
Angel-like, leaning upon a Cloud.

_Char_. Seems she on a Bed? then she's reposing, and you must not gaze.

_Doct_. Now a Cloud veils her from me.

_Char_. She saw you peeping then, and drew the Curtain of the Air
between.

_Doct_. I am all Rapture, Sir, at this rare Vision--is't possible, Sir,
that I may ever hope the Conversation of so divine a Beauty?

_Char_. Most possible, Sir; they will court you, their whole delight is
to immortalize--_Alexander_ was begot by a Salamander, that visited his
Mother in the form of a Serpent, because he would not make King _Philip_
jealous; and that famous Philosopher _Merlin_ was begotten on a Vestal
Nun, a certain King's Daughter, by a most beautiful young Salamander; as
indeed all the Heroes, and Men of mighty Minds are.

_Doct_. Most excellent!

_Char_. The Nymph _Egeria_, inamour'd on _Numa Pompilius_, came to him
invisible to all Eyes else, and gave him all his Wisdom and Philosophy.
_Zoroaster, Trismegistus, Apuleius, Aquinius, Albertus Magnus, Socrates_
and _Virgil_ had their Zilphid, which the Foolish call'd their Daemon or
Devil. But you are wise, Sir.

_Doct_. But do you imagine, Sir, they will fall in love with an old
Mortal?

_Char_. They love not like the Vulgar, 'tis the immortal Part they doat
upon.

_Doct_. But, Sir, I have a Niece and Daughter which I love equally, were
it not possible they might be immortaliz'd?

_Char_. No doubt on't, Sir, if they be pure and chaste.

_Doct_. I think they are, and I'll take care to keep 'em so; for I
confess, Sir, I would fain have a Hero to my Grandson.

_Char_. You never saw the Emperor of the Moon, Sir, the mighty
_Iredonozar_?

_Doct_. Never, Sir; his Court I have, but 'twas confusedly too.

_Char_. Refine your Thoughts, Sir, by a Moment's Prayer, and try again.

    [_He prays_. Char. _claps the Glass with the Emperor on it,
    he looks in and sees it_.

_Doct_. It is too much, too much for mortal Eyes! I see a Monarch seated
on a Throne--but seems most sad and pensive.

_Char_. Forbear then, Sir; for now his Love-Fit's on, and then he wou'd
be private.

_Doct_. His Love-Fit, Sir!

_Char_. Ay, Sir, the Emperor's in love with some fair Mortal.

_Doct_. And can he not command her?

_Char_. Yes, but her Quality being too mean, he struggles, though a
King, 'twixt Love and Honour.

_Doct_. It were too much to know the Mortal, Sir?

_Char_. 'Tis yet unknown, Sir, to the Caballists, who now are using all
their Arts to find her, and serve his Majesty; but now my great Affair
deprives me of you: To morrow, Sir, I'll wait on you again; and now I've
try'd your Virtue, tell you Wonders.

_Doct_. I humbly kiss your Hands, most learned Sir.

    [Charmante _goes out_. Doctor _waits on him to the Door,
    and returns: to him_ Scaramouch. _All this while_ Harlequin
    _was hid in the Hedges, peeping now and then, and when his
    Master went out he was left behind_.

_Scar_. So, so, Don _Charmante_ has played his Part most exquisitely;
I'll in and see how it works in his Pericranium.
--Did you call, Sir?

_Doct. Scaramouch_, I have, for thy singular Wit and Honesty, always
had a Tenderness for thee above that of a Master to a Servant.

_Scar_. I must confess it, Sir.

_Doct_. Thou hast Virtue and Merit that deserves much.

_Scar_. Oh Lord, Sir!

_Doct_. And I may make thee great;--all I require, is, that thou wilt
double thy diligent Care of my Daughter and my Niece; for there are
mighty things design'd for them, if we can keep 'em from the sight
of Man.

_Scar_. The sight of Man, Sir!

_Doct_. Ay, and the very Thoughts of Man.

_Scar_. What Antidote is there to be given to a young Wench, against the
Disease of Love and Longing?

_Doct_. Do you your Part, and because I know thee discreet and very
secret, I will hereafter discover Wonders to thee. On pain of Life, look
to the Girls; that's your Charge.

_Scar_. Doubt me not, Sir, and I hope your Reverence will reward my
faithful Services with _Mopsophil_, your Daughter's Governante, who is
rich, and has long had my Affection, Sir.

    [Harlequin _peeping, cries Oh Traitor_!

_Doct_. Set not thy Heart on transitory Mortal, there's better things in
store--besides, I have promis'd her to a Farmer for his Son.--Come in
with me, and bring the Telescope.

                            [_Ex_. Doctor _and_ Scaramouch.

    Harlequin _comes out on the Stage_.

_Har_. My Mistress _Mopsophil_ to marry a Farmer's Son! What, am I then
forsaken, abandon'd by the false fair One? If I have Honour, I must die
with Rage; Reproaching gently, and complaining madly. It is resolv'd,
I'll hang my self--No, when did I ever hear of a Hero that hang'd him
self?--No, 'tis the Death of Rogues. What if I drown my self?--No,
Useless Dogs and Puppies are drown'd; a Pistol or a Caper on my own
Sword wou'd look more nobly, but that I have a natural Aversion to Pain.
Besides, it is as vulgar as Rats-bane, or the slicing of the Weasand.
No, I'll die a Death uncommon, and leave behind me an eternal Fame. I
have somewhere read an Author, either antient or modern, of a Man that
laugh'd to death.--I am very ticklish, and am resolv'd to die that
Death.--Oh, _Mopsophil_, my cruel _Mopsophil_!
                                 [_Pulls off his Hat, Sword and Shoes_.
And now, farewel the World, fond Love, and mortal Cares.

    [_He falls to tickle himself, his Head, his Ears, his Armpits,
    Hands, Sides, and Soles of his Feet; making ridiculous Cries
    and Noises of Laughing several ways, with Antick Leaps and Skips,
    at last falls down as dead.

    Enter_ Scaramouch.

_Scar. Harlequin_ was left in the Garden, I'll tell him the News
of _Mopsophil_.    [Going forward, tumbles over him.
Ha, what's here? _Harlequin_ dead!
                   [_Heaving him up, he flies into a Rage_.

_Har_. Who is't that thus wou'd rob me of my Honour?

_Scar_. Honour, why I thought thou'dst been dead.

_Ha_. Why, so I was, and the most agreeably dead.

_Scar_. I came to bemoan with thee the mutual loss of our Mistress.

_Har_. I know it, Sir, I know it, and that thou art as false as she:
Was't not a Covenant between us, that neither shou'd take advantage of
the other, but both shou'd have fair play, and yet you basely went to
undermine me, and ask her of the Doctor; but since she's gone, I scorn
to quarrel for her--But let's like loving Brothers, hand in hand, leap
from some Precipice into the Sea.

_Scar_. What, and spoil all my Clothes? I thank you for that; no, I have
a newer way: you know I lodge four pair of Stairs high, let's ascend
hither, and after saying our Prayers--

_Har_. Prayers! I never heard of a dying Hero that ever pray'd.

_Scar_. Well, I'll not stand with you for a Trifle--Being come up, I'll
open the Casement, take you by the Heels, and sling you out into the
Street; after which, you have no more to do, but to come up and throw me
down in my turn.

_Har_. The Atchievement's great and new; but now I think on't, I'm
resolv'd to hear my Sentence from the Mouth of the perfidious Trollop,
for yet I cannot credit it.

  I'll to the Gipsy, though I venture banging,
  To be undeceiv'd, 'tis hardly worth the hanging.

                                             [_Exeunt_.



SCENE III. _The Chamber of_ Bellemante.


    _Enter_ Scaramouch _groping_.

_Scar_. So, I have got rid of my Rival, and shall here get an
Opportunity to speak with _Mopsophil_; for hither she must come anon,
to lay the young Lady's Night-things in order; I'll hide my self in
some Corner till she come.
                       [_Goes on to the further side of the Stage_.

    _Enter_ Harlequin _groping_.

_Har_. So, I made my Rival believe I was gone, and hid my self till I
got this Opportunity to steal to _Mopsophil's_ Apartment, which must be
hereabouts; for from these Windows she us'd to entertain my Love.
                                                            [_Advances_.

_Scar_. Ha, I hear a soft Tread,--if it were _Mopsophil's_, she wou'd
not come by dark.

    [Harlequin _advancing runs against a Table, and almost
    strikes himself backwards_.

_Har_. What was that?--a Table, there I may obscure my self.
                                               [_Groping for the Table_.
What a Devil, is it vanish'd?

_Scar_. Devil,--vanish'd! What can this mean? 'Tis a Man's Voice.--If it
should be my Master the Doctor now, I were a dead Man;--he can't see me;
and I'll put my self into such a Posture, that if he feel me, he shall
as soon take me for a Church Spout as a Man.

    [_He puts himself into a Posture ridiculous, his Arms a-kimbo,
    his Knees wide open, his Backside almost touching the Ground,
    his Mouth stretched wide, and Eyes staring_. Har. _groping
    thrusts his Hand into his Mouth, he bites him, the other dares
    not cry out_.

_Har_. Ha, what's this? all Mouth, with twenty rows of Teeth.--Now dare
not I cry out, lest the Doctor shou'd come, find me here, and kill
me--I'll try if it be mortal.

    [_Making damnable Faces and signs of Pain, he draws a Dagger_. Scar.
    _feels the Point of it, and shrinks back, letting go his Hand_.

_Scar_. Who the Devil can this be? I felt a Poniard, and am glad I sav'd
my Skin from pinking.    [_Steals out_.

        [Harlequin _groping about, finds the Table, on which
        there is a Carpet, and creeps under it, listening_.

    _Enter_ Bellemante, _with a Candle in one Hand,
    and a Book in the other_.

_Bell_. I am in a _Belle_ Humor for Poetry to-night;
I'll make some Boremes on Love.    [_She writes and studies_.
_Out of a great Curiosity,--A Shepherd did demand of me_.--
No, no,--_A Shepherd this implor'd of me_.
                                [_Scratches out, and writes a-new_.
Ay, ay, so it shall go.--_Tell me, said he, can you resign?--
Resign_, ay, what shall rhyme to _Resign?--Tell me, said he_.--
                      [_She lays down the Tablets, and walks about_.

    [Harlequin _peeps from under the Table, takes the Book,
    writes in it, and lays it up before she can turn_.

[_Reads_.] Ay, ay, so it shall be,--_Tell me, said he, my_
Bellemante; _Will you be kind to your_ Charmante?
                          [_Reads those two lines, and is amaz'd_.
Ha, Heav'ns! What's this? I am amaz'd!
--And yet I'll venture once more.    [_Writes and studies_.
--_I blushed and veil'd my wishing Eyes_.
             [_Lays down the Book, and walks as before_.
--_Wishing Eyes_!    [Har. _writes as before_.
            [_She turns and takes the Tablet_.
--_And answer'd only with my Sighs_.
Ha! What is this? Witchcraft, or some Divinity of Love?
Some Cupid sure invisible.
Once more I'll try the Charm.    [_Writes_.
--Cou'd I a better way my Love impart?
                      [_Studies and walks_.
--_Impart_--    [_He writes as before_.
--_And without speaking, tell him all my Heart_.
--'Tis here again, but where's the Hand that writ it?
                                          [_Looks about_.
--The little Deity that will be seen
But only in his Miracles. It cannot be a Devil,
For here's no Sin nor Mischief in all this.

    _Enter_ Charmante. _She hides the Tablet, he steps
    to her, and snatches it from her and reads_.

_Char_. reads.

  _Out of a great Curiosity,
  A Shepherd this implor'd of me.
  Tell me, said he, my_ Bellemante,
  _Will you be kind to your_ Charmante?
  _I blush'd, and veil'd my wishing Eyes,
  And answer'd only with my Sighs.
  Cou'd I a better way my Love impart?
  And without speaking, tell him all my Heart_.

_Char_. Whose is this different Character?    [_Looks angry_.

_Bell_. 'Tis yours for ought I know.

_Char_. Away, my Name was put here for a blind.
What Rhiming Fop have you been clubbing Wit withal?

_Bell_. Ah! _mon Dieu!--Charmante_ jealous?

_Char_. Have I not cause?--Who writ these Boremes?

_Bell_. Some kind assisting Deity, for ought I know.

_Char_. Some kind assisting Coxcomb, that I know.
The Ink's yet wet, the Spark is near I find.--

_Bell_. Ah, _Malheureuse_! How was I mistaken in this Man?

_Char_. Mistaken! What, did you take me for an easy Fool to be impos'd
upon?--One that wou'd be cuckolded by every feather'd Fool; that you'd
call a _Beau un Gallant Homme_. 'Sdeath! Who wou'd doat upon a fond
She-Fop?--a vain conceited amorous Coquette.
                             [_Goes out, she pulls him back_.

    _Enter_ Scaramouch _running_.

_Sea_. Oh Madam! hide your Lover, or we are all undone.

_Char_. I will not hide, till I know the thing that made the Verses.
                                 [_The Doctor calling as on the Stairs_.

_Doct. Bellemante_, Niece,--_Bellemante_.

_Scar_. She's coming, Sir.--Where, where shall I hide him?
--Oh, the Closet's open!
            [_Thrusts him into the Closet by force_.

_Enter_ Doctor.

_Doct_. Oh Niece! Ill Luck, Ill Luck, I must leave you to night; my
Brother the Advocate is sick, and has sent for me; 'tis three long
Leagues, and dark as 'tis, I must go.--They say he is dying. Here, take
my Keys,    [_Pulls out his Keys, one falls down_.
and go into my Study, and look over all my Papers, and bring me all those
mark'd with a Cross and figure of Three, they concern my Brother and I.

      [_She looks on_ Scaramouch, _and makes pitiful Signs, and goes out_.

--Come, _Scaramouch_, and get me ready for my Journey; and on your Life,
let not a Door be open'd till my Return.

                                    [_Exeunt_.

    _Enter_ Mopsophil. Har. _peeps from under the Table_.

_Har_. Ha! _Mopsophil_, and alone!

_Mop_. Well, 'tis a delicious thing to be rich; what a world of Lovers
it invites: I have one for every Hand, and the Favorite for my Lips.

_Har_. Ay, him wou'd I be glad to know.    [_Peeping_.

_Mop_. But of all my Lovers, I am for the Farmer's Son, because he keeps
a Calash--and I'll swear a Coach is the most agreeable thing about
a Man.

_Har_. Ho, ho!

_Mop_. Ah, me,--What's that?

                                [_He answers in a shrill Voice_.

_Har_. The Ghost of a poor Lover, dwindled into a Heyho.

    [_He rises from under the Table, and falls at her Feet_.
    Scaramouch _enters. She runs off squeaking_.

_Scar_. Ha, My Rival and my Mistress!--Is this done like a Man of
Honour, Monsieur _Harlequin_, to take advantages to injure me? [_Draws_.

_Har_. Advantages are lawful in Love and War.

_Scar_. 'Twas contrary to our League and Covenant; therefore I defy thee
as a Traytor.

_Har_. I scorn to fight with thee, because I once call'd thee Brother.

_Scar_. Then thou art a Poltroon, that's to say, a Coward.

_Har_. Coward! nay, then I am provok'd, come on.

_Scar_. Pardon me, Sir, I gave the Coward, and you ought to strike.

    [_They go to fight ridiculously, and ever as_ Scaramouch
    _passes_, Harlequin _leaps aside, and skips so nimbly about,
    he cannot touch him for his Life; which after a while
    endeavouring in vain, he lays down his Sword_.

--If you be for dancing, Sir, I have my Weapons for all occasions.

    [Scar. _pulls out a Flute Doux, and falls to playing_. Har.
    _throws down his, and falls a dancing; after the Dance, they
    shake hands_.

_Har_. _Ha mon bon ami_.--Is not this better than duelling?

_Scar_. But not altogether so heroick, Sir. Well, for the future, let us
have fair play; no Tricks to undermine each other, but which of us is
chosen to be the happy Man, the other shall be content.

_Ela_. [_Within_.] Cousin _Bellemante_, Cousin.

_Scar_. 'Slife, let's be gone, lest we be seen in the Ladies Apartment.

              [Scar. _slips_ Harlequin _behind the Door_.

    _Enter_ Elaria.

_Ela_. How now, how came you here?--

_Scar_. [_Signs to_ Har. _to go out_.] I came to tell you, Madam, my
Master's just taking Mule to go his Journey to Night, and that Don
_Cinthio_ is in the Street, for a lucky moment to enter in.

_Ela_. But what if any one by my Father's Order, or he himself should by
some chance surprize us?

_Scar_. If we be, I have taken order against a Discovery. I'll go see if
the old Gentleman be gone, and return with your Lover.
                                                  [_Goes out_.

_Ela_. I tremble, but know not whether 'tis with Fear or Joy.

    _Enter_ Cinthio.

_Cin_. My dear _Elaria_--
                 [_Runs to imbrace her, She starts from him_.
--Ha,--shun my Arms, _Elaria_!

_Ela_. Heavens! Why did you come so soon?

_Cin_. Is it too soon, whene'er 'tis safe, _Elaria_?

_Ela_. I die with Fear--Met you not _Scaramouch_? He went to bid you
wait a while; what shall I do?

_Cin_. Why this Concern? none of the House has seen me. I saw your
Father taking Horse.

_Ela_. Sure you mistake, methinks I hear his Voice.

_Doct_. [_Below_.]--My Key--The Key of my Laboratory.
Why, Knave _Scaramouch_, where are you?

_Ela_. Do you hear that, Sir?--Oh, I'm undone!
Where shall I hide you?--He approaches.
                   [_She searches where to hide him_.
Ha! my Cousin's Closet's open,--step in a little.
                   [_He goes in, she puts out the Candle_.

    _Enter the_ Doctor. _She gets round the Chamber to the
    Door, and as he advances in, she steals out_.

_Doct_. Here I must have dropt it; a Light, a Light there.

    _Enter_ Cinthio, _from the Closet, pulls_ Charmante
    _out, they not knowing each other_.

_Cin_. Oh, this perfidious Woman! No marvel she was so surpriz'd and
angry at my Approach to Night.

_Cha_. Who can this be?--but I'll be prepar'd.
                         [_Lays his Hand on his Sword_.

_Doct_. Why, _Scaramouch_, Knave, a Light!
                     [_Turns to the Door to call_.

    _Enter_ Scaramouch _with a Light, and seeing the two Lovers
    there, runs against his Master, puts out the Candle, and
    flings him down and falls over him. At the entrance of the
    Candle_, Charmante _slipt from_ Cinthio _into the Closet_.
    Cinthio _gropes to find him; when_ Mopsophil _and_ Elaria,
    _hearing a great Noise, enter with a Light_. Cinthio _finding
    he was discovered falls to acting a Mad-man, _Scaramouch
    _helps up the Doctor, and bows_.

Ha,--a Man,--and in my House,--Oh dire Misfortune!
--Who are you, Sir?

_Cin_. Men call me _Gog Magog_, the Spirit of Power;
My Right-hand Riches holds, my Left-hand Honour.
Is there a City Wife wou'd be a Lady?--Bring her to me,
Her easy Cuckold shall be dubb'd a Knight.

_Ela_. Oh Heavens! a Mad-man, Sir.

_Cin_. Is there a tawdry Fop wou'd have a Title?
A rich Mechanick that wou'd be an Alderman?
Bring 'em to me,
And I'll convert that Coxcomb, and that Blockhead, into Your Honour
and Right-Worshipful.

_Doct_. Mad, stark mad! Why, Sirrah, Rogue--_Scaramouch_
--How got this Mad-man in?

        [_While the_ Doctor _turns to_ Scaramouch, Cinthio
        _speaks softly to_ Elaria.

_Cin_. Oh, thou perfidious Maid! Who hast thou hid in yonder conscious
Closet?    [_Aside to her_.

_Scar_. Why, Sir, he was brought in a Chair for your Advice; but how he
rambled from the Parlour to this Chamber, I know not.

_Cin_. Upon a winged Horse, ycleped _Pegasus_, Swift as the fiery Racers
of the Sun,--I fly--I fly--See how I mount, and cut the liquid Sky.
                                                          [_Runs out_.

_Doct_. Alas, poor Gentleman, he's past all Cure.--But, Sirrah, for the
future, take you care that no young mad Patients be brought into my
House.

_Scar_. I shall, Sir,--and see,--here's your Key you look'd for.

_Doct_. That's well; I must be gone--Bar up the Doors, and upon Life or
Death let no man enter.
                   [_Exit_ Doctor, _and all with him, with the Light_.

    Charmante _peeps out--and by degrees comes all out,
    listning every step_.

_Char_. Who the Devil cou'd that be that pull'd me from the Closet? but
at last I'm free, and the Doctor's gone; I'll to _Cinthio_, and bring
him to pass this Night with our Mistresses.
                                       [_Exit_.

    _As he is gone off, enter_ Cinthio _groping_.

_Cin_. Now for this lucky Rival, if his Stars will make this last part
of his Adventure such. I hid my self in the next Chamber, till I heard
the Doctor go, only to return to be reveng'd.
            [_He gropes his way into the Closet, with his Sword drawn_.

    _Enter_ Elaria _with a Light_.

_Ela_. _Scaramouch_ tells me _Charmante_ is conceal'd in the Closet,
whom _Cinthio_ surely has mistaken for some Lover of mine, and is
jealous; but I'll send _Charmante_ after him, to make my peace and
undeceive him.   [_Goes to the Door_.
--Sir, Sir, where are you? they are all gone, you may adventure out.
                                                 [Cinthio _comes out_.
Ha,--_Cinthio_ here?

_Cin_. Yes, Madam, to your shame:
Now your Perfidiousness is plain, false Woman,
'Tis well your Lover had the dexterity of escaping, I'ad spoil'd his
making Love else.    [_Goes from her, she holds him_.

_Ela_. Prithee hear me.

_Cin_. But since my Ignorance of his Person saves his Life, live and
possess him, till I can discover him.    [_Goes out_.

_Ela_. Go, peevish Fool--
Whose Jealousy believes me given to change,
Let thy own Torments be my just Revenge.

                                     [_Exit_.

_The End of the First Act_.




ACT II.

SCENE I. _A Chamber in the_ Doctor's _House_.


        _An Antick Dance_.

    _After the Musick has plaid, enter_ Elaria; _to her_ Bellemante.

_Ela_. Heavens, _Bellemante_! Where have you been?

_Bell_. Fatigu'd with the most disagreeable Affair, for a Person of my
Humour, in the World. Oh, how I hate Business, which I do no more mind,
than a Spark does the Sermon, who is ogling his Mistress at Church all
the while: I have been ruffling over twenty Reams of Paper for my
Uncle's Writings.

    _Enter_ Scaramouch.

_Scar_. So, so, the old Gentleman is departed this wicked World, and the
House is our own for this Night.--Where are the Sparks? where are the
Sparks?

_Ela_. Nay, Heaven knows.

_Bell_. How! I hope not so; I left _Charmante_ confin'd to my Closet,
when my Uncle had like to have surpriz'd us together: Is he not here?

_Ela_. No, he's escap'd, but he has made sweet doings.

_Bell_. Heavens, Cousin! What?

_Ela_. My Father was coming into the Chamber, and had like to have taken
_Cinthio_ with me, when, to conceal him, I put him into your Closet, not
knowing of _Charmante's_ being there, and which, in the dark, he took
for a Gallant of mine; had not my Father's Presence hinder'd, I believe
there had been Murder committed; however they both escap'd unknown.

_Scar_. Pshaw, is that all? Lovers Quarrels are soon Adjusted; I'll to
'em, unfold the Riddle, and bring 'em back--take no care, but go in and
dress you for the Ball; _Mopsophil_ has Habits which your Lovers sent to
put on: the Fiddles, Treat, and all are prepar'd.
                                              [_Exit_.

    _Enter_ Mopsophil.

_Mop_. Madam, your Cousin _Florinda_, with a Lady, are come to visit
you.

_Bell_. I'm glad on't, 'tis a good Wench, and we'll trust her with our
Mirth and Secret.

                     [_They go out_.



SCENE II. _Changes to the Street_.


    _Enter Page with a Flambeaux, followed by_ Cinthio; _passes over
    the Stage_. Scaramouch _follows_ Cinthio _in a Campaign Coat_.

_Scar_. 'Tis _Cinthio_--Don _Cinthio_.    [_Calls, he turns_.
Well, what's the Quarrel?--How fell ye out?

_Cin_. You may inform your self I believe, for these close Intrigues
cannot be carried on without your Knowledge.

_Scar_. What Intrigues, Sir? be quick, for I'm in haste.

_Cin_. Who was the Lover I surpriz'd i'th' Closet?

_Scar. Deceptio visus_, Sir; the Error of the Eyes.

_Cin_. Thou Dog, I felt him too; but since the Rascal 'scaped me,
I'll be reveng'd on thee.

    [_Goes to beat him; he running away, runs against_
    Harlequin, _who is entering with_ Charmante, _and
    like to have thrown 'em both down_.

_Char_. Ha,--What's the matter here?

_Scar_. Seignior Don _Charmante_.
           [_Then he struts courageously in with 'em_.

_Char_. What, _Cinthio_ in a Rage!
Who's the unlucky Object?

_Cin_. All Man and Woman Kind: _Elaria's_ false.

_Char. Elaria_ false! take heed, sure her nice Virtue
Is proof against the Vices of her Sex.
Say rather _Bellemante_,
She who by Nature's light and wavering.
The Town contains not such a false Impertinent.
This Evening I surpriz'd her in her Chamber,
Writing of Verses, and between her Lines
Some Spark had newly pen'd his proper Stuff.
Curse of the Jilt, I'll be her Fool no more.

_Har_. I doubt you are mistaken in that, Sir, for 'twas
I was the Spark that writ the proper Stuff
To do you service.

_Char_. Thou!

_Scar_. Ay, we that spend our Lives and Fortunes here to serve you,--to
be us'd like Pimps and Scoundrels. Come, Sir, satisfy him who 'twas was
hid i'th' Closet, when he came in and found you.

_Cin_. Ha,--is't possible? Was it _Charmante_?

_Char_. Was it you, _Cinthio_? Pox on't, what Fools are we, we cou'd not
know one another by Instinct?

_Scar_. Well, well, dispute no more this clear Case, but let's hasten to
your Mistresses.

_Cin_. I'm asham'd to appear before _Elaria_.

_Char_. And I to _Bellemante_.

_Scar_. Come, come, take Heart of Grace; pull your Hats down over your
Eyes; put your Arms across; sigh and look scurvily; your simple Looks
are ever a Token of Repentance: come--come along.

                                             [_Exeunt Omnes_.



SCENE III. _Changes to the Inside of the House. The Front of the Scene
is only a Curtain or Hangings, to be drawn up at Pleasure_.


    _Enter_ Elaria, Bellemante, Mopsophil, Florinda, _and Ladies,
    dress'd in Masking Habits_.

_Ela_. I am extremely pleas'd with these Habits, Cousin.

_Bell_. They are _à la Gothic_ and _Uncommune_.

_Flor_. Your Lovers have a very good Fancy, Cousin, I long to see 'em.

_Ela_. And so do I. I wonder _Scaramouch_ stays so, and what Success
he has.

_Bell_. You have no cause to doubt, you can so easily acquit your self;
but I, what shall I do? who can no more imagine who shou'd write those
Boremes, than who I shall love next, if I break off with _Charmante_.

_Flor_. If he be a Man of Honour, Cousin, when a Maid protests her
Innocence--

_Bell_. Ay, but he's a Man of Wit too, Cousin, and knows when Women
protest most, they likely lye most.

_Ela_. Most commonly, for Truth needs no asseveration.

_Bell_. That's according to the Disposition of your Lover, for some
believe you most, when you most abuse and cheat 'em; some are so
obstinate, they wou'd damn a Woman with Protesting, before she can
convince 'em.

_Ela_. Such a one is not worth convincing, I wou'd not make the World
wise at the expence of a Virtue.

_Bell_. Nay, he shall e'en remain as Heaven made him for me, since there
are Men enough for all uses.

    _Enter_ Charmante _and_ Cinthio, _dress'd in their Gothic Habits_,
    Scaramouch, Harlequin _and Musick_. Charmante _and_ Cinthio _kneel_.

_Cin_. Can you forgive us?

                              [Elaria _takes him up_.

_Bell_. That, _Cinthio_, you're convinc'd, I do not wonder; but how
_Charmante_ is inspir'd, I know not.

                              [_Takes him up_.

_Char_. Let it suffice, I'm satisfy'd, my _Bellemante_.

_Ela_. Pray know my Cousin _Florinda_.

                               [_They salute the Lady_.

_Bell_. Come, let us not lose time, since we are all Friends.

_Char_. The best use we can make of it, is to talk of Love.

_Bell_. Oh! we shall have time enough for that hereafter; besides, you
may make Love in Dancing as well as in Sitting; you may gaze, sigh, and
press the Hand, and now and then receive a Kiss, what wou'd you more?

_Char_. Yes, wish a little more.

_Bell_. We were unreasonable to forbid you that cold Joy, nor shall you
wish long in vain, if you bring Matters so about, to get us with my
Uncle's Consent.

_Ela_. Our Fortunes depending solely on his Pleasure, which are too
considerable to lose.

_Cin_. All things are order'd as I have written you at large; our Scenes
and all our Properties are ready; we have no more to do but to banter
the old Gentleman into a little more Faith, which the next Visit of our
new Cabalist _Charmante_ will complete.

                                [_The Musick plays_.

    _Enter some Anticks, and dance. They all sit the while_.

_Ela_. Your Dancers have performed well, but 'twere fit we knew who we
have trusted with this Evening's Intrigue.

_Cin_. Those, Madam, who are to assist us in carrying on a greater
Intrigue, the gaining of you. They are our Kinsmen.

_Ela_. Then they are doubly welcome.

    [_Here is a Song in Dialogue, with Flute Doux and Harpsicals,
    between a Shepherd and Shepherdess; which ended, they all dance
    a Figure Dance_.

_Cin_. Hark, what Noise is that? sure 'tis in the next Room.

_Doctor [Within.] Scaramouch, Scaramouch_!

        [Scaramouch _runs to the Door, and holds it fast_.

_Scar_. Ha,--the Devil in the likeness of my old Master's Voice, for it
is impossible it should be he himself.

_Char_. If it be he, how got he in? did you not secure the Doors?

_Ela_. He always has a Key to open 'em. Oh! what shall we do? there's no
escaping him; he's in the next Room, through which you are to pass.

_Doct. [Within.] Scaramouch_, Knave, where are you?

_Scar_. 'Tis he, 'tis he, follow me all--

        [_He goes with all the Company behind the Front Curtain_.

_Doct. [Within.]_ I tell you, Sirrah, I heard the noise of Fiddles.

_Peter. [_Within.]_ No surely, Sir, 'twas a Mistake.

        [_Knocking at the Door_.

    [Scaramouch _having placed them all in the Hanging, in which they
    make the Figures, where they stand without Motion in Postures, he
    comes out. He opens the Door with a Candle in his Hand_.

        _Enter the_ Doctor _and_ Peter _with a Light_.

_Scar_. Bless me, Sir! Is it you--or your Ghost?

_Doct_. 'Twere good for you, Sir, if I were a thing of Air; but as I am
a substantial Mortal, I will lay it on as substantially--
                                             [_Canes him. He cries_.

_Scar_. What d'ye mean, Sir? what d'ye mean?

_Doct_. Sirrah, must I stand waiting your Leisure, while you are roguing
here? I will reward ye.    [_Beats him_.

_Scar_. Ay, and I shall deserve it richly, Sir, when you know all.

_Doct_. I guess all, Sirrah, and I heard all, and you shall be rewarded
for all. Where have you hid the Fiddles, you Rogue?

_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir!

_Doct_. Ay, Fiddles, Knave.

_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir!--Where?

_Doct_. Here, here I heard 'em, thou false Steward of thy Master's
Treasure.

_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir! Sure 'twas Wind got into your Head, and whistled
in your Ears, riding so late, Sir.

_Doct_. Ay, thou false Varlet, there's another debt I owe thee, for
bringing me so damnable a Lye: my Brother's well--I met his Valet but a
League from Town, and found thy Roguery out.    [_Beats him. He cries_.

_Scar_. Is this the Reward I have for being so diligent since you went?

_Doct_. In what, thou Villain? in what?

    [_The Curtain is drawn up, and discovers the Hangings where
    all of them stand_.

_Scar_. Why, look you, Sir, I have, to surprize you with Pleasure,
against you came home, been putting up this Piece of Tapestry, the best
in Italy, for the Rareness of the Figures, Sir.

_Doct_. Ha! hum--It is indeed a Stately Piece of Work; how came I by 'em?

_Scar_. 'Twas sent your Reverence from the _Virtuoso_, or some of the
Cabalists.

_Doct_. I must confess, the Workmanship is excellent;--but still I do
insist I heard the Musick.

_Scar_. 'Twas then the tuning of the Spheres, some Serenade, Sir, from
the Inhabitants of the Moon.

_Doct_. Hum, from the Moon,--and that may be.

_Scar_. Lord, d'ye think I wou'd deceive your Reverence?

_Doct_. From the Moon, a Serenade,--I see no signs on't here, indeed it
must be so--I'll think on't more at leisure.    [_Aside_.
--Prithee what Story's this?    [_Looks on the Hangings_.

_Scar_. Why, Sir,--'Tis--

_Doct_. Hold up the Candles higher, and nearer.

    [Peter _and_ Scaramouch _hold Candles near. He takes a Perspective,
    and looks through it; and coming nearer_ Harlequin, _who is placed
    on a Tree in the Hangings, hits him on the Head with his Trunchion.
    He starts and looks about_. Harlequin _sits still.

_Scar_. Sir--

_Doct_. What was that struck me?

_Scar_. Struck you, Sir! Imagination.

_Doct_. Can my Imagination feel, Sirrah?

_Scar_. Oh, the most tenderly of any part about one, Sir!

_Doct_. Hum--that may be.

_Scar_. Are you a great Philosopher, and know not that, Sir?

_Doct_. This Fellow has a glimpse of Profundity.   [_Aside. Looks again_.
--I like the Figures well.

_Scar_. You will, when you see 'em by Day-light, Sir.

                        [Har. _hits him again. The_ Doctor _sees him_.

_Doct_. Ha,--Is that Imagination too?--Betray'd, betray'd, undone! run
for my Pistols, call up my Servants, _Peter_, a Plot upon my Daughter
and my Niece!

    [_Runs out with_ Peter. Scaramouch _puts out the Candle,
    they come out of the Hanging, which is drawn away. He places
    'em in a Row just at the Entrance_.

_Scar_. Here, here, fear nothing, hold by each other, that when I go
out, all may go; that is, slip out, when you hear the Doctor is come
in again, which he will certainly do, and all depart to your respective
Lodgings.

_Cin_. And leave thee to bear the Brunt?

_Scar_. Take you no care for that, I'll put it into my Bill of Charges,
and be paid all together.

    _Enter the_ Doctor _with Pistols, and_ Peter.

_Doct_. What, by dark? that shall not save you, Villains, Traitors to my
Glory and Repose.--_Peter_, hold fast the Door, let none 'scape.

                                                    [_They all slip out_.

_Pet_. I'll warrant you, Sir.

                                [Doctor _gropes about, stamps and calls_.

_Doct_. Lights there--Lights--I'm sure they cou'd not 'scape.

_Pet_. Impossible, Sir.

    _Enter_ Scaramouch _undress'd in his Shirt, with a Light; he starts_.

_Scar_. Bless me!--what's here?

_Doct_. Ha--Who art thou?    [_Amaz'd to see him enter so_.

_Scar_. I, who the Devil are you, and you go to that?
    [_Rubs his Eyes, and brings the Candle nearer, looks on him_.
--Mercy upon us!--Why, what, is't you, Sir, return'd so soon?

_Doct_. Return'd!    [_Looking sometimes on him, sometimes about_.

_Scar_. Ay, Sir, did you not go out of Town last night, to your Brother
the Advocate?

_Doct_. Thou Villain, thou question'st me, as if thou knew'st not that I
was return'd.

_Scar_. I know, Sir! how shou'd I know? I'm sure I am but just awakened
from the sweetest Dream.--

_Doct_. You dream still, Sirrah, but I shall wake your Rogueship.--Were
you not here but now, shewing me a piece of Tapestry, you Villain?

_Scar_. Tapestry!

                     [Mopsophil _listning all the while_.

_Doct_. Yes, Rogue, yes, for which I'll have thy Life.
                                           [_Offering a Pistol_.

_Scar_. Are you stark mad, Sir? or do I dream still?

_Doct_. Tell me, and tell me quickly, Rogue, who were those Traitors
that were hid but now in the Disguise of a piece of Hangings.
                                   [_Holds the Pistol to his Breast_.

_Scar_. Bless me! you amaze me, Sir. What conformity has every Word you
say, to my rare Dream! Pray let me feel you, Sir,--Are you human?

_Doct_. You shall feel I am, Sirrah, if thou confess not.

_Scar_. Confess, Sir! What shall I confess?--I understand not your
Cabalistical Language; but in mine, I confess that you wak'd me from the
rarest Dream--Where methought the Emperor of the Moon World was in our
House, dancing and revelling; and methoughts his Grace was fallen
desperately in love with Mistriss _Elaria_, and that his Brother, the
Prince, Sir, of _Thunderland_, was also in love with Mistriss
_Bellemante_; and methoughts they descended to court 'em in your
Absence--And that at last you surpriz'd 'em, and that they transform'd
themselves into a Suit of Hangings to deceive you. But at last,
methought you grew angry at something, and they all fled to Heaven
again; and after a deal of Thunder and Lightning, I wak'd, Sir, and
hearing human Voices here, came to see what the Matter was.

    [_This while the_ Doctor _lessens his signs of Rage by degrees,
    and at last stands in deep Contemplation_.

_Doct_. May I credit this?

_Scar_. Credit it! By all the Honour of your House, by my unseparable
Veneration for the Mathematicks, 'tis true, Sir.

_Doct_. That famous _Rosycrusian_, who yesterday visited me, and told me
the Emperor of the Moon was in love with a fair Mortal--This Dream is
Inspiration in this Fellow--He must have wondrous Virtue in him, to be
worthy of these divine Intelligences. [_Aside_.--But if that Mortal
shou'd be _Elaria_! but no more, I dare not yet suppose it--perhaps the
thing was real and no Dream, for oftentimes the grosser part is hurried
away in Sleep by the force of Imagination, and is wonderfully agitated
--This Fellow might be present in his Sleep,--of this we've frequent
Instances--I'll to my Daughter and my Niece, and hear what Knowledge
they may have of this.

_Mop_. Will you so? I'll secure you, the Frolick shall go round.
                                                   [_Aside, and Exit_.

_Doct. Scaramouch_, if you have not deceiv'd me in this Matter, time
will convince me farther; if it rest here, I shall believe you false.

_Scar_. Good Sir, suspend your Judgment and your Anger till then.

_Doct_. I'll do't, go back to bed.

                                      [_Ex_. Doct. _and_ Peter.

_Scar_. No, Sir, 'tis Morning now--and I'm up for all day.--This Madness
is a pretty sort of pleasant Disease, when it tickles but in one
Vein--Why, here's my Master now, as great a Scholar, as grave and wise a
Man, in all Argument and Discourse, as can be met with; yet name but the
Moon, and he runs into ridicule, and grows as mad as the Wind.

  Well, Doctor, if thou canst be madder yet,
  We'll find a Medicine that shall cure your Fit,

--Better than all _Galenicus_.

                                 [_Goes out_.



SCENE IV. _Draws off to_ Bellemante's _Chamber, discovers_ Elaria,
Bellemante _and_ Mopsophil _in Night-Gowns_.


_Mop_. You have your Lessons, stand to it bravely, and the Town's our
own, Madam.

    [_They put themselves in Postures of Sleeping, leaning on the
    Table_, Mopsophil _lying at their Feet. Enter_ Doctor _softly_.

_Doct_. Ha, not in Bed! this gives me mortal Fears.

_Bell_. Ah, Prince--    [_She speaks as in her Sleep_.

_Doct_. Ha, Prince!    [_Goes nearer, and listens_.

_Bell_. How little Faith I give to all your Courtship, who leaves our
Orb so soon.    [_In a feign'd Voice_.

_Doct_. Ha, said she Orb?    [_Goes nearer_.

_Bell_. But since you are of a celestial Race,
And easily can penetrate
Into the utmost limits of the Thought,
Why shou'd I fear to tell you of your Conquest?
--And thus implore your Aid.

        [_Rises and runs to the_ Doctor; _kneels,
        and holds him fast. He shews signs of Joy_.

_Doct_. I am ravish'd!

_Bell_. Ah, Prince Divine, take pity on a Mortal.

_Doct_. I am rapt!

_Bell_. And take me with you to the World above!

_Doct_. The Moon, the Moon she means; I am transported, over-joy'd, and
ecstasyd!
             [_Leaping and jumping from her Hands, she seems to wake_.

_Bell_. Ha, my Uncle come again to interrupt us!

_Doct_. Hide nothing from me, my dear _Bellemante_, since all already is
discover'd to me--and more.

_Ela_. Oh, why have you wak'd me from the softest Dream that ever Maid
was blest with?

_Doct_. What--what, my best _Elaria_?    [_With over-joy_.

_Ela_. Methought I entertain'd a Demi-God, one of the gay Inhabitants of
the Moon.

_Bell_. I'm sure mine was no Dream--I wak'd, I heard, I saw, I
spoke--and danc'd to the Musick of the Spheres; and methought my
glorious Lover ty'd a Diamond Chain about my Arm--and see 'tis all
substantial.    [_Shows her Arm_.

_Ela_. And mine a Ring, of more than mortal Lustre.

_Doct_. Heaven keep me moderate! lest excess of Joy shou'd make my
Virtue less.    [_Stifling his Joy_.
--There is a wondrous Mystery in this,
A mighty Blessing does attend your Fates.
Go in and pray to the chaste Powers above
To give you Virtue for such Rewards.    [_They go in_.
--How this agrees with what the learned Cabalist inform'd me of last
Night! He said, that great _Iredonozor_, the Emperor of the Moon, was
enamour'd on a fair Mortal. It must be so--and either he descended to
court my Daughter personally, which for the rareness of the Novelty,
she takes to be a Dream; or else, what they and I beheld, was visionary,
by way of a sublime Intelligence:--And possibly--'tis only thus: the
People of that World converse with Mortals.--I must be satisfy'd in this
main Point of deep Philosophy.

  I'll to my Study,--for I cannot rest,
  Till I this weighty Mystery have discuss'd.

                                       [_Ex. very gravely_.



SCENE V. _The Garden_.


    _Enter_ Scaramouch _with a Ladder_.

_Scar_. Though I am come off _en Cavalier_ with my Master, I am not with
my Mistress, whom I promised to console this Night, and 'tis but just I
shou'd make good this Morning; 'twill be rude to surprize her sleeping,
and more gallant to wake her with a Serenade at her Window.

    [_Sets the Ladder to her Window, fetches his Lute and goes
    up the ladder_.

         He plays and sings this Song.

  _When Maidens are young and in their Spring
  Of Pleasure, of Pleasure, let 'em take their full Swing,
        full Swing,--full Swing,
    And love, and dance, and play, and sing.
    For_ Silvia, _believe it, when Youth is done,
  There's nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum;
  There's nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum.

  Then_ Silvia _be wise--be wise--be wise,
  Though Painting and Dressing for awhile are Supplies,
        And may--surprise--
    But when the Fire's going out in your Eyes,
    It twinkles, it twinkles, it twinkles, and dies.
  And then to hear Love, to hear Love from you,
  I'd as live hear an Owl cry--Wit to woo,
    Wit to woo, wit to woo_.

        _Enter _Mopsophil_ above_.

_Mop_. What woful Ditty-making Mortal's this,
That e'er the Lark her early Note has sung,
Does doleful Love beneath my Casement thrum?
-Ah, Seignior _Scaramouch_, is it you?

_Scar_. Who shou'd it be that takes such pains to sue!

_Mop_. Ah, Lover most true blue.

    _Enter_ Harlequin _in Woman's Clothes_.

_Har_. If I can now but get admittance, I shall not only deliver the
young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers, but get some opportunity,
in this Disguise, to slip this _Billet-Doux_ into _Mopsophil's_ Hand,
and bob my Comrade _Scaramouch_.--Ha, What do I see?--My Mistress at the
Window, courting my Rival! Ah Gipsy!

_Scar_. But we lose precious time, since you design me a kind Hour in
your Chamber.

_Har_. Oh Traitor!

_Mop_. You'll be sure to keep it from _Harlequin_.

_Har_. Ah yes, he, hang him, Fool, he takes you for a Saint.

_Scar. Harlequin_! Hang him, shotten Herring.

_Har_. Ay, a Cully, a Noddy.

_Mop_. A meer Zany.

_Har_. Ah, hard-hearted _Turk_.

_Mop_. Fit for nothing but a Cuckold.

_Har_. Monster of Ingratitude! How shall I be reveng'd?
                              [_Scar, going over the Balcony_.
--Hold, hold, thou perjur'd Traitor.
                              [_Cries out in a Woman's Voice_.

_Mop_. Ha, discover'd!--A Woman in the Garden!

_Har_. Come down, come down, thou false perfidious Wretch.

_Scar_. Who in the Devil's Name, art thou? And to whom dost thou speak?

_Har_. To thee, that false Deceiver, thou hast broke thy Vows, thy
lawful Vows of Wedlock.    [_Bawling out_.
Oh, oh, that I shou'd live to see the Day.    [_Crying_.

_Scar_. Who mean you, Woman?

_Har_. Whom shou'd I mean but thou,--my lawful Spouse?

_Mop_. Oh Villain! Lawful Spouse!--Let me come to her.

    [Scar, _comes down, as_ Mopsophil _flings out of the Balcony_.

_Scar_. The Woman's mad--hark ye, Jade, how long have you been thus
distracted?

_Har_. E'er since I lov'd and trusted thee, false Varlet.--See here, the
Witness of my Love and Shame.

                   [_Bawls, and points to her Belly.

    Just then_ Mopsophil _enters_.

_Mop_. How! with Child! Out, Villain! was I made a Property?

_Scar_. Hear me.

_Har_. Oh, thou Heathen Christian! was not one Woman enough?

_Mop_. Ay, Sirrah, answer to that.

_Scar_. I shall be sacrific'd.

_Mop_. I am resolv'd to marry to morrow--either to the Apothecary or the
Farmer, Men I never saw, to be reveng'd on thee, thou termagant Infidel.

    _Enter the_ Doctor.

_Doct_. What Noise, what Out-cry, what Tumult's this?

_Har_. Ha, the Doctor!--What shall I do?
                              [_Gets to the Door_, Scar. _pulls her in_.

_Doct_. A Woman! some Baud I am sure;--Woman, what's your Business here?
ha.

_Har_. I came, an't like your Seigniorship, to Madam the Governante here,
to serve her in the Quality of a _Fille de Chambre_ to the young Ladies.

_Doct_. A _Fille de Chambre_! 'tis so, a she Pimp.

_Har_. Ah, Seignior--
             [_Makes his little dapper Leg, instead of a Curt'sy_.

_Doct_. How now, what, do you mock me?

_Har_. Oh Seignior!    [_Gets nearer the Door_.

_Mop_. Stay, stay, Mistress; and what Service are you able to do the
Seignior's Daughters?

_Har_. Is this Seignior Doctor _Baliardo_, Madam?

_Mop_. Yes.

_Har_. Oh! he's a very handsome Gentleman--indeed.

_Doct_. Ay, ay, what Service can you do, Mistress?

_Har_. Why, Seignior, I can tie a Crevat the best of any Person in
_Naples_, and I can comb a Periwig--and I can--

_Doct_. Very proper Service for young Ladies; you, I believe, have been
_Fille de Chambre_ to some young Cavaliers?

_Har_. Most true, Seignior; why shou'd not the Cavaliers keep _Filles de
Chambre_, as well as great Ladies _Valets de Chambre_?

_Doct_. Indeed 'tis equally reasonable.--'Tis a Baud.    [_Aside_.
But have you never serv'd Ladies?

_Har_. Oh yes, I serv'd a Parson's Wife?

_Doct_. Is that a great Lady?

_Har_. Ay, surely, Sir, what is she else? for she wore her Mantuas of
_Brocade d'or_, Petticoats lac'd up to the Gathers, her Points, her
Patches, Paints and Perfumes, and sat in the uppermost place in the
Church too.

_Mop_. But have you never serv'd Countesses and Dutchesses?

_Har_. Oh, yes, Madam; the last I serv'd, was an Alderman's Wife in the
City.

_Mop_. Was that a Countess or a Dutchess?

_Har_. Ay, certainly--for they have all the Money; and then for Clothes,
Jewels, and rich Furniture, and eating, they out-do the very _Vice-Reine_
her self.

_Doct_. This is a very ignorant running Baud,--therefore first search
her for _Billets-Doux_, and then have her pump'd.

_Har_. Ah, Seignior,--Seignior.

                        [Scar. _searches him, finds Letters_.

_Scar_. Ha, to _Elaria_--and _Bellemante_!
                        [_Reads the Outside, pops 'em into his Bosom_.
These are from their Lovers.--Ha, a Note to _Mopsophil_.--Oh, Rogue!
have I found you?

_Har_. If you have, 'tis but Trick for your Trick, Seignior _Scaramouch_,
and you may spare the Pumping.

_Scar_. For once, Sirrah, I'll bring you off, and deliver your Letters.
--Sir, do you not know who this is? Why, 'tis a Rival of mine, who put
on this Disguise to cheat me of Mistress _Mopsophil_.--See, here's a
Billet to her.

_Doct_. What is he?

_Scar_. A Mungrel Dancing-Master; therefore, Sir, since all the Injury's
mine, I'll pardon him for a Dance, and let the Agility of his Heels save
his Bones, with your Permission, Sir.

_Doct_. With all my Heart, and am glad he comes off so comically.

                                [Harlequin _dances_.

        [_A knocking at the Gate_. Scar. _goes and returns_.

_Scar_. Sir, Sir, here's the rare Philosopher who was here yesterday.

_Doct_. Give him Entrance, and all depart.

    _Enter_ Charmante.

_Char_. Blest be those Stars that first conducted me to so much Worth
and Virtue; you are their Darling, Sir, for whom they wear their
brightest Lustre. Your Fortune is establish'd, you are made, Sir.

_Doct_. Let me contain my Joy.    [_Keeping in an impatient Joy_.
--May I be worthy, Sir, to apprehend you?

_Char_. After long searching, watching, fasting, praying, and using all
the virtuous means in Nature, whereby we solely do attain the highest
Knowledge in Philosophy; it was resolv'd, by strong Intelligence--you
were the happy Sire of that bright Nymph, that had infascinated,
charm'd, and conquer'd the mighty Emperor _Iredonozor_, the Monarch
of the Moon.

_Doct_. I am undone with Joy! ruin'd with Transport.    [_Aside_.
--Can it--can it, Sir,--be possible?
                           [_Stifling his Joy, which breaks out_.

_Char_. Receive the Blessing, Sir, with Moderation.

_Doct_. I do, Sir, I do.

_Char_. This very Night, by their great Art, they find,
He will descend, and shew himself in Glory.
An Honour, Sir, no Mortal has receiv'd
This sixty hundred years.

_Doct_. Hum--say you so, Sir; no Emperor ever descend this sixty hundred
years?    [_Looks sad_.
--Was I deceiv'd last Night?    [_Aside_.

_Char_. Oh! yes, Sir, often in Disguise, in several Shapes and Forms,
which did of old occasion so many fabulous Tales of all the Shapes of
_Jupiter_--but never in their proper Glory, Sir, as Emperors. This is an
Honour only design'd to you.

_Doct_. And will his Grace--be here in Person, Sir?    [_Joyful_.

_Char_. In Person--and with him, a Man of mighty Quality, Sir, 'tis
thought, the Prince of _Thunderland_--but that's but whisper'd, Sir, in
the Cabal, and that he loves your Niece.

_Doct_. Miraculous! how this agrees with all I've seen and heard
--To Night, say you, Sir?

_Char_. So 'tis conjectur'd, Sir,--some of the Cabalists are of opinion,
that last Night there was some Sally from the Moon.

_Doct_. About what Hour, Sir?

_Char_. The Meridian of the Night, Sir, about the Hours of Twelve or
One; but who descended, or in what Shape, is yet uncertain.

_Doct_. This I believe, Sir.

_Char_. Why, Sir?

_Doct_. May I communicate a Secret of that nature?

_Char_. To any of the Cabalists, but none else.

_Doct_. Then know--last Night, my Daughter and my Niece were entertain'd
by those illustrious Heroes.

_Char_. Who, Sir, the Emperor, and Prince his Cousin?

_Doct_. Most certain, Sir. But whether they appear'd in solid Bodies, or
Fantomical, is yet a Question; for at my unlucky approach, they all
transform'd themselves into a Piece of Hangings.

_Char_. 'Tis frequent, Sir, their Shapes are numerous; and 'tis also in
their power to transform all they touch, by virtue of a certain Stone
they call the _Ebula_.

_Doct_. That wondrous _Ebula_, which _Gonzales_ had?

_Char_. The same, by virtue of which, all Weight was taken from him, and
then with ease the lofty Traveller flew from _Parnassus Hill_, and from
_Hymethus Mount_, and high _Gerania_, and _Acrocorinthus_, thence to
_Taygetus_, so to _Olympus_ Top, from whence he had but one step to the
Moon. Dizzy he grants he was.

_Doct_. No wonder, Sir, Oh happy great _Gonzales_!

_Char_. Your Virtue, Sir, will render you as happy--but I must haste--
this Night prepare your Daughter and your Niece, and let your House be
dress'd, perfum'd, and clean.

_Doct_. It shall be all perform'd, Sir.

_Char_. Be modest, Sir, and humble in your Elevation; for nothing shews
the Wit so poor, as Wonder, nor Birth so mean, as Pride.

_Doct_. I humbly thank your Admonition, Sir, and shall, in all I can,
struggle with human Frailty.

                           [_Brings_ Char. _to the Door bare. Exeunt_.

    _Enter_ Scaramouch, _peeping at the other Door_.

_Scar_. So, so, all things go gloriously forward, but my own Amour, and
there is no convincing this obstinate Woman, that 'twas that Rogue
_Harlequin_ in Disguise, claim'd me; so that I cannot so much as come to
deliver the young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers. I must get in
with this damn'd Mistress of mine, or all our Plot will be spoil'd for
want of Intelligence.
--Hum, the Devil does not use to fail me at a dead Lift. I must deliver
these Letters, and I must have this Wench--though but to be reveng'd on
her for abusing me--Let me see--she is resolv'd for the Apothecary or
the Farmer. Well, say no more, honest _Scaramouch_; thou shalt find a
Friend at need of me--and if I do not fit you with a Spouse, say that a
Woman has out-witted me.

                            [_Exit_.

_The End of the Second Act_.




ACT III.

SCENE I. _The Street, with the Town-Gate, where an Officer stands with a
Staff like a_ London _Constable_.


    _Enter_ Harlequin _riding in a Calash, comes through the Gate
    towards the Stage, dress'd like a Gentleman sitting in it. The_
    Officer _lays hold of his Horse_.

_Off_. Hold, hold, Sir, you I suppose know the Customs that are due to
this City of _Naples_, from all Persons that pass the Gates in Coach,
Chariot, Calash, or _Siege Volant_.

_Har_. I am not ignorant of the Custom, Sir, but what's that to me.

_Off_. Not to you, Sir! why, what Privilege have you above the rest?

_Har_. Privilege, for what, Sir?

_Off_. Why, for passing, Sir, with any of the before-named Carriages.

_Har_. Art mad?--Dost not see I am a plain Baker, and this my Cart, that
comes to carry Bread for the Vice-Roy's, and the City's Use?--ha.

_Off_. Are you mad, Sir, to think I cannot see a Gentleman Farmer and a
Calash, from a Baker and a Cart.

_Har_. Drunk by this Day--and so early too? Oh, you're a special
Officer? unhand my Horse, Sirrah, or you shall pay for all the Damage
you do me.

_Off_. Hey Day! here's a fine Cheat upon the Vice-Roy: Sir, pay me, or
I'll seize your Horse.
                         [Har. _strikes him. They scuffle a little_.
--Nay, and you be so brisk, I'll call the Clerk from his Office.
[_Calls_.]--Mr. Clerk, Mr. Clerk.

    [_Goes to the Entrance to call the_ Clerk, _the mean time_ Har.
    _whips a Frock over himself, and puts down the hind part of the
    Chariot, and then 'tis a Cart.

        Enter_ Clerk.

_Cler_. What's the matter here?

_Off_. Here's a Fellow, Sir, will persuade me, his Calash is a Cart, and
refuses the Customs for passing the Gate.

_Cler_. A Calash--Where?--I see only a Carter and his Cart.

                                        [_The_ Officer _looks on him_.

_Off_. Ha, what a Devil, was I blind?

_Har_. Mr. Clerk, I am a Baker, that came with Bread to sell, and this
Fellow here has stopt me this Hour, and made me lose the sale of my
Ware; and being drunk, will out-face me I am a Farmer, and this Cart
a Calash.

_Cler_. He's in an Error, Friend, pass on.

_Har_. No, Sir, I'll have satisfaction first, or the Vice-Roy shall know
how he's serv'd by drunken Officers, that are a Nuisance to a Civil
Government.

_Cler_. What do you demand, Friend?

_Har_. Demand,--I demand a Crown, Sir.

_Off_. This is very hard--Mr. Clerk--If ever I saw in my Life, I thought
I saw a Gentleman and a Calash.

_Cler_. Come, come, gratify him, and see better hereafter.

_Off_. Here, Sir,--if I must, I must.    [_Gives him a Crown_.

_Cler_. Pass on, Friend.
                            [_Ex_. Clerk.

    [Har. _unseen, puts up the back of his Calash, and whips off
    his Frock, and goes to drive on. The_ Officer _looks on him,
    and stops him again_.

_Off_. Hum, I'll swear it is a Calash--Mr. Clerk--Mr. Clerk, come back,
come back.
              [_Runs out to call him. He changes as before_.

    _Enter_ Officer _and_ Clerk.

--Come, Sir, let your own Eyes convince you, Sir.

_Cler_. Convince me, of what, you Sot?

_Off_. This is a Gentleman, and that a--ha--
                                       [_Looks about on_ Har.

_Cler_. Stark drunk! Sirrah, if you trouble me at every Mistake of yours
thus, you shall quit your Office.

_Off_. I beg your Pardon, Sir, I am a little in Drink I confess--a
little blind and mad--Sir,
--This must be the Devil, that's certain.

                                   [_The_ Clerk _goes out_.

    [Har. _puts up his Calash again, and pulls off his Frock
    and drives out_.

--Well, now to my thinking, 'tis as plain a Calash again as ever I saw
in my Life, and yet I'm satisfy'd 'tis nothing but a Cart.

                                                       [_Ex_.



SCENE II. _Changes to the_ Doctor's _House. The Hall_.


    _Enter_ Scaramouch _in a Chair, which is set down and open'd
    on all sides, and on the top represents an Apothecary's Shop,
    the Inside being painted with Shelves, and rows of Pots and
    Bottles_; Scaramouch _sitting in it dress'd in Black, with a
    short black Cloke, a Ruff, and little Hat_.

_Scar_. The Devil's in't, if either the Doctor, my Master, or
_Mopsophil_, know me in this Disguise--And thus I may not only gain my
Mistress, and out-wit _Harlequin_, but deliver the Ladies those Letters
from their Lovers, which I took out of his Pocket this Morning; and who
wou'd suspect an Apothecary for a Pimp?--Nor can the Jade _Mopsophil_,
in Honour, refuse a Person of my Gravity, and so well set up.--
                                                [_Pointing to his Shop_.
--Hum, the Doctor here first, this is not so well, but I'm prepar'd
with Impudence for all Encounters.

    _Enter the_ Doctor. Scaramouch _salutes him gravely_.

--Most Reverend Doctor _Baliardo_.    [_Bows_.

_Doct_. Seignior--    [_Bows_.

_Scar_. I might through great Pusillanimity, blush to give you this
Anxiety, did not I opine you were as gracious as communicative and
eminent; and though you have no Cognisance of me, your humble
Servant,--yet I have of you,--you being so gravely fam'd for your
admirable Skill both in Galenical and Paracelsian _Phaenomena's_,
and other approv'd Felicities in Vulnerary Emeticks, and purgative
Experiences.

_Doct_. Seignior,--your Opinion honours me--rare Man this.

_Scar_. And though I am at present busied in writing--those few
Observations I have accumulated in my Peregrinations, Sir; yet the
Ambition I aspir'd to, of being an ocular and aurial Witness of your
Singularity, made me trespass on your sublimer Affairs.

_Doct_. Seignior--

_Scar_.--Besides a violent Inclination, Sir, of being initiated into the
Denomination of your learned Family, by the Conjugal Circumference of a
Matrimonial Tye, with that singularly accomplish'd Person--Madam, the
Governante of your Hostel--

_Doct_. Hum--A Sweet-heart for _Mopsophil_!    [_Aside_.

_Scar_. And if I may obtain your Condescension to my Hymenaeal
Propositions, I doubt not my Operation with the Fair One.

_Doct_. Seignior, she's much honour'd in the Overture, and my Abilities
shall not be wanting to fix the Concord.--But have you been a Traveller,
Sir?

_Scar_. Without Circumlocutions, Sir, I have seen all the Regions
beneath the Sun and Moon.

_Doct_. Moon, Sir! You never travell'd thither, Sir?

_Scar_. Not in _Propria Persona, Seignior_, but by Speculation, I have,
and made most considerable Remarks on that incomparable _Terra Firma_,
of which I have the compleatest Map in Christendom--and which _Gonzales_
himself omitted in his _Cosmographia_ of the _Lunar Mundus_.

_Doct_. A Map of the _Lunar Mundus_, Sir! may I crave the Honour of
seeing it?

_Scar_. You shall, Sir, together with a Map of _Terra Incognita_; a
great Rarity, indeed, Sir.

    _Enter_ Bellemante.

_Doct_. Jewels, Sir, worth a King's Ransom!

_Bell_. Ha,--What Figure of a Thing have we here, bantering my credulous
Uncle?--This must be some Scout sent from our _Forlorn Hope_, to
discover the Enemy, and bring in fresh Intelligence.--Hum, that Wink
tipt me some Tidings, and she deserves not a good Look, who understands
not the Language of the Eyes.--Sir, Dinner's on the Table.

_Doct_. Let it wait, I am employ'd--

    [_She creeps to the other side of_ Scaramouch, _who makes
    Signs with his Hand to her_.

_Bell_. Ha, 'tis so:--This Fellow has some Novel for us, some Letter or
Instructions, but how to get it--

    [_As_ Scar. _talks to the_ Doctor, _he takes the Letters by degrees
    out of his Pocket, and unseen, given 'em_ Bellemante _behind him_.

_Doct_. But this Map, Seignior; I protest you have fill'd me with
Curiosity. Has it signify'd all things so exactly, say you?

_Scar_. Omitted nothing, Seignior, no City, Town, Village, or Villa;
no Castle, River, Bridge, Lake, Spring, or Mineral.

_Doct_. Are any, Sir, of those admirable Mineral Waters there, so
frequent in our World?

_Scar_. In abundance, Sir: the Famous _Garamanteen_, a young _Italian_,
Sir, lately come from thence, gives an account of an excellent
_Scaturigo_, that has lately made an Ebulation there, in great
Reputation with the Lunary Ladies.

_Doct_. Indeed, Sir! be pleas'd, Seignior, to 'solve me some Queries
that may enode some appearances of the Virtue of the Water you speak of.

_Scar_. Pox upon him, what Questions he asks--but I must on.  [_Aside_.]
Why, Sir, you must know,--the Tincture of this Water upon Stagnation
ceruleates, and the Crocus upon the Stones flaveces; this he observes
--to be, Sir, the Indication of a generous Water.

_Doct_. Hum--    [_Gravely nodding_.

_Scar_. Now, Sir, be pleas'd to observe the three Regions: if they be
bright, without doubt _Mars_ is powerful; if the middle Region or Camera
be palled, _Filia Solis_ is breeding.

_Doct_. Hum.

_Scar_. And then the third Region, if the Faeces be volatile, the Birth
will soon come _in Balneo_. This I observed also in the Laboratory of
that ingenious Chymist _Lysidono_, and with much Pleasure animadverted
that Mineral of the same Zenith and Nadir, of that now so famous Water
in _England_, near that famous Metropolis, call'd _Islington_.

_Doct_. Seignior--

_Scar_. For, Sir, upon the Infusion, the Crows Head immediately procures
the Seal of _Hermes_; and had not _Lac Virginis_ been too soon suck'd
up, I believe we might have seen the Consummation of _Amalgama_.

    [Bellemante _having got her Letters, goes off. She makes Signs
    to him to stay a little. He nods_.

_Doct_. Most likely, Sir.

_Scar_. But, Sir, this _Garamanteen_ relates the strangest Operation of
a Mineral in the Lunar World, that ever I heard of.

_Doct_. As how, I pray, Sir?

_Scar_. Why, Sir, a Water impregnated to a Circulation with _prima
Materia_; upon my Honour, Sir, the strongest I ever drank of.

_Doct_. How, Sir! did you drink of it?

_Scar_. I only speak the words of _Garamanteen_, Sir.
--Pox on him, I shall be trapt.    [_Aside_.

_Doct_. Cry Mercy, Sir.--    [_Bows_.

_Scar_. The Lunary Physicians, Sir, call it _Urinam Vulcani_, it
calybeates every ones Excrements more or less according to the Gradus
of the natural Calor.--To my Knowledge, Sir, a Smith of a very fiery
Constitution is grown very opulent by drinking these Waters.

_Doct_. How, Sir, grown rich by drinking the Waters, and to your
Knowledge?

_Scar_. The Devil's in my Tongue. To my Knowledge, Sir; for what a Man
of Honour relates, I may safely affirm.

_Doct_. Excuse me, Seignior--
                      [_Puts off his Hat again gravely_.

_Scar_. For, Sir, conceive me how he grew rich! since he drank those
Waters he never buys any Iron, but hammers it out of _Stercus Proprius_.

    _Enter_ Bellemante _with a Billet_.

_Bell_. Sir, 'tis three a Clock, and Dinner will be cold.

      [_Goes behind_ Scaramouch, _and gives him the Note and goes out_.

_Doct_. I come, Sweet-heart; but this is wonderful.

_Scar_. Ay, Sir, and if at any time Nature be too infirm, and he prove
Costive, he has no more to do, but apply a Load-stone _ad Anum_.

_Doct_. Is't possible?

_Scar_. Most true, Sir, and that facilitates the Journey _per Viscera_.
--But I detain you, Sir;--another time, Sir,--I will now only beg the
Honour of a Word or two with the Governante, before I go.

_Doct_. Sir, she shall wait on you, and I shall be proud of the Honour
of your Conversation.
                         [_Ex_. Doctor.

    _Enter to him_ Harlequin, _dress'd like a Farmer, as before_.

_Har_. Hum--What have we here, a Taylor or a Tumbler?

_Scar_. Ha--Who's this?--Hum--What if it shou'd be the Farmer that the
Doctor has promis'd _Mopsophil_ to? My Heart misgives me.
                                     [_They look at each other a while_.
Who wou'd you speak with, Friend?

_Har_. This is, perhaps, my Rival the Apothecary.--Speak with, Sir! why,
what's that to you?

_Scar_. Have you Affairs with Seignor Doctor, Sir?

_Har_. It may be I have, it may be I have not. What then, Sir?

    _While they seem in angry Dispute, enter_ Mopsophil.

_Mop_. Seignior Doctor tells me I have a Lover waits me, sure it must be
the Farmer or the Apothecary. No matter which, so a Lover that welcomest
Man alive. I am resolv'd to take the first good Offer, though but in
revenge of _Harlequin_ and _Scaramouch_, for putting Tricks upon me.
--Ha,--Two of 'em!

_Scar_. My Mistress here!

             [_They both bow, and advance, putting each other by_.

_Mop_. Hold, Gentlemen,--do not worry me. Which of you wou'd speak
with me?

_Both_. I, I, I, Madam--

_Mop_. Both of you?

_Both_. No, Madam, I, I.

_Mop_. If both Lovers, you are both welcome; but let's have fair Play,
and take your turns to speak.

_Har_. Ay, Seignior, 'tis most uncivil to interrupt me.

_Scar_. And disingenuous, Sir, to intrude on me.

                                            [_Putting one another by_.

_Mop_. Let me then speak first.

_Har_. I'm dumb.

_Scar_. I acquiesce.

_Mop_. I was inform'd there was a Person here had Propositions of
Marriage to make me.

_Har_. That's I, that's I--
                   [_Shoves_ Scar. _away_.

_Scar_. And I attend to that consequential _Finis_.
                                       [_Shoves_ Har. _away_.

_Har_. I know not what you mean by your Finis, Seignior; but I am come
to offer my self this Gentlewoman's Servant, her Lover, her Husband, her
Dog in a Halter, or any thing.

_Scar_. Him I pronounce a Paltroon, and an ignominious Utensil, that
dare lay claim to the renowned Lady of my _Primum Mobile_; that is, my
best Affections.    [_In Rage_.

_Har_. I fear not your hard Words, Sir, but dare aloud pronounce, if
_Donna Mopsophil_ like me, the Farmer, as well as I like her, 'tis a
Match, and my Chariot's ready at the Gate to bear her off, d'ye see.

_Mop_. Ah, how that Chariot pleads.    [_Aside_.

_Scar_. And I pronounce, that being intoxicated with the sweet Eyes of
this refulgent Lady, I come to tender her my noblest Particulars, being
already most advantageously set up with the circumstantial Implements of
my Occupation.    [_Points to the Shop_.

_Mop_. A City Apothecary, a most genteel Calling--Which shall I chuse?
--Seignior Apothecary, I'll not expostulate the circumstantial Reasons
that have occasion'd me this Honour.

_Scar_. Incomparable Lady, the Elegancy of your Repartees most
excellently denotes the Profundity of your Capacity.

_Har_. What the Devil's all this? Good Mr. Conjurer, stand by--and don't
fright the Gentlewoman with your elegant Profundities.   [_Puts him by_.

_Scar_. How, a Conjurer! I will chastise thy vulgar Ignorance, that
yclepes a Philosopher a Conjurer.    [_In Rage_.

_Har_. Losaphers!--Prithee, if thou be'st a Man, speak like a Man--then.

_Scar_. Why, what do I speak like? what do I speak like?

_Har_. What do you speak like!--why you speak like a Wheel-Barrow.

_Scar_. How!

_Har_. And how.

    [_They come up close together at half Sword Parry; stare on each
    other for a while, then put up and bow to each other civilly_.

_Mop_. That's well, Gentlemen, let's have all Peace, while I survey you
both, and see which likes me best.

    [_She goes between 'em, and surveys 'em both, they making
    ridiculous bows on both sides, and Grimaces the while_.

--Ha, now on my Conscience, my two foolish Lovers, _Harlequin_ and
_Scaramouch_; how are my Hopes defeated?--but, faith, I'll fit you
both.
         [_She views 'em both_.

_Scar_. So she's considering still, I shall be the happy Dog.  [_Aside_.

_Har_. She's taking aim, she cannot chuse but like me best.    [_Aside_.

_Scar_. Well, Madam, how does my Person propagate?
                                                  [_Bowing and smiling_.

_Mop_. Faith, Seignior, now I look better on you, I do not like your
Phisnomy so well as your Intellects; you discovering some circumstantial
Symptoms that ever denote a villanous Inconstancy.

_Scar_. Ah, are you pleas'd, Madam.

_Mop_. You are mistaken, Seignior. I am displeas'd at your Grey-Eyes,
and black Eye-brows, and Beard; I never knew a Man with those Signs,
true to his Mistress or his Friend. And I wou'd sooner wed that
Scoundrel _Scaramouch_, that very civil Pimp, that mere pair of chymical
Bellows that blow the Doctor's projecting Fires, that Deputy-urinal
Shaker, that very Guzman of _Salamanca_. than a Fellow of your
infallible _Signum Mallis_.

_Har_. Ha, ha, ha, you have your Answer, Seignior Friskin--and may shut
up your Shop and be gone.--Ha, ha, ha.

_Scar_. Hum, sure the Jade knows me.    [_Aside_.

_Mop_. And as for you, Seignior--

_Har_. Ha, Madam.    [_Bowing and smiling_.

_Mop_. Those Lanthorn Jaws of yours, with that most villanous Sneer and
Grin, and a certain fierce Air of your Eyes, looks altogether most
fanatically--which with your notorious Whey Beard, are certain Signs of
Knavery and Cowardice; therefore I'ad rather wed that Spider _Harlequin_,
that Sceleton Buffoon, that Ape of Man, that Jack of Lent, that very Top,
that's of no use, but when 'tis whip'd and lash'd, that piteous Property
I'ad rather wed than thee.

_Har_. A very fair Declaration.

_Mop_. You understand me--and so adieu, sweet Glisterpipe, and Seignior
Dirty-Boots, Ha, ha, ha.
                            [_Runs out_.

    [_They stand looking simply on each other, without speaking a while_.

_Scar_. That I shou'd not know that Rogue _Harlequin_.    [_Aside_.

_Har_. That I shou'd take this Fool for a Physician.    [_Aside_.
--How long have you commenc'd Apothecary, Seignior?

_Scar_. Ever since you turn'd Farmer.--Are not you a damn'd Rogue to
put these Tricks upon me, and most dishonourably break all Articles
between us?

_Har_. And are not you a dam'd Son of a--something--to break Articles
with me?

_Scar_. No more Words, Sir, no more Words, I find it must come to
Actions, draw.    [_Draws_.

_Har_. Draw!--so I can draw, Sir.    [_Draws_.

    [_They make a ridiculous cowardly Fight. Enter the Doctor,
    which they seeing, come on with more Courage. He runs between,
    and with his Cane beats the Swords down_.

_Doct_. Hold, hold, what mean you, Gentlemen?

_Scar_. Let me go, Sir, I am provok'd beyond measure, Sir.

_Doct_. You must excuse me, Seignior.
                                         [_Parlies with Harlequin_.

_Scar_. I dare not discover the Fool for his Master's sake, and it may
spoil our Intrigue anon; besides, he'll then discover me, and I shall be
discarded for bantering the Doctor.    [_Aside_.
--Man of Honour to be so basely affronted here.

                            [_The_ Doctor _comes to appease_ Scaramouch.

_Har_. Shou'd I discover this Rascal, he wou'd tell the old Gentleman I
was the same that attempted his House to day in Woman's Clothes, and I
should be kick'd and beaten most insatiably.

_Scar_. What, Seignior, for a Man of Parts to be impos'd upon, and
whip'd through the Lungs here--like a Mountebank's Zany for sham Cures
--Mr. Doctor, I must tell you 'tis not civil.

_Doct_. I am extremely sorry for it, Sir,--and you shall see how I will
have this fellow handled for the Affront to a Person of your Gravity,
and in my House.--Here, _Pedro_.

    _Enter_ Pedro.

--Take this Intruder, or bring some of your Fellows hither, and toss him
in a Blanket.

                 [_Exit_ Pedro.

    [Har. _going to creep away_, Scar, _holds him_.

_Har_. Hark ye, bring me off, or I'll discover all your Intrigue.
                                                       [Aside to _him_.

_Scar_. Let me alone.

_Doct_. I'll warrant you some Rogue that has some Plot on my Niece and
Daughter.

_Scar_. No, no, Sir, he comes to impose the grossest Lye upon you, that
ever was heard of.

    _Enter_ Pedro _with others, with a Blanket. They put_ Harlequin
    _into it, and toss him_.

_Har_. Hold, hold, I'll confess all, rather than indure it.

_Doct_. Hold, what will you confess, Sir.

                                     [_He comes out, makes sick Faces_.

_Scar_.--That he's the greatest Impostor in Nature. Wou'd you think it,
Sir? he pretends to be no less than an Ambassador from the Emperor of
the Moon, Sir.

_Doct_. Ha, Ambassador from the Emperor of the Moon!
                                                   [_Pulls off his Hat_.

_Scar_. Ay, Sir, thereupon I laugh'd, thereupon he grew angry--I laugh'd
at his Resentment, and thereupon we drew, and this was the high Quarrel,
Sir.

_Doct_. Hum--Ambassador from the Moon.    [_Pauses_.

_Scar_. I have brought you off, manage him as well as you can.

_Har_. Brought me off, yes, out of the Frying-pan into the Fire.
Why, how the Devil shall I act an Ambassador?    [_Aside_.

_Doct_. It must be so, for how shou'd either of these know I expected
that Honour?
                    [_He addresses him with profound Civility to_ Har.
Sir, if the Figure you make, approaching so near ours of this World,
have made us commit any undecent Indignity to your high Character, you
ought to pardon the Frailty of our mortal Education and Ignorance,
having never before been bless'd with the Descension of any from your
World.

_Har_. What the Devil shall I say now?    [_Aside_.
--I confess I am, as you may see by my Garb, Sir, a little _Incognito_,
because the publick Message I bring is very private--which is, that the
mighty _Iredonozor_, Emperor of the Moon, with his most worthy Brother,
the Prince of _Thunderland_, intend to sup with you to Night.--Therefore
be sure you get good Wine.--Though by the way let me tell you, 'tis for
the sake of your fair Daughter.

_Scar_. I'll leave the Rogue to his own Management. I presume, by your
whispering, Sir, you wou'd be private, and humbly begging pardon, take
my leave.
             [_Exit_.

_Har_. You have it, Friend. Does your Niece and Daughter drink, Sir?

_Doct_. Drink, Sir?

_Har_. Ay, Sir, drink hard?

_Doct_. Do the Women of your World drink hard, Sir?

_Har_. According to their Quality, Sir, more or less; the greater the
Quality, the more profuse the Quantity.

_Doct_. Why, that's just as 'tis here; but your Men of Quality, your
Statesmen, Sir, I presume they are sober, learned, and wise.

_Har_. Faith, no, Sir; but they are, for the most part, what's as good,
very proud and promising, Sir, most liberal of their Word to every
fauning Suiter, to purchase the state of long Attendance, and cringing
as they pass; but the Devil of a Performance, without you get the Knack
of bribing in the right Place and Time; but yet they all defy it, Sir.

_Doct_. Just, just, as 'tis here.--But pray, Sir, how do these Great men
live with their Wives?

_Har_. Most nobly, Sir, my Lord keeps his Coach, my Lady hers; my Lord
his Bed, my Lady hers; and very rarely see one another, unless they
chance to meet in a Visit, in the _Park_, the _Mall_, the _Tour_, or at
the _Basset-Table_, where they civilly salute and part, he to his
Mistress, she to play.

_Doct_. Good lack! just as 'tis here.

_Har_.--Where, if she chance to lose her Money, rather than give out,
she borrows of the next amorous Coxcomb, who, from that Minute, hopes,
and is sure to be paid again one way or other, the next kind
Opportunity.

_Doct_.--Just as 'tis here.

_Har_. As for the young Fellows that have Money, they have no Mercy upon
their own Persons, but wearing Nature off as fast as they can, Swear,
and Whore and Drink, and borrow as long as any Rooking Citizen will lend
till, having dearly purchased the heroick Title of a Bully or a Sharper,
they live pity'd of their Friends, and despis'd by their Whores, and
depart this Transitory World, diverse and sundry ways.

_Doct_. Just, just as 'tis here!

_Har_. As for the Citizen, Sir, the Courtier lies with his Wife; he in
revenge, cheats him of his Estate, till rich enough to marry his
Daughter to a Courtier, again gives him all--unless his Wife's
over-gallantry breaks him; and thus the World runs round.

_Doct_. The very same 'tis here--Is there no preferment, Sir, for Men of
Parts and Merit?

_Har_. Parts and Merit! what's that? a Livery, or the handsome tying a
Cravat; for the great Men prefer none but their Foot-men and Valets.

_Doct_. By my Troth, just as 'tis here.--Sir, I find you are a Person
of most profound Intelligence--under Favour, Sir, are you a Native of
the Moon, or this World?

_Har_. The Devil's in him for hard Questions.
--I am a _Neapolitan_, Sir?

_Doct_. Sir, I Honour you; good luck, my Countryman! How got you to the
Region of the Moon, Sir?

_Har_. A plaguy inquisitive old Fool!
--Why, Sir,
--Pox on't, what shall I say?
--I being--one day in a musing Melancholy, walking by the Sea-side--
there arose, Sir, a great Mist, by the Sun's exhaling of the Vapours
of the Earth, Sir.

_Doct_. Right, Sir.

_Har_. In this Fog, or Mist, Sir, I was exhal'd.

_Doct_. The Exhalations of the Sun draw you to the Moon, Sir?

_Har_. I am condemn'd to the Blanket again.
--I say, Sir, I was exhal'd up, but in my way--being too heavy, was
drop'd into the Sea.

_Doct_. How, Sir, into the Sea?

_Har_. The Sea, Sir, where the Emperor's Fisherman casting his Nets,
drew me up, and took me for a strange and monstrous Fish, Sir,--and as
such, presented me to his Mightiness,--who going to have me Spitchcock'd
for his own eating--

_Doct_. How, Sir, eating?

_Har_. What did me I, Sir (Life being sweet) but fall on my Knees, and
besought his Gloriousness not to eat me, for I was no Fish, but a Man;
he ask'd me of what Country, I told him of _Naples_; whereupon the
Emperor overjoy'd ask'd me if I knew that most reverend and learned
Doctor _Baliardo_, and his fair Daughter. I told him I did: whereupon
he made me his Bed-fellow, and the Confident to his Amour to Seigniora
_Elaria_.

_Doct_. Bless me, Sir! how came the Emperor to know my Daughter?

_Har_. There he is again with his damn'd hard Questions.
--Know her, Sir,--Why--you were walking abroad one day.

_Doct_. My Daughter never goes abroad, Sir, farther than our Garden.

_Har_. Ay, there it was indeed, Sir,--and as his Highness was taking a
Survey of this lower World--through a long Perspective, Sir,--he saw you
and your Daughter and Neice, and from that very moment fell most
desperately in love.--But hark, the sound of Timbrels, Kettle-Drums and
Trumpets.--The Emperor, Sir, is on his way, prepare for his Reception.

    [_A strange Noise is heard of Brass Kettles, and Pans,
    and Bells, and many tinkling things_.

_Doct_. I'm in a Rapture--How shall I pay my Gratitude for this great
Negotiation?--but as I may, I humbly offer, Sir.
                  [_Presents him with a rich Ring and a Purse of Gold_.

_Har_. Sir, as an Honour done the Emperor, I take your Ring and Gold. I
must go meet his Highness.
                              [_Takes leave_.

    _Enter to him_ Scaramouch, _as himself_.

_Scar_. Oh, Sir! we are astonish'd with the dreadful sound of the
sweetest Musick that ever Mortal heard, but know not whence it comes.
Have you not heard it, Sir?

_Doct_. Heard it, yes, Fool,--'tis the Musick of the Spheres, the
Emperor of the Moon World is descending.

_Scar_. How, Sir, no marvel then, that looking towards the South, I saw
such splendid Glories in the Air.

_Doct_. Ha, saw'st thou ought descending in the Air?

_Scar_. Oh, yes, Sir, Wonders! haste to the old Gallery, whence, with
the help of your Telescope, you may discover all.

_Doct_. I would not lose a moment for the lower Universe.

    _Enter_ Elaria, Bellemante, Mopsophil, _dressed in rich Antick Habits_.

_Ela_. Sir, we are dress'd as you commanded us, what is your farther
Pleasure?

_Doct_. It well becomes the Honour you're design'd for, this Night to
wed two Princes--come with me and know your happy Fate.

                                            [_Ex_. Doctor _and_ Scar.

_Ela_. Bless me! My Father, in all the rest of his Discourse shows so
much Sense and Reason, I cannot think him mad, but feigns all this
to try us.

_Bell_. Not mad! Marry, Heavens forbid, thou art always creating Fears
to startle one; why, if he be not mad, his want of Sleep this eight and
forty hours, the Noise of strange unheard of Instruments, with the
fantastick Splendour of the unusual Sight, will so turn his Brain and
dazzle him, that in Grace and Goodness, he may be mad, if he be not;--
come, let's after him to the Gallery, for I long to see in what showing
Equipage our princely Lovers will address to us.

                                              [_Exeunt_.



SCENE III. _The Last. The Gallery richly adorn'd with Scenes and
Lights_.


    _Enter_ Doctor, Elaria, Bellemante, _and_ Mopsophil.
    _Soft Musick is heard_.

_Bell_. Ha--Heavens! what's here? what Palace is this?--No part of our
House, I'm sure.

_Ela_. 'Tis rather the Apartment of some Monarch.

_Doct_. I'm all amazement too; but must not show my Ignorance.
--Yes, _Elaria_, this is prepar'd to entertain two Princes.

_Bell_. Are you sure on't, Sir? are we not, think you, in that World
above, I often heard you speak of? in the Moon, Sir?

_Doct_. How shall I resolve her--For ought I know, we are.    [_Aside_.

_Ela_. Sure, Sir, 'tis some Inchantment.

_Doct_. Let not thy female Ignorance profane the highest Mysteries of
natural Philosophy: To Fools it seems Inchantment--but I've a Sense can
reach it--sit and expect the Event.--Hark, I am amaz'd, but must conceal
my Wonder, that Joy of Fools--and appear wise in Gravity.

_Bell_. Whence comes this charming Sound, Sir?

_Doct_. From the Spheres--it is familiar to me.

    [_The Scene in the Front draws off, and shews the Hill of_
    Parnassus; _a noble large Walk of Trees leading to it, with
    eight or ten Negroes upon Pedestals, ranged on each side of
    the Walks. Next_ Keplair _and_ Galileus _descend on each side,
    opposite to each other, in Chariots, with Perspectives in
    their Hands, as viewing the Machine of the Zodiack.
    Soft Musick plays still.

_Doct_. Methought I saw the Figure of two Men descend from yonder Cloud
on yonder Hill.

_Ela_. I thought so too, but they are disappear'd, and the wing'd
Chariot's fled.

    _Enter_ Keplair _and_ Galileus.

_Bell_. See, Sir, they approach.

                                    [_The_ Doctor _rises and bows_.

_Kep_. Most reverend Sir, we, from the upper World, thus low salute
you--_Keplair_ and _Galileus_ we are call'd, sent as Interpreters to
Great _Iredonozor_, the Emperor of the Moon, who is descending.

_Doct_. Most reverend Bards--profound Philosophers--thus low I bow to
pay my humble Gratitude.

_Kep_. The Emperor, Sir, salutes you, and your fair Daughter.

_Gal_. And, Sir, the Prince of _Thunderland_ salutes you, and your fair
Neice.

_Doct_. Thus low I fall to thank their Royal Goodness.

                               [_Kneels. They take him up_.

_Bell_. Came you, most reverend Bards, from the Moon World?

_Kep_. Most lovely Maid, we did.

_Doct_. May I presume to ask the manner how?

_Kep_. By Cloud, Sir, through the Regions of the Air, down to the fam'd
_Parnassus_; thence by Water, along the River _Helicon_, the rest by
Post upon two wing'd Eagles.

_Doct_. Sir, are there store of our World inhabiting the Moon?

_Kep_. Oh, of all Nations, Sir, that lie beneath it in the Emperor's
Train! Sir, you will behold abundance; look up and see the Orbal World
descending; observe the Zodiack, Sir, with her twelve Signs.

      [_Next the Zodiack descends, a Symphony playing all the while;
      when it is landed, it delivers the twelve Signs: Then the Song,
      the Persons of the Zodiack being the Singers. After which, the
      Negroes dance and mingle in the_ Chorus.

  A Song for the Zodiack.

  _Let murmuring Lovers no longer repine,
    But their Hearts and their Voices advance;
  Let the Nymphs and the Swains in the kind Chorus join,
    And the Satyrs and Fauns in a Dance.
  Let Nature put on her Beauty of May,
    And the Fields and the Meadows adorn;
  Let the Woods and the Mountains resound with the Joy,
    And the Echoes their Triumph return_.

                  Chorus.

        _For since Love wore his Darts,
          And Virgins grew Coy;
        Since these wounded Hearts,
          And those cou'd destroy,
  There ne'er was more Cause for your Triumphs and Joy.

  Hark, hark, the Musick of the Spheres,
    Some Wonder approaching declares;
  Such, such, as has not bless'd your Eyes and Ears
    This thousand, thousand, thousand Years.
  See, see what the Force of Love can make,
    Who rules in Heaven, in Earth and Sea;
  Behold how he commands the Zodiack,
    While the fixt Signs unhinging all obey.
  Not one of which, but represents
    The Attributes of Love,
  Who governs all the Elements
    In Harmony above_.

                  Chorus.

        _For since Love wore his Darts
          And Virgins grew coy;
        Since these wounded Hearts,
          And those cou'd destroy,
  There ne'er was more Cause for your Triumphs and Joy.

  The wanton Aries first descends,
    To show the Vigor and the Play,
  Beginning Love, beginning Love attends,
    When the young Passion is all-over Joy,
  He bleats his soft Pain to the fair curled Throng,
    And he leaps, and he bounds, and loves all the day long.
  At once Love's Courage and his Slavery
    In_ Taurus _is expressed,
  Though o'er the Plains the Conqueror be,
    The generous Beast
  Does to the Yoke submit his noble Breast;
  While_ Gemini _smiling and twining of Arms,
    Shews Love's soft Indearments and Charms;
  And_ Cancer's _slow Motion the degrees do express,
    Respectful Love arrives to Happiness_.
      Leo _his strength and Majesty_,
      Virgo _her blushing Modesty,
      And_ Libra _all his Equity.
      His Subtilty does_ Scorpio _show,
  And_ Sagittarius _all his loose desire,
  By_ Capricorn _his forward Humour know,
  And_ Aqua, _Lovers Tears that raise his Fire,
  While_ Pisces, _which intwin'd do move,
  Shew the soft Play, and wanton Arts of Love_.

                  Chorus.

        _For since Love wore his Darts,
          And Virgins grew coy;
        Since these wounded Hearts,
          And those you'd destroy,
  There ne'er was more Cause for Triumphs and Joy_.

--See how she turns, and sends her Signs to Earth.--Behold the Ram,
_Aries_--see _Taurus_ next descends; then _Gemini_--see how the Boys
embrace.--Next _Cancer_, then _Leo_, then the _Virgin_; next to her
_Libra--Scorpio, Sagittary, Capricorn, Aquarius, Pisces_. This eight
thousand Years no Emperor has descended, but _Incognito_; but when he
does, to make his Journey more magnificent, the Zodiack, Sir,
attends him.

_Doct_. 'Tis all amazing, Sir.

_Kep_. Now, Sir, behold the Globick World descends two thousand Leagues
below its wonted Station, to shew Obedience to its proper Monarch.

    [_After which, the Globe of the Moon appears, first like
    a new Moon, as it moves forward it increases till it comes
    to the Full. When it is descended, it opens and shews the
    Emperor and the Prince. They come forth with all their Train,
    the Flutes playing a Symphony before them, which prepares the
    Song. Which ended the Dancers mingle as before_.

  A SONG.

  _All Joy to Mortals, Joy and Mirth,
    Eternal_ IO'S _sing;
  The Gods of Love descend to Earth,
    Their Darts have lost the Sting.
  The Youth shall now complain no more
    Of_ Sylvia's _needless Scorn,
  But she shall love, if he adore,
    And melt when he shall burn.

  The Nymph no longer shall be shy,
    But leave the jilting Road;
  And_ Daphne _now no more shall fly
    The wounded panting God;
  But all shall be serene and fair,
    No sad Complaints of Love
  Shall fill the gentle whispering Air,
    No echoing Sighs the Grove.

  Beneath the Shades young_ Strephon _lies,
    Of all his Wish possess'd;
  Gazing on_ Sylvia's _charming Eyes,
    Whose Soul is there confessed.
  All soft and sweet the Maid appears,
    With Looks that know no Art,
  And though she yields with trembling Fears,
    She yields with all her Heart_.

--See, Sir, the Cloud of Foreigners appears, French, English, Spaniards,
Danes, Turks, Russians, Indians, and the nearer Climes of Christendom;
and lastly, Sir, behold the mighty Emperor.--

    [_A Chariot appears, made like a Half Moon, in which is_ Cinthio
    _for the Emperor, richly dressed, and_ Charmante _for the Prince,
    rich, with a good many Heroes attending_. Cinthio's _Train born by
    four Cupids. The Song continues while they descend and land. They
    address themselves to_ Elaria _and_ Bellemante.--Doctor _falls on his
    Face, the rest bow very low as they pass. They make signs to_ Keplair.

_Kep_. The Emperor wou'd have you rise, Sir, he will expect no Ceremony
from the Father of his Mistress.
                                    [_Takes him up_.

_Doct_. I cannot, Sir, behold his Mightiness--the Splendor of his
Majesty confounds me.

_Kep_. You must be moderate, Sir, it is expected.

    [_The two Lovers make all the Signs of Love in dumb show to the
    Ladies, while the soft Musick plays again from the end of the Song_.

_Doct_. Shall I not have the Joy to hear their heavenly Voices, Sir?

_Kep_. They never speak to any Subject, Sir, when they appear in Royalty,
but by Interpreters, and that by way of Stentraphon, in manner of the
Delphick Oracles.

_Doct_. Any way, so I may hear the Sense of what they wou'd say.

_Kep_. No doubt you will--But see the Emperor commands by Signs his
Foreigners to dance.

            [_Soft Musick changes_.

    [_A very Antick Dance. The Dance ended, the Front Scene draws
    off, and shows a Temple, with an Altar, one speaking through a
    Stentraphon from behind it. Soft Musick plays the while_.

_Kep_. Most Learned Sir, the Emperor now is going to declare himself,
according to his Custom, to his Subjects. Listen.--

_Sten_. Most Reverend Sir, whose Virtue did incite us,
Whose Daughter's Charms did more invite us;
We come to grace her with that Honour,
That never Mortal yet had done her;
Once only, _Jove_ was known in Story,
To visit _Semele_ in Glory.
But fatal 'twas, he so enjoy'd her,
Her own ambitious Flame destroy'd her.
His Charms too fierce for Flesh and Blood,
She dy'd embracing of her God,
We gentler marks of Passion give,
The Maid we love, shall love and live;
Whom visibly we thus will grace,
Above the rest of human Race,
Say, is't your Will that we shou'd wed her,
And nightly in Disguises bed her?

_Doct_. The Glory is too great for Mortal Wife.
                                 [_Kneels with Transport_.

_Sten_. What then remains, but that we consummate
This happy Marriage in our splendid State?

_Doct_. Thus low I kneel, in thanks for this great Blessing.

    [Cinthio _takes_ Elaria _by the Hand_; Charmante, Bellemante;
    _two of the Singers in white being Priests, they lead 'em to the
    Altar, the whole Company dividing on either side. Where, while a
    Hymeneal Song is sung, the Priest joins their Hands: The Song
    ended, and they marry'd, they come forth; but before they come
    forward, two Chariots descend one on one side above, and the other
    on the other side; in which is_ Harlequin _dress'd like a Mock Hero,
    with others; and_ Scaramouch _in the other, dress'd so in Helmets_.

_Scar_. Stay, mighty Emperor, and vouchsafe to be the Umpire of our
Difference.     [Cinthio _signs to_ Keplair.

_Kep_. What are you?

_Scar_. Two neighbouring Princes to your vast Dominion.

_Har_. Knights of the Sun, our honourable Titles,
And fight for that fair Mortal, _Mopsophil_.

_Mop_. Bless us!--my two precious Lovers, I'll warrant; well, I had
better take up with one of them, than lie alone to Night.

_Scar_. Long as two Rivals we have lov'd and hop'd,
Both equally endeavour'd, and both fail'd.
At last by joint Consent, we both agreed
To try our Titles by the Dint of Lance,
And chose your Mightiness for Arbitrator.

_Kep_. The Emperor gives Consent.

    [_They both all arm'd--with gilded Lances and Shields of Black,
    with golden Suns painted. The Musick plays a fighting Tune. They
    fight at Barriers, to the Tune_.--Harlequin _is often foil'd, but
    advances still; at last_ Scaramouch _throws him, and is Conqueror;
    all give Judgment for him_.

_Kep_. The Emperor pronounces you are Victor.--    [_To_ Scar.

_Doct_. Receive your Mistress, Sir, as the Reward of your undoubted
Valour--
            [_Presents_ Mopsophil.

_Scar_. Your humble Servant, Sir, and _Scaramouch_ returns you humble
Thanks.     [_Puts off his Helmet_.

_Doct_. Ha,--_Scaramouch_!
     [_Bawls out, and falls in a Chair. They all go to him_.
My Heart misgives me--Oh, I am undone and cheated every way.
                                                 [_Bawling out_.

_Kep_. Be patient, Sir, and call up all your Virtue,
You're only cur'd, Sir, of a Disease
That long has reign'd over your nobler Faculties.
Sir, I am your Physician, Friend and Counsellor;
It was not in the Power of Herbs or Minerals,
Of Reason, common Sense, and right Religion,
To draw you from an Error that unmann'd you.

_Doct_. I will be patient, Gentlemen, and hear you.
--Are not you _Ferdinand_?

_Kep_. I am,--and these are Gentlemen of Quality,
That long have lov'd your Daughter and your Niece;
_Don Cinthio_ this, and this is _Don Charmante_,
The Vice-Roy's Nephews both.
Who found as Men--'twas impossible to enjoy 'em,
And therefore try'd this Stratagem.

_Cin_. Sir, I beseech you, mitigate your Grief,
Although indeed we are but mortal Men,
Yet we shall love you, serve you, and obey you.

_Doct_. Are not you then the Emperor of the Moon?
And you the Prince of _Thunderland_?

_Cin_. There's no such Person, Sir.
These Stories are the Fantoms of mad Brains,
To puzzle Fools withal--the Wise laugh at 'em--
Come, Sir, you shall no longer be impos'd upon.

_Doct_. No Emperor of the Moon, and no Moon World!

_Char_. Ridiculous Inventions.
If we 'ad not lov'd you you'ad been still impos'd on;
You had brought a Scandal on your learned Name,
And all succeeding Ages had despis'd it.

                               [Doct. _leaps up_.

_Doct_. Burn all my Books and let my study blaze,
Burn all to Ashes, and be sure the Wind
Scatter the vile contagious monstrous Lyes.
--Most Noble Youths--you've honour'd me with your Alliance, and you,
and all your Friends, Assistances in this glorious Miracle, I invite
to Night to revel with me.--Come all and see my happy Recantation of
all the Follies, Fables have inspir'd till now. Be pleasant to repeat
your Story, to tell me by what kind degrees you cozen'd me.
I see there's nothing in Philosophy--    [_Gravely to himself_.
Of all that writ, he was the wisest Bard, who spoke this mighty Truth--

  "He that knew all that ever Learning writ,
  Knew only this--that he knew nothing yet."

                                        [_Exeunt_.



EPILOGUE,

To be spoken by _Mrs. Cooke_.

_With our old Plays, as with dull Wife it fares,
To whom you have been marry'd tedious Years.
You cry--She's wondrous good, it is confessed,     |
But still 'tis_ Chapon Boüillé _at the best;       |
That constant Dish can never make a Feast:         |
Yet the pall'd Pleasure you must still pursue,
You give so small Incouragement for new;
And who would drudge for such a wretched Age,
Who want the Bravery to support one Stage?
The wiser Wits have now new Measures set,
And taken up new Trades that they may hate.
No more your nice fantastick Pleasures serve,
Your Pimps you pay, but let your Poets starve,
They long in vain for better Usage hop'd,
Till quite undone and tir'd, they dropt and dropt;
Not one is left will write for thin third Day,
Like desperate Pickeroons, no Prize no Pay;
And when they have done their best, the Recompence
Is, Damn the Sot, his Play wants common Sense,
Ill-natured Wits, who can so ill requite
The drudging Slaves, who for your Pleasure write.

Look back on flourishing_ Rome, _ye proud Ingrates,
And see how she her thriving Poets treats:
Wisely she priz'd 'em at the noblest Rate,      |
As necessary Ministers of State,                |
And Contributions rais'd to make 'em great.     |
They from the publick Bank she did maintain,
And freed from want, they only writ for Fame;
And were as useful in a City held,
As formidable Armies in the Field.
They but a Conquest over Men pursued,
While these by gentle force the Soul subdu'd.
Not_ Rome _in all her happiest Pomp cou'd show   |
A greater_ Caesar _than we boast of now_;        |
Augustus _reigns, but Poets still are low.       |

May Caesar live, and while his mighty Hand
Is scattering Plenty over all the Land;
With God-like Bounty recompensing all,
Some fruitful drops may on the Muses fall;
Since honest Pens do his just cause afford
Equal Advantage with the useful Sword_.






NOTES ON THE TEXT.



THE TOWN FOP.


p. 7 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added 'Page to _Bellmour_; Page to Lord
_Plotwell_; Sir _Timothy's_ Page; Guests; Fiddlers; Ladies.'

p. 12, l. 36 _honoured_. 1724 'honourable'.

p. 13, l. 2 _answered the Civility_. 1724 'answered her the Civility'.

p. 13, l. 23 _whats_. 1724 'what'.

p. 13, l. 26 _any thing in Life_. 1724 'any thing in this Life'.

p. 14, l. 3 _God forbid it_; 1724 omits 'it'.

p. 15, l. 11 _you speak well_. 1724 omits 'well'.

p. 15, l. 20 _Mrs. Celinda Dresswell_. Following 4to 1677 and 1724 I
have retained the name Dresswell although it should obviously be
Friendlove. In the first draft Friendlove was called Dresswell, and in
altering the nomenclature of the character Mrs. Behn forgot to make the
change here. The same slip occurs in this same scene (p. 20, l. 23) when
Friendlove is alluded to as Dresswell.

p. 16, l. 2 _help_. 1724 'help'd'.

p. 16, l. 30 _me to_. 1724 omits 'to'.

p. 17, l. 9 _and Allurements_. 1724 omits 'and'.

p. 19, l. 29 _beholding_. 1724 'beholden'.

p. 19, l. 31 _belong'd_. 1724 'belongs'.

p. 20, l. 6 _Murder_. 4to 1677 has here the marginal stage direction
'[A Letter', to remind the prompter to have that property ready for
the immediate entry of Friendlove.

p. 22, l. 4 _Exit Sir Tim_. 4to 1677 has 'Ex.' after 'Celinda.' 1724
'Exit' after 'Southampton House.'

p. 22, l. 6 _Exeunt_. I have supplied this stage direction. 4to 1677 has
'The End of the First Act.'

p. 22, l. 8 _A Palace_. I have left this quaint locale untouched
although the scene is merely an antechamber in Friendlove's house,
and can have been no more than a drop cloth.

p. 22, l. 27 _Scene II_. This Scene is not numbered in the previous
editions but considered as Scene I with the former.

p. 24, l. 10 _To-morrow_. 1724 as prose. I follow metrical arrangement
of 4to.

p. 26, l. 12 _impose_. 4to 1677 'imposes'.

P. 27, l. 15 _Scene III. Sir Timothy's House_. I have supplied the
locale. In all former editions Scenes I and II being counted as one
this is numbered Scene II.

p. 27, l. 16 _and Boy_. I have added the entrance of the Boy.

p. 28, l. 12 _that I am_. 4to 1677 omits 'that'.

p. 28, l. 28 _--and where--and where_. 1724 reads '--and where--' once.

p. 29, l. 25 _Fortunes_. 1724 'Fortune'.

p. 30, l. 32 _Exeunt_. 4to 1677 'Ex.' 1724 'Exit.'

p. 30, l. 33 _Scene IV. Lord Plotwell's House_. I have added the locale.
The former editions, regarding Scenes I and II of this act as one, read
'Scene III.'

p. 34, l. 21 _nor one_. 1677 'nor none'.

p. 37, l. 14 _Scene V_. 'Scene IV' in former editions.

p. 39, l. 34 _Exeunt_. Not in former editions. 4to 1677 has 'The End of
the Second Act.'

p. 40, l. 2 _A Room in Lord Plotwell's House_. All former editions mark
the locale as 'The Street.' But this is obviously wrong from the
sitting, dancing and whole business of the scene.

p. 41, l. 6 _Griefs_. 1724 'Grief.'

p. 41, l. 9 _something of disorder_. 4to 1677 'something in disorder'.

p. 41, l. 24 _bear_. 4to 1677 'bare'.

p. 42, l. 19 _Life left_. 1724 omits 'left'.

p. 43, l. 4 _plunged in Blood_. 1724 'plung'd in, in Blood.'

p. 43, l. 5 _A Jigg_. Not in 1724.

p. 43, l. 19 _with all your Faults_. 4to 1677 omits 'your'.

p. 45, l. 4 _of it_. 4to 1677 'on't'.

p. 47, l. 7 _Exeunt_. All former editions 'Exit.'

p. 47, l. 8 _Scene II_. No former editions number this scene, but read
'Enter Diana, Scene a Bedchamber.'

p. 47, l. 33 _unto_. 4to 1677 'to'.

p. 49, l. 25 _Love_. 1724 'Life'.

p. 50, l. 23 _Exit_. Not marked in former editions.

p. 50, l. 24 _Scene III. A Street_. No former editions number this scene.

p. 51, l. 1 _Which_. 4to 1677 'Who'.

p. 54, l. 34 _Exeunt_. Not in 1724. 4to 1677 adds 'The End of the Third
Act.'

p. 55, l. 2 _Celinda's Chamber_. The locale is unmarked in all former
editions,

p. 57, l. 15 _the longed for_. 4to 1677 misprints 'she long'd for'.

p. 59, l. 8 _Blessings_. 1724 'Blessing'.

p. 59, l. 10 _Who ere_. 1724 'When e'er'.

p. 61, l. 11 _and who_. 1724 'and she who'.

p. 62, l. 6 _Scene II. The former editions have not numbered this scene.

p. 62, l. 11 _Jenny and Doll_. I have supplied the wenches' names as
given in the Dramatis Personae.

p. 63, l. 1 _Garnitures_. 1724 'Garments'.

p. 64, l. 1 _Scene III_. I have numbered the scene. Former editions all
read 'Scene a Chamber, a Table with Box and Dice.'

p. 72, l. 20 _Ex. severally_. 4to 1677 adds 'The End of the Fourth Act.'

p. 72, l. 22 _Scene I_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 76, l. 14 _Scene II. Lord Plotwell's House_. There is no scene
division in 4to 1677. I have numbered this scene and added the locale
which is evident from the dialogue.

p. 80, l. 5 _Exit_. 4to 1677 omits this stage direction.

p. 82, l. 10 _Scene III_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 82, l. 27 _Look on this face_. I have metrically arranged this. It is
obviously verse. 4to 1677 and 1724 print as prose.

p. 94, l. 24 _written by Mr. E.R_. i.e. 'Mr. Edward Ravenscroft.'
Omitted in 1724.



THE FALSE COUNT.


p. 101 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added to the list 'Page to _Carlos_,
A little Page to the False Count; Wife to _Petro_.'

p. 106, l. 26 _halving_. Omitted by 1724,

p. 109, l. 7 _hither_. Omitted by 1724.

p. 110, l. 36 _easier_. 4to 1697 and 1724 'easilier'.

p. 111, l. 11 _Son_. 4tos 'Soul'.

p. 115, l. 28 _Huswise_. read 'Huswife'.

p. 116, l. 5 _Just-au-corps_. 4to 1697 'Justicore'.

p. 120, l. 29 _He goes out_. 1724 'Exeunt severally.'

p. 120, l. 30 Scene II_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 121, l. 34 _Page holding his lanthorn to his face_. Omitted in 1724.

p. 125, l. 20 _Going in_. 4tos 1682 and 1697 read 'Goes in.' But Carlos,
obviously, does not leave the stage at this point.

p. 128, l. 24 _Scene III_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 131, l. 11 _Don Carlos' house_. I have added the locale.

p. 131, l. 26 _dear_. 1724 'dearer'.

p. 135, l. 16 _Francisco's house_. I have added the locale.

p. 135, l. 26 _should_. 1724 'shall'.

p. 139, l. 15 _not yet_. 1724 repeats 'not yet'.

p. 140, l. 2 _froward_. 1724 'forward',

p. 143, l. 21 _They dance_. 4tos add 'with Don', which seems unsuitable
as the company are seated.

p. 147, l. 22 _Exit Cap_. I have added this necessary direction, not in
any previous edition, although all mark his entry again a little later.

p. 152, l. 15 _the body of Francisco_. 4tos 1682 and 1697. 1724 omits
'the body of'.

p. 156, l. 29 _glout_. 1724 'glut'.

p. 158, l. 6 _Mahometan_. 1724 repeats 'Mahometan'.

p. 158, l. 33 _And wou'd not break_. These two lines, which are
obviously metrical, all former editions print as prose.

p. 163, l. 19 _and Mutes attending_. I have added these words as Carlos
addresses the mutes a little later in the scene.

p. 163, l. 21 _your_. 1724 'thy'.

p. 166, l. 13 _Sir, I'll warrant_. 1724 omits 'Sir'.

p. 167, l. 15 _that's the greatest_. 1724 omits 'that's'.

p. 168, l. 30 _Aside_. 1724 omits.



THE LUCKY CHANCE.


p. 177 _The Lucky Chance_. On the title of the 4to 1687, we have 'This
may be Printed, _April 23_, 1686. _R.P_.'

p. 183, l. 1 _To The Right Honourable_. This Dedication and the Preface
(p. 185) are only found in the 4to 1687. p. 190 _Dramatis Personae_.
have added to the list '_Gingle_, a Music Master; A Post-man; _Susan_,
Servant to Sir _Feeble; Phillis, Leticia's_ Woman.'

p. 191, l. 20 _Enter Mr. Gingle_. I have inserted Gingle's name. All
previous editions read 'Enter several with Musick.'

p. 194, l. 5 _Dudgeon_. 4to 1687 'Dugion'.

p. 199, l. 13 _I have had ... Guyneys_. These words have by a curiously
gross error been dropped out in all editions save the 4to 1687.

p. 202, l. 30 _all but for_. 1724 omits 'but'.

p. 203, l. 10 _so, I'll go_. 1724 'so, and I'll go'.

p. 203, l. 27 _Then then_. All previous editions read 'Then thou' which
makes no sense. The emendation, if not what Mrs. Behn wrote, is at least
grammatical.

p. 204, l. 34 _this St. Martin's Trumpery_. 1724 'these'.

p. 205, l. 4 _my Girl_. 1724 omits 'my'.

p. 206, l. 28 _of the World_. 1724 'of the whole World'.

p. 207, l. 30 _beholding_. 1724 'beholden'.

p. 207, l. 36 _Aside_. 1724 omits.

p. 209, l. 2 _look, look how_. 1724 'look, how'.

p. 209, l. 12 _Exeunt_. I have supplied this, which does not occur in
previous editions. 4to 1687 has 'The End of the First Act.' 1724
gives nothing.

p. 210, l. 3 _Livings_. 1724 'Living'.

p. 216, l. 13 _Enter Bellmour_. I have placed this entrance here as by
his first speech Bellmour obviously overhears Leticia's words, 'Blest be
this kind Retreat'. 1724 places the entrance after 'Sighs and Tears.'
4to 1687 gives it in a bracket by Leticia's three lines.

p. 218, l. 9 _Let. But how_. I have arranged these lines metrically. 4to
1687 and 1724 print as prose.

p. 221, l. 1 _Seraglio_. 4to 1687 'Seraglia'.

p. 222, l. 31 _Quonundrum_. 4to 1687 'Qunnumdrum'.

p. 224, l. 17 _Exit_. I have supplied this. 1724 gives no direction. 4to
1687 has 'The End of the Second Act.'

p. 225, ll. 13, 25 _Aside_. Not in 4to 1687.

p. 226, l. 8 _swooned_. 4to 1687 'swoonded'.

p. 227, l. 9 _Aside_. Not in 4to 1687.

p. 227, l. 29 _Scene II_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 227, l. 29 _in an undressing_. 1724 omits 'in an'.

p. 228, l. 7 _Aside_. Omitted in 4to 1687.

p. 228, l. 21 _Within_. I have supplied this stage direction here and in
Bellmour's following speech.

p. 229, l. 2 _to him_. Not in 1724.

p. 229, l. 4 _before to morrow_. 1724 reads 'before we go to him
to-morrow.'

p. 229, l. 27 _his Safety_. 1724 omits 'his'.

p. 231, l. 3 _I'm sorry_. I have arranged this metrically. Former
editions as prose.

p. 23l, l. 16 _Woman_. 4to 1687 'Women'. But Pert is alone.

p. 231, l. 22 _Want_. 1724 misprints 'Wont'.

p. 234, l. 4 _Exit_. I have supplied this stage direction.

p. 234, l. 5 _Scene V_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 234, l. 27 _Dick his Boy_. Former editions 'and Boy.' But Dick's name
is given in the Dramatis Personae and later in this same scene.

p. 235, l. 11 _you know_. Omitted by 1724.

p. 237, l. 21 _Aside_. Former editions wrongly mark this whole speech
'aside'. The last sentence is clearly spoken aloud to Sir Cautious.

p. 238, l. 30 _Ad, and_. 1724 'and and'.

p. 238, l. 32 _Exit Dick_. I have added this Exit, unmarked in former
editions. Dick obviously does not remain on the stage as his entrance is
marked later.

p. 239, l. 14 _Aside, turns_. 1724 omits 'turns'.

p. 240, l. 29 _Scene VI_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 241, l. 28 _Aside_. Not in 4to 1687. But marked in 1724.

p. 243, l. 18 _Exeunt_. This stage direction is in no previous edition.

p. 244, ll. 28-36 _I am sorry ... Jewel, Sir_. Previous editions as
prose.

p. 245, l. 5 _Where had_ ... Previous editions print as prose.

p. 246, l. 1 _rivell'd_. 4to 1687. All later editions 'shrivel'd', which
is by no means as good.

p. 246, l. 2 _Ladles_. 1724 misprints 'Ladies',

p. 248, l. 31 _amended_. 1724 'mended'.

p. 249, l. 2 _Dinner in_. 1724 'Dinner at'.

p. 255, l. 27 _wou'd but stand_. 1724 omits 'but'.

p. 259, l. 13 _Exit_. I have added this stage direction. 4to 1687 reads
'The End of the Fourth Act.'

p. 260, l. 17 _Scene II_. I have numbered this scene,

p. 263, l. 14 _Scene III_. 4to and 1724 'Scene II.'

p. 264, l. 21 _attend_. 1724 'intend.'

p. 265, l. 31 _Soft Musick ceases_. I put this stage direction here,
following 4to 1687. 1724 inserts it after the Song, which is not
so well.

p. 266, l. 20 _Scene IV_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 267, l. 1 _Yet you may_. I have arranged the whole speech metrically.
1687 prints to 'April Flow'rs' as prose. 1724 prints to 'gather'
as prose.

p. 267, l. 19 _Sir_. Omitted in 1724.

p. 268, l. 11 _But leave_. I have arranged metrically. Previous editions
prose.

p. 269, l. 29 _With all my Soul_. 4to 1687 gives an '[Aside' to Gayman's
speech. This is an obvious error.

p. 270, l. 12 _Scene V_. I have numbered this and the two following
scenes.

p. 271, l. 20 _he have not_. 1724 'he has not'.

p. 27l, l. 31 _Oh! You_. I have arranged metrically. Previous editions
prose.

p. 274, l. 3 _Life's_. 4to 1687 'Lives'. P. 275, l. 24 _Enter Leticia,
Bellmour, and Phillis_. I have added this necessary direction which is
in no former edition.

p. 278, l. 20 _An After Math_. 4to 1687 reads 'An After Mach'. 1724 'An
after Match'. As neither of these forms are found, the 4to seems an
obvious misprint for 'After Math'.

p. 278, l. 25 _whiffling_. 1724 'whistling'.



THE FORC'D MARRIAGE.


p. 286, l. 15 _Enter an Actress_. Omitted in 4to 1671.

p. 287 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added to the list 'Page to _Pisaro_;
Clergy; Officers;' and have named Lysette from Act iii, v. 4to 1671
spells Orgulius, Orguilious; Falatius, Falatio; Cleontius, Cleontious in
the Dramatis Personae, but in the text I have spelled these names
throughout following 1724. It may here be noted that the 1671 quarto
swarms with errors and typographical mistakes. It is vilely printed and
seemingly issued from the press almost without revision.

p. 288, l. 2 _The Palace_. I have added the locale.

p. 289, l. 5 _Bravery_. 4to 1671. 4to 1690 and 1724 'Virtue'.

p. 289, l. 11 _Alcippus_. 4to 1671 prints 'Alcip.' as a speech-prefix.
An obvious blunder.

p. 289, l. 18 _Gift_. 4to 1671 misreads 'Guilt'.

p. 290, l. 11 _added little_. 1724 'added a little'.

p. 290, l. 19 _hated_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'hate'.

p. 292, l. 9 _who_. 4to 1671 'whom'.

p. 295, l. 5 _pretends_. 4to 1671 'pretend'.

p. 295, l. 31 _thee most fatal proofs_. 1724 'the most fatal proof'.

p. 296, l. 18 _There was so_. Following quartos I have printed these
lines (which 1724 gives as prose) metrically, although I confess the
result is not satisfactory.

p. 297, l. 1 _Galatea's Apartments_. I have added this locale.

p. 298, l. 9 _first_. Not in 4to 1671.

p. 298, l. 29 _Sighing_. Not in 4to 1671.

p. 299, l. 30 _Madam, that grief_. This speech, which all previous
editions give to Erminia, I have assigned to Aminta. I am, however, not
entirely satisfied that a speech of Galatea's has not dropped out here
(the first quarto is notoriously careless), and in this case the speech
may well be Erminia's.

p. 300, l. 14 _sworn_. 4to 1690 and 1724, which I retain as better than
1671 'vow'd'.

p. 300, l. 24 _won_. 4to 1690 and 1724, which I have preferred to 1671
'mov'd'.

p. 301, l. 1 _A room in the house_. I have added this locale.

p. 303, l. 29 _and Isil_. I have added Isillia's exit.

p. 303, l. 30 _Philanders Apartments_. I have added the locale.

p. 305, l. 14 _The Representation of the Wedding_. This line is not in
1724.

p. 305, l. 15 _must be let down ... must play_. 1724 'is let down ...
plays.'

p. 305, l. 29 _The Palace_. I have added this locale.

p. 306, l. 22 _th'Almighty_. 4to 1671 'i'th' Almighty'.

p. 307, l. 31 _needs_. 4to 1671 'need'. 1690 'needs't'.

p. 309, l. 1 _The Court Gallery_. I have added this locale.

p. 309, l. 8 _That sad tone_. I have followed the quartos in their
metrical arrangement of this speech. 1724 gives it as prose. The same
rule has been observed l.21, 'Am. Nay thou hast ...'

p. 310, l. 31 _Not so well_. In this speech and also p. 311, l. 1 I
have followed the metrical arrangement of the 4tos. 1724 prints as
prose.

p. 312, l. 9 _Ex_. 4to 1671 'goes out.'

p. 312, l. 13 _Exeunt_. 4to 1671 'go out.'

p. 312, l, 14 _'Tis the most_. I have followed the two quartos in
their arrangement of these lines, which, none the less, seems far
from satisfactory. 1724 prints as prose.

p. 313, l. 10 _Erminia_. 4to 1671 omits.

p. 313, l. 28 _She weeps_. Not in 4to 1671, but in 4to 1690 and in 1724.

p. 313, l. 35 _Prince his word_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'Prince's word'.

p. 315, l. 10 _Thou would'st allow_. This is the reading of 4to 1690 and
of 1724. 4to 1671 reads 'I should allow what I deny thee here.'

p. 316, l. 31 _Philander's Bed-chamber_. I have added the locale.

p. 317, l. 25 _marry other_. 1724 'marry any other'.

p. 320, l. 5 _an ignorant_. This is the reading of the 4tos. I take
'ignorant' as the obsolete substantive. 1724 omits 'an'.

p. 320, l. 9 _Enter Lysette_. 1724 has 'Enter a Maid', but gives speech
prefix 'Lyc.', spelling Lysette, Lycette.

p. 320, l. 12 _I cry your Lordship's_. I have followed the 4tos in the
metrical arrangement of this speech. 1724 prints as prose.

p. 320, l. 15 _She goes in_. 1724 'She goes out.'

p. 320, l. 21 _I fell asleep_. So 4tos. 1724 as prose.

p. 321, l. 28 _Shepherdess_. 4tos and 1724 punctuate 'Shepherdess,'. It
has been suggested that the passage be punctuated with a full stop at
'call.' and continue 'Ah, cruel' with the punctuation of former
editions retained.

p. 323, l. 8 _he has_. 4to 1671 'it has'.

p. 323, l. 14 _The Court Gallery_. I have supplied this locale.

p. 326, l. 21 _The apartments of Alcippus_. I have supplied this locale.

p. 327, l. 26 _And I so strangely_. 4to 1671 omits 'I'.

p. 330, l. 23 _The Palace_. I have supplied this locale. 1724 misprints
Scene IV.

p. 330, l. 24 _as passing by_. Omitted by 1724.

p. 331, l. 23 _Railly_. 1724 prints this speech as prose.

p. 332, l. 29 _beholding_. 1724 'beholden'.

p. 332, l. 32 _Fal. That's too much_. Following the 4tos I have arranged
all the speeches of Falatius, which 1724 gives as prose, metrically. The
result is, it must be confessed, not entirely satisfactory in places.

p. 334, l. 25 _Farewell_. 4tos and 1724 all print 'For well'.

p. 334, l. 34 _Sees Pisaro_. 1724 omitting 'sees' makes a poor
alteration in the conduct of this business.

p. 335, l. 20 _Exit Pis_. Former editions simply 'Exit.' This confuses
the scene.

p. 335, l. 21 _Re-enter Falatius_. The 4tos omit this stage direction.

p. 337, l. 7 _Galatea's Apartments_. I have supplied the locale.

p, 337, l. 12 _you were_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'you are'.

p. 338, l. 25 _must credit you_. 4to 1671 'faith, I credit you'.

p. 339, l. 4 _Erminia, sure you'll_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'Erminia sure
will'.

p. 339, l. 14 _the fault_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'my faults'.

p. 340, l. 5 _He rises_. I have inserted 'He' to make the direction
quite clear.

p. 342, l. 5 _The Palace_. I have added the locale.

p. 343, l. 25 _loving me_. 4to 1671 prints an unsatisfactory text:

          'none for loving me, for
    I'm much unlike Lucinda whom you ey'd.'

p. 344, l. 28 _The Apartments of Alcippus_. I have added this locale.

p. 344, l. 32 _fear'd_. 4to 1671 'heard'.

p. 347, l. 17 _Entering_. I have added this stage direction.

p, 347, l. 30 _a Chamber_. I have inserted the locale.

p. 347, l. 30 _in a dishabit_. All editions save 4to 1671 read 'in an
undress'.

p. 349, l. 5 _appetites_. 1724 'appetite'.

p. 349, l. 12 _Within_. I have supplied this stage direction.

p. 349, l. 20 _took_. 1724 'taken'.

p. 351, l. 34 _To Alcip_. This and the following stage direction 'To the
Prince' are not in 4to 1671.

p. 352, l. 16 _vile_. 4to 1671 omits.

p. 352, l. 25 _or smothers her with a pillow_. This is only found in 4to
1671.

p. 353, l. 21 _Knew_. 4to 1671 'know'.

p. 354, l. 6 _has_. 4to 1671 'had'.

p. 354, l. 16 _Murder_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'a Murderer'.

p. 354, l. 29 _The Palace_. I have supplied the locale.

p. 356, l. 30 _merits not_. 1724 'merits all'. A striking misprint.

p. 357, l. l2 _Gonzal_. 4to 1671 'Gen'rall'.

p. 357, l. 16 _You once_. 4to 1671 wrongly gives this to the King.

p. 357, l. 19 _And should_. 4to 1671 omits this whole line.

p. 357, l. 29 _Fal. Wert_. I have followed the arrangement of 4to 1671
throughout in this scene, which 1724 prints as prose.

p. 358, l. 7 _Tiffany_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'Taffety.'

p. 358, l. 22 _Philander's Apartments_. I have supplied this locale.

p. 359, l. 29 _Within_. I have added this stage direction.

p. 360, l. 27--_Gods_--. I follow 4tos. 1724 prints these two lines as
prose.

p. 361, l. 36 _the World_. 1724 'that World'.

p. 362, l. 6 _smiling to the Princess_. 1724 reads 'Er. who comes out
smiling.'

p. 363, l. 18 _Galatea's Apartments_. I have supplied the locale.

p. 365, l. 8 _'twas_. 4to 1690 and 1724 'twere'.

p. 365, l. 12 _The Bedchamber_. I have supplied this locale.

p. 365, l. 14 _so_. 4to 1671 'now'.

p. 365, l. 20 _Weeps_. 4to 1671 only has 'Weeps.' 4to 1690 and 1724 give
the stage direction in full.

p. 365, l. 31 _Influence_. 4to 1671 'Influences' to the ruin of the
metre.

p. 366, l. 6 _as touch her_. 4to 1690, 1724 'to touch her'.

p. 368, l. 8 _Princes_. 4tos 1671, 1690 read 'Princess'.

p. 368, l. 14 _who goes_. 4tos 1671, 1690 'and goes'.

p. 368, l. 32 _Do_. 4to 1671 'So'.

p. 369, l. 28 _what_. 4to 1671 'which'.

p. 371, l. 8 _The King's Chamber_. I have supplied this locale and that
of the following Scene (IV).

p. 374, l. 28 _A Pass or two_. Only in 4to 1671.

p. 375, l. 25 _Alcip. Might I_. Only 4to 1671 gives this speech to
Alcippus. All other editions erroneously continue it as part of
Galatea's speech.

p. 375, l. 32 _My Love_. 4to 1671 wrongly 'Thy love'.

p. 377, l. 13 _Ease_. 4to 1671 'easie'.

p. 381, l. 8 _Exeunt_. I have supplied this stage direction.



THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON.


p. 390, l. 1 _To The Lord Marquess_. The dedication only occurs in 4tos
1687, 1688.

p. 391, l. 6 _Billet Doux_. 4tos read 'Billet Deux'--The same form is
found in the _Prologue_ l. 8; but as no other instance of 'Billet Deux'
occurs I have corrected what is doubtless a misprint.

p. 394, l. 28 _Adznigs_. 1724, 'Adzigs'.

p. 395 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added 'Page; _Florinda_, Cousin to
_Elaria_ and _Bellemante_.'

p. 398, l. 4 _otherwise_. 1724 'otherways'.

p. 399, l. 30 _Rosycrusian_. 4 to 1687 'Rosacrucian.'

p. 400, l. 16 _Ma tres chère_. 4 to 1687 'Matres chear.' 4to 1688
'Marrois charé.'

p,400, l. 27 _tout autour_. 4to 1687 'tout au toore.' 4to 1688 'tout au
tour.'

p.400, l. 30 _sighing_. 1724 misprints 'fighting'.

p.400, l. 9 _Cheveux blonds_. 4tos 'Chevave Blond'.

p. 403, l. 30 _Sylphs_. 4to 1687 'Silfs.'

p. 409, l. 13 _Scene III_. All the former editions have Scene II.

p. 412, l. 21 _Enter Doctor_. Both 4tos and 1724 omit to mark this
entrance which I have supplied.

p.413, l. 18 _Draws_. 1724 omits.

p.417, l. 19 _The End of the First Act_. Only in 4tos 1687, 1688.

p. 417, l. 21 _A Chamber_. I have added the locale.

p. 418, l. 26 _the Street_. 1724 'a Street.'

p. 418, l. 27 _a Flambeaux_. This is the reading of both 4tos. 1724 'a
Flambeau'. As Sir T. Herbert, Travels (1638), has a plural 'Flambeauxes'
I have retained 'Flambeaux' as a singular here, though no other instance
can be cited.

p. 420, l. 6 _Scene III_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 420, l. 9 _Florinda_. I have inserted this name here and as
speech-prefix instead of 'Lady'. It is supplied by Act ii, II, and
again in this scene.

p. 422, l. 2 _Harpsicals_. 1724 'Harpsicords'.

p. 422, l. 15 _Within_. I have supplied this stage direction.

p. 424, l. 3 _Doct. Hold up_. 1724 improperly puts this speech after the
stage direction.

p. 424, l. 8 _Harlequin sits still_. 4tos 'He sits still.'

p. 426, ll. 7, 9 _Mistriss_. 1724 'Mrs.'

p. 426, l. 35 _Aside, and Exit_. 'Aside' only in 1724. I have supplied
'and exit.'

p. 427, l. 16 _Scene IV_. I have numbered this scene and supplied the
locale 'to Bellemante's Chamber'.

p. 429, l. 6 _Scene V_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 436, l. 14 _The End of the Second Act_. Only in 4tos.

p. 438, l. 22 _Scene II_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 442, l. 5 _prima_. 4tos misprint 'Fema'.

p. 453, l. 1 _Scene III. The Last_. I have numbered this scene. 1724
omits 'The Last.'

p. 454, l. 3 _the Emperor_. 1724 omits 'the'.

p. 456, l. 28 _Sagittary_. 1724 'Sagittar'.

p. 461, l. 32 _Gravely to himself_. Only in 4tos.

p. 462, l. 19 _Pay_. 1724 'Play.'

p. 462, l. 29 _Bank_. 1724 'Rank'.




NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.



THE TOWN FOP.


p. 15 _Mrs. Celinda Dresswell_. Dresswell was obviously the original
name of Friendlove, and Mrs. Behn forgot to alter her MS. at this
passage. The same oversight occurs later in the act when Bellmour says
'I must rely on Dresswell's friendship,' (p. 20).

p. 18 _Glass Coach_. Coaches with glasses were a recent invention and
very fashionable amongst the courtiers and ladies of the Restoration. De
Grammont tells in his _Memoirs_ how he presented a French calash with
glasses to the King, and how, after the Queen and the Duchess of York,
had publicly appeared in it, a battle royal took place between Lady
Castlemaine and Miss Stewart as to which of the two should first be seen
therein on a fine day in Hyde Park. _The Ultimum Vale of John Carleton_
(4to, 1663) says, 'I could wish her coach ... made of the new fashion,
with glass, very stately, ... was come for me.'

p. 20 _Tom Dove_. A well-known bear so named and exhibited at the Bear
Garden. Besides this passage there are four other allusions to him to be
found. Dryden's _Epilogue to the King and Queen_ at the Union of the Two
Companies, 1682, has:--

    Then for your lacquies ...
    They roar so loud, you'd think behind the stairs,
    Tom Dove, and all the brotherhood of bears.

His prologue to Vanbrugh's alteration of _The Pilgrim_ (1700) begins:--

    How wretched is the fate of those who write!
    Brought muzzled to the stage, for fear they bite;
    Where, like Tom Dove, they stand the common foe.

In Southerne's _The Maid's Last Prayer_ (1693) Act ii, II, Granger on
receiving an invitation to dinner cries: 'Zounds! a man had as good be
ty'd to a stake and baited like Tom Dove on Easter Monday as be the
necessary appurtenance of a great man's table!' D'Urfey in the epilogue
(spoken by Verbruggen) to Robert Gould's _The Rival Sisters; or, The
Violence of Love_, produced at Drury Lane in 1696, writes:--

    When the dull Crowd, unskilled in these Affairs,
    To day wou'd laugh with us, to morrow with the Bears:
    Careless which Pastime did most Witty prove,
    Or who pleas'd best, Tom Poet, or Tom Dove.

Tom Dove has been wrongly described as 'a bearward.'

p. 22 _Southampton House_. Southampton House, Bloomsbury, occupied the
whole of the north side of the present Bloomsbury Square. It had 'a
curious garden behind, which lieth open to the fields,'--_Strype_. A
great rendezvous for duellists, cf. Epilogue to Mountfort's _Greenwich
Park_ (Drury Lane, 1691) spoken by Mrs. Mountfort:--

    If you're displeased with what you've seen to-night
    Behind Southampton House we'll do you right;
    Who is't dares draw 'gainst me and Mrs. Knight?

p. 39 _Nickers_. Vide note (p. 456) Vol. I, p. 398, _The Roundheads_.

p. 41 _Courant_. A quick, lively dance frequently referred to in old
dramatists.

p. 43 _A Jigg_. There were, in Post-Restoration times, two
interpretations of the word Jig. Commonly speaking it was taken to
mean exactly what it would now, a simple dance. Nell Gwynne and Moll
Davis were noted for the dancing of Jigs. cf. Epilogue to Buckingham's
_The Chances_ (1682):--

                 The Author dreads the strut and meen
    Of new prais'd Poets, having often seen
    Some of his Fellows, who have writ before,
    When Nel has danc'd her Jig, steal to the Door,
    Hear the Pit clap, and with conceit of that
    Swell, and believe themselves the Lord knows what.

Thus at the end of Lacy's _The Old Troop_ (31 July, 1668), we have 'a
dance of two hobby horses in armour, and a Jig.' Also shortly before the
epilogue in Shadwell's _The Sullen Lovers_ (1668) we read, 'Enter a Boy
in the habit of Pugenello and traverses the stage, takes his chair and
sits down, then dances a Jig.'

But it must be remembered that beside the common meaning there was a
gloss upon the word derived from Elizabethan stage practice. In the
prologue to _The Fair Maid of the Inn_ (licensed 1626), good plays are
spoken of as often scurvily treated, whilst

    A Jigge shall be clapt at, and every rhime
    Prais'd and applauded by a clam'rous chyme.

The Pre-Restoration Jig was little other indeed than a ballad opera in
embryo lasting about twenty-five minutes and given as an after-piece. It
was a rhymed farce in which the dialogue was sung or chanted by the
characters to popular ballad tunes. But after the Restoration the Jig
assumed a new and more serious complexion, and came eventually to be
dovetailed with the play itself, instead of being given at the fag end
of the entertainment. Mr. W.J. Lawrence, the well-known theatrical
authority to whom I owe much valuable information contained in this
note, would (doubtless correctly) attribute the innovation to Stapylton
and Edward Howard, both of whom dealt pretty freely in these Jigs.
Stapylton has in Act v of _The Slighted Maid_ (1663) a 'Song in
Dialogue' between Aurora and Phoebus with a chorus of Cyclops, which met
with some terrible parody in _The Rehearsal_ (cf. the present editor's
edition of _The Rehearsal_, p. 145). Indeed all extrinsic songs in
dialogue, however serious the theme, were considered 'Jigs'. A striking
example would be the Song of the Spirits in Dryden's _Tyrannic Love_,
Act iv.

In Post-Restoration days a ballad sung in the streets by two persons was
frequently called a Jig, presumably because it was a 'song in dialogue'.
Numerous examples are to be found amongst the Roxburgh Ballads.

The Jig introduced in _Sir Timothy Tawdrey_ would seem to have been the
simple dance although not improbably an epithalamium was also sung.

p. 44 _an Entry_. A dance which derived its name from being performed at
that point in a masque when new actors appeared. In Crowne's _The
Country Wit_ (1675) Act iii, I, there is a rather stupid play on this
sense of the word confounded with its meaning 'a hall or lobby'.

p. 63 _Cracking_. Prostitution. A rare substantive, although 'Crack',
whence it is derived, was common, cf. p. 93 and note.

p. 65 _Cater-tray_. cater = quatre. The numbers four and three on dice
or cards. This term was used generally as a cant name for dice; often
for cogged or loaded dice.

p. 69 _She cries Whore first_. In allusion to the old proverb--cf. _The
Feign'd Courtezans_, Act v, iv, Vol. II, p. 409, when Mr. Tickletext on
his discovery appeals to the same saw.

p. 81 _Berjere_. A very favourite word with Mrs. Behn. Vide Vol. II,
note (p. 346, _The hour of the Berjere_), p. 441 _The Feigned
Courtezans_.

p. 93 _Cracks_. Whores. As early as 1678 'Crack' is the proper name of
a whore in _Tunbridge Wells_, an anonymous comedy played at the Duke's
House, cf. D'Urfey, _Madam Fickle_ (1682), Act v, ii, when Flaile says:
'Y'have killed a Mon yonder, He that you quarrell'd with about your
Crack there.' Farquhar, _Love and a Bottle_ (1698), Act v, ii, has: 'You
imagine I have got your whore, cousin, your crack.' Grose, _Dict. Vulgar
Tongue_, gives the word, and it is also explained by the _Lexicon
Balatronicum_ (1811). It was, in fact, in common use for over an
hundred years.

p. 94 _Mr. E.R_. i.e. Edward Ravenscroft.



THE FALSE COUNT.


p. 99 _Forty One_. cf. note, Vol. II (p. 207) p. 433, _The City
Heiress_.

p. 99 _no Plot was true_. A patent allusion to the fictitious Popish
Plot.

p. 99 _Conventicles_. For the accentuated last syllable, _vide_ Vol. I,
p. 454. A striking example of this accentuation occurs in a Collection
of _Loyal Songs_--1639-1661--

    But all the Parish see it plain,
      Since thou art in this pickle,
    Thou art an Independent quean,
      And lov'st a conventicle.

p. 99 _Christian Suckling_. The charge of murdering young Christian
boys, especially at Passover time, and eating their flesh was
continually brought against the Jews. Little St. Hugh of Lincoln, St.
William of Norwich, the infant St. Simon of Trent and many more were
said to have been martyred in this way. But recently (1913) the trial of
Mendil Beiliss, a Jew, upon a charge of ritually murdering the Russian
lad Yushinsky has caused a world-wide sensation.

p. 99 _Gutling_. Guzzling. Guttle is used in a secondary sense (= to
flatter) in _The City Heiress_. Vide Vol. II, note (on p. 207) p. 433.

p. 100 _took in Lamb's-Wool Ale_. Lamb's-Wool Ale is hot ale mixed with
the pulp of roasted apples, sugared and well spiced. The allusion is to
Lord Howard of Esrick, who, having been imprisoned in the Tower on a
charge connected with the so-called Popish Plot, to prove his innocence
took the Sacrament according to the rites of the English church. It is
said, however, that on this occassion, instead of wine, lamb's-wool was
profanely used. cf. Dryden's bitter jibe--_Absalom and Achitophel_
(November, 1681), I, 575:--

    And canting Nadab let oblivion damn,
    Who made new porridge for the paschal lamb.

cf. also _Absalom's IX Worthies_:--

    Then prophane Nadab, that hates all sacred things,
    And on that score abominateth kings;
    With Mahomet wine he damneth, with intent
    To erect his Paschal-lamb's-wool-Sacrament.

A ballad on the Rye House Plot, entitled _The Conspiracy; or, The
Discovery of the Fanatic Plot_, sings:--

    Next valiant and noble Lord Howard,
      That formerly dealt in lamb's wool;
    Who knowing what it is to be towered,
      By impeaching may fill the jails full.

p. 100 _Brumighams_. Bromingham was a slang term of the day for a Whig.
Roger North says that the Tories nicknamed the opposite party
'_Birmingham_ Protestants, alluding to the false groats struck at that
place'. Birmingham was already noted for spurious coinage. cf. Dryden's
prologue to _The Spanish Friar_ (1681):--

              What e'er base metal come
    You coin as fast as groats at Bromingam.

A panegyric on the return of the Duke and Duchess of York from Scotland
says of Shaftesbury's medal that

    'Twas coined by stealth, like groats at Birmingham.

For Birmingham = Whig we have _Old Jemmy, an Excellent New Ballad_:

    Let Whig and Bromingham repine,
      They show their teeth in vain;
    The glory of the British line,
      Old Jemmy's come again.

Also in Matthew Taubman's _A Medley on the Plot_, this stanza occurs:--

    Confound the hypocrites, Birminghams royal,
      Who think allegiance a transgression;
    Since to oppose the King is counted loyal,
      And to rail high at the succession.

Dryden in his Preface to _Absalom and Achitophel_, I, speaks of 'an
Anti-Bromingham', i.e. a Tory.

p. 100 _dry bobs_. A bob was a sarcastic jest or jibe. cf. _Sir Giles
Goosecappe_ (1606), Act. v, I. 'Marry him, sweet Lady, to answere his
bitter Bob,' and Buckingham's _The Rehearsal_ (1671), Act iii, I, where
Bayes cries: 'There's a bob for the Court.' A dry bob (literally = a
blow or fillip that does not break the skin) is an intensely bitter
taunt, cf. _Cotgrave_ (1611), _Ruade seiche_, a drie bob, jeast or nip.
_Bailey_ (1731) has '_Dry Bob_. a Taunt or Scoff'.

p. 100 _By Yea and Nay_. 'Yea and Nay' was often derisively applied to
the Puritans, and hence to their lineal descendants the Whigs, in
allusion to the Scriptural injunction, _S. Matthew_ v, 33-7, which they
feigned exactly to follow. Timothy Thin-beard, a rascally Puritan, in
Heywood's _If you Know Not Me, You Know Nobody_, Part II (4to, 1606), is
continually asseverating 'By yea and nay', cf. Fletcher's _Monsieur
Thomas_, Act ii, III, where Thomas says:--

    Do not ye see me alter'd? 'Yea and Nay,' gentlemen;
    A much-converted man.

In _Sir Patient Fancy_ (1678), Lady Knowell's late husband, a rank
Puritan, is said to have been 'a great Ay and No Man i'th' City, and
a painful promoter of the good Cause.'

p. 109 _Twins_. Vide note (p. 319, _Amorous Twire_), Vol. II, p. 440,
_The Feigned Courtezans_.

p. 113 _gives Julia the Letter_. Mrs. Behn took the hint for this device
from _L'Ecole des Maris_, ii, XIV, where Isabella feigning to embrace
Sganarelle gives her hand to Valère to kiss.

p. 116 _Just-au-corps_. 'A sort of jacket called a _justacorps_ came
into fashion in Paris about 1650. M. Quicherat informs us that a pretty
Parisienne, the wife of a _maître de comptes_ named Belot, was the first
who appeared in it. In a ballad called _The New-made Gentlewoman_,
written in the reign of Charles II, occurs the line "My justico and
black patches I wear". Mr. Fairholt suggested that _justico_ may be a
corruption of _juste au corps_.--Planché's _Cyclopedia of Costume_,
Vol. I, p. 318. Pepys, 26 April, 1667, saw the Duchess of Newcastle
'naked-necked, without anything about it, and a black just-au-corps'.
cf. Dryden's _Limberham; or, The Kind Keeper_ (1678), iv, I: '_Aldo_.
Give her out the flower'd Justacorps with the petticoat belonging
to't.'

p. 116 _Towers_, The tower at this time was a curled frontlet of false
hair. cf. Crowne's _The Country Wit_ (1675), Act ii, II, where Lady
Faddle cries to her maid, 'run to my milliner's for my gloves and
essences ... run for my new towre.' Shadwell, _The Virtuoso_ (1676), Act
iii, mentions 'Tires for the head, locks, tours, frouzes, and so forth'.
_The Debauchee_ (1677), Act ii, I: Mrs. Saleware speaks of buying 'fine
clothes, and tours, and Points and knots.' _The Younger Brother_ (1696),
Act v, the last scene, old Lady Youthly anxiously asks her maid, 'is not
this Tour too brown?' During the reign of Mary II and particularly in
the time of Anne a Tower meant almost exclusively the high starched
head-dress in vogue at that period.

p. 116 _beat the hoof_. To go packing; to trudge off on foot. _Dic.
Canting Crew_ (1690), 'Hoof it or beat it on the Hoof--to walk on foot.'
Pad the hoof is a yet commoner expression. These and similar slang are
still much used.

p. 117 _finical_. According to the _N.E.D_. the use of finical as a verb
is a nonce word only found in this passage.

p. 119 _lead Apes in Hell_. To die an old maid. A very common expression.
It will be remembered that Beatrice had something to say on the subject.
--_Much Ado About Nothing_, Act ii, I.

p. 122 _Docity_. Gumption, cf. note (p. 340), Vol. II, p. 441, _The
Feign'd Curtezans_.

p. 123 _Don Del Phobos_. The adventures of the Knight of the Sun and his
brother Rosiclair belong to the Amadis school of romance. They were
published in two volumes, folio, at Saragossa, 1580, under the title
_Espejo de principes e cavalleros; o, Cavallero del Febo_. The first
part of this romance was translated into English by Margaret Tiler, _The
Mirrour of Princely deedes and Knighthood_ (4to, 1578), other portions
appearing subsequently. The whole four parts, translated from the
original Spanish into French, appeared in eight volumes, and an abridged
version was made by the Marquis de Paulmy. The Amadis cycle long
remained immensely popular.

p. 129 _Gad-bee in his Brain_. As we now say 'a bee in his bonnet'. For
'Gad-bee' cf. Holland's _Pliny_ (1601) I, 318. 'The bigger kind of bees
... and this vermin is called _Oestrus_ (i.e. the gad-bee or horse
fly).' cf. _The Lucky Chance_, ii, II: 'The Gad-Bee's in his Quonundrum'
and note on that passage infra. For the idea compare 'brize-stung'
(= crazed).

p. 142 _Cockt_. Set his hat jauntily. A very frequent phrase.

p. 146 _Slashes_. Bumpers. From the idea of vigour contained in 'slash'.
The word is extremely rare in this sense and perhaps only found here.
But cf. Scottish (Lothian) 'slash' = a great quantity of broth or any
other sorbile food.

p. 148 _what the Devil made me a ship-board_? cf. Géronte's reiterated
complaint 'Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère?'--_Les
Fourberies de Scapin_ (1671), ii, VII; and the phrase in Cyrano de
Bergerac's _Le Pédant Joué_ (1654): 'Ha! que diable, que diable aller
faire en cette galère?... Aller sans dessein dans une galère!... Dans la
galère d'un Turc!'--Act ii, IV. In France this phrase is proverbial.

p. 156 _glout thy Eyes_. Scowl; frown. Glout (without 'thy Eyes') is
very common in this sense. cf. Note (p. 201), Vol. II, p. 433.

p. 160 _an Antick_. A fantastic measure. This is a favourite word with
Mrs. Behn.

p. 165 _Aquinius his Case_. This is, I take it, some confused allusion
to the great Dominican Doctor, S. Thomas Aquinas, who was regarded as
being the supreme Master of scholasticism and casuistry. Casuistry must
be taken in its true and original meaning--the balancing and deciding of
individual cases.

p. 175 _Bantring and Shamming_. Banter = to chaff or make fun of, at
this time a new slang word. It is almost certain that the verb, which
came into use about 1670, was a full decade earlier than the noun. In
1688 the substantive 'Banter' was up-to-date slang. For the verb _vide_
D'Urfey's _Madam Fickle_ (1676), Act v, I, where Zechiel cries to his
brother: 'Banter him, banter him, Toby. 'Tis a conceited old Scarab, and
will yield us excellent sport--go play upon him a little--exercise thy
Wit.' cf. Swift, _Apology_ (1710), _Talke of a Tub_: 'Where wit hath
any mixture of raillery, 'tis but calling it banter, and the work is
done. This polite word of theirs was first borrowed from the bullies in
Whitefriars, then fell among the footmen, and at last retired to the
pedants.'

For 'shamming' cf. Wycherley's _The Plain Dealer_ (1674), iii, I, where
the Lawyer says to Manly: 'You ... shammed me all night long.'
'Shammed!' cries Manley, 'prithee what barbarous law-term is that?'
'Shamming ...' answers the lawyer, ''tis all our way of wit, Sir.' And
Freeman explains 'Shamming is telling you an insipid dull lie with a
dull face, which the sly wag the author only laughs at himself; and
making himself believe 'tis a good jest, puts the sham only upon
himself.'

p. 176 _Dumfounding_. A rude and rough form of practical joking. The
players 'dumfounded' each other with sudden blows stealthily dealt. cf.
Shadwell's The True Widow (1678), Act iv, I. Prig in the theatre says:
'You shall see what tricks I'll play; 'faith I love to be merry'. (Raps
people on their backs, and twirls their hats, and then looks demurely,
as if he did not do it.) The pit, often a very pandemonium, was the
chief scene of this sport. Dryden, prologue to _The Prophetess_ (1690),
speaks of the gallants in the theatre indulging freely in

    That witty recreation, called dumfounding.

p. 176 _stum'd Wine_. To stum wine is to renew dead and insipid wine by
mixing new wine with it and so raising a fresh fermentation. cf. Slang
(still in common use) 'stumer', a generic term for anything worthless,
especially a worthless cheque.

p. 176 _Grisons_. A 'grison' is a servant employed on some private
business and so dressed in gray (gris) or a dark colour not to attract
notice. cf. Shadwell's _The Volunteers_ (1693), Act ii, sc. I: '_Sir
Nich_. I keep grisons, fellows out of livery, privately for nothing but
to carry answers.'



THE LUCKY CHANCE.


p. 183 _Laurence, Lord Hyde_. This celebrated statesman (1641-1711) was
second son of Edward Hyde, first Earl of Clarendon. The Dedication must
have been written in 1686 when, wavering between the Catholic Faith and
Protestantism, he was still high in favour with the King. 4 January,
1687, he was dismissed from court owing to his persistent refusals to be
received into the Church.

p. 183 _The Abbot of Aubignac_. François Hédelin, Abbé D'Aubignac, a
famous critic and champion of the theatre, was born at Paris, 4 August,
1604. Amongst his best known works are: _Térence justifié_ (4to, 1646,
Paris), an attack on Ménage; _La Practique du théâtre_ (4to, 1669,
Paris); and _Dissertations concernant le poëme dramatique en forme de
remarques sur les deux tragédies de M. Corneille, intitulées_ Sophonisbe
_et_ Sertorious (12mo, 1663, Paris). He died at Nemours, 27 July, 1676.

p. 185 _Dr. Davenant_. Charles Davenant, LL.D, (1656-1714), eldest son
of Sir William Davenant. He sat for St. Ives, Cornwall, in the first
parliament of James II, and was appointed, along with the Master of the
Revels, to license plays.

p. 185 _Sir Roger L'Estrange_. The celebrated Tory journalist,
pamphleteer and censor was born in 1616. He had ever been a warm
defender of James II, and upon this monarch's accession was liberally
rewarded. 21 May, 1685, a warrant was issued directing him to enforce
most strictly the regulations concerning treasonable and seditious and
scandalous publications. After the Revolution he suffered imprisonment.
He died 11 December, 1704.

p. 185 _Mr. Killigrew_. Charles Killigrew (1655-1725), Master of the
Revels, was son of Thomas Killigrew by his second wife Charlotte de
Hesse. He had been appointed Master of the Revels in 1680, patentee of
Drury Lane Theatre in 1682. He was buried in the Savoy, 8 January,
1724-5.

p. 186 _Mr. Leigh_. Antony Leigh, the famous comedian, who created Sir
Feeble Fainwood. The scene referred to is Act iii, sc. II, where it must
be confessed that, in spite of her protestation, Mrs. Behn gives the
stage direction--Sir Feeble 'throws open his Gown, they run all away, he
locks the Door.'

p. 186 _Oedipus_. Dryden and Lee's excellent tragedy was produced at
Dorset Garden in 1679. Betterton created Oedipus and his wife Jocasta.
It was extraordinarily popular, as, indeed, were all the plays Mrs. Behn
marshalls forth in this preface. The scene particularly referred to is
Act ii, I: 'Oedipus enters, walking asleep in his Shirt, with a Dagger
in his Right-Hand and a Taper in his Left.' A little after 'Enter
Jocasta, attended with Lights, in a Night-Gown.'

p. 186 _City Politicks_. This comedy by Crowne is a mordant satire upon
the Whigs. It was produced with great success at the Theatre Royal and
printed quarto 1683. A certain Florio feigns to be dying in order to
prevent the Podesta suspecting an intrigue between his wife, Rosaura,
'the Lady Mayoress', and so impotent an invalid. Artall is in love with
Lucinda, who is married to a toothless old lawyer, Bartoline. Says
Genest: 'The Podesta and Bartoline are as well cuckolded as any Tory
could wish.' cf. The conclusion of Act ii and the commencement of Act
iii; also the discovery of Florio and Rosaura in Act v.

p. 186 _London Cuckolds_. This immensely popular play, five merry
side-splitting acts which kept the stage for a century, was produced in
1682 at Dorset Garden. Ravenscroft has no less than three cuckolds in
his Dramatis Personae: Doodle, Dashwell, and Wiseacre. The intrigues and
counter-intrigues are innumerable. At the end the cuckolds all jeer one
another.

p. 186 _Sir Courtly Nice_. This witty comedy, Crowne's masterpiece, was
produced at the Theatre Royal in 1685. Mrs. Behn's allusion is to Act
ii, II, where Crack, disguised as a tailor, visits Leonora. The language
is often cleverly suggestive.

p. 186 _Sir Fopling_. Etheredge's third comedy, _The Man of Mode; or,
Sir Fopling Flutter_ was produced at the Duke's Theatre in 1676. It met
'with extraordinary success'. Mrs. Behn points at Act iv, II.

p. 186 _Valentinian_. The reference is to the Earl of Rochester's
_Valentinian_, altered from Fletcher, which was produced with great
applause at the Theatre Royal in 1684. The Court Bawds, Balbus,
Proculus, Chylax, Lycinius, with the 'lewd women belonging to the
court', Ardelia and Phorba, are important characters in the tragedy. The
direct allusion is, perhaps, to Act ii, I. The scene after the rape, Act
iv, sc. III, 'opens, discovers th'Emperor's Chamber. Lucina newly
unbound by th'Emperor'. The 'Prologue spoken by Mrs. Cook the first
day' is by Mrs. Behn (_vide_ Vol. VI). It is certain that an audience
which found no offence in Rochester's _Valentinian_ could ill have taken
umbrage at the freedoms of _The Lucky Chance_.

p. 186 _The Moor of Venice. Othello_ was one of the first plays to be
revived at the Restoration, and was, perhaps, the most frequently seen
of all Shakespeare. On 11 October, 1660, Burt acted Othello at the
Cockpit. Downes gives Mohun as Iago; Hart, Cassio; Cartwright,
Brabantio; Beeston, Roderigo; Mrs. Hughes, Desdemona; Mrs. Rutter,
Emilia. But it is certain Clun had also acted Iago--(Pepys, 6 February,
1668). Hart soon gave up Cassio to Kynaston for the title rôle in which
he is said to have excelled. After his retirement in 1683 it fell to
Betterton, of whose greatness in the part Cibber gives a lively picture.
The _Tatler_ also highly commends this actor's Othello.

p. 186 _The Maids Tragedy_. Mrs. Behn refers to Act ii, I, and Act
iii, I. Hart acted Amintor; Mohun, Melantius; Wintershall, the King;
Mrs. Marshall, Evadne. Rymer particularly praises Hart and Mohun in
this tragedy, saying: 'There we have our Roscius and Aesopus both on
the stage together.' After 1683 it was differently cast. It will be
remembered that Melantius was Betterton's last rôle, in which he
appeared for his benefit 13 April, 1710, to the Amintor of Wilks and
the Evadne of Mrs. Barry. He died 28 April, a fortnight after.

p. 187 _Wills Coffee House_. This famous coffee-house was No. 1 Bow
Street, Covent Garden, on the west side corner of Russell Street. It
derived its name from Will Unwin who kept it. The wits' room was
upstairs on the first floor. Some of its reputation was due to the fact
that it was a favourite resort of Dryden.

p. 187 _write for a Third day only_. The whole profits of the third
day's performance went to the author of the play; and upon these
occasions his friends and patrons would naturally rally to support him.
There are numberless allusions to this custom, especially in Prefaces,
Prologues and Epilogues.

p. 189 _the Mall_. The Mall, St. James's Park, was formed for Charles
II, who was very fond of the game 'pall-mall'. The walk soon became a
popular and fashionable resort. There are innumerable references. cf.
Prologue, Dryden's _Marriage à la Mode_ (1672):--

    Poor pensive punk now peeps ere plays begin,
    Sees the bare bench, and dares not venture in;
    But manages her last half-crown with care,
    And trudges to the Mall, on foot, for air.

The scene of the first Act of Otway's _The Soldier's Fortune_ (1681) is
laid in the Mall, and gives a vivid picture of the motley and not over
respectable company that was wont to foregather there.

p. 189 _the Ring_. The Ring, Hyde Park, a favourite ride and promenade
was made in the reign of Charles I. It was very fashionable, and is
frequently alluded to in poem and play. cf. Etheredge, _The Man of Mode;
or, Sir Fopling Flutter: 'Sir Fopling_. All the world will be in the
Park to-night; Ladies, 'twere pity to keep so much beauty longer within
doors, and rob the Ring of all those charms that should adorn it.'--Act
iii sc. II. cf. also Lord Dorset's _Verses on Dorinda_ (1680):--

    Wilt thou still sparkle in the Box,
      Still ogle in the Ring?

p. 193 _Starter_. This slang word usually means a milksop, but here it
is equivalent to 'a butterfly', 'a weathercock'--a man of changeable
disposition. A rare use.

p. 193 _Finsbury Hero_, Finsbury Fields, which Pepys thought 'very
pleasant', had been kept open for the citizens to practise archery. An
ordinance of 1478 is extant which orders all obstacles to be removed and
Finsbury to be 'made a plain field for archers to shoot in'. As late as
1737 there were standing twenty-four 'rovers' or stone pillars for
shooting at distances.

p. 196 _Mr. Barnardine_. This allusion must almost certainly be to a
recent revival of _Measure for Measure_, which particular play had been
amongst those set aside by the regulation of 12 December, 1660, as the
special property of Davenant's theatre. After the amalgamation of the
two companies in November, 1682, a large number of the older plays were
revived or continued to be played (with a new cast and Betterton in the
rôles which had been Hart's) during the subsequent decade. Downes
mentions _Othello, The Taming of the Shrew_, and several by Beaumont and
Fletcher, Ben Jonson, and Brome. On the other hand, it is possible this
reference may merely be to _The Law Against Lovers_ (1661, folio, 1673),
in which Sir William Davenant has mixed Benedick and Beatrice with
Angelo, Claudio, Isabella and the rest. It is a curious conglomeration,
and the result is very pitiful and disastrous. Bernardine and the prison
scenes are retained. _Measure for Measure_ was again profanely altered
by Gildon in 1700, mutilated and helped out by 'entertainments of music'.

p. 197 _Snicker Snee_. See note Vol. I, p. 449, _Snick-a-Snee, The Dutch
Lover_, iii, III (p, 278).

p. 198 _Spittal Sermon_. The celebrated Spital Sermons were originally
preached at a pulpit cross in the churchyard (now Spital Square) of the
Priory and Hospital of St. Mary Spital, founded 1197. The cross, broken
at the Reformation, was rebuilt during Charles I's reign, but destroyed
during the Great Rebellion. The sermons, however, have been continued to
the present time and are still preached every Easter Monday and Easter
Tuesday before the Lord Mayor and Aldermen, at Christ Church, Newgate
Street.

P. 201. _Alsatia_. This cant name had been given to the precinct of
Whitefriars before 1623, then and for many years a notorious refuge for
persons wishing to avoid bailiffs and creditors. The earliest use of the
name is Thomas Towel's quarto tract, _Wheresoever you see meet, Trust
unto Yourselfe: or the Mysterie of Lending and Borrowing_ (1623). The
second use in point of time is the Prologue to Settle's _Pastor Fido_
(1676):--

    And when poor Duns, quite weary, will not stay;
    The hopeless Squire's into _Alsatia_ driven.

Otway's comedy, _The Soldiers Fortune_ (4to, 1681), where Courtine
says: 'I shall be ere long as greasy as an Alsatian bully,' comes third;
and Mrs. Behn's reference to Alsatia in this play, which is often
ignored, claims fourth place. We then have Shadwell's famous comedy,
_The Squire of Alsatia_ (1688), with its well-known vocabulary of
Alsatian jargon and slang, its scenes in Whitefriars, the locus
classicus, a veritable mine of information. The particular portions of
Whitefriars forming Alsatia were Ram-Alley, Mitre Court, and a lane
called in the local cant Lombard Street. No. 50 of Tempest's _Cries of
London_ (drawn and published in James II's reign) is called 'A Squire of
Alsatia', and represents a fashionable young gallant. Steele, _Tatler_
(No. 66), 10 September, 1709, speaks of Alsatia 'now in ruins'. It is
interesting to note that many authorities, ignoring Settle and Mrs.
Behn's allusions, quote Powel and Otway as the only two places where the
word 'Alsatia' is found before Shadwell made it so popular.

p. 202 _Dornex_. Or dornick, a worsted or woollen fabric used for
curtains, hangings and the like, so called from Tournai, where chiefly
manufactured. cf. Shadwell's _The Miser_ (1672), Act i, I: 'a dornock
carpet'. Also _Wit and Drollery_ (1681): Penelope to Ulysses:--

    The Stools of _Dornix_ which that you may know well
    Are certain stuffs Upholsterers use to sell.

p. 202 _Henry the Eighth_. Henry VIII had been put on by Davenant in
December, 1663 with a wealth of pomp and expenditure that became long
proverbial in the theatrical world. An extra large number of supers were
engaged. Downes dilates at quite unusual length upon the magnificence of
the new scenery and costumes. The court scene was especially crowded
with 'the Lords, the Cardinals, the Bishops, the Doctors, Proctors,
Lawyers, Tip-staves.' On New Year's Day, 1664, Pepys went to the Duke's
house and saw 'the so much cried up play of Henry VIII; which tho' I
went with resolution to like it, is so simple a thing, made up of a
great many patches, that, besides the shows and processions in it, there
is nothing in the world good or well done.' On 30 December, 1668,
however, he saw it again, 'and was mightily pleased, better than ever I
expected, with the history and shows of it.' In _The Rehearsal_ (1671),
Act v, I, Bayes says: 'I'l shew you the greatest scene that ever England
saw: I mean not for words, for those I do not value; but for state,
shew, and magnificence. In fine I'll justifie it to be as grand to the
eye every whit, I gad, as that great Scene in Harry the Eight.'

p. 203 _Joan Sanderson_. See note Vol. I, p. 456: _Joan Sanderson. The
Roundheads_, Act iv, IV (p. 402).

p. 204 _Haunce in Kelder_. Literally Jack-in-the-Cellar, i.e. the unborn
babe in the womb. cf. Davenant and Dryden's alteration of _The Tempest_,
Act iv, sc. II. '_Stephano_, I long to have a Rowse to her Grace's
Health, and to the _Haunse in Kelder_, or rather Haddock in Kelder, for
I guess it will be half Fish'; and also Dryden's _Amboyna_ (1673), Act
iv, sc. I, where Harman senior remarks at Towerson and Ysabinda's
wedding: 'You Englishmen ... cannot stay for ceremonies; a good honest
Dutchman would have been plying the glass all this while, and drunk to
the hopes of Hans in Kelder till 'twas bedtime.'

p. 204 an _Apple John_. An apple John is usually explained as being a
kind of apple said to keep two years and to be in perfection when
shrivelled and withered, cf. 2 _Henry IV_, ii, IV, and the context. If
the allusion here is to such a kind of apple Sir Feeble's phrase is
singularly inept, as may perhaps be intended to be the case.

p. 204 _St. Martin's Trumpery_. The parish of St. Martin-le-Grand was
formerly celebrated for the number of shops vending cheap and imitation
jewellery within its purlieus. 'St. Martin's ware' came to mean a
forgery.

p. 205 _nick their Inclinations_. To nick = to thwart. A somewhat
uncommon use. Generally, to nick (slang), means 'to arrest', 'to waylay
and stop'.

p. 207 _the wonderful Salamanca Doctor_. cf. Notes, Vol. II, p. 433.
_silken Doctor. The City Heiress_. Prologue (p. 202); and Vol. II, p.
437. _Salamanca. The City Heiress_, v, V (p. 297).

p. 208 _the Twire_. cf. Note, Vol. II, p. 440. _Amorous Twire. The
Feign'd Curtezans_, i, II (p. 319).

p. 210 _gutling_. Guzzling, cf. supra, p. 479.

p. 210 _Docity_. cf. Note, Vol. II, p. 441. _Docity. The Feign'd
Curtezans_. ii, I (p. 340).

p. 210 _laid in Lavender_. An old and common phrase for 'to pawn'.
cf. Florio, _Worlds of Wordes_ (1593): 'To lay to pawne, as we say, to
lay in Lavender.' Ben Jonson, _Every Man out of his Humour_, Act iii,
sc. III: 'And a black sattin suit of his own to go before her in; which
suit (for the more sweet'ning) now lies in Lavender.'

p. 210 _Enter Rag and Landlady_. Mrs. Behn remembered how Don John
treated Dame Gillian, his landlady. _The Chances_, i, IX.

p. 211 _Judas_. cf. Note, Vol. I, p. 457. _The Roundheads_. v, II
(p. 413).

p. 211 _flabber_. Fat; puffed out. A very rare adjective, perhaps only
here. The _N.E.D_. quotes this passage with a reference to the adjective
'flaberkin' = puffed out, puffy, and a suggestion that it is akin to the
substantive 'flab' = something thick, broad, fat.

p. 212 _this old Sir Guy of Warwick_. Sir Guy of Warwick is an old slang
name for a sword; a rapier. The name is taken from the romance (of which
there were many versions) and which proved extraordinarily popular. It
was first licensed 'in prose by Martyn Parker' to Oulton, 24 November,
1640. Smithson's version was first printed in black letter, and a second
edition appeared in 1686. John Shurley's version was published 4to, 1681
and again 1685. Esdalle, _English Tales and Romances_, enumerates
sixteen versions, editions and abridgements, concluding with 'The
Seventh Edition' 12mo, 1733.

p. 214 _Enter Bredwel_. Lady Fulbank supplying Gayman with money through
the medium of Bredwel 'drest like a Devil' is reminiscent of incidents
in Dryden's first comedy, _The Wild Gallant_ (1663, and revised version,
1667; 4to, 1667), where Lady Constance employs Setstone, a jeweller, to
accomodate Loveby with ready cash. Loveby is benefited to the tune of
two hundred and fifty pounds, which are filched from the study of old
Lord Nonsuch, who complains in much the same way as Sir Cautious. Loveby
declares it must be the devil who has enriched him, and forthwith
rescues his 'Suit with the Gold Lace at Sleeves from Tribulation.' Owing
to his poverty he has been unable to visit Constance, and when he
appears before her in his gay clothes he excuses his fortnight's absence
by saying, I have been 'out of Town to see a little thing that's fallen
to me upon the Death of a Grandmother.' In Act i of _The Wild Gallant_
Loveby gives Bibber a humorous description of a garret, which may be
paralleled with Bredwel's 'lewd' picture of Cayman's chamber--_The Lucky
Chance_, Act i, II. It must be allowed that Mrs. Behn bears away the
palm in this witty passage. _The Wild Gallant_ is, by Dryden's own
confession (cf. the First Prologue), founded on a Spanish plot. In the
Preface he says: 'The Plot was not Originally my own: But so alter'd by
me, (whether for better or worse, I know not) that, whoever the Author
was, he could not have challeng'd a Scene of it.' So vast, indeed, is
the library of the Spanish Theatre that it has not as yet been
identified, a task which in view of the author's own statement may well
be deemed nigh impossible. Recent critics have pertinently suggested
that the device of furnishing Loveby with money was the chief hint for
which Dryden is indebted to Spain. The conduct of the amour between
Lady Fulbank and Gayman, founded as it is on Shirley's _The Lady of
Pleasure_, has nothing in common with Otway's intrigue between Beaugard
and Portia--_The Atheist_ (1683)--which owes itself to Scarron's novel,
_The Invisible Mistress_.

p. 222 _the Gad-Bee's in his Quonundrum_. _Gad-Bee_, vide supra. _The
False Count_, Act ii, II (p. 129), note, p. 481. _Quonundrum_ or
Conundrum. A whim; crotchet; maggot; conceit. The _N.E.D_. quotes this
passage, cf. Jonson's _Volpone_, Act v, sc. II: 'I must ha' my
crotchets! And my conundrums!' _Dic. Cant. Crew_ (1700) has:
'_Conundrums_. Whimms, Maggots and such like.'

p. 222 _jiggiting_. To jigget = to jig, hop or skip; to jump about, and
to fidget, cf. T. Barker, _The Female Tatler_ (1709), No. 15: 'She has a
languishing Eye, a delicious soft Hand, and two pretty jiggetting Feet.'
cf. _to giggit_. Note, Vol. II, p. 436. _fisking and giggiting_. _The
City Heiress_, ii, II (p. 262).

p. 223 _we'll toss the Stocking_. This merry old matrimonial custom in
use at the bedding of the happy pair is often alluded to. cf. Pepys, 8
February, 1663: 'Another story was how Lady Castlemaine, a few days
since, had Mrs. Stewart to an entertainment, and at night begun a
frolique that they two must be married; and married they were, with ring
and all other ceremonies of church service, and ribbands, and a sack
posset in bed and flinging the stocking; but in the close it is said my
Lady Castlemaine, who was the bridegroom, rose, and the King come and
take her place.'

p. 224 _the Entry_. In the Restoration theatre it was the usual practice
for the curtain to rise at the commencement and fall at the end of the
play, so that the close of each intermediate act was only marked by a
clear stage. There are, however, exceptions to this rule, more
particularly when some elaborate set or Tableau began a new act. A
striking example is Act ii, _The Forc'd Marriage_.

p. 224 _Mr. Cheek_. Thomas Cheek was a well-known wit and songwriter of
the day. His name not infrequently occurs to the graceful lyrics with
which he supplied the theatre. There are some pretty lines of his,
'Corinna, I excuse thy face', in Act v of Southerne's _The Wives Excuse;
or, Cuckolds make Themselves_ (1692); and a still better song, 'Bright
Cynthia's pow'r divinely great,' which was sung by Leveridge in the
second act of Southerne's _Oroonoko_ (1699), came from his prolific pen.

p. 225 _Bandstrings_. Strings for fastening his bands or collar which
were in the seventeenth century frequently ornamented with tassels, cf.
Selden, Table-Talk (1689): 'If a man twirls his Bandstrings'; and Wood,
_Ath. Oxon_. (1691): 'He [wore] snakebone bandstrings (or bandstrings
with huge tassels).'

p. 225 _yare_. Eager; ready; prepared from A.-S. geáro. cf. _Measure for
Measure_, iv, II: 'You shall find me yare'; and _The Tempest_, i, I:
'Cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare!'; also Act v, sc. I: 'Our ship ... is
tight and yare.' Also _Antony and Cleopatra_, v, II: 'yare, yare, good
Iras; quick.' Ray gives it as a Suffolk word, and the 'hear, hear' of
Lowestoft boatmen of to-day is probably a disguised 'yare, yare'.

p. 226 _Livery and Seisin_. A very common error for the legal term
'livery of seisin' which signifies the delivery of property into the
corporal possession of a person.

p. 251 _Song. Oh! Love_. Mr. Bullen, who includes this 'impassioned
song' in his _Musa Proterva: Love-Poems of the Restoration_ (1889), has
the following note: 'Did Mrs. Behn write these fine verses?... Henry
Playford, a well-known publisher of music, issued in the same year
[1687] the Fourth Book of _The Theatre of Music_, where "O Love, that
stronger art" appeared with the heading "The Song in Madam Bhen's last
New Play, sung by Mr. Bowman, set by Dr. John Blow." At the end of the
song Playford adds, "These words by Mr. Ousley." ... Mrs. Behn usually
acknowledged her obligations; but she may have been neglectful on the
present occasion. Ousley's claim cannot be lightly set aside.' There is
nothing to add to this, and we can only say that Aphra Behn had such
true lyric genius that 'Oh! Love that stronger art' is in no way beyond
her. A statement which neither disposes of nor invalidates Ousley's
claim based, as this is, upon such strong and definite evidence.

John Bowman (or Boman) who acted Bredwel had 'as a boy' joined the
Duke's Company about 1673. He was, says Cibber, in the days of Charles
II 'a Youth fam'd for his Voice', and he often sang before the King, no
indifferent judge of music. Bowman's name appears as Peter Santlow in
_The Counterfeit Bridegroom; or, the Defeated Widow_ (1677). He soon
became an actor of considerable merit, and created Tattle in _Love for
Love_ (1695). He is said to have remained on the stage for the
extraordinary period of sixty-five years, and to have played within a
few months of his death. Davies speaks highly of his acting, even in
extreme old age. Oldys (MS. note on Langbaine) refers to him as 'old
Mr. John Bowman'. Cibber, in his _Apology_ (1740), speaks of '_Boman_
the late Actor of venerable Memory'.

p. 234 _half Pike_. 'Now _Hist_. A small pike having a shaft of one half
the length of the full-sized one. There were two kinds; one, also called
a _spontoon_, formerly carried by infantry officers; the other, used on
ships for repelling boarders, a boarding-pike,'--_N.E.D_. which quotes
(inter alia) Massinger, &c., _Old Law_ (4to, 1656), Act iii, II:
'Here's a half-pike'; and Froger, _Voyages_ (1698): 'Their ordinary Arms
are the Hanger, the Sagary (assagai), which is a very light Half-Pike.'

p. 245 _Geometry_. A colloquial term for magic.

p. 247 _a Sirreverence under your Girdle_. 'To have an M under (or by)
the Girdle' was a proverbial expression = to have a courteous address by
using the titles Mr., Mrs., Miss, &c. cf. Halliwell, _Dictionary Archaic
and Proverhial Words_; 'M. ... to keep the term "Master" out of sight, to
be wanting in proper respect.' cf. _Eastward Hoe_ (1605), Jonson,
Chapman, and Marston, iv, I: 'You might carry an M under your Girdle';
and not infrequently. Sir- (or Save-) Reverence is an old and very
common colloquialism. It was the most usual form of apology when
mentioning anything likely to offend, or naming a word for which excuse
was thought proper or necessary. Wherefore it came to stand in place of
various words of obscene sound or meaning. There are innumerable
instances from Mandeville (1356); down to recent times, and even
Devonshire dialect to-day.

p. 248 _the George in White-Fryers_. The George tavern was situated in
Dogwell Court, and some little time after the abolition of the vicious
privileges of Alsatia by the Act 8 and 9 William III, c. 27 (1697), it
was converted into the printing office of William Bowyer, the elder.
These premises were destroyed by fire, 30 January, 1713. Scene II, Act i
of Shadwell's _The Squire of Alsatia_ (1688), is laid 'at the George in
Whitefriars'.

p. 249 _he cullies_. To cully = to cheat; trick. Although the verb,
which came into use circa 1670, and persisted for a full century, is
rare, the substantive 'a cully' (= a fool) is very common. For the verb,
cf. Pomfret, _Poems_ (1699), _Divine Attributes_: 'Tricks to cully
fools.'

p. 249 _he pads_. The substantive 'pad' = a path or highway. Bailey
(1730-6) has 'to Pad ... to rob on the road on foot.' cf. Ford's _The
Lady's Trial_ (1639), v, I: 'One can ... pick a pocket, Pad for a cloak
or hat'; and also Cotton Mather's _Discourse on Witchcraft_ (1689),
chap, vii: 'As if you or I should say: We never met with any robbers on
the road, therefore there never was any Padding there.'

p. 250 _sport a Dye_. To play at dice. 'To sport', generic for 'to
parade' or 'display' was, and is a very common phrase. It is especially
found in public school and university slang. This is a very early
example.

p. 250 _Teaster_. i.e. a tester--sixpence, cf. Farquhar's _Love and a
Bottle_, (1698), i, I, where Brush says: 'Who throws away a Tester and a
mistress loses sixpence.'

p. 251 _to top upon him_. To cheat him; to trick him; especially to
cheat with dice. cf. _Dictionary of the Canting Crew_ (by B.E. _gent_.,
1696): 'Top. What do you Top upon me? _c_. do you stick a little Wax to
the Dice to keep them together, to get the Chance, you wou'd have? He
thought to have Topt upon me. _c_. he design'd to have Put upon me,
Sharpt me, Bullied me, or Affronted me.'

p. 251 _we are not half in kelter_. Kelter (or kilter) = order;
condition; spirits. cf. Barrow, Sermons, I, Ser. 6: 'If the organs of
prayer are out of Kelter, or out of time, how can we pray?' _Dictionary
Canting Crew_ (1690), has: 'Out of Kelter, out of sorts.' The phrase is
by no means rare.

p. 251 _as Trincolo says_. Lady Fulbank mistakes. The remark is made by
Stephano, not Trincalo. Dryden and Davenant's _The Tempest_ (1667), Act
ii, I: '_Ventoso_. My wife's a good old jade ...
... _Stephano_. Would you were both hanged, for putting me in thought of
mine!'

p. 252 _Ladies of Quality in the Middle Gallery_. The jest lies in the
fact that the middle gallery or eighteenpenny place in a Restoration
theatre was greatly frequented by, if not almost entirely set aside for,
women of the town. cf. Dryden's _Epilogue on the Union_ (1682):--

    But stay; me thinks some Vizard-Mask I see
    Cast out her Lure from the mid Gallery:
    About her all the fluttering Sparks are rang'd;
    The Noise continues, though the Scene is chang'd:
    Now growling, sputt'ring, wauling, such a clutter!
    'Tis just like Puss defendant in a Gutter.

And again, in his Prologue to Southerne's _The Disappointment_ (1684),
he has:--

    Last there are some, who take their first degrees
    Of lewdness in our middle galleries:
    The doughty bullies enter bloody drunk,
    Invade and grabble one another's punk.

p. 257 _Hortensius_. Cato Uticensis is said in 56 B.C. to have ceded his
wife Marcia to Q. Hortensius, and at the death of Hortensius in 50 B.C.
to have taken her back again--Plutarch, _Cato Min_., 25.

p. 258 _he has a Fly_. A fly = a familiar. From the common old belief
that an attendant demon waited on warlocks and witches in the shape of
a fly, or some similar insect. cf. Jonson's _The Alchemist_, I (1610):--

              You are mistaken, doctor,
    Why he does ask one but for cups and horses,
    A rifling fly, none of your great familiars.

Also Massinger's The _Virgin Martyr_, ii, II:--

                           Courtiers have flies
    That buzz all news unto them.

p. 271 _Snow-hill_. The old Snow Hill, a very narrow and steep highway
between Holborn Bridge and Newgate, was cleared away when Holborn
Viaduct was made in 1867. In the days of Charles II it was famous for
its chapmen, vendors of ballads with rough woodcuts atop. Dorset,
lampooning Edward Howard, has the following lines:

                               Whence
    Does all this mighty mass of dullness spring,
    Which in such loads thou to the stage dost bring?
    Is't all thine own? Or hast thou from _Snow Hill_
    The assistance of some ballad-making quill?

p. 271 _Cuckolds Haven_. This was the name given to a well-known point
in the Thames. It is depicted by Hogarth, _Industry and Idleness_, No. 6.
Nahum Tate has a farce, borrowed from _Eastward Hoe_ and _The Devil's an
Ass_, entitled _Cuckold's Haven; or, An Alderman no Conjuror_ (1685).

p. 278 _Nice and Flutter_. The two typical Fops of the day. Sir Courtly
Nice, created by Mountford, is the hero of Crowne's excellent comedy,
_Sir Courtly Nice_ (1685). In Act v he sings a little song he has made
on his Mistress: 'As I gaz'd unaware, On a face so fair--.' Sir Fopling
Flutter is the hero of Etheredge's masterpiece, _The Man of Mode; or,
Sir Fopling Flutter_ (1676). Sir Fopling, a portrait of Beau Hewitt,
became proverbial. The rôle was created by Smith.

p. 278 _shatterhead_. A rare word for shatter-(scatter) brained. cf.
The Countess of Winchilsea, _Miscellany Poems_ (1713), 'Pri'thee
shatter-headed Fop'.

p. 278 _Craffey_. Craffy is the foolish son of the Podesta in Crowne's
_City Politicks_ (1683). He is described as 'an impudent, amorous,
pragmatical fop, that pretends to wit and poetry.' He is engaged in
writing _Husbai_ an answer to _Absalom and Achitophel_.

p. 278 _whiffling_. Fickle; unsteady; uncertain. To whiffle = to
hesitate; waver; prevaricate. cf. Tillotson, _Sermons_, xiv (1671-94):
'Everyman ought to be stedfast ... and not suffer himself to be whiffled
... by an insignificant noise.' 1724 mistakenly reads 'whistling' in
this passage.

p. 279 _Bulkers_. Whores. cf. Shadwell, _Amorous Widow_ (1690), Act iii:
'Her mother sells fish and she is little better than a bulker.' A bulker
was the lowest class of prostitute. cf. Shadwell's _The Scowerers_, Act
i, I: 'Every one in a petticoat is thy mistress, from humble bulker to
haughty countess.' Bailey (1790) has: 'Bulker, one that would lie down
on a bulk to any one. A common Jilt. A whore.' Swift, _A Tale of a Tub_,
Section II, has: 'They went to new plays on the first night, haunted the
chocolate houses, beat the watch, lay on bulks.'

p. 279 _Tubs_. A patient suffering from the _lues venerea_ was
disciplined by long and severe sweating in a heated tub, which combined
with strict abstinence was formerly considered an excellent remedy for
the disease. cf. _Measure for Measure_, Act iii, sc. II: 'Troth, sir,
she has eaten up all her beef, and she is herself in the tub.' Also
_Timon of Athens_, iv, III: 'Be a whore still' ...

p. 279 _Jack Ketch_. cf. _Dict. Canting Crew_ (by B.E. _Gent_, 1690):
'Jack Kitch. The Hangman of that Name, but now all his Successors.' He
exercised his office circa 1663-87. It was Ketch who bungled the
execution of Monmouth. There are innumerable contemporary references
to him. cf. Dryden's Epilogue to _The Duke of Guise_ (1682):--

    'Jack Ketch', says I, ''s an excellent physician.'



THE FORC'D MARRIAGE.


p. 286 _The Nursery_. Vide note, _little Mrs. Ariell_, Vol. II,
p. 430-1.

p. 287 _King. Mr. Westwood_. It has been quite mistakenly suggested that
Westwood was Otway's theatrical name. Westwood was a professional actor
of mediocre though useful attainments. He is cast for such rôles as Tom
Faithfull in Revet's _The Town Shifts_ (April, 1671); Eumenes in Edward
Howard's _The Woman's Conquest_ (1671); and Battista in Crowne's
_Juliana_ (1671).

p. 300 _unsuit_. A rare form of 'unsuitable'.

p. 304 _devoir_. Endeavour; effort. This passage is quoted in the
_N.E.D_.

p. 305 _The Representation of the Wedding_. This curious tableau is a
striking example of the Elizabethan 'Dumb Show' lingering on to
Restoration days. Somewhat similar, though by no means such complete,
examples may be seen in Orrery's _Henry the Fifth_ (1664), at the
commencement of Act iv, and again in the same author's _The Black
Prince_ (19 October, 1667), Act ii. It must be confessed that Mrs. Behn
has made an excellent use of this technical contrivance. In the
Restoration theatre it was the usual practice for the curtain to rise at
the beginning and fall at the end of the play, so that the close of each
intermediate act was only shown by a clear stage. Although I have marked
Act ii, sc. I of _The Forc'd Marriage_ 'The Palace', I have little doubt
that as the drama was staged Smith and Mrs. Jennings advanced and the
curtain fell behind them hiding the rest of the characters, only to rise
again upon Scene II, 'The Court Gallery'. Philander and Galatea played
upon the apron stage. If they, however, maintained their places in the
tableau, they would have immediately after entered on to the apron,
before the curtain, by way of the proscenium doors. In any case Scene I
must have been acted well forward.

p. 312 _rencounter_. Meet.

p. 322 _Phi. Who's there_. The Duke of Buckingham, in _The Rehearsal_
(1671), Actus ii, scaena V, has a fray burlesquing this passage.

p. 325 _Phi. Villain, thou ly'st_. cf. _The Rehearsal_, Actus v, scaena
I: _'Lieutenant-General. Villain, thou lyest.'_

p. 330 _Campania_. The operations of an army in the field during a
season. cf. Edmund Everard's _Discourses on the Present State of the
Protestant Princes of Europe_ (1679): 'Since the last campania the
Three ... have entred into the entanglement of a War.'

p. 331 _Pattacoon_. A Spanish dollar value 4s. 8d; vide supra, Vol. I,
_The Rover_ (I), ii, I (p. 36) and note on that passage, p. 442.

p. 347 _in a dishabit_. This word is excessively rare, if this be not
the unique example. The _N.E.D_. fails to include it. Dishabille had
been introduced from France in the reign of Charles II, and (in its
various forms) became exceedingly popular. It is noticeable that all
other editions, save the first quarto (1671), in this passage read
'in an undress'.

p. 352 _or smothers her with a pillow_. This is only in the first
quarto. Here in particular, and throughout the whole scene, Mrs. Behn's
reminiscences of _Othello_ are very patent.

p. 358 _Enter Erminia veil'd_. In Sir William Barclay's _The Lost Lady_
(folio 1639), a good, if intricate, tragi-comedy, which was received
with applause after the Restoration [Pepys saw it 19 January, 1661, and
again, rather more than a week later, on the 28th of the same month],
and not forgotten by Buckingham when he penned _The Rehearsal_, Milesia
(supposed dead), the wife of Lysicles, appears to her husband as a ghost
--Act v, sc. I. It is very possible that Mrs. Behn hence took her hint
for the phantom of the living Erminia. It is noticeable that generations
after Tobin borrowed not a few incidents from _The Lost Lady_ for _The
Curfew_, produced at Drury Lane, 19 February, 1807, a posthumous play.
In Lodowick Carlell's _The Fool Would be a Favourite; or, The Discreet
Lover_ (12mo, 1657), we have Philantus confronting Lucinda as his own
ghost--(Actus Quintus).

p. 358 _Tiffany_. A kind of thin silk gauze. cf. Philemon Holland's
_Plinie_, Bk. XI, ch. xxii: 'The invention of that fine silke, tiffanie,
sarcenet, and cypres, which instead of apparell to cover and hide, shew
women naked through them.' All subsequent editions to 4to 1671, read
'taffety' in this passage.



THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON.


p. 390 _Lord Marquess of Worcester_. Charles, Marquis of Worcester
(1661-1698), father of Henry Somerset, second Duke of Beaufort, was the
second son [Henry, his elder brother, died young] of Henry Somerset,
first Duke of Beaufort (1629-1700), by Mary, eldest daughter of Arthur,
first Lord Capel. The first Duke of Beaufort, the staunchest of Tories,
was high in favour with Charles I, Charles II, and James II. Charles,
the son and heir, was killed through an accident to his coach in Wales,
July, 1698, and the shock is said to have hastened the old Duke's end.

p. 391 _acted in France eighty odd times_. The original scenes were
produced by the Italian comedians at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, 5 March,
1684. Their popularity did not wane for many a decade. In the fifth
edition (1721) of Gherardi's _Théâtre Italien_ there are far fuller
excerpts from the farce than in the first edition (1695).

p. 392 _who now cannot supply one_. The Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. If
Mrs. Behn's complaint about the public is true, James II was, none the
less, himself a good friend to the stage, and many excellent plays were
produced during his reign. There is, however, considerable evidence that
at this period of strife--religious and political, rebellion and revolt
--things theatrical were very badly affected, and the play-house poorly
attended.

p. 393 _No Woman without Vizard_. cf. Cibber in his _Apology_ (1740),
ch. viii: 'I remember the ladies were then observed to be decently
afraid of venturing bare-faced to a new comedy, till they had been
assured they might do it, without the risk of an insult to their
modesty: or, if their curiosity were too strong for their patience, they
took care, at least, to save appearances, and rarely came upon the first
days of acting but in masks (then daily worn, and admitted in the pit,
the side-boxes, and gallery) which custom, however, had so many ill
consequences attending it, that it has been abolished these many years.'

p. 394 _Sice_. Six. The number six at dice.

p. 394 _it sings Sawny. Saunie's Neglect_. This popular old Scotch song
is to be found, with a tune, on p. 317, Vol. I, D'Urfey's _Wit and
Mirth; or, Pills to Purge Melancholy_ (1719). It had previously been
given in _Wit and Drollery_ (1681). It commences thus:--

    Sawney was tall and of noble race
      And lov'd me better than any eane
    But now he ligs by another lass
      And Sawney will ne'er be my true love agen.

Ravenscroft, in _The London Cuckolds_ (1682), Act iii, introduces a
link-boy singing this verse as he passes down the street.

p. 394 _There's nothing lasting but the Puppets Show_. About this time
there was a famous Puppet Show in Salisbury Change which was so
frequented that the actors were reduced to petition against it. cf. The
Epilogue (spoken by Jevon) to Mountfort's _The Injured Lovers_ (1688),
where the actor tells the audience they must be kind to the poet:--

    Else to stand by him, every man has swore.
    To Salisbury Court we'll hurry you next week
    Where not for whores, but coaches you may seek;
    And more to plague you, there shall be no Play,
    But the Emperor of the Moon for every day.

Philander and Irene are the conventional names of lovers in the novels
and puppet plays which were fashionable. It is interesting to note that
less than a century after this prologue was first spoken, _The Emperor
of the Moon_ was itself being played at the puppet show in Exeter Change.

p. 395 _Doctor Baliardo_. The Doctor was one of the leading masks, stock
characters, in Italian impromptu comedy. Doctor Graziano, or Baloardo
Grazian, is a pedant, a philosopher, grammarian, rhetorician,
astronomer, cabalist, a savant of the first water, boasting of his
degree from Bologna, trailing the gown of that august university.
Pompous in phrase and person, his speech is crammed with lawyer's jargon
and quibbles, with distorted Latin and ridiculous metaphors. He is
dressed in black with bands and a huge shovel hat. He wears a black
vizard with wine-stained cheeks. From 1653 until his death at an
advanced age in 1694 the representative of Dr. Baloardo was Angelo
Augustino Lolli. The Doctor's speeches in _Arlequin Empereur dans la
Lune_ (1684), are a mixture of French and Italian.

p. 395 _Scaramouch_. In the original _Arlequin Empereur dans la Lune_
Scaramouch is Pierrot. The make-up and costume of Pierrot (Pedrolino)
circa 1673 is thus described: 'La figure blanchie. Serre-tête blanc.
Chapeau blanc. Veste et culotte de toile blanche. Bas blancs. Souliers
blancs à rubans blancs.' It will be seen that he differed little from
his modern representative. Arlechino appeared in 1671 thus: 'Veste et
pantalon à fond jaune clair. Triangles d'étoffes rouges et vertes.
Boutons de cuivre. Bas blancs, Souilers de peau blanche à rubans rouges.
Ceinture de cuir jaune à boucle de cuivre. Masque noir. Serre-tête noir.
Mentonnière noire. Chapeau gris à queue de lièvre. Batte. Collerette de
mousseline.'

Colombine (Mopsophil) in 1683 wore a traditional costume: 'Casaquin
rouge bordé de noir. Jupe gris-perle. Souliers rouges bordés de noir.
Manches et collerette de mousseline. Rayon de dentelle et touffe de
rubans rose vif. Tablier blanc garni de dentelles.'

p. 397 _your trusty Roger_. cf. John Weever's _Ancient funerall
monuments_ (folio, 1631): 'The seruant obeyed and (like a good trusty
Roger) performed his Master's commandment.' Roger stands as a generic
name.

p. 399 _Lucian's Dialogue_. The famous [Greek: Ikaromenippos hae
hypernephelos]--'Icaromenippus; or, up in the Clouds.' Mrs. Behn no
doubt used the translation of Lucian by Ferrand Spence. 5 Vols. 1684-5.
'Icaromenippus' is given in Vol. III (1684).

p. 399 _The Man in the Moon. The Man in the Moone_, by Domingo Gonsales
(i.e. Francis Godwin, Bishop of Llandaff, and later of Hereford), 8vo,
1638, and 12mo, 1657. This is a highly diverting work. The Second Edition
(1657) has various cuts amongst which is a frontispiece, that occurs
again at page 29 of the little volume, depicting Gonsales being drawn up
to the lunar world in a machine, not unlike a primitive parachute, to
which are harnessed his 'gansas ... 25 in number, a covey that carried
him along lustily.'

p. 399 _A Discourse of the World in the Moon_. Cyrano de Bergerac's
[Greek Selaenarchia] _or the Government of the World in the Moon: Done
into English by Tho. St. Serf, Gent_. (16mo, 1659), and another version,
_The Comical History of the States and Empires of the Worlds of the Moon
and Sun, newly Englished by A. Lovell, A.M_. (8vo, 1687).

p. 400 _Plumeys_. Gallants; beaus. So termed, of course, from their
feathered hats. cf. Dryden's _An Evening's Love_ (1668), Act i, I, where
Jacinta, referring to the two gallants, says: 'I guess 'em to be
Feathers of the _English_ Ambassador's train.' cf. Pope's Sir Plume in
_The Rape of the Lock_. In one of the French scenes of _La Precaution
inutile_, produced 5 March, 1692, by the Italian comedians, Gaufichon
(Act i, I) cries to Leandre: 'Je destine ma soeur a Monsieur le Docteur
Balouard, et trente Plumets comme vous ne la détourneroient pas d'un
aussi bon rencontre.' The French word = a fop is, however, extremely
rare. Plumet more often = un jeune militaire. cf. Panard (1694-1765);
_Oeuvres_ (1803), Tome III, p. 355:--

    Que les plumets seraient aimables
    Si leurs feux etaient plus constants!

p. 401 _Cannons_. Canons were the immense and exaggerated breeches,
adorned with ribbons and richest lace, which were worn by the fops of
the court of Louis XIV. There is more than one reference to them in
Molière. Ozell, in his translation of Molière (1714), writes 'cannions'.
cf. _School for Husbands_, Vol. II, p. 32: 'those great cannions
wherein the legs look as tho' they were in the stocks.'

    Ces grands cannons où, comme en des entraves,
    On met tous les matins ses deux jambes esclaves.
                                 --_Ecole des Maris_, i, I.

cf. Pepys, 24 May, 1660: 'Up, and made myself as fine as I could, with
the linen stockings on and wide canons that I bought the other day
at Hague.'

p. 403 _The Count of Gabalis_. The Abbé Montfaucon de Villars (1635-73)
had wittily satirized the philosophy of Paracelsus and the Rosicrucians
and their belief in sylphs and elemental spirits in his _Le Comte de
Gabalis ou Entretiens sur les sciences secrètes_ (Paris, 1670), which
was 'done into English by P.A. _Gent_.' (P. Ayres), as _Count Gabalis,
or the Extravagant Mysteries of the Cabalists, exposed in five pleasant
discourses_ (1680), and thus included in Vol. II of Bentley and Magnes,
_Modern Novels_ (1681-93), twelve volumes. It will be remembered that
Pope was indebted to a hint from _Gabalis_ for his aerial machinery in
_The Rape of the Lock_.

p. 406 _Iredonozar_. This name is from Gonsales' (Bishop Godwin) _The
Man in the Moone_: 'The first ancestor of this great monarch [the
Emperor of the Moon] came out of the earth ... and his name being
Irdonozur, his heirs, unto this day, do all assume unto themselves
that name.'

p. 407 _Harlequin comes out on the Stage_. This comic scene, _Du
Desespoir_, which affords such opportunity for the mime, although not
given in the first edition of Le _Théâtre Italien_, finds a place in the
best edition (1721). The editor has appended the following note: 'Ceux
qui ont vù cette Scène, conviendront que c'est une des plus plaisantes
qu'on ait jamais jouée sur le _Théâtre Italien_.'

p. 408 _a Man that laugh'd to death_. This is the traditional end of
l'unico Aretino. On hearing some ribald jest he is said to have flung
himself back in a chair and expired of sheer merriment. Later days
elucidate his fate by declaring that overbalancing himself he broke
his neck on the marble pavement. Sir Thomas Urquhart, the glorious
translator of Rabelais, is reported to have died of laughter on hearing
of the Restoration of Charles II.

p. 410 _Boremes_. A corrupt form (perhaps only in these passages) of
bouts-rimés. 'They were a List of Words that rhyme to one another
drawn up by another Hand and given to a Poet, who was to make a Poem
to the Rhymes in the same Order that they were placed on the List.'
--Addison, _Spectator_, No. 60 (1711).

p. 413 _Flute Doux_. Should be flute-douce. 'The highest pitched variety
of the old flute with a mouthpiece.'--Murray, _N.E.D_. cf. Etheredge,
_The Man of Mode_ (1676), ii, II: 'Nothing but flute doux and French
hoyboys.'

p. 420 _a Curtain or Hangings_. When several scenes had to be set one
behind another the device of using a curtain or tapestries was common.
cf. Dryden and Lee's _The Duke of Guise_ (1682), Act v, where after four
or five sets 'the scene draws, behind it a traverse'. We then have the
Duke's assassination--he shrieks out some four lines and dies, whereon
'the traverse is drawn'. The traverse was merely a pair of curtains on a
rod. All the grooves were in use for the scenes already set.

p. 422 _Harpsicals_. A common corruption of harpsicords on the analogy
of virginals. The two 4tos, 1687 and 1688, and the 1711 edition all read
'harpsicals'. 1724 gives 'Harpsicords'.

p. 435 _Ebula_. The Ebelus was a jewel of great price bestowed upon
Gonzales by Irdonozur. He tells us that: 'to say nothing of the colour
(the Lunar whereof I made mention before, which notwithstanding is so
incredibly beautiful, as a man should travel 1000 Leagues to behold it),
the shape is somewhat flat of the breadth of a _Pistolett_, and twice
the thickness. The one side of this, which is somewhat more Orient of
Colour than the other, being clapt to the bare skin of a man, in any
part of his body, it taketh away from it all weight or ponderousness;
whereas turning the other side it addeth force unto the attractive beams
of the Earth, either in this world or that, and maketh the body to weigh
half so much again as it did before.'

p. 446 _Guzman of Salamanca_. A Guzman was a common term of abuse. The
first English translation (by James Mabbe) of Aleman's famous romance
is, indeed, entitled _The Rogue_, and it had as running title _The
Spanish Rogue_. There is a novel by George Fidge entitled _The English
Gusman; or, The History of that Unparalleled Thief James Hind_ (1652,
4to). Salamanca had an unsavoury reputation owing to the fictions of
Titus Gates. cf. _The Rover_ (II), Act v: 'Guzman Medicines.'

p. 446 _Signum Mallis_. This curious phrase, which is both distorted
cant and canine, would appear to mean 'your rogue's phiz'.

p. 446 _Friskin_. 'A gay lively person.'--Halliwell.

p. 446 _Jack of Lent_. A puppet set up to be thrown at; in modern
parlance, 'Aunt Sally'. Hence a butt for all.

p. 451 _Spitchcock'd_. To spitchcock is to split lengthwise, as an eel,
and then broil.

p. 458 _Stentraphon_. A megaphone.

p. 460 _They fight at Barriers_. A comic combat between Harlequin and
Scaramouch forms one of the traditional incidents (_Lazzi_), which occur
repeatedly in the Italian and Franco-Italian farces. cf. Dryden's
Epilogue spoken by Hart when _The Silent Woman_ was played before the
University of Oxford in 1673:--

    Th' _Italian_ Merry-Andrews took their place,
    And quite debauch'd the Stage with lewd Grimace:
    Instead of Wit and Humours, your Delight
    Was there to see two Hobby-horses fight,
    Stout _Scaramoucha_ with Rush Lance rode in,
    And ran a Tilt at Centaure _Arlequin_.





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