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Title: The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. III

Author: Aphra Behn

Release Date: November 10, 2003 [EBook #10039]

Language: English

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THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN, VOL. III


EDITED BY MONTAGUE SUMMERS


MCMXV



CONTENTS:

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






THE TOWN-FOP; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TAWDREY.



ARGUMENT.

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



SOURCE.

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



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

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




THE TOWN-FOP;
or, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_.


PROLOGUE.

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

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

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



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


MEN.

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


WOMEN.

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

SCENE, _Covent-Garden_.




ACT I.

SCENE I. _The Street_.


    _Enter Sir_ Timothy Tawdrey, Sham, _and_ Sharp.

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

_Sham_. Nothing else!--

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

_Sham_. A Pox upon him for his Pains--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    _Enter_ Bellmour _and_ Friendlove.

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

_Friend_. Sir _Timothy Tawdrey!_--

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

_Friend_. Between who, Sir?

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

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

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

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

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

_Friend_. Of your Money you mean, Sir.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Friend_. Not I, Sir.

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

_Friend_. Not at all.

_Bel_. O, this insufferable Sot!    [_Aside_.

_Friend_. My Sister, Sir, is very nice.

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

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

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

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

_Friend_. Prithee let him alone.    [_Aside_.

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

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

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

                                                 [Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _A Chamber_.


    _Enter_ Celinda, _and_ Nurse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Cel_. Or I must die.

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

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

_Nur_. Very fine!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Cel_. The same, but cannot return your Compliment.

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

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

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

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

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

_Friend_. Patience, dear _Frank_, a little while.

                     [_Exeunt_ Friend. Bell. Sham _and_ Sharp.

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. What a Pox, not a Word?

_Cel_. Sure this Fellow believes I'll begin.

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

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

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

_Nur_. Hold, Sir, you mistake your Mark.

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

_Nur_. Try, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Which way?

_Nur_. Why, speak to her first.

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

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

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

_Cel_. If I can, Sir.

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

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. Can you love?

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

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

_Cel_. Would that please you in a Wife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. Hold, hold thy eternal Clack.

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. The Devil's in her Tongue.

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

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

Sir _Tim_. Will she never end?

_Cel_. Prithee forbear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Nur_. Thy Quality--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Nur_. Murder, Murder!

Cel. Hold, hold.

    _Enter_ Friendlove, Bellmour, Sham _and_ Sharp.

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

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

_Friend_. By whom? my Sister?

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Bel_. Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

_Bel_. Nay, view her well, Sir--

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. How, Sir, how?

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

Sir _Tim_. How, _Frank_, art in earnest?

_Bel_. Try, if thou dar'st.

Sir _Tim_. Not think of her!--

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

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

_Friend_. I doubt so, Sir _Timothy_.

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

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

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

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

                                        [Exeunt.




ACT II.

SCENE I. _A Palace_.


    _Enter_ Nurse _with a Light_.

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

    _Enter_ Bellmour.

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

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

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

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

                                          [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _A Chamber_.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Cel_. But are you, Sir, in earnest?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    _Enter_ Friendlove.

_Friend_. So, forward Sister!

_Bel_. Ha, _Friendlove!_

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Friend_. For that let me alone t'evade.

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

_Nur_. Heartily sworn, as I vow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                [_Ex_. Cel. _and_ Nurse.

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

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

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

_Friend_. Shall I wait on thee?

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

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

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

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

                                      [_Ex. severally_.



SCENE III. _Sir_ Timothy's _House_.


    _Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham, Sharp, _and_ Boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Sham_. You know he has a Sister, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, rich, and fair.

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

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

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

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

_Sharp_. As a Goddess, Sir.

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

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

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

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

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

_Sharp_. How, Sir, doubt our Honesty!

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

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

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

_Sharp_. How, Sir?

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

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

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

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

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

_Sharp_. Why, Sir, who dares question either?

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

_Sharp_. Hold, Sir, hold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                    [Exeunt.



SCENE IV. Lord Plotwell's House.


    Enter Charles Bellmour, and Trusty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                             [_Exeunt_.

    _Enter_ _Lord_ Plotwell, _and_ Bellmour.

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

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

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

_Bel_. Ha!--

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

_Bel_. Marry her, my Lord--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Bel_. How, Sir, the fair _Diana_!

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

_Bel_. As I did before, my Lord.

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

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

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

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

_Lord_. What do you mean, Sir?

_Bel_. I mean, I cannot marry fair _Diana_.

_Lord_. Death! how's this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Lord_. How! not in your pow'r?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Lord_. Oh Villain! thus to dash my Expectation!

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

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

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

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

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

_Lord_. Who waits there?

    Enter Trusty and Servants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Lord_. By all means, Sir--

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

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

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

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

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

                                              [_Ex_. Trusty.

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

_Bel_. Then I obey.

    _Enter_ Trusty _and_ Diana.

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

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

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

_Bel_. Since you will have it so.

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

_Bel_. Oh my _Celinda_!--

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

                                             [_Exit_.



SCENE V. _The Street_.


    _Enter Sir_ Timothy Tawdrey, Sham _and_ Sharp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    _Enter_ Page _with a Letter_.

Sir _Tim_. Is not that _Bellmour's_ Page?

_Sharp_. It is, Sir.

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

_Sham_. No matter, Sir, huff it out.

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

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

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

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

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

_Page_. My Master, Sir--

_Sharp_. Are not you _Bellmour's_ Page?

_Page_. Yes, Sir.

_Sharp_. Well, your News.

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

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

_Page_. Married this Morning.

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

_Sham_. The Boy is drunk--_Bellmour_ married!

_Page_. Yes, indeed, to the Lady _Diana_.

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

_Page_. Niece to the Lord _Plotwell_.

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

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

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

_Page_. I humbly thank you.
                               [_Exit_.

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. I conceive thee.

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

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

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

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

_Sham_. I'll about it, Sir.

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

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

                                               Exeunt.




ACT III.

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


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

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

_Phil_. There's time enough, my Lord.

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

_Bel_. My Lord, I cannot dance.

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

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

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

_Char_. My Lord, I'll make one.

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

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

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

                                                [_Soft Musick_.

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

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

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

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

_Sharp_. I will, Sir, I will.

                                 [_One goes to take out a Lady_.

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

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

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

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

    _Enter_ Page _with a Table-Book_.

_Bel_. What's this?

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

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

_Page_. How scorn, Sir!

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

_Page_. How, Sir?

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

_Page_. Sir!

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

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

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

  LETTER.

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

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

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

_Bel_. Her Beauty makes the very Boy adore it.

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

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

    _Enter_ Friendlove _in Masquerade. A Jigg_.

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

Sir _Tim_. Fair Maid--

_Phil_. How do you know that, Sir?

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

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

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

_Phil_. You? Pray who are you?

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

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

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

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

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

_Phil_. Is it possible you can love at all?

Sir _Tim_. As much as I dare.

_Phil_. How do you mean?

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

    _Enter_ Celinda _like a Boy_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Friend_. This Sword shall answer ye.
                                         [_Draws_.

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

_Dia_. Oh, my dear _Bellmour_!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Char_. Villain, defend thy Life.

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

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

_Char_. What made thee draw upon my Brother?

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

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

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

_Char_. Coward! Shew then thy Face.

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

_Char_. Shew thy Face without delay, or--

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

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

Sir _Tim_. How, Sir? how?

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

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

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

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

                                       [_They fight out_.

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

                                            [_Ex. Women_.

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

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

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

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

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

    _Enter_ Charles Bellmour.

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

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

_Bel_. Gentlemen, good Night.

                                 [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II_. A Bed Chamber_.


    _Enter_ Diana.

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

    _Enter_ Bellmour, Lord, Charles, _and the rest_.

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

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

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

                       [_Ex. all but_ Bellmour _and_ Diana.

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Dia_. Dost thou not love me then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Bel_. For ever! for a long Eternity!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                 [_Exit_.



SCENE III. _A Street_.


    _Enter_ Celinda, _drest as before_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. Mistake! how can that be?

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Sham_. With Honour, Sir, I protest.

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

_Boy_. What shall I sing, Sir?

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

  SONG.

  I.

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

  II.

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

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

    _Enter_ Bellmour _above_.

_Bel_. Who is't has sent that Curse?

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

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

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

_Cel_. But you shall, Sir.

_Bel_. Turn, Villains!

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

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

_Cel_. Not yet, my sullen Heart!

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

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

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

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

                                                     [_Exeunt_.

    _Enter_ Bellmour, _Sir_ Tim. Sham, _and_ Sharp.

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

_Bel_. No more I have.

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

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

Sir _Tim_. How, how!

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

Sir _Tim_. What do you mean, _Frank_?

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

Sir _Tim_. Bless me!

_Bel_. From such a Villian, hah!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. Ay, that I like.

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

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, a thriving Sin.

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

                                       [_Exeunt_.




ACT IV.

SCENE I. Celinda's _Chamber_.


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

  SONG.

  I.

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

  II.

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

  III.

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

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

_Dia_. Why do you flatter, Sir?

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

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

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

_Dia_. Oh, would he were in earnest!

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

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

_Cel_. Sufficiently--

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

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

_Dia_. Why is there Terror in that Word?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Dia_. Pray hear me, Sir--

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

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

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

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

_Cel_. Oh blessed Man!

_Dia_. How, Sir?

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

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

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

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

_Cel_. Or may I still prove wretched.

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

_Cel_. How mean you, Madam?

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

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

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

_Cel_. Hah--

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

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

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

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

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

    _Enter_ Friendlove _disguised, as one from a Camp_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Dia_. Dare you fight for me?

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

_Dia_. Nay, 'tis but a single Man.

_Friend_. Name him.

_Dia_. _Bellmour_.

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

_Dia_. Yes, do you know him?

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

_Dia_. Heard you her Name?

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

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

_Friend_. How, Madam!

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

_Friend_. Hate him!

_Dia_. To Death.

_Friend_. Oh, me unhappy!    [_Aside_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Friend_. I will attend, and hear impatiently.

                                          [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _A Baudy House_.


    _Enter Mrs_. Driver _and_ Betty Flauntit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            [_Exeunt_.



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


    _Enter_ Bellmour, _Sir_ Timothy, Sham _and_ Sharp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    _Enter a Servant with Dice and Wine_.

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

Sir _Tim_. What will you set me, Sir?

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

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

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

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

_Bel_. The matter?

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

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

_Sham_. They're come as wisht for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. How, my _Betty_!

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

Sir _Tim_. Nay, dear Betty!

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

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

_Flaunt_. Your Whores you mean, you Sot you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Bel_. By Heaven, a very Devil!

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

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

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

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

_Flaunt_. So it seems, Sir.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Flaunt_. All--you please, Sir--

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Driv_. Who, Mrs. Flauntit, Sir?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. Ay, she blinds the Knight.

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

Sir _Tim_. But what if the Fool miss her?

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

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

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

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

          _Enter_ Charles Bellmour, _and_ Trusty.

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

_Flaunt_. To meet a Rogue!--

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

_Flaunt_. How, Sir?

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

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

_Bel_. Who knows this bold Intruder?

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

_Bel_. Take hence that prating Boy.

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

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

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

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

_Char_. How came she dead?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Bel_. Yes, on this Woman, Sir.

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

_Bel_. Yes, in a Baudy-house.

_Char_. And this Woman, Sir.--

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

_Char_. And can you love her, Sir?

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

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

_Bel_. Neither.

_Char_. Is your Lust grown so high--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  [_Ex. Sir_ Tim. Sham _and_ Sharp.

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

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

                                             [_Ex_. Trusty.

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

_Char_. Why should I fear thee?

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

_Char_. What is't that makes you so?

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

    _Enter_ Trusty.

_Trust_. Sir, here's a Coach.

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

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

                              [_Ex. severally_.




ACT V.

SCENE I. _Covent Garden_.


    _Enter_ Betty Flauntit _alone_.

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

    _Enter Sir_ Timothy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Flaunt_. Will you swear to be so?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, by Fortune, I will.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                  [_Exit_ Flaunt.

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

    _Enter_ Sham _and_ Sharp.

Oh, are you come?

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. Indeed you are a little shabby.

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

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. But to our Business.

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

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

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

Sir _Tim_. A good thriving Inclination, by Fortune.

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

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

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

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

_Sharp_. What, our Patron?

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

    _Enter Sir_ Timothy.

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

                                                           [_Exeunt_.

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

                                  [_Exit cross the Stage_.



SCENE II. _Lord_ Plotwell's _House_.


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

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

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

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

                               [_Ex. Servants_.

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

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

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

    _Enter_ Page.

_Page_. A Letter for your Lordship.

Lord _reads_.

  My LORD,

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

            [_Gives_ Charles _the Letter_.

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

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

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

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

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

_Char_. Sir, I beseech you--

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

_Char_. Sir, how, have I offended?

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

_Char_. Is that a Fault, my Lord?

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

_Page_. Without, my Lord.

                  [_Ex_. Lord _and_ Page.

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

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

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

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

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

_Char_. Prithee how wilt do this?

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

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

    _Enter_ Phillis.

_Phil_. No News yet of my Brother?

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

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

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

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

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

    _Enter_ Page.

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

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

    _Enter_ Sham.

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

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

_Sham_. But you know our Conditions.

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

_Sham_. Right.

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

    _Enter_ Sham, _bringing in Sir_ Timothy.

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

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

    _Enter_ Phillis.

Sir _Tim_. _sings_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Phil_. What's that, a Wench?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    _Enter_ Sham.

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

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

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

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

                                                [_Ex_.



SCENE III. _A Street_.


    _Enter_ Friendlove _disguis'd as before_.

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

    _Enter_ Bellmour _sad_.

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

_Bel_. Sir!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Bel_. Who dares deny thy Reasons?

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

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

_Friend_. To break thy Heart, know then, she loves another,
And has took back the Vows she made to thee,
And given 'em to a Man more worthy of 'em.

_Bel_. Alas! I credit thee--yet--then, by Heav'n, she's false!
And I will know, why 'tis she is thus perjur'd.    [_Offers to go_.
--Nay, now--nor Heaven, nor Hell, shall hinder me.
--Stand off, or to the number I'll add one Sin more,
And make my Passage to it through thy Heart.

_Friend_. And so you shall, Sir.

        [_They fight_, Bellmour disarms Friend, and runs in_.

--Disarm'd! by Heav'n, you shall not so escape
A Rage that is too just here to give o'er.



SCENE IV. _Changes to the Inside of_ Friendlove's _Lodgings_.


    _Enter_ Celinda, _as before, met by_ Nurse.

_Nur_. Oh, Madam, here's Mr. Bellmour; he has wounded my young Master,
who deny'd him Entrance, and is come into the House, and all in Rage
demands his Wife.

_Cel_. Oh Heav'n! Demands his Wife! Is that sad Curse
Added to all the rest?--Does he then love her?

    _Enter_ Bellmour _with two Swords_.

_Nur_. Whither do you press, Sir? and what's your business?

_Bel_. To see my Wife, my Wife, Impertinence;
And must I meet with nought but Opposition?
                                    [_Pushes her roughly away_.

_Cel_. Let him come in.

_Nur_. Marry, he lets himself in, I thank him.

_Cel_. What Man art thou thus cover'd o'er with Horror?

_Bel_. One sent from Hell to punish Perjury!
--Where's this perfidious Fair? this blushless Maid,
That has by my Example broke her Vows?
A Precedent that Fiends wou'd shame to follow.

_Cel_. Who is't you mean, Sir?

_Bel_. A thing that has no Name, she is so bad;
One who so lately gave her self to me,
And now is flown into another's Arms:
One that attacks my Life, for the same Sins
Which she her self commits--and thinks to live too.
--Yet still she is my Wife, whom I have injur'd:
Till when, she was a Saint--come, lead me to her,
Though she be false as I, yet I'll forgive it.
                                [_Throws by the Swords_.

_Cel_. Heav'ns! he repents his Cruelty to her,
And never mentions me! Ah then 'tis time to die.
And that I may be sure of Death--    [_Aside_.
Well, Sir, I will conduct this happy Lady to you.
                                          [_Ex_. Cel.

_Bel_. Gods! Happy!--whilst I am wretched.
--Oh, what an Ague chills my shivering Limbs,
Turns my hot Rage to softest Love, and Shame!
Were I not here to die--here at her Feet,
I wou'd not stand the Shock of her Reproaches.
--But yet she need not speak, a Look's sufficient
To call up all my Sins to my undoing--
She comes--Oh Heav'n! she comes--

    _Enter_ Celinda _and_ Diana.

--Like penitent Criminals thus--with my Eyes declin'd,
I bow my Head down, for the last sad Blow.
                                   [_Stands bow'd_.

_Cel_. Sir, in Obedience to your Commands,
I've brought the Lady.

_Dia_. How! The perfidious _Bellmour_!
The only Object of my Hate and Scorn.

_Bel_. Say on, my angry Deity--    [_Kneels_.
Whilst I thus trembling hear my fatal Doom,
Like Sinners, conscious ne'er to be forgiven,
I dare not lift my guilty Eyes towards Heaven.

_Cel_. Can I hear this, and yet retain my Life?

_Dia_. Had I but two days since beheld this Youth
Thus prostrate at my Feet, I should have thought
My self more blest,
Than to have been that Deity he calls me.

    _Enter_ Friendlove.

_Friend_. Defend me! The Traitor here! And at _Diana's_ Feet!
The fittest Altar for my Sacrifice!
--Turn, turn, from what thou lov'st, and meet my Justice.

_Cel_. Oh, hold, my dearest Brother.

                        [Bellmour _rises, and turns about_.

_Bel_. Nay, now I'm ready for the welcome Sword,
Since my _Celinda's_ false, and cannot pardon.

_Cel_. Oh, do not die with that profane Opinion.
_Celinda_ false! or cannot pardon thee!

_Dia_. Stay, generous Sir, my Pity has forgiven him.

_Bel_. Thou! Why, who art thou--_Diana_?

_Dia_. Yes, that _Diana_,
Whom, maugre all the Penitence thou shew'st,
Can scarce forgive the Injuries thou hast done her.

_Bel_. I shew a Penitence for injuring thee!
By Heav'n, I never cou'd do one, or other;
All that I am is the divine _Celinda's_.

_Friend_. He's stark mad!    [_Aside_.

_Bel_. But since she cannot pardon, I can die.
                              [_Offers to fall on his Sword_.

_Cel_. Canst thou not credit me? She pardons thee.
Live--and enjoy--_Diana_.
               [_Turns her Face from him_.

_Bel_. What art thou, who know'st her Heart so well?
Art thou my Rival? the blessed Youth, to whom
She has given her Vows?--Live, and enjoy, _Diana_!
--Yes, yes, thou art my Rival, and I'll kill thee.

_Cel_. Do, whilst I meet thy Sword.

    [_Opens her Arms_, Diana _stays him; he lets fall
    his Sword, and gazes_.

_Bel_, Dull--dull Adorer! Not to know my Saint.
Oh, how I have profan'd! To what strange Idol
Was that I kneel'd,
Mistaking it for a Divinity?

_Cel_. To your fair Wife _Diana_.

_Bel_. Oh cruel Maid!
Has Heav'n design'd me any but _Celinda_?

_Dia_. Maid! Bless me!--did I then love a Woman?
--I am pleas'd thou should'st renounce me; make it good,
And set me free from Fetters which I hate.

_Bel_. If all our Laws can do't, I will--for here
Ends all my Claim.    [_To_ Celinda.

_Friend_. Was this the Wife you did demand of me?

_Bel_. Yes, I had no other.

_Dia_. Fair Maid! forgive me all my shameful Passion,
And charge my Fault upon your Beauty only.

_Cel_. Excellent Creature! I shou'd sue for that,
Which my Deceit will never make me hope.

_Bel_. And art thou true to Love, and all thy Vows?
Whilst I to save my Fortune,
(That only which you'd make me merit thee)
Gave my unwilling Hand to this fair noble Maid.
--Ah, _Friendlove_, when thou hear'st my Story told,
Thou wilt forgive, and pity me.

_Dia_. What was't you said, Sir? _Friendlove_!

_Friend_. Yes, Madam, I hope the Name can make no difference;
Or hate that still, so you but love the Man.

_Dia_. Though I'm again defeated, yet this last
Proves least offensive; nor shall an empty Word
Alter my fix'd Resolves, to love you still.

_Friend_. Then I am blest!

_Bel_. But yet the Office of the Priest has past:
What Remedy for that?

_Dia_. My Uncle's Pow'r, the Nearness of our Blood,
The Contradiction of our Circumstances.

_Bel_. And above all that, my Contract with _Celinda_.
--Methinks I feel a Joy spread o'er my Heart,
The blessed Omen of approaching Happiness.

_Cel_. I do believe thee; for by Sympathy,
Mine takes new Fire and Hope.

_Dia_. I have already writ to my Uncle, and the Messenger assur'd me,
he would gratify my Desires; that done, I will be yours.
                                                [_To_ Friendlove.

_Bel_. But why thus drest? it might have led my Rage,
Full of Despair and Jealousy to have hurt thee.

_Cel_. Sir, when the Letter came of your being married,
I will not tell you all the Effects it had
Upon my desperate Soul;
But this I know, I had resolv'd to die,
But first to see you. Your Page inform'd the Nurse
All that had past, and of the last Night's Ball;
And much concern'd, she got this Habit for me,
And inform'd me how 'twas I was to act,
And that my Brother (describing of his Dress) was gone before.
This made me haste, lest e'er I came
His Rage had done the Business which it went for.

_Friend_. And so it had, hadst thou not hinder'd me;
For I, Sir, was the Man who drew on you.

_Bel_. And was it thou that didst defend my Heart,
That I might live to pay thy Goodness back?

_Cel_. It was to save your Life, and to expose my own.

_Dia_. Come, let's in, and consult what's best for us to do.

_Bel_. Come, my _Celinda_.
Let us no longer doubt, the Pow'rs above
Will be propitious to united Love.

                               [_Ex_. Cel.

    _Enter_ Servant.

_Serv_. Sir, my Lord Plotwell is at the Door in his Coach.

_Dia_. My Uncle come! Sir, we will not doubt our Fortune.
But how came he to know of my being here?

_Serv_. Madam, I fear he follow'd me after I had given him the Letter.

    _Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Charles, Trusty.

_Lord_. _Bellmour_ and _Diana_ kneeling!
                                 [Bel. _and_ Diana _kneel_.
--Rise; the Joy I have to see you thus, makes me
Resolve to grant you any thing, and pardon
All that's past.

_Bel_. Be not so hasty in your Goodness, Sir,
Lest you repent as fast.

_Dia_. Sir, we have an humble Suit to you.

_Lord_. What is it ye can jointly ask, I will not grant?

_Dia_. By all that Love you ever had for me,
By all those Infant Charms which us'd to please you,
When on your Lap you taught my Tongue that Art
Which made those dear Impressions on your Heart,
Which ever since to my Advantage grew,
I do conjure you hear me now I sue,
And grant the mighty Grace I beg of you.

_Lord_. What is it you wou'd ask?

_Bel_. Oh, dress your Face and Eyes in gentler Looks,
If you wou'd have us hope for any Mercy.

_Lord_. Rise, and whate'er you ask, I'll freely grant.

_Dia_. That you'll undo that Knot, that ties us two.

_Lord_. How! this Request from thee! who lov'd him once,
And wish'd no good beyond possessing him.

_Dia_. Heav'n has not, Sir, decreed us for each other:
Something of Fate or Chance
Has otherwise dispos'd those first Resolves.

_Lord_. Too virtuous Maid, I know thou dost but feign,
His Wickedness has forc'd thee to this change.

_Dia_. No, Sir, were he the only Man
Of kind and good, I never wou'd be his.
--And if you shou'd compel me, I shou'd live
The infamous Reproach of my whole Sex.

_Lord_. Well, and you, Sir, that are the cause of this,
What canst thou say to move me for thy Pardon?

_Bel_. I am so guilty in your Opinion,
My Prayers wou'd but make you merciless;
I only say _Celinda_ is my Wife,
And I shou'd injure this too generous Maid,
Not to adore her equal to her Merit.

_Lord_. I see, Sir, you have found your Wits again.
--Well, I see there's no opposing Destiny;
And I have still such tenderness for thee,    [_To_ Dia.
That hadst thou pleaded his Cause to me before,
I shou'd have been less cruel to him.
--Where is that Lady which you so admire,
Whose Beauty does eclipse that of _Diana_?

               [Bellmour _goes out, and brings in_ Celinda.

_Dia_. This, Sir, is she who merits more than I.

_Lord_. She's fair indeed; here, _Frank_,
I give thee thy _Celinda_, whose Beauty
Excuses all thy Faults of Disobedience.

_Bel_. Thus low, I thank you for this Goodness, Sir.    [_Kneels_.

_Lord_. There only wants the Ceremony of the Law to undo what's between
you and _Diana_, if she remain a Virgin.

_Bel_. For me, by Heav'n she is;
And for the rest, I do not doubt her Virtue.

_Dia_. You may believe him, Sir; and this alone's the Man, in whom I
will, or never will be happy.

_Lord_. Mr. _Friendlove_! I give Consent to't, he has a noble Character;
and what he wants in Fortune, has in Virtue--take her, young Man.

_Friend_. 'Tis such an Honour, Sir, that my Gratitude, without the
mighty Passion I have for her, would make me ever thankful.

_Lord_. This Term, we shall make the former Marriage void; till then
love on, and fear no Frowns from Fortune--but Nephew--now I hope your
Brother shall have his Portion.

_Bel_. My dearest _Charles_, forgive me all that's past,
And share the Fortune Heaven has given thy Brother.

_Char_. The Joy I have, Sir, to be undeceived,
Is much the greatest Blessing Heav'n can send me.

    _Enter Sir_ Timothy, _follow'd by_ Phillis, Sham,
    Sharp, _and_ Betty Flauntit.

Sir _Tim_. I am pursu'd by two impertinent Women; prithee, _Friendlove_,
tell 'em I am gone out at the Backdoor, and send 'em away.

_Lord_. What's the News here?

Sir _Tim_. How, _Celinda_ here, and _Bellmour_ too! Nay, now wou'd I
compound for my Life, at any rate, by Fortune.

_Phil_. Sir, this Villain here has abus'd me, and with a false Marriage
has rob'd me of my Honour.

_Bel_. How!

Sir _Tim_. My Lord, I say this young Jilt would have rob'd me of my self;
and courting her, and enjoying her only for a Miss, would persuade me I
am married to her.

_Flaunt_. Sir, I say, I am doubly wrong'd; first by this false Knight,
who has belong'd to me this three Years, which gives me a right to him,
as good as if I were married to him; who has now unlawfully left my Bed,
for that of this Gilflurt, who, on the other side, takes away my Knight,
and consequently eats the Bread out of my Mouth.

_Bel_. What means all this?
Speak some of ye that know.

_Flaunt_. Oh Lord! Who's here? The fine Squire?    [_Aside_.

_Trust_. Sir _Timothy Tawdry_, Sir, is married to Mrs. _Phillis_.

Sir _Tim_. How can that be a Marriage, when he who join'd us, was but
a hired Fellow, dress'd like a Parson?

_Trust_. Sir, 'twas Parson _Tickletext_ that marry'd 'em.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, what a damn'd lying Pimp is this!--_Sham_, didst thou
not hire a Fellow, (because I was damnably in Love, and in haste) to
marry us, that was no Parson?

_Sham_. Why, truly, Sir--I did go to hire such a one--

Sir _Tim_. Look ye there now.

_Sham_. But you'd meet with none; and because you said you shou'd die
if you enjoy'd her not presently, and that she would not yield on any
other Terms, but those of Marriage, I e'en brought the Parson that
_Trusty_ had provided for you.

Sir _Tim_. Oh Villain, to betray me! and for no Reward!

_Trust_. Yes, indeed, Sir, the four hundred Guineas you left behind my
young Mistress's Looking-glass fell to his share.

Sir _Tim_. What's my Money gone! and I am marry'd too! This 'tis not to
use to go to Church; for then I might have chanc'd to know the Parson.

_Bel_. Death, you Dog! you deserve to die, for your base Designs upon
a Maid of her Quality--How durst you, Sister, without my leave, marry
that Rascal?

_Phil_. Sir, you deny'd me my Portion, and my Uncle design'd to turn me
out of doors, and in my Despair I accepted of him.

_Flaunt_. Married! and to a Wife of no Fortune! that's the worst part
on't--what shall I do?

_Bel_. Renounce this leud Fool, and I'll make thee a Fortune suitable
to thy Quality.

Sir _Tim_. Say you so?--Renounce me, Sir! I'd have you to know I merit
her: And as for Leudness, I name no body, _Bellmour_--but only some have
the Art of hiding it better than I--but for Whoring, Drinking, Dicing,
and all the deadly Sins that thereupon depend, I thank my Stars, I come
short of you: And since you say, I shall not have your Sister, by
Fortune, I will have your Sister, and love your Sister, and lie with
your Sister, inspite of you.

_Lord_. Well, Sir _Timothy_, since my Niece has done amiss, 'tis too
late to mend it--and that you may not repent, I'll take care her Fortune
shall be suitable to the Jointure you'll make her.

_Bel_. With this Proviso, that you make no Settlement to Misses, Sir
_Timothy_--I am not so unreasonable to tie you up from all of that
Profession; that were to spoil a fashionable Husband, and so put you
quite out of Fop-road.

_Lord_. This Day we'll set apart for Mirth,
And all must make my House their happy home.

_Bel_. To thee, _Celinda_! all my Good I owe,
My Life, my Fortune, and my Honour too,
Since all had perish'd by a broken Vow.

_Flaunt_. What, am I like to lose my _Timmy_? Canst thou have the Heart
to leave me for ever? I who have been true and constant to you?

Sir _Tim_. Alas! now I must melt again, by Fortune--thou art a Fool,
dost think I wou'd have had her, but for her Fortune? which shall only
serve to make thee out-flaunt all the Cracks in Town--go--go home and
expect me, thou'lt have me all to thy self within this Day or two:

    Since Marriage but a larger Licence is
    For every Fop of Mode to keep a Miss.



EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_.

_Sir_ Timothy, _Gallants, at last is come
To know his Sentence, and receive his Doom,
But pray before you are resolv'd to be
Severe, look on your selves, and then on me;
Observe me well, I am a Man of Show,
Of Noise, and Nonsense, as are most of you.
Though all of you don't share with me in Title,
In Character you differ very little.
Tell me in what you find a Difference?
It may be you will say, you're Men of Sense;
But Faith--
Were one of you o'th' Stage, and I i'th' Pit,
He might be thought the Fop, and I the Wit.
On equal Grounds you'll scarce know one from t'other;
We are as like, as Brother is to Brother.
To judge against me then wou'd be Ill-Nature,
For Men are kind to those they're like in Feature.
For Judges therefore I accept you all;
By you, Sir_ Timothy _will stand or fall.
He's too faint-hearted that his Sentence fears,
Who has the Honour to be try'd by's Peers_.

Written by Mr. _E.R_.






THE FALSE COUNT.



ARGUMENT.

Don Carlos, Governor of Cadiz, who has been contracted to Julia, now
married to a rich old churl, Francisco, in order to gain her, mans a
galley, which has been captured from the Turks, with some forty or fifty
attendants disguised as ferocious Ottomans; and whilst she, her husband
and a party of friends are taking a pleasure trip in a yacht, they are
suddenly boarded and all made prisoners by the supposed corsairs, who
carry them off to a country villa a few miles from the town belonging to
Carlos' friend, Antonio, which, however, they are firmly convinc'd is a
palace inhabited by the Great Turk himself. Here Carlos appears, dressed
as the Sultan, with much pomp, and Francisco, overwhelmed with terror,
speedily relinquishes Julia to his captor. In order to punish her for
her intolerable arrogance, Isabella, Francisco's daughter by his former
wife, who is designed to wed Antonio, is introduced to a chimney-sweep,
Guiliom, masquerading as a noble of high degree. She forthwith strikes
up a match with the False Count, leaving Antonio free to marry Clara,
Julia's sister, whom he loves. No sooner, however, has the knot been
securely tied than Guiliom, appearing in his sooty rags and with
smutched face, publicly demands and humiliates his haughty bride. The
trick of the feigned Turks is discovered by the arrival at the villa of
Baltazer, Julia's father. Don Carlos, however, claims his mistress by
reason of his former contract, which is perforce allowed.



SOURCE.

Guiliom, masquerading as a Count, is of course directly derived from _Les
Precieuses Ridicules_, first performed 18 November, 1659, and Isabella
is a close copy of Cathos and Magdelon. Flecknoe had already adapted
Moliere in _The Damoiselles a la Mode_, unacted (4to 1667); and seven
years later than Mrs. Behn, Shadwell, in his fine comedy, _Bury Fair_
(1689), drew largely from the same source. His mock noble is a French
peruke-maker, La Roch, who marries Lady Fantast's affected daughter.
Miller, in his _The Man of Taste; or, The Guardian_ (1735), blended
the same plot with _L'Ecole des Maris_. The stratagem of the feigned
Turkish ship capturing the yacht is a happy extension of a hint from the
famous galley scene (Que diable allait-il faire a cette galere?), Act
ii, 7, _Les Fourberies de Scapin_. This, however, is not original with
Moliere, being entirely borrowed from _Le Pedant Joue_, Act ii, 4, of
Cyrano de Bergerac (1654). What is practically a translation of _Les
Fourberies de Scapin_ by Otway, was produced at the Duke's Theatre in
1677, and in the same year Ravenscroft included a great part of it in
his _Scaramouch a Philosopher, Harlequin a Schoolboy, Bravo, Merchant,
and Magician_.

In the Epilogue Mrs. Behn asserts that she wrote _The False Count_ with
ease in something less than a week. This may be a pardonable
exaggeration; but there are certainly distinct marks of haste in the
composition of the play. In Act iii, I, she evidently intended Francisco
and his party to be seized as they were returning home by sea, at the
end of the act she arranges their sea trip as an excursion on a yacht.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_The False Count; or, A New Way to Play an Old Game_ was produced at the
Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in the autumn of 1682, not later than the
end of October. An excellent rattling farce, it seems to have kept the
stage at intervals for some twenty years. On 11 August, 1715, there was
a revival at Lincoln's Inn Fields. It is billed as 'not acted ten
years'. Spiller played Guiliom, Mrs. Moor Isabella, and Mrs. Thurmond
Julia. There is no further record of its performance.




THE FALSE COUNT: or, A New Way to play an old Game.



PROLOGUE.

Spoken by Mr. _Smith_.

_Know all ye Whigs and Tories of the Pit,
(Ye furious Guelphs and Gibelins of Wit,
Who for the Cause, and Crimes of Forty One
So furiously maintain the Quarrel on)
Our Author, as you'll find it writ in Story,
Has hitherto been a most wicked Tory;
But now, to th'joy o'th' Brethren be it spoken,
Our Sister's vain mistaken Eyes are open;
And wisely valuing her dear Interest now,
All-powerful Whigs, converted is to you.
'Twas long she did maintain the Royal Cause,
Argu'd, disputed, rail'd with great Applause;
Writ Madrigals and Doggerel on the Times,
And charg'd you all with your Fore-fathers Crimes;
Nay, confidently swore no Plot was true,
But that so slily carried on by you:
Raised horrid Scandals on you, hellish Stories,
In Conventicles how you eat young Tories;
As_ Jew _did heretofore eat_ Christian _Suckling;
And brought an _Odium_ on your pious Gutling:
When this is all Malice it self can say,
You for the good Old Cause devoutly eat and pray.
Though this one Text were able to convert ye,
Ye needy Tribe of Scriblers to the Party;
Yet there are more advantages than these,
For write, invent, and make what Plots you please,
The wicked Party keep your Witnesses;
Like frugal Cuckold-makers you beget
Brats that secur'd by others fires shall sit.
Your Conventicling Miracles out-do
All that the Whore of_ Babylon _e'er knew:
By wondrous art you make Rogues honest Men,
And when you please transform 'em Rogues again.
To day a Saint, if he but hang a Papist,
Peach a true Protestant, your Saint's turn'd Atheist:
And dying Sacraments do less prevail,
Than living ones, though took in Lamb's-Wool-Ale.
Who wou'd not then be for a Common-weal,
To have the Villain covered with his Zeal?
A Zeal, who for Convenience can dispense
With Plays provided there's no Wit nor Sense.
For Wit's profane, and Jesuitical,
And Plotting's Popery, and the Devil and all.
We then have fitted you with one to day,
'Tis writ as 'twere a Recantation Play;
Renouncing all that has pretence to witty,
T'oblige the Reverend_ Brumighams _o'th' City:
No smutty Scenes, no Jests to move your Laughter,
Nor Love that so debauches all your Daughters.
But shou'd the Torys now,--who will desert me,
Because they find no dry bobs on your Party,
Resolve to hiss, as late did Popish Crew,        |
By Yea and Nay, she'll throw her self on you,    |
The grand Inquest of Whigs, to whom she's true.  |
Then let 'em rail and hiss, and damn their fill,
Your Verdict will be_ Ignoramus _still_.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


MEN.

Don _Carlos_, Governour of _Cadiz_, young and rich,
   in love with _Julia_,                                Mr. _Smith_
_Antonio_, a Merchant, young and rich. Friend to _Carlos_,
   in love with _Clara_, but promis'd to _Isabella_,    Mr. _Wiltshire_
_Francisco_, old and rich, Husband to _Julia_, and
   Father to _Isabella_,                                Mr. _Nokes_.
_Baltazer_, Father to _Julia_ and _Clara_,              Mr. _Bright_.
_Sebastian_, Father to _Antonio_,                       Mr. _Freeman_.
_Guzman_, Gentlemen to _Carlos_,                        Mr. _Underhill_.
_Guiliom_, a Chimney-Sweeper; the False Count,          Mr. _Lee_.
Two overgrown Pages to the False Count,
A little Page to the False Count.
_Petro_, Cashier to _Antonio_.
Page to Don _Carlos_.
Captain of a Gally.
Two Seamen.
_Lopez_, Servant to _Baltazer_.
Several disguis'd like _Turks_.


WOMEN.

_Julia_, Wife to _Francisco_, young and handsom,
   in love with _Carlos_,                                Mrs. _Davis_.
_Clara_, Sister to _Julia_, in love with _Antonio_,      Mrs. _Petty_.
_Isabella_, Daughter to _Francisco_; proud, vain and
   foolish, despising all Men under the degree of Quality,
   and falls in love with _Guiliom_,                     Mrs. _Corror_.
_Jacinta_, Woman to _Julia_,                             Mrs. _Osborne_.
Wife to _Petro_.

Dancers, Singers, &c.




ACT I.

SCENE I. _The Street_.


    _Enter_ Carlos, Antonio _and_ Guzman.

_Car_. By all that's good, I'm mad, stark raving mad,
To have a Woman young, rich, beautiful,
Just on the point of yielding to my Love,
Snatcht from my Arms by such a Beast as this;
An old ridiculous Buffoon, past Pleasure,
Past Love, or any thing that tends that way;
Ill-favour'd, ill-bred, and ill-qualify'd,
With more Diseases than a Horse past Service;
And only blest with Fortune and my _Julia_;
For him, I say, this Miser, to obtain her,
After my tedious nights and days of Love,
My midnight Watchings, Quarrels, Wounds and Dangers;
--My Person not unhandsom too,
By Heav'n, 'twas wondrous strange!

_Ant_. And old _Francisco_, without the expence of an hour's Courtship,
a _Billet-Doux_, or scarce a sight of her, could gain her in a day; and
yet 'tis wonder, your Fortune and your Quality, should be refus'd by Don
_Baltazer_ her Father.

_Car_. A Pox upon't, I went the wrong way to work, and courted the
Daughter; but indeed my Father, the late Governour of _Cadiz_, whose
Estate and Honour I now enjoy, was then living; and, fearing he would
not consent to my Passion, I endeavoured to keep it secret, though
sacred Vows had past between us two.

_Ant_. Did she not tell you of this Marriage with old _Francisco_?

_Car_. The night before, she did; but only by a Letter from her Window
dropt; which when by the help of a dark Lanthorn, I had read, I was
struck dead with Grief.
               [_Gives him the Letter_.

_Ant_. [reads.]

  _Expect to morrow night to hear I'm dead, since the next
  Sun will guide me to a fatal Marriage with old_ Francisco.
                                                    _Your_ Julia.

_Car_. Judge, dear _Antonio_, my Surprize and Grief;
A-while I stood unmov'd, thoughtless, and silent,
But soon Rage wak'd me to new Life again;
But what I said and did, I leave to raging Lovers,
Like disappointed me, to guess and judge;
She heard--and only answer'd me in Tears,
Nor could I beg one tender Word from her,
She sigh'd, and shut the Window too, and vanish'd.

_Ant_. And she accordingly next day was married.

_Car_. She was--and I have since endeavoured all the Arts and Ways I can
to cuckold him; 'tis now two months since the Wedding, and I hear he
keeps her as close as a Relict, jealous as Age and Impotence can make
him. She hitherto has been absent at _Sevil_, but Expectation of her
Daughter-in-law's Wedding with you has brought 'em hither,--and, I ask
your Pardon, _Antonio_, for raillying your Father-in-law that shall be,
old _Francisco_.

_Ant_. I hope you are mistaken, Sir.

_Car_. How, are you not to marry his Daughter, _Isabella_?

_Ant_. Not if I can help it, Sir,--the Honour you have done me in your
Friendship to me, a Person so much above me in Title and Birth, makes me
think it my Duty to conceal no part of my Heart to you,--Know then this
_Isabella_, Daughter to old _Francisco_, and your Cuckold that shall be
I hope, is, though fair, most ridiculously proud, vain and fantastical;
as all of her Birth and Education, grown rich, are.

_Car_. Prithee, what was her Birth?

_Ant_. Why, her Father, old _Francisco_, was in his youth an English
Cordwainer, that is to say, a Shoemaker, which he improv'd in time to a
Merchant; and the Devil and his Knavery helping him to a considerable
Estate, he set up for Gentleman; and being naturally a stingey,
hide-bound Rascal, and in the Humour of Jealousy even out-doing the most
rigid of us _Spaniards_, he came over into _Spain_, to settle with his
whole Family, where his Wife dying, to heighten the Vice, marries this
young _Julia_, your Mistress, Sir;--and now this Daughter of his having
wholly forgot her original Dunghill, sets up for a Viscountess at least,
though her Father has design'd me the Blessing; but I have fixt my Heart
and Eyes else-where, _Clara_, the young Sister of your Mistress, Sir,
commands my Liberty.

_Car_. I've seen her, she has Youth and Beauty capable to make a
Conquest any where,--but does she know your Love?

_Ant_. She does, and makes me think my Love return'd.

_Car_. Then know, _Antonio_, I must be your Rival.

_Ant_. How, Sir!

_Car_. You said but now you were my Friend, _Antonio_; If true, you must
assist in my design.

_Ant_. I listen, Sir, impatiently.

_Car_. Then thus; before I knew she was your Mistress, I had resolv'd
upon Addresses to her, in order to't, have treated with her Father about
a Marriage.

_Ant_. How! and wou'd the false, forsworn, receive your Vows?

_Car_. No; but with Tears implores her Father daily, whene'er he speaks
to her about my Passion; nor can I undeceive her, for indeed I have but
feign'd a Love, (she living in the same house with _Julia_ whilst here
at _Cadiz_) to get an opportunity with that dear, charming Creature;
for, coming as a Brother, sure they'll admit me kindly; nor will
_Francisco_, who has heard of what has past 'twixt me and _Julia_,
suspect me any more.

_Ant_. I knew I had a Rival, Sir, whom _Clara_ lov'd not; but ne'er
cou'd get it from her who he was, for fear of mischief: I have often the
Liberty to see her, under the name and pretence of _Isabella's_ Lover.

_Car_. And I visit her only to get a sight of _Julia_, which hitherto
has been impossible, though I have oft endeavour'd it. I beg you'll not
be jealous; for this, by Heav'n, is only my Design.

_Ant_. I'll trust my Life, my Honour and my Mistress in so good hands at
any time.

_Car_. You oblige me; but though I find your _Clara_ cold and cruel,
_Isabella_ would invite me to her Love, and makes so many kind
advances to me--

_Ant_. So would she for your Title, were you deform'd, and had no shape
of Man about you; but me, because a little Citizen and Merchant, she so
reviles, calling me base Mechanick, saucy Fellow; and wonders where I
got the Impudence to speak of Love to her--in fine, I am resolved to be
reveng'd on all her Pride and Scorn; by Heav'n, I will invent some dire
Revenge:--I'm bent upon't, and will about it instantly.

_Car_. And would you do it home and handsomly, and have a good occasion
of being disengaged from her, and make her self the instrument?

_Ant_. Ay, such a Plot were worth the Prosecution.

_Car_. And such a one I have in my head: _Guzman_, my Servant, knows a
fellow here in _Cadiz_, whom for his pleasant humour I have oft
observ'd, as I have past the Streets, but too mean to be convers'd with,
by almost any human thing, by Trade a Chimney-Sweeper.

_Ant_. On, Sir, I beseech you.

_Car_. This Fellow's of a quick Wit and good Apprehension, though
possibly he cannot act the Don so well, yet that which makes up the
best part of our young Gallants now a-days, he shall not want; that is,
good Clothes, Money, and an Equipage,--and a little Instruction will
serve turn.

_Ant_. I'm ravisht with the Fancy;--let me see--he shall be an _English_
Lord, or a _French_ Count.

_Car_. Either, we'll furnish him with Bills on Signior Don _Francisco_,
--Men and Baggage, and the business is done--he shall make Love to her.

_Ant_. Most excellent.

_Car_. _Guzman_, have you not observ'd this Fellow I am speaking of.

_Guz_. Observ'd him, Sir! I know him particularly, I'll fetch him to you
now, Sir; he always stands for new Imployment with the rest of his Gang
under St. _Jago's_ Church-wall.

_Car_. Bring him anon to my Lodgings, where we'll prepare him for the
Adventure.

_Ant_. And if the proud _Isabella_ bite not at so gay a bait, I'll be
bound to be married to her.

_Car_. And if she do not, possibly that may be your Fate--but in
return, you must let _Clara_ know the Design I have, and, undeceiving
her opinion of my Love, make her of our Party.

_Ant_. Trust my Friendship, Sir, and Management. I'll to her instantly,
that is, make a visit to _Isabella_, and get an opportunity to speak
with _Clara_.

_Car_. And I must write a Letter to _Julia_, to undeceive her Fears too,
could I but get it to her.

_Guz_. For that let me alone.

                       [_Exeunt severally, bowing_.



SCENE II. _A Chamber_.


    _Enter_ Julia _and_ Jacinta.

_Jac_. Lord, Madam, you are as melancholy as a sick Parrot.

_Jul_. And can you blame me, _Jacinta_? have I not many Reasons to be
sad? first have I not lost the only Man on earth in Don _Carlos_, that I
cou'd love? and worse than that, am married to a Thing, fit only for his
Tomb; a Brute, who wanting sense to value me, treats me more like a
Prisoner than a Wife?--and his Pretence is, because I should not see nor
hear from Don _Carlos_.

_Jac_. Wou'd I were in your room, Madam, I'd cut him out work enough,
I'd warrant him; and if he durst impose on me, i'faith, I'd transform
both his Shape and his Manners; in short, I'd try what Woman-hood cou'd
do. And indeed, the Revenge wou'd be so pleasant, I wou'd not be without
a jealous Husband for all the World; and really, Madam, Don _Carlos_ is
so sweet a Gentleman.

_Jul_. Ay, but the Sin, _Jacinta_!

_Jac_. O' my Conscience, Heav'n wou'd forgive it; for this match of
yours, with old _Francisco_, was never made there.

_Jul_. Then if I wou'd, alas, what opportunities have I, for I confess
since his first Vows made him mine--

_Jac_. Right--that lying with old _Francisco_ is flat Adultery.

_Jul_. I might, with some excuse, give my self away to _Carlos_--But oh,
he's false, he takes unjustly all the Vows he paid me, and gives 'em to
my Sister _Clara_ now.

_Jac_. Indeed that's something uncivil, Madam, if it be true.

_Jul_. True! my Father has with joy consented to it, and he has leave to
visit her; and can I live to see't? No, Mischief will ensue, my Love's
too high, too nicely true to brook Affronts like that.

_Jac_. Yet you first broke with him.

_Jul_. Not I; be witness, Heav'n, with what reluctancy I forc'd my
breaking heart; and can I see that charming Body in my Sister's Arms!
that Mouth that has so oft sworn Love to me kist by another's Lips! no,
_Jacinta_, that night that gives him to another Woman, shall see him
dead between the Charmer's Arms. My Life I hate, and when I live no more
for _Carlos_, I'll cease to be at all; it is resolv'd.

_Jac_. Faith, Madam, I hope to live to see a more comical end of your
Amours--but see where your amiable Spouse comes with Don _Baltazer_
your Father.

    _Enter_ Francisco _and_ Baltazer.

_Fran_. So--you two are damnable close together, 'tis for no goodness
I'll warrant, you have your trade betimes.

_Jac_. Meaning me, Sir?

_Fran_. Yes, you, one of my Wife's evil Counsellors,--go, get you up
both to your respective Chambers, go--

                                 [_Ex. both_.

_Bal_. Barring your Compliments, good Son, give me leave to speak.

_Fran_. Shaw, I know as well as your self what you wou'd say now; you
wou'd assure me I am sole Master of your House, and may command; that
you are heartily glad to see me at _Cadiz_, and that you desire I wou'd
resolve upon a Week's stay, or so; that you'll spare nothing for my
entertainment: why, I know all this, and therefore pray take my word,
good Father-in-Law, without any more ado.

_Bal_. Well, Sir, pray answer me one question, what drew you to _Cadiz_?

_Fran_. Why, I'll tell you; in the first place, a Pox of all Lovers, I
say; for my Daughter _Isabella_ is to be married, as you know, to
_Antonio_, a young rich Merchant of this Town; in the second place, my
Wife, with a Vengeance, must be gadding to visit you and her Sister,
whom we heard also was to be married to the young Governor Don _Carlos_;
'tis shreudly against my will, Heav'n knows, for my Wits are in an
uproar already about this business--your Gallants, Father, your young
Gallants,--I wish my Wife were secure at home again.

_Bal_. Pray, why so?

_Fran_. Alas, I see the Trick, Sir, a mere Trick put upon a Man,
a married Man, and a married Man to a handsome young Woman,--you
apprehend me.

_Bal_. Not I, Sir.

_Fran_. Not you, Sir! why, look ye, your young Governor who now is, made
most desperate love to her who is now my Wife, d'ye mind me?--but you,
being a Man of an exact Judgment, to her great grief, gave her to me,
who best deserv'd her, both for my civil Behaviour, and comely
Personage, d'ye understand me? but now this _Carlos_, by his Father's
death, being made Governor, d'ye see? is to marry me your other daughter
_Clara_, and to exasperate me, wou'd never let me be at quiet till he
had got both of us hither to _Cadiz_, to grace his Wedding; a Pox of his
Invitation, was I so civil to invite him to mine?

_Bal_. If this be your Affliction, you may avoid it.

_Fran_. No, no, I'll try to force Nature a little, and be civil, or so;
but as soon as the Ceremony's over, I'll steal out of Town, whip a way,
presto, i'faith.

_Bal_. But shou'd you do so rude a thing to your new Brother, your Wife
wou'd think you were jealous of her. No, dissemble that Fault, I beseech
you, 'twill make you odious to her and all the world, when 'tis needless,
'tis natural for Women to hate what they fear.

_Fran_. Say you so, then I will hide it as much as I can in words, I can
dissemble too upon occasion.

_Bal_. Let her remain awhile amongst us.

_Fran_. The Devil a bit she shall, good Father mine, no, no, I have more
years than you, Sir Father, and understand what Women are, especially
when married to ancient Men, and have the Conversation of young
Men--whose Eyes like Basilisks destroy Modesty with looking on 'em; the
very Thought on't has rais'd a Bump in my Forehead already.

_Bal_. I am sorry you should suspect my Daughter's Virtue.

_Fran_. May be you are, Sir--but Youth you know--
Opportunity--Occasion--or so--there are Winks, and Nods, and Signs, and
Twirs--and--well--in short I am satisfied, and they that are not may go
whistle: and so I'll to my Wife, whom I have left too long alone, evil
thoughts will grow upon her--Wife, Love--Duckling--
                                             [_Calls her_.

    _Enter_ Julia _and_ Jacinta.

_Bal_. Wou'd I had never married her to this Sot.

_Jul_. Your pleasure, Sir.

_Fran_. Only to see thee, Love.

_Jul_. I have a Suit to you.

_Fran_. What is't, my Chicken.

_Jul_. I wou'd go make a Visit to my Aunt, my Sister _Clara's_ there,
and I'll go fetch her home.

_Fran_. Hum--perhaps the Governor's there too?

_Jul_. What if he be? we ought to make him a visit too, who so kindly
sent for us to _Cadiz_.

_Fran_. How! Make a visit to the Governor? What have I to do with the
Governor, or what have you to do with the Governor? you are no Soldier,
Love. As for a Visit to your Aunt, there's some reason in't; but for the
Governor, think no more upon him, I say no more.

_Jul_. Since he's to marry my Sister, why shou'd you refuse him that
Civility.

_Fran_. Your Sister, so much the worse.

_Jul_. So much the worse?

_Fran_. I, so much the worse, I tell you; for mark me, you have been
Lovers lately; and old Stories may arise that are not yet forgotten; and
having under the Cloke of a Husband both Sisters at command, one for a
Wife, t'other for a Mistress, hoyte toyte, there will be mad work,
i'faith; What a mixture of Brother by the Father's side, and Uncle by
the Mother's side there will be; Aunt by the Mother's side, and Sister
by the Father's side; a man may find as good kindred amongst a kennel of
Beagles.--No, no, no Visits to the Governor, I beseech you, fair Madam.

_Bal_. So, you are at your Jealousy again.

_Fran_. Come, come, I love plain dealing; besides, when she named the
Governor, Flesh and Blood could not contain.

_Jul_. I spoke in reference to his Quality.

_Fran_. A Pox of your Civility; I tell you, I scorn my Wife should be
civil. Why, what a Coil's here about a Governor! I'll stand to't, a Man
had better have a Mule to his Wife than a Woman, and 'twere easier
govern'd.

_Bal_. But hear reason, Son.

_Fran_. What, from a Woman and a Wife? Lord, Lord, where are your Wits,
good Father-in-Law? Why, what a Devil, shall I be made ridiculous, a
Coxcomb, Cuckold, to shew my Wife? No, no, there's no Necessity of your
Civility, Mistress; leave that to me who understand the due Punctilios
of it.

_Bal_. Harkye, Son, Harkye!

_Fran_. Father mine, every Man to his business, I say, therefore say no
more of this; for I'll give my Mother's Son to the Devil, when any Wife
of mine ever makes a Visit to the Governor; and there's an end on't. Was
ever so horrid a Plot contriv'd against her own lawful Husband? Visit
the Governor with a Pox!

_Bal_. 'Tis an Honour due to all Men of his Rank.

_Fran_. I care not for that, my opinion is, my Wife's my Slave, and let
him keep his Rank to himself.

    _Enter_ Guzman.

        [Fran. _gets his Wife behind him, and fences her with his Cloke_.

_Guz_. He's here, and with his Wife; how shall I do to deliver my Letter
to her;--Sir, by the order of my Master, Don _Carlos_, the Governour, I
am commanded to come hither to the end that, going from hence, and
returning to my Master, I may be able to inform him--

_Fran_. That I am in health,--very well, I was afraid he wou'd have been
harping upon my Wife in the first place--the Devil take her, she looks
for't.    [_Makes signs to have her gone_.

_Guz_. Farther, Sir, he kisses your hand, with a more than ordinary
friendship.

_Fran_. A Pox of his Compliments.--    [_Aside_.

_Guz_. But he charg'd me, Sir, most passionately to present his Service
to your Lady.

_Fran_. Yes, yes; I thought as much.

_Guz_.--In a more particular manner.

_Fran_. Friend, my Wife, or Lady, has no need of his Service in a more
particular manner, and so you may return it.

_Jac_. Indeed, but she has great need of his service in a very particular
manner.

_Guz_. Sir, I meant no hurt, but 'tis always the fashion of your true
bred Courtier, to be more ceremonious in his Civilities to Ladies than
Men;--and he desires to know how she does.

_Fran_. How strong this _Carlos_ smells of the Devil--Friend, tell your
Master she's very well, but since she was married, she has forgot her
gentile Civility and good Manners, and never returns any Compliments
to Men.

_Guz_.--How shall I get it to her?--Sir, the Governor hopes he shall
have the honour of entertaining you both at his House. He's impatient of
your coming, and waits at home on purpose.

_Fran_. Friend, let your Master know we are here in very good quarters
already, and he does us both too much honour; and that if we have notice
of the Wedding-day, and I have nothing else to do, we'll certainly wait
on him, and the next morning we intend to take our leaves, which I send
him word of beforehand to prevent surprize.

_Guz_. But, Sir--

            [_Approaching him, he puts his Wife farther_.

_Fran_. Go, Sir, and deliver your Message.

_Guz_. But I have order, Sir--

_Fran_. There's no such thing in this World.

_Guz_. I'm resolv'd to teaze him, if I can do nothing else, in
revenge;--But, Sir, he most earnestly desires to entertain your fair
Lady in his own house.

_Fran_. Yes, yes; I know he does; but I'll give him to the Devil
first.--Troth, Sir, this _Cadiz_ Air does not agree with my fair Lady,
she has ventured out but once, and has got an Ague already.

_Guz_. Agues, Sir, are kind Diseases, they allow of Truces and
Cessations.

_Fran_. No, no; she has no Cessation, Friend, her Ague takes her night
and day, it shakes her most unmercifully, and it shall shake her till
the Wedding-day.

_Guz_. Were this Fellow to be tried by a Jury of Women, I would not be
in his Coat to lie with his Lady.--What shall I do to deliver this
Letter?--Well, Sir, since I see you are so averse to what the Governor
desires, I'll return--but, Sir, I must tell you as a Friend, a Secret;
that to a man of your temper may concern you;--Sir,--he's resolv'd when
he comes next to visit his Mistress, to make another visit to your
Apartment, to your Lady too.

    [_Goes to whisper him, and gives Julia the Letter over his Shoulder_.

_Fran_. Is he so, pray tell him he need not take that pains; there's no
occasion for't; besides 'twill be but in vain; for the Doctors have
prescribed her Silence and Loneliness, 'tis good against the Fit; how
this damn'd Fellow of a Rival torments me! honest Friend, adieu.

_Guz_. Now is this Fellow so afraid of being made a Cuckold that he
fears his own Shadow, and dares not go into his Wife's Chamber if the
Sun do but shine into the room--
                           [_Ex_. Guz.

_Fran_. So, your Mercury's gone; Lord, how simply you look now, as if
you knew nothing of the matter!

_Jul_. Matter! what matter? I heard the civil Message the Governor sent,
and the uncivil Answer you return'd back.

_Fran_. Very good; did that grieve your heart? alas, what pity 'twas I
carried you not in my hand, presented you to him my self, and beg'd him
to favour me so much to do my office a little for me, or the like; hah,--

_Jul_. And there's need enough, and the truth were known.

_Jac_. Well said, Madam.

_Fran_. Peace, thou wicked Limb of _Satan_--but for you, Gentlewoman,
since you are so tarmagant, that your own natural Husband cannot please
you, who, though I say it, am as quiet a Bed-fellow, and sleep as
sweetly, for one of my years, as any in _Spain_--I'll keep you to hard
meat, i'faith.

_Jul_. I find no fault with your sleeping, 'tis the best quality you
have a-bed.

_Fran_. Why so then, is the Devil in an unmerciful Woman? Come, come,
'tis a good Tenant that pays once a quarter.

_Jac_. Of an hour do you mean, Sir?--

_Fran_. Peace, I say--thou damnable Tormentor, this is the Doctrine you
preach to your Mistress, but you shall do't it private, for I'm resolv'd
to lock ye both up, and carry the Keys in my Pocket.

_Jul_. Well, I am a wicked Creature to teaze thee so, Dear; but I'll do
what thou wilt; come, come, be friends, I vow, I care not for the
Governor, not I, no more than I do for my--own Soul.

_Fran_. Why so, this is something; Come, come your ways in,--who have we
here? a Man! ad's my life, away, away.

_Jul_. Yes, up to my Chamber, to write an answer to this dear Letter.
                                                            [_Ex_ Julia.

    _Enter_ Isabella.

_Fran_. No, 'tis not a Man, but my Daughter _Isabella_.

_Jac_. Now will I stay, and set her on to teaze the Dotard: wou'd I
could teaze him to Death, that my Mistress might be rid of him.

_Fran_. How now, what makes you look so scurvily to day? Sure the Devil
rides once a day through a Woman, that she may be sure to be inspired
with some ill Qualities--what wou'd you have now?

_Isa_. Something.

_Fran_. Something? what thing? have I not provided you a Husband whom
you are to marry within a day or two.

_Isa_. There's a Husband indeed, pray keep him to your self, if you
please; I'll marry none of him, I'll see him hanged first.

_Fran_. Hey day;--what, is he not young and handsome enough, forsooth?

_Isa_. Young and handsome; is there no more than that goes to the making
up of a Husband--Yes, there's Quality.

_Fran_. Quality!--Why, is he not one of the richest Merchants of his
standing in all _Cadiz_.

_Isa_. Merchant! a pretty Character! a Woman of my Beauty, and five
Thousand Pound, marry a Merchant--a little, petty, dirty-heel'd
Merchant; faugh, I'd rather live a Maid all the days of my life, or be
sent to a Nunnery, and that's Plague enough I'm sure.

_Jac_. Have a care of a Nunnery, lest he take you at your word.

_Isa_. I would not for the world; no, _Jacinta_, when ever thou seest me
in holy Orders, the World will be at an end.

_Fran_. Merchant! why, what Husband do you expect?

_Isa_. A Cavalier at least, if not a Nobleman.

_Fran_. A Nobleman, marry come up, your Father, Huswife, meaning my
self, was a Leather-seller at first, till, growing rich, I set up for a
Merchant, and left that mechanick Trade; and since turned Gentleman; and
Heav'n blest my Endeavours so as I have an Estate for a _Spanish_
Grandee; and, are you so proud, forsooth, that a Merchant won't down
with you, but you must be gaping after a Cap and Feather, a Silver Sword
with a more dreadful Ribbon at the hilt?--Come, come, I fear me,
Huswise, you are one that puff's her up with Pride thus;--but lay thy
hand upon thy Conscience now.--    [_To Jacinta_.

_Jac_. Who, I, Sir? No, no, I am for marrying her out of hand to any
reasonable Husband, except a Merchant; for Maids will long, and that's
_Probatum est_ against the prevailing distemper of Longing. Hitherto I
dare answer for her, but Batteries will be made, and I dare not be
always responsible for frail Mortality.

_Fran_. Well, I have provided her one that I like, but if she be so
squeamish, let her fast, with a Murrain to her.

_Isa_. Dear Father.

_Fran_. Dear me no Dears: wou'd your old Mother were alive, she wou'd
have strapt your Just-au-corps, for puleing after Cavaliers and
Nobleman, i'faith, that wou'd she; a Citizen's Daughter, and would be a
_Madona_--in good time.

_Isa. Why, Father, the Gentry and Nobility now-a-days frequently marry
Citizens Daughters.

_Fran_. Come, come, Mistress, I got by the City, and I love and honour
the City; I confess 'tis the Fashion now-a-days, if a Citizen get but a
little Money, one goes to building Houses, and brick Walls; another must
buy an Office for his Son, a third hoists up his Daughter's Topsail, and
flaunts it away, much above her breeding; and these things make so many
break, and cause the decay of Trading: but I am for the honest _Dutch_
way of breeding their Children, according to their Fathers Calling.

_Isa_. That's very hard, because you are a laborious, ill-bred
Tradesman, I must be bound to be a mean Citizen's Wife.

_Fran_. Why, what are you better than I, forsooth, that you must be a
Lady, and have your Petticoats lac'd four Stories high; wear your false
Towers, and cool your self with your _Spanish_ Fan? Come, come, Baggage,
wear me your best Clothes a Sunday, and brush 'em up a Monday Mornings,
and follow your Needle all the Week after; that was your good old
Mother's way, and your Grandmother's before her; and as for the Husband,
take no care about it, I have designed it _Antonio_, and _Antonio_ you
are like to wed, or beat the hoof, Gentlewoman, or turn poor _Clare_,
and die a begging Nun, and there's an end on't--see where he
comes--I'll leave you to ponder upon the business.
                                             [_Exit_.]

    _Enter_ Antonio. Isabella _weeps_.

_Ant_. What, in Tears, _Isabella?_ what is't can force that tribute from
your Eyes?

_Isa_. A Trifle, hardly worth the naming, your self.--

_Ant_. Do I? pray, for what Sin of mine must your fair Eyes be punish'd?

_Isa_. For the Sin of your odious Addresses to me, I have told you my
mind often enough, methinks your Equals should be fitter for you, and
sute more with your Plebeian Humour.

_Ant_. My Equals! 'Tis true, you are fair; but if there be any
Inequality in our births, the advantage is on my side.

_Isa_. Saucy Impertinent, you shew your City breeding; you understand
what's due to Ladys! you understand your Pen and Ink, how to count your
dirty Money, trudge to and fro chaffering of base commodities, and
cozening those you deal with, till you sweat and stink again like an
o'er heated Cook, faugh, I smell him hither.

_Ant_. I must confess I am not perfum'd as you are, to stifle Stinks you
commonly have by Nature; but I have wholesom, cleanly Linen on; and for
my Habit wore I but a Sword, I see no difference between your Don and
me, only, perhaps, he knows less how to use it.

_Isa_. Ah, name not a Don, the very sound from the Mouth of a little Cit
is disagreeable--Bargain and Sale, Bills, Money, Traffick, Trade, are
words become you better.

_Jac_. Well said, use him scurvily that Mrs. _Clara_ may have him.
                                                             [_Aside_.

_Ant_. The best of those you think I should not name, dare hardly tell
me this.

_Isa_. Good Lord, you think your self a very fine Fellow now, and
finical your self up to be thought so; but there's as much difference
between a Citizen and a true bred Cavalier--

_Ant_. As between you and a true bred Woman of Honour.

_Isa_. Oh, Sir, you rail, and you may long enough, before you rail me
out of my Opinion, whilst there are Dons with Coaches and fine Lackeys,
and I have Youth and Beauty, with a Fortune able to merit one, so
farewel, Cit.
                 [_Ex_.

_Ant_. Farewel, proud Fool.

_Jac_. Sir, be this Evening at the Door, Donna _Clara_ has something to
say to you.

_Ant_. Bless thee for this Tidings, dear _Jacinta_.

                                             [_Ex_. Jacinta.

  --I find let Man be brave, or good, or wise,
  His Virtue gains no Smiles from Woman's Eyes;
  'Tis the gay Fool alone that takes the Heart,
  Foppery and Finery still guide the Dart.

                                        [_Ex_.




ACT II.

SCENE I. _A Chamber_.


    _Enter_ Jacinta _with a Light, and_ Julia.

_Jac_. Well, Madam, have you writ to Don _Carlos_?

_Jul_. No, nor is it possible I shou'd, this Devil haunts me so from
room to room, like my evil Genius to prevent that Good; oh, for an
opportunity of one kind Minute to return Acknowledgments for this kind
Letter he has sent me.

_Jac_. I'm glad you find me a Sybil: Madam, I ever prophesy'd a happier
end of that Amour than your ill Fortune has hitherto promised,--but what
said the lovely Cavalier?

_Jul_. All that a Man inspir'd with Love cou'd say, all that was soft
and charming.

_Jac_. Nay, I believe his Art.

_Jul_. Judge then what my Heart feels, which like a Fire but lightly
cover'd o'er with the cold Ashes of Despair, with the least blast breaks
out into a Flame; I burn, I burn, _Jacinta_, and only charming _Carlos_
can allay my Pain--but how? Ay, there's the question.

_Jac_. Some way I will contrive to speak with him, for he has lost his
old wont if he traverse not the Street where you live: but see Donna
_Clara_.--

    _Enter_ Clara.

_Jul_. Hah, my Sister, whom yet my jealous heart can scarce be
reconciled to; so deeply was my fear of Rivalship fixt there,
--so sad, my Sister, and so near the happy day with _Carlos_?

_Cla_. 'Tis pity she that thinks it so shou'd want him; the Blessing's
thrown away on me, but we are both unhappy to be match'd to those we
cannot love. _Carlos_, though young, gay, handsom, witty, rich, I hate
as much as you the old _Francisco_; for since I cannot marry my
_Antonio_, both Youth and Beauty are but lost on me, and Age decrepid
would be equal torment.

_Jul_. Wou'd _Carlos_ knew your heart, sure he'd decline; for he has too
much Honor to compel a Maid to yield that loves him not.

_Cla_. 'Tis true, he is above me every way, and the Honor my Father
thinks to do our Family by this Match, makes him resolve upon't; but I
have given my Vows to young _Antonio_.

_Jul_. And young _Antonio_ you are like to have, for any thing that
_Carlos_ cares; for know, to thy eternal joy, my _Clara_, he has but
feigned to thee, as much as thy _Antonio_ to _Isabella_.

_Cla_. But are you sure of this?

_Jul_. Most certain; this Night if you can let _Antonio_ see you, he'll
tell you all the Cheat, and beg your Pardon.

_Cla_. Which he will soon obtain, and in return, what Service I can
render him in your behalf he shall not want.

_Jul_. _Antonio_ will engage you they are Friends.

_Cla_. You amaze me.

_Jac_. I have appointed him this night to wait, and, if possible, I
would get him a Minute's time with you.

_Cla_. Dear _Jacinta_, thou art the kindest Maid.--

_Jac_. Hang't, why should we young Women pine and languish for what our
own natural Invention may procure us; let us three lay our Heads
together, and if _Machiavel_ with all his Politicks can out-wit us, 'tis
pity but we all lead Apes in Hell, and die without the _Jewish_ Blessing
of Consolation.

_Jul_. No more, here comes the Dragon.

_Enter_ Francisco.

_Fran_. So, together consulting and contriving.

_Jac_. What, are you jealous of the Petticoat?

_Fran_. Petticoat! Come, come, Mistress _Pert_, I have known as much
danger hid under a Petticoat, as a pair of Breeches. I have heard of two
Women that married each other--oh abominable, as if there were so
prodigious a scarcity of Christian Mans Flesh.

_Jac_. No, the Market's well enough stored, thanks be praised, might
every Woman be afforded a reasonable Allowance.

_Fran_. Peace, I say, thou Imp of Lucifer; wou'd thou hadst thy
Bellyful, that I might be fairly rid of thee--go get you up to your
Chamber, and, d'ye hear, stir not from thence, on pain of our severe
displeasure, for I am sent for in all haste, to Signior Don
_Sebastian's_, 'tis but hard by, I shall soon return;--what, are
you here?

    _Enter_ Isabella.

I have a high commendation of your fine Behaviour, Gentlewoman, to
_Antonio_; his Father has sent for me, and I shall know all anon, this
shall but hasten your Wedding, Huswise, I tell you that, and so farewel
to you--
            [_Ex_. Isabella _crying_.

_Cla_. Say you so, then 'tis time for me to look about me.

_Jul_. But will you go out so late, Love? indeed some hurt will come
to thee.

_Fran_. No, look ye, I go arm'd.  [_Shews his Girdle round with Pistols_.
Go, get you to your Chambers.

                       [_He goes out, they go in_.



SCENE II. _Changes to the Street_.


    _Enter_ Carlos, Antonio.

_Car_. I wonder where this Man of mine should be, whom I sent this
Evening with my Letter to _Julia_. What art thou?

    _Enter_ Guzman, _runs against_ Carlos.

_Guz_. My Lord, 'tis I, your trusty Trojan, _Guzman_.--what makes you
here, Sir, so near the Door of your Mistress?

_Car_. To wait my Doom; what Tidings hast thou, _Guzman_?

_Guz_. Why, Sir, I went as you directed me, to Don _Baltazer's_.

_Car_. And didst thou deliver it?

_Guz_. And the first thing I met with was old _Francisco_.

_Car_. So.

_Guz_. To whom I civilly addrest my self--told him, you presented your
Service to him,--sent to know how his Lady and he did. Which word Lady
I no sooner named, but I thought he would have saluted me with a
Cudgel,--in fine, observing her behind him, whom he shelter'd all he
could with his Cloke, I taking an occasion to whisper him, gave it her
over his shoulder, whilst she return'd some Smiles and Looks of
Joy,--but for an answer, 'twas impossible to get the least sign of one.

_Car_. No matter, that joy was evident she wisht me one, and by the
first opportunity my diligent waiting will be recompensed; but where
hast thou been all this while?

_Guz_. Finding out the Chimney-sweeper you spoke of, Sir, and whom you
ordered me to bring this Evening.

_Car_. And hast thou found him?

_Guz_. He's here, at the corner of the Street, I'll call him.
                                                        [Ex. Guz.

_Car_. I have, _Antonio_, besides your particular Revenge, one of my own
to act by this deceit, since all my Industry to see the charming _Julia_
has hitherto been vain, I have resolv'd upon a new project, if this
False Count pass upon 'em, as I doubt not but he will, and that he gets
admittance into the House, I'll pass for one of his Domesticks.

   _Enter_ Guzman _and_ Guiliom. Page _holding his lanthorn to his face_.

_Guz_. Here's the Fellow, Sir.

_Ant_. Fellow! he may be the Devil's Fellow by his countenance.

_Car_. Come nearer, Friend; dost think thou canst manage a Plot well?

_Guil_. As any Man in _Cadiz_, Sir, with good instructions.

_Car_. That thou shalt have, thou art apprehensive.

_Guil_. So, so, I have a pretty memory for mischief.

_Ant_. Hast thou Assurance and Courage?

_Guil_. To kill the honestest Man in _Spain_, if I be well paid.

_Car_. That thou shalt be.

_Guil_. I'll do't, say no more, I'll do't.

_Car_. But canst thou swear stoutly, and lye handsomely.

_Guil_. Prettily, by Nature, Sir, but with good instructions I shall
improve; I thank Heaven I have Docity, or so.

_Car_. Thou want'st not Confidence.

_Guil_. No, nor Impudence neither; how should a man live in this wicked
world without that Talent?

_Ant_. Then know our Design is only comical, though if you manage not
Matters well, it may prove tragical to you; in fine, dost think thou
canst personate a Lord?

_Guil_. A Lord! marry, that's a hard question: but what sort of a Lord?

_Car_. Why, any Lord.

_Guil_. That I cannot do, but I can do some sort of a Lord, as some
Lords are wiser than other-some; there is your witty Lord,--him I defie;
your wise Lord, that is to say, your knavish Lord, him I renounce; then
there's your Politick Lord, him I wou'd have hang'd; then there's your
Foolish Lord, let him follow the Politician; then there's your brisk,
pert, noisy Lord, and such a small insignificant Fiend I care not if I
am possest with; I shall deal well enough with a Devil of his capacity.

_Car_. Very well, then there needs no more but that you go along with my
man to my house, my Authority shall secure you from all the injuries
that shall accrue from a discovery, but I hope none will happen:
Equipage, Clothes and Money we'll furnish you with.--Go home with him,
and dress, and practise the Don till we come, who will give you ample
instructions what to do.

_Guil_. And if I do not fit you with a Don better than _Don Del Phobos_,
or _Don Quixote_, let me be hang'd up for the Sign of the Black Boy on
my own Poles at a _Spanish_ Inn door.

_Ant_. We'll be with you presently.

_Guil_. And if you find me not en Cavalier, say Clothes, Garniture,
Points, and Feathers have lost their Power of making one.

                                    [_Ex_. Guz. _and_ Page, _and_ Guil.

    _Enter, opening the door_, Jacinta.

_Car_. Hah, the Door opens, and surely 'tis a Woman that advances: dear
_Antonio_, wait a little farther;--who's there?

_Jac_. Hah, if it should be old _Francisco_ now.

_Car_. Let it be who it will, I'll tell my name, it cannot injure
either;--I'm _Carlos_, who are you?

_Jac_. A thing that looks for him you name--_Jacinta_;--are you alone?

_Car_. Never since _Julia_ did possess my heart; what news, my dearest
Messenger of Love? what may I hope?--

    _Enter_ Julia.

_Jul_. All that the kindest Mistress can bestow, If _Carlos_ loves, and
still will keep his Vows.

_Car_. _Julia_, my Life, my Soul, what happy Stars Conspir'd to give me
this dear lucky minute?

_Jul_. Those that conducted old _Francisco_ out,
And will too soon return him back again;
I dare not stay to hear thy love or chiding,
Both which have power to charm, since both proceed
From a kind heart, that's mine.

_Car_. Oh, take not this dear Body from my Arms,
For if you do, my Soul will follow it.

_Jul_. What would'st thou have me do?

_Car_. Be wondrous kind, be lavish of thy Heart,
Be generous in thy Love, and give me all.

_Jul_. Oh Heavens! what mean you? I shall die with fear.

_Car_. Fear! let coward Lovers fear, who love by halves,
We that intirely love are bold in Passion,
Like Soldiers fir'd with glory dread no Danger.

_Jul_. But should we be unthrifty in our Loves,
And for one Moment's joy give all away,
And be hereafter damn'd to pine at distance?

_Car_. Mistaken Miser, Love like Money put
Into good hands increases every day,
Still as you trust me, still the Sum amounts:
Put me not off with promise of to morrow,
To morrow will take care for new delights,
Why shou'd that rob us of a present one?

_Jul_. Ah, _Carlos_! How fondly do I listen to thy words,
And fain would chide, and fain wou'd boast my Virtue,
But mightier Love laughs at those poor delays;
And I should doubtless give you all your _Julia_,
Did not my fear prevent my kinder business;
--And should _Francisco_ come and find me absent,
Or take thee with me, we were lost, my _Carlos_.

_Car_. When then, my _Julia_, shall we meet again?

_Jul_. You _Spaniards_ are a jealous Nation,
But in this _English Spaniard_ Old _Francisco_,
That mad Passion's doubled; wholly deprives him of his Sense, and turns
his Nature Brute; wou'd he but trust me only with my Woman, I wou'd
contrive some way to see my _Carlos_.

_Car_. 'Tis certain, _Julia_, that thou must be mine.

_Jul_. Or I must die, my _Carlos_.

                             [Ant. _listning advances_.

_Ant_.--I'm sure 'tis _Carlos's_ voice, and with a Woman;
And though he be my Rival but in Jest,
I have a natural curiosity to see who 'tis he entertains.

_Jul_. Oh Heavens! Sir, here's _Francisco_; step aside,
Lest mischief shou'd befall you.
                           [_Runs in_.

_Car_. Now Love and wild Desire prompt me to kill this happy Rival,--
he's old, and can't be long in his Arrears to Nature.--What if I paid
the debt? [_Draws halfway_. One single push wou'd do't, and _Julia's_
mine;--but, hang't, Adultery is a less sin than Murder, and I will wait
my Fortune.--

_Ant_. Where are you,--Don _Carlos_?

_Car_. Who's there, _Antonio_? I took thee for my Rival, and ten to one
but I had done thy business.

_Ant_. I heard ye talking and believ'd you safe, and came in hopes to
get a little time to speak to _Clara_ in;--hah!--_Jacinta_--

_Jac_. Who's there, _Antonio_?
                      [_Peeping out of the door_.

_Ant_. The same; may I not speak with _Clara_?

_Jac_. Come in, she's here.--

_Car_. And prithee, dear _Jacinta_, let me have one word with _Julia_
more, she need not fear surprize; just at the door let me but kiss her
hand.
         [_Going in_.

_Jac_. I'll see if I can bring her.--

    _Enter_ Francisco.

_Fran_. A proud ungracious Flirt,--a Lord with a Pox! here's a fine
business, i'faith, that she should be her own Carver,--well I'll home,
and thunder her together with a vengeance.

_Car_. Who's here? sure this is he indeed; I'll step aside, lest my
being seen give him an occasion of jealousy, and make him affront his
Wife.
         [_Goes aside as_ Fran. _was going in_.

    _Enter_ Julia.

_Fran_. Hum, what have we here, a Woman?

_Jul_. Heavens! what, not gone yet, my Dear?

_Fran_. So, so, 'tis my confounded Wife, who expecting some body wou'd
have me gone now.

_Jul_. Are you not satisfied with all I've said,
With all the Vows I've made,
Which here anew, in sight of Heaven, I breathe?

_Fran_. Yes, yes, you can promise fair, but hang him that trusts ye.

_Jul_. Go, go, and pray be satisfyed with my eternal Love.--

_Fran_. How fain she'd have me gone now; ah, subtle Serpent! is not this
plain demonstration,--I shall murder her, I find the Devil great with
me.    [_Aside still_.

_Jul_.--What is't thou pausest on?

_Fran_. The wicked Dissimulation of villainous Woman.   [_Aloud to her_.

_Jul_. _Francisco!_

_Fran_. Oh thou Monster of Ingratitude, have I caught thee? You'd have
me gone, wou'd ye? ay, to Heaven, I believe, like a wicked Woman as you
are, so you were rid of me. Go,--and be satisfyed of my eternal love
--ah, Gipsey,--no, Gentlewoman, I am a tuff bit, and will hold you
tugging till your heart ake.

_Jul_. Why, was there such hurt in desiring you to go that you might
make haste back again,--Oh, my fears!

_Fran_. That you might receive a Lover,--'tis plain--and my
Indignation's high.

_Jul_. Heav'n knows I meant--

_Fran_. Only to cuckold me a little,--get you in,--where I will swear
thee by Bell, Book and Candle,--get you in, I say,--go, go,--I'll
watch for your Lover, and tell him how unkind he was to stay so long,
I will.--

         [_Ex_. Julia, _he stands just in the door_, Carlos _advances_.

_Car_. I hear no noise, sure 'twas he,--and he's gone in--
To reap those Joys he knows not how to value,
And I must languish for; I'll stay a little--perhaps _Jacinta_ may
return again, for anything belonging to my _Julia_ is dear, even to
my Soul.

            [_Goes just to the door_, Fran. _bolts out on him_.

_Fran_. Who's there?--what wou'd you have?--who wou'd you speak to?--who
do you come from?--and what's your business?

_Car_. Hah, 'tis the Sot himself;--my name is _Carlos_.

_Fran_. _Carlos_! what Father of _Belzebub_ sent him hither?--a plain
case;--I'll murder her out of hand.

_Car_.--And I wou'd speak to any body, Friend, that belongs to the fair
_Clara_,--if you are any of this house.

_Fran_. Only the Cuckold of the house, that's all;--my name, Sir, is
_Francisco_; but you, perhaps, are better acquainted with my Wife.

_Car_. _Francisco_, let me embrace you, my noble Brother, and chide you,
that you wou'd not visit me.
                [_Going to embrace him, he flies off_.

_Fran_. And bring my Wife along with me.

_Car_. Both had been welcome--and all I have, you shou'd command.

_Fran_. For my Wife's sake--what if I shou'd pistol him now;--and I am
damnably provok'd to't, had I but Courage to shoot off one.   [_Aside_.

_Car_. Methinks you make not so kind returns as my Friendship to you,
and the Alliance shall be between us, deserves.

_Fran_. I am something ill-bred, I confess, Sir;--'tis dark, and if I
shou'd do't no body wou'd know 'twas I.    [_Aside_.

_Car_. I fear there's some Misunderstanding between us, pray let us go
in a while, I'll talk you from your error.
                      [_Offers to go, he gets between him and the door_.

_Fran_. Between us, Sir! oh Lord, not in the least, Sir, I love and
honour you so heartily--I'd be content to give you to the Devil, but the
noise of the Pistol wou'd discover the business.    [_Aside_.

_Car_. Come, let's in, and talk a while.

_Fran_. I'm sorry I cannot do't, Sir, we are something incommoded being
not at our own house.

_Car_. Brother, I am afraid you are a little inclined to be jealous,
that will destroy all Friendship.--

_Fran_. So, how finely the Devil begins to insinuate!

_Car_. That makes a Hell of the Heav'n of Love, and those very Pains you
fear, are less tormenting than that Fear; what say you, Brother, is't
not so with you?

_Fran_. I find you wou'd have me turn a Husband of the Mode, a fine
convenient Tool, one of the modern Humour, a civil Person, that
understands Reason, or so; and I doubt not but you wou'd be as modish
a Gallant.

_Car_. Ha, ha, ha.

_Fran_. What, do you laugh, Sir?

_Car_. Who can chuse, to hear your Suspicions, your needless Fears.
Come, come, trust your Wife's Discretion, and Modesty--and I doubt not
but you will find your self--

_Fran_. In the Road to Heaven, whither they say all Cuckolds go--I thank
you for your advice; I perceive you wou'd willingly help me onwards of
my Journey.

_Car_. I'm glad I know you, Sir,--farewel to you--
                                              [_Goes out_.

_Fran_. No matter for that, so you know not my Wife--and so farewel to
you, Sir, and, the Devil take all Cuckoldmakers.

                                            [_Exit_.



SCENE III. _The inside of the House_.


    _Enter_ Clara, Julia, Antonio, Jacinta _running to 'em_.

_Jac_. He has seen Don _Carlos_, and they have been in great discourse
together, I cou'd not hear one word, but you'll have it at both ears
anon, I'll warrant you. Ha, he's coming.

    _Enter_ Francisco.

_Cla_. Heavens, he must not see you here.    [_To_ Ant.

_Jac_. Here, step into _Clara's_ Bed-chamber.    [_He goes in_.

_Fran_. So the Plot's at last discover'd,--he was a Cavalier of his
Parole.

_Jul_. Who speak you of?

_Fran_. Only the Governor, the fine young Governor, I deliver'd him the
message, told him my mind and the like.

_Jul_. So kind to visit us, and have you sent him away already?

_Fran_. Ah, Witch; already! why, have I any lodging for him?

_Jul_. But I am glad you brought him not in, I being so unready.

_Fran_. But you are always ready for him, my dear victorious Man-slayer.

_Jul_. What means he, sure he has a Gad-bee in his Brain.

_Fran_. Satan's she Advocate--peace, I say;--so, you look as innocently
now, as a little Devil of two years old, I'll warrant;--come, come, look
me full in the face--thus,--turn your nose just to mine--so--now tell
me whose damnable Plot this was, to send your Gallant with his
Eloquence, Querks and Conundrums, to tutor me into better manners?

_Jul_. Send him! I'll answer no such idle questions.

_Fran_. He has taken a world of pains about your particular Chapter, and
no doubt but he preach'd according to instructions;--what say you for
your self, that Judgment may not pass?

_Jul_. I say you're an old jealous Fool; have I seen Don _Carlos_, or
heard from Don _Carlos_, or sent to Don _Carlos_? here's a-do indeed.

_Fran_. What made you at the door against my positive commands,--the
very Street-door,--in the night,--alone,--and undrest,--this is a
matter of Fact, Gentlewoman; you hastened me away,--a plain case,--and
presently, after Don _Carlos_ comes to the door,--positive proof,--sees
me and falls right down upon my Jealousy,--clear conviction,--'twas
pity but I had follow'd his counsel, yes, when the Devil turns student
in Divinity;--but no matter, I'll see your back fairly turn'd upon this
Town to morrow; I'll marry my Daughter in the morning to _Antonio_, and
a fair wind or not, we'll home; the Gally lies ready in the Harbour--
therefore prepare, pack up your tools, for you are no woman of this
world.

_Ant_. How! marry me to morrow to his daughter;--and carry his Wife
from my Friend; this misfortune must be prevented.    [_Aside peeping_.

_Fran_. And so, Mistress, come your ways to your Chamber.

_Jul_. And study how to prevent this cruel separation.
                               [_Aside, goes out with him and_ Jacinta.

_Cla_. Ah, _Antonio_, I find by that sad look of yours, you have
over-heard our hasty Doom.

_Ant_. I have, and am a little surpriz'd at the suddenness of it; and I
my self am the unlucky occasion of it,--to break it off, I told my
Father how scurvily _Isabella_ treated me,--he thereupon sends for old
_Francisco_, tells him of my complaint, and instead of disengaging my
self, I find my self more undone.

_Cla_. What shall we do? I'm sure thou wilt not marry her, thou canst
not do't and hope to go to Heaven.

_Ant_. No, I have one prevention left, and if that fail, I'll utterly
refuse to marry her, a thing so vainly proud; no Laws of Nature or
Religion, sure, can bind me to say yes; and for my Fortune, 'tis my own,
no Father can command it.

_Cla_. I know thou wilt be true, and I'll not doubt it.

    _Enter_ Jacinta.

_Jac_. Ah! Madam, the saddest news--

_Cla_. Hah! what?

_Jac_. Poor Gentleman, I pity you of all things in the World,--you must
be forc'd--how can I utter it,--to the most lamentable torment that ever
Lover endur'd--to remain all night in your Mistress's Chamber.

_Ant_. Alas, how shall I endure so great an Affliction?

_Cla_. And I.

_Jac_. Ha, ha, ha, how I am griev'd to think on it; ha, ha, ha, that you
shou'd both be so hardly put to it; ha, ha, ha, for the old Gentleman
has lock'd all the doors, and took the keys to bed to him,--go, get you
in,--ha, ha, ha.--

_Ant_. Oh, my dear _Clara_, this is a blessing I could not hope.

_Cla_. _So large a Freedom shall my Virtue prove,
       I'll trust my Honour with_ Antonio's _Love_.

                                           [_They go in_.

                               [_Ex_. Jacinta _laughing_.




ACT III.

SCENE I. _Don_ Carlos' _house_.


    _Enter Don_ Carlos _in his Night-gown_, Antonio,
    _and_ Guzman _with Clothes_.

_Car_. All night with _Clara_ say'st thou? that was lucky;
But was she kind, my friend?

_Ant_. As I desir'd, or Honour wou'd permit her;
Nor wou'd I press her farther.

_Car_. A very moderate Lover.

_Ant_. For some part of my Virtue, Sir, I owe to you; in midst of all my
Love, even in the kindest moments of Delight, my Joys were broken by
concern for you.--_Julia_ this day, or very suddenly, leaves _Cadiz_.

_Car_. By Heaven, and so will _Carlos_ then; for I'm so resolutely bent
to possess that dear Creature,
That I will do't with hazard of my Life,
Expence of Fortune, or what's dear to me.

_Guz_. And how wou'd you reward that politick head, that shou'd contrive
the means to bring this handsomly about; not for an a hour, or a night,
but even as long as you please, with freedom; without the danger of
venturing your honourable neck, in showing Feats of Activity three
stories high, with a Dagger in one hand, and a Pistol in t'other, like a
Ropedancer?

_Car_. But how? Thou talkest of Impossibilities.

_Ant_. Dost think she'll e'er consent to quit her Husband?

_Guz_. No, Heaven forbid, I am too good a Christian to part Man and
Wife; but being naturally inclined to works of Charity, I will with one
project I have in this noddle of mine,--make old _Francisco_ a Cuckold,
accommodate my Lord and _Julia_, serve you, Sir,--and give our selves a
good Scene of Mirth.

_Car_. Thou amazest me.

_Guz_. If I do't not, send me to the Galleys; nay, and so far cure the
Jealousy of the old Fellow, that from a rigid suspicious troublesom
Fool, he shall become so tame and gentle a Husband,--that he shall
desire you to favour him so much as to lie with his dear Wife.

_Car_. By what strange Witchcraft shall this be brought to pass?

_Guz_. E'en honest Invention, Sir, good Faith, listen and believe:--When
he goes, he certainly goes by Sea, to save the charges of Mules.

_Ant_. Right, I heard him say so; in the Galley that lies in the Port.

_Guz_. Good, there is a Galley also, in the Harbour, you lately took
from the _Turks_; Habits too were taken in her enough to furnish out
some forty or fifty as convenient _Turks_ as a man wou'd wish at
the Devil.

_Car_. Ah, Rogue, I begin to apprehend already.

_Guz_. Our _Turkish_ Galley thus man'd, I'll put to Sea, and about a
League from Land, with a sham-fight set on that of Old _Francisco_, take
it, make 'em all Slaves, clap the Old Fellow under hatches, and then you
may deal with the fair Slave his Wife, as _Adam_ did with _Eve_.

_Car_. I'm ravish'd with the thought.

_Ant_. But what will be the event of this?

_Car_. I will not look so far, but stop at the dear Joys, and fear no
Fate beyond 'em.

_Guz_. Nay, with a little cudgelling this dull Brain of mine I shall
advance it farther for the Jest-sake;--as I take it, Signior Don
_Antonio_, you have a fine Villa, within a Bow-shot of this City
belonging to your self.

_Ant_. I have with pleasant Gardens, Grotto's, Waterworks.--

_Car_. A most admirable Scene for Love and our Designs.

_Ant_. 'Tis yours, Sir.

_Guz_. Then, Sir, when we have taken this old Fool, on whom the grossest
cheat wou'd pass, much more this, which shall carry so seeming a Truth
in't, he being clapt under hatches in the Dark, we'll wind round a
League or two at Sea, turn in, and land at this Garden, Sir, of yours,
which we'll pretend to be a _Seraglio_, belonging to the _Grand
Seignior_; whither, in this hot part o'th' year, he goes to regale
himself with his She-Slaves.

_Car_. But the distance of Place and Time allow not such a Fallacy.

_Guz_. Why he never read in's life; knows neither Longitude nor
Latitude, and _Constantinople_ may be in the midst of _Spain_ for any
thing he knows; besides, his Fear will give him little leisure
for thinking.

_Ant_. But how shall we do with the Seamen of this other Gally?

_Guz_. There's not above a Dozen, besides the Slaves that are chain'd to
the Oar, and those Dozen, a Pistole apiece wou'd not only make 'em
assist in the design, but betray it in earnest to the _Grand Seignior_;
--for them I'll undertake, the Master of it being _Pier de Sala_, your
Father's old Servant, Sir.    [_To_ Carlos.

_Ant_. But possibly his mind may alter upon the Arrival of this False
Count of ours?

_Car_. No matter, make sure of those Seamen however; that they may be
ready upon occasion.

_Ant_. 'Tis high time for me that your Count were arriv'd, for this
morning is destin'd the last of my Liberty.

_Car_. This Morning--Come, haste and dress me--
[_To_ Guz.]--_Guzman_, where's our Count?

    _Enter_ Guiliom _drest fine, two great_ Pages
    _and a little one following_.

_Guz_. Coming to give you the good morrow, Sir;
And shew you how well he looks the Part.

_Car_. Good day to your Lordship--    [_Bowing_.

_Guil_. Morrow, morrow, Friend.

_Ant_. My Lord, your most humble Servant.

_Guil_. Thank you, Friend, thank you; Page, Boy--what's a-Clock,
Sirrah?

_Page_. About Eight, my Lord.

_Ant_. Your Lordship's early up.

_Guil_. My Stomach was up before me, Friend; and I'm damnably hungry;
'tis strange how a man's Appetite increases with his Greatness; I'll
swinge it away now I'm a Lord,--then I will wench without Mercy; I'm
resolv'd to spare neither Man, Woman, nor Child, not I; hey, Rogues,
Rascals, Boys, my Breakfast, quickly, Dogs--let me see, what shall I
have now that's rare?

_Page_. What will your Honour please to have?

_Guil_. A small rasher of delicate Bacon, Sirrah--of about a Pound, or
two, with a small Morsel of Bread--round the Loaf, d'ye hear, quickly,
Slaves.

_Ant_. That's gross meat, Sir, a pair of Quails--or--

_Guil_. I thank you for that, i'faith, take your Don again, an you
please, I'll not be starv'd for ne'er a Don in Christendom.

_Ant_. But you must study to refine your Manners a little.

_Guil_. Manners! you shall pardon me for that; as if a Lord had not more
privilege to be more saucy, more rude, impertinent, slovenly and foolish
than the rest of his Neighbours, or Mankind.

_Car_. Ay, ay, 'tis great.

_Guil_. Your saucy Rudeness, in a Grandee, is Freedom; your
Impertinence, Wit; your Sloven, careless; and your Fool, good natur'd;
as least they shall pass so in me, I'll warrant ye.

_Car_. Well, you have your full Instructions; your Baggage, Bills and
Letters, from _Octavio_ the _Sevilian_ Merchant.

_Guz_. All, all, Sir, are ready, and his Lordship's breakfast waits.

_Car_. Which ended, we advance,
Just when _Aurora_ rose from _Thetis'_ Bed,
Where he had wantoned a short Summer's night,
Harness'd his bright hoov'd Horses to begin
His gilded course above the Firmament,
Out sallied Don _Gulielmo Rodorigo de Chimney Sweperio_, and so forth.
Gad, this adventure of ours will be worthy to be sung in Heroick Rhime
Doggerel, before we have finisht it; Come--
                                      [_Goes out_.

_Guil_. Hey, Rogues, Rascals, Boys, follow me just behind.

                                                     [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. Francisco's _house_.


    _Enter_ Clara _and_ Jacinta.

_Jac_. Nay, I knew he would be civil, Madam, or I would have borne you
Company; but neither my Mistress nor I, cou'd sleep one wink all Night,
for fear of a Discovery in the Morning; and to save the poor Gentleman a
tumbling Cast from the Window, my Mistress, just at day-break, feigned
her self wondrous sick,--I was called, desired to go to Signior
_Spadilio's_ the Apothecary's, at the next Door, for a Cordial; and so
he slipt out;--but the Story of this false Count pleases me extremely,
and, if it should take, Lord, what mirth we shall have. Ha, ha, ha, I
can't forbear with the thoughts on't.

_Cla_. And to see the Governor his Man?

_Jac_. Ah, what a Jest that would be too--Ha, ha, ha! but here comes
_Isabella_; let's puff up her Pride with Flatteries on her Beauty.

    _Enter_ Isabella _looking in a Glass, and seeing her Face_.

_Isa_. Ah, Heavens, those Eyes--that Look,--that pretty Leer,--that my
Father shou'd be so doating an old Fool to think these Beauties fit for
a little Merchandize; a Marchioness wou'd so much better become me.
                                                          [Looks again.
--Ah, what a Smile's there--and then that scornful Look--'tis great--
Heavens, who's here?
                        [Sees them.

_Cla_. Only those Friends that wish you better Fortune than this day
promises.

_Jac_. Look on that Face; are there not Lines that foretel a world of
Greatness, and promise much Honour?

_Cla_. Her Face, her Shape, her Mein, her every part declares her
Lady--or something more.

_Isa_. Why, so, and yet this little Creature of a Father, ridiculously
and unambitious, would spoil this Lady, to make up a simple Citizen's
Wife--in good time.

_Jac_. That very look had some presaging Grandeur.

_Isa_. Do you think so, _Jacinta_? Ha, ha, ha.

_Jac_. That Laugh again, oh Heavens, how it charms!

_Cla_. And how graceful 'tis!

_Jac_. Ah, nothing but a great gilt Coach will become it.

_Cla_. With six _Spanish_ Mares.--

_Jac_. And embroidered Trappings.

_Cla_. With four Lackeys.

_Jac_. And a Page at the tail on't.

_Cla_. She's evidently design'd for a Person of Quality.

_Isa_. Besides I have so natural an Inclination for a Don, that if my
Father do force me to marry this small Creature of a Merchant, I shall
make an Intrigue with some body of Quality.

_Cla_. Cou'd you but manage it well, and keep it from _Antonio_.

_Isa_. Keep it from _Antonio_,--is it think you for a little silly Cit,
to complain when a Don does him the Honour to visit his Lady? Marry,
that were pretty.

    _Enter_ Francisco, _and_ Lopez.

_Fran_. How, a Count to speak with me! with me, I say,--here at _Cadiz_.

_Lop_. A Count, Sir, and to speak with you.

_Fran_. Art sure 'tis not the Governor?--I'll go lock up my Wife.

_Lop_. Governor, Sir! No, no, 'tis a mere Stranger, Sir, a rare Count
whom I never saw all days of my life before.

_Fran_. And with me wou'd he speak? I hope he comes not to my Wife.

    _Enter_ Julia.

_Jul_. Oh Husband, the delicatest fine Person of Quality, just alighted
at the Door, Husband.

_Fran_. What, have you seen him then? the Devil's in these Women, and
there be but a Loop-hole to peep out of they'll spy a man,--I'm resolved
to see this thing,--go, retire, you Women, here's Men coming up.

_Isa_. And will Men eat us?

_Fran_. No, but they may do worse, they may look on ye, and Looking
breeds Liking; and Liking, Love; and Love a damn'd thing, call'd Desire;
and Desire begets the Devil and all of Mischief to young Wenches--Get ye
gone in, I say--here's a Lord coming--and Lords are plaguy things
to Women.

_Isa_. How, a Lord! oh, heavens! _Jacinta_, my Fan, and set my Hair in
order, oh, the Gods! I would not but see a Lord for all the World! how
my Heart beats already--keep your Distance behind, _Jacinta_,--bless
me, how I tremble--a little farther, _Jacinta_.

_Fran_. Come, come, Huswife, you shall be married anon, and then let
your Husband have the plague of you--but for my Gentlewoman,--Oh Lord
--they're here.

    _Enter_ Guiliom, Carlos, _and_ Pages, _&c_.

_Gull_. How now, Fellow, where's this old Don _Francisco_?

_Fran_. I'm the Person, Sir.

_Isa_. Heavens, what an Air he has!

_Guil_. Art thou he? Old Lad, how dost thou do? Hah!

_Fran_. I don't know.

_Guil_. Thou knowest me not it seems, old Fellow, hah!

_Fran_. Know you--no, nor desire to do,--on what acquaintance, pray?

_Guil_. By Instinct; such as you ought to know a Person of Quality, and
pay your Civilities naturally; in _France_, where I have travel'd, so
much good manners is used, your Citizen pulls off his hat, thus--to
every Horse of Quality, and every Coach of Quality; and do you pay my
proper Person no more respect, hah!

_Isa_. What a Dishonour's this to me, to have so dull a Father, that
needs to be instructed in his Duty.

_Guil_. But, Sir, to open the eyes of your understanding--here's a
Letter to you, from your Correspondent a Merchant of _Sevil_.

    [_Gives him a dirty Letter which he wipes on his Cloke and reads,
    and begins to pull off his hat, and reading on bows lower and lower
    till he have finisht it_.

_Fran_. Cry Mercy, my Lord,--and yet I wou'd he were a thousand Leagues
off.

_Guil_. I have Bills of Exchange too, directed to thee, old Fellow, at
_Sevil_; but finding thee not there, and I (as most Persons of my
Quality are) being something idle, and never out of my way, came to this
Town, to seek thee, Fellow--being recommended as thou seest here, old
Vermin--here--
                  [_Gives him Bills_.

_Isa_. Ah, what a graceful Mein he has! how fine his Conversation! ah,
the difference between him and a filthy Citizen!

_Jul_.--_Clara_ has told me all.--    [Jac. _whispering to_ Jul.

_Car_. That's she in the middle; stand looking on her languishingly,
--your head a little on one side,--so,--fold your Arms,--good,--now
and then heave your breast with a sigh,--most excellent.--
                                                    [_He groans_.

_Fran_. Bills for so many thousands.

_Jac_. He has you in his eye already.

_Isa_. Ah, _Jacinta_, thou flatterest me.

_Jac_. Return him some kind looks in pity.
                        [_She sets her Eyes, and bows, &c_.

_Car_. That other's my Mistress,--couldst thou but keep this old Fellow
in discourse whilst I give her the sign to retire a little.--

_Guil_. I'll warrant you I'll banter him till you have cuckolded him, if
you manage matters as well as I.

_Fran_. My Lord, I ask your pardon for my rudeness in not knowing you
before, which I ought to have done in good manners I confess; who the
Devil does he stare at so?--Wife, I command you to withdraw, upon pain
of our high displeasure.--my Lord, I shall dispatch your affairs,--he
minds me not,--Ay, 'tis my Wife, I say, Minion, be gone,--your Bills, my
Lord, are good, and I accept 'em;--why a Devil he minds me not yet,
[Julia _goes to t'other side to_ Carlos.]--and though I am not at my
proper home,--I am where I can command Money,--hum,--sure 'tis my
Daughter,--Ay, ay,--'tis so, how if he should be smitten now; the plaguy
Jade had sure the Spirit of Prophecy in her; 'tis so--'tis she--my Lord.

_Guil_. Prithee, old Fellow, Peace,--I am in love.

_Fran_. In love,--what, shall I be the Father of a Lord? wou'd it become
me, think ye?--he's mighty full of Cogitabund--my Lord,--sure his Soul
has left the Tenement of his Body--I have his Bills here, and care not
if it never return more.
              [_Looks over the Bills_.

_Car_. Dear _Julia_, let's retire, our time's but short.

_Jul_. I dare not with you, the venture wou'd be too bold in a young
beginner in the Thefts of Love.

_Guil_. Her Eyes are Suns, by _Jove_.

_Car_. Oh, nothing is so ventrous as Love, if it be true.

_Guil_. Or else, two Morning Stars, All other Beauties are but Soot
to her.

_Jul_. But shou'd my Husband--

_Car_. He's safe for one dear half hour, I'll warrant you, come.

_Fran_. Um--my Wife here still, must I begin to thunder.

_Jul_. Lord, and you be so froward, I'll be gone.--

_Car_. So, her Husband, kind heart, lest she should be cruel, has
himself given me the dear opportunity.--[_Aside_.--Be sure you keep the
old Fellow in discourse awhile.

_Guil_. Be you as sure to cuckold him.--    [_Ex_. Car. _and_ Jul.
--Old Fellow,--prithee what Person of Quality is that?

_Fran_. Person of Quality! alas, my Lord, 'tis a silly Citizen's
Daughter.

_Guil_. A Citizen's! what clod of Earth cou'd bring forth such a Beauty?

_Fran_. Alas, my Lord, I am that clod of Earth, and to Earth, if you
call it so, she must return again, for she's to be married to a Citizen
this Morning.

_Guil_. Oh! I am doubly wounded, first with her harmonious Eyes,
Who've fir'd my Heart to that Degree,
No Chimney ever burnt like me.
Fair Lady,--suffer the Broom of my Affection to sweep all other Lovers
from your heart.

_Isa_. Ah, my Lord, name it not, I'm this day to be married.

_Guil_. To day! name me the Man; Man did I say? the Monster, that dares
lay claim to her I deign to love,--none answer me,--I'll make him
smoak, by _Vulcan_--and all the rest of the Goddesses.

_Fran_. Bless me, what a furious thing this Love is?

_Guil_. By this bright Sword, that is so used to slaughter, he dies;
[_Draws_.] old Fellow, say--the Poltroon's name.

_Fran_. Oh, fearful--alas, dread Sir!

_Isa_. Ah! sheath your Sword, and calm your generous Rage.

_Guil_. I cannot brook a Rival in my Love, the rustling Pole of my
Affection is too strong to be resisted.
         _Runs raging up and down the Stage with his Sword in his hand_.

_Isa_. I cannot think, my Lord, so mean a Beauty can so suddenly charm a
Heart so great as yours.

_Guil_. Oh! you're mistaken, as soon as I cast my eyes upon the
Full-moon of your Countenance, I was struck blind and dumb.

_Fran_. Ay, and deaf too, I'll be sworn, he cou'd neither hear, see nor
understand; this Love's a miraculous thing.

_Guil_. And that Minute, the most renoun'd Don _Gulielmo Roderigo de
Chimeny Sweperio_, became your Gally-Slave,--I say no more, but that I
do love,--and I will love,--and that if you are but half so willing as
I, I will dub you, Viscountess _de Chimeny Sweperio_.

_Isa_. I am in Heaven, ah! I die, _Jacinta_. How can I credit this, that
am so much unworthy?

_Guil_. I'll do't, say no more, I'll do't.

_Fran_. Do't, but, my Lord, and with what face can I put off Signior
_Antonio_, hum.

_Guil_. _Antonio_,--hy, Pages, give order that _Antonio_ be instantly
run through the Lungs--d'ye hear?

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! run through the Lungs!

_Page_. It shall be done, my Lord! but what _Antonio_?

_Guil_. Why, any _Antonio_; all the _Antonio's_ that you find in
_Cadiz_.

_Fran_. Oh, what bloody-minded Monsters these Lords are!--But, my Lord,
I'll ne'er give you the trouble of killing him, I'll put him off with a
handsom Compliment; as thus,--Why, look ye, Friend _Antonio_, the
business is this, my Daughter _Isabella_ may marry a Lord, and you may
go fiddle.--

_Guil_. Ay, that's civil,--and if he do not desist, I'll unpeople
_Spain_ but I'll kill him; for, Madam, I'll tell you what happened to me
in the Court of _France_--there was a Lady in the Court in love with
me,--she took a liking to my Person which--I think,--you will confess--

_Isa_. To be the most accomplisht in the World.

_Guil_. I had some sixscore Rivals, they all took Snuff; that is, were
angry--at which I smiled;--they were incensed; at which I laught, ha,
ha, ha,--i'faith; they rag'd, I--when I met 'em,--Cockt, thus--_en
passant_--justled 'em--thus,--[_Overthrows_ Fran.] They turn'd and
frown'd,--thus,--I drew.--

_Fran_. What, on all the sixscore, my Lord?

_Guil_. All, all; sa, sa, quoth I, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa.
                                         [_Fences him round the Stage_.

_Fran_. Hold, hold, my Lord, I am none of the sixscore.

_Guil_. And run 'em all through the Body!

_Fran_. Oh Heavens! and kill'd 'em all.

_Guil_. Not a Man,--only run 'em through the body a little, that's all,
my two Boys were by, my Pages here.

_Isa_. Is it the fashion, Sir, to be attended by Pages so big?

_Guil_. Pages of Honour always;--these were stinted at nurse, or they
had been good proper Fellows.

_Fran_. I am so frighted with this relation, that I must up to my
Wife's Chamber for a little of that strong Cordial that recovered her
this morning.
                 [_Going out_ Guil. _stays him_.

_Guil_. Why, I'll tell you, Sir, what an odd sort of a Wound I received
in a Duel the other day,--nay, Ladies, I'll shew it you; in a very odd
place--in my back parts.
              [_Goes to untuck his Breeches, the Ladies squeak_.

_Isa_. Ah.

_Page_. Shew a Wound behind, Sir! the Ladies will think you are a
Coward.

_Guil_. Peace, Child, peace, the Ladies understand Dueling as little as
my self; but, since you are so tender-hearted, Ladies, I'll not shew you
my wound; but faith, it spoiled my dancing.

    _Page comes in_.

_Page_. My Lord, now you talk of dancing, here's your Baggage brought
from a-board the Gally by your Seamen, who us'd to entertain you with
their rustick Sports.

_Guil_. Very well; Sir, with your permission, I am resolved whether you
will or no, to give the Ladies some divertisement,--bid 'em come in;
nay, Sir, you stir not.    [Ex. Page.
'Tis for your delight, Sir, I do't; for, Sir, you must understand, a
Man, if he have any thing in him, Sir, of Honour, for the case, Sir,
lies thus, 'tis not the business of an Army to droll upon an
Enemy--truth is, every man loves a whole skin;--but 'twas the fault of
the best Statesmen in Christendom to be loose in the hilts,--you
conceive me.

_Fran_. Very well, my Lord, I'll swear he's a rare spoken man;--why,
what a Son-in-law shall I have? I have a little business, my Lord, but
I'll wait on you presently.
                      [Going out.

_Guil_. Sir, there is nothing like your true jest; a thing once well
done, is twice done, and I am the happiest Man in the World in your
Alliance; for, Sir, a Nobleman if he have any tolerable parts,--is a
thing much above the Vulgar;--oh,--here comes the Dancers.

    _Enter Dancers_.

Come, sit down by me.

_Fran_. 'Tis my duty to stand, my Lord.

_Guil_. Nay, you shall sit.

                               [They dance.

    _Enter_ Antonio.

_Ant_. Good day, Sir, I hope you will not chide my tardiness, I have a
little overslept my self, and am ashamed to see my lovely Bride, and all
this worthy Company attend.
--But you, fair Creature--    [_To_ Isabella.

_Isa_. No marrying to day, Sir.

_Fran_. No, Sir, no marrying to day.

_Ant_. How, do I dream, or hear this from _Francisco_?

_Guil_. How now, Fellow, what art thou?

_Ant_. The Husband of that proud disdainful Woman.

_Guil_. Another word like that--and thou art--

_Ant_. What, Sir?

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! _Antonio_, I must tell you, you're
uncivil.

_Guil_. Dost know, dull Mortal, that I am a Lord, And _Isabella_ my
adopted Lady.

_Ant_. I beg your pardon, Sir, if it be so, poor Mortals can but grieve
in silence.

_Guil_. Alas, poor Mortal!

_Ant_. But, for you, _Francisco_.

_Fran_. Ah, dear _Antonio_, I vow and swear I cannot chuse but weep to
lose thee; but my Daughter was born for a Lady, and none can help
their destiny.

_Ant_. And is it possible thou canst use me thus?    [_To_ Isa.

_Isa_. Take away that little Fellow; in pity of your life, I deign to
bid you withdraw and be safe.

_Guil_. D'ye hear, hah?--this Lady has beg'd your life.

_Ant_. Beg'd my Life!

_Guil_. Vile Wretch, dar'st thou retort?
                               [Draws, the Women hold him.

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my noble Son-in-law, he shall do any thing;--
dear _Antonio_, consider, I was never Father to a Lord all days of my
Life before:--my Lord, be pacified, my Daughter shall be a Lady.

_Isa_. For my sake spare him, and be Friends with him, as far as you may
deign to be with a little Citizen.

_Guil_. Fellow, I forgive thee,--here's my hand to kiss in sign and
token I am appeased.
             [_Gives him his hand to kiss, 'tis all black_.

_Ant_. A Pox of his honourable hand, 't had like to have spoiled all,
--well, since it must be so, I am content.

_Guil_. So, now Peace is concluded on, on all sides, what shall we do
to day besides eating and drinking in abundance; for to morrow I shall
get my self in order for my Marriage.

_Cla_. What thinks your Honour of taking the Air upon the Sea, in a
Galley, a League or two?

_Guil_. With Fiddles, Drums and Trumpets, Westphalia hams and Pidgeons,
and the like: Hey, Rogues, Scoundrels, Dogs.

_Isa_. Ah, how fine is every Action of a great Man!

_Guil_. Command a Galley to attend us presently.
--You shall along, old Boy.    [To Fran.

_Fran_. Alas, I must stay at home with my Wife, my Lord.

_Guil_. A Wife! have I a Mother-in-law too?--she must along with us, and
take a frisk,--no denial.

    _Enter_ Carlos.

--Oh, are you come?    [Aside.

_Car_. Yes, and thank thee for the best moment of my Life--Hast thou
contrived the Voyage then?

_Guil_. Take no care--come, haste on board--our Honour will not lose the
Fresco of the Morning,--Follow me, Pages.

_Page_. At your heels, my Lord--

                             [_Exeunt_.




ACT IV.

SCENE I.


    Enter, _as aboard the Ship_, Guiliom, Isabella, Francisco, Julia,
    Antonio, Clara, Jacinta, Pedro _and his Wife_, Pages.

_Guil_. Ladies and Gentlemen, you are very welcome aboard--Come, put off
to Sea, Rogues, Scoundrels, Tarpaulins, to your Business, and then,
every man his Bottle,--hey, Page, Rogues, where are my Men? Come, spread
the Table--for we are very hungry.

_Isa_. Heav'ns, what a peculiar Grace there is in every word that comes
from the Mouth of a Cavalier.

_Guil_. By _Mars_, the God of Love!

_Page_. By _Cupid_, Sir.    [Aside to him.

Guil. _Cupid_, Sirrah! I say, I'll have it _Mars_, there's more Thunder
in the Sound: I say, by _Mars_, these Gallies are pretty neat convenient
Tenements--but a--I see ne'er a Chimney in 'em:--Pox on't, what have I
to do with a Chimney now?

_Isa_. He is a delicate fine Person, _Jacinta_; but, methinks he does
not make Love enough to me.

_Jac_. Oh, Madam, Persons of his Quality never make Love in Words, the
greatness of their Actions show their Passion.

_Jac_. Ay, 'tis true all the little Fellows talk of Love.

_Guil_. Come, Ladies, set; Come, _Isabella_, you are melancholy,--Page
--Fill my Lady a Beer-glass.

_Isa_. Ah, Heav'ns, a Beer-glass.

_Guil_. O, your Viscountess never drinks under your Beer-glass, your
Citizens Wives simper and sip, and will be drunk without doing Credit to
the Treater; but in their Closets, they swinge it away, whole Slashes,
i'faith, and egad, when a Woman drinks by her self, Glasses come thick
about: your Gentlewoman, or your little Lady, drinks half way, and
thinks in point of good manners, she must leave some at the bottom; but
your true bred Woman of Honour drinks all, _Supernaculum_, by _Jove_.

_Isa_. What a misfortune it was, that I should not know this before, but
shou'd discover my want of so necessary a piece of Grandeur.

_Jac_. And nothing, but being fuddled, will redeem her Credit.

_Guil_. Come--fall to, old Boy,--thou art not merry; what, have we none
that can give us a Song?

_Ant_. Oh Sir, we have an Artist aboard I'll assure you; Signior
_Cashier_, shall I beg the favour of you to shew your Skill?

_Pet_. Sir, my Wife and I'm at your service.

_Guil_. Friend, what Language can you sing?

_Pet_. Oh, Sir, your Singers speak all Languages.

_Guil_. Say'st thou so, prithee then let's have a touch of Heathen
_Greek_.

_Pet_. That you shall, Sir, Sol la me fa sol, &c.

_Fran_. Hum, I think this is indeed Heathen _Greek_, I'm sure 'tis so
to me.

_Guil_. Ay, that may be, but I understand every word on't.

_Fran_. Good lack, these Lords are very learned Men.

_Pet_. Now, Sir, you shall hear one of another Language from my Wife and
I.    [_Sing a Dialogue_ in French.

    _Enter the_ Captain.

_Capt_. Well, Gentlemen, though the news be something unpleasant that I
bring, yet to noble minds 'tis sport and pastime.

_Guil_. Hah, Fellow! What's that that's sport and pastime to noble
minds.

_Fran_. Oh Lord, no goodness, I'll warrant.

_Capt_. But, Gentlemen, pluck up your Spirits, be bold and resolute.

_Fran_. Oh Lord, bold and resolute! why, what's the matter, Captain?

_Capt_. You are old, Signior, and we expect no good from you but Prayers
to Heaven?

_Fran_. Oh Lord, Prayers to Heaven! Why, I hope, Captain, we have no
need to think of Heaven.

_Capt_. At your own Peril be it then, Signior, for the _Turks_ are
coming upon us.

_Fran_. Oh Lord, Turks, Turks!

                                  [_Ex_. Cap.

_Guil_. Turks, oh, is that all?    [_Falls to eating_.

_Fran_. All--why, they'll make Eunuchs of us, my Lord, Eunuchs of us
poor men, and lie with all our Wives.

_Guil_. Shaw, that's nothing, 'tis good for the Voice.--how sweetly we
shall sing, ta, la, ta la la, ta la, &c.

_Fran_. Ay, 'twill make you sing another note, I'll warrant you.

    _Enter a Seaman_.

_Sea_. For Heaven's sake, Sirs, do not stand idle here; Gentlemen, if
you wou'd save your lives,--draw and defend 'em.
                                                    [_Exit_.

_Fran_. Draw! I never drew any thing in my Life, but my Purse, and
that most damnably against my will; oh, what shall I do?

    _Enter_ Captain.

_Capt_. Ah, my Lord, they bear up briskly to us, with a fresh Gale and
full Sails.

_Fran_. Oh, dear Captain, let us tack about and go home again.

_Capt_. 'Tis impossible to scape, we must fight it out.

_Fran_. Fight it out! oh, I'm not able to indure it,--why, what the
Devil made me a ship-board?

                       [_Ex_. Cap.

_Guil_. Why, where be these _Turks_? set me to 'em, I'll make 'em smoke,
Dogs, to dare attack a man of Quality.

_Isa_. Oh, the Insolence of these _Turks_! do they know who's aboard?
for Heaven's sake, my Lord, do not expose your noble Person.

_Guil_. What, not fight?--Not fight! A Lord, and not fight? Shall I
submit to Fetters, and see my Mistress ravish'd by any great _Turk_ in
Christendom, and not fight?

_Isa_. I'd rather be ravish'd a thousand times, than you should venture
your Person.

                [_Seamen shout within_.

_Fran_. Ay, I dare swear.

    _Enter Seaman_.

_Sea_. Ah, Sirs, what mean you? Come on the Deck for shame.

_Ant_. My Lord, let us not tamely fall, there's danger near.    [_Draws_.

_Guil_. Ay, ay, there's never smoke, but there's some fire--Come, let's
away--ta la, tan ta la, la la, &c.    [Draws.

                                  [Exit _singing, and_ Antonio _and_ Pet.

_Fran_. A Pox of all Lords, I say, you must be janting in the Devil's
name, and God's dry Ground wou'd not serve your turn.    [_Shout here_.
Oh, how they thunder! What shall I do?--oh, for some Auger-hole to
thrust my head into, for I could never indure the noise of Cannons,--oh,
'tis insupportable,--intolerable--and not to be indur'd.
                                      [_Running as mad about the Stage_.

_Isa_. Dear Father, be not so frighted.    [_Weeps_.

_Fran_. Ah, Crocodile, wou'd thou hadst wept thy Eyes out long ago, that
thou hadst never seen this Count; then he had never lov'd thee, and then
we had never been invited a ship-board.
                             [_A noise of fighting_.

    _Enter_ Guiliom, Pet. _and_ Antonio, driven in fighting
    by Guzman _and other_ Turks.

_Ant_. Ah, Sir, the _Turks_ have boarded us, we're lost, we're lost.

_Fran_. Oh, I am slain, I'm slain.    [_Falls down_.

_Guil_. Hold, hold, I say, you are now in the presence of Ladies, and
'tis uncivil to fight before Ladies.

_Guz_. Yield then, you are our Slaves.

_Guil_. Slaves, no Sir, we're Slaves to none but the Ladies.
                                                  [_Offers to fight_.

_Isa_. Oh, hold, rude man,--d'ye know whom you encounter?

_Guz_. What's here--one dead--
                                  [_Looking on_ Francisco.

_Fran_. Oh, Lord!

_Guz_. Or, if he be not, he's old, and past service, we'll kill the
Christian Dog out of the way.

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, I'm no Christian, Gentlemen; but as errant a
Heathen as your selves.

_Guz_. Bind him strait, neck and heels, and clap him under hatches.

_Jul_. Oh, spare him, Sir, look on his Reverend Age.

_Guz_. For your sake, Lady, much may be done, we've need of handsom
Women.
          [_Gives her to some Turks that are by_.

_Fran_. Hah,--my Wife! My Wife ravish'd--oh, I'm dead.

_Jul_. Fear not, my dear, I'll rather die than do thee wrong.

_Fran_. Wou'd she wou'd, quickly,--then there's her Honour sav'd, and
her Ransom, which is better.

_Guz_. Down with the muttering Dog;    [_He descends_.
--And takes the Ladies to several Cabins.
                                    [_The Turks take hold of the Men_.

_Isa_. Must we be parted then?--ah, cruel Destiny!    [_Weeps_.

_Guil_. Alas! this Separation's worse than Death.

_Isa_. You possibly may see some _Turkish_ Ladies, that may insnare your
Heart, and make you faithless;--but I, ah Heavens! if ever I change my
Love, may I become deformed, and lose all hopes of Title or of Grandure.

_Guil_. But should the _Grand Seignior_ behold thy Beauty, thou wou'dst
despise thine own dear hony Viscount to be a _Sultana_.

_Isa_. A _Sultana_, what's that?

_Guil_. Why, 'tis the great _Turk_, a Queen of _Turkey_.

_Isa_. These dear expressions go to my Heart.    [_Weeps_.
And yet a _Sultana_ is a tempting thing--    [_Aside smiling_.
--And you shall find your Isabella true,--though the _Grand Seignior_
wou'd lay his Crown at my feet,--wou'd he wou'd try me though--Heavens!
to be Queen of _Turkey_.    [_Aside_.

_Guil_. May I believe thee,--but when thou seest the difference, alas, I
am but a Chimney--hum, nothing to a great _Turk_.

_Isa_. Is he so rare a thing?--Oh, that I were a she great _Turk_.
                                                             [_Aside_.

_Guz_. Come, come, we can't attend your amorous Parleys.
                                                     [_Parts 'em_.

_Jul_. Alas, what shall we poor Women do?

                                    [_Ex. Men_.

_Isa_. We must e'en have patience, Madam, and be ravisht.

_Cla_. Ravisht! Heavens forbid.

_Jac_. An please the Lord, I'll let my nails grow against that direful
day.

_Isa_. And so will I, for I'm resolv'd none should ravish me but the
great _Turk_.

_Guz_. Come, Ladies, you are Dishes to be serv'd up to the board of the
_Grand Seignior_.

_Isa_. Why, will he eat us all?

_Guz_. A slice of each, perhaps, as he finds his Appetite inclin'd.

_Isa_. A slice, uncivil Fellow,--as if this Beauty were for a bit and
away;--Sir, a word,--if you will do me the favour, to recommend me to be
first served up to the _Grand Seignior_, I shall remember the Civility
when I am great.

_Guz_. Lady, he is his own Carver, a good word by the bye, or so, will
do well, and I am--a Favorite--

_Isa_. Are you so? here, take this Jewel,--in earnest of greater
Favours--
             [_Gives him a Jewel_.

                             [Exeunt all.



SCENE II. _A Garden_.


    _Enter Don Carlos and_ Lopez.

_Car_. But, why so near the Land? by Heaven, I saw each action of the
Fight, from yonder grove of Jessamine; and doubtless all beheld it
from the Town.

_Lop_. The Captain, Sir, design'd it so, and at the Harbour gave it out
those two Galleys were purposely prepared to entertain the Count and the
Ladies with the representation of a Sea-fight; lest the noise of the
Guns should alarm the Town, and, taking it for a real fight, shou'd have
sent out Supplies, and so have ruin'd our Designs.

_Car_. Well, have we all things in readiness?

_Lop_. All, Sir, all.

    _Enter_ Page.

_Page_. My Lord, a Barge from the Galley is just arriv'd at the
Garden-Stairs.

    _Enter_ Guzman.

_Car_. I'll retire then, and fit me for my part of this Farce.

_Guz_. My Lord, you must retire, they're just bringing the Old Gentleman
ashore.

_Car_. Prithee how does he take his Captivity?

_Guz_. Take it, Sir! he has cast himself into a Fit, and has lain like
one in a Trance this half hour; 'tis impossible for him to speak Sense
this fortnight; I'll secure his Reason a play-day for so long at least;
your Servants, in _Turkish_ habits, are now his Guards, who will keep
him safe enough from hindering your designs with _Julia_.

_Car_. Whatever you do, have a care you do not overfright the Coxcomb,
and make a Tragedy of our Comedy.

_Guz_. I'll warrant you, Sir, mind your Love-affairs,--he's coming
in,--retire, Sir.--

                       [_Ex_. Car. _and_ Page _and_ Lop.

    _Enter some _Turks _with the body of _Francisco _in chains,
    and lay him down on a Bank_.

1st _Turk_. Christian, so ho ho, Slave, awake.--
                                  [_Rubbing and calling him_.

_Fran_. Hah! where am I?--my Wife,--my Wife--where am I?--hah! what
are you?--Ghosts,--Devils,--Mutes,--no answer?--hah, bound in chains,
--Slaves, where am I?

1st _Turk_. They understand not your Language; but I, who am a _Renegade
Spaniard_, understand you when you speak civilly, which I advise you
to do.

_Fran_. Do you know me, Friend?

1st _Turk_. I know you to be a Slave, and the Great _Turk's_ Slave too.

_Fran_. The Great Turk,--the Great Devil, why, where am I, Friend?

1st _Turk_. Within the Territories of the _Grand Seignior_, and this a
Palace of Pleasure, where he recreates himself with his Mistresses.

_Fran_. And how far is that from _Cadiz_?--but what care I? my Wife,
Friend, my own Wife.

1st _Turk_. Your own,--a true Musselman cou'd have said no more; but take
no care for her, she's provided for.

_Fran_. Is she dead? That wou'd be some comfort.

1st _Turk_. No, she's alive, and in good hands.

_Fran_. And in good hands! oh, my head! and, oh, my heart! ten thousand
tempests burst the belly of this day, wherein old _Francisco_ ventur'd
Life and Limbs, Liberty and Wife to the mercy of these Heathen _Turks_.

1st _Turk_. Friend, you need not thus complain; a good round Ransom
redeems ye.

_Fran_. A round Ransom! I'll rot in my chains first, before I'll part
with a round ransom.

1st _Turk_. You have a fair Wife, and need not fear good usage, if she
knows how to be kind. You apprehend me.

_Fran_. Patience, good Lord.

1st _Turk_. Perhaps the _Grand Seignior_ may like her, and to be favour'd
by him in such a Glory--

_Fran_. As the Devil take me if I desire.

1st _Turk_. And then you may in triumph laugh at all the rest of your
Brother Cuckolds.

_Fran_. Hum, and has the Devil serv'd me thus?--but no matter, I must be
gadding, like an old Coxcomb, to _Cadiz_,--and then, jaunting to Sea,
with a Pox, to take pains to be a Cuckold, to bring my Wife into a
strange Land, amongst Unbelievers, with a vengeance, as if we had not
honest Christian Cuckold-makers enough at home; Sot that I was, not to
consider how many Merchants have been undone by trusting their
Commodities out at Sea; why, what a damn'd ransom will the Rogues exact
from me, and more for my Wife, because she's handsome; and then, 'tis
ten to one, I have her turned upon my hands the worse for wearing; oh,
damn'd Infidels! no, 'tis resolv'd, I'll live a Slave here, rather than
enrich them.

1st _Turk_. Friend, you'll know your Destiny presently; for 'tis the
custom of the Great _Turk_ to view the Captives, and consider of their
Ransoms and Liberties, according to his pleasure. See, he is coming
forth with the _Vizier Bassa_.

    _Enter_ Carlos _and_ Guzman _as_ Turks _with Followers_.

Most mighty Emperor, behold your Captive.

_Fran_. Is this the Great _Turk_?

1st _Turk_. Peace.

_Fran_. Bless me! as we at home describe him, I thought the Great _Turk_
had been twice as big; but I shall find him Tyrant big enough, I'll
warrant him.

_Guz_. Of what Nation art thou, Slave? speak to the Emperor, he
understands thee, though he deign not to hold discourse with
Christian Dogs.

_Fran_. Oh fearful!--_Spain_, so please you, Sir.

_Guz_. By _Mahomet_, he'll make a reverend Eunuch.

_Fran_. An Eunuch! oh, Lord!

_Turk_. Ay, Sir, to guard his Mistresses, 'tis an honour.

_Fran_. Oh! Mercy, Sir, that honour you may spare, Age has done my
business already.

_Guz_. Fellow, what art?

_Fran_. An't please your Worship, I cannot tell.

_Guz_. How, not tell?

_Fran_. An't please your Lordship, my Fears have so transform'd me, I
cannot tell whether I'm any thing or nothing.

_Guz_. Thy name, dull Mortal, know'st thou not that?

_Fran_. An't please your Grace, now I remember me, methinks I do.

_Guz_. Dog, how art thou call'd?

_Fran_. An't like your Excellence, Men call'd me Signior Don _Francisco_,
but now they will call me Coxcomb.

_Guz_. Of what Trade?

_Fran_. An't please your Highness, a Gentleman.

_Guz_. How much dost thou get a day by that Trade? Hah!

_Fran_. An't like your Majesty, our Gentlemen never get but twice in all
their lives; that is, when Fathers die, they get good Estates; and when
they marry, they get rich Wives: but I know what your Mightiness wou'd
get by going into my Country and asking the Question.

_Guz_. What, Fool?

_Fran_. A good Cudgelling, an't please your Illustriousness.

_Guz_. Slave! To my Face!--Take him away, and let him have the Strapado.

_Car_. _Baridama, Dermack_.

_Fran_. Heavens, what says he?

_I Turk_. He means to have you castrated.

_Fran_. Castrated! Oh, that's some dreadful thing, I'll warrant,--
Gracious Great Turk, for Mahomet's sake, excuse me; alas, I've lost
my wits.

_Car_. _Galero Gardines_?

_Guz_. The Emperor asks if thou art married, Fellow.

_Fran_. Hah--Married--I was, an't like your Monsterousness, but, I
doubt, your People have spoiled my Property.

_Guz_. His Wife, with other Ladies, in a Pavillion in the Garden, attend
your Royal pleasure.

_Car_. Go, fetch her hither presently.

                                  [_Ex_. Guz.

1st _Turk_. This is no common Honour, that the Great Turk deigns to speak
your Language; 'tis to sign you'll rise.

_Fran_. Yes, by the height of a pair of Horns.

_Car_. Is she handsom?

_Fran_. Oh, what an Ague shakes my Heart,--handsom! alas, no, dread Sir;
what shou'd such a deform'd Polecat as I do with a handsom Wife?

_Car_. Is she young?

_Fran_. Young, what shou'd such an old doting Coxcomb as I do with a
young Wife? Pox on him for a Heathen Whoremaster.

_Car_. Old is she then?

_Fran_. Ay, very old, an't please your Gloriousness.

_Car_. Is she not capable of Love?

_Fran_. Hum, so, so,--like Fire conceal'd in a Tinderbox,--I shall
run mad.

_Car_. Is she witty?

_Fran_. I'm no competent Judge, an't like your Holiness,
--This Catechism was certainly of the Devil's own making.    [Aside.

    _Enter_ Guzman, _bringing in_ Julia, Clara, Isabella, Jacinta,
    Guiliom, Antonio, &c. _Women veil'd_.

_Car_. These, Sir, are all the Slaves of Note are taken.

_Isa_. Dost think, _Jacinta_, he'll chuse me?

_Jac_. I'll warrant you, Madam, if he looks with my Eyes.

_Guz_. Stand forth.    [_To the Men_.

_Guil_. Stand forth, Sir! why, so I can, Sir, I dare show my Face, Sir,
before any Great _Turk_ in Christendom.

_Car_. What are you, Sir?

_Guil_. What am I, Sir? Why, I'm a Lord, a Lord.

_Fran_. What, are you mad to own your Quality, he'll ask the Devil and
all of a ransom.

_Guil_. No matter for that, I'll not lose an Inch of my Quality for a
King's ransom; disgrace my self before my fair Mistress!

_Isa_. That's as the _Great Turk_ and I shall agree.    [_Scornfully_.

_Car_. What are you, Sir?

_Ant_. A Citizen of _Cadiz_.

_Car_. Set 'em by, we'll consider of their ransoms--now unveil the
Ladies.
           [Guzman _unveils_ Jacinta.

_Fran_. Oh, dear Wife, now or never show thy Love, make a damnable face
upon the filthy Ravisher,--glout thy Eyes thus--and thrust out thy upper
lip, thus.--
                [Guzman _presents_ Jacinta.

_Guil_. Oh, dear _Isabella_, do thee look like a Dog too.

_Isa_. No, Sir, I'm resolv'd I'll not lose an Inch of my Beauty, to save
so trifling a thing as a Maiden head.

_Car_. Very agreeable, pretty and chearful--

            [_She is veil'd and set by: Then Clara is unveil'd_.

A most divine bud of Beauty--all Nature's Excellence--drawn to the life
in little,--what are you, fair one?

_Cla_. Sir, I'm a Maid.

_Fran_. So, I hope he will pitch upon her.

_Cla_. Only, by promise, Sir, I've given my self away.

_Car_. What happy Man cou'd claim a title in thee,
And trust thee to such danger?

_Isa_. Heavens, shall I be defeated by this little Creature? What pity
'twas he saw me not first?

_Cla_. I dare not name him, Sir, lest this small Beauty which you say
adorns me, shou'd gain him your displeasure; he's in your presence, Sir,
and is your Slave.

_Car_. Such Innocence this plain Confession shows, name me the man, and
I'll resign thee back to him.

_Fran_. A Pox of his Civility.

_Ant_. This Mercy makes me bold to claim my right.    [_Kneels_.

_Car_. Take her, young Man, and with it both your Ransoms.

_Guil_. Hum--hum--very noble, i'faith, we'll e'en confess our loves too,
_Isabella_.

_Isa_. S'life, he'll spoil all,--hold--pray let your Betters be serv'd
before you.

_Guil_. How! Is the Honour of my Love despised?--wer't not i'th presence
of the Great _Turk_, for whom I have a reverence because he's a man of
quality--by _Jove_, I'd draw upon you.

_Isa_. Because you were my Lover once, when I'm Queen I'll pardon you.

    [Guzman _unveils her, and leads her to_ Carlos, _she making
    ridiculous actions of Civility_.

_Car_. What aukard, fond, conceited thing art thou? Veil her, and take
the taudry Creature hence.

_Guil_. Hum--your Majesty's humble Servant.
                              [_Putting off his Hat ridiculously_.

_Fran_. How! refuse my Daughter too! I see the Lot of a Cuckold will
fall to my share.

_Guz_. This is the Wife, Great Sir, of this old Slave.
                                              [_Unveils_ Julia.

_Car_. Hah! what do I see, by _Mahomet_, she's fair.

_Fran_. So, so, she's condemn'd; oh, damn'd _Mahometan_ Cannibal! will
nothing but raw flesh serve his turn.

_Car_. I'll see no more,--here I have fix'd my heart.

_Fran_. Oh, Monster of a _Grand Seignior_!

_Guz_. Have you a mind to be flead, Sir?

_Car_. Receive my Handkerchief.    [_Throws it to her_.

_Fran_. His Handkerchief! bless me, what does he mean?

_Guz_. To do her the honour to lie with her to night.

_Fran_. Oh, hold, most mighty _Turk_.    [_Kneeling_.

_Guz_. Slave, darest thou interrupt 'em,--die, Dog.

_Fran_. Hold, hold, I'm silent.

_Car_. I love you, fair one, and design to make you--

_Fran_. A most notorious Strumpet. A Pox of his Courtesy.

_Car_. What Eyes you have like Heaven blue and charming, a pretty Mouth,
Neck round and white as polisht Alabaster, and a Complexion beauteous as
an Angel, a Hair fit to make Bonds to insnare the God of Love,--a
sprightly Air,--a Hand like Lillies white, and Lips, no Roses opening in
a Morning are half so sweet and soft.

_Fran_. Oh, damn'd circumcised _Turk_.

_Car_. You shall be call'd the beautiful _Sultana_, And rule in my
Seraglio drest with Jewels.

_Fran_. Sure, I shall burst with Vengeance.

_Jul_. Sir, let your Virtue regulate your Passions;
For I can ne'er love any but my Husband.

_Fran_. Ah, dissembling Witch!

_Jul_. And wou'd not break my Marriage Vows to him,
For all the honour you can heap upon me.

_Fran_. Say, and hold; but _Sultana_ and precious Stones are damnable
Temptations,--besides, the Rogue's young and handsome,--What a scornful
look she casts at me; wou'd they were both handsomely at the Devil
together.

_Guz_. Dog, do you mutter?

_Fran_. Oh! nothing, nothing, but the Palsy shook my Lips a little.

_Guz_. Slave, go, and on your knees resign your Wife.

_Fran_. She's of years of discretion, and may dispose of her self; but I
can hold no longer: and is this your _Mahometan_ Conscience, to take
other Mens Wives, as if there were not single Harlots enough in the
World?    [_In rage_.

_Guz_. Peace, thou diminutive Christian.

_Fran_. I say, Peace thou over-grown _Turk_.

_Guz_. Thou _Spanish_ Cur.

_Fran_. Why, you're a _Mahometan_ Bitch, and you go to that.

_Guz_. Death, I'll dissect the bald-pated Slave.

_Fran_. I defy thee, thou foul filthy Cabbage-head, for I am mad, and
will be valiant.

                    [Guz. _throws his Turbant at him_.

_Car_. What Insolence is this!--Mutes--strangle him.--

                    [_They put a Bow-string about his neck_.

_Jul_. Mercy, dread Sir, I beg my Husband's life.

_Car_. No more,--this fair one bids you live,--henceforth, _Francisco_,
I pronounce you a Widower, and shall regard you, for the time to come,
as the deceased Husband of the Great _Sultana_, murmur not upon pain of
being made an Eunuch--take him away.

_Jul_. Go, and be satisfied, I'll die before I'll yield.

_Fran_. Is this my going to Sea?--the Plague of losing Battels light
on thee.

  _When ill success shall make thee idle lie,
  Mayst thou in bed be impotent as I_.

_Car_. Command our Slaves to give us some diversion; Dismiss his Chains,
and use him with respect, because he was the Husband of our beloved
_Sultana_.

_Fran_. I see your Cuckold might have a life good enough if he cou'd be
contented.
              [_They pull off his Chains_.

    [Carlos _and_ Julia _sit under an Umbrella_.


  The SONG.

  _How strangely does my Passion grow,
  Divided equally twixt two_?
  Damon _had ne'er subdued my Heart,
  Had not_ Alexis _took his part:
  Nor cou'd_ Alexis_ powerful prove,
  Without my_ Damon's _aid, to gain my Love.

  When my_ Alexis _present is,
   Then I for_ Damon _sigh and mourn;
  But when_ Alexis _I do miss_,
   Damon _gains nothing but my Scorn:
  And, if it chance they both are by,
  For both, alas! I languish, sigh, and die.

  Cure then, thou mighty winged God,
  This raging Fever in my Blood.
  One golden-pointed Dart take back;
  But which, O_ Cupid, _wilt thou take?
  if_ Damon's, _all my hopes are crost:
  Or, that of my_ Alexis, _I am lost_.

    _Enter Dancers, which dance an Antick_.

_Car_. Come, my dear _Julia_, let's retire to shades.    [_Aside to her_.
Where only thou and I can find an entrance;
These dull, these necessary delays of ours
Have drawn my Love to an impatient height.
--Attend these Captives, at a respectful distance.

                                   [_Ex. all but _Isa_. who stays_ Guil.

_Guil_. What wou'd the Great _Sultana_?

_Isa_. Ah! do not pierce my Heart with this unkindness.

_Guil_. Ha, ha, ha,--Pages,--give order, I have Letters writ to _Sevil_,
to my Merchant,--I will be ransomed instantly.

_Isa_. Ah, cruel Count!

_Guil_. Meaning me, Lady! ah, fy! no, I am a Scoundrel; I a Count, no,
not I, a Dog, a very Chim--hum,--a Son of a Whore, I, not worthy
your notice.

_Isa_. Oh, Heavens! must I lose you then? no, I'll die first.

_Guil_. Die, die, then; for your Betters must be served before you.

_Isa_. Oh! I shall rave; false and lovely as you are, did you not swear
to marry me, and make me a Viscountess.

_Guil_. Ay, that was once when I was a Lover; but, now you are a Queen,
you're too high i'th' mouth for me.

_Isa_. Ah! name it not; will you be still hard-hearted?

_Guil_. As a Flint, by _Jove_.

_Isa_. Have you forgot your Love?

_Guil_. I've a bad memory.

_Isa_. And will you let me die?

_Guil_. I know nothing of the matter.

_Isa_. Oh Heavens! and shall I be no Viscountess?

_Guil_. Not for me, fair Lady, by _Jupiter_,--no, no,--Queen's much
better,--Death, affront a man of Honour, a Viscount that wou'd have took
you to his Bed,--after half the Town had blown upon you,--without
examining either Portion or Honesty, and wou'd have took you for better
for worse--Death, I'll untile Houses, and demolish Chimneys, but I'll be
revenged.
             [_Draws and is going out_.

_Isa_. Ah, hold! your Anger's just, I must confess: yet pardon the
frailty of my Sex's vanity; behold my Tears that sue for pity to you.

                               [_She weeps, he stands looking on her_.

_Guil_. My rage dissolves.

_Isa_. I ask but Death, or Pity.    [_He weeps_.

_Guil_. I cannot hold;--but if I shou'd forgive, and marry you,
you wou'd be gadding after honour still, longing to be a she Great
_Turk_ again.

_Isa_. Break not my heart with such suspicions of me.

_Gull_. And is it pure and tender Love for my Person,
And not for my glorious Titles?

_Isa_. Name not your Titles, 'tis your self I love,
Your amiable, sweet and charming self,
And I cou'd almost wish you were not great,
To let you see my Love.

_Guil_. I am confirm'd--

  _'Tis no respect of Honour makes her weep_;
  _Her Loves the same shou'd I cry--Chimney Sweep.

                                              [_Ex_.




ACT V.

SCENE I. _A Garden_.


    _Enter_ Francisco _alone_.

_Fran_. Now am I afraid to walk in this Garden, lest I shou'd spy my own
natural Wife lying with the Great _Turk_ in Fresco, upon some of these
fine fiowry Banks, and learning how to make Cuckolds in _Turkey_.

    _Enter_ Guzman _and_ Jacinta.

_Guz_. Nay, dear _Jacinta_, cast an eye of pity on me.--What, deny the
_Vizier Bassa_?

_Jac_. When you are honest _Guzman_ again, I'll tell you a piece of my
mind.

_Guz_. But opportunity will not be kind to _Guzman_, as to the Grand
_Bassa_; therefore, dear Rogue, let's retire into these kind shades, or,
if foolish Virtue be so squeamish, and needless Reputation so nice, that
Mr. _Vicar_ must say _Amen_ to the bargain, there is an old lousy Frier,
belonging to this _Villa_, that will give us a cast of his Office; for I
am a little impatient about this business, Greatness having infus'd a
certain itch in my Blood, which I felt not whilst a common Man.

_Fran_. Um, why, what have we here, pert Mrs. _Jacinta_ and the _Bassa_?
I hope the Jade will be Turkefied with a vengeance, and have Circumcision
in abundance; and the Devil shall ransom her for old _Francisco_.

_Jac_. Hah, the old Gentleman!

_Fran_. What, the Frolick is to go round, I see, you Women have a happy
time on't.

_Guz_. Men that have kind Wives may be as happy; you'll have the honour
of being made a Cuckold, Heaven be prais'd.

_Fran_. Ay, Sir, I thank ye,--pray, under the Rose, how does my Wife
please his Grace the Great _Turk_?

_Guz_. Murmuring again, thou Slave.

_Fran. Who_, I? O Lord, Sir! not I, why, what hurt is there in being a
Cuckold?

_Guz_. Hurt, Sirrah, you shall be swinged into a belief, that it is an
honour for the Great _Turk_ to borrow your Wife.

_Fran_. But for the Lender to pay Use-money, is somewhat severe;--but,
see, he comes,--bless me, how grim he looks!

    _Enter_ Carlos, _and Mutes attending_.

_Car_. Come hither, Slave,--why, was it that I gave you Life? dismiss'd
the Fetters from your aged Limbs?

_Fran_. For love of my Wife, and't please your Barbarousness.

_Car_. Gave you free leave to range the Palace round, excepting my
Apartment only?

_Fran_. Still for my Wife's sake, I say, and't like your Hideousness.

_Car_. And yet this Wife, this most ungrateful Wife of yours, again
wou'd put your Chains on, expose your Life to Dangers and new Torments,
by a too stubborn Virtue, she does refuse my Courtship, and foolishly
is chaste.

_Fran_. Alas! what pity's that!

_Car_. I offer'd much, lov'd much, but all in vain; Husband and Honour
still was the reply.

_Fran_. Good lack! that she shou'd have no more Grace before her Eyes.

_Car_. But, Slave, behold these Mutes; that fatal Instrument of Death
behold too, and in 'em read thy doom, if this coy Wife of yours be not
made flexible to my Addresses.

_Fran_. O Heavens! I make her.

_Car_. No more, thy Fate is fix'd--and, here attend, till he himself
deliver his willing Wife into my Arms; _Bassa_, attend, and see it be
perform'd--    [_To his Mutes, then to_ Guz.
                                        [_Ex_. Car.

_Guz_. Go, one of you, and fetch the fair Slave hither.

                                               [_Ex_. Turk.

_Fran_. I pimp for my own Wife! I hold the door to my own Flesh and
Blood! _monstrum horrendum_!

_Guz_. Nay, do't, and do't handsomly too, not with a snivelling
Countenance, as if you were compell'd to't; but with the face of
Authority, and the awful command of a Husband--or thou dyest.

    _Enter_ Turk _and_ Julia.

_Fran_. My dear _Julia_, you are a Fool, my Love.

_Jul_. For what, dear Husband?

_Fran_. I say, a silly Fool, to refuse the Love of so great a _Turk_;
why, what a Pox makes you so coy?    [_Angrily_.

_Jul_. How! this from you, _Francisco_.

_Fran_. Now does my Heart begin to fail me; and yet I shall ne'er endure
strangling neither; why, am not I your Lord and Master, hah?

_Jul_. Heavens! Husband, what wou'd you have me do?

_Fran_. Have you do;--why, I wou'd have ye--d'ye see--'twill not out;
why, I wou'd have ye lie with the _Sultan_, Huswife; I wonder how the
Devil you have the face to refuse him, so handsom, so young a Lover;
come, come, let me hear no more of your Coyness, Mistress, for if I do,
I shall be hang'd;    [_Aside_.
The Great _Turk's_ a most worthy Gentleman, and therefore I advise you
to do as he advises you; and the Devil take ye both.    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. This from my Husband, old _Francisco_! he advise me to part with
my dear Honour.

_Fran_. Rather than part with his dear Life, I thank ye.    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Have you considered the Virtue of a Wife?

_Fran_. No, but I have considered the Neck of a Husband.    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Which Virtue, before I'll lose, I'll die a thousand Deaths.

_Fran_. So will not I one; a Pox of her Virtue,--these Women are always
virtuous in a wrong place.    [_Aside_.
I say you shall be kind to the sweet _Sultan_.

_Jul_. And rob my Husband of his right!

_Fran_. Shaw, Exchange is no Robbery.

_Jul_. And forsake my Virtue, and make nown Dear a Cuckold.

_Fran_. Shaw, most of the Heroes of the World were so;--go, prithee,
Hony, go, do me the favour to cuckold me a little, if not for Love,
for Charity.

_Jul_. Are you in earnest?

_Fran_. I am.

_Jul_. And would it not displease you?

_Fran_. I say, no; had it been _Aquinius_ his Case, to have sav'd the
pinching of his Gullet he wou'd have been a Cuckold.    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Fear has made you mad, or you're bewitcht; and I'll leave you to
recover your Wits again.    [_Going out_.

_Fran_. O gracious Wife, leave me not in despair; [_Kneels to her and
holds her_.] I'm not mad, no, nor no more bewitcht than I have been
these forty years; 'tis you're bewitcht to refuse so handsom, so young,
and so--a Pox on him, she'll ne'er relish me again after him.  [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Since you've lost your Honour with your wits, I'll try what mine
will do.

    _Enter_ Carlos, Turks.

_Fran_. Oh, I am lost, I'm lost--dear Wife,--most mighty Sir, I've
brought her finely to't--do not make me lose my credit with his
_Mahometan_ Grace,--my Wife has a monstrous Affection for your Honour,
but she's something bashful; but when alone your Magnanimousness will
find her a swinger.

_Car_. Fair Creature--

_Jul_. Do you believe my Husband, Sir? he's mad.

_Car_. Dog.    [_Offers to kill him_.

_Fran_. Hold, mighty Emperor; as I hope to be saved, 'tis but a copy of
her Countenance--inhuman Wife--lead her to your Apartment, Sir!
barbarous honest Woman,--to your Chamber, Sir,--wou'd I had married thee
an errant Strumpet; nay, to your Royal Bed, Sir, I'll warrant you she
gives you taunt for taunt: try her, Sir, try her.    [_Puts 'em out_.

_Jac_. Hark you, Sir, are you possest, or is it real reformation in you?
what mov'd this kind fit?

_Fran_. E'en Love to sweet Life; and I shall think my self ever obliged
to my dear Wife, for this kind Reprieve;--had she been cruel, I had
been strangled, or hung in the Air like our Prophet's Tomb.

    _Enter First_ Turk.

_Turk_. Sir, boast the honour of the News I bring you.

_Fran_. Oh, my Head! how my Brows twinge.

_Turk_. The mighty _Sultan_, to do you honour, has set your Daughter and
her Lover free, ransomless;--and this day gives 'em liberty to solemnize
the Nuptials in the Court;--but Christian Ceremonies must be private;
but you're to be admitted, and I'll conduct you to 'em.

_Fran_. Some Comfort, I shall be Father to a Viscount, and for the
rest--Patience--

  _All Nations Cuckolds breed, but I deny
   They had such need of Cuckolding as I_.

                             [_Goes out with the_ Turk.

    _Enter_ Antonio, _and_ Clara _to_ Jacinta.

_Jac_. Madam, the rarest sport--Ha, ha, ha.

_Ant_. You need not tell us, we have been witness to all. But to our own
Affairs, my dearest _Clara_, Let us not lose this blessed opportunity,
Which Art nor Industry can give again if this be idly lost.

_Cla_. Nay, hang me if it be my fault, _Antonio_: Charge it to the
number of your own Sins; it shall not lie at my door.

_Ant_. 'Tis generously said, and take notice, my little dear Virago,
_Guzman_ has a Priest ready to tie you to your word.

_Cla_. As fast as you please; hang her that fears the conjuring knot for
me: But what will our Fathers say--mine who expects me to be the
Governor's Lady; and yours, who designs _Isabella_ for a Daughter-in-Law?

_Ant_. Mine will be glad of the Change; and, for yours, if he be not
pleased, let him keep his Portion to himself--that's the greatest
mischief he can do us: and for my Friend, the Governor, he's above
their Anger.

_Cla_. Why do we lose precious time? I long to be at--I _Clara_ take
thee _Antonio_,--the very Ceremony will be tedious, so much I wish thee
mine; and each delay gives me a fear something will snatch me from thee.

_Ant_. No power of Man can do't, thou art so guarded; but now the Priest
is employed in clapping up the honourable Marriage between the False
Count and Isabella.

_Jac_. Lord, what a jest 'twill be to see 'em coupled, ha, ha.

_Cla_. Unmerciful _Antonio_, to drive the Jest so far; 'tis too
unconscionable!

_Ant_. By Heaven, I'm so proud I cannot think my Revenge sufficient for
Affronts, nor does her Birth, her Breeding and her Vanity--deserve a
better Fortune; besides,--he has enough to set up for a modern Spark--
the Fool has just Wit and good Manners to pass for a Fop of Fashion;
and, where he is not known, will gain the Reputation of a fine
accomplish'd Gentleman,--yet I'm resolved she shall see him in his
Geers, in his original Filthiness, that my Revenge may be home upon the
foolish Jilt.

_Cla_. Cruel _Antonio_, come, lets go give 'em Joy.

_Ant_. And finish our Affair with Mr. Vicar.

    _Enter_ Isabella, _her Train borne by the great_ Page, Guiliom,
    _with the other great_ Page, _and_ Francisco _bare_.

--Joy to my noble Lord, and you, fair _Isabella_!

_Isa_. Thank thee, Fellow,--but, surely, I deserved my Titles from thee.

_Cla_. Your Honour I hope will pardon him.

_Isa_. How now, _Clara_!    [_Nodding to her_.

_Jac_. I give your Honour joy.

_Isa_. Thank thee, poor Creature.--

_Fran_. My Lord, this Honour you have done my Daughter is so signal,
that whereas I designed her but five thousand Pound, I will this happy
day settle on her ten.

_Guil_. Damn dirty trash, your Beauty is sufficient--hum
--Signior Don _Antonio_, get the Writings ready.    [_Aside_.
Money--hang Money.

_Fran_. How generous these Lords are; nay, my Lord, you must not refuse
a Father's Love, if I may presume to call you Son--I shall find enough
besides for my Ransom, if the Tyrant be so unmerciful to ask more than
my Wife pays him.

_Guil_. Nay, if you will force it upon me.

_Isa_. Ay, take it, the trifling sum will serve to buy our Honour Pins.

_Ant_. Well, Sir, since you will force it on him, my Cashier shall draw
the Writings.

_Guil_. And have 'em signed by a publick Notary.    [_Aside_.

_Fran_. With all my Soul, Sir, I'll go to give him order, and subscribe.
                                                       [_Ex_. Francisco.

_Guil_. Let him make 'em strong and sure--you shall go halves. [_Aside_.

_Ant_. No, you will deserve it dearly, who have the plague of such a
Wife with it;--but harkye, Count--these goods of Fortune are not to be
afforded you, without Conditions.

_Guil_. Shaw, Conditions, any Conditions, noble _Antonio_.

_Ant_. You must disrobe anon, and do'n your native Habiliments--and in
the Equipage give that fair Viscountess to understand the true quality
of her Husband.

_Guil_. Hum--I'm afraid, 'tis a harder task to leap from a Lord to a
Rogue, than 'tis from a Rogue to a Lord.

_Ant_. Not at all, we have examples of both daily.

_Guil_. Well, Sir, I'll show you my agility--but, Sir, I desire I may
consummate, d'ye see,--consummate--a little like a Lord, to make the
Marriage sure.

_Ant_. You have the Freedom to do so--the Writings I'll provide.

_Guil_. I'll about it then, the Priest waits within for you, and
_Guzman_ for you, _Jacinta_,--haste, for he is to arrive anon Ambassador
from _Cadiz_.

_Jac_. I know not, this noise of Weddings has set me agog, and I'll e'en
in, and try what 'tis.

                          [_Ex_. Antonio, Clara, _and_ Jacinta.

_Guil_. Come, Madam, your Honour and I have something else to do, before
I have fully dub'd you a Viscountess.

_Isa_. Ah, Heav'ns, what's that?

_Guil_. Why a certain Ceremony, which must be performed between a pair
of Sheets,--but we'll let it alone till Night.

_Isa_. Till Night, no; whate'er it be, I wou'd not be without an Inch
of that Ceremony, that may compleat my Honour for the World; no, for
Heaven's sake, let's retire, and dub me presently.

_Guil_. Time enough, time enough.

_Isa_. You love me not, that can deny me this.

_Guil_. Love--no, we are married now, and People of our Quality never
Love after Marriage; 'tis not great.

_Isa_. Nay, let's retire, and compleat my Quality, and you will find me
a Wife of the Mode, I'll warrant you.

_Guil_. For once you have prevail'd.

    _Enter_ Francisco.

_Fran_. Whither away?

_Isa_. Only to consummate a little, pray keep your distance.
                                          [_She pulls off his hat_.

_Fran_. Consummate!

_Isa_. Ay, Sir, that is to make me an absolute Viscountess--we cannot
stay--farewel.
                  [Guiliom _leads her out_.

_Fran_. Hum--this _Turkey_ Air has a notable faculty, where the Women
are all plaguy kind.

    _Enter_ Carlos _and_ Julia.

_Car_. By Heav'n, each Moment makes me more your Slave.

_Fran_. The Business is done.

_Jul_. My Husband!    [_Aside_.

_Car_. And all this constant love to old _Francisco_ has but engaged
me more.

_Fran_. Ha, Love to me?    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Sir, if this Virtue be but real in you, how happy I shou'd be;
but you'll relapse again, and tempt my virtue, which if you do--

_Fran_. I'll warrant she wou'd kill herself.    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. I should be sure to yield.    [_In a soft tone to him_.

_Car_. No, thou hast made an absolute Conquest o'er me--and if that
Beauty tempt me every hour, I shall still be the same I was the last.

_Fran_. Pray Heaven he be _John_.

    _Enter First_ Turk.

1st _Turk_. Most mighty Emperor, a Messenger from _Cadiz_ has Letters for
your Highness.

_Car_. Conduct him in; in this retreat of ours we use no State.

    _Enter_ Guzman, _as himself, gives_ Carlos _Letters_.

_Guz_. Don _Carlos_, Governor of _Cadiz_, greets your Highness.

_Carlos_ reads.

  High and Mighty,

  _For seven_ Christian _Slaves, taken lately by a Galley of yours,
  we offer you twice the number of_ Mahometans _taken from you by us.
  --If this suffice not,--propose your Ransoms, and they shall be paid
  by         Don_ Carlos, _Governor of_ Cadiz.

--Know you this _Carlos_ offers so fair for you?

_Fran_. Most potent Lord, I do, and wonder at the Compliment,--and yet
I am not jealous--I have so overacted the complaisant Husband, that I
shall never fall into the other Extreme again.

_Car_. Go, let the Christian Governor understand his Request is granted.

_Guz_. The Slaves are ready, Sir, and a Galley to carry off the
Christians.

_Jul_. How shall we make this Governor amends?

_Fran_. I do even weep for joy; alas, I must leave it to thee, Love.

_Jul_. To me, Sir? do you mock me?

_Fran_. Mock thee! no; I know thy Virtue, and will no more be jealous,
believe me, Chicken, I was an old Fool.

_Car_. Your Wife is chaste--she overcame my unruly Passion with her
Prayers and Tears.

    _Enter_ Isabella _at one door_; Clara, Antonio, Jacinta,
    _at another_; Isabella's _Train carried up_.

_Fran_. Rare News,--we are all free and ransom'd! All's well, and the
Man has his Mare again.

_Isa_. You still forget your Duty and your Distance.

_Fran_. A pox of your troublesom Honour; a man can't be overjoy'd in
quiet for't.

    _Enter_ Baltazer _and_ Sebastian.

_Seb_. Sure, I am not mistaken, this is the House of my Son _Antonio_.

_Bal_. Let it be whose house 'twill, I think the Devil's broke loose
in't.

_Seb_.--Or the _Turks_; for I have yet met with ne'er a Christian thing
in't.

_Fran_. Hah,--do I dream, or is that my Father-in-law, and Signior
_Sebastian_?

_Ant_. My Father here?

_Car_. _Baltazer_!    [_Aside_.

_Bal_. Son _Francisco_, why do you gaze on me so?

_Fran_. Bless me, Sir, are you taken by the Great _Turk_ too?

_Bal_. Taken,--Great _Turk_,--what do mean?

_Fran_. Mean, Sir! why, how the Devil came you into _Turkey_?

_Bal_. Sure, Jealousy has crack'd his brains.

_Fran_. Crack me no Cracks, good Father mine;--am not I a Slave in
_Turkey_? and is not this the _Grand Seignior's_ Palace?

_Car_. So,--all will come out, there's no prevention.    [_Aside_.

_Seb_. Some that are wiser answer us: You, Son,--are you infected
too?--was not yesterday to have been your Wedding-day?

_Ant_. To day has done as well, Sir, I have only chang'd _Isabella_
for _Clara_.

_Seb_. How, _Francisco_, have you juggled with me?

_Fran_. My Daughter's a Lady, Sir.

_Bal_. And you, Mistress, you have married _Antonio_, and left the
Governor.

_Cla_. I thought him the fitter Match, Sir, and hope your Pardon.

_Jul_. We cannot scape.

_Fran_. But how came you hither, Gentlemen, how durst you venture?

_Seb_. Whither, Sir, to my own Son's house; is there such danger in
coming a mile or two out of _Cadiz_?

_Fran_. Is the Devil in you, or me, or both? Am not I in the Possession
of _Turks_ and Infidels?

_Bal_. No, Sir; safe in _Antonio Villa_, within a League of _Cadiz_.

_Fran_. Why, what a Pox, is not this the Great _Turk_ himself?

_Bal_. This, Sir,--cry mercy, my Lord,--'tis Don _Carlos_, Sir, the
Governor.

_Fran_. The Governor! the worst Great _Turk_ of all; so, I am cozened,
--most rarely cheated; why, what a horrid Plot's here carried on, to
bring in heretical Cuckoldom?

_Car_. Well, Sir, since you have found it out, I'll own my Passion.

_Jul_. Well, if I have been kind you forced me to't, nay, begged on your
knees, to give my self away.

_Fran_. Guilty, guilty, I confess,--but 'twas to the Great _Turk_,
Mistress, not Don _Carlos_.

_Jul_. And was the Sin the greater?

_Fran_. No, but the Honour was less.

_Bal_. Oh horrid! What, intreat his Wife to be a Whore?

_Car_. Sir, you're mistaken, she was my Wife in sight of Heaven before;
and I but seiz'd my own.

_Fran_. Oh,--Sir, she's at your Service still.

_Car_. I thank you, Sir, and take her as my own.

_Bal_. Hold, my Honour's concerned.

_Fran_. Not at all, Father mine, she's my Wife, my Lumber now, and, I
hope, I may dispose of my Goods and Chattels--if he takes her we are
upon equal terms, for he makes himself my Cuckold, as he has already
made me his;--for, if my memory fail me not, we did once upon a time
consummate, as my Daughter has it.

    _Enter_ Guiliom _in his own dress; crying Chimney-Sweep_.

_Guil_. Chimney-sweep,--by your leave, Gentlemen.

_Ant_. Whither away, Sirrah?

_Guil_. What's that to you, Sir?--

_Ant_. Not to me, Sirrah;--who wou'd you speak with?

_Guil_. What's that to you, Sir? why, what a Pox, may not a man speak
with his own Lady and Wife?

_Cla_. Heavens! his Wife! to look for his Wife amongst Persons of
Quality!

_Car_. Kick out the Rascal.

_Guil_. As soon as you please, my Lord; but let me take my Wife along
with me.
            [_Takes_ Isa. _by the hand_.

_Isa_. Faugh! what means the Devil?

_Guil_. Devil; 'twas not long since you found me a human creature within
there.

_Isa_. Villain, Dog; help me to tear his Eyes out.

_Guil_. What, those Eyes, those lovely Eyes, that wounded you so deeply?

_Fran_. What's the meaning of all this? why, what, am I cozen'd? and is
my Daughter cozen'd?

_Guil_. Cozen'd! why, I am a Man, Sir.

_Fran_. The Devil you are, Sir, how shall I know that?

_Guil_. Your Daughter does, Sir; and that's all one.

_Isa_. Oh! I'm undone; am I no Viscountess then.

_Guil_. Hang Titles; 'twas my self you lov'd, my amiable sweet and
charming self: In fine, sweet-heart, I am your Husband; no Viscount, but
honest _Guiliom_, the Chimney-sweeper.--I heard your Father design'd to
marry you to a Tradesman, and you were for a Don; and to please you
both, you see how well I have managed matters.

_Fran_. I'll not give her a farthing.

_Guil_. No matter, her Love's worth a million; and, that's so great,
that I'm sure she'll be content to carry my Soot basket after me.

_Isa_. Ah! I die, I die.

_Guil_. What, and I so kind?
                 [_Goes and kisses her, and blacks her face_.

_Isa_. Help! murder, murder!

_Guil_. Well, Gentlemen, I am something a better fortune than you
believe me, by some thousands.
                       [_Shows_ Car. _his Writings_.

_Car_. Substantial and good! faith, Sir, I know not where you'll find a
better fortune for your Daughter, as cases stand.    [_To_ Francisco.

_Guil_. And, for the Viscount, Sir, gay Clothes, Money and Confidence
will set me up for one, in any ground in Christendom.

_Car_. Faith, Sir, he's i'th' right; take him home to _Sevil_, your
Neighbours know him not, and he may pass for what you please to make
him; the Fellow's honest, witty and handsom.

_Fran_. Well, I have considered the matter: I was but a Leather-seller
my self, and am grown up to a Gentleman; and, who knows but he, being a
Chimney-sweeper, may, in time, grow up to a Lord? Faith, I'll trust to
Fortune, for once--here--take her and rid me of one Plague, as you, I
thank you, Sir, have done of another.    [_To_ Carlos.

_Guil_. Prithee be pacified, thou shalt see me within this hour as
pretty a fluttering Spark as any's in Town.--My noble Lord, I give you
thanks and joy; for, you are happy too.

_Car_. As Love and Beauty can make me.

_Fran_. And I, as no damn'd Wife, proud Daughter, or tormenting
Chamber-maid can make me.

_Ant_. And I, as Heaven and _Clara_ can.
_--You base-born Beauties, whose ill-manner'd Pride,
Th'industrious noble Citizens deride.
May you all meet with_ Isabella's _doom_.

_Guil_. _--And all such Husbands as the Count_ Guiliome.



EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Mrs. Barry, made by a Person of Quality.

_I Come not a Petitioner to sue,
This Play the Author has writ down to you;
'Tis a slight Farce, five Days brought forth with ease,
So very foolish that it needs must please;
For though each day good Judges take offence,      |
And Satir arms in Comedy's defence,                |
You are still true to your _Jack-Pudding_ Sense.   |
No Buffoonry can miss your Approbation,
You love it as you do a new_ French _Fashion:
Thus in true hate of Sense, and Wit's despite,
Bantring and Shamming is your dear delight.
Thus among all the Folly's here abounding,
None took like the new Ape-trick of Dumfounding.
If to make People laugh the business be,         |
You Sparks better Comedians are than we;         |
You every day out-fool ev'n_ Nokes _and_ Lee.    |
_They're forc'd to stop, and their own Farces quit,
T'admire the Merry-Andrews of the Pit;
But if your Mirth so grate the Critick's ear,
Your Love will yet more Harlequin appear.
--You everlasting Grievance of the Boxes,
You wither'd Ruins of stum'd Wine and Poxes;
What strange Green-sickness do you hope in Women
Should make 'em love old Fools in new Point Linen?
The Race of Life you run off-hand too fast,
Your fiery Metal is too hot to last;
Your Fevers come so thick, your Claps so plenty,
Most of you are threescore at five and twenty.
Our Town-bred Ladys know you well enough,
Your courting Women's like your taking Snuff;
Out of mere Idleness you keep a pother,
You've no more need of one than of the other.
  Ladies--
Wou'd you be quit of their insipid noise,
And vain pretending take a Fool's advice;
Of the faux Braves I've had some little trial,
There's nothing gives 'em credit but Denial:
As when a Coward will pretend to Huffing,
Offer to fight, away sneaks Bully-Ruffian,
So when these Sparks, whose business is addressing,
In Love pursuits grow troublesom and pressing;
When they affect to keep still in your eye,     |
When they send_ Grisons _every where to spy,    |
And full of Coxcomb dress and ogle high;        |
Seem to receive their Charge, and face about,
I'll pawn my life they never stand it out.






THE LUCKY CHANCE; OR, AN ALDERMAN'S BARGAIN.



ARGUMENT.

Harry Bellmour, having killed his man in a duel, flies to Brussels,
perforce leaving behind him Leticia, to whom he is affianced. During his
absence Sir Feeble Fainwou'd, a doting old alderman and his rival,
having procured his pardon from the King to prevent it being granted if
applied for a second time, and keeping this stratagem secret, next
forges a letter as if from the Hague which describes in detail
Bellmour's execution for killing a toper during a tavern brawl. He then
plies his suit with such ardour that Leticia, induced by poverty and
wretchedness, reluctantly consents to marry him. On the wedding morning
Bellmour returns in disguise and intercepts a letter that conveys news
of the arrival of Sir Feeble's nephew, Frank, whom his uncle has never
seen. The lover straightway resolves to personate the expected
newcomer, and he is assisted in his design by his friend Gayman, a town
gallant, who having fallen into dire need is compelled to lodge, under
the name of Wasteall, with a smith in Alsatia. His estate has been
mortgaged to an old banker, Sir Cautious Fulbank, whose wife Julia he
loves, and to her he pretends to have gone to Northamptonshire to his
uncle's death bed. He is discovered, unknown to himself, in his slummy
retreat by Bredwel, Sir Cautious' prentice, who has to convey him a
message with reference to the expiration of the mortgage, and who
reveals the secret to Lady Fulbank. She promptly abstracts five hundred
pounds from her husband's strong box and forwards it to her lover by
Bredwel, disguised as a devil, with an amorous message purporting to be
from some unknown bidding him attend at a certain trysting place that
night without fail. Gayman, now able to redeem his forfeited estates,
dresses in his finest clothes and appears at Sir Feeble Fainwou'd's
wedding. Bellmour has meanwhile revealed himself to Leticia, who is
plunged in despair at the nuptials. Lady Fulbank, who is present, greets
Gayman and asks him to give her an assignation in the garden, but he
excuses himself in order to keep his prior appointment, and she leaves
him in dissembled anger. Bredwel then in his satanic masquerade meets
Gayman, and bringing him a roundabout way, introduces him into Sir
Cautious' house, where, after having been entertained with a masque of
dances and songs as by spirits, he is conducted to Lady Fulbank's
chamber by her maid disguised as an ancient crone, and admitted to his
mistress' embraces. Meanwhile Sir Feeble Fainwou'd, who just at the
moment of entering the bridal chamber has been hurriedly fetched away by
Bellmour under the pretext of an urgent message from Sir Cautious
concerning some midnight plot and an outbreak in the city, arrives at
the house in great terror, and Sir Cautious (not knowing the reason of
so late a visit) and he sit opposite each other for a while, gaping and
staring in amaze. Bredwel, to pass Gayman out undetected, ushers him
through the room white-sheeted like a ghost, and the two old fools are
well frightened, but eventually they conclude there has been some
mistake or trick. Sir Feeble returns home to find Leticia with her
jewels about to flee, but she succeeds in reassuring him. Gayman now
visits Lady Fulbank and gives her some account of his adventures with
the she-devil, all of which he half jestingly ascribes to magic. Sir
Cautious and various guests enter, dice are produced and, luck favouring
the gallant, Gayman wins one hundred pounds from the old Banker, and a
like sum from several others of the company. As the niggardly Sir
Cautious bewails his losses the victor offers to stake three hundred
pounds against a night with Julia, the bargain, of course, being kept
from the lady. After some rumination Sir Cautious accepts and Gayman
wins the throw. That night he causes himself to be conveyed to Sir
Cautious' house in a chest and Sir Cautious leads him to Lady Fulbank in
bed, she supposing him to be her husband. Meanwhile Sir Feeble being
with Leticia is about to enter her bed when from behind the curtains
Bellmour appears unmasqued, dressed in a torn and blood-stained shirt
and brandishing a dagger. Sir Feeble flies in terror. The next morning
Lady Fulbank discovers the trick which has been played upon her and
rates both her husband and lover soundly. Bellmour and Leticia arriving
throw themselves on her protection. Sir Feeble and Sir Cautious are at
length obliged to acquiesce in the existing state of things and to
resign their ladies to their two gallants. They are unable to protest
even when Sir Feeble finds that his daughter Diana has married Bredwel
instead of Sir Cautious' nephew Bearjest for whom she was designed,
whilst the choused fop is wedded to Pert, Lady Fulbank's woman, to whom
he had been previously contracted.



SOURCE.

The plot of _The Lucky Chance; or, An Alderman's Bargain_ is original
save for the details of Lady Fulbank's design upon Gayman, when he is
conveyed to her house by masqued devils and conducted to her chamber by
Pert dressed as a withered beldame. In this Mrs. Behn exactly copies
Shirley's excellent comedy, _The Lady of Pleasure_, produced at the
Private House in Drury Lane, October, 1635, (4to 1637). In the course of
Lady Bornwell's intrigue with Kickshaw he is taken blindfold to the
house of the procuress, Decoy, who, in the guise of a doting crone,
leads him to a chamber where he imagines he is to meet a succubus,
whilst the Lady, unknown to him, entertains him herself.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_The Lucky Chance; or, An Alderman's Bargain_, produced at the Theatre
Royal, Drury Lane, in 1687, was, with the exception of the disapproval
of a certain pudibond clique, received with great favour, and kept the
stage for a decade or more. During the summer season of 1718 there was,
on 24 July, a revival, 'not acted twenty years,' of this witty comedy at
Lincoln's Inn Fields. Gayman was played by Frank Leigh, son of the
famous low comedian; Sir Feeble Fainwou'd by Bullock.

On 25 November, 1786, there was produced at Drury Lane a comedy by Mrs.
Hannah Cowley (1743-1809), a prolific but mediocre dramatist, entitled,
_A School for Greybeards; or, The Mourning Bride_ (4to 1786 and 1787).
Genest writes: 'On the first night it struck me that I had seen
something like the play before and when the 4th act came I was fully
satisfied--that part of the plot which concerns Antonia, Henry, and
Gasper [Donna Antonia (The Mourning Bride), Mrs. Crouch; Don Henry,
Kemble; Don Gasper (a Greybeard), Parsons; Donna Seraphina, Miss
Farren]; and even the outlines of Seraphina's character, are taken from
_The Lucky Chance_--as Mrs. Behn's play, though a very good one is too
indecent to be ever represented again. Mrs. Cowley might without any
disgrace to herself have borrowed whatever she pleased provided she had
made a proper acknowledgement--instead of which she says in her preface
"--The idea of the business which concerns Antonia, Henry and Gasper was
presented to me in an obsolete Comedy; I say the _idea_, for when it is
known that in the original the scene lay among traders in London--and
those traders of the lowest and most detestable manners, it will be
conceived at once, that in removing it to Portugal and fixing the
characters among the nobility, it was hardly possible to carry with me
_more_ than the idea"--the traders whom Mrs. Cowley mentions, are both
Knights, the one an Alderman, the other a Banker.' Genest then compares
various scenes and expressions from _The Lucky Chance_ with Mrs. Cowley
and concludes 'The other scenes though they may differ in the dialogue
yet agree in essentials--the scene in the 5th act between Alexis and
Gasper bears the strongest resemblance to that between Sir Feeble and
Sir Cautious in The Lucky Chance. Mrs. Cowley was ashamed to advance a
direct lie, but she was not ashamed to insinuate a falsehood--_A Naeuio
uel sumpsisti multa, si fateris; uel, si negas surripuisti_--Cicero.'
The strictures of our stage historian are entirely apposite and correct.
Henry, Don Gasper and Antonia of the Georgian comedy are none other but
Bellmour, Sir Feeble, and Leticia. With regard to the reception of _The
School for Greybeards_ 'the audience took needless offence at a scene in
the 4th act, and an unfortunate expression in Young Bannister's part
[Don Sebastian. Bannister, jun., also spoke the prologue], revived the
opposition in the last scene--no more was heard till King [Don Alexis]
advanced to speak the last speech--some alteration was made on the 2nd
night, and the play was acted 9 times or more in the course of the
season, but never afterwards [It was played at Bath 28 October, 1813.
Chatterley acted Don Gasper; Miss Greville (from the Pantheon theatre),
Donna Seraphina. It had little success]--it is a good Comedy and was
very well acted.'

The audience must indeed have been qualmish prudes. Of all plays it is
the most harmless. The scene in the fourth Act to which exception was
taken seems to have been No. II, after the marriage of Gasper and
Antonia, a most trifling and inept business. In Act V, IV, Alexis says
to Viola: 'As for you Madam bread and water, and a dark chamber shall be
your lot--' but Sebastian (Bannister, jun.), who has married Viola,
breaks in crying: 'No, Sir,--I am the arbiter of her lot;--however, I
confirm half your punishment; and a dark chamber she shall certainly
have.' To this speech in the 4to Mrs. Cowley appends the following note:
'This is the expression, I am told, which had nearly prov'd fatal to the
Comedy. I should not have printed it, but from the resolution I have
religiously kept, of restoring every thing that was objected to.'
Imagination and ingenuity fail to fathom the cryptic indecency. _The
School for Greybeards_ is, in fine, a modest and mediocre comedy of
little value.

12 December, 1786, Walpole, writing from Berkeley Square to the Countess
of Upper Ossary, says: 'To-night ... I am going to Mrs. Cowley's new
play, which I suppose is as _instructive_ as the _Marriage of Figaro_,
for I am told it approaches to those of Mrs. Behn in spartan delicacy;
but I shall see Miss Farren, who, in my poor opinion, is the first of
all actresses.' Writing three days later to the same lady he has: '_The
Greybeards_ have certainly been chastised, for we did not find them at
all gross. The piece is farcical and improbable, but has some good
things, and is admirably acted.' Those 'good things' are entirely due to
Mrs. Behn.



To the Right Honourable _Laurence_, Lord _Hyde_, Earl of _Rochester_,
one of his Majesty's most Honourable Privy Council, Lord High Treasurer
of _England_, and Knight of the Noble Order of the Garter.


My Lord,

When I consider how Ancient and Honourable a Date Plays have born, how
they have been the peculiar Care of the most Illustrious Persons of
_Greece_ and _Rome_, who strove as much to outdoe each other in
Magnificence, (when by Turns they manag'd the great Business of the
Stage, as if they had contended for the Victory of the Universe;) I say,
my Lord, when I consider this, I with the greater Assurance most humbly
address this Comedy to your Lordship, since by right of Antient Custom,
the Patronage of Plays belong'd only to the great Men, and chiefest
Magistrates. Cardinal _Richelieu_, that great and wise Statesman, said,
That there was no surer Testimony to be given of the flourishing
Greatness of a State, than publick Pleasures and Divertisements--for
they are, says he--the Schools of Vertue, where Vice is always either
punish't, or disdain'd. They are secret Instructions to the People, in
things that 'tis impossible to insinuate into them any other Way. 'Tis
Example that prevails above Reason or DIVINE PRECEPTS. (Philosophy not
understood by the Multitude;) 'tis Example alone that inspires Morality,
and best establishes Vertue, I have my self known a Man, whom neither
Conscience nor Religion cou'd perswade to Loyalty, who with beholding in
our Theatre a Modern Politician set forth in all his Colours, was
converted, renounc'd his opinion, and quitted the Party.

The Abbot of _Aubignac_ to show that Plays have been ever held most
important to the very Political Part of Government, says, The Phylosophy
of _Greece_, and the Majesty and Wisdom of the Romans, did equally
concern their Great Men in making them Venerable, Noble, and
Magnificent: Venerable, by their Consecration to their Gods: Noble, by
being govern'd by their chiefest Men; and their Magnificency was from
the publick Treasury, and the liberal Contributions of their Noble Men.

It being undeniable then, that Plays and publick Diversions were thought
by the Greatest and Wisest of States, one of the most essential Parts of
good Government, and in which so many great Persons were interested;
suffer me to beg your Lordships Patronage for this little Endeavour,
and believe it not below the Grandure of your Birth and State, the
Illustrious Places you so justly hold in the Kingdom, nor your
Illustrious Relation to the greatest Monarch of the World, to afford it
the Glory of your Protection; since it is the Product of a Heart and
Pen, that always faithfully serv'd that Royal Cause, to which your
Lordship is by many Tyes so firmly fixt: It approaches you with that
absolute Veneration, that all the World is oblig'd to pay you; and has
no other Design than to express my sense of those excellent Vertues,
that make your Lordship so truly admir'd and lov'd. Amongst which we
find those two so rare in a Great Man and a Statesman, those of Gracious
Speech and easie Access, and I believe none were ever sent from your
Presence dissatisfied. You have an Art to please even when you deny; and
something in your Look and Voice has an Air so greatly good, it
recompences even for Disappointment, and we never leave your Lordship
but with Blessings. It is no less our Admiration, to behold with what
Serenity and perfect Conduct, that great Part of the Nations Business is
carry'd on, by one single Person; who having to do with so vast Numbers
of Men of all Qualitys, Interests, and Humours, nevertheless all are
well satisfi'd, and none complain of Oppression, but all is done with
Gentleness and Silence, as if (like the first Creator) you cou'd finish
all by a Word. You have, my Lord, a Judgment so piercing and solid, a
Wisdom so quick and clear, and a Fortitude so truly Noble, that those
Fatigues of State, that wou'd even sink a Spirit of less Magnitude, is
by yours accomplish't without Toil, or any Appearance of that harsh and
crabbed Austerity, that is usually put on by the buisy Great. You, my
Lord, support the Globe, as if you did not feel its Weight; nor so much
as seem to bend beneath it: Your Zeal for the Glorious Monarch you love
and serve, makes all things a Pleasure that advance his Interest, which
is so absolutely your Care. You are, my Lord, by your generous Candor,
your unbyast Justice, your Sweetness, Affability, and Condescending
Goodness (those never-failing Marks of Greatness) above that Envy which
reigns in Courts, and is aim'd at the most elevated Fortunes and Noblest
Favourites of Princes: And when they consider your Lordship, with all
the Abilitys and Wisdom of a great Counsellor, your unblemisht Vertue,
your unshaken Loyalty, your constant Industry for the Publick Good, how
all things under your Part of Sway have been refin'd and purg'd from
those Grossnesses, Frauds, Briberys, and Grievances, beneath which so
many of his Majestys Subjects groan'd, when we see Merit establish't and
prefer'd, and Vice discourag'd; it imposes Silence upon Malice it self,
and compells 'em to bless his Majesty's Choice of such a Pillar of the
State, such a Patron of Vertue.

Long may your Lordship live to remain in this most Honourable Station,
that his Majesty may be serv'd with an entire Fidelity, and the Nation
be render'd perfectly Happy. Since from such Heads and Hearts, the
Monarch reaps his Glory, and the Kingdom receives its Safety and
Tranquility. This is the unfeign'd Prayer of,

                                         My Lord,
                                    Your Lordships most Humble
                                          And most Obedient Servant
                                                     A. Behn



PREFACE.

The little Obligation I have to some of the witty Sparks and Poets of
the Town, has put me on a Vindication of this Comedy from those Censures
that Malice, and ill Nature have thrown upon it, tho in vain: The Poets
I heartily excuse, since there is a sort of Self-Interest in their
Malice, which I shou'd rather call a witty Way they have in this Age, of
Railing at every thing they find with pain successful, and never to shew
good Nature and speak well of any thing; but when they are sure 'tis
damn'd, then they afford it that worse Scandal, their Pity. And nothing
makes them so thorough-stitcht an Enemy as a full Third Day, that's
Crime enough to load it with all manner of Infamy; and when they can no
other way prevail with the Town, they charge it with the old never
failing Scandal--That 'tis not fit for the Ladys: As if (if it were as
they falsly give it out) the Ladys were oblig'd to hear Indecencys only
from their Pens and Plays and some of them have ventur'd to treat 'em as
Coursely as 'twas possible, without the least Reproach from them; and in
some of their most Celebrated Plays have entertained 'em with things,
that if I should here strip from their Wit and Occasion that conducts
'em in and makes them proper, their fair Cheeks would perhaps wear a
natural Colour at the reading them: yet are never taken Notice of,
because a Man writ them, and they may hear that from them they blush at
from a Woman--But I make a Challenge to any Person of common Sense and
Reason--that is not wilfully bent on ill Nature, and will in spight of
Sense wrest a double _Entendre_ from every thing, lying upon the Catch
for a Jest or a Quibble, like a Rook for a Cully; but any unprejudic'd
Person that knows not the Author, to read any of my Comedys and compare
'em with others of this Age, and if they find one Word that can offend
the chastest Ear, I will submit to all their peevish Cavills; but Right
or Wrong they must be Criminal because a Woman's; condemning them
without having the Christian Charity, to examine whether it be guilty or
not, with reading, comparing, or thinking; the Ladies taking up any
Scandal on Trust from some conceited Sparks, who will in spight of
Nature be Wits and _Beaus_; then scatter it for Authentick all over the
Town and Court, poysoning of others Judgments with their false Notions,
condemning it to worse than Death, Loss of Fame. And to fortifie their
Detraction, charge me with all the Plays that have ever been offensive;
though I wish with all their Faults I had been the Author of some of
those they have honour'd me with. For the farther Justification of this
Play; it being a Comedy of Intrigue Dr. _Davenant_ out of Respect to the
Commands he had from Court, to take great Care that no Indecency should
be in Plays, sent for it and nicely look't it over, putting out anything
he but imagin'd the Criticks would play with. After that, Sir Roger
_L'Estrange_ read it and licens'd it, and found no such Faults as 'tis
charg'd with: Then Mr. _Killigrew_, who more severe than any, from the
strict Order he had, perus'd it with great Circumspection; and lastly
the Master Players, who you will I hope in some Measure esteem Judges of
Decency and their own Interest, having been so many Years Prentice to
the Trade of Judging.

I say, after all these Supervisors the Ladys may be convinc'd, they left
nothing that could offend, and the Men of their unjust Reflections on so
many Judges of Wit and Decencys. When it happens that I challenge any
one, to point me out the least Expression of what some have made their
Discourse, they cry, _That Mr_. Leigh _opens his Night Gown, when he
comes into the Bride-chamber_; if he do, which is a Jest of his own
making, and which I never saw, I hope he has his Cloaths on underneath?
And if so, where is the Indecency? I have seen in that admirable Play of
_Oedipus_, the Gown open'd wide, and the Man shown, in his Drawers and
Waist coat, and never thought it an Offence before. Another crys, _Why
we know not what they mean, when the Man takes a Woman off the Stage,
and another is thereby cuckolded_; is that any more than you see in the
most Celebrated of your Plays? as the _City Politicks_, the _Lady
Mayoress_, and the _Old Lawyers Wife_, who goes with a Man she never saw
before, and comes out again the joyfull'st Woman alive, for having made
her Husband a Cuckold with such Dexterity, and yet I see nothing
unnatural nor obscene: 'tis proper for the Characters. So in that lucky
Play of the _London Cuckolds_, not to recite Particulars. And in that
good Comedy of _Sir Courtly Nice_, the _Taylor to the young Lady_--in
the fam'd Sir _Fopling Dorimont and Bellinda_, see the very Words--in
_Valentinian_, see the Scene between the _Court Bawds_. And
_Valentinian_ all loose and ruffld a Moment after the Rape, and all this
you see without Scandal, and a thousand others The _Moor of Venice_ in
many places. The _Maids Tragedy_--see the Scene of undressing the Bride,
and between the _King_ and _Amintor_, and after between the _King_ and
_Evadne_--All these I Name as some of the best Plays I know; If I
should repeat the Words exprest in these Scenes I mention, I might
justly be charg'd with course ill Manners, and very little Modesty, and
yet they so naturally fall into the places they are designed for, and so
are proper for the Business, that there is not the least Fault to be
found with them; though I say those things in any of mine wou'd damn the
whole Peice, and alarm the Town. Had I a Day or two's time, as I have
scarce so many Hours to write this in (the Play, being all printed off
and the Press waiting,) I would sum up all your Beloved Plays, and all
the Things in them that are past with such Silence by; because written
by Men: such Masculine Strokes in me, must not be allow'd. I must
conclude those Women (if there be any such) greater Critics in that sort
of Conversation than my self, who find any of that sort in mine, or any
thing that can justly be reproach't. But 'tis in vain by dint of Reason
or Comparison to convince the obstinate Criticks, whose Business is to
find Fault, if not by a loose and gross Imagination to create them, for
they must either find the Jest, or make it; and those of this sort fall
to my share, they find Faults of another kind for the Men Writers. And
this one thing I will venture to say, though against my Nature, because
it has a Vanity in it: That had the Plays I have writ come forth under
any Mans Name, and never known to have been mine; I appeal to all
unbyast Judges of Sense, if they had not said that Person had made as
many good Comedies, as any one Man that has writ in our Age; but a Devil
on't the Woman damns the Poet.

Ladies, for its further Justification to you, be pleas'd to know, that
the first Copy of this Play was read by several Ladys of very great
Quality, and unquestioned Fame, and received their most favourable
Opinion, not one charging it with the Crime, that some have been pleas'd
to find in the Acting. Other Ladys who saw it more than once, whose
Quality and Vertue can sufficiently justifie any thing they design to
favour, were pleas'd to say, they found an Entertainment in it very far
from scandalous; and for the Generality of the Town, I found by my
Receipts it was not thought so Criminal. However, that shall not be an
Incouragement to me to trouble the Criticks with new Occasion of
affronting me, for endeavouring at least to divert; and at this rate,
both the few Poets that are left, and the Players who toil in vain will
be weary of their Trade.

I cannot omit to tell you, that a Wit of the Town, a Friend of mine at
Wills Coffee House, the first Night of the Play, cry'd it down as much
as in him lay, who before had read it and assured me he never 'saw a
prettier Comedy. So complaisant one pestilent Wit will be to another,
and in the full Cry make his Noise too; but since 'tis to the witty Few
I speak, I hope the better Judges will take no Offence, to whom I am
oblig'd for better Judgments; and those I hope will be so kind to me,
knowing my Conversation not at all addicted to the Indecencys alledged,
that I would much less practice it in a Play, that must stand the Test
of the censoring World. And I must want common Sense, and all the
Degrees of good Manners, renouncing my Fame, all Modesty and Interest
for a silly Sawcy fruitless Jest, to make Fools laugh, and Women blush,
and wise Men asham'd; My self all the while, if I had been guilty of
this Crime charg'd to me, remaining the only stupid, insensible. Is this
likely, is this reasonable to be believ'd by any body, but the wilfully
blind? All I ask, is the Priviledge for my Masculine Part the Poet in
me, (if any such you will allow me) to tread in those successful Paths
my Predecessors have so long thriv'd in, to take those Measures that
both the Ancient and Modern Writers have set me, and by which they have
pleas'd the World so well: If I must not, because of my Sex, have this
Freedom, but that you will usurp all to your selves; I lay down my
Quill, and you shall hear no more of me, no not so much as to make
Comparisons, because I will be kinder to my Brothers of the Pen, than
they have been to a defenceless Woman; for I am not content to write for
a Third day only. I value Fame as much as if I had been born a _Hero_;
and if you rob me of that, I can retire from the ungrateful World, and
scorn its fickle Favours.




THE LUCKY CHANCE;

or, An Alderman's Bargain.


PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. _Jevon_.

_Since with old Plays you have so long been cloy'd,
As with a Mistress many years enjoy'd,
How briskly dear Variety you pursue;
Nay, though for worse ye change, ye will have New.
Widows take heed some of you in fresh Youth
Have been the unpitied Martyrs of this Youth.
When for a drunken Sot, that had kind hours,
And taking their own freedoms, left you yours;
'Twas your delib'rate choice your days to pass
With a damn'd, sober, self-admiring Ass,
Who thinks good usage for the Sex unfit,
And slights ye out of Sparkishness and Wit.
But you can fit him--Let a worse Fool come,
If he neglect, to officiate in his room.
Vain amorous Coxcombs every where are found,
Fops for all uses, but the Stage abound.
Though you shou'd change them oftener than your Fashions,
There still wou'd be enough for your Occasions:
But ours are not so easily supplied,
All that cou'd e'er quit cost, we have already tried.
Nay, dear sometimes have bought the Frippery stuff.  |
This, Widows, you--I mean the old and tough--        |
Will never think, be they but Fool enough.           |

Such will with any kind of Puppies play;             |
But we must better know for what we pay:             |
We must not purchase such dull Fools as they.        |
Shou'd we shew each her own partic'lar Dear,
What they admire at home, they wou'd loath here.
Thus, though the Mall, the Ring, the Pit is full,
And every Coffee-House still swarms with Fool;
Though still by Fools all other Callings live,
Nay our own Women by fresh Cullies thrive,
Though your Intrigues which no Lampoon can cure,
Promise a long Succession to ensure;
And all your Matches plenty do presage:
Dire is the Dearth and Famine on the Stage.
Our Store's quite wasted, and our Credit's small,
Not a Fool left to bless our selves withal.
We re forc't at last to rob, (which is great pity,
Though 'tis a never-failing Bank) the City.

We show you one to day intirely new,
And of all Jests, none relish like the true.
Let that the value of our Play inhance,
Then it may prove indeed the_ Lucky Chance.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE


MEN.

Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd_, an old Alderman to be married    Mr. _Leigh_.
   to _Leticia_,
Sir _Cautious Fulbank_, an old Banker married to _Julia_, Mr. _Nokes_.
Mr. _Gayman_, a Spark of the Town, Lover of _Julia_,    Mr. _Betterton_.
Mr. _Bellmour_. contracted to _Leticia_. disguis'd, and
   passes for Sir _Feeble's_ Nephew,                    Mr. _Kynaston_.
Mr. _Bearjest_, Nephew to Sir _Cautious_, a Fop,           Mr. _Jevon_.
Capt. _Noisey_, his Companion,                             Mr. _Harris_.
Mr. _Bredwel_, Prentice to Sir _Cautious_, and Brother
   to _Leticia_, in love with _Diana_,                     Mr. _Bowman_.
_Rag_, Footman to _Gayman_.
_Ralph_, Footman to Sir _Feeble_.
_Dick_, Footman to Sir _Cautious_.
_Gingle_, a Music Master.
A Post-man.
Two Porters.
A Servant.

WOMEN.

Lady _Fulbank_, in love with _Gayman_, honest and
   generous,                                               Mrs. _Barry_.
_Leticia_. contracted to _Bellmour, married to Sir
   _Feeble_, young and virtuous,                           Mrs. _Cook_.
_Diana_, Daughter to Sir _Feeble_, in love with Bredwel;
   virtuous,                                            Mrs. _Mountford_.
_Pert_, Lady _Fulbank's_ Woman.
Gammer _Grime_, Landlady to _Gayman_, a Smith's
   Wife in _Alsatia_,                                      Mrs. _Powell_.
_Susan_, Servant to Sir _Feeble_.
_Phillis, Leticia's_ Woman.

A Parson, Fidlers, Dancers and Singers.

_The Scene_, LONDON.




ACT I.

SCENE I. _The Street, at break of Day_.

    _Enter_ Bellmour _disguis'd in a travelling Habit_.

_Bel_. Sure 'tis the day that gleams in yonder East,
The day that all but Lovers blest by Shade
Pay chearful Homage to:
Lovers! and those pursu'd like guilty me
By rigid Laws, which put no difference
'Twixt fairly killing in my own Defence,
And Murders bred by drunken Arguments,
Whores, or the mean Revenges of a Coward.
--This is _Leticia's_ Father's House--    [_Looking about_.
And that the dear Balcony
That has so oft been conscious of our Loves;
From whence she has sent me down a thousand Sighs,
A thousand looks of Love, a thousand Vows.
O thou dear witness of those charming Hours,
How do I bless thee, how am I pleas'd to view thee
After a tedious Age of Six Months Banishment.

    _Enter Mr_. Gingle _and several with Musick_.

_Fid_. But hark ye, Mr. _Gingle_, is it proper to play before the
Wedding?

_Gin_. Ever while you live, for many a time in playing after the first
night, the Bride's sleepy, the Bridegroom tir'd, and both so out of
humour, that perhaps they hate any thing that puts 'em in mind they
are married.

                [_They play and sing_.

    _Enter_ Phillis _in the Balcony, throws 'em Money_.

  _Rise_, Cloris, _charming Maid, arise!
    And baffle breaking Day,
  Shew the adoring World thy Eyes
    Are more surprizing gay;

  The Gods of Love are smiling round,
    And lead the Bridegroom on,
  And_ Hymen _has the Altar crown'd.
    While all thy sighing Lovers are undone.

  To see thee pass they throng the Plain;
    The Groves with Flowers are strown,
  And every young and envying Swain
    Wishes the hour his own.
  Rise then, and let the God of Day,
    When thou dost to the Lover yield,
  Behold more Treasure given away
    Than he in his vast Circle e'er beheld_.

_Bel_. Hah, _Phillis, Leticia's_ Woman!

_Ging_. Fie, Mrs. _Phillis_, do you take us for Fiddlers that play for
Hire? I came to compliment Mrs. _Leticia_ on her Wedding-Morning because
she is my Scholar.

_Phil_. She sends it only to drink her Health.

_Ging_. Come, Lads, let's to the Tavern then--
                                       [_Ex. Musick_.

_Bel_. Hah! said he _Leticia_? Sure, I shall turn to Marble at this
News: I harden, and cold Damps pass through my senseless Pores.--Hah,
who's here?

    _Enter_ Gayman _wrapt in his Cloke_.

_Gay_. 'Tis yet too early, but my Soul's impatient,
And I must see _Leticia_.
                             [_Goes to the door_.

_Bel_. Death and the Devil--the Bridegroom! Stay, Sir, by Heaven, you
pass not this way.
    [_Goes to the door as he is knocking, pushes him away, and draws_.

_Gay_. Hah! what art thou that durst forbid me Entrance?--Stand off.

                  [_They fight a little, and closing view each other_.

_Bel_. _Gayman_!

_Gay_. My dearest _Bellmour_!

_Bel_. Oh thou false Friend, thou treacherous base Deceiver!

_Gay_. Hah, this to me, dear _Harry_?

_Bel_. Whither is Honour, Truth and Friendship fled?

_Gay_. Why, there ne'er was such a Virtue,
'Tis all a Poet's Dream.

_Bel_. I thank you, Sir.

_Gay_. I'm sorry for't, or that ever I did any thing that could deserve
it: put up your Sword--an honest man wou'd say how he's offended, before
he rashly draws.

_Bel_. Are not you going to be married, Sir?

_Gay_. No, Sir, as long as any Man in _London_ is so, that has but a
handsom Wife, Sir.

_Bel_. Are you not in love, Sir?

_Gay_. Most damnably,--and wou'd fain lie with the dear jilting Gipsy.

_Bel_. Hah, who would you lie with, Sir?

_Gay_. You catechise me roundly--'tis not fair to name, but I am no
Starter, _Harry_; just as you left me, you find me. I am for the
faithless _Julia_ still, the old Alderman's Wife.--'Twas high time the
City should lose their Charter, when their Wives turn honest: But pray,
Sir, answer me a Question or two.

_Bel_. Answer me first, what makes you here this Morning?

_Gay_. Faith, to do you service. Your damn'd little Jade of a Mistress
has learned of her Neighbours the Art of Swearing and Lying in
abundance, and is--

_Bel_. To be married!    [Sighing.

_Gay_. Even so, God save the Mark; and she'll be a fair one for many an
Arrow besides her Husband's, though he an old _Finsbury_ Hero this
threescore Years.

_Bel_. Who mean you?

_Gay_. Why, thy Cuckold that shall be, if thou be'st wise.

_Bel_. Away; Who is this Man? thou dalliest with me.

_Gay_. Why, an old Knight, and Alderman here o'th' City, Sir _Feeble
Fainwou'd_, a jolly old Fellow, whose Activity is all got into his
Tongue, a very excellent Teazer; but neither Youth nor Beauty can grind
his Dudgeon to an Edge.

_Bel_. Fie, what Stuff's here!

_Gay_. Very excellent Stuff, if you have but the Grace to improve it.

_Bel_. You banter me--but in plain _English_, tell me,
What made you here thus early,
Entring yon House with such Authority?

_Gay_. Why, your Mistress _Leticia_, your contracted Wife, is this
Morning to be married to old Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd_, induc'd to't I
suppose by the great Jointure he makes her, and the improbability
of your ever gaining your Pardon for your high Duel--Do I speak
_English_ now, Sir?

_Bel_. Too well, would I had never heard thee.

_Gay_. Now I being the Confident in your Amours, the Jack-go-between--
the civil Pimp or so--you left her in charge with me at your Departure.

_Bel_. I did so.

_Gay_. I saw her every day; and every day she paid the Tribute of a
shower of Tears, to the dear Lord of all her Vows, young _Bellmour_:
Till faith at last, for Reasons manifold, I slackt my daily Visits.

_Bel_. And left her to Temptation--was that well done?

_Gay_. Now must I afflict you and my self with a long tale of Causes why;
Or be charg'd with want of Friendship.

_Bel_. You will do well to clear that Point to me.

_Gay_. I see you're peevish, and you shall be humour'd.--You know my
_Julia_ play'd me e'en such another Prank as your false one is going to
play you, and married old Sir _Cautious Fulbank_ here i'th' City; at
which you know I storm'd, and rav'd, and swore, as thou wo't now, and
to as little purpose. There was but one way left, and that was
cuckolding him.

_Bel_. Well, that Design I left thee hot upon.

_Gay_. And hotly have pursu'd it: Swore, wept, vow'd, wrote, upbraided,
prayed and railed; then treated lavishly, and presented high--till,
between you and I, _Harry_, I have presented the best part of Eight
hundred a year into her Husband's hands, in Mortgage.

_Bel_. This is the Course you'd have me steer, I thank you.

_Gay_. No, no, Pox on't, all Women are not Jilts. Some are honest, and
will give as well as take; or else there would not be so many broke
i'th' City. In fine, Sir, I have been in Tribulation, that is to say,
Moneyless, for six tedious Weeks, without either Clothes, or Equipage to
appear withal; and so not only my own Love-affair lay neglected--but
thine too--and I am forced to pretend to my Lady, that I am i'th'
Country with a dying Uncle--from whom, if he were indeed dead, I expect
two thousand a Year.

_Bel_. But what's all this to being here this Morning?

_Gay_. Thus have I lain conceal'd like a Winter-Fly, hoping for some
blest Sunshine to warm me into life again, and make me hover my flagging
Wings; till the News of this Marriage (which fills the Town) made me
crawl out this silent Hour, to upbraid the fickle Maid.

_Bel_. Didst thou?--pursue thy kind Design. Get me to see her; and sure
no Woman, even possest with a new Passion,
Grown confident even to Prostitution,
But when she sees the Man to whom she's sworn so very--very much, will
find Remorse and Shame.

_Gay_. For your sake, though the day be broke upon us,
And I'm undone, if seen--I'll venture in--
                               [_Throws his Cloke over_.

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble Fainwou'd, _Sir_ Cautious Fulbank, Bearjest
    _and_ Noisey.    [_Pass over the Stage, and go in_.

Hah--see the Bridegroom! And with him my destin'd Cuckold, old Sir
_Cautious Fulbank_.--Hah, what ail'st thou, Man?

_Bel_. The Bridegroom! Like _Gorgon's_ Head he'as turned me into Stone.

_Gay_. _Gorgon's_ Head--a Cuckold's Head--'twas made to graft upon.

_Bel_. By Heaven, I'll seize her even at the Altar,
And bear her thence in Triumph.

_Gay_. Ay, and be borne to _Newgate_ in Triumph, and be hanged in
Triumph--'twill be cold Comfort, celebrating your Nuptials in the
Press-Yard, and be wak'd next Morning, like Mr. _Barnardine_ in the
Play--Will you please to rise and be hanged a little, Sir?

_Bel_. What wouldst thou have me do?

_Gay_. As many an honest Man has done before thee--Cuckold him--
cuckold him.

_Bel_. What--and let him marry her! She that's mine by sacred Vows
already! By Heaven, it would be flat Adultery in her!

_Gay_. She'll learn the trick, and practise it the better with thee.

_Bel_. Oh Heavens! _Leticia_ marry him! and lie with him!--
Here will I stand and see this shameful Woman,
See if she dares pass by me to this Wickedness.

_Gay_. Hark ye, _Harry_--in earnest have a care of betraying your self;
and do not venture sweet Life for a fickle Woman, who perhaps hates you.

_Bel_. You counsel well--but yet to see her married!
How every thought of that shocks all my Resolution!--
But hang it, I'll be resolute and saucy,
Despise a Woman who can use me ill,
And think my self above her.

_Gay_. Why, now thou art thy self--a Man again.
But see, they're coming forth, now stand your ground.

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble, _Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Noisey, Leticia
    _sad_, Diana, Phillis.    [_Pass over the Stage_.

_Bel_. 'Tis she; support me, _Charles_, or I shall sink to Earth,
--Methought in passing by she cast a scornful glance at me;
Such charming Pride I've seen upon her Eyes,
When our Love-Quarrels arm'd 'em with Disdain--
I'll after 'em, if I live she shall not 'scape me.
                            [_Offers to go_, Gay. _holds him_.

_Gay_. Hold, remember you're proscribed,
And die if you are taken.

_Bel_. I've done, and I will live, but he shall ne'er enjoy her.
--Who's yonder, _Ralph_, my trusty Confident?

    _Enter_ Ralph.

Now though I perish I must speak to him.
--Friend, what Wedding's this?

_Ral_. One that was never made in Heaven, Sir;
'Tis Alderman _Fainwou'd_, and Mrs. _Leticia Bredwel_.

_Bel_. Bredwel--I have heard of her,--she was Mistress--

_Ral_. To fine Mr. _Bellmour_, Sir,--ay, there was a Gentleman
--But rest his Soul--he's hang'd, Sir.    [_Weeps_.

_Bel_. How! hang'd?

_Ral_. Hang'd, Sir, hang'd--at the _Hague_ in _Holland_.

_Gay_. I heard some such News, but did not credit it.

_Bel_. For what, said they, was he hang'd?

_Ral_. Why, e'en for High Treason, Sir, he killed one of their Kings.

_Gay_. Holland's a Commonwealth, and is not rul'd by Kings.

_Ral_. Not by one, Sir, but by a great many; this was a Cheesemonger
--they fell out over a Bottle of Brandy, went to Snicker Snee; Mr.
_Bellmour_ cut his Throat, and was hang'd for't, that's all, Sir.

_Bel_. And did the young Lady believe this?

_Ral_. Yes, and took on most heavily--the Doctors gave her over--and
there was the Devil to do to get her to consent to this Marriage--but
her Fortune was small, and the hope of a Ladyship, and a Gold Chain at
the Spittal Sermon, did the Business--and so your Servant, Sir.
                                                      [_Ex_. Ralph.

_Bel_. So, here's a hopeful Account of my sweet self now.

    _Enter Post-man with Letters_.

_Post_. Pray, Sir, which is Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd's_?

_Bel_. What wou'd you with him, Friend?

_Post_. I have a Letter here from the _Hague_ for him.

_Bel_. From the _Hague_! Now have I a curiosity to see it--I am his
Servant--give it me--[_Gives it him, and Exit_.--Perhaps here may be
the second part of my Tragedy, I'm full of Mischief, _Charles_--and have
a mind to see this Fellow's Secrets. For from this hour I'll be his evil
Genius, haunt him at Bed and Board; he shall not sleep nor eat; disturb
him at his Prayers, in his Embraces; and teaze him into Madness. Help
me, Invention, Malice, Love, and Wit:    [_Opening the Letter_.
Ye Gods, and little Fiends, instruct my Mischief.   [_Reads_.

  Dear Brother,

  _According to your desire I have sent for my Son from
  _St. Omer's_, whom I have sent to wait on you in_ England;
  _he is a very good Accountant, and fit for Business, and much
  pleased he shall see that Uncle to whom he's so obliged, and
  which is so gratefully acknowledged by--Dear Brother, your
  affectionate Brother_,
                              Francis Fainwou'd.

--Hum--hark ye, _Charles_, do you know who I am now?

_Gay_. Why, I hope a very honest Friend of mine, _Harry Bellmour_.

_Bel_. No, Sir, you are mistaken in your Man.

_Gay_. It may be so.

_Bel_. I am, d'ye see, _Charles_, this very individual, numerical young
Mr.--_what ye call 'um Fainwou'd_, just come from _St. Omers_ into
_England_--to my Uncle the Alderman. I am, _Charles_, this very Man.

_Gay_. I know you are, and will swear't upon occasion.

_Bel_. This lucky Thought has almost calm'd my mind.
And if I don't fit you, my dear Uncle,
May I never lie with my Aunt.

_Gay_. Ah, Rogue--but prithee what care have you taken about your
Pardon? 'twere good you should secure that.

_Bel_. There's the Devil, _Charles_,--had I but that--but I have had a
very good Friend at work, a thousand Guyneys, that seldom fails; but yet
in vain, I being the first Transgressor since the Act against Duelling.
But I impatient to see this dear delight of my Soul, and hearing from
none of you this six weeks, came from _Brussels_ in this disguise--for
the _Hague_ I have not seen, though hang'd there--but come--let's away,
and compleat me a right _St. Omer's_ Spark, that I may present my self
as soon as they come from Church.

                             [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _Sir_ Cautious Fulbank's _House_.


_Enter Lady_ Fulbank, Pert _and_ Bredwel. Bredwel _gives her a Letter_.

_Lady_ Fulbank _reads_.

  _Did my_ Julia _know how I languish in this cruel Separation,
  she would afford me her pity, and write oftner. If only the
  Expectation of two thousand a year kept me from you, ah!_
  Julia, _how easily would I abandon that Trifle for your more
  valued sight; but that I know a fortune will render me
  more agreeable to the charming_ Julia, _I should quit all my
  Interest here, to throw my self at her Feet, to make her
  sensible how I am intirely her Adorer_.
                                    Charles Gayman.

--Faith, _Charles_, you lie--you are as welcome to me now,
Now when I doubt thy Fortune is declining,
As if the Universe were thine.

_Pert_. That, Madam, is a noble Gratitude. For if his Fortune be
declining, 'tis sacrificed to his Passion for your Ladyship.
--'Tis all laid out on Love.

L. _Ful_. I prize my Honour more than Life,
Yet I had rather have given him all he wish'd of me,
Than be guilty of his Undoing.

_Pert_. And I think the Sin were less.

L. _Ful_. I must confess, such Jewels, Rings and Presents as he made me,
must needs decay his Fortune.

_Bred_. Ay, Madam, his very Coach at last was turned into a Jewel for
your Ladyship. Then, Madam, what Expences his Despair have run him on
--As Drinking and Gaming, to divert the Thought of your marrying my
old Master.

L. _Ful_. And put in Wenching too.--

_Bred_. No, assure your self, Madam--

L. _Ful_. Of that I would be better satisfied--and you too must assist
me, as e'er you hope I should be kind to you in gaining you _Diana_.
                                                        [_To_ Bredwel.

_Bred_. Madam, I'll die to serve you.

_Pert_. Nor will I be behind in my Duty.

L. _Ful_. Oh, how fatal are forc'd Marriages!
How many Ruins one such Match pulls on!
Had I but kept my Sacred Vows to _Gayman_,
How happy had I been--how prosperous he!
Whilst now I languish in a loath'd embrace,
Pine out my Life with Age--Consumptions, Coughs.
--But dost thou fear that Gayman is declining?

_Bred_. You are my Lady, and the best of Mistresses--
Therefore I would not grieve you, for I know
You love this best--but most unhappy Man.

L. _Ful_. You shall not grieve me--prithee on.

_Bred_. My Master sent me yesterday to Mr. _Crap_, his Scrivener, to
send to one Mr. _Wasteall_, to tell him his first Mortgage was out,
which is two hundred pounds a Year--and who has since ingaged five or
six hundred more to my Master; but if this first be not redeem'd, he'll
take the Forfeit on't, as he says a wise Man ought.

L. _Ful_. That is to say, a Knave, according to his Notion of a wise
Man.

_Bred_. Mr. _Crap_, being busy with a borrowing Lord, sent me to Mr.
_Wasteall_, whose Lodging is in a nasty Place called _Alsatia_, at a
Black-Smith's.

L. _Ful_. But what's all this to _Gayman_?

_Bred_. Madam, this _Wasteall_ was Mr. _Gayman_.

L. _Ful_. _Gayman_! Saw'st thou _Gayman_?

_Bred_. Madam, Mr. _Gayman_, yesterday.

L. _Ful_. When came he to Town?

_Bred_. Madam, he has not been out of it.

L. _Ful_. Not at his Uncle's in _Northamptonshire_?

_Bred_. Your Ladyship was wont to credit me.

L. _Ful_. Forgive me--you went to a Black-Smith's--

_Bred_. Yes, Madam; and at the door encountred the beastly thing he
calls a Landlady; who lookt as if she had been of her own Husband's
making, compos'd of moulded Smith's Dust. I ask'd for Mr. _Wasteall_,
and she began to open--and did so rail at him, that what with her
_Billinsgate_, and her Husband's hammers, I was both deaf and dumb--at
last the hammers ceas'd, and she grew weary, and call'd down Mr.
_Wasteall_; but he not answering--I was sent up a Ladder rather than a
pair of Stairs; at last I scal'd the top, and enter'd the inchanted
Castle; there did I find him, spite of the noise below, drowning his
Cares in Sleep.

L. _Ful_. Whom foundst thou? _Gayman_?

_Bred_. He, Madam, whom I waked--and seeing me, Heavens, what Confusion
seiz'd him! which nothing but my own Surprize could equal. Asham'd--he
wou'd have turn'd away;
But when he saw, by my dejected Eyes, I knew him,
He sigh'd, and blusht, and heard me tell my Business:
Then beg'd I wou'd be secret; for he vow'd his whole
Repose and Life depended on my silence. Nor had I told it now,
But that your Ladyship may find some speedy means to draw him from
this desperate Condition.

L. _Ful_. Heavens, is't possible?

_Bred_. He's driven to the last degree of Poverty--
Had you but seen his Lodgings, Madam!

L. _Ful_. What were they?

_Bred_. 'Tis a pretty convenient Tub, Madam. He may lie a long in't,
there's just room for an old join'd Stool besides the Bed, which one
cannot call a Cabin, about the largeness of a Pantry Bin, or a Usurer's
Trunk; there had been Dornex Curtains to't in the days of Yore; but they
were now annihilated, and nothing left to save his Eyes from the Light,
but my Landlady's Blue Apron, ty'd by the strings before the Window, in
which stood a broken six-penny Looking-Glass, that shew'd as many Faces
as the Scene in _Henry_ the Eighth, which could but just stand upright,
and then the Comb-Case fill'd it.

L. _Ful_. What a leud Description hast thou made of his Chamber?

_Bred_. Then for his Equipage, 'tis banisht to one small Monsieur, who
(saucy with his Master's Poverty) is rather a Companion than a Footman.

L. _Ful_. But what said he to the Forfeiture of his Land?

_Bred_. He sigh'd and cry'd, Why, farewel dirty Acres; It shall not
trouble me, since 'twas all but for Love!

L. _Ful_. How much redeems it?

_Bred_. Madam, five hundred Pounds.

L. _Ful_. Enough--you shall in some disguise convey this Money to him,
as from an unknown hand: I wou'd not have him think it comes from me,
for all the World: That Nicety and Virtue I've profest, I am resolved
to keep.

_Pert_. If I were your Ladyship, I wou'd make use of Sir _Cautious's_
Cash: pay him in his own Coin.

_Bred_. Your Ladyship wou'd make no Scruple of it, if you knew how this
poor Gentleman has been us'd by my unmerciful Master.

L. _Ful_. I have a Key already to his Counting-House; it being lost, he
had another made, and this I found and kept.

_Bred_. Madam, this is an excellent time for't, my Master being gone to
give my Sister _Leticia_ at Church.

L. _Ful_. 'Tis so, I'll go and commit the Theft, whilst you prepare to
carry it, and then we'll to dinner with your Sister the Bride.

                                                         [_Exeunt_.



SCENE III. _The House of Sir_ Feeble.


   _Enter Sir_ Feeble, Leticia, _Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Diana, Noisey.
   _Sir_ Feeble _sings and salutes 'em_.

Sir _Feeb_. Welcome, _Joan Sanderson_, welcome, welcome. [_Kisses the
Bride_. Ods bobs, and so thou art, Sweet-heart. [_So to the rest_.

_Bear_. Methinks my Lady Bride is very melancholy.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, Women that are discreet, are always thus upon their
Wedding-day.

Sir _Feeb_. Always by day-light, Sir _Cautious_.

   _But when bright_ Phoebus _does retire,
   To_ Thetis' _Bed to quench his fire.
   And do the thing we need not name,
   We Mortals by his influence do the same.
   Then then the blushing Maid lays by
   Her simpering, and her Modesty;
   And round the Lover clasps and twines
   Like Ivy, or the circling Vines_.

Sir _Feeb_. Here, _Ralph_, the Bottle, Rogue, of Sack, ye Rascal; hadst
thou been a Butler worth hanging, thou wou'dst have met us at the door
with it.--Ods bods, Sweet-heart, thy health.

_Bear_. Away with it, to the Bride's _Haunce in Kelder_.

Sir _Feeb_. Gots so, go to, Rogue, go to, that shall be, Knave, that
shall be the morrow morning; he--ods bobs, we'll do't, Sweet heart;
here's to't.    [_Drinks again_.

_Let_. I die but to imagine it, wou'd I were dead indeed.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah--hum--how's this? Tears upon the Wedding day? Why,
why--you Baggage, you, ye little Thing, Fools-face--away, you Rogue,
you're naughty, you're naughty. [_Patting and playing, and following
her_. Look--look--look now,--buss it--buss it--buss it--and Friends;
did'ums, did'ums beat its none silly Baby--away, you little Hussey,
away, and pledge me--
                         [_She drinks a little_.

Sir _Cau_. A wise discreet Lady, I'll warrant her; my Lady would
prodigally have took it off all.

Sir _Feeb_. Dear's its nown dear Fubs; buss again, buss again, away,
away--ods bobs, I long for Night--look, look, Sir _Cautious_, what an
Eye's there!

Sir _Cau_. Ay, so there is, Brother, and a modest Eye too.

Sir _Feeb_. Adad, I love her more and more, _Ralph_--call old _Susan_
hither--come, Mr. _Bearjest_, put the Glass about. Ods bobs, when I was
a young Fellow, I wou'd not let the young Wenches look pale and wan--but
would rouse 'em, and touse 'em, and blowze 'em, till I put a colour in
their Cheeks, like an Apple _John_, affacks--Nay, I can make a shift
still, and Pupsey shall not be jealous.

    _Enter_ Susan, _Sir_ Feeble _whispers her, she goes out_.

_Let_. Indeed, not I; Sir. I shall be all Obedience.

Sir _Cau_. A most judicious Lady; would my _Julia_ had a little of her
Modesty; but my Lady's a Wit.

    _Enter_ Susan _with a Box_.

Sir _Feeb_. Look here, my little Puskin, here's fine Playthings for its
nown little Coxcomb--go--get you gone--get you gone, and off with this
St. _Martin's_ Trumpery, these Play-house Glass Baubles, this Necklace,
and these Pendants, and all this false Ware; ods bobs, I'll have no
Counterfeit Geer about thee, not I. See--these are right as the Blushes
on thy Cheeks, and these as true as my Heart, my Girl. Go, put'em on,
and be fine.
                [_Gives 'em her_.

_Let_. Believe me, Sir, I shall not merit this kindness.

Sir _Feeb_. Go to--More of your Love, and less of your Ceremony--give
the old Fool a hearty buss, and pay him that way--he, ye little wanton
Tit, I'll steal up--and catch ye and love ye--adod, I will--get ye
gone--get ye gone.

_Let_. Heavens, what a nauseous thing is an old Man turn'd Lover!
                                           [_Ex_. Leticia _and_ Diana.

Sir _Cau_. How, steal up, Sir _Feeble_--I hope not so; I hold it most
indecent before the lawful hour.

Sir _Feeb_. Lawful hour! Why, I hope all hours are lawful with a Man's
own Wife.

Sir _Cau_. But wise Men have respect to Times and Seasons.

Sir _Feeb_. Wise young Men, Sir _Cautious_; but wise old Men must nick
their Inclinations; for it is not as 'twas wont to be, for it is not as
'twas wont to be--
                      [_Singing and Dancing_.

    _Enter_ Ralph.

_Ral_. Sir, here's a young Gentleman without wou'd speak with you.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--I hope it is not that same Bellmour come to forbid the
Banes--if it be, he comes too late--therefore bring me first my long
Sword, and then the Gentleman.
                       [_Exit_ Ralph.

_Bear_. Pray, Sir, use mine, it is a travell'd Blade I can assure you,
Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. I thank you, Sir.

    _Enter_ Ralph _and_ Bellmour _disguised, gives him a Letter,
    he reads_.

How--my Nephew!
_Francis Fainwou'd_!     [_Embraces him_.

_Bel_. I am glad he has told me my Christian name.

Sir _Feeb_. Sir _Cautious_, know my Nephew--'tis a young _St. Omers_
Scholar--but none of the Witnesses.

Sir _Cau_. Marry, Sir, and the wiser he; for they got nothing by't.

_Bea_. Sir, I love and honour you, because you are a Traveller.

Sir _Feeb_. A very proper young Fellow, and as like old _Frank
Fainwou'd_ as the Devil to the Collier; but, _Francis_, you are come
into a very leud Town, _Francis_, for Whoring, and Plotting, and
Roaring, and Drinking; but you must go to Church, _Francis_, and avoid
ill Company, or you may make damnable Havock in my Cash, _Francis_,
--what, you can keep Merchants Books?

_Bel_. That's been my study, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. And you will not be proud, but will be commanded by me,
_Francis_?

_Bel_. I desire not to be favour'd as a Kinsman, Sir, but as your
humblest Servant.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, thou'rt an honest Fellow, _Francis_,--and thou'rt
heartily welcome--and I'll make thee fortunate. But come, Sir
_Cautious_, let you and I take a turn i'th' Garden, and get a right
understanding between your Nephew Mr. _Bearjest_, and my Daughter _Dye_.

Sir _Cau_. Prudently thought on, Sir, I'll wait on you.--

                               [_Ex. Sir_ Feeble, _and Sir_ Cautious.

_Bea_. You are a Traveller, I understand.

_Bel_. I have seen a little part of the World, Sir.

_Bea_. So have I, Sir, I thank my Stars, and have performed most of my
Travels on Foot, Sir.

_Bel_. You did not travel far then, I presume, Sir?

_Bea_. No, Sir, it was for my diversion indeed; but I assure you, I
travell'd into _Ireland_ a-foot, Sir.

_Bel_. Sure, Sir, you go by shipping into _Ireland_?

_Bea_. That's all one, Sir, I was still a-foot, ever walking on the
Deck.

_Bel_. Was that your farthest Travel, Sir?

_Bea_. Farthest--why, that's the End of the World--and sure a Man can
go no farther.

_Bel_. Sure, there can be nothing worth a Man's Curiosity?

_Bea_. No, Sir, I'll assure you, there are the Wonders of the World,
Sir: I'll hint you this one. There is a Harbour which since the Creation
was never capable of receiving a Lighter, yet by another Miracle the
King of _France_ was to ride there with a vast Fleet of Ships, and to
land a hundred thousand Men.

_Bel_. This is a swinging Wonder--but are there store of Mad-men there,
Sir?

_Bea_. That's another Rarity to see a Man run out of his Wits.

_Noi_. Marry, Sir, the wiser they I say.

_Bea_. Pray, Sir, what store of Miracles have you at _St. Omers?_

_Bel_. None, Sir, since that of the wonderful _Salamanca_ Doctor, who
was both here and there at the same Instant of time.

_Bea_. How, Sir? why, that's impossible.

_Bel_. That was the Wonder, Sir, because 'twas impossible.

_Noi_. But 'twas a greater, Sir, that 'twas believed.

    _Enter L_. Fulb. _and_ Pert, _Sir_ Cau. _and Sir_ Feeb.

Sir _Feeb_. Enough, enough, Sir _Cautious_, we apprehend one another.
Mr. _Bearjest_, your Uncle here and I have struck the Bargain, the Wench
is yours with three thousand Pound present, and something more after
Death, which your Uncle likes well.

_Bea_. Does he so, Sir? I'm beholding to him; then 'tis not a Pin matter
whether I like or not, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. How, Sir, not like my Daughter _Dye_?

_Bea_. Oh, Lord, Sir,--die or live, 'tis all one for that, Sir--I'll
stand to the Bargain my Uncle makes.

_Pert_. Will you so, Sir? you'll have very good luck if you do.
                                                          [_Aside_.

_Bea_. Prithee hold thy Peace, my Lady's Woman.

L. _Ful_. Sir, I beg your pardon for not waiting on you to Church--
I knew you wou'd be private.

    _Enter_ Let_. fine in Jewels_.

Sir _Feeb_. You honour us too highly now, Madam.
                                 [_Presents his Wife, who salutes her_.

L. _Ful_. Give you Joy, my dear _Leticia_! I find, Sir, you were
resolved for Youth, Wit and Beauty.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, ay, Madam, to the Comfort of many a hoping Coxcomb: but
_Lette_,--Rogue _Lette_--thou wo't not make me free o'th' City a second
time, wo't thou entice the Rogues with the Twire and the wanton Leer
--the amorous Simper that cries, come, kiss me--then the pretty round
Lips are pouted out--he, Rogue, how I long to be at 'em!--well, she
shall never go to Church more, that she shall not.

L. _Ful_. How, Sir, not to Church, the chiefest Recreation of a City
Lady?

Sir _Feeb_. That's all one, Madam, that tricking and dressing, and
prinking and patching, is not your Devotion to Heaven, but to the young
Knaves that are lick'd and comb'd and are minding you more than the
Parson--ods bobs, there are more Cuckolds destin'd in the Church, than
are made out of it.

Sir _Cau_. Hah, ha, ha, he tickles ye, i'faith, Ladies.    [_To his Lady_.

_Bel_. Not one chance look this way--and yet
I can forgive her lovely Eyes,
Because they look not pleas'd with all this Ceremony;
And yet methinks some sympathy in Love
Might this way glance their Beams--I cannot hold--
Sir, is this fair Lady my Aunt?

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, _Francis_! Come hither, _Francis_.
_Lette_, here's a young Rogue has a mind to kiss thee.
                               [_Puts them together, she starts back_.
--Nay, start not, he's my own Flesh and Blood,
My Nephew--Baby--look, look how the young
Rogues stare at one another; like will to like, I see that.

_Let_. There's something in his Face so like my _Bellmour_, it calls my
Blushes up, and leaves my Heart defenceless.

    _Enter_ Ralph.

_Ralph_. Sir, Dinner's on the Table.

Sir _Feeb_. Come, come--let's in then--Gentlemen and Ladies,
And share to day my Pleasures and Delight,
But--
Adds bobs, they must be all mine own at Night.

                                         [_Exeunt_.




ACT II.

SCENE I. Gayman's _Lodging_.


    _Enter _Gayman_ in a Night-Cap, and an old Campaign Coat
    tied about him, very melancholy_.

_Gay_. Curse on my Birth! Curse on my faithless Fortune!
Curse on my Stars, and curst be all--but Love!
That dear, that charming Sin, though t'have pull'd
Innumerable Mischiefs on my head,
I have not, nor I cannot find Repentance for.
Nor let me die despis'd, upbraided, poor:
Let Fortune, Friends and all abandon me--
But let me hold thee, thou soft smiling God,
Close to my heart while Life continues there.
Till the last pantings of my vital Blood,
Nay, the last spark of Life and Fire be Love's!

    _Enter_ Rag.

--How now, _Rag_, what's a Clock?

_Rag_. My Belly can inform you better than my Tongue.

_Gay_. Why, you gormandizing Vermin you, what have you done with the
Three pence I gave you a fortnight ago.

_Rag_. Alas, Sir, that's all gone long since.

_Gay_. You gutling Rascal, you are enough to breed a Famine in a Land. I
have known some industrious Footmen, that have not only gotten their own
Livings, but a pretty Livelihood for their Masters too.

_Rag_. Ay, till they came to the Gallows, Sir.

_Gay_. Very well, Sirrah, they died in an honourable Calling--but hark
ye, _Rag_,--I have business, very earnest business abroad this Evening;
now were you a Rascal of Docity, you wou'd invent a way to get home my
last Suit that was laid in Lavender--with the Appurtenances thereunto
belonging, as Perriwig, Cravat, and so forth.

_Rag_. Faith, Master, I must deal in the black Art then, for no human
means will do't--and now I talk of the black Art, Master, try your Power
once more with my Landlady.

_Gay_. Oh! name her not, the thought on't turns my Stomach--a sight of
her is a Vomit; but he's a bold Hero that dares venture on her for a
kiss, and all beyond that sure is Hell it self--yet there's my last,
last Refuge--and I must to this Wedding--I know not what,--but
something whispers me,--this Night I shall be happy--and without _Julia_
'tis impossible!

_Rag. Julia_, who's that? my Lady _Fulbank_, Sir?

_Gay_. Peace, Sirrah--and call--a--no--Pox on't, come back--and
yet--yes--call my fulsome Landlady.

                            [_Exit_ Rag.

Sir _Cautious_ knows me not by Name or Person.
And I will to this Wedding, I'm sure of seeing _Julia_ there.
And what may come of that--but here's old Nasty coming.
I smell her up--hah, my dear Landlady.

    _Enter _Rag_ and _Landlady.

Quite out of breath--a Chair there for my Landlady.

_Rag_. Here's ne'er a one, Sir.

_Land_. More of your Money and less of your Civility, good Mr.
_Wasteall_.

_Gay_. Dear Landlady--

_Land_. Dear me no Dears, Sir, but let me have my Money--Eight Weeks
Rent last Friday; besides Taverns, Ale-houses, Chandlers, Landresses'
Scores, and ready Money out of my Purse; you know it, Sir.

_Gay_. Ay, but your Husband don't; speak softly.

_Land_. My Husband! what, do you think to fright me with my Husband?--
I'd have you to know I'm an honest Woman, and care not this--for my
Husband. Is this all the thanks I have for my kindness, for patching,
borrowing and shifting for you; 'twas but last Week I pawn'd my best
Petticoat, as I hope to wear it again, it cost me six and twenty
shillings besides Making; then this Morning my new _Norwich_ Mantua
followed, and two postle Spoons, I had the whole dozen when you came
first; but they dropt, and dropt, till I had only _Judas_ left for
my Husband.

_Gay_. Hear me, good Landlady.

_Land_. Then I've past my word at the _George Tavern_, for forty
Shillings for you, ten Shillings at my Neighbour _Squabs_ for Ale,
besides seven Shillings to Mother _Suds_ for Washing; and do you fob me
off with my Husband?

_Gay_. Here, _Rag_, run and fetch her a Pint of Sack--there's no other
way of quenching the Fire in her flabber Chops.

                                           [_Exit_ Rag.

--But, my dear Landlady, have a little Patience.

_Land_. Patience! I scorn your Words, Sir--is this a place to trust in?
tell me of Patience, that us'd to have my money before hand; come, come,
pay me quickly--or old _Gregory Grimes_ house shall be too hot to
hold you.

_Gay_. Is't come to this, can I not be heard?

_Land_. No, Sir, you had good Clothes when you came first, but they
dwindled daily, till they dwindled to this old Campaign--with tan'd
coloured Lining--once red--but now all Colours of the Rain-bow, a Cloke
to sculk in a Nights, and a pair of piss-burn'd shammy Breeches. Nay,
your very Badge of Manhood's gone too.

_Gay_. How, Landlady! nay then, i'faith, no wonder if you rail so.

_Land_. Your Silver Sword I mean--transmogrified to this two-handed
Basket Hilt--this old Sir _Guy_ of _Warwick_--which will sell for
nothing but old Iron. In fine, I'll have my money, Sir, or i'faith,
_Alsatia_ shall not shelter you.

    _Enter_ Rag.

_Gay_. Well, Landlady--if we must part--let's drink at parting; here,
Landlady, here's to the Fool--that shall love you better than I have
done.    [_Sighing, drinks_.

_Land_. Rot your Wine--dy'e think to pacify me with Wine, Sir?

    [_She refusing to drink, he holds open her Jaws_, Rag
    _throws a Glass of Wine into her Mouth_.

--What, will you force me?--no--give me another Glass, I scorn to be so
uncivil to be forced, my service to you, Sir--this shan't do, Sir.

                                 [_She drinks, he, embracing her, sings_.

    _Ah_, Cloris, _'tis in vain you scold,
    Whilst your Eyes kindle such a Fire.
    Tour Railing cannot make me cold,
    So fast as they a Warmth inspire_.

_Land_. Well, Sir, you have no reason to complain of my Eyes nor my
Tongue neither, if rightly understood.    [_Weeps_.

_Gay_. I know you are the best of Landladies,
As such I drink your Health--    [_Drinks_.
But to upbraid a Man in Tribulation--fie--'tis not done like a Woman
of Honour, a Man that loves you too.

                                        [She drinks.

_Land_. I am a little hasty sometimes, but you know my good Nature.

_Gay_. I do, and therefore trust my little wants with you. I shall be
rich again--and then, my dearest Landlady--

_Land_. Wou'd this Wine might ne'er go through me, if I wou'd not go,
as they say, through Fire and Water--by Night or by Day for you.
                                                       [_She drinks_.

_Gay_. And as this is Wine I do believe thee.    [_He drinks_.

_Land_. Well--you have no money in your Pocket now, I'll warrant you--
here--here's ten Shillings for you old _Greg'ry_ knows not of.
                                         [_Opens a great greasy purse_.

_Gay_. I cannot in Conscience take it, good Faith, I cannot--besides,
the next Quarrel you'll hit me in the Teeth with it.

_Land_. Nay, pray no more of that; forget it, forget it. I own I was to
blame--here, Sir, you shall take it.

_Gay_. Ay,--but what shou'd I do with Money in these damn'd Breeches?
--No, put it up--I can't appear abroad thus--no, I'll stay at home, and
lose my business.

_Land_. Why, is there no way to redeem one of your Suits?

_Gay_. None--none--I'll e'en lay me down and die.

_Land_. Die--marry, Heavens forbid--I would not for the World--let me
see--hum--what does it lie for?

_Gay_. Alas! dear Landlady, a Sum--a Sum.

_Land_. Well, say no more, I'll lay about me.

_Gay_. By this kiss but you shall not--_Assafetida_, by this Light.

_Land_. Shall not? that's a good one, i'faith: shall you rule, or I?

_Gay_. But shou'd your Husband know it?--

_Land_. Husband--marry come up, Husbands know Wives secrets? No, sure,
the World's not so bad yet--where do your things lie? and for what?

_Gay_. Five Pounds equips me--_Rag_ can conduct you--but I say you shall
not go, I've sworn.

_Land_. Meddle with your matters--let me see, the Caudle Cup that
_Molly's_ Grandmother left her, will pawn for about that sum--I'll sneak
it out--well, Sir, you shall have your things presently--trouble not
your head, but expect me.

                  [_Ex_. Landlady _and_ Rag.

_Gay_. Was ever man put to such beastly shifts? 'Sdeath, how she stunk--
my senses are most luxuriously regal'd--there's my perpetual Musick too--

                                 [_Knocking of Hammers on a Anvil_.

The ringing of Bells is an Ass to't.

    _Enter_ Rag.

_Rag_. Sir, there's one in a Coach below wou'd speak to you.

_Gay_. With me, and in a Coach! who can it be?

_Rag_. The Devil, I think, for he has a strange Countenance.

_Gay_. The Devil! shew your self a Rascal of Parts, Sirrah, and wait on
him up with Ceremony.

_Rag_. Who, the Devil, Sir?

_Gay_. Ay, the Devil, Sir, if you mean to thrive.
                                            [_Exit_ Rag.
Who can this be--but see he comes to inform me--withdraw.

    _Enter_ Bredwel _drest like a Devil_.

_Bred_. I come to bring you this--
                    [_Gives him a Letter_.

Gayman _reads_.

  _Receive what Love and Fortune present you with, be grateful
  and be silent, or 'twill vanish like a dream, and leave you
  more wretched that it found You_.
                                       Adieu.

--Hah--
                                [Gives him a bag of Money.

_Bred_. Nay, view it, Sir, 'tis all substantial Gold.

_Gay_. Now dare not I ask one civil question for fear it vanish all--
                                                               [_Aside_.
But I may ask, how 'tis I ought to pay for this great Bounty.

_Bred_. Sir, all the Pay is Secrecy--

_Gay_. And is this all that is required, Sir?

_Bred_. No, you're invited to the Shades below.

_Gay_. Hum, Shades below!--I am not prepared for such a Journey, Sir.

_Bred_. If you have Courage, Youth or Love, you'll follow me:
When Night's black Curtain's drawn around the World,
And mortal Eyes are safely lockt in sleep,   [_In feign'd Heroick Tone_.
And no bold Spy dares view when Gods caress,
Then I'll conduct thee to the Banks of Bliss.
--Durst thou not trust me?

_Gay_. Yes, sure, on such substantial security.    [_Hugs the Bag_.

_Bred_. Just when the Day is vanish'd into Night,
And only twinkling Stars inform the World,
Near to the Corner of the silent Wall,
In Fields of _Lincoln's-Inn_, thy Spirit shall meet thee.
--Farewell.
               [_Goes out_.

_Gay_. Hum--I am awake sure, and this is Gold I grasp.
I could not see this Devil's cloven Foot;
Nor am I such a Coxcomb to believe,
But he was as substantial as his Gold.
Spirits, Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Furies, Fiends and Devils,
I've often heard old Wives fright Fools and Children with,
Which, once arriv'd to common Sense, they laugh at.
--No, I am for things possible and Natural:
Some Female Devil, old and damn'd to Ugliness,
And past all Hopes of Courtship and Address,
Full of another Devil called Desire,
Has seen this Face--this Shape--this Youth,
And thinks it's worth her Hire. It must be so:
I must moil on in the damn'd dirty Road,
And sure such Pay will make the Journey easy:

  _And for the Price of the dull drudging Night,
  All Day I'll purchase new and fresh Delight_.

                                       [_Exit_.



SCENE II. _Sir_ Feeble's _House_.


    _Enter_ Leticia, _pursu'd by_ Phillis.

_Phil_. Why, Madam, do you leave the Garden,
For this retreat to Melancholy?

_Let_. Because it suits my Fortune and my Humour;
And even thy Presence wou'd afflict me now.

_Phil_. Madam, I was sent after you; my Lady _Fulbank_ has challeng'd
Sir _Feeble_ at Bowls, and stakes a Ring of fifty Pound against his
new Chariot.

_Let_. Tell him I wish him Luck in every thing,
But in his Love to me--
Go tell him I am viewing of the Garden.

                                  [_Ex_. Phillis.

    _Enter_ Bellmour _at a distance behind her_.

--Blest be this kind Retreat, this 'lone Occasion,
That lends a short Cessation to my Torments,
And gives me leave to vent my Sighs and Tears.    [_Weeps_.

_Bel_. And doubly blest be all the Powers of Love,
That give me this dear Opportunity.

_Let_. Where were you, all ye pitying Gods of Love?
That once seem'd pleas'd at _Bellmour's_ Flame and mine,
And smiling join'd our Hearts, our sacred Vows,
And spread your Wings, and held your Torches high.

_Bel_. Oh--
               [_She starts, and pauses_.

_Let_. Where were you now? When this unequal Marriage
Gave me from all my Joys, gave me from _Bellmour_;
Your Wings were flag'd, your Torches bent to Earth,
And all your little Bonnets veil'd your Eyes;
You saw not, or were deaf and pitiless.

_Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_!

_Let_. Hah, 'tis there again; that very voice was _Bellmour's_:
Where art thou, Oh thou lovely charming Shade?
For sure thou canst not take a Shape to fright me.
--What art thou?--speak!
              [_Not looking behind her yet for fear_.

_Bel_. Thy constant true Adorer,
Who all this fatal Day has haunted thee
To ease his tortur'd Soul.    [_Approaching nearer_.

_Let_. My Heart is well acquainted with that Voice,
But Oh, my Eyes dare not encounter thee.
                           [_Speaking with signs of fear_.

_Bel_. Is it because thou'st broken all thy Vows?
--Take to thee Courage, and behold thy Slaughters.

_Let_. Yes, though the Sight wou'd blast me, I wou'd view it.  [_Turns_.
--'Tis he--'tis very _Bellmour!_ or so like--
I cannot doubt but thou deserv'st this Welcome.    [_Embraces him_.

_Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_!

_Let_. I'm sure I grasp not Air; thou art no Fantom:
Thy Arms return not empty to my Bosom,
But meet a solid Treasure.

_Bel_. A Treasure thou so easily threw'st away;
A Riddle simple Love ne'er understood.

_Let_. Alas, I heard, my _Bellmour_, thou wert dead.

_Bel_. And was it thus you mourn'd my Funeral?

_Let_. I will not justify my hated Crime:
But Oh! remember I was poor and helpless,
And much reduc'd, and much impos'd upon.

                                [Bellmour _weeps_.

_Bel_. And Want compell'd thee to this wretched Marriage--did it?

_Let_. 'Tis not a Marriage, since my _Bellmour_ lives;
The Consummation were Adultery.
I was thy Wife before, wo't thou deny me?

_Bel_. No, by those Powers that heard our mutual Vows,
Those Vows that tie us faster than dull Priests.

_Let_. But oh my _Bellmour_, thy sad Circumstances
Permit thee not to make a publick Claim:
Thou art proscribed, and diest if thou art seen.

_Bel_. Alas!

_Let_. Yet I wou'd wander with thee o'er the World,
And share thy humblest Fortune with thy Love.

_Bel_. Is't possible, _Leticia_, thou wou'dst fly
To foreign Shores with me?

_Let_. Can _Bellmour_ doubt the Soul he knows so well?

_Bel_. Perhaps in time the King may find my Innocence, and may extend
  his Mercy:
Mean time I'll make provision for our Flight.

_Let_. But how 'twixt this and that can I defend
My self from the loath'd Arms of an impatient Dotard,
That I may come a spotless Maid to thee?

_Bel_. Thy native Modesty and my Industry
Shall well enough secure us.
Feign your nice Virgin-Cautions all the day;
Then trust at night to my Conduct to preserve thee.
--And wilt thou yet be mine? Oh, swear a-new,
Give me again thy Faith, thy Vows, thy Soul;
For mine's so sick with this Day's fatal Business,
It needs a Cordial of that mighty strength;
Swear--swear, so as if thou break'st--
Thou mayst be--any thing--but damn'd, _Leticia_.

_Let_. Thus then, and hear me, Heaven!    [_Kneels_.

_Bel_. And thus--I'll listen to thee.    [_Kneels_.

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble, _L_. Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Feeb_. _Lette, Lette, Lette_, where are you, little Rogue, _Lette_?
--Hah--hum--what's here--

               _Bel_. snatches her to his Bosom, as if she fainted.

_Bel_. Oh Heavens, she's gone, she's gone!

Sir _Feeb_. Gone--whither is she gone?--it seems she had the Wit to
take good Company with her--

                    [_The Women go to her, take her up_.

_Bel_. She's gone to Heaven, Sir, for ought I know.

Sir _Cau_. She was resolv'd to go in a young Fellow's Arms, I see.

Sir _Feeb_. Go to, _Francis_--go to.

L. _Ful_. Stand back, Sir, she recovers.

_Bel_. Alas, I found her dead upon the Floor,
--Shou'd I have left her so--if I had known your mind--

Sir _Feeb_. Was it so--was it so?--Got so, by no means, _Francis_.--

_Let_. Pardon him, Sir, for surely I had died,
Bur for his timely coming.

Sir _Feeb_. Alas, poor Pupsey--was it sick--look here--here's a fine
thing to make it well again. Come, buss, and it shall have it--oh, how I
long for Night. _Ralph_, are the Fidlers ready?

_Ral_. They are tuning in the Hall, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. That's well, they know my mind. I hate that same twang,
twang, twang, fum, fum, fum, tweedle, tweedle, tweedle, then scrue go
the Pins, till a man's Teeth are on an edge; then snap, says a small
Gut, and there we are at a loss again. I long to be in bed with a--hey
tredodle, tredodle, tredodle,--with a hay tredool, tredodle, tredo--
                       [_Dancing and playing on his Stick like a Flute_.

Sir _Cau_. A prudent Man would reserve himself--Good-facks, I danc'd so
on my Wedding-day, that when I came to Bed, to my Shame be it spoken, I
fell fast asleep, and slept till morning.

L. _Ful_. Where was your Wisdom then, Sir _Cautious_? But I know what a
wise Woman ought to have done.

Sir _Feeb_. Odsbobs, that's Wormwood, that's Wormwood--I shall have my
young Hussey set a-gog too; she'll hear there are better things in the
World than she has at home, and then odsbobs, and then they'll ha't,
adod, they will, Sir _Cautious_. Ever while you live, keep a Wife
ignorant, unless a Man be as brisk as his Neighbours.

Sir _Cau_. A wise Man will keep 'em from baudy Christnings then, and
Gossipings.

Sir _Feeb_. Christnings and Gossipings! why, they are the very Schools
that debauch our Wives, as Dancing-Schools do our Daughters.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, when the overjoy'd good Man invites 'em all against that
time Twelve-month: Oh, he's a dear Man, cries one--I must marry, cries
another, here's a Man indeed--my Husband--God help him--

Sir _Feeb_. Then he falls to telling of her Grievance, till (half
maudlin) she weeps again: Just my Condition, cries a third: so the
Frolick goes round, and we poor Cuckolds are anatomiz'd, and turn'd the
right side outwards; adsbobs, we are, Sir _Cautious_.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, this Grievance ought to be redrest, Sir _Feeble_; the
grave and sober part o'th' Nation are hereby ridicul'd,--Ay, and
cuckolded too for ought I know.

L. _Ful_. Wise Men knowing this, should not expose their Infirmities, by
marrying us young Wenches; who, without Instruction, find how we are
impos'd upon.

    _Enter Fiddles playing, Mr_. Bearjest _and_ Diana _dancing_;
    Bredwel, Noisey, &c.

L. _Ful_. So, Cousin, I see you have found the way to Mrs. _Dy's_ Heart.

_Bea_. Who, I, my dear Lady Aunt? I never knew but one way to a Woman's
Heart, and that road I have not yet travelled; for my Uncle, who is a
wise Man, says Matrimony is a sort of a--kind of a--as it were, d'ye
see, of a Voyage, which every Man of Fortune is bound to make one time
or other: and Madam--I am, as it were--a bold Adventurer.

_Dia_. And are you sure, Sir, you will venture on me?

_Bea_. Sure!--I thank you for that--as if I could not believe my Uncle;
For in this case a young Heir has no more to do, but to come and see,
settle, marry, and use you scurvily.

_Dia_. How, Sir, scurvily?

_Bea_. Very scurvily, that is to say, be always fashionably drunk,
despise the Tyranny of your Bed, and reign absolutely--keep a Seraglio
of Women, and let my Bastard Issue inherit; be seen once a Quarter, or
so, with you in the Park for Countenance, where we loll two several ways
in the gilt Coach like _Janus_, or a Spread-Eagle.

_Dia_. And do you expect I shou'd be honest the while?

_Bea_. Heaven forbid, not I, I have not met with that Wonder in all my
Travels.

L. _Ful_. How, Sir, not an honest Woman?

_Bea_. Except my Lady Aunt--Nay, as I am a Gentleman and the first of my
Family--you shall pardon me, here--cuff me, cuff me soundly.
                                                        [_Kneels to her_.

    _Enter_ Gayman _richly drest_.

_Gay_. This Love's a damn'd bewitching thing--Now though I should lose
my Assignation with my Devil, I cannot hold from seeing _Julia_ to
night: hah--there, and with a Fop at her Feet.--Oh Vanity of Woman!
                                                    [_Softly pulls her_.

L. _Ful_. Oh, Sir, you're welcome from _Northamptonshire_.

_Gay_. Hum--surely she knows the Cheat.    [_Aside_.

L. _Ful_. You are so gay, you save me, Sir, the labour of asking if your
Uncle be alive.

_Gay_. Pray Heaven she have not found my Circumstances!
But if she have, Confidence must assist me--    [_Aside_.
--And, Madam, you're too gay for me to inquire
Whether you are that _Julia_ which I left you?

L. _Ful_. Oh, doubtless, Sir--

_Gay_. But why the Devil do I ask--Yes, you are still the same; one of
those hoiting Ladies, that love nothing like Fool and Fiddle; Crouds of
Fops; had rather be publickly, though dully, flatter'd, than privately
ador'd: you love to pass for the Wit of the Company, by talking all
and loud.

L. _Ful_. Rail on, till you have made me think my Virtue at so low Ebb,
it should submit to you.

_Gay_. What--I'm not discreet enough;
I'll babble all in my next high Debauch,
Boast of your Favours, and describe your Charms
To every wishing Fool.

L. _Ful_. Or make most filthy Verses of me--
Under the name of _Cloris_--you _Philander_,
Who in leud Rhimes confess the dear Appointment;
What Hour, and where, how silent was the Night,
How full of Love your Eyes, and wishing mine.
Faith, no; if you can afford me a Lease of your Love,
Till the old Gentleman my Husband depart this wicked World,
I'm for the Bargain.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--what's here, a young Spark at my Wife?
                                           [_Goes about 'em_.

_Gay_. Unreasonable _Julia_, is that all,
My Love, my Sufferings, and my Vows must hope?
Set me an Age--say when you will be kind,
And I will languish out in starving Wish:
But thus to gape for Legacies of Love,
Till Youth be past Enjoyment,
The Devil I will as soon--farewel.
                            [_Offers to go_.

L. _Ful_. Stay, I conjure you stay.

_Gay_. And lose my Assignation with my Devil.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Cau_. 'Tis so, ay, ay, 'tis so--and wise Men will perceive it; 'tis
here--here in my forehead, it more than buds; it sprouts, it flourishes.

Sir _Feeb_. So, that young Gentleman has nettled him, stung him to the
quick: I hope he'll chain her up--the Gad-Bee's in his Quonundrum--in
Charity I'll relieve him--Come, my Lady _Fulbank_, the Night grows old
upon our hands; to dancing, to jiggiting--Come, shall I lead your
Ladyship?

L. _Ful_. No, Sir, you see I am better provided--
                                 [_Takes_ Gayman's _hand_.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, no doubt on't, a Pox on him for a young handsome Dog.

                                        [_They dance all_.

Sir _Feeb_. Very well, very well, now the Posset; and then--ods bobs,
and then--

_Dia_. And then we'll have t'other Dance.

Sir _Feeb_. Away, Girls, away, and steal the Bride to Bed; they have
a deal to do upon their Wedding-nights; and what with the tedious
Ceremonies of dressing and undressing, the smutty Lectures of the Women,
by way of Instruction, and the little Stratagems of the young Wenches
--odds bobs, a Man's cozen'd of half his Night: Come, Gentlemen, one
Bottle, and then--we'll toss the Stocking.

          [_Exeunt all but L_. Ful. Bred, _who are talking, and_ Gayman.

L. _Ful_. But dost thou think he'll come?

_Bred_. I do believe so, Madam--

L. _Ful_. Be sure you contrive it so, he may not know whither, or to
whom he comes.

_Bred_. I warrant you, Madam, for our Parts.
                               [_Exit_ Bredwel, _stealing out_ Gayman.

L. _Ful_. How now, what, departing?

_Gay_. You are going to the Bride-Chamber.

L. _Ful_. No matter, you shall stay--

_Gay_. I hate to have you in a Croud.

L. _Ful_. Can you deny me--will you not give me one lone hour i'th'
Garden?

_Gay_. Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull kissing,
and part with the same Appetite we met--No, Madam; besides, I have
business--

L. _Ful_. Some Assignation--is it so indeed?

_Gay_. Away, you cannot think me such a Traitor; 'tis more important
business--

L. _Ful_. Oh, 'tis too late for business--let to morrow serve.

_Gay_. By no means--the Gentleman is to go out of Town.

L. _Ful_. Rise the earlier then--

_Gay_.--But, Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously--sick--and should he
die--

L. _Ful_. 'Tis not a dying Uncle, I hope, Sir?

_Gay_. Hum--

L. _Ful_. The Gentleman a dying, and to go out of Town to morrow?

_Gay_. Ay--a--he goes--in a Litter--'tis his Fancy, Madam--Change of Air
may recover him.

L. _Ful_. So may your change of Mistress do me, Sir--farewel.
                                                       [_Goes out_.

_Gay_. Stay, _Julia_--Devil, be damn'd--for you shall tempt no more,
I'll love and be undone--but she is gone--
And if I stay, the most that I shall gain
Is but a reconciling Look, or Kiss.
No, my kind Goblin--

  _I'll keep my Word with thee, as the least Evil;
  A tantalizing Woman's worse than Devil_.

                                      [_Exit_.




ACT III.

SCENE I. _Sir_ Feeble's _House_.


    _The Second Song before the Entry_.

  A SONG made by Mr. _Cheek_.

  _No more, Lucinda, ah! expose no more
    To the admiring World those conquering Charms:
  In vain all day unhappy Men adore,
    What the kind Night gives to my longing Arms.
  Their vain Attempts can ne'er successful prove,
  Whilst I so well maintain the Fort of Love.

  Yet to the World with so bewitching Arts,
    Your dazling Beauty you around display,
  And triumph in the Spoils of broken Hearts,
    That sink beneath your feet, and croud your Way.
  Ah! suffer now your Cruelty to cease,
  And to a fruitless War prefer a Peace_.

    _Enter_ Ralph _with Light, Sir_ Feeble, _and_ Bellmour

Sir _Feeb_. So, so, they're gone--Come, _Francis_, you shall have the
Honour of undressing me for the Encounter; but 'twill be a sweet one,
_Francis_.

_Bel_. Hell take him, how he teazes me!    [_Undressing all the while_.

Sir _Feeb_. But is the young Rogue laid, _Francis_--is she stoln to Bed?
What Tricks the young Baggages have to whet a man's Appetite?

_Bel_. Ay, Sir--Pox on him--he will raise my Anger up to Madness, and I
shall kill him to prevent his going to Bed to her.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. A pise of those Bandstrings--the more haste the less speed.

_Bel_. Be it so in all things, I beseech thee, _Venus_.

Sir _Feeb_. Thy aid a little, _Francis_--oh, oh--thou choakest me,
'sbobs, what dost mean?    [_Pinches him by the Throat_.

_Bel_. You had so hamper'd 'em, Sir--the Devil's very mischievous
in me.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. Come, come, quick, good _Francis_, adod, I'm as yare as a
Hawk at the young Wanton--nimbly, good _Francis_, untruss, untruss.

_Bel_. Cramps seize ye--what shall I do? the near Approach distracts
me.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, so, my Breeches, good _Francis_. But well, _Francis_,
how dost think I got the young Jade my Wife?

_Bel_. With five hundred pounds a year Jointure, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. No, that wou'd not do, the Baggage was damnably in love with
a young Fellow they call _Bellmour_, a handsome young Rascal he was,
they say, that's truth on't; and a pretty Estate: but happening to kill
a Man he was forced to fly.

_Bel_. That was great pity, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Pity! hang him, Rogue, 'sbobs, and all the young Fellows in
the Town deserve it; we can never keep our Wives and Daughters honest
for rampant young Dogs; and an old Fellow cannot put in amongst 'em,
under being undone, with Presenting, and the Devil and all. But what
dost think I did? being damnably in love--I feign'd a Letter as from the
_Hague_, wherein was a Relation of this same _Bellmour's_ being hang'd.

_Bel_. Is't possible, Sir, you cou'd devise such News?

Sir _Feeb_. Possible, Man! I did it, I did it; she swooned at the News,
shut her self up a whole Month in her Chamber; but I presented high: she
sigh'd and wept, and swore she'd never marry: still I presented; she
hated, loathed, spit upon me; still, adod, I presented, till I presented
my self effectually in Church to her; for she at last wisely considered
her Vows were cancell'd, since _Bellmour_ was hang'd.

_Bel_. Faith, Sir, this was very cruel, to take away his Fame, and then
his Mistress.

Sir _Feeb_. Cruel! thou'rt an Ass, we are but even with the brisk
Rogues, for they take away our Fame, cuckold us, and take away our
Wives: so, so, my Cap, _Francis_.

_Bel_. And do you think this Marriage lawful, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Lawful! it shall be when I've had Livery and Seisin of her
Body--and that shall be presently Rogue,--quick--besides, this
_Bellmour_ dares as well be hang'd as come into _England_.

_Bel_. If he gets his Pardon, Sir--

Sir _Feeb_. Pardon! no, no, I have took care for that, for I have, you
must know, got his Pardon already.

_Bel_. How, Sir! got his Pardon, that's some amends for robbing him of
his Wife.

Sir _Feeb_. Hold, honest _Francis_: What, dost think 'twas in kindness
to him! No, you Fool, I got his Pardon my self, that no body else should
have it, so that if he gets any body to speak to his Majesty for it, his
Majesty cries he has granted it; but for want of my appearance, he's
defunct, trust up, hang'd, _Francis_.

_Bel_. This is the most excellent revenge I ever heard of.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, I learnt it of a great Politician of our Times.

_Bel_. But have you got his Pardon?--

Sir _Feeb_. I've done't, I've done't; Pox on him, it cost me five
hundred pounds though: Here 'tis, my Solicitor brought it me this
Evening.    [_Gives it him_.

_Bel_. This was a lucky hit--and if it scape me, let me be hang'd by a
Trick indeed.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, put it into my Cabinet,--safe, _Francis_, safe.

_Bel_. Safe, I'll warrant you, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. My Gown, quick, quick,--t'other Sleeve, Man--so now my
Night-cap; well, I'll in, throw open my Gown to fright away the Women,
and jump into her Arms.
                           [_Exit Sir_ Feeble.

_Bel_. He's gone, quickly, oh Love inspire me!

    _Enter a Footman_.

_Foot_. Sir, my Master, Sir _Cautious Fulbank_, left his Watch on the
little Parlor-Table to night, and bid me call for't.

_Bel_. Hah--the Bridegroom has it, Sir, who is just gone to Bed, it
shall be sent him in the Morning.

_Foot_. 'Tis very well, Sir--your Servant--
                                    [_Exit_ Footman.

_Bel_. Let me see--here is the Watch, I took it up to keep for him--but
his sending has inspir'd me with a sudden Stratagem, that will do better
than Force, to secure the poor trembling _Leticia_--who, I am sure, is
dying with her Fears.

                         [_Exit_ Bellmour.



SCENE II. _Changes to the Bed-chamber; _Leticia_ in an undressing by the
Women at the Table_.


    _Enter to them Sir_ Feeble Fainwou'd.

Sir _Feeb_. What's here? what's here? the prating Women still. Ods bobs,
what, not in Bed yet? for shame of Love, _Leticia_.

_Let_. For shame of Modesty, Sir; you wou'd not have me go to Bed before
all this Company.

Sir _Feeb_. What, the Women! why, they must see you laid, 'tis the
fashion.

_Let_. What, with a Man? I wou'd not for the World.
Oh, _Bellmour_, where art thou with all thy promised aid?    [_Aside_.

_Dia_. Nay, Madam, we shou'd see you laid indeed.

_Let_. First in my Grave, _Diana_.

Sir _Feeb_. Ods bobs, here's a Compact amongst the Women--High Treason
against the Bridegroom--therefore, Ladies, withdraw, or, adod, I'll lock
you all in.
          [_Throws open his Gown, they run all away, he locks the Door_.

So, so, now we're alone, _Leticia_--off with this foolish Modesty, and
Night Gown, and slide into my Arms.
                                          [_She runs from him_.
H'e', my little Puskin--what, fly me, my coy _Daphne_,
                                   [_He pursues her. Knocking_.
Hah--who's that knocks--who's there?--

_Bel_. [_Within_.] 'Tis I, Sir, 'tis I, open the door presently.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what's the matter, is the House o-fire?

_Bel_. [_Within_.] Worse, Sir, worse--

    [_He opens the door, _Bellmour_ enters with the Watch in his hand_.

_Let_. 'Tis _Bellmour's_ Voice!

_Bel_. Oh, Sir, do you know this Watch?

Sir _Feeb_. This Watch!

_Bel_. Ay, Sir, this Watch?

Sir _Feeb_. This Watch!--why, prithee, why dost tell me of a Watch? 'tis
Sir _Cautious Fulbank's_ Watch; what then, what a Pox dost trouble me
with Watches?    [_Offers to put him out, he returns_.

_Bel_. 'Tis indeed his Watch, Sir, and by this Token he has sent for
you, to come immediately to his House, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. What a Devil, art mad, _Francis_? or is his Worship mad, or
does he think me mad?--go, prithee tell him I'll come to him to morrow.
                                                 [_Goes to put him out_.

_Bel_. To morrow, Sir! why all our Throats may be cut before to morrow.

Sir _Feeb_. What sayst thou, Throat cut?

_Bel_. Why, the City's up in Arms, Sir, and all the Aldermen are met at
_Guild-Hall_; some damnable Plot, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah--Plot--the Aldermen met at _Guild-Hall!_--hum--why, let
'em meet, I'll not lose this Night to save the Nation.

_Let_. Wou'd you to bed, Sir, when the weighty Affairs of State require
your Presence?

Sir _Feeb_.--Hum--met at _Guild-Hall_;--my Clothes, my Gown again,
_Francis_, I'll out--out! what, upon my Wedding-night? No--I'll in.
                     [_Putting on his Gown pausing, pulls it off again_.

_Let_. For shame, Sir, shall the Reverend Council of the City debate
without you?

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, that's true, that's true; come truss again, _Francis_,
truss again--yet now I think on't, _Francis_, prithee run thee to the
Hall, and tell 'em 'tis my Wedding-night, d'ye see, _Francis_; and let
some body give my Voice for--

_Bel_. What, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Adod, I cannot tell; up in Arms, say you! why, let 'em fight
Dog, fight Bear; mun, I'll to Bed--go--

_Let_. And shall his Majesty's Service and his Safety lie unregarded for
a slight Woman, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Hum, his Majesty!--come, haste, _Francis_, I'll away, and
call _Ralph_, and the Footmen, and bid 'em arm; each Man shoulder his
Musket, and advance his Pike--and bring my Artillery Implements
quick--and let's away: Pupsey--b'u'y, Pupsey, I'll bring it a fine thing
yet before Morning, it may be--let's away: I shall grow fond, and forget
the business of the Nation--Come, follow me, _Francis_.--

                         [_Exit Sir_ Feeble, Bellmour _runs to_ Leticia.

_Bel_. Now, my _Leticia_, if thou e'er didst Love, If ever thou
design'st to make me blest--Without delay fly this adulterous Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, _Francis_, where are you, Knave?
                                       [_Sir _Feeb_. within_.

_Bel_. I must be gone, lest he suspect us--I'll lose him, and return to
thee immediately--get thy self ready.--

_Let_. I will not fail, my Love.

                            [_Exit_ Bellmour.

  _Old Man forgive me--thou the Aggressor art,
  Who rudely forc'd the Hand without the Heart.
  She cannot from the Paths of Honour rove,
  Whose Guide's Religion, and whose End is Love_.

                                               [_Exit_.



SCENE III. _Changes to a Wash-house, or Out-House_.

    _Enter with a Dark-lanthorn_ Bredwel _disguis'd like a Devil,
    leading_ Gayman.

_Bred_. Stay here till I give notice of your coming.
                          [_Exit_ Bredwel, _leaves his Dark-Lanthorn_.

_Gay_. Kind Light, a little of your aid--now must I be peeping, though
my Curiosity should lose me all--hah--Zouns, what here--a Hovel or a
Hog-sty? hum, see the Wickedness of Man, that I should find no time to
swear in, but just when I'm in the Devil's Clutches.

    _Enter_ Pert, _as an old Woman, with a Staff_.

_Old W_. Good Even to you, fair Sir.

_Gay_. Ha--defend me; if this be she, I must rival the Devil, that's
certain.

_Old W_. Come, young Gentleman, dare not you venture?

_Gay_. He must be as hot as _Vesuvius_ that does--I shall never earn my
Morning's Present.

_Old W_. What, do you fear a longing Woman, Sir?

_Gay_. The Devil I do--this is a damn'd Preparation to Love.

_Old W_. Why stand you gazing, Sir? A Woman's Passion is like the Tide,
it stays for no man when the hour is come--

_Gay_. I'm sorry I have took it at its Turning; I'm sure mine's ebbing
out as fast.

_Old W_. Will you not speak, Sir--will you not on?

_Gay_. I wou'd fain ask--a civil Question or two first.

_Old W_. You know too much Curiosity lost Paradise.

_Gay_. Why, there's it now.

_Old W_. Fortune and Love invite you, if you dare follow me.

_Gay_. This is the first thing in Petticoats that ever dar'd me in vain.
Were I but sure she were but human now--for sundry Considerations she
might down--but I will on--

                    [_She goes, he follows; both go out_.



SCENE IV. _A Chamber in the Apartments of L. _Fulbank.


    _Enter_ Old Woman _followed by_ Gayman _in the dark_.

        [_Soft Musick plays, she leaves him_.

_Gay_.--Hah, Musick--and Excellent!

  SONG.

  _Oh! Love, that stronger art than Wine,
  Pleasing Delusion, Witchery divine,
  Want to be prized above all Wealth,
  Disease that has more Joys than Health;
  Though we blaspheme thee in our Pain,
  And of thy Tyranny complain,
  We all are bettered by thy Reign.

  What Reason never can bestow,
  We to this useful Passion owe.
  Love wakes the dull from sluggish Ease,
  And learns a Clown the Art to please:
  Humbles the Vain, kindles the Cold,
  Makes Misers free, and Cowards bold.
  'Tis he reforms the Sot from Drink,
  And teaches airy Fops to think.

  When full brute Appetite is fed,
  And choak'd the Glutton lies, and dead;
  Thou new Spirits dost dispense,
  And fine'st the gross Delights of Sense.
  Virtue's unconquerable Aid,
  That against Nature can persuade;
  And makes a roving Mind retire
  Within the Bounds of just Desire.
  Chearer of Age, Youth's kind Unrest,
  And half the Heaven of the blest_.

_Gay_. Ah, _Julia, Julia!_ if this soft Preparation
Were but to bring me to thy dear Embraces;
What different Motions wou'd surround my Soul,
From what perplex it now.

    _Enter Nymphs and Shepherds, and dance_.

        [_Then two dance alone. All go out but_ Pert _and a Shepherd_.

--If these be Devils, they are obliging ones:
I did not care if I ventur'd on that last Female Fiend.

Man sings.

  _Cease your Wonder, cease your Guess,
  Whence arrives your happiness.
  Cease your Wonder, cease your Pain,
  Human Fancy is in vain_.

Chorus.

  _'Tis enough, you once shall find,
  Fortune may to Worth be kind_;        [gives him Gold.
  _And Love can leave off being blind_.

Pert sings.

  _You, before you enter here
  On this sacred Ring must swear_,
          [Puts it on his Finger, holds his Hand.
  _By the Figure which is round,
  Your Passion constant and profound;
  By the Adamantine Stone,
  To be fixt to one alone:

  By the Lustre, which is true,
  Ne'er to break your sacred Vow.
  Lastly, by the Gold that's try'd,
  For Love all Dangers to abide_.

They all dance about him, while those same two sing.

Man.  _Once about him let us move,
      To confirm him true to Love_.      [bis.

Pert. _Twice with mystick turning Feet,
      Make him silent and discreet_.     [bis.

Man.  _Thrice about him let us tread,
      To keep him ever young in Bed_.    [bis.

Gives him another part.

Man.  _Forget_ Aminta's _proud Disdain;
      Haste here, and sigh no more in vain,
      The Joy of Love without the Pain_.

Pert. _That God repents his former Slights,
      And Fortune thus your Faith requites_.

Both. _Forget_ Aminta's _proud Disdain;
      Then taste, and sigh no more in vain,
      The Joy of Love without the Pain,
      The Joy of Love without the Pain_.

          [_Exeunt_ all Dancers. Looks on himself, and feels about him.

_Gay_. What the Devil can all this mean? If there be a Woman in the
Case--sure I have not liv'd so bad a Life, to gain the dull Reputation
of so modest a Coxcomb, but that a Female might down with me, without
all this Ceremony. Is it care of her Honour?--that cannot be--this Age
affords none so nice: Nor Fiend nor Goddess can she be, for these I saw
were Mortal. No--'tis a Woman--I am positive. Not young nor handsom, for
then Vanity had made her glory to have been seen. No--since 'tis
resolved, a Woman--she must be old and ugly, and will not balk my Fancy
with her sight, but baits me more with this essential Beauty.

  _Well--be she young or old, Woman or Devil,
  She pays, and I'll endeavour to be civil_.

                                        [_Exit_.



SCENE V. _In the same House. The flat Scene of the Hall_.

    _After a Knocking, enter_ Bredwel _in his masking Habit, with
    his Vizard in the one Hand, and a Light in t'other, in haste_.

_Bred_. Hah, knocking so late at our Gate--
                                   [_Opens the door_.

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble _drest, and arm'd Cap-a-pee, with a broad
    Waste-Belt stuck round with Pistols, a Helmet, Scarf, Buff-coat
    and half Pike_.

Sir _Feeb_. How now, how now, what's the matter here?

_Bred_. Matter, what, is my Lady's innocent Intrigue found out?--
Heavens, Sir, what makes you here in this warlike Equipage?

Sir _Feeb_. What makes you in this showing Equipage, Sir?

_Bred_. I have been dancing among some of my Friends.

Sir _Feeb_. And I thought to have been fighting with some of my Friends.
Where's Sir _Cautious_, where's Sir _Cautious_?

_Bred_. Sir _Cautious_--Sir, in Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Call him, call him--quickly, good _Edward_.

_Bred_. Sure my Lady's Frolick is betray'd, and he comes to make
Mischief. However, I'll go and secure Mr. _Gayman_.
                                              [_Exit_ Bredwel.

    _Enter Sir_ Cautious _and_ Dick _his Boy with Light_.

_Dick_. Pray, Sir, go to Bed, here's no Thieves; all's still and well.

Sir _Cau_. This last Night's misfortune of mine, _Dick_, has kept me
waking, and methought all night, I heard a kind of a silent Noise. I am
still afraid of Thieves; mercy upon me, to lose five hundred Guineas at
one clap, _Dick_.--Hah--bless me! what's yonder? Blow the great Horn,
_Dick_--Thieves--Murder, Murder!

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what a Pox, are you mad? 'Tis I, 'tis I, man.

Sir _Cau_. I, who am I? Speak--declare--pronounce.

Sir _Feeb_. Your Friend, old _Feeble Fainwou'd_.

Sir _Cau_. How, Sir _Feeble_! At this late hour, and on his Wedding-Night
--why, what's the matter, Sir--is it Peace or War with you?

Sir _Feeb_. A Mistake, a Mistake, proceed to the business, good Brother,
for time you know is precious.

Sir _Cau_. Some strange Catastrophe has happened between him and his
Wife to Night, and makes him disturb me thus--    [_Aside_.
--Come, sit, good Brother, and to the business as you say--

    [_They sit one at one end of the Table, the other at the other;
    _Dick_ sets down the Light and goes out--both sit gaping and
    staring, and expecting when either should speak_.

Sir _Feeb_. As soon as you please, Sir.
Lord, how wildly he stares! He's much disturb'd in's mind
--Well, Sir, let us be brief--

Sir _Cau_. As brief as you please, Sir--Well, Brother--
                                               [_Pausing still_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. How strangely he stares and gapes--some deep concern.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--hum--

Sir _Cau_. I listen to you, advance--

Sir _Feeb_. Sir?

Sir _Cau_. A very distracted Countenance--pray Heaven he be not mad,
and a young Wife is able to make an old Fellow mad, that's the Truth
on't.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. Sure 'tis something of his Lady--he's so loth to bring it out
--I am sorry you are thus disturb'd, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. No disturbance to serve a Friend--

Sir _Feeb_. I think I am your Friend indeed, Sir _Cautious_, or I wou'd
not have been here upon my Wedding-Night.

Sir _Cau_. His Wedding-Night--there lies his Grief, poor Heart! Perhaps
she has cuckolded him already--    [_Aside_.
--Well, come, Brother--many such things are done--

Sir _Feeb_. Done--hum--come, out with it; Brother--what troubles you to
Night?

Sir _Cau_. Troubles me--why, knows he I am robb'd?    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. I may perhaps restore you to the Rest you've lost.

Sir _Cau_. The Rest; why, have I lost more since? Why, know you then who
did it?--Oh, how I'd be reveng'd upon the Rascal!

Sir _Feeb_. 'Tis--Jealousy, the old Worm that bites--    [_Aside_.
Who is it you suspect?

Sir _Cau_. Alas, I know not whom to suspect, I wou'd I did; but if you
cou'd discover him--I wou'd so swinge him--

Sir _Feeb_. I know him--what, do you take me for a Pimp, Sir? I know
him--there's your Watch again, Sir; I'm your Friend, but no Pimp,
Sir--
         [_Rises in Rage_.

Sir _Cau_. My Watch; I thank you, Sir--but why Pimp, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, a very thriving Calling, Sir,--and I have a young Wife
to practise with. I know your Rogues.

Sir _Cau_. A young Wife!--'tis so, his Gentlewoman has been at
Hot-Cockles without her Husband, and he's Horn-mad upon't. I suspected
her being so close in with his Nephew--in a Fit with a Pox--[_Aside_.]
Come, come, Sir _Feeble_, 'tis many an honest Man's Fortune.

Sir _Feeb_. I grant it, Sir--but to the business, Sir, I came for.

Sir _Cau_. With all my Soul--

    [_They sit gaping, and expecting when either should speak.
    Enter_ Bredwel _and_ Gayman _at the door_. Bredwel _sees them,
    and puts_ Gayman_ back again_.

_Bred_. Hah--Sir _Feeble_, and Sir _Cautious_ there--what shall I do?
For this way we must pass, and to carry him back wou'd discover my Lady
to him, betray all, and spoil the Jest--retire, Sir, your Life depends
upon your being unseen.    [_Go out_.

Sir _Feeb_. Well, Sir, do you not know that I am married, Sir? and this
my Wedding Night?

Sir _Cau_. Very good, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. And that I long to be in bed?

Sir _Cau_. Very well, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Very good, Sir, and very well, Sir--why then what the Devil
do I make here, Sir?    [_Rises in a rage_.

Sir _Cau_. Patience, Brother--and forward.

Sir _Feeb_. Forward! lend me your hand, good Brother; let's feel your
Pulse; how has this Night gone with you?

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha--this is the oddest Quonudrum--sure he's mad--and
yet now I think on't, I have not slept to night, nor shall I ever sleep
again, till I have found the Villain that robb'd me.    [_Weeps_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, now he weeps--far gone--this Laughing and Weeping is a
very bad sign! [_Aside_.] Come, let me lead you to your Bed.

Sir _Cau_. Mad, stark mad--no, now I'm up 'tis no matter--pray ease your
troubled Mind--I am your Friend--out with it--what, was it acted? or
but designed?

Sir _Feeb_. How, Sir?

Sir _Cau_. Be not asham'd, I'm under the same Premunire I doubt, little
better than a--but let that pass.

Sir _Feeb_. Have you any Proof?

Sir _Cau_. Proof of what, good Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Of what! why, that you're a Cuckold; Sir, a Cuckold, if
you'll ha't.

Sir _Cau_. Cuckold! Sir, do ye know what ye say?

Sir _Feeb_. What I say?

Sir _Cau_. Ay, what you say, can you make this out?

Sir _Feeb_. I make it out!

Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir--if you say it, and cannot make it out, you're a--

Sir _Feeb_. What am I, Sir? What am I?

Sir _Cau_. A Cuckold as well as my self, Sir; and I'll sue you for
_Scandalum Magnatum_; I shall recover swinging Damages with a City-Jury.

Sir _Feeb_. I know of no such thing, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. No, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. No, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Then what wou'd you be at, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. I be at, Sir! what wou'd you be at, Sir?

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha--why this is the strangest thing--to see an old
Fellow, a Magistrate of the City, the first Night he's married, forsake
his Bride and Bed, and come arm'd Cap-a-pee, like _Gargantua_, to
disturb another old Fellow, and banter him with a Tale of a Tub; and all
to be-cuckold him here--in plain _English_, what's your Business?

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what the Devil's your Business, and you go to that?

Sir _Cau_. My Business, with whom?

Sir _Feeb_. With me, Sir, with me; what a Pox do you think I do here?

Sir _Cau_. 'Tis that I wou'd be glad to know, Sir.

    _Enter _Dick.

Sir _Feeb_. Here, _Dick_, remember I've brought back your Master's
Watch; next time he sends for me o'er Night, I'll come to him in
the Morning.

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha, I send for you! Go home and sleep, Sir--Ad, and
ye keep your Wife waking to so little purpose, you'll go near to be
haunted with a Vision of Horns.

                          [_Exit_ Dick.

Sir _Feeb_. Roguery, Knavery, to keep me from my Wife--Look ye, this was
the Message I receiv'd.
                [_Tells him seemingly_.

    _Enter_ Bredwel _to the Door in a white Sheet like a Ghost,
    speaking to_ Gayman _who stands within_.

_Bred_. Now, Sir, we are two to two, for this way you must pass or be
taken in the Lady's Lodgings--I'll first adventure out to make you pass
the safer, and that he may not, if possible, see Sir _Cautious_, whom I
shall fright into a Trance, I am sure.
And Sir _Feeble_, the Devil's in't if he know him.    [_Aside_.

_Gay_. A brave kind Fellow this.

    _Enter_ Bredwel _stalking on as a Ghost by them_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh--undone,--undone; help, help;--I'm dead, I'm dead.
    [_Falls down on his Face; Sir_ Feeble _stares,--and stands still_.

_Bred_. As I could wish.    [_Aside, turns_.
Come on, thou ghastly thing, and follow me.

    _Enter_ Gayman _like a Ghost, with a Torch_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh Lord, oh Lord!

_Gay_. Hah!--old Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd_--why, where the Devil am I?
--'Tis he:--and be it where it will, I'll fright the old Dotard for
cozening my Friend of his Mistress.    [_Stalks on_.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, guard me,--guard me--all ye Pow'rs!    [_Trembling_.

_Gay_. Thou call'st in vain, fond Wretch--for I am _Bellmour_,

  _Whom first thou robb'st of Fame and Life,
  And then what dearer was,--his Wife_.

                                [_Goes out, shaking his Torch at him_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh Lord--oh Lord!

    _Enter L_. Fulbank _in an undress, and_ Pert _undrest.

L. _Ful_. Heavens, what noise is this?--So he's got safe out I see--hah,
what thing art thou?    [_Sees Sir _Feeble_ arm'd_.

Sir _Feeb_. Stay, Madam, stay--'tis I, a poor trembling Mortal.

L. _Ful_. Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd!_--rise,--are you both mad?

Sir _Cau_. No, no,--Madam, we have seen the Devil.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, and he was as tall as the Monument.

Sir _Cau_. With Eyes like a Beacon--and a Mouth,--Heaven bless us, like
_London_ Bridge at a full Tide.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, and roar'd as loud.

L. _Ful_. Idle Fancies, what makes you from your Bed? and you, Sir, from
your Bride?

    _Enter_ Dick _with Sack_.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh! that's the business of another day, a mistake only,
Madam.

L. _Ful_. Away, I'm asham'd to see wise Men so weak; the Fantoms of the
Night, or your own Shadows, the Whimseys of the Brain for want of Rest,
or perhaps _Bredwel_, your Man--who being wiser than his Master, play'd
you this Trick to fright you both to Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--adod, and that may be, for the young Knave when he let
me in to Night, was drest up for some Waggery--

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha, 'twas even so, sure enough, Brother--

Sir _Feeb_. Ads bobs, but they frighted me at first basely--but I'll
home to Pupsey, there may be Roguery, as well as here--Madam, I ask your
Pardon, I see we're all mistaken.

L. _Ful_. Ay, Sir _Feeble_, go home to your Wife.

                                           [_Ex. severally_.



SCENE VI. _The Street_.


    _Enter_ Bellmour _at the door, knocks, and enter to him
    from the House_, Phillis.

_Phil_. Oh, are you come, Sir? I'll call my Lady down.

_Bel_. Oh, haste, the Minutes fly--leave all behind.
And bring _Leticia_ only to my Arms.
                                 [_A noise of People_.
--Hah, what noise is that? 'Tis coming this way,
I tremble with my fears--hah, Death and the Devil,
'Tis he--

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble _and his Men arm'd, goes to the door, knocks_.

Ay, 'tis he, and I'm undone--what shall I do to kill him now? besides,
the Sin wou'd put me past all Hopes of pardoning.

Sir _Feeb_. A damn'd Rogue to deceive me thus.--

_Bel_. Hah--see, by Heaven _Leticia_, Oh, we are ruin'd!

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--what's here, two Women?--
                               [_Stands a little off_.

    _Enter_ Leticia _and_ Phillis _softly, undrest, with a Box_.

_Let_. Where are you, my best Wishes? Lord of my Vows--and Charmer of my
Soul? Where are you?

_Bel_. Oh, Heavens!--
              [_Draws his Sword half-way_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum, who's here? My Gentlewoman--she's monstrous kind of the
sudden. But whom is't meant to?    [_Aside_.

_Let_. Give me your hand, my Love, my Life, my All--Alas! where are you?

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--no, no, this is not to me--I am jilted, cozen'd,
cuckolded, and so forth.--
                              [_Groping, she takes hold of Sir_ Feeb.

_Let_. Oh, are you here? indeed you frighted me with your Silence--here,
take these Jewels, and let us haste away.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--are you thereabouts, Mistress? was I sent away with a
Sham-Plot for this!--She cannot mean it to me.    [_Aside_.

_Let_. Will you not speak?--will you not answer me?--do you repent
already?--before Enjoyment are you cold and false?

Sir _Feeb_. Hum, before Enjoyment--that must be me. Before Injoyment--
Ay, ay, 'tis I--I see a little Prolonging a Woman's Joy, sets an Edge
upon her Appetite.    [_Merrily_.

_Let_. What means my Dear? shall we not haste away?

Sir _Feeb_. Haste away! there 'tis again--No--'tis not me she means:
what, at your Tricks and Intrigues already?--Yes, yes, I am destin'd
a Cuckold--

_Let_. Say, am I not your Wife? can you deny me?

Sir _Feeb_. Wife! adod, 'tis I she means--'tis I she means--[_Merrily_.

_Let_. Oh _Bellmour, Bellmour_.

                     [_Sir _Feeb_. starts back from her hands_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--what's that--_Bellmour_!

_Let_. Hah! Sir _Feeble_!--he would not, Sir, have us'd me thus
unkindly.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh--I'm glad 'tis no worse--_Bellmour_, quoth a! I thought
the Ghost was come again.

_Phil_. Why did you not speak, Sir, all this while?--my Lady weeps with
your Unkindness.

Sir _Feeb_. I did but hold my peace, to hear how prettily she prattled
Love: But, fags, you are naught to think of a young Fellow--ads bobs,
you are now.

_Let_. I only say--he wou'd not have been so unkind to me.

Sir _Feeb_. But what makes ye out at this Hour, and with these Jewels?

_Phil_. Alas, Sir, we thought the City was in Arms, and packt up our
things to secure 'em, if there had been a necessity for Flight. For
had they come to plundering once, they wou'd have begun with the rich
Aldermen's Wives, you know, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Ads bobs, and so they would--but there was no Arms, nor
Mutiny--where's _Francis_?

_Bel_. Here, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Here, Sir--why, what a story you made of a Meeting in the
Hall, and--Arms, and--a--the Devil of any thing was stirring, but a
couple of old Fools, that sat gaping and waiting for one another's
business--

_Bel_. Such a Message was brought me, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Brought! thou'rt an Ass, _Francis_--but no more--come, come,
let's to bed--

_Let_. To Bed, Sir! what, by Day-light?--for that's hasting on--I wou'd
not for the World--the Night wou'd hide my Blushes--but the Day--wou'd
let me see my self in your Embraces.

Sir _Feeb_. Embraces, in a Fiddlestick; why, are we not married?

_Let_. 'Tis true, Sir, and Time will make me more familiar with you, but
yet my Virgin Modesty forbids it. I'll to _Diana's_ Chamber, the Night
will come again.

Sir _Feeb_. For once you shall prevail; and this damn'd Jant has pretty
well mortified me:--a Pox of your Mutiny, _Francis_.--Come, I'll conduct
thee to _Diana_, and lock thee in, that I may have thee safe, Rogue.--

  _We'll give young Wenches leave to whine and blush,
  And fly those Blessings which--ads bobs, they wish_.

                                                  [_Exeunt_.




ACT IV.

SCENE I. _Sir _Feeble's_ House_.


    _Enter Lady_ Fulbank, Gayman _fine, gently pulling her back
    by the hand; and_ Ralph _meets 'em_.

L. _Ful_. How now, _Ralph_--Let your Lady know I am come to wait on her.

                                       [_Exit _Ralph.

_Gay_. Oh, why this needless Visit--
Your Husband's safe, at least till Evening safe.
Why will you not go back,
And give me one soft hour, though to torment me?

L. _Ful_. You are at leisure now, I thank you, Sir.
Last Night when I with all Love's Rhetorick pleaded,
And Heaven knows what last Night might have produced,
You were engag'd! False Man, I do believe it,
And I am satisfied you love me not.
                         [_Walks away in scorn_.

_Gay_. Not love you!
Why do I waste my Youth in vain pursuit,
Neglecting Interest, and despising Power?
Unheeding and despising other Beauties.
Why at your feet are all my Fortunes laid,
And why does all my Fate depend on you?

L. _Ful_. I'll not consider why you play the Fool,
Present me Rings and Bracelets; why pursue me;
Why watch whole Nights before my senseless Door,
And take such Pains to shew your self a Coxcomb.

_Gay_. Oh! why all this?
By all the Powers above, by this dear Hand,
And by this Ring, which on this Hand I place,
On which I've sworn Fidelity to Love;
I never had a Wish or soft Desire
To any other Woman,
Since _Julia_ sway'd the Empire of my Soul.

L. _Ful_. Hah, my own Ring I gave him last night.    [_Aside_.
--Your Jewel, Sir, is rich:
Why do you part with things of so much value,
So easily, and so frequently?

_Gay_. To strengthen the weak Arguments of Love.

L. _Ful_. And leave your self undone?

_Gay_. Impossible, if I am blest with _Julia_.

L. _Ful_. Love's a thin Diet, nor will keep out Cold.
You cannot satisfy your Dunning Taylor,
To cry--I am in Love!
Though possible you may your Seamstress.

_Gay_. Does ought about me speak such Poverty?

L. _Ful_. I am sorry that it does not, since to maintain
This Gallantry, 'tis said you use base means,
Below a Gentleman.

_Gay_. Who dares but to imagine it's a Rascal,
A Slave, below a beating--what means my _Julia_?

L. _Ful_. No more dissembling, I know your Land is gone
--I know each Circumstance of all your Wants;
Therefore--as e'er you hope that I should love you ever--
Tell me--where 'twas you got this Jewel, Sir.

_Gay_. Hah--I hope 'tis no stol'n Goods;    [_Aside_.
Why on the sudden all this nice examining?

L. _Ful_. You trifle with me, and I'll plead no more.

_Gay_. Stay--why--I bought it, Madam--

L. _Ful_. Where had you Money, Sir? You see I am
No Stranger to your Poverty.

_Gay_. This is strange--perhaps it is a secret.

L. _Ful_. So is my Love, which shall be kept from you.
                                              [_Offers to go_.

_Gay_. Stay, _Julia_--your Will shall be obey'd,    [_Sighing_.
Though I had rather die than be obedient,
Because I know you'll hate me when 'tis told.

L. _Ful_. By all my Vows, let it be what it will,
It ne'er shall alter me from loving you.

_Gay_. I have--of late--been tempted--
With Presents, Jewels, and large Sums of Gold.

L. _Ful_. Tempted! by whom?

_Gay_. The Devil, for ought I know.

L. _Ful_. Defend me, Heaven! the Devil?
I hope you have not made a Contract with him.

_Gay_. No, though in the Shape of Woman it appear'd.

L. _Ful_. Where met you with it?

_Gay_. By Magick Art I was conducted--I know not how,
To an inchanted Palace in the Clouds,
Where I was so attended--
Young dancing, singing Fiends innumerable.

L. _Ful_. Imagination all!

_Gay_. But for the amorous Devil, the old _Proserpine_.--

L. _Ful_. Ay, she--what said she?--

_Gay_. Not a word: Heaven be prais'd, she was a silent Devil--but she
was laid in a Pavilion, all form'd of gilded Clouds, which hung by
Geometry, whither I was conveyed, after much Ceremony, and laid in Bed
with her; where with much ado, and trembling with my Fears--I forc'd my
Arms about her.

L. _Ful_. And sure that undeceiv'd him.    [_Aside_.

_Gay_. But such a Carcase 'twas--deliver me--so rivell'd, lean and
rough--a Canvas Bag of wooden Ladles were a better Bed-fellow.

L. _Ful_. Now though I know that nothing is more distant than I from
such a Monster--yet this angers me. Death! cou'd you love me and submit
to this?

_Gay_. 'Twas that first drew me in--
The tempting Hope of Means to conquer you,
Wou'd put me upon any dangerous Enterprize:
Were I the Lord of all the Universe,
I am so lost in Love,
For one dear Night to clasp you in my Arms,
I'd lavish all that World--then die with Joy.

L. _Ful_. 'Slife, after all to seem deform'd, old, ugly--
                                         [_Walking in a fret_.

_Gay_. I knew you would be angry when you heard it.
                     [_He pursues her in a submissive posture_.

    _Enter Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Noisey _and_ Bredwel.

Sir _Cau_. How, what's here?--my Lady with the Spark that courted her
last Night?--hum--with her again so soon?--Well, this Impudence and
Importunity undoes more City-Wives than all their unmerciful Finery.

_Gay_. But, Madam--

L. _Ful_. Oh, here's my Husband--you'd best tell him your Story--what
makes him here so soon?--    [_Angry_.

Sir _Cau_. Me his Story! I hope he will not tell me he'as a mind to
cuckold me.

_Gay_. A Devil on him, what shall I say to him?

L. _Ful_. What, so excellent at Intrigues, and so dull at an Excuse?
                                                              [_Aside_.

_Gay_. Yes, Madam, I shall tell him--

    _Enter _Bellmour.

L. _Ful_.--Is my Lady at leisure for a Visit, Sir?

_Bel_. Always to receive your Ladyship.

                                  [_She goes out_.

Sir _Cau_. With me, Sir, wou'd you speak?

_Gay_. With you, Sir, if your name be _Fulbank_.

Sir _Cau_. Plain _Fulbank_! methinks you might have had a Sirreverence,
under your Girdle, Sir; I am honoured with another Title, Sir--
                                       [_Goes talking to the rest_.

_Gay_. With many, Sir, that very well become you--
                                  [_Pulls him a little aside_.
I've something to deliver to your Ear.

Sir _Cau_. So, I'll be hang'd if he do not tell me, I'm a Cuckold now: I
see it in his Eyes. My Ear, Sir! I'd have you to know I scorn any man's
secrets, Sir;--for ought I know you may whisper Treason to me, Sir.
Pox on him, how handsom he is, I hate the sight of the young Stallion.
                                                               [_Aside_.

_Gay_. I wou'd not be so uncivil, Sir, before all this Company.

Sir _Cau_. Uncivil! Ay, ay, 'tis so, he cannot be content to cuckold,
but he must tell me so too.

_Gay_. But since you will have it, Sir--you are--a Rascal--a most
notorious Villain, Sir, d'ye hear--

Sir _Cau_. Yes, yes, I do hear--and am glad 'tis no worse.   [_Laughing_.

_Gay_. Griping as Hell--and as insatiable--worse than a Brokering Jew,
not all the Twelve Tribes harbour such a damn'd Extortioner.

Sir _Cau_. Pray, under favour, Sir, who are you?
                                          [_Pulling off his Hat_.

_Gay_. One whom thou hast undone--

Sir _Cau_. Hum--I'm glad of that however.    [_Aside smiling_.

_Gay_. Racking me up to a starving Want and Misery,
Then took advantages to ruin me.

Sir _Cau_. So, and he'd revenge it on my Wife--    [_Aside smiling_.

_Gay_. Do not you know one _Wasteall_, Sir?

    _Enter_ Ralph _with Wine, sets it on a Table_.

Sir _Cau_. _Wasteall_--ha, ha, ha,--if you are any Friend to that poor
Fellow--you may return and tell him, Sir--d'ye hear--that the Mortgage
of two hundred pound a Year is this day out, and I'll not bait him an
hour, Sir--ha, ha, ha,--what, do you think to hector civil Magistrates?

_Gay_. Very well, Sir, and is this your Conscience?

Sir _Cau_. Conscience! what do you tell me of Conscience? Why, what a
noise is here--as if the undoing a young Heir were such a Wonder; ods so
I've undone a hundred without, half this ado.

_Gay_. I do believe thee--and am come to tell you--I'll be none of that
Number--for this Minute I'll go and redeem it--and free myself from the
Hell of your Indentures.

Sir _Cau_. How, redeem it! sure the Devil must help him then.--Stay,
Sir--stay--Lord, Sir, what need you put your self to that trouble? your
Land is in safe hands, Sir; come, come, sit down--and let us take a
Glass of Wine together, Sir--

_Bel_. Sir, my service to you.    [_Drinks to him_.

_Gay_. Your Servant, Sir. Wou'd I cou'd come to speak to _Bellmour_,
which I dare not do in publick, lest I betray him. I long to be resolv'd
where 'twas Sir _Feeble_ was last night--if it were he--by which I might
find out my invisible Mistress.

_Noi_. Noble Mr. _Wasteall_--
                     [_Salutes him, so does_ Bearjest.

_Bel_. Will you please to sit, Sir?

_Gay_. I have a little business, Sir--but anon I'll wait on you--your
Servant, Gentlemen--I'll to _Crap_ the Scrivener's.
                                            [_Goes out_.

Sir _Cau_. Do you know this _Wasteall_, Sir?--    [_To_ Noisey.

_Noi_. Know him, Sir! ay, too well--

_Bea_. The World's well amended with him, Captain, since I lost my Money
to him and you at the _George_ in _White-Fryers_.

_Noi_. Ay, poor Fellow--he's sometimes up, and sometimes down, as the
Dice favour him--

_Bea_. Faith, and that's pity; but how came he so fine o'th' sudden?
'Twas but last week he borrowed eighteen pence of me on his Waste-Belt
to pay his Dinner in an Ordinary.

_Bel_. Were you so cruel, Sir, to take it?

_Noi_. We are not all one Man's Children; faith, Sir, we are here to
Day, and gone to Morrow--

Sir _Cau_. I say 'twas done like a wise Man, Sir; but under favour,
Gentlemen, this _Wasteall_ is a Rascal--

_Noi_. A very Rascal, Sir, and a most dangerous Fellow--he cullies in
your Prentices and Cashiers to play--which ruins so many o'th' young
Fry i'th' City--

Sir _Cau_. Hum--does he so--d'ye hear that, _Edward_?

_Noi_. Then he keeps a private Press, and prints your _Amsterdam_ and
_Leyden_ Libels.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, and makes 'em too, I'll warrant him; a dangerous Fellow--

_Noi_. Sometimes he begs for a lame Soldier with a wooden Leg.

_Bea_. Sometimes as a blind Man, sells Switches in _New-Market_ Road.

_Noi_. At other times he runs the Country like a Gipsey--tells Fortunes
and robs Hedges, when he's out of Linen.

Sir _Cau_. Tells Fortunes too!--nay, I thought he dealt with the Devil
--Well, Gentlemen, you are all wide o' this Matter--for to tell you
the Truth--he deals with the Devil, Gentlemen
--otherwise he could never have redeem'd his Land.    [Aside.

_Bel_. How, Sir, the Devil!

Sir _Cau_. I say the Devil; Heaven bless every wise Man from the Devil.

_Bea_. The Devil, sha! there's no such Animal in Nature; I rather think
he pads.

_Noi_. Oh, Sir, he has not Courage for that--but he's an admirable
Fellow at your Lock.

Sir _Cau_. Lock! My Study-Lock was pickt--I begin to suspect him--

_Bea_. I saw him once open a Lock with the Bone of a Breast of Mutton,
and break an Iron Bar asunder with the Eye of a Needle.

Sir _Cau_. Prodigious!--well, I say the Devil still.

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble.

Sir _Feeb_. Who's this talks of the Devil?--a Pox of the Devil, I say,
this last night's Devil has so haunted me--

Sir _Cau_. Why, have you seen it since, Brother?

Sir _Feeb_. In Imagination, Sir.

_Bel_. How, Sir, a Devil?

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, or a Ghost.

_Bel_. Where, good Sir?

_Bea_. Ay, where? I'd travel a hundred Mile to see a Ghost--

_Bel_. Sure, Sir, 'twas Fancy.

Sir _Feeb_. If 'twere a Fancy, 'twas a strong one; and Ghosts and Fancy
are all one if they can deceive. I tell you--if ever I thought in my
Life--I thought I saw a Ghost--Ay, and a damnable impudent Ghost too; he
said he was a--a Fellow here--they call _Bellmour_.

_Bel_. How, Sir!

_Bea_. Well, I wou'd give the world to see the Devil, provided he were a
civil affable Devil, such an one as _Wasteall's_ Acquaintance is--

Sir _Cau_. He can show him too soon, it may be. I'm sure as civil as he
is, he helps him to steal my Gold, I doubt--and to be sure--Gentlemen,
you say he's a Gamester--I desire when he comes anon, that you wou'd
propose to sport a Dye, or so--and we'll fall to play for a Teaster, or
the like--and if he sets any money, I shall go near to know my own Gold,
by some remarkable Pieces amongst it; and if he have it, I'll hang him,
and then all his six hundred a Year will be my own, which I have
in Mortgage.

_Bea_. Let the Captain and I alone to top upon him--mean time, Sir, I
have brought my Musick, to entertain my Mistress with a Song.

Sir _Feeb_. Take your own methods, Sir--they are at leisure--while we go
drink their Healths within. Adod, I long for night, we are not half in
kelter, this damn'd Ghost will not out of my Head yet.

                                             [_Exeunt all but_ Bellmour.

_Bel_. Hah--a Ghost! what can he mean? A Ghost, and _Bellmour's_!
--Sure my good Angel, or my Genius,
In pity of my Love, and of _Leticia_--
But see _Leticia_ comes, but still attended--

    _Enter_ Leticia, _Lady_ Fulbank, Diana.

--Remember--oh, remember to be true?
                   [Aside to her, passing by goes out.

L. _Ful_. I was sick to know with what Christian Patience you bore the
Martyrdom of this Night.

_Let_. As those condemn'd bear the last Hour of Life. A short Reprieve I
had--and by a kind Mistake, _Diana_ only was my Bedfellow--    [_Weeps_.

_Dia_. And I wish for your Repose you ne'er had seen my Father.
                                                               [_Weeps_.

_Let_. And so do I, I fear he has undone me--

_Dia_. And me, in breaking of his word with _Bredwel_--

L. _Ful_.--So--as _Trincolo_ says, wou'd you were both hang'd for me,
for putting me in mind of my Husband. For I have e'en no better luck
than either of you--Let our two Fates warn your approaching one: I
love young _Bredwel_ and must plead for him.

_Dia_. I know his Virtue justifies my Choice:
But Pride and Modesty forbids I shou'd unlov'd pursue him.

_Let_. Wrong not my Brother so, who dies for you--

_Dia_. Cou'd he so easily see me given away,
Without a Sigh at parting?
For all the day a Calm was in his Eyes,
And unconcern'd he look'd and talk'd to me;
In dancing never prest my willing Hand,
Nor with a scornful Glance reproach'd my Falshood.

_Let_. Believe me, that Dissembling was his Master-piece.

_Dia_. Why should he fear, did not my Father promise him?

_Let_. Ay, that was in his wooing time to me:
But now 'tis all forgotten--
                                [_Musick at the door_.

    _After which enter_ Bearjest _and_ Bredwel.

L. _Ful_. How now, Cousin! Is this high piece of Gallantry from you?

_Bea_. Ay, Madam, I have not travel'd for nothing--

L. _Ful_. I find my Cousin is resolv'd to conquer, he assails with all
his Artillery of Charms; we'll leave him to his success, Madam.--

                                       [_Ex_. Leticia _and L_. Fulbank.

_Bea_. Oh Lord, Madam, you oblige me--look, _Ned_, you had a mind to
have a full view of my Mistress, Sir, and--here she is.
                                                   [_He stands gazing_.
Go, salute her--look how he stands now; what a sneaking thing is a
Fellow who has never travel'd and seen the World!--Madam--this is a very
honest Friend of mine, for all he looks so simply.

_Dia_. Come, he speaks for you, Sir.

_Bea_. He, Madam! though he be but a Banker's Prentice, Madam, he's as
pretty a Fellow of his Inches as any i'th' City--he has made love in
Dancing-Schools, and to Ladies of Quality in the middle Gallery, and
shall joke ye--and repartee with any Fore-man within the Walls--prithee
to her--and commend me, I'll give thee a new Point Crevat.

_Dia_. He looks as if he cou'd not speak to me.

_Bea_. Not speak to you! yes, Gad, Madam, and do any thing to you too.

_Dia_. Are you his Advocate, Sir?    [_In scorn_.

_Bea_. For want of a better--
                                 [_Stands behind him, pushing him on_.

_Bred_. An Advocate for Love I am,
And bring you such a Message from a Heart--

_Bea_. Meaning mine, dear Madam.

_Bred_. That when you hear it, you will pity it.

_Bea_. Or the Devil's in her--

_Dia_. Sir, I have many Reasons to believe,
It is my Fortune you pursue, not Person.

_Bea_. There is something in that, I must confess.    [_Behind him_.
But say what you will, _Ned_.

_Bred_. May all the Mischiefs of despairing Love Fall on me if it be.

_Bea_. That's well enough--

_Bred_. No, were you born an humble Village-Maid,
That fed a Flock upon the neighbouring Plain;
With all that shining Vertue in your Soul,
By Heaven, I wou'd adore you--love you--wed you--
Though the gay World were lost by such a Nuptial.
                                    [Bear. _looks on him_.
--This--I wou'd do, were I my Friend the Squire
                                    [_Recollecting_.

_Bea_. Ay, if you were me--you might do what you pleas'd; but I'm of
another mind.

_Dia_. Shou'd I consent, my Father is a Man whom Interest sways, not
Honour; and whatsoever Promises he 'as made you, he means to break 'em
all, and I am destin'd to another.

_Bea_. How, another--his Name, his Name, Madam--here's _Ned_ and I fear
ne'er a single Man i'th' Nation, What is he--what is he?--

_Dia_. A Fop, a Fool, a beaten Ass--a Blockhead.

_Bea_. What a damn'd Shame's this, that Women shou'd be sacrificed to
Fools, and Fops must run away with Heiresses--whilst we Men of Wit and
Parts dress and dance, and cock and travel for nothing but to be tame
Keepers.

_Dia_. But I, by Heaven, will never be that Victim: But where my Soul is
vow'd, 'tis fix'd for ever.

_Bred_. Are you resolv'd, are you confirm'd in this? Oh my _Diana_,
speak it o'er again.    [_Runs to her, and embraces her_.
Bless me, and make me happier than a Monarch.

_Bea_. Hold, hold, dear _Ned_--that's my part, I take it.

_Bred_. Your Pardon, Sir, I had forgot my self.
--But time is short--what's to be done in this?

_Bea_. Done! I'll enter the House with Fire and Sword, d'ye see, not
that I care this--but I'll not be fob'd off--what, do they take me for
a Fool--an Ass?

_Bred_. Madam, dare you run the risk of your Father's Displeasure, and
run away with the Man you love?

_Dia_. With all my Soul--

_Bea_. That's hearty--and we'll do it--_Ned_ and I here--and I love an
Amour with an Adventure in't like _Amadis de Gaul_--Harkye, _Ned_, get a
Coach and six ready to night when 'tis dark, at the back Gate--

_Bred_. And I'll get a Parson ready in my Lodging, to which I have a Key
through the Garden, by which we may pass unseen.

_Bea_. Good--Mun, here's Company--

    _Enter_ Gayman _with his Hat and Money in't, Sir_ Cautious
    _in a rage, Sir_ Feeble, _Lady_ Fulbank, Leticia, _Captain_
    Noisey, Bellmour.

Sir _Cau_. A hundred Pound lost already! Oh Coxcomb, old Coxcomb, and
a wise Coxcomb--to turn Prodigal at my Years, why, I was bewitcht!

Sir _Feeb_. Shaw, 'twas a Frolick, Sir, I have lost a hundred Pound as
well as you. My Lady has lost, and your Lady has lost, and the rest--
what, old Cows will kick sometimes, what's a hundred Pound?

Sir _Cau_. A hundred Pound! why, 'tis a sum, Sir--a sum--why, what the
Devil did I do with a Box and Dice!

L. _Ful_. Why, you made a shift to lose, Sir? And where's the harm of
that? We have lost, and he has won; anon it may be your Fortune.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but he could never do it fairly, that's certain. Three
hundred Pound! why, how came you to win so unmercifully, Sir?

_Gay_. Oh, the Devil will not lose a Gamester of me, you see, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. The Devil!--mark that, Gentlemen--

_Bea_. The Rogue has damn'd luck sure, he has got a Fly--

Sir _Cau_. And can you have the Conscience to carry away all our Money,
Sir?

_Gay_. Most assuredly, unless you have the courage to retrieve it. I'll
set it at a Throw, or any way: what say you, Gentlemen?

Sir _Feeb_. Ods bobs, you young Fellows are too hard for us every way,
and I'm engag'd at an old Game with a new Gamester here, who will
require all an old Man's stock.

L. _Ful_. Come, Cousin, will you venture a Guinea? Come, Mr. _Bredwel_.

_Gay_. Well, if no body dare venture on me, I'll send away my Cash--

        [_They all go to play at the Table, but Sir_ Cau.
        _Sir_ Feeb. _and_ Gay.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--must it all go?--a rare sum, if a Man were but sure the
Devil wou'd but stand Neuter now--    [Aside.
--Sir, I wish I had any thing but ready Money to stake: three hundred
Pound--a fine Sum!

_Gay_. You have Moveables, Sir, Goods--Commodities--

Sir _Cau_. That's all one, Sir; that's Money's worth, Sir: but if I had
any thing that were worth nothing--

_Gay_. You wou'd venture it,--I thank you, Sir,--I wou'd your Lady were
worth nothing--

Sir _Cau_. Why, so, Sir?

_Gay_. Then I wou'd set all this against that Nothing.

Sir _Cau_. What, set it against my Wife?

_Gay_. Wife, Sir! ay, your Wife--

Sir _Cau_. Hum, my Wife against three hundred Pounds! What, all my Wife,
Sir?

_Gay_. All your Wife! Why, Sir, some part of her wou'd serve my turn.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--my Wife--why, if I shou'd lose, he cou'd not have the
Impudence to take her.    [Aside.

_Gay_. Well, I find you are not for the Bargain, and so I put up--

Sir _Cau_. Hold, Sir--why so hasty--my Wife? no--put up your Money,
Sir--what, lose my Wife for three hundred Pounds!--

_Gay_. Lose her, Sir!--why, she shall be never the worse for my wearing,
Sir--the old covetous Rogue is considering on't, I think--What say you
to a Night? I'll set it to a Night--there's none need know it, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--a Night!--three hundred Pounds for a Night! why, what a
lavish Whore-master's this! We take Money to marry our Wives, but very
seldom part with 'em, and by the Bargain get Money--For a Night, say
you?--Gad, if I shou'd take the Rogue at his word, 'twou'd be a pure
Jest.    [Aside.

Sir _Feeb_. You are not mad, Brother.

Sir _Cau_. No, but I'm wise--and that's as good; let me consider.--

Sir _Feeb_. What, whether you shall be a Cuckold or not?

Sir _Cau_. Or lose three hundred Pounds--consider that. A Cuckold!--why,
'tis a word--an empty sound--'tis Breath--'tis Air--'tis nothing:--but
three hundred Pounds--Lord, what will not three hundred Pounds do? You
may chance to be a Cuckold for nothing, Sir--

Sir _Feeb_. It may be so--but she shall do't discretly then.

Sir _Cau_. Under favour, you're an Ass, Brother; this is the discreetest
way of doing it, I take it.

Sir _Feeb_. But wou'd a wise man expose his Wife?

Sir _Cau_. Why, _Cato_ was a wiser Man than I, and he lent his Wife to a
young Fellow they call'd _Hortensius_, as Story says; and can a wise Man
have a better Precedent than _Cato_?

Sir _Feeb_. I say, _Cato_ was an Ass, Sir, for obliging any young Rogue of
'em all.

Sir _Cau_. But I am of _Cato's_ mind. Well, a single Night you say.

_Gay_. A single Night--to have--to hold--possess--and so forth, at
discretion.

Sir _Cau_. A Night--I shall have her safe and sound i'th' Morning.

Sir _Feeb_. Safe, no doubt on't--but how sound.--

_Gay_. And for Non-performance, you shall pay me three hundred Pounds,
I'll forfeit as much if I tell--

Sir _Cau_. Tell?--why, make your three hundred pounds six hundred, and
let it be put into the _Gazet_, if you will, Man.--But it's a Bargain?

_Gay_. Done--Sir Feeble shall be witness--and there stands my Hat.

    [_Puts down his Hat of Money, and each of em take a Box and Dice,
    and kneel on the Stage, the rest come about 'em_.

Sir _Cau_. He that comes first to One and thirty wins--

                                             [_They throw and count_.

L. _Ful_. What are you playing for?

Sir _Feeb_. Nothing, nothing--but a Trial of Skill between an old Man
and a Young--and your Ladyship is to be Judge.

L. _Ful_. I shall be partial, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Six and five's Eleven--
                             [_Throws, and pulls the Hat towards him_.

_Gay_. Cater Tray--Pox of the Dice--

Sir _Cau_. Two fives--one and twenty--
                                     [_Sets up, pulls the Hat nearer_.

_Gay_. Now, Luck--Doublets of sixes--nineteen.

Sir _Cau_. Five and four--thirty--
                                      [_Draws the Hat to him_.

Sir _Feeb_. Now if he wins it, I'll swear he has a Fly indeed--'tis
impossible without Doublets of sixes--

_Gay_, Now Fortune smile--and for the future frown.    [_Throws_.

Sir _Cau_.--Hum--two sixes--
                                [_Rises and looks dolefully round_.

L. _Ful_. How now? what's the matter you look so like an Ass, what have
you lost?

Sir _Cau_. A Bauble--a Bauble--'tis not for what I've lost--but because
I have not won--

Sir _Feeb_. You look very simple, Sir--what think you of _Cato_ now?

Sir _Cau_. A wise Man may have his failings--

L. _Ful_. What has my Husband lost?--

Sir _Cau_. Only a small parcel of Ware that lay dead upon my hands,
Sweet-heart.

_Gay_. But I shall improve 'em, Madam, I'll warrant you.

L. _Ful_. Well, since 'tis no worse, bring in your fine Dancer,
Cousin, you say you brought to entertain your Mistress with.

                                                [Bearjest _goes out_.

_Gay_. Sir, you'll take care to see me paid to Night?

Sir _Cau_. Well, Sir--but my Lady, you must know, Sir, has the common
frailties of her Sex, and will refuse what she even longs for, if
persuaded to't by me.

_Gay_. 'Tis not in my Bargain to sollicit her, Sir, you are to procure
her--or three hundred pounds, Sir; chuse you whether.

Sir _Cau_. Procure her! with all my soul, Sir; alas, you mistake my
honest meaning, I scorn to be so unjust as not to see you a-bed
together; and then agree as well as you can, I have done my part--In
order to this, Sir--get but your self conveyed in a Chest to my house,
with a Direction upon't for me; and for the rest--

_Gay_. I understand you.

Sir _Feeb_. _Ralph_, get supper ready.

    _Enter_ Bea. _with Dancers; all go out but Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Cau_. Well, I must break my Mind, if possible, to my Lady--but if
she shou'd be refractory now--and make me pay Three hundred Pounds--why,
sure she won't have so little Grace--Three hundred Pounds sav'd, is
three hundred pounds got--by our account--Cou'd All--

  _Who of this City-Privilege are free,
  Hope to be paid for Cuckoldom like me;
  Th'unthriving Merchant, whom gray Hair adorns,
  Before all Ventures wou'd ensure his Horns;
  For thus, while he but lets spare Rooms to hire,
  His Wife's cracked Credit keeps his own entire_.

                                               [_Exit_.




ACT V.

SCENE I. _Sir_ Cautious _his House_.


    _Enter_ Bellmour _alone, sad_.

_Bel_. The Night is come, oh my _Leticia_!
The longing Bridegroom hastens to his Bed;
Whilst she with all the languishment of Love,
And sad Despair, casts her fair Eyes on me,
Which silently implore, I would deliver her.
But how! ay, there's the Question--hah--    [_Pausing_.
I'll get my self hid in her Bed-chamber--
And something I will do--may serve us yet--
If all my Arts should fail--I'll have recourse    [_Draws a dagger_.
To this--and bear _Leticia_ off by force.
--But see she comes--

    _Enter Lady_ Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious, _Sir_ Feeble,
    Leticia, Bearjest, Noisey, Gayman. _Exit_ Bellmour.

Sir _Feeb_. Lights there, _Ralph_.
And my Lady's Coach there--

                                [Bearjest _goes to_ Gayman.

_Bea_. Well, Sir, remember you have promised to grant me my diabolical
Request, in shewing me the Devil--

_Gay_. I will not fail you, Sir.

L. _Ful_. Madam, your Servant; I hope you'll see no more Ghosts, Sir
_Feeble_.

Sir _Feeb_. No more of that, I beseech you, Madam:
Prithee, Sir _Cautious_, take away your Wife--Madam, your Servant--
                                          [_All go out after the Light_.
--Come, _Lette, Lette_; hasten, Rogue, hasten to thy Chamber; away,
here be the young Wenches coming--
                                           [_Puts her out, he goes out_.

    _Enter_ Diana, _puts on her Hood and Scarf_.

_Dia_. So--they are gone to Bed; and now for _Bredwel_
--the Coach waits, and I'll take this opportunity.

  _Father, farewell--if you dislike my course,
  Blame the old rigid Customs of your Force_.

                                       [_Goes out_.



SCENE II. _A Bed-chamber_.


    _Enter Sir_ Feeble, Leticia, _and_ Phillis.

_Let_. Ah, _Phillis_! I am fainting with my Fears,
Hast thou no comfort for me?

                                [_He undresses to his Gown_.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what art doing there--fiddle fadling--adod, you young
Wenches are so loth to come to--but when your hand's in, you have no
mercy upon us poor Husbands.

_Let_. Why do you talk so, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Was it anger'd at the Fool's Prattle? tum a-me, tum a-me,
I'll undress it, effags, I will--Roguy.

_Let_. You are so wanton, Sir, you make me blush--I will not go to bed,
unless you'll promise me--

Sir _Feeb_. No bargaining, my little Hussey--what, you'll tie my hands
behind me, will you?
                        [_She goes to the Table_.

_Let_.--What shall I do?--assist me, gentle Maid,
Thy Eyes methinks put on a little hope.

_Phil_. Take Courage, Madam--you guess right--be confident.

Sir _Feeb_. No whispering, Gentlewoman--and putting Tricks into her
head; that shall not cheat me of another Night--Look on that silly
little round Chitty-face--look on those smiling roguish loving Eyes
there--look--look how they laugh, twire, and tempt--he, Rogue--I'll
buss 'em there, and here, and every where--ods bods--away, this is
fooling and spoiling of a Man's Stomach, with a bit here, and a bit
there--to Bed--to Bed--

    [_As she is at the Toilet, he looks over her shoulder,
    and sees her Face in the Glass_.

_Let_. Go you first, Sir, I will but stay to say my Prayers,
which are that Heaven wou'd deliver me.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. Say thy Prayers!--What, art thou mad! Prayers upon thy
Wedding-night! a short Thanksgiving or so--but Prayers quoth a--'Sbobs,
you'll have time enough for that, I doubt--

_Le_. I am asham'd to undress before you, Sir; go to Bed--

Sir _Feeb_. What, was it asham'd to shew its little white Foots, and its
little round Bubbies--well, I'll go, I'll go--I cannot think on't, no I
cannot--

    [_Going towards the Bed_, Bellmour _comes forth from between
    the Curtains, his Coat off, his Shirt bloody, a Dagger in his
    hand, and his Disguise off_.

_Bel_. Stand--

Sir _Feeb_. Ah--

_Let_. and _Phil_. [_squeak_]--Oh, Heavens!
--why, is it _Bellmour_?    [_Aside to_ Phil.

_Bel_. Go not to Bed, I guard this sacred Place,
And the Adulterer dies that enters here.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh--why do I shake?--sure I'm a Man, what art thou?

_Bel_. I am the wrong'd, the lost and murder'd _Bellmour_.

Sir _Feeb_. O Lord! it is the same I saw last night--Oh!--hold thy
dread Vengeance--pity me, and hear me--Oh! a Parson--a Parson--what
shall I do--Oh! where shall I hide my self?

_Bel_. I'th' utmost Borders of the Earth I'll find thee--
Seas shall not hide thee, nor vast Mountains guard thee:
Even in the depth of Hell I'll find thee out,
And lash thy filthy and adulterous Soul.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh! I am dead, I'm dead; will no Repentence save me? 'twas
that young Eye that tempted me to sin; Oh!--

_Bel_. See, fair Seducer, what thou'st made me do;
Look on this bleeding Wound, it reach'd my Heart,
To pluck my dear tormenting Image thence,
When News arriv'd that thou hadst broke thy Vow.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh Lord! oh! I'm glad he's dead though.

_Let_. Oh, hide that fatal Wound, my tender Heart faints with a Sight
so horrid!    [_Seems to Weep_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, she'll clear her self, and leave me in the Devil's
Clutches.

_Bel_. You've both offended Heaven, and must repent or die.

Sir _Feeb_. Ah,--I do confess I was an old Fool,--bewitcht with Beauty,
besotted with Love, and do repent most heartily.

_Bel_. No, you had rather yet go on in Sin:
Thou wou'dst live on, and be a baffled Cuckold.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, not for the World, Sir! I am convinc'd and mortifi'd.

_Bel_. Maintain her fine, undo thy Peace to please her, and still be
Cuckol'd on,--believe her,--trust her, and be Cuckol'd still.

Sir _Feeb_. I see my Folly--and my Age's Dotage--and find the Devil was
in me--yet spare my Age--ah! spare me to repent.

_Bel_. If thou repent'st, renounce her, fly her sight;--
Shun her bewitching Charms, as thou wou'dst Hell,
Those dark eternal Mansions of the dead--
Whither I must descend.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh--wou'd he were gone!--

_Bel_. Fly--be gone--depart, vanish for ever from her to some more safe
and innocent Apartment.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, that's very hard!--

    [_He goes back trembling_, Bellmour _follows in with
    his Dagger up; both go out_.

_Let_. Blest be this kind Release, and yet methinks it grieves me to
consider how the poor old Man is frighted.

                              [Bellmour _re-enters, puts on his Coat_.

_Bel_.--He's gone, and lock'd himself into his Chamber--
And now, my dear _Leticia_, let us fly--

  _Despair till now did my wild Heart invade,
  But pitying Love has the rough Storm allay'd_.

                                          [_Exeunt_.



SCENE III. _Sir_ Cautious _his Garden_.

    _Enter two Porters and_ Rag, _bearing_ Gayman _in a Chest;
    set it down, he comes forth with a Dark-lanthorn_.

_Gay_. Set down the Chest behind yon hedge of Roses--and then put on
those Shapes I have appointed you--and be sure you well-favour'dly bang
both _Bearjest_ and _Noisey_, since they have a mind to see the Devil.

_Rag_. Oh, Sir, leave 'em to us for that; and if we do not play the
Devil with 'em, we deserve they shou'd beat us. But, Sir, we are in Sir
_Cautious_ his Garden, will he not sue us for a Trespass?

_Gay_. I'll bear you out; be ready at my Call.

                                        [_Exeunt_.

--Let me see--I have got no ready stuff to banter with--but no matter,
any Gibberish will serve the Fools--'tis now about the hour of Ten--but
Twelve is my appointed lucky Minute, when all the Blessings that my Soul
could wish, shall be resign'd to me.

    _Enter_ Bredwel.

--Hah! who's there? _Bredwel_?

_Bred_. Oh, are you come, Sir--and can you be so kind to a poor Youth,
to favour his Designs, and bless his Days?

_Gay_. Yes, I am ready here with all my Devils, both to secure you your
Mistress, and to cudgel your Captain and Squire, for abusing me behind
my Back so basely.

_Bred_. 'Twas most unmanly, Sir, and they deserve it--I wonder that they
come not.

_Gay_. How durst you trust her with him?

_Bred_. Because 'tis dangerous to steal a City-Heiress, and let the
Theft be his--so the dear Maid be mine--Hark--sure they come--

    _Enter_ Bearjest, _runs against_ Bredwel.

--Who's there? Mr. _Bearjest_?

_Bea_. Who's that? _Ned_? Well, I have brought my Mistress, hast thou
got a Parson ready, and a License?

_Bred_. Ay, ay, but where's the Lady?

_Bea_. In the Coach, with the Captain at the Gate. I came before, to see
if the Coast be clear.

_Bred_. Ay, Sir; but what shall we do? here's Mr. _Gayman_ come on
purpose to shew you the Devil, as you desir'd.

_Bea_. Sho! a Pox of the Devil, Man--I can't attend to speak with
him now.

_Gay_. How, Sir! D'ye think my Devil of so little Quality, to suffer an
Affront unrevenged?

_Bea_. Sir, I cry his Devilship's Pardon: I did not know his Quality. I
protest, Sir, I love and honour him, but I am now just going to be
married, Sir; and when that Ceremony's past, I'm ready to go to the
Devil as soon as you please.

_Gay_. I have told him your Desire of seeing him, and shou'd you baffle
him?

_Bea_. Who, I, Sir! Pray, let his Worship know, I shall be proud of the
Honour of his Acquaintance; but, Sir, my Mistress and the Parson wait in
_Ned's_ Chamber.

_Gay_. If all the World wait, Sir, the Prince of Hell will stay for no
Man.

_Bred_. Oh, Sir, rather than the Prince of the Infernals shall be
affronted, I'll conduct the Lady up, and entertain her till you
come, Sir.

_Bea_. Nay, I have a great mind to kiss his--Paw, Sir; but I cou'd wish
you'd shew him me by day-light, Sir.

_Gay_. The Prince of Darkness does abhor the Light. But, Sir, I will for
once allow your Friend the Captain to keep you company.

    _Enter_ Noisey _and_ Diana.

_Bea_. I'm much oblig'd to you, Sir; oh, Captain--    [_Talks to him_.

_Bred_. Haste, Dear; the Parson waits,
To finish what the Powers design'd above.

_Dia_. Sure nothing is so bold as Maids in Love!    [_They go out_.

_Noi_. Psho! he conjure--he can flie as soon.

_Gay_. Gentlemen, you must be sure to confine your selves to this
Circle, and have a care you neither swear, nor pray.

_Bea_. Pray, Sir! I dare say neither of us were ever that way gifted.

            A horrid Noise.

_Gay_.

  _Cease your Horror, cease your Haste.
  And calmly as I saw you last,
  Appear! Appear!
  By thy Pearls and Diamond Rocks,
  By thy heavy Money-Box,
  By thy shining Petticoat,
  That hid thy cloven Feet from Note;
  By the Veil that hid thy Face,
  Which else had frighten'd humane Race_:
                           [Soft Musick ceases.
  _Appear, that I thy Love may see,
  Appear, kind Fiends, appear to me_.

A Pox of these Rascals, why come they not?

    _Four enter from the four corners of the Stage, to Musick
    that plays; they dance, and in the Dance, dance round 'em,
    and kick, pinch, and beat 'em_.

_Bea_. Oh, enough, enough! Good Sir, lay 'em, and I'll pay the Musick--

_Gay_. I wonder at it--these Spirits are in their Nature kind, and
peaceable--but you have basely injur'd some body--confess, and they will
be satisfied--

_Bea_. Oh, good Sir, take your _Cerberuses_ off--I do confess, the
Captain here, and I have violated your Fame.

_Noi_. Abus'd you,--and traduc'd you,--and thus we beg your pardon--

_Gay_. Abus'd me! 'Tis more than I know, Gentlemen.

_Bea_. But it seems your Friend the Devil does.

_Gay_. By this time _Bredwel's_ married.
--Great _Pantamogan_, hold, for I am satisfied,
                                        [_Ex. Devils_.
And thus undo my Charm--
                            [_Takes away the Circle, they run out_.
So, the Fools are going, and now to _Julia's_ Arms.

                                              [_Going_.



SCENE IV. _Lady_ Fulbank's _Anti-chamber_.


    _She discover'd undrest at her Glass; Sir_ Cautious _undrest_.

L. _Ful_. But why to Night? indeed you're wondrous kind methinks.

Sir _Cau_. Why, I don't know--a Wedding is a sort of an Alarm to Love;
it calls up every Man's courage.

L. _Ful_. Ay, but will it come when 'tis call'd?

Sir _Cau_. I doubt you'll find it to my Grief--    [_Aside_.
--But I think 'tis all one to thee, thou car'st not for my Complement;
no, thou'dst rather have a young Fellow.

L. _Ful_. I am not us'd to flatter much; if forty Years were taken
from your Age, 'twou'd render you something more agreeable to my Bed,
I must confess.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, no doubt on't.

L. _Ful_. Yet you may take my word without an Oath,
Were you as old as Time, and I were young and gay
As _April_ Flowers, which all are fond to gather;
My Beauties all should wither in the Shade,
E'er I'd be worn in a dishonest Bosom.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but you're wondrous free methinks, sometimes, which gives
shreud suspicions.

L. _Ful_. What, because I cannot simper, look demure,
and justify my Honour, when none questions it?
--Cry fie, and out upon the naughty Women,
Because they please themselves--and so wou'd I.

Sir _Cau_. How, wou'd, what cuckold me?

L. _Ful_. Yes, if it pleas'd me better than Vertue, Sir.
But I'll not change my Freedom and my Humour,
To purchase the dull Fame of being honest.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but the World, the World--

L. _Ful_. I value not the Censures of the Croud.

Sir _Cau_. But I am old.

L. _Ful_. That's your fault, Sir, not mine.

Sir _Cau_. But being so, if I shou'd be good-natur'd, and give thee
leave to love discreetly--

L. _Ful_. I'd do't without your leave, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Do't--what, cuckold me?

L. _Ful_. No, love discreetly, Sir, love as I ought, love honestly.

Sir _Cau_. What, in love with any body, but your own Husband?

L. _Ful_. Yes.

Sir _Cau_. Yes, quoth a--is that your loving as you ought?

L. _Ful_. We cannot help our Inclinations, Sir,
No more than Time, or Light from coming on--
But I can keep my Virtue, Sir, intire.

Sir _Cau_. What, I'll warrant, this is your first Love, _Gayman_?

L. _Ful_. I'll not deny that Truth, though even to you.

Sir _Cau_. Why, in consideration of my Age, and your Youth, I'd bear a
Conscience--provided you do things wisely.

L. _Ful_. Do what thing, Sir?

Sir _Cau_. You know what I mean--

L. _Ful_. Hah--I hope you wou'd not be a Cuckold, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Why--truly in a civil way--or so.

L. _Ful_. There is but one way, Sir, to make me hate you;
And that wou'd be tame suffering.

Sir _Cau_. Nay, and she be thereabouts, there's no discovering.

L. _Ful_. But leave this fond discourse, and, if you must,
Let us to Bed.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, I did but try your Virtue, mun--dost think I was in
earnest?

    _Enter Servant_.

_Serv_. Sir, here's a Chest directed to your Worship.

Sir _Cau_. Hum, 'tis _Wasteall_--now does my heart fail me--A Chest
say you--to me--so late;--I'll warrant it comes from Sir _Nicholas
Smuggle_--some prohibited Goods that he has stoln the Custom of, and
cheated his Majesty--Well, he's an honest Man, bring it in--

                                                       [_Exit Servant_.

L. _Ful_. What, into my Apartment, Sir, a nasty Chest!

Sir _Cau_. By all means--for if the Searchers come, they'll never be so
uncivil to ransack thy Lodgings; and we are bound in Christian Charity
to do for one another--Some rich Commodities, I am sure--and some fine
Knick-knack will fall to thy share, I'll warrant thee
--Pox on him for a young Rogue, how punctual he is!    [_Aside_.

    _Enter with the Chest_.

--Go, my Dear, go to Bed--I'll send Sir _Nicholas_ a Receit for the
Chest, and be with thee presently--

                             [_Ex. severally_.

        [Gayman _peeps out of the Chest, and looks round him wondring_.

_Gay_. Hah, where am I? By Heaven, my last Night's Vision--'Tis that
inchanted Room, and yonder's the Alcove! Sure 'twas indeed some Witch,
who knowing of my Infidelity--has by Inchantment brought me hither--
'tis so--I am betray'd--[_Pauses_. Hah! or was it _Julia_, that last
night gave me that lone Opportunity?--but hark, I hear some coming--
                                                  [_Shuts himself in_.

    _Enter Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Cau_. [_Lifting up the Chest-lid_.] So, you are come, I see--
                                          [_Goes, and locks the door_.

_Gay_. Hah--he here! nay then, I was deceiv'd, and it was _Julia_ that
last night gave me the dear Assignation.    [_Aside_.

                          [_Sir_ Cautious _peeps into the Bed-chamber_.

L. _Ful_. [_Within_.] Come, Sir _Cautious_, I shall fall asleep, and
then you'll waken me.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, my Dear, I'm coming--she's in Bed--I'll go put out the
Candle, and then--

_Gay_. Ay, I'll warrant you for my part--

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but you may over-act your part, and spoil all--But, Sir,
I hope you'll use a Christian Conscience in this business.

_Gay_. Oh, doubt not, Sir, but I shall do you Reason.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir, but--

_Gay_. Good Sir, no more Cautions; you, unlike a fair Gamester, will
rook me out of half my Night--I am impatient--

Sir _Cau_. Good Lord, are you so hasty? if I please, you shan't go
at all.

_Gay_. With all my soul, Sir; pay me three hundred Pound, Sir--

Sir _Cau_. Lord, Sir, you mistake my candid meaning still. I am content
to be a Cuckold, Sir--but I wou'd have things done decently, d'ye
mind me?

_Gay_. As decently as a Cuckold can be made, Sir.--But no more
disputes, I pray, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. I'm gone--I'm gone--but harkye, Sir, you'll rise before day?
                                                 [_Going out, returns_.

_Gay_. Yet again--

Sir _Cau_. I vanish, Sir--but harkye--you'll not speak a word, but let
her think 'tis I?

_Gay_. Be gone, I say, Sir--    [_He runs out_.
I am convinc'd last night I was with _Julia_.
Oh Sot, insensible and dull!

    _Enter softly Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Cau_. So, the Candle's out--give me your hand.

                                    [_Leads him softly in_.



SCENE V. _Changes to a Bed-chamber_.

    _Lady_ Fulbank _suppos'd in Bed. Enter Sir_ Cautious
    _and_ Gayman _by dark_.

Sir _Cau_. Where are you, my Dear?    [_Leads him to the bed_.

L. _Ful_. Where shou'd I be--in Bed; what, are you by dark?

Sir _Cau_. Ay, the Candle went out by Chance.

    [Gayman _signs to him to be gone; he makes grimaces
    as loath to go, and Exit_.



SCENE VI. _Draws over, and represents another Room in the same House_.


    _Enter_ Parson, Diana, _and_ Pert _drest in_ Diana's _Clothes_.

_Dia_. I'll swear, Mrs. _Pert_, you look very prettily in my Clothes;
and since you, Sir, have convinc'd me that this innocent Deceit is not
unlawful, I am glad to be the Instrument of advancing Mrs. _Pert_ to a
Husband, she already has so just a Claim to.

_Par_. Since she has so firm a Contract, I pronounce it a lawful
Marriage--but hark, they are coming sure--

_Dia_. Pull your Hoods down, and keep your Face from the Light.
                                                     [_Diana runs out_.

    _Enter_ Bearjest _and_ Noisey _disordered_.

_Bea_. Madam, I beg your Pardon--I met with a most devilish Adventure;
--your Pardon too, Mr. Doctor, for making you wait.--But the business
is this, Sir--I have a great mind to lie with this young Gentlewoman
to Night, but she swears if I do, the Parson of the Parish shall know it.

_Par_. If I do, Sir, I shall keep Counsel.

_Bea_. _And that's civil, Sir--Come, lead the way,
       With such a Guide, the Devil's in't if we can go astray_.

                                                     [_Exeunt_.



SCENE VII. _Changes to the Anti-chamber_.


    _Enter Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Cau_. Now cannot I sleep, but am as restless as a Merchant in
stormy Weather, that has ventur'd all his Wealth in one Bottom.--Woman
is a leaky Vessel.--if she should like the young Rogue now, and they
should come to a right understanding--why, then I am a--Wittal--that's
all, and shall be put in Print at _Snow-hill_, with my Effigies o'th'
top, like the sign of Cuckolds Haven.--Hum--they're damnable
silent--pray Heaven he have not murdered her, and robbed her--hum--hark,
what's that?--a noise!--he has broke his Covenant with me, and shall
forfeit the Money--How loud they are? Ay, ay, the Plot's discovered,
what shall I do?--Why, the Devil is not in her sure, to be refractory
now, and peevish; if she be, I must pay my Money yet--and that would be
a damn'd thing.--sure they're coming out--I'll retire and hearken how
'tis with them.    [_Retires_.

    _Enter Lady_ Fulbank _undrest_, Gayman, _half undrest upon
    his Knees, following her, holding her Gown_.

L. _Ful_. Oh! You unkind--what have you made me do? Unhand me, false
Deceiver--let me loose--

Sir _Cau_. Made her do?--so, so--'tis done--I'm glad of that--
                                                     [_Aside peeping_.

_Gay_. Can you be angry, _Julia_?
Because I only seiz'd my Right of Love.

L. _Ful_. And must my Honour be the Price of it?
Could nothing but my Fame reward your Passion?
--What, make me a base Prostitute, a foul Adulteress?
Oh--be gone, be gone--dear Robber of my Quiet.    [_Weeping_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh, fearful!--

_Gay_. Oh! Calm your rage, and hear me; if you are so,
You are an innocent Adulteress.
It was the feeble Husband you enjoy'd
In cold imagination, and no more;
Shily you turn'd away--faintly resign'd.

Sir _Cau_. Hum, did she so?--

_Gay_. Till my Excess of Love betray'd the Cheat.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, that was my Fear.

L. _Ful_. Away, be gone--I'll never see you more--

_Gay_. You may as well forbid the Sun to shine.
Not see you more!--Heavens! I before ador'd you,
But now I rave! And with my impatient Love,
A thousand mad and wild Desires are burning!
I have discover'd now new Worlds of Charms,
And can no longer tamely love and suffer.

Sir _Cau_. So--I have brought an old House upon my Head,
Intail'd Cuckoldom upon my self.

L. _Ful_. I'll hear no more--Sir _Cautious_,--where's my Husband?
Why have you left my Honour thus unguarded?

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, she's well enough pleas'd, I fear, for all.

_Gay_. Base as he is, 'twas he expos'd this Treasure;
Like silly Indians barter'd thee for Trifles.

Sir _Cau_. O treacherous Villain!--

L. _Ful_. Hah--my Husband do this?

_Gay_. He, by Love, he was the kind Procurer,
Contriv'd the means, and brought me to thy Bed.

L. _Ful_. My Husband! My wise Husband!
What fondness in my Conduct had he seen,
To take so shameful and so base Revenge?

_Gay_. None--'twas filthy Avarice seduc'd him to't.

L. _Ful_. If he cou'd be so barbarous to expose me,
Cou'd you who lov'd me--be so cruel too?

_Gay_. What--to possess thee when the Bliss was offer'd?
Possess thee too without a Crime to thee?
Charge not my Soul with so remiss a flame,
So dull a sense of Virtue to refuse it.

L. _Ful_. I am convinc'd the fault was all my Husband's--
And here I vow--by all things just and sacred,
To separate for ever from his Bed.    [_Kneels_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh, I am not able to indure it--
Hold--oh, hold, my Dear--
                             [_He kneels as she rises_.

L. _Ful_. Stand off--I do abhor thee--

Sir _Cau_. With all my Soul--but do not make rash Vows.
They break my very Heart--regard my Reputation.

L. _Ful_. Which you have had such care of, Sir, already--
Rise, 'tis in vain you kneel.

Sir _Cau_. No--I'll never rise again--Alas! Madam, I was merely drawn
in; I only thought to sport a Dye or so: I had only an innocent design
to have discover'd whether this Gentleman had stoln my Gold, that so I
might have hang'd him--

_Gay_. A very innocent Design indeed!

Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir, that's all, as I'm an honest man.--

L. _Ful_. I've sworn, nor are the Stars more fix'd than I.

    _Enter Servant_.

_Serv_. How! my Lady and his Worship up?--Madam, a Gentleman and
a Lady below in a Coach knockt me up, and say they must speak with
your Ladyship.

L. _Ful_. This is strange!--bring them up--    [_Exit Servant_.
Who can it be, at this odd time of neither Night nor Day?

    _Enter_ Leticia, Bellmour, _and_ Phillis.

_Let_. Madam, your Virtue, Charity and Friendship to me, has made me
trespass on you for my Life's security, and beg you will protect me, and
my Husband--    [_Points at_ Bellmour.

Sir _Cau_. So, here's another sad Catastrophe!

L. _Ful_. Hah--does _Bellmour_ live? is't possible?
Believe me, Sir, you ever had my Wishes;
And shall not fail of my Protection now.

_Bel_. I humbly thank your Ladyship.

_Gay_. I'm glad thou hast her, _Harry_; but doubt thou durst not own her;
nay dar'st not own thy self.

_Bel_. Yes, Friend, I have my Pardon--
But hark, I think we are pursu'd already--
But now I fear no force.

                       [_A noise of some body coming in_.

L. _Ful_. However, step into my Bed-chamber.

                 [_Exeunt_ Leticia, Gayman _and_ Phillis.

    _Enter Sir_ Feeble _in an Antick manner_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hell shall not hold thee--nor vast Mountains cover thee, but
I will find thee out--and lash thy filthy and Adulterous Carcase.
                           [_Coming up in a menacing manner to Sir _Cau.

Sir _Cau_. How--lash my filthy Carcase?--I defy thee, Satan--

Sir _Feeb_. 'Twas thus he said.

Sir _Cau_. Let who's will say it, he lies in's Throat.

Sir _Feeb_. How, the Ghostly--hush--have a care--for 'twas the Ghost of
_Bellmour_--Oh! hide that bleeding Wound, it chills my Soul!--
                                            [_Runs to the Lady_ Fulbank.

L. _Ful_. What bleeding Wound?--Heavens, are you frantick, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. No--but for want of rest, I shall e'er Morning.    [_Weeps_.
--She's gone--she's gone--she's gone--    [_He weeps_.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, she's gone, she's gone indeed.
                                          [_Sir_ Cau. _weeps_.

Sir _Feeb_. But let her go, so I may never see that dreadful Vision
--harkye, Sir--a word in your Ear--have a care of marrying a young Wife.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but I have married one already.    [_Weeping_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hast thou? Divorce her--flie her, quick--depart--be gone,
she'll cuckold thee--and still she'll cuckold thee.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, Brother, but whose fault was that?--Why, are not you
married?

Sir _Feeb_. Mum--no words on't, unless you'll have the Ghost about your
Ears; part with your Wife, I say, or else the Devil will part ye.

L. _Ful_. Pray go to Bed, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Yes, for I shall sleep now, I shall lie alone;    [_Weeps_.
Ah, Fool, old dull besotted Fool--to think she'd love me--'twas by base
means I gain'd her--cozen'd an honest Gentleman of Fame and Life--

L. _Ful_. You did so, Sir, but 'tis not past Redress--you may make that
honest Gentleman amends.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, wou'd I could, so I gave half my Estate--

L. _Ful_. That Penitence atones with him and Heaven.--Come forth,
_Leticia_, and your injur'd Ghost.

    _Enter_ Leticia, Bellmour, _and_ Phillis.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah, Ghost--another Sight would make me mad indeed.

_Bel_. Behold me, Sir, I have no Terror now.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah--who's that, _Francis!_--my Nephew _Francis_?

_Bel_. _Bellmour_, or _Francis_, chuse you which you like, and I am
either.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah, _Bellmour!_ and no Ghost?

_Bel. Bellmour_--and not your Nephew, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. But art alive? Ods bobs, I'm glad on't, Sirrah;--But are
you real, _Bellmour_?

_Bel_. As sure as I'm no Ghost.

_Gay_. We all can witness for him, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Where be the Minstrels, we'll have a Dance--adod, we will
--Ah--art thou there, thou cozening little Chits-face?--a Vengeance
on thee--thou madest mean old doting loving Coxcomb--but I forgive
thee--and give thee all thy Jewels, and you your Pardon, Sir, so you'll
give me mine; for I find you young Knaves will be too hard for us.

_Bel_. You are so generous, Sir, that 'tis almost with grief I receive
the Blessing of _Leticia_.

Sir _Feeb_. No, no, thou deservest her; she would have made an old fond
Blockhead of me, and one way or other you wou'd have had her--ods bobs,
you wou'd--

    _Enter_ Bearjest, Diana, Pert, Bredwel, _and_ Noisey.

_Bea_. Justice, Sir, Justice--I have been cheated--abused--assassinated
and ravisht!

Sir _Cau_. How, my Nephew ravisht!--

_Pert_. No, Sir, I am his Wife.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--my Heir marry a Chamber-maid!

_Bea_. Sir, you must know I stole away Mrs. _Dy_, and brought her to
_Ned's_ Chamber here--to marry her.

Sir _Feeb_. My Daughter _Dy_ stoln--

_Bea_. But I being to go to the Devil a little, Sir, whip--what does
he, but marries her himself, Sir; and fob'd me off here with my Lady's
cast Petticoat--

_Noi_. Sir, she's a Gentlewoman, and my Sister, Sir.

_Pert_. Madam, 'twas a pious Fraud, if it were one; for I was contracted
to him before--see, here it is--    [_Gives it 'em_.

_All_. A plain Case, a plain Case.

Sir _Feeb_. Harkye, Sir, have you had the Impudence to marry my
Daughter, Sir?
                  [_To_ Bredwel, _who with_ Diana _kneels_.

_Bred_. Yes, Sir, and humbly ask your Pardon, and your Blessing--

Sir _Feeb_. You will ha't, whether I will or not--rise, you are still
too hard for us: Come, Sir, forgive your Nephew--

Sir _Cau_. Well, Sir, I will--but all this while you little think the
Tribulation I am in, my Lady has forsworn my Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Indeed, Sir, the wiser she.

Sir _Cau_. For only performing my Promise to this Gentleman.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, you showed her the Difference, Sir; you're a wise man.
Come, dry your Eyes--and rest your self contented, we are a couple of
old Coxcombs; d'ye Hear, Sir, Coxcombs.

Sir _Cau_. I grant it, Sir; and if I die, Sir, I bequeath my Lady to
you--with my whole Estate--my Nephew has too much already for a Fool.
                                                        [_To_ Gayman.

_Gay_. I thank you, Sir--do you consent, my _Julia_?

L. _Ful_. No, Sir--you do not like me--a canvas Bag of wooden Ladles
were a better Bed-fellow.

_Gay_. Cruel Tormenter! Oh, I could kill myself with shame and anger!

L. _Ful_. Come hither, _Bredwel_--witness for my Honour--that I had no
design upon his Person, but that of trying his Constancy.

_Bred_. Believe me, Sir, 'tis true--I feigned a danger near--just as you
got to bed--and I was the kind Devil, Sir, that brought the Gold to you.

_Bea_. And you were one of the Devils that beat me, and the Captain
here, Sir?

_Gay_. No truly, Sir, those were some I hired--to beat you for abusing
me to day.

_Noi_. To make you 'mends, Sir, I bring you the certain News of the
death of Sir _Thomas Gayman_, your Uncle, who has left you Two thousand
pounds a year--

_Gay_. I thank you, Sir--I heard the news before.

Sir _Cau_. How's this; Mr. _Gayman_, my Lady's first Lover? I find, Sir
_Feeble_, we were a couple of old Fools indeed, to think at our Age to
cozen two lusty young Fellows of their Mistresses; 'tis no wonder that
both the Men and the Women have been too hard for us; we are not fit
Matches for either, that's the truth on't.

  _The Warrior needs must to his Rival yield,
  Who comes with blunted Weapons to the Field_.



EPILOGUE.

Written by a Person of Quality, Spoken by Mr. _Betterton_.

_Long have we turn'd the point of our just Rage
On the half Wits, and Criticks of the Age.
Oft has the soft, insipid Sonneteer
In_ Nice _and_ Flutter, _seen his Fop-face here.
Well was the ignorant lampooning Pack
Of shatterhead Rhymers whip'd on_ Craffey's _back;
But such a trouble Weed is Poetaster,
The lower 'tis cut down, it grows the faster.
Though Satir then had such a plenteous crop,
An After Math of Coxcombs is come up;
Who not content false Poetry to renew,
By sottish Censures wou'd condemn the true.
Let writing like a Gentleman--fine appear,
But must you needs judge too_ en Cavalier?
_These whiffling Criticks, 'tis our Auth'ress fears,
And humbly begs a Trial by her Peers:
Or let a Pole of Fools her fate pronounce,
There's no great harm in a good quiet Dunce.
But shield her, Heaven! from the left-handed blow
Of airy Blockheads who pretend to know.
On downright Dulness let her rather split,
Than be Fop-mangled under colour of Wit.

Hear me, ye Scribling Beaus,--
Why will you in sheer Rhyme, without one stroke   |
Of Poetry, Ladies just Disdain provoke,           |
And address Songs to whom you never spoke?        |
In doleful Hymns for dying Felons fit,
Why do you tax their Eyes, and blame their Wit?
Unjustly of the Innocent you complain,
'Tis Bulkers give, and Tubs must cure your pain.
Why in Lampoons will you your selves revile?
'Tis true, none else will think it worth their while:
But thus you're hid! oh, 'tis a politick Fetch;
So some have hang'd themselves to ease_ Jack Ketch.
_Justly your Friends and Mistresses you blame,     |
For being so they well deserve the shame,          |
'Tis the worst scandal to have borne that name.    |
                           [See the late Satir on Poetry]
At Poetry of late, and such whose Skill     |
Excels your own, you dart a feeble Quill;   |
Well may you rail at what you ape so ill.   |
With virtuous Women, and all Men of Worth,
You're in a state of mortal War by Birth.
Nature in all her Atom-Fights ne'er knew
Two things so opposite as Them and You.
On such your Muse her utmost fury spends,
They're slander'd worse than any but your Friends.
More years may teach you better; the mean while,
If you can't mend your Morals, mend your Style_.






THE FORC'D MARRIAGE; OR, THE JEALOUS BRIDEGROOM.



ARGUMENT.

The King of France to reward his favourite Alcippus, at the motion of
prince Philander, gladly assents to his being created general in place
of old Orgulius, who seeks to resign his office, and further on his
royal word pledges the new-made commander, Erminia, Orgulius' daughter,
in marriage. The lady, however, loves the dauphin, whilst the princess
Galatea is enamoured of Alcippus. All three are plunged into despair,
and the brother and sister knowing each other's passion bemoan their
hapless fate. The prince, indeed, threatens to kill Alcippus, upon which
Galatea declares she will poniard Erminia. On the wedding night the
bride confesses her love for Philander and refuses to admit Alcippus to
her love. The dauphin at the same time serenades Erminia at her chamber
door, but Pisaro, a friend to Alcippus, meeting him, there is a scuffle
during which Alcander, the prince's companion, wounds the intruder. The
noise rouses Erminia who issues from her room and encounters Philander.
Alcippus, seeing them together, mad with jealousy, attacks the prince.
He is, however, beaten back and even wounded, and later his fury is
inflamed by Pisaro's tale, who also informs the favourite that Galatea,
for whom the narrator cherishes a hopeless love, dotes fondly upon him.
Erminia, now that she has been joined in wedlock with Alcippus, guards
herself carefully from the dauphin's passion, but when the general is
obliged by his duties to leave for the camp Philander hopes to persuade
her to yield to him. Alcippus, however, whose departure is a feint,
returns secretly, leaving Pisaro to continue the journey alone. Isillia,
Erminia's woman, has already admitted Philander to her mistress'
chamber, when the lovers are surprised by the arrival of Alcippus on the
scene. The prince is concealed, although the meeting had been purely
innocent, but he is betrayed owing to the fact of his inadvertently
leaving his hat and sword upon a table. He departs unmolested, but once
he is gone Alcippus, beside himself with blind fury, strangles Erminia
with an embroidered garter--Pisaro, coming in a few moments after,
reproaches him with the murder but hurries him away to concealment. The
deed, however, is discovered and noised abroad by Falatius, a busy
coxcomb courtier. Orgulius demands Alcippus' life from the King, but
Galatea, heart-broken, pleads for the man she loves. Philander is
distraught with grief, and the King decides that if he harms himself
Alcippus shall straightway pay the forfeit. The prince is about to wreak
his vengeance on the cruel husband when he is met by Erminia herself,
who, owing to her maid's attentions, has recovered from the swoon
Alcippus took for death. It is resolved that Alcippus, who is now torn
with agony and remorse, must be fittingly punished, and accordingly as
he lies sick at heart in his chamber Erminia enters as a spirit, and so
looking over his shoulder into a mirror wherein he is gazing tells him
plainly of Galatea's love. The princess then passes by as it were a
phantom, and after a masque, which he takes for a dream, he is conducted
to a room draped in black wherein is placed a catafalque. Here he
encounters Philander and as they are at hot words the King, who has been
privy to the whole design, enters and the two are reconciled. Erminia
next appears, and the happy accident explained, Erminia is bestowed upon
the dauphin, whilst the princess is united to the favourite.

There is a slight underplot which deals with the amours of Aminta,
sister to Pisaro, and Alcander. She is also courted by the cowardly
fop, Falatius.



SOURCE.

_The Forc'd Marriage; or, The Jealous Bridegroom_ is the earliest, and
most certainly one of the weakest of Mrs. Behn's plays. This is,
however, far from saying that it is not a very good example of the
Davenant, Howard, Porter, Stapylton school of romantic tragi-comedy. But
Aphara had not yet hit upon her brilliant vein of intrigue. In _The
Forced Marriage_ she seems to have remembered _The Maid's Tragedy_. The
situation between Alcippus and Erminia, Act ii, III, has some vague
resemblance to that of Amintor and Evadne, Act ii, I. Aminta also
faintly recalls Dula, whilst the song 'Hang love, for I will never pine'
has a far-off echo of 'I could never have the power.' But Mrs. Behn has
not approached within measuring distance of that supreme masterpiece.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The stage history of _The Forc'd Marriage; or, The Jealous Bridegroom_
is best told in the quaint phrase of old Downes. Produced in December,
1670 at the Duke's Theatre, Lincoln's Inn Fields, _The Jealous
Bridegroom_, says the veteran prompter, 'wrote by Mrs. Behn, a good play
and lasted six days'. This, it must be remembered, was by no means a
poor run at that time. 'Note,' continues the record, 'In this play, Mr.
Otway the poet having an inclination to turn actor; Mrs. Behn gave him
the King in this play for a probation part, but he being not us'd to the
stage, the full house put him to such a sweat and tremendous agony,
being dash'd, spoilt him for an actor.'

To quote Mr. Gosse's excellent and classic essay on Otway:--'The choice
of the part showed the kindly tact of the shrewd Mrs. Behn. The king had
to speak the few first words, to which the audience never listens, to
make some brief replies in the first scene, and then not to speak again
until the end of the fourth act. In the fifth act he had to make rather
a long speech to Smith [Mr. Gosse by a slip writes 'Betterton'. The King
(v, III) is talking to Philander, acted by Smith. Betterton played the
favourite Alcippus.], explaining that he was "old and feeble, and could
not long survive," and this is nearly all he had to say till the very
end, where he was in great force as the kind old man who unites the
couples and speaks the last words. It was quite a crucial test, and
Otway proved his entire inability to face the public. He trembled, was
inaudible, melted in agony, and had to leave the stage. The part was
given to Westwood, a professional actor, and Otway never essayed to
tread the boards again.'

_The Forced Marriage_ seems never to have been revived since its
production. On the title page of the second quarto (1690), _The Forc'd
Marriage_ is said to have been played at the Queen's Theatre. This is
because the Duke's House temporarily changed its name thus. It does not
refer to a second run of the play.



THE FORC'D MARRIAGE;

or, the Jealous Bridegroom.



_Va mon enfant! prends ta fortune_.


PROLOGUE.

_Gallants, our Poets have of late so us'd ye,
In Play and Prologue too so much abus'd ye,
That should we beg your aids, I justly fear,
Ye're so incens'd you'd hardly lend it here.
But when against a common Foe we arm,
Each will assist to guard his own concern.
Women those charming Victors, in whose Eyes
Lie all their Arts, and their Artilleries,
Not being contented with the Wounds they made,
Would by new Stratagems our Lives invade.
Beauty alone goes now at too cheap rates;
And therefore they, like Wise and Politick States,
Court a new Power that may the old supply,
To keep as well as gain the Victory.
They'll join the force of Wit to Beauty now,
And so maintain the Right they have in you.
If the vain Sex this privilege should boast,
Past cure of a declining Face we're lost.
You'll never know the bliss of Change; this Art
Retrieves (when Beauty fades) the wandring Heart;
And though the Airy Spirits move no more,
Wit still invites, as Beauty did before.
To day one of their Party ventures out,
Not with design to conquer, but to scout.
Discourage but this first attempt, and then
They'll hardly dare to sally out again.
The Poetess too, they say, has Spies abroad,
Which have dispersed themselves in every road,
I'th' Upper Box, Pit, Galleries; every Face
You find disguis'd in a Black Velvet Case.
My life on't; is her Spy on purpose sent,
To hold you in a wanton Compliment;
That so you may not censure what she 'as writ,
Which done, they face you down 'twas full of Wit.
Thus, while some common Prize you hope to win,
You let the Tyrant Victor enter in.
I beg to day you'd lay that humour by,
Till your Rencounter at the Nursery;
Where they, like Centinels from duty free,
May meet and wanton with the Enemy_.

    Enter an Actress.

_How hast thou labour'd to subvert in vain,
What one poor Smile of ours calls home again?
Can any see that glorious Sight and say_

    [Woman pointing to the ladies.

_A Woman shall not Victor prove to day?
Who is't that to their Beauty would submit,
And yet refuse the Fetters of their Wit?
He tells you tales of Stratagems and Spies;
Can they need Art that have such powerful Eyes?
Believe me, Gallants, he'as abus'd you all;
There's not a Vizard in our whole Cabal:
Those are but Pickeroons that scour for prey
And catch up all they meet with in their way;
Who can no Captives take, for all they do
Is pillage ye, then gladly let you go.
Ours scorns the petty Spoils, and do prefer
The Glory not the Interest of the War:
But yet our Forces shall obliging prove,
Imposing nought but Constancy in Love:
That's all our Aim, and when we have, it too,
We'll sacrifice it all to pleasure you_.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


MEN.

King,                                                  Mr. _Westwood_.
_Philander_, his Son, betrothed to _Erminia_,          Mr. _Smith_.
_Alcippus_, Favourite, in love with _Erminia_,         Mr. _Betterton_.
_Orgulius_, late General, Father to _Erminia_,         Mr. _Norris_.
_Alcander_, Friend to the Prince, in love with
   _Aminta_,                                           Mr. _Young_.
_Pisaro_, Friend to the young General _Alcippus_,      Mr. _Cademan_.
_Falatius_, a fantastick Courtier,                     Mr. _Angel_.
_Labree_, his Man.
_Cleontius_, Servant to the Prince, and Brother        Mr. _Crosby_.
   to _Isillia_,
Page to _Pisaro_.

WOMEN.

_Galatea_, Daughter to the King,                       Mrs. _Jennings_.
_Erminia_, Daughter to _Orgulius_, espous'd to the     Mrs. _Betterton_.
   Prince,
_Aminta_, Sister to _Pisaro_, in love with _Alcander_, Mrs. _Wright_.
_Olinda_, Sister to _Alcander_, Maid of Honour to      Mrs. _Lee_.
   the Princess,
_Isillia_, Sister to _Cleontius_, Woman to _Erminia_,  Mrs. _Clough_.
_Lysette_, Woman to _Aminta_.
Clergy, Officers, Pages and Attendants.

_Scene within the Court of_ FRANCE.




ACT I.

SCENE I. _The Palace_.


    _Enter_ King, Philander, Orgulius, Alcippus, Alcander,
    Pisaro, Cleontius, Falatius; _and Officers_.

_King_. How shall I now divide my Gratitude,
Between a Son, and one that has oblig'd me,
Beyond the common duty of a Subject?

_Phil_. Believe me, Sir, he merits all your Bounty,
I only took example by his Actions;
And all the part o'th' Victory which I gain'd,
Was but deriv'd from him.

_King_. Brave Youth, whose Infant years did bring us Conquests;
And as thou grew'st to Man, thou grew'st in Glory,
And hast arriv'd to such a pitch of it,
As all the slothful Youth that shall succeed thee,
Shall meet reproaches of thy early Actions:
When Men shall say, thus did the brave _Alcippus_;
And that great Name shall every Soul inspire
With Emulation to arrive at something,
That's worthy of Example.

_Alcip_. I must confess I had the honour, Sir,
To lead on twenty thousand fighting Men,
Whom Fortune gave the Glory of the Day to.
I only bid them fight, and they obey'd me;
But 'twas my Prince that taught them how to do so.

_King_. I do believe _Philander_ wants no courage;
But what he did was to preserve his own.
But thine the pure effects of highest Valour;
For which, if ought below my Crown can recompense,
Name it, and take it, as the price of it.

_Alcip_. The Duty which we pay your Majesty,
Ought to be such, as what we pay the Gods;
Which always bears its Recompence about it.

_King_. Yet suffer me to make thee some return,
Though not for thee, yet to incourage Bravery.
I know thy Soul is generous enough,
To think a glorious Act rewards it self.
But those who understand not so much Virtue,
Will call it my neglect, and want of Gratitude;
In this thy Modesty will wrong thy King.
_Alcippus_, by this pause you seem to doubt
My Power or Will; in both you are to blame.

_Alcip_. Your pardon, Sir; I never had a thought
That could be guilty of so great a Sin.
That I was capable to do you service,
Was the most grateful Bounty Heaven allow'd me,
And I no juster way could own that Blessing,
Than to imploy the Gift for your repose.

_King_. I shall grow angry, and believe your Pride
Would put the guilt off on your Modesty,
Which would refuse what that believes below it.

_Phil_. Your Majesty thinks too severely of him;
Permit me, Sir, to recompense his Valour,
I saw the wonders on't, and thence may guess
In some Degree, what may be worthy of it.

_King_. I like it well, and till thou hast perform'd it,
I will divest my self of all my Power,
And give it thee, till thou hast made him great.

_Phil_. I humbly thank you, Sir--

    [_Bows to the_ King, _takes the Staff from_ Orgulius,
    _and gives it to_ Alcippus, _who looks amazedly_.

And here I do create him General.
You seem to wonder, as if I dispossess'd
The brave _Orgulius_; but be pleas'd to know,
Such Reverence and Respect I owe that Lord,
As had himself not made it his Petition,
I sooner should have parted with my Right,
Than have discharg'd my debt by injuring him.

_King_. _Orgulius_, are you willing to resign it?

_Org_. With your permission, Sir, most willingly;
His vigorous Youth is fitter for't than Age,
Which now has render'd me uncapable
Of what that can with more success perform.
My Heart and Wishes are the same they were,
But Time has quite depriv'd me of that power
That should assist a happy Conqueror.

_King_. Yet Time has added little to your years,
Since I restor'd you to this great Command,
And then you thought it not unfit for you.

_Org_. Sir, was it fit I should refuse your Grace?
That was your act of Mercy: and I took it
To clear my Innocence, and reform the Errors
Which those receiv'd who did believe me guilty,
Or that my Crimes were greater than that Mercy.
I took it, Sir, in scorn of those that hated me,
And now resign it to the Man you love.

_King_. We need not this proof to confirm thy Loyalty;
Nor am I yet so barren of Rewards,
But I can find a way, without depriving
Thy noble Head of its victorious Wreaths,
To crown another's Temples.

_Org_. I humbly beg your Majesty's consent to't,
If you believe _Alcippus_ worthy of it;
The generous Youth I have bred up to Battles,
Taught him to overcome, and use that Conquest
As modestly as his submissive Captive,
His Melancholy, (but his easy Fetters)
To meet Death's Horrors with undaunted looks:
How to despise the Hardships of a Siege;
To suffer Cold and Hunger, want of Sleep.
Nor knew he other rest than on his Horse-back,
Where he would sit and take a hearty Nap;
And then too dreamt of fighting.
I could continue on a day in telling
The Wonders of this Warrior.

_King_. I credit all, and do submit to you.
But yet _Alcippus_ seems displeas'd with it.

_Alcip_. Ah, Sir! too late I find my Confidence
Has overcome my unhappy Bashfulness;
I had an humbler Suit to approach you with;
But this unlook'd for Honour
Has soon confounded all my lesser aims,
As were they not essential to my Being,
I durst not name them after what y'have done.

_King_. It is not well to think my Kindness limited;
This, from the Prince you hold, the next from me;
Be what it will, I here declare it thine.
--Upon my life, designs upon a Lady;
I guess it from thy blushing.
--Name her, and here thy King engages for her.

_Phi_. O Gods!--What have I done?    [_Aside_.

_Alcip_. _Erminia_, Sir.--    [_Bows_.

_Phi_. I'm ruin'd.--    [_Aside_.

_King_. _Alcippus_, with her Father's leave, she's thine.

_Org_. Sir, 'tis my Aim and Honour.

_Phi. Alcippus_, is't a time to think of Weddings,
When the disorder'd Troops require your Presence?
You must to the Camp to morrow.

_Alcip_. You need not urge that Duty to me, Sir.

_King_. A Day or two will finish that affair,
And then we'll consummate the happy Day,
When all the Court shall celebrate your Joy.

        [_They all go out, but_ Alcan. Pisa, _and_ Fal.

_Pis. Falatio_, you are a swift Horseman;
I believe you have a Mistress at Court,
You made such haste this Morning.

_Fal_. By _Jove_, _Pisaro_, I was weary enough of the
Campaign; and till I had lost sight of it,
I clapt on all my Spurs--
But what ails _Alcander_?

_Pis_. What, displeas'd?

_Alcan_. It may be so, what then?

_Pis_. Then thou mayst be pleas'd again.

_Alcan_. Why the Devil should I rejoice?
Because I see another rais'd above me;
Let him be great, and damn'd with all his Greatness.

_Pis_. Thou mean'st _Alcippus_, who I think merits it.

_Alcan_. What is't that thou cal'st Merit?
He fought, it's true, so did you, and I,
And gain'd as much as he o'th' Victory,
But he in the Triumphal Chariot rode,
Whilst we ador'd him like a Demi-God.
He with the Prince an equal welcome found,
Was with like Garlands, though less Merit, crown'd.

_Fal_. He's in the right for that, by _Jove_.

_Pis_. Nay, now you wrong him.

_Alcan_. What's he I should not speak my sense of him?

_Pis_. He is our General.

_Alcan_. What then?
What is't that he can do, which I'll decline?
Has he more Youth, more Strength, or Arms than I?
Can he preserve himself i'th' heat of the Battle?
Or can he singly fight a whole Brigade?
Can he receive a thousand Wounds, and live?

_Fal_. Can you or he do so?

_Alcan_. I do not say I can; but tell me then,
Where be the Virtues of this mighty Man,
That he should brave it over all the rest?

_Pis_. Faith, he has many Virtues, and much Courage;
And merits it as well as you or I:
_Orgulius_ was grown old.

_Alcan_. What then?

_Pis_. Why then he was unfit for't,
But that he had a Daughter that was young.

_Alcan_. Yes, he might have lain by,
Like rusty Armour, else,
Had she not brought him into play again;
The Devil take her for't.

_Fal_. By _Jove_, he's dissatisfy'd with every thing.

_Alcan_. She has undone my Prince,
And he has most unluckily disarm'd himself,
And put the Sword into his Rival's hand,
Who will return it to his grateful Bosom.

_Phi_. Why, you believe _Alcippus_ honest--

_Alcan_. Yes, in your sense, _Pisaro_,
But do not like the last demand he made;
'Twas but an ill return upon his Prince,
To beg his Mistress, rather challeng'd her.

_Pis_. His ignorance that she was so, may excuse him.

_Alcan_. The Devil 'twill, dost think he knew it not?

_Pis. Orgulius_ still design'd him for _Erminia_;
And if the Prince be disoblig'd from this,
He only ought to take it ill from him.

_Alcan_. Too much, _Pisaro_, you excuse his Pride,
But 'tis the Office of a Friend to do so.

_Pis_. 'Tis true, I am not ignorant of this,
That he despises other Recompence
For all his Services, but fair _Erminia_,
I know 'tis long since he resign'd his Heart,
Without so much as telling her she conquer'd;
And yet she knew he lov'd; whilst she, ingrate,
Repay'd his Passion only with her Scorn.

_Alcan_. In loving him, she'd more ingrateful prove
To her first Vows, to Reason, and to Love.

_Pis_. For that, _Alcander_, you know more than I.

_Fal_. Why sure _Aminta_ will instruct her better,
She's as inconstant as the Seas and Winds,
Which ne'er are calm but to betray Adventurers.

_Alcan_. How came you by that knowledg, Sir?

_Fal_. What a Pox makes him ask me that question now?    [_Aside_.

_Pis_. Prithee, _Alcander_, now we talk of her,
How go the Amours 'twixt you and my wild Sister?
Can you speak yet, or do you tell your tale
With Eyes and Sighs, as you were wont to do?

_Alcan_. Faith, much at that old rate, _Pisaro_,
I yet have no incouragement from her
To make my Court in any other language.

_Pis_. You'll bring her to't, she must be overcome,
And you're the fittest for her fickle Humour.

_Alcan_. Pox on't, this Change will spoil our making Love,
We must be sad, and follow the Court-Mode:
My life on't, you'll see desperate doings here;
The Eagle will not part so with his Prey;
_Erminia_ was not gain'd so easily,
To be resign'd so tamely.--But come, my Lord,
This will not satisfy our appetites,
Let's in to Dinner, and when warm with Wine,
We shall be fitter for a new Design.

                         [_They go out_. Fal. _stays_.

_Fal_. Now am I in a very fine condition,
A comfortable one, as I take it:
I have ventur'd my Life to some purpose now;
What confounded luck was this, that he of all men
Living, should happen to be my Rival?
Well, I'll go visit _Aminta_, and see how
She receives me.--
Why, where a duce hast thou dispos'd of      _Enter_ Labree.
Thy self all this day? I will be bound to be
Hang'd if thou hast not a hankering after
Some young Wench; thou couldst never loiter
Thus else; but I'll forgive thee now, and prithee go to
My Lady _Aminta's_ Lodgings; kiss her hand
From me; and tell her, I am just returned from
The Campain: mark that word, Sirrah.

_Lab_. I shall, Sir, 'tis truth.

_Fal_. Well, that's all one; but if she should
Demand any thing concerning me, (for
Love's inquisitive) dost hear? as to my Valour, or so,
Thou understand'st me; tell her
I acted as a man that pretends to the glory of
Serving her.

_Lab_. I warrant you, Sir, for a Speech.

_Fal_. Nay, thou mayst speak as well too much
As too little; have a care of that, dost hear?
And if she ask what Wounds I have, dost mind me?
Tell her I have many, very many.

_Lab_. But whereabouts, Sir?

_Fal_. Let me see--let me see; I know not where
To place them--I think in my Face.

_Lab_. By no means, Sir, you had much better
Have them in your Posteriors: for then the Ladies
Can never disprove you; they'll not look there.

_Fal_. The sooner, you Fool, for the Rarity on't.

_Lab_. Sir, the Novelty is not so great, I assure you.

_Fal_. Go to, y'are wicked;
But I will have them in my Face.

_Lab_. With all my heart, Sir, but how?

_Fal_. I'll wear a patch or two there, and I'll
Warrant you for pretending as much as any man;
And who, you Fool, shall know the fallacy?

_Lab_. That, Sir, will all that know you, both in the
Court and Camp.

_Fal_. Mark me, _Labree_, once for all; if thou takest
Delight continually thus to put me in mind of
My want of Courage, I shall undoubtedly
Fall foul on thee, and give thee most fatal proofs
Of more than thou expectest.

_Lab_. Nay, Sir, I have done, and do believe 'tis only
I dare say you are a man of Prowess.

_Fal_. Leave thy simple fancies, and go about thy business.

_Lab_. I am gone; but hark, my Lord,
If I should say your Face were wounded,
The Ladies would fear you had lost your Beauty.

_Fal_. O, never trouble your head for that, _Aminta_
Is a Wit, and your Wits care not how ill-favour'd
Their Men be, the more ugly the better.

_Lab_. An't be so, you'll fit them to a hair.

_Fal_. Thou art a Coxcomb, to think a man of my
Quality needs the advantage of Handsomness:
A trifle as insignificant as Wit or Valour; poor
Nothings, which Men of Fortune ought to despise.

_Lab_. Why do you then keep such a stir, to gain
The reputation of this thing you so despise?

_Fal_. To please the peevish humour of a Woman,
Who in that point only is a Fool.

_Lab_. You had a Mistress once, if you have not
Forgotten her, who would have taken you with
All these faults.

_Fal_. There was so; but she was poor, that's the Devil,
I could have lov'd her else.
--But go thy ways; what dost thou muse on?

_Lab_. Faith, Sir, I am only fearful you will never
Pass with those Patches you speak of.

_Fal_. Thou never-to-be-reclaim'd Ass, shall I never
Bring thee to apprehend as thou ought'st? I tell thee,
I will pass and repass, where and how I please;
Know'st thou not the difference yet, between a Man
Of Money and Titles, and a Man of only Parts,
As they call them? poor Devils of no Mein nor Garb:
Well, 'tis a fine and frugal thing, this Honour,
It covers a multitude of Faults:
Even Ridicule in one of us is a-la-mode.
But I detain thee; go haste to _Aminta_.

                              [_Exeunt severally_.



SCENE II. Galatea's _Apartments_.


        _Enter_ Galatea, Aminta, _and_ Olinda.

_Gal_. Will _Erminia_ come?

_Oli_. Madam, I thought she'd been already here.

_Gal_. But prithee how does she support this news?

_Oli_. Madam, as those unreconciled to Heaven
Would bear the pangs of death.

_Am_. Time will convince her of that foolish error,
Of thinking a brisk young Husband a torment.

_Gal_. What young Husband?

_Am_. The General, Madam.

_Gal_. Why, dost thou think she will consent to it?

_Am_. Madam, I cannot tell, the World's inconstant.

_Gal_. Ay, _Aminta_, in every thing but Love;
And sure they cannot be in that:
What say'st thou, _Olinda_?

_Oli_. Madam, my Judgment's naught.
Love I have treated as a stranger Guest,
Receiv'd him well, not lodg'd him in my Breast.
I ne'er durst give the unknown Tyrant room;
Lest he should make his resting place his home.

_Gal_. Then thou art happy; but if _Erminia_ fail,
I shall not live to reproach her.

_Am_. Nay, Madam, do not think of dying yet:
There is a way, if we could think of it.

_Gal. Aminta_, when will thou this Humour lose?

_Am_. Faith, never, if I might my Humour chuse.

_Gal_. Methinks thou now should'st blush to bid me live.

_Am_. Madam, 'tis the best counsel I can give.

_Gal_. Thy Counsel! Prithee, what dost counsel now?

_Am_. What I would take my self I counsel you.

_Gal_. You must my Wounds and my Misfortunes bear
Before you can become my Counsellor.
You cannot guess the Torments I endure:
Not knowing the Disease you'll miss the Cure.

_Am_. Physicians, Madam, can the Patient heal
Although the Malady they ne'er did feel;
But your Disease is epidemical,
Nor can I that evade that conquers all.
I lov'd, and never did like pleasure know,
Which Passion did with time less vigorous grow.

_Gal_. Why, hast thou lost it?

_Am_.                          It, and half a score.

_Gal_. Losing the first, sure thou couldst love no more.

_Am_. With more facility, than when the Dart
Arm'd with resistless fire first seiz'd my Heart;
'Twas long then e'er the Boy could entrance get,
And make his little Victory compleat;
And now he'as got the knack on't, 'tis with ease
He domineers, and enters when he please.

_Gal_. My Heart, _Aminta_, is not like to thine.

_Am_. Faith, Madam, try, you'll find it just like mine.
The first I lov'd was _Philocles_, and then
Made Protestations ne'er to love again,
Yet after left him for a faithless crime;
But then I languisht even to death for him;
--But Love who suffer'd me to take no rest,
New fire-balls threw, the old scarce dispossest;
And by the greater flame the lesser light,
Like Candles in the Sun extinguished quite,
And left no power _Alcander_ to resist,
Who took, and keeps possession of my breast.

_Gal_. Art thou a Lover then, and look'st so gay,
But thou hast ne'er a Father to obey.    [_Sighing_.

_Am_. Why, if I had I would obey him too.

_Gal_. And live?

_Am_.            And live.

_Gal_.                     'Tis more than I can do.

    _Enter_ Erminia _weeping_.

--Thy Eyes, _Erminia_, do declare thy Heart
          [Gal. _meets her, embraces her, and weeps_.
Has nothing but Despairs and Death t'impart,
And I alas, no Comfort can apply,
But I as well as you can weep and die.

_Er_. I'll not reproach my Fortune, since in you
Grief does the noblest of your Sex subdue;
When your great Soul a sorrow can admit,
I ought to suffer from the sense of it;
Your cause of grief too much like mine appears,
Not to oblige my Eyes to double tears;
And had my heart no sentiments at home,
My part in yours had doubtless fill'd the room.
But mine will no addition more receive,
Fate has bestow'd the worst she had to give;
Your mighty Soul can all its rage oppose,
Whilst mine must perish by more feeble blows.

_Gal_. Indeed I dare not say my cause of grief
Does yours exceed, since both are past relief.
But if your Fates unequal do appear,
_Erminia_, 'tis my heart that odds must bear.

_Er_. Madam, 'tis just I should to you resign,
But here you challenge what is only mine:
My Fate so cruel is, it will not give
Leave to _Philander_ (if I die) to live:
Might I but suffer all, 'twere some content,
But who can live and see this languishment?
You, Madam, do alone your Sorrows bear,
Which would be less, did but _Alcippus_ share;
As Lovers we agree, I'll not deny,
But thou art lov'd again, so am not I.

_Am_. Madam, that grief the better is sustain'd,
That's for a loss that never yet was gain'd;
You only lose a man that does not know
How great the honour is which you bestow;
Who dares not hope you love, or if he did,
Your Greatness would his just return forbid;
His humble thoughts durst ne'er to you aspire,
At most he would presume but to admire;
Or if it chanc'd he durst more daring prove,
You still must languish and conceal your Love.

_Gal_. This which you argue lessens not my Pain,
My Grief's the same were I belov'd again.
The King my Father would his promise keep,
And thou must him enjoy for whom I weep.

_Er_. Ah, would I could that fatal gift deny;
Without him you; and with him, I must die;
My Soul your royal Brother does adore,
And I, all Passion, but from him, abhor;
But if I must th'unsuit _Alcippus_ wed,
I vow he ne'er shall come into my Bed.

_Gal_. That's bravely sworn, and now I love thee more
Than e'er I was oblig'd to do before,
--But yet, _Erminia_, guard thee from his Eyes,
Where so much love, and so much Beauty lies;
Those charms may conquer thee, which made me bow,
And make thee love as well as break this Vow.

_Er_. Madam, it is unkind, though but to fear
Ought but _Philander_ can inhabit here.
                       [_Lays her hand on her heart_.

_Gal_. Ah, that _Alcippus_ did not you approve,
We then might hope these mischiefs to remove;
The King my Father might be won by Prayer,
And my too powerful Brother's sad despair,
To break his word, which kept will us undo:
And he will lose his dear _Philander_ too,
Who dies and can no remedies receive:
But vows that 'tis for you alone he'll live.

_Er_. Ah, Madam, do not tell me how he dies,
I've seen too much already in his Eyes:
They did the sorrows of his Soul betray,
Which need not be confest another way:
'Twas there I found what my misfortune was,
Too sadly written in his lovely face.
But see, my Father comes: Madam, withdraw a while,
And once again I'll try my interest with him.

                                        [_Exeunt_.



SCENE III. _A room in the house of_ Orgulius.


    _Enter_ Orgulius, Erminia _weeping, and_ Isillia.

_Er_. Sir, does your fatal resolution hold?

_Org_. Away, away, you are a foolish Girl,
And look with too much pride upon your Beauty;
Which like a gaudy flower that springs too soon,
Withers e'er fully blown.
Your very Tears already have betray'd
Its weak inconstant nature;
_Alcippus_, should he look upon thee now,
would swear thou wert not that fine thing he lov'd.

_Er_. Why should that blessing turn to my despair?
Curse on his Faith that told him I was fair.

_Org_. 'Tis strange to me you shou'd despise this Fortune,
I always thought you well inclin'd to love him,
I would not else have thus dispos'd of you.

_Er_. I humbly thank you, Sir, though't be too late,
And wish you yet would try to change my Fate;
What to _Alcippus_ you did Love believe,
Was such a Friendship as might well deceive;
'Twas what kind Sisters do to Brothers pay;
_Alcippus_ I can love no other way.
--Sir, lay the Interest of a Father by,
And give me leave this Lover to deny.

_Org. Erminia_, thou art young, and canst not see
The advantage of the Fortune offer'd thee.

_Er_. Alas, Sir, there is something yet behind.    [_Sighs_.

_Org_. What is't, _Erminia_? freely speak thy mind.

_Er_. Ah, Sir, I dare not, you inrag'd will grow.

_Org. Erminia_, you have seldom found me so;
If no mean Passion have thy Soul possest,
Be what it will I can forgive the rest.

_Er_. No, Sir, it is no crime, or if it be,
Let Prince _Philander_ make the Peace for me;
He 'twas that taught the Sin (if Love be such.)

_Org. Erminia_, peace, he taught you then too much.

_Er_. Nay, Sir, you promis'd me you wou'd not blame
My early Love, if 'twere a noble Flame.

_Org_. Than this a more unhappy could not be;
Destroy it, or expect to hear of me.
                           [_Offers to go out_.

_Er_. Alas, I know 'twould anger you, when known.
                                        [_She stays him_.

_Org. Erminia_, you are wondrous daring grown.
Where got you courage to admit his Love,
Before the King or I did it approve?

_Er_. I borrow'd Courage from my Innocence,
And my own Virtue, Sir, was my defence.
_Philander_ never spoke but from a Soul,
That all dishonest Passions can controul;
With Flames as chaste as Vestals that did burn,
From whence I borrow'd mine, to make return.

_Org_. Your Love from Folly, not from Virtue grew;
You never could believe he'd marry you.

_Er_. Upon my life no other thing he spoke,
But those from dictates of his Honour took.

_Org_. Though by his fondness led he were content
To marry thee, the King would ne'er consent.
Cease then this fruitless Passion, and incline
Your Will and Reason to agree with mine,
_Alcippus_ I dispos'd you to before,
And now I am inclin'd to it much more.
Some days I had design'd t'have given thee
To have prepar'd for this solemnity;
But now my second thoughts believe it fit,
You should this night to my desires submit.

_Er_. This night! Ah, Sir, what is't you mean to do?

_Org_. Preserve my Credit, and thy Honour too.

_Er_. By such resolves you me to ruin bring.

_Org_. That's better than to disoblige my King.

_Er_. But if the King his liking do afford,
Would you not with _Alcippus_ break your word?
Or would you not to serve your Prince's life,
Permit your Daughter to become his Wife?

_Org_. His Wife, _Erminia_! if I did believe
Thou could'st to such a thought a credit give,
I would the interest of a Father quit,
And you, _Erminia_, have no need of it:
Without his aid you can a Husband chuse;
Gaining the Prince you may a Father lose.

_Er_. Ah, Sir, these words are Poniards to my Heart;
And half my Love to Duty does convert;
Alas, Sir, I can be content to die,
But cannot suffer this Severity:    [_Kneels_.
That care you had, dear Sir, continue still,
I cannot live and disobey your will.    [_Rises_.

_Org_. This duty has regain'd me, and you'll find
A just return; I shall be always kind.
--Go, reassume your Beauty, dry your Eyes;
Remember 'tis a Father does advise.    [_Goes out_.

_Er_. Ungrateful Duty, whose uncivil Pride
By Reason is not to be satisfy'd;
Who even Love's Almighty Power o'erthrows,
Or does on it too rigorous Laws impose;
Who bindest up our Virtue too too strait,
And on our Honour lays too great a weight.
Coward, whom nothing but thy power makes strong;
Whom Age and Malice bred t'affright the young;
Here thou dost tyrannize to that degree,
That nothing but my Death will set me free.

                           [_Ex_. Erm. _and_ Isil.



SCENE IV. Philander's _Apartments_.


    _Enter_ Philander _and_ Alcander.

_Phil_. Urge it no more, your Reasons do displease me;
I offer'd her a Crown with her _Philander_,
And she was once pleas'd to accept of it.
She lov'd me too, yes, and repaid my flame,
As kindly as I sacrific'd to her:
The first salute we gave were harmless Love,
Our Souls then met, and so grew up together,
Like sympathizing Twins.
And must she now be ravish'd from my Arms?
Will you, _Erminia_, suffer such a Rape?
What though the King have said it shall be so,
'Tis not his pleasure can become thy Law,
No, nor it shall not.
And though he were my God as well as King,
I would instruct thee how to disobey him;
Thou shalt, _Erminia_, bravely say, I will not;
He cannot force thee to't against thy will.
--Oh Gods, shall duty to a King and Father
Make thee commit a Murder on thy self,
Thy sacred self, and me that do adore thee?
No, my _Erminia_, quit this vain devoir,
And follow Love that may preserve us all:
--Presumptuous Villain, bold Ingratitude--
Hadst thou no other way to pay my favours?
By Heaven, 'twas bravely bold, was it not, _Alcander_?

_Alcan_. It was somewhat strange, Sir;
But yet perhaps he knew not that you lov'd her.

_Phil_. Not know it! yes, as well as thou and I.
The world was full on't, and could he be ignorant?
Why was her Father call'd from banishment,
And plac'd about the King, but for her sake?
What made him General, but my Passion for her?
What gave him twenty thousand Crowns a year,
But that which made me captive to _Erminia_,
Almighty Love, of which thou say'st he is ignorant?
How has he order'd his audacious flame,
That I cou'd ne'er perceive it all this while.

_Alcan_. Then 'twas a flame conceal'd from you alone,
To the whole Court, besides, 'twas visible.
He knew you would not suffer it to burn out;
And therefore waited till his services
Might give encouragement to's close design.
If that could do't he nobly has endeavour'd it,
But yet I think you need not yield her, Sir.

_Phi_. _Alcippus_, I confess, is brave enough,
And by such ways I'll make him quit his claim;
He shall to morrow to the Camp again,
And then I'll own my Passion to the King;
He loves me well, and I may hope his pity.

  _Till then be calm, my Heart, for if that fail_,
                                [_Points to his Sword_.
  _This is the argument that will prevail_.

                                             [_Exeunt_.




ACT II.


THE REPRESENTATION OF THE WEDDING.

_The Curtain must be let down, and soft Musick must play: The Curtain
being drawn up, discovers a scene of a Temple: The_ King _sitting on a
Throne, bowing down to join the hands_ Alcippus _and_ Erminia, _who
kneel on the steps of the Throne; the Officers of the Court and Clergy
standing in order by, with_ Orgulius. _This within the Scene.

Without on the Stage_, Philander _with his Sword half drawn, held by_
Galatea, _who looks ever on_ Alcippus: Erminia _still fixing her Eyes
on_ Philander; Pisaro _passionately gazing on_ Galatea: Aminta _on_
Fallatio, _and he on her_: Alcander, Isillia, Cleontius, _in other
several postures, with the rest, all remaining without motion, whilst
the Musick softly plays; this continues a while till the Curtain falls;
and then the Musick plays aloud till the Act begins_.



SCENE I. _The Palace_.


    _Enter_ Philander _and_ Galatea _inrag'd_.

_Phi_. 'Tis done, 'tis done, the fatal knot is ty'd,
_Erminia_ to _Alcippus_ is a Bride;
Methinks I see the Motions of her Eyes,
And how her Virgin Breasts do fall and rise:
Her bashful Blush, her timorous Desire,
Adding new Flame to his too vigorous Fire;
Whilst he the charming Beauty must embrace,
And shall I live to suffer this Disgrace?
Shall I stand tamely by, and he receive
That Heaven of bliss, defenceless she can give?
No, Sister, no, renounce that Brother's name,
Suffers his Patience to surmount his Flame;
I'll reach the Victor's heart, and make him see,
That Prize he has obtain'd belongs to me.

_Gal_. Ah, dear _Philander_, do not threaten so,
Whilst him you wound, you kill a Sister too.

_Phi_. Though all the Gods were rallied on his side,
They should too feeble prove to guard his Pride.
Justice and Honour on my Sword shall sit,
And my Revenge shall guide the lucky hit.

_Gal_. Consider but the danger and the crime,
And, Sir, remember that his life is mine.

_Phi_. Peace, Sister, do not urge it as a sin,
Of which the Gods themselves have guilty been:
The Gods, my Sister, do approve Revenge
By Thunder, which th'Almighty Ports unhinge,
Such is their Lightning when poor Mortals fear,
And Princes are the Gods inhabit here;
Revenge has charms that do as powerful prove
As those of Beauty, and as sweet as Love,
The force of Vengeance will not be withstood,
Till it has bath'd and cool'd it self in Blood.
_Erminia_, sweet _Erminia_, thou art lost,
And he yet lives that does the conquest boast.

_Gal_. Brother, that Captive you can ne'er retrieve
More by the Victor's death, than if he live,
For she in Honour cannot him prefer,
Who shall become her Husband's Murderer;
By safer ways you may that blessing gain,
When venturing thus through Blood and Death prove vain.

_Phi_. With hopes already that are vain as Air,
You've kept me from Revenge, but not Despair.
I had my self acquitted, as became
_Erminia's_ wrong'd Adorer, and my Flame;
My Rival I had kill'd, and set her free,
Had not my Justice been disarm'd by thee.
--But for thy faithless Hope, I 'ad murder'd him,
Even when the holy Priest was marrying them,
And offer'd up the reeking Sacrifice
To th'Gods he kneel'd to, when he took my price;
By all their Purity I would have don't.
But now I think I merit the Affront:
He that his Vengeance idly does defer,
His Safety more than his Success must fear:
I, like that Coward, did prolong my Fate,
But brave Revenge can never come too late.

_Gal_. Brother, if you can so inhuman prove
To me your Sister, Reason, and to Love:
I'll let you see that I have sentiments too,
Can love and be reveng'd as well as you;
That hour that shall a death to him impart,
Shall send this Dagger to _Erminia's_ heart.
                                    [_Shews a Dagger_.

_Phi_. Ah, Coward, how these words have made thee pale,
And Fear above thy Courage does prevail:
Ye Gods, why did you such a way invent?

_Gal_. None else was left thy madness to prevent.

_Phi_. Ah, cruel Sister, I am tame become,
And will reverse my happy Rival's doom:
Yes, he shall live to triumph o'er my Tomb.
--But yet what thou hast said, I needs must blame,
For if my resolutions prove the same,
I now should kill thee, and my life renew;
But were it brave or just to murder you?
At worst, I should an unkind Sister kill,
Thou wouldst the sacred blood of Friendship spill.
I kill a Man that has undone my Fame,
Ravish'd my Mistress, and contemn'd my Name,
And, Sister, one who does not thee prefer:
But thou no reason hast to injure her.
Such charms of Innocence her Eyes do dress,
As would confound the cruel'st Murderess:
And thou art soft, and canst no Horror see,
Such Actions, Sister, you must leave to me.

_Gal_. The highest Love no Reason will admit,
And Passion is above my Friendship yet.

_Phi_. Then since I cannot hope to alter thee,
Let me but beg that thou wouldst set me free;
Free this poor Soul that such a coil does keep;
'Twill neither let me wake in Peace, nor sleep.
Comfort I find a stranger to my heart,
Nor canst thou ought of that but thus impart;
Thou shouldst with joy a death to him procure,
Who by it leaves _Alcippus'_ life secure.

_Gal_. Dear Brother, you out-run your Patience still,
We'll neither die our selves, nor others kill;
Something I'll do that shall thy joys restore,
And bring thee back that health thou had'st before;
--We're now expected at the Banquet, where
I'd have thy Eyes more Love than Anger wear:
This night be cheerful, and on me depend,
On me, that am thy Sister, and thy Friend:
A little raise _Alcippus'_ Jealousy
And let the rest be carried on by me;
Nor would it be amiss should you provide
A Serenade to entertain the Bride:
'Twill give him Fears that may perhaps disprove
The fond opinion of his happy Love.

_Phi_. Though Hope be faithless, yet I cannot chuse,
Coming from thee, but credit the abuse.

_Gal. Philander_, do not your Hope's power distrust,
'Tis time enough to die, when that's unjust.

                                       [_Exeunt_.



SCENE II. _The Court Gallery_.


    _Enter_ Aminta _as passing over the Stage, is stayed by_ Olinda.

_Oli_. Why so hasty, _Aminta_?

_Am_. The time requires it, _Olinda_.

_Oli_. But I have an humble suit to you.

_Am_. You shall command me any thing.

_Oli_. Pray Heaven you keep your word.

_Am_. That sad tone of thine, _Olinda_, has almost
Made me repent of my promise; but come, what is't?

_Oli_. My Brother, Madam.

_Am_. Now fie upon thee, is that all thy business?
                                      [_Offers to go off_.

_Oli_. Stay, Madam, he dies for you.

_Am_. He cannot do't for any Woman living;
But well--it seems he speaks of Love to you;
To me he does appear a very Statue.

_Oli_. He nought but sighs and calls upon your name,
And vows you are the cruell'st Maid that breathes.

_Am_. Thou can'st not be in earnest sure.

_Oli_. I'll swear I am, and so is he.

_Am_. Nay, thou hast a hard task on't, to make
Vows to all the Women he makes love to;
Indeed I pity thee; ha, ha, ha.

_Oli_. You should not laugh at those you have undone.

Aminta _sings_.

    _Hang Love, for I will never pine
    For any Man alive;
    Nor shall this jolly Heart of mine
    The thoughts of it receive;
    I will not purchase Slavery
    At such a dangerous rate;
    But glory in my Liberty,
    And laugh at Love and Fate_.

_Oli_. You'll kill him by this cruelty.

_Am_. What is't thou call'st so?
For I have hitherto given no denials,
Nor has he given me cause;
I have seen him wildly gaze upon me often,
And sometimes blush and smile, but seldom that;
And now and then found fault with my replies,
And wonder'd where the Devil lay that wit,
Which he believ'd no Judge of it could find.

_Oli_. Faith, Madam, that's his way of making love.

_Am_. It will not take with me, I love a Man
Can kneel, and swear, and cry, and look submiss,
As if he meant indeed to die my Slave:
Thy Brother looks--but too much like a Conqueror.    [_Sighs_.

_Oli_. How, _Aminta_, can you sigh in earnest?

_Am_. Yes, _Olinda_, and you shall know its meaning;
I love _Alcander_, and am not asham'd o'th' secret,
But prithee do not tell him what I say.
--Oh, he's a man made up of those Perfections,
Which I have often lik'd in several men;
And wish'd united to compleat some one,
Whom I might have the glory to o'ercome.
--His Mein and Person, but 'bove all his Humour,
That surly Pride, though even to me addrest,
Does strangely well become him.

_Oli_. May I believe this?

_Am_. Not if you mean to speak on't,
But I shall soon enough betray my self.

    _Enter_ Falatius _with a patch or two on his Face_.

_Falatius_, welcome from the Wars;
I'm glad to see y'ave scap'd the dangers of them.

_Fal_. Not so well scap'd neither, Madam, but I
Have left still a few testimonies of their
Severity to me.    [_Points to his face_.

_Oli_. That's not so well, believe me.

_Fal_. Nor so ill, since they be such as render us
No less acceptable to your fair Eyes, Madam!
But had you seen me when I gain'd them, Ladies,
In that heroick posture.

_Am_. What posture?

_Fal_. In that of fighting, Madam;
You would have call'd to mind that antient story
Of the stout Giants that wag'd War with Heaven;
Just so I fought, and for as glorious prize,
Your excellent Ladiship.

_Am_. For me, was it for me you ran this hazard then?

_Fal_. Madam, I hope you do not question that,
Was it not all the faults you found with me,
The reputation of my want of Courage,
A thousand Furies are not like a Battle;
And but for you,
By _Jove_, I would not fight it o'er again
For all the glory on't; and now do you doubt me?
Madam, your heart is strangely fortified
That can resist th'efforts I have made against it,
And bring to boot such marks of valour too.

    _Enter to them_ Alcander, _who seeing them would
    turn back, but_ Olinda _stays him_.

_Oli_. Brother, come back.

_Fal_. Advance, advance, what, Man, afraid of me?

_Alcan_. How can she hold discourse with that Fantastick.    [_Aside_.

_Fal_. Come forward, and be complaisant.    [_Pulls him again_.

_Alcan_. That's most proper for your Wit, _Falatius_.

_Am_. Why so angry?

_Alcan_. Away, thou art deceiv'd.

_Am_. You've lost your sleep, which puts you out of humour.

_Alcan_. He's damn'd will lose a moment on't for you.

_Am_. Who is't that has displeas'd you?

_Alcan_. You have, and took my whole repose away,
And more than that, which you ne'er can restore;
I can do nothing as I did before.
When I would sleep, I cannot do't for you,
My Eyes and Fancy do that form pursue;
And when I sleep, you revel in my Dreams,
And all my Life is nothing but extremes.
When I would tell my love, I seem most rude,
For that informs me how I am subdu'd.
Gods, you're unjust to tyrannize o'er me,
When thousands fitter for't than I go free.
                                        [_Ex_.

_Fal_. Why, what the Devil has possest _Alcander_?

_Oli_. How like you this, _Aminta_?

_Am_. Better and better, he's a wondrous man.

                               [_Exeunt_ Am. _and_ Oli.

_Fal_. 'Tis the most unjanty humour that ever I saw;
Ay, ay, he is my Rival,
No marvel an he look'd so big upon me;
He is damnable valiant, and as jealous as
He is valiant; how shall I behave my
Self to him, and these too idle humours of his
I cannot yet determine; the comfort is,
He knows I am a Coward whatever face I set upon it.
Well, I must either resolve never to provoke
His Jealousy, or be able to rencounter his
Other fury, his Valour; that were a good
Resolve if I be not past all hope.

                                [_Ex_.



SCENE III.


    _Enter_ Alcippus _and_ Erminia, _as in a Bed-Chamber_.

_Alcip_. But still methinks, _Erminia_, you are sad,
A heaviness appears in those fair Eyes,
As if your Soul were agitating something
Contrary to the pleasure of this night.

_Er_. You ought in Justice, Sir, t'excuse me here,
Prisoners when first committed are less gay,
Than when they're us'd to Fetters every day,
But yet in time they will more easy grow.

_Alcip_. You strangely bless me in but saying so.

_Er. Alcippus_, I've an humble suit to you.

_Alcip_. All that I have is so intirely thine,
And such a Captive thou hast made my Will,
Thou needst not be at the expence of wishing
For what thou canst desire that I may grant;
Why are thy Eyes declin'd?

_Er_. To satisfy a little modest scruple;
I beg you would permit me, Sir--

_Alcip_. To lie alone to night, is it not so, _Erminia_?

_Er_. It is--

_Alcip_. That's too severe, yet I will grant it thee?
But why, _Erminia_, must I grant it thee?

_Er_. The Princess, Sir, questions my Power, and says,
I cannot gain so much upon your Goodness.

_Alcip_. I could have wish'd some other had oblig'd thee
to't.

_Er_. You would not blame her if you knew her reason.

_Alcip_. Indeed I do not much, for I can guess
She takes the party of the Prince her Brother;
And this is only to delay those Joys,
Which she perhaps believes belong to him.
--But that, _Erminia_, you can best resolve;
And 'tis not kindly done to hide a truth,
The Prince so clearly own'd.

_Er_. What did he own?

_Alcip_. He said, _Erminia_, that you were his Wife;
If so, no wonder you refuse my Bed:    [_She weeps_.
The Presence of the King hinder'd my knowledge,
Of what I willingly would learn from you;
--Come, ne'er deny a truth that plain appears;
I see Hypocrisy through all your Tears.

_Er_. You need not ask me to repeat again,
A Knowledge which, you say, appears so plain:
The Prince his word methinks should credit get,
Which I'll confirm whene'er you call for it:
My heart before you ask't it, was his prize,
And cannot twice become a Sacrifice.

_Alcip. Erminia_, is this brave or just in you,
To pay his score of Love with what's my due?
What's your design to treat me in this sort?
Are sacred Vows of Marriage made your sport?
Regard me well, _Erminia_, what am I?

_Er_. One, Sir, with whom, I'm bound to live and die,
And one to whom, by rigorous command,
I gave (without my Heart) my unwilling Hand.

_Alcip_. But why, _Erminia_, did you give it so?

_Er_. T'obey a King and cruel Father too.
A Friendship, Sir, I can on you bestow,
But that will hardly into Passion grow;
And 'twill an Act below your Virtue prove,
To force a Heart you know can never love.

_Alcip_. Am I the mask to hide your Blushes in,
I the contented Fool to veil your Sin?
Have you already learnt that trick at Court,
Both how to practise and secure your sport?
Brave Mistress of your Art, is this the way,
My Service and my Passion to repay?
Will nothing but a Prince your pleasure fit,
And could you think that I would wink at it?
Recal that Folly, or by all that's good,
I'll free the Soul that wantons in thy Blood.
        [_He in rage takes her by the arm, shews a dagger_.

_Er_. I see your Love your Reason has betray'd,
But I'll forgive the Faults which Love has made:
'Tis true, I love, and do confess it too;
Which if a Crime, I might have hid from you;
But such a Passion 'tis as does despise