



Produced by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders









THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN

VOL. II

EDITED BY

MONTAGUE SUMMERS







CONTENTS


ABDELAZER; OR, THE MOOR'S REVENGE
THE YOUNG KING; OR, THE MISTAKE
THE CITY HEIRESS; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TREAT-ALL
THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; OR, A NIGHT'S INTRIGUE
NOTES




ABDELAZER; OR, THE MOOR'S REVENGE.



ARGUMENT.


The old King of Spain, having conquered Fez and killed the Moorish
monarch, has taken the orphaned prince Abdelazer under his protection and
in time made him General. Abdelazer, though always courageous, has the
desire of revenge ever uppermost, and to gain influence, rather than from
any love, he becomes the Queen's paramour. She, being a lustful and
wicked woman, joins with the Moor in poisoning her husband, at whose
death Philip, her second son, newly returned victor from a martial
expedition, leaving his army at some distance, rushes in mad with rage
and publicly accuses his mother of adultery with Abdelazer. She is
greatly incensed, but Cardinal Mendozo, as Protector of the King,
promptly banishes her gallant. The young King Ferdinand, however, to
please Florella, the Moor's wife, whom he loves, revokes this decree.
Abdelazer, in revenge, next orders his native officer Osmin to kill
Philip and the Cardinal. They escape by night disguised as monks, whilst
Abdelazer alarms the castle with cries of treason and tells the King that
Philip and the Cardinal are plotting to murder him. Ferdinand orders
Abdelazer to follow them, intending to visit Florella during her
husband's absence. Abdelazer, fully aware of his plan, out of pride
and mischief furnishes Florella with a dagger, bidding her stab the
King if he persists in his suit. Elvira, the Queen Mother's confidante,
Watches the King enter Florella's apartment and conveys the news to her
Mistress who, with dissembled reluctance, informs Alonzo, the Moor's
brother-in-law. Florella resists the King's solicitations and produces
the dagger threatening to stab herself. At this juncture the Queen rushes
in and, feigning to think that Florella was about to attempt the King's
life, kills her. Her motive for this deed is, in reality, jealousy.
Whilst the King falls weeping at his dead mistress' feet Abdelazer enters,
and in the ensuing fight Ferdinand is slain. Philip is then proclaimed
King, but Abdelazer announcing he is a bastard, an avowal backed by the
Queen, declares himself Protector of Spain, Overpowered by his following,
The lords accept him. Alonzo, however, flies to Philip's camp with the
tidings. A battle between the two parties follows, but the Queen
treacherously detaches Mendozo, who loves her, from Philip, and although
the Moors are at first beaten back they now gain the advantage and Philip
is captured. At a general assembly of the nobles the Queen relates the
false tale of Philip's illegitimacy and asserts that the Cardinal is his
father. She privately bids Mendozo acknowledge this and so gain the
crown, but he refuses to support the lie and is promptly arrested as a
traitor. Abdelazer now brings forward the Infanta Leonora and proclaims
her Queen of Spain, He next disposes of the Queen Mother by bidding
Roderigo, a creature of his own, assassinate her forthwith. Roderigo
gains admittance disguised as a friar and stabs her, upon which
Abdelazer, to screen himself, rushes in and cuts him down. He next openly
declares his love for Leonora and is about to force her when Osmin, his
officer, enters to inform him that Alonzo, to whom Leonora is affianced,
has resisted arrest but is at last secured. Abdelazer, enraged at the
interruption, wounds Osmin in the arm. Leonora pities the blow; and the
Moorish soldier, deeply hurt at the insult, resolves to betray his
master. He accordingly goes to the prison where Philip, the Cardinal, and
Alonzo are confined, and killing his fellow Zarrack who was to have been
their executioner, sets them free. When Abdelazer enters he finds himself
entrapped. He glories, however, in his crimes, and as they set on him
kills Osmin, himself falling dead in the melee. The Cardinal is forgiven,
Leonora and Alonzo are united, whilst Philip ascends the throne.



SOURCE.


_Abdelazer; or, the Moor's Revenge_ is an alteration of the robustious
_Lust's Dominion; or, the _Lascivious Queen_, printed 12mo, 1657, and then
attributed to Marlowe, who was certainly not the author. It is now
generally identified with _The Spanish Moor's Tragedy_ by Dekker
(Haughton and Day, 1600), although, as Fleay justly says, there is 'an
under-current of pre-Shakespearean work' unlike either Dekker or Day.
There are marked crudities of form and a rough conduct of plot which
stamp it as of very early origin. Probably it was emended and pruned by
the three collaborators.

Although often keeping close to her original, Mrs. Behn has dealt with
the somewhat rude material in a very apt and masterly way: she has, to
advantage, omitted the old King, Emanuel, King of Portugal, Alvero,
father to Maria (Florella), and the two farcical friars, Crab and Cole;
she adds Elvira, and whereas in _Lust's Dominion_ the Queen at the
conclusion is left alive, declaiming:--

    'I'll fly unto some solitary residence
    When I'll spin out the remnant of my life
    In true contrition for my past offences.'--

Mrs. Behn far more dramatically kills her Isabella. Perhaps the famous
assassination of Henri III of France by the Dominican, Jacques Clement,
gave a hint for Roderigo masqued as a monk.

The sexual passion, the predominance of which in this tragedy a recent
critic has not a little carpingly condemned, is entirely natural in such
an untamed savage as Abdelazer, whilst history affords many a parallel to
the lascivious Queen.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.


_Abdelazer; or, The Moor's Revenge_ was first produced at the Duke's
Theatre in Dorset Garden during the late autumn of 1677. It was supported
by a strong cast, and Betterton, whose Othello, Steele--writing
exquisitely in the _Tatler_--seems to have considered artistically quite
perfect, was no doubt n wonderful representative of the ferocious Afric.
The effective role of Queen Isabella fell to Mrs. Mary Lee, the first
tragedienne of the day, Mrs. Marshall, the leading lady of the King's
Company, having at this time just retired from the stage. [Footnote: Her
last role was Berenice in Crowne's heroic tragedy, _The Destruction of
Jerusalem_ (1677).] It is interesting to notice that Mrs. Barry on her
way to fame played the secondary part of Leonora.

_Abdelazer_ seems to have met with good success, and on Easter Monday,
April, 1695, the patentees, after the secession of Betterton, Mrs. Barry,
Mrs. Bracegirdle and their following to Lincoln's Inn Fields, chose the
tragedy to reopen Drury Lane. The Moor was played by George Powell, a
vigorous and passionate actor, who also spoke a new prologue written for
the nonce by Cibber, then a mere struggler in the ranks. Colley's verses
were accepted at the eleventh hour in default of better, and he tells us
how chagrined he was not to be allowed to deliver them in person. The
house was very full the first day, but on the morrow it was empty,
probably owing to the inexperience of many of the actors and a too hasty
rehearsing of the play.

On the stage _Abdelazer_ was superseded by Edward Young's _The Revenge_,
a tragedy largely borrowed in theme and design from Mrs. Behn, with
reminiscences of _Othello_. Produced at Drury Lane, 18 April, 1721, with
Mills, Booth, Wilks, Mrs. Porter and Mrs. Horton in the cast, it attained
considerable success, and Zanga, the Moor, was long a favourite part with
our greatest actors even down to the days of Kean, who excelled in it,
and Macready. _The Revenge_ is not without merit, and it stands out well
before the lean and arid tragedies of its time, but this, unfortunately,
is not much to say. It is not for a moment to be compared with the
magnificent tapestry of _Abdelazer_, woven though the latter may be in
colours strong and daring.




ABDELAZER; or, The Moor's Revenge.



PROLOGUE.


_Gallants, you have so long been absent hence,
That you have almost cool'd your Diligence;
For while we study or revive a Play,
You, like good Husbands, in the Country stay,
There frugally wear out your Summer Suit,
And in Prize Jerkin after Beagles toot;
Or, in Montero-Caps, at Feldfares shoot.
Nay, some are so obdurate in their Sin,
That they swear never to come up again,
But all their Charge of Clothes and Treat retrench,
To Gloves and Stockings for some Country Wench:
Even they, who in the Summer had Mishaps,
Send up to Town for Physick for their Claps.
The Ladies too are as resolved as they,
And having Debts unknown to them, they stay,
And with the Gain of Cheese and Poultry pay.
Even in their Visits, they from Banquets fall,
To entertain with Nuts and Bottle-Ale;
And in Discourse with Secresy report
State-News, that past a Twelve-month since at Court.
Those of them who are most refind, and gay,
Now learn the Songs of the last Summer's Play:
While the young Daughter does in private mourn,
Her Lovers in Town, and hopes not to return.
These Country Grievances too great appear:
But cruel Ladies, we have greater here;
You come not sharp, as you are wont, to Plays;
But only on the first and second Days:
This made our Poet, in her Visits, look
What new strange Courses, for your time you took,
And to her great Regret she found too soon,
Damn'd Beasts and Ombre spent the Afternoon;
So that we cannot hope to see you here
Before the little Net-work Purse be clear.
Suppose you should have Luck--
Yet sitting up so late, as I am told,
You'll lose in Beauty what you win in Gold:
And what each Lady of another says,
Will make you new Lampoons, and us new Plays.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

_Ferdinand_, a young King of Spain, in love with
    _Florella_.                                      Mr. _Harris_.
_Philip_, his Brother.                               Mr. _Smith_.
_Akdelazer_, the Moor.                               Mr. _Betterton_.
_Mendozo_, Prince Cardinal, in love with the Queen.  Mr. _Medburn_.
_Alonzo_, a young Nobleman of _Spain_, contracted to
    _Leonora_.                                       Mr. _Crasbie_.
_Roderigo_, a Creature to the Moor,                  Mr. _Norris_.
_Antonio_,                                  |
_Sebastian_, Two Officers of _Phillip's_.   |        Mr. _John Lee_.
_Osmin_,                                       |     Mr. _Percivall_.
_Zarrack_, Moors and Officers to _Abdelazer_.  |     Mr. _Richards_.
_Ordonio_, a Courtier.
A Swain, and Shepherds.
Courtiers, Officers, Guards, Soldiers, Moors, Pages, and Attendants.

WOMEN.

_Isabella_, Queen of _Spain_, Mother to _Ferdinand_
    and _Philip_, in love with _Abdelazer_.            Mrs. _Lee_.
_Leonora_, her Daughter, Sister to _Ferdinand_
    and _Philip_.                                      Mrs. _Barrey_.
_Florella_, Wife to _Abdelazer_, and Sister to         Mrs. _Betterton_.
    _Alonzo_.
_Elvira_, Woman to the Queen.                          Mrs. _Osborne_.
A Nymph, and Shepherdesses.
Other Women Attendants.

SCENE _Spain_, and in the Camp.



ACT I.


SCENE I. _A rich Chamber_.

    _A Table with Lights_, Abdelazer _sullenly leaning his Head
    on his Hands: after a little while, still Musick plays_.


                    SONG.

    _Love _in fantastick Triumph sat,
      Whilst bleeding Hearts around him flow'd,
    For whom fresh Pains he did create,
      And strange Tyrannick Pow'r he shewed;
    From thy bright Eyes he took his Fires,
      Which round about in sport he hurl'd;
    But 'twas from mine he took Desires,
      Enough t'undo the amorous World.

    From me he took his Sighs and Tears,
      From thee his Pride and Cruelty;
    From me his Languishments and Fears,
      And ev'ry killing Dart from thee:
    Thus thou, and I, the God have arrri'd,
      And set him up a Deity;
    But my poor Heart alone is harm'd,
      Whilst thine the Victor is, and free_.

                [_After which he rouzes, and gazes_.

_Abd_. On me this Musick lost?--this Sound on me
That hates all Softness?--What, ho, my Slaves!

    _Enter_ Osmin, Zarrack.

_Osm_. My gracious Lord--

    [_Enter_ Queen, Elvira.

_Qu_. My dearest _Abdelazer_--

_Abd_. Oh, are you there?--Ye Dogs, how came she in?
Did I not charge you on your Lives to watch,
That none disturb my Privacy?

_Qu_. My gentle _Abdelazer_, 'tis thy Queen,
Who 'as laid aside the Business of her State,
To wanton in the kinder Joys of Love--
Play all your sweetest Notes, such as inspire
The active Soul with new and soft Desire,
               [_To_ the Musick, they play softly.
Whilst we from Eyes--thus dying, fan the Fire.
               [_She sits down by him_.

_Abd_. Cease that ungrateful Noise.
               [_Musick_ ceases.

_Qu_. Can ought that I command displease my Moor?

_Abd_. Away, fond Woman.

_Qu_. Nay, prithee be more kind.

_Abd_. Nay, prithee, good Queen, leave me--I am dull,
Unfit for Dalliance now.

_Qu_. Why dost thou frown?--to whom was that Curse sent?

_Abd_. To thee--

_Qu_. To me?--it cannot be--to me, sweet Moor?--
No, no, it cannot--prithee smile upon me--
Smile, whilst a thousand Cupids shall descend
And call thee Jove, and wait upon thy Smiles,
Deck thy smooth Brow with Flowers;
Whilst in my Eyes, needing no other Glass,
Thou shalt behold and wonder at thy Beauty.

_Abd_. Away, away, be gone--

_Qu_. Where hast thou learnt this Language, that can say
But those rude Words--Away, away, be gone?
Am I grown ugly now?

_Abd_. Ugly as Hell--

_Qu_. Didst thou not love me once, and swore that Heav'n
Dwelt in my Face and Eyes?

_Abd_. Thy Face and Eyes!--Baud, fetch me here a Glass,
                                                [_To_ Elvira.
And thou shalt see the Balls of both those Eyes
Burning with Fire of Lust:
That Blood that dances in thy Cheeks so hot,
That have not I to cool it
Made an Extraction even of my Soul,
Decay'd my Youth, only to feed thy Lust?
And wou'dst thou still pursue me to my Grave?

_Qu_. All this to me, my _Abdelazer_?

_Abd_. I cannot ride through the _Castilian_ Streets,
But thousand Eyes throw killing Looks at me,
And cry--That's he that does abuse our King--
There goes the Minion of the _Spanish_ Queen,
Who, on the lazy Pleasures of his Love,
Spends the Revenues of the King of _Spain_--
This many-headed Beast your Lust has arm'd.

_Qu_. How dare you, Sir, upbraid me with my Love?

_Abd_. I will not answer thee, nor hear thee speak.

_Qu_. Not hear me speak!--Yes, and in Thunder too;
Since all my Passion, all my soft Intreaties
Can do no good upon thee,
I'll see (since thou hast banish'd all thy Love,
That Love, to which I've sacrific'd my Honour)
If thou hast any Sense of Gratitude,
For all the mighty Graces I have done thee.

_Abd_. Do;--and in thy Story too, do not leave out
How dear those mighty Graces I have purchas'd;
My blooming Youth, my healthful vigorous Youth,
Which Nature gave me for more noble Actions
Than to lie fawning at a Woman's Feet,
And pass my Hours in Idleness and Love--
If I cou'd blush, I shou'd thro all this Cloud
Send forth my Sense of Shame into my Cheeks.

_Qu_. Ingrate!
Have I for this abus'd the best of Men,
My noble Husband?
Depriving him of all the Joys of Love,
To bring them all intirely to thy Bed;
Neglected all my Vows, and sworn 'em here a-new,
Here, on thy Lips--
Exhausted Treasures that wou'd purchase Crowns,
To buy thy Smiles--to buy a gentle Look;
And when thou didst repay me--blest the Giver?
Oh, _Abdelazer_, more than this I've done--
This very Hour, the last the King can live,
Urg'd by thy Witch-craft, I his Life betray'd;
And is it thus my Bounties are repaid?
Whate'er a Crime so great deserves from Heav'n,
By _Abdelazer_ might have been forgiven:    [_Weeps_.
But I will be reveng'd by penitence,
And e'er the King dies, own my black Offence--
And yet that's not enough--_Elvira_--    [_Pauses_.
Cry murder, murder, help, help.

    [_She and her Women cry aloud, he is surpriz'd,
    the_ Queen _falls_, _he draws a Dagger_ at Elvira.

_Elv_. Help, murder, murder!--

_Abd_. Hell, what's this?--peace, Baud--'sdeath,
They'll raise the Court upon me, and then I'm lost--
My Queen--my Goddess--Oh raise your lovely Eyes,
I have dissembled Coldness all this while;
And that Deceit was but to try thy Faith.
         [_Takes her up, sets her in a Chair, then kneels_.
Look up--by Heav'n,'twas Jealousy--
Pardon your Slave--pardon your poor Adorer.

_Qu_. Thou didst upbraid me with my shameful Passion.

_Abd_. I'll tear my Tongue out for its Profanation.

_Qu_. And when I woo'd thee but to smile upon me,
Thou cry'st--Away, I'm dull, unfit for Dalliance.

_Abd_. Call back the frighted Blood into thy Cheeks,
And I'll obey the Dictates of my Love,
And smile, and kiss, and dwell for ever here--
               _Enter_ Osmin hastily.
How now--why star'st thou so?

_Osm_. My Lord--the King is dead.

_Abd_. The King dead!--'Twas time then to dissemble.    [_Aside_.
What means this Rudeness?--
                               [_One knocks_.

    _Enter_ Zarrack.

_Zar_. My Lord--the Cardinal inquiring for the Queen,
The Court is in an uproar, none can find her.

_Abd_. Not find the Queen! and wou'd they search her here?

_Qu_. What shall I do? I must not here be found.

_Abd_. Oh, do not fear--no Cardinal enters here;
No King--no God, that means to be secure--
Slaves guard the Doors, and suffer none to enter,
Whilst I, my charming Queen, provide for your Security--
You know there is a Vault deep under Ground,
Into the which the busy Sun ne'er enter'd,
But all is dark, as are the Shades of Hell,
Thro which in dead of Night I oft have pass'd,
Guided by Love, to your Apartment, Madam--
They knock agen--thither, my lovely Mistress,    [_Knock_.
Suffer your self to be conducted--

_Osmin_, attend the Queen--descend in haste,
               [Queen, Osm. _and_ Elv. _descend the Vault_.
My Lodgings are beset.

_Zar_. I cannot guard the Lodgings longer--
Don _Ordonio_, Sir, to seek the Queen--

_Abd_. How dare they seek her here?

_Zar_. My Lord, the King has swounded twice,
And being recover'd, calls for her Majesty.

_Abd_. The King not dead!--go, _Zafrack_, and aloud
Tell Don _Ordonio_ and the Cardinal,
He that dares enter here to seek the Queen,
                       [_Puts his Hand to his Sword_.
Had better snatch the She from the fierce side
Of a young amorous Lion, and 'twere safer.--
Again, more knocking!--
                           [_Knocking_.

_Zar_. My gracious Lord, it is your Brother, Don _Alonzo_.

_Abd_. I will not have him enter--I am disorder'd.

_Zar_. My Lord, 'tis now too late.
                           _Enter_ Alonzo.

_Alon_. Saw you not the Queen, my Lord?

_Abd_. My Lord!

_Alon_. Was not the Queen here with you?

_Abd_. The Queen with me!
Because, Sir, I am married to your Sister,
You, like your Sister, must be jealous too:
The Queen with me! with me! a Moor! a Devil!
A Slave of _Barbary_! for so
Your gay young Courtiers christen me--But, Don,
Altho my Skin be black, within my Veins
Runs Blood as red, and royal as the best.--
My Father, Great _Abdela_, with his Life
Lost too his Crown; both most unjustly ravish'd
By Tyrant _Philip_, your old King I mean.
How many Wounds his valiant Breast receiv'd
E'er he would yield to part with Life and Empire:
Methinks I see him cover'd o'er with Blood,
Fainting amidst those numbers he had conquer'd.
I was but young, yet old enough to grieve,
Tho not revenge, or to defy my Fetters:
For then began my Slavery; and e'er since
Have seen that Diadem by this Tyrant worn,
Which crown'd the sacred Temples of my Father,
And shou'd adorn mine now--shou'd! nay, and must--
Go tell him what I say--'twill be but Death--
Go, Sir,--the Queen's not here.

_Alon_. Do not mistake me, Sir,--or if I wou'd,
I've no old King to tell--the King is dead--
And I am answer'd, Sir, to what I came for,
And so good night.
                       [_Exit_.

_Abd_. Now all that's brave and villain seize my Soul,
Reform each Faculty that is not ill,
And make it fit for Vengeance, noble Vengeance.
Oh glorious Word! fit only for the Gods,
For which they form'd their Thunder,
Till Man usurp'd their Power, and by Revenge
Sway'd Destiny as well as they, and took their trade of killing.
And thou, almighty Love,
Dance in a thousand forms about my Person,
That this same Queen, this easy Spanish Dame,
May be bewitch'd, and dote upon me still;
Whilst I make use of the insatiate Flame
To set all _Spain_ on fire.--
Mischief, erect thy Throne,
And sit on high; here, here upon my Head.
Let Fools fear Fate, thus I my Stars defy:
The influence of this--must raise my Glory high.
              [_Pointing to his Sword.

                                   [Exit_.


SCENE II. _A Room in the Palace_.

    _Enter_ Ferdinand _weeping_, Ordonio _bearing the Crown,
    followed by_ Alonzo, _leading_ Leonora _weeping_; Florella,
    Roderigo, Mendozo, _met by the_ Queen _weeping_;
    Elvira _and Women_.

_Qu_. What doleful Cry was that, which like the Voice
Of angry Heav'n struck thro my trembling Soul?
Nothing but horrid Shrieks, nothing but Death;
Whilst I, bowing my Knees to the cold Earth,
Drowning my Cheeks in Rivulets of Tears,
Sending up Prayers in Sighs, t' implore from Heaven
Health for the Royal Majesty of _Spain_--
All cry'd, the Majesty of _Spain_ is dead.
Whilst the sad Sound flew through the ecchoing Air,
And reach'd my frighted Soul--Inform my Fears,
Oh my _Fernando_, oh my gentle Son--
                                        [_Weeps_.

_King_. Madam, read here the truth, if looks can shew
That which I cannot speak, and you wou'd know:
The common Fare in ev'ry face appears;
A King's great loss the publick Grief declares,
But 'tis a Father's Death that claims my Tears.
                     [Card. _leads in the_ Queen _attended_.

_Leon_. Ah, Sir!
If you thus grieve, who ascend by what y'ave lost,
To all the Greatness that a King can boast;
What Tributes from my Eyes and Heart are due,
Who've lost at once a King and Father too?

_King_. My _Leonora_ cannot think my Grief
Can from those empty Glories find relief;
Nature within my Soul has equal share,
And that and Love surmount my Glory there.
Had Heav'n continu'd Royal _Philip's_ Life,
And giv'n me bright _Florella_ for a Wife,
                                    [_Bows to_ Florella.
To Crown and Scepters I had made no claim,
But ow'd my Blessings only to my Flame.
But Heav'n well knew in giving thee away,    [_To_ Flor.
I had no bus'ness for another Joy.           [_Weeps_.
The King, _Alanzo_, with his dying Breath,
                             [_Turns to_ Alon. _and_ Leon.
To you my beauteous Sister did bequeath;
And I his Generosity approve,
And think you worthy _Leonora's_ Love.

                   _Enter_ Card. _and_ Queen _weeping_.

_Alon_. Too gloriously my Services are paid,
In the possession of this Royal Maid,
To whom my guilty Heart durst ne'er aspire,
But rather chose to languish in its Fire.

        _Enter_ Philip _in a Rage_, Antonio _and_ Sebastian.

_Phil_. I know he is not dead; what envious Powers
Durst snatch him hence? he was all great and good,
As fit to be ador'd as they above.
Where is the Body of my Royal Father?
That Body which inspir'd by's sacred Soul,
Aw'd all the Universe with ev'ry Frown,
And taught 'em all Obedience with his Smiles.
Why stand you thus distracted--Mother--Brother--
My Lords--Prince Cardinal--
Has Sorrow struck you dumb?
Is this my Welcome from the Toils of War?
When in his Bosom I shou'd find repose,
To meet it cold and pale!--Oh, guide me to him,
And with my Sighs I'll breathe new Life into't.

_King_. There's all that's left of Royal _Philip_ now,
                                     [Phil, _goes out_.
Pay all thy Sorrow there--whilst mine alone
Are swoln too high t' admit of Lookers on.
                             [_Ex_. King _weeping_.

               Philip _returns weeping_.

_Phil_. His Soul is fled to all Eternity;
And yet methought it did inform his Body,
That I, his darling _Philip_, was arriv'd
With Conquest on my Sword; and even in Death
Sent me his Joy in Smiles.

_Qu_. If Souls can after Death have any Sense
Of human things, his will be proud to know
That _Philip_ is a Conqueror.
                   _Enter_ Abdelazer.
But do not drown thy Laurels thus in Tears,
Such Tributes leave to us, thou art a Soldier.

_Phil_. Gods! this shou'd be my Mother--

_Men_. It is, great Sir, the Queen.

_Phil_. Oh, she's too foul for one or t'other Title.

_Qu_. How, Sir, do you not know me?

_Phil_. When you were just, I did,
And with a Reverence, such as we pay Heav'n,
I paid my awful Duty;--
But as you have abus'd my Royal Father,
For such a Sin the basest of your Slaves
Wou'd blush to call you Mother.

_Qu_. What means my Son?

_Phil_. Son! by Heav'n, I scorn the Title.

_Qu_. Oh Insolence!--out of my sight, rude Boy.

_Phil_. We must not part so, Madam;
I first must let you know your Sin and Shame;--
Nay, hear me calmly--for, by Heav'n, you shall--
My Father whilst he liv'd, tir'd his strong Arm
With numerous Battles 'gainst the Enemy,
Wasting his Brains in warlike Stratagems;
To bring Confusion on the faithless Moors,
Whilst you, lull'd in soft Peace at home, betray'd
His Name to everlasting Infamy;
Suffer'd his Bed to be defil'd with Lust,
Gave up your self, your Honour, and your Vows,
To wanton in yon sooty Lecher's Arms.
                               [_Points to_ Abd.

_Abd_. Me, dost thou mean?

_Phil_. Yes, Villain, thee, thou Hell-begotten Fiend,
'Tis thee I mean.

_Qu_. Oh most unnatural, to dishonour me!

_Phil_. That Dog you mean, that has dishonour'd you,
Dishonour'd me, these Lords, nay, and all Spain;
This Devil's he, that--

_Abd_. That--what--Oh pardon me if I throw off
All Ties of Duty:--wert thou ten King's Sons,
And I as many Souls as I have Sins,
Thus I would hazard all.
            [Draws, they all run between.

_Phil_. Stand off--or I'll make way upon thy Bosom.

_Abd_. How got you, Sir, this daring?

_Phil_. From injur'd _Philip's_ Death,
Who, whilst he liv'd, unjustly cherish'd thee,
And set thee up beyond the reach of Fate;
Blind with thy brutal Valor, deaf with thy Flatteries,
Discover'd not the Treason thou didst act,
Nor none durst let him know 'em--but did he live,
I wou'd aloud proclaim them in his Ears.

_Abd_. You durst as well been damn'd.

_Phil_. Hell seize me if I want Revenge for this--
Not dare!
Arise, thou injur'd Ghost of my dead King,
And thro thy dreadful Paleness dart a Horror,
May fright this pair of Vipers from their Sins.

_Abd_. Oh insupportable! dost hear me, Boy?

_Qu_. Are ye all mute, and hear me thus upbraided?
                                      [_To the Lords_.

_Phil_. Dare ye detain me whilst the Traitor braves me?

_Men_. Forbear, my Prince, keep in that noble Heat
That shou'd be better us'd than on a Slave.

_Abd_. You politick Cheat--

_Men. Abdelazer_--
By the Authority of my Government,
Which yet I hold over the King of _Spain_,
By Warrant of a Council from the Peers,
And (as an Unbeliever) from the Church,
I utterly deprive thee of that Greatness,
Those Offices and Trusts you hold in _Spain_.

_Abd_. Cardinal--who lent thee this Commission?
Grandees of Spain, do you consent to this?

_All_. We do.

_Alon_. What Reason for it? let his Faith be try'd.

_Men_. It needs no tryal, the Proofs are evident,
And his Religion was his Veil for Treason.

_Alon_. Why should you question his Religion, Sir?
He does profess Christianity.

_Men_. Yes, witness his Habit which he still retains
In scorn to ours--
His Principles are too as unalterable.

_Abd_. Is that the only Argument you bring?
I tell thee, Cardinal, not thy Holy Gown
Covers a Soul more sanctify'd than this
Moorish Robe.

_Phil_. Damn his Religion--he has a thousand Crimes
That will yet better justify your Sentence.

_Men_. Come not within the Court; for if you do,
Worse mischief shall ensue--you have your Sentence.
                            [_Ex_. Phil, _and_ Men.

_Alon_. My Brother banish'd! 'tis very sudden;
For thy sake, Sister, this must be recall'd.    [_To_ Flor.

_Qu. Alonzo_, join with me, I'll to the King,
And check the Pride of this insulting Cardinal.
         [_Exeunt all, except_ Abdelazer, Florella.

_Abd_. Banish'd! if I digest this Gall,
May Cowards pluck the Wreath from off my Brow,
Which I have purchas'd with so many Wounds,
And all for Spain; for _Spain_! ingrateful _Spain_!--
Oh, my _Florella_, all my Glory's vanish'd,
The Cardinal (Oh damn him) wou'd have me banish'd.

_Flor_. But, Sir, I hope you will not tamely go.

_Abd_. Tamely!--ha, ha, ha,--yes, by all means--
A very honest and religious Cardinal!

_Flor_. I wou'd not for the World you should be banish'd.

_Abd_. Not Spain, you mean--for then she leaves the King.   [_Aside_.
What if I be?--Fools! not to know--All parts o' th' World
Allow enough for Villany; for I'll be brave no more.
It is a Crime--and then I can live any where--
But say I go from hence--I leave behind me
A Cardinal that will laugh--I leave behind me
A _Philip_ that will clap his Hands in sport--
But the worst Wound is this, I leave my Wrongs,
Dishonours, and my Discontents, all unreveng'd--
Leave me, _Florella_--prithee do not weep;
I love thee, love thee wondrously--go leave me--
I am not now at leisure to be fond--
Go to your Chamber--go.

_Flor_. No, to the King I'll fly,
And beg him to revenge thy Infamy.    [_Ex_. Flor.
                         _To him_ Alonzo.

_Alon_. The Cardinal's mad to have thee banish'd Spain.
I've left the Queen in angry Contradiction,
But yet I fear the Cardinal's Reasoning.

_Abd_. This Prince's Hate proceeds from Love,
He's jealous of the Queen, and fears my Power.   [_Aside_.

_Alon_. Come, rouse thy wonted Spirits, awake thy Soul,
And arm thy Justice with a brave Revenge.

_Abd_. I'll arm no Justice with a brave Revenge.
                                  [_Sullenly_.

_Alon_. Shall they then triumph o'er thee, who were once
Proud to attend thy conqu'ring Chariot-Wheels?

_Abd_. I care not--I am a Dog, and can bear wrongs.

_Alon_. But, Sir, my Honour is concern'd with yours,
Since my lov'd Sister did become your Wife;
And if yours suffer, mine too is unsafe.

_Abd_. I cannot help it--

_Alon_. What Ice has chill'd thy Blood?
This Patience was not wont to dwell with thee.

_Abd_. 'Tis true; but now the World is chang'd you see.
Thou art too brave to know what I resolve--    [_Aside_.
No more--here comes the King with my _Florella_.
He loves her, and she swears to me she's chaste;
'Tis well, if true--well too, if it be false:    [_Aside_.
I care not, 'tis Revenge
That I must sacrifice my Love and Pleasure to.
                                [Alon. _and_ Abd. _stand aside_.

   _Enter King, _Lords, Guards passing over the Stage_,
   Florella _in a suppliant posture weeping_.

_King_. Thou woo'st me to reverse thy Husband's Doom,
And I woo thee for Mercy on my self,
Why shoud'st thou sue to him for Life and Liberty,
For any other, who himself lies dying,
Imploring from thy Eyes a little Pity?

_Flor_. Oh mighty King! in whose sole Power, like Heav'n,
The Lives and Safeties of your Slaves remain,
Hear and redress my _Abdelazer's_ Wrongs.

_King_. All Lives and Safeties in my Power remain!
Mistaken charming Creature, if my Power
Be such, who kneel and bow to thee,
What must thine be,
Who hast the Sovereign Command o'er me and it?
Wou'dst thou give Life? turn but thy lovely Eyes
Upon the wretched thing that wants it,
And he will surely live, and live for ever.
Canst thou do this, and com'st to beg of me?

_Flor_. Alas, Sir, what I beg's what you alone can give,
My _Abdelazer's_ Pardon.

_King_. Pardon! can any thing ally'd to thee offend?
Thou art so sacred and so innocent,
That but to know thee, and to look on thee,
Must change even Vice to Virtue.
Oh my _Florella_!
So perfectly thou dost possess my Soul,
That ev'ry Wish of thine shall be obey'd:
Say, wou'dst thou have thy Husband share my Crown?
Do but submit to love me, and I yield it.

_Flor_. Such Love as humble Subjects owe their King.
                     [_Kneels, he takes her up_.
And such as I dare pay, I offer here.

_King_. I must confess it is a Price too glorious:
But, my _Florella_--

_Abd_. I'll interrupt your amorous Discourse.    [_Aside_.
                           [Abd. _comes up to them_.

_Flor_. Sir, _Abdelazer's_ here.

_King_. His Presence never was less welcome to me;--
                                               [_Aside_.
But, Madam, durst the Cardinal use this Insolence?
Where is your noble Husband?

_Abd_. He sees me, yet inquires for me.    [_Aside_.

_Flor_. Sir, my Lord is here.

_King. Abdelazer_, I have heard with much surprize,
O' th' Injuries you've receiv'd, and mean to right you:
My Father lov'd you well, made you his General,
I think you worthy of that Honour still.

_Abd_. True--for my Wife's sake.    [_Aside_.

_King_. When my Coronation is solemnized,
Be present there, and re-assume your wonted State and Place;
And see how I will check the insolent Cardinal.

_Abd_. I humbly thank my Sovereign--
                [_Kneels, and kisses the_ King's _Hand_.
That he loves my Wife so well.    [_Aside_.
                                        [_Exeunt_.
                   _Manent_ Abdelazer, Florella.

_Flor_. Wilt thou not pay my Service with one Smile?
Have I not acted well the Suppliant's part?

_Abd_. Oh wonderfully! y'ave learnt the Art to move.
Go, leave me.

_Flor_. Still out of humour, thoughtful and displeas'd?
And why at me, my _Abdelazer_? what have I done?

_Abd_. Rarely! you cannot do amiss you are so beautiful.
So very fair--Go, get you in, I say--
                            [_Turns her in roughly_.
She has the art of dallying with my Soul,
Teaching it lazy softness from her Looks.
But now a nobler Passion's enter'd there,
And blows it thus--to Air--Idol Ambition,
_Florella_ must to thee a Victim fall:
Revenge,--to thee--a Cardinal and Prince:
And to my Love and Jealousy, a King--
More yet, my mighty Deities, I'll do,
None that you e'er inspir'd like me shall act;
That fawning servile Crew shall follow next,
Who with the Cardinal cry'd, banish _Abdelazer_.

   _Like Eastern Monarchs I'll adorn thy Fate,
   And to the Shades thou shalt descend in State.

                                    [Exit_.



ACT II.


SCENE I. _A Chamber of State_.

    _Enter the_ King _crown'd_, Philip, Mendozo, Queen, Leonora,
    Florella, Elvira, Alonzo, Roderigo, Ordonio, Sebastian,
    Antonio, _Officers and Guards; met by_ Abdelazer _follow'd
    by_ Osmin, Zarrack, _and Moors attending. He comes in with
    Pride, staring on_ Philip _and_ Mendozo, _and takes his stand
    next the_ King.

_Phil_. Why stares the Devil thus, as if he meant
From his infectious Eyes to scatter Plagues,
And poison all the World? Was he not banish'd?
How dares the Traitor venture into th' Presence?--
Guards, spurn the Villain forth.

_Abd_. Who spurns the _Moor_
Were better set his foot upon the Devil--
Do, spurn me, and this Hand thus justly arm'd,
Shall like a Thunder-bolt, breaking the Clouds,
Divide his Body from his Soul--stand back--
                                  [_To the Guards_.
Spurn _Abdelazer_!--

_Phil_. Death, shall we bear this Insolence?

_Alon_. Great Sir, I think his Sentence was unjust.
                                      [_To the_ King.

_Men_. Sir, you're too partial to be judge in this,
And shall not give your Voice.

_Abd_. Proud Cardinal--but he shall--and give it loud.
And shall not!--who shall hinder him?

_Phil_. This--and cut his Wind-pipe too.
                                     [_Offers to draw_.
To spoil his whisp'ring.
    [Abd. _offers to draw, his Attendants do the same_.

_King_. What means this Violence?
Forbear to draw your Swords--'tis we command.

_Abd_. Sir, do me Justice, I demand no more.
                  [_Kneels, and offers his Sword_.
And at your Feet we lay our Weapons down.

_Men_. Sir, _Abdelazer_ has had Justice done,
And stands by me banish'd the Court of _Spain_.

_King_. How, Prince Cardinal!
From whence do you derive Authority
To banish him the Court without our leave?

_Men_. Sir, from my Care unto your royal Person,
As I'm your Governor--then for the Kingdom's Safety.

_King_. Because I was a Boy, must I be still so?
Time, Sir, has given me in that formal Ceremony,
And I am of an age to rule alone;
And from henceforth discharge you of your Care.
We know your near relation to this Crown,
And wanting Heirs, that you must fill the Throne;
Till when, Sir, I am absolute Monarch here,
And you must learn Obedience.

_Men_. Pardon my zealous Duty, which I hope
You will approve, and not recal his Banishment.

_King_. Sir, but I will; and who dares contradict
It, is a Traitor.

_Phil_. I dare the first, yet do defy the last.

_King_. My hot-brain'd Sir, I'll talk to you anon.

_Men_. Sir, I am wrong'd, and will appeal to _Rome_.

_Phil_. By Heav'n, I'll to the Camp--Brother, farewel,
When next I meet thee, it shall be in Arms,
If thou can'st get loose from thy Mistress' Chains,
Where thou ly'st drown'd in idle wanton Love.

_Abd_. Hah--his Mistress--who is't Prince _Philip_ means?

_Phil_. Thy Wife, thy Wife, proud Moor, whom thou'rt content
To sell for Honour to eternal Infamy--
Does't make thee snarl?--Bite on, whilst thou shalt see,
I go for Vengeance, and 'twill come with me.
                      [_Going out, turns and draws_.

_Abd_. Stay! for 'tis here already--turn, proud Boy.
                      [Abd. _draws_.

_King_. What mean you, _Philip_?--[_Talks to him aside_.

_Qu_. Cease, cease your most impolitick Rage.    [_To_ Abd.
Is this a time to shew't?--Dear Son, you are a King,
And may allay this Tempest.

_King_. How dare you disobey my Will and Pleasure?    [_To_ Abd.

_Abd_. Shall I be calm, and hear my Wife call'd Whore?
Were he great _Jove_, and arm'd with all his Lightning,
By Heav'n, I could not hold my just Resentment.

_Qu_. 'Twas in his Passion, noble _Abdelazer_--
                        [King _talking to_ Phil. _aside_.
Imprudently thou dost disarm thy Rage,
And giv'st the Foe a warning, e'er thou strik'st;
When with thy Smiles thou might'st securely kill.
You know the Passion that the Cardinal bears me;
His Pow'r too o'er _Philip_, which well manag'd
Will serve to ruin both: put up your Sword--
When next you draw it, teach it how to act.

_Abd_. You shame me, and command me.

_Qu_. Why all this Rage?--does it become you, Sir?
                                     [_To_ Men. _aside_.
What is't you mean to do?

_Men_. You need not care, whilst _Abdelazer's_ safe.

_Qu_. Jealousy, upon my Life--how gay it looks!

_Men_. Madam, you want that pitying Regard
To value what I do, or what I am;
I'll therefore lay my Cardinal's Hat aside,
And in bright Arms demand my Honour back.

_Qu_. Is't thus, my Lord, you give me Proofs of Love?
Have then my Eyes lost all their wonted Power?
And can you quit the hope of gaining me,
To follow your Revenge?--go--go to fight,
Bear Arms against your Country, and your King,
All for a little worthless Honour lost.

_Men_. What is it, Madam, you would have me do?

_Qu_. Not side with _Philip_, as you hope my Grace--
Now, Sir, you know my Pleasure, think on't well.

_Men_. Madam, you know your Power o'er your Slave,
And use it too tyrannically--but dispose
The Fate of him, whose Honour, and whose Life,
Lies at your Mercy--
I'll stay and die, since 'tis your gracious Pleasure.

_King. Philip_, upon your Life,
Upon your strict Allegiance, I conjure you
To remain at Court, till I have reconcil'd you.

_Phil_. Never, Sir;
Nor can you bend my Temper to that Tameness.

_King_. 'Tis in my Power to charge you as a Prisoner;
But you're my Brother--yet remember too
I am your King--No more.

_Phil_. I will obey.

_King. Abdelazer_,
I beg you will forget your Cause of Hate
Against my Brother _Philip_, and the Cardinal;
He's young, and rash, but will be better temper'd.

_Abd_. Sir, I have done, and beg your royal Pardon.

_King_. Come, _Philip_, give him your Hand.

_Phil_. I can forgive without a Ceremony.

_King_. And to confirm ye Friends,
I invite you all to Night to banquet with me;
Pray see you give Attendance--Come, Brother,
You must along with us.

             [_Exeunt all but_ Abd. Queen _and Women_.

_Qu_. Leave me--
             [_To the Women, who go out_.
Now my dear Moor.

_Abd_. Madam.

_Qu_. Why dost thou answer with that cold Reserve--
Is that a Look--an Action for a Lover?

_Abd_. Ah, Madam--

_Qu_. Have I not taken off thy Banishment?
Restor'd thee to thy former State and Honours?
Nay, and heap'd new ones too, too mighty for thy Hopes;
And still to raise thee equal to this Heart,
Where thou must ever reign.

_Abd_. 'Tis true, my bounteous Mistress, all this you've done--
But--

_Qu_. But what, my _Abdelazer_?

_Abd_. I will not call it to your Memory.

_Qu_. What canst thou mean?

_Abd_. Why was the King remov'd?

_Qu_. To make thy way more easy to my Arms.

_Abd_. Was that all?

_Qu_. All!

_Abd_. Not but it is a Blessing Gods would languish for--
But as you've made it free, so make it just.

_Qu_. Thou mean'st, marry thee.

_Abd_. No, by the Gods--    [_Aside_.
Not marry thee, unless I were a King.

_Qu_. What signifies the Name to him that rules one?

_Abd_. What use has he of Life, that cannot live
Without a Ruler?

_Qu_. Thou wouldst not have me kill him.

_Abd_. Oh, by no means, not for my wretched Life!
What, kill a King!--forbid it, Heaven:
Angels stand like his Guards about his Person.
The King!
Not so many Worlds as there be Stars
Twinkling upon the embroider'd Firmament!
The King!
He loves my Wife _Florella_, shou'd he die--
I know none else durst love her.

_Qu_. And that's the Reason you wou'd send him hence.

_Abd_. I must confess, I wou'd not bear a wrong:
But do not take me for a Villain, Madam;
He is my King, and may do what he pleases.

_Qu_. 'Tis well, Sir.

_Abd_. Again that Frown, it renders thee more charming
Than any other Dress thou could'st put on.

_Qu_. Away, you do not love me.

_Abd_. Now mayst thou hate me, if this be not pretty.

_Qu_. Oh, you can flatter finely--

_Abd_. Not I, by Heaven:
Oh, that this Head were circled in a Crown,
And I were King, by Fortune, as by Birth!
And that I was, till by thy Husband's Power
I was divested in my Infancy--
Then you shou'd see, I do not flatter ye.
But I, instead of that, must see my Crown
Bandy'd from Head to Head, and tamely see it:
And in this wretched state I live, 'tis true;
But with what Joy, you, if you lov'd, might guess.

_Qu_. We need no Crowns; Love best contented is
In shady Groves, and humble Cottages,
Where when 'twould sport, it safely may retreat,
Free from the Noise and Danger of the Great;
Where Victors are ambitious of no Bays,
But what their Nymphs bestow on Holy-days;
Nor Envy can the amorous Shepherd move,
Unless against a Rival in his Love.

_Abd_. Love and Ambition are the same to me,
In either I'll no Rivals brook.

_Qu_. Nor I:
And when the King you urge me to remove,
It may be from Ambition, not from Love.

_Abd_. Those Scruples did not in your Bosom dwell,
When you a King did in a Husband kill.

_Qu_. How, Sir, dare you upbraid me with that Sin,
To which your Perjuries first drew me in?

_Abd_. You interrupt my Sense; I only meant
A Sacrifice to Love so well begun
Shou'd not Devotion want to finish it;
And if that stop to all our Joys were gone,
The envying World wou'd to our Power submit:
But Kings are sacred, and the Gods alone
Their Crimes must judge, and punish too, or none--
Yet he alone destroys his Happiness.

_Qu_. There's yet one more--

_Abd_. One more! give me his Name,
And I will turn it to a Magick Spell,
To bind him ever fast.

_Qu. Florella_.

_Abd. Florella_! Oh, I cou'd gnaw my Chains |
That humble me so low as to adore her:      |  [_Aside_.
But the fond Blaze must out--while I erect  |
A nobler Fire more fit for my Ambition.     |
--_Florella_ dies--a Victim to your Will.
I will not let you lose one single Wish,
For a poor Life, or two;
Tho I must see my Glories made a Prey,
And not demand 'em from the Ravisher;
Nor yet complain--because he is my King:
But _Philip's_ Brow no sacred Ointment deifies,
If he do wrong, stands fair for the Revenger.

_Qu. Philip_! instruct me how t' undo that Boy I hate;
The publick Infamy I have receiv'd,
I will revenge with nothing less than Death.

_Abd_. 'Tis well we can agree in our Resentments,
For I have vow'd he shall not live a day;
He has an Art to pry into our Secrets:
To all besides our Love is either hid,
Or else they dare not see--But this Prince
Has a most dangerous Spirit must be calm'd.

_Qu_. I have resolv'd his Death,
And now have waiting in my Cabinet,
Engines to carry on this mighty Work of my Revenge.

_Abd_. Leave that to me, who equally am injur'd;
You, like the Gods, need only but command,
And I will execute your sacred Will--
That done, there's none dare whisper what we do.

_Qu_. Nature, be gone, I chase thee from my Soul,
Who Love's almighty Empire does controul:
And she that will to thy dull Laws submit,
In spite of thee, betrays the Hypocrite.
No rigid Virtue shall my Soul possess,
Let Gown-men preach against the Wickedness;
Pleasures were made by Gods, and meant for us,
And not t' enjoy 'em, were ridiculous.

_Abd_. Oh perfect, great and glorious of thy Sex!
Like thy great self 'twas spoke, resolv'd and brave--
I must attend the King--where I will watch
All _Philip's_ Motions.

_Qu_. And--after that--if you will beg Admittance,
I'll give you leave to visit me to Night.

_Abd_. Madam, that Blessing now must be defer'd.
                         [_Leads her to the Door_.
My Wrongs and I will be retir'd to Night,
And bring forth Vengeance with the Morning's Light.

                   _Enter_ Osmin, Zarrack.

_Osm_. My gracious Lord.

_Abd_. Come near--and take a Secret from my Lips;
And he who keeps not silent hears his Death.--
This Night the Prince and Cardinal--do you mark me--
Are murder'd.

_Osm_. Where, Sir?

_Abd_. Here in the Court.

_Osm_. By whom, great Sir?

_Abd_. By thee--I know thou darst.

_Osm_. Whatever you command.

_Abd_. Good!--then see it be perform'd.
_Osmin_, how goes the Night?

_Osm_. About the hour of Eight,
And you're expected at the Banquet, Sir:
Prince _Philip_ storms, and swears you're with the Queen.

_Abd_. Let him storm on; the Tempest will be laid--
Where's my Wife?

_Osm_. In the Presence, Sir, with the Princess and
Other Ladies.

_Abd_. She's wondrous forward!--what the King--
(I am not jealous tho)--but he makes court to her.
--Hah, _Osmin_!
He throws out Love from Eyes all languishing;--
Come tell me,--he does sigh to her,--no matter if he do--
And fawns upon her Hand,--and kneels;--tell me, Slave!

_Osm_. Sir, I saw nothing like to Love; he only treats her
Equal to her Quality.

_Abd_. Oh, damn her Quality.

_Zar_. I came just now
From waiting on his Person to the Banquet,
And heard him ask, if he might visit her to Night,
Having something to impart to her, that concern'd his Life.

_Abd_. And so it shall, by Heav'n!    [_Aside_.

_Zar_. But she deny'd, and he the more intreated--
But all in vain, Sir.

_Abd_. Go, _Osmin_, (you the Captain of my Guard of Moors)
Chuse out the best affected Officers,
To keep the Watch to Night--
Let every Guard be doubled--you may be liberal too--
And when I gave the Word, be ready all.

_Osm_. What shall the Word be?
                                 [_Ex_. Zarrack.

_Abd_. Why--Treason--mean time make it your Business,
To watch the Prince's coming from the Banquet;
Heated with Wine, and fearless of his Person,
You'll find him easily to be attack'd.

_Osm_. Sir, do not doubt my Management nor Success.
                                  [_Ex_. Osmin.

_Abd_. So, I thank thee, Nature, that in making me,
Thou didst design me Villain;
Hitting each Faculty for active Mischief:
Thou skilful Artist, thank thee for my Face,
It will discover nought that's hid within.
Thus arm'd for Ills,
Darkness, and Horrour, I invoke your aid;
And thou dread Night, shade all your busy Stars
In blackest Clouds,
And let my Dagger's Brightness only serve
To guide me to the Mark--and guide it so,
It may undo a Kingdom at one Blow.

                              [Exit.


SCENE II. _A Banqueting Hall_.

    _A Banquet, under a Canopy the_ King, Leonora, Florella,
    _Ladies waiting_; Philip, Mendozo, Alonzo, Ordonio,
    Antonio, Sebastian, _Lords and Attendants: As soon as
    the Scene draws off, they all rise, and come forward_.

_King_. My Lords, you're sad to Night; give us loud Musick--
I have a double Cause to mourn;
And Grief has taken up his dwelling here--
Beyond the Art of Love, or Wine to conquer--
'Tis true, my Father's dead--and possibly
'Tis not so decent to appear thus gay;
But Life, and Death, are equal to the wretched,
And whilst _Florella_ frowns--'tis in that Number   [_To_ Flor.
I must account her Slave--_Alonzo_,
How came thy Father so bewitch'd to Valour,
(For _Abdelazer_ has no other Virtue)
To recompense it with so fair a Creature?
Was this--a Treasure t' inrich the Devil with?

_Alon_. Sir, he has many Virtues, more than Courage,
Royally born, serv'd well his King, and Country;
My Father brought him up to martial Toils,
And taught him to be brave; I hope, and good;--
Beside, he was your Royal Father's Favourite.

_King_. No, _Alonzo_, 'twas not his Love to Virtue,
But nice Obedience to his King, and Master,
Who seeing my increase of Passion for her,
To kill my Hopes, he gave her to this _Moor_.

_Alon_. She's now a virtuous Woman, Sir.

_King_. Politick Sir, who would have made her other?
Against her Will, he forc'd her to his Arms,
Whilst all the World was wondring at his Madness.

_Alon_. He did it with her Approbation, Sir.

_King_. With thine, _Florella!_ cou'dst thou be so criminal?

_Flor_. Sir, I was ever taught Obedience;
My humble Thoughts durst ne'er aspire to you,
And next to that--Death, or the Moor, or any thing.

_King_. Oh God! had I then told my Tale
So feebly, it could not gain Belief.
Oh my _Florella_! this little Faith of thine
Has quite undone thy King--_Alonzo_,
Why didst not thou forbid this fatal Marriage,
She being thy only Sister?

_Alon_. Great Sir, I did oppose it with what Violence
My Duty would permit; and wou'd have dy'd
In a just Quarrel of her dear Defence;
And, Sir, though I submitted to my Father,
The Moor and I stand on unequal Terms.

_Phil_. Come, who dares drink Confusion to this Moor?

_Ant_. That, Sir, will I.

_Sebast_. And I.

_Phil_. Page, fill my Glass, I will begin the Round,
Ye all shall pledge it--_Alonzo_, first to thee.
                                            [_Drinks_.

_Alon_. To me, Sir!

_Phil_. Why, yes, thou lovest him--therefore--
Nay, you shall drink it, tho 'twere o'th' _Stygian_ Lake.
Take it--by Heaven, thoud'st pimp for him to my Mother--
Nay, and after that, give him another Sister.

_Alon_. 'Tis well you are my Prince.

_Phil_. I'd rather be a Prince of Curs--come pledge me--

_Alon_. Well, Sir, I'll give you way.
                                  [_Drinks_.

_Phil_. So wou'dst thou any--though they trod on thee.
So--nay, Prince Cardinal, tho it be not decent
For one so sanctify'd to drink a Health;
Yet 'tis your Office both to damn and bless--
Come, drink and damn the Moor.

_Men_. Sir, I'm for no carousing.

_Phil_. I'm in an Humour now to be obey'd,
And must not be deny'd--But see, the Moor
       _Enter_ Abdelazer, _gazes on them_.
Just come to pledge at last--Page, fill again--

_Abd_. I'll do you Reason, Prince, what'er it be.
                              [_Gives him the Glass_.

_Phil_. 'Twas kindly said--Confusion to the Moor.

_Abd_. Confusion to the Moor--if this vain Boy,
See the next rising Sun.    [_Aside_.

_Phil_. Well done, my Lad.

_King_. _Abdelazer_, you have been missing long,
The publick Good takes up your whole Concern,
But we shall shortly ease you of that Load--
Come, let's have some Musick;
_Ordonio_, did I not call for Musick?

_Ord_. You did, Sir.

_Abd_. _Roderigo!_

_Rod_. My gracious Lord--
                      [Roderigo _whispers to_ Abd.

_Abd_. No more--the Prince observes us.

_Phil_. There's no good towards when you are whisp'ring.

_Ord_. The Musick you commanded, Sir, is ready.

                SONG.

Nymph.

      _Make haste_, Amintas, _come away,
      The Sun is up and will not stay;
    And oh how very short's a Lover's_ Day!
      _Make haste_, Amintas, _to this Grove,
      Beneath whose Shade so oft I've sat,
      And heard my dear lay'd Swain repeat,
      How much he_ Galatea _lov'd;
      Whilst all the listening Birds around,
    Sung to the Musick of the blessed Sound.

      _Make haste_, Amintas, _come away,
      The Sun is up and will not stay;
    And oh how very short's a Lover's Day_!

Swain enters, with Shepherds and Shepherdesses, and Pipes.

      _I hear thy charming Voice, my Fair,
      And see, bright Nymph, thy Swain is here;
    Who his Devotions had much earlier paid,
      But that a Lamb of thine was stray'd;
      And I the little Wanderer have brought,
      That with one angry Look from thy fair Eyes,
      Thou may'st the little Fugitive chastise,
      Too great a Punishment for any Fault.
        Come_, Galatea, _haste away,
        The Sun is up and will not stay,
    And oh how very short's a Lover's Day_!    [Dance.

_King_. How likes _Florella_ this?

_Flor_. Sir, all Delight's so banish'd from my Soul,
I've lost the Taste of every single Joy.

_Abd_. God's! this is fine! Give me your Art of Flattery,
Or something more of this, will ruin me--
Tho I've resolv'd her Death, yet whilst she's mine,
I would not have her blown by Summer Flies.

_Phil_. Mark how he snarls upon the King!
The Cur will bite anon.

_Abd_. Come, my _Florella_, is't not Bed-time, Love?

_Flor_. I'll wait upon you, Sir.
                         [Going out.

_Phil_. The Moor has ta'en away, we may depart.

_Abd_. What has he ta'en away?
                         [_Turns about_.

_Phil_. The fine gay play-thing, that made us all so merry.

_Abd_. Was this your Sport?    [To his Wife.

_King_. _Abdelazer_, keep your way--Good night, fair Creature!

_Abd_. I will obey for once.

                         [_Ex_. Abd. _and_ Flor.

_King_. Why this Resentment, Brother, and in publick?

_Phil_. Because he gives me Cause, and that in Publick.
And, Sir, I was not born to bear with Insolence;
I saw him dart Revenge from both his Eyes,
And bite his angry Lip between his Teeth,
To keep his Jealousy from breaking forth,
Which, when it does--stand fast, my King.

_King_. But, _Philip_, we will find a way to check him;
Till when we must dissemble--take my Counsel--Good night.

_Phil_. I cannot, nor I will not--yet good Night.
                   [_Exit_ King, _and all but_ Philip's _Party_.
Well, Friends, I see the King will sleep away his Anger,
And tamely see us murder'd by this Moor;
But I'll be active, Boys--
Therefore, _Antonio_, you command the Horse;
Get what more Numbers to our Cause you can:
'Tis a good Cause, and will advance our Credit.
We will awake this King out of his Lethargy of Love,
And make him absolute--Go to your Charge,
And early in the Morning I'll be with you--
                                 [_Ex. all but_ Phil.
If all fail, Portugal shall be my Refuge,
Those whom so late I conquer'd, shall protect me--
But this Alanzo I shou'd make an Interest in;
Cou'd I but flatter--'tis a Youth that's brave.

    _Enter_ Cardinal _in haste_.

_Men_. Fly, fly, my Prince, we are betray'd and lost else.

_Phil_. Betray'd and lost! Dreams, idle Coward Dreams.

_Men_. Sir, by my Holy Order, I'm in earnest,
And you must either quickly fly, or die;
'Tis so ordain'd--nor have I time to tell
By what strange Miracle I learn'd our Fate.

_Phil_. Nor care I, I will stay, and brave it.

_Men_. That, Sir, you shall not, there's no safety here,
And 'tis the Army only can secure us.

_Phil_. Where had you this Intelligence?

_Men_. I'll tell you as we go to my Apartment;
Where we must put ourselves in Holy Dress;
For so the Guards are set in every Place,
(And those all Moors, the Slaves of _Abdelazer_)
That 'tis impossible in any other Habit to escape.
Come, haste with me, and let us put 'em on.

_Phil_. I had rather stay and kill till I am weary--
Let's to the Queen's Apartment and seize this Moor;
I'm sure there the Mongrel's kennel'd.

_Men_. Sir, we lose time in talking--Come with me.

_Phil_. Where be these lousy Gaberdines?

_Men_. I will conduct you to 'em.

_Phil_. Mother--and Moor, farewel,
I'll visit you again; and if I do,
My black Infernal, I will conjure you.

                               [_Exeunt_.



ACT III.


SCENE I. _A Gallery in the Palace_.

    _Enter_ Abdelazer _and_ Zarrack.

_Zar. Osmin_ (my Lord) by this has done his Task,
And _Philip_ is no more among the living:
Will you not rest to night?

_Abd_. Is this a time for Sleep and Idleness--dull Slaves?

_Zar_. The Bus'ness we have Order, Sir, to do,
We can without your Aid.

    _Enter_ Osmin.

_Abd. Osmin_!
Thy ominous Looks presage an ill Success;
Thy Eyes no joyful News of Murders tell:
I thought I shou'd have seen thee drest in Blood--
Speak! Speak thy News--
Say that he lives, and let it be thy last.

_Osm_. Yes, Sir, he lives.

_Abd_. Lives! thou ly'st, base Coward--lives!--renounce thy Gods!
It were a Sin less dangerous--speak again.

_Osm_. Sir, _Philip_ lives.

_Abd_. Oh treacherous Slave!

_Osm_. Not by my Fault, by Heav'n!

_Abd_. By what curst Chance,
If not from thee, could he evade his Fate?

_Osm_. By some Intelligence from his good Angel.

_Abd_. From his good Devil!
Gods! must the Earth another Day at once
Bear him and me alive?

_Osm_. Another Day!--an Age for ought I know;
For, Sir, the Prince is fled, the Cardinal too.

_Abd_. Fled! fled--say'st thou?
Oh, I cou'd curse the Stars, that rule this Night:
'Tis to the Camp they're fled; the only Refuge
That Gods, or Men cou'd give 'em--
Where got you this Intelligence?

_Osm_. My Lord, inquiring for the Prince
At the Apartment of the Cardinal, (whither he went)
His Pages answer'd me, he was at his Devotions:
A lucky time (I thought) to do the Deed;
And breaking in, found only their empty Habits,
And a poor sleepy Groom, who with much threatning,
Confess'd that they were fled, in holy Robes.

_Abd_. That Case of Sanctity was first ordain'd,
To cheat the honest World:
Twas an unlucky Chance--but we are idle--
Let's see, how from this ill, we may advance a good--
                                       [_Pauses_.
'Tis now dead time of Night, when Rapes, and Murders
Are hid beneath the horrid Veil of Darkness--
I'll ring thro all the Court, with doleful Sound
The sad Alarms of Murder--Murder--_Zarrack_,
Take up thy standing yonder--_Osmin_, thou
At the Queen's Apartment--cry out, Murder:
Whilst I, like his ill Genius, do awake the King;
Perhaps in this Disorder I may kill him.    [_Aside_.
--Treason--Murder--Murder--Treason.

    _Enter_ Alonzo, _and Courtiers_.

_Alon_. What dismal Crys are these?--

_Abd_. Where is the King?--Treason--Murder!
Where--is the sleeping Queen?--Arise, arise.

_Osm_. The Devil taught him all his Arts of Falshood.    [_Aside_.

    _Enter_ King _in a Night-Gown, with Lights_.

_King_. Who frights our quiet Slumbers with this Noise?

    _Enter_ Queen _and Women, with Lights_.

_Qu_. Was it a Dream, or did I hear the Sound
Of Treason, call me from my silent Griefs?

_King_. Who rais'd this Rumour, _Abdelazer_, you?

_Abd_. I did, Great Sir.

_King_. Your Reasons.

_Abd_. Oh Sir, your Brother _Philip_, and the Cardinal,
Both animated by a Sense of Wrongs,
(And envying, Sir, the Fortune of your Slave)
Had laid a Plot this Night, to murder you:
And 'cause they knew it was my waiting Night,
They wou'd have laid the Treason, Sir, on me.

_King_. The Cardinal, and my Brother! bring them forth,
Their Lives shall answer it.

_Abd_. Sir, 'tis impossible:
For when they found their Villany discover'd,
They in two Friers Habits made escape.

_King_. That Cardinal is subtle, and ambitious,
And from him _Philip_ learnt his dangerous Principles.

_Qu_. The Ambition of the one infects the other,
And they are both too dangerous to live--
But might a Mother's Counsel be obey'd,
I wou'd advise you, send the valiant Moor
To fetch 'em back, e'er they can reach the Camp:
For thither they are fled--where they will find
A Welcome fatal to us all.

_King_. Madam, you counsel well; and, _Abdelazer_,
Make it your Care to fetch these Traitors back,
Not only for my Safety, and the Kingdom's,
But as they are your Enemies; and th' envious World
Will say, you made this story to undo 'em.

_Abd_. Sir, I'll obey; nor will I know repose,
Till I have justify'd this fatal Truth.
            [Abd. _goes to the_ Queen, _and talks to her_.

_King_. Mean time I will to my _Florella's_ Lodging,
Silence, and Night, are the best Advocates     [_Aside_.
To plead a Lover's Cause--_Abdelazer_--haste.
Madam, I'll wait on you to your Chamber.

_Abd_. Sir, that's my Duty.

_King_. Madam, good Night--_Alonzo_, to your rest.
                  [_Ex. all but_ Qu. _and_ Abd.

_Qu. Philip_ escap'd!
Oh, that I were upon some Desart Shoar,
Where I might only to the Waves and Winds
Breathe out my Sense of Rage for this Defeat.

_Abd_. Oh, 'tis no time for Rage, but Action, Madam.

_Qu_. Give me but any Hopes of blest Revenge,
And I will be as calm as happy Lovers.

_Abd_. There is a way, and is but that alone;
But such a way, as never must be nam'd.

_Qu_. How! not be nam'd! Oh, swear thou hat'st me rather,
It were a Torment equal to thy Silence.

_Abd_. I'll shew my Passion rather in that Silence.

_Qu_. Kind Torturer, what mean'st thou?

_Abd_. To shew you, Madam, I had rather live
Wrong'd and contemn'd by _Philip_,
Than have your dearer Name made infamous.

_Qu_. Heavens! dost thou mock my Rage? can any Sin
I could commit, undo my Honour more
Than his late Insolence?
Oh, name me something may revenge that Shame:
I wou'd encounter killing Plagues, or Fire,
To meet it--Come, oh quickly give me ease.

_Abd_. I dare no more reveal the guilty Secret,
Than you dare execute it when 'tis told.

_Qu_. How little I am understood by thee--
Come, tell me instantly, for I grow impatient;
You shall obey me--nay, I do command you.

_Abd_. Durst you proclaim--_Philip_ a Bastard, Madam?

_Qu_. Hah! proclaim my self--what he wou'd have me thought!
What mean'st thou?--

_Abd_. Instruct you in the way to your Revenge.

_Qu_. Upon my self thou meanest--

_Abd_. No--
He's now fled to th' Camp, where he'll be fortify'd
Beyond our Power to hurt, but by this means;
Which takes away his Hopes of being a King,
(For he'd no other Aim in taking Arms)
And leaves him open to the People's Scorn;
Whom own'd as King, Numbers wou'd assist him,
And then our Lives he may dispose,
As he has done our Honours.

_Qu_. There's Reason in thy Words: but oh my Fame!

_Abd_. Which I, by Heaven, am much more tender of,
Than my own Life or Honour; and I've a way
To save that too, which I'll at leisure tell you.
In the mean time send for your Confessor,
And with a borrow'd Penitence confess,
Their Idol _Philip_ is a Bastard;
And zealously pretend you're urg'd by Conscience,
A cheap Pretence to cozen Fools withal.

_Qu_. Revenge, although I court you with my fatal Ruin,
I must enjoy thee: there's no other way,
And I'm resolv'd upon the mighty Pleasure;
He has profan'd my purer Flame for thee,
And merits to partake the Infamy.
                           [_He leads her out_.

_Abd_. Now have at my young King--
I know he means to cuckold me to Night,
Whilst he believes I'll tamely step aside--
No, let _Philip_ and the Cardinal gain the Camp,
I will not hinder 'em--
I have a nobler Sacrifice to make
To my declining Honour, shall redeem it,
And pay it back with Interest--well, then in order to't,
I'll watch about the Lodgings of _Florella_,
And if I see this hot young Lover enter,
I'll save my Wife the trouble of allaying
The amorous Heat--this--will more nimbly do't,
                          [_Snatches out his Dagger_.
And do it once for all--

    _Enter_ Florella _in her Night-Clothes_.

_Flor_. My _Abdelazer_--why in that fierce posture,
As if thy Thoughts were always bent on Death?
Why is that Dagger out?--against whom drawn?

_Abd_. Or stay,--suppose I let him see _Florella_,
And when he's high with the expected Bliss,
Then take him thus--Oh, 'twere a fine surprize!

_Flor_. My Lord--dear _Abdelazer_.

_Abd_. Or say--I made her kill him--that were yet
An Action much more worthy of my Vengeance.

_Flor_. Will you not speak to me? what have I done?

_Abd_. By Heaven, it shall be so.

_Flor_. What shall be so?

_Abd_. Hah--

_Flor_. Why dost thou dress thy Eyes in such unusual wonder?
There's nothing here that is a stranger to thee,
Or what is not intirely thine own.

_Abd_. Mine!

_Flor_. Thou canst not doubt it.

_Abd_. No,--and for a proof that thou art so,--take this Dagger.

_Flor_. Alas, Sir!--what to do?

_Abd_. To stab a Heart, _Florella_, a Heart that loves thee.

_Flor_. Heaven forbid!

_Abd_. No matter what Heaven will, I say it must--

_Flor_. What must?

_Abd_. That Dagger must enter the Heart of him
That loves thee best, _Florella_;--guess the Man.

_Flor_. What means my Moor?
Wouldst thou have me kill thy self?

_Abd_. Yes--when I love thee better than the King.

_Flor_. Ah, Sir! what mean you?

_Abd_. To have you kill this King,
When next he does pursue thee with his Love--
What, do you weep?--
By Heaven, they shall be bloody Tears then.

_Flor_. I shall deserve them--when I suffer Love
That is not fit to hear;--but for the King,
That which he pays me, is so innocent--

_Abd_. So innocent! damn thy dissembling Tongue;
Did I not see, with what fierce wishing Eyes
He gazed upon thy Face, whilst yours as wantonly
Returned, and understood the amorous Language?

_Flor_. Admit it true, that such his Passions were,
As (Heaven's my witness) I've no cause to fear;
Have not I Virtue to resist his Flame,
Without a pointed Steel?

_Abd_. Your Virtue!--Curse on the weak Defence;
Your Virtue's equal to his Innocence.
Here, take this Dagger, and if this Night he visit thee,
When he least thinks on't--send it to his Heart.

_Flor_. If you suspect me, do not leave me, Sir.

_Abd_. Oh--I'm dispatch'd away--to leave you free--
About a wonderful Affair--mean time,
I know you will be visited--but as you wish to live,
At my return let me behold him dead.--
Be sure you do't--'tis for thy Honour's safety--
I love thee so, that I can take no rest,
Till thou hast kill'd thy Image in his Breast.
--Adieu, my dear _Florella_.
                        [Exit_.

_Flor_. Murder my King! the Man that loves me too--
What Fiend, what Fury such an act wou'd do?
My trembling Hand wou'd not the Weapon bear,
And I should sooner strike it here--than there.
                         [_Pointing to her Breast_.
No! though of all I am, this Hand alone
Is what thou canst command, as being thy own;
Yet this has plighted no such cruel Vow;
No Duty binds me to obey thee 'now.
To save my King's, my Life I will expose,
No Martyr dies in a more glorious Cause.

                                   [_Exit_.


SCENE II. _The Queen's Apartments_.

    _Enter the_ Queen _in an undress alone, with a Light_.

_Qu_. Thou grateful Night, to whom all happy Lovers
Make their devout and humble Invocations;
Thou Court of Silence, where the God of Love,
Lays by the awful Terror of a Deity,
And every harmful Dart, and deals around
His kind Desires; whilst thou, blest Friend to Joys,
Draw'st all thy Curtains, made of gloomy Shades,
To veil the Blushes of soft yielding Maids;
Beneath thy Covert grant the Love-sick King,
May find admittance to _Florella's_ Arms;
And being there, keep back the busy Day;
Maintain thy Empire till my Moor returns;
Where in her Lodgings he shall find his Wife,
Amidst her amorous Dalliance with my Son.--
My watchful Spies are waiting for the Knowledge;
Which when to me imparted, I'll improve,
Till my Revenge be equal to my Love.
    _Enter_ Elvira.
--_Elvira_, in thy Looks I read Success;
What hast thou learnt?

_Elv_. Madam, the King is gone as you imagin'd,
To fair _Florella's_ Lodging.

_Qu_. But art thou sure he gain'd Admittance?

_Elv_. Yes, Madam;
But what Welcome he has found, to me's unknown;
But I believe it must be great, and kind.

_Qu_. I am of thy Opinion.--
But now, _Elvira_, for a well-laid Plot,
To ruin this _Florella_;--though she be innocent,
Yet she must die; so hard a Destiny
My Passion for her Husband does decree:
But 'tis the way I stop at.--
His Jealousy already I have rais'd;
That's not enough, his Honour must be touch'd.
This Meeting twixt the King and fair _Florella_,
Must then be render'd publick;
'Tis the Disgrace, not Action, must incense him--
Go you to Don _Alonzo's_ Lodging strait,
Whilst I prepare my Story for his Ear.--
                                       [Exit Elvira.
Assist me all that's ill in Woman-kind,
And furnish me with Sighs, and feigned Tears,
That may express a Grief for this Discovery.--
My Son, be like thy Mother, hot and bold;
And like the noble Ravisher of Rome,
Court her with Daggers, when thy Tongue grows faint,
Till thou hast made a Conquest o'er her Virtue.
                     _Enter_ Alonzo, Elvira.
--Oh, _Alonzo_, I have strange News to tell thee!

_Alon_. It must be strange indeed, that makes my Queen
Dress her fair Eyes in Sorrow.

_Qu_. It is a Dress that thou wilt be in love with,
When thou shalt hear my Story.--
You had a Sister once.

_Alon_. Had!

_Qu_. Yes, had,--whilst she was like thy self, all Virtue;
Till her bewitching Eyes kindled such Flames,
As will undo us all.

_Alon_. My Sister, Madam! sure it cannot be:--
What Eyes? what Flames?--inform me strait.

_Qu. Alonzo_, thou art honest, just and brave:
And should I tell thee more,--
(Knowing thy Loyalty's above all Nature)
It would oblige thee to commit an Outrage,
Which baser Spirits will call Cruelty.

_Alon_. Gods, Madam! do not praise my Virtue thus,
Which is so poor, it scarce affords me patience
To attend the end of what you wou'd deliver--
Come, Madam, say my Sister--is a Whore.
I know 'tis so you mean; and being so,
Where shall I kneel for Justice?
Since he that shou'd afford it me,
Has made her Criminal.--
Pardon me, Madam, 'tis the King I mean.

_Qu_. I grieve to own, all thy prophetick Fears
Are true, _Alonzo_, 'tis indeed the King.

_Alon_. Then I'm disarm'd,
For Heaven can only punish him.

_Qu_. But, _Alonzo_,
Whilst that religious Patience dwells about thee,
All Spain must suffer, nay, Ages that shall ensue
Shall curse thy Name, and Family;
From whom a Race of Bastards shall proceed,
To wear that Crown.

_Alon_. No, Madam, not for mine,
My Sister's in my power, her Honour's mine;
I can command her Life, though not my King's.
Her Mother is a Saint, and shou'd she now
Look down from Heaven upon a Deed so foul,
I think even there she wou'd invent a Curse,
To thunder on her Head.--
But, Madam, whence was this Intelligence?

_Qu. Elvira_ saw the King enter her Lodgings,
With Lover's haste, and Joy.

_Alon_. Her Lodgings!--when?

_Qu_. Now, not an Hour ago,
Now, since the Moor departed.

_Alon_. Damnation on her! can she be thus false?
Come, lead me to the Lodgings of this Strumpet,
And make me see this truth,             [_To_ Elvira.
Or I will leave thee dead, for thus abusing me.

_Qu_. Nay, dear _Alonzo_, do not go inrag'd,
Stay till your Temper wears a calmer look;
That if, by chance, you shou'd behold the Wantons,
In little harmless Dalliance, such as Lovers
(Aided with Silence, and the shades of Night)
May possibly commit,
You may not do that which you may repent of.

_Alon_. Gods! should I play the Pander!
And with my Patience, aid the amorous Sin--
No, I shall scarce have so much Tameness left,
To mind me of my Duty to my King.
Ye Gods! behold the Sacrifice I make
To my lost Honour: behold, and aid my Justice.
                                         [_Ex_. Alon.

_Qu_. It will concern me too to see this Wonder,
For yet I scarce can credit it.

                              [_Exeunt_.


SCENE III. Florella's _Lodgings_.

    _Enter the_ King, _leading in_ Florella _all in fear_.

_Flor_. Ah, Sir, the Gods and you would be more merciful,
If by a Death less cruel than my Fears,
You would preserve my Honour; begin it quickly,
And after that I will retain my Duty,
And at your Feet breathe Thanks in dying Sighs.

_King_. Where learnt you, Fairest, so much Cruelty
To charge me with the Power of injuring thee?
Not from my Eyes, where Love and Languishment
Too sensibly inform thee of my Heart.

_Flor_. Call it not Injury, Sir, to free my Soul
From fears which such a Visit must create,
In dead of Night, when nought but frightful Ghosts
Of restless Souls departed walk the Round.

_King_. That fleeting thing am I, whom all Repose,
All Joys, and every good of Life abandon'd,
That fatal Hour thou gavest thy self away;
And I was doom'd to endless Desperation:
Yet whilst I liv'd, all glorious with my hopes,
Some sacred Treasures in thy Breast I hid,
And near thee still my greedy Soul will hover.

_Flor_. Ah, rather like a Ravisher you come,
With Love and Fierceness in your dangerous Eyes;
And both will equally be fatal to me.

_King_. Oh, do not fear me, as the fair _Lucretia_
Did the fierce Roman Youth; I mean no Rapes,
Thou canst not think that I wou'd force those Joys,
Which cease to be so, when compell'd, _Florella_--
No, I would sooner pierce this faithful Heart,
Whose Flame appears too criminal for your Mercy.

_Flor_. Why do you fright me, Sir? methinks your Looks
All pale, your Eyes thus fixt, and trembling Hands,
The awful Horror of the dark and silent Night,
Strike a cold Terror round my fainting Heart,
That does presage some fatal Accident.

_King_. 'Tis in your cruel Eyes the Danger lies--
Wou'd you receive me with that usual Tenderness,
Which did express it self in every Smile,
I should dismiss tin's Horror from my Face,
And place again its native Calmness there;
And all my Veins shall re-assume their Heat,
And with a new and grateful Ardour beat.

_Flor_. Sir, all my Soul is taken up with fear,
And you advance your Fate, by staying here--
Fly, fly, this place of Death--if _Abdelazer_
Shou'd find you here--all the Divinity
About your sacred Person could not guard you.

_King_. Ah, my _Florella_, cease thy needless Fear,
And in thy Soul let nothing reign but Love;
Love, that with soft Desires may fill thy Eyes,
And save thy Tongue the pain t' instruct my Heart,
In the most grateful Knowledge Heaven can give me.

_Flor_. That Knowledge, Sir, wou'd make us both more wretched,
Since you, I know, wou'd still be wishing on,
And I shou'd grant, till we were both undone.
And, Sir, how little she were worth your care,
Cou'd part with all her honourable Fame,
For an inglorious Life--short and despis'd--

_King_. Canst thou believe a Flame thy Eyes have kindled,
Can urge me to an infamous pursuit?--
No, my _Florella_, I adore thy Virtue,
And none profane those Shrines, to whom they offer;
--Say but thou lov'st--and I thus low will bow--
                                            [_Kneels_.
And sue to thee, to be my Sovereign Queen?
I'll circle thy bright Forehead with the Crowns
Of _Castile, Portugal_, and _Arragon_;
And all those petty Kingdoms, which do bow
Their Tributary Knees to thy Adorer.

_Flor_. Ah, Sir! have you forgot my sacred Vow?
All that I am, is _Abdelazer's_ now.

_King_. By Heav'n, it was a sacrilegious Theft;
But I the Treasure from his Breast will tear,
And reach his Heart, though thou art seated there.

_Flor_. A Deed like that my Virtue wou'd undo,
And leave a Stain upon your Glories too;
A Sin, that wou'd my Hate, not Passion move;
I owe a Duty, where I cannot love.

_King_. Thou think'st it then no Sin to kill thy King;
For I must die, without thy Love, _Florella_.

_Flor_. How tamely, Sir, you with the Serpent play,
Whose fatal Poison must your Life betray;
And though a King, cannot divine your Fate;
Kings only differ from the Gods in that.--
See, Sir, with this--I am your Murderer made;
                              [_Holds up a Dagger_.
By those we love, we soonest are betray'd.

_King_. How! can that fair Hand acquaint it self with Death?
--What wilt thou do, _Florella_?

_Flor_. Your Destiny divert,
And give my Heart those Wounds design'd for yours.
--If you advance, I'll give the deadly Blow.

_King_. Hold!--I command thee hold thy impious Hand,
My Heart dwells there, and if you strike--I die.

    _Enter_ Queen, Alonzo, _and_ Elvira.

_Qu. Florella_! arm'd against the King?
      [_Snatches the Dagger and stabs her: the_ King _rises_.
Oh Traitress!

_King_. Hold, hold, inhuman Murdress;
What hast thou done, most barbarous of thy Sex!
                       [_Takes_ Flor. _in his Arms_.

_Qu_. Destroy'd thy Murdress,--and my too fair Rival.    [_Aside_.

_King_. My Murdress!--what Devil did inspire thee
With Thoughts so black and sinful? cou'd this fair Saint
Be guilty of a Murder?--No, no, too cruel Mother,
With her Eyes, her charming lovely Eyes,
She might have kill'd, and her too virtuous Cruelty.
--Oh my _Florella_! Sacred lovely Creature!

_Flor_. My Death was kind, since it prevented yours,
And by that Hand, which sav'd mine from a Guilt.
                           [_Points to the_ Queen.
--That Dagger I receiv'd of _Abdelazer_,
To stab that Heart,--he said, that lov'd me best;
But I design'd to overcome your Passion,
And then to have vanquish'd _Abdelazer's_ Jealousy:
But finding you too faithful to be happy,
I did resolve to die--and have my wish.
--Farewel--my King--my Soul begins its flight,
--And now--is hovering--in eternal--Night.
                                       [Dies.

_King_. She's gone--she's gone--her sacred Soul is fled
To that Divinity, of which it is a part;
Too excellent to inhabit Earthly Bodies.

_Alon_. Oh, Sir, you grieve too much, for one so foul.

_King_. What profane Breath was that pronounc'd her foul?
Thy Mother's Soul, though turn'd into a Cherubim,
Was black to hers--Oh, she was all divine.
--_Alonzo_, was it thou?--her Brother!

_Alon_. When she was good, I own'd that Title, Sir.

_King_. Good!--by all the Gods, she was as chaste as Vestals,
As Saints translated to Divine Abodes.
I offer'd her to be my Queen, _Alonzo_,
To share the growing Glories of my Youth;
But uncorrupted she my Crown contemn'd,
And on her Virtue's Guard stood thus defended.
                               [Alon. _weeps_.
--Oh my _Florella_! let me here lie fix'd,
                               [_Kneels_.
And never rise, till I am cold and pale
As thou, fair Saint, art now--But sure
She cou'd not die;--that noble generous Heart,
That arm'd with Love and Honour, did rebate
All the fierce Sieges of my amorous Flame,
Might sure defend it self against those Wounds
Given by a Woman's Hand,--or rather 'twas a Devil's.
                                [_Rises_.
--What dost thou merit for this Treachery?
Thou vilest of thy Sex--
But thou'rt a thing I have miscall'd a Mother,
And therefore will not touch thee--live to suffer
By a more shameful way;--but here she lies,
Whom I, though dead, must still adore as living.

_Alon_. Sir, pray retire, there's danger in your stay;
When I reflect upon this Night's Disorder,
And the Queen's Art to raise my Jealousy;
And after that my Sister's being murder'd,
I must believe there is some deeper Plot,
Something design'd against your sacred Person.

_King. Alonzo_, raise the Court, I'll find it,
                              [_Ex_. Alonzo.
Tho 'twere hid within my Mother's Soul.

_Qu_. My gentle Son, pardon my kind mistake,
I did believe her arm'd against thy Life.

_King_. Peace, Fury! Not ill boding Raven Shrieks,
Nor midnight Cries of murder'd Ghosts, are more
Ungrateful, than thy faint and dull Excuses.
--Be gone! and trouble not the silent Griefs,
Which will insensibly decay my Life,
Till like a Marble Statue I am fixt,
Dropping continual Tears upon her Tomb.
             [_Kneels and--weeps at_ Florella's _Feet_.

_Abd. [Within]_. Guard all the Chamber-Doors--Fire and Confusion
Consume the _Spanish_ Dogs--was I for this
Sent to fetch back a _Philip_, and a Cardinal,
To have my Wife abus'd?

    _Enter_ Abdelazer.

_Qu_. Patience, dear _Abdelazer_.

_Abd_. Patience and I am Foes: where's my _Florella_?
The King! and in _Florella's_ Bed-Chamber!
_Florella_ dead too!--
Rise, thou eternal Author of my Shame;
Gay thing--to you I speak,  [King _rises_.
And thus throw off Allegiance.

_Qu_. Oh, stay your Fury, generous _Abdelazer_.

_Abd_. Away, fond Woman.
                    [_Throws her from him_.

_King_. Villain, to me this Language?

_Abd_. To thee, young amorous King.
How at this dead and silent time of Night,
Durst you approach the Lodgings of my Wife?

_King_. I scorn to answer thee.

_Abd_. I'll search it in thy Heart then.

    [_They fight_, Queen _and_ Elv. _run out crying Treason_.

_King_. The Devil's not yet ready for his Soul,
And will not claim his due.--Oh, I am wounded.    [_Falls_.

_Abd_. No doubt on't, Sir, these are no Wounds of Love.

_King_. Whate'er they be, you might have spar'd 'em now,
Since those _Florella_ give me were sufficient:
--And yet a little longer, fixing thus
Thou'dst seen me turn to Earth, without thy aid.
_Florella!--Florella!_--is thy Soul fled so far
It cannot answer me, and call me on?
And yet like dying Ecchoes in my Ears,
I hear thee cry, my Love--I come--I come, fair Soul.
--Thus at thy Feet--my Heart shall bleeding--lie.
Who since it liv'd for thee--for thee--will die.    [_Dies_.

_Abd_. So--thou art gone--there was a King but now,
And now a senseless, dull, and breathless nothing.
                         [_A noise of fighting without_.
    _Enter_ Queen _running_.

_Qu_. Oh Heavens! my Son--the King, the King is kill'd!--
Yet I must save his Murderer:--Fly, my Moor;

_Alonzo_, Sir, assisted by some Friends,
Has set upon your Guards,
And with resistless Fury is making hither.

_Abd_. Let him come on.

    _Enter Alonzo and others, led in by Osmin, Zarrack, and Moors_.

Oh, are you fast?
                   [_Takes away their Swords_.

_Alon_. What mean'st thou, Villain?

_Abd_. To put your Swords to better uses, Sir,
Than to defend the cause of Ravishers.

_Alon_. Oh Heavens, the King is murder'd!

_Abd_. Look on that Object,
Thy Sister and my Wife, who's doubly murder'd,
First in her spotless Honour, then her Life.

_Alon_. Heaven is more guilty than the King in this.

_Qu_. My Lords, be calm; and since your King is murder'd.
Think of your own dear Safeties; chuse a new King,
That may defend you from the Tyrant's Rage.

_Alon_. Who should we chuse? Prince _Philip_ is our King.

_Abd_. By Heaven, but _Philip_ shall not be my King;
_Philip's_ a Bastard, and Traytor to his Country:
He braves us with an Army at our Walls,
Threatning the Kingdom with a fatal Ruin.
And who shall lead you forth to Conquest now,
But _Abdelazer_, whose Sword reap'd Victory,
As oft as 'twas unsheath'd?--and all for _Spain_
--How many Laurels has this Head adorn'd?
Witness the many Battles I have won;
In which I've emptied all my youthful Veins!--
And all for _Spain!_--ungrateful of my Favours!
--I do not boast my Birth,
Nor will not urge to you my Kingdom's Ruin;
But loss of Blood, and numerous Wounds receiv'd--
And still for _Spain!_--
And can you think, that after all my Toils,
I wou'd be still a Slave?--to Bastard _Philip_ too?
That dangerous Foe, who with the Cardinal,
Threatens with Fire and Sword.--I'll quench those Flames,
Such an esteem I still preserve for _Spain_.

_Alon_. What means this long Harangue? what does it aim at?

_Abd_. To be Protector of the Crown of _Spain_,
Till we agree about a lawful Successor.

_Alon_. Oh Devil!

_Qu_. We are betray'd, and round beset with Horrors;
If we deny him this--the Power being his,
We're all undone, and Slaves unto his Mercy.--
Besides--Oh, give me leave to blush when I declare,
That _Philip_ is--as he has rendred him.--
But I in love to you, love to my _Spain_,
Chose rather to proclaim my Infamy,
Than an ambitious Bastard should be crown'd.

_Alon_. Here's a fine Plot,
What Devil reigns in Woman, when she doats?    [_Aside_.

_Rod_. My Lords, I see no remedy but he must be Protector.

_Alon_. Oh, Treachery--have you so soon forgot
The noble _Philip_, and his glorious Heir,
The murder'd _Ferdinand?_--
And, Madam, you so soon forgot a Mother's Name,
That you wou'd give him Power that kill'd your Son?

_Abd_. The Modesty wherewith I'll use that Power,
Shall let you see, I have no other Interest
But what's intirely _Spain's_.--Restore their Swords,
And he amongst you all who is dissatisfy'd,
I set him free this minute.

_Alon_. I take thee at thy word--
And instantly to _Philip's_ Camp will fly.
                                       [_Exit_.

_Abd_. By all the Gods my Ancestors ador'd,
But that I scorn the envying World shou'd think
I took delight in Blood--I wou'd not part so with you.
--But you, my Lords, who value _Spain's_ Repose,
Must for it instantly with me take Arms.
Prince _Philip_, and the Cardinal, now ride
Like _Jove_ in Thunder; we in Storms must meet them.
To Arms! to Arms! and then to Victory,
Resolv'd to conquer, or resolv'd to die.

                                     [_Exeunt_.



ACT IV.


SCENE I. Abdelazer's _Tent_.

    _Enter_ Abdelazer, Osmin _bearing his Helmet of Feathers_,
    Zarrack _with his Sword and Truncheon_.

_Abd_. Come, _Osmin_, arm me quickly; for the Day
Comes on apace, and the fierce Enemy
Will take advantages by our delay.

    _Enter_ Queen _and_ Elvira.

_Qu_. Oh, my dear Moor!
The rude, exclaiming, ill-affected Multitude
(Tempestuous as the Sea) run up and down,
Some crying, kill the Bastard--some the Moor;
These for King _Philip_,--those for _Abdelazer_.

_Abd_. Your Fears are idle,--blow 'em into Air.
I rush'd amongst the thickest of their Crouds,
And with the awful Splendor of my Eyes,
Like the imperious Sun, dispers'd the Clouds.
But I must combat now a fiercer Foe,
The hot-brain'd _Philip_, and a jealous Cardinal.

_Qu_. And must you go, before I make you mine?

_Abd_. That's my Misfortune--when I return with Victory,
And lay my Wreaths of Laurel at your Feet,
You shall exchange them for your glorious Fetters.

_Qu_. How canst thou hope for Victory, when their Numbers
So far exceed thy Powers?

_Abd_. What's wanting there, we must supply with Conduct.
I know you will not stop at any thing
That may advance our Interest, and Enjoyment.

_Qu_. Look back on what I have already done;
And after that look forward with Assurance.

_Abd_. You then (with only Women in your Train)
Must to the Camp, and to the Cardinal's Tent;--
Tell him, your Love to him hath drawn you thither:
Then undermine his Soul--you know the way on't.
And sooth him into a Belief, that the best way
To gain your Heart, is to leave _Philip's_ Interest;
Urge 'tis the Kingdom's safety, and your own;
And use your fiercest Threats, to draw him to a Peace with me;
Not that you love me, but for the Kingdom's good:
Then in a Tent which I will pitch on purpose,
Get him to meet me: He being drawn off,
Thousands of Bigots (who think to cheat the World
Into an Opinion, that fighting for the Cardinal is
A pious Work) will (when he leaves the Camp)
Desert it too.

_Qu_. I understand you, and more than I have time to be
Instructed in, I will perform; and possibly
Before you can begin, I'll end my Conquests.

_Abd_. 'Twill be a Victory worthy of your Beauty.
--I must to Horse, farewel, my generous Mistress.

_Qu_. Farewel! and may thy Arms as happy prove,
As shall my Art, when it dissembles Love.

                                     [_Exeunt_.


SCENE II. Philip's _Tent_.

    _Enter_ Philip, Alonzo, _and Guards_.

_Phil_. 'Tis a sad Story thou hast told, _Alonzo_;
Yet 'twill not make me shed one single Tear:
They must be all of Blood that I will offer
To my dear Brother's Ghost--
But, gallant Friend, this Good his Ills have done,
To turn thee over to our juster Interest,
For thou didst love him once.

_Alon_. Whilst I believ'd him honest, and for my Sister's sake;
But since, his Crimes have made a Convert of me.

_Phil_. Gods! is it possible the Queen should countenance
His horrid Villanies?

_Alon_. Nay, worse than so,'tis thought she'll marry him.

_Phil_. Marry him! then here upon my Knees I vow,
                        [_Kneels_.
To shake all Duty from my Soul;
And all that Reverence Children owe a Parent,
Shall henceforth be converted into Hate.    [_Rises_.
--Damnation! marry him! Oh, I cou'd curse my Birth!
This will confirm the World in their Opinion,
That she's the worst of Women;
That I am basely born too, (as she gives it out)
That Thought alone does a just Rage inspire,
And kindles round my Heart an active Fire.

_Alan_. A Disobedience, Sir, to such a Parent,
Heaven must forgive the Sin, if this be one:
--Yet do not, Sir, in Words abate that Fire,
Which will assist you a more effectual way.

_Phil_. Death! I could talk of it an Age;
And, like a Woman, fret my Anger high:
Till like my Rage, I have advanc'd my Courage,
Able to fight the World against my Mother.

_Alan_. Our Wrongs without a Rage, will make us fight,
Wrongs that wou'd make a Coward resolute.

_Phil_. Come, noble Youth,
Let us join both our several Wrongs in one,
And from them make a solemn Resolution,
Never to part our Interest, till this Moor,
This worse than Devil Moor be sent to Hell.

_Alon_. I do.

_Phil_. Hark--hark--the Charge is sounded, let's to Horse,
St. _Jaques_ for the Right of _Spain_ and me.

                                         [_Exeunt_.


SCENE III. _A Grave_.

    _Drums and Trumpets afar off,--with noise of fighting at a
    distance: After a little while, enter_ Philip _in a Rage_.

_Phil_. Oh unjust Powers! why d'ye protect this Monster?--
And this damn'd Cardinal, that comes not up
With the Castilian Troops? curse on his formal Politicks--
     _Enter_ Alonzo.
--_Alonzo_, where's the Moor?

_Alon_. The Moor--a Devil--never did Fiend of Hell,
Compell'd by some Magician's Charms,
Break thro the Prison of the folded Earth
With more swift Horrour, than this Prince of Fate
Breaks thro our Troops in spite of Opposition.

_Phil_. Death! 'tis not his single Arm that works the Wonders,
But our Cowardice--Oh, this Dog Cardinal!

     _Enter_ Antonio.

_Ant_. Sound a Retreat, or else the Day is lost.

_Phil_. I'll beat that Cur to Death that sounds Retreat.

     _Enter_ Sebastian.

_Sebast_. Sound a Retreat.

_Phil_. Who is't that tempts my Sword?--continue the Alarm,
Fight on Pell-mell--fight--kill--be damn'd--do any thing
But sound Retreat--Oh, this damn'd Coward Cardinal!
                                               [_Exeunt_.

    _The noise of fighting near; after a little while enter
    Philip again_.

_Phil_. Not yet, ye Gods! Oh, this eternal Coward!

    _Enter_ Alonzo.

_Alon_. Sir, bring up your Reserves, or all is lost;
Ambition plumes the Moor, that makes him act
Deeds of such Wonder, that even you wou'd envy them.

_Phil_. 'Tis well--I'll raise my Glories to that dazling height,
Shall darken his, or set in endless Night.

                                      [_Exeunt_.


SCENE IV. _A Grove_.

    _Enter_ Card. and Queen; _the noise of a Battel continuing
    afar off all the Scene_.

_Qu_. By all thy Love, by all thy Languishments,
By all those Sighs and Tears paid to my Cruelty,
By all thy Vows, thy passionate Letters sent,
I do conjure thee, go not forth to fight:
Command your Troops not to engage with _Philip_,
Who aims at nothing but the Kingdom's ruin.
--_Fernando's_ kill'd--the Moor has gain'd the Power,
A Power that you nor _Philip_ can withstand;
And is't not better he were lost than _Spain_,
Since one must be a Sacrifice?
Besides--if I durst tell it,
There's something I cou'd whisper to thy Soul,
Wou'd make thee blush at ev'ry single Good
Thou'ast done that insolent Boy;--But 'tis not now
A time for Stories of so strange a Nature,--
Which when you know, you will conclude with me,
That every Man that arms for _Philip's_ Cause,
Merits the name of Traitor.--
Be wise in time, and leave his shameful Interest,
An Interest thou wilt curse thy self for taking;
Be wise, and make Alliance with the Moor.

_Card_. And, Madam, should I lay aside my Wrongs,
Those publick Injuries I have receiv'd,
And make a mean and humble Peace with him?
--No, let Spain be ruin'd by our Civil Swords,
E'er for its safety I forego mine Honour.--

     _Enter an Officer_.

_Offi_. Advance, Sir, with your Troops, or we are lost.

_Card_. Give order--

_Qu_. That they stir not on their Lives;
Is this the Duty that you owe your Country?
Is this your Sanctity--and Love to me?
Is't thus you treat the Glory I have offer'd
To raise you to my Bed?
To rule a Kingdom, be a Nation's Safety,
To advance in hostile manner to their Walls;
Walls that confine your Countrymen, and Friends,
And Queen, to whom you've vow'd eternal Peace,
Eternal Love? And will you court in Arms?
Such rude Addresses wou'd but ill become you.
No, from this hour renounce all Claims to me,
Or _Philip's_ Interest; for let me tell you, Cardinal,
This Love, and that Revenge, are inconsistent.

_Card_. But, Madam--

_Qu_. No more--disband your Rebel Troops,
And strait with me to _Abdelazer's_ Tent,
Where all his Claims he shall resign to you,
Both in my self, the Kingdom, and the Crown:
You being departed, thousands more will leave him,
And you're alone the Prop to his Rebellion.

    _Enter_ Sebastian.

_Sebast_. Advance, advance, my Lord, with all your Force,
Or else the Prince and Victory is lost,
Which now depends upon his single Valour;
Who, like some ancient Hero, or some God,
Thunders amongst the thickest of his Enemies,
Destroying all before him in such numbers,
That Piles of Dead obstruct his passage to the living--
Relieve him strait, my Lord, with our last Cavalry and
Hopes.

_Card_. I'll follow instantly.--
                                  [_Ex_. Sebast.

_Qu_. Sir, but you shall not, unless it be to Death--
Shall you preserve the only Man I hate,
And hate with so much reason?--let him fall
A Victim to an injur'd Mother's Honour.
--Come, I will be obey'd--indeed I must--[_Fawns on him_.

_Card_. When you're thus soft, can I retain my Anger?
Oh, look but ever thus--in spite of Injuries--
I shall become as tame and peaceable,
As are your charming Eyes, when dress'd in Love,
Which melting down my Rage, leave me defenceless.
--Ah, Madam, have a generous care of me,
For I have now resign'd my Power to you.

    [_Shouts within_.

_Qu_. What Shouts are these?

    _Enter_ Sebastian.

_Sebast_. My Lord, the Enemy is giving ground,
And _Philip's_ Arm alone sustains the day:
Advance, Sir, and compleat the Victory.
                                    [_Exit_.

_Qu_. Give order strait, that a Retreat be sounded;
And whilst they do so, by me conducted,
We'll instantly to _Abdelazer's_ Tent--
Haste--haste, my Lord, whilst I attend you here.
                                      [_Ex. severally_.
               [Cardinal _going out, is met by_ Philip.

_Phil_. Oh, damn your lazy Order, where have you been, Sir?
--But 'tis no time for Questions,
Move forward with your Reserves.

_Card_. I will not, Sir.

_Phil_. How, will not!

_Card_. Now to advance would be impolitick;
Already by your desperate Attempts,
You've lost the best part of our Hopes.

_Phil_. Death! you lye.

_Card_. Lye, Sir!

_Phil_. Yes, lye, Sir,--therefore come on,
Follow the desperate Reer-Guard, which is mine,
And where I'll die, or conquer--follow my Sword
The bloody way it leads, or else, by Heaven,
I'll give the Moor the Victory in spite,
And turn my Force on thee--
Plague of your Cowardice--Come, follow me.

                                    [_Ex_. Card.


SCENE V. _The Grove_.

    _As_ Philip _is going off, he is overtook by_ Alonzo, Antonio,
    Sebastian, _and other Officers: At the other side some Moors,
    and other of_ Abdelazer's _Party, enter and fall on_ Philip _and
    the rest--the Moors are beaten off--one left
    dead on the Stage_.--

    _Enter_ Abdelazer, _with_ Roderigo _and some others_.

_Abd_. Oh, for more Work--more Souls to send to Hell!
--Ha, ha, ha, here's one going thither,--Sirrah--Slave
Moor--who kill'd thee?--how he grins--this Breast,
Had it been temper'd and made proof like mine,
It never wou'd have been a Mark for Fools.

    Abd. _going out: Enter_ Philip, Alonzo, Sebastian, Antonio,
    _and Officers, as passing over the Stage_.

_Phil_. I'll wear my Sword to th' Hilt, but I will find
The Subject of my Vengeance.--
Moor, 'tis for thee I seek, where art thou, Slave?--

_Abd_. Here, _Philip_.    [Abd. _turns_.

_Phil_. Fate and Revenge, I thank thee.--

_Abd_. Why--thou art brave, whoe'er begot thee.

_Phil_. Villain, a King begot me.

_Abd_. I know not that,
But I'll be sworn thy Mother was a Queen,
And I will kill thee handsomly for her sake.

        [_Offers to fight, their Parties hinder them_.

_Alon_. Hold--hold, my Prince.

_Osm_. Great Sir, what mean you?    [_To_ Abd.
The Victory being yours, to give your Life away
On one so mad and desperate.
                              [_Their Parties draw_.

_Phil. Alonzo_, hold,
We two will be the Fate of this great Day.

_Abd_. And I'll forego all I've already won,
And claim no Conquest; the whole heaps of Bodies,
Which this Right-hand has slain, declare me Victor.

_Phil_. No matter who's the Victor; I have thee in my view,
And will not leave thee,
Till thou hast crown'd those Heaps, and made 'em all
The glorious Trophies of my Victory--Come on, Sir.

_Alon_. You shall not fight thus single;
If you begin, by Heaven, we'll all fall on.

_Phil_. Dost thou suspect my Power?
Oh, I am arm'd with more than compleat Steel,
The Justice of my Quarrel; when I look
Upon my Father's Wrongs, my Brother's Wounds,
My Mother's Infamy, _Spain's_ Misery,
I am all Fire; and yet I am too cold
To let out Blood enough for my Revenge:
--Therefore stir not a Sword on my side.

_Abd_. Nor on mine.

    _They fight; both their Parties engage on either side; the
    Scene draws off, and discovers both the Armies, which
    all fall on and make the main Battel:_ Philip _prevails,
    the_ Moors _give ground: Then the Scene closes to the
    the Grove. Enter some_ Moors _flying in disorder_.


SCENE VI. _Changes to a Tent_.

    _Enter_ Abdelazer, Roderigo, Osmin, Zarrack, _and some
    others of his Party_.

_Rod_. Oh, fly, my Lord, fly, for the Day is lost.

_Abd_. There are three hundred and odd Days i'th Year,
And cannot we lose one? dismiss thy Fears,
They'll make a Coward of thee.

_Osm_. Sir, all the noble _Spaniards_ have forsook you;
Your Soldiers faint, are round beset with Enemies,
Nor can you shun your Fate, but by your Flight.

_Abd_. I can--and must--in spite of Fate:
The Wheel of War shall turn about again,
And dash the Current of his Victories.--
This is the Tent I've pitched, at distance from the Armies,
To meet the Queen and Cardinal;
Charm'd with the Magick of Dissimulation,
I know by this h'as furl'd his Ensigns up,
And is become a tame and coward Ass.
                          [_A Retreat is sounded_.
--Hark--hark, 'tis done: oh, my inchanting Engine!
--Dost thou not hear Retreat sounded?

_Rod_. Sure 'tis impossible.

_Abd_. She has prevail'd--a Woman's Tongue and Eyes
Are Forces stronger than Artilleries.
          _Enter_ Queen, Cardinal, _Women, and Soldiers_.
--We are betray'd--

_Qu_. What means this Jealousy? lay by your Weapons.
And embrace--the sight of these beget Suspicion:
--_Abdelazer_, by my Birth he comes in peace;
Lord Cardinal, on my Honour so comes he.

_Abd_. Let him withdraw his Troops then.

_Qu_. They're Guards for all our Safeties:
Give me your Hand, Prince Cardinal--thine, _Abdelazer_--
             [_She brings them together, they embrace_.
This blest Accord I do behold with Joy.

_Card. Abdelazer_,
I at the Queen's Command have met you here,
To know what 'tis you will propose to us.

_Abd_. Peace and eternal Friendship 'twixt us two.
How much against my Will I took up Arms,
Be witness, Heav'n: nor was it in revenge to you,
But to let out th' infected Blood of _Philip_,
Whose sole aim
Is to be King--which Spain will never suffer;
Spain gave me Education, though not Birth,
Which has intitled it my native Home,
To which such Reverence and Esteem I bear,
I will preserve it from the Tyrant's Rage.
The People who once lov'd him, now abhor him,
And 'tis your Power alone that buoys him up:
And when you've lifted him into a Throne,
'Tis time to shake you off.

_Card_. Whilst I behold him as my native Prince,
My Honour and Religion bids me serve him;
Yet not when I'm convinc'd that whilst I do so,
I injure _Spain_.

_Abd_. If he were so, the Powers above forbid
We should not serve, adore, and fight for him;
But _Philip_ is a Bastard:--nay, 'twill surprize ye,
But that 'tis Truth, the Queen will satisfy you.

_Qu_. With one bold Word he has undone my Honour.
                                    [_Weeps_.
Too bluntly, _Abdelazer_, you repeat
That which by slow Degrees you shou'd have utter'd.

_Abd_. Pardon my Roughness, Madam, I meant well.

_Card. Philip_ a Bastard!
If by such Arts you wou'd divide me from him,
I shall suspect you wou'd betray us both.

_Qu_. Sir, he informs you Truth; and I blush less
To own him so, than that he is a Traitor.

_Card. Philip_ a Bastard! oh, it cannot be--
Madam, take heed you do not for Revenge,
Barter your dearer Honour, and lose both.

_Qu_. I know what's due to Honour, and Revenge,
But better what I owe to _Spain_, and you--
You are a Prince o'th' Blood, and may put off
The Cardinal when you please, and be a Monarch.

_Card_. Though my Ambition's equal to my Passion,
Neither shall make me act against those Principles
My Honour ever taught me to obey.
--And, Madam--
'Tis less a Sin, not to believe you her,
Than 'tis to doubt your Virtue.

_Qu_. I wish it were untold, if it must forfeit
The least of your Esteem--but that 'tis Truth,
Be witness, Heav'n, my Shame, my Sighs, and Tears.
                                    [_Weeps_.

_Card_. Why, Madam, was't so long conceal'd from me?

_Qu_. The Circumstances I shall at leisure tell you:
And for the present,
Let it suffice, he cannot rule in _Spain_,
Nor can you side with him, without being made
As much incapable to reign as he.

_Card_. Though Love and Honour I have always made
The Business of my Life;
My Soul retains too so much of Ambition,
As puts me still in mind of what I am,
A Prince, and Heir to Spain:
Nor shall my blinded Zeal to Loyalty,
Make me that glorious Interest resign,
Since _Philip's_ Claims are not so great as mine.
--Madam, tho I'm convinc'd I've done amiss
In taking Arms for _Philip_,
Yet 'twill be difficult to disengage my self.

_Abd_. Most easily--
Proclaim it in the head of all your Troops,
The Justice of your Cause for leaving him;
And tell 'em, 'tis a Work of Piety
To follow your Example.
The giddy Rout are guided by Religion,
More than by Justice, Reason, or Allegiance.
--The Crown which I as a good Husband keep,
I will lay down upon the empty Throne;
Marry you the Queen, and fill it--and for me,
I'll ever pay you Duty as a Subject.
                                [_Bows low_.

_Card_. On these Conditions all I am is yours;
_Philip_ we cannot fear, all he can do
Is to retire for refuge into _Portugal_.

_Abd_. That wou'd be dangerous--
Is there no Arts to get him in our Power?

_Card_. Perhaps by Policy, and seeming Friendship,
For we have reason yet to fear his Force;
And since I'm satisfy'd he's not my lawful Prince,
I cannot think it an Impiety
To sacrifice him to the Peace of _Spain_,
And every Spirit that loves Liberty:
First we'll our Forces join, and make 'em yours,
Then give me your Authority to arrest him;
If so we can surprize him, we'll spare the hazard
Of a second Battel.

_Abd_. My Lord, retire into my inner Tent,
And all things shall be instantly perform'd.

                                     [_Exeunt all_.


SCENE VII. _The Grove_.

  _Enter some of_ Philip's _Party running over the Stage,
  pursued by_ Philip, Alonzo, Sebastian, Antonio,
  _and some few Officers more_.

_Alon_. Do not pursue 'em, Sir, such coward Slaves
Deserve not Death from that illustriate Hand.

_Phil_. Eternal Plagues consume 'em in their flight;
Oh, this damn'd coward Cardinal has betray'd us!
When all our Swords were nobly dy'd in Blood,
When with red Sweat that trickled from our Wounds
We'ad dearly earn'd the long disputed Victory,
Then to lose all, then to sound base Retreat,
It swells my Anger up to perfect Madness.

_Alon_. Indeed 'twas wondrous strange.

_Sebast_. I'm glad, Sir--

_Phil_. Art glad of it? art glad we are abandon'd?
That I, and thou have lost the hopeful'st Day--

_Sebast_. Great Sir, I'm glad that you came off alive.

_Phil_. Thou hast a lean Face--and a carrion Heart--
A plague upon the Moor, and thee--Oh, _Alonzo_,
To run away--follow'd by all the Army!
Oh, I cou'd tear my Hair, and curse my Soul to Air!
--Cardinal--thou Traitor, _Judas_, that would'st sell
Thy God again, as thou hast done thy Prince.
--But come--we're yet a few,
And we will fight till there be left but one--
If I prove him, I'll die a glorious death.
Ant. Yes, but the Cardinal has took pious Care
It shall be in our Beds.

_Sebast_. We are as bad as one already, Sir; for all our
Fellows are crawl'd home, some with ne'er a Leg, others
with ne'er a Arm, some with their Brains beat out, and
glad they escaped so.

_Phil_. But, my dear Countrymen, you'll stick to me.

_1 Sold_. Ay, wou'd I were well off--    [_Aside_.

_Phil_. Speak, stout _Sceva_, wilt thou not?

_1 Sold. Sceva_, Sir, who's that?

_Phil_. A gallant _Roman_, that fought by _Caesar's_ side,
Till all his Body cover'd o'er with Arrows,
Shew'd like a monstrous Porcupine.

_1 Sold_. And did he die, Sir?

_Phil_. He wou'd not but have dy'd for Caesar's Empire.

_1 Sold_. Hah--why, Sir, I'm none of _Sceva_, but honest
_Diego_, yet would as willingly die as he, but that I have
a Wife and Children; and if I die they beg.

_Phil_. For every drop of Blood which thou shalt lose,
I'll give thy Wife--a Diadem.

_Sold_. Stark mad, as I am valiant!

   _Enter_ Card. _Officers and Soldiers_: Philip _offers to run on
   him, is held by_ Alonzo.

_Phil_. Oh Heav'n! is not that the Cardinal?
Traitor, how dar'st thou tempt my Rage, and Justice?

_Card_. Your Pardon, Sir, I come in humble Love
To offer happy Peace.

_Phil_. Was that thy aim when base Retreat was sounded?
Oh, thou false Cardinal--let me go, _Alonzo_--
Death! offer happy Peace! no, offer War,
Bring Fire and Sword--Hell and Damnation-Peace!
Oh, damn your musty Peace--No, will you fight and cry,
Down with the Moor! and then I'll die in peace.
I have a Heart, two Arms, a Soul, a Head,
I'll hazard these--I can but hazard all--
Come--I will kneel to thee--and be thy Slave--
                                          [_Kneels_.
I'll let thee tread on me, do any thing,
So this damn'd Moor may fall.

_Card_. Yes, Sir, he shall--

_Phil_. Gods! shall he--thy noble Hand upon't,
And for this Promise, take my grateful Heart.
                          [_Embraces him_.
--Shall _Abdelazer_ fall?

_Card_. Yes, upon thee--
Like the tall Ruins of a falling Tower,
To crush thee into Dust--
     [_As they embrace, the Guards seize him and the rest_.
Traitor and Bastard, I arrest thee of High-Treason.

_Phil_. Hah!--Traitor!--and Bastard--and from thee!
                           [_They hold_ Philip's _Hands_.

_Card_. Guards, to your Hands the Prisoner is committed.
There's your Warrant--_Alonzo_, you are free.
                                       [_Ex_. Card.

_Phil_. Prithee lend me one Hand--to wipe my Eyes,
And see who 'tis dares authorize this Warrant:
--The Devil and his Dam!--the Moor and Queen!
Their Warrant!--Gods! _Alonzo_, must we obey it?
Villains, you cannot be my Jailors; there's no Prison,
No Dungeon deep enough; no Gate so strong,
To keep a Man confin'd--so mad with Wrong.
--Oh, dost thou weep, _Alonzo_?

_Alon_. I wou'd fain shed a Tear,
But from my Tears so many Show'rs are gone,
They are too poor to pay your Sorrow's Tribute;
There is no Remedy, we must to Prison.

_Phil_. Yes, and from thence to Death--
I thought I should have had a Tomb hung round
With tatter'd Ensigns, broken Spears and Javelins;
And that my Body, with a thousand Wounds,
Shou'd have been borne on some triumphant Chariot,
With solemn Mourning, Drums, and Trumpets sounding;
Whilst all the wondring World with Grief and Envy,
Had wish'd my glorious Destiny their own:
But now, _Alonzo_--like a Beast I fall,
And hardly Pity waits my Funeral.

                              [_Exeunt_.



ACT V.


SCENE I. _A Presence-Chamber, with a Throne and Canopy.

    Enter_ Abdelazer, Cardinal, Alonzo, Ordonio, Roderigo,
    _and other Lords, one bearing the Crown, which is laid on
    the Table on a Cushion; the_ Queen, Leonora, _and Ladies.
    They all seat themselves, leaving the Throne and Chair
    of State empty_. Abdelazer _rises and bows_, Roderigo
    _kneeling, presents him with the Crown_.

_Abd_. Grandees of _Spain_, if in this royal Presence
There breathes a Man, who having laid his hold
So fast on such a Jewel, and dares wear it,
In the Contempt of Envy, as I dare;
Yet uncompell'd (as freely as the Gods
Bestow their Blessings) wou'd give such Wealth away;
Let such a Man stand forth--are ye all fix'd?
No wonder, since a King's a Deity.
And who'd not be a God?
This glorious Prospect, when I first saw the Light,
Met with my Infant Hopes; nor have those Fetters
(Which e'er they grew towards Men, Spain taught me how to wear)
Made me forget what's due to that illustrious Birth;
--Yet thus--I cast aside the Rays of Majesty--
                  [_Kneels, and lays the Crown on the Table_.
And on my Knee do humbly offer up
This splendid powerful thing, and ease your Fears
Of Usurpation and of Tyranny.

_Alon_. What new Device is this?   [_Aside_.

_Card_. This is an Action generous and just--
Let us proceed to new Election.

_Abd_. Stay, Peers of _Spain_,
If young Prince _Philip_ be King _Philip's_ Son,
Then is he Heir to _Philip_, and his Crown;
But if a Bastard, then he is a Rebel,
And as a Traitor to the Crown shou'd bleed:
That dangerous popular Spirit must be laid,
Or _Spain_ must languish under civil Swords;
And _Portugal_ taking advantage of those Disorders,
(Assisted by the Male-contents within,
If _Philip_ live) will bring Confusion home.
--Our Remedy for this is first to prove,
And then proclaim him Bastard.

_Alon_. That Project wou'd be worth your Politicks    [_Aside_.
--How shou'd we prove him Bastard?

_Abd_. Her Majesty being lately urg'd by Conscience,
And much above her Honour prizing _Spain_,
Declar'd this Secret, but has not nam'd the Man;
If he be noble and a _Spaniard_ born,
He shall repair her Fame by marrying her.

_Card_. No; Spaniard, or Moor, the daring Slave shall die.

_Qu_. Would I were cover'd with a Veil of Night,
                                      [_Weeps_.
That I might hide the Blushes on my Cheeks!
But when your Safety comes into Dispute,
My Honour, nor my Life must come in competition.
--I'll therefore hide my Eyes, and blushing own,
That _Philip's_ Father is i'th' Presence now.

_Alon_. I'th' Presence! name him.

_Qu_. The Cardinal--
               [_All rise in Amazement_.

_Card_. How's this, Madam!

_Abd_. How! the Cardinal!

_Card_. I _Philip's_ Father, Madam!

_Qu_. Dull Lover--is not all this done for thee!
Dost thou not see a Kingdom and my self,
By this Confession, thrown into thy Arms?

_Card_. On Terms so infamous I must despise it.

_Qu_. Have I thrown by all Sense of Modesty,
To render you the Master of my Bed,
To be refus'd--was there any other way?--

_Card_. I cannot yield; this Cruelty transcends
All you have ever done me--Heavens! what a Contest
Of Love and Honour swells my rising Heart!

_Qu_. By all my Love, if you refuse me now,
Now when I have remov'd all Difficulties,
I'll be reveng'd a thousand killing ways.

_Card_. Madam, I cannot own so false a thing,
My Conscience and Religion will not suffer me.

_Qu_. Away with all this Canting; Conscience, and Religion!
No, take advice from nothing but from Love.

_Card_. 'Tis certain I'm bewitch'd--she has a Spell
Hid in those charming Lips.

_Alon_. Prince Cardinal, what say you to this?

_Card_. I cannot bring it forth--

_Qu_. Do't, or thou'rt lost for ever.

_Card_. Death! What's a Woman's Power!
And yet I can resist it.

_Qu_. And dare you disobey me?

_Card_. Is't not enough I've given you up my Power,
Nay, and resign'd my Life into your Hands,
But you wou'd damn me too--I will not yield--
Oh, now I find a very Hell within me;
How am I misguided by my Passion!

_Alon_. Sir, we attend your Answer.

_Qu_. 'Tis now near twenty Years, when newly married,
(And 'tis the Custom here to marry young,)
King _Philip_ made a War in _Barbary_,
Won _Tunis_, conquer'd Fez, and hand to hand
Slew great _Abdela_, King of _Fez_, and Father
To this _Barbarian_ Prince.

_Abd_. I was but young, and yet I well remember
My Father's Wound--poor _Barbary_--but no more.

_Qu_. In absence of my King I liv'd retir'd,
Shut up in my Apartment with my Women,
Suffering no Visits, but the Cardinal's,
To whom the King had left me as his Charge;
But he, unworthy of that Trust repos'd,
Soon turned his Business into Love.

_Card_. Heavens! how will this Story end?    [_Aside_.

_Qu_. A Tale, alas! unpleasant to my Ear,
And for the which I banish'd him my Presence,
But oh, the power of Gold! he bribes my Women,
That they should tell me (as a Secret too)
The King (whose Wars were finish'd) would return
Without acquainting any with the time;
He being as jealous, as I was fair and young,
Meant to surprize me in the dead of Night:
This pass'd upon my Youth, which ne'er knew Art.

_Card_. Gods! is there any Hell but Woman's Falshood!   [Aside.

_Qu_. The following Night I hasted to my Bed,
To wait my expected Bliss--nor was it long
Before his gentle Steps approach'd my Ears.
Undress'd he came, and with a vigorous haste
Flew to my yielding Arms: I call'd him King,
My dear lov'd Lord; and in return he breath'd
Into my Bosom, in soft gentle Whispers,
My Queen! my Angel! my lov'd _Isabella_!
And at that word--I need not tell the rest.

_Alon_. What's all this, Madam, to the Cardinal?

_Qu_. Ah, Sir, the Night too short for his Caresses,
Made room for Day, Day that betray'd my Shame;
For in my guilty Arms I found the Cardinal.

_Alon_. Madam, why did not you complain of this?

_Qu_, Alas, I was but young, and full of Fears;
Bashful, and doubtful of a just Belief,
Knowing King _Philip's_ rash and jealous Temper;
But from your Justice I expect Revenge.

_Rod_. His Crime, my Lords, is Death, by all our Laws.

_Card_. Have you betray'd me by my too much Faith?
Oh shameless Creature, am I disarm'd for this?
Had I but so much Ease to be inrag'd,
Sure I shou'd kill thee for this Treachery:
But I'm all Shame, and Grief--By all that's holy,
My Lords, I never did commit this Crime.

_Abd_. 'Tis but in vain, Prince Cardinal, to deny it.

_Qu_. Do not believe him, Lords;--
Revenge--let Sentence pass upon the Traitor.

_Card_. I own that Name with Horror, which you drew me to,
When I betray'd the best of Men, and Princes;
And 'tis but just you fit me for Despairs,
That may instruct me how to follow him in Death:
Yet as I'm Prince o'th' Blood, and Cardinal too,
You cannot be my Judges.

_Abd_. You shall be try'd, Sir, as becomes your Quality.
_Osmin_, we commit the Cardinal to your Charge.

_Card_. Heaven! should I live to that! No,
I have within me a private Shame,
That shall secure me from the publick one.

_Alon_. A pretty turn of State!--we shall all follow, Sir.

_Card_. The Powers above are just:
Thus I my Prince a Sacrifice first made,
And now my self am on the Altar laid.
                          [_Ex_. Card, _guarded_.

_Abd_. Madam, retire, you've acted so divinely,
You've fill'd my Soul with new admiring Passion:
I'll wait on you in your Apartment instantly,
And at your Feet pay all my Thanks, and Love.

_Qu_. Make haste, my dearest Moor, whilst I retire,
And fit my Soul to meet thy kind Desire.

     [_Ex_. Queen _and her Train_; Leon, _advancing to
     follow, is staid by_ Abd.

_Abd_. Stay, beauteous Maid, stay, and receive that Crown,
                                  [_Leads her back_.
Which as your due, Heav'n and all _Spain_ present you with.

_Alon_. But granting _Philip_ is--that thing you call him,
If we must grant him so, who then shall reign?
Not that we do not know who ought to reign,
But ask who 'tis you will permit to do so.     [_To_ Abd.

_Abd_. Who but bright _Leonora_! the Royal Off-spring
Of noble _Philip_, whose Innocence and Beauty,
Without th' advantage of her glorious Birth,
Merits all Adoration.

_All_. With Joy we do salute her Queen.

_Abd_. Live _Leonora_! beauteous Queen of _Spain!
                                             [Shout_.

_Alon_. From _Abdelazer_ this! it cannot be,
At least not real.    [_Aside_.

_Abd_. My Lords,
Be it now your Care magnificently to provide
Both for the Coronation, and the Marriage
Of the fair Queen;
Let nothing be omitted that may shew,
How we can pay, where we so vastly owe.
                                    [_Bows_.

_Alon_. I am much bound to _Spain_, and you, my Lords,
For this great Condescenion.

_Leo_. My Lords, I thank ye all,
And most the gallant Moor--I am not well--
                             [_Turns to Alon_.
Something surrounds my Heart so full of Death,
I must retire to give my Sorrow Breath.

     [_Ex_. Leo. _followed by all but_ Abd. _and_ Rod. _who
     looks on_ Abd.

_Rod_. Sir,--what have you done?

_Abd_. What every Man that loves like me shou'd do;
Undone my self for ever, to beget
One Moment's thought in her, that I adore her;
That she may know, none ever lov'd like me,
I've thrown away the Diadem of _Spain_--
'Tis gone! and there's no more to set but this--
(My Heart) at all, and at this one last Cast,
Sweep up my former Losses, or be undone.

_Rod_. You court at a vast Rate, Sir.

_Abd_. Oh, she's a Goddess! a Creature made by Heaven
To make my prosperous Toils all sweet and charming!
She must be Queen, I and the Gods decree it.

_Rod_. Sir, is she not designed _Alonzo's_ Bride?

_Abd_. Yes, so her self and he have ill agreed;
But Heav'n and I am of another Mind,
And must be first obey'd.

_Rod. Alonzo_ will not yield his Interest easily.

_Abd_. Wou'd that were all my stop to Happiness;
But, _Roderigo_, this fond amorous Queen
Sits heavy on my Heart.

_Rod_. She's but a Woman, nor has more Lives than one.

_Abd_. True, _Roderigo_, and thou hast dealt in Murders,
And knowest the safest way to--

_Rod_. How, Sir!--

_Abd_. Thou dar'st not sure pretend to any Virtue;
Had Hell inspir'd thee with less Excellency
Than Arts of killing Kings, thou'dst ne'er been rais'd
To that exalted Height, t' have known my Secrets.

_Rod_. But, Sir--

_Abd_. Slave, look back upon the Wretchedness I took thee from;
What Merits had thou to deserve my Bounty,
But Vice, brave prosperous Vice?
Thou'rt neither wise, nor valiant.

_Rod_. I own my self that Creature rais'd by you,
And live but to repay you, name the way.

_Abd_. My business is--to have the Queen remov'd;
She does expect my coming this very Hour;
And when she does so, 'tis her Custom to be retir'd,
Dismissing all attendance, but _Elvira_.

_Rod_. The rest I need not be instructed in.
                                       [_Ex_. Rod.

     _Enter_ Osmin.

_Osm_. The Cardinal, Sir, is close confin'd with _Philip_.

_Abd_. 'Tis well.

_Osm_. And do you think it fit, Sir, they shou'd live?

_Abd_. No, this day they both must die, some sort of Death,
That may be thought was given them by themselves:
I'm sure I give them cause--_Osmin_, view well this Ring;
Whoever brings this Token to your Hands,
Without considering Sex, or Quality,
Let 'em be kill'd.

_Osm_. Your Will shall be obey'd in every thing.

                                  [_Exeunt severally_.


SCENE II. _A fine Chamber. A Table and Chair_.

    _Enter_ Queen _and_ Elvira.

_Qu. Elvira_, hast thou drest my Lodgings up,
Fit to receive my Moor?
Are they all gay, as Altars, when some Monarch
Is there to offer up rich Sacrifices?
Hast thou strew'd all the Floor his Feet must press,
With the soft new-born Beauties of the Spring?

_Elv_. Madam, I've done as you commanded me.

_Qu_. Let all the Chambers too be fill'd with Lights;
There's a Solemnity methinks in Night,
That does insinuate Love into the Soul,
And make the bashful Lover more assur'd.

_Elv_. Madam,
You speak as if this were your first Enjoyment.

_Qu_. My first! Oh _Elvira_, his Power, like his Charms,
His Wit, or Bravery, every hour renews;
Love gathers Sweets like Flow'rs, which grow more fragrant,
The nearer they approach Maturity.
                              [_Knock_.
--Hark! 'tis my Moor,--give him admittance strait,
The Thought comes o'er me like a gentle Gale,
Raising my Blood into a thousand Curls.

_Elv_. Madam, it is a Priest--

_Qu_. A Priest! Oh, send him quickly hence;
I wou'd not have so cold and dull an Object,
Meet with my nobler Sense, 'tis mortifying.

_Elv_. Perhaps 'tis some Petition from the Cardinal.

_Qu_. Why, what have I to do with Priest or Cardinal?
Let him not enter--

   [Elv. _goes out, and returns with_ Roderigo _drest like a Fryar_.

_Elv_. From _Abdelazer_, Madam.

_Qu_. H'as named a Word will make all Places free.

_Rod_. Madam, be pleas'd to send your Woman hence,
I've something to deliver from the Moor,
Which you alone must be acquainted with.

_Qu_. Well, your Formality shall be allowed--retire--
                                   [_To_ Elv. _Exit_ Elv.
What have you to deliver to me now?

_Rod_. This--

     [_Shews a Dagger, and takes her roughly by the Hands_.

_Qu_. Hah!--

_Rod_. You must not call for help, unless to Heaven.

_Qu_. What daring thing art thou?

_Rod_. One that has now no time to answer thee.

     [_Stabs her, she struggles, her Arm bleeds_.

_Qu_. Oh, hold thy killing Hand! I am thy Queen.

_Rod_. Thou may'st be Devil too, for ought I know;
I'll try thy Substance thus--
                               [_Stabs again_.

_Qu_. Oh, _Abdelazer_!--
Thou hast well reveng'd me--on my Sins of Love;--
                   [_He seats her in the Chair_.
But shall I die thus tamely unrcveng'd?
--Help--murder--help--
                  [_He offers to stab again_.

    _Enter_ Elvira, _and other Women_.

_Elv_. Oh Heavens! the Queen is murder'd--help the Queen!

                            [Rod. _offers to stab_ Elv.

    _Enter_ Abdelazer.

_Abd_. Hah! the Queen! what sacrilegious Hand,
Or Heart so brutal--
Durst thus profane the Shrine ador'd by me?
Guard well the Passages.--

_Qu_. Thou art that sacrilegious--brutal thing!--
And false as are the Deities thou worship'st.

_Abd_. Gods! let me not understand that killing Language?
--Inform me quickly, how you came thus wounded,
Lest looking on that sacred Stream of Blood,
I die e'er I've reveng'd you on your Murderer.

_Qu_. Haste then, and kill thy self; thou art my Murderer.
Nor had his Hand, if not by thee instructed,
Aim'd at a Sin so dangerous--

_Abd_. Surely she'll live--[_Aside_.]--This!--
Can Mischief dwell beneath this reverend Shape?
Confess who taught thee so much Cruelty.
Confess, or I will kill thee.

_Rod_. The Cardinal.

_Qu_. The Cardinal!

_Abd_. Oh impious Traitor!
How came I mention'd then?

_Rod_. To get Admittance.

_Abd_. But why do I delay thy Punishment?
Die,--and be damn'd together.   [_Aside.]
                                [Stabs him_.
But oh, my Queen!--_Elvira_, call for help.
Have I remov'd all that oppos'd our Flame,
                                [_Kneels_.
To have it thus blown out, thus in a Minute?
When I, all full of youthful Fire, all Love,
Had rais'd my Soul with Hopes of near Delights,
To meet thee cold, and pale; to find those Eyes,
Those charming Eyes thus dying--Oh ye Powers!
Take all the Prospect of my future Joys,
And turn it to Despair, since thou art gone.

_Qu_. Cease,--cease--your kind Complaints--my struggling Soul,
'Twixt Death--and Love--holds an uneasy Contest;
This will not let it stay--nor that depart;--
And whilst I hear thy Voice--thus breathing Love,
It hovers still--about--the grateful--Sound.
My Eyes--have took--an everlasting Leave--
Of all that blest their Sight; and now a gloomy Darkness
Benights the wishing Sense,--that vainly strives--
To take another View;--but 'tis too late,--
And Life--and Love--must yield--to Death--and--
Fate.
                   [_Dies_.

_Abd_. Farewell, my greatest Plague,
                   [_He rises with Joy_.
Thou wert a most impolitick loving thing;
And having done my Bus'ness which thou wert born for,
'Twas time thou shouldst retire,
And leave me free to love, and reign alone.

   _Enter_ Leonora, Alonzo, Ordonio, _and other Men and Women_.

Come all the World, and pay your Sorrows here,
Since all the World has Interest in this Loss.

_Alon_. The Moor in Tears! nay, then the Sin was his.

_Leon_. The Queen my Mother dead!
How many Sorrows will my Heart let in,
E'er it will break in pieces.
                         [_Weeps over her_.

_Alon_. I know the Source of all this Villany,
And need not ask you how the Queen came murder'd.

_Elv_. My Lord, that Fryer, from the Cardinal, did it.

_Alon_. The Cardinal!
'Tis possible,--for the Injuries she did him
Cou'd be repaid with nothing less than Death.    [Aside.
My Fair, your Griefs have been so just of late,
I dare not beg that you would weep no more;
Though every Tear those lovely Eyes let fall,
Give me a killing Wound--Remove the Body.

   [_Guards remove the Body. Ex. all but_ Alon. _and_ Leon.

Such Objects suit not Souls so soft as thine.

_Leon_. With Horrors I am grown of late familiar;
I saw my Father die, and liv'd the while;
I saw my beauteous Friend, and thy lov'd Sister,
_Florella_, whilst her Breast was bleeding fresh;
Nay, and my Brother's too, all full of Wounds,
The best and kindest Brother that ever Maid was blest with;
Poor _Philip_ bound, and led like Victims for a Sacrifice;
All this I saw and liv'd--
And canst thou hope for Pity from that Heart,
Whose harden'd Sense is Proof 'gainst all these Miseries?
This Moor, _Alonzo_, is a subtle Villain,
Yet of such Power we scarce dare think him such.

_Alon_. 'Tis true, my charming Fair, he is that Villain,
As ill and powerful too; yet he has a Heart
That may be reach'd with this--but 'tis not time,
                             [_Points to his Sword_.
We must dissemble yet, which is an Art
Too foul for Souls so innocent as thine.
    _Enter_ Abdelazer.
The Moor!
Hell! will he not allow us sorrowing time?

_Abd_. Madam, I come to pay my humblest Duty,
And know what Service you command your Slave.

_Leon_. Alas, I've no Commands; or if I had,
I am too wretched now to be obey'd.

_Abd_. Can one so fair, and great, ask any thing
Of Men, or Heaven, they wou'd not grant with Joy?

_Leon_. Hea'vns Will I'm not permitted to dispute,
And may implore in vain; but 'tis in you
To grant me what may yet preserve my Life.

_Abd_. In me! in me! the humblest of your Creatures!
By yon bright Sun, or your more splendid Eyes,
I wou'd divest my self of every Hope,
To gratify one single Wish of yours.
--Name but the way.

_Leon_. I am so unhappy, that the only thing
I have to ask, is what you must deny;
--The Liberty of _Philip_--

_Abd_. How! _Philip's_ Liberty--and must I grant it?
I (in whose Hands Fortune had put the Crown)
Had I not lov'd the Good and Peace of _Spain_,
Might have dispos'd it to my own Advantage;
And shall that Peace,
Which I've preferr'd above my proper Glories,
Be lost again in him, in him a Bastard?

_Alon_. That he's a Bastard, is not, Sir, believ'd;
And she that cou'd love you, might after that
Do any other Sin, and 'twas the least
Of all the Number to declare him Bastard.

_Abd_. How, Sir! that you'd love me! what is there here,
Or in my Soul, or Person, may not be belov'd?

_Alon_. I spoke without Reflection on your Person,
But of dishonest Love, which was too plain,
From whence came all the Ills we have endur'd;
And now being warm in Mischiefs,
Thou dost pursue the Game, till all be thine.

_Abd_. Mine!

_Alon_. Yes, thine--
The little humble Mask which you put on
Upon the Face of Falshood, and Ambition,
Is easily seen thro; you gave a Crown,
But you'll command the Kingly Power still,
Arm and disband, destroy or save at Pleasure.

_Abd_. Vain Boy, (whose highest Fame,
Is that thou art the great _Alvaro's_ Son)
Where learnt you so much daring, to upbraid
My generous Power thus falsly--do you know me?

_Alon_. Yes, Prince, and 'tis that Knowledge makes me dare;
I know thy Fame in Arms; I know in Battels
Thou hast perform'd Deeds much above thy Years:
My Infant Courage too
(By the same Master taught) grew up to thine,
When thou in Rage out-didst me, not in Bravery.
--I know thou'st greater Power too--thank thy Treachery!

_Abd_. Dost thou not fear that Power?

_Alon_. By Heaven, not I,
Whilst I can this--command.
             [_Lays his Hand on his Sword_.

_Abd_. I too command a Sword.
     [Abd. _lays his Hand on his, and comes close up to him_.
But not to draw on thee, _Alonzo_;
Since I can prove thy Accusation false
By ways more grateful--take this Ring, _Alonzo_;
The sight of it will break down Prison-Gates,
And set all free, as was the first-born Man.

_Alon_. What means this turn?

_Abd_. To enlarge _Philip_; but on such Conditions,
As you think fit to make for my Security:
And as thou'rt brave, deal with me as I merit.

_Alon_. Art thou in earnest?

_Abd_. I am, by all that's sacred.

_Leon_. Oh, let me fall before you, and ne'er rise,
Till I have made you know what Gratitude
Is fit for such a Bounty!--
Haste, my _Alonzo_--haste--and treat with _Philip_;
Nor do I wish his Freedom, but on such Terms
As may be advantageous to the Moor.

_Alon_. Nor I, by Heaven! I know the Prince's Soul,
Though it be fierce, has Gratitude and Honour;
And for a Deed like this, will make returns,
Such as are worthy of the brave Obliger.
                                   [_Exit_ Alon.

_Abd_. Yes, if he be not gone to Heaven before you come.    [_Aside_.
--What will become of _Abdelazer_ now,
Who with his Power has thrown away his Liberty?

_Leon_. Your Liberty! Oh, Heaven forbid that you,
Who can so generously give Liberty,
Should be depriv'd of it!
It must not be whilst _Leonora_ lives.

_Abd_. 'Tis she that takes it from me.

_Leon_. I! Alas, I wou'd not for the World
Give you one minute's Pain.

_Abd_. You cannot help it, 'tis against your Will;
Your Eyes insensibly do wound and kill.

_Leon_. What can you mean? and yet I fear to know.

_Abd_. Most charming of your Sex! had Nature made
This clouded Face, like to my Heart, all Love,
It might have spar'd that Language which you dread;
Whose rough harsh sound, unfit for tender Ears,
Will ill express the Business of my Life.

_Leon_. Forbear it, if that Business, Sir, be Love.

_Abd_. Gods!
Because I want the art to tell my Story
In that soft way, which those can do whose Business
Is to be still so idly employ'd,
I must be silent and endure my Pain,
Which Heaven ne'er gave me so much lameness for.
Love in my Soul is not that gentle thing
It is in other Breasts; instead of Calms,
It ruffles mine into uneasy Storms.
--I wou'd not love, if I cou'd help it, Madam;
But since 'tis not to be resisted here--
You must permit it to approach your Ear.

_Leon_. Not when I cannot hear it, Sir, with Honour.

_Abd_. With Honour!
Nay, I can talk in the Defence of that:
By all that's sacred, 'tis a Flame as virtuous,
As every Thought inhabits your fair Soul,
And it shall learn to be as gentle too;
--For I must merit you--

_Leon_. I will not hear this Language; merit me!

_Abd_. Yes--why not?
You're but the Daughter of the King of _Spain_,
And I am Heir to great Abdela, Madam;
I can command this Kingdom you possess,
(Of which my Passion only made you Queen)
And re-assume that which your Father took
From mine--a Crown as bright as that of _Spain_.

_Leon_. You said you wou'd be gentle--

_Abd_. I will; this sullen Heart shall learn to bow,
And keep it self within the Bounds of Love;
Its Language I'll deliver out in Sighs,
Soft as the Whispers of a yielding Virgin.
I cou'd transform my Soul to any Shape;
Nay, I could even teach my Eyes the Art
To change their natural Fierceness into Smiles;
--What is't I wou'd not do to gain that Heart!

_Leon_. Which never can be yours! that and my Vows,
Are to _Alonzo_ given; which he lays claim to
By the most sacred Ties, Love and Obedience;
All _Spain_ esteems him worthy of that Love.

_Abd_. More worthy it than I! it was a Woman,
A nice, vain, peevish Creature that pronounc'd it;
Had it been Man, 't had been his last Transgression.
--His Birth! his glorious Actions! are they like mine?

_Leon_. Perhaps his Birth wants those Advantages,
Which Nature has laid out in Beauty on his Person.

_Abd_. Ay! there's your Cause of Hate! Curst be my Birth,
And curst be Nature that has dy'd my Skin
With this ungrateful Colour! cou'd not the Gods
Have given me equal Beauty with _Alonzo_!
--Yet as I am, I've been in vain ador'd,
And Beauties great as thine have languish'd for me.
The Lights put out, thou in thy naked Arms
Will find me soft and smooth as polish'd Ebony;
And all my Kisses on thy balmy Lips as sweet,
As are the Breezes, breath'd amidst the Groves
Of ripening Spices in the height of Day:
As vigorous too,
As if each Night were the first happy Moment
I laid thy panting Body to my Bosom.
Oh, that transporting Thought--
See--I can bend as low, and sigh as often,
                                      [Kneels.
And sue for Blessings only you can grant;
As any fair and soft _Alonzo_ can--
If you could pity me as well--
But you are deaf, and in your Eyes I read
                            [_Rises with Anger_.
A Scorn which animates my Love and Anger;
Nor know I which I should dismiss or cherish.

_Leon_. The last is much more welcome than the first;
Your Anger can but kill; but, Sir, your Love--
Will make me ever wretched, since 'tis impossible
I ever can return it.

_Abd_. Why, kill me then! you must do one or t'other.
                                      [_Kneels_.
For thus--I cannot live--why dost thou weep?
Thy every Tear's enough to drown my Soul!
How tame Love renders every feeble Sense!
                                      [_Rises_.
--Gods! I shall turn Woman, and my Eyes inform me
The Transformation's near--Death! I'll not endure it,
I'll fly before sh'as quite undone my Soul--
                                      [_Offers to go_.
But 'tis not in my Power--she holds it fast--
And I can now command no single part--
                                      [Returns.
Tell me, bright Maid, if I were amiable,
And you were uningag'd, could you then love me?

_Leon_. No! I could die first.

_Abd_. Hah!--awake, my Soul, from out this drousy Fit,
And with thy wonted Bravery scorn thy Fetters.
By Heaven, 'tis gone! and I am now my self.
Be gone, my dull Submission! my lazy Flame
Grows sensible, and knows for what 'twas kindled.
Coy Mistress, you must yield, and quickly too:
Were you devout as Vestals, pure as their Fire,
Yet I wou'd wanton in the rifled Spoils
Of all that sacred Innocence and Beauty.
--Oh, my Desire's grown high!
Raging as midnight Flames let loose in Cities,
And, like that too, will ruin where it lights.
Come, this Apartment was design'd for Pleasure,
And made thus silent, and thus gay for me;
There I'll convince that Error, that vainly made thee think
I was not meant for Love.

_Leon_. Am I betray'd? are all my Women gone?
And have I nought but Heaven for my Defence?

_Abd_. None else, and that's too distant to befriend you.

_Leon_. Oh, take my Life, and spare my dearer Honour!
--Help, help, ye Powers that favour Innocence.
                              [_Enter Women_.
     _Just as the Moor is going to force in_ Leonora,
     _enters to him_ Osmin _in haste_.

_Osm_. My Lord, _Alonzo_--

_Abd_. What of him, you Slave--is he not secur'd?
Speak, dull Intruder, that know'st not times and seasons,
Or get thee hence.

_Osm_. Not till I've done the Business which I came for.

_Abd_. Slave!--that thou cam'st for.
                     [_Stabs him in the Arm_.

_Osm_. No, 'twas to tell you, that _Alonzo_,
Finding himself betray'd, made brave resistance;
Some of your Slaves h'as killed, and some h'as wounded.

_Abd_. 'Tis time he were secured;
I must assist my Guards, or all is lost.
                                     [_Exit_.

_Leon_. Sure, _Osmin_, from the Gods thou cam'st,
To hinder my undoing; and if thou dy'st,
Heaven will almost forgive thy other Sins
For this one pious Deed.--
But yet I hope thy Wound's not mortal.

_Osm_. 'Tis only in my Arm--and, Madam, for this pity,
I'll live to do you Service.

_Leon_. What Service can the Favourite of the Moor,
Train'd up in Blood and Mischiefs, render me?

_Osm_. Why, Madam, I command the Guard of Moors,
Who will all die, when e'er I give the Word.
Madam, 'twas I caus'd _Philip_ and the Cardinal
To fly to th' Camp,
And gave 'em warning of approaching Death.

_Leon_. Heaven bless thee for thy Goodness.

_Osm_. I am weary now of being a Tyrant's Slave,
And bearing Blows too; the rest I could have suffer'd.
Madam, I'll free the Prince.
But see, the Moor returns.

_Leon_. That Monster's Presence I must fly, as from a killing Plague.

                            [_Ex. with her Women_.
    _Enter_ Abdelazer _with_ Zarrack, _and a Train of Moors_.

_Abd_. It is prodigious, that a single Man
Should with such Bravery defend his Life
Amongst so many Swords;--but he is safe.
_Osmin_, I am not us'd to sue for Pardon,
And when I do, you ought to grant it me.

_Osm_. I did not merit, Sir, so harsh a Usage.

_Abd_. No more; I'm asham'd to be upbraided,
And will repair the Injury I did thee.

_Osm_. Acknowledgment from you is pay sufficient.

_Abd_. Yet, _Osmin_, I shou'd chide your Negligence,
Since by it _Philip_ lives still, and the Cardinal.

_Osm_. I had design'd it, Sir, this Evening's Sacrifice.

_Abd_. _Zarrack_ shall now perform it--and instantly:
_Alonzo_ too must bear 'em company.

_Zar_. I'll shew my Duty in my haste, my Lord.
                                        [_Ex_. Zar.

_Osm_. Death! I'm undone; I'll after him, and kill him.
                                    [_Offers to go_.

_Abd. Osmin_, I've business with you.--

                [Osm. _comes back bowing.
     As they are going off, enter_ Leonora, Ordonio, _other
     Lords, and Women_.

_Leon_. Oh Prince! for Pity hear and grant my Suit.
                                               [_Kneels_.

_Abd_. When so much Beauty's prostrate at my Feet,
What is't I can deny?--rise, thou brightest Virgin
That ever Nature made;
Rise, and command my Life, my Soul, my Honour.

_Leon_. No, let me hang for ever on your Knees,
Unless you'll grant _Alonzo_ Liberty.

_Abd_. Rise, I will grant it; though _Alonzo_, Madam,
Betray'd that Trust I had repos'd in him.

_Leon_. I know there's some Mistake; let me negotiate
Between my Brother and the Gallant Moor.
I cannot force your Guards,
There is no Danger in a Woman's Arm.

_Abd_. In your bright Eyes there is, that may corrupt 'em more
Than all the Treasures of the Eastern Kings.
Yet, Madam, here I do resign my Power;
Act as you please, dismiss _Alonzo's_ Chains.
And since you are so generous, to despise
This Crown, which I have given you,
_Philip_ shall owe his Greatness to your Bounty,
And whilst he makes me safe, shall rule in Spain.
--_Osmin_--
               [_Whispers_.

_Ord_. And will you trust him, Madam?

_Leon_. If he deceive me, 'tis more happy far
To die with them, than live where he inhabits.

_Osm_. It shall be done.

_Abd_. Go, _Osmin_, wait upon the Queen;
And when she is confin'd, I'll visit her,
Where if she yield, she reigns; if not, she dies.   [_Aside_.

          [_Ex_. Abd. _one way_, Leon. Osm. _and the rest another_.



SCENE III. _A Prison_.

    _Discovers_ Philip _chain'd to a Post, and over against him
    the_ Cardinal _and_ Alonzo _in Chains_.

_Phil_. Oh, all ye cruel Powers! is't not enough
I am depriv'd of Empire, and of Honour?
Have my bright Name stol'n from me, with my Crown!
Divested of all Power! all Liberty!
And here am chain'd like the sad Andromede,
To wait Destruction from the dreadful Monster!
Is not all this enough, without being damn'd,
To have thee, Cardinal, in my full view?
If I cou'd reach my Eyes, I'd be reveng'd
On the officious and accursed Lights,
For guiding so much torment to my Soul.

_Card_. My much wrong'd Prince! you need not wish to kill
By ways more certain, than by upbraiding me
With my too credulous, shameful past misdeeds.

_Phil_. If that wou'd kill, I'd weary out my Tongue
With an eternal repetition of thy Treachery;--
Nay, and it shou'd forget all other Language,
But Traitor! Cardinal! which I wou'd repeat,
Till I had made my self as raging mad,
As the wild Sea, when all the Winds are up;
And in that Storm, I might forget my Grief.

_Card_. Wou'd I cou'd take the killing Object from your Eyes.

_Phil_. Oh _Alonzo_, to add to my Distraction,
Must I find thee a sharer in my Fate?

_Alon_. It is my Duty, Sir, to die with you.--
But, Sir, my Princess
Has here--a more than equal claim to Grief;
And Fear for her dear Safety will deprive me
Of this poor Life, that shou'd have been your Sacrifice.

    _Enter_ Zarrack _with a Dagger; gazes on_ Philip.

_Phil_. Kind Murderer, welcome! quickly free my Soul,
And I will kiss the sooty Hand that wounds me.

_Zar_. Oh, I see you can be humble.

_Phil_. Humble! I'll be as gentle as a Love-sick Youth,
When his dear Conqu'ress sighs a Hope into him,
If thou wilt kill me!--Pity me and kill me.

_Zar_. I hope to see your own Hand do that Office.

_Phil_. Oh, thou wert brave indeed,
If thou wou'dst lend me but the use of one.

_Zar_. You'll want a Dagger then.

_Phil_. By Heaven, no, I'd run it down my Throat,
Or strike my pointed Fingers through my Breast.

_Zar_. Ha, ha, ha, what pity 'tis you want a Hand.

    _Enter_ Osmin.

_Phil. Osmin_, sure thou wilt be so kind to kill me!
Thou hadst a Soul was humane.

_Osm_. Indeed I will not, Sir, you are my King.
                                   [_Unbinds him_.

_Phil_. What mean'st thou?

_Osm_. To set you free, my Prince.

_Phil_. Thou art some Angel sure, in that dark Cloud.

_Zar_. What mean'st thou, Traitor?

_Osm_. Wait till your Eyes inform you.

_Card_. Good Gods! what mean'st thou?

_Osm_. Sir, arm your Hand with this.
          [_Gives_ Phil. _a Sword, goes to undo_ Alonzo.

_Zar_. Thou art half-damn'd for this!
I'll to my Prince--

_Phil_. I'll stop you on your way--lie there--your Tongue
                                          [_Kills him_.
Shall tell no Tales to day--Now, Cardinal--but hold,
I scorn to strike thee whilst thou art unarm'd,
Yet so thou didst to me;
For which I have not leisure now to kill thee.
--Here, take thy Liberty;--nay, do not thank me;
By Heaven, I do not mean it as a Grace.

_Osm_. My Lord, take this--
                      [_To_ Alon. _and the_ Card.
And this--to arm your Highness.

_Alon_. Thou dost amaze me!

_Osm_. Keep in your Wonder with your Doubts, my Lord.

_Phil_. We cannot doubt, whilst we're thus fortify'd--
                              [_Looks on his Sword_.
Come, _Osmin_, let us fall upon the Guards.

_Osm_. There are no Guards, great Sir, but what are yours;
And see--your Friends I've brought to serve ye too.

                           [_Opens a back Door.
    _Enter_ Leonora _and Women_, Ordonio, Sebastian,
    Antonio, _etc_.

_Phil_. My dearest Sister safe!

_Leon_. Whilst in your Presence, Sir, and you thus arm'd.

_Osm_. The Moor approaches,--now be ready all.

_Phil_. That Name I never heard with Joy till now;
Let him come on, and arm'd with all his Powers,
Thus singly I defy him.          [_Draws_.

    _Enter_ Abdelazer.
                [Osmin _secures the Doors_.

_Abd_. Hah! betray'd! and by my Slaves! by _Osmin_ too!

_Phil_. Now, thou damn'd Villain! true-born Soul of Hell!
Not one of thy infernal Kin shall save thee.

_Abd_. Base Coward Prince!
Whom the admiring World mistakes for Brave;
When all thy boasted Valour, fierce and hot
As was thy Mother in her height of Lust,
Can with the aid of all these--treacherous Swords,
Take but a single Life; but such a Life,
As amongst all their Store the envying Gods
Have not another such to breathe in Man.

_Phil_. Vaunt on, thou monstrous Instrument of Hell!
For I'm so pleas'd to have thee in my Power,
That I can hear thee number up thy Sins,
And yet be calm, whilst thou art near Damnation.

_Abd_. Thou ly'st, thou canst not keep thy Temper in;
For hadst thou so much Bravery of Mind,
Thou'dst fight me singly; which thou dar'st not do.

_Phil_. Not dare!
By Heaven, if thou wert twenty Villains more,
And I had all thy Weight of Sins about me,
I durst thus venture on;--forbear, _Alonzo_.

_Alon_. I will not, Sir.

_Phil_. I was indeed too rash; 'tis such a Villain,
As shou'd receive his Death from nought but Slaves.

_Abd_. Thou'st Reason, Prince! nor can they wound my Body
More than I've done thy Fame; for my first step
To my Revenge, I whor'd the Queen thy Mother.

_Phil_. Death! though this I knew before, yet the hard Word
Runs harshly thro my Heart;--
If thou hadst murder'd fifty Royal _Ferdinands_,
And with inglorious Chains as many Years
Had loaded all my Limbs, 't had been more pardonable
Than this eternal Stain upon my Name:
--Oh, thou hast breath'd thy worst of Venom now.

_Abd_. My next advance was poisoning of thy Father.

_Phil_. My Father poison'd! and by thee, thou Dog!
Oh, that thou hadst a thousand Lives to lose,
Or that the World depended on thy single one,
That I might make a Victim
Worthy to offer up to his wrong'd Ghost.--
But stay, there's something of thy Count of Sins untold,
That I must know; not that I doubt, by Heaven,
That I am _Philip's_ Son--

_Abd_. Not for thy Ease, but to declare my Malice,
Know, Prince, I made thy amorous Mother
Proclaim thee Bastard, when I miss'd of killing rhee.

_Phil_. Gods! let me contain my Rage!

_Abd_. I made her too betray the credulous Cardinal,
And having then no farther use of her,
Satiated with her Lust,
I set _Roderigo_ on to murder her.
Thy Death had next succeeded; and thy Crown
I wou'd have laid at _Leonora's_ Feet.

_Alon_. How! durst you love the Princess?

_Abd_. Fool, durst! had I been born a Slave,
I durst with this same Soul do any thing:
Yes, and the last Sense that will remain about me,
Will be my Passion for that charming Maid,
Whom I'd enjoy'd e'er now, but for thy Treachery.
                                [_To_ Osmin.

_Phil_. Deflour'd my Sister! Heaven punish me eternally,
If thou out-liv'st the Minute thou'st declar'd it.

_Abd_. I will, in spite of all that thou canst do.
--Stand off, fool-hardy Youth, if thou'dst be safe,
And do not draw thy certain Ruin on,
Or think that e'er this Hand was arm'd in vain.

_Phil_. Poor angry Slave, how I contemn thee now!

_Abd_. As humble Huntsmen do the generous Lion;
Now thou darst see me lash my Sides, and roar,
And bite my Snare in vain; who with one Look
(Had I been free) hadst shrunk into the Earth,
For shelter from my Rage:
And like that noble Beast, though thus betray'd,
I've yet an awful Fierceness in my Looks,
Which makes thee fear t'approach; and 'tis at distance
That thou dar'st kill me; for come but in my reach,
And with one Grasp I wou'd confound thy Hopes.

_Phil_. I'll let thee see how vain thy Boastings are,
And unassisted, by one single Rage,
Thus--make an easy Passage to thy Heart.

    [_Runs on him, all the rest do the like in the same Minute_.
    Abd. _aims at the_ Prince, _and kills_ Osmin, _and falls
    dead himself_.

--Die with thy Sins unpardon'd, and forgotten--

                         [_Shout within_.

_Alon_. Great Sir, your Throne and Kingdom want you now;
Your People rude with Joy, do fill each Street,
And long to see their King--whom Heaven preserve.

_All_. Long live _Philip_, King of _Spain_--

_Phil_. I thank ye all;--and now, my dear _Alonzo_,
Receive the Recompence of all thy Sufferings,
Whilst I create thee Duke of _Salamancha_.

_Alon_. Thus low I take the Bounty from your Hands.
                                       [_Kneels_.

_Leon_. Rise, Sir, my Brother now has made us equal.

_Card_. And shall this joyful Day, that has restor'd you
To all the Glories of your Birth and Merits,
That has restor'd all _Spain_ the greatest Treasure
That ever happy Monarchy possess'd,
Leave only me unhappy, when, Sir, my Crime
Was only too much Faith?--Thus low I fall,   [_Kneels_.
And from that Store of Mercy Heaven has given you,
Implore you wou'd dispense a little here.

_Phil_. Rise, (though with much ado) I will forgive you.

_Leon_. Come, my dear Brother, to that glorious business,
Our Birth and Fortunes call us, let us haste,
For here methinks we are in danger still.

_Phil_. So after Storms, the joyful Mariner
Beholds the distant wish'd-for Shore afar,
And longs to bring the rich-fraight Vessel in,
Fearing to trust the faithless Seas again.



EPILOGUE.

Spoken by little Mrs. _Ariell_.


_With late Success being blest, I'm come agen;
You see what Kindness can do, Gentlemen,
Which when once shewn, our Sex cannot refrain.
Yet spite of such a Censure I'll proceed,
And for our Poetess will intercede:
Before, a Poet's wheedling Words prevail'd,
Whose melting Speech my tender Heart assail'd,
And I the flatt'ring Scribler's Cause maintain'd;
So by my means the <DW2> Applauses gain'd.
'Twas wisely done to chuse m' his Advocate,
Since I have prov'd to be his better Fate;
For what I lik'd, I thought you could not hate.
Respect for you, Gallants, made me comply,
Though I confess he did my Passion try,
And I am too good-natur'd to deny.
But now not Pity, but my Sex's Cause,
Whose Beauty does, like Monarchs, give you Laws,
Should now command, being join'd with Wit, Applause.
Yet since our Beauty's Power's not absolute,
She'll not the Privilege of your Sex dispute,
But does by me submit.--Yet since you've been
For my sake kind, repeat it once agen.
Your Kindness, Gallants, I shall soon repay,
If you'll but favour my Design to Day:
Your last Applauses, like refreshing Showers,
Made me spring up and bud like early Flow'rs;
Since then I'm grown at least an Inch in height,
And shall e'er long be full-blown for Delight_.

                  Written by a Friend.




THE YOUNG KING; OR, THE MISTAKE.



ARGUMENT.


Orsames, heir to the Dacian throne, has been kept in a castle from
His infancy, never having seen any human being save his old tutor,
Geron, owing to an Oracle which foretold great cruelties and mischiefs
If he should be allowed to wear the crown. The Queen of Dacia designs
Her daughter Cleomena as her successor, and with this intent gives her
An Amazonian education. The Dacians and Scythians are at war, but
Thersander, The Scythian prince, has joined the Dacians under the name
Of Clemanthis, inasmuch as he loves the princess, who in her turn
Becomes enamoured of him. He is recognized but not betrayed by Urania,
a Scythian lady who, her lover Amintas having been previously captured,
allows herself to be taken prisoner and presented to Cleomena. Amintas
is confined in the old castle where Urania, visiting him, is accidently
seen by Orsames. He is, however, persuaded by Geron that it is an
apparition. Amintas is freed by Urania, who has gained Cleomena's
friendship. Honorius, the Dacian general, offers Thersander his daughter
Olympia, and the young Scythian is obliged to feign acceptance. Cleomena
hears Honorius telling the Queen his design and goes off enraged, only to
see Thersander seemingly courting Olympia. She raves and threatens to
kill him, but eventually parts with disdain, bidding him quit the place.
Orsames is now brought from the castle during his sleep, crowned, seated
on the throne and treated in every respect as King. His power is
acknowledged, the Queen kneels before him, and Olympia entering, he
falls violently in love with her. At a supposed contradiction he orders
one courtier to instant execution and another to be cast into the sea.
Immediately after, during a banquet, a narcotic is mingled with his wine
and he is conveyed back to the castle whilst under its influence,
leaving the Queen fearful that her experiment is of no avail as he has
displayed so tyrannical and cruel a nature.

A battle between the Dacians and Scythians follows, in which the
Latter are victorious owing to Thersander having, under his own name,
Returned to their camp. The Dacian chiefs then challenge him to single
Combat. He crosses over once again as Clemanthis and the lot falls upon
himself. He thereupon dresses Amintas in the clothes of Clemanthis and
arranges that in a pretended duel with him himself shall gain the upper
hand. Meanwhile two rival princes to the hand of Cleomena post assassins
in the wood to kill Thersander, and these, deceived by the garb of
Clemanthis, mistake Amintas for the prince, and leaving him half dead on
the ground and covered with blood and wounds, take their flight,
imagining they have fully carried out their masters' wishes. Amintas is
just able to gasp the name 'Thersander', and Cleomena promptly concludes
that Thersander has slain Clemanthis. She then herself assumes the attire
of Clemanthis and goes out to the duel. She is wounded, her sex
discovered, and she is borne from the field, whilst Thersander remains
plunged in despair.

Meanwhile Orsames in his prison forces Geron to tell him the truth as to
his adventure, whilst outside the populace are clamouring for him as
king. Cleomena, disguised as a shepherd-boy, carries a letter to
Thersander, and stabs him as he reads it. The Scythian king has her
thrown into a dungeon, but Thersander obtains her release. Amintas
meanwhile has been cured of his wounds by a Druid leech. Thersander is
visited by Cleomena and reveals to her his identity with Clemanthis.
They are at length united, and this event, with the arrival of Orsames,
Who has been placed on the throne by the Dacians, joins the two
countries in a lasting peace. It is explained that the Oracle is
satisfied by his previous reign of a night.



SOURCE.


The plot of _The Young King_, which, as the _Biograpbia Dramatitca_ well
remarks, 'is very far from being a bad one', is taken from the eighth
part of La Calprenede's famous romance, _Cleopatre_. The adventures of
Alcamenes (Thersander) and Menalippa (Cleomena) are therein related for
the benefit of Cleopatra and Artemisa, temporarily imprisoned on
shipboard. The narrative, which occupies some hundred pages, is n good
example of those prolix detached episodes and histories peculiar to this
school, which by their perpetual crossing and intertwining render the
consecutive reading of a heroic romance so confused and difficult a task.
Yet in this particular instance the tale is extraordinarily well told and
highly interesting. Mrs. Behn has altered the names for the better.
Barzanes in the novel becomes Honorius in the play; Euardes, Ismenes;
Phrataphernes, Artabazes; Beliza, Semiris; whilst La Calprenede dubs the
Scythian king, Arontes and the queen of Dacia, Amalthea.

_Cleopatre_, commenced in 1646, was eventually completed in twelve
volumes. There is an English translation of the eighth part by James Webb
(8vo, 1658), which he terms _Hymen's Praeludia, or, Love's Masterpiece_,
and dedicates with much flowery verbiage to his aunt, Jane, Viscountess
Clanebuy. A translation of the whole romance, by Robert Loveday, was
published folio, 1668.

The story, however, is not original even in La Calprenede, being taken
with changed names from _Il Calsandro_ smascherato di Giovanni Ambrogio
Marini (Part 1, Fiorenza, 1646; Part 2, Bologna, 1651), a French version
of which, by Georges de Scuderi, appeared in 1668.

Some critics have seen a resemblance between the character of the young
prince Orsames and that of Hippolito, 'one that never saw woman,' in
Dryden and Davenant's alteration of _The Tempest_ (1667).[1] But the
likeness is merely superficial. Mrs. Behn has undoubtedly taken the
whole episode of Orsames directly from Calderon's great philosophic and
symbolical comedia, _La Vida es Sueno_ (1633).[2] That Mrs. Behn had a
good knowledge of Spanish is certain, and she has copied with the closest
fidelity minute but telling details of her original. Calderon himself
probably derived his plot from Rojas' _Viaje Entretenido_. Basilio, King
of Poland, to thwart the fulfilling of a horoscope, imprisons his son
Segismundo from infancy in a lonely tower. The youth is, however, as a
test of his character, one night whilst under the influence of a
soporofic conveyed from his prison and wakes to find himself in a
sumptuous apartment amidst crowds of adulating courtiers. He shows
himself, however, a very despot, and throws an officious servant, who
warns him to proffer greater respect to the infanta Estella, his cousin,
clean out of window; he nearly kills his tutor Clotaldo, who interrupts
his violent wooing; and, in fine, is seen to be wholly unfit to reign.
A potion is deftly administered, and once more, asleep, he is carried
back to the castle. The populace, however, rise and set him on the
throne, and eventually the astrological forecast comes true; but at the
same time he proves himself a worthy sovereign. All these details are
to be found in _The Young King_, as well as Calderon's scene where
Rosaura, in pursuit of her lover, accidently encounters Segismundo in
his prison.

The story itself is, of course, world-wide with a thousand variants.
Oriental in origin, it is familiar to all readers of the Thousand and One
Nights, when Abou Hassan is drugged by Haroun al Raschid, and for one day
allowed to play the caliph with power complete and unconfined. The same
trick is said to have been tried upon a drunkard at Bruges by Philip the
Good, Duke of Burgundy, during his marriage festivities, 1440.
Christopher Sly, well drubbed by Marian Hacket and bawling for a pot of
small ale, will at once occur to every mind. Richard Edwardes has the
same story in his _Collection of Tales_ (1570); the old _Ballad of the
Frolicsome Duke_ sings it; Sir Richard Barckley repeats it in his
_Discourse of the Felicitie of Man_ (1598); and Burton found a niche for
it in his _Anatomy of Melancholy_ (1621). Simon Goulart included it in
the _Tresor d'histoires admirables et memorables_ (circa 1600), whence it
was Englished by Grimeston (1607). In fact it is a common property of all
times and all nations.

Although Mrs. Behn confessedly does not attain (nor was such her
intention) the deep philosophy and exquisite melody of the great Spanish
poet, she has produced a first-rate specimen of the romance drama, rococo
perhaps, and with quaint ornaments, but none the less full of life,
incident and interest.


FOOTNOTES:

1. This version of Shakespeare, and particularly the part of Hippolito,
belong to Davenant, for, as Dryden says in the preface, Sir William 'to
put the last hand to it, design'd the counterpart to Shakespeare's plot,
namely that of a man who had never seen a woman.']

2. _Life is a Dream_. English translation by John Oxenford, Monthly
Magazine, Vol. XCVI; by Archbishop Trench, 1856; by Denis Florence
Mac-Carthy, 1873; by FitzGerald (a private edition), 'Such Stuff as
Dreams are Made Of'. It has also been excellently edited by Norman
Maccoll, _Select Plays from Calderon_ (1888).



THEATRICAL HISTORY.


The earliest sketch of _The Young King; or, The Mistake_ was written by
Mrs. Behn whilst she was still a young girl at Surinam. Upon her return
to England the rhyming play had made its appearance, and soon heroic
tragedy was carrying all before it on the London stage. Influenced no
doubt by this tremendous vogue, she turned to her early MS. and proceeded
to put her work, founded on one of the most famous of the heroic
romances, into the fashionable couplets. Traces of this may be found in
the scene between Cleomena and Urania, i, II; in Orsames' speech, iv,
III, and elsewhere. Whilst she was busy, however, _The Rehearsal_ was
produced at the King's Theatre, 8 December, 1671, and for the moment gave
a severe blow to the drama it parodied. Accordingly, Mrs. Behn with no
little acumen put her tragi-comedy on one side until the first
irresistible influence of Buckingham's burlesque had waned ever so
slightly, and then, when her dramatic reputation was firmly established
by the triumphant success of _The Rover_, the applause that had been
given to _Sir Patient Fancy_ and half-a-dozen more of her plays, she
bethought of her earlier efforts, and after subjecting _The Toung King_
to a thorough revision, in which, however, it retained marked traces of
its original characteristics, she had it produced at the Duke's Theatre
in the spring of 1679. Mr. Gosse goes so far as to say that she had
previously offered it to the theatres and publishers, but could find
neither manager nor printer who would accept it. This, which he deduces
from her dedication to Philaster, seems to me unwarrantable, and is not
borne out by the play itself, which, baroque as it may appear to us, is
certainly equal to, and indeed far better, than the rank and file of
Restoration tragi-comedy. There is no record of its performance, and it
never kept the boards. But although we have no direct evidence of its
success, on the other hand it would be rash to suggest it was in any
sense a failure. Indeed, since two editions were published we may safely
assert its popularity. The actors' names are not preserved, but Mrs. Mary
Lee doubtless created Cleomena; Mrs. Barry, Urania; Betterton,
Thersander; and Smith, Orsames.



TO PHILASTER.


'Tis the glory of the Great and Good to be the Refuge of the Distress'd;
their Virtues create 'em troubles; and he that has the God like Talent to
oblige, is never free from Impunity, you, Philaster, have a Thousand ways
merited my Esteem and Veneration; and I beg you wou'd now permit the
effects of it, which cou'd not forbear, though unpermitted, to dedicate
this youthful sally of my Pen, this first Essay of my Infant-Poetry to
your Self: 'Tis a Virgin-Muse, harmless and unadorn'd, unpractis'd in the
Arts to please; and if by chance you find any thing agreeable, 'tis
natural and unskill'd Innocence. Three thousand Leagues of spacious Ocean
she has measured, visited many and distant Shores, and found a welcome
every where; but in all that vast tract of Sea and Land cou'd never meet
with one whose Person and Merits cou'd oblige her to yield her ungarded
self into his protection: A thousand Charms of Wit, good Nature, and
Beauty at first approach she found in _Philaster_; and since she knew she
cou'd not appear upon the too-critical English Stage without making
choice of some Noble Patronage, she waited long, look'd round the judging
World, and fix't on you. She fear'd the reproach of being an American,
whose Country rarely produces Beauties of this kind: The Muses seldom
inhabit there; or if they do, they visit and away; but for variety a
Dowdy Lass may please: Her youth too should attone for all her faults
besides; and her being a Stranger will beget civility, and you that are
by nature kind and generous, tender and soft to all that's new and gay,
will not, I hope refuse her the Sanctuary I am so sensible she will have
need of in this loose Age of Censure. You have goodness enough to excuse
all her weaknesses, and Wit enough to defend 'em; and that's sufficient
to render her Estimable to all the World that knows the generous and
excellent Philaster; whilst this occasion to celebrate you under this
Name, is both a Pleasure and Honour to.      ASTERA.




THE YOUNG KING; or, The Mistake.



PROLOGUE.


_Beauty like Wit, can only charm when new;
Is there no Merit then in being true?
Wit rather should an Estimation hold
With Wine, which is still best for being old.
Judgment in both, with vast Expence and Thought,
You from their native Soil, from Paris brought:
The Drops that from that sacred Sodom fall,
You like industrious Spiders suck up all.
Well might the French a Conquest here design,
Were but their Swords as dangerous as their Wine.
Their Education yet is worse than both;
They make our Virgins Nuns, unman our Youth.
We that don't know 'em, think 'em Monsters too;
And will, because we judge of them by you.
You'll say this once was so, but now you're grown
So wise t'invent new Follies of your own:
Their slavish Imitations you disdain;
A Pox of <DW2>s that purchase Fame with Pain:
You're no such Fools as first to mount a Wall,
Or for your King and Country venture all.
With such like grinning Honour 'twas perchance,
Your dull Forefathers first did conquer France.
Whilst they have sent us, in Revenge for these,
Their Women, Wine, Religion, and Disease.
Yet for Religion, it's not much will down,
In this ungirt, unblest, and mutinous Town.
Nay, I dare swear, not one of you in seven,
E'er had the Impudence to hope for Heaven.
In this you're modest--
But as to Wit, most aim before their time,
And he that cannot spell, sets up for Rhyme:
They're Sparks who are of Noise and Nonsense full,
At fifteen witty, and at twenty dull;
That in the Pit can huff, and talk hard Words,
And briskly draw Bamboo instead of Swords:
But never yet Rencounter cou'd compare
To our late vigorous Tartarian War:
Cudgel the Weapon was, the Pit the Field;
Fierce was the Hero, and too brave to yield.
But stoutest Hearts must bow; and being well can'd,
He crys, Hold, hold, you have the Victory gained.
All laughing call--
Turn out the Rascal, the eternal Blockhead;
--Zounds, crys Tartarian, I am out of Pocket:
Half Crown my Play, Sixpence my Orange cast;
Equip me that, do you the Conquest boast.
For which to lie at ease, a Gathering's made,
And out they turn the Brother of the Blade.
--This is the Fruit of Idleness and Ease:
Heaven bless the King that keeps the Land in Peace,
Or he'll be sweetly served by such as these_.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

DACIANS.

_Queen of Dacia_.
_Orsames_, her Son, kept from his Infancy in a Castle on a Lake,
    ignorant of his Quality, and of all the World besides; never
    having seen any human thing save only his old Tutor.
_Cleomena_, his Sister, bred up in War, and design'd to reign
    instead of _Orsames_; the Oracle having foretold the bloody
    Cruelties should be committed during his short Reign, if ever
    suffered to wear the Crown.
_Honorius_, General of the Army, and Uncle to _Orsames_ and _Cleomena_.
_Olympia_, his Daughter, young and beautiful.
_Ismenes_ and   |  Two Rival Princes in love with _Cleomena_.
_Artabazes_,     |
_Geron_, the old Tutor to _Orsames_.
_Pimante_, a <DW2> Courtier.
_Arates_, a Courtier.
_Semeris_, Woman to _Cleomena_.
_Vallentio_, a Colonel of the Army.
_Gorel_, a Citizen.
Keeper of the Castle.
A Druid.

SCYTHIANS.

_King of Scythia_.
_Thersander_, his Son, under the Name of _Clemanthis_, when on the
    _Dacian_ side.
_Amintas_, a young Nobleman, belov'd by _Thersander_, and Lover of
    _Urania_.
_Lysander_, Page to _Thersander_.
_Urania_, in love with _Amintas_.
_Lyces_, a Shepherdess.
Pages and Attendants, Courtiers (men and women), Officers,
    Guards, Soldiers, Huntsmen, Shepherds, Shepherdesses,
    Assassins, and all a Rabble of the Mobile.

SCENE, the Court of _Dacia_, between the two
Armies just before the Town.



ACT I.


SCENE I. _A Grove near the Camp_.

    _Enter_ Pimante _with Letters_.

Gone! Well, I have never the Luck, I thank my Stars, to meet with any of
these mighty Men of Valour.--_Vallentio_! Noble Colonel.

    _Enter_ Vallentio.

_Val. Pimante_! Why, what the Devil brought thee to the Camp?

_Pim_. Affairs, Affairs--

_Val_. They must be wondrous pressing that made thee venture; but the
Fighting's past, and all the Noise over; every Man of Fame gone to
receive what's due to his Merit; and the whole Camp looks now like a City
in a great Plague, no stirring--But what's thy Business here?

_Pim_. Why, I brought Letters from the Queen to that same mighty Man of
Prowess--what d'ye call him?

_Val_. The brave Clemanthis?

_Pim_. The same--But, Colonel, is he indeed so very terrible a thing as
Fame gives out?--But she was ever a notable Wag at History.

_Val_. How dare thy Coward-thoughts venture upon any thing so terrible as
the remembrance of that Gallant Man? Is not his Name like Thunder to thy
Ears? Does it not make thee shrink into thy self?

_Pim_. Lord, Colonel, why so hot? 'Tis the cursed'st thing in the World
to be thus continually us'd to fighting; why, how uncivil it renders a
Man! I spake by way of Question.

_Val_. Oh! how soft and wanton I could grow in the Description I could
make of him--He merits all in Peace as well as War; Compos'd of Charms
would take all Womankind, As those of's Valour overcome the Men.

_Pim_. Well said, i'faith, Colonel; but if he be so fine a Man, why did
you not keep him here amongst you to do Execution on the _Scythians_?
for I think e'er long you'll give 'em Battel.

_Val_. The General, whose noble Life he sav'd,
Us'd all his Interest with him, but in vain:
He neither could oblige his stay i'th' Camp,
Nor get him to the Court. Oh! were his Quality
But like his Actions great, he were a Man
To merit _Cleomena_,
Whose Worth and Beauty, as a thing Divine,
I reverence.
But I abhor the feeble Reign of Women;
It foretels the Downfal of the noblest Trade, War.
Give me a Man to lead me on to Dangers,
Such as _Clemanthis_ is, or as _Orsames_ might have been.

_Pim_. Colonel, 'tis Treason but to name _Orsames_, and much more to wish
he were as King.

_Val_. Not wish he were! by all those Gods I will,
Who did conspire against him in their Oracles.
Not wish him King! yes, and may live to see it.

_Pim_. What should we do with such a King? The Gods foretel he shall be
fierce and bloody, a Ravisher, a Tyrant o'er his People; his Reign but
short, and so unfit for Reign.

_Val_. The Gods! I'll not trust 'em for a Day's Pay--let them but give
one a taste of his Reign, tho but an hour, and I'll be converted to them.

_Pim_. Besides, he is very ill bred for a King; he knows nothing of the
World, cannot dress himself, nor sing, nor dance, or play on any Musick;
ne'er saw a Woman, nor knows how to make use of one if he had her.
There's an old fusty Philosopher that instructs him; but 'tis in nothing
ever that shall make a fine Gentleman of him: He teaches him a deal of
Awe and Reverence to the Gods; and tells him that his natural Reason's
Sin--But, Colonel, between you and I, he'll no more of that Philosophy,
but grows as sullen as if you had the breeding of him here i'th' Camp.

_Val_. Thou tell'st me heavenly News; a King, a King again! Oh, for a
mutinous Rabble, that would break the Prison-Walls, and set _Orsames_ free,
both from his Fetters and his Ignorance.

_Pim_. There is a Discourse at Court, that the Queen designs to bring him
out, and try how he would behave himself: But I'm none of that Counsel,
she's like to make a fine Court on't; we have enough in the Virago he
Daughter, who, if it were not for her Beauty, one would swear were no
Woman, she's so given to Noise and Fighting.

_Val_. I never saw her since she was a Child, and then she naturally
hated _Scythia_.

_Pim_. Nay, she's in that mind still; and the superstitious Queen, who
thinks that Crown belongs to _Cleomena_--

_Val_. Yes, that was the Promise of the Oracle too.

_Pim_. Breeds her more like a General than a Woman. Ah, how she loves
fine Arms! a Bow, a Quiver! and though she be no natural Amazon, she's
capable of all their martial Fopperies--But hark, what Noise is that?

                                     [_Song within_.

_Val_. 'Tis what we do not use to hear--Stand by.

              SONG.

(1.)

_Damon, I cannot blame your Will,
'Twas Chance, and not Design, did kill;
For whilst you did prepare your Arms
On purpose Celia to subdue,
I met the Arrows as they flew,
And sav'd her from their Harms.

 (2.)
Alas, she could not make returns.
Who for a Swain already turns,
A Shepherd, who does her caress
With all the softest Marks of Love;
And 'tis in vain thou seek'st to move
The cruel Shepherdess.

(3.)
Content thee with this Victory,
I'm Young and Beautiful as she;
I'll make thee Garlands all the Day,
And in the Shades we'll sit and sing;
I'll crown thee with the Pride o'th' Spring,
When thou art Lord o'th' May_.

    _Enter_ Urania _dress'd gay_, Lyces _a Shepherdess_.

_Ly_. Still as I sing you sigh.

_Uran_. I cannot hear thy Voice, and the returns
The Echoes of these shady Groves repeat,
But I must find some Softness at my Heart.
--Wou'd I had never known another Dwelling,
But this too happy one where thou wert born!   [Sighs.

_Ly_. You sigh again: such things become
None but unhappy Maids that are forsaken;
Your Beauty is too great to suffer that.

_Ura_. No Beauty's proof against false perjur'd Man.

_Ly_. Is't possible you can have lost your Love?

_Ura_. Yes, pretty Maid, canst tell me any tidings of him?

_Ly_. I cannot tell, by what marks do you know him?

_Ura_. Why, by these--a tempting Face and Shape,
A Tongue bewitching soft, and Breath as sweet,
As is the welcome Breeze that does restore
Life to a Man half kill'd with heat before;
But has a Heart as false as Seas in Calms,
Smiles first to tempt, then ruins with its Storms.

_Ly_. Oh, fair Urania! there are many more
So like your Love, if such a one he be:
That you wou'd take each Shepherd to be he:
'Tis grown the fashion now to be forsworn;
Oaths are like Garlands made of finest Flowers,
Wither as soon as finish'd;
They change their Loves as often as their Scrips,
And lay their Mistresses aside like Ribbons,
Which they themselves have sullied.

_Pim_. Gad, I'll venture in--

_Val_. Fair Women, and so near the Camp!
What are ye, and from whence?

_Pim_. Ha! 'tis no matter for that; ask no Questions, but fall to.
                                     [_Goes to_ Lyces.

_Ura_. I'm not asham'd to tell the one or t'other;
I am a Maid, and one of gentle Birth,
A _Scythian_ born, an Enemy to thee,
Not as thou art a Man, but Friend to _Dacia_.

_Val_. What Sin have I committed, that so fair a Creature should become
my Enemy? but since you are so, you must be my Prisoner, unless your Eyes
prevent me, and make me yours.

_Pim_. How, take a Woman Prisoner! I hope you are a finer Gentleman than
so.

_Val_. But, Madam, do not fear, for I will use you As well as such a Man
as I can do.

_Ura_. Though thou be'st rough, thou hast a noble look, And I believe my
Treatment will be gentle.

_Val_. Fair Maid, this Confidence is brave in thee;
And though I am not us'd to make returns,
Unless in Thunder on my Enemies,
Yet name the way, and I will strive to serve you.

_Ura_. Then, Sir, I beg that you would set me free,
Nor yet retain me here a Prisoner;
But as thou'rt brave, conduct me to the Castle on the Lake,
Where young Amintas lies, the Spoil of War.

_Val. Amintas_, Madam, is a gallant Youth,
And merits more from Fortune than his Chains;
But I could wish (since I have vow'd to serve you)
You would command me something
Worthy your Beauty, and of that Resolution.

_Ura_. There is no other way to do me service.

_Val_. Then most willingly I will obey you.

_Ura_. But, Sir, I beg this Virgin may depart,
Being a _Dacian_, and a neighbouring Villager.

_Val_. All your Commands shall strictly be obey'd.

_Pim_. Pox on her, she's coy, and let her go. Well,
Colonel, I doubt you'll be for the Queen by and by.

_Ura_. Here--take this Jewel as a part of payment,
For all thy goodness to an unknown Maid.    [_To_ Lyces.
And if by chance I ever see thee more,
Believe me, _Lyces_, I will quit the score.
                      [_Ex_. Lyces _weeping_.

                             [_Exeunt_.


SCENE II. _A Grove of Trees_.

    _Within the Scene lies_ Thersander _sleeping, his Cap and
    Feather at a distance from him_.

    _Enter_ Cleomena _drest like an_ Amazon, _with a Bow in
    her Hand, and a Quiver of Arrows at her Back, with_
    Semiris _attired like her_.

_Cleo_. I'm almost tir'd with holding out the Chase.

_Sem_. That's strange! methought your Highness followed not
So fast to Day as I have seen you heretofore.

_Cleo_. I do not use to leave the Game unvanquish'd,
Yet now by what strange inclination led I know not,
The Sport growing dull, I wish to meet a place
Far from the noise and business of the Day:
Hast thou ty'd fast my Horses?

_Sem_. Madam, I have.

_Cleo_. What place is this, _Semiris_?

_Sem_. I know not, Madam, but 'tis wondrous pleasant.

_Cleo_. How much more charming are the Works of Nature
Than the Productions of laborious Art?
Securely here the wearied Shepherd sleeps,
Guiltless of any fear, but the disdain
His cruel Fair procures him.
How many Tales the Echoes of these Woods
Cou'd tell of Lovers, if they would betray,
That steal delightful hours beneath their Shades!

_Sem_. You'd rather hear 'em echo back the sound
Of Horns and Dogs, or the fierce noise of War.

_Cleo_. You charge me with the faults of Education,
That cozening Form that veils the Face of Nature,
But does not see what's hid within, _Semiris_:
I have a Heart all soft as thine, all Woman,
Apt to melt down at every tender Object.
--Oh, _Semiris_! there's a strange change within me.

_Sem_. How, Madam!

_Cleo_. I would thou knew'st it;
Till now I durst do any thing--but fear,
Yet now I tremble with the thoughts of telling thee
What none but thou must know--I am in love.

_Sem_. Why do you blush, my Princess? 'tis no sin;
But, Madam, who's the happy glorious Object?

_Cleo_. Why, canst thou not guess then?

_Sem_. How is it possible I should?

_Cleo_. Oh Gods! not guess the Man!
Or, rather think some God! Dull stupid Maid,
Hast thou not heard of something more than mortal!
'Twixt Human and Divine! our Country's Genius,
Our young God of War! not heard of him!

_Sem_. 'Tis not Prince _Artabazes_, or _Ismenes_?

_Cleo_. Away, thou anger'st me.

_Sem_. Pardon me, Madam,
It can be none at Court, if none of these?
And all besides are much below that Glory.

_Cleo_. What call'st thou much below, mistaken thing?
Can a gay Name give Virtue, Wit, or Beauty?
Can it gain Conquest, or in Fields or Courts?
No, nor defend its own fantastick Owner.
--Come, guess again.

_Sem_. I can guess no further than a Man, and that I'm sure he is.

_Cleo_. I know not--
For yet I never saw him, but in's Character,
Unless sometimes in Dreams.

_Sem_. Is't not enough he conquers where he comes,
But that his Fame prevents his Sword and Eyes?
Perhaps his Person may not be agreeable;
The best in Camps are not the best in Courts.

_Cleo_. So brave a Mind must have as brave an Outside.
My Uncle's Letters from the Camp contain
Nothing but Wonders of his Worth and Valour,
And 'tis impossible but such a Man
Must merit Love as well as Admiration.

_Sem_. Does he not come to Court?

_Cleo_. The Queen has made him many Invitations;
But he for some unknown and cruel Cause,
Humbly implores her Pardon for refusing:
Nor can the General learn his Quality;
But like his Deeds, believes it must be great.

_Sem_. 'Tis most likely; but I should never fall in love
with Fame alone.

_Cleo_. I hope it is not Love--but strange Curiosity
To see this brave Unknown--and yet I fear--
I've hid this new Impatience of my Soul,
Even from thee, till it grew too importunate;
And strove by all my lov'd Divertisements,
To chase it from my Bosom, but in vain:
'Tis too great for little Sports to conquer;
The Musick of the Dogs displeas'd to day,
And I was willing to retire with thee,
To let thee know my Story:
And this lone Shade, as if design'd for Love,
Is fittest to be conscious of my Crime.
--Therefore go seek a Bank where we may sit;
And I will sigh whilst thou shall pity me.

              [_Stands with her Arms across_.
     [Sem. _looks about, finds the Cap and Feathers_.

_Sem_. See, Madam, what I've found.

_Cleo_. 'Tis a fine Plume, and well adorn'd,
And must belong to no uncommon Man:
--And look, _Semiris_, where its Owner lies
--Ha! he sleeps, tread softly lest you wake him:
--Oh Gods! who's this with so divine a Shape?

_Sem_. His Shape is very well.

_Cleo_. Gently remove the Hair from off his Face,
            [Sem. _puts back his Hair_.
And see if that will answer to the rest:
--All lovely! all surprizing! Oh, my Heart,
How thou betray'st the weakness of our Sex!
--Look on that Face, where Love and Beauty dwells--
And though his Eyes be shut, tell me, _Semiris_,
Has he not wondrous Charms?

_Sem_. Yes, Madam, and I wou'd excuse you, if you
shou'd now fall in Love, here's Substance; but that same
Passion for Fame alone, I do not like.

_Cleo_. Ah, do not call my Blushes to my Face,
But pardon all my weakness:
May not my Eyes have leave to gaze a while?
Since after this there's not another Object
Can merit their Attention--
But I'll no longer view that pleasing Form--
                          [_Turns from him_.
And yet I've lost all power of removing--
                          [_Turns and gazes_.
Even now I was in love with mere Report,
With Words, with empty Noise;
And now that Flame, like to the Breath that blew it,
Is vanish'd into Air, and in its room
An Object quite unknown, unfam'd, unheard of,
Informs my Soul; how easily 'tis conquer'd!
How angry am I with my Destiny!
Till now, with much disdain I have beheld
The rest of all his Sex; and shall I here
Resign a Heart to one I must not love?
Must this be he must kill the King of _Scythia_?
For I must lay no claim to any other:
Grant, Oh ye Gods, who play with Mortals thus,
That him for whom ye have design'd your Slave,
May look like this Unknown,
And I'll be ever grateful for the Bounty.
--But these are vain imaginary Joys.

               [Thersander _wakes, rises, and gazes_.

_Ther_. Am I awake, or do my Dreams present me
Ideas much more bright and conquering,
Than e'er approach'd my waking Sense by far?
--Sure 'tis _Diana_, the Goddess of these Woods,
That Beauty and that Dress confirm me 'tis.   [_Kneels_.
--Great Goddess, pardon an unlucky Stranger,
The Errors he commits 'gainst your Divinity,
Who, had he known this Grove had sacred been,
He wou'd not have profan'd it by his Presence.

_Cleo_. Rise, Sir, I am no Deity;
Or if I were, I cou'd not be offended   [_He rises_.
To meet so brave a Man--Gods, how he looks!

_Ther_. Can you be mortal!
What happy Land contains you? or what Men
Are worthy to adore you?

_Cleo_. I find you are a Stranger to this place,
You else had known me to be _Cleomena_.

_Ther_. The Princess _Cleomena_! my mortal Enemy!   [_Aside_.

_Cleo_. You seem displeas'd at the knowledge of my Name;
But give me leave to tell you, yours on me
Wou'd have another Sense.

_Ther_. The knowledge of your Name has not displeas'd me;
                                         [_Kneels_.
But, Madam, I had sooner took you for
The Sovereign of the World than that of Dacia;
Nor ought you to expect less Adoration
From all that World, than those who're born your Slaves.
--And amongst those devout ones number him,
Whom happy Fate conducted to your Feet,
And who'll esteem himself more fortunate,
If by that little service he had rendred you,
_Clemanthis'_ Name have ever reach'd your Ear.

_Cleo. Clemanthis_! what cou'd the Gods do more,    [_Aside_.
To make me ever bless'd!--Rise, noble Youth--
                                        [_Raises him_.
Cou'dst thou salute me Mistress of the World,
Or bring me news of Conquest over _Scythia_,
It would not reach so kindly to my Soul,
As that admir'd illustrious Name of thine.
This Crown's in debt to your all-conquering Sword;
And I'm the most oblig'd to make Returns,
Which if you knew me, sure you wou'd not doubt,
If to those Favours you've already done us,
You'll add one more, and go with me to Court.

_Ther_. To th' Court? to th' utmost Bounds of all the Universe.
At your Command, through Dangers worse than Death,
I'd fly with hasty Joy--
Like Gods, do but decree, and be obey'd.

_Sem_. Madam, the Company we left are coming this
way, and with them Prince _Honorius_.

_Ther_. The General here so soon!   [_Aside_.

      _Enter_ Honorius, Ismenes, _Women, and Huntsmen_.

_Cleo_. Welcome, victorious Uncle.
                  [Hon. _kisses_ Cleo's _Hand_.

_Hon_. Madam, I heard the Noise of Horns and Dogs,
And thought your Highness was abroad to Day;
Following the Cry, it brought me to this Company,
Who were in search for you, and 'twas my Duty to attend them.
--My gallant Friend _Clemanthis_ here!
This was above my hopes; let me embrace thee,--
And tell thee with what Joy I find thee in the presence
Of my fair Niece, who must prevail upon you
To wait on her to Court; what I cou'd not intreat, let her command.

_Ther_. Where Duty and my Inclination leads me,
There needs no Invitation.

_Cleo_. Already, Uncle, he has promis'd it.

_Ism_. Sir, is this the Man to whom all _Dacia_ is so much oblig'd?

_Hon_. This is that gallant Man, whose single Valour
Has gain'd the Victory over the Nomades,
Who kill'd their King, and scatter'd all their Forces;
And when my feeble Strength (which Age and Wars
Had made unfit for mighty Toils) grew faint,
He, like _Aeneas_, bore my aged Limbs
Through all the fiery Dangers of the Battel.

_Ther_. Too much you've said to my Advantage, Sir,
Robbing the Gods and Fortune of their Glory.

_Ism_. Rank me amongst your Captives; for I find,
Whether you fight or not, you must be Victor.
                               [_Embraces_ Ther.

  _Enter_ Vallentio, Urania, Pimante; Vallentio _kneels and delivers_
  Urania _to the Princess_.

_Cleo_. What new Encounter's this?

_Val_. I need not ask where I shall pay my Duty:
My Wonder will direct me to your Feet.

_Cleo_. Who knows the Man that makes me such a Present?

_Hon_. Madam, he is an Officer of mine,
A worthy gallant Fellow;
But one that hardly knows what Cities are,
But as he'as view'd 'em through their batter'd Walls,
And after join'd 'em to your Territories.

_Cleo_. Rise high in her Esteem that loves a Soldier.
                                [_He rises_.

_Val_. I need say nothing for my Prisoner, Madam,
Whose Looks will recommend her: only this,
It was against my Will I made her so,
Who ne'er refus'd till then to take your Enemies.

_Ther_. It is Urania, she'll know me, and betray me.    [_Aside_.

_Cleo_. Say, lovely Maid, whom, and from whence thou art?

_Ura_. A _Scythian_, Madam, and till now your Foe.

_Pim_. Ay, Madam, we took her, we took her.

_Cleo_. So fair an one must merit my Esteem:
I hope there are not many such fine Creatures
Brought into the Camp against us; if there be,
The _Scythians_ cannot doubt of Victory.
--Thy Name and Business here?

_Ura. Urania_, Madam--
My Story were too tedious for your Ear,
Nor were it fit I should relate it here.
--But 'tis not as an Enemy I come,
'Tis rather, Madam, to receive my Doom;
Nor am I by the chance of War betray'd,
But 'tis a willing Captive I am made:
Your Pity, not your Anger I shall move,
When I confess my Fault is only Love,
Love to a Youth, who never knew till now
How to submit, nor cou'd to ought but you.
--His Liberty for Ransom you deny;
I dare not say that this is Cruelty,
Since yet you may be pleas'd to give me leave
To die with him, with whom I must not live.

_Ther_. Excellent Maid! what Generosity her Love has taught her!
                                                [_Aside_.

_Cleo_. That you esteem me cruel, is unkind,
But Faults of Lovers must Forgiveness find:
_Amintas'_ Chains had far more easy been,
Had he been less a Favorite to his King.
--But you, _Urania_, may perhaps redeem
That Captive which I would not render them.

_Ura_. Madam, this Bounty wou'd exceed Belief,
But you too generous are to mock my Grief:
And when you shall m' unhappy Story learn,
'Twill justify my Tears, and your Concern.

_Cleo_. I need no Arguments for what I do,
But that I will, and then it must be so.

_Ura_. The Prince of _Scythia_ in the Camp of _Dacia_!
If I could be mistaken in that form,
I'd hate my Eyes for thus deluding me:
But Heaven made nothing but _Amintas_ like him.   [_Aside_.

_Cleo_. Come, let's to Court, by this the Queen expects us:
--You, my fair Prisoner, must along with me:
                                     [_Takes her Hand_.
--Thy Hand, _Clemanthis_, too--Now tell me, Uncle,
                      [Takes him with the other Hand.
--What _Scythian_ that beholds me thus attended,
Would not repine at my Felicity,
Having so brave a Friend, so fair an Enemy?

                                       [_Exeunt_.



ACT II.


SCENE I. _A Castle or Prison on the Sea_.

    _After a little playing on the Lute,--enter_ Orsames
    _with his Arms across, looking melancholy, follow'd by_
    Geron _with a Lute in his Hand_.

_Ors_. I do not like this Musick;
It pleases me at first,
But every Touch thou giv'st that's soft and low
Makes such Impressions here,
As puzzles me beyond Philosophy
To find the meaning of;
Begets strange Notions of I know not what,
And leaves a new and unknown thought behind it,
That does disturb my Quietness within.

_Ger_. You were not wont to think so.

_Ors_. 'Tis true--
But since with time grown ripe and vigorous,
I will be active, though but ill employ'd.
--_Geron_, thou'st often told me,
That this same admirable Frame of Nature,
This Order and this Harmony of things,
Was worthy admiration.
--And yet thou say'st all Men are like to us,
Poor, insignificant Philosophers.
I to my self could an Idea frame
Of Man, in much more excellence.
Had I been Nature, I had varied still,
And made such different Characters of Men,
They should have bow'd and made a God of me,
Ador'd, and thank'd me for their great Creation.
--Now, tell me, who's indebted to her Bounties,
Whose needless Blessings we despise, not praise?

_Ger_. Why, what wou'd you have done, had you been Nature?

_Ors_. Some Men I wou'd have made with mighty Souls,
With Thoughts unlimited by Heaven or Man;
I wou'd have made 'em--as thou paint'st the Gods.

_Ger_. What to have done?

_Ors_. To have had Dominion o'er the lesser World,
A sort of Men with low submissive Souls,
That barely shou'd content themselves with Life,
And should have had the Infirmities of Men,
As Fear, and Awe, as thou hast of the Gods;
And those I wou'd have made as numberless
As Curls upon the Face of yonder Sea,
Of which each Blast drives Millions to the Shore,
Which vanishing, make room for Millions more.

_Ger_. But what if these, so numerous, though so humble,
Refuse Obedience to the mighty few?

_Ors_. I would destroy them, and create anew.
--Hast not observ'd the Sea,
Where every Wave that hastens to the Bank,
Though in its angry Course it overtake a thousand petty ones,
How unconcern'd 'twill triumph o'er their Ruin,
And make an easy Passage to the Shore?--

_Ger_. Which in its proud career 'twill roughly kiss,
And then 'twill break to nothing.

_Ors_. Why, thou and I, though tame and peaceable,
Are mortal, and must unregarded fall.
--Oh, that thought! that damn'd resistless thought!
Methinks it hastens Fate before its time,
And makes me wish for what I fain wou'd shun.

_Ger_. Appease your self with thoughts of future Bliss.

_Ors_. Future Bliss! the Dreams of lazy Fools;
Why did my Soul take Habitation here,
Here in this dull unactive piece of Earth!
Why did it not take Wing in its Creation,
And soar above the hated Bounds of this?
What does it lingring here?

_Ger_. To make itself fit for that glorious End
'Twas first design'd for,--
By patient suffering here.

_Ors_. But, Geron, still to live! still thus to live
In expectation of that future Bliss,
(Though I believ'd it) is a sort of Virtue
I find the Gods have not inspir'd me with.

_Ger_. Philosophy will teach you, Sir,--

_Ors_. Not to be wise, or happy--
I'll hear no more of your Philosophy.
--Leave me.--for I of late desire to be without thee.

_Ger_. This Disobedience, Sir, offends the Gods--

_Ors_. Let 'em do their worst,
For I am weary of the Life they gave.

_Ger_. He grows too wise to be impos'd upon,
And I unable to withstand his Reasons.--
                                [Ger. _goes out_.
                           [Ors. _lies on the Ground_.

    _Enter_ Urania, _and Keeper_.

_Keeper_. The Ring is sufficient Warrant, and your Path
on the right Hand will lead you to the Lord _Amintas_--
but have a care you advance no further that way.--
                                 [_Exit Keeper_.

_Ura_. What strange Disorder does possess my Soul!
And how my Blood runs shivering through my Veins,
As if, alas, 't had need of all its Aid.
At this encounter with my dear _Amintas_.

_Ors_. Ha! what Noise is that?   [_He rouzes_.

_Ura_. I heard a Voice that way--or else it was the fear
This gloomy Place possesses all that enter it:
--Stay, I was forbad that Walk.
--Heavens! I have forgot which 'twas I should have taken,
I'll call my Love to guide me--_Amintas, Amintas_--

_Ors_. What Voice is that?
Methought it had more sweetness in't than _Geron's_--
              [_Rises, gazes, then runs fiercely to her_.
--Ha--what charming thing art thou?

_Ura_. 'Tis not _Amintas_--yet I should not fear,
He looks above the common rate of Men.
--Sir, can you direct my way
To find a Prisoner out they call _Amintas_!

_Ors_.--Oh Gods! it speaks, and smiles, and acts like me;
It is a Man, a wondrous lovely Man!
Whom Nature made to please me.
--Fair thing, pray speak again:
Thy Voice has Musick in't that does exceed
All _Geron's_ Lutes, pray bless my Ears again.

_Ura_. Sir, as you're Noble, as you are a Gentleman,
Instruct me where to find my Lord _Amintas_.

_Ors_. Bright Creature! sure thou wert born i'th' upper World,
Thy Language is not what we practise here;
Speak on, thou Harmony to every Sense,
Ravish my Ear as well as Sight and Touch.

_Ura_. Surely he's mad--nay, Sir, you must not touch me.

_Ors_. Perhaps thou art some God descended hither,
                                 [_Retires and bows_.
And cam'st to punish, not to bless thy Creatures?
Instruct me how to adore you so,
As to retain you here my Houshold God,
And I and Geron still will kneel and pray to you.

_Ura_. Alas, I am a Woman.

_Ors_. A Woman! what's that?
Something more powerful than a Deity;
For sure that Word awes me no less than t'other.

_Ura_. What can he mean?--oh, I shall die with fear--
                                       [_Aside_.
--Sir, I must leave you.

_Ors_. Leave me! oh no, not for my future Being!
You needs must live with me, and I will love you;
I've many things that will invite you to't,
I have a Garden compass'd round with Sea,
Which every day shall send fresh Beauties forth,
To make the Wreaths to crown thy softer Temples.
Geron shall deck his Altar up no more;
The gaudy Flowers shall make a Bed for thee,
Where we will wanton out the heat o'th' day--
What things are these, that rise and fall so often,
                          [_Touches her Breasts_.
Like Waves, blown gently up by swelling Winds?
Sure thou hast other Wonders yet unseen,
Which these gay things maliciously do hide.

_Ura_. Alas, I am undone, what shall I do?--   [_Aside_.

_Ors_. Nature, thy Conduct's wise! nor could thy Favours
Be giv'n to one more apprehensive of 'em?
--Say, lovely Woman! for I am all on fire,
Impatient of delay,
Can you instruct me what I am to do?   [_Sighs_.
Undress, and let me lead thee to my Bed.

_Ura_. Alas, Sir, what to do? defend me, Heaven!    [_Aside_.

_Ors_. Why, I will hold thee--thus, between my Arms,
--I'll see thee sleep, and wonder at thy Form,
--Then wake thee to be gazing on thy Eyes,
--And something more--but yet I know not what.

_Ura_. His whole Discourse amazes me,
And has more Ignorance than Madness in't:
--But how shall I get free?

_Ors_. Thou grow'st impatient too, come, let us in--

    [_Goes to take her in, she strives to get free,
    he struggles with her_.

_Ura_. Hold off, you are too rude.

_Ors_. This is the prettiest play I e'er was at,
But I shall gain the better.--
                 [_Takes her in his Arms to carry her off_.

_Ura_. Help, help!

    _Enter_ Amintas _in Fetters_.

_Amin_. A Woman's Voice!--Villain, unhand the Lady.

_Ors_. Ha! what new thing art thou?

_Amin. One sent from Heaven to punish Ravishers.--
           [_Snatches_ Ura. _while_ Ors. _is gazing on him_.

_Ors_. Thou'st call'd up an unwonted Passion in me,
And these be the effects on't.
               [Ors. _strikes him_; _they struggle and fall_.

    _Enter_ Geron.

_Ger_. Hah! what's the matter here? a Woman too!
We are undone--Madam, I pray retire--
For here's no safety for your Sex.

_Ura_. I gladly take your Counsel.
          [Ura. _goes into_ Amintas' _Apartment_.

_Ors_. What art thou?

_Amin_. That which I seem to be.

_Ors_. Then thou'rt a God; for till I saw a Woman,
I never saw a thing so fine as thou:
And 'tis but just thou shouldst be more than Mortal,
That durst command that Creature from my Arms.

_Amim_. It is the King--I know it by his Innocence,
and Ignorance--    [_Aside_.
--Rise, I beseech you, Sir, and pardon me.

_Ors_. So I could live a Year with looking on thee;
--But where's the Creature call'd it self a Woman?

_Ger_. What Woman, Sir?

_Ors_. Ha! Geron, where's the Woman?

_Ger_. What do you mean, Sir?

_Ors_. The Heavenly Woman, that was here but now.

_Ger_. I saw none such, nor know I what you mean.

_Ors_. Not what I mean? thou could'st not be so dull:
What is't that I have strove for all this while?

_Amin_. I'll leave him too, my Presence may be hurtful,
And follow the Lady that's fled to my Apartment.
                                          [_Ex_. Amin.

_Ors_. Go, fetch the Woman, or, by Heaven, I'll fling thee into the Sea.

_Ger_. I must delude'him.   [_Aside_.

_Ors_. Fly, why stay'st thou dully here? go bring the Woman.

_Ger_. Sure you are frantick.

_Ors_. I am so, and thou shalt feel the effect on't.
Unless thou render back that lovely Creature.

_Ger_. Oh! this is perfect Madness, Sir, you're lost;
Call back your noble Temper, and be calm.

_Ors_. No, there's a furious Tempest in my Soul,
Which nothing can allay but that fine thing.

_Ger_. Hear Reason yet--no human Being can get entrance here;
Look round this Castle, and no other Object
Will meet your Eyes, but a watery Wilderness,
And distant and unhabitable Lands.
--What airy Vision has possess'd your Fancy?
For such the Gods sometimes afflict Men with.

_Ors_. Ha! an airy Vision!--Oh, but it cannot be;
By all that's good,'twas real Flesh and Blood.

_Ger_. And are you sure you are awake?

_Ors_. As thou art now.

_Ger_. Then 'twas an Apparition.

_Ors_. Away--thou'st often told me of such Fooleries,
And I as often did reprove thee for't.

_Ger_. From whence, or how should any living thing get hither?

_Ors_. It dropt, perhaps, from Heaven, or how, I know not;
But here it was, a solid living thing;
You might have heard how long we talk'd together.

_Ger_. I heard you talk, which brought me to this place,
And found you struggling on the ground alone;
But what you meant I know not.

_Ors_. 'Tis so--I grant you that it was a Vision
--How strong is Fancy!--yet--it is impossible--
Have I not yet the Musick of its Words?
Like answering Echoes less'ning by degrees,
Inviting all the yielding Sense to follow.
Have not my Lips (that fatally took in--
Unrest from ev'ry touch of that fair Hand)
The sweet remains of warmth receiv'd from thence,
Besides the unerring Witness of my Eyes?
And can all these deceive me? tell me, can they?

_Ger_. Most certainly they have.

_Ors_. Then let the Gods take back what they so vainly gave.

_Ger_. Cease to offend, and they will cease to punish.

_Ors_. But why a Woman? cou'd they secure my Faith
By nothing more afflicting?

_Ger_. Shapes Divine are most perplexing.
To Souls, like yours, whom Terrors cannot fright,
It leaves desires of what it cannot gain,
And still to wish for that--
Is much the greatest torment of the Mind.

_Ors_. Well said--but, _Geron_, thou'st undone thy Aim,
And us'd the only Argument cou'd invite me
T' offend again, that thus I might be punish'd:
The Gods themselves invite me to the Sin!
Not seeing a Woman, I had never bin.

                                [_Exeunt_.


SCENE II. _Another Room in the Prison.
Enter_ Amintas _in Fetters with _Urania.

_Amin_. My gallant Maid! this Generosity,
Above thy Sex, and much above my Merit,
I never can repay: my dear _Urania_,
Thou did'st outdo thy Sex before in Beauty,
In all the Charms that make 'em so ador'd:
But this last Act, this noble Mark of Love,
Begets a reverend Wonder in my Soul,
And I behold thee as some sacred thing,
That--this way should be worship'd--
                 [_Kneels_, _and kisses her Hand_.

_Ura_. I'm glad you have so kind a Sense of that
Which ev'ry Maid that lov'd like me wou'd do;
What cou'd you less expect?--Ah, my _Amintas_,
That fatal Night before our Wedding-day,
Being alarm'd by the Enemy,
And you were sent to try your Force with theirs,
My Heart foretold your Fate; and that same Night,
Whose darkness veiled my Blushes all alone,
Drest like a Youth I hasted from the Court,
And being well mounted, soon o'ertook the Army,
When, all unknown, I got so near your Person,
That in the Fight I had the Glory twice
To serve you, when your Horses being kill'd,
I still presented you with fresh, whose Riders
Thy Valour had dismounted.

_Amin_. Oh Gods! wert thou that Boy,
Whom oft I said, I thought was sent from Heaven,
And beg'd t' encounter when the Fight was ended?

_Ura_. The same, 'twas all you'd time to say; for after that,
Venturing too far, they took you Prisoner.

_Amin_. Oh, with what Shame I look upon your Bounty,
Which all my Life's too little to acknowledge;
What follow'd then, my dearest fair _Urania_?

_Ura_. I gladly wou'd have been a Prisoner too,
But I appear'd a poor dejected Boy,
That was not worth their Fetters.
--Then I resolv'd upon this last Adventure,
To make my Application to the Princess,
Knowing her noble Nature,
To try (since mighty Ransoms were refus'd)
What simple Love would do; and in my way
I lighted on a Druid, who in's Youth
Had liv'd in Courts, but now retir'd to Shades,
And is a little Monarch o'er his Flocks;
To him I told my Story, who encourag'd me in my resolv'd design,
And I so luckily have made an Interest
In _Cleomena's_ Heart,
These Chains she'as given me Freedom to dismiss,
And you must only wear Love's Fetters now:
                           [_She takes off his Chains_.
--Come, haste, _Amintas_, from this horrid Place,
And be thy self again, appear in Arms.
The _Scythians_ are encampt within thy View,
And e'er three Births of Day the Armies meet;
Th' Event of which, I at the _Druid_'s Cell
Will wait; sending continual Vows to Heaven
For thy dear Safety: there when the Fight is done,
I wish to meet thee;
--But now your Country and your King expect you,
And I love Glory equal to _Amintas_.

_Amin_. But yet the generous Bounty of the Princess
Obliges here, no less than Duty there;
I know not how the Gods of War to move
To grant me Victor, or the vanquish'd prove;
My Heart to either is not well inclin'd,
Since--vanquish'd I am lost, conquering unkind.

                                         [_Exeunt_.


SCENE III. _A Grove_.

    _Enter_ Thersander, Lysander.

_Ther_. Urge it no more, _Lysander_,'tis in vain,
My Liberty past all retrieve is lost;
But they're such glorious Fetters that confine me,
I wou'd not quit them to preserve that Life
Thou justly say'st I hazard by my Love.

_Lys_. The _Scythian_ Gods defend it!

_Ther_. The Gods inspire it, 'tis their Work alone;
--I know she is my Enemy, hates _Thersander_,
Has sent for all the neighbouring Kings for aid,
That hither Artabases and Ismenes
Have brought their Powers t' assist against my Crown.
But what of this? She loves me as _Clemanthis_,
Which will surmount her Hatred to the _Scythians_.
Oh, my _Lysander_! didst thou know her Charms,
Thou'dst also know 'tis not a mortal Force
That can secure the Heart: She's all divine!
All Beauty, Wit, and Softness! and she loves!
Already I have found the grateful Secret;
She scorns the little Customs of her Sex,
And her belief of being so much above me,
Permits her to encourage my Design;
She gives a Boldness to my bashful Flame,
And entertains me with much Liberty.

_Lys_. Were all this true, you're equally unhappy;
She must be only his that conquers you,
That wins your Crown, and lays it at her Feet.

_Ther_. Love ne'er considers the Event of things,
The Path before me's fair, and I'll pursue it;
Fearing no other Forces than her Eyes,
Bright as the Planets under which they're born.

_Lys_. And will you let her know you are in love?

_Ther_. If all my Sighs, if Eyes still fix'd on hers
With Languishment and Passion, will inform her,
I'll let her know my Flame, or perish in th' Attempt.

_Lys_. Dare you declare it as you now appear?
And can you hope, that under the Degree
Of what indeed you are, she will permit it?
And your Discovery is your certain ruin.

_Ther_. Thy Counsel, dear _Lysander_, comes too late,
She's in the Grove, where now I must attend her,
And see where she approaches--

    _Enter_ Cleomena, Semiris.

_Cleo_. The Stranger, say you, grown of late so pensive!
--I must enquire the Cause--what if it shou'd be Love?
And that too not for me! hah, my _Semiris_!
That Thought has given me Pains I never felt;
--Gods! why comes he not? I grow impatient now;
--Say, didst thou bid him wait me in the Grove?

_Sem_. Madam, I spoke to him my self--

_Cleo_. And told him I wou'd speak with him?

_Sem_. As you commanded me, I said.

_Cleo_. It seems he values my Commands but little,
Who is so slow in his Obedience:
--Where found you him?

_Sem_. I'th' Antick Gallery, Madam.

_Cleo_. Gallery! what did he there? tell me exactly,
--I have no Picture there.

_Sem_. Madam, he was viewing that of _Olympia_, your fair Cousin,
But for the Excellency of the Work, not Beauty.

_Cleo_. Thou art deceiv'd; viewing her Picture, say you?
--Oh, thou hast touch'd a tender part, _Semiris_;
--But yonder's he that can allay my Rage   [_Sees_ Thersander.
And calm me in that Love by every Look.
--_Clemanthis_, you absent your self too much
From those to whom your Presence is agreeable;
I hear that you are grown retir'd of late,
And visit shady Groves, walk thus--and sigh,
Like melancholy Lovers. Has the Court
(Who for your Entertainment has put on
More Gaiety than in an Age before)
Nothing that can divert you? Cease your Ceremony;
                                           [_He bows low_.
I am your Friend, and if ought harbour there
Within that sullen Breast, impart it here--
And I'll contribute any thing to ease you.
--Come--boldly tell thy Griefs;
I have an Interest in thy noble Life.
--Perhaps, since you're arriv'd at Court, you've seen
Some Beauty that has made a Conquest o'er your Heart;
--Whoe'er she be, you cannot fear Success.

_Ther_. The Honours you have heap'd upon your Slave,
Have been sufficient
To have encourag'd any bold Attempt;
And here are Beauties would transform a God,
Much more a Soldier, into an amorous Shape.
--But, I confess, with shame, I brought no Heart
Along with me to Court, and after that
What acceptable Sacrifice can I offer?
This makes me shun the Pleasures of your Court,
And seek Retirements silent as my Griefs.

_Cleo_, It seems you were a Lover e'er I saw you,
And Absence from your Mistress makes you languish.

_Ther_. Ah, Madam, do not ask me many Questions,
Lest I offend where I should merit Pity;
The Boldness may arrive unto her Knowledge,
And then you'll lose the humblest of your Creatures,
Whilst as I am, I may among the Croud
Of daily Worshippers, pay my Devotions.

_Cleo_. Give me your Hand, we'll walk a little.
              [_They go and sit dawn on a Bank_.
--How do you like this Grove?

_Ther_. As I do every place you're pleas'd to bless.
Heaven were not Heaven, were Gods not present there;
And where you are, 'tis Heaven every where.

_Cleo_. Look, Clemanthis--on yonder tuft of Trees,
Near which there is a little murmuring Spring,
From whence a Rivulet does take its rise,
And branches forth in Channels through the Garden;
--'Twas near a place like that--where first I saw _Clemanthis_.
                                           [_Sighing_.

_Ther_. Madam, be pleas'd to add, 'twas also there
_Clemanthis_ left his Liberty at the Feet
Of Divine _Cleomena_;
And charg'd himself with those too glorious Chains,
Never to be dismist but with his Life.
                [_She rising in anger, he kneels_.

_Cleo_. How, _Clemanthis_!

_Ther_. Ah! Madam, if I too presumptuous grow,
From your Commands, and all your Bounties to me,
You should forgive the Pride you do create,
And all its strange Effects;
Which if I have mistaken, let me die.
Only this Mercy grant me, to believe,
That if our Adorations please the Gods,
Mine cannot be offensive to my Princess,
Since they are equally Religious.

_Cleo_. Stranger--before I punish thy Presumption,
Inform me who it is that has offended?
Who giving me no other knowledge of him,
Than what his sword has done--dares raise his Eyes to me?

_Ther_. Madam, what you demand is just,
And I had rather die than disobey you;
But I am constrain'd by a Necessity
(Which when you know, you certainly will pardon)
For some time to conceal my Birth and Name.

_Cleo_. Till then you should have kept your Flame conceal'd,
'T had been less disobliging from a criminal one,
Whose Quality had justify'd his Boldness.

_Ther_. Ah! Madam, wou'd Heaven and you wou'd find
no other Difficulty
Than want of Quality to merit you!

_Cleo_. I must confess, _Clemanthis_, with a Blush,
That nothing of the rest displeases me.

_Ther_. Ah, Madam, how you bless me!
And now with Confidence I dare assure you,
That which should render me more worthy of you,
Shall be in me found more to your Advantage,
Than in those Princes who have taken on 'em
The Glory of your Service.

_Cleo_. As I am very reasonable, and do act
With more Sincerity than Artifice,
I'll now desire no more.
But have a care you use my Bounty well;
For I am now grown kind enough to think
That all you say is true.

_Ther_. Madam, banish me your Presence, as the Man
Of all the World unworthy to adore you,
If I present not to you in _Clemanthis_
A Man enough considerable to hope.

_Cleo_. But oh! Clemanthis, I forgot my Fate,
My Destiny depends upon my People;
Urg'd by the Queen, they've made a Resolution
To give me to that Prince who does most powerfully
Advance the Ruin of the King of _Scythia_.

_Ther_. Madam, I am not ignorant of the Conditions
That are impos'd on those who pretend to you;
I will not only serve you in this War
With more Success than any,
But set the Crown of _Scythia_ on your Head.

_Cleo_. That's bravely said.

_Ther_. Perhaps it seems extravagantly spoken,
In the Condition you behold me now;
But here I vow--I never will demand
                                [_Kneels_.
The Divine _Cleomena_ till I have crown'd her--
Yes, Madam, till I have crown'd her Queen of _Scythia_.
--Till then--give me but hope--enough, to live--
                                           [Rises.

_Cleo_. That's to your Passion due; and when I know
Who 'tis I favour--I will more allow.

_Sem_. Madam, the Queen is here.

   _Enter_ Queen, Honorius, Artabazes, Ismenes, _Guards,
   Attendants, &c_.

_Queen_. I am glad to see you all in Readiness;
To morrow I intend to be i'th' Camp,
--And _Cleomena_ is your General;
Since 'tis her Cause we fight, it is but just
She share the Danger of it with the Glory.

_Arta_. We all approve it, Madam, and are proud
Fair _Cleomena_ shall a Witness be
Of what we do to serve her,
And see the easy Conquest we shall make
Upon the Persons of her Enemies.

_Hon_. I know not, Sir, what you may do,
But we have found it not so easy.

_Arta_. Oh, there's no doubt, but we'll depopulate _Scythia_,
And lead its King, with the vain Prince his Son,
Loaden with Irons, to adorn your Triumphs.

_Ther_. Madam, I must confess your Force is great,
And the Assistance of these Men considerable;
Yet I advise your Majesty to prepare
For the Defeat of the great King of _Scythia_,
As to a Business much more difficult
Than they present it to you: for I know
The Forces of that Nation are not less.
             [_Looks with scorn on them_.
--Consider too, that King was never conquer'd,
Though these believe to do't with so much ease.
I oft have seen _Thersander_, that young Prince,
Upon whose Sword Fortune her self depends,
--And I can tell--he's not so easily chain'd,
As, _Artabazes_, you imagine him.

_Arta_. What, do you think to fright us with the Praises
You give our Enemies?
--I have heard of that King, and of _Thersander_ too;
But never heard of so much Terror in 'em,
Should make us apprehend an ill Success;
--And you, _Clemanthis_, do not know us well,
To think we'll tremble for the Prince of _Scythia_,
Though many such as you should take his part.

_Ther_. How, many such as I!
                         [_Gomes up to his Breast_.
Gods! with your selves no other Enemies
To join with that young Prince;
To conquer him and many such as I,
Requires a Number of such Kings as you.

_Ism_. It is too much, _Clemanthis_; were you well
Affected to the Service of the Queen,
You would not thus commend her Enemies.

_Ther_. Madam, I humbly beg your Pardon,
I have fail'd in the Respect I owe you,
By what I've said in favour of your Enemies,
Whom, whilst you think so easily o'ercome,
You will neglect that Power should make you Victor.

_Qu_. 'Tis Virtue, Sir, that makes you give what's due,
Though to the Advantage of those Men you hate--
--I must not have you take ought ill from him.   [_To the_ King.
But as you've all unanimously join'd
To assist us in this War, so all embrace,
                       [Ther. _salutes 'em coldly_.
Be one and ever Friends.
Brother, I leave the Conduct of this hopeful Army    [_To_ Hon.
To your unquestion'd Care; and if you can,
Oblige this noble Stranger for ever in our Service.

_Cleo_. Uncle, I'll to the Camp with you;
And you, _Clemanthis_, must be near me still.

           [Ther. _bows. All go out but_ Ther. Hon. Lysan.

_Hon. Clemanthis_, you are troubled.

_Ther_. I was a little ruffled, but 'tis gone.

_Hon_. You shou'd not blame them, Sir, for envying you,
A Man so young, and such a Name in War.

_Ther_. That, Sir, is only your Esteem of it.

_Hon_. No, dear _Clemanthis_, that I may declare
To all the World and thee, how much I prize it,
Without consulting of your Quality,
I'll make you absolute Master of my Fortune.

_Ther_. Heav'ns! whence this Generosity?    [_Aside_.

_Hon_. I have a Daughter, Sir, an only Child,
Whom all the World esteems a virtuous one,
And for whose Love Princes have su'd in vain,
I now with Joy will render you in Marriage.

_Ther_. I am undone!   [_Aside_.
It is a Princess, Sir, I must admire,
But never durst behold her with Eyes of Love,
A Maid so much above me.

_Hon_. I am a Man, whose martial Disposition
Renders me too unartful in my Language;
I cannot study Fineness in my Words,
But with Sincerity declare my Heart,
And do propose this Marriage with _Olympia_,
For your Advantage and the publick Interest,
Besides my own Content.

_Ther_. Have you consider'd, Sir, I am below her?

_Hon_. No more of that; go visit my _Olympia_,
She is prepared to give you Entertainment.
                                      [_Ex_. Hon.

_Ther_. Marry _Olympia_!
No, cou'd he with Olympia give the World,
I could not love, nor marry her.
--Oh, my Lysander! what evasion now?
--Didst hear the noble Offer of the General?

_Lys_. I did, great Sir, and what will you return?

_Ther_. If I refuse, I must offend the Man
To whom of all the World I am most oblig'd,
And one who knowing me but by my Services,
Offers me what _Thersander_ might accept.

_Lys_. It's fit you should consult the Princess, Sir,
What 'tis you ought to do.

_Ther_. I'll take thy Counsel--and wait upon _Olympia_:
--Yes, I will go visit her, though but to prove
No Torment can be like dissembled Love.

                                    [_Exeunt_.


SCENE IV. _A Chamber_.

    _Enter Queen, Cleomena, Honorius.

_Qu_. Is't possible, my Brother, you can have
So great a Passion for the publick good,
As willingly to sacrifice your Child to its Repose,
And make her Arms the soft and easy Chains
To link this gallant Stranger to our Interest?

_Hon_. His Virtue I prefer above a Crown.

_Cleo_. You shou'd love Virtue as you ought to love it;
Not give it over-measure--But are you sure he will accept it?

_Hon_. I am not certain, being not come so far;
But I propos'd it, and no doubt he lik'd it.

_Cleo_. This cannot be his Malice; for he was ever noble,
                            [Hon. _talks to the_ Queen.
But false or feign'd, I can endure no more on't:
--By Heaven, this Stranger's false! false as his Name!
--_Semiris_ found him gazing on her Picture:
--'Tis so--he loves _Olympia_!
And when I ask the Name of her he lov'd,
I urg'd it with such softness in my Eyes,
That he in Pity of me swore 'twas I:
--Now can I find how much my Soul's possest
With Love, since 'tis with Jealousy opprest.
                                       [_Goes out_.

_Qu_. How do you like the Trial of _Orsames_,
Which I intend to make?

_Hon_. You'll oblige your People, and do a Mother's Duty.

_Qu_. You know 'twas not the Tyrant in my Nature,
That from his Infancy has kept him ignorant
Of what he was--but the Decrees of Heaven.

_Hon_. Madam, 'tis true; and if the Gods be just,
He must be King too, though his Reign be short:
You cannot alter those Decrees of Heaven.

_Qu_. The Gods are Witness how these eighteen Years
I have with much Regret conceal'd his Birth.

_Hon_. You know the last Defeat the _Scythians_ gave us,
Th' impatient People broke the Castle-gates,
And against all your Powers were ready to have crown'd him;
And shou'd we now be conquer'd, nothing less
Will still the mutinous Army: try him, Madam,
He may be fit for great Impressions,
Had he but good Examples to dispose him.

_Qu_. I'll have it done to night.
Heaven, if it be thy Will, inspire my Son
With Virtue fit to wear his Father's Crown.
                                       [_Exeunt_.

   _Scene draws off, discovers_ Thersander _seemingly courting_
   Olympia. _Enter_ Cleomena; _sees them, starts, gazes
   on them, then goes out unseen. The Scene closes and
   changes to her Apartment.--She enters in a Rage_--

_Cleo_. Perfidious Man! am I abandon'd then?   [_Rage_.
Abandon'd for _Olympia_! my Slave--
And yet I lov'd him more than I did Heaven--   [_Soft_.
And shall he quit me thus?
Without being punish'd for this Infidelity?
--No, let me be a shame to all my Sex then
--Oh, _Clemanthis_! to whom I fondly gave my Liberty,
When first I saw thee sleeping in the Wood.
--But I grow soft, a Passion too unfit
For so much Anger as my Soul's possess'd with;
'Twas but even now he lov'd me with such Ardor,
And he who promis'd me the Crown of _Scythia_,
Dar'st thou become unjust, ungrateful Stranger!
Who having rais'd thy Eyes to _Cleomena_,
Would sacrifice her to another Mistress?
--This Heart, which ought not to've been given away,
But by the Services and Blood of Kings,
How hast thou lost it on a false Unknown,
Without being paid for it one single Sigh!--

     _Enter_ Thersander; _she draws a Dagger; offers to kill
     him, but cannot_.

Traitor--hast thou the impudence to appear before me,
Or dost thou come to meet thy just Reward?
                            [_Offers to stab him_.
--There's something in his Looks that does preserve him,
Or I'm not truly brave, and dare not kill him.
--Go, treacherous Unknown, whom I've preferr'd
Before so many Princes, who in vain
Sue for this credulous Heart which thou'st betray'd.

_Ther_. Ah! Madam, can you be thus cruel to me,
And not inform me how I have offended?

_Cleo_. Be gone, I say, if thou would'st save a Life,
Which those that dare do evil fear to lose.

_Ther_. Those Eyes thus order'd are far worse than Death.
End what you have so well begun,
And kill me;
Yet from another's Hand
The Blow would he less cruel.

_Cleo_. Oh, Impudence!
Still he wou'd cheat my Rage, as he has abus'd my Love;
But, Monster, though thou art below my Hand,
I'm yet a Princess, and I can command.
By Heaven, I'll try how much Rage can invent.
_Semiris_, call _Qlympia_ to me strait;
She shall in Triumph with me stand and smile,
To see thee by some Vassal bleed.

_Ther_. There needs no other witness of my Death.
But her I have offended;
To you alone I offer up my Life: for dying,
I've something to relate may justify your Rage,
Though not deserve your Pity.

_Cleo_. Hell!
Now I'm confirm'd, he fears that she should see
Him die, lest it should cost her but a Tear;
--Why should I want the Strength?
--But Oh, I cannot.
                       [_Offers to present the Dagger_.
But canst thou live, false Man, and see me frown?

_Ther_. No, Madam, I can die--thus--
                       [_Offers to fall on his Sword_.

_Cleo_. Stay--
Thou shalt not so much Glory gain:
No, live, and prove wretched enough to know
How very poorly thou hast lost my Heart.
                                   [_Ex. raving_.
                       [Ther. _gazes after her_.

_Ther_. Must I then live?--I will obey--farewel,
The fairest and unkindest of thy Sex;
If e'er it be thy chance to meet with one
That loves more than _Thersander_, if thou canst
Treat him worse than thou hast done me--
For oh! how miserable is the Wretch, whose Prayer
Repuls'd, like me, lives only to despair.

                                      [_Exit_.



ACT III.


SCENE I.

    _The Curtain is let down--being drawn up, discovers_ Orsames
    _seated on a Throne asleep, drest in Royal Robes, the Crown
    and Sctpter lying by on a Table_. Geron _near the Throne.
    On either side of the Stage, Courtiers ready drest, and multitude
    of Lights. Above is discovered the_ Queen, Olympia,
    _and Women_, Pimante, Artabazes, Ismenes; _Soft Musick
    plays;--whilst he wakes by degrees, and gazes round
    about him, and on himself with Wonder_.

_Ors_.--Gods! what am I?
--Or, is there any other God but I?

_Ger_. Yes, my great Lord;
But you're a King, a mighty Monarch, Sir.

_Ors_. I understand thee, 'tis some God thou mean'st.

_Ger_. On Earth it is: your Power too is as great;
Your Frowns destroy, and when you smile you bless;
At every Nod the whole Creation bows,
And lay their grateful Tributes at your Feet;
Their Lives are yours, and when you deign to take 'em,
There's not a Mortal dares defend himself:
But that you may the more resemble Heaven,
You should be merciful and bountiful.

_Ors_. I do believe I am the King thou speak'st of.

_Ger_. Behold this Crown--this sacred Thing is yours.

     [_Kneels and gives him the Scepter and Crown; he puts
     it on, and walks about_.

_Ors_. It is a glorious Object--
And fit for none but me--

_Olymp_. Madam, methinks the King is the finest Man
That e'er I saw--shall he not still be King?

_Qu_. I hope he will deserve it.

_Ors_. So, now methinks I move like Heaven itself,
All circled round with Stars,
--Hah! what's this that kneels?

     [_The_ Queen _kneels, he snatches her up_.

_Ger_. The Queen your Mother, Sir.--

_Ors_. By my great self it is another Woman,
Which I have burnt with a desire of seeing.
--Be gone, and leave us here alone together;
I've something to impart to this fair Thing,
Must not be understood by you.

_Qu_. Why, Sir, what is it you can impart to me,
Which those about you must not understand?

_Ors_. A new Philosophy inspir'd by Nature,
And much above whatever Geron taught.
--Come and augment my Knowledge.

_Qu_. Why me, Sir, more than any one about you?

_Ors_. Thou art all soft and sweet like springing Flowers,
And gentle as the undisturbed Air.

_Qu_. But I am your Mother.

_Ors_. No matter; thou'rt a Woman, art thou not?
And being so, the Mother cannot awe me.

_Ger_. Sir, 'tis the Person gave you Life and Being.

_Ors_. That gave me Life! oh, how I love thee for't!
Come--and I'll pay thee back such kind Returns--

_Ger_. Most Royal Sir, this Woman was
Not made by Heaven--for you.

_Ors_. Away with your Philosophy; but now you said--
I was a King, a mighty God on Earth,
And by that Power I may do any thing.

_Ger_. But Kings are just as well as powerful, Sir.

_Ors_. I am so to my self, do not oppose me.

_Ger_. Sir, this one is not meant, not form'd for you.

_Ors_. Am I a God, and can be disobey'd?
Remove that Contradiction from my sight,
And let him live no longer: ha, more Women!
                                       [Exit Geron.

     _Enter_ Olympia _and other Women_.

Oh Nature, how thou'st furnish'd me with Store!
And finer far than this--
                     [_Gazes on_ Olympia.
--But what is that whose Eyes give Laws to all,
And like the Sun, eclipse the lesser Lights?

_Qu_. Speak to him, _Olympia_.

_Ors_. Who tells me what she is?

_Olym_. Oh, how I tremble!--Sir, I am a Maid.

_Ors_. A Maid! and may you be approacht with Knees and Prayers
                                             [_Kneels_.

_Olym_. I am your Slave, you must not kneel to me--
Takes him up.

_Ors_. How soon my Glory's vanisht!
Till now I did believe I was some God,
And had my Power and my Divinity
Within my Will; but by this awful Fear,
I find thou art the greater Deity:
--Pray tell me, fairest, are you not a Woman?

_Olym_. I am a Woman, and a Virgin, Sir.

_Ors_. I did believe that thou wert something more,
For I have seen a Woman, and ne'er knew
So much Disorder in my Soul before:
--For every Look of thine gives me a Pain,
And draws my Heart out of its wonted Seat.

_Olym_. Alas, Sir, have I hurt you?

_Ors_. Extremely hurt me, thou hast a secret Power,
And canst at distance wound,
Which none but Heaven and you cou'd ever do.
--But 'twas my Fault; had I not gaz'd on thee,
I had been still a King, and full of Health.
--Here--receive this Crown, 'tis now unfit for me,
Since thou hast greater Power--whilst it sits here--
         [_He takes off his Crown, and puts it on her_.
It looks like Stars fall'n from their proper Sphere:
--So, now they're fixt again.

_Qu. Pimante_, speak to him to take it back.

_Pim_. He kills me with his Looks.
--Sir, when you part with this, you'll be despis'd;
Your Glory, and your Thunder, all will vanish.

_Ors_. I yet have something that shall make thee fear,
I'm still a King, though I must bow to her;
Take him away to Death immediately--

_Pim_. Any where to be out of your Sight--
A King, quotha?    [_Exit_.

_Ors_. Come, my fair Virgin, this shall be my Altar,
And I will place thee here, my Deity.

_Qu_. Great Sir, that Throne is only fit for you.

_Ors_. I say again, I'll have it fit for two:
Thou art a Woman, thank the Gods for that:
--Ascend, my lovely Virgin, and adorn it;
Ascend, and be immortal as my self.

_Art_. That Throne she was not born to.

_Ors_. Into the Sea with that bold Counsellor,
And let him there dispute with Winds and Waves.    [_Art. ex_.

     _Being seated on a Throne, enter several in Masquerades,
     and dance_.

--Cou'd I be sensible of any Pleasure,
But what I take in thee, this had surpriz'd me.

_Olym_. A Banquet, Sir, attends you.

_Ors_. Dispose me as you please, my lovely Virgin;
For I've resign'd my Being to your Will,
And have no more of what I call my own,
Than Sense of Joys and Pains, which you create.
      [_They rise, and sit down at a Banquet. He gazes on her_.

_Olym_. Will you not please to eat?

_Ors_. It is too gross a Pleasure for a King.
Sure, if they eat, 'tis some celestial Food,
As I do by gazing on thy Eyes--
Ah, lovely Maid--

_Olym_. Why do you sigh, Sir?

_Ors_. For something which I want; yet having thee,
What more can Heaven bestow to gratify
My Soul and Sense withal?

_Olym_. Sir, taste this Wine;
Perhaps 'twill alter that deceiv'd Opinion,
And let you know the Error of your Passion;
'Twill cause at least some Alteration in you.

_Ors_. Why shouldst thou ask so poor a Proof of me?
But yet, I will obey,--give me the Wine.

            [_They put something into the Bowl_.

_Olym_. How do you like it, Sir?

_Ors_. Why--well; but I am still the same.
Come, give it me again--'tis very pleasant--
Will you not taste it too?--
Methinks my Soul is grown more gay and vigorous;
What I have drank, has deify'd thee more,
Heightens the Pleasure which I take to gaze on thee,
And sends a thousand strange uneasy Joys,
That play about my Heart, and more transport me--
Drink, my fair Virgin, and perhaps thy Eyes
May find some Charms in me to make thee thus.

_Olym_. Alas, they've found already but too many.   [_Aside_.

_Ors_. I thought I must have gaz'd on thee for ever;
--But oh! my Eyes grow heavy in the Play,
As if some strange Divinity about me
Told me my Safety lay in their Declension.
--It is not Sleep!--sure, Kings do never sleep;
That were a low submission to a Power
A Monarch shou'd despise--but yet 'tis so:
Ye Gods, am I but mortal then?
Or do you ever sleep? I find ye do!
But I must--and lose this lovely Object:
Grant, oh ye Gods, that I may find it in a Dream,
Let her Idea hover about my Soul,
And keep it still in this harmonious Order
--And gently blow the Flame't has kindled there.
                                [_Falls asleep_.

    _Enter_ Geron, Pimante, _and_ Arates.

_Pim_. Are you sure he's asleep?

_Ger_. How do you like him, Madam?

_Qu_. I fear he is a Tyrant in his Nature.

_Ger_. But since he can be tam'd by Love and Beauty,
You should not doubt but he'll be fit to reign.

_Qu_. Remove him now into his own Apartment,
And still continue to impose upon him,
Till you receive new Orders.

                               [_Exeunt_.


SCENE II. _A Grove near the Camp_.

    _Enter_ Cleo. _with a Truncheon in her Hand, a Sword and
    a Quiver of Arrows by her side, with_ Semiris.

_Sem_. Madam, you are sad,
As if you doubted your Success to day.

_Cleo_. There are some Moments wherein I do repent me
The too rash Banishment of poor _Clemanthis_.
How did he take the Letter which I sent?

_Sem_. As Persons innocent and full of Health
Receive unlookt-for Sentences of Death;
He sigh'd, and said he wou'd obey your Will:
And, Madam, had you seen his silent Grief,
You wou'd have thought him innocent.

_Cleo_. Innocent! banish that foolish Pity from your Heart,
That wou'd persuade thee he is innocent.
Did I not see him courting of Olympia?
And can my Eyes deceive me?

_Sem. Olympia_, Madam! Gods, what do I hear!
Till now I did not know his Fault of Banishment.

_Cleo_. And was't not cause enough?

_Sem_. Ah, Madam, what Injustice have you done?
Before _Clemanthis_ came into your Cabinet,
He entertain'd me for a pretty while
With the Intentions of your generous Uncle;
He told me how he offer'd him _Olympia_,
And that he durst not seem to disesteem it,
Being your Uncle, and a Man to whom
He ow'd so much; but most to hide his Passion:
And then was coming to consult with you,
How he should manage this Affair with him.

_Cleo_. And is this Truth thou tell'st me, dear _Semiris_?

_Sem_. Madam, I do not use t'abuse your Credit.

_Cleo_. Fly then, _Semiris_, and reverse his Doom.

_Sem_. Would I knew whither, Madam.

_Cleo_. Why, is he no longer then in the Camp?

_Sem_. Ah, Madam, is he longer in the World?
For 'tis impossible to be imagin'd
He parted hence with any Thought of Life.

_Cleo_. Send ev'ry way to find him--hark, I'm call'd--
                               [_Trumpets sound_.
And he that finds him first, is made for ever.
Oh Jealousy, thou Passion most ingrate!
Thy Ills procure more Mischief than thy Hate.
'Tis thou art Tyrant, when Love bears the blame,
'Tis pity thou'rt consistent with Love's Flame.
I'll not my Weakness nor Resentment show;
A Heart like mine, should sooner break than bow.
--Come, my _Semiris_, we too long have stay'd;
That Call, till now, was never disobey'd.

                           [_Trumpets sound. Ex_.


SCENE III. _Scythian Tents_.

     _Enter_ Amintas, _drest fine, with_ Urania.

_Ura_. Within this Shade till the black Day be past,
I will attend thy Fortune, or thy Fate.

_Amin_. The King has taken Horse, the Fight's begun,
And I must leave thee to the Gods and Prayer.

_Ura_. Why was I made a Woman? or being so,
Why had I not a masculine Courage given me?
That side by side I might have shar'd thy Glory,
Or have expir'd together?

_Amin_. Thou wilt undo me with this Tenderness.
Come send me kindly from thee,
With Joys about my Heart that may preserve it;
Here rest till my Return; farewel, my Fair.

_Ura_. And if I never see thee more, farewel--
                                    [Amin. _exit_.
Here I will lay me down, and never rise,
Till thou return'st with Laurel, or with Cypress.
                                    [_Sits down_.
Now I cou'd curse the Fortune of my Prince,
Who quits a Father for an Enemy,
To satisfy a Flame will ruin him.
                          [_A noise of Fighting_.
--The Fight increases; Oh ye Gods of Battel,
In midst of all your Rage preserve my Love.

    _Enter_ Artabazes _over the Stage, and goes out_.

_Art_. My Nephew kill'd! and I dismounted too! oh curst Fate!

_Ura_. This Noise has comfort in't, it sounds like Victory.

    [_A hollowing within amongst the noise of Fighting.
    Enter_ Amintas.

--Oh Gods! _Amintas_! what has Fortune done?

_Amin_. The undaunted _Scythians_ never lost the Field;
Yet now at first 'twas doubtful
To which side Fortune would incline her self
_Ismenes_ kill'd where'er he turn'd his Sword,
And quite defeated our _Agrippian_ Forces;
Yet was not satisfy'd, knowing the King
To be the Price of _Cleomena's_ Heart,
But sought him out on all sides,
Whom 'twas not hard to find;
For he was hurrying now from Rank to Rank,
Distributing a Death to all Opposers.
But young _Ismenes_ having pierc'd the Squadrons,
And knowing our great King by several Marks,
Boldly cry'd out,--Defend the Life I claim.
The King made no Reply, but at that Word
Prepar'd himself to fight.

_Ura_. Thou kill'st me, till thou bring'st him off again.

_Amin_. Disorder'd thus--the _Dacian_ took Advantage,
And charg'd with so much Vigour--we gave Ground;
When on that side the single Combat was,
There appear'd a Body of two thousand Horse,
Led by a Man, whose Looks brought Victory,
And made the conquering Foe retire again:
But when he did perceive the King engag'd,
With unresisted Fury he made up,
And rushing in between them,
Gave the young Prince a blow upon his Head,
That struck him from his Horse.
After this Victory _Thersander's_ Name
Did fly from Mouth to Mouth,
Inspiring every _Scythian_ with new Valour:
He kill'd _Philemon_, and forc'd _Artabazes_
To seek his Safety by his Horse's Flight;
--But here's the King--retire into this Wood.
                                         [Ura. _Ex_.

    _Enter_ King, Thersander, _Officers, and Soldiers_.

_King_. Let me once more embrace my dear _Thersander_.

_Amin_. The Prince is wounded, Sir.

_King_. He is--but they look lovely on him.

_Ther_. They're too slight Marks to give you of my Duty;
Your Majesty has greater need of Care.

_King_. Thou art my best Physician, and thy sight
Heals all the Wounds I have: come in with me,
And let me lay thee to my panting Bosom,
Thou great Preserver of my Crown and Life.

_Ther_. I'll wait upon you, Sir,
           [_Exeunt all but_ Ther. _and_ Amin.
Now let me take thee to my Arms, my Friend;
For thou art half my self, my dear _Amintas_:
I have strange News to tell thee since we parted,
And need thy Counsel in an Affair of Love
--Thou know'st my business to the Dacian Court
Was to have set thee free; but oh, my Friend!
In lieu of that I've made my self a Captive.

_Amin_. Your Story, Sir, I know, but heard withal,
The Princess did repay your grateful Flame.

_Ther_. I thought she did, for so a while she seem'd;
And when I thought my self the most secure,
Being fortify'd with all her new-made Promises,
My blooming Hopes were blasted e'er full-blown,
And I receiv'd her Orders for my Banishment,
Which I as soon obey'd: but by the way,
I did conceive a thousand Revolutions,
Sometimes to serve my Princess--then my Father;
Sometimes 'twas Nature got the upper hand,
And then again 'twas Love: in this Dispute
I met the Levies of the _Isadons_,
Who were the last of all our Cavalry,
To whom I made me known, and came so luckily,
As gain'd the yet-disputing Victory.

_Amin_. 'Twas in an happy Moment.

_Ther_. Thus I comply'd with what I ow'd my Duty.
But these of Love are still unsatisfy'd:
Dare I, who could offend to that degree,
As to deserve a Banishment from her,
Approach her uninvited?

_Amin_. 'Twas dangerous, Sir.

_Ther_. Then 'twere the fitter for my Enterprise:
--But her Displeasure--oh, my _Cleomena_!
If, for the Punishment of my Disobedience,
You'd only take away that Life you threaten,
How willingly I wou'd resign it up,
Rather than undergo this Separation!

_Amin_. You'll certainly expose your Life by going:
What other Reason could she have to banish you,
But from her Knowledge that you were _Thersander_?
And, Sir, you see her Passion for _Clemanthis_
Cou'd not o'ercome her Hatred for her Enemy.

_Ther_. No, when I call to mind her cruel Words;
If chusing me before so many Kings,
I find 'twas to the Stranger, not the _Scythian_,
She killingly addrest 'em; therefore I'll venture on in my Design:
--Give order that our Horses be made ready,
Whilst I excuse our Absence to the King; our stay will not be long:
Mean time it may be thought
We're gone to view the Camp;
Interest and Love but rarely do agree,
Yet I must reconcile 'em both to me.

                                  [_Exeunt_.


SCENE IV. _The Dacian Tents_.

      _Enter_ Queen, Cleo. Hon. Arta. Ism. _Women, Attendants_.

_Cleo_. 'Twas strangely lost, and yet I dare affirm,
The Victory had been ours but for _Thersander_,
Who like the impetuous Sea oppos'd by Land,
Made Breaches, and o'erflow'd all that lay near it.

_Ism_. I had reveng'd you on the King of _Scythia_,
Had his Arrival not prevented me.

_Cleo_. He is brave, without dispute.

_Ism_. And 'tis as certain that he did surprize me,
Without permitting time for my Defence,
He had not else so soon dismounted me.
But, Madam, I design (if you approve it)
To fight _Thersander_ in a single Combat.

_Art_. That Justice I may hope as well as you;
He kill'd my Nephew, young _Philemon_,
For which I'll be reveng'd.

_Qu_. I cannot but commend that noble Ardor
That carries you to those Designs of Glory;
What thinks my Brother of it?

_Hon_. I like it, if the Victor will accept it.

_Cleo_. And so do I;
And that we may do equal Justice to you all,
We'll write _Thersander's_ Name,
And he who draws that Name shall fight the Combat.

_Hon_. But are you sure he will accept the Offer?

_Ism_. I dare engage he will.

_Cleo_. I am of your Opinion;
The only brave are never proud of Conquest,
I'll write his Name my self.

    _Enter_ Page.

_Hon_. What Shouts are these?    [_A Shout without_.

_Page_. Madam, _Clemanthis_ is arriv'd.

_Qu_. The News is welcome.

    _Enter_ Ther. _kneels, kisses the_ Queen's _Hand;
    the same to_ Cleomena--_salutes all_.

_Ther_. Madam, the great Necessity which made me leave you,
When I believ'd my self unprofitable,
Could not detain me when I was assur'd
My Sword could do you Service.

_Qu_. This Visit recompenses all our Loss,
You've made it in a time you may redeem
The Opinion your Absence almost forfeited.

_Hon_. Sir, I cou'd chide you too, but that your Sight
Changes my Anger into kinder Welcomes.

_Ther_. I ought to suffer, Sir, in your Opinion,
Till my Excuses may redeem my Credit.

_Cleo_. How great at once, and innocent he seems,
And how his Eyes his past Offence redeems!
Whilst all my Cruelties they seem t' upbraid,
They pardon too the Faults themselves have made.

_Qu_. I'm satisfy'd, and you are fitly come
To share a Danger we are now disputing.

_Ther_. 'Tis not the Danger, Madam, can divert me
From enterprizing ought that is to serve you.

_Art_. Madam, consider who we are,
And ought not to be rank'd with one below us.

_Ther_. Your Honour, _Artabazes_, is too nice;
Would we could find in this Dispute, whate'er it be,
That were the greatest Difficulty:
--Madam, name your Commands.

_Qu_. We are drawing of a Lot
To fight _Thersander_ in a single Combat.

_Ther_. Hah--_Thersander_, Madam, is a Conqueror.

_Ism_. Since you're so nice, we will excuse you, Sir.

_Ther_. What an unlucky accident was this!
One Moment's longer stay had made me happy,    [_Aside_.
And render'd up these Rivals to my Power.

_Hon_. Come, Sir, the Lots are ready.
             [_They draw Lots. It falls to_ Ther.

_Ther_. My Fears are all compleated--    [_Aside_.
The Lot is mine.

_Cleo. Clemanthis_, I'm so sensible of the Danger    [_Aside to him_.
Whereto you must expose your self for me,
I cannot think with Pleasure on the Victory
You possibly may gain.

_Ther_. Encourag'd thus, I cannot fail of Conquest;
                        [_Bows to her, and speaks low_.
But, Madam, if _Thersander_ be as nice
                        [_Turns to the Queen_.
As these two Princes are, it will be hard
To get him to accept a Challenge from me.

_Cleo. Clemanthis'_ Deeds has rais'd his Fame too high
To be esteem'd unworthy of that Justice;
Nor can we find the _Scythian_ Prince a Foe
More equal to his Youth and Valour too.

_Ther_. If Fortune bless me with Success to Day,
I'll owe it to your Cause and not my Sword.

_Qu_. May'st thou be ever Victor.   [_They lead him out.
                                  Manent_ Arta. Ism.

_Art_. My Art shall fail me then.

_Ism_. You are displeas'd, Sir.

_Art_. Is that a Wonder?
Who can be tame, and see an unknown Youth,
Who brings no Forces but his single Arm,
Ravish the Hope and Spoil of Victory from us.
And rival us in Love as well as Glory,
Whilst both our Claims to _Cleomena's_ Heart
Must be neglected since we want Success?

_Ism_. We could pretend to her no other way.

_Art_. Have you, or I, less Virtue than _Clemanthis_?

_Ism_. Yes, if we envy at his Merits.

_Art_. Pursue your virtuous Road, and in the end
See whether you or I reach first the Goal.
I'll take Revenge.
                          [Art. exit.

_Ism_. I Honour will pursue,
A Path which never led me to Repentance.
--_Clemanthis_, if thy Life I basely sought,
Like him, I'd save the Hazard of my own;
But as thou'rt brave, so thou shalt bravely fall
Before _Thersander_ rob me of thy Life,
Or thou the Fortune hast to vanquish him--
And if in this Encounter I expire,
I do but fall a Victim to an hopeless Fire.

                                        [_Exit_.


SCENE V. _Changes to the Wood_.

   _Discovers_ Ther. _and_ Amin. _among the Trees, changing
   Clothes; after which they come forth_.

_Ther_. So, now thou dost appear so like _Clemanthis_,
That not a _Dacian_ but will be mistaken in thee.

_Amin_. My Lord, I know not how I may appear,
But I am ignorant how I am to act.

_Ther_. Remain within the Covert of this Wood,
Until the Sign be given for the Combat,
And then appear upon the Place appointed,
Where I will meet and fight with thee;
But so I'll order all the Blows I give,
They shall not wound nor hurt thee,
For still remember I must be the Victor.

_Amin_. I will endeavour to perform it so,
                                 [_Noise_.
That none shall know the Fallacy.

_Ther_. Be gone, I hear a Noise; farewel, dear _Amintas_,
Remember that you act Clemanthis well.
                                   [_Ex_. Ther.

    _Enter some Fellows in Clokes_.

1 _Fel_. That's he that goes into the Wood, I know him by his Plume; are
ye all ready?

2 _Fel_. Yes, for a greater Murder than the killing of one single Man;
and here's a Place as fit as we could wish; shall we set upon him
altogether?

1 _Fel_. Ay, ay, Neatness in this Affair is not required: kill him, and
_Artabazes_ desires no more.

    [The Fellows go behind the Trees, they fight, Amintas falls.

    Enter _Ismenes_.

_Ism_. Into this Wood he went, as if he knew my Business,
Here we unseen may end the Difference--
                                   [Noise within.
--Hark--what Noise of fighting's that?
Perhaps my Aid's requir'd.
                                   [_Exit_.

Ism. _goes in, Scene draws open, discovers_ Amintas _lying as dead all
bloody_, Pimante _peeping_; Ism. _re-enters_.

_Ism_. It is _Clemanthis_, and this barbarous Deed
Is done by _Artabazes_.
                             [_Exit_.

    _Enter_ Pimante.

_Pim_. Had ever Cavalier such damn'd Luck? I have heard it disputed, that
this same Danger was to be courted by the Brave and Bold; but I, who took
the best Care I could whilst the Fight lasted to secure my self by this
Retreat, find my self even here surrounded with it; and poor Clemanthis,
who, I'll warrant, came too with my Design, has met here what he
endeavour'd to shun: Yonder's Ismenes too--well, we are all but Men.

_Ism_. Here's yet some Breath remaining; oh, _Pimante_, lend thy
Assistance.
--_Clemanthis_, if thou yet hast so much Sense, Inform us how thou cam'st
thus wounded?

_Amin_. Know, Sir, _Thersander_--Prince of _Scythia_--_Thersander_--
Prince of _Scythia_.
                  [_Faints_.

_Pim_. Alas, he's dead, Sir, trouble him no further.

_Ism_. The Prince of _Scythia_ do this!

_Pim_. Ay, ay, this mighty Prince fearing to encounter a single Man, has
set a dozen to kill him; Mercy upon us, 'twas a bloody Fight: but, Sir,
what shall we do with the Body?

_Ism_. If I could command thee any thing it should be Silence,
Till I have met _Thersander_ in his Room.
                                    [Ism. _exit_.

_Pim_. You should command me, though I was never good at Secrets.

    _Enter_ Cleomena, Semiris.

_Cleo_. Let the Coach wait at the Entrance of the Wood:
I find I am a perfect Woman now,
And have my Fears, and fits of Cowardice.

_Sem_. Madam, will you not see the Combat then?

_Cleo_. I dare not, something here assures me _Clemanthis_ will be
conquer'd.

_Pim_. Ha! the Princess here? on my Conscience there was never Mischief
but a Woman was at one end o'nt.

_Sem_. How now, _Pimante_, why do you look so scurvily?

_Pim_. Ah, Madam, such a Sight so dismal and bloody!

_Cleo_. What says he?

_Pim. Clemanthis_, Madam--

_Cleo. Clemanthis_! Oh, what of him?
Why, my prophetick Heart, dost thou betray me?

_Sem_. For Heaven's sake, Madam, reassume your Courage.

_Cleo_. Yes--I will hear--the fatal Story--out.

_Pim_. Truth is, Madam, to retire from the Noise and Fury of the Battle,
I came into this Wood; and when I thought all Danger past, I heard even
here the Noise of Swords and Fighting; which endeavouring to avoid, I
fell almost into the Danger of them.

_Sem_. Leave out the History of your own Fears, and come to the Business.

_Pim_. But ah, Madam, unseen I saw: who did I see--
Ah, who should I see but _Clemanthis_, Madam,
Fixt with his Back against yon Cypress-tree,
Defending himself against a dozen Murderers.
I was, alas, too weak to take the weaker side,
And therefore came not forth to his Assistance.
Prince _Ismenes_ would have taken his Part, but came too late too;
But e'er he died we begg'd to know his Murderers,
And he could answer nothing but--_Thersander_.

_Cleo_. Remove me to the Body of my Love--

    [_They lead her to_ Amin. _who lies wounded; she
    gazes on him a while, his Face being all bloody_.

--I will not now deplore as Women use,
But call up all my Vengeance to my Aid.
Expect not so much Imbecillity--
From her whose Love nor Courage was made known
Sufficiently to thee. Oh, my _Clemanthis_!
I wou'd not now survive thee,
Were it not weak and cowardly to die,
And leave thee unreveng'd.
--Be calm, my Eyes, and let my Soul supply ye;
A silent broken Heart must be his Sacrifice:
Ev'ry indifferent Sorrow claims our Tears,
Mine do require Blood, and 'tis with that
These must be washt away--
                     [_Rises, wipes her Eyes_.
Whatever I design to execute,
Pimante, and Semiris, I conjure ye,
Go not about to hinder, but be silent,
Or I will send my Dagger to this Heart.
Remove this Body further into the Wood,
And strip it of these glittering Ornaments,
And let me personate this dear dead Prince.
Obey, and dress me strait without reply.
There is not far from hence a Druid's Cell,
A Man for Piety and Knowledge famous:
Thither convey the breathless sacred Corps,
Laid gently in my Chariot,
There to be kept conceal'd till further Orders.

_Sem_. Ah, Madam, what is't you intend to do?

_Cleo_. What shou'd I do but die--ah! do not weep,
But haste to do as I command ye:
Haste, haste, the Time and my Revenge require it.

_Sem_. For Heaven's sake, Madam, for your royal self,
Do not pursue this cruel fatal Enterprize;
Pity the Queen, your Servants, and all Mankind.

_Cleo_. Away, thou feeble thing, that never knew'st the
real Joys of Love,
Or ever heard of any Grief like mine;
If thou wou'dst give me Proofs of thy Esteem,
Forget all Words, all Language, but Revenge.
Let me not see so much of Woman in thee
To shed one Tear, but dress thy Eyes with fierceness,
And send me forth to meet my Love, as gay,
As if intended for my nuptial Day.
That Soul that sighs in pity of my Fate,
Shall meet returns of my extremes! Hate:
Pity with my Revenge must find no room;
I'll bury all but Rage within thy Tomb.

                                   [_Exeunt_.



ACT IV.


SCENE I. _A Flat Wood_.

    _Enter_ Cleomena _drest in_ Clemanthis's _Clothes_, Semiris
    _bearing the Cap and Feather_, Pimante _the Sword_.

_Cleo_. Come, my _Semiris_, you must assist a little,
And you, _Pimante_, buckle on my Sword.

_Pim_. I never parted with a Sword so unwillingly in my Life.

_Cleo_. So--How dost thou like me now?
Might I not pass, thus habited, for _Clemanthis_?

_Pim_. Yes, Madam, till you come to the fighting part.

_Cleo_. Now go, and do as I have ordered you.

_Sem_. Ah, Madam, though I must not wait on you to fight,
I will in Death, 'tis my first Act, and last of Disobedience.
                                          [_Weeps_.

_Cleo_. Do not disturb me with thy Grief, _Semiris_:
Go leave me to my self, and Thoughts of Vengeance:
And thou, base Traitor-Prince, shalt buy thy Life
At such a Rate shall ruin thee for ever;
And if I fall--as I believe I shall--
The very Shame to know I am a Woman,
Shall make thee curse thy Fortune and thy Arms,
If thou hast any Sense of Manhood left,
After the barbarous Murder thou hast done:
But if my better Fortune guide my Arm,
This Arm (whom Love direct) to meet thy Heart,
Then I shall die with real Satisfaction.
The time draws on when I should try my Fate;
Assist me, mighty Love, in my Design,
That I may prove no Passion equals mine.

_Sem_. Madam, consider whom you must encounter.

_Cleo_. Consider thou who's dead, the brave _Clemanthis_!
                                      [_Weeps_.
Oh, 'tis a Shame to weep, being thus attir'd;
Let me once more survey my self--
And yet I need not borrow Resolution:
_Clemanthis_, thou art murder'd, that's the Word,
'Tis that creates me Man, and valiant too,
And all incensed Love can prompt me to.
Hark--hark--the joyful Summons to my Death.
                               [_Trumpets sound_.
Go, leave me to approach it solemnly--
Come, my dear Sword, from thee I must expect
That Service which my Arm may fail to affect;
And if thou ever did'st thy Master love,
Be sure each Stroke thou mak'st may mortal prove.

                                     [_Exeunt severally_.


SCENE II. _Between the two Camps_.

    _After a Noise of Trumpets at some distance and fighting,
    the Scene draws, and discovers_ Cleomena _and_ Thersander
    _fighting_: Lysander. _On one side stands the_ King of Scythia
    _with his Party: on the other, the_ Queen of Dacia, Hon.
    Artabazes, _and her Party_: Vallentio.

_Ther_. What mak'st thou to fight as if indeed thou wert _Clemanthis_?
But since thou art not him thou represent'st,
Whoe'er thou be'st, 'twas indiscreetly done,
To draw me from an order might have sav'd thee;
--Whois't that dares assume _Clemanthis'_ shape?
                                           [_They fight_.

_Cleo_. Unworthy _Scythian_, whose reported Valour
Unjustly was admir'd, cou'dst thou believe the covert of the Wood
              [Cleo. _falls, he stoops to look on her_.
Cou'd hide thy Treason--Treason which thou durst own too?
              [_A cry of Joy on the_ Scythian's _side_.

_Ther_. Ah! _Cleomena_, is it you?
What have I done that could so far transport you?
_Clemanthis'_ Boldness has incur'd your Hate,
But he has been severely punisht for't;
And here in lieu of that unhappy Stranger,
Receive _Thersander_ with his equal Passions,
But not his equal Crimes.

_Cleo_. Oh, Villain, since thou'st punish'd _Clemanthis_,
Punish the unhappy _Cleomena_ too,
And take her Life who came to have taken thine.

_Qu_. 'Tis not _Clemanthis_, but my _Cleomena_--
With whom _Thersander_ fights--ah, cruel Child;
                     [_They carry her off_.

_Ther_. Oh, whither, whither do you bear my Goddess?
Return, and here resign your sacred Load,
That whilst't has Life it may behold the Sacrifice
That I will make of this wild wretched Man
That has so much offended--Disobey'd!
--My Arms, my Arms, Lysander, mount me strait,
And let me force the disobedient Troops;
Those Coward-Slaves that could behold her bleed,
And not revenge her on the Murderer:
Quickly my Arms, kill, burn, and scatter all;
Whilst 'midst the Ruins of the World I fall.

     [_The_ Scythian _Guards carry him off by force.
     Enter_ Ismenes _with his Sword. They all descend_.

_Ism_. Still thus defeated and outstript by Fate,
Resolv'd betimes, but sallied out too late;
Fortune and Love are equally unkind:
--Who can resist those mighty Powers combin'd?

                                 [_Exeunt_.


SCENE III. _A Prison_.

    _Enter_ Orsames, Geron.

_Ger_. May I not know what 'tis afflicts you so?
You were not wont to hide your Soul from me.

_Ors_. Nor wou'd I now, knew I but how to tell thee;
Oh, _Geron_, thou hast hitherto so frighted me
With thoughts of Death, by Stories which thou tell'st
Of future Punishment i'th' other World,
That now I find thou'st brought me to endure
Those Ills from Heaven thou say'st our Sins procure.
There's not a little God of all the Number
That does not exercise his Arts on me,
And practise Power, which by my suffering
He grows more mighty in--I'll not endure it.

_Ger_. Why not, as well as I?

_Ors_. Thou may'st do what thou wilt; but there's a Difference
(As vast as 'twixt the Sun and lesser Lights)
Between thy Soul and mine;
Thou canst contented sit whole Days together,
And entertain thy Lute, that dull Companion,
Till duller Sleep does silence it and thee:
But I, whose active Soul despise that drousy God,
Can ever dare him in his height of Power:
Then when he ties thee to thy lazy Couch,
Where thou'rt so far from Sense, thou'st lost thy Soul;
Even then, my Geron, my divertive Fancy
Possesses me, beyond thy waking Thought--
But, _Geron_, all was but an airy Dream;
I wak'd, and found my self a thing like thee.

_Ger_. What was your Dream?

_Ors_. Why, I will try to tell it thee
--Methought I saw the Firmament divide,
And all the Clouds, like Curtains, draw aside;
The Sun in all his Glories, ne'er put on
So bright a Ray, nor Heaven with more Lustre shon!
The Face of Heaven too bright for mortal Eye
Appear'd, and none durst gaze upon't but I;
In Jove's illustrious Throne I only sat,
Whilst all the lesser Gods did round me wait;
My Habit, such as cannot be exprest;
Iris in all her various Colours drest,
The Morning-Sun, nor Sun-declining Sky,
Was half so beautiful, so gay, as I.
The brightest Stars in all Heaven's Canopy
Were chosen out to make a Crown for me;
With which methought they glorify'd my Brow,
And in my Hand they plac'd the Thunder too;
The World was mine, and thousands such as thou,
Still as I moved, low to the Earth did bow;
Like thronging Curls upon the wanton Sea,
They strove, and were as numerous as they:
Thither I soon descended in a Cloud;
But in the midst of the adoring Croud,
Almighty Woman at my Feet did bow,
Adorn'd with Beauties more than Heaven can show:
But one among the rest (for there were store)
Whilst all did me, I did that one adore;
She did unking me, and her wondrous Eyes
Did all my Power and Thunder too despise;
Her Smiles could calm me, and her Looks were Law;
And when she frown'd, she kept my Soul in awe.
Oh, _Geron_, while I strive to tell the rest,
I feel so strange a Passion in my Breast,
That though I only do relate a Dream,
My Torments here would make it real seem.

_Ger_. 'Tis lucky that he takes it for a Dream.    [Aside.
--Pray do not form Ideas in your Fancy,
And suffer them to discompose your Thoughts.

_Ors_. In spite of your Philosophy, they make
A strange Impression on me.

_Ger_. That's perfect Madness, Sir.

_Ors. Geron_, I will no longer be impos'd upon,
But follow all the Dictates of my Reason.
--Come tell me, for thou hast not done so yet,
How Nature made us; by what strange Devices.
Tell me where 'twas you lighted on me first;
And how I came into thy dull Possession?
Thou say'st we are not born immortal,
And I remember thou wert still as now,
When I could hardly call upon thy Name,
But as thou wouldst instruct my lisping Tongue;
And when I ask'd thee who instructed thee,
Thoud'st sigh, and say a Man out-worn by Age,
And now laid in the Earth--but tell me, Geron,
When time has wasted thee, for thou'rt decaying,
Where shall I find some new-made Work of Nature,
To teach those Precepts to, I've learnt of thee?
--Why art thou silent now?

_Ger_. You ought not, Sir, to pry into the hidden Secrets of the Gods.

_Ors_. Come, tell not me of Secrets, nor of Gods--
What is't thou studiest for, more new Devices?
Out with 'em--this Sulleness betrays thee;
And I have been too long impos'd upon.
I find my self enlightened on a sudden,
And ev'ry thing I see instructs my Reason;
'T has been enslav'd by thee--come, out without it.

_Ger_. I dare not, Sir.

_Ors_. Who is't thou fear'st?

_Ger_. The Anger of the Gods,
Who will not have their high Decrees reveal'd,
Till they themselves unfold 'em in their Oracles.

_Ors_. What are those Oracles?

_Ger_. Heavenly Voices, Sir, that expound what's writ
In the Eternal Book of Destiny.

_Ors_. I'll know what's writ in that eternal Book,
Or let thee know what it contains of thee.

_Ger_. What will you do?

_Ors_. Throw thee into the Sea; by Jupiter, I will.
                               [_Offers to take him up_.

_Ger_. Stay, _Orsames_--
'Tis true, I have Commands from _Cleomena_,
But yet the Time is hardly ripe for the Design.    [_Aside_.

_Ors_. Begin your Story--or, by Heaven--

_Ger_. I shall--When you consider who I am,
With how much Care and Toil I've brought you up;
How I have made my aged Arms your Cradle,
And in my Bosom lull'd you to your rest;
How when you wept, my Tears kept time with yours,
And how your Smiles would dry again those Showers;
You will believe 'tis my Concern for you,
And not your Threats, makes me declare a Truth.

_Ors_. Forward, my dearest _Geron_,
Whilst I as silent as a healthy Sleep,
As growth of Flowers, or motion of the Air,
Attend each long'd-for Syllable thou breath'st.

_Ger_. Be pleas'd to walk into the Garden, Sir,
And there I'll tell you Wonders to ensue;
But first, great Sir, your Pardon for the past.
                                           [_Kneels_.

_Ors_. I give it thee--Gods, this is fine indeed!
Thy Language and thy Mien are altered.
Oh, how my Soul's inlarg'd already! go, lead the way.

                                    [_Exeunt_.


SCENE IV. _The_ Scythian _Tents_.

    _Enter_ Thersander, Lysander.

_Ther_. Leave me, I will be calm,
                             [_Exit_ Lysander.
For this same change of _Cleomena's_ Habit
Has but increas'd my Love--and all my Softness--
'Twas in that Habit that I left _Amintas_.
Gods! has he betray'd me then?
No, I must not have so mean a Thought of him;
'Tis certain that she knows I am _Thersander_--
But if the bold _Clemanthis_ be _Thersander_,
Son to the Enemy of _Cleomena_;
Yet still 'tis that _Clemanthis_ that ador'd her,
And whom she once made happy with her Love.
But I have wounded her, and here remain  [_Draws his Sword_.
The Marks of my Dishonour in her Blood.
Oh cruel Instrument of my shameful Crime!
Must the first Service thou hast render'd me
Prove to my Soul so fatal? That Sword I left _Amintas_,
Wou'd have deny'd Obedience to this Hand,
This sacrilegious Hand drew it against her.

    _Enter_ King.

_King_. How now, _Thersander_, what, still melancholy?
Upon the first Appearance of your Sadness,
I thought't had been for fighting with a Woman;
But now I fear that could not be the Cause,
Unless 'twere fortify'd by stronger Passions--
'Tis not impossible, but when you saw
The Eyes of _Cleomena_ in the Combat
They might disarm your Rage, and teach you Love.
If this be all, I'll offer Peace in such a time
As they're not able to make War against us,
And with it Propositions of a Marriage.

_Ther_. Happy Mistake! Great Sir,
I'll not deny the Eyes of _Cleomena_
Have given me Wounds which nothing else can cure;
And in that Moment when I would have kill'd her,
They staid my guilty Hand, and overcame
The shameful Conqueror--
I'll say no more, nor give Laws to your Bounty;
But if your Majesty approve my Flame,
I shall receive her as the greatest Blessing
Heaven can bestow upon me.

_King_. I'm glad to find my Son of my Opinion;
For I have already propos'd it to 'em,
Which I believe they will with Joy embrace.

_Ther_. All but the lovely Princess, whose Aversion
Is still so great against our Family,
That I despair she ever will be drawn to't.

_King_. They'll hardly rally up their routed Forces
To make fresh War upon us; they're at our Mercy now,
And as an Honour will embrace the Alliance.

_Ther_. Pray Heaven they may.

_King_. If they refuse I will recall my Mercy,
And make them dearly buy their Scorn;
Come, we expect our Herald from their Tents.

                                         [_Exeunt_.


SCENE V. Cleomena's _Apartments_.

    _Enter_ Queen, Cleomena _in a Night-Gown_, Semiris.
    A Table with Pen and Ink.

_Cleo_. Madam, I confess my self unworthy of your Tenderness.

_Qu_. Ah, _Cleomena_! you value my Repose at too cheap a Rate,
When you expose a Life so dear to me
To so much Danger, as to fight _Thersander_.

_Cleo_. I am not the first Person of my Sex
Has drawn a Sword upon an Enemy;
Do you not say he is my Father's Murderer?
And does he not deprive me of that Crown,
You say the Gods have destin'd me to wear?

_Qu_. 'Tis true, he's Son to him that kill'd thy Father;
But bating that, he has committed nothing
But what wou'd rather cause esteem than hate.

_Cleo_. Pardon me, Madam, if I am forc'd to say,
My Sentiments cannot correspond with yours.

_Qu_. What think you of a Husband in this Prince?

_Cleo_. How, Madam, marry _Thersander_!

_Qu_. The King has generously offered it;
My Council do approve it, and the Army
Cannot contain their Joy for the blest News.

_Cleo_. Gods! let the Council and the Army perish,
E'er I lose one single Moment of my Satisfaction;
Is this the Hate which with my Milk you made me suck
For all that Race? is this th' Effect of my fierce Education?

_Qu_. All things must be preferr'd to th' Publick Good,
When join'd with my Commands.

_Cleo_. What you command, I dare not disobey:
But, Madam, I beseech you do not claim
That cruel Duty here.

_Qu_. You'll find it fit to change that peevish Humour,
And I will leave you to consider of it.
                                     [_Exit_.

_Cleo_. Gods! marry me, marry me to _Thersander_!
No, not whilst this--remains in my Possession;
                             [_Pulls out a dagger_.
--I must confess it is a generous Offer;
How came it in their Souls?

_Sem_. Madam, perhaps Love has inspir'd it.

_Cleo_. Hah, Love--that Miracle may be;
When I reflect upon the Prince's words,
When he had vanquish'd me--I do not doubt it;
Then he confess'd he had a Passion for me;
I wonder at the sudden Birth of it--

_Sem_. Madam, your Eyes make Captives at first sight.

_Cleo_. Oh my dear Eyes, how shall I love ye now,
For wounding more than my dull Sword could do?
'Twas Anger and Revenge that gave ye Charms,
Only to help the weakness of my Arms;
And when my Woman's Courage feeble grew,
My Heart did kindly send its Aids to you.
And thou, _Thersander_, surely canst not blame
My Cruelty, who do allow thy Flame:
Love on, love on; and if thou dost despise
All other ways, I'll kill thee with my Eyes.

_She sits down, and writes_. _Enter_ a Page.

_Page_. Madam, there is without an Officer
Who bad me tell your Highness that he waits.

_Cleo_. Admit him--and, Page, give you this Letter to the Queen.

_Sem_. Madam, it is _Vallentio_ whom you sent for.

    _Enter_ Vallentio.

_Cleo_. _Vallentio_, I believe thee brave and honest.

_Val_. Madam, the last I dare affirm.

_Cleo_. Tell me, _Vallentio_, didst thou ever love?

_Val_. Madam, your Interest, my Arms, and a brave Enemy.

_Cleo_. But didst thou never feel a softer Passion?

_Val_. Madam, I own, though with a Blush I do so,
I've felt the Power of two fair Eyes;
And I have Wounds that yet would bleed afresh,
Should but the cruel Murderess appear.

_Cleo_. Then thou art fit to hear a Secret from me;
--But first, _Vallentio_ tell me who I am.

_Val_. My Princess, Madam, and my General;
And one, who from your Power of Beauty holds
No less Dominion o'er th' adoring World,
Than from the Greatness you were born to.

_Cleo_. And you're contented I should be your Queen?

_Val_. Madam, I am--_Pimante_ has been prating.    [_Aside_.

_Cleo_. The Army too are of your mind.

_Val_. I cannot answer for the Army, Madam.

_Cleo_. But--what think you of _Orsames_?

_Val_. Madam, I think he merits to be King
In any other World but where you reign.

_Cleo_. And what if I would have him King of this?

_Val_. Why then he shall be King, if you would have it so.

_Cleo_. Yes, I would have it, by my self I would;
This is the time to let the Monarch know
The Glories he was born to;
Nor can I die in Peace till he be crown'd.    [_Aside_.
I'll have this Nation happy in a Prince,
A Prince they long in silence have bemoan'd,
Which every slight occasion breaks out loud,
And soon will raise them up to a Rebellion,
The common People's God on Holy-days.
--And this, _Vallentio_, I have often observ'd;
And 'tis an Act too humble for my Soul,
To court my self into security.

_Sem_. Madam, the Gods do disapprove his Reign,
Which they not only say shall be but short,
But Bloody and Tyrannick.

_Cleo_. I will expound that Oracle,
Which Priests unridling make more intricate:
They said that he should reign, and so he did,
Which lasted not above a pair of Hours.
But I my self will be his Oracle now,
And speak his kinder Fate,
And I will have no other Priest but thee,    [_To_ Vallentio.
Who shall unfold the Mystery in plain terms.

_Val_. Madam, the City and the Army are, by this Defeat,
Enough inclin'd to hear that Reason.

_Cleo_. _Geron_ already has Instructions what to do,
And you need none, wanting no Resolution.

_Val_. If I miscarry, Madam, I'll be condemn'd,
Never to look my Foe i'th' Face again.

_Cleo_. Haste, and be prosperous--

                                     [_Exit_. Val.

_Semiris_, are those Garments ready I spoke for?

_Sem_. Madam, they're here--but now what will you do?

_Cleo_. Now, I will die--and now thou know'st my Will.

_Sem_. Ah, Madam, 'tis too much you let me know,
Denying me t' attend you where you go,
With such a Guide I cannot err.

_Cleo_. Alone I'll go, the Journey is not far
In passing; though I miss the aids of Day,
Yet my _Clemanthis_ lights me on my way.
Why dost thou weep? indeed thou art unkind.

_Sem_. I weep because you'd leave me here behind;
Doubting my Love, I beg you wou'd permit
That I might give you the last proof of it.
I in your last adventure was too slow,
And will not be deny'd my Duty now.

_Cleo_. Thou show'st a Soul so generous and free,
That I'm contented thou shou'dst follow me;
Come, dry thy Eyes, such helps we do not need;
To ease our Griefs, we must not weep but bleed.

                                          [_Exeunt_.


SCENE VI. _A Street_.

    _Enter_ Vallentio _passing over the Stage, is met by a
    Rabble of Citizens_.

_1 Cit_. Well, Colonel, have you delivered our Grievances to the Queen?

_Val_. Yes, I have.

_1 Cit_. Well, and what Success? shall we have a King?

_Val_. And why a King? why should you be thus earnest
for a King? what good will a King do you? he's but a
single Man, cannot redeem the lost Victory, cannot raise
up your dead Members, no, nor levy new ones.

_1 Cit_. That's all one, Colonel, we will have a King:
for look ye, Colonel, we have thought of a King, and
therefore we will have one. Hah, Neighbours! a substantial
Reason.

_All_. Ay, ay, a King, a King.

_Val_. I like your Resolution, but not your Reason; and
must have a better than that.

_1 Cit_. 'Sha, Sir, we can give you many, though that's
sufficient; as look you, Sir, 'tis first a new thing to have
a King--a thing--a thing--we have not been acquainted
with in our Age: besides, we have lost the Victory, and
we are very angry with some body, and must vent it somewhere.
You know, Colonel, we have busy Heads, working
Brains, which must be executed; therefore, what say you,
are we to have leave to shut up Shop, and go to work with
long Staff and Bilbo, or are we to be very mutinous, and
do't in spite of you?

_Val_. You shall not need; go, shut up your Shops, gather
your Fellow-mutineers together, and meet me at the Citadel;
but be sure you're well arm'd, lest the Queen's Guards
prevent you.

_1 Cit_. I warrant you for honest true Hearts enough
at any mischief, though not to go against the _Scythians_; for,
Colonel, we love Civil Wars, Colonel, Civil Wars.

_Val_. Make haste, and then I'll shew you my Orders
for the King's Deliverance.

_Cit_. Oh, incomparable Colonel! we will raise thy Statue
in Brass in the Market-place, and worship it when we have
done--but harkye, Colonel, are we to give no Quarter?

_Val_. None to those that oppose you.

_All_. No, no, none, none.

_Cit_. Oh, how this will please ye all, my Mates--

    [_Citizens goes out.
    Enter_ Pimante.

_Pim_. Oh, Colonel, the Princess, Colonel.

_Val_. Well, Sir.

_Pim_. She's fled away, and none knows whither.

_Val_. I left her in her Tent just now.

_Pim_. Ay, ay, Colonel, that's all one, she's gone just as she
shou'd have been married too--there's the Devil on't! Oh,
the Days we shou'd have seen! the dancing, loving Days!

_Val_. Gone alone?

_Pim_. No, no, that dissembling thing _Semiris_ is with her;
she only left a Letter for the Queen, which she has sent
to the Prince of _Scythia_. Oh, adieu, adieu, to Love and Musick.
                                   [_Goes out crying_.

_Val_. This is strange--if she be gone, 'tis time the King
were free--I'll haste to meet the Rabble, that it may not
look like an act of my own.
                                [_Exit_.


SCENE VII. Thersander's _Tent_.

    _He enters with a Letter in his Hand open--with
    Attendants_.

_Ther_. Be gone, I'll read the Letter o'er again,
                         [_Exeunt Attendants_.
And here impress thy Cruelty, and see what that will do
To set me free.
                         _Ther_. reads the Letter--
_Finding it impossible to obey your unkind Commands, I am
fled, and do resolve never to marry that_ Barbarian, _whose
Crimes are only known to me; no, nor any other that cannot
bring me his Head; whereto sollicite_ Artabazes, _and_ Ismenes,
if they will obey_.    Cleomena.

If I consult my Reason and my Courage,
They say I should not love this cruel Maid.
But oh, my Reason, you're weak to counsel;
I'll think of nothing else but dying for her,
Since 'tis my Life she asks, and here demands it.
But 'tis in vain to arm my happy Rivals,
For I my self can more devoutly serve you.
'Tis I will pierce this unaccepted Heart,
Whose Flames are found so criminal--

    _Enter_ Lysander.

_Lys_. Sir, there's without a Youth that desires admittance.

_Ther_. From whom comes he?

_Lys_. He would not tell me that, but has a Letter,
Which he'll deliver only to your Highness.

_Ther_. Bring him in, it may be from _Amintas_.

    _Enter_ Cleomena _drest like a Country-Shepherd, comes
    bowing to him, gives him a Note_.

_Ther_. reads to himself--
Guard thee well, _Thersander_; for thou shalt die by the
Hand that brings thee this.

      [_She stabs him; he falls into_ Lysander's _Arms_.

_Cleo_. Here's to thee, dear _Clemanthis_--

_Lys_. Help, Treason, help--

_Ther_. Ah, lovely Youth, who taught thee so much cruelty?
And why that Language with that angry Blow?

_Cleo_. Behold this Face, and then inform thy self.
                          [_Discovers her self_.

_Ther_. 'Tis _Cleomena_! oh ye Gods, I thank ye!
It is her Hand that wounds me,
And I'll receive my Death with perfect Joy,
If I may be permitted but to kiss
That blessed Hand that sent it.

    _Enter_ King _and Guards_.

_King. Thersander_ murder'd! oh, inhumane Deed!
Drag the Traitor to a Dungeon, till we have
Invented unheard of Tortures to destroy him by--
      [_The Guards seize_ Cleo. _and_ Sem. _who was just entring_.
My Wounds are deep as thine, my dear _Thersander_;
Oh, fatal Day, wherein one fatal Stroke.
Has laid the Hopes of _Scythia_ in his Tomb!

    _The Guards go to carry_ Cleo. _and_ Sem.
    Ther. _calls 'em back_.

_Ther_. Oh, stay, and do not bear so rudely off
Treasures you cannot value.
--Sir,--do not treat her as my Murderer,
But as my Sovereign Deity--
Instead of Fetters, give her Crowns and Scepters;
And let her be conducted into Dacia,
With all the Triumphs of a Conqueror.
For me, no other Glory I desire,
Than at her Feet thus willingly to expire.

   [_Goes to throw himself at her Feet, they prevent it and go off_.



ACT V.


SCENE I.

    _A Council-Table: The_ King of Scythia _seated
    on a Throne, Officers, Attendants, Guards_.

_King_. Bring the fair Prisoner forth, and let's examine
What Reasons could inspire her with this Cruelty;
--How beautiful she is!   [_Gazes on her_.

      _Enter_ Cleomena _in Fetters_, Lysander, _with Guards_.

_Cleo_. Thy Silence seems to license me to speak,
And tell thee, King, that now our Faults are equal;
My Father thou hast kill'd, and I thy Son;
This will suffice to tell thee who I am.
--Now take my Life, since I have taken his,
And thou shalt see I neither will implore
Thy needless Clemency by any Word or Sign:
But if my Birth or Sex can merit ought,
Suffer me not to languish any longer
Under these shameful Irons.
                       [_With scorn_.

_King_. Cruel as Fair, 'tis with too much injustice
Thou say'st our Crimes are equal:
For thou hast kill'd a Prince that did adore thee;
And I depriv'd thy Father of his Life,
When he assaulted mine in open Field,
And so, as cannot leave a stain on thee,
Or give thee Cause to say I've done thee wrong,
But if I had, wherefore (oh, cruel Maid)
Didst thou not spare that Heart that dy'd for thee,
And bend thy Rage against thy Father's Foe?
But thou well know'st, in killing of _Tkersander_,
The Father's Life would quickly follow after.

_Cleo_. I will not seek excuses for my actions,
But I protest to thee before the Gods,
It was not to revenge my self on thee
I kill'd thy Son;
But what he suffered was for his own Sin,
For he has banish'd from me all on Earth
That could compleat my Happiness--
                                 [_Weeps_.
--And now dispose my Destiny as you please,
Only remember that I am a Woman.

_King_. What thou hast said will find but little credit:
--But yet if _Thersander_ lives,
And if it please the Gods to spare that Life,
I shall have Generosity enough
To set thee free in favour of thy Sex,
And my _Thersander's_ Love.

_Cleo_. Not dead? Why should the Gods protect him?

_King_. Her Soul's possest with some despair.
Madam, I doubt you need not fear his Life,
He will obey, and die as you desire--   [_Weeps_.
But not with Satisfaction, till he see you
Conducted into _Dacia_.
I should not of my self have been so generous,
T' have given you freedom with the Life of him
Who did deserve a kinder Destiny;
But 'tis his Will--and possible his last.
Therefore you're free, and may depart this Camp
Whene'er you please; only this favour grant,
(If an unhappy King may hope for any)
You'll suffer him to take his last farewel.

_Cleo_. Immortal Gods! how can it be? a Man
Whose Wickedness arm'd me against his Life,
Shou'd shew such Virtue in the rest of's Actions.
--Sir, I will see the Prince,
Not as the Price of what you offer'd me,
But that he may confess he did deserve
A Death less glorious than I have given him:
And I shall take it well if he will own
That which may justify my Offence to you.

_King_. Madam, I thank you--
Dismiss her Fetters, and if she please,
Let her have Garments suitable to her Sex,
Only the Guards attend her at a distance.

                            [_Go out severally_.


SCENE II. _The Grove_.

    _Enter_ Amintas, _drest like a Shepherd_, Urania _like
    a Shepherdess, the Druid_, Lyces, _and other dancing Swains, &c_.

_Druid_. Sir, I'm afraid you have made too bold a venture;
And though your Wounds were more numerous than dangerous,
I am not willing you should trust 'em to the Air.

_Amin_. Father, your Skill has wrought a perfect Cure,
For which, the Life you sav'd you shall command.

_Ura_. Me too h' has freed of all my jealous Fears,
By this eternal Knot 'twixt thee and me
Which he has tied, and Fate can ne'er undo.
--Father--to you I owe _Amintas'_ Liberty--
To you his Life; and now for all my Joys,
Which if my future Service can repay,
Command with Freedom her you have preserv'd.

_Amin_. Come, dear _Urania_, let's hasten to the Camp;
For I impatient grow to see my Prince;
Heaven knows what my Mishap may have procur'd him.

_Ura_. How loth I am to leave these pretty Shades,
The Gods and Nature have design'd for Love:
Oh, my _Amintas_, wou'd I were what I seem,
And thou some humble Villager hard by,
That knew no other pleasure than to love,
To feed thy little Herd, to tune a Pipe,
To which the Nymphs should listen all the Day;
We'd taste the Waters of these Crystal Springs,
With more delight than all delicious Wines;
And being weary, on a Bed of Moss,
Having no other Canopy but Trees,
We'd lay us down, and tell a thousand Stories.

_Amin_. For ever so I'd be content to dwell,
I wou'd put off all frightful Marks of War,
And wou'd appear as soft and calm to thee,
As are thy Eyes when silently they wound.
An Army I wou'd quit to lead thy Flock,
And more esteem a Chaplet wreath'd by thee,
Than the victorious Laurel.
--But come, Love makes us idle.

_Druid_. My Prayers ever go along with you,
And your fair Bride, _Urania_.--I cou'd wish
My Youth and Vigour were as heretofore,
When only Courts and Camps cou'd make me happy;
And then I wou'd not bid farewel so soon
To so much Virtue as I've found in you.

_Amin_. I humbly thank you, Father, for a Goodness
That shames my poor Returns.
Come, pretty _Lyces_, and thou, honest _Damon_,
With all the rest of our kind Train;
Let's hasten to the Camp, during this Truce,
Your little rustick Sports will find a welcome.

_Ura_. There are no Women in the Camp, my Lord.

_Amin_. No matter, thou canst not hate a Soldier,
Since I am one; and you must be obedient,
And learn to bear my Bow and Arrows now,
It is the Duty of a _Scythian's_ Wife.

_Ura_. She that can claim _Amintas_ by such Ties,
May find a Safety wheresoe'er she flies.

                                     [_Exeunt_.


SCENE III. _A Prison_.

    _Enter_ Orsames _joyful, and_ Geron.

_Ors_. Am I indeed a King?
And is there such a thing as fair _Olympia_?
Hadst thou not been the first had told me this,
By Heaven, thou'dst dy'd for thus concealing it;
Not all the Obligations of my Youth
Should have preserv'd thee.

_Ger_. Till now I wanted Opportunity;
For had you known your Quality before,
You wou'd have grown impatient of the Crown,
And by that Haste have overthrown your Interest.

_Ors_. And canst thou now provide against my Ignorance?

_Ger_. Sir, we have gain'd the Army on our side.

_Ors_. What's that?

_Ger_. Those Numbers that I told you should adore you.

_Ors_. When shall I see them, _Geron_?

_Ger_. E'er long, Sir: should your Deliverance
Be wrought by any other Means than theirs,
It were to snatch a Glory from their Hands,
Which they design their only Recompence.

_Ors_. Oh, how I am transported with the Joy!
But, _Geron_, art thou sure we do not dream?

_Ger_. Then Life it self's a Dream--
Hark, I hear a noise--
                            [_Noise_.

_Within_] Kill the Dog--down with him!

_Ors_. Oh, how I'm ravisht with this unknown Noise!

_Within_.] Break down the Prison-Walls and Gates, and force your
Passage--

    _Enter_ Vallentio, _followed by_ Gorel _and a Rabble of
    Citizens and Officers, tearing in the Keeper all bloody_.

_Val_. No killing to day, my Fellow-Soldiers, if you can
help it; we will not stain our Triumphs in Blood--
            [_They all stand and gaze_. Ors. _gazes on them_.
Ye Gods, instruct me where to bow my Knee--
But this alone must be the Deity--

       [_Kneels_, Ors. _lets him kneel, and gazes on him_.

_1 Cit_. Is that the King, Neighbour, in such mean Clothes?

_Gorel_. Yes, Goodman Fool, why should the Colonel kneel else?

_2 Cit_. Oh, pray, Neighbour, let me see a little, I never saw a King in
all the days of my Life. Lord, Lord! Is that he the Colonel kneels to?

_Gorel_. What Questions this ignorant Fellow asks!

_3 Cit_. Good lack-a-day, 'tis as a Man may say--'tis just such another
Body as one of us, only he looks a little more terrably.

_Ger_. Sir, why do you let him kneel?

_Ors_. Rise, and let me look upon thee.

_Val_. Great Sir, we come to offer you a Crown,
That long has waited for this great Support;
It ought to have been presented in a more glorious order,
But Time and your Affairs permit not that.
A thousand Dangers wait upon Delay;
But though the World be yours, it is not safe
Depending on a fickle Multitude,
Whom Interest, and not Reason renders just.

_Ors_. Thou art a wondrous Man.

_1 Cit_. Good _Gorel_, stand back, and let me see a little; my Wife loves
Newalties abominationly, ami I must tell her something about the King.

_Gorel_. What a Pox have we to do with your Wife? stand back.

_Val_. Now deign, great Sir, to arm your Hand with this--
                   [_Gtves_ Ors. _a Sword, he gazes on it_.
Nay, view it well, for though it be but homely,
It carries that about it can make the Wearer proud;
--An Edge--pray feel it, Sir,--'t has dealt
Many a mortal Wound--
See how it dares the Sun for Brightness, Sir!
Or if there be a Stain, it is an Ornament,
Dy'd in the Blood of those that were your Enemies:
It never made a Blow or Thrust in vain.
--How do you like it, Sir?

_Ors_. So well, I know not whether this or thee
Be most agreeable to me;
You need not teach me how I am to use it,
That I will leave for those that dare offend me.
Look, _Geron_, is it not a glorious Object?
There's nothing but my bright _Olympia's_ Eyes
That can out-glitter this.

_1 Cit_. Hah, _Simon_, did he not talk bravely?

_Val_. Come, Sir, 'tis time you left this Dungeon for a Throne;
For now's the time to make the World your own.
All shouting--Vive le Roy, Vive le Roy.

                                    [_Exeunt_.


SCENE IV. _A Tent_.

    _Enter_ Cleomena _and_ Semiris, _drest as Women again_.

_Sem_. Dear Madam, I cou'd wish you'd sleep awhile.

_Cleo_. That Peace I have not been acquainted with
Since my _Clemanthis'_ Death;
Yet now methinks my Heart's more calm and still,
And I perhaps may thus expire in silence--
Prithee, _Semiris_, take thy Lute and sing to't,
Whilst I will try to sleep.
         [_Lies down on a Couch, Sem. plays and sings_.

    SONG, made by _J. Wright_ Esq:

    _Fair Nymph, remember all your Scorn
      Will be by Time repaid;
    Those Glories which that Face adorn,
    And flourish as the rising Morn,
      Must one day set and fade.
    Then all your cold Disdain for me
    Will but increase Deformity,
    When still the kind will lovely be.
      Compassion is of lasting Praise;
      For that's the Beauty ne'er decays.

    Fair Nymph, avoid those Storms of Fate
      Are to the Cruel due;
    The Powers above, though ne'er so late.
    Can be, when they revenge your Hate,
      As pitiless as you.
    Know, charming Maid, the Powers divine
    Did never such soft Eyes design
    To wound a Heart so true as mine:
      That God who my dear Flame infus'd,
      Will never see it thus abus'd_.

Return, my dear _Clemanthis_, oh, return,
                    [Cleo. _rises as in a Dream_.
And see 'tis not into thy lovely Bosom
That I have sent my Vengeance.

_Sem_. What mean you, Madam?

_Cleo_. But thou, poor Ghost--
Instead of hasting me to my Revenge,
Endeavour'st to touch me with Compassion.

_Sem_. Madam, who is't you follow thus and speak to?

_Cleo. Thersander_, why do'st rob me of that Face?
Is't to disarm me of my Indignation?

_Sem_. Oh, Madam, what do you do?

_Cleo_. Ha! dost thou see nothing?

_Sem_. Not any thing.

_Cleo_. Yonder's the _Scythian_ with _Clemanthis'_ Face,
Or else _Clemanthis_ with _Thersander's_ Wound.

_Sem_. Compose your Thoughts, dear Madam, 'twas a Dream,
An idle Dream, born from a troubled Fancy.
--How was it, Madam?

_Cleo_. Methought I saw _Clemanthis_,
As when he was most charming to my Soul,
But pale and languishing, having a Wound
Like that I gave his Murderer
To which with one of's Hands he seem'd to point;
The other stretching out with passionate Actions,
And gazing on me,--thus methought he spoke:
--See how you recompense my faithful Sufferings,
--See the performance of your Promises;
Look on this Wound which you have given my Heart,
That Heart that still ador'd you:
And yet you're not content with all these Cruelties,
Though even in your Anger and my Death,
I still continue faithful and submissive.
--Thus spoke the lovely Phantom.

    _Enter_ Pimante.

_Pim_. Madam, there waits without a Servant to the Prince.

_Cleo_. He may come in.

    _Enter_ Lysander.

_Lys_. Madam, my dying Prince begs you may know
How willingly he does obey your Will,
And dying still implores you wou'd believe
He's guilty of no fault but having lov'd you,
For which presumption he deserves to die;
--But 'tis not by your Dagger, but your Eyes:
That was too weak to exercise your Will,
Your Cruelty had power alone to kill;
And now from you one visit he implores,
And after that he'll trouble you no more.   [_Weeps_.

_Cleo_. That I will grant to satisfy the King.

_Lys_. When he is dead--
He'll send the Spirit of _Clemanthis_ to you,
Who shall upbraid you with your Cruelty,
And let you see, in wounding of _Thersander_,
You've found the readiest way to kill _Clemanthis_.

_Cleo_. What means he by these Words?

_Lys_. He humbly begs you'll pardon the rough treatment
You've had among the _Scythians_,
Whose Crown, he says, _Clemanthis_ promis'd you,
And he intreats you would accept it from him.

_Cleo_. To send the Spirit of _Clemanthis_ to me--
How this agrees with my sad Dream!
How did thy Master know--
_Clemanthis_ promis'd me the Crown of _Scythia_?--
           [_Advances towards_ Lys. _and she starts_.
--Sure I have seen that Face before--
Art not _Lysander_, Page to _Clemanthis_?

_Lys_. Madam, I am, and ever serv'd that Master.

_Cleo_. How couldst thou then come near his Enemy?

_Lys_. Madam, it was by his Command I came.

_Cleo_. How could _Clemanthis_ love his Murderer?
It is no wonder then that generous Spirit
Came while I slept, and pleaded for the Prince.

_Lys_. What means the Princess?

    _Enter_ Pimante.

_Pim_. Oh, Madam, I have news to tell you that will
Make you forswear ever fighting again.

_Cleo_. What mean you?

_Pim_. As I was passing through a Street of Tents,
I saw a wounded Man stretcht on the ground;
And going, as others did, to learn his Fate,
I heard him say to those that strove to help him,
Alas, my Friends, your Succours are in vain;
For now I see the Gods will be reveng'd
For brave _Clemanthis'_ Murder.
How! cry'd I out, are you then one of those
_Thersander_ sent to kill that Cavalier?
_Thersander_, cry'd he, had no hand in it;
But _Artabazes_ set us on to kill him.
Here he began to faulter in his Speech;
And sure he spoke the truth, for 'twas his last.

_Cleo_. This looks like Truth. _Thersander's_ every Action
Declar'd too much of Virtue and of Honour,
To be the Author of so black a Deed.
--Tell him, I'll visit him, and beg his pardon.
                [_To_ Lys. _who bows and goes out_.
--Generous _Thersander_, if this News be true,
My Eyes shall spare some drops for injuring you.

                                             [_Excunt_.


SCENE V. _Changes to_ Thersander's _Tent_.

    _He in a Night-gown sitting on a Couch; by him the_ King,
   _Officers, Attendants to them. Enter_ Cleomena, Semiris,
    Pimante; Lysander; _the_ King _rises to meet_ Cleo. _and
    seats her in a Chair by him_.

_Cleo. Thersander_, I am come to beg thy pardon,
If thou art innocent, as I must believe thee,
And here before the King to make confession
Of what I did refuse the Queen my Mother.
--Know then, I lov'd, and with a perfect Passion,
The most unfortunate of Men, _Clemanthis_.
His Birth I never knew, but do believe
It was illustrious, as were all his Actions;
But I have lost him by a fatal accident,
That very day he should have fought with you.
                                      [_Weeps_.

_Ther_. Gods! where will this end?    [_Aside_.

_Cleo_. But e'er the fatal moment of his Death,
_Ismenes_ beg'd to know who did the Murder:
But he could answer nothing but _Thersander_,
And we believ'd it you.
Then Love and my Revenge made me a Soldier;
--You know the rest--
And doubtless you've accus'd me with Ingratitude.

_Ther_. No, I shall ne'er complain of _Cleomena_,
                           [_He kneels before her_.
If she still love _Clemanthis_.

_Cleo_. There needs no more to make me know that Voice.
Oh stay, this Joy too suddenly surprizes--
                           [_Ready to swound_.
--Gently distil the Bliss into my Soul,
Lest this Excess have the effects of Grief:
--Oh, my _Clemanthis_! do I hold thee fast?
And do I find thee in the Prince of _Scythia_?

_King_. I lose my Reason by this strange encounter!

_Ther_. Was't then a secret to my _Cleomena_,
That her _Clemanthis_ was the Prince of _Scythia_?
I still believ'd that was his only Crime.

_Cleo_. By all my Joys I knew it not--but sure
This is Enchantment; for it is as certain
These Eyes beheld thee dead.

_Pim_. Ay, and so did I, I'll be sworn.

_Ther_. That must be poor _Amintas_ in my Dress,
Whose Story, when you know, you will bemoan.

_Cleo_. But oh my Life! the cruel Wound I gave thee,
Let me be well assur'd it is not mortal,
Or I am lost again.

_King_. The Surgeon gives me hopes, and 'twere convenient
You should forbid him not to speak too much--

    _Enter a Soldier_.

_Sold_. Arm, arm, great Sir, I think the Enemy
Is rallying afresh, for the Plain is cover'd
With numerous Troops, which swiftly make this way.

_King_. They dare not break the Truce.

_Sold_. I know not, Sir, but something of a King I heard them talk of--

_Cleo_. It is _Vallentio_ that has kept his word--
Receive 'em, Sir, as Friends, not Enemies;
It is my Brother, who ne'er knew till now
Ought of a peopled World.

_King_. I long to see that Monarch, whose Friendship I
Must court for you, fair Princess:
If you'll accept _Thersander_ whom I offer'd,
I do not doubt an happy Peace on both sides.

_Cleo_. Sir. 'tis an honour which we ought to sue for.

_Ther_. And 'tis to me a Blessing--
I wanted Confidence to ask of Heaven.

    _Enter_ Ors. Val. Hon. Art. Ism. Geron. _Soldiers, &c_. Ors.
    _drest gay with a Truncheon in his Hand, advances first, is
    met by the_ King, _who gaze on each other_.

_Ors_. If thou be'st he that art _Orsames'_ Enemy,
I do demand a Sister at thy Hands.

_King_. Art thou _Orsames_?

_Ors_. So I am call'd by all that yet have view'd me:
--Look on me well--
Dost see no marks of Grandure in my Face?
Nothing that speaks me King?

_King_. I do believe thou art that King, and here
                            [_Gives him_ Cleo.
I do resign that Sister thou demandest.

_Ors_. It is a Woman too! another Woman!
I wou'd embrace thee if I durst approach thee.

_Cleo_. You need not fear, you may embrace your Sister--
                            [Cleo. _embraces him_.

_Ors_. This is the kindest Women I e'er saw.

_Cleo_. Brother, behold this King no more your Enemy,
Since I must pay him Duty as a Father.

    _Enter_ Queen, Olympia, _Women_.

_Ors_. Hah, _Olympia_! sure 'tis an airy Vision--

_Ger_. Approach her, Sir, and try.

_Qu_. Permit a wretched Mother here to kneel.

_King_. Rise, Madam, and receive me as your Friend;
This pair of Lovers has united all our Interests.
                  [_Points to_ Cleo. _and_ Thers.

_Qu_. Heavens! what's this I see, _Clemanthis_
And the Prince of _Scythia_?

_Ther_. Yes, Madam, and a Man that humbly begs
The happy Title of your Son--_Honorius_,
Of you I ask the greatest Pardon--
                             [_Talks to_ Olympia.

_Ors_. I am a King, and do adore thee too,
And thou shalt rule a World with me, my Fair;
A Sword I'll give thee, with a painted Bow,
Whence thou shalt shoot a thousand gilded Arrows.

_Olym_. What to do, Sir?

_Ors_. To save the expence of Cruelty;
For they will kill as sure, but rightly aim'd;
This noble Fellow told me so.    [_To_ Val.

_Olym_. Sir, I'll do any thing that you will have me:
But now the Queen your Mother, Sir, expects you.

_Ors_. Instruct my Eyes, _Olympia_, for 'tis lately
I've learnt of some such thing.

_Olym_. This, Sir, you ought to kneel to her.

_Ors_. Must I then kneel to ought but Heaven and thee?
                                  [_Kneels_.

_Qu_. My dear _Orsames_, let my Tears make way.
Before I can assure thee of my Joy.

_Ors_. Gods! how obliging is this kind Concern!
Not all my Passion for my fair _Olympia_
Cou'd ever yet betray me to a Tear.
                                [_Weeps_.

_Qu_. Thou'st greater need of Anger than of Tears,
Having before thy Eyes thy worst of Enemies,
One that has long depriv'd thee of a Crown,
Through what she thought her Duty to the Gods;
But now repents her superstitious Error,
And humbly begs thy Pardon.

_Ors_. I will, if you'll implore _Olympia_ but to love me.

_Qu_. I will, my _Orsames_; and 'tis the only Present
I can make to expiate my Fault.

_Ors_. And I'll receive her as the only thing
Can make me both a happy Subject and a King.
Oh, _Geron_, still if this should prove a Dream!

_Ger_. Sir, Dreams of Kings are much less pleasant.

    _Enter_ Lysander.

_Lys_. Sir, there are without some Shepherdesses,
Who say they wou'd present you     [_To_ Ther.
Something that will not be unwelcome to your Highness.

_Ther_. Let them come in--

    _They seat themselves. Enter_ Amin. Ura. _maskt, Shepherds,
    Shepherdesses, followed with Pipes, or Wind-Musick. They
    dance; after which_ Amin. _kneels to the Prince_,
    Ura. _to the Princess_.

--My dear _Amintas_, do I find thee live?
Fortune requites my Sufferings
With too large a share of Happiness.

_Amin_. Sir, I do live to die again for you.

_Ther_. This, my Divine, is he who had    [_To_ Cleo.
The Glory to be bewail'd by you; for him you wept;
For him had almost dy'd.

_Amin_. That Balm it was, that like the Weapon-salve
Heals at a distance--

_Cleo_. But why, Amintas, did you name _Thersander_,
When you were askt who wounded you?

_Amin_. Madam, if loss of Blood had given me leave,
I wou'd have told you how I came so habited,
And who I was, though not how I was wounded.

_King_. Still I am in a mist, and cannot see the happy path I tread.

_Ther_. Anon we will explain the Mystery, Sir.

_Hon_. Now, great _Orsames_, 'tis but just and fit
That you receive the Rites of Coronation,
Which are not to be paid you in a Camp;
The Court will add more to that joyful Day.

_King_. And there we'll join our Souls as well as Swords,
Our Interests as our Families.

_Ors_. I am content that thou should'st give me Laws:
Come, my _Vallentio_, it shall ne'er be said
I recompense thy Services
With any thing less grateful than a Woman:
--Here, I will chuse for thee--
And when I know what 'tis I more can do,
If there be ought beyond this Gift, 'tis thine.
                                    [_Gives him_ Sem.

_Ther. Scythia_ and _Dacia_ now united are:
The God of Love o'ercomes the God of War.
_After a Dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses, the Epilogue
is spoken by Mrs_. Barry, _as a Nymph; at his Royal
Highness's second Exile into_ Flanders.



EPILOGUE.


_After our showing Play of mighty Pains,
We here present you humble Nymphs and Swains.
Our rustick Sports sometimes may Princes please,
And Courts do oft divert in Cottages,
And prize the Joys with some young rural Maid,
On Beds of Grass beneath a lovely Shade,
'Bove all the Pride of City-Jilts, whose Arts
Are more to gain your Purses than your Hearts;
Whose chiefest Beauty lies in being fine;
And Coyness is not Virtue, but Design.
We use no Colours to adorn the Face,
No artful Looks, nor no affected Grace,
The neighbouring Stream serves for a Looking-glass.
Ambition is not known within our Groves;
Here's no Dispute for Empire, but for Loves;
The humble Swain his Birth-right here enjoys,
And fears no Danger from the publick Voice;
No Wrong nor Insolence from busy Powers,
No Rivals here for Crowns, but those of Flowers,
His Country and his Flocks enjoy with ease,
Ranges his native Fields and Groves in Peace;
Nor forc'd by Arbitrary Votes to fly
To foreign Shores for his Security.
Our humble Tributes uncompell'd we pay,
And cheerful Homage to the Lord of May;
No Emulation breaks his soft Repose,
Nor do his Wreaths or Virtues gain him Foes:
No publick Mischiefs can disturb his Reign,
And Malice would be busy here in vain.
Fathers and Sons just Love and Duty pay;
This knows to be indulgent, that t'obey.
Here's no Sedition hatcht, no other Plots,
But to entrap the Wolf that steals our Flocks.
Who then wou'd be a King, gay Crowns to wear,
Restless his Nights, thoughtful his Days with Care;
Whose Greatness, or whose Goodness cant secure
From Outrages which Knaves and Fools procure?

Greatness, be gone, we banish you from hence,
The noblest State is lowly Innocence.
Here honest Wit in Mirth and Triumph reigns,
Musick and Love shall ever bless our Swains,
And keep the Golden Age within our Woods and Plains_.




THE CITY HEIRESS; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TREAT-ALL.



ARGUMENT.


The scene is London. Sir Timothy Treat-all, an old seditious knight, that
keeps open house for Commonwealthsmen and true Blue Protestants, has
disinherited his nephew, Tom Wilding, a town gallant and a Tory. Wilding
is pursuing an intrigue with Lady Galliard, a wealthy widow, and also
with Chariot, heiress to the rich Sir Nicholas Get-all, recently
deceased. Lady Galliard is further hotly wooed by Sir Charles Meriwill, a
young Tory, but she favours Wilding. Sir Charles is encouraged in his
suit by his roystering uncle, Sir Anthony. Wilding introduces his
mistress Diana to Sir Timothy as the heiress Charlot; and at an
entertainment given by Sir Timothy, Charlot herself appears, disguised as
a Northern lass, to watch the progress of Tom's intrigue with the widow,
who eventually yields to him. Sir Charles, none the less, backed by Sir
Anthony, still persists, and after various passionate scenes forces her
to consent to become his bride. Meanwhile Sir Timothy has arranged a
marriage with Diana, whom he firmly believes to be Charlot. During the
progress of the entertainment he is visited by a strange nobleman and his
retinue, who offer him the crown of Poland and great honours. That night,
however, his house is rifled by thieves and his money and papers stolen.
He himself is pinioned hand and foot, the foreign lord bound fast in his
own room, and all his followers secured. Sir Timothy having married Diana
discovers that she is none other than his nephew's mistress, and,
moreover, the Polish ambassador was Tom in masquerade, the attendants and
burglars his friends, who by obtaining his treasonable correspondence are
able effectually to silence the old knight. Wilding is united to Charlot,
whilst Lady Galliard weds Charles Meriwill.



SOURCE.


The City Heiress is most manifestly borrowed from two main sources. Sir
Anthony Meriwill and Charles are Durazzo and Caldoro from Massinger's
_The Guardian_ (licensed 31 October, 1633, 8vo, 1655). Mrs. Behn has
transferred to her play even small details and touches. The burglary,
that most wonderful of all burglaries, is taken and improved from
Middleton's _A Mad World, My Masters_ (4to, 1608), Act ii, where Sir
Bounteous Progress is robbed by Dick Folly-Wit, his grandson, in
precisely the same way as Sir Timothy is choused by Tom. On 4 February,
1715, Charles Johnson produced at Drury Lane his _The Country Lasses; or,
The Custom of the Manor_, a rifacimento of Fletcher's _The Custom of the
Country_ and _The City Heiress_. It is a well-written, lively enough
comedy, but very weak and anaemic withal when compared to Mrs. Behn. B.
G. Stephenson, in his vivacious libretto to Cellier's tuneful opera,
_Dorothy_, produced at the Gaiety Theatre, 25 September, 1886, has made
great use of Johnson's play, especially Act i, where the gallants meet
the two ladies disguised as country girls; the duel scenes of Act v; and
the pseudo-burglary of Act iii. He even gives his comic sheriff's officer
the name of Lurcher, who in Johnson is the rackety nephew that tricks his
hospitable old uncle, Sir John English. The _Biographia Dramatica_ states
that Mrs. Behn 'introduced into this play (_The City Heiress_) a great
part of the _Inner Temple Masque_ by Middleton.' This charge is
absolutely unfounded, and it would not be uninteresting to know how so
complete an error arose. The two have nothing in common. It must be
allowed that Mrs. Behn has displayed such wit and humour as amply to
justify her plagiarisms. Sir Timothy Treat-all himself is, of course,
Shaftesbury almost without disguise. There are a thousand telling hits at
the President of the Council and his vices. He was also bitterly
satirized in many other plays. In Nevil Payne's _The Siege of
Constantinople_ (1675) he appears as The Chancellor; 1680 in Otway's
Shakespearean cento cum bastard classicism _Caius Marius_ some very plain
traits can be recognized in the grim Marius senior; in Southerne's _The
Loyal Brother_ (1682) Ismael, a villainous favourite; in _Venice
Preserved_ (1682) the lecherous Antonio; in the same year Banks
caricatured him as a quite unhistorical Cardinal Wolsey, _Virtue
Betray'd; or, Anna Bullen_; in Crowne's mordant _City Politics_ (1683)
the Podesta of a most un-Italian Naples; the following year Arius the
heresiarch in Lee's _Constantine the Great_; in the operatic _Albion and
Albanius_ (1685), Dryden does not spare even physical infirmities and
disease with the crudest yet cruellest exhibition, and five years later
he attacked his old enemy once more as Benducar in that great tragedy
_Don Sebastian_.


THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_The City Heiress; or, Sir Timothy Treat-all_ was produced at the Duke's
House, Dorset Garden, in 1682. Downes specially mentions it as having
been 'well acted', and it was indeed an 'all star' cast. It had a
tremendous ovation but in spite of its great merit did not become a stock
play, probably owing to the intensely political nature of much of its
satirical wit, a feature necessarily ephemeral. It seems, however, to
have been presented from time to time, and there was a notable revival on
10 July, 1707, at the Haymarket, for the benefit of Husband and Pack. Sir
Timothy was played by Cross; Tom Wilding, Mills; Sir Anthony, Bullock;
Foppington, Pack; Lady Galliard, Mrs. Bradshaw; Charlot, Mrs. Bicknall;
Clacket, Mrs. Powell. It met with a very favourable reception.


To the Right Honourable _Henry_ Earl of _Arundel_, and Lord _Mowbray_.

MY LORD,

'Tis long that I have with great impatience waited some opportunity to
declare my infinite Respect to your Lordship, coming, I may say, into the
World with a Veneration for your Illustrious Family, and being brought up
with continual Praises of the Renowned Actions of your glorious
Ancestors, both in War and Peace, so famous over the Christian World for
their Vertue, Piety, and Learning, their elevated Birth, and greatness of
Courage, and of whom all our English History are full of the Wonders of
their Lives: A Family of so Ancient Nobility, and from whom so many
Heroes have proceeded to bless and serve their King and Country, that all
Ages and all Nations mention 'em even with Adoration: My self have been
in this our Age an Eye and Ear-witness, with what Transports of Joy, with
what unusual Respect and Ceremony, above what we pay to Mankind, the very
Name of the Great Howards of Norfolk and Arundel, have been celebrated on
Foreign Shores! And when any one of your Illustrious Family have pass'd
the Streets, the People throng'd to praise and bless him as soon as his
Name has been made known to the glad Croud. This I have seen with a Joy
that became a true English heart, (who truly venerate its brave
Country-men) and joyn'd my dutiful Respects and Praises with the most
devout; but never had the happiness yet of any opportunity to express
particularly that Admiration I have and ever had for your Lordship and
your Great Family. Still, I say, I did admire you, still I wish'd and
pray'd for you; 'twas all I cou'd or durst: But, as my Esteem for your
Lordship daily increased with my Judgment, so nothing cou'd bring it to
a more absolute height and perfection, than to observe in these
troublesome times, this Age of Lying, Peaching, and Swearing with what
noble Prudence, what steadiness of Mind, what Loyalty and Conduct you
have evaded the Snare, that 'twas to be fear'd was laid for all the Good,
the Brave, and Loyal, for all that truly lov'd our best of Kings and this
distracted Country. A thousand times I have wept for fear that Impudence
and Malice wou'd extend so far as to stain your Noble and ever-Loyal
Family with its unavoidable Imputatious; and as often for joy, to see how
undauntedly both the Illustrions Duke your Father, and your Self, stem'd
the raging Torrent that threatned, with yours, the ruin of the King and
Kingdom; all which had not power to shake your Constancy or Loyalty: for
which, may Heaven and Earth reward and bless you; the noble Examples to
thousands of failing hearts, who from so great a President of Loyalty,
became confirm'd. May Heaven and Earth bless you for your pious and
resolute bravery of Mind, and Heroick honesty, when you cry'd, _Not
Guilty_; that you durst, like your great self, speak Conscientious Truths
in a Juncto so vitious, when Truth and Innocence was criminal: and I
doubt not but the Soul of that great Sufferer bows down from Heaven in
gratitude for that noble service done it. All these and a thousand marks
you give of daily growing Greatness; every day produces to those like me,
curious to learn the story of your Life and Actions, something that even
adds a Lustre to your great Name, which one wou'd think you'd be made no
more splendid: some new Goodness, some new act of Loyalty or Courage,
comes out to cheer the World and those that admire you. Nor wou'd I be
the last of those that dayly congratulate and celebrate your rising
Glory; nor durst I any other way approach you with it, but this humble
one, which carries some Excuse along with it.

Proud of the opportunity then, I most humbly beg your Lordships'
patronage of a Comedy, which has nothing to defend it, but the Honour it
begs, and nothing to deserve that Honour, but its being in every part
true Tory! Loyal all-over! except one Knave, which I hope no body will
take to himself; or if he do, I must e'en say with _Hamlet_,

    --Then let the strucken Deer go weep--

It has the luck to be well received in the Town; which (not for my
Vanity) pleases me, but that thereby I find Honesty begins to come in
fashion again, when Loyalty is approv'd, and Whigism becomes a Jest
where'er 'tis met with. And, no doubt on't, so long as the Royal Cause
has such Patrons as your Lordship, such vigorous and noble Supporters,
his Majesty will be great, secure and quiet, the Nation flourishing and
happy, and seditious Fools and Knaves that have so long disturb'd the
Peace and Tranquility of the World, will become the business and sport of
Comedy, and at last the scorn of that Rabble that fondly and blindly
worshipt 'em; and whom nothing can so well convince as plain
Demonstration, which is ever more powerful and prevailent than Precept,
or even Preaching it self. If this have edifi'd effectual, 'tis all I
wish; and that your Lordship will be pleas'd to accept the humble
Offering, is all I beg, and the greatest Glory I care shou'd be done,

  MY LORD,
    Your Lordship's most Humble
      and most Obedient Servant,
        A. BEHN.




THE CITY HEIRESS; or, Sir _Timothy Treat-all_.



PROLOGUE,

Written by Mr. _Otway_, Spoken by Mrs. _Barry_.


_How vain have proved the Labours of the Stage,
In striving to reclaim a vitious Age!
Poets may write the Mischief to impeach,
You care as little what the Poets teach,
As you regard at Church what Parsons preach.
But where such Follies, and such Vices reign,
What honest Pen has Patience to refrain?
At Church, in Pews, ye most devoutly snore
And here, got dully drunk, ye come to roar:
Ye go to Church to glout, and ogle there,
And come to meet more loud convenient here.
With equal Zeal ye honour either Place,
And run so very evenly your Race,
Y' improve in Wit just as you do in Grace.
It must be so, some Daemon has possest
Our Land, and we have never since been blest.
Y' have seen it all, or heard of its Renown,
In Reverend Shape it staled about the Town,
Six Yeomen tall attending on its Frown.
Sometimes with humble Note and zealous Lore,
'Twou'd play the Apostolick Function o'er:
But, Heaven have mercy on us when it swore.
Whene'er it swore, to prove the Oaths were true,
Out of its much at random Halters flew
Round some unwary Neck, by Magick thrown,
Though still the cunning Devil sav'd its own:
For when the Inchantment could no longer last,
The subtle Pug most dextrously uncas'd,
Left awful Form for one more seeming pious,
And in a moment vary'd to defy us;
From silken Doctor home-spun Ananias:
Left the leud Court, and did in City fix,
Where still, by its old Arts, it plays new Tricks,
And fills the Heads of Fools with Politicks.
This Daemon lately drew in many a Guest,
To part with zealous Guinea for--no Feast.
Who, but the most incorrigible <DW2>s,
For ever doomed in dismal Cells, call'd Shops,
To cheat and damn themselves to get their Livings,
Wou'd lay sweet Money out in Sham-Thanksgivings?
Sham-Plots you may have paid for o'er and o'er;
But who e'er paid for a Sham-Treat before?
Had you not better sent your Offerings all
Hither to us, than Sequestrators Hall?
I being your Steward, Justice had been done ye;
I cou'd have entertain'd you worth your Money_.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

Sir _Timothy Treat-all_, an old seditious Knight,  |
    that keeps open House for Commonwealthsmen     |  Mr. _Nokes_.
    and true blue Protestants, Uncle to _T.        |
    Wilding_,                                      |
_Tom Wilding_, a Tory, his discarded Nephew,          Mr. _Bctterton_.
Sir _Anthony Meriwill_, an old Tory Knight of         Mr. _Lee_.
    _Devonshire_,
Sir _Charles Meriwill_, his Nephew, a Tory also,   |
    in love with L. _Galliard_, and Friend to      |  Mr. _Williams_.
    _Wilding_,                                     |
_Dresswell_, a young Gentleman, Friend to             Mr. _Bowman_.
    _Wilding_,
_Foppington_, a Hanger-on on _Wilding_,               Mr. _Jevon_.
_Jervice_, Man to Sir _Timothy_.
_Laboir_, Man to _Tom Wilding_.
Boy, Page to Lady _Galliard_.
Boy, Page to _Diana_.
Guests, Footmen, Musick, &c.

WOMEN.

Lady _Galliard_, a rich City-Widow, in love with   |  Mrs. _Barry_.
    _Wilding_,                                     |
_Charlot_, The City-Heiress, in love with _Wilding_,  Mrs. _Butler_.
_Diana_, Mistress to _Wilding_, and kept by him,      Mrs. _Corror_.
Mrs. _Clacket_, a City Baud and Puritan,              Mrs. _Novice_.
Mrs. _Closet_, Woman to Lady _Galliard_,              Mrs. _Lee_.
Mrs. _Sensure_, Sir _Timothy's_ Housekeeper.
_Betty_, Maid to _Diana_.
Maid at _Charlot's_ lodging.

SCENE, _Within the Walls of_ London.



ACT I.


SCENE I. _The Street_.

    _Enter Sir_ Timothy Treat-all, _follow'd by_ Tom Wilding
    bare, Sir_ Charles Meriwill, Foppington, _and
    Footman with a Cloke_.

Sir _Tim_. Trouble me no more: for I am resolv'd, deaf and obdurate, d'ye
see, and so forth.

_Wild_. I beseech ye, Uncle, hear me.

Sir _Tim_. No.

_Wild_. Dear Uncle--

Sir _Tim_. No.

_Wild_. You will be mortify'd--

Sir _Tim_. No.

_Wild_. At least hear me out, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. No, I have heard you out too often, Sir, till
you have talkt me out of many a fair Thousand; have had
ye out of all the Bayliffs, Serjeants, and Constables Clutches
about Town, Sir; have brought you out of all the Surgeons,
Apothecaries, and pocky Doctors Hands, that ever pretended
to cure incurable Diseases; and have crost ye out of the Books
of all the Mercers, Silk-men, Exchange-men, Taylors,
Shoemakers, and Sempstresses; with all the rest of the
unconscionable City-tribe of the long Bill, that had but
Faith enough to trust, and thought me Fool enough to pay.

Sir _Char_. But, Sir, consider, he's your own Flesh and Blood.

Sir _Tim_. That's more than I'll swear.

Sir _Char_. Your only Heir.

Sir _Tim_. That's more than you or any of his wise Associates can tell,
Sir.

Sir _Char_. Why his wise Associates? Have you any Exception to the
Company he keeps? This reflects on me and young _Dresswell_, Sir, Men
both of Birth and Fortune.

Sir _Tim_. Why, good Sir _Charles Meriwill_, let me tell you, since
you'll have it out, That you and young _Dresswell_ are able to debauch,
destroy, and confound all the young imitating <DW2>s in Town.

Sir _Char_. How, Sir!

Sir _Tim_. Nay, never huff, Sir; for I have six thousand Pound a Year,
and value no Man: Neither do I speak so much for your particular, as for
the Company you keep, such Tarmagant Tories as these, [To <DW2>.] who
are the very Vermin of a young Heir, and for one tickling give him a
thousand bites.

_Fop_. Death! meaning me, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Yes, you, Sir. Nay, never stare, Sir; I fear you not; No Man's
hectoring signifies this--in the City, but the Constables: no body dares
be saucy here, except it be in the King's name.

Sir _Char_. Sir, I confess he was to blame.

Sir _Tim_. Sir _Charles_, thanks to Heaven, you may be leud, you have a
plentiful Estate, may whore, drink, game, and play the Devil: your Uncle,
Sir Anthony Meriwill, intends to give you all his Estate too. But for
such Sparks as this, and my <DW2> in Fashion here, why, with what Face,
Conscience, or Religion, can they be leud and vitious, keep their
Wenches, Coaches, rich Liveries, and so forth, who live upon Charity, and
the Sins of the Nation?

Sir _Char_. If he hath youthful Vices, he has Virtues too.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, he had, but I know not, you have bewitch'd him
Amongst ye.
         [weeping.
Before he fell to Toryism, he was a sober, civil Youth,
and had some Religion in him, wou'd read ye Prayers Night and Morning
with a laudable Voice, and cry Amen to 'em; 'twou'd have done one's Heart
good to have heard him--wore decent Clothes, was drunk but on Sundays and
Holidays; and then I had Hopes of him.
                                 [_Still weeping_.

_Wild_. Ay, Heaven forgive me.

Sir _Char_. But, Sir, he's now become a new Man, is casting off all his
Women, is drunk not above five or six times a week, swears not above once
in a quarter of an Hour, nor has not gam'd this two Days--

Sir _Tim_. 'Twas because the Devil was in's Pocket then.

Sir _Char_.--Begins to take up at Coffee-houses, talks gravely in the
City, speaks scandalously of the Government, and rails most abominably
against the Pope and the French King.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, this shall not wheedle me out of one English Guinea;
and so I told him yesterday.

_Wild_. You did so, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Yes; by a good Token you were witty upon me, and swore I lov'd
and honoured the King no where but on his Coin.

Sir _Char_. Is it possible, Sir.

_Wild_. God forgive me, Sir; I confess I was a little overtaken.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, so it shou'd seem: for he mistook his own Chamber, and
went to bed to my Maid's.

Sir _Char_. How! to bed to your Maid's! Sure, Sir, 'tis scandal on him.

Sir _Tim_. No, no, he makes his brags on't, Sir. Oh, that crying Sin of
Boasting! Well fare, I say, the Days of old Oliver, he by a wholesom Act
made it death to boast; so that then a Man might whore his Heart out, and
no body the wiser.

Sir _Char_. Right, Sir, and then the Men pass'd for sober religious
Persons, and the Women for as demure Saints--

Sir _Tim_. Ay, then there was no scandal; but now they do not only boast
what they do, but what they do not.

_Wild_. I'll take care that fault shall be mended, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, so will I, if Poverty has any Feats of Mortification; and
so farewel to you, Sir.
                        [Going.

_Wild_. Stay, Sir, are you resolv'd to be so cruel then, and ruin all my
Fortunes now depending?

Sir _Tim_. Most religiously--

_Wild_. You are?

Sir _Tim_. I am.

_Wild_. Death, I'll rob.

Sir _Tim_. Do and be hang'd.

_Wild_. Nay, I'll turn <DW7>.

Sir _Tim_. Do and be damn'd.

Sir _Char_. Bless me, Sir, what a Scandal would that be to the Family of
the _Treat-alls_!

Sir _Tim_. Hum! I had rather indeed he turn'd Turk or Jew, for his own
sake; but as for scandalizing me, I defy it: My Integrity has been known
ever since Forty one; I bought three Thousand a year in Bishops Lands, as
'tis well known, and lost it at the King's return; for which I'm honour'd
by the City. But for his farther Satisfaction, Consolation, and
Destruction, know, That I Sir _Timothy Treat-all_, Knight and Alderman,
do think my self young enough to marry, d'ye see, and will wipe your Nose
with a Son and Heir of my own begetting, and so forth.
                                    [_Going away_.

_Wild_. Death! marry!

Sir _Char_. Patience, dear Tom, or thou't spoil all.

_Wild_. Damn him, I've lost all Patience, and can dissemble no longer,
though I lose all--Very good, Sir; harkye, I hope she's young and
handsome; or if she be not, amongst the numerous lusty-stomacht Whigs
that daily nose your publick Dinners, some maybe found, that either for
Money, Charity, or Gratitude, may requite your Treats. You keep open
House to all the Party, not for Mirth, Generosity or good Nature, but for
Roguery. You cram the Brethren, the pious City-Gluttons, with good Cheer,
good Wine, and Rebellion in abundance, gormandizing all Comers and Goers,
of all Sexes, Sorts, Opinions and Religions, young half-witted <DW2>s,
hot-headed Fools, and Malecontents: You guttle and fawn on all, and all
in hopes of debauching the King's Liege-people into Commonwealthsmen;
and rather than lose a Convert, you'll pimp for him. These are your
nightly Debauches--Nay, rather than you shall want it, I'll cuckold you
my self in pure Revenge.

Sir _Tim_. How! Cuckold his own natural Uncle!

Sir _Char_. Oh, he cannot be so profane.

_Wild_. Profane! why he deny'd but now the having any share in me; and
therefore 'tis lawful. I am to live by my Wits, you say, and your old
rich good-natur'd Cuckold is as sure a Revenue to a handsome young Cadet,
as a thousand Pound a Year. Your tolerable Face and Shape is an Estate in
the City, and a better Bank than your Six per Cent, at any time.

Sir _Tim_. Well, Sir, since Nature has furnisht you so well, you need but
up and ride, show and be rich; and so your Servant, witty Mr. _Wilding_.
                    [_Goes out. He looks after him_.

Sir _Char_. Whilst I am labouring another's good, I quite neglect my own.
This cursed, proud, disdainful Lady _Galliard_, is ever in my Head; she's
now at Church, I'm sure, not for Devotion, but to shew her Charms, and
throw her Darts amongst the gazing Croud; and grows more vain by
Conquest. I'm near the Church, and must step in, though it cost me a new
Wound.
                                [Wild, _stands pausing_.

_Wild_. I am resolv'd--Well, dear _Charles_, let's sup together to night,
and contrive some way to e reveng'd of this wicked Uncle of mine. I must
leave thee now, for I have an Assignation here at Church.

Sir _Char_. Hah! at Church!

_Wild_. Ay, _Charles_ with the dearest She-Saint, and I hope Sinner.

Sir _Char_. What, at Church? Pox, I shall be discover'd now in my Amours.
That's an odd place for Love-Intrigues.

_Wild_. Oh, I am to pass for a sober, discreet Person to the Relations;
but for my Mistress, she's made of no such sanctify'd Materials; she is a
Widow, _Charles_, young, rich, and beautiful.

Sir _Char_. Hah! if this shou'd prove my Widow, now.    [_Aside_.

_Wild_. And though at her own dispose, yet is much govern'd by Honour,
and a rigid Mother, who is ever preaching to her against the Vices of
Youth, and t'other end of the Town Sparks; dreads nothing so much as her
Daughter's marrying a villanous Tory. So the young one is forc'd to
dissemble Religion, the best Mask to hide a kind Mistress in.

Sir _Char_. This must be my Lady _Galliard_.   [_Aside_.

_Wild_. There is at present some ill understanding between us; some
damn'd Honourable <DW2> lays siege to her, which has made me ill received;
and I having a new Intrigue elsewhere, return her cold Disdain, but now
and then she crosses my Heart too violently to resist her. In one of
these hot Fits I now am, and must find some occasion to speak to her.

Sir _Char_. By Heaven, it must be she--I am studying now, amongst all our
She-Acquaintance, who this shou'd be.

_Wild_. Oh, this is of Quality to be conceal'd; but the dearest loveliest
Hypocrite, white as Lillies, smooth as Rushes, and plump as Grapes after
a Shower, haughty her Mein, her Eyes full of Disdain, and yet bewitching
sweet; but when she loves soft, witty, wanton, all that charms a Soul,
and but for now and then a fit of Honour, Oh, damn the Nonsense! wou'd be
all my own.

Sir _Char_. 'Tis she, by Heaven!    [_Aside_.]
Methinks this Widow shou'd prove a good Income to you, as things now
stand between you and your Uncle.

_Wild_. Ah, _Charles_, but I am otherways dispos'd of. There is the most
charming pretty thing in nature fallen in love with this Person of mine,
a rich City-Heiress, _Charles_, and I have her in possession.

Sir _Char_. How can you love two at once? I've been as wild and as
extravagant, as Youth and Wealth cou'd render me; but ne'er arrived to
that degree of Leudness, to deal my Heart about: my Hours I might, but
Love shou'd be intire.

_Wild_. Ah, _Charles_, two such bewitching Faces wou'd give thy Heart the
lye:--But Love divides us, and I must into Church. Adieu till Night.
                                                               [_Exit_.

Sir _Char_. And I must follow, to resolve my Heart in what it dreads to
learn. Here, my Cloke. [_Takes his Cloke from his Man, and puts it on_.]
Hah, Church is done! See, they are coming forth!

    _Enter People cross the Stage, as from Church; amongst 'em Sir_
    Anthony Meriwill, _follow'd by Sir_ Timothy Treat-all.

Hah, my Uncle! He must not see me here.
                  [_Throws his Cloke over his Face_.

Sir _Tim_. What my old Friend and Acquaintance, Sir Anthony Meriwill!

Sir _Anth_. Sir _Timothy Treat-all_!

Sir _Tim_. Why, how long have you been in Town, Sir?

Sir _Anth_. About three days, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Three days, and never came to dine with me! 'tis unpardonable!
What, you keep close to the Church, I see: You are for the Surplice
still, old Orthodox you; the Times cannot mend you, I see.

Sir _Anth_. No, nor shall they mar me, Sir.

Sir _Char_. They are discoursing; I'll pass by.   [_Aside_.
                                  [_Ex. Sir_ Charles.

Sir _Anth_. As I take it, you came from Church too.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, needs must when the Devil drives. I go to save my Bacon,
as they say, once a Month, and that too after the Porridge is serv'd up.

Sir _Anth_. Those that made it, Sir, are wiser than we. For my part, I
love good wholesom Doctrine, that teaches Obedience to the King and
Superiors, without railing at the Government, and quoting Scripture for
Sedition, Mutiny and Rebellion. Why here was a jolly Fellow this Morning
made a notable Sermon. By George, our Country-Vicars are mere Scholars to
your Gentlemen Town-Parsons! Hah, how he handled the Text, and run
Divisions upon't! 'twould make a Man sin with moderation, to hear how he
claw'd away the Vices of the Town, Whoring, Drinking, and Conventicling,
with the rest of the deadly number.

Sir _Tim_. Good lack! an he were so good at Whoring and Drinking, you'd
best carry your Nephew, Sir _Charles Meriwill_, to Church; he wants a
little documentizing that way.

Sir _Anth_. Hum! you keep your old wont still; a Man can begin no
Discourse to you, be it of Prester John, but you still conclude with my
Nephew.

Sir _Tim_. Good Lord! Sir Anthony, you need not be so purty; what I say,
is the Discourse of the whole City, how lavishly you let him live, and
give ill Examples to all young Heirs.

Sir _Anth_. The City! The City's a grumbling, lying, dissatisfy'd City,
and no wise or honest Man regards what it says. Do you, or any of the
City, stand bound to his Scrivener or Taylor? He spends what I allow him,
Sir, his own; and you're a Fool, or Knave, chuse ye whether, to concern
your self.

Sir _Tim_. Good lack! I speak but what wiser Men discourse.

Sir _Anth_. Wiser Men! wiser Coxcombs. What, they wou'd have me train my
Nephew up, a hopeful Youth, to keep a Merchant's Book, or send him to
chop Logick in an University, and have him returned an arrant learned
Ass, to simper, and look demure, and start at Oaths and Wenches, whilst I
fell his Woods, and grant Leases: And lastly, to make good what I have
cozen'd him of, force him to marry Mrs. Crump, the ill-favour'd Daughter
of some Right Worshipful.--A Pox of all of such Guardians!

Sir _Tim_. Do, countenance Sin and Expenccs, do.

Sir _Anth_. What Sin, what Expences? He wears good Clothes, why,
Trades-men get the more by him; he keeps his Coach, 'tis for his Ease;
A Mistress, 'tis for his Pleasure; he games, 'tis for his Diversion: And
where's the harm of this? is there ought else you can accuse him with?

Sir _Tim_. Yes,--a Pox upon him, he's my Rival too.   [_Aside_.
Why then I'll tell you, Sir, he loves a Lady.

Sir _Anth_. If that be a Sin, Heaven help the Wicked!

Sir _Tim_. But I mean honourably--

Sir _Anth_. Honourably! why do you know any Infirmity in him, why he
shou'd not marry?    [_Angrily_.

Sir _Tim_. Not I, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. Not you, Sir? why then you're an Ass, Sir--But is this Lady
young and handsom?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, and rich too, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. No matter for Money, so she love the Boy.

Sir _Tim_. Love him! No, Sir, she neither does, nor shall love him.

Sir _Anth_. How, Sir, nor shall love him! By _George_, but she shall, and
lie with him too, if I please, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. How, Sir! lie with a rich City-Widow, and a Lady, and to be
married to a fine Reverend old Gentleman within a day or two?

Sir _Anth_. His Name, Sir, his Name; I'll dispatch him presently.
                                                  [_Offers to draw_.

Sir _Tim_. How, Sir, dispatch him!--Your Servant, Sir.
                                                  [_Offers to go_.

Sir _Anth_. Hold, Sir! by this abrupt departure, I fancy you the Boy's
Rival: Come, draw.
                      [_Draws_.

Sir _Tim_. How, draw, Sir!

Sir _Anth_. Ay, draw, Sir; not my Nephew have the Widow!

Sir _Tim_. With all my Soul, Sir; I love and honour your Nephew. I his
Rival! alas, Sir, I'm not so fond of Cuckoldom. Pray, Sir, let me see you
and Sir _Charles_ at my House, I may serve him in this business; and so I
take my leave, Sir--Draw quoth-a! Pox upon him for an old Tory-rory.
                                                              [_Aside_.

                                                         [_Exit_.

    _Enter as from Church, L_. Galliard, Closet, _and Footman_:
    Wilding _passes carelessly by her, Sir_ Charles Meriwill
    _following, wrapt up in his Cloke_.

Sir _Anth_. Who's here? _Charles_ muffled in a Cloke peering after a
Woman?
My own Boy to a Hair! She's handsom too. I'll step aside; for I must see
the meaning on't.
                     [_Goes aside_.

L. _Gal_. Bless me! how unconcern'd he pass'd!

_Clos_. He bow'd low, Madam.

L. _Gal_. But 'twas in such a fashion, as exprest Indifferency, much
worse than Hate from _Wilding_.

_Clos_. Your Ladyship has us'd him ill of late; yet if your Ladyship
please, I'll call him back.

L. _Gal_. I'll die first--Hah, he's going! Yet now I think on't I have a
Toy of his, which to express my scorn, I'll give him back now--this Ring.

_Clos_. Shall I carry it, Madam?

L. _Gal_. You'll not express Disdain enough in the Delivery; and you may
call him back.

    [Clos. _goes to_ Wild.

Sir _Char_. By Heaven, she's fond of him.   [_Aside_.

_Wild_. Oh, Mrs. Closet! is it you?--Madam, your Servant: By this
Disdain, I fear your Woman, Madam, has mistaken her Man. Wou'd your
Ladyship speak with me?

L. _Gal_. Yes.--But what? the God of Love instruct me.    [_Aside_.

_Wild_. Command me quickly, Madam; for I have business.

L. _Gal_. Nay, then I cannot be discreet in Love.   [_Aside_.
--Your business once was Love, nor had no idle hours
To throw away on any other thought;
You lov'd, as if you had no other Faculties,
As if you'd meant to gain eternal Bliss,
By that Devotion only: And see how now you're chang'd.

_Wild_. Not I, by Heaven; 'tis you are only chang'd.
I thought you'd lov'd me too, curse on the dull mistake!
But when I beg'd to reap the mighty Joy
That mutual Love affords,
You turn'd me off from Honour,
That Nothing, fram'd by some old sullen Maid,
That wanted Charms to kindle Flames when young.

Sir _Anth_. By George, he's i'th' right.   [_Aside_.

Sir _Char_. Death! can she hear this Language?    [_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. How dare you name this to me any more?
Have you forgot my Fortune, and my Youth,
My Quality, and Fame?

_Wild_. No, by Heaven, all these increase my Flame.

L. _Gal_. Perhaps they might, but yet I wonder where
You got the boldness to approach me with it.

_Wild_. Faith, Madam, from your own encouragement.

L. _Gal_. From mine! Heavens, what Contempt is this?

_Wild_. When first I paid my Vows, (good Heaven forgive me)
They were for Honour all;
But wiser you, thanks to your Mother's care too,
Knowing my Fortune an uncertain hope,
My Life of Scandal, and my leud Opinion,
Forbad me wish that way; 'twas kindly urg'd;
You cou'd not then forbid my Passion too,
Nor did I ever from your Lips or Eyes
Receive the cruel Sentence of my Death.

Sir _Anth_. Gad, a fine Fellow this!

L. _Gal_. To save my Life, I wou'd not marry thee.

_Wild_. That's kindly said.
But to save mine, thou't do a kinder thing;
--I know thou wo't.

L. _Gal_. What, yield my Honour up!
And after find it sacrific'd anew,
And made the scorn of a triumphing Wife!

Sir _Anth_. Gad, she's i'th' right too! a noble Girl I'll warrant her.

L. _Gal_. But you disdain to satisfy these fears;
And like a proud and haughty Conqueror,
Demand the Town, without the least Conditions.

Sir _Char_. By Heaven, she yields apace.   [_Aside_.

_Sir. Anth_. Pox on't, wou'd I had ne'er seen her; now
I have Legions of small Cupids at Hot-cockles in my Heart.

_Wild_. Now I am pausing on that word Conditions.
Thou say'st thou wou't not have me marry thee;
That is, as if I lov'd thee for thy Eyes
And put 'em out to hate thee;
Or like our Stage-smitten Youth, who fall in Love with a
Woman for acting finely, and by taking her off the Stage,
deprive her of the only Charm she had,
Then leave her to ill Luck.

Sir _Anth_. Gad, he's i'th' right again too! a rare Fellow!

_Wild_. For, Widow, know, hadst thou more Beauty, yet not all of 'em were
half so great a Charm as they not being mine.

Sir _Anth_. Hum! how will he make that out now?

_Wild_. The stealths of Love, the midnight kind Admittance,
The gloomy Bed, the soft breath'd murmuring Passion;
Ah, who can guess at Joys thus snatch'd by parcels?
The difficulty makes us always wishing,
Whilst on thy part, Fear makes still some resistance;
And every Blessing seems a kind of Rape.

Sir _Anth_. H'as don't!--A Divine Fellow that; just of my Religion. I am
studying now whether I was never acquainted with his Mother.
                  [L. Gal. _walks away_. Wild. _follows_.

L. _Gal_. Tempt me no more! what dull unwary Flame
Possest me all this while! Confusion on thee,   [_In Rage_.
And all the Charms that dwell upon thy Tongue.
Diseases ruin that bewitching Form,
That with the soft feign'd Vows debaucht my Heart.

Sir _Char_. Heavens! can I yet endure!   [_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. By all that's good, I'll marry instantly;
Marry, and save my last Stake, Honour, yet,
Or thou wilt rook me out of all at last.

_Wild_. Marry! thou canst not do a better thing;
There are a thousand Matrimonial <DW2>s,
Fine Fools of Fortune,
Good-natur'd Blockheads too, and that's a wonder.

L. _Gal_. That will be manag'd by a Man of Wit.

_Wild_. Right.

L. _Gal_. I have an eye upon a Friend of yours.

_Wild_. A Friend of mine! then he must be my Cuckold.

Sir _Char_. Very fine! can I endure yet more?    [_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. Perhaps it is your Uncle.

_Wild_. Hah, my Uncle!
                 [_Sir_ Charles _makes up to 'em_.

Sir _Anth_. Hah, my _Charles_! why, well said, _Charles_, he bore up
briskly to her.

Sir _Char_. Ah, Madam, may I presume to tell you--

Sir _Anth_. Ah, Pox, that was stark naught! he begins like a Fore-man
o'th' Shop, to his Master's Daughter.

_Wild_. How, _Charles Meriwill_ acquainted with my Widow!

Sir _Char_. Why do you wear that scorn upon your Face?
I've nought but honest meaning in my Passion,
Whilst him you favour so profanes your Beauties,
In scorn of Marriage and Religious Rites,
Attempts the ruin of your sacred Honour.

L. _Gal_. Hah, _Wilding_ boast my Love!   [_Aside_.

Sir _Anth_. The Devil take him, my Nephew's quite spoil'd!
Why, what a Pox has he to do with Honour now?

L. _Gal_. Pray leave me, Sir.--

_Wild_. Damn it, since he knows all, I'll boldly own my flame.
You take a liberty I never gave you, Sir.

Sir _Char_. How, this from thee! nay, then I must take more.
And ask you where you borrow'd that Brutality,
T' approach that Lady with your saucy Passion.

Sir _Anth_. Gad, well done, _Charles_! here must be sport anon.

_Wild_. I will not answer every idle Question.

Sir _Char_. Death, you dare not.

_Wild_. How, dare not!

Sir _Char_. No, dare not; for if you did--

_Wild_. What durst you, if I did?

Sir _Char_. Death, cut your Throat, Sir.
                 [_Taking hold on him roughly_.

Sir _Anth_. Hold, hold, let him have fair play, and then curse him that
parts ye.   [_Taking 'em asunder, they draw_.

L. _Gal_. Hold, I command ye, hold!

Sir _Char_. There rest my Sword to all Eternity.
                          [_Lays his Sword at her Feet_.

L. _Gal_. Now I conjure ye both, by all your Honour,
If you were e'er acquainted with that Virtue,
To see my Face no more,
Who durst dispute your Interest in me thus,
As for a common Mistress, in your Drink.

    [_She goes out, and all but_ Wild. _Sir_ Anth. _and_
   _Sir Char, who stands sadly looking after her_.

Sir _Anth_. A Heavenly Girl!--Well, now she's gone, by George, I am for
disputing your Title to her by dint of Sword.

Sir _Char_. I wo'not fight.

_Wild_. Another time will decide it, Sir.
                                  [Wild, _goes out_.

Sir _Anth_. After your whining Prologue, Sir, who the Devil would have
expected such a Farce?--Come, _Charles_, take up thy sword, _Charles_;
and d'ye hear forget me this Woman.--

Sir _Char_. Forget her, Sir! there never was a thing so excellent!

Sir _Anth_. You lye, Sirrah, you lye, there's a thousand
As fair, as young, and kinder by this day.
We'll into th' Country, _Charles_, where every Grove
Affords us rustick Beauties,
That know no Pride nor Painting,
And that will take it and be thankful, _Charles_;
Fine wholesom Girls that fall like ruddy Fruit,
Fit for the gathering, _Charles_.

Sir _Char_. Oh, Sir, I cannot relish the coarse Fare.
But what's all this, Sir, to my present Passion?

Sir _Anth_. Passion, Sir! you shall have no Passion, Sir.

Sir _Char_. No Passion, Sir! shall I have Life and Breath?

Sir _Anth_. It may be not, Sirrah, if it be my will and pleasure.
--Why how now! saucy Boys be their own Carvers?

_Sir Char_. Sir, I am all Obedience.   [Bowing and sighing.

Sir _Anth_. Obedience! Was ever such a Blockhead! Why then, if I command
it, you will not love this Woman?

Sir _Char_. No, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. No, Sir! But I say, Yes, Sir, love her me; and love her me
like a Man too, or I'll renounce ye, Sir.

Sir _Char_. I've try'd all ways to win upon her Heart,
Presented, writ, watcht, fought, pray'd, kneel'd, and wept.

Sir _Anth_. Why, there's it now; I thought so: kneel'd
and wept! a Pox upon thee--I took thee for a prettier Fellow--
You shou'd have huft and bluster'd at her door,
Been very impudent and saucy, Sir,
Leud, ruffling, mad; courted at all hours and seasons;
Let her not rest, nor eat, nor sleep, nor visit.
Believe me, _Charles_, Women love Importunity.
Watch her close, watch her like a Witch, Boy,
Till she confess the Devil in her,--Love.

Sir _Char_. I cannot, Sir,
Her Eyes strike such an awe into my Soul--

Sir _Anth_. Strike such a Fiddle-stick.--Sirrah, I say, do't; what, you
can towse a Wench as handsomely--You can be leud enough upon occasion. I
know not the Lady, nor her Fortune; but I'm resolv'd thou shalt have her,
with practising a little Courtship of my Mode.--Come--Come, my Boy
_Charles_, since thou must needs be doing, I'll shew thee how to go a
Widow-wooing.



ACT II.


SCENE I. _A Room_.

    _Enter_ Charlot, Foppington, _and_ Clacket.

_Charl_. Enough, I've heard enough of _Wilding's_ Vices, to know I am
undone.
           [_Weeps_.
--_Galliard_ his Mistress too? I never saw her, but I have heard her
fam'd for Beauty, Wit, and Fortune: That Rival may be dangerous.

_Fop_. Yes, Madam, the fair, the young, the witty Lady _Galliard_, even
in the height of his Love to you; nay, even whilst his Uncle courts her
for a Wife, he designs himself for a Gallant.

_Charl_. Wondrous Inconstancy and Impudence!

Mrs. _Clack_. Nay, Madam, you may rely upon Mr. _Foppington's_
Information; therefore if you respect your Reputation, retreat in time.

_Charl_. Reputation! that I forfeited when I ran away with your Friend,
Mr. _Wilding_.

Mrs. _Clack_. Ah, that ever I shou'd live to see
                                              [_Weeps_]
the sole Daughter and Heir of Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, ran away with one
of the leudest Heathens about Town!

_Charl_. How, your Friend, Mr. _Wilding_, a Heathen; and with you too,
Mrs. _Clacket_! that Friend, Mr. _Wilding_, who thought none so worthy as
Mrs. _Clacket_, to trust with so great a Secret as his flight with me; he
a Heathen!

Mrs. _Clack_. Ay, and a poor Heathen too, Madam. 'Slife, if you must
marry a Man to buy him Breeches, marry an honest Man, a Religious Man, a
Man that bears a Conscience, and will do a Woman some Reason--Why, here's
Mr. _Foppington_, Madam; here's a Shape, here's a Face, a Back as strait
as an Arrow, I'll warrant.

_Charl_. How! buy him Breeches! Has _Wilding_ then no Fortune?

_Fop_. Yes, Faith, Madam, pretty well; so, so, as the Dice run; and now
and then he lights upon a Squire, or so, and between fair and foul Play,
he makes a shift to pick a pretty Livelihood up.

_Charl_. How! does his Uncle allow him no present Maintenance?

_Fop_. No, nor future Hopes neither: Therefore, Madam, I hope you will
see the Difference between him and a Man of Parts, that adores you.
                                                  [Smiling and bowing.

_Charl_. If I find all this true you tell me, I shall know how to value
my self and those that love me.--This may be yet a Rascal.

    _Enter Maid_.

_Maid_. Mistress, Mr. _Wilding's_ below.
                                  [_Exit_.

_Fop_. Below! Oh, Heaven, Madam, do not expose me to his Fury, for being
too zealous in your Service.
                        [_In great Disorder_.

_Charl_. I will not let him know you told any thing, Sir.

_Fop_. Death! to be seen here, would expose my Life.
                                    [_To_ Clacket.

Mrs. _Clack_. Here, here, step out upon the Stair-case, and slip
into my Chamber.
                    [_Going out, returns in fright_.

_Fop_. Owns, he's here; lock the Door fast; let him not enter.

Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, Heavens, I have not the Key! hold it, hold it fast,
sweet, sweet Mr. _Foppington_. Oh, should there be Murder done, what a
Scandal wou'd that be to the House of a true Protestant!
                                                   [_Knocks_.

_Charl_. Heavens! what will he say or think, to see me shut in with a
Man?

Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, I'll say you're sick, asleep, or out of Humour.

_Charl_. I'd give the World to see him.    [_Knocks_.

_Wild_. [_Without_,] _Charlot, Charlot_! am I deny'd an entrance? By
Heaven, I'll break the Door.
                [_Knocks again_; <DW2>. _still holding it_.

_Fop_. Oh, I'm a dead Man, dear Clacket!    [_Knocking still_.

Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, hold, Sir, Mrs. _Charlot_ is very sick.

_Wild_. How, sick, and I kept from her!

Mrs. _Clack_. She begs you'll come again an Hour hence.

_Wild_. Delay'd! by Heaven, I will have entrance.

_Fop_. Ruin'd! undone! for if he do not kill me, he may starve me.

Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, he will not break in upon us! Hold, Sir, hold a little;
Mrs. _Charlot_ is just--just--shifting her self, Sir; you will not be so
uncivil as to press in, I hope, at such a Time.

_Charl_. I have a fine time on't, between ye, to have him think I am
stripping my self before Mr. _Foppington_--Let go, or I'll call out and
tell him all.

    [Wild, _breaks open the Door and rushes in_: <DW2>. _stands
    close up at the entrance till he is past him, then venturing
    to slip out, finds_ Wild, _has made fast the Door: so he is
    forc'd to return again and stand close up behind_ Wild.
    _with signs of Fear_.

_Wild_. How now, _Charlot_, what means this new Unkindness? what, not a
Word?

_Charl_. There is so little Musick in my Voice, you do not care to hear
it: you have been better entertain'd, I find, mightily employ'd, no
doubt.

_Wild_. Yes, faith, and so I have, _Charlot_: damn'd Business, that Enemy
to Love, has made me rude.

_Charl_. Or that other Enemy to Love, damn'd Wenching.

_Wild_. Wenching! how ill hast thou tim'd thy Jealousy! What Banker, that
to morrow is to pay a mighty Sum, wou'd venture out his Stock to day in
little Parcels, and lose his Credit by it?

_Charl_. You wou'd, perfidious as you are, though all your Fortune, all
your future Health, depended on that Credit.
                                    [_Angry_.

_Wild_. So, hark ye, Mrs. Clacket, you have been prating I find in my
Absence, giving me a handsom Character to _Charlot_--You hate any good
thing shou'd go by your own Nose.    [_Aside to_ Clacket.

Mrs. _Clack_. By my Nose, Mr. _Wilding_! I defy you: I'd have you to
know, I scorn any good thing shou'd go by my Nose in an uncivil way.

_Wild_. I believe so.

Mrs. _Clack_. Have I been the Confident to all your Secrets this three
years, in Sickness and in Health, for richer, for poorer; conceal'd the
Nature of your wicked Diseases, under the honest Name of Surfeits; call'd
your filthy Surgeons, Mr. Doctor, to keep up your Reputation; civilly
receiv'd your t'other end of the Town young Relations at all Hours--

_Wild_. High!

Mrs. _Clack_. Been up with you, and down with you early and late, by
Night and by Day; let you in at all Hours, drunk and sober, single and
double; and civilly withdrawn, and modestly shut the Door after me?

_Wild_. What! The Storm's up, and the Devil cannot lay it.

Mrs. _Clack_. And I am thus rewarded for my Pains!
                                     [_Weeps_.

_Wild_. So Tempests are allay'd by Showers of Rain.

Mrs. _Clack_. That I shou'd be charg'd with speaking ill of you, so
honest, so civil a Gentleman--

_Charl_. No, I have better Witness of your Falshood.

_Fop_. Hah, 'Sdeath, she'll name me!

_Wild_. What mean you, my _Charlot_? Do you not think I love you?

_Charl_. Go ask my Lady _Galliard_, she keeps the best Account of all
your Sighs and Vows, And robs me of my dearest softer Hours.
                                                   [_Kindly to him_.

Mrs. _Clack_. You cannot hold from being kind to him.    [_Aside_.

_Wild. _Galliard_! How came she by that Secret of my Life?     [_Aside_.]
Why, ay, 'tis true, I am there sometimes about an Arbitration, about a
Suit in Law, about my Uncle.

_Charl_. Ay, that Uncle too--
You swore to me you were your Uncle's Heir;
But you perhaps may chance to get him one,
If the Lady prove not cruel.

_Wild_. Death and the Devil, what Rascal has been prating to her!
                                                           [_Aside_.

_Charl_. Whilst I am reserv'd for a dead Lift, if Fortune prove unkind,
or wicked Uncles refractory: Yet I cou'd love you though you were a
Slave,
                      [_In a soft Tone to him_.
And I were Queen of all the Universe.

Mrs. _Clack_. Ay, there you spoil'd all again--you forgot your self.

_Charl_. And all the World when he looks kindly on me. But I'll take
Courage and be very angry. [_Aside_. Nor do your Perjuries rest here;
you're equally as false to _Galliard_, as to me; false for a little
Mistress of the Town, whom you've set up in spite to Quality.
                                                       [_Angry_.

Mrs. _Clack_. So, that was home and handsom.

_Wild_. What damn'd Informer does she keep in pension?

_Charl_. And can you think my Fortune and my Youth
Merits no better Treatment?    [_Angry_.
How cou'd you have the Heart to use me so?    [_Soft to him_.
I fall insensibly to Love and Fondness.    [_Aside_.

_Wild_. Ah, my dear _Charlot_! you who know my Heart, can you believe me
false?

_Charl_. In every Syllable, in every Look;
Your Vows, your Sighs, and Eyes, all counterfeit.
You said you lov'd me, where was then your Truth?
You swore you were to be your Uncle's Heir;
Where was your Confidence of me the while.
To think my Generosity so scanted,
To love you for your Fortune?
--How every Look betrays my yielding Heart!   [_Aside_.
No, since Men are grown so cunning in their
Trade of Love, the necessary Vice I'll practise too,
And chaffer with Love-Merchants for my Heart.
Make it appear you are your Uncle's Heir,
I'll marry ye to morrow.
Of all thy Cheats, that was the most unkind,
Because you thought to conquer by that Lye.
To night I'll be resolv'd.

_Wild_. Hum! to night!

_Charl_. To night, or I will think you love me for my Fortune;
Which if you find elsewhere to more advantage,
I may unpitied die--and I shou'd die
If you should prove untrue.   [Tenderly to him.

Mrs. _Clack_. There you've dasht all again.

_Wild_. I'm resolv'd to keep my Credit with her--
Here's my Hand;
This Night, _Charlot_, I'll let you see the Writings.
--But how? a Pox on him that knows for _Thomas_.   [_Aside_.

_Charl_. Hah! that Hand without the Ring!
Nay, never study for a handsom Lye.

_Wild_. Ring? Oh, ay, I left it in my Dressing-room this Morning.

_Charl_. See how thou hast inur'd thy Tongue to falshood!
Did you not send it to a certain Creature
They call _Diana_,
From off that Hand that plighted Faith to me?

_Wild_. By Heaven, 'tis Witchcraft all;
Unless this Villain _Foppington_ betray me.
Those sort of Rascals would do any thing
For ready Meat and Wine--I'll kill the Fool--hah, here!
               [_Turns quick, and sees him behind him_.

_Fop_. Here, Lord! Lord!
Where were thy Eyes, dear _Wilding_?

_Wild_. Where they have spy'd a Rascal.
Where was this Property conceal'd?

_Fop_. Conceal'd! What dost thou mean, dear _Tom_?
Why, I stood as plain as the Nose on thy Face, mun.

_Wild_. But 'tis the ungrateful Quality of all your sort to make such
base returns.
How got this Rogue Admittance, and when in,
The Impudence to tell his treacherous Lyes?

_Fop_. Admittance! why thou art stark mad: Did not I come in with you,
that is, follow'd you?

_Wild_. Whither?

_Fop_. Why, into the House, up stairs, stood behind you when you swore
you wou'd come in, and follow'd you in!

_Wild_. All this, and I not see!

_Fop_. Oh, Love's blind; but this Lady saw me, Mrs. _Clacket_ saw me--
Admittance quotha!

_Wild_. Why did you not speak?

_Fop_. Speak! I was so amaz'd at what I heard, the villanous Scandals
laid on you by some pick-thank Rogue or other, I had no Power.

_Wild_. Ay, thou know'st how I am wrong'd.

_Fop_. Oh, most damnably, Sir!

_Wild_. Abuse me to my Mistress too!

_Fop_. Oh, Villains! Dogs!

_Charl_. Do you think they have wrong'd him, Sir? For I'll believe you.

_Fop_. Do I think, Madam? Ay, I think him a Son of a Whore that said it;
and I'll cut his Throat.

Mrs. _Clack_. Well, this Impudence is a heavenly Virtue.

_Wild_. You see now, Madam, how Innocence may suffer.

_Charl_. In spite of all thy villanous dissembling, I must believe, and
love thee for my quiet.

_Wild_. That's kind; and if before to morrow I do not shew you I deserve
your Heart, kill me at once by quitting me--Farewel--I know where both my
Uncle's Will and other Writings lie, by which he made me Heir to his
whole Estate. My Craft will be in catching; which if past, Her Love
secures me the kind Wench at last.   [_Aside_.
                                  [_Goes out with_ <DW2>.

Mrs. _Clack_. What if he should not chance to keep his Word now?

_Charl_. How, if he shou'd not! by all that's good, if he shou'd not, I
am resolv'd to marry him however. We two may make a pretty Shift with
three thousand Pound a year; yet I wou'd fain be resolv'd how Affairs
stand between the old Gentleman and him. I wou'd give the World to see
that Widow too, that Lady _Galliard_.

Mrs. _Clack_. If you're bent upon't, I'll tell you what we'll do, Madam;
There's every Day mighty Feasting here at his Uncle's hard by, and you
shall disguise your self as well as you can, and so go for a Niece of
mine I have coming out of Scotland; there you will not fail of seeing my
Lady _Galliard_, though, I doubt, not Mr. _Wilding_, who is of late
discarded.

_Charl_. Enough; I am resolv'd upon this Design; let's in and practise
the northern Dialect.

                  [_Ex. both_.


SCENE II. _The Street_.

      _Enter_ Wilding _and_ Foppington.

_Wild_. But then _Diana_ took the Ring at last?

_Fop_. Greedily, but rail'd, and swore, and ranted at your
late Unkindness, and wou'd not be appeas'd.

    _Enter_ Dresswell.

_Wild. Dresswell_, I was just going to see for thee.

_Dres_. I'm glad, dear _Tom_, I'm here to serve thee.

_Wild_. And now I've found thee, thou must along with me.

_Dres_. Whither? but I'll not ask, but obey.

_Wild_. To a kind Sinner, _Frank_.

_Dres_. Pox on 'em all; prithee turn out those petty Tyrants of thy
Heart, and fit it for a Monarch, Love, dear _Wilding_, of which them
never knew'st the Pleasure yet or not above a day.

_Wild_. Not knew the Pleasure! Death, the very Essence the first Draughts
of Love. Ah, how pleasant 'tis to drink when a Man's a dry! The rest is
all but dully sipping on.

_Dres_. And yet this _Diana_, for thither thou art going, thou hast been
constant to this three or four Years.

_Wild_. A constant Keeper thou mean'st; which is indeed enough to get the
Scandal of a Coxcomb: But I know not, those sort of Baggages have a kind
of Fascination so inticing--and faith, after the Fatigues of formal
Visits to a Man's dull Relations, or what's as bad, to Women of Quality;
after the busy Afflictions of the Day, and the Debauches of the tedious
Night, I tell thee, _Frank_, a Man's best Retirement is with a soft kind
Wench. But to say Truth, I have a farther Design in my Visit now. Thou
know'st how I stand past hope of Grace, excommunicated the Kindness of my
Uncle.

_Dres_. True.

_Wild_. My leud Debauches, and being o'th' wrong Party, as he calls it,
is now become an _irreconcilable_ Quarrel, so that I having many and
hopeful Intrigues now depending, especially those of my charming Widow,
and my City-Heiress, which can by no means be carried on without that
damn'd necessary call'd ready Mony; I have stretcht my Credit, as all
young Heirs do, till 'tis quite broke. New Liveries, Coaches, and Clothes
must be had, they must, my Friend.

_Dres_. Why do'st thou not in this Extremity clap up a Match with my Lady
_Galliard_? or this young Heiress you speak of?

_Wild_. But Marriage, _Frank_, is such a Bugbear! And this old Uncle of
mine may one day be gathered together, and sleep with his Fathers, and
then I shall have six thousand Pound a Year, and the wide World before
me; and who the Devil cou'd relish these Blessings with the clog of a
Wife behind him?--But till then, Money must be had, I say.

_Fop_. Ay, but how, Sir?

_Wild_. Why, from the old Fountain, _Jack_, my Uncle; he has himself
decreed it: He tells me I must live upon my Wits, and will, _Frank_.

_Fop_. Gad, I'm impatient to know how.

_Wild_. I believe thee, for thou art out at Elbows; and when I thrive,
you show it i'th' Pit, behind the Scenes, and at Coffee-houses. Thy
Breeches give a better account of my Fortune, than Lilly with all his
Schemes and Stars.

_Fop_. I own I thrive by your influence, Sir.

_Dres_. Well, but to your Project, Friend, to which I'll set a helping
Hand, a Heart, a Sword, and Fortune.

_Wild_. You make good what my Soul conceives of you. Let's to _Diana_
then, and there I'll tell thee all.
     [_Going out, they meet_ Diana, _who enters with her
     Maid_ Betty, _and Boy, looks angrily_.
--_Diana_, I was just going to thy Lodgings!

_Dia_. Oh, las, you are too much taken up with your rich City-Heiress.

_Wild_. That's no cause of quarrel between you and I, _Diana_: you were
wont to be as impatient for my marrying, as I for the Death of my Uncle;
for your rich Wife ever obliges her Husband's Mistress; and Women of your
sort, _Diana_, ever thrive better by Adultery than Fornication.

_Dia_. Do, try to appease the easy Fool with these fine Expectations--No,
I have been too often flatter'd with the hopes of your marrying a rich
Wife, and then I was to have a Settlement; but instead of that, things go
backward with me, my Coach is vanish'd, my Servants dwindled into one
necessary Woman and a Boy, which to save Charges, is too small for any
Service; my twenty Guineas a Week, into forty Shillings; a hopeful
Reformation!

_Wild_. Patience, _Diana_, things will mend in time.

_Dia_. When, I wonder? Summer's come, yet I am still in my embroider'd
Manteau, when I'm drest, lin'd with Velvet; 'twould give one a Fever but
to look at me: yet still I am flamm'd off with hopes of a rich Wife,
whose Fortune I am to lavish.--But I see you have neither Conscience nor
Religion in you; I wonder what a Devil will become of your Soul for thus
deluding me!
                                           [_Weeps_.

_Wild_. By Heaven, I love thee!

_Dia_. Love me! what if you do? how far will that go at the Exchange for
Point? Will the Mercer take it for current Coin?--But 'tis no matter, I
must love a Wit with a Pox, when I might have had so many Fools of
Fortune: but the Devil take me, if you deceive me any longer.
                                           [_Weeping_.

_Wild_. You'll keep your word, no doubt, now you have sworn.

_Dia_. So I will. I never go abroad, but I gain new Conquests. Happy's
the Man that can approach nearest the Side-box where I sit at a Play, to
look at me; but if I deign to smile on him, Lord, how the overjoy'd
Creature returns it with a Bow low as the very Benches; Then rising,
shakes his Ears, looks round with Pride, to see who took notice how much
he was in favour with charming Mrs. _Dy_.

_Wild_. No more, come, let's be Friends, _Diana_; for you and I must
manage an Uncle of mine.

_Dia_. Damn your Projects, I'll have none of 'em.

_Wild_. Here, here's the best softner of a Woman's Heart; 'tis Gold, two
hundred Pieces: Go, lay it out, till you shame Quality into plain Silk
and Fringe.

_Dia_. Lord, you have the strangest power of persuasion! Nay, if you buy
my Peace, I can afford a Pennyworth.

_Wild_. So thou canst of anything about thee.

_Dia_. Well, your Project, my dear _Tommy_?

_Wild_. Thus then--Thou, dear _Frank_, shalt to my Uncle, tell him, that
Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, as he knows, being dead, and having left, as he
knows too, one only Daughter his whole Executrix, Mrs. _Charlot_, I have
by my civil and modest Behaviour, so won upon her Heart, that two Nights
since she left her Father's Country-house at _Lusum_ in _Kent_, in spite
of all her strict Guards, and run away with me.

_Dres_. How, wilt thou tell him of it, then?

_Wild_. Hear me--That I have hitherto secur'd her at a Friend's House
here in the City; but diligent search being now made, dare trust her
there no longer: and make it my humble Request by you, my Friend, (who
are only privy to this Secret) that he wou'd give me leave to bring her
home to his House, whose very Authority will defend her from being sought
for there.

_Dres_. Ay, Sir, but what will come of this, I say?

_Wild_. Why, a Settlement; you know he has already made me Heir to all he
has, after his decease: but for being a wicked Tory, as he calls me, he
has after the Writings were made, sign'd, and seal'd, refus'd to give 'em
in trust. Now when he sees I have made my self Master of so vast a
Fortune, he will immediately surrender; that reconciles all again.

_Dres_. Very likely; but wo't thou trust him with the Woman, Thomas.

_Wild_. No, here's _Diana_, who, as I shall bedizen, shall pass for as
substantial an Alderman's Heiress as ever fell into wicked Hands. He
never knew the right _Charlot_, nor indeed has any body ever seen her but
an old Aunt and Nurse, she was so kept up--And there, _Diana_, thou shall
have a good opportunity to lye, dissemble, and jilt in abundance, to keep
thy hand in ure. Prithee, dear _Dresswell_, haste with the News to him.

_Dres_. Faith, I like this well enough; this Project may take,
and I'll about it.
                      [_Goes out_.

_Wild_. Go, get ye home, and trick and betauder your self up like a right
City-Lady, rich, but ill-fashion'd; on with all your Jewels, but not a
Patch, ye Gypsy, nor no Spanish Paint d'ye hear.

_Dia_. I'll warrant you for my part.

_Wild_. Then before the old Gentleman, you must behave your self very
soberly, simple, and demure, and look as prew as at a Conventicle; and
take heed you drink not off your Glass at Table, nor rant, nor swear: one
Oath confounds our Plot, and betrays thee to be an arrant Drab.

_Dia_. Doubt not my Art of Dissimulation.

_Wild_. Go, haste and dress--
                 [_Ex_. Dian. Bet. _and Boy_.

    _Enter Lady_ Gall, _and_ Closet, _above in the Balcony_;
    Wild. _going out, sees them, stops, and reads a Paper_.

_Wild_. Hah, who's yonder? the Widow! a Pox upon't, now have I not power
to stir; she has a damn'd hank upon my Heart, and nothing but right down
lying with her will dissolve the Charm. She has forbid me seeing her, and
therefore I am sure will the sooner take notice of me.
                                       [_Reads_.

_Clos_. What will you put on to night, Madam? You know you are to sup at
Sir _Timothy Treat-all's_.

L. _Gal_. Time enough for that; prithee let's take a turn in this
Balcony, this City-Garden, where we walk to take the fresh Air of the
Sea-coal Smoak. Did the Footman go back, as I ordered him, to see how
_Wilding_ and Sir _Charles_ parted?

_CIos_. He did, Madam, and nothing cou'd provoke Sir _Charles_ to fight
after your Ladyship's strict Commands. Well, I'll swear he's the sweetest
natur'd Gentleman--has all the advantages of Nature and Fortune: I wonder
what Exception your Ladyship has to him.

L. _Gal_. Some small Exception to his whining Humour; but I think my
chiefest dislike is, because my Relations wish it a Match between us. It
is not hate to him, but natural contradiction. Hah, is not that _Wilding_
yonder? he's reading of a Letter sure.

_Wild_. So, she sees me. Now for an Art to make her lure me up: for
though I have a greater mind than she, it shall be all her own; the Match
she told me of this Morning with my Uncle, sticks plaguily upon my
Stomach; I must break the Neck on't, or break the Widow's Heart, that's
certain. If I advance towards the Door now, she frowningly retires; if I
pass on, 'tis likely she may call
me.
                             [_Advances_.

L. _Gal_. I think he's passing on,
Without so much as looking towards the Window.

_Clos_. He's glad of the excuse of being forbidden.

L. _Gal_. But, Closet, know'st thou not he has abus'd my Fame,
And does he think to pass thus unupbraided?
Is there no Art to make him look this way?
No Trick--Prithee feign to laugh.   [Clos. _laughs_.

_Wild_. So, I shall not answer to that Call.

L. _Gal_. He's going! Ah, Closet, my Fan!--
     [_Lets fall her Fan just as he passes by; he
     takes it up, and looks up_.
Cry mercy, Sir, I am sorry I must trouble you to bring it.

_Wild_. Faith, so am I; and you may spare my Pains, and send your Woman
for't, I'm in haste.

L. _Gal_. Then the quickest way will be to bring it.
                 [_Goes out of the Balcony with_ Closet.

_Wild_. I knew I should be drawn in one way or other.



SCENE III. _Changes to a Chamber_.

   _Enter L_. Galliard, Wilding, Closet. _To them_ Wilding,
   _delivers the Fan, and is retiring_.

L. _Gal_. Stay, I hear you're wondrous free of your Tongue, when 'tis let
loose on me.

_Wild_. Who, I, Widow? I think of no such trifles.

L. _Gal_. Such Railers never think when they're abusive; but something
you have said, a Lye so infamous!

_Wild_. A Lye, and infamous of you! impossible! What was it that I call'd
you, Wise or Honest?

L. _Gal_. How can you accuse me with the want of either?

_Wild_. Yes, of both: Had you a grain of Honesty, or intended ever to be
thought so, wou'd you have the impudence to marry an old Coxcomb, a
Fellow that will not so much as serve you for a Cloke, he is so visibly
and undeniably impotent?

L. _Gal_. Your Uncle you mean.

_Wild_. I do, who has not known the Joy of Fornication this thirty Year,
and now the Devil and you have put it into his Head to marry, forsooth.
Oh, the Felicity of the Wedding-Night!

L. _Gal_. Which you, with all your railing Rhetorick, shall not have
power to hinder.

_Wild_. Not if you can help it; for I perceive you are resolved to be a
leud incorrigible Sinner, and marry'st this seditious doting Fool my
Uncle, only to hang him out for the sign of the Cuckold, to give notice
where Beauty is to be purchas'd, for fear otherwise we should mistake,
and think thee honest.

L. _Gal_. So much for my want of Honesty; my Wit is the part of the Text
you are to handle next.

_Wild_. Let the World judge of that by this one Action: This Marriage
undisputably robs you both of your Reputation and Pleasure. Marry an old
Fool, because he's rich! when so many handsome proper younger Brothers
wou'd be glad of you.

L. _Gal_. Of which hopeful number your self are one.

_Wild_. Who, I! Bear witness, Closet; take notice I'm upon my Marriage,
Widow, and such a Scandal on my Reputation might ruin me; therefore have
a care what
you say.

L. _Gal_. Ha, ha, ha, Marriage! Yes, I hear you give it out, you are to
be married to me: for which Defamation, if I be not reveng'd, hang me.

_Wild_. Yes, you are reveng'd; I had the fame of vanquishing where'er I
laid my Seige, till I knew thee, hard-hearted thee; had the honest
Reputation of lying with the Magistrates Wives, when their Reverend
Husbands Were employ'd in the necessary Affairs of the Nation,
seditiously petitioning: and then I was esteemed; but now they look on me
as a monstrous thing, that makes honourable Love to you. Oh, hideous, a
Husband Lover! so that now I may protest, and swear, and lye my Heart
out, I find neither Credit nor Kindness; but when I beg for either, my
Lady _Galliard's_ thrown in my Dish: Then they laugh aloud, and cry, who
wou'd think it of gay, of fine Mr. _Wilding_? Thus the City She-wits are
let loose upon me, and all for you, sweet Widow: but I am resolv'd I will
redeem my Reputation again, if never seeing you, nor writing to you more,
will do it. And so farewel, faithless and scandalous honest Woman.

L. _Gal_. Stay, Tyrant.

_Wild_. I am engag'd.

L. _Gal_. You are not.

_Wild_. I am, and am resolv'd to lose no more time on a peevish Woman,
who values her Honour above her Lover.        [_He goes out_.

L. _Gal_. Go, this is the noblest way of losing thee.

_Clos_. Must I not call him back?

L. _Gal_. No, if any honest Lover come, admit him; I will forget this
Devil. Fetch me some Jewels; the Company to night at Sir Timothy's may
divert me.
              [_She sits down before her Glass_.

    _Enter_ Boy.

_Boy_. Madam, one, Sir Anthony Meriwill, wou'd speak with your Ladyship.

L. _Gal_. Admit him; sure 'tis Sir _Charles_ his Uncle; if he come to
treat a Match with me for his Nephew, he takes me in a critical Minute.
Wou'd he but leave his whining, I might love him, if 'twere but in
Revenge.

    _Enter Sir_ Anthony Meriwill _and Sir_ Charles.

_Sir. Anth_. So, I have tutor'd the young Rogue, I hope he'll learn in
time. Good Day to your Ladyship; _Charles_ [putting him forward] my
Nephew here, Madam--Sirrah--notwithstanding your Ladyship's Commands--
Look how he stands now, being a mad young Rascal!--Gad, he wou'd wait on
your Ladyship--A Devil on him, see if he'll budge now--For he's a brisk
Lover, Madam, when he once begins. A Pox on him, he'll spoil all yet.

L. _Gal_. Please you sit, Sir.

Sir _Char_. Madam, I beg your Pardon for my Rudeness.

L. _Gal_. Still whining?--
                     [_Dressing her self carelesly_.

Sir _Anth_. D'ye hear that, Sirrah? oh, damn it, beg Pardon! the Rogue's
quite out of's part.

Sir _Char_. Madam, I fear my Visit is unseasonable.

Sir _Anth_. Unseasonable! damn'd Rogue, unseasonable to a Widow?--Quite
out.

L. _Gal_. There are indeed some Ladies that wou'd be angry at an untimely
Visit, before they've put on their best Faces, but I am none of those
that wou'd be fair in spite of Nature, Sir--Put on this Jewel here.
                                                           [_To_ Clos.

Sir _Char_. That Beauty needs no Ornament, Heaven has been too bountiful.

Sir _Anth_. Heaven! Oh Lord, Heaven! a puritanical Rogue, he courts her
like her Chaplain.    [_Aside, vext_.

L. _Gal_. You are still so full of University Complements--

Sir _Anth_. D'ye hear that, Sirrah?--Ay, so he is, indeed, Madam--To her
like a Man, ye Knave.    [_Aside to him_.

Sir _Char_. Ah, Madam, I am come--

Sir _Anth_. To shew your self a Coxcomb.

L. _Gal_. To tire me with Discourses of your Passion--
Fie, how this Curl fits!
                     [Looking in the Glass.

Sir _Char_. No, you shall hear no more of that ungrateful Subject.

Sir _Anth_. Son of a Whore, hear no more of Love, damn'd Rogue! Madam, by
George, he lyes; he does come to speak of Love, and make Love, and to do
Love, and all for Love--Not come to speak of Love, with a Pox! Owns, Sir,
behave your self like a Man; be impudent, be saucy, forward, bold,
touzing, and leud, d'ye hear, or I'll beat thee before her: why, what a
Pox!    [_Aside to him, he minds it not_.

Sir _Char_. Finding my Hopes quite lost in your unequal Favours to young
_Wilding_, I'm quitting of the Town.

L. _Gal_. You will do well to do so--lay by that Necklace, I'll wear
Pearl to day.    [_To_ Clos.

Sir _Anth_. Confounded Blockhead!--by George, he lyes again, Madam. A
Dog, I'll disinherit him. [_Aside_.] He quit the Town, Madam! no, not
whilst your Ladyship is in it, to my Knowledge. He'll live in the Town,
nay, in the Street where you live; nay, in the House; nay, in the very
Bed, by George; I've heard him a thousand times swear it. Swear it now,
Sirrah: look, look, how he stands now! Why, dear _Charles_, good Boy,
swear a little, ruffle her, and swear, damn it, she shall have none but
thee. [_Aside to him_.] Why, you little think, Madam, that this Nephew
of mine is one of the maddest Fellows in all Devonshire.

L. _Gal_. Wou'd I cou'd see't, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. See't! look ye there, ye Rogue--Why, 'tis all his Fault,
Madam. He's seldom sober; then he has a dozen Wenches in pay, that he may
with the more Authority break their Windows. There's never a Maid within
forty Miles of Meriwill-Hall to work a Miracle on, but all are Mothers.
He's a hopeful Youth, I'll say that for him.

Sir _Char_. How I have lov'd you, my Despairs shall witness: for I will
die to purchase your Content.
                              [_She rises_.

Sir _Anth_. Die, a damn'd Rogue! Ay, ay, I'll disinherit him: A Dog, die,
with a Pox! No, he'll be hang'd first, Madam.

Sir _Char_. And sure you'll pity me when I'm dead.

Sir _Anth_. A curse on him; pity, with a Pox. I'll give him ne'er a
Souse.

L. _Gal_. Give me that Essence-bottle.    [_To_ Clos.

Sir _Char_. But for a Recompence of all my Sufferings--

L. _Gal_. Sprinkle my Handkerchief with Tuberose.    [_To_ Clos.

Sir _Char_. I beg a Favour you'd afford a Stranger.

L. _Gal_. Sooner, perhaps. What Jewel's that?    [_To_ Clos.

_Clos_. One Sir _Charles Merwill_--

L. _Gal_. Sent, and you receiv'd without my Order!
No wonder that he looks so scurvily.
Give him the Trifle back to mend his Humour.

Sir _Anth_. I thank you, Madam, for that Reprimand. Look in that Glass,
Sir, and admire that sneaking Coxcomb's Countenance of yours: a pox on
him, he's past Grace, lost, gone: not a Souse, not a Groat; good b'ye to
you, Sir. Madam, I beg your Pardon; the next time I come a wooing, it
shall be for my self, Madam, and I have something that will justify it
too; but as for this Fellow, if your Ladyship have e'er a small Page at
leisure, I desire he may have Order to kick him down Stairs. A damn'd
Rogue, to be civil now, when he shou'd have behav'd himself handsomely!
Not an Acre, not a Shilling--buy Sir Softhead.
                       [_Going out meets Wild, and returns_.]
Hah, who have we here, hum, the fine mad Fellow? so, so, he'll swinge
him, I hope; I'll stay to have the pleasure of seeing it done.

    _Enter_ Wilding, _brushes by Sir_ Charles.

_Wild_. I was sure 'twas Meriwill's Coach at Door.
                                 [_Aside_.

Sir _Char_. Hah, _Wilding_!

Sir _Anth_. Ay, now, Sir, here's one will waken ye, Sir.
                              [_To Sir_ Char.

_Wild_. How now, Widow, you are always giving Audience to Lovers, I see.

Sir _Char_. You're very free, Sir.

_Wild_. I am always so in the Widow's Lodgings, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. A rare Fellow!

Sir _Char_. You will not do't elsewhere?

_Wild_. Not with so much Authority.

Sir _Anth_. An admirable Fellow! I must be acquainted with him.

Sir _Char_. Is this the Respect you pay Women of her Quality?

_Wild_. The Widow knows I stand not much upon Ceremonies.

Sir _Anth_. Gad, he shall be my Heir.   [_Aside still_.

L. _Gal_. Pardon him, Sir, this is his Cambridge Breeding.

Sir _Anth_. Ay, so 'tis, so 'tis, that two Years there quite spoil'd him.

L. _Gal_. Sir, if you've any further Business with me, speak it; if not,
I'm going forth.

Sir _Char_. Madam, in short--

Sir _Anth_. In short to a Widow, in short! quite lost.

Sir _Char_. I find you treat me ill for my Respect;
And when I court you next,
I will forget how very much I love you.

Sir _Anth_. Sir, I shall be proud of your farther Acquaintance; for I
like, love, and honour you.
                             [_To_ Wild.

_Wild_. I'll study to deserve it, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. Madam, your Servant. A damn'd sneaking Dog, to be civil and
modest with a Pox!
                  [_Ex. Sir_ Char, _and Sir_ Anth.

L. _Gal_. See if my Coach be ready.
                               [_Ex_. CIos.

_Wild_. Whether are you janting now?

L. _Gal_. Where you dare not wait on me, to your Uncle's to Supper.

_Wild_. That Uncle of mine pimps for all the Sparks of his Party;
There they all meet and bargain without Scandal:
<DW2>s of all sorts and sizes you may chuse,
Whig-land offers not such another Market.

    _Enter_ Closet.

_Clos_. Madam, here's Sir _Timothy Treat-all_ come to wait on your
Ladyship to Supper.

_Wild_. My Uncle! Oh, damn him, he was born to be my Plague: not--
Disinheriting me had not been so great a Disappointment; and if he sees
me here, I ruin all the Plots I've laid for him. Ha, he's here.

    _Enter Sir_ Tim.

Sir _Tim_. How, my Nephew Thomas here!

_Wild_. Madam, I find you can be cruel too,
Knowing my Uncle has abandon'd me.

Sir _Tim_. How now, Sir, what's your Business here?

_Wild_. I came to beg a Favour of my Lady _Galliard_, Sir, knowing her
Power and Quality here in the City.

Sir _Tim_. How a Favour of my Lady _Galliard_! The Rogue said indeed he
would cuckold me. [_Aside_.] Why, Sir, I thought you had been taken up
with your rich Heiress?

_Wild_. That was my Business now, Sir: Having in my possession the
Daughter and Heir of Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, I would have made use of the
Authority of my Lady _Galliard's_ House to have secur'd her, till I got
things in order for our Marriage; but my Lady, to put me off, cries I
have an Uncle.

L. _Gal_. A well contrived Lye.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Well, I have heard of your good Fortune; and however a
Reprobate thou hast been, I'll not shew my self so undutiful an Uncle, as
not to give the Gentlewoman a little House-room: I heard indeed she was
gone a week ago, And, Sir, my House is at your Service.

_Wild_. I humbly thank you, Sir. Madam, your Servant. A pox upon him and
his Association.
                                        [_Goes out_.

Sir _Tim_. Come, Madam, my Coach waits below.

                                        [_Exit_.



ACT III.


SCENE I. _A Room_.

    _Enter Sir_ Timothy Treat-all, _and_ Jervice.

Sir _Tim_. Here, take my Sword, _Jervice_. What have you inquir'd, as I
directed you, concerning the rich Heiress, Sir _Nicholas Get-all's_
Daughter?

_Jer_. Alas, Sir, inquir'd! why, 'tis all the City-News that she's run
away with one of the maddest Tories about Town.

Sir _Tim_. Good Lord! Ay, ay, 'tis so; the plaguy Rogue my Nephew has got
her. That Heaven shou'd drop such Blessings in the Mouths of the wicked!
Well, _Jervice_, what Company have we in the House, _Jervice_?

_Jer_. Why, truly, Sir, a fine deal, considering there's no Parliament.

Sir _Tim_. What Lords have we, _Jervice_?

_Jer_. Lords, Sir, truly none.

Sir _Tim_. None! what, ne'er a Lord! some mishap will befall me, some
dire mischance! Ne'er a Lord! ominous, ominous! our Party dwindles daily.
What, nor Earl, nor Marquess, nor Duke, nor ne'er a Lord! Hum, my Wine
will lie most villanously upon my Hands to Night. _Jervice_, what, have
we store of Knights and Gentlemen?

_Jer_. I know not what Gentlemen there be, Sir; but there are Knights,
Citizens, their Wives and Daughters.

Sir _Tim_. Make us thankful for that; our Meat will not lie upon our
Hands then, _Jervice_: I'll say that for our little Londoners, they are
as tall Fellows at a well-charg'd Board as any in Christendom.

_Jer_. Then, Sir, there's Nonconformist-Parsons.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, then we shall have a clear Board; for your true
Protestant Appetite in a Lay-Elder, does a Man's Table Credit.

_Jer_. Then, Sir, there's Country Justices and Grand-Jury-Men.

Sir _Tim_. Well enough, well enough, _Jervice_.

    _Enter Mrs_. Sensure.

_Sen_. An't like your Worship, Mr. _Wilding_ is come in with a Lady
richly drest in Jewels, mask'd, in his Hand, and will not be deny'd
speaking with your Worship.

Sir _Tim_. Hah, rich in Jewels! this must be she. My Sword again,
_Jervice_.--Bring 'em up, _Sensure_.--Prithee how do I look to Night,
_Jervice_?
                           [_Setting himself_.

_Jer_. Oh, most methodically, Sir.

    _Enter_ Wild, _with_ Diana, _and_ Betty.

_Wild_. Sir, I have brought into your kind protection the richest Jewel
all London can afford, fair Mrs. _Charlot Gett-all_.

Sir _Tim_. Bless us, she's ravishing fair! Lady, I had the honour of
being intimate with your worthy Father. I think he has been dead--

_Dia_. If he catechize me much on that point, I shall spoil all.
                                                        [_Aside_.
Alas, Sir, name him not; for if you do,
                                     [_weeping_.
I'm sure I cannot answer you one Question.

_Wild_. For Heaven sake, Sir, name not her Father to her; the bare
remembrance of him kills her.   [_Aside to him_.

Sir _Tim_. Alas, poor Soul! Lady, I beg your Pardon. How soft-hearted she
is! I am in love; I find already a kind of tickling of I know not what,
run frisking through my Veins.    [_Aside_.

_Bet_. Ay, Sir, the good Alderman has been dead this twelve-month just,
and has left his Daughter here, my Mistress, three thousand Pound a Year.
                                      [_Weeping_.

Sir _Tim_. Three thousand Pound a Year! Yes, yes, I am in love.
                                                          [_Aside_.

_Bet_. Besides Money, Plate, and Jewels.

Sir _Tim_. I'll marry her out of hand, [_Aside_.] Alas, I cou'd even
weep too; but 'tis in vain. Well, Nephew, you may be gone now; for 'tis
not necessary you shou'd be seen here, d'ye see.
                             [_Pushing him out_.

_Wild_. You see, Sir, now, what Heaven has done for me; and you have
often told me, Sir, when that was kind you wou'd be so. Those Writings,
Sir, by which you were so good to make me Heir to all your Estate, you
said you wou'd put into my possession, whene'er I made it appear to you I
could live without 'em, or bring you a Wife of Fortune home.

Sir _Tim_. And I will keep my word; 'tis time enough.
                         [_Putting him out_.

_Wild_. I have, 'tis true, been wicked; but I shall now turn from my evil
ways, establish my self in the religious City, and enter into the
Association. There want but these same Writings, Sir, and your good
Character of me.

Sir _Tim_. Thou shalt have both, all in good time, Man: Go, go thy ways,
and I'll warrant thee for a good Character, go.

_Wild_. Ay, Sir, but the Writings, because I told her, Sir, I was your
Heir; nay, forc'd to swear too, before she wou'd believe me.

Sir _Tim_. Alas, alas! how shreudly thou wert put to't!

_Wild_. I told her too, you'd buy a Patent for me; for nothing woos a
City-Fortune like the hopes of a Ladyship.

Sir _Tim_. I'm glad of that; that I can settle on her presently.
                                                            [_Aside_.

_Wild_. You may please to hint something to her of my godly Life and
Conversation; that I frequent Conventicles, and am drunk no where but at
your true Protestant Consults and Clubs, and the like.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, if these will please her, I have her for certain.
                                                        [_Aside_.
Go, go, fear not my good word.

_Wild_. But the Writings, Sir--

Sir _Tim_. Am I a Jew, a Turk? Thou shalt have any thing, now I find thee
a Lad of Parts, and one that can provide so well for thy Uncle.
                                                          [_Aside_.
          [_Puts him out, and addresses himself to the Lady_.

_Wild_. Wou'd they were hang'd that trust you, that have but the art of
Legerdemain, and can open the Japan-Cabinet in your Bed-chamber, where I
know those Writings are kept. Death, what a disappointment's here! I
wou'd ha' sworn this Sham had past upon him. [_Aside_.] But, Sir, shall
I not have the Writings now?

Sir _Tim_. What, not gone yet! for shame, away; canst thou distrust thy
own natural Uncle? Fie, away, _Tom_, away.

_Wild_. A Plague upon your damn'd Dissimulation, that never failing Badge
of all your Party, there's always mischief at the bottom on't; I know ye
all; and Fortune be the Word. When next I see you, Uncle, it shall cost
you dearer.
                                        [_Exit_.

    _Enter_ Jervice.

_Jer_. An't please your Worship, Supper's almost over, and you are askt
for.

Sir _Tim_. They know I never sup; I shall come time enough to bid 'em
welcome.
                                        [_Exit_ Jer.

_Dia_. I keep you, Sir, from Supper, and better Company.

Sir _Tim_. Lady, Were I a Glutton, I cou'd be satisfy'd
With feeding on those two bright starry Eyes.

_Dia_. You are a Courtier, Sir; we City-Maids do seldom hear such
Language; in which you shew your kindness to your Nephew, more than your
thoughts of what my
Beauty merits.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, how innocent she is! [_Aside_.] My Nephew,
Madam? yes, yes, I cannot chuse but be wondrous kind upon his score.

_Dia_. Nay, he has often told me, you were the best of Uncles, and he
deserves your goodness, so hopeful a young Gentleman.

Sir _Tim_. Wou'd I cou'd see't.    [_Aside_.

_Dia_. So modest.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, ask my Maids.    [_Aside_.

_Dia_. So civil.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, to my Neighbours Wives. [_Aside_.] But so, Madam, I
find by this high Commendation of my Nephew, your Ladyship has a very
slender opinion of your devoted Servant the while: or else, Madam, with
this not disagreeable Face and Shape of mine, six thousand Pound a year,
and other Virtues and Commodities that shall be nameless, I see no reason
why I shou'd not beget an Heir of my own Body, had I the helping hand of
a certain victorious Person in the World, that shall be nameless.
                       [_Bowing and smirking_.

_Dia_. Meaning me, I am sure; if I shou'd marry him now, and disappoint
my dear Inconstant with an Heir of his own begetting, 'twou'd be a most
wicked Revenge for past Kindnesses.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. I know your Ladyship is studying now who this victorious
Person shou'd be, whom I dare not name: but let it suffice, she is,
Madam, within a Mile of an Oak.

_Dia_. No, Sir, I was considering, if what you say be true, How
unadvisedly I have lov'd your Nephew, Who swore to me he was to be your
Heir.

Sir _Tim_. My Heir, Madam! am I so visibly old to be so desperate?
No, I'm in my years of desires and discretion,
And I have thoughts, durst I but utter 'em;
But modestly say, Mum--

_Dia_. I took him for the hopefullest Gentleman--

Sir _Tim_. Let him hope on, so will I; and yet, Madam, in consideration
of your Love to him, and because he is my Nephew, young, handsome, witty,
and so forth, I am content to be so much a Parent to him, as if Heaven
please,--to see him fairly hang'd.

_Dia_. How, Sir!    [_In amaze_.

Sir _Tim_. He has deserv'd it, Madam: First, for lampooning the Reverend
City with its noble Government, with the Right Honourable Gown-men;
libelling some for Feasting, and some for Fasting, some for Cuckolds, and
some for Cuckold-makers; charging us with all the seven deadly Sins, the
Sins of our Fore-fathers, adding seven score more to the number; the Sins
of Forty-One reviv'd again in Eighty-One, with Additions and Amendments;
for which, though the Writings were drawn, by which I made him my whole
Executor, I will disinherit him. Secondly, Madam, he deserves hanging for
seducing, and most feloniously bearing away a young City-Heiress.

_Dia_. Undone, undone! Oh, with what Face can I return again!
What Man of Wealth or Reputation, now
Will think me worth the owning!
                         [_Feigns to weep_.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, yes, Madam, there are honest, discreet, religious, and
true Protestant Knights in the City, that wou'd be proud to dignify and
distinguish so worthy a Gentlewoman.
                              [Bowing and smiling.

_Bet_. Look to your hits, and take fortune by the forelock, Madam.
                                                           [_Aside_.
--Alas, Madam, no Knight, and poor too!

Sir _Tim_. As a Tory Poet.

_Bet_. Well, Madam, take Comfort; if the worst come to the worst, you
have Estate enough for both.

_Dia_. Ay, Betty, were he but honest, Betty.
                                        [_Weeping_.

Sir _Tim_. Honest! I think he will not steal; but for his Body, the Lord
have mercy upon't, for he has none.

_Dia_. 'Tis evident, I am betray'd, abus'd;
 H'as lookt and sigh'd, and talkt away my Heart;
H'as sworn, and vow'd, and flatter'd me to ruin.
                                [_Weeping_.

Sir _Tim_. A small fault with him; he has flatter'd and
sworn me out of many a fair Thousand: why, he has no
more Conscience than a Politician, nor no more Truth
than a Narrative (under the Rose).

_Dia_. Is there no Truth nor Honesty i'th' World?

Sir _Tim_. Troth, very little, and that lies all i'th' City amongst us
sober Magistrates.

_Dia_. Were I a Man, how wou'd I be reveng'd!

Sir _Tim_. Your Ladyship might do it better as you are
were I worthy to advise you.

_Dia_. Name it.

Sir _Tim_. Why, by marrying your Ladyship's most assur'd Friend, and most
humble Servant, _Timothy Treat-all_ of London, Alderman.
                                    [_Bowing_.

_Bet_. Ay, this is something, Mistress; here's Reason.

_Dia_. But I have given my Faith and Troth to _Wilding, Betty_.

Sir _Tim_. Faith and Troth! We stand upon neither Faith nor Troth in the
City, Lady. I have known an Heiress married and bedded, and yet with the
Advice of the wiser Magistrates, has been unmarried and consummated anew
with another, so it stands with our Interest: 'tis Law by Magna Charta.
Nay, had you married my ungracious Nephew, we might by this our Magna
Charta have hang'd him for a Rape.

_Dia_. What, though he had my Consent?

Sir _Tim_. That's nothing, he had not ours.

_Dia_. Then shou'd I marry you by stealth, the Danger wou'd be the same.

Sir _Tim_. No, no, Madam, we never accuse one another; 'tis the poor
Rogues, the Tory Rascals we always hang. Let 'em accuse me if they
please; alas, I come off hand-smooth with Ignoramus.

    _Enter_ Jervice.

_Jer_. Sir, there's such a calling for your Worship! They are all very
merry, the Glasses go briskly about.

Sir _Tim_. Go, go, I'll come when all the Healths are past; I love no
Healths.

_Jer_. They are all over, Sir, and the Ladies are for dancing; so they
are all adjourning from the Dining-room hither, as more commodious for
that Exercise. I
think they're coming, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Hah, coming! Call _Sensure_ to wait on the Lady to her
Apartment.--

    [_Enter_ Sensure.]

And, Madam, I do most heartily recommend my most humble Address to your
most judicious Consideration, hoping you will most vigorously, and with
all your might, maintain the Rights and Privileges of the Honourable
City; and not suffer the Force or Persuasion of any Arbitrary Lover
whatsoever, to subvert their antient and Fundamental Laws, by seducing
and forcibly bearing away so rich and so illustrious a Lady: and, Madam,
we will unanimously stand by you with our Lives and Fortunes.--This I
learnt from a Speech at the Election of a Burgess.   [_Aside_.

    [_Leads her to the Door; She goes out with_ Betty _and_ Sensure.
    _Enter Musick playing, Sir_ Anthony Meriwill _dancing
    with a Lady in his Hand, Sir_ Charles with Lady_
    Galliard, _several other Women and Men_.

Sir _Anth_. [_singing_.]

     Philander _was a jolly Swain,
       And lov'd by ev'ry Lass;
     Whom when he met along the Plain,
       He laid upon the Grass.

     And here he kist, and there he play'd
       With this and then the t'other,
     Till every wanton smiling Maid
       At last became a Mother.

     And to her Swain, and to her Swain,
       The Nymph begins to yield;
     Ruffle, and breathe, then to't again,
       Thou'rt Master of the Field_.

                 [Clapping Sir _Char_, on the back.

Sir _Char_. And if I keep it not, say I'm a Coward, Uncle.

Sir _Anth_. More Wine there, Boys, I'll keep the Humour up.
                    [_Enter Bottles and Glasses_.

Sir _Tim_. How! young Meriwill so close to the Widow--Madam--
             [_Addressing himself to her. Sir_ Char. _puts him by_.

Sir _Char_. Sir Timothy, why, what a Pox dost thou bring that damn'd
Puritanical, Schismatical, Fanatical, Small-beer-Face of thine into good
Company? Give him a full Glass to the Widow's Health.

Sir _Tim_. O lack, Sir _Charles_, no Healths for me, I pray.

Sir _Char_. Hark ye, leave that cozening, canting, sanctify'd Sneer of
yours, and drink ye me like a sober loyal Magistrate, all those Healths
you are behind, from his sacred Majesty, whom God long preserve, with the
rest of the Royal Family, even down to this wicked Widow, whom Heaven
soon convert from her leud designs upon my Body.
             [_Pulling Sir_ Tim. _to kneel_.

Sir _Anth_. A rare Boy! he shall have all my Estate.

Sir _Tim_. How, the Widow a leud design upon his Body! Nay, then I am
jealous.   [_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. I a leud design upon your Body; for what, I wonder?

Sir _Char_. Why, for villanous Matrimony.

L. _Gal_. Who, I?

Sir _Char_. Who, you! yes, you.
Why are those Eyes drest in inviting Love?
Those soft bewitching Smiles, those rising Breasts,
And all those Charms that make you so adorable,
Is't not to draw Fools into Matrimony?

Sir _Anth_. How's that, how's that! _Charles_ at his Adorables and
Charms! He must have t'other Health, he'll fall to his old Dog-trot again
else. Come, come, every man his Glass; Sir Timothy, you are six behind:
Come, come, _Charles_, name 'em all.

        [_Each take a Glass, and force Sir_ Tim. _on his knees_.

Sir _Char_.--Not bate ye an Ace, Sir. Come, his Majesty's Health, and
Confusion to his Enemies.
        [_They go to force his Mouth open to drink_.

Sir _Tim_. Hold, Sir, hold, if I must drink, I must; but this is very
arbitrary, methinks.
        [_Drinks_.

Sir _Anth_. And now, Sir, to the Royal Duke of Albany. Musick, play a
Scotch Jig.
        [_Music plays, they drink_.

Sir _Tim_. This is mere Tyranny.

    _Enter_ Jervice.

_Jer_. Sir, there is alighted at the Gate a Person of Quality, as appears
by his Train, who give him the Title of a Lord.

Sir _Tim_. How, a strange Lord! Conduct him up with Ceremony, _Jervice_--
'Ods so, he's here!

    _Enter_ Wilding _in disguise_, Dresswell, _and Footmen and Pages_.

_Wild_. Sir, by your Reverend Aspect, you shou'd be the renown'd Mester
de Hotel.

Sir _Tim_. Mater de Otell! I have not the Honour to know any of that
Name, I am call'd Sir _Timothy Treat-all_.
                                     [_Bowing_.

_Wild_. The same, Sir; I have been bred abroad, and thought all Persons
of Quality had spoke French.

Sir _Tim_. Not City Persons of Quality, my Lord.

_Wild_. I'm glad on't, Sir; for 'tis a Nation I hate, as indeed I do all
Monarchies.

Sir _Tim_. Hum! hate Monarchy! Your Lordship is most welcome.
                                                         [_Bows_.

_Wild_. Unless Elective Monarchies, which so resemble a Commonwealth.

Sir _Tim_. Right, my Lord; where every Man may hope to take his turn--
Your Lordship is most singularly welcome.
                                  [_Bows low_.

_Wild_. And though I am a Stranger to your Person, I am not to your Fame,
amongst the sober Party of the Amsterdamians, all the French Hugonots
throughout Geneva; even to Hungary and Poland, Fame's Trumpet sounds your
Praise, making the Pope to fear, the rest admire you.

Sir _Anth_. I'm much oblig'd to the renowned Mobile.

_Wild_. So you will say, when you shall hear my Embassy. The Polanders by
me salute you, Sir, and have in this next new Election prick'd ye down
for their succeeding King.

Sir _Tim_. How, my Lord, prick'd me down for a King! Why, this is
wonderful! Prick'd me, unworthy me down for a King! How cou'd I merit
this amazing Glory!

_Wild_. They know, he that can be so great a Patriot to his Native
Country, where but a private Person, what must he be when Power is on his
side?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, my Lord, my Country, my bleeding Country! there's the stop
to all my rising Greatness. Shall I be so ungrateful to disappoint this
big expecting Nation? defeat the sober Party, and my Neighbours, for any
Polish Crown? But yet, my Lord, I will consider on't: Mean time my House
is yours.

_Wild_. I've brought you, Sir, the Measure of the Crown:
Ha, it fits you to a Hair.
          [_Pulls out a Ribband, measures his Head_.
You were by Heav'n and Nature fram'd that Monarch.

Sir _Anth_. Hah, at it again!
           [_Sir_ Charles _making sober Love_.
Come, we grow dull, _Charles_; where stands the Glass?
What, balk my Lady _Galliard's_ Health!
                                 [_They go to drink_.

_Wild_. Hah, _Galliard_--and so sweet on Meriwill!   [_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. If it be your business, Sir, to drink, I'll withdraw.

Sir _Char_. Gad, and I'll withdraw with you, Widow. Hark ye, Lady
_Galliard_, I am damnably afraid you cannot bear Liquor well, you are so
forward to leave good Company and a Bottle.

Sir _Tim_. Well, Gentlemen, since I have done what I never do, to oblige
you, I hope you will not refuse a Health of my Denomination.

Sir _Anth_. We scorn to be so uncivil.
                                [_All take the Glasses_.

Sir _Tim_. Why then here's a conceal'd Health that shall be nameless, to
his Grace the King of Poland.

Sir _Char_. King of Poland! Lord, Lord, how your Thoughts ramble!

Sir _Tim_. Not so far as you imagine; I know what I say, Sir.

Sir _Char_. Away with it.   [_Drink all_.

_Wild_. I see, Sir, you still keep up that English Hospitality that so
renowned our Ancestors in History.
                             [_Looking on L_. Gal.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, my Lord, my noble Guests are my Wife and Children.

_Wild_. Are you not married, then? Death, she smiles on him.
                                                       [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. I had a Wife, but rest her Soul, she's dead; and I have no
Plague left now but an ungracious Nephew, perverted with ill Customs,
Tantivy Opinions, and Court-Notions.

_Wild_. Cannot your pious Examples convert him? By Heaven, she's fond of
 him!   [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Alas, I have try'd all ways, fair and foul; nay, had settled
t'other Day my whole Estate upon him, and just as I had sign'd the
Writings, out comes me a damn'd Libel, call'd, A Warning to all good
Christians against the City-Magistrates; and I doubt he had a Hand in
Absalom and Achitophel, a Rogue. But some of our sober Party have claw'd
him home, i' faith, and given him Rhyme for his Reason.

_Wild_. Most visibly in Love! Oh, Sir, Nature, Laws, and Religion plead
for so near a Kinsman.

Sir _Tim_. Laws and Religion! Alas, my Lord, he deserves not the Name of
a Patriot, who does not for the publick Good, defy all Laws and Religion.

_Wild_. Death, I must interrupt 'em--Sir, pray what Lady's that.
                                                 [Wild, salutes her.

Sir _Tim_. I beseech your Lordship know her, 'tis my Lady _Galliard_; the
rest are all my Friends and Neighbours, true Protestants all--Well, my
Lord, how do you like my Method of doing the business of the Nation, and
carrying on the Cause with Wine, Women, and so forth?

_Wild_. High Feeding and smart Drinking, gains more to the Party, than
your smart Preaching.

Sir _Tim_. Your Lordship has hit it right: a rare Man this!

_Wild_. But come, Sir, leave serious Affairs, and oblige these fair ones.

    [_Addresses himself to_ Galliard, _Sir_ Charles _puts him by.
    Enter_ Charlot _disguised_, Clacket _and_ Foppington.

Sir _Char_. Heavens, Clacket, yonder's my False one, and that my
lovely Rival.
          [_Pointing to_ Wild, _and L_. Gal.

    _Enter_ Diana _and_ Sensure _masked, and_ Betty.

_Dia_. Dear Mrs. _Sensure_, this Favour has oblig'd me.

_Sen_. I hope you'll not discover it to his Worship, Madam.

_Wild_. By her Mien, this shou'd be handsome--
                       [_Goes to_ Diana.]
Madam, I hope you have not made a Resolution to deny me the Honour of
your Hand.

_Dia_. Ha, _Wilding_! Love can discover thee through all Disguise.

_Wild_. Hah, _Diana_! wou'd 'twere Felony to wear a Vizard. Gad, I'd
rather meet it on the King's Highway, with Stand and Deliver, than thus
encounter it on the Face of an old Mistress; and the Cheat were more
excusable--But how--
                      [_Talks aside with her_.

Sir _Char_. Nay, never frown nor chide: For thus do I intend to shew my
Authority, till I have made thee only fit for me.

_Wild_. Is't so, my precious Uncle? Are you so great a Devil in
Hypocrisy? Thus had I been serv'd, had I brought him the right Woman.
                                                             [_Aside_.

_Dia_. But do not think, dear _Tommy_, I wou'd have serv'd thee so;
married thy Uncle, and have cozen'd thee of thy Birth-right--But see,
we're observ'd.

     [Charlot _listening behind him all this while_.

_Char_. By all that's good 'tis he! that Voice is his!
     [_He going from_ Dian. _turns upon_ Charlot, _and looks_.

_Wild_. Hah, what pretty Creature's this, that has so much of _Charlot_
in her Face? But sure she durst not venture; 'tis not her Dress nor Mien.
Dear pretty Stranger, I must dance with you.

_Char_. Gued deed, and see ye shall, Sir, gen you please. Though I's not
dance, Sir, I's tell ya that noo.

_Wild_. Nor I, so we're well matcht. By Heaven, she's wondrous like her.

_Char_. By th' Mass not so kind, Sir: 'Twere gued that ene of us shou'd
dance to guid the other weel.

_Wild_. How young, how innocent and free she is! And wou'd you, fair one,
be guided by me?

_Char_. In any thing that gued is.

_Wild_. I love you extremely, and wou'd teach you to love.

_Char_. Ah, wele aday!      [_Sighs and smiles_.

_Wild_. A thing I know you do not understand.

_Char_. Gued faith, and ya're i'th' right, Sir; yet 'tis a thing I's
often hear ya gay men talk of.

_Wild_. Yes, and no doubt have been told those pretty Eyes inspired it.

_Char_. Gued deed, and so I have! Ya men make sa mickle ado about ens
Eyes, ways me, I's ene tir'd with sick-like Complements.

_Wild_. Ah, if you give us wounds, we must complain.

_Char_. Ye may ene keep out a harms way then.

_Wild_. Oh, we cannot; or if we cou'd, we wou'd not.

_Char_. Marry, and I's have ene a Song tol that tune, Sir.

_Wild_. Dear Creature, let me beg it.

_Char_. Gued faith, ya shall not, Sir, I's sing without entreaty.

               SONG.

    _Ah, Jenny, gen your Eyes do kill,
      You'll let me tell my Pain;
    Gued Faith, I lov'd against my Will,
      But wad not break my Chain.
    I ence was call'd a bonny Lad,
      Till that fair Face of yours
    Betray'd the Freedom ence I had,
      And ad my bleether Howers.

    But noo ways me like Winter looks,
      My gloomy showering Eyne,
    And on the Banks of shaded Brooks
      I pass my wearied time.
    I call the Stream that gleedeth on,
      To witness if it see,
    On all the flowry Brink along,
      A Swain so true as lee_.

_Wild_. This very Swain am I, so true and so forlorn, unless ye pity
me.--This is an excellency _Charlot_ wants, at least I never heard
her sing.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Anth_. Why, _Charles_, where stands the Woman, _Charles_?
                       [<DW2>. _comes up to_ Charlot.

_Wild_. I must speak to _Galliard_, though all my Fortunes depend on the
Discovery of my self.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Anth_. Come, come, a cooling Glass about.

_Wild_. Dear _Dresswell_, entertain _Charles Meriwill_ a little, whilst I
speak to _Galliard_.
         [_The Men go all to the drinking Table_.
By Heaven, I die, I languish for a Word!
--Madam, I hope you have not made a Vow
To speak with none but that young Cavalier.
They say, the Freedom English Ladies use,
Is, as their Beauty, great.

L. _Gal_. Sir, we are none of those of so nice and delicate a Virtue, as
Conversation can corrupt; we live in a cold Climate.

_Wild_. And think you're not so apt to be in Love,
As where the Sun shines oftner.
But you too much partake of the Inconstancy of this your fickle Climate.
                                    [_Maliciously to her_.
One day all Sun-shine, and th' encourag'd Lover
Decks himself up in glittering Robes of Hope;
And in the midst of all their boasted Finery
Comes a dark Cloud across his Mistress' Brow,
Dashes the Fool, and spoils the gaudy Show.
                 [L. Gal. _observing him nearly_.

L. _Gal_. Hah, do I not know that railing Tongue of yours?

_Wild_. 'Tis from your Guilt, not Judgment then.
I was resolv'd to be to night a Witness
Of that sworn Love you flatter'd me so often with.
By Heaven, I saw you playing with my Rival,
Sigh'd, and lookt Babies in his gloating Eyes.
When is the Assignation? When the Hours?
For he's impatient as the raging Sea,
Loose as the Winds, and amorous as the Sun,
That kisses all the Beauties of the Spring.

L. _Gal_. I take him for a sober Person, Sir.

_Wild_. Have I been the Companion of his Riots
In all the leud course of our early Youth,
Where like unwearied Bees we gather'd Flowers?
But no kind Blossom could oblige our stay,
We rifled and were gone.

L. _Gal_. Your Virtues I perceive are pretty equal;
Only his Love's the honester o'th' two.

_Wild_. Honester! that is, he wou'd owe his good Fortune
to the Parson of the Parish;
And I would be oblig'd to you alone.
He wou'd have a Licence to boast he lies with you,
And I wou'd do't with Modesty and Silence:
For Virtue's but a Name kept free from Scandal,
Which the most base of Women best preserve,
Since Jilting and Hypocrisy cheat the World best.
--But we both love, and who shall blab the Secret?
                               [_In a soft Tone_.

L. _Gal_. Oh, why were all the Charms of speaking given
To that false Tongue that makes no better use of 'em?
--I'll hear no more of your inchanting Reasons.

_Wild_. You must.

L. _Gal_. I will not.

_Wild_. Indeed you must.

L. _Gal_. By all the Powers above--

_Wild_. By all the Powers of Love you'll break your Oath,
Unless you swear this Night to let me see you.

L. _Gal_. This Night.

_Wild_. This very Night.

L. _Gal_. I'd die first--At what Hour?

      [_First turns away, then sighs and looks on him_.

_Wild_. Oh, name it; and if I fail--
                                 [_With Joy_.

L. _Gal_. I wou'd not for the World--

_Wild_. That I shou'd fail!

L. _Gal_. Not name the guilty Hour.

_Wild_. Then I through eager haste shall come too soon,
And do your Honour wrong.

L. _Gal_. My Honour! Oh, that Word!

_Wild_. Which the Devil was in me for naming.   [_Aside_.
--At Twelve.

L. _Gal_. My Women and my Servants then are up.

_Wild_. At One, or Two.

L. _Gal_. So late! 'twill be so quickly Day!

_Wild_. Ay, so it will;
That half our Business will be left unfinisht.

L. _Gal_. Hah, what do you mean? what Business?

_Wild_. A thousand tender things I have to say;
A thousand Vows of my eternal Love;
And now and then we'll kiss and--

L. _Gal_. Be extremely honest.

_Wild_. As you can wish.

L. _Gal_. Rather as I command: for should he know my wish, I were undone.
                                                             [_Aside_.

_Wild_. The Sign--

L. _Gal_. Oh, press me not--yet you may come at Midnight under my
Chamber-Window.

    [_Sir_ Char. _sees 'em so close, comes to 'em_.

Sir _Char_. Hold, Sir, hold! Whilst I am listning to the Relation of your
French Fortifications, Outworks, and Counterscarps, I perceive the Enemy
in my Quarters--My Lord, by your leave.
                    [_Puts him by, growing drunk_.

_Char_. Persuade me not; I burst with Jealousy.
                   [Wild. _turns, sees_ Clacket.

_Wild_. Death and the Devil, Clacket! then 'tis _Charlot_, and I'm
discover'd to her.

_Char_. Say, are you not a false dissembling thing?
                          [_To_ Wild. _in anger_.

_Wild_. What, my little Northern Lass translated into English!
This 'tis to practise Art in spite of Nature.
Alas, thy Vertue, Youth, and Innocence,
Were never made for Cunning,
I found ye out through all your forc'd disguise.

_Char_. Hah, did you know me then?

_Wild_. At the first glance, and found you knew me too,
And talkt to yonder Lady in revenge,
Whom my Uncle would have me marry. But to avoid
all Discourses of that nature, I came to Night in this
Disguise you see, to be conceal'd from her; that's all.

_Char_. And is that all, on Honour? Is it, Dear?

_Wild_. What, no Belief, no Faith in villanous Women?

_Char_. Yes, when I see the Writings.

_Wild_. Go home, I die if you shou'd be discover'd:
And credit me, I'll bring you all you ask.
Clacket, you and I must have an old Reckoning about
this Night's Jant of yours.   [Aside to Clacket.

Sir _Tim_. Well, my Lord, how do you like our English Beauties?

_Wild_. Extremely, Sir; and was pressing this young Lady to give us a
Song.

      [_Here is an Italian Song in two Parts_.

Sir _Tim_. I never saw this Lady before: pray who may she be, Neighbour?
                                                          [_To_ Clacket.

Mrs. _Clack_. A Niece of mine, newly come out of Scotland, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, then she dances by nature. Gentlemen and Ladies, please
you to sit, here's a young Neighbour of mine will honour us with a Dance.
             [_They all sit_; Charl. _and_ <DW2>. _dance_.
So, so; very well, very well. Gentlemen and Ladies, I am for Liberty of
Conscience, and Moderation. There's a Banquet waits the Ladies, and my
Cellars are open to the Men; but for my self, I must retire; first
waiting on your Lordship to shew you your Apartment, then leave you to
_cher entire_: and to morrow, my Lord, you and I will settle the Nation,
and will resolve on what return we will make to the noble Polanders.

    [_Exeunt all but_ Wild. Dres. _and_ <DW2>. _Sir_ Charles
    _leading out Lady_ Galliard.

Sir _Anth_. Well said, _Charles_, thou leav'st her not till she's thy
own, Boy--And Philander was a jolly Swain, &c.
                                       [_Exit singing_.

_Wild_. All things succeed above my Wish, dear _Frank_,
Fortune is kind; and more, _Galliard_ is so;
This night crowns all my Wishes.
Laboir, are all things ready for our purpose?   [_To his Footman_.

_Lab_. Dark Lanthorns, Pistols, Habits and Vizards, Sir.

_Fop_. I have provided Portmantles to carry off the Treasure.

_Dres_. I perceive you are resolv'd to make a thorow-stitcht Robbery
on't.

_Fop_. Faith, if it lie in our way, Sir, we had as good venture a Caper
under the Triple-Tree for one as well as t'other.

_Wild_. We must consider on't. 'Tis now just struck eleven; within this
Hour is the dear Assignation with _Galliard_.

_Dres_. What, whether our Affairs be finish'd or not?

_Wild_. 'Tis but at next Door; I shall return time enough for that
trivial Business.

_Dres_. A trivial Business of some six thousand pound a year?

_Wild_. Trivial to a Woman, _Frank_: no more; do you make as if you went
to bed.--Laboir, do you feign to be drunk, and lie on the Hall-table: and
when I give the sign, let me softly in.

_Dres_. Death, Sir, will you venture at such a time?

_Wild_. My Life and future Hope--I am resolv'd.
Let Politicians plot, let Rogues go on
In the old beaten Path of Forty one;
Let City Knaves delight in Mutiny,
The Rabble bow to old Presbytery;
Let petty States be to confusion hurl'd,
Give me but Woman, I'll despise the World.

                                      [_Exeunt_.



ACT IV.


SCENE I. _A Dressing-Room_.

    _Lady_ Galliard _is discover'd in an undress at her Table, Glass
    and Toilette_, Closet _attending: As soon as the Scene draws off
    she rises from the Table as disturbed and out of Humour_.

L. _Gal_. Come, leave your everlasting Chamber-maid's Chat, your dull
Road of Slandering by rote, and lay that Paint aside. Thou art fuller of
false News, than an unlicens'd Mercury.

_Clos_. I have good Proof, Madam, of what I say.

L. _Gal_. Proof of a thing impossible!--Away.

_Clos_. Is it a thing so impossible, Madam, that a Man of Mr. _Wilding's_
Parts and Person should get a City-Heiress? Such a bonne Mien, and such a
pleasant Wit!

L. _Gal_. Hold thy fluent Tattle, thou hast Tongue
Enough to talk an Oyster-Woman deaf:
I say it cannot be.
--What means the panting of my troubled Heart!
Oh, my presaging Fears! shou'd what she says prove true,
How wretched and how lost a thing am I!   [_Aside_.

_Clos_. Your Honour may say your Pleasure; but I hope
I have not liv'd to these Years to be impertinent--No,
Madam, I am none of those that run up and down the
Town a Story-hunting, and a Lye-catching, and--

L. _Gal_. Eternal Rattle, peace--
Mrs. _Charlot Gett-all_ go away with _Wilding_!
A Man of _Wilding's_ extravagant Life
Get a Fortune in the City!
Thou mightst as well have told me, a Holder-forth were married to a Nun:
There are not two such Contraries in Nature,
'Tis flam, 'tis foolery, 'tis most impossible.

_Clos_. I beg your Ladyship's Pardon, if my Discourse offend you; but all
the World knows Mrs. Clacket to be a person--

L. _Gal_. Who is a most devout Baud, a precise Procurer;
A Saint in the Spirit, and Whore in the Flesh;
A Doer of the Devil's Work in God's Name.
Is she your Informer? nay, then the Lye's undoubted--
I say once more, adone with your idle Tittle-Tattle,
--And to divert me, bid Betty sing the Song which _Wilding_ made
To his last Mistress; we may judge by that,
What little Haunts, and what low Game he follows.
This is not like the Description of a rich Citizen's Daughter
and Heir, but some common Hackney of the Suburbs.

_Clos_. I have heard him often swear she was a Gentlewoman, and liv'd
with her Friends.

L. _Gal_. Like enough, there are many of these Gentlewomen who live with
their Friends, as rank Prostitutes, as errant Jilts, as those who make
open profession of the Trade--almost as mercenary--But come, the Song.

    [_Enter_ Betty.

                  SONG.

     _In Phillis all vile Jilts are met,
     Foolish, uncertain, false, Coquette.
     Love is her constant welcome Guest,
     And still the newest pleases best.
     Quickly she likes, then leaves as soon;
     Her Life on Woman's a Lampoon.

     Yet for the Plague of human Race,
     This Devil has an Angel's Face;
     Such Youth, such Sweetness in her Look,
     Who can be Man, and not be took?
     What former Love, what Wit, what Art,
     Can save a poor inclining Heart?

     In vain a thousand Times an hour
     Reason rebels against her Power.
     In vain I rail, I curse her charms;
     One Look my feeble Rage disarms.
     There is Inchantment in her Eyes;
     Who sees 'em, can no more be wise_.

    _Enter_ Wilding, _who runs to embrace L_. Gal.

_Wild_. Twelve was the lucky Minute when we met:
Most charming of your Sex, and wisest of all Widows,
My Life, my Soul, my Heaven to come, and here!
Now I have liv'd to purpose, since at last--Oh, killing Joy!
Come, let me fold you, press you in my Arms,
And kiss you Thanks for this dear happy Night.

L. _Gal_. You may spare your Thanks, Sir, for those that will deserve
'em; I shall give you no occasion for 'em.

_Wild_. Nay, no scruples now, dearest of Dears, no more,
'Tis most unseasonable--
I bring a Heart full fraight with eager Hopes,
Opprest with a vast Load of longing Love;
Let me unlade me in that soft white Bosom,
That Storehouse of rich Joys and lasting Pleasures,
And lay me down as on a Bed of Lillies.
                       [_She breaks from him_.

L. _Gal_. You're wondrous full of Love and Rapture, Sir; but certainly
you mistake the Person you address 'em to.

_Wild_. Why, are you not my Lady _Galliard_, that very Lady _Galliard_,
who, if one may take her Word for't, loves _Wilding_? Am I not come
hither by your own Appointment; and can I have any other Business here at
this time of night, but Love, and Rapture, and--

L. _Gal_. Scandalous and vain! by my Appointment, and for so leud a
purpose; guard me, ye good Angels. If after an Affront so gross as this,
I ever suffer you to see me more, Then think me what your Carriage calls
me, An impudent, an open Prostitute, Lost to all sense of Virtue, or of
Honour.

_Wild_. What can this mean?    [_Aside_.
Oh, now I understand the Mystery.
                               [_Looking on_ Closet.
Her Woman's here, that troublesome piece of Train.
--I must remove her. Hark ye, Mrs. Closet, I had forgot to tell you, as I
came up I heard a Kinsman of yours very earnest with the Servants below,
and in great haste to speak with you.

_Clos_. A Kinsman! that's very likely indeed, and at this time of night.

_Wild_. Yes, a very near Kinsman, he said he was your Father's own
Mother's Uncle's Sister's Son; what d'ye call him?

_Clos_. Ay, what d'ye call him indeed? I shou'd be glad to hear his Name.
Alas, Sir, I have no near Relation living that I know of, the more's my
Misfortune, poor helpless Orphan that I am.
                               [_Weeps_.

_Wild_. Nay, but Mrs. Closet, pray take me right,
This Country-man of yours, as I was saying--

L. _Gal_. Chang'd already from a Kinsman to a Countryman! a plain
Contrivance to get my Woman out of the Room. Closet, as you value my
Service, stir not from hence.

_Wild_. This Countryman of yours, I say, being left Executor by your
Father's last Will and Testament, is come--Dull Waiting-woman, I wou'd be
alone with your Lady; know your Cue and retire.

_Clos_. How, Sir!

_Wild_. Learn, I say, to understand Reason when you hear it. Leave us
awhile; Love is not a Game for three to play at.
                                          [_Gives her Mony_.

_Clos_. I must own to all the World, you have convinc'd me; I ask a
thousand Pardons for my Dulness. Well, I'll be gone, I'll run; you're a
most powerful Person, the very Spirit of Persuasion--I'll steal out--You
have such a taking way with you--But I forgot my self. Well, your most
obedient Servant; whenever you've occasion, Sir, be pleas'd to use me
freely.

_Wild_. Nay, dear Impertinence, no more Complements, you see I'm busy
now; prithee be gone, you see I am busy.

_Clos_. I'm all Obedience to you, Sir--Your most obedient--

L. _Gal_. Whither are you fisking and giggiting now?

_Clos_. Madam, I am going down, and will return immediately, immediately.
                                          [_Exit_ Clos.

_Wild_. So, she's gone; Heaven and broad Gold be prais'd for the
Deliverance. And now, dear Widow, let's lose no more precious time; we
have fool'd away too much already.

L. _Gal_. This to me!

_Wild_. To you, yes, to whom else should it be? Unless being sensible you
have not Discretion enough to manage your own Affairs your self, you
resolve like other Widows, with all you're Worth to buy a Governour,
commonly call'd a Husband. I took ye to be wiser; but if that be your
Design I shall do my best to serve you--though to deal freely with you--

L. _Gal_. Trouble not your self, Sir, to make Excuses; I'm not so fond of
the Offer to take you at your Word. Marry you! a Rakeshame, who have not
Esteem enough for the Sex to believe your Mother honest--without Money or
Credit, without Land either in presenter prospect; and half a dozen
hungry Vices, like so many bauling Brats at your Back, perpetually
craving, and more chargeable to keep than twice the number of Children.
Besides, I think you are provided for; are you not married to Mrs.
_Charlot Gett-all_?

_Wild_. Married to her! Do I know her, you shou'd rather ask. What Fool
has forg'd this unlikely Lye? but suppose 'twere true, cou'd you be
jealous of a Woman I marry? Do you take me for such an Ass, to suspect I
shall love my own Wife? On the other side, I have a great Charge of
Vices, as you well observe, and I must not be so barbarous to let 'em
starve. Every body in this Age takes care to provide for their Vices,
though they send their Children a begging; I shou'd be worse than an
Infidel to neglect them. No, I must marry some stiff aukward thing or
other with an ugly Face, and a handsom Estate, that's certain: but
whoever is ordain'd to make my Fortune, 'tis you only can make me happy--
Come, do it then.

L. _Gal_. I never will.

_Wild_. Unkindly said, you must.

L. _Gal_. Unreasonable Man! because you see
I have unusual Regards for you,
Pleasure to hear, and Trouble to deny you;
A fatal yielding in my Nature toward you,
Love bends my Soul that way--
A Weakness I ne'er felt for any other;
And wou'd you be so base? and cou'd you have the Heart
To take th' advantage on't to ruin me,
To make me infamous, despis'd, loath'd, pointed at?

_Wild_. You reason false,
According to the strictest Rules of Honour,
Beauty should still be the Reward of Love,
Not the vile Merchandize of Fortune,
Or the cheap Drug of a Church-Ceremony.
She's only infamous, who to her Bed
For Interest takes some nauseous Clown she hates:
And though a Jointure or a Vow in publick
Be her Price, that makes her but the dearer Whore.

L. _Gal_. I understand not these new Morals.

_Wild_. Have Patience I say, 'tis clear:
All the Desires of mutual Love are virtuous.
Can Heav'n or Man be angry that you please
Your self, and me, when it does wrong to none?
Why rave you then on things that ne'er can be?
Besides, are we not alone, and private? who can know it?

L. _Gal_. Heaven will know't; and I--that, that's enough:
But when you are weary of me, first your Friend,
Then his, then all the World.

_Wild_. Think not that time will ever come.

L. _Gal_. Oh, it must, it will.

_Wild_. Or if it should, could I be such a Villain--
Ah cruel! if you love me as you say,
You wou'd not thus distrust me.

L. _Gal_. You do me wrong, I love you more than e'er my Tongue,
Or all the Actions of my Life can tell you--so well--
Your very Faults, how gross soe'er to me,
Have something pleasing in 'em. To me you're all
That Man can praise, or Woman can desire;
All Charm without, and all Desert within.
But yet my Virtue is more lovely still;
That is a Price too high to pay for you;
The Love of Angels may be bought too dear,
If we bestow on them what's kept for Heaven.

_Wild_. Hell and the Devil! I'll hear no more
Of this religious Stuff, this godly Nonsense.
Death, Madam, do you bring me into your Chamber to preach Virtue to me?

L. _Gal_. I bring you hither! how can you say it?
I suffer'd you indeed to come, but not
For the base end you fancy'd, but to take
A last Leave of you. Let my Heart break with Love,
I cannot be that wretched thing you'd have me;
Believe I still shall have a Kindness for you,
Always your Friend, your Mistress now no more.

_Wild_. Cozen'd, abus'd, she loves some other Man!
Dull Blockhead, not to find it out before!    [_Aside_.
--Well, Madam, may I at last believe
This is your fix'd and final Resolution?
And does your Tongue now truly speak your Heart,
That has so long bely'd it?

L. _Gal_. It does.

_Wild_. I'm glad on't. Good Night; and when I visit you again,
May you again thus fool me.
                        [_Offers to go_.

L. _Gal_. Stay but a Moment.

_Wild_. For what? to praise your Night-dress, or make
Court to your little Dog? No, no, Madam, send for Mr.
Flamfull, and Mr. Flutterbuz, Mr. Lap-fool and Mr.
Loveall; they'll do it better, and are more at leisure.

L. _Gal_. Hear me a little: You know I both despise, and hate those civil
Coxcombs, as much as I esteem and love you. But why will you be gone so
soon? and why are ye so cruel to urge me thus to part either with your
good Opinion or your Kindness? I wou'd fain keep 'em both.
                                    [_In a soft Tone_.

_Wild_. Then keep your Word, Madam.

L. _Gal_. My Word! and have I promis'd then to be
A Whore? A Whore! Oh, let me think of that!
A Man's Convenience, his leisure Hours, his Bed of Ease,
To loll and tumble on at idle times;
The Slave, the Hackney of his lawless Lust!
A loath'd Extinguisher of filthy Flames,
Made use of, and thrown by--Oh, infamous!

_Wild_. Come, come, you love me not, I see it plain;
That makes your Scruples; that, that's the Reason
You start at Words, and turn away from Shadows.
Already some pert <DW2>, some Ribbon Fool,
Some dancing Coxcomb, has supplanted me
In that unsteady treacherous Woman's Heart of yours.

L. _Gal_. Believe it if you will. Yes, let me be false, unjust,
ungrateful, any thing but a--Whore--

_Wild_. Oh, Sex on purpose form'd to plague Mankind!
All that you are, and all you do's a Lye.
False are your Faces, false your floating Hearts;
False are your Quarrels, false your Reconcilements:
Enemies without Reason, and dear without Kindness;
Your Friendship's false, but much more false your Love;
Your damn'd deceitful Love is all o'er false.

L. _Gal_. False rather are the Joys you are so fond of.
Be wise, and cease, Sir, to pursue 'em farther.

_Wild_. No, them I can never quit, but you most easily:
A Woman changeable and false as you.

L. _Gal_. Said you most easily? Oh, inhuman!
Your cruel Words have wak'd a dismal Thought;
I feel 'em cold and heavy at my Heart,
And Weakness steals upon my Soul apace;
I find I must be miserable--
I wou'd not be thought false.
       [_In a soft Tone, coming near him_.

_Wild_. Nor wou'd I think you so; give me not Cause.

L. _Gal_. What Heart can bear distrust from what it loves?
Or who can always her own Wish deny?    [_Aside_.
My Reason's weary of the unequal Strife;
And Love and Nature will at last o'ercome.
--Do you not then believe I love you?
                      [_To him in a soft Tone_.

_Wild_. How can I, while you still remain unkind?

L. _Gal_. How shall I speak my guilty Thoughts?
I have not Power to part with you; conceal my Shame, I doubt
I cannot, I fear I wou'd not any more deny you.

_Wild_. Oh heavenly Sound! Oh charming Creature!
Speak that word again, agen, agen! for ever let me hear it.

L. _Gal_. But did you not indeed? and will you never,
never love Mrs. _Charlot_, never?

_Wild_. Never, never.

_L, Gal_. Turn your Face away, and give me leave
To hide my rising Blushes: I cannot look on you.

    [_As this last Speech is speaking, she sinks into his
    Arms by degrees_.

But you must undo me if you will--
Since I no other way my Truth can prove,
--You shall see I love.
Pity my Weakness, and admire my Love.

_Wild_. All Heaven is mine, I have it in my Arms,
Nor can ill Fortune reach me any more.
Fate, I defy thee, and dull World, adieu.
In Love's kind Fever let me ever lie,
Drunk with Desire, and raving mad with Joy.

    [_Exeunt into the Bed-chamber_, Wild. _leading her
    with his Arms about her_.


SCENE II. _Changes_.

    _Another Room in Lady_ Galliard's _House_.

    Enter Sir_ Charles Meriwill _and Sir_ Anthony, _Sir_
    Charles _drunk_.

Sir _Anth_. A Dog, a Rogue, to leave her!

Sir _Char_. Why, look ye, Uncle, what wou'd you have a Man do? I brought
her to her Coach--

Sir _Anth_. To her Coach! to her Coach! Did not I put her into your Hand,
follow'd you out, wink'd, smil'd and nodded; cry'd 'bye _Charles_, 'bye
Rogue; which was as much as to say, Go home with her, _Charles_, home to
her Chamber, _Charles_; nay, as much as to say, Home to her Bed,
_Charles_; nay, as much as to say--Hum, hum, a Rogue, a Dog, and yet to
be modest too! That I shou'd bring thee up with no more Fear of God
before thy Eyes!

Sir _Char_. Nay, dear Uncle, don't break my Heart now! Why, I did
proffer, and press, and swear, and ly'd, and--but a pox on her, she has
the damn'dst wheedling way with her, as dear _Charles_, nay prithee, fie,
'tis late, to morrow, my Honour, which if you lov'd you wou'd preserve;
and such obliging Reasons.

Sir _Anth_. Reasons! Reason! a Lover, and talk of Reason! You lye,
Sirrah, you lye. Leave a Woman for Reason, when you were so finely drunk
too, a Rascal!

Sir _Char_. Why look ye, d'ye see, Uncle, I durst not trust my self alone
with her in this pickle, lest I shou'd ha' fallen foul on her.

Sir _Anth_. Why, there's it; 'tis that you shou'd have done; I am
mistaken if she be not one of those Ladies that love to be ravisht of a
Kindness. Why, your willing Rape is all the Fashion, _Charles_.

Sir _Char_. But hark ye, Uncle.

Sir _Anth_. Why, how now, Jack-sauce, what, capitulate?

Sir _Char_. Why, do but hear me, Uncle; Lord, you're so hasty! Why, look
ye, I am as ready, d'ye see, as any Man on these Occasions.

Sir _Anth_. Are you so, Sir? and I'll make you willing, or try Toledo
with you, Sir--Why, what, I shall have you whining when you are sober
again, traversing your Chamber with Arms across, railing on Love and
Women, and at last defeated, turn whipping _Tom_, to revenge your self on
the whole Sex.

Sir _Char_. My dear Uncle, come kiss me and be friends; I will be rul'd.
                                                       [_Kisses him_.

Sir _Anth_.--A most admirable good-natur'd Boy this!   [_Aside_.
Well then, dear _Charles_, know, I have brought thee now hither to the
Widow's House, with a Resolution to have thee order matters so, as before
thou quitst her, she shall be thy own, Boy.

Sir _Char_. Gad, Uncle, thou'rt a Cherubin! Introduce me, d'ye see, and
if I do not so woo the Widow, and so do the Widow, that e'er morning she
shall be content to take me for better for worse--Renounce me! Egad, I'll
make her know the Lord God from _Tom Bell_, before I have done with her.
Nay, backt by my noble Uncle, I'll venture on her, had she all Cupid's
Arrows, genus's Beauty, and Messalina's Fire, d'ye see.

Sir _Anth_. A sweet Boy, a very sweet Boy! Hum, thou art damnable
handsome to Night, _Charles_--Ay, thou wilt do't; I see a kind of
resistless Leudness about thee, a most triumphant Impudence, loose and
wanton.
                          [_Stands looking on him_.

    _Enter_ Closet.

_Clos_. Heavens, Gentlemen, what makes you here at this time of Night?

Sir _Char_. Where's your Lady?

_Clos_. Softly, dear Sir.

Sir _Char_. Why, is she asleep? Come, come, I'll wake her.
                 [_Offers to force in as to the Bed-chamber_.

_Clos_. Hold, hold, Sir; No, no, she's a little busy, Sir.

Sir _Char_. I'll have no Business done to Night, Sweetheart.

_Clos_. Hold, hold, I beseech you, Sir, her Mother's with her;
For Heaven's sake, Sir, be gone.

Sir _Char_. I'll not budge.

Sir _Anth_. No, not a Foot.

_Clos_. The City you know, Sir, is so censorious--

Sir _Char_. Damn the City.

Sir _Anth_. All the Whigs, _Charles_, all the Whigs.

Sir _Char_. In short, I am resolv'd, d'ye see, to go to the Widow's
Chamber.

Sir _Anth_. Harkye, Mrs. Closet I thought I had entirely engag'd you this
Evening.

_Clos_. I am perfectly yours, Sir; but how it happens so, her Mother
being there--Yet if you wou'd withdraw for half an hour, into my Chamber,
till she were gone--

Sir _Anth_. This is the Reason, _Charles_. Here, here's two Pieces to buy
thee a Gorget.
                             [_Gives her Money_.

Sir _Char_. And here's my two, because thou art industrious.
          [_Gives her Money, and they go out with her_.

    _Enter Lady_ Galliard _in rage, held by_ Wilding.

L. _Gal_. What have I done? Ah, whither shall I fly?
                                                [_Weeps_.

_Wild_. Why all these Tears? Ah, why this cruel Passion?

L. _Gal_. Undone, undone! Unhand me, false, forsworn;
Be gone, and let me rage till I am dead.
What shou'd I do with guilty Life about me?

_Wild_. Why, where's the harm of what we two have done?

L. _Gal_. Ah, leave me--
Leave me alone to sigh to flying Winds,
That the Infection may be borne aloft,
And reach no human Ear.

_Wild_. Cease, lovely Charmer, cease to wound me more.

L. _Gal_. Shall I survive this Shame? No, if I do,
Eternal Blushes dwell upon my Cheeks,
To tell the World my Crime.
--Mischief and Hell, what Devil did possess me?

_Wild_. It was no Devil, but a Deity;
A little gay wing'd God, harmless and innocent,
Young as Desire, wanton as Summer-breezes,
Soft as thy Smiles, resistless as thy Eyes.

L. _Gal_. Ah, what malicious God,
Sworn Enemy to feeble Womankind,
Taught thee the Art of Conquest with thy Tongue?
Thy false deluding Eyes were surely made
Of Stars that rule our Sex's Destiny:
And all thy Charms were by Inchantment wrought,
That first undo the heedless Gazers on,
Then shew their natural Deformity.

_Wild_. Ah, my _Galliard_, am I grown ugly then?
Has my increase of Passion lessen'd yours?
                                [_In a soft Tone_.

L. _Gal_. Peace, Tempter, Peace, who artfully betrayest me,
And then upbraidest the Wretchedness thou'st made.
--Ah, Fool, eternal Fool! to know my Danger,
Yet venture on so evident a Ruin.

_Wild_. Say,--what one Grace is faded?
Is not thy Face as fair, thy Eyes as killing?
By Heaven, much more! This charming change of Looks
Raises my Flame, and makes me wish t'invoke
The harmless God again.
                  [Embraces her.

L. _Gal_. By Heaven, not all thy Art
Shall draw me to the tempting Sin again.

_Wild_. Oh, I must, or die.

L. _Gal_. By all the Powers, by--

_Wild_. Oh, do not swear, lest Love shou'd take it ill
That Honour shou'd pretend to give him Laws,
And make an Oath more powerful than his Godhead.
--Say that you will half a long Hour hence--

L. _Gal_. Hah!

_Wild_. Or say a tedious Hour.

L. _Gal_. Death, never--

_Wild_. Or if you--promise me then to morrow.

L. _Gal_. No, hear my Vows.

_Wild_. Hold, see me die; if you resolve 'em fatal to my Love, by Heaven
I'll do't.
              [_Lays his Hand on his Sword_.

L. _Gal_. Ah, what--

_Wild_. Revoke that fatal Never then.

L. _Gal_. I dare not.

_Wild_. Oh, say you will.

L. _Gal_. Alas, I dare not utter it.

_Wild_. Let's in, and thou shalt whisper it into my Bosom;
Or sighing, look it to me with thy Eyes.

L. _Gal_. Ah, _Wilding_--   [_Sighs_.

_Wild_. It toucht my Soul! Repeat that Sigh again.

L. _Gal_. Ah, I confess I am but feeble Woman.
                                    [_Leans on him_.

Sir _Char_. Good Mistress Keep-door, stand by: for I must enter.
                                    [_Sir_ Char. _without_.

L. _Gal_. Hah, young Meriwill's Voice!

_Clos_. Pray, Sir _Charles_, let me go and give my Lady notice.
                      [_She enters and goes to_ Wild.
--For Heaven's sake, Sir, withdraw, or my Lady's Honour's lost.

_Wild_. What will you have me do?   [_To_ Galliard.

L. _Gal_. Be gone, or you will ruin me for ever.
                                    [_In disorder_.

_Wild_. Nay, then I will obey.

L. _Gal_. Here, down the back-stairs--
As you have Honour, go and cherish mine.
                    [_Pulling him. He goes out_.
--He's gone, and now nethinks the shivering Fit of
Honour is return'd.

    _Enter Sir_ Charles, _rudely pushing_ Closet _aside with Sir_
Anthony.

_Sir. Char_. Deny'd an entrance! nay, then there is a
Rival in the Case, or so; and I'm resolv'd to discover the
Hellish Plot, d'ye see.

    [_Just as he enters drunk at one Door_,
    Wild. _returns at the other_.

L. _Gal_. Ha, _Wilding_ return'd! Shield me, ye Shades of Night.
                        [_Puts out the Candles, and goes to_ Wild.

_Wild_. The Back-Stairs Door is lockt.

L. _Gal_. Oh, I am lost! curse on this fatal Night!
Art thou resolv'd on my undoing every way.

_Clos_. Nay, now we're by dark, let me alone to guide you. Sir.
                                                 [_To_ Wild.

Sir _Char_. What, what, all in darkness? Do you make
Love like Cats, by Star-light?    [_Reeling about_.

L. _Gal_. Ah, he knows he's here!--Oh, what a pain is Guilt!
                                                     [_Aside_.

_Wild_. I wou'd not be surpriz'd.

    [_As_ Closet _takes him to lead him out, he takes out his
    Sword, and by dark pushes by Sir_ Charles, _and almost
    overthrows Sir_ Anth. _at which they both draw, whilst
    he goes out with_ Closet.

Sir _Char_. Hah, Gad, 'twas a Spark!--What, vanisht! hah--

Sir _Anth_. Nay, nay, Sir, I am for ye.

Sir _Char_. Are you so, Sir? and I am for the Widow, Sir, and--

    [_Just as they are passing at each other_, Closet _enters
    with a Candle_.

Hah, why, what have we here?--my nown Flesh and Blood?
                                      [_Embracing his Uncle_.

Sir _Anth_. Cry mercy, Sir! Pray, how fell we out?

Sir _Char_. Out, Sir! Prithee where's my Rival? where's the Spark, the--
Gad, I took thee for an errant Rival: Where is he?
                                      [_Searching about_.

L. _Gal_. Whom seek ye, Sir, a Man, and in my Lodgings?
                                      [_Angrily_.

_Clos_. A Man! Merciful, what will this scandalous lying World come to?
Here's no Man.

Sir _Char_. Away, I say, thou damn'd Domestick Intelligence, that comest
out every half hour with some fresh Sham--No Man!--What, 'twas an
Appointment only, hum,--which I shall now make bold to unappoint, render
null, void, and of none effect. And if I find him here, [_Searches
about_.] I shall very civilly and accidentally, as it were, being in
perfect friendship with him--pray, mark that--run him through the Lungs.

L. _Gal_. Oh, whata Coward's Guilt! what mean you, Sir?

Sir _Char_. Mean? why I am obstinately bent to ravish thee, thou
hypocritical Widow, make thee mine by force, that so I have no obligation
to thee, and consequently use thee scurvily with a good Conscience.

Sir _Anth_. A most delicate Boy! I'll warrant him as lend as the best
of'em, God grant him Life and Health.    [Aside.

L. _Gal_. 'Tis late, and I entreat your absence, Sir: These are my Hours
of Prayer, which this unseasonable Visit has disturb'd.

Sir _Char_. Prayer! No more of that, Sweetheart; for let me tell you,
your Prayers are heard. A Widow of your Youth and Complexion can be
praying for nothing so late, but a good Husband; and see, Heaven has sent
him just in the crit--critical minute, to supply your Occasions.

Sir _Anth_. A Wag, an arch Wag; he'll learn to make Lampoons presently.
I'll not give Sixpence from him, though to the poor of the Parish.

Sir _Char_. Come, Widow, let's to Bed.
                             [Pulls her, she is angry.

L. _Gal_. Hold, Sir, you drive the Jest too far;
And I am in no humour now for Mirth.

Sir _Char_. Jest: Gad, ye lye, I was never in more earnest in all my
Life.

Sir _Anth_. He's in a heavenly humour, thanks to good Wine, good Counsel,
and good Company.
                 [_Getting nearer the Door still_.

L. _Gal_. What mean you, Sir? what can my Woman think to see me treated
thus?

Sir _Char_. Well thought on! Nay, we'll do things decently, d'ye see--
Therefore, thou sometimes necessary Utensil, withdraw.
                 [_Gives her to Sir_ Anth.

Sir _Anth_. Ay, ay, let me alone to teach her her Duty.
                [_Pushes her out, and goes out_.

L. _Gal_. Stay, Closet, I command ye.
--What have you seen in me shou'd move you to this rudeness?
                                                 [_To Sir_ Char.

Sir _Char_. No frowning; for by this dear Night, 'tis Charity, care of
your Reputation, Widow; and therefore I am resolv'd no body shall lie
with you but my self. You have dangerous Wasps buzzing about your Hive,
Widow--mark that--[_She flings from him_.] Nay, no parting but upon
terms, which, in short, d'ye see, are these: Down on your Knees, and
swear me heartily, as Gad shall judge your Soul, d'ye see, to marry me to
morrow.

L. _Gal_. To morrow! Oh, I have urgent business then.

Sir _Char_. So have I. Nay, Gad, an you be for the nearest way to the
Wood, the sober discreet way of loving, I am sorry for ye, look ye.
                                             [_He begins to undress_.

L. _Gal_. Hold, Sir, what mean you?

Sir _Char_. Only to go to Bed, that's all.
                                 [_Still undressing_.

L. _Gal_. Hold, hold, or I'll call out.

Sir _Char_. Ay, do, call up a Jury of your Female Neighbours, they'll be
for me, d'ye see, bring in the Bill Ignoramus, though I am no very true
blue Protestant neither; therefore dispatch, or--

L. _Gal_. Hold, are you mad? I cannot promise you to night.

Sir _Char_. Well, well, I'll be content with Performance then to night,
and trust you for your Promise till to morrow.

Sir _Anth_. [_peeping_.] Ah, Rogue! by George, he out-does my
Expectations of him.

L. _Gal_. What Imposition's this! I'll call for help.

_Sir. Char_. You need not, you'll do my business better alone.
                                                     [_Pulls her_.

L. _Gal_. What shall I do? how shall I send him hence?    [_Aside_.

Sir _Anth_. He shall ne'er drink small Beer more, that's positive; I'll
burn all's Books too, they have help'd to spoil him; and sick or well,
sound or unsound, Drinking shall be his Diet, and Whoring his Study.
                                           [_Aside, peeping unseen_.

Sir _Char_. Come, come, no pausing; your Promise, or I'll to Bed.

    [_Offers to pull off his Breeches, having pulled
    off almost all the rest of his Clothes_.

L. _Gal_. What shall I do? here is no Witness near: And to be rid of him
I'll promise him; he'll have forgot it in his sober Passion.    [_Aside_.
Hold, I do swear I will--
                     [_He fumbling to undo his Breeches_.

Sir _Char_. What?

L. _Gal_. Marry you.

Sir _Char_. When?

L. _Gal_. Nay, that's too much--Hold, hold, I will to morrow--Now you are
satisfy'd, you will withdraw?

    _Enter Sir_ Anth. _and_ Closet.

Sir _Anth. Charles_, Joy, _Charles_, give you Joy, here's two substantial
Witnesses.

_Clos_. I deny it, Sir; I heard no such thing.

Sir _Anth_. What, what, Mrs. Closet, a Waiting-woman of Honour, and
flinch from her Evidence! Gad, I'll damn thy Soul if thou dar'st swear
what thou say'st.

L. _Gal_. How, upon the Catch, Sir! am I betray'd?
Base and unkind, is this your humble Love?
Is all your whining come to this, false Man?
By Heaven, I'll be reveng'd.
           [_She goes out in a Rage with_ Closet.

Sir _Char_. Nay, Gad, you're caught, struggle and flounder as you please,
Sweetheart, you'll but intangle more; let me alone to tickle your Gills,
i'faith. [_Looking after her_.--Uncle, get ye home about your Business;
I hope you'll give me the good morrow, as becomes me--I say no more, a
Word to the Wise--

Sir _Anth_. By George, thou'rt a brave Fellow; why, I did not think it
had been in thee, Man. Well, adieu; I'll give thee such a good morrow,
_Charles_--the Devil's in him!--'Bye, Charles--a plaguy Rogue!--'night,
Boy--a divine Youth!

    [_Going and returning, as not able to leave him. Exit_.

Sir _Char_. Gad, I'll not leave her now, till she is mine;
Then keep her so by constant Consummation.
Let Man o' God do his, I'll do my Part,
In spite of all her Fickleness and Art;
There's one sure way to fix a Widow's Heart.

                                        [_Exit_.



ACT V.


SCENE I. _Sir_ Timothy's _House_.

    _Enter_ Dresswell, Foppington, Laboir, _and five or six more
    disguised with Wizards and dark Lanthorns_.

_Fop_. Not yet! a plague of this damn'd Widow: The Devil ow'd him an
unlucky Cast, and has thrown it him to night.

     _Enter_ Wild, _in Rapture and Joy_.

--Hah, dear _Tom_, art thou come?

_Wild_. I saw how at her length she lay! I saw her rising Bosom bare!

_Fop_. A Pox of her rising Bosom! My dear, let's dress and about our
Business.

_Wild_. Her loose thin Robes, through which appear A Shape design'd for
Love and Play!

_Dres_. Sheart, Sir, is this a time for Rapture? 'tis almost day.

_Wild_. Ah, _Frank_, such a dear Night!

_Dress_. A Pox of Nights, Sir, think of this and the Day to come: which I
perceive you were too well employ'd to remember.

_Wild_. The Day to come! Death, who cou'd be so dull in such dear Joys,
To think of Time to come, or ought beyond 'em! And had I not been
interrupted by _Charles Meriwill_, who, getting drunk, had Courage enough
to venture on an untimely Visit, I'd had no more power of returning, than
committing Treason: But that conjugal Lover, who will needs be my
Cuckold, made me then give him way, that he might give it me another
time, and so unseen I got off. But come--my Disguise.
                               [_Dresses_.

_Dres_. All's still and hush, as if Nature meant to favour our Design.

_Wild_. 'Tis well: and hark ye, my Friends, I'll prescribe ye no Bounds,
nor Moderation; for I have consider'd, if we modestly take nothing but
the Writings,'twill be easy to suspect the Thief.

_Fop_. Right; and since 'tis for the securing our Necks, 'tis lawful
Prize--Sirrah, leave the Portmantle here.
                      [_Exeunt as into the House_.

    _After a small time, Enter_ Jervice _undres'd, crying out,
    pursued by some of the Thieves_.

_Jer_. Murder, Murder! Thieves, Murder!

    _Enter_ Wilding _with his Sword drawn_.

_Wild_. A plague upon his Throat; set a Gag in's Mouth
and bind him, though he be my Uncle's chief Pimp--so--

                 [_They bind and gag him_.
     _Enter_ Dresswell, _and_ Laboir.

_Dres_. Well, we have bound all within hearing in their Beds, e'er they
cou'd alarm their Fellows by crying out.

_Wild_. 'Tis well; come, follow me, like a kind Midnight-Ghost, I will
conduct ye to the rich buried Heaps--this Door leads to my Uncle's
Apartment; I know each secret Nook conscious of Treasure.

          [_All go in, leaving_ Jervice _bound on the Stage_.

    _Enter_ Sensure _running half undressed, as from Sir_ Timothy's
    _Chamber, with his Velvet-Coat on her Shoulders_.

_Sen_. Help, help! Murder! Murder!
             [Dres. Lab. _and others pursue her_.

_Dres_. What have we here, a Female bolted from Mr. Alderman's Bed?
                       [Holding a Lanthorn to his Face.

_Sen_. Ah, mercy, Sir, alas, I am a Virgin.

_Dres_. A Virgin! Gad and that may be, for any great Miracles the old
Gentleman can do.

_Sen_. Do! alas, Sir, I am none of the Wicked.

_Dres_. That's well--The sanctify'd Jilt professes Innocence, yet has the
Badge of her Occupation about her Neck.
                              [_Pulls off the Coat_.

_Sen_. Ah, Misfortune, I have mistook his Worship's Coat for my Gown.
                              [_A little Book drops out of her Bosom_.

_Dres_. What have we here? A Sermon preacht by Richard Baxter, Divine.
Gad a mercy, Sweetheart, thou art a hopeful Member of the true Protestant
Cause.

_Sen_. Alack, how the Saints may be scandaliz'd! I went but to tuck his
Worship up.

_Dres_. And comment upon the Text a little, which I suppose may be,
increase and multiply--Here, gag, and bind her.
                              [_Exit_ Dres.

_Sen_. Hold, hold, I am with Child!

_Lab_. Then you'll go near to miscarry of a Babe of Grace.

    _Enter_ Wild. <DW2>. _and others, leading in Sir_ Timothy _in
    his Night-gown and Night-Gap_.

Sir _Tim_. Gentlemen, why, Gentlemen, I beseech you use a Conscience in
what you do, and have a feeling in what you go about--Pity my Age.

_Wild_. Damn'd beggarly Conscience, and needless Pity--

Sir _Tim_. Oh, fearful--But, Gentlemen, what is't you design? is it a
general Massacre, pray? or am I the only Person aim'd at as a Sacrifice
for the Nation? I know, and all the World knows, how many Plots have been
laid against my self, both by Men, Women, and Children, the diabolical
Emissaries of the Pope.

_Wild_. How, Sirrah!   [_Fiercely, he starts_.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, Gentlemen, not but I love and honour his Holiness with
all my Soul; and if his Grace did but know what I've done for him, d'ye
see--

_Fop_. You done for the Pope, Sirrah! Why, what have you done for the
Pope?

Sir _Tim_. Why, Sir, an't like ye, I have done you very great Service,
very great Service; for I have been, d'ye see, in a small Tryal I had,
the cause and occasion of invalidating the Evidence to that degree, that
I suppose no Jury in Christendom will ever have the Impudence to believe
'em hereafter, shou'd they swear against his Holiness and all the
Conclave of Cardinals.

_Wild_. And yet you plot on still, cabal, treat, and keep open Debauch,
for all the Renegado-Tories and old Commonwealthsmen to carry on the good
Cause.

Sir _Tim_. Alas, what signifies that! You know, Gentlemen, that I have
such a strange and natural Agility in turning--I shall whip about yet,
and leave 'em all in the Lurch.

_Wild_. 'Tis very likely; but at this time we shall not take your Word
for that.

Sir _Tim_. Bloody-minded Men, are you resolv'd to assassinate me then?

_Wild_. You trifle, Sir, and know our Business better, than to think we
come to take your Life, which wou'd not advantage a Dog, much less any
Party or Person--Come, come, your Keys, your Keys.

_Fop_. Ay, ay, discover, discover your Money, Sir, your ready--

Sir _Tim_. Money, Sir, good lack, is that all? [_Smiling on 'em_.]
Why, what a Beast was I, not knowing of your coming, to put out all my
Money last Week to Alderman Draw-tooth? Alack, alack, what shift shall I
make now to accommodate you?--But if you please to come again to morrow--

_Fop_. A shamming Rogue; the right Sneer and Grin of a dissembling Whig.
Come, come, deliver, Sir; we are for no Rhetorick but ready Money.
                    [_Aloud and threatning_.

Sir _Tim_. Hold, I beseech you, Gentlemen, not so loud; for there is a
Lord, a most considerable Person, and a Stranger, honours my House to
night; I wou'd not for the world his Lordship shou'd be disturb'd.

_Wild_. Take no care for him, he's fast bound and all his Retinue.

Sir _Tim_. How, bound! my Lord bound, and all his People! Undone, undone,
disgrac'd! What will the Polanders say, that I shou'd expose their
Embassador to this Disrespect and Affront?

_Wild_. Bind him, and take away his Keys.

    [_They bind him hand and foot, and take his
    Keys out of his Bosom. Ex. all_.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, what you please, Gentlemen, since my Lord's bound--Oh,
what Recompence can I make for so unhospitable Usage? I am a most
unfortunate Magistrate: hah, who's there, _Jervice_? Alas, art thou here
too? What, canst not speak? but 'tis no matter and I were dumb too; for
what Speech or Harangue will serve to beg my Pardon of my Lord?--And then
my Heiress, _Jervice_, ay, my rich Heiress, why, she'll be ravisht: Oh
Heavens, ravisht! The young Rogues will have no Mercy, _Jervice_; nay,
perhaps as thou say'st, they'll carry her away.--Oh, that thought! Gad, I
rather the City-Charter were lost.
    [_Enter some with Bags of Money_.
--Why, Gentlemen, rob like Christians, Gentlemen.

_Fop_. What, do you mutter, Dog?

Sir _Tim_. Not in the least, Sir, not in the least; only a Conscience,
Sir, in all things does well--Barbarous Rogues.
                                   [_They go out all again_.]
Here's your arbitrary Power, _Jervice_; here's the Rule of the Sword now
for you: These are your Tory Rogues, your tantivy Roysters; but we shall
cry quits with you, Rascals, ere long; and if we do come to our old Trade
of Plunder and Sequestration, we shall so handle ye--we'll spare neither
Prince, Peer, nor Prelate. Oh, I long to have a slice at your fat
Church-men, your Crape-Gownorums.

    _Enter_ Wild. Dresswell, Laboir, _and the rest, with more Bags_.

_Wild_. A Prize, a Prize, my Lads, in ready Guineas; Contribution, my
beloved.

_Dres_. Nay, then 'tis lawful Prize, in spite of Ignoramus and all his
Tribe--What hast thou here?
     [_To_ <DW2>. _who enters with a Bag full of Papers_.

_Fop_. A whole Bag of Knavery, damn'd Sedition, Libels, Treason,
Successions, Rights and Privileges, with a new-fashion'd Oath of
Abjuration, call'd the Association.--Ah, Rogue, what will you say when
these shall be made publick?

Sir _Tim_. Say, Sir? why, I'll deny it, Sir; for what Jury will believe
so wise a Magistrate as I cou'd communicate such Secrets to such as you?
I'll say you forg'd 'em, and put 'em in--or print every one of 'em, and
own 'em, as long as they were writ and publisht in London, Sir. Come,
come, the World is not so bad yet, but a Man may speak Treason within the
Walls of London, thanks be to God, and honest conscientious Jury-Men. And
as for the Money, Gentlemen, take notice you rob the Party.

_Wild_. Come, come, carry off the Booty, and prithee remove that Rubbish
of the Nation out of the way--Your servant, Sir.--So, away with it to
_Dresswell's_ Lodgings, his Coach is at the Door ready to receive it.

    [_They carry off Sir_ Timothy, _and others take up
    the Bags, and go out with 'em_.

_Dres_. Well, you are sure you have all you came for?

_Wild_. All's safe, my Lads, the Writings all--

_Fop_. Come, let's away then.

_Wild_. Away? what meanest thou? is there not a Lord to be found bound in
his Bed, and all his People? Come, come, dispatch, and each Man bind his
Fellow.

_Fop_. We had better follow the Baggage, Captain.

_Wild_. No, we have not done so ill, but we dare shew our Faces. Come,
come, to binding.

_Fop_. And who shall bind the last Man?

_Wild_. Honest Laboir, d'ye hear, Sirrah? you get drunk and lay in your
Clothes under the Hall-Table; d'ye hear me? Look to't, ye Rascal, and
carry things discreetly, or you'll be hang'd, that's certain.
                        [_Ex_. Wild, _and_ Dres.

_Fop_. So, now will I i'th' Morning to _Charlot_, and give her such a
Character of her Love, as if she have Resentment, makes her mine.
                                        [_Exit_ <DW2>.

Sir _Tim_. [_calls within_.] Ho, Jenkins, Roger, Simon! Where are these
Rogues? none left alive to come to my Assistance? So ho, ho, ho, ho!
Rascals, Sluggards, Drones! so ho, ho, ho!

_Lab_. So, now's my Cue--and stay, I am not yet sober.
                  [_Puts himself into a drunken Posture_.

Sir _Tim_. Dogs, Rogues, none hear me? Fire, fire, fire!

_Lab_. Water, water, I say; for I am damnable dry.

Sir _Tim_. Hah, who's there?

_Lab_. What doleful Voice is that?

Sir _Tim_. What art thou, Friend or Foe?   [_In a doleful Tone_.

_Lab_. Very direful--why, what the Devil art thou?

Sir _Tim_. If thou'rt a Friend, approach, approach the wretched.

_Lab_. Wretched! What art thou, Ghost, Hobgoblin, or walking Spirit?
                   [_Reeling in with a Lanthorn in's Hand_.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, neither, neither, but mere Mortal, Sir _Timothy
Treat-all_, robb'd and bound.
                   [_Coming out led by_ Laboir.

_Lab_. How, our generous Host!

Sir _Tim_. How, one of my Lord's Servants! Alas, alas, how cam'st thou to
escape?

_Lab_. E'en by miracle, Sir; by being drunk, and falling asleep under
the Hall-Table with your Worship's Dog Tory, till just now a Dream of
Small-beer wak'd me: and crawling from my Kennel to secure the black
Jack, I stumbled upon this Lanthorn, which I took for one, till I found a
Candle in't, which helps me to serve your Worship.
                   [_Goes to unbind his Hands_.

Sir _Tim_. Hold, hold, I say; for I scorn to be so uncivil to be unbound
before his Lordship: therefore run, Friend, to his Honour's Chamber, for
he, alas, is confined too.

_Lab_. What, and leave his worthy Friend in distress? by no means, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Well then, come, let's to my Lord, whom if I be not asham'd to
look in the Face, I am an errant Sarazen.

                       [_Exit Sir_ Tim. _and_ Lab.


SCENE II. _Changes to_ Wilding's _Chamber_.

    _He is discovered sitting in a Chair bound, his Valet
    bound by him; to them Sir_ Timothy _and_ Laboir.

_Wild_. Peace, Sirrah, for sure I hear some coming--Villains, Rogues! I
care not for my self, but for the good pious Alderman.
                         [_Sir_ Tim. _as listening_.

Sir _Tim_. Wonderful Goodness, for me! Alas, my Lord, this sight
will break my Heart.
                         [_Weeps_.

_Wild_. Sir _Timothy_ safe! nay, then I do forgive 'em.

Sir _Tim_. Alas, my Lord, I've heard of your rigid Fate.

_Wild_. It is my Custom, Sir, to pray an Hour or two in my Chamber,
before I go to Bed; and having pray'd that drousy Slave asleep, the
Thieves broke in upon us unawares, I having laid my Sword aside.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, Heavens, at his Prayers! damn'd Ruffians, and wou'd they
not stay till you had said your Prayers?

_Wild_. By no Persuasion--Can you not guess who they shou'd be, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Oh, some damn'd Tory-rory Rogues, you may be sure, to rob a
Man at his Prayers! why, what will this World come to?

_Wild_. Let us not talk, Sir, but pursue 'em.
                        [_Offering to go_.

Sir _Tim_. Pursue 'em! alas, they're past our reach by this time.

_Wild_. Oh, Sir, they are nearer than you imagine: some that know each
Corner of your House, I'll warrant.

Sir _Tim_. Think ye so, my Lord? ay, this comes of keeping open House;
which makes so many shut up their Doors at Dinner-time.

    _Enter_ Dresswell.

_Dres_. Good Morrow, Gentlemen! what, was the Devil broke loose to night?

Sir _Tim_. Only some of his Imps, Sir, saucy Varlets, insupportable
Rascals--But well, my Lord, now I have seen your Lordship at liberty,
I'll leave you to your rest, and go see what Harm this night's Work has
done.

_Wild_. I have a little Business, Sir, and will take this time to
dispatch it in; my Servants shall to Bed, though 'tis already day--I'll
wait on you at Dinner.

Sir _Tim_. Your time; my House and all I have is yours; and so I take
my Leave of your Lordship.
                      [_Ex. Sir_ Tim.

_Wild_. Now for my angry Maid, the young _Charlot_;
'Twill be a Task to soften her to Peace;
She is all new and gay, young as the Morn,
Blushing as tender Rose-Buds on their Stalks,
Pregnant with Sweets, for the next Sun to ravish.
--Come, thou shalt along with me, I'll trust thy Friendship.

                                      [_Exeunt_.


SCENE III. _Changes to_ Diana's _Chamber_.

     _She is discovered dressing, with_ Betty.

_Dia_. Methinks I'm up as early as if I had a mind to what I'm going to
do, marry this rich old Coxcomb.

_Bet_. And you do well to lose no time.

_Dia_. Ah, Betty, and cou'd thy Prudence prefer an old Husband, because
rich, before so young, so handsom, and so soft a Lover as _Wilding_?

_Bet_. I know not that, Madam; but I verily believe the way to keep your
young Lover, is to marry this old one: for what Youth and Beauty cannot
purchase, oney and Quality may.

_Dia_. Ay, but to be oblig'd to lie with such a Beast; ay, there's the
Devil,
_Betty_. Ah, when I find the difference of their Embraces,
The soft dear Arms of _Wilding_ round my Neck.
From those cold feeble ones of this old Dotard;
When I shall meet, instead of _Tom's_ warm kisses,
A hollow Pair of thin blue wither'd Lips,
Trembling with Palsy, stinking with Disease,
By Age and Nature barricado'd up
With a kind Nose and Chin;
What Fancy or what Thought can make my Hours supportable?

_Bet_. What? why six thousand Pounds a Year, Mistress. He'll quickly die,
and leave you rich, and then do what you please.

_Dia_. Die! no, he's too temperate--Sure these Whigs, _Betty_, believe
there's no Heaven, they take such care to live so long in this World--No,
he'll out-live me.
                                   [_Sighs_.

_Bet_. In Grace a God he may be hang'd first, Mistress--Ha, one knocks,
and I believe 'tis he.
                   [_She goes to open the Door_.

_Dia_. I cannot bring my Heart to like this Business; One sight of my
dear _Tom_ wou'd turn the Scale.

_Bet_. Who's there?

    _Enter Sir_ Tim. _joyful_; Dian. _walks away_.

Sir _Tim_. 'Tis I, impatient I, who with the Sun have welcom'd in the
Day;
This happy Day to be inroll'd
In Rubrick Letters and in Gold.
--Hum, I am profoundly eloquent this Morning.    [_Aside_.
--Fair Excellence, I approach--
                                [_Going toward her_.

_Dia_. Like Physick in a Morning next one's Heart;   [_Aside_.
Which, though it be necessary, is most filthy loathsom.
                                [_Going from him_.

Sir _Tim_. What, do you turn away, bright Sun of Beauty?
--Hum, I'm much upon the Suns and Days this Morning.

_Dia_. It will not down.
        [_Turning on him, looks on him, and turns away_.

Sir _Tim_. Alas, ye Gods, am I despis'd and scorn'd?
Did I for this ponder upon the Question,
Whether I should be King or Alderman?
                                [_Heroickly_.

_Dia_. If I must marry him, give him Patience to endure the Cuckolding,
good Heaven.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Heaven! did she name Heaven, Betty?

_Bet_. I think she did, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. I do not like that: What need has she to think of Heaven upon
her Wedding-day?

_Dia_. Marriage is a sort of Hanging, Sir; and I was only making a short
Prayer before Execution.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, is that all? Come, come, we'll let that alone till we're
abed, that we have nothing else to do.
                               [_Takes her Hand_.

_Dia_. Not much, I dare swear.

Sir _Tim_. And let us, Fair one, haste; the Parson stays; besides, that
heap of Scandal may prevent us--I mean, my Nephew.

_Dia_. A Pox upon him now for naming _Wilding_.
                                          [_Weeps_.

Sir _Tim_. How, weep at naming my ungracious Nephew? Nay, then I am
provok'd--Look on this Head, this wise and Reverend Head; I'd have ye
know, it has been taken measure on to fit it to a Crown, d'ye see.

_Dia_. A Halter rather.   [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, and it fits it too: and am I slighted, I that shall
receive Billet-Doux from Infanta's? 'tis most uncivil and impolitick.

_Dia_. I hope he's mad, and then I reign alone.   [_Aside_.
Pardon me, Sir, that parting Tear I shed indeed at naming _Wilding_,
Of whom my foolish Heart has now ta'en leave,
And from this Moment is intirely yours.

   [_Gives him her Hand, they go out followed by_ Betty.


SCENE IV. _Changes to a Street_.

   _Enter_ Charlot, _led by_ Foppington, _follow'd by Mrs_. Clacket.

_Char_. Stay, my Heart misgives me, I shall be undone.
--Ah, whither was I going?
                     [_Pulls her Hand from_ <DW2>.

_Fop_. Do, stay till the News arrives that he is married to her that had
his Company to night, my Lady _Galliard_.

_Char_. Oh! Take heed lest you sin doubly, Sir.

_Fop_. By Heaven, 'tis true, he past the Night with her.

_Char_. All night! what cou'd they find to do?

Mrs. _Clack_. A very proper Question; I'll warrant you they were not
idle, Madam.

_Char_. Oh, no; they lookt and lov'd and vow'd and lov'd, and swore
eternal Friendship--Haste, haste, and lead me to the Church, the Altar;
I'll put it past my Power to love him more.

_Fop_. Oh, how you charm me!
                     [_Takes her by the Hand_.

_Char_. Yet what art thou? a Stranger to my Heart. Wherefore, ah why, on
what occasion shou'd I?

Mrs. _Clack_. Acquaintance, 'tis enough, I know him, Madam, and I hope my
Word will be taken for a greater matter in the City: In troth you're
beholden to the Gentleman for marrying you, your Reputation's gone.

_Char_. How, am I not honest then?

Mrs. _Clack_. Marry, Heaven forbid! But who that knows you have been a
single Hour in _Wilding's_ Hands, wou'd not swear you have lost your
Maidenhead? And back again I'm sure you dare not go unmarried; that wou'd
be a fine History to be sung to your eternal Fame in a Ballad.

_Fop_. Right; and you see _Wilding_ has left you for the Widow, to whom
perhaps you'll shortly hear he's married.

_Char_. Oh, you trifle, Sir; lead on.

    [_They going out, meet Sir_ Anthony _with Musick: they return_.

Sir _Anth_. Come, come, Gentlemen, this is the House, and this the Window
belonging to my Lady's Bed-chamber: Come, come, let's have some neat,
soft, brisk, languishing, sprightly Air now.

_Fop_. Old Meriwill--how shall I pass by him!
                                   [_Stand by_.

Sir _Anth_. So, here's Company too; 'tis very well--Not have the Boy?
I'll warrant this does the Business--Come, come, screw up your
Chitterling.
                [_They play_.
--Hold, hold a little--Good morrow, my Lady _Galliard_.
--Give your Ladyship Joy.

_Char_. What do I hear, my Lady _Galliard_ joy'd?

_Fop_. How, married her already?

_Char_. Oh, yes, he has. Lovely and false, hast thou deceiv'd my Faith?

Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, Heavens, Mr. _Foppington_, she faints.--ah me!

    [_They hold her, Musick plays.
    Enter_ Wilding _and_ Dresswell, _disguis'd as before_.

_Wild_. Ah, Musick at _Galliard's_ Door!

Sir _Anth_. Good morrow, Sir _Charles Meriwill_: give your Worship and
your fair Lady Joy.

_Wild_. Hah, Meriwill married the Widow!

_Dres_. No matter; prithee advance, and mind thy own Affairs.

_Wild_. Advance, and not inquire the meaning on't!
Bid me not eat, when Appetite invites me;
Not draw, when branded with the Name of Coward;
Nor love, when Youth and Beauty meet my Eyes--
Hah!--
          [_Sees Sir_ Charles _come into the Balcony undrest_.

Sir _Char_. Good morrow, Uncle. Gentlemen, I thank ye: Here, drink the
King's Health, with my Royal Master's the Duke.
                             [_Gives 'em Money_.

_Fid_. Heaven bless your Honour, and your virtuous Bride.

_Fop. Wilding_! undone.
         [_Shelters_ Charlot, _that she may not see_ Wilding.

_Wild_. Death and the Devil, Meriwill above!

Sir _Anth_. Ah, the Boy's Rival here! By George, here may be breathing
this Morning--No matter, here's two to two; come, Gentlemen, you must in.
              [_Thrusts the Musick in, and goes in_.

_Dres_. Is't not what you expected? nay, what you wisht?

_Wild_. What then? it comes too suddenly upon me--
E'er my last Kiss was cold upon her Lips,
Before the pantings of her Breast were laid,
Rais'd by her joys with me; Oh, damn'd deluding Woman!

_Dres_. Be wise, and do not ruin where you love.

_Wild_. Nay, if thou com'st to reasoning, thou hast lost me.
                                [_Breaks from him, and runs in_.

_Char_. I say 'twas _Wilding's_ Voice, and I will follow it.

_Fop_. How, Madam, wou'd you after him?

_Char_. Nay, force me not; by Heaven, I'll cry a Rape,
Unless you let me go--Not after him!
Yes, to the infernal Shades--Unhand me, Sir.

_Fop_. How, Madam, have you then design'd my Ruin?

_Char_. Oh, trust me, Sir, I am a Maid of Honour.
                              [_Runs in after_ Wild.

Mrs. _Clack_. So; a Murrain of your Projects, we're all undone now: For
my part I'll e'en after her, and deny to have any hand in the Business.
                              [_Goes in_.

_Fop_. Damn all ill Luck, was ever Man thus Fortune-bit, that he shou'd
cross my Hopes just in the nick? But shall I lose her thus? No, Gad, I'll
after her; and come the worst, I have an Impudence shall out-face a
Middlesex Jury, and out-swear a Discoverer.
                              [_Goes in_.


SCENE V. _Changes to a Chamber_.

    _Enter Lady_ Galliard, _pursued by Sir_ Charles, _and Footman_.

L. _Gal_. Sirrah, run to my Lord Mayor's, and require some of his
Officers to assist me instantly; and d'ye hear, Rascal, bar up my Doors,
and let none of his mad Crew enter.
            [_To the Footman who is going_.

Sir _Char_. William, you may stay, William.

L. _Gal_. I say, obey me, Sirrah.

Sir _Char_. Sirrah, I say--know your Lord and Master.

_Will_. I shall, Sir.   [_Goes out_.

L. _Gal_. Was ever Woman teaz'd thus? pursue me not.

Sir _Char_. You are mistaken, I'm disobedient grown,
Since we became one Family; and when
I've us'd you thus a Week or two, you will
Grow weary of this peevish fooling.

L. _Gal_. Malicious thing, I wo'not, I am resolv'd I'll tire thee out
merely in spite, to have the better of thee.

Sir _Char_. I'm as resolv'd as you, and do your worst,
For I'm resolv'd never to quit thy House.

L. _Gal_. But, Malice, there are Officers i'th' City, that will not see
me us'd thus, and will be here anon.

Sir _Char_. Magistrates! why, they shall be welcome, if they be honest
and loyal; if not, they may be hang'd in Heaven's good time.

L. _Gal_. Are you resolv'd to be thus obstinate? Fully resolv'd to make
this way your Conquest?

Sir _Char_. Most certainly, I'll keep you honest to your Word, my Dear--
I've Witness--

L. _Gal_. You will?

Sir _Char_. You'll find it so.

L. _Gal_. Then know, if thou darest marry me, I will so plague thee, be
so reveng'd for all those Tricks thou hast play'd me--
Dost thou not dread the Vengeance Wives can take?

Sir _Char_. Not at all: I'll trust thy Stock of Beauty with thy Wit.

L. _Gal_. Death, I will cuckold thee.

Sir _Char_. Why, then I shall be free o'th' Reverend City.

L. _Gal_. Then I will game without cessation, till I've undone thee.

Sir _Char_. Do, that all the <DW2>s of empty Heads and Pockets may know
where to be sure of a Cully; and may they rook ye till ye lose, and fret,
and chafe, and rail those youthful Eyes to sinking; watch your fair Face
to pale and withered Leanness.

L. _Gal_. Then I will never let thee bed with me, but when I please.

Sir _Char_. For that, see who'll petition first, and then I'll change for
new ones every Night.

    _Enter_ William.

_Will_. Madam, here's Mr. _Wilding_ at the Door, and will not be deny'd
seeing you.

L. _Gal_. Hah, _Wilding_! Oh, my eternal Shame! Now thou hast done thy
worst.

Sir _Char_. Now for a Struggle 'twixt your Love and Honour!
--Yes, here's the Bar to all my Happiness,
You wou'd be left to the wide World and Love,
To Infamy, to Scandal, and to _Wilding_;
But I have too much Honour in my Passion,
To let you loose to ruin: Consider and be wise.

L. _Gal_. Oh, he has toucht my Heart too sensibly.   [_Aside_.

Sir _Anth_.  [_within_.]  As far as good Manners goes I'm yours;
But when you press indecently to Ladies Chambers, civil
Questions ought to askt, I take it, Sir.

L. _Gal_. To find him here, will make him mad with Jealousy, and in the
Fit he'll utter all he knows: Oh, Guilt, what art thou!    [_Aside_.

    _Enter Sir_ Anth. Wild, _and_ Dres.

_Dres_. Prithee, dear _Wilding_, moderate thy Passion.

_Wild_. By Heaven, I will; she shall not have the Pleasure to see I am
concern'd--Morrow, Widow; you are early up, you mean to thrive, I see,
you're like a Mill that grinds with every Wind.

Sir _Char_. Hah, _Wilding_, this that past last Night at Sir Timothy's
for a Man of Quality? Oh, give him way, _Wilding's_ my Friend, my Dear,
and now I'm sure I have the Advantage of him in my Love. I can forgive a
hasty Word or two.

_Wild_. I thank thee, _Charles_--what, you are married then?

L. _Gal_. I hope you've no Exception to my Choice.
                                        [_Scornfully_.

_Wild_. False Woman, dost thou glory in thy Perfidy?
                      [_To her aside angrily_.
--Yes, Faith, I've many Exceptions to him--
                                       [_Aloud_.
Had you lov'd me, you'd pitcht upon a Blockhead,
Some spruce gay Fool of Fortune, and no more,
Who would have taken so much Care of his own ill-favour'd Person,
He shou'd have had no time to have minded yours,
But left it to the Care of some fond longing Lover.

L. _Gal_. Death, he will tell him all! [_Aside_.] Oh, you are merry, Sir.

_Wild_. No, but thou art wondrous false,
False as the Love and Joys you feign'd last Night.
                       [_In a soft Tone aside to her_.

L. _Gal_. Oh, Sir, be tender of those treacherous Minutes.
                              [_Softly to him_.
--If this be all you have to say to me--
                  [_Walking away, and speaking loud_.

_Wild_. Faith, Madam, you have us'd me scurvily,
To marry, and not give me notice.
                             [_Aloud_.
--Curse on thee, did I only blow the Fire
To warm another Lover?
                  [To her softly aside.

L. _Gal_. Perjur'd--was't not by your Advice I married?
--Oh, where was then your Love?
                  [_Softly to him aside_.

_Wild_. So soon did I advise?
Didst thou invite me to the Feast of Love,
To snatch away my Joys as soon as tasted?
Ah, where was then you Modesty and Sense of Honour?
                  [_Aside to her in a low Tone_.

L. _Gal_. Ay, where indeed, when you so quickly vanquisht?    [_Soft_.
--But you, I find, are come prepared to rail.   [_Aloud_.

_Wild_. No, 'twas with thee to make my last Effort against your scorn.
                        [_Shews her the Writings_.
And this I hop'd, when all my Vows and Love,
When all my Languishments cou'd nought avail,
Had made ye mine for ever.
                        [_Aloud_.

    _Enter Sir_ Anthony, _pulling in Sir_ Tim. _and_ Diana.

Sir _Anth_. Morrow, _Charles_; Morrow to your Ladyship: _Charles_, bid
Sir _Timothy_ welcome; I met him luckily at the Door, and am resolv'd
none of my Friends shall pass this joyful Day without giving thee Joy,
_Charles_, and drinking my Lady's Health.

_Wild_. Hah, my Uncle here so early?   [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. What, has your Ladyship serv'd me so? How finely I had been
mump'd now, if I had not took Heart of Grace, and shew'd your Ladyship
Trick for Trick? for I have been this Morning about some such Business of
Life too, Gentlemen: I am married to this fair Lady, the Daughter and
Heiress of Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, Knight and Alderman.

_Wild_. Ha, married to _Diana_! How fickle is the Faith of common Women!
                                                               [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Hum, who's here, my Lord? What, I see your Lordship has found
the way already to the fair Ladies; but I hope your Lordship will do my
Wedding-dinner the Honour to grace it with your Presence.

_Wild_. I shall not fail, Sir. A Pox upon him, he'll discover all.
                                                          [_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. I must own, Sir Timothy, you have made the better Choice.

Sir _Tim_. I cou'd not help my Destiny; Marriages are made in Heaven, you
know.

    _Enter_ Charlot _weeping, and_ Clacket.

_Charl_. Stand off, and let me loose as are my Griefs,
Which can no more be bounded: Oh, let me face
The perjur'd, false, forsworn!

L. _Gal_. Fair Creature, who is't that you seek with so much Sorrow?

_Charl_. Thou, thou fatally fair Inchantress.
                                        [_Weeps_.

_Wild. Charlot_! Nay, then I am discover'd.

L. _Gal_. Alas, what wou'dst thou?

_Charl_. That which I cannot have, thy faithless Husband.
Be Judge, ye everlasting Powers of Love,
Whether he more belongs to her or me.

Sir _Anth_. How, my Nephew claim'd! Why, how now, Sirrah, have you been
dabling here?

Sir _Char_. By Heaven, I know her not.--Hark ye, Widow, this is some
Trick of yours, and 'twas well laid: and Gad, she's so pretty, I cou'd
find in my Heart to take her at her word.

L. _Gal_. Vile Man, this will not pass your Falshood off.
Sure, 'tis some Art to make me jealous of him,
To find how much I value him.

Sir _Char_. Death, I'll have the Forgery out;--Tell me, thou pretty
weeping Hypocrite, who was it set thee on to lay a Claim to me?

_Charl_. To you! Alas, who are you? for till this moment I never saw your
Face.

L. _Gal_. Mad as the Seas when all the Winds are raging.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, Madam, stark mad! Poor Soul--Neighbour, pray let her
lie i'th' dark, d'ye hear.

Sir _Char_. How came you, pretty one, to lose your Wits thus?

_Charl_. With loving, Sir, strongly, with too much loving.
--Will you not let me see the lovely false one?    [_To L_. Gal.
For I am told you have his Heart in keeping.

L. Gal_. Who is he? pray describe him.

_Charl_. A thing just like a Man, or rather Angel!
He speaks, and looks, and loves, like any God!
All fine and gay, all manly, and all sweet:
And when he swears he loves, you wou'd swear too
That all his Oaths were true.

Sir _Anth_. Who is she? some one who knows her and is wiser, speak--you,
Mistress.    [_To_ Clacket.

Mrs. _Clack_. Since I must speak, there comes the Man of Mischief:
'Tis you, I mean, for all your Leering, Sir.    [_To_ Wild.

_Wild_. So.

Sir _Tim_. What, my Lord?

Mrs. _Clack_. I never knew your Nephew was a Lord:
Has his Honour made him forget his Honesty?

    [Charlot. _runs, and catches him in her Arms_.

_Charl_. I have thee, and I'll die thus grasping thee;
Thou art my own, no Power shall take thee from me.

_Wild_. Never; thou truest of thy Sex, and dearest,
Thou soft, thou kind, thou constant Sufferer,
This moment end thy Fears; for I am thine.

_Charl_. May I believe thou art not married then?

_Wild_. How can I, when I'm yours?
How cou'd I, when I love thee more than Life?
Now, Madam, I am reveng'd on all your Scorn,    [_To L_. Galliard.
--And, Uncle, all your Cruelty.

Sir _Tim_. Why, what, are you indeed my Nephew Thomas?

_Wild_. I am _Tom Wilding_, Sir, that once bore some such Title, till you
discarded me, and left me to live upon my Wits.

Sir _Tim_. What, and are you no Polish Embassador then incognito?

_Wild_. No, Sir, nor you no King Elect, but must e'en remain as you were
ever, Sir, a most seditious pestilent old Knave; one that deludes the
Rabble with your Politicks, then leaves 'em to be hang'd, as they
deserve, for silly mutinous Rebels.

Sir _Tim_. I'll peach the Rogue, and then he'll be hang'd in course,
because he's a Tory. One comfort is, I have cozen'd him of his rich
Heiress; for I'm married, Sir, to Mrs. _Charlot_.

_Wild_. Rather _Diana_, Sir; I wish you Joy: See here's _Charlot_. I was
not such a Fool to trust such Blessings with the Wicked.

_Sir Charl_. How, Mrs. Dy Ladyfi'd! This is an excellent way of disposing
an old cast-off Mistress.

Sir _Tim_. How, have I married a Strumpet then?

_Dia_. You give your Nephew's Mistress, Sir, too coarse a Name. 'Tis
true, I lov'd him, only him, and was true to him.

Sir _Tim_. Undone, undone! I shall ne'er make Guildhall-Speech more: but
he shall hang for't, if there be e'er a Witness to be had between this
and Salamanca for Money.

_Wild_. Do your worst, Sir; Witnesses are out of fashion now, Sir, thanks
to your Ignoramus Juries.

Sir _Tim_. Then I'm resolv'd to disinherit him.

_Wild_. See, Sir, that's past your Skill too, thanks to my last Night's
Ingenuity; they're [shews him the Writings.] sign'd, seal'd, and
deliver'd in the presence of, &c.

Sir _Tim_. Bear Witness, 'twas he that rob'd me last night.

Sir _Anth_. We bear witness, Sir, we know of no such matter we. I thank
you for that, Sir; wou'd you make Witnesses of Gentlemen?

Sir _Tim_. No matter for that, I'll have him hang'd, nay, drawn and
quarter'd.

_Wild_. What, for obeying your Commands, and living on my Wits?

Sir _Anth_. Nay, then 'tis a clear Case, you can neither hang him or
blame him.

_Wild_. I'll propose fairly now; if you'll be generous and pardon all,
I'll render your Estate back during Life, and put the Writings in Sir
Anthony Meriwill's and Sir _Charles_ his Hands--I have a Fortune here
that will maintain me, Without so much as wishing for your Death.

_All_. This is but Reason.

_Sir Charl_. With this Proviso, that he makes not use on't to promote any
Mischief to the King and Government.

_All_. Good and Just.   [_Sir_ Tim. _pauses_.

Sir _Tim_. Hum, I'd as good quietly agree to't, as lose my Credit by
making a Noise.--Well, _Tom_, I pardon all, and will be Friends.
                               [Gives him his Hand.

_Sir Charl_. See, my dear Creature, even this hard old Man is mollify'd
at last into good Nature; yet you'll still be cruel.

L. _Gal_. No, your unwearied Love at last has vanquisht me. Here, be as
happy as a Wife can make ye--One last look more, and then--be gone, fond
Love.

    [_Sighing and looking on_ Wilding, _giving Sir_ Charles _her Hand_.

_Sir Charl_. Come, Sir, you must receive _Diana_ too; she is a cheerful
witty Girl, and handsome, one that will be a Comfort to your Age, and
bring no Scandal home. Live peaceably, and do not trouble your decrepid
Age with Business of State.

    Let all things in their own due Order move,
    Let Caesar be the Kingdom's Care and Love;
    Let the hot-headed Mutineers petition,
    And meddle in the Rights of just Succession:
    But may all honest Hearts as one agree
    To bless the King, and Royal Albany.

                                    [_Exeunt_.



EPILOGUE.

Written by a Person of Quality: Spoken by Mrs. _Boteler_.


_My Plot, I fear, will take but with a few,
A rich young Heiress to her first Lover true!
'Tis damn'd unnatural, and past enduring,
Against the fundamental Laws of Whoring.
Marrying's the Mask, which Modesty assures,
Helps to get new, and covers old Amours;
And Husband sounds so dull to a Town-Bride,
Ye now-a-days condemn him e'er he's try'd;
E'er in his Office he's confirmed Possessor,
Like Trincaloes you chuse him a Successor,
In the gay Spring of Love, when free from Doubts,
With early Shoots his Velvet Forehead sprouts,
Like a poor Parson bound to hard Indentures,
You make him pay his First-fruits e'er he enters.
But for short Carnivals of stain good Cheer,
You're after forc'd to keep Lent all the Year;
Till brought at last to a starving Nun's Condition,
You break into our Quarters for Provision;
Invade <DW2>-corner with your glaring Beauties,
And 'tice our Loyal Subjects from their Duties.
Pray, Ladies, leave that Province to our Care;
A Fool is the Fee-simple of a Player,
In which we Women claim a double share.
In other things the Men are Rulers made;
But catching Woodcocks is our proper Trade.
If by Stage-<DW2>s they a poor Living get,
We can grow rich, thanks to our Mother-Wit,
By the more natural Blockheads of the Pit.
Take then the Wits, and all their useless Prattles;
But as for Fools, they are our Goods and Chattels.
Return, Ingrates, to your first Haunt the Stage;
We taught your Youth, and helped your feeble Age.
What is't you see in Quality we want?
What can they give you which we cannot grant?
We have their Pride, their Frolicks, and their Paint.
We feel the same Touth dancing in our Blood;
Our Dress as gay--All underneath as good.
Most Men have found us hitherto more true,
And if we're not abus'd by some of you,
We're full as fair--perhaps as wholesom too.
But if at best our hopeful Sport and Trade is,
And nothing now will serve you but great Ladies;
May question'd Marriages your Fortune be,
And Lawyers drain your Pockets more than we:
May Judges puzzle a clear Case with Laws,
And Musquetoon at last decide the Cause_.




THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; OR, A NIGHT'S INTRIGUE.



ARGUMENT.


Marcella and Cornelia, nieces to Count Morosini and sisters to Julio, who
is contracted to Laura Lucretia, a lady of quality, sister of Count
Octavio, in order to avoid Marcella's marriage with this nobleman,
secretly leave Viterbo where they live, and accompanied only by their
attendants, Petro and Philippa, come to Rome, and there pass for
courtezans under the names of Euphemia and Silvianetta. Their beauty wins
them great renown in the gay world, and Sir Harry Fillamour, who loves
Marcella, and Frank Galliard, two English travellers, are keenly
attracted by this reputation. Sir Harry, however, is anxious for
matrimony, Galliard for an intrigue. Marcella in her turn is already
enamoured of Fillamour whom she has met at Viterbo. Morosini and Octavio
follow the fugitives to Rome, whilst Laura Lucretia, who loves Galliard,
disguises herself in male attire and takes a house on the Corso next door
to the supposed courtezans. Fillamour and Galliard encounter the two
ladies in the gardens of the Villa Medici, and Fillamour takes Marcella
for a courtezan, whilst Galliard engages with Cornelia. Octavio passing
with his followers spies and attacks his rival. A general melee ensues.
Julio, who has not seen his family for seven years, next appears, having
taken Cornelia for a cyprian and followed her from St. Peter's. Marcella,
in boy's attire, then gives Fillamour a letter from herself, signed under
her own name, making an appointment for that night; but at the same time
Galliard, claiming a former promise, drags his friend off to visit
Euphemia. The intrigue is complicated by the ridiculous amours of two
foolish travellers, Sir Signal Buffoon and Mr. Tickletext, a puritan
divine, his tutor. These, unknown to each other, make assignations with
the two bona robas by means of Petro, who dupes them thoroughly by his
clever tricks, and pockets their money. Whilst Galliard and Sir Harry are
serenading the ladies, Octavio, Julio and their bravos attack them. After
the scuffle Laura Lucretia coming from her house leads in Julio,
mistaking him for Galliard, and he her for Silvianetta. Next Sir Harry
and Galliard arrive in safety at the sisters' house, and Marcella, as a
courtezan, tempts her lover, who, however, refuses to yield and leaves
her, to her secret joy. Tickletext has been placed by Petro in bed to
await, as he supposes, Silvianetta, when Galliard in error entering the
room in the dark gropes his way to the bed and finding a man, closes with
him. The tutor escapes, and Cornelia coming in in the course of her
wooing by Galliard informs him she is not really a courtezan as he
supposed. In anger her gallant departs. Whilst he is telling Sir Harry
this tale Cornelia, dressed as a page, follows him and delivers Fillamour
a challenge as from Marcella's brother, Julio, summoning him to the
Piazza di Spagna. Julio himself, newly come from Laura Lucretia, meeting
Galliard relates to him how he passed the night with Silvianetta, which
confirms the opinion the Englishman had already formed of her treachery
and deceit. Laura Lucretia overhears and sends her maid to bring her
Galliard; but whilst he is with her, Cornelia, who has jealously
followed, feigning to be Julio's page, gives the amorous dame a letter as
from her betrothed. The trick fails, Cornelia is laughed at as a saucy
lad, repulsed and obliged to retire. Sir Harry is then met by Marcella
dressed as a man and calling herself Julio. Julio himself happens to be
at the Piazza di Spagna and he interrupts the quarrel. Octavio and
Morosini speedily join him, as Crapine has tracked the runaways to their
lodging. All these hurry into the courtezans' house, where they find
Fillamour and Galliard. Mutual explanations follow. Octavio nobly
renounces Marcella in favour of Fillamour who claims her hand, whilst
Cornelia gives herself to Galliard in sober wedlock. Tickletext and Sir
Signal are then discovered to be concealed in the room, and their mutual
frailties exposed. It is promised that the money of which Petro has
choused them shall be restored, and everything is forgiven, since "'twas
but one night's intrigue, in which all were a little faulty."



SOURCE.


The plot of _The Feign'd Curfezans_; or, _A Night's Intrigue_ is wholly
original. It is one of those bustling pieces, quick with complicated
intrigue, of the Spanish _comedias de capa y espada_ school, which Mrs.
Behn loved, and which none could present more happily or wittily than
she. To quote the _Biographia Dramatics_, 'the play contains a vast deal
of business and intrigue; the contrivance of the two ladies to obtain
their differently disposed lovers, both by the same means, viz. by
assuming the characters of courtezans, being productive of great
variety.' Some incidents, indeed, recall _The Rover_; and the accident of
Tickletext being discovered in bed by Galliard is similar to that when
Carlo comes upon Fetherfool in the same circumstance, _Rover_ II, Act iv,
iv. On the whole, however, _The Feign'd Curtezans_ is the better play,
and may not unjustly claim to be, if not Mrs. Behn's masterpiece (a title
it disputes with _The Rover_, Part I, and _The Lucky Chance_), at least
one of the very best and wittiest of her sparkling comedies.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.


_The Feign'd Curtezans_; or, _A Night's Intrigue_ was produced at the
Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in 1679. The cast was a star one, and
Downes remarks that it was 'well acted'; but though favourably received
it does not, for some unaccountable reason, seem to have met with the
triumphant success it certainly deserved. It continued to be played from
time to time, and there was a notable revival on 8 August, 1716, at
Lincoln's Inn Fields. Galliard was acted by J. Leigh; Sir Harry, Smith;
Sir Signal, Bullock; Tickletext, Griffin; Pedro, Spiller; Julio, Bull
jun. Cornelia, Mrs. Cross; Marcella, Mrs. Thurmond; Laura Lucretia, Mrs.
Spiller. It was performed three times that season, but soon after
disappears from the repertory.



TO MRS. ELLEN GUIN.


Madam,

'Tis no wonder that hitherto I followed not the good example of the
believing Poets, since less faith and zeal then you alone can inspire,
had wanted power to have reduc't me to the true worship: Your permission,
_Madam_, has inlightened me, and I with shame look back on my past
Ignorance, which suffered me not to pay an Adoration long since, where
there was so very much due, yet even now though secure in my opinion, I
make this Sacrifice with infinite fear and trembling, well knowing that
so Excellent and perfect a Creature as your self differs only from the
Divine powers in this; the Offerings made to you ought to be worthy of
you, whilst they accept the will alone; and how Madam, would your Altars
be loaded, if like heaven you gave permission to all that had a will and
desire to approach 'em who now at distance can only wish and admire,
which all mankinde agree to do; as if Madam, you alone had the pattent
from heaven to ingross all hearts  and even those distant slaves whom you
conquer with your fame, pay an equall tribute to those that have the
blessing of being wounded by your Eyes, and boast the happiness of
beholding you dayly; insomuch that succeeding ages who shall with joy
survey your History shall Envy us who lived in this, and saw those
charming wonders which they can only reade of, and whom we ought in
charity to pity, since all the Pictures, pens or pencills can draw, will
give 'em but a faint Idea of what we have the honour to see in such
absolute Perfection; they can only guess She was infinitely fair, witty,
and deserving, but to what Vast degrees in all, they can only Judge who
liv'd to Gaze and Listen; for besides Madam, all the Charms and
attractions and powers of your Sex, you have Beauties peculiar to your
self, an eternal sweetness, youth and ayr, which never dwelt in any face
but yours, of which not one unimitable Grace could be ever borrow'd, or
assumed, though with never so much industry, to adorn another, they
cannot steal a look or smile from you to inhance their own beauties
price, but all the world will know it yours; so natural and so fitted are
all your Charms and Excellencies to one another, so intirely design'd and
created to make up in you alone the most perfect lovely thing in the
world; you never appear but you glad the hearts of all that have the
happy fortune to see you, as if you were made on purpose to put the whole
world into good Humour, whenever you look abroad, and when you speak, men
crowd to listen with that awfull reverence as to Holy Oracles or Divine
Prophesies, and bears away the precious words to tell at home to all the
attentive family the Graceful things you utter'd and cry, _but oh she
spoke with such an Ayr, so gay, that half the beauty's lost in the
repetition_. 'Tis this that ought to make your Sex vain enough to despise
the malicious world that will allow a woman no wit, and bless our selves
for living in an Age that can produce so wondrous an argument as your
undeniable self, to shame those boasting talkers who are Judges of
nothing but faults.

But how much in vain Madam, I endeavour to tell you the sence of all
mankinde with mine, since to the utmost Limits of the Universe your
mighty Conquests are made known: And who can doubt the Power of that
Illustrious Beauty, the Charms of that tongue, and the greatness of that
minde, who has subdu'd the most powerfull and Glorious Monarch of the
world: And so well you bear the honours you were born for, with a
greatness so unaffected, an affability so easie, an Humour so soft, so
far from Pride or Vanity, that the most Envious & most disaffected can
finde no cause or reason to wish you less, Nor can Heaven give you more,
who has exprest a particular care of you every way, and above all in
bestowing on the world and you, two noble Branches, who have all the
greatness and sweetness of their Royal and beautiful stock; and who give
us too a hopeful Prospect of what their future Braveries will perform,
when they shall shoot up and spread themselves to that degree, that all
the lesser world may finde repose beneath their shades; and whom you have
permitted to wear those glorious Titles which you your self Generously
neglected, well knowing with the noble Poet; 'tis better far to merit
Titles then to wear 'em.

Can you then blame my Ambition, Madam, that lays this at your feet, and
begs a Sanctuary where all pay so great a Veneration? 'twas Dedicated
yours before it had a being, and overbusy to render it worthy of the
Honour, made it less grateful; and Poetry like Lovers often fares the
worse by taking too much pains to please; but under so Gracious an
Influence my tender Lawrells may thrive, till they become fit Wreaths to
offer to the Rays that improve their Growth: which Madam, I humbly
implore, you still permit her ever to do, who is,

  Madam,
    Your most Humble,
      and most Obedient Servant,
        _A. Behn_.




THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; or, A Night's Intrigue.



PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mrs. _Currer_.


_The Devil take this cursed plotting Age,
'T has ruin'd all our Plots upon the Stage;
Suspicions, New Elections, Jealousies,
Fresh Informations, New Discoveries,
Do so employ the busy fearful Town,
Our honest Calling here is useless grown:
Each Fool turns Politician now, and wears
A formal Face, and talks of State-affairs;
Makes Acts, Decrees, and a new Model draws
For Regulation both of Church and Laws;
Tires out his empty Noddle to invent
What Rule and Method's best in Government:
But Wit, as if 'twere Jesuitical,
Is an Abomination to ye all.
To what a wretched pass will poor Plays come?
This must be damn'd, the Plot is laid in_ Rome;
_'Tis hard--yet--
Not one amongst ye all I'll undertake,
E'er thought that we should suffer for Religion's sake:
Who wou'd have thought that wou'd have been th' occasion
Of any contest in our hopeful Nation?
For my own Principles, faith let me tell ye,
I'm still of the Religion of my Cully;
And till these dangerous times they'd none to fix on,
But now are something in mere Contradiction,
And piously pretend these are not days,
For keeping Mistresses, and seeing Plays:
Who says this Age a Reformation wants,
When_ Betty Currer's _Lovers all turns Saints?
In vain, alas, I flatter, swear, and vow,
You'll scarce do any thing for Charity now:
Yet I am handsom still, still young and mad,
Can wheedle, lye, dissemble, jilt--egad,
As well and artfully as e'er I did;
Yet not one Conquest can I gain or hope,
No Prentice, not a Foreman of a Shop,
So that I want extremely new Supplies;
Of my last Coxcomb, faith, these were the Prize;
And by the tatter'd Ensigns you may know,
These Spoils were of a Victory long ago:
Who wou'd have thought such hellish Times to have seen,
When I shou'd be neglected at Eighteen?
That Youth and Beauty shou'd be quite undone,
A Pox upon the Whore of_ Babylon.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

_ITALIANS_.

_Morosini_, an old Count, Uncle to _Julio_.          Mr. _Norris_.
_Julio_, his Nephew, a young Count, contracted to
    _Laura Lucretia_.                                Mr. _Crosby_.
_Octavio_ a young Count, contracted to _Marcella_,
    deformed, revengeful.                            Mr. _Gillo_.
_Crapine_, _Morosini's_ Man.
_Petro_, supposed Pimp to the two Curtezans.         Mr. _Leigh_.
_Silvio_, Page to _Laura Lucretia_.
_Antonio_, an Attendant to _Laura Lucretia_.
Page to _Julio_.

_ENGLISH_.

Sir _Harry Fillamour_, in love with _Marcella.       Mr. _Smith_.
Mr. _Galliard_, in love with _Cornelia_.             Mr. _Betterton_.
Sir _Signal Buffoon_, a Fool.                        Mr. _Nokes_.
Mr. _Tickletext_, his Governour.                     Mr. _Underbill_.
_Jack_, Sir _Signal's_ Man.
Page to _Fillamour_.

WOMEN.

Laura Lucretia_, a young Lady of Quality, contracted
    to _Julio_, in love with _Galliard_, and
    Sister to _Octavio_.                             Mrs. _Lee_.
_Marcella_,                                          Mrs. _Currer_.
    and
_Cornelia_,                                          Mrs. _Barry_.
    Sisters to _Julio_, and Nieces to _Morosini_,
    and pass for Curtezans by the names of
    _Euphemia_ and _Silvianetta_.
_Philippa_, their Woman.                             Mrs. _Norris_.
_Sabina_, Confident to _Laura Lucretia_.             Mrs. _Seymour_.

Pages, Musick, Footmen, and Bravos.

SCENE, _Rome_.



ACT I.


SCENE I. _A Street_.

    _Enter_ Laura Lucretia, _and_ Silvio _richly drest_;
    Antonio _attending, coming all in haste_.

_Sil_. Madam, you need not make such haste away, the Stranger that
follow'd us from St. _Peter's_ Church pursues us no longer, and we have
now lost sight of him: Lord, who wou'd have thought the approach of a
handsome Cavalier should have possest _Donna Laura Lucretia_ with fear?

_Lau_. I do not fear, my _Silvio_, but I wou'd have this new Habitation
which I have design'd for Love, known to none but him to whom I've
destin'd my Heart:--ah, wou'd he knew the Conquest he has made,
                                                         [_Aside_.]
Nor went I this Evening to Church with any other Devotion, but
that which warms my heart for my young _English_ Cavalier, whom I hop'd to
have seen there; and I must find some way to let him know my Passion,
which is too high for Souls like mine to hide.

_Sil_. Madam, the Cavalier's in view again, and hot in the pursuit.

_Lau_. Let's haste away then; and, _Silvio_, do you lag behind, 'twill
give him an opportunity of enquiring, whilst I get out of sight.--Be sure
you conceal my Name and Quality, and tell him--any thing but truth--tell
him I am _La Silvianetta_, the young Roman Curtezan, or what you please
to hide me from his knowledge.

                        [_Exeunt_ Lau. _and_ Ant.

    _Enter_ Julio _and Page in pursuit_.

_Jul_. Boy, fall you into discourse with that Page, and learn his Lady's
Name--whilst I pursue her farther.
                                      [_Ex_. Jul.

    [_Page salutes_ Silvio, _who returns it; they go out as
    talking to each other_.

   _Enter Sir_ Harry Fillamour _and_ Galliard.

_Fil_. He follows her close, whoe'er they be: I see this trade of Love
goes forward still.

_Gal_. And will whilst there's difference in Sexes. But, _Harry_, the
Women, the delicate Women I was speaking of?

_Fil_. Prithee tell me no more of thy fine Women, _Frank_; thou hast not
been in _Rome_ above a Month, and thou'ast been a dozen times in love, as
thou call's! it; to me there is no pleasure like Constancy.

_Gal_. Constancy! and wou'dst thou have me one of those dull Lovers, who
believe it their Duty to love a Woman 'till her Hair and Eyes change
Colour, for fear of the scandalous Name of an Inconstant? No, my Passion,
like great Victors, hates the lazy stay; but having vanquisht, prepares
for new Conquests.

_Fil_. Which you gain as they do Towns by Fire, lose 'em even in the
taking; thou wo't grow penitent, and weary of these dangerous Follys.

_Gal_. But I am yet too young for both: Let old Age and Infirmity bring
Repentance,--there's her feeble Province, and even then too we find no
plague like being deprived of dear Woman-kind.

_Fil_. I hate playing about a Flame that will consume me.

_Gal_. Away with your antiquated Notions, and let's once hear sense from
thee: Examine but the whole World, _Harry_, and thou wilt find a
beautiful Woman the Desire of the noblest, and the Reward of the bravest.

_Fil_. And the common Prize of Coxcombs: Times are alter'd now, _Frank_;
why else shou'd the Virtuous be cornuted, the Coward be caress'd, the
Villain roll with six, and the Fool lie with her Ladyship?

_Gal_. Mere accident, Sir; and the kindness of Fortune: but a pretty
witty young Creature, such as this _Silvianetta_ and _Euphemia_, is
certainly the greatest Blessing this wicked World can afford us.

_Fil_. I believe the lawful enjoyment of such a Woman, and honest too,
wou'd be a Blessing.

_Gal_. Lawful Enjoyment! Prithee what's lawful Enjoyment, but to enjoy
'em according to the generous indulgent Law of Nature; enjoy 'em as we do
Meat, Drink, Air, and Light, and all the rest of her common Blessings?--
Therefore prithee, dear Knight, let me govern thee but for a Day, and I
will shew thee such a _Signiora_, such a Beauty, another manner of piece
than your so admired _Viterboan, Donna Marcella_, of whom you boast so
much.

_Fil_. And yet this rare piece is but a Curtezan, in coarse plain
_English_ a very Whore,--who filthily exposes all her Beauties to him can
give her most, not love her best.

_Gal_. Why, faith, to thy comfort be it spoken, she does distribute her
Charms at that easy rate.

_Fil_. Oh, the vast distance between an innocent Passion, and a poor
faithless Lust!

_Gal_. Innocent Passion at _Rome_! Oh, 'tis not to be nam'd but in some
Northern Climate: to be an Anchoret here, is to be an Epicure in
_Greenland_; impossibilities, _Harry_. Sure thou hast been advising with
Sir _Signal Buffoon's_ Governour, that formal piece of Nonsense and
Hypocrisy.

_Fil_. No, faith, I brought the humour along with me to _Rome_; and for
your Governour I have not seen him yet, though he lodge in this same
House with us, and you promis'd to bring me acquainted with him long
since.

_Gal_. I'll do't this very minute.

_Fil_. No, I'm oblig'd not to engage my self this Evening, because I
expect the arrival of Count _Julio_, whose last Letters assured me it
would be to night.

_Gal_. _Julio_! What, the young _Italian_ Count you made me acquainted
with last Summer in _England_?

_Fil_. The same, the Ambassador's Nephew, a good Youth, and one I esteem.

    _Enter_ Julio.

_Jul_. I hope my Page will bring intelligence who this Beauty is.

_Fil_. Hah, _Julio_! Welcome, dear Friend.
                                      [_Embraces him_.

_Jul_. Sir _Harry Fillamour_! how glad am I to meet you in a Country,
where I have power to repay you all those Friendships I receiv'd when I
was a stranger in yours. Monsieur _Galllard_ too! nay, then I'm sure to
want no diversion whilst I stay in _Rome_.
                             [_Salutes_ Galliard.

_Fil_. But, pray, what made you leave _England_ so soon?

_Jul_. E'en the great business of Mankind, Matrimony. I have an Uncle
here, who has provided me Fetters, which I must put on, he says they will
be easy; I lik'd the Character of my Mistress well enough, a brave
masculine Lady, a Roman of Quality, _Donna Laura Lucretia_; till as luck
wou'd have it, at my arrival this Evening, stepping into St. _Peter's_
Church, I saw a Woman there that fir'd my heart, and whom I followed to
her house: but meeting none that cou'd inform me who she was, I left my
Page to make the discovery, whilst I with equal impatience came to look
you out; whose sight I prefer even to a new Amour, resolving not to visit
home, to which I have been a stranger this seven years, till I had kist
your hands, and gained your promise to accompany me to _Viterbo_.

_Fil_. _Viterbo_! is that your place of Residence?

_Jul_. Yes, 'tis a pretty Town, and many noble Familys inhabit there,
stor'd too with Beauties, at least 'twas wont to be: have you not seen
it?

_Gal_. Yes, and a Beauty there too, lately, for his repose, who has made
him sigh and look so like an Ass ever since he came to _Rome_.

_Jul_. I am glad you have so powerful an Argument, to invite you back; I
know she must be rare and of quality, that cou'd engage your heart.

_Fil_. She's both; it most unluckily fell out, that I was recommended by
a Person of Quality in _England_ to a Nobleman at _Viterbo_, who being a
Man of a Temper frank and gallant, received me with less Ceremony than is
usual in _Italy_. I had the freedom of the House, one of the finest
_Villa's_ belonging to _Viterbo_, and the pleasure to see and converse at
a distance with one of the loveliest Persons in the World, a Niece of
this old Count's.

_Jul_. Very well, and cou'd you see her but at a distance, Sir?

_Fil_. Oh, no, 'twas all I durst desire, or she durst give; I came too
late to hope; she being before promised in Marriage to a more happy man,
the Consummation of which waits only the arrival of a Brother of hers,
who is now at the Court of _France_, and every day expected.

     _Enter_ Petro _like a Barber_.

_Gal_. Hah! Signior _Petro_.

_Fil_. Come, Sir, we'll take a turn i'th' Gallery, for this Pimp never
appears, but _Francis_ desires to be in private.

_Gal_. Thou wrong'st an honest ingenious Fellow, to call him Pimp.

_Pet_. Ah, Signior, what his Worship pleases!

_Gal_. That thou art I'll be sworn, or what any man's Worship pleases;
for let me tell ye, _Harry_, he is capacitated to oblige in any
quality: for, Sir, he's your brokering Jew, your Fencing, Dancing, and
Civility-Master, your Linguist, your Antiquary, your Bravo, your Pathick,
Your Whore, your Pimp; and a thousand more Excellencies he has to supply
The necessities of the wanting Stranger.--Well, Sirrah--what design now
Upon Sir _Signal_ and his wise Governour?--What do you represent now?

_Pet_. A Barber, Sir.

_Gal_. And why a Barber, good Signior _Petro_?

_Pet_. Oh, Sir, the sooner to take the heights of their Judgments; it
gives handsome opportunities to commend their Faces; for if they are
pleas'd with flattery, the certain sign of a Fool's to be most tickled
when most commended, I conclude 'em the fitter for my purpose; they
already put great confidence in me, will have no Masters but of my
recommending, all which I supply my self, by the help of my several
disguises; by which, and my industry, I doubt not but to pick up a good
honest painful livelihood, by cheating these two Reverend Coxcombs.

_Gal_. How the Devil got'st thou this credit with 'em?

_Pet_. O, easily, Sir, as Knaves get Estates, or Fools Employments.

_Fil_. I hope amongst all your good qualities, you forgot not your more
natural one of pimping.

_Pet_. No, I assure you, Sir; I have told Sir _Signal Buffoon_, that no
Man lives here without his Inamorata: which very word has so fir'd him,
that he's resolved to have an Inamorata whate'er it cost him; and, as in
all things else, I have in that too promised my assistance.

_Gal_. If you assist him no better than you have done me, he may stay
long enough for his Inamorata.

_Pet_. Why, faith, Sir, I lie at my young Lady night and day; but she is
so loth to part with that same Maiden-head of hers yet--but to morrow
night, Sir, there's hopes.--

_Gal_. To morrow night; Oh, 'tis an Age in Love! Desire knows no time but
the present, 'tis now I wish, and now I wou'd enjoy: a new Day ought to
bring a new Desire.

_Pet_. Alas, Sir, I'm but an humble Bravo.

_Gal_. Yes, thou'rt a Pimp, yet want'st the Art to procure a longing
Lover the Woman he adores, though but a common Curtezan--Oh, confound her
Maiden-head--she understands her Trade too well, to have that badge of
Innocence.

_Pet_. I offered her her Price, Sir.

_Gal_. Double it, give any thing, for that's the best receipt I ever
found to soften Womens hearts.

_Pet_. Well, Sir, she will be this Evening in the Garden of _Medices
Villa_, there you may get an opportunity to advance your Interest--I must
step and trim _Mr. Tickletext_, and then am at your service.
                                [_Exit_ Petro.

_Jul_. What is this Knight and his Governour, who have the blessed
Fortune to be manag'd by this Squire?

_Fil_. Certain Fools _Galliard_ makes use of when he has a mind to laugh,
and whom I never thought worth a visit since I came to _Rome:_ and he's
like to profit much by his Travels, who keeps company with all the
_English_, especially the <DW2>s.

_Gal_. Faith, Sir, I came not abroad to return with the formality of a
Judge; and these are such antidotes against Melancholy as wou'd make thee
fond of fooling.--Our Knight's Father is even the first Gentleman of his
House, a Fellow, who having the good fortune to be much a Fool and Knave,
had the attendant blessing of getting an Estate of some eight thousand a
year, with this Coxcomb to inherit it; who (to aggrandize the Name and
Family of the _Buffoons_) was made a Knight; but to refine throughout,
and make a compleat <DW2>, was sent abroad under the Government of one Mr.
_Tickletext_, his zealous Father's Chaplain, as errant a blockhead as a
man wou'd wish to hear preach; the Father wisely foreseeing the eminent
danger that young Travellers are in of being perverted to Popery.

_Jul_. 'Twas well considered.

_Gal_. But for the young Spark, there is no description can reach him;
'tis only to be done by himself; let it suffice, 'tis a pert, saucy,
conceited Animal, whom you shall just now go see and admire, for he
lodges in the house with us.

_Jul_. With all my heart, I never long'd more for a new acquaintance.

_Fil_. And in all probability shall sooner desire to be rid on't.--
_Allons_.

                                        [_Exeunt_.


SCENE II. _Draws off to a room in_ Tickletext's _lodging, and discovers
Mr_. Tickletext _a trimming, his Hair under a Cap, a Cloth before him:_
Petro _snaps his fingers, takes away the Bason, and goes to wiping his
face_.

    Tickletext _and_ Petro.

_Pet_. Ah che Bella! Bella! I swear by these sparkling Eyes and these
soft plump dimpled Cheeks, there's not a Signiora in all _Rome_, cou'd
she behold 'em, were able to stand their Temptations; and for _La
Silvianetta_, my life on't, she's your own.

_Tick_. Teze, teze, speak softly; but, honest _Barberacho_, do I, do I
indeed look plump, and young, and fresh and--hah!

_Pet_. Ay, Sir, as the rosy Morn, young as old Time in his Infancy, and
plump as the pale-fac'd Moon.

_Tick_. He--Why, this Travelling must needs improve a Man--Why, how
admirably well-spoken your very Barbers are here--[_Aside_.]--But,
_Barberacho_, did the young Gentlewoman say she lik'd me? did she, Rogue?
did she?

_Pet_. A doated on you Signior, doated on you.

_Tick_. Why, and that's strange now, in the Autumn of my Age too, when
Nature began to be impertinent, as a Man may say, that a young Lady
shou'd fall in love with me--[_Aside_.] Why, _Barberacho_, I do not
conceive any great matter of Sin only in visiting a Lady that loves a
man, hah.

_Pet_. Sin, Sir! 'tis a frequent thing now-a-days in Persons of your
Complexion.

_Tick_. Especially here at _Rome_ too, where 'tis no scandal.

_Pet_. Ah, Signior, where the Ladies are privileg'd and Fornication
licensed.

_Tick_. Right! and when 'tis licens'd, 'tis lawful; and when 'tis lawful,
it can be no Sin: besides, _Barberacho_, I may chance to turn her, who
knows?

_Pet_. Turn her, Signior, alas, any way, which way you please.

_Tick_. He, he, he! There thou wert knavish, I doubt--but I mean convert
her--nothing else I profess, _Barberacho_.

_Pet_. True, Signior, true, she's a Lady of an easy nature, and an
indifferent Argument well handled will do't--ha--here's your head of
Hair--here's your natural [_combing out his Hair_.] Frize! And such an
Air it gives the Face!--So, Signior--Now you have the utmost my Art can
do.
       [_Takes away the Cloth, and bows_.

_Tick_. Well, Signior,--and where's your Looking-glass?

_Pet_. My Looking-glass!

_Tick_. Yes, Signior, your Looking-glass! an _English_ Barber wou'd as
soon have forgotten to have snapt his fingers, made his leg, or taken his
Money, as have neglected his Looking-glass.

_Pet_. Ay, Signior, in your Country the Laity have so little Honesty,
they are not to be trusted with the taking off your Beard unless you
see't done:--but here's a Glass, Sir.
                                      [_Gives him the Glass_.

    [Tick. _sets himself and smirks in the Glass_, Pet. _standing
    behind him, making horns and grimaces, which_ Tick. _sees in the
    Glass, gravely rises, turns towards_ Petro.

_Tick_. Why, how now, _Barberacho_, what monstrous Faces are you making
there?

_Pet_. All, my Belly, my Belly, Signior: ah, this Wind-Cholick! this
Hypocondriack does so torment me! ah--

_Tick_. Alas, poor Knave; _certo_, I thought thou hadst been somewhat
uncivil with me, I profess I did.

_Pet_. Who, I, Sir, uncivil?--I abuse my Patrone!--I that have almost
made my self a Pimp to serve you?

_Tick_. Teze, teze, honest _Barberacho!_ no, no, no, all's well, all's
well:--but hark ye--you will be discreet and secret in this business now,
and above all things conceal the knowledge of this Gentlewoman from Sir
_Signal_ and Mr. _Galliard_.

_Pet_. The Rack, Signior, the Rack shall not extort it.

_Tick_. Hold thy Hand--there's somewhat for thee, [_Gives him Money_.]
but shall I, Rogue--shall I see her to night?--

_Pet_. To night, Sir, meet me in the Piazza _D'Hispagnia_, about ten a
Clock,--I'll meet you there,--but 'tis fit, Signior--that I should
provide a Collation,--'tis the custom here, Sir.--

_Tick_. Well, well, what will it come to?--here's an Angel.--

_Pet_. Why, Sir, 'twill come to--about--for you wou'd do't handsomely--
some twenty Crowns.--

_Tick_. How, man, twenty Crowns!

_Pet_. Ay, Signior, thereabouts.

_Tick_. Twenty Crowns!--Why, 'tis a Sum, a Portion, a Revenue.

_Pet_. Alas, Signior, 'tis nothing with her,--she'll look it out in an
hour,--ah, such an Eye, so sparkling, with an amorous Twire--Then, Sir--
she'll kiss it out in a moment,--such a Lip, so red, so round, so plump,
so soft, and so--

_Tick_. Why, has she, has she, Sirrah--hah--here, here, prithee take
money, here, and make no words on't--go, go your way, go--But to
entertain Sir _Signal_ with other matter, pray send his Masters to him;
if thou canst help him to Masters, and me to Mistresses, thou shalt be
the good Genius of us both: but see where he comes--

    _Enter Sir_ Signal.

Sir _Sig_. Hah! _Signior Illustrissimo Barberacho_, let me hug thee, my
little _Miphistophiloucho_--de ye see here, how fine your Brokering Jew
has made me, Signior _Rabbi Manaseth--Ben--Nebiton_, and so forth; hah--
view me round--
                               [_Turns round_.

_Tick_. I profess 'tis as fit as if it had been made for you.

Sir _Sig_. Made for me--Why, Sir, he swore to me by the old Law, that
'twas never worn but once, and that but by one High-German Prince--I have
forgot his name--for the Devil can never remember a fart these dam'd
_Hogan-Mogan_ Titles.

_Tick_. No matter, Sir.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, but I shou'd be loth to be in any man's Clothes, were he
never so high a German Prince--except I knew his name though.

_Tick_. Sir, I hold his name unnecessary to be remembred, so long as
'twas a princely Penniworth.--_Barberacho_, get you gone, and send the
Masters.
            [_Ex_. Petro.

Sir _Sig_. Why, how now, Governour? how now, Signior _Tickletext_!
prithee how camest thou so transmogrified, ha? why, thou look'st like any
new-fledg'd _Cupid_.

_Tick_. Do I? away, you flatter; do I?

Sir _Sig_. As I hope to breathe, your Face shines through your pouder'd
Hairs, like you know what on a Barn-door in a frosty morning.

_Tick_. What a filthy comparison there for a man of my Coat?

Sir _Sig_. What, angry--_Corpo di me_, I meant no harm,--Come, shall's to
a _Bonaroba_, where thou shalt part with thy Pusilage, and that of thy
Beard together?

_Tick_. How mean you, Sir, a Curtezan, and a Romish Curtezan?

Sir _Sig_. Now my Tutor's up, ha, ha, ha--and ever is when one names a
Whore; be pacify'd, Man, be pacify'd, I know thou hat'st 'em worse than
Beads or Holy-water.

_Tick_. Away, you are such another Knight--but leave this naughty
discourse, and prepare for your Fencing and Civility-Masters, who are
coming.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, when, Governour, when? Oh, how I long for my
Civility-Master, that I may learn to out-complement all the dull
Knights and Squires in _Kent_, with a _Servitore Hulichimo--No
Signiora Bellissima, base le Mane de vos Signiora scusa mia
Illustrissimo, caspeto de Bacco_, and so I'll run on, hah, Governour,
hah! won't this be pure?

_Tick_. Notably ingenious, I profess.

Sir _Sig_. Well, I'll send my _Staffiera_ for him _incontinente_.--he,
_Jack_--a--_Cazo_, what a damned _English_ name is _Jack_? let me see--I
will call him _Giovanni_--which is as much as to say _John_!--he
_Giovanni_.

    _Enter_ Jack.

_Tick_. Sir, by your favour, his _English_ Protestant Name is _John
Pepper_, and I'll call him by ne'er a Popish Name in Christendom.

Sir _Sig_. I'll call my own man, Sir, by what name I please, Sir; and let
me tell you, Reverend Mr. _Tickletext_, I scorn to be served by any man
whose name has not an _Acho_ or an _Oucho_, or some _Italiano_ at the end
on't--therefore _Giovanni Peperacho_ is the name by which you shall be
distinguish'd and dignify'd hereafter.

_Tick_. Sir _Signal_, Sir _Signal_, let me tell you, that to call a man
out of his name is unwarrantable, for _Peter_ is call'd _Peter_, and
_John John_; and I'll not see the poor Fellow wrong'd of his Name for
ne'er a _Giovanni_ in _Rome_.

Sir _Sig_. Sir, I tell you that one _Italian_ Name is worth any two
_English_ Names in Europe, and I'll be judg'd by my Civility-Master.

_Tick_. Who shall end the dispute if he be of my opinion?

Sir _Sig_. _Multo voluntiero_, which is as much as to say, with all my
heart.

_Jack_. But, Sir, my Grandmother wou'd never own me, if I should change
the cursen Name she gave me with her own hands, an't please your Worship.

Sir _Sig_. He _Bestia_! I'll have no more of your Worship, Sirrah, that
old _English_ Sir Reverence, let me have you call me _Signior
Illustrissimo_ or Patrona Mea_--or--

_Tick_. Ay, that I like well enough now:--but hold, sure this is one of
your Masters.

    _Enter_ Petro _drest like a French Fencing-Master_.

_Pet_. Signior _Barberacho_ has sent me to teach you de Art of Fencing.

Sir _Sig_. _Illustrissimo Signior Monsieur_, I am the Person who am to
learn.

_Tick_. Stay, Sir, stay--let me ask him some few questions first: for,
Sir, I have play'd at Back-Sword, and cou'd have handled ye a weapon as
well as any Man of my time in the University.

Sir _Sig_. Say you so, Mr. _Tickletext?_ and faith, you shall have a bout
with him.

    [Tick. _gravely goes to_ Petro.

_Tick_. Hum--hum--Mr. _Monsieur_--pray what are the Guards that you like
best?

_Pet_. _Monsieur, eder de Quart or de Terse_, dey be both _French_ and
_Italian_: den for your Parades, Degagements, your Advancements, your
Eloynements and Retierments, dey be de same.

_Tick_. Cart and Horse, what new-found inventions and words have we
here?--Sir, I wou'd know, whether you like St. _George's_ Guard or not.

_Pet_. Alons--_Monsieur, Mettez vous en Guard!_ take de Flurette.

Sir _Sig_. Nay, faith and troth, Governor, thou shalt have a Rubbers with
him.

    [Tick, _smiling refuses_.

_Tick_. Nay, _certo_, Sir _Signal_,--and yet you shall prevail;--well,
Sir, come your ways.
                     [_Takes the Flurette_.

_Pet_. Set your right foot forward, turn up your hand so--dat be _de
Quart_--now turn it dus--and dat be _de Terse_.

_Tick_. Hocus Pocus, Hicksius Doxius--here be de Cart, and here be de
Horse--why, what's all this for; hah, Sir--and where's your Guard all
this while?

Sir _Sig_. Ay, Sir, where's your Guard, Sir, as my Governour says, Sir,
hah?

_Tick_. Come, come, Sir, I must instruct you, I see; Come your ways,
Sir.--

_Pet_. _Attende, attende une peu_--trust de right hand and de right leg
forward together.--

_Tick_. I marry, Sir, that's a good one indeed: What shall become of my
Head then, Sir? what Guard have I left for that, good Mr. _Monsieur_,
hah?

_Pet_. Ah, Morbleu, is not dis for every ting?

_Tick_. No, marry, is not it, Sir; St. _George's_ Guard is best for the
Head whilst you live--as thus, Sir.

_Pet_. Dat, Sir, ha, ha--dat be de Guard for de Back-Sword.

_Tick_. Back-sword, Sir, yes, Back-sword, what shou'd it be else?

_Pet_. And dis be de Single-Rapier.

_Tick_. Single-Rapier with a Vengeance, there's a weapon for a Gentleman
indeed; is all this stir about Single-Rapier?

_Pet_. Single-Rapier! What wou'd you have for de Gentlemen, de Cudgel for
de Gentlemen?

_Tick_. No, Sir, but I wou'd have it for de Rascally _Frenchman_,
who comes to abuse Persons of Quality with paltry Single-Rapier.--
Single-Rapier! Come, Sir, come--put your self in your Cart and your
Horse as you call it, and I'll shew you the difference.

        [_Undresses himself till he appears in a ridiculous Posture_.

_Pet_. Ah, _Monsieur_, me sall run you two three times through de Body,
and den you break a me head, what care I for dat?--Pox on his ignorance.
                                                                [_Aside_.

_Tick_. Oh, ho, Sir, do your worst, Sir, do your worst, Sir.

    [_They put themselves into several Guards, and_ Tick. _beats_
    Pet. _about the Stage.--Enter_ Gall. Fill. _and_ Jul.

_Pet_. Ah, _Monsieur, Monsieur_, will you kill a me?

_Tick_. Ah, _Monsieur_, where be your Carts now, and your Horse, Mr.
_Monsieur_, hah?--and your Single-Rapier, Mr. _Monsieur_, hah?--

_Gal_. Why, how now, Mr. _Tickletext_, what mortal Wars are these? _Ajax_
and _Ulysses_ contending for _Achilles_ his Armour?

_Pet_. If I be not reveng'd on him, hang me.    [_Aside_

Sir _Sig_. Ay, why, who the Devil wou'd have taken my Governor for so
tall a man of hands? but _Corpo de me_, Mr. _Galliard_, I have not seen
his Fellow.

_Tick_. Ah, Sir, time was, I wou'd have play'd ye a Match at Cudgels with
e'er a Sophister in the College, but verily I have forgotten it; but
here's an Impudent _Frenchman_ that wou'd have past Single-Rapier
upon us.

_Gal_. How, nay a my word, then he deserv'd to be chastis'd for't--but
now all's at Peace again; pray know my Kinsman, Sir _Harry Fillamour_.

Sir _Sig_. _Yo baco les manos_, Signior _Illustrissimo Cavaliero_,--and
yours, Signiors, who are _Multo bien Venito_.

_Tick_. Oh Lord, Sir, you take me, Sir, in such a posture, Sir, as I
protest I have not been in this many years.

                      [_Dressing himself whilst he talks_.

_Fil_. Exercise is good for health, Sir.

_Gal_. Sir _Signal_, you are grown a perfect _Italian_: Well, Mr.
_Tickletext_, you will carry him home a most accomplish't Gentleman I
see.

_Tick_. Hum, verily, Sir, though I say it, for a Man that never travell'd
before, I think I have done reasonably well--I'll tell you, Sir--it was
by my directions and advice that he brought over with him,--two _English_
Knives, a thousand of _English_ Pins, four pair of _Jersey_ Stockings,
and as many pair of Buckskin Gloves.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, Sir, for good Gloves you know are very scarce Commodities
in this Country.

_Jul_. Here, Sir, at _Rome_, as you say, above all other places.

_Tick_. _Certo_, mere hedging Gloves, Sir, and the clouterlest Seams.

_Fil_. Very right, Sir,--and now he talks of _Rome_,--Pray, Sir, give me
your opinion of the Place--Are there not noble Buildings here, rare
Statues, and admirable Fountains?

_Tick_. Your Buildings are pretty Buildings, but not comparable to our
University Buildings; your Fountains, I confess, are, pretty Springs,--
and your Statues reasonably well carv'd--but, Sir, they are so ancient
they are of no value: then your Churches are the worst that ever I saw--
that ever I saw.

_Gal_. How, Sir, the Churches, why I thought _Rome_ had been famous
throughout all _Europe_ for fine Churches.

_Fil_. What think you of St. _Peter's_ Church, Sir? Is it not a glorious
Structure?

_Tick_. St. _Peter's_ Church, Sir, you may as well call it St. _Peter's_
Hall, Sir; it has neither Pew, Pulpit, Desk, Steeple, nor Ring of Bells;
and call you this a Church, Sir? No, Sir, I'll say that for little
_England_, and a fig for't, for Churches, easy Pulpits, [Sir _Sig.
speaks_, And sleeping Pews,] they are as well ordered as any Churches in
Christendom: and finer Rings of Bells, Sir, I am sure were never heard.

_Jul_. Oh, Sir, there's much in what you say.

_Fil_. But then, Sir, your rich Altars, and excellent Pictures of the
greatest Masters of the World, your delicate Musick and Voices, make some
amends for the other wants.

_Tick_. How, Sir! tell me of your rich Altars, your Guegaws and Trinkets,
and Popish Fopperies, with a deal of Sing-song--when I say, give me, Sir,
five hundred close Changes rung by a set of good Ringers, and I'll not
exchange 'em for all the Anthems in _Europe_: and for the Pictures, Sir,
they are Superstition, idolatrous, and flat Popery.

_Fil_. I'll convince you of that Error, that persuades you harmless
Pictures are idolatrous.

_Tick_. How, Sir, how, Sir, convince me! talk to me of being convinc'd,
and that in favour of Popery! No, Sir, by your favour I shall not be
convinc'd: convinc'd, quoth a!--no, Sir, fare you well, an you be for
convincing: come away, Sir _Signal_, fare you well, Sir, fare you well:--
convinc'd!
                                     [_Goes out_.

Sir _Sig_. Ha, ha, ha, so now is my Governour gone in a Fustian-fume:
well, he is ever thus when one talks of Whoring and Religion: but come,
Sir, walk in, and I'll undertake, my Tutor shall beg your Pardon, and
renounce his _English_ ill-bred Opinion; nay, his _English_ Churches too--all
but his own Vicaridge.

_Fil_. I have better diversion, Sir, I thank you--come, _Julio_, are you
for a Walk in the Garden of _Medices Villa_, 'tis hard by?--

_Jul_. I'll wait on you--
                      [_Ex_. Fil. _and_ Julio.

Sir _Sig_. How in the Garden of _Medices Villa_?--but, harkye,
_Galliard_, will the Ladies be there, the Curtezans, the _Bona Roba's_,
the _Inamorata's_, and the _Bell Ingrato's_, hah?

_Gal_. Oh, doubtless, Sir.
                              [_Exit_. Gall.

Sir _Sig_. I'll e'en bring my Governour thither to beg his Pardon, on
purpose to get an opportunity to see the fine Women; it may be I may get
a sight of my new Mistress, _Donna Silvianetta_, whom _Petro_ is to bring
me acquainted with.

                               [_Exeunt_.



ACT II.

SCENE I. _The Gardens of the Villa Medici_.

    _Enter_ Morosini _and_ Octavio.

_Oct_. By Heaven, I will not eat, nor sleep, nor pray for any thing but
swift and sure Revenge, till I have found _Marcella_, that false
deceiving Beauty, or her Lover, my hated Rival _Fillamour_; who, wanton
in the Arms of the fair Fugitive, laughs at my shameful easiness, and
cries, these Joys were never meant for tame _Octavio_.

    _Enter_ Crapine.

_Mar_. How now, _Crapine_! What, no News, no News of my Nieces yet,
_Marcella_ and _Cornelia_?

_Crap_. None, Sir.

_Oct_. That's wondrous strange, _Rome's_ a place of that general
Intelligence, methinks thou might'st have News of such trivial things as
Women, amongst the Cardinals Pages: I'll undertake to learn the Religion
_de stato_, and present juncture of all affairs in _Italy_, of a common
Curtezan.

_Mar_. Sirrah, Sirrah, let it be your care to examine all the Nunneries,
for my own part not a Petticoat shall escape me.

_Oct_. My task shall be for _Fillamour_.    [_Aside_.

_Mor_. I'll only make a visit to your Sister _Donna Laura Lucretia_, and
deliver her a Letter from my Nephew _Julio_, and return to you
presently.--
                [_Going out, is staid by_ Octavio.

_Oct_. Stay, Sir, defer your visit to my Sister _Laura_, she is not yet
to know of my being in Town; 'tis therefore I have taken a Lodging in an
obscure street, and am resolv'd never to be my self again till I've
redeem'd my Honour. Come, Sir, let's walk--

    _Enter to them, as they are going out_, Marcella _and_ Cornelia,
    _drest like Curtezans_, Philippa, _and Attendance_.

_Mor_. Stay, stay, what Women are these?

_Oct_. Whores, Sir, and so 'tis ten to one are all the kind; only these
differ from the rest in this, they generously own their trade of Sin,
which others deal by stealth in; they are Curtezans.
                              [_Exeunt_.

_Mar_. The Evening's soft and calm, as happy Lovers Thoughts;
And here are Groves where the kind meeting Trees
Will hide us from the amorous gazing Croud.

_Cor_. What should we do there, sigh till our wandering Breath
Has rais'd a gentle Gale amongst the Boughs;
To whose dull melancholy Musick we,
Laid on a Bed of Moss, and new-fallen Leaves,
Will read the dismal tale of Echo's Love!
--No, I can make better use of famous _Ovid_.
          [_Snatches a little Book from her_.
And prithee what a pox have we to do with Trees,
Flowers, Fountains, or naked Statues?

_Mar_. But, prithee, mad _Cornelia_, let's be grave and wise, at least
enough to think a little.

_Cor_. On what? your _English_ Cavalier _Fillamour_, of whom you tell so
many dull stories of his making Love! Oh, how I hate a civil whining
Coxcomb!

_Mar_. And so do I, I'll therefore think of him no more.

_Cor_. Good Lord! what a damnable wicked thing is a Virgin grown up to
Woman.

_Mar_. What, art thou such a Fool to think I love this _Fillamour?_

_Cor_. It may be not at _Rome_, but at _Viterbo_, where Men are scarce,
you did; and did you follow him to _Rome_, to tell him you cou'd love no
more?

_Mar_. A too forward Maid, _Cornelia_, hurts her own Fame, and that of
all her Sex.

_Cor_. Her Sex! a pretty consideration, by my Youth; an Oath I shall not
violate this dozen years: my Sex shou'd excuse me, if to preserve their
Fame they expected I should ruin my own Quiet; in chasing an ill-favour'd
Husband, such as _Octavio_, before a young handsome Lover, such as you
say _Fillamour_ is.

_Mar_. I wou'd fain persuade my self to be of thy mind,--but the World,
_Cornelia_--

_Cor_. Hang the malicious World--

_Mar_. And there's such Charms in Wealth and Honour too.

_Cor_. None half so powerful as Love, in my opinion; 'slife, Sister, thou
art beautiful, and hast a Fortune too, which before I wou'd lay out upon
so shameful a purchase as such a Bedfellow for life as _Octavio_, I wou'd
turn errant keeping Curtezan, and buy my better Fortune.

_Mar_. That Word too startles me.

_Cor_. What, Curtezan! why, 'tis a noble Title, and has more Votaries
than Religion; there's no Merchandize like ours, that of Love, my
Sister:--and can you be frighted with the Vizor, which you your self put
on?

_Mar_. 'Twas the only Disguise that cou'd secure us from the search of my
Uncle and _Octavio_. Our Brother _Julio_ is by this too arriv'd, and I
know they'll all be diligent,--and some Honour I was content to sacrifice
to my eternal Repose.

_Cor_. Spoke like my Sister! a little impertinent Honour, we may chance
to lose, 'tis true; but our down-right Honesty I perceive you are
resolv'd we shall maintain through all the dangers of Love and Gallantry;
though to say truth, I find enough to do, to defend my Heart against some
of those Members that nightly serenade us, and daily show themselves
before our Window, gay as young Bridegrooms, and as full of expectation.

_Mar_. But is't not wondrous, that amongst all these Crouds we should not
once see _Fillamour_? I thought the Charms of a fair young Curtezan might
have oblig'd him to some Curiosity at least.

_Cor_. Ay! and an _English_ Cavalier too, a Nation so fond of all new
Faces.

_Mar_. Heaven, if I should never see him, and I frequent all publick
Places to meet him! or if he be gone
from _Rome_, if he have forgot me, or some other Beauty
have employ'd his Thoughts!

_Cor_. Why; if all these if's and or's come to pass, we
have no more to do than to advance in this same glorious
Profession, of which now we only seem to be--in which,
to give it its due, there are a thousand Satisfactions to be
found, more than in a dull virtuous Life: Oh, the world
of Dark-Lanthorn-Men we should have! the Serenades,
the Songs, the Sighs, the Vows, the Presents, the Quarrels,
and all for a Look or a Smile, which you have been
hitherto so covetous of, that _Petro_ swears our Lovers begin
to suspect us for some honest Jilts; which by some is
accounted much the leuder scandal of the two:--therefore
I think, faith, we must e'en be kind a little to redeem
our Reputations.

_Mar_. However we may railly, certainly there's nothing
so hard to Woman, as to expose her self to villainous Man.

_Cor_. Faith, Sister, if 'twere but as easy to satisfy the nice scruples
of Religion and Honour, I should find no great Difficulty in the rest--
Besides, another Argument I have, our Mony's all gone, and without a
Miracle can hold out no longer honestly.

_Mar_. Then we must sell our Jewels.

_Cor_. When they are gone, what Jewel will you part with next?

_Mar_. Then we must--

_Cor_. What, go home to _Viterbo_, ask the old Gentleman pardon, and be
receiv'd to Grace again, you to the Embraces of the amiable _Octavio_,
and I to St. _Teresa's_, to whistle through a Grate like a Bird in a
Cage,--for I shall have little heart to sing.--But come, let's leave
This sad talk, here's Men--let's walk and gain new Conquest, I love
it dearly--
               [_Walk down the Garden_.

    _Enter_ Gall. Fill, _and_ Jul. _see the Women_.

_Gal_. Women! and by their garb for our purpose too--they're Curtezans,
let's follow 'em.

_Fil_. What shall we get by gazing but Disquiet? If they are fair and
honest, we look, and perhaps may sigh in vain; if beautiful and loose,
they are not worth regarding.

_Gal_. Dear notional Knight, leave your satirical Fopperies, and be at
least good-humour'd, and let's follow them.

_Jul_. I'll leave you in the Pursuit, and take this Opportunity to write
my Uncle word of my Arrival; and wait on you here anon.

_Fil_. Prithee do so: hah, who's that with such an Equipage?

    [_Exit_ Julio, Fil. _and_ Gal. _going after_. Marcella
    _and_ Cor. _meet just entring_, Laura _with_ Silvio,
    Antonio, _and her Equipage, drest like a Man_.

_Gal_. Pox, let the Tradesmen ask, who cringe for such gay Customers, and
follow us the Women!

    [_Exit_ Fil. _and_ Gal. _down the Scene_, Lau. _looking after 'em_.

_Lau_. 'Tis he, my Cavalier, my Conqueror: _Antonio_, let the Coaches
wait,--and stand at distance all: Now, _Silvio_, on thy Life forget my
Sex and Quality, forget my useless name of _Laura Lucretia_, and call me
Count of--

_Sil_. What, Madam?

_Lau_. Madam! ah, foolish Boy, thy feminine Courage will betray us all:--
but--call me Count--_Sans Coeur_.--And tell me, _Silvio_, how is it I
appear?
How dost thou like my Shape--my Face and Dress? My Mien and Equipage, may
I not pass for Man? Looks it _en Prince_ and Masculine?

_Sil_. Now as I live, you look all over what you wish, and such as will
beget a Reverence and Envy in the Men, and Passion in the Women. But
what's the Cause of all this Transformation?

_Lau_. Love! Love! dull Boy, cou'dst thou not guess 'twas Love? that dear
_Englese_ I must enjoy, my _Silvio_.

_Sil_. What, he that adores the fair young Curtezan?

_Lau_. That very he; my Window joins to hers, and 'twas with Charms.
Which he'ad prepar'd for her, he took this Heart,
Which met the welcome Arrows in their flight,
And sav'd her from their Dangers.
Oft I've return'd the Vows he'as made to her,
And sent him pleas'd away;
When through the errors of the Night, and distance,
He has mistook me for that happy Wanton,
And gave me Language of so soft a Power,
As ne'er was breath'd in vain to listning Maids.

_Sil_. But with Permission, Madam, how does this Change of Petticoat for
Breeches, and shifting Houses too, advance that Love?

_Lau_. This Habit, besides many Opportunities 'twill give me of getting
into his acquaintance, secures me too from being known by any of my
Relations in _Rome_: then I have changed my House for one so near to that
of _Silvianetta's_, and so like it too, that even you and I have oft
mistook the entrance: by which means Love, Fortune or Chance, may with my
Industry contrive some kind Mistake that may make me happier than the
rest of Womankind.

_Sil_. But what shall be reserv'd then for Count _Julio_, whose last
Letters promise his Arrival within a Day or two, and whom you're then to
marry?

_Lau_. Reserv'd for him! a Wife! a Wife, my _Silvio_,
That unconcern'd domestick Necessary,
Who rarely brings a Heart, or takes it soon away.--

_Sil_. But then your Brother, Count _Octavio_, do you not fear his
Jealousy?

_Lau_. _Octavio!_ Oh, Nature has set his Soul and mine at odds,
And I can know no Fear but where I love.

_Sil_. And then that thing which Ladies call their Honour.--

_Lau_. Honour, that hated Idol, even by those
That set it up to worship! No,
I have a Soul, my Boy, and that's all Love;
And I'll the Talent which Heaven lent improve.

    [_Going out, meets_ Marcella _and_ Cornelia _follow'd
    by_  Gal. _and_ Fil.

_Sil_. Here be the Curtezans, my Lord.

_Lau_. Hah, _Silvianetta_ and _Euphemia_! pursu'd too by my Cavalier!
I'll round the Garden, and mix my self amongst 'em.
                  [_Exit with_ Silvio _and her Train_.

_Mar_. Prithee, Sister, let's retire into the Grove, to avoid the Pursuit
of these Cavaliers.

_Cor_. Not I, by these killing Eyes! I'll stand my ground were there a
thousand, all arm'd with conquering Beauty.

_Mar_. Hah--now on my Conscience yonder's _Fillamour_.

_Cor_. Hah! _Fillamour_!

_Mar_. My Courage fails me at the sight of him--I must retire.

_Cor_. And I'll to my Art of Love.

    [Mar. _retires, and leans against a Tree_,
    Cor. _walks about reading_.

_Gal_. 'Tis she, 'tis _Silvianetta_: Prithee advance, that thou mayst
behold her, and renounce all honest Women; since in that one young Sinner
there are Charms that wou'd excuse even to thee all frailty.

_Fil_. The Forms of Angels cou'd not reconcile me
To Women of her Trade.

_Gal_. This is too happy an Opportunity, to be lost in convincing thy
Singularity,--

    [Gal. _goes bowing by the side of_ Cornelia. Fil.
    _walks about in the Scene_.

--If Creatures so fair and charming as your self, had any need of Prayer,
I shou'd believe by your profound Attention you were at your Evening's
Devotion.

_Cor_. That you may find your Mistake in the opinion of my Charms, pray
believe I am so, and ought not to be interrupted.

_Gal_. I hope a Man may have leave to make his Devotions by you, at least
without Danger or Offence.

_Cor_. I know not that, I have reason to fear your Devotion may be
ominous; like a blazing Star, it comes but seldom,--but ever threatens
mischief--Pray Heaven, I share not in the Calamity.

_Gal_. Why, I confess, Madam, my Fit of Zeal does not take me often; but
when it does, 'tis very harmless and wondrous hearty.--

_Cor_. You may begin then, I shall not be so wicked as to disturb you
Orisons.

_Gal_. Wou'd I cou'd be well assur'd of that, for mine's Devotion of
great Necessity, and the Blessing I pray for infinitely concerns me;
therefore in Christian Charity keep down your Eyes, and do not ruin a
young Man's good Intentions, unless they wou'd agree to send kind Looks,
and save me the expence of Prayer.

_Cor_. Which wou'd be better laid out, you think, upon some other
Blessing.

_Gal_. Why, faith, 'tis good to have a little Bank upon occasion, though
I hope I shall have no great need here-after,--if the charming
_Silvianetta_ be but kind, 'tis all I ask of Heaven.

_Cor_. You're very well acquainted with my Name, I find.

_Gal_. Your Name! 'tis all I have to live on!
Like chearful Birds, 'tis the first Tune I sing,
To welcome in the Day:
The Groves repeat it, and the Fountains purle it,
And every pretty Sound that fills my Ear.
Turns all to _Silvianetta_.

          [Fil. _looks awhile on_ Marcella.

_Fil. Galliard_, look there--look on that lovely Woman; 'tis _Marcella_,
the beautiful _Marcella_.

          [_Offers to run to her_, Gal. _holds him_.

_Gal_. Hold! _Marcella_! where?

_Fil_. That Lady there; didst ever see her equal?

_Gal_. Why, faith, as you say, _Harry_, that Lady is beautiful--and, make
us thankful--kind: why, 'tis _Euphemia_, Sir, the very Curtezan I wou'd
have shew'd you.--

_Fil_. Forbear, I am not fit for Mirth.

_Gal_. Nor I in Humour to make you merry;
I tell ye--yonder Woman--is a Curtezan.

_Fil_. Do not profane, nor rob Heaven of a Saint.

_Gal_. Nor you rob Mankind of such a Blessing, by giving it to Heaven
before its time.--I tell thee 'tis a Whore, a fine desirable expensive
Whore.

_Fil_. By Heaven, it cannot be! I'll speak to her, and call her my
_Marcella_, and undeceive thy leud Opinion.
          [_Offers to go, he holds him_.

_Gal_. Do, salute her in good Company for an honest Woman--do, and spoil
her Markets:--'twill be a pretty civil spiteful Compliment, and no doubt
well taken;--come, I'll convince ye, Sir.
                        [_Goes and pulls_ Philippa.
--Harkye, thou kind Help meet for Man--thou gentle Child of Night--what
is the Price of a Night or two ot Pleasure with yonder Lady--_Euphemia_,
I mean, that Roman Curtezan--

_Fil_. Oh, Heavens! a Curtezan!

_Phil_. Sure you're a great Stranger in _Rome_, that cannot tell her
Price.

_Gal_. I am so; name it, prithee, here's a young _English_ Purchaser--
Come forward, Man, and cheapen for your self--
                                   [_Pulls him_.

_Phil_. Oh, spare your pains, she wants no Customers.--
                           [_Flings away_.

_Fil_. No, no, it cannot, must not be _Marcella_;
She has too much Divinity about her,
Not to defend her from all Imputation,
Scandal wou'd die to hear her Name pronounc'd.

_Phil_. Believe me, Madam, he knows you not; I over-heard all he said to
that Cavalier, and find he's much in love.

_Mar_. Not know me, and in love! punish him, Heaven, for his Falshood:
but I'll contribute to deceive him on, and ruin him with Perjury.

_Fil_. I am not yet convinc'd, I'll try her farther.
    [_Goes to her bowing_.]--But, Madam, is that heavenly Beauty
purchasable? I'll pay a Heart, rich with such Wounds and Flames--

_Gal_. Not forgetting the Money too, good Lad, or your Wounds and Flames
will be of little Use.
                       [Gal. _goes to_ Cornelia.

_Mar_. He tells you Truth, Sir, we are not like the Ladies of your
Country, who tire out their Men with loving upon the square, Heart for
Heart, till it becomes as dull as Matrimony: to Women of our Profession
there's no Rhetorick like ready Money, nor Billet-deux like Bills of
Exchange.

_Fil_. Oh! that Heaven shou'd make two Persons so resembling, and yet
such different Souls. [_Looks on her_.--'Sdeath, how she darts me
through with every Look! But if she speak, she heals the Wound again.

              _Enter_ Octavio, _with Followers_.

_Oct_. Hah, my Rival _Fillamour_ here! fall on--draw, Sir,--and say, I
gave you one Advantage more, and fought thee fairly.

    [_Draws on_ Fil. _who fights him out; the Ladies run off_:
    Gal. _falls on the Followers, with whom whilst he is
    engaged, enters_ Julio, _draws and assists him, and
    Laura _at the same time on the other side. Enter_
    Petro _drest like a Civility-Master; Sir_ Signal _and
    Tickletext_: Sir_ Signal _climbs a Tree_, Tick _runs his
    Head into a Bush, and lies on his Hands and Knees_. Pet.
    assists_ Gal. _and fights out the Bravoes_. Pet. _re-enters_.

_Lau_. Hah, my Cavalier engag'd amongst the Slaves!

_Pet_. My Lady's Lovers! and set upon by _Octavio_! We must be diligent
in our Affairs; Sir _Signal_, where are ye? Signior _Tickletext_.--I hope
they have not miscarried in the fray.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, _vos Servitor, vos Signiora_; miscarried! no, the Fool has
Wit enough to keep out of harm's way.
                [_Comes down from the Tree_.

_Pet_. Oh, very discreetly done, Signior.--
            [_Sees_ Tick, _in a bush, pulls him out by the heels_.

Sir _Sig_. Why, how now, Governour, what, afraid of Swords?

_Tick_. No, Sir, I am not afraid of Swords, but I am afraid of Danger.

   _Enter_ Gal. _embracing_ Laura; _after 'em_, Julio _and_ Fil.
   Fil. _looks about_.

_Gal_. This Bravery, Sir, was wondrous.

_Lau_. 'Twas only Justice, Sir, you being opprest with odds.

_Fil_. She's gone, she's gone in Triumph with my Soul.

_Jul_. What was the matter, Sir? how came this Mischief?

_Fil_. Oh, easily, Sir; I did but look, and infinitely loved.

_Jul_. And therefore were you drawn upon, or was it some old Pique?

_Fil_. I know not, Sir, Oh, tell me not of Quarrels. The Woman, Friend,
the Woman has undone me.

_Gal_. Oh, a blessed Hearing! I'm glad of the Reformation: Sir, you were
so squeamish, forsooth, that a Whore wou'd not down with ye; no, 'twou'd
spoil your Reputation.--

_Fil_. A Whore! wou'd I cou'd be convinc'd she were so; 'twou'd call my
Virtue home, and make me Man again.

_Gal_. Thou ly'st--thou'rt as weak a Brother as the best of us, and
believe me, _Harry_, these sort of Damsels are like Witches, if they once
get hold of a Man, he's their own till the Charm be ended; you guess what
that is, Sir?

_Fil_. Oh, _Frank_, hadst thou then felt how tenderly she prest my Hand
in hers, as if she wou'd have kept it there for ever, it wou'd have made
thee mad, stark mad in Love!--and nothing but _Marcella_ cou'd have
charm'd me.    [_Aside_.

_Gal_. Ay, Gad, I'll warrant thee,--well, thou shalt this Night enjoy
her.

_Fil_. How?

_Gal_. How! why, faith, _Harry_, e'en the old way, I know no other. Why,
thou shalt lie with her, Man; come, let's to her.

_Fil_. Away, let's follow her instantly.
               [_Going out is stopt by Sir_ Signal_.

     _Enter Sir_ Sig. Tick. Petro.

Sir _Sig_. Signior, I have brought Mr. _Tickletext_ to beg your Pardon--
Sir.

_Fil_. I've other business, Sir.   [_Goes out_.

_Gal_. Come, let's follow him; and you, my generous Cavalier, must give
me leave to beg the Honour of your Friendship.

_Lau_. My Inclinations, Sir, have given you more--pray let me wait on you
to your Lodgings, lest a farther Insolence shou'd be offer'd you.

_Gal_. Sir, you oblige too fast.
                            [_They go out_.

Sir _Sig_. Ah, _che Diavilo Ayles_, these hot-brain'd fellows, sure,
they're drunk.

_Pet_. Oh, fy, Signior, drunk, for a Man of Quality--'tis intolerable.

Sir _Sig_. Ay: why how so, Signior _Morigoroso_?

_Pet. Imbriaco_ had made it a fine Speech indeed.

Sir _Sig_. Why, faith, and so it had, as thus,--_ach Diavilo Ayles_,
these are hot-brain'd Fellows, sure they are _imbriaco_,--Now, wou'd not
I be drunk for a thousand Crowns: _Imbriaco_ sounds _Cinquante per cent_
better.--Come, noble Signior, let's _andiamo a casa_, which is as much as
to say, let's amble home.--

_Tick_. In troth, wondrous expert--_Certo_, Signior, he's an apt Scholar.

Sir _Sig_. Ah, Sir, you shall see, when I come to my Civilities.--

_Pet_. Where the first Lesson you shall learn, is, how to give and how to
receive with a Bon-Grace.

_Tick_. That receiving Lesson I will learn my self.

_Pet_. This unfrequented part of the Garden, Signior, will fit our
purpose as well as your Lodgings.--first then--Signiors, your Address.
                                 [_Puts himself in the middle_.
                 [Petro _bows on both sides, they do the like_.
--Very well, that's at the Approach of any Person of
Quality, after which you must take out your Snuff-Box.

Sir _Sig_. Snuff-Box; why, we take no Snuff, Signior.

_Pet_. Then, Sir, by all means you must learn: for besides the Mode and
Gravity of it, it inviveates the _Pericranium_; that is, sapientates the
Brain,--that is, inspires Wit, Thought, Invention, Understanding, and the
like--you conceive me, Signiors--
                            [_Bowing_.

Sir _Sig_. Most profoundly, Signior.--
                                  [_Bowing_.

_Pet_.--Then, Signiors, it keeps you in confidence, and Countenance; and
whilst you gravely seem to take a snush, you gain time to answer to the
purpose, and in a politick Posture--as thus--to any intricate Question.

_Tick_. Hum--_certo_, I like that well; and 'twere admirable if a Man
were allow'd to take it when he's out in's Sermon.

_Pet_. Doubtless, Signior, you might, it helps the Memory better than
Rosemary: therefore I have brought each of you a Snuff-Box.

Sir _Sig_. By no means: excuse me Signior.
                                       [_Refuses to take 'em_.

_Pet_. Ah, Baggatelles, Signior, Baggatelles; and now, Signiors, I'll
teach you how to take it with a handsom Grace: Signior, your Hand--and
yours, Signior;
                        [_Lays Snuff on their hands_.
--so, now draw your hand to and fro under your Noses, and snuff it hard
up--Excellent well.

    [_They daub all their Noses, and make Grimaces, and sneeze_.

Sir _Sig_. Methinks, Signior, this Snuff stinks most damnably: pray, what
scent do you call this?

_Pet_. _Cackamarda Orangate_, a rare Perfume I'll assure ye, Sir.

Sir _Sig_. _Cackamarda Orangate_; and 'twere not for the Name of
_Cackamarda_, and so forth, a Man had as good have a Sir-reverence at his
Nose.

                    [_Sneezes often, he crys_ bonprovache.

_Pet_. _Bonprovache_--Signior, you do not understand it yet,
_bonprovache_.

Sir _Sig_. Why, Sir, 'tis impossible to endure this same _Cackamarda_;
why Assafetida is odoriferous to it.
                    [_Sneezing_.

_Pet_. 'Tis your right _Dulce Piquante_, believe me:--but come, Signiors,
wipe your Noses, and proceed to your giving Lesson.

Sir _Sig_. As how, Signior?

_Pet_. Why--present me with something--that--Diamond on your Finger, to
shew the manner of giving handsomly.
                      [_Sir_ Sig. _gives it him_.
--Oh, fie, Signior--between your Finger and Thumb--thus--with your other
Fingers at a distance--with a speech, and a bow.--

Sir _Sig_. _Illustrissimo_ Signior, the manifold Obligations.

_Pet_. Now a fine turn of your hand--thus--Oh, that sets off the Present,
and makes it sparkle in the Eyes of the Receiver.--
                   [_Sir_ Sig. _turns his hand_.

Sir _Sig_. Which you have heap'd upon me,--

_Pet_. There flourish again.
                       [_He flourishes_.

Sir _Sig_. Oblige me to beg your acceptance of this small Present, which
will receive a double Lustre from your fair Hand.
                                        [_Gives it him_.

_Pet_. Now kiss your fingers ends, and retire back with a bow.

_Tick_. Most admirably perform'd.

Sir _Sig_. Nay, Sir, I have Docity in me, though I say't: Come, Governor,
let's see how you can out-do me in the Art of presenting.

_Tick_. Well, Sir, come; your Snuff-Box will serve instead of my Ring,
will it not?

_Pet_. By no means, Sir, there is such a certain Relation between a
Finger and a Ring, that no Present becomes either the giving or the
receiving Hand half so well.

Sir _Sig_. Why, 'twill be restor'd again, 'tis but to practise by.

_Pet_. Ay, Signior, the next thing you are to learn is to receive.

_Tick_. Most worthy Signior, I have so exhausted the _Cornucopia_ of your
Favours, [_Flourishes_.]--and tasted so plenteously of the fulness of
your bounteous Liberality, that to retaliate with this small Gem--is but
to offer a Spark, where I have received a Beam of superabundant Sunshine.
                                      [_Gives it_.

Sir _Sig_. Most rhetorically perform'd, as I hope to breathe;
Tropes and Figures all over.

_Tick_. Oh Lord, Sir _Signal_.

_Pet_. Excellent--Now let's see if you can refuse as civilly as you gave,
which is by an obstinate denial; stand both together--Illustrious
Signiors, upon my Honour my little Merit has not intitled me to the Glory
of so splendid an Offering; Trophies worthy to be laid only at your
Magnanimous Feet.

Sir _Sig_. Ah, Signior, no, no.

_Pet_. Signior _Tickletext_.

                [_He offers, they refuse going backward_.

_Tick_. Nay, _certo_, Signior.

_Pet_. With what confidence can I receive so rich a Present? Signior
_Tickletext_, ah--Signior--

Sir _Sig_. I vow, Signior--I'm ashamed you shou'd offer it.

_Tick_. In verity, so am I. [_Still going back, he follows_.]

_Pet. Pardio! Baccus_, most incomparable.--

_Tick_. But when, Signior, are we to learn to receive again?--

_Pet_. Oh, Sir, that's always a Lesson of it self:--but now, Signiors,
I'll teach you how to act a story.

Sir _Sig_. How, how, Signior, to act a story?

_Pet_. Ay, Sir, no matter for words or sense, so the Body perform its
part well.

Sir _Sig_. How, tell a story without words! why, this were an excellent
device for Mr. _Tickletext_, when he's to hold forth to the Congregation,
and has lost his Sermon-Notes--why, this is wonderful.--

_Pet_. Oh, Sir, I have taught it Men born deaf [_Gets between 'em:
Makes a sign of being fat; galloping about the Stage_.] and blind:--look
ye, stand close together, and observe--closer yet:--a certain
Eclejastico, Plump and Rich--Riding along the Road, meets a Paver
strapiao,--un Pavaro strapiao, Paure strapiao:--strapiao--strapiao--
strapiao [_Puts himself into the Posture of a lean Beggar; his hands
right down by his sides,--and picks both their Pockets_.] Elemosuna per
un Paure strapiao, par a Moure de Dievos--at last he begs a Julio--Neinte
[_makes the fat Bishop_.] the Paure strapiao begs a Mezo Julio--
[_lean_] Neinte [_fat_]--une bacio--[_lean_]--Neinte--
[_fat_]--at last he begs his Blessing--and see how willingly the
Ecclesiastico gave his Benediction. [_Opening his Arms, hits them both
in the face_.]--Scusa, scusa mea, Patronas--
                            [_Begs their pardon_.]

Sir _Sig_. Yes, very willingly, which by the way he had never done had it
been worth a farthing.

_Tick_. Marry, I wou'd he had been a little sparing of that too at this
time--[_sneezes_] a shame on't, it has stir'd this same _Cackamarda_
again most foully.

_Pet_. Your pardon, Signior;--but come, Sir _Signal_,--let's see how you
will make this silent relation--Come, stand between us two--

Sir _Sig_. Nay, let me alone for a memory--come.

_Pet_. I think I have reveng'd my Backsword-beating.
                                          [_Goes off_.]

Sir _Sig_. Un paureo strapado--plump and rich, no, no, the Ecclesiastico
meet un paureo strapado--and begs a Julio.

_Tick_. Oh, no, Sir, the strapado begs the Julio.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, ay, and the Ecclesastico crys Niente--[_snaps his nail_.]
un meze Julio!--Niente--un Bacio, Niente: your Blessing then, Signior
Ecclesastico.
      [_Spreads out his Arms to give his blessing--and hits_ Tick.]

_Tick_. Adds me, you are all a little too liberal of this same
Benediction.

Sir _Sig_. Hah--but where's Signior _Morigoroso?_ what, is he gone?--but
now I think on't, 'tis a point of good manners to go without taking
leave.

_Tick_. It may be so, but I wish I had my Ring again, I do not like the
giving Lesson without the taking one; why this is picking a Man's pocket,
_certo_.

Sir _Sig_. Not so, Governour, for then I had had a considerable loss:
Look ye here,--how--how [_feeling in his Pocket_.] how--[_in another_]
how--gone? gone as I live, my Money, Governour; all the Gold _Barberacho_
receiv'd of my Merchant to day--all gone.--

_Tick_. Hah--and mine--all my stock, the Money which I thought to have
made a present to the Gentlewoman, _Barberacho_ was to bring me to--
[_Aside_.]--Undone, undone--Villains, Cutpurses--Cheats, oh, run after
him.

Sir _Sig_. A Pox of all silent stories; Rogue, Thief--undone.--

                                           [Exeunt.



ACT III.


SCENE I. _The Corso_.

    _Enter_ Julio _and his_ Page.

_Jul_. How, the Lady whom I followed from St. _Peter's_ Church, a
Curtezan?

_Pag_. A Curtezan, my Lord, fair as the Morning, and as young.

_Jul_. I know she's fair and young; but is she to be had, Boy?

_Pag_. My Lord, she is--her Footman told me she was a Zittella.

_Jul_. How, a Zittella!--a Virgin, 'tis impossible.

_Pag_. I cannot swear it, Sir, but so he told me; he said she had a World
of Lovers: Her name is _Silvianetta_, Sir, and her Lodgings--

_Jul_. I know't, are on the _Corso_; a Curtezan? and a Zittella too? a
pretty contradiction; but I'll bate her the last, so I might enjoy her as
the first: whate'er the price be, I'm resolv'd upon the adventure; and
will this minute prepare my self. [_Going off, Enter_ Mor. and Octa.]--
hah, does the Light deceive me, or is that indeed my Uncle, in earnest
conference with a Cavalier?--'tis he--I'll step aside till he's past,
lest he hinders this Night's diversion.
                                   [_Goes aside_.

_Mor_. I say 'twas rashly done, to fight him unexamin'd.

_Oct_. I need not ask; my Reason has inform'd me, and I'm convinc'd,
where-e'er he has concealed her, that she is fled with _Fillamour_.

_Jul_. Who is't they speak of?

_Mor_. Well, well, sure my Ancestors committed some horrid crime against
Nature, that she sent this Pest of Woman-kind into our Family,--two
Nieces for my share;--by Heaven, a Proportion sufficient to undo six
Generations.

_Jul_. Hah? two Nieces, what of them?    [_Aside_.

_Mor_. I am like to give a blessed account of 'em to their Brother
_Julio_ my Nephew, at his return; there's a new plague now:--but my
comfort is, I shall be mad, and there's an end on't.
                          [_Weeps_.

_Jul_. My Curiosity must be satisfied,--have patience, Noble Sir.--

_Mor_. Patience is a flatterer, Sir,--and an Ass, Sir; and I'll have none
on't--hah, what art thou?

_Jul_. Has five or six Years made ye lose the remembrance of your
Nephew--_Julio_?

_Mor. Julio!_ I wou'd I had met thee going to thy Grave.
                                                    [_Weeps_.

_Jul_. Why so, Sir?

_Mor_. Your Sisters, Sir, your Sisters are both gone.--
                                                    [_Weeps_.

_Jul_. How gone, Sir?

_Mor_. Run away, Sir, flown, Sir.

_Jul_. Heavens! which way?

_Mor_. Nay, who can tell the ways of fickle Women--in short, Sir, your
Sister _Marcella_ was to have been married to this noble Gentleman,--nay,
was contracted to him, fairly contracted in my own Chappel; but no sooner
was his back turn'd, but in a pernicious Moon-light Night she shews me a
fair pair of heels, with the young Baggage, your other Sister _Cornelia_,
who was just come from the Monastery where I bred her, to see her Sister
married.

_Jul_. A curse upon the Sex! why must Man's Honour Depend upon their
Frailty?
--Come--give me but any light which way they went, And I will trace 'em
with that careful Vengeance--

_Oct_. Spoke like a Man, that understands his Honour; And I can guess how
we may find the Fugitives.

_Jul_. Oh, name it quickly, Sir!

_Oct_. There was a young Cavalier--some time at _Viterbo_, Who I confess
had Charms, Heaven has denied to me,
That Trifle, Beauty, which was made to please
Vain foolish Woman, which the brave and wise
Want leisure to design.--

_Jul_. And what of him?

_Oct_. This fine gay thing came in your Sister's way,
And made that Conquest Nature meant such Fools for:
And, Sir, she's fled with him.

_Jul_. Oh, show me the Man, the daring hardy Villain,
Bring me but in the view of my Revenge,--and if I fail to take it,
Brand me with everlasting Infamy.

_Oct_. That we must leave to Fortune, and our Industry.
--Come, Sir, let's walk and think best what to do,--

        [_Going down the Scene, Enter_ Fil. _and_ Gal.

_Fil_. Is not that _Julio_? Boy, run and call him back.
                                [_Ex. Boy, re-enters with_ Jul.

_Jul_. Oh, _Fillamour_, I have heard such killing news
Since last I left thee--

_Fil_. What, prithee?

_Jul_. I had a Sister, Friend--dear as my Life,
And bred with all the Virtues of her Sex;
No Vestals at the Holy Fire employ'd themselves
In innocenter business than this Virgin;
Till Love, the fatal Fever of her Heart,
Betray'd her harmless Hours;
And just upon the point of being married,
The Thief stole in, and rob'd us of this Treasure:
She'as left her Husband, Parents, and her Honour,
And's fled with the base Ruiner of her Virtue.

_Fil_. And lives the Villain durst affront ye thus?

_Jul_. He does.

_Gal_. Where, in what distant World?

_Jul_. I know not.

_Fil_. What is he call'd?

_Jul_. I know not neither,--some God direct me to the Ravisher!
And if he scape my Rage,
May Cowards point me out for one of their tame Herd.

_Fil_. In all your Quarrels I must join my Sword.

_Gal_. And if you want,--here's another, Sir, that, though it be not
often drawn in anger, nor cares to be, shall not be idle in good company.

_Jul_. I thank you both; and if I have occasion, will borrow their
assistance; but I must leave you for a minute, I'll wait on you anon.--
            [_They all three walk as down the street, talking_.

    _Enter_ Laura, _with_ Silvio _and her_ Equipage.

_Lau_. Beyond my wish, I'm got into his Friendship:
But Oh, how distant Friendship is from Love,
That's all bestow'd on the fair Prostitute!
--Ah, _Silvio_, when he took me in his Arms,
Pressing my willing Bosom to his Breast,
Kissing my Cheek, calling me lovely Youth,
And wond'ring how such Beauty, and such Bravery,
Met in a Man so young! Ah, then, my Boy,
Then in that happy minute,
How near was I to telling all my Soul!
My Blushes and my Sighs were all prepar'd;
My Eyes cast down, my trembling Lips just parting.--
But still as I was ready to begin,
He cries out _Silvianetta_!
And to prevent mine, tells me all his Love.
--But see--he's here.--

    [Fill. _and_ Gal. _coming up the Scene_.

_Gal_. Come, lay by all sullen Unresolves: for now the hour of the
Berjere approaches, Night that was made for Lovers.--Hah! my Dear
_Sans-Coeur_? my Life! my Soul! my Joy! Thou art of my opinion!

_Lau_. I'm sure I am, whate'er it be.

_Gal_. Why, my Friend here, and I, have sent and paid our Fine for a
small Tenement of Pleasure, and I'm for taking present possession;--but
hold--if you shou'd be a Rival after all.--

_Lau_. Not in your _Silvianetta_! my Love has a nice Appetite,
And must be fed with high uncommon Delicates.
I have a Mistress, Sir, of Quality;
Fair, as Imagination paints young Angels;
Wanton and gay, as was the first _Corinna_,
That charm'd our best of Poets;
Young as the Spring, and chearful as the Birds
That welcome in the Day;
Witty, as Fancy makes the Revelling Gods,
And equally as bounteous when she blesses.

_Gal_. Ah, for a fine young Whore with all these Charms!
but that same Quality allays the Joy: there's such a
damn'd ado with the Obligation, that half the Pleasure's
lost in Ceremony.
--Here for a thousand Crowns I reign alone,
Revel all day in Love without controul.
--But come to our business, I have given order for Musick,
Dark Lanthorns, and Pistols.

          [_This while_ Fil., _stands studying_.

_Fil_. Death, if it shou'd not be _Marcella_ now!    [_Pausing aside_.

_Gal_. Prithee no more considering,--resolve, and let's about it.

_Fil_. I wou'd not tempt my Heart again! for Love,
What e'er it may be in another's Breast,
In mine 'twill turn to a religious Fire;
And so to burn for her, a common Mistress,
Wou'd be an Infamy below her Practice.

_Gal_. Oh, if that be all, doubt not, _Harry_, but an Hour's Conversation
with _Euphemia_ will convert it to as leud a flame, as a Man wou'd wish.

_Lau_. What a coil's here about a Curtezan! what ado to persuade a Man to
a Blessing all _Rome_ is languishing for in vain!--Come, Sir, we must
deal with him, as Physicians do with peevish Children, force him to take
what will cure him.

_Fil_. And like those damn'd Physicians, kill me for want of method: no,
I know my own Distemper best, and your Applications will make me mad.

_Gal_. Pox on't, that one cannot love a Woman like a Man, but one must
love like an Ass.

_Lau_. S'heart, I'll be bound to lie with all the Women in _Rome_, with
less ado than you are brought to one.

_Gal_. Hear ye that, _Henry_? s'death, art not asham'd to be instructed
by one so young!--But see--the Star there appears,--the Star that
conducts thee to the Shore of Bliss,--She comes! let's feel thy
[Marcella _and_ Cornelia _above_ with_ Philippa.] Heart, she comes!
So breaks the Day on the glad Eastern Hills,
Or the bright God of Rays from _Thetis'_ Lap:
A Rapture, now, dear Lad, and then fall to;
for thou art old Dog at a long Grace.

_Fil_. Now I'm mere Man again, with all his Frailties--    [_Aside_.
--Bright lovely Creature!--

_Gal_. Damn it, how like my Lady's eldest Son was that?

_Fil_. May I hope my Sacrifice may be accepted by you; by Heaven,
it must be she! still she appears more like.--
                                           [_Aside_.

_Mar_. I've only time to tell you Night approaches,
And then I will expect you.

    _Enter_ Crapine, _gazes on the Ladies_.

_Crap_. 'Tis she, _Donna Marcella_, on my life, with the young wild
_Cornelia_!--hah--yonder's the _English_ Cavalier too; nay then, by this
Hand I'll be paid for all my fruitless jaunts, for this good news--stay,
let me mark the House.--

_Mar_. Now to my Disguise.
             [_Ex_. Marcella.

_Gal_. And have you no kind message to send to my Heart? cannot this good
Example instruct you how to make me happy?

_Cor_. Faith, Stranger, I must consider first; she's skilful in the
Merchandize of Hearts, and has dealt in Love with so good success
hitherto, she may lose one Venture, and never miss it in her Stock: but
this is my first, and shou'd it prove to be a bad bargain, I were undone
for ever.

_Gal_. I dare secure the Goods sound--

_Cor_. And I believe will not lie long upon my hands.

_Gal_. Faith, that's according as you'll dispose on't, Madam--for let me
tell you--gad, a good handsome proper Fellow is as staple a Commodity as
any's in the Nation;--but I wou'd be reserv'd for your own use. Faith,
take a Sample to  night, and as you like it, the whole Piece; and that's
fair and honest dealing I think, or the Devil's in't.

_Cor_. Ah, Stranger,--you have been so over-liberal for those same
Samples of yours, that I doubt they have spoiled the sale of the rest;
Cou'd you not afford, think ye, to throw in a little Love and Constancy,
to inch out that want of Honesty of yours?

_Gal_. Love! oh, in abundance!
By those dear Eyes, by that soft smiling Mouth,
By every secret Grace thou hast about thee,
I love thee with a vigorous, eager Passion;
--Be kind, dear _Silvianetta_--prithee do,
Say you believe, and make me blest to Night.

_Crap. Silvianetta!_ so, that's the Name she has rifl'd for _Cornelia_, I
perceive.    [_Aside_.

_Cor_. If I shou'd be so kind-hearted, what good use wou'd you make of so
obliging an Opportunity?

_Gal_. That which the happy Night was first ordain'd for.

_Cor_. Well, Signior, 'tis coming on, and then I'll try what Courage the
Darkness will inspire me with:--till then--farewell.--

_Gal_. Till then a thousand times adieu.--
                      [_Blowing up kisses to her_.

_Phil_. Ah, Madam, we're undone,--yonder's _Crapine_, your Uncle's Valet.

_Cor_. Now a Curse on him; shall we not have one night with our
Cavaliers?--let's retire, and continue to out-wit him, or never more
pretend to't. Adieu, Signior Cavalier--remember Night.--

_Gal_. Or may I lose my Sense to all Eternity.

    [_Kisses his fingers and bows, she returns it for a while.
    Exit_. Crap.

_Lau_. Gods, that all this that looks at least like Love,
Shou'd be dispens'd to one insensible!
Whilst every syllable of that dear Value,
Whisper'd to me, wou'd make my Soul all Extasy.    [_Aside_.
--Oh, spare that Treasure for a grateful Purchase;
And buy that common Ware with trading Gold,
Love is too rich a Price!--I shall betray my self.--[_Aside_.

_Gal_. Away, that's an heretical Opinion, and which
This certain Reason must convince thee of;
That Love is Love, wherever Beauty is,
Nor can the Name of Whore make Beauty less.

    _Enter_ Marcella _like a Man, with a Cloke about her_.

_Mar_. Signior, is your Name _Fillamour?_

_Fil_. It is, what wou'd you, Sir?--

Mar_. I have a Letter for you--from _Viterbo_, and your _Marcella_, Sir.
                                                      [_Gives it him_.

_Fil_. Hah--_Viterbo_! and _Marcella_!
It shocks me like the Ghost of some forsaken Mistress,
That met me in the way to Happiness,
With some new long'd-for Beauty!
                         [_Opens it, reads_.

_Mar_. Now I shall try thy Virtue, and my Fate.--    [_Aside_.

_Fil_. What is't that checks the Joy, that shou'd surprize me at the
receipt of this.

_Gal_. How now! what's the cold fit coming on?    [_Pauses_.

_Fil_. I have no power to go--where this--invites me--
By which I prove 'tis no encrease of Flame that warms my Heart,
But a new Fire just kindled from those Eyes--
Whose Rays I find more piercing than _Marcella's_.

_Gal_.--Ay, Gad, a thousand times--prithee, what's the matter?

_Mar_. Oh, this false-souled Man--wou'd I had leisure
To be reveng'd for this Inconstancy!    [_Aside_.

_Fil_.--But still she wants that Virtue I admire.

_Gal_. Virtue! 'S'death thou art always fumbling upon that dull string
that makes no Musick.--What Letter's that? [_Reads_.] If the first
Confession I ever made of Love be grateful to you, come arm'd to night
with a Friend or two; and behind the Garden of the Fountains, you will
receive--hah, _Marcella!_--Oh, damn it, from your honest Woman!--Well, I
see the Devil's never so busy with a Man, as when he has resolv'd upon
any Goodness! S'death, what a rub's here in a fair cast,--how is't man?
Alegremente! bear up, defy him and all his Works.

_Fil_. But I have sworn, sworn that I lov'd _Marcella;_
And Honour, Friend, obliges me to go,
Take her away and marry her.
--And I conjure thee to assist me too.

_Gal_. What, to night, this might, that I have given to _Silvianetta!_
and you have promis'd to the fair--_Euphemia!_

_Lau_. If he shou'd go, he ruins my design,    [_Aside_.
--Nay, if your word, Sir--be already past--

_Fil_. 'Tis true, I gave my promise to _Euphemia;_ but that, to Women of
her Trade, is easily absolv'd.

_Gal_. Men keep not Oaths for the sakes of the wise Magistrates to whom
they are made, but their own Honour, _Harry_.--And is't not much a
greater crime to rob a gallant, hospitable Man of his Niece, who has
treated you with Confidence and Friendship, than to keep touch with a
well-meaning Whore, my conscientious Friend?

_Lau_. Infinite degrees, Sir.

_Gal_. Besides, thou'st an hour or two good, between this and the time
requir'd to meet _Marcella_.

_Lau_. Which an industrious Lover would manage to the best advantage.

_Gal_. That were not given over to Virtue and Constancy; two the best
excuses I know for Idleness.

_Fil_.--Yes--I may see this Woman.

_Gal_. Why, Gad-a-mercy, Lad.

_Fil_.--And break my Chains, if possible.

_Gal_. Thou wilt give a good essay to that I'll warrant thee,
Before she part with thee; come let's about it.

    [_They are going out on either side of_ Fil. _persuading him_.

_Mar_. He's gone, the Curtezan has got the day,    [_Aside_.
Vice has the start of Virtue every way;
And for one Blessing honest Wives obtain,
The happier Mistress does a thousand gain.
I'll home--and practise all their Art to prove,
That nothing is so cheaply gain'd as Love.
                                       [_Exit_.

_Gal_. Stay, what Farce is this--prithee let's see a little.
                                             [_Offering to go_.

    [_Enter Sir_ Signal, _Mr_. Tickletext, _with his Cloke ty'd
    about him, a great Inkhorn ty'd at his Girdle and a
    great folio under his Arm_, Petro _drest like an Antiquary_.

--How now, Mr. _Tickletext_, what, drest as if you were
going a Pilgrimage to _Jerusalem?_

_Tick_. I make no such profane Journeys, Sir.

_Gal_. But where have you been, Mr. _Tickletext?_

Sir _Sig_. Why, Sir, this most Reverend and Renowned Antiquary has been
showing us Monumental Rarities and Antiquities.

_Gal_. 'Tis _Petro_, that Rogue.

_Fil_. But what Folio have you gotten there, Sir, _Knox_, or
_Cartwright?_

_Pet_. Nay, if he be got into that heap of Nonsense, I'll steal off and
undress.    [_Aside_.]
                          [_Ex_. Petro.

    [Tick, _opening the Book_.

_Tick_. A small Volume, Sir, into which I transcribe the most memorable
and remarkable Transactions of the Day.

_Lau_. That doubtless must be worth seeing.

_Fil_. [_Reads_.]--April the twentieth, arose a very great Storm of Wind,
Thunder, Lightning and Rain,--which was a shrewd sign of foul Weather.
The 22th 9 of our 12 Chickens getting loose, flew overboard, the other
three miraculously escaping, by being eaten by me that Morning for
Breakfast.

Sir _Sig_. Harkye, _Galliard_--thou art my Friend, and 'tis not like a
Man of Honour to conceal any thing from one's Friend,--know then I am
The most fortunate Rascal that ever broke bread,--I am this night to
visit, Sirrah,--the finest, the most delicious young Harlot, Mum--under
the Rose--in all _Rome_, of _Barberacho's_ acquaintance.

_Gal_.--Hah--my Woman, on my Life! and will she be kind?

Sir _Sig_. Kind! hang Kindness, Man, I'm resolv'd upon Conquest by Parly
or by Force.

_Gal_. Spoke like a Roman of the first Race, when noble Rapes, not
whining Courtship, did the Lover's business.

Sir _Sig_. 'Sha, Rapes, Man! I mean by force of Money, pure dint of Gold,
faith and troth: for I have given 500 Crowns entrance already, _& Par
Dins Bacchus, 'tis tropo Caro--tropo Caro_, Mr. _Galliard_.

_Gal_. And what's this high-priz'd Lady's Name, Sir?

Sir _Sig_. _La Silvianetta_,--and lodges on the _Corso_, not far from St.
James's of the Incurables--very well situated in case of disaster--hah.

_Gal_. Very well,--and did not your wise Worship know this _Silvianetta_
was my Mistress?

Sir _Sig_. How! his Mistress! what a damn'd Noddy was I to name her!
                                                            [_Aside_.

_Gal_. D'ye hear, fool! renounce me this Woman instantly, or I'll first
discover it to your Governour, and then cut your throat, Sir.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, _Doux Ment_--dear _Galliard_--Renounce her,--_Corpo de
mi_, that I will soul and body, if she belong to thee, Man.--

_Gal_. No more; look to't--look you forget her Name--or but to think of
her--farewel--
              [_Nods at him_.

Sir _Sig_. Farewell, quoth ye--'tis well I had the Art of dissembling
after all, here had been a sweet broil upon the Coast else.--

_Fil_. Very well, I'll trouble my self to read no more, since I know
you'l be so kind to the world to make it publick.

_Tick_. At my return, Sir, for the good of the Nation, I will print it,
and I think it will deserve it.

_Lau_. This is a precious Rogue, to make a Tutor of.

_Fil_. Yet these Mooncalfs dare pretend to the breeding of our Youth; and
the time will come, I fear, when none shall be reputed to travel like a
Man of Quality, who has not the advantage of being impos'd upon by one of
these pedantick Novices, who instructs the young Heir in what himself is
most profoundly ignorant of.

_Gal_. Come, 'tis dark, and time for our Design,--your Servant, Signiors.
                                         [_Exeunt_ Fil. _and_ Gal.

_Lau_. I'll home, and watch the kind deceiving Minute, that may conduct
him by mistake to me.
                                         [_Exit_.

    _Enter_ Petro, _like_ Barberacho, _just as_ Tick.
    _and Sir_ Signal _are going out_.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, _Barberacho_, we are undone! Oh, the Diavillo take that
Master you sent me?

_Pet_. Master, what Master?

Sir _Sig_. Why, Signior Morigoroso!

_Pet_. Mor--oso--what shou'd he be?

Sir _Sig_. A Civility-Master he should have been, to have taught us good
Manners;--but the Cornuto cheated us most damnably, and by a willing
mistake taught us nothing in the world but Wit.

_Pet_. Oh, abominable Knavery! why, what a kind of Man was he?

Sir _Sig_.--Why--much such another as your self.

_Tick_. Higher, Signior, higher.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, somewhat higher--but just of his pitch.

_Pet_. Well, Sir, and what of this Man?

Sir _Sig_. Only pickt our Pockets, that's all.

_Tick_. Yes, and cozen'd us of our Rings.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, and gave us Cackamarda Orangata for Snuff.

_Tick_. And his Blessing to boot when he had done.

Sir _Sig_. A vengeance on't, I feel it still.

_Pet_. Why, this 'tis to do things of your own head; for I sent no such
Signior Moroso--but I'll see what I can do to retrieve 'em--I am now a
little in haste, farewell.--
               [_Offers to go_, Tick. _goes out by him and jogs him_.

_Tick_. Remember to meet me--farewel, _Barberacho_.
                       [_Goes out, Sir_ Sig. _pulls him_.

Sir _Sig. Barberacho_--is the Lady ready?

_Pet_. Is your Money ready?

Sir _Sig_. Why, now, though I am threatned, and kill'd, and beaten, and
kick'd about this Intrigue, I must advance. [_Aside_.]--But dost think
there's no danger?

_Pet_. What, in a delicate young amorous Lady, Signior?

Sir _Sig_. No, no, mum, I don't much fear the Lady; but this same mad
fellow _Galliard_, I hear, has a kind of a hankering after her--
Now dare not I tell him what a discovery I have made.    [_Aside_.

_Pet_. Let me alone to secure you, meet me in the _Piazzo d'Hispagnia_,
as soon as you can get yourself in order; where the two Fools shall meet,
and prevent either's coming.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Sig_. Enough,--here's a Bill for 500 Crowns more upon my Merchant,
you know him by a good token, I lost the last Sum you receiv'd for me, a
pox of that Handsel; away, here's company.
    [_Ex_. Pet. _Enter_ Octavio _and_ Crapine.]
Now will I disguise my self, according to the mode of the Roman
Inamoratos; and deliver my self upon the place appointed.
                                [_Ex. Sir_ Sig.

_Oct_. On the _Corso_ didst thou see 'em?

_Crap_. On the _Corso_, my Lord, in discourse with three Cavaliers, one
of which has given me many a Pistole, to let him into the Garden a-nights
at _Viterbo_, to talk with _Donna Marcella_ from her Chamber-Window, I
think I shou'd remember him.

_Oct_. Oh, that Thought fires me with Anger fit for my Revenge,
                                                          [_Aside_.
And they are to serenade 'em, thou say'st?

_Crap_. I did, my Lord: and if you can have patience till they come, you
will find your Rival in this very place, if he keep his word.

_Oct_. I do believe thee, and have prepared my Bravoes to attack him: if
I can act but my Revenge to night, how shall I worship Fortune? Keep out
of sight, and when I give the word, be ready all. I hear some coming,
let's walk off a little.--

    _Enter_ Marcella _in Man's Clothes, and_ Philippa _as a Woman
    with a Lanthorn_. Oct. _and_ Crap. _go off the other way_.

_Mar_. Thou canst never convince me, but if _Crapine_ saw us, and gaz'd
so long upon us, he must know us too; and then what hinders but by a
diligent watch about the House, they will surprize us, e'er we have
secured our selves from 'em?

_Phil_. And how will this exposing your self to danger prevent 'em?

_Mar_. My design now is, to prevent _Fillamour's_ coming into danger, by
hindring his approach to this House: I wou'd preserve the kind Ingrate
with any hazard of my own; and 'tis better to die than fall into the
hands of _Octavio_. I'm desperate with that thought, and fear no danger:
however, be you ready at the door, and when I ring admit me--ha--who
comes here?

    _Enter_ Tickletext _with a Periwig and Crevat of Sir_ Signal's:
    _A Sword by his side, and a dark Lanthorn; she opens
    hers, looks on him, and goes out_.

_Tick_. A Man! now am I, though an old Sinner, as timorous as a young
Thief: 'tis a great inconvenience in these Popish Countrys, that a man
cannot have liberty to steal to a Wench without danger; not that I need
fear who sees me except _Galliard_, who suspecting my business, will go
near to think I am wickedly inclin'd. Sir _Signal_ I have left hard at
his Study, and Sir _Henry_ is no nocturnal Inamorato, unless like me he
dissemble it.--Well, _certo_, 'tis a wonderful pleasure to deceive the
World: And as a learned Man well observ'd, that the Sin of Wenching lay
in the Habit only; I having laid that aside, _Timothy Tickletext_,
principal Holder-forth of the _Covent-Garden_ Conventicle, Chaplain of
_Buffoon-Hall_ in the County of _Kent_, is free to recreate himself.

    _Enter_ Gal. _with a dark Lanthorn_.

_Gal_. Where the Devil is this _Fillamour?_ and the Mufick? which way
cou'd he go to lose me thus?
                [_Looks towards the Door_.
--He is not yet come--

_Tick_. Not yet come--that must be _Barberacho!_--
Where are ye, honest _Barberacho_, where are ye?
                                   [_Groping towards_ Gal.

_Gal_. Hah! _Barberacho?_ that Name I am sure is us'd by none but Sir
_Signal_ and his Coxcomb Tutor; it must be one of those--Where are ye,
Signior, where are ye?
      [_Goes towards him, and opens the Lanthorn--and shuts it strait_.

--Oh, 'tis the Knight,--are you there, Signior?

_Tick_. Oh, art thou come, honest Rascal--conduct me quickly, conduct me
to the beautiful and fair _Silvianetta_.
                           [_Gives him his Hand_.

_Gal_. Yes, when your Dogship's damn'd. _Silvianetta!_ Sdeath, is she a
Whore for Fools?    [_Draws_.

_Tick_. Hah, Mr. _Galliard_, as the Devil would have it;--I'm undone if
he sees me.
                     [_He retires hastily_, Gal. _gropes for him_.

_Gal_. Where are you, <DW2>? Buffoon! Knight!

    [Tickletext _retiring hastily runs against_ Octavio, _who
    is just entering, almost beats him down_; Oct. _strikes
    him a good blow, beats him back and draws_: Tick, _gets
    close up in a corner of the Stage_; Oct. _gropes for him,
    as_ Gal. _does, and both meet and fight with each other_.

--What, dare you draw,--you have the impudence to be valiant then in the
dark, [_they pass_.] I wou'd not kill the Rogue,--'Sdeath, you can fight
then, when there's a Woman in the case!

_Oct_. I hope 'tis _Fillarnour_; [_Aside_.] You'll find I can, and
possibly may spoil your making Love to night.

_Gal_. Egad, Sweet-heart, and that may be, one civil Thrust will do't;--
and 'twere a damn'd rude thing to disappoint so fine a Woman,--therefore
I'll withdraw whilst I'm well.
                             [_He slips out_.

    _Enter Sir_ Signal, _with a Masquerading Coat over his
    Clothes, without a Wig or Crevat, with a dark Lanthorn_.

Sir _Sig_. Well, I have most neatly escap'd my Tutor; and in this
disguise defy the Devil to claim his own.--Ah, _Caspeto de Deavilo_;--
What's that?

    [_Advancing softly, and groping with his hands, meets the
    point of_ Oct. _Sword, as he is groping for_ Gal.

_Oct_. Traitor, darest thou not stand my Sword?

Sir _Sig_. Hah! Swords! no, Signior--_scusa mea_, Signioir,--

    [_Hops to the door: And feeling for his way with his
    out-stretcht Arms, runs his Lanthorn in_ Julio's
    _face, who is just entring; finds he's oppos'd with
    a good push backward, and slips aside into a corner
    over-against_ Tickletext; Julio _meets_ Octavio, _and
    fights him_; Oct. _falls_, Julio _opens his Lanthorn,
    and sees his mistake_.

_Jut_. Is it you, Sir?

_Oct_. _Julio_! From what Mistake grew all this Violence?

_Jul_. That I shou'd ask of you, who meet you arm'd against me.

_Oct_. I find the Night has equally deceiv'd us; and you are fitly come
to share with me the hopes of dear Revenge.
                     [_Gropes for his Lanthorn, which is dropt_.

_Jul_. I'd rather have pursu'd my kinder Passion,
Love, and Desire, that brought me forth to night.

_Oct_. I've learnt where my false Rival is to be this Evening;
And if you'll join your Sword, you'll find it well employ'd.

_Jul_. Lead on, I'm as impatient of Revenge as you.--

_Oct_. Come this way then, you'll find more Aids to serve us.

                                    [_Go out_.

_Tick_.--So! Thanks be prais'd, all's still again, this Fright were
enough to mortify any Lover of less magnanimity than my self.--Well, of
all Sins, this itch of Whoring is the most hardy,--the most impudent in
Repulses, the most vigilant in watching, most patient in waiting, most
frequent in Dangers; in all Disasters but Disappointment, a Philosopher;
yet if _Barberacho_ come not quickly, my Philosophy will be put to't,
_certo_.

    [_This while Sir_ Signal _is venturing from his Post,
    listening, and slowly advancing towards the middle
    of the Stage_.

Sir _Sig_. The Coast is once more clear, and I may venture my Carcase
forth again,--though such a Salutation as the last, wou'd make me very
unfit for the matter in hand.--The Battoon I cou'd bear with the
Fortitude and Courage of a Hero: But these dangerous Sharps I never
lov'd. What different Rencounters have I met withal to night, _Corpo de
me_? A Man may more safely pass the Gulf of _Lyons_, than convoy himself
into a Baudy-House in _Rome_; but I hope all's past, and I will say with
_Alexander,--Vivat Esperance en despetto del Fatto_.
                               [_Advances a little_.

_Tick_. Sure I heard a noise;--No, 'twas only my surmise.

    [_They both advance softly, meeting just in the middle of
    the Stage, and coming close up to each other; both
    cautiously start back, and stand a tipto in the posture
    of Fear, then gently feeling for each other, (after
    listening and hearing no Noise) draw back their
    Hands at touching each other's; and shrinking up
    their Shoulders, make grimaces of more Fear_.

_Tick_. _Que Equesto_.

Sir _Sig_. Hah, a Man's Voice!--I'll try if I can fright him hence.
                                                            [_Aside_.
_Una Malladette Spiritto Incarnate_.
                             [_In a horrible tone_.

_Tick_. Hah, _Spiritto Incarnate_! that Devil's Voice I shou'd know.
                                                            [_Aside_.

Sir _Sig_. See, Signior! _Una Spiritto_, which is to say, _un Spiritalo,
Immortallo, Incorporallo, Inanimate, Immaterialle, Philosophicale,
Invisible--Unintelligible--Diavillo_.
                     [_In the same tone_.

_Tick_. Ay, ay, 'tis my hopeful Pupil, upon the same design with me, my
life on't,--cunning young Whore-master;--I'll cool your Courage--good
Signior _Diavillo_; if you be the _Diavillo_, I have _una certaina
Immaterial Invisible Conjuratione_, that will so neatly lay your
_Inanimate unintelligible Diavilloship_.--
                        [_Pulls out his wooden Sword_.

Sir _Sig_. How! he must needs be valiant indeed that dares fight with the
Devil.
    [_Endeavours to get away_, Tick, _beats him about the Stage_.]
--Ah, Signior, Signior, _Mia_! ah--_Caspeto de Baccus--he cornuto_, I am
a damn'd silly Devil that have no dexterity in vanishing.

    [_Gropes and finds the Door--going out, meets just entring_
    Fillamour, Galliard _with all the Musick--he retires,
    and stands close_.

--Hah,--what have we here, new Mischief?--

    [Tick. _and he stands against each other, on either side
    of the Stage_.

_Fil_. Prithee how came we to lose ye?

_Gal_. I thought I had follow'd ye--but 'tis well we are met again. Come
tune your Pipes.--
            [_They play a little, enter_ Marcella _as before_.

_Mar_. This must be he.
                  [_Goes up to 'em_.

_Gal_. Come, come, your Song, Boy, your Song.

    _Whilst 'tis singing, Enter_ Octavio, Julio, Crapine, _and Bravos_.

             The SONG.

    _Crudo Amore, Crudo Amore,      |
    Il mio Core non fa per te       | bis
    Suffrir non vo tormenti
    Senza mai sperar mar ce
    Belta che sia Tiranna,
    Belta che sia Tiranna
    Doll meo offerto recetto non e
    Il tuo rigor singunna
      Se le pene
      Le catene
    Tenta auolgere al mio pie
    See see Crudel Amore              |
    Il mio Core non fa per te.        | bis

    Lusinghiero, Lusinghiero,         |
    Pui non Credo alta tua fe         | bis
    L' incendio del tuo foce
    Nel mio Core pui vivo none
    Belta che li die Luoce
    Belta che li die Luoce
    Ma il rigor L'Ardore s'bande
    Io non sato tuo gioce
      Ch' il Veleno
      Del mio seno
    Vergoroso faggito se n'e.
    See see Crudel Amore                |
    Il mio Core non fa per te_.         | bis

_Oct_. 'Tis they we look for, draw and be ready.--

_Tick_. Hah, draw--then there's no safety here, _certo_.    [_Aside_.

    [Octavio, Julio _and their Party draw, and fight with_ Fil.
    _and_ Gal. Marcella _ingages on their side; all fight, the
    Musick confusedly amongst 'em:_ Gal. _loses his Sword, and
    in the hurry gets a Base Viol, and happens to strike_
    Tickletext, _who is getting away--his Head breaks its way
    quite through, and it hangs about his neck; they fight out_.

    Enter_ Petro _with a Lanthorn. Sir_ Signal _stands close still_.

_Tick_. Oh, undone, undone! where am I, where am I?

_Pet_. Hah--that's the voice of my amorous _Ananias_,--or I am mistaken--
what the Devil's the matter?
                    [_Opens his Lanthorn_.
--Where are ye, Sir?--hah, cuts so--what new-found Pillory have we here?

_Tick_. Oh, honest _Barberacho_, undo me, undo me quickly.

_Pet_. So I design, Sir, as fast as I can--or lose my aim--there, Sir,
there: All's well--I have set you free, come follow me the back way into
the house.

                                  [_Ex_. Pet. _and_ Tickletext.

    _Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Marcella, _with their Swords drawn_,
    Gal. _after 'em_.

_Gal_. A plague upon 'em, what a quarter's here for a Wench, as if there
were no more i'th' Nation?--wou'd I'd my Sword again.
                                    [_Gropes for it_.

_Mar_. Which way shall I direct him to be safer?--how is it, Sir? I hope
you are not hurt.

_Fil_. Not that I feel, what art thou ask'st so kindly?

_Mar_. A Servant to the Roman Curtezan, who sent me forth to wait your
coming, Sir; but finding you in danger, shar'd it with you.--Come, let me
lead you into safety, Sir--

_Fil_. Thou'st been too kind to give me cause to doubt thee.

_Mar_. Follow me, Sir, this Key will give us entrance through the Garden.
                                               [_Exeunt_.

    _Enter_ Octavio _with his Sword in his hand_.

_Oct_. Oh! what damn'd luck had I so poorly to be vanquisht! When all is
hush'd, I know he will return,--therefore I'll fix me here, till I become
a furious Statue--but I'll reach his heart.

Sir _Sig_. Oh _lamentivolo fato_--what bloody Villains these Popish
_Italians_ are!

    _Enter_ Julio.

_Oct_. Hah--I hear one coming this way--hah--the door opens too, and he
makes toward it--pray Heaven he be the right, for this I'm sure's the
House.--Now, Luck, an't be thy will--
                  [_Follows_ Julio _towards the door softly_.

_Jul_. The Rogues are fled, but how secure I know not;--
And I'll pursue my first design of Love,
And if this _Silvianetta_ will be kind--

    _Enter_ Laura _from the House in a Night-gown_.

_Lau_. Whist--who is't names _Silvianetta_?

_Jul_. A Lover, and her Slave--
                    [_She takes him by the hand_.

_Lau_. Oh, is it you,--are you escap'd unhurt?
Come to my Bosom--and be safe for ever--

_Jul_. 'Tis Love that calls, and now Revenge must stay,
--This hour is thine, fond Boy; the next that is my own
I'll give to Anger.--

_Oct_. Oh, ye pernicious Pair,--I'll quickly change the Scene of Love
into a rougher and more unexpected Entertainment.

    [_She leads_ Julio _in_.--Oct. _follows close, they shut the door
    upon 'em. Sir_ Sig. _thrusts out his head to hearken,
    hears no body, and advances.

Sir _Sig_. Sure the Devil reigns to night; wou'd I were shelter'd, and
let him rain Fire and Brimstone: for pass the streets I dare not--this
shou'd be the House--or hereabouts I'm sure 'tis.--Hah--what's this--a
String--of a Bell I hope--I'll try to enter; and if I am mistaken, 'tis
but crying Con licentia.
          [_Rings, enter_ Philippa. _Phil_. Who's there?

Sir _Sig_. 'Tis I, 'tis I, let me in quickly.--

_Phil_. Who--the _English_ Cavalier?

Sir _Sig_. The same--I am right--I see I was expected.

_Phil_. I'm glad you're come--give me your hand.--

Sir _Sig_. I am fortunate at last,--and therefore will say with the
famous Poet.

    _No Happiness like that atchicv'd with Danger,
    --Which once overcome--I lie at Rack and Manger_.

                               [_Exeunt_.



ACT IV.


SCENE I.

    _Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Galliard, _as in_ Silvianetta's _Apartment_.

_Fil_. How splendidly these common Women live!
How rich is all we meet with in this Palace;
And rather seems the Apartment of some Prince,
Than a Receptacle for Lust and Shame.

_Gal_. You see, _Harry_, all the keeping Fools are not in our Dominions;
but this grave, this wise People, are Mistress-ridden too.

_Fil_. I fear we have mistook the House, and the Youth that brought us in
may have deceived us, on some other design; however whilst I've this--I
cannot fear--[_Draws_.

_Gal_. A good caution, and I'll stand upon my guard with this; but see--
here's one will put us out of doubt.
                  [_Pulls a Pistol out of his pocket_.

_Fil_. Hah! the fair Inchantress.

    [_Enter_ Mar. _richly and loosely drest_.

_Mar_. What, on your guard, my lovely Cavalier? Lies there a danger
In this Face and Eyes, that needs that rough resistance?
--Hide, hide that mark of Anger from my sight,
And if thou wou'dst be absolute Conquerer here,
Put on soft Looks, with Eyes all languishing,
Words tender, gentle Sighs, and kind Desires.

_Gal_. Death, with what unconcern he hears all this!
Art thou possest?--Pox, why dost not answer her?

_Mar_. I hope he will not yield--[_Aside_.
--He stands unmov'd--
Surely I was mistaken in this Face,
And I believe in Charms that have no power.

_Gal_. 'Sdeath, thou deservest not such a noble Creature,--
I'll have 'em both my self.--[_Aside_.

_Fil_.--Yes, thou hast wondrous power,
And I have felt it long.    [_Pausingly_.

_Mar_. How!

_Fil_.--I've often seen that Face--but 'twas in Dreams:
And sleeping lov'd extremely!
And waking;--sigh'd to find it but a Dream:
The lovely Phantom vanish'd with my Slumbers,
But left a strong Idea on my heart
Of what I find in perfect Beauty here,
--But with this difference, she was virtuous too.

_Mar_. What silly she was that?

_Fil_. She whom I dream'd I lov'd.

_Mar_. You only dreamt that she was virtuous too;
Virtue it self's a Dream of so slight force,
The very fluttering of Love's Wings destroys it;
Ambition, or the meaner hope of Interest, wakes it to nothing;
In Men a feeble Beauty shakes the dull slumber off.--

_Gal_. Egad, she argues like an Angel, _Harry_.

_Fil_.--What haste thou'st made to damn thy self so young!
Hast thou been long thus wicked? hast thou sinn'd past Repentance?
Heaven may do much to save so fair a Criminal;
Turn yet, and be forgiven.

_Gal_. What a Pox dost thou mean by all this Canting?

_Mar_. A very pretty Sermon, and from a Priest so gay,
It cannot chuse but edify.
Do Holy men of your Religion, Signior, wear all this Habit?
Are they thus young and lovely? Sure if they are,
Your Congregation's all compos'd of Ladies;
The Laity must come abroad for Mistresses.

_Fil_. Oh, that this charming Woman were but honest!

_Gal_. 'Twere better thou wert damn'd; honest!
Pox, thou dost come out with things so mal a propo--

_Mar_. Come leave this Mask of foolish Modesty,
And let us haste where Love and Musick calls;
Musick, that heightens Love, and makes the Soul
Ready for soft Impressions.

_Gal_. So, she will do his business with a Vengeance.

_Fil_. Plague of this tempting Woman, she will ruin me:
I find weak Virtue melt from round my Heart,
To give her Tyrant Image a Possession:
So the warm Sun thaws Rivers icy Tops.
Till in the stream he sees his own bright Face.

_Gal_. Now he comes on apace,--how is't, my Friend?
Thou stand'st as thou'dst forgot thy business here,
--The Woman, _Harry_, the fair Curtezan;
Canst thou withstand her Charms? I've business of my own,
Prithee fall to--and talk of Love to her.

_Fil_. Oh, I cou'd talk Eternity away,
In nothing else but Love;--cou'dst thou be honest?

_Mar_. Honest! was it for that you sent two thousand Crowns,
Or did believe that trifling Sum sufficient
To buy me to the slavery of Honesty?

_Gal_. Hold there, my brave Virago.

_Fil_. No, I wou'd sacrifice a nobler Fortune,
To buy thy Virtue home.

_Mar_. What shou'd it idling there?

_Fil_. Why--make thee constant to some happy Man,
That wou'd adore thee for't.

_Mar_. Unconscionable! constant at my years?
--Oh, 'twere to cheat a thousand,
Who between this and my dull Age of Constancy.
Expect the distribution of my Beauty.

_Gal_. 'Tis a brave Wench--    [_Aside_.

_Fil_. Yet charming as thou art, the time will come
When all that Beauty, like declining Flowers,
Will wither on the Stalk,--but with this difference,
The next kind Spring brings Youth to Flowers again,
But faded Beauty never more can bloom.
--If Interest make thee wicked, I can supply thy Pride.--

_Mar_. Curse on your necessary Trash!--which I despise,
But as 'tis useful to advance our Love.

_Fil_. Is Love thy business? who is there born so high,
But Love and Beauty equals?
And thou mayst chuse from all the wishing World.
This Wealth together wou'd inrich one Man,
Which dealt to all, wou'd scarce be Charity.

_Mar_. Together! 'tis a Mass wou'd ransom Kings:
Was all this Beauty given for one poor petty Conquest?
--I might have made a hundred Hearts my slaves,
In this lost time of bringing one to Reason.--
Farewel, thou dull Philosopher in Love;
When Age has made me wise, I'll send for you again.
                            [_Offers to go_, Gal. _holds her_.

_Gal_. By this good Light, a noble glorious Whore.

_Fil_. Oh, stay, I must not let such Beauty fall,
--A Whore--consider yet the Charms of Reputation,
The Ease, the Quiet, and Content of Innocence,
The awful Reverence all good Men will pay thee,
Who, as thou art, will gaze without respect,
--And cry--what pity 'tis she is--a Whore--

_Mar_. O, you may give it what coarse name you please,
But all this Youth and Beauty ne'er was given,
Like Gold to Misers, to be kept from use.
                                      [_Going out_.

_Fil_. Lost, lost--past all Redemption.

_Gal_. Nay, Gad, thou shalt not lose her so--I'll fetch her back, and
thou shalt ask her pardon.
                          [_Runs out after her_.

_Fil_. By Heaven, it was all a Dream! an airy Dream!
The visionary Pleasure disappears,--and I'm myself again,
--I'll fly before the drousy Fit o'ertake me.
                [_Going out, Enter_ Gal. _and then_ Marcella.

_Gal_. Turn back--she yields, she yields to pardon thee.
Gone! nay, hang me if ye part.
            [_Runs after him, still his Pistol in his hand_.

_Mar_. Gone! I have no leisure now for more dissembling.
                                [_Takes the Candle, and goes in_.

    _Enter_ Petro, _leading in Mr_. Tickletext, _as by dark_.

_Pet_. Remain here, Signior, whilst I step and fetch a light.

_Tick_. Do so, do so, honest _Barberacho_.--Well, my escape even now from
Sir _Signal_ was miraculous, thanks to my Prudence and Prowess; had he
discover'd me, my Dominion had ended, and my Authority been of none
effect, _certo_.

    [Philippa _at the door puts in Sir_ Signal.

_Phil_. Now, Signior, you're out of danger, I'll fetch a Candle, and let
my Lady know of your being here.

                     [_Exit_ Phil. _Sir_ Sig. _advances a little_.

    _Enter_ Petro _with a light, goes between 'em, and starts_.

_Tick_. Sir _Signal_!--

Sir _Sig_. My Governour!

_Pet_. The two Fools met! a pox of all ill luck! Now shall I lose my
Credit with both my wise Patrons; my Knight I cou'd have put off with a
small Harlot of my own, but my Levite having seen my Lady _Cornelia_,
that is, _La Silvianetta_,--none but that _Susanna_ wou'd satisfy his
Eldership. But now they both sav'd me the labour of a farther invention
to dispatch 'em.

Sir _Sig_. I perceive my Governour's as much confounded as my self;--I'll
take advantage by the forelock, be very impudent, and put it upon him,
faith--Ah, Governour, will you never leave your whoring? never be staid,
sober and discreet, as I am?

_Tick_. So, so, undone, undone! just my Documents to him.--
                 [_Walks about, Sir_ Sig. _follows_.

Sir _Sig_. And must I neglect my precious studies, to follow you, in pure
zeal and tender care of your Person? Will you never consider where you
are? In a leud Papish Country, amongst the Romish Heathens! And for you,
a Governour, a Tutor, a Director of unbridled Youth, a Gownman, a
Politician; for you, I say, to be taken at this unrighteous time of the
Night, in a flaunting Cavaliero Dress, an unlawful Weapon by your side,
going the high way to Satan, to a Curtezan; and to a Romish Curtezan! Oh
Abomination! Oh _scandalum infinitum_!

_Tick_. Paid in my own Coin.

_Pet_. So, I'll leave the Devil to rebuke Sin: and to my young Lady, for
a little of her assistance in the management of this Affair.
                                                      [_Exit_ Pet.

_Tick_. I do confess, I grant ye I am in the house of a Curtezan, and
that I came to visit a Curtezan, and do intend to visit each Night a
several Curtezan, till I have finished my work--

Sir _Sig_. Every night one! Oh Glutton!

_Tick_. My great work of Convertion, upon the whole Nation, Generation,
and Vocation of this wicked provoking sort of Womankind call'd Curtezans.
I will turn 'em; I will turn 'em, for 'tis a shame that Man shou'd bow
down to those that worship Idols. And now I think, Sir, I have
sufficiently explain'd the business in hand,--as honest _Barberacho_ is
my witness;--And for you--to--scandalize--me--with so naughty an
Interpretation--afflicteth me wonderfully.--
                 [_Pulls out his handkerchief, and weeps_.

Sir _Sig_.--Alas, poor Mr. _Tickletext_, now as I hope to be sav'd, it
grieves my heart to see thee weep; faith and troth now, I thought thou
hadst some carnal Assignation:--but ne'er stir, I beg thy pardon, and
think thee as innocent as my self, that I do--but see, the Lady's here--
s'life, dry your Eyes, man.

    [_Enter Cornelia, Phil, and Pet_.

_Cor_. I cou'd beat thee for being thus mistaken, and am resolv'd to
flatter him into some Mischief, to be reveng'd on 'em for this
disappointment; go you, and watch for my Cavalier the while.

_Tick_. Is she come? Nay, then turn me loose to her.

_Cor_. My Cavalier!
             [_Addressing to Sir Sig_. Tick. _pulls him by, and speaks_.

_Tick_.--Lady--

Sir _Sig_. You, Sir! why, who the Devil made you a Cavalier? most
_Potentissima Signiora_, I am the man of Title, by name Sir _Signal
Buffoon_, sole Son and Heir to Eight Thousand Pound a year.--

_Tick_. Oh, Sir, are you the Man she looks for?

Sir _Sig_. I, Sir? no, Sir: I'd have ye know, Sir, I scorn any Woman, be
she never so fair, unless her design be honest and honourable.

_Cor_. The Man of all the World I've chosen out, from all the Wits and
Beauties I have seen,--to have most finely beaten.    [_Aside_.

Sir _Sig_. How! In love with me already,--she's damnable handsome too:
now wou'd my Tutor were hang'd a little for an hour or two, out of the
way.    [_Aside_.

_Cor_. Why fly you not into my Arms,
               [_She approaching, he shunning_.
These Arms that were design'd for soft Embraces?

Sir _Sig_. Ay, and if my Tutor were not here, the Devil take him that
wou'd hinder 'em--and I think that's civil, egad.

_Tick_. Why, how now, _Barberacho_, what, am I cozen'd then, and is Sir
_Signal_ the Man in favour?    [_Aside to_ Petro.

_Pet_. Lord, Signior, that so wise a man as you cannot perceive her
meaning,--for the Devil take me if I can. [_Aside_.--Why this is done to
take off all suspicion from you--and lay it on him;--don't you conceive
it, Signior?

_Tick_. Yes, honest Rogue,--Oh the witty Wag-tail,--I have a part to play
too, that shall confirm it--young Gentlewoman.--

_Cor_. Ah, Belle ingrate, is't thus you recompense my suffering Love? to
fly this Beauty so ador'd by all, that slight the ready Conquest of the
World, to trust a Heart with you?--Ah--_Traditor Cruella_.

Sir _Sig_. Poor Heart, it goes to the very soul of me to be so coy and
scornful to her, that it does; but a pox on't, her over-fondness will
discover all.

_Tick_. Fly, fly, young Man, whilst yet thou hast a spark of Virtue
shining in thee, fly the temptations of this young Hypocrite; the Love
that she pretends with so much zeal and ardour, is indecent,
unwarrantable and unlawful; first indecent, as she is Woman--for thou art
Woman--and beautiful Woman--yes, very beautiful Woman; on whom Nature
hath shew'd her height of Excellence in the out-work, but left thee
unfinisht, imperfect and impure.

_Cor_. Heavens, what have we here?

Sir _Sig_. A Pox of my Sir _Domine_; now is he beside his Text, and will
spoil all.

_Tick_. Secondly, Unwarrantable; by what Authority dost thou seduce with
the Allurements of thine Eyes, and the Conjurements of thy Tongue, the
Wastings of thy Hands, and the Tinklings of thy Feet, the young Men in
the Villages?

_Cor_. Sirrah, how got this Madman in? seize him, and take him hence.

Sir _Sig_. _Corpo de mi_, my Governour tickles her notably, I'faith--but
had he let the care of my Soul alone to night, and have let me taken care
of my Body, 'twould have been more material at this time.

_Tick_. Thirdly, Unlawful--

_Cor_. Quite distracted! in pity take him hence, and lead him into
Darkness, 'twill suit his Madness best.

_Tick_. How, distracted! take him hence.

_Pet_. This was lucky--I knew she wou'd come again--Take him hence--yes,
into her Bed-chamber--pretty device to get you to her self, Signior.

_Tick_. Why, but is it?--Nay then I will facilitate my departure--
therefore I say, Oh most beautiful and tempting Woman--
           [_Beginning to preach again_.

_Cor_. Away with him, give him clean straw and darkness,
And chain him fast, for fear of further mischief.

_Pet_. She means for fear of losing ye.

_Tick_. Ah, Baggage! as fast as she will in those pretty Arms.
                                           [_Going to lead him off_.

Sir _Sig_. Hold, hold, man; mad, said ye!--ha, ha, ha--mad! why we have a
thousand of these in _England_ that go loose about the streets, and pass
with us for as sober discreet religious persons, as a man shall wish to
talk nonsense withal.

_Pet_. You are mistaken, Signior, I say he is mad, stark mad.

Sir _Sig_. Prithee, _Barberacho_, what dost thou mean?

_Pet_. To rid him hence, that she may be alone with you--'slife, Sir,
you're madder than he--don't you conceive?--

Sir _Sig_. Ay, ay; nay, I confess, Illustrissima Signiora, my Governour
has a Fit that takes him now and then, a kind of frensy,--a figary--a
whimsy--a maggot, that bites always at naming of Popery: [_Exit_. Pet.
_with_ Tick.]--so--he's gone.--Bellissima Signiora,--you have most
artificially remov'd him--and this extraordinary proof of your affection
is a sign of some small kindness towards me; and though I was something
coy and reserv'd before my Governour, Excellentissima Signiora, let me
tell you, your Love is not cast away.

_Cor_. Oh, Sir, you bless too fast; but will you ever love me?

Sir _Sig_. Love thee! ay and lie with thee too, most magnanimous
Signiora, and beget a whole Race of Roman _Julius Caesars_ upon thee;
nay, now we're alone, turn me loose to Impudence, i'faith.
                                                     [_Ruffles her;
    Enter_ Philippa _in haste, shutting the door after her_.

_Phil_. Oh, Madam, here's the young mad _English_ Cavalier got into the
House, and will not be deny'd seeing you.

_Cor_. This was lucky.

Sir _Sig_. How, the mad _English_ Cavalier! if this shou'd be our young
Count _Galliard_ now--I were in a sweet taking--Oh, I know by my fears
'tis he;--Oh, prithee what kind of a manner of Man is he?

_Phil_. A handsom--resolute--brave--bold--

Sir _Sig_. Oh, enough, enough--Madam, I'll take my leave--I see you are
something busy at present,--an I'll--

_Cor_. Not for the World:--_Philippa_, bring in the Cavalier--that you
may see there's none here fears him, Signior.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, hold, hold--Madam, you are mistaken in that point; for, to
tell you the truth, I do fear--having--a certain--Aversion or Antipathy--
to--Madam--a Gentleman--Why, Madam, they're the very Monsters of the
Nation, they devour every Day a Virgin.--

_Cor_. Good Heavens! and is he such a Fury?

Sir _Sig_. Oh, and the veriest Beelzebub;--besides, Madam, he vow'd my
Death, if ever he catcht me near this House; and he ever keeps his word
in cases of this Nature--Oh, that's he, [_Knocking at the Door_.] I know
it by a certain trembling Instinct about me!--Oh, what shall I do--

_Cor_. Why--I know not,--can you leap a high Window?

Sir _Sig_. He knocks again,--I protest I am the worst Vaulter in
Christendom.--Have you no moderate danger--between the two extremes of
the Window or the mad Count? no Closet?--Fear has dwindled me to the
scantling of a Mousehole.

_Cor_. Let me see,--I have no leisure to pursue my Revenge farther, and
will rest satisfy'd with this,--for this time. [_Aside_.]--Give me the
Candle,--and whilst _Philippa_ is conducting the Cavalier to the Alcove
by dark, you may have an Opportunity to slip out--perhaps there may be
danger in his being seen--[_Aside_.] Farewel, Fool--

    [_Ex_. Cornelia _with the Candle_, Phil. _goes to the Door,
    lets in_ Gal. _takes him by the hand_.

_Gal_. Pox on't, my Knight's bound for _Viterbo_, and there's no
persuading him into safe Harbour again.--He has given me but two hours to
dispatch matters here,--and then I'm to imbark with him upon this new
Discovery of honourable Love, as he call it, whose Adventurers are Fools,
and the returning Cargo, that dead Commodity called a Wife! a Voyage very
suitable to my Humour.--Who's there?--

_Phil_. A Slave of _Silvianetta_, Sir; give me your hand.

               [_Ex. over the stage, Sir_ Sig. _goes out softly_.


SCENE II. _Changes to a Bed-chamber Alcove_.

    Petro _leading in_ Tickletext.

_Pet_. Now, Signior, you're safe and happy in the Bedchamber of your
Mistress--who will be here immediately, I'm sure; I'll fetch a Light, and
put you to Bed in the mean time--

_Tick_. Not before Supper I hope, honest _Barberacho_.

_Pet_. Oh, Signior, that you shall do lying, after the manner of the
antient _Romans_.

_Tick_. _Certo_, and that was a marvellous good lazy Custom.

                                        [_Ex_. Pet.

    _Enter_ Philippa _with_ Galliard _by dark_.

_Phil_. My Lady will be with you instantly--[_Goes out_.

_Tick_. Hah, sure I heard some body come softly in at the door: I hope
'tis the young Gentlewoman.
                            [_He advances forward_.

_Gal_. Silence and Night, Love and dear Opportunity.
                    [_In a soft Tone_.
Join all your aids to make my _Silvia_ kind;
For I am fill'd with the expecting Bliss,
                    [Tick, _thrusts his Head out to listen_.
And much Delay or Disappointment kills me.

_Tick_. Disappointment kills me,--and me too, _certo_--'tis she--
                    [_Gropes about_.

_Gal_. Oh, haste, my Fair, haste to my longing Arms,
Where are you, dear and loveliest of your Sex?

_Tick_. That's I, that's I, _my Alma! mea Core, mea Vita!_
                                   [_Groping and speaking low_.

_Gal_. Hah--art thou come, my Life! my Soul! my Joy!
               [_Goes to embrace_ Tick, _they meet and kiss_.
'Sdeath, what's this, a bearded Mistress! Lights, Lights there, quickly,
Lights! nay, curse me if thou scap'st me.

    [Tick. _struggles to get away, he holds him by the Crevat
    and Perriwig_; _Enter_ Petro _with a Candle_.

_Gal_. _Barberacho_--confound him, 'tis the Fool whom I found this
Evening about the House, hovering to roost him here!--Ha--what the Devil
have I caught--a _Tartar_? escap'd again! the Devil's his Confederate.--

    [Pet. _puts out the Candle, comes to_ Tick, _unties his
    Crevat behind, and he slips his head out of the Perriwig,
    and gets away, leaving both in_ Gal's _hands_.

_Pet_. Give me your Hand, I'll lead you a back-pair of stairs through the
Garden.

_Tick_. Oh, any way to save my Reputation--oh--

_Gal_. Let me but once more grasp thee, and thou shalt find more safety
in the Devil's Clutches: none but my Mistress serve ye!
                                         [_Gropes out after him_.

    [Pet. _with_ Tick, _running over the Stage_, Gal. _after
    'em, with the Crevat and Perriwig in one Hand,
    his Pistol in t'other_.

    _Enter_ Philippa _with a Light_.

_Phil_. Mercy upon us! what's the matter? what Noise is this--hah, a
Pistol! what can this mean?

                      [_A Pistol goes off_.

    _Enter Sir_ Signal _running_.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, save me, gentle Devil, save me, the stairs are fortify'd
with Cannons and double Culverins; I'm pursu'd by a whole Regiment of
arm'd Men! here's Gold, Gold in abundance, save me.--

_Phil_. What Cannons? what armed Men?

Sir _Sig_. Finding my self pursu'd as I was groping my way through the
Hall, and not being able to find the Door, I made towards the stairs
again, at the foot of which I was saluted with a great Gun--a pox of the
Courtesy.

_Gal_. [_Without_.] Where are ye, Knight, Buffoon, Dog of _Egypt_?

Sir _Sig_. Thunder and Lightning! 'tis _Gallaird's_ Voice.

_Phil_. Here, step behind this Hanging--there's a Chimney which may
shelter ye till the Storm be over,--if you be not smother'd before.
                                         [_Puts him behind the Arras_.

    _Enter_ Gal. _as before, and_ Corn, _at the other door_.

_Cor_. Heavens! What rude noise is this?

_Gal_. Where have you hid this Fool, this lucky Fool?
He whom blind Chance, and more ill-judging Woman,
Has rais'd to that Degree of Happiness,
That witty Men must sigh and toil in vain for?

_Cor_. What Fool, what Happiness?

_Gal_. Cease, cunning false one, to excuse thy self,
See here the Trophies of your shameful Choice,
And of my Ruin, cruel--fair Deceiver!

_Cor_. Deceiver, Sir, of whom? in what despairing minute did I swear to
be a constant Mistress? to what dull whining Lover did I vow, and had the
heart to break it?

_Gal_. Or if thou hadst, I know of no such Dog as wou'd believe thee:
No, thou art false to thy own Charms, and hast betray'd them
To the possession of the vilest Wretch
That ever Fortune curst with Happiness;
False to thy Joys, false to thy Wit and Youth:
All which thou'st damn'd with so much careful Industry
To an eternal Fool,
That all the Arts of Love can ne'er redeem thee.

Sir _Sig_. Meaning me, meaning me.
               [_Peeping out of the Chimney, his Face blackt_.

_Cor_. A Fool! what Indiscretion have you seen in me, shou'd make ye
think I would choose a Witty man for a Lover, who perhaps loves out his
Month in pure good Husbandry, and in that time does more Mischief than a
hundred Fools. You conquer without Resistance, you treat without Pity,
and triumph without Mercy: and when you are gone, the World crys--she had
not Wit enough to keep him, when indeed you are not Fool enough to be
kept! Thus we forfeit both our Liberties and Discretion with you
villanous witty Men: for Wisdom is but good Success in things, and those
that fail are Fools.

_Gal_. Most gloriously disputed!
You're grown a Machivellian in your Art.

_Cor_. Oh, necessary Maxims only, and the first Politicks we learn from
Observation--I have known a Curtezan grown infamous, despis'd, decay'd,
and ruin'd, in the Possession of you witty Men, who when she had the luck
to break her Chains, and cast her Net for Fools, has liv'd in state,
finer than Brides upon their Wedding-day, and more profuse than the young
amorous Coxcomb that set her up an Idol.

Sir _Sig_. Well argued of my side, I see the Baggage loves me!
                           [_Peeping out with a Face more smutted_.

_Gal_. And hast thou? Oh, but prithee jilt me on,
And say thou hast not destin'd all thy Charms
To such a wicked Use.
Is that dear Face and Mouth for Slaves to kiss?
Shall those bright Eyes be gaz'd upon, and serve
But to reflect the Images of Fools?

Sir _Sig_. That's I still.    [_Peeping more black_.

_Gal_. Shall that soft tender Bosom be approacht
By one who wants a Soul, to breathe in languishment
At every Kiss that presses it?

Sir _Sig_. Soul! what a pox care I for Soul--as long as my Person is so
amiable?

_Gal_. No, renounce that dull Discretion that undoes thee,
Cunning is cheaply to be wise; leave it to those that have
No other Powers to gain a Conquest by,
It is below thy Charms.
--Come swear, and be foresworn most damnably,
Thou hast not yielded yet; say 'twas intended only,
And though thou ly'st, by Heaven, I must believe thee;
--Say,--hast thou--given him--all?

_Cor_. I've done as bad, we have discours'd th' Affair,
And 'tis concluded on.--

Gal. As bad! by Heaven, much worse! discours'd with him!
Wert thou so wretched, so depriv'd of Sense,
To hold Discourse with such an Animal?
Damn it; the Sin is ne'er to be forgiven.
--Hadst thou been wanton to that leud degree,
By dark he might have been conducted to thee;
Where silently he might have serv'd thy purpose,
And thou hadst had some poor excuse for that:
But bartering words with Fools admits of none.

_Cor_. I grant ye,--had I talk'd sense to him, which had
been enough to have lost him for ever.

Sir _Sig_. Poor Devil, how fearful 'tis of losing me!    [_Aside_.

_Gal_. That's some Atonement for thy other Sins,--
Come, break thy Word, and wash it quite away.

Sir _Sig_. That cogging won't do, my good Friend, that won't do.

_Gal_. Thou shall be just and perjur'd, and pay my Heart the debt of Love
you owe it.

_Cor_. And wou'd you have the Heart--to make a Whore of me?

_Gal_. With all my Soul, and the Devil's in't if I can give thee a
greater proof of my Passion.

_Cor_. I rather fear you wou'd debauch me into that dull slave call'd a
Wife.

_Gal_. A Wife! have I no Conscience, no Honour in me?
Prithee believe I wou'd not be so wicked--
No,--my Desires are generous, and noble,
To set thee up, that glorious insolent thing,
That makes Mankind such Slaves, almighty Curtezan!
--Come, to thy private Chamber let us haste,
The sacred Temple of the God of Love;
And consecrate thy Power.
                          [_Offers to bear her off_.

_Cor_. Stay, do you take me then for what I seem?

_Gal_. I am sure I do, and wou'd not be mistaken for a Kingdom:
But if thou art not, I can soon mend that fault,
And make thee so.--Come, I'm impatient to begin the
Experiment.
               [_Offers again to carry her off_.

_Cor_. Nay, then I am in earnest,--hold, mistaken Stranger--I am of noble
Birth; and shou'd I in one hapless loving Minute destroy the Honour of my
House, ruin my Youth and Beauty, and all that virtuous Education my
hoping Parents gave me?

_Gal_. Pretty dissembled Pride and Innocence! And wounds no less than
smiles!--Come, let us in,--where I will give thee leave to frown and
jilt; such pretty Frauds advance the Appetite.
                                  [_Offers again_.

_Cor_. By all that's good, I am a Maid of Quality,
Blest with a Fortune equal to my Birth.

_Gal_. I do not credit thee; or if I did,
For once I wou'd dispense with Quality,
And to express my Love, take thee with all these Faults.

_Cor_. And being so, can you expect I'll yield?

_Gal_. The sooner for that reason, if thou'rt wise;
The Quality will take away the Scandal.
Do not torment me longer--
                    [_Offers to lead her again_.

_Cor_. Stay and be undeceiv'd,--I do conjure ye.--

_Gal_. Art thou no Curtezan?

_Cor_. Not on my life, nor do intend to be.

_Gal_. No Prostitute? nor dost intend to be?

_Cor_. By all that's good, I only feign'd to be so.

_Gal_. No Curtezan! hast thou deceiv'd me then?
Tell me, thou wicked honest cozening Beauty,
Why didst thou draw me in, with such a fair Pretence,
Why such a tempting Preface to invite,
And the whole Piece so useless and unedifying?
--Heavens! not a Curtezan!
Why from thy Window didst thou take my Vows,
And make such kind Returns? Oh, damn your Quality:
What honest Whore but wou'd have scorn'd thy Cunning?

_Cor_. I make ye kind Returns?

_Gal_. Persuade me out of that too; 'twill be like ye.

_Cor_. By all my Wishes I never held Discourse with you--but this
Evening, since I first saw your Face.

_Gal_. Oh, the Impudence of Honesty and Quality in Woman!
A plague upon 'em both, they have undone me!
Bear witness, oh thou gentle Queen of Night,
Goddess of Shades, ador'd by Lovers most;
How oft under thy Covert she has damn'd her self,
With feigned Love to me!    [_In Passion_.

_Cor_. Heavens! this is Impudence: that Power I call to witness too, how
damnably thou injur'st me.    [_Angry_.

_Gal_. You never from your Window talk'd of Love to me?

_Cor_. Never.

_Gal_. So, nor you're no Curtezan?

_Cor_. No, by my Life.

_Gal_. So, nor do intend to be, by all that's good?

_Cor_. By all that's good, never.

_Gal_. So, and you are real honest, and of Quality?

_Cor_. Or may I still be wretched.

_Gal_. So, then farewel Honesty and Quality--'Sdeath, what a Night, what
Hopes, and what a Mistress, have I all lost for Honesty and Quality!
                                                      [_Offers to go_.

_Cor_. Stay.--

_Gal_. I will be rack'd first, let go thy hold!
                                            [_In fury_.
--Unless thou wou'dst repent.--
                         [_In a soft tone_.

_Cor_. I cannot of my fixt Resolves for Virtue!
--But if you could but--love me--honourably--
For I assum'd this Habit and this Dress--

_Gal_. To cheat me of my Heart the readiest way: And now, like gaming
Rooks, unwilling to give o'er till you have hook'd in my last stake, my
Body too, you cozen me with Honesty.--Oh, damn the Dice--I'll have no
more on't, I, the Game's too deep for me, unless you play'd upon the
square, or I could cheat like you.--
Farewel, Quality--
                      [_Goes out_.

_Cor_. He's gone; _Philippa_, run and fetch him back; I have but this
short Night allow'd for Liberty; Perhaps to morrow I may be a Slave.
                                          [_Ex_. Phil.
--Now o' my Conscience there never came good of this troublesome Virtue--
hang't, I was too serious; but a Devil on't, he looks so charmingly--and
was so very pressing, I durst trust my gay Humour and good Nature no
farther.
             [_She walks about, Sir_ Signal _peeps and then comes out_.

Sir _Sig_. He's gone!--so, ha, ha, ha. As I hope to breathe, Madam, you
have nost neatly dispatcht him; poor fool--to compare his Wit and his
Person to mine.--

_Cor_. Hah, the Coxcomb here still.--

Sir _Sig_. Well, this Countenance of mine never fail'd me yet.

Cor. Ah--

    [_Looking about on him, sees his face black,
    squeaks and runs away_.

Sir _Sig_. Ah, whe, what the Deavilo's that for?
--Whe, 'tis I, 'tis I, most _Serenissima Signiora_!

                          [Gal. _returns and_ Philippa.

_Gal_. What noise is that, or is't some new design
To fetch me back again?

Sir _Sig_. How! _Galliard_ return'd!

_Gal_. Hah! what art thou? a Mortal or a Devil?

Sir _Sig_. How, not know me? now might I pass upon him most daintily for
a Devil, but that I have been beaten out of one Devilship already, and
dare venture no more Conjurationing.

_Gal_. Dog, what art thou--not speak! Nay, then I'll inform my self, and
try if you be flesh and blood.
                          [_Kicks him, he avoids_.

Sir _Sig_. No matter for all this--'tis better to be kickt than
discovered, for then I shall be kill'd: and I can sacrifice a Limb or two
to my Reputation at any time.

_Gal_. Death, 'tis the Fool, the Fool for whom I am abus'd and jilted?
'tis some revenge to disappoint her Cunning, and drive the Slave before
me--Dog! were you her last reserve?
                       [_Kicks him, he keeps in his cry_.

Sir _Sig_. Still I say Mum.

_Gal_. The Ass will still appear through all disguises,
Nor can the Devil's shape secure the Fool--
         [_Kicks him, he runs out, as_ Cor. _enters and holds_ Gal.

_Cor_. Hold, Tyrant--

_Gal_. Oh Women, Women, fonder in your Appetites Than Beasts, and more
unnatural! For they but couple with their Kind, but you Promiscuously
shuffle your Brutes together, The <DW2> of business with the lazy Gown-men
--the learned Ass with the illiterate Wit--the empty Coxcomb with the
Politician, as dull and insignificant as he; from the gay Fool made more
a Beast by Fortune to all the loath'd infirmities of Age. Farewel--I
scorn to croud with the dull Herd, or graze upon the Common where they
fatten.
                                           [_Goes out_.

_Phil_. I know he loves, by this concern I know it,
And will not let him part dissatisfied.
                                           [_Goes out_.

_Cor_. By all that's good, I love him more each moment, and know he's
destin'd to be mine.--

    [_Enter_ Marcella.

--What hopes, _Marcella_? what is't we next shall do?

_Mar_. Fly to our last reserve; come, let's haste and dress in that
disguise we took our flight from _Viterbo_ in,--and something I resolve.

_Cor_. My soul informs me what--I ha't! a Project worthy of us both--
which whilst we dress I'll tell thee,--and by which,

    My dear _Marcella_, we will stand or fall:
    'Tis our last Stake we set; and have at all.

                                           [_Exeunt_.



ACT V.


SCENE I. _The Corso_.

    _Enter_ Petro, Tickletext, _from the Garden_.

_Tick_. Haste, honest _Barberacho_, before the Day discover us to the
wicked World, and that more wicked _Galliard_.

_Pet_. Well, Signior, of a bad turn it was a good one, that he took you
for Sir _Signal_! the Scandal lies at his door now Sir,--so the Ladder's
fast, you may now mount and away.--

_Tick_. Very well, go your ways, and commend me, honest _Barberacho_, to
the young Gentlewoman, and let her know, as soon as I may be certain to
run no hazard in my Reputation, I'll visit her again.

_Pet_. I'll warrant ye, Signior, for the future.

_Tick_. So, now get you gone lest we be discover'd.

_Pet_. Farewel, Signior, _a bon viage_.
                          [_Ex_. Pet. Tick, _descends_.

_Tick_. 'Tis marvellous dark, and I have lost my Lanthorn in the fray!
         [_Groping_.]
--hah--whereabouts am I--hum--what have we here!--ah, help, help, help!
         [_Stumbles_ _at the Well, gets hold of the Rope, and slides
         down in the Bucket_.]
I shall be drown'd, Fire, Fire, Fire! for I have Water enough! Oh, for
some House,--some Street; nay, wou'd _Rome_ it-self were a second time in
flames, that my Deliverance might be wrought by the necessity for Water:
but no human Help is nigh--oh!

    _Enter Sir_ Sig. _as before_.

Sir _Sig_. Did ever any Knight-Adventurer run through so many Disasters
in one night! my worshipful Carcase has been cudgel'd most plentifully,
first bang'd for a Coward, which by the way was none of my Fault, I
cannot help Nature: then claw'd away for a _Diavillo_, there I was the
Fool; but who can help that too? frighted with _Gal's_ coming into an
Ague; then chimney'd into a Fever, where I had a fine Regale of Soot, a
Perfume which nothing but my _Cackamarda Orangate_ cou'd exceell; and
which I find by [_snuffs_] my smelling has defac'd Nature's Image, and
a second time made me be suspected for a Devil.--let me see--[_Opens
his Lanthorn, and looks on his Hands_.] 'tis so--I am in a cleanly
Pickle: if my Face be of the same Hue, I am fit to scare away old
_Beelzebub_ himself, i'faith: [_Wipes his Face_.]--ay, 'tis so, like
to like, quoth the Devil to the Collier: well I'll home, scrub my self
clean if possible, get me to Bed, devise a handsom Lye to excuse my long
stay to my Governour, and all's well, and the Man has his Mare again.
[_Shuts his Lanthorn and gropes away, runs against the Well.--Quequesto
(feels gently.)_] Make me thankful 'tis substantial Wood, by your leave--
[_Opens his Lanthorn_.] How! a Well! sent by Providence that I may wash
my self, lest People smoke me by the scent, and beat me a-new for
stinking: [_Sets down his Lanthorn, pulls of his Masking-Coat, and goes
to draw Water_.] 'Tis a damnable heavy Bucket! now do I fancy I shall
look, when I am washing my self, like the sign of the Labour-in-vain.

_Tick_. So, my cry is gone forth, and I am delivered by Miracle from this
Dungeon of Death and Darkness, this cold Element of Destruction--

Sir _Sig_. Hah--sure I heard a dismal hollow Voice.

    [Tick. _appears in the Bucket above the Well_.

_Tick_. What, art thou come in Charity?

Sir _Sig_. Ah, _le Diavilo, le Diavilo, le Diavilo_.
             [_Lets go the Bucket, and is running frighted away_.

    _Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Page, _he returns_.

--How, a Man! was ever wretched Wight so miserable, the Devil at one
hand, and a _Roman_ Night-walker at the other; which danger shall I
chuse?
              [_Gets to the door of the House_.

_Tick_. So, I am got up at last--thanks to my Knight, for I am sure 'twas
he! hah, he's here--I'll hear his Business.
              [_Goes near to_ Fillamour.

_Fil_. Confound this Woman, this bewitching Woman: I cannot shake her
from my sullen Heart; Spite of my Soul I linger hereabouts, and cannot to
_Viterbo_.

_Tick_. Very good; a dainty Rascal this!

    _Enter_ Galliard _with a Lanthorn, as from_ Silvia's
    _House, held by_ Philippa.

_Fil_.--Hah, who's this coming from her House? Perhaps 'tis _Galliard_.

_Gal_. No Argument shall fetch me back, by Heaven.

_Fil_. 'Tis the mad Rogue.

_Tick_. Oh Lord, 'tis _Galliard_, and angry too; now cou'd I but get off,
and leave Sir _Signal_ to be beaten, 'twere a rare project--but 'tis
impossible without discovery.

_Phil_. But will you hear her, Signior?

_Gal_. That is, will I lose more time about her? Plague on't, I have
thrown away already such Songs and Sonnets, such Madrigals and Posies,
such Night-walks, Sighs, and direful Lovers looks, as wou'd have
mollify'd any Woman of Conscience and Religion; and now to be popt i'th'
mouth with Quality! Well, if ever you catch me lying with any but honest
well-meaning Damsels hereafter, hang me:--farewel, old Secret, farewel.
                         [_Ex_. Philippa.
--Now am I asham'd of being cozen'd so damnably, _Fillamour_, that
virtuous Rascal, will so laugh at me; s'heart, cou'd I but have debaucht
him, we had been on equal terms.--but I must help my self with lying, and
swear I have--a--

_Fil_. You shall not need, I'll keep your Counsel, Sir.

_Gal_. Hah--_estes vous la_?--

_Tick_. How, _Fillamour_ all this while! some Comfort yet, I am not the
only Professor that dissembles: but how to get away--

_Gal_. Oh _Harry_, the most damnably defeated!
                                 [_A Noise of Swords_.

_Fil_. Hold! what Noise is that? two Men coming this way as from the
house of the Curtezans.

    _Enter_ Julio _backwards, fighting_ Octavio _and Bravoes_.

_Gal_. Hah, on retreating,--S'death, I've no Sword!

_Fil_. Here's one, I'll take my Page's.
                        [_Takes the Boy's Sword_.

_Gal_. Now am I mad for mischief; here, hold my Lanthorn, Boy.

    [_They fight on_ Julio's _side, and fight_ Octavio _out at
    t'other side: Enter_ Laura _and_ Sabina _at the Fore-door,
    which is the same where Sir_ Signal _stands:_ Tick. _groping
    up that way, finds Sir_ Sig. _just entring in;_ Laura _and_
    Sab. _pass over the Stage_.

Sir _Sig_. Hah, a door open! I care not who it belongs to, 'tis better
dying within Doors like a Man, than in the Street like a Dog.
            [_Going in_, Tick. _in great fear comes up and pulls him_.

_Tick_. Signior, gentle Signior, whoe'er you are that owns this Mansion,
I beseech you to give Protection to a wretched Man half dead with Fear
and Injury.

Sir _Sig_. Nay, I defy the Devil to be more dead with Fear than I--
Signior, you may enter, perhaps 'tis some body that will make an Excuse
for us both,--but hark, they return.
      [_Both go in, just after_ Lau. _and_ Sab. _and_ Silvio _enter_.

_Lau_. He's gone! he's gone! perhaps for ever gone.--
Tell me, thou silly Manager of Love,
How got this Ruffian in? how was it possible
Without thy Knowledge he cou'd get Admittance?

_Sab_. Now as I hope to live and learn, I know not, Madam, unless he
follow'd you when you let in the Cavalier, which being by dark he easily
conceal'd himself; no doubt some Lover of _Silvianetta's_, who mistaking
you for her, took him too for a Rival.

_Lau_. 'Tis likely, and my Fortune is to blame, my cursed Fortune,
Who like Misers deals her scanty Bounties with so slow a hand,
That or we die before the Blessing falls,
Or have it snatcht e'er we can call it ours.
                                       [_Raving_.]
To have him in my House, to have him kind,
Kind as young Lovers when they meet by stealth;
As fond as Age to Beauty, and as soft
As Love and Wit cou'd make impatient Youth,
Preventing even my Wishes and Desires,
--Oh Gods! and then, even then to be defeated,
Then from my o'erjoy'd Arms to have him snatcht;
Then when our Vows had made our Freedom lawful;
What Maid cou'd suffer a Surprize so cruel?
--The Day begins to break,--go search the Streets,
And bring me news he's safe, or I am lost.

    _Enter_ Gal. Fil. _and_ Jul.

_Fil_. _Galliard_, where art thou?

_Gal_. Here safe, and by thy side.--

_Lau_. 'Tis he!

_Jul_. Whoe'er he were, the Rogue fought like a Fury, and but for your
timely Aid I'd been in some Danger.

_Fil_. But, _Galliard_, thou wert telling me thy Adventure with
_Silvianetta_; there may be comfort in't.

_Lau_. So, now I shall hear with what concern he speaks of me.--
                                                         [_Aside_.

_Gal_. Oh, damn her, damn her!

_Lau_. Hah!

_Gal_. The veriest Jilt that ever learnt the Art.

_Lau_. Heavens!

_Gal_. Death, the Whore took me for some amorous _English_ elder Brother,
and was for Matrimony, in the Devil's name; thought me a loving Fool,
that ne'er had seen so glorious a sight before, and wou'd at any rate
enjoy.

_Lau_. Oh Heaven! I'm amaz'd, how much he differs from the thing he was
but a few Minutes since.    [_Aside_.

_Gal_. And to advance her Price, set up for Quality; nay, swore she was a
Maid, and that she did but act the Curtezan.

_Lau_. Which then he seem'd to give a credit to.--O, the forsworn
Dissembler!

_Gal_. But when I came to the matter then in debate, she was for
honourable Love forsooth, and wou'd not yield, no marry wou'd she, not
under a Licence from the Parson of the Parish.

_Jul_. Who was it, prithee? 'twere a good Deed to be so reveng'd on her.

_Gal_. Pox on her; no, I'm sure she's a damn'd Gipsy, for at the same
time she had her Lovers in reserve, lay hid her Bed-chamber.

_Lau_. 'Twas that he took unkindly, And makes me guilty of that rude
Address.

_Fil_. Another Lover had she?

_Gal_. Yes, our Coxcomb Knight Buffoon, laid by for a relishing Bit, in
case I prov'd not season'd to her Mind.

_Lau_. Hah, he knew him then.

_Gal_. But damn her, she passes with the Night, the Day will bring new
Objects.

_Fil_. Oh, do not doubt it, _Frank_.

_Lau_. False and Inconstant! Oh, I shall rave, _Silvio_--
                                                  [_Aside to Sil_.

    _Enter_ Cornelia _in Man's Clothes with a Letter_.

_Cor_. Here be the Cavaliers: give me, kind Heaven, but hold of him; and
if I keep him not, I here renounce my Charms of Wit and Beauty--Signiors,
is there a Cavalier amongst ye, call'd _Fillamour_?

_Fil_. I own that Name; what wou'd you, Sir?

_Cor_. Only deliver this, Signior.

    [Fil. _goes aside, opens his Lanthorn, and reads_,
    Jul. _and_ Gal. _talk aside_.

_Fil_. [Reads.] _I'll only tell you I am Brother to that Marcella whom
you have injured, to oblige you to meet me an Hour hence, in the_ Piazo
Despagnia: _I need not say with your Sword in your hand, since you will
there meet_ Julio Sebastiano Morosini!
--Hah! her Brother sure return'd from Travel.    [_Aside_.

--Signior,--I will not fail to answer it as he desires.
                                               [_To_ Cornelia.
I'll take this Opportunity to steal off undiscover'd.
                                               [_Aside going out_.

_Cor_. So, I've done my Sister's Business; now for my own.

_Gal_. But, my good Friend, pray what Adventure have you been on to
night.

_Jul_. Faith, Sir, 'twas like to have prov'd a pleasant one, I came just
now from _Silvianetta_, the fair young Curtezan.

_Cor_. Hah! what said the Man--came from me!    [_Aside_.

_Gal_. How, Sir, you with _Silvianetta!_ when?

_Jul_. Now, all the dear live-long Night.

_Cor_. A Pox take him, who can this be?    [_Aside_.

_Gal_. This night! this night! that is not yet departed.

_Jul_. This very happy Night,--I told you I saw a lovely Woman at St.
_Peter's_ Church.

_Gal_. You did so.

_Jul_. I told you too I follow'd her home, but you'd learn neither her
Name nor Quality; but my Page getting into the acquaintance of one of
hers, brought me News of both; her Name _Silvianetta_, her Quality a
Curtezan.

_Cor_. I at Church yesterday! now hang me if I had any such devout
Thoughts about me: why, what a damn'd scandalous Rascal's this?

_Jul_. Fill'd with hopes of Success, at night I made her a Visit, and
under her Window had a skirmish with some Rival, who was then serenading
her.

_Gal_. Was't he that fought us then.--[_Aside_.--
But it seems you were not mistaken in the House--
On with your Story pray--Death, I grow jealous now--
[_Aside_.] You came at Night you said?

_Jul_. Yes, and was receiv'd at the door by the kind _Silvianetta_, who
softly whisper'd me, come to my Bosom, and be safe for ever! and
doubtless took me for some happier Man.

_Lau_. Confusion on him, 'twas my very Language!    [_Aside raving_.

_Jul_. Then led me by dark into her Chamber.

_Cor_. Oh, this damn'd lying Rascal! I do this?    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. But oh, the things, the dear obliging things, the kind, the fair
young Charmer said and did.

_Gal_. To thee!

_Jul_. To me.

_Gal_. Did _Silvianetta_ do this, _Silvianetta_ the Curtezan?

_Jul_. That passes, Sir, for such, but is indeed of Quality.

_Cor_. This Stranger is the Devil, how shou'd he know that Secret else?

_Jul_. She told me too 'twas for my sake alone, whom from the first
Minute she saw she lov'd, she had assum'd that Name and that Disguise,
the sooner to invite me.

_Lau_. 'Tis plain, the things I utter'd!--Oh, my Heart!

_Gal_. Curse on the publick Jilt, the very Flattery she wou'd have past
on me.

_Cor_. Pox take him, I must draw on him, I cannot hold.    [_Aside_.

_Gal_. Was ever such a Whore?

_Lau_. Oh, that I knew this Man, whom by mistake I lavisht all the
Secrets of my Soul to!                     [_Aside_.

_Jul_. I prest for something more than dear Expressions,
And found her yield apace;
But sighing, told me of a fatal Contract,
She was oblig'd to make to one she never saw;
And yet if I wou'd vow to marry her, when she cou'd prove
To merit it, she wou'd deny me nothing.

_Lau_. 'Twas I, by Heaven, that heedless Fool was I.

_Jul_. Which I with Lover's' eager Joy perform'd,
And on my Knees utter'd the hasty Words,
Which she repeated o'er, and gave me back.

_Gal_. So, he has swallow'd with a vengeance the very Bait she had
prepar'd for me, or any body that wou'd bite.    [_Aside_.

_Jul_. But e'er I cou'd receive the dear Reward of all my Vows,
I was drawn upon by a Man that lay hid in her Chamber;
Whether by chance or design I know not; who fought me out,
And was the same you found me engag'd with.

_Cor_. A pleasant Rascal this, as e'er the Devil taught his Lesson to.

_Gal_. So, my Comfort is, she has jilted him too most damnably.

_Cor_. Slife, I have anger enough to make me valiant; why shou'd I not
make use on't, and beat this lying Villain whilst the Fit holds?

_Gal_. And you design to keep these Vows, though you're contracted to
another Woman?

_Jul_. I neither thought of breaking those, or keeping these;
My Soul was all employ'd another way.

_Lau_. It shall be so, _Silvio_,--I've thought upon a way that must
redeem all:--hark and observe me.
                               [_Takes_ Sil. _and whispers to him_.

_Jul_. But I'm impatient to pursue my Adventure, which
I must endeavour to do, before the Light discover the
Mistake.--Farewel, Sir.
                               [_Ex_. Julio.

_Gal_. Go and be ruin'd quite, she has the Knack of doing it.

_Sil_. I'll warrant ye, Madam, for my Part.
                               [_Ex_. Laura and Sabina.

_Gal_. I have a damn'd hankering after this Woman: why cou'd I not have
put the cheat on her, as _Julio_ has? I stand as little on my Word as he:
a good round Oath or two had done the Business.--But a pox on't, I lov'd
too well to be so wise.

                               [Silvio _comes up to him_.

_Sil_. _Con licentia_, Signior; is your Name _Galliard_?

_Gal_. I am the Man, sweet Heart,--let me behold thee--hah--_Sans
Coeur's_ Page!

_Sil_. A duce of his Lanthorn, what shall I say now?--Softly, Signior, I
am that Page whose chiefest Business is to attend my Lord's Mistress,
Sir.

_Cor_. His Mistress! whose Mistress, what Mistress? S'life, how that
little Word has nettled me!
                           [_Aside, listening close_.

_Gal_. Upon my Life, the Woman that he boasted of--
                           [_Aside, hugging of himself_.]
--A fair young amorous--noble--Wanton--a--And she wou'd speak with me, my
lovely Boy?

_Sil_. You have prevented the Commands I had; but should my Lord know of
it--

_Gal_. Thou wert undone, I understand thee--
And will be secret as a Confessor,
As lonely Shades, or everlasting Night.
Come, lead the way.

_Cor_. Where I will follow thee, though to the Bed of her thou'rt going
to, and even prevent thy very Business there.    [_Aside_.]

                                 [_Exeunt_.


SCENE II. _A Chamber_.

    _Enter_ Laura, _as before, in a Night-Gown_.

_Lau_. Now for a Power that never yet was known
To charm this Stranger quickly into Love.
Assist my Eyes, thou God of kind Desires;
Inspire my Language with a moving Force,
That may at once gain and secure the Victory.

    _Enter_ Silvio.

_Sil_. Madam, your Lover's here: your time's but short; consider too,
Count _Julio_ may arrive.

_Lau_. Let him arrive; having secur'd my self of what I love,
I'll leave him to complain his unknown Loss
To careless Winds as pitiless as I--_Silvio_, see the Rooms
Be fill'd with Lights, whilst I prepare my self to entertain him.
Darkness shall ne'er deceive me more--

    [_Enter to_ Sil. Gal. _gazing about him_,
    Cor. _peeping at the Door_.

_Gal_. All's wondrous rich,--gay as the Court of Love,
But still and silent as the Shades of Death;
--Hah--Musick! and excellent!
                               [_Soft Musick whilst they speak_.
Pox on't--but where's the Woman?--I need no preparation.--

_Cor_. No, you are always provided for such Encounters, and can fall to
_sans_ Ceremony,--but I may spoil your Stomach.
                               [_A Song tuning_.

_Gal_. A Voice too! by Heaven, and 'tis a sweet one:
Grant she be young, and I'll excuse the rest,
Yet vie for Pleasure with the happiest _Roman_.

    [_The Song as by_ Laura, _after which soft Musick till she enters_.

    The SONG by a Person of Quality.

    _Farewel the World and mortal Cares,
    The ravished Strephon cry'd,
    As full of Joy and tender Tears
    He lay by Phillis' side:
    Let others toil for Wealth and Fame,
    Whilst not one Thought of mine
    At any other Bliss shall aim,
    But those dear Arms, but those dear Arms of thine.

    Still let me gaze in thy bright Eyes,
    And hear thy charming Tongue;
    I nothing ask t'increase my Joys,
    But thus to feel 'em long.
    In close Embraces let us lie,
    And spend our Lives to come;
    Then let us both together die,
    And be each other's, be each other's Tomb_.

--Death, I'm fir'd already with her Voice--

_Cor_. So, I am like to thrive.--

     _Enter_ Julio.

_Jul_. What mean these Lights in every Room, as if to make
The day without the Sun, and quite destroy my Hopes!--
Hah, _Galliard_ here!

_Cor_. A Man! grant it some Lover, or some Husband, Heaven,
Or any thing that will but spoil the Sport.
The Lady! Oh, blast her, how fair she is!

    _Enter_ Laura _with her Lute, drest in a careless rich Dress,
    followed by_ Sabina, _to whom she gives her Lute, and_ Silvio.

_Jul_. Hah! 'tis the same Woman.
                      [_She sees_ Julio _and starts_.

_Lau_. A Stranger here! What Art can help me now?
                                         [_She pauses_.

_Gal_. By all my Joys, a lovely Woman 'tis.

_Lau_. Help me, Deceit, Dissembling, all that's Woman--
               [_She starts and gazes on_ Gal. _pulling_ Silvio.

_Cor_. Sure I shou'd know that Face.--

_Lau_. Ah, look, my _Silvio_, is't not he?--it is!
That Smile, that Air, that Mien, that Bow is his:
'Tis he, by all my Hopes, by all my Wishes.

_Gal_. He! yes, yes, I am a He, I thank my Stars,
And never blest 'em half so much for being so,
As for the dear Variety of Woman.

_Cor_. Curse on her Charms, she'll make him love in earnest.

_Lau_. It is my Brother; and Report was false.
                              [_Going towards him_.

_Gal_. How, her Brother! Gad, I'm sorry we are so near akin, with all my
Soul; for I'm damnably pleas'd with her.

_Lau_. Ah, why do you shun my Arms? or are ye Air?
And not to be enclos'd in human Twines--
Perhaps you are the Ghost of that dead Lord,
That comes to whisper Vengeance to my Soul.

_Gal_. S'heart, a Ghost! This is an odd preparative to Love.
                                                      [_Aside_.

_Cor_, 'Tis Laura, my Brother _Julio's_ Mistress, and Sister to
_Octavio_.

_Gal_. Death, Madam! do not scare away my Love with Tales of Ghosts, and
Fancies of the Dead. I'll give ye Proofs I'm living loving Man, as errant
an amorous Mortal as Heart can wish--I hope she will not jilt me too.
                                                                [_Aside_.

_Cor_. So! he's at his common Proof for all Arguments; if she shou'd take
him at his Word now, and she'll be sure to do't.

_Lau_. Amiable Stranger, pardon the Mistake,
And charge it on a Passion for a Brother:
Devotion was not more retir'd than I,
Vestals or widow'd Matrons when they weep;
Till by a fatal Chance I saw in you,
The dear Resemblance of a murder'd Brother.   [_Weeps_.

_Jul_. What the Devil can she mean by this?   [_Aside_.

_Lau_. I durst not trust my Eyes, yet still I gaz'd,
And that encreas'd my Faith you were my Brother:
But since they err'd, and he indeed is dead,
Oh, give me leave to pay you all that Love,
That Tenderness and Passion that was his.   [_Weeping_.

_Cor_. So, I knew she wou'd bring Matters about some way or other. Oh
Mischief, Mischief, help me! S'life, I can be wicked enough when I have
no use on't! and now have, I'm as harmless as a Fool.

    [_As Gal. _is earnestly talking to_ Lau. Julio _pulls him
    by the Sleeve_.

_Lau_. Oh, save me, save me from the Murderer.

_Jul_. Hah!

_Gal_. A Murderer, where?

_Lau_. I faint, I die with horror of the Sight!

_Gal_. Hah--my Friend a Murderer! sure you mistake him, Madam; he saw not
Rome till yesterday; an honest Youth, Madam, and one that knows his
distance upon occasion!--S'life, how cam'st thou here?--prithee be gone
and leave us.

_Jul_. Why, do you know this Lady, Sir?

_Gal_. Know her!--a--ay, ay,--Man--and all her Relations, she's of
Quality:--withdraw, withdraw--Madam--a--he is my Friend, and shall be
civil.--

_Lau_. I have an easy Faith for all you say:--but yet however innocent he
be, or dear to you, I beg he wou'd depart--he is so like my Brother's
Murderer, that one Look more wou'd kill me--

_Jul_. A Murderer! charge me with Cowardice, with Rapes or Treasons--
Gods, a Murderer!

_Cor_. A Devil on her, she has robb'd the Sex of all their Arts of
Cunning.

_Gal_. Pox on't, thou'rt rude; go, in good Manners go.

_Lau_. I do conjure ye to torture me no more:
If you wou'd have me think you're not that Murderer,
Be gone, and leave your Friend to calm my Heart
Into some kinder Thoughts.

_Gal_. Ay, prithee go, I'll be sure to do thy Business for thee.

_Cor_. Yes, yes, you will not fail to do a friendly Part, no doubt--

_Jul_. 'Tis but in vain to stay--I see she did mistake her Man last
night, and 'twas to Chance I am in debt for that good Fortune;--I will
retire to shew my Obedience, Madam.
               [_Exit_. Jul. Gal. _going to the door with him_.

_Lau_. He's gone, and left me Mistress of my Wish.
Descend, ye little winged Gods of Love,
Descend and hover round our Bower of Bliss;
Play all in various Forms about the Youth,
And empty all your Quivers at his Heart.   [_Aside_.
                [Gal. _returns, she takes him by the hand_.
--Advance, thou dearer to my Soul than Kindred,
Thou more than Friend or Brother.
Let meaner Souls base-born conceal the God;
Love owns his Monarchy within my Heart,
So Kings that deign to visit humble Roofs,
Enter disguis'd, but in a noble Palace,
Own their great Power, and shew themselves in Glory.

_Gal_. I am all Transport with this sudden Bliss,
And want some kind Allay to fit my Soul for Recompence.

_Cor_. Yes, yes, my forward Friend, you shall have an Allay, if all my
Art can do't, to damp thee even to Disappointment.

_Gal_. My Soul's all Wonder; now let us retire,
And gaze till I have softened it to Love.
                           [_Going out is met by_ Cor.

_Cor_. Madam!

_Lau_. More Interruption!--hah--
                             [_Turns_.

_Cor_. My Master, the young Count _Julio_--

_Lau. Julio_!

_Gal_. What of him?    [_Aside_.

_Cor_. Being just now arriv'd at _Rome_--

_Lau_. Heavens, arriv'd!    [_Aside_.

_Cor_. Sent me to beg the Honour of waiting on you.

_Lau_. Sure, Stranger, you mistake.--

_Cor_. If, Madam, you are _Laura Lucretia_.--

_Gal. Laura Lucretia_! by Heaven, the very Woman he's to marry.
                                                         [_Aside_.

_Lau_. This would surprize a Virgin less resolv'd:
But what have I to do with ought but Love?    [_Aside_.
--And can your Lord imagine this an Hour
To make a ceremonious Visit in?

_Gal_. Riddles by Love! or is't some Trick again?    [_Aside_.

_Cor_. Madam, where Vows are past, the want of Ceremony may be pardon'd.

_Lau_. I do not use to have my Will disputed,
Be gone, and let him know I'll be obey'd.

_Cor_. S'life, she'll out-wit me yet,--    [_Aside_.
Madam, I see this Niceness is not general,
--You can except some Lovers.

_Gal_. My pert young Confident, depart, and let your
Master know he'll find a better welcome from the fair
vain Curtezan, _la Silvianetta_, where he has past the Night,
and given his Vows.

_Lau_. Dearly devis'd, and I must take the hint.
                                            [_Aside smiling_.

_Cor_. He knows me sure, and says all this to plague me.    [_Aside_.
My Lord, my Master with a Curtezan! he's but just now arriv'd.

_Gal_. A pretty forward saucy lying Boy this; and may do well in time.--
Madam, believe him not, I saw his Master yesterday,--convers'd with him.
--I know him, he's my Friend;--'twas he that parted hence but now, he
told me all his Passion for a Curtezan scarce half an hour since.

_Cor_. So!

_Lau_. I do not doubt it, Oh, how I love him for this seasonable Lye:
--And can you think I'll see a perjur'd Man,    [_To_ Cor.
Who gives my interest in him to another?
--Do I not help ye out most artfully?--
                                [_Aside. Laughing to_ Gal.

_Cor_. I see they are resolv'd to out-face me.

_Gal_. Nay, vow'd to marry her.

_Lau_. Heavens, to marry her!

_Cor_. To be conquer'd at my own Weapon too!--Lying! 'tis a hard case.--
                                                               [_Aside_.

_Gal_. Go, Boy, you may be gone; you have you Answer, Child, and may
depart--Come, Madam, let us leave him.

_Cor_. Gone, no help! Death, I'll quarrel with him,--nay, fight him,--
damn him,--rather than lose him thus.--Stay, Signior. [_Pulls him_.]--You
call me Boy--but you may find your self mistaken, Sir,--And know--I've
that about me may convince ye.
                         [_Shewing his Sword_.
--'Thas done some Execution.

_Gal_. Prithee, on whom or what? small Village Curs?
The barking of a Mastiff wou'd unman thee.
                                 [_Offers to go_.

_Cor_. Hold--follow me from the Refuge of her Arms;
As thou'rt a Man, I do conjure thee do't:--I
hope he will, I'll venture beating for't.    [_Aside_.

_Gal_. Yes, my brisk little Rascal, I will a--a--

_Lau_. By all that's good, you shall not stir from hence;
ho, who waits there, _Antonio, Silvio, Gaspero_?
    [_Enter all_.]
--take that fierce Youth, and bear him from my sight.

_Cor_. You shall not need; s'life, these rough Rogues will be too hard
for me; I've one prevention left,--farewel.

    _May'st thou supply her with as feeble Art,
    As I should do, were I to play thy part_.

                          [_Goes out with the rest_.

_Gal_. He's gone, now let's redeem our blessed Minutes lost.

                                        [_Go in_.


SCENE III. _Changes to the Street_.--Piazo d'Hispagnia.

    _Enter_ Julio _alone_.

_Jul_. Now by this breaking Day-light I cou'd rave: I knew she mistook me
last night, which made me so eager to improve my lucky Minutes. Sure,
_Galliard_ is not the Man, I long to know the Mystery;--hah--who's here?
--_Fillamour!_

    _Enter_ Fillamour _met by_ Marcella _in Man's Clothes; they
    pass by each other, cock and justle_.

_Mar_. I take it, you are he I look for, Sir.

_Fil_. My name is _Fillamour_.

_Mar_. Mine, _Julio Sebastiano Morosini_.

_Jul_. Hah, my Name, by Heaven!    [_Aside_.

_Fil_. I doubt it not, since in that lovely Face
I see the charming Image of _Marcella_.

_Jul_. Hah!

_Mar_. You might, e'er Travel ruffled me to Man.    [_Aside_.
--I shou'd return thy Praise whilst I survey thee,
But that I came not here to compliment;--draw--
                                           [_Draws_.

_Fil_. Why, cause thou'rt like _Marcella?_

_Mar_. That were sufficient reason for thy Hate,
But mine's because thou hast betray'd her basely.
--She told me all the story of her Love,
How well you meant, how honestly you swore,
And with a thousand Tears imploy'd my Aid
To break the Contract she was forc'd to make
T' _Octavio_, and give her to your Arms:
I did, and brought you word of our Design,
--I need not tell ye what returns you made;
Let it suffice, my Sister was neglected,
Neglected for a Curtezan,--a Whore;
I watcht, and saw each Circumstance of Falshood.

_Jul_. Damnation! what means this?

_Fil_. I scorn to save my Life by Lyes or Flatteries;
But credit me, the Visit that I made
I durst have sworn had been to my _Marcella_;
Her Face, her Eyes, her Beauty was the same,
Only the business of her Language differ'd,
And undeceiv'd my hope.

_Mar_. In vain thou think'st to flatter me to Faith,--
When thou'dst my Sister's Letter in thy hand, which ended that dispute,
Even then I saw with what regret you read it;
What care you took to disobey it too--
The shivering Maid, half dead with fears and terrors of the Night,
In vain expected a Relief from Love or thee.
Draw, that I may return her the glad news I have reveng'd her.

_Jul_. Hold, much mistaken Youth; 'tis I am _Julio_,
Thou, _Fillamour_, know'st my name, know'st I arriv'd
But yesterday at _Rome_, and heard the killing News
Of both my Sisters Flights, _Marcella_ and _Cornelia_,--
And thou art some Imposture.                 [_To_ Marcella.

_Mar_. If this now shou'd be true, I were in a fine condition.--
                                                          [_Aside_.

_Fil_. Fled! _Marcella_ fled!

_Jul_. 'Twas she I told thee yesterday was lost;
But why art thou concern'd?--explain the Mystery.

_Fil_. I lov'd her more than Life; nay, even than Heaven;
And dost thou question my concern for her?
Say how, and why, and whither is she fled?

_Jul_. Oh, wou'd I knew, that I might kill her in her Lover's Arms;
Or if I found her innocent, restore her to _Octavio_.

_Fil_. To _Octavio_! and is my Friendship of so little worth,
You cannot think I merit her?

_Jul_. This is some trick between 'em; but I have sworn

Most solemnly, have sworn by Heaven and my Honour
To resign her, and I will do't or die--
Therefore declare quickly, declare where she is,
Or I will leave thee dead upon the place.         [_To_ Marcella.

_Mar_. So, Death or _Octavio_, a pretty hopeful Choice this!

_Fil_. Hold! by Heaven, you shall not touch a single hair, thus--will I
guard the Secret in his bosom.
                            [_Puts himself between 'em, draws_.

_Jul_. 'Tis plain thou'st injur'd me,--and to my Honour I'll sacrifice my
Friendship, follow me.
                            [_Ex_. Jul. Fil.

    _Enter_ Petro _and_ Cornelia.

_Mar_. Ah, _Petro_, fly, fly, swift and rescue him.--
                        [_Ex_. Pet. _with his Sword in his hand_.

_Cor_. Oh, have I found thee, fit for my purpose too? Come, haste along
with me,--thou must present my Brother _Julio_ instantly, or I am lost,
and my Project's lost, and my Man's lost, and all's lost.

    _Enter_ Petro.

_Pet_. _Victoria, Victoria_, your Cavalier's the Conqueror; the other
wounded in his Sword-hand, was easily disarmed.

_Mar_. Then let's retire, if I am seen I'm lost;--_Petro_, stay here for
the Cavalier, and conduct him to me to this house;--I must be speedy
now.--

_Cor_. Remember this is _Julio_.
                           [_Pointing to_ Marcella.

_Pet_. I know your design, and warrant ye my part:--hah,
_Octavio_
                           [_Exeunt_.

    _Enter_ Octavio, Morosini _and_ Crapine.

_Oct_. Now, Cowardice, that everlasting Infamy, dwell ever on my face,
that Men may point me out that hated Lover that saw his Mistress false,
stood tamely by whilst she repeated Vows; nay, was so infamous, so dully
tame, to hear her swear her Hatred and Aversion, yet still I calmly
listen'd; though my Sword were ready, and did not cut his throat for't.

_Mor_. I thought you'd said you'd fought.

_Oct_. Yes, I did rouze at last, and wak'd my Wrongs;
But like an Ass, a patient Fool of Honour,
I gave him friendly notice I wou'd kill him;
And fought like Prizers, not as angry Rivals.

_Mor_. Why, that was handsome,--I love fair play; what wou'd you else
have done?

_Oct_. Have fall'n upon him like a sudden Storm,
    [_Enter_ Pet. _and_ Fill.]
quick unexpected in his height of Love:--see--see yonder; or I'm mistaken
by this glimmering Day, or that is _Fillamour_ now entering at her door;
'tis he, by my Revenge--What say you, Sir?

_Mor_. By th' Mass, I think 'twas he--

    [_Enter_ Julio.

_Oct_. _Julio_, I've caught the Wantons in their Toil, I have 'em fast,
thy Sister and her Lover.
                                      [_Embraces him_.

_Jul_. Eternal Shame light on me if they scape then.

_Oct_. Follow me quick, whilst we can get Admittance.

_Jul_. Where--here?

_Oct_. Here,--come all and see her Shame and my Revenge.

_Jul_. And are you not mistaken in the House?

_Oct_. Mistaken! I saw the Ravisher enter just now, thy Uncle saw it too;
Oh, my excessive Joy! come, if I lye--say I'm a Dog, a Villain.

                             [_Exeunt as into the House_.


SCENE IV. _Changes to a Chamber_.

    _Enter_ Sir Signal _a little groping_.

Sir _Sig_. There's no finding my way out,--and now does Fear make me
fancy this some inchanted Castle.--

    _Enter_ Tick, _listening_.

_Tick_. Hah, an inchanted Castle!

Sir _Sig_. Belonging to a monstrous Giant; who having spirited away the
King of _Tropicipopican's_ Daughter, keeps her here inclos'd, and that I
a wandring Knight am by fickle Fortune sent to her Deliverance.
                                            [Tick _listens_.

_Tick_. How's that! spirited away the King of _Tropicipopican's_
Daughter; bless me, what unlawful Wickedness is practis'd in this Romish
Heathenish Country!    [_Aside_.

Sir _Sig_. And yet the Devil of any Dwarf, Squire or Damsel have I met
with yet,--wou'd I were cleanlily off this business--hah, Lights, as I
live, and People coming this way!--bless me from the Giant!--Oh Lord,
what shall I do!--
                  [_Falls on his Knees_.

_Tick_. I fear no Giants, having Justice on my Side; but Reputation makes
me tender of my Person.--Hah--what's this, a Curtain; I'll wind my self
in this, it may secure me.
                        [_Winds himself in a Window-Curtain_.

Sir _Sig_.--They're entering, what shall I do?--hah--here's a Corner;
defend me from a Chimney.

    [_Creeps to the Corner of the Window, and feels a space
    between Tick's Legs and the Corner; creeps in, and
    stands up just behind_ Tickletext. _Enter_ Gal. _leading_
    Laura; Sab. _with Lights just after 'em_; Jul. Oct.
    Mor. _and_ Crap.

_Oct_. Just in the happy Minute!

_Gal_. I've sworn by every God, by every Power divine, to marry thee, and
save thee from the Tyranny of a forc'd Contract.--Nay, Gad, if I lose a
fine Wench for want of Oaths this bout, the Devil's in me.

_Oct_. What think ye now, Sir?

_Jul_. Damnation on her, set my Rage at Liberty,
That I may kill 'em both.

    [Mor. _holds him_.

_Mor_. I see no cause for that, she may be virtuous yet.

_Oct_. Do ye think as such to pass her off on me,
Or that I'll bear the Infamy of your Family?
No, I scorn her now, but can revenge my Honour on a Rival.

_Mor_. Nay, then I'll see fair Play,--turn and defend thy Life.
                                     [_Goes to_ Gal. _who turns_.

_Jul_. Whilst I do Justice on the Prostitute:--hah--
Defend me, 'tis the Woman that I love.
                                     [_He gazes, she runs to_ Gal.

_Lau. Octavio_!

_Oct_. _Laura!_ My Sister, perfidious shameful--
                                [_Offers to kill her_.

_Jul_. Hold, thy Sister this? that Sister I'm to marry.

_Lau_. Is this then _Julio_? and do all the Powers conspire to make me
wretched?

_Oct_. May I be dumb for ever.

    [_Holds his Sword down, and looks sadly;_ Jul. _holds_
    Lau. _by one hand, pleads with_ Oct. _with the other_.

    _Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Pet.

_Fil_.--Hah, _Galliard!_ in danger too.
    [_Draws, steps to 'em_, Mor. _puts between_.

_Oct_. _Fillamour_ here! how now, what's the matter, Friend?
                    [_They talk whilst enter_ Marcella _and_ Cornelia.

_Cor_. Hah, new Broils; sure the Devil's broke loose to night.--my Uncle,
as I live!
              [Mor. _pleads between_ Fil. _and_ Octavio.

_Mar_. And _Octavio!_ Where shall we fly for Safety?

_Cor_. I'll even trust to my Breeches, 'tis too late to retreat;--s'life,
here be our Cavaliers too; nay then, ne'er fear falling into the Enemies
hands.

_Fil_. I, I fled with _Marcella!_ had I been blest with so much Love from
her, I wou'd have boasted on't i'th' face of Heaven.

_Mor_. La ye, Sir.    [_To_ Octavio.

_Fil_. The lovely Maid I own I have a Passion for;
But by the Powers above, the Flame was sacred,
And wou'd no more have past the Bounds of Honour
Or Hospitality, than I wou'd basely murder; and were she free,
I wou'd from all the World make her for ever mine.

_Mor_. Look ye, Sir, a plain case this.

_Gal_. He tells ye simple truth, Sir.

_Oct_. Was it not you this scarce past night I fought with here, in the
House by dark, just when you had exchanged yours Vows with her?

_Lau_. Heavens! was it he?    [_Aside_.

_Fil_. This Minute was the first I ever enter'd here.

_Jul_. 'Twas I, Sir, was that interrupted Lover,--and this the Lady.

_Lau_. And must I yield at last?    [_Aside_.

_Oct_. Wonders and Riddles!

_Gal_. And was this the _Silvianetta_, Sir, you told the Story of?
                                                            [_Slily_.

_Jul_. The same whom Inclination, Friends, and Destiny, conspire to make
me blest with.

_Gal_. So many Disappointments in one night wou'd make a Man turn honest
in spite of Nature.

             [_Sir Sig. peeps from behind_.

Sir _Sig_. Some Comfort yet, that I am not the only Fool defeated. Ha!
_Galllard_!

_Oct_. I'm satisfy'd (_To_ Fil.)--but what cou'd move you, Sir--[_to_
Gal.] to injure me, one of my Birth and Quality?

_Gal_. Faith, Sir, I never stand upon Ceremony when there's a Woman in
the case,--nor knew I 'twas your Sister: Or if I had, I shou'd ha' lik'd
her ne'er the worse for that, had she been kind.

_Jul_. It is my Business to account with him, And I am satisfy'd he has
not injur'd me, he is my Friend.

_Gal_. That's frankly said; and uncompell'd, I swear she's innocent.

_Oct_. If you're convinc'd, I too am satisfy'd, And give her to you
whilst that Faith continues.
                             [_Gives him her_.

_Lau_. And must I, must I force my Heart to yield? And yet his generous
Confidence obliges me.    [_Aside_.

_Oct_. And here I vow by all the sacred Powers,
                                          [_kneels_]
That punish Perjury, never to set my Heart
On faithless Woman;--never to love nor marry;
                                          [_Rises_]
Travel shall be my business--thou my Heir.
                                          [_To Julio_.

Sir _Sig_. So, poor soul, I'll warrant he has been defeated too.

_Mar_. _Marcella_, Sir, will take ye at your Word.

_Fil_. _Marcella_!

_Mar_. Who owns with Blushes Truths shou'd be conceal'd, but to prevent
more Mischief,--That I was yours, Sir, was against my Will, [_to_ Oct.]
my Soul was _Fillamour's_ e'er you claim'd a right in me; though I never
saw or held discourse with him, but at an awful distance,--nor knew he of
my Flight.

_Oct_. I do believe, and give thee back my Claim, I scorn the brutal part
of Love; the noblest Body, where the Heart is wanting.
        [_They all talk aside_, Cornelia _comes up to Galliard_.

_Cor_. Why, how now, Cavalier, how like a discarded Favourite do you look
now, who whilst your Authority lasted, laid about ye, domineer'd, huft
and bluster'd, as if there had been no end on't: now a Man may approach
ye without terror--You see the Meat's snatcht out of your Mouth, Sir, the
Lady's dispos'd on; whose Friends and Relations you were so well
acquainted with.

_Gal_. Peace, Boy, I shall be angry else.--

_Cor_. Have you never a cast Mistress, that will take compassion on you:
Faith, what think ye of the little Curtezan now?

_Gal_. As ill as e'er I did; what's that to thee?

_Cor_. Much more than you're aware on, Sir--and faith, to tell you Truth,
I'm no Servant to Count _Julio_, but e'en a little mischievous Instrument
she sent hither to prevent your making love to _Donna Laura_.

_Gal_. 'Tis she herself.--how cou'd that Beauty hide itself so long from
being known? [_Aside_.]--Malicious little Dog in a Manger, that wou'd
neither eat, nor suffer the Hungry to feed themselves, what spiteful
Devil cou'd move thee to treat a Lover thus? but I am pretty well
reveng'd on ye.

_Cor_. On me!

_Gal_. You think I did not know those pretty Eyes, that lovely Mouth I
have so often kist in cold imagination.

_Cor_. Softly, Tormentor.
                    [_They talk aside_.

_Mar_. In this disguise we parted from _Viterbo_, attended only by
_Petro_ and _Philippa_: At Rome we took the Title and Habit of two
_Curtezans_; both to shelter us from knowledge, and to oblige _Fillamour_
to visit us, which we believ'd he would in curiosity; and yesterday it so
fell out as we desired.

_Fil_. Howe'er my Eyes might be imposed upon, you see my Heart was firm
to its first Object; can you forget and pardon the mistake?

_Jul_. She shall, and with _Octavio's_ and my Uncle's leave,--thus make
your Title good.--
                  [_Gives her to_ Fil.

_Oct_. 'Tis vain to strive with Destiny.    [_Gives her_.

_Mor_. With all my heart,--but where's _Cornelia_ all this while?

_Gal_. Here's the fair Stragler, Sir.
                     [_Leads her to Mor. he holds his Cane up at her_.

_Mor_. Why, thou Baggage, thou wicked Contriver of Mischief, what excuse
had'st thou for running away? Thou had'st no Lover.

_Cor_. 'Twas therefore, Sir, I went to find one; and if I am not mistaken
in the mark, 'tis this Cavalier I pitch upon for that use and purpose.

_Gal_. Gad, I thank ye for that,--I hope you'll ask my leave first, I'm
finely drawn in, i'faith--Have I been dreaming all this night of the
possession of a new-gotten Mistress, to wake and find my self noos'd to a
dull Wife in the morning?

_Fil_. Thou talk'st like a Man that never knew the Pleasures thou
despisest; faith, try it, _Frank_, and thou wilt hate thy past loose way
of living.

_Cor_. And to encourage a young Setter up, I do here promise to be the
most Mistress-like Wife,--You know, Signior, I have learnt the trade,
though I had not stock to practise; and will be as expensive, insolent,
vain, extravagant and inconstant, as if you only had the keeping part,
and another the amorous Assignations. What think ye, Sir?

_Fil_. Faith, she pleads well, and ought to carry the Cause.

_Gal_. She speaks Reason, and I'm resolv'd to trust good Nature:--Give me
thy dear hand.--

      [_They all join to give it him, he kisses it_.

_Mor_. And now ye are both sped, pray give me leave to ask ye a civil
question; are you sure you have been honest? if you have, I know not by
what miracle you have liv'd.

_Pet_. Oh, Sir, as for that, I had a small stock of Cash in the hands of
a couple of _English_ Bankers, one Sir _Signal Buffoon_--

Sir _Sig_. Sir _Signal Buffoon_, what a pox, does he mean me trow?
                                                          [_Peeping_.

_Pet_.--And one Mr. _Tickletext_.

_Tick_. How was that? _certo_, my Name!

    [_Peeps out, and both see each other; their faces being
    close together, one at one side the Curtain, and t'other
    at t'other_.

_Gal_. and _Fil_. Ha, ha, ha.

Sir _Sig_. And have I caught you, i'faith, Mr. Governour? Nay, ne'er put
in your head for the matter, here's none but Friends, mun.

_Gal_. How now, what have we here?

Sir _Sig_. Speak of the Devil, and he appears.
      [_Pulls his Governour forward_.

_Tick_. I am undone,--but, good Sir _Signal_, do not cry Whore first, as
the old Proverb says.

Sir _Sig_. And good Mr. Governour, as another old Proverb says, do not
let the Kettle call the Pot black-arse!--

_Fil_. How came you hither, Gentlemen?

Sir _Sig_. Why faith, Sir, divining of a Wedding or two forward, I
brought Mr. Chaplain to give you a cast of his Office, as the saying is.

_Fil_. What, without Book, Mr. _Tickletext_?

_Cor_. How now, sure you mistake, these are two Lovers of mine.

Sig _Sig_. How, Sir, your Lovers! we are none of those, Sir, we are
_Englishmen_.

_Gal_. You mistake, Sir _Signal_, this is _Silvianetta_.

Sir _Sig_. and _Tick_. How!    [_Aside_.

_Gal_. Here's another Spark of your acquaintance,--do you know him?

_Tick_. How, _Barberacho_! nay, then all will out.--

_Gal_. Yes, and your Fencing and Civility-Master.

Sir _Sig_. Ay,--Why, what, was it you that pickt our Pockets then, and
cheated us?

_Gal_. Most damnably,--but since 'twas for the supply of two fair Ladies,
all shall be restor'd again.

_Tick_. Some comfort that.

_Fil_. Come, let's in and forgive all; 'twas but one Night's Intrigue, in
which all were a little faulty.

Sir _Sig_. And Governour, pray let me have no more Domineering and
Usurpation: but as we have hitherto been honest Brothers in Iniquity, so
let's wink hereafter at each others Frailties;

    Since Love and Women easily betray Man,
    From the grave Gown-man to the busy Lay-man.



EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Mr. _Smith_.


_So hard the times are, and so thin the Town,
Though but one Playhouse, that must too lie down;
And when we fail, what will the Poets do?
They live by us as we are kept by you:
When we disband, they no more Plays will write,
But make Lampoons, and libel ye in spite;
Discover each false Heart that lies within,
Nor Man nor Woman shall in private sin;
The precise whoring Husband's haunts betray,
Which the demurer Lady to repay,
In his own coin does the just debt defray.
The brisk young Beauty linked to Lands and Age,
Shuns the dull Property and strokes the youthful Page;
And if the Stripling apprehend not soon,
Turns him aside, and takes the brawny Groom;
Whilst the kind Man so true a Husband proves,
To think all's well done by the thing he loves;
Knows he's a Cuckold, yet content to bear
Whatever Heaven sends, or Horns or lusty Heir.
<DW2>s of all sorts he draws more artfully,
Than ever on the Stage did_ Nokes or Leigh:
_And Heaven be prais'd when these are Scarce, each Brother
O' th' Pen contrives to set on one another.

These are the effects of angry Poets Rage,
Driven from their Winter-Quarters on the Stage;
And when we go, our Women vanish too,
What will the well-fledg'd keeping Gallant do?
And where but here can he expect to find
A gay young Damsel managed to his mind,
Who ruins him, and yet seems wondrous kind?
One insolent and false, and what is worse,
Governs his Heart, and manages his Purse;
Makes him whatever she'd have him to believe,
Spends his Estate, then learns him how to live?
I hope those weighty Considerations will
Move ye to keep us altogether still;
To treat us equal to our great Desert,
And pay your Tributes with a franker Heart;
If not, th' aforesaid Ills will come, and we must part_.




NOTES.



NOTES ON THE TEXT.


ABDELAZER.

p. 8 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added 'Ordonio, a Courtier. A Swain and
Shepherds. Courtiers, Guards, Soldiers, Moors, A Nymph and
Shepherdesses.'

p. 11, l. 7 _But thousand Eyes throw killing Looks at me_.

    4tos--'But thousand Eyes
           Throw killing Looks at me.'

p, 11, l. 26 _Than to lie fawning_. 4to misprints 'Then'.

p. 12, l. 10 _reveng'd by penitence_. 1724 misprints 'Patience'.

p. 12, l. 33 _Why star'st thou so_? 1724 wrongly 'Why dar'st thou so?'

p. 13, l. 5 _wou'd they search her here_? 1724 'wou'd you search her
here?'

p. 13, l. 25 _swounded_. 1724 'swooned'.

p. 13, l. 33 _more knocking_! [_knocking_. 1724 omits the stage
direction.

p. 15, l. 4 _Sway'd Destiny as well as they, and took their trade of
killing_.

    4to--'Sway'd Destiny as well as they,
          And took their trade of killing.'

p. 15, l. 16 _Pointing to his Sword_. 4to 'Points.'

p. 15, l. 17 _Scene II. A Room in the Palace_. I have supplied this
locale.

p. 15, l. 18 _Enter Ferdinand weeping_. 4to 'Enter Fernando weeping.'

p. 19, ll. 33-4 _Covers a Soul more sanctify'd than this
                Moorish Robe_.
1724 gives this as one line.

p. 20, l. 8 _except Abdelazar, Florella_. 4to 'manent Abdelazer,
Florella.'

p. 20, l. 17 _honest and religious_. 1724 omits 'and'.

p. 24, l. 2 _Scene I. A Chamber of State_. I have added the locale.

p. 27, l. 27 _To the Women, who go out_. 4to 'Exeunt'.

p. 31, l. 15 _Madam, that Blessing_. 1724 omits 'Madam'.

p. 33, l. 8 _Scene II. A Banqueting Hall_. I have added the locale.

p. 33, l. 15 _I have a double Cause_. 1724 omits 'a'.

p. 34, l. 19 _though_. 1724 'tho' throughout.

p. 34, l. 27 _thou lovest_. 1724 'lov'st'.

p. 35, l. 13 _Aside_. The 4to omits this stage direction.

p. 38, l. 18 _A Gallery in the Palace_. I have supplied this locale.

p. 40, l. 11 _Queen and Women_. 1724 'Woman'.

p. 40, l. 28 _subtle, and ambitious_. 4to 'subtle as ambitious.' 1724 is
undoubtedly the best reading.

p. 42, ll. 23-4 _And then our Lives he may dispose,
                As he has done our Honours_.
1724 gives this as one line.

p. 45, l. 18 _The Queen's Apartments_. I have added this locale.

p. 49, l. 10 _frightful_. 1724 'frighted'.

p. 50, l. 18 _were worth your care_. 1724 'was worth'.

p. 51, l. 24 _Oh Traitress!_ 1724 'Oh, Traitoress'.

p. 57, l. 2 _Act IV. Scene I_. 4tos and 1724 'Act IV. Enter
Abdelazer...'. I have added the locale here and numbered the scenes
throughout this Act.

p. 58, l. 4 _To gain your Heart_. 4tos 1677, 1693, print this to the
conclusion of Abdelazer's speech as prose. 1724 prints from 'Thousand of
Bigots' as prose. I have metrically divided these last lines, and
followed 1724 from 'To gain your Heart'.

p. 61, l. 3 _afar off all the Scene_. 1724 omits this.

p. 64, l. 3 _some Moors_. 1677 reads 'some Moor'.

p. 65, l. 22 _Scene VI_. Neither 4tos nor 1724 number this scene.

p. 65, l. 30 _Your Soldiers faint, are round beset_. 4tos omit comma.

p. 69, l. 12 _Exeunt all_. 1724 'Exeunt'.

p. 69, l. 13 _Scene VII_. Neither 4tos nor 1724 number this scene.

p. 69, l. 18 _illustriate Hand_. 1724 'illustrious'.

p. 75, l. 2 _Barbarian_. 4tos italic. 1724 roman.

p. 79, l. 2 _attendance_. 1724 'attendants'.

p. 79, l. 16 _Scene II_. 4tos and 1724 do not number this scene.

p. 80, l. 10 _with Roderigo_. 1724 'with Rod.'

p. 80, l. 18 _Exit Elv_. I have added this stage direction. Neither 4tos
nor 1724 mark an exit here for Elvira, although she obviously goes out
when the Queen says 'retire' as an entry is marked after the ensuing
dialogue.

p. 80, l. 20 _roughly_. 1724 omits this.

p. 80, l. 34 _and other Women_. 1724 'and the Women.'

p. 81, l. 4 _Durst_. 1724 'Dares'.

p. 82, l. 23 _Weeps over her_. 1724 omits this.

p. 82, l. 29 _repaid_. 1724 'repair'd.'

p. 87, l. 12 _to any Shape_. 1724 'into any Shape'.

p. 87, l. 29 _cou'd not the Gods_. 1724 wrongly omits 'not'.

p. 89, l. 4 _My Desire's grown high_. 4tos 'My Desires grow high'.

p. 92, l. i _Scene III_. Neither 4tos nor 1724 number this scene.

p. 92, l. 8 _Andromede_. 1724 'Andromeda'.

p. 93, l. 13 _through_. 1724 'thro' throughout.

p. 94, l. 12 _your Friends_. 4tos misprint 'your Friend'.

p. 95, l. 23 _upon my Name_. 1724 'upon thy Name'.

p. 96, l. 12 _that charming Maid_. 1724 'the charming Maid'.

p. 96, l. 12 _Whom I'd enjoy'd e'er now_. 4tos 'whom I'de enjoy
e're now'.

p. 97, l. 6 _preserve_. 4tos and 1724 here insert the stage direction
'[Kneels.' But this is repeated at the line (11) 'Thus low I take the
Bounty from your Hands' and is far more appropriate at the latter
juncture. There can be no doubt that the stage direction '[Kneels' should
also be inserted at line 19--'Thus low I fall'--and it has been misplaced
by the printer in the old copies. I have restored it.

p. 97, l. 18 _only me unhappy, when, Sir, my Crime
             Was only too much faith?_
4tos punctuate: 'only me unhappy? When, Sir, my Crime
                Was only too much Faith;'

p. 97. l. 29 _Seas again_. At the conclusion 1677 prints 'The End of the
Play.'

p. 98, l. 18 _Sex's_. 4tos 'Sexes'.

p. 105 _To Philaster_. This Epistle Dedicatory only appears in the 4tos
1683, 1696.

p. 108 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added '_Geron_ the old Tutor to
Orsames; _Gorel_, a Citizen; Keeper of the Castle; A Druid; Courtiers
(men and women); Officers: Guards; Huntsmen; Assassins'. 4to 1698
misprints 'Ismenis' for 'Ismenes'; 'Thursander' for 'Thersander'; 'the
Court of Daca' for 'the Court of Dacia'. 1724 gives 'a Rabble of the
Mobile'; 4tos 'all a Rabble of the Mobile'.

p. 109, l. 4 _never the Luck_. 4tos 'never the ill Luck'.

p. 109, l. 15 _what's thy Business_. 1724 'what's the Business'.

p. 109, l. 28 _I spake_. 4tos 'I speak'.

p. 110, l. 23 _conspire against him_. 4tos ''gainst him'. But the metre
requires 1724 'against'.

p. 111, l. 6 _him here_. 4to 1696 misprints 'here him'.

p. 111, l. 14 _Virago he Daughter_. 1724 'Virago her Daughter', which is
excellent sense but lacks the point of 'he Daughter'.

p. 112, l. 22 _Ly. You sigh_. 4tos and 1724 print as prose. I have
arranged metrically.

p. 113, l. 16 _one of gentle Birth_. 4tos 'of the gentle Birth'. 1724 'of
genteel Birth'.

p. 114, l. 11 _Pim. Pox on her_. 4tos divide Pimante's speech at 'let her
go.' and commence a new line with 'Well, Colonel,' as if metrically. I
have followed 1724 as it is obviously prose.

p. 114, l. 25 _Sem. That's strange!_ 4tos wrongly print this speech as
prose.

p. 115, l. 34 _Artabazes_. 4tos 'Artabaces'.

p. 116, l. 3 _mistaken thing?_ 4tos punctuate 'mistaken thing;'.

p. 116, l. 6 _fantastick_. 1724 wrongly 'fanatick'.

p. 116, l. 24 _cruel Cause_. 4to 1696 misprints 'crul Cause'.

p. 117, l. 9 [_Sem. looks about, finds the Cap and Feathers.
        _Sem_. See, Madam, what I've found.
4tos and 1724 give the stage direction after the speech. I have
transposed these, as obviously such an arrangement is better.

p. 118, l. 20 _Ideas_. 4tos wrongly 'Idea's'.

p. 118, 1.29 _He rises_. 4tos and 1724 '[Rises.' But it is Thersander who
is kneeling, not Cleomena. The insertion of 'He' saves any confusion.

p. 119, L. 9 _who're born_. 4tos 'who are born'.

p. 119, L. 11 _Whom happy Fate_. 4tos misprint 'Whose happy Fate'.

p. 120, l. 29 _Enter Vallentio Urania_. 4to 1696 misprints 'Urina'.

p. 121, l. 3 _But one that_. 1724 omits 'one'.

p. 121, l. 16 _we took her_. 4to 1696 'wa took her'.

p. 121, l. 20 _The Scythians_. 4tos 'Th' Scythians'.

p. 122, l. 30 _Arms across_. 1724 'Arms close'.

p. 123, l. 9 _I will be_. 4tos 'And will be'.

p. 123, l. 12 _this Harmony_. 4tos 'his Harmony'.

p. 124, l. 11 _Shore?_--4tos punctuate 'Shore;'.

p. 126, l. 18 _no less_. 4tos 'not less'.

p. 127, l. 36 _Amintas' Apartment_. 4tos 'Amin. Apartment.' 1724
'Amintas's Apartment.'

p. 128, l, 7 _Amin. It is the King_. 1724 does not arrange this
metrically.

p. 128, l. 21 _Ex. Amin_. 4tos 'Amin. exit.'

p. 128, l. 25 _go bring_. 4tos 'and bring'.

p. 128, l. 28 _effect_. 4tos 'effects'.

p. 128, l. 30 _you're lost_. 4tos 'you are lost'.

p. 129, l. 27 _Unrest_. 1724 misprints 'Undrest'.

p. 130, l. 10 _Not seeing_. 4tos print this line--'Not seeing a Woman I
ne'er had bin.'

p. 130, l. 10 _Exeunt_. Not in 4tos and 1724.

p. 130, l. 11 _Another Room_. I have added the locale, unmarked in 4tos
and 1724.

p. 131, l. 12 _dearest fair_. 4tos 'dear fair'.

p. 132, l. 18 _Gods_. 4tos misprint 'God's'.

p. 134, l. 14 _He bows low_. 4tos 'bows low.'

p. 134, l. 15 _I am_. 4tos 'I'm'.

p.. 135, l. 13 _Rivulet_. 4tos 'Rivolet'.

p. 136, l. 9 _Ah! Madam_. 4tos divide this speech metrically. 1724 prints
as prose.

p. 137, l. 10 _to live_. 1724 'I live'.

p. 137, l. 11 _Passion_. 1724 'Person'.

p. 139. l. 8 _All go out but Ther. Hon. Lysan_. 4tos add 'manent Thers.
Ho. Lysan.' which is entirely superfluous.

p. 139, l. 23 _Aside_. 4to 1698 omits this.

p. 139, l. 28 _Renders me too unartful_. 4tos 'Renders unartfull'.

p. 140, l. 11 _Lys_. 4tos, misprinting, omit the speech-prefix 'Lys.'

p. 140, l. 15 _Exeunt_. Omitted in 4tos and 1724.

p. 141, l. 15 _eighteen Tears_. 1724 misprints 'Year'.

p. 141, l. 32 _then? Rage_. 1724 omits 'Rage.'

p. 144, l. 5 _a Table. Geron near the Throne_. I have added 'Geron near
the Throne', which occurs neither in 4tos nor 1724, It is extraordinary
that the old copies do not give the name of the old tutor amongst the
Dramatis Personae? nor do they mark his presence here.

p. 144, l. 13 _any other God but I?_ 4tos 'any other God's but I?' 1724
'any other here but I?'

p. 145, l. 30 _Exit Geron_. Neither 4tos nor 1724 mark this exit,
although later in the scene the entrance of Geron (p. 148) is noted in
all the old copies.

p. 147, l. 11 _Ors_. 4to 1696 by a strange misprint gives speech-prefix
'Ger.'

p. 148, l. 9 _I have_. 4tos 'I've'.

p. 148, l. 20 _--Itis not Sleep!--_ 4tos 'Is it not Sleep!'; but 1724 is
far better here.

p. 148, l. 31 _Arates_. 4tos misprint 'Erates.'

p. 149, l. 4 _A Grove near the Camp_. 4tos and 1724 omit this locale.

p. 150, l. 5 _is he longer_. 1724 misreads 'is he no longer'.

p. 150, l. 8 _Trumpets sound_. 4to 'Trumpet sounds.'

p. 150, l. 18 _Trumpets sound. Exeunt_. 4tos 'Trumpet sounds.' 1724 'Ex.'

p. 151, l. 18 _Ismenes_. 4tos 'Ismenis' throughout.

p. 152, l. 12 _Horse's_. 4to 1696 misprints 'Horses'.

p. 152, l. 13 _Ura. Ex_. 4tos 'Ura. Exit'.

p. 153, l. 11 _Cavalry_. 4tos 'Chavalry'.

p. 153, l. 13 _yet-disputing_. 1724 weakly 'yet-disputed'.

p. 153, l. 34 _to the Stranger_. 1724 omits 'to'.

p. 154, l. 7 _Exeunt_. Not in 4tos nor 1724.

p. 156, l. 1 _drawing of_. 1724 omits 'of'.

p. 156, l. 6 _Moment's_. 4tos misprint 'Moments'.

p. 157, l. 7 _reach_. 4tos 'reaches'.

p. 157, l. 18 _Scene V. Changes_. 4tos and 1724 'Scene changes'. I have
numbered this scene.

p. 158, l. 15 _Ism. goes in, Scene draws_. 1724 omits 'Ism. goes in'.

p. 158, l. 33 _Thersander--Prince of Scythia_. 1724 omits this line,
marking '[Faints.' at conclusion of previous line.

p. 159, l. 19 _one end_. 4tos 'one hand'.

p. 160, l. 28 _my Dagger to this Heart_. 1724 'this Dagger to my Heart'.

p. 160, l. 30 _these_. 4tos 'those'.

p. 160, l. 31 _dear dead Prince_. 1724 misprints 'dear dear Prince'.

p. 161, l. 6 _require_. 4tos 'requires'.

p. 163, l. 1 _Scene II. Between the two Camps_. 4tos 'Scene the Second.'
I have added the locale, which is unmarked in all the editions.

p. 163, l. 7 _te fight_. 4tos 'to fight'.

p. 164, l. 7 _The Scythian Guards_. 4to 1698 misprints 'The Scythian
Guards of'.

p. 164, l. 13 _Exeunt_. Unmarked in 4tos.

p. 166, l. 6 _Aside_. This is not marked in 4tos.

p. 166, l. 27 _in the Earth_. 4tos 'in Earth'.

p. 168, l. 7 _Exit Lysander_. No former editions mark this Exit, which,
however, is obviously necessary.

p. 168, l. 10 _Habit that I left_. 4tos 'Habit I left'.

p. 168, l. 16 _'tis_. 4tos 'it is'.

p. 168, l. 18 _remain_. 4tos 'remains'.

p. 168, l. 20 _my Dishonour_. 4to 1696 omits 'my'.

p. 168, l. 26 _Enter King_. 4to 1698 has 'Enter King. Lysander solus.'
Lysander is a misprint for Thersander, but the whole addition is quite
unneeded.

p. 169, l. 6 _given_. 4tos 'gave'.

p. 169, l. 26 _Herald_. 4tos 'Herauld'.

p. 169, l. 27 _Scene V. Cleomena's Apartments_. 4tos 'Scene the Fifth.' I
have added the locale, which is unmarked in all former editions.

p. 170, l. 19 _Race_. 4to 1698 misprints 'Rafe'.

p. 170, l. 26 _Exit_. 4tos 'Queen Exit'.

p. 172, l. 18 _People's_. 4to 1698 'Peoples'.

p. 173, l. 2 _my Foe_. 4tos omit 'my'.

p. 173, l. 3 _Exit. Val_. 4tos 'Vall, ex.'

p. 173, l. 23 _Scene VI. A Street_. The former editions do not mark or
number this Scene. Neither do they give locale. Their reading runs:--
                                             '[Exeunt.
    Enter Vallentio passing over the Stage, is met'.

p. 174, l. 7 _'Sha_. 4tos 'Sha.'

p. 174, l. 7 _though thats_. 1724 omits 'though'.

p. I74, l. 17 _gather_. 410 1698 'gether'.

p. 174, l. 23 _Civil Wars_. 4to punctuates 'Civil Wars?'

p. 174, l. 32 _Citizens goes out_. 4tos 'Cit. goes out'.

p. 175, l. 13 _Scene VII_. 4tos 'Scene the Seventh.'

p. 175, l. 17 _Exeunt Attendants_, This stage direction is omitted in
1724 and 4tos.

p. 176, l. 25 _King and Guards_. 4tos omit 'and'.

p. 177, l. 3 _Murderer_. 4tos 'Mutherer'.

p. 177, l. 11 _Act V_. 4tos 'Act the Fifth.'

p. 177, l. 12 _Scene I_. 4tos 'Scene the First.'

p. 177, l. 17 _with Guards_. 4tos 'with the Guards'.

p. 177, l. 24 _any_. 4tos 'my'.

p. 178, l. 4 _dy'd_. 4tos 'di'd'.

p. 179, l. 14 _Scene II_. 4tos 'Scene the Second.'

p. 180, l. 5 _crystal_. 4tos 'chrystal'.

p. 180, l. 29 _rustick_. 4to 1698 misprints 'ruistick'.

p. 180, l. 33 _now_. 4tos 1698 misprints 'no'.

p. 181, l. 6 _dy'd_. 4tos 'di'd'.

p. 181, l. 24 _Noise_. 1724 omits this stage direction.

p. 181, l. 29 _Gorel_. I have added this entrance. A speech-prefix
'Gorel' is marked by all old copies in this scene, but no entrance,
neither is the name given in the Dramatis Personae.

p. 181, l. 30 _tearing_. 1724 'dragging'.

p. 182, l. 12 _terrably_. 4tos, 1724 'terribly'. 'terrably' no doubt
denotes a clownish mispronunciation.

p. 182, l. 17 _It ought_. 4to 1698 reads:--

    'It ought to have been presented
    In a more glorious order.'

p. 183, l. 1 _Dy'd_. 4tos 'Di'd'.

p. 183, l. 18 _you'd_. 4tos 'you wou'd'.

p. 184, l. 25 _Clemanthis_'. 4tos 'Clemanthis'.

p. 184, l. 35 _of's_. 4tos 'of his'.

p. 185, l. 24 _from you one visit_. 4tos 'one visit from you'.

p. 186, l. 18 _Oh, Madam_. 4tos, which I follow, metrically. 1724 prose.

p. 186, l. 27 _Clemanthis_'. 4tos 'Clemanthis'.

p. 187, l. 6. _Scene V. Changes_. No former edition numbers this scene.

p. 187, l. 8 _Attendants to them_. 1724 misprints 'Attendantsm.'

p. 187, l. 18 _all his Actions_. 4to 1698 omits 'all'.

p. 187, l. 34 _swound_. 1724 'swoon'.

p. 188, l. 22 _With numerous_. 4tos divide thus:--

    'With numerous Troops
    Which swiftly make their way.'

p. 188, l. 30 _I long to see_. 1724 prints as far as 'fair Princess'
prosc. 4tos metrically.

p. 189, l. 1 _Ism. Geron_. All former editions omit Geron's name here
though they give speech-prefix later in the scene.

p. 189, l. 27 _Cleo. and Thers_. All former editions read '[Points to
Cleo.' I have added 'and Thers.', which is obviously required.

p. 191, l. 9 _is he_. 4tos 'was he'.

p. 191, l. 17 _told you_, 4to 'told him'.


THE CITY HEIRESS.

p. 199, l. 1 _To the Right Honourable_. The Dedicatory Epistle only
occurs in 4tos 1682, 1698.

p. 199, l. 28 _Peaching_. 4to 1698 weakly reads 'Preaching'.

p. 201, l. 14 _glout_. 1724 'glour'.

p. 202, l. 10. _Guinea_. 4to 1682 spells 'Guinney' here and in each other
place the word occurs.

p. 203, l. 5 _Uncle to T. Wilding_. 4tos 1682, 1698, 'He is Uncle to Tom
Wilding'.

p. 203 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added to the list--'_Laboir_, Man to
Tom _Wilding_; Boy, Page to Lady _Galliard_; Boy, Page to _Diana_;
Guests; Mrs. _Sensure_, Sir _Timothy's_ Housekeeper; _Betty_, Maid to
_Diana_; Maid at _Charlot's_ lodging.'

p. 205, l. 8 _huff_. 4to 1698 'hoff'.

p. 206, l. 33 _Feats_. 1724 misprints 'Fears'.

p. 206, l. 35 _are you_. 1724 'you are'.

p. 209, l. 24 _when she loves_. 1724 'then she loves'.

p. 209, l. 32 _City-Heiress, Charles_. 1724 omits 'Charles.'

p. 210, l. 5 _Exit_. 4tos and 1724 omit this 'Exit' which is obviously
necessary.

p. 213, l. 32 _you had_. 4to 1682 'you'd had'.

p. 215, l. 5 _Legions_. 4tos 1682, 1698, misprint 'a Legend'.

p. 216, l. 30 _Wild. Damn it_. 1724 prints these lines as prose.

p. 220, l. 24 _Mr. Foppington_. 4tos 1682, 1698, 'Mr. Foping.'

p. 223, l. 14 _do your_. 4to 1682 'does your'.

p. 223, l. 33      _cunning in their
               Trade of Love_.
1724 divides 'cunning in their Trade of
          Love.'

p. 224, l. 6 _Charl. To-night_. 4tos 1682, 1698, print the first two
lines of Charlot's speech as prose.

p. 224, l. 20 _hast inur'd_. 1724 misprints 'hast injur'd'.

p. 225, l. 22 _cut his_. 4tos 1682, 1698, 'cut's'.

p. 225, l. 34 _Goes out with Fop_. 4tos 1682, 1698, misplace this
direction in the midst of Wilding's speech after 'Farewell', line 29.

p. 226, l. 27 _petty_. 1724 'pretty'.

p. 226, l. 29 _Wilding_. 4to 1682 misprints 'Widling'.

p. 227, l. 18 _those_. 4tos 1682, 1698, 'these'.

p. 227, l. 22 _New_. 4to 1682 'Now'.

p. 228, l. 4 _at Coffee-houses_. 4tos 1682, 1698, omit 'at'.

p. 228, l. 31 _Manteau_. 4tos 1682, 1698, 'Manto'.

p. 232, l. 19 _Scene III_. None of the former editions number this scene.

p. 234, l. 25 _Sir Charles his Uncle_. 1724 'Sir Charles' Uncle'.

p. 235, l. 36 _quitting of the Town_. 4to 1698 and 1724 read 'quitting
the Town.'

p. 237, l. 14 _buy_. 4to 1682 'b'ye '.

p. 241, l. 1 _with Diana_. 4tos 'and Diana'.

p. 241, l. 8 _catechize_. 4tos misprint 'chastize'.

p. 244, l. 15 _she is_. 4tos 'she's'.

p. 242, l. 5 _shalt_. 4tos 'sha't'.

p. 242, l. 22 _shalt_. 4tos 'sha't'.

p. 242, l. 31 _shall I not have_. 1724 'shall I have'.

p. 243, l. 27 _Commendation_. 4tos 'Commendations'.

p. 246, l. 27 _Enter Sensure_. This entrance, obviously necessary here,
is not marked in any former edition, although all note the exit 'Betty
and Sensure.'

p. 248, l. 3 _convert from_. 4to 1698 and 1724 read 'convert for'.

p. 248, l. 15 _Charms that_. 4tos 1698 and 1724 'Charms which'.

p. 249, l. 4 _Mester de Hotel_. 4tos 'Mester de Hotell.' 1724 'Maitre de
Hotel.'

p. 249, l. 5 _Mater de Otell!_ 4tos 'Meter de Otell.'

p. 249, l. 27 _This next_. 4to 1628 and 1724 'the next'.

p. 252, l. 31 _I's tell_. 1724 'I'll tell'.

p. 252, l. 33 _wondrous_. 4tos 'wonderous'.

p. 253, l. 3 _wele aday!_ 1724 punctuates 'wele aday?'.

p. 254, l. 2 _excellency_. 4to 1682 'excellently'. 4to 1698
'excellensie'.

p. 254, l. 22 _this your fickle_. 4to 1682 and 1724 omit 'this'.

p. 257, l. 16 _old_. 4tos 1682, 1698, 'odd'.

p. 258, l. 5 _leav'st_. 4to 1682, 1698, 'leavest'.

p. 258, l. 12 _Vizards_. 1724 'Vizors'.

p. 258, l. 25 _do you make as if you went to bed_. 1724 omits this
sentence.

p. 258, l. 36 _Exeunt_. 4tos omit.

p. 259, l. 14 _Mien_. 4tos 'Mine'.

p. 259, l. 15 _Hold thy fluent_. 1724 prints as prose.

p. 260, l. 1 _Who is a most_. 1724 prints this speech as prose.

p. 261, l. 2 _Twelve was_. 4tos italicize this line as a quotation. 1724
prints it roman.

p. 261, l. 8 _You_. 4tos 'Ye'.

p. 262, l. 20 _Cue. 4tos 'Que'.

p. 262, l. 23 _three_. 1724 'thee'.

p. 263, l. 29 _let 'em_. 4tos 'let them'.

p. 264, l. 7 _felt for_. 4to 1698 and 1724 'felt in'.

p. 264, l. 27 _know't_. 1724 'know it'; and prints the speech as prose.

p. 265, l. 28 _I'm glad on't_. 1724 prints as prose.

p. 267, _the unequal_. 4to 1698 and 1724 omit 'the'.

p. 267, l. 16 _wou'd_. 1724 'shou'd'.

p. 268, l. 2 _Another Room_. None of the previous editions give the
locale or number the scene.

p. 269, l. 6 _you_. 41to 1698 and 1724 'ye'.

p. 270, l. 20 _they go out_. 4tos 'and goes out'.

p. 272, l. 28 _He goes out_. I have added this stage direction as we have
'Wild, returns'.

p. 273, l. 2 _Candles_. 4to 1698 and 1724 'Candle'.

p. 275, l. 8 _resolv'd no body_. 1724 'resolv'd that nobody'.

p. 276, l. 13 _Nay, that's too much_. 1724 as prose.

p. 276, l. 27 _in a Rage_. 4tos 'in Rage'.

p. 277, l. 9 _Exit_. Not in 4tos.

p. 277, l. 12 _Laboir_. I have added this name to the stage direction.

p, 278, l. 1 _I'd had_. 1724 omits 'had'.

p. 278, l. 9 _nor_. 4to 'or'.

p. 278, l. 13 _Portmantle_. 4tos 'Portmantua'.

p. 278, l. 29 _conscious of Treasure_. 1724 'where any Treasure is.'

p. 279, l. 23 _Night-Cap_. 4to 1682 'Night-Caps.'

p, 279, l. 25 _feeling in_. 1724 'feeling of'.

p. 282, l. 4 _Dresswell, Laboir_. I have added these names to the stage
direction.

p. 282, l. 26 _away with it_. 1724 'away with him'.

p. 284, l. 13 _Scene II_. None of the previous editions number this
scene.

p. 284, l. 15 _to them_. 1724 'to him'.

p. 285, l. 18 _shall to Bed_. 4to 1698 and 1724 'shall go to Bed.'

p. 285, l. 29 _Scene III_. None of the previous editions number this
scene.

p. 286, l. 15 _barricado'd_. 4tos 'baracado'd'.

p. 288, l. 2 _naming_. 1724 omits.

p. 288, l. 6 _followed by Betty_. I have added Betty's exit to this stage
direction.

p. 288, l. 6 _Scene IV_. None of the previous editions number this scene.

p. 289, l. 24 _at Galliard's Door!_ 1724 'at Lady Galliard's Door!'.

p. 289, l. 33 _meet_. 4tos 'meets'.

p. 290, l. 29 _of your_. 1724 'on your'.

p. 290, l. 33 _Hopes_. 1724 'Hours'.

p. 291, l. 1 _Scene V_. None of the previous editions number this scene.

p. 291, l. 12 _You are mistaken_. 1724 prints this speech as prose.

p. 292, l. 27 _As far as_. 1724 prints this as prose.

p. 292, l. 29 _to Ladies_. 4to 1698 and 1724 'to the Ladies'.

p. 293, l. 18 _Care of_. 1724 'Care on'.

p. 293, l. 21 _fond_. 1724 omits.

p. 294, l. 12 _nought_. 1724 'not'.

p. 294, l. 22 _took_. 1724 'taken'.

p. 294, l. 23 _of Grace_. 4to 1682 'a Grace'.

p. 295, l. 1 _made_. 1724 omits.

p. 298, l. 32 _Exeunt_. Not in 4tos, which, however, mark 'The End.'

p. 299, l. 30 _of_. 4tos 'in.'.


THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS.

p. 301 _The Feign'd Curtezans_. 4to 1679 gives 'The Feign'd Curtizans'
and so throughout.

p. 305, l. 1 _To Mrs. Ellen Guin_. The Dedication only occurs in 4to
1679.

p. 309, l. 1 _Dramatis Personae_. I have added '_Silvio_, Page to _Laura
Lucretia_. _Antonio_, an Attendant to _Laura Lucretia_. Page to _Julio_.
Page to _Fillamour_.' In both 4to 1679 and 1724 there is great confusion
between _Silvio_ and _Sabina_. These characters are sometimes
intermingled as one, sometimes disentangled as two. This will be duly
noticed as it occurs. I have no doubt the confusion existed in Mrs.
Behn's MS. cf the play.

p. 310, l. 2 _A Street_. I have added the locale, unmarked in previous
editions.

p. 310, l. 27 _Exeunt Lau. and Ant_. All previous editions reads 'Exeunt
Lau.'

p. 311, l. 35 _and the_. 1724 omits 'and'.

p. 312, l. 12 _Viterboan_. 4to 1679 'Vitterboan'; and Viterbo_ 'Vitterbo'
throughout.

p. 312, l. 16 _Why, faith_. 4to 1679 'Whe faith'.

p. 312, l. 28 _with him_. 4to 1679 omits 'him'.

p. 312, l. 32 _me it would_. 4to 1679 'assur'd me wou'd'.

p. 313, l. 7 _in yours_. 4to 1679 'to yours'.

p. 313, l. 21 _you out_. 4to 1679 'out you'.

p. 314, l. 16 _Francis_. 4to 1679 'Frances'.

p. 314, l. 34 _Fool's_. 4to 1679 'Fool'.

p. 315, l. 17 _Inamorata_, 4to 1679 'Inamorato.'

p. 315, l. 18 _young Lady_. 4to 1679 omits 'young'.

p. 316, l. 3 _use of_. 4to 1679 'use on'.

p. 316, l. 31 _Allons_. 4to 1679 'Aloone.' 1724 omits.

p, 317, l. 1 _to a room in Tickletext's lodging_. I have added this
locale.

p. 317, l. 3 _Petro snaps_. 4to 1679 'and Petro snaps'.

p. 320, l. i _remember a fart these_. 1724 'remember these'.

p. 320, l. 21 _Pusilage_. 1724 'Pupilage'.

p. 321, l. 23 _voluntiero_. 4to 1679 'vollentiero'.

p. 323, l. 10 _wou'd_. 4to 1679 'will'.

p. 326, l. 15 _The Gardens of the Villa Medici_. This locale is unmarked
in all previous editions.

p. 326, l. 16 _Morosini_. 4to 1679 misprints 'Murismi'.

p. 326, l. 25 _Marcella and Cornelia_, 4to 1679 'Marcella nor Cornelia.'

p. 328, l. 12 _dozen years_. 4to 1679 'dozen year'.

p. 329, l. 2 _down-right_. 4to 1679 'right down'.

p. 330, l. 9 _St Teresa's_. 4to 1679 'St. Teretia's'.

p. 330, l. 15 _garb_. 4to 1679 'garbo'.

p. 330, l. 27 _with Silvio, Antonio, and_. I have added these words to
the stage direction.

p. 331, l. 3 _Sans Coeur_. 1724 omits. 4to 1679 reads 'San's Coeure.'

p. 332, l. 22 _Exit with Silvio and her Train_. 4to 1679 'Exeunt with her
train.' 1724 'Exit with her Train.'

p. 333, l. 24 _pray for infinitely_. 4to 1679 'pray infinitely for'.

p. 335, l. 11 _for his Falshood_. 4ti 1679 'for Falshood'.

p. 335, l. 24 _Bills_. 4to 1679 'Bill'.

p. 337, l. 4 _of us_. 4to 1679 'on's'.

p. 338, l. 5 _Cinquante per cent_. 4to 1679 'Cinquant par cent'. I have
not in any place modified and corrected the spelling of the Italian as it
stands in the old editions.

p. 340, l. 1 _Oblige_. 4to 1679 'Obliges'.

p. 342, l. 11 _un Bacio_. 4to 1679 misprints 'un Bacoi'.

p. 332, l. 14 _you are all a little_. 1724 'you are a little'.

p. 343, l. 2 _The Corso_. I have supplied the locale which all previous
editions omit.

p. 343, l. 20 _Enter Mor. and Octa_. 4to 1679 'Enters Mur. and Octa.'
1724 'Enters Mor. and Octa.'

p. 344, l. 21--_nay, was contracted to him, fairly contracted in my own
Chappel_;' 1724 '--nay, was contracted to him, fairly contracted to him,
fairly contracted in my own Chappel ;'.

p. 345, l. 5 _This fine_. 1724 prints this speech as prose.

p. 346, l. 11 _with Silvio and_. I have added these three words to the
stage direction.

p. 348, l. 15 _with Phillipa_. I have added an entrance for Philiipa
here, although it is not marked in the former editions, as later in the
scene she speaks to Cornelia, and obviously must be in attendance on her
in the balcony.

p. 349, l. 6 _so good_. 1724 omits these words.

p. 350, l. 9 _Exit Crap_. I have added Crapine's exit here as he
re-enters anon with Octavio, and his exit is required by the business
of the scene.

p. 351, l. 6 _false-souled_. Both 4to 1679 and 1724 read'false
souly', which I have ventured to alter.

p. 352, l. 12 _They are going_. 4to 1679 and 1724 both read 'They go
out...', but it is obvious from Galliard and Fillamour's conversation
with Tickletext that they do not actually leave the stage, as also from
the direction later 'Offering to go.'

p. 352, l. 13 _Aside_. 4to 1679 and 1724 both read 'Aside to Mar.' An
obvious mistake.

p. 352, l. 18 _Exit_. Both 4to 1679 and 1724 have 'Exeunt.' We may
suppose Phillipa to have entered with Marcella and the former direction
to be 'Aside to Phil.' but it seems more in accordance with the scene to
make these two slight changes.

p. 354, l. 22 _Exeunt Fil. and Gal_. 4to adds 'and Lau.' but the 1724
'exit' at the end of her next speech is obviously correct.

p. 354, l. 35 _and Crapine_. I have added this entrance. 4to 1679 and
1724 omit this, but both mark his exit.

p. 365, l. 7 _to steal to a Wench_. 1724 'to steal a Wench'.

p. 363, l. 26 _'Tis Love_. Both 4to 1679 and 1724 print this speech as
prose. It is obviously verse.

p. 365, l. 21 _Fil.--I've_. 4to 1679 wrongly gives this speech to
Galliard.

p. 369, l. 13 _Papish_. 1724  '<DW7>'.

p. 372, l. 30 _Ex. Pet. with Tick_. I have added this stage direction
which is unmarked in the former editions, but obviously necessary here.

p. 374, l. 22 _Scene II_. I have numbered this scene. Former editions
read 'The Scene changes to...'.

p. 383, l. 3 _Phil_. 4to 1679 and 1724 both wrongly give these two lines
to Fillamour.

p. 383, l. 15 _Exeunt_. Omitted in all former editions.

p. 383, l. 17 _The Corso_. I have added the locale.

p. 386, l. 19 _no Sword_. 4to 1679 and 1724 here needlessly repeat a
stage direction 'Enter Julio and Octavio fighting.'

p. 386, l. 32 _Signior, gentle Signior_. 4to 1679 reads 'Signior, a
gentle Signior'.

p. 387, l. 3 _and Silvio_. I have added this entrance of Silvio's here,
which is not marked in the former editions, but later Laura addresses
him.

p. 387, l. 4 _He's gone_. 4to 1679 and 1724 give this speech as prose but
I have arranged it metrically.

p. 389, l. 25 _from Silvianetta_. 4to 1679 'from the Silvianetta'.

p. 391, l. 17 _But e'er_. 1724 prints this speech as prose. I have
followed 4to 1679.

p. 392, l. 7 _and Sabina_. I have added Sabina's exit. There exists in
the former editions great confusion between Silvio and Sabina here. 4to
1679 and 1724 give Silvio's three speeches to Galliard with prefix 'Sab.'

p. 393, l. 1 _Scene II_. I have numbered the scene. 4to 1679 reads 'Enter
Laura, as before, in a Night-Gown. Scene, A Chamber.'

p. 393, l. 8 _Enter Silvio_. The confusion between Silvio and Sabina
continues in the former editions. 4to 1679 and 1724 both give Silvio's
entrance but mark his speech 'Sab.' In Laura's speech (line 14) both read
'Sabina, see the Rooms', which I have altered to 'Silvio, see the Rooms'.
Both read (line 18) 'Enter to Sil....'.

p. 394, l. 32 _and Silvio_. I have added Silvio's entrance. The confusion
continues.

p. 399, l. 7 _Aside_. Omitted in 1724. 4to 1679 reads 'and laughing.'

p. 400, l. 1 _Scene III_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 400, l. 18 _Aside_. 4to omits.

p. 401, l. 18 _Hold, much mistaken_. 4to 1679 and 1724 as prose. I have
arranged metrically.

p. 401, l. 24 _Aside_. 4to 1679 omits.

p. 401, l. 36 _This is_. 4to 1679 and 1724 as prose. I have arranged
metrically.

p. 402, l. 10 _Ex. Jul. Fil_. 4to 1679 omits this.

p. 402, l. 26 _Exeunt_. 4to 1679 gives no stage direction. 1724 reads
'exit', but obviously all go out.

p. 403, l. 23 _Scene IV_. I have numbered this scene.

p. 403, l. 3 _I a wandring_. 4to omits 'a'.

p. 406, l. 31 _And here I vow_. I have arranged this speech metrically.
Former editions print as prose.



NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.


ABDELAZER.

p. 6 _Montero-Caps_. Spanish _montero_ = a hunter. A Spanish hunting-cap
with two flaps for the cars. Pepys, 20 March, 1660, sees 'two monteeres
for me to take my choice of'.

p. 7 _Beasts_. 17th century French _beste_ = an obsolete card game said
to have resembled Nap; also certain penalties at Ombre and Quadrille. The
word most frequently occurs in connection with Ombre, which is derived
from the Spanish _hombre_=man. The one who undertakes the game has to
beat each of the other two; if he fails he is said to have been beasted
and pays a forfeit to the pool. It has been suggested that 'unable to
sustain himself as a man, Hombre, he becomes beast.' c.f. _The Feign'd
Astrologer_, iii, I (4to 1668), where Lewis speaks of

                   A kind of Lady-ordinary
    Where they were beasting it, for that game's in
    Fashion still, though _Hombre_ be more courtly.

Butler, _Hudibras_ (1678), iii, 1, l. 1007, has--

    These at Beste and Ombre woo
    And play for love and money too.

Lestrange, _Quovedo_ (1708), talks of spending 'whole nights at Beste or
Ombre with my Lady Pen-Tweezel.'

p. 8 _Isabella, Queen of Spain. Mrs. Lee_. 'About the year 1670, Mrs.
Aldridge, after Mrs. Lee, after Lady Slinsgby' was 'entertain'd in the
Duke's House.' Her husband, John Lee, joined the company at the same
time. But whilst his wife became the leading tragedienne of the day, he
himself never rose above the most minor and insignificant roles. A woman
of superb and Junoesque beauty, haughty mein and imperious manners, Mrs.
Mary Lee soon won a prominent place in the theatre. Although effective in
comedy, especially in its higher flights, it was as tragedy queen she
obtained her greatest triumphs. In December, 1670, she made her debut at
Lincoln's Inn Fields as Olinda, a small part in Mrs. Behn's maiden
effort, _The Forc'd Marriage_, and early the following year acted
Daranthe, Chief Commandress of the Amazons, in Edward Howard's dull
drama, _The Women's Conquest_. A few months later, in April, she played
Leticia in Revet's _The Town Shifts_. In 1672, at Dorset Gardens, she was
Aemelia in Arrowsmith's amusing _The Reformation_; 1673, Mariamne in
Settle's heroic tragedy, _The Empress of Morocco_, a role she acted with
such excellence that it gave every token of her future greatness and
advanced her to the very front rank. 1674, ahe was Amavanga in Settle's
_The Conquest of China_; Salome, Herod's sister, in Pordage's bombastic
_Herod and Mariamne_. 1675, Chlotilda, disguised as Nigrello, in Settle's
_Love and Revenge_; Deidamia, Queen of Sparta, in Otway's first and
feeblest tragedy, _Alcibiades_, of which play she also spoke the
epilogue. 1676, Roxolana in Settle's _Ibrahim_, produced in May; and late
the same month or very early in June the Queen of Spain in Otway's
magnificent _Don Carlos_, a powerful play which, supported by Betterton
as Philip II, Smith as Carlos, Harris as Don John of Austria, and our
great tragedienne 'succeeded much better than either _Venice Preserved_
or _The Orphan_, and was infinitely more applauded and followed for many
years.' In November she played Madam Fickle in D'Urfey's comedy of the
same name; in December Corisca in Settle's _Pastor Fido_. In 1677 Mrs.
Lee's only rival, Mrs. Marshall, the leading lady of the King's House,
retired.[1] Mrs. Barry's star was but just faintly rising on the
theatrical horizon; and it is noticeable that even when this famous
actress was at the height of her great reputation, we still find Mrs. Lee
cast for those roles she made so peculiarly her own, and in which no one
could approach her. In February, 1677, she acted Berenice in Otway's
_Titus and Berenice_, a rather tame adaption of Racine. Mrs. Barry is
named for the small character of the queen's confident, Phoenice, and was
also Lucia in a farce from Moliere, _The Cheats of Scapin_, which
followed the drama. Mrs. Lee naturally took no part in this afterpiece,
but there is a smart epilogue, 'spoken by Mrs. Mary Lee, when she was out
of Humour,' which commences:--

    How little do you guess what I'm to say!
    I'm not to ask how you like Farce or Play:
    For you must know I've other Business now;
    It is to tell you, Sparks, how we like you.

In April she gave a fine performance of Cleopatra, Sedley's _Antony and
Cleopatra_; in June she was acting Circe, the title-role of Charles
Davenant's gorgeously mounted opera; in August, Astatius in a bucolic,
whose scene is Arcady, entitled _The Constant Nymph; or The Rambling
Shepherd_, 'written by a Person of Quality,' which proved anything but a
success. In the autumn she created the Queen in _Abdelazer_; in November,
Roxana in Pordage's tumid _The Siege of Babylon_, a play founded upon the
famous romance, _Cassandra_. In January, 1678, she played Priam's
prophetic daughter, a very strong part, in Banks' melodrama, _The
Destruction of Troy_; August of the same year, Elvira in Leanerd's witty
comedy, _The Counterfeits_, whence a quarter of a century later Colley
Gibber borrowed pretty freely for _She Wou'd and She Wou'd Not_. That
autumn Mrs. Lee acted Eurydice in Dryden and Lee's _Oedipus_. It was this
year that her husband died, and she was left a widow. In April, 1679, she
played Cressida in Dryden's _Troilus and Cressida_, and probably in the
same month, Cleomena in Mrs. Behn's _The Young King_; later in the
autumn, Laura Lucretia in _The Feign'd Curtezans;_ in October, Bellamira,
the heroine of Lee's excellent if flamboyant tragedy, _Caesar Borgia_,
to the Borgia of Betterton and Smith's Machiavel. In 1680 her roles were
Arviola in Tate's _The Loyal General;_ Julia in Lawrence Maidwell's
capital comedy, _The Loving Enemies;_ Queen Margaret in Crowne's _The
Misery of Civil War_, a version of 2 _Henry VI_. In the winter of this
year Mrs. Lee re-married, and thenceforward is billed as Lady Slingsby,
our first titled actress. Her husband was probably Sir Charles Slingsby,
second baronet, of Bifrons in Kent, a nephew of Sir Robert Slingsby,
Comptroller of the Navy, who had died 26 October, 1661. Sir Charles is
recorded to have sold Bifrons in 1677, but we know practically nothing
about him.[2] Dr. Doran supposes Lady Slingsby to have been connected
with the Slingbys of Scriven, but he adduces no authority. In 1681 Lady
Slingsby performed Queen Margaret in Crowne's _Henry VI, the First Part
with the Murder of Gloucester_, an adaption of Shakespeare's I _Henry
VI_, suggested by the great success of his previous alteration. She also
played Regan in Tate's foolhardy tinkering with _King Lear_; Sempronia in
Lee's powerful _Lucius Junitis Brutus;_ and in December, Marguerite in
the same author's excellent _The Princess of Cleves_. In 1682 she acted
another Roman role, Tarpeia, in an anonymous tragedy, _Romulus and
Hersilia_, produced 10 August. She also spoke Mrs. Behn's famous epilogue
reflecting upon the Duke of Monmouth. Two days later a warrant was issued
for the arrest of 'Lady Slingsby, Comoedian, and Mrs. Aphaw Behen,' to
answer for their 'severall Misdemeanours' and 'abusive reflections upon
Persons of Quality.' Even if they were actually imprisoned, of which
there is no evidence, the detention both of actress and authoress was
very brief. On 4 December of the same year, after the union of the two
companies, Lady Slingsby created Catherine de' Medici in Dryden and Lee's
stirring tragedy, _The Duke of Guise_, produced at the Theatre Royal, In
1683 Lady Slingsby had no original part which is recorded, but her genius
successfully helped the numerous revivals of older plays that belong to
that year. In 1684 she sustained Calphurnia to the Caesar of Cardell
Goodman, the Antony of Kynaston, the Brutus and Cassius of Betterton and
Smith, the Portia of Mrs. Sarah Cook, in a notable revival of _Julius
Caesar_ (4to 1694), marred, however, by stagey alterations said to be the
work of Davenant and Dryden two decades before. The same year she played
Lucia in _The Factious Citizen;_ Lady Noble in Ravenscroft's _Dame
Dobson_. In August, 1685, Clarinda in D'Urfey's plagiarism of Fletcher's
_The Sea Voyage_, which he called _A Commonwealth of Women_. Shortly
after she appears to have retired from the stage. Dame Mary Slingsby,
widow, from St. Mary's parish, was buried in old St. Pancras graveyard, 1
March, 1694. Careless historians and critics even now continually confuse
Mrs. Mary Lee, Lady Slingsby, with Mrs. Elizabeth Leigh, the wife of the
celebrated comedian, Antony Leigh. The two actresses must be carefully
distinguished. Geneste curiously enough gives a very incomplete list of
Lady Slingsby's roles, a selection only, as he allows; he makes several
bad mistakes as to dates, and entirely fails to appreciate the merits and
importance of this great actress in the Restoration theatre. These errors
have been largely followed, and it is become necessary to insist somewhat
strongly upon the fact that Lady Slingsby was one of the leading
performers of the day. In a contemporary _Satire on the Players_
(1682-3), which has never been printed, she heads the list of actresses,
and Mrs. Barry is vilipended second. The lines run as follows:--

    Imprimis Slingsby has the fatal Curse
    To have a Lady's honour with a Player's Purse.
    Though now she is so plaguy haughty grown       |
    Yet, Gad, my Lady, I a Time have known          |
    When a dull Whiggish Poet wou'd go down.        |
    That Scene's now changed, but Prithee Dandy Beast
    Think not thyself an Actress in the least.
    For sure thy Figure ne'er was seen before,
    Such Arse-like Breasts, stiff neck, with all thy Store,
    Are certain Antidotes against a Whore.

The 'dull Whiggish Poet' alluded to is Elkanah Settle, with whom at the
beginning of her theatrical career Lady Slingsby was on terms of
considerable intimacy. Scandal further accused her of an intrigue with
Sir Gilbert Gerrard, which is referred to when the knight was attacked in
_A Satyr on Both Whigs and Tories_, (1683, unprinted MS.)

    Thou Thing made up of Buttons, Coach, and Show,
    The Beasts that draw thee have more sense than thou.
    Yet still thou mightst have fool'd behind the Scenes,
    Have Comb'd thy Wig and set thy Cravat Strings,
    Made love to Slingsby when she played the Queen,
    The Coxcomb in the Crowd had passed unseen.

p. 9 _Song_. Poets and critics have been unanimous in their praise of
this exquisite lyric, which, had she written nothing more, would alone
have been amply sufficient to vindicate Aphara Behn's genius and
immortality. It was a great favourite with Swinburne, who terms it 'that
melodious and magnificent song'; Mr. Bullen is warm in its praise, whilst
Professor Saintsbury justly acknowledges it to be 'of quite bewildering
beauty'.

p. 70 _Stout Sceva_. The centurion M. (Valerius Max. iii. ii. 23.)
Cassius Scaeva at the battle of Dyrrachium, B.C. 48, showed heroic valour
and maintained his post although he had lost an eye, was deeply wounded
in shoulder and thigh, and his shield was pierced in 120 places. He
survived, however, and lived until after Cassar's assassination, v.
_Casar B.G_. iii 53. _Suet. Caes_, 68. _Flor_. iv. 2. 40. _Appian_, B.C.
ii. 60. He appears as a character in Fletcher's _The False One_.

p. 98 _little Mrs. Ariell_. This actress doubtless belonged to the
Nursery, a training theatre for boys and girls intended for the stage.
Established under Royal Letters Patent issued 30 March, 1664, it is
frequently alluded to in contemporary literature. There was only one
Nursery, although, as it not infrequently changed its quarters, two are
sometimes stated to have existed simultaneously, an easy and plausible
mistake, The Nursery was originally in Hatton Garden, About 1668 it was
transferred to Vere Street, and thence finally to the Barbican. Mr. W. J.
Lawrence in an able history of _Restoration Stage Nurseries_, shows that
Wilkinson's oft-engraved view of the supposed Fortune Theatre is none
other than this Golden Lane Nursery on the site of the old Fortune
Theatre. Mrs. Ariell, a young girl, probably performed Fanny in _Sir
Patient Fancy_. Occasionally the names of other Nursery actresses occur.
We have a certain Miss Nanny, of whom nothing is known, billed as Clita,
a small part in D'Urfey's _The Commonwealth of Women_, produced August,
1685. The prefix 'Miss' as meaning a young girl occurs here in a bill for
the first time. A decade later we have Miss Allinson as Hengo, a lad, in
an alteration of Fletcher's _Bonduca_, and Miss Cross as Bonvica,
Bonduca's youngest daughter. In 1693 Miss Allison, who took the part of
Jano, a page boy, in Southerne's _The Maid's Last Prayer_, is billed as
Betty Allison. In 1696 again, Miss Cross, with Horden, spoke the prologue
to D'Urfey's _Don Quixote_, Part III. In the cast, however, when she
enacted Altisidora, she is described as Mrs. Cross, A Miss Howard acted
Kitty in Motteux's _Love's a Jest(1696) and, 'in page's habit_,' spoke
the epilogue to Dilke's _The Lover's Luck_ the same year. After that date
'Miss' instead of the heretofore 'Mrs.' became more general.

The name of the child actress, doubtless from the Nursery, who took the
young Princess Elizabeth in Banks' _Virtue Betray'd; or, Anna Bullen_
(1682) has not come down to us. _Wits led by the Nose; or, A Poet's
Revenge_, an alteration of Chamberlaine's unacted _Love's Victory_ (4to
1658), produced at the Theatre Royal in the summer of 1677, has
indifferent performers such as Coysh, Perrin, in the leading roles;
whilst other parts are cast thus: Sir Jasper Sympleton, Stiles; Jack
Drayner, Nathaniel Q.; Heroina, Mrs. Baker, Jun.; Theocrine, Mrs.
F[arlee?]. Stiles, Nathaniel Q., Mrs. Baker, Jun., Mrs. F[arlee?] were
all temporary recruits from the Nursery. In the spring of 1678 the
younger members act again in Leanerd's _The Rambling Justice_. Powre
played Sir John Twiford; Disney, Contentious Surley; Mr. Q., Spywell;
Mrs. Merchant, Petulant Easy; Mrs. Bates, Emilia. The Nursery disappears
about 1686. Certainly in 1690 it was the custom for young aspirants to
the sock and buskin to join the regular theatres without preliminary
training elsewhere.


FOOTNOTES:

1. Her last original role was Berenice in Crowne's _The Destruction of
Jerusalem_, a heroic tragedy in two parts.

2. There was a Sir Arthur Slingsby, a younger son of Sir Guildford
Slingsby, Bart. Both Pepys (20 July, 1664) and Evelyn (19 July, 1664)
mention the lottery he held with the King's permission in the Banqueting
House at Whitehall. Evelyn judged him to be 'a mere shark.'


THE YOUNG KING.

p. 107 _Tartarian war_. Brawls and free fights, sometimes of a serious
character, in the pit (Tartarus) of a Restoration theatre were of
frequent occurrence. There is a well-known instance in Langbaine: 'At the
acting of this tragedy [_Macbeth_] on the stage, I saw a real one acted
in the pit; I mean the death of Mr. Scroop, who received his death's
wound from the late Sir Thomas Armstrong, and died presently after he was
remov'd to a house opposite to the Theatre, in Dorset Garden.' This was
in 1679. In April, 1682, in the pit at the Theatre Royal, Charles Dering
and Mr. Vaughan drew on each other and then clambered on to the stage to
finish their duel 'to the greater comfort of the audience'. Dering being
badly wounded, Vaughan was held in custody until he recovered. In
Shadwell's _A True Widow_ (1678) Act iv, i, there is a vivid picture of a
general scuffle and battle royal in the pit. cf. Dryden's Prologue to
_The Spanish Friar_ (1681):--

    Now we set up for tilting in the pit,
    Where 'tis agreed by bullies chicken-hearted
    To fright the ladies first, and then be parted.

p. 107 _Half crown my play_.... There are many allusions to the price of
admission to the pit. Pepys mentions it, and on one occasion notices
'ordinary' prentices and mean people in the pit at 2s 6d a-piece'. cf.
Epilogue to Carye's _The Generous Enemies_:--

             There's a nest of devils in the pit,
    By whom our plays, like children, just alive,
    Pinch'd by the fairies, never after thrive:
    'Tis but your half-crown, Sirs: that won't undo.

p. 133 _antick_.--here used in its strict and original sense, 'baroque',
'rococo'. A favourite word with Mrs. Behn.

p. 181 _Life it self's a Dream. This is the very title of Calderon's
comedia, _La Vida es Sueno_.

p. 183 _J. Wright, esq_. James Wright (1643-1713), barrister-at-law and
miscellaneous writer, is now chiefly remembered by his famous pamphlet,
_Historia Histrionica_ (1699), a dialogue on old plays and players,
reprinted in various editions of Dodsley. Wright was a great lover of the
theatre, and 'one of the first collectors of old plays since Cartwright.'

p. 192 _spoken ... at his Royal Highness' second exile_. This note fixes
the date of the play as being between the latter end of March, 1679, and
August of the same year. It was probably produced in April. The Duke of
York sailed for Antwerp on 4 March, 1679. From Antwerp he went to the
Hague and thence to Brussels. In August he was summoned home as Charles
was attacked by a severe fit of ague. He returned to Brussels to escort
the Duchess back, and on 27 October left for Scotland.


THE CITY HEIRESS.

p. 199 _Henry, Earl of Arundel_. Henry Howard, 1655-1701, son of Henry,
sixth Duke of Norfolk, succeeded his father 10 January, 1684. From 1678
to 1684 he was styled Earl of Arundel, although summoned to Parliament on
27 January, 1679 as Lord Mowbray.

p. 200 _Then let the strucken Deer. Hamlet_, Act iii, ii.

p. 201 _to roar_. To be tipsily boisterous, deoauchcd and wantonly
destructive. The word is common.

p. 201 _to glout_. To stare at; to make eyes at. Not here to frown or
scowl, the usual meaning, and the sole explanation given by the _N.E.D_.
For 'glout' in this sense cf. Orrery's _Guzman_ (1679) iv, 'Guzman glouts
at her, sighs, and folds his arms.'

p. 201 _Convenient_. 'Blowing, Natural, Convenient, Tackle. Several names
for a Mistress or rather a Whore.'--'An Explanation of the Cant' prefixed
to Shadwell's _The Squire of Alsatia_ (4to, 1688). The word occurs more
than once in the course of the play. cf. Act iv, where we have

     '_Enter_ Margaret _and Mrs_. Hackum _with a Cawdle_.
      _Belf. Sen_. Oh my dear _Blowing!_ my _Convenient!_ my _Tackle!_'

p. 201 _In Reverend Shape_. The allusion throughout this prologue is to
Titus Oates. After his abominable perjuries this wretch was lodged at
Whitehall, assigned L1200 a year and a special posse of officers and
attendants.

p. 201 _The Oaths_ ... cf. Dryden's description of Oates as Corah.
_Absalom and Achitophel_, Part I--especially--

    Who ever asked the witnesses' high race
    Whose oath with martyrdom did Stephen grace?

p. 202 _Pug_. A quasi-proper name for a fox. cf. R.S. Surtees' _Ask
Mamma_ (1857-8), xv. 'Pug ... turns tail and is very soon in the rear of
the hounds.'

p. 202 _silken Doctor_. Oates pretended to have taken the degree of D.D.
at the University of Salamanca.

    The spirit caught him up! the Lord knows where,
    And gave him his Rabbinical degree
    Unknown to foreign university.--_Absalom and Achitopbel_, i.

Silken of course alludes to his black silk Doctor's gown.

p. 202 _Guinea for--no Feast_. This and the following verses refer to a
circumstance much talked of and well laughed at by the Tories. The Duke
of York having been invited to dine with the Artillery Company at
Merchant-Tailors'-Hall, on 21 April, 1682; an opposition dinner was
impudently projected by the Shaftesbury party, to be held at
Haberdashers' Hall, and tickets were forthwith issued at one guinea each;
for the purpose, as it was declared, of commemorating the providential
escape of the nation from the hellish designs of the <DW7>s, etc. The
King, however, issued a salutary order forbidding the meeting as an
illegal one. This supplied the loyal party with new matter for ridicule
and satire against the Whigs, who were considerably dejected by their
disappointment.

p. 206 _overtaken_--with liquor. cf. Steele, _Spectator_, No. 420,
Wednesday, 6 August, 1712. 'I do not remember I was ever o'ertaken in
drink.'

p. 206 _wholesom Act_. see _supra_. Vol. I, _The Roundheads_, Act v, II,
p. 457, note: 'p. 414, an act, 24 June.'

p. 207 _Forty one_. The year of the Grand Remonstrance and agitation for
the suppression of Episcopacy.

p. 207 _guttle_. To flatter, to toady. The word is rare in this sense,
generally meaning to guzzle. cf. parasitus.

p. 210 _Porridge_. A contemptuous nickname given by Dissenters to the
_Book of Common Prayer_. On 24 August, 1662, Pepys hears that there has
been 'a disturbance in a church in Friday St.; a great many young
[people] knotting together and crying out _Porridge_ often and
seditiously in the church, and took the Common Prayer Book, they say,
away.' There is a four leaved pamphlet, 4to 1642, by Gyles Calsine,
entitled 'A Messe of Pottage, very well seasoned and crumb'd with bread
of life, and easie to be digested against the contumelious slanderers of
the Divine Service, terming it Poridge.'

p. 214. _Opinion_. Reputation, cf. Shirley, _The Gamester_ (1637), Act
i:--'_Barnacle_. Patience; I mean you have the opinion of a valiant
gentleman.'

p. 218 _watch her like a Witch_. _vide_ Vol I, p. 448, note: _Women must
be watcht as Witches are_.

p. 228 _i' th' Pit, behind the Scenes_. The foremost benches of the pit
were a recognized rendezvous for <DW2>s and beaux. The tiring rooms of the
actors and actresses were also a favourite resort of wits and gallants.
Pepys frequently mentions the visits he paid behind the scenes. The
Epilogue to _The Gentleman Dancing Master_ (1671) even invites cits
behind the scenes:--

    You good men o' th' Exchange, on whom alone
    We must depend when Sparks to sea are gone;
    Into the pit already you are come,
    'Tis but a step more to our tiring-room
    Where none of us but will be wondrous sweet
    Upon an able love of Lombard-Street.

p. 228 _flamm'd off_. Cheated, cf. Ford and Dekker's _The Witch of
Edmonton_, ii, II (1621):--'_Susan_. And then flam me off
                          With an old witch.'

also South's _Sermons_ (1687):--'A God not to be flammed off with lies.'

p. 209 _Lusum_. i.e. Lewisham.

p. 230 _in ure_. In use; practice. cf. John Taylor's _The Pennyles
Pilgrimage_ (4to 1618);--

    For in the time that thieving was in ure
    The gentle fled to places more secure.

p. 230 _betauder_. The meaning of this word (=to bedizen with tawdry
finery) is plain. As it is only found here, the N.E.D. suggests it may be
a nonce-verb.

p. 230 _Spanish Paint_. Rouge, cf. Lady Wishfort in _The Way of the
World_ (1700);--'I mean the Spanish paper, idiot. Complexion, darling,
paint, paint, paint.'--Act iii, 1.

p. 230 _prew_. Prim, modest. A very rare, affected little word.

p. 230 _rant_. To be boisterously merry, cf. Farquhar, _The Constant
Couple_ (1700), Act iv, 1:--'_Clincher jun_. I'll court, and swear, and
rant, and rake and go to the jubilee with the best of them.'

p. 233 _seditiously petitioning_. In allusion to the vast number of
petitions which Shaftesbury procured from the counties in support of the
Exclusion Bill. The rival factions, 'Petitioners' and 'Abhorrers' were
the nucleus of the two great parties, Whigs and Tories.

p. 236 _Tuberose_. The most fashionable perfume of the day. cf.
Etheredge's _The Man of Mode_ (1676), Act v, 1:--'_Belinda_. I ... told
them I never wore anything but orange-flowers and tuberose.'

p. 245 _hits_. A stroke of luck; an opportunity.

p. 246 _ignoramus_. The partial verdict of the Middlesex Grand Jury
ignoring the bill of the indictment against Shaftesbury, 24 November,
1681. It is frequently alluded to by Dryden, Mrs. Behn, and the Tory
writers.

p. 248 _Albany_. James (II), Duke of York and Albany.

p. 249 _Polanders_. Shaftesbury aspired to be chosen King of Poland in
1675 when John Sobieski was elected to that Throne. This piece of foolish
ambition and a certain physical infirmity, to wit, an abscess that in
order to preserve his life had to be kept continually open by a silver
pipe, got him the nickname of Count Tapsky. In _The Medal_ (March, 1682)
Dryden speaks of 'The Polish Medal', and Otway's Prologue to _Venice
Preserv'd_ (1682) ridicules Shaftesbury's regal covetings thus:--

    O Poland, Poland! had it been thy lot
    T'have heard in time of this Venetian plot,
    Thou surely chosen hadst one king from thence
    And honoured them, as thou hast England since.

An elaborate and amusing piece of sarcasm on the same subject appeared in
a pamphlet entitled _A Modest Vindication of the Earl of S----y, _In a
Letter to a Friend concerning his being elected King of Poland_, 1682.
Squibs and pasquinades such as _Scandalum Magnatum, or Potapski's case; A
Satire against Polish Oppression_ (1682), and the versified _Last Will
and Testament of Anthony, King of Poland_ abounded.

p. 251 _Tantivy_. Reckless, dare-devil. Said by Dr. Johnson to be derived
from the sound of a hunting-horn.

p. 251 _Absalom and Achitophel_. The first part of this great poem was
published, folio, on or a little before 17 November, 1681. A second
edition, quarto, followed during December. The work was anonymous, but
the authorship was never a secret. The second part, mainly from the pen
of Tate, appeared in November, 1682.

p. 254 _lookt Babies_. To look babies is to gaze at the reflection of
one's face in another's eyes. cf. Beaumont, _The Woman Hater_ (1606),
iii, 1:--

_Gondarino_. I cannot think I shall become a coxcomb,
             To ha' my hair curl'd by an idle finger,
             *       *       *       *       *
             Mine eyes look'd babies in.

p. 257 _an old Reckoning_, 4to 1, 1682, reads 'an odde Reckoning'; 4to 2,
1698, reads 'an odd Reckoning'; but 1724 'old' is doubtless correct.

p. 257 _to give us a Song_. Charlotte Butler, who played Charlot,
'proved', says Cibber, 'not only a good actress, but was allowed in those
days, to sing and dance to great perfection. In the dramatic operas of
_Dioclesian_ and _King Arthur_, she was a capital and admired performer.
In speaking too, she had a sweet-toned voice, which, with her naturally
genteel air and sensible pronunciation, rendered her wholly mistress of
the amiable in many serious characters. In parts of humour, too, she had
a manner of blending her assuasive softness, even with the gay, the
lively, and the alluring.' Fletcher's _The Prophetess_ was brought out as
an opera, _Dioclesian_, at Dorset Garden in 1690. Dryden's _King Arthur_,
'a dramatic opera', music by Purcell, was produced in 1691. In the latter
piece Mrs. Butler acted Philidel, an Airy Spirit.

p. 257 _Charl. and <DW2>. dance_. Jevon, who acted Foppington, had
originally been a dancing master. He was famous for his grace and
nimbleness.

p. 259 _Mercury_. The first foreign printed periodical circulating in
England was _Mercurius Gallobelgicus_, a bound book printed in Cologne
and written in Latin. The first number, a thick little octavo of 625
pages, was published in March, 1594, and contained a chronicle of events
from 1588. From this 'newsbook' came the Latin title _Mercurius_, used on
so many of our periodicals. In 1625 was issued the first coranto with a
name, 'printed for Mercurius Britannicus'. The earliest number in
existence is 16, dated 7 April, 1625. Butler (_Hudibras_, II, i. 56)
speaks of

    Mercuries of furthest regions,
    Diurnals writ for regulation
    Of lying, to inform the nation.

p. 259 _flam_, humbug. cf. South's Sermons (1737), II, xii, p. 443.
_Conscience_ (1692). 'All pretences to the contrary are nothing but cant
and cheat, flam and delusion.'

p. 260 _Hackney_. A whore. Cotgrave (1611), _Bringuenaudee_,
a common hackney. Stapylton's _Juvenalls Satyrs_ (1647), III, 76:
--'And hackney-wenches that i' th' _Circus_ stand'. _Hudibras_,
III, i, 811-2:--

    That is no more than every lover
    Does from his hackney-lady suffer.

p. 261 _Twelve was the lucky_. Tom is quoting from _The Happy Night_, a
piece which may be found in Vol. I of the _Works of the Earl of
Rochester_ (1756), and in the early pseudo-Amsterdam editions. The
following note is generally appended: 'The late Duke of Buckinghamshire
was pleased to own himself the Author of this Poem.'

p. 262 _fisking and giggiting. Both these words have practically the same
signification, i.e., to frisk or scamper about heedlessly, cf. _Rules of
Civility_ (1675), in _Antiquary_ (1880):--'Madam ... fisking and
prattling are but ill ways to please.'

To giggit is a very rare verb. _The N.E.D_. only notices it as a modern
U.S.A. colloquialism, quoting _Old Town Folks_ 'While the wagon and uncle
Liakim were heard giggiting away.'

p. 263 _Rakeshame_. A common word for a profligate in the 17th century.
cf. Bishop Montagu, _Diatribae_ (1621), 'Such roysterers and rakeshames
as Mars is manned with.'

p. 269 _whipping Tom_. The use of a whipping boy punished for another's
fault is well known. Barnaby Fitzpatrick served that office for the young
Edward VI, and Mungo Murray for Charles I.

p. 273 _Intelligence_. Newspaper; diurnal. 'Letters of Intelligence' was
an early and common name for a periodical. In 1662 we have _A Monthly
Intelligence Relating the Affaires of the People called Quakers_. No. I,
August--September 1. (The only number.) In 1665, _Publick Intelligence_,
No. i, 28 November, 1665. By Sir Roger L'Estrange. (One number.)

p. 277 _I saw how_. Tom is quoting these four lines from stanza vii of
_The Disappointment_ vide Vol. vi. The same poem, yclept _The
Insensible_, appears in various editions of Rochester's _Works_, and is
attributed to the Earl. _The Disappointment_ is again the title of
another poem which directly precedes _The Insensible_.

p. 278 _Enter Sensure_. cf. Shadwell's _The Miser (1672)_, Act iv, where
Squeeze escaping from Mother Cheatley's house is exposed by being found
to have donned Letrice's red silk stocking in mistake for his own. It is
said that when Shaftesbury's house was searched for incriminating papers
a lady of some little notoriety was found concealed under his bed, p. 281
_the City-Charter_. The Charter of the City of London was broken by the
Crown in 1683. cf. Dryden's _Prologue to the King & Queen ... upon the
Union of the Two Companies _spoken at Drury Lane, 16 November, 1682:--

    When men will needlessly their freedom barter
    For lawless power, sometimes they catch a Tartar;
    (There's a damned word that rhymes to this, call'd Charter.)

p. 282 _Crape-Goivnorums_. Clerics. Bailey (1755) defines crape as a
"sort of thin worsted stuff of which the dress of the clergy is sometimes
made", cf. _Speculum Crape-Gownsorum; or, A Looking-Glass for the young
Academicks (1682)_. An unpublished satire (Harleian MS.), _The
Convocation (1688)_, has:--

    Whole Troops of Crape Gowns with Curtains of Lawn
    In the Pale of the Church together are drawn.

p. 282 _Association_. When Shaftesbury was apprehended and sent to the
Tower in 1681, the project of an "Association" was discovered amongst his
papers. The satire is very mordant here. There is a caustic pasquil
entitled _Massinello, or a Satyr against the Association and the
Guildhall Plot_. Dedicated to the Salamanca (No) Doctor, 1683. Cf.
Dryden's _Prologue to the King and Qucen_, spoken at the opening of their
Theatre, Drury Lane, upon the Union of the Two Companies, 16 November,
1682:--

    How Pennsylvania's air agrees with Quakers,
    And Carolina's with Associators:
    Both e'en too good for madmen and for traitors.

p. 289 _Chitterling_. Originally the smaller intestines of beasts, as of
the pig, but here used as equalling "catgut". A rare example.

p. 290 _Discoverer_. A name given to those who belonged to Titus Oates'
gang and feigned to have knowledge of and discover the Popish Plot.

p. 294 _mump'd_. tricked. Dutch _mompen_ = to cheat. A very common
expression.

p. 296 _Polish Embassador then incognito_? _A Modest Vindication of the
Earl of S----y (1682)_, banters that nobleman by describing how "Polish
Deputies were immediately sent Post incognito with the Imperial Crown and
Sceptre in a Cloak-Bag".

p. 297 _Salamanca_. The abominable Oates, prince of perjurers, feigned to
have taken his degree D.D, at Salamanca, cf. _Crowne's City Politics
(1683)_, Act v, where Crafty says to Dr. Panchy (Oates), "Where did you
take your degree--in Beargarden?' 'In a learned university, Sir,' thunders
the Doctor, to which Crafty retorts, 'I' the University of Coffee-houses,
the University of Lies."

p. 299 _Trincaloes_. In Davenant and Dryden's version of _The Tempest_,
produced with extraordinary success at the Duke's House, 7 November,
1667: or in Shadwell's operatic alteration of Shakespeare produced at
Dorset Garden, 30 April (or very early in May), 1674. The reference is
applicable to either of these two. No sooner has Trincalo chosen Sycorax,
Caliban's sister, as his spouse, than the treacherous Stephano wins the
she-monster for himself, and a battle royal ensues. Cave Underbill,
a famous Gravedigger in _Hamlet_, excelled as Trincalo. p. 299.
_Fop-corner_. One of the corners of the pit nearest the stage much
affected by the gallants and beau critics. There are frequent allusions
in prologues, epilogues and plays, cf. the ballad epilogue to Davenant's
_The Man's the Master_ (produced 26 March, 1668, 4to, 1669):--

    Others are bolder, and never cry, shall I?
      For they make our guards quail
      And'twixt curtain and rail,
    Oft combing their hair, they walk in <DW2>-Alley.


THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS.

p. 305 _To Mrs. Ellen Guin_. This adulatory epistle may be paralleled
with that prefixed by Duffet to his rhyming comedy, _The Spanish Rogue_
(410, 1674). The only other known book beside these two plays dedicated
to Nell Gwynne is a very rare little volume entitled Janua Di'vorum: or
The Lives and Histories of the Heathen Gods, Goddesses, & Demi-Gods, by
Robert Whitcombe, published in 1678, and inscribed to 'The Illustrious
Madam Ellen Guin'. Dr. Johnson's pungent remark to the effect that Dryden
has never been equalled in the hyperbole of flattery except by Aphara
Behn in her address to Nell Gwynne is quoted to triteness. But then at
that time it was the fashion to riot in the wildest extravagances of
compliment. Neither the great laureate nor Astrea must be too harshly
taken to task for their vivid verbal colouring.

p. 306 _two noble Branches_. Charles Beauclerk, Duke of St. Albans, born
8 May, 1670; James Beauclerk, born 25 December, 1671, ob, Septemher,
1680, the two sons of Nell Gwynne by Charles II. There is an exquisitely
voluptuous painting by Gascar, engraved by Masson, of Nell Gwynne on a
bed of roses whilst the two boys as winged amorini support flowing
curtains and draperies. Her royal lover appears in the distance. There is
also a well-known and beautiful painting of the mother and children by
Lely, engraved by Richard Tompson.

p. 307 _Mrs. Currer_. Elizabeth Currer was born in Dublin. When quite a
girl she joined the Duke's Company in 1673, and in a few years, owing to
her beauty and extraordinary spirit, became a prime favourite with the
Town. Amongst her chief recorded parts are: 1677, Mrs. Hadland in The
Counterfeit Bridegroom, January, 1678, Lady Fancy in Mrs. Behn's _Sir
Patient Fancy_; in March, Marcella in _The Feign'd Curtezans_; June of
the same year, Madam Tricklove in D'Urfey's _Squire Oldsapp_. In 1680,
The Queen in Tate's _The Loyal General_, and Jenny Wheedle (Matilda) in
D'Urfey's entertaining comedy _The Virtuous Wife_. In 1681 she created
Ariadne in _The Rover_, Part II. and 'Lady  Elianor Butler, a young lady
of great quality that was one of King Edward's mistresses,' in Crowne's
adaptation of, 2 _Henry VI_, which he dubbed _The Miseries of Civil War_.
1682, Eugenia in Ravenscroft's rollicking _The London Cuckolds_;
(probably) Lady Desbro' in _The Roundheads_; Diana in _The City Heiress_;
Isabella in _The False Count_; and, her greatest role, Aquilina the Greek
light o' love in _Venice Preserv'd_ to the Antonio of Leigh. 'When Leigh
and Mrs. Currer', says Davies, 'performed the parts of doting cully and
rampant courtezan the applause was as loud as the triumphant Tories could
bestow.' Subsequent decades eliminated the intrigue between Nicky Nacky
and the fumbling old senator. The scenes were thought to reek too openly
of the stews, and when indeed they were played for the last time in their
entirety at the express command of George II, then Prince of Wales, with
Pinketham as Antonio and pretty Mrs. Horton Aquilina, the house, in spite
of the high patronage, thought fit to demonstrate their pudicity in a
very audible manner.[1] The critics too, in a somewhat ductile herd, have
modestly decried these same episodes. Otway's comic and satiric powers
have been thoroughly underrated. Taine, however, boldly confessed that
Otway 'like Shakespeare ... found at least once the grand bitter
buffoonery, the harsh sentiment of human baseness', and he demonstrates
that, however odious and painful the episodes of senator and whore may
be, they are true to the uttermost. Even the great nineteenth-century
realist Zola did not disdain to take a hint thence for his chapters in
_Nana_ of the masochist Count Muffat and the 'rampant courtezan'.

[Footnote 1: There was a notable performance of _Venice Preserv'd_ at
Drury Lane, 19 November, 1721, which is perhaps the occasion referred to;
but, as Genest says, after the original performances the role of Aquilina
is not to be found in the play bills. 2 December, 1721, Spiller acted
Antonio at Lincoln's Inn Fields.]

In 1684 Mrs. Currer created Mrs. Featly In Ravenscroft's 'recantation
play', _Dame Dobson_; she was also Sylvia in Otway's last comedy, _The
Atheist_, and Lady Medlar in _The Factious Citizen_. In 1685 she played
Isabella in Tate's farcical _A Duke and no Duke_, and five years later
she is billed as the roystering Widow Ranter in Mrs. Behn's posthumous
comedy of the same name. Her name does not appear after 1690, latterly
her appearances were few, and she seems to have been one of those 'crept
the stage by love'. An unprinted MS. _Satire on the Players_ (1682-3) has
a sharp reference to Betty Currer and cries:--

    Currer 'tis time thou wert to Ireland gone
    Thy utmost Rate is here but Half-a-Crown
    Ask Turner if thou art not fulsome grown.

p. 309 _Silvio, Page to Laura Lucretia_. (Dramatis Personae.) I have
added 'Silvio' to the list of actors as he enters according to the stage
directions, Act i, 1, and elsewhere. Julio in the same scene refers to
him, and Laura Lucretia several times addresses him during the play. Act
ii, 1, &c. In Act v, however, he is manifestly confused with Sabina.
Laura gives Silvio certain instructions, he approaches Galliard, and his
lines have speech-prefix 'Sab.' In the following scene the direction is
'enter Silvio' and his speech is given to Sabina, Laura moreover
addressing him as Sabina. I have no doubt that this confusion existed in
Mrs. Behn's MS.

p. 315 _Medices Villa_. The Villa Medici was erected in 1540 by Annibale
Lippi. The gardens are famous for their beauty. From the avenue of
evergreen-oaks with a fountain before the Villa can be obtained a
celebrated view of St. Peter's.

p. 317 _I may chance to turn her_. Mr. Tickletext was much of the opinion
of the celebrated casuist Bauny, who, in his _Theologia Moralis_,
tractatus iv, _De Poenitentia_, quaestio 14, writes: 'Licitum est
cuilibet lupanar ingredi ad odium peccati ingerendum meretricibus, etsi
metus sit, et vero etiam verisimilitudo non parva se peccaturum eo quod
malo suo saepe sit expertus, blandis se muliercularum sermonibus flecci
solitum ad libidinem.'

p. 319 _Amorous Twire_. Twire--a sly, saucy glance; a leer. cf.
Etheridge's _The Man of Mode_ (1676), Act iii, III, _Harriet_. 'I
abominate ... the affected smiles, the silly By-words, and amorous Tweers
in passing.' The verb 'to twire' occurs in Shakespeare's _Sonnets_,
xxviii, 12, and frequently elsewhere.

p. 320 _Hogan-Mogan_. A popular corruption, or rather perversion, of
the Dutch _Hoogmogend-heiden_, 'High Mightinesses', the title of the
States-General. In a transferred manner it is used as a humorous or
Contemptuous adjective of those affecting grandeur and show; 'high and
mighty.' The phrase is common. Needham, _Mercurius Pragmaticus_, No. 7
(1648), speaks of the 'Hogan Mogan States of Westminster'. Tom Brown
(1704), _Works_ (1760), Vol. IV, lashes 'hogan-mogan generals'.

p. 330 _Pusilage_. French _pucelage_; virginity; maidenhead. 1724 reading
'pupilage' misses the whole point and comes near making nonsense of the
passage. cf. Otway's _The Poets Complaint of his Muse_ (4to, 1680), v-vi:

    No pair so happy as my Muse and I.
    Ne'er was young lover half so fond,
    When first his pusilage he lost;
    Or could of half my pleasure boast.

p. 322 _Back-Sword_. A sword with a cutting edge; or single-stick (with a
basket hilt).

p. 322 _Parades_. 'The lessons defensive are commonly called the
parades'.--Sir W. Hope's _Compleat Fencing Master_ (2nd edition, 1692).

p. 322 _Degagements_. Andre Wernesson, Sieur de Liancour, in chap. v of
_Le Maistre d' Armes_ (1686), treats 'des Degagements' in some detail.
Hope defines 'Caveating or Dis-engaging' as 'the slipping of your
Adversaries' sword when it is going to _bind_ or secure yours'.

p. 322 _Advancements_. Advancings. 'A man is said to _Approach_ or
_Advance_ when being out of his adversaries' reach or at a pretty
distance from him he cometh nearer to him'.--Hope, _Compleat Fencing
Master_.

p. 322 _Eloynements_. To elonge 'is to Streatch forward one's right Arm
and Legg and to keep a close left Foot. This a Man doth when he giveth a
Thrust, and when he doth it he is said to make an _Elogne_'
(Eloynements).--Hope, _New Method of Fencing_, chap. iv, XI (2nd edition,
1714), deals in detail with 'Elonging, or making an Elonge'.

p. 322 _Retierments_. Retreats or Retirings are very fully described in
Liancour's _Le Maistre d' Armes_, chap. iv. 'A Man is said to Retire when
being within his Adversaries' reach he goeth out of it either by stepping
or jumping backwards from his Adversary upon a Straight Line'.--Hope,
_Compleat Fencing Master_ (2nd edition, 1692).

p. 322 _St. George's Guard_. 'A guard of the broadsword or sabre used in
warding off blows directed against the head'.--C. James, _Military
Dictionary_ (1802).

p. 322 _Flurette_. or Fluret. A fencing foil. Hope, _New Method of
Fencing_ (1714), chap, vii says: '[The Fencing-Master] ought to ... begin
his Scholars with Fleurets'.

p. 323 _Ajax and Ulysses contending for Achilles his armour?_

    Bella mouet clypeus: deque armis anna feruntur.
    Non ea Tydides, non audet Oileos Aiax,
    Non minor Atrides, non bello maior et aeuo
    Poscere non alii: soli Telamone creato
    Laeertaque fuit tantae fiducia laudis.--Ovid: _Metamorphoscon_.

xii, 621-5. Book xiii commences with a description of the contest of Ajax
(Telamonis) and Ulysses for the arms of the dead Achilles. They were
awarded to the prince of Ithaca.

p. 324 _Clouterlest_. Clumsiest. E. Phillips, _Theatrum Poetarum_, speaks
of Spenser's 'rough hewn clouterly verses'. cf. _Pamela_, Vol. I, p. 112
(1741), 'some clouterly ploughboy'.

p. 338 _Rosemary_. 'There's rosemary, that's for remembrance'. Hamlet,
iv, v.

p. 340 _Docity_. Gumption. A favourite word with Mrs. Behn. cf. _The
False Count_, ii, 11. _Guill_. 'I thank heaven I have docity', and
elsewhere,

p. 341 _Julio_. Guilio, a silver coin worth 6_d_. It was first struck by
Pope Julius II (1503-13), hence its name.

p. 346 _The hour of the Berjere_. L'heure du berger ou l'amant trouve
celle qu'il aime favorable a ses voeux. cf. La Fontaine, _Contes. La
Coupe Enchantee_. 'Il y fait bon, l'heure du berger sonne.' It is a
favourite expression of Mrs. Behn. cf. _Sir Patient Fancy_, Act i, l.
'From Ten to Twelve are the happy hours of the Bergere, those of intire
enjoyment.' Also the charming conclusion of _The Lover s Watch_:--

    Damon, my watch is just and new:
    And all a Lover ought to do,
    My Cupid faithfully will show.
    And ev'ry hour he renders there
    Except _l'heure du Bergere_.

p. 352 _Knox, or Cartwright_. The allusion here is to the Scotch reformer
and the Puritan divine, whose weighty tomes Tickletext might be supposed
to carry with him for propagandist purposes. Fillamour has already
rallied him on his Spartan orthodoxy, and anon we find the worthy
chaplain hot at the 'great work of conversion'. It has been ingeniously
suggested that a reference is intended to _The Preacher's Travels_ of
John Cartwright of Magdalen, Oxford, a book first published in 1611, and
afterwards reprinted.

p. 353 _St. James's of the Incurables_. The church of S. Giacomo and the
adjacent Ospedale stand at the corner of the Via S. Giacomo, which leads
from the Corso towards the river.

p. 378 _cogging_. To cog is to trick, to cheat. A word in common use.

p. 384 _like to like_.... A very old proverbial saying. The humours of
Grim the collier are introduced by Ulpian Fulwell into his morality,
_Like Will to Like_ (1561). cf. The amusing anonymous comedy, _Grim, the
Collier of Croydon_ (1600), with its major plot of the Belphegor story.

p. 384 _smoke_. To detect. cf. _All's Well That Ends Well_, iii, 6. 'He
was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu.'


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End of Project Gutenberg's The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. II, by Aphra Behn

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