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  [Transcriber's Note:

  "The Rover" Parts I and II are separate plays. Part II is a sequel.

  In transcriptions of original documents, letters printed as
  superscripts are shown in braces { }. Descriptions of illustrations
  are given in parentheses ( ).

  In the original book, all Notes were printed in a block at the end
  of the volume. For this e-text they have been divided among their
  respective plays, retaining the distinction between "Notes on the
  Text" and "Notes: Critical and Explanatory". Errors and anomalies are
  similarly listed at the end of the section in which they are found:
  the General Introduction and each of the four plays. Relevant
  Transcriber's Notes are repeated at the beginning of each section.

  Students should note that the editorial material (1915) is sometimes
  significantly at variance with current (2007) Behn scholarship.]




    [Illustration: (Portrait of Aphra Behn)]




                   THE WORKS

                       of

                   APHRA BEHN


                   Edited by
                MONTAGUE SUMMERS

                     VOL. I

  The Rover (Part I); or, The Banish'd Cavaliers
  The Rover (Part II); or, The Banish'd Cavaliers
  The Dutch Lover
  The Round-Heads; or, The Good Old Cause


       [Illustration: (Publisher's Device)]

           LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
        STRATFORD-ON-AVON: A. H. BULLEN
                     MCMXV




  To Francis James,
  this the first collected edition of
  Aphra Behn.




CONTENTS.
                                                        Page

  Preface                                               xiii
  Introduction                                            xv
  The Rover (Part I); or, The Banish'd Cavaliers           1
  The Rover (Part II); or, The Banish'd Cavaliers        109
  The Dutch Lover                                        215
  The Roundheads; or, The Good Old Cause                 331
  Notes                                                  427




PREFACE.


It is perhaps not altogether easy to appreciate the multiplicity of
difficulties with which the first editor of Mrs. Behn has to cope. Not
only is her life strangely mysterious and obscure, but the rubbish of
half-a-dozen romancing biographers must needs be cleared away before we
can even begin to see daylight. Matter which had been for two centuries
accepted on seemingly the soundest authority is proven false; her family
name itself was, until my recent discovery, wrongly given; the very
question of her portrait has its own vexed (and until now unrecognized)
dilemmas. In fine there seems no point connected with our first
professional authoress which did not call for the nicest investigation
and the most incontrovertible proof before it could be accepted without
suspicion or reserve. The various collections of her plays and novels
which appeared in the first half of the eighteenth century give us
nothing; nay, they rather cumber our path with the trash of discredited
_Memoirs_. Pearson's reprint (1871) is entirely valueless: there is no
attempt, however meagre, at editing, no effort to elucidate a single
allusion; moreover, several of the Novels-- and the Poems in their
entirety-- are lacking. I am happy to give (Vol. V) one of the Novels,
and that not the least important, _The History of the Nun_, for the
first time in any collected edition. Poems, in addition to those which
appeared in Mrs. Behn's lifetime, and were never reprinted after, have
been gathered with great care from many sources (of which some were
almost forgotten).

It is hoped that this new issue of Mrs. Behn may prove adequate. Any
difficulties in the editing have been more than amply compensated for by
the interest shown by many friends. Foremost, my best thanks are due to
Mr. Bullen, whose life-long experience of the minutiae of editing our
best dramatic literature, has been ungrudgingly at my service
throughout, to the no small advantage of myself and my work. Mr. Edmund
Gosse, C.B., has shown the liveliest interest in the book from its
inception, and I owe him most grateful recognition for his kindly
encouragement and aid. Nay, more, he did not spare to lend me treasured
items from his library so rich in first, and boasting unique, editions
of Mrs. Behn. Mr. G. Thorn Drury, K.C., never wearied of answering my
enquiries, and in discussion solved many a knotty point. To him I am
obliged for the transcript of Mrs. Behn's letter to Waller's
daughter-in-law, and also the Satire on Dryden. He even gave of his
valuable time to read through the Memoir and from the superabundance of
his knowledge made suggestions of the first importance. The unsurpassed
library of Mr. T. J. Wise, the well-known bibliographer, was freely at
my disposal. In other cases where I have received any assistance in
clearing a difficulty I have made my acknowledgement in the note itself.




MEMOIR OF MRS. BEHN.


The personal history of Aphra Behn, the first Englishwoman to earn her
livelihood by authorship, is unusually interesting but very difficult to
unravel and relate. In dealing with her biography writers at different
periods have rushed headlong to extremes, and we now find that the
pendulum has swung to its fullest stretch. On the one hand, we have
prefixed to a collection of the _Histories and Novels_, published in
1696, 'The Life of Mrs. Behn written by one of the Fair Sex',
a frequently reprinted (and even expanded) compilation crowded with
romantic incidents that savour all too strongly of the Italian novella,
with sentimental epistolography and details which can but be accepted
cautiously and in part. On the other there have recently appeared two
revolutionary essays by Dr. Ernest Bernbaum of Harvard, 'Mrs. Behn's
_Oroonoko_', first printed in _Kittredge Anniversary Papers_, 1913;
and-- what is even more particularly pertinent-- 'Mrs. Behn's Biography
a Fiction,' _Publications of the Modern Language Association of
America_, xxviii, 3: both afterwards issued as separate pamphlets, 1913.
In these, the keen critical sense of the writer has apparently been so
jarred by the patent incongruities, the baseless fiction, nay, the very
fantasies (such as the fairy pavilion seen floating upon the Channel),
which, imaginative and invented flotsam that they are, accumulated and
were heaped about the memory of Aphra Behn, that he is apt to regard
almost every record outside those of her residence at Antwerp[1] with a
suspicion which is in many cases surely unwarranted and undue. Having
energetically cleared away the more peccant rubbish, Dr. Bernbaum
became, it appears to us, a little too drastic, and had he then
discriminated rather than swept clean, we were better able wholly to
follow the conclusions at which he arrives. He even says that after
'1671'[2] when 'she began to write for the stage ... such meagre
contemporary notices as we find of her are critical rather than
biographical'. This is a very partial truth; from extant letters,[3] to
which Dr. Bernbaum does not refer, we can gather much of Mrs. Behn's
literary life and circumstances. She was a figure of some note, and even
if we had no other evidence it seems impossible that her contemporaries
should have glibly accepted the fiction of a voyage to Surinam and a
Dutch husband named Behn who had never existed.

  [Footnote 1: _Kalendar of State Papers, Domestic_, 1666-7. --ed. Mrs.
  M. A. E. Green (1864).]

  [Footnote 2: This is inaccurate. Mrs. Behn's first play, _The Forc'd
  Marriage_, was produced in December, 1670.]

  [Footnote 3: e.g. to Waller's daughter-in-law; to Tonson. cf. also
  the Warrant of 12 August, 1682; the Pindaric to Burnet, &c.]

Ayfara, or Aphara[4] (Aphra), Amis or Amies, the daughter of John and
Amy Amis or Amies, was baptized together with her brother Peter in the
Parish Church of SS. Gregory and Martin, Wye, 10 July, 1640, presumably
by Ambrose Richmore, curate of Wye at that date.[5] Up to this time
Aphra's maiden name has been stated to be Johnson, and she is asserted
to have been the daughter of a barber, John Johnson. That the name was
not Johnson (an ancient error) is certain from the baptismal register,
wherein, moreover, the 'Quality, Trade, or Profession' is left blank;
that her father was a barber rests upon no other foundation than a MS.
note of Lady Winchilsea.[6] Mr. Gosse, in a most valuable article
(_Athenaeum_, 6 September, 1884), was the first to correct the statement
repeatedly made that Mrs. Behn came from 'the City of Canterbury in
Kent'. He tells how he acquired a folio volume containing the MS. poems
of Anne, Countess of Winchilsea,[7] 'copied about 1695 under her eye and
with innumerable notes and corrections in her autograph'. In a certain
poem entitled _The Circuit of Apollo_[8] the following lines occur:--

    And standing where sadly he now might descry
    From the banks of the Stowre the desolate Wye,
    He lamented for Behn, o'er that place of her birth,
    And said amongst Women there was not on the earth,
    Her superior in fancy, in language, or witt,
    Yet own'd that a little too loosely she writt.

  [Footnote 4: Aphra now appears on Mrs. Behn's gravestone, and is
  the accepted form. This is, however, in all probability the third
  inscription. _The Antiquities of Westminster_ (1711), quoting the
  inscription, gives Aphara. Sometime in the eighteenth century a
  certain Thomas Waine restored the inscription and added to the two
  lines two more:--
    Great Poetess, O thy stupendous lays
    The world admires and the Muses praise.
  The name was then Aphara. The _Biog. Brit._, whilst insisting on
  Aphara as correct and citing the stone as evidence, none the less
  prints Apharra. Her works usually have Mrs. A. Behn. One Quarto
  misprints 'Mrs. Anne Behn'. There are, of course, many variants of
  the name. Afara, and Afra are common. Oldys in his MS. notes on
  Langbaine writes Aphra or Aphora, whilst the _Muses Mercury_,
  September, 1707, has a special note upon a poem by Mrs. Behn to say
  'this Poetess' true Name was Apharra.' Even Aphaw (Behen, in the
  1682 warrant,) and Fyhare (in a petition) occur.]

  [Footnote 5: He died in 1642.]

  [Footnote 6: The Vicar of Wye, the Rev. Edgar Lambert, in answer to
  my inquiries courteously writes: 'In company with Mr. C. S. Orwin,
  whose book, _The History of Wye Church and College_, has just been
  published, I have closely examined the register and find no mention
  of "Johnson", nor of the fact that Aphara Amis' father was a
  "barber".']

  [Footnote 7: Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea (1660-1720),
  sometime Maid of Honour to Queen Mary of Modena. She had true
  lyric genius. For a generous appreciation see Gosse, _Gossip in a
  Library_ (1891).]

  [Footnote 8: Then unprinted but now included in the very voluminous
  edition of Lady Winchilsea's _Poems_, ed. M. Reynolds, Chicago,
  1903.]

To these is appended this note: 'Mrs. Behn was Daughter to a Barber, who
liv'd formerly in Wye, a little Market Town (now much decay'd) in Kent.
Though the account of her life before her Works pretends otherwise; some
Persons now alive Do testify upon their Knowledge that to be her
Original.' It is a pity that whilst the one error concerning Aphra's
birthplace is thus remedied, the mistake as to the nature of her
father's calling should have been initiated.

Aphra Amis, then, was born early in July, 1640, at Wye, Kent. When she
was of a tender age the Amis family left England for Surinam; her
father, who seems to have been a relative of Francis, Lord Willoughby of
Parham, sometime administrator of several British colonies in the West
Indies, having been promised a post of some importance in these
dependencies. John Amis died on the voyage out, but his widow and
children necessarily continued their journey, and upon their arrival
were accommodated at St. John's Hill, one of the best houses in the
district. Her life and adventures in Surinam Aphra has herself
realistically told in that wonderfully vivid narrative, _Oroonoko_. [9]
The writer's bent had already shown itself. She kept a journal as many
girls will, she steeped herself in the interminable romances fashionable
at that time, in the voluminous _Pharamond_, _Cleopatre_, _Cassandre_,
_Ibrahim_, and, above all, _Le Grand Cyrus_, so loved and retailed to
the annoyance of her worthy husband by Mrs. Pepys; with a piece of which
Dorothy Osborne was 'hugely pleased'.

  [Footnote 9: In 'Mrs. Behn's _Oroonoko_' Dr. Bernbaum elaborately
  endeavours to show that this story is pure fiction. His arguments,
  in many cases advanced with no little subtlety and precision, do not
  appear (to me at least) to be convincing. We have much to weigh in
  the contrary balance: Mrs. Behn's manifest first-hand knowledge of,
  and extraordinary interest in, colonial life; her reiterated
  asseverations that every experience detailed in this famous novel is
  substantially true; the assent of all her contemporaries. It must
  further be remembered that Aphra was writing in 1688, of a girlhood
   by and seen through the enchanted mists of a quarter of a
  century. That there are slight discrepancies is patent; the
  exaggerations, however, are not merely pardonable but perfectly
  natural. One of Dr. Bernbaum's most crushing arguments, when sifted,
  seems to resolve itself into the fact that whilst writing _Oroonoko_
  Mrs. Behn evidently had George Warren's little book, _An Impartial
  Description of Surinam_ (London, 1667), at hand. Could anything be
  more reasonable than to suppose she would be intimately acquainted
  with a volume descriptive of her girlhood's home? Again, Dr.
  Bernbaum bases another line of argument on the assumption that Mrs.
  Behn's father was a barber. Hence the appointment of such a man to
  an official position in Surinam was impossible, and, 'if Mrs. Behn's
  father was not sent to Surinam, the only reason she gives for being
  there disappears'. We know from recent investigation that John Amis
  did not follow a barber's trade, but was probably of good old stock.
  Accordingly, the conclusions drawn by Dr. Bernbaum from this point
  cannot now be for a moment maintained.]

It was perhaps from the reading of La Calprenede and Mlle de Scuderi
Aphra gained that intimate knowledge of French which served her well and
amply in after years during her literary life; at any rate she seems
early to have realized her dramatic genius and to have begun a play
drawn from one of the most interesting episodes in _Cleopatre_, the love
story of the Scythian King Alcamene, scenes which, when they had
'measured three thousand leagues of spacious ocean', were, nearly a
quarter of a century later, to be taken out of her desk and worked up
into a baroque and fanciful yet strangely pleasing tragi-comedy, _The
Young King_.

In Surinam she witnessed the fortunes and fate of the Royal Slave,
Oroonoko, of whom she writes (with all due allowance for pardonable
exaggeration and purely literary touches), so naturally and feelingly,
that 'one of the Fair Sex' with some acerbity makes it her rather
unnecessary business to clear Aphra from any suspicion of a liaison. It
was Surinam which supplied the cognate material for the vivid comedy,
the broad humour and early colonial life, photographic in its realism,
of _The Widow Ranter; or, The History of Bacon in Virginia_. Mistakes
there may be, errors and forgetfulness, but there are a thousand touches
which only long residence and keen observation could have so deftly
characterized.

We now approach a brief yet important period in Mrs. Behn's life, which
unless we are content to follow (with an acknowledged diffidence and due
reservations) the old Memoir and scattered tradition, we find ourselves
with no sure means whatsoever of detailing. It seems probable, however,
that about the close of 1663, owing no doubt to the Restoration and the
subsequent changes in affairs, the Amis family returned to England,
settling in London, where Aphra, meeting a merchant of Dutch extraction
named Behn, so fascinated him by her wit and comeliness that he offered
her his hand and fortune. During her married life she is said to have
been in affluence, and even to have appeared at the gay licentious
Court, attracting the notice of and amusing the King himself by her
anecdotes and cleverness of repartee; but when her husband died, not
impossibly of the plague in the year of mortality, 1665, she found
herself helpless, without friends or funds. In her distress it was to
the Court she applied for assistance; and owing to her cosmopolitan
experience and still more to the fact that her name was Dutch, and that
she had been by her husband brought into close contact with the Dutch,
she was selected as a meet political agent to visit Holland and there be
employed in various secret and semi-official capacities. The
circumstance that her position and work could never be openly recognized
nor acknowledged by the English government was shortly to involve her in
manifold difficulties, pecuniary and otherwise, which eventually led to
her perforce abandoning so unstable and unsatisfactory a commission.

In the old _History of the Life and Memoirs of Mrs. Behn_ (1696; and
with additions 1698, &c.), ushered into the world by Charles Gildon,
a romance full as amorous and sensational as any novel of the day, has
been woven about her sojourn at Antwerp. A 'Spark whom we must call by
the name of _Vander Albert_ of _Utrecht_' is given to Aphra as a fervent
lover, and from him she obtains political secrets to be used to the
English advantage. He has a rival, an antique yclept Van Bruin, 'a
_Hogen Mogen_ ... _Nestorean_' admirer, and the intrigue becomes fast
and furious. On one occasion Albert, imagining he is possessing his
mistress, is cheated with a certain Catalina; and again when he has
bribed an ancient duenna to admit him to Aphra's bed, he is surprised
there by a frolicsome gallant. [10] There are even included five letters
from Mrs. Behn and a couple of ridiculous effusions purporting to be Van
Bruin's. It would seem that all this pure fiction, the sweepings of
Aphra's desk, was intended by her to have been worked up into a novel;
both letters and narrative are too good to be the unaided composition of
Gildon himself, but possibly Mrs. Behn in her after life may have
elaborated and told him these erotic episodes to conceal the squalor and
misery of the real facts of her early Dutch mission. It is proved indeed
in aim and circumstance to have been far other.

  [Footnote 10: Both these incidents are the common property of
  Italian novelle and our own stage. Although not entirely
  impossible, they would appear highly suspicious in any connection.]

Her chief business was to establish an intimacy with William Scott, son
of Thomas Scott, the regicide who had been executed 17 October, 1660.
This William, who had been made a fellow of All Souls by the
Parliamentary Visitors of Oxford, and graduated B.C.L. 4 August, 1648,
was quite ready to become a spy in the English service and to report on
the doings of the English exiles who were not only holding treasonable
correspondence with traitors at home and plotting against the King, but
even joining with the Dutch foe to injure their native land. Scott was
extremely anxious for his own pardon and, in addition, eager to earn any
money he could.

Aphra then, taking with her some forty pounds in cash, all she had, set
sail with Sir Anthony Desmarces [11] either at the latter end of July
or early in August, 1666, and on 16 August she writes from Antwerp
to say she has had an interview with William Scott (dubbed in her
correspondence Celadon), even having gone so far as to take coach and
ride a day's journey to see him secretly. Though at first diffident, he
is very ready to undertake the service, only it will be necessary for
her to enter Holland itself and reside on the spot, not in Flanders, as
Colonel Bampfield, who was looked upon as head of the exiled English at
the Hague, watched Scott with most jealous care and a growing suspicion.
Aphra, whose letters give a vivid picture of the spy's life with its
risks and impecuniosity, addresses herself to two correspondents, Tom
Killigrew and James Halsall, cupbearer to the King.

  [Footnote 11: He was at Margate 25 July, and at Bruges 7 August.]

On 27 August she was still at Antwerp, and William Scott wrote to
her there but did not venture to say much lest the epistle might
miscarry. He asks for a cypher, a useful and indeed necessary precaution
in so difficult circumstances. It was about this time that Mrs. Behn
began to employ the name of Astrea, which, having its inception in a
political code, was later to be generally used by her and recognized
throughout the literary world. Writing to Halsall, she says that she has
been unable to effect anything, but she urgently demands that money be
sent, and confesses she has been obliged even to pawn her ring to pay
messengers. On 31 August she writes to Killigrew declaring she can get
no answer from Halsall, and explaining that she has twice had to
disburse Scott's expenses, amounting in all to L20, out of her own
pocket, whilst her personal debts total another L25 or L30, and living
itself is ten guilders a day. If she is to continue her work
satisfactorily, L80 at least will be needed to pay up all her creditors;
moreover, as a preliminary and a token of good faith, Scott's official
pardon must be forwarded without compromise or delay. Scott himself was,
it seems, playing no easy game at this juncture, for a certain Carney,
resident at Antwerp, 'an unsufferable, scandalous, lying, prating
fellow', piqued at not being able to ferret out the intrigue, had gone
so far as to molest poor Celadon and threaten him with death, noising up
and down meanwhile the fact of his clandestine rendezvous with Aphra.
No money, however, was forthcoming from England, and on 4 September Mrs.
Behn writing again to Killigrew tells him plainly that she is reduced to
great straits, and unless funds are immediately provided all her work
will be nugatory and vain. The next letter, dated 14 September, gives
Halsall various naval information. On 17 September she is obliged to
importune Killigrew once more on the occasion of sending him a letter
from Scott dealing with political matters. Halsall, she asserts, will
not return any answer, and although she is only in private lodgings she
is continually being thwarted and vilipended by Carney, 'whose tongue
needs clipping'. Four days later she transmits a five page letter from
Scott to Halsall. On 25 September she sends under cover yet another
letter from Scott with the news of De Ruyter's illness. Silence was her
only answer. Capable and indeed ardent agent as she was, there can be no
excuse for her shameful, nay, criminal, neglect at the hands of the
government she was serving so faithfully and well. Her information[12]
seems to have been received with inattention and disregard; whether it
was that culpable carelessness which wrecked so many a fair scheme in
the second Charles' days, or whether secret enemies at home steadfastly
impeded her efforts remains an open question. In any case on 3 November
she sends a truly piteous letter to Lord Arlington, Secretary of State,
and informs him she is suffering the extremest want and penury. All her
goods are pawned, Scott is in prison for debt, and she herself seems on
the point of going to the common gaol. The day after Christmas Aphra
wrote to Lord Arlington for the last time. She asks for a round L100 as
delays have naturally doubled her expenses and she has had to obtain
credit. Now she is only anxious to return home, and she declares that if
she did not so well know the justness of her cause and complaint, she
would be stark wild with her hard treatment. Scott, she adds, will soon
be free.[13] Even this final appeal obtained no response, and at
length-- well nigh desperate-- Mrs. Behn negotiated in England, from a
certain Edward Butler, a private loan of some L150 which enabled her to
settle her affairs and start for home in January, 1667.

  [Footnote 12: There do not appear to be any grounds for the
  oft-repeated assertions that Mrs. Behn communicated the
  intelligence when the Dutch were planning an attack (afterwards
  carried out) on the Thames and Medway squadrons, and that her
  warning was scoffed at.]

  [Footnote 13: Had he been imprisoned for political reasons it is
  impossible that there should have been so speedy a prospect of
  release.]

But the chapter of her troubles was by no means ended. Debt weighed like
a millstone round her neck. As the weary months went by and Aphra was
begging in vain for her salary, long overdue, to be paid, Butler,
a harsh, dour man with heart of stone, became impatient and resorted to
drastic measures, eventually flinging her into a debtor's prison. There
are extant three petitions, undated indeed, but which must be referred
to the early autumn of 1668, from Mrs. Behn to Charles II. Sadly
complaining of two years' bitter sufferings, she prays for an order to
Mr. May[14] or Mr. Chiffinch[15] to satisfy Butler, who declares he will
stop at nothing if he is not paid within a week. In a second document
she sets out the reasons for her urgent claim of L150. Both Mr. Halsall
and Mr. Killigrew know how justly it is her due, and she is hourly
threatened with an execution. To this is annexed a letter from the poor
distracted woman to Killigrew, which runs as follows:--

  Sr.

  if you could guess at the affliction of my soule you would I am sure
  Pity me 'tis to morrow that I must submitt my self to a Prison the
  time being expird & though I indeauerd all day yesterday to get a
  ffew days more I can not because they say they see I am dallied w{th}
  all & so they say I shall be for euer: so I can not reuoke my doome
  I haue cryd myself dead & could find in my hart to break through all
  & get to y{e} king & neuer rise till he weare pleasd to pay this; but
  I am sick & weake & vnfitt for yt; or a Prison; I shall go to
  morrow: But I will send my mother to y{e} king w{th} a Pitition for I
  see euery body are words: & I will not perish in a Prison from
  whence he swears I shall not stirr till y{e} uttmost farthing be
  payd: & oh god, who considers my misery & charge too, this is my
  reward for all my great promises, & my indeauers. Sr if I have not
  the money to night you must send me som thing to keepe me in Prison
  for I will not starue.

      A. Behn.

  Endorsed:

    For Mr. Killigrew this.

  [Footnote 14: Baptist May, Esq. (1629-98), Keeper of the Privy
  Purse.]

  [Footnote 15: William Chiffinch, confidential attendant and pimp to
  Charles II.]

    [Illustration: (Letter transcribed in body text)]

There was no immediate response however, even to this pathetic and
heart-broken appeal, and in yet a third petition she pleads that she may
not be left to suffer, but that the L150 be sent forthwith to Edward
Butler, who on Lord Arlington's declaring that neither order nor money
had been transmitted, threw her straightway into gaol.

It does not seem, however, that her imprisonment was long. Whether
Killigrew, of whom later she spoke in warm and admiring terms, touched
at last, bestirred himself on her behalf and rescued her from want and
woe, whether Mrs. Amy Amis won a way to the King, whether help came by
some other path, is all uncertain. In any case the debt was duly paid,
and Aphra Behn not improbably received in addition some compensation for
the hardships she had undergone.

'The rest of her Life was entirely dedicated to Pleasure and Poetry; the
Success in which gain'd her the Acquaintance and Friendship of the most
Sensible Men of the Age, and the Love of not a few of different
Characters; for tho' a Sot have no Portion of Wit of his own, he yet,
like old Age, covets what he cannot enjoy.'

More than dubious and idly romancing as the early _Memoirs_ are,
nevertheless this one sentence seems to sum up the situation thenceforth
pretty aptly, if in altogether too general terms. Once extricated from
these main difficulties Mrs. Behn no doubt took steps to insure that she
should not, if it lay in her power, be so situated again. I would
suggest, indeed, that about this period, 1669, she accepted the
protection of some admirer. Who he may have been at first, how many more
there were than one, how long the various amours endured, it is idle to
speculate. She was for her period as thoroughly unconventional as many
another woman of letters has been since in relation to later times and
manners, as unhampered and free as her witty successor, Mrs. de la
Riviere Manley, who lived for so long as Alderman Barber's kept mistress
and died in his house. Mrs. Behn has given us poetic pseudonyms for
many of her lovers, Lycidas, Lysander, Philaster, Amintas, Alexis,
and the rest, but these extended over many years, and attempts at
identification, however interesting, are fruitless.[16]

  [Footnote 16: Amintas repeatedly stands for John Hoyle. In _Our
  Cabal_, however (_vide_ Vol. VI, p. 160), Hoyle is dubbed
  Lycidas.]

There has been no more popular mistake, nor yet one more productive, not
merely of nonsense and bad criticism but even of actual malice and evil,
than the easy error of confounding an author with the characters he
creates. Mrs. Behn has not been spared. Some have superficially argued
from the careless levity of her heroes: the Rover, Cayman, Wittmore,
Wilding, Frederick; and again from the delightful insouciance of Lady
Fancy, Queen Lucy, and the genteel coquette Mirtilla, or the torrid
passions of Angelica Bianca, Miranda and la Nuche; that Aphra herself
was little better, in fact a great deal worse, than a common prostitute,
and that her works are undiluted pornography.

In her own day, probably for reasons purely political, a noisy clique
assailed her on the score of impropriety; a little later came Pope with
his jaded couplet

    The stage how loosely does Astrea tread
    Who fairly puts all characters to bed;

and the attack was reinforced by an anecdote of Sir Walter Scott and
some female relative who, after having insisted upon the great novelist
lending her Mrs. Behn, found the _Novels_ and _Plays_ too loose for her
perusal, albeit in the heyday of the lady's youth they had been popular
enough. As one might expect, Miss Julia Kavanagh, in the mid-Victorian
era[17] (_English Women of Letters_ 1863), is sad and sorry at having to
mention Mrs. Behn-- 'Even if her life remained pure,[18] it is amply
evident her mind was "tainted to the very core. Grossness was congenial
to her.... Mrs. Behn's indelicacy was useless and worse than useless,
the superfluous addition of a corrupt mind and vitiated taste".' One can
afford to smile at and ignore these modest outbursts, but it is strange
to find so sound and sane a critic as Dr. Doran writing of Aphra Behn as
follows: 'No one equalled this woman in downright nastiness save
Ravenscroft and Wycherley.... With Dryden she vied in indecency and was
not overcome.... She was a mere harlot, who danced through uncleanness
and dared them [the male dramatists] to follow.' Again, we have that she
was 'a wanton hussy'; her 'trolloping muse' shamefacedly 'wallowed in
the mire'; but finally the historian is bound to confess 'she was never
dull'.

  [Footnote 17: _The Retrospective Review_, however (Vol. I, November,
  1852), has an article, 'Mrs. Behn's Dramatic Writings,' which
  warmly praises her comedies. The writer very justly observes that
  'they exhibit a brilliance of conversation in the dialogue, and a
  skill in arranging the plot and producing striking situations, in
  which she has few equals.' He frequently insists upon her 'great
  skill in conducting the intrigue of her pieces', and with no little
  acumen declares that 'her comedies may be cited as the most perfect
  models of the drama of the latter half of the seventeenth century.']

  [Footnote 18: Which it certainly was not secundum mid-Victorian
  morals.]

The morality of her plays is _au fond_ that of many a comedy of to-day:
that the situations and phrasing in which she presents her amorous
intrigues and merry cuckoldoms do not conform with modern exposition of
these themes we also show yet would not name, is but our surface gloss
of verbal reticence; we hint, point, and suggest, where she spoke out
broad words, frank and free; the _motif_ is one and the same. If we
judge Mrs. Behn's dramatic output in the only fair way by comparing it
legitimately with the theatre of her age, we simply shall not find that
superfluity of naughtiness the critics lead us to expect and deplore.
There are not infrequent scenes of Dryden, of Wycherley, of Vanbrugh,
Southerne, Otway, Ravenscroft, Shadwell, D'Urfey, Crowne, full as daring
as anything Aphra wrote; indeed, in some instances, far more wanton.
Particularizing, it has been objected that although in most Restoration
comedies the hero, however vicious (even such a mad scrapegrace as
Dryden's Woodall), is decently noosed up in wedlock when the curtain is
about to fall, Mrs. Behn's Willmore (_Rover II_), Gayman (_The Lucky
Chance_), Wittmore (_Sir Patient Fancy_) end up without a thought of,
save it be jest at, the wedding ring. But even this freedom can be amply
paralleled. In the Duke of Buckingham's clever alteration of _The
Chances_ (1682), we have Don John pairing off with the second Constantia
without a hint of matrimony; we have the intrigue of Bellmour and
Laetitia in Congreve's _The Old Bachelor_ (1693), the amours of Horner
in _The Country Wife_ (1675), of Florio and Artall in Crowne's _City
Politics_ (1683), and many another beside. As for the cavilling crew who
carped at her during her life Mrs. Behn has answered them and she was
thoroughly competent so to do. Indeed, as she somewhat tartly remarked
to Otway on the occasion of certain prudish dames pleasing to take
offence at _The Soldier's Fortune_, she wondered at the impudence of any
of her sex that would pretend to understand the thing called bawdy.
A clique were shocked at her; it was not her salaciousness they objected
to but her success.

In December, 1670, Mrs. Behn's first play,[19] _The Forc'd Marriage; or,
the Jealous Bridegroom_, was produced at the Duke's Theatre, Lincoln's
Inn Field's, with a strong cast. It is a good tragi-comedy of the
bastard Fletcherian Davenant type, but she had not hit upon her happiest
vein of comedy, which, however, she approached in a much better piece,
_The Amorous Prince_, played in the autumn of 1671 by the same company.
Both these had excellent runs for their day, and she obtained a firm
footing in the theatrical world. In 1673[20] _The Dutch Lover_[21] was
ready, a comedy which has earned praise for its skilful technique. She
here began to draw on her own experiences for material, and Haunce van
Ezel owes not a little to her intimate knowledge of the Hollanders.

  [Footnote 19: Mr. Gosse in the Dictionary of National Biography
  basing upon the preface to _The Young King_, says that after
  knocking in vain for some time at the doors of the theatres with
  this tragi-comedy that could find neither manager nor publisher, she
  put it away and wrote _The Forc'd Marriage_, which proved more
  successful. Dr. Baker follows this, but I confess I cannot see due
  grounds for any such hypothesis.]

  [Footnote 20: The Duke's Company opened at their new theatre, Dorset
  Garden, 9 November, 1671.]

  [Footnote 21: 4to, 1673. Mrs. Behn's accurate knowledge of the
  theatre and technicalties theatrical as shown in the preface to this
  early play is certainly remarkable. It is perhaps worth noting that
  her allusion to the popularity of 1 _Henry IV_ was not included in
  _Shakspere Allusion-Book_ (ed. Furnivall and Munro, 1909), where it
  should have found a place.]

These three plays brought her money, friends, and reputation. She was
already beginning to be a considerable figure in literary circles, and
the first writers of the day were glad of the acquaintance of a woman
who was both a wit and a writer. There is still retailed a vague,
persistent, and entirely baseless tradition that Aphra Behn was assisted
in writing her plays by Edward Ravenscroft,[22] the well known
dramatist. Mrs. Behn often alludes in her prefaces to the prejudice a
carping clique entertained against her and the strenuous efforts that
were made to damn her comedies merely because they were 'writ by a
woman'. Accordingly, when her plays succeeded, this same party, unable
to deny such approved and patent merit, found their excuse in spreading
a report that she was not inconsiderably aided in her scenes by another
hand. Edward Ravenscroft's name stands to the epilogue of _Sir Timothy
Tawdrey_, and he was undoubtedly well acquainted with Mrs. Behn. Tom
Brown (I suggest) hints at a known intrigue,[23] but, even if my surmise
be correct, there is nothing in this to warrant the oft repeated
statement that many of her scenes are actually due to his pen. On the
other hand, amongst Aphra's intimates was a certain John Hoyle,
a lawyer, well known about the town as a wit. John Hoyle was the son of
Thomas Hoyle, Alderman and Lord Mayor of, and M.P. for York, who hanged
himself[24] at the same hour as Charles I was beheaded. In the Gray's
Inn Admission Register we have: '1659/60 Feb. 27. John Hoyle son and
heir of Thomas H. late of the city of York, Esq. deceased.' Some
eighteen years after he was admitted to the Inner Temple: '1678/9 Jan.
26. Order that John Hoyle formerly of Gray's Inn be admitted to this
society _ad eundem statum_. (_Inner Temple Records_, iii, 131.) There
are allusions not a few to him in Mrs. Behn's poems; he is the Mr. J. H.
of _Our Cabal_; and in 'A Letter to Mr. _Creech_ at _Oxford_, Written in
the last great Frost,' which finds a place in the _Miscellany_ of 1685,
the following lines occur:--

    To Honest H----le I shou'd have shown ye,
    A Wit that wou'd be proud t' have known ye;
    A Wit uncommon, and Facetious,
    A great admirer of _Lucretius_.

There can be no doubt he was on terms of the closest familiarity[25]
with Mrs. Behn, and he (if any), not Ravenscroft, assisted her (though
we are not to suppose to a real extent) in her plays. There is a very
plain allusion to this in Radcliffe's _The Ramble: News from Hell_
(1682):--

    Amongst this Heptarchy of Wit
    The censuring Age have thought it fit,
    To damn a Woman, 'cause 'tis said
    The Plays she vends she never made.
    But that a _Greys Inn_ Lawyer does 'em
    Who unto her was Friend in Bosom,
    So not presenting Scarf and Hood
    New Plays and Songs are full as good.[26]

Unfortunately Hoyle was reputed to be addicted to the grossest
immorality, and rumours of a sinister description were current
concerning him.[27] There is, in fact, printed a letter[28] of Mrs.
Behn's wherein she writes most anxiously to her friend stating that the
gravest scandals have reached her ears, and begging him to clear himself
from these allegations. Hoyle was murdered in a brawl 26 May, 1692, and
is buried in the vault belonging to the Inner Temple, which is
presumably in the ground attached to the Temple Church. The entry in the
Register runs as follows: 'John Hoyle, esq., of the Inner Temple was
buried in the vault May ye 29, 1692.' Narcissus Luttrell in his _Diary_,
Saturday, 28 May, 1692, has the following entry: 'Mr. Hoil of the Temple
on Thursday night was at a tavern with other gentlemen, and quarrelling
with Mr. Pitts' eldest son about drinking a health, as they came out Mr.
Hoil was stabb'd in the belly and fell down dead, and thereon Pitts
fled; and the next morning was taken in a disguise and is committed to
Newgate.'[29] 30 June, 1692, the same record says: 'This day Mr. Pitts
was tryed at the Old Bailey for the murder of Mr. Hoil of the Temple,
and the jury found it manslaughter but the next heir has brought an
appeal.'

  [Footnote 22: In view of the extremely harsh treatment Ravenscroft
  has met with at the hands of the critics it may be worth while
  emphasizing Genest's opinion that his 'merit as a dramatic writer
  has been vastly underrated'. Ravenscroft has a facility in writing,
  an ease of dialogue, a knack of evoking laughter and picturing the
  ludicrous, above all a vitality which many a greater name entirely
  lacks. As a writer of farce, and farce very nearly akin to comedy,
  he is capital.]

  [Footnote 23: _Letters from the Dead to the Living_: The Virgin's
  [Mrs. Bracegirdle] Answer to Mrs. Behn. 'You upbraid me with a
  great discovery you chanc'd to make by peeping into the breast of an
  old friend of mine; if you give yourself but the trouble of
  examining an old poet's conscience, who went lately off the stage,
  and now takes up his lodgings in your territories, and I don't
  question but you'll there find Mrs. _Behn_ writ as often in black
  characters, and stand as thick in some places, as the names of the
  generation of _Adam_ in the first of _Genesis_.' How far credence
  may be given to anything of Brown's is of course a moot point, but
  the above passage and much that follows would be witless and dull
  unless there were some real suggestion of scandal. Moreover, it
  cannot here be applied to Hoyle, whereas it very well fits
  Ravenscroft. This letter which speaks of 'the lash of Mr. C----r'
  must have been written no great time after the publication of Jeremy
  Collier's _A Short View of the Immorality of the English Stage_
  (March, 1698), probably in 1701-2. Ravenscroft's last play, _The
  Italian Husband_, was produced at Lincoln's Inn Fields in 1697, and
  he is supposed to have died a year or two later, which date exactly
  suits the detail given by Brown. Ravenscroft's first play,
  _Mamamouchi_, had been produced in 1672, and the 'an old poet' would
  be understood.]

  [Footnote 24: This occurrence is the subject of some lines in _The
  Rump_ (1662): 'On the happy Memory of Alderman Hoyle that hang'd
  himself.']

  [Footnote 25: _The Muses Mercury_, December, 1707, refers to verses
  made on Mrs. Behn 'and her very good friend, Mr. Hoyle'.]

  [Footnote 26: My attention was drawn to these lines by Mr. Thorn
  Drury, who was, indeed, the first to suggest that Hoyle is the
  person aimed at. I have to thank him, moreover, for much valuable
  information on this important point.]

  [Footnote 27: cf. Luttrell's _Diary_, February, 1686-7, which
  records that an indictment for misconduct was actually presented
  against him at the Old Bailey, but the Grand Jury threw out the bill
  and he was discharged. The person implicated in the charge against
  Hoyle seems to have been a poulterer, cf. _A Faithful Catalogue of
  our Most Eminent Ninnies_, said to have been written by the Earl of
  Dorset in 1683, or (according to another edition of Rochester's
  works in which it occurs) 1686. In any case the verses cannot be
  earlier than 1687.
    Which made the wiser Choice is now our Strife,
    _Hoyle_ his he-mistress, or the Prince his wife:
    Those traders sure will be beiov'd as well,
    As all the dainty tender Birds they sell.
  The 'Prince' is George Fitzroy, son of Charles II by the Duchess of
  Cleveland, who was created Duke of Northumberland and married
  Catherine, daughter of Robert Wheatley, a poulterer, of Bracknell,
  Berks; and relict of Robert Lucy of Charlecote, Warwickshire.]

  [Footnote 28: _Familiar Letters of Love, Gallantry, etc._ There are
  several editions. I have used that of 1718, 2 vols.]

  [Footnote 29: In his MS. Commonplace Book (now in the possession of
  G. Thorn Drury, Esq., K.C.), Whitelocke Bulstrode writes:--

  '27 May 92.

  'M{r} Hoyle of y'e Temple, coming this morning about two of y{e}
  Clock fro y{e} Young Divel Tavern, was killed w{th} a sword; He died
  Instantly: It proceeded fro a quarrell about Drincking a Health;
  Killed by M{r} Pitt of Graies Inne y{t} Dranck w{th} them. M{r} Hoyle
  was an Atheist, a Sodomite professed, a corrupter of youth, &
  a Blasphemer of Christ.'

  The Young (or Little) Devil Tavern was in Fleet Street, on the south
  side, near Temple Bar, adjoining Dick's Coffee House. It was called
  Young (or Little) to distinguish it from the more famous house, The
  Devil (or Old Devil) Tavern, which stood between Temple Bar and the
  Inner Temple Gate.]

In September, 1676, _The Town Fop_ was acted with applause, and the
following year Mrs. Behn was very busy producing two comedies (of which
one is a masterpiece) and one tragedy. _The Debauchee_, which was
brought out this year at the Duke's House, a somewhat superficial though
clever alteration of Brome's _Mad Couple Well Match'd_, is no doubt from
her pen. It was published anonymously, 4to, 1677, and all the best
critics with one accord ascribe it to Mrs. Behn. In the autumn of 1677
there was produced by the Duke's Company a version of Middleton's _No
Wit, No Help Like a Woman's_, entitled, _The Counterfeit Bridegroom; or,
The Defeated Widow_ (4to, 1677); it is smart and spirited. Genest was of
opinion it is Aphra's work. He is probably right, for we know that she
repeatedly made use of Middleton, and internal evidence fully bears out
our stage historian.[30] Both _Abdelazer_[31] and _The Town Fop_
evidence in a marked degree her intimate knowledge of the earlier
dramatists, whilst _The Rover (I)_ is founded on Killigrew. None the
less, here she has handled her materials with rare skill, and
successfully put new wine into old bottles. The critics, however, began
to attack her on this point, and when _The Rover (I)_ appeared in print
(4to 1677), she found it necessary to add a postscript, defending her
play from the charge of merely being '_Thomaso_ alter'd'. With reference
to _Abdelazer_ there is extant a very interesting letter[32] from Mrs.
Behn to her friend, Mrs. Emily Price. She writes as follows:--

  My Dear,

  In your last, you inform'd me, that the World treated me as a
  _Plagiery_, and, I must confess, not with Injustice: But that Mr.
  _Otway_ shou'd say, my Sex wou'd not prevent my being pull'd to
  Pieces by the Criticks, is something odd, since whatever Mr. _Otway_
  now declares, he may very well remember when last I saw him,
  I receiv'd more than ordinary Encomiums on my _Abdelazer_, But every
  one knows Mr. _Otway's_ good Nature, which will not permit him to
  shock any one of our Sex to their Faces. But let that pass: For
  being impeach'd of murdering my _Moor_, I am thankful, since, when
  I shall let the World know, whenever I take the Pains next to appear
  in Print, of the mighty Theft I have been guilty of; But however for
  your own Satisfaction, I have sent you the Garden from whence I
  gather'd, and I hope you will not think me vain, if I say, I have
  weeded and improv'd it. I hope to prevail on the Printer to reprint
  _The Lust's Dominion_, &c., that my theft may be the more publick.
  But I detain you. I believe I sha'n't have the Happiness of seeing
  my dear _Amillia_ 'till the middle of _September_: But be assur'd I
  shall always remain as I am,

  Yours, A. Behn.

  [Footnote 30: Betterton's adaption of Marston's _The Dutch
  Courtezan_, which the actor calls _The Revenge; or, A Match in
  Newgate_, has sometimes been erroneously ascribed to Mrs. Behn by
  careless writers. She has also been given _The Woman Turn'd Bully_,
  a capital comedy with some clever characterization, which was
  produced at Dorset Garden in June, 1675, and printed without
  author's name the same year. Both Prologue and Epilogue, two pretty
  songs, _Oh, the little Delights that a Lover takes_; and _Ah, how
  charming is the shade_, together with a rollicking catch 'O
  _London_, wicked _London_-Town!' which is 'to be sung _a l'yvronge_,
  in a drunken humour', might all well be Mrs. Behn's, and the whole
  conduct of the play is very like her early manner. Beyond this,
  however, there is no evidence to suggest it is from her pen.]

  [Footnote 31: The overture, act-tunes, incidental music, were
  composed by Henry Purcell.]

  [Footnote 32: _Familiar Letters of Love, Gallantry, etc._, Vol. I
  (1718), pp. 31-2.]

_The Rover (I)_ is undoubtedly the best known of Aphra Behn's comedies.
It long remained a popular favourite in the theatre, its verve, bustle
and wit, utterly defiant of the modest Josephs and qualmy prudes who
censured these lively scenes. Steele has mention of this in an archly
humorous paper, No. 51, _Spectator_, Saturday, 28 April, 1711. He
pictures a young lady who has taken offence at some negligent expression
in that chastest of ice-cold proprieties, _The Funeral_, and he
forthwith more or less seriously proceeds to defend his play by quoting
the example of both predecessors and contemporaries. Amongst the
writers who are 'best skilled in this luscious Way', he informs us that
'we are obliged to the Lady who writ _Ibrahim_ [33] for introducing a
preparatory Scene to the very Action, when the Emperor throws his
Handkerchief as a Signal for his Mistress to follow him into the most
retired Part of the Seraglio.... This ingenious Gentlewoman in this
piece of Baudry refined upon an Author of the same Sex, who in _The
Rover_ makes a Country Squire strip to his Holland Drawers. For _Blunt_
is disappointed, and the Emperor is understood to go on to the
utmost.... It is not here to be omitted, that in one of the
above-mentioned Female Compositions the _Rover_ is very frequently sent
on the same Errand; as I take it above once every Act. This is not
wholly unnatural; for, they say, the Men-Authors draw themselves in
their Chief Characters, and the Women-Writers may be allowed the same
Liberty.'

  [Footnote 33: _Ibrahim, the Thirteenth Emperor of the Turks_,
  produced in 1696 (410, 1696), a commendable tragedy by Mrs. Mary
  Pix, _nee_ Griffiths (1666-1720?). The plot is based on Sir Paul
  Ricaut's continuation of the Turkish history.]

Early in 1678, in either the first or second week of January, _Sir
Patient Fancy_ was received with great applause. A hint from Brome, more
than a hint from Moliere, much wit, vivacity, and cleverness make up
this admirable comedy. Throughout the whole of her career it is amply
evident that Mrs. Behn, an omnivorous reader, kept in constant touch
with and profited by the French literature and theatre of her day. The
debt of the English stage to France at this period is a fact often not
sufficiently acknowledged, but one which it would really be difficult to
over-emphasize. No adequate critical knowledge of much of our English
song, fiction and drama of the Restoration can be attained without a
close study of their French models and originals.

During the latter part of this year Mrs. Behn found time to revise and
write up the romantic scenes she had composed two decades before as a
girl in Surinam, and the result was a tragi-comedy, _The Young King_,
which won considerable favour. Produced in March or early April,[34]
1679, it was not published till 1683, but a second edition was called
for in 1698.[35]

  [Footnote 34: The date is fixed by the Epilogue 'at his R.H. second
  exile into Flanders'. The Duke of York sailed for Antwerp 4 March,
  1679. He returned in August owing to the King's illness.]

  [Footnote 35: This fact sufficiently explodes the quite untenable
  suggestion that _The Young King_ in earlier days could find
  neither producer nor publisher. That the quarto did not appear until
  four years after the play had been seen on the stage is no argument
  of non-success. Ravenscroft's _Mamamouchi_ was produced early in
  1672, and 'continu'd Acting 9 Days with a full house'. It specially
  delighted the King and Court. It was not printed, however, until
  1675.]

In March, _The Feign'd Courtezans_, one of Mrs. Behn's happiest efforts,
appeared on the boards of the Duke's House. Not one tittle is borrowed,
and its success gives striking proof of the capacity of her unaided
powers. When printed, the comedy was dedicated in adulatory terms to
Nell Gwynne. With the great Betterton, handsome Will Smith, Nokes,
Underhill, Leigh, an inimitable trio, the famous Mrs. Barry, pretty and
piquante Betty Currer, the beautiful and serenely gracious Mrs. Mary
Lee, in the cast, it had a perfect galaxy of genius to give it life and
triumph.

In 1681 a second part continued the adventures of _The Rover_, and
surprisingly good the sequel is.

From 1678 to 1683 were years of the keenest political excitement and
unrest. Fomented to frenzy by the murderous villainies of Gates and his
accomplices, aggravated by the traitrous ambition and rascalities of
Shaftesbury, by the deceit and weakness of Monmouth, and the open
disloyalty of the Whiggish crew, party politics and controversy waxed
hotter and fiercer until riots were common and a revolution seemed
imminent. Fortunately an appeal in a royal declaration to the justice of
the nation at large allayed the storm, and an overwhelming outburst of
genuine enthusiasm ensued. Albeit the bill against him was thrown out
with an 'ignoramus' by a packed jury 24 November, 1681, a year later,
28 November, 1682, Shaftesbury found it expedient to escape to Holland.
Monmouth, who had been making a regal progress through the country, was
arrested. Shortly after he was bailed out by his political friends, but
he presently fled in terror lest he should pay the penalty of his
follies and crimes, inasmuch as a true bill for high treason had been
found against him. It was natural that at such a crisis the stage and
satire (both prose and rhyme), should become impregnated with party
feeling; and the Tory poets, with glorious John Dryden at their head,
unmercifully pilloried their adversaries. In 1682 Mrs. Behn produced
three comedies, two of which are mainly political. _The Roundheads_,
a masterly pasquinade, shows the Puritans, near ancestors of the Whigs,
in their most odious and veritable colours. _The City Heiress_ lampoons
Shaftesbury and his cit following in exquisite caricature. The wit and
humour, the pointed raillery never coarsening into mere invective and
zany burlesque, place this in the very front rank of her comedies.[36]
_The False Count_, the third play of this year, is non-political, and
she has herein borrowed a suggestion from Moliere. It is full of
brilliant dialogue and point, whilst the situations are truly ludicrous
and entertaining. As might well be surmised, _The Roundheads_ and _The
City Heiress_ were not slow to wake the rancour of the Whigs, who looked
about for an opportunity of vengeance which they shortly found. On
10 August, 1682, there was produced at the Duke's Theatre an anonymous
tragedy _Romulus and Hersilia; or, The Sabine War_. It is a vigorous
play of no small merit and attracted considerable attention at the
time.[37] Mrs. Behn contributed both Prologue and Epilogue, the former
being spoken by that sweet-voiced blonde, winsome Charlotte Butler, the
latter by Lady Slingsby, who acted Tarpeia. There was matter in the
Epilogue which reflected upon the disgraced Duke of Monmouth, for whom,
in spite of his known treachery and treasons, Charles still retained the
fondest affection. Warm representations were made in high quarters, and
the following warrant was speedily issued:--

  Whereas the Lady Slingsby Comoedian and Mrs. Aphaw Behen have by
  acting and writeing at his Royall Highnesse Theatre committed
  severall Misdemeanors and made abusive reflections upon persons of
  Quality, and have written and spoken scandalous speeches without any
  License or Approbation of those that ought to peruse and authorize
  the same, These are therefore to require you to take into yo'r
  Custody the said Lady Slingsby and Mrs. Aphaw Behen and bring them
  before mee to answere the said Offence, And for soe doeing this
  shalbe yo'r sufficient Warr't. Given und'r my hand and seale this
  12'th day of August, 1682.

    To Henry Legatt Messenger

    of His Mat'ties Chamber, etc.

  [Footnote 36: Gould in _The Play House, a Satyr_, stung by Mrs.
  Behn's success, derides that
              clean piece of Wit
    _The City Heiress_ by chaste _Sappho_ Writ,
    Where the Lewd Widow comes with Brazen Face,
    Just seeking from a Stallion's rank Embrace,
    T' acquaint the Audience with her Filthy Case.
    Where can you find a Scene for juster Praise,
    In _Shakespear_, _Johnson_, or in _Fletcher's_ Plays?]

  [Footnote 37: Publication was delayed. _Brooks' Impartial Mercury_,
  Friday, 17 Nov., 1682, advertises: 'To be published on Monday
  next, the last new play called _Romulus_.' The 4to is dated 1683.
  A broad sheet, 1682, gives both Prologue 'spoken by Mrs. Butler,
  written by Mrs. Behn,' and Epilogue 'spoken by the Lady Slingsby.'
  The 4to gives 'Prologue, spoken by Mrs. Butler,' 'Epilogue, Writ by
  Mrs. A. Behn. Spoken by Tarpeia.']

The lines particularly complained of ran as follows:

        of all Treasons, mine was most accurst;
    Rebelling 'gainst a KING and FATHER first.
    A Sin, which Heav'n nor Man can e're forgive;
    Nor could I _Act_ it with the face to live.
         .     .     .     .     .
    There's nothing can my Reputation save
    With all the _True_, the _Loyal_ and the _Brave_;
    Not my Remorse or death can Expiate
    With them a Treason 'gainst the KING and State.

Coming from the mouth of the perjured Tarpeia they were of course winged
with point unmistakable. It is not probable, however, that either
authoress or actress was visited with anything more than censure and a
fright. In any case their detention[38] (if brought about) must have
been very shortliv'd, for the partizans of Monmouth, although noisy and
unquiet, were not really strong, and they met with the most effective
opposition at every turn.

  [Footnote 38: Curtis' _Protestant Mercury_, August 12-6, 1682,
  notices that both Lady Slingsby and Mrs. Behn have been ordered
  into custody in respect of this Epilogue.]

In this same year the Whigs in spite of their utmost efforts signally
failed to suppress, and could only <DW44> the production of Dryden and
Lee's excellent tragedy _The Duke of Guise_, first performed 4 December.
The play created a furore, and its political purport as a picture of the
baffled intrigues of Shaftesbury in favour of Lucy Walter's overweening
son is obvious, nor is it rendered less so by Dryden's clever and
caustic _Vindication of the Duke of Guise_ (1683). It is interesting to
note that Lady Slingsby, who played the Queen Mother, Catherine de'
Medici, in this play, has some very sardonic speeches put in her mouth;
indeed, as Henri III aptly remarks,'she has a cruel wit'.

In 1684 were published the famous _Love Letters between a Nobleman and
his Sister_. The letters, supposed to have passed between Forde, Lord
Grey,[39] and his sister-in-law Lady Henrietta Berkeley, fifth daughter
of the Earl, are certainly the work of Mrs. Behn. Romantic and
sentimental, with now and again a pretty touch that is almost lyrical in
its sweet cadence, they enjoyed the same extraordinary popularity which
very similar productions have attained at a recent date. A third edition
was called for in 1707.

  [Footnote 39: Forde, Lord Grey of Werke, Earl of Tankerville, who
  succeeded to the title in 1675, was married to Lady Mary Berkeley.
  He eloped, however, with Lady Henrietta Berkley, and great scandal
  ensued. When he and his minions were brought to trial, 23 November,
  1682, his mistress and a number of staunch Whigs boldly accompanied
  him into court. He was found guilty, but as his friends banded
  together to resist, something very like a riot ensued. He died
  25 June, 1701. Lady Henrietta Berkeley, who never married, survived
  her lover nine years.]

Mrs. Behn was also busy seeing her poems through the press. The title
page is dated 1684, and they were issued with a dedication to the Earl
of Salisbury.[40] In the same volume is included her graceful
translation of the Abbe Tallemant's _Le Voyage de l'Isle d'Amour_,
entitled, _A Voyage to The Isle of Love_.

  [Footnote 40:
    Astrea with her soft gay sighing Swains
    And rural virgins on the flowery Plains,
    The lavish Peer's profuseness may reprove
    Who gave her Guineas for the _Isle of Love_.
      --_Contemporary Satire_,-- (Harleian MSS.)]

The following undated letter (preserved at Bayfordbury) addressed to
Jacob Tonson, and first published in the _Gentleman's Magazine_, May,
1836, pleads hard for an extra payment of five pounds for her book. She
writes:--

  Deare Mr. Tonson

  I am mightly obleg{d} to you for y{e} service you have don me to Mr.
  Dryden; in whose esteeme I wou'd chuse to be rather then any bodys
  in the world; and I am sure I never, in thought, word, or deed
  merritted other from him, but if you had heard w{t} was told me, you
  wou'd have excus'd all I said on that account. Thank him most
  infinitly for y{e} hon. he offers, and I shall never think I can do
  any thing that can merritt so vast a glory; and I must owe it all to
  you if I have it. As for Mr. Creech, I would not have you afflict
  him w{th} a thing can not now be help'd, so never let him know my
  resentment. I am troubled for y{e} line that's left out of Dr.
  Garth,[41] and wish yo{r} man wou'd write it in y{e} margent, at his
  leasure, to all you sell.

  As for y{e} verses of mine, I shou'd really have thought 'em worth
  thirty pound; and I hope you will find it worth 25_l_; not that I
  shou'd dispute at any other time for 5 pound wher I am so obleeged;
  but you can not think w{t} a preety thing y{e} Island will be, and
  w{t} a deal of labor I shall have yet with it: and if that pleases,
  I will do the 2nd Voyage, w{ch} will compose a little book as big as
  a novel by it self. But pray speake to yor Bro{r} to advance the
  price to one 5lb more, 'twill at this time be more then given me,
  and I vow I wou'd not aske it if I did not really believe it worth
  more. Alas I wou'd not loose my time in such low gettings, but only
  since I am about it I am resolv'd to go throw w{th} it tho I shou'd
  give it. I pray go about it as soone as you please, for I shall
  finish as fast as you can go on. Methinks y{e} Voyage shou'd com
  last, as being y{e} largest volume. You know Mr. Couly's Dauid is
  last, because a large poem, and Mrs. Philips her Plays for y{e} same
  reason. I wish I had more time, I wou'd ad something to y{e} verses
  y{t} I have a mind too, but, good deare Mr. Tonson, let it be 5lb
  more, for I may safly swere I have lost y{e} getting of 50lb by it,
  tho that's nothing to you, or my satisfaction and humour: but I have
  been w{th}out getting so long y{t} I am just on y{e} poynt of
  breaking, espesiall since a body has no creditt at y{e} Playhouse
  for money as we usd to have, fifty or 60 deepe, or more; I want
  extreamly or I wo'd not urge this.

  Yo{rs} A. B.

  Pray send me y{e} loose papers to put to these I have, and let me
  know w{ch} you will go about first, y{e} songs and verses or that.
  Send me an answer to-day.

  [Footnote 41: This of course cannot be correct, but it is so
  transcribed. In the transcript of this letter made by Malone, and
  now in the possession of G. Thorn Drury, Esq., K.C., over the word
  'Garth's' is written 'Q', and at the foot of the page a note by
  Mitford says: 'This name seems to have been doubtful in the MSS.'
  I have thought it best not to attempt any emendation.]

It is probable that about this date, 1683-4, she penned her little novel
_The Adventure of the Black Lady_, and also that excellent extravaganza
_The King of Bantam_.[42] Both these and _The Unfortunate Happy Lady_
are written as if they had certainly been completed before the death of
Charles II, in which case they must have lain by, MSS, in Mrs. Behn's
desk.

  [Footnote 42: Neither of these was printed until eight years after
  her death. They first appear, each with its separate title page,
  1697, bound up in the Third Edition, 'with Large Additions,' of _All
  the Histories and Novels, Written by the Late Ingenious Mrs. Behn,
  Entire in One Volume_, 1698. After Nos. vii, viii, ix, _Memoirs of
  the Court of the King of _Bantam_, _The Nun; or, the Perjured
  Beauty_, _The Adventure of the Black Lady_ follows a note: 'These
  last three never before published.' Some superficial bibliographers
  (e.g. Miss Charlotte E. Morgan in her unreliable monograph, _The
  English Novel till 1749_) have postulated imaginary editions of
  1683-4 for _The Little Black Lady_ and _The King of Bantam_. _The
  Nun; or, the Perjured Beauty_ is universally confounded with _The
  History of the Nun_ (_vide_ Vol. V, p. 259, Introduction to that
  novel) and dated 1689.

  With reference to _The King of Bantam_ we have in the 1698
  collected edition of the Novels the following '_Advertisement to the
  _Reader_._ The Stile of the Court of the King of _Bantam_, being so
  very different from Mrs. _Behn's_ usual way of Writing, it may
  perhaps call its being genuine in Question; to obviate which
  Objection, I must inform the Reader, that it was a Trial of Skill
  upon a Wager, to shew that she was able to write in the Style of the
  Celebrated _Scarron_, in Imitation of whom 'tis writ, tho' the Story
  be true. I need not say any thing of the other Two, they evidently
  confessing their admirable Author.']

The King, at the height of his power, after a short illness, died
6 February, 1685, an event that together with the accession of James
naturally evoked a plethora of State Poems, to which flood Mrs. Behn
contributed. Her Pindarics rank high amongst the semi-official,
complimentary, threnodic or pastoral pseudo-Dithyrambs, of which the age
was so bounteous; but it needed the supreme genius of a Dryden
sustainedly to instil lyric fire and true poetry into these hybrid
forms.[43] The nadir is sounded by the plumbeous productions of
Shadwell, Nahum Tate, and 'Persons of Quality'. Aphra's _Pindarick on
the Death of Charles II_ ran through two editions in 1685, and her _Poem
to the Queen Dowager Catherine_ was published the same year. James II
was crowned on St. George's Day, and she greeted her new monarch and old
patron with a _Poem on the Happy Coronation of His Sacred Majesty_.
A little later she published a _Miscellany_ of poems by various hands:
amongst whom were Etheredge, Edmund Arwaker, Henry Crisp, and Otway,
including not a few from her own pen, 'Together with Reflections on
Morality, or Seneca Unmasqued. Translated from the Maximes of the Duke
de la Rochefoucauld', a number of clever apophthegms tersely turned.

  [Footnote 43: Swift, although he amply fulfilled Dryden's famous
  prophecy, 'Cousin Swift, you will never be a Pindaric poet', was
  doubtless thinking of these Pindarics when in _The Battle of the
  Books_ he wrote: 'Then _Pindar_ slew ----, and ----, and _Oldham_,
  and ----, and _Afra_ the _Amazon_ light of foot.']

The following note,[44] however, affords ample evidence that at this
juncture, maugre her diligence and unremitting toils, she was far from
being in easy circumstances:--

  'Where as I am indebted to Mr. Bags the sum of six pownd for the
  payment of which Mr. Tonson has obleged him self. Now I do here by
  impowre Mr. Zachary Baggs, in case the said debt is not fully
  discharged before Michaelmas next, to stop what money he shall
  hereafter have in his hands of mine, upon the playing my first play
  till this aforesaid debt of six pownd be discharged. Witness my hand
  this 1st August, --85.

  A. Behn.'

  [Footnote 44: First published in _The Gentleman's Magazine_, May,
  1836.]

Early in 1686 a frolicksome comedy of great merit, _The Lucky Chance_,
was produced by her at the Theatre Royal, the home of the United
Companies. A Whiggish clique, unable to harm her in any other way,
banded together to damn the play and so endeavoured to raise a pudic
hubbub, that happily proved quite ineffective. _The Lucky Chance_, which
contends with _The Rover (I)_, and _The Feign'd Courtezans_ for the
honour of being Mrs. Behn's highest flight of comic genius, has scenes
admittedly wantoning beyond the bounds of niggard propriety, but all are
alive with a careless wit and a brilliant humour that prove quite
irresistible. Next appeared those graceful translations from de
Bonnecorse's _La Montre ... seconde partie contenant La Boete et Le
Miroir_, which she termed _The Lover's Watch_ and _The Lady's
Looking-Glass_.

In 1687 the Duke of Albemarle's voyage to Jamaica[45] to take up the
government in the West Indies gave occasion for a Pindaric, but we only
have one dramatic piece from Mrs. Behn, _The Emperor of the Moon_,
a capital three act farce, Italian in sentiment and origin. For some
little time past her health had begun to trouble her.[46] Her three
years of privation and cares had told upon her physically, and since
then, 'forced to write for bread and not ashamed to own it,' she had
spared neither mind nor bodily strength. Graver symptoms appeared, but
yet she found time to translate from Fontenelle his version of Van
Dale's _De Oraculis Ethnicorum_ as _The History of Oracles and the
Cheats of the Pagan Priests_, a book of great interest. There was also
published in 1687 an edition in stately folio of _AEesop's Fables with
his Life in English, French and Latin_, 'illustrated with One hundred
and twelve Sculptures' and 'Thirty One New Figures representing his
Life', by Francis Barlow, the celebrated draughtsman of birds and
animals. Each plate to the Life has a quatrain appended, and each fable
with its moral is versified beneath the accompanying picture. In his
brief address to the Reader Barlow writes: 'The Ingenious Mrs. A. Behn
has been so obliging as to perform the English Poetry, which in short
comprehends the Sense of the Fable and Moral; Whereof to say much were
needless, since it may sufficiently recommend it self to all Persons of
Understanding.' To this year we further assign the composition of no
fewer than four novels, _The Unfortunate Bride_, _The Dumb Virgin_, _The
Wandering Beauty_, _The Unhappy Mistake_. She was working at high
pressure, and 1688 still saw a tremendous literary output. Waller had
died 21 October, 1687, at the great age of eighty-one, and her Elegiac
Ode to his Memory begins:--

    How to thy Sacred Memory, shall I bring
    (Worthy thy Fame) a grateful Offering?
    I, who by Toils of Sickness, am become
    Almost as near as thou art to a Tomb?
    While every soft and every tender strain
    Is ruffl'd, and ill-natur'd grown with Pain.

  [Footnote 45: Christopher Monck, second Duke of Albermarle, was
  appointed Governor-General of Jamaica, 26 November, 1687. He died
  there early in the following autumn.]

  [Footnote 46: '_Sappho_ famous for her Gout and Guilt,' writes Gould
  in _The Poetess, a Satyr_.]

This she sent to his daughter-in-law with the following letter[47]:--

  Madam,

  At such losses as you have sustain'd in that of yo{r} Glorious
  ffather in Law M{r}. Waller, the whole world must wait on your sighs
  & mournings, tho' we must allow yours to be the more sensible by how
  much more (above your Sex) you are Mistriss of that Generous Tallent
  that made him so great & so admird (besids what we will allow as a
  Relation) tis therfore at your ffeet Madam we ought to lay all those
  Tributary Garlands, we humbler pretenders to the Muses believe it
  our Duty to offer at his Tombe-- in excuse for mine Madam I can only
  say I am very ill & have been dying this twelve month, that they
  want those Graces & that spiritt w{ch} possible I might have drest em
  in had my health & dulling vapors permitted me, howeuer Madam they
  are left to your finer judgment to determin whether they are worthy
  the Honour of the Press among those that cellibrat M{r}. Wallers
  great fame, or of being doomed to the fire & whateuer you decree
  will extreamly sattisfy

  Madam
    yo{r} most Devoted &
    most Obeadient
    Seruant
    A. BEHN.

      I humbly beg pardon for my yll writing Madam for tis with a Lame
      hand scarce able to hold a pen.

  [Footnote 47: Now published for the first time by the courtesy of
  G. Thorn Drury, Esq., K.C., who generously obliged me with a
  transcript of the original.]

Her weakness, lassitude, and despondency are more than apparent; yet
bravely buckling to her work, and encouraged by her success with
Fontenelle, she Englished with rare skill his _Theory of the System of
Several New Inhabited Worlds_, prefixing thereto a first-rate 'Essay on
Translated Prose.' She shows herself an admirable critic, broad-minded,
with a keen eye for niceties of style. _The Fair Jilt_ (licensed
17 April, 1688),[48] _Oroonoko_, and _Agnes de Castro_, followed in
swift succession. She also published _Lycidus, a Voyage from the Island
of Love_, returning to the Abbe Tallemant's dainty preciosities. On
10 June, James Francis Edward, Prince of Wales, was born at St. James's
Palace, and Mrs. Behn having already written a _Congratulatory Poem_[49]
to Queen Mary of Modena on her expectation of the Prince, was ready with
a Poem on his Happy Birth.

  [Footnote 48: In the original edition of _The Fair Jilt_ (1688),
  we have advertised: 'There is now in the Press, _Oroonoko; or, The
  History of the Royal Slave_. Written by Madam _Behn_.']

  [Footnote 49: In the second edition (1688), of this _Congratulatory
  Poem_ to Queen Mary of Modena we have the following advertisement:--
  'On Wednesday next will be Published the most Ingenious and long
  Expected History of _Oroonoko; or, the Royal Slave_. By Mrs. _Behn_.']

One of the most social and convivial of women, a thorough Tory, well
known to Dryden, Creech, Otway and all the leading men of her day, warm
helper and ally of every struggling writer, Astrea began to be
completely overpowered by the continual strain, the unremittent tax upon
both health and time. Overworked and overwrought, in the early months of
1689 she put into English verse the sixth book (_of Trees_) from
Cowley's _Sex Libri Plantarum_ (1668). Nahum Tate undertook Books IV and
V and prefaced the translation when printed. As Mrs. Behn knew no Latin
no doubt some friend, perhaps Tate himself, must have paraphrased the
original for her. She further published _The Lucky Mistake_ and _The
History of the Nun; or, The Fair Vow Breaker_,[50] licensed 22 October,
1688. On the afternoon of 12 February, Mary, wife of William of Orange,
had with great diffidence landed at Whitehall Stairs, and Mrs. Behn
congratulated the lady in her Poem _To Her Sacred Majesty Queen Mary on
her Arrival in England_. One regrets to find her writing on such an
occasion, and that she realized the impropriety of her conduct is clear
from the reference to the banished monarch. But she was weary,
depressed, and ill, and had indeed for months past been racked with
incessant pain. An agonizing complication of disorders now gave scant
hope of recovery. It is in the highest degree interesting to note that
during her last sickness Dr. Burnet, a figure of no little importance at
that moment, kindly enquired after the dying woman. The Pindaric in
which she thanks him, and which was printed March, 1689, proved the last
poem she herself saw through the press. At length exhausted nature
failed altogether, and she expired 16 April, 1689, the end hastened by a
sad lack of skill in her physician. She is buried in the east cloisters
of Westminster Abbey. A black marble slab marks the spot. On it are
graven 'Mrs. Aphra Behn Dyed April, 16, A.D. 1689,' and two lines, 'made
by a very ingenious Gentleman tho' no Poet':--[51]

    Here lies a Proof that Wit can never be
    Defence enough against Mortality.[52]

  [Footnote 50: The title page has 1689, but it was possibly published
  late in 1688.]

  [Footnote 51: Traditionally said to be John Hoyle.]

  [Footnote 52: Sam Briscoe, the publisher, in his Dedicatory Epistle
  to _Familiar Letters of Love, Gallantry, etc._ (2 vols., 1718),
  says: 'Had the rough Days of K. _Charles_ II _newly recover'd from
  the Confusion of a Civil War_, or the tempestuous Time of _James_
  the Second, had the same _Sence of Wit_ as our _Gentlemen_ now
  appear to have, the first Impressions of _Milton's Paradise Lost_
  had never been sold for _Waste Paper_; the Inimitable _Hudibras_ had
  never suffered the Miseries of a Neglected Cavalier; _Tom Brown_ the
  merriest and most diverting'st man, had never expir'd so neglected;
  Mr. _Dryden_'s Religion would never have lost him his _Pension_; or
  Mrs. _Behn_ ever had but _two Lines_ upon her _Grave-stone_.']

'She was of a generous and open Temper, something passionate, very
serviceable to her Friends in all that was in her Power; and could
sooner forgive an Injury, than do one. She had Wit, Honour, Good-Humour,
and Judgment. She was Mistress of all the pleasing Arts of Conversation,
but us'd 'em not to any but those who love Plain-dealing.' So she comes
before us. A graceful, comely woman,[53] merry and buxom, with brown
hair and bright eyes, candid, sincere, a brilliant conversationalist in
days when conversation was no mere slipshod gabble of slang but cut and
thrust of poignant epigram and repartee; warm-hearted, perhaps too
warm-hearted, and ready to lend a helping hand even to the most
undeserving, a quality which gathered all Grub Street round her door. At
a period when any and every writer, mean or great, of whatsoever merit
or party, was continually assailed with vehement satire and acrid
lampoons, lacking both truth and decency, Aphra Behn does not come off
scot-free, nobody did; and upon occasion her name is amply vilified by
her foes. There are some eight ungenerous lines with a side reference to
the 'Conquests she had won' in Buckingham's _A Trial of the Poets for
the Bays_, and a page or two of insipid spiritless rhymes, _The Female
Laureat_, find a place in _State Poems_. The same collection contains
_A Satyr on the Modern Translators_. 'Odi Imitatores servum pecus,' &c.
By Mr. P----r,[54] 1684. It begins rather smartly:--

    Since the united Cunning of the Stage,
    Has balk'd the hireling Drudges of the Age;
    Since _Betterton_ of late so thrifty 's grown,
    Revives Old Plays, or wisely acts his own;

the modern poets

    Have left Stage-practice, chang'd their old Vocations,
    Atoning for bad Plays with worse Translations.

In some instances this was true enough, but when the writer attacks
Dryden he becomes ridiculous and imprecates

    May he still split on some unlucky Coast,
    And have his Works or Dictionary lost:
    That he may know what _Roman Authors_ mean,
    No more than does our blind Translatress _Behn_,[55]
    The Female Wit, who next convicted stands,
    Not for abusing _Ovid's_ verse but _Sand's_:
    She might have learn'd from the ill-borrow'd Grace,
    (Which little helps the Ruin of her Face)
    That Wit, like Beauty, triumphs o'er the Heart
    When more of Nature's seen, and less of Art:
    Nor strive in _Ovid's_ Letters to have shown
    As much of Skill, as Lewdness in her own.
    Then let her from the next inconstant Lover,
    Take a new Copy for a second Rover.
    Describe the Cunning of a jilting Whore,
    From the ill Arts herself has us'd before;
    Thus let her write, but _Paraphrase_ no more.

These verses are verjuiced, unwarranted, unfair. Tom Brown too in his
_Letters from the Dead to the Living_ has a long epistle 'From worthy
Mrs. Behn the Poetess, to the famous Virgin Actress,' (Mrs.
Bracegirdle), in which the Diana of the stage is crudely rallied. 'The
Virgin's Answer to Mrs. Behn' contains allusions to Aphra's intrigue
with some well-known dramatic writer, perhaps Ravenscroft, and speaks of
many an other amour beside. But then for a groat Brown would have proved
Barbara Villiers a virgin, and taxed Torquemada with unorthodoxy. Brown
has yet another gird at Mrs. Behn in his _The Late Converts Exposed,
or the Reason of Mr. Bays's Changing his Religion &c._ Considered in a
Dialogue (1690, a quarto tract; and reprinted in a Collection of Brown's
_Dialogues_, 8vo, 1704). Says Eugenius: 'You may remember Mr. Bays, how
the famed _Astrea_, once in her Life-time unluckily lighted upon such a
Sacred Subject, and in a strange fit of Piety, must needs attempt a
Paraphrase on the Lord's Prayer. But alas poor Gentlewoman! She had
scarce travell'd half way, when _Cupid_ served her as the Cut-Purse did
the Old Justice in _Bartholmew_ Fair, tickled her with a Straw in her
Ear, and then she could not budge one foot further, till she had humbly
requested her Maker to grant her a private Act of Toleration for a
little Harmless Love, otherwise called Fornication.' There is a marginal
note to this passage: 'Mrs. _Behn's_ Miscell. Printed by _Jos.
Hindmarsh_.' In _a Letter from the Dead Thomas Brown to the Living
Heraclitus_ (1704), a sixpenny tract, this wag is supposed to meet Mrs.
Behn in the underworld, and anon establishes himself on the most
familiar terms with his 'dear _Afra_'; they take, indeed, 'an
extraordinary liking to one another's Company' for 'good Conversation is
not so overplentiful in these Parts.' A bitterer attack yet, _An Epistle
to Julian_ (c. 1686-7), paints her as ill, feeble, dying:--

    Doth that lewd Harlot, that Poetick Quean,
    Fam'd through _White Fryars_, you know who I mean,
    Mend for reproof, others set up in spight,
    To flux, take glisters, vomits, purge and write.
    Long with a Sciatica she's beside lame,
    Her limbs distortur'd, Nerves shrunk up with pain,
    And therefore I'll all sharp reflections shun,
    Poverty, Poetry, Pox, are plagues enough for one.

In truth, Aphra Behn's life was not one of mere pleasure, but a hard
struggle against overwhelming adversity, a continual round of work.
We cannot but admire the courage of this lonely woman, who, poor and
friendless, was the first in England to turn to the pen for a
livelihood, and not only won herself bread but no mean position in the
world of her day and English literature of all time. For years her name
to a new book, a comedy, a poem, an essay from the French, was a word to
conjure with for the booksellers. There are anecdotes in plenty. Some
true, some not so reliable. She is said to have introduced milk-punch
into England.[56] We are told that she could write a page of a novel or
a scene of a play in a room full of people and yet hold her own in talk
the while.[57] Her popularity was enormous, and edition after edition of
her plays and novels was called for.

  [Footnote 53: 'She was a most beautiful woman, and a more excellent
  poet'. Col. Colepeper. _Adversaria_, Vol. ii (Harleian MSS.)]

  [Footnote 54: This piece finds a place in the unauthorised edition
  of Prior's Poems, 1707, a volume the poet himself repudiated. In
  the Cambridge edition of Prior's _Works_ (1905-7), reason is given,
  however, to show that the lines are certainly Prior's, and that he
  withdrew this and other satires (says Curll, the bookseller), owing
  to 'his great Modesty'. The Horatian tag (Epistles i, xiv, 19) is of
  course 'O Imitatores servum pecus'.]

  [Footnote 55: In his _Preface Concerning Ovid's Epistles_ affixed to
  the translation of the _Heroides_ (_Ovid's Epistles_), 'by Several
  Hands' (1680), Dryden writes: 'The Reader will here find most of the
  Translations, with some little Latitude or variation from the
  Author's Sence: That of _Oenone_ to _Paris_, is in Mr. Cowley's way
  of Imitation only. I was desir'd to say that the Author who is of
  the _Fair Sex_, understood not _Latine_. But if she does not, I am
  afraid she has given us occasion to be asham'd who do.']

  [Footnote 56: 'Old Mr. John Bowman, the player, told me that Mrs.
  Behn was the First Person he ever knew or heard of who made the
  Liquor call'd Milk Punch.' --Oldys; MS. note in Langbaine. In a
  tattered MS. recipe book, the compilation of a good housewife named
  Mary Rockett, and dated 1711, the following directions are given how
  to brew this tipple. 'To make Milk Punch. Infuse the rinds of
  8 Lemons in a Gallon of Brandy 48 hours then add 5 Quarts of Water
  and 2 pounds of Loaf Sugar then Squize the Juices of all the Lemons
  to these Ingredients add 2 Quarts of new milk Scald hot stirring the
  whole till it crudles grate in 2 Nutmegs let the whole infuse 1 Hour
  then refine through a flannel Bag.']

  [Footnote 57: 'She always Writ with the greatest ease in the world,
  and that in the midst of Company, and Discourse of other matters.
  I saw her my self write _Oroonoko_, and keep her own in Discoursing
  with several then present in the Room.' --Gildon: _An Account of the
  Life of the Incomparable Mrs. Behn_, prefixed to _The Younger
  Brother_ (4to 1696). Southerne says, with reference to _Oroonoko_,
  'That she always told his Story, more feelingly than she writ it.']

In 1690, there was brought out on the stage a posthumous comedy, _The
Widow Ranter_.[58] But without her supervision, it was badly cast, the
script was mauled, and it failed. In 1696 Charles Gildon, who posed as
her favourite protege (and edited her writings), gave _The Younger
Brother_. He had, however, himself tampered with the text. The actors
did it scant justice and it could not win a permanent place in the
theatrical repertory. In May, 1738, _The Gentleman's Magazine_ published
_The Apotheosis of Milton_, a paper, full of interest, which ran through
several numbers. It is a Vision, in which the writer, having fallen
asleep in Westminster Abbey, is conducted by a Genius into a spacious
hall, 'sacred to the Spirits of the Bards, whose Remains are buried, or
whose Monuments are erected within this Pile. To night an Assembly of
the greatest Importance is held upon the Admission of the Great Milton
into this Society.' The Poets accordingly appear either in the habits
which they were wont to wear on earth, or in some suitable attire. We
have Chaucer, Drayton, Beaumont, Ben Jonson, and others who are well
particularized, but when we get to the laureates and critics of a later
period there are some really valuable touches. In 1738 there must have
been many alive who could well remember Dryden, Shadwell, Otway, Prior,
Philips, Sheffield Duke of Buckinghamshire, Dennis, Atterbury, Lee,
Congreve, Rowe, Addison, Betterton, Gay. In the course of his remarks
the guide exclaims to the visitor: 'Observe that Lady dressed in the
loose _Robe de Chambre_ with her Neck and Breasts bare; how much Fire in
her Eye! what a passionate Expression in her Motions; And how much
Assurance in her Features! Observe what an Indignant Look she bestows on
the President [Chaucer], who is telling her, _that none of her Sex has
any Right to a Seat there_. How she throws her Eyes about, to see if she
can find out any one of the Assembly who inclines to take her Part. No!
not one stirs; they who are enclined in her favour are overawed, and the
rest shake their Heads; and now she flings out of the Assembly. That
extraordinary Woman is _Afra Behn_.' The passage is not impertinent,
even though but as showing how early condemnatory tradition had begun to
incrustate around Astrea. Fielding, however, makes his Man of the World
tell a friend that the best way for a man to improve his intellect and
commend himself to the ladies is by a course of Mrs. Behn's novels. With
the oncoming of the ponderous and starched decorum of the third George's
reign her vogue waned apace, but she was still read and quoted. On 12
December, 1786, Horace Walpole writes to the Countess of Upper Ossory,
'I am going to Mrs. Cowley's new play,[59] which I suppose is as
_instructive_ as the _Marriage of Figaro_, for I am told it approaches
to those of Mrs. Behn in Spartan delicacy; but I shall see Miss Farren,
who, in my poor opinion is the first of all actresses.' Sir Walter Scott
admired and praised her warmly. But the pinchbeck sobriety of later
times was unable to tolerate her freedom. She was condemned in no small
still voice as immoral, loose, scandalous; and writer after writer,
leaving her unread, reiterated the charge till it passed into a byword
of criticism, and her works were practically taboo in literature, a type
and summary of all that was worst and foulest in Restoration days. The
absurdities and falsity or this extreme are of course patent now, and it
was inevitable the recoil should come.

  [Footnote 58: It is ushered in by one 'G. J. her friend'. This was
  almost certainly George Jenkins.]

  [Footnote 59: _The School for Greybeards_, produced at Drury Lane,
  25 November, 1786. It owes much of its business to _The Lucky
  Chance_. See the Theatrical History of that comedy (Vol. iii,
  p. 180). Miss Farren acted Donna Seraphina, second wife of Don
  Alexis, one of the Greybeards. She also spoke the epilogue.]

It is a commonplace to say that her novels are a landmark in the history
of fiction. Even Macaulay allowed that the best of Defoe was 'in no
respect... beyond the reach of Afra Behn'. Above all _Oroonoko_ can be
traced directly and indirectly, perhaps unconsciously, in many a
descendant. Without assigning her any direct influence on Wilberforce,
much of the feeling of this novel is the same as inspired Harriet
Beecher Stowe. She has been claimed to be the literary ancestress of
Bernardin de Saint-Pierre and Chateaubriand; nor is it any exaggeration
to find Byron and Rousseau in her train. Her lyrics, it has been well
said, are often of 'quite bewildering beauty', but her comedies
represent her best work and she is worthy to be ranked with the greatest
dramatists of her day, with Vanbrugh and Etheredge; not so strong as
Wycherley, less polished than Congreve. Such faults as she has are
obviously owing to the haste with which circumstances compelled her to
write her scenes. That she should ever recover her pristine reputation
is of course, owing to the passing of time with its change of manners,
fashions, thought and style, impossible. But there is happily every
indication that-- long neglected and traduced-- she will speedily
vindicate for herself, as she is already beginning to do, her rightful
claim to a high and honourable place in our glorious literature.




THE TEXT.


The text of the dramatic work is primarily based upon the edition of
1724, four volumes, by far the best and most reliable edition of the
collected theatre. Each play, however, has been carefully collated with
the original quartos, some of which are of excessive rarity, and if, in
the case of any divergence, the later reading is preferred, reason why
is given in the Textual Notes upon that specific passage. To the
Dramatis Personae are in each case added those characters which hitherto
were negligently omitted: I have, further, consistently numbered the
scenes and supplied (where necessary) the locales. In the order of the
plays the 1724 edition has been followed as preserving the traditional
and accepted arrangement. The only change herein made is the
transferring of _The Emperor of the Moon_ from Vol. IV to Vol. Ill, and
the placing of _The Amorous Prince_ before _The Widow Ranter_, so that
the two posthumous plays may thus be found in their due order together
at the end of Vol. IV.

With regard to metrical division, I have (unless a special note on any
one particular line draws attention to the contrary) in this difficult
matter followed the first quartos, as at this point 1724 proves not so
satisfactory, and prints much as prose which the earlier separate
editions give as verse. A notable instance may be found in _The Amorous
Prince_. To the above rule I adhere so strictly as even not to divide
into lines several scenes in _The Widow Ranter_ and _The Younger
Brother_ which are palpably blank verse, but yet which are not so set in
the quartos of 1690 and 1696. I felt that the metrical difficulties and
kindred questions involved were so capable of almost infinite
variations, that to attempt a new and decisive text in this matter would
not merely be hazardous but also unproductive of any real benefit or
ultimately permanent result.

The valuable Dedications and Prefaces, never before given in the
collected editions, are here reprinted for the first time from the
originals. With regard to the novels the first separate edition has in
every case been collated. When impossible, however, so to do (as in the
exception of _Oroonoko_), the earliest accessible text has been taken,
and if any difficulty arose, all editions of any value whatsoever were
likewise consulted. For _La Montre_ (_The Lover's Watch_), the original
edition of 1686 was used. Any difference in text which has been adopted
from later editions is duly noted in the textual apparatus to that
piece. The Poems have in every case been printed from the first-- which
are generally the only-- editions. Where they appeared as broadsides,
these, when traceable, have been collated.




THE PORTRAITS OF MRS. BEHN.


Of Mrs. Behn there exist three portraits, one by Mary Beale, a second by
John Riley, and the third by Sir Peter Lely.

The Beale portrait has been engraved: 'Aphra Behn. From a Picture by
Mary Beale in the collection of His Grace the Duke of Buckingham. Drawn
by T. Uwins. Engraved by J. Fittler, A.R.A. London. 1 March, 1822.
Published by W. Walker, 8 Grays Inn Square.' The original oil painting
was purchased at the Stow Sale in 1848 (No. 57 in the sale catalogue),
by J. S. Caldwell, a literary antiquarian, Linley Wood, Staffordshire.
A letter which I wrote to _The Times Literary Supplement_ (26 November,
1914) on the subject of these portraits brought me a most courteous
permission from Major-General F. C. Heath Caldwell, the present owner of
Linley Wood, to view the picture.

With regard to the well-known and most frequently reproduced portrait by
Riley, this, engraved by R. Wise, figures as frontispiece to _The
Unfortunate Bride_ (title page, 1700, and second title page, 1698).
It is also given before the _Novels_ (1696, 1698, and other editions).
Engraved by B. Cole, the same portrait fronts the _Plays_, 4 vols.,
1724, and the _Novels_, 2 vols., 1735. It again appears 'H. R. Cook,
Sculp.', published 1 August, 1813, by I. W. H. Payne, when it was
included as an illustration to the _Lady's Monthly Museum_.

The portrait by Sir Peter Lely, which is reproduced as frontispiece to
this edition of Mrs. Behn, was exhibited at the South Kensington
Portrait Exhibition of 1866 by Philip Howard, Esq., of Corby Castle, the
head of the Corby branch of the Howard family.

The portrait of Mrs. Behn which appears as frontispiece to the _Plays_,
2 vols., 1716, is none other than Christina of Sweden from Sebastian
Bourdon's drawing now in the Louvre.

A so-called portrait of Mrs. Behn, 'pub. Rob't Wilkinson', no date,
is of no value, being, at best, a bad pastiche from some very poor
engraving.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

Errors and Irregularities: General Introduction

even such a mad scrapegrace as Dryden's Woodall
  _text unchanged_
the Duke's Theatre, Lincoln's Inn Field's
  _all apostrophes in original_
[Footnote 21.]
... knowledge of the / theatre and technicalties theatrical
  _text unchanged_


       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *


THE ROVER; OR,

THE BANISH'D CAVALIERS.

PART I.


  [Transcriber's Note:

  Entrances and bracketed stage directions were printed in _italics_,
  with proper names in roman type. The overall _italic_ markup has been
  omitted for readability.]




ARGUMENT.


During the exile of Charles II a band of cavaliers, prominent amongst
whom are Willmore (the Rover), Belvile, Frederick, and Ned Blunt, find
themselves at Naples in carnival time. Belvile, who at a siege at
Pampluna has rescued a certain Florinda and her brother Don Pedro, now
loves the lady, and the tender feeling is reciprocated. Florinda's
father, however, designs her for the elderly Vincentio, whilst her
brother would have her marry his friend Antonio, son to the Viceroy.
Florinda, her sister Hellena (who is intended for the veil), their
cousin Valeria, and duenna Callis surreptitiously visit the carnival,
all in masquerade, and there encounter the cavaliers. Florinda arranges
to meet Belvile that night at her garden-gate. Meanwhile a picture of
Angelica Bianca, a famous courtezan, is publicly exposed, guarded by
bravos. Antonio and Pedro dispute who shall give the 1000 crowns she
demands, and come to blows. After a short fray Willmore, who has boldly
pulled down the picture, is admitted to the house, and declares his
love, together with his complete inability to pay the price she
requires. Angelica, none the less, overcome with passion, yields to him.
Shortly after, meeting Hellena in the street, he commences an ardent
courtship, which is detected by the jealous Angelica, who has followed
him vizarded. Florinda that night at the garden-gate encounters
Willmore, who, having been toping in the town, is far from sober, and
her cries at his advances attract her brother and servants, whom she
eludes by escaping back to the house. After a brawl, Willmore has to
endure the reproaches of Belvile, who has appeared on the scene. During
their discussion Antonio makes as about to enter Angelica's house before
which they are, and Willmore, justling him to one side, wounds him.
He falls, and the officers who run up at the clash of swords, arrest
Belvile, who has returned at the noise, as the assailant, conveying him
by Antonio's orders to the Viceroy's palace. Antonio, in the course of
conversation, resigns Florinda to his rival, and Belvile, disguised as
Antonio, obtains Florinda from Don Pedro. At this moment Willmore
accosts him, and the Spaniard perceiving his mistake, soon takes his
sister off home. Angelica next comes in hot pursuit of Willmore, but
they are interrupted by Hellena, dressed as a boy, who tells a tale of
the Rover's amour with another dame and so rouses the jealous courtezan
to fury, and the twain promptly part quarrelling. Florinda, meanwhile,
who has escaped from her brother, running into an open house to evade
detection, finds herself in Ned Blunt's apartments. Blunt, who is
sitting half-clad, and in no pleasant mood owing to his having been
tricked of clothes and money and turned into the street by a common
cyprian, greets her roughly enough, but is mollified by the present of a
diamond ring. His friends and Don Pedro, come to laugh at his sorry
case, now force their way into the chamber, and Florinda, whom her
brother finally resigns to Belvile, is discovered. She is straightway
united to her lover by a convenient priest. Willmore is then surprised
by the apparition of Angelica, who, loading him with bitter reproaches
for his infidelity, is about to pistol him, when she is disarmed by
Antonio, and accordingly parts in a fury of jealous rage, to give place
to Hellena who adroitly secures her Rover in the noose of matrimony.




SOURCE.


The entire plan and many details of both parts of _The Rover_ are taken
openly and unreservedly from Tom Killigrew's _Thomaso, or The Wanderer_,
an unacted comedy likewise in two parts, published for the first time in
his collected works by Henry Herringman (folio, 1663-4). It is to be
noticed, however, that whilst Killigrew's work is really one long play
of ten closely consecutive acts, the scene of which is continually laid
in Madrid, without any break in time or action, Mrs. Behn, on the other
hand, admirably contrives that each separate part of _The Rover_ is
complete and possesses perfect unity in itself, the locale being
respectively, and far more suitably, in two several places, Naples and
Madrid, rather than confined to the latter city alone. Mrs. Behn,
moreover, introduces new characters and a new intrigue in her second
part, thus not merely sustaining but even renewing the interest which in
_Thomaso_ jades and flags most wearily owing to the author's prolixity
and diffuseness.

Killigrew, a royalist to the core, participated in the protracted exile
of Charles II, and devoting this interim to literature, wrote _Thomaso_
whilst at Madrid, probably about the year 1654-5. Although undeniably
interesting in a high degree, and not ill written, it shares in no small
measure the salient faults of his other productions, boundless and
needless verbosity, slowness of action, unconscionable length.

For all its wit and cleverness, such blemishes would, without trenchant
cutting, have been more than sufficient to prohibit it from any actual
performance, and, indeed, _Thomaso_ may be better described as a
dramatic romance than a comedy intended for the boards. Clumsy and
gargantuan speeches, which few actors could have even memorized, and
none would have ventured to utter on the stage, abound in every scene.
This lack of technical acumen (unless, as may well be the case,
Killigrew wrote much of these plays without any thought of presentation)
is more than surprising in an author so intimately connected with the
theatre and, after the Restoration, himself manager of the King's
Company.

Nor is _Thomaso_ without its patent plagiarisms. Doubtless no small part
is simply autobiographical adventuring, but, beside many a reminiscence
of the later Jacobeans, Killigrew has conveyed entire passages and
lyrics wholesale without attempt at disguise. Thus the song, 'Come
hither, you that love,' Act ii, Scene 3, is from Fletcher's _Captain_,
Act iv, the scene in Lelia's chamber. Again, the procedure and orations
of Lopus the mountebank are but the flimsiest alterations of _Volpone_,
Act ii, Scene I, nor could Killigrew change Jonson for anything but the
worse. He has even gone so far as to name his quack's spouse Celia,
a distinct echo of Corvino's wife.

In dealing with these two plays Mrs. Behn has done a great deal more
than merely fit the pieces for the stage. Almost wholly rewriting them,
she has infused into the torpid dialogue no small portion of wit and
vivacity, whilst the characters, prone to devolve into little better
than prosy and wooden marionettes, with only too apparent wires, are
given life, vigour movement, individuality and being. In fact she has
made the whole completely and essentially her own. In some cases the
same names are retained. We find Phillipo, Sancho, Angelica Bianca,
Lucetta, Callis, in Killigrew. But as Willmore is a different thing
altogether to Thomaso, so Ned Blunt is an infinitely more entertaining
figure than his prototype Edwardo. Amongst other details Killigrew,
oddly and stupidly enough, gives his English gentlemen foreign
names:-- Thomaso, Ferdinando, Rogero, Harrigo[*]. This jar is duly
corrected in _The Rover_.

    [Footnote *: There is a strange commixture here. The character is
    familiarly addressed as 'Hal', the scene is Madrid, and he rejoices
    in the Milanese (not Italian) nomenclature Arrigo = Henry in that
    dialect.]

Mrs. Behn has further dealt with the Lucetta intrigue in a far more
masterly way than Killigrew's clumsily developed episode. In _Thomaso_
it occupies a considerable space, and becomes both tedious and brutally
unpleasant. The apt conclusion of the amour in _The Rover_ with Blunt's
parlous mishap is originally derived from Boccaccio, Second Day,
Novel 5, where a certain Andreuccio finds himself in the same unsavoury
predicament as the Essex squireen. However, even this was by no means
new to the English stage. In _Blurt Master Constable_, Lazarillo de
Tormes, at the house of the courtezan Imperia, meets with precisely the
same accident, Act iii, Scene 3, Act iv, Scenes 2 and 3, and it is
probable that Mrs. Behn did not go directly to the _Decameron_ but drew
upon Middleton, of whom she made very ample use on another occasion,
borrowing for _The City Heiress_ no small portion of _A Mad World, My
Masters_, and racily reproducing in extenso therefrom Sir Bounteous
Progress, Dick Folly-Wit, the mock grandee, and that most excellent of
all burglaries good enough for Fielding at his best.

In dealing with _Thomaso_ Astrea did not hesitate, with manifest
advantage, to transfer incidents from Part II to Part I, and vice versa.
Correcting, pruning, augmenting, enlivening, rewriting, she may indeed
(pace the memory of the merry jester of Charles II) be well said to have
clothed dry bones with flesh, and to have given her creation a witty and
supple tongue.




THEATRICAL HISTORY.


The first part of _The Rover_ was produced at the Duke's House, Dorset
Gardens, in the summer of 1677, and licensed for printing on 2 July of
the same year. It met, as it fully deserved, with complete success, and
remained one of the stock plays of the company. Smith, the original
Willmore, and the low comedian Underhill as Blunt were especially
renowned in their respective roles. Another famous Willmore was Will
Mountford, of whom Dibdin relates, 'When he played Mrs. Behn's dissolute
character of The Rover, it was remarked by many, and particularly by
Queen Mary, that it was dangerous to see him act, he made vice so
alluring.'

Amongst the more notable representations of the eighteenth century we
find:-- _Drury Lane; 18 February, 1703._ Willmore by Wilks; Hellena,
Mrs. Oldfield; repeated on 15 October of the same year. _Haymarket; 20
January, 1707._ Willmore by Verbruggen; Blunt, Underhill; Hellena, Mrs.
Bracegirdle; Angelica, Mrs. Barry; Florinda, Mrs. Bowman. _Drury Lane;
22 April, 1708._ Willmore by Wilks; Blunt, Estcourt; Frederick, Cibber;
Hellena, Mrs. Oldfield; Angelica, Mrs. Barry; Florinda, Mrs. Porter.
_Drury Lane; 30 December, 1715._ Willmore, Wilks; Blunt, Johnson;
Hellena, Mrs. Mountfort; Angelica, Mrs. Porter. _Drury Lane; 6 March,
1716._ Don Pedro, Quin; Frederick, Ryan; Florinda, Mrs. Horton.
_Lincoln's Inn Fields; 5 April, 1725._ 'Never acted there.' Performed
for Ryan's benefit. Willmore, Ryan; Belvile, Quin; Blunt, Spiller;
Hellena, Mrs. Bullock; Angelica, Mrs. Parker. _Covent Garden;
9 November, 1748._ Willmore, Ryan; Blunt, Bridgewater; Hellena, Mrs.
Woffington; Angelica, Mrs. Horton. To make this performance more
attractive there was also presented 'a musical entertainment', entitled,
_Apollo and Daphne_, which had been originally produced at Lincoln's Inn
Fields in 1726. _Covent Garden; 19 February, 1757._ 'Not acted twenty
years.' Willmore, Smith; Belvile, Ridout; Frederick, Clarke; Don
Antonio, Dyer; Blunt, Shuter; Hellena, Mrs. Woffington; Angelica, Mrs.
Hamilton; Florinda, Mrs. Elmy. This, the latest revival, was performed
with considerable expense, and proved successful, being repeated no less
than ten times during the season. Wilkinson says that Shuter acted Blunt
very realistically, and, as the stage directions of Act iii require,
stripped to his very drawers.

On 8 March, 1790, J. P. Kemble presented at Drury Lane a pudibond
alteration of _The Rover_, which he dubbed _Love in Many Masks_ (8vo,
1790). It was well received, and acted eight times; in the following
season once. Willmore was played by Kemble himself; Belvile, Wroughton;
Blunt, Jack Bannister; Stephano, Suett; Hellena, Mrs. Jordan; Angelica,
Mrs. Ward; Florinda, Mrs. Powell; Valeria, Mrs. Kemble; Lucetta, Miss
Tidswell. It is not entirely worthless from a purely technical point of
view, but yet very modest and mediocre. As might well be surmised, the
raciness and spirit of _The Rover_ entirely evaporate in the insipidity
of emasculation. This is the last recorded performance of Mrs. Behn's
brilliant comedy in any shape.




THE ROVER;

or, the Banish'd Cavaliers.

PART I.




PROLOGUE,

Written by a Person of Quality.


  _Wits, like Physicians, never can agree,
  When of a different Society;
  And _Rabel's_ Drops were never more cry'd down
  By all the Learned Doctors of the Town,
  Than a new Play, whose Author is unknown:
  Nor can those Doctors with more Malice sue
  (And powerful Purses) the dissenting Few,
  Than those with an insulting Pride do rail
  At all who are not of their own Cabal._

  _If a Young Poet hit your Humour right,
  You judge him then out of Revenge and Spite;
  So amongst Men there are ridiculous Elves,
  Who Monkeys hate for being too like themselves:
  So that the Reason of the Grand Debate,
  Why Wit so oft is damn'd, when good Plays take,
  Is, that you censure as you love or hate.
  Thus, like a learned Conclave, Poets sit
  Catholick Judges both of Sense and Wit,
  And damn or save, as they themselves think fit.
  Yet those who to others Faults are so severe,
  Are not so perfect, but themselves may err.
  Some write correct indeed, but then the whole
  (Bating their own dull Stuff i'th' Play) is stole:
  As Bees do suck from Flowers their Honey-dew,
  So they rob others, striving to please you._

  _Some write their Characters genteel and fine,
  But then they do so toil for every Line,
  That what to you does easy seem, and plain,
  Is the hard issue of their labouring Brain.
  And some th' Effects of all their Pains we see,
  Is but to mimick good Extempore.
  Others by long Converse about the Town,
  Have Wit enough to write a leud Lampoon,
  But their chief Skill lies in a Baudy Song.
  In short, the only Wit that's now in Fashion
  Is but the Gleanings of good Conversation.
  As for the Author of this coming Play,
  I ask'd him what he thought fit I should say,
  In thanks for your good Company to day:
  He call'd me Fool, and said it was well known,
  You came not here for our sakes, but your own.
  New Plays are stuff'd with Wits, and with Debauches,
  That croud and sweat like Cits in _May_-day Coaches._




  DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


  MEN.

  Don _Antonio_, the Vice-Roy's Son,            Mr. _Jevorne_.
  Don _Pedro_, a Noble _Spaniard_, his Friend,  Mr. _Medburne_.
  _Belvile_, an _English_ Colonel
      in love with _Florinda_,                  Mr. _Betterton_.
  _Willmore_, the _ROVER_,                      Mr. _Smith_.
  _Frederick_, an _English_ Gentleman,
      and Friend to _Belvile_ and _Blunt_,      Mr. _Crosbie_.
  _Blunt_, an _English_ Country Gentleman,      Mr. _Underhill_.
  _Stephano_, Servant to Don _Pedro_,           Mr. _Richards_.
  _Philippo_, _Lucetta's_ Gallant,              Mr. _Percival_.
  _Sancho_, Pimp to _Lucetta_,                  Mr. _John Lee_.
  _Risky_ and _Sebastian_,
      two Bravoes to _Angelica_.
  _Diego_, Page to Don _Antonio_.
  Page to _Hellena_.
  Boy, Page to _Belvile_.
  _Blunt's_ Man.
  Officers and Soldiers.


WOMEN.

  _Florinda_, Sister to Don _Pedro_,            Mrs. _Betterton_.
  _Hellena_, a gay young Woman design'd
      for a Nun, and Sister to _Florinda_,      Mrs. _Barrey_.
  _Valeria_, a Kinswoman to _Florinda_,         Mrs. _Hughes_.
  _Angelica Bianca_, a famous Curtezan,         Mrs. _Gwin_.
  _Moretta_, her Woman,                         Mrs. _Leigh_.
  _Callis_, Governess to _Florinda_
      and _Hellena_,                            Mrs. _Norris_.
  _Lucetta_, a jilting Wench,                   Mrs. _Gillow_.


    Servants, other Masqueraders, Men and Women.




SCENE _Naples_, in Carnival-time.




ACT I.


SCENE I. _A chamber._

    Enter _Florinda_ and _Hellena_.

_Flor._ What an impertinent thing is a young Girl bred in a Nunnery! How
full of Questions! Prithee no more, _Hellena_; I have told thee more
than thou understand'st already.

_Hell._ The more's my Grief; I wou'd fain know as much as you, which
makes me so inquisitive; nor is't enough to know you're a Lover, unless
you tell me too, who 'tis you sigh for.

_Flor._ When you are a Lover, I'll think you fit for a Secret of that
nature.

_Hell._ 'Tis true, I was never a Lover yet-- but I begin to have a
shreud Guess, what 'tis to be so, and fancy it very pretty to sigh, and
sing, and blush and wish, and dream and wish, and long and wish to see
the Man; and when I do, look pale and tremble; just as you did when my
Brother brought home the fine _English_ Colonel to see you-- what do you
call him? Don _Belvile_.

_Flor._ Fie, _Hellena_.

_Hell._ That Blush betrays you-- I am sure 'tis so-- or is it Don
_Antonio_ the Vice-Roy's Son?-- or perhaps the rich old Don _Vincentio_,
whom my father designs for your Husband?-- Why do you blush again?

_Flor._ With Indignation; and how near soever my Father thinks I am to
marrying that hated Object, I shall let him see I understand better
what's due to my Beauty, Birth and Fortune, and more to my Soul, than to
obey those unjust Commands.

_Hell._ Now hang me, if I don't love thee for that dear Disobedience.
I love Mischief strangely, as most of our Sex do, who are come to love
nothing else-- But tell me, dear _Florinda_, don't you love that fine
_Anglese_?-- for I vow next to loving him my self, 'twill please me most
that you do so, for he is so gay and so handsom.

_Flor._ _Hellena_, a Maid design'd for a Nun ought not to be so curious
in a Discourse of Love.

_Hell._ And dost thou think that ever I'll be a Nun? Or at least till
I'm so old, I'm fit for nothing else. Faith no, Sister; and that which
makes me long to know whether you love _Belvile_, is because I hope he
has some mad Companion or other, that will spoil my Devotion; nay I'm
resolv'd to provide my self this Carnival, if there be e'er a handsom
Fellow of my Humour above Ground, tho I ask first.

_Flor._ Prithee be not so wild.

_Hell._ Now you have provided your self with a Man, you take no Care for
poor me-- Prithee tell me, what dost thou see about me that is unfit for
Love-- have not I a world of Youth? a Humour gay? a Beauty passable?
a Vigour desirable? well shap'd? clean limb'd? sweet breath'd? and Sense
enough to know how all these ought to be employ'd to the best Advantage:
yes, I do and will. Therefore lay aside your Hopes of my Fortune, by my
being a Devotee, and tell me how you came acquainted with this
_Belvile_; for I perceive you knew him before he came to _Naples_.

_Flor._ Yes, I knew him at the Siege of _Pampelona_, he was then a
Colonel of _French_ Horse, who when the Town was ransack'd, nobly
treated my Brother and my self, preserving us from all Insolencies; and
I must own, (besides great Obligations) I have I know not what, that
pleads kindly for him about my Heart, and will suffer no other to
enter-- But see my Brother.

    Enter _Don Pedro_, _Stephano_, with a Masquing Habit, and _Callis_.

_Pedro._ Good morrow, Sister. Pray, when saw you your Lover Don
_Vincentio_?

_Flor._ I know not, Sir-- _Callis_, when was he here? for I consider it
so little, I know not when it was.

_Pedro._ I have a Command from my Father here to tell you, you ought not
to despise him, a Man of so vast a Fortune, and such a Passion for
you-- _Stephano_, my things--
    [Puts on his Masquing Habit.

_Flor._ A Passion for me! 'tis more than e'er I saw, or had a desire
should be known-- I hate _Vincentio_, and I would not have a Man so dear
to me as my Brother follow the ill Customs of our Country, and make a
Slave of his Sister-- And Sir, my Father's Will, I'm sure, you may
divert.

_Pedro._ I know not how dear I am to you, but I wish only to be rank'd
in your Esteem, equal with the _English_ Colonel _Belvile_-- Why do you
frown and blush? Is there any Guilt belongs to the Name of that
Cavalier?

_Flor._ I'll not deny I value _Belvile_: when I was expos'd to such
Dangers as the licens'd Lust of common Soldiers threatned, when Rage and
Conquest flew thro the City-- then _Belvile_, this Criminal for my sake,
threw himself into all Dangers to save my Honour, and will you not allow
him my Esteem?

_Pedro._ Yes, pay him what you will in Honour-- but you must consider
Don _Vincentio's_ Fortune, and the Jointure he'll make you.

_Flor._ Let him consider my Youth, Beauty and Fortune; which ought not
to be thrown away on his Age and Jointure.

_Pedro._ 'Tis true, he's not so young and fine a Gentleman as that
_Belvile_-- but what Jewels will that Cavalier present you with? those
of his Eyes and Heart?

_Hell._ And are not those better than any Don _Vincentio_ has brought
from the _Indies_?

_Pedro._ Why how now! Has your Nunnery-breeding taught you to understand
the Value of Hearts and Eyes?

_Hell._ Better than to believe _Vincentio_ deserves Value from any
woman-- He may perhaps encrease her Bags, but not her Family.

_Pedro._ This is fine-- Go up to your Devotion, you are not design'd for
the Conversation of Lovers.

_Hell._ Nor Saints yet a while I hope. [Aside.] Is't not enough you make
a Nun of me, but you must cast my Sister away too, exposing her to a
worse confinement than a religious Life?

_Pedro._ The Girl's mad-- Is it a Confinement to be carry'd into the
Country, to an antient Villa belonging to the Family of the
_Vincentio's_ these five hundred Years, and have no other Prospect than
that pleasing one of seeing all her own that meets her Eyes-- a fine
Air, large Fields and Gardens, where she may walk and gather Flowers?

_Hell._ When? By Moon-Light? For I'm sure she dares not encounter with
the heat of the Sun; that were a Task only for Don _Vincentio_ and his
_Indian_ Breeding, who loves it in the Dog-days-- And if these be her
daily Divertisements, what are those of the Night? to lie in a wide
Moth-eaten Bed-Chamber with Furniture in Fashion in the Reign of King
_Sancho_ the First; the Bed that which his Forefathers liv'd and dy'd
in.

_Pedro._ Very well.

_Hell._ This Apartment (new furbisht and fitted out for the young Wife)
he (out of Freedom) makes his Dressing-room; and being a frugal and a
jealous Coxcomb, instead of a Valet to uncase his feeble Carcase, he
desires you to do that Office-- Signs of Favour, I'll assure you, and
such as you must not hope for, unless your Woman be out of the way.

_Pedro._ Have you done yet?

_Hell._ That Honour being past, the Giant stretches it self, yawns and
sighs a Belch or two as loud as a Musket, throws himself into Bed, and
expects you in his foul Sheets, and e'er you can get your self undrest,
calls you with a Snore or two-- And are not these fine Blessings to a
young Lady?

_Pedro._ Have you done yet?

_Hell._ And this man you must kiss, nay, you must kiss none but him
too-- and nuzle thro his Beard to find his Lips-- and this you must
submit to for threescore Years, and all for a Jointure.

_Pedro._ For all your Character of Don _Vincentio_, she is as like to
marry him as she was before.

_Hell._ Marry Don _Vincentio_! hang me, such a Wedlock would be worse
than Adultery with another Man: I had rather see her in the _Hostel de
Dieu_, to waste her Youth there in Vows, and be a Handmaid to Lazers and
<DW36>s, than to lose it in such a Marriage.

_Pedro._ You have consider'd, Sister, that _Belvile_ has no Fortune to
bring you to, is banisht his Country, despis'd at home, and pity'd
abroad.

_Hell._ What then? the Vice-Roy's Son is better than that Old Sir Fisty.
Don _Vincentio_! Don _Indian_! he thinks he's trading to _Gambo_ still,
and wou'd barter himself (that Bell and Bawble) for your Youth and
Fortune.

_Pedro._ _Callis_, take her hence, and lock her up all this Carnival,
and at Lent she shall begin her everlasting Penance in a Monastery.

_Hell._ I care not, I had rather be a Nun, than be oblig'd to marry as
you wou'd have me, if I were design'd for't.

_Pedro._ Do not fear the Blessing of that Choice-- you shall be a Nun.

_Hell._ Shall I so? you may chance to be mistaken in my way of
Devotion-- A Nun! yes I am like to make a fine Nun! I have an excellent
Humour for a Grate: No, I'll have a Saint of my own to pray to shortly,
if I like any that dares venture on me.
    [Aside.

_Pedro._ _Callis_, make it your Business to watch this wild Cat. As for
you, _Florinda_, I've only try'd you all this while, and urg'd my
Father's Will; but mine is, that you would love _Antonio_, he is brave
and young, and all that can compleat the Happiness of a gallant
Maid-- This Absence of my Father will give us opportunity to free you
from _Vincentio_, by marrying here, which you must do to morrow.

_Flor._ To morrow!

_Pedro._ To morrow, or 'twill be too late-- 'tis not my Friendship to
_Antonio_, which makes me urge this, but Love to thee, and Hatred to
_Vincentio_-- therefore resolve upon't to morrow.

_Flor._ Sir, I shall strive to do, as shall become your Sister.

_Pedro._ I'll both believe and trust you-- Adieu.
    [Ex. _Ped._ and _Steph._

_Hell._ As become his Sister!-- That is, to be as resolved your way,
as he is his--
    [_Hell._ goes to _Callis_.

_Flor._ I ne'er till now perceiv'd my Ruin near,
  I've no Defence against _Antonio's_ Love,
  For he has all the Advantages of Nature,
  The moving Arguments of Youth and Fortune.

_Hell._ But hark you, _Callis_, you will not be so cruel to lock me up
indeed: will you?

_Call._ I must obey the Commands I hate-- besides, do you consider what
a Life you are going to lead?

_Hell._ Yes, _Callis_, that of a Nun: and till then I'll be indebted a
World of Prayers to you, if you let me now see, what I never did, the
Divertisements of a Carnival.

_Call._ What, go in Masquerade? 'twill be a fine farewell to the World I
take it-- pray what wou'd you do there?

_Hell._ That which all the World does, as I am told, be as mad as the
rest, and take all innocent Freedom-- Sister, you'll go too, will you
not? come prithee be not sad-- We'll out-wit twenty Brothers, if you'll
be ruled by me-- Come put off this dull Humour with your Clothes, and
assume one as gay, and as fantastick as the Dress my Cousin _Valeria_
and I have provided, and let's ramble.

_Flor._ _Callis_, will you give us leave to go?

_Call._ I have a youthful Itch of going my self. [Aside.] --Madam, if I
thought your Brother might not know it, and I might wait on you, for by
my troth I'll not trust young Girls alone.

_Flor._ Thou see'st my Brother's gone already, and thou shalt attend and
watch us.

    Enter _Stephano_.

_Steph._ Madam, the Habits are come, and your Cousin Valeria is drest,
and stays for you.

_Flor._ 'Tis well-- I'll write a Note, and if I chance to see _Belvile_,
and want an opportunity to speak to him, that shall let him know what
I've resolv'd in favour of him.

_Hell._ Come, let's in and dress us.    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. _A Long Street._

    Enter _Belvile_, melancholy, _Blunt_ and _Frederick_.

_Fred._ Why, what the Devil ails the Colonel, in a time when all the
World is gay, to look like mere Lent thus? Hadst thou been long enough
in _Naples_ to have been in love, I should have sworn some such Judgment
had befall'n thee.

_Belv._ No, I have made no new Amours since I came to Naples.

_Fred._ You have left none behind you in Paris.

_Belv._ Neither.

_Fred._ I can't divine the Cause then; unless the old Cause, the want of
Mony.

_Blunt._ And another old Cause, the want of a Wench-- Wou'd not that
revive you?

_Belv._ You're mistaken, _Ned_.

_Blunt_ Nay, 'Sheartlikins, then thou art past Cure.

_Fred._ I have found it out; thou hast renew'd thy Acquaintance with the
Lady that cost thee so many Sighs at the Siege of _Pampelona_-- pox
on't, what d'ye call her-- her Brother's a noble _Spaniard_-- Nephew to
the dead General-- _Florinda_-- ay, _Florinda_-- And will nothing serve
thy turn but that damn'd virtuous Woman, whom on my Conscience thou
lov'st in spite too, because thou seest little or no possibility of
gaining her?

_Belv._ Thou art mistaken, I have Interest enough in that lovely
Virgin's Heart, to make me proud and vain, were it not abated by the
Severity of a Brother, who perceiving my Happiness--

_Fred._ Has civilly forbid thee the House?

_Belv._ 'Tis so, to make way for a powerful Rival, the Vice-Roy's Son,
who has the advantage of me, in being a Man of Fortune, a _Spaniard_,
and her Brother's Friend; which gives him liberty to make his Court,
whilst I have recourse only to Letters, and distant Looks from her
Window, which are as soft and kind as those which Heav'n sends down on
Penitents.

_Blunt._ Hey day! 'Sheartlikins, Simile! by this Light the Man is quite
spoil'd-- _Frederick_, what the Devil are we made of, that we cannot be
thus concern'd for a Wench?-- 'Sheartlikins, our _Cupids_ are like the
Cooks of the Camp, they can roast or boil a Woman, but they have none of
the fine Tricks to set 'em off, no Hogoes to make the Sauce pleasant,
and the Stomach sharp.

_Fred._ I dare swear I have had a hundred as young, kind and handsom as
this _Florinda_; and Dogs eat me, if they were not as troublesom to me
i'th' Morning as they were welcome o'er night.

_Blunt._ And yet, I warrant, he wou'd not touch another Woman, if he
might have her for nothing.

_Belv._ That's thy Joy, a cheap Whore.

_Blunt._ Why, 'dsheartlikins, I love a frank Soul-- When did you ever
hear of an honest Woman that took a Man's Mony? I warrant 'em good
ones-- But, Gentlemen, you may be free, you have been kept so poor with
Parliaments and Protectors, that the little Stock you have is not worth
preserving-- but I thank my Stars, I have more Grace than to forfeit my
Estate by Cavaliering.

_Belv._ Methinks only following the Court should be sufficient to
entitle 'em to that.

_Blunt._ 'Sheartlikins, they know I follow it to do it no good, unless
they pick a hole in my Coat for lending you Mony now and then; which is
a greater Crime to my Conscience, Gentlemen, than to the Common-wealth.

    Enter _Willmore_.

_Will._ Ha! dear _Belvile_! noble Colonel!

_Belv._ _Willmore_! welcome ashore, my dear Rover!-- what happy Wind
blew us this good Fortune?

_Will._ Let me salute you my dear _Fred_, and then command me-- How is't
honest Lad?

_Fred._ Faith, Sir, the old Complement, infinitely the better to see my
dear mad _Willmore_ again-- Prithee why camest thou ashore? and where's
the Prince?

_Will._ He's well, and reigns still Lord of the watery Element-- I must
aboard again within a Day or two, and my Business ashore was only to
enjoy my self a little this Carnival.

_Belv._ Pray know our new Friend, Sir, he's but bashful, a raw
Traveller, but honest, stout, and one of us.
    [Embraces _Blunt_.

_Will._ That you esteem him, gives him an Interest here.

_Blunt._ Your Servant, Sir.

_Will._ But well-- Faith I'm glad to meet you again in a warm Climate,
where the kind Sun has its god-like Power still over the Wine and
Woman.-- Love and Mirth are my Business in _Naples_; and if I mistake
not the Place, here's an excellent Market for Chapmen of my Humour.

_Belv._ See here be those kind Merchants of Love you look for.

    Enter several Men in masquing Habits, some playing on Musick,
    others dancing after; Women drest like Curtezans, with Papers
    pinn'd to their Breasts, and Baskets of Flowers in their Hands.

_Blunt._ 'Sheartlikins, what have we here!

_Fred._ Now the Game begins.

_Will._ Fine pretty Creatures! may a stranger have leave to look and
love?-- What's here-- _Roses for every Month!_
    [Reads the Paper.

_Blunt._ Roses for every Month! what means that?

_Belv._ They are, or wou'd have you think they're Curtezans, who herein
_Naples_ are to be hir'd by the Month.

_Will._ Kind and obliging to inform us-- Pray where do these Roses grow?
I would fain plant some of 'em in a Bed of mine.

_Wom._ Beware such Roses, Sir.

_Will._ A Pox of fear: I'll be bak'd with thee between a pair of Sheets,
and that's thy proper Still, so I might but strow such Roses over me and
under me-- Fair one, wou'd you wou'd give me leave to gather at your
Bush this idle Month, I wou'd go near to make some Body smell of it all
the Year after.

_Belv._ And thou hast need of such a Remedy, for thou stinkest of Tar
and Rope-ends, like a Dock or Pesthouse.

    [The Woman puts herself into the Hands of a Man, and _Exit_.

_Will._ Nay, nay, you shall not leave me so.

_Belv._ By all means use no Violence here.

_Will._ Death! just as I was going to be damnably in love, to have her
led off! I could pluck that Rose out-of his Hand, and even kiss the Bed,
the Bush it grew in.

_Fred._ No Friend to Love like a long Voyage at Sea.

_Blunt._ Except a Nunnery, _Fred_.

_Will._ Death! but will they not be kind, quickly be kind? Thou know'st
I'm no tame Sigher, but a rampant Lion of the Forest.

_Two Men drest all over with Horns of several sorts, making Grimaces at
one another, with Papers pinn'd on their Backs, advance from the farther
end of the Scene._

_Belv._ Oh the fantastical Rogues, how they are dress'd! 'tis a Satir
against the whole Sex.

_Will._ Is this a Fruit that grows in this warm Country?

_Belv._ Yes: 'Tis pretty to see these _Italian_ start, swell, and stab
at the Word _Cuckold_, and yet stumble at Horns on every Threshold.

_Will._ See what's on their Back-- _Flowers for every Night._    [Reads.

--Ah Rogue! And more sweet than Roses of ev'ry Month! This is a Gardiner
of _Adam's_ own breeding.
    [They dance.

_Belv._ What think you of those grave People?-- is a Wake in _Essex_
half so mad or extravagant?

_Will._ I like their sober grave way, 'tis a kind of legal authoriz'd
Fornication, where the Men are not chid for't, nor the Women despis'd,
as amongst our dull _English_; even the Monsieurs want that part of good
Manners.

_Belv._ But here in _Italy_ a Monsieur is the humblest best-bred
Gentleman-- Duels are so baffled by Bravo's that an age shews not one,
but between a _Frenchman_ and a Hang-man, who is as much too hard for
him on the Piazza, as they are for a _Dutchman_ on the new Bridge-- But
see another Crew.

    Enter _Florinda_, _Hellena_, and _Valeria_, drest like Gipsies;
    _Callis_ and _Stephano_, _Lucetta_, _Phillippo_ and _Sancho_ in
    Masquerade.

_Hell._ Sister, there's your _Englishman_, and with him a handsom proper
Fellow-- I'll to him, and instead of telling him his Fortune, try my
own.

_Will._ Gipsies, on my Life-- Sure these will prattle if a Man cross
their Hands. [Goes to _Hellena_] --Dear pretty (and I hope) young Devil,
will you tell an amorous Stranger what Luck he's like to have?

_Hell._ Have a care how you venture with me, Sir, lest I pick your
Pocket, which will more vex your _English_ Humour, than an _Italian_
Fortune will please you.

_Will._ How the Devil cam'st thou to know my Country and Humour?

_Hell._ The first I guess by a certain forward Impudence, which does not
displease me at this time; and the Loss of your Money will vex you,
because I hope you have but very little to lose.

_Will._ Egad Child, thou'rt i'th' right; it is so little, I dare not
offer it thee for a Kindness-- But cannot you divine what other things
of more value I have about me, that I would more willingly part with?

_Hell._ Indeed no, that's the Business of a Witch, and I am but a Gipsy
yet-- Yet, without looking in your Hand, I have a parlous Guess, 'tis
some foolish Heart you mean, an inconstant _English_ Heart, as little
worth stealing as your Purse.

_Will._ Nay, then thou dost deal with the Devil, that's certain-- Thou
hast guess'd as right as if thou hadst been one of that Number it has
languisht for-- I find you'll be better acquainted with it; nor can you
take it in a better time, for I am come from Sea, Child; and _Venus_ not
being propitious to me in her own Element, I have a world of Love in
store-- Wou'd you would be good-natur'd, and take some on't off my
Hands.

_Hell._ Why-- I could be inclin'd that way-- but for a foolish Vow I am
going to make-- to die a Maid.

_Will._ Then thou art damn'd without Redemption; and as I am a good
Christian, I ought in charity to divert so wicked a design-- therefore
prithee, dear Creature, let me know quickly when and where I shall begin
to set a helping hand to so good a Work.

_Hell._ If you should prevail with my tender Heart (as I begin to fear
you will, for you have horrible loving Eyes) there will be difficulty
in't that you'll hardly undergo for my sake.

_Will._ Faith, Child, I have been bred in Dangers, and wear a Sword that
has been employ'd in a worse Cause, than for a handsom kind Woman-- Name
the Danger-- let it be any thing but a long Siege, and I'll undertake
it.

_Hell._ Can you storm?

_Will._ Oh, most furiously.

_Hell._ What think you of a Nunnery-wall? for he that wins me, must gain
that first.

_Will._ A Nun! Oh how I love thee for't! there's no Sinner like a young
Saint-- Nay, now there's no denying me: the old Law had no Curse (to a
Woman) like dying a Maid; witness _Jephtha's_ Daughter.

_Hell._ A very good Text this, if well handled; and I perceive, Father
Captain, you would impose no severe Penance on her who was inclin'd to
console her self before she took Orders.

_Will._ If she be young and handsom.

_Hell._ Ay, there's it-- but if she be not--

_Will._ By this Hand, Child, I have an implicit Faith, and dare venture
on thee with all Faults-- besides, 'tis more meritorious to leave the
World when thou hast tasted and prov'd the Pleasure on't; then 'twill be
a Virtue in thee, which now will be pure Ignorance.

_Hell._ I perceive, good Father Captain, you design only to make me fit
for Heaven-- but if on the contrary you should quite divert me from it,
and bring me back to the World again, I should have a new Man to seek I
find; and what a grief that will be-- for when I begin, I fancy I shall
love like any thing: I never try'd yet.

_Will._ Egad, and that's kind-- Prithee, dear Creature, give me Credit
for a Heart, for faith, I'm a very honest Fellow-- Oh, I long to come
first to the Banquet of Love; and such a swinging Appetite I bring-- Oh,
I'm impatient. Thy Lodging, Sweetheart, thy Lodging, or I'm a dead man.

_Hell._ Why must we be either guilty of Fornication or Murder, if we
converse with you Men?-- And is there no difference between leave to
love me, and leave to lie with me?

_Will._ Faith, Child, they were made to go together.

_Lucet._ Are you sure this is the Man?    [Pointing to _Blunt_.

_Sancho._ When did I mistake your Game?

_Lucet._ This is a stranger, I know by his gazing; if he be brisk he'll
venture to follow me; and then, if I understand my Trade, he's mine:
he's _English_ too, and they say that's a sort of good natur'd loving
People, and have generally so kind an opinion of themselves, that a
Woman with any Wit may flatter 'em into any sort of Fool she pleases.

_Blunt._ 'Tis so-- she is taken-- I have Beauties which my false Glass
at home did not discover.

    [She often passes by _Blunt_ and gazes on him; he struts, and
    cocks, and walks, and gazes on her.

_Flor._ This Woman watches me so, I shall get no Opportunity to discover
my self to him, and so miss the intent of my coming-- But as I was
saying, Sir-- by this Line you should be a Lover.
    [Looking in his Hand.

_Belv._ I thought how right you guess'd, all Men are in love, or pretend
to be so-- Come, let me go, I'm weary of this fooling.
    [Walks away.

_Flor._ I will not, till you have confess'd whether the Passion that you
have vow'd _Florinda_ be true or false.
    [She holds him, he strives to get from her.

_Belv._ _Florinda_!    [Turns quick towards her.

_Flor._ Softly.

_Belv._ Thou hast nam'd one will fix me here for ever.

_Flor._ She'll be disappointed then, who expects you this Night at the
Garden-gate, and if you'll fail not-- as let me see the other Hand-- you
will go near to do-- she vows to die or make you happy.
    [Looks on Callis, who observes 'em.

_Belv._ What canst thou mean?

_Flor._ That which I say-- Farewel.    [Offers to go.

_Belv._ Oh charming Sybil, stay, complete that Joy, which, as it is,
will turn into Distraction!-- Where must I be? at the Garden-gate? I
know it-- at night you say-- I'll sooner forfeit Heaven than disobey.

    Enter _Don Pedro_ and other Masquers, and pass over the Stage.

_Call._ Madam, your Brother's here.

_Flor._ Take this to instruct you farther.
    [Gives him a Letter, and goes off.

_Fred._ Have a care, Sir, what you promise; this may be a Trap laid by
her Brother to ruin you.

_Belv._ Do not disturb my Happiness with Doubts.    [Opens the Letter.

_Will._ My dear pretty Creature, a Thousand Blessings on thee; still in
this Habit, you say, and after Dinner at this Place.

_Hell._ Yes, if you will swear to keep your Heart, and not bestow it
between this time and that.

_Will._ By all the little Gods of Love I swear, I'll leave it with you;
and if you run away with it, those Deities of Justice will revenge me.
    [Ex. all the Women except Lucetta.

_Fred._ Do you know the Hand?

_Belv._ 'Tis _Florinda's_. All Blessings fall upon the virtuous Maid.

_Fred._ Nay, no Idolatry, a sober Sacrifice I'll allow you.

_Belv._ Oh Friends! the welcom'st News, the softest Letter!-- nay, you
shall see it; and could you now be serious, I might be made the happiest
Man the Sun shines on.

_Will._ The Reason of this mighty Joy.

_Belv._ See how kindly she invites me to deliver her from the threaten'd
Violence of her Brother-- will you not assist me?

_Will._ I know not what thou mean'st, but I'll make one at any Mischief
where a Woman's concerned-- but she'll be grateful to us for the Favour,
will she not?

_Belv._ How mean you?

_Will._ How should I mean? Thou know'st there's but one way for a Woman
to oblige me.

_Belv._ Don't prophane-- the Maid is nicely virtuous.

_Will._ Who pox, then she's fit for nothing but a Husband; let her e'en
go, Colonel.

_Fred._ Peace, she's the Colonel's Mistress, Sir.

_Will._ Let her be the Devil; if she be thy Mistress, I'll serve
her-- name the way.

_Belv._ Read here this Postscript.    [Gives him a Letter.

_Will._ [Reads.] _At Ten at night-- at the Garden-Gate-- of which, if I
cannot get the Key, I will contrive a way over the Wall-- come attended
with a Friend or two._-- Kind heart, if we three cannot weave a String
to let her down a Garden-Wall,'twere pity but the Hangman wove one for
us all.

_Fred._ Let her alone for that: your Woman's Wit, your fair kind Woman,
will out-trick a Brother or a Jew, and contrive like a Jesuit in
Chains-- but see, _Ned Blunt_ is stoln out after the Lure of a Damsel.
    [Ex. _Blunt_ and _Lucet._

_Belv._ So he'll scarce find his way home again, unless we get him cry'd
by the Bell-man in the Market-place, and 'twou'd sound prettily-- a lost
_English_ Boy of Thirty.

_Fred._ I hope 'tis some common crafty Sinner, one that will fit him;
it may be she'll sell him for _Peru_, the Rogue's sturdy and would work
well in a Mine; at least I hope she'll dress him for our Mirth; cheat
him of all, then have him well-favour'dly bang'd, and turn'd out naked
at Midnight.

_Will._ Prithee what Humour is he of, that you wish him so well?

_Belv._ Why, of an _English_ Elder Brother's Humour, educated in a
Nursery, with a Maid to tend him till Fifteen, and lies with his
Grand-mother till he's of Age; one that knows no Pleasure beyond riding
to the next Fair, or going up to _London_ with his right Worshipful
Father in Parliament-time; wearing gay Clothes, or making honourable
Love to his Lady Mother's Landry-Maid; gets drunk at a Hunting-Match,
and ten to one then gives some Proofs of his Prowess-- A pox upon him,
he's our Banker, and has all our Cash about him, and if he fail we are
all broke.

_Fred._ Oh let him alone for that matter, he's of a damn'd stingy
Quality, that will secure our Stock. I know not in what Danger it were
indeed, if the Jilt should pretend she's in love with him, for 'tis a
kind believing Coxcomb; otherwise if he part with more than a Piece of
Eight-- geld him: for which offer he may chance to be beaten, if she be
a Whore of the first Rank.

_Belv._ Nay the Rogue will not be easily beaten, he's stout enough;
perhaps if they talk beyond his Capacity, he may chance to exercise his
Courage upon some of them; else I'm sure they'll find it as difficult to
beat as to please him.

_Will._ 'Tis a lucky Devil to light upon so kind a Wench!

_Fred._ Thou hadst a great deal of talk with thy little Gipsy, coud'st
thou do no good upon her? for mine was hard-hearted.

_Will._ Hang her, she was some damn'd honest Person of Quality, I'm
sure, she was so very free and witty. If her Face be but answerable to
her Wit and Humour, I would be bound to Constancy this Month to gain
her. In the mean time, have you made no kind Acquaintance since you came
to Town?-- You do not use to be honest so long, Gentlemen.

_Fred._ Faith Love has kept us honest, we have been all fir'd with a
Beauty newly come to Town, the famous _Paduana_ _Angelica Bianca_.

_Will._ What, the Mistress of the dead _Spanish_ General?

_Belv._ Yes, she's now the only ador'd Beauty of all the Youth in
_Naples_, who put on all their Charms to appear lovely in her sight,
their Coaches, Liveries, and themselves, all gay, as on a Monarch's
Birth-Day, to attract the Eyes of this fair Charmer, while she has the
Pleasure to behold all languish for her that see her.

_Fred._ 'Tis pretty to see with how much Love the Men regard her, and
how much Envy the Women.

_Will._ What Gallant has she?

_Belv._ None, she's exposed to Sale, and four Days in the Week she's
yours-- for so much a Month.

_Will._ The very Thought of it quenches all manner of Fire in me-- yet
prithee let's see her.

_Belv._ Let's first to Dinner, and after that we'll pass the Day as you
please-- but at Night ye must all be at my Devotion.

_Will._ I will not fail you.    [Exeunt.




ACT II.


SCENE I. _The Long Street._

    Enter _Belvile_ and _Frederick_ in Masquing-Habits, and _Willmore_
    in his own Clothes, with a Vizard in his Hand.

_Will._ But why thus disguis'd and muzzl'd?

_Belv._ Because whatever Extravagances we commit in these Faces, our own
may not be oblig'd to answer 'em.

_Will._ I should have chang'd my Eternal Buff too: but no matter, my
little Gipsy wou'd not have found me out then: for if she should change
hers, it is impossible I should know her, unless I should hear her
prattle-- A Pox on't, I cannot get her out of my Head: Pray Heaven, if
ever I do see her again, she prove damnable ugly, that I may fortify my
self against her Tongue.

_Belv._ Have a care of Love, for o' my conscience she was not of a
Quality to give thee any hopes.

_Will._ Pox on 'em, why do they draw a Man in then? She has play'd with
my Heart so, that 'twill never lie still till I have met with some kind
Wench, that will play the Game out with me-- Oh for my Arms full of
soft, white, kind-- Woman! such as I fancy _Angelica_.

_Belv._ This is her House, if you were but in stock to get admittance;
they have not din'd yet; I perceive the Picture is not out.

    Enter _Blunt_.

_Will._ I long to see the Shadow of the fair Substance, a Man may gaze
on that for nothing.

_Blunt._ Colonel, thy Hand-- and thine, _Fred_. I have been an Ass,
a deluded Fool, a very Coxcomb from my Birth till this Hour, and
heartily repent my little Faith.

_Belv._ What the Devil's the matter with thee _Ned_?

_Blunt._ Oh such a Mistress, _Fred_, such a Girl!

_Will._ Ha! where?

_Fred._ Ay where!

_Blunt._ So fond, so amorous, so toying and fine! and all for sheer
Love, ye Rogue! Oh how she lookt and kiss'd! and sooth'd my Heart from
my Bosom. I cannot think I was awake, and yet methinks I see and feel
her Charms still-- _Fred._-- Try if she have not left the Taste of her
balmy Kisses upon my Lips--
    [Kisses him.

_Belv._ Ha, ha, ha!

_Will._ Death Man, where is she?

_Blunt._ What a Dog was I to stay in dull _England_ so long-- How have I
laught at the Colonel when he sigh'd for Love! but now the little Archer
has reveng'd him, and by his own Dart, I can guess at all his Joys,
which then I took for Fancies, mere Dreams and Fables-- Well, I'm
resolved to sell all in _Essex_, and plant here for ever.

_Belv._ What a Blessing 'tis, thou hast a Mistress thou dar'st boast of;
for I know thy Humour is rather to have a proclaim'd Clap, than a secret
Amour.

_Will._ Dost know her Name?

_Blunt._ Her Name? No,'sheartlikins: what care I for Names?--

She's fair, young, brisk and kind, even to ravishment: and what a Pox
care I for knowing her by another Title?

_Will._ Didst give her anything?

_Blunt._ Give her!-- Ha, ha, ha! why, she's a Person of Quality-- That's
a good one, give her! 'sheartlikins dost think such Creatures are to be
bought? Or are we provided for such a Purchase? Give her, quoth ye? Why
she presented me with this Bracelet, for the Toy of a Diamond I us'd to
wear: No, Gentlemen, _Ned Blunt_ is not every Body-- She expects me
again to night.

_Will._ Egad that's well; we'll all go.

_Blunt._ Not a Soul: No, Gentlemen, you are Wits; I am a dull Country
Rogue, I.

_Fred._ Well, Sir, for all your Person of Quality, I shall be very glad
to understand your Purse be secure; 'tis our whole Estate at present,
which we are loth to hazard in one Bottom: come, Sir, unload.

_Blunt._ Take the necessary Trifle, useless now to me, that am belov'd
by such a Gentlewoman-- 'sheartlikins Money! Here take mine too.

_Fred._ No, keep that to be cozen'd, that we may laugh.

_Will._ Cozen'd!-- Death! wou'd I cou'd meet with one, that wou'd cozen
me of all the Love I cou'd spare to night.

_Fred._ Pox 'tis some common Whore upon my Life.

_Blunt._ A Whore! yes with such Clothes! such Jewels! such a House! such
Furniture, and so attended! a Whore!

_Belv._ Why yes, Sir, they are Whores, tho they'll neither entertain you
with Drinking, Swearing, or Baudy; are Whores in all those gay Clothes,
and right Jewels; are Whores with great Houses richly furnisht with
Velvet Beds, Store of Plate, handsome Attendance, and fine Coaches, are
Whores and errant ones.

_Will._ Pox on't, where do these fine Whores live?

_Belv._ Where no Rogue in Office yclep'd Constables dare give 'em laws,
nor the Wine-inspired Bullies of the Town break their Windows; yet they
are Whores, tho this _Essex_ Calf believe them Persons of Quality.

_Blunt._ 'Sheartlikins, y'are all Fools, there are things about this
_Essex_ Calf, that shall take with the Ladies, beyond all your Wits and
Parts-- This Shape and Size, Gentlemen, are not to be despis'd; my Waste
tolerably long, with other inviting Signs, that shall be nameless.

_Will._ Egad I believe he may have met with some Person of Quality that
may be kind to him.

_Belv._ Dost thou perceive any such tempting things about him, should
make a fine Woman, and of Quality, pick him out from all Mankind, to
throw away her Youth and Beauty upon, nay, and her dear Heart too?--
no, no, _Angelica_ has rais'd the Price too high.

_Will._ May she languish for Mankind till she die, and be damn'd for
that one Sin alone.

    Enter two Bravoes, and hang up a great Picture of _Angelica's_,
    against the Balcony, and two little ones at each side of the Door.

_Belv._ See there the fair Sign to the Inn, where a Man may lodge that's
Fool enough to give her Price.
    [_Will._ gazes on the Picture.

_Blunt._ 'Sheartlikins, Gentlemen, what's this?

_Belv._ A famous Curtezan that's to be sold.

_Blunt._ How! to be sold! nay then I have nothing to say to her-- sold!
what Impudence is practis'd in this Country?-- With Order and Decency
Whoring's established here by virtue of the Inquisition-- Come let's be
gone, I'm sure we're no Chapmen for this Commodity.

_Fred._ Thou art none, I'm sure, unless thou could'st have her in thy
Bed at the Price of a Coach in the Street.

_Will._ How wondrous fair she is-- a Thousand Crowns a Month-- by Heaven
as many Kingdoms were too little. A plague of this Poverty-- of which I
ne'er complain, but when it hinders my Approach to Beauty, which Virtue
ne'er could purchase.
    [Turns from the Picture.

_Blunt._ What's this?-- [Reads] _A Thousand Crowns a Month!_
  --'Sheartlikins, here's a Sum! sure 'tis a mistake.
  --Hark you, Friend, does she take or give so much by the Month!

_Fred._ A Thousand Crowns! Why, 'tis a Portion for the _Infanta_.

_Blunt._ Hark ye, Friends, won't she trust?

_Brav._ This is a Trade, Sir, that cannot live by Credit.

    _Enter _Don Pedro_ in Masquerade, follow'd by _Stephano_._

_Belv._ See, here's more Company, let's walk off a while.
    [_Pedro_ Reads.
    [Exeunt _English_.

    Enter _Angelica_ and _Moretta_ in the Balcony, and draw a Silk
    Curtain.

_Ped._ Fetch me a Thousand Crowns, I never wish to buy this Beauty at an
easier Rate.
    [Passes off.

_Ang._ Prithee what said those Fellows to thee?

_Brav._ Madam, the first were Admirers of Beauty only, but no
purchasers; they were merry with your Price and Picture, laught at the
Sum, and so past off.

_Ang._ No matter, I'm not displeas'd with their rallying; their Wonder
feeds my Vanity, and he that wishes to buy, gives me more Pride, than he
that gives my Price can make me Pleasure.

_Brav._ Madam, the last I knew thro all his disguises to be Don _Pedro_,
Nephew to the General, and who was with him in _Pampelona_.

_Ang._ Don _Pedro_! my old Gallant's Nephew! When his Uncle dy'd, he
left him a vast Sum of Money; it is he who was so in love with me at
_Padua_, and who us'd to make the General so jealous.

_Moret._ Is this he that us'd to prance before our Window and take such
care to shew himself an amorous Ass? if I am not mistaken, he is the
likeliest Man to give your Price.

_Ang._ The Man is brave and generous, but of an Humour so uneasy and
inconstant, that the victory over his Heart is as soon lost as won;
a Slave that can add little to the Triumph of the Conqueror: but
inconstancy's the Sin of all Mankind, therefore I'm resolv'd that
nothing but Gold shall charm my Heart.

_Moret._ I'm glad on't; 'tis only interest that Women of our Profession
ought to consider: tho I wonder what has kept you from that general
Disease of our Sex so long, I mean that of being in love.

_Ang._ A kind, but sullen Star, under which I had the Happiness to be
born; yet I have had no time for Love; the bravest and noblest of
Mankind have purchas'd my Favours at so dear a Rate, as if no Coin but
Gold were current with our Trade-- But here's Don _Pedro_ again, fetch
me my Lute-- for 'tis for him or Don _Antonio_ the Vice-Roy's Son, that
I have spread my Nets.

    Enter at one Door Don _Pedro_, and _Stephano_; Don _Antonio_ and
    _Diego_ [his page], at the other Door, with People following him
    in Masquerade, antickly attir'd, some with Musick: they both go up
    to the Picture.

_Ant._ A thousand Crowns! had not the Painter flatter'd her, I should
not think it dear.

_Pedro._ Flatter'd her! by Heaven he cannot. I have seen the Original,
nor is there one Charm here more than adorns her Face and Eyes; all this
soft and sweet, with a certain languishing Air, that no Artist can
represent.

_Ant._ What I heard of her Beauty before had fir'd my Soul, but this
confirmation of it has blown it into a flame.

_Pedro._ Ha!

_Pag._ Sir, I have known you throw away a Thousand Crowns on a worse
Face, and tho y' are near your Marriage, you may venture a little Love
here; _Florinda_-- will not miss it.

_Pedro._ Ha! _Florinda!_ Sure 'tis _Antonio_.    [aside.

_Ant._ _Florinda_! name not those distant Joys, there's not one thought
of her will check my Passion here.

_Pedro._ _Florinda_ scorn'd! and all my Hopes defeated of the Possession
of _Angelica_! [A noise of a Lute above. _Ant._ gazes up.] Her Injuries
by Heaven he shall not boast of.
    [Song to a Lute above.

SONG.

    _When _Damon_ first began to love,
    He languisht in a soft Desire,
    And knew not how the Gods to move,
    To lessen or increase his Fire,
    For _Caelia_ in her charming Eyes_
  _Wore all Love's Sweet, and all his Cruelties._

II.

    _But as beneath a Shade he lay,
    Weaving of Flow'rs for _Caelia's_ Hair,
    She chanc'd to lead her Flock that way,
    And saw the am'rous Shepherd there.
    She gaz'd around upon the Place,
    And saw the Grove (resembling Night)
    To all the Joys of Love invite,_
  _Whilst guilty Smiles and Blushes drest her Face.
  At this the bashful Youth all Transport grew,
  And with kind Force he taught the Virgin how
  To yield what all his Sighs cou'd never do._

_Ant._ By Heav'n she's charming fair!

    [_Angelica_ throws open the Curtains, and bows to _Antonio_, who
    pulls off his Vizard, and bows and blows up Kisses. _Pedro_ unseen
    looks in his Face.

_Pedro._ 'Tis he, the false _Antonio_!

_Ant._ Friend, where must I pay my offering of Love? [To the _Bravo_.]
My Thousand Crowns I mean.

_Pedro._ That Offering I have design'd to make,
  And yours will come too late.

_Ant._ Prithee be gone, I shall grow angry else,
  And then thou art not safe.

_Pedro._ My Anger may be fatal, Sir, as yours;
  And he that enters here may prove this Truth.

_Ant._ I know not who thou art, but I am sure thou'rt worth my killing,
and aiming at _Angelica_.
    [They draw and fight.

    Enter _Willmore_ and _Blunt_, who draw and part 'em.

_Blunt._ 'Sheartlikins, here's fine doings.

_Will._ Tilting for the Wench I'm sure-- nay gad, if that wou'd win her,
I have as good a Sword as the best of ye-- Put up-- put up, and take
another time and place, for this is design'd for Lovers only.
    [They all put up.

_Pedro._ We are prevented; dare you meet me to morrow on the _Molo_?
  For I've a Title to a better quarrel,
  That of _Florinda_, in whose credulous Heart
  Thou'st made an Int'rest, and destroy'd my Hopes.

_Ant._ Dare?
  I'll meet thee there as early as the Day.

_Pedro._ We will come thus disguis'd, that whosoever chance to get the
better, he may escape unknown.

_Ant._ It shall be so. [Ex. _Pedro_ and _Stephano_.] Who shou'd this
Rival be? unless the _English_ Colonel, of whom I've often heard Don
_Pedro_ speak; it must be he, and time he were removed, who lays a Claim
to all my Happiness.

    [_Willmore_ having gaz'd all this while on the Picture, pulls down
    a little one.

_Will._ This posture's loose and negligent,
  The sight on't wou'd beget a warm desire
  In Souls, whom Impotence and Age had chill'd.
  --This must along with me.

_Brav._ What means this rudeness, Sir?-- restore the Picture.

_Ant._ Ha! Rudeness committed to the fair _Angelica_!-- Restore the
Picture, Sir.

_Will._ Indeed I will not, Sir.

_Ant._ By Heav'n but you shall.

_Will._ Nay, do not shew your Sword; if you do, by this dear Beauty--
I will shew mine too.

_Ant._ What right can you pretend to't?

_Will._ That of Possession which I will maintain-- you perhaps have 1000
Crowns to give for the Original.

_Ant._ No matter, Sir, you shall restore the Picture.

_Ang._ Oh, _Moretta_! what's the matter?    [_Ang._ and _Moret._ above.

_Ant._ Or leave your Life behind.

_Will._ Death! you lye-- I will do neither.

_Ang._ Hold, I command you, if for me you fight.

    [They fight, the Spaniards join with _Antonio_, _Blunt_ laying on
    like mad. They leave off and bow.

_Will._ How heavenly fair she is!-- ah Plague of her Price.

_Ang._ You Sir in Buff, you that appear a Soldier, that first began this
Insolence.

_Will._ 'Tis true, I did so, if you call it Insolence for a Man to
preserve himself; I saw your charming Picture, and was wounded: quite
thro my Soul each pointed Beauty ran; and wanting a Thousand Crowns to
procure my Remedy, I laid this little Picture to my Bosom-- which if you
cannot allow me, I'll resign.

_Ang._ No, you may keep the Trifle.

_Ant._ You shall first ask my leave, and this.
    [Fight again as before.

    Enter _Belv._ and _Fred._ who join with the English.

_Ang._ Hold; will you ruin me?-- _Biskey_, _Sebastian_, part them.
    [The _Spaniards_ are beaten off.

_Moret._ Oh Madam, we're undone, a pox upon that rude Fellow, he's set
on to ruin us: we shall never see good days, till all these fighting
poor Rogues are sent to the Gallies.

    Enter _Belvile_, _Blunt_ and _Willmore_, with his shirt bloody.

_Blunt._ 'Sheartlikins, beat me at this Sport, and I'll ne'er wear Sword
more.

_Belv._ The Devil's in thee for a mad Fellow, thou art always one at an
unlucky Adventure.-- Come, let's be gone whilst we're safe, and remember
these are _Spaniards_, a sort of People that know how to revenge an
Affront.

_Fred._ You bleed; I hope you are not wounded.    [To _Will._

_Will._ Not much:-- a plague upon your Dons, if they fight no better
they'll ne'er recover _Flanders_.-- What the Devil was't to them that I
took down the Picture?

_Blunt._ Took it! 'Sheartlikins, we'll have the great one too; 'tis ours
by Conquest.-- Prithee, help me up, and I'll pull it down.--

_Ang._ Stay, Sir, and e'er you affront me further, let me know how you
durst commit this Outrage-- To you I speak, Sir, for you appear like a
Gentleman.

_Will._ To me, Madam?-- Gentlemen, your Servant.    [_Belv._ stays him.

_Belv._ Is the Devil in thee? Do'st know the danger of entring the house
of an incens'd Curtezan?

_Will._ I thank you for your care-- but there are other matters in hand,
there are, tho we have no great Temptation.-- Death! let me go.

_Fred._ Yes, to your Lodging, if you will, but not in here.-- Damn these
gay Harlots-- by this Hand I'll have as sound and handsome a Whore for a
Patacoone.-- Death, Man, she'll murder thee.

_Will._ Oh! fear me not, shall I not venture where a Beauty calls?
a lovely charming Beauty? for fear of danger! when by Heaven there's
none so great as to long for her, whilst I want Money to purchase her.

_Fred._ Therefore 'tis loss of time, unless you had the thousand Crowns
to pay.

_Will._ It may be she may give a Favour, at least I shall have the
pleasure of saluting her when I enter, and when I depart.

_Belv._ Pox, she'll as soon lie with thee, as kiss thee, and sooner stab
than do either-- you shall not go.

_Ang._ Fear not, Sir, all I have to wound with, is my Eyes.

_Blunt._ Let him go, 'Sheartlikins, I believe the Gentle-woman means
well.

_Belv._ Well, take thy Fortune, we'll expect you in the next Street.--
Farewell Fool,-- farewell--

_Will._ B'ye Colonel--    [Goes in.

_Fred._ The Rogue's stark mad for a Wench.    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. _A Fine Chamber._

    Enter _Willmore_, _Angelica_, and _Moretta_.

_Ang._ Insolent Sir, how durst you pull down my Picture?

_Will._ Rather, how durst you set it up, to tempt poor amorous Mortals
with so much Excellence? which I find you have but too well consulted by
the unmerciful price you set upon't.-- Is all this Heaven of Beauty
shewn to move Despair in those that cannot buy? and can you think the
effects of that Despair shou'd be less extravagant than I have shewn?

_Ang._ I sent for you to ask my Pardon, Sir, not to aggravate your
Crime.-- I thought I shou'd have seen you at my Feet imploring it.

_Will._ You are deceived, I came to rail at you, and talk such Truths,
too, as shall let you see the Vanity of that Pride, which taught you how
to set such a Price on Sin. For such it is, whilst that which is Love's
due is meanly barter'd for.

_Ang._ Ha, ha, ha, alas, good Captain, what pity 'tis your edifying
Doctrine will do no good upon me-- _Moretta_, fetch the Gentleman a
Glass, and let him survey himself, to see what Charms he has,-- and
guess my Business.
    [Aside in a soft tone.

_Moret._ He knows himself of old, I believe those Breeches and he have
been acquainted ever since he was beaten at _Worcester_.

_Ang._ Nay, do not abuse the poor Creature.--

_Moret._ Good Weather-beaten Corporal, will you march off? we have no
need of your Doctrine, tho you have of our Charity; but at present we
have no Scraps, we can afford no kindness for God's sake; in fine,
Sirrah, the Price is too high i'th' Mouth for you, therefore troop,
I say.

_Will._ Here, good Fore-Woman of the Shop, serve me, and I'll be gone.

_Moret._ Keep it to pay your Landress, your Linen stinks of the
Gun-Room; for here's no selling by Retail.

_Will._ Thou hast sold plenty of thy stale Ware at a cheap Rate.

_Moret._ Ay, the more silly kind Heart I, but this is an Age wherein
Beauty is at higher Rates.-- In fine, you know the price of this.

_Will._ I grant you 'tis here set down a thousand Crowns a Month-- Baud,
take your black Lead and sum it up, that I may have a Pistole-worth of
these vain gay things, and I'll trouble you no more.

_Moret._ Pox on him, he'll fret me to Death:-- abominable Fellow, I tell
thee, we only sell by the whole Piece.

_Will._ 'Tis very hard, the whole Cargo or nothing-- Faith, Madam,
my Stock will not reach it, I cannot be your Chapman.-- Yet I have
Countrymen, in Town, Merchants of Love, like me; I'll see if they'l put
for a share, we cannot lose much by it, and what we have no use for,
we'll sell upon the _Friday's_ Mart, at-- _Who gives more?_ I am
studying, Madam, how to purchase you, tho at present I am unprovided of
Money.

_Ang._ Sure, this from any other Man would anger me-- nor shall he know
the Conquest he has made-- Poor angry Man, how I despise this railing.

_Will._ Yes, I am poor-- but I'm a Gentleman,
  And one that scorns this Baseness which you practise.
  Poor as I am, I would not sell my self,
  No, not to gain your charming high-priz'd Person.
  Tho I admire you strangely for your Beauty,
  Yet I contemn your Mind.
  --And yet I wou'd at any rate enjoy you;
  At your own rate-- but cannot-- See here
  The only Sum I can command on Earth;
  I know not where to eat when this is gone:
  Yet such a Slave I am to Love and Beauty,
  This last reserve I'll sacrifice to enjoy you.
  --Nay, do not frown, I know you are to be bought,
  And wou'd be bought by me, by me,
  For a mean trifling Sum, if I could pay it down.
  Which happy knowledge I will still repeat,
  And lay it to my Heart, it has a Virtue in't,
  And soon will cure those Wounds your Eyes have made.
  --And yet-- there's something so divinely powerful there--
  Nay, I will gaze-- to let you see my Strength.
    [Holds her, looks on her, and pauses and sighs.
  By Heaven, bright Creature-- I would not for the World
  Thy Fame were half so fair as is thy Face.
    [Turns her away from him.

_Ang._ His words go thro me to the very Soul.  [Aside.]  --If you have
nothing else to say to me.

_Will._ Yes, you shall hear how infamous you are--
  For which I do not hate thee:
  But that secures my Heart, and all the Flames it feels
  Are but so many Lusts,
  I know it by their sudden bold intrusion.
  The Fire's impatient and betrays, 'tis false--
  For had it been the purer Flame of Love,
  I should have pin'd and languished at your Feet,
  E'er found the Impudence to have discover'd it.
  I now dare stand your Scorn, and your Denial.

_Moret._ Sure she's bewitcht, that she can stand thus tamely, and hear
his saucy railing.-- Sirrah, will you be gone?

_Ang._ How dare you take this liberty?-- Withdraw. [To _Moret._] --Pray,
tell me, Sir, are not you guilty of the same mercenary Crime? When a
Lady is proposed to you for a Wife, you never ask, how fair, discreet,
or virtuous she is; but what's her Fortune-- which if but small, you
cry-- She will not do my business-- and basely leave her, tho she
languish for you.-- Say, is not this as poor?

_Will._ It is a barbarous Custom, which I will scorn to defend in our
Sex, and do despise in yours.

_Ang._ Thou art a brave Fellow! put up thy Gold, and know,
  That were thy Fortune large, as is thy Soul,
  Thou shouldst not buy my Love,
  Couldst thou forget those mean Effects of Vanity,
  Which set me out to sale; and as a Lover, prize
  My yielding Joys.
  Canst thou believe they'l be entirely thine,
  Without considering they were mercenary?

_Will._ I cannot tell, I must bethink me first-- ha, Death, I'm going to
believe her.
    [Aside.

_Ang._ Prithee, confirm that Faith-- or if thou canst not-- flatter me a
little, 'twill please me from thy Mouth.

_Will._ Curse on thy charming Tongue! dost thou return
  My feign'd Contempt with so much subtilty?    [Aside.
  Thou'st found the easiest way into my Heart,
  Tho I yet know that all thou say'st is false.
    [Turning from her in a Rage.

_Ang._ By all that's good 'tis real,
  I never lov'd before, tho oft a Mistress.
  --Shall my first Vows be slighted?

_Will._ What can she mean?    [Aside.

_Ang._ I find you cannot credit me.    [In an angry tone.

_Will._ I know you take me for an errant Ass,
  An Ass that may be sooth'd into Belief,
  And then be us'd at pleasure.
  --But, Madam I have been so often cheated
  By perjur'd, soft, deluding Hypocrites,
  That I've no Faith left for the cozening Sex,
  Especially for Women of your Trade.

_Ang._ The low esteem you have of me, perhaps
  May bring my Heart again:
  For I have Pride that yet surmounts my Love.
    [She turns with Pride, he holds her.

_Will._ Throw off this Pride, this Enemy to Bliss,
  And shew the Power of Love: 'tis with those Arms
  I can be only vanquisht, made a Slave.

_Ang._ Is all my mighty Expectation vanisht?
  --No, I will not hear thee talk,-- thou hast a Charm
  In every word, that draws my Heart away.
  And all the thousand Trophies I design'd,
  Thou hast undone-- Why art thou soft?
  Thy Looks are bravely rough, and meant for War.
  Could thou not storm on still?
  I then perhaps had been as free as thou.

_Will._ Death! how she throws her Fire about my Soul!    [Aside.
  --Take heed, fair Creature, how you raise my Hopes,
  Which once assum'd pretend to all Dominion.
  There's not a Joy thou hast in store
  I shall not then command:
  For which I'll pay thee back my Soul, my Life.
  Come, let's begin th' account this happy minute.

_Ang._ And will you pay me then the Price I ask?

_Will._ Oh, why dost thou draw me from an awful Worship,
  By shewing thou art no Divinity?
  Conceal the Fiend, and shew me all the Angel;
  Keep me but ignorant, and I'll be devout,
  And pay my Vows for ever at this Shrine.
    [Kneels, and kisses her Hand.

_Ang._ The Pay I mean is but thy Love for mine.
  --Can you give that?

_Will._ Intirely-- come, let's withdraw: where I'll renew my Vows,-- and
breathe 'em with such Ardour, thou shall not doubt my Zeal.

_Ang._ Thou hast a Power too strong to be resisted.
    [Ex. _Will._ and _Angelica_.

_Moret._ Now my Curse go with you-- Is all our Project fallen to this?
to love the only Enemy to our Trade? Nay, to love such a Shameroon, a
very Beggar; nay, a Pirate-Beggar, whose Business is to rifle and be
gone, a No-Purchase, No-Pay Tatterdemalion, an _English_ Piccaroon; a
Rogue that fights for daily Drink, and takes a Pride in being loyally
lousy-- Oh, I could curse now, if I durst-- This is the Fate of most
Whores.

  _Trophies, which from believing <DW2>s we win,
  Are Spoils to those who cozen us again._




ACT III.


SCENE I. _A Street._

    Enter _Florinda_, _Valeria_, _Hellena_, in Antick different
    Dresses from what they were in before, _Callis_ attending.

_Flor._ I wonder what should make my Brother in so ill a Humour: I hope
he has not found out our Ramble this Morning.

_Hell._ No, if he had, we should have heard on't at both Ears, and have
been mew'd up this Afternoon; which I would not for the World should
have happen'd-- Hey ho! I'm sad as a Lover's Lute.

_Val._ Well, methinks we have learnt this Trade of Gipsies as readily as
if we had been bred upon the Road to _Loretto_: and yet I did so fumble,
when I told the Stranger his Fortune, that I was afraid I should have
told my own and yours by mistake-- But methinks _Hellena_ has been very
serious ever since.

_Flor._ I would give my Garters she were in love, to be reveng'd upon
her, for abusing me-- How is't, _Hellena_?

_Hell._ Ah!-- would I had never seen my mad Monsieur-- and yet for all
your laughing I am not in love-- and yet this small Acquaintance, o my
Conscience, will never out of my Head.

_Val._ Ha, ha, ha-- I laugh to think how thou art fitted with a Lover,
a Fellow that, I warrant, loves every new Face he sees.

_Hell._ Hum-- he has not kept his Word with me here-- and may be taken
up-- that thought is not very pleasant to me-- what the Duce should this
be now that I feel?

_Val._ What is't like?

_Hell._ Nay, the Lord knows-- but if I should be hanged, I cannot chuse
but be angry and afraid, when I think that mad Fellow should be in love
with any Body but me-- What to think of my self I know not-- Would I
could meet with some true damn'd Gipsy, that I might know my Fortune.

_Val._ Know it! why there's nothing so easy; thou wilt love this
wandring Inconstant till thou find'st thy self hanged about his Neck,
and then be as mad to get free again.

_Flor._ Yes, _Valeria_; we shall see her bestride his Baggage-horse, and
follow him to the Campaign.

_Hell._ So, so; now you are provided for, there's no care taken of poor
me-- But since you have set my Heart a wishing, I am resolv'd to know
for what. I will not die of the Pip, so I will not.

_Flor._ Art thou mad to talk so? Who will like thee well enough to have
thee, that hears what a mad Wench thou art?

_Hell._ Like me! I don't intend, every he that likes me shall have me,
but he that I like: I shou'd have staid in the Nunnery still, if I had
lik'd my Lady Abbess as well as she lik'd me. No, I came thence, not (as
my wise Brother imagines) to take an eternal Farewel of the World, but
to love and to be belov'd; and I will be belov'd or I'll get one of your
Men, so I will.

_Val._ Am I put into the Number of Lovers?

_Hell._ You! my Couz, I know thou art too good natur'd to leave us in
any Design: Thou wou't venture a Cast, tho thou comest off a Loser,
especially with such a Gamester-- I observ'd your Man, and your willing
Ears incline that way; and if you are not a Lover, 'tis an Art soon
learnt-- that I find.
    [Sighs.

_Flor._ I wonder how you learnt to love so easily, I had a thousand
Charms to meet my Eyes and Ears, e'er I cou'd yield; and 'twas the
knowledge of _Belvile's_ Merit, not the surprising Person, took my
Soul-- Thou art too rash to give a Heart at first sight.

_Hell._ Hang your considering Lover; I ne'er thought beyond the Fancy,
that 'twas a very pretty, idle, silly kind of Pleasure to pass ones time
with, to write little, soft, nonsensical Billets, and with great
difficulty and danger receive Answers; in which I shall have my Beauty
prais'd, my Wit admir'd (tho little or none) and have the Vanity and
Power to know I am desirable; then I have the more Inclination that way,
because I am to be a Nun, and so shall not be suspected to have any such
earthly Thoughts about me-- But when I walk thus-- and sigh thus--
they'll think my Mind's upon my Monastery, and cry, how happy 'tis she's
so resolv'd!-- But not a Word of Man.

_Flor._ What a mad Creature's this!

_Hell._ I'll warrant, if my Brother hears either of you sigh, he cries
(gravely)-- I fear you have the Indiscretion to be in love, but take
heed of the Honour of our House, and your own unspotted Fame; and so he
conjures on till he has laid the soft-wing'd God in your Hearts, or
broke the Birds-nest-- But see here comes your Lover: but where's my
inconstant? let's step aside, and we may learn something.
    [Go aside.

    Enter _Belvile_, _Fred._ and _Blunt_.

_Belv._ What means this? the Picture's taken in.

_Blunt._ It may be the Wench is good natur'd, and will be kind _gratis_.
Your Friend's a proper handsom Fellow.

_Belv._ I rather think she has cut his Throat and is fled: I am mad he
should throw himself into Dangers-- Pox on't, I shall want him to
night-- let's knock and ask for him.

_Hell._ My heart goes a-pit a-pat, for fear 'tis my Man they talk of.
    [Knock, _Moretta_ above.

_More._ What would you have?

_Belv._ Tell the Stranger that enter'd here about two Hours ago, that
his Friends stay here for him.

_Moret._ A Curse upon him for _Moretta_, would he were at the Devil--
but he's coming to you.
    [Enter _Wilmore_.

_Hell._ I, I, 'tis he. Oh how this vexes me.

_Belv._ And how, and how, dear Lad, has Fortune smil'd? Are we to break
her Windows, or raise up Altars to her! hah!

_Will._ Does not my Fortune sit triumphant on my Brow? dost not see the
little wanton God there all gay and smiling? have I not an Air about my
Face and Eyes, that distinguish me from the Croud of common Lovers? By
Heav'n, _Cupid's_ Quiver has not half so many Darts as her Eyes-- Oh
such a _Bona Rota_, to sleep in her Arms is lying in Fresco, all
perfum'd Air about me.

_Hell._ Here's fine encouragement for me to fool on.    [Aside.

_Will._ Hark ye, where didst thou purchase that rich Canary we drank
to-day? Tell me, that I may adore the Spigot, and sacrifice to the Butt:
the Juice was divine, into which I must dip my Rosary, and then bless
all things that I would have bold or fortunate.

_Belv._ Well, Sir, let's go take a Bottle, and hear the Story of your
Success.

_Fred._ Would not _French_ Wine do better?

_Will._ Damn the hungry Balderdash; cheerful Sack has a generous Virtue
in't, inspiring a successful Confidence, gives Eloquence to the Tongue,
and Vigour to the Soul; and has in a few Hours compleated all my Hopes
and Wishes. There's nothing left to raise a new Desire in me-- Come
let's be gay and wanton-- and, Gentlemen, study, study what you want,
for here are Friends,-- that will supply, Gentlemen,-- hark! what a
charming sound they make-- 'tis he and she Gold whilst here, shall beget
new Pleasures every moment.

_Blunt._ But hark ye, Sir, you are not married, are you?

_Will._ All the Honey of Matrimony, but none of the Sting, Friend.

_Blunt._ 'Sheartlikins, thou'rt a fortunate Rogue.

_Will._ I am so, Sir, let these inform you.-- Ha, how sweetly they
chime! Pox of Poverty, it makes a Man a Slave, makes Wit and Honour
sneak, my Soul grew lean and rusty for want of Credit.

_Blunt._ 'Sheartlikins, this I like well, it looks like my lucky
Bargain! Oh how I long for the Approach of my Squire, that is to conduct
me to her House again. Why! here's two provided for.

_Fred._ By this light y're happy Men.

_Blunt._ Fortune is pleased to smile on us, Gentlemen,-- to smile on us.

    Enter _Sancho_, and pulls _Blunt_ by the Sleeve. They go aside.

_Sancho._ Sir, my Lady expects you-- she has remov'd all that might
oppose your Will and Pleasure-- and is impatient till you come.

_Blunt._ Sir, I'll attend you-- Oh the happiest Rogue! I'll take no
leave, lest they either dog me, or stay me.
    [Ex. with _Sancho_.

_Belv._ But then the little Gipsy is forgot?

_Will._ A Mischief on thee for putting her into my thoughts; I had quite
forgot her else, and this Night's Debauch had drunk her quite down.

_Hell._ Had it so, good Captain?    [Claps him on the Back.

_Will._ Ha! I hope she did not hear.

_Hell._ What, afraid of such a Champion!

_Will._ Oh! you're a fine Lady of your word, are you not? to make a Man
languish a whole day--

_Hell._ In tedious search of me.

_Will._ Egad, Child, thou'rt in the right, hadst thou seen what a
melancholy Dog I have been ever since I was a Lover, how I have walkt
the Streets like a _Capuchin_, with my Hands in my Sleeves-- Faith,
Sweetheart, thou wouldst pity me.

_Hell._ Now, if I should be hang'd, I can't be angry with him, he
dissembles so heartily-- Alas, good Captain, what pains you have
taken-- Now were I ungrateful not to reward so true a Servant.

_Will._ Poor Soul! that's kindly said, I see thou bearest a Conscience--
come then for a beginning shew me thy dear Face.

_Hell._ I'm afraid, my small Acquaintance, you have been staying that
swinging stomach you boasted of this morning; I remember then my little
Collation would have gone down with you, without the Sauce of a handsom
Face-- Is your Stomach so quesy now?

_Will._ Faith long fasting, Child, spoils a Man's Appetite-- yet if you
durst treat, I could so lay about me still.

_Hell._ And would you fall to, before a Priest says Grace?

_Will._ Oh fie, fie, what an old out-of-fashion'd thing hast thou nam'd?
Thou could'st not dash me more out of Countenance, shouldst thou shew me
an ugly Face.

    _Whilst he is seemingly courting _Hellena_, enter _Angelica_,
    _Moretta_, _Biskey_, and _Sebastian_, all in Masquerade: _Ang._
    sees _Will._ and starts._

_Ang._ Heavens, is't he? and passionately fond to see another Woman?

_Moret._ What cou'd you expect less from such a Swaggerer?

_Ang._ Expect! as much as I paid him, a Heart intire,
  Which I had pride enough to think when e'er I gave
  It would have rais'd the Man above the Vulgar,
  Made him all Soul, and that all soft and constant.

_Hell._ You see, Captain, how willing I am to be Friends with you, till
Time and Ill-luck make us Lovers; and ask you the Question first, rather
than put your Modesty to the blush, by asking me: for alas, I know you
Captains are such strict Men, severe Observers of your Vows to Chastity,
that 'twill be hard to prevail with your tender Conscience to marry a
young willing Maid.

_Will._ Do not abuse me, for fear I should take thee at thy word, and
marry thee indeed, which I'm sure will be Revenge sufficient.

_Hell._ O' my Conscience, that will be our Destiny, because we are both
of one humour; I am as inconstant as you, for I have considered,
Captain, that a handsom Woman has a great deal to do whilst her Face is
good, for then is our Harvest-time to gather Friends; and should I in
these days of my Youth, catch a fit of foolish Constancy, I were undone;
'tis loitering by day-light in our great Journey: therefore declare,
I'll allow but one year for Love, one year for Indifference, and one
year for Hate-- and then-- go hang your self-- for I profess myself the
gay, the kind, and the inconstant-- the Devil's in't if this won't
please you.

_Will._ Oh most damnably!-- I have a Heart with a hole quite thro it
too, no Prison like mine to keep a Mistress in.

_Ang._ Perjur'd Man! how I believe thee now!    [Aside.

_Hell._ Well, I see our Business as well as Humours are alike, yours to
cozen as many Maids as will trust you, and I as many Men as have
Faith-- See if I have not as desperate a lying look, as you can have for
the heart of you.
    [Pulls off her Vizard; he starts.
  --How do you like it, Captain?

_Will._ Like it! by Heav'n, I never saw so much Beauty. Oh the Charms of
those sprightly black Eyes, that strangely fair Face, full of Smiles and
Dimples! those soft round melting cherry Lips! and small even white
Teeth! not to be exprest, but silently adored!-- Oh one Look more, and
strike me dumb, or I shall repeat nothing else till I am mad.
    [He seems to court her to pull off her Vizard: she refuses.

_Ang._ I can endure no more-- nor is it fit to interrupt him; for if I
do, my Jealousy has so destroy'd my Reason,-- I shall undo him--
Therefore I'll retire. And you _Sebastian_ [To one of her Bravoes]
follow that Woman, and learn who 'tis; while you tell the Fugitive, I
would speak to him instantly.
    [To the other Bravo.
    [Exit.
    [This while _Flor._ is talking to _Belvile_, who stands sullenly.
    _Fred._ courting Valeria.

_Val._ Prithee, dear Stranger, be not so sullen; for tho you have lost
your Love, you see my Friend frankly offers you hers, to play with in
the mean time.

_Belv._ Faith, Madam, I am sorry I can't play at her Game.

_Fred._ Pray leave your Intercession, and mind your own Affair, they'll
better agree apart; he's a model Sigher in Company, but alone no Woman
escapes him.

_Flor._ Sure he does but rally-- yet if it should be true-- I'll tempt
him farther-- Believe me, noble Stranger, I'm no common Mistress-- and
for a little proof on't-- wear this Jewel-- nay, take it, Sir, 'tis
right, and Bills of Exchange may sometimes miscarry.

_Belv._ Madam, why am I chose out of all Mankind to be the Object of
your Bounty?

_Val._ There's another civil Question askt.

_Fred._ Pox of's Modesty, it spoils his own Markets, and hinders mine.

_Flor._ Sir, from my Window I have often seen you; and Women of Quality
have so few opportunities for Love, that we ought to lose none.

_Fred._ Ay, this is something! here's a Woman!-- When shall I be blest
with so much kindness from your fair Mouth?-- Take the Jewel, Fool.
    [Aside to _Belv._

_Belv._ You tempt me strangely, Madam, every way.

_Flor._ So, if I find him false, my whole Repose is gone.    [Aside.

_Belv._ And but for a Vow I've made to a very fine Lady, this Goodness
had subdu'd me.

_Fred._ Pox on't be kind, in pity to me be kind, for I am to thrive here
but as you treat her Friend.

_Hell._ Tell me what did you in yonder House, and I'll unmasque.

_Will._ Yonder House-- oh-- I went to-- a-- to-- why, there's a Friend
of mine lives there.

_Hell._ What a she, or a he Friend?

_Will._ A Man upon my Honour! a Man-- A She Friend! no, no, Madam, you
have done my Business, I thank you.

_Hell._ And was't your Man Friend, that had more Darts in's Eyes than
_Cupid_ carries in a whole Budget of Arrows?

_Will._ So--

_Hell._ Ah such a _Bona Roba_: to be in her Arms is lying in _Fresco_,
all perfumed Air about me-- Was this your Man Friend too?

_Will._ So--

_Hell._ That gave you the He, and the She-- Gold, that begets young
Pleasures.

_Will._ Well, well, Madam, then you see there are Ladies in the World,
that will not be cruel-- there are, Madam, there are--

_Hell._ And there be Men too as fine, wild, inconstant Fellows as your
self, there be, Captain, there be, if you go to that now-- therefore I'm
resolv'd--

_Will._ Oh!

_Hell._ To see your Face no more--

_Will._ Oh!

_Hell._ Till to morrow.

_Will._ Egad you frighted me.

_Hell._ Nor then neither, unless you'l swear never to see that Lady
more.

_Will._ See her!-- why! never to think of Womankind again?

_Hell._ Kneel, and swear.    [Kneels, she gives him her hand.

_Hell._ I do, never to think-- to see-- to love-- nor lie with any but
thy self.

_Hell._ Kiss the Book.

_Will._ Oh, most religiously.    [Kisses her Hand.

_Hell._ Now what a wicked Creature am I, to damn a proper Fellow.

_Call._ Madam, I'll stay no longer, 'tis e'en dark.    [To _Flor._

_Flor._ However, Sir, I'll leave this with you-- that when I'm gone, you
may repent the opportunity you have lost by your modesty.
    [_Gives him the Jewel, which is her Picture, and Ex. He gazes
    after her._

_Will._ 'Twill be an Age till to morrow,-- and till then I will most
impatiently expect you-- Adieu, my dear pretty Angel.
    [Ex. all the Women.

_Belv._ Ha! _Florinda's_ Picture! 'twas she her self-- what a dull Dog
was I? I would have given the World for one minute's discourse with
her.--

_Fred._ This comes of your Modesty,-- ah pox on your Vow,'twas ten to
one but we had lost the Jewel by't.

_Belv._ _Willmore_! the blessed'st Opportunity lost!-- _Florinda_,
Friends, _Florinda_!

_Will._ Ah Rogue! such black Eyes, such a Face, such a Mouth, such
Teeth,-- and so much Wit!

_Belv._ All, all, and a thousand Charms besides.

_Will._ Why, dost thou know her?

_Belv._ Know her! ay, ay, and a Pox take me with all my Heart for being
modest.

_Will._ But hark ye, Friend of mine, are you my Rival? and have I been
only beating the Bush all this while?

_Belv._ I understand thee not-- I'm mad-- see here--
    [Shews the Picture.

_Will._ Ha! whose Picture is this? --'tis a fine Wench.

_Fred._ The Colonel's Mistress, Sir.

_Will._ Oh, oh, here-- I thought it had been another Prize-- come, come,
a Bottle will set thee right again.
    [Gives the Picture back.

_Belv._ I am content to try, and by that time 'twill be late enough for
our Design.

_Will._ Agreed.

  _Love does all day the Soul's great Empire keep,
  But Wine at night lulls the soft God asleep._    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. __Lucetta's_ House._

    Enter _Blunt_ and _Lucetta_ with a Light.

_Luc._ Now we are safe and free, no fears of the coming home of my old
jealous Husband, which made me a little thoughtful when you came in
first-- but now Love is all the business of my Soul.

_Blunt._ I am transported-- Pox on't, that I had but some fine things to
say to her, such as Lovers use-- I was a Fool not to learn of _Fred_,
a little by Heart before I came-- something I must say.-- [_Aside._]
'Sheartlikins, sweet Soul, I am not us'd to complement, but I'm an
honest Gentleman, and thy humble Servant.

_Luc._ I have nothing to pay for so great a Favour, but such a Love as
cannot but be great, since at first sight of that sweet Face and Shape
it made me your absolute Captive.

_Blunt._ Kind heart, how prettily she talks! Egad I'll show her Husband
a _Spanish_ Trick; send him out of the World, and marry her: she's
damnably in love with me, and will ne'er mind Settlements, and so
there's that say'd.
    [Aside.

_Luc._ Well, Sir, I'll go and undress me, and be with you instantly.

_Blunt._ Make haste then, for 'dsheartlikins, dear Soul, thou canst not
guess at the pain of a longing Lover, when his Joys are drawn within the
compass of a few minutes.

_Luc._ You speak my Sense, and I'll make haste to provide it.    [Exit.

_Blunt._ 'Tis a rare Girl, and this one night's enjoyment with her will
be worth all the days I ever past in Essex.-- Would she'd go with me
into _England_, tho to say truth, there's plenty of Whores there
already.-- But a pox on 'em they are such mercenary prodigal Whores,
that they want such a one as this, that's free and generous, to give 'em
good Examples:-- Why, what a House she has! how rich and fine!

    Enter _Sancho_.

_Sancho._ Sir, my Lady has sent me to conduct you to her Chamber.

_Blunt._ Sir, I shall be proud to follow-- Here's one of her Servants
too: 'dsheartlikins, by his Garb and Gravity he might be a Justice of
Peace in _Essex_, and is but a Pimp here.
    [Exeunt.

    _The Scene changes to a Chamber with an Alcove-Bed in it, a Table,
    &c. _Lucetta_ in Bed. Enter _Sancho_ and _Blunt_, who takes the
    Candle of _Sancho_ at the Door._

_Sanch._ Sir, my Commission reaches no farther.

_Blunt._ Sir, I'll excuse your Complement:-- what, in Bed, my sweet
Mistress?

_Luc._ You see, I still out-do you in kindness.

_Blunt._ And thou shall see what haste I'll make to quit scores-- oh the
luckiest Rogue!
    [Undresses himself.

_Luc._ Shou'd you be false or cruel now!

_Blunt._ False, 'Sheartlikins, what dost thou take me for a _Jew_? an
insensible Heathen,-- A Pox of thy old jealous Husband: and he were
dead, egad, sweet Soul, it shou'd be none of my fault, if I did not
marry thee.

_Luc._ It never shou'd be mine.

_Blunt._ Good Soul, I'm the fortunatest Dog!

_Luc._ Are you not undrest yet?

_Blunt._ As much as my Impatience will permit.
    [Goes towards the Bed in his Shirt and Drawers.

_Luc._ Hold, Sir, put out the Light, it may betray us else.

_Blunt._ Any thing, I need no other Light but that of thine Eyes!--
'sheartlikins, there I think I had it.
    [Aside.
    [Puts out the Candle, the Bed descends, he gropes about to find it.
--Why-- why-- where am I got? what, not yet?-- where are you sweetest?--
ah, the Rogue's silent now-- a pretty Love-trick this-- how she'll laugh
at me anon!-- you need not, my dear Rogue! you need not! I'm all on a
fire already-- come, come, now call me in for pity-- Sure I'm enchanted!
I have been round the Chamber, and can find neither Woman, nor Bed--
I lockt the Door, I'm sure she cannot go that way; or if she cou'd, the
Bed cou'd not-- Enough, enough, my pretty Wanton, do not carry the Jest
too far-- Ha, betray'd! Dogs! Rogues! Pimps! help! help!
    [Lights on a Trap, and is let down.

    Enter _Lucetta_, _Philippo_, and _Sancho_ with a Light.

_Phil._ Ha, ha, ha, he's dispatcht finely.

_Luc._ Now, Sir, had I been coy, we had mist of this Booty.

_Phil._ Nay when I saw 'twas a substantial Fool, I was mollified; but
when you doat upon a Serenading Coxcomb, upon a Face, fine Clothes, and
a Lute, it makes me rage.

_Luc._ You know I never was guilty of that Folly, my dear _Philippo_,
but with your self-- But come let's see what we have got by this.

_Phil._ A rich Coat!-- Sword and Hat!-- these Breeches too-- are well
lin'd!-- see here a Gold Watch!-- a Purse-- ha! Gold!-- at least two
hundred Pistoles! a bunch of Diamond Rings; and one with the Family
Arms!-- a Gold Box!-- with a Medal of his King! and his Lady Mother's
Picture!-- these were sacred Reliques, believe me!-- see, the Wasteband
of his Breeches have a Mine of Gold!-- Old Queen _Bess's_. We have a
Quarrel to her ever since _Eighty Eight_, and may therefore justify the
Theft, the Inquisition might have committed it.

_Luc._ See, a Bracelet of bow'd Gold, these his Sister ty'd about his
Arm at parting-- but well-- for all this, I fear his being a Stranger
may make a noise, and hinder our Trade with them hereafter.

_Phil._ That's our security; he is not only a Stranger to us, but to the
Country too-- the Common-Shore into which he is descended, thou know'st,
conducts him into another Street, which this Light will hinder him from
ever finding again-- he knows neither your Name, nor the Street where
your House is, nay, nor the way to his own Lodgings.

_Luc._ And art not thou an unmerciful Rogue, not to afford him one Night
for all this?-- I should not have been such a _Jew_.

_Phil._ Blame me not, _Lucetta_, to keep as much of thee as I can to my
self-- come, that thought makes me wanton,-- let's to Bed,-- Sancho,
lock up these.

  _This is the Fleece which Fools do bear,
  Design'd for witty Men to sheer._    [Exeunt.

    _The Scene changes, and discovers _Blunt_, creeping out of
    a Common Shore, his Face, &c., all dirty._

_Blunt._ Oh Lord! [Climbing up.] I am got out at last, and (which is a
Miracle) without a Clue-- and now to Damning and Cursing,-- but if that
would ease me, where shall I begin? with my Fortune, my self, or the
Quean that cozen'd me-- What a dog was I to believe in Women! Oh
Coxcomb-- ignorant conceited Coxcomb! to fancy she cou'd be enamour'd
with my Person, at the first sight enamour'd-- Oh, I'm a cursed
Puppy,'tis plain, Fool was writ upon my Forehead, she perceiv'd it,--
saw the _Essex_ Calf there-- for what Allurements could there be in this
Countenance? which I can indure, because I'm acquainted with it-- Oh,
dull silly Dog! to be thus sooth'd into a Cozening! Had I been drunk, I
might fondly have credited the young Quean! but as I was in my right
Wits, to be thus cheated, confirms I am a dull believing _English_
Country <DW2>.-- But my Comrades! Death and the Devil, there's the worst
of all-- then a Ballad will be sung to Morrow on the _Prado_, to a lousy
Tune of the enchanted Squire, and the annihilated Damsel-- But _Fred_,
that Rogue, and the Colonel, will abuse me beyond all Christian
patience-- had she left me my Clothes, I have a Bill of Exchange at home
wou'd have sav'd my Credit-- but now all hope is taken from me-- Well,
I'll home (if I can find the way) with this Consolation, that I am not
the first kind believing Coxcomb; but there are, Gallants, many such
good Natures amongst ye.

  _And tho you've better Arts to hide your Follies,
  Adsheartlikins y'are all as errant Cullies._


SCENE III. _The Garden, in the Night._

    Enter _Florinda_ undres'd, with a Key, and a little Box.

_Flor._ Well, thus far I'm in my way to Happiness; I have got my self
free from _Callis_; my Brother too, I find by yonder light, is gone into
his Cabinet, and thinks not of me: I have by good Fortune got the Key of
the Garden Back-door,-- I'll open it, to prevent _Belvile's_ knocking,--
a little noise will now alarm my Brother. Now am I as fearful as a young
Thief. [Unlocks the Door.] --Hark,-- what noise is that?-- Oh,'twas the
Wind that plaid amongst the Boughs.-- _Belvile_ stays long, methinks--
it's time-- stay-- for fear of a surprize, I'll hide these Jewels in
yonder Jessamin.
    [She goes to lay down the Box.

    Enter _Willmore_ drunk.

_Will._ What the Devil is become of these Fellows, _Belvile_ and
_Frederick_? They promis'd to stay at the next corner for me, but who
the Devil knows the corner of a full Moon?-- Now-- whereabouts am I?--
hah-- what have we here? a Garden!-- a very convenient place to sleep
in-- hah-- what has God sent us here?-- a Female-- by this light, a
Woman; I'm a Dog if it be not a very Wench.--

_Flor._ He's come!-- hah-- who's there?

_Will._ Sweet Soul, let me salute thy Shoe-string.

_Flor._ 'Tis not my _Belvile_-- good Heavens, I know him not.-- Who are
you, and from whence come you?

_Will._ Prithee-- prithee, Child-- not so many hard Questions-- let it
suffice I am here, Child-- Come, come kiss me.

_Flor._ Good Gods! what luck is mine?

_Will._ Only good luck, Child, parlous good luck-- Come hither,-- 'tis a
delicate shining Wench,-- by this Hand she's perfum'd, and smells like
any Nosegay.-- Prithee, dear Soul, let's not play the Fool, and lose
time,-- precious time-- for as Gad shall save me, I'm as honest a Fellow
as breathes, tho I am a little disguis'd at present.-- Come, I say,--
why, thou may'st be free with me, I'll be very secret. I'll not boast
who 'twas oblig'd me, not I-- for hang me if I know thy Name.

_Flor._ Heavens! what a filthy beast is this!

_Will._ I am so, and thou oughtst the sooner to lie with me for that
reason,-- for look you, Child, there will be no Sin in't, because 'twas
neither design'd nor premeditated; 'tis pure Accident on both sides--
that's a certain thing now-- Indeed should I make love to you, and
you vow Fidelity-- and swear and lye till you believ'd and yielded--
Thou art therefore (as thou art a good Christian) oblig'd in Conscience
to deny me nothing. Now-- come, be kind, without any more idle prating.

_Flor._ Oh, I am ruin'd-- wicked Man, unhand me.

_Will._ Wicked! Egad, Child, a Judge, were he young and vigorous, and
saw those Eyes of thine, would know 'twas they gave the first blow-- the
first provocation.-- Come, prithee let's lose no time, I say-- this is a
fine convenient place.

_Flor._ Sir, let me go, I conjure you, or I'll call out.

_Will._ Ay, ay, you were best to call Witness to see how finely you
treat me-- do.--

_Flor._ I'll cry Murder, Rape, or any thing, if you do not instantly let
me go.

_Will._ A Rape! Come, come, you lye, you Baggage, you lye: What, I'll
warrant you would fain have the World believe now that you are not so
forward as I. No, not you,-- why at this time of Night was your
Cobweb-door set open, dear Spider-- but to catch Flies?-- Hah come-- or
I shall be damnably angry.-- Why what a Coil is here.--

_Flor._ Sir, can you think--

_Will._ That you'd do it for nothing? oh, oh, I find what you'd be
at-- look here, here's a Pistole for you-- here's a work indeed--
here-- take it, I say.--

_Flor._ For Heaven's sake, Sir, as you're a Gentleman--

_Will._ So-- now-- she would be wheedling me for more-- what, you will
not take it then-- you're resolv'd you will not.-- Come, come, take it,
or I'll put it up again; for, look ye, I never give more.-- Why, how
now, Mistress, are you so high i'th' Mouth, a Pistole won't down with
you?-- hah-- why, what a work's here-- in good time-- come, no
struggling, be gone-- But an y'are good at a dumb Wrestle, I'm for ye,--
look ye,-- I'm for ye.--
    [She struggles with him.

    Enter _Belvile_ and _Frederick_.

_Bel._ The Door is open, a Pox of this mad Fellow, I'm angry that we've
lost him, I durst have sworn he had follow'd us.

_Fred._ But you were so hasty, Colonel, to be gone.

_Flor._ Help, help,-- Murder!-- help-- oh, I'm ruin'd.

_Belv._ Ha, sure that's _Florinda's_ Voice. [Comes up to them.] --A Man!
Villain, let go that Lady.
    [A noise.
    [_Will._ turns and draws, _Fred._ interposes.

_Flor._ _Belvile!_ Heavens! my Brother too is coming, and 'twill be
impossible to escape.-- _Belvile_, I conjure you to walk under my
Chamber-window, from whence I'll give you some instructions what to
do-- This rude Man has undone us.
    [Exit.

_Will._ _Belvile!_

    Enter _Pedro_, _Stephano_, and other Servants with Lights.

_Ped._ I'm betray'd; run, _Stephano_, and see if _Florinda_ be safe.
    [Exit _Steph._

So whoe'er they be, all is not well, I'll to _Florinda's_ Chamber.
    [They fight, and _Pedro's_ Party beats 'em out; going out, meets
    _Stephano_.

_Steph._ You need not, Sir, the poor Lady's fast asleep, and thinks no
harm: I wou'd not wake her, Sir, for fear of frightning her with your
danger.

_Ped._ I'm glad she's there-- Rascals, how came the Garden-Door open?

_Steph._ That Question comes too late, Sir: some of my Fellow-Servants
Masquerading I'll warrant.

_Ped._ Masquerading! a leud Custom to debauch our Youth-- there's
something more in this than I imagine.
    [Exeunt.


SCENE IV. _Changes to the Street._

    Enter _Belvile_ in Rage, _Fred._ holding him, and _Willmore_
    melancholy.

_Will._ Why, how the Devil shou'd I know _Florinda_?

_Belv._ Ah plague of your ignorance! if it had not been _Florinda_, must
you be a Beast?-- a Brute, a senseless Swine?

_Will._ Well, Sir, you see I am endu'd with Patience-- I can bear-- tho
egad y're very free with me methinks,-- I was in good hopes the Quarrel
wou'd have been on my side, for so uncivilly interrupting me.

_Belv._ Peace, Brute, whilst thou'rt safe-- oh, I'm distracted.

_Will._ Nay, nay, I'm an unlucky Dog, that's certain.

_Belv._ Ah curse upon the Star that rul'd my Birth! or whatsoever other
Influence that makes me still so wretched.

_Will._ Thou break'st my Heart with these Complaints; there is no Star
in fault, no Influence but Sack, the cursed Sack I drank.

_Fred._ Why, how the Devil came you so drunk?

_Will._ Why, how the Devil came you so sober?

_Belv._ A curse upon his thin Skull, he was always before-hand that way.

_Fred._ Prithee, dear Colonel, forgive him, he's sorry for his fault.

_Belv._ He's always so after he has done a mischief-- a plague on all
such Brutes.

_Will._ By this Light I took her for an errant Harlot.

_Belv._ Damn your debaucht Opinion: tell me, Sot, hadst thou so much
sense and light about thee to distinguish her to be a Woman, and
could'st not see something about her Face and Person, to strike an awful
Reverence into thy Soul?

_Will._ Faith no, I consider'd her as mere a Woman as I could wish.

_Belv._ 'Sdeath I have no patience-- draw, or I'll kill you.

_Will._ Let that alone till to morrow, and if I set not all right again,
use your Pleasure.

_Belv._ To morrow, damn it.
  The spiteful Light will lead me to no happiness.
  To morrow is _Antonio's_, and perhaps
  Guides him to my undoing;-- oh that I could meet
  This Rival, this powerful Fortunate.

_Will._ What then?

_Belv._ Let thy own Reason, or my Rage instruct thee.

_Will._ I shall be finely inform'd then, no doubt; hear me, Colonel--
hear me-- shew me the Man and I'll do his Business.

_Belv._ I know him no more than thou, or if I did, I should not need thy
aid.

_Will._ This you say is _Angelica's_ House, I promis'd the kind Baggage
to lie with her to Night.
    [Offers to go in.

    Enter _Antonio_ and his Page. _Ant._ knocks on the Hilt of his
    Sword.

_Ant._ You paid the thousand Crowns I directed?

_Page._ To the Lady's old Woman, Sir, I did.

_Will._ Who the Devil have we here?

_Belv._ I'll now plant my self under _Florinda's_ Window, and if I find
no comfort there, I'll die.
    [Ex. _Belv._ and _Fred._

    Enter _Moretta_.

_Moret._ Page!

_Page._ Here's my Lord.

_Will._ How is this, a Piccaroon going to board my Frigate! here's one
Chase-Gun for you.
    [Drawing his Sword, justles _Ant._ who turns and draws. They
    fight, _Ant._ falls.

_Moret._ Oh, bless us, we are all undone!
    [Runs in, and shuts the Door.

_Page._ Help, Murder!    [_Belvile_ returns at the noise of fighting.

_Belv._ Ha, the mad Rogue's engag'd in some unlucky Adventure again.

    Enter two or three Masqueraders.

_Masq._ Ha, a Man kill'd!

_Will._ How! a Man kill'd! then I'll go home to sleep.
    [Puts up, and reels out. _Ex._ Masquers another way.

_Belv._ Who shou'd it be! pray Heaven the Rogue is safe, for all my
Quarrel to him.
    [As _Belvile_ is groping about, enter an Officer and six Soldiers.

_Sold._ Who's there?

_Offic._ So, here's one dispatcht-- secure the Murderer.

_Belv._ Do not mistake my Charity for Murder:
  I came to his Assistance.    [Soldiers seize on _Belvile_.

_Offic._ That shall be tried, Sir.-- St. _Jago_, Swords drawn in the
Carnival time!
    [Goes to _Antonio_.

_Ant._ Thy Hand prithee.

_Offic._ Ha, Don _Antonio_! look well to the Villain there.-- How is't,
Sir?

_Ant._ I'm hurt.

_Belv._ Has my Humanity made me a Criminal?

_Offic._ Away with him.

_Belv._ What a curst Chance is this!    [Ex. Soldiers with _Belv._

_Ant._ This is the Man that has set upon me twice-- carry him to my
Apartment till you have further Orders from me.
    [To the Officer. Ex. _Ant._ led.




ACT IV.


SCENE I. _A fine Room._

_Discovers _Belvile_, as by Dark alone._

_Belv._ When shall I be weary of railing on Fortune, who is resolv'd
never to turn with Smiles upon me?-- Two such Defeats in one Night--
none but the Devil and that mad Rogue could have contriv'd to have
plagued me with-- I am here a Prisoner-- but where?-- Heaven knows-- and
if there be Murder done, I can soon decide the Fate of a Stranger in a
Nation without Mercy-- Yet this is nothing to the Torture my Soul bows
with, when I think of losing my fair, my dear _Florinda_.-- Hark-- my
Door opens-- a Light-- a Man-- and seems of Quality-- arm'd too.-- Now
shall I die like a Dog without defence.

    Enter _Antonio_ in a Night-Gown, with a Light; his Arm in a Scarf,
    and a Sword under his Arm: He sets the Candle on the Table.

_Ant._ Sir, I come to know what Injuries I have done you, that could
provoke you to so mean an Action, as to attack me basely, without
allowing time for my Defence.

_Belv._ Sir, for a Man in my Circumstances to plead Innocence, would
look like Fear-- but view me well, and you will find no marks of a
Coward on me, nor any thing that betrays that Brutality you accuse me
of.

_Ant._ In vain, Sir, you impose upon my Sense,
  You are not only he who drew on me last Night,
  But yesterday before the same House, that of _Angelica_.
  Yet there is something in your Face and Mein--

_Belv._ I own I fought to day in the defence of a Friend of mine, with
whom you (if you're the same) and your Party were first engag'd.
  Perhaps you think this Crime enough to kill me,
  But if you do, I cannot fear you'll do it basely.

_Ant._ No, Sir, I'll make you fit for a Defence with this.
    [Gives him the Sword.

_Belv._ This Gallantry surprizes me-- nor know I how to use this
Present, Sir, against a Man so brave.

_Ant._ You shall not need;
  For know, I come to snatch you from a Danger
  That is decreed against you;
  Perhaps your Life, or long Imprisonment:
  And 'twas with so much Courage you offended,
  I cannot see you punisht.

_Belv._ How shall I pay this Generosity?

_Ant._ It had been safer to have kill'd another,
  Than have attempted me:
  To shew your Danger, Sir, I'll let you know my Quality;
  And 'tis the Vice-Roy's Son whom you have wounded.

_Belv._ The Vice-Roy's Son!
  Death and Confusion! was this Plague reserved
  To compleat all the rest?-- oblig'd by him!
  The Man of all the World I would destroy.    [Aside.

_Ant._ You seem disorder'd, Sir.

_Belv._ Yes, trust me, Sir, I am, and 'tis with pain
  That Man receives such Bounties,
  Who wants the pow'r to pay 'em back again.

_Ant._ To gallant Spirits 'tis indeed uneasy;
  --But you may quickly over-pay me, Sir.

_Belv._ Then I am well-- kind Heaven! but set us even,
  That I may fight with him, and keep my Honour safe.    [Aside.
  --Oh, I'm impatient, Sir, to be discounting
  The mighty Debt I owe you; command me quickly--

_Ant._ I have a Quarrel with a Rival, Sir,
  About the Maid we love.

_Belv._ Death,'tis _Florinda_ he means--
  That Thought destroys my Reason, and I shall kill him--    [Aside.

_Ant._ My Rival, Sir.
  Is one has all the Virtues Man can boast of.

_Belv._ Death! who shou'd this be?    [Aside.

_Ant._ He challeng'd me to meet him on the _Molo_,
  As soon as Day appear'd; but last Night's quarrel
  Has made my Arm unfit to guide a Sword.

_Belv._ I apprehend you, Sir, you'd have me kill the Man
  That lays a claim to the Maid you speak of.
  --I'll do't-- I'll fly to do it.

_Ant._ Sir, do you know her?

_Belv._ --No, Sir, but 'tis enough she is admired by you.

_Ant._ Sir, I shall rob you of the Glory on't,
  For you must fight under my Name and Dress.

_Belv._ That Opinion must be strangely obliging that makes
  You think I can personate the brave _Antonio_,
  Whom I can but strive to imitate.

_Ant._ You say too much to my Advantage.
  Come, Sir, the Day appears that calls you forth.
  Within, Sir, is the Habit.    [Exit _Antonio_.

_Belv._ Fantastick Fortune, thou deceitful Light,
  That cheats the wearied Traveller by Night,
  Tho on a Precipice each step you tread,
  I am resolv'd to follow where you lead.    [Exit.


SCENE II. _The Molo._

    Enter _Florinda_ and _Callis_ in Masques, with _Stephano_.

_Flor._ I'm dying with my fears; _Belvile's_ not coming,
  As I expected, underneath my Window,
  Makes me believe that all those Fears are true.    [Aside.
  --Canst thou not tell with whom my Brother fights?

_Steph._ No, Madam, they were both in Masquerade, I was by when they
challeng'd one another, and they had decided the Quarrel then, but were
prevented by some Cavaliers; which made 'em put it off till now-- but I
am sure 'tis about you they fight.

_Flor._ Nay then 'tis with _Belvile_, for what other Lover have I that
dares fight for me, except _Antonio_? and he is too much in favour with
my Brother-- If it be he, for whom shall I direct my Prayers to Heaven?
    [Aside.

_Steph._ Madam, I must leave you; for if my Master see me, I shall be
hang'd for being your Conductor.-- I escap'd narrowly for the Excuse I
made for you last night i'th' Garden.

_Flor._ And I'll reward thee for't-- prithee no more.    [Exit. Steph.

    Enter Don _Pedro_ in his Masquing Habit.

_Pedro._ _Antonio's_ late to day, the place will fill, and we may be
prevented.
    [Walk about.

_Flor._ _Antonio_! sure I heard amiss.    [Aside.

_Pedro._ But who would not excuse a happy Lover.
  When soft fair Arms confine the yielding Neck;
  And the kind Whisper languishingly breathes,
  Must you be gone so soon?
  Sure I had dwelt for ever on her Bosom.
  --But stay, he's here.

    Enter _Belvile_ drest in _Antonio's_ Clothes.

_Flor._ 'Tis not _Belvile_, half my Fears are vanisht.

_Pedro._ _Antonio!_--

_Belv._ This must be he.  [Aside.]  You're early, Sir,-- I do not use to
be out-done this way.

_Pedro._ The wretched, Sir, are watchful, and 'tis enough
  You have the advantage of me in _Angelica_.

_Belv._ _Angelica!_
  Or I've mistook my Man! Or else _Antonio_,
  Can he forget his Interest in _Florinda_,
  And fight for common Prize?    [Aside.

_Pedro._ Come, Sir, you know our terms--

_Belv._ By Heaven, not I.  [Aside.]  --No talking, I am ready, Sir.
    [Offers to fight. _Flor_. runs in.

_Flor._ Oh, hold! whoe'er you be, I do conjure you hold.
  If you strike here-- I die--    [To _Belv._

_Pedro._ _Florinda!_

_Belv._ _Florinda_ imploring for my Rival!

_Pedro._ Away, this Kindness is unseasonable.
    [Puts her by, they fight; she runs in just as _Belv._ disarms
    _Pedro_.

_Flor._ Who are you, Sir, that dare deny my Prayers?

_Belv._ Thy Prayers destroy him; if thou wouldst preserve him.
  Do that thou'rt unacquainted with, and curse him.    [She holds him.

_Flor._ By all you hold most dear, by her you love,
  I do conjure you, touch him not.

_Belv._ By her I love!
  See-- I obey-- and at your Feet resign
  The useless Trophy of my Victory.    [Lays his sword at her Feet.

_Pedro._ _Antonio_, you've done enough to prove you love _Florinda._

_Belv._ Love _Florinda_!
  Does Heaven love Adoration, Pray'r, or Penitence?
  Love her! here Sir,-- your Sword again.
    [Snatches up the Sword, and gives it him.
  Upon this Truth I'll fight my Life away.

_Pedro._ No, you've redeem'd my Sister, and my Friendship.

_Belv._ Don _Pedro_!
    [He gives him _Flor._ and pulls off his Vizard to shew his Face,
    and puts it on again.

_Pedro._ Can you resign your Claims to other Women,
  And give your Heart intirely to _Florinda_?

_Belv._ Intire, as dying Saints Confessions are.
  I can delay my happiness no longer.
  This minute let me make _Florinda_ mine:

_Pedro._ This minute let it be-- no time so proper,
  This Night my Father will arrive from _Rome_,
  And possibly may hinder what we propose.

_Flor._ Oh Heavens! this Minute!    [Enter Masqueraders, and pass over.

_Belv._ Oh, do not ruin me!

_Pedro._ The place begins to fill; and that we may not be observ'd,
do you walk off to St. _Peter's_ Church, where I will meet you, and
conclude your Happiness.

_Belv._ I'll meet you there-- if there be no more Saints Churches in
_Naples_.
    [Aside.

_Flor._ Oh stay, Sir, and recall your hasty Doom:
  Alas I have not yet prepar'd my Heart
  To entertain so strange a Guest.

_Pedro._ Away, this silly Modesty is assum'd too late.

_Belv._ Heaven, Madam! what do you do?

_Flor._ Do! despise the Man that lays a Tyrant's Claim
  To what he ought to conquer by Submission.

_Belv._ You do not know me-- move a little this way.
    [Draws her aside.

_Flor._ Yes, you may even force me to the Altar,
  But not the holy Man that offers there
  Shall force me to be thine.    [_Pedro_ talks to _Callis_ this while.

_Belv._ Oh do not lose so blest an opportunity!
  See-- 'tis your _Belvile_-- not _Antonio_,
  Whom your mistaken Scorn and Anger ruins.    [Pulls off his Vizard.

_Flor._ _Belvile!_
  Where was my Soul it cou'd not meet thy Voice,
  And take this knowledge in?
    [As they are talking, enter _Willmore_ finely drest, and
    _Frederick_.

_Will._ No Intelligence! no News of _Belvile_ yet-- well I am the most
unlucky Rascal in Nature-- ha!-- am I deceiv'd-- or is it he-- look,
_Fred_.-- 'tis he-- my dear _Belvile_.

    [Runs and embraces him. _Belv._ Vizard falls out on's Hand.

_Belv._ Hell and Confusion seize thee!

_Pedro._ Ha! _Belvile!_ I beg your Pardon, Sir.
    [Takes _Flor._ from him.

_Belv._ Nay, touch her not, she's mine by Conquest, Sir. I won her by my
Sword.

_Will._ Did'st thou so-- and egad, Child, we'll keep her by the Sword.
    [Draws on _ Pedro_, _Belv._ goes between.

_Belv._ Stand off.
  Thou'rt so profanely leud, so curst by Heaven,
  All Quarrels thou espousest must be fatal.

_Will._ Nay, an you be so hot, my Valour's coy,
  And shall be courted when you want it next.    [Puts up his Sword.

_Belv._ You know I ought to claim a Victor's Right,    [To Pedro.
  But you're the Brother to divine _Florinda_,
  To whom I'm such a Slave-- to purchase her,
  I durst not hurt the Man she holds so dear.

_Pedro._ 'Twas by _Antonio's_, not by _Belvile's_ Sword,
  This Question should have been decided, Sir:
  I must confess much to your Bravery's due,
  Both now, and when I met you last in Arms.
  But I am nicely punctual in my word,
  As Men of Honour ought, and beg your Pardon.
  --For this Mistake another Time shall clear.
  --This was some Plot between you and Belvile:
  But I'll prevent you.    [Aside to _Flor._ as they are going out.

    [_Belv._ looks after her, and begins to walk up and down in a
    Rage.

_Will._ Do not be modest now, and lose the Woman: but if we shall fetch
her back, so--

_Belv._ Do not speak to me.

_Will._ Not speak to you!-- Egad, I'll speak to you, and will be
answered too.

_Belv._ Will you, Sir?

_Will._ I know I've done some mischief, but I'm so dull a Puppy, that I
am the Son of a Whore, if I know how, or where-- prithee inform my
Understanding.--

_Belv._ Leave me I say, and leave me instantly.

_Will._ I will not leave you in this humour, nor till I know my Crime.

_Belv._ Death, I'll tell you, Sir--

    [Draws and runs at _Will._ he runs out; _Belv._ after him, _Fred._
    interposes.

    Enter _Angelica_, _Moretta_, and _Sebastian_.

_Ang._ Ha-- _Sebastian_-- Is not that _Willmore_? haste, haste, and
bring him back.

_Fred._ The Colonel's mad-- I never saw him thus before; I'll after 'em,
lest he do some mischief, for I am sure _Willmore_ will not draw on him.
    [Exit.

_Ang._ I am all Rage! my first desires defeated
  For one, for ought he knows, that has no
  Other Merit than her Quality,--
  Her being Don _Pedro's_ Sister-- He loves her:
  I know 'tis so-- dull, dull, insensible--
  He will not see me now tho oft invited;
  And broke his Word last night-- false perjur'd Man!
  --He that but yesterday fought for my Favours,
  And would have made his Life a Sacrifice
  To've gain'd one Night with me,
  Must now be hired and courted to my Arms.

_Moret._ I told you what wou'd come on't, but _Moretta's_ an old doating
Fool-- Why did you give him five hundred Crowns, but to set himself out
for other Lovers? You shou'd have kept him poor, if you had meant to
have had any good from him.

_Ang._ Oh, name not such mean Trifles.-- Had I given him all
  My Youth has earn'd from Sin,
  I had not lost a Thought nor Sigh upon't.
  But I have given him my eternal Rest,
  My whole Repose, my future Joys, my Heart;
  My Virgin Heart. _Moretta_! oh 'tis gone!

_Moret._ Curse on him, here he comes;
  How fine she has made him too!

    Enter _Willmore_ and _Sebast._ _Ang._ turns and walks away.

_Will._ How now, turn'd Shadow?
  Fly when I pursue, and follow when I fly!

  _Stay gentle Shadow of my Dove,_     [Sings.
  _And tell me e'er I go,
  Whether the Substance may not prove
  A fleeting Thing like you._

There's a soft kind Look remaining yet.
    [As she turns she looks on him.

_Ang._ Well, Sir, you may be gay; all Happiness, all Joys pursue you
still, Fortune's your Slave, and gives you every hour choice of new
Hearts and Beauties, till you are cloy'd with the repeated Bliss, which
others vainly languish for-- But know, false Man, that I shall be
reveng'd.
    [Turns away in a Rage.

_Will._ So, 'gad, there are of those faint-hearted Lovers, whom such a
sharp Lesson next their Hearts would make as impotent as Fourscore-- pox
o' this whining-- my Bus'ness is to laugh and love-- a pox on't; I hate
your sullen Lover, a Man shall lose as much time to put you in Humour
now, as would serve to gain a new Woman.

_Ang._ I scorn to cool that Fire I cannot raise, Or do the Drudgery of
your virtuous Mistress.

_Will._ A virtuous Mistress! Death, what a thing thou hast found out for
me! why what the Devil should I do with a virtuous Woman?-- a fort of
ill-natur'd Creatures, that take a Pride to torment a Lover. Virtue is
but an Infirmity in Women, a Disease that renders even the handsom
ungrateful; whilst the ill-favour'd, for want of Solicitations and
Address, only fancy themselves so.-- I have lain with a Woman of
Quality, who has all the while been railing at Whores.

_Ang._ I will not answer for your Mistress's Virtue,
  Tho she be young enough to know no Guilt:
  And I could wish you would persuade my Heart,
  'Twas the two hundred thousand Crowns you courted.

_Will._ Two hundred thousand Crowns! what Story's this?-- what
Trick?-- what Woman?-- ha.

_Ang._ How strange you make it! have you forgot the Creature you
entertain'd on the Piazza last night?

_Will._ Ha, my Gipsy worth two hundred thousand Crowns!-- oh how I long
to be with her-- pox, I knew she was of Quality.
    [Aside.

_Ang._ False Man, I see my Ruin in thy Face.
  How many vows you breath'd upon my Bosom,
  Never to be unjust-- have you forgot so soon?

_Will._ Faith no, I was just coming to repeat 'em-- but here's a Humour
indeed-- would make a Man a Saint-- Wou'd she'd be angry enough to leave
me, and command me not to wait on her.
    [Aside.

    Enter _Hellena_, drest in Man's Clothes.

_Hell._ This must be _Angelica_, I know it by her mumping Matron
here-- Ay, ay,'tis she: my mad Captain's with her too, for all his
swearing-- how this unconstant Humour makes me love him:-- pray, good
grave Gentlewoman, is not this _Angelica_?

_Moret._ My too young Sir, it is-- I hope 'tis one from Don _Antonio_.
    [Goes to _Angelica_.

_Hell._ Well, something I'll do to vex him for this.    [Aside.

_Ang._ I will not speak with him; am I in humour to receive a Lover?

_Will._ Not speak with him! why I'll be gone-- and wait your idler
minutes-- Can I shew less Obedience to the thing I love so fondly?
    [Offers to go.

_Ang._ A fine Excuse this-- stay--

_Will._ And hinder your Advantage: should I repay your Bounties so
ungratefully?

_Ang._ Come hither, Boy,-- that I may let you see
  How much above the Advantages you name
  I prize one Minute's Joy with you.

_Will._ Oh, you destroy me with this Endearment.
    [Impatient to be gone.

--Death, how shall I get away?-- Madam,'twill not be fit I should be
seen with you-- besides, it will not be convenient-- and I've a Friend--
that's dangerously sick.

_Ang._ I see you're impatient-- yet you shall stay.

_Will._ And miss my Assignation with my Gipsy.
    [Aside, and walks about impatiently.

_Hell._ Madam,
    [_Moretta_ brings _Hellena_, who addresses her self to _Angelica_.
  You'l hardly pardon my Intrusion,
  When you shall know my Business;
  And I'm too young to tell my Tale with Art:
  But there must be a wondrous store of Goodness
  Where so much Beauty dwells.

_Ang._ A pretty Advocate, whoever sent thee,
  --Prithee proceed-- Nay, Sir, you shall not go.
    [To _Will._ who is stealing off.

_Will._ Then shall I lose my dear Gipsy for ever.
  --Pox on't, she stays me out of spite.    [Aside.

_Hell._ I am related to a Lady, Madam,
  Young, rich, and nobly born, but has the fate
  To be in love with a young _English_ Gentleman.
  Strangely she loves him, at first sight she lov'd him,
  But did adore him when she heard him speak;
  For he, she said, had Charms in every word,
  That fail'd not to surprize, to wound, and conquer--

_Will._ Ha, Egad I hope this concerns me.    [Aside.

_Ang._ 'Tis my false Man, he means-- wou'd he were gone.
  This Praise will raise his Pride and ruin me-- Well,
  Since you are so impatient to be gone,
  I will release you, Sir.    [To _Will._

_Will._ Nay, then I'm sure 'twas me he spoke of, this cannot be the
Effects of Kindness in her.    [Aside.
  --No, Madam, I've consider'd better on't,
  And will not give you cause of Jealousy.

_Ang._ But, Sir, I've-- business, that--

_Will._ This shall not do, I know 'tis but to try me.

_Ang._ Well, to your Story, Boy,-- tho 'twill undo me.    [Aside.

_Hell._ With this Addition to his other Beauties,
  He won her unresisting tender Heart,
  He vow'd and sigh'd, and swore he lov'd her dearly;
  And she believ'd the cunning Flatterer,
  And thought her self the happiest Maid alive:
  To day was the appointed time by both,
  To consummate their Bliss;
  The Virgin, Altar, and the Priest were drest,
  And whilst she languisht for the expected Bridegroom,
  She heard, he paid his broken Vows to you.

_Will._ So, this is some dear Rogue that's in love with me, and this way
lets me know it; or if it be not me, she means some one whose place I
may supply.
    [Aside.

_Ang._ Now I perceive
  The cause of thy Impatience to be gone,
  And all the business of this glorious Dress.

_Will._ Damn the young Prater, I know not what he means.

_Hell._ Madam,
  In your fair Eyes I read too much concern
  To tell my farther Business.

_Ang._ Prithee, sweet Youth, talk on, thou may'st perhaps
  Raise here a Storm that may undo my Passion,
  And then I'll grant thee any thing.

_Hell._ Madam,'tis to intreat you, (oh unreasonable!)
  You wou'd not see this Stranger;
  For if you do, she vows you are undone,
  Tho Nature never made a Man so excellent;
  And sure he'ad been a God, but for Inconstancy.

_Will._ Ah, Rogue, how finely he's instructed! [Aside.] --'Tis plain
some Woman that has seen me _en passant._

_Ang._ Oh, I shall burst with Jealousy! do you know the Man you speak
of?--

_Hell._ Yes, Madam, he us'd to be in Buff and Scarlet.

_Ang._ Thou, false as Hell, what canst thou say to this?    [To _Will._

_Will._ By Heaven--

_Ang._ Hold, do not damn thy self--

_Hell._ Nor hope to be believ'd.    [He walks about, they follow.

_Ang._ Oh, perjur'd Man!
  Is't thus you pay my generous Passion back?

_Hell._ Why wou'd you, Sir, abuse my Lady's Faith?

_Ang._ And use me so inhumanly?

_Hell._ A Maid so young, so innocent--

_Will._ Ah, young Devil!

_Ang._ Dost thou not know thy Life is in my Power?

_Hell._ Or think my Lady cannot be reveng'd?

_Will._ So, so, the Storm comes finely on.    [Aside.

_Ang._ Now thou art silent, Guilt has struck thee dumb.
  Oh, hadst thou still been so, I'd liv'd in safety.
    [She turns away and weeps.

_Will._ Sweetheart, the Lady's Name and House-- quickly: I'm impatient
to be with her.--
    [Aside to _Hellena_, looks towards _Angel._ to watch her turning;
    and as she comes towards them, he meets her.

_Hell._ So now is he for another Woman.    [Aside.

_Will._ The impudent'st young thing in Nature!
  I cannot persuade him out of his Error, Madam.

_Ang._ I know he's in the right,-- yet thou'st a Tongue
  That wou'd persuade him to deny his Faith.    [In Rage walks away.

_Will._ Her Name, her Name, dear Boy--    [Said softly to _Hell._

_Hell._ Have you forgot it, Sir?

_Will._ Oh, I perceive he's not to know I am a Stranger to his Lady.
    [Aside.
  --Yes, yes, I do know-- but-- I have forgot the--    [_Angel._ turns.
  --By Heaven, such early confidence I never saw.

_Ang._ Did I not charge you with this Mistress, Sir?
  Which you denied, tho I beheld your Perjury.
  This little Generosity of thine has render'd back my Heart.
    [Walks away.

_Will._ So, you have made sweet work here, my little mischief;
  Look your Lady be kind and good-natur'd now, or
  I shall have but a cursed Bargain on't.
    [_Ang._ turns towards them.
  --The Rogue's bred up to Mischief,
  Art thou so great a Fool to credit him?

_Ang._ Yes, I do; and you in vain impose upon me.
  --Come hither, Boy-- Is not this he you speak of?

_Hell._ I think-- it is; I cannot swear, but I vow he has just such
another lying Lover's look.
    [_Hell._ looks in his Face, he gazes on her.

_Will._ Hah! do not I know that Face?--
  By Heaven, my little Gipsy! what a dull Dog was I?
  Had I but lookt that way, I'd known her.
  Are all my hopes of a new Woman banisht?    [Aside.
  --Egad, if I don't fit thee for this, hang me.
  --Madam, I have found out the Plot.

_Hell._ Oh Lord, what does he say? am I discover'd now?

_Will._ Do you see this young Spark here?

_Hell._ He'll tell her who I am.

_Will._ Who do you think this is?

_Hell._ Ay, ay, he does know me.-- Nay, dear Captain, I'm undone if you
discover me.

_Will._ Nay, nay, no cogging; she shall know what a precious Mistress I
have.

_Hell._ Will you be such a Devil?

_Will._ Nay, nay, I'll teach you to spoil sport you will not make.--
This small Ambassador comes not from a Person of Quality, as you
imagine, and he says; but from a very errant Gipsy, the talkingst,
pratingst, cantingst little Animal thou ever saw'st.

_Ang._ What news you tell me! that's the thing I mean.

_Hell._ Wou'd I were well off the place.-- If ever I go a
Captain-hunting again.--
    [Aside.

_Will._ Mean that thing? that Gipsy thing? thou may'st as well be
jealous of thy Monkey, or Parrot as her: a German Motion were worth a
dozen of her, and a Dream were a better Enjoyment, a Creature of
Constitution fitter for Heaven than Man.

_Hell._ Tho I'm sure he lyes, yet this vexes me.    [Aside.

_Ang._ You are mistaken, she's a Spanish Woman
  Made up of no such dull Materials.

_Will._ Materials! Egad, and she be made of any that will either
dispense, or admit of Love, I'll be bound to continence.

_Hell._ Unreasonable Man, do you think so?    [Aside to him.

_Will._ You may Return, my little Brazen Head, and tell your Lady, that
till she be handsom enough to be belov'd, or I dull enough to be
religious, there will be small hopes of me.

_Ang._ Did you not promise then to marry her?

_Will._ Not I, by Heaven.

_Ang._ You cannot undeceive my fears and torments, till you have vow'd
you will not marry her.

_Hell._ If he swears that, he'll be reveng'd on me indeed for all my
Rogueries.

_Ang._ I know what Arguments you'll bring against me, Fortune and
Honour.

_Will._ Honour! I tell you, I hate it in your Sex; and those that fancy
themselves possest of that Foppery, are the most impertinently
troublesom of all Woman-kind, and will transgress nine Commandments to
keep one: and to satisfy your Jealousy I swear--

_Hell._ Oh, no swearing, dear Captain--    [Aside to him.

_Will._ If it were possible I should ever be inclin'd to marry, it
should be some kind young Sinner, one that has Generosity enough to give
a favour handsomely to one that can ask it discreetly, one that has Wit
enough to manage an Intrigue of Love-- oh, how civil such a Wench is, to
a Man than does her the Honour to marry her.

_Ang._ By Heaven, there's no Faith in any thing he says.

    Enter _Sebastian_.

_Sebast._ Madam, _Don Antonio_--

_Ang._ Come hither.

_Hell._ Ha, _Antonio_! he may be coming hither, and he'll certainly
discover me, I'll therefore retire without a Ceremony.
    [Exit _Hellena_.

_Ang._ I'll see him, get my Coach ready.

_Sebast._ It waits you, Madam.

_Will._ This is lucky: what, Madam, now I may be gone and leave you to
the enjoyment of my Rival?

_Ang._ Dull Man, that canst not see how ill, how poor
  That false dissimulation looks-- Be gone,
  And never let me see thy cozening Face again,
  Lest I relapse and kill thee.

_Will._ Yes, you can spare me now,-- farewell till you are in a better
Humour-- I'm glad of this release--
  Now for my Gipsy:
  For tho to worse we change, yet still we find
  New Joys, New Charms, in a new Miss that's kind.    [Ex. _Will._

_Ang._ He's gone, and in this Ague of My Soul
  The shivering Fit returns;
  Oh with what willing haste he took his leave,
  As if the long'd for Minute were arriv'd,
  Of some blest Assignation.
  In vain I have consulted all my Charms,
  In vain this Beauty priz'd, in vain believ'd
  My eyes cou'd kindle any lasting Fires.
  I had forgot my Name, my Infamy,
  And the Reproach that Honour lays on those
  That dare pretend a sober passion here.
  Nice Reputation, tho it leave behind
  More Virtues than inhabit where that dwells,
  Yet that once gone, those virtues shine no more.
  --Then since I am not fit to belov'd,
  I am resolv'd to think on a Revenge
  On him that sooth'd me thus to my undoing.    [Exeunt.


SCENE III. _A Street._

    Enter _Florinda_ and _Valeria_ in Habits different from what they
    have been seen in.

_Flor._ We're happily escap'd, yet I tremble still.

_Val._ A Lover and fear! why, I am but half a one, and yet I have
Courage for any Attempt. Would _Hellena_ were here. I wou'd fain have
had her as deep in this Mischief as we, she'll fare but ill else I
doubt.

_Flor._ She pretended a Visit to the Augustine Nuns, but I believe some
other design carried her out, pray Heavens we light on her.
  --Prithee what didst do with Callis?

_Val._ When I saw no Reason wou'd do good on her, I follow'd her into
the Wardrobe, and as she was looking for something in a great Chest,
I tumbled her in by the Heels, snatcht the Key of the Apartment where
you were confin'd, lockt her in, and left her bauling for help.

_Flor._ 'Tis well you resolve to follow my Fortunes, for thou darest
never appear at home again after such an Action.

_Val._ That's according as the young Stranger and I shall agree-- But to
our business-- I deliver'd your Letter, your Note to _Belvile_, when I
got out under pretence of going to Mass, I found him at his Lodging, and
believe me it came seasonably; for never was Man in so desperate a
Condition. I told him of your Resolution of making your escape to day,
if your Brother would be absent long enough to permit you; if not, die
rather than be _Antonio's_.

_Flor._ Thou shou'dst have told him I was confin'd to my Chamber upon my
Brother's suspicion, that the Business on the _Molo_ was a Plot laid
between him and I.

_Val._ I said all this, and told him your Brother was now gone to his
Devotion, and he resolves to visit every Church till he find him; and
not only undeceive him in that, but caress him so as shall delay his
return home.

_Flor._ Oh Heavens! he's here, and _Belvile_ with him too.
    [They put on their Vizards.

    Enter Don _Pedro_, _Belvile_, _Willmore_; _Belvile_ and Don
    _Pedro_ seeming in serious Discourse.

_Val._ Walk boldly by them, I'll come at a distance, lest he suspect us.
    [She walks by them, and looks back on them.

_Will._ Ha! A Woman! and of an excellent Mien!

_Ped._ She throws a kind look back on you.

_Will._ Death, tis a likely Wench, and that kind look shall not be cast
away-- I'll follow her.

_Belv._ Prithee do not.

_Will._ Do not! By Heavens to the Antipodes, with such an Invitation.
    [She goes out, and _Will._ follows her.

_Belv._ 'Tis a mad Fellow for a Wench.

    Enter _Fred._

_Fred._ Oh Colonel, such News.

_Belv._ Prithee what?

_Fred._ News that will make you laugh in spite of Fortune.

_Belv._ What, _Blunt_ has had some damn'd Trick put upon him, cheated,
bang'd, or clapt?

_Fred._ Cheated, Sir, rarely cheated of all but his Shirt and Drawers;
the unconscionable Whore too turn'd him out before Consummation, so that
traversing the Streets at Midnight, the Watch found him in this
_Fresco_, and conducted him home: By Heaven 'tis such a slight, and yet
I durst as well have been hang'd as laugh at him, or pity him; he beats
all that do but ask him a Question, and is in such an Humour--

_Ped._ Who is't has met with this ill usage, Sir?

_Belv._ A Friend of ours, whom you must see for Mirth's sake. I'll
imploy him to give _Florinda_ time for an escape.
    [Aside.

_Ped._ Who is he?

_Belv._ A young Countryman of ours, one that has been educated at so
plentiful a rate, he yet ne'er knew the want of Money, and 'twill be a
great Jest to see how simply he'll look without it. For my part I'll
lend him none, and the Rogue knows not how to put on a borrowing Face,
and ask first. I'll let him see how good 'tis to play our parts whilst I
play his-- Prithee, _Fred._ do go home and keep him in that posture till
we come.
    [Exeunt.

    Enter _Florinda_ from the farther end of the Scene, looking behind
    her.

_Flor._ I am follow'd still-- hah-- my Brother too advancing this way,
good Heavens defend me from being seen by him.
    [She goes off.

    Enter _Willmore_, and after him _Valeria_, at a little distance.

_Will._ Ah! There she sails, she looks back as she were willing to be
boarded, I'll warrant her Prize.
    [He goes out, _Valeria_ following.

    Enter _Hellena_, just as he goes out, with a Page.

_Hell._ Hah, is not that my Captain that has a Woman in chase?-- 'tis
not _Angelica._ Boy, follow those People at a distance, and bring me an
Account where they go in.-- I'll find his Haunts, and plague him every
where.-- ha-- my Brother!
    [Exit Page.
    [_Bel._ _Wil._ _Ped._ cross the Stage: _Hell._ runs off.


_Scene changes to another Street. Enter _Florinda_._

_Flor._ What shall I do, my Brother now pursues me.
  Will no kind Power protect me from his Tyranny?
  --Hah, here's a Door open, I'll venture in, since nothing can be worse
than to fall into his Hands, my Life and Honour are at stake, and my
Necessity has no choice.
    [She goes in.

    Enter _Valeria_, and _Hellena's_ Page peeping after _Florinda_.

_Pag._ Here she went in, I shall remember this House.    [Exit Boy.

_Val._ This is _Belvile's_ Lodgings; she's gone in as readily as if she
knew it-- hah-- here's that mad Fellow again, I dare not venture in--
I'll watch my Opportunity.
    [Goes aside.

    Enter _Willmore_, gazing about him.

_Will._ I have lost her hereabouts-- Pox on't she must not scape me so.
    [Goes out.


  _Scene changes to _Blunt's_ Chamber, discovers him sitting on a Couch
in his Shirt and Drawers, reading._

_Blunt._ So, now my Mind's a little at Peace, since I have resolv'd
Revenge-- A Pox on this Taylor tho, for not bringing home the Clothes I
bespoke; and a Pox of all poor Cavaliers, a Man can never keep a spare
Suit for 'em; and I shall have these Rogues come in and find me naked;
and then I'm undone; but I'm resolv'd to arm my self-- the Rascals shall
not insult over me too much. [Puts on an old rusty Sword and Buff-Belt.]
--Now, how like a Morrice-Dancer I am equipt-- a fine Lady-like Whore to
cheat me thus, without affording me a Kindness for my Money, a Pox light
on her, I shall never be reconciled to the Sex more, she has made me as
faithless as a Physician, as uncharitable as a Churchman, and as
ill-natur'd as a Poet. O how I'll use all Women-kind hereafter! what
wou'd I give to have one of 'em within my reach now! any Mortal thing in
Petticoats, kind Fortune, send me; and I'll forgive thy last Night's
Malice-- Here's a cursed Book too, (a Warning to all young Travellers)
that can instruct me how to prevent such Mischiefs now 'tis too late.
Well 'tis a rare convenient thing to read a little now and then, as well
as hawk and hunt.
    [Sits down again and reads.

    Enter to him _Florinda_.

_Flor._ This House is haunted sure,'tis well furnisht and no living
thing inhabits it-- hah-- a Man! Heavens how he's attir'd! sure 'tis
some Rope-dancer, or Fencing-Master; I tremble now for fear, and yet I
must venture now to speak to him-- Sir, if I may not interrupt your
Meditations--
    [He starts up and gazes.

_Blunt._ Hah-- what's here? Are my wishes granted? and is not that a she
Creature? Adsheartlikins 'tis! what wretched thing art thou-- hah!

_Flor._ Charitable Sir, you've told your self already what I am; a very
wretched Maid, forc'd by a strange unlucky Accident, to seek a safety
here, and must be ruin'd, if you do not grant it.

_Blunt._ Ruin'd! Is there any Ruin so inevitable as that which now
threatens thee? Dost thou know, miserable Woman, into what Den of
Mischiefs thou art fall'n? what a Bliss of Confusion?-- hah-- dost not
see something in my looks that frights thy guilty Soul, and makes thee
wish to change that Shape of Woman for any humble Animal, or Devil? for
those were safer for thee, and less mischievous.

_Flor._ Alas, what mean you, Sir? I must confess your Looks have
something in 'em makes me fear; but I beseech you, as you seem a
Gentleman, pity a harmless Virgin, that takes your House for Sanctuary.

_Blunt._ Talk on, talk on, and weep too, till my faith return. Do,
flatter me out of my Senses again-- a harmless Virgin with a Pox, as
much one as t'other, adsheartlikins. Why, what the Devil can I not be
safe in my House for you? not in my Chamber? nay, even being naked too
cannot secure me. This is an Impudence greater than has invaded me
yet.-- Come, no Resistance.
    [Pulls her rudely.

_Flor._ Dare you be so cruel?

_Blunt._ Cruel, adsheartlikins as a Gally-slave, or a _Spanish_ Whore:
Cruel, yes, I will kiss and beat thee all over; kiss, and see thee all
over; thou shalt lie with me too, not that I care for the Injoyment, but
to let you see I have ta'en deliberated Malice to thee, and will be
revenged on one Whore for the Sins of another; I will smile and deceive
thee, flatter thee, and beat thee, kiss and swear, and lye to thee,
imbrace thee and rob thee, as she did me, fawn on thee, and strip thee
stark naked, then hang thee out at my Window by the Heels, with a Paper
of scurvey Verses fasten'd to thy Breast, in praise of damnable
Women-- Come, come along.

_Flor._ Alas, Sir, must I be sacrific'd for the Crimes of the most
infamous of my Sex? I never understood the Sins you name.

_Blunt._ Do, persuade the Fool you love him, or that one of you can be
just or honest; tell me I was not an easy Coxcomb, or any strange
impossible Tale: it will be believ'd sooner than thy false Showers or
Protestations. A Generation of damn'd Hypocrites, to flatter my very
Clothes from my back! dissembling Witches! are these the Returns you
make an honest Gentleman that trusts, believes, and loves you?-- But if
I be not even with you-- Come along, or I shall--
    [Pulls her again.

    Enter _Frederick_.

_Fred._ Hah, what's here to do?

_Blunt._ Adsheartlikins, _Fred_. I am glad thou art come, to be a
Witness of my dire Revenge.

_Fred._ What's this, a Person of Quality too, who is upon the Ramble to
supply the Defects of some grave impotent Husband?

_Blunt._ No, this has another Pretence, some very unfortunate Accident
brought her hither, to save a Life pursued by I know not who, or why,
and forc'd to take Sanctuary here at Fools Haven. Adsheartlikins to me
of all Mankind for Protection? Is the Ass to be cajol'd again, think ye?
No, young one, no Prayers or Tears shall mitigate my Rage; therefore
prepare for both my Pleasure of Enjoyment and Revenge, for I am resolved
to make up my Loss here on thy Body, I'll take it out in kindness and in
beating.

_Fred._ Now, Mistress of mine, what do you think of this?

_Flor._ I think he will not-- dares not be so barbarous.

_Fred._ Have a care, _Blunt_, she fetch'd a deep Sigh, she is inamour'd
with thy Shirt and Drawers, she'll strip thee even of that. There are of
her Calling such unconscionable Baggages, and such dexterous Thieves,
they'll flea a Man, and he shall ne'er miss his Skin, till he feels the
Cold. There was a Country-man of ours robb'd of a Row of Teeth whilst he
was sleeping, which the Jilt made him buy again when he wak'd-- You see,
Lady, how little Reason we have to trust you.

_Blunt._ 'Dsheartlikins, why, this is most abominable.

_Flor._ Some such Devils there may be, but by all that's holy I am none
such, I entered here to save a Life in danger.

_Blunt._ For no goodness I'll warrant her.

_Fred._ Faith, Damsel, you had e'en confess the plain Truth, for we are
Fellows not to be caught twice in the same Trap: Look on that Wreck,
a tight Vessel when he set out of Haven, well trim'd and laden, and see
how a Female Piccaroon of this Island of Rogues has shatter'd him, and
canst thou hope for any Mercy?

_Blunt._ No, no, Gentlewoman, come along, adsheartlikins we must be
better acquainted-- we'll both lie with her, and then let me alone to
bang her.

_Fred._ I am ready to serve you in matters of Revenge, that has a double
Pleasure in't.

_Blunt._ Well said. You hear, little one, how you are condemn'd by
publick Vote to the Bed within, there's no resisting your Destiny,
Sweetheart.
    [Pulls her.

_Flor._ Stay, Sir, I have seen you with _Belvile_, an _English_
Cavalier, for his sake use me kindly; you know how, Sir.

_Blunt._ _Belvile_! why, yes, Sweeting, we do know _Belvile_, and wish
he were with us now, he's a Cormorant at Whore and Bacon, he'd have a
Limb or two of thee, my Virgin Pullet: but 'tis no matter, we'll leave
him the Bones to pick.

_Flor._ Sir, if you have any Esteem for that _Belvile_, I conjure you to
treat me with more Gentleness; he'll thank you for the Justice.

_Fred._ Hark ye, _Blunt_, I doubt we are mistaken in this matter.

_Flor._ Sir, If you find me not worth _Belvile's_ Care, use me as you
please; and that you may think I merit better treatment than you
threaten-- pray take this Present--
    [Gives him a Ring: He looks on it.

_Blunt._ Hum-- A Diamond! why, 'tis a wonderful Virtue now that lies in
this Ring, a mollifying Virtue; adsheartlikins there's more persuasive
Rhetorick in't, than all her Sex can utter.

_Fred._ I begin to suspect something; and 'twou'd anger us vilely to be
truss'd up for a Rape upon a Maid of Quality, when we only believe we
ruffle a Harlot.

_Blunt._ Thou art a credulous Fellow, but adsheartlikins I have no Faith
yet; why, my Saint prattled as parlously as this does, she gave me a
Bracelet too, a Devil on her: but I sent my Man to sell it to day for
Necessaries, and it prov'd as counterfeit as her Vows of Love.

_Fred._ However let it reprieve her till we see _Belvile_.

_Blunt._ That's hard, yet I will grant it.

    Enter a Servant.

_Serv._ Oh, Sir, the Colonel is just come with his new Friend and a
_Spaniard_ of Quality, and talks of having you to Dinner with 'em.

_Blunt._ 'Dsheartlikins, I'm undon-- I would not see 'em for the World:
Harkye, _Fred_, lock up the Wench in your Chamber.

_Fred._ Fear nothing, Madam, whate'er he threatens, you're safe whilst
in my Hands.
    [Ex. _Fred._ and _Flor._

_Blunt._ And, Sirrah-- upon your Life, say-- I am not at home-- or that
I am asleep-- or-- or any thing-- away-- I'll, prevent them coming this
way.
    [Locks the Door and Exeunt.




ACT V.


SCENE I. _Blunt's Chamber._

_After a great knocking as at his Chamber-door, enter _Blunt_ softly,
crossing the Stage in his Shirt and Drawers, as before._

_Ned, Ned Blunt, Ned Blunt._    [Call within.

_Blunt._ The Rogues are up in Arms, 'dsheartlikins, this villainous
_Frederick_ has betray'd me, they have heard of my blessed Fortune.

_Ned Blunt, Ned, Ned_--    [and knocking within.

_Belv._ Why, he's dead, Sir, without dispute dead, he has not been seen
to day; let's break open the Door-- here-- Boy--

_Blunt._ Ha, break open the Door! 'dsheartlikins that mad Fellow will be
as good as his word.

_Belv._ Boy, bring something to force the Door.
    [A great noise within at the Door again.

_Blunt._ So, now must I speak in my own Defence, I'll try what Rhetorick
will do-- hold-- hold, what do you mean, Gentlemen, what do you mean?

_Belv._ Oh Rogue, art alive? prithee open the Door, and convince us.

_Blunt._ Yes, I am alive, Gentlemen-- but at present a little busy.

_Belv._ How! _Blunt_ grown a man of Business! come, come, open, and
let's see this Miracle.
    [within.

_Blunt._ No, no, no, no, Gentlemen, 'tis no great Business-- but--
I am-- at-- my Devotion,-- 'dsheartlikins, will you not allow a man
time to pray?

_Belv._ Turn'd religious! a greater Wonder than the first, therefore
open quickly, or we shall unhinge, we shall.
    [within.

_Blunt._ This won't do-- Why, hark ye, Colonel; to tell you the plain
Truth, I am about a necessary Affair of Life.-- I have a Wench with
me-- you apprehend me? the Devil's in't if they be so uncivil as to
disturb me now.

_Will._ How, a Wench! Nay, then we must enter and partake; no
Resistance,-- unless it be your Lady of Quality, and then we'll keep our
distance.

_Blunt._ So, the Business is out.

_Will._ Come, come, lend more hands to the Door,-- now heave
altogether-- so, well done, my Boys--
    [Breaks open the Door.

    Enter _Belvile_, _Willmore_, _Fred._ _Pedro_ and _Belvile's_ Page:
    _Blunt_ looks simply, they all laugh at him, he lays his hand on
    his Sword, and conies up to _Willmore_.

_Blunt._ Hark ye, Sir, laugh out your laugh quickly, d'ye hear, and be
gone, I shall spoil your sport else; 'dsheartlikins, Sir, I shall-- the
Jest has been carried on too long,-- a Plague upon my Taylor--
    [Aside.

_Will._ 'Sdeath, how the Whore has drest him! Faith, Sir, I'm sorry.

_Blunt._ Are you so, Sir? keep't to your self then, Sir, I advise you,
d'ye hear? for I can as little endure your Pity as his Mirth.
    [Lays his Hand on's Sword.

_Belv._ Indeed, _Willmore_, thou wert a little too rough with _Ned
Blunt's_ Mistress; call a Person of Quality Whore, and one so young, so
handsome, and so eloquent!-- ha, ha, ha.

_Blunt._ Hark ye, Sir, you know me, and know I can be angry; have a
care-- for 'dsheartlikins I can fight too-- I can, Sir,-- do you mark
me-- no more.

_Belv._ Why so peevish, good _Ned_? some Disappointments, I'll
warrant-- What! did the jealous Count her Husband return just in the
nick?

_Blunt._ Or the Devil, Sir,-- d'ye laugh? [They laugh.] Look ye, settle
me a good sober Countenance, and that quickly too, or you shall know
_Ned Blunt_ is not--

_Belv._ Not every Body, we know that.

_Blunt._ Not an Ass, to be laught at, Sir.

_Will._ Unconscionable Sinner, to bring a Lover so near his Happiness,
a vigorous passionate Lover, and then not only cheat him of his
Moveables, but his Desires too.

_Belv._ Ah, Sir, a Mistress is a Trifle with _Blunt_, he'll have a dozen
the next time he looks abroad; his Eyes have Charms not to be resisted:
There needs no more than to expose that taking Person to the view of the
Fair, and he leads 'em all in Triumph.

_Ped._ Sir, tho I'm a stranger to you, I'm ashamed at the rudeness of my
Nation; and could you learn who did it, would assist you to make an
Example of 'em.

_Blunt._ Why, ay, there's one speaks sense now, and handsomly; and let
me tell you Gentlemen, I should not have shew'd my self like a
Jack-Pudding, thus to have made you Mirth, but that I have revenge
within my power; for know, I have got into my possession a Female, who
had better have fallen under any Curse, than the Ruin I design her:
'dsheartlikins, she assaulted me here in my own Lodgings, and had
doubtless committed a Rape upon me, had not this Sword defended me.

_Fred._ I knew not that, but o' my Conscience thou hadst ravisht her,
had she not redeem'd her self with a Ring-- let's see't, _Blunt_.
    [_Blunt_ shews the Ring.

_Belv._ Hah!-- the Ring I gave _Florinda_ when we exchang'd our
Vows!-- hark ye, _Blunt_--
    [Goes to whisper to him.

_Will._ No whispering, good Colonel, there's a Woman in the case,
no whispering.

_Belv._ Hark ye, Fool, be advis'd, and conceal both the Ring and the
Story, for your Reputation's sake; don't let People know what despis'd
Cullies we _English_ are: to be cheated and abus'd by one Whore, and
another rather bribe thee than be kind to thee, is an Infamy to our
Nation.

_Will._ Come, come, where's the Wench? we'll see her, let her be what
she will, we'll see her.

_Ped._ Ay, ay, let us see her, I can soon discover whether she be of
Quality, or for your Diversion.

_Blunt._ She's in _Fred's_ Custody.

_Will._ Come, come, the Key.
    [To _Fred._ who gives him the Key, they are going.

_Belv._ Death! what shall I do?-- stay, Gentlemen-- yet if I hinder 'em,
I shall discover all-- hold, let's go one at once-- give me the Key.

_Will._ Nay, hold there, Colonel, I'll go first.

_Fred._ Nay, no Dispute, _Ned_ and I have the property of her.

_Will._ Damn Property-- then we'll draw Cuts. [_Belv._ goes to whisper
_Will._] Nay, no Corruption, good Colonel: come, the longest Sword
carries her.--
    [They all draw, forgetting Don _Pedro_, being a Spaniard, had the
    longest.

_Blunt._ I yield up my Interest to you Gentlemen, and that will be
Revenge sufficient.

_Will._ The Wench is yours-- (_To _Ped.__) Pox of his _Toledo_, I had
forgot that.

_Fred._ Come, Sir, I'll conduct you to the Lady.
    [Ex. _Fred._ and _Ped._

_Belv._ To hinder him will certainly discover-- [Aside.] Dost know, dull
Beast, what Mischief thou hast done?
    [_Will._ walking up and down out of Humour.

_Will._ Ay, ay, to trust our Fortune to Lots, a Devil on't, 'twas
madness, that's the Truth on't.

_Belv._ Oh intolerable Sot!

    Enter _Florinda_, running masqu'd, _Pedro_ after her, _Will._
    gazing round her.

_Flor._ Good Heaven, defend me from discovery.    [Aside.

_Pedro._ 'Tis but in vain to fly me, you are fallen to my Lot.

_Belv._ Sure she is undiscover'd yet, but now I fear there is no way to
bring her off.

_Will._ Why, what a Pox is not this my Woman, the same I follow'd but
now?

[_Ped._ talking to _Florinda_, who walks up and down.

_Ped._ As if I did not know ye, and your Business here.

_Flor._ Good Heaven! I fear he does indeed--    [Aside.

_Ped._ Come, pray be kind, I know you meant to be so when you enter'd
here, for these are proper Gentlemen.

_Will._ But, Sir-- perhaps the Lady will not be impos'd upon, she'll
chuse her Man.

_Ped._ I am better bred, than not to leave her Choice free.

    Enter _Valeria_, and is surprized at the Sight of Don _Pedro_.

_Val._ Don _Pedro_ here! there's no avoiding him.    [Aside.

_Flor._ _Valeria_! then I'm undone--    [Aside.

_Val._ Oh! have I found you, Sir-- [To _Pedro_, running to him.] --The
strangest Accident-- if I had breath-- to tell it.

_Ped._ Speak-- is _Florinda_ safe? _Hellena_ well?

_Val._ Ay, ay, Sir-- _Florinda_-- is safe-- from any fears of you.

_Ped._ Why, where's _Florinda_?-- speak.

_Val._ Ay, where indeed, Sir? I wish I could inform you,-- But to hold
you no longer in doubt--

_Flor._ Oh, what will she say!    [Aside.

_Val._ She's fled away in the Habit of one of her Pages, Sir-- but
_Callis_ thinks you may retrieve her yet, if you make haste away; she'll
tell you, Sir, the rest-- if you can find her out.
    [Aside.

_Ped._ Dishonourable Girl, she has undone my Aim-- Sir-- you see my
necessity of leaving you, and I hope you'll pardon it: my Sister,
I know, will make her flight to you; and if she do, I shall expect she
should be render'd back.

_Belv._ I shall consult my Love and Honour, Sir.    [Ex. _Ped._

_Flor._ My dear Preserver, let me imbrace thee.    [To _Val._

_Will._ What the Devil's all this?

_Blunt._ Mystery by this Light.

_Val._ Come, come, make haste and get your selves married quickly, for
your Brother will return again.

_Belv._ I am so surpriz'd with Fears and Joys, so amaz'd to find you
here in safety, I can scarce persuade my Heart into a Faith of what I
see--

_Will._ Harkye, Colonel, is this that Mistress who has cost you so many
Sighs, and me so many Quarrels with you?

_Belv._ It is-- Pray give him the Honour of your Hand.    [To _Flor._

_Will._ Thus it must be receiv'd then. [Kneels and kisses her Hand.] And
with it give your Pardon too.

_Flor._ The Friend to _Belvile_ may command me anything.

_Will._ Death, wou'd I might, 'tis a surprizing Beauty.    [Aside.

_Belv._ Boy, run and fetch a Father instantly.    [Ex. _Boy_.

_Fred._ So, now do I stand like a Dog, and have not a Syllable to plead
my own Cause with: by this Hand, Madam, I was never thorowly confounded
before, nor shall I ever more dare look up with Confidence, till you are
pleased to pardon me.

_Flor._ Sir, I'll be reconcil'd to you on one Condition, that you'll
follow the Example of your Friend, in marrying a Maid that does not hate
you, and whose Fortune (I believe) will not be unwelcome to you.

_Fred._ Madam, had I no Inclinations that way, I shou'd obey your kind
Commands.

_Belv._ Who, _Fred._ marry; he has so few Inclinations for Womankind,
that had he been possest of Paradise, he might have continu'd there to
this Day, if no Crime but Love cou'd have disinherited him.

_Fred._ Oh, I do not use to boast of my Intrigues.

_Belv._ Boast! why thou do'st nothing but boast; and I dare swear, wer't
thou as innocent from the Sin of the Grape, as thou art from the Apple,
thou might'st yet claim that right in _Eden_ which our first Parents
lost by too much loving.

_Fred._ I wish this Lady would think me so modest a Man.

_Val._ She shou'd be sorry then, and not like you half so well, and I
shou'd be loth to break my Word with you; which was, That if your Friend
and mine are agreed, it shou'd be a Match between you and I.
    [She gives him her Hand.

_Fred._ Bear witness, Colonel, 'tis a Bargain.    [Kisses her Hand.

_Blunt._ I have a Pardon to beg too; but adsheartlikins I am so out of
Countenance, that I am a Dog if I can say any thing to purpose.
    [To _Florinda_.

_Flor._ Sir, I heartily forgive you all.

_Blunt._ That's nobly said, sweet Lady-- _Belvile_, prithee present her
her Ring again, for I find I have not Courage to approach her my self.
    [Gives him the Ring, he gives it to _Florinda_.

    Enter _Boy_.

_Boy._ Sir, I have brought the Father that you sent for.

_Belv._ 'Tis well, and now my dear _Florinda_, let's fly to compleat
that mighty Joy we have so long wish'd and sigh'd for.-- Come, _Fred._
you'll follow?

_Fred._ Your Example, Sir,'twas ever my Ambition in War, and must be so
in Love.

_Will._ And must not I see this juggling Knot ty'd?

_Belv._ No, thou shalt do us better Service, and be our Guard, lest Don
_Pedro's_ sudden Return interrupt the Ceremony.

_Will._ Content; I'll secure this Pass.
    [Ex. _Bel._ _Flor._ _Fred._ and _Val._

    Enter _Boy_.

_Boy._ Sir, there's a Lady without wou'd speak to you.    [To _Will._

_Will._ Conduct her in, I dare not quit my Post.

_Boy._ And, Sir, your Taylor waits you in your Chamber.

_Blunt._ Some comfort yet, I shall not dance naked at the Wedding.
    [Ex. _Blunt_ and _Boy_.

    Enter again the Boy, conducting in _Angelica_ in a masquing Habit
    and a Vizard, _Will._ runs to her.

_Will._ This can be none but my pretty Gipsy-- Oh, I see you can follow
as well as fly-- Come, confess thy self the most malicious Devil in
Nature, you think you have done my Bus'ness with _Angelica_--

_Ang._ Stand off, base Villain--
    [She draws a Pistol and holds to his Breast.

_Will._ Hah, 'tis not she: who art thou? and what's thy Business?

_Ang._ One thou hast injur'd, and who comes to kill thee for't.

_Will._ What the Devil canst thou mean?

_Ang._ By all my Hopes to kill thee--
    [Holds still the Pistol to his Breast, he going back, she
    following still.

_Will._ Prithee on what Acquaintance? for I know thee not.

_Ang._ Behold this Face!-- so lost to thy Remembrance!
  And then call all thy Sins about thy Soul,
  And let them die with thee.    [Pulls off her Vizard.

_Will._ _Angelica!_

_Ang._ Yes, Traitor.
  Does not thy guilty Blood run shivering thro thy Veins?
  Hast thou no Horrour at this Sight, that tells thee,
  Thou hast not long to boast thy shameful Conquest?

_Will._ Faith, no Child, my Blood keeps its old Ebbs and Flows still,
and that usual Heat too, that cou'd oblige thee with a Kindness, had I
but opportunity.

_Ang._ Devil! dost wanton with my Pain-- have at thy Heart.

_Will._ Hold, dear Virago! hold thy Hand a little,
  I am not now at leisure to be kill'd-- hold and hear me--
  Death, I think she's in earnest.
    [Aside.

_Ang._ Oh if I take not heed,
  My coward Heart will leave me to his Mercy.
    [Aside, turning from him.
  --What have you, Sir, to say?-- but should I hear thee,
  Thoud'st talk away all that is brave about me:
    [Follows him with the Pistol to his Breast.
  And I have vow'd thy Death, by all that's sacred.

_Will._ Why, then there's an end of a proper handsom Fellow, that might
have liv'd to have done good Service yet:-- That's all I can say to't.

_Ang._ Yet-- I wou'd give thee-- time for Penitence.    [Pausingly.

_Will._ Faith, Child, I thank God, I have ever took care to lead a good,
sober, hopeful Life, and am of a Religion that teaches me to believe,
I shall depart in Peace.

_Ang._ So will the Devil: tell me
  How many poor believing Fools thou hast undone;
  How many Hearts thou hast betray'd to ruin!
  -- Yet these are little Mischiefs to the Ills
  Thou'st taught mine to commit: thou'st taught it Love.

_Will._ Egad, 'twas shreudly hurt the while.

_Ang._ --Love, that has robb'd it of its Unconcern,
  Of all that Pride that taught me how to value it,
  And in its room a mean submissive Passion was convey'd,
  That made me humbly bow, which I ne'er did
  To any thing but Heaven.
  --Thou, perjur'd Man, didst this, and with thy Oaths,
  Which on thy Knees thou didst devoutly make,
  Soften'd my yielding Heart-- And then, I was a Slave--
  Yet still had been content to've worn my Chains,
  Worn 'em with Vanity and Joy for ever,
  Hadst thou not broke those Vows that put them on.
  --'Twas then I was undone.
    [All this while follows him with a Pistol to his Breast.

_Will._ Broke my Vows! why, where hast thou lived?
  Amongst the Gods! For I never heard of mortal Man,
  That has not broke a thousand Vows.

_Ang._ Oh, Impudence!

_Will._ _Angelica_! that Beauty has been too long tempting,
  Not to have made a thousand Lovers languish,
  Who in the amorous Favour, no doubt have sworn
  Like me; did they all die in that Faith? still adoring?
  I do not think they did.

_Ang._ No, faithless Man: had I repaid their Vows, as I did thine,
I wou'd have kill'd the ungrateful that had abandon'd me.

_Will._ This old General has quite spoil'd thee, nothing makes a Woman
so vain, as being flatter'd; your old Lover ever supplies the Defects of
Age, with intolerable Dotage, vast Charge, and that which you call
Constancy; and attributing all this to your own Merits, you domineer,
and throw your Favours in's Teeth, upbraiding him still with the Defects
of Age, and cuckold him as often as he deceives your Expectations. But
the gay, young, brisk Lover, that brings his equal Fires, and can give
you Dart for Dart, he'll be as nice as you sometimes.

_Ang._ All this thou'st made me know, for which I hate thee.
  Had I remain'd in innocent Security,
  I shou'd have thought all Men were born my Slaves;
  And worn my Pow'r like Lightning in my Eyes,
  To have destroy'd at Pleasure when offended.
  --But when Love held the Mirror, the undeceiving Glass
  Reflected all the Weakness of my Soul, and made me know,
  My richest Treasure being lost, my Honour,
  All the remaining Spoil cou'd not be worth
  The Conqueror's Care or Value.
  --Oh how I fell like a long worship'd Idol,
  Discovering all the Cheat!
  Wou'd not the Incense and rich Sacrifice,
  Which blind Devotion offer'd at my Altars,
  Have fall'n to thee?
  Why woud'st thou then destroy my fancy'd Power?

_Will._ By Heaven thou art brave, and I admire thee strangely.
  I wish I were that dull, that constant thing,
  Which thou woud'st have, and Nature never meant me:
  I must, like chearful Birds, sing in all Groves,
  And perch on every Bough,
  Billing the next kind She that flies to meet me;
  Yet after all cou'd build my Nest with thee,
  Thither repairing when I'd lov'd my round,
  And still reserve a tributary Flame.
  --To gain your Credit, I'll pay you back your Charity,
  And be oblig'd for nothing but for Love.
    [Offers her a Purse of Gold.

_Ang._ Oh that thou wert in earnest!
  So mean a Thought of me,
  Wou'd turn my Rage to Scorn, and I shou'd pity thee,
  And give thee leave to live;
  Which for the publick Safety of our Sex,
  And my own private Injuries, I dare not do.
  Prepare--
    [Follows still, as before.
  --I will no more be tempted with Replies.

_Will._ Sure--

_Ang._ Another Word will damn thee! I've heard thee talk too long.
    [She follows him with a Pistol ready to shoot: he retires still
    amaz'd.

    Enter Don _Antonio_, his Arm in a Scarf, and lays hold on the
    Pistol.

_Ant._ Hah! _Angelica!_

_Ang._ _Antonio!_ What Devil brought thee hither?

_Ant._ Love and Curiosity, seeing your Coach at Door. Let me disarm you
of this unbecoming Instrument of Death.-- [Takes away the Pistol.]
Amongst the Number of your Slaves, was there not one worthy the Honour
to have fought your Quarrel?
  --Who are you, Sir, that are so very wretched
  To merit Death from her?

_Will._ One, Sir, that cou'd have made a better End of an amorous
Quarrel without you, than with you.

_Ant._ Sure 'tis some Rival-- hah-- the very Man took down her Picture
yesterday-- the very same that set on me last night-- Blest
opportunity--
    [Offers to shoot him.

_Ang._ Hold, you're mistaken, Sir.

_Ant._ By Heaven the very same!
  --Sir, what pretensions have you to this Lady?

_Will._ Sir, I don't use to be examin'd, and am ill at all Disputes but
this--
    [Draws, _Anton._ offers to shoot.

_Ang._ Oh, hold! you see he's arm'd with certain Death:    [To _Will._
  --And you, _Antonio_, I command you hold,
  By all the Passion you've so lately vow'd me.

    Enter Don _Pedro_, sees Antonio, and stays.

_Ped._ Hah, _Antonio_! and _Angelica_!    [Aside.

_Ant._ When I refuse Obedience to your Will,
  May you destroy me with your mortal Hate.
  By all that's Holy I adore you so,
  That even my Rival, who has Charms enough
  To make him fall a Victim to my Jealousy,
  Shall live, nay, and have leave to love on still.

_Ped._ What's this I hear?    [Aside.

_Ang._ Ah thus, 'twas thus he talk'd, and I believ'd.
    [Pointing to _Will._
  --_Antonio_, yesterday,
  I'd not have sold my Interest in his Heart,
  For all the Sword has won and lost in Battle.
  --But now to show my utmost of Contempt,
  I give thee Life-- which if thou would'st preserve,
  Live where my Eyes may never see thee more,
  Live to undo some one, whose Soul may prove
  So bravely constant to revenge my Love.
    [Goes out, _Ant._ follows, but _Ped._ pulls him back.

_Ped._ _Antonio_-- stay.

_Ant._ Don _Pedro_--

_Ped._ What Coward Fear was that prevented thee
  From meeting me this Morning on the _Molo_?

_Ant._ Meet thee?

_Ped._ Yes me; I was the Man that dar'd thee to't.

_Ant._ Hast thou so often seen me fight in War,
  To find no better Cause to excuse my Absence?
  --I sent my Sword and one to do thee Right,
  Finding my self uncapable to use a Sword.

_Ped._ But 'twas _Florinda's_ Quarrel that we fought,
  And you to shew how little you esteem'd her,
  Sent me your Rival, giving him your Interest.
  --But I have found the Cause of this Affront,
  But when I meet you fit for the Dispute,
  --I'll tell you my Resentment.

_Ant._ I shall be ready, Sir, e'er long to do you Reason.
    [Exit _Ant._

_Ped._ If I cou'd find _Florinda_, now whilst my Anger's high, I think I
shou'd be kind, and give her to _Belvile_ in Revenge.

_Will._ Faith, Sir, I know not what you wou'd do, but I believe the
Priest within has been so kind.

_Ped._ How! my Sister married?

_Will._ I hope by this time she is, and bedded too, or he has not my
longings about him.

_Ped._ Dares he do thus? Does he not fear my Pow'r?

_Will._ Faith not at all. If you will go in, and thank him for the
Favour he has done your Sister, so; if not, Sir, my Power's greater in
this House than yours; I have a damn'd surly Crew here, that will keep
you till the next Tide, and then clap you an board my Prize; my Ship
lies but a League off the _Molo_, and we shall show your Donship a
damn'd _Tramontana_ Rover's Trick.

    Enter _Belvile_.

_Belv._ This Rogue's in some new Mischief-- hah, _Pedro_ return'd!

_Ped._ Colonel _Belvile_, I hear you have married my Sister.

_Belv._ You have heard truth then, Sir.

_Ped._ Have I so? then, Sir, I wish you Joy.

_Belv._ How!

_Ped._ By this Embrace I do, and I glad on't.

_Belv._ Are you in earnest?

_Ped._ By our long Friendship and my Obligations to thee, I am. The
sudden Change I'll give you Reasons for anon. Come lead me into my
Sister, that she may know I now approve her Choice.
    [Exit _Bel._ with _Ped._
    [_Will._ goes to follow them. Enter _Hellena_ as before in Boy's
    Clothes, and pulls him back.

_Will._ Ha! my Gipsy-- Now a thousand Blessings on thee for this
Kindness. Egad, Child, I was e'en in despair of ever seeing thee again;
my Friends are all provided for within, each Man his kind Woman.

_Hell._ Hah! I thought they had serv'd me some such Trick.

_Will._ And I was e'en resolv'd to go aboard, condemn my self to my lone
Cabin, and the Thoughts of thee.

_Hell._ And cou'd you have left me behind? wou'd you have been so
ill-natur'd?

_Will._ Why, 'twou'd have broke my Heart, Child-- but since we are met
again, I defy foul Weather to part us.

_Hell._ And wou'd you be a faithful Friend now, if a Maid shou'd trust
you?

_Will._ For a Friend I cannot promise, thou art of a Form so excellent,
a Face and Humour too good for cold dull Friendship; I am parlously
afraid of being in love, Child, and you have not forgot how severely you
have us'd me.

_Hell._ That's all one, such Usage you must still look for, to find out
all your Haunts, to rail at you to all that love you, till I have made
you love only me in your own Defence, because no body else will love.

_Will._ But hast thou no better Quality to recommend thy self by?

_Hell._ Faith none, Captain-- Why, 'twill be the greater Charity to take
me for thy Mistress, I am a lone Child, a kind of Orphan Lover; and why
I shou'd die a Maid, and in a Captain's Hands too, I do not understand.

_Will._ Egad, I was never claw'd away with Broad-Sides from any Female
before, thou hast one Virtue I adore, good-Nature; I hate a coy demure
Mistress, she's as troublesome as a Colt, I'll break none; no, give me a
mad Mistress when mew'd, and in flying on[e] I dare trust upon the Wing,
that whilst she's kind will come to the Lure.

_Hell._ Nay, as kind as you will, good Captain, whilst it lasts, but
let's lose no time.

_Will._ My time's as precious to me, as thine can be; therefore, dear
Creature, since we are so well agreed, let's retire to my Chamber, and
if ever thou were treated with such savory Love-- Come-- My Bed's
prepar'd for such a Guest, all clean and sweet as thy fair self; I love
to steal a Dish and a Bottle with a Friend, and hate long Graces-- Come,
let's retire and fall to.

_Hell._ 'Tis but getting my Consent, and the Business is soon done; let
but old Gaffer _Hymen_ and his Priest say Amen to't, and I dare lay my
Mother's Daughter by as proper a Fellow as your Father's Son, without
fear or blushing.

_Will._ Hold, hold, no Bugg Words, Child, Priest and _Hymen_: prithee
add Hangman to 'em to make up the Consort-- No, no, we'll have no Vows
but Love, Child, nor Witness but the Lover; the kind Diety injoins
naught but love and enjoy. _Hymen_ and Priest wait still upon Portion,
and Joynture; Love and Beauty have their own Ceremonies. Marriage is as
certain a Bane to Love, as lending Money is to Friendship: I'll neither
ask nor give a Vow, tho I could be content to turn Gipsy, and become a
Left-hand Bridegroom, to have the Pleasure of working that great Miracle
of making a Maid a Mother, if you durst venture; 'tis upse Gipsy that,
and if I miss, I'll lose my Labour.

_Hell._ And if you do not lose, what shall I get? A Cradle full of Noise
and Mischief, with a Pack of Repentance at my Back? Can you teach me to
weave Incle to pass my time with? 'Tis upse Gipsy that too.

_Will._ I can teach thee to weave a true Love's Knot better.

_Hell._ So can my Dog.

_Will._ Well, I see we are both upon our Guard, and I see there's no way
to conquer good Nature, but by yielding-- here-- give me thy Hand-- one
Kiss and I am thine--

_Hell._ One Kiss! How like my Page he speaks; I am resolv'd you shall
have none, for asking such a sneaking Sum-- He that will be satisfied
with one Kiss, will never die of that Longing; good Friend single-Kiss,
is all your talking come to this? A Kiss, a Caudle! farewel, Captain
single-Kiss.
    [Going out he stays her.

_Will._ Nay, if we part so, let me die like a Bird upon a Bough, at the
Sheriff's Charge. By Heaven, both the _Indies_ shall not buy thee from
me. I adore thy Humour and will marry thee, and we are so of one Humour,
it must be a Bargain-- give me thy Hand-- [Kisses her hand.] And now let
the blind ones (Love and Fortune) do their worst.

_Hell._ Why, God-a-mercy, Captain!

_Will._ But harkye-- The Bargain is now made; but is it not fit we
should know each other's Names? That when we have Reason to curse one
another hereafter, and People ask me who 'tis I give to the Devil, I may
at least be able to tell what Family you came of.

_Hell._ Good reason, Captain; and where I have cause, (as I doubt not
but I shall have plentiful) that I may know at whom to throw my--
Blessings-- I beseech ye your Name.

_Will._ I am call'd _Robert the Constant_.

_Hell._ A very fine Name! pray was it your Faulkner or Butler that
christen'd you? Do they not use to whistle when then call you?

_Will._ I hope you have a better, that a Man may name without crossing
himself, you are so merry with mine.

_Hell._ I am call'd _Hellena the Inconstant_.

    Enter _Pedro_, _Belvile_, _Florinda_, _Fred_. _Valeria_.

_Ped._ Hah! _Hellena!_

_Flor._ _Hellena!_

_Hell._ The very same-- hah my Brother! now, Captain, shew your Love and
Courage; stand to your Arms, and defend me bravely, or I am lost for
ever.

_Ped._ What's this I hear? false Girl, how came you hither, and what's
your Business? Speak.
    [Goes roughly to her.

_Will._ Hold off, Sir, you have leave to parly only.
    [Puts himself between.

_Hell._ I had e'en as good tell it, as you guess it. Faith, Brother, my
Business is the same with all living Creatures of my Age, to love, and
be loved, and here's the Man.

_Ped._ Perfidious Maid, hast thou deceiv'd me too, deceiv'd thy self and
Heaven?

_Hell._ 'Tis time enough to make my Peace with that: Be you but kind,
let me alone with Heaven.

_Ped._ _Belvile_, I did not expect this false Play from you; was't not
enough you'd gain _Florinda_ (which I pardon'd) but your leud Friends
too must be inrich'd with the Spoils of a noble Family?

_Belv._ Faith, Sir, I am as much surpriz'd at this as you can be: Yet,
Sir, my Friends are Gentlemen, and ought to be esteem'd for their
Misfortunes, since they have the Glory to suffer with the best of Men
and Kings; 'tis true, he's a Rover of Fortune, yet a Prince aboard his
little wooden World.

_Ped._ What's this to the maintenance of a Woman or her Birth and
Quality?

_Will._ Faith, Sir, I can boast of nothing but a Sword which does me
Right where-e'er I come, and has defended a worse Cause than a Woman's:
and since I lov'd her before I either knew her Birth or Name, I must
pursue my Resolution, and marry her.

_Ped._ And is all your holy Intent of becoming a Nun debauch'd into a
Desire of Man?

_Hell._ Why-- I have consider'd the matter, Brother, and find the Three
hundred thousand Crowns my Uncle left me (and you cannot keep from me)
will be better laid out in Love than in Religion, and turn to as good an
Account-- let most Voices carry it, for Heaven or the Captain?

_All cry,_ a Captain, a Captain.

_Hell._ Look ye, Sir,'tis a clear Case.

_Ped._ Oh I am mad-- if I refuse, my Life's in Danger-- [Aside.]
--Come-- There's one motive induces me-- take her-- I shall now be free
from the fear of her Honour; guard it you now, if you can, I have been a
Slave to't long enough.
    [Gives her to him.

_Will._ Faith, Sir, I am of a Nation, that are of opinion a Woman's
Honour is not worth guarding when she has a mind to part with it.

_Hell._ Well said, Captain.

_Ped._ This was your Plot, Mistress, but I hope you have married one
that will revenge my Quarrel to you--
    [To _Valeria_.

_Val._ There's no altering Destiny, Sir.

_Ped._ Sooner than a Woman's Will, therefore I forgive you all-- and
wish you may get my Father's Pardon as easily; which I fear.

    Enter _Blunt_ drest in a _Spanish_ Habit, looking very
    ridiculously; his Man adjusting his Band.

_Man._ 'Tis very well, Sir.

_Blunt._ Well, Sir, 'dsheartlikins I tell you 'tis damnable ill,
Sir-- a Spanish Habit, good Lord! cou'd the Devil and my Taylor devise
no other Punishment for me, but the Mode of a Nation I abominate?

_Belv._ What's the matter, _Ned_?

_Blunt._ Pray view me round, and judge--    [Turns round.

_Belv._ I must confess thou art a kind of an odd Figure.

_Blunt._ In a Spanish Habit with a Vengeance! I had rather be in the
Inquisition for Judaism, than in this Doublet and Breeches; a Pillory
were an easy Collar to this, three Handfuls high; and these Shoes too
are worse than the Stocks, with the Sole an Inch shorter than my Foot:
In fine, Gentlemen, methinks I look altogether like a Bag of Bays
stuff'd full of Fools Flesh.

_Belv._ Methinks 'tis well, and makes thee look _en Cavalier:_ Come,
Sir, settle your Face, and salute our Friends, Lady--

_Blunt._ Hah! Say'st thou so, my little Rover? [To _Hell._] Lady--
(if you be one) give me leave to kiss your Hand, and tell you,
adsheartlikins, for all I look so, I am your humble Servant-- A Pox of
my _Spanish_ Habit.

_Will._ Hark-- what's this?    [Musick is heard to Play.

    Enter _Boy_.

_Boy._ Sir, as the Custom is, the gay People in Masquerade, who make
every Man's House their own, are coming up.

    Enter several Men and Women in masquing Habits, with Musick, they
    put themselves in order and dance.

_Blunt._ Adsheartlikins, wou'd 'twere lawful to pull off their false
Faces, that I might see if my Doxy were not amongst 'em.

_Belv._ Ladies and Gentlemen, since you are come so _a propos_, you must
take a small Collation with us.
    [To the Masquers.

_Will._ Whilst we'll to the Good Man within, who stays to give us a
Cast of his Office. [To _Hell._] --Have you no trembling at the near
approach?

_Hell._ No more than you have in an Engagement or a Tempest.

_Will._ Egad, thou'rt a brave Girl, and I admire thy Love and Courage.
  Lead on, no other Dangers they can dread,
  Who venture in the Storms o'th' Marriage-Bed.    [Exeunt.




EPILOGUE


  _The banisht Cavaliers! a Roving Blade!
  A popish Carnival! a Masquerade!
  The Devil's in't if this will please the Nation,
  In these our blessed Times of Reformation,
  When Conventicling is so much in Fashion.
  And yet--
  That mutinous Tribe less Factions do beget,
  Than your continual differing in Wit;
  Your Judgment's (as your Passions) a Disease:
  Nor Muse nor Miss your Appetite can please;
  You're grown as nice as queasy Consciences,
  Whose each Convulsion, when the Spirit moves,
  Damns every thing that Maggot disapproves._
    _With canting Rule you wou'd the Stage refine,
  And to dull Method all our Sense confine.
  With th' Insolence of Common-wealths you rule,
  Where each gay <DW2>, and politick brave Fool,
  On Monarch Wit impose without controul.
  As for the last who seldom sees a Play,
  Unless it be the old Black-Fryers way,
  Shaking his empty Noddle o'er _Bamboo_,
  He crys-- Good Faith, these Plays will never do.
  --Ah, Sir, in my young days, what lofty Wit,
  What high-strain'd Scenes of Fighting there were writ:
  These are slight airy Toys. But tell me, pray,
  What has the _House of Commons_ done to day?
  Then shews his Politicks, to let you see
  Of State Affairs he'll judge as notably,
  As he can do of Wit and Poetry._
    _The younger Sparks, who hither do resort,
  Cry--
  Pox o' your gentle things, give us more Sport;
  --Damn me, I'm sure 'twill never please the Court._
    _Such <DW2>s are never pleas'd, unless the Play
  Be stuff'd with Fools, as brisk and dull as they:
  Such might the Half-Crown spare, and in a Glass
  At home behold a more accomplisht Ass,
  Where they may set their Cravats, Wigs and Faces,
  And practice all their Buffoonry Grimaces;
  See how this-- Huff becomes-- this Dammy-- flare--
  Which they at home may act, because they dare,
  But-- must with prudent Caution do elsewhere.
  Oh that our _Nokes_, or _Tony Lee_ could show
  A <DW2> but half so much to th' Life as you._




POST-SCRIPT


_This Play had been sooner in Print, but for a Report about the Town
(made by some either very Malitious or very Ignorant) that 'twas
_Thomaso_ altered; which made the Book-sellers fear some trouble from
the Proprietor of that Admirable Play, which indeed has Wit enough to
stock a Poet, and is not to be piec't or mended by any but the Excellent
Author himself; That I have stol'n some hints from it may be a proof,
that I valu'd it more than to pretend to alter it: had I had the
Dexterity of some Poets who are not more expert in stealing than in the
Art of Concealing, and who even that way out-do the _Spartan-_Boys I
might have appropriated all to myself, but I, vainly proud of my
Judgment hang out the Sign of _ANGELICA_ (the only Stol'n Object) to
give Notice where a great part of the Wit dwelt; though if the Play of
the _Novella_ were as well worth remembring as _Thomaso_, they might
(bating the Name) have as well said, I took it from thence: I will only
say the Plot and Bus'ness (not to boast on't) is my own: as for the
Words and Characters, I leave the Reader to judge and compare 'em with
_Thomaso_, to whom I recommend the great Entertainment of reading it,
tho' had this succeeded ill, I shou'd have had no need of imploring that
Justice from the Critics, who are naturally so kind to any that pretend
to usurp their Dominion, they wou'd doubtless have given me the whole
Honour on't. Therefore I will only say in _English_ what the famous
_Virgil_ does in Latin: _I make Verses and others have the Fame_._

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

NOTES: The Rover, Part I

  [Transcriber's Note:

  The Notes in the printed text give only page and line numbers.
  Act-and-scene designations shown between +marks+ have been added by
  the transcriber. Labels such as "Scene IIa" refer to points where the
  scene description changes without a new scene number.]


NOTES ON THE TEXT.

+Dramatis Personae+

  p. 9 _Diego, Page to Don Antonio._ Neither 4tos nor 1724 give the
  page's name, but it is furnished by the stage direction Act
  ii. I, p. 32. I have added Hellena's page, Belvile's page, and
  Blunt's man to the list as it appears in 4tos and 1724.

  p. 9 _Angelica._ 4tos give 'Angellica' throughout. I have retained
  1724 'Angelica' as more correct.

+Act I: Scene i+

  p. 12, l. 5 _my things._ 1724 misprints 'methinks'.

+Act I: Scene ii+

  p. 17, l. 14 _as those which ..._ 4to 1677 prints this as a separate
  line of blank verse. 4to 1709 italicizes it.

  p. 23, l. 12 _She often passes ..._ 4to 1709 puts this stage
  direction before Blunt's speech.

  p. 24, l. 18 _Ex. all the Women._ I have added 'except Lucetta' as
  she is individually directed to make her exit with Blunt later and
  not at this point.

+Act II: Scene i+

  p. 32, l. 23 _Pedro. Ha!_ 1724 omits.

  p. 32, l. 28 _aside._ 1724 omits.

  p. 35, l. 33 _his shirt bloody._ 1724 gives 'their shirts' but 4tos,
  more correctly, 'his shirt'. It is only Willmore who has been
  wounded.

+Act II: Scene ii+

  p. 38, l. 6 _high i' th' Mouth._ 1724, 1735 misprint 'Month'.

  p. 39, l. 8 _This last reserve._ 1724 omits 'reserve'.

  p. 39, l. 10 _by me._ 1724 omits the repetition of 'by me'.

  p. 39, l. 14 _cure._ 1724 misprints 'curse'.

  p. 40, l. 9 _Thou art a brave Fellow._ 1724 prints this speech as
  prose but the 4tos, which I have followed, divide metrically.

+Act III: Scene i+

  p. 44, l. 1 _Thou wou't._ 4to 1677. 1724 wrongly reads 'won't'. 1735
  'Thou'lt'.

  p. 45, l. 8 _ago._ 4to 1677. 1724 misprints 'go'.

  p. 47, l. 26 _starts._ 4tos read 'stares' but I retain 1724 'starts'
  as more appropriate.

  p. 47, l. 31 _Expect!_ 1724 gives this speech as prose. I follow
  metrical division of 4tos.

  p. 49, l. 16 _rally._ 1724 misprints 'railly'.

  p. 52, l. 5 _Exeunt._ 1724 omits this necessary stage direction.

+Act III: Scene ii+

  p. 52, l. 31 _Exit._ 1724 misprints 'aside'.

  p. 53, l. 5 _Enter Sancho._ 4tos, but misprint after Sancho's
  speech. 1724 omits, but misprints an 'exit Sancho', and gives 'exit'
  after Blunt's speech instead of 'exeunt'.

+Act III: Scene iia+

  p. 54, l. 9 _Pimps!_ 1724 'Imps'.

  p. 55, l. 12 _sheer._ 4to 1677. 4to 1709 and 1724 read wrongly
  'share'.

+Act IV: Scene i+

  p. 64, l. 4 _Ant._ 4to 1677 wrongly gives this speech to Belvile.
  4to 1709 and ed. 1724 assign it correctly.

  p. 64, l. 14 _That Opinion._ 1724 prints this speech as prose.
  I follow metrical division of 4tos.

+Act IV: Scene ii+

  p. 65, l. 4 _Aside._ 4to 1677. 1724 and 1735 omit this stage
  direction.

  p. 65, l. 11 _Masquing Habit._ 1724, 1735, 'Masque habit'.

  p. 66, l. 2 _If you strike._ 1724, 1735 omit this line.

  p. 66, l. 21 _Belv. Love Florinda!_ 4tos give this speech as prose.
  1724 metrically.

  p. 67, l. 35 _Fred.-- 'tis he-- _ 1724 and 1735 mistaking 'Fred.' for
  speech-prefix give this line to Frederick.

  p. 68, l. 1 _Belv. Vizard ..._ 1724, 1735, read 'Vizard falls out
  on's Hand.'

  p. 68, l. 13 _Nay, an you ..._ 4tos and 1724, print as prose. This
  speech is obviously metrical.

  p. 69, l. 17 _I am all Rage!_ 4to 1677 divides metrically. 1724
  prints as prose.

  p. 71, l. 26 _unconstant._ 1724, 1735 'inconstant'.

  p. 73, l. 23 _Aside._ 4tos omit this necessary stage direction.

  p. 73, l. 24 _Now I perceive._ 1724 prints this as prose. 4tos
  metrically.

  p. 75, l. 12 _So, you have made ..._ 1724, 1735 prose. 4tos
  metrically.

  p. 76, l. 16 _You are mistaken._ 1724, 1735 prose. 4tos metrically.

  p. 76, l. 20 _continence._ 1724 misprints 'continuance'.

  p. 76, l. 23 _Will._ 1677 misprinting, omits this speech-prefix.

  p. 77, l. 8 _has Wit._ 1724 misprints 'Whas it'.

+Act IV: Scene iii+

  p. 79, l. 20 _A Woman!_ 1724 omits 'A'.

  p. 80, l. 16 _the Rogue._ 1724 omits 'the'.

+Act IV: Scene iiib+

  p. 82, l. 14 _He starts up._ 1677 4to misprints 'she'.

  p. 84, l. 18 _dexterous._ 1724 misprints 'dexetrous'. 1735
  'dextrous'.

  p. 86, l. 10 _Exeunt._ 1724 wrongly 'exit'.

+Act V: Scene i+

  p. 86, l. 12 _Blunt's Chamber._ 4tos 'Chamber'. 1724, 1735, 'Room'.

  p. 86, l. 13 _as at his Chamber-door._ 1724, 1735, omit 'as'.

  p. 87, l. 20 _and Belvile's Page._ I have added this entrance which
  4tos and 1724 omit, as late in the scene an exit is marked for the
  page.

  p. 97, l. 3 _Hah! Angelica!_ 4to 1677 mistakenly marks this speech
  before the stage direction.

  p. 97, l. 4 _What Devil._ 1724, 1735 'What the Devil', which weakens
  the whole passage.

  p. 107 _Post-Script._ This is only given in the first 4to (1677).


NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.

+Prologue+

  p. 7 _Rabel's Drops._ Monsieur Rabell, as he is sometimes termed,
  was a famous empiric of the day. A description of his medicaments
  may be found in '_Pharmacopoeia Bateana_; or, Bate's Dispensatory.
  Edited by William Salmon, London, 1700.' Rabell's name occurs on the
  title-page of this book, and in Section VI of the Preface Rabell's
  'Styptick Drops' are alluded to as having been added to the recipes
  found in the original volume by G. Bate. An account of the
  manufacture and use of this particular remedy appears in the same
  volume, Lib. I, chap. x, under 'Sal Stypticum Rabelli'. Salmon, who
  edited this pharmacopoeia, was himself an irregular practitioner of
  some notoriety. He took part in the great controversy with the
  doctors which raged about 1698 and earlier. He finds a sorry place
  in Garth's _Dispensary_, canto III, l. 6, wherein his works are
  alluded to as 'blessed opiates'.

  p. 8 _Cits in May-day Coaches._ On May-day it was the custom for all
  sorts and conditions of persons and pleasure parties to visit Hyde
  Park in coaches or at least on horse-back, cf. Pepys _Diary_, 1 May,
  1663: 'We all took horse, and I ... rode, with some trouble, through
  the fields, and then Holborn, etc., towards Hyde Park, whither all
  the world, I think, are going; ... there being people of all sorts
  in coaches there, to some thousands.... By and by ... I rode home,
  coaches going in great crowds to the further end of the town
  almost.'

+Dramatis Personae+

  p. 9 _Sancho, Pimp to Lucetta. Mr. John Lee._ There were at this
  time two actors and two actresses of the name Lee, Leigh, who,
  especially in view of the eclectic spelling of seventeenth-century
  proper names, need to be carefully distinguished. John Lee, who
  appeared in the small role of Sancho and also took the equally
  unimportant part of Sebastian in _Abdelazer_ this same year, had,
  according to Downes, joined the Duke's Company about 1670. He never
  rose above an entirely insignificant line, and we find him cast as
  Alexas in Pordage's _Herod and Mariamne_, 1673; Titiro in Settle's
  _Pastor Fido_, 1676; Pedro in Porter's _The French Conjurer_, and
  Noddy in _The Counterfeit Bridegroom_, 1677. He was, it is almost
  certain, the husband of the famous Mrs. Mary Lee. Downes' entry runs
  as follows: '_Note_, About the year 1670, Mrs. _Aldridge_, after
  Mrs. _Lee_, after Lady _Slingsby_, also Mrs. _Leigh_ Wife, Mr. _John
  Lee_, Mr. _Crosby_, Mrs. _Johnson_, were entertain'd in the Dukes
  House.' There is of course some confusion here. Antony Leigh, it may
  be noted, is not mentioned in the _Roscius Anglicanus_ for another
  three years to come (1673), and there can be little doubt that the
  above passage should read 'also Mrs. Leigh's [Lee's] husband, Mr
  John Lee'. If this were not so, there would be no point in Downes
  mentioning so minor an actor at this juncture and in such a list.
  Crosby and Mrs. Johnson were both performers of great merit, in fact
  Downes, a page later, has a special warm word of praise for the lady
  whom we find cast as Carolina in Shadwell's _Epsom Wells_ (1672).
  Crosby played such parts as Mr. Cleverwit, Lucia's lover, in
  Ravenscroft's _Mamamouchi_ (1672), Alonzo in _Abdelazer_ (1677),
  Leander Fancy in _Sir Patient Fancy_ (1678). John Lee disappears
  entirely after 1677, and his widow is first billed as Lady Slingsby
  in 1681. For a full account of this great tragedienne see note on
  _Abdelazer_, Vol. II.

  Mrs. Elizabeth Leigh, Moretta in _The Rover_, Part I, who is so
  persistently confused with Mrs. Mary Lee, was the wife of Antony
  Leigh, the celebrated comedian. In Betterton's comedy, _The Revenge_
  (1680), when she acted Mrs. Dashit, she is billed as Mrs. A. Lee.
  Her husband died in December, 1692. Their son Michael also gave
  great promise on the boards. The lad's name occurs in the cast of
  Shadwell's _The Amorous Bigot_ (1690) as 'young Leigh', when he
  played Diego, a servant, to his father's Tegue o' Divelly, the Irish
  friar. Unfortunately he died at an early age, probably in the winter
  of 1701, but his younger brother Francis attained considerable
  success. Frank Leigh made his debut at Lincoln's Inn's Fields,
  31 December, 1702, as Tristram in the original production of Mrs.
  Centlivre's _The Stolen Heiress._ He died in the autumn of 1719.
  Mrs. Leigh was herself an actress of no small eminence, her special
  line being 'affected mothers, aunts, and modest stale maids that had
  missed their market'. Says Cibber, 'In all these, with many others,
  she was extremely entertaining'. After 10 June, 1707, when she acted
  Lady Sly in Carlile's _The Fortune Hunters_, her name is no longer
  to be found in the bills, and in October, 1707, Mrs. Powell is
  playing her parts. Mrs. Leigh's repertory was very large, and
  amongst her roles were Lady Woodvil in Etheredge's _The Man of Mode_
  (1676); Lady Plyant in _The Double Dealer_ (1694); the Nurse in
  _Love for Love_ (1695); the Hostess in Betterton's revival of _Henry
  IV_, Part I (1699); and Lady Wishfort in _The Way of the World_
  (1700). In comedies by Mrs. Behn, Mrs. Leigh only appears twice,
  Moretta, _The Rover_, Part I (1677); and Mrs. Closet, _The City
  Heiress_ (1682).

  In and about 1702 another Mrs. Leigh, perhaps Frank Leigh's wife,
  made a brief appearance. She was at first cast for good parts but
  soon sank into obscurity. Thus on 21 October, 1702, she sustained
  Mrs. Plotwell in Mrs. Centlivre's _The Beau's Duel_; on 28 April,
  1703, Chloris in the Hon. Charles Boyle's insipid _As You Find It._
  She may have been the Mrs. Eli. Leigh who with other performers
  signed a petition to Queen Anne in 1709. Of Mrs. Rachel Lee, who
  took the 'walk-on' part of Judy, a waiting-woman, in Southern's _The
  Maid's Last Prayer_ (1693), nothing is known.

  p. 9 _Angelica Bianca, a famous Curtezan. Mrs. Gwin._ Anne Quin (or
  Quyn, Gwin, Gwyn as the name is indifferently spelt) was a famous
  actress of great personal beauty. She is constantly, but most
  erroneously, confounded with Nell Gwynne, and the mistake is the
  more unpardonable as both names twice occur in the same cast. When
  Nelly was acting Florimel in Dryden's _Secret Love_, produced
  February, 1667, Mrs. Quin played Candiope. Again, in _An Evening's
  Love_, June, 1668, Nell Gwynne was Jacinta, and Mrs Quin Aurelia,
  a role assumed later in the run by Mrs. Marshall. Among Mrs. Quin's
  more notable parts were Alizia (Alice Perrers) in Orrery's _The
  Black Prince_, produced 19 October, 1667; 1677, Thalestris in
  Pordage's _The Siege of Babylon_, and Astrea in _The Constant
  Nymph_; 1678, Lady Knowell in _Sir Patient Fancy_ and Lady Squeamish
  in Otway's _Friendship in Fashion_; 1682, Queen Elizabeth in Banks'
  _The Unhappy Favourite_, and Sunamire in Southerne's _The Loyal
  Brother._ Mrs. Quin appears to have retired from the stage towards
  the close of the year 1682. There exists of this actress an
  extremely interesting portrait which was offered for sale at
  Stevens' Auction Rooms, 26 February, 1901, but not reaching the
  reserve price, withdrawn. It is mistakenly described in the
  catalogue as 'Miniature Portrait of Nell Gwynn on copper with
  original case and 30 cover dresses on talc...' An illustrated
  article on it, entitled, 'Nell Gwynne's Various Guises', appeared in
  the _Lady's Pictorial_, 23 March, of the same year, p. 470, in the
  course of which the writer says: 'Accompanying the miniature are
  some thirty mica covers in different stages of preservation upon
  which various headdresses and costumes are painted. The place where,
  in the ordinary course, the face would come is in all cases left
  blank, the talc being of course transparent, when it is laid upon
  the original miniature the countenance of the latter becomes
  visible, and we are enabled to see Nell Gwynne [Anne Quin] as she
  would appear in various characters.' The old error has been
  perpetuated here, but the _Lady's Pictorial_ reproduced half-a-dozen
  of these painted mica covers, and the costumes for the two roles of
  Queen Elizabeth and Sunamire can be distinctly recognized. Doubtless
  an examination of the original micas would soon yield an
  identification of other characters. The miniature, it may be noted,
  does not in the least resemble Nell Gwynne, so there is bare excuse
  here for the confusion.

+Act I: Scene i+

  p. 11 _Siege of Pampelona._ Pampluna, the strongly fortified capital
  of Navarra, has from its geographical position very frequently been
  a centre of military operations. It will be remembered that it was
  during a siege of Pampluna in 1521 Ignatius Loyola received the
  wound which indirectly led to the founding of the Jesuits.

  p. 13 _King Sancho the First._ Sancho I, 'the Fat', of Castile and
  Leon, reigned 955-67: Sancho I of Aragon 1067-94. But the phrase is
  here only in a vague general sense to denote some musty and
  immemorial antiquity without any exact reference.

  p. 14 _Hostel de Dieu._ The first Spanish hospital was erected at
  Granada by St. Juan de Dios, founder of the Order of Hospitallers.
  ob. 1550.

  p. 14 _Gambo._ The Gambia in W. Africa has been a British Colony
  since 1664, when a fort, now Fort James, was founded at the mouth of
  the river.

+Act I: Scene ii+

  p. 17 _Hogoes._ Haut-gout, a relish or savoury.

+Act I: Scene ii+

  p. 26 _a Piece of Eight._ A piastre, a coin of varying values in
  different countries. The Spanish piastre is now synonymous with a
  dollar and so worth about four shillings. The old Italian piastre
  was equivalent to 3_s._ 7_d._

+Act II: Scene i+

  p. 30 _Balcony... each side of the Door._ With regard to the
  proscenium doors and balconies of a Restoration theatre, our
  knowledge of these points has been rendered much more exact since
  the valuable discovery by that well-known authority in stage
  matters, Mr. W. J. Lawrence, of Sir Christopher Wren's designs for
  the second Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, 1674. Beyond the proscenium on
  the apron there are four doors each with its balcony above. The
  height of these balconies from the stage is considerable,
  surprisingly so indeed in view of the fact that characters
  frequently have to climb up into or descend from one of these
  'windows', e.g., Shadwell's _The Miser_ (1672), Act. iv, when the
  drunken bullies 'bounce at the Doors', we have 'Squeeze at the
  Window in his Cap, and undressed,' who cries: 'I must venture to
  escape at this Window'; 'he leaps down', and yells, as he falls,
  'Death! I have broke my Bones; oh! oh!' whilst the scowrers run up,
  exclaiming: 'Somebody leaped out of a Window', and he is promptly
  seized. In Ravenscroft's _The London Cuckolds_ (1682), Act. v:
  'Enter Ramble above in the Balcony'. This gallant, escaping from the
  house hurriedly, decides 'which way shall I get down? I must venture
  to hang by my hands and then drop from the Balcony'. Next: 'As
  Ramble is getting down Doodle enters to look for his glove, Ramble
  drops upon him and beats him down.' This could hardly have been an
  easy bit of stage business, although Smith, who acted Ramble, was an
  athletic, tall young fellow.

  Normally no doubt only two of the doors (those nearest the
  proscenium opening on opposite sides) with their balconies were in
  constant use by the actors as the exigencies of the play might
  demand, but if required, all four balconies, and more frequently,
  all four doors could be and were employed. It is noticeable in
  Wren's design that the balconies are not stage balconies, but side
  boxes, a permanent part of the general architectural scheme, and
  there can be no doubt that, save in exceptional circumstances, the
  two outermost were occupied by spectators. If the play did not
  require the use of a balcony at all, spectators would also fill the
  inner side boxes. In time, indeed, two doors and two balconies only
  came to be used, but for some decades at least all four were
  practicable. The present passage of _The Rover_ indicates the use of
  three doors. The bravos hang up two little pictures of Angelica, one
  at each side of the door of her house, and presently the fair
  courtezan appears in her balcony above. A little later Don Pedro and
  Stephano enter by one door at the opposite side, Don Antonio and his
  page by the second door on the same side as Pedro.

  In Etheredge's _She Wou'd if She Cou'd_ (6 February, 1668) Act ii, 1,
  Courtal and Freeman are seen following up Ariana and Gatty in the
  Mulberry Garden. Presently 'The Women go out, and go about behind
  the Scenes to the other Door', then 'Enter the Women [at one door]
  and after 'em Courtal at the lower Door, and Freeman at the upper on
  the contrary side'.

  Three balconies are employed in Ravenscroft's _Mamamouchi_ (1672;
  4to 1675) Act iv. We have 'Enter Mr. Jorden, musick' obviously in
  one balcony from the ensuing dialogue. Then 'Cleverwit, in Turk's
  habit, with Betty Trickmore and Lucia appear in the Balcony' number
  two. A song is sung and 'Young Jorden and Marina in the Balcony
  against 'em'. Young Jorden remarks, 'Now, dearest Marina, let us
  ascend to your Father, he is by this time from his Window convinc'd
  of the slight is put on you....' 'They retire' and although there
  has been no exit marked for Mr, Jorden, we find directly, 'Enter Mr.
  Jorden and Trickmore,' obviously upon the stage itself, to which Mr.
  Jorden has descended. It must be noted, however, that the use of
  more than two balconies is very rare.

  Mr. W. J. Lawrence in _The Elizabethan Playhouse and other Studies_
  (First Series) aptly writes: 'No dramatist of the time had a better
  sense of the theatre than Mrs. Behn, and none made more adroit
  employment of the balconies.' He then cites the scene of Angelica,
  her bravos and admirers.

  p. 36 _a Patacoone._ A Spanish coin in value about 4_s._ 8_d._

+Act II: Scene ii+

  p. 38 _a Pistole-worth._ The pistole was a gold coin worth about
  16_s._

  p. 42 _a shameroon._ A rare word meaning a trickster, a cozening
  rascal.

+Act III: Scene iia+

  p. 54 _bow'd Gold._ Bowed for bent is still used in the North of
  England: 'A bowed pin.'

+Act III: Scene iii+

  p. 57 _disguis'd._ A common phrase for drunk.

+Act IV: Scene ii+

  p. 75 _cogging._ To cog = to trick, wheedle or cajole.

+Act V: Scene i+

  p. 99 _Tramontana._ Foreign; Italian and Spanish _tramontano_ = from
  beyond the mountains.

  p. 101 _upse._ Op zijn = in the fashion or manner of. _Upse Gipsy_ =
  like a gipsy, cf. _The Alchemist_, iv, vi:

    I do not like the dulness of your eye:
    It hath a heavy cast, 'tis upsee Dutch.

  p. 101 _Incle._ Linen thread or yarn which was woven into a tape
  once very much in use.

+Epilogue+

  p. 106 _Nokes, or Tony Lee._ James Nokes and Antony Leigh, the two
  famous actors, were the leading low comedians of the day.

  p. 107 _Play of the Novella._ _Novella_ is a good, though intricate,
  comedy by Brome. 8vo, 1653, but acted 1632.

  p. 107 _The famous Virgil._ There is a tale, reported by Donatus,
  that Vergil once anonymously wrote up on the palace gates a distich
  in praise of Augustus, which, when nobody was found to own it, was
  claimed by a certain versifier Bathyllus, whom Caesar duly rewarded,
  A few days later, however, Virgil again set in the same place a
  quatrain each line of which commenced 'sic vos non vobis...' but was
  unfinished, and preceeded these by the one hexameter

    Hos ego versiculos feci; tulit alter honores.

  All were unable to complete the lines satisfactorily save the great
  poet himself, and by this means the true author of the eulogy was
  revealed.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

Errors and Irregularities: The Rover, Part I

justling him to one side
  _standard spelling for text_
that damn'd virtuous Woman, whom on my Conscience
  _text reads "Consicience"_
Read here this Postscript.
  _text reads "Postcript"_
_Will._ Ha! where?
_Fred._ Ay where!
  _printed on a single line_
_Belv._ Ha, ha, ha!
_Will._ Death Man, where is she?
  _printed on a single line_
_Enter _Don Pedro_ in Masquerade, follow'd by _Stephano_._
  _printed "follow'd _by Stephano_" with "by" in emphatic type_
_Ang._ No matter, I'm not displeas'd ...
  _the left edge of this and the following paragraph is damaged,
  and has been reconstructed as shown in {braces}:_
     _Ang._ No matter, I'm not displeas'd with their rallying;
    th{eir} Wonder feeds my Vanity, and he that wishes to buy,
    {giv}es me more Pride, than he that gives my Price can
    {m}ake me Pleasure.
    _Brav._ Madam, the last I knew thro all his disguises
    {t}o be Don _Pedro_, Nephew to the General, and who was
    {w}ith him in _Pampelona_.
_Pedro._ Ha! _Florinda_! Sure 'tis _Antonio_.    [_aside.
  _lower-case "aside" in original_
[Gives him the Jewel, which is her Picture, and Ex. He gazes
after her.
  _text reads "he gazes"_
_Scene changes to another Street. Enter _Florinda_._
  _here and below, new scenes are unnumbered_

Critical Notes

V.i
p. 101 _Incle_
p. 101 _upse_
  _in the body text, the word "upse" occurs before the word "Incle"_

Epilogue
p. 107 ... and preceeded these by the one hexameter
  _spelling "preceeded" unchanged_


       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *


THE ROVER; OR,

THE BANISH'D CAVALIERS.

PART II.


  [Transcriber's Note:

  Entrances and bracketed stage directions were printed in _italics_,
  with proper names in roman type. The overall _italic_ markup has been
  omitted for readability.]




ARGUMENT.


The exiled cavaliers, Willmore the Rover, Shift and Hunt, two officers,
Ned Blunt and Fetherfool, his friend, have arrived at Madrid, where they
are welcomed by Beaumond, nephew to the English Ambassador. Both
Willmore and Beaumond are enamoured of La Nuche, a beautiful courtezan,
whilst Shift and Hunt are respectively courting a Giantess and a Dwarf,
two Mexican Jewesses of immense wealth, newly come to Madrid with an old
Hebrew, their uncle and guardian. Beaumond is contracted to Ariadne, who
loves Willmore. Whilst the Rover is complimenting La Nuche, some
Spaniards, headed by Don Carlo, an aged admirer of the lady, attempt to
separate the pair. During the scuffle the ladies enter a church, where
they are followed by the gallants. A little later Fetherfool comes to
terms with La Nuche's duenna, Petronella, whilst Willmore makes love to
Ariadne. Shift next informs Willmore of the arrival of a celebrated
mountebank, and the Rover resolves to take the quack's place, which
he does in effective disguise. Fetherfool and Blunt visit the
pseudo-doctor's house, where the Giantess and Dwarf are lodged to be
converted to a reasonable size by his medicaments; covetous of their
great fortunes, the coxcombs also begin to court the two Jewesses. La
Nuche comes to consult the mountebank and meets Ariadne attired as a
boy, and Willmore in his own dress. Ariadne, who has a rendezvous that
evening with Willmore, is accidentally anticipated by La Nuche, who runs
into the garden during a night brawl between Beaumond and the Rover,
each of whom is ignorant of his opponent's personality. Both the
combatants encounter the courtezan in the garden and are joined by
Ariadne. The confusion and mistakes that ensue are augmented by the
arrival of Beaumond's page and eventually all disperse in different
directions. La Nuche returns to her house, where Fetherfool-- led on by
the Duenna-- awaits her. Carlo, however, come thither for the same
purpose, enters the chambers, and after they have fallen to fisticuffs,
Fetherfool in a fright escapes through a window. Meanwhile La Nuche is
engaged with Willmore; Beaumond interrupts, and both leave her in
pretended disdain. Ariadne, purposing to meet the Rover, mistakes
Beaumond for him in the dark and they hurry away to the quack's house.
Here, however, Fetherfool has already arrived and, finding the Giantess
asleep, robs her of a pearl necklace; but he is alarmed by Shift, who
takes her off and promptly weds her, whilst Hunt does the same by the
Dwarf. Blunt next appears leading Petronella, veiled, who, filching a
casket of jewels, has just fled from La Nuche; but the hag is discovered
and compelled to disgorge. The Jewish Guardian is reconciled to the
marriages of his wards; Beaumond and Ariadne, Willmore and La Nuche
arrive, and the various mistakes with regard to identity are rectified,
Willmore incidentally revealing himself as the sham mountebank. Beaumond
and Ariadne agree to marry, whilst La Nuche gives herself to the Rover.




SOURCE.


Induced by the extraordinary success of _The Rover_ in 1677, Mrs. Behn,
four years later, turned again to Killigrew's _Thomaso; or, The
Wanderer_, and produced a sequel to her play. She had, however, already
made good use of the best points of the old comedy, and the remaining
material only being that which her judgment first rejected, it is not a
matter of surprise to find the second part of _The Rover_ somewhat
inferior to the first. This is by no means to say that it is not an
amusing comedy full of bustle and humour. The intrigue of Willmore and
La Nuche, together with the jocantries of the inimitable Blunt, Nick
Fetherfool, and the antique Petronella Elenora, are all alive with the
genius of Astrea, although it may be possibly objected that some of the
episodes with the two Monsters and the pranks of Harlequin are apt to
trench a little too nearly on the realm of farce.




THEATRICAL HISTORY.


_The Second Part of The Rover_ was produced at the Duke's Theatre,
Dorset Gardens, in 1681. It is noticeable that Will Smith had so
distinguished himself in Willmore, that Betterton, who appeared as
Belvile in the first part, did not essay a character in the second. The
cast was reinforced, however, by Mrs. Barry, who took the role of La
Nuche.

The play was received with great applause; it suffered none the less the
fate of most sequels and, being overshadowed by its predecessor, after a
few decades disappeared from the boards.




  To His
  ROYAL HIGHNESS
  the
  DUKE, &c.

    Great Sir,

I dread to appear in this Humble Dedication to Your Royal Highness,
as one of those Insolent and Saucy Offenders who take occasion by Your
absence to commit ill-mannered indecencies, unpardonable to a Prince of
your Illustrious Birth and God-like Goodness, but that in spight of
Seditious Scandal You can forgive; and all the World knows You can
suffer with a Divine Patience: the proofs You have early and late given
of this, have been such, as if Heaven design'd 'em only to give the
World an undeniable Testimony of Your Noble Vertues, Your Loyalty and
True Obedience (if I may presume to say so,) both to Your Sacred
Brother, and the never satisfied People, when either one Commanded, or
t'other repin'd, With how chearful and intire a submission You Obey'd?
And tho the Royal Son of a Glorious Father who was render'd unfortunate
by the unexemplary ingratitude of his worst of Subjects; and sacrific'd
to the insatiate and cruel Villany of a seeming sanctifi'd Faction, who
cou'd never hope to expiate for the unparallell'd sin, but by an intire
submission to the Gracious Off-spring of this Royal Martyr: yet You,
Great Sir, denying Yourself the Rights and Priviledges the meanest
Subject Claims, with a Fortitude worthy Your Adorable Vertues, put
Yourself upon a voluntary Exile to appease the causeless murmurs of this
again gathering Faction, who make their needless and self-created fears,
an occasion to Play the old Game o're again; whil'st the Politick
self-interested and malitious few betray the unconsidering Rest, with
the delicious sounds of Liberty and Publick Good; that lucky Cant which
so few years since so miserably reduc'd all the Noble, Brave and Honest,
to the Obedience of the ill-gotten Power, and worse-acted Greatness of
the Rabble; so that whil'st they most unjustly cry'd down the oppression
of one of the best of Monarchs, and all Kingly Government: all England
found itself deplorably inslav'd by the Arbitrary Tyranny of many
Pageant Kings. Oh that we shou'd so far forget with what greatness of
mind You then shar'd the common Fate, as now and again to force Your
Royal Person to new Perils, and new Exiles; but such ingratitude we are
punisht with, and You still suffer for, and still forgive it.

This more than Human Goodness, with the incouragement Your Royal
Highness was pleas'd to give the Rover at his first appearance, and the
concern You were pleas'd to have for his second, makes me presume to lay
him at Your feet; he is a wanderer too, distrest; belov'd, the
unfortunate, and ever conscent to Loyalty; were he Legions he should
follow and suffer still with so Excellent a Prince and Master. Your
Infant worth he knew, and all Your growing Glories; has seen you like
young Cesar in the Field, when yet a Youth, exchanging Death for
Laurels, and wondred at a Bravery so early, which still made double
Conquest, not only by Your Sword, but by Your Vertues, which taught even
Your Enemies so intire an Obedience, that asham'd of their Rebel
Gallantry, they have resign'd their guilty Commissions, and Vow'd never
to Draw Sword more but in the Royal Cause; which Vow Religiously they
kept: a noble Example for the busie and hot Mutineers of this Age misled
by Youth, false Ambition and falser Council.

  [Sidenote: Some of Oliver's Commanders at Dunkirk]

How careless since Your Glorious Restauration You have been, of Your
Life for the service of Your mistaken Country, the whole World knows,
and all brave men admire.

Pardon me then, Great Sir, if I presume to present my faithful Soldier,
(which no Storms of Fate can ever draw from his Obedience) to so great a
General: allow him, Royal Sir, a shelter and protection, who was driven
from his Native Country with You, forc'd as You were, to fight for his
Bread in a Strange Land, and suffer'd with You all the Ills of Poverty,
War and Banishment; and still pursues Your Fortunes; and though he
cannot serve Your Highness, he may possibly have the Honour of diverting
You a few moments: which tho Your Highness cannot want in a place where
all Hearts and Knees are justly bow'd in Adoration, where all conspire,
as all the Earth (who have the blessing of Your presence) ought to
entertain, serve and please You; yet this humble Tribute of a most
Zealous and Devout Heart, may find amongst Your busier hours of greater
moment, some one wherein it may have the Glory of Your regard, and be
capable in some small degree of unbending Your great mind from Royal
Cares, the weightiest Cares of all; which if it be so fortunate as to
do, I have my end, and the Glory I design, a sufficient reward for her
who does and will eternally pray for the Life, Health and Safety of Your
Royal Highness, as in Duty all the World is bound to do, but more
especially,

Illustrious Sir,

  Your Highnesses most Humble,
    most Faithful, and
      most Obedient Servant,
  A. BEHN.




THE ROVER.

PART II.




PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. _Smith_.

  _In vain we labour to reform the Stage,
  Poets have caught too the Disease o'th' Age,
  That Pest, _of not being quiet when they're well_,
  That restless Fever, in the Brethren, _Zeal_;
  In publick Spirits call'd, _Good o' th' Commonweal_.
  Some for this Faction cry, others for that,
  The pious Mobile fir they know not what:
  So tho by different ways the Fever seize,
  In all 'tis one and the same mad Disease.
  Our Author too, as all new Zealots do,
  Full of Conceit and Contradiction too,
  'Cause the first Project took, is now so vain,
  T'attempt to play the old Game o'er again:
  The Scene is only changed; for who wou'd lay
  A Plot, so hopeful, just the same dull way?
  Poets, like Statesmen, with a little change,
  Pass off old Politicks for new and strange;
  Tho the few Men of Sense decry't aloud,
  The Cheat will pass with the unthinking Croud:
  The Rabble 'tis we court, those powerful things,
  Whose Voices can impose even Laws on Kings.
  A Pox of Sense and Reason, or dull Rules,
  Give us an Audience that declares for Fools;
  Our Play will stand fair: we've Monsters too,
  Which far exceed your City Pope for Show._
    _Almighty Rabble,'tis to you this Day
  Our humble Author dedicates the Play,
  From those who in our lofty Tire sit,
  Down to the dull Stage-Cullies of the Pit,
  Who have much Money, and but little Wit:
  Whose useful Purses, and whose empty Skulls
  To private Int'rest make ye Publick Tools;
  To work on Projects which the wiser frame,
  And of fine Men of Business get the Name.
  You who have left caballing here of late,
  Imploy'd in matters of a mightier weight;
  To you we make our humble Application,
  You'd spare some time from your dear new Vocation,
  Of drinking deep, then settling the Nation,
  To countenance us, whom Commonwealths of old
  Did the most politick Diversion hold.
  Plays were so useful thought to Government,
  That Laws were made for their Establishment;
  Howe'er in Schools differing Opinions jar,
  Yet all agree i' th' crouded Theatre,
  Which none forsook in any Change or War.
  That, like their Gods, unviolated stood,
  Equally needful to the publick Good.
  Throw then, Great Sirs, some vacant hours away,
  And your Petitioners shall humbly pray. &c._




  DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


  MEN.

  _Willmore_, The Rover, in love with _La Nuche_,       Mr. _Smith_
  _Beaumond_, the _English_ Ambassador's Nephew,
      in love with _La Nuche_,
      contracted to _Ariadne_,                          Mr. _Williams_
  _Ned Blunt_, an _English_ Country Gentleman,          Mr. _Underhill_
  _Nicholas Fetherfool_, an English Squire,
      his Friend,                                       Mr. _Nokes_
  _Shift_,                   }
      an English Lieutenant, } Friends and Officers     Mr. _Wiltshire_
  _Hunt_, an Ensign          } to _Willmore_,           Mr. _Richards_
  _Harlequin_, _Willmore's_ Man.
  _Abevile_, Page to _Beaumond_.
  Don _Carlo_ an old Grandee, in love with _La Nuche_,  Mr. _Norris_
  _Sancho_, Bravo to _La Nuche_
  An old _Jew_, Guardian to the two Monsters,           Mr. _Freeman_
  _Porter_ at the English Ambassador's.
  _Rag_, Boy to Willmore.
  Scaramouche.


  WOMEN.

  _Ariadne_, the English Ambassador's
      Daughter-in-law, in love with _Willmore_,         Mrs. _Corror_
  _Lucia_, her Kinswoman, a Girl,                       Mrs. _Norris_
  _La Nuche_, a _Spanish_ Curtezan,
      in love with the _Rover_,                         Mrs. _Barry_
  _Petronella Elenora_, her Baud,                       Mrs. _Norris_
  _Aurelia_, her Woman,                                 Mrs. _Crofts_
  A Woman Giant.
  A Dwarf, her Sister.


    Footmen, Servants, Musicians, Operators and Spectators.


                           SCENE, _Madrid_.




ACT I.


SCENE I. _A Street._

    Enter _Willmore_, _Blunt_, _Fetherfool_, and _Hunt_, two more in
    Campain Dresses, _Rag_ the Captain's Boy.

_Will._ Stay, this is the _English_ Ambassador's. I'll inquire if
_Beaumond_ be return'd from _Paris_.

_Feth._ Prithee, dear Captain, no more Delays, unless thou thinkest he
will invite us to Dinner; for this fine thin sharp Air of _Madrid_ has a
most notable Faculty of provoking an Appetite: Prithee let's to the
Ordinary.

_Will._ I will not stay--
    [Knocks, enter a Porter.
--Friend, is the Ambassador's Nephew, Mr. _Beaumond_, return'd to
_Madrid_ yet? If he be, I would speak with him.

_Port._ I'll let him know so much.    [Goes in, shuts the door.

_Blunt._ Why, how now, what's the Door shut upon us?

_Feth._ And reason, _Ned_, 'tis Dinner-time in the Ambassador's Kitchen,
and should they let the savoury Steam out, what a world of _Castilians_
would there be at the Door feeding upon't.-- Oh there's no living in
_Spain_ when the Pot's uncover'd.

_Blunt._ Nay, 'tis a Nation of the finest clean Teeth--

_Feth._ Teeth! Gad an they use their Swords no oftner, a Scabbard will
last an Age.

    Enter _Shift_ from the House.

_Will._ Honest Lieutenant--

_Shift._ My noble Captain-- Welcome to Madrid. What Mr. _Blunt_, and my
honoured Friend _Nicholas Fetherfool_ Esq.

_Feth._ Thy Hand, honest _Shift_--    [They embrace him.

_Will._ And how, Lieutenant, how stand Affairs in this unsanctify'd
Town?-- How does Love's great Artillery, the fair La Nuche, from whose
bright Eyes the little wanton God throws Darts to wound Mankind?

_Shift._ Faith, she carries all before her still; undoes her
Fellow-traders in Love's Art: and amongst the Number, old _Carlo de
Minalta Segosa_ pays high for two Nights in a Week.

_Will._ Hah-- Carlo! Death, what a greeting's here! Carlo, the happy
Man! a Dog! a Rascal, gain the bright La Nuche! Oh Fortune! Cursed blind
mistaken Fortune! eternal Friend to Fools! Fortune! that takes the noble
Rate from Man, to place it on her Idol Interest.

_Shift._ Why Faith, Captain, I should think her Heart might stand as
fair for you as any, could you be less satirical-- but by this Light,
Captain, you return her Raillery a little too roughly.

_Will._ Her Raillery! By this Hand I had rather be handsomly abus'd than
dully flatter'd; but when she touches on my Poverty, my honourable
Poverty, she presses me too sensibly-- for nothing is so nice as
Poverty-- But damn her, I'll think of her no more: for she's a Devil,
tho her Form be Angel. Is Beaumond come from Paris yet?

_Shift._ He is, I came with him; he's impatient of your Return: I'll let
him know you're here.
    [Exit. _Shift_.

_Feth._ Why, what a Pox ails the Captain o'th' sudden? He looks as
sullenly as a routed General, or a Lover after hard Service.

_Blunt._ Oh-- something the Lieutenant has told him about a Wench; and
when _Cupid's_ in his Breeches, the Devil's ever in's Head-- how
now-- What a pox is the matter with you, you look so scurvily now?--
What, is the Gentlewoman otherwise provided? has she cashier'd ye for
want of Pay? or what other dire Mischance?-- hah--

_Will._ Do not trouble me-- -

_Blunt._ Adsheartlikins, but I will, and beat thee too, but I'll know
the Cause. I heard _Shift_ tell thee something about _La Nuche_,
a Damsel I have often heard thee Fool enough to sigh for.

_Will._ Confound the mercenary Jilt!

_Blunt._ Nay, adsheartlikins they are all so; tho I thought you had been
Whore-proof; 'tis enough for us Fools, Country Gentlemen, Esquires, and
Cullies, to miscarry in their amorous Adventures, you Men of Wit weather
all Storms you.

_Will._ Oh, Sir, you're become a new Man, wise and wary, and can no more
be cozen'd.

_Blunt._ Not by Woman-kind; and for Man I think my Sword will secure me.
Pox, I thought a two Months absence and a Siege would have put such
Trifles out of thy Head: You do not use to be such a Miracle of
Constancy.

_Will._ That Absence makes me think of her so much; and all the Passions
thou find'st about me are to the Sex alone. Give me a Woman, Ned, a fine
young amorous Wanton, who would allay this Fire that makes me rave thus,
and thou shouldst find me no longer particular, but cold as
Winter-Nights to this La Nuche: Yet since I lost my little charming
Gipsey, nothing has gone so near my Heart as this.

_Blunt._ Ay, there was a Girl, the only she thing that could reconcile
me to the Petticoats again after my Naples Adventure, when the Quean
rob'd and stript me.

_Will._ Oh name not Hellena! She was a Saint to be ador'd on Holy-days.

    Enter _Beaumond_.

_Beau._ Willmore! my careless wild inconstant-- how is't, my lucky
Rover?
    [embracing.

_Will._ My Life! my Soul! how glad am I to find thee in my Arms
again-- and well-- When left you _Paris_? _Paris_, that City of Pottage
and Crab-Wine, swarming with Lacquies and Philies, whose Government is
carried on by most Hands, not most Voices-- And prithee how does
_Belvile_ and his Lady?

_Beau._ I left 'em both in Health at St. _Germains._

_Will._ Faith, I have wisht my self with ye at the old Temple of Bacchus
at _St. Clou_, to sacrifice a Bottle and a Damsel to his Deity.

_Beau._ My constant Place of Worship whilst there, tho for want of new
Saints my Zeal grew something cold, which I was ever fain to supply with
a Bottle, the old Remedy when _Phyllis_ is sullen and absent.

_Will._ Now thou talk'st of Phillis prithee, dear _Harry_, what Women
hast in store?

_Beau._ I'll tell thee; but first inform me whom these two Sparks are.

_Will._ Egad, and so they are, Child: Salute 'em-- They are my
Friends-- True Blades, _Hal._ highly guilty of the royal Crime, poor and
brave, loyal Fugitives.

_Beau._ I love and honour 'em, Sir, as such    [Bowing to _Blunt_.

_Blunt._ Sir, there's neither Love nor Honour lost.

_Feth._ Sir, I scorn to be behind-hand in Civilities.

_Beau._ At first sight I find I am much yours, Sir.    [To _Feth._

_Feth._ Sir, I love and honour any Man that's a Friend to Captain
_Willmore_-- and therefore I am yours--

    Enter _Shift_.

--Well, honest Lieutenant, how does thy Body?-- When shall _Ned_, and
thou and I, crack a Bisket o'er a Glass of Wine, have a Slice of Treason
and settle the Nation, hah?

_Shift._ You know, Squire, I am devotedly yours.    [They talk aside.

_Beau._ Prithee who are these?

_Will._ Why, the first you saluted is the same _Ned Blunt_ you have
often heard _Belvile_ and I speak of: the other is a Rarity of another
Nature, one Squire _Fetherfool_ of _Croydon_, a tame Justice of Peace,
who liv'd as innocently as Ale and Food could keep him, till for a
mistaken Kindness to one of the Royal Party, he lost his Commission, and
got the Reputation of a Sufferer: He's rich, but covetous as an
Alderman.

_Beau._ What a Pox do'st keep 'em Company for, who have neither Wit
enough to divert thee, nor Good-nature enough to serve thee?

_Will._ Faith, _Harry_, 'tis true, and if there were no more Charity
than Profit in't, a Man would sooner keep a Cough o'th' Lungs than be
troubled with 'em: but the Rascals have a blind side as all conceited
Coxcombs have, which when I've nothing else to do, I shall expose to
advance our Mirth; the Rogues must be cozen'd, because they're so
positive they never can be so: but I am now for softer Joys, for Woman,
for Woman in abundance-- dear _Hal_. inform me where I may safely unlade
my Heart.

_Beau._ The same Man still, wild and wanton!

_Will._ And would not change to be the Catholick King.

_Beau._ I perceive Marriage has not tam'd you, nor a Wife who had all
the Charms of her Sex.

_Will._ Ay-- she was too good for Mortals.    [With a sham Sadness.

_Belv._ I think thou hadst her but a Month, prithee how dy'd she?

_Will._ Faith, e'en with a fit of Kindness, poor Soul-- she would to Sea
with me, and in a Storm-- far from Land, she gave up the Ghost-- 'twas a
Loss, but I must bear it with a Christian Fortitude.

_Beau._ Short Happinesses vanish like to Dreams.

_Will._ Ay faith, and nothing remains with me but the sad Remembrance--
not so much as the least Part of her hundred thousand Crowns; _Brussels_
that inchanted Court has eas'd me of that Grief, where our Heroes act
_Tantalus_ better than ever _Ovid_ describ'd him, condemn'd daily to see
an Apparition of Meat, Food in Vision only. Faith, I had Bowels, was
good-natur'd, and lent upon the publick Faith as far as 'twill go--
But come, let's leave this mortifying Discourse, and tell me how the
price of Pleasure goes.

_Beau._ At the old Rates still; he that gives most is happiest, some few
there are for Love!

_Will._ Ah, one of the last, dear _Beaumond_; and if a Heart or Sword
can purchase her, I'll bid as fair as the best. Damn it, I hate a Whore
that asks me Mony.

_Beau._ Yet I have known thee venture all thy Stock for a new Woman.

_Will._ Ay, such a Fool I was in my dull Days of Constancy, but I am now
for Change, (and should I pay as often,'twould undo me)-- for Change,
my Dear, of Place, Clothes, Wine, and Women. Variety is the Soul of
Pleasure, a Good unknown; and we want Faith to find it.

_Beau._ Thou wouldst renounce that fond Opinion, _Willmore_, didst thou
see a Beauty here in Town, whose Charms have Power to fix inconstant
Nature or Fortune were she tottering on her Wheel.

_Will._ Her Name, my Dear, her Name?

_Beau._ I would not breathe it even in my Complaints, lest amorous Winds
should bear it o'er the World, and make Mankind her Slaves;
  But that it is a Name too cheaply known,
  And she that owns it may be as cheaply purchas'd.

_Will._ Hah! cheaply purchas'd too! I languish for her.

_Beau._ Ay, there's the Devil on't, she is-- a Whore.

_Will._ Ah, what a charming Sound that mighty Word bears!

_Beau._ Damn her, she'll be thine or any body's.

_Will._ I die for her--

_Beau._ Then for her Qualities--

_Will._ No more-- ye Gods, I ask no more, Be she but fair and much a
Whore-- Come let's to her.

_Beau._ Perhaps to morrow you may see this Woman.

_Will._ Death,'tis an Age.

_Feth._ Oh, Captain, the strangest News, Captain.

_Will._ Prithee what?

_Feth._ Why, Lieutenant _Shift_ here tells us of two Monsters arriv'd
from _Mexico_, Jews of vast Fortunes, with an old Jew Uncle their
Guardian; they are worth a hundred thousand Pounds a piece-- Marcy
upon's, why,'tis a Sum able to purchase all _Flanders_ again from his
most christian Majesty.

_Will._ Ha, ha, ha, Monsters!

_Beau._ He tells you Truth, _Willmore_.

_Blunt._ But hark ye, Lieutenant, are you sure they are not married?

_Beau._ Who the Devil would venture on such formidable Ladies?

_Feth._ How, venture on 'em! by the Lord _Harry_, and that would I, tho
I'm a Justice of the Peace, and they be Jews, (which to a Christian is a
thousand Reasons.)

_Blunt._ Is the Devil in you to declare our Designs?    [Aside.

_Feth._ Mum, as close as a Jesuit.

_Beau._ I admire your Courage, Sir, but one of them is so little, and so
deform'd,'tis thought she is not capable of Marriage; and the other is
so huge an overgrown Giant, no Man dares venture on her.

_Will._ Prithee let's go see 'em; what do they pay for going in?

_Feth._ Pay-- I'd have you to know they are Monsters of Quality.

_Shift._ And not to be seen but by particular Favour of their Guardian,
whom I am got acquainted with, from the Friendship I have with the
Merchant where they lay. The Giant, Sir, is in love with me, the Dwarf
with Ensign _Hunt_, and as we manage Matters we may prove lucky.

_Beau._ And didst thou see the Show? the Elephant and the Mouse.

_Shift._ Yes, and pleased them wondrously with News I brought 'em of a
famous Mountebank who is coming to _Madrid_, here are his Bills-- who
amongst other his marvellous Cures, pretends to restore Mistakes in
Nature, to new-mould a Face and Body tho never so misshapen, to exact
Proportion and Beauty. This News has made me gracious to the Ladies, and
I am to bring 'em word of the Arrival of this famous Empirick, and to
negotiate the Business of their Reformation.

_Will._ And do they think to be restor'd to moderate sizes?

_Shift._ Much pleas'd with the Hope, and are resolv'd to try at any
Rate.

_Feth._ Mum, Lieutenant-- not too much of their Transformation; we shall
have the Captain put in for a Share, and the Devil would not have him
his Rival: _Ned_ and I are resolv'd to venture a Castfor 'em as they
are-- Hah, _Ned_.
    [_Will._ and _Beau._ read the Bill.

_Blunt._ Yes, if there were any Hopes of your keeping a Secret.

_Feth._ Nay, nay, _Ned_, the World knows I am a plaguy Fellow at your
Secrets; that, and my Share of the Charge shall be my Part, for _Shift_
says the Guardian must be brib'd for Consent: Now the other Moiety of
the Mony and the Speeches shall be thy part, for thou hast a pretty
Knack that way. Now _Shift_ shall bring Matters neatly about, and we'll
pay him by the Day, or in gross, when we are married-- hah, _Shift_.

_Shift._ Sir, I shall be reasonable.

_Will._ I am sure _Fetherfool_ and _Blunt_ have some wise Design upon
these two Monsters-- it must be so-- and this Bill has put an
extravagant Thought into my Head-- hark ye, _Shift_.
    [Whispers to him.

_Blunt._ The Devil's in't if this will not redeem my Reputation with the
Captain, and give him to understand that all the Wit does not lie in the
Family of the _Willmores_, but that this Noddle of mine can be fruitful
too upon Occasion.

_Feth._ Ay, and Lord, how we'll domineer, _Ned_, hah-- over _Willmore_
and the rest of the Renegade Officers, when we have married these Lady
Monsters, hah, _Ned_.

_Blunt._ --Then to return back to _Essex_ worth a Million.

_Feth._ And I to _Croyden_--

_Blunt._ --Lolling in Coach and Six--

_Feth._ --Be dub'd Right Worshipful--

_Blunt._ And stand for Knight of the Shire.

_Will._ Enough-- I must have my Share of this Jest, and for divers and
sundry Reasons thereunto belonging, must be this very Mountebank
expected.

_Shift._ Faith, Sir, and that were no hard matter, for a day or two the
Town will believe it, the same they look for: and the Bank, Operators
and Musick are all ready.

_Will._ Well enough, add but a _Harlequin_ and _Scaramouch_, and I shall
mount in querpo.

_Shift._ Take no care for that, Sir, your Man, and Ensign _Hunt_, are
excellent at those two; I saw 'em act 'em the other day to a Wonder,
they'll be glad of the Employment, my self will be an Operator.

_Will._ No more, get 'em ready, and give it out, the Man of Art's
arriv'd: Be diligent and secret, for these two politick Asses must be
cozen'd.

_Shift._ I will about the Business instantly.    [Ex. _Shift_.

_Beau._ This Fellow will do Feats if he keeps his Word.

_Will._ I'll give you mine he shall-- But, dear _Beaumond_, where shall
we meet anon?

_Beau._ I thank ye for that-- 'Gad, ye shall dine with me.

_Feth._ A good Motion--

_Will._ I beg your Pardon now, dear _Beaumond_-- I having lately nothing
else to do, took a Command of Horse from the General at the last Siege,
from which I am just arriv'd, and my Baggage is behind, which I must
take order for.

_Feth._ Pox on't now there's a Dinner lost,'twas ever an unlucky Rascal.

_Beau._ To tempt thee more, thou shalt see my Wife that is to be.

_Will._ Pox on't, I am the leudest Company in Christendom with your
honest Women-- but-- What, art thou to be noos'd then?

_Beau._ 'Tis so design'd by my Uncle, if an old Grandee my Rival prevent
it not; the Wench is very pretty, young, and rich, and lives in the same
House with me, for 'tis my Aunt's Daughter.

_Will._ Much good may it d'ye, _Harry_, I pity you, but 'tis the common
Grievance of you happy Men of Fortune.
    [Goes towards the House-door with _Beau._

    Enter _La Nuche_, _Aurelia_, _Petronella_, _Sancho_, Women veil'd
    a little.

_Aur._ Heavens, Madam, is not that the _English_ Captain?
    [Looking on _Will._

_La Nu._ 'Tis, and with him Don _Henrick_ the Ambassador's Nephew-- how
my Heart pants and heaves at sight of him! some Fire of the old Flames
remaining, which I must strive to extinguish. For I'll not bate a Ducat
of this Price I've set upon my self, for all the Pleasures Youth or Love
can bring me-- for see _Aurelia_-- the sad Memento of a decay'd poor old
forsaken Whore in _Petronella_; consider her, and then commend my
Prudence.

_Will._ Hah, Women!--

_Feth._ Egad, and fine ones too, I'll tell you that.

_Will._ No matter, Kindness is better Sauce to Woman than Beauty!
By this Hand she looks at me-- Why dost hold me?
    [_Feth._ holds him.

_Feth._ Why, what a Devil, art mad?

_Will._ Raging, as vigorous Youth kept long from Beauty; wild for the
charming Sex, eager for Woman, I long to give a Loose to Love and
Pleasure.

_Blunt._ These are not Women, Sir, for you to ruffle--

_Will._ Have a care of your Persons of Quality, _Ned_.
    [Goes to _La Nuche_.
--Those lovely Eyes were never made to throw their Darts in vain.

_La Nu._ The Conquest would be hardly worth the Pain.

_Will._ Hah, _La Nuche_! with what a proud Disdain she flung away--
stay, I will not part so with you--
    [Holds her.

    Enter _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_ with Footmen.

_Aria._ Who are these before us, _Lucia_?

_Luc._ I know not, Madam; but if you make not haste home, you'll be
troubled with _Carlo_ your importunate Lover, who is just behind us.

_Aria._ Hang me, a lovely Man! what Lady's that? stay.

_Pet._ What Insolence is this! This Villain will spoil all--

_Feth._ Why, Captain, are you quite distracted?-- dost know where thou
art? Prithee be civil--

_Will._ Go, proud and cruel!    [Turns her from him.

    Enter _Carlo_, and two or three _Spanish_ Servants following:
    _Petronella_ goes to him.

_Car._ Hah, affronted by a drunken Islander, a saucy Tramontane!--
Draw--
    [To his Servants whilst he takes _La Nuche_.
whilst I lead her off-- fear not, Lady, you have the Honour of my Sword
to guard ye.

_Will._ Hah, _Carlo_-- ye lye-- it cannot guard the boasting Fool that
wears it-- be gone-- and look not back upon this Woman. [Snatches her
from him] One single Glance destroys thee--

    [They draw and fight; _Carlo_ getting hindmost of his _Spaniards_,
    the _English_ beat 'em off: The Ladies run away, all but _Ariadne_
    and _Lucia_.

_Luc._ Heav'ns, Madam, why do ye stay?

_Aria._ To pray for that dear Stranger-- And see, my Prayers are heard,
and he's return'd in safety-- this Door shall shelter me to o'er-hear
the Quarrel.
    [Steps aside.

    Enter _Will._ _Blunt_, _Feth._ looking big, and putting up
    his Sword.

_Feth._ The noble Captain be affronted by a starch'd Ruff and Beard,
a Coward in querpo, a walking Bunch of Garlick, a pickl'd Pilchard!
abuse the noble Captain, and bear it off in State, like a Christmas
Sweet-heart; these things must not be whilst _Nicholas Fetherfool_ wears
a Sword.

_Blunt._ Pox o' these Women, I thought no good would come on't: besides,
where's the Jest in affronting honest Women, if there be such a thing in
the Nation?

_Feth._ Hang't,'twas the Devil and all--

_Will._ Ha, ha, ha! Why, good honest homespun Country Gentlemen, who do
you think those were?

_Feth._ Were! why, Ladies of Quality going to their Devotion; who should
they be?

_Blunt._ Why, faith, and so I thought too.

_Will._ Why, that very one Woman I spoke to is ten Whores in _Surrey_.

_Feth._ Prithee speak softly, Man: 'Slife, we shall be poniarded for
keeping thee company.

_Will._ Wise Mr. Justice, give me your Warrant, and if I do not prove
'em Whores, whip me.

_Feth._ Prithee hold thy scandalous blasphemous Tongue, as if I did not
know Whores from Persons of Quality.

_Will._ Will you believe me when you lie with her? for thou'rt a rich
Ass, and may'st do it.

_Feth._ Whores-- ha, ha--

_Will._ 'Tis strange Logick now, because your Band is better that mine,
I must not know a Whore better than you.

_Blunt._ If this be a Whore, as thou say'st, I understand nothing-- by
this Light such a Wench would pass for a Person of Quality in _London_.

_Feth._ Few Ladies have I seen at a Sheriff's Feast have better Faces,
or worn so good Clothes; and by the Lord _Harry_, if these be of the
gentle Craft, I'd not give a Real for an honest Women for my use.

_Will._ Come follow me into the Church, for thither I am sure they're
gone: And I will let you see what a wretched thing you had been had you
lived seven Years longer in _Surrey_, stew'd in Ale and Beef-broth.

_Feth._ O dear _Willmore_, name not those savory things, there's no
jesting with my Stomach; it sleeps now, but if it wakes, wo be to your
Shares at the Ordinary.

_Blunt._ I'll say that for _Fetherfool_, if his Heart were but half so
good as his Stomach, he were a brave Fellow.
    [Aside, Exeunt.

_Aria._ I am resolv'd to follow-- and learn, if possible, who 'tis has
made this sudden Conquest o'er me.
    [All go off.

    [Scene draws, and discovers a Church, a great many People at
    Devotion, soft Musick playing. Enter _La Nuche_, _Aurelia_,
    _Petron._ and _Sancho_: To them _Willmore_, _Feth._ _Blunt_; then
    _Ariadne_, _Lucia_; _Feth._ bows to _La Nuche_ and _Petronella_.

_Feth._ Now as I hope to be sav'd, _Blunt_, she's a most melodious Lady.
Would I were worthy to purchase a Sin or so with her. Would not such a
Beauty reconcile thy Quarrel to the Sex?

_Blunt._ No, were she an Angel in that Shape.

_Feth._ Why, what a pox couldst not lie with her if she'd let thee? By
the Lord _Harry_, as errant a Dog as I am, I'd fain see any of _Cupid's_
Cook-maids put me out of countenance with such a Shoulder of Mutton.

_Aria._ See how he gazes on her-- _Lucia_, go nearer, and o'er-hear 'em.

    [_Lucia_ listens.

_Will._ Death, how the charming Hypocrite looks to day, with such a soft
Devotion in her Eyes, as if even now she were praising Heav'n for all
the Advantages it has blest her with.

_Blunt._ Look how _Willmore_ eyes her, the Rogue's smitten heart
deep-- Whores--

_Feth._ Only a Trick to keep her to himself-- he thought the Name of a
_Spanish_ Harlot would fright us from attempting-- I must divert him--
how is't, Captain-- Prithee mind this Musick-- Is it not most
Seraphical?

_Will._ Pox, let the Fidlers mind and tune their Pipes, I've higher
Pleasures now.

_Feth._ Oh, have ye so; what, with Whores, Captain?-- 'Tis a most
delicious Gentlewoman.
    [Aside.

_Pet._ Pray, Madam, mind that Cavalier, who takes such pains to
recommend himself to you.

_La Nu._ Yes, for a fine conceited Fool--

_Pet._ Catso, a Fool, what else?

_La Nu._ Right, they are our noblest Chapmen; a Fool, and a rich Fool,
and an _English_ rich Fool--

_Feth._ 'Sbud, she eyes me, _Ned_, I'll set my self in order, it may
take-- hah--
    [Sets himself.

_Pet._ Let me alone to manage him, I'll to him--

_La Nu._ Or to the Devil, so I had one Minute's time to speak to
_Willmore_.

_Pet._ And accosting him thus-- tell him--

_La Nu._ [in a hasty Tone.] --I am desperately in love with him, and am
Daughter, Wife, or Mistress to some Grandee-- bemoan the Condition of
Women of Quality in _Spain_, who by too much Constraint are oblig'd to
speak first-- but were we blest like other Nations where Men and Women
meet--
    [Speaking so fast, she offering to put in her word, is still
    prevented by t'other's running on.

_Pet._ What Herds of Cuckolds would _Spain_ breed-- 'Slife, I could find
in my Heart to forswear your Service: Have I taught ye your Trade, to
become my Instructor, how to cozen a dull phlegmatick greasy-brain'd
Englishman?-- go and expect your Wishes.

_Will._ So, she has sent her Matron to our Coxcomb; she saw he was a
Cully fit for Game-- who would not be a Rascal to be rich, a Dog, an
Ass, a beaten, harden'd Coward-- by Heaven, I will possess this gay
Insensible, to make me hate her-- most extremely curse her-- See if she
be not fallen to Pray'r again, from thence to Flattery, Jilting and
Purse-taking, to make the Proverb good-- My fair false _Sybil_, what
Inspirations are you waiting for from Heaven, new Arts to cheat
Mankind!-- Tell me, with what Face canst thou be devout, or ask any
thing from thence, who hast made so leud a use of what it has already
lavish'd on thee?

_La Nu._ Oh my careless Rover! I perceive all your hot Shot is not yet
spent in Battel, you have a Volley in reserve for me still-- Faith,
Officer, the Town has wanted Mirth in your Absence.

_Will._ And so might all the wiser part for thee, who hast no Mirth, no
Gaiety about thee, and when thou wouldst design some Coxcomb's ruin; to
all the rest, a Soul thou hast so dull, that neither Love nor Mirth, nor
Wit or Wine can wake it to good Nature-- thou'rt one who lazily work'st
in thy Trade, and sell'st for ready Mony so much Kindness; a tame cold
Sufferer only, and no more.

_La Nu._ What, you would have a Mistress like a Squirrel in a Cage,
always in Action-- one who is as free of her Favours as I am sparing of
mine-- Well, Captain, I have known the time when _La Nuche_ was such a
Wit, such a Humour, such a Shape, and such a Voice, (tho to say Truth I
sing but scurvily) 'twas Comedy to see and hear me.

_Will._ Why, yes Faith for once thou wert, and for once mayst be again,
till thou know'st thy Man, and knowest him to be poor. At first you
lik'd me too, you saw me gay, no marks of Poverty dwelt in my Face or
Dress, and then I was the dearest loveliest Man-- all this was to my
outside; Death, you made love to my Breeches, caress'd my Garniture and
Feather, an _English_ Fool of Quality you thought me-- 'Sheart, I have
known a Woman doat on Quality, tho he has stunk thro all his Perfumes;
one who never went all to Bed to her, but left his Teeth, an Eye, false
Back and Breast, sometimes his Palate too upon her Toilet, whilst her
fair Arms hug'd the dismember'd Carcase, and swore him all Perfection,
because of Quality.

_La Nu._ But he was rich, good Captain, was he not?

_Will._ Oh most damnably, and a confounded Blockhead, two certain
Remedies against your Pride and Scorn.

_La Nu._ Have you done, Sir?

_Will._ With thee and all thy Sex, of which I've try'd an hundred, and
found none true or honest.

_La Nu._ Oh, I doubt not the number: for you are one of those
healthy-stomacht Lovers, that can digest a Mistress in a Night, and
hunger again next Morning: a Pox of your whining consumptive
Constitution, who are only constant for want of Appetite: you have a
swinging Stomach to Variety, and Want having set an edge upon your
Invention, (with which you cut thro all Difficulties) you grow more
impudent by Success.

_Will._ I am not always scorn'd then.

_La Nu._ I have known you as confidently put your Hands into your
Pockets for Money in a Morning, as if the Devil had been your Banker,
when you knew you put 'em off at Night as empty as your Gloves.

_Will._ And it may be found Money there too.

_La Nu._ Then with this Poverty so proud you are, you will not give the
Wall to the Catholick King, unless his Picture hung upon't. No Servants,
no Money, no Meat, always on foot, and yet undaunted still.

_Will._ Allow me that, Child.

_La Nu._ I wonder what the Devil makes you so termagant on our Sex, 'tis
not your high feeding, for your Grandees only dine, and that but when
Fortune pleases-- For your parts, who are the poor dependent, brown
Bread and old _Adam's_ Ale is only current amongst ye; yet if little
_Eve_ walk in the Garden, the starv'd lean Rogues neigh after her, as if
they were in Paradise.

_Will._ Still true to Love you see-- -

_La Nu._ I heard an _English_ Capuchin swear, that if the King's
Followers could be brought to pray as well as fast, there would be more
Saints among 'em than the Church has ever canoniz'd.

_Will._ All this with Pride I own, since 'tis a royal Cause I suffer
for; go pursue your Business your own way, insnare the Fool-- I saw the
Toils you set, and how that Face was ordered for the Conquest, your Eyes
brimful of dying lying Love; and now and then a wishing Glance or Sigh
thrown as by chance; which when the happy Coxcomb caught-- you feign'd a
Blush, as angry and asham'd of the Discovery: and all this Cunning's for
a little mercenary Gain-- fine Clothes, perhaps some Jewels too, whilst
all the Finery cannot hide the Whore!

_La Nu._ There's your eternal Quarrel to our Sex, 'twere a fine Trade
indeed to keep a Shop and give your Ware for Love: would it turn to
account think ye, Captain, to trick and dress, to receive all wou'd
enter? faith, Captain, try the Trade.

_Pet._ What in Discourse with this Railer!-- come away; Poverty's
catching.
    [Returns from Discourse with _Feth._ speaks to _San._

_Will._ So is the Pox, good Matron, of which you can afford good
Penniworths.

_La Nu._ He charms me even with his angry Looks, and will undo me yet.

_Pet._ Let's leave this Place, I'll tell you my Success as we go.

    [Ex. all, some one way, some another, the Forepart of the Church
    shuts over, except _Will._ _Blunt_, _Aria_, and _Lucia_.

_Will._ She's gone, and all the Plagues of Pride go with her.

_Blunt._ Heartlikins, follow her-- Pox on't, an I'd but as good a Hand
at this Game as thou hast, I'll venture upon any Chance--

_Will._ Damn her, come, let's to Dinner. Where's _Fetherfool_?

_Blunt._ Follow'd a good Woodman, who gave him the Sign: he'll lodge the
Deer e'er night.

_Will._ Follow'd her-- he durst not, the Fool wants Confidence enough to
look on her.

_Blunt._ Oh you know not how a Country Justice may be improved by
Travel; the Rogue was hedg'd in at home with the Fear of his Neighbours
and the Penal Statutes, now he's broke loose, he runs neighing like a
Stone-Horse upon the Common.

_Will._ However, I'll not believe this-- let's follow 'em.
    [Ex. _Will._ and _Blunt_.

_Aria._ He is in love, but with a Courtezan-- some Comfort that. We'll
after him-- 'Tis a faint-hearted Lover, Who for the first Discouragement
gives over.
    [Ex. _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_.




ACT II.


SCENE I. _The Street._

    Enter _Fetherfool_ and _Sancho_, passing over the Stage; after them
    _Willmore_ and _Blunt_, follow'd by _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_.

_Will._ 'Tis so, by Heaven, he's chaffering with her Pimp. I'll spare my
Curses on him for having her, he has a Plague beyond 'em.
  --Harkye, I'll never love, nor lie with Women more, those Slaves to
Lust, to Vanity and Interest.

_Blunt._ Ha, Captain!    [Shaking his Head and smiling.

_Will._ Come, let's go drink Damnation to 'em all.

_Blunt._ Not all, good Captain.

_Will._ All, for I hate 'em all--

_Aria._ Heavens! if he should indeed!    [Aside.

_Blunt._ But, _Robert_, I have found you most inclined to a Damsel when
you had a Bottle in your Head.

_Will._ Give me thy Hand, _Ned_-- Curse me, despise me, point me out for
Cowardice if e'er thou see'st me court a Woman more: Nay, when thou
knowest I ask any of the Sex a civil Question again-- a Plague upon 'em,
how they've handled me-- come, let's go drink, I say-- Confusion to the
Race-- A Woman!-- no, I will be burnt with my own Fire to Cinders e'er
any of the Brood shall lay my Flame--

_Aria._ He cannot be so wicked to keep this Resolution sure--
    [She passes by.
Faith, I must be resolv'd-- you've made a pious Resolution, Sir, had you
the Grace to keep it--
    [Passing on he pauses, and looks on her.

_Will._ Hum-- What's that?

_Blunt._ That-- O-- nothing-- but a Woman-- come away.

_Will._ A Woman! Damn her, what Mischief made her cross my way just on
the Point of Reformation!

_Blunt._ I find the Devil will not lose so hopeful a Sinner. Hold, hold,
Captain, have you no Regard to your own Soul? 'dsheartlikins, 'tis a
Woman, a very errant Woman.

_Aria._ Your Friend informs you right, Sir, I am a Woman.

_Will._ Ay, Child, or I were a lost Man-- therefore, dear lovely
Creature--

_Aria._ How can you tell, Sir?

_Will._ Oh, I have naturally a large Faith, Child, and thou'st a
promising Form, a tempting Motion, clean Limbs, well drest, and a most
damnable inviting Air.

_Aria._ I am not to be sold, nor fond of Praise I merit not.

_Will._ How, not to be sold too! By this light, Child, thou speakest
like a Cherubim, I have not heard so obliging a Sound from the Mouth of
Woman-kind this many a Day-- I find we must be better acquainted, my
Dear.

_Aria._ Your Reason, good familiar Sir, I see no such Necessity.

_Will._ Child, you are mistaken, I am in great Necessity; for first I
love thee-- desperately-- have I not damn'd my Soul already for thee,
and wouldst thou be so wicked to refuse a little Consolation to my Body?
Then secondly, I see thou art frank and good-natur'd, and wilt do Reason
_gratis_.

_Aria._ How prove ye that, good Mr. Philospher?

_Will._ Thou say'st thou'rt not to be sold, and I'm sure thou'rt to be
had-- that lovely Body of so divine a Form, those soft smooth Arms and
Hands, were made t'embrace as well as be embrac'd; that delicate white
rising Bosom to be prest, and all thy other Charms to be enjoy'd.

_Aria._ By one that can esteem 'em to their worth, can set a Value and a
Rate upon 'em.

_Will._ Name not those Words, they grate my Ears like Jointure, that
dull conjugal Cant that frights the generous Lover. Rate-- Death, let
the old Dotards talk of Rates, and pay it t'atone for the Defects of
Impotence. Let the sly Statesman, who jilts the Commonwealth with his
grave Politicks, pay for the Sin, that he may doat in secret; let the
brisk Fool inch out his scanted Sense with a large Purse more eloquent
than he: But tell not me of Rates, who bring a Heart, Youth, Vigor, and
a Tongue to sing the Praise of every single Pleasure thou shalt give me.

_Aria._ Then if I should be kind, I perceive you would not keep the
Secret.

_Will._ Secrecy is a damn'd ungrateful Sin, Child, known only where
Religion and Small-beer are current, despis'd where _Apollo_ and the
Vine bless the Country: you find none of _Jove's_ Mistresses hid in
Roots and Plants, but fixt Stars in Heaven for all to gaze and wonder
at-- and tho I am no God, my Dear, I'll do a Mortal's Part, and
generously tell the admiring World what hidden Charms thou hast: Come,
lead me to some Place of Happiness--

_Blunt._ Prithee, honest Damsel, be not so full of Questions; will a
Pistole or two do thee any hurt?

_Luc._ None at all, Sir--

_Blunt._ Thou speak'st like a hearty Wench-- and I believe hast not been
one of _Venus'_ Hand-maids so long, but thou understand thy Trade-- In
short, fair Damsel, this honest Fellow here who is so termagant upon thy
Lady, is my Friend, my particular Friend, and therefore I would have him
handsomly, and well-favour'dly abus'd-- you conceive me.

_Luc._ Truly, Sir, a friendly Request-- but in what Nature abus'd?

_Blunt._ Nature!-- why any of your Tricks would serve-- but if he could
be conveniently strip'd and beaten, or tost in a Blanket, or any such
trivial Business, thou wouldst do me a singular Kindness; as for Robbery
he defies the Devil: an empty Pocket is an Antidote against that Ill.

_Luc._ Your Money, Sir: and if he be not cozen'd, say a _Spanish_ Woman
has neither Wit nor Invention upon Occasion.

_Blunt._ Sheartlikins, how I shall love and honour thee for't-- here's
earnest--
    [Talks to her with Joy and Grimace.

_Aria._ But who was that you entertain'd at Church but now?

_Will._ Faith, one, who for her Beauty merits that glorious Title she
wears, it was-- a Whore, Child.

_Aria._ That's but a scurvy Name; yet, if I'm not mistaken in those
false Eyes of yours, they look with longing Love upon that-- Whore,
Child.

_Will._ Thou are i'th' right, and by this hand, my Soul was full as
wishing as my Eyes: but a Pox on't, you Women have all a certain Jargon,
or Gibberish, peculiar to your selves; of Value, Rate, Present,
Interest, Settlement, Advantage, Price, Maintenance, and the Devil and
all of Fopperies, which in plain Terms signify ready Money, by way of
Fine before Entrance; so that an honest well-meaning Merchant of Love
finds no Credit amongst ye, without his Bill of Lading.

_Aria._ We are not all so cruel-- but the Devil on't is, your
good-natur'd Heart is likely accompanied with an ill Face and worse Wit.

_Will._ Faith, Child, a ready Dish when a Man's Stomach is up, is better
than a tedious Feast. I never saw any Man yet cut my piece; some are for
Beauty, some are for Wit, and some for the Secret, but I for all, so it
be in a kind Girl: and for Wit in Woman, so she say pretty fond things,
we understand; tho true or false, no matter.

_Aria._ Give the Devil his due, you are a very conscientious Lover:
I love a Man that scorns to impose dull Truth and Constancy on a
Mistress.

_Will._ Constancy, that current Coin with Fools! No, Child, Heaven keep
that Curse from our Doors.

_Aria._ Hang it, it loses Time and Profit, new Lovers have new Vows and
new Presents, whilst the old feed upon a dull repetition of what they
did when they were Lovers; 'tis like eating the cold Meat ones self,
after having given a Friend a Feast.

_Will._ Yes, that's the thrifty Food for the Family when the Guests are
gone. Faith, Child, thou hast made a neat and a hearty Speech: But
prithee, my Dear, for the future, leave out that same Profit and
Present, for I have a natural Aversion to hard words; and for matter of
quick Dispatch in the Business-- give me thy Hand, Child-- let us but
start fair, and if thou outstripst me, thou'rt a nimble Racer.
    [_Lucia_ sees _Shift_.

_Luc._ Oh, Madam, let's be gone: yonder's Lieutenant Shift, who, if he
sees us, will certainly give an Account of it to Mr. Beaumond. Let's get
in thro the Garden, I have the Key.

_Aria._ Here's Company coming, and for several reasons I would not be
seen.
    [Offers to go.

_Will._ Gad, Child, nor I; Reputation is tender-- therefore prithee
let's retire.
    [Offers to go with her.

_Aria._ You must not stir a step.

_Will._ Not stir! no Magick Circle can detain me if you go.

_Aria._ Follow me then at a distance, and observe where I enter; and at
night (if your Passion lasts so long) return, and you shall find
Admittance into the Garden.
    [Speaking hastily.
    [He runs out after her.

    Enter _Shift_.

_Shift._ Well, Sir, the Mountebank's come, and just going to begin in
the Piazza; I have order'd Matters, that you shall have a Sight of the
Monsters, and leave to court 'em, and when won, to give the Guardian a
fourth part of the Portions.

_Blunt._ Good: But Mum-- here's the Captain, who must by no means know
our good Fortune, till he see us in State.

    Enter _Willmore_, _Shift_ goes to him.

_Shift._ All things are ready, Sir, for our Design, the House prepar'd
as you directed me, the Guardian wrought upon by the Persuasions of the
two Monsters, to take a Lodging there, and try the Bath of Reformation:
The Bank's preparing, and the Operators and Musick all ready, and the
impatient Town flockt together to behold the Man of Wonders, and nothing
wanting but your Donship and a proper Speech.

_Will._ 'Tis well, I'll go fit my self with a Dress, and think of a
Speech the while: In the mean time, go you and amuse the gaping Fools
that expect my coming.
    [Goes out.

    Enter _Fetherfool_ singing and dancing.

  Feth. _Have you heard of a _Spanish_ Lady,
  How she woo'd an _English_ Man?_

_Blunt._ Why, how now, Fetherfool?

  Feth. _Garments gay, and rich as may be,
  Deckt with Jewels, had she on._

_Blunt._ Why, how now, Justice, what run mad out of Dog-days?

  Feth. _Of a comely Countenance and Grace is she,
  A sweeter Creature in the World there could not be._

_Shift._ Why, what the Devil's the matter, Sir?

_Blunt._ Stark mad, 'dshartlikins.

Feth. _Of a Comely Countenance_-- well, Lieutenant, the most heroick and
illustrious Madona! Thou saw'st her, _Ned_: _And of a comely Counte--
_The most Magnetick Face-- well-- I knew the Charms of these Eyes of
mine were not made in vain: I was design'd for great things, that's
certain-- _And a sweeter Creature in the World there could not be._

    [Singing.

_Blunt._ What then the two Lady Monsters are forgotten? the Design upon
the Million of Money, the Coach and Six, and Patent for Right
Worshipful, all drown'd in the Joy of this new Mistress?-- But well,
Lieutenant, since he is so well provided for, you may put in with me for
a Monster; such a Jest, and such a Sum, is not to be lost.

_Shift._ Nor shall not, or I have lost my Aim.    [Aside.

_Feth._ [Putting off his Hat.] Your Pardons, good Gentlemen; and tho I
perceive I shall have no great need for so trifling a Sum as a hundred
thousand Pound, or so, yet a Bargain's a Bargain, Gentlemen.

_Blunt._ Nay,'dsheartlikins, the Lieutenant scorns to do a foul thing,
d'ye see, but we would not have the Monsters slighted.

_Feth._ Slighted! no, Sir, I scorn your Words, I'd have ye to know, that
I have as high a Respect for Madam Monster, as any Gentleman in
Christendom, and so I desire she should understand.

_Blunt._ Why, this is that that's handsom.

_Shift._ Well, the Mountebank's come, Lodgings are taken at his House,
and the Guardian prepar'd to receive you on the aforesaid Terms, and
some fifty Pistoles to the Mountebank to stand your Friend, and the
Business is done. Feth. Which shall be perform'd accordingly, I have it
ready about me.

_Blunt._ And here's mine, put 'em together, and let's be speedy, lest
some should bribe higher, and put in before us.
    [_Feth._ takes the Money, and looks pitiful on't.

_Feth._ Tis a plaguy round Sum, _Ned_, pray God it turn to Account.

_Blunt._ Account, 'dsheartlikins, 'tis not in the Power of mortal Man to
cozen 'me.

_Shift._ Oh fie, Sir, cozen you, Sir!-- well, you'll stay here and see
the Mountebank, he's coming forth.

    [A Hollowing. Enter from the Front a Bank, a Pageant, which they
    fix on the Stage at one side, a little Pavilion on't, Musick
    playing, and Operators round below, or Antickers.

    [Musick plays, and an Antick Dance.

    Enter _Willmore_ like a Mountebank, with a Dagger in one Hand, and
    a Viol in the other, _Harlequin_ and _Scaramouche_; _Carlo_ with
    other _Spaniards_ below, and Rabble; _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_ above in
    the Balcony, others on the other side, _Fetherfool_ and _Blunt_
    below.

_Will._ (_bowing_) Behold this little Viol, which contains in its narrow
Bounds what the whole Universe cannot purchase, if sold to its true
Value; this admirable, this miraculous Elixir, drawn from the Hearts of
Mandrakes, Phenix Livers, and Tongues of Maremaids, and distill'd by
contracted Sun-Beams, has besides the unknown Virtue of curing all
Distempers both of Mind and Body, that divine one of animating the Heart
of Man to that Degree, that however remiss, cold and cowardly by Nature,
he shall become vigorous and brave. Oh stupid and insensible Man, when
Honour and secure Renown invites you, to treat it with Neglect, even
when you need but passive Valour, to become the Heroes of the Age;
receive a thousand Wounds, each of which wou'd let out fleeting Life:
Here's that can snatch the parting Soul in its full Career, and bring it
back to its native Mansion; baffles grim Death, and disappoints even
Fate.

_Feth._ Oh Pox, an a Man were sure of that now--

_Will._ Behold, here's Demonstration--
    [Harlequin stabs himself, and falls as dead.

_Feth._ Hold, hold, why, what the Devil is the Fellow mad?

_Blunt._ Why, do'st think he has hurt himself?

_Feth._ Hurt himself! why, he's murder'd, Man; 'tis flat _Felo de se_,
in any ground in _England_, if I understand Law, and I have been a
Justice o'th' Peace.

_Will._ See, Gentlemen, he's dead--

_Feth._ Look ye there now, I'll be gone lest I be taken as an Accessary.

    [Going out.

_Will._ Coffin him, inter him, yet after four and twenty Hours, as many
Drops of this divine Elixir give him new Life again; this will recover
whole Fields of slain, and all the Dead shall rise and fight again--
'twas this that made the Roman Lemons numerous, and now makes _France_
so formidable, and this alone-- may be the Occasion of the loss of
_Germany_.
    [Pours in _Harlequin's_ Wound, he rises.

_Feth._ Why this Fellow's the Devil, _Ned_, that's for certain.

_Blunt._ Oh plague, a damn'd Conjurer, this--

_Will._ Come, buy this Coward's Comfort, quickly buy; what <DW2> would be
abus'd, mimick'd and scorn'd, for fear of Wounds can be so easily cured?
Who is't wou'd bear the Insolence and Pride of domineering great Men,
proud Officers or Magistrates? or who wou'd cringe to Statesmen out of
Fear? What Cully wou'd be cuckolded? What foolish Heir undone by
cheating Gamesters? What Lord wou'd be lampoon'd? What Poet fear the
Malice of his satirical Brother, or Atheist fear to fight for fear of
Death? Come buy my Coward's Comfort, quickly buy.

_Feth._ Egad, _Ned_, a very excellent thing this; I'll lay out ten Reals
upon this Commodity.

    [They buy, whilst another Part of the Dance is danc'd.

_Will._ Behold this little Paper, which contains a Pouder, whose Value
surmounts that of Rocks of Diamonds and Hills of Gold; 'twas this made
_Venus_ a Goddess, and was given her by _Apollo_, from her deriv'd to
_Helen_, and in the Sack of _Troy_ lost, till recover'd by me out of
some Ruins of _Asia._ Come, buy it, Ladies, you that wou'd be fair and
wear eternal Youth; and you in whom the amorous Fire remains, when all
the Charms are fled: You that dress young and gay, and would be thought
so, that patch and paint, to fill up sometimes old Furrows on your
Brows, and set yourselves for Conquest, tho in vain; here's that will
give you aubern Hair, white Teeth, red Lips, and Dimples on your Cheeks:
Come, buy it all you that are past bewitching, and wou'd have handsom,
young and active Lovers.

_Feth._ Another good thing, _Ned_.

_Car._ I'll lay out a Pistole or two in this, if it have the same Effect
on Men.

_Will._ Come, all you City Wives, that wou'd advance your Husbands to
Lord Mayors, come, buy of me new Beauty; this will give it tho now
decay'd, as are your Shop Commodities; this will retrieve your
Customers, and vend your false and out of fashion'd Wares: cheat, lye,
protest and cozen as you please, a handsom Wife makes all a lawful Gain.
Come, City Wives, come, buy.

_Feth._ A most prodigious Fellow!

    [They buy, he sits, the other Part is danc'd.

_Will._ But here, behold the Life and Soul of Man! this is the amorous
Pouder, which _Venus_ made and gave the God of Love, which made him
first a Deity; you talk of Arrows, Bow, and killing Darts; Fables,
poetical Fictions, and no more: 'tis this alone that wounds and fires
the Heart, makes Women kind, and equals Men to Gods; 'tis this that
makes your great Lady doat on the ill-favour'd <DW2>; your great Man be
jilted by his little Mistress, the Judge cajol'd by his Semstress, and
your Politican by his Comedian; your young Lady doat on her decrepid
Husband, your Chaplain on my Lady's Waiting-Woman, and the young Squire
on the Landry-Maid-- In fine, Messieurs,

  _'Tis this that cures the Lover's Pain,
  And _Celia_ of her cold Disdain._

_Feth._ A most devilish Fellow this!

_Blunt._ Hold, shartlikins, _Fetherfool_, let's have a Dose or two of
this Pouder for quick Dispatch with our Monsters.

_Feth._ Why Pox, Man, Jugg my Giant would swallow a whole Cart-Load
before 'twould operate.

_Blunt._ No hurt in trying a Paper or two however.

_Car._ A most admirable Receit, I shall have need on't.

_Will._ I need say nothing of my divine Baths of Reformation, nor the
wonders of the old Oracle of the Box, which resolves all Questions,
my Bills sufficiently declare their Virtue.
    [Sits down. They buy.

    Enter _Petronella Elenora_ carried in a Chair, dress'd like a Girl
    of Fifteen.

_Shift._ Room there, Gentlemen, room for a Patient.

_Blunt._ Pray, Seignior, who may this be thus muzzl'd by old Gaffer
Time?

_Car._ One _Petronella Elenora_, Sir, a famous outworn Curtezan.

_Blunt._ _Elenora_! she may be that of _Troy_ for her Antiquity, tho
fitter for God _Priapus_ to ravish than _Paris_.

_Shift._ _Hunt_, a word; dost thou see that same formal Politician
yonder, on the Jennet, the nobler Animal of the two?

_Hunt._ What of him?

_Shift._ 'Tis the same drew on the Captain this Morning, and I must
revenge the Affront.

_Hunt._ Have a care of Revenges in _Spain_, upon Persons of his Quality.

_Shift._ Nay, I'll only steal his Horse from under him.

_Hunt._ Steal it! thou may'st take it by force perhaps; but how safely
is a Question.

_Shift._ I'll warrant thee-- shoulder you up one side of his great
Saddle, I'll do the like on t'other; then heaving him gently up,
_Harlequin_ shall lead the Horse from between his Worship's Legs: All
this in the Crowd will not be perceiv'd, where all Eyes are imploy'd on
the Mountebank.

_Hunt._ I apprehend you now--

    [Whilst they are lifting _Petronella_ on the Mountebank's Stage,
    they go into the Crowd, shoulder up _Carlo's_ Saddle. _Harlequin_
    leads the Horse forward, whilst _Carlo_ is gazing, and turning up
    his Mustachios; they hold him up a little while, then let him drop:
    he rises and stares about for his Horse.

_Car._ This is flat Conjuration.

_Shift._ What's your Worship on foot?

_Hunt._ I never saw his Worship on foot before.

_Car._ Sirrah, none of your Jests, this must be by diabolical Art, and
shall cost the Seignior dear-- Men of my Garb affronted-- my Jennet
vanisht-- most miraculous-- by St. _Jago_ I'll be revenged-- hah, what's
here-- _La Nuche_--
    [Surveys her at a distance.

    Enter _La Nuche_, _Aurelia_, _Sancho_.

_La Nu._ We are pursu'd by _Beaumond_, who will certainly hinder our
speaking to _Willmore_, should we have the good fortune to see him in
this Crowd-- and yet there's no avoiding him.

_Beau._ 'Tis she, how carefully she shuns me!

_Aur._ I'm satisfied he knows us by the jealous Concern which appears in
that prying Countenance of his.

_Beau._ Stay, Cruel, is it Love or Curiosity, that wings those nimble
Feet?
    [Holds her.

    [_Lucia_ above and _Ariadne_.]

_Aria._ _Beaumond_ with a Woman!

_Beau._ Have you forgot this is the glorious Day that ushers in the
Night shall make you mine? the happiest Night that ever favour'd Love!

_La Nu._ Or if I have, I find you'll take care to remember me.

_Beau._ Sooner I could forget the Aids of Life, sooner forget how first
that Beauty charm'd me.

_La Nu._ Well, since your Memory's so good, I need not doubt your
coming.

_Beau._ Still cold and unconcern'd! How have I doated, and how
sacrific'd, regardless of my Fame, lain idling here, when all the Youth
of _Spain_ were gaining Honour, valuing one Smile of thine above their
Laurels!

_La Nu._ And in return, I do submit to yield, preferring you above those
fighting Fools, who safe in Multitudes reap Honour cheaper.

_Beau._ Yet there is one-- one of those fighting Fools which should'st
thou see, I fear I were undone; brave, handsome, gay, and all that Women
doat on, unfortunate in every good of Life, but that one Blessing of
obtaining Women: Be wise, for if thou seest him thou art lost-- Why dost
thou blush?

_La Nu._ Because you doubt my Heart-- 'tis _Willmore_ that he means.
[Aside.] We've Eyes upon us, Don _Carlo_ may grow jealous, and he's a
powerful Rival-- at night. I shall expect ye.

_Beau._ Whilst I prepare my self for such a Blessing.    [Ex. _Beau._

_Car._ Hah! a Cavalier in conference with _La Nuche_! and entertain'd
without my knowledge! I must prevent this Lover, for he's young-- and
this Night will surprise her.
    [Aside.

_Will._ And you would be restor'd?    [To _Petro._

_Pet._ Yes, if there be that Divinity in your Baths of Reformation.

_Will._ There are.

  _New Flames shall sparkle in those Eyes;
  And these grey Hairs flowing and bright shall rise:
  These Cheeks fresh Buds of Roses wear,
  And all your withered Limbs so smooth and clear,
  As shall a general Wonder move,
  And wound a thousand Hearts with Love._

_Pet._ A Blessing on you, Sir, there's fifty Pistoles for you, and as I
earn it you shall have more.
    [They lift her down.

    [Exit _Willmore_ bowing.

_Shift._ Messieurs, 'tis late, and the Seignior's Patients stay for him
at his Laboratory, to morrow you shall see the conclusion of this
Experiment, and so I humbly take my leave at this time.

    Enter _Willmore_, below sees _La Nuche_, makes up to her, whilst
    the last part of the Dance is dancing.

_La Nu._ What makes you follow me, Sir?
    [She goes from him, he pursues.

_Will._ Madam, I see something in that lovely Face of yours, which if
not timely prevented will be your ruin: I'm now in haste, but I have
more to say--
    [Goes off.

_La Nu._ Stay, Sir-- he's gone-- and fill'd me with a curiosity that
will not let me rest till it be satisfied: Follow me, _Aurelia_, for I
must know my Destiny.
    [Goes out.

    [The Dance ended, the Bank removes, the People go off.

_Feth._ Come, _Ned_, now for our amorous Visit to the two Lady Monsters.

    [Ex. _Feth._ and _Blunt_.


SCENE II. _Changes to a fine Chamber._

    Enter _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_.

_Aria._ I'm thoughtful: Prithee, Cousin, sing some foolish Song--

  SONG.

  _Phillis_, whose Heart was unconfin'd
  And free as Flowers on Meads and Plains,
  None boasted of her being kind,
  'Mongst all the languishing and amorous Swains:
    _No Sighs nor Tears the Nymph could move_  [bis.
    _To pity or return their Love._

  Till on a time, the hapless Maid
  Retired to shun the heat o'th' Day,
  Into a Grove, beneath whose Shade
  _Strephon_, the careless Shepherd, sleeping lay:
    _But oh such Charms the Youth adorn,_  [bis.
    _Love is revenged for all her Scorn._

  Her Cheeks with Blushes covered were,
  And tender Sighs her Bosom warm;
  A softness in her Eyes appear,
  Unusual Pains she feels from every Charm:
    _To Woods and Echoes now she cries,_  [bis.
    _For Modesty to speak denies._

_Aria._ Come, help to undress me, for I'll to this Mountebank, to know
what success I shall have with my Cavalier.
    [Unpins her things before a great Glass that is fasten'd.

_Luc._ You are resolv'd then to give him admittance?

_Aria._ Where's the danger of a handsom young Fellow?

_Luc._ But you don't know him, Madam.

_Aria._ But I desire to do, and time may bring it about without Miracle.

_Luc._ Your Cousin _Beaumond_ will forbid the Banes.

_Aria._ No, nor old _Carlos_ neither, my Mother's precious Choice, who
is as sollicitous for the old Gentleman, as my Father-in-Law is for his
Nephew. Therefore, _Lucia_, like a good and gracious Child, I'll end the
Dispute between my Father and Mother, and please my self in the choice
of this Stranger, if he be to be had.

_Luc._ I should as soon be enamour'd on the North Wind, a Tempest, or a
Clap of Thunder. Bless me from such a Blast.

_Aria._ I'd have a Lover rough as Seas in Storms, upon occasion; I hate
your dull temperate Lover, 'tis such a husbandly quality, like
_Beaumond's_ Addresses to me, whom neither Joy nor Anger puts in motion;
or if it do, 'tis visibly forc'd-- I'm glad I saw him entertain a Woman
to day, not that I care, but wou'd be fairly rid of him.

_Luc._ You'll hardly mend your self in this.

_Aria._ What, because he held Discourse with a Curtezan?

_Luc._ Why, is there no danger in her Eyes, do ye think?

_Aria._ None that I fear, that Stranger's not such a fool to give his
Heart to a common Woman; and she that's concern'd where her Lover
bestows his Body, were I the Man, I should think she had a mind to't her
self.

_Luc._ And reason, Madam: in a lawful way 'tis your due.

_Aria._ What all? unconscionable _Lucia_! I am more merciful; but be he
what he will, I'll to this cunning Man, to know whether ever any part of
him shall be mine.

_Luc._ Lord, Madam, sure he's a Conjurer.

_Aria._ Let him be the Devil, I'll try his Skill, and to that end will
put on a Suit of my Cousin _Endymion_; there are two or three very
pretty ones of his in the Wardrobe, go carry 'em to my Chamber, and
we'll fit our selves and away-- Go haste whilst I undress.
    [Ex. _Lucia_.

    [_Ariadne_ undressing before the Glass.

    Enter _Beaumond_ tricking himself, and looks on himself.

_Beau._ Now for my charming Beauty, fair _La Nuche_-- hah-- Ariadne--
damn the dull Property, how shall I free my self?
    [She turns, sees him, and walks from the Glass, he takes no notice
    of her, but tricks himself in the Glass, humming a Song.

_Aria._ _Beaumond!_ What Devil brought him hither to prevent me? I hate
the formal matrimonial <DW2>.
    [He walks about and sings.
  _Sommes nous pas trop heureux,
  Belle Irise, que nous ensemble._

A Devil on him, he may chance to plague me till night, and hinder my
dear Assignation.
    [Sings again.

  _La Nuit et le Sombre voiles
  Coverie nos desires ardentes;
  Et l'Amour et les Etoiles
  Sont nos secrets confidents._

_Beau._ Pox on't, how dull am I at an excuse?
    [Sets his Wig in the Glass, and sings.
  _A Pox of Love and Woman-kind,
  And all the <DW2>s adore 'em._
    [_Puts on his Hat, cocks it, and goes to her._
How is't, Cuz?

_Aria._ So, here's the saucy freedom of a Husband Lover-- a blest
Invention this of marrying, whoe'er first found it out.

_Beau._ Damn this _English_ Dog of a Perriwig-maker, what an ungainly
Air it gives the Face, and for a Wedding Perriwig too-- how dost thou
like it, _Ariadne_?
    [Uneasy.

_Aria._ As ill as the Man-- I perceive you have taken more care for your
Perriwig than your Bride.

_Beau._ And with reason, _Ariadne_, the Bride was never the care of the
Lover, but the business of the Parents; 'tis a serious Affair, and ought
to be manag'd by the grave and wise: Thy Mother and my Uncle have agreed
the Matter, and would it not look very sillily in me now to whine a
tedious Tale of Love in your Ear, when the business is at an end? 'tis
like saying a Grace when a Man should give Thanks.

_Aria._ Why did you not begin sooner then?

_Beau._ Faith, _Ariadne_, because I know nothing of the Design in hand;
had I had civil warning, thou shouldst have had as pretty smart Speeches
from me, as any Coxcomb Lover of 'em all could have made thee.

_Aria._ I shall never marry like a _Jew_ in my own Tribe; I'll rather be
possest by honest old doating Age, than by saucy conceited Youth, whose
Inconstancy never leaves a Woman safe or quiet.

_Beau._ You know the Proverb of the half Loaf, _Ariadne_; a Husband that
will deal thee some Love is better than one who can give thee none: you
would have a blessed time on't with old Father _Carlo_.

_Aria._ No matter, a Woman may with some lawful excuse cuckold him, and
'twould be scarce a Sin.

_Beau._ Not so much as lying with him, whose reverend Age wou'd make it
look like Incest.

_Aria._ But to marry thee-- would be a Tyranny from whence there's no
Appeal: A drinking whoring Husband! 'tis the Devil--

_Beau._ You are deceiv'd, if you think Don _Carlo_ more chaste than I;
only duller, and more a Miser, one that fears his Flesh more, and loves
his Money better.-- Then to be condemn'd to lie with him-- oh, who would
not rejoice to meet a Woollen-Waistcoat, and knit Night-Cap without a
Lining, a Shirt so nasty, a cleanly Ghost would not appear in't at the
latter Day? then the compound of nasty Smells about him, stinking
Breath, Mustachoes stuft with villainous snush, Tobacco, and hollow
Teeth: thus prepar'd for Delight, you meet in Bed, where you may lie and
sigh whole Nights away, he snores it out till Morning, and then rises to
his sordid business.

_Aria._ All this frights me not: 'tis still much better than a keeping
Husband, whom neither Beauty nor Honour in a Wife can oblige.

_Beau._ Oh, you know not the good-nature of a Man of Wit, at least I
shall bear a Conscience, and do thee reason, which Heaven denies to old
_Carlo_, were he willing.

_Aria._ Oh, he talks as high, and thinks as well of himself as any young
Coxcomb of ye all.

_Beau._ He has reason, for if his Faith were no better than his Works,
he'd be damn'd.

_Aria._ Death, who wou'd marry, who wou'd be chaffer'd thus, and sold to
Slavery? I'd rather buy a Friend at any Price that I could love and
trust.

_Beau._ Ay, could we but drive on such a Bargain.

_Aria._ You should not be the Man; You have a Mistress, Sir, that has
your Heart, and all your softer Hours: I know't, and if I were so
wretched as to marry thee, must see my Fortune lavisht out on her; her
Coaches, Dress, and Equipage exceed mine by far: Possess she all the day
thy Hours of Mirth, good Humour and Expence, thy Smiles, thy Kisses, and
thy Charms of Wit. Oh how you talk and look when in her Presence! but
when with me,
  _A Pox of Love and Woman-kind,_    [Sings.
  _And all the <DW2>s adore 'em._

How it's, Cuz-- then slap, on goes the Beaver, which being cock'd, you
bear up briskly, with the second Part to the same Tune-- Harkye, Sir,
let me advise you to pack up your Trumpery and be gone, your honourable
Love, your matrimonial Foppery, with your other Trinkets thereunto
belonging; or I shall talk aloud, and let your Uncle hear you.

_Beau._ Sure she cannot know I love _La Nuche_.  [Aside.] The Devil take
me, spoil'd! What Rascal has inveigled thee? What lying fawning Coward
has abus'd thee? When fell you into this Leudness? Pox, thou art hardly
worth the loving now, that canst be such a Fool, to wish me chaste, or
love me for that Virtue; or that wouldst have me a ceremonious Whelp,
one that makes handsom Legs to Knights without laughing, or with a
sneaking modest Squirish Countenance; assure you, I have my Maidenhead.
A Curse upon thee, the very thought of Wife has made thee formal.

_Aria._ I must dissemble, or he'll stay all day to make his peace
again-- why, have you ne'er-- a Mistress then?

_Beau._ A hundred, by this day, as many as I like, they are my Mirth,
the business of my loose and wanton Hours; but thou art my Devotion, the
grave, the solemn Pleasure of my Soul-- Pox, would I were handsomly rid
of thee too.
    [Aside.] --Come, I have business-- send me pleas'd away.

_Aria._ Would to Heaven thou wert gone;  [Aside.] You're going to some
Woman now.

_Beau._ Oh damn the Sex, I hate 'em all-- but thee-- farewell, my pretty
jealous-sullen-Fool.
    [Goes out.

_Aria._ Farewel, believing Coxcomb.    [Enter _Lucia_.

_Lucia._ Madam, the Clothes are ready in your Chamber.

_Aria._ Let's haste and put 'em on then.    [Runs out.




ACT III.


SCENE I. _A House._

    Enter _Fetherfool_ and _Blunt_, staring about, after them _Shift_.

_Shift._ Well, Gentlemen, this is the Doctor's House, and your fifty
Pistoles has made him intirely yours; the Ladies too are here in safe
Custody-- Come, draw Lots who shall have the Dwarf, and who the Giant.
    [They draw.

_Feth._ I have the Giant.

_Blunt._ And I the little tiny Gentlewoman.

_Shift._ Well, you shall first see the Ladies, and then prepare for your
Uncle _Moses_, the old _Jew_ Guardian, before whom you must be very
grave and sententious: You know the old Law was full of Ceremony.

_Feth._ Well, I long to see the Ladies, and to have the first Onset
over.

_Shift._ I'll cause 'em to walk forth immediately.    [Goes out.

_Feth._ My Heart begins to fail me plaguily-- would I could see 'em a
little at a Distance before they come slap dash upon a Man.
    [Peeping.
Hah!-- Mercy upon us!-- What's yonder!-- Ah, _Ned_, my Monster is as big
as the Whore of _Babylon_-- Oh I'm in a cold Sweat--
    [_Blunt_ pulls him to peep, and both do so.
Oh Lord! she's as tall as the St. _Christopher_ in _Notre-dame_ at
_Paris_, and the little one looks like the Christo upon his Shoulders--
I shall ne'er be able to stand the first Brunt.

_Blunt._ 'Dsheartlikins, whither art going?    [Pulls him back.

_Feth._ Why only-- to-- say my Prayers a little-- I'll be with thee
presently.
    [Offers to go, he pulls him.

_Blunt._ What a Pox, art thou afraid of a Woman--

_Feth._ Not of a Woman, _Ned_, but of a She _Gargantua_, I am of a
_Hercules_ in Petticoats.

_Blunt._ The less Resemblance the better. 'Shartlikins, I'd rather mine
were a _Centaur_ than a Woman: No, since my _Naples_ Adventure, I am
clearly for your Monster.

_Feth._ Prithee, _Ned_, there's Reason in all things--

_Blunt._ But villainous Woman-- 'Dshartlikins, stand your Ground, or
I'll nail you to't: Why, what a Pox are you so quezy stomach'd, a
Monster won't down with you, with a hundred thousand Pound to boot.
    [Pulling him.

_Feth._ Nay, _Ned_, that mollifies something; and I scorn it should be
said of _Nich. Fetherfool_ that he left his Friend in danger, or did an
ill thing: therefore, as thou say'st, _Ned_, tho she were a Centaur,
I'll not budg an Inch.

_Blunt._ Why God a Mercy.

    Enter the _Giant_ and _Dwarf_, with them _Shift_ as an Operator,
    and _Harlequin_ attending.

_Feth._ Oh-- they come-- Prithee, _Ned_, advance--    [Puts him forward.

_Shift._ Most beautiful Ladies.

_Feth._ Why, what a flattering Son of a Whore's this?

_Shift._ These are the illustrious Persons your Uncle designs your
humble Servants, and who have so extraordinary a Passion for your
Seignioraships.

_Feth._ Oh yes, a most damnable one: Wou'd I were cleanlily off the Lay,
and had my Money again.

_Blunt._ Think of a Million, Rogue, and do not hang an Arse thus.

_Giant._ What, does the Cavalier think I'll devour him?    [To _Shift_.

_Feth._ Something inclin'd to such a Fear.

_Blunt._ Go and salute her, or, Adsheartlikins, I'll leave you to her
Mercy.

_Feth._ Oh, dear _Ned_, have pity on me-- but as for saluting her, you
speak of more than may be done, dear Heart, without a Scaling Ladder.
    [Exit _Shift_.

_Dwarf._ Sure, Seignior _Harlequin,_ these Gentlemen are dumb.

_Blunt._ No, my little diminutive Mistress, my small Epitomy of
Woman-kind, we can prattle when our Hands are in, but we are raw and
bashful, young Beginners; for this is the first time we ever were in
love: we are something aukard, or so, but we shall come on in time, and
mend upon Incouragement.

_Feth._ Pox on him, what a delicate Speech has he made now-- 'Gad, I'd
give a thousand Pounds a Year for _Ned's_ concise Wit, but not a Groat
for his Judgment in Womankind.

    Enter Shift with a Ladder, sets it against the Giant, and bows
    to _Fetherfool_.

_Shift._ Here, Seignior, Don, approach, mount, and salute the Lady.

_Feth._ Mount! why,'twould turn my Brains to look down from her
Shoulders-- But hang't, 'Gad, I will be brave and venture.
    [Runs up the Ladder, salutes her, and runs down again.
And Egad this was an Adventure and a bold one-- but since I am come off
with a whole Skin, I am flesht for the next onset-- Madam-- has your
Greatness any mind to marry?
    [Goes to her, speaks, and runs back; Blunt claps him on the Back.

_Giant._ What if I have?

_Feth._ Why then, Madam, without inchanted Sword or Buckler, I'm your
Man.

_Giant._ My Man? my Mouse. I'll marry none whose Person and Courage
shall not bear some Proportion to mine.

_Feth._ Your Mightiness I fear will die a Maid then.

_Giant._ I doubt you'll scarce secure me from that Fear, who court my
Fortune, not my Beauty.

_Feth._ Hu, how scornful she is, I'll warrant you-- why I must confess,
your Person is something heroical and masculine, but I protest to your
Highness, I love and honour ye.

_Dwarf._ Prithee, Sister, be not so coy, I like my Lover well enough;
and if Seignior Mountebank keep his Word in making us of reasonable
Proportions, I think the Gentlemen may serve for Husbands.

_Shift._ Dissemble, or you betray your Love for us.
    [Aside to the Giant.

_Giant._ And if he do keep his Word, I should make a better Choice, not
that I would change this noble Frame of mine, cou'd I but meet my Match,
and keep up the first Race of Man intire: But since this scanty World
affords none such, I to be happy, must be new created, and then shall
expect a wiser Lover.

_Feth._ Why, what a peevish Titt's this; nay, look ye, Madam, as for
that matter, your Extraordinariness may do what you please-- but 'tis
not done like a Monster of Honour, when a Man has set his Heart upon
you, to cast him off-- Therefore I hope you'll pity a despairing Lover,
and cast down an Eye of Consolation upon me; for I vow, most Amazonian
Princess, I love ye as if Heaven and Earth wou'd come together.

_Dwarf._ My Sister will do much, I'm sure, to save the Man that loves
her so passionately-- she has a Heart.

_Feth._ And a swinger 'tis-- 'Sbud-- she moves like the Royal Sovereign,
and is as long a tacking about.
    [Aside.

_Giant._ Then your Religion, Sir.

_Feth._ Nay, as for that, Madam, we are _English_, a Nation I thank God,
that stand as little upon Religion as any Nation under the Sun, unless
it be in Contradiction; and at this time have so many amongst us, a Man
knows not which to turn his Hand to-- neither will I stand with your
Hugeness for a small matter of Faith or so-- Religion shall shall break
no squares.

_Dwarf._ I hope, Sir, you are of your Friend's Opinion.

_Blunt._ My little Spark of a Diamond, I am, I was born a _Jew_, with an
Aversion to Swines Flesh.

_Dwarf._ Well, Sir, I shall hasten Seignior Doctor to compleat my
Beauty, by some small Addition, to appear the more grateful to you.

_Blunt._ Lady, do not trouble your self with transitory Parts,
'Dshartlikins thou'rt as handsom as needs be for a Wife.

_Dwarf._ A little taller, Seignior, wou'd not do amiss, my younger
Sister has got so much the Start of me.

_Blunt._ In troth she has, and now I think on't, a little taller wou'd
do well for Propagation; I should be both the Posterity of the antient
Family of the _Blunts_ of _Essex_ should dwindle into Pigmies or
Fairies.

_Giant._ Well, Seigniors, since you come with our Uncle's liking,
we give ye leave to hope, hope-- and be happy--
    [They go out with _Harlequin_.

_Feth._ Egad, and that's great and gracious--

    Enter _Willmore_ and an Operator.

_Will._ Well, Gentlemen, and how like you the Ladies?

_Blunt._ Faith, well enough for the first Course, Sir.

_Will._ The Uncle, by my indeavour, is intirely yours-- but whilst the
Baths are preparing,'twould be well if you would think of what Age,
Shape, and Complexion you would have your Ladies form'd in.

_Feth._ Why, may we chuse, Mr. Doctor?

_Will._ What Beauties you please.

_Feth._ Then will I have my Giant, _Ned_, just such another Gentlewoman
as I saw at Church to day-- and about some fifteen.

_Blunt._ Hum, fifteen-- I begin to have a plaguy Itch about me too,
towards a handsome Damsel of fifteen; but first let's marry, lest they
should be boiled away in these Baths of Reformation.

_Feth._ But, Doctor, can you do all this without the help of the Devil?

_Will._ Hum, some small Hand he has in the Business? we make an Exchange
with him, give him the clippings of the Giant for so much of his Store
as will serve to build the Dwarf.

_Blunt._ Why, then mine will be more than three Parts Devil, Mr. Doctor.

_Will._ Not so, the Stock is only Devil, the Graft is your own little
Wife inoculated.

_Blunt._ Well, let the Devil and you agree about this matter as soon as
you please.

    Enter _Shift_ as an Operator.

_Shift._ Sir, there is without a Person of an extraordinary Size wou'd
speak with you.

_Will._ Admit him.

    Enter _Harlequin_, ushers in _Hunt_ as a Giant.

_Feth._ Hah-- some o'ergrown Rival, on my Life.    [_Feth._ gets from
it.

_Will._ What the Devil have we here?    [Aside.

_Hunt._ _Bezolos mano's_, Seignior, I understand there is a Lady whose
Beauty and Proportion can only merit me: I'll say no more-- but shall be
grateful to you for your Assistance.

_Feth._ 'Tis so.

_Hunt._ The Devil's in't if this does not fright 'em from a farther
Courtship.
    [Aside.

_Will._ Fear nothing, Seignior-- Seignior, you may try your Chance, and
visit the Ladies.
    [Talks to _Hunt_.

_Feth._ Why, where the Devil could this Monster conceal himself all this
while, that we should neither see nor hear of him?

_Blunt._ Oh-- he lay disguis'd; I have heard of an Army that has done
so.

_Feth._ Pox, no single House cou'd hold him.

_Blunt._ No-- he dispos'd himself in several parcels up and down the
Town, here a Leg, and there an Arm; and hearing of this proper Match for
him, put himself together to court his fellow Monster.

_Feth._ Good Lord! I wonder what Religion he's of.

_Blunt._ Some heathen <DW7>, by his notable Plots and Contrivances.

_Will._ 'Tis _Hunt_, that Rogue--  [Aside.] Sir, I confess there is
great Power in Sympathy-- Conduct him to the Ladies--
    [He tries to go in at the Door.
--I am sorry you cannot enter at that low Door, Seignior, I'll have it
broken down--

_Hunt._ No, Seignior, I can go in at twice.

_Feth._ How, at twice! what a Pox can he mean?

_Will._ Oh, Sir,'tis a frequent thing by way of Inchantment. Hunt _being
all Doublet, leaps off from another Man who is all Breeches, and goes
out; Breeches follows stalking._

_Feth._ Oh Pox, Mr. Doctor, this must be the Devil.

_Will._ Oh fie, Sir, the Devil! no 'tis all done by an inchanted
Girdle-- These damn'd Rascals will spoil all by too gross an Imposition
on the Fools.
    [Aside.

_Feth._ This is the Devil, _Ned_, that's certain-- But hark ye, Mr.
Doctor, I hope I shall not have my Mistress inchanted from me by this
inchanted Rival, hah?

_Will._ Oh, no, Sir, the Inquisition will never let 'em marry, for fear
of a Race of Giants,'twill be worse than the Invasion of the _Moors_, or
the _French_: but go-- think of your Mistresses Names and Ages, here's
Company, and you would not be seen.
    [Ex. _Blunt_ and _Feth._

    Enter _La Nuche_ and_ Aurelia_; _Will._ bows to her.

_La Nu._ Sir, the Fame of your excellent Knowledge, and what you said to
me this day; has given me a Curiosity to learn my Fate, at least that
Fate you threatened.

_Will._ Madam, from the Oracle in the Box you may be resolved any
Question--
    [Leads her to the Table, where stands a Box full of Balls; he
    stares on her.
--How lovely every absent minute makes her-- Madam, be pleas'd to draw
from out this Box what Ball you will.
    [She draws, he takes it, and gazes on her and on it.
Madam, upon this little Globe is character'd your Fate and Fortune; the
History of your Life to come and past-- first, Madam-- you're-- a Whore.

_La Nu._ A very plain beginning.

_Will._ My Art speaks simple Truth; the Moon is your Ascendent, that
covetous Planet that borrows all her Light, and is in opposition still
to _Venus_; and Interest more prevails with you than Love: yet here I
find a cross-- intruding Line-- that does inform me-- you have an Itch
that way, but Interest still opposes: you are a slavish mercenary
Prostitute.

_La Nu._ Your Art is so, tho call'd divine, and all the Universe is
sway'd by Interest: and would you wish this Beauty which adorns me,
should be dispos'd about for Charity? Proceed and speak more Reason.

_Will._ But _Venus_ here gets the Ascent again, and spite of-- Interest,
spite of all Aversion, will make you doat upon a Man--
    [Still looking on, and turning the Ball.
Wild, fickle, restless, faithless as the Winds!-- a Man of Arms he
is-- and by this Line-- a Captain-- [Looking on her.] for _Mars_ and
_Venus_ were in conjunction at his Birth-- and Love and War's his
business.

_La Nu._ There thou hast toucht my Heart, and spoke so true, that all
thou say'st I shall receive as Oracle. Well, grant I love, that shall
not make me yield.

_Will._ I must confess you're ruin'd if you yield, and yet not all your
Pride, not all your Vows, your Wit, your Resolution, or your Cunning,
can hinder him from conquering absolutely: your Stars are fixt, and Fate
irrevocable.

_La Nu._ No,-- I will controul my Stars and Inclinations; and tho I love
him more than Power or Interest, I will be Mistress of my fixt
Resolves-- One Question more-- Does this same Captain, this wild happy
Man love me?

_Will._ I do not-- find-- it here-- only a possibility incourag'd by
your Love-- Oh that you cou'd resist-- but you are destin'd his, and to
be ruin'd.
    [Sighs, and looks on her, she grows in a Rage.

_La Nu._ Why do you tell me this? I am betray'd, and every caution blows
my kindling Flame-- hold-- tell me no more-- I might have guess'd my
Fate, from my own Soul have guest it-- but yet I will be brave, I will
resist in spite of Inclinations, Stars, or Devils.

_Will._ Strive not, fair Creature, with the Net that holds you, you'll
but intangle more. Alas! you must submit and be undone.

_La Nu._ Damn your false Art-- had he but lov'd me too, it had excus'd
the Malice of my Stars.

_Will._ Indeed, his Love is doubtful; for here-- I trace him in a new
pursuit-- which if you can this Night prevent, perhaps you fix him.

_La Nu._ Hah, pursuing a new Mistress! there thou hast met the little
Resolution I had left, and dasht it into nothing-- but I have vow'd
Allegiance to my Interest-- Curse on my Stars, they cou'd not give me
Love where that might be advanc'd-- I'll hear no more.
    [Gives him Money.

    Enter Shift.

_Shift._ Sir, there are several Strangers arriv'd, who talk of the old
Oracle. How will you receive 'em?

_Will._ I've business now, and must be excus'd, a while.-- Thus far--
I'm well; but I may tell my Tale so often o'er, till, like the Trick of
Love, I spoil the pleasure by the repetition.-- Now I'll uncase, and see
what Effects my Art has wrought on _La Nuche_, for she's the promis'd
Good, the Philosophick Treasure that terminates my Toil and Industry.
Wait you here.
    [Ex. _Will._

    Enter _Ariadne_ in Mens Clothes, with _Lucia_ so drest, and other
    Strangers.

_Aria._ How now, Seignior Operator, where's this renowned Man of Arts
and Sciences, this Don of Wonders?-- hah! may a Man have a Pistole's
Worth or two of his Tricks? will he shew, Seignior?

_Shift._ Whatever you dare see, Sir.

_Aria._ And I dare see the greatest Bug-bear he can conjure up,
my Mistress's Face in a Glass excepted.

_Shift._ That he can shew, Sir, but is now busied in weighty Affairs
with a Grandee.

_Aria._ Pox, must we wait the Leisure of formal Grandees and Statesmen--
ha, who's this?-- the lovely Conqueress of my Heart, _La Nuche._
    [Goes to her, she is talking with _Aurel._

_La Nu._ What foolish thing art thou?

_Aria._ Nay, do not frown, nor fly; for if you do, I must arrest you,
fair one.

_La Nu._ At whose Suit, pray?

_Aria._ At Love's-- you have stol'n a Heart of mine, and us'd it
scurvily.

_La Nu._ By what marks do you know the Toy, that I may be no longer
troubled with it?

_Aria._ By a fresh Wound, which toucht by her that gave it bleeds anew,
a Heart all over kind and amorous.

_La Nu._ When was this pretty Robbery committed?

_Ana._ To day, most sacrilegiously, at Church, where you debauch'd my
Zeal; and when I wou'd have pray'd, your Eyes had put the Change upon my
Tongue, and made it utter Railings: Heav'n forgive ye!

_La Nu._ You are the gayest thing without a Heart, I ever saw.

_Aria._ I scorn to flinch for a bare Wound or two; nor is he routed that
has lost the day, he may again rally, renew the Fight, and vanquish.

_La Nu._ You have a good opinion of that Beauty, which I find not so
forcible, nor that fond Prattle uttered with such Confidence.

_Aria._ But I have Quality and Fortune too.

_La Nu._ So had you need. I should have guest the first by your
pertness; for your saucy thing of Quality acts the Man as impudently at
fourteen, as another at thirty: nor is there any thing so hateful as to
hear it talk of Love, Women and Drinking; nay, to see it marry too at
that Age, and get itself a Play-fellow in its Son and Heir.

_Aria._ This Satyr on my Youth shall never put me out of countenance,
or make me think you wish me one day older; and egad, I'll warrant them
that tries me, shall find me ne'er an hour too young.

_La Nu._ You mistake my Humour, I hate the Person of a fair conceited
Boy.

    Enter _Willmore_ drest, singing.

  _Will._ _Vole, vole dans cette Cage,
  Petite Oyseau dans cet bocage._
--How now, Fool, where's the Doctor?

_Shift._ A little busy, Sir.

_Will._ Call him, I am in haste, and come to cheapen the Price of
Monster.

_Shift._ As how, Sir?

_Will._ In an honourable way, I will lawfully marry one of 'em, and have
pitcht upon the Giant; I'll bid as fair as any Man.

_Shift._ No doubt but you will speed, Sir: please you, Sir, to walk in.

_Will._ I'll follow-- _Vole, vole dans cette Cage_, &c.

_Luc._ Why,'tis the Captain, Madam--    [Aside to _Aria._

_La Nu._ Hah-- marry-- harkye, Sir,-- a word, pray.
    [As he is going out she pulls him.

_Will._ Your Servant, Madam, your Servant-- _Vole, vole_, &c.
    [Puts his Hat off carelesly, and walks by, going out.

_Luc._ And to be marry'd, mark that.

_Aria._ Then there's one doubt over, I'm glad he is not married.

_La Nu._ Come back-- Death, I shall burst with Anger-- this Coldness
blows my Flame, which if once visible, makes him a Tyrant--

_Will._ Fool, what's a Clock, fool? this noise hinders me from hearing
it strike.
    [Shakes his Pockets, and walks up and down.

_La Nu. _ A blessed sound, if no Hue and Cry pursue it.-- what-- you are
resolv'd then upon this notable Exploit?

_Will._ What Exploit, good Madam?

_La Nu._ Why, marrying of a Monster, and an ugly Monster.

_Will._ Yes faith, Child, here stands the bold Knight, that singly, and
unarm'd, designs to enter the List with _Thogogandiga_ the Giant; a good
Sword will defend a worse cause than an ugly Wife. I know no danger
worse than fighting for my Living, and I have don't this dozen years for
Bread.

_La Nu._ This is the common trick of all Rogues, when they have done an
ill thing to face it out.

_Will._ An ill thing-- your Pardon, Sweet-heart, compare it but to
Banishment, a frozen Sentry with brown George and _Spanish_ Pay; and if
it be not better to be Master of a Monster, than Slave to a damn'd
Commonwealth-- I submit-- and since my Fortune has thrown this good in
my way--

_La Nu._ You'll not be so ungrateful to refuse it; besides then you may
hope to sleep again, without dreaming of Famine, or the Sword, two
Plagues a Soldier of Fortune is subject to.

_Will._ Besides Cashiering, a third Plague.

_La Nu._ Still unconcern'd!-- you call me mercenary, but I would starve
e'er suffer my self to be possest by a thing of Horror.

_Will._ You lye, you would by any thing of Horror: yet these things of
Horror have Beauties too, Beauties thou canst not boast of, Beauties
that will not fade; Diamonds to supply the lustre of their Eyes, and
Gold the brightness of their Hair, a well-got Million to atone for
Shape, and Orient Pearls, more white, more plump and smooth, than that
fair Body Men so languish for, and thou hast set such Price on.

_Aria._ I like not this so well, 'tis a trick to make her jealous.

_Will._ Their Hands too have their Beauties, whose very mark finds
credit and respect, their Bills are current o'er the Universe; besides
these, you shall see waiting at my Door, four Footmen, a Velvet Coach,
with Six _Flanders_ Beauties more: And are not these most comely Virtues
in a Soldier's Wife, in this most wicked peaceable Age?

_Luc._ He's poor too, there's another comfort.    [Aside.

_Aria._ The most incouraging one I have met with yet.

_Will._ Pox on't, I grow weary of this virtuous Poverty. There goes a
gallant Fellow, says one, but gives him not an Onion; the Women too,
faith, 'tis a handsom Gentleman, but the Devil a Kiss he gets _gratis_.

_Aria._ Oh, how I long to undeceive him of that Error.

_La Nu._ He speaks not of me; sure he knows me not.    [Aside.

_Will._ --No, Child, Money speaks sense in a Language all Nations
understand, 'tis Beauty, Wit, Courage, Honour, and undisputable
Reason-- see the virtue of a Wager, that new philosophical way lately
found out of deciding all hard Questions-- _Socrates_, without ready
Money to lay down, must yield.

_Aria._ Well, I must have this gallant Fellow.    [Aside.

_La Nu._ Sure he has forgot this trival thing.

_Will._ --Even thou-- who seest me dying unregarded, wou'd then be fond
and kind, and flatter me.
    [_Soft tone._ By Heaven, I'll hate thee then; nay, I will marry to
    be rich to hate thee: the worst of that, is but to suffer nine Days
    Wonderment. Is not that better than an Age of Scorn from a proud
    faithless Beauty?

_La Nu._ Oh, there's Resentment left-- why, yes faith, such a Wedding
would give the Town diversion: we should have a lamentable Ditty made on
it, entitled, The Captain's Wedding, with the doleful Relation of his
being over-laid by an o'er-grown Monster.

_Will._ I'll warrant ye I escape that as sure as cuckolding; for I would
fain see that hardy Wight that dares attempt my Lady Bright, either by
Force or Flattery.

_La Nu._ So, then you intend to bed her?

_Will._ Yes faith, and beget a Race of Heroes, the Mother's Form with
all the Father's Qualities.

_La Nu._ Faith, such a Brood may prove a pretty Livelihood for a poor
decay'd Officer; you may chance to get a Patent to shew 'em in
_England_, that Nation of Change and Novelty.

_Will._ A provision old _Carlo_ cannot make for you against the
abandon'd day.

_La Nu._ He can supply the want of Issue a better way; and tho he be not
so fine a fellow as your self, he's a better Friend, he can keep a
Mistress: give me a Man can feed and clothe me, as well as hug and all
to bekiss me, and tho his Sword be not so good as yours, his Bond's
worth a thousand Captains. This will not do, I'll try what Jealousy will
do.  [Aside.] Your Servant, Captain-- your Hand, Sir.
    [Takes _Ariadne_ by the Hand.

_Will._ Hah, what new Coxcomb's that-- hold, Sir--
    [Takes her from him.

_Aria._ What would you, Sir, ought with this Lady?

_Will._ Yes, that which thy Youth will only let thee guess at-- this--
Child, is Man's Meat; there are other Toys for Children.
    [Offers to lead her off.

_La Nu._ Oh insolent! and whither would'st thou lead me?

_Will._ Only out of harm's way, Child, here are pretty near Conveniences
within: the Doctor will be civil-- 'tis part of his Calling-- Your
Servant, Sir--
    [Going off with her.

_Aria._ I must huff now, tho I may chance to be beaten-- come back-- or
I have something here that will oblige ye to't.
    [Laying his hand on his Sword.

_Will._ Yes faith, thou'rt a pretty Youth; but at this time I've more
occasion for a thing in Petticoats-- go home, and do not walk the
Streets so much; that tempting Face of thine will debauch the grave men
of business, and make the Magistrates lust after Wickedness.

_Aria._ You are a scurvy Fellow, Sir.    [Going to draw.

_Will._ Keep in your Sword, for fear it cut your Fingers, Child.

_Aria._ So 'twill your Throat, Sir-- here's Company coming that will
part us, and I'll venture to draw.
    [Draws, Will. draws.

    Enter _Beaumond_.

_Beau._ Hold, hold-- hah, _Willmore_! thou Man of constant mischief,
what's the matter?

_La Nu._ _Beaumond_! undone!

_Aria._ --_Beaumond!_--

_Will._ Why, here's a young Spark will take my Lady Bright from me; the
unmanner'd Hot-spur would not have patience till I had finish'd my small
Affair with her.
    [Puts up his Sword.

_Aria._ Death, he'll know me-- Sir, you see we are prevented.
    [Draws him aside.
--or--
    [Seems to talk to him, _Beau._ gazes on _La Nuche_, who has pull'd
    down her Veil.

_Beau._ 'Tis she! Madam, this Veil's too thin to hide the perjur'd
Beauty underneath. Oh, have I been searching thee, with all the
diligence of impatient Love, and am I thus rewarded, to find thee here
incompass'd round with Strangers, fighting, who first should take my
right away?-- Gods! take your Reason back, take all your Love; for easy
Man's unworthy of the Blessings.

_Will._ Harkye, _Harry_-- the-- Woman-- the almighty Whore-- thou
told'st me of to day.

_Beau._ Death, do'st thou mock my Grief-- unhand me strait, for tho I
cannot blame thee, I must hate thee.--
    [Goes out.

_Will._ What the Devil ails he?

_Aria._ You will be sure to come.

_Will._ At night in the Piazza; I have an Assignation with a Woman, that
once dispatch'd, I will not fail ye, Sir.

_Luc._ And will you leave him with her?

_Aria._ Oh, yes, he'll be ne'er the worse for my use when he has done
with her.
    [Ex. _Luc._ and _Aria._ _Will._ looks with scorn on _La Nuche_.

_Will._ Now you may go o'ertake him, lie with him-- and ruin him: the
Fool was made for such a Destiny-- if he escapes my Sword.
    [He offers to go.

_La Nu._ I must prevent his visit to this Woman-- but dare not tell him
so.  [Aside.] --I would not have ye meet this angry Youth.

_Will._ Oh, you would preserve him for a farther use.

_La Nu._ Stay-- you must not fight-- by Heaven, I cannot see-- that
Bosom-- wounded.
    [Turns and weeps.

_Will._ Hah! weep'st thou? curse me when I refuse a faith to that
obliging Language of thy Eyes-- Oh give me one proof more, and after
that, thou conquerest all my Soul; Thy Eyes speak Love-- come, let us
in, my Dear, e'er the bright Fire allays that warms my Heart.
    [Goes to lead her out.

_La Nu._ Your Love grows rude, and saucily demands it.    [Flings away.

_Will._ Love knows no Ceremony, no respect when once approacht so near
the happy minute.

_La Nu._ What desperate easiness have you seen in me, or what mistaken
merit in your self, should make you so ridiculously vain, to think I'd
give myself to such a Wretch, one fal'n even to the last degree of
Poverty, whilst all the World is prostrate at my Feet, whence I might
chuse the Brave, the Great, the Rich?
    [He stands spitefully gazing at her.
--Still as he fires, I find my Pride augment, and when he cools I burn.
    [Aside.

_Will._ Death, thou'rt a-- vain, conceited, taudry Jilt, who wou'st draw
me in as Rooks their Cullies do, to make me venture all my stock of
Love, and then you turn me out despis'd and poor--
    [Offers to go.

_La Nu._ You think you're gone now--

_Will._ Not all thy Arts nor Charms shall hold me longer.

_La Nu._ I must submit-- and can you part thus from me?--    [Pulls him.

_Will._ I can-- nay, by Heaven, I will not turn, nor look at thee. No,
when I do, or trust that faithless Tongue again-- may I be--

_La Nu._ Oh do not swear--

_Will._ Ever curst--    [Breaks from her, she holds him.

_La Nu._ You shall not go-- Plague of this needless Pride,    [Aside.
--stay-- and I'll follow all the dictates of my Love.

_Will._ Oh never hope to flatter me to faith again.
    [His back to her, she holding him.

_La Nu._ I must, I will; what wou'd you have me do?

_Will._ [turning softly to her.] Never-- deceive me more, it may be
fatal to wind me up to an impatient height, then dash my eager Hopes.
    [_Sighing._ Forgive my roughness-- and be kind, _La Nuche_, I know
    thou wo't--

_La Nu._ Will you then be ever kind and true?

_Will._ Ask thy own Charms, and to confirm thee more, yield and disarm
me quite.

_La Nu._ Will you not marry then? for tho you never can be mine that
way, I cannot think that you should be another's.

_Will._ No more delays, by Heaven, 'twas but a trick.

_La Nu._ And will you never see that Woman neither, whom you're this
Night to visit?

_Will._ Damn all the rest of thy weak Sex, when thou look'st thus, and
art so soft and charming.
    [Offers to lead her out.

_La Nu._ _Sancho_-- my Coach.    [Turns in scorn.

_Will._ Take heed, what mean ye?

_La Nu._ Not to be pointed at by all the envying Women of the Town,
who'l laugh and cry, Is this the high-priz'd Lady, now fall'n so low,
to doat upon a Captain? a poor disbanded Captain? defend me from that
Infamy.

_Will._ Now all the Plagues-- but yet I will not curse thee, 'tis lost
on thee, for thou art destin'd damn'd.
    [Going out.

_La Nu._ Whither so fast?

_Will._ Why,-- I am so indifferent grown, that I can tell thee now-- to
a Woman, young, fair and honest; she'll be kind and thankful-- farewel,
Jilt-- now should'st thou die for one sight more of me, thou should'st
not ha't; nay, should'st thou sacrifice all thou hast couzen'd other
Coxcombs of, to buy one single visit, I am so proud, by Heaven, thou
shouldst not have it-- To grieve thee more, see here, insatiate Woman
[Shews her a Purse or hands full of Gold] the Charm that makes me lovely
in thine Eyes: it had all been thine hadst thou not basely bargain'd
with me, now 'tis the Prize of some well-meaning Whore, whose Modesty
will trust my Generosity.
    [Goes out.

_La Nu._ Now I cou'd rave, t'have lost an opportunity which industry nor
chance can give again-- when on the yielding point, a cursed fit of
Pride comes cross my Soul, and stops the kind Career-- I'll follow him,
yes I'll follow him, even to the Arms of her to whom he's gone.

_Aur._ Madam, 'tis dark, and we may meet with Insolence.

_La Nu._ No matter: _Sancho_, let the Coach go home, and do you follow
me--

  _Women may boast their Honour and their Pride,
  But Love soon lays those feebler Powr's aside._    [Exeunt.




ACT IV.


SCENE I. _The Street, or Backside of the Piazza dark._

    Enter _Willmore_ alone.

_Will._ A Pox upon this Woman that has jilted me, and I for being a fond
believing Puppy to be in earnest with so great a Devil. Where be these
Coxcombs too? this _Blunt_ and _Fetherfool_? when a Man needs 'em not,
they are plaguing him with their unseasonable Jests-- could I but light
on them, I would be very drunk to night-- but first I'll try my Fortune
with this Woman-- let me see-- hereabouts is the Door.
    [Gropes about for the Door.

    Enter _Beaumond_, follow'd by _La Nuche_, and _Sancho_.

_La Nu._ 'Tis he, I know it by his often and uneasy pauses--

_Beau._ And shall I home and sleep upon my injury, whilst this more
happy Rover takes my right away?-- no, damn me then for a cold senseless
Coward.
    [Pauses and pulls out a Key.

_Will._ This Damsel, by the part o'th' Town she lives in, shou'd be of
Quality, and therefore can have no dishonest design on me, it must be
right down substantial Love, that's certain.

_Beau._ Yet I'll in and arm my self for the Encounter, for 'twill be
rough between us, tho we're Friends.
    [Groping about, finds the Door.

_Will._ Oh, 'tis this I'm sure, because the Door is open.

_Beau._ Hah-- who's there?--
    [_Beau._ advances to unlock the Door, runs against _Will._ draws.

_Will._ That Voice is of Authority, some Husband, Lover, or a Brother,
on my Life-- this is a Nation of a word and a blow, therefore I'll
betake me to _Toledo_--
    [Draws.
    [_Willmore_ in drawing hits his Sword against that of _Beaumond_,
    who turns and fights, _La Nuche_ runs into the Garden frighted.

_Beau._ Hah, are you there?

_Sanc._ I'll draw in defence of the Captain--
    [_Sancho_ fights for _Beau._ and beats out _Will._

_Will._ Hah, two to one?    [Turns and goes in.

_Beau._ The Garden Door clapt to; sure he's got in; nay, then I have him
sure.

    The Scene changes to a Garden, _La Nuche_ in it, to her _Beau._ who
    takes hold of her sleeve.

_La Nu._ Heavens, where am I?

_Beau._ Hah-- a Woman! and by these Jewels-- should be _Ariadne_.
[feels.] 'Tis so! Death, are all Women false?
    [She struggles to get away, he holds her.
--Oh,'tis in vain thou fly'st, thy Infamy will stay behind thee still.

_La Nu._ Hah, 'tis _Beaumond's_ Voice!-- Now for an Art to turn the
trick upon him; I must not lose his Friendship.
    [Aside.

    Enter _Willmore_ softly, peeping behind.

_Will._ What a Devil have we here, more Mischief yet;-- hah-- my Woman
with a Man-- I shall spoil all-- I ever had an excellent knack of doing
so.

_Beau._ Oh Modesty, where art thou? Is this the effect of all your put
on Jealousy, that Mask to hide your own new falshood in? New!-- by
Heaven, I believe thou'rt old in cunning, that couldst contrive, so near
thy Wedding-night, this, to deprive me of the Rites of Love.

_La Nu._ Hah, what says he?    [Aside.

_Will._ How, a Maid, and young, and to be marry'd too! a rare Wench this
to contrive Matters so conveniently: Oh, for some Mischief now to send
him neatly off.
    [Aside.

_Beau._ Now you are silent; but you could talk to day loudly of Virtue,
and upbraid my Vice: oh how you hated a young keeping Husband, whom
neither Beauty nor Honour in a Wife cou'd oblige to reason-- oh, damn
your Honour, 'tis that's the sly pretence of all your domineering
insolent Wives-- Death-- what didst thou see in me, should make thee
think that I would be a tame contented Cuckold?
    [Going, she holds him.

_La Nu._ I must not lose this lavish loving Fool--    [Aside.

_Will._ So, I hope he will be civil and withdraw, and leave me in
possession--

_Beau._ No, tho my Fortune should depend on thee; nay, all my hope of
future happiness-- by Heaven, I scorn to marry thee, unless thou couldst
convince me thou wer't honest-- a Whore!-- Death, how it cools my
Blood--

_Will._ And fires mine extremely--

_La Nu._ Nay, then I am provok'd tho I spoil all--    [Aside.
  And is a Whore a thing so much despis'd?
  Turn back, thou false forsworn-- turn back, and blush at thy mistaken
folly.
    [He stands amaz'd.

_Beau._ _La Nuche!_

    Enter _Aria._ peeping, advancing cautiously undrest, _Luc._
    following.

_Aria._ Oh, he is here-- _Lucia_, attend me in the Orange-grove--
    [Ex. _Lucia_.
Hah, a Woman with him!

_Will._ Hum-- what have we here? another Damsel?-- she's gay too, and
seems young and handsom-- sure one of these will fall to my share; no
matter which, so I am sure of one.

_La Nu._ Who's silent now? are you struck dumb with Guilt? thou shame to
noble Love; thou scandal to all brave Debauchery, thou <DW2> of Fortune;
thou slavish Heir to Estate and Wife, born rich and damn'd to Matrimony.

_Will._ Egad, a noble Wench-- I am divided yet.

_La Nu._ Thou formal Ass disguis'd in generous Leudness, see-- when the
Vizor's off, how sneakingly that empty form appears-- Nay 'tis thy
own-- Make much on't, marry with it, and be damn'd.
    [Offers to go.

_Will._ I hope she'll beat him for suspecting her.
    [He holds her, she turns.

_Aria._ Hah-- who the Devil can these be?

_La Nu._ What silly honest Fool did you mistake me for? what senseless
modest thing? Death, am I grown so despicable? have I deserv'd no better
from thy Love than to be taken for a virtuous Changeling?

_Will._ Egad, 'twas an Affront.    [Aside.

_La Nu._ I'm glad I've found thee out to be an errant Coxcomb, one that
esteems a Woman for being chaste forsooth! 'Sheart, I shall have thee
call me pious shortly, a most-- religious Matron!

_Will._ Egad, she has reason--    [Aside.

_Beau._ Forgive me-- for I took ye-- for another.    [Sighing.

_La Nu._ Oh did you so? it seems you keep fine Company the while--
Death, that I should e'er be seen with such a vile Dissembler, with one
so vain, so dull and so impertinent, as can be entertain'd by honest
Women!

_Will._ A Heavenly Soul, and to my Wish, were I but sure of her.

_Beau._ Oh you do wondrous well t'accuse me first! yes, I am a
Coxcomb-- a confounded one, to doat upon so false a Prostitute; nay to
love seriously, and tell it too: yet such an amorous Coxcomb I was born,
to hate the Enjoyment of the loveliest Woman, without I have the Heart:
the fond soft Prattle, and the lolling Dalliance, the Frowns, the little
Quarrels, and the kind Degrees of making Peace again, are Joys which I
prefer to all the sensual, whilst I endeavour to forget the Whore, and
pay my Vows to Wit, to Youth and Beauty.

_Aria._ Now hang me, if it be not _Beaumond_.

_Beau._ Would any Devil less than common Woman have serv'd me as thou
didst? say, was not this my Night? my paid for Night? my own by right of
Bargain, and by Love? and hast not thou deceiv'd me for a Stranger?

_Will._ So-- make me thankful, then she will be kind. _Hugs himself._

_Beau._ --Was this done like a Whore of Honour think ye? and would not
such an Injury make me forswear all Joys of Womankind, and marry in mere
spite?

_La Nu._ Why where had been the Crime had I been kind?

_Beau._ Thou dost confess it then.

_La Nu._ Why not?

_Beau._ Those Bills of Love the oftner paid and drawn, make Women better
Merchants than Lovers.

_La Nu._ And 'tis the better Trade.

_Will._ Oh Pox, there she dasht all again. I find they calm upon't, and
will agree, therefore I'll bear up to this small Frigate and lay her
aboard.
    [Goes to _Ariadne_.

_La Nu._ However I'm glad the Vizor's off; you might have fool'd me on,
and sworn I was the only Conqueror of your Heart, had not Good-nature
made me follow you, to undeceive your false Suspicions of me: How have
you sworn never to marry? how rail'd at Wives, and satir'd Fools oblig'd
to Wedlock? And now at last, to thy eternal Shame, thou hast betray'd
thy self to be a most pernicious honourable Lover, a perjur'd-- honest--
nay, a very Husband.
    [Turns away, he holds her.

_Aria._ Hah, sure 'tis the Captain.

_Will._ Prithee, Child, let's leave 'em to themselves, they'l agree
matters I'll warrant them when they are alone; and let us try how Love
and Good-nature will provide for us.

_Aria._ Sure he cannot know me?-- Us!-- pray who are you, and who am I?

_Will._ Why look ye, Child, I am a very honest civil Fellow, for my
part, and thou'rt a Woman for thine; and I desire to know no more at
present.

_Aria._ 'Tis he, and knows not me to be the same he appointed to
day-- Sir, pursue that Path on your right Hand, that Grove of
Orange-Trees, and I'll follow you immediately.

_Will._ Kind and civil-- prithee make haste, dear Child.
    [Exit. _Will._

_Beau._ And did you come to call me back again?    [Lovingly.

_La Nu._ No matter, you are to be marry'd, Sir--

_Beau._ No more, 'tis true, to please my Uncle, I have talk'd of some
such thing; but I'll pursue it no farther, so thou wilt yet be mine, and
mine intirely-- I hate this _Ariadne_-- for a Wife-- by Heaven I do.

_Aria._ A very plain Confession.    [Claps him on the back.

_Beau._ _Ariadne!_

_La Nu._ I'm glad of this, now I shall be rid of him.  [Aside.] --How
is't, Sir? I see you struggle hard 'twixt Love and Honour, and I'll
resign my Place--
    [Offers to go, _Ariadne_ pulls her back.

_Aria._ Hold, if she take him not away, I shall disappoint my Man--
faith, I'll not be out-done in Generosity.
    [Gives him to _La Nuche_.
Here-- Love deserves him best-- and I resign him-- Pox on't I'm honest,
tho that's no fault of mine; 'twas Fortune who has made a worse
Exchange, and you and I should suit most damnably together.
    [To _Beau._

_Beau._ I am sure there's something in the Wind, she being in the
Garden, and the Door left open.  [Aside.] --Yes, I believe you are
willing enough to part with me, when you expect another you like better.

_Aria._ I'm glad I was before-hand with you then.

_Beau._ Very good, and the Door was left open to give admittance to a
Lover.

_Aria._ 'Tis visible it was to let one in to you, false as you are.

_La Nu._ Faith, Madam, you mistake my Constitution, my Beauty and my
Business is only to be belov'd not to love; I leave that Slavery for you
Women of Quality, who must invite, or die without the Blessing; for
likely the Fool you make choice of wants Wit or Confidence to ask first;
you are fain to whistle before the Dogs will fetch and carry, and then
too they approach by stealth: and having done the Drudgery, the
submissive Curs are turn'd out for fear of dirtying your Apartment,
or that the Mungrils should scandalize ye; whilst all my Lovers of the
noble kind throng to adore and fill my Presence daily, gay as if each
were triumphing for Victory.

_Aria._ Ay this is something; what a poor sneaking thing an honest Woman
is!

_La Nu._ And if we chance to love still, there's a difference, your
Hours of Love are like the Deeds of Darkness, and mine like cheerful
Birds in open Day.

_Aria._ You may, you have no Honour to lose.

_La Nu._ Or if I had, why should I double the Sin by Hypocrisy?

    [_Lucia_ squeaks within, crying, help, help.

_Aria._ Heavens, that's _Lucia's_ Voice.

_Beau._ Hah, more caterwauling?

    Enter _Lucia_ in haste.

_Luc._ Oh, Madam, we're undone; and, Sir, for Heaven's sake do you
retire.

_Beau._ What's the matter?

_Luc._ Oh you have brought the most villainous mad Friend with you-- he
found me sitting on a Bank-- and did so ruffle me.

_Aria._ Death, she takes _Beaumond_ for the Stranger, and will ruin me.

_Luc._ Nay, made love so loud, that my Lord your Father-in-law, who was
in his Cabinet, heard us from the Orange-Grove, and has sent to search
the Garden-- and should he find a Stranger with you-- do but you retire,
Sir, and all's well yet.
    [To _Beaumond_.

_Aria._ The Devil's in her Tongue.    [Aside.

_Luc._ For if Mr. _Beaumond_ be in the House, we shall have the Devil to
do with his Jealousy.

_Aria._ So, there 'tis out.

_Beau._ She takes me for another-- I am jilted every where-- what
Friend?-- I brought none with me.-- Madam, do you retire--
    [To _La Nuche_.

_La Nu._ Glad of my Freedom too--    [Goes out.
    [A clashing of Swords within. Enter _Willm._ fighting, prest back
    by three or four Men, and _Abevile_, _Aria._ and _Luc._ run out.

_Beau._ Hah, set on by odds; hold, tho thou be'st my Rival, I will free
thee, on condition thou wilt meet me to morrow morning in the Piazza by
day break.
    [Puts himself between their Swords, and speaks to _Will._ Aside.

_Will._ By Heaven I'll do it.

_Beau._ Retire in safety then, you have your pass.

_Abev._ Fall on, fall on, the number is increas'd.    [Fall on Beau.

_Beau._ Rascals, do you not know me?
    [Falls in with 'em and beats them back, and goes out with them.

_Will._ Nay, and you be so well acquainted, I'll leave you-- unfortunate
still I am; my own well meaning, but ill Management, is my eternal Foe:
Plague on 'em, they have wounded me-- yet not one drop of Blood's
departed from me that warm'd my Heart for Woman, and I'm not willing to
quit this Fairy-ground till some kind Devil have been civil to me.

    Enter _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_.

_Aria._ I say, 'tis he: thou'st made so many dull Mistakes to Night,
thou darest not trust thy Senses when they're true-- How do you, Sir?

_Will._ That Voice has Comfort in't, for 'tis a Woman's: hah, more
Interruption?

_Aria._ A little this way, Sir.
    [Ex. _Aria_, and _Will._ into the Garden.

    Enter _Beaumond_, _Abevile_ in a submissive Posture.

_Beau._ No more excuses-- By all these Circumstances, I know this
_Ariadne_ is a Gipsy. What difference then beween a money-taking
Mistress and her that gives her Love? only perhaps this sins the closer
by't, and talks of Honour more: What Fool wou'd be a Slave to empty
Name, or value Woman for dissembling well? I'll to _La Nuche_-- the
honester o'th' two-- _Abevile_-- get me my Musick ready, and attend me
at _La Nuche's_.
    [Ex. severally.

_Luc._ He's gone, and to his Mistress too.

    Enter _Ariadne_ pursu'd by _Willmore_.

_Will._ My little _Daphne_, 'tis in vain to fly, unless like her, you
cou'd be chang'd into a Tree: _Apollo's_ self pursu'd not with more
eager Fire than I.
    [Holds her.

_Aria._ Will you not grant a Parly e'er I yield?

_Will._ I'm better at a Storm.

_Aria._ Besides, you're wounded too.

_Will._ Oh leave those Wounds of Honour to my Surgeon, thy Business is
to cure those of Love. Your true bred Soldier ever fights with the more
heat for a Wound or two.

_Aria._ Hardly in Venus' Wars.

_Will._ Her self ne'er thought so when she snatcht her Joys between the
rough Encounters of the God of War. Come, let's pursue the Business we
came for: See the kind Night invites, and all the ruffling Winds are
husht and still, only the Zephirs spread their tender Wings, courting in
gentle Murmurs the gay Boughs; 'twas in a Night like this, Diana taught
the Mysteries of Love to the fair Boy Endymion. I am plaguy full of
History and Simile to night.

_Aria._ You see how well he far'd for being modest.

_Will._ He might be modest, but 'twas not over-civil to put her
Goddessship to asking first; thou seest I'm better bred-- Come let's
haste to silent Grots that attend us, dark Groves where none can see,
and murmuring Fountains.

_Aria._ Stay, let me consider first, you are a Stranger, inconstant too
as Island Winds, and every day are fighting for your Mistresses, of
which you've had at least four since I saw you first, which is not a
whole day.

_Will._ I grant ye, before I was a Lover I ran at random, but I'll take
up now, be a patient Man, and keep to one Woman a Month.

_Aria._ A Month!

_Will._ And a fair Reason, Child; time was, I wou'd have worn one Shirt,
or one pair of Shoos so long as have let the Sun set twice upon the same
Sin: but see the Power of Love; thou hast bewitched me, that's certain.

_Aria._ Have a care of giving me the ascendent over ye, for fear I make
ye marry me.

_Will._ Hold, I bar that cast, Child; no, I'm none of those Spirits that
can be conjur'd into a Wedding-ring, and dance in the dull matrimonial
Circle all my Days.

_Aria._ But what think you of a hundred thousand Crowns, and a Beauty of
sixteen?

_Will._ As of most admirable Blessings: but harkye, Child, I am plaguily
afraid thou'rt some scurvy honest thing of Quality by these odd
Questions of thine, and hast some wicked Design upon my Body.

_Aria._ What, to have and to hold I'll warrant.-- No Faith, Sir, Maids
of my Quality expect better Jointures than a Buff-coat, Scarf and
Feather: such Portions as mine are better Ornaments in a Family than a
Captain and his Commission.

_Will._ Why well said, now thou hast explain'd thy self like a Woman of
Honour-- Come, come, let's away.

_Aria._ Explain my self! How mean ye?

_Will._ --Thou say'st I am not fit to marry thee-- and I believe this
Assignation was not made to tell me so, nor yet to hear me whistle to
the Birds.

_Aria._ Faith no, I saw you, lik'd ye, and had a mind to ye.

_Will._ Ay, Child--

_Aria._ In short, I took ye for a Man of Honour.

_Will._ Nay, if I tell the Devil take me.

_Aria._ I am a Virgin in Distress.

_Will._ Poor Heart.

_Aria._ To be marry'd within a Day or two to one I like not.

_Will._ Hum-- and therefore wouldst dispose of a small Virgin Treasure
(too good for silly Husbands) in a Friend's Hands: faith, Child-- I was
ever a good religious charitable Christian, and shall acquit my self as
honestly and piously in this Affair as becomes a Gentleman.

    Enter _Abevile_ with Musick.

_Abev._ Come away, are ye all arm'd for the Business?

_Aria._ Hah, arm'd! we are surpriz'd again.

_Will._ Fear not.    [Draws.

_Aria._ Oh God, Sir, haste a way, you are already wounded: but I conjure
you, as a Man of Honour, be here at the Garden Gate to night again, and
bring a Friend, in case of Danger, with you; and if possible I'll put my
self into your Hands, for this Night's Work has ruin'd me--
    [Speaking quick, and pushing him forwards runs off.

_Abev._ My Master sure not gone yet--    [Peeping advancing.

_Will._ Rascals, tho you are odds, you'll find hot Work in vanquishing.

    [Falls on 'em.

_Abev._ Hold, Sir, I am your Page. Do you not know me? and these the
Musick you commanded-- shall I carry 'em where you order'd, Sir?

_Will._ They take me for some other, this was lucky.  [Aside.]
O, aye-- 'tis well-- I'll follow-- but whither?-- Plague of my dull
Mistakes, the Woman's gone-- yet stay--
    [Calls 'em.
For now I think on't, this Mistake may help me to another-- stay-- I
must dispose of this mad Fire about me, which all these Disappointments
cannot lay-- Oh for some young kind Sinner in the nick-- How I cou'd
souse upon her like a Bird of Prey, and worry her with Kindness.
[Aside.] --Go on, I follow.
    [Exeunt.

    Scene changes to _La Nuche's_ House.

    Enter _Petronella_ and _Aurelia_ with Light.

_Aur._ Well, the Stranger is in Bed, and most impatiently expects our
Patrona, who is not yet returned.

_Pet._ Curse of this Love! I know she's in pursuit of this Rover, this
_English_ Piece of Impudence; Pox on 'em, I know nothing good in the
whole Race of 'em, but giving all to their Shirts when they're drunk.
What shall we do, _Aurelia_? This Stranger must not be put off, nor
_Carlo_ neither, who has fin'd again as if for a new Maidenhead.

_Aur._ You are so covetous, you might have put 'em off, but now 'tis too
late.

_Pet._ Put off! Are these Fools to be put off think ye? a fine <DW2>
_Englishman_, and an old doating Grandee?-- No, I cou'd put the old
trick on 'em still, had she been here but to have entertain'd 'em: but
hark, one knocks, 'tis _Carlo_ on my Life--

    Enter _Carlo_, gives _Petronella_ Gold.

_Car._ Let this plead for me.

_Pet._ Sweet Don, you are the most eloquent Person.

_Car._ I would regale to night-- I know it is not mine, but I've sent
five hundred Crowns to purchase it, because I saw another bargaining
for't; and Persons of my Quality must not be refus'd: you apprehend me.

_Pet._ Most rightly-- that was the Reason then she came so out of Humour
home-- and is gone to Bed in such a sullen Fit.

_Car._ To Bed, and all alone! I would surprize her there. Oh how it
pleases me to think of stealing into her Arms like a fine Dream, Wench,
hah.

_Aur._ 'Twill be a pleasant one, no doubt.

_Pet._ He lays the way out how he'll be cozen'd.  [Aside.]
--The Seigniora perhaps may be angry, Sir, but I'll venture that to
accommodate you; and that you may surprize her the more readily, be
pleased to stay in my Chamber, till you think she may be asleep.

_Car._ Thou art a perfect Mistress of thy Trade.

_Pet._ So, now will I to the Seigniora's Bed my self, drest and
perfum'd, and finish two good Works at once; earn five hundred Crowns,
and keep up the Honour of the House.  [Aside.] --Softly, sweet Don.
    [Lights him out.

_Aur._ And I will do two more good things, and disappoint your
Expectations; jilt the young _English_ Fool, and have old _Carlo_ well
bang'd, if t'other have any Courage.

    Enter _La Nuche_ in Rage, and _Sancho_.

_La Nu._ _Aurelia_, help, help me to be reveng'd upon this wretched
unconsidering Heart.

_Aur._ Heavens, have you made the Rover happy, Madam?

_La Nu._ Oh wou'd I had! or that or any Sin wou'd change this Rage into
some easier Passion: Sickness and Poverty, Disgrace and Pity, all met in
one, were kinder than this Love, this raging Fire of a proud amorous
Heart.

    Enter _Petronella_.

_Pet._ Heavens, what's the matter?

_Aur._ Here's _Petronella_, dissemble but your Rage a little.

  _La Nu._ Damn all dissembling now, it is too late--
  The Tyrant Love reigns absolute within,
  And I am lost, _Aurelia_.

_Pet._ How, Love! forbid it Heaven! will Love maintain ye?

_La Nu._ Curse on your Maxims, will they ease my Heart? Can your wise
Counsel fetch me back my Rover?

_Pet._ Hah, your Rover, a Pox upon him.

_La Nu._ He's gone-- gone to the Arms of some gay generous Maid, who
nobly follows Love's diviner Dictates, whilst I 'gainst Nature studying
thy dull Precepts, and to be base and infamously rich, have barter'd all
the Joys of human Life-- Oh give me Love: I will be poor and love.

_Pet._ She's lost-- but hear me--

_La Nu._ I won't, from Childhood thou hast trained me up in Cunning,
read Lectures to me of the use of Man, but kept me from the knowledge of
the Right; taught me to jilt, to flatter and deceive: and hard it was to
learn th' ungrateful Lessons. But oh how soon plain Nature taught me
Love, and shew'd me all the cheat of thy false Tenents-- No-- give me
Love with any other Curse.

_Pet._ But who will give you that when you are poor? when you are
wretchedly despis'd and poor?

_La Nu._ Hah!

_Pet._ Do you not daily see fine Clothes, rich Furniture, Jewels and
Plate are more inviting than Beauty unadorn'd? be old, diseas'd,
deform'd, be any thing, so you be rich and splendidly attended, you'll
find your self lov'd and ador'd by all-- But I'm an old fool still--
Well, _Petronella_, had'st thou been half as industrious in thy Youth as
in thy Age-- thou hadst not come to this.
    [Weeps.

_La Nu._ She's in the right.

_Pet._ What can this mad poor Captain do for you, love you whilst you
can buy him Breeches, and then leave you? A Woman has a sweet time on't
with any Soldier-Lover of 'em all, with their Iron Minds, and Buff
Hearts; feather'd Inamorato's have nothing that belongs to Love but his
Wings, the Devil clip 'em for _Petronella_.

_La Nu._ True-- he can ne'er be constant.    [Pausing.

_Pet._ Heaven forbid he should! No, if you are so unhappy as that you
must have him, give him a Night or two and pay him for't, and send him
to feed again: But for your Heart, 'Sdeath, I would as soon part with my
Beauty, or Youth, and as necessary a Tool 'tis for your Trade--
A Curtezan and love! but all my Counsel's thrown away upon ye.
    [Weeps.

_La Nu._ No more, I will be rul'd-- I will be wise, be rich; and since I
must yield somewhere, and some time,

_Beaumond_ shall be the Man, and this the Night; he's handsom, young,
and lavishly profuse: This Night he comes, and I'll submit to Interest.
Let the gilded Apartment be made ready, and strew it o'er with Flowers,
adorn my Bed of State; let all be fine; perfume my Chamber like the
Phoenix's Nest, I'll be luxurious in my Pride to Night, and make the
amorous prodigal Youth my Slave.

_Pet._ Nobly resolv'd! and for these other two who wait your coming, let
me alone to manage.
    [Goes out.

    Scene changes to a Chamber, discovers _Fetherfool_ in Bed.

_Feth._ This Gentlewoman is plaguy long in coming:-- some Nicety now,
some perfum'd Smock, or Point Night-Clothes to make her more lovely in
my Eyes: Well, these Women are right City Cooks, they stay so long to
garnish the Dish, till the Meat be cold-- but hark, the Door opens.

    Enter _Carlo_ softly, half undrest.

_Car._ This Wench stays long, and Love's impatient; this is the Chamber
of _La Nuche_, I take it: If she be awake, I'll let her know who I am;
if not, I'll steal a Joy before she thinks of it.

_Feth._ Sure 'tis she, pretty modest Rogue, she comes i'th' dark to hide
her Blushes-- hum, I'm plaguy eloquent o'th' sudden-- who's there?
    [Whispering.

_Car._ 'Tis I, my Love.

_Feth._ Hah, sweet Soul, make haste.-- There 'twas again.

_Car._ So kind, sure she takes me for some other, or has some inkling of
my Design--
    [To himself.
Where are you, Sweetest?

_Feth._ Here, my Love, give me your Hand--

_Puts out his Hand; _Carlo_ kneels and kisses it._

_Car._ Here let me worship the fair Shrine before I dare approach so
fair a Saint.
    [Kisses the Hand.

_Feth._ Hah, what a Pox have we here?-- wou'd I were well out o' t'other
side-- perhaps-- 'tis her Husband, and then I'm a dead Man, if I'm
discover'd.
    [Removes to t'other side, _Carlo_ holds his Hand.

_Car._ Nay, do not fly-- I know you took me for some happier Person.
    [_Feth._ struggles, _Car._ rises and takes him in his Arms, and
    kisses him.

_Feth._ What, will you ravish me?    [In a shrill Voice.

_Car._ Hah, that Voice is not _La Nuche's_-- Lights there, Lights.

_Feth._ Nay, I can hold a bearded _Venus_, Sir, as well as any Man.
    [Holds _Carlo_.

_Car._ What art thou, Rogue, Villain, Slave?
    [They fall to Cuffs, and fight till they are bloody, fall from the
    Bed and fight on the Floor.

    Enter _Petronella_, _Sancho_, and _Aurelia_.

_Pet._ Heaven, what noise is this?-- we are undone, part 'em, _Sancho_.
    [They part 'em.

_Feth._ Give me my Sword; nay, give me but a Knife, that I may cut yon
Fellow's Throat--

_Car._ Sirrah, I'm a Grandee, and a _Spaniard_, and will be reveng'd.

_Feth._ And I'm an _English-man_, and a Justice, and will have Law, Sir.

_Pet._ Say 'tis her Husband, or any thing to get him hence.
    [Aside to _Sancho_, who whispers him.
These _English_, Sir, are Devils, and on my Life 'tis unknown to the
Seigniora that he's i'th' House.
    [To _Carlo_ aside.

_Car._ Come, I'm abus'd, but I must put it up for fear of my Honour;
a Statesman's Reputation is a tender thing: Convey me out the back way.
I'll be reveng'd.
    [Goes out.

_Feth._ (_Aurelia_ whispers to him aside.) How, her Husband! Prithee
convey me out; my Clothes, my Clothes, quickly--

_Aur._ Out, Sir! he has lock'd the Door, and designs to have ye
murder'd.

_Feth._ Oh, gentle Soul-- take pity on me-- where, oh what shall I do?--
my Clothes, my Sword and Money.

_Aur._ Quickly, _Sancho_, tie a Sheet to the Window, and let him slide
down by that-- Be speedy, and we'll throw your Clothes out after ye.
Here, follow me to the Window.

_Feth._ Oh, any whither, any whither. That I could not be warn'd from
whoring in a strange Country, by my Friend _Ned Blunt's_ Example-- if I
can but keep it secret now, I care not.
    [Exeunt.

    Scene, the Street, a Sheet tyd to the Balcony, and _Feth._ sitting
    cross to slide down.

_Feth._ So-- now your Neck, or your Throat, chuse ye either, wise Mr.
_Nicholas Fetherfool_-- But stay, I hear Company. Now dare not I budg an
Inch.

    Enter _Beaumond_ alone.

_Beau._ Where can this Rascal, my Page, be all this while? I waited in
the Piazza so long, that I believed he had mistook my Order, and gone
directly to _La Nuche's_ House-- but here's no sign of him--

_Feth._ Hah-- I hear no noise, I'll venture down.
    [Goes halfway down and stops.

    Enter _Abevile_, _Harlequin_, Musick and _Willmore_.

_Will._ Whither will this Boy conduct me?-- but since to a Woman,
no matter whither 'tis.

_Feth._ Hah, more Company; now dare not I stir up nor down, they may be
Bravoes to cut my Throat.

_Beau._ Oh sure these are they--

_Will._ Come, my Heart, lose no time, but tune your Pipes.
    [_Harlequin_ plays on his Guittar, and sings.

_Beau._ How, sure this is some Rival.
    [Goes near and listens.

_Will._ Harkye, Child, hast thou ne'er an amorous Ditty, short and
sweet, hah--

_Abev._ Shall I not sing that you gave me, Sir?

_Will._ I shall spoil all with hard Questions-- Ay, Child-- that that.
    [_Abev._ sings, _Beau._ listens, and seems angry the while.


SONG.
  _A Pox upon this needless Scorn!
  _Silvia_, for shame the Cheat give o'er;
  The end to which the fair are born,
  Is not to keep their Charms in store,
  But lavishly dispose in haste,
  Of Joys-- which none but Youth improve;
  Joys which decay when Beauty's past:
  And who when Beauty's past will love?

  When Age those Glories shall deface,
  Revenging all your cold Disdain,
  And _Silvia_ shall neglected pass,
  By every once admiring Swain;
  And we can only Pity pay,
  When you in vain too late shall burn:
  If Love increase, and Youth delay,
  Ah, _Silvia_, who will make return?

  Then haste, my _Silvia_, to the Grove,
  Where all the Sweets of _May_ conspire,
  To teach us every Art of Love,
  And raise our Charms of Pleasure higher;
  Where, whilst imbracing we should lie
  Loosely in Shades, on Banks of Flowers:
  The duller World whilst we defy,
  Years will be Minutes, Ages Hours._

_Beau._ 'Sdeath, that's my Page's Voice: Who the Devil is't that ploughs
with my Heifer!

_Aur._ Don Henrick, Don Henrick--
    [The Door opens, _Beau._ goes up to't; _Will._ puts him by, and
    offers to go in, he pulls him back.

_Will._ How now, what intruding Slave art thou?

_Beau._ What Thief art thou that basely, and by dark, rob'st me of all
my Rights?
    [Strikes him, they fight, and Blows light on _Fetherfool_ who hangs
    down.

    [_Sancho_ throws _Fetherfool's_ Clothes out, _Harlequin_ takes 'em
    up in confusion; they fight out _Beaumond_, all go off, but _Will._
    gets into the House: _Harlequin_ and _Feth._ remain. _Feth._ gets
    down, runs against _Harlequin_ in the dark, both seem frighted.

_Harl._ _Que questo._

_Feth._ Ay, _un pouer dead Home_, murder'd, kill'd.

_Harl._ (_In Italian._) You are the first dead Man I ever saw walk.

_Feth._ Hah, Seignior _Harlequin_!

_Harl._ _Seignior Nicholas!_

_Feth._ A Pox _Nicholas_ ye, I have been mall'd and beaten within doors,
and hang'd and bastinado'd without doors, lost my Clothes, my Money, and
all my Moveables; but this is nothing to the Secret taking Air. Ah, dear
_Seignior_, convey me to the Mountebanks, there I may have Recruit and
Cure under one.




ACT V.


SCENE I. _A Chamber._

_La Nuche_ on a Couch in an Undress, _Willmore_ at her Feet, on his
Knees, all unbraced: his Hat, Sword, &c. on the Table, at which she is
dressing her Head.

  _Will._ Oh Gods! no more!
  I see a yielding in thy charming Eyes;
  The Blushes on thy Face, thy trembling Arms,
  Thy panting Breast, and short-breath'd Sighs confess,
  Thou wo't be mine, in spite of all thy Art.

  _La Nu._ What need you urge my Tongue then to repeat
  What from my Eyes you can so well interpret?
    [Bowing down her Head to him and sighing.
  --Or if it must-- dispose me as you please--

  _Will._ Heaven, I thank thee!    [Rises with Joy.
  Who wou'd not plough an Age in Winter Seas,
  Or wade full seven long Years in ruder Camps,
  To find out this Rest at last?--    [Leans on, and kisses her Bosom.
  Upon thy tender Bosom to repose;
  To gaze upon thy Eyes, and taste thy Balmy Kisses,    [Kisses her.
  --Sweeter than everlasting Groves of Spices,
  When the soft Winds display the opening Buds:
  --Come, haste, my Soul, to Bed--

  _La Nu._ You can be soft I find, when you wou'd conquer absolutely.

  _Will._ Not infant Angels, not young sighing _Cupids_
  Can be more; this ravishing Joy that thou hast promis'd me,
  Has form'd my Soul to such a Calm of Love,
  It melts e'en at my Eyes.

  _La Nu._ What have I done? that Promise will undo me.
  --This Chamber was prepar'd, and I was drest,
  To give Admittance to another Lover.

_Will._ But Love and Fortune both were on my side-- Come, come to
Bed-- consider nought but Love--
    [They going out, one knocks.

_La Nu._ Hark!

_Beau._ (_without._) By Heav'n I will have entrance.

  _La Nu._ 'Tis he whom I expect; as thou lov'st Life
  And me, retire a little into this Closet.

_Will._ Hah, retire!

  _La Nu._ He's the most fiercely jealous of his Sex,
  And Disappointment will inrage him more.

  _Will._ Death: let him rage whoe'er he be; dost think
  I'll hide me from him, and leave thee to his Love?
  Shall I, pent up, thro the thin Wainscot hear
  Your Sighs, your amorous Words, and sound of Kisses?
  No, if thou canst cozen me, do't, but discreetly,
  And I shall think thee true:
  I have thee now, and when I tamely part
  With thee, may Cowards huff and bully me.    [Knocks again.

  _La Nu._ And must I be undone because I love ye?
  This is the Mine from whence I fetcht my Gold.

  _Will._ Damn the base Trash: I'll have thee poor, and mine;
  'Tis nobler far, to starve with him thou lov'st
  Than gay without, and pining all within.
    [Knocking, breaking the Door, _Will._ snatches up his Sword.

_La Nu._ Heavens, here will be murder done-- he must not see him.
    [As _Beau._ breaks open the Door, she runs away with the Candle,
    they are by dark, _Beau._ enters with his Sword drawn.

_Will._ What art thou?

_Beau._ A Man.    [They fight.

    Enter _Petron._ with Light, _La Nuche_ following, _Beau._ runs
    to her.

  Oh thou false Woman, falser than thy Smiles,
  Which serve but to delude good-natur'd Man,
  And when thou hast him fast, betray'st his Heart!

_Will._ _Beaumond!_

_Beau._ _Willmore!_ Is it with thee I must tug for Empire? For I lay
claim to all this World of Beauty.
    [Takes _La Nuche_, looking with scorn on Willmore.

_La Nu._ Heavens, how got this Ruffian in?

_Will._ Hold, hold, dear _Harry_, lay no Hands on her till thou can'st
make thy Claim good.

_Beau._ She's mine, by Bargain mine, and that's sufficient.

_Will._ In Law perhaps, it may for ought I know, but 'tis not so in
Love: but thou'rt my Friend, and I'll therefore give thee fair Play-- if
thou canst win her take her: But a Sword and a Mistress are not to be
lost, if a Man can keep 'em.

  _Beau._ I cannot blame thee, thou but acts thy self--
  But thou fair Hypocrite, to whom I gave my Heart,
  And this exception made of all Mankind,
  Why would'st thou, as in Malice to my Love,
  Give it the only Wound that cou'd destroy it?

_Will._ Nay, if thou didst forbid her loving me, I have her sure.

  _Beau._ I yield him many Charms; he's nobly born,
  Has Wit, Youth, Courage, all that takes the Heart,
  And only wants what pleases Women's Vanity,
  Estate, the only good that I can boast:
  And that I sacrifice to buy thy Smiles.

_La Nu._ See, Sir-- here's a much fairer Chapman-- you may be gone--
    [To _Will._

_Will._ Faith, and so there is, Child, for me, I carry all about me, and
that by Heaven is thine: I'll settle all upon thee, but my Sword, and
that will buy us Bread. I've two led Horses too, one thou shalt manage,
and follow me thro Dangers.

  _La Nu._ A very hopeful comfortable Life;
  No, I was made for better Exercises.

_Will._ Why, every thing in its turn, Child, yet a Man's but a Man.

  _Beau._ No more, but if thou valuest her,
  Leave her to Ease and Plenty.

  _Will._ Leave her to Love, my Dear; one hour of right-down Love,
  Is worth an Age of living dully on:
  What is't to be adorn'd and shine with Gold,
  Drest like a God, but never know the Pleasure?
  --No, no, I have much finer things in store for thee.    [Hugs her.

  _La Nu._ What shall I do?
  Here's powerful Interest prostrate at my Feet,
    [Pointing to _Beau._
  Glory, and all than Vanity can boast;
  --But there-- Love unadorn'd, no covering but his Wings,
    [To _Will._
  No Wealth, but a full Quiver to do mischiefs,
  Laughs at those meaner Trifles--

  _Beau._ Mute as thou art, are not these Minutes mine?
  But thou-- ah false-- hast dealt 'em out already,
  With all thy Charms of Love, to this unknown--
  Silence and guilty Blushes say thou hast:
  He all disorder'd too, loose and undrest,
  With Love and Pleasure dancing in his Eyes,
  Tell me too plainly how thou hast deceiv'd me.

  _La Nu._ Or if I have not,'tis a Trick soon done,
  And this ungrateful Jealousy wou'd put it in my Head.    [Angrily.

  _Beau._ Wou'd! by Heaven, thou hast-- he is not to be fool'd,
  Or sooth'd into belief of distant Joys,
  As easy as I have been: I've lost so kind
  An Opportunity, where Night and Silence both
  Conspire with Love, had made him rage like Waves
  Blown up by Storms:-- no more-- I know he has
  --Oh what, _La Nuche_! robb'd me of all that I
  Have languish'd for--

  _La Nu._ If it were so, you should not dare believe it--
    [Angrily turns away, he kneels and holds her.

  _Beau._ Forgive me; oh so very well I love,
  Did I not know that thou hadst been a Whore,
  I'd give thee the last proof of Love-- and marry thee.

  _Will._ The last indeed-- for there's an end of Loving;
  Do, marry him, and be curst by all his Family:
  Marry him, and ruin him, that he may curse thee too.
  --But hark ye, Friend, this is not fair; 'tis drawing Sharps on a Man
that's only arm'd with the defensive Cudgel, I'm for no such dead doing
Arguments; if thou art for me, Child, it must be without the folly, for
better for worse; there's a kind of Nonsense in that Vow Fools only
swallow.

_La Nu._ But when I've worn out all my Youth and Beauty, and suffer'd
every ill of Poverty, I shall be compell'd to begin the World again
without a Stock to set up with. No faith, I'm for a substantial Merchant
in Love, who can repay the loss of Time and Beauty; with whom to make
one thriving Voyage sets me up for ever, and I need never put to Sea
again.
    [Comes to _Beau._

_Beau._ Nor be expos'd to Storms of Poverty, the _Indies_ shall come to
thee-- See here-- this is the Merchandize my Love affords.
    [Gives her a Pearl, and Pendants of Diamond.

_La Nu._ Look ye, Sir, will not these Pearls do better round my Neck,
than those kind Arms of yours? these Pendants in my Ears, than all the
Tales of Love you can whisper there?

_Will._ So-- I am deceiv'd-- deal on for Trash-- and barter all thy Joys
of Life for Baubles-- this Night presents me one Adventure more-- I'll
try thee once again, inconstant Fortune; and if thou fail'st me then-- I
will forswear thee  [Aside.] Death, hadst thou lov'd my Friend for his
own Value, I had esteem'd thee; but when his Youth and Beauty cou'd not
plead, to be the mercenary Conquest of his Presents, was poor, below thy
Wit: I cou'd have conquer'd so, but I scorn thee at that rate-- my Purse
shall never be my Pimp-- Farewel, _Harry_.

_Beau._ Thou'st sham'd me out of Folly-- stay--

_Will._ Faith-- I have an Assignation with a Woman-- a Woman Friend!
young as the infant-day, and sweet as Roses e'er the Morning Sun have
kiss'd their Dew away. She will not ask me Money neither.

_La Nu._ Hah! stay--    [Holds him, and looks on him.

_Beau._ She loves him, and her Eyes betray her Heart.

_Will._ I am not for your turn, Child-- Death, I shall lose my Mistress
fooling here-- I must be gone.
    [She holds him, he shakes his Head and sings.
  _No, no, I will not hire your Bed,
  Nor Tenant to your Favours be;
  I will not farm your White and Red,
  You shall not let your Love to me:
  I court a Mistress-- not a Landlady._     [bis.

_Beau._ He's in the right; and shall I waste my Youth and powerful
Fortune on one who all this while has jilted me, seeing I was a lavish
loving Fool?-- No-- this Soul and Body shall not be divided--
    [Gives her to _Will._

_Will._ I am so much thy Friend, another time I might be drawn to take a
bad Bargain off thy Hands-- but I have other Business at present: wo't
do a kind thing, _Harry_,-- lend me thy Aid to carry off my Woman to
night? 'tis hard by in the Piazza, perhaps we may find Resistance.

_Beau._ My self and Sword are yours. I have a Chair waits below too, may
do you Service.

_Will._ I thank ye-- Madam-- your Servant.

_La Nu._ Left by both!

_Beau._ You see our Affairs are pressing.
    [Bows, and smiles carelesly. Ex. _Will._ singing, and _Beau._

_La Nu._ Gone! where's all your Power, ye poor deluded Eyes? Curse on
your feeble Fires, that cannot warm a Heart which every common Beauty
kindles. Oh-- he is gone for ever.

    Enter _Petronella_.

_Pet._ Yes, he is gone, to your eternal Ruin: not all the Race of Men
cou'd have produc'd so bountiful and credulous a Fool.

_La Nu._ No, never; fetch him back, my _Petronella_: Bring me my wild
Inconstant, or I die--
    [Puts her out.

_Pet._ The Devil fetch him back for _Petronella_, is't he you mean?
you've had too much of him; a Curse upon him, he'as ruin'd you.

_La Nu._ He has, he shall, he must compleat my ruin.

_Pet._ She raves, the Rogue has given her a _Spanish_ Philtre.

_La Nu._ My Coach, my Veil-- or let 'em all alone; undrest thus loosely
to the Winds commit me to darkness, and no Guide but pitying _Cupid_.
    [Going out, _Pet._ holds her.

_Pet._ What, are you mad?

_La Nu._ As Winds let loose, or Storms when they rage high.
    [Goes out.

_Pet._ She's lost, and I'll shift for my self, seize all her Money and
Jewels, of which I have the Keys; and if Seignior Mountebank keeps his
Word, be transform'd to Youth and Beauty again, and undo this _La Nuche_
at her own Trade--
    [Goes in.


SCENE II. _The Street._

    Enter _Willmore_, _Beaumond_, Chair following.

_Will._ Set down the Chair; you're now within call, I'll to the
Garden-Door, and see if any Lady Bright appear-- Dear _Beaumond_, stay
here a minute, and if I find occasion, I'll give you the Word.

_Beau._ 'Tis hard by my Lodgings; if you want Conveniences, I have the
Key of the Back-way through the Garden, whither you may carry your
Mistress. _Will._ I thank thee-- let me first secure my Woman.
    [Goes out.

_Beau._ I thought I'd lov'd this false, this jilting Fair, even above my
Friendship; but I find I can forgive this Rogue, tho I am sure he has
rob'd me of my Joys.

    Enter _Ariadne_ with a Casket of Jewels.

_Aria._ Not yet! a Devil on him, he's Dear-hearting it with some other
kind Damsel-- Faith,'tis most wickedly done of me to venture my Body
with a mad unknown Fellow. Thus a little more Delay will put me into a
serious Consideration, and I shall e'en go home again, sleep and be
sober.
    [She walks about.

_Beau._ Hah, a Woman! Perhaps the same he looks for-- I'll counterfeit
his Voice and try my Chance-- Fortune may set us even.

_Aria._ Hah, is not that a Man? Yes-- and a Chair waiting.
    [She peeps.

_Beau._ Who's there?

_Aria._ A Maid.

_Beau._ A Miracle-- Oh art thou come, Child?

_Aria._ 'Tis he, you are a civil Captain, are you not, to make a longing
Maid expect thus? What Woman has detain'd you?

_Beau._ Faith, my Dear, tho Flesh and Blood be frail, yet the dear Hopes
of thee has made me hold out with a Herculean Courage-- Stay, where
shall I carry her? not to my own Apartment; _Ariadne_ may surprize me:
I'll to the Mountebank here i'th' Piazza, he has a Cure for all things,
even for longing Love, and for a Pistole or two will do Reason.-- Hah,
Company: Here, step into this Chair.
    [She goes in, they go off just as _Will._ enters.

_Will._ Hum, a Woman of Quality and jilt me-- Egad, that's strange
now-- Well, who shall a Man trust in this wicked World?

    Enter _La Nuche_ as before.

_La Nu._ This should be he, he saunters about like an expecting Lover.
    [_Will._ peeping and approaching.

_Will._ By this Light a Woman, if she be the right-- but right or wrong
so she be Feminine: harkye, Child, I fancy thee some kind thing that
belongs to me.

_La Nu._ Who are you?    [In a low tone.

_Will._ A wandering Lover that has lost his Heart, and I have shreud
Guess 'tis in thy dear Bosom, Child.

_La Nu._ Oh you're a pretty Lover, a Woman's like to have a sweet time
on't, if you're always so tedious.

_Will._ By yon bright Star-light, Child, I walk'd here in short turns
like a Centinel, all this live-long Evening, and was just going (Gad
forgive me) to kill my self.

_La Nu._ I rather think some Beauty has detain'd you: Have you not seen
_La Nuche_?

_Will._ _La Nuche!_-- Why, she's a Whore-- I hope you take me for a
civiller Person, than to throw my self away on Whores-- No, Child, I lie
with none but honest Women I: but no disputing now, come-- to my
Lodging, my dear-- here's a Chair waits hard by.
    [Exeunt.


SCENE III. _Willmore's Lodging._

    Enter _Harlequin_ with _Fetherfool's_ Clothes on his Shoulder,
    leading him halting by one Hand, _Blunt_ (drunk) by the other in
    the dark; _Fetherfool_ bloody, his Coat put over his Shoulders.

_Feth._ _Peano, Peano_, Seignior, gently, good _Edward_-- for I'll not
halt before a <DW36>; I have lost a great part of my agil Faculties.

_Blunt._ Ah, see the Inconstancy of fickle Fortune, _Nicholas_-- A Man
to day, and beaten to morrow: but take comfort, there's many a proper
fellow has been robb'd and beaten on this Highway of whoring.

_Feth._ Ay, _Ned_, thou speak'st by woful Experience-- but that I should
miscarry after thy wholesom Documents-- but we are all mortal, as thou
say'st, _Ned_-- Would I had never crost the Ferry from _Croydon_; a few
such Nights as these wou'd learn a Man Experience enough to be a Wizard,
if he have but the ill luck to escape hanging.

_Blunt._ 'Dsheartlikins, I wonder in what Country our kinder Stars rule:
In _England_ plunder'd, sequester'd, imprison'd and banish'd; in
_France_, starv'd, walking like the Sign of the naked Boy, with
_Plymouth_ Cloaks in our Hands; in _Italy_ and _Spain_ robb'd, beaten,
and thrown out at Windows.

_Feth._ Well, how happy am I, in having so true a Friend to condole me
in Affliction-- [Weeps.] I am oblig'd to Seignior _Harlequin_ too, for
bringing me hither to the Mountebank's, where I shall not only conceal
this Catastrophe from those fortunate Rogues our Comrades, but procure a
little Album Graecum for my Backside. Come, Seignior, my Clothes-- but,
Seignior-- _un Portavera Poco palanca_.
    [Dresses himself.

_Harl._ Seignior.

_Feth._ _Entende vos Signoria Englesa?_

_Harl._ _Em Poco, em Poco_, Seignior.

_Feth._ _Per quelq arts_, did your Seigniorship escape Cudgeling?

_Harl._ _La art de transformatio._

_Feth._ _Transformatio_-- Why, wert thou not born a Man?

_Harl._ No, Seignior, _un vieule Femme_.

_Feth._ How, born an old Woman?

_Blunt._ Good Lord! born an old Woman! And so by transformation became
invulnerable.

_Feth._ Ay-- in-- invulnerable-- what would I give to be invulnerable?
and egad, I am almost weary of being a Man, and subject to beating:
wou'd I were a Woman, a Man has but an ill time on't: if he has a mind
to a Wench, the making Love is so plaguy tedious-- then paying is to my
Soul insupportable. But to be a Woman, to be courted with Presents, and
have both the Pleasure and the Profit-- to be without a Beard, and sing
a fine Treble-- and squeak if the Men but kiss me-- 'twere fine-- and
what's better, I am sure never to be beaten again.

_Blunt._ Pox on't, do not use an old Friend so scurvily; consider the
Misery thou'lt indure to have the Heart and Mind of a jilting Whore
possess thee: What a Fit of the Devil must he suffer who acts her Part
from fourteen to fourscore! No,'tis resolv'd thou remain _Nicholas
Fetherfool_ still, shalt marry the Monster, and laugh at Fortune.

_Feth._ 'Tis true, should I turn Whore to the Disgrace of my Family--
what would the World say? who wou'd have thought it, cries one? I cou'd
never have believ'd it, cries another. No, as thou say'st, I'll remain
as I am-- marry and live honestly.

_Blunt._ Well resolv'd, I'll leave you, for I was just going to serenade
my Fairy Queen, when I met thee at the Door-- some Deeds of Gallantry
must be perform'd, Seignior, _Bonus Nochus_.
    [Ex. _Blunt_.

    Enter _Shift_ with Light.

_Feth._ Hah, a Light, undone!

_Harl._ _Patientia, Patientia_, Seignior.

_Shift._ Where the Devil can this Rogue _Hunt_ be? Just now all things
are ready for marrying these two Monsters; they wait, the House is
husht, and in the lucky Minute to have him out of the way: sure the
Devil owes me a spite.
    [Runs against _Harlequin_, puts out his Candle.

_Harl._ _Qui est la?_

_Shift._ 'Tis _Harlequin_: Pox on't, is't you?

_Harl._ Peace, here's _Fetherfool_, I'll secure him, whilst you go about
your Affair.
    [Ex. _Shift_.

_Feth._ Oh, I hear a Noise, dear _Harlequin_ secure me; if I am
discover'd I am undone-- hold, hold-- here's a Door--
    [They both go in.

    Scene changes to a Chamber, discovers the _She-Giant_ asleep in a
    great Chair.

    Enter _Fetherfool_ and _Harlequin_.

_Feth._ Hah-- my Lady Monster! have I to avoid _Scylla_ run upon
_Carybdis_?-- hah, she sleeps; now wou'd some magnanimous Lover make
good Use of this Opportunity, take Fortune by the Fore-lock, put her
to't, and make sure Work-- but Egad, he must have a better Heart, or a
better Mistress than I.

_Harl._ Try your Strength, I'll be civil and leave you.
    [In _Italian_ he still speaks.

_Feth._ Excuse me, Seignior, I should crackle like a wicker Bottle in
her Arms-- no, Seignior, there's no venturing without a Grate between
us: the Devil wou'd not give her due Benevolence-- No, when I'm marry'd,
I'll e'en show her a fair pair of Heels, her Portion will pay Postage
--But what if the Giant should carry her? that's to be fear'd, then I
have cock'd and drest, and fed, and ventur'd all this while for nothing.

_Harl._ Faith, Seignior, if I were you, I wou'd make sure of something,
see how rich she is in Gems.

_Feth._ Right, as thou say'st, I ought to make sure of something, and
she is rich in Gems: How amiable looks that Neck with that delicious row
of Pearls about it.

_Harl._ She sleeps.

_Feth._ Ay, she sleeps as 'twere her last. What if I made bold to unrig
her? So if I miss the Lady, I have at least my Charges paid: what
vigorous Lover can resist her Charms?--
    [Looks on her.
But shou'd she wake and miss it, and find it about me, I shou'd be
hang'd--
    [Turns away.
--So then, I lose my Lady too-- but Flesh and Blood cannot resist--
What if I left the Town? then I lose my Lady still; and who wou'd lose
a Hog for the rest of the Proverb?-- And yet a Bird in Hand, Friend
_Nicholas_-- Yet sweet Meat may have sour Sauce-- And yet refuse when
Fortune offers-- Yet Honesty's a Jewel-- But a Pox upon Pride, when
Folks go naked--

_Harl._ Well said.    [Incouraging him by Signs.

_Feth._ Ay-- I'll do't-- but what Remedy now against Discovery and
Restitution?

_Harl._ Oh, Sir, take no care, you shall-- swallow 'em.

_Feth._ How, swallow 'em! I shall ne'er be able to do't.

_Harl._ I'll shew you, Seignior,'tis easy.

_Feth._ 'Gad that may be, 'twere excellent if I cou'd do't; but
first-- by your leave.
    [Unties the Necklace, breaks the String, and _Harl._ swallows one
    to shew him.

_Harl._ Look ye, that's all--

_Feth._ Hold, hold, Seignior, an you be so nimble, I shall pay dear for
my Learning-- let me see-- Friend _Nicholas_, thou hast swallow'd many a
Pill for the Disease of the Body, let's see what thou canst perform for
that of the Purse.
    [Swallows 'em.
--so-- a comfortable business this-- three or four thousand pound in
Cordial-Pearl: 'Sbud, _Mark Anthony_ was never so treated by his
_Egyptian_ Crocodile-- hah, what noise is that?

_Harl._ Operator, Operator, Seignior.

_Feth._ How, an Operator! why, what the Devil makes he here? some Plot
upon my Lady's Chastity; were I given to be jealous now, Danger wou'd
ensue-- Oh, he's entring, I would not be seen for all the World. Oh,
some place of Refuge--
    [Looking about.

_Harl._ I know of none.

_Feth._ Hah, what's this-- a Clock Case?

_Harl._ Good, good-- look you, Sir, do you do thus, and 'tis impossible
to discover ye.
    [Goes into the Case, and shews him how to stand; then _Fetherfool_
    goes in, pulls off his Periwig, his Head out, turning for the
    Minutes o'th' top: his Hand out, and his Fingers pointing to a
    Figure.

    Enter _Shift_ and _Hunt_.

_Feth._ Oh Heaven, he's here.

_Shift._ See where she sleeps; get you about your business, see your own
little Marmoset and the Priest be ready, that we may marry and
consummate before Day; and in the Morning our Friends shall see us abed
together, give us the good morrow, and the Work's done.
    [Ex. _Hunt_.

_Feth._ Oh Traytor to my Bed, what a Hellish Plot's here discover'd!
    [_Shift_ wakes the _Giant_.

_Giant._ Oh, are you come, my Sweetest?

_Feth._ Hah, the Mistress of my Bosom false too! ah, who wou'd trust
faithless Beauty-- oh that I durst speak.

_Shift._ Come let's away, your Uncle and the rest of the House are fast
asleep, let's away e'er the two Fools, Blunt and Fetherfool, arrive.

_Giant._ Hang 'em, Pigeon-hearted Slaves--

_Shift._ A Clock-- let's see what hour 'tis--
    [Lifts up the Light to see, _Feth._ blows it out.
--How! betray'd-- I'll kill the Villain.    [Draws.

_Feth._ Say you so, then 'tis time for me to uncase.

_Shift._ Have you your Lovers hid?
    [Gets out, all groping in the dark, _Feth._ gets the _Giant_ by
    the Hand.

_Giant._ Softly, or we're undone; give me your Hand, and be undeceiv'd.

_Feth._ 'Tis she, now shall I be reveng'd.    [Leads her out.

_Shift._ What, gone! Death, has this Monster got the Arts of Woman?
    [_Harl._ meets him in the dark, and plays tricks with him.
    [Ex. all.

    Enter _Willmore_ and _La Nuche_ by dark.

_Will._ Now we are safe and free, let's in, my Soul, and gratefully
first sacrifice to Love, then to the Gods of Mirth and Wine, my Dear.
    [Ex. passing over the Stage.

    Enter _Blunt_ with _Petronella_, imbracing her, his Sword in his
    Hand, and a Box of Jewels.

_Pet._ I was damnably afraid I was pursu'd.    [Aside.

_Blunt._ Something in the Fray I've got, pray Heaven it prove a Prize,
after my cursed ill luck of losing my Lady Dwarf: Why do you tremble,
fair one?-- you're in the Hands of an honest Gentleman, Adshartlikins.

_Pet._ Alas, Sir, just as I approach! Seignior Doctor's Door, to have my
self surrounded with naked Weapons, then to drop with the fear my Casket
of Jewels, which had not you by chance stumbled on and taken up, I had
lost a hundred thousand Crowns with it.

_Blunt._ Ha um-- a hundred thousand Crowns-- a pretty trifling Sum--
I'll many her out of hand.
    [Aside.

_Pet._ This is an _Englishman_, of a dull honest Nation, and might be
manag'd to advantage, were but I transform'd now.  [Aside.] I hope you
are a Man of Honour; Sir, I am a Virgin, fled from the rage of an
incens'd Brother; cou'd you but secure me with my Treasure, I wou'd be
devoted yours.

_Blunt._ Secure thee! by this Light, sweet Soul, I'll marry thee;--
_Belvile's_ Lady ran just so away with him-- this must be a Prize--
[Aside.] But hark-- prithee, my Dear, step in a little, I'll keep my
good Fortune to my self.

_Pet._ See what trust I repose in your Hands, those Jewels, Sir.

_Blunt._ So-- there can be no jilting here, I am secur'd from being
cozen'd however.
    [Ex. _Pet._

    Enter _Fetherfool_.

_Feth._ A Pox on all Fools, I say, and a double Pox on all fighting
Fools; just when I had miraculously got my Monster by a mistake in the
dark, convey'd her out, and within a moment of marrying her, to have my
Friend set upon me, and occasion my losing her, was a Catastrophe which
none but thy termagant Courage (which never did any Man good) cou'd have
procur'd.

_Blunt._ 'Dshartlikins, I cou'd kill my self.

_Feth._ To fight away a couple of such hopeful Monsters, and two
Millions-- 'owns, was ever Valour so improvident?

_Blunt._ Your fighting made me mistake: for who the Pox wou'd have
look'd for _Nicholas Fetherfool_ in the person of a Hero?

_Feth._ Fight, 'Sbud, a Million of Money wou'd have provok'd a Bully;
besides, I took you for the damn'd Rogue my Rival.

_Blunt._ Just as I had finish'd my Serenade, and had put up my Pipes to
be gone, out stalk'd me your two-handed Lady, with a Man at her Girdle
like a bunch of Keys, whom I taking for nothing less than some one who
had some foul design upon the Gentlewoman, like a true Knight-Errant,
did my best to rescue her.

_Feth._ Yes, yes, I feel you did, a Pox of your heavy hand.

_Blunt._ So whilst we two were lovingly cuffing each other, comes the
Rival, I suppose, and carries off the Prize.

_Feth._ Who must be Seignior _Lucifer_ himself, he cou'd never have
vanisht with that Celerity else with such a Carriage-- But come, all we
have to do is to raise the Mountebank and the Guardian, pursue the
Rogues, have 'em hang'd by Law, for a Rape, and Theft, and then we stand
fair again.

_Blunt._ Faith, you may, if you please, but Fortune has provided
otherwise for me.
    [Aside.
    [Ex. _Blu._ and _Feth._

    Enter _Beaumond_ and _Ariadne_.

_Beau._ Sure none lives here, or Thieves are broken in, the Doors are
all left open.

_Aria._ Pray Heaven this Stranger prove but honest now.    [Aside.

_Beau._ Now, my dear Creature, every thing conspires to make us happy,
let us not defer it.

_Aria._ Hold, dear Captain, I yield but on Conditions, which are
these-- I give you up a Maid of Youth and Beauty, ten thousand Pound in
ready Jewels here-- three times the value in Estate to come, of which
here be the Writings, you delivering me a handsom proper fellow,
Heart-whole and sound, that's all-- your Name I ask not till the Priest
declare it, who is to seal the Bargain. I cannot deceive, for I let you
know I am Daughter-in-law to the _English_ Ambassador.

_Beau._ _Ariadne!_-- How vain is all Man's Industry and Care
  To make himself accomplish'd;
  When the gay fluttering Fool, or the half-witted rough unmanner'd
      Brute,
  Who in plain terms comes right down to the business,
  Out-rivals him in all his Love and Fortunes.    [Aside.

_Aria._ Methinks you cool upon't, Captain.

_Beau._ Yes, _Ariadne_.

_Aria._ _Beaumond!_

_Beau._ Oh what a World of Time have I mispent for want of being a
Blockhead-- 'Sdeath and Hell,
  Wou'd I had been some brawny ruffling Fool,
  Some forward impudent unthinking Sloven,
  A Woman's Tool; for all besides unmanageable.
  Come, swear that all this while you thought 'twas I.
  The Devil has taught ye Tricks to bring your Falshood off.

_Aria._ Know 'twas you! no, Faith, I took you for as errant a right-down
Captain as ever Woman wisht for; and 'twas uncivil egad, to undeceive
me, I tell you that now.

    Enter _Willmore_ and _La Nuche_ by dark.

_Will._ Thou art all Charms, a Heaven of Sweets all over, plump smooth
round Limbs, small rising Breasts, a Bosom soft and panting-- I long to
wound each Sense. Lights there-- who waits?-- there yet remains a
Pleasure unpossest, the sight of that dear Face-- Lights there-- where
are my Vermin?
    [Ex. _Will._

_Aria._ My Captain with a Woman-- and is it so--

    Enter _Will._ with Lights, sees _Aria_, and goes to her.

_Will._ By Heaven, a glorious Beauty! now a Blessing on thee for shewing
me so dear a Face-- Come, Child, let's retire and begin where we left
off.

_La Nu._ A Woman!

_Aria._ Where we left off! pray, where was that, good Captain?

_Will._ Within upon the Bed, Child-- come-- I'll show thee.

_Beau._ Hold, Sir.

_Will._ _Beaumond_! come fit to celebrate my Happiness; ah such a
Woman-friend!

_Beau._ Do ye know her?

_Will._ All o'er, to be the softest sweetest Creature--

_Beau._ I mean, do ye know who she is?

_Will._ Nor care; 'tis the last Question I ever ask a fine Woman.

_Beau._ And you are sure you are thus well acquainted.

_Will._ I cannot boast of much acquaintance-- but I have pluckt a Rose
from her Bosom-- or so-- and given it her again-- we've past the hour of
the Berjere together, that's all--

_Beau._ And do you know-- this Lady is my-- Wife?
    [Draw.

_Will._ Hah! hum, hum, hum, hum--
    [Turns and sings, sees _La Nuche_, and returns quick with an uneasy
    Grimace.

_Beau._ Did you not hear me? Draw.

_Will._ Draw, Sir-- what on my Friend?

_Beau._ On your Cuckold, Sir, for so you've doubly made me: Draw,
or I'll kill thee--
    [Passes at him, he fences with his Hat, _La Nu._ holds Beau.

_Will._ Hold, prithee hold.

_La Nu._ Put up your Sword, this Lady's innocent, at least in what
concerns this Evening's business; I own-- with Pride I own I am the
Woman that pleas'd so well to Night.

_Will._ _La Nuche_! kind Soul to bring me off with so handsom a lye: How
lucky 'twas she happen'd to be here!

_Beau._ False as thou art, why shou'd I credit thee?

_La Nu._ By Heaven, 'tis true, I will not lose the glory on't.

_Will._ Oh the dear perjur'd Creature, how I love thee for this dear
lying Virtue-- Harkye, Child, hast thou nothing to say for thy self,
to help us out withal?--
    [To _Aria._ aside.

_Aria._ I! I renounce ye-- false Man.

_Beau._ Yes, yes, I know she's innocent of this, for which I owe no
thanks to either of you, but to my self who mistook her in the dark.

_La Nu._ And you it seems mistook me for this Lady; I favour'd your
Design to gain your Heart, for I was told, that if this Night I lost
you, I shou'd never regain you: now I am yours, and o'er the habitable
World will follow you, and live and starve by turns, as Fortune pleases.

_Will._ Nay, by this Light, Child, I knew when once thou'dst try'd me,
thou'dst ne'er part with me-- give me thy Hand, no Poverty shall part
us.

    [Kisses her.
--so-- now here's a Bargain made without the formal Foppery of Marriage.

_La Nu._ Nay, faith Captain, she that will not take thy word as soon as
the Parson's of the Parish, deserves not the Blessing.

_Will._ Thou art reform'd, and I adore the Change.

    Enter the _Guardian_, _Blunt_, and _Fetherfool_.

_Guar._ My Nieces stol'n, and by a couple of the Seignior's Men! the
Seignior fled too! undone, undone!

_Will._ Hah, now's my Cue, I must finish this Jest.    [Goes out.

    Enter _Shift_ and _Giant_, _Hunt_ and _Dwarf_.

_Guar._ Oh impudence, my Nieces, and the Villains with 'em! I charge ye,
Gentlemen, to lay hold on 'em.

_Dwarf._ For what, good Uncle, for being so courageous to marry us?

_Guar._ How, married to Rogues, Rascals, _John Potages_!

_Blunt._ Who the Devil wou'd have look'd for jilting in such Hobgoblins?

_Feth._ And hast thou deceiv'd me, thou foul filthy Synagogue?

    Enter _Willmore_ like a Mountebank as before.

_Blunt._ The Mountebank! oh thou cheating Quack, thou sophisticated
adulterated Villain.

_Feth._ Thou cozening, lying, Fortune-telling, Feetaking Rascal.

_Blunt._ Thou jugling, conjuring, canting Rogue!

_Will._ What's the matter, Gentlemen?

_Blunt._ Hast thou the Impudence to ask, who took my Money to marry me
to this ill-favour'd Baboon?

_Feth._ And me to this foul filthy o'ergrown Chronicle?

_Blunt._ And hast suffered Rogues, thy Servants, to marry 'em: Sirrah,
I will beat thee past Cure of all thy hard-nam'd Drugs, thy _Guzman
Medicines_.

_Feth._ Nay, I'll peach him in the Inquisition for a Wizard, and have
him hang'd for a Witch.

_Shift._ Sir, we are Gentlemen, and you shall have the thirds of their
Portion, what wou'd you more?
    [Aside to the _Guar._
Look ye, Sir.    [Pulls off their Disguise.

_Blunt._ _Hunt!_

_Feth._ _Shift!_ We are betray'd: all will out to the Captain.

_Will._ He shall know no more of it than he does already for me,
Gentlemen.
    [Pulls off his Disguise.

_Blunt._ _Willmore!_

_Feth._ Ay, ay,'tis he.

_Blunt._ Draw, Sir-- you know me--

_Will._ --For one that 'tis impossible to cozen.
    [All laugh.

_Beau._ Have a care, Sir, we are all for the Captain.

_Feth._ As for that, Sir, we fear ye not, d'ye see, were you _Hercules_
and all his Myrmidons.
    [Draws, but gets behind.

_Will._ Fools, put up your Swords, Fools, and do not publish the Jest;
your Money you shall have again, on condition you never pretend to be
wiser than your other Men, but modestly believe you may be cozen'd as
well as your Neighbours.
    [The _Guardian_ talking with _Hunt_ and _Shift_ and _Giant_ this
    while.

_Feth._ La you, _Ned_, why shou'd Friends fall out?

_Blunt._ Cozen'd! it may be not, Sir; for look ye, Sir, the _Essex_
Fool, the cozen'd dull Rogue can shew Moveables or so-- nay, they are
right too--
    [Shews his Jewels.
This is no _Naples_ Adventure, Gentlemen, no Copper Chains; all
substantial Diamonds, Pearls and Rubies--
    [_Will._ takes the Casket, and looks in it.

_La Nu._ Hah, do not I know that Casket, and those Jewels!

_Feth._ How the Pox came this Rogue by these?

_Will._ Hum, _Edward_, I confess you have redeem'd your Reputation, and
shall hereafter pass for a Wit-- by what good fortune came you by this
Treasure?-- what Lady--

_Blunt._ Lady, Sir! alas no, I'm a Fool, a Country <DW2>, an Ass, I; but
that you may perceive your selves mistaken, Gentlemen, this is but an
earnest of what's to come, a small token of remembrance, or so-- and yet
I have no Charms, I; the fine Captain has all the Wit and Beauty-- but
thou'rt my Friend, and I'll impart.
    [Brings out _Petronella_ veil'd.

    Enter _Aurelia_ and _Sancho_.

_Aur._ Hither we trac'd her, and see she's yonder.

_San._ Sir, in the King's Name lay hold of this old Cheat, she has this
Night robb'd our _Patrona_ of a hundred thousand Crowns in Money and
Jewels.

_Blunt._ Hah!    [Gets from her.

_La Nu._ You are mistaken, Friend _Sancho_, she only seiz'd 'em for my
use, and has deliver'd 'em in trust to my Friend the Captain.

_Pet._ Hah, _La Nuche_!

_Blunt._ How! cozen'd again!

_Will._ Look ye, Sir, she's so beautiful, you need no Portion, that
alone's sufficient for Wit.

_Feth._ Much good may do you with your rich Lady, _Edward._

_Blunt._ Death, this Fool laugh at me too-- well, I am an errant
right-down Loggerhead, a dull conceited cozen'd silly Fool; and he that
ever takes me for any other, 'Dshartlikins, I'll beat him. I forgive you
all, and will henceforth be good-natur'd; wo't borrow any Money? Pox
on't, I'll lend as far as e'er 'twill go, for I am now reclaim'd.

_Guar._ Here is a Necklace of Pearl lost, which, Sir, I lay to your
Charge.
    [To _Fetherfool_.

_Feth._ Hum, I was bewitcht I did not rub off with it when it was
mine-- who, I? if e'er I saw a Necklace of Pearl, I wish 'twere in my
Belly.

_Blunt._ How a Necklace! unconscionable Rogue, not to let me share:
well, there is no Friendship in the World; I hope they'l hang him.

_Shift._ He'll ne'er confess without the Rack-- come, we'll toss him in
a Blanket.

_Feth._ Hah, toss me in a Blanket, that will turn my Stomach most
villainously, and I shall disimbogue and discover all.

_Shift._ Come, come, the Blanket.    [They lay hold on him.

_Feth._ Hold, hold, I do confess, I do confess--

_Shift._ Restore, and have your Pardon.

_Feth._ That is not in Nature at present, for Gentlemen, I have eat 'em.

_Shift._ 'Sdeath, I'll dissect ye.    [Goes to draw.

_Will._ Let me redeem him; here Boy, take him to my Chamber, and let the
Doctor glyster him soundly, and I'll warrant you your Pearl again.

_Feth._ If this be the end of travelling, I'll e'en to old _England_
again, take the Covenant, get a Sequestrator's Place, grow rich, and
defy all Cavaliering.

_Beau._ 'Tis Morning, let's home, _Ariadne_, and try, if possible, to
love so well to be content to marry; if we find that amendment in our
Hearts, to say we dare believe and trust each other, then let it be a
Match.

_Aria._ With all my Heart.

_Will._ You have a hankering after Marriage still, but I am for Love and
Gallantry.
  So tho by several ways we gain our End,
  Love still, like Death, does to one Center tend.




EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Mrs. _BARRY_.


  _Poets are Kings of Wit, and you appear
  A Parliament, by Play-Bill, summon'd here;
  When e'er in want, to you for aid they fly,
  And a new Play's the Speech that begs supply:
  But now--
  The scanted Tribute is so slowly paid,
  Our Poets must find out another Trade;
  They've tried all ways th' insatiate Clan to please,
  Have parted with their old Prerogatives,
  Their Birth-right Satiring, and their just pretence
  Of judging even their own Wit and Sense;
  And write against their Consciences, to show
  How dull they can be to comply with you.
  They've flatter'd all the Mutineers i'th' Nation,
  Grosser than e'er was done in Dedication;
  Pleas'd your sick Palates with Fantastick Wit,
  Such as was ne'er a treat before to th' Pit;
  Giants, fat Cardinals, Pope Joans and Fryers,
  To entertain Right Worshipfuls and Squires:
  Who laugh and cry Ads Nigs, 'tis woundy good,
  When the fuger's all the Jest that's understood.
  And yet you'll come but once, unless by stealth,
  Except the Author be for Commonwealth;
  Then half Crown more you nobly throw away,
  And tho my Lady seldom see a Play,
  She, with her eldest Daughter, shall be boxt that day.
  Then Prologue comes, Ads-lightikins, crys Sir _John_,
  You shall hear notable Conceits anon:
  How neatly, Sir, he'll bob the Court and French King,
  And tickle away-- you know who-- for Wenching.
  All this won't do, they e'en may spare their Speeches,
  For all their greasing will not buy 'em Britches;
  To get a penny new found ways must take,
  As forming Popes, and Squibs and Crackers make.
  In Coffee-Houses some their talent vent,
  Rail for the Cause against the Government,
  And make a pretty thriving living on't,
  For who would let a useful Member want.
  Things being brought to this distressed Estate,
  'Twere fit you took the matter in Debate.
  There was a time, when Loyally by you,
  True Wit and Sense received Allegiance due,
  Our King of Poets had his Tribute pay'd,
  His Peers secured beneath his Laurel's shade.
  What Crimes have they committed, they must be
  Driven to the last and worst Extremity?
  Oh, let it not be said of English Men,
  Who have to Wit so just and noble been,
  They should their Loyal Principles recant,
  And let the glorious Monarch of it want._

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

NOTES: The Rover, Part II

  [Transcriber's Note:

  The Notes in the printed text give only page and line numbers.
  Act-and-scene designations shown between +marks+ have been added by
  the transcriber. Labels such as "Scene IIa" refer to points where the
  scene description changes without a new scene number.]


NOTES ON THE TEXT.

+Dramatis Personae+

  p. 117 I have added to the Dramatis Personae 'Rag, boy to Willmore',
  and 'Porter at the English Ambassador's'.

+Act I: Scene i+

  p. 118, l. 2 _Scene I._ I have added the locale 'A Street'.

  p. 118, l. 4 _Campain._ 4to 1681 'campania'.

  p. 120, l. 17 _but cold._ 1724 'and cold'.

  p. 120, l. 28 _embracing._ 1724 omits.

  p. 120, l. 32 _Philies._ 4to 1681 'Philoes'.

  p. 122, l. 30 _Brussels._ 4to 1681 'Bruxels'.

  p. 123, l. 21 _But that._ 1724 prints these two lines as prose.

  p. 124, l. 3 _Marcy._ 1724 'Mercy'.

  p. 126, l. 16 _get 'em ready._ 1724 'get it ready'.

  p. 128, l. 33 _pickl'd Pilchard._ 1724. 'pickle Pilchard'.

  p. 128, l. 34 _like a Christmas Sweet-heart._ 4to 1681 'boto
  Christmas Sweet-heart'.

  p. 129, l. 26 _have I._ 1724 'I have'.

+Act I: Scene ia+

  p. 131, l. 36 _hot Shot_, 1724 omits 'hot'.

  p. 134, l. 9 _to receive._ 1724, wrongly, 'to deceive'.

+Act II: Scene i+

  p. 135, l. 9 _Scene I._ I have added the locale 'The Street'.

  p. 142, l. 5 _Harlequin, Scaramouche._ I have added these two names
  to the stage direction. Harlequin is obviously present from the
  business. Scaramouche is given in Dramatis Personae, 4to 1681 and
  1724, but in neither is any entry or exit marked throughout the
  play. In Killigrew, whom Mrs. Behn is here following very closely,
  Scaramouche is the quack's servant and appears in this scene.
  Accordingly I have marked him an entrance.

  p. 142, l. 13 _Maremaids._ 1724 'Mairmaids'.

  p. 142, l. 26 _an a Man._ 4to 1681 'and a Man'.

  p, 142, l. 28 _and falls._ 4to 1681 'who falls'.

  p. 145, l. 30 _on the Mountebank's Stage._ 4to 1681 'on the stage of
  the Mountebank'.

  p. 146, l. 1 _This is flat Conjuration._ 4to 1681 'This flat
  Conjuration'.

  p. 146, l. 7 _what's here._ 4to 1681 'what here'.

  p. 148, l. 11 _Ex. Feth. and Blunt._ 4to 1681 and 1724 '[Ex.'

+Act II: Scene ii+

  p. 148, l. 12 _Scene II. Changes._ 4to 1681 and 1724 'Scene
  changes'.

  p. 148, ll. 21, 27, 33 [_bis._ 1724 omits.

  p. 150, l. 2 _my Cousin Endymion._ 1724 'Endymion's'.

  p. 150, l. 16 _Sommes._ 4to 1681 and 1724 'somme'.

  p. 152, l. 5 _Snush._ 1724 'snuff'.

+Act III: Scene i+

  p. 154, l. 25 _Gargantua._ 4to 1681 'Garigantua', and omits 'of'.

  p. 155, l. 5 _and Harlequin attending._ Harlequin's entrance is not
  marked in 4to 1681 or in 1724, but it is necessary here as he is
  addressed by the Dwarf.

  p. 156, l. 22 _Hu, how scornful._ 1724 omits 'Hu'.

  p. 157, l. 37 _with Harlequin._ Harlequin's exit unmarked in 4to
  1681 and 1724.

  p. 159, l. 10 _Talks to Hunt._ 4to 1681, wrongly, 'Talks to Will'.

  p. 161, l. 4 _faithless as the Winds._ 1724 'Wind'.

  p. 161, l. 17 _fixt Resolves._ 1724 'fixt Resolve'.

  p. 163, l. 13 _he may again rally._ 1724 'railly'.

  p. 163, l. 27 _them that tries me._ 1724 'them that tire me'.

  p. 165, l. 21 _set such Price on._ 1724 'set a Price on'.

  p. 165, l. 33 _I grow weary._ 4to 1681 'I grew weary'.

  p. 166, l. 2 _sure he knows me not._ 1724 omits 'he'.

  p. 166, l. 16 _better than an Age of Scorn from a proud faithless
  Beauty?_ 1724 'better from Age of Scorn than a proud faithless
  Beauty?'

  p. 167, l. 2 _and all to bekiss me._ 1724 'and kiss me'.

  p. 167, l. 21 _Laying his hand on his Sword._ 4to 1681 gives stage
  direction as '[His Sword.'

  p. 168, l. 23 _ails he?_ 1724 'ye'.

  p. 169, l. 24 _who wou'st._ 4to 1681 'who'st'. 1724 'wou'st'.

  p. 169, l. 25 _turn me out despis'd._ 1724 'turn me out so
  despis'd'.

  p. 169, l. 28 _Charms shall hold._ 4to 1681 'Charms can hold'.

  p. 169, l. 35 _she holds him._ 1724 omits 'him'.

  p. 171, l. 3 _a Purse or hands full of Gold._ 1724 'a Purse of
  Gold'.

+Act IV: Scene i+

  p. 172, l. 30 _Ariadne. [feels.] Tis so!_ 1724 omits '[feels]'.

+Act IV: Scene ia+

  p. 173, l. 3 _I ever had._ 1724, wrongly, 'I ne'er had'.

  p. 173, l. 27 _My hope._ 4to 1681 'ever hope'.

  p. 174, l. 3 _Orange-grove._ 1724 'orange-garden'.

  p. 175, l. 20 _Was this done._ 1724 'Was not this done'.

  p. 178, l. 28 _in the Piazza._ 4to 1681 'Piazzo', and always this
  form.

  p. 178, l. 35 _and goes out._ 4to 1681 'and ex.'

  p. 181, l. 11 _whistle to the Birds._ 1724 'whistle to Birds'.

+Act IV: Scene ib+

  p. 182, l. 18 _Aur. Well, the Stranger._ 1724 'Ant. Well, the
  Stranger'.

  p. 183, l. 6 _that was the Reason then she came._ 1724 omits 'then'.

  p. 183, l. 13 _The Seigniora perhaps may be angry._ 1724 'Seignior'.

  p. 184, l. 1 _Damn all dissembling._ 1724 prints this speech as
  prose.

  p. 184, l. 9 _Love's diviner Dictates._ 1724 'Love's divine
  Dictates'.

+Act IV: Scene ic+

  p. 184, l. 19 _false Tenents._ 1724, wrongly, 'False Tenements'.

  p. 187, l. 13 _Oh, any whither, any whither._ 1724 'any where, any
  where'.

+Act IV: Scene id+

  p. 187, l. 24 _I believed he had._ 1724 'I believe he has'.

  p. 187, l. 31 _no matter whither 'tis._ 1724 'no matter which 'tis'.

  p. 188, l. 9 _Abev. sings._ 4to 1681 and 1724 'The Boy sings ...',
  but his name has already been given.

+Act V: Scene i+

  p. 190, l. 11 _To find out this Rest._ 1724 'To find this Rest'.

  p. 190, l. 32 _La Nu. 'Tis he whom I expect._ 1724 gives this speech
  as prose.

  p. 191, l. 10 _whence I fetcht my Gold._ 1724 'whence I fetch my
  Gold'.

  p. 191, l. 18 _they are by dark._ 1724 omits.

  p. 192, l. 33 _What is't to be adorn'd._ 1724 'What 'tis to be
  adorn'd'.

  p. 193, l. 19 _Wou'd! by Heaven, thou hast._ 1724 gives this as
  prose, 1681 metrically. I have followed the 4to, attempting a rather
  better division of the lines.

  p. 193, l. 32 _The last indeed._ The first three lines of this
  speech metrically as 4to 1681. 1724 prints as prose.

  p. 194, l. 22 _his Youth and Beauty._ 4to 1681 'this Youth and
  Beauty'.

  p. 195, l. 5 _not a Landlady. [bis._ 1724 omits '[bis.'

  p. 195, l. 18 _La Nu. Left by both!_ 4to 1681 'Left by both?'

  p. 195, l. 20 _and Beau._ I have added this exit. It is unmarked in
  4to 1681 and in 1724.

+Act V: Scene iii+

  p. 198, l. 9 _in the dark._ 4to 1681 'by dark'.

  p. 199, l. 2 _un Portavera Poco._ 1724 misprints 'Porsavera'.

  p. 200, l. 12 _Harl. Qui est la?_ 4to 1681 'Harl. Que et la!'

  p. 200, l. 17 _I am discover'd._ 1724 'I am discower'd'.

+Act V: Scene iiia+

  p. 200, l. 22 _Feth. Hah-- my Lady Monster!_ 4to 1681 omits to mark
  at change of scene Feth. again as speech-prefix.

  p. 203, l. 13 _Ex. all._ 1724 omits 'all'.

  p. 203, l. 31 _out of hand. [Aside._ 4to 1681 omits 'Aside'.

  p. 205, l. 27 _Ariadne!-- How vain is all._ 1724 give this speech as
  prose. I have followed the metrical division of the 4to 1681 with
  some slight rearrangement of the lines.

  p. 208, l. 23 _John Potages._ 1724. 'Jean Potages'.

  p. 208, l. 26 _thou foul filthy Synagogue._ 1724. 'foul-filthy'.

  p. 209, l. 23 _d'ye see._ 4to 1681 'de see'.

  p. 209, l. 24 _Myrmidons._ 4to 1681 'Mermidons'.

  p. 209, l. 28 _wiser than your other Men._ 1724 omits 'your',

  p. 210, l. 21 _Gets from her._ 1724 omits this stage direction.

  p. 211, l. 14 _They lay hold on him._ 4to 1681 'of him'.

+Epilogue+

  p. 212, l. 26 _nobly throw away._ 1724 'throw a Way'.

  p. 213, ll. 3-22 _All this won't do._ The concluding twenty lines of
  the Epilogue are only given in 4to 1681. All subsequent editions
  omit them.


NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.

+Dedication+

  p. 113 _The Duke._ James, Duke of York, for whom Mrs, Behn,
  a thorough Tory, entertained sentiments of deepest loyalty. The
  'absence', 'voluntary Exile', 'new Exiles', mentioned in the
  Dedication all refer to James' withdrawal from England in 1679, at
  the time of the seditious agitation to pass an illegal Exclusion
  Bill. The Duke left on 4 March for Amsterdam, afterwards residing at
  the Hague. In August he came back, Charles being very ill. Upon the
  King's recovery he retired to Scotland 27 October. In March, 1682,
  he paid a brief visit to the King, finally returning home June of
  the same year.

  p. 114. _young Cesar in the Field._ During the Commonwealth and his
  first exile James had joined Turenne's army, 24 April, 1652, and was
  frequently in the field. He distinguished himself by conspicuous
  bravery. In 1656, at the wish of Charles, he joined the Spanish
  army.

  p. 114 _Some of Oliver's Commanders at Dunkirk._ During the Flanders
  campaign of 1657, Reynolds, the commander of the English at Dunkirk,
  sought and obtained an interview with James, whom he treated with
  the most marked respect and honour. This was reported to Cromwell,
  much to the Protector's chagrin and alarm.

  p. 115. _City Pope._ An allusion to the exploits of Elkanah Settle,
  who was so notorious at that time for violent Whiggism that in 1680
  he had presided over the senseless city ceremony of 'Pope-burning'
  on 17 November. This annual piece of ridiculous pageantry is smartly
  described by Dryden in his Prologue to Southerne's _The Loyal
  Brother_ (1682); and in the Epilogue to _Oedipus_, (1679), after
  enumerating the attractions of the play, he ends--

    We know not what you can desire or hope
    To please you more, but burning of a Pope.

  There are many contemporary references to Settle and his
  'fireworks'. Otway, in _The Poet's Complaint_ (4to, 1680), speaks of
  Rebellion cockering the silly rabble with 'November squibs and
  burning pasteboard Popes', canto xi. Duke, in the Epilogue to the
  same author's _The Atheist_ (1683), says that the poet never 'made
  one rocket on Queen Bess's night'. In Scott's _Dryden_, Vol. VI
  (1808) is given a cut representing the tom-fool procession of 1679,
  in which an effigy of the murdered Sir Edmund Bury Godfrey had a
  chief place. There were 'ingenious fireworks' and a bonfire.
  A scurrilous broadside of the day, with regard to the shouting, says
  that ''twas believed the echo ... reached Scotland [the Duke was
  then residing in the North], France, and even Rome itself damping
  them all with a dreadfull astonishment.' The stage at this juncture
  of fierce political strife had become a veritable battle-ground of
  parties, and some stir was caused by Settle's blatant, but not
  ineffective, melodrama on the subject of that mythical dame _The
  Female Prelate, being the History of the Life and Death of Pope
  Joan_, produced at the Theatre Royal, 1680. This play itself is
  often referred to, and there are other allusions to Pope Joan about
  this time, e.g., in the Epilogue to Lee's _Caesar Borgia_ (1679),
  where the author says a certain clique could not have been more
  resolute to damn his play

    Had he the Pope's Effigies meant to burn,
         .     .     .     .     .
    Nay, conjur'd up Pope Joan to please the age,
    And had her breeches search'd upon the stage.

  cf. also Mrs. Behn in her own Epilogue when she speaks of 'fat
  Cardinals, Pope Joans, and Fryers'; and Lord Falkland's scoff in his
  Prologue to Otway's _The Soldier's Fortune_ (1680):--

    But a more pow'rful Saint enjoys ye now
         .     .     .     .     .
    The fairest Prelate of her time, and best.

  Lord Falkland of course points at the play.

+Prologue+

  p. 116 _lofty Tire._ The Upper Gallery, the price of admission to
  which was one shilling. It was the cheapest part of the theatre, and
  is often alluded to in Prologue and Epilogue, but generally with
  abuse or sarcasm. Dryden, in his Prologue to Tate's _The Loyal
  General_ (1680), caustically advises:--

    Remove your benches, you apostate pit,
    And take, above, twelve pennyworth of wit;
    Go back to your dear dancing on the rope,
    Or see what's worse, the Devil and the Pope.

+Dramatis Personae+

  p. 117 _Harlequin, Willmore's Man._ Although no actor's name is
  printed for Harlequin, the part was undoubtedly played by Shadwell's
  brother-in-law, Tom Jevon, who, at the age of twenty-one, had joined
  the company in 1673. Originally a dancing-master (Langbaine notes
  his 'activity'), he became famous in low comedy and particularly for
  his lithe and nimble Harlequins. In Otway's _Friendship in Fashion_
  (1677) Malagene, a character written for and created by Jevon, says,
  'I'm a very good mimick; I can act Punchinello, Scaramuchio,
  Harlequin, Prince Prettyman, or any thing.'

  Harlequin does not appear in Killigrew's _Thomaso._ Mrs. Behn's mime
  plays pranks and speaks Italian and Spanish. No doubt she derived
  the character from the Italian comedians who had been at the Royal
  Theatre, Whitehall, in 1672-3, as Dryden, in an Epilogue (spoken by
  Hart) to _The Silent Woman_ when acted at Oxford, after a reference
  to a visit of French comedians, has:--

    The Italian Merry-Andrews took their place,
    And quite debauched the stage with lewd grimace,
    Instead of wit and humours, your delight
    Was there to see two hobby-horses fight,
    Stout Scaramoucha with rush lance rode in,
    And ran a tilt at centaur Arlequin.

  They were acting again in July, 1675, and remained some months in
  England. cf. Evelyn, 29 September this same year, writes: 'I saw the
  Italian Scaramuccio act before the King at Whitehall, people giving
  money to come in, which was very scandalous and never so before at
  Court-diversions. Having seen him act before in Italy many years
  past, I was not averse from seeing the most excellent of that kind
  of folly.' Duffett in his Prologue to _Ev'ry Man out of his Humour_,
  'spoken by Mr. Hayns', July, 1675, who refers to this second visit--

    The Modish Nymphs now ev'ry heart will win
    With the surprizing ways of Harlequin
    O the fine motion and the jaunty mene
    While you Gallants--
    Who for dear Missie ne'er can do too much
    Make Courtships a la mode de Scarramouch.

  and a little later he writes:--

    Religion has its Scarramouchys too
    Whose hums and has get all the praise and pence.

  This Italian troop evidently returned in the following year or in
  1677, as we have allusions to Dominique Biancolelli and Fiurelli,
  'the Fam'd Harlequin & Scaramouch', in the Prologue to Ravenscroft's
  _Scaramouch a Philosopher, Harlequin a School-Boy, Bravo, Merchant,
  and Magician_, a Comedy after the Italian Manner, produced at the
  Theatre Royal in 1677, with the migratory Joe Haines as Harlequin,
  and again in _Friendship in Fashion_, Act iii, 1, when Lady
  Squeamish cries: 'Dear Mr. Malagene, won't you let us see you act a
  little something of Harlequin? I'll swear you do it so naturally,
  it makes me think I am at the Louvre or Whitehall all the time.'
  [Malagene acts.]

  p. 117. _Lucia... Mrs. Norris._ In the quarto the name of this
  actress is spelled Norice. Even if the two characters Lucia and
  Petronella Elenora were not so entirely different, one being a girl,
  the second a withered crone, it is obvious that as both appear on
  the stage at one and the same time Mrs. Norris could not have
  doubled these roles. The name Mrs. Norice, however, which is cast
  for Lucia is undoubtedly a misprint for Mrs. Price. This lady may
  possibly have been the daughter of Joseph Price, an 'Inimitable
  sprightly Actor', who was dead in 1673. We find Mrs. Price cast for
  various roles of no great consequence, similar to Lucia in this
  play. She sustained Camilla in Otway's _Friendship in Fashion_
  (1678), Violante in Leanerd's _The Counterfeits_ (1679), Sylvia in
  _The Soldier's Fortune_ (1683), Hippolita in D'Urfey's _A
  Commonwealth of Women_ (1685), and many more, all of which belong to
  the 'second walking-lady'.

  Mrs. Norris, who acted Petronella Elenora, was a far more important
  figure in the theatre. One of those useful and, indeed,
  indispensable performers, who, without ever attaining any prominent
  position, contribute more essentially than is often realized to the
  success of a play, she became well known for her capital
  personations of old women and dowagers. Wife of the actor Norris,
  she had been one of the earliest members of Davenant's company, and
  her son, known as Jubilee Dicky from his superlative performance in
  Farquhar's _The Constant Couple_ (1699), was a leading comedian in
  the reigns of Anne and the first George. Amongst Mrs. Norris' many
  roles such parts as Lady Dupe, the old lady in Dryden's _Sir Martin
  Mar-All_ (1667), Goody Rash in Crowne's _The Country Wit_ (1675),
  Nuarcha, an amorous old maid, in Maidwell's _The Loving Enemies_
  (1680), Mother Dunwell, the bawd in Betterton's _The Revenge; or,
  A Match in Newgate_ (1680), all sufficiently typify her special
  line, within whose limits she won considerable applause.

+Act I: Scene i+

  p. 120 _Crab-Wine._ An inferior tipple brewed from sour apples.

  p. 122 _Tantalus better than ever Ovid described him._

    Quaerit aquas in aquis, et poma fugacia captat
      Tantalus: hoc illi garrula lingua dedit.
          _Amorum_, ii, 11, 43-4.

            Tibi, Tantale, nullae
    Deprenduntur aquae; quaeque imminet effugit arbos.
           _Met_, iv, 457-8.

  p. 126 _I ... must be this very Mountebank expected._ One may
  remember Rochester's unpenetrated masquerade as Alexander Bendo,
  high above 'the bastard race of quacks and cheats,' and Grammont's
  account of all the courtiers and maids of honour flocking for
  lotions and potions of perpetual youth to the new empiric's lodgings
  'in _Tower-Street_, next door to the sign of the _Black Swan_, at a
  Goldsmith's house.' In the _Works of the Earls of Rochester,
  Roscommon and Dorset_ (2. vols. 1756), there is a rough cut of
  Rochester as a charlatan delivering a speech to the assembled crowd.
  On the platform also stands his attendant, a figure dressed in the
  diamonded motley of Harlequin.

  p. 126. _in querpo._ A Spanish phrase, _en cuerpo_ = without a
  cloak; in an undress or disguise.

+Act I: Scene ia+

  p. 133 _old Adam's Ale._ A very ancient colloquialism for water. In
  Scotland 'Adam's wine' and frequently merely 'Adam'. Prynne in his
  _Sovereign Power of Parliament_ (1648), speaks of prisoners 'allowed
  only a poor pittance of Adam's ale.' cf. Peter Pindar (John Wolcot),
  _The Lousiad_, Canto ii, ll. 453-4:--

    Old Adam's beverage flows with pride
    From wide-mouthed pitchers in a plenteous tide.

+Act II: Scene i+

  p. 141 _a Pageant._ Here used to signify a platform or low scaffold.

+Act III: Scene i+

  p. 157 _the Royal Sovereign._ In a Navy List of 1684 the _Royal
  Sovereign_ is classed as one of the 'Nine First Rate' vessels. 1545
  tons, 100 guns at home, 90 guns abroad, 815 men at home, 710 men
  abroad. In 1672 her commander was Sir Joseph Jorden. An authority on
  nautical matters whom I have consulted informs me that less men and
  fewer guns were carried to relieve the top hamper of the ship in a
  sea-way. Most vessels then were inclined to be top heavy, and
  although able to carry all their guns in the narrow seas, yet when
  going foreign were glad to leave ten behind, well knowing they would
  soon lose by scurvy or disease numbers of their crew apart from
  losses in battle. Although these ships were pierced with ports for,
  say, 100 guns, it did not follow they always carried so many, as a
  complete broadside could be fired by running the gun carriages
  across from one side to another before the fight, so she would not
  be so heavy above and not so liable to roll and spoil the aim of the
  guns.

  p. 159 _Bezolos mano's, Seignior._ Senor, beso las manos. = Sir,
  I kiss your hands; the usual Spanish salutation.

  p. 165 _brown George._ Coarse black bread; hard biscuit. cf.
  Urquhart's _Rabelais_ (1653), Book IV. Author's prologue: 'The devil
  of one musty crust of a Brown George the poor boys had to scour
  their grinders with.' And Dryden, _Persius_ (1693), v. 215:--

    Cubb'd in a cabin, on a matrass laid,
    On a Brown George with lousy swabbers fed.

  p. 165 _Spanish Pay._ Slang for fair words; compliments, and nothing
  more.

+Act IV: Scene ib+

  p. 182 _fin'd._ In a somewhat unusual sense of to fine = to pay a
  composition or consideration for a special privilege.

+Act V: Scene iii+

  p. 198 _Plymouth Cloaks._ Obsolete slang for a cudgel 'carried by
  one who walked _en cuerpo_, and thus facetiously assumed to take the
  place of a cloak'. Fuller (1661), _Worthies_, 'Devon' (1662), 248,
  'A Plimouth Cloak. That is a Cane or a Staffe whereof this the
  occasion. Many a man of good Extraction comming home from far
  Voiages, may chance to land here [at Plymouth] and being out of
  sorts, is unable for the present time and place to recruit himself
  with Cloaths. Here (if not friendly provided) they make the next
  Wood their Draper's shop, where a Staffe cut out, serves them for a
  covering'. Ray, _Prov._ (1670), 225, adds, 'For we use when we walk
  _in cuerpo_ to carry a staff in our hands but none when in a cloak'.
  _N.E.D._, which also quotes this passage of _The Rover._ cf.
  Davenant:--

    Whose cloak, at Plymouth spun, was crab-tree wood.

  p. 199 _Album Graecum._ The excrement of dogs and some other animals
  which from exposure to air and weather becomes whitened like chalk.
  It was formerly much used in medicine.

+Act V: Scene iiib+

  p. 209 _Guzman Medicines._ Trashy, worthless medicines. In _The
  Emperor of The Moon_, Act iii, 2, 'Guzman' is used as a term of
  abuse to signify a rascal. The first English translation (by James
  Mabbe) of Aleman's famous romance, _Vida del Picaro Guzman
  d'Alfarache_, is, indeed, entitled _The Rogue_, and it had as
  running title _The Spanish Rogue._ There is a novel by George Fidge
  entitled _The English Gusman; or, the History of that Unparallel'd
  Thief James Hind._ (1652, 4to.)

  p. 209 _Copper Chains._ In allusion to the trick played by Estifania
  on the churlish Cacafogo in Fletcher's _Rule a Wife and Have a
  Wife._ He lends her 1000 ducats upon trumpery which she is passing
  off as rich gems, and when later he scents the cozenage, he bawls
  out:--

    Plague of her jewels, and her copper chains,
    How rank they smell!
          --(Act v, 2.)

  The phrase became proverbial for shams.

  p. 211 _disimbogue._ This word is generally used of the waters of a
  river or the outlet of a lake pouring into the open sea.

  p. 212 _by Play-Bill, summon'd here._ In Restoration times one
  method of announcing the next day's performance to the public was by
  putting out bills on posts in the streets adjacent to the theatre.
  There are allusions to this in Pepys, 24 March, 1662 and 28 July,
  1664. The whole subject has been exhaustively treated by Mr. W. J.
  Lawrence in 'The Origin of the Theatre Programme'-- _The Elizabethan
  Playhouse_ (Second Series).

+Epilogue+

  p. 213. _greasing._ Flattery. Settle's post as City Poet, it is well
  known, did not bring him in any great emoluments. He was, in fact,
  desperately poor, and even volunteered to join King James' army at
  Hounslow Heath. In old age he was reduced to writing drolls
  performed in a Bartholomew Fair booth kept by one Mrs. Minns and her
  daughter, Mrs. Leigh. He himself acted in these wretched farces, and
  on one occasion, in _St. George for England_, appeared as a dragon
  in a green leather case. Eventually he obtained admission to the
  Charterhouse, where he died 24 February, 1724.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

Errors and Irregularities: The Rover, Part II

the Arbitrary Tyranny
  _text reads "Tryanny"_
Enter ... follow'd by _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_.
  _printed "_Ariadne_ and _Lucia_" with "and" sharing emphatic type_
_Aria._ How prove ye that, good Mr. Philospher?
  _spelling unchanged_
Feth. _Have you heard of a _Spanish_ Lady ..._
[Singing.
  _speaker's name is in Roman type while he is singing a song printed
  in italics_
  _stage direction in same passage not italicized_
[_Lucia_ above and _Ariadne_.]
  _anomalous close bracket in original_
_Will._ Love knows no Ceremony, no respect
  _text reads "repect"_
[_Lucia_ squeaks within, crying, help, help.
  _text unchanged_


       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *


THE DUTCH LOVER.


  [Transcriber's Note:

  Entrances and bracketed stage directions were printed in _italics_,
  with proper names in roman type. The overall _italic_ markup has been
  omitted for readability.]




ARGUMENT.


Roderigo-- the natural son of the great Count d' Olivarez, minister to
Philip IV of Spain-- was, upon his father's disgrace, given over when
very young to the care of a certain Don Ambrosio, and by him brought up
as his own child. Ambrosio has one son, Marcel, and two daughters,
Hippolita and Cleonte. Marcel, whilst in Flanders, promised Hippolita to
his friend Alonzo. This Alonzo is the son of a lady Octavia and Don
Manuel. But Manuel's rival in Octavia's love, Alonzo, stole their boy
when an infant and brought him up to arms, giving him his own name.
Pedro, an old servant, who is cognizant of this, is sworn to secrecy.
Alonzo arrives in Madrid purposing to wed Hippolita as he desires to
ally himself with so ancient and powerful a family as Ambrosio's.
Hippolita, however, having been betrayed by a German named Antonio, has
fled, and now resides in a house of pleasure in the town, having assumed
the habit of a Venetian courtezan. Alonzo meeting Euphemia, sister to
his friend Lovis, becomes enamoured of her, and the lady grants him a
rendezvous at a house where they will be uninterrupted-- it happens this
house is the bagnio where Hippolita is secreted. Marcel, on his way to
visit Clarinda, whom he loves, recognizes Alonzo and follows him to his
rendezvous, Olinda, Euphemia's maid, mistakenly introduces Marcel to her
mistress. Euphemia is veiled and Marcel, who has heard that his sister
is living in that house, in his turn mistakes the lady for Hippolita,
more especially as he meets Antonio there. The two men fight, but Alonzo
entering interferes. Antonio escapes, bearing away Hippolita. Euphemia,
whom Marcel in a passion of revenge would kill, is soon discovered not
to be Hippolita, and the angry brother duly retires from the scene.
Alonzo, however, leaving the house is accosted for Marcel by Dormida,
Clarinda's maid, who gives him the key to their house. Alonzo enters
followed by Marcel who is close on his heels. They jostle and fight in
the darkness of the hall within, and Alonzo departs leaving Marcel
wounded. Dormida fearing trouble drags Clarinda forth and meeting Alonzo
in the street they throw themselves on his honourable protection.
A complete stranger, in his dilemma he escorts them to the mansion of
Ambrosio, and they chance on Cleonte's chamber. She has just had a visit
from Silvio (under which name Roderigo passes), who is burning with
passion for her but shrinks from his supposed sister. Cleonte offers the
two ladies a refuge and Alonzo retires. With the aid of his friend Lovis
he assumes the habit of Haunce van Ezel, a Dutch boor who is contracted
to Euphemia, and, as Haunce, courts Lovis' sister with the full
approbation of their father Don Carlo. When Haunce himself appears he is
greeted with some familiarity as having been at the house before. The
Dutch Lover, who has newly arrived, chances on a strife between Antonio
and Hippolita and interfering disarms Antonio, wounding him in the face.
Cleonte meantime has introduced her guest Clarinda to Silvio, and Marcel
seeing them together concludes that his own brother is the man who
fought him on the previous night and indeed his favoured rival. At once
he challenges him and they arrange to have a duel in a grove near the
town. Here, however, comes Hippolita disguised in man's attire, awaiting
Antonio to whom she has sent a billet signed 'Alonzo'. She retires,
whilst Silvio appears, and when he is engaged with Marcel, Alonzo rushes
in and parts them. Alonzo avows that it was he who caused the confusion
with Clarinda, and arranges to meet Marcel later in another spot.
Antonio next arrives and Hippolita, calling herself Alonzo, draws, but
Alonzo himself insists on taking up the quarrel. At the clash of steel
Marcel returns and all four fight, Marcel with Hippolita, whom he
wounds, Alonzo with Antonio, whom he disarms-- Hippolita reveals
herself, Alonzo claims her, but Antonio declaring that he is bound to
her by sacred vows rescues her from Marcel's vengeance and obtains his
forgiveness. All return to Ambrosio's house where they find Cleonte and
Clarinda. Explanations ensue, and Marcel is at Clarinda's feet. Pedro,
however, who attends Alonzo, recognizes his old fellow-servant, Dormida,
duenna to Clarinda, and learning Don Manuel is dead, reveals that Alonzo
is Clarinda's brother, also handing over papers left by Don Alonzo the
foster-father, which bestow 12,000 crowns a year on his adopted son,
Alonzo portions Clarinda and gives her to Marcel. Francisca, woman to
Cleonte, informs Silvio that Cleonte will yield to him-- Silvio,
suddenly revolted, declares he will present himself, but secretly
resolves to poinard his sister. Marcel who has overheard the conference,
beside himself with rage, dashes on Silvio with dagger drawn and when
checked by Ambrosio and the rest who rush in at Francisca's cries makes
known the cause of his wrath. Francisca confesses that Cleonte had sent
no such message, but herself purposed to take her mistress' place that
night and receive Silvio. Ambrosio then reveals the secret of Silvio's
birth and gives Cleonte to him, in his joy even taking Hippolita to his
arms since Antonio has married her. Alonzo, meanwhile, disguised as
Haunce has been united to Euphemia. He is discovered by the arrival on
the scene of the real Haunce accompanied by Gload, a foolish tutor.
Carlo is soon reconciled to the new bridegroom, whilst Haunce and Gload
joining in a masquerade find themselves unexpectedly wedded to Olinda
and Dorice, two women attendant on the lady Euphemia.




SOURCE.


Mrs. Behn founded the plot of _The Dutch Lover_ upon the stories of
Eufemie and Theodore, Don Jame and Frederic, in a pseudo-Spanish novel
entitled '_The History of Don Fenise_, a new Romance written in Spanish
by Francisco de Las Coveras, And now Englished by a Person of Honour,
London, Printed for Humphrey Moseley,' 8vo, 1651. There is of course no
such Spanish author as 'the ingenious Don Francisco de las Coveras'. The
chief merit of the book is purely bibliographical: it is a very rare
volume and difficult to meet with. The Bodleian indeed contains a copy,
but it is not to be found in the British Museum library. The somewhat
morbid theme of overwhelming passion barred by consanguinity eventually
discovered to be false, which is here exemplified in the love of Silvio
for Cleonte, occurs more than once in the later Jacobean and Carolan
drama. In Beaumont and Fletcher's tragicomedy _A King and no King_
(1611: 4to, 1619), we have Arbaces enamoured of Panthea, his reputed
sister; similar motives are to be found in Arthur Wilson's _The Swizzer_
(1631); but in Middleton's _Women beware Women_ (circa 1612: 4to, 1657),
no contrivance can legitimize the incestuous loves of Hippolito and
Isabella, and death is the only solution. In Massinger's _The Unnatural
Combat_ (1621: 4to, 1639), the demoniac Malefort pursues his daughter
Theocrine with the same baleful fires as Francesco Cenci looked on
Beatrice, but the height of horror, harrowing the soul with pity and
anguish, culminates in Ford's terrible scenes _Tis Pity She's a Whore_
(4to, 1633), so tenderly tragic, so exquisitely beautiful for all their
moral perversity, that they remain unequalled outside Shakespeare.

In the Restoration Theatre the theme of consanguinity was originally
dealt with no less than three times by Dryden: comically, in _The
Spanish Friar_ (1681), when Lorenzo-- after all the love-brokerage of
pursy Father Dominic-- discovers Elvira to be his sister: tragically, in
_Don Sebastian_ (1690), when Sebastian and Almeyda are separated by the
disclosures of old Alvarez: sentimentally and romantically, in _Love
Triumphant_ (1693-4), when Alphonso wins Victoria whom he has long
loved, even whilst she was supposed to be his sister. Otway it will be
remembered turns the pathetic catastrophe of _The Orphan_ (1680), upon a
deceit which produces similar though unhappy circumstances. In 1679,
_Oedipus_, a joint production of Dryden and Lee, was brought out with
great success at the Duke's Theatre, Dorset Gardens.

Unhallowed and incestuous passions again form the plot of _The Fatal
Discovery; or, Love in Ruins_ (4to, 1698), produced at Drury Lane,
a play seemingly derived from _Bandello, Part II_, Novel 35, which
coincides with the thirtieth tale of the _Heptameron_. In various forms,
however, this legend is to be found in the literature of all countries,
and a cognate tradition is even attached to certain districts.
_Innocence Distress'd; or, The Royal Penitents_, a tragedy by Robert
Gould (ob. 1709), never performed but published by subscription (8vo,
1737), for the benefit of his daughter Hannah, is based on the same
story. Gould's work is weak and insipid.

Later in the eighteenth century we have Horace Walpole's _The Mysterious
Mother_ (8vo, 1768), an unacted drama of extraordinary power and
undissipated gloom on the same terrible theme; whilst Shelley's _The
Centi_, published in 1819, which the poet most emphatically intended for
the boards, remains a masterpiece of supreme genius.

Wagner in _Die Walkuere_ shows the irresistible passion of Siegmund and
Sieglinde, brother and sister, from whose union sprang the mighty hero
Siegfried; and in _Gengangere_ (Ghosts), 1881, Ibsen threw, by the
sickly craving of the fibreless Oswald Alving for Regina, a lurid light
across that awesome tragedy of shadows, Nemesis, and blank despair.




THEATRICAL HISTORY.


_The Dutch Lover_ was produced at the Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in
February, 1673, but owing to the manifold disadvantages under which it
was put on the stage it did not meet with that success it certainly
deserved. It was indeed, to quote the preface, 'hugely injured in the
acting.' The performers were anything but word perfect and hopelessly
forgot or confused their business, which, more especially in a play of
such a type as this romantic comedy so full of busy and complicated
detail demanding close and continuous attention, was enough to mystify
the audience completely and foredoom the piece to failure. The worst
sinner was Haunce himself, who hardly spoke one of his lines but gagged
from start to finish. Not unnaturally, Mrs. Behn resented this and avows
that she would have trounced him roundly in print except 'de mortuis...'
Although the original cast is not given, this detail enables us to fix
the representative of Haunce as Angel, a leading comedian, who died in
the spring of 1673, his name last appearing as de Boastado in
Ravenscroft's _Careless Lovers_.

In addition to these serious detriments the costumes were very poor,
especially the disguise of Alonzo as the Hollander, and Haunce's own
'fantastical travelling habit,' dresses on the aptness of which the
probability of the intrigue can be made so largely to depend.

Yet another mishap occurred. The epilogue, which had been promised by a
friend, did not come to hand, and accordingly the present epilogue was
hastily composed. Though containing nothing notably witty or pointed it
does not fall below the generality of these productions. Of the prologue
we have no means of judging as it was unfortunately lost before it could
find its way into print.

Had _The Dutch Lover_ received fair treatment from the actors it should
surely have commanded no small success in its day. Technically it is
well contrived, and exhibits the skill and clever stage-craft of its
authoress in a high degree, qualities which have often given a long
lease of life to plays of infinitely less merit.




AN EPISTLE TO THE READER.


Good, Sweet, Honey, Sugar-Candied READER,

Which I think is more than anyone has called you yet, I must have a word
or two with you before you do advance into the Treatise; but 'tis not to
beg your pardon for diverting you from your affairs, by such an idle
Pamphlet as this is, for I presume you have not much to do and therefore
are to be obliged to me for keeping you from worse employment, and if
you have a better you may get you gone about your business: but if you
will misspend your Time, pray lay the fault upon yourself; for I have
dealt pretty fairly in the matter, told you in the Title Page what you
are to expect within. Indeed, had I hung a sign of the Immortality of
the Soul, of the Mystery of Godliness, or of Ecclesiastical Policie, and
then had treated you with Indiscerpibility and Essential Spissitude
(words, which though I am no competent Judge of, for want of Languages,
yet I fancy strongly ought to mean just nothing) with a company of
Apocryphal midnight Tales cull'd out of the choicest Insignificant
Authors; If I had only proved in Folio that Apollonius was a naughty
knave, or had presented you with two or three of the worst principles
transcrib'd out of the peremptory and ill-natur'd (though prettily
ingenious) Doctor of Malmsbury undigested and ill-manag'd by a silly,
saucy, ignorant, impertinent, ill educated Chaplain I were then indeed
sufficiently in fault; but having inscrib'd Comedy on the beginning of
my Book, you may guess pretty near what penny-worths you are like to
have, and ware your money and your time accordingly. I would not yet be
understood to lessen the dignity of Playes, for surely they deserve a
place among the middle if not the better sort of Books; for I have heard
the most of that which bears the name of Learning, and which has abused
such quantities of Ink and Paper, and continually employs so many
ignorant, unhappy souls for ten, twelve, twenty years in the University
(who yet poor wretches think they are doing something all the while) as
Logick etc. and several other things (that shall be nameless lest I
misspell them) are much more absolutely nothing than the errantest Play
that e'er was writ. Take notice, Reader, I do not assert this purely
upon my own knowledge, but I think I have known it very fully prov'd,
both sides being fairly heard, and even some ingenious opposers of it
most abominably baffl'd in the Argument: Some of which I have got so
perfectly by rote, that if this were a proper place for it, I am apt to
think myself could almost make it clear; and as I would not undervalue
Poetry, so neither am I altogether of their judgement who believe no
wisdom in the world beyond it. I have often heard indeed (and read) how
much the World was anciently oblig'd to it for most of that which they
call'd Science, which my want of letters makes me less assured of than
others happily may be: but I have heard some wise men say that no
considerable part of useful knowledge was this way communicated, and on
the other way, that it hath serv'd to propogate so many idle
superstitions, as all the benefits it hath or can be guilty of, can
never make sufficient amends for; which unaided by the unlucky charms of
Poetry, could never have possest a thinking Creature such as man.
However true this is, I am myself well able to affirm that none of all
our English Poets, and least the Dramatique (so I think you call them)
can be justly charg'd with too great reformation of men's minds or
manners, and for that I may appeal to general experiment, if those who
are the most assiduous Disciples of the Stage, do not make the fondest
and the lewdest Crew about this Town; for if you should unhappily
converse them through the year, you will not find one Dram of sense
amongst a Club of them, unless you will allow for such a little
Link-Boy's Ribaldry thick larded with unseasonable oaths & impudent
defiance of God, and all things serious; and that at such a senseless
damn'd unthinking rate, as, if 'twere well distributed, would spoil near
half the Apothecaries trade, and save the sober people of the Town the
charge of Vomits; And it was smartly said (how prudently I cannot tell)
by a late learned Doctor, who, though himself no great asserter of a
Deity, (as you'll believe by that which follows) yet was observed to be
continually persuading of this sort of men (if I for once may call them
so) of the necessity and truth of our Religion; and being ask'd how he
came to bestir himself so much this way, made answer that it was because
their ignorance and indiscreet debauch made them a scandal to the
profession of Atheism. And for their wisdom and design I never knew it
reach beyond the invention of some notable expedient, for the speedier
ridding them of their Estate, (a devilish clog to Wit and Parts), than
other grouling Mortals know, or battering half-a-dozen fair new Windows
in a Morning after their debauch, whilst the dull unjantee Rascal they
belong to is fast asleep. But I'll proceed no farther in their
character, because that miracle of Wit (in spite of Academick frippery)
the mighty Echard hath already done it to my satisfaction; and whoever
undertakes a Supplement to anything he hath discourst, had better for
their reputation be doing nothing.

Besides this Theam is worn too thread-bare by the whiffling would-be
Wits of the Town, and of both the stone-blind-eyes of the Kingdom. And
therefore to return to that which I before was speaking of, I will have
leave to say that in my judgement the increasing number of our latter
Plays have not done much more towards the amending of men's Morals, or
their Wit, than hath the frequent Preaching, which this last age hath
been pester'd with, (indeed without all Controversie they have done less
harm) nor can I once imagine what temptation anyone can have to expect
it from them; for sure I am no Play was ever writ with that design. If
you consider Tragedy, you'll find their best of Characters unlikely
patterns for a wise man to pursue: For he that is the Knight of the
Play, no sublunary feats must serve his Dulcinea; for if he can't
bestrid the Moon, he'll ne'er make good his business to the end, and if
he chance to be offended, he must without considering right or wrong
confound all things he meets, and put you half-a-score likely tall
fellows into each pocket; and truly if he come not something near this
Pitch I think the Tragedy's not worth a farthing; for Playes were
certainly intended for the exercising of men's passions not their
understandings, and he is infinitely far from wise that will bestow one
moment's meditation on such things: And as for Comedie, the finest folks
you meet with there are still unfitter for your imitation, for though
within a leaf or two of the Prologue, you are told that they are people
of Wit, good Humour, good Manners, and all that: yet if the Authors did
not kindly add their proper names, you'd never know them by their
Characters; for whatsoe'er's the matter, it hath happen'd so spightfully
in several Playes, which have been prettie well received of late, that
even those persons that were meant to be the ingenious Censors of the
Play, have either prov'd the most debauch'd, or most unwittie people in
the Company: nor is this error very lamentable, since as I take it
Comedie was never meant, either for a converting or a conforming
Ordinance: In short, I think a Play the best divertisement that wise men
have: but I do also think them nothing so who do discourse as formallie
about the rules of it, as if 'twere the grand affair of humane life.
This being my opinion of Plays, I studied only to make this as
entertaining as I could, which whether I have been successful in, my
gentle Reader, you may for your shilling judge. To tell you my thoughts
of it, were to little purpose, for were they very ill, you may be sure I
would not have expos'd it; nor did I so till I had first consulted most
of those who have a reputation for judgement of this kind; who were at
least so civil (if not kind) to it as did encourage me to venture it
upon the Stage, and in the Press: Nor did I take their single word for
it, but us'd their reasons as a confirmation of my own.

Indeed that day 'twas Acted first, there comes me into the Pit, a long,
lither, phlegmatick, white, ill-favour'd, wretched <DW2>, an Officer in
Masquerade newly transported with a Scarf & Feather out of France,
a sorry Animal that has nought else to shield it from the uttermost
contempt of all mankind, but that respect which we afford to Rats and
Toads, which though we do not well allow to live, yet when considered as
a part of God's Creation, we make honourable mention of them. A thing,
Reader-- but no more of such a Smelt: This thing, I tell ye, opening
that which serves it for a mouth, out issued such a noise as this to
those that sate about it, that they were to expect a woful Play, God
damn him, for it was a woman's. Now how this came about I am not sure,
but I suppose he brought it piping hot from some who had with him the
reputation of a villanous Wit: for Creatures of his size of sense talk
without all imagination, such scraps as they pick up from other folks. I
would not for a world be taken arguing with such a propertie as this;
but if I thought there were a man of any tolerable parts, who could upon
mature deliberation distinguish well his right hand from his left, and
justly state the difference between the number of sixteen and two, yet
had this prejudice upon him; I would take a little pains to make him
know how much he errs. For waving the examination why women having equal
education with men, were not as capable of knowledge, of whatsoever sort
as well as they: I'll only say as I have touch'd before, that Plays have
no great room for that which is men's great advantage over women, that
is Learning; We all well know that the immortal Shakespeare's Plays (who
was not guilty of much more of this than often falls to women's share)
have better pleas'd the World than Johnson's works, though by the way
'tis said that Benjamin was no such Rabbi neither, for I am inform'd
that his Learning was but Grammar high; (sufficient indeed to rob poor
Salust of his best orations) and it hath been observ'd that they are apt
to admire him most confoundedly, who have just such a scantling of it as
he had; and I have seen a man the most severe of Johnson's Sect, sit
with his Hat remov'd less than a hair's breadth from one sullen posture
for almost three hours at _The Alchymist_; who at that excellent Play of
_Harry the Fourth_ (which yet I hope is far enough from Farce) hath very
hardly kept his Doublet whole; but affectation hath always had a greater
share both in the action and discourse of men than truth and judgement
have; and for our Modern ones, except our most unimitable Laureat, I
dare to say I know of none that write at such a formidable rate, but
that a woman may well hope to reach their greatest heights. Then for
their musty rules of Unity, and God knows what besides, if they meant
anything, they are enough intelligible and as practible by a woman; but
really methinks they that disturb their heads with any other rule of
Playes besides the making them pleasant, and avoiding of scurrility,
might much better be employed in studying how to improve men's too
imperfect knowledge of that ancient English Game which hight long
Laurence: And if Comedy should be the picture of ridiculous mankind I
wonder anyone should think it such a sturdy task, whilst we are
furnish'd with such precious Originals as him I lately told you of; if
at least that Character do not dwindle into Farce, and so become too
mean an entertainment for those persons who are us'd to think. Reader, I
have a complaint or two to make to you and I have done; Know then that
this Play was hugely injur'd in the Acting, for 'twas done so
imperfectly as never any was before, which did more harm to this than it
could have done to any of another sort; the Plot being busie (though I
think not intricate) and so requiring a continual attention, which being
interrupted by the intolerable negligence of some that acted in it, must
needs much spoil the beauty on't. My Dutch Lover spoke but little of
what I intended for him, but supplied it with a great deal of idle
stuff, which I was wholly unacquainted with until I had heard it first
from him; so that Jack-pudding ever us'd to do: which though I knew
before, I gave him yet the Part, because I knew him so acceptable to
most o'th' lighter Periwigs about the Town, and he indeed did vex me so,
I could almost be angry: Yet, but Reader, you remember, I suppose, a
fusty piece of Latine that has past from hand to hand this thousand
years they say (and how much longer I can't tell) in favour of the dead.
I intended him a habit much more notably ridiculous, which if ever it be
important was so here, for many of the Scenes in the three last Acts
depended upon the mistakes of the Colonel for Haunce, which the
ill-favour'd likeness of their Habits is suppos'd to cause. Lastly my
Epilogue was promis'd me by a Person who had surely made it good, if
any, but he failing of his word, deput'd one, who has made it as you
see, and to make out your penyworth you have it here. The Prologue is by
misfortune lost. Now, Reader, I have eas'd my mind of all I had to say,
and so sans farther complyment, Adieu.




  DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


  MEN.

  _Ambrosio_, A Nobleman of _Spain_.
  _Marcel_, His Son.
  _Silvio_, Supposed Bastard Son to _Ambrosio_.
  _Antonio_, A German that has debauch'd _Hippolyta_.
  _Alonzo_, A _Flanders_ Colonel contracted to _Hippolyta_
      and newly arriv'd at _Madrid_.
  _Lovis_, His Friend.
  _Carlo_, Father to _Lovis_ and _Euphemia_.
  _Haunce van Ezel_, A Dutch <DW2> contracted to _Euphemia_,
      newly arriv'd at _Madrid_.
  _Gload_, His Cash-keeper.
  _Pedro_, An old Servant to _Alonzo_.
  Boy, Page to _Marcel_.
  Servant to _Carlo_.
  A Friar.

  WOMEN.
  _Euphemia_, In love with _Alonzo_.
  _Hippolyta_, In love with _Antonio_, } Daughters to _Ambrosio_.
  _Cleonte_, In love with _Silvio_,    }
  _Clarinda_, Sister unknown to _Alonzo_, in love with _Marcel_.
  _Dormida_, Her Governess.
  _Francisca_, Woman to _Cleonte_.
  _Olinda_, } Two Maids to _Euphemia_.
  _Dorice_, }

  Swains, Four Shepherds, Four Nymphs, Dutch Men and Dutch Women.


  The Scene, _Madrid_.




THE _DUTCH_ LOVER.




ACT I.


SCENE I. _A Street._

    Enter _Alonzo_ and _Lovis_ in travelling Habits, attended by _Pedro_
    and _Gload_.

_Lo._ Dear _Alonzo_! I shall love a Church the better this Month for
giving me a sight of thee, whom I so little expected in this part of the
World, and less in so sanctifi'd a Place. What Affair could be powerful
enough to draw thee from the kind obliging Ladies of _Brabant_?

_Alon._ First the sudden Orders of my Prince _Don John_, and next a fair
Lady.

_Lo._ A Lady! Can any of this Country relish with a Man that has been
us'd to the Freedom of those of _Bruxels_, from whence I suppose you are
now arriv'd?

_Alon._ This morning I landed, from such a Storm, as set us all to
making Vows of Conversion, (upon good Conditions) and that indeed
brought me to Church.

_Lo._ In that very Storm I landed too, but with less Sense of Danger
than you, being diverted with a pleasant Fellow that came along with me,
and who is design'd to marry a Sister of mine against my Will-- And now
I think of him, _Gload_, where hast thou left this Master of thine?

_Glo._ At the Inn, Sir, in as lamentable a Pickle, as if he were still
in the Storm; recruiting his emptyed Stomach with Brandy, and railing
against all Women-kind for your Sister's sake, who has made him
undertake this Voyage.

_Lo._ Well, I'll come to him, go home before.    [Ex. _Gload_.

_Alon._ Prithee what thing is this?

_Lo._ Why, 'tis the Cashier to this Squire I spoke of, a Man of
Business, and as wise as his Master, but the graver Coxcomb of the two.
But this Lady, _Alonzo_, who is this Lady thou speak'st of? shall not I
know her? We were wont to divide the Spoils of Beauty, as well as those
of War between us.

_Alon._ O but this is no such Prize, thou wouldst hardly share this with
the Danger, there's Matrimony in the Case.

_Lo._ Nay, then keep her to thy self, only let me know who 'tis that can
debauch thee to that scandalous way of Life; is she fair? will she
recompense the Folly?

_Alon._ Faith, I know not, I never saw her yet, but 'tis the Sister of
_Marcel_, whom we both knew last Summer in _Flanders_, and where he and
I contracted such a Friendship, that without other Consideration he
promis'd me _Hippolyta_, for that's his Sister's Name.

_Lo._ But wo't thou really marry her?

_Alon._ I consider my Advantage in being allied to so considerable a Man
as _Ambrosio_, her Father; I being now so unhappy as not to know my
Birth or Parents.

_Lo._ I have often heard of some such thing, but durst not ask the Truth
of it.

_Alon._ 'Tis so, all that I know of my self is, that a _Spanish_
Souldier, who brought me up in the Army, dying, confest I was not his
Son, (which till then I believ'd) and at the Age of twelve left me to
shift for my self: the Fortune he inrich'd me with, was his Horse and
Arms, with a few Documents how to use them, as I had seen him do with
good success: This Servant,  [Points to _Pedro_]  and a Crucifix of
Value. And from one Degree to another, I arriv'd to what you knew me,
Colonel of the Prince's Regiment, and the Glory of his Favour.

_Lo._ Honour is the Child of Virtue, and finds an Owner every where.

_Alon._ Oh, Sir, you are a Courtier, and have much the odds of a
Souldier in Parleys of this nature: but hither I am come--

_Lo._ To be undone-- Faith, thou look'st ill upon't.

_Alon._ I confess I am not altogether so brisk as I should have been
upon another Occasion; you know, _Lovis_, I have been us'd to Christian
Liberty, and hate this formal Courtship. Pox on't, wou'd 'twere over.

_Lo._ Where all Parties are agreed, there's little need of that; and the
Ladies of _Spain_, whatever Gravity they assume, are as ready as any you
ever met withal.

_Alon._ But there's a damn'd Custom that does not at all agree with Men
so frank and gay as thou and I; there's a deal of Danger in the
Atchievement, which some say heightens the Pleasure, but I am of another
Opinion.

_Ped._ Sir, there is a Female in a Veil has follow'd us ever since we
came from Church.

_Alon._ Some amorous Adventure: See  [_Enter _Olinda.]  she advances:
Prithee retire, there may be danger in it.
    [Puts _Lovis_ back.

_Lo._ Oh then, I must by no means leave you. [_Lovis_ advances.

_Olin._ Which of these two shall I chuse?    [She looks on both.
  Sir, you appear a Stranger.    [To _Lovis_.

_Alon._ We are both so, Lady.

_Olin._ I shall spoil all, and bring  [She looks again on both.]  the
wrong. Sir, you should be a Cavalier, that--

_Alon._ Would gladly obey your Orders.

_Lo._ Nay, I find 'tis all one to you which you chuse, so you have one
of us: but would not both do better?

_Olin._ No, Sir, my Commission's but to one.

_Alon._ Fix and proceed then, let me be the Man.

_Olin._ What shall I do? they are both well:    [Aside.
  but I'll e'en chuse, as 'twere, for my self; and hang me if I know
which that shall be,  [looks on both.]  Sir, there is a Lady of Quality
and Beauty, who guessing you to be Men of Honour, has sent me to one of
you.

_Alon._ Me, I am sure.

_Lo._ Me, me, he's engag'd already.

_Alon._ That's foul Play, _Lovis_.

_Alon._ Well, I must have but one, and therefore I'll wink and chuse.

_Lo._ I'll not trust blind Fortune.

_Alon._ Prithee, _Lovis_, let thee and I agree upon the matter, and I
find the Lady will be reasonable; cross or pile who shall go.

_Lo._ Go, Sir, whither?

_Alon._ To the Lady that--

_Lo._ Sent for neither of us that I can hear of yet.

_Alon._ You will not hear me out, but I'll end the Difference by chusing
you, Sir; and if you'll follow me  [To _Alonzo_.]  at a Distance, I will
conduct you where this Lady is.

_Alon._ Fair Guide, march on, I'll follow thee.    [Offers to go.

_Lo._ You are not mad, Sir, 'tis some abuse, and dangerous.
    [Pulls him back.

_Alon._ Be not envious of my Happiness: Forbear a Wench, for fear of
Danger!

_Lo._ Have a care, 'tis some Plot.  [Holds him.]  Where did this Lady
see us? we are both Strangers in the City.

_Alon._ No matter where.

_Olin._ At Church, Sir, just now.

_Alon._ Ay, ay, at Church, at Church, enough.

_Lo._ What's her Name?

_Alon._ Away, thou art fuller of Questions than a Fortune-teller: Come,
let's be gone.

_Lo._ Sure you do not mean to keep your Word, Sir?

_Alon._ Not keep my Word, _Lovis_? What wicked Life hast thou known me
lead, should make thee suspect I should not? When I have made an
Interest in her, and find her worth communicating, I will be just upon
Honour-- Go, go.

_Lo._ Well, go your ways; if Marriage do not tame you, you are past all
Hopes: but pray, Sir, let me see you at my Lodgings, the _Golden Fleece_
here at the Gate.

_Alon._ I'll attend thee here, and tell thee my Adventure: Farewel.
[Exit _Lovis_.]  _Pedro_, go you and inquire for the House of Don
_Ambrosio_, and tell him I will wait on him in the Evening, by that time
I shall get my self in Order.

    [Ex. _Alonzo_ and _Olinda_; _Pedro_ the other way.


SCENE II. _Ambrosio's_ House.

    Enter _Silvio_, melancholy.

_Silv._ I must remove _Marcel_, for his nice Honour
  Will ne'er permit that I should court my Sister;
  My Passion will admit of no Restraint,
  'Tis grown so violent; and fair _Cleonte's_ Charms
  Each Day increase to such a killing Number,
  That I must speak or die.

    Enter _Francisca_.

_Franc._ What, still with folded Arms and down-cast looks?

_Silv._ Oh _Francisca_!
  My Brother's Presence now afflicts me more
  Than all my Fears of Cruelty from _Cleonte_;
  She is the best, the sweetest, kindest Sister--

_Franc._ Ay, Sir, but she will never make the kindest Mistress.

_Silv._ At least she should permit me to adore her,
  Were but _Marcel_ away.
  Hast thou no Stratagem to get him absent?
  For I can think of nothing but my Sister.    [Sighs.

_Franc._ I know of one, nor other Remedy for you than loving less.

_Silv._ Oh, 'tis impossible:
  Thou know'st I've tried all ways, made my Addresses
  To all the fairest Virgins in _Madrid_;
  Nay, and at last fell to the worst Debauchery,
  That of frequenting every common House:
  But Souls that feed so high on Love as mine,
  Must nauseate coarser Diet.
  No, I must still love on, and tell her so,
  Or I must live no longer.

_Franc._ That methinks you might do even in the Presence of _Marcel_.
A Brother is allow'd to love a Sister.

_Silv._ But I shall do't in such a way, _Francisca_,
  Be so transported, and so passionate,
  I shall betray what he will ne'er indure.
  And since our other Sister, loose _Hippolyta_, was lost,
  He does so guard and watch the fair _Cleonte_--

_Franc._ Why, quarrel with him, Sir: you know you are so much dearer to
my Lord your Father than he is, that should he perceive a Difference
between ye, he would soon dismiss him the House; and 'twere but Reason,
Sir, for I am sure Don _Marcel_ loves you not.

_Silv._ That I excuse, since he the lawful Heir to all my Father's
Fortunes, sees it every Day ready to be sacrific'd to me, who can
pretend no Title to't, but the unaccountable Love my Father bears me.

_Franc._ Can you dissemble, Sir?

_Silv._ The worst of any Man, but would endeavour it, If it could any
ways advance my Love.

_Franc._ Which I must find some way to ruin.    [Aside.
  Then court his Mistress.

_Silv._ The rich _Flavia_?

_Franc._ That would not incense him, for her he is to marry; But 'tis
the fair _Clarinda_ has his Heart.

_Silv._ To act a feigned Love, and hide a real one,
  Is what I have already try'd in vain.
  Even fair _Clarinda_ I have courted too,
  In hope that way to banish from my Soul
  The hopeless Flame _Cleonte_ kindled there;
  But 'twas a Shame to see how ill I did dissemble.

_Franc._ Stay, Sir, here comes _Marcel_. I'll leave you.

    [Exit _Francisca_.

    Enter _Marcel_, with a Letter open in his Hand, which he kisses.

_Mar._ Kind Messenger of Love! Thus, thus a thousand times
  I bid thee welcome from my fair _Clarinda_.
  Thus joyful Bridegrooms, after long Despairs,
  Possess the yielding Treasure in their Arms:
  Only thus much the happier Lover I,
  Who gather all the Sweets of this fair Maid
  Without the ceremonious Tie of Marriage;
  That tie that does but nauseate the Delight,
  Be far from happy Lovers; we'll embrace
  And unconfin'd and free as whispering Air,
  That mingles wantonly with spreading Flowers.

_Silv._ What's all this?

_Mar._ _Silvio,_ the Victory's won.
  The Heart that nicely stood it out so long,
  Now yields upon Conditions.

_Silv._ What Victory? or what Heart?

_Mar._ I am all Rapture, cannot speak it out;
  My Senses have carous'd too much of Joy;
  And like young Drunkards, proud of their new try'd Strength,
  Have made my Pleasure less by the excess.

_Silv._ This is wondrous.
  Impart some of your over-charge to me,
  The Burden lightned will be more supportable.

_Mar._ Read here, and change thy Wonder, when thou knowst
  How happy Man can be.    [Gives him a Letter.
    [_Silvio_ reads.]

  _Marcel_,

  _Dormida_ will have me tell you what Effects your Vows have made,
  and how easily they have drawn from me a Consent to see you, as you
  desir'd,this Night in my Chamber: you have sworn to marry me, and
  Love will have me credit you, and then methinks I ought not to deny
  you any thing, nor question your Virtue. _Dormida_ will wait to
  throw you down the Key, when all are in Bed, that will conduct you
  to Your _Clarinda_.

_Silv._ Damn her for a Dissembler!
  Is this the chaste, the excellent _Clarinda_,
  Who whilst I courted, was as cold and nice,
  As a young Nun the day she is invested?

_Mar._ How now, Brother! what, displeased with it?
    [Takes the Letter.

_Silv._ A little, Sir, to see another's Happiness,
  Whilst I, where e'er I pay my Vows and Sighs,
  Get nothing but Disdain; and yet this Shape
  And Face I never thought unhandsom.

_Mar._ These be the least approaches to a Heart;
  'Tis not dull looking well will do the feat,
  There is a Knack in Love, a critical Minute:
  And Women must be watcht as Witches are,
  E'er they confess, and then they yield apace.

    Enter a _Boy_.

_Boy._ Sir, there's without a Servant of Don _Alonzo's_, who says his
Master will be here to Night.
    [_Marcel_ is surprized.

_Mar._ _Alonzo_! now I begin to wake
  From Love, like one from some delightful Dream,
  To reassume my wonted Cares and Shame.
  --I will not speak with him.    [Exit _Boy_.
  Oh _Hippolyta_! thou poor lost thing, _Hippolyta_!
  How art thou fallen from Honour, and from Virtue,
  And liv'st in Whoredom with an impious Villain,
  Who in revenge to me has thus betray'd thee.
  Keep thy self closer than thou'st done thy Sin;
  For if I find thee out, by all that's good,
  Thou hadst more Mercy on thy slaughter'd Honour,
  Than I will have for thee.
  And thou, _Antonio_, that hast betray'd her,
  Who till profan'd by thee, was chaste as Shrines,
  And pure as are the Vows are offer'd there,
  That Rape which thou'st committed on her Innocence,
  I will revenge as shall become her Brother.
    [Offers to go out in rage.

_Silv._ Stay, _Marcel_,
  I can inform you where these Lovers are.

_Mar._ Oh tell me quickly then,
  That I may take them in their foul Embraces,
  And send their Souls to Hell.

_Silv._ Last Night I made a youthful Sally to
  One of those Houses where Love and Pleasure
  Are sold at dearest Rates.

_Mar._ A Bordello; forwards pray.

_Silv._ Yes, at the Corner of St. _Jerom's_; where after seeing many
Faces which pleas'd me not, I would have took my leave; but the Matron
of the House, a kind obliging Lady, seeing me so nice, and of Quality,
(tho disguis'd) told me she had a Beauty, such an one as had Count _d'
Olivarez_ in his height of Power seen, he would have purchas'd at any
rate. I grew impatient to see this fine thing, and promis'd largely:
then leading me into a Room as gay, and as perfum'd as an Altar upon a
Holy-day, I saw seated upon a Couch of State--

_Mar._ _Hippolyta_!

_Silv._ _Hippolyta_ our Sister, drest like a _Venice_ Curtezan,
  With all the Charms of a loose Wanton,
  Singing and playing to her ravisht Lover,
  Who I perceiv'd assisted to expose her.

_Mar._ Well, Sir, what follow'd?

_Silv._ Surpriz'd at sight of this, I did withdraw,
  And left them laughing at my little Confidence.

_Mar._ How! left them? and left them living too?

_Silv._ If a young Wench will be gadding,
  Who can help it?

_Mar._ 'Sdeath you should, were you that half her Brother, Which my
Father too doatingly believes you.
    [Inrag'd.

_Silv._ How! do you question his Belief, _Marcel_?

_Mar._ I ne'er consider'd it; be gone and leave me.

_Silv._ Am I a Dog that thus you bid me vanish?
  What mean you by this Language?    [Comes up to him.
  And how dare you upbraid me with my Birth,
  Which know, _Marcel_, is more illustrious far
  Than thine, being got when Love was in his reign,
  With all his Youth and Heat about him?
  I, like the Birds of bravest kind, was hatcht
  In the hot Sun-shine of Delight; whilst
  Thou, _Marcel_, wer't poorly brooded
  In the cold Nest of Wedlock.

_Mar._ Thy Mother was some base notorious Strumpet,
  And by her Witchcraft reduc'd my Father's Soul,
  And in return she paid him with a Bastard,
  Which was thou.

_Silv._ _Marcel_, thou ly'st.    [Strikes him.

_Mar._ Tho 'twere no point of Valour, but of Rashness
  To fight thee, yet I'll do't.

_Silv._ By Heaven, I will not put this Injury up.

    [They fight, _Silvio_ is wounded.

    [Fight again. Enter _Ambrosio_, and _Cleonte_ between; _Silvio_
    falls into the Arms of _Cleonte_.

_Amb._ Hold! I command you hold;
  Ah, Traitor to my Blood, what hast thou done?

    [To _Marcel_, who kneels and lays his Sword at his Feet.

_Silv._ In fair _Cleonte's_ Arms!
  O I could kiss the Hand that gives me Death,
  So I might thus expire.

_Mar._ Pray hear me, Sir, before you do condemn me.

_Amb._ I will hear nothing but thy Death pronounc'd,
  Since thou hast wounded him, if it be mortal.
  Have I not charg'd thee on thy Life, _Marcel_,
  Thou shouldst not hold Discourse with him of any kind?

_Mar._ I did foresee my Fate, but could not shun it.

    [Takes his Sword and goes out.

_Amb._ What ho! _Biscay_, a Surgeon; on your Lives a Surgeon; where be
the Rascals?
    [Goes out.

_Silv._ I would not have a Surgeon search my Wound
  With rude and heavy Hands:
  Yours, fair _Cleonte_, can apply the Balsam
  Far more successfully,
  For they are soft and white as Down of Swans,
  And every Touch is sovereign.

_Cleo._ But I shall die with looking on your Wounds.

_Silv._ And I shall die unless you cure them, Sister.

_Cleo._ With the expence of mine to save your Life,
  Is both my Wish and Duty.

_Silv._ I thank you, pretty Innocence.    [Leads him in.


SCENE III. _A Grove._

    Discovers _Euphemia_ veil'd, walking alone.

_Euph._ _Olinda_ stays long; I hope she has overtook the Cavalier. Lord,
how I am concern'd; if this should be Love now, I were in fine
condition, at least if he be married, or a Lover: Oh that I fear: hang
me, if it has not disorder'd me all over. But see, where she comes with
him too.

    Enter _Olinda_ and _Alonzo_.

_Olin._ Here he is, Madam, I hope 'tis the right Man.

_Alon._ Madam, you see what haste I make to obey your kind Commands.

_Euph._ 'Twas as kindly done, Sir; but I fear when you know to what end
'tis, you'll repent your Haste.

_Alon._ 'Tis very likely; but if I do, you are not the first of your Sex
that has put me to Repentance: But lift up your Veil, and if your Face
be good--
    [Offers to lift up her Veil.

_Euph._ Stay, you're too hasty.

_Alon._ Nay, let's have fair Play on both sides, I'll hide nothing from
you.
    [Offers again.

_Euph._ I have a Question or two to ask you first.

_Alon._ I can promise nothing till I see my Reward. I am a base
Barterer, here's one for t'other; you saw your Man and lik'd him, and if
I like you when I see you--

    [Offers again.

_Euph._ But if you do not, must all my liking be castaway?

_Alon._ As for that, trust to my good Nature; a frank Wench has hitherto
taken me as much as Beauty. And one Proof you have already given of
that, in this kind Invitation: come, come, do not lose my little
new-gotten good Opinion of thee, by being coy and peevish.
    [Offers again.

_Euph._ You're strangely impatient, Sir.

_Alon._ O you should like me the better for that, 'tis a sign of Youth
and Fire.

_Euph._ But, Sir, before I let you see my Face--

_Alon._ I hope I must not promise you to like it.

_Euph._ No, that were too unreasonable, but I must know whether you are
a Lover.

_Alon._ What an idle Question's that to a brisk young Fellow? A Lover!
yes, and that as often as I see a new Face.

_Euph._ That I'll allow.

_Alon._ That's kindly said; and now do I find I shall be in love with
thine as soon as I see't, for I am half so with thy Humour already.

_Euph._ Are you not married, Sir?

_Alon._ Married!

_Euph._ Now I dread his Answer.  [Aside.]  Yes, married.

_Alon._ Why, I hope you make no Scruple of Conscience, to be kind to a
married Man.

_Euph._ Now do I find, you hope I am a Curtezan that come to bargain for
a Night or two; but if I possess you, it must be for ever.

_Alon._ For ever let it be then. Come, let's begin on any Terms.

_Euph._ I cannot blame you, Sir, for this mistake, since what I've
rashly done, has given you cause to think I am not virtuous.

_Alon._ Faith, Madam, Man is a strange ungovern'd thing; yet I in the
whole course of my Life have taken the best care I could, to make as few
Mistakes as possible: and treating all Women-kind alike, we seldom err;
for where we find one as you profess to be, we happily light on a
hundred of the sociable and reasonable sort.

_Euph._ But sure you are so much a Gentleman, that you may be convinc'd?

_Alon._ Faith, if I be mistaken, I cannot devise what other use you can
make of me.

_Euph._ In short this; I must leave you instantly; and will only tell
you I am the sole Daughter of a rich Parent, young, and as I am told not
unhandsom; I am contracted to a Man I never saw, nor I am sure shall not
like when I do see, he having more Vice and Folly than his Fortune will
excuse, tho a great one; and I had rather die than marry him.

_Alon._ I understand you, and you would have me dispatch this Man.

_Euph._ I am not yet so wicked. The Church is the only place I am
allowed to go to, and till now could never see the Man that was
perfectly agreeable to me: Thus veil'd, I'll venture to tell you so.

_Alon._ What the Devil will this come to? her Mien and Shape are
strangely graceful, and her Discourse is free and natural. What a damn'd
Defeat is this, that she should be honest now!
    [Aside.

_Euph._ Well, Sir, what Answer? I see he is uneasy.    [Aside.

_Alon._ Why, as I was saying, Madam, I am a Stranger.

_Euph._ I like you the better for that.

_Alon._ But, Madam, I am a Man unknown, unown'd in the World; and much
unworthy the Honour you do me-- Would I were well rid of her, and yet I
find a damnable Inclination to stay too.
    [Aside.
  Will nothing but Matrimony serve your turn, Madam? Pray use a young
Lover as kindly as you can.

_Euph._ Nothing but that will do, and that must be done.

_Alon._ Must! 'slife this is the first of her Sex that ever was
before-hand with me, and yet that I should be forc'd to deny her too.
    [Aside.

_Euph._ I fear his Answer, _Olinda_.    [Aside.

_Olin._ At least 'tis but making a Discovery of your Beauty, and then
you have him sure.

_Alon._ Madam, 'tis a matter of Moment, and requires Deliberation;
besides I have made a kind of Promise--

_Euph._ Never to marry?

_Alon._ No, faith, 'tis not so well: But since now I find we are both in
haste, I am to be marry'd.

_Euph._ This I am sure is an Excuse; but I'll fit him for't.
    [Aside.
  To be marry'd said you?
  That Word has kill'd me, Oh I feel it drill
  Through the deep Wound his Eyes have lately made:
  'Twas much unkind to make me hope so long.

    [She leans on _Olinda_, as if she swooned, who pulls off her Veil:
    he stands gazing at a Distance.

_Olin._ Sure she does but counterfeit, and now I'll play my Part. Madam,
Madam!

_Alon._ What wondrous thing is that! I should not look upon't,
it changes Nature in me.

_Olin._ Have you no pity, Sir? Come nearer pray.

_Alon._ Sure there's Witchcraft in that Face, it never could have seiz'd
me thus else, I have lov'd a thousand times, yet never felt such joyful
Pains before.

_Olin._ She does it rarely. What mean you, Sir?

_Alon._ I never was a Captive to this Hour.
  If in her Death such certain Wounds she give,
  What Mischiefs she would do, if she should live!
  Yet she must live, and live that I may prove
  Whether this strange Disorder here be Love.    [To his heart.
  Divine, divinest Maid.    [Kneels.

_Olin._ Come nearer, Sir, you'll do a Lady no good at that Distance.
Speak to her, Sir.
    [He rises and comes to her, gazing still.

_Alon._ I know not what to say,
  I am unus'd to this soft kind of Language:
  But if there be a Charm in Words, and such
  As may conjure her to return again;
  Prithee instruct me in them, I'll say any thing,
  Do any thing, and suffer all the Wounds
  Her Eyes can give.

_Euph._ Sure he is real.    [Aside.
  Alas! I am discover'd; how came my Veil off?

    [She pretends to recover, and wonder that her Veil is off.

_Alon._ That you have let me see that lovely Face,
  May move your Pity, not your Anger, Madam;
  Pity the Wounds 't has made, pity the Slave,
  Who till this Moment boasted of his Freedom.

_Euph._ May I believe all this? for that we easily do in things we wish.

_Alon._ Command me things impossible to all
  Sense but a Lover's, I will do't: to shew
  The Truth of this, I could even give you
  The last Proof of it, and take you at your Word,
  To marry you.

_Euph._ O wondrous Reformation! marry me!    [Laughs.

_Alon._ How, do you mock my Grief?

_Euph._ What a strange dissembling thing is Man! To put me off too, you
were to be married.

_Alon._ Hah, I had forgotten _Hippolyta_.    [He starts.

_Euph._ See, _Olinda_, the Miracle increases, he can be serious too. How
do you, Sir?

_Alon._ 'Tis you have robb'd me of my native Humour,
  I ne'er could think till now.

_Euph._ And to what purpose was it now?

_Alon._ Why, Love and Honour were at odds within me,
  And I was making Peace between them.

_Euph._ How fell that out, Sir?

_Alon._ About a Pair of Beauties; Women,
  That set the whole World at odds.
  She that is Honour's Choice I never saw,
  And love has taught me new Obedience here.

_Euph._ What means he? I fear he is in earnest.    [Aside.

_Olin._ 'Tis nothing but his Aversion to Marriage, which most young Men
dread now-a-days.

_Euph._ I must have this Stranger, or I must die; for whatever Face I
put upon't, I am far gone in Love, but I must hide it.
    [Aside.
  Well, since I have mist my Aim, you shall never boast my Death; I'll
cast my self away upon the next handsom young Fellow I meet, tho I die
for't; and so farewel to you, loving Sir.
    [Offers to go.

_Alon._ Stay, do not marry, as you esteem the Life of him that shall
possess you.

_Euph._ Sure you will not kill him.

_Alon._ By Heaven, I will.

_Euph._ O I'll trust you, Sir: Farewel, farewel.

_Alon._ You shall not go in triumph thus,
  Unless you take me with you.

_Euph._ Well, since you are so resolv'd (and so in love) I'll give you
leave to see me once more at a House at the Corner of St. _Jerom's_,
where this Maid shall give you Entrance.

_Alon._ Why, that's generously said.

_Euph._ As soon 'tis dark you may venture.

_Alon._ Till then will be an Age, farewel, fair Saint,
  To thee and all my quiet till we meet.    [Exeunt.




ACT II.


SCENE I. _The Street._

    Enter _Marcel_ in a Cloak alone.

_Mar._ The Night comes on, and offers me two Pleasures,
  The least of which would make another blest,
  Love and Revenge: but I, whilst I dispute
  Which Happiness to chuse, neglect them both.
  The greatest Bliss that Mankind can possess,
  Persuades me this way, to my fair _Clarinda:_
  But tyrannick Honour
  Presents the Credit of my House before me,
  And bids me first redeem its fading Glory,
  By sacrificing that false Woman's Heart
  That has undone its Fame.
  But stay, Oh Conscience, when I look within,
  And lay my Anger by, I find that Sin
  Which I would punish in _Antonio's_ Soul,
  Lie nourish'd up in mine without Controul.
  To fair _Clarinda_ such a Siege I lay,
  As did that Traitor to _Hippolyta_;
  Only _Hippolyta_ a Brother has,
  _Clarinda_, none to punish her Disgrace:
  And 'tis more Glory the defenc'd to win,
  Than 'tis to take unguarded Virtue in.
  I either must my shameful Love resign,
  Or my more brave and just Revenge decline.

    [Enter _Alonzo_ drest, with _Lovis_. _Marcel_ stays.

_Alon._ But to be thus in love, is't not a Wonder, _Lovis_?

_Lov._ No, Sir, it had been much a greater, if you had stay'd a Night in
Town without being so; and I shall see this Wonder as often as you see a
new Face of a pretty Woman.

_Alon._ I do not say that I shall lose all Passion for the fair Sex
hereafter; but on my Conscience, this amiable Stranger has given me a
deeper Wound than ever I received from any before.

_Lov._ Well, you remember the Bargain.

_Alon._ What Bargain?

_Lov._ To communicate; you understand.

_Alon._ There's the Devil on't, she is not such a Prize: Oh, were she
not honest, Friend!
    [Hugs him.

_Lov._ Is it so to do? What, you pretend to be a Lover, and she honest,
now only to deprive me of my Part: remember this, _Alonzo_.

_Mar._ Did not I hear _Alonzo_ nam'd?    [Aside.

_Alon._ By all that's good I am in earnest, Friend;
  Nay thy own Eyes shall convince thee
  Of the Power of hers.
  Her Veil fell off, and she appear'd to me,
  Like unexpected Day, from out a Cloud;
  The lost benighted Traveller
  Sees not th' Approach of the next Morning's Sun
  With more transported Joy,
  Than I this ravishing and unknown Beauty.

_Lov._ Hey day! What Stuff's here? Nay, now I see thou art quite gone
indeed.

_Alon._ I fear it. Oh, had she not been honest!
  What Joy, what Heaven of Joys she would distribute!
  With such a Face, and Shape, a Wit, and Mein--
  But as she is, I know not what to do.

_Lov._ You cannot marry her.

_Alon._ I would not willingly, tho I think I'm free: For _Pedro_ went to
_Marcel_ to tell him I was arriv'd, and would wait on him; but was
treated more like a Spy, than a Messenger of Love: They sent no Answer
back, which I tell you, _Lovis_, angers me: 'twas not the Entertainment
I expected from my brave Friend _Marcel_. But now I am for the fair
Stranger who by this expects me.

_Mar._ 'Tis _Alonzo_. O how he animates my Rage, and turns me over to
Revenge, upon _Hippolyta_ and her false Lover!
    [Aside.

_Lov._ Who's this that walks before us?    [They go out.

_Alon._ No matter who.

_Mar._ I am follow'd.    [They enter again.

_Lov._ See, he stops.    [_Marcel_ looks back.

_Alon._ Let him do what he please, we will out-go him.
    [They go out.

_Lov._ This Man whoe'er he be still follows us.

_Alon._ I care not, nothing shall hinder my Design, I'll go tho I make
my passage thro his Heart.
    [They enter at another Door, he follows.

_Lov._ See, he advances, pray stand by a little.
    [They stand by.

_Mar._ Sure there's some Trick in this, but I'll not fear it. This is
the Street, and hereabout's the House.
    [Looks about.
  This must be it, if I can get admittance now.    [Knocks.

    Enter _Olinda_ with a Light.

_Olin._ O, Sir, are you come? my Lady grew impatient.
    [They go in.

_Mar._ She takes me for some other: This is happy.
    [Aside.

_Alon._ Gods! is not that the Maid that first conducted me to the fair
thing that rob'd me of my Heart?

_Lov._ I think it is.

_Alon._ She gives admittance to another Man.
  All Women-kind are false, I'll in and tell her so.
    [Offers to go.

_Lov._ You are too rash, 'tis dangerous.

_Alan._ I do despise thy Counsel, let me go.

_Lov._ If you are resolv'd, I'll run the Hazard with you.
    [They both go in.


SCENE II. _The Scene changes to a Chamber._

    Enter from one side _Olinda_, lighting in _Marcel_ muffled as before
    in his Cloke, from the other _Antonio_ leading in _Euphemia_ veil'd.

_Mar._ By Heaven's, 'tis she: Vile Strumpet!

    [Throws off his Cloke, and snatches her from him.

_Euph._ Alas, this is not he whom I expected.

_Anto._ _Marcel_! I had rather have encounter'd my evil Angel than thee.
    [Draws.

_Mar._ I do believe thee, base ungenerous Coward.
    [Draws.

    [They fight, _Marcel_ disarms _Antonio_, by wounding his Hand.
    Enter _Alonzo_, goes betwixt them, and with his Sword drawn opposes
    _Marcel_, who is going to kill _Antonio_; _Lovis_ follows him.

_Alon._ Take Courage, Sir.    [To _Antonio_, who goes out mad.

_Mar._ Prevented! whoe'er thou be'st.
  It was unjustly done,
  To save his Life who merits Death,
  By a more shameful way.
  But thank the Gods she still remains to meet
  That Punishment that's due to her foul Lust.
    [Offers to run at her, _Alonzo_ goes between.

_Alon._ 'Tis this way you must make your Passage then.

_Mar._ What art thou, that thus a second time
  Dar'st interpose between Revenge and me?

_Alon._ 'Tis _Marcel_! What can this mean?    [Aside.
  Dost not thou know me, Friend? look on me well.

_Mar._ _Alonzo_ here! Ah I shall die with Shame.    [Aside.
  As thou art my Friend, remove from that bad Woman,
  Whose Sins deserve no sanctuary.

_Euph._ What can he mean? I dare not shew my Face.
    [Aside.

_Alon._ I do believe this Woman is a false one,
  But still she is a Woman, and a fair one:
  I would not suffer thee to injure her,
  Tho I believe she has undone thy quiet,
  As she has lately mine.

_Mar._ Why, dost thou know it then?
  Stand by, I shall forget thou art my Friend else,
  And thro thy Heart reach hers.

_Alon._ Nothing but Love could animate him thus,
  He is my Rival.    [Aside.
  _Marcel_, I will not quit one inch of Ground;
  Do what thou dar'st, for know I do adore her,
  And thus am bound by Love to her Defence.
    [Offers to fight _Marcel_, who retires in wonder.

_Euph._ Hold, noble Stranger, hold.

_Mar._ Have you such Pity on your Lover there?
    [Offers to kill her, _Alonzo_ stays him.

_Euph._ Help, help.    [Her Veil falls off.

    Enter _Hippolyta_ drest like a Curtezan: Sees _Marcel._

_Hip._ Oh Gods, my Brother! in pity, Sir, defend me
  From the just Rage of that incensed Man.
    [_Runs behind _Lovis_, whilst _Marcel_ stands
    gazing on both with wonder._

_Lov._ I know not the meaning of all this, but
  However I'll help the Lady in Distress.
  Madam, you're safe, whilst I am your Protector.
    [Leads her out.

_Mar._ I've lost the Power of striking where I ought,
  Since my misguided Hand so lately err'd.
  Oh Rage, dull senseless Rage, how blind and rude
  It makes us.
  Pardon, fair Creature, my unruly Passion,
  And only blame that Veil which hid that Face,
  Whose Innocence and Beauty had disarm'd it:
  I took you for the most perfidious Woman,
  The falsest loosest thing.

_Alon._ How! are you a Stranger to her?

_Mar._ Yes I am. Have you forgiven me, Madam?

_Euph._ Sir, I have.    [_Marcel_ bows and offers to go out.

_Alon._ Stay, Friend, and let me know your Quarrel.

_Mar._ Not for the World, _Alonzo_.

_Alon._ This is unfriendly, Sir.

_Mar._ Thou dost delay me from the noblest Deed,
  On which the Honour of my House depends,
  A Deed which thou wilt curse thy self for hindring
  Farewel.    [Goes out.

_Alon._ What can the meaning of this be?

_Euph._ Oh do not ask, but let us quickly leave this dangerous Place.

_Alon._ Does it not belong to you?

_Euph._ No, but you would like me the better if it did: for, Sir,
it is a--

_Alon._ Upon my Life, a Baudy-house.

_Euph._ So they call it.

_Alon._ You do amaze me.

_Euph._ Truth is, not daring to trust my Friends or Relations with a
Secret that so nearly concern'd me as the meeting you, and hearing of a
new come Curtezan living in this House, I sent her word I would make her
a Visit, knowing she would gladly receive it from a Maid of my Quality:
When I came, I told her my Business, and very frankly she offer'd me her
House and Service-- Perhaps you'll like me the worse for this bold
Venture, but when you consider my promis'd Husband is every day
expected, you will think it but just to secure my self any way.

_Alon._ You could not give me a greater Proof than this of what you say
you bless me with, your Love.

_Euph._ I will not question but you are in earnest; at least if any
doubt remain, these will resolve it.
    [Gives him Letters.

_Alon._ What are these, Madam?

_Euph._ Letters, Sir, intercepted from the Father of my design'd Husband
out of _Flanders_ to mine.

_Alon._ What use can I make of them?

_Euph._ Only this: Put your self into an Equipage very ridiculous, and
pretend you are my foolish Lover arriv'd from _Flanders_, call your self
_Haunce van Ezel_, and give my Father these, as for the rest I'll trust
your Wit.

_Alon._ What shall I say or do now?    [Aside.

_Euph._ Come, come, no study, Sir; this must be done,
  And quickly too, or you will lose me.

_Alon._ Two great Evils! if I had but the Grace to chuse the least now,
that is, lose her.
    [Aside.

_Euph._ I'll give you but to night to consider it.

_Alon._ Short warning this: but I am damnably in love, and cannot
withstand Temptation.
    [Kisses her Hand.

_Euph._ I had forgot to tell you my Name's _Euphemia_, my Father's
you'll find on the Letters, and pray show your Love in your haste.
Farewel.

_Alon._ Stay, fair _Euphemia_, and let me pay my Thanks, and tell you
that I must obey you.

_Euph._ I give a Credit where I give a Heart.
  Go inquire my Birth and Fortune: as for you,
  I am content with what I see about you.

_Alon._ That's bravely said, nor will I ask one Question about you, not
only to return the Bounty, but to avoid all things that look like the
Approaches to a married Life. If Fortune will put us together, let her
e'en provide for us.

_Euph._ I must be gone: Farewel, and pray make haste. [Looks kindly on
him.

_Alon._ There's no resisting those Looks, _Euphemia_: One more to
fortify me well; for I shall have need of every Aid in this Case.
    [Look at one another and go.


SCENE III. _A Street._

    Enter _Antonio_ in haste with _Hippolyta_; weeping as passing over
    the Stage.

_Ant._ Come, let us haste, I fear we are pursu'd.

_Hip._ Ah, whither shall we fly?

_Ant._ We are near the Gate, and must secure our selves with the
Darkness of the Night in _St. Peter's_ Grove, we dare not venture into
any House.
    [Exeunt.

    Enter _Clarinda_ and _Dormida_ above in the Balcony.

_Clar._ Can'st thou not see him yet?

_Dorm._ Good lack a-day, what an impatient thing is a young Girl in
love!

_Clar._ Nay, good _Dormida_, let not want of Sleep make thee testy.

_Dorm._ In good time-- are you my Governess, or I yours, that you are
giving me Instructions? Go get you in, or I shall lay down my Office.

_Clar._ Nay, wait a little longer, I'm sure he will come.

_Dorm._ You sure! you have wondrous Skill indeed in the Humours of Men:
how came you to be so well acquainted with them? you scarce ever saw any
but Don _Marcel_, and him too but thro a Grate or Window, or at Church;
and yet you are sure. I am a little the elder of the two, and have
manag'd as many Intrigues of this kind as any Woman, and never found a
constant just Man, as they say, of a thousand; and yet you are sure.

_Clar._ Why, is it possible _Marcel_ should be false?

_Dorm._ _Marcel!_ No, no, Sweet-heart, he is that Man of a thousand.

_Clar._ But if he should, you have undone me, by telling me so many
pretty things of him.

_Dorm._ Still you question my Ability, which by no means I can indure;
get you in I say.

_Clar._ Do not speak so loud, you will wake my Mother.

_Dorm._ At your Instructions again; do you question my Conduct and
Management of this Affair? Go watch for him your self: I'll have no more
to do with you back nor edge.
    [Offers to go.

_Clar._ Will you be so barbarous to leave me to my self, after having
made it your Business this three Months to sollicit a Heart which was
but too ready to yield before; after having sworn to me how honourable
all his Intents were; nay, made me write to him to come to night? And
now when I have done this, and am all trembling with fear and shame (and
yet an infinite Desire to see him too)  [Sighs]  thou wilt abandon me:
go, when such as you oblige, 'tis but to be insolent with the more
freedom.

_Dorm._ What, you are angry I'll warrant.    [Smiles.

_Clar._ I will punish my self to pay thee back, and will not see
_Marcel_.

_Dorm._ What a pettish Fool is a Maid in love at fifteen! how
unmanageable! But I'll forgive all-- go get you in, I'll watch for your
Lover; I would not have you disoblige a Man of his Pretensions and
Quality for all the World.
    [_Clarinda_ goes in.

    Enter _Alonzo_ below.

_Alon._ Now do I want _Lovis_ extremely, to consult with him about this
Business: For I am afraid the Devil, or Love, or both are so great with
me, that I must marry this fair Inchantress, which is very unlucky; but,
since _Ambrosio_ and _Marcel_ refuse to see me, I hold my self no longer
ingag'd in Honour to _Hippolyta_.

_Dorm._  [above.]  Whist, whist, Sir, Sir.

_Alon._ Who's there?

_Dorm._ 'Tis I, your Servant, Sir; oh you are a fine Spark, are you not,
to make so fair a Creature wait so long for you? there, there's the Key,
open the Door softly and come in.
    [Throws him down a Key in a Handkerchief.

_Alon._ What's this? But I'll ask no Questions, so fair a Creature, said
she? Now if 'twere to save my Life cannot I forbear, I must go in:
Shou'd _Euphemia_ know this, she would call it Levity and Inconstancy;
but I plead Necessity, and will be judg'd by the amorous Men, and not
the jealous Women: For certain this Lady, whoe'er she be, designs me a
more speedy Favour than I can hope from _Euphemia_, and on easier Terms
too. This is the Door that must conduct to the languishing _Venus_.
    [Opens the Door and goes in, leaving it unshut.

    Enter _Marcel_ with his Sword drawn.

_Mar._ Thus far I have pursu'd the Fugitives,
  Who by the help of hasty Fear and Night,
  Are got beyond my Power; unlucky Accident!
  Had I but kill'd _Antonio_, or _Hippolyta_,
  Either had made my Shame supportable.
  But tho I have mist the Pleasure of Revenge,
  I will not that of Love.
  One Look from fair _Clarinda_ will appease
  The Madness which this Disappointment rais'd.
    [Walks looking towards the Window.
  None appears yet: _Dormida_ was to throw me down the Key. The Door is
open, left so to give me entrance.
    [Goes to the Door.


SCENE IV. _Changes to a dark Hall._

    Discovers _Alonzo_ groping about in the Hall.

_Alon._ Now am I in a worse Condition than before, can neither advance
nor retreat: I do not like this groping alone in the Dark thus.
Whereabouts am I? I dare not call: were this fair thing she spoke of but
now half so impatient as I, she would bring a Light, and conduct me.

    Enter _Marcel_.

_Mar._ 'Tis wondrous dark.

_Alon._ Hah, a Man's Voice that way; that's not so well: it may be some
Lover, Husband, or Brother; none of which are to be trusted in this
Case, therefore I'll stand upon my Guard.

    [Draws: _Marcel_ coming towards him jostles him.

_Mar._ Who's there?

_Alon._ A Man.

_Mar._ A Man! none such inhabit here.    [Draws.
  Thy Business?

_Alon._ This shall answer you, since there's no other way.

    [They fight, _Alonzo_ wounds _Marcel_, who fights him to the Door;
    _Alonzo_ goes out, _Marcel_ gropes to follow.

_Mar._ This is not just, ye Gods, to punish me, and let the Traytor
'scape unknown too: Methought 'twas _Silvio's_ Voice, or else a sudden
thought of Jealousy come into my Head would make me think so.

    Enter _Clarinda_ and _Dormida_ with Light.

_Clar._ I tell you I did hear the noise of fighting.

_Dorm._ Why, between whom should it be? I'll be sworn _Marcel_ came in
alone.

_Clar._ _Marcel_! and wounded too! oh I'm lost.
    [Sees him, weeps.

_Mar._ Keep your false Tears to bathe your Lover's Wounds.
  For I perhaps have given him some-- Thou old Assistant to her Lust,
whose greatest Sin is wishing, tell me who 'twas thou didst procure for
her.
    [In rage to _Dormida_.

_Dorm._ Alas! I cannot imagine who it should be, unless Don _Silvio_,
who has sometimes made Addresses to her: But oh the House is up, Madam,
we are undone; let's fly for Heavens sake.

_Clar._ Oh _Marcel_, can you believe--    [A Noise.

_Dorm._ Come, come, I'll not be undone for your Fiddle-faddles; I'll lay
it all on you, if I be taken.
    [Pulls out _Clarinda_.

_Mar._ Sot that I was, I could not guess at this to day, by his Anger at
the Letter I foolishly shew'd him; he is my Rival, and 'tis with him
she's fled; and I'll endeavour to pursue them.
    [Offers to go.
  But oh my Strength complies with their Design,  [Leaning on his
Sword.]  and shamefully retires to give them leave to play their amorous
Game out.
    [Goes faintly out.


SCENE V. _Changes to the Street. Discovers _Alonzo_ alone._

_Alon._ This Act of mine was rash and ill-natur'd,
  And I cannot leave the Street with a good Conscience,
  Till I know what mischief I have done.

    Enter _Dormida_ and _Clarinda_.

Hah, Ladies from the same House! these are Birds that I have frighted
from their Nests I am sure: I'll proffer my Service to them.

_Dorm._ Why do not you make more haste?

_Clar._ How can she go, whose Life is left behind?
  Besides, I know not whither we should go.
  Ye Powers that guard the Innocent, protect us.

_Alon._ These must be some whom I have injur'd.
  Ladies-- you seem as in distress.

_Dorm._ Oh, Sir, as you are a Gentleman, assist a pair of Virgins.

_Alon._ What's this, a mumping Matron? I hope the other's young, or I
have offer'd my Service to little purpose.

_Clar._ Sir, if you will have the Charity to assist us,
  Do it speedily, we shall be very grateful to you.

_Alon._ Madam, I will, but know not where to carry ye; my Lodging is in
an Inn, and is neither safe nor honourable: but Fortune dares no less
than protect the Fair, and I'll venture my Life in your Protection and
Service.
    [Exeunt.

    Enter _Marcel_ faintly.

_Mar._ Stay, Traytor, stay-- oh they are out of sight,
  But may my Curse o'ertake them in their flight.    [Exit.


SCENE VI. _Chamber of _Cleonte_._

    She is discover'd in her Night-Gown, at a Table, as undressing,
    _Francisca_ by her.

_Cleo._ _Francisca_, thou art dull to Night.    [Sighs.

_Fran._ You will not give me leave to talk.

_Cleo._ Not thy way indeed, hast thou no Stories but of Love, and of my
Brother _Silvio_?

_Fran._ None that you wish to hear: But I'll do what you please, so you
will not oblige me to sigh for you.

_Cleo._ Then prithee sing to me.

_Fran._ What Song, a merry, or a sad?

_Cleo._ Please thy own Humour, for then thou'lt sing best.

_Fran._ Well, Madam, I'll obey you, and please my self.

SINGS.

  _Amyntas_ led me to a Grove,
    Where all the Trees did shade us;
  The Sun it self, tho it had strove,
    Yet could not have betrayed us.
  The place secure from human Eyes,
    No other fear allows,
  But when the Winds that gently rise
    Do kiss the yielding Boughs.

  Down there we sat upon the Moss,
    And did begin to play
  A thousand wanton Tricks, to pass
    The Heat of all the Day.
  A many Kisses he did give,
    And I return'd the same:
  Which made me willing to receive
    That which I dare not name.

  His charming Eyes no aid requir'd,
    To tell their amorous Tale;
  On her that was already fir'd,
    'Twas easy to prevail.
  He did but kiss, and clasp me round,
    Whilst they his thoughts exprest,
  And laid me gently on the Ground;
    Oh! --who can guess the rest?

  _After the Song, enter _Silvio_ all undrest, gazing wildly on
_Cleonte_; his Arm ty'd up._

_Cleo._ My Brother _Silvio_, at this late hour, and in my Lodgings too!
How do you, Sir? are you not well?

_Silv._ Oh, why did Nature give me being?
  Or why create me Brother to _Cleonte_?    [Aside.
  Or give her Charms, and me the sense to adore 'em?

_Cleo._ Dear Brother--    [Goes to him.

_Silv._ Ah, _Cleonte_--    [Takes her by the Hand and gazes.

_Cleo._ What would you, Sir?

_Silv._ I am not-- well--

_Cleo._ Sleep, Sir, will give you ease.

_Silv._ I cannot sleep, my Wounds do rage and burn so, as they put me
past all power of rest.

_Cleo._ We'll call your Surgeon, Sir.

_Silv._ He can contribute nothing to my Cure,
  But I must owe it all to thee, _Cleonte_.

_Cleo._ Instruct me in the way, give me your Arm,
  And I will bathe it in a thousand Tears,
    [Goes to untie his Arm.
  And breathe so many Sighs into your Wound--

_Silv._ Let that slight hurt alone, and search this-- here.
    [To his Heart.

_Cleo._ How! are you wounded there,
  And would not let us know it all this while?

_Silv._ I durst not tell you, but design'd to suffer,
  Rather than trouble you with my Complaints:
  But now my Pain is greater than my Courage.

_Fran._ Oh, he will tell her, that he loves her sure.    [Aside.

_Cleo._ Sit down and let me see't.
    [He sits down, she puts her Hand into his Bosom.

_Fran._ Oh foolish Innocence--    [Aside.

_Cleo._ You have deceiv'd me, Brother, here's no Wound.

_Silv._ Oh take away your Hand--
  It does increase my Pain, and wounds me deeper.

_Cleo._ No, surely, Sir, my Hand is very gentle.

_Silv._ Therefore it hurts me, Sister; the very thoughts
  Of Touches by so soft and fair a Hand,
  Playing about my Heart, are not to be indur'd with Life.
    [Rises in passion.

_Cleo._ Alas, what means my Brother?

_Silv._ Can you not guess, fair Sister? have my Eyes
  So ill exprest my Soul? or has your Innocence
  Not suffer'd you to understand my Sighs?
  Have then a thousand Tales, which I have told you,
  Of Broken Hearts, and Lovers Languishments,
  Not serv'd to tell you, that I did adore you?

_Cleo._ Oh let me still remain in Innocence,
  Rather than sin so much to understand you.

_Fran._ I can endure no more--    [Goes out.

_Silv._ Can you believe it Sin to love a Brother? it is not so in
Nature.

_Cleo._ Not as a Brother, Sir; but otherwise,
  It is, by all the Laws of Men and Heaven.

_Silv._ Sister, so 'tis that we should do no Murder,
  And yet you daily kill, and I, among the number
  Of your Victims, must charge you with the sin
  Of killing me, a Lover, and a Brother.

_Cleo._ What wou'd you have me do?

_Silv._ Why-- I would have thee-- do-- I know not what--
  Still to be with me-- yet that will not satisfy;
  To let me look-- upon thee-- still that's not enough.
  I dare not say to kiss thee, and imbrace thee;
  That were to make me wish-- I dare not tell thee what--

_Cleo._ I must not hear this Language from a Brother.
    [She offers to go.

_Silv._ What a vile thing's a Brother?
  Stay, take this Dagger, and add one Wound more
    [He kneels and offers her a Dagger, and holds her by the Coat.
  To those your Eyes have given, and after that
  You'll find no trouble from my Sighs and Tears.

    Enter _Francisca_.

_Fran._ By this she understands him, curse on her Innocence, 'Tis fuel
to his flame--  [Aside.]  Madam, there is below a Lady, who desires to
speak with the Mistress of the House.

_Cleo._ At this hour a Lady! who can it be?

_Fran._ I know not, but she seems of Quality.

_Cleo._ Is she alone?

_Fran._ Attended by a Gentleman and an old Woman.

_Cleo._ Perhaps some one that needs a kind Assistance; my Father is in
Bed, and I'll venture to know their Business; bring her up.

_Fran._ 'Twere good you should retire, Sir.
    [To _Silvio_, and Exit.

_Silv._ I will, but have a care of me, _Cleonte_,
  I fear I shall grow mad, and so undo thee:
  Love me-- but do not let me know't too much.    [Goes out.

    Enter _Francisca_ with Lights; follow'd by _Alonzo_, _Clarinda_,
    and _Dormida_: _Alonzo_ gazes on _Cleonte_ a while.

_Cleo._ Is't me you would command?

_Clar._ I know not what to say, I am so disorder'd.    [Aside.

_Alon._ What Troops of Beauties she has! sufficient to take whole Cities
in-- Madam, I beg--
    [Takes _Clarinda_ by the Hand, and approaches _Cleonte_.

_Cleo._ What, Sir?

_Alon._ That you would receive into Protection--

_Cleo._ What pray, Sir?

_Alon._ Would you would give me leave to say, a Heart
  That your fair Eyes have lately made unfit
  For its old Quarters.

_Cleo._ I rather think you mean this Lady, Sir.
    [_Alonzo_ looks with wonder on _Clarinda_.

_Alon._ She's heavenly fair too, and has surpriz'd my Heart,
  Just as 'twas going to the other's Bosom,
  And rob'd her at least of one half of it.    [Aside.

_Clar._ Madam, I am a Virgin in distress,
  And by misfortune forc'd to seek a Sanctuary,
  And humbly beg it here.

_Cleo._ Intreaties were not made for that fair Mouth;
  Command and be obey'd.
  But, Sir, to whom do you belong?

_Alon._ I belong to a very fair Person,
  But do not know her Name.

_Cleo._ But what are you, pray, Sir?

_Alon._ Madam, a Wanderer; a poor lost thing,
  That none will own or pity.

_Cleo._ That's sad indeed; but whoe'er you are, since you belong to this
fair Maid, you'll find a Welcome every where.

_Alon._ And if I do not, I am cashier'd.    [Aside.
  Madam, if telling you I am her Brother,
  Can make me more acceptable,
  I shall be yet more proud of the Alliance.

_Cleo._ What must I call your Sister, Sir, when I would pay my Duty?

_Alon._ There I am routed again with another hard Question.    [Aside.

_Clar._ Madam, my Name's _Clarinda_.

_Alon._ Madam, I'll take my leave, and wish the Heart I leave with you
to night, may persuade you to suffer my Visits to morrow, till when I
shall do nothing but languish.

_Cleo._ I know not what loss you have suffer'd to night; but since your
fair Sister's Presence with us allows it, you need not doubt a welcome.

_Alon._ I humbly thank you, Madam.

    [Kisses her Hand, and looks amorously on _Clarinda_.

_Fran._ Madam, pray retire, for Don _Marcel_ is come into the House all
bloody, inrag'd against somebody.

_Clar._ I'm troubled at his Hurt, but cannot fear his Rage. Good night,
Sir.
    [They go out.

_Alon._ They are gone; now had I as much mind to have kist the other's
Hand, but that 'twas not a Ceremony due to a Sister-- What the Devil
came into my Head, to say she was so? nothing but the natural itch of
talking and lying: they are very fair; but what's that to me? _Euphemia_
surpasses both: But a Pox of her terms of Marriage, I'll set that to her
Beauty, and then these get the Day, as far as natural Necessity goes:
But I'll home and sleep upon't, and yield to what's most powerful in the
Morning.
  To night these Strangers do my Heart possess,
  But which the greatest share, I cannot guess:
  My Fate in Love resembles that in War,
  When the rich Spoil falls to the common share.    [Goes out.


SCENE VII. _The Street._

    Enter _Alonzo_, as out of the House, gazing upon it.

_Alon._ Sure I shall know this House again to morrow.
    [To him _Lovis_.

_Lov._ I wonder what should be become of _Alonzo_, I do do not like
these Night-works of his-- Who's there?

_Alon._ _Lovis!_

_Lov._ _Alonzo?_

_Alon._ The same, where hast thou been?

_Lov._ In search of you this two Hours.

_Alon._ O, I have been taken up with new Adventures, since I saw thee;
but prithee what became of thine? for methought it was a likely Woman.

_Lov._ Faith, Sir, I thought I had got a Prize; but a Pox on't, when I
came into the Street, e'er she had recover'd Breath to tell me who she
was, the Cavalier you rescu'd from _Marcel_, laid claim to her; thank'd
me for her Preservation, and vanisht. I hope you had better luck with
your Female, whose Face I had not the good fortune to see.

_Alon._ Not so good as I could have wisht, for she stands still on her
honourable terms.

_Lov._ Of Matrimony, ha, ha, a very Jilt, I'll warrant her; Come, come,
you shall see her no more.

_Alon._ Faith, I fear I must.

_Lov._ To what purpose?

_Alon._ To persuade her to Reason.

_Lov._ That you'll soon do, when she finds you will not bite at t'other
Bait.

_Alon._ The worst is, if I see her again, it must be at her Father's
House; and so transform'd from Man to Beast-- I must appear like a
ridiculous Lover she expects out of _Flanders_.

_Lov._ A very Cheat, a trick to draw thee in: be wise in time.

_Alon._ No, on my Conscience she's in earnest, she told me her Name, and
his I am to represent.

_Lov._ What is't, I pray?

_Alon._ _Haunce van Ezel._

_Lov._ Hah! her Name too, I beseech you?    [Impatiently.

_Alon._ _Euphemia_: And such a Creature 'tis--

_Lov._ 'Sdeath, my Sister all this while: This has call'd up all that's
Spaniard in me, and makes me raging mad.
  [Aside.]  But do you love her, Sir?

_Alon._ Most desperately, beyond all Sense or Reason.

_Lov._ And could you be content to marry her?

_Alon._ Any thing but that --But thou know'st my ingagement elsewhere;
and I have hopes that yet she'll be wise, and yield on more pleasant
terms.

_Lov._ I could be angry now; but 'twere unreasonable to blame him for
this.  [Aside.]  Sir, I believe by your Treatment from _Ambrosio_ and
_Marcel_, you may come off there easily.

_Alon._ That will not satisfy my Honour, tho 'twill my Love; that I have
not _Hippolyta_, I will owe to my own Inconstancy, not theirs: besides,
this may be a Cheat, as you say.

_Lov._ But does _Euphemia_ love you?

_Alon._ Faith, I think she has too much Wit to dissemble, and too much
Beauty to need that Art.

_Lov._ Then you must marry her.

_Alon._ Not if I can avoid it.

_Lov._ I know this Lady, Sir, and know her to be worth your Love: I have
it in my Power too, to serve you, if you proceed suddenly, which you
must do, or lose her; for this _Flandrian_ Boor your Rival is already
arriv'd, and designs to morrow to make his first Address to _Euphemia_.

_Alon._ Oh, he must not, shall not see her.

_Lov._ How will you hinder him?

_Alon._ With this.  [To his Sword.]  Where is this Rival? tell me:
Conduct me to him strait; I find my Love above the common rate, and
cannot brook this Rival.

_Lov._ So, this blows the flame-- His Life will be no hindrance to you
in this Affair, if you design to love on.

_Alon._ Do'st know him?

_Lov._ Yes, he is a pleasant Original for you to be copy'd by: It is the
same <DW2>, I told you was to marry my Sister, and who came along with me
to _Madrid_.

_Alon._ How! _Euphemia_ thy Sister?

_Lov._ Yes, indeed is she, and whom my Father designs to cast away upon
this half Man, half Fool; but I find she has Wit to make a better
Choice: she yet knows nothing of my Arrival, and till you resolve what
to do, shall not; and my _Dutchman_ does nothing without me.

_Alon._ If thou hast the management of him, he's likely to thrive.

_Lov._ But not in his Amour, if you please: In short, Sir, if you do
really love my Sister, I am content to be so ungracious a Child to
contribute to the cheating my Father of this same hopeful Son he
expects, and put you upon him; but what you do, must be speedily then.

_Alon._ I am oblig'd to thee for this frank Offer, and will be
instructed by thee.

_Lov._ If you're resolv'd, I'll warrant you Success.

_Alon._ I think I am resolv'd in spite of all my Inclinations to
Libertinism.

_Lov._ Well, Sir, I'll get you such a Suit then, as that our Hero makes
his first approach in, as ridiculously gay as his Humour, which you must
assume too.

_Alon._ Content.

_Lov._ To night I must pay my Duty to my Father, and will prepare your
way, and acquaint my Sister with it; 'tis but a Frolick if we succeed
not.

_Alon._ God-a-mercy, Lad, let's about it then e'er we sleep, lest I
change my Resolution before Morning.
    [Exeunt.




ACT III.


SCENE I. _House of _Carlo_._

    Enter _Alonzo_ drest ridiculously, meeting _Lovis_, they laugh at
    each other.

_Lov._ Very _Haunce_ all over, the Taylor has play'd his part, play but
yours as well, and I'll warrant you the Wench.

_Alon._ But prithee, why need I act the Fool thus, since _Haunce_ was
never seen here?

_Lov._ To make good the Character I always gave of him to my Father; but
here he comes, pray be very rude, and very impertinent.

_Alon._ Lord, Lord, how shall I look thus damnably set out, and thus in
love!

    Enter Don _Carlo_.

_Lov._ This, Sir, is Monsieur _Haunce_, your Son that must be.

_Alon._ _Beso los manos, signor_: Is your Name Don _Carlo_? and are you
the Gravity of this House? and the Father of Donna _Euphemia_? and are
you--

_Car._ Sir, I guess by all these your Demands at once, your Name to be
_Myn heer Haunce van Ezel_.

_Alon._ Your Judgment's good; but to my Questions.

_Car._ In truth I have forgot them, there were so many.

_Alon._ Are you he who is to be my Father?

_Car._ 'Tis so negotiated-- and if all Circumstances concur-- For, Sir,
you must conceive, the Consequence of so grand a Conjunction--

_Alon._ Less of your Compliments, Sir, and more of your Daughter,
I beseech you. 'Sheart, what a formal Coxcomb 'tis.
    [Aside.

_Lov._ Prithee give him way.    [Aside.

_Alon._ By this Light I'll lose thy Sister first; Why, who can indure
the grave approaches to the Matter? 'Dslife, I would have it as I would
my Fate, sudden and unexpected.

_Car._ Pray, how long have you been landed?

_Alon._ So, now shall I be plagu'd with nothing but wise Questions, to
which I am able to make no Answer.  [Aside.]  Sir, it is your Daughter
that I desire to see impatiently.

_Car._ Have you no Letters from my very good Friend your Father?

_Alon._ What if I have not? cannot I be admitted to your Daughter
without a Pass?

_Car._ O lack, Sir--

_Alon._ But to let you see I come with full Power (tho I am old enough
to recommend my self) here is my Commission for what I do.
    [Gives him Letters.

_Car._ I remember amongst his other Faults, my Son writ me word he had
Courage: If so, I shall consider what to do.  [Reads.]  Sir, I find by
these your Father's Letters, you are not yet arriv'd.

_Alon._ I know that, Sir, but I was told I should express my Love in my
haste; therefore outsailing the Pacquet, I was the welcome Messenger my
self; and since I am so forward, I beseech you, Sir--
    [_Carlo_ coming to imbrace him.
  Now dare not I proceed, he has so credulous a consenting Face.
    [Aside.

_Car._ Spare your Words, I understand their meaning; a prudent Man
speaks least, as the _Spaniard_ has it: and since you are so forward,
as you were saying, I shall not be backward; but as your Father adviseth
here, hasten the uniting of our Families, with all celerity; for delay
in these Affairs is but to prolong time, as the wise Man says.

_Alon._ You are much in the right, Sir. But my Wife, I desire to be
better acquainted with her.

_Car._ She shall be forth-coming, Sir. Had you a good Passage? for the
Seas and Winds regard no Man's necessity.

_Alon._ No, no, a very ill one; your Daughter, Sir.

_Car._ Pray, how long were you at Sea?

_Alon._ _Euphemia_, Sir, _Euphemia_, your Daughter. This Don's fuller of
Questions than of Proverbs, and that's a Wonder.
    [Aside.

_Car._ They say _Flanders_ is a very fine Country, I never saw it; but--

_Alon._ Nor 'tis no matter, Sir, if you never do, so I saw your
Daughter. He'll catechize me home to my _Dutch_ Parents by and by,
of which I can give him no more account than--
    [Aside.

_Car._ Are they as dissatisfied with their new Governour, as they were
with Don _John_? for they love change.

_Alon._ A Pox of their Government, I tell you I love your Daughter.

_Car._ I fear 'tis so, he's valiant; and what a dangerous Quality is
that in _Spain_! 'tis well he's rich.
    [Aside.

_Lov._ Pray, Sir, keep him not long in Discourse, the Sea has made him
unfit for--

_Alon._ Any thing but seeing my Mistress.

_Lov._ I'll have mercy upon thee, and fetch her to thee.
    [Ex. _Lovis_.

_Car._ Sir, you must know, that we suffer not our Women in Spain to
converse so frequently with your Sex, and that thro a cautious-- well
consider'd prudent-- Consideration.

_Alon._ But, Sir, do you consider what an impatient thing a young Lover
is? Or is it so long since you were one your self, you have forgot it?
'Tis well he wanted Words.  [Enter _Euphemia_ and _Lovis_.]  But
yonder's _Euphemia_, whose Beauty is sufficient to excuse every Defect
in the whole Family, tho each were a mortal sin; and now 'tis impossible
to guard my self longer from those fair Eyes.
    [Aside.

_Car._ I must not urge him to speak much before _Euphemia_, lest she
discover he wants Wit by his much Tongue:
    [Aside.
  There's my Daughter, Sir, go and salute her.

_Alon._ Oh, I thank you for that, Sir.
    [He stands ridiculously looking on her.

_Car._ You must be bold, Sir.

_Alon._ Well, Sir, since you command me--
    [Goes rudely to kiss her.

_Car._ I did not mean kissing by saluting.

_Alon._ I cry you Mercy, Sir, so I understood you.

_Car._ Fie upon't, that he should be no more a Master of Civility.

_Lov._ I fear, Sir, my Sister will never like this Humour in her Lover;
he wants common Conversation.

_Car._ Conversation-- ye foolish Boy, he has Money, and needs none of
your Conversation. And yet if I thought he were valiant--
    [This while _Alonzo_ and _Euphemia_ make signs of Love with their
    Eyes.

_Lov._ I hope, Sir, he does not boast of more of that than he really
has.

_Car._ That Fault I my self have been guilty of, and can excuse; but the
thing it self I shall never endure: you know I was forc'd to send you
abroad, because I thought you addicted to that. I shall never sleep in
quiet-- Valiant! that's such a thing, to be Rich, or Wise and Valiant.
    [Goes to _Euphemia_.

_Lov._ Colonel, pray to the business, for I fear you will betray your
self.

_Car._ But look upon his Wealth, _Euphemia_, and you will find those
Advantages there which are wanting in his Person; but I think the Man's
well.

_Euph._ I must not seem to yield too soon.    [Aside.
  Sir, there be many Spaniards born that are as rich as he, and have Wit
too.

_Car._ She was ever very averse to this Marriage.    [Aside.
  This Man is half a _Spaniard_, his Mother was one, and my first
Mistress, and she I can tell you, was a great Fortune--

_Euph._ I, Sir, but he is such a Fool--

_Car._ You are a worse, to find fault with that in a Husband.

_Alon._ Stand aside, Sir, are you to court your Daughter or I?

_Car._ I was inclining her--

_Alon._ You inclining her! an old Man wants Rhetorick; set me to her.
    [Goes to _Euphemia_.

_Car._ This capricious Humour was tolerable in him, Whilst I believ'd it
the Effects of Folly, but now 'tis that of Valour: Oh, I tremble at the
Sight of him.
    [Retires.

_Euph._ Now, I see you are a Cavalier of your Word.

_Alon._ Faith, _Euphemia_, you might have believ'd, and taken me upon
better Terms, if you had so pleas'd: To marry you is but an ill-favour'd
Proof to give you of my Passion.

_Euph._ Do you repent it?

_Alon._ Would to God 'twere come but to that, I was just upon the Point
of it when you enter'd. But I know not what the Devil there is in that
Face of yours, but it has debauch'd every sober Thought about me: Faith,
do not let us marry yet.

_Euph._ If we had not proceeded too far to retreat, I should be content.

_Alon._ What shall I come to? all on the sudden to leave delicious
whoring, drinking and fighting, and be condemn'd to a dull honest Wife.
Well, if it be my ill Fortune, may this Curse light on thee that has
brought me to't: may I love thee even after we are married to that
troublesome Degree, that I may grow most damnable jealous of thee, and
keep thee from the Sight of all Mankind, but thy own natural Husband,
that so thou may'st be depriv'd of the greatest Pleasure of this Life,
the Blessing of Change.

_Euph._ I am sorry to find so much ill Nature in you; would you have the
Conscience to tie me to harder Conditions than I would you?

_Alon._ Nay, I do not think I shall be so wickedly loving; but I am
resolv'd to marry thee and try.

_Euph._ My Father, Sir, on with your Disguise.    [To them _Carlo_.

_Car._ Well, Sir, how do you like my Daughter?

_Alon._ So, so, she'll serve for a Wife.

_Car._ But do you find her willing to be so?

_Alon._ 'Tis not a half-penny matter for that, as long as my Father and
you are agreed upon the matter,

_Car._ Well, _Euphemia_, setting all foolish Modesty aside, how do you
like this Man?

_Euph._ As one, whom in Obedience to you, I am content to cast my self
away upon.

_Car._ How seems his Humour to you?

_Euph._ Indifferent, Sir, he is not very courtly, something rough and
hasty.

_Car._ I fear she has found his ill Quality of Valour too; and since
'tis certain 'tis so, why should it be said that I ruin'd a Child to
satisfy my Appetite of Riches?
    [Aside.
  Come, Daughter, can you love him, or can you not? For I'll make but
short Work on't; you are my Daughter, and have a Fortune great enough to
inrich any Man; and I'm resolv'd to put no Force upon your Inclinations.

_Euph._ How's this! nay, then 'tis time I left dissembling.
  [Aside.]  Sir, this Bounty in you has strangely overcome me, and makes
me asham'd to have withstood your Will so long.

_Car._ Do not dissemble with me, I say do not; for I am resolv'd you
shall be happy.

_Euph._ Sir, my Obedience shall--

_Car._ No more of your Obedience; I say again, do not dissemble, for I'm
not pleas'd with your Obedience.

_Euph._ This Alteration is very strange and sudden; pray Heaven he have
not found the Cheat.
    [Aside.
  Love, Sir, they say will come after Marriage; pray let me try it.

_Car._ Few have found it so; nor shall you experience it at so dear a
Rate as your Ruin.

_Euph._ But, Sir, methinks I am grown to love him more since he spoke to
me, than before.

_Car._ The Effects of your Obedience again.

_Euph._ This is a strange Alteration, Sir; not all my Tears and Prayers
before I saw him, could prevail with you. I beseech you, Sir, believe
me.

_Car._ Nor should now, had I not another Reason for't.

_Euph._ Oh, I fear-- But, Sir--

_Car._ Go to, I'll be better satisfy'd e'er I proceed farther-- both of
your Inclinations, and his Courage.
    [Aside.

_Euph._ Do you consider his Wealth, Sir?

_Car._ That shall not now befriend him.

_Alon._ Sir, I bar whispering; 'tis not in my Bargain, nor civil: I'll
have fair Play for my Money.

_Car._ I am only knowing my Daughter's Pleasure; she is a little
peevish, as Virgins use in such Cases; but wou'd that were all, and I'd
endeavour to reconcile her.

_Alon._ I thank you, Sir; in the mean time I'll take a Walk for an Hour
or two, to get me a better Stomach both to my Dinner and Mistress.

_Car._ Do so, Sir. Come, _Euphemia_, I will give you a Proof of my
Indulgence, thou shalt marry no valiant Fools! valiant, quoth ye. Come,
come-- had he been peaceable and rich-- Come, come--
    [Ex. with _Euphemia_.

_Lov._ Well, now I'll go look after my _Dutchman_, lest he surprize us
here, which must not be; where shall I find you?

_Alon._ I'll wait upon my Prince, and then on you here.

_Lov._ Do so, and carry on this Humour. Adieu.


SCENE II. _A flat Grove._

    Enter _Haunce_ in a fantastical travelling Habit, with a Bottle of
    Brandy in his Hand, as sick: _Gload_ marches after.

_Hau._ Ah, ah, a pox of all Sea-Voyages.    [Drinks.
  Here, _Gload_, take thee t'other Sope, and then let's home.
    [_Gload_ drinks.
  Ah, ah, a pox of all Sea-Voyages.

_Gload._ Sir, if I may advise, take t'other turn in the Grove, for I
find by my Nose you want more airing.

_Hau._ How, Sirrah! by your Nose? have a care, you know 'tis ill jesting
with me when I'm angry.

_Gload._ Which is as often as you are drunk; I find it has the same
Effects on me too: but truly, Sir, I meant no other than that you smell
a little of the Vessel, a certain sour remains of a Storm about you.

_Hau._ Ah, ah, do not name a Storm to me, unless thou wilt have the
Effects on't in thy Face.
    [Drinks.

_Gload._ Sha, sha, bear up, Sir, bear up.

_Hau._ _Salerimente_, a Sea-phrase too! Why, ye Rascal, I tell you I can
indure nothing that puts me in mind of that Element.
    [Drinks.

_Gload._ The Sight of _Donna Euphemia_ will--
    [_Gload_ drinks between whiles too.

_Hau._ Hold, hold, let me consider whether I can indure to hear her
nam'd or not; for I think I am so thorowly mortify'd, I shall hardly
relish Woman-kind again this-- two Hours.
    [Drinks.

_Gload._ You a Man of Courage, and talk thus!

_Hau._ Courage! Why, what dost thou call Courage?-- _Hector_ himself
would not have chang'd his ten Years Siege for our ten Days Storm at
Sea-- a Storm-- a hundred thousand fighting Men are nothing to't; Cities
sackt by Fire nothing: 'tis a resistless Coward that attacks a Man at
disadvantage; an unaccountable Magick, that first conjures down a Man's
Courage, and then plays the Devil over him. And in fine, it is a Storm--

_Gload._ Good lack that it should be all these terrible things, and yet
that we should outbrave it.

_Hau._ No god-a-mercy to our Courages tho, I tell you that now, _Gload_;
but like an angry Wench, when it had huft and bluster'd it self weary,
it lay still again.
    [Drinks.

_Gload._ Hold, hold, Sir, you know we are to make Visits to Ladies, Sir;
and this replenishing of our Spirits, as you call it, Sir, may put us
out of Case.

_Hau._ Thou art a Fool, I never made love so well as when I was drunk;
it improves my Parts, and makes me witty; that is, it makes me say any
thing that comes next, which passes now-a-days for Wit: and when I am
very drunk, I'll home and dress me, and the Devil's in't if she resist
me so qualify'd and so dress'd.

_Gload._ Truly, Sir, those are things that do not properly belong to
you.

_Hau._ Your Reason, your Reason; we shall have thee witty too in thy
Drink, hah!
    [Laughs.

_Gload._ Why, I say, Sir, none but a Cavalier ought to be soundly drunk,
or wear a Sword and Feather; and a Cloke and Band were fitter for a
Merchant.

_Hau._ _Salerimente_, I'll beat any _Don_ in _Spain_ that does but think
he has more right to any sort of Debauchery, or Gallantry than I, I tell
you that now, _Gload_.

_Gload._ Do you remember, Sir, how you were wont to go at home? when
instead of a Periwig, you wore a slink, greasy Hair of your own, thro
which a pair of large thin Souses appear'd, to support a formal Hat,
on end thus--
    [Imitates him.

_Hau._ Ha, ha, ha, the Rogue improves upon't.
    [Gives him Brandy.

_Gload._ A Collar instead of a Cravat twelve inches high; with a blue,
stiff, starcht, lawn Band, set in print like your Whiskers; a Doublet
with small Skirts hookt to a pair of wide-kneed Breeches, which dangled
halfway over a Leg, all to be dash'd and dirty'd as high as the
gartering.

_Hau._ Ha, ha, ha, very well, proceed.    [Drinks.

_Gload._ Your Hands, defil'd with counting of damn'd dirty Money, never
made other use of Gloves, than continually to draw them thro-- thus--
till they were dwindled into the scantling of a Cats-gut.

_Hau._ Ha, ha, ha, a pleasant Rascal.    [Drinks.

_Gload._ A Cloke, half a yard shorter than the Breeches, not thorow
lin'd, but fac'd as far as 'twas turn'd back, with a pair of frugal
Butter-hams, which was always manag'd-- thus--

_Hau._ Well, Sir, have you done, that I may show you this Merchant
revers'd?

_Gload._ Presently, Sir; only a little touch at your Debauchery, which
unless it be in damn'd Brandy, you dare not go to the Expence of.
Perhaps at a Wedding, or some Treat where your Purse is not concern'd,
you would most insatiably tipple; otherwise your two Stivers-Club is the
highest you dare go, where you will be condemn'd for a Prodigal, (even
by your own Conscience) if you add two more extraordinary to the Sum,
and at home sit in the Chimney-Corner, cursing the Face of Duke _de
Alva_ upon the Jugs, for laying an Imposition on Beer: And now, Sir,
I have done.

_Hau._ And dost thou not know, when one of those thou hast described,
goes but half a League out of Town, that he is so transform'd from the
Merchant to the Gallant in all Points, that his own Parents, nay the
Devil himself cannot know him? Not a young English Squire newly come to
an Estate, above the management of his Wit, has better Horses, gayer
Clothes, swears, drinks, and does every thing with a better grace than
he; damns the stingy Cabal of the two Stiver-Club, and puts the young
King of _Spain_ and his Mistress together in a Rummer of a Pottle; and
in pure Gallantry breaks the Glasses over his Head, scorning to drink
twice in the same: and a thousand things full as heroick and brave I
cou'd tell you of this same Holy-day Squire. But come, t'other turn, and
t'other sope, and then for _Donna Euphemia_. For I find I begin to be
reconcil'd to the Sex.

_Gload._ But, Sir, if I might advise, let's e'en sleep first.

_Hau._ Away, you Fool, I hate the sober Spanish way of making Love,
that's unattended with Wine and Musick; give me a Wench that will
out-drink the Dutch, out-dance the French, and out-- out-- kiss the
English.

_Gload._ Sir, that's not the Fashion in _Spain_.

_Hau._ Hang the Fashion; I'll manage her that must be my Wife, as I
please, or I'll beat her into Fashion.

_Gload._ What, beat a Woman, Sir?

_Hau._ Sha, all's one for that; if I am provok'd, Anger will have its
Effects on whomsoe'er it light; so said _Van Trump_, when he took his
Mistress a Cuff o'th' Ear for finding fault with an ill-fashion'd Leg he
made her: I lik'd his Humour well, therefore come thy ways.
    [Exeunt.


SCENE III. _Draws off. A Grove._

    Discovers _Antonio_ sleeping on the Ground; _Hippolyta_ sitting by,
    who sings._

  _Ah false _Amyntas_, can that Hour
    So soon forgotten be,
  When first I yielded up my Power
    To be betray'd by thee?
  God knows with how much Innocence
    I did my Heart resign
  Unto thy faithless Eloquence,
    And gave thee what was mine._

  _I had not one Reserve in store,
    But at thy Feet I laid
  Those Arms which conquer'd heretofore,
    Tho now thy Trophies made.
  Thy Eyes in silence told their Tale
    Of Love in such a way,
  That 'twas as easy to prevail,
    As after to betray._    [She comes forth, weeps.

_Hip._ My Grief's too great to be diverted this way.
    [Pointing to _Antonio_.
  Why should this Villain sleep, this treacherous Man--
  Who has for ever robb'd me of my rest?
  Had I but kept my Innocence intire,
  I had out-brav'd my Fate, and broke my Chains,
  Which now I bear like a poor guilty Slave,
  Who sadly crys, If I were free from these,
  I am not from my Crimes; so still lives on,
  And drags his loathed Fetters after him.
  Why should I fear to die, or murder him?
  It is but adding one Sin more to th' number.
  This-- would soon do't-- but where's the Hand to guide it?
    [Draws a Dagger, sighs.
  For 'tis an act too horrid for a Woman.    [Turns away.
  But yet thus sleeping I might take that Soul,    [Turns to him.
  Which waking all the Charms of Art and Nature
  Had not the Power t'effect.
  Oh were I brave, I could remember that,
  And this way be the Mistress of his Heart.
  But mine forbids it should be that way won;
  No, I must still love on, in spite of me,
  And wake him quickly, lest one Moment's thought
  Upon my Shame should urge me to undo him.
  _Antonio_, _Antonio_.
    [He wakes, rises, and looks amazedly to see the Dagger in her Hand.

_Ant._ Vile Woman, why that Dagger in that Hand?

_Hip._ To've kill'd thee with,
  But that my Love o'ercame my juster Passion,
  And put it in thy Power to save thy self;
  Thank that, and not my Reason for thy Life.

_Ant._ She's doubly arm'd, with that and Injury,
  And I am wounded and defenceless.    [Aside.
  _Hippolyta_, why all this Rage to me?    [Kindly smiles.

_Hip._ _Antonio_, thou art perjur'd, false and base.
    [In great Rage.

_Ant._ What said my fairest Mistress?
    [Goes to her looking softly.

_Hip._ I said that thou wert perjur'd, false and base.
    [Less in Rage.

_Ant._ My dear _Hippolyta_, speak it again,
  I do not understand thee,    [Takes her by the Hand.

_Hip._ I said that thou wert perjur'd, my _Antonio_.    [Sighs.

_Ant._ Thou wert to blame, but 'twas thy Jealousy.
  Which being a Fault of Love I will excuse.
  Give me that Mark of Anger, prithee do,
  It misbecomes thy Hand.

_Hip._ I've nothing left but this I can command,
  And do not ravish this too.

_Ant._ It is unkind thus to suspect my Love;
  Will you make no Allowance for my Humour?
  I am by Nature rough, and cannot please,
  With Eyes and Words all soft as others can,
  But I can love as truly my blunt way.

_Hip._ You were so soft when first you conquer'd me.
    [Sighs.
  That but the Thoughts of that dear Face and Eyes,
  So manag'd, and so set for Conquest out,
  Would make me kind even to another Man;
  Could I but thus imbrace and hide my Eyes,
  And call him my _Antonio_.
    [She leans on his Bosom, he the while gets her Dagger.

_Ant._ Stand off, false Woman, I despise thy Love,
  Of which to every Man I know thou deal'st
  An equal share.

_Hip._ I do not wonder that I am deceiv'd,
  But that I should believe thee, after all thy Treachery.
  But prithee tell me why thou treat'st me thus?
  Why didst thou with the sacred Vows of Marriage,
  After a long and tedious Courtship to me,
  Ravish me from my Parents and my Husband?
  For so the brave _Alonzo_ was by promise.

_Ant._ Why, I will tell thee; 'twas not love to thee,
  But hatred to thy Brother Don _Marcel_,
  Who made Addresses to the fair _Clarinda_,
  And by his Quality destroy'd my Hopes.

_Hip._ And durst you not revenge your self on him?

_Ant._ His Life alone could not appease my Anger;
  And after studying what I had to do--

_Hip._ The Devil taught thee this.

_Ant._ Yes, and you I chose,
  Because you were contracted to _Alonzo_,
  That the disgrace might be more eminent.

_Hip._ I do believe thee, for when I reflect
  On all thy Usage since thou hast betray'd me,
  I find thou hast not paid me back one Sigh,
  Or Smile for all that I have given thee.

_Ant._ Hear me out.

_Hip._ Most calmly.

_Ant._ From Town to Town you know I did remove you,
  Under pretence to shun your Brother's Anger:
  But 'twas indeed to spread your Fame abroad.
  But being not satisfy'd till in _Madrid_,
  Here in your native Town, I had proclaim'd you;
  The House from whence your Brother's Fury chas'd us,
  Was a Bordello, where 'twas given out
  Thou wert a _Venice_ Curtezan to hire,
  Whilst you believ'd it was your nuptial Palace.     [Laughs.

_Hip._ Dost think I did not understand the Plot?
  Yes, and was mad till some young Lovers came.
  But you had set a Price too high upon me,
  No brisk young Man durst venture,
  I had expos'd my self at cheaper Rates.

_Ant._ Your Price, I pray, young Sinner?
    [Pulls off his Hat in scorn.

_Hip._ Thy Life; he that durst say _Antonio_ lives no more,
  Should have possest me _gratis_.

_Ant._ I would have taken care none should have don't;
  To show, and offer you to Sale, was equally as shameful.

_Hip._ Well, what hast thou more to do? this is no
  Place to inhabit in, nor shall thou force me further;
  And back into the Town thou dar'st not go.

_Ant._ Perhaps I had been kinder to you,
  Had you continu'd still to give me that--
  Might have begot a Passion in me.

_Hip._ I have too much Repentance for that Sin,
  To increase it, at the Price of being belov'd by thee.

_Ant._ Consider what you do, this Place is silent,
  And far from any thing that may assist you.
  Come lead me to the Covert of this Grove.
    [Takes her rudely.

    Enter _Haunce_ and _Gload_ drunk; _Haunce_ seeing them, offers to
    go out again.

_Glo._ Hold, hold, Sir, why do you run away?

_Hau._ Thou Fool, dost not see the Reason?

_Glo._ I see a Man and a Lady, Sir.

_Hau._ Why, you Coxcomb, they are Lovers;
  Or some that are going to do the deed of Love.

_Ant._ How! Men here? Your Business.

_Hau._ Prithee, Friend, do not trouble your self with ours, but follow
your own; my Man is a little saucy in his Drink indeed, but I am sober
enough to understand how things go.

_Ant._ Leave us then.

_Hau._ Leave us then-- good Words, good Words, Friend; for look ye, I am
in a notable Humour at present, and will be intreated.

_Glo._ Yes, Sir, we will be intreated.

_Ant._ Pray leave us then.

_Hau._ That's something-- but hark ye, Friend, say a Man had a mind to
put in for a share with you.

_Ant._ Rude Slaves, leave us.

_Hau._ Ha, Slaves!

_Glo._ Slaves said you, Sir? hah--

_Hip._ Oh, as you're a Gentleman, assist me.    [To _Haunce_.

_Hau._ Assist thee? this Fellow looks as he would not have his Abilities
call'd in question; otherwise I am amorous enough to do thee a kindness.
    [Offers still to go, she holds him.

_Hip._ Sir, you mistake me; this is a Ravisher--

_Hau._ A Ravisher! ha, ha, ha, dost like him the worse for that? No, no,
I beg your Pardon, Madam.

_Hip._ Have you no Manhood, Sir?

_Glo._ She is in earnest; now if I durst stay, how I would domineer over
my Master; I never try'd perhaps, I may be valiant thus inspir'd. Lady,
I am your Champion, who dares ravish you, or me either?

_Ant._ Rascal, unhand her.
    [He comes up to them, _Gload_ puts the Lady before him.

_Hau._ How now, _Gload_ ingag'd! nay, I scorn to be out-done by my Man.
Sirrah, march off with the Baggage, whilst I secure the Enemy.

_Ant._ Rash Man, what mean you?

_Hau._ I say, stand off, and let him go quietly away with the Wench,
or look you--

_Ant._ Unmanner'd Fool, I will chastise thy Boldness.
    [Goes up to him with his Dagger.

_Hau._ How, how, hast thou no other Weapon?

_Ant._ No, if I had, thou durst not have encounter'd me.

_Hau._ I scorn thy Words, and therefore there lies my Sword; and since
you dare me at my own Weapon, I tell you I am good at Snick-a-Sne as the
best _Don_ of you all--
    [Draws a great Dutch Knife.

_Ant._ Can I endure this Affront?

_Glo._ The best way to make a Coward fight, is to leave him in
Danger-- Come, Lady--
    [Goes out.

_Ant._ Thou base unmanner'd Fool, how darst thou offer at a Gentleman,
with so despis'd a thing as that?

_Hau._ Despis'd a thing? talk not so contemptibly of this Weapon, I say,
do not, but come on if you dare.

_Ant._ I can endure no longer--
    [Flies at him, _Haunce _cuts his Face, and takes away, after
    a-while, his Dagger.
  Injustice! can such a Dog, and such a Weapon vanquish me?

_Hau._ Beg your Life; for I scorn to stain my Victory in Blood-- that I
learnt out of _Pharamond_.
    [Aside.

_Ant._ He does not merit Life, that could not defend it against so poor
and base a thing as thou: Had but _Marcel_ left me my Sword--

_Hau._ O then I perceive you are us'd to be vanquish'd, and therefore I
scorn to kill thee; live, live.

_Ant._ How the Rascal triumphs over me!

_Hau._ And now, like a generous Enemy, I will conduct thee to my Tent,
and have thy Wounds drest-- That too I had out of _Pharamond_.
    [Aside.

_Ant._ What if I take the offer of this Sot? so I may see _Hippolyta
again._ But I forget--
    [Aside.

_Hau._ Will you accept my Offer?

_Ant._ For some Reasons I dare not venture into the Town.

_Hau._ My Lodging is at St. Peter's Gate, hard by; and on the Parole of
a Man of Prowess you shall be safe and free-- _Pharamond_ again.
    [Aside.

_Ant._ I'll trust him, for worse I cannot be.    [Aside.
  Lead on, I'll follow, Sir--

_Hau._ Not so, for tho the Captive ought to follow the Victor, yet I'll
not trust my Enemy at my backside. Politicks too.--
    [Aside.

_Ant._ You must command--    [Go out.


SCENE IV. _The Garden._

    Enter _Silvio_ and _Francisca_.

_Silv._ Well, dear _Francisca_, will _Cleonte_ come, And all alone into
the Garden?

_Fran._ My Lord, she will; I have at last prevail'd, to what intent she
knows not; this is an Hour wherein you'll scarce be interrupted: The
amorous Entertainment you have prepar'd for her, will advance your
Design; such Objects heighten the Desire. Is all ready on your part?

_Silv._ It is, and I am prepared for all the Resistance she can make,
and am resolv'd to satisfy my insupportable Flame, since there's no
other hope left me.

_Fran._ She's coming, Sir, retire.
    [Exit _Silvio_ into the Garden.
  Oh, how he kills me! Well, at least this pleasure I have whilst I am
dying, that when he possesses the fair _Cleonte_, he for ever ruins his
Interest in her Heart, and must find nothing but her mortal Hate and
Scorn.

    Enter _Cleonte_.

_Cleo._ _Francisca_, why art thou so earnest for my coming into the
Garden so early?

_Fran._ Because, Madam, here without Interruption you may learn what the
Lady _Clarinda_ has to tell you.

_Cleo._ Is that all? go wait upon her hither then.

_Fran._ Yes, when your more pleasant Affair is dispatch'd, I will--
    [Aside._
    [_Exit _Francisca_.

_Cleo._ Can this be Love I feel?
  This strange unusual something in my Soul,
  That pleads so movingly for _Silvio_ there;
  And makes me wish him not allied to me?

    [A noise of rural Musick is heard within the Trees, as Pipes,
    Flutes, and Voices.

Hah! what pleasant Noise is this? sure 'tis i' the Air-- Bless me, what
strange things be these!

    Enter Swains playing upon Pipes, after them four Shepherds with
    Garlands and Flowers, and four Nymphs dancing an amorous Dance to
    that Musick; wherein the Shepherds make Love to the Nymphs, and put
    the Garlands on their Heads, and go out; the Nymphs come and lay
    them at _Cleonte's_ Feet, and sing.

  1 Nymph. _Here at your Feet, we tribute pay,
  Of all the Glories of the May._

  2 Nymph. _Such Trophies can be only due
  To Victors so divine as you,_

  Both. _Come, follow, follow, where Love leads the way,
  To Pleasures that admit of no Delay._

  1 Nymph. _Come follow to the amorous Shade,
  Covered with Roses, and with Jessamine._

  2 Nymph. _Where the Love-sick Boy is laid,
  Panting for Love's charming Queen._

  Both. _Come follow, follow, where we lead the way,
  To Pleasures that admit of no delay._    [Lead her out.

      _The Scene changes to a fine Arbour, they leave her and vanish._

_Cleo._ I am all Wonder.

    Enter _Silvio_ in rapture, not yet seeing _Cleonte_.

_Silv._ I'm all on Fire, till I enjoy my Sister;
  Not all the Laws of Birth and Nature
  Can hinder me from loving-- Nor is't just:
  Why should the charm of fair _Cleonte's_ Eyes,
  Me less than Aliens to her Blood surprize?
  And why (since I love Beauty every where,
  And that _Cleonte_ has the greatest share)
  Should not I be allowed to worship her?
  The empty Words of Nature and of Blood,
  Are such as Lovers never understood.
  Prudence in love 'twere Nonsense to approve,
  And he loves most that gives a Loose to Love.

_Cleo._ _Silvio_ here!

_Silv._ Hah-- yonder she's!    [Sees her.
  And now my Passion knows no Bounds, nor Laws.
  _Cleonte_, come, come satisfy my Flame.
    [Runs to her, and takes her passionately by the hand.
  These private Shades are ours, no jealous Eye
  Can interrupt our Heaven of Joy.

_Cleo._ What mean you? do you know I am your Sister?

_Silv._ Oh that accursed Name!-- why should it check me?    [He pauses.
  Wouldst thou had rather been some mis-begotten Monster,
  That might have startled Nature at thy Birth:
  Or if the Powers above would have thee fair,
  Why wert thou born my Sister?
  Oh, if thou shouldst preserve thy Soul, and mine,
  Fly from this Place and me; make haste away,
  A strange wild Monster is broke in upon thee;
  A thing that was a Man, but now as mad
  As raging Love can make him.
  Fly me, or thou art lost for ever.

_Cleo._ Remember, _Silvio_, that you are my Brother,
  And can you hurt your Sister?    [Weeps.

_Silv._ Shouldst thou repeat those Ties a thousand times,
  'Twill not redeem thee from the Fate that threatens thee.
  Be gone, whilst so much Virtue does remain about me,
  To wish thee out of Danger.

_Cleo._ Sure, _Silvio_, this is but to try my Virtue.
    [Weeps still.

_Silv._ No, look on my Eyes, _Cleonte_, and thou shalt see them flame
with a strange wicked Fire.
    [Looks wildly on her.
  Yet do not look, thy Eyes increase it.
  --Alas!    [Turns away, and hides his Eyes.
  And I shall still forget I am thy Brother:
  Go, go, whilst I have power to take my Eyes away,
  For if they turn again, it will be fatal.

_Cleo._ Pray hear me, Sir.

_Silv._ Oh, do not speak; thy Voice has Charms
  As tempting as thy Face; but whilst thou art silent and unseen,
  Perhaps my Madness may be moderate;
  For as it is, the best Effects of it
  Will prompt me on to kill thee.

_Cleo._ To kill me!

_Silv._ Yes; for shouldst thou live, adorn'd with so much Beauty,
  So much my Passion is above my Reason,
  In some such fit as does possess me now
  I should commit a Rape, a Rape upon thee:
  Therefore be gone, and do not tempt Despair,
  That merciless rude thing, but save thy Honour,
  And thy Life.

_Cleo._ I will obey you, Sir.    [Goes into the Garden.

_Silv._ She's gone-- and now  [Walks, and talks in stopping.]  my hot
Fit abates-- she is my Sister-- that is, my Father's Daughter-- but--
what if his Wife deceiv'd him-- or perhaps-- (which is the likelier
thing) my Mother play'd the false one-- for 'twas her Trade to do so--
and I'm not Son to _Ambrosio_-- Oh, that she were in being to confess
this Truth, for sure 'tis Truth; then I might love, and might enjoy
_Cleonte_-- enjoy _Cleonte_!  [In transport.]  Oh that Thought! what
Fire it kindles in my Veins, and now my cold Fit's gone--
    [Offers to go, but starts and returns.]
  --No, let me pause a while--
  For in this Ague of my Love and Fear,
  Both the Extremes are mortal--    [Goes into the Garden.

    Enter _Ambrosio_ and _Marcel_.

_Amb._ I'm reconcil'd to you, since your Brother _Silvio_ would have it
so.

_Mar._ My Blood flows to my Face, to hear him named.

_Amb._ Let there be no more Differences between you: But _Silvio_ has of
late been discontented, keeps home, and shuns the Conversation which
Youth delights in; goes not to Court as he was wont. Prithee, _Marcel_,
learn thou the cause of it.

_Mar._ I do believe I shall, my Lord-- too soon.    [Aside.

_Amb._ I'm now going to my _Villa_, and shall not return till Night;
by the way I mean to visit your Wife, that was design'd to be, the rich
_Flavia_, and see if I can again reconcile her to you; for your Neglect
has been great, and her Anger is just.

_Mar._ I rather wish it should continue, Sir, for I have yet no
Inclinations to marry.

_Amb._ No more, I'll have it so, if I can.

_Mar._ I'm silent, Sir.    [Ex. _Ambrosio_ and _Marcel_.

    Enter as from out of the Garden, _Cleonte_, _Clarinda_, _Francisca_,
    _Dormida_, from amongst the Trees, sadly; _Silvio_ who starts at
    sight of them.

_Cleo._ I am satisfied you knew not of my Brother's being in the Garden.
    [To _Franc._

_Silv._ _Clarinda_ with my Sister! and in our House! she's very
fair-- and yet how dull and blasted all her Beauties seems, when they
approach the fair _Cleonte's_-- I cannot shun a tedious Compliment; to
see the fair _Clarinda_  [Goes to _Clarinda_.]  here, is a Happiness
beyond my Hope; I'm glad to see her kind to the Sister, who always
treated the Brother with so much Scorn and Rigour.

_Clar._ _Silvio_! sure I'm betray'd.    [Aside.
    [He talks to her.

    Enter _Marcel_, and is amaz'd.

_Mar._ Hah! _Silvio_ with _Clarinda_ in our House! Oh, daring Villain!
to make this place a Sanctuary To all thy Lusts and Treachery! Now I'm
convinc'd, 'twas he that wounded me, And he that fled last Night with
that false Woman. [_Cleonte_ goes to _Marcel._

_Silv._ You need not fear me now, fair Maid, I'm disarm'd of all my
dangerous Love.

_Mar._ It was by his contrivance that she came,  [To _Cleonte_.]  do not
excuse him, but send her quickly from you, lest you become as infamous
as she.--

_Cleo._ Oh, how I hate her now; I know my Brother _Silvio_ loves her.

_Mar._ How every Gesture shows his Passion, whilst she seems pleas'd to
hear him. I can endure no more--

_Cleo._ What will you do?    [She goes to them.

_Mar._ Nothing, dear Sister,
  But if I can be wise and angry too:
  For 'tis not safe t'attack him in the Garden.
  How now, _Silvio_-- under the Name of Brother,
  I see you dare too much.    [Snatches away his Sister and _Clarinda_.

_Silv._ What mean you by this rude Address, _Marcel_?

_Mar._ I'll tell ye, Sir, anon. Go get you in.
    [To the Women, who go in.

_Silv._ Well, Sir, your Business now?

_Mar._ It is not safe to tell you here, tho I have hardly Patience to
stay till thou meet me in St. _Peter's_ Grove.

_Silv._ I will not fail you, Sir, an Hour hence.
    [Goes in after them.

_Mar._ I dare not in this Rage return to upbraid _Clarinda_, lest I do
things that mis-become a Man.
    [Goes out.




ACT IV.


SCENE I. __Carlo's_ House._

  After a Noise of Musick without, enter _Haunce_ drest as _Alonzo_
  was, follow'd by _Gload_, in Masquerade.

_Hau._ Hold, hold, I do not like the Salutations I receive from all I
meet in this House.

_Glo._ Why, Sir, methinks they are very familiar Scabs all.

_Hau._ _Salerimente_, they all salute me as they were my old
Acquaintance. Your servant, _Myn heer Haunce_, crys one; your servant,
Monsieur _Haunce_, crys another.

    Enter _Servant_.

_Serv._ Your servant, Sir, you come indeed like a Bridegroom all beset
with Dance and Fiddle.

_Hau._ Bridegroom! ha, ha, ha, dost hear, _Gload_? 'tis true faith. But
how the Devil came he to know it, man, hah?

_Serv._ My Master, Sir, was just asking for you, he longs to speak with
you.

_Hau._ Ha, ha, with me, Sir? why, ha, ha, who the pox am I?

_Serv._ You, Sir, why, who should you be?

_Hau._ Who should I be? why, who should I be?

_Serv._ _Myn heer Haunce van Ezel_, Sir.

_Hau._ Ha, ha, ha, well guest, i'faith now.

_Glo._ Why how should they guess otherwise, coming so attended with
Musick, as prepar'd for a Wedding?

_Hau._ Ha, ha, ha, say'st thou so? faith, 'tis a good Device to save the
Charges of the first Compliments, hah: but hark ye, hark ye, Friend, are
you sure this is the House of Don _Carlo_?

_Serv._ Why, Sir, have you forgot it?

_Hau._ Forgot it! ha, ha, ha, dost hear, _Gload_? forgot it! why how the
Devil should I remember it?

_Glo._ Sir, I believe this is some new-fashion'd Civility in Spain,
to know every Man before he sees him.

_Hau._ No, no, you fool, they never change their Fashion in Spain, Man.

_Glo._ I mean their manner of Address, Sir.

_Hau._ It may be so, I'll see farther. Friend, is Don _Carlo_ within?

_Serv._ He has not been out since, Sir.

_Hau._ Since, ha, ha, ha, since when? hah.

_Serv._ Since you saw him, Sir.

_Hau._ _Salerimente_, will you make me mad? why you damnable Rascal,
when did I see him? hah.

_Serv._ Here comes my Master himself, Sir,  [Enter _Carlo_.]  let him
inform you, if you grow so hot upon the Question.

_Car._ How now, Son, what, angry? You have e'en tir'd your self with
walking, and are out of Humour.

_Hau._ Look there again-- the old Man's mad too; why how the pox should
he know I have been walking? Indeed, Sir, I have, as you say, been
walking  [Playing with his Hat.]  --and am-- as you say, out of
Humour-- But under favour, Sir, who are you? Sure 'tis the old Conjurer,
and those were his little Imps I met.
    [Surlily to him.

_Car._ Sure, Son, you should be a Wit, by the shortness of your Memory.

_Hau._ By the Goodness of yours, you should be none, ha, ha, ha. Did I
not meet with him there, _Gload_, hah? But pray refresh my Memory, and
let me know you; I come to seek a Father amongst you here, one Don
_Carlo_.

_Car._ Am I not the Man, Sir?

_Hau._ How the Devil should I know that now, unless by instinct?

_Glo._ The old Man is mad, and must be humour'd.

_Hau._ Cry you Mercy, Sir, I vow I had quite forgot you. Sir, I hope
Donna _Euphemia_--

_Car._ Oh, Sir, she's in a much better Humour than when you saw her
last, complies with our Desires more than I cou'd hope or wish.

_Hau._ Why look you here again-- I ask'd after her Health, not her
Humour.

_Car._ I know not what Arts you made use of, but she's strangely taken
with your Conversation and Person.

_Glo._ Truly, Sir, you are mightily beholden to her, that she should
have all this good Will to your Person and Conversation before she sees
you.

_Hau._ Ay, so I am; therefore, Sir, I desire to see your Daughter, for I
shall hardly be so generous as she has been, and be quits with her
before I see her.

_Car._ Why, Sir, I hop'd you lik'd her when you saw her last.

_Hau._ Stark mad-- I saw her last! why, what the Devil do you mean?
I never saw her in all my Life, man. Stark mad, as I am true Dutch--
    [Aside.

_Car._ A Lover always thinks the time tedious: But here's my Daughter.

    Enter _Euphemia_ and _Olinda_.

_Hau._ Ay, one of these must be she: but 'tis a Wonder I should not know
which she is by instinct.
    [Aside.
    [Stands looking very simply on both.

_Euph._ This is not _Alonzo_-- has he betray'd me?    [Aside.

_Car._ Go, Sir, she expects you.

_Hau._ Your pardon, Sir; let her come to me, if she will, I'm sure she
knows me better than I do her.

_Glo._ How should she know you, Sir?

_Hau._ How? by instinct, you Fool, as all the rest of the House does:
don't you, fair Mistress?

_Euph._ I know you--

_Hau._ Yes, you know me; you need not be so coy mun, the old Man has
told me all.

_Euph._ What has he told you?-- I am ruin'd.    [Aside.

_Hau._ Faith, much more than I believ'd, for he was very full of his
new-fashion'd Spanish Civility, as they call it; But ha, ha, I hope,
fair Mistress, you do not take after him?

_Euph._ What if I do, Sir?

_Hau._ Why then I had as lieve marry a Steeple with a perpetual Ring of
Bells.

_Glo._ Let me advise you, Sir; methinks you might make a handsomer
Speech for the first, to so pretty a Lady-- Fakes, and were I to do't--

_Hau._ I had a rare Speech for her thou knowest, and an Entertainment
besides, that was, tho I say it, unordinary: But a pox of this new way
of Civility, as thou call'st it, it has put me quite beside my part.

_Glo._ Tho you are out of your complimenting Part, I am not out of my
dancing one, and therefore that part of your Entertainment I'll
undertake for. 'Slife, Sir, would you disappoint all our Ship's
Company?--

_Hau._ That's according as I find this proud Tit in Humour.

_Car._ And why so coy? pray why all this Dissimulation? Come, come,
I have told him your Mind, and do intend to make you both happy
immediately.

_Euph._ How, Sir, immediately!

_Car._ Yes, indeed; nay, if you have deceiv'd me, and dissembled with
me, when I was so kind, I'll show you Trick for Trick i'faith--
    [Goes to _Haunce_.

_Euph._ What shall we do, _Olinda_?

_Olin._ Why marry Don _Alonzo_, Madam.

_Euph._ Do not rally, this is no time for Mirth.

_Olin._ Fie upon't, Madam, that you should have so little Courage; your
Father takes this Fellow to be _Alonzo_.

_Car._ What Counsel are you giving there, hah?

_Olin._ Only taking leave of our old Acquaintance, since you talk of
marrying us so soon.

_Car._ What Acquaintance, pray?

_Olin._ Our Maiden-heads, Sir.

_Hau._ Ha, ha, ha, a pleasant Wench, faith now; I believe you would be
content to part with yours with less warning.

_Olin._ On easy Terms perhaps, but this marrying I do not like; 'tis
like going a long Voyage to Sea, where after a while even the Calms are
distasteful, and the Storms dangerous: one seldom sees a new Object,
'tis still a deal of Sea, Sea; Husband, Husband, every day,-- till one's
quite cloy'd with it.

_Car._ A mad Girl this, Son.

_Hau._ Ay, Sir, but I wish she had left out the simile, it made my
Stomach wamble.

_Glo._ Pray, Sir, let you the Maid alone as an Utensil belonging to my
Place and Office, and meddle you with the Mistress.

_Hau._ Faith now, thou hast the better Bargain of the two; my Mistress
looks so scurvily and civil, that I don't know what to say to her--
Lady-- hang't, that look has put me quite out again.

_Car._ To her, Son, to her--

_Hau._ Hark ye, Lady-- Well, what next now? Oh pox, quite out, quite
out; tell me whether the old Man ly'd or no, when he told me you lov'd
me.

_Euph._ I love you!

_Hau._ Look you there now, how she looks again.

_Car._ She's only bashful, Sir, before me; therefore if you please to
take a small Collation, that has waited within for you this three
Hours--

_Hau._ That's strange now, that any thing should wait for me, who was no
more expected here than _Bethlehem-Gaber_: Faith now, Lady, this Father
of yours is very simple.

_Euph._ To take you for his Son.

_Hau._ I meant to have surpriz'd you I vow, before you had dreamt of me;
and when I came, you all knew me as well as if you had cast a Figure for
me.

_Car._ Well, Son, you'll follow.

_Euph._ You will not leave me alone, Sir, with a Man?

_Hau._ Go your ways, go your ways-- I shall know more of your Secrets
before  [_Gload_ makes Grimaces to _Olinda_ of Love.]  night yet, you
little pouting Hypocrite you.

_Euph._ You know my Secrets! why, who are you?

_Hau._ Ha, ha, ha, that's a very good one faith now: who am I, quoth
thou? why there's not a Child thus high in all your Father's House would
have ask'd me so simple a Question.

_Olin._ Madam, I find by this Man, this is your expected Lover, whom you
must flatter, or you are undone, 'tis _Haunce van Ezel_.
    [To _Euphemia_.

_Euph._ The <DW2> himself.

_Hau._ Oh, do you know me now?

_Euph._ 'Tis impossible.

_Hau._ This is an extreme the other way now.    [Aside.
  Impossible, ha, ha, ha! No, no, poor thing, do not doubt thy
Happiness: for look ye, to confirm you, here are my Bills of Exchange
with my own natural Name to them, if you can read written Hand--
    [Shews her Papers.

_Glo._ Not love you! I'll swear you lye now, you little Jade, I am now
in Masquerade, and you cannot judge of me; but I am Book-keeper and
Cashier to my Master, and my Love will turn to account, I'll warrant
you.

_Olin._ There may be use made of him.    [Aside.
  I shall think of it. But pray why are you thus accouter'd?

_Glo._ Fakes, to entertain your Lady, we have brought the whole Ship's
Company too in Masquerade.

_Olin._ That indeed will be very proper at this time of the Day, and the
first Visit too.

_Glo._ Shaw, that's nothing, you little think what Blades we are
mun-- Sir, I'll call in the Fiddles and the Company.

_Hau._ Well remember'd, faith, now I had e'en forgot it.

_Euph._ What's the meaning of this?    [Fiddles strike up.

_Hau._ To show you the difference between the damnable dull Gravity of
the _Spanish_, and brisk Gaiety of the _Dutch_. Come, come, begin all.
    Enter _Dutchmen_ and Women dancing.
  Nay, I'll shew you what I can do too, come, _Gload_.
    [They two dance.
  There's for you now, and yet you have not seen half my good Qualities;
I can sing the newest Ballad that has been made, so I can.
    [Sings a _Dutch_ Song.

_Euph._ Be these your Friends, Sir? they look as if you had ransack'd a
Hoy for them.

_Hau._ How! look on them well, they are all States or States-fellows,
I tell you that now, and they can bear witness who I am too.

_Euph._ Now I'm convinced, and am sorry I doubted my Happiness so long:
I had such a Character of you.

_Hau._ Of me! oh Lord, I vow now-- as they say-- I don't know-- ha, ha--

_Euph._ I heard you were the most incorrigible Fool, the most
intolerable <DW2>.

_Hau._ Ha, ha, ha, do you hear, _Gload_-- who, I a <DW2>? I vow they were
mistaken in me, for I am counted as pretty a Merchant as any walks the
Change; can write a very plain Hand, and cast Account as well-- my man
_Gload_-- can't I, Sirrah?

_Glo._ Yes indeed, forsooth, can he.

_Hau._ Egad, a Fool, a <DW2>, quoth ye--    [Walks angry.

_Olin._ By all means flatter him, Madam.

_Euph._ I'm satisfy'd, Sir.

_Hau._ I care not whether you are or no, for I shall have you whether
you will or no, mun.

_Euph._ 'Tis very likely; but there is a certain troublesome Fellow in
love with me, that has made me vow whenever I marry to ask him leave.

_Hau._ How, ask his leave? I scorn to ask any Body's leave, I tell you
that, tho 'twere my Mistress--

_Euph._ I cannot marry you then.

_Hau._ How, not marry me? look here now:    [Ready to cry.
  _Gload_, can't you marry, and let no living Soul know it?

_Euph._ Oh no, Sir, I love your Life better, which would be indanger'd.

_Hau._ Why, what a cursed Custom you have in _Spain_, a Man can neither
marry, nor console his Neighbour's Wife without having his Throat cut.
Why, what if he will not give you leave?

_Euph._ Why, then you must fight him.

_Hau._ How! fight him, I fight him!

Glo. Why, yes, Sir, you know you can fight, you try'd but this very
Morning--

_Hau._ Softly, you damn'd Rogue, not a Word of my Prowess aloud.
_Salerimente_, I shall be put to fight when I am sober, shall I, for
your damn'd prating, ye Rascal?

_Euph._ I am glad you have that good Quality.

    [_Olinda_ speaking to _Gload_, pushes him to speak.

_Glo._ Ay, Madam-- my Master-- has many more:
  But if you please to tell him his Rival's Name--

_Hau._ I'll have your Ears for this, Sirrah, the next time I'm soundly
drunk, and you know that won't be long.
    [Aside.
  Lord, Madam, my Man knows not what he says.
  Ye Rascal, say I have no Courage-- or I will drink my self to the
Miracle of Valour, and exercise it all on thee.

_Glo._ I know what I do, Sir, you had Courage this Morning, is the Fit
over?

_Hau._ Have I not slept since, you Rogue, have I not?

_Glo._ I have a trick to save your Honour, Sir, and therefore I will
stand in't you have Courage.

_Hau._ A Pox of your Trick, the Rogue knows I dare not chastise him now,
for fear they should think I have Valour.

_Glo._ Madam, my Master's modest, but tell him who 'tis he must fight
with--

_Hau._ Oh, for a Tun of Rhenish-- that I might abundantly beat thee--

_Euph._ Your Rival's Name's _Alonzo_, Sir.

_Hau._ Oh the Devil, a thundring Name too; but will this same-- _Alonzo_
make no allowance for necessity?-- I vow 'tis pure necessity in me to
marry you: the old Men being agreed upon the Matter, I am but an
Instrument-- alas, not I,
    [Crys.
  A very Tool, as they say, so I am.

_Glo._ Lord, Sir, why do you cry? I meant no harm.

_Hau._ No harm, you Rascal-- to say I am valiant.

_Glo._ Why, yes, Sir, and if you would say so too, at worst 'twas but
getting Don _Lovis_ to have fought for you; you know that's a small
courtesy to a Friend.

_Hau._ Faith, now thou art in the right; he'll do his Business for him,
I'll warrant him.
    [Wipes his Eyes.
  Nay then, Madam, I have Courage, and will to this Don-- this _Alonzo_
you speak of; and if he do not resign you, and consign you too, I'll
make him; yes, make him, do ye see-- If _Lovis_ should refuse me now--
    [Aside.

_Glo._ Shaw, Sir, he makes nothing to kill a Man, ten or twenty.

_Euph._ Well, since you are so resolv'd, my Brother will tell you where
to find this _Alonzo_; and tell him, I must marry you to day, for I am
resolv'd not to lie alone tonight.

_Hau._ What would not a Man do for so kind a Mistress?

_Euph._ Well, get you about it strait then, lest my Father's coming
prevent it.
    [Exeunt _Euphemia_ and _Olinda_.

_Hau._ I am gone-- but if _Lovis_ should fail--

_Glo._ He would beat you, if he thought you doubted him.

_Hau._ I'll keep my Fears then to my self.    [Go out.


SCENE II. _The Street._

    Enter _Hippolyta_ drest like a Man, with a Paper.

_Hip._ Thus I dare look abroad again:
  Methinks I am not what I was,
  My Soul too is all Man;
  Where dwells no Tenderness, no womanish Passions.
  I cannot sigh, nor weep, nor think of Love,
  But as a foolish Dream that's gone and past.
  Revenge has took possession of my Soul,
  And drove those Shadows thence; and shows me now
  Love, in so poor, so despicable a Shape,
  So quite devested of his Artful Beauty,
  That I'm asham'd I ever was his Votary.
  Well, here's my Challenge to _Antonio_;
  But how to get it to him is the Question.
  Base as he is, he'll not refuse to come,
  And since he never saw the wrong'd _Alonzo_,
  Sure I may pass for him. Who's here?--

    Enter _Haunce_ and _Gload_. She stands aside.

_Hau._ _Gload_, if it were possible I could be sober, and valiant at
once, I should now be provok'd to exercise it: for I cannot find
_Lovis_, and then how I shall come off, the Lord knows. And then again,
for letting the Lady go, whom I rescu'd in the Grove this Morning.

_Glo._ Should I disobey a Lady, Sir? for she commanded me to let her go
so soon as she came into the Gate. And, Sir, look, here comes Don
_Lovis_.

    Enter _Lovis_ and _Alonzo_.

_Hau._ Oh, Brother _Lovis_, where the Devil have you been all this Day?
I stay'd for you to go with me to your Sister's, as long as Flesh and
Blood could forbear.

_Lov._ Why, have you been there without me?

_Hau._ Yes, marry have I, Sir.

_Alon._ I am undone then--    [Aside.

_Hau._ I needed no Recommendation mun, for when I came they were all as
well acquainted with me-- I never saw them before; but by the way, they
are all no wiser than they should be, except your Sister, who is the
pretty'st loving, sweet Rogue--

_Alon._ How's this?

_Lov._ But have you seen my Sister?

_Hau._ Seen her! yes, and will marry her too mun before Night, an she
were a thousand Sisters-- but harkye, _Lovis_, the business is this--
you must know that before I marry her, I am to seek out a certain
Fellow, they call-- they call _Alonzo_, ay, ay, _Alonzo_-- a Pox on him,
a troublesome Rascal they say he is; and his leave, it seems, must be
askt to marry your Sister.

_Lov._ Well, Sir, and what if he will not give you leave?

_Hau._ Why then, you must know I am to get him very well favour'dly
beaten.

_Alon._ Sure this is the Coxcomb himself.

_Hau._ Now for your Sister's sake, who loves me, poor thing, I will not
run the danger of beating him my self, but must desire that small
courtesy of thee.

_Lov._ How! I beat him?

_Hau._ You beat him, yes, you; what a Pox do you scruple such a kindness
to a Friend? I know you make no more of killing a Man next your Heart in
a Morning, than I do of eating a pickled Herring.

_Lov._ But she desir'd you to do't.

_Hau._ That's all one so it be done, mun; besides, why should I run my
self into a Premunire, when I need not? Your Father is bound by
Agreement to mine, to deliver me the Wares (that is, his Daughter) safe
and sound; and I have no more to do, but to protest against him in case
of Non-performance. 'Twill be a dear Commodity to me at this rate.
    [Cries.

_Lov._ Well, Sir, I'll see what may be done.

_Hau._ Spoke like a Friend now: Well, you must about it instantly, for I
must be married to day.

_Alon._ Must you so, Sir?--

_Hau._ Yes marry must I, Sir-- Who the Devil's this now?    [To _Lovis_.

_Alon._ That same _Alonzo_ whom you inquire for.

_Hau._ Are you so, Sir?-- Why, what then, Sir,-- _Lovis_, _Lovis_.
    [Runs behind _Lovis_.

_Alon._ What then, Sir? then I tell you, I will not be beaten.

_Hau._ Look ye here now-- _Lovis_.

_Lov._ Ha, ha, ha, canst thou be angry with him?    [To _Alonzo_.

_Hau._ I, can you be angry with me?

_Alon._ I know not why an Ass should have more privilege than any other
rude Beast.

_Lov._ Ha, ha, ha, this Humour's so pleasant in thee, I wish thou
wouldst pursue it a little-- _Haunce_, bear up to him, he's but a mere
Huff, ha, ha, ha.

    [Claps him on the Back, he goes fearfully forward.

_Glo._ I, Sir, as long as Don _Lovis_ is here, you may say what you
will.

_Hau._ May I so?-- and why, Sir?-- am I, Sir-- an Ass, Sir?
    [Runs behind _Lovis_.

_Alon._ 'Sdeath, you Rascal, do you question me?

_Hau._ Oh, hold, Sir, hold, not I, God forbid I should question it,
_Lovis_-- is it, indeed, _Alonzo_, hah?

_Lov._ Yes indeed is it.

_Hau._ And wilt thou not do so much as to beat him for me a little?

_Lov._ Not I, I dare not, he's a terrible Man.

_Hau._ Why look you here now, you damn'd Rogue,
  [To _Gload_.]  Have not you serv'd me finely, hah?

_Gload._ Why, Sir, 'tis but crying Peccavi.

_Hau._ Peccavi, and be hang'd to you-- Lord, Sir,  [To _Alonzo_.]  why
are you so angry? I came but to ask you a civil Question, from my Wife
that must be.

_Alon._ You must ask me leave, first.

_Hau._ Yes, yes, Sir, so she said mun; for she must marry me to night.

_Alon._ Yes, you shall have it with this-- too.    [Draws.

_Hau._ Why look you  [_Haunce_ runs away, _Lovis_ stays him.]  here now,
here's damn'd doings. For my part, I declare it here upon my Death-bed,
I am forc'd to what I do, and you kill me against my Will.

_Alon._ Do'st think we are not discover'd in our Design? I'd kill the
Dog if I thought we were.

_Lov._ I believe not; and perceive by my Sister's Message, that we are
to come to her, and prevent this Fellow's marrying her.

_Alon._ Well, Sir, I'll spare your Life, and give your Mistress leave to
marry to night.

_Hau._ How, Sir, to Night?-- But is he in earnest, _Lovis_?

_Lov._ In very good earnest.

_Hau._ Tan, ta, ra, ra, ra-- hay, Boys, what a Night we'll have on't,
_Gload_, for Fiddles and Dancing.

_Alon._ Tell your Mistress I will dispatch a little Affair, and wait on
her.

_Gload._ And pray, Sir, may I have leave to marry the Maid too?

_Alon._ We'll consider on't.

_Hau._ I am not such a Fool to venture tho, till I know the Coast is
clear, for his very Looks are terrible; but go you, _Gload_, and tell
her what he says.
    [_Alonzo_ talks to _Lovis_.

    Enter _Hippolyta_ from aside.

_Hip._ These be the Men that rescu'd me this morning,
  And are not to be employ'd in my Affair.
  But yonder Stranger has a noble Look,
  And from him I'll intreat this Favour-- Sir--    [To _Alonzo_.

_Alon._ With me, Sir?

_Hip._ Yes, please you to walk a little this way, Sir.
    [Takes him aside.

_Hau._ Well, make you sure of Fiddles, for look ye, we'll appear to
night like our selves.

_Gload._ It shall be done, Sir.

_Hip._ I am a Stranger and a Gentleman,
  And have an humble Suit to you.

_Alon._ You may command me any thing.

_Hip._ Sir, there is a Gentleman, if I may call him so, that dares do
ill; has put a base Affront upon a Lady-- a Lady whom all brave Men are
bound to vindicate: I've writ him here a Challenge, and only beg you'll
give it him; I will attend you in St. _Peter's_ Grove, where I desire
the perfidious _Antonio_ (for that's his Name, to whom this is directed)
to meet me.

_Alon._ I'm pleas'd to see this Gallantry in a Man so young, and will
serve you in this, or whatever else you shall command. But where is this
_Antonio_?

_Hip._ That I'll inquire of these. Sir, pray can you give any account of
the Cavalier  [To _Haunce_, who starts as afraid.]  you fought with this
Morning in St. _Peter's_ Grove, that had a Lady with him?

_Hau._ So, now perhaps I shall be hang'd for that.    [Aside.
  I fight, Sir! I never fought in my Life, nor saw no Man, not I.

_Gload._ 'Sha, you may confess it, Sir; there's no Law against killing
in _Spain_.

_Hip._ How, have you murder'd him?    [Takes hold of him.

_Hau._ This Rogue has a mind to have me dispatch'd.    [Aside.
  Hold, Sir, the Man's as well and alive as you are, and is now at my
Lodgings: look ye, here's the Dagger I disarm'd him of-- but that I do
not love to boast.
    [Shews it.

_Hip._ It is the same.

_Alon._ Sir, I shall not fail to wait on you with the Answer I receive.

_Hip._ I humbly thank you, Sir.

_Alon._ So prithee, dear _Lovis_, go make my excuse to your Sister for a
moment, and let her get all things ready against I come; let the Priest
too wait, for I see my Destiny, which I can no longer prevent, draws on
apace.
    [Exit _Lovis_.
  Come, Sir, you must conduct me to _Antonio_.

    [Exeunt _Alonzo_, _Haunce_, and _Gload_.

_Hip._ So now the Work's half done, that will redeem
  All the lost Credit of our Family.
  To kill, or to be kill'd, I care not which,    [Weeps.
  So one or both expire; be strong, my Soul,
  And let no feeble Woman dwell about thee.
  Hence Fears and Pity, such poor things as these
  Cannot the Storms of my Revenge appease:
  Those Showers must from his treacherous Heart proceed,
  If I can live and see _Antonio_ bleed.    [Sighs, and Exit.


SCENE III. _A deep Grove._

    Enter _Marcel_ alone.

_Mar._ The hour is almost come which I appointed,
  And yet no _Silvio_ appears, the time seems long to me;
  But he that's circled in his Mistress' Arms,
  Forgets the hasty hours,
  And passes them as unregarded by,
  As Men do Beggars who demand a Charity.

    Enter _Hippolyta_.
  Young Man, hast thou encounter'd none within this Grove?

_Hip._ Not any, Sir,-- _Marcel_! my injur'd Brother!

_Mar._ Why dost thou turn away, and hide thy Face?

_Hip._ 'Tis not my Face I hide, but Sorrow there.    [Weeps.

_Mar._ Trust me, thou weepest; would I could do so too,
  That I might be less angry;
  And Silence best expresses Grief:
  But thine's a saucy Sorrow dares approach
  A Face so fair and young.

_Hip._ If the Ingrate for whom I grieve had thought so, I might have
spar'd my Tears. Farewel, Sir.

_Mar._ Stay, hast thou been a Lover?

_Hip._ A very, very passionate one.

_Mar._ And wert thou not belov'd?

_Hip._ At first, to draw me in, the cunning Artist Made me believe I
was.

_Mar._ Oh! I could kiss thee now, for the alliance
  Between thy Grief and mine.
  Hadst thou a loose and wanton Sister too,
  Then thou wert perfect wretched, as I am.    [Weeps.
  But prithee leave me, now I think of it:
  For shouldst thou stay, thou'dst rob me of my Anger;
  For since a Youth like thee can be unhappy,
  With such a Shape, and so divine a Face,
  Methinks I should not quarrel with my Star,
  But bow to all my faithless Mistress' Scorns.
  [Hollowing within.]  So ho, ho, so ho, ho--

_Mar._ So ho, so ho, ho, ho-- 'Tis my false Rival.
  Now leave me, Sir, to reassume my Anger.

_Hip._ I will obey-- farewel--
  My own Despair makes me neglect his Life.    [Goes out.

    Enter _Silvio_.

_Mar._ 'Tis _Silvio_.

_Silv._ You see I have obey'd you, Sir.

_Mar._ Come, Sir, your Sword.

_Silv._ You are my Brother, and 'twere an impious Action,
  To fight you unprovok'd: give me a cause,
  Nay, and a just one too, or I shall find it hard
  --To wound _Cleonte's_ Brother.    [Aside sighing.

_Mar._ Thou cam'st prepar'd to talk, and not to fight.
  I cannot blame thee for't, for were I _Silvio_,
  Thus I would do to save a Life belov'd:
    [Offers to fight, _Silvio_ steps back.
  But 'twill not serve you now.

_Silv._ Your Reason, Sir, and I'm ready, if it be just.

_Mar._ Oh do not urge me to repeat my Wrongs,
  For if thou dost, I hardly shall have Man enough remain
  To fight thee fairly.    [Offers still.

_Silv._ Surely he knows my Passion for _Cleonte_--    [Aside.
  I urge the Reason still.

_Mar._ Hast thou forgot thy last Night's Treachery?
  How like a Thief thou stol'st into her Lodgings?

_Silv._ 'Tis so-- 'tis true, _Marcel_, I rudely did intrude--

_Mar._ Oh, quickly haste-- this looks like Women's jangling.
    [Offers to fight again.

_Silv._ Oh, is it bravely done, _Marcel_, to punish
  A Passion which you ought to pity rather?
  'Tis what I cannot reconcile nor justify:
  And so distracted it has made me too--
  I will not fight in so unjust a Cause.
  Kill me, and I'll embrace you whilst I die;
  A thousand Wounds imprinted on this Body,
  Will bring less Pain than that her Eyes have caus'd.
  Here strike-- Pity my Pain and ease me.
    [Opens his Arms, and throws away his Sword.

_Mar._ I find thou hast a Charm about thy Tongue,
  And thou implor'st thy Death in such a way,
  I cannot hurt thee; and it gives me hopes
  Thou art not yet so bless'd to be belov'd,
  For then thou wouldst not be thus desperate.

_Silv._ Oh yes, I am belov'd.

_Mar._ Oh do not say thou art,
  Nor take me from a Calmness, that may spare thee.

_Silv._ Not say I am belov'd! thou canst not hire me
  With Life or fuller Joy, to say I am not.
  If there be Truth and Love in Innocence, she loves me.

_Mar._ Yet, yet, ye Gods, I can endure-- say, but thou art not,
  For I would yet preserve thee.

_Silv._ Oh, canst thou wish that I should fall so low,
  To save my Life with Lyes; the poorest Sin of all the number?

_Mar._ Then once again thou hast debauch'd my Pity.
    [Takes to his Sword.

_Silv._ Her Passion I will justify, but not my own;
  Her's is as pure as Prayers of Penitence;
  But mine-- I cannot give a Name to.
    [They fight: Enter _Alonzo_, and parts them.

_Alon._ How now, what's here to do! _Marcel_?

_Mar._ _Alonzo_! the only Man I wish to shun.

_Silv._ I'm glad, who e'er thou be'st thou hast prevented us.

_Alon._ Thou hast more Wit than he, then I find: Your Quarrel, Sir, may
a Man have leave to enquire into't?

_Mar._ This is that _Silvio_, that noble Youth my Brother, whom thou
hast often heard me name.

_Alon._ An excellent Character for an Enemy, Noble, and Brother: For
shame put up your Swords, and I'll be Judge between ye.

_Mar._ The Case is soon decided; I will not tell you with how tedious a
Courtship I won the Heart, as I thought, of a young Beauty of this
Town-- and yesterday receiv'd a Billet from her, to wait on her at
night, to receive the recompence of all my Pains and Sufferings-- In
this extasy of Joy I show'd him the Paper; and he getting thither before
me, rob'd me of my Prize.

_Silv._ I am so pleas'd at this mistake of thine, I can forgive it
freely.

_Mar._ Not content with this, most treacherously, hid in the shades of
Night, he met me in the Hall of this false Woman, and stab'd me, which
did secure his flight with her; and wouldst thou have me put this Injury
up?

_Alon._ Faith, you must, and your Sword too,
  Unless you mean to keep it drawn on me.
  'Twas I that wounded you i' th' dark; and it was I
  That rob'd you of _Clarinda_.

_Mar._ Thou?

_Alon._ I, am I so unlikely a Man to do such a feat?

_Mar._ How dare you, Sir, do this?

_Alon._ I dare do any thing, but break my Word, as thou hast basely done
with me-- But I am now in haste, and should be glad to know where to
meet you anon.

_Mar._ I'll wait on you at the farther side of this Grove by the River.

_Alon._ I will not fail you--    [Ex. _Alonzo_.

_Mar._ Come, Sir, till I can better prove you are my Rival, I will
believe you are my Friend and Brother.

_Silv._ When thou shalt know my miserable Story,
  Thou wilt believe and pity me.    [Go out.

    Enter again _Hippolyta_ from out of the Wood.

_Hip._ I wonder this Cavalier stays so long,
  Pray Heaven he meet _Antonio_.
    Enter _Alonzo_.
  Your Servant, Sir.

_Alon._ The Cavalier to whom you sent me, Sir, Will wait upon you here.

_Hip._ I humbly thank you, Sir, and should be glad to know how I might
pay my Gratitude.

_Alon._ My Duty ends not here; I have a Sword to serve you.

_Hip._ You shame me with this Generosity; but, Sir, I hope my own will
be sufficient in so good a Cause.

_Alon._ Tho you are young, I question not your Bravery; But I must beg
to stay and see fair play, And offer you my Service when you've done.

_Hip._ The Enemy appears, Sir,-- and since you are so good, I beg you
would retire behind those Trees; for if he see us both, since he is
single, he will suspect some treachery.

_Alon._ You've reason, Sir, and I'll obey you.    [Goes aside.

    Enter _Antonio_ reading a Paper.

_SIR,_

_I do desire you to meet me in _St. Peter's_ Grove, with your Sword in
your Hand, about an Hour hence; you will guess my Business, when you
know my name to be

    _Alonzo_._

_Alon._ How's that?    [Aside.

_Ant._ I wish't had been another Enemy,
  Since from the Justice of his Cause I fear
  An ill success; would I had seen _Hippolyta_,
  That e'er I dy'd I might have had her pardon.
  This Conscience-- 'tis ominous,
  But ne'er appears in any horrid shape,
  Till it approaches Death--

    [Goes forward, sees _Hippolyta_, who justles him in passing by;
    he stops and looks.

_Hip._ You seem, Sir, to be he whom I expect.

_Ant._ I'm call'd _Antonio_, Sir--

_Hip._ And I _Alonzo_; the rest we need not ask,
  For thou art well acquainted with my Injuries,
  And I with thy Perfidiousness.    [Draws.

_Ant._ I know of none you have receiv'd from me,
  If on _Hippolyta's_ account you fight:
  She lov'd me, and believ'd; and what dull Lover
  Would have refus'd a Maid so easily gain'd?

_Hip._ Ah, Traytor, by how base a way
  Thou wouldst evade thy Fate?
  Didst thou not know she was my Wife by promise?
  Did not _Marcel_, _Ambrosio_, all consent
  To make her mine as soon as I arriv'd?

_Alon._ Who the Devil's that young Bully that takes my Name, and my
Concerns upon him?
    [Aside.

_Hip._ But why should I expect a Truth from thee,
  Who after so much time, so many Vows,
  So many Tears, Despairs and Sighs, at last
  Didst gain a Credit with this easy Fool,
  Then left her to her shames, and her despairs?-- Come, Sir--
  Or I shall talk my self to calmness--    [Aside.

_Ant._ I'm ready, Sir, to justify the Deed.

    [They offer to fight, _Alonzo_ steps forth.

_Alon._ Hold! hold! fair Thief that rob'st me of my Name,
  And wouldst my Honour too;    [Puts her by.
  If thou hast wrong'd the fair _Hippolyta_,    [To _Antonio_.
  No Man but I has right to do her justice.
  Or you are both my Rivals-- tell me which,
  Which of you is it I must kill-- or both?
  I am _Alonzo_, who dares love _Hippolyta_?

_Hip._ Let not your friendship, Sir, proceed so far,
  To take my Name, to take my Quarrel on you.

_Alon._ In this Dispute none's more concern'd than I,
  And I will keep my ground in such a cause,
  Tho all the Rivals that her Beauty makes me,
  Were arm'd to take my Life away.

_Ant._ Come, Sir, I care not which of you's _Alonzo_.
    [They go to fight, she holds _Alonzo_.

_Hip._ This Gallantry's too much, brave Stranger.
  _Antonio_, hurt him not; I am the wrong'd _Alonzo_,
  And this a perfect Stranger to the business,
  Who seeing me appear less Man than he,
  And unacquainted with my Deeds abroad,
  In Bounty takes my Name and Quarrel on him.

_Alon._ Take heed, young Man, and keep thy Virtue in,
  Lest thus misguided it become a Crime.
  But thou, he says, hast wrong'd _Hippolyta_,    [To _Antonio_.
  And I am he must punish it.

_Hip._ Sure it is he indeed--
  For such a Miracle my Brother render'd him,    [Aside.
  Hold, hold, thou Wonder of thy Sex--    [They fight.

_Alon._ Stand by, I shall be angry with thee else,
  And that will be unsafe--

    [As _Alonzo_ fights with one Hand, he keeps her off with t'other;
    she presses still forward on _Antonio_ with her Sword, indeavouring
    to keep back _Alonzo_.

    Enter to them _Marcel._

_Mar._ Sure I heard the Noise of Swords this way!
    [Draws.
  Hah, two against one! Courage, Sir.    [To _Antonio_.
    [They fight all four, _Marcel_ with _Hippolyta_ whom he wounds,
    and _Alonzo_ with _Antonio_, who is disarmed.

_Hip._ Good Heaven, how just thou art!

_Mar._ What, dost thou faint already?-- Hah, the pretty talking Youth I
saw but now!
    [Runs to her, and holds her up.
  Alas, how dost thou?

_Hip._ Well, since thy Hand has wounded me--

_Ant._ My Life is yours, nor would I ask the Gift,
  But to repair my Injuries to _Hippolyta_.

_Alon._ I give it thee--    [Gives him his Sword.

_Mar._ How, _Antonio_!--
  What unkind Hand has rob'd me of the justice
  Of killing thee?

_Alon._ His that was once thy Friend, _Marcel_.

_Mar._ Oh! dost thou know my Shame?    [Turns away.

_Alon._ I know thou art false to Friendship,
  And therefore do demand mine back again, thou'st us'd it scurvily.

_Mar._ Thou knowst too much to think I've injur'd thee.

_Alon._ Not injur'd me! Who was it promis'd me _Hippolyta_?
  Who his Alliance, and his Friendship too?
  And who has broke them all, but thou perfidious?
  Come, 'tis _Hippolyta_ that I demand.

_Mar._ By this he should not know my Sister's Shame.    [Aside.
  Oh, Sir, you must not have _Hippolyta_.

_Alon._ How! not have _Hippolyta_!
  Tho every Step were guarded by a Brother,
  Tho she were circled round about with Rivals,
  Ye should not all have Power to keep her from me.
  Not have _Hippolyta_!--
  'Sdeath, Sir, because I do not know my Birth,
  And cannot boast a little empty Title,
  I must not have _Hippolyta_.--
  Now I will have her; and when you know I can,
  You shall petition me to marry her.
  And yet I will not do't. Come, Sir--    [Offers to fight.

_Hip._ Hold, hold, brave Man, or turn your Sword on me.
  I am the unhappy Cause of all your Rage:
  'Tis I, generous _Alonzo_, that can tell you
  What he's asham'd to own,
  And thou wilt blush to hear.

_Mar._ _Hippolyta_! thou wretched wicked Woman:
  Thus I reward thy Sins--
    [Offers to kill her, _Antonio_ steps between.

_Ant._ Hold, Sir, and touch her not without my leave,
  She is my Wife; by sacred Vows my Wife.

_Alon._ I understand no riddling; but whoever thou be'st.
  Man or Woman, thou'rt worth our Care--
  She faints-- come, let us bear her hence.
    [She faints, _Antonio_ kneels to her.

_Ant._ Oh stay, _Hippolyta_, and take me with thee,
  For I've no use of Life when thou art gone.    [Weeps.
  Here, kill me, brave _Marcel_-- and yet you need not;
  My own Remorse, and Grief will be sufficient.

_Mar._ I credit thee, and leave thee to their Mercy.

_Hip._ That Goodness, Sir, has call'd me back to Life,
  To pay my humble Thanks; could you have Mercy too,
  To pardon me-- you might redeem my Soul.

_Mar._ Some Pity I have yet, that may preserve thee too,
  Provided this Repentance be not feign'd.

_Ant._ My Life, Sir, is Security for both.

_Mar._ Doubt not, I'll take the Forfeit, Sir-- Come, _Hippolyta_.
  Thy Father's House shall once again receive thee.

_Ant._ Lean on my Arm, my dearest.

_Mar._ Sir, by the way, I'll let you know her Story,
  And then perhaps you will not blame my Friendship.

_Alon._ And in return, I'll give you back _Clarinda_--
  And beg your Pardon for the Wound I gave you.
    [Exeunt, leading _Hippolyta_.




ACT V.


SCENE I. _A Garden._

    Enter _Cleonte_, _Clarinda_ weeping, and _Dormida_ and _Francisca_.

_Cleo._ Fear not, I'll use my Interest both with your
  Mother and my Father, to set your Heart at rest,
  Whose Pain I feel by something in my own.

_Clar._ The Gods reward your Bounty, fair _Cleonte_.

_Dor._ I, I, Madam, I beseech you make our Peace with my good Lady her
Mother, whatsoever becomes of the rest, for she'll e'en die with Grief--
    [Weeps.
  She had but two fair Pledges of her Nuptial Bed.
  And both by cruel Fate are ravisht from her.
  _Manuel_ a Child was lost,
  And this; not holy Relicks were more strictly guarded,
  Till false _Marcel_ betray'd me to debauch her.    [Weeps aloud.

_Cleo._ Alas, had you a Brother once?    [To _Clarinda_.

_Clar._ Madam, I might have had: but he was lost e'er I was born.

_Cleo._ Ah! would my _Silvio_ had been so.    [Aside.
  By what strange Accident, _Clarinda_?

_Dor._ Madam, I can inform you best.
    [Puts herself between.

_Cleo._ Do then, _Dormida_.

_Dor._ Madam, you must know, my Lady _Octavia_, for that's her name, was
in her Youth the very Flower of Beauty and Vertue: Oh such a Face and
Shape! had you but seen her-- And tho I say it, Madam, I thought my self
too somebody then.

_Clar._ Thou art tedious: Madam, 'tis true my Mother had the Reputation
of both those Attractions, which gain'd her many Lovers: amongst the
rest, Don _Manuel_, and Don _Alonzo_, were most worthy her Esteem.

_Dor._ Ay, Madam, Don _Alonzo_, there was a Man for you, so obliging and
so bountiful-- Well, I'll give you Argument of both to me: for you must
know I was a Beauty then, and worth obliging.
    [Puts herself between.
  And he was the Man my Lady lov'd, tho Don _Manuel_ were the richer:
but to my own Story--

_Cleo._ Forward, _Clarinda_.

_Clar._ But as it most times happens,
  We marry where our Parents like, not we;
  My Mother was dispos'd of to Don _Manuel_.

_Dor._ Ay, Madam; but had you seen Don _Alonzo's_ Rage, and how my Lady
took this Disappointment-- But I who was very young, and very pretty,
as I told you before--

_Clar._ Forbear, Madam; 'tis true,
  _Alonzo_ was so far transported,
  That oft he did attempt to kill my Father;
  But bravely tho, and still he was prevented:
  But when at the Intreaties of my Mother,
  The King confin'd my Father,
  _Alonzo_ then study'd a new Revenge;
  And thinking that my Father's Life depended
  Upon a Son he had, scarce a Year old,
  He did design to steal him; and one Evening,
  When with the Nurse and Maid he took the Air,
  This desperate Lover seiz'd the smiling Prize,
  Which never since was heard of.

_Cleo._ I guess the Grief the Parents must sustain.

_Dor._ It almost caus'd their Deaths; nor did kind Heaven
  Supply them with another till long after,
  Unhappy this was born:
  Which just her Father liv'd to see, and dy'd.    [Weeps.
  Then she was Daughter, Son and Husband too,
  To her afflicted Mother: But as I told you, Madam, I was then in my
Prime--

_Clar._ Now, Madam, judge what her Despair must be,
  Who is depriv'd of all her Joys in me.    [Weeps.

_Cleo._ _Francisca_, see who it is that knocks so hastily.
    [One knocks.

_Franc._ Oh, Madam, 'tis Don _Marcel_ leading a wounded Man.

_Cleo._ Oh my Fears, 'tis _Silvio_!

_Franc._ 'Tis not Don _Silvio_.

    Enter _Marcel_, leading _Hippolyta_ wounded, followed by _Alonzo_
and _Pedro_.

_Cleo._ Alas, what Youth is this you lead all bleeding?

_Mar._ One that deserves your Care; where's my Father?

_Cleo._ Not yet return'd.

_Mar._ 'Tis well; and you, Sir, I must confine till I know how to
satisfy my Honour, and that of my wrong'd Sister.
    [To _Antonio_.

_Ant._ The holy Man will soon decide our Difference:
  Pray send for one, and reconcile us all.

_Hip._ I fear, _Antonio_, still thou dost dissemble.

_Ant._ So let me find Forgiveness when I die,
  If any fear of Death have wrought this change,
  But a pure Sense of all my Wrongs to thee,
  Knowing thy constant Love, and Virtue to me.

_Mar._ I will secure your fear-- _Francisca_, send for Father _Joseph_
to me, and conduct these Gentlemen to the Lodgings next the Garden.

    [Exeunt _Francisca_, _Antonio_ and _Hippolyta_.

_Alon._ Prithee, _Marcel_, are thee and I awake, or do we dream? thou,
that thou art in thy Father's House; and I, that I see those two fair
Women there? Pray, lovely Fugitive, how came you hither?
    [To _Clarinda_.

_Mar._ I thought thou wert mistaken;
  'Twas _Silvio_ brought her hither, that false Man.
  But how came you to know her?

_Alon._ Know her! 'slife, I question my Sense.
  Pray, Lady, are you Flesh and Blood?    [To _Cleonte_.

_Cleo._ Yes surely, Sir; for 'twere pity you should have bestow'd your
Heart on a Shadow, and I well remember you gave it one of us last Night.

_Alon._ A Dream, a Dream! but are you indeed the same fair Person, and
is this the same House too?

_Cleo._ I am afraid your Heart's not worth the keeping, since you took
no better notice where you dispos'd of it.

_Alon._ Faith, Madam, your wrong a poor Lover, who has languish'd in
search of it all this live-long day.

_Cleo._ Brother, I beseech you, receive the innocent _Clarinda_, who,
I fear, will have the greatest Cause of Complaint against you.
    [To _Marcel._ Gives him to _Clarinda_.

_Alon._ But pray, fair one, let you and I talk a little about that same
Heart you put me in mind of just now.
    [To _Cleonte_, with whom he seems to talk.

_Ped._ Surely that's my old Mistress, _Dormida_; twenty years has not
made so great an Alteration in that ill-favour'd Face of hers, but I can
find a Lover there.
    [Goes to her, they seem to talk earnestly, and sometimes pleasantly,
    pointing to _Clarinda_.

_Mar._ Enough, _Clarinda_: I'm too well convinc'd,
  Would thou hadst still remain'd a Criminal.
  Now how can I reward thy Faith and Love?

_Clar._ I know, _Marcel_, it is not in thy Power,
  Thy faithless Story I'm acquainted with.

_Mar._ Do not reproach me with my Shame, _Clarinda_.
  'Tis true, to gain thee to consent to my Desires,
  I made an honourable Pretence of loving.
  Pardon a Lover all the ways he takes
  To gain a Mistress so belov'd and fair.
  But I have since repented of that Sin,
  And came last Night for thy Forgiveness too.

_Ped._ This is News indeed; 'tis fit I keep this Secret no longer from
my Master. Don _Manuel_ being dead, my Vow's expir'd.  [Aside.]
    [_Pedro_ goes to _Alonzo_.

_Clar._ And do you mean no more to love me then?

_Mar._ In spite of me, above my Sense or Being.

_Clar._ And yet you'll marry _Flavia_.

_Mar._ Against my Will I must, or lose a Father.

_Clar._ Then I must die, _Marcel_.

_Mar._ Do not unman my Soul, it is too weak To bear the Weight of fair
_Clarinda's_ Tears.
    [Weeps.

_Alon._ Why was this Secret kept from me so long?

_Ped._ I was oblig'd by Vow, Sir, to Don _Alonzo_, my dead Master, not
to restore you till Don _Manuel's_ Death; believing it a Happiness too
great for his Rival, for so he was upon your Mother's score.

_Alon._ Have I a Mother living?

_Ped._ Here in Madrid, Sir, and that fair Maid's your Sister.
    [Pointing to _Clarinda_.

_Alon._ I scarce can credit thee, but that I know thee honest.

_Ped._ To confirm that belief, Sir, here are the Writings of twelve
thousand Crowns a Year, left you by your Foster-Father the brave
_Alonzo_, whose Name he gave you too.
    [Gives him Papers, he reads.

_Alon._ I am convinc'd-- How now, _Marcel_, what all in Tears? why, who
the Devil would love in earnest?
  Come, come, make me Judge between you.

_Mar._ You'll soon decide it then, my Heart's _Clarinda's_; But my
forc'd Vows are given to another.

_Alon._ Vows! dost think the Gods regard the Vows of Lovers? they are
things made in necessity, and ought not to be kept, nor punish'd when
broken; if they were-- Heaven have mercy on me poor Sinner.

    Enter _Ambrosio_.

_Mar._ My Father return'd!
    [Bows, and goes to him, and then leads _Alonzo_ to him.
  Sir, this is the gallant Man that was design'd to be your Son-in-Law.

_Amb._ And that you were not so, Sir, was my misfortune only.

_Alon._ I am glad to find it no slight to my Person,
  Or unknown Quality that depriv'd me of that Honour.

_Mar._ To convince you of that, _Alonzo_, I know my Father will bestow
this other Sister on you; more fair and young, and equally as rich.
    [_Ambrosio_ calls _Marcel_ aside.

_Alon._ How, his Sister! Fool that I was, I could not guess at this; and
now have I been lying and swearing all this while how much I lov'd her.
Well, take one time with another, a Man falls into more Danger by this
amorous Humour, than he gets good turns by it.

_Mar._ Pardon me, Sir, I knew not you had design'd her elsewhere-- Dear
_Alonzo_, my Father--

_Alon._ Ay, Sir, I am much oblig'd to him. Oh Pox, would I were well
with _Euphemia_.

_Mar._ I protest I could wish--

_Alon._ Ay, so could I, Sir, that you had made a better Judgment of my
Humour: All must out, I have no other way to avoid this Compliment else.
Why look ye, _Marcel_-- Your Sister is-- Pox, I am ill at Dissimulation,
and therefore in plain Terms, I am to be married this very Evening to
another.

_Mar._ This was happy, and has sav'd me an Excuse.
    [Aside.
  But are you in earnest, How is it possible, being so lately come into
_Madrid_?

_Alon._ Destiny, Destiny, _Marcel_, which there was no avoiding, tho I
mist of _Hippolyta_.

_Mar._ Who is it, prithee?

_Alon._ A Woman I hope, of which indeed I would have been better
assur'd; but she was wilful. She's call'd _Euphemia._

_Mar._ Our next Neighbour, the Daughter of old _Carlo_.

_Alon._ The same.

_Mar._ Thou art happy to make so good a Progress in so short a time, but
I am--

_Alon._ Not so miserable as you believe. Come, come, you shall marry
_Clarinda_.

_Mar._ 'Tis impossible.

_Alon._ Where's the hindrance?

_Mar._ Her want of Fortune; that's enough, Friend.

_Alon._ Stand by and expect the best--    [Goes to _Ambrosio_.
  Sir, I have an humble Suit to you.

_Amb._ I shall be infinitely pleas'd you could ask me any thing in my
Power; but, Sir, this Daughter I had dispos'd of, before I knew you
would have mist of _Hippolyta_.

_Alon._ Luckier than I expected.    [Aside.
  Sir, that was an Honour I could not merit, and am contented with my
Fate: But my Request is, that you would receive into your Family a
Sister of mine, whom I would bestow on Don _Marcel_.

_Mar._ Hah, what mean you, Sir? a Sister of yours?

_Alon._ Yes, she will not be unwelcome-- This is she.

_Amb._ This is the Daughter to _Octavia_-- Her Mother was a Lady whom
once I did adore, and 'twas her fault she was not more happy with me,
than with Don _Manuel_. Nor have I so wholly forgot that Flame, but I
might be inclin'd to your Proposal: But, Sir, she wants a Fortune.

_Alon._ That I'll supply.

_Mar._ You supply, Sir? On what kind Score, I pray?

_Alon._ That which you'll suffer without being jealous, When you shall
know she is indeed my Sister.

_Clar._ How! this brave Man my Brother?

_Alon._ So they tell me, and that my Name is _Manuel_. Had you not such
a Brother?

_Dor._ Oh ye Gods, is this the little _Manuel_?

_Ped._ Yes, _Dormida_, and for a farther Proof see this.
    [Opens his Master's Bosom and shews a Crucifix.

_Dor._ This I remember well, it is Don _Manuel_:
  Pray let me look upon you: Just like my Lord-- Now
  may the Soul of Don _Alonzo_ rest in Peace,
  For making so hopeful a Man of you.

_Alon._ Amen. But, Sir, if you approve of my Sister,
  I'll make her as worthy of _Marcel_, as _Flavia_.

_Amb._ I've lost the Hopes of her-- She's not to be reconcil'd.
    [Aside.
  _Clarinda_ needs no more than to belong to you,
  To make her valuable-- and I consent with Joy.
    [Gives her to _Marcel._

_Mar._ And I with Joys unutterable take her.

_Alon._ _Pedro_, there rests no more than that you wait on my Mother,
and let her know all that has happen'd to my self and Sister, and that
I'll pay my Duty to her e'er I sleep.

_Dor._ The very Joy to find her Son again, will get my Pardon too: and
then perhaps _Pedro_ and I may renew our old Amours.

_Alon._ Sir, I have another Request to make.

_Amb._ You must command, Sir.

_Alon._ That is, that you will permit this fair Company to honour me
this Evening at my Father-in-law's, Don _Carlo_.

_Amb._ How, has Don _Carlo_ married the Lady Octavia?

_Alon._ No, Sir, but a worse matter than that, I am to marry his
Daughter.

_Amb._ Oh, Sir, _Euphemia_ has too much Beauty and Virtue to make you
doubt your Happiness.

_Alon._ Well, Sir, I must venture that. But your Company I'll expect,
the Ladies may clap on their Vizards, and make a masquerading Night
on't: tho such Freedoms are not very usual in _Spain_, we that have seen
the World, may absolve one another.

_Amb._ My Garden joins to that of Don _Carlo_, and that way we will wait
on you, as soon as I have dispatcht a small Affair.

_Alon._ Your humble servant, Sir.
    [Goes out; _Ambrosio_ the other way.

_Mar._ Sister, go you and prepare my Father to receive _Hippolyta_,
whilst I go see them married.

    [Exeunt _Cleonte_ and _Clarinda_.

    [_Marcel_ passing over the Garden, sees _Silvio_ enter in Passion,
    followed by _Francisca_.

_Silv._ Do not, _Francisca_-- do not blow my Flame,
  The Cure thou bring'st is much the greater Hell.
    [Offers to go, but stops.

_Mar._ Hah, _Silvio_! unseen I'll hear the Business.
    [Goes aside.

_Silv._ I would fain shun thee, but this impious Weight
  Of Love upon my Soul hinders my flight:
  I'm fixt-- like conscious Guilt it keeps me here,
  And I am now insensible of Fear.
  Speak on, thou Messenger of sacred Love-- speak on.

_Franc._ The fair _Cleonte_, Sir, whose Soul's inflam'd
  No less than yours; tho with a virgin Modesty
  She would conceal it, pitying now your Pain,
  Has thro my Intercession--

_Silv._ Oh quickly speak! What Happiness design'd me?

_Franc._ To admit you, Sir, this Night into her Chamber.

_Mar._ Death to my Soul! What's this?    [Aside.

_Silv._ Her Chamber? is that all? will that allay this Fever
  In my Blood?-- No, no, _Francisca_,
  'Tis grown too high for amorous Parleys only;
  Her Arms, her charming Bosom, and her Bed,
  Must now receive me; or I die, _Francisca_.

_Franc._ I mean no other, Sir; why, can you think
  A Maid in love as much as you can be,
  Assisted with the silence of the Night,
  (Which veils her Blushes too) can say-- I dare not?
  Or if she do, she'll speak it faintly o'er,
  And even whilst she so denies will yield.
  Go, go prepare your self for this Encounter,
  And do not dally as you did to day,
  And fright your Pleasure with the Name of Sister--

_Mar._ Oh cursed Witch!    [Aside.

_Franc._ What say you, Sir?

_Silv._ That Name has check'd my Joy--
  And makes it strangely silent and imperfect.    [Walks away.

_Franc._ Why do you go, before you answer me?
    [Follows him into the Garden.

_Mar._ I'll follow him, and kill them.
    [Comes out with a Dagger.
  Oh, who would be allied unto a Woman,
  Nature's loose Handy-Work? the slight Imploys
  Of all her wanton Hours?-- Oh, I could rave now--
  Abandon Sense and Nature.
  Hence, all considerate Thoughts, and in their Room,
  Supply my Soul with Vengeance, that may prove
  Too great to be allay'd by Nature, or by Love.
    [Goes into the Garden after them.

    Enter again _Silvio_ melancholy, followed by _Francisca_.

_Franc._ But will you lose this Opportunity,
  Her Lodgings too being so near your own?

_Silv._ Hell take her for her Wickedness.
  Oh that ten thousand Mountains stood between us,
  And Seas as vast and raging as her Lust,
  That we might never meet-- Oh perfect Woman!
  I find there is no Safety in thy Sex;
  No trusting to thy Innocence:
  That being counterfeit, thy Beauty's gone,
  Dropt like a Rose o'er-blown;
  And left thee nothing but a wither'd Root,
  That never more can bloom.

_Franc._ Alas, I fear I have done ill in this.    [Aside.

_Silv._ I now should hate her: but there yet remains
  Something within, so strangely kind to her,
  That I'm resolv'd to give her one proof more,
  Of what I have vow'd her often; yes, I'll kill her--

_Franc._ How, kill her, Sir? Gods, what have I done!    [Aside.

_Silv._ Yes, can I let her live, and say I lov'd her?
  No, she shall tempt no more vain yielding Men.

_Franc._ Consider, Sir, it is to save your Life she does it.

_Silv._ My Life!
  'Twere better she and I were buried
  Quick in one Grave, than she should fall to this,
  She has out-sinn'd even me in this Consent.

    Enter _Marcel_ from amongst the Trees softly with his Dagger behind
    _Silvio_.

_Mar._ Oh, here they are--

_Franc._ My Lord, defend your self, your are undone else.

_Silv._ Hah, _Marcel_!    [Draws.

_Franc._ Help, help.

_Mar._ Hell take thy Throat.

    Enter _Ambrosio_, _Clarinda_, _Cleonte_, and the rest of the House.

_Amb._ Hold, Villain, hold.
  How dar'st thou thus rebel-- ungrateful Wretch?

_Mar._ This cause, Sir, is so just, that when you hear it,
  You'll curse me, that I let him live thus long:
  He loves my Sister, Sir; and that leud Woman
  Repays his lustful Flame, and does this Evening
  Invite him to her Bed-- Oh, let me kill him.
    [Offers to go to him.

_Amb._ That he should love _Cleonte_ I'll allow,
  And her returns too, whilst they are innocent.

_Mar._ But, Sir, he does not love her as a Sister.

_Amb._ If that be all his Crime, I still forgive him.

_Silv._ Yes, Sir, 'tis true, I do adore my Sister,
  But am so far from that foul thing he nam'd,
  That could I think I had a secret Thought
  That tended that way, I would search it-- thus--
    [Goes to stab himself.

_Cleo._ What mean you by this Desperation?

_Silv._ Oh, take away this Woman from my sight.
    [Pointing to _Cleonte_.
  For she will finish what this has ill begun.
    [Holds his Dagger up.

_Franc._ Thus low, Sir, for you Mercy I must kneel;
    [Kneels.
  Which yet I must despair of, when you know
  How very very wicked I have been.    [Weeps.
  _Cleonte_, Sir, is chaste as Angels are.

_Silv._ My Sister innocent! how soon I do believe thee!

_Franc._ Yes, Sir, nor knows of that vile Message which I brought you.

_Silv._ What Devil set thee on to tempt me then?

_Franc._ The worst of Devils, hopeless, raging Love;
  And you, my Lord, were the unhappy Object.

_Mar._ Oh sinful Woman, what was thy Design?

_Cleo._ What means all this?    [Aside.

_Franc._ At least to have enjoy'd him once; which done,
  Thinking that it had been the fair _Cleonte_,
  It would have made him hate her.

_Silv._ Should all thy other Sins be unrepented,
  The Piety of this Confession saves thee.
  Pardon, _Cleonte_, my rude Thoughts of thee,
    [Kneels, she takes him up.
  I had design'd to have kill'd thee--
  Had not this Knowledge of thy Innocence
  Arriv'd before I'd seen thee next.
  And, Sir, your Pardon too I humbly beg,    [To _Ambrosio_.
  With license to depart; I cannot live
  Where I must only see my beauteous Sister;
  That Torment is too great to be supported,
  That still must last, and never hope a Cure.

_Amb._ Since you are so resolv'd, I will unfold
  A Secret to you, that perhaps may please you.

_Silv._ Low at your Feet I do implore it, Sir.    [Kneels.

_Amb._ Your Quality forbids this Ceremony.
    [Takes him up.

_Silv._ How, Sir!

_Amb._ Your Father was the mighty Favourite, the Count _d'Olivarez_;
your Mother, _Spain's_ celebrated Beauty, _Donna Margarita Spiniola_,
by whom your Father had two natural Sons, _Don Lovis de Harro_, and your
self _Don Roderigo_. The Story of his Disgrace, you know, with all the
World; 'twas then he being banisht from the Court, he left you to my
Care then very young. I receiv'd you as my own, and as more than such
educated you, and as your Father oblig'd me to do, brought you always up
about their Majesties; for he hoped, if you had Beauty and Merits, you
might inherit part of that Glory he lost.

_Mar._ This is wondrous.

_Amb._ This Truth you had not known so soon, had you not made as great
an Interest at Court as any Man so young ever did, and if I had not
acquitted my self in all Points as became the Friend of so great and
brave a Man, as Count _d'Olivarez_: the Fortune he left you was two
Millions of Crowns.

_Silv._ Let me embrace your feet for this blest News. Is not the fair
_Cleonte_ then my Sister?

_Amb._ No, Sir, but one whom long since I design'd your Wife, if you are
pleas'd to think her worthy of it.
    [Offers her.

_Silv._ Without her, Sir, I do despise my Being;
  And do receive her as a Blessing sent
  From Heaven to make my whole Life happy.

_Amb._ What say you, _Cleonte_?

_Cleo._ Sir, I must own a Joy greater than is fit for a Virgin to
express.

_Mar._ Generous Don _Roderigo_, receive me as your Friend, and pardon
all the Fault you found in me as a Brother.
    [Embraces him.

_Silv._ Be ever dear unto my Soul, _Marcel_.

_Mar._ Now is the time to present _Hippolyta_ and _Antonio_ to my
Father, whilst his Humour is so good. And you, dear Brother, I must beg
to join with us in so just a Cause.

_Silv._ You need not doubt my Power, and less my Will.

_Mar._ Do you prepare him then, whilst I bring them in: for by this I
know my Confessor has made them one.
    [Exit _Marcel_.

_Silv._ Sir, I've a Suit to you.

_Amb._ You cannot ask what I can deny.

_Silv._ _Hippolyta_, Sir, is married to _Antonio_, And humbly begs your
Pardon for her past fault.

_Amb._ _Antonio_ and _Hippolyta_! oh, name them not.

    Enter _Antonio_ and _Hippolyta_, a Fryar, and _Marcel_.

_Mar._ Pray, Sir, forgive them, your Honour being safe,
  Since Don _Antonio_ has by marrying her,
  Repair'd the Injury he did us all,
  Without which I had kill'd him.

_Amb._ Thou art by Nature more severe than I,
  And if thou think'st our Honour satisfy'd,
  I will endeavour to forget their Faults.

_Ant._ We humbly thank you, Sir, and beg your Blessing,
  At least bestow it on _Hippolyta_;
  For she was ever chaste, and innocent,
  And acted only what became her Duty;
  Since by a sacred Vow she was my Wife.

_Amb._ How cam'st thou then to treat her so inhumanly?

_Ant._ In pure revenge to Don _Marcel_ her Brother,
  Who forc'd my Nature to a stubbornness,
  Which whilst I did put on, I blush to own;
  And still between Thoughts so unjust, and Action,
  Her Virtue would rise up and check my Soul,
  Which still secur'd her Fame.

_Hip._ And I have seen in midst of all thy Anger,
  Thou'st turn'd away, and chang'd thy Words to Sighs;
  Dropt now and then a Tear, as if asham'd,
  Not of thy Injuries, but my little Merit.

_Amb._ How weak and easy Nature makes me-- Rise,
  I must forgive you both.
  Come, Sir, I know you long to be secur'd
  Of what you say you love so much, _Cleonte_.

_Franc._ But, Madam, have you fully pardon'd me?

_Silv._ We will all join in your behalf, _Francisco_.

_Cleo._ I can forgive you, when you can repent.    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. __Carlo's_ House._

    Enter _Olinda_ and _Dorice_.

_Olin._ But is the Bride-Chamber drest up, and the Bed made as it ought
to be?

_Dor._ As for the making, 'tis as it use to be, only the Velvet
Furniture.

_Olin._ As it use to be? Oh ignorance! I see these young Wenches are not
arriv'd yet to bare Imagination: Well, I must order it my self, I see
that.

_Dor._ Why, _Olinda_, I hope they will not go just to Bed upon their
marrying, without some signs of a Wedding, as Fiddles, and Dancing, and
so forth.

_Olin._ Good Lord, what Joys you have found out for the first Night of a
young Bride and Bridegroom. Fiddles and Dancing, ha, ha, ha! they'll be
much merrier by themselves, than Fiddles and Dancing can make them, you
Fool.
    Enter _Haunce_ and _Gload_.
  Bless me! what is't I see!    [Stares on _Haunce_.

_Hau._ Why! what the Devil means she? look about me, _Gload_, and see
what I have that's so terrible.

_Olin._ Oh, I have no Power to stir, it is a Sprite.

_Hau._ What does she mean now, _Gload_?

_Glo._ She desires to be satisfy'd whether we be Flesh and Blood, Sir,
I believe.

_Hau._ Do'st see nothing that's Devil-wise about me?

_Glo._ No, indeed, Sir, not I.

_Hau._ Why then the Wench is tippled, that's all, a small Fault.

_Olin._ O, in the name of Goodness, Sir, what are you?

_Glo._ Ay, Ay, Sir, 'tis that she desires to know.

_Olin._ Who are you, Sir?

_Hau._ Why who should I be, but he that's to be your Master anon?

_Glo._ Yes, who should he be but _Myn heer Haunce van Ezel_?

_Olin._ What, did you come in at the Door?

_Hau._ Yes, marry did I; what, do you think I creep in like a Lapland
Witch through the Key-holes?

_Dor._ Nay, nay, this cannot be the Bridegroom.

_Olin._ No, for 'tis but a moment since we left him, you know, in my
Lady's Chamber.

_Hau._ Very drunk, by this good Light.

_Dor._ And therefore it cannot be _Myn heer Haunce_.

_Hau._ What a Devil will you persuade me out of my Christian Name?

_Olin._ The Priest has yet scarce done his Office, who is marrying him
above to my Lady.

_Hau._ _Salerimente_, here's brave doing, to marry me, and never give me
notice; or thou art damnable drunk, or very mad.

_Glo._ Yes, and I am married to you too, am I not?
    [To _Olinda_.

_Olin._ You? we know neither of you.

_Hau._ Ha, ha, ha, here's a turn for you.

    Enter _Carlo_.

_Car._ Why, _Olinda_, _Dorice_, _Olinda_, where be these mad Girls? 'tis
almost Night, and nothing in Order. Why, what now? Who's here?

_Hau._ So the old Man's possest too-- Why, what a Devil ails you, Sir?
    [Goes roughly to him.

_Car._ From whence come you, Sir? and what are you?

_Hau._ _Gload_, let's be gone, for we shall be transmigrated into some
strange Shapes anon, for all the House is inchanted. Who am I, quoth ye?
before I came you all knew me; and now you are very well acquainted with
me, you have forgot me.

_Car._ If you be my Son _Haunce_, how came you here?

_Hau._ If I be your Son _Haunce_, where should I be else?

_Car._ Above with your Wife, not below amongst the Maids.

_Hau._ What Wife? what Wife? Ha, ha, ha, do not provoke me, lest I take
you a slap in the Face, I tell you that now.

_Car._ Oh, I find by his Humour this is he, and I am finely cheated and
abus'd. I'll up and know the Truth.
    [Goes out.

_Hau._ And so will I.    [Follows.

_Glo._ Why, but Mistress _Olinda_, you have not, indeed, forgot me, have
you?

_Olin._ For my Lover I have, but perhaps I may call you to mind, as my
Servant hereafter.

_Glo._ Since you are so proud and so fickle, you shall stand hereafter
as a Cypher with me; and I'll begin upon a new Account with this pretty
Maid: what say you forsooth?

_Dor._ I am willing enough to get a Husband as young as I am.

_Glo._ Why, that's well said, give your Hand upon the Bargain--
God-ha'-Mercy, with all my Heart, i'faith.
    [Go in.

    [Scene draws off, discovers a Chamber. Enter _Alonzo_, _Euphemia_,
    and _Lovis_; to them _Carlo_, _Haunce_, and the rest.

_Car._ Oh, I am cheated, undone, abus'd.

_Lov._ How, Sir, and where?

  [_Haunce_ sees _Alonzo_ drest like him, goes gazing about him, and on
himself, calling _Gload_ to do the same.

_Car._ Nay, I know not how, or where; but so I am: and when I find it,
I'll turn you all out of Doors. Who are you, Sir? quickly tell me.

_Alon._ If you be in such haste, take the shortest Account, I am your
Son.

_Car._ I mean, Sir, what's your Name, and which of you is _Haunce van
Ezel_?

_Hau._ Ay, which of us is _Haunce van Ezel_? tell us that, Sir; we shall
handle ye i'faith now--

_Alon._ He, Sir, can best inform you.    [Pointing to _Haunce_.

_Hau._ Who, I! I know no more than the great Turk, not I, which of us is
me; my Hat, my Feather, my Suit, and my Garniture all over, faith now;
and I believe this is me, for I'll trust my Eyes before any other Sense
about me. What say'st thou now, _Gload_? guess which of us is thy own
natural Master now if thou canst.

_Glo._ Which, Sir?-- why-- let me see-- let me see,
    [Turns them both about.
  fakes, I cannot tell, Sir.

_Car._ Come, come, the Cheat is plain, and I'll not be fobb'd off,
therefore tell me who you are, Sir.
    [To _Alonzo_.

_Alon._ One that was very unwilling to have put this Trick upon you, if
I could have persuaded _Euphemia_ to have been kind on any other Terms,
but nothing would down with her but Matrimony.

_Car._ How long have you known her?

_Alon._ Faith, Sir, too long by at least an Hour.

_Car._ I say again, what are you, Sir?

_Alon._ A Man I am, and they call me _Alonzo_.

_Car._ How! I hope not the great fighting Colonel whom my Son serv'd as
a Voluntier in _Flanders_.

_Alon._ Even he, Sir.

_Car._ Worse and worse, I shall grow mad, to think that in spite of all
my Care, _Euphemia_ should marry with so notorious a Man of War.

_Hau._ How! is this _Alonzo_, and am I cozen'd? pray tell me truly, are
you not me indeed?

_Alon._ All over, Sir, only the inside a little less Fool.

_Hau._ So here's fine juggling-- are not you a rare Lady, hah?
    [To _Euphemia_; crys.

_Euph._ I assure you, Sir, if this Man had not past for you, I had never
had him.

_Hau._ Had him! Oh, you are a flattering thing, I durst ha' sworn you
could no more ha' been without me, than a Barber's Shop without a
Fiddle, so I did: Oh, what a damnable Voyage have I back again without a
Wife too--
    [Crys again.

_Lov._ If that be all, we'll get you one before you go; that shall be my
care.

_Hau._ A Pox of your care: well, I will get my self most soundly drunk
to Night, to be reveng'd of these two damnable Dons. Come, _Gload_, let
us about something in order to't.
    [Exit with _Gload_.

_Euph._ Pray, Sir, be persuaded, he's worth your owning.

_Car._ Tell not me of owning; what Fortune has he?

_Lov._ His Horse and Arms, the Favour of his Prince, and his Pay.

_Car._ His Horse and Arms I wholly dislike, as Implements of War; and
that same Princely Favour, as you call it, will buy no Lands; and his
Pay he shall have when he can get it.

_Lov._ But, Sir, his coming to _Madrid_ was to take possession of a
Place the Prince has promis'd him.

_Car._ Has promis'd him? what! I shall marry my Daughter to the Promises
of e'er a Prince in _Christendom_, shall I? No, no; Promises, quoth ye?

_Alon._ Well, Sir, will this satisfy you?
    [Gives him a Parchment.

_Euph._ If it should not, let us consider what next to do.

_Alon._ No consideration, _Euphemia_; not so much as that we are
married, lest it lessen our Joys.

_Car._ Twelve thousand Crowns a Year!-- Sir, I cry you mercy, and wish
you joy with my Daughter.

_Lov._ So his Courage will down with him now.

_Alon._ To satisfy you farther, Sir, read this.
    [Gives him another Paper.
  And now, _Euphemia_, prepare your self to receive some gallant Friends
of mine, whom you must be acquainted with, and who design to make a
merry Night on't.

_Euph._ A whole Night, _Alonzo_?

_Alon._ By no means, _Euphemia_, for the first too, which if the
thoughts of its being part of my Duty do not hinder, will be a pleasant
enough to me.

_Car._ So considerable an Office at Court too!-- Let me imbrace you,
Sir; and tell you how happy I am in so brave Son-in-law.

_Alon._ With that assurance, Sir, I'll take a more than ordinary freedom
with you, and teach _Euphemia_ a franker way of living, than what a
native _Spaniard_ would have allow'd her.

_Car._ She shall be what sort of Wife you'll have her.

    Enter Servant, after a noise of Musick.

_Alon._ What Musick's that?

_Serv._ It waits upon some Ladies and Gentlemen who ask for you, Sir.

_Alon._ Wait them in, they are those Friends of mine I told you of.
    [He goes and brings them in.

    Enter _Marcel_ and _Clarinda_, _Silvio_ and _Cleonte_, _Antonio_
    and _Hippolyta_, _Dormida_ and _Francisca_; all salute _Euphemia_.

    Enter _Haunce_ and _Gload_ in Masquerade to the Company, _Olinda_
    and _Dorice_ masked.

_Hau._ Well, the Devil's in't if we shall not appear ridiculous enough,
hah, _Gload_?

_Glo._ Ay, Sir, the more ridiculous the better.

_Hau._ I was always of that mind.-- Ha, ha, Boys, who be all these Dons
and Donnas?-- Harkye, _Lovis_, I hope the Wife you promis'd me is
amongst these fair Ladies, for so I guess they are both, fair and
Ladies.

_Lov._ You guess right, Sir.

_Alon._ Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, command your Musick, and do what
likes you best.

_Lov._ Here's the Lady I recommend to you, take her, Sir, be thankful.
    [Gives him _Olinda_.

_Olin._ This is the Fool that I am to manage.

_Dor._ And this is my Lot.    [Takes _Gload_.
    [Musick plays, they all dance.

_Lov._ There is within a young Father ready to join your Hands: take
this opportunity, and make sure of a Wife.

_Hau._ I warrant you, Sir.
    [Exeunt _Haunce_, _Olinda_, _Gload_, and _Dorice_.

    Enter _Pedro_.

_Ped._ Your Mother, Sir, whom I found more dead than living, for the
loss of your Sister, was very near dying outright with Joy, to hear of
your Arrival, and most impatiently expects you.

_Dorm._ And are we all forgiven, _Pedro_?

_Ped._ Yes, you and I are like to be Fellow-Servants together again,
_Dormida_.

_Dorm._ And Fellow-Lovers too I hope, _Pedro_.

_Ped._ The Devil's in't if Age have not allay'd Flames of all sorts in
thee; but if you contribute to my allowance--

_Dorm._ Thou know'st I could never keep any thing from thee, _Pedro_.

_Alon._ Come, Ladies, there is a small Banquet attends you in the next
Room.

_Silv._ We'll wait on you, Sir.

    Enter _Haunce_, _Gload_, _Olinda_, and _Dorice_.

_Hau._ Hold, hold, and give me Joy too, for I am married, if she has not
mistaken her Man again, and I my Woman.

_Olin._ No, you are the Man I look for, and I no Cheat, having all about
me that you look for too, but Money.
    [Discovers her self.

_Alon._ How, _Olinda_!

_Olin._ Yes, indeed, Sir, I serv'd my Lady first, and then thought it no
Offence to take the Reward due to that Service.

_Hau._ Here's a _Spanish_ Trick for you now, to marry a Wife, before one
sees her.

_Euph._ What, _Dorice_ married too?

_Dor._ After your Example, Madam.

_Glo._ Yes, indeed, forsooth, and I have made bold too after the Example
of my Master.

_Hau._ Now do they all expect I should be dissatisfied; but, Gentlemen,
in sign and token that I am not, I'll have one more merry Frisk before
we part, 'tis a witty Wench; faith and troth, after a Month 'tis all one
who's who; therefore come on, _Gload_.
    [They dance together.

_Alon._ Monsieur _Haunce_, I see you are a Man of Gallantry. Come let us
in, I know every Man here desires to make this Night his own, and
sacrifice it to Pleasure.

  _The Ladies too in Blushes do confess.
  Equal Desires; which yet they'll not confess.
  Theirs, tho less fierce, more constant will abide;
  But ours less current grow the more they're try'd._




EPILOGUE.


  _Hiss 'em, and cry 'em down, 'tis all in vain,
  Incorrigible Scriblers can't abstain:
  But impudently i'th' old Sin engage;
  Tho doom'd before, nay banish'd from the Stage.
  Whilst sad Experience our Eyes convinces,
  That damn'd their Plays which hang'd the _German_ Princess;
  And we with Ornament set off a Play,
  Like her drest fine for Execution-day.
  And faith, I think, with as small hopes to live;
  Unless kind Gallants the same Grace you'd give
  Our Comedy as Her; beg a Reprieve.
  Well, what the other mist, let our Scribe get,
  A Pardon, for she swears she's the less Cheat.
  She never gull'd you Gallants of the Town
  Of Sum above four Shillings, or half a Crown.
  Nor does she, as some late great Authors do,
  Bubble the Audience, and the Players too.
  Her humble Muse soars not in the High-rode
  Of Wit transverst, or Baudy _A-la-mode_;
  Yet hopes her plain and easy Style is such,
  As your high Censures will disdain to touch.
  Let her low Sense creep safe from your Bravadoes,
  Whilst Rotas and Cabals aim at Granadoes._

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

NOTES

  [Transcriber's Note:

  The Notes in the printed text give only page and line numbers.
  Act-and-scene designations shown between +marks+ have been added by
  the transcriber. Labels such as "Scene IIa" refer to points where the
  scene description changes without a new scene number.]


NOTES ON THE TEXT.

+Dramatis Personae+

  p. 226 I have added to the Dramatis Personae 'Boy, Page to Marcel,
  Servant to Carlo, A Friar, Swains, Four Shepherds, Four Nymphs,
  Dutch men and Dutch women.'

+Act I: Scene i+

  p. 227, l. 3 The locale _A Street_ is not marked in 4to 1673 or
  1724.

  p. 229, l. 4 _Christian._ 1724 'christian'.

+Act I: Scene ii+

  p. 231, l. 8 _his nice Honour._ 1724, wrongly, omits 'nice'.

  p. 232, l. 3 _I must still love on._ 1724 omits 'still'.

  p. 233, l. 6 _after long Despairs._ 1724 'after long Despair'.

  p. 233, l. 21 _too much of Joy._ 1724 'Joys'.

  p. 233, l. 28 _change thy Wonder._ 4to 1673 'Wonders'.

  p. 234, l. 23 _Marcel is surprized._ 1724 omits this stage
  direction.

  p. 234, l. 36 _And thou, Antonio, that has betray'd her._ 4to 1673
  'And thou, Antonio, thou hast betray'd her'. 1724 'And thou,
  Antonio, thou that hast betray'd her'.

  p. 235, l. 17 _a kind obliging Lady._ 1724 'A kind of obliging
  Lady'.

  p. 236, l. 4 _Am I a Dog._ 4to 1673 wrongly marks this line 'aside'.

  p. 236, l. 10 _I, like the Birds._ 4to 1673 omits 'the'.

  p. 237, l. 1 _Biscay, a Surgeon._ 4to 1673 omits 'a'.

  p. 237, l. 7 _Down of Swans._ 1724 'Swan'.

+Act I: Scene iii+

  p. 238, l. 3 _and lik'd him._ 1724 'and like him'.

  p. 240, l. 2 _this is the first._ 1724 'this was the first'.

  p. 240, l. 34 _to his heart._ 1724 omits.

  p. 241, l. 8 _Prithee instruct._ 4to 1673 as prose.

  p. 241, l. 20 _Command me._ 4to 1673 as prose.

  p. 242, l. 13 _My Death._ 1724 'me death'.

+Act II: Scene i+

  p. 243, l. 8 _undone its Fame._ 1724 'undone his Fame'.

  p. 244, l. 11 _the next Morning's Sun._ 4to 1673 'th' Approach of
  next Morning's Sun'. 1724 'of the next Morning Sun'.

  p. 244, l. 31 _They go out._ 4to 1673 omits 'they'.
    [After line "Who's this that walks before us?"]

+Act II: Scene ii+

  p. 248, l. 33 _Come, come._ 1724 prints this speech as prose.

  p. 249, l. 20 _Look at one another and go._ 1724 omits, reading
  'exeunt'.

+Act II: Scene iii+

  p. 251, l. 10 _very unlucky._ 4to 1673 'very unluckily'.

+Act II: Scene iv+

  p. 252, l. 21 _Marcel coming towards him jostles him._ 4to 1673
  reads 'Marcel coming towards justles him'.

  p. 253, l. 7 _given him some._ 4to 1673 omits 'him'.

+Act II: Scene vi+

  p. 257, l. 12 _Of your Victims._ 1724 prints this line and the next
  as prose.

  p. 257, l. 24 _Offers her a Dagger._ 1724 omits 'her'.

  p. 259, l. 31 _a Pox of her terms._ 1724 'A Pox on her terms'.

+Act II: Scene vii+

  p. 261, l. 5 _Haunce van Ezel._ 1724 'Hance'.

+Act III: Scene i+

  p. 266, l. 2 _I cry you Mercy._ 1724 'I cry your Mercy'.

  p. 266, l. 11 _he does not boast._ 4to 1673, wrongly, 'he does but
  boast'.

  p. 267, l. 36 _But do you find her._ 1724 'But do you not find her'.

  p. 268, l. 11 _'tis certain 'tis so._ 1724 ''tis certain so'.

  p. 269, l. 19 _lest he surprize us._ 1724 'lest he surprizes us'.

+Act III: Scene ii+

  p. 269, l. 27 _Ah, ah, a pox of all Sea-Voyages._ 1724 omits 'all'.

  p. 270, l. 28 _to our Courages._ 1724 'Courage'.

  p. 271, l. 24 _over a Leg._ 1724 'over Leg'.

  p. 272, l. 21 _Rummer._ 4to 1673 'Romer'.

  p. 272, l. 33 _that's not the Fashion._ 1724 omits 'not'.

  p. 272, l. 34 _I'll manage her._ 1724 'I manage her'.

+Act III: Scene iii+

  p. 273, l. 6 _Scene III. Draws off. A Grove._ 1724 omits 'Draws
  off.' I have added the locale 'A Grove.'

  p. 278, l. 24 _how darst thou._ 1724 'how durst thou'.

  p. 278, l. 34 _that could not defend._ 4to 1673 omits 'that'.

+Act III: Scene iva+

  p. 283, l. 34 _you knew not of my Brother's._ 1724 'you know not my
  Brother's' and omits '[To Franc.'

  p. 284, l. 4 _to see the fair Clarinda [Goes to Clarinda] here, is a
  Happiness._ 1724 'to see the fair Clarinda [Goes to Clarinda.] Here
  is a Happiness'.

  p. 285, l. 7 _Goes out._ 1724 'Exit'.

+Act IV: Scene i+

  p. 286, l. 27 _Surlily to him._ 1724 'Goes surlily to him'.

  p. 287, l. 26 _by instinct. [Aside._ 1724 omits 'Aside'.

  p. 287, l. 27 _Stands looking very simply._ 1724 omits 'very'.

  p. 288, l. 5 _new-fashion'd Spanish Civility._ 1724 omits 'Spanish'.

  p. 289, l. 13 _it made my Stomach wamble._ 1724 'it had made'.

  p. 289, l. 32 _Gaber._ 1724 'Gabor'.

  p. 290, l. 28 _Fakes, to entertain._ 1724 'Faith'.

  p. 291, l. 5 _They two dance._ 1724 'They too dance.'

+Act IV: Scene ii+

  p. 296, l. 2 _Runs behind Lovis._ 1724 omits.

  p. 297, l. 1 _I declare it here upon._ 1724 'Here I declare it
  upon'.

  p. 298, l. 13 _who starts as afraid._ 1724 misreads 'as aforesaid.'

+Act IV: Scene iii+

  p. 301, l. 6 _Oh, is it bravely done._ 1724 'Oh, it is bravely
  done ...' and punctuates ':' instead of '?'

  p. 301, l. 12 _on this Body._ 1724, wrongly, 'on thy Body'.

  p. 301, l. 34 _Takes to his Sword._ 1724 'the Sword'.

+Act V: Scene i+
  p. 310, l. 3 _Cleo. Oh my Fears._ 4to 1673 wrongly marks 'aside'.

  p. 312, l. 3 _Weeps._ This stage direction is not given by 4to 1673.

  p. 319, l. 1 _How very very wicked._ 1724 'How very wicked'.

  p. 319, l. 32 _Count d' Olivarez._ 4to 1673 here and elsewhere when
  the name occurs 'Conte De Olivari's'.

  p. 320, l. 17 _if you are pleas'd._ 1724 'if your are pleas'd'.

+Act V: Scene ii+

  p. 322, l. 1 _Carlo's House._ 4to 1673 'House of Carlo'.

  p. 322, l. 5 _Dor. As for._ 4to 1673 misreads 'Dom. As for'.

  p. 323, l. 11 _Hau. What a Devil._ 1724 'Hau. What the Devil'.

  p. 324, l. 7 _Truth. [Goes out._ 1724 'Exit.'

  p. 324, l. 20 _God-ha'-Mercy._ 1724 'God-a-Mercy'.

  p. 324, l. 20 _Go in._ 1724 omits.


NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.

+Epistle+

  p. 221 _An Epistle to the Reader._ This amusing and witty Epistle
  only appears in the 4to, 1673, finding no place in the various
  collected editions of Mrs. Behn's plays. The writer of comedy-- 'the
  most severe of Johnson's sect'-- with his 'musty rules of Unity'-- at
  whom she glances pretty freely is Shadwell, who had obtained great
  success with _The Sullen Lovers_ (produced 2 May, 1668; 4to, 1668),
  and in spite of some mishaps and opposition, made another hit with
  _The Humourists_ (1671; 4to, 1671). An ardent disciple of Ben
  Jonson, he had in the two printed prefaces to these plays belauded
  his model beyond all other writers, insisting upon the Unities and
  the introduction of at least two or three Humours as points
  essential to any comedy.

  p. 221 _Doctor of Malmsbury._ The famous philosopher, Thomas Hobbes
  (1588-1670), who was born at Westport, a suburb of Malmesbury (of
  which town his father was vicar).

  p. 222 _unjantee._ --'Jantee' obsolete form of 'jaunty': see
  _N.E.D._

  p. 222 _the mighty Echard._ That facetious divine, John Eachard,
  D.D. (1636-97), Master of Catherine Hall, Cambridge. His chief work,
  _The Grounds and Occasions of the Contempt of the Clergy and
  Religion enquired into. In a Letter to R. L._ (London, 1670),
  published anonymously, is stuffed full with Attic salt and humour.
  He has even been censured for a jocosity (at his brethren's expense)
  beneath the decorum of the cloth.

  p. 224 _English Game which hight long Laurence._ To play at
  Laurence = to do just nothing at all; to laze. Laurence is the
  personification of idleness. There are many dialect uses of the
  name, e.g., N.W. Devon 'Lazy's Laurence', and Cornish 'He's as lazy
  as Lawrence', vide Wright, _English Dialect Dictionary._

+Act I: Scene ii+

  p. 234 _Women must be watcht as Witches are._ One of the tests to
  which beldames suspected of sorcery were put-- a mode particularly
  favoured by that arch-scamp, Matthew Hopkins, 'Witch-Finder
  General'-- was to tie down the accused in some painful or at least
  uneasy posture for twenty-four hours, during which time relays of
  watchers sat round. It was supposed that an imp would come and suck
  the witch's blood; so any fly, moth, wasp or insect seen in the room
  was a familiar in that shape, and the poor wretch was accordingly
  convicted of the charge. Numerous confessions are recorded to have
  been extracted in this manner from ailing and doting crones by
  Master Hopkins, cf. _Hudribras_, Part II, canto iii, 146-8:--

        Some for setting above ground
    Whole days and nights, upon their breeches,
    And feeling pain, were hang'd for witches.

  cf. again _The City Heiress_, Act i:--

    Watch her close, watch her like a witch, Boy,
    Till she confess the Devil in her,---- Love.

  p. 235 _Count d'Olivarez._ Gaspar Guzman d'Olivarez was born at
  Rome, 1587. For many years all-powerful minister of Philip IV; he
  was dismissed 1643, and died 20 July, 1645, in banishment at Toro.

  p. 235 _a Venice Curtezan._ Venice, the home of Aretine and
  Casanova, was long famous for the beauty and magnificence of her
  prostitutes. This circumstance is alluded to by numberless writers,
  and Ruskin, indeed, maintains that her decline was owing to this
  cause, which can hardly be, since as early as 1340, when her power
  was only rising, the public women were numbered at 11,654. Coryat
  has some curious matter on this subject, and more may be found in
  _La Tariffa delle Puttane di Venegia_, a little book often
  incorrectly ascribed to Lorenzo Venicro.

+Act II: Scene i+

  p. 245 _They enter at another Door. _Vide note_ Rover_ I, Act II, I,
  p. 30.

+Act III: Scene i+

  p. 263 _Beso los manos, signor._ = Beso las manos, senor.

  p. 265 _Don John._ The famous hero of Lepanto died, not without
  suspicion of poison, in his camp at Namur, 1578. Otway introduces
  him in _Don Carlos_ (1676).

+Act III: Scene ii+

  p. 271 _Souses._ A slang term for the 'ears'. cf. _The Roundheads_,
  Act II, I, 'a pair of large sanctify'd Souses.'

  p. 271 _Butter-hams._ Apparently from Dutch boterham = a slice of
  bread and butter. The two narrow strips of trimming on either side
  of the cloak.

  p. 272 _a Rummer of a Pottle._ A jug or goblet holding one pottle =
  two quarts.

+Act III: Scene iii+

  p. 278 _Snick-a-Sne._ A combat with knives amongst the Dutch. Snik:
  Dutch = a sharp weapon. Dryden in his _Parallel betwixt Painting and
  Poetry_ (4to, June, 1695) speaks of 'the brutal sport of
  snick-or-sne'. Mrs. Behn has happily put several characteristically
  Dutch phrases in Haunce's mouth.

  p. 278 _Pharamond._ A heroic romance in twelve volumes, the seven
  first of which are by the celebrated la Calprenede, the remainder
  being the work of Pierre de Vaumoriere. It was translated into
  English by J. Phillips (London, 1677, folio). Lee has taken the
  story of Varanes in his tragedy, _Theodosius_ (1680), from this
  romance.

+Act IV: Scene i+

  p. 289 _Bethlehem-Gaber._ Bethlen-Gabor (Gabriel Bethlen),
  1580-1629, was a Hungarian noble who embraced the Protestant
  religion, and in 1613, with the help of an Ottoman army, succeeded
  in establishing himself as King of Transylvania. His reign, although
  one long period of warfare and truces, proved a most flourishing
  epoch for his country. Himself a musician and a man of letters,
  he was constant in his patronage of art and scholars, cf. Abraham
  Holland's _Continued Inquisition of Paper Persecutors_ (1626):--

            But to behold the walls
    Butter'd with weekly Newes composed in Pauls
    By some decaied Captaine, or those Rooks
    Whose hungry brains compile prodigious books
    Of Bethlem Gabor's preparations and
    How terms betwixt him and th' Emperor stand.

  p. 291 _a Hoy._ A small vessel like a sloop, peculiarly Dutch.
  Pepys, 16 June, 1661, speaks of hiring 'a Margate hoy'.

+Act V: Scene ii+

  p. 323 _a Lapland Witch._ cf. _Paradise Lost_, Book II, l. 666:--

            To dance
    With Lapland witches, while the labouring moon
    Eclipses at their charms.

+Act V: Scene iia+

  p. 329 _the German Princess._ Mary Morders, alias Stedman, alias
  Kentish Moll, a notorious imposter of the day, who pretended to be a
  Princess from Germany. She had been transported to Jamaica in 1671,
  but returning too soon and stealing a piece of plate, was hanged at
  Tyburn, 22 January, 1673. Her adventures formed the plot of a play
  by Tom Porter, _A Witty Combat; or, The Female Victor_ (4to, 1663).
  Kirkman's _Counterfeit Lady Unveiled_ (8vo, 1673), contains very
  ample details of her career. Pepys went to visit her 'at the
  Gatehouse at Westminster', 29 May, 1663. In talk he was 'high in the
  defence of her wit and spirit' (7 June, 1663). 15 April, 1664, the
  diarist further notes: 'To the Duke's house and there saw _The
  German Princess_ acted by the woman herself ... the whole play ...
  is very simple, unless, here and there, a witty sprinkle or two.'
  This piece was doubtless identical with Porter's tragi-comedy.

  p. 329 _four Shillings, or half a Crown._ Four shillings was the
  price of admission to the boxes on the first tier of the theatre;
  half a crown to the pit. These sums are very frequently alluded to
  in prologue and epilogue. Dryden in his second epilogue to _The Duke
  of Guise_ (1682), after referring to the brawls and rioting of the
  pit, says:--

    This makes our boxes full; for men of sense
    Pay their four shillings in their own defence.

  The epilogue (spoken by Mrs. Bontell) to Corye's _The Generous
  Enemies_ (1671), has these lines:--

    Though there I see-- Propitious Angels sit
        [_points at the Boxes._
    Still 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.

+Epilogue+

  p. 330 _Rotas._ The Rota was a political club founded in 1659 by
  James Harrington. It advocated a system of rotation in filling
  government offices.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

Errors and Irregularities: The Dutch Lover

resolves to poinard his sister
  _spelling unchanged_
Jacobean and Carolan drama
  _text unchanged_
but what you do, must be speedily then.
  _text reads "speeedily"_
_Car._ Why, _Olinda_, _Dorice_, _Olinda_, where be these mad Girls?
  _text unchanged_


       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *


THE ROUNDHEADS; OR,

THE GOOD OLD CAUSE.


  [Transcriber's Note:

  Entrances and bracketed stage directions were printed in _italics_,
  with proper names in roman type. The overall _italic_ markup has been
  omitted for readability.]




ARGUMENT.


The historical state of affairs 1659-60 was briefly as follows:-- the
Protectorate of Richard Cromwell expired 22 April, 1659. Hereupon
Fleetwood and some other officers recalled the Long Parliament (Rump),
which was constituted the ruling power of England, a select council of
state having the executive. Lambert, however, with other dissentients
was expelled from Parliament, 12 October, 1659. He and his troops
marched to Newcastle; but the soldiers deserted him for General Fairfax,
who had declared for a free Parliament, and were garrisoned at York.
Here Monk, entering England 2 January, 1660, joined them with his
forces. Lambert, deprived of his followers, was obliged to return to
London. His prompt arrest by order of Parliament followed, and he, Sir
Harry Vane and other members of the Committee of Safety were placed in
strict confinement. On 5 March Lambert was imprisoned in the Tower,
whence he escaped on 10 April, only to be recaptured a fortnight later.
There are vivid pictures in Aubrey, Pepys, and other writers, of the
wild enthusiasm at the fall of the Rump Parliament, with bonfires
blazing, all the church bells ringing, and the populace of London
carousing and pledging King Charles on their knees in the street. 'They
made little gibbets and roasted rumps of mutton. Nay, I saw some very
good rumps of beef,' writes Aubrey, and Pepys is even more vivid in his
tale than the good antiquary.

King Charles landed at Dover, 26 May, amid universal rejoicings.

Mrs. Behn has (quite legitimately) made considerable departures from
strict historical fact and the sequence of events for her dramatic
purposes.

Lambert and Fleetwood are scheming for the supreme power, and both
intrigue with Lord Wariston, the chairman of the Committee of Safety,
for his good word and influence. Lambert meantime fools Fleetwood by
flattery and a feigned indifference. Lady Lambert, who is eagerly
expecting her husband to be proclaimed King, and is assuming the state
and title of royalty to the anger of Cromwell's widow, falls in love
with a cavalier, Loveless. Her friend, Lady Desbro', a thorough loyalist
at heart, though wedded to an old parliamentarian, has long been
enamoured of Freeman, the cavalier's companion. Lambert surprises
Loveless and Freeman with his wife and Lady Desbro', but Lady Lambert
pretending they have come to petition her, abruptly dismisses them both
and so assuages all suspicion. At a meeting of the Committee the two
gallants are sent to prison for a loyal outburst on the part of
Loveless. Ananias Goggle, a lay elder, who having offered liberties to
Lady Desbro' is in her power, is by her obliged to obtain her lover's
release, and she at once holds an interview with him. They are
interrupted by Desbro' himself, but Freeman is concealed and makes an
undiscovered exit behind the shelter of Goggle's flowing cloak.

Loveless is brought to Lady Lambert at night. She endeavours to dazzle
him by showing the regalia richly set out and adorned with lights.
He puts by, however, crown and sceptre and rebukes her overweening
ambition. Suddenly the Committee, who have been drinking deep, burst in
upon them dancing a riotous dance. Loveless is hurriedly concealed under
the coverlet of a couch, and Lady Lambert sits thereon seemingly at her
devotions. Her husband takes his place by her side, but rolls off as the
gallant slips to the ground. The lights fall down and are extinguished,
the men fly howling and bawling 'A Plot! A Plot!' in drunken terror.
Lambert is cajoled and hectored into believing himself mistaken owing to
his potations. The ladies hold a council to correct and enquire into
women's wrongs, but on a sudden, news is brought that Lambert's
followers have turned against him and that he is imprisoned in the
Tower. The city rises against the Parliament and the Rump is dissolved.
Loveless and Freeman rescue Lady Lambert and Lady Desbro', whose old
husband has fallen down dead with fright. The parliamentarians endeavour
to escape, but Wariston, Goggle, and Hewson-- a leading member of the
Committee-- are detected and maltreated by the mob. As they are haled
away to prison the people give themselves up to general merry-making and
joy.




SOURCE.


The purely political part of _The Roundheads; or, The Good Old Cause_
was founded by Mrs. Behn on John Tatham's _The Rump_; or, _The Mirror of
the Late Times_ (4to, 1660, 4to, 1661, and again 1879 in his collected
works,) which was produced on the eve of the Restoration, in February,
1660, at the Private House, i.e. small theatre, in Dorset Court. The
company which played here had been brought together by William Beeston,
but singularly little is known of its brief career and only one name has
been recorded, that of George Jolly, the leading actor. Tatham was the
author of the Lord Mayor's pageants 1657-64. His plays, four in number,
together with a rare entertainment, _London's Glory_ (1660), have been
well edited by Maidment and Logan.

_The Rump_ met with great success. It is certainly a brisk and lively
piece, and coming at the juncture it did must have been extraordinarily
effective. As a topical key-play reflecting the moment it is indeed
admirable, and the crescendo of overwhelming satire, all the keener for
the poet's deep earnestness, culminating in the living actors,
yesterday's lords and law-givers, running to and fro the London streets,
one bawling 'Ink or pens, ink or pens!', another 'Boots or shoes, boots
or shoes to mend!', a third 'Fine Seville oranges, fine lemons!', whilst
Mrs. Cromwell exchanges Billingsgate with a crowd of jeering boys, must
have caused the house absolutely to rock with merriment.

With all its point and cleverness _The Rump_, however, from a technical
point of view, is ill-digested and rough. The scenes were evidently
thrown off hastily, and sadly lack refining and revision. Mrs. Behn has
made the happiest use of rather unpromising material. The intrigues
between Loveless and Lady Lambert, who in Tatham is very woodeny and
awkward, between Freeman and Lady Desbro', which give _The Roundheads_
unity and dramatic point, are entirely her own invention. In the
original _Rump_ neither cavaliers nor Lady Desbro' appear. Ananias
Goggle also, the canting lay elder of Clements, with his subtle
casuistry that jibs at 'the person not the office,' a dexterous
character sketch, alive and acute, we owe to Mrs. Behn.

Amongst the many plays, far too numerous even to catalogue, that scarify
the puritans and their zealot tribe, _The Cheats_ (1662), by Wilson, and
Sir Robert Howard's _The Committee_ (1662), which long kept the stage,
and, in a modified form, _The Honest Thieves_, was seen as late as the
second half of the nineteenth century, are pre-eminently the best. Both
possess considerable merit and are worthy of the highest comic
traditions of the theatre.

As might have been expected, the dissolution of the Rump Parliament let
loose a flood of political literature, squibs, satires and lampoons.
Such works as _The famous Tragedie of the Life and Death of Mrs. Rump
... as it was presented on a burning stage at Westminster, the 29th of
May, 1660_ (4to, 1660), are of course valueless save from a purely
historical interest. A large number of songs and ballads were brought
together and published in two parts, 1662, reprint 1874. This collection
(_The Rump_), sometimes witty, sometimes angry, sometimes obscene, is
weighty evidence of the loathing inspired by the republicans and their
misrule, but it is of so personal and topical a nature that the
allusions would hardly be understood by any one who had not made a very
close and extended study of those critical months.




THEATRICAL HISTORY.


_The Roundheads; or, The Good Old Cause_ was produced at the Duke's
Theatre in 1682. They were unsettled and hazardous times. The country
was convulsed by the judicial murders and horrors which followed in the
train of the pseudo-Popish Plot engineered by the abominable Gates and
his accomplices. King and Parliament were at hopeless variance. The air
was charged with strife, internecine hatreds and unrest. In such an
atmosphere and in such circumstances politics could not but make
themselves keenly felt upon the stage. The actors were indeed 'abstracts
and brief chronicles of the time', and the theatre became a very
Armageddon for the poets. As _A Lenten Prologue refus'd by the Players_
(1682) puts it:--
 'Plots and Parties give new matter birth
  And State distractions serve you here for mirth!
       .     .     .     .     .
  The Stage, like old Rump Pulpits, is become
  The scene of News, a furious Party's drum.'

Produced on 4 December, 1682, Dryden and Lee's excellent Tragedy,
_The Duke of Guise_, which the Whigs vainly tried to suppress, created
a furore. Crowne's _City Politics_ (1683) is a crushing satire,
caricaturing Oates, Stephen College, old Sergeant Maynard and their
faction with rare skill. Southerne's _Loyal Brother_ (1682), eulogizes
the Duke of York; the scope of D'Urfey's _Sir Barnaby Whigg_ (1681), can
be told by its title, indeed the prologue says of the author:--
  'That he shall know both parties now he glories,
  By hisses th' Whigs, and by their claps the Tories.'
His _Royalist_ (1682) follows in the same track.

Even those plays which were entirely non-political are inevitably
prefaced with a mordant prologue or wound up by an epilogue that has
party venom and mustard in its tail.

It would be surprising if so popular a writer as Mrs. Behn had not put a
political play on the stage at such a juncture, and we find her well to
the fore with _The Roundheads_, which she followed up in the same year
with _The City Heiress_, another openly topical comedy.

The cast of _The Roundheads_ is not given in any printed copy, and we
have no exact means of apportioning the characters, which must have
entailed the whole comic strength of the house. It is known that
Betterton largely refrained from appearing in political comedies, and no
doubt Smith took the part of Loveless, whilst Freeman would have fallen
to Joseph Williams. Nokes was certainly Lambert; and Leigh, Wariston.
Mrs. Leigh probably played Lady Cromwell or Gilliflower; Mrs. Barry,
Lady Lambert; and Mrs. Currer, Lady Desbro'. The piece seems to have
been very successful, and to have kept the stage at intervals for some
twenty years.




  To the Right Noble

    HENRY FITZ-ROY,

  Duke of _Grafton_, Earl of _Sutton_, Viscount of _Ipswich_, Baron
    of _Sudbury_, Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter,
    and Colonel of his Majesties Regiment of Foot-Guards, &c.


May it please Your Grace,

Dedications which were Originally design'd, as a Tribute to the
Reverence and just esteem we ought to pay the _Great_ and _Good_ ; are
now so corrupted with Flattery, that they rarely either find a Reception
in the World, or merit that Patronage they wou'd implore. But I without
fear Approach the great Object, being above that mean and mercenary Art;
nor can I draw the Lovely Picture half so charming and so manly as it
is; and that Author may more properly boast of a Lucky Hitt, whose
choice and Fortune is so good, than if he had pleas'd all the different
ill Judging world besides in the business of the _Play_; for none that
way, can ever hope to please all; in an Age when Faction rages, and
different Parties disagree in all things-- - But coming the first day to
a new Play with a Loyal Title, and then even the sober and tender
conscienc'd, throng as to a forbidden Conventicle, fearing the Cub of
their old Bear of Reformation should be expos'd, to be the scorn of the
wicked, and dreading (tho' but the faint shadow of their own deformity)
their _Rebellion, Murders, Massacres_ and _Villanies_, from forty
upwards, should be represented for the better undeceiving and informing
of the World, flock in a full Assembly with a pious design to Hiss and
Rail it as much out of countenance as they would _Monarchy, Religion,
Laws_, and _Honesty_; throwing the _Act of Oblivion_ in our Teeths, as
if that (whose mercy cannot make them forget their old Rebellion) cou'd
hinder honest Truths from breaking out upon 'em in Edifying Plays, where
the Loyal hands ever out-do their venom'd Hiss; a good and happy Omen,
if Poets may be allow'd for Prophets as of old they were: and 'tis as
easily seen at a new Play how the Royal Interest thrives, as at a City
Election, how the _Good Old Couse_ is carried on; as a Noble Peer lately
said, _Tho' the Tories have got the better of us at the Play, we carried
it in the City by many Voices, God be praised!_

This Play, call'd _The Roundheads_, which I humbly lay at your Graces
feet, Pardon the Title, and Heaven defend you from the bloody Race, was
carried in the House _nemine contra dicente_, by the Royal Party, and
under your Grace's Illustrious Patronage is safe from any new Seditious
affronts abroad; Your Grace alone, whom Heaven and Nature has form'd the
most adorable Person in the whole Creation, with all the advantages of a
glorious Birth, has a double right and power to defend all that approach
you for sanctuary; your very Beauty is a Guard to all you daigne to make
safe: for You were born for Conquest every way; even what _Phanatick_,
what peevish _Politician_, testy with _Age, Diseases_, miscarried
_Plots_, disappointed _Revolutions_, envious of _Power_, of _Princes_,
and of _Monarchy_, and mad with _Zeal_ for _Change_ and _Reformation_,
could yet be so far lost to sense of Pleasure, as not to turn a Rebel to
Revenge the _Good old Cause_, and the patronage to _Plebean_ sedition
with only looking on you, 'twou'd force his meger face to blushing
smiles, and make him swear he had mistook the side, curse his own Party,
and if possible, be reconciled to Honesty again: such power have charms
like Yours to calm the soul, and will in spight of You plead for me to
the disaffected, even when they are at Wars with your Birth and Power.
But this _Play_, for which I humbly beg your Grace's Protection, needs
it in a more peculiar manner, it having drawn down Legions upon its
head, for its Loyalty-- _what, to Name us_ cries one, _'tis most
abominable, unheard of daring_ cries another-- _she deserves to be
swing'd_ cries a third; as if twere all a Libel, a Scandal impossible to
be prov'd, or that their Rogueries were of so old a Date their Reign
were past Remembrance or History; when they take such zealous care to
renew it daily to our memories: And I am satisfied, that they that will
justifie the best of these Traytors, deserves the fate of the worst, and
most manifestly declare to the World by it, they wou'd be at the _Old
Game_ their fore-Fathers play'd with so good success: yet if there be
any honest loyal man allied to any here nam'd, I heartily beg his pardon
for any offensive Truth I have spoken, and 'tis a wonderful thing that
amongst so Numerous a Flock they will not allow of one mangy Sheep; not
one Rogue in the whole Generation of the Association.

_Ignoramus the _1st_ and the _2d_._

But as they are I leave 'em to your Grace to Judge of 'em; to whom I
humbly present this small Mirror, of the late wretched Times: wherein
your Grace may see something of the Miseries three the Most Glorious
Kingdoms of the Universe were reduc'd to; where your Royal Ancestors
victoriously Reign'd for so many hundred years: How they were Governed,
Parcell'd out, and deplorably inslav'd, and to what Low, Prostituted
Lewdness they fell at last: where the Nobility and Gentry were the most
contemn'd and despis'd part of them, and such Meane (and till then
obscure) Villains Rul'd, and Tyrannized, that no _Age_, nor _Time_, or
scarce a Parish Book makes mentions or cou'd show there was any such
Name or Family. Yet these were those that impudently Tug'd for Empire,
and Prophan'd that illustrious Throne and Court, so due then, and
possest now (through the infinite Mercies of God to this bleeding
Nation) by the best of Monarchs; a Monarch, who had the divine goodness
to Pardon even his worst of Enemies what was past; Nay, out of his Vast
and God-like Clemency, did more than Heaven it self can do, put it out
of his Power by _an Act of Oblivion_, to punish the unparalell'd
Injuries done His Sacred Person, and the rest of the Royal Family: How
great his Patience has been since, I leave to all the World to judge:
but Heaven be prais'd, he has not yet forgot the Sufferings and Murders
of the Glorious Martyr of ever Blessed memory, Your Graces Sacred
Grandfather, and by what Arts and Ways that Devilish Plot was layed! and
will like a skilful Pilate, by the wreck of one Rich Vessel, learn how
to shun the danger of this present Threatning and save the rest from
sinking; The Clouds already begin to disappear, and the face of things
to change, thanks to Heaven, his Majesties infinite Wisdom, and the
Over-Zeal of the (falsly called) _True Protestant Party_; Now we may
pray for the King and his Royal Brother, defend his Cause, and assert
his Right, without the fear of a taste of the Old Sequestration call'd a
_Fine_; Guard the Illustrious Pair, good Heaven, from Hellish Plots, and
all the Devilish Machinations of Factious Cruelties: and you, great Sir,
(whose Merits have so Justly deserv'd that glorious Command so lately
trusted to your Care, which Heaven increase, and make your glad Regiment
Armies for our safety. May you become the great Example of Loyalty and
Obedience, and stand a firm and unmoveable Pillar to _Monarchy_, a Noble
Bullwark to _Majesty_; defend the Sacred Cause, imploy all that Youth,
Courage, and Noble Conduct which God and Nature purposely has endued you
with, to serve the Royal Interest: You, Sir, who are obliged by a double
Duty to Love, Honour, and Obey his Majesty, both as a Father and a King!
O undissolvable Knot! O Sacred Union! what Duty, what Love, what
Adoration can express or repay the Debt we owe the first, or the
Allegiance due to the last, but where both meet in one, to make the Tye
Eternal; Oh what Counsel, what Love of Power, what fancied Dreams of
Empire, what fickle Popularity can inspire the heart of Man, or any
Noble mind, with Sacrilegious thoughts against it, can harbour or
conceive a stubborn disobedience: Oh what Son can desert the Cause of an
Indulgent Parent, what Subject, of such a Prince, without renouncing the
Glory of his Birth, his Loyalty, and good Nature.

Ah Royal lovely Youth! beware of false Ambition; wisely believe your
Elevated Glory, (at least) more happy then a Kings, you share their
Joys, their pleasures and magnificence, without the toils and business
of a _Monarch_, their carefull days and restless thoughtfull nights;
know, you art blest with all that Heaven can give, or you can wish; your
Mind and Person such, so excellent, that Love knows no fault it would
wish to mend, nor Envy to increase! blest with a Princess of such
undisputable charming Beauty, as if Heaven, designing to take a peculiar
care in all that concerns your Happiness, had form'd her on purpose,
to compleat it.

Hail happy glorious Pair! the perfect joy and pleasure of all that look
on ye, for whom all Tongues and Hearts have Prayers and Blessings; May
you out-live Sedition, and see your Princely Race as Numerous as
Beautifull, and those all great and Loyal Supporters of a long Race of
_Monarchs_ of this Sacred Line, This shall be the perpetual wish, this
the Eternal Prayer of

_SIR,
  Your Graces most Humble,
    and most Obedient Servant_,
      A. BEHN.




THE ROUND-HEADS;

or, the Good Old Cause.




PROLOGUE,

Spoken by the Ghost of _Hewson_ ascending from Hell dress'd as a Cobler.

  _I am the Ghost of him who was a true Son
  Of the late _Good Old Cause_, ycleped _Hewson_,
  Rous'd by strange Scandal from th' eternal Flame
  With noise of Plots, of wondrous Birth and Name,
  Whilst the sly Jesuit robs us of our Fame.
  Can all their Conclave, tho with Hell th' agree,
  Act Mischief equal to Presbytery?
  Look back on our Success in Forty One,
  Were ever braver Villanies carried on,
  Or new ones now more hopefully begun?
  And shall our Unsuccess our Merit lose,
  And make us quit the Glory of our Cause?
  No, hire new Villains, Rogues without Remorse,
  And let no Law nor Conscience stop your Course;
  Let Politicians order the Confusion,
  And let the Saints pay pious Contribution.
  Pay those that rail, and those that can delude
  With scribling Nonsense the loose Multitude.
  Pay well your Witnesses, they may not run
  To the right Side, and tell who set 'em on.
  Pay 'em so well, that they may ne'er recant,
  And so turn honest merely out of want.
  Pay Juries, that no formal Laws may harm us,
  Let Treason be secur'd by _Ignoramus_.
  Pay Bully Whig, who loyal Writers bang,
  And honest Tories in Effigie hang:
  Pay those that burn the Pope to please the Fools,
  And daily pay Right Honourable Tools;
  Pay all the Pulpit Knaves that Treason brew,
  And let the zealous Sisters pay 'em too;
  Justices, bound by Oath and Obligation,
  Pay them the utmost Price of their Damnation,
  Not to disturb our useful Congregation.
  Nor let the Learned Rabble be forgot,
  Those pious Hands that crown our hopeful Plot.
  No, modern Statesmen cry, 'tis Lunacy
  To barter Treason with such Rogues as we.
  But subtiler _Oliver_ did not disdain
  His mightier Politicks with ours to join.
  I for all Uses in a State was able,
  Cou'd Mutiny, cou'd fight, hold forth, and cobble.
  Your lazy Statesman may sometimes direct,
  But your small busy Knaves the Treason act._




DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


MEN.

  Lord _Fleetwood_, } Competitors for the Crown,
  Lord _Lambert_,   }   but _Lambert_ is General of the Army.
  Lord _Wariston_, Chairman of the Committee of Safety.
  _Hewson_,         }
  _Desbro_,         } Commanders,
  _Duckingfield_,   }   and Committee-men.
  _Corbet_,         }
  Lord _Whitlock_.
  _Ananias Goggle_, Lay Elder of _Clement's_ Parish.
  _A Rabble_ of the Sanctify'd Mobile.
  Corporal _Right_, an _Oliverian_ Commander, but honest,
      and a Cavalier in his Heart.
  _Loveless_, a Royalist, a Man of Honour, in love with Lady _Lambert._
  _Freeman_, his Friend, of the same Character, in love with Lady
      _Desbro_.
  Captain of the Prentices.
  Two Pages to Lady _Lambert_.
  _Tom_, Page to Lady _Desbro_.
  Page to Lady _Fleetwood_.
  A Felt-maker.
  A Joyner.
  Doorkeeper.
  Two Clerks.
  Three Soldiers.


WOMEN.

  Lady _Lambert_, in love with _Loveless_.
  Lady _Desbro_, in love with _Freeman_.
  Lady _Fleetwood_.
  Lady _Cromwell_.
  _Gilliflower_, Lady _Lambert's_ Old Woman.
  Several Ladies, for Redress of Grievances.
  Women Servants to Lady _Lambert_.

  Petitioners, Servants, Guards, Footmen, Fidlers,
    and a Band of Loyal City Apprentices.




ACT I.


SCENE I. _The Street._

    Enter three _Soldiers_, and Corporal _Right_.

_Cor._ Ah, Rogue, the World runs finely round, the business is done.

_1 Sold._ Done! the Town's our own, my fine Rascal.

_2 Sold._ We'll have Harlots by the Belly, Sirrah.

_1 Sold._ Those are Commodities I confess I wou'd fain be trucking
for-- but no words of that, Boy.

_Cor._ Stand, who goes there?

    [To them a Joyner and a Felt-maker.

_1 Sold._ Who are you for?-- hah!

_Joy._ Are for, Friend? we are for Gad and the Lord _Fleetwood_.

_1 Sold._ _Fleetwood_! knock 'em down, _Fleetwood_, that sniveling
Thief?

_Felt._ Why, Friends, who are ye for?

_Cor._ For! who shou'd we be for, but _Lambert_, Noble _Lambert_? Is
this a time o'th' day to declare for _Fleetwood_, with a Pox? indeed,
i'th' Morning 'twas a Question had like to have been decided with push a
Pike.

_2 Sold._ Dry blows wou'd ne'er ha' don't, some must have sweat Blood
for't; but-- 'tis now decided.

_Joy._ Decided!

_2 Sold._ Yes, decided, Sir, without your Rule for't.

_Joy._ Decided! by whom, Sir? by us the Free-born Subjects of _England_,
by the Honourable Committee of Safety, or the Right Reverend City?
without which, Sir, I humbly conceive, your Declaration for _Lambert_ is
illegal, and against the Property of the People.

_2 Sold._ Plain _Lambert_; here's a saucy Dog of a Joyner; Sirrah, get
ye home, and mind your Trade, and save the Hangman a labour.

_Joy._ Look ye, Friend, I fear no Hang-man in _Christendom_; for
Conscience and Publick Good, for Liberty and Property, I dare as far as
any Man.

_2 Sold._ Liberty and Property, with a Pox, in the Mouth of a Joyner:
you are a pretty Fellow to settle the Nation-- what says my Neighbour
Felt-maker?

_Felt._ Why, verily, I have a high respect for my honourable Lord
_Fleetwood_, he is my intimate Friend; and till I find his Party the
weaker, I hope my Zeal will be strengthned for him.

_2 Sold._ Zeal for _Fleetwood_! Zeal for a Halter, and that's your due:
Why, what has he ever done for you? Can he lead you out to Battle? Can
he silence the very Cannon with his Eloquence alone?-- Can he talk-- or
fight-- or--

_Felt._ But verily he can pay those that can, and that's as good-- and
he can pray--

_2 Sold._ Let him pray, and we'll fight, and see whose business is done
first; we are for the General who carries Charms in every Syllable; can
act both the Soldier and the Courtier, at once expose his Breast to
Dangers for our sakes-- and tell the rest of the pretended Slaves a fair
Tale, but hang 'em sooner than trust 'em.

_1 Sold._ Ay, ay, a _Lambert_, a _Lambert_, he has Courage,
_Fleetwood's_ an Ass to him.

_Felt._ Hum-- here's Reason, Neighbour.    [To the Joyner.

_Joy._ That's all one, we do not act by Reason.

_Cor._ _Fleetwood's_ a Coward.

_2 Sold._ A Blockhead.

_1 Sold._ A sniveling Fool; a General in the Hangings, no better.

_Joy._ What think you then of _Vane_?

_2 Sold._ As of a Fool, that has dreamt of a new Religion, and is only
fit to reign in the Fifth Monarchy he preaches so much up? but no King
in this Age.

_Felt._ What of _Haslerig_?

_2 Sold._ A Hangman for _Haslerig_. I cry, No, no, One and all,
a _Lambert_, a _Lambert_; he is our General, our Protector, our Keiser,
our-- even what he pleases himself.

_1 Sold._ Well, if he pleases himself, he pleases me.

_2 Sold._ He's our Rising Sun, and we'll adore him, for the Speaker's
Glory's set.

_Cor._ At nought, Boys; how the Rogue look'd when his Coach was stop'd!

_Joy._ Under favour, what said the Speaker?

_2 Sold._ What said he? prithee, what cou'd he say that we wou'd admit
for Reason? Reason and our Bus'ness are two things: Our Will was Reason
and Law too, and the Word of Command lodg'd in our Hilts: _Cobbet_ and
_Duckenfield_ shew'd 'em Cockpit-Law.

_Cor._ He understood not Soldier's Dialect; the Language of the Sword
puzzled his Understanding; the Keenness of which was too sharp for his
Wit, and over-rul'd his Robes-- therefore he very mannerly kiss'd his
Hand, and wheel'd about--

_2 Sold._ To the place from whence he came.

_Cor._ And e'er long to the place of Execution.

_1 Sold._ No, damn him, he'll have his Clergy.

_Joy._ Why, is he such an Infidel to love the Clergy?

_Cor._ For his Ends; but come let's go drink the General's Health,
_Lambert_; not _Fleetwood_, that Son of a Custard, always quaking.

_2 Sold._ Ay, ay, _Lambert_ I say-- besides, he's a Gentleman.

_Felt._ Come, come, Brother Soldier, let me tell you, I fear you have a
_Stewart_ in your Belly.

_Cor._ I am sure you have a Rogue in your Heart, Sirrah, which a Man may
perceive thro that sanctified Dog's Face of yours; and so get ye gone,
ye Rascals, and delude the Rabble with your canting Politicks.
    [Every one beats 'em.

_Felt._ Nay, an you be in Wrath, I'll leave you.

_Joy._ No matter, Sir, I'll make you know I'm a Freeborn Subject,
there's Law for the Righteous, Sir, there's Law.
    [Go out.

_Cor._ There's Halters, ye Rogues--

_2 Sold._ Come, Lads, let's to the Tavern, and drink Success to Change;
I doubt not but to see 'em chop about, till it come to our great Hero
again-- Come to the Tavern.

    [Going out, are met by _Loveless_ and _Freeman_, who enter, and
    stay the _Corporal_.

_Cor._ I'll follow ye, Comrade, presently.

    [Ex. the rest of the Soldiers.

--Save ye, noble Colonel.

_Free._ How is't, Corporal?

_Cor._ A brave World, Sir, full of Religion, Knavery, and Change:
we shall shortly see better Days.

_Free._ I doubt it, Corporal.

_Cor._ I'll warrant you, Sir,-- but have you had never a Billet, no
Present, nor Love-- remembrance to day, from my good Lady _Desbro_?

_Free._ None, and wonder at it. Hast thou not seen her Page to day?

_Cor._ Faith, Sir, I was imploy'd in Affairs of State, by our Protector
that shall be, and could not call.

_Free._ Protector that shall be! who's that, _Lambert_, or _Fleetwood_,
or both?

_Cor._ I care not which, so it be a Change; but I mean the General:--
but, Sir, my Lady _Desbro_ is now at Morning-Lecture here hard by, with
the Lady _Lambert_.

_Lov._ Seeking the Lord for some great Mischief or other.

_Free._ We have been there, but could get no opportunity of speaking to
her-- _Loveless_, know this Fellow-- he's honest and true to the Hero,
tho a Red-Coat. I trust him with my Love, and have done with my Life.

_Lov._ Love! Thou canst never make me believe thou art earnestly in love
with any of that damn'd Reformation.

_Free._ Thou art a Fool; where I find Youth and Beauty, I adore, let the
Saint be true or false.

_Lov._ 'Tis a Scandal to one of us to converse with 'em; they are all
sanctify'd Jilts; and there can neither be Credit nor Pleasure in
keeping 'em company; and 'twere enough to get the Scandal of an Adherer
to their devilish Politicks, to be seen with 'em.

_Free._ What, their Wives?

_Lov._ Yes, their Wives. What seest thou in 'em but Hypocrisy? Make love
to 'em, they answer in Scripture.

_Free._ Ay, and lie with you in Scripture too. Of all Whores, give me
your zealous Whore; I never heard a Woman talk much of Heaven, but she
was much for the Creature too. What do'st think I had thee to the
Meeting for?

_Lov._ To hear a Rascal hold forth for Bodkins and Thimbles,
Contribution, my beloved! to carry on the good Cause, that is, Roguery,
Rebellion, and Treason, profaning the sacred Majesty of Heaven, and our
glorious Sovereign.

_Free._ But-- were there not pretty Women there?

_Lov._ Damn 'em for sighing, groaning Hypocrites.

_Free._ But there was one, whom that handsome Face and Shape of yours,
gave more occasion for sighing, than any Mortification caus'd by the
Cant of the Lay-Elder in the half Hogs-Head: Did'st thou not mind her?

_Lov._ Not I, damn it, I was all Rage; and hadst not thou restrain'd me,
I had certainly pull'd that Rogue of a Holder forth by the Ears from his
sanctify'd Tub. 'Sdeath, he hum'd and haw'd all my Patience away, nosed
and snivel'd me to Madness. Heaven! That thou shouldst suffer such
Vermin to infect the Earth, such Wolves amongst thy Flocks, such Thieves
and Robbers of all Laws of God and Man, in thy Holy Temples. I rave to
think to what thou'rt fall'n, poor _England_!

_Free._ But the she Saint--

_Lov._ No more; were she as fair as Fancy could imagine, to see her
there wou'd make me loath the Form; she that can listen to the dull
Nonsense, the bantering of such a Rogue, such an illiterate Rascal, must
be a Fool, past sense of loving, _Freeman_.

_Free._ Thou art mistaken.-- But, didst thou mind her next the Pulpit?

_Lov._ A Plague upon the whole Congregation: I minded nothing but how to
fight the Lord's Battle with that damn'd sham Parson, whom I had a mind
to beat.

_Free._ My Lady _Desbro_ is not of that Persuasion, but an errant
Heroick in her Heart, and feigns it only to have the better occasion to
serve the Royal Party. I knew her, and lov'd her before she married.

_Lov._ She may chance then to be sav'd.

_Free._ Come, I'll have thee bear up briskly to some one of 'em,
it may redeem thy Sequestration; which, now thou see'st no hopes of
compounding, puts thee out of Patience.

_Lov._ Let 'em take it, and the Devil do 'em Good with it; I scorn it
should be said I have a Foot of Land in this ungrateful and accursed
Island; I'd rather beg where Laws are obey'd, and Justice perform'd,
than be powerful where Rogues and base-born Rascals rule the roast.

_Free._ But suppose now, dear _Loveless_, that one of the Wives of these
Pageant Lords should fall in love with thee, and get thy Estate again,
or pay the double for't?

_Lov._ I wou'd refuse it.

_Free._ And this for a little dissembl'd Love, a little Drudgery--

_Lov._ Not a Night, by Heaven-- not an Hour-- no, not a single Kiss. I'd
rather make love to an _Incubus_.

_Free._ But suppose 'twere the new Protectress her self, the fine Lady
_Lambert_?

_Lov._ The greatest Devil of all; damn her, do'st think I'll cuckold the
Ghost of old _Oliver_?

_Free._ The better; There's some Revenge in't; do'st know her?

_Lov._ Never saw her, nor care to do.

_Cor._ Colonel, do you command me any thing?

_Free._ Yes, I'll send thee with a Note-- Let's step into a Shop and
write it; _Loveless_, stay a moment, and I'll be with thee.
    [Ex. _Free._ and _Corporal_.

    Enter L. _Lambert_, L. _Desbro_, _Gilliflower_, _Pages_ with great
    Bibles, and Footmen. _Loveless_ walks sullenly, not seeing 'em.
      [L. _Lambert's_ Train carried.

_L. Lam._ O, I'm impatient to know his Name; ah, _Desbro_, he betray'd
all my Devotion; and when I would have pray'd, Heav'n knows it was to
him, and for him only.

_L. Des._ What manner of Man was it?

_L. Lam._ I want Words to describe him; not tall, nor short; well made,
and such a Face--
  Love, Wit and Beauty revel'd in his Eyes;
  From whence he shot a thousand winged Darts
  That pierc'd quite through my Soul.

_L. Des._ Seem'd he a Gentleman?

_L. Lam._ A God! altho his outside were but mean;
  But he shone thro like Lightning from a Cloud,
  And shot more piercing Rays.

_L. Des._ Staid he long?

_L. Lam._ No, methought he grew displeas'd with our Devotion,
  And seem'd to contradict the Parson with his angry Eyes.
  A Friend he had too with him, young and handsom,
  Who seeing some Disorder in his Actions, got him away.
  --I had almost forgot all Decency,
  And started up to call him; but my Quality,
  And wanting something to excuse that Fondness,
  Made me decline with very much ado.

_Gill._ Heavens, Madam, I'll warrant they were Heroicks.

_L. Lam._ Heroicks!

_Gill._ Cavaliers, Madam, of the Royal Party.

_L. Des._ They were so, I knew one of 'em.

_L. Lam._ Ah, _Desbro_, do'st thou? Ah, Heav'ns, that they should prove
Heroicks!

_L. Des._ You might have known that by the Conquest; I never heard any
one o't' other Party ever gain'd a Heart; and indeed, Madam, 'tis a just
Revenge, our Husbands make Slaves of them, and they kill all their
Wives.
    [_Lov._ sees 'em, and starts.

_Lov._ Hah, what have we here?-- Women-- faith, and handsome too-- I
never saw a Form more excellent; who e'er they are, they seem of
Quality.-- By Heav'n, I cannot take my Eyes from her.
    [Pointing to L. _Lamb_.

_L. Lam._ Ha, he's yonder, my Heart begins to fail,
  My trembling Limbs refusing to support me--
  His Eyes seem fix'd on mine too; ah, I faint--    [Leans on _Des_.

_Gill._ My Lady's Coach, _William_-- quickly, she faints.

_Lov._ Madam, can an unfortunate Stranger's aid add any thing to the
recovery of so much Beauty?
    [Bowing, and holding her.

_L. Lam._ Ah, wou'd he knew how much!    [Aside.

_Gill._ Support her, Sir, till her Ladyship's Coach comes-- I beseech
ye.

_Lov._ Not _Atlas_ bore up Heaven with greater Pride.

_L. Lam._ --I beg your Pardon, Sir, for this Disorder,
  That has occasion'd you so great a Trouble--
  You seem a Gentleman-- and consequently
  May need some Service done you; name the way,
  I shall be glad to let you see my Gratitude.

_Lov._ If there be ought in me, that merits this amazing Favour from
you, I owe my Thanks to Nature that endow'd me with something in my Face
that spoke my Heart.

_L. Lam._ Heaven! How he looks and speaks--    [To _Desbro_, aside.

_L. Des._ Oh, these Heroicks, Madam, have the most charming Tongues.

_L. Lam._ Pray come to me-- and ask for any of my Officers, and you
shall have admittance--

_Lov._ Who shall I ask for, Madam? for I'm yet ignorant to whom I owe
for this great Bounty.

_L. Lam._ Not know me! Thou art indeed a Stranger.
  I thought I'd been so elevated above the common Crowd,
  it had been visible to all Eyes who I was.

_Lov._ Pardon my Ignorance.
  My Soul conceives ye all that Heaven can make ye,
  Of Great, of Fair and Excellent;
  But cannot guess a Name to call you by
  But such as would displease ye--
  My Heart begins to fail, and by her Vanity
  I fear she's one of the new Race of Quality:
  --But be she Devil, I must love that Form.    [Aside.

_L. Lam._ Hard Fate of Greatness, we so highly elevated
  Are more expos'd to Censure than the little ones,
  By being forc'd to speak our Passions first.
  --Is my Coach ready?

_Page._ It waits your Honour.

_L. Lam._ I give you leave to visit me-- ask for the General's Lady,
if my Title be not by that time alter'd.

_Lov._ Pistols and Daggers to my Heart-- 'tis so.

_L. Lam._ Adieu, Sir.

    [Ex. all but _Lov._ who stands musing.

    Enter _Freeman_.

_Free._ How now, what's the matter with thee?

_Lov._ Prithee wake me, _Freeman_.

_Free._ Wake thee!

_Lov._ I dream; by Heaven I dream;
  Nay, yet the lovely Phantom's in my View.
  Oh! wake me, or I sleep to perfect Madness.

_Free._ What ail'st thou? what did'st dream of?

_Lov._ A strange fantastick Charmer,
  A thing just like a Woman Friend;
  It walkt and lookt with wondrous Majesty,
  Had Eyes that kill'd, and Graces deck'd her Face;
  But when she talk'd, mad as the Winds she grew,
  Chimera in the form of Angel, Woman!

_Free._ Who the Devil meanest thou?

_Lov._ By Heav'n I know not, but, as she vanish'd hence, she bad me come
to the General's.

_Free._ Why, this is she I told thee ey'd thee so at the Conventicle;
'tis _Lambert_, the renown'd, the famous Lady _Lambert_-- Mad call'st
thou her? 'tis her ill acted Greatness, thou mistak'st; thou art not
us'd to the Pageantry of these Women yet: they all run thus mad; 'tis
Greatness in 'em, _Loveless._

_Lov._ And is thine thus, thy Lady _Desbro_?

_Free._ She's of another Cut, she married, as most do, for Interest--
but what-- thou't to her?

_Lov._ If Lightning stop my way:--
  Perhaps a sober View may make me hate her.    [Exeunt both.


SCENE II. _A Chamber in _Lambert's_ House._

    Enter _Lambert_ and _Whitlock_.

_Whit._ My Lord, now is your time, you may be King; Fortune is yours,
you've time it self by th' Fore-lock.

_Lam._ If I thought so, I'd hold him fast, by Heaven.

_Whit._ If you let slip this Opportunity, my Lord, you are undone-- _Aut
Caesar, aut Nullus._

_Lam._ But _Fleetwood_--

_Whit._ Hang him, soft Head.

_Lam._ True, he's of an easy Nature; yet if thou didst but know how
little Wit governs this mighty Universe, thou wou'dst not wonder Men
should set up him.

_Whit._ That will not recommend him at this _Juncto_, tho he's an
excellent Tool for your Lordship to make use of; and therefore use him,
Sir, as _Cataline_ did _Lentulus_; drill the dull Fool with Hopes of
Empire on, and that all tends to his Advancement only: The Blockhead
will believe the Crown his own: What other Hopes could make him ruin
Richard, a Gentleman of Qualities a thousand times beyond him?

_Lam._ They were both too soft; an ill Commendation for a General, who
should be rough as Storms of War it self.

_Whit._ His time was short, and yours is coming on; Old Oliver had his.

_Lam._ I hate the Memory of that Tyrant Oliver.

_Whit._ So do I, now he's dead, and serves my Ends no more. I lov'd the
Father of the great Heroick, whilst he had Power to do me good: he
failing, Reason directed me to the Party then prevailing, the Fag-end of
the Parliament: 'tis true, I took the Oath of Allegiance, as Oliver,
your Lordship, Tony, and the rest did, without which we could not have
sat in that Parliament; but that Oath was not for our Advantage, and so
better broke than kept.

_Lam._ I am of your Opinion, my Lord.

_Whit._ Let Honesty and Religion preach against it. But how cou'd I have
serv'd the Commons by deserting the King? how have I show'd my self
loyal to your Interest, by fooling Fleet-wood, in the deserting of Dick;
by dissolving the honest Parliament, and bringing in the odious Rump?
how cou'd I have flatter'd Ireton, by telling him Providence brought
thingsabout, when 'twas mere Knavery all; and that the Hand of the Lord
was in't, when I knew the Devil was in't? or indeed, how cou'd I now
advise you to be King, if I had started at Oaths, or preferr'd Honesty
or Divinity before Interest and the Good Old Came?

_Lam._ Nay,'tis most certain, he that will live in this World, must be
endu'd with the three rare Qualities of Dissimulation, Equivocation, and
mental Reservation.

_Whit._ In which Excellency, Heav'n be prais'd, we out-do the Jesuits.

    Enter Lady _Lambert_.

_L. Lam._ I'm glad to see you so well employ'd, my Lord, as in Discourse
with my Lord Whitlock, he's of our Party, and has Wit.

_Whit._ Your Honour graces me too much.

_Lam._ My Lord, my Lady is an absolute States-woman.

_L. Lam._ Yes, I think things had not arriv'd to this exalted height,
nor had you been in prospect of a Crown, had not my Politicks exceeded
your meaner Ambition.

_Lam._ I confess, I owe all my good Fortune to thee.

    Enter _Page_.

_Page._ My Lord, my Lord _Wariston_, Lord _Hewson_, Colonel _Cobbet_,
and Colonel _Duckenfield_ desire the Honour of waiting on you.

_L. Lam._ This has a Face of Greatness-- let 'em wait a while i'th'
Antichamber.

_Lam._ My Love, I would have 'em come in.

_L. Lam._ You wou'd have 'em! you wou'd have a Fool's Head of your own;
pray let me be Judge of what their Duty is, and what your Glory: I say
I'll have 'em wait.

_Page._ My Lord _Fleetwood_ too is just alighted, shall lie wait too,
Madam?

_L. Lam._ He may approach: and d'ye hear-- put on your fawning Looks,
flatter him, and profess much Friendship to him, you may betray him with
the more facility.

_Whit._ Madam, you counsel well.    [Ex. _Page_.

    _Page_ re-enters with Lord _Fleetwood_.

_Lam._ My good Lord, your most submissive Servant.

_Whit._ My gracious Lord, I am your Creature-- your Slave--

_Fleet._ I profess ingeniously, I am much engag'd to you, my good Lords;
I hope things are now in the Lard's handling, and will go on well for
his Glory and my Interest, and that all my good People of _England_ will
do things that become good Christians.

_Whit._ Doubt us not, my good Lord; the Government cannot be put into
abler Hands than those of your Lordship; it has hitherto been in the
hard Clutches of _Jews, Infidels_, and _Pagans_.

_Fleet._ Yea, verily, Abomination has been in the Hands of Iniquity.

_Lam._ But, my Lord, those Hands, by my good Conduct, are now cut off,
and our Ambition is, your Lordship wou'd take the Government upon you.

_Fleet._ I profess, my Lord, by yea and nay, I am asham'd of this
Goodness, in making me the Instrument of saving Grace to this Nation;
'tis the great Work of the Lard.

_L. Lam._ The Lard! Sir, I'll assure you the Lard has the least Hand in
your good Fortune; I think you ought to ascribe it to the Cunning and
Conduct of my Lord here, who so timely abandon'd the Interest of
_Richard_.

_Fleet._ Ingeniously I must own, your good Lord can do much, and has
done much; but 'tis our Method to ascribe all to the Powers above.

_L. Lam._ Then I must tell you, your Method's an ungrateful Method.

_Lam._ Peace, my Love.

_Whit._ Madam, this is the Cant we must delude the Rabble with.

_L. Lam._ Then let him use it there, my Lord, not amongst us, who so
well understand one another.

_Lam._ Good Dear, be pacified-- and tell me, shall the Gentlemen without
have Admittance?

_L. Lam._ They may.    [_Page_ goes out.

    Enter _Hewson_, _Desbro_, _Duckenfield_, _Wariston_, and _Cobbet_.

_War._ Guds Benizon light on yu, my gued Loords, for this Day's Work;
Madam, I kiss your white Honds.

_Duc._ My Lord, I have not been behind-hand in this Day's turn of State.

_Lam._ 'Tis confess'd, Sir; what would you infer from that?

_Duc._ Why, I wou'd know how things go; who shall be General, who
Protector?

_Hews._ My Friend has well translated his meaning.

_L. Lam._ Fy, how that filthy Cobler Lord betrays his Function.

_Duc._ We're in a Chaos, a Confusion, as we are.

_Hews._ Indeed the Commonwealth at present is out at Heels, and wants
underlaying.

_Cob._ And the People expect something suddenly from us.

_Whit._ My Lords and Gentlemen, we must consider a while.

_War._ Bread a gued there's mickle Wisdom i'that, Sirs.

_Duc._ It ought to be consulted betimes, my Lord, 'tis a matter of
Moment, and ought to be consulted by the whole Committee.

_Lam._ We design no other, my Lord, for which Reason at three a Clock
we'll meet at _Wallingford_ House.

_Duc._ Nay, my Lord, do but settle the Affair, let's but know who's our
Head, and 'tis no matter.

_Hews._ Ay, my Lord, no matter who; I hope 'twill be _Fleetwood_, for I
have the length of his Foot already.

_Whit._ You are the leading Men, Gentlemen, your Voices will soon settle
the Nation.

_Duc._ Well, my Lord, we'll not fail at three a Clock.

_Des._ This falls out well for me; for I've Business in _Smithfield_,
where my Horses stand; and verily, now I think on't, the Rogue the
Ostler has not given 'em Oates to day: Well, my Lords, farewel; if I
come not time enough to _Wallingford_ House, keep me a Place in the
Committee, and let my Voice stand for one, no matter who.

_War._ A gued Mon I's warrant, and takes muckle Pains for the Gued o'th'
Nation, and the Liberty o'th Mobily-- The Diel confound 'em aud.

_Lam._ Come, my Lord _Wariston_, you are a wise Man, what Government are
you for.

_War._ Ene tol what ya please, my gued Loord.    [Takes him aside.

_Lam._ What think you of a single Person here in my Lord _Fleetwood_?

_War._ Marry, Sir, and he's a brave Mon, but gen I may cooncel, tak't
for yar sel my gued Loord, ant be gued for him, 'tis ene gued for ya te.

_Lam._ But above half the Nation are for him.

_War._ Bread a gued, and I's for him then.

_Fleet._ The Will of the Lard be done; and since 'tis his Will, I cannot
withstand my Fate-- ingeniously.

_Whit._ My Lord _Wariston_, a Word-- What if _Lambert_ were the Man?
    [Takes him aside.

_War._ Right Sir, Wons and ya have spoken aud; he's a brave Mon, a Mon
indeed gen I's have any Judgment.

_Whit._ So I find this Property's for any use.    [Aside.

_Lam._ My Lord, I perceive Heaven and Earth conspire to make you our
Prince.

_Fleet._ Ingeniously, my Lords, the Weight of three Kingdoms is a heavy
Burden for so weak Parts as mine: therefore I will, before I appear at
Council, go seek the Lard in this great Affair; and if I receive a
Revelation for it, I shall with all Humility espouse the Yoke, for the
Good of his People and mine; and so Gad with us, the Commonwealth of
_England_.
    [Exeunt _Fleet._ _Desbro_, _Wariston_, _Due._ _Cob._ _Hews_, and
    _Whit._

_L. Lam._ Poor deluded Wretch, 'tis not yet come to that.

_Lam._ No, my dear, the Voice will go clearly for me; what with Bribes
to some, Hypocrisy and Pretence of Religion to others, and promis'd
Preferments to the rest, I have engag'd 'em all.

_L. Lam._ And will you be a King?

_Lam._ You think that's so fine a thing-- but let me tell you, my Love,
a King's a Slave to a Protector, a King's ty'd up to a thousand Rules of
musty Law, which we can break at pleasure; we can rule without
Parliaments, at least chuse whom we please, make 'em agree to our
Proposals, or set a Guard upon 'em, and starve 'em till they do.

_L. Lam._ But their Votes are the strangest things-- that they must pass
for Laws; you were never voted King.

_Lam._ No, nor care to be: The sharpest Sword's my Vote, my Law, my
Title. They voted _Dick_ should reign, where is he now? They voted the
great Heroicks from the Succession; but had they Arms or Men, as I have,
you shou'd soon see what wou'd become of their Votes-- No, my Love! 'tis
this-- must make me King.
    [His Sword.
  Let _Fleetwood_ and the Rump go seek the Lard,
  My Empire and my Trust is in my Sword.




ACT II.


SCENE I. _A Chamber of State in _Lambert's_ House._

    Enter L. _Lambert_, _Gilliflower_, and Women-servants.

_L. Lam._ _Gilliflower_, has none been here to ask for any of my People,
in order to his approach to me?

_Gill._ None, Madam.

_L. Lam._ Madam! How dull thou art? wo't never learn to give me a better
Title than such an one as foolish Custom bestows on every common Wench?

_Gill._ Pardon my Ignorance, Madam.

_L. Lam._ Again Madam?

_Gill._ Really, Madam, I shou'd be glad to know by what other Title you
wou'd be distinguish'd?

_L. Lam._ Abominable dull! Do'st thou not know on what score my Dear is
gone to _Wallingford_ House?

_Gill._ I cannot divine, Madam.

_L. Lam._ Heaven help thy Ignorance! he's gone to be made Protector,
Fool, or at least a King, thou Creature; and from this Day I date my
self her Highness.

_Gill._ That will be very fine indeed, an't please your Highness.

_L. Lam._ I think 'twill sute better with my Person and Beauty than with
the other Woman-- what d'ye call her? Mrs. _Cromwell_-- my Shape-- and
Gate-- my Humour, and my Youth have something more of Grandeur, have
they not?

_Gill._ Infinitely, an't please your Highness.

    Enter _Page_.

_Page._ Madam, a Man without has the boldness to ask for your Honour.

_L. Lam._ Honour, Fool!

_Gill._ Her Highness, Blockhead.

_Page._ Saucily prest in, and struck the Porter for denying him entrance
to your-- Highness.

_L. Lam._ What kind of Fellow was't?

_Page._ A rude, rough, hectoring Swash, an't please your Highness; nay,
and two or three times, Gad forgive me, he swore too.

_L. Lam._ It must be he.    [Aside.

_Page._ His Habit was something bad and Cavalierish-- I believe 'twas
some poor petitioning, begging Tory, who having been sequester'd, wou'd
press your Highness for some Favour.

_L. Lam._ Yes, it must be he-- ah, foolish Creature! and can he hope
Relief, and be a villanous Cavalier? out upon 'em, poor Wretches-- you
may admit him tho', for I long to hear how one of those things talk.

_Gill._ Oh, most strangely, Madam-- an please your Highness, I shou'd
say.

    Enter _Loveless_.

_L. Lam._ 'Tis he, I'll swear, _Gilliflower_, these Heroicks are
punctual men-- how now, your Bus'ness with us, Fellow?

_Lov._ My Bus'ness, Madam?--

_L. Lam._ Hast thou ever a Petition to us?

_Lov._ A Petition, Madam?-- Sure this put-- on Greatness is to amuse her
Servants, or has she forgot that she invited me? or indeed forgot me?--
    [Aside.

_L. Lam._ What art thou?

_Page._ Shall we search his Breeches, an't please your Highness, for
Pistol, or other Instruments?

_L. Lam._ No, Boy, we fear him not, they say the Powers above protect
the Persons of Princes.
    [Walks away.

_Lov._ Sure she's mad, yet she walks loose about,
  And she has Charms even in her raving Fit.

_L. Lam._ Answer me. What art thou?--
  How shall I get my Servants hence with Honour?    [Aside.

_Lov._ A Gentleman--
  That could have boasted Birth and Fortune too,
  Till these accursed Times, which Heaven confound,
  Razing out all Nobility, all Virtue,
  Has render'd me the rubbish of the World;
  Whilst new rais'd Rascals, Canters, Robbers, Rebels,
  Do lord it o'er the Free-born, Brave and Noble.

_L. Lam._ You're very confident, know you to whom you speak? but I
suppose you have lost your Estate, or some such trivial thing, which
makes you angry.

_Lov._ Yes, a trivial Estate of some five and twenty hundred Pound a
Year: but I hope to see that Rogue of a Lord reduc'd to his
Cobler's-Stall again, or more deserv'dly hang'd, that has it.

_L. Lam._ I thought 'twas some such Grievance-- but you must keep a good
Tongue in your Head, lest you be hang'd for _Scandalum Magnatum_--
there's Law for ye, Sir.

_Lov._ No matter, then I shall be free from a damn'd Commonwealth,
as you are pleas'd to call it, when indeed 'tis but a mungrel, mangy,
Mock-Monarchy.

_L. Lam._ Is it your business, Sir, to rail?

_Lov._ You rais'd the Devil, Madam.

_Page._ Madam, shall I call your Highness's Guards, and secure the
Traitor?

_L. Lam._ No, that you may see how little I regard or fear him; leave us
all--
    [Ex. all but _Gill._
  We'll trust our Person in his Hands alone--
  --Now, Sir-- Your Bus'ness?    [Smilingly approaches him.

_Lav._ Madam, I waited here by your Commands.

_L. Lam._ How shall I tell him that I love him, Gilliflower?

_Gill._ Easily, Madam, tell him so in plain _English_. Madam,'tis great;
Women of your exalted height ever speak first; you have no Equals dare
pretend to speak of Love to you.

_L. Lam._ Thou art i'th' right-- Do'st know my Quality, and thy own
Poverty? And hast thou nothing to ask that I may grant?

_Lav._ Sure she loves me! and I, frail Flesh and Blood, Cannot resist
her Charms; but she's of the damn'd Party.
    [Aside.

_L. Lam._ Are all your Party, Sir, so proud?

_Lov._ But what have I to do with Religion! Is Beauty the worse, or a
kind Wench to be refus'd for Conventickling? She lives high on the
Spoils of a glorious Kingdom, and why may not I live upon the Sins of
the Spoiler?
    [Aside.

_L. Lam._ Sir-- you are poor!

_Lov._ So is my Prince; a Plague on the occasion.

_L. Lam._ I think you are-- no Fool too.

_Lov._ I wou'd I were, then I had been a Knave, had thriv'd, and
possibly by this time had been tugging for rifled Crowns and Kingdoms.

_L. Lam._ This Satir ill befits my present Bus'ness with you-- you--
want some Necessaries-- as Clothes, and Linen too; and 'tis great pity
so proper a Man shou'd want Necessaries. _Gilliflower_-- take my Cabinet
Key, and fetch the Purse of Broad-pieces that lies in the lower Drawer;
'tis a small Present, Sir, but 'tis an Earnest of my farther Service.
    [_Gill._ goes out and returns with a Purse.

_Lov._ I'm angry, that I find one Grain of Generosity in this whole Race
of Hypocrites.
    [Aside.

_L. Lam._ Here, Sir,'tis only for your present use; for Clothes-- three
hundred Pieces; let me see you sweet--

_Lov._ Stark mad, by this good Day.

_L. Lam._ Ah, _Gilliflower_! How prettily those Cavalier things charm;
I wonder how the Powers above came to give them all the Wit, Softness,
and Gallantry-- whilst all the great ones of our Age have the most
slovenly, ungrateful, dull Behaviour; no Air, no Wit, no Love, nor any
thing to please a Lady with.

_Gill._ Truly, Madam, there's a great Difference in the Men; yet Heaven
at first did its part, but the Devil has since so over-done his, that
what with the Vizor of Sanctity, which is the gadly Sneer, the drawing
of the Face to a prodigious length, the formal Language, with a certain
Twang through the Nose, and the pious Gogle, they are fitter to scare
Children than beget love in Ladies.

_Lav._ You hit the Character of your new Saint.

_L. Lam._ And then their Dress, _Gilliflower_.

_Gil._ Oh! 'Tis an Abomination to look like a Gentleman; long Hair is
wicked and cavalierish, a Periwig is flat Popery, the Disguise of the
Whore of _Babylon_; handsom Clothes, or lac'd Linen, the very Tempter
himself, that debauches all their Wives and Daughters; therefore the
diminutive Band, with the Hair of the Reformation Cut, beneath which a
pair of large sanctify'd Souses appear, to declare to the World they had
hitherto escap'd the Pillory, tho deserv'd it as well as _Pryn_.

_L. Lam._ Have a care what you say, _Gilliflower_.

_Gil._ Why, Madam, we have no Informers here.

    Enter _Page_.

_Page._ Madam, here's Old _Noll's_ Wife desires Admittance to your
Hon-- your Highness.

_L. Lam._ Bid the poor Creature wait without, I'll do her what Good I
can for her Husband's sake, who first infus'd Politicks into me, by
which I may boast I have climb'd to Empire.

_Lov._ So, her Madness runs in that Vein I see.    [Aside.

_Gil._ Alack, Madam, I think she's coming.

_Crom._  [without]  Does she keep State in the Devil's Name, and must I
wait?

_L. Lam._ Heavens! I shall be scandalized by the Godly. Dear
_Gilliflower_, conceal my Cavalier; I would not have a Cavalier seen
with me for all the World-- Step into my Cabinet.
    [Ex. _Gil._ and _Lov._

    Enter L. _Cromwel_, held back by a Man-- to them _Gilliflower_.

_Crom._ Unhand me, Villain-- 'twas not long since a Rudeness, Sir, like
this had forfeited thy Head.

_L. Lam._ What wou'd the Woman?

_Crom._ The Knave, the perjur'd Villain thy Husband, by th' Throat: thou
proud, imperious Baggage, to make me wait; whose Train thou hast been
proud to bear-- how durst thou, after an Affront like this, trust thy
false Face within my Fingers reach? that Face, that first bewitch'd the
best of Husbands from me, and tempted him to sin.

_Gil._ I beseech your Highness retire, the Woman's mad.

_Crom._ Highness in the Devil's Name, sure 'tis not come to that; no,
I may live to see thy Cuckold hang'd first, his Politicks are yet too
shallow, Mistress. Heavens! Did my Husband make him Lord for this? raise
him to Honour, Trusts, Commands, and Counsels,
  To ruin all our Royal Family,
  Betray young _Richard_, who had reign'd in Peace
  But for his Perjuries and Knaveries;
  And now he sooths my Son-in-law, soft _Fleetwood_,
  With empty hopes of Pow'r, and all the while
  To make himself a King:
  No, Minion, no; I yet may live to see
  Thy Husband's Head o'th' top of _Westminster_,
  Before I see it circled in a Crown.

_L. Lam._ I pity the poor Creature.

_Crom._ Ungrateful Traytor as he is,
  Not to look back upon his Benefactors;
  But he, in lieu of making just Returns,
  Reviles our Family, profanes our Name,
  And will in time render it far more odious
  Than ever _Needham_ made the great Heroicks.

_L. Lam._ Alas, it weeps, poor Woman!

_Crom._ Thou ly'st, false Strumpet, I scorn to shed a Tear,
  For ought that thou canst do or say to me;
  I've too much of my Husband's Spirit in me.
  Oh, my dear _Richard_, hadst thou had a Grain on't,
  Thou and thy Mother ne'er had fall'n to this.

_Gil._ His Father sure was seeking of the Lard when he was got.

    Enter L. _Fleetwood_, her Train born up.

_Crom._ Where is this perjur'd Slave, thy Wittal Lord?
  Dares he not shew his Face, his guilty Face,
  Before the Person he has thus betray'd?

_L. Fleet._ Madam, I hope you mistake my honour'd Lord _Lambert_,
I believe he designs the Throne for my dear Lord.

_Crom._ Fond Girl, because he has the Art of fawning,
  Dissembling to the height, can sooth and smile,
  Profess, and sometimes weep:--
  No, he'll betray him, as he did thy Brother;
  _Richard_ the Fourth was thus deluded by him.
  No, let him swear and promise what he will,
  They are but steps to his own ambitious End;
  And only makes the Fool, thy credulous Husband,
  A silly deluded Property.

    Enter _Fleetwood_.

_Fleet._ My honour'd Mother, I am glad to find you here; I hope we shall
reconcile things between ye. Verily we should live in Brotherly Love
together; come, ingeniously, you shall be Friends, my Lady Mother.

_Crom._ Curse on th' occasion of thy being a Kin to me.

_Fleet._ Why, an please ye, forsooth, Madam?

_Crom._ My Daughter had a Husband,
  Worthy the Title of my Son-in-Law;
  _Ireton_, my best of Sons: he'd Wit and Courage,
  And with his Counsels, rais'd our House to Honours,
  Which thy impolitick Easiness pulls down:
  And whilst you should be gaining Crowns and Kingdoms,
  Art poorly couzening of the World with fruitless Prayers.

_Fleet._ Nay, I'll warrant you, Madam, when there is any gadly Mischief
to be done, I am as forward as the best; but 'tis good to take the Lard
along with us in every thing. I profess ingeniously, as I am an honest
Man, verily-- ne'er stir-- I shall act as becomes a good Christian.

_Crom._ A good Coxcomb.
  Do'st thou not see her reverend Highness there,
  That Minion now assumes that glorious Title
  I once, and my Son _Richard's_ Wife enjoy'd,
  Whilst I am call'd the Night-mare of the Commonwealth?
  But wou'd I were, I'd so hag-ride the perjur'd Slaves,
  Who took so many Oaths of true Allegiance
  To my great Husband first, then to _Richard_--
  Who, whilst they reign'd, were most illustrious,
  Most high and mighty Princes; whilst fawning Poets
  Write Panegyricks on 'em; and yet no sooner was
  The wondrous Hero dead, but all his glorious
  Titles fell to Monster of Mankind, Murderer
  Of Piety, Traytor to Heaven and Goodness.

_Fleet._ Who calls him so? Pray take their Names down: I profess
ingeniously, forsooth, Madam, verily I'll order 'em, as I am here I
will.

_Crom._ Thou, alas! they scorn so poor a thing as thou.

_Fleet._ Do they ingeniously? I'll be even with 'em, forsooth, Mother,
as I am here I will, and there's an end on't.

_Crom._ I wou'd there were an end of our Disgrace and Shame,
  Which is but just begun, I fear.
  What will become of that fair Monument
  Thy careful Father did erect for thee,    [To L. _Fleetwood_.
  Yet whilst he liv'd, next to thy Husband _Ireton_,
  Lest none shou'd do it for thee after he were dead;
  The Malice of proud _Lambert_ will destroy all.

_Fleet._ I profess, Madam, you mistake my good Lord _Lambert_, he's an
honest Man, and fears the Lard; he tells me I am to be the Man; verily
he does, after all's done.

_Cram._ Yes, after all's done, thou art the Man to be pointed at.

_Fleet._ Nay, ingeniously, I scorn the Words, so I do: I know the great
Work of Salvation to the Nation is to be wrought by me, verily.

_Crom._ Do, cant on, till Heaven drop Kingdoms in thy Mouth: Dull, silly
Sot, thou Ruin of our Interest; thou fond, incorrigible, easy Fool.

    Enter _Page_.

_Page._ My Lord, the Committee of Safety waits your coming.

_Fleet._ Why, law you now, forsooth-- I profess verily, you are
ingeniously the hardest of Belief-- tell the Honourable Lords I'm
coming: Go, Lady-mother, go home with my Wife; and verily you'll see
things go to your wish-- I must to Coach.

_L. Fleet._ Madam, your humble Servant.    [To La. _Lam._

_Fleet._ Honour'd Lady, I kiss your Hands.

    [Exeunt _Crom._ _Fleet_, and L. _Fleet._

    Enter _Loveless_.

_Lov._ Was this the thing that is to be Protector?
  This little sniveling Fellow rule three Kingdoms?
  But leave we Politicks, and fall to Love,
  Who deals more Joys in one kind happy moment
  Than Ages of dull Empire can produce.

_L. Lam._ Oh Gods! shall I who never yielded yet,
  But to him to whom three Kingdoms fell a Sacrifice,
  Surrender at first Parley?

_Lov._ Perhaps that Lover made ye gayer Presents,
  But cou'd not render you a Heart all Love,
  Or Mind embyass'd in Affairs of Blood.
  --I bring no Guilt to fright you from my Embraces,
  But all our Hours shall be serene and soft.

_L. Lam._ Ah, _Gilliflower_, thy Aid, or I am lost;
  Shall it be said of me in after Ages,
  When my Fame amongst Queens shall be recorded,
  That I, ah Heavens! regardless of my Country's Cause,
  Espous'd the wicked Party of its Enemies,
  The Heathenish Heroicks? ah, defend me!

_Lov._ Nay-- by all that's--

_L. Lam._ Ah, hold! Do not profane my Ears with Oaths or Execrations,
I cannot bear the Sound.

_Lov._ Nay, nay-- by Heav'n I'll not depart your Lodgings, till that
soft Love that plays so in your Eyes give me a better Proof-- by--

_L. Lam._ Oh hold, I die, if you proceed in this Abomination.

_Lov._ Why do you force me to't? d'ye think to put me off with such a
Face-- such Lips-- such Smiles-- such Eyes, and every Charm-- You've
made me mad, and I shall swear my Soul away, if disappointed now.

_Gil._ Ah, save the Gentleman's Soul, I beseech ye, Madam.

_L. Lam._ I'm much inclin'd to Acts of Piety-- And you have such a
Power, that howe'er I incommode my Honour--
    [Leaning on him, smiling. He goes to lead her out, Enter La.
    _Desbro_.
  --_Desbro_ here! How unseasonably she comes?

_L. Des._ Cry mercy, Madam, I'll withdraw a while.

_L. Lam._ Ah, _Desbro_! thou art come in the most lucky Minute-- I was
just on the point of falling-- As thou say'st, these Heroicks have the
strangest Power--

_L. Des._ I never knew a Woman cou'd resist 'em.

_L. Lam._ No marvel then, our Husbands use 'em so, betray 'em, banish
'em, sequester, murder 'em, and every way disarm 'em--

_L. Des._ But their Eyes, Madam.

_L. Lam._ Ay, their Eyes, _Desbro_; I wonder our Lords shou'd take away
their Swords, and let 'em wear their Eyes.

_L. Des._ I'll move it to the Committee of Safety, Madam, those Weapons
should be taken from 'em too.

_L. Lam._ Still they'll have some to be reveng'd on us.

_L. Des._ Ay, so they will will; My Lord says, a Cavalier is a kind of
_Hydra_, knock him o'th' Head as often as you will, he has still one to
peep up withal.

    Enter _Page_.

_Page._ Madam, here's Mr. _Freeman_ to speak with your Honour.

_Lov._ That's a Friend of mine, Madam, and 'twou'd be unnecessary he saw
your Highness and I together: let us withdraw--

_L. Lam._ Withdraw! why, what will _Desbro_ say?

_L. Des._ O Madam, I know your Virtue and your Piety too well to
suspect your Honour wrongfully: 'tis impossible a Lady that goes to a
Conventicle twice a Day, besides long Prayers and loud Psalm-- singing,
shou'd do any thing with an Heroick against her Honour. Your known
Sanctity preserves you from Scandal-- But here's _Freeman_--
    [Puts 'em in.

    Enter _Freeman_.

_Free._ So, Madam-- you are very kind--

_L. Des._ My charming _Freeman_, this tedious Day of Absence has been an
Age in love. How hast thou liv'd without me?

_Free._ Like one condemn'd, sad and disconsolate, And all the while you
made your Husband happy.

_L. Des._ Name not the Beastly Hypocrite, thou know'st I made no other
use of him, But a dull Property to advance our Love.

_Free._ And 'tis but Justice, _Maria_, he sequester'd me of my whole
Estate, because, he said, I took up Arms in _Ireland_, on Noble
_Ormond's_ Side; nay, hir'd Rogues, perjur'd Villains-- Witnesses with a
Pox, to swear it too; when at that time I was but Eight Years Old; but I
escap'd as well as all the Gentry and Nobility of _England_. To add to
this, he takes my Mistress too.

_L. Des._ You mistake, my lovely _Freeman_; I married only thy Estate,
the best Composition I cou'd make for thee, and I will pay it back with
Interest too.

_Free._ You wou'd suspect my Love then, and swear that all the Adoration
I pay you, were, as we do to Heav'n, for Interest only.

_L. Des._ How you mistake my Love, but do so still, so you will let me
give these-- Proofs of it.
    [Gives him Gold.

_Free._ Thus, like _Atlante_, you drop Gold in my Pursuit
  To Love, I may not over-take you:
  What's this to giving me one happy minute?
  Take back your Gold, and give me current Love,
  The Treasure of your Heart, not of your Purse--
  When shall we meet, _Maria_?

_L. Des._ You know my leisure Hours are when my Honourable Lord is
busied in Affairs of State, or at his Prayers; from which long-winded
Exercise I have of late withdrawn my self: three Hours by the Clock he
prays extemporary, which is, for National and Household Blessings: For
the first-- 'tis to confound the Interest of the King, that the Lard
wou'd deliver him, his Friends, Adherers and Allies, wheresoever
scatter'd about the Face of the whole Earth, into the Clutches of the
Righteous: Press 'em, good Lard, even as the Vintager doth the Grape in
the Wine-Press, till the Waters and gliding Channels are made red with
the Blood of the Wicked.
    [In a Tone.

_Free._ And grant the Faithful to be mighty, and to be strong in
Persecution; and more especially, ah! I beseech thee confound that
malignant Tory _Freeman_-- that he may never rise up in judgment against
thy Servant, who has taken from him his Estate, his Sustenance and
Bread; give him Grace of thy infinite Mercy, to hang himself, if thy
People can find no zealous Witnesses to swear him to the Gallows
legally. Ah, we have done very much for thee, Lard, thou shoud'st
consider us thy Flock, and we shou'd be as good to thee in another
thing.
    [In a Tone.

_L. Des._ Thou hit'st the zealous Twang right; sure thou hast been
acquainted with some of 'em.

_Free._ Damn 'em, no; what honest Man wou'd keep 'em Company, where
harmless Wit and Mirth's a Sin, laughing scandalous, and a merry Glass
Abomination?

_L. Des._ Yes, if you drink Healths, my wicked Brother: otherwise, to be
silently drunk, to be as abusive and satirical as you please, upon the
Heroicks, is allowable-- for laughing, 'tis not indeed so well; but the
precise Sneer and Grin is lawful; no swearing indeed, but lying and
dissimulation in abundance. I'll assure you, they drink as deep, and
entertain themselves as well with this silent way of leud Debauchery,
as you with all your Wit and Mirth, your Healths of the Royal Family.

_Free._ Nay, I confess, 'tis a great Pleasure to cheat the World.

_L. Des._ 'Tis Power, as divine _Hobbes_ calls it.

_Free._ But what's all this to Love? Where shall we meet anon?

_L. Des._ I'll tell you, what will please you as well-- Your Friend is
within with her Highness that shall be, if the Devil and her Husband's
Politicks agree about the matter.

_Free._ Ha, has my cautious Railer manag'd matters so slyly?

_L. Des._ No, no, the matter was manag'd to his Hand; you see how Heav'n
brings things about, for the Good of your Party; this Business will be
worth to him at least a thousand Pound a year, or two, well manag'd--
But see, my Lady's Woman.

_Gil._ Oh, Madam, my Lord--
    [Running cross the Stage into her Lady's Chamber.

_Free._ Death, how shall I bring my Friend off? he'll certainly be
ruin'd.

    Enter _Gill._ _Lov._ and Lady _Lam._

_Gill._ Madam, he's coming up.

_Lov._ Madam, for my self I care not, but am much concern'd for you.
    [L. _Lam._ takes two Papers out of her Pocket, and gives 'em to
    _Lov._ and _Free_.

_L. Lam._ Here take these two Petitions, each of you one-- Poor
Fellows-- you may be gone, your Petitions will not be granted.

    Enter _Lambert_.

_Lam._ How now, my Dear, what Petitions?-- Friends, what's your
Bus'ness?

_L. Lam._ 'Tis enough we know their Business, Love, we are sufficient to
dispatch such Suiters, I hope.

_Lam._ Pardon me, my Dear, I thought no harm; but I saw you frown, and
that made me concern'd.

_L. Lam._ Frown! 'Twou'd make any Body frown, to hear the Impudence of
Gentlemen, these Cavaliers-- wou'd you think it, my Dear, if this Fellow
has not the Impudence to petition for the Thirds of his Estate again,
so justly taken from him for bearing Arms for the Man?--

_L. Des._ Nay, I'm inform'd, that they, but two Nights ago, in a Tavern,
drunk a Health to the Man too.

_Lam._ How durst you, Sirrah, approach my Lady with any such saucy
Address? you have receiv'd our Answer.

_Lov._ Death, I have scarce Patience.    [Aside.

_Free._ We knew, my Lord, the Influence your Ladies have over you, and
Women are more tender and compassionate naturally than Men; and, Sir,
'tis hard for Gentlemen to starve.

_L. Lam._ Have you not able Limbs? can ye not work?

_Lov._ Persons of our Education work!

_Lam._ Starve or beg then.

_L. Lam._ Education! why, I'll warrant there was that young Creature
they call the Duke of _Glocester_, was as well educated as any Lad in
the Parish; and yet you see he should have been bound Prentice to a
Handy-Crafts Trade, but that our Lords could not spare Money to bind him
out, and so they sent him to beg beyond Sea.

_Lov._ Death, I shall do Mischief: not all the Joy she gave me but now,
can atone for this Blasphemy against the Royal Youth.
    [Aside.

_Free._ Patience-- Well, my Lord, we find you are obdurate, and we'll
withdraw.

_Lam._ Do so: And if you dare presume to trouble us any more, I'll have
you whip'd, d'ye hear.

_L. Des._ Madam, I'll take my leave of your Ladyship.

    [Ex. _Lov._ _Free._ and L. _Des._

_L. Lam._ My Lord, 'twas I that ought to threaten 'em-- but you're so
forward still-- what makes you from the Committee?

_Lam._ I left some Papers behind.

_L. Lam._ And they'll make use of your Absence to set up _Fleetwood_
King.

_Lam._ I'll warrant ye, my Dear.

_L. Lam._ You'll warrant! you are a Fool, and a Coxcomb; I see I must go
my self, there will be no Bus'ness done till I thunder 'em together:
They want Old _Oliver_ amongst 'em, his Arbitrary Nod cou'd make ye all
tremble; when he wanted Power or Money, he need but cock in Parliament,
and lay his Hand upon his Sword, and cry, I must have Money, and had it,
or kick'd ye all out of Doors: And you are all mealy mouth'd, you cannot
cock for a Kingdom.

_Lam._ I'll warrant ye, Dear, I can do as good a thing for a Kingdom.

_L. Lam._ You can do nothing as you shou'd do't: You want Old _Oliver's_
Brains, Old _Oliver's_ Courage, and Old _Oliver's_ Counsel: Ah, what a
politick Fellow was little Sir _Anthony_! What a Head-piece was there!
What a plaguy Fellow Old _Thurlo_, and the rest! But get ye back, and
return me Protector at least, or never hope for Peace again.

_Lam._ My Soul, trouble not thy self, go in--
  _With mine no Power can equal be,
  And I will be a King to humour thee._    [Exeunt.




ACT III.


SCENE I. _A Council-Chamber, great Table, Chairs, and Papers._

    Enter two Clerks, who lay Papers in Order, and Doorkeeper.

_Door._ Come, haste, haste, the Lords are coming-- keep back there, room
for the Lords, room for the honourable Lords: Heav'n bless your Worships
Honours.

    Enter _Lambert_, _Fleetwood_, _Whitlock_, _Wariston_, discoursing
    earnestly; to them _Duckenfield_, _Cobbet_, _Hewson_, _Desbro_,
    and others; _Duck._ takes _Wariston_ by the Hand, and talks to him.

_War._ Bread a gued, Gentlemen, I's serv'd the Commonwealth long and
faithfully; I's turn'd and turn'd to aud Interest and aud Religions that
turn'd up Trump, and wons a me, but I's get naught but Bagery by my Sol;
I's noo put in for a Pansion as well as rest o ya Loones.

_Cob._ What we can serve you in, my Lord, you may command.

_Duc._ And I too, my Lord, when the Government is new moulded.

_War._ Wons, Sirs, and I's sa moold it, 'twas ne'er sa moolded sen the
Dam boon'd the Head on't.

_Duc._ I know there are some ambitious Persons that are for a single
Person; but we'll have hot Work e'er we yield to that.

_War._ The faud Diel take 'em then for _Archibald_; 'tis warse than
Monarchy.

_Duc._ A thousand times: have we with such Industry been pulling down
Kings of the Royal Family, to set up Tyrants of our own, of mean and
obscure Birth? No, if we're for a single Person, I'm for a lawful one.

_War._ Wons and ya have spoken aud, my Lord, so am I.

_Due._ But _Lambert_ has a busy, haughty Spirit, and thinks to carry it;
but we'll have no single Person.

_War._ Nor I, ods Bread; the faud Diel brest the Wem of _Lambert_, or
any single Person in _England_. I's for yare Interest, my gued Lords.
    [Bowing.

_Lam._ My Lord _Wariston_, will you please to assume the Chair?

    Enter _Loveless_, _Freeman_, and others with Petitions.

_War._ Ah, my gued Loord, I's yare most obedient humble Servant.
    [Bowing to _Lam._ all set.

_All._ Hum, hum.

_Fleet._ My Lords and Gentlemen, we are here met together in the Name of
the Lard--

_Duc._ Yea, and I hope we shall hang together as one Man-- A Pox upon
your Preaching.
    [Aside.

_Fleet._ --And hope this Day's great Work will be for his Praise and
Glory.

_Duc._ 'Bating long Graces, my Lord, we are met together for the
Bus'ness of the Nation, to settle it, and to establish a Government.

_Fleet._ Yea, verily: and I hope you will all unanimously agree,
it shall be your unworthy Servant.

_Lam._ What else, my Lord.

_Fleet._ And as thou, Lard, hast put the Sword into my Hand--

_Due._ So put it into your Heart-- my Lord, to do Justice.

_Fleet._ Amen.

_Due._ I'd rather see it there than in your Hand--    [Aside.

_Fleet._ For we are, as it were, a Body without a Head; or, to speak
more learnedly, an Animal inanimate.

_Hew._ My Lord, let us use, as little as we can, the Language of the
Beast, hard Words; none of your Eloquence, it savoureth of Monarchy.

_Lam._ My Lord, you must give Men of Quality leave to speak in a
Language more gentile and courtly than the ordinary sort of Mankind.

_Hew._ My Lord, I am sorry to hear there are any of Quality among this
honourable Dissembly.
    [Stands up.

_Cob._ Assembly, my Lord--

_Hew._ Well, you know my meaning; or if there be any such, I'm sorry
they should own themselves of Quality.

_Due._ How! own themselves Gentlemen! Death, Sir, d'ye think we were all
born Coblers?

_Hew._ Or if you were not, the more the pity, for little _England_,
I say.
    [In a heat.

_Fleet._ Verily, my Lords, Brethren should not fall out, it is a Scandal
to the good Cause, and maketh the wicked rejoice.

_War._ Wons, and theys garr the loosey Proverb on't te, _when loons gang
together by th' luggs, gued men get their ene._

_All._ He, he, he.

_Due._ He calls you Knaves by Craft, my Lords.

_War._ Bread a gued, take't among ye, Gentlemen, I's ment weel.

_Fleet._ I profess, my Lord _Wariston_, you make my Hair stand an end to
hear how you swear.

_War._ Wons, my Loord, I's swear as little as your Lordship, only I's
swear out, and ye swallow aud.

_Due._ There's a Bone for you to pick, my Lord.

_All._ He, he, he.

_Lam._ We give my Lord _Wariston_ leave to jest.

_Des._ But what's this to the Government all this while? A dad I shall
sit so late, I shall have no time to visit my Horses, therefore proceed
to the Point.

_Hew._ Ay, to the Point, my Lords; the Gentleman that spoke last spoke
well.

_Cob._ Well said, Brother, I see you will in time speak properly.

_Duc._ But to the Government, my Lords!    [Beats the Table.

_Lam._ Put 'em off of this Discourse, my Lord.    [Aside to _War._

_Des._ My Lord _Wariston_, move it, you are Speaker.

_War._ The Diel a me, Sirs, and noo ya talk of a Speaker, I's tell ye a
blithe Tale.

_Fleet._ Ingeniously, my Lord, you are to blame to swear so.

_Lam._ Your Story, my Lord.

_War._ By my Sol, mon, and there war a poor Woman the other Day, begg'd
o'th' Carle the Speaker, but he'd give her nought unless she'd let a
Feart; wons at last a Feart she lat. Ay marry, quoth the Woman, noo my
Rump has a Speaker te.

_All._ He, he, he.

_Due._ But to our Bus'ness--

_Des._ Bus'ness; ay, there's the thing, I've a World on't. I shou'd go
and bespeak a Pair of Mittins and Shears for my Hedger and Shearer,
a pair of Cards for my Thrasher, a Scythe for my Mower, and a Screen-Fan
for my Lady-Wife, and many other things; my Head's full of Bus'ness.
I cannot stay--

_Whit._ Fy, my Lord, will you neglect the bus'ness of the Day? We meet
to oblige the Nation, and gratify our Friends.

_Des._ Nay, I'll do any thing, so I may rise time enough to see my
Horses at Night.

_Lav._ Damn 'em, what stuff's here for a Council-Table?

_Free._ Where are our _English_ Spirits, that can be govern'd by such
Dogs as these?--

_Lam._ Clerk, read the Heads of what past at our last sitting.

_War._ In the first place, I must mind your Lordships tol consider those
that have been gued Members in the Commonwealth.

_Fleet._ We shall not be backward to gratify any that have serv'd the
Commonwealth.

_Whit._ There's Money enough; we have taxt the Nation high.

_Due._ Yes, if we knew where to find it: however, read.

_Clerk reads._] To _Walter Walton_, Draper, six thousand nine hundred
twenty nine Pounds six Shillings and five Pence, for Blacks for his
Highness's Funeral.

_Lam._ For the Devil's; put it down for _Oliver Cromwel's_ Funeral:
We'll have no Record rise up in Judgment for such a Villain.

_Lav._ How live Asses kick the dead Lion!    [Aside.

_Due._ Hark ye, my Lords, we sit here to reward Services done to the
Commonwealth; let us consider whether this be a Service to the
Commonwealth or not?

_Lam._ However, we will give him Paper for't.

_Hews._ Ay, let him get his Money when he can.

_Lam._ Paper's not so dear, and the Clerk's Pains will be rewarded.

_War._ Right, my gued Lord,'sbred, that _Cromwel_ was th' faudest limmer
Loon that ever cam into lour Country, the faud Diel has tane him by th'
Luggs for robbing our Houses and Land.

_Fleet._ No swearing, my Lord.

_War._ Weel, weel, my Loord, I's larne to profess and lee as weel as
best on ya.

_Hews._ That may bring you profit, my Lord-- but, Clerk, proceed.

_Clerk reads._] To _Walter Frost_, Treasurer of the Contingencies,
twenty thousand Pounds. To _Thurloe_, Secretary to his Highness--

_Duc._ To old _Noll_.

_Clerk reads._] --Old Noll, ten thousand Pounds, for unknown Service
done the Commonwealth-- To Mr. _Hutchinson_, Treasurer of the Navy, two
hundred thousand Pounds--

_War._ Two hundred thousand Pound; Owns, what a Sum's there?-- Marry it
came from the Mouth of a Cannon sure.

_Clerk reads._] A Present to the Right Honourable and truly Virtuous
Lady, the Lady _Lambert_, for Service done to the late Protector--

_Hews._ Again-- say _Cromwel_.

_Clerk._ --Cromwel-- six thousand Pound in _Jacobus's_.

_War._ 'Sbread, sike a Sum wou'd make me honour the Face of aud _Jemmy_.

_Clerk._ To Mr. _Ice_ six thousand Pound; to Mr. _Loether_, late
Secretary to his High--

_Whit._ To _Oliver Cromwel_ say, can you not obey Orders?

_Clerk._ --Secretary to _Oliver Cromwel_-- two thousand nine hundred
ninety nine Pounds for Intelligence and Information, and piously
betraying the King's Liege People.

_War._ Haud, haud, Sirs, Mary en ya gift se fast ya'll gif aud away from
poor _Archibald Johnson_.

_Whit._ Speak for your self, my Lord; or rather, my Lord, do you speak
for him.
    [To _Lam._

_Lam._ Do you move it for him, and I'll do as much for you anon.
    [Aside to _Whit._

_Whit._ My Lord, since we are upon Gratifications,-- let us consider the
known Merit of the Lord _Wariston_, a Person of industrious Mischiefs to
the malignant Party, and great Integrity to us, and the Commonwealth.

_War._ Gued faith, an I's ha been a trusty Trojon, Sir, what say you,
may very gued and gracious Loords?--

_Duc._ I scorn to let a Dog go unrewarded; and you, Sir, fawn so
prettily, 'tis pity you shou'd miss Preferment.

_Hews._ And so 'tis; come, come, my Lords, consider he was ever our
Friend, and 'tis but reasonable we shou'd stitch up one another's broken
Fortunes.

_Duc._ Nay, Sir, I'm not against it.

_All._ 'Tis Reason, 'tis Reason.

_Free._ Damn 'em, how they lavish out the Nation!

_War._ Scribe, pretha read my Paper.

_Hews._ Have you a Pertition there?

_Cob._ A Petition, my Lord.

_Hews._ Pshaw, you Scholards are so troublesome.

_Lam._ Read the Substance of it.    [To the Clerk.

_Clerk._ That your Honours wou'd be pleas'd, in consideration of his
Service, to grant to your Petitioner, a considerable Sum of Money for
his present Supply.

_Fleet._ Verily, order him two thousand Pound--

_War._ Two thousand poond? Bread a gued, and I's gif my Voice for
_Fleetwood_.
    [Aside.

_Lam._ Two thousand; nay, my Lords, let it be three.

_War._ Wons, I lee'd, I lee'd; I's keep my Voice for _Lambert_-- Guds
Benizon light on yar Sol, my gued Lord _Lambert._

_Hews._ Three thousand Pound! why such a Sum wou'd buy half _Scotland_.

_War._ Wons, my Lord, ya look but blindly on't then: time was, a Mite
on't had bought aud shoos in yar Stall, Brother, tho noo ya so abound in
_Irish_ and Bishops Lands.

_Duc._ You have nick'd him there, my Lord.

_All._ He, he, he.

_War._ Scribe-- gang a tiny bit farther.

_Clerk._ --And that your Honours would be pleas'd to confer an Annual
Pension on him--

_Lam._ Reason, I think; what say you, my Lords, of five hundred Pound a
Year?

_All._ Agreed, agreed.

_War._ The Diel swallow me, my Lord, ya won my Heart.

_Due._ 'Tis very well-- but out of what shall this be rais'd?

_Lam._ We'll look what Malignants' Estates are forfeit, undispos'd
of-- let me see-- who has young _Freeman's_ Estate?

_Des._ My Lord, that fell to me.

_Lam._ What all the fifteen hundred Pound a Year?

_Des._ A Dad, and all little enough.

_Free._ The Devil do him good with it.

_Des._ Had not the Lard put it into your Hearts to have given me two
thousand _per Annum_ out of Bishops Lands, and three thousand _per
Annum_ out of the Marquess's Estate; how shou'd I have liv'd and serv'd
the Commonwealth as I have done?

_Free._ A plague confound his Honour, he makes a hard shift to live on
Eight thousand Pound a Year, who was born and bred a Hedger.

_Lov._ Patience, Friend.

_Lam._ I have been thinking-- but I'll find out a way.

_Lov._ Or betray some honest Gentleman, on purpose to gratify the Loone.

_Lam._ And, Gentlemen, I am bound in Honour and Conscience to speak in
behalf of my Lord _Whitlock_; I think fit, if you agree with me, he
shou'd be made Constable of _Windsor_ Castle, Warden of the Forest, with
the Rents, Perquisities, and Profits thereto belonging; nor can your
Lordships confer a Place of greater Trust and Honour in more safe Hands.

_Due._ I find he wou'd oblige all to his side.    [Aside.
  Has he not part of the Duke of _Buckingham's Estate_ already, with
_Chelsey_ House, and several other Gifts?

_Lam._ He has dearly deserv'd 'em; he has serv'd our Interest well and
faithfully.

_Due._ And he has been well paid for't.

_Whit._ And so were you, Sir, with several Lordships, and Bishops Lands,
you were not born to, I conceive.

_Duc._ I have not got it, Sir, by knavish Querks in Law; a Sword that
deals out Kingdoms to the brave, has cut out some small parcels of Earth
for me. And what of this?
    [Stands up in a heat.

_Whit._ I think, Sir, he that talks well, and to th' purpose, may be as
useful to the Commonwealth as he that fights well. Why do we keep so
many else in Pension that ne'er drew Sword, but to talk, and rail at the
malignant Party; to libel and defame 'em handsomly, with pious useful
Lyes,
  Which pass for Gospel with the common Rabble,
  And edify more than _Hugh Peter's_ Sermons;
  And make Fools bring more Grist to the publick Mill.
  Then, Sir, to wrest the Law to our convenience
  Is no small, inconsiderate Work.

_Free._ And which you may be hang'd for very shortly--    [Aside.

_Lam._ 'Tis granted, my Lord, your Merit's infinite-- We made him Keeper
of the Great Seal, 'tis true, 'tis Honour, but no Salary.

_Duc._ Ten thousand Pound a Year in Bribes will do as well.

_Lam._ Bribes are not so frequent now as in Old _Noll's_ Days.

_Hews._ Well, my Lord, let us be brief and tedious, as the saying is,
and humour one another: I'm for _Whitlock's_ Advance.

_Lam._ I move for a Salary, Gentlemen, _Scobel_ and other petty Clerks
have had a thousand a Year; my Lord sure merits more.

_Hews._ Why-- let him have two thousand then.

_Fleet._ I profess ingeniously, with all my Heart.

_Whit._ I humbly thank your Lordships-- but, if I may be so bold to ask,
from whence shall I receive it?

_Lam._ Out of the Customs.

_Cob._ Brotherly Love ought to go along with us-- but, under favour,
when this is gone, where shall we raise new Supplies?

_Lam._ We'll tax the Nation high, the City higher, They are our Friends,
our most obsequious Slaves, Our Dogs to fetch and carry, our very
Asses--

_Lov._ And our Oxes, with the help of their Wives.    [Aside.

_Lam._ Besides, the City's rich, and near her time, I hope, of being
deliver'd.

_War._ Wons a gued, wad I'd the laying o' her, she shou'd be sweetly
brought to Bed, by my Sol.

_Des._ The City cares for no _Scotch_ Pipers, my Lord.

_War._ By my Sol, but she has danc'd after the gued Pipe of Reformation,
when the Covenant Jigg gang'd maryly round, Sirs.

_Clerk._ My Lords, here are some poor malignant Petitioners.

_Lam._ Oh, turn 'em out, here's nothing for 'em; these Fellows were
petitioning my Lady to day-- I thought she had given you a satisfactory
Answer,

_Lov._ She did indeed, my Lord: but 'tis a hard Case, to take away a
Gentleman's Estate, without convicting him of any Crime.

_Lam._ Oh, Sir, we shall prove that hereafter.

_Lov._ But to make sure Work, you'll hang a Man first and examine his
Offence afterwards; a Plague upon your Consciences: My Friend here had a
little fairer Play; your Villains, your Witnesses in Pension swore him a
Colonel for our glorious Master, of ever blessed Memory, at eight Years
old; a Plague upon their Miracles.

_Fleet._ Ingeniously, Sirrah, you shall be pillory'd for defaming our
reverend Witnesses: Guards, take 'em to your Custody both.

_Free._ Damn it, I shall miss my Assignation with Lady _Desbro_; a Pox
of your unnecessary prating, what shall I do?
    [Guards take 'em away.

_Lam._ And now, my Lords, we have finished the Business of the Day.
My good Lord _Fleetwood_, I am entirely yours, and at our next sitting
shall approve my self your Creature--

_Whit._ My good Lord, I am your submissive Vassal.

_War._ Wons, my Lord, I scorn any Man shou'd be mere yare Vassal than
Archibald Johnson.
    [To _Fleetwood_.

    [Ex. All.


SCENE II. _A Chamber in Lady _Desbro's_ House._

    Enter La. _Desbro_, and _Corporal_ in haste.

_L. Des._ Seiz'd on, secur'd! Was there no time but this? What made him
at the Committee, or when there why spoke he honest Truth? What shall I
do, good Corporal? Advise; take Gold, and see if you can corrupt his
Guards: but they are better paid for doing Mischief; yet try, their
Consciences are large.
    [Gives him Gold.

_Cor._ I'll venture my Life in so good a Cause, Madam.    [Exit.

    Enter _Tom_.

_Tom._ Madam, here's Mr. _Ananias Gogle_, the Lay-Elder of _Clement's_
Parish.

_L. Des._ Damn the sham Saint; am I now in Condition to be plagu'd with
his impertinent Nonsense?

_Tom._ Oh! Pray, Madam, hear him preach a little; 'tis the purest
Sport--

    Enter _Ananias_.

_Ana._ Peace be in this Place.

_L. Des._ A blessed hearing; he preaches nothing in his Conventicles,
but Blood and Slaughter.
    [Aside.
  What wou'd you, Sir? I'm something busy now.

_Ana._ Ah, the Children of the Elect have no Business but the great Work
of Reformation: Yea verily, I say, all other Business is profane, and
diabolical, and devilish; Yea, I say, these Dressings, Curls, and
Shining Habilliments-- which take so up your time, your precious time;
I say, they are an Abomination, yea, an Abomination in the sight of the
Righteous, and serve but as an _Ignis fatuus_, to lead vain Man
astray-- I say again--
    [Looking now and then behind on the Page.

_L. Des._ --You are a very Coxcomb.

_Ana._ I say again, that even I, upright I, one of the new Saints, find
a sort of a-- a-- I know not what-- a kind of a Motion as it were--
a stirring up-- as a Man may say, to wickedness-- Yea, verily it
corrupteth the outward Man within me.

_L. Des._ Is this your Business, Sir, to rail against our Clothes, as if
you intended to preach me into my Primitive Nakedness again?

_Ana._ Ah, the naked Truth is best; but, Madam, I have a little work of
Grace to communicate unto you, please you to send your Page away--

_L. Des._ Withdraw-- sure I can make my Party good with one wicked
Elder:-- Now, Sir, your Bus'ness.
    [Ex. _Tom._
  --Be brief.

_Ana._ As brief as you please-- but-- who in the sight of so much
Beau - - ty-- can think of any Bus'ness but the Bus'ness-- Ah! hide
those tempting Breasts,-- Alack, how smooth and warm they are--
    [Feeling 'em, and sneering.

_L. Des._ How now, have you forgot your Function?

_Ana._ Nay, but I am mortal Man also, and may fall seven times a
day-- Yea verily, I may fall seven times a day-- Your Ladyship's Husband
is old,-- and where there is a good excuse for falling,-- ah, there the
fall-- ing-- is excusable.-- And might I but fall with your Ladyship,--
might I, I say.--

_L. Des._ How, this from you, the Head o' th' Church Militant, the very
Pope of Presbytery?

_Ana._ Verily, the Sin lieth in the Scandal; therefore most of the
discreet pious Ladies of the Age chuse us, upright Men, who make a
Conscience of a Secret, the Laity being more regardless of their
Fame.-- In sober sadness, the Place-- inviteth, the Creature tempting,
and the Spirit very violent within me.
    [Takes and ruffles her.

_L. Des._ Who waits there?-- I'm glad you have prov'd your self what I
ever thought of all your pack of Knaves.

_Ana._ Ah, Madam! Do not ruin my Reputation; there are Ladies of high
Degree in the Commonwealth, to whom we find our selves most comforting;
why might not you be one?-- for, alas, we are accounted as able Men in
Ladies Chambers, as in our Pulpits: we serve both Functions--

    Enter Servants.

Hah! her Servants--    [Stands at a distance.

_L. Des._ Shou'd I tell this, I shou'd not find belief.    [Aside.

_Ana._ Madam, I have another Errand to your Ladiship.-- It is the Duty
of my Occupation to catechize the Heads of every Family within my
Diocese; and you must answer some few Questions I shall ask.-- In the
first place, Madam,-- Who made ye?

_L. Des._ So, from Whoring, to a zealous Catechism-- who made me? what
Insolence is this, to ask me Questions which every Child that lisps out
Words can answer!

_Ana._ 'Tis our Method, Madam.

_L. Des._ Your Impudence, Sirrah,-- let me examine your Faith, who are
so sawcy to take an account of mine-- Who made you? But lest you shou'd
not know, I will inform you: First, Heav'n made you a deform'd,
ill-favour'd Creature; then the Rascal your Father made you a Taylor;
next, your Wife made you a Cuckold; and lastly the Devil has made you a
Doctor; and so get you gone for a Fool and a Knave all over.

_Ana._ A Man of my Coat affronted thus!

_L. Des._ It shall be worse, Sirrah, my Husband shall know how kind you
wou'd have been to him, because your Disciple and Benefactor, to have
begot him a Babe of Grace for a Son and Heir.

_Ana._ Mistake not my pious meaning, most gracious Lady.

_L. Des._ I'll set you out in your Colours: Your impudent and bloody
Principles, your Cheats, your Rogueries on honest Men, thro their kind,
deluded Wives, whom you cant and goggle into a Belief, 'tis a great work
of Grace to steal, and beggar their whole Families, to contribute to
your Gormandizing, Lust and Laziness; Ye Locusts of the Land, preach
Nonsense, Blasphemy, and Treason, till you sweat again, that the
sanctify'd Sisters may rub you down, to comfort and console the
Creature.

_Ana._ Ah! Am--

_L. Des._ Sirrah, be gone, and trouble me no more-- be gone-- yet
stay-- the Rogue may be of use to me-- Amongst the heap of Vice,
Hypocrisy, and Devils that possess all your Party, you may have some
necessary Sin; I've known some honest, useful Villains amongst you, that
will swear, profess, and lye devoutedly for the Good Old Cause.

_Ana._ Yea, verily, I hope there are many such, and I shou'd rejoice,
yea, exceedingly rejoice in any Gadly Performance to your Ladiship.

_L. Des._ This is a pious Work: You are a Knave of Credit, a very Saint
with the rascally Rabble, with whom your seditious Cant more prevails,
your precious Hum and Ha, and gifted Nonsense, than all the Rhetorick of
the Learn'd or Honest.

_Ana._ Hah!

_L. Des._ --In fine, I have use of your Talent at present, there's one
now in Confinement of the Royal Party-- his Name's _Freeman_.

_Ana._ And your Ladiship wou'd have him dispatch'd; I conceive ye-- but
wou'd you have him dispatch'd privately, or by Form of Law? we've Tools
for all uses, and 'tis a pious Work, and meritorious.

_L. Des._ Right, I wou'd indeed have him dispatch'd, and privately; but
'tis hither privately, hither to my Chamber, privately, for I have
private Bus'ness with him. D'ye start?-- this must be done-- for you can
pimp I'm sure upon occasion, you've Tools for all uses; come, resolve,
or I'll discover your bloody Offer. Is your Stomach so queasy it cannot
digest Pimping, that can swallow Whoring, false Oaths, Sequestration,
Robbery, Rapes, and Murders daily?

_Ana._ Verily, you mistake my pious Meaning; it is the Malignant I stick
at; the Person, not the Office: and in sadness, Madam, it goeth against
my tender Conscience to do any good to one of the Wicked.

_L. Des._ It must stretch at this time; go haste to the Guard, and
demand him in my Husband's Name; here's something worth your Pains--
having releas'd him, bring him to me, you understand me-- go bid him be
diligent, and as you behave your self, find my Favour; for know, Sir,
I am as great a Hypocrite as you, and know the Cheats of your Religion
too; and since we know one another, 'tis like we shall be true.

_Ana._ But shou'd the Man be missing, and I call'd to account?--

_L. Des._ He shall be return'd in an hour: go, get you gone, and bring
him, or-- no more--
    [Ex. _Ana._
  For all degrees of Vices, you must grant,
  There is no Rogue like your _Geneva_ Saint.    [Exeunt.




ACT IV.


SCENE I. _A Chamber in La. _Desbro's_ House. Candles, and Lights._

    Enter L. _Desbro_ and _Freeman_.

_L. Des._ By what strange Miracle, my dearest _Freeman_, wert thou set
at liberty?

_Free._ On the zealous Parole of _Rabbie Ananias_; that Rhetorick that
can convert whole Congregations of well-meaning Blockheads to errant
Knaves, has now mollify'd my Keeper; I'm to be render'd back within this
Hour: let's not, my dear _Maria_, lose the precious minutes this
Reverend Hypocrite has given us.

_L. Des._ Oh! you are very gay, have you forgot whose Prisoner you are,
and that perhaps, e'er many Days are ended, they may hang you for
High-Treason against the Commonwealth? they never want a good
thorow-stitch'd Witness to do a Murder lawfully.

_Free._ No matter, then I shall die with Joy, _Maria_, when I consider,
that you lov'd so well to give me the last Proof on't.

_L. Des._ Are you in earnest, _Freeman_? and wou'd you take what Honour
will not suffer me to grant?

_Free._ With all my Heart, Honour's a poor Excuse. Your Heart and Vows
(your better part) are mine; you've only lent your Body out to one whom
you call Husband, and whom Heaven has mark'd for Cuckoldom. Nay, 'tis an
Act of honest Loyalty, so to revenge our Cause; whilst you were only
mine, my honest Love thought it a Sin to press these Favours from you;
'twas injuring my self as well as thee; but now we only give and take
our Right.

_L. Des._ No more, my Husband's old--

_Free._ Right, my dear _Maria_, and therefore--

_L. Des._ --May possibly die--

_Free._ He will be hang'd first.

_L. Des._ --I hope so-- either of which will do our Bus'ness--
unreasonable _Freeman_, not to have Patience till my Husband be
hang'd a little.

_Free._ But what if Destiny put the Change upon us, and I be hang'd
instead of _Desbro_?

_L. Des._ Why then thou art not the first gallant Fellow that has died
in the Good and Royal Cause; and a small taste of Happiness will but
turn thee off the Ladder with the sadder Heart.

_Free._ Hast thou the Conscience, lovely as thou art,
  To deal out all thy Beauty to a Traitor?
  Is not this Treason of the highest Nature,
  To rob the Royal Party of such Treasure,
  And give it to our mortal Enemies?
  For Shame, be wise, and just,
  And do not live a Rebel to our Cause;
  'Tis Sin enough to have Society with such a wicked Race.

_L. Des._ But I am married to him.

_Free._ So much the worse, to make a League and Covenant with such
Villains, and keep the sinful Contract; a little harmless Lying and
Dissimulation I'll allow thee, but to be right down honest, 'tis the
Devil.

_L. Des._ This will not do, it never shall be said I've been so much
debauch'd by Conventicling to turn a sainted Sinner; No, I'm true to my
Allegiance still, true to my King and Honour. Suspect my Loyalty when I
lose my Virtue: a little time, I'm sure, will give me honestly into thy
Arms; if thou hast Bravery, shew it in thy Love.

_Free._ You will o'ercome, and shame me every way;-- but when will this
Change come? and till it do, what Pawn will you give me, I shall be
happy then?

_L. Des._ My Honour, and that Happiness you long for, and take but two
Months time for their Redemption.

_Free._ How greedily I'll seize the Forfeiture!

_L. Des._ But what am I like to get if this Change do come?

_Free._ A Slave, and whatever you please to make of him.

_L. Des._ Who knows, in such an universal Change, how you may alter too?

_Free._ I'll give ye Bond and Vows, unkind _Maria_,-- Here take my
Hand-- Be it known unto all Men, by these Presents, that I, _John
Freeman_ of _London_, Gent, acknowledge my self in Debt to _Maria
Desbro_, the Sum of one Heart, with an incurable Wound; one Soul,
destin'd hers from its first Being; and one Body, whole, sound, and in
perfect Health; which I here promise to pay to the said _Maria_, upon
Demand, if the aforesaid _John Freeman_ be not hang'd before such Demand
made. Whereto I set my Hand-- and seal it with my Lips.
    [In a Tone.

_L. Des._ And I, in consideration of such Debt, do freely give unto the
abovesaid _John Freeman_, the Heart and Body of the abovesaid _Maria
Desbro_, with all Appurtenances thereto belonging, whenever it shall
please Heaven to bring my Husband fairly to the Gallows.
    [In a Tone.

_Free._ Amen-- kiss the Book--    [Kisses her.

    [Ana. hums without.

_L. Des._ Hah! that's _Ananias_; sure some Danger's near, the necessary
Rascal gives us notice of.

_Free._ 'Tis so, what wouldst thou have me do?

_L. Des._ Thou art undone if seen-- here, step within this Curtain.
    [He goes.

    Enter _Ananias_, humming, and spreading his Cloak wide; _Desbro_
    behind him, puffing in a Chafe.

_Des._ Ads nigs, what a Change is here like to be?-- puff, puff-- we
have manag'd Matters sweetly-- to let the _Scotch_ General undermine us;
puff, puff.

_L. Des._ What's the Matter?

_Des._ Nothing, Cockey, nothing, but that we are like to return to our
first nothing.

_Ana._ Yea, verily, when our time's come; but ah, the great Work of
Reformation is not yet fully accomplish'd, which must be wrought by the
Saints, and we cannot spare one of them until the Work be finish'd.

_Des._ Yea, yea, it is finish'd I doubt, puff, puff: fie, fie, what a
Change is here!

_Ana._ Patience, ah, 'tis a precious Virtue!--

_Des._ Patience, Sir! what, when I shall lose so many fine Estates which
did appertain to the Wicked; and which, I trusted, had been establish'd
ours, and tell'st thou me of Patience? puff, puff.
    [Walking fast.

_Ana._ How! lose 'em, Sir? handle the matter with Patience; I hope the
Committee of Safety, or the Rump, will not do an illegal thing to one of
the Brethren.

_Des._ No, no, I have been a trusty Knave to them, and so I have found
them all to me: but _Monk! Monk!_ O that ever we should be such blind
Fools to trust an honest General!

_Ana._ Patience, Sir! what of him?

_Des._ I just now receiv'd private Intelligence, he's coming out of
_Scotland_ with his Forces-- puff, puff.

_Ana._ Why, let him come a Gad's Name, we have those will give him a
civil Salute, if he mean not honourably to the Commonwealth. Patience,
Sir.

_Des._ But if he proves the stronger, and shou'd chance to be so great a
Traitor to us, to bring in the Man-- the King.

_L. Des._ How, the King, Husband! the great Heroick!

_Free._ Death, this Woman is a Sybil: ah, noble _Monk_!

_Ana._ Hum-- the King!--

_Des._ Ah, and with the King, the Bishops; and then, where's all our
Church and Bishops Lands! oh, undone-- puff, puff.

_Ana._ How, bring in the King and Bishops! my righteous Spirit is raised
too-- I say, I will excommunicate him for one of the Wicked, yea, for a
profane Heroick, a Malignant, a Tory,-- a-- I say, we will surround him,
and confound him with a mighty Host; yea, and fight the Lard's Battel
with him: yea, we will--

_Des._ Truckle to his Pow'r-- puff, puff.

_Ana._ Nay, I say verily, nay; for, in Sadness, I will die in my
Calling.

_Des._ So I doubt shall I-- which is Ploughing, Hedging, and Ditching.

_Ana._ Yea, we have the Sword of the Righteous in our Hand, and we will
defend the mighty Revenues of the Church, which the Lard hath given unto
his People, and chosen ones-- I say, we will defend--

_Des._ Ah, Patience, Sir, ah, 'tis a pious Virtue--

_Ana._ Ah, it is Zeal in one of us, the Out-goings of the Spirit.

    Enter _Tom_.

_Tom._ Sir, will you go down to Prayers? the Chaplain waits.

_Des._ No, no, Boy, I am too serious for that Exercise, I cannot now
dissemble, Heav'n forgive me.

_Ana._ How, Sir, not dissemble-- ah, then you have lost a great Virtue
indeed, a very great Virtue; ah, let us not give away the Good Old
Cause-- but, as we have hitherto maintain'd it by gadly Cozenage, and
pious Frauds, let us persevere-- ah, let us persevere to the end; let us
not lose our Heritage for a Mess of Pottage, that is, let us not lose
the Cause for Dissimulation and Hypocrisy, those two main Engines that
have earned on the great Work.

_Des._ Verily, you have prevail'd, and I will go take counsel of my
Pillow: Boy-- call my Man to undress me-- I'll to Bed, for I am sick at
Heart.
    [Ex. _Tom._

_Free._ Death, what shall I do now?

    [Des._ walks, she whispers _Ana.

_L. Des._ You must get my Man off, or we're undone.

_Ana._ Madam, be comforted, Heaven will bring all things about for our
Advantage--
    [As _Des._ turns.

_L. Des._ But he's behind the Curtains, Man--

    [Des. turns from 'em.

_Ana._ Ah, let Providence alone--  [Spreads his Cloak wide, and goes by
degrees toward the Bed.]  --Your pious Lady, Sir, is doubtful, but I
will give her ample Satisfaction.

_Des._ Ah, do, Mr. _Ananias_, do, for she's a good and virtuous Lady,
_certo_ she is.

    [Ana. goes close to the Bed-post, and speaks over his Shoulder.

_Ana._ Get ye behind my Cloak--

_L. Des._ Indeed, Sir, your Counsel and Assistance is very comfortable.

_Ana._ We should be Help-meets to one another, Madam.

_Des._ Alack, good Man!

    [L. _Des._ goes to coax her Husband.

_L. Des._ Ay, my dear, I am so much oblig'd to him, that I know not,
without thy Aid, how to make him amends.

_Free._ So, this is the first Cloak of Zeal I ever made use of.

    [Ana._ going, spreading his Cloak, to the Door; _Free. behind goes
    out.

_Des._ Good Lady, give him his twenty pieces, adad, he worthily deserves
'em.
    [Gives her Gold.

_L. Des._ Indeed, and so he does, Dear, if thou knew'st all.-- What say
you now, do I not improve in Hypocrisy? And shall I not in time make a
precious Member of your Church?
    [To _Ana._

_Ana._ Verily, your Ladyship is most ingenious and expert.-- Sir, I most
humbly take my leave.
    [Ex. _Ana._

    Enter _Tom_.

_Tom._ My Lord, my Lord _Lambert_ has sent in all haste for you, you
must attend at his House immediately.

_Des._ So, he has heard the News-- I must away-- let my Coach be ready.
    [Ex. _Des._

_L. Des._ How unlucky was this that _Freeman_ should be gone-- Sirrah,
run and see to o'ertake him, and bring him back.
    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. _A fine Chamber in La. _Lambert's_ House._

    Enter _Gilliflower_ and _Loveless_ by dark, richly drest.

_Lov._ Where am I, _Gilliflower_?

_Gill._ In my Lady's Apartment, Sir, she'll be with you presently; you
need not fear betraying, Sir, for I'll assure you I'm an Heroick in my
Heart: my Husband was a Captain for his Majesty of ever-blessed Memory,
and kill'd at Naseby, God be thanked, Sir.

_Lov._ What pity 'tis that thou shouldst serve this Party?

_Gill._ Bating her Principles, my Lady has good Nature enough to oblige
a Servant; and truly, Sir, my Vails were good in old _Oliver's_ Days;
I got well by that Amour between him and my Lady; the man was lavish
enough.

_Lov._ Yes, of the Nation's Treasure-- but prithee tell me, is not thy
Lady mad, raving on Crowns and Kingdoms?

_Gill._ It appears so to you, who are not us'd to the Vanity of the
Party, but they are all so mad in their Degree, and in the Fit they talk
of nothing else, Sir: we have tomorrow a Hearing as they call it.

_Lov._ What's that, a Conventicle?

_Gill._ No, no, Sir, Ladies of the last Edition, that present their
Grievances to the Council of Ladies, of which my Lady's chief, which
Grievances are laid open to the Committee of Safety, and so redress'd or
slighted, as they are.

_Lov._ That must be worth one's Curiosity, could one but see't.

_Gill._ We admit no Man, Sir.

_Lov._ 'Sdeath, for so good a sight I will turn Woman, I'll act it to a
hair.

_Gill._ That would be excellent.

_Lov._ Nay, I must do't; the Novelty is rare-- but I'm impatient--
prithee let thy Lady know I wait.

_Gill._ She's in Affairs of State, but will be here immediately; mean
time, retire into her Cabinet, I'll send the Page with Lights, there you
may repose till my Lady comes, on the Pallat.
    [She leads him out.


SCENE III. _A great Chamber of State, and Canopy in _Lambert's_ House._

    And at a Table, seated _Lambert_, _Fleetwood_, _Desbro_, _Hewson_,
    _Duckenfield_, _Wariston_, _Cobbet_; all half drunk, with Bottles
    and Glasses on the Table; L. _Lam._ and L. _Fleet._

_Lam._ My Lord _Wariston_, you are not merry to night.

_War._ Wons, Mon, this _Monk_ sticks in my Gullet, the muckle Diel pull
him out by th' Lugs; the faud Loone will en spoyle and our Sport, mon.

_Lam._ I thought I had enough satisfied all your Fears; the Army's mine,
that is,-- 'tis yours, my Lords, and I'll imploy it too so well for the
Good of the Commonwealth, you shall have Cause to commend both my
Courage and Conduct; my Lord _Wariston_, will you accompany me?

_War._ Ah, my gued Lord, the Honour is too great. 'Tis not but I's dare
fight, my Lord, but I love not the limmer Loone, he has a villanous
honest Face an's ene; I's ken'd him ence, and lik't him not; but I's
drink tol yar gued Fortune; let it gang aboote, ene and ad, Sirs.
    [All drink.

_Lam._ We'll leave all Discourse of Bus'ness, and give our selves to
Mirth; I fancy good Success from this day's Omen.

    Enters _Gill_, whispers L. _Lam._ she rises.

_L. Lam._ Waited so long!

_Gill._ And grew impatient, an't please your Highness; must I go tell
him you cannot see him to night.

_L. Lam._ Not for the World; my silly Politician will be
  Busying himself in the dull Affairs of State;
  --Dull in comparison of Love, I mean;
  I never lov'd before; old _Oliver_ I suffer'd for my Interest,
  And 'tis some Greatness, to be Mistress to the best;
  But this mighty Pleasure comes _a propos_,
  To sweeten all the heavy Toils of Empire.

_Gill._ So it does, an't please your Highness.

_L. Lam._ Go, let him know I'm coming-- Madam, I must beg your Pardon;
you hear, my Lord to morrow goes on his great Expedition; and, for any
thing we know, may fall a glorious Sacrifice to the Commonwealth;
therefore 'tis meet I offer up some Prayers for his Safety, and all my
leisure Hours 'twixt this and that, will be too few-- Your humble
Servant, Madam.
    [Ex. L. _Lam._ and _Gill._

_L. Fleet._ My Dear, I'll leave you too, my time of Devotion is come,
and Heav'n will stay for no Body; where are my People? is my Coach
ready, or my Chair?

_Fleet._ Go in your Chair, my Love, lest you catch cold.

_L. Fleet._ And light your Flambeaus,-- I love to have my Chair
surrounded with Flambeaus.

    Enter _Page_.

_Page._ Your Chair is ready, Madam.

    [She goes out led by _Fleet_.

_Hews._ What think ye now, my Lords, of settling the Nation a little?
I find my Head swim with Politicks, and what ye call ums.

_War._ Wons, and wad ya settle the Nation when we real our selves?

_Hews._ Who, pox, shall we stand making Childrens Shoes all the Year?
No, no, let's begin to settle the Nation, I say, and go thro-stitch with
our Work.

_Duc._ Right, we have no Head to obey; so that if this _Scotch_ General
do come whilst we Dogs fight for the Bone, he runs away with it.

_Hews._ Shaw, we shall patch up matters with the _Scotch_ General, I'll
warrant you: However, here's to our next Head-- One and all.
    [All drink.

_Fleet._ Verily, Sirs, this Health-drinking savoureth of Monarchy, and
is a Type of Malignancy.

_War._ Bread, my Lord, no preaching o'er yar Liquer, wee's now for a Cup
o' th' Creature.

_Cob._ In a gadly way you may; it is lawful.

_Lam._ Come, come, we're dull, give us some Musick-- come, my Lord, I'll
give you a Song, I love Musick as I do a Drum, there's Life and Soul
in't, call my Musick.

_Fleet._ Yea, I am for any Musick, except an Organ.

_War._ Sbread, Sirs, and I's for a Horn-pipe, I've a faud Theefe here
shall dance ye Dance tol a Horn-pipe, with any States-man a ya aud.

_All._ He, he, he.

_Duc._ I know not what your faud Theefe can do; but I'll hold you a
Wager, Colonel _Hewson_, and Colonel _Desbro_ shall dance ye the Seint's
Jigg with any Sinner of your Kirk, or field Conventicler.

_War._ Wons, and I's catch 'em at that Sport, I's dance tol 'em for a
_Scotch_ Poond; but farst yar Song, my Lord, I hope 'tis boody, or else
'tis not werth a Feart.

_All._ He, he, he.

SONG, sung by my Lord _Lambert_.

  _A Pox of the States-man that's witty,
  That watches and plots all the sleepless Night,
  For seditious Harangues to the _Whigs_ of the City,
  And piously turns a Traitor in spite.
  Let him wrack, and torment his lean Carrion,
  To bring his sham-Plots about,
  Till Religion, King, Bishop, and Baron,
  For the publick Good, be quite routed out._

  _Whilst we that are no Politicians,
  But Rogues that are resolute, bare-fac'd and great,
  Boldly head the rude Rabble in open Sedition,
  Bearing all down before us in Church and in State.
  Your Impudence is the best State-trick,
  And he that by Law means to rule,
  Let his History with ours be related,
  Tho we prove the Knaves, 'tis he is the Fool._

_War._ The Diel a me, wele sung, my Lord, and gen aud Trades fail, yas
make a quaint Minstrel.

_All._ He, he, he.

_War._ Noo, Sirs, yar Dance?  [They fling Cushions at one another, and
grin. Musick plays.]  --Marry, Sirs, an this be yar dancing, tol dance
and ne'er stir Stap, the Diel lead the Donce for _Archibald_.

    [When they have flung Cushions thus a while to the Musick time,
    they beat each other from the Table, one by one, and fall into
    a godly Dance; after a while, _Wariston_ rises, and dances
    ridiculously a while amongst them; then to the Time of the Tune,
    they take out the rest, as at the Cushion-Dance, or in that
    nature. _Wariston_ being the last taken in, leads the rest.

--Haud, Minstrels, haud; Bread a gued. I's fatch ad Ladies in-- lead
away, Minstrels, tol my Lady's Apartment.

    [Musick playing before all.

    [Exeunt dancing.


SCENE IV. _Flat._

    Enter _Page_.

_Page._ _Cock_, Here must I wait, to give my Lady notice when my Lord
approaches;-- The fine Gentleman that is alone with her, gave me these
two fine Pieces of Gold, and bad me buy a Sword to fight for the King
withal; and I'm resolv'd to lay it all out in a Sword, not a penny in
Nickers, and fight for the Heroicks as long as I have a Limb, if they be
all such fine Men as this within. But hark, sure I hear some coming.--
    [Exit.

    [Flat Scene draws off, discovers L. _Lam._ on a Couch, with
    _Loveless_, tying a rich Diamond-Bracelet about his Arm: a Table
    behind with Lights, on which a Velvet Cushion, with a Crown and
    Scepter cover'd.

_Lov._ This Present's too magnificent: such Bracelets young Monarchs
shou'd put on.

_L. Lam._ Persons like me, when they make Presents, Sir, must do it for
their Glory, not considering the Merit of the Wearer: yet this, my
charming _Loveless_, comes short of what I ought to pay thy Worth; comes
short too of my Love.

_Lov._ You bless me, Madam--

_L. Lam._ This the great Monarch of the World once ty'd about my Arm,
and bad me wear it, till some greater Man shou'd chance to win my Heart;
  Thou art that Man whom Love has rais'd above him;
  Whom every Grace and every Charm thou hast
  Conspire to make thee mightier to my Soul;
  And _Oliver_, illustrious _Oliver_,
  Was yet far short of thee.

_Lov._ He was the Monarch then whose Spoils I triumph in.

_L. Lam._ They were design'd too for Trophies to the young and gay.
  Ah, _Loveless_! that I cou'd reward thy Youth
  With something that might make thee more than Man,
  As well as to give the best of Women to thee--
    [Rises, takes him by the Hand, leads him to the Table. He starts.
  --Behold this gay, this wondrous glorious thing.

_Lov._ Hah-- a Crown-- and Scepter!
  Have I been all this while
  So near the sacred Relicks of my King;
  And found no awful Motion in my Blood,
  Nothing that mov'd sacred Devotion in me?    [Kneels.
    --Hail sacred Emblem of great Majesty,
  Thou that hast circled more Divinity
  Than the great Zodiack that surrounds the World.
  I ne'er was blest with sight of thee till now,
  But in much reverenc'd Pictures--    [Rises and bows.

_L. Lam._ Is't not a lovely thing?

_Lov._ There's such Divinity i' th' very Form on't,
  Had I been conscious I'd been near the Temple,
  Where this bright Relick of the glorious Martyr
  Had been enshrin'd, 't had spoil'd my soft Devotion.
  --'Tis Sacrilege to dally where it is;
  A rude, a saucy Treason to approach it
  With an unbended Knee: for Heav'ns sake, Madam,
  Let us not be profane in our Delights,
  Either withdraw, or hide that glorious Object.

_L. Lam._ Thou art a Fool, the very sight of this--
  Raises my Pleasure higher:
  Methinks I give a Queen into thy Arms,
  And where I love I cannot give enough;    [Softly.
  --Wou'd I cou'd set it on thy Head for ever,
  'Twou'd not become my simple Lord
  The thousandth part so well.
    [Goes to put it on his Head, he puts it back.

_Lov._ Forbear, and do not play with holy things;
  Let us retire, and love as Mortals shou'd,
  Not imitate the Gods, and spoil our Joys.

_L. Lam._ Lovely, and unambitious!
  What hopes have I of all your promis'd Constancy,
  Whilst this which possibly e'er long may adorn my Brow,
  And ought to raise me higher in your Love,
  Ought to transform you even to Adoration,
  Shall poorly make you vanish from its Lustre?
  Methinks the very Fancy of a Queen
  Is worth a thousand Mistresses of less illustrious Rank.

_Lov._ What, every pageant Queen? you might from thence infer
  I'd fall in love with every little Actress, because
  She acts the Queen for half an hour,
  But then the gaudy Robe is laid aside.

_L. Lam._ I'll pardon the Comparison in you.

_Lov._ I do not doubt your Power of being a Queen,
  But trust, it will not last.
  How truly brave would your great Husband be,
  If, whilst he may, he paid this mighty Debt
  To the right Owner!
  If, whilst he has the Army in his Power,
  He made a true and lawful use of it,
  To settle our great Master in his Throne;
  And by an Act so glorious raise his Name
  Even above the Title of a King.

_L. Lam._ You love me not, that would persuade me from My Glory.

    Enter _Gilliflower_.

_Gill._ Oh, Madam, the Lords are all got merry, as they call it, and are
all dancing hither.

_L. Lam._ What, at their _Oliverian_ Frolicks?-- Dear _Loveless_,
withdraw, I wou'd not give the fond believing Fool a Jealousy of me.

_Gill._ Withdraw, Madam? 'tis impossible, he must run just into their
Mouths.

_L. Lam._ I'm ill at these Intrigues, being us'd to Lovers that still
came with such Authority, that modestly my Husband wou'd withdraw-- but
Loveless is in danger, therefore take care he be not seen.

_Gill._ Heav'ns! they are coming, there's no Retreat--

_L. Lam._ Lie down on the Couch-- and cover him you with the
Foot-Carpet-- So, give me my Prayer-Book.

    [He lies down along on the Couch, they cover him with the Carpet:
    L. _Lam._ takes her Book, sits down on his Feet, and leans on the
    Back of the Couch reading; _Gill._ stands at t'other end, they
    enter dancing as before.

--What Insolence is this? do you not hear me, you-- Sots-- whom Gaiety
and Dancing do so ill become.

_War._  [Singing.]  Welcome, _Joan Sanderson_, welcome, welcome.
    [Goes to take her out, she strikes him.
  Wons, Madam, that's no part o' th' Dance.

_L. Lam._ No, but 'tis part of a reward for your Insolence, Which
possibly your Head shall answer for--

_Lam._ Pardon him, my Dear, he meant no Disrespect to thee.

_L. Lam._ How dare you interrupt my Devotion, Sirrah? Be gone with all
your filthy ill-bred Crew.

    [_Lam._ sits down on _Lov._

_Lam._ My only Dear, be patient; hah!-- Something moves under me;
Treason, Treason!
    [He rises.

    [_Lov._ rolls off, and turns _Lam._ over, the rest of the Men run
    out crying Treason, Treason, overthrowing the Lights, putting 'em
    out.

_L. Lam._ Treason, Treason! my Lord, my Lord!

_Lam._ Lights there, a Plot, a Popish Plot, Lights!

_L. Lam._ The Crown, the Crown, guard the Crown!
    [She groping about, finds _Lov._ by his Clothes, knows him.
  --Here, take this Key, the next room is my Bed-chamber, Secure
yourself a moment.--
    [Ex. _Loveless_.
  Lights there, the Crown-- who art thou?
    [Takes hold of _Lam._

_Lam._ 'Tis I.

_L. Lam._ Ah, my Lord, what's the matter?--

_Lam._ Nay, my Lady, I ask you what's the matter?

    Enter _Page_ with Lights.

By Heaven, all is not well; hark ye, my fine she Politician, who was it
you had hid beneath this Carpet?

_L. Lam._ Heav'ns! dost hear him, _Gilliflower_? Sure the Fellow's mad.

_Gill._ Alack, my Lord, are you out of your honourable Wits? Heav'n
knows, my Lady was at her Devotion.

_Lam._ Baud, come, confess thy self to be one. At her Devotion! yes,
with a He Saint.

_Gill._ Ah! Gad forbid the Saints should be so wicked.

_L. Lam._ Hark ye, thou little sniveling Hypocrite, who hast no Virtue
but a little Conduct in Martial Discipline; who hast by Perjuries,
Cheats, and pious Villanies, wound thy self up into the Rabble's Favour,
where thou mayst stand till some more great in Roguery remove thee from
that height, or to the Gallows, if the King return: hast thou the
Impudence to charge my Virtue?

_Lam._ I know not, Madam, whether that Virtue you boast were lost, or
only stak't, and ready for the Gamester; but I am sure a Man was hid
under this Carpet.

_L. Lam._ Oh Heav'ns, a Man!

_Gill._ Lord, a Man! Are you sure 'twas a Man, my Lord?-- Some villanous
Malignant, I'll warrant.

_Lam._ It may be so.

_Gill._ Alack, the Wickedness of these Heroicks to hide under Carpets;
why they'l have the impudence to hide under our Petticoats shortly,
if your Highness take 'em not down.
    [To Lady _Lam._

_Lam._ I do believe so; Death-- a Cuckold? shall that black Cloud shade
all my rising Fame?

_L. Lam._ Cuckold! Why, is that Name so great a Stranger to ye,
  Or has your rising Fame made ye forget
  How long that Cloud has hung upon your Brow?
  --'Twas once the height of your Ambition, Sir;
  When you were a poor-sneaking Slave to _Cromwell_,
  Then you cou'd cringe, and sneer, and hold the Door,
  And give him every Opportunity,
  Had not my Piety defeated your Endeavours.

_Lam._ That was for Glory,
  Who wou'd not be a Cuckold to be great?
  --If _Cromwell_ leap'd into my Saddle once,
  I'll step into his Throne for't: but, to be pointed at
  By Rascals that I-- rule-- 'tis insupportable.

_L. Lam._ How got this Fellow drunk? call up my Officers!
  Who durst deliver him this quantity of Wine?
  Send strait in my Name, to summon all the
  Drunken Committee of Safety into my Presence.
  By Heav'n, I'll show you, Sir-- yes they shall
  See what a fine King they're like to have
  In Honest, Gadly, Sober, Wise _Jack Lambert_.
  --Nay, I'll do't; d'ye think to take away my Honour thus?
  I, who by my sole Politicks and Management
  Have set you up, Villain of Villains, Sirrah.
  --Away-- summon 'em all.    [To _Gilliflower_.

_Lam._ Stay-- be not so rash; who was beneath the Carpet?

_L. Lam._ I will not answer thee.

_Lam._ Nor any living thing?

_L. Lam._ No Creature in the Room, thou silly Ideot, but _Gilliflower_
and I-- at our Devotion, praying to Heav'n for your Success to
morrow-- and am I thus rewarded?
    [Weeps, _Gill._ weeps too.

_Lam._ My Soul, I cannot bear the Sight of Tears From these dear
Charming Eyes.

_L. Lam._ No matter, Sir, the Committee shall right me.

_Lam._ Upon my Knees I ask thy Pardon, Dear; by all that's good, I wou'd
have sworn I'd felt something stir beneath me as I sat, which threw me
over.

_L. Lam._ Only your Brains turn'd round with too much drinking and
dancing, Exercises you are not us'd to-- go sleep, and settle 'em, for
I'll not deign to Bed with you to night-- retire, as e'er you hope to
have my Aid in your Advancement to the Crown.

_Lam._ I'm gone-- and once more pardon my Mistake.
    [Bows, and goes out. Ex. _Gill._

_L. Lam._ --So, this fighting Fool, so worshipp'd by the Rabble,
  How meanly can a Woman make him sneak?--
  The happy Night's our own--    [To _Loveless_.

    Enter _Gill._ _Loveless_.

_Lov._ Excellent Creature, how I do adore thee!

_L. Lam._ But you, perhaps, are satisfied already--

_Lov._ Never; shou'dst thou be kind to all Eternity. Thou hast one
Virtue more, I pay thee Homage for; I heard from the Alcove how great a
Mistress thou art in the dear Mystery of Jilting.

_L. Lam._ That's the first Lesson Women learn in Conventicles, Religion
teaches those Maxims to our Sex: by this
  _Kings are deposed, and Commonwealths are rul'd;
  By Jilting all the Universe is fool'd._    [Exeunt.




ACT V.


SCENE I. _A Street._

    Enter _Corporal_, half drest; with Soldiers, Joyner, and Felt-maker.

_Cor._ Ha, Rogues, the City-Boys are up in Arms; brave Boys, all for the
King now!

_Felt._ Have a care what you say, Sir; but as to the City's being in
Mutiny, that makes well for us: we shall fall to our old Trade of
plundering; something will fall to the Righteous, and there is Plunder
enough.

_Cor._ You plunder, Sirrah! knock him down, and carry him into the
Guard-room, and secure him.

    [Two Soldiers seize him.

_1 Sold._ They say the Committee of Safety sate all Night at General
_Lambert's_, about some great Affair-- some rare Change, Rogues.

_2 Sold._ Yes, and to put off Sorrow, they say, were all right
reverendly drunk too.

_Cor._ I suppose there is some heavenly matter in hand; there was
Treason cried out at the General's last night, and the Committee of no
Safety all ran away.

_1 Sold._ Or rather reel'd away.

_Cor._ The Ladies squeak'd, the Lords fled, and all the House was up in
Arms.

_Felt._ Yea, and with Reason they say; for the Pope in disguise was
found under the Lady's Bed, and two huge Jesuits as big as the tall
_Irish-man_, with Blunderbusses; having, as 'tis said, a Design to steal
the Crown, now in Custody of the General--

_2 Sold._ Good lack, is't possible?

_Joyn._ Nay, Sir, 'tis true, and is't not time we look'd about us?

_Cor._ A Pox upon ye all for lying Knaves-- secure 'em both on the
Guard till farther Order-- and let us into th' City, Boys: hay for
_Lombard-Street_.

_2 Sold._ Ay, hay for _Lombard-Street_; there's a Shop I have mark'd out
for my own already.

_1 Sold._ There's a handsom Citizen's Wife, that I have an Eye upon, her
Husband's a rich Banker, I'll take t'one with t'other.

_Joyn._ You are mistaken, Sir, that Plunder is reserv'd for us, if they
begin to mutiny; that wicked City that is so weary of a Commonwealth.

_2 Sold._ Yes, they're afraid of the Monster they themselves have made.

    Enter _Lov._ and _Free._ in disguise.

_Cor._ Hah, my noble Colonel! what, in disguise!

_Free._ We have made our Escapes-- and hope to see better times shortly,
the noble _Scotch_ General is come, Boys.

    Enter _Captain_ of the Prentices, and a great Gang with him, arm'd
    with Swords, Staffs, &c.

_Capt._ Come, my Lads, since you have made me Captain, I'll lead you
bravely on; I'll die in the Cause, or bring you off with Victory.

_1 Pren._ Here's a Club shall do some Execution: I'll beat out
_Hewson's_ t'other Eye; I scorn to take him on the blind side.

_Capt._ In the first Place, we must all sign a Petition to my Lord
Mayor.--

_2 Pren._ Petitions! we'll have no Petition, Captain; we are for
Club-Law, Captain.

_Capt._ Obey, or I leave you.

_All._ Obey, Obey.

_Capt._ Look ye, we'll petition for an honest Free Parliament I say.

_1 Pren._ No Parliament, no Parliament, we have had too much of that
Mischief already, Captain.

_All._ No Parliament, no Parliament.

_Capt._ Farewel, Gentlemen, I thought I might have been heard.

_Free._ Death, Sirs, you shall hear the Captain out.

_All._ We obey, we obey.

_Capt._ I say an honest Free Parliament, not one pick'd and chosen by
Faction; but such an one as shall do our Bus'ness, Lads, and bring in
the _Great Heroick_.

_All._ Ay, ay, the Great Heroick, the Great Heroick.

_Lov._ A fine Youth, and shou'd be encourag'd.

_Capt._ Good-- in the next Place, the noble _Scotch_ General is come,
and we'll side with him.

_Free._ Ay, ay, all side with him.

_1 Pren._ Your Reason, Captain, for we have acted too much without
Reason already.

_2 Pren._ Are we sure of him, Captain?

_Capt._ Oh, he'll doubtless declare for the King, Boys.

_All._ Hay, _Viva le Roy, viva le Monk!_

_Capt._ Next, I hear there's a Proclamation coming out to dissolve the
Committee of no Safety.

_All._ Good, good.

_Capt._ And I hope you are all brave enough to stand to your Loyal
Principles with your Lives and Fortunes.

_All._ We'll die for the Royal Interest.

_Capt._ In the next Place, there's another Proclamation come out.

_2 Pren._ This Captain is a Man of rare Intelligence; but for what,
Captain?

_Capt._ Why-- to-- hang us all, if we do not immediately depart to our
respective Vocations: How like you that, my Lads?

_2 Pren._ Hum-- hang'd! I'll e'en home again.

_1 Pren._ And I too, I do not like this hanging.

_2 Pren._ A Man looks but scurvily with his Neck awry.

_3 Pren._ Ay, ay, we'll home.

_Capt._ Why, now you shew what precious Men you are-- the King wou'd be
finely hop'd up with such Rascals, that for fear of a little hanging
would desert his Cause; a Pox upon you all, I here discharge ye--
  --Take back your Coward Hands and give me Hearts.
    [Flings 'em a Scroll.
  I scorn to fight with such mean-spirited Rogues;
  I did but try your boasted Courages.

_Lov._ Brave Boy.

_Lov._ and _Free._ We'll die with thee, Captain--

_All._ Oh, noble Captain, we recant--

_1 Pren._ We recant, dear Captain, we'll die, one and all.

_All._ One and all, one and all.

_Capt._ Why, so there's some trusting to you now.

_3 Pren._ But is there such a Proclamation, Captain?

_Capt._ There is; but anon, when the Crop-ear'd Sheriff begins to read
it, let every Man enlarge his Voice, and cry, no Proclamation, no
Proclamation.

_All._ Agreed, agreed.

_Lov._ Brave noble Lads, hold still your Resolution, And when your
leisure Hours will give ye leave, Drink the King's Health, here's Gold
for you to do so.

_Free._ Take my Mite too, brave Lads.    [Gives 'em Gold.

_All._ Hay! _Viva_ the brave Heroicks!

    Enter _Ananias Gogle_.

_Ana._ Hum, what have we here, a Street-Conventicle-- or a Mutiny? Yea,
verily, it is a Mutiny-- What meaneth this Appearance in hostile manner,
in open Street, by Day-light?

_Capt._ Hah! one of the sanctify'd Lay Elders, one of the Fiends of the
Nation, that go about like roaring Lions seeking whom they may devour.

_Lov._ Who, Mr. _Ananias_ the Padder?

_Ana._ Bear witness, Gentlemen all, he calls me Highway-man; thou shalt
be hang'd for Scandal on the Brethren.

_Lov._ I'll prove what I say, Sirrah; do you not rob on the High-way i'
th' Pulpit? rob the Sisters, and preach it lawful for them to rob their
Husbands; rob Men even of their Consciences and Honesty; nay rather than
stand out, rob poor Wenches of their Bodkins and Thimbles?

_Ana._ I commit ye; here, Soldiers, I charge ye in the Name of-- of--
marry, I know not who, in my Name, and the good People of _England_,
take 'em to safe Custody.

_Capt._ How, lay hold of honest Gentlemen! Noble Cavaliers, knock him
down.

_All._ Knock him down, knock him down.

_Free._ Hold, worthy Youths; the Rascal has done me Service.

_Ana._  [Pulling off his Hat to 'em all.]  Ye look like Citizens, that
evil Spirit is entered in unto you, oh Men of London! that ye have
changed your Note, like Birds of evil Omen; that you go astray after new
Lights, or rather no Lights, and commit Whoredom with your Fathers
Idols, even in the midst of the Holy City, which the Saints have
prepared for the Elect, the Chosen ones.

_Capt._ Hark ye, Sirrah, leave preaching, and fall to declaring for us,
or thou art mortal.

_Ana._ Nay, I say nay, I will die in my Calling-- yea, I will fall a
Sacrifice to the Good Old Cause; abomination ye with a mighty Hand, and
will destroy, demolish and confound your Idols, those heathenish
Malignants whom you follow, even with Thunder and Lightning, even as a
Field of Corn blasted by a strong Blast.

_Lov._ Knock him down!

_All._ Down with Dagon, down with him!

    Enter _Hewson_ with Guards.

_Hews._ Ah, Rogues, have I caught ye napping?
    [They all surround him and his Red-Coats.

_All._ Whoop Cobler, Whoop Cobler!

    [The Boys, _Lov._ and _Free._ _Corp._ and Sold. beat off _Hewson_
    and his Party. _Ana._ gets a Sword, and fights too.


SCENE II. _Changes to a Chamber in La. _Lambert's_ House._

    Enter L. _Lam._ and _Gill._

_Gill._ I've had no time to ask your Highness how you slept to Night;
but that's a needless Question.

_L. Lam._ How mean you? do you suspect my Virtue? do you believe
_Loveless_ dares attempt any thing against my Honour? No, _Gilliflower_,
he acted all things so like a Gentleman, that every moment takes my
Heart more absolutely.

_Gill._ My Lord departed highly satisfied.

_L. Lam._ She is not worthy of Intrigues of Love, that cannot manage a
silly Husband as she pleases-- but, _Gilliflower_, you forget that this
is Council day.

_Gill._ No, but I do not, Madam, some important Suitors wait already.

    Enter L. _Des._ and L. _Fleetwood_.

_L. Lam._ Your Servant, Madam _Desbro_, thou'rt welcome--
  _Gilliflower_, are all things ready in the Council-Chamber?
  We that are great must sometimes stoop to Acts,
  That have at least some shew of Charity;
  We must redress the Grievance of our People.

_L. Fleet._ She speaks as she were Queen, but I shall put a spoke in her
rising Wheel of Fortune, or my Lord's Politicks fail him.

    [Scene draws off, Table with Papers: Chairs round it.

_L. Lam._ Where are the Ladies of the Council?-- how remiss they are in
their Attendance on us.

_L. Fleet._ Us! Heav'ns, I can scarce endure this Insolence!-- We will
take care to mind 'em of their Duty--

_L. Lam._ We, poor Creature! how simply Majesty becomes her?
    [They all sitting down, enter L. _Cromwel_ angrily, and takes her
    Place, L. _Lam. _uppermost.
  --Madam, as I take it, at our last sitting, our Pleasure was, that you
shou'd sit no more.

_Crom._ Your Pleasure! Is that the General Voice? This is my Place in
spite of thee, and all thy fawning Faction, and I shall keep it, when
thou perhaps, shalt be an humble Suppliant here at my Foot-stool.

_L. Lam._ I smile at thee.

_Cram._ Do, and cringe; 'tis thy business to make thee popular.
  But 'tis not that--
  Nor thy false Beauty that will serve thy Ends.

_L. Lam._ Rail on; declining Majesty may be excus'd,
  Call in the Women that attend for redress of Grievances.

    [Ex. _Page_.

    Enter _Page_ with Women, and _Loveless_ dress'd as a Woman.

Gentlewomen, what's your Bus'ness with us?

_Lov._ Gentlewomen! some of us are Ladies.

_L. Lam._ Ladies in good time; by what Authority, and from whom do you
derive your Title of Ladies?

_L. Fleet._ Have a care how you usurp what is not your own!

_Lov._ How the Devil rebukes Sin!    [Aside.

_L. Des._ From whom had you your Honours, Women?

_Lov._ From our Husbands.

_Gill._ Husbands, who are they, and of what standing?

_2 Lady._ Of no long standing, I confess.

_Gill._ That's a common Grievance indeed.

_L. Des._ And ought to be redress'd.

_L. Lam._ And that shall be taken into consideration; write it down,
_Gilliflower_; who made your Husband a Knight, Woman?

_Lov._ _Oliver_ the first, an't please ye.

_L. Lam._ Of horrid Memory; write that down-- who yours?

_2 Lady._ _Richard_ the fourth, an't like your Honour.

_Gill._ Of sottish Memory; shall I write that down too?

_L. Des._ Most remarkably.

_Crom._ Heav'ns! Can I hear this Profanation of our Royal Family?
    [Aside.

_L. Lam._ I wonder with what impudence _Noll_ and _Dick_ cou'd Knightify
your Husbands; for 'tis a Rule in Heraldry, that none can make a Knight
but him that is one; 'tis _Sancha Pancha's_ Case in _Don Quixot_.

_Crom._ How dare you question my Husband's Authority?
    [Rises in Anger.
  Who nobly won his Honour in the Field,
  Not like thy sneaking Lord who gain'd his Title
  From his Wife's gay Love-tricks--
  Bartering her Honour for his Coronet.

_L. Lam._ Thou ly'st, my Husband earn'd it with his Sword,
  Braver and juster than thy bold Usurper,
  Who waded to his Glory through a Sea
  Of Royal Blood--

_L. Des._ Sure _Loveless_ has done good on her, and converted her.

_L. Fleet._ Madam, I humbly beg you will be patient, you'll ruin all my
Lord's Designs else-- Women, proceed to your Grievances, both publick
and private.

_Lov._ I petition for a Pension; my Husband, deceas'd, was a constant
active man, in all the late Rebellion, against the Man; he plunder'd my
Lord _Capel_, he betray'd his dearest Friend _Brown Bushel_, who trusted
his Life in his Hands, and several others; plundering their Wives and
Children even to their Smocks.

_L. Lam._ Most considerable Service, and ought to be consider'd.

_2 Lady._ And most remarkably, at the Trial of the late Man, I spit in's
Face, and betray'd the Earl of _Holland_ to the Parliament.

_Crom._ In the King's Face, you mean-- it shew'd your Zeal for the Good
Cause.

_2 Lady._ And 'twas my Husband that headed the Rabble, to pull down
_Gog_ and _Magog_, the Bishops, broke the Idols in the Windows, and
turn'd the Churches into Stables and Dens of Thieves; rob'd the Altar of
the Cathedral of the twelve pieces of Plate call'd the twelve Apostles,
turn'd eleven of 'em into Money, and kept _Judas_ for his own use at
home.

_L. Fleet._ On my Word, most wisely perform'd, note it down--

_3 Lady._ And my Husband made Libels on the Man from the first Troubles
to this day, defam'd and profan'd the Woman and her Children, printed
all the Man's Letters to the Woman with Burlesque Marginal Notes, pull'd
down the sumptuous Shrines in Churches, and with the golden and Popish
Spoils adorn'd his own Houses and Chimney-Pieces.

_L. Lam._ We shall consider these great Services.

_Lov._ To what a height is Impudence arriv'd?    [Aside.

_L. Lam._ Proceed to private Grievances.

_Lov._ An't please your Honours, my Husband prays too much; which both
hinders his private bus'ness at home, and his publick Services to the
Commonwealth--

_L. Lam._ A double Grievance-- set it down, Gilliflower.

_Lov._ And then he rails against the Whore of Babylon, and all my
neighbours think he calls me Whore.

_Cram._ A most unpardonable fault.

_L. Lam._ We'll have that rectify'd, it will concern us.

_Lov._ Then he never kisses me, but he says a long Grace, which is more
mortifying than inviting.

_L. Des._ That is the fault of all the new Saints, which is the reason
their Wives take a pious care, as much as in them lies, to send 'em to
Heaven, by making 'em Cuckolds.

_L. Fleet._ A very charitable Work, and ought to be encourag'd.

    [_Loveless_ gives in a Petition to _Gilliflower_.

_Gill._ The humble Petition of the Lady _Make-shift._    [Reads.
  --Heav'ns, Madam, here are many thousand Hands to't of the distressed
Sex.

_All._ Read it.

_Gill. Reads._] Whereas there pass'd an Act, _June_ 24th, against
Fornication and Adultery, to the great detriment of most of the young
Ladies, Gentlewomen, and Commonalty of _England_, and to the utter decay
of many whole Families, especially when married to old Men; your
Petitioners most humbly beg your Honours will take this great Grievance
into mature Consideration, and the said Act may be repealed.
  --A Blessing on 'em, they shall have my Hand too.

_L. Lam._ We acknowledge, there are many Grievances in that Act; but
there are many Conveniences too, for it ties up the villanous Tongues of
Men from boasting our Favours.

_Crom._ But as it lays a Scandal on Society-- tis troublesome, Society
being the very Life of a Republick-- _Peters_ the first, and _Martin_
the second.

_Lov._ But in a Free-State, why shou'd we not be free?

_L. Des._ Why not? we stand for the Liberty and Property of our Sex, and
will present it to the Committee of Safety.

_Lov._ Secondly, we desire the Heroicks, vulgarly call'd the Malignant,
may not be look'd on as Monsters, for assuredly they are Men; and that
it may not be charg'd to us as a Crime to keep 'em company, for they are
honest Men.

_2 Lady._ And some of 'em Men that will stand to their Principles.

_L. Lam._ Is there no other honest Men that will do as well?

_3 Lady._ Good Men are scarce.

_L. Lam._ They're all for Heroicks, sure 'tis the mode to love
'em-- I cannot blame 'em.
    [Aside.

_Lov._ And that when we go to Morning and Evening Lectures, to
_Tantlings_, or elsewhere, and either before or after visit a private
Friend, it may be actionable for the wicked to scandalize us, by terming
of it, abusing the Creature, when 'tis harmless recreating the Creature.

_All._ Reason, Reason.

_Lov._ Nor that any Husband shou'd interrupt his Wife, when at her
private Devotion.

    Enter _Page_.

_L. Lam._ I have been too late sensible of that Grievance.

_Gill._ And, Madam, I wou'd humbly pray a Patent for Scolding, to ease
my Spleen.

_Page._ An please your Highness, here's a Messenger arriv'd Post with
Letters from my Lord the General.

    [Ex. _Page_.

_L. Lam._ Greater Affairs-- oblige us to break up the Council.
    [Rises, the Women retire.

    Enter _Page_ with Messenger, or Letters.

--What means this haste?    [Opens, and reads 'em.

_Crom._ Hah, bless my Eye-sight, she looks pale,-- now red again; some
turn to his Confusion, Heav'n, I beseech thee.

_L. Lam._ My Lord's undone! his Army has deserted him;
  Left him defenceless to the Enemies Pow'r.
  Ah, Coward Traytors! Where's that brutal Courage,
  That made you so successful in your Villanies?
  Has Hell, that taught you Valour, now abandon'd ye?
  --How in an instant are my Glories fall'n!

_Crom._ Ha, ha, ha-- What, has your Highness any Cause of Grief?

_Gill._ Call up your Courage, Madam, do not let these things scoff
you-- you may be yet a Queen: Remember what _Lilly_ told you, Madam.

_L. Lam._ Damn _Lilly_, who with lying Prophecies has rais'd me to the
hopes of Majesty: a Legion of his Devils take him for't.

_Crom._ Oh, have a care of Cursing, Madam.

_L. Lam._ Screech-Owl, away, thy Voice is ominous.
  Oh I cou'd rave! but that it is not great;
  --And silent Sorrow-- has most Majesty.

    Enter _Wariston_, huffing.

_War._ Wons, Madam, undone, undone; our honourable Committee is gone to
th' Diel, and the damn'd loosey Rump is aud in aud; the muckle Diel set
it i'solt, and his Dam drink most for't.

_Crom._ The Committee dissolv'd! whose wise work was that? it looks like
_Fleetwood's_ silly Politicks.

_War._ Marry, and yar Ladiship's i'th' right,'twas en the Work o'th'
faud Loone, the Diel brest his Wem for't.

    Enter _Hewson_, _Desbro_, _Whitlock_, _Duc._ and _Cob._

_Hew._ So, Brethren in Iniquity, we have spun a fine Thred, the Rump's
all in all now, rules the Roast, and has sent for the General with
Scissers and Rasor.

_Whit._ With a Sisseraro, you mean.

_Hew._ None of your Terms in Law, good Brother.

_War._ Right; but gen ya have any Querks in Law, Mr. Lyar, that will
save our Crags, 'twill be warth a Fee.

_Duc._ We have plaid our Cards fair.

_War._ I's deny that; Wans, Sirs, ya plaid 'em faul; a Fule had the
shooftling of'em, and the Muckle Diel himself turn up Trump.

_Whit._ We are lost, Gentlemen, utterly lost; who the Devil wou'd have
thought of a Dissolution?

_Hews._ Is there no Remedy?

_Duc._ Death, I'll to the _Scotch_ General; turn but in time as many
greater Rogues than I have done, and 'twill save my Stake yet-- Farewel,
Gentlemen.

_Des._ No Remedy?

_War._ Nene, Sirs, again the King's Evil; Bread, Sirs, ya's ene gan tol
yar Stall agen: I's en follow _Duckenfield_-- Farewel, Mr. Leyer.

_L. Lam._ See the Vicissitudes of human Glory.
  These Rascals, that but yesterday petition'd me
  With humble Adoration, now scarce pay
  Common Civilities due to my Sex alone.

    Enter _Fleetwood_.

_Crom._ How now, Fool, what is't that makes ye look so pertly? Some
mighty Business you have done, I'll warrant.

_Fleet._ Verily, Lady Mother, you are the strangest Body; a Man cannot
please you-- Have I not finely circumvented _Lambert_? made the Rump
Head, who have committed him to the _Tower_; ne'er stir now that I have,
and I'm the greatest Man in _England_, as I live I am, as a Man may say.

_Crom._ Yes, till a greater come. Ah, Fool of Fools, not to fore-see the
danger of that nasty Rump.

_L. Fleet._ Good Madam, treat my Lord with more Respect.

_Crom._ Away, fond Fool, born with so little Sense, To doat on such a
wretched Idiot; It was thy Fate in _Ireton's_ days to love him, Or you
were foully scandalized.

_Fleet._ You are not so well spoken of neither, ne'er stir now, and you
go to that. I can be King to morrow if I will.

_Crom._ Thou lyest, thou wo't be hang'd first; mark that I tell thee so.
I'll prove _Cassandra_ to thee, and prophesy thy Doom; Heav'n pays the
Traitor back with equal Measure. Remember how you serv'd my poor Son
Richard.

    [Ex. _Crom._ and _Page_.

_Fleet._ She's mad-- Come, my Dear, let's leave the House of this
Villain, that meant to have cozen'd me illegally or three Kingdoms-- but
that I outwitted him at last.
    [Ex. _Fleet._ L. _Fleet_, and _Page_.

    Enter _Page_.

_L. Lam._ Imprison'd too, i'th' Tower! what Fate is mine?
    [Leans on _Des._

_Page._ Madam, the fine Heroick's come to wait on you.

_L. Lam._ Hah! _Loveless_! let him not see the Ruin of my Greatness,
which he foretold, and kindly begg'd I wou'd usurp no more.
    [Weep.

    Enter _Loveless_.

_Lov._ This News has brought me back, I love this Woman,
  Vain as she is, in spite of all her Fopperies of State--
    [Bows to her, and looks sad.

_L. Lam._ Alas, I do not merit thy Respect,
  I'm fall'n to Scorn, to Pity and Contempt.    [Weeping.
  Ah, Loveless, fly the wretched-- Thy
  Virtue is too noble to be shin'd on
  By any thing but rising Suns alone:
  I'm a declining Shade--

_Lov._ By Heaven, you were never great till now;
  I never thought thee so much worth my Love,
  My Knee, and Adoration, till this Minute.    [Kneels.
  --I come to offer you my Life, and all
  The little Fortune the rude Herd has left me.

_L. Lam._ Is there such God-like Virtue in your Sex?
  Or, rather, in your Party.
  Curse on the Lyes and Cheats of Conventicles,
  That taught me first to think Heroicks Devils,
  Blood-thirsty, leud, tyrannick, salvage Monsters.
  --But I believe 'em Angels all, if all like _Loveless_.
  What heavenly thing then must the Master be,
  Whose Servants are divine?

    [Enter _Page_ running.

_Page._ Oh, Madam! all the Heroick Boys are up in Arms, and swear
they'll have your Highness, dead or alive,-- they have besieg'd the
House.

_L. Lam._ Heav'ns, the Rabble!-- those faithless things that us'd to
croud my Coach's Wheels, and stop my Passage, with their officious Noise
and Adoration.

    Enter _Freeman_.

_Free._ _Loveless_, thy Aid; the City-Sparks are up;
  Their zealous Loyalty admits no Bounds.
  A glorious Change is coming, and I'll appear now barefac'd.

_Lov._ Madam, fear not the Rabble; retire. _Freeman_ and I can still
'em. Leads her in, and bows low.

_Free._ My dear _Maria_, I shall claim ye shortly--

_L. Des._ Do your worst, I'm ready for the Challenge.    [Go in.

    [Ex. _Lov._ and _Free._ another way.


SCENE III. _The Street._

    Enter _Captain_ and the rest.

_Capt._ I say we'll have the She-Politican out, she did more mischief
than her Husband, pitiful, dittiful _Lambert_; who is, thanks be
prais'd, in the Tower, to which place Lord of his Mercy bring all the
King's Enemies.

_All._ Amen, Amen.

    Enter _Lov._ and _Freeman_.

_Lov._ Why, how now, Captain, what, besiege the Women! No, let us lead
our Force to nobler Enemies.

_Capt._ Nay, noble Chief, your Word's our Law.

_Lov._ No, I resign that Title to the brave _Scotch_ General, who has
just now enter'd the City.

_Capt._ We know it, Sir; do you not observe how the Crop-ear'd Fanaticks
trot out of Town?-- The Rogues began their old belov'd Mutiny, but
'twould not do.

_Lov._ A Pox upon 'em, they went out like the Snuff of a Candle,
stinkingly and blinkingly.

_1 Pr._ Ay, ay, let 'em hang themselves, and then they are cold Meat for
the Devil.

_Capt._ But, noble Champion, I hope we may have leave to roast the Rump
to night.

_Lov._ With all our Hearts, here's Mony to make Fires--

_Free._ And here's for Drink to't, Boys.

_All._ Hey-- _Viva le Roy, viva les Heroicks!_    [Go out hollowing.

    Enter _Ananias_ peeping, _Felt-maker_, and _Joyner_.

_Ana._ So, the Rabble's gone: ah, Brethren! what will this wicked World
come to?

_Felt._ Alack, alack, to no Goodness, you may be sure: pray what's the
News?

    [_Fleet._ peeping out of a Garret-Window.

_Fleet._ _Anania_, _Anania_!

_Ana._ Who calleth _Ananias_? lo, here am I.

_Fleet._ Behold, it is I, look up. How goeth tidings?

_Ana._ Full ill, I fear; 'tis a bad Omen to see your Lordship so nigh
Heaven; when the Saints are Garretified.

_Fleet._ I am fortifying my self against the Evil-Day.

_Ana._ Which is come upon us like a Thief in the night; like a Torrent
from the Mountain of Waters, or a Whirlwind from the Wilderness.

_Fleet._ Why, what has the _Scotch_ General done?

_Ana._ Ah! he playeth the Devil with the Saints in the City, because
they put the Covenant-Oath unto him; he pulls up their Gates, their
Posts and Chains, and enters.

_Felt._ And wou'd the wicked City let him have his beastly Will of her?

_Ana._ Nay, but she was ravish'd-- deflower'd.

_Joy._ How, ravish'd! oh monstrous! was ever such a Rape committed upon
an innocent City? lay her Legs open to the wide World, for every Knave
to view her Nakedness?

_Felt._ Ah, ah! what Days, what Times, and what Seasons are here?
    [Exeunt.

    Enter _Capt._ _Corp._ and _Prent._ with <DW19>s, hollowing.

_Corp._ What say you now, Lads, is not my Prophecy truer than _Lilly's_?
I told you the Rump would fall to our handling and drinking for: the
King's proclaim'd, Rogues.

_Capt._ Ay, ay, _Lilly_, a Plague on him, he prophesied _Lambert_ should
be uppermost.

_Corp._ Yes, he meant perhaps on _Westminster_ Pinacle: where's _Lilly_
now, with all his Prophecies against the _Royal Family_?

_Capt._ In one of his Twelve Houses.

_1 Pren._ We'll fire him out to Night, Boy; come, all hands to work for
the Fire.
    [Ex. all hollowing.

_Fleet._ Ah, dismal, heavy day, a day of Grief and Woe, Which hast
bereft me of my hopes for ay, Ah, Lard, ah what shall I do?
    [Exit.


SCENE IV. _A Chamber in _Lambert's_ House._

    Enter _Lov._ leading L. _Lam._ in disguise, _Page_ and
    _Gilliflower_ disguised, _Lov._ dressing her.

_Lov._ My Charmer, why these Tears,
  If for the fall of all thy painted Glories,
  Thou art, in the esteem of all good Men,
  Above what thou wert then?
  The glorious Sun is rising in our Hemisphere,
  And I, amongst the crowd of Loyal Sufferers,
  Shall share in its kindly Rays.

_L. Lam._ Best of thy Sex--
  What have I left to gratify thy Goodness?

_Lov._ You have already by your noble Bounty,
  Made me a Fortune, had I nothing else;
  All which I render back, with all that Wealth
  Heaven and my Parents left me:
  Which, tho unjustly now detain'd from me,
  Will once again be mine, and then be yours.

    Enter _Free._

_Free._ Come, haste, the Rabble gather round the House,
  And swear they'll have this Sorceress.

_Lov._ Let me loose among 'em, their rude officious Honesty must be
punish'd.

_L. Lam._ Oh, let me out, do not expose thy Person to their mad Rage,
rather resign the Victim.
    [Holds him.

_Lov._ Resign thee! by Heaven, I think I shou'd turn Rebel first.

    Enter La. _Des._ disguised, and _Tom_ with Jewels in a Box.

_L. Des._ With much ado, according to thy direction, dear _Freeman_,
I have pass'd the Pikes, my House being surrounded; and my Husband
demanded, fell down dead with fear.

_Free._ How, thy Husband dead!

_L. Des._ Dead as old _Oliver_, and much ado I got off with these
Jewels, the Rabble swore I was one of the Party; and had not the honest
Corporal convinc'd em, I had been pull'd to pieces.-- Come, haste away,
Madam, we shall be roasted with the Rump else.

_L. Lam._ Adieu, dear Mansion! whose rich gilded Roofs so oft put me in
mind of Majesty-- And thou, my Bed of State, where my soft Slumbers have
presented me with Diadems and Scepters-- when waking I have stretch'd my
greedy Arms to grasp the vanish'd Phantom! ah, adieu! and all my hopes
of _Royalty_ adieu.--

_Free._ And dare you put your self into my Protection? Well, if you do,
I doubt you'll never be your own Woman again.

_L. Des._ No matter, I'm better lost than found on such occasions.
    [Exeunt.


SCENE V. _A Street; a great Bonfire, with Spits, and Rumps roasting, and
the Mobile about the Fire, with Pots, Bottles, Fiddles._

_1 Pren._ Here, _Jack_, a Health to the King.

_2 Pren._ Let it pass, Lad, and next to the noble General.

_1 Pren._ _Ralph_, baste the Rump well, or ne'er hope to see a King
agen.

_3 Pren._ The Rump will baste it self, it has been well cram'd.

    Enter _Freeman_, L. _Des._ _Loveless_, and L. _Lam._ _Gill._ _Tom_,
    Pages, &c.

_Cap._ Hah, Noble Champion, faith, Sir, you must honour us so far as to
drink the King's Health, and the noble General's, before you go.

    Enter _Wariston_, drest like a Pedlar, with a Box about his Neck
    full of Ballads and Things.

_War._ Will ya buy a guedly Ballat or a _Scotch_ Spur, Sirs? a guedly
Ballat, or a _Scotch_ Spur.-- 'Sbread, I's scapt hitherte weele enough,
I's say'd my Crag fro stretching twa Inches longer than 'twas borne:
will ya buy a Jack-line to roast the Rump, a new Jack Lambert Line?-- or
a blithe Ditty of the Noble _Scotch_ General?-- come buy my Ditties.

_Cap._ How, a Ditty o'th' General? let's see't, Sirrah.

_War._ 'Sbread, Sirs, and here's the guedly Ballat of the General's
coming out of _Scotland_.

_Cap._ Here, who sings it? we'll all bear the bob.

    [_Wariston_ sings the Ballad, all bearing the Bob.

    Enter _Ananias_ crying Almanacks.

_Ana._ New Almanacks, new Almanacks.

_Cap._ Hah, who have we here? _Ananias_, Holder-forth of _Clement's_
Parish?

_All._ Ha, a Traytor, a Traytor.

_Lov._ If I am not mistaken, this blithe Ballad-singer too was Chair-man
to the Committee of Safety.

_Cap._ Is your Lordship turned Pedlar at last?

_War._ What mon I do noo? Lerd, ne mere Lerd than yar sel, Sir; wons I
show 'em a fair pair of Heels.
    [Goes to run away, they get him on a Colt-staff, with _Ananias_ on
    another, Fidlers playing _Fortune my Foe_, round the Fire.

_Cap._ Play _Fortune my Foe_, Sirrah.

    Enter _Hewson_, drest like a Country Fellow.

_Cor._ Who are you, Sirrah? you have the mark o' th' Beast.

_Hews._ Who aye, Sir? Aye am a Doncer, that come a merry-making among
ya--

_Cap._ Come, Sirrah, your Feats of Activity quickly then.
    [He dances; which ended, they get him on a Colt-staff, and cry a
    _Cobler_, a _Cobler_.

_All._ A Cobler, a Cobler.

_Cap._ To Prison with the Traytors, and then we have made a good Night's
work on't.
  _Then let's all home, and to the Powers Divine
  Pray for the King, and all the Sacred Line._    [Exeunt.




EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Lady _Desbro_.


  _The Vizor's off, and now I dare appear.
  High for the _Royal Cause_ in Cavalier;
  Tho once as true a _Whig_ as most of you,
  Cou'd cant, and lye, preach, and dissemble too:
  So far you drew me in, but faith I'll be
  Reveng'd on you for thus debauching me:
  Same of your pious Cheats I'll open lay,
  That lead your _Ignoramus_ Flock astray:
  For since I cannot fight, I will not fail
  To exercise my Talent, that's to rail.
  Ye Race of Hypocrites, whose Cloak of Zeal
  Covers the Knave that cants for _Commonweal_,
  All Laws, the Church and State to Ruin brings,
  And impudently sets a Rule on Kings;
  Ruin, destroy, all's good that you decree
  By your Infallible _Presbytery_,
  Prosperous at first, in Ills you grow so vain,
  You thought to play the _Old Game_ o'er again:
  And thus the Cheat was put upon the Nation,
  First with _Long Parliaments_, next _Reformation_,
  And now you hop'd to make a new Invasion:
  And when you can't prevail by open Force,
  To cunning tickling Tricks you have recourse,
  And raise Sedition forth without Remorse.
  Confound these cursed _Tories_, then they cry,   [In a preaching tone.
  Those Fools, those Pimps to Monarchy,
  Those that exclude the Saints; yet open th' Door,
  To introduce the _Babylonian Whore_.
  By Sacred _Oliver_ the Nation's mad;
  Beloved, 'twas not so when he was Head:
  But then, as I have said it oft before ye,
  A _Cavalier_ was but a Type of _Tory_.
  The Curs durst then not bark, but all the Breed
  Is much encreas'd since that good Man was dead:
  Yet then they rail' d against the _Good Old Cause_,
  Rail'd foolishly for Loyalty, and Laws;
  But when the Saints had put them to a stand,
  We left them Loyalty, and took their Land:
  Yea, and the pious Work of Reformation
  Rewarded was with Plunder, Sequestration.
  Thus cant the Faithful; nay, they're so uncivil,
  To pray us harmless Players to the Devil.
  When this is all th' Exception they can make,
  They damn us for our Glorious Master's sake.
  But why 'gainst us do you unjustly arm?
  Our small Religion sure can do no harm;
  Or if it do, since that's the only thing,
  We will reform when you are true to th' King._

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

NOTES: The Roundheads

  [Transcriber's Note:

  The Notes in the printed text give only page and line numbers.
  Act-and-scene designations shown between +marks+ have been added by
  the transcriber. Labels such as "Scene IIa" refer to points where the
  scene description changes without a new scene number.]


NOTES ON THE TEXT.

+Dedication+

  p. 337 _To The Right Noble Henry Fitz-Roy._ The Dedicatory Epistle
  only appears in the two 4tos, 1682 and 1698.

  p. 337, l. 31 _Good Old Couse._ 'Couse' to represent a Cockney
  pronunciation.

  p. 339, l. 28 _Ignoramus the 1st and the 2d._ Mrs. Behn deftly
  compares the verdict of that faction which would have damned her
  play with the verdict given by the City jury who acquitted
  Shaftesbury.

+Prologue+

  p. 341, l. 7 _ycleped Hewson._ 4to 'Eclipsed Huson'.

+Dramatis Personae+

  p. 343 _Dramatis Personae._ I have added, 'Captain of the Prentices,
  Page to Lady Fleetwood, A Felt-maker, A Joyner, Doorkeeper, Two
  Clerks, Three Soldiers, Women Servants to Lady Lambert, Petitioners,
  Servants, Guards.' The name of Lady Desbro's Page, Tom, is supplied
  by Act iv, 1. For _Sanctify'd Mobile_, 1724 reads 'Sanctify'd
  Mobility'.

+Act I: Scene i+

  p. 344, l. 21 _Push a Pike._ 1724 'Push of Pike'.

  p. 347, l. 3 _Go out._ 1724 'Goes out'.

  p. 347, l. 11 _the rest of the Soldiers._ 1724 'the rest of
  Soldiers'.

  p. 350, l. 14 _Love, Wit and Beauty._ 1724 prints these lines as
  prose.

  p. 350, l. 17 _A God! altho his outside._ 4tos and 1724 print this
  speech as prose.

  p. 350, l. 22 _No, methought he grew._ 1724 prints this speech as
  prose.

  p. 351, l. 10 _Ha, he's yonder._ 1724 prints this speech as prose.

  p. 353, l. 16 _Exeunt both._ 1724 'exeunt', 4tos 'exit both'.

+Act I: Scene ii+

  p. 353, l. 17 _Scene II. A Chamber in Lambert's House._ 4tos 'Scene
  a Chamber.' 1724 'SCENE. A Chamber.' I have added 'II' and 'in
  Lambert's House.'

  p. 354, l. 19 _how have I show'd._ 1724 misprints 'how have show'd'.

  p. 355, l. 28 _the Lard's handling._ 1724 'the Lord's', 4tos
  'Lard's'.

  p. 356, l. 28 _light on yu._ 1724 'light on you'.

  p. 358, l. 1 _a brave Mon._ 1724 'a brave Man'.

  p. 358, l. 1 _I may cooncel._ 1724 'I may counsel'.

  p. 358, l. 10 _he's a brave Mon, a Mon indeed, gen._ 1724 'he's a
  brave Mon indeed gen'.

+Act II: Scene i+

  p. 359, l. 11 _Scene I. A Chamber of State in Lambert's House._
  I have added 'in Lambert's House'.

  p. 360, l. 22 _admit him tho'._ 1724 omits 'tho''.

  p. 360, l. 25 _I shou'd say._ 1724 misprints 'I shou'd stay'.

  p. 360, l. 27 _these Heroicks are punctual men._ 1724 omits 'men'.

  p. 361, l. 4 _Walks away._ 1724 omits this stage direction.

  p. 361, l. 17 _Some such trivial thing._ 1724 'some such trifling
  thing'.

  p. 365, l. 28 _Verily we should live._ 1724 'Verily ye should live'.

  p. 366, l. 21 _Write Panegyricks._ 1724 prints these concluding four
  lines as prose. 4tos metrically.

  p. 367, l. 2 _Lambert will destroy all._ 1724 'Lambert would destroy
  all'.

  p. 368, l. 1 _Or Mind embyass'd._ 1724 'Embarass'd'.

  p. 368, l. 12 _Execrations._ 1724 'Excrations'.

  p. 368, l. 28 _Cry mercy, Madam._ 1724 omits 'Madam'.

  p. 368, l. 29 _most lucky Minute._ 1724 'most unlucky Minute'.

  p. 370, l. 19 _my Honourable Lord is busied._ 1724 'has business'.

  p. 370, l. 22 _extemporary._ 1724 'extempore'.

  p. 373, l. 33 _Old Oliver's Brains._ 1724 'Brain'.

+Act III: Scene i+

  p. 374, l. 31 _take 'em then for Archibald; 'tis._ 1724 'take 'em
  then for Archibald? 'tis'.

  p. 374, l. 32 _warse._ 1724 'worse'.

  p. 376, l. 6 _Hew. My Lord, I am sorry._ 1724 'Hew. I am sorry'.

  p. 377, l. 28 _what stuff's here._ 1724 'what's stuff's here'.

  p. 378, l. 4 _Walter Walton._ 1724 'Walter Walter'.

  p. 378, l. 19 _ever cam into lour_, read _ever came intol our._ 1724
  'ever came into'.

  p. 378, l. 23 _I's larne._ 1724 'I's learn'.

  p. 379, l. 14 _se fast._ 1724 'so fast'.

  p. 380, l. 16 _shoos in yar._ 1724 'shoes'.

  p. 380, l. 28 _Malignant's Estates._ 1724 'Malignant Estates'.

  p. 382, l. 36 _she has danc'd after._ 1724 'she has danc'd here
  after'.

+Act III: Scene ii+

  p. 383, l. 31 _Scene II. A Chamber in Lady Desbro's House._ 4tos and
  1724 'Scene, a Chamber'.

  p. 384, l. 7 _Enter Tom._ 4tos and 1724 'Enter Page' with
  speech-prefix-- 'Pag.' and 'Exit Page'; but Act iv, 1, 4tos we have
  'Enter Page' with speech-prefix 'Tom' and later in the same scene
  'Enter Tom Page'.

  p. 384, l. 12 _hear him preach._ 1724 'here him preach'.

  p. 385, l. 8 _Beau - - ty._ And later 'fall - ing' to mark the
  sanctimonious drawl. 1724 prints 'Beauty' and 'falling'.

  p. 388, ll. 8, 10 _Exeunt._ 4tos omit. 1724 omits 'Ex. Ana.'

+Act IV: Scene i+

  p. 388, l. 12 _A Chamber in La. Desbro's House._ 4tos and 1724
  'Chamber, Candles and Lights'.

  p. 390, l. 33 _gives us notice of._ 1724 'gives us notice of it'.

  p. 391, l. 29 _come a Gad's Name._ 1724 'come in Gad's Name'.

  p. 392, l. 11 _Nay, I say verily, nay._ 1724 'I say verily, nay'.

  p. 392, l. 17 _the Lard hath given._ 1724 'the Lard has given'.

  p. 392, l. 22 _Enter Tom._ 1724 'Enter Page', speech-prefix 'Page',
  and 'Ex. Page'; 4tos 'Enter Page', speech-prefix 'Tom', 'Ex. Tom
  Page'.

  p. 392, l. 29 _we have hitherto maintain'd._ 1724 omits 'hitherto'.

+Act IV: Scene ii+

  p. 394, l. 6 _A fine Chamber._ I have added to 4tos and 1724 'in La.
  Lambert's House'.

+Act IV: Scene iii+

  p. 395, l. 8 _A great Chamber._ I have added to 4tos and 1724 'in
  Lambert's House'.

  p. 395, l. 26 _I's drink tol yar gued Fortune._ 1724 'to yar gued
  Fortune'.

  p. 396, l. 17 _Ex. L. Lam. and Gill._ I have added 'and Gill'.

  p. 396, l. 22 _light your Flambeaus._ 1724 'your Flambeau'.

  p. 396, l. 30 _when we real._ 1724 'when we reel'.

  p. 397, l. 8 _o'er yar Liquer._ 1724 'Liquor'.

  p. 397, l. 15 _I's for a Horn-pipe._ 1724 omits 'for'.

  p. 397, l. 24 _Scotch Poond._ 1724 'Pound'.

  p. 397, l. 24 _yar Song._ 1724 'your Song'.

  p. 398, l. 15 _lead the Donce._ 1724 'lead the Dance'.

+Act IV: Scene iv+

  p. 399, l. 28 _As well as to give._ 1724 'As well as give'.

  p. 399, l. 36 _Kneels._ 4to 1698 and 1724 omit this stage direction.

  p. 400, l. 23 _he puts it back._ 4tos 'he put it back'. 1724 'he
  puts it off'.

  p. 401, l. 26 _my Husband wou'd withdraw._ 1724 'my Husband cou'd
  withdraw'.

  p. 401, l. 32 _He lies down along on the Couch._ 1724 'He lies down
  on the Couch'.

+Act V: Scene i+

  p. 405, l. 14 _Scene I. A Street._ 1724 'Scene I. Street'.

  p. 407, l. 28 _Viva le Roy, Viva le Monk!_ 4tos 'Via la Roy, Via la
  Monk.'

  p. 408, l. 23 _Why, so there's some trusting._ 1724 omits 'so'.

  p. 408, l. 33 _Viva the brave._ 1724 'Vive the brave'.

  p. 410, l. 9 _Ana. gets a Sword, and fights too._ 1724 'and fights
  'em'.

+Act V: Scene ii+

  p. 410, l. 10 _Scene II. Changes to a Chamber in La. Lambert's
  House._ 4tos and 1724 'Scene changes to a Chamber'.

+Act V: Scene iia+
  p. 411, l. 12 _and I shall keep it._ 1724 omits 'I'.

  p. 412, l. 22 _L. Lam. Thou ly'st._ 4tos and 1724 print this speech
  as prose, but it admits of metrical division.

  p. 413, l. 9 _Gog and Magog._ 4tos 'God and Magog'.

  p. 415, l. 6 _Morning and Evening Lectures._ 4tos 'Mornings and
  Evenings Lectures'.

  p. 415, l. 23 _Enter Page with Messenger._ 1724 'Enter Page with
  Messengers'.

  p. 415, l. 30 _Where's that brutal Courage._ 1724 'the Brutal
  Courage'.

  p. 416, l. 16 _whose wise work was that?_ 1724 'whose wise work's
  that?'

  p. 416, l. 29 _Wans, Sirs._ 1724 'Wons, Sirs'.

  p. 417, l. 5 _ya's ene._ 1724 'ye's ene'.

  p. 417, l. 6 _Mr. Leyer._ 1724 'Mr. Lyar'.

  p. 417, l. 12 _makes ye look._ 1724 'makes you look'.

  p. 417, l. 36 _L. Fleet and Pag._ 1724 omits 'and Pag.'

  p. 418, l. 6 _no more. [Weep._ 1724 omits 'Weep'.

  p. 419, l. 11 _Go in._ 1724 only marks 'Ex.' for all characters.

+Act V: Scene iii+

  p. 419, l. 13 _Scene III. The Street._ 4tos and 1724 'Scene the
  Street'.

  p. 420, l. 3 _Viva le Roy, viva._ 1724 'Vive le Roy, vive'.

  p. 420, l. 14 _ill, I fear; 'tis a bad._ 1724 'ill, I fear 'tis a
  bad'.

  p. 420, l. 32 _are here? [Exeunt._ 4tos and 1724 omit 'Exeunt'.
  I supply this as, obviously, these characters must leave the stage
  when the Prentices rush on.

  p. 421, l. 12 _ay, Ah, Lard, ah what._ 4tos 'ay, ah Lard, what'.
  1724 'ay. Lard, ah what'.

+Act V: Scene iv+

  p. 421, l. 14 _Scene IV. A Chamber in Lambert's House._ 4tos and
  1724 'Scene, A Chamber'.

  p. 421, l. 23 _share in its kindly._ 1724 'share its kindly'.

  p. 422, l. 7 _and Tom with jewels._ 4tos and 1724 'Page with
  jewels'.

  p. 422, l. 25 _Well, if you do._ 1724 'Why, if you do'.

+Act V: Scene v+

  p. 422, l. 29 _Scene V. A Street._ 4tos and 1724 'Scene, a Street'.

  p. 423, l. 3 _Gill. Tom, Pages, &c._ I have inserted Tom's name
  here.

  p. 424, l. 5 _come a merry-making._ 1724 'come merry-making'.

  p. 424, l. 33 _you grow so vain._ 1724 'you grew so vain'.

  p. 425, l. 7. _In a preaching tone._ 1724 'In a preachin tone'. The
  dropped 'g', is not intentional here, but a misprint.


NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.

+Dedication+

  p. 337 _To the Right Noble Henry Fitzroy._ Second son of Charles II
  by Barbara Villiers, Countess of Castlemaine, afterwards Duchess of
  Cleveland, was born 20 September, 1663. He married, 1 August, 1672,
  Isabella, daughter and heiress of Henry Bennet, Earl of Arlington.
  The bride was then only five years old. In September, 1675, Henry
  Fitzroy was created Duke of Grafton, and on 30 September, 1680, was
  installed by proxy as Knight of the Garter. In 1682 he became
  colonel of the first foot guards. He died 9 October, 1690, from a
  wound he received under the walls of Cork during Marlborough's
  expedition to Ireland. Brave and even reckless to a fault, he is
  said to have been the most popular and the ablest of the sons of
  Charles II.

+Prologue+

  p. 341 _noise of Plots._ The ferment occasioned by the pretended
  Popish Plot of 1678 and the illegal Exclusion Bill was in full
  blast.

  p. 341 _Presbytery._ Presbyterianism.

  p. 341 _Forty One._ 1641 was the date of the Grand Remonstrance and
  Petition to Charles I.

  p. 341 _Ignoramus._ When Shaftesbury was indicted for high treason,
  24 November, 1681, the grand jury ignored or threw out the bill.
  Their declaration was 'ignoramus'. cf. Dryden's prologue to _The
  Duke of Guise_ (1682):--

    Let ignoramus juries find no traitors,

  and other innumerable references to this verdict.

+Dramatis Personae+

  p. 343 _Fleetwood._ Lieutenant-General Charles Fleetwood was
  son-in-law to Oliver Cromwell, and for a time Lord-Deputy of
  Ireland. He was mainly instrumental in the resignation of Richard
  Cromwell, but so weak and vacillating that he lost favour with all
  parties. His name was excepted from the general amnesty, and it was
  only with great difficulty that, owing to the influence of Lord
  Litchfield, he escaped with his life. He died in obscurity at Stoke
  Newington, 4 October, 1692.

  p. 343 _Lambert._ Major-General Lambert (1619-83) lost his
  commissions owing to the jealousy of Oliver Cromwell, on whose death
  he privily opposed Richard Cromwell. In August, 1659, he defeated
  the Royalist forces under Sir George Booth in Cheshire, but
  subsequently his army deserted. On his return to London he was
  arrested (5 March, 1660), by the Parliament, but escaped. Tried for
  high treason at the Restoration, he was banished to Guernsey, where
  he died in the winter of 1683.

  p. 343 _Wariston._ Archibald Johnston, Lord Wariston, a fierce
  fanatic, was parliamentary commissioner for the administration of
  justice in Scotland and a member of Cromwell's House of Peers. On
  the revival of the Rump he became president of the Council of State,
  and permanent president of the Committee of Safety. At the
  Restoration he fled, but was brought back from Rouen to be hanged at
  the Market Cross, Edinburgh, 23 July, 1663. Carlyle dubs him a
  'lynx-eyed lawyer and austere presbyterian zealot', and Burnet says,
  'Presbyterianism was more to him than all the world.'

  p. 343 _Hewson._ John Hewson, regicide, a shoemaker, was a commander
  under Cromwell, and afterwards a peer in the Upper House. At the
  Restoration he escaped to the Continent and died in exile at
  Amsterdam, 1662, or, by another account, at Rouen.

  p. 343 _Desbro._ John Desborough, Desborow, or Disbrowe (1608-80)
  was Cromwell's brother-in-law. Being left a widower, he married
  again April, 1658. As he had refused to sit as a judge at the trial
  of Charles I, he was not exempted from the amnesty; but being
  considered a source of danger, he was, after the Restoration,
  'always watched with peculiar jealousy,' and suffered some short
  term of imprisonment.

  p. 343 _Duckingfield._ Robert Duckenfield (1619-89), a strong
  Parliamentarian, but one who refused to assist at the King's trial.
  He had large estates in Cheshire, where he lived retired after a
  short imprisonment at the Restoration. His son Robert, who succeeded
  him, was subsequently created a baronet by Charles II, 16 June,
  1665.

  p. 343 _Corbet._ Although this name is here given as Corbet, Colonel
  Cobbet occurs Act i, II (p. 355), and we have Cobbet again Act iii,
  I (p. 374). This character is certainly not Miles Corbet the
  regicide, but Ralph Cobbet, who was both a colonel and a member of
  the Committee of Safety. Ralph Cobbet is frequently alluded to in
  the satires of the time, e.g. _The Gang; or, The Nine Worthies and
  Champions_ (17 January, 1659-60):--

    A man of stomack in the next deal,
      With a hey down, &c.
    Was hungry Colonel Cobbet;
      He would eat at a meale
      A whole commonweale,
    And make a joint but a gobbet.

  p. 343 _Whitlock._ Bulstrode Whitelock (1605-75), keeper of the
  Great Seal, and in August, 1659, president of the Council of State,
  was always inclined to royalism, and even advised Cromwell to
  restore Charles II. At the Restoration he was allowed to retire to
  Chilton Park, Hungerford, Wilts, and died there 28 July, 1675.
  According to some accounts his death took place at Fawley, Bucks.

  p. 343 _Lady Lambert._ Lady Lambert was Frances, daughter of Sir
  William Lister, knight, of Thornton in Craven, Yorks. She was
  married 10 September, 1639. Contemporaries attribute Lambert's
  ambition to the influence of his wife, whose pride is frequently
  alluded to. e.g. _Memoirs of Colonel Hutchinson_, edited by C.
  H. Firth (Nimmo, 1885), Vol. II, p. 189, 'There went a story that as
  my Lady Ireton was walking in St. James' Park the Lady Lambert, as
  proud as her husband, came by where she was, and as the present
  princess always has precedency of the relict of the dead prince, so
  she put my Lady Ireton below; who, notwithstanding her piety and
  humility, was a little grieved at the affront.'

  p. 343 _Lady Desbro._ Desborough's second wife, whom he married
  April, 1658, is said, on the dubious authority of Betham, to have
  been Anne, daughter of Sir Richard Everard, Bart., of Much Waltham.
  Mrs. Behn's amorous lady, Maria, is, of course, purely fictional.

  p. 343 _Lady Fleetwood._ Bridget, eldest daughter of Oliver
  Cromwell, was married first to Ireton, who died 26 November, 1651,
  and secondly, in 1652, to Fleetwood. She did not live long after the
  Restoration, and was buried at S. Anne's, Blackfriars, 1 July, 1662.

  p. 343 _Lady Cromwell._ Cromwell married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir
  James Bourchier, 22 August, 1620. She survived her husband seven
  years, dying 19 November, 1665. After the Restoration she lived in
  great seclusion at Norboro', Northamptonshire, the house of her
  son-in-law, John Claypoole.

  p. 343 _Clement's Parish._ Probably St. Clements, Eastcheap. This
  church, described by Stow as being 'small and void of monuments',
  was destroyed in the Great Fire and rebuilt 1686. The old church of
  St. Clement Danes, Strand, being in a ruinous condition, was pulled
  down in 1680 and built again on the same site. The Puritans always
  omitted the prefix 'St.' and spoke of churches as 'Paul's',
  'Mary's', 'Bartholomew's', 'Helen's' and the like.

+Act I: Scene i+

  p. 344 _Gad and the Lord Fleetwood._ Fleetwood, even in an age of
  Tartuffes, was especially distinguished for the fluency of his
  canting hypocrisy and godliness. He was a bitter persecutor of
  Catholics, a warm favourer of Anabaptists and the extremer fanatics
  of every kidney.

  p. 345 _Vane._ Sir Harry Vane (1613-62), the prominent
  Parliamentarian and a leading member of the Committee of Safety was
  executed as a regicide, June, 1662.

  p. 345 _Fifth Monarchy._ The Fifth Monarchy men were a sect of wild
  enthusiasts who declared themselves 'subjects only of King Jesus',
  and held that a fifth universal monarchy (like those of Assyria,
  Persia, Greece, and Rome) would be established by Christ in person,
  until which time no single person must presume to rule or be king.

  p. 346 _Haslerig._ Sir Arthur Heselrige, one of the Five Members
  whom Parliament refused to yield to Charles I in January, 1642, was
  a republican of the most violent type. He died a prisoner in the
  Tower, 7 January, 1661.

  p. 349 _an errant Heroick._ A term for a cavalier or Royalist, cf.
  Edward Waterhouse's _A Short Narrative of the late Dreadful Fire in
  London_ (1667, 12mo): 'Even so, O Lord, rebuke the evil spirit of
  these _Sanballats_, and raise up the spirit of the _Nehemiahs_ and
  other such Heroicks of Kindness and Ability to consider _London._'
  Tatham, in _The Rump_ (4to, 1660; 1661), Act ii, 1, has 'The very
  names of the Cromwells will become far more odious than ever Needham
  could make the Heroicks'.

  p. 349 _cuckold the Ghost of Old Oliver._ The intrigue between
  Cromwell and Lambert's wife is affirmed in '_Newes from the New
  Exchange; or, the Commonwealth of Ladies ..._ London; printed in the
  year of women without grace, 1650' (4to). Noble, in his _Memoirs of
  the Cromwell Family_ (8vo, London, 1787, 3rd edit., Vol. II,
  p. 369), says that the lady 'was an elegant and accomplished woman',
  she was 'suppos'd to have been partial to Oliver the Protector.'
  A scarce poem, _Iter Australe_ (London, 1660, 4to), declares of
  Cromwell that some

    Would have him a David, 'cause he went
    To Lambert's wife, when he was in his tent.

  Some six months before Cromwell's death, when Lambert visited him,
  Noll 'fell on his neck, kissed him, inquired of dear Johnny for his
  jewel (so he called Mrs. Lambert) and for all his children by name.'
  Cromwell's immoralities in youth, when a brewer at Ely, were
  notorious. Although the parish registers of S. John's, Huntingdon,
  have been tampered with, the following, under the years 1621 and
  1628, remain: 'Oliverus Cromwell reprehensus erat coram tota
  Ecclesia pro factis.' and 'Hoc anno Oliverus Cromwell fecit
  penitentiam coram tota ecclesia.' An attempt has been made to erase
  these.

+Act I: Scene ii+

  p. 354 _Tony._ Anthony Ashley Cooper; afterwards first Earl of
  Shaftesbury.

  p. 357 _Wallingford House._ Stood on the site of the present
  Admiralty. It was so called from Sir William Knollys, Baron
  Wallingford, Treasurer of the Household to Elizabeth and James I.
  After Cromwell's death the General Council of the Officers of the
  Army (Wallingford House Party) met here. Fleetwood actually lived in
  the house. At the Restoration it reverted to the Duke of Buckingham.
  The Crown purchased it 1680, and the Admiralty was built about 1720.

+Act II: Scene i+

  p. 361 _Cobler's-Stall._ Hewson, says Wood, had originally been 'an
  honest shoemaker in Westminster.'

  p. 362 _Conventickling._ Conventicle was accentuated upon the third
  syllable. This, of course, led to innuendo, cf. 1 _Hudibras_ (1663)
  Canto ii, 437:

    He used to lay about and stickle
    Like ram or bull at conventicle

  and Dryden, in _The Medal_ (1682):--

    A tyrant theirs; the heaven their priesthood paints
    A conventicle of gloomy sullen saints.

  p. 363 _Pryn._ William Prynne (1600-69) had been sentenced to severe
  punishment in February, 1634, for the scandals and libels contained
  in his dull diatribe, _Histriomastix._ He lost both his ears in the
  pillory.

  p. 365 _Needham._ Marchamont Nedham, 'the Commonwealth's Didaper',
  was a graduate of All Souls, Oxon, and sometime an usher at Merchant
  Taylors' school. He also seems to have been connected with the legal
  profession. 'The skip-jack of all fortunes', neither side has a good
  word for this notorious pamphleteer, the very scum of our early
  journalism. When _Mercurius Britannicus_ temporarily ceased
  publication with No. 50, 9 September, 1644, Nedham recommenced it on
  the 30th of the same month with No. 51 (not No. 52 as is sometimes
  stated). No. 92, 28 July-4 August, 1645, and the number 11-18 May,
  1646, revile the King in such scurrilous terms that Nedham was haled
  to the bar of the House of Lords and imprisoned. Later he turned
  Royalist, but in 1650 published _The Case of the Commonwealth
  Stated_, a defence of the regicides, for which he received a pension
  of L100 a year. He fled to Holland, April, 1660, but being pardoned,
  returned to England. He died in Devereux Court, Temple Bar,
  November, 1678, and is buried in St. Clement Danes. Wood
  characterizes him as 'a most seditious, mutable and railing author,'
  whilst Cleveland terms him 'that impudent and incorrigible reviler'.

  p. 365 _Ireton, my best of Sons._ Noble, in his _Memoirs of the
  Cromwell Family_, says that the fact Fleetwood had not the abilities
  of her first husband gave his wife much concern, as she saw with
  great regret the ruin his conduct must bring on herself and her
  children.

  p. 366 _Richard's Wife._ Richard Cromwell at the age of 23 married
  Dorothy, daughter of Richard Major, of Hursley, Hampshire.

  p. 366 _glorious Titles._ Cromwell's wife was, as a matter of fact,
  very averse to all grandeur and state. The satires of the time laugh
  at her homeliness and parsimony.

  p. 369 _Ormond._ James Butler, Duke of Ormond, was lord-lieutenant
  of Ireland, 1643-47.

  p. 370 _Exercise._ A common term amongst the Puritans for worship; a
  sermon or extemporary prayer. As early as 1574. Archbishop Whitgift
  speaks of the exercises of 'praying, singing of psalms, interpreting
  and prophesying', cf. Davenant, _The Wits_ (4to 1636):--

    I am a new man, Luce; thou shalt find me
    In a Geneva band....
    And squire thy untooth'd aunt to an exercise,

  and also:--

          [she] divides
    The day in exercise.
          --Mayne's _City Match_ (1639), iv, v.

  p. 372 _Duke of Glocester._ Henry of Oatlands, Duke of Gloucester,
  youngest son of Charles I. Born 8 July, 1639, he died of smallpox at
  Whitehall 13 September, 1660. The Parliament sent him to the
  continent on 11 February, 1653.

  p. 373 _he should have been bound Prentice._ A proposition was
  actually made in Parliament that the young Duke of Gloucester should
  be bound to a trade, in order, as it was impudently expressed, 'that
  he might earn his bread honestly.' Fortunately, saner counsels
  prevailed, in which his fate was happier than that of the Dauphin
  committed to the cruelties of Citizen Simon, cordwainer.

  p. 373 _Old Thurlo._ John Thurloe (1616-68), Secretary of State to
  Cromwell; M.P. for Ely, 1654 and 1656. He died 21 February, 1668.

+Act III: Scene i+

  p. 378 _Highness's Funeral._ A large portion of the debt incurred
  for Oliver Cromwell's magnificently extravagant funeral ceremonies
  fell on Richard, who was obliged to retire for a while to the
  continent to avoid arrest and await some settlement. These obsequies
  cost in all the huge sum of L60,000, which there was a great
  difficulty in paying. The chief undertaker's name was Rolt. See note
  on _The Widow Ranter_ --'Trusting for Old Oliver's funeral,' Act i.
  (Vol. IV.)

  p. 378 _Walter Frost._ Walter Frost, secretary to the Republican
  Council of State, was quondam manciple of Emmanuel, Cambridge, and
  acted as spy-master and manager of the 'committee hackneys,' which
  hunted down and betrayed Royalists. This infamous fellow, who dubbed
  himself Esquire and Latinized his name to Gualter, was authorized to
  publish (i.e. write) 'intelligence every week upon Thursday
  according to an Act of Parliament for that purpose.' He licensed _A
  Briefe Relation_ (No 1, 2 October, 1649) from its second number
  until 22 October, 1650. This is certainly one of the most evil and
  lying of the Republican diurnals.

  p. 378 _Hutchinson._ Richard Hutchinson, deputy treasurer to Sir
  Henry Vane. He succeeded as Treasurer to the Navy in 1651 and
  continued to hold office after the Restoration. He is several times
  mentioned by Pepys.

  p. 379 _Jacobus._ A gold coin value 25s., first current in the reign
  of James I.

  p. 379 _Mr. Ice._ Perhaps Stephen Isles who was appointed a
  Commissioner for the London Militia, 7 July, 1659. The name 'Mr.
  Ice' occurs in Tatham's _Rump_ in the same context.

  p. 379 _Loether._ Sir Gerard Lowther, who, once a loyalist, became a
  republican, and in 1654 was one of the Three Commissioners of the
  Great Seal in Ireland. He acquired large estates and died very
  wealthy on the eve of the Restoration.

  p. 381 _Duke of Buckingham's Estate ... with Chelsey House._
  Bulstrode Whitelocke actually had obtained the Duke's sequestered
  estate, and stood for Bucks in Parliament. During the Commonwealth
  Chelsea House was bestowed upon him as an official residence, and he
  lived there till the Restoration, when it reverted to the Duke, to
  whose father it had been granted in 1627 by Charles I. He sold it in
  1664 to the trustees of George Digby, Earl of Bristol. In 1682 it
  became the property of Henry, Marquis of Worcester, afterwards Duke
  of Beaufort, and was renamed Beaufort House. Sir Hans Sloane
  purchased it in 1738, and it was demolished two years later.

  p. 381 _Hugh Peters._ This divine, who had been chaplain to Sir
  Thomas Fairfax, was notorious for his fanatical and ranting sermons.
  Having openly advocated and preached the death of Charles I, he was,
  at the Restoration, excluded from the general amnesty, tried for
  high treason, and executed 16 October, 1660.

  p. 382 _Scobel._ Henry Scobell, clerk to the Long Parliament. His
  name appeared as the licenser of various newsbooks, and he
  superintended the publication of _Severall Proceedings in
  Parliament_, No. 1, 25 Sept.-9 Oct., 1649. Scobell died in 1660,
  his will being proved 29 Sept. of that year.

+Act IV: Scene ii+

  p. 394 _Vails._ Avails; profits. Money given to servants: 'tips'.

+Act IV: Scene iii+

  p. 398 _Cushion-Dance._ A merry old English round action dance
  common in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

  p. 398 _Nickers._ Or knickers, marbles generally made of baked clay.
  cf. Duffet's farce, _The Mock Tempest_ (1675), Act iv, I:--

        _Enter _Hypolito playing with Nickers.
    _Hyp._ Anan, Anan, forsooth-- you, Sir, don't you stir the Nickers.
    I'l play out my game presently.

+Act IV: Scene iv+

  p. 402 _Joan Sanderson._ The air to which the Cushion Dance was
  usually performed. It may be found in Playford's _Dancing Master_,
  1686. Sometimes the dance itself was known as Joan Sanderson.

+Act V: Scene i+

  p. 406 _The Tall Irishman._ Oliver Cromwell's porter, yclept Daniel,
  was a giant. This fellow, through poring over mystical divinity,
  lost his wits: he preached, prophesied, and raved until finally he
  was incarcerated in Bedlam, where, after a while, his liberty was
  allowed him. A famous item amongst his books was a large Bible
  presented by Neil Gwynne. D'Urfey in his Prologue to _Sir Barnaby
  Whigg_ (1681), has: 'Like Oliver's porter, but not so devout.' There
  is a rare, if not unique, portrait of Daniel in the Print Room,
  British Museum. The reputed portrait in Pierce Tempest's _Cryes of
  the City of London_ (No. 71. Un insense pour la Religion. M. Lauron
  del. P. Tempest ex.) is not that of a remarkably tall man.

  p. 410 _Enter Hewson with Guards._ 5 December, 1659, Hewson did
  actually suppress a rising of London prentices, two or three of whom
  were killed and some score wounded. This made him very unpopular.

+Act V: Scene iia+

  p. 412_ Lord Capel._ Arthur, Lord Capel, Baron Hadham, a gallant
  royalist leader, was, after the surrender of Colchester,
  treacherously imprisoned. He escaped, but was betrayed, and beheaded
  9 March, 1649.

  p. 412 _Brown Bushel._ A sea captain. Originally inclined to the
  Parliament, he became a royalist. In 1643 he was taken prisoner, but
  after being exchanged lived quietly and retired till 1648, when he
  was seized as a deserter, and after three years captivity, tried,
  and executed 29 April, 1651.

  p. 413 _Earl of Holland._ Henry Rich, Earl of Holland (1590-1649),
  a staunch royalist, was executed 9 March, 1649, in company with Lord
  Capel and the Duke of Hamilton.

  p. 413 _Judas._ The piece of plate dubb'd Judas would be gilded, cf.
  Middleton's _Chaste Maid in Cheapside_, (4to, 1630), iii, 2.

    _3rd Gossip._ Two great 'postle-spoons, one of them gilt.
    _1st Puritan._ Sure that was Judas then with the red beard.

  Red is the traditional colour of Judas' hair. cf. Dryden's lines on
  Jacob Tonson the publisher:--

    With two left legs and Judas- hair.

  p. 414 _an act, 24 June._ Cromwell's parliament passed Draconian
  Acts punishing adultery, incest, fornication, with death; the two
  former on the first offence, the last on the second conviction.
  _Mercurius Politicus_, No. 168. Thursday, 25 August-- Thursday,
  1 September, 1653 (p. 2700), records the execution of an old man of
  eighty-nine who was found guilty at Monmouth Assize of adultery with
  a woman over sixty. It is well known that under the Commonwealth the
  outskirts of London were crowded with brothels, and the license of
  Restoration days pales before the moral evils and cankers existing
  under Cromwell. The officially recognized independent diurnals
  _Mercurius Democritus_, _Mercurius Fumigosus_, have been described
  as 'abominable'. In 1660, when the writers of these attempted to
  circulate literature which had been common in the preceeding decade,
  they were promptly 'clapt up in Newgate'.

  p. 414 _Peters the first_, _Martin the Second._ Hugh Peters has been
  noticed before. Henry Martin was an extreme republican, and at one
  time even a Leveller. He was a commissioner of the High Court of
  Justice and a regicide. At the Restoration he was imprisoned for
  life and died at Chepstow Castle, 1681, aged seventy-eight. He was
  notorious for profligacy and shamelessness, and kept a very seraglio
  of mistresses.

  p. 415 _Tantlings._ St. Antholin's (St. Anthling's), Budge Row,
  Watling Street, had long been a stronghold of puritanism. As early
  as 1599, morning prayer and lecture were instituted, 'after the
  Geneva fashion'. The bells began at five in the morning. This church
  was largely attended by fanatics and extremists. There are frequent
  allusions to St. Antholin's and its matutinal chimes. The church was
  burned down in the Great Fire. Middleton and Dekker's _Roaring
  Girl_ (1611): 'Sha's a tongue will be heard further in a still
  morning than Saint Antling's bell.'

            She will outpray
    A preacher at St. Antlin's.
       --Mayne's _City Match_ (1639), iv, v.

  Davenant's _News from Plymouth_ (fol. 1673, licensed 1635), i, I:--

              Two disciples to St. Tantlin,
    That rise to long exercise before day.

  p. 416 _Lilly._ William Lilly (1602-81). The famous astrologer and
  fortune-teller. In Tatham's _The Rump_ (1660), he is introduced on
  the stage, and there is a scene between him and Lady Lambert, Act
  iv.

  p. 416 _sisseraro._ More usually sasarara. A corruption of
  _certiorari_, a writ in law to expedite justice. 'If it be lost or
  stole ... I could bring him to a cunning kinsman of mine that would
  fetcht again with a sesarara,' --_The Puritan_ (1607). 'Their souls
  fetched up to Heaven with a sasarara.' --_The Revenger's Tragedy_,
  iv, 2 (1607), _The Vicar of Wakefield_ (1766), ch. xxi: '"As for the
  matter of that," returned the hostess, "gentle or simple, out she
  shall pack with a sussarara".'

+Act V: Scene iii+

  p. 421 _Twelve Houses._ Each of the astrological divisions of the
  heavens denoting the station of a planet is termed a house.

+Act V: Scene v+

  p. 423 _bear the bob._ To join in the chorus. Bob is the burden or
  refrain of a song.

  p. 423 _Colt-staff._ Or col-staff (Latin _collum_). A staff by which
  two men carry a load, one end of the pole resting on a shoulder of
  each porter. cf. _Merry Wives of Windsor_, iii, 3, 'Where's the
  cowl-staff?'

  p. 423 _Fortune my Foe._ This extremely popular old tune is in Queen
  Elizabeth's _Virginal Book_; in William Ballet's MS. Lute Book; in
  _Bellerophon_ (1622), and in numerous other old musical works. There
  are allusions to it in Shakespeare and many of the dramatists.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

Errors and Irregularities: The Roundheads

very woodeny and awkward
  _text unchanged_
should be represented for the better undeceiving
  _text reads "ahould be"_
[Ex. _Lov._ _Free._ and L. _Des._
  _word "and" printed in emphatic (Roman) type_

Notes on Text

III.ii
p. 385, l. 8 ... And later 'fall - ing'
  _body text reads "fall-- ing" with unspaced long dash_
V.ii
p. 417, l. 6 _Mr. Leyer._ 1724 'Mr. Lyar'.
  _open quote missing_
V.iii
p. 420, l. 32 ... when the Prentices rush on.
  _text has superfluous close quote at end of paragraph_

Critical Notes

Dramatis Personae
p. 343 ... Clement's Parish
  _this phrase occurs in the description of the male character Ananias
  Goggle, but is printed in the Notes after the commentary on the four
  main female characters_
V.iia
p. 414 _an act, 24 June._
  _body text reads "June 24th"_






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. I (of 6), by
Aphra Behn

*** 