Scene I. The Street.

Mrs. Aphra Behn, from the portrait by Sir Peter Lely

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

publisher's device: W H and windmill

LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN

STRATFORD-ON-AVON: A. H. BULLEN

MCMXV

To Francis James,

this the first collected edition of

Aphra Behn.

CONTENTS.

Items in _italics_ were added by the transcriber. The plays are located

in two separate files, together with their respective Notes, as

explained in the “Notes” section of this file.

“The Rover” Parts I and II are separate plays; Part II is a sequel.

Students should note that the editorial material (1915) is sometimes

significantly at variance with current (2007) Behn scholarship.

PAGE

PREFACE xiii

INTRODUCTION

(_Memoir of Mrs. Behn_) xv

_The Text_ _lxii_

_The Portraits of Mrs. Behn_ _lxiv_

_Footnotes to Introduction_

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

xiii 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 xiv 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 minutiæ 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.

xv 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 xvi about the memory of Aphra Behn, that he is apt to

regard almost every record outside those of her residence at Antwerp1

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.

Ayfara, or Aphara4 (Aphra), Amis or Amies, the daughter of John and Amy

Amis or Amies, was xvii 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

(_Athenæum_, 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:—

xviii

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.

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 xix 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_, _Cléopatre_,

_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’.

It was perhaps from the reading of La Calprenède and Mlle de Scudéri

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 _Cléopatre_,

the love story of the Scythian King Alcamène, 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_.

xx 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 xxi 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 xxii 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.

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 xxiii 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.

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 £20, out of her own

pocket, whilst her personal debts total another £25 or £30, and living

itself is ten guilders a day. If she is to continue her work

satisfactorily, £80 at least will be needed to pay up all her

creditors; moreover, as a xxiv 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 information12 xxv 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 £100 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 £150 which enabled her to settle her

affairs and start for home in January, 1667.

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 xxvi 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. May14 or Mr. Chiffinch15 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 £150. 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 wth 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 ye

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 ye king wth 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 ye 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 xxvii must send me

som thing to keepe me in Prison for I will not starue.

A. Behn.

Endorsed:

For Mr. Killigrew this.

letter transcribed in accompanying text

Closer view of letter

Detail of stamp

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 £150 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 xxviii 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

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 xxix

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

era17 (_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 xxx 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’.

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 xxxi 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 xxxii in the theatrical world. In 167320 _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.

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 xxxiii 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

himself24 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 xxxiv 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 familiarity25 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 xxxv description were current

concerning him.27 There is, in fact, printed a letter28 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 xxxvi 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.’

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 xxxvii 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 letter32 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. xxxviii 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.

_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 xxxix 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.’

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 Molière, 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, xl _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

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 xli 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_ xlii _Count_, the third play of this year, is

non-political, and she has herein borrowed a suggestion from Molière.

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 xliii 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.

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 detention38 (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.

In this same year the Whigs in spite of their utmost efforts signally

failed to suppress, and could xliv only retard 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.

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

xlv of Salisbury.40 In the same volume is included her graceful

translation of the Abbé Tallemant’s _Le Voyage de l’Isle d’Amour_,

entitled, _A Voyage to The Isle of Love_.

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 oblegd to you for ye 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 wt was told me, you wou’d have

excus’d all I said on that account. Thank him most infinitly for ye

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 wth a thing can not

now be help’d, so never let him know my resentment. I am troubled for

ye line that’s left out of Dr. Garth,41 and wish yor man wou’d write it

in ye margent, at his leasure, to all you sell.

As for ye verses of mine, I shou’d really have thought ’em worth thirty

pound; and I hope you will find it xlvi 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 wt a preety thing ye Island will be, and wt a deal of

labor I shall have yet with it: and if that pleases, I will do the 2nd

Voyage, wch will compose a little book as big as a novel by it self.

But pray speake to yor Bror 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 wth 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 ye

Voyage shou’d com last, as being ye largest volume. You know Mr.

Couly’s Dauid is last, because a large poem, and Mrs. Philips her Plays

for ye same reason. I wish I had more time, I wou’d ad something to ye

verses yt I have a mind too, but, good deare Mr. Tonson, let it be 5lb

more, for I may safly swere I have lost ye getting of 50lb by it, tho

that’s nothing to you, or my satisfaction and humour: but I have been

wthout getting so long yt I am just on ye poynt of breaking, espesiall

since a body has no creditt at ye Playhouse for money as we usd to

have, fifty or 60 deepe, or more; I want extreamly or I wo’d not urge

this.

Yors A. B.

Pray send me ye loose papers to put to these I have, and let me know

wch you will go about first, ye songs and verses or that. Send me an

answer to-day.

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_

xlvii _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.

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 xlviii 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.

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.’

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_ xlix

_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 Boëte 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 Jamaica45 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 _Æesop’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 l 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.

This she sent to his daughter-in-law with the following letter47:—

Madam,

At such losses as you have sustain’d in that of yor Glorious ffather in

Law Mr. 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 li 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 wch 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 Mr. Wallers great fame, or of being doomed

to the fire & whateuer you decree will extreamly sattisfy

Madam

I humbly beg pardon for my yll writing Madam for tis with a Lame hand

scarce able to hold a pen.

yor most Devoted &

most Obeadient

Seruant

A. Behn.

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 Abbé Tallemant’s dainty preciosities. On 10

June, James Francis Edward, lii 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.

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, liii 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

’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, liv 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;

lv 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 lvi 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 lvii 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 lviii 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.

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 protégé (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, lix

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 lx 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.

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 lxi 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.

lxii 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.

lxiii

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.

lxiv

Footnotes

1. _Kalendar of State Papers, Domestic_, 1666-7.—ed. Mrs. M. A. E.

Green (1864).

2. This is inaccurate. Mrs. Behn’s first play, _The Forc’d Marriage_,

was produced in December, 1670.

3. e.g. to Waller’s daughter-in-law; to Tonson. cf. also the Warrant of

12 August, 1682; the Pindaric to Burnet, &c.

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.

5. He died in 1642.

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”.’

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).

8. Then unprinted but now included in the very voluminous edition of

Lady Winchilsea’s _Poems_, ed. M. Reynolds, Chicago, 1903.

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 coloured 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.

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.

11. He was at Margate 25 July, and at Bruges 7 August.

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.

13. Had he been imprisoned for political reasons it is impossible that

there should have been so speedy a prospect of release.

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

15. William Chiffinch, confidential attendant and pimp to Charles II.

16. Amintas repeatedly stands for John Hoyle. In _Our Cabal_, however

(_vide_ Vol. VI, p. 160), Hoyle is dubbed Lycidas.

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.’

18. Which it certainly was not secundum mid-Victorian morals.

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.

20. The Duke’s Company opened at their new theatre, Dorset Garden, 9

November, 1671.

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.

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.

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.

24. This occurrence is the subject of some lines in _The Rump_ (1662):

‘On the happy Memory of Alderman Hoyle that hang’d himself.’

25. _The Muses Mercury_, December, 1707, refers to verses made on Mrs.

Behn ‘and her very good friend, Mr. Hoyle’.

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.

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.

28. _Familiar Letters of Love, Gallantry, etc._ There are several

editions. I have used that of 1718, 2 vols.

29. In his MS. Commonplace Book (now in the possession of G. Thorn

Drury, Esq., K.C.), Whitelocke Bulstrode writes:—

’27 May 92.

’Mr Hoyle of y’e Temple, coming this morning about two of ye Clock frõ

ye Young Divel Tavern, was killed wth a sword; He died Instantly: It

proceeded frõ a quarrell about Drincking a Health; Killed by Mr Pitt of

Graies Inne yt Dranck wth them. Mr 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.

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.

31. The overture, act-tunes, incidental music, were composed by Henry

Purcell.

32. _Familiar Letters of Love, Gallantry, etc._, Vol. I (1718), pp.

31-2.

33. _Ibrahim, the Thirteenth Emperor of the Turks_, produced in 1696

(410, 1696), a commendable tragedy by Mrs. Mary Pix, _née_ Griffiths

(1666-1720?). The plot is based on Sir Paul Ricaut’s continuation of

the Turkish history.

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.

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.

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?

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.’

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.’

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.’

44. First published in _The Gentleman’s Magazine_, May, 1836.

45. Christopher Monck, second Duke of Albermarle, was appointed

Governor-General of Jamaica, 26 November, 1687. He died there early in

the following autumn.

46. ’_Sappho_ famous for her Gout and Guilt,’ writes Gould in _The

Poetess, a Satyr_.

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.

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_.’

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_.’

50. The title page has 1689, but it was possibly published late in

1688.

51. Traditionally said to be John Hoyle.

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_.’

53. ‘She was a most beautiful woman, and a more excellent poet’. Col.

Colepeper. _Adversaria_, Vol. ii (Harleian MSS.)

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’.

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.’

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.’

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.’

58. It is ushered in by one ‘G. J. her friend’. This was almost

certainly George Jenkins.

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.

427

Explanation of “Notes”

In the printed book, all Notes were grouped at the end of the volume in

two sections: “Notes on the Plays” and “Notes: Critical and

Explanatory”. Passages cited were identified only by page and line

number.

For this e-text, the Notes have been placed after their respective

plays, retaining the division between textual notes (generally short,

one or two lines) and critical notes (often several paragraphs). The

original page numbers are shown in brackets [ ].

References to Acts and Scenes were added by the transcriber. Page and

line numbers have been retained for completeness, but all links lead

directly to the cited text. Annotated passages are identified in the

body text with two kinds of link: dotted underlining for “Notes on the

Plays”; solid underlining for “Notes: Critical and Explanatory”.

Passages that have both kinds of note are linked to the critical note.

1

THE ROVER; OR,

THE BANISH’D CAVALIERS.

PART I.

Scenes described in (parentheses) are unnumbered.

Argument.

Source.

Theatrical History.

Dramatis Personæ.

Prologue

Act I.

Scene I. _A Chamber._

Scene II. _A Long Street._

Act II.

Scene I. _The Long Street._

Scene II. _A Fine Chamber._

Act III.

Scene I. _A Street._

Scene II. _Lucetta’s House._

(_Lucetta’s Chamber_)

(_a common Shore_)

Scene III. _The Garden, in the Night._

Scene IV. _The Street._

Act IV.

Scene I. _A fine Room._

Scene II. _The Molo._

Scene III. _A Street._

(_another Street_)

(_Blunt’s Chamber_)

Act V.

Scene I. _Blunt’s Chamber._

Epilogue.

Postscript.

Notes to _The Rover_

3

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.

4 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 5 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_.

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.

* 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.

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 rôles. 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, 6

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.

7

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:

8 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.

9

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

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.

10

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 11 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?_

12

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 13 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?

14 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 Cripples, 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 15 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?

16 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 17 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.

18 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.

19 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.

20 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.

21 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, 22 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?

23 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.

24

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.

25 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 26 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.

27 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.

28

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 29 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.

30 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.A 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?

31

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.B 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 32 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.

33 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 _Cælia_ 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 _Cælia’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.

34

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.

35 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.

36 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.

37 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_.

38 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.

39 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.__] 40

—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,

41 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 42 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 Fops 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 43 —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 44 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.

45 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 46 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.

47

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 48 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.

49 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.

50 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.

51

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.

52 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 53 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 54 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 55 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 Fop.—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 56 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.

57 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.—

58 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_.

59

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.

60 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._

61

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— 62 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,

63 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.

64

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.

65 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.

66

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,

67 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_.

68

[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.

69

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,

70 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 71 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.

72 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,

73 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;

74 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.

75

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.

76 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 77 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,

78 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 79 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 80 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.

81

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 82 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 83 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 84 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.

85

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 86 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.

87

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.

88 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.

89

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.

90 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.

91 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.

92 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 93 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?

94 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.

95 —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.

96 —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.

97

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._

98 —_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?

99

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?

100 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, 101 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 102 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?

103 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.

104 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.

105 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 Fop, 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,

106 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 Fops 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 Fop but half so much to th’ Life as you.

107

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_.

429

Notes on the Text.

Rover I.

Dramatis Personæ

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.

430 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).

438 Notes: Critical And Explanatory.

Rover I.

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 Personæ

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 rôle

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 439 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

440 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-goût, 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._

441 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 442

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 Cæsar 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.

A, B. A portion of the facing inner margins is missing:

image of facing pages 30-31

Reconstruction, page 30:

partial image of page 30

Reconstruction, page 31:

partial image of page 31

109

THE ROVER; OR,

THE BANISH’D CAVALIERS.

PART II.

110

Scenes described in (parentheses) are unnumbered.

Argument.

Source.

Theatrical History.

Dedication

Prologue

Dramatis Personæ.

Act I.

Scene I. _A Street._

(_A Church._)

Act II.

Scene I. _The Street._

Scene II. _A fine Chamber._

Act III.

Scene I. _A House._

Act IV.

Scene I. _The Street, or Backside of the Piazza._

(_A Garden._)

(_La Nuche’s House._)

(_Fetherfool’s Chamber._)

(_The Street._)

Act V.

Scene I. _A Chamber._

Scene II. _The Street._

Scene III. _Willmore’s Lodging._

(_A Chamber._)

Epilogue.

Notes to _The Rover, Part II_

111

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.

112

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.

113

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, 114 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,

Some of Oliver’s Commanders at Dunkirk 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.

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.

115

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.

116

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.

117

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

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 to _Willmore_, Mr. _Wiltshire_. _Hunt_, an Ensign

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_.

118

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 119 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.

120

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._

121

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 122 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.

123

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 124 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 125

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_—

126

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 127 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.

128

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.

129 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.

130

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.

131 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 132 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.

133 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

134 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.

135

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.

136

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.

137 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 138 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.

139 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.

140 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.

141

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 142 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—

143 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 Fop 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 144 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 Fop; 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.

145

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.

146

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.

147 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.

148 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.

149 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.

150 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 Fop.

[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 Fops 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, 151 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 152 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 Fops 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 153 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 154 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 155 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.

156

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.

157

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_.

158

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.

159

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 Papist, 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 160 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.

161

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 162 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.

163 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.

164

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.

165

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_.

166 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 167 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?

168

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.

169 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.

170 —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

171 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, 172 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.

173

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!_

174

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 Fop 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!

175

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 176 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_.

177

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?

178

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.

179

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.

180

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.

181 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.

182

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 Fop

_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.

183

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.

184

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_.

185

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 Phœnix’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.

186

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.

187

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—

188

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.

189

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;

190 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.

191

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 192 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.

193

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, 194 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.

195

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.

196 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.

197 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?_

198 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 Cripple; 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 199

procure a little Album Græcum 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 200 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 là?_

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 201

—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 202 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.

203 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.