_Enter my Lord_ Whiffle, Marsilia, _Mr._ Awdwell, _Mr._ Praisall, _Mrs._
Wellfed _and_ Calista.
Mrs. _Well._ For my part I am quite tir'd, and have a great mind to
steal home to Dinner; will you please to go with me, Madam?
_Cal._ With all my Heart: _Marsilia_'s so taken up with my Lord, they'll
never miss us.
Mrs. _Well._ Come then. (_Exeunt._
[Marsilia _and my Lord_ Whiffle _talk, both looking in a great Glass_.
_Mar._ Thus I have told your Lordship the First part, which is past.
L. _Whif._ I conceive you, Madam, I have the whole Story in a Corner of
my head intire, where no other Thought shall presume to interpose.
Confound me, if my damn'd Barber has not made me look like a Mountebank:
This Wigg I shall never endure, that's certain.
_Mar._ Now I must beg your Lordship to suppose _Fastin_ having seen his
Mother-in-Law, is wholly captivated with her Charms, and _Betty_ and
she have both foresworn the Consummation of her Marriage with _Fastin's_
Father; so he takes her to an adjacent Castle of his; she having cast
the old Philosopher in a deep sleep. I'm forc't to tell your Lordship
this, because the Play does not mention it.
Mr. _Awd._ I am afraid your Ladyship will be wanted, like the _Chorus_
of Old, to enlighten the understanding of the Audience.
_Mar._ Meer Malice, Spight, and burning Malice, by the Gods!
L. _Whiff._ Very good, my Coat is as full of wrinkles as an Old Woman's
Face, by _Jove_.
Mr. _Prais._ Madam, han't they took _Betty_ with 'em to his Castle?
_Mar._ Yes, yes; But, Mr. _Praisall_, you must keep your Distance a
little now, and not interrupt me, when I am talking to my Lord.
Mr. _Prais._ I am dumb as a fish.
_Mar._ Now, if your Lordship pleases to sit down, you will see my
_Opera_ begin; for tho' some of the Play is over, there has been no
Scene Operaish yet.
Mr. _Awd._ Operaish! Thats' a word of your own, I suppose, Madam.
Mr. _Prais._ Ne're the worse for that, I hope, Sir; why mayn't the
Ladies make a word as well as the Men?
L. _Whiff._ The Lady shall make what words she pleases; and I will
justifie her in't.
Mr. _Awd._ And I will laugh at her for it.
_Mar._ Well, Mr. _Awdwell_, these Affronts, are not so soon forgot as
given.
Mr. _Awd._ Use your Pleasure, Madam, the Fool's almost weary.
_Mar._ He nettles me; but I think I have him in my power: Is your
Lordship ready to observe?
L. _Whiff._ Madam, I am all Attention.
_Mar._ Come, the Night Scene there, a Dark Grove made Glorious by a
Thousand burning Lights: By Heav'ns my words run of themselves into
Heroick! Now Let em' enter.
_Enter_ Fastin, _Lady_ Loveall.
_Fast._ Cou'd Age expect to hold thee! Oh thou Heav'nly Charmer! was
there such an Impudence in Impotence; if the old Dotard has liv'd past
his Reason, he must be taught it; yes, it shall dazle in his Eyes.
Mr. _Awd._ A very Dutiful Son, this.
_Mar._ Sir, I desire your Absence, if you won't let the Players go on:
His Father has done a very foolish thing; and must be call'd to an
account for it.
L. _Whif._ Right Madam; all old Men do foolish things when they marry
young Wives, and ought to meet with exemplary Punishments.
_Mar._ Aye, your Lordship understands the Justice of the thing----Mrs.
_Knight_, if you please.
La. _Lov._ Whilst my Ears devour your protested Love, my Heart dances to
the Musick of your Vows. But is there no Falshood in a Form so lovely!
if there is, these Eyes that let the Object in, must weep for ever!
_Fast._ By Honour and by Glory, I love thee more than Mortal can express
or bear.
_Mar._ Now, Mr. _Powel_, my Rhime with a Boon Grace.
Fast. _My scorching Raptures make a Boy of Jove;
That ramping God shall learn of me to love._
_Mar._ How does your Lordship like these Lines_?_
L. _Whiff._ Madam, they exceed any of our modern Flights, as far as a
Description of _Homer_'s does Mr. _Settle_'s, Poet in Ordinary for my
Lord Mayor's Show.
Mr. _Prais._ After what my Lord has said, I dare not speak, but I am all
Admiration,
_Mar._ to Mrs. _Knight_.) Madam I beg your pardon for this Interruption;
my Friends here will treat me with Flattery.
La. _Lov._ to _Fastin_.) And you will be so vain to believe it none.
(_aside._) Nor _Isabella_ shall not----
_Fast._ Be nam'd only for Punishment, her Adultery with _Amorous_ is
plain, therefore she shall be disgrac'd, and dye.
Mr. _Awd._ Who had told him this?
_Mar._ Why _Betty_ had told him, tho' _Isabella_' was Innocent as to the
matter of Fact. Indeed Fate over-rul'd her Inclination: I will not
answer you another Question, I protest: find it out as the rest of the
World does.
_Fastin_ to his Attendants.) Guard the Orange Grove; there let
_Isabella_ remain a Prisoner, whilst I entertain the fair _Clemene_ with
a Song and Dances here.
(_Italian Song by Mr._ Pate.)
_Mar._ This Song's my own; and I think soft and moving.
L. _Whiff._ My slacken'd Fibres!----My Soul's dissolv'd.
(_Repeats._
_Mar._ Now the Grotesque Entertainment; I have mine perform'd by women,
because it should differ from t'other House: if it has done em' any
Injury I am sorry; but it cou'd not be hop'd, the Play must not be
absolutely without Ornament. Pray take care, Gentlewomen, as we Poets
are fain to do, that we may excell the Men, who first led the way.
DANCE.
_After the Dance, a Drum beats._
_Enter_ Betty.
_Prais._ Oh, Mrs. _Betty_!
_Mar._ Hold your peace, Mrs. _Betty_'s in haste.
_Bet._ Fly, Sir, fly; old _Whimsical_ is waked by another wretch, a
Fornicator, who has liv'd past the Pleasure and the Sin. These wither'd
Cuffs come on, follow'd by a monstrous Rabble, to seize the Lady.
Lady _Lo._ Alas, I fear.
_Fast._ Talk not of fear, my Love, while I am by; thou art as safe as if
ten thousand Legions were thy Guard. First to the Castle I will take my
way, and leave thee there secure; in the mean time my Men fall on upon
his mobbish Soldiers, but spare the stubborn old Man, because he is my
Father. (_Exeunt._
_Mar._ Now there's his Duty, there's his Duty! D'ye hear that, Mr.
_Quarelsom_!
Mr. _Awd._ Wondrous Duty! sets the Rabble about his Father's Ears, and
bids 'em not hurt him.
_Mar._ Now, my Lord, and Gentlemen, and Ladies, where are the Ladies?
Mr. _Prais._ I have miss'd 'em a great while, Madam: But I wou'd not
interrupt you to tell you of't.
_Mar._ Ill-bred Things! who do they expect shou'd have Patience with
their dull stuff? But, as I was saying, I must beg you once again to
suppose old Lord _Whimsical Loveall_, is attacking his Son's Castle, and
beaten back: Now they are behind the Scenes; found a Storm again, three
times; now we'll suppose 'em repuls'd. And from the Castle let the
Trumpets and Violins join in a Tune of Victory. So, there's a Battle
well over.
L. _Whiff._ With a very little trouble. But, Madam had not the storming
the Castle been as good a Scene as the taking of _Jerusalem_.
_Mar._ Granted, my Lord. But I have a Castle taken upon the Stage; and
twice, you know, had been Repetition.
Mr. _Prais._ True; your Ladiship was never in the wrong in your Life,
unless it was when you said, I had no Courage.
_Mar._ Change the Scene to the Orange Grove.
_Enter_ Isabella.
Your Servant Mrs. _Cross_, I am glad to see you again.
Mrs. _Cross_. Truly the Gentleman would not be deny'd; tho' really,
Madam, 'twas only fear I shou'd not serve you in't, made me backward.
_Mar._ All's well, and I'm pleas'd. Will you give your self the trouble
to enter again? because that will make you look more alone.
Mrs. _Cross_. Yes, Madam. (_Goes out, and Re-enters._
_Isab._ Methought I heard the sound of War pierce the hollow Groves:
Else 'twas my melancholly Fancy chim'd to my sick Brain. Yet it cannot
be Delusion; for I am a Prisoner. A surly Fellow, who lookt as if Pity
was his Foe, told me, I here must wait my Lord's Commands. Oh, _Fastin_!
if thou art cruel or unkind, thou art justly so: For I came to thy Arms
without a Heart, without Love's Flames, or desire to kindle 'em. Oh!
why was _Amorous_ sent to my Fathers Castle, to begin the Parly? 'Tis
true, he's in the vale of Years; yet Oh! such Charms remain! He found
the way to my unguarded Heart; nor need he storm, I could not the least
Opposition make; he streight was Lord of all within; yet, Chaste as
Fires, which consume in Urns, and vainly warm the Dead, so Useless is my
Flame!
_Mar._ My Lord! wou'd your Lordship imagine Mrs. _Cross_ shou'd dislike
the part, when I defie all the Virgins in _Europe_ to make so cold a
Simile as that?
L. _Wh._ Thou'st turn'd me into Marble; I am a Statue upon the Tomb
where the Urn's inclos'd.
Mr. _Prais._ My Teeth chatter in my head.
Mr. _Awd._ Oh for a Couple of good Cudgels to warm the Coxcombs.
(_aside._
_Mar._ Well, dear _Isabella_, proceed.
_Isab._ Thou Mother Earth, bear thy wretched Daughter: Open thy all
receiving Womb, and take thy groaning burthen in!
_Mar._ Now You'll see this Act, very full of Business. Come, Lord
_Whimsicall_, and _Amorous_, hastily.
_Enter Lord_ Whimsicall _and_ Amorous.
L. _Whim._ Raise thee from Earth, thou most unhappy Wife of my most
wicked Son! fly, whilst faithful _Amorous_ and I Protect thee from what
his Savage rage has doom'd.
_Isab._ What has he doom'd? alas, I dare not fly with you and
_Amorous_.
_Amo._ Then leave me here to Death; follow your Father, and shun
approaching Danger.
_Is._ What Death! what Danger! make me understand you.
_Mar._ Ay, Poor Lady! she's unwilling _Amorous_ shou'd dye too.
L. _Whim._ Your Husband loudly proclaims you an Adultress, and means to
make War on that fair work of Heav'n, your Face; And Noseless send you
back to your own Father.
_Amo._ Oh, horrid! hasten, Madam, from the brutal Tyrant.
_Isa._ I must consult my Immortal Honour; that's a Beauty to me, more
valued than Nature's Out-work's, a Face. Let me consider, tis my
Husband's Father; to retire till I am justifi'd, cannot be a Crime, Sir.
I have resolv'd to go.
My Innocence is white as _Alpine_ Snow,
By these Tears, which never cease to flow.
_Mar._ Your pardon, Mrs. give me leave to instruct you in a moving Cry.
Oh! there's a great deal of Art in crying: Hold your Handkerchief thus;
let it meet your Eyes, thus; your Head declin'd, thus; now, in a perfect
whine, crying out these words,
_By these Tears, which never cease to Flow._
Is not that right my Lord?
L. _Whim._ Oh gad! feelingly Passionate, Madam; were your Ladyship to do
it, the whole House wou'd catch the Infection; and as in _France_ they
are all in a Tune, they'd here be all in Tears.
_Awdwell._ Now I fancy 'twou'd have just the contrary effect on me.
_Mar._ Oh Jehu! how am I tortur'd with your Nonsence! Proceed, for
Heav'ns sake; let my Ears be diverted with my own words; for your's
grate 'em beyond induring.
_Isab._ Must I repeat this stuff agen?
_Mar._ Stuff! my Spirit rises at her: But 'tis in vain to resent it. The
truth on't is, Poets are so increas'd, Players value 'em no more
than----
_Awd._ Ballad-singers.
_Awd._ Spiteful Devils. Well, Mrs. _Cross_, I'll not trouble you agen;
_Amorous_ shall suppose you are going. Come, Mr. _Pinkethman_.
_Amo._ Then with this Flaming Sword I'll clear the way, And hunt for
Danger in the Face of Day.
_Mar._ Well, Mr. _Pinkethman_, I think you are oblig'd to me for
choosing you for a Heroe; Pray do it well, that the Town may see, I was
not mistaken in my Judgment: Fetch large Strides; walk thus; your Arms
strutting; your Voice big, and your Eyes terrible.
Then with this Flaming Sword I'll clear the way.
_Amo._ Then thus I'll clear your way, (_Draws._ And hunt for Danger in
the Face of Day.
_Isa._ Alas, does any oppose us?
L. _Whim._ Only some stragling fellows, which _Amorous_ will scour; and
in the Corner of the Grove the Chariot waits. (_Exeunt._
_Mar._ Now will your Ladyship please to conceive these three are got
into my Lord _Whimsicall's_ Castle? Whither _Fastin_, mad with Jealousie
and Love, pursues: Now your Lordship shall see the storming of a Fort,
not like your _Jerusalem_, but the modern way; my Men shall go all up
thro' a trap door, and ever now and then one drop polt down dead.
(_talking eagerly, she throws my Lords Snuff-box down._
L. _Whim._ Like my Snuff-box, Madam. 'Ouns my Snuff cost two Guineas.
_Mar._ I beg your Lordship's pardon.
Mr. _Prais._ Two Guineas, it shan't be all lost then.
(_Picks up the Snuff._
_Mar._ Are you ready? (_goes to the Scenes._
_Within._) Yes, yes, Madam.
_SCENE A Castle Storming._
_Mar._ My Lord, my Lord, this will make you amends for your Snuff! Drums
beat; mount, ye Lumpish Dogs: what are you afraid of? you know the
Stones are only Wool: Faster, with more Spirit? Brutes. Oh _Jehu_! I am
sorry I had not this Castle taken by women, then t'had been done like my
Grotesque Dance there: mount, mount, Rascals.
(Marcilia _bustling among 'em, loses her Head-Cloathes_.
_Patty_, _Patty_, my Head, my Head, the Brutes will trample it to
Pieces. Now, Mr. _Powel_, enter like a Lyon.
_Enter_ Fastin, _Followers_, _Lady_ Loveall, Betty, &c.
_Fast._ By Heav'n, I'll tear her from her Lover's Arms, my Father only
Spare.
_La. Lov._ Spare him not: hear my Charge. Aim every arrow, at his
Destin'd Head, There is no Peace, 'till that Curst Villain's Dead.
_Mar._ Look, look my Lord, where Mr. _Powell_ 's got.
_La. Lov._ Oh, the rash young Man; save him, Gods!
_Betty._ Protect him, _Venus_!
Mr. _Prais._ How heartily _Betty_ prays, and to her own Deity, I dare
swear.
_Fast._ They fly! they fly! sound Trumpets, Sound! let _Clemene's_
Musick joyn confine my Father to yon distant Tower: I'll not see him
'till I have punish'd the Adultress: Set wide the Gates, and let
_Clemenes_ know she's Mistress here.
_La. Lov._ Where is he; Let me fly and bind his Wounds up with my Hair,
lull him upon my own Bosom, and sing him into softest ease.
To Feast, and Revels Dedicate the Day.
Let the old Misers stores be all expos'd, and made the Soldiers Prey!
D' ye hear, let the Butler dye, least he tell Tales.
_Betty._ Madam, he shall then, no body will dare contradict us in the
Cellar neither. (_Exeunt._
Mr. _Prais._ Well said, Mrs. _Betty_; she loves a Cup, I like her the
better for't.
Mr. _Awd._ A hopeful Wife, this! do's she go on thus Triumphant?
_Mar._ I have sworn to answer you no more Questions.
L. _Whiff._ Indeed, Madam, you have made her very wicked.
_Mar._ The woman is a little Mischievous; but your Lordship shall see
I'll bring her to Condign Punnishment. My Lord, I will be bold to say,
here is a Scene a coming, wherein there is the greatest Distress that
ever was seen in a Play: 'tis poor _Amorous_, and _Isabella_. Mr.
_Praisall_, do you remember that old _Whimsicall_ was all along a
Philosopher_?_ Come let down the Chariot.
Mr. _Prais._ Lord Madam, do you think I don't, why was not he and I a
going to the Moon together?
_Mar._ Right! you must keep a steady, and a solid Thought to find the
Depths of this plot out. Now, my Lord, be pleas'd once again to
conceive these poor Lovers hunted above the Castle, at last taking
Sanctuary in a high pair of Leads, which adjoyns to the old Man's study;
conceive also their Enemies at their Heels; how then can these lost
Creatures 'scape?
Mr. _Awd._ May be they both leapt over the Leads, and broke their Necks.
L. _Whiff._ That's one way; but pray lets hear the Ladies.
_Mar._ You must know, my Lord, at first I design'd this for Tragedy; and
they were both taken; She was Poyson'd, and dy'd, like an Innocent Lamb,
as she was indeed: I was studying a Death for him; once I thought Boys
shou'd shoot him to Death with Pot-Guns: for your Lordship may be
pleas'd to understand, _Amorous_ had been a Soldier, tho' now he was a
Steward of the Family; and that wou'd have been Disgrace enough, you
know: But at length I resolv'd to ram him into a great Gun, and scatter
him o're the sturdy Plain: This, I say, was my first resolve. But I
consider'd, 'twould break the Lady's Heart; so there is nothing in their
Parts Tragical but as your Lordship shall see miraculously I turn'd it
into an Opera.
L. _Whif._ Your Ladyship's Wit is Almighty, and produces nothing but
Wonders.
Mr. _Prais._ The Devil take his Lordship, he is always before hand with
me, and goes so confounded high, there's no coming after him.
_Mar._ Your Lordship shall see what, I think, their Opera's have not yet
had.
_SCENE The Leads of a Castle._
_The Sun seen a little beyond: A Chariot stands upon the Leads._
_Enter_ Isabella, _follow'd by_ Amorous.
_Isab._ Now Death's in view, methinks I fear the Monster. Is there no
God that Pities Innocence? Oh! thou All-seeing Sun, contract thy
Glorious Beam's, hide me, in Darkness hide me!
Mr. _Awd._ I am sorry to find your Heroine Shrink.
_Mar._ Oh! 'tis more natural for a woman than bold; as an Imprison'd
Cat, to fly Death i th Face, as 'twere. Humph, was it you I took pains
to convince? Pray no more Interruption of this Scene.
_Amor._ Ten Massy Doors, all barr'd with wondrous strength impede their
Passage: Rest then, thou Milk-white hunted Hind, forget the near
Approach of fear, and hear the Story of my Love.
Mr. _Awd._ Hey boy, little _Amorous_! He'll loose no opportunity.
Mr. _Prais._ He is not like to have many; he was a fool, if he did not
improve 'em.
_Isab._ We soon shall mount yon Blisful Seats! Let us be rob'd with
Innocence, least we want admittance there.
_Amor._ All Dreams! meer Dreams! bred from the Fumes of Crabbed
Education, and must we for this lose true Substantial Pleasure? By
Heav'n, 'twould be a noble Justice to defeat their Malice: they hunt us
for imaginary Crimes; and we must dye like Fools for doing nothing.
Mr. _Prais._ Well urg'd, _Amorous_.
L. _Whiff._ Bold, I vow.
_Mar._ A Lover shou'd be so, my Lord.
_Amor._ But give me up the Heav'n my ravenous Love requires: Let me fill
my Sences with thy Sweetness; then let 'em pour upon me, I cou'd laugh
at all their idle Tortures, every pleas'd Limb shou'd dance upon the
Wheel.
_Mar._ Dance upon the Wheel! that's a new thought, I am sure, my Lord.
L. _Whiff._ Your Tract is all new, and must be uncommon, because others
can never find it.
_Prais._ A Pox on him! he has out-done me agen.
_Mar._ I am your Lordship's very humble Servant: My Lord, How _Amorous_
gazes on her!
L. _Whiff._ Piercing Eyes, I confess.
_Prais._ An irresistible Lere----I got in a word.
_Isab._ Take off your Eyes; mine shou'd be fix'd above; but Love draws
'em downwards, and almost pulls my Heart along.
_Amo._ Give me your Heart! your Arms! Oh! give me all! see at your Feet
the wretched _Amorous_ falls! Be not more cruel than our Foes. Behold me
on the Torture! _Fastin_ cannot Punish me with half the Racks denying
Beauty lays on longing Love.
_Isab._ I recover strength: rise, and begone; Alas, thou can'st not go;
then at awful distance, cold as Ice, not dare to let thy hot Breath agen
offend my chaste Ears! If thou hast, a Dagger rams thy Passion down thy
Throat.
_Mar._ Won't this be a Surprize, my Lord, to see her have such an Icy
Fit?
L. _Whiff._ When I thought she was just going to melt.
_Amor._ See, you are obey'd; shivering your er'e-while raging Lover
stands; your Words and Looks, like Frost on Flowers, have nipt my Hopes
and fierce Desires!
Mr. _Prais._ Alas, poor _Amorous_! (_A Noise without._
_Mar._ Do you hear, my Lord? do's not your Heart ake for the poor
Lovers?
L. _Whif._ I am ready to swoon, Madam.
Mr. _Prais._ Wou'd I had some Cordial-water.
Mr. _Awd._ Art thou _Marsilia_? wilt thou confess it? so weak to believe
these Coxcombs?
_Mar._ I always choose to believe what pleases me best. If a School-Boy
had been told so often of a Fault, as you have been, of Interruption, he
had certainly left it. Make a Noise agen without.
_Isab._ Alas my fears return; what shall I do? I dare not dye.
_Amor._ Oh Let not Monstrous Fear deform the Beauties of thy Soul, but
brave thy Fate.
_Mar._ Louder; but brave thy Fate; strain your Voice: I tell you, Mr.
_Pinkethman_, this speaking Loud gets the Clap.
_Amo._ Pox of this Heroick; I shall tear my Lungs. (_Aside._ But brave
thy Fate.
_Mar._ Aye, that goes to ones very Heart.
_Awd._ And rends ones Head.
_Isab._ I cannot, I dare not; Oh, they come! where shall I hide me?
(_Gets into the Chariot._
_Amo._ For Heav'n's sake, Madam, come from hence: This will expose us to
all their scorn. (_goes in after._
_Mar._ Now, now, up with it. Here, my Lord, here's the wonder; this very
Chariot _Whimsical_ had been making fifty Years, contriv'd beyond all
humane Art, for the Sun to draw up to the Moon; at this very Critical
minute the Matter's affected. Is not your Lordship surpriz'd_?_
L. _Whif._ I know not where I am!
_Prais._ Oh! this is a plain case; so while the old Cuckold was watching
his Chariot, his Wife had Opportunity to make him one.
_Mar._ Right, right, Mr. _Praisall_: Now _Amorous_ finds it move.
_Amor._ Ha! the Chariot moves; a Miracle is known in our Preservation.
_Isab._ Oh! I dye with fear!
_Mar._ Now she falls in a Swoon, and never wakes 'till they come into
another world.
Mr. _Prais._ E gad, 'tis well I am not in the Chariot with her.
_Mar._ You may open the Door, they are out of sight.
_Enter_ Fastin, _Lady_ Loveall _and_ Betty.
_Fast._ Where is the Hellish Pair? Let my Eyes be fasten'd on 'em, that
I may look 'em dead.
_Mar._ Look dreadfully, sweet Mr. _Powell_, look dreadfully.
Mr. _Awd._ Hark'e, Madam, only one thing; did you never hear an old
Proverb; _He that has a House of Glass shou'd never throw Stones at his
Neighbours_? I think this young Gentleman is guilty of much the same
fault.
_Mar._ Lord! Lord! I told ye once before, he did not know his Father was
marry'd to her, he took her for a pure Virgin. Come, Mr. _Powell_, go
on.
_Fast._ Where are you hid? in what Lustful Corner?
L. _Lov._ Alas, I fear they have escap'd, and I have such a Detestation
for ill Women, 'twould grieve me much to have 'em go unpunish'd.
_Betty._ I am sure they took the Stairs that led this way, and must be
here; let me ferret 'em.
Mr. _Prais._ God-a-Mercy, _Betty_! Let _Betty_ alone.
_Bett._ A-dad I can't set Eyes on 'em high nor low.
Mr. _Prais._ No, they are too high for thee, indeed, little _Betty_.
_Mar._ Pray, Mr. _Praisall_, be quiet; here's a great Scene a coming.
Mr. _Prais._ I am silent as the Grave.
_Fast._ In vain they think to 'scape my Rage, by thus evading it; for if
the Earth holds 'em, they shall be found.
_Betty._ Why, where's my old Master's Conjuring Chariot, I wonder, that
he alway's told us wou'd carry him to Heaven, when we little thought
on't? It us'd to stand here.
L. _Lov._ It did so.
_Betty._ Perhaps they are gone to _Elyzium_ in it.
L. _Lov._ No, Fool, _Elyzium_ has no room for Lawless Lovers.
_Betty._ Then you must never come there, I'm sure. (_aside._
_Mar._ That's the first ill word _Betty_ has given her Mistress; and
that was to her self too.
_Fast._ Let my Chariots be prepar'd, we'll leave this hated place, and
in my Castle unlade our Cares. Love shall crown our Hours, and Wine and
Musick rob 'em of 'em with delight.
L. _Lov._ Whilst I weave flowry Chaplets for your Hair,
Revels and Masks to please your Sight prepare:
Feed on your Presence, on your absence grieve,
Love you alone, for you alone I'll live.
_Mar._ Now quick, quick, get behind her, Mr. least she shou'd resist;
the rest disarm Mr. _Powell_.
_Enter Lord_ Whimsicall _and others_.
L. _Whim._ Not fit to live, nor dye! but Death thou best deserv'st.
(_stabs her._
L. _Lov._ Oh! thou Impotence, only strong in mischief: That feeble aged
Arm has reach'd my youthful Heart.
_Fast._ Slaves, unhand me! Oh! _Clemene_, Oh!
L. _Lov._ Let me come at the Dotard, let me cover the Blood-thirsty Man
with Livid Gore.
_Mar._ D'ye hear, Property-Man, be sure some red Ink is handsomely
convey'd to Mrs. _Knight_.
_Fast._ Move, Dogs; bear her to me, that I may press her close, and keep
in Life.
_Mar._ Strive and struggle now, Mr. _Powell_; Lord, you scarce stir;
hold me, hold me, some of you. Observe, that I may press her close, and
keep in Life:, ye see my Breath's almost gone. Oh! if we Poets did but
act, as well as write, the Plays wou'd never miscarry.
_Fast._ Why, there's enow of you, both Males and Females; entertain the
Town when you will, I'll resign the Stage with all my Heart.
_Mar._ And by my hopes of _Cataline_ I'll propose it. But now pray go
on.
_Fast._ I say, lose your _Plebeian_ Goals, and let me reach my Love.
_Mar._ Well, that's your own; but 'twill do. You may speak it, Mr.
_Powell_.
L. _Whim._ What, the Sorceress! thy Father's Wife, rash Boy!
_Fast._ Ha, ha, ha, ha! Your Wife: I have heard indeed of old Men that
wanted Virgins, when vital warmth was gone.
_L. Whim._ To that Title do's _Clemene_'s Impudence pretend. Speak, lewd
Adultress.
_La. Lov._ Yes, I will speak, and own it all: Why shou'd I mince the
matter, now I've lost my hopes of him? For the old Skeleton, sign alone,
and shadow of a Man, I might have yet been pure: But whilst gay Youths
adorn'd thy Family _Clemene_ wou'd not sigh in vain.
_Fast._ What's this I hear?
_Bet._ My Lady dying! I am not yet prepared to bear her Company: I'll
e'en shift for one. I wou'd not willingly leave this wicked World,
before I have tasted a little more on't.
Mr. _Prais._ True, Mrs. _Betty_; slip behind me, and thou art gone.
_Mar._ See, my Lord, they are all struck in a Maze.
(_Exit._
L. _Whiff._ 'Tis very amazing!
_L. Whim._ Why, _Fastin_, stare you thus? Is her wickedness such News?
Go, bear her off, and let her die alone.
_La. Lov._ Do, convey me hence; for not gaping Pipes of burning Sulphur,
nor grinning hideous Fiends, can jerk my Soul like that old Husband.
Fogh! how he stinks! Set him a fire with all his Chymistry about him,
see how he'll blaze on his own Spirits.
_Fast._ Rage not; it wastes thy precious Life.
Mr. _Awd._ Then he loves her still.
_Mar._ Yes; what, you think him hot and cold in a quarter of an hour?
_La. Lov._ _Fastin_, farewel. Oh! thou only Youth, whom I can truly say
I lov'd, for thee I'd run this mad Risque agen; for thee I die. Away,
away! and let me do the work of Children in the dark. (_Exit led off._
_L. Whim._ Where's my Chariot? my Chariot of the Sun, Slaves! who has
remov'd it? if it jogg'd but a Hair awry, may set me backwards ten
tedious Years. But it is gone! where can it be? (_Runs up and down to
look it._
_Fast._ Defeated Love! approaching Shame! Remorse and deathless Infamy!
they crowd one Breast too much: Here's to give 'em vent. (_Stabs
himself._
_L. Whim._ Oh! 'tis gone! 'tis gone! my Chariot! Oh, my Chariot!
_Fast._ See, _Clemene_, see, thy Adorer comes! guiltily fond, and
pressing after thee. (_Dies._
_L. Whim._ Have you all lookt below? is there no news of this
inestimable Chariot?
_Serv._ No, my Lord; and here your Son is dead.
_L. Whim._ Why dost thou tell me of my Son, the blind work of Chance,
the sport of Darkness, which produc'd a Monster? I've lost an Engine,
the labour'd care of half a hundred Years. It is gone! _I_ shall go mad.
_Mar._ Good Mr. What-d'-call-'um, this last Speech to the highest pitch
of raving.
_L. Whim._ Ha! the Sun has got it; _I_ see the glorious Tract: But _I_
will mount and yet recover it: The covetous Planet shall not dare to
keep it for the use of his Paramour. Bear me, ye Winds, upon your
blustring Wings; for _I_ am light as Air, and mad as rowling Tempests.
(_Exit_
_Mar_. Is not this passion well exprest?
Mr. _Awd._ 'Tis indeed all mad Stuff.
_Mar._ your word neither mends nor mars it, that's one Comfort. Mr.
_Powell_, will you walk off, or be carry'd off?
Mr. _Pow._ I'll make use of my Legs, if you please, Madam. Your most
humble Servant.
_Mar._ Mr. _Powell_, yours; I give you ten thousand thanks for your
trouble. I hope, Mr. _Powell_, you are convinc'd this Play won't fail.
Mr. _Pow._ O Lord! Madam, impossible! (_Exit._
_Mar._ Well, sure by this Play, the Town will perceive what a woman can
do. I must own, my Lord, it stomachs me sometimes, to hear young Fops
cry, there's nothing like Mr. Such-a-one's Plays, and Mr. Such-a-ones
Plays.
L. _Whiff._ But, Madam, I fear our excellent Entertainment's over; I
think all your Actors are kill'd.
_Mar._ True, my Lord, they are most of 'em dispatch'd. But now, my Lord,
comes one of my Surprizes; I make an end of my Play in the World in the
Moon.
L. _Whiff._ In the World in the Moon!
Mr. _Prais._ Prodigious!
_Mar._ Scene-Men: Where the Devil are these Blockheads? Scene-Men.
_Within._) Here, here.
_Mar._ Come, one of your finest Scenes, and the very best that ye know
must be, when the Emperour and Empress appear.
_Scene-Men._ How d'ye like this Madam?
_Mar._ Aye, aye, that will do.
L. _Whim._ 'Tis every thing the Stage, can afford in perfection.
Mr. _Prais._ And which no Stage in the World can equal.
_Mar._ Oh, fie! Mr. _Praisall_, you go often to _Lincoln's-Inn-Fields_.
Mr. _Prais._ I have said it, let t'other House take it how they will.
L. _Whif._ What, are these Men, or Monsters?
_Mar._ My Lord, this is very true, I'll believe the Historian, for he
was there, my Lord. The World in the Moon is as fine a place as this
represents; but the Inhabitants are a little shallow, and go, as you
see, upon all four; now I design _Amorous_ and _Isabella_ shall bring in
such a Reformation; then all the Hero's of the Moon-world shall fall in
love with _Isabella_, as, you know, in _Aurenzebe_ they are all in love
with _Indamora_: Oh! that's a sweet, a pretty Name; but a Duce on't, my
Brother Bay's has scarce left a pretty Name for his Successors?
Mr. _Prais._ Dear Madam, are these crawling things to speak, or no?
_Mar._ Patience is a great Vertue, Mr. _Praisall_.
Mr. _Awd._ And your Spectators must exercise it, o'my Conscience.
_Mar._ Pray now, my Lord, be pleas'd to suppose this is the Emperor's
Wedding-day. Musick and the Dance.
_Dance upon all Four._
SONG.
What's the whispering for?
_One of the Men._) Why, Madam, to tell you the truth, in short, we are
not able to continue in this Posture any longer, without we break our
Backs; so we have unanimously resolv'd to stand upright.
(_All the Men and Women stand up, when they're come forward._
Mr. _Prais._ Hey! heres another Surprize!
_Mar._ Oh! the Devil; you have spoilt my Plot! you have ruin'd my play,
ye Blockheads! ye Villains, I'll kill you all, burn the Book, and hang
my self! (_Throws down the Book, and stamps upon it._
L. _Whiff._ _Taking up the Book._) Hold, Madam! Don't let Passion
provoke you, like the Knight of old, to destroy what After-ages cannot
equal.
_Mar._ Why, my Lord _Amorous_, and _Isabella_ was to come in, and their
wou'd have been such a Scene! Asses! Ideots! Jolts! But they shall never
speak a Line of mine, if it wou'd save 'em from in evitable ruine; I'll
carry it to t'other House this very Moment.
Mr. _Awd._ Won't ye go home to Dinner first?
_Mar._ Dinner be damn'd! I'll never eat more. See too! if any of their
impudent People come to beg my Pardon! or appease me! Well, I will go,
that's resolv'd.
Mr. _Prais._ Madam, consider; cou'd they not stoop agen, when
_Isabella's_ come in; I'll try how 'tis. (_stoops_ Oun's 'tis Devillish
painful.
_Mar._ Don't tell me, 'tis painful; if they'll do nothing for their
Livings, let 'em starve and be hang'd. My Chair there.
L. _Whiff._ Madam, my Coach is at your Service, it waits without.
_Mar._ To be seen in my Lord's Coach is some Consolation (_aside_ My
Lord, I desire to go directly into _Lincoln's-Inn-Fields_.
L. _Whiff._ Where you please, Madam.
_Mar._ I'll never set my Foot agen upon this confounded Stage. My Opera
shall be first, and my _Catiline_ next; which I'd have these to know,
shall absolutely break 'em. They may shut up their Doors; strole or
starve, or do what ever the Devil puts in their heads; no more of
_Marsilias_ Works, I assure 'em. Come, my Lord.
Mr. _Awd._ You won't go, Madam?
_Mar._ By my Soul, I will; your damn'd ill Humour began my Misfortunes.
Farewel, _Momus_; farewel, Ideots: Hoarse be your Voices, rotten your
Lungs, want of Wit and Humour continue upon your damn'd Poets, and
Poverty consume you all. (_Exit._
_Prais._ What, ner'e a word to me! or did she put me among the Ideots?
Sir, the Lady's gone.
_Awd._ And you may go after; there's something to help you forward.
(_kicks him._
_Prais._ I intend, Sir, I intend it. (_Exit._
_Enter Mr._ Powell, _Mrs._ Knight, _Mrs._ Cross, _&c._ _Laughing_
_Awd._ So, what's the news now?
Mr. _Pow._ Oh, my Sides! my Sides! the wrathful Lady has run over a
Chair, shatter'd the Glasses to pieces: The Chair-Men, to save it, fell
pell-mell in with her. She has lost part of her Tail, broke her Fan,
tore her Ruffles, and pull'd off half my Lord _Whiffle's_ Wigg, with
trying to rise by it: So they are, with a Shagreen Air, and tatter'd
Dress, gone into the Coach: Mr. _Praisall_ thrust in after 'em, with the
bundle of Fragments, his Care had pick'd up from under the Fellows Feet.
Come, to make some Atonement, Entertain this Gentleman with the Dance
you are practising for the next new Play.
A DANCE.
Mr. _Awd._ Mr. _Powell_, if you'll do me the favour to dine with me.
I'll prevent the Dinner I bespoke going to _Marsilia's_ Lodgings, and
we'll eat it here.
Mr. _Pow._ With all my heart: I am at your Service.
_Awd._ _Thus warn'd,
I'll leave the Scribler to her Fops, and Fate;
I find she's neither worth my Love or Hate._
_FINIS._
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