this was some drunken bout, I’ll warrant you.
_Tim._ Ha, ha, ha, so it was, Gads zoors.
_Whiff._ Come, drink to the Gentleman, and put it up.
_Tim._ Sir, my service to you, I am heartily sorry for what’s pass’d,
but it was in my drink.
[Drinks.
_Whim._ You hear his Acknowledgments, Sir, and when he’s sober he never
quarrels. Come, Sir, sit down, my Service to you.
_Haz._ I beg your excuse, Gentlemen--I have earnest business.
_Dull._ Let us adjourn the Court, and prepare to meet the Regiments on
the _Sevana_.
[All go but _Friend._ and _Hazard_.
_Haz._ Is this the best Court of Judicature your Country affords?
_Friend._ To give it its due, it is not. But how does thy Amour thrive?
_Haz._ As well as I can wish in so short a time.
_Friend._ I see she regards thee with kind Eyes, Sighs and Blushes.
_Haz._ Yes, and tells me I am so like a Brother she had --to excuse her
kind concern,--then blushes so prettily, that, Gad, I cou’d not forbear
making a discovery of my Heart.
_Friend._ Have a care of that, come upon her by slow degrees, for I know
she is virtuous;--but come, let’s to the _Sevana_, where I’ll present
you to the two Colonels, _Wellman_ and _Downright_, the Men that manage
all till the arrival of the Governour.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. The _Sevana_ or Heath.
Enter _Wellman_, _Downright_, _Boozer_, and Officers.
_Well._ Have you dispatch’d the Scouts, to watch the Motions of the
Enemies? I know that _Bacon_ is violent and haughty, and will resent our
vain Attempts upon him; therefore we must be speedy in prevention.
_Down._ What Forces have you raised since our last order?
_Booz._ Here’s a List of ‘em, they came but slowly in, till we promised
every one a Bottle of Brandy.
Enter _Officer_ and _Dunce_.
_Offi._ We have brought Mr. _Dunce_ here, as your Honour commanded us;
after strict search we found him this Morning in bed with Madam _Flirt_.
_Down._ No matter, he’ll exclaim no less against the Vices of the Flesh
the next Sunday.
_Dun._ I hope, Sir, you will not credit the Malice of my Enemies.
_Well._ No more, you are free, and what you counsell’d about the Ambush,
was both prudent and seasonable, and perhaps I now wish it had taken
effect.
Enter _Friendly_ and _Hazard_.
_Friend._ I have brought an _English_ Gentleman to kiss your Hands, Sir,
and offer you his Service, he is young and brave, and Kinsman to Colonel
_Surelove_.
_Well._ Sir, you are welcome; and to let you see you are so, we will
give you your Kinsman’s Command, Captain of a Troop of Horse-Guards, and
which I’m sure will be continued to you when the Governour arrives.
_Haz._ I shall endeavour to deserve the Honour, Sir.
Enter _Dull._ _Tim._ _Whim._ and _Whiff_, all in Buff, Scarf, and
Feather.
_Down._ So, Gentlemen, I see you’re in a readiness.
_Tim._ Readiness! What means he, I hope we are not to be drawn out to go
against the Enemy, Major.
_Dull._ If we are, they shall look a new Major for me.
_Well._ We were debating, Gentlemen, what course were best to pursue
against this powerful Rebel.
_Friend._ Why, Sir, we have Forces enough, let’s charge him instantly,
Delays are dangerous.
_Tim._ Why, what a damn’d fiery Fellow is this?
_Down._ But if we drive him to extremities, we fear his siding with the
_Indians_.
_Dull._ Colonel _Downright_ has hit it; why should we endanger our Men
against a desperate Termagant; If he love Wounds and Scars so well, let
him exercise on our Enemies--but if he will needs fall upon us, ‘tis
then time enough for us to venture our Lives and Fortunes.
_Tim._ How, we go to _Bacon_! under favour, I think ‘tis his duty to
come to us, an you go to that, Gads zoors.
_Friend._ If he do, ‘twill cost you dear, I doubt, Cornet.--I find by
our List, Sir, we are four thousand Men.
_Tim._ Gads zoors, not enough for a Breakfast for that insatiate
_Bacon_, and his two Lieutenant Generals, _Fearless_ and _Daring_.
[_Whiff_ sits on the Ground with a Bottle of Brandy.
_Whim._ A Morsel, a Morsel.
_Well._ I am for an attack, what say you, Gentlemen, to an
attack?--What, silent all? What say you, Major?
_Dull._ I say, Sir, I hope my Courage was never in dispute. But, Sir,
I am going to marry Colonel _Downright’s_ Daughter here--and should I be
slain in this Battle ‘twould break her Heart;--besides, Sir, I should
lose her Fortune.
[Speaks big.
_Well._ I’m sure here’s a Captain will never flinch. [To _Whim._
_Whim._ Who, I, an’t like your Honour?
_Well._ Ay, you.
_Whim._ Who, I? ha, ha, ha: Why, did your Honour think that I would
fight?
_Well._ Fight! yes; why else do you take Commissions?
_Whim._ Commissions! Oh Lord, O Lord, take Commissions to fight! ha, ha,
ha; that’s a jest, if all that take Commissions should fight--
_Well._ Why do you bear Arms then?
_Whim._ Why, for the Pay; to be called Captain, noble Captain, to show,
to cock and look big, and bluff as I do: to be bow’d to thus as we pass,
to domineer and beat our Soldiers: Fight, quoth a, ha, ha, ha.
_Friend._ But what makes you look so simply, Cornet?
_Tim._ Why, a thing that I have quite forgot, all my Accounts for
_England_ are to be made up, and I’m undone if they be neglected--else I
wou’d not flinch for the stoutest he that wears a Sword--
[Looking big.
_Down._ What say you, Captain _Whiff_? [_Whiff_ almost drunk.
_Whiff._ I am trying, Colonel, what Mettle I’m made on; I think I am
valiant, I suppose I have Courage, but I confess ‘tis a little of the
D---- breed, but a little inspiration from the Bottle, and the leave of
my _Nancy_, may do wonders.
Enter a _Seaman_ in haste.
_Sea._ An’t please your Honours, _Frightall’s_ Officers have seiz’d all
the Ships in the River, and rid now round the Shore, and had by this
time secur’d the sandy Beach, and landed Men to fire the Town, but that
they are high in drink aboard the Ship call’d the Good-Subject; the
Master of her sent me to let your Honours know, that a few Men sent to
his assistance will surprize them and retake the Ships.
_Well._ Now, Gentlemen, here is a brave occasion for Emulation--why writ
not the Master?
_Dull._ Ay, had he writ, I had soon been amongst them, i’faith; but this
is some Plot to betray us.
_Sea._ Keep me here, and kill me if it be not true.
_Down._ He says well--there’s a Brigantine and a Shallop ready, I’ll
embark immediately.
_Friend._ No, Sir, your Presence is here more necessary, let me have the
Honour of this Expedition.
_Haz._ I’ll go your Volunteer, _Charles_.
_Well._ Who else offers to go?
_Whim._ A mere Trick to kidnap us, by _Bacon_,--if the Captain had writ.
_Tim._ Ay, ay, if he had writ--
_Well._ I see you’re all base Cowards, and here cashier ye from all
Commands and Offices.
_Whim._ Look ye, Colonel, you may do what you please, but you lose one
of the best dress’d Officers in your whole Camp, Sir.
_Tim._ And in me, such a Head-piece.
_Whiff._ I’ll say nothing, but let the State want me.
_Dull._ For my part I am weary of weighty Affairs.
[In this while _Well._ _Down._ _Friend._ and _Haz._ talk.
_Well._ Command what Men you please, but Expedition makes you half a
Conqueror.
[Ex. _Friend._ and _Haz._
Enter another _Seaman_ with a Letter, gives it to _Downright_, he
and _Wellman_ read it.
_Down._ Look ye now, Gentlemen, the Master has writ.
_Dull._ Has he--he might have writ sooner, while I was in Command,--if
he had--
_Whim._ Ay, Major--if he had--but let them miss us.
_Well._ Colonel, haste with your Men, and reinforce the Beach, while I
follow with the Horse;--Mr. _Dunce_, pray let that Proclamation be read
concerning _Bacon_, to the Soldiers.
[Ex. _Down._ and _Well._
_Dun._ It shall be done, Sir. Gentlemen, how simply you look now.
_The Scene opens and discovers a Body of Soldiers._
_Tim._ Why, Mr. Parson, I have a scruple of Conscience upon me, I am
considering whether it be lawful to kill, though it be in War; I have a
great aversion to’t, and hope it proceeds from Religion.
_Whiff._ I remember the Fit took you just so when the _Dutch_ besieged
us, for you cou’d not then be persuaded to strike a stroke.
_Tim._ Ay, that was because they were Protestants as we are; but, Gads
zoors, had they been _Dutch_ Papists I had maul’d them: but Conscience--
_Whim._ I have been a Justice of Peace this six Years, and never had a
Conscience in my Life.
_Tim._ Nor I neither, but in this damn’d thing of fighting.
_Dun._ Gentlemen, I am commanded to read the Declaration of the
honourable Council to you.
[To the Soldiers.
_All._ Hum, hum, hum--
_Booz._ Silence--silence-- [_Dunce_ reads.
_Dun._ By an order of Council, dated _May_ the 10th, 1670. To all
Gentlemen Soldiers, Merchants, Planters, and whom else it may concern.
Whereas _Bacon_, contrary to Law and Equity, has, to satisfy his own
Ambition, taken up Arms with a pretence to fight the _Indians_, but
indeed to molest and enslave the whole Colony, and to take away their
Liberties and Properties; this is to declare, that whoever shall bring
this Traitor dead or alive to the Council, shall have three hundred
pounds Reward. And so God save the King.
_All._ A Council, a Council! Hah-- [Hollow.
Enter a _Soldier_ hastily.
_Sold._ Stand to your Arms, Gentlemen, stand to your Arms, _Bacon_ is
marching this way.
_Dun._ Hah--what Numbers has he?
_Sold._ About a hundred Horse, in his march he has surpriz’d Colonel
_Downright_, and taken him Prisoner.
_All._ Let’s fall on _Bacon_--let’s fall on _Bacon_, hay. [Hollow.
_Booz._ We’ll hear him speak first--and see what he can say for himself.
_All._ Ay, ay, we’ll hear _Bacon_ speak. [_Dunce_ pleads with them.
_Tim._ Well, Major, I have found a Stratagem shall make us Four the
greatest Men in the Colony, we’ll surrender our selves to _Bacon_, and
say we disbanded on purpose.
_Dull._ Good--
_Whiff._ Why, I had no other design in the World in refusing to fight.
_Whim._ Nor I, d’ye think I wou’d have excus’d it with the fear of
disordering my Cravat-String else.
_Dun._ Why, Gentlemen, he designs to fire _James_ Town, murder you all,
and then lie with your Wives; and will you slip this opportunity of
seizing him?
_Booz._ Here’s a termagant Rogue, Neighbours--we’ll hang the Dog.
_All._ Ay, ay, hang _Bacon_, hang _Bacon_.
Enter _Bacon_ and _Fearless_, some Soldiers leading in _Downright_
bound; _Bacon_ stands and stares a while on the Regiments, who are
silent all.
_Bac._ Well, Gentlemen, in order to your fine Declaration, you see I
come to render my self.
_Dun._ How came he to know of our Declaration?
_Whiff._ Rogues, Rogues among our selves, that inform.
_Bac._ What, are ye silent all,--not a Man to lift his Hand in Obedience
to the Council, to murder this Traytor that has exposed his Life so
often for you? Hah, what, not for three hundred Pound?--You see I’ve
left my Troops behind, and come all wearied with the Toils of War, worn
out by Summers heats, and Winters cold, march’d tedious Days and Nights
through Bogs and Fens as dangerous as your Clamours, and as
faithless,--what though ‘twas to preserve you all in Safety, no matter,
you shou’d obey the grateful Council, and kill this honest Man that has
defended you.
_All._ Hum, hum, hum.
_Whiff._ The General speaks like a Gorgon.
_Tim._ Like a Cherubin, Man.
_Bac._ All silent yet--where’s that mighty Courage, that cried so loud
but now, A Council, a Council? where is your Resolution? cannot three
hundred Pound excite your Valour to seize that Traitor _Bacon_ who has
bled for you?
_All._ A _Bacon_, a _Bacon_, a _Bacon_. [Hollow.
_Down._ Oh villainous Cowards!--Oh the faithless Multitude!
_Bac._ What say you, Parson?--you have a forward Zeal.
_Dun._ I wish my Coat, Sir, did not hinder me from acting as becomes my
Zeal and Duty.
_Whim._ A plaguy rugged Dog,--that Parson--
_Bac._ _Fearless_, seize me that canting Knave from out the Herd, and
next those honourable Officers.
[Points to _Dull._ _Whim._ _Whiff_, and _Tim._ _Fearless_ seizes
them, and gives them to the Soldiers, and takes the Proclamation
from _Dunce_, and shews _Bacon_; they read it.
_Dull._ Seize us, Sir, you shall not need, we laid down our Commissions
on purpose to come over to your Honour.
_Whiff._ We ever lov’d and honour’d your Honour.
_Tim._ So intirely, Sir--that I wish I were safe in _James_ Town for
your sake, and your Honour were hang’d.
[Aside.
_Bac._ This fine Piece is of your penning, Parson,--though it be
countenanc’d by the Council’s Names.--Oh Ingratitude! Burn, burn the
treacherous Town, fire it immediately.--
_Whim._ We’ll obey you, Sir.
_Whiff._ Ay, ay, we’ll make a Bonfire on’t, and drink your Honour’s
health round about it.
[They offer to go.
_Bac._ Yet hold, my Revenge shall be more merciful, I ordered that all
the Women of Rank shall be seiz’d and brought to my Camp. I’ll make
their Husbands pay their Ransoms dearly; they’d rather have their Hearts
bleed than their Purses.
_Fear._ Dear General, let me have the seizing of Colonel _Downright’s_
Daughter; I would fain be plundering for a Trifle call’d a Maiden-head.
_Bac._ On pain of Death treat them with all respect; assure them of the
safety of their Honour. Now, all that will follow me, shall find a
welcome, and those that will not, may depart in Peace.
_All._ Hay, a General, a General, a General.
[Some Soldiers go off: Some go to the side of _Bacon_.
Enter _Daring_ and Soldiers, with _Chrisante_, _Surelove_, Mrs.
_Whim._ and Mrs. _Whiff_, and several other Women.
_Bac._ Successful _Daring_, welcome, what Prizes have ye?
_Dar._ The fairest in the World, Sir; I’m not for common Plunder.
_Down._ Hah, my Daughter and my Kinswoman!--
_Bac._ ‘Tis not with Women, Sir, nor honest men like you, that I intend
to combat; not their own Parents shall be more indulgent, nor better
Safe-guard to their Honours, Sir: But ‘tis to save the expence of Blood
I seize on their most valued Prizes.
_Down._ But, Sir, I know your wild Lieutenant General has long lov’d my
_Chrisante_, and perhaps, will take this time to force her to consent.
_Dar._ I own I have a Passion for _Chrisante_, yet by my General’s Life,
or her fair self, what now I act is on the score of War, I scorn to
force the Maid I do adore.
_Bac._ Believe me, Ladies, you shall have honourable Treatment here.
_Chris._ We do not doubt it, Sir, either from you or _Daring_; if he
love me, that will secure my Honour; or if he do not, he’s too brave to
injure me.
_Dar._ I thank you for your just opinion of me, Madam.
_Chris._ But, Sir, ‘tis for my Father I must plead; to see his reverend
Hands in servile Chains; and then perhaps, if stubborn to your Will, his
Head must fall a Victim to your Anger.
_Down._ No, my good pious Girl, I cannot fear ignoble usage from the
General; and if thy Beauty can preserve thy Fame, I shall not mourn in
my Captivity.
_Bac._ I’ll ne’er deceive your kind opinion of me--Ladies, I hope you’re
all of that Opinion too.
_Sure._ If seizing us, Sir, can advance your Honour, or be of any use
considerable to you, I shall be proud of such a Slavery.
Mrs. _Whim._ I hope, Sir, we shan’t be ravish’d in your Camp.
_Dar._ Fie, Mrs. _Whimsey_, do Soldiers use to ravish?
Mrs. _Whiff._ Ravish! marry, I fear ‘em not, I’d have ‘em know, I scorn
to be ravish’d by any Man.
_Fear._ Ay, o’ my Conscience, Mrs. _Whiff_, you are too good-natur’d.
_Dar._ Madam, I hope you’ll give me leave to name Love to you, and try
by all submissive ways to win your Heart.
_Chris._ Do your worst, Sir: I give you leave, if you assail me only
with your Tongue.
_Dar._ That’s generous and brave, and I’ll requite it.
Enter _Soldier_ in haste.
_Sold._ The Truce being ended, Sir, the _Indians_ grow so insolent as to
attack us even in our Camp, and have killed several of our Men.
_Bac._ ‘Tis time to check their Boldness; _Daring_, haste, draw up our
Men in order to give ‘em Battel, I rather had expected their submission.
_The Country now may see what they’re to fear,
Since we that are in Arms are not secure._
[Exeunt, leading the Ladies.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. _A Temple, with an _Indian_ God placed upon it, Priests and
Priestesses attending: Enter _Indian King_ on one side attended by
_Indian_ Men; the _Queen_ enters on the other with Women. All bow to the
Idol, and divide on each side of the Stage. Then the Musick playing
louder, the Priests and Priestesses dance about the Idol with ridiculous
Postures, and crying (as for Incantations) thrice repeated, _Agah
Yerkin, Agah Boah, Sulen Tawarapah, Sulen Tawarapah_._
_After this soft Musick plays again: then they sing something fine:
after which the Priests lead the _King_ to the Altar, and the
Priestesses the _Queen_; they take off little Crowns from their Heads,
and offer them at the Altar._
_King._ Invoke the God of our Quiocto to declare what the Event shall be
of this our last War against the _English_ General.
[Soft Musick ceases.
[The Musick changes to confused Tunes, to which the Priests and
Priestesses dance, antickly singing between, the same Incantation
as before; and then dance again, and so invoke again alternately:
Which Dance ended, a Voice behind the Altar cries, while soft
Musick plays,
The _English_ General shall be
A Captive to his Enemy;
And you from all your Toils be freed,
When by your Hand the Foe shall bleed:
And e’er the Sun’s swift course be run,
This mighty Conquest shall be won.
_King._ I thank the Gods for taking care of us; prepare new Sacrifice
against the Evening, when I return a Conqueror, I will my self perform
the Office of a Priest.
_Queen._ Oh, Sir, I fear you’ll fall a Victim first.
_King._ What means _Semernia_? why are thy Looks so pale?
_Queen._ Alas, the Oracles have double meanings, their Sense is
doubtful, and their Words Enigmas: I fear, Sir, I cou’d make a truer
Interpretation.
_King._ How, _Semernia_! by all thy Love I charge thee, as you respect
my Life, to let me know your Thoughts.
_Queen._ Last Night I dream’d a Lyon fell with hunger, spite of your
Guards, slew you, and bore you hence.
_King._ This is thy Sex’s fear, and no Interpretation of the Oracle.
_Queen._ I cou’d convince you farther.
_King._ Hast thou a Secret thou canst keep from me? thy Soul a Thought
that I must be a Stranger to? This is not like the Justice of
_Semernia_: Come unriddle me the Oracle.
_Queen._ The _English_ General shall be a Captive to his Enemy; he is
so, Sir, already, to my Beauty, he says he languishes for Love of me.
_King._ Hah! the General my Rival--but go on--
_Queen._ And you from all your War be freed: Oh, let me not explain that
fatal Line, for fear it mean, you shall be freed by Death.
_King._ What, when by my Hand the Foe shall bleed?--away--it cannot be--
_Queen._ No doubt, my Lord, you’ll bravely sell your Life, and deal some
Wounds where you’ll receive so many.
_King._ ‘Tis Love, _Semernia_, makes thee dream while waking:
I’ll trust the Gods, and am resolv’d for Battel.
Enter an _Indian_.
_Ind._ Haste, haste, great Sir, to Arms; _Bacon_ with all his Forces is
prepar’d, and both the Armies ready to engage.
_King._ Haste to my General, bid him charge ‘em instantly; I’ll bring up
the Supplies of stout _Teroomians_, those so well skill’d in the
envenom’d Arrow.
[Ex. _Indian_.
--_Semernia_--Words but poorly do express the Griefs of parting
Lovers--’tis with dying Eyes, and a Heart trembling--thus--
[Puts her Hand on his Heart.
they take a heavy leave;--one parting Kiss, and one Love pressing
sigh, and then farewel:--but not a long farewel; I shall return
victorious to thy Arms--commend me to the Gods, and still remember me.
[Exit.
_Queen._ Alas! What pity ‘tis I saw the General, before my Fate had
given me to the King--But now--like those that change their Gods, my
faithless Mind betwixt my two Opinions wavers; while to the Gods my
Monarch I commend; my wandring Thoughts in pity of the General makes
that Zeal cold, declin’d--ineffectual.--If for the General I implore the
Deities, methinks my Prayers should not ascend the Skies, since Honour
tells me ‘tis an impious Zeal.
_Which way soever my Devotions move,
I am too wretched to be heard above._ [Goes in.
[All exeunt.
SCENE II. _Shows a Field of Tents, seen at some distance through the
Trees of a Wood, Drums, Trumpets and the noise of Battel, with
hollowing. The _Indians_ are seen with Battel-Axes to retreat fighting
from the _English_, and all go off; when they re-enter immediately
beating back the _English_, the _Indian King_ at the head of his Men,
with Bows and Arrows; _Daring_ being at the head of the _English_: They
fight off; the Noise continues less loud as more at distance._
Enter _Bacon_ with his Sword drawn, meets _Fearless_ with his
Sword drawn.
_Fear._ Haste, haste, Sir, to the Entrance of the Wood, _Daring’s_
engaged past hope of a Retreat, venturing too far, pursuing of the Foe;
the King in Ambush, with his poison’d Archers, fell on, and now we are
dangerously distrest.
_Bac._ _Daring_ is brave, but he’s withal too rash, come on and follow
me to his Assistance-- [Go out.
[A hollowing within, the Fight renews; enter the _Indians_ beaten
back by _Bacon_, _Daring_ and _Fearless_; they fight off; the
noise of Fighting continues a while, this still behind the Wood.
Enter _Indians_ flying over the Stage, pursued by the _King_.
_King._ Turn, turn, ye fugitive Slaves, and face the Enemy; Oh Villains,
Cowards, deaf to all Command: by Heaven, I had my Rival in my view, and
aim’d at nothing but my conquering him--now like a Coward I must fly
with Cowards, or like a desperate Madman fall, thus singly, midst the
numbers.
[Follows the _Indians_.
Enter _Bacon_ inraged with his Sword drawn, _Fearless_ and
_Daring_ following him.
_Bac._ --Where is the King, oh ye perfidious Slaves? how, have you hid
him from my just Revenge?--search all the Brakes, the Furzes and the
Trees, and let him not escape on pain of Death.
_Dar._ We cannot do wonders, Sir.
_Bac._ But you can run away.--
_Dar._ Yes, when we see occasion--yet--shou’d any but my General tell me
so--by Heaven, he should find I were no starter.
_Bac._ Forgive me, I’m mad--the King’s escaped, hid like a trembling
Slave in some close Ditch, where he will sooner starve than fight it
out.
Re-enter _Indians_ running over the Stage, pursued by the _King_,
who shoots them as they fly; some few follow him.
_King._ All’s lost--the Day is lost--and I’m betray’d;--Oh Slaves, that
even Wounds can’t animate.
[In Rage.
_Bac._ The King!
_King._ The General here! by all the Powers, betray’d by my own Men!
_Bac._ Abandon’d as thou art, I scorn to take thee basely; you shall
have Soldiers chance, Sir, for your Life, since Chance so luckily has
brought us hither; without more Aids we will dispute the Day: This Spot
of Earth bears both our Armies Fates; I’ll give you back the Victory I
have won, and thus begin a-new on equal Terms.
_King._ That’s nobly said!--the Powers have heard my Wish. You, Sir,
first taught me how to use a Sword, which heretofore has served me with
Success: But now--’tis for _Semernia_ that it draws, a Prize more valued
than my Kingdom, Sir--
_Bac._ Hah, _Semernia_!
_King._ Your Blushes do betray your Passion for her.
_Dar._ ‘Sdeath, have we fought for this, to expose the Victor to the
conquer’d Foe?
_Fear._ What, fight a single Man--our Prize already.
_King._ Not so, young Man, while I command a Dart.
_Bac._ Fight him! by Heaven, no reason shall dissuade me, and he that
interrupts me is a Coward; whatever be my Fate, I do command ye to let
the King pass freely to his Tents.
_Dar._ The Devil’s in the General.
_Fear._ ‘Sdeath, his Romantick Humour will undo us.
[They fight and pause.
_King._ You fight as if you meant to outdo me this way, as you have done
in Generosity.
_Bac._ You’re not behind-hand with me, Sir, in courtesy: Come, here’s to
set us even--
[Fight again.
_King._ You bleed apace.
_Bac._ You’ve only breath’d a Vein, and given me new Health and Vigour
by it.
[They fight again, Wounds on both sides, the _King_ staggers;
_Bacon_ takes him in his Arms; the _King_ drops his Sword.
How do you, Sir?
_King._ Like one--that’s hovering between Heaven and Earth;
I’m--mounting--somewhere--upwards--but giddy with my flight,--I know not
where.
_Bac._ Command my Surgeons,--instantly--make haste;
Honour returns, and Love all bleeding’s fled. [Ex. _Fearless_.
_King._ Oh, _Semernia_, how much more Truth had thy Divinity than the
Predictions of the flattering Oracles! Commend me to her--I know
you’ll--visit--your fair Captive, Sir, and tell her--oh--but Death
prevents the rest.
[Dies.
Enter _Fearless_.
_Bac._ He’s gone--and now, like _Cæsar_, I could weep over the Hero I my
self destroyed.
_Fear._ I’m glad for your repose I see him there--’twas a mad
hot-brain’d Youth, and so he died.
_Bac._ Come bear him on your Shoulders to my Tent, from whence with all
the solemn State we can, we will convey him to his own Pavilion.
Enter a _Soldier_.
_Sold._ Some of our Troops pursuing of the Enemy even to their Temples,
which they made their Sanctuary, finding the Queen at her Devotion there
with all her _Indian_ Ladies, I’d much ado to stop their violent Rage
from setting fire to the holy Pile.
_Bac._ Hang ‘em immediately that durst attempt it, while I my self will
fly to rescue her.
[Goes out, they bear off the _King’s_ Body; Ex. all.
Enter _Whimsey_, pulling in _Whiff_, with a Halter about his Neck.
_Whim._ Nay, I’m resolved to keep thee here till his Honour the General
comes.--What, to call him Traitor, and run away after he had so
generously given us our freedom, and listed us Cadees for the next
Command that fell in his Army--I’m resolved to hang thee--
_Whiff._ Wilt thou betray and peach thy Friend? thy Friend that kept
thee Company all the while thou wert a Prisoner--drinking at my own
charge--
_Whim._ No matter for that, I scorn Ingratitude, and therefore will hang
thee--but as for thy drinking with me--I scorn to be behind-hand with
thee in Civility, and therefore here’s to thee.
[Takes a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket, Drinks.
_Whiff._ I can’t drink.
_Whim._ A certain sign thou wo’t be hang’d.
_Whiff._ You us’d to be o’ my side when a Justice, let the Cause be how
it wou’d.
[Weeps.
_Whim._ Ay--when I was a Justice I never minded Honesty, but now I’ll be
true to my General, and hang thee to be a great Man.--
_Whiff._ If I might but have a fair Trial for my Life--
_Whim._ A fair Trial!--come, I’ll be thy Judge--and if thou canst clear
thy self by Law, I’ll acquit thee: Sirrah, Sirrah, what canst thou say
for thy self for calling his Honour Rebel?
[Sits on a Drum-head.
_Whiff._ ‘T was when I was drunk, an’t like your Honour.
_Whim._ That’s no Plea; for if you kill a Man when you are sober, you
must be hanged when you are drunk. Hast thou any thing else to say for
thy self why Sentence may not pass upon thee?
_Whiff._ I desire the Benefit of the Clergy.
_Whim._ The Clergy! I never knew any body that ever did benefit by ‘em;
why, thou canst not read a word.
_Whiff._ Transportation then--
_Whim._ It shall be to _England_ then--but hold--who’s this?
[_Dullman_ creeping from a Bush.
_Dull._ So the Danger’s over, I may venture out--Pox on’t, I wou’d not
be in this fear again, to be Lord Chief Justice of our Court. Why, how
now, Cornet?--what, in dreadful Equipage? Your Battle-Ax bloody, with
Bow and Arrows.
Enter _Timorous_ with Battle-Ax, Bow and Arrows, and Feathers on
his Head.
_Tim._ I’m in the posture of the times, Major--I cou’d not be idle where
so much Action was; I’m going to present my self to the General, with
these Trophies of my Victory here--
_Dull._ Victory--what Victory--did not I see thee creeping out of yonder
Bush, where thou wert hid all the Fight--stumble on a dead _Indian_, and
take away his Arms?
_Tim._ Why, didst thou see me?
_Dull._ See thee, ay--and what a fright thou wert in, till thou wert
sure he was dead.
_Tim._ Well, well, that’s all one--Gads zoors, if every Man that passes
for valiant in a Battel, were to give an account how he gained his
Reputation, the World wou’d be but thinly stock’d with Heroes; I’ll say
he was a great War-Captain, and that I kill’d him hand to hand, and who
can disprove me?
_Dull._ Disprove thee--why, that pale Face of thine, that has so much of
the Coward in’t.
_Tim._ Shaw, that’s with loss of Blood--Hah, I am overheard I
doubt--who’s yonder-- [Sees _Whim._ and _Whiff_.] how, Brother _Whiff_
in a Hempen Cravat-string?
_Whim._ He call’d the General Traitor, and was running away, and I’m
resolv’d to peach.
_Dull._ Hum--and one Witness will stand good in Law, in case of
Treason--
_Tim._ Gads zoors, in case of Treason, he’ll be hang’d if it be proved
against him, were there ne’er a Witness at all; but he must be tried by
a Council of War, Man--Come, come, let’s disarm him--
[They take away his Arms, and pull a Bottle of Brandy out of his
Pocket.
_Whiff._ What, I hope you will not take away my Brandy, Gentlemen, my
last comfort.
_Tim._ Gads zoors, it’s come in good time--we’ll drink it off, here,
Major--
[Drinks, _Whiff_ takes him aside.
_Whiff._ Hark ye, Cornet--you are my good Friend, get this matter made
up before it come to the General.
_Tim._ But this is Treason, Neighbour.
_Whiff._ If I hang--I’ll declare upon the Ladder how you kill’d your
War-Captain.
_Tim._ Come, Brother _Whimsey_--we have been all Friends and loving
Magistrates together, let’s drink about, and think no more of this
Business.
_Dull._ Ay, ay, if every sober Man in the Nation should be called to
account of the Treason he speaks in’s Drink, the Lord have mercy upon us
all.--Put it up--and let us, like loving Brothers, take an honest
Resolution to run away together; for this same _Frightall_ minds nothing
but Fighting.
_Whim._ I’m content, provided we go all to the Council, and tell them
(to make our Peace) we went in obedience to the Proclamation, to kill
_Bacon_, but the Traitor was so strongly guarded we could not effect it:
but mum--who’s here?--
To them, enter _Ranter_ and _Jenny_, as Man and Footman.
_Ran._ Hah, our four reverend Justices--I hope the Blockheads will not
know me--Gentlemen, can you direct me to Lieutenant General _Daring’s_
Tents?
_Whiff._ Hum, who the Devil’s this?--that’s he you see coming this way.
’.death, yonder’s _Daring_--let’s slip away before he advances.
[Exeunt all but _Ran._ and _Jen._
_Jen._ I am scar’d with those dead Bodies we have pass’d over; for God’s
sake, Madam, let me know your design in coming.
_Ran._ Why, now I tell thee--my damn’d mad Fellow _Daring_, who has my
Heart and Soul, loves _Chrisante_, has stolen her, and carried her away
to his Tents; she hates him, while I am dying for him.
_Jem._ Dying, Madam! I never saw you melancholy.
_Ran._ Pox on’t, no; why should I sigh and whine, and make my self an
Ass, and him conceited? no, instead of snivelling I am resolved--
_Jen._ What, Madam?
_Ran._ Gad, to beat the Rascal, and bring off _Chrisante_.
_Jen._ Beat him, Madam! what, a Woman beat a Lieutenant-General?
_Ran._ Hang ‘em, they get a name in War from Command, not Courage; but
how know I but I may fight? Gad, I have known a Fellow kick’d from one
end of the Town to t’other, believing himself a Coward; at last forced
to fight, found he could; got a Reputation, and bullied all he met with;
and got a Name, and a great Commission.
_Jen._ But if he should kill you, Madam.
_Ran._ I’ll take care to make it as comical a Duel as the best of ‘em;
as much in love as I am, I do not intend to die its Martyr.
Enter _Daring_ and _Fearless_.
_Fear._ Have you seen _Chrisante_ since the Fight?
_Dar._ Yes, but she is still the same, as nice and coy as Fortune when
she’s courted by the wretched; yet she denies me so obligingly, she
keeps my Love still in its humble Calm.
_Ran._ Can you direct me, Sir, to one _Daring’s_ Tent? [Sullenly.
_Dar._ One _Daring!_--he has another Epithet to his Name.
_Ran._ What’s that, Rascal, or Coward?
_Dar._ Hah, which of thy Stars, young Man, has sent thee hither, to find
that certain Fate they have decreed?
_Ran._ I know not what my Stars have decreed, but I shall be glad if
they have ordain’d me to fight with _Daring_:--by thy concern thou
shou’dst be he?
_Dar._ I am, prithee who art thou?
_Ran._ Thy Rival, though newly arrived from _England_, and came to marry
fair _Chrisante_, whom thou hast ravish’d, for whom I hear another Lady
dies.
_Dar._ Dies for me?
_Ran._ Therefore resign her fairly--or fight me fairly--
_Dar._ Come on, Sir--but hold--before I kill thee, prithee inform me who
this dying Lady is?
_Ran._ Sir, I owe ye no Courtesy, and therefore will do you none by
telling you--come, Sir, for _Chrisante_--draw.
[They offer to fight, _Fearless_ steps in.
_Fear._ Hold--what mad Frolick’s this?--Sir, you fight for one you never
saw [to _Ranter_.] and you for one that loves you not.
[To _Dar._
_Dar._ Perhaps she’ll love him as little.
_Ran._ Gad, put it to the Trial, if you dare--if thou be’st generous,
bring me to her, and whom she does neglect shall give the other place.
_Dar._ That’s fair, put up thy Sword--I’ll bring thee to her instantly.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. A Tent.
Enter _Chrisante_ and _Surelove_.
_Chris._ I’m not so much afflicted for my Confinement, as I am that I
cannot hear of _Friendly_.
_Sure._ Art not persecuted with _Daring_?
_Chris._ Not at all; though he tells me daily of his Passion, I rally
him, and give him neither Hope nor Despair,--he’s here.
Enter _Daring_, _Fear._ _Rant._ and _Jenny_.
_Dar._ Madam, the Complaisance I show in bringing you my Rival, will let
you see how glad I am to oblige you every way.
_Ran._ I hope the Danger I have exposed my self to for the Honour of
kissing your Hand, Madam, will render me something acceptable--here are
my Credentials--
[Gives her a Letter.
_Chrisante_ reads.
Dear Creature, I have taken this Habit to free you from an
impertinent Lover, and to secure the damn’d Rogue _Daring_ to my
self: receive me as sent by Colonel _Surelove_ from _England_ to
marry you--favour me--no more--
Yours, _Ranter_.
--Hah, _Ranter_? [Aside.] --Sir, you have too good a Character from my
Cousin Colonel Surelove, not to receive my Welcome.
[Gives _Surelove_ the Letter.
_Ran._ Stand by, General--
[Pushes away _Daring_, looks big, and takes _Chrisante_ by the
Hand, and kisses it.
_Dar._ ‘Sdeath, Sir, there’s room enough--at first sight so kind! Oh
Youth, Youth and Impudence, what Temptations are you to Villanous Woman?
_Chris._ I confess, Sir, we Women do not love these rough fighting
Fellows, they’re always scaring us with one Broil or other.
_Dar._ Much good may it do you with your tame Coxcomb.
_Ran._ Well, Sir, then you yield the Prize?
_Dar._ Ay, Gad, were she an Angel, that can prefer such a callow Fop as
thou before a Man--take her and domineer.
[They all laugh.
--’Sdeath, am I grown ridiculous?
_Fear._ Why hast thou not found the Jest? by Heaven, ‘tis _Ranter_, ‘tis
she that loves you; carry on the humour.
[Aside.
Faith, Sir, if I were you, I wou’d devote my self to Madam _Ranter_.
_Chris._ Ay, she’s the fittest Wife for you, she’ll fit your Humour.
_Dar._ _Ranter_--Gad, I’d sooner marry a she-Bear, unless for a Penance
for some horrid Sin; we should be eternally challenging one another to
the Field, and ten to one she beats me there; or if I should escape
there, she wou’d kill me with drinking.
_Ran._ Here’s a Rogue--does your Country abound with such Ladies?
_Dar._ The Lord forbid, half a dozen wou’d ruin the Land, debauch all
the Men, and scandalize all the Women.
_Fear._ No matter, she’s rich.
_Dar._ Ay, that will make her insolent.
_Fear._ Nay, she’s generous too.
_Dar._ Yes, when she’s drunk, and then she’ll lavish all.
_Ran._ A pox on him, how he vexes me.
_Dar._ Then such a Tongue--she’ll rail and smoke till she choke again;
then six Gallons of Punch hardly recovers her, and never but then is she
good-natur’d.
_Ran._ I must lay him on--
_Dar._ There’s not a Blockhead in the Country that has not--
_Ran._ What--
_Dar._ Been drunk with her.
_Ran._ I thought you had meant something else, Sir. [In huff.
_Dar._ Nay--as for that--I suppose there is no great difficulty.
_Ran._ ‘Sdeath, Sir, you lye--and you are a Son of a Whore.
[Draws and fences with him, and he runs back round the Stage.
_Dar._ Hold--hold, Virago--dear Widow, hold, and give me thy hand.
_Ran._ Widow!
_Dar._ ‘Sdeath, I knew thee by instinct, Widow, though I seemed not to
do so, in Revenge for the Trick you put on me in telling me a Lady dy’d
for me.
_Ran._ Why, such an one there is, perhaps she may dwindle forty or fifty
years--or so--but will never be her own Woman again, that’s certain.
_Sure._ This we are all ready to testify, we know her.
_Chris._ Upon my Life, ‘tis true.
_Dar._ Widow, I have a shreud Suspicion, that you your self may be this
dying Lady.
_Ran._ Why so, Coxcomb?
_Dar._ Because you took such Pains to put your self into my hands.
_Ran._ Gad, if your Heart were but half so true as your Guess, we should
conclude a Peace before _Bacon_ and the Council will--besides, this
thing whines for _Friendly_, and there’s no hopes.
[To _Chrisante_.
_Dar._ Give me thy Hand, Widow, I am thine--and so entirely, I will
never--be drunk out of thy Company:--_Dunce_ is in my Tent,--prithee
let’s in and bind the Bargain.
_Ran._ Nay, faith, let’s see the Wars at an end first.
_Dar._ Nay, prithee take me in the humour, while thy Breeches are
on--for I never lik’d thee half so well in Petticoats.
_Ran._ Lead on, General, you give me good incouragement to wear them.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. The _Sevana_ in sight of the Camp; the Moon rises.
Enter _Friendly_, _Hazard_ and _Boozer_, and a Party of Men.
_Friend._ We are now in sight of the Tents.
_Booz._ Is not this a rash Attempt, Gentlemen, with so small Force to
set upon _Bacon’s_ whole Army?
_Haz._ Oh, they are drunk with Victory and Wine; there will be nought
but revelling to night.
_Friend._ Would we could learn in what Quarter the Ladies are lodg’d,
for we have no other business but to release them--But hark--who comes
here?
_Booz._ Some Scouts, I fear, from the Enemy.
Enter _Dull._ _Tim._ _Whim._ and _Whiff_, creeping as in the dark.
_Friend._ Let’s shelter ourselves behind yonder Trees--lest we be
surpriz’d.
_Tim._ Wou’d I were well at home-Gad zoors, if e’er you catch me a
Cadeeing again, I’ll be content to be set in the fore-front of the
Battle for Hawks-Meat.
_Whim._ Thou’rt afraid of every Bush.
_Tim._ Ay, and good reason too: Gad zoors, there may be Rogues
hid--prithee, Major, do thou advance.
_Dull._ No, no, go on--no matter of Ceremony in these cases of running
away.
[They advance.
_Friend._ They approach directly to us, we cannot escape them--their
numbers are not great--let us advance.
[They come up to them.
_Tim._ Oh! I am annihilated.
_Whiff._ Some of _Frightall’s_ Scouts, we are lost Men.
[They push each other foremost.
_Friend._ Who goes there?
_Whim._ Oh, they’ll give us no Quarter; ‘twas long of you, Cornet, that
we ran away from our Colours.
_Tim._ Me--’twas the Major’s Ambition here--to make himself a great Man
with the Council again.
_Dull._ Pox o’ this Ambition, it has been the ruin of many a gallant
Fellow.
_Whiff._ If I get home again, the height of mine shall be to top
Tobacco; would I’d some Brandy.
_Tim._ Gads zoors, would we had, ‘tis the best Armour against
Fear--hum--I hear no body now--prithee advance a little.
_Whim._ What, before a Horse-Officer?
_Friend._ Stand, on your Lives--
_Tim._ Oh, ‘tis impossible--I’m dead already.
_Friend._ What are ye?--speak--or I’ll shoot.
_Whim._ Friends to thee,--who the Devil are we Friends to?
_Tim._ E’en who please you, Gad zoors.
_Friend._ Hah--Gad zoors--who’s there, _Timorous_?
_Tim._ Hum--I know no such Scoundrel-- [Gets behind.
_Dull._ Hah--that’s _Friendly’s_ Voice.
_Friend._ Right--thine’s that of _Dullman_--who’s with you?
_Dull._ Only _Timorous_, _Whimsey_ and _Whiff_, all valiantly running
away from the Arch-Rebel that took us Prisoners.
_Haz._ Can you inform us where the Ladies are lodg’d?
_Dull._ In the hither Quarter, in _Daring’s_ Tent; you’ll know them by
Lanthorns on every corner--there was never better time to surprize
them--for this day _Daring’s_ married, and there’s nothing but Dancing
and Drinking.
_Haz._ Married! to whom?
_Dull._ That I ne’er enquir’d.
_Friend._ ‘Tis to _Chrisante_, Friend--and the Reward of my Attempt is
lost. Oh, I am mad, I’ll fight away my Life, and my Despair shall yet do
greater Wonders, than even my Love could animate me to. Let’s part our
Men, and beset his Tents on both sides.
[_Friendly_ goes out with a Party.
_Haz._ Come, Gentlemen, let’s on--
_Whiff._ On, Sir,--we on, Sir?--
_Haz._ Ay, you on, Sir--to redeem the Ladies.
_Whiff._ Oh, Sir, I am going home for Money to redeem my _Nancy_.
_Whim._ So am I, Sir.
_Tim._ I thank my Stars I am a Batchelor.--Why, what a Plague is a Wife?
_Haz._ Will you march forward?
_Dull._ We have atchiev’d Honour enough already, in having made our
Campaign here--
[Looking big.
_Haz._ ‘Sdeath, but you shall go--put them in the front, and prick them
on--if they offer to turn back, run them thro.
_Tim._ Oh, horrid-- [The Soldiers prick them on with their Swords.
_Whiff._ Oh, _Nancy_, thy Dream will yet come to pass.
_Haz._ Will you advance, Sir? [Pricks _Whiff_.
_Whiff._ Why, so we do, Sir; the Devil’s in these fighting Fellows.
[Exeunt.
An Alarm at a distance.
_Within._ To Arms, to Arms, the Enemy’s upon us.
[A Noise of Fighting, after which enters _Friendly_ with his
Party, retreating and fighting from _Daring_ and some Soldiers,
_Ranter_ fighting like a Fury by his side, he putting her back in
vain; they fight out. Re-enter _Daring_ and _Friendly_ all bloody.
Several Soldiers enter with Flambeaux.
_Dar._ Now, Sir--what Injury have I ever done you, that you should use
this Treachery against me?
_Friend._ To take advantage any way in War, was never counted
Treachery--and had I murder’d thee, I had not paid thee half the Debt I
owe thee.
_Dar._ You bleed too much to hold too long a Parley-- come to my Tent,
I’ll take a charitable care of thee.
_Friend._ I scorn thy Courtesy, who against all the Laws of Honour and
of Justice, hast ravish’d innocent Ladies.
_Dar._ Sir, your upbraiding of my Honour shall never make me forfeit it,
or esteem you less--Is there a Lady here you have a Passion for?
_Friend._ Yes, on a nobler score than thou darest own.
_Dar._ To let you see how you’re mistaken, Sir, whoe’er that Lady be
whom you affect, I will resign, and give you both your Freedoms.
_Friend._ Why, for this Courtesy, which shews thee brave, in the next
fight I’ll save thy Life to quit the Obligation.
_Dar._ I thank you, Sir;--come to my Tent,--and when we’ve dress’d your
Wounds, and yielded up the Ladies, I’ll give you my Pass-port for your
Safe-Conduct back, and tell your Friends i’th’ Town, we’ll visit them
i’th’ Morning.
_Friend._ They’ll meet you on your way, Sir--
_Dar._ Come, my young Soldier, now thou’st won my Soul.
[Exeunt.
[An Alarm beats: Enter at another Passage _Boozer_ with all the
Ladies; they pass over the Stage, while _Hazard_ and _Downright_
beat back a Party of Soldiers. _Dull._ _Tim._ _Whim._ and _Whiff_,
prick’d on by their Party to fight, lay about them like Madmen.
_Bacon_, _Fearless_ and _Daring_ come in, rescue their Men, and
fight out the other Party, some falling dead. _Bacon_, _Fearless_
and _Daring_ return tired, with their Swords drawn. Enter
_Soldier_ running.
_Sold._ Return, Sir, where your Sword will be more useful--a Party of
_Indians_, taking advantage of the Night, have set fire on your Tents,
and borne away the Queen.
_Bac._ Hah, the Queen! By Heaven, this Victory shall cost them dear;
come, let us fly to rescue her.
[All go out.
SCENE II. Changes to _Wellman’s_ Tent.
Enter _Wellman_, _Brag_, _Grubb_, and Officers.
_Well._ I cannot sleep, my Impatience is so great to engage this haughty
Enemy, before they have reposed their weary Limbs--Is not yon ruddy
Light the Morning’s dawn?
_Brag._ ‘Tis, and please your Honour.
_Well._ Is there no News of _Friendly_ yet, and _Hazard_?
_Brag._ Not yet--’tis thought they left the Camp to night, with some
design against the Enemy.
_Well._ What Men have they?
_Brag._ Only _Boozer’s_ Party, Sir.
_Well._ I know they are brave, and mean to surprize me with some
handsome Action.
Enter _Friendly_.
_Friend._ I ask a thousand Pardons, Sir, for quitting the Camp without
your leave.
_Well._ Your conduct and your Courage cannot err; I see thou’st been in
action by thy Blood.
_Friend._ Sir, I’m ashamed to own these slender Wounds, since without
more my luck was to be taken, while _Hazard_ did alone effect the
Business, the rescuing of the Ladies.
_Well._ How got ye Liberty?
_Friend._ By _Daring’s_ Generosity, who sends ye word he’ll visit you
this Morning.
_Well._ We are prepared to meet him.
Enter _Down._ _Hazard_, _Ladies_, _Whim._ _Whiff_, _Dullman_,
_Tim._ looking big. _Well._ embraces _Down._
_Well._ My worthy Friend, how am I joyed to see you?
_Down._ We owe our Liberties to these brave Youths, who can do Wonders
when they fight for Ladies.
_Tim._ With our assistance, Ladies.
_Whim._ For my part I’ll not take it as I have done; Gad, I find, when I
am damnable angry, I can beat both Friend and Foe.
_Whiff._ When I fight for my _Nancy_ here--adsfish, I’m a Dragon.
Mrs. _Whiff._ Lord, you need not have been so hasty.
_Friend._ Do not upbraid me with your Eyes, _Chrisante_; but let these
Wounds assure you I endeavour’d to serve you, though _Hazard_ had the
Honour on’t.
_Well._ But, Ladies, we’ll not expose you in the Camp,--a Party of our
Men shall see you safely conducted to Madam _Surelove’s_; ‘tis but a
little Mile from our Camp.
_Friend._ Let me have that honour, Sir.
_Chris._ No, I conjure you let your Wounds be dress’d; obey me if you
love me, and _Hazard_ shall conduct us home.
_Well._ He had the Toil, ‘tis fit he have the Recompence.
_Whiff._ He the Toil, Sir! what, did we stand for Cyphers?
_Whim._ The very appearance I made in the front of the Battel, aw’d the
Enemy.
_Tim._ Ay, ay, let the Enemy say how I maul’d ‘em--but Gads zoors,
I scorn to brag.
_Well._ Since you’ve regain’d your Honour so gloriously, I restore you
to your Commands you lost by your seeming Cowardice.
_Dull._ Valour is not always in humour, Sir.
_Well._ Come, Gentlemen, since they’ve resolv’d to engage us, let’s set
our Men in order to receive ‘em.
[Exeunt all but the four Justices.
_Tim._ Our Commissions again--you must be bragging, and see what comes
on’t; I was modest ye see, and said nothing of my Prowess.
_Whiff._ What a Devil does the Colonel think we are made of Iron,
continually to be beat on the Anvil?
_Whim._ Look, Gentlemen, here’s two Evils--if we go we are dead Men; if
we stay we are hang’d--and that will disorder my
Cravat-string:--therefore the least Evil is to go--and set a good Face
on the Matter, as I do--
[Goes out singing. All exeunt.
SCENE III. A thick Wood.
Enter _Queen_ dress’d like an _Indian_ Man, with a Bow in her
Hand, and Quiver at her Back; _Anaria_ her Confident disguis’d so
too; and about a dozen _Indians_ led by _Cavaro_.
_Queen._ I tremble yet, dost think we’re safe, _Cavaro_?
_Cav._ Madam, these Woods are intricate and vast, and ‘twill be
difficult to find us out--or if they do, this Habit will secure you from
the fear of being taken.
_Queen._ Dost think if _Bacon_ find us, he will not know me? Alas, my
Fears and Blushes will betray me.
_Ana._ ‘Tis certain, Madam, if we stay we perish; for all the Wood’s
surrounded by the Conqueror.
_Queen._ Alas, ‘tis better we should perish here, than stay to expect
the Violence of his Passion, to which my Heart’s too sensibly inclin’d.
_Ana._ Why do you not obey its Dictates then? why do you fly the
Conqueror?
_Queen._ Not fly--not fly the Murderer of my Lord?
_Ana._ What World, what Resolution can preserve you? and what he cannot
gain by soft submission, Force will at last o’ercome.
_Queen._ I wish there were in Nature one excuse, either by Force or
Reason to compel me:--For Oh, _Anaria_--I adore this General;--take from
my Soul a Truth--till now conceal’d--at twelve Years old--at the
_Pauwomungian_ Court, I saw this Conqueror. I saw him young and gay as
new-born Spring, glorious and charming as the Mid-day’s Sun; I watch’d
his Looks, and listned when he spoke, and thought him more than mortal.
_Ana._ He has a graceful Form.
_Queen._ At last a fatal Match concluded was between my Lord and me;
I gave my Hand, but oh, how far my Heart was from consenting, the angry
Gods are Witness.
_Ana._ ‘Twas pity.
_Queen._ Twelve tedious Moons I pass’d in silent Languishment; Honour
endeavouring to destroy my Love, but all in vain; for still my Pain
return’d whenever I beheld my Conqueror; but now when I consider him as
Murderer of my Lord-- [Fiercely.] I sigh and wish--some other fatal Hand
had given him his Death.--But now there’s a necessity, I must be brave
and overcome my Heart; What if I do? ah, whither shall I fly? I have no
_Amazonian_ Fire about me, all my Artillery is Sighs and Tears, the
Earth my Bed, and Heaven my Canopy. [Weeps.
[After Noise of Fighting.
Hah, we are surpriz’d; Oh, whither shall I fly? And yet methinks a
certain trembling Joy, spite of my Soul, spite of my boasted Honour,
runs shivering round my Heart.
Enter an _Indian_.
_Ind._ Madam, your Out-guards are surpriz’d by _Bacon_, who hews down
all before him, and demands the Queen with such a Voice, and Eyes so
fierce and angry, he kills us with his Looks.
_Cav._ Draw up your poison’d Arrows to the head, and aim them at his
Heart, sure some will hit.
_Queen._ Cruel _Cavaro_,--wou’d ‘twere fit for me to contradict thy
Justice.
[Aside.
_Bac._ [Within.] The Queen, ye Slaves, give me the Queen, and live!
He enters furiously, beating back some _Indians_; _Cavaro’s_ Party
going to shoot, the _Queen_ runs in.
_Queen._ Hold, hold, I do command ye.
[_Bacon_ flies on ‘em as they shoot and miss him, fights like a
Fury, and wounds the _Queen_ in the Disorder; beats them all out.
--hold thy commanding Hand, and do not kill me, who wou’d not hurt
thee to regain my Kingdom--
[He snatches her in his Arms, she reels.
_Bac._ Hah--a Woman’s Voice,--what art thou? Oh my Fears!
_Queen._ Thy Hand has been too cruel to a Heart--whose Crime was only
tender Thoughts for thee.
_Bac._ The Queen! What is’t my sacrilegious Hand has done!
_Queen._ The noblest Office of a gallant Friend, thou’st sav’d my
Honour, and hast given me Death.
_Bac._ Is’t possible! ye unregarding Gods, is’t possible?
_Queen._ Now I may love you without Infamy, and please my dying Heart by
gazing on you.
_Bac._ Oh, I am lost--for ever lost--I find my Brain turn with the wild
confusion.
_Queen._ I faint--oh, lay me gently on the Earth. [Lays her down.
_Bac._ Who waits-- [Turns in Rage to his Men.
Make of the Trophies of the War a Pile, and set it all on fire, that I
may leap into consuming Flames--while all my Tents are burning round
about me.
[Wildly.
Oh thou dear Prize, for which alone I toil’d!
[Weeps, and lies down by her.
Enter _Fearless_ with his Sword drawn.
_Fear._ Hah, on the Earth--how do you, Sir?
_Bac._ What wou’dst thou?
_Fear._ _Wellman_ with all the Forces he can gather, attacks us even in
our very Camp; assist us, Sir, or all is lost.
_Bac._ Why, prithee let him make the World his Prize, I have no business
with the Trifle now; it contains nothing that’s worth my care, since my
fair Queen--is dead--and by my hand.
_Queen._ So charming and obliging is thy Moan, that I cou’d wish for
Life to recompense it; but oh, Death falls--all cold upon my Heart, like
Mildews on the Blossoms.
_Fear._ By Heaven, Sir, this Love will ruin all--rise, rise, and save us
yet.
_Bac._ Leave me, what e’er becomes of me--lose not thy share of
Glory--prithee leave me.
_Queen._ Alas, I fear thy Fate is drawing on, and I shall shortly meet
thee in the Clouds; till then--farewel--even Death is pleasing to me,
while thus--I find it in thy Arms--
[Dies.
_Bac._ There ends my Race of Glory and of Life.
[An Alarm at distance--continues a while.
_Bac._ Hah--Why should I idly whine away my Life, since there are nobler
ways to meet with Death? Up, up, and face him then--Hark--there’s the
Soldier’s Knell--and all the Joys of Life--with thee I bid farewel--
[Goes out. The _Indians_ bear off the Body of the _Queen_.
The Alarm continues: Enter _Downright_, _Wellman_, and others,
Swords drawn.
_Well._ They fight like Men possest--I did not think to have found them
so prepar’d.
_Down._ They’ve good Intelligence--but where’s the Rebel?
_Well._ Sure he’s not in the Fight; Oh, that it were my happy chance to
meet him, that while our Men look on, we might dispatch the business of
the War--Come, let’s fall in again, now we have taken breath.
[They go out.
Enter _Daring_ and _Fearless_ hastily, with their Swords drawn;
meet _Whim._ _Whiff_, with their Swords drawn, running away.
_Dar._ How now, whither away? [In anger.
_Whim._ Hah, _Daring_ here--we are pursuing of the Enemy, Sir; stop us
not in the pursuit of Glory.
[Offers to go.
_Dar._ Stay!--I have not seen you in my Ranks to day.
_Whiff._ Lord, does your Honour take us for Starters?
_Fear._ Yes, Sirrah, and believe you are now rubbing off--confess, or
I’ll run you through.
_Whiff._ Oh, mercy, Sir, mercy, we’ll confess.
_Whim._ What will you confess? we were only going behind yon Hedge to
untruss a point; that’s all.
_Whiff._ Ay, your Honours will smell out the truth, if you keep us here
long.
_Dar._ Here, carry them Prisoners to my Tent.
[Ex. Soldiers with _Whim._ and _Whiff_.
Enter _Ranter_ without a Hat, and Sword drawn, _Daring_ angrily
goes the other way.
_Ran._ A pox of all ill luck, how came I to lose _Daring_ in the fight?
Ha--who’s here? _Dullman_ and _Timorous_ dead--the Rogues are
Counterfeits.--I’ll see what Moveables they have about them, all’s
lawful Prize in War.
[Takes their Money, Watches and Rings; goes out.
_Tim._ What, rob the dead?--why, what will this villanous World come to?
[Clashing of Swords, just as they were going to rise.
Enter _Hazard_ bringing in _Ranter_.
_Haz._ Thou cou’dst expect no other Fate, young Man; thy Hands are yet
too tender for a Sword.
_Ran._ Thou look’st like a good-natur’d Fellow, use me civilly, and
_Daring_ shall ransom me.
_Haz._ Doubt not a generous Treatment. [They go out.
_Dull._ So the Coast is clear, I desire to move my Quarters to some
place of more safety--
[They rise and go off.
Enter _Wellman_ and Soldiers hastily.
_Well._ ‘Twas this way _Bacon_ fled. Five hundred Pound for him who
finds the Rebel.
[Go out.
SCENE IV. Changes to another part of the Wood.
Enter _Bacon_ and _Fearless_ with their Swords drawn, all bloody.
_Bac._ ‘Tis just, ye Gods! that when ye took the Prize for which I
fought, Fortune and you should all abandon me.
_Fear._ Oh, fly, Sir, to some place of safe retreat, for there’s no
mercy to be hop’d if taken. What will you do? I know we are pursu’d, by
Heaven, I will not die a shameful Death.
_Bac._ Oh, they’ll have pity on thy Youth and Bravery, but I’m above
their Pardon.
[A noise is heard.
_Within._ This way--this way--hay halloo.
_Fear._ Alas, Sir, we’re undone--I’ll see which way they take.
[Exit.
_Bac._ So near! Nay, then to my last shift.
[Undoes the Pomel of his Sword.
Come, my good Poison, like that of _Hannibal_; long I have born a
noble Remedy for all the Ills of Life.
[Takes Poison.
I have too long surviv’d my Queen and Glory, those two bright Stars
that influenc’d my Life are set to all Eternity.
[Lies down.
Enter _Fearless_, runs to _Bacon_, and looks on his Sword.
_Fear._ --Hah--what have ye done?
_Bac._ Secur’d my self from being a publick Spectacle upon the common
Theatre of Death.
Enter _Daring_ and Soldiers.
_Dar._ Victory, Victory! they fly, they fly, where’s the victorious
General?
_Fear._ Here,--taking his last Adieu.
_Dar._ Dying! Then wither all the Laurels on my Brows, for I shall never
triumph more in War; where are the Wounds?
_Fear._ From his own Hand, by what he carried here, believing we had
lost the Victory.
_Bac._ And is the Enemy put to flight, my Hero? [Grasps his Neck.
_Dar._ All routed Horse and Foot; I plac’d an Ambush, and while they
were pursuing you, my Men fell on behind, and won the day.
_Bac._ Thou almost makest me wish to live again, if I cou’d live now
fair _Semernia’s_ dead.--But oh--the baneful Drug is just and kind, and
hastens me away--Now while you are Victors, make a Peace--with the
_English_ Council, and never let Ambition,--Love,--or Interest, make you
forget, as I have done, your Duty and Allegiance--Farewel--a long
Farewel--
[Dies embracing their Necks.
_Dar._ So fell the _Roman Cassius_, by mistake--
Enter Soldiers with _Dunce_, _Tim._ and _Dullman_.
_Sold._ An’t please your Honour, we took these Men running away.
_Dar._ Let ‘em loose--the Wars are at an end, see where the General
lies--that great-soul’d Man, no private Body e’er contain’d a nobler;
and he that cou’d have conquered all _America_, finds only here his
scanty length of Earth. Go, bear the Body to his own Pavilion--
[Soldiers go out with the Body.
though we are Conquerors we submit to treat, and yield upon Condition:
You, Mr. _Dunce_, shall bear our Articles to the Council.
_Dun._ With Joy I will obey you.
_Tim._ Good General, let us be put in the Agreement.
_Dar._ You shall be obliged--
[Ex. _Dar._ _Dun._ _Dull._ and _Tim._ as _Fear._ goes out a
Soldier meets him.
_Sold._ What does your Honour intend to do with _Whimsey_ and _Whiff_,
who are condemn’d by a Council of War?
Enter _Daring_, _Dullman_, _Tim._ _Fearless_, and Officers.
_Dar._ You come too late, Gentlemen, to be put into the Articles; nor am
I satisfy’d you’re worthy of it.
_Dull._ Why, did not you, Sir, see us lie dead in the Field?
_Dar._ Yes, but I see no Wound about you.
_Tim._ We were stun’d with being knock’d down; Gads zoors, a Man may be
kill’d with the but-end of a Musquet, as soon as with the point of a
Sword.
Enter _Dunce_.
_Dun._ The Council, Sir, wishes you Health and Happiness, and sends you
these sign’d by their Hands--
[Gives Papers.
_Dar._ reads.
That you shall have a general Pardon for your self and Friends;
that you shall have all new Commissions, and _Daring_ to command as
General; that you shall have free leave to inter your dead General
in _James_ Town. And to ratify this, we will meet you at Madam
_Surelove’s_ House, which stands between the Armies, attended only
by our Officers.
The Council’s noble, and I’ll wait upon them.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V. A Grove near Madam _Surelove’s_.
Enter _Surelove_ weeping, _Well._ _Chrisante_, Mrs. _Flirt_,
_Ranter_ as before, _Down._ _Haz._ _Friend._ _Booz._ _Brag_.
_Well._ How long, Madam, have you heard the News of Col. _Surelove’s_
Death?
_Sure._ By a Vessel last Night arriv’d.
_Well._ You shou’d not grieve when Men so old pay their debt to Nature;
you are too fair not to have been reserved for some young Lover’s Arms.
_Haz._ I dare not speak,--but give me leave to hope.
_Sure._ The way to oblige me to’t, is never more to speak to me of Love
till I shall think it fit--
[_Wellman_ speaks to _Down._
_Well._ Come, you shan’t grant it--’tis a hopeful Youth.
_Down._ You are too much my Friend to be denied--_Chrisante_, do you
love _Friendly_? nay, do not blush--till you have done a fault, your
loving him is none--Here, take her, young Man, and with her all my
Fortune--when I am dead, Sirrah--not a Groat before--unless to buy ye
Baby-Clouts.
_Friend._ He merits not this Treasure, Sir, can wish for more.
Enter _Daring_, _Fearless_, _Dunce_, Officers, and the rest, they
meet _Well._ and _Down._ who embrace ‘em. _Dull._ and _Tim._
stand.
_Dar._ Can you forgive us, Sir, our Disobedience?
_Well._ Your offering Peace while yet you might command it, has made
such kind impressions on us, that now you may command your Propositions;
your Pardons are all seal’d and new Commissions.
_Dar._ I’m not ambitious of that Honour, Sir, but in obedience will
accept your Goodness; but, Sir, I hear I have a young Friend taken
Prisoner by Captain _Hazard_, whom I intreat you will render me.
_Haz._ Sir--here I resign him to you. [Gives him _Ran._
_Ran._ Faith, General, you left me but scurvily in Battle.
_Dar._ That was to see how well you cou’d shift for your self; now I
find you can bear the brunt of a Campaign, you are a fit Wife for a
Soldier.
_All._ A Woman--_Ranter_--
_Haz._ Faith, Madam, I should have given you kinder Quarter, if I had
known my happiness.
_Flirt._ I have an humble Petition to you, Sir.
_Sure._ In which we all join.
_Flirt._ An’t please you, Sir, Mr. _Dunce_ has long made Love to me, and
on promise of Marriage has--
[Simpers.
_Down._ What has he, Mistress? What has he, Mrs. _Flirt_?
_Flirt._ Only been a little familiar with my Person, Sir--
_Well._ Do you hear, Parson--you must marry Mrs. _Flirt_.
_Dun._ How, Sir, a Man of my Coat, Sir, marry a Brandy-monger?
_Well._ Of your Calling you mean, a Farrier and no Parson--
[Aside to him.
She’ll leave her Trade, and spark it above all the Ladies at Church:
No more--take her, and make her honest.
Enter _Whim._ and _Whiff_ stript.
_Chris._ Bless me, what have we here?
_Whim._ Why, an’t like your Honours, we were taken by the Enemy--hah,
_Daring_ here, and _Fearless_?
_Fear._ How now, Gentlemen, were not you two condemn’d to be shot for
running from your Colours.
_Down._ From your Colours!
_Fear._ Yes, Sir, they were both listed in my Regiment.
_Down._ Then we must hang them for deserting us.
_Whim._ So, out of the Frying Pan--you know where, Brother--
_Whiff._ Ay, he that’s born to be hang’d--you know the rest; a Pox of
these Proverbs.
_Well._ I know ye well--you’re all rank Cowards; but once more we
forgive ye; your Places in the Council shall be supplied by these
Gentlemen of Sense and Honour. The Governor when he comes, shall find
the Country in better hands than he expects to find it.
_Whim._ A very fair Discharge.
_Whiff._ I’m glad ‘tis no worse, I’ll home to my _Nancy_.
_Dull._ Have we expos’d our Lives and Fortunes for this?
_Tim._ Gad zoors, I never thriv’d since I was a Statesman, left
Planting, and fell to promising and lying; I’ll to my old Trade again,
bask under the shade of my own Tobacco, and drink my Punch in Peace.
_Well._ _Come, my brave Youths, let all our Forces meet,
To make this Country happy, rich and great;
Let scanted _Europe_ see that we enjoy
Safer Repose, and larger Worlds, than they._
EPILOGUE.
Gallants, you have so long been absent hence,
That you have almost cool’d your Diligence:
For while we study or revive a Play,
You like good Husbands in the Country stay,
There frugally wear out your Summer-Suit, }
And in Frize Jerkin after Beagles toot, }
Or in Mountero Caps at Fel-fares shoot: }
Nay, some are so obdurate in their Sin,
That they swear never to come up again;
But all their charge of Clothes and Treat retrench.
To Gloves and Stockings for some Country-Wench.
Even they who in the Summer had Mishaps,
Send up to Town for Physick, for their Claps.
The Ladies too, are as resolv’d as they, }
And having Debts unknown to them, they stay, }
And with the gain of Cheese and Poultry pay. }
Even in their Visits, they from Banquets fall,
To entertain with Nuts and Bottle-Ale;
And in Discourse with secrecy report
Stale News that past a Twelve-month since at Court.
Those of them who are most refin’d and gay,
Now learn the Songs of the last Summer’s Play:
While the young Daughter does in private mourn
Her Love’s in Town, and hopes not to return.
These Country-Grievances too great appear;
But, cruel Ladies, we have greater here;
You come not sharp, as you were wont, to Plays;
But only on the first and second Days:
This made our Poet in his Visits look
What new strange Courses for your Time you took;
And to his great regret he found too soon,
_Basset_ and _Ombre_ spent the Afternoon:
So that we cannot hope to see you here
Before the little Net-work Purse be clear.
Suppose you should have luck:--
Yet sitting up so late as I am told,
You’ll lose in Beauty what you win in Gold;
And what each Lady of another says,
Will make you new Lampoons, and us new Plays.
* * * * *
* * * *
NOTES: The Widow Ranter
[Transcriber’s Note:
The Notes in the printed text give only page and line numbers.
Act-and-scene designations shown between +marks+ have been added by
the transcriber. Labels such as “Scene IIa” refer to points where the
scene description changes without a new scene number.]
NOTES ON THE TEXT.
+Dedication+
p. 221, l. 1 _To the much Honoured._ This Dedicatory Epistle is only
found in the 4to 1690.
+Prologue+
p. 223, l. 13 _Cruse._ Misprinted ‘Cause’ in 4to 1690 and in 1724.
_The True Widow_ (4to 1679), and the edition of 1720 (Shadwell’s
collected works) give ‘Cruse.’ All editions of Dryden until Christie
misread ‘Cause’.
p. 223, l. 16 _Poll._ 4to 1690 _Pole_. 1724 _Pool_. _The True Widow_
(4to 1679) and edition of 1720 both give ‘Poll’.
+Dramatis Personæ+
p. 225 _Dramatis Personæ._ I have added to the list ‘_Cavaro_, an
_Indian_, Confidant to the _Indian King_. _Jack_, a Sea-Boy. An
Officer; Messenger; Seaman; 2nd Seaman; A Highlander. _Jenny_, Maid
to _Widow Ranter_. _Nell_, Maid at the Inn. _Anaria_, Confidante to
the _Indian Queen_. Maid to Madam _Surelove_. Bailiffs, Rabble,
Negroes. I have supplied the name _Jeffery_ to the Coachman from I,
iii (p. 239), and also designated Mrs. _Flirt_ ‘a Tapstress’.
_Daring_, which name is indifferently spelt in the 4to 1690 _Dareing_
or _Daring_, I have given consistently throughout. For _Chrisante_
1724 sometimes has _Crisante_. To the Scene I have added
‘_James-Town_, and the surrounding Country.’
+ACT I: Scene i+
p. 226, l. 3 _Jack._ I have inserted this name from _infra_ l. 20.
p. 226, l. 17 _Enter Flirt and Nell._ I have supplied this necessary
entrance.
p. 227, l. 9 _Exit Nell._ I have inserted this exit. Nell’s entrance
is marked later and she is certainly not on the stage during the
ensuing scene.
p. 227, l. 27 _I._ Omitted in 4to 1690.
p. 227, l. 30 _being._ ‘was’ 4to 1690.
p. 227, l. 35 _Cully in._ ‘Cully’ as a verb. 1724 ‘Cully to’. ‘Cully’
as a substantive.
p. 228, l. 10 _any thing._ 4to 1690 ‘any thing any thing’.
p. 229, l. 1 _fail, thou._ 4to 1690 ‘fail, there thou’. This
insertion of ‘there’ interrupts the sense.
p. 229, l. 26 _wherever._ 1724 ‘whenever’.
p. 230, l. 1 _whom._ 4to 1690 ‘_which_’.
p. 230, l. 34 _stand._ 4to 1690 ‘_stands_’.
p. 231, l. 24 _Smoke._ 1724 ‘Tobacco’.
p. 231, l. 28 _Exit Nell._ I have supplied this stage direction.
p. 231, l. 34 _paulter._ 1724 ‘paultry’. _Vide_ critical note on this
passage.
p. 232, l. 8 _and Nell with drink, pipes, etc._ I have supplied these
words.
p. 232, l. 19 _take._ 4to 1690 ‘took’.
p. 232, l. 34 _an._ 4to 1690 ‘on’.
p. 233, l. 28 _the Bob._ 1724 ‘a Bob’.
p. 234, l. 28 _Guinea._ 4to 1690 ‘Guinia’.
+ACT I: Scene ii+
p. 235, l. 17 _The Council-Table._ I have supplied this locale.
p. 235, l. 22 _give._ My own emendation: previous editions ‘be’.
p. 236, l. 12 _make._ 4to 1690 ‘have’.
p. 237, l. 6 _Down. I say._ 4to 1690 wrongly gives this speech to
Dunce.
p. 238, l. 25 _If we wou’d._ 1724 ‘If he wou’d’.
+ACT I: Scene iii+
p. 239, l. 25 _Jeffery._ I have supplied the name here from the
following line.
p. 239, l. 31 _Exit._ Not noted in former editions.
p. 240, l. 2 _of a Baboon._ 4to 1690 ‘of Baboone’.
p. 240, l. 5 _Tumbler._ 4to 1690 misprints ‘Fumbler’.
p. 241, ll. 15, 18 _Pound._ 1724 ‘Pounds’.
p. 242, l. 32 _Sure. reads._ 4to 1690 and 1724 ‘she reads’, which is
ambiguous.
p. 243, l. 16 _de la guerre._ 4to 1690 ‘de la gare’.
p. 244, l. 17 _They join with Surelove._ Only in 4to 1690.
+ACT II: Scene i+
p. 245, l. 21 _have Charms._ 1724 ‘have those Charms’.
p. 245, l. 28 _Mediator._ 1724 ‘Meditator’.
p. 245, l. 32 _would make me lay the Conqueror._ 1724 ‘would lay me
a Conqueror’.
p. 248, l. 12 _knip._ 1724 mis-spells this rare word ‘nip’.
+ACT II: Scene ii+
p. 252, l. 36 _A Scots Dance._ 1724 ‘A Scotch Dance.’
p. 253, l. 28 _Billet-Douxs._ 4to 1690 ‘Billet-Deaxs’.
p. 254, l. 12 _Drinking all this while sometimes._ Only in 4to 1690.
+ACT II: Scene iii+
p. 255, l. 16 _Pulls a Bottle._ 4to 1690 ‘Pulls out a Bottle’.
p. 255, l. 28 _Drinks._ Only in 4to 1690.
p. 256, l. 31 _durst._ 4to 1690 ‘darst’.
+ACT II: Scene iv+
p. 258, l. 26 _Enter Brag._ Both 4to 1690 and 1724 have ‘Enter a
Messenger’, and give l. 27 speech-prefix ‘Mes.’ Both, however, give
the next speech he speaks (l. 33) to Brag and have later ‘Exit Brag.’
p. 259, l. 5 _Whimsey._ Both 4to 1690 and 1724 here and elsewhere cut
the name down to ‘Whim.’
p. 259, l. 9 _wish’d that the Plot._ 4to 1690 ‘wish’d the Plot’.
p. 261, l. 17 _care._ 1724 ‘ear’.
p. 262, l. 25 _Wellman’s Guards._ 4to 1690 ‘Wellman, his Guards’. But
Wellman has not left the stage. The comma printed by 1690 is probably
a mistake and we should read ‘Wellman his Guards’.
p. 263, l. 24 _Exit._ 4to 1690 gives no direction. 1724 has ‘Exeunt.’
But Timorous is left alone on the stage.
+ACT III: Scene i+
p. 264, l. 1 _hollow._ 4to 1690 ‘hallow’.
p. 266, l. 15 _That._ Omitted in 4to 1690.
p. 270, l. 8 _Exeunt._ 4to 1690 gives no stage direction here.
+ACT III: Scene ii+
p. 272, l. 28 _’.is a tittle of the D-- breed._ [sic] 4to 1690. 1724
‘’.is little of the D-- breed’.
p. 274, l. 1 _haste with._ 1724 ‘haste you with’.
+ACT III: Scene iia+
p. 275, l. 28 _stands and stares a while._ 1724 ‘stands a while and
stares’.
p. 277, l. 28 _shall be._ 4to 1690 ‘shall not be’.
+ACT IV: Scene i+
p. 279, l. 12 _Priests._ 4to 1690 ‘Priest.’
+ACT IV: Scene ii+
p. 289. l. 10 _draw._ 4to 1690 ‘draws’, but not as a stage direction.
+ACT IV: Scene iii+
p. 289, l. 21 _Scene III._ I have numbered this scene.
p. 290, l. 14 _Daring, looks._ 4to 1690 ‘Daring, and looks’.
p. 290, l. 31 _devote._ 1724 ‘divorce’, a bad error.
p. 290, l. 33 _the fittest._ 1724 ‘a fit’.
+ACT V: Scene i+
p. 295, l. 9 _Exeunt._ 4to 1690 ‘Ex.’ 1724 ‘Exit’.
p. 296, l. 8 _Exeunt._ I have supplied this necessary stage direction.
p. 296, l. 11 _beat._ 4to 1690 ‘beating’.
p. 296, l. 13 _fight, lay._ 4to 1690 ‘fight, so that they lay’.
p. 296, l. 22 _All go out._ Previous editions ‘Goes out.’
+ACT V: Scene ii+
p. 296, l. 23 _Scene II._ I have numbered this scene.
p. 298, l. 26 _All Exeunt._ I have added this direction.
+ACT V: Scene iii+
p. 298, l. 27 _Scene III._ I have numbered this scene.
p. 299, l. 12 _submission._ 1724 ‘Admission’.
p. 299, l. 17 _Pauwomungian._ 4to 1690 ‘Pauwmungian’.
p. 300, l. 2 _After Noise._ 1724 omits ‘After’.
p. 303, l. 16 _They go out._ Previous editions ‘Goes out.’
+ACT V: Scene iv+
p. 303, l. 23 _Scene IV. Changes to another part of the Wood._ All
previous editions ‘Scene changes to a Wood.’
p. 304, l. 21 _are._ 4to 1690 ‘is’.
p. 305, l. 12 _go out._ 4to 1690 ‘goes out’.
p. 305, l. 21 _Whimsey._ In former editions abbreviated to ‘Whim.’
p. 306, l. 9 _Exeunt._ Former editions ‘Exit Dunce.’
+ACT V: Scene v+
p. 306, l. 10 _Scene V._ I have numbered this scene.
p. 306, l. 18 _Lover’s._ 4to 1690 ‘Love’s’.
p. 306, l. 20 _more._ 1724 omits.
p. 306, l. 32 _and the rest._ Previous editions ‘and officers’, but
plainly all the characters of the preceding scene assemble.
p. 307, l. 21 _What has he, Mistress?_ 4to 1690 omits.
+Epilogue+
p. 309, l. 1 _Epilogue._ It will be noted that with some trifling
alterations this is the Prologue to _Abdelazar_.
NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.
+Dedication+
p. 221 _Madam Welldon._ This Dedicatory Epistle only appears in 4to
1690. The lady doubtless belonged to a branch of the famous Weldons,
of Swanscombe, Kent, and is probably to be identified with Madam Lucy
Weldon, _née_ Necton, the wife of Colonel George Weldon.
p. 222 _G. J._ Almost certainly George Jenkins, of whom we have two
copies of complimentary verse prefixed to _La Montre, or The Lover’s
Watch_. _vide_ Vol. VI, pp. 9-11.
+Prologue+
p. 223 _Prologue._ This prologue was first spoken to Shadwell’s
comedy, _The True Widow_, produced at the Duke’s Theatre, Dorset
Garden, 21 March, 1678, and it is printed with all copies of that
play. It was, no doubt, used on the present occasion by permission
of Dryden. It will be noticed that the Epilogue to _The Widow Ranter_
is the Prologue to _Abdelazar_.
p. 223 _Muss._ A scramble. cf. _Antony and Cleopatra_, iii, 13:--
... of late, when I cried ‘Ho!’
Like boys unto a muss, Kings would start forth,
And cry ‘Your will?’
+ACT I: Scene i+
p. 226 _a Cogue of Brandy._ ‘Cogue’ is a Kentish word. _Kent Glossary_
(1887), has ‘cogue; a dram of brandy’. and Wright, _Eng. Dial. Dic._,
who gives ‘cogue’ as exclusively Kentish, assigns precisely the same
meaning. D’Urfey, however, _Pills to Purge Melancholy_ (1719), vi,
p. 351, has ‘a cogue of good ale’.
p. 227 _Groom Porter’s._ The Groom Porter was an officer of the Royal
Household. This post was abolished in the reign of George III. From
the sixteenth century he regulated all matters connected with card
playing, gambling, and dicing within the precincts of the court. He
even furnished cards and dice, and settled disputes concerning the
game.
p. 227 _high and low Flats and Bars._ i.e. Doctored dice. cf.
_Chamber’s Cycl. Supp._ (1753), ‘Barr Dice, a species of false dice
so formed that they will not easily lie on certain sides.’ This cant
term is found as early as 1545. cf. Ascham’s _Toxophilus_. Flats are
also cards. --(Grose, and J. H. Vaux, _Flash Dic._)
p. 231 _shier._ Schire = clear; pure. A Gaelic word. cf. Herd,
_Scotch Songs_ (2nd ed. 1776), 11, _Gloss._--’We call clear liquor
shire’.
p. 231 _paulter._ Mean; worthless. This rare form is perhaps found
only here. The _N.E.D._ does not give it. But we have ‘paltering’
and ‘palterly’.
p. 232 _Hoggerds._ A rare word, being obsolete for Hogherd. cf. De
Parc’s _Francion_, iv, 3 (tr. 1655): ‘Our Regent (who had in him no
more humanity than a Hoggard).’
p. 233 _trusting for old Oliver’s Funeral broke._ The obsequies of
Oliver Cromwell, originally fixed for 9 November, 1658, owing to the
extraordinary magnificence of the preparations were not performed
until 23 November. For many days his waxen effigy, dressed in robes
of state, was exhibited at Somerset House. The expenses totalled
£60,000, and it was a public scandal that a great part of this wanton
and wasteful extravagance remained unpaid, to the undoing of the
undertakers. On 25 August, 1659, in the _Kalendar of State Affairs
(Domestic)_, the following occurs: ‘Report by the Committee appointed
by Parliament to examine what is due for mourning for the late General
Cromwell, that on perusal of the bills signed by Cromwell’s servants,
and of the account of Abr. Barrington, his auditor, it appears that
£19,303 0_s._ 11_d._ is still due and unpaid for mourning. Also that
Nath. Waterhouse, servant to Rich. Cromwell, should be authorized to
see the persons in a list [missing] annexed for that mourning. Col.
Rich to make this report. Schedule of debts due to 11 mercers and
drapers for the funeral of the late General Cromwell. Total £19,303
0_s._ 11_d._’
p. 233 _they bear the Bob._ i.e. They join in the chorus or refrain.
+ACT I: Scene iii+
p. 240 _shoveing the Tumbler._ ‘Thieves’ cant for being whipped at the
cart’s tail.’ --(Grose). Tumbler, perhaps = tumbril.
p. 240 _lifting._ Filching. This slang term is very old and common.
p. 240 _filing the Cly._ ‘Thieves’ cant for picking a pocket.’
--(Grose). ‘Cly,’ a pocket.
p. 240 _Regalio._ An obsolete and, indeed, erroneous form of ‘regalo’,
an elegant repast; choice food or drink. The word is very common,
and the spelling, ‘Regalio’, is frequent in the second half of the
seventeenth century.
+ACT II: Scene i+
p. 246 _Anticks._ Quaint fantastic measures. A favourite word with
Mrs. Behn.
p. 248 _to knip._ To clip. (Dutch ‘knippen’, to cut, snip.) _N.E.D._
neglecting this passage, only gives the meaning as to bite or crop
(grass) of cattle. It appends two quotations having this sense--the
one from Dunbar’s _Poems_ (1500-20), the second from Douglas,
_Aeneis_ (1513).
+ACT II: Scene ii+
p. 252 _Mundungus._ Shag, or rank tobacco. cf. Sir R. Howard, _The
Committee_ (folio, 1665), ii: ‘A Pipe of the worst Mundungus.’
Shadwell, _The Humourists_ (1671), iii, speaks with contempt of
‘bottle ale ... and a pipe of Mundungus.’ Johnson in his _Dictionary_
(1755) has: ‘Mundungus. Stinking tobacco. A cant word.’
+ACT II: Scene iv+
p. 261 _a Bob._ cf. Prologue, _The False Count_ (Vol. III, p. 100),
‘dry bobs,’ and note on that passage, pp. 479-80.
p. 263 _barbicu._ Better ‘barbecu’. An Americanism meaning to broil
over live coals. Beverley, _Virginia_, III, xii (1705), thus explains
it: ‘Broyling ... at some distance above the live coals [the Indians]
& we from them call Barbecuing.’ cf. Pope, _Imitations of Horace_,
Sat. ii, 25, 26:--
_Oldfield_ with more than Harpy throat endued
Cries, ‘Send me, Gods, a whole hog barbecued!’
+ACT III: Scene i+
p. 264 _De-Wit._ ‘To De-Wit’ = to lynch. The word often occurs; it is
derived from the deaths of John and Cornelius De Wit, opponents of
William III (when stadt-holder). They were murdered by a mob in 1672.
cf. ‘to godfrey’ = to strangle, from the alleged murder of Sir Edmond
Bury Godfrey[1] in 1678. Crowne, _Sir Courtly Nice_ (1685), II, ii,
has: ‘Don’t throttle me, don’t _Godfrey_ me.’ The _N.E.D._ fails to
include ‘to godfrey’.
[Footnote 1: It is now pretty certainly established that this
melancholist committed suicide.]
p. 265 _Dalton’s Country-Justice._ A well-known work by the celebrated
lawyer Michael Dalton (1554-1620). It was long held in great repute
and regarded as supremely authoritative. On a page of advertisements
(Some Books printed this Year 1677. For _John Amery_, at the
_Peacock_, against St. _Dunstan’s Church_ in _Fleet-street_) in the
_Rover I_ (4to 1677), occurs ‘_The Country Justice_, Containing the
practice of the Justices of the Peace, in and out of their Sessions,
with an Abridgment of all Statutes relating thereunto to this present
Year 1677. By _Michael Dalton_ Esq; _Fol._ price bound 12s.’ cf. _The
Plain Dealer_ (4to 1676), III, i:
_Widow Blackacre._ Let’s see Dalton, Hughs, Shepherd, Wingate.
_Bookseller’s Boy._ We have no law books.
p. 266 _a Cagg._ Now corrupted to ‘Keg’, a small cask. cf. _Cotgrave_
(1611), ‘Encacquer’ to put in to a little barrell or cag. _N.E.D._
quotes this present passage.
+ACT IV: Scene i+
p. 279 _Agah Yerkin._ The various dictionaries and vocabularies of
the Indian languages I have had resource to give none of these words.
There is, however, so great a confusion of Indian jargons and dialects
that they cannot be pronounced fictitious. Yet Mrs. Behn would hardly,
even if she had learned the language, have retained any exact
knowledge of such barbaric tongues, and one may almost certainly say
that these cries and incantations are her own composition. Amongst
other authorities I have consulted _The Voyage of Robert Dudley ...
to the West Indies_, 1594-5, edited by G. F. Warner for the Hakluyt
Society (1889). Dr. Brinton’s _Arawack Language of Guiana_, an
exhaustive monograph, (Philadelphia, 1871.) M. M. Crevaux, Sagot,
L. Adam, _Grammaires et Vocabulaires roucouyenne, arrouague, piapoco,
et d’autres Langues de la Région des Guyanes_ (Paris, 1882). _Relation
des Missions ... dans les Isles et dans la terre ferme de l’.merique
Meridionale ... avec une introduction à la langue des Gabilis
Sauvages_ (Paris, 1655), by Father Pierre Pelleprat, S.J.
p. 279 _Quiocto._ Mrs. Behn probably meant to spell this word
‘Quiyoughcto’, the sound being identical. There is in Virginia a
river which in the seventeenth century was called the ‘Quiyough’.
The inhabitants of the banks of this river had mysterious or
supernatural properties ascribed to them. _In the Voyages &
Discoveries of Capt. John Smith_ (1606), we have: ‘They thinke that
their Werowanees and Priests, which they also esteeme
Quiyoughcosughes, when they are dead, doe goe beyond the mountaines
towards the setting of the sun.’ No doubt Mrs. Behn knew this
passage. I owe the above interesting note to the kindness of my
friend Mr. Gosse.
+ACT IV: Scene ii+
p. 284 _Cadees._ The original form of ‘cadets’ from the French
pronunciation. _N.E.D._ cites this passage as the earliest occurence
of the word.
+ACT V: Scene i+
p. 293 _Cadeeing._ The verb ‘to cadee’ is only found here and may be
a nonce phrase. _N.E.D._ does not include it.
p. 293 _to top Tobacco._ i.e. to cultivate our tobacco plantations.
p. 295 _Flambeaux._ Mrs. Behn (or, haply, George Jenkins, the first
editor of _The Widow Ranter_), here uses the ordinary form ‘flambeaux’
as a plural. In _The Emperor of the Moon_ (Vol. III, p. 418), she
writes ‘a Flambeaux’. In addition to the example from Herbert which I
give in my note (Vol. III, p. 475), I find a plural ‘Flambeaux’s’ used
by Mrs. Manley. cf. _Secret Memoirs & Manners of Several Persons of
Quality of Both Sexes from the New Atalantis_ (1709, the Second
Edition), Vol. I, p. 88: ‘She but thinks of an expensive Funeral,
white Flambeaux’s, Chariots, Horses, Streamers, and a Train of
Mourners.’
+ACT V: Scene iii+
p. 302 _Starters._ i.e. cowards. cf. _The Double Marriage_ (Fletcher
and Massinger, folio 1647), II, i:--
_Master._ We’ll spare her our main-top-sail;
She shall not look us long, we are no starters.
Down with the fore-sail too! we’ll spoom before her.
cf. also _The Lucky Chance_, I, i: ‘I am no Starter.’ (Vol. III,
p. 193), and note on that passage, p. 485.
p. 302 _rubbing off._ Very common slang still in use for ‘making off’,
‘clearing out’, cf. Shadwell’s _The Virtuoso_ (1676), Act V, sc. iii,
the Masquerade, where Sir Samuel Harty says: ‘Who held my sword while
I danc’d? ... A curse on him! he’s rubb’d off with it!’
p. 303 _Dullman and Timorous._ No entrance has been marked for these
two characters, and I have not ventured to insert one owing to the
fact that this fifth Act has been so cut (e.g. the omission of the
Indian King’s ghost, as noted by Jenkins in the Dedication) and
mutilated that it would be perilous to make any insertion or
alteration here as the copy now stands. We may suppose these two
coward justices to have rushed on in one of the many mêlées.
+ACT V: Scene iv+
p. 304 _Hannibal._ Hannibal, when betrayed by Prusias, King of
Bithynia, at whose court he had taken refuge, poisoned himself
rather than fall into the hands of the Romans.
+Epilogue+
p. 309 _Epilogue._ This Epilogue is, it will be noted, almost
precisely the same as the Prologue to _Abdelazer_. In line 32 we have
‘Basset’ in place of the obsolescent game, ‘Beasts’ (damn’d Beasts).
Basset, which resembled Faro, was first played at Venice. cf. Evelyn’s
_Diary_, 1645 (Ascension Week at Venice): ‘We went to the Chetto de
San Felice, to see the noblemen and their ladies at basset, a game at
cards which is much used.’ It became immensely popular in England.
Evelyn, in his famous description of ‘the inexpressible luxury and
profaneness, gaming, and all dissoluteness’ on the Sunday se’nnight
before the death of Charles II, specially noted that ‘about twenty of
the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at Basset round
a large table, a bank of at least 2000 in gold before them.’
* * * * *
* * * *
Cross-References from Critical Notes: _The Widow Ranter_
p. 261 _a Bob._ cf. Prologue, _The False Count_ (Vol. III, p. 100),
’.ry bobs,’ and note on that passage, pp. 479-80.
_False Count_ text:
--who will desert me,
Because they find no dry bobs on your Party
_False Count_ note:
_dry bobs._ A bob was a sarcastic jest or jibe. cf. _Sir Giles
Goosecappe_ (1606), Act V, i. ‘Marry him, sweet Lady, to answere his
bitter Bob,’ and Buckingham’s _The Rehearsal_ (1671), Act III, i,
where Bayes cries: ‘There’s a bob for the Court.’ A dry bob (literally
= a blow or fillip that does not break the skin) is an intensely
bitter taunt, cf. _Cotgrave_ (1611), _Ruade seiche_, a drie bob, jeast
or nip. _Bailey_ (1731) has ‘_Dry Bob_. a Taunt or Scoff’.
p. 302 _Starters._ .... cf. also _The Lucky Chance_, I, i: ‘I am no
Starter.’ (Vol. III, p. 193), and note on that passage, p. 485.
_Lucky Chance_ note:
_Starter._ This slang word usually means a milksop, but here it
is equivalent to ‘a butterfly’, ‘a weathercock’--a man of changeable
disposition. A rare use.
* * * * *
* * * *
Errors and Irregularities: The Widow Ranter
In the Notes, alternation between .’ and ‘. at paragraph-end is as
printed. The abbreviation “cf.” is always lower-case.
Editor’s Introduction
and she sinks into his arms to die [his ams]
The Widow Ranter
[Points to _Dull._ _Whim._ _Whiff_, and _Tim._ [_Dull,_ _Whim,_]
[_correction based on ordinary punctuation of this text_]
thy Friend that kept thee Company all the while [taht]
[Goes in. / [All exeunt.
[_bracket before “All exeunt” added for consistency in e-text_]
Critical Notes
p. 261 _a Bob._ [p 261]
* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *
THE YOUNGER BROTHER;
OR, THE AMOROUS JILT.
ARGUMENT.
Mirtilla, the Amorous Jilt, who had once been attached to George
Marteen, the Younger Brother, married for a convenience the clownish Sir
Morgan Blunder. Prince Frederick, who had seen and fallen in love with
her during a religious ceremony in a Ghent convent, follows her to
England. They meet accidentally and she promises him a private
interview. George Marteen had recommended a page to Mirtilla, and the
lad is his sister Olivia in disguise. Mirtilla, although she falls in
love with her ‘smooth-chin’d boy’, receives Prince Frederick, but the
house wherein she lodges catches fire that night, and it is George
Marteen who, in spite of the fact that he knows his friend the Prince is
with her, procures a ladder and rescues the lady at some danger to
himself. The Prince is able to escape by the same way, and he then
carries Mirtilla to his own lodgings, where feigning to be ill with
fatigue and terror she begs her lover to leave her to repose. This is
done with the idea of entertaining her page, and on Frederick’s approach
she conceals Olivia, who thus creeps off unseen, beneath the train of
her gown, whilst she herself retires with the amorous Prince. None the
less, Mirtilla still pursues Olivia, and eventually Frederick discovers
she is a wanton jilt, as he surprises her leading the page to her bed.
He is, however, reconciled when Mirtilla discovering to her amaze that
the lad is a woman reveals this fact to the Prince to confound him, but
afterwards avowing her frailty, throws herself on Frederick’s
generosity. Olivia has been promised by her old father, Sir Rowland
Marteen, to Welborn, whom she has never seen. On meeting Welborn she
falls in love with him, without knowing who he is, and he, also, whilst
ignorant of her name, is soon enamoured of her in turn. Prince Frederick
lodges in the same house as Welborn and it is hither that after the fire
she attends Mirtilla. Welborn, supposing her to be Mirtilla’s page, out
of kindness offers her half his bed, which for fear of arousing
suspicion she is bound to accept. She slips away, however, before
daybreak, leaving a letter for her companion, by which he learns that
the page is none other than the lady whom he had seen in the Mall.
Welborn and Olivia are eventually married. George Marteen’s elder
brother, Sir Merlin, a boon companion of Sir Morgan Blunder, is a
rakehelly dog, who leads a wild town life to the great anger of old Sir
Rowland. George, who whilst secretly leading a gay life under the name
of Lejere, appears before his father as a demure and sober young
prentice, is designed for Lady Youthly, an ancient, toothless crone,
palsied and blind with extreme old age, whose grand-daughter, Teresia,
is to be married to Sir Rowland himself. George, however, falls in love
with Teresia, who is also pursued by Sir Merlin, and finally weds her in
despite of his father, brother and the beldame. But Sir Rowland shortly
relents and even forgives his eldest son, who has married Diana, the
cast off mistress of a gambler, whilst Lady Youthly is left to the
tender consolations of her chaplain.
SOURCE.
_The Younger Brother; or, The Amorous Jilt_ was written (in great part
at least) by Mrs. Behn a good many years before her death, after which
it was brought on the stage under the auspices of Gildon, in 1696; and
in the Epistle Dedicatory he expressly says ‘all the Alterations which
I made were in the first Act, in removing that old bustle about _Whigg_
and _Tory_ (which was the subject of most of the Second Scene) and
placing the Character of a _Rake-hell_ in its room.’ Mrs. Behn probably
wrote the first Act sometime about the years 1681-3, when there was a
continual ‘rout with Whigging and with Torying’, and afterwards
completed the remainder at her leisure. In his notice of this comedy
Langbaine’s editor (Gildon), who finds Mirtilla ‘genteel’, says that
Astrea took a portion of the plot ‘from a true story of the brother of
Col. Henry Martin, and a Lady that must be nameless. See the Novel
call’d _Hatige_.’ _Hattige: or, the Amours of the King of Tamaran.
A Novel_, by Gabriel de Brémond, was translated in 1680. (12mo. For
Simon the African: Amsterdam, [R. Bentley? London.]) A biting satire on
Charles II and Lady Castlemaine, the tale is told with considerable
spirit and attained great vogue. Another edition was issued in 1683, and
under the title _The Beautiful Turk_ it is to be found in _A Select
Collection of Novels_ (1720 and 1729), Vol. III. This novel had first
appeared anonymously at Cologne in 1676--_Hattigé ou la Belle Turque,
qui contient ses amours avec le roi Tamaran_--and Nodier in his
_Mélanges d’une petite Bibliothèque_ describes a ‘clef’. Hattigé is, of
course, Lady Castlemaine; Tamaran, Charles II; and the handsome Rajeb
with whom the lady deceives the monarch, Jack Churchill. It is a wanton
little book, and at the time must have been irresistibly piquant. Beyond
the likeness between the characters of Mirtilla and Hattigé the novel
has, however, little in common with Mrs. Behn’s play. Gildon’s comment
is, of course, founded upon the passage in _Oroonoko_ which says: ‘We
met on the river with Colonel Martin, a man of great gallantry, wit and
goodness, and whom I have celebrated in a character of my new comedy by
his own name in memory of so brave a man.’
In D’Urfey’s _The Royalist_, an excellent comedy produced at Dorset
Garden, 1682 (4to, 1682), the author introduces a certain damsel
Philippa, who, disguised as a page, follows the loyal Sir Charles
Kinglove with whom she is enamoured. At the end of the second Act her
boy’s clothes involve her in the same predicament as befalls Olivia in
Act IV of _The Younger Brother_. Although Genest prefers Mrs. Behn’s
treatment of the situation, it must, I think, be allowed that D’Urfey
has managed the jest with far greater verve and spirit. Honest Tom
D’Urfey is in fact one of the least read and most maligned of all our
dramatists. He had the merriest comic gifts, and perhaps when the
critics and literary historians deign to read his plays he will attain a
higher position in our theatrical libraries.
Some critics have suggested that D’Urfey, in his _The Intrigues at
Versailles_, produced at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 1697, may have taken a
hint from Mrs. Behn’s Mirtilla, and Wycherley’s Olivia (_The Plain
Dealer_) for his ‘Madame de Vandosme a right jilt in all humours’,
a rôle created by Mrs. Barry. There is indeed some resemblance between
all these three characters, base heartless coquettes; and D’Urfey, in
making his jilt prefer Sir Blunder Bosse, ‘a dull sordid brute and
mongrel, whose humour is to call everybody by clownish names’, to all
her other gallants, seems not to have forgotten Mirtilla’s marriage with
Sir Morgan Blunder. The very names call attention to the plagiarism.
_The Intrigues at Versailles_ is none the less a clever and witty
comedy, but a little overcrowded with incident and business.
THEATRICAL HISTORY.
As sufficiently explained by Gildon, under whose auspices this
posthumous play was produced at Drury Lane in 1696, _The Younger
Brother; or, The Amorous Jilt_ met with brutal treatment from the
audience. There appears to have been a faction, particularly in evidence
at its first performance and on the third day, who were steadfastly
resolved to damn the comedy, and in spite of fine acting and every
advantage it was hissed from the boards. Gildon attributes the failure
to ‘the tedious Scenes in Blank Verse betwixt Mirtilla and Prince
Frederick’ which he thinks demanded ‘another more easy Dress,’ but, in
truth, it can only be attributed to the most verjuiced spite and
personal malice. The plot, though somewhat complicated with perhaps a
press of crowding incidents, is none the less highly interesting, and
the characters are most of them excellently, all well, drawn and
sustained. The fact that certain episodes had to be cut in
representation in order to bring the comedy within a reasonable time
limit, though it may have tended to obscure the connection of the
intrigue, could not have insured in spite of its many real merits so
absolute a doom for the much maltreated play, a sentence which seems to
have wantonly precluded any revival.
THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY
TO
Collonel Codrington.
The unjust Sentence this Play met with before very partial Judges in the
Acting, will, I’m pretty sure, be revers’d by the more unprejudiced
Readers, and it’s evident, Merit will exert itself so far, as to justify
my Presumption in Dedicating it, notwithstanding its small success, to
you, Sir, for whom I must always profess the highest Esteem and Value,
sprung from that Nobleness of your Nature that takes a God-like Delight
in redressing the Misfortunes of ‘em, more than fly to you for their
unhappiness; a generous Soul indeed, never gives a greater Proof of her
Excellence, than in her Protection of the Unfortunate; for tho suffering
Merit challenges a Regard from all, yet it meets with it from none but
such as you, Sir, who are so Eminent for that Vertue, which more than
all the rest, commands the Esteem and Veneration of the Thinking World,
your Generosity I mean, Sir, which gives the most Perfect Touches of
that likeness, man can have to his Almighty Original; for those are but
scurvey awkard Copies of Him that want it. ‘Tis, I may say, the very
Essence of God, Who with our _Beings_, dispenses the grateful Knowledge
of Himself in the Benefits He bestows.
The narrow Virtues of the Old Philosophers, [which] were rather Vices,
if winnow’d well, form’d to gratify their Proud, Lazy, Superiority, at
the Expence of all the Publick Duties incumbent on mankind, whom they
pretend to Purge from his Passions, to make him happy, by that means to
amuse our Curiosity with Chymera’s, whilst we lost our real Good, will
still naturally flow from those Springs of Pleasure, Honour, Glory, and
Noble Actions, the Passions given us by Heaven for our common Good. But
their own Practice generally shew’d the Vanity of their Emperic Boasts,
when they Buried all the Nobler Pleasures of the Mind in Avarice, and
Pedantick Pride, as _Lucian_ has pleasantly made out in _Hermotimus_.
Those Notional Excellencies that divert us from, or weaken a Publick
Spirit, are always False and Hypocritical, that under a gaudy out-side
conceals a rotten Carcass, full of Infectious Distempers that destroy
the noblest end of our Being, _The doing good to one another_. Vanity
has always been the Refuge of little Souls, that place their Value in a
False Greatness, Hyppocrisie, and great Titles. What a seeming Holiness
does for the Avaritious, Designing Saint; Titles do for the proud
Avarice of the meer Man of Quality, cheaply Purchasing a Respect from
the many; but ‘tis the Generous man only that fixes himself in the
Hearts of the most valuable part of mankind, when proper Merit only is
esteem’d, and the Man, not his Equipage, and Accidental Appurtenances
respected.
The Application of this, I shall leave to all that know you, Sir, who
are all sensible what Virtues you make your Darlings, and choice of
Virtue shews the Nobleness of our Temper, as much as Choice of Friends,
the degrees of our Understandings; and if that be true that most Men
choose those Virtues which are nearest a-kin to their Darling Vices, I’m
sure ‘twill be a strong proof, that ev’n your Failings (for ev’ry Man
has his share of them too) are more Beneficial to the world than the
Vertues of a numerous part of Mankind. In Collonel _Codrington_ indeed,
we find the true Spirit and Bravery of old _Rome_, that despises all
dangers, that in the Race of Glory thou art the Noble Chace. Nor can the
manly Roughness of your Martial Temper (Fierce to none but your
Countries Foes) destroy that ingaging sweetness your agreeable
Conversation abounds with, which heightened with so large a share of
Wit, Learning, and Judgment, improves as well as delights; so that to
have known you any way, must give us some advantage or other. This it
was that encourag’d me to dedicate this Play, Sir, to you, of which I
may venture to say more, and with more assurance, than if it had been my
own.
Mrs. BEHN was a Woman so Accomplish’d, and of so Established a Fame
among the Men of Sense, that I cou’d not suppose a very severe treatment
from the Town, which has been very indulgent to the Performances of
others; especially when, besides the Reputation of the _Author_, the
Play itself had an Intrinsic Merit; for we find it full of Humour, Wit,
and Variety; the Conversation Gay and Genteel, the Love Soft and
Pathetic, the incidents Natural, and Easy, and the Conduct of the Plot
very Justifiable. So that I may reasonably impute its miscarriage to
some Faction that was made against it, which indeed was very Evident on
the First day, and more on the endeavours employed, to render the
Profits of the Third, as small as could be.
It suffer’d not, I’m sure, in the Action, nor in Mr. _Verbruggen’s_
reading of some of his Part, since he lost nothing of the Force of
Elocution, nor Gracefulness of Action; nor indeed can I, with Justice to
my self, impute it to any part that I ventur’d to add to the Original;
for all the Alterations which I made were in the first Act, in removing
that old bustle about _Whigg_ and _Tory_, (which was the Subject of most
of the Second Scene) and placing the Character of a _Rake-hell_ in its
room, which was so little, that it could not Influence a more Capricious
Audience, to the Damning of the whole. There might indeed be some
objections about the Plot, but not very Rational, I think; I’m sure, at
least, ‘tis the first Play, for some Years, could be quarrell’d at for
having too much Plot. In the Edition however I have put in a great deal,
which the length of the Play oblig’d me to cut out for the Action.
Here, Sir, if the Play had been my own, I should have complain’d that
the Town had its favourite Fools, as well as favourite Wits, and that
Comedy or Farce from any other hand wou’d no more go down with them,
than their favourites will with true Judges that read, not see ‘em.
I should have had indignation enough, perhaps, to’ve rail’d at the
Criticks of all Degrees, and Denominations of Box and Pit, nay,
Galleries too, and told ‘em that they were so conceited of their own
Wit, that they cou’d take no pleasure in hearing that of another, or
that Wit in a Play seeming to affront the Parts of the Audience, they
suffer’d their Resentment to destroy their Satisfaction. This, and a
great many other Satyrical Reflections, which are natural for a
Disappointed Poet to make, I shou’d then have vented; but being
satisfy’d, that the Reputation of Mrs. BEHN is not affected by the
malicious Endeavours of some of my Enemies, I now present it under your
Patronage, Sir, to the more competent Judges; Proud of the Opportunity
of Offering you an occasion of so agreeable a Province, as the
Protection of the unfortunate, and letting the World know how much I am,
Sir,
Your Humble Servant,
_CH. GILDON._
THE YOUNGER BROTHER;
or, The Amorous Jilt.
PROLOGUE,
By an unknown Hand.
Spoke by Mr. _Powell_.
As Rivals of each other jealous prove,
And both strive which shall gain the Lady’s Love,
So we for your Affections daily vie:
Not an Intriguer in the Gallery
(Who squeezes hand of _Phillis_ mask’d, that stood
Ogling for Sale, in Velvet Scarf and Hood)
Can with more Passion his dear Nymph pursue,
Than we to make Diversion fit for you.
Grant we may please, and we’ve our utmost Aim,
‘Tis to your Favour only we lay claim.
In what can we oblige? Cou’d we present you
With Mistress young, and safe, it wou’d content you;
Then Husbands, weary’d out with Spouse alone,
And hen-peck’d Keepers that drudge on with one,
I fancy hither wou’d in Crouds resort,
As thick as Men for Offices to Court:
Who’d stay behind? the Beau above Threescore,
Wou’d hobble on, and gape for one bit more;
Men of all Stations, from the Nobles, down
To grave Sir _Roger_ in his Cap and Gown,
Wou’d hither come. But we some time must take,
E’er we a Project of such moment make;
Since that’s laid by, for your Diversion then,
We do invite the Brothers of the Pen;
The Courtier, Lawyer, Soldier, Player too,
Wit n’er had more Encouragement than now;
Though free, or Aliens to our Stage, we take ‘em,
Not kick ‘em out, but native Subjects make ‘em.
The Ladies too are always welcome here,
Let ‘em in Writing or in Box appear.
To that fair Sex we are oblig’d to day,
Oh! then be kind to a poor Orphan-Play,
Whose Parent while she liv’d oblig’d you all;
You prais’d her living, and you mourn’d her Fall.
Who cou’d, like her, our softer Passions move,
The Life of Humour, and the Soul of Love?
Wit’s eldest Sister; thro-out every Line,
You might perceive some Female Graces shine.
For poor _Astrea’s_ Infant we implore,
Let it then live, though she is now no more.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
MEN.
Prince _Frederick_, Mr. _Verbruggen_.
Sir _Rowland Marteen_, Mr. _Johnson_.
_George Marteen_, Mr. _Powell_.
Mr. _Welborn_, Mr. _Horden_.
Sir _Merlin Marteen_, Mr. _Pinkethman_.
Sir _Morgan Blunder_, Mr. _Bullock_.
Mr. _Twang_, Mr. _Smeaton_.
_Britton_, Mr. _Kent_.
_Philip_.
WOMEN.
_Mirtilla_, Mrs. _Knight_.
_Olivia_, Mrs. _Verbruggen_.
_Teresia_, Mrs. _Temple_.
Lady _Blunder_, Mrs. _Powell_.
Mrs. _Manage_, Mrs. _Willis_.
Lady _Youthley_, Mrs. _Harris_.
_Diana_.
Constable and Watch, Pages, Footmen, Masqueraders, Servants,
Rakehells, &c.
ACT I.
SCENE I. A Chamber.
Enter _George Marteen_, in a rich Riding Habit, with his Valet
_Britton_.
_Geo._ Were you with Mrs. _Manage_, _Britton_?
_Britt._ Yes, Sir; and she cries as much for her wanting room for you in
her House, as she would have done some forty Years ago for a
Disappointment of her Lover. But she assures me, the Lodging she has
taken for you, is the best in all _Lincolns-Inn-Fields_.
_Geo._ And did you charge her to send _Mirtilla’s_ Page to me?
_Britt._ I did, Sir; and he’ll be with you instantly.
_Geo._ ‘Tis well--Then shall I hear some News of my _Mirtilla_.
[Aside.
_Britton_, haste thee, and get my Equipage in order; a handsome Coach,
rich Liveries, and more Footmen: for ‘tis Appearance only passes in the
World--And d’ye hear, take care none know me by any other Name than that
of _Lejere_.
_Britt._ I shall, Sir. [Exit.
_Geo._ I came not from _Paris_ into _England_, as my old Father thinks,
to reform into a dull wretched Life in _Wales._ No, I’ll rather trust my
kind Mistress Fortune, that has still kept me like her Darling, than
purchase a younger Brother’s narrow Stipend, at the expence of my
Pleasure and Happiness.
Enter _Olivia_ in a Page’s Habit. She runs and embraces _George_.
_Oliv._ My ever charming Brother!
_Geo._ My best, my dear _Olivia_!
_Oliv._ The same lovely Man still! Thy Gallantry and Beauty’s all thy
own; _Paris_ could add no Graces to thy Air; nor yet pervert it into
Affectation.
_Geo._ Spare me, and tell me how _Mirtilla_ fares.
_Oliv._ I think, Brother, I writ you word to Paris, of a Marriage
concluded betwixt me and _Welborn_?
_Geo._ That Letter I receiv’d: but from the dear _Mirtilla_, not one
soft word; not one tender Line has blest my Eyes, has eas’d my panting
Heart this tedious three Months space; and thou with whom I left the
weighty Charge of her dear Heart, to watch her lovely Eyes, to give me
notice when my Rivals press’d, and when she waver’d in her Faith to me,
even thou wert silent to me, cruel Sister.
_Oliv._ Thou wilt be like a Lover presently, and tire the Hearer with a
Book of Words, of heavy Sighs, dying Languishments, and all that huddle
of Nonsense; and not tell me how you like my Marriage.
_Geo._ _Welborn’s_ my Friend, and worthy of thy Heart.
_Oliv._ I never saw him yet; and to be sold unseen, and unsigh’d for, in
the Flower of my Youth and Beauty, gives me a strange aversion to the
Match.
_Geo._ Oh! you’ll like him when you see him--But my _Mirtilla_.--
_Oliv._ Like him--no, no, I never shall--what, come a Stranger to my
Husband’s Bed? ‘Tis Prostitution in the leudest manner, without the
Satisfaction; the Pleasure of Variety, and the Bait of Profit, may make
a lame excuse for Whores, who change their Cullies, and quit their
nauseous Fools--No, no, my Brother, when Parents grow arbitrary, ‘tis
time we look into our Rights and Privileges; therefore, my dear
_George_, if e’er thou hope for Happiness in Love, assist my
Disobedience.
_Geo._ In any worthy Choice be sure of me; but canst thou wish Happiness
in Love, and not inform me something of _Mirtilla_?
_Oliv._ I’ll tell you better News--our hopeful elder Brother, Sir
_Merlin_, is like to be disinherited; for he is, Heaven be thanked--
_Geo._ Marry’d to some Town-Jilt, the common fate of Coxcombs.
_Oliv._ Not so, my dear _George_, but sets up for a celebrated
Rake-hell, as well as Gamester; he cou’d not have found out a more
dextrous way to have made thee Heir to four Thousand Pounds a Year.
_Geo._ What’s that without _Mirtilla_?
_Oliv._ Prithee no more of her--Love spoils a fine Gentleman: Gaming,
Whoring and Fighting may qualify a Man for Conversation; but Love
perverts all one’s Thoughts, and makes us fit Company for none but one’s
self; for even a Mistress can scarce dispense with a fighting, whining
Lover’s Company long, though all he says flatters her Pride.
_Geo._ Why dost thou trifle with me, when thou knowest the Violence of
my Love?
_Oliv._ I wish I could any way divert your Thoughts from her, I would
not have your Joy depend on such a fickle Creature.
_Geo._ _Mirtilla_ false! What, my _Mirtilla_ false!
_Oliv._ Even your _Mirtilla’s_ false, and married to another.
_Geo._ Married! _Mirtilla_ married! ‘Tis impossible.
_Oliv._ Nay, married to that bawling, drinking Fool, Sir _Morgan
Blunder_.
_Geo._ Married, and married to Sir _Morgan Blunder_! a Sot, an ill-bred
senseless Fool; almost too great a Fool to make a Country Justice?
_Oliv._ No doubt, she had her Aims in’t, he’s a very convenient Husband,
I’ll assure you, and that suits her Temper: he has Estate and Folly
enough, and she has Youth and Wantonness enough to match ‘em.
_Geo._ Her Choice gives me some Comfort, and some Hopes; for I’ll pursue
her, but for Revenge, not Love.
_Oliv._ Forget her rather, for she’s not worth Revenge, and that way
’.will be none; prostitute in Soul as Body, she doats even on me in
Breeches.
_Geo._ On thee, her Page? doat on thee, a Youth! she knew thee not as
Woman.
_Oliv._ No, that Secret I have kept to do you Service.--At first she
said she lov’d me for your sake, because you recommended me; and when I
sung, or plaid upon my Flute, wou’d kiss my Cheek, and sigh, and often
(when alone) wou’d send for me, and smile, and talk, and set my Hair in
Curls, to make me saucy and familiar with her. One Day she said,
_Endimion_, thy Name-sake was thus caress’d by _Cynthia_: A Goddess did
not scorn the humble Swain, whom by her Love she equal’d to her Deity.
She found that I had Sense to understand her, and paid her Advances back
with equal Ardour.
_Geo._ Oh, Curse! where learnt she all this Wickedness? [Aside.
_Oliv._ But she being oblig’d to go for _Flanders_, to see her Sister
take the holy Habit, I feign’d a Sickness to be left behind, hoping that
Absence might abate her Flame; yet she return’d more amorous, and
fearing the Thefts of Love might wound her Honour, she thought a Husband
would secure that Shame; and luckily my Aunt arriv’d from _Wales_, and
brought Sir _Morgan_ with her, who lodging where we did, at Mrs.
_Manage’s_, my Aunt (that doats on Quality in either Sex) made up this
hasty Match, unknown to me, though for my sake.
_Geo._ What will not faithless Woman do, when she is raging?
_Oliv._ And now having so well prepar’d the way, she grows impatient for
an Opportunity; and thou art arriv’d, most happily to succour me.
_Geo._ No, for some days keep this habit on, it may be useful to us; but
I must see this faithless perjur’d Woman, which I must contrive with
Mrs. _Manage_.
_Oliv._ Yet pray resolve to see my Father first; for now’s the critical
time to make thy Fortune: he came to Town last night, and lodges here at
Mrs. _Manage’s_, with my Aunt _Blunder_.
_Geo._ What, in the House with thee, and not know thee?
_Oliv._ No more than a Priest Compassion; he thinks me at _Hackney_,
making Wax Babies, where he intends to visit me within these three
days,--But I forgot to tell you, our Brother, Sir _Merlin_, lodges in
this House with you; and shou’d he know you--
_Geo._ ‘Tis impossible--I’ve not see him, or my Father, these five
Years. Absence, my Growth, and this unexpected Equipage, will not be
penetrated by his Capacity.
_Oliv._ True, he’ll never look for his Brother _George_, in the
Gallantry and Person of Monsieur _Lejere_--My good Father expects you
home, like the prodigal Son, all torn and tatter’d, and as penitent too.
_Geo._ To plod on here, in a laborious Cheating, all my Youth and
Vigour, in hopes of drunken Pleasures when I’m old; or else go with him
into _Wales_, and there lead a thoughtless Life, hunt, and drink, and
make love to none but Chamber-maids. No, my _Olivia_, I’ll use the
sprightly Runnings of my Life, and not hope distant Pleasures from its
Dregs.
_Oliv._ For that, use your Discretion; now equip your self to your
present Business; the more simply you are clad and look, the better.
I’ll home and expect you.
[Exit.
_Geo._ Do so, my good Sister; a little formal Hypocrisy may do, ‘twill
relish after Liberty; for a Pleasure is never so well tasted, as when
it’s season’d with some Opposition.
Enter _Britton_.
_Britt._ Sir, I’ve News to tell you, will surprize you; Prince
_Frederick_ is arriv’d.
_Geo._ Is’t possible? I left him going for _Flanders_.
_Britt._ Passing by our Door, and seeing your Livery, he enquir’d for
you; and finding you here, alighted just now. But see, Sir, he’s here.
Enter Prince _Frederick_; they meet and embrace.
_Geo._ My Life’s Preserver, welcome to my Arms as Health to sick Men.
_Prince._ And thou to mine as the kind Mistress to the longing Lover; my
Soul’s Delight, and Darling of the Fair.
_Geo._ Ah Prince! you touch my bleeding Wound.
_Prince._ Ha, _Lejere_! leave to unhappy Lovers those Sighs, those
folded Arms, and down-cast Eyes.
_Geo._ Then they are fit for me; my Mistress, Sir, that Treasure of my
Life, for whom you’ve heard me sigh, is perjur’d, false, and married to
another. Yet what is worse, I find my Prince, my Friend, here in my
native Country, and am not able to pay him what his Greatness merits.
_Prince._ You pain me when you compliment my Friendship. [Embracing.
_Geo._ Perhaps you will not think me worth this Honour, when you shall
hear my Story.
_Prince._ Thou canst say nothing I can value less.
_Geo._ Perhaps too my way of Living has deceiv’d you, being still
receiv’d by Princes, as Companions in all their Riots, Loves, and
Divertisements; where ev’n you did me the Honour to esteem, and call me
Friend.
_Prince._ Whate’er thou art, I’m sure thy Mind’s illustrious.
_Geo._ My Family, I must confess, is honourable; but, Sir, my Father was
the younger House, of which my unhappy self was destin’d to be last: I’m
a _Cadet_, that Out-cast of my Family, and born to that curse of our old
_English_ Custom. Whereas in other Countries, younger Brothers are
train’d up to the Exercise of Arms, where Honour and Renown attend the
Brave; we basely bind our youngest out to Slavery, to lazy Trades, idly
confin’d to Shops or Merchants Books, debasing of the Spirit to the mean
Cunning, how to cheat and chaffer.
_Prince._ A Custom insupportable!--
_Geo._ To this, to this low wretchedness of Life, your Servant, Sir--was
destin’d by his Parents, and am yet this bound indentur’d Slave.
_Prince._ Thou hast no cause to quarrel with thy Stars, since Virtue is
most valu’d when opprest--Are all your Merchants Apprentices thus gay?
_Geo._ Not all--but, Sir, I could not bow my Mind to this so necessary
Drudgery; and yet however, I assum’d my native Temper, when out o’th’
Trading City; in it, I forc’d my Nature to a dull slovenly Gravity,
which well enough deceiv’d the busy Block-heads; my Clothes and Equipage
I lodg’d at this End of the Town, where I still pass’d for something
better than I was, whene’er I pleas’d to change the Trader for the
Gentleman.
_Prince._ And liv’d thus undiscover’d--
_Geo._ With Ease, still lov’d and courted by the Great, ever play’d high
with those durst venture most; and durst make Love where’er my Fancy
lik’d: but sometimes running out my Master’s Cash, (which was supply’d
still by my Father) they sent me, to reform my expensive Life, a Factor,
into _France_--still I essay’d to be a plodding Thriver, but found my
Parts not form’d for dirty Business.
_Prince._ There’s not a Thought, an Action of thy Soul, that does not
tend to something far more glorious.
_Geo._ If yet you think me worthy of your Favour, command that Life you
have so oft preserv’d.
_Prince._ No more;--Thou hast increas’d my Value for thee.--Oh! take my
Heart, and see how’t has been us’d by a fair Charmer, since I saw thee
last--That sullen day we parted, you for _England_, you may remember I
design’d for _Flanders_.
_Geo._ I do, with Melancholy, Sir, remember it.
_Prince._ Arriv’d at _Ghent_, I went to see an _English_ Nun initiated,
where I beheld the pretty Innocent, deliver’d up a Victim to foolish
Chastity; but among the Relations, then attending the Sacrifice, was a
fair Sister of the young Votress, but so surpassing all I’ad seen
before, that I neglecting the dull holy Business, paid my Devotion to
that kneeling Saint.
_Geo._ That was the nearest way to Heaven, my Lord.
_Prince._ Her Face, that had a thousand Charms of Youth, was heighten’d
with an Air of Languishment; a lovely Sorrow dwelt upon her Eyes, that
taught my new-born-Passion Awe and Reverence.
_Geo._ This Description of her fires me.-- [Aside.
_Prince._ Her dimpl’d Mouth, her Neck, her Hand, her Hair, a Majesty and
Grace in every Motion, compleated my Undoing; I rav’d, I burnt,
I languish’d with Desire, the holy Place cou’d scarce contain my
Madness: with Pain, with Torture, I restrain’d my Passion when she
retir’d, led sadly from the Altar. I, mixing with the Croud, enquir’d
her Name and Country; her Servant told me, that she was of Quality, and
liv’d in _England_, nay, in this very Town: this gave me Anguish not to
be conceiv’d, till I resolv’d to follow her, which is the cause you find
me here so soon. Thy Aid, thy Aid, _Lejere_, or I am lost.
_Geo._ I wish to live no longer than to serve your Highness: if she be,
Sir, a Maid of Quality, I shall soon find her out, and then you’ll
easily conquer. You’ve all the Youth, and Beauty, that can charm; and
what gains most upon a Woman’s Heart, you’ve a powerful Title, Sir,
a sort of Philter, that ne’er fails to win. But you’ve not told me yet
the Lady’s Name.
_Prince._ I had forgot that;--’Tis in these Tablets written:
[Gives him the Tablets.
I’m now in haste, going to receive some Bills: I lodge at _Welborn’s_,
who came over with me, being sent for to be marry’d.
_Geo._ I know the House, ‘tis in _Southampton-Square_: I’ll wait upon
your Highness--
[Exit _Prince_.
Let me see--Daughter to a deceas’d Lord; a Maid, and no Dowry, but
Beauty; living in _Lincoln’s-Inn-Fields_.
[Opening the Tablets, reads.
--Ha!--her Name _Mirtilla_! _Mirtilla_! [Pauses.
Prince, thou hast paid thyself for all the Favours done me.
_Mirtilla!_
[Pauses.
Why, yes, _Mirtilla_! He takes but what she has given away already.--
Oh! damn her, she has broke her Faith, her Vows, and is no longer
mine--And thou’rt my Friend.
[Pauses again.
_Mirtilla’s_ but my Mistress, and has taken all the Repose of my poor
Life away--Yes, let him take her, I’ll resign her to him; and therefore
shut my Eyes against her Charms: fix her Inconstancy about my Heart, and
scorn whatever she can give me.
[Exit.
SCENE II. A Chamber.
Enter Sir _Morgan Blunder_ in a Night-Gown and Cap; to him
_Manage_ with a Caudle.
_Man._ Your Lady Mother has sent you a Caudle, Sir.
Sir _Morg._ Good Mrs. _Manage_, remember my kind Love to my Lady Mother,
and tell her, I thank her for her Posset, but never eat in a Morning
after hard drinking over night.
_Man._ Ah, Sir, but now you’re marry’d to a fine Lady, you ought to make
much of your self.
Sir _Morg._ Good Madam, as little of your Matrimony as of your Caudle;
my Stomach is plaguy squeamish, and a hair of the old Dog’s worth both
of ‘em. Oh! sick! sick!
Enter Sir _Merlin_, singing a Song in praise of a Rake-hell’s
Life.
A SONG.
The _Town-Rake_; written by Mr. _Motteux_.
I.
_What Life can compare with the jolly Town-Rake’s,
When in Youth his full Swing of all Pleasure he takes?
At Noon, he gets up, for a Whet, and to dine,
And wings the dull Hours with Mirth, Musick and Wine;
Then jogs to the _Play-house_, and chats with the Masks,
And thence to the _Rose_, where he takes his three Flasks.
There, great as a _Cæsar_, he revels, when drunk,
And scours all he meets, as he reels to his Punk;
Then finds the dear Girl in his Arms when he wakes.
What Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake’s?_
II.
_He, like the _Great Turk_, has his Favourite She;
But the Town’s his _Seraglio_, and still he lives free.
Sometimes she’s a Lady; but as he must range,
_Black-Betty_, or _Oyster-Doll_, serves for a Change.
As he varies his Sports, his whole Life is a Feast;
He thinks him that’s soberest the most like a Beast.
At Houses of Pleasure breaks Windows and Doors;
Kicks Bullies and Cullies, then lies with their Whores.
Rare work for the Surgeon, and Midwife he makes.
What Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake’s?_
III.
_Thus in _Covent-Garden_ he makes his Campaign,
And no Coffee-house haunts, but to settle his Brain.
He laughs at dry Morals, and never does think,
Unless ‘tis to get the best Wenches and Drink.
He dwells in a Tavern, and lies ev’ry where,
And improving his hours, lives an Age in a Tear:
For as Life is uncertain, he loves to make haste;
And thus he lives longest, because he lives fast:
Then a Leap in the dark to the Devil he takes.
What Death can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake’s?_
Sir _Mer._ Why, how now, Sir _Morgan_, I see you’ll make a Husband of
the right Town-Mode: What, married but four Days, and at your separate
Apartment already?
Sir _Morg._ A Plague of your what d’ye call ums.
Sir _Mer._ Rakehells you would say, Cousin, an honourable Appellation
for Men of Bravery.
Sir _Morg._ Ay, ay, your Rakehells--I was never so muddled with Treason,
Tierce Claret, Oaths and Dice, all the Days of my Life--Was I in case to
do Family duty? S’life, you drank down all my Love, all my Prudence too;
Gad forgive me for it.
Sir _Mer._ Why, how the Devil cam’st thou to bear thy Liquor so ill? Ods
my Life, you drunk like a _Frenchman_ new come to the University.
Sir _Morg._ Pox, I can bear their drinking as well as any Man; but your
_London_ way of Bousing and Politics does not agree with my
Constitution. Look ye, Cousin, set quietly to’t, and I’ll stand my
ground; but to have screaming Whores, noisy Bullies, rattling Dice,
swearing and cursing Gamesters, Couz. turns the Head of a
Country-Drinker, more than the Wine.
Sir _Mer._ Oh! Use, Cousin, will make an able Man.
Sir _Morg._ Use, Cousin! Use me no Uses; for if ever you catch me at
your damn’d Clubs again, I’ll give you my Mother for a Maid: Why, you
talk downright Treason.
Sir _Mer._ Treason, ay--
Sir _Morg._ Ah Cousin, why, we talk’d enough to--hang us all.
Sir _Mer._ My honest Country-Couz. when wilt thou understand the
_Guelphs_, and the _Gibelins_, and learn to talk Treason o’ this side
the Law? bilk a Whore without remorse; break Windows, and not pay for
’.m; drink your Bottle without asking Questions; kill your Man without
letting him draw; play away your Money without fear of your Spouse, and
stop her Mouth by undermining her Nose?
Sir _Morg._ Come, come, look you, Cousin, one word of Advice now I’m
sober; what the Devil should provoke thee and me to put ourselves on our
twelve Godfathers for a Frolick? We who have Estates. I shou’d be loth
to leave the World with a scurvy Song, composed by the Poet _Sternhold_.
Enter at the Door Sir _Rowland_, hearkning.
Or why, d’ye see, shou’d I expose my Noddle to the Billmen in Flannel,
and lie in the _Roundhouse_, when I may go to bed in a whole skin with
my Lady Wife?
Sir _Mer._ Gad, Sir _Morgan_, thou hast sometimes pretty smart satirical
Touches with thee; use but _Will’s_ Coffee-house a little, and with thy
Estate, and that Talent, thou mayst set up for a Wit.
Sir _Morg._ Mercy upon me, Sir _Merlin_, thou art stark mad: What, I a
Wit! I had rather be one of your Rakehells: for, look ye, a Man may
swear and stare, or so; break Windows, and Drawers Heads, or so; unrig a
needy Whore, and yet keep one’s Estate: but should I turn Wit, ‘twere
impossible; for a Wit with an Estate is like a Prisoner among the
Cannibals.
Sir _Mer._ How so, good Sir _Morgan_?
Sir _Morg._ Why, the needy Rogues only feed him with Praise, to fatten
him for their Palates, and then devour him.
Sir _Mer._ I applaud your choice, Cousin; for what Man of Bravery wou’d
not prefer a Rake to a Wit? The one enjoys the Pleasures the other can
only rail at; and that not out of Conscience, but Impotence: for alas!
a Wit has no quarrel to Vice in Perfection, but what the Fox had to the
Grapes; he can’t play away his hundred Pound at sight; his Third Day
won’t afford it; and therefore he rails at Gamesters; Whores shun him,
as much as Noblemen, and for the same cause, Money; those care not to
sell their Carcases for a Sonnet, nor these to scatter their Guineas, to
be told an old Tale of a Tub, they were so well acquainted with before.
Sir _Morg._ What’s that, Sir _Merlin_?
Sir _Mer._ Why, their Praise;--for the Poet’s Flattery seldom reaches
the Patron’s Vanity; and what’s too strong season’d for the rest of the
World, is too weak for their Palates.
Sir _Morg._ Why, look ye, Cousin, you’re a shreud Fellow: Whence learn’d
you this Satire? for I’m sure ‘tis none of thy own; for I shou’d as soon
suspect thee guilty of good Nature, as Wit.
Sir _Mer._ I scorn it; and therefore I confess I stole the Observation
from a Poet; but the Devil pick his Bones for diverting me from the
noble Theme of Rakehells.
Sir _Morg._ Noble Theme, Sir _Merlin_! look ye, d’ye see: Don’t mistake
me, I think ‘tis a very scurvy one; and I wou’d not have your Father
know that you set up for such a Reprobate; for Sir _Rowland_ would
certainly disinherit thee.
Sir _Mer._ O, keep your musty Morals to your self, good Country Couz;
they’ll do you service to your _Welch_ Criminals, for stealing an Hen,
or breaking up a Wenches Inclosure, or so, Sir _Morgan_; but for me,
I despise ‘em: I have not been admitted into the Family of the
_Rakehellorums_ for this, Sir: Let my Father drink old _Adam_, read the
_Pilgrim’s Progress_, _The Country Justice’s Calling_, or for a Regale,
drink the dull Manufacture of Malt and Water; I defy him; he can’t cut
off the Entail of what is settled on me: and for the rest, I’l trust
Dame _Fortune_; and pray to the Three Fatal Sisters to cut his rotten
Thred in two, before he thinks of any such Wickedness.
Enter Sir _Rowland_ in a great Rage.
Sir _Row._ Will you so, Sir? Why, how now, Sirrah! get you out of my
House, Rogue; get out of my Doors, Rascal.
[Beats him.
Enter Lady _Blunder_.
L. _Blun._ Upon my Honour now, Brother, what’s the matter? Whence this
ungenerous Disturbance?
Sir _Row._ What’s the matter! the disturbance! Why, Sister, this Rogue
here--this unintelligible graceless Rascal here, will needs set up for a
Rakehell, when there’s scarce such a thing in the Nation, above an
Ale-draper’s Son; and chuses to be aukardly out of fashion, merely for
the sake of Tricking and Poverty; and keeps company with the senseless,
profane, lazy, idle, noisy, groveling Rascals, purely for the sake of
spending his Estate like a notorious Blockhead: But I’ll take care he
shall not have what I can dispose of--You’ll be a Rake-hell, will you?
L. _Blun._ How, Cousin! Sure you’ll not be such a filthy beastly thing,
will you?
Sir _Mer._ Lord, Aunt, I only go to the Club sometimes, to improve my
self in the Art of Living, and the Accomplishments of a fine Gentleman.
Sir _Row._ A fine Gentleman, Sot, a fine Coxcomb! [Beats him.
Sir _Morg._ Hold, hold, good Uncle; my Cousin has been only drawn in,
a little or so, d’ye see, being Heir to a good Estate; and that’s what
his Club wants, to pay off old Tavern Scores, and buy Utensils for
Whores in Fashion.
Sir _Row._ My Estate sold to pay Tavern-Scores, and keep nasty Whores!
L. _Blun._ Whores! ay, filthy Creatures; do they deal in Whores? Pray,
Cousin, what’s a Rake-hell?
Sir _Row._ A Rake-hell is a Man that defies Law and good Manners, nay,
and good Sense too; hates both Morality and Religion, and that not for
any Reason (for he never thinks) but merely because he don’t understand
’.m: He’s the Whore’s Protection and Punishment, the Baud’s Tool, the
Sharper’s Bubble, the Vintner’s Property, the Drawer’s Terror, the
Glasier’s Benefactor; in short, a roaring, thoughtless, heedless,
ridiculous, universal Coxcomb.
Sir _Mer._ O Lord, Aunt, no more like him than an Attorney’s like an
honest Man. Why, a Rake-hell is--
Sir _Row._ What, Sirrah! what, you Rebel? [Strikes him.
L. _Blun._ Nay, good Brother, permit my Nephew to tell us his Notion.
Sir _Mer._ Why, Aunt, I say a Rake-hell is your only Man of Bravery; he
slights all the Force of Fortune, and sticks at no Hazard--plays away
his hundred Pounds at sight, pays a Lady’s Bill at sight, drinks his
Bottle without equivocation, and fights his Man without any Provocation.
Sir _Row._ Nay then, Mr. Rogue, I’ll be sworn thou art none: Come, Sir,
will you fight, Sir? will you fight, Sir? Ha!
[Draws his Sword.
Sir _Mer._ Fight, Sir! fight, Sir!
Sir _Row._ Yes, fight, Sir: Come, spare your Prayers to the three Fatal
Sisters, and cut my Thred thy self, thou graceless reprobate
Rascal--Come, come on, you Man of Bravery.
[Runs at Sir _Merlin_, who retires before him: Sir _Morgan_ holds
Sir _Rowland_.
Sir _Mer._ Oh, good Sir, hold: I recant, Sir, I recant.
Sir _Row._ [Putting up.] Well, I’m satisfy’d thou’lt make no good
Rake-hell in this Point, whatever you will in the others. And since
Nature has made thee a Coward, Inclination a Coxcomb, I’ll take care to
make thee a Beggar; and so thou shalt be a Rake-hell but in Will, I’ll
disinherit thee, I will, Villain.
L. _Blun._ What, disinherit your eldest Son, Brother?