SCENE I.--_A Wild Island.__The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 03

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THE

WORKS

JOHN DRYDEN,

NOW FIRST COLLECTED

_IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES_.

ILLUSTRATED

WITH NOTES,

HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND EXPLANATORY,

AND

A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,

WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.

VOL. III.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET,

BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH.

1808.

CONTENTS

VOLUME THIRD.

* * * * *

PAGE

Sir Martin Mar-All, or the Feigned Innocence, a Comedy, 1

The Tempest, or the Enchanted Island, a Comedy, 95

Preface, 99

An Evening's Love, or the Mock Astrologer, a Comedy, 207

Epistle Dedicatory to the Duke of Newcastle, 209

Preface, 218

Tyrannic Love, or the Royal Martyr, a Tragedy, 341

Epistle Dedicatory to the Duke of Monmouth

and Buccleuch, 346

Preface, 349

SIR MARTIN MAR-ALL;

OR, THE

FEIGNED INNOCENCE.

COMEDY.

SIR MARTIN MAR-ALL.

Sir Martin Mar-All is imitated from the French of Moliere:

nor, even with that qualification, is it entirely the work of

Dryden. William Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle, renowned for

his loyalty and gallantry during the civil wars, whether in compliance

with the general custom amongst the men of wit and honour

at the court of Charles, or in order to place himself upon a

level with that voluminous authoress, his Duchess, thought fit to

compose several plays. Amongst other lucubrations, he translated

Moliere's "_L'Etourdi_," and presented it to our author, by

whom it was adapted for the stage. From respect to his Grace,

it was published anonymously until 1697, when it appeared with

Dryden's name. The noble Duke being far more eminent as a soldier

and an equestrian, than as an author, it may be readily allowed,

that what is diverting in the piece has been inserted by our

author. Upon the stage, indeed, the repeated and incorrigible

blunders of Sir Martin must have appeared very diverting, since

the play ran for no less than thirty-three nights, and was four

times acted at court. Nokes, who acted this unfortunate coxcomb

with inimitable humour, is said to have contributed much

to this uncommon success. Moliere's play is followed with considerable

exactness, allowing for such variations as the change of

the scene from Paris to London appeared naturally to demand.

One remarkable difference occurs in the conclusion: Coelie is, in

the original, at length united to her inconsiderate and blundering

admirer. Mrs Millisent, the corresponding character in Sir Martin

Mar-all, rewards, with her hand and fortune, the ingenious

Warner, who has all along laboured to gain her for his master.

The alternative was a little embarrassing; but the decorum of the

French stage would not have permitted the union of a lady with

an intriguing domestic, nor would an English audience have been

less shocked with seeing her bestowed on a fool. Besides, Sir

Martin Mar-all is a more contemptible character than Lelie, who

is less conceited and foolish, than thoughtless and inconsequential.

But although the character of a menial was not quite so low in

the 17th as in the 18th century,--for pages, and the higher class

of attendants in a nobleman's family, were often men of some

birth,--yet there is much grossness in the conduct of the lady,

who, in pure admiration of wit, marries a man, who never thought

of her.

"_L'Amant Indiscret_," of Quinault, another French play, has

also been consulted by Dryden in furbishing forth the Duke of

Newcastle's labours. In that part of the play, which occasions

its second title of "The feigned Innocence," the reader will hardly

find wit enough to counterbalance the want of delicacy.

Sir Martin Mar-all was performed by the Duke of York's servants,

probably at the desire of the Duke of Newcastle, as Dryden

was engaged to write for the other house. It seems to have

been acted in 1667, and was published, but without the author's

name, in 1668.

PROLOGUE.

Fools, which each man meets in his dish each day,

Are yet the great regalios of a play;

In which to poets you but just appear,

To prize that highest, which cost them so dear;

Fops in the town more easily will pass;

One story makes a statutable ass:

But such in plays must be much thicker sown,

Like yolks of eggs, a dozen beat to one.

Observing poets all their walks invade,

As men watch woodcocks gliding through a glade:

And when they have enough for comedy,

They stow their several bodies in a pye:

The poet's but the cook to fashion it,

For, gallants, you yourselves have found the wit.

To bid you welcome, would your bounty wrong;

None welcome those who bring their cheer along.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

_Lord_ DARTMOUTH, _in love with Mrs_ CHRISTIAN.

_Mr_ MOODY, _the Swash-buckler_[A].

_Sir_ MARTIN MAR-ALL, _a fool_.

WARNER, _his man_.

_Sir_ JOHN SWALLOW, _a Kentish knight_.

_Lady_ DUPE, _the old lady_.

_Mrs_ CHRISTIAN, _her young niece_.

_Mrs_ MILLISENT, _the Swash-buckler's daughter_.

ROSE, _her maid_.

_Mrs_ PREPARATION, _woman to the old lady_.

_Other Servants, men and women, a Carrier, Bailiffs._

SCENE--_Covent Garden_.

[Footnote A: _Swash-buckler_ seems to have been a title for those, who

retained the old blunt manners of Queen Elizabeth's time, when sword and

buckler were the common weapons. "Of old, when Englishmen were fenced

with bucklers, as with a rampier, nothing was more common with them,

than to fight about taking the right or left hand on the wall, or upon

any unpleasing countenance: clashing of swords was then daily music in

every street." MORYSON'S _Itinerary_, Part III. Book iv.--The buckler

was disused in the latter end of Queen Elizabeth's reign; but those who

affected the old-fashioned, blunt, boisterous manners, common when that

ancient weapon was used in brawls, were, like old Moody in the play,

still termed _Swash-bucklers_.]

SIR MARTIN MAR-ALL.

ACT I. SCENE I.

_Enter_ WARNER _solus_.

_Warn._ Where the devil is this master of mine? he is ever out of the

way, when he should do himself good! This 'tis to serve a coxcomb, one

that has no more brains than just those I carry for him. Well! of all

fops commend me to him for the greatest; he's so opinioned of his own

abilities, that he is ever designing somewhat, and yet he sows his

stratagems so shallow, that every daw can pick them up: From a plotting

fool, the Lord deliver me. Here he comes;--O! it seems his cousin's with

him; then it is not so bad as I imagined.

_Enter_ Sir MARTIN MAR-ALL, _and_ Lady DUPE.

_L. Dupe._ I think 'twas well contrived for your access, to lodge her in

the same house with you.

_Sir Mart._ 'Tis pretty well, I must confess.

_Warn._ Had he plotted it himself, it had been admirable.

[_Aside._

_L. Dupe._ For when her father Moody writ to me to take him lodgings, I

so ordered it, the choice seemed his, not mine.

_Sir Mart._ I have hit of a thing myself sometimes, when wiser heads

have missed it; but that might be mere luck.

_L. Dupe._ Fortune does more than wisdom.

_Sir Mart._ Nay, for that you shall excuse me; I will not value any

man's fortune at a rush, except he have wit and parts to bear him out.

But when do you expect them?

_L. Dupe._ This tide will bring them from Gravesend. You had best let

your man go, as from me, and wait them at the stairs in Durham-yard.

_Sir Mart._ Lord, cousin, what a-do is here with your counsel! As though

I could not have thought of that myself. I could find in my heart not to

send him now----stay a little----I could soon find out some other way.

_Warn._ A minute's stay may lose your business.

_Sir Mart._ Well, go then; but you must grant, if he had staid, I could

have found a better way--you grant it.

_L. Dupe._ For once I will not stand with you. [_Exit_ WARNER.] 'Tis a

sweet gentlewoman, this Mrs Millisent, if you can get her.

_Sir Mart._ Let me alone for plotting.

_L. Dupe._ But by your favour, sir, 'tis not so easy; her father has

already promised her; and the young gentleman comes up with them: I

partly know the man--but the old squire is humoursome; he's stout, and

plain in speech, and in behaviour; he loves none of the fine town tricks

of breeding, but stands up for the old Elizabeth way in all things. This

we must work upon.

_Sir Mart._ Sure you think you have to deal with a fool, cousin?

_Enter_ Mrs CHRISTIAN.

_L. Dupe._ O my dear niece, I have some business with you.

[_Whispers._

_Sir. Mart._ Well, madam, I'll take one turn here in the Piazzas; a

thousand things are hammering in this head; 'tis a fruitful noddle,

though I say it.

[_Exit_ Sir MART.

_L. Dupe._ Go thy ways for a most conceited fool--but to our business,

cousin: You are young, but I am old, and have had all the

love-experience that a discreet lady ought to have; and, therefore, let

me instruct you about the love this rich lord makes to you.

_Chr._ You know, madam, he's married, so that we cannot work upon that

ground of matrimony.

_L. Dupe._ But there are advantages enough for you, if you will be wise,

and follow my advice.

_Chr._ Madam, my friends left me to your care, therefore I will wholly

follow your counsel, with secrecy and obedience.

_L. Dupe._ Sweetheart, it shall be the better for you another day: Well

then, this lord that pretends to you is crafty and false, as most men

are, especially in love; therefore, we must be subtle to meet with all

his plots, and have countermines against his works, to blow him up.

_Chr._ As how, madam?

_L. Dupe._ Why, girl, he'll make fierce love to you, but you must not

suffer him to ruffle you, or steal a kiss: But you must weep and sigh,

and say you'll tell me on't, and that you will not be used so, and play

the innocent, just like a child, and seem ignorant of all.

_Chr._ I warrant you I'll be very ignorant, madam.

_L. Dupe._ And be sure, when he has towsed you, not to appear at supper

that night, that you may fright him.

_Chr._ No, madam.

_L. Dupe._ That he may think you have told me.

_Chr._ Ay, madam.

_L. Dupe._ And keep your chamber, and say your head aches.

_Chr._ O most extremely, madam.

_L. Dupe._ And lock the door, and admit of no night visits: At supper

I'll ask where's my cousin, and, being told you are not well, I'll start

from the table to visit you, desiring his lordship not to incommode

himself; for I will presently wait on him again.

_Chr._ But how, when you are returned, madam?

_L. Dupe._ Then somewhat discomposed, I'll say, I doubt the meazles or

small-pox will seize on you, and then the girl is spoiled; saying, poor

thing, her portion is her beauty, and her virtue; and often send to see

how you do, by whispers in my servant's ears, and have those whispers of

your health returned to mine: If his lordship, thereupon, asks how you

do, I will pretend it was some other thing.

_Chr._ Right, madam, for that will bring him further in suspence.

_L. Dupe._ A hopeful girl! then will I eat nothing that night, feigning

my grief for you; but keep his lordship company at meal, and seem to

strive to put my passion off, yet shew it still by small mistakes.

_Chr._ And broken sentences.

_L. Dupe._ A dainty girl! and after supper visit you again, with promise

to return strait to his lordship; but after I am gone, send an excuse,

that I have given you a cordial, and mean to watch that night in person

with you.

_Chr._ His lordship then will find the prologue of his trouble, doubting

I have told you of his ruffling.

_L. Dupe._ And more than that, fearing his father should know of it, and

his wife, who is a termagant lady: But when he finds the coast is clear,

and his late ruffling known to none but you, he will be drunk with joy.

_Chr._ Finding my simple innocence, which will inflame him more.

_L. Dupe._ Then what the lion's skin has failed him in, the fox's

subtlety must next supply, and that is just, sweetheart, as I would have

it; for crafty folks treaties are their advantage: especially when his

passion must be satisfied at any rate, and you keep shop to set the

price of love: so now you see the market is your own.

_Chr._ Truly, madam, this is very rational; and by the blessing of

heaven upon my poor endeavours, I do not doubt to play my part.

_L. Dupe._ My blessing and my prayers go along with thee.

_Enter_ Sir JOHN SWALLOW, Mrs MILLISENT, _and_ ROSE, _her maid_.

_Chr._ I believe, madam, here is the young heiress you expect, and with

her he who is to marry her.

_L. Dupe._ However I am Sir Martin's friend, I must not seem his enemy.

_Sir John._ Madam, this fair young lady begs the honour to be known to

you.

_Mill._ My father made me hope it, madam.

_L. Dupe._ Sweet lady, I believe you have brought all the freshness of

the country up to town with you.

[_They salute._

_Mill._ I came up, madam, as we country-gentlewomen use, at an

Easter-term, to the destruction of tarts and cheese-cakes, to see a new

play, buy a new gown, take a turn in the park, and so down again to

sleep with my fore-fathers.

_Sir John._ Rather, madam, you are come up to the breaking of many a

poor heart, that, like mine, will languish for you.

_Chr._ I doubt, madam, you are indisposed with your voyage; will you

please to see the lodgings your father has provided for you?

_Mill._ To wait upon you, madam.

_L. Dupe._ This is the door; there is a gentleman will wait you

immediately in your lodging, if he might presume on your commands.

[_In a whisper._

_Mill._ You mean Sir Martin Mar-all: I am glad he has entrusted his

passion with so discreet a person. [_In a whisper_.] Sir John, let me

entreat you to stay here, that my father may have intelligence where to

find us.

_Sir John._ I shall obey you, madam.

[_Exeunt women._

_Enter_ Sir MARTIN MAR-ALL.

_Sir John._ Sir Martin Mar-all! most happily encountered! how long have

you been come to town?

_Sir Mart._ Some three days since, or thereabouts: But, I thank God, I

am very weary on't already.

_Sir John._ Why, what's the matter, man?

_Sir Mart._ My villainous old luck still follows me in gaming; I never

throw the dice out of my hand, but my gold goes after them: If I go to

piquet, though it be but with a novice in't, he will picque and

repicque, and capot me twenty times together: and, which most mads me, I

lose all my sets when I want but one of up.

_Sir John._ The pleasure of play is lost, when one loses at that

unreasonable rate.

_Sir Mart._ But I have sworn not to touch either cards or dice this half

year.

_Sir John._ The oaths of losing gamesters are most minded; they

forswear play as an angry servant does his mistress, because he loves

her but too well.

_Sir Mart._ But I am now taken up with thoughts of another nature; I am

in love, sir.

_Sir John._ That's the worst game you could have played at; scarce one

woman in an hundred will play with you upon the square. You venture at

more uncertainty than at a lottery: For you set your heart to a whole

sex of blanks. But is your mistress widow, wife, or maid?

_Sir Mart._ I can assure you, sir, mine is a maid; the heiress of a

wealthy family, fair to a miracle.

_Sir John._ Does she accept your service?

_Sir Mart._ I am the only person in her favour.

_Enter_ WARNER.

_Sir John._ Is she of town or country?

_Warn._ How's this?

[_Aside._

_Sir Mart._ She is of Kent, near Canterbury.

_Warn._ What does he mean? This is his rival.

[_Aside._

_Sir John._ Near Canterbury, say you? I have a small estate lies

thereabouts, and more concernments than one besides.

_Sir Mart._ I'll tell you then. Being at Canterbury, it was my fortune

once, in the Cathedral church--

_Warn._ What do you mean, sir, to intrust this man with your affairs

thus?

_Sir Mart._ Trust him? why, he's a friend of mine.

_Warn._ No matter for that; hark you, a word, sir.

_Sir Mart._ Pr'ythee leave fooling; and as I was saying----I was in the

church, when I first saw this fair one.

_Sir John._ Her name, sir, I beseech you.

_Warn._ For heaven's sake, sir, have a care.

_Sir Mart._ Thou art such a coxcomb--Her name's Millisent.

_Warn._ Now, the pox take you, sir, what do you mean?

_Sir John._ Millisent, say you? That's the name of my mistress.

_Sir Mart._ Lord! what luck is that now! well, sir, it happened one of

her gloves fell down; I stooped to take it up; and, in the stooping,

made her a compliment.

_Warn._ The devil cannot hold him; now will this thick-skulled master of

mine tell the whole story to his rival!

_Sir Mart._ You'll say, 'twas strange, sir; but at the first glance we

cast on one another, both our hearts leaped within us, our souls met at

our eyes, and with a tickling kind of pain slid to each other's breast,

and in one moment settled as close and warm, as if they long had been

acquainted with their lodging. I followed her somewhat at a distance,

because her father was with her.

_Warn._ Yet hold, sir.

_Sir Mart._ Saucy rascal, avoid my sight; must you tutor me?--So, sir,

not to trouble you, I enquired out her father's house, without whose

knowledge I did court the daughter, and both then, and often since

coming to Canterbury, I received many proofs of her kindness to me.

_Warn._ You had best tell him too, that I am acquainted with her maid,

and manage your love under-hand with her.

_Sir Mart._ Well remembered, i'faith; I thank thee for that, I had

forgot it, I protest! My valet de chambre, whom you see here with me,

grows me acquainted with her woman.

_Warn._ O the devil!

_Sir Mart._ In fine, sir, this maid, being much in her mistress's

favour, so well solicited my cause, that, in fine, I gained from fair

mistress Millisent an assurance of her kindness, and an engagement to

marry none but me.

_Warn._ 'Tis very well! you have made a fair discovery!

_Sir John._ A most pleasant relation, I assure you: You are a happy man,

sir! but what occasion brought you now to London?

_Sir Mart._ That was in expectation to meet my mistress here; she writ

me word from Canterbury, she and her father shortly would be here.

_Sir John._ She and her father, said you, sir?

_Warn._ Tell him, sir, for heaven's sake tell him all.

_Sir Mart._ So I will, sir, without your bidding: Her father and she are

come up already, that's the truth on't, and are to lodge by my

contrivance in yon house; the master of which is a cunning rascal as any

in town----him I have made my own, for I lodge there.

_Warn._ You do ill, sir, to speak so scandalously of my landlord.

_Sir Mart._ Peace, or I'll break your fool's head; so, that by his means

I shall have free egress and regress when I please, sir, without her

father's knowledge.

_Warn._ I am out of patience to hear this.

_Sir John._ Methinks you might do well, sir, to speak openly to her

father.

_Sir Mart._ Thank you for that, i'faith; in speaking to old Moody, I may

soon spoil all.

_Warn._ So, now he has told her father's name, 'tis past recovery.

_Sir John._ Is her father's name Moody, say you?

_Sir Mart._ Is he of your acquaintance?

_Sir John._ Yes, sir; I know him for a man who is too wise for you to

over-reach; I am certain he will never marry his daughter to you.

_Sir Mart._ Why, there's the jest of it: He shall never know it: 'Tis

but your keeping of my counsel; I'll do as much for you, mun.

_Sir John._ No, sir, I'll give you better; trouble not yourself about

this lady; her affections are otherwise engaged to my knowledge----hark

in your ear----her father hates a gamester like a devil: I'll keep your

counsel for that too.

_Sir Mart._ Nay, but this is not all, dear Sir John?

_Sir John._ This is all, I assure you: Only I will make bold to seek

your mistress out another lodging.

[_Exit_ Sir JOHN.

_Warn._ Your affairs are now put into an excellent posture, thank your

incomparable discretion; this was a stratagem my shallow wit could never

have reached, to make a confident of my rival.

_Sir Mart._ I hope thou art not in earnest, man! Is he my rival?

_Warn._ 'Slife, he has not found it out all this while! well, sir, for a

quick apprehension let you alone.

_Sir Mart._ How the devil camest thou to know on't? and why the devil

didst thou not tell me on't?

_Warn._ To the first of your devils I answer, her maid, Rose, told me

on't: To the second, I wish a thousand devils take him that would not

hear me.

_Sir Mart._ O unparallelled misfortune!

_Warn._ O unparallelled ignorance! why he left her father at the

water-side, while he led the daughter to her lodging, whither I directed

him; so that if you had not laboured to the contrary, fortune had placed

you in the same house with your mistress, without the least suspicion of

your rival, or of her father. But 'tis well you have satisfied your

talkative humour: I hope you have some new project of your own to set

all right again: For my part, I confess all my designs for you are

wholly ruined; the very foundations of them are blown up.

_Sir Mart._ Pr'ythee insult not over the destiny of a poor undone lover;

I am punished enough for my indiscretion in my despair, and have nothing

to hope for now but death.

_Warn._ Death is a bug-word; things are not brought to that extremity;

I'll cast about to save all yet.

_Enter Lady_ DUPE.

_L. Dupe._ O, Sir Martin! yonder has been such a stir within; Sir John,

I fear, smokes your design, and by all means would have the old man

remove his lodging; pray God, your man has not played false.

_Warn._ Like enough I have: I am coxcomb sufficient to do it; my master

knows, that none but such a great calf as I could have done it, such an

overgrown ass, a self-conceited idiot as I.

_Sir Mart._ Nay, Warner.

_Warn._ Pray, sir, let me alone: What is it to you if I rail upon

myself? Now could I break my own logger-head.

_Sir Mart._ Nay, sweet Warner.

_Warn._ What a good master have I, and I to ruin him: O beast!

_L. Dupe._ Not to discourage you wholly, Sir Martin, this storm is

partly over.

_Sir Mart._ As how, dear cousin?

_L. Dupe._ When I heard Sir John complain of the landlord, I took the

first hint of it, and joined with him, saying, if he were such an one, I

would have nothing to do with him: In short, I rattled him so well, that

Sir John was the first who did desire they might be lodged with me, not

knowing that I was your kinswoman.

_Sir Mart._ Pox on't, now I think on't, I could have found out this

myself.

_Warn._ Are you there again, sir? Now, as I have a soul----

_Sir Mart._ Mum, good Warner, I did but forget myself a little; I leave

myself wholly to you, and my cousin: get but my mistress for me, and

claim whatever reward you can desire.

_Warn._ Hope of reward will diligence beget, Find you the money, and

I'll find the wit.

[_Exeunt._

ACT II. SCENE I.

_Enter Lady_ DUPE, _and Mrs_ CHRISTIAN.

_Chr._ It happened, madam, just as you said it would; but was he so

concerned for my feigned sickness?

_L. Dupe._ So much, that Moody and his daughter, our new guests, take

notice of the trouble; but the cause was kept too close for strangers to

divine.

_Chr._ Heaven grant he be but deep enough in love, and then----

_L. Dupe._ And then thou shalt distil him into gold, my girl. Yonder he

comes, I'll not be seen: you know your lesson, child.

[_Exit._

_Chr._ I warrant you.

_Enter Lord_ DARTMOUTH.

_Lord._ Pretty mistress Christian, how glad am I to meet you thus alone!

_Chr._ O the father! what will become of me now?

_Lord._ No harm, I warrant you; but why are you so afraid?

_Chr._ A poor weak innocent creature as I am, heaven of his mercy, how I

quake and tremble! I have not yet clawed off your last ill usage, and

now I feel my old fit come again; my ears tingle already, and my back

shuts and opens; ay, just so it began before.

_Lord._ Nay, my sweet mistress, be not so unjust to suspect any new

attempt: I am too penitent for my last fault, so soon to sin again. I

hope you did not tell it to your aunt.

_Chr._ The more fool I, I did not.

_Lord._ You never shall repent your goodness to me; but may not I

presume there was some little kindness in it, which moved you to conceal

my crime?

_Chr._ Methought I would not have mine aunt angry with you, for all this

earthly good; but yet I'll never be alone with you again.

_Lord._ Pretty innocence! let me sit nearer to you: You do not

understand what love I bear you. I vow it is so pure, my soul's not

sullied with one spot of sin: Were you a sister, or a daughter to me,

with a more holy flame I could not burn.

_Chr._ Nay, now you speak high words; I cannot understand you.

_Lord._ The business of my life shall be but how to make your fortune,

and my care and study to advance and see you settled in the world.

_Chr._ I humbly thank your lordship.

_Lord._ Thus I would sacrifice my life and fortunes, and in return you

cruelly destroy me.

_Chr._ I never meant you any harm, not I.

_Lord._ Then what does this white enemy so near me? [_Touching her hand

gloved._] Sure 'tis your champion, and you arm it thus to bid defiance

to me.

_Chr._ Nay, fie, my lord! In faith, you are to blame.

[_Pulling her hand away._

_Lord._ But I am for fair wars; an enemy must first be searched for

privy armour, ere we do engage.

[_Pulls at her glove._

_Chr._ What does your lordship mean?

_Lord._ I fear you bear some spells and charms about you, and, madam,

that's against the law of arms.

_Chr._ My aunt charged me not to pull off my glove, for fear of

sun-burning my hand.

_Lord._ She did well to keep it from your eyes, but I will thus preserve

it.

[_Hugging her bare hand._

_Chr._ Why do you crush it so? nay, now you hurt me, nay--if you squeeze

it ne'er so hard--there's nothing to come out on't--fie--is this loving

one--what makes you take your breath so short?

_Lord._ The devil take me if I can answer her a word; all my senses are

quite employed another way.

_Chr._ Ne'er stir, my lord, I must cry out.

_Lord._ Then I must stop your mouth--this ruby for a kiss--that is but

one ruby for another.

_Chr._ This is worse and worse.

_Lady within._ Why, niece, where are you, niece?

_Lord._ Pox of her old mouldy chops.

_Chr._ Do you hear, my aunt calls? I shall be hanged for staying with

you--let me go, my lord.

[_Gets from him._

_Enter Lady_ DUPE.

_L. Dupe._ My lord! heaven bless me, what makes your lordship here?

_Lord._ I was just wishing for you, madam; your niece and I have been so

laughing at the blunt humour of your country-gentleman. I must go pass

an hour with him.

[_Exit_ LORD.

_Chr._ You made a little too much haste; I was just exchanging a kiss

for a ruby.

_L. Dupe._ No harm done; it will make him come on the faster: Never full

gorge an hawk you mean to fly: The next will be a necklace of pearl, I

warrant you.

_Chr._ But what must I do next?

_L. Dupe._ Tell him I grew suspicious, and examined you whether he made

not love; which you denied. Then tell him how my maids and daughters

watch you; so that you tremble when you see his lordship.

_Chr._ And that your daughters are so envious, that they would raise a

false report to ruin me.

_L. Dupe._ Therefore you desire his lordship, as he loves you, of which

you are confident, henceforward to forbear his visits to you.

_Chr._ But how, if he should take me at my word?

_L. Dupe._ Why, if the worst come to the worst, he leaves you an honest

woman, and there's an end on't: But fear not that; hold out his

messages, and then he'll write, and that is it, my bird, which you must

drive it to: Then all his letters will be such ecstasies, such vows and

promises, which you must answer short and simply, yet still ply out of

them your advantages.

_Chr._ But, madam! he's in the house, he will not write.

_L. Dupe._ You fool--he'll write from the next chamber to you; and,

rather than fail, send his page post with it, upon a hobby-horse: Then

grant a meeting, but tell me of it, and I'll prevent him by my being

there; he'll curse me, but I care not. When you are alone, he'll urge

his lust, which answer you with scorn and anger.

_Chr._ As thus an't please you, madam. What! Does he think I will be

damn'd for him? Defame my family, ruin my name, to satisfy his pleasure?

_L. Dupe._ Then he will be profane in his arguments, urge nature's laws

to you.

_Chr._ By'r lady, and those are shrewd arguments; but I am resolved I'll

stop my ears.

_L. Dupe._ Then when he sees no other thing will move you, he'll sign a

portion to you beforehand: Take hold of that, and then of what you will.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter Sir_ JOHN, _Mrs_ MILLISENT, _and_ ROSE.

_Sir John._ Now, fair Mrs Millisent, you see your chamber; your father

will be busy a few minutes, and in the mean time permits me the

happiness to wait on you.

_Mill._ Methinks you might have chose us better lodgings, this house is

full; the other, we saw first, was more convenient.

_Sir John._ For you, perhaps, but not for me: You might have met a lover

there, but I a rival.

_Mill._ What rival?

_Sir John._ You know Sir Martin, I need not name it to you.

_Mill._ I know more men besides him.

_Sir John._ But you love none besides him: Can you deny your affection

to him?

_Mill._ You have vexed me so, I will not satisfy you.

_Sir John._ Then I perceive I am not likely to be so much obliged to

you, as I was to him.

_Mill._ This is romance--I'll not believe a word on't.

_Sir John._ That's as you please: However 'tis believed, his wit will

not much credit your choice. Madam, do justice to us both; pay his

ingratitude and folly with your scorn; my service with your love. By

this time your father stays for me: I shall be discreet enough to keep

this fault of yours from him; the lawyers wait for us to draw your

jointure; and I would beg your pardon for my absence, but that my crime

is punished in itself.

[_Exit._

_Mill._ Could I suspect this usage from a favoured servant!

_Rose._ First hear Sir Martin, ere you quite condemn him; consider, 'tis

a rival who accused him.

_Mill._ Speak not a word in his behalf: Methought too, Sir John called

him fool.

_Rose._ Indeed he has a rare way of acting a fool, and does it so

naturally, it can be scarce distinguished.

_Mill._ Nay, he has wit enough, that's certain.

_Rose._ How blind love is!

_Enter_ WARNER.

_Mill._ How now, what's his business? I wonder, after such a crime, if

his master has the face to send him to me.

_Rose._ How durst you venture hither? If either Sir John or my old

master see you!--

_Warn._ Pish! they are both gone out.

_Rose._ They went but to the next street; ten to one but they return and

catch you here.

_Warn._ Twenty to one I am gone before, and save them a labour.

_Mill._ What says that fellow to you? What business can he have here?

_Warn._ Lord, that your ladyship should ask that question, knowing whom

I serve!

_Mill._ I'll hear nothing from your master.

_Warn._ Never breathe, but this anger becomes your ladyship most

admirably; but though you'll hear nothing from him, I hope I may speak a

word or two to you from myself, madam.

_Rose._ 'Twas a sweet prank your master played us: A lady's well helped

up, that trusts her honour in such a person's hands: To tell

also,----and to his rival too. Excuse him if thou canst.

[_Aside._

_Warn._ How the devil should I excuse him? Thou know'st he is the

greatest fop in nature.

[_Aside to_ ROSE.

_Rose._ But my lady does not know it; if she did--

_Mill._ I'll have no whispering.

_Warn._ Alas, madam, I have not the confidence to speak out, unless you

can take mercy on me.

_Mill._ For what?

_Warn._ For telling Sir John you loved my master, madam. But sure I

little thought he was his rival.

_Rose._ The witty rogue has taken it on himself.

[_Aside._

_Mill._ Your master then is innocent?

_Warn._ Why, could your ladyship suspect him guilty? Pray tell me, do

you think him ungrateful, or a fool?

_Mill._ I think him neither.

_Warn._ Take it from me, you see not the depth of him. But when he knows

what thoughts you harbour of him, as I am faithful, and must tell him, I

wish he does not take some pet, and leave you.

_Mill._ Thou art not mad, I hope, to tell him on't; if thou dost, I'll

be sworn, I'll forswear it to him.

_Warn._ Upon condition then you'll pardon me, I'll see what I can do to

hold my tongue.

_Mill._ This evening, in St James's Park, I'll meet him.

[_Knock within._

_Warn._ He shall not fail you, madam.

_Rose._ Somebody knocks--Oh, madam, what shall we do! 'Tis Sir John, I

hear his voice.

_Warn._ What will become of me?

_Mill._ Step quickly behind that door.

[WARNER _goes out_.

_To them Sir_ JOHN.

_Mill._ You've made a quick despatch, sir.

_Sir John._ We have done nothing, madam; our man of law was not

within--but I must look for some writings.

_Mill._ Where are they laid?

_Sir John._ In the portmanteau in the drawing-room.

[_Is going to the door._

_Mill._ Pray stay a little, sir.

_Warn._ [_At the door_.] He must pass just by me; and, if he sees me, I

am but a dead man.

_Sir John._ Why are you thus concerned? why do you hold me?

_Mill._ Only a word or two I have to tell you. 'Tis of importance to

you.

_Sir John._ Give me leave--

_Mill._ I must not, before I discover the plot to you.

_Sir John._ What plot?

_Mill._ Sir Martin's servant, like a rogue, comes hither to tempt me

from his master, to have met him.

_Warn._ [_At the door_.] Now, would I had a good bag of gunpowder at my

breech, to ram me into some hole!

_Mill._ For my part, I was so startled at the message, that I shall

scarcely be myself these two days.

_Sir John._ Oh that I had the rascal! I would teach him to come upon

such errands.

_Warn._ Oh for a gentle composition, now! An arm or leg I would give

willingly.

_Sir John._ What answer did you make the villain?

_Mill._ I over-reached him clearly, by a promise of an appointment of a

place I named, where I never meant to come: But would have had the

pleasure, first, to tell you how I served him.

_Sir John._ And then to chide your mean suspicion of me; indeed I

wondered you should love a fool. But where did you appoint to meet him?

_Mill._ In Grays-Inn walks.

_Warn._ By this light, she has put the change upon him! O sweet

womankind, how I love thee for that heavenly gift of lying!

_Sir John._ For this evening I will be his mistress; he shall meet

another Penelope than he suspects.

_Mill._ But stay not long away.

_Sir John._ You overjoy me, madam.

[_Exit._

_Warn._ [_Entering_.] Is he gone, madam?

_Mill._ As far as Grays-Inn walks: Now I have time to walk the other

way, and see thy master.

_Warn._ Rather let him come hither: I have laid a plot, shall send his

rival far enough from watching him, ere long.

_Mill._ Art thou in earnest?

_Warn._ 'Tis so designed, fate cannot hinder it. Our landlord, where we

lie, vexed that his lodgings should be so left by Sir John, is resolved

to be revenged, and I have found the way. You'll see the effects on't

presently.

_Rose._ O heavens! the door opens again, and Sir John is returned once

more.

_Enter Sir_ JOHN.

_Sir John._ Half my business was forgot; you did not tell me when you

were to meet him. Ho! what makes this rascal here?

_Warn._ 'Tis well you're come, sir, else I must have left untold a

message I have for you.

_Sir John._ Well, what's your business, sirrah?

_Warn._ We must be private first; 'tis only for your ear.

_Rose._ I shall admire his wit, if in this plunge he can get off.

_Warn._ I came hither, sir, by my master's order,----

_Sir John._ I'll reward you for it, sirrah, immediately.

_Warn._ When you know all, I shall deserve it, sir: I came to sound the

virtue of your mistress: which I have done so cunningly, I have at last

obtained the promise of a meeting. But my good master, whom I must

confess more generous than wise, knowing you had a passion for her, is

resolved to quit: And, sir, that you may see how much he loves you, sent

me in private to advise you still to have an eye upon her actions.

_Sir John._ Take this diamond for thy good news; and give thy master my

acknowledgments.

_Warn._ Thus the world goes, my masters! he, that will cozen you,

commonly gets your goodwill into the bargain.

[_Aside._

_Sir John._ Madam, I am now satisfied of all sides; first of your truth,

then of Sir Martin's friendship. In short, I find you two cheated each

other, both to be true to me.

_Mill._ Warner is got off as I would wish, and the knight over-reached.

[_Aside._

_Enter to them the Landlord, disguised like a carrier._

_Rose._ How now! what would this carrier have?

_Warn._ This is our landlord, whom I told you of; but keep your

countenance.

[_Aside to her._

_Land._ I was looking hereaway for one Sir John Swallow; they told me, I

might hear news of him in this house.

_Sir John._ Friend, I am the man; what have you to say to me?

_Land._ Nay, faith, sir, I am not so good a schollard to say much, but I

have a letter for you in my pouch, there's plaguy news in it, I can tell

you that.

_Sir John._ From whom is your letter?

_Land._ From your old uncle Anthony.

_Sir John._ Give me your letter quickly.

_Land._ Nay, soft and fair goes far.--Hold you, hold you. It is not in

this pocket.

_Sir John._ Search in the other, then; I stand on thorns.

_Land._ I think I feel it now, this should be who.

_Sir John._ Pluck it out then.

_Land._ I'll pluck out my spectacles, and see first. [_Reads_.] To Mr

Paul Grimbard--apprentice to----No, that's not for you, sir--that's for

the son of the brother of the nephew of the cousin of my gossip Dobson.

_Sir John._ Pr'ythee despatch; dost thou not know the contents on't?

_Land._ Yes, as well as I do my _pater noster_.

_Sir John._ Well, what's the business on't?

_Land._ Nay, no great business; 'tis but only that your worship's

father's dead.

_Sir John._ My loss is beyond expression! How died he?

_Land._ He went to bed as well to see to as any man in England; and when

he awakened the next morning--

_Sir John._ What then?

_Land._ He found himself stark dead.

_Sir John._ Well, I must of necessity take orders for my father's

funeral, and my estate; heaven knows with what regret I leave you,

madam.

_Mill._ But are you in such haste, sir? I see you take all occasions to

be from me.

_Sir John._ Dear madam, say not so: a few days will, I hope, return me

to you.

_To them Sir_ MARTIN.

Noble Sir Martin, the welcomest man alive! let me embrace my friend.

_Rose._ How untowardly he returns the salute! Warner will be found out.

[_Aside._

_Sir John._ Well, friend! you have obliged me to you eternally.

_Sir Mart._ How have I obliged you, sir? I would have you to know I

scorn your words; and I would I were hanged if it be not the farthest of

my thoughts.

_Mill._ O cunning youth, he acts the fool most naturally. Were we alone,

how would we laugh together!

[_Aside._

_Sir John._ This is a double generosity, to do me favours, and conceal

'em from me; but honest Warner here has told me all.

_Sir Mart._ What has the rascal told you?

_Sir John._ Your plot to try my mistress for me--you understand me,

concerning your appointment.

_Warn._ Sir, I desire to speak in private with you.

_Sir Mart._ This impertinent rascal! when I am most busy, I am ever

troubled with him.

_Warn._ But it concerns you I should speak with you, good sir.

_Sir Mart._ That's a good one, i'faith; thou knowest breeding well, that

I should whisper with a serving-man before company.

_Warn._ Remember, sir, last time it had been better----

_Sir Mart._ Peace, or I'll make you feel my double fists; If I don't

fright him, the saucy rogue will call me fool before the company.

_Mill._ That was acted most naturally again.

[_Aside._

_Sir John._ [_To him_.] But what needs this dissembling, since you are

resolved to quit my mistress to me?

_Sir Mart._ I quit my mistress! that's a good one, i'faith.

_Mill._ Tell him you have forsaken me.

[_Aside._

_Sir Mart._ I understand you, madam, you would save a quarrel; but,

i'faith, I'm not so base: I'll see him hanged first.

_Warn._ Madam, my master is convinced, in prudence he should say so:

But love o'ermasters him; when you are gone perhaps he may.

_Mill._ I'll go then: Gentlemen, your servant; I see my presence brings

constraint to the company.

[_Exeunt_ MILL. _and_ ROSE.

_Sir John._ I'm glad she's gone; now we may talk more freely; for if you

have not quitted her, you must.

_Warn._ Pray, sir, remember yourself: did not you send me of a message

to Sir John, that for his friendship you had left mistress Millisent?

_Sir Mart._ Why, what an impudent lying rogue art thou!

_Sir John._ How's this! Has Warner cheated me?

_Warn._ Do not suspect it in the least: You know, sir, it was not

generous, before a lady, to say he quitted her.

_Sir John_ O! was that it?

_Warn._ That was all: Say yes, good Sir John--or I'll swinge you.

[_Aside._

_Sir Mart._ Yes, good Sir John.

_Warn._ That's well; once in his life he has heard good counsel.

_Sir Mart._ Heigh, heigh, what makes my landlord here? He has put on a

fool's coat, I think, to make us laugh.

_Warn._ The devil's in him, he's at it again; his folly's like a sore in

a surfeited horse; cure it in one place, and it breaks out in another.

_Sir Mart._ Honest landlord, i'faith, and what makes you here?

_Sir John._ Are you acquainted with this honest man?

_Land._ Take heed what you say, sir.

[_To Sir_ MART. _softly_.

_Sir Mart._ Take heed what you say, sir! Why? who should I be afraid of?

of you, sir? I say, sir, I know him, sir; and I have reason to know

him, sir; for I am sure I lodge in his house, sir--nay, never think to

terrify me, sir; 'tis my landlord here in Charles-street, sir.

_Land._ Now I expect to be paid for the news I brought him.

_Sir John._ Sirrah, did not you tell me that my father--

_Land._ Is in very good health, for aught I know, sir; I beseech you to

trouble yourself no farther concerning him.

_Sir John._ Who set you on to tell this lie?

_Sir Mart._ Ay, who set you on, sirrah? This was a rogue that would

cozen us both; he thought I did not know him: Down on your marrowbones,

and confess the truth: Have you no tongue, you rascal?

_Sir John._ Sure 'tis some silenced minister: He grows so fat he cannot

speak.

_Land._ Why, sir, if you would know, 'twas for your sake I did it.

_Warn._ For my master's sake! why, you impudent varlet, do you think to

'scape us with a lye?

_Sir John._ How was it for his sake?

_Warn._ 'Twas for his own, sir; he heard you were the occasion the lady

lodged not at his house, and so he invented this lie; partly to revenge

himself of you; and partly, I believe, in hope to get her once again

when you were gone.

_Sir John._ Fetch me a cudgel, pr'ythee.

_Land._ O good sir! if you beat me, I shall run into oil immediately.

_Warn._ Hang him, rogue; he's below your anger: I'll maul him for

you--the rogue's so big, I think 'twill ask two days to beat him all

over.

[_Beats him._

_Land._ O rogue! O villain, Warner! bid him hold, and I'll confess,

sir.

_Warn._ Get you gone without replying: must such as you be prating?

[_Beats him out._

_Enter_ ROSE.

_Rose._ Sir, dinner waits you on the table.

_Sir John._ Friend, will you go along, and take part of a bad repast?

_Sir Mart._ Thank you; but I am just risen from table.

_Warn._ Now he might sit with his mistress, and has not the wit to find

it out.

_Sir John._ You shall be very welcome.

_Sir Mart._ I have no stomach, sir.

_Warn._ Get you in with a vengeance: You have a better stomach than you

think you have.

[_Pushes him._

_Sir Mart._ This hungry Diego rogue would shame me; he thinks a

gentleman can eat like a serving-man.

_Sir John._ If you will not, adieu, dear sir; in any thing command me.

[_Exit._

_Sir Mart._ Now we are alone: han't I carried matters bravely, sirrah?

_Warn._ O yes, yes, you deserve sugar-plums; first for your quarrelling

with Sir John; then for discovering your landlord; and, lastly, for

refusing to dine with your mistress. All this is since the last

reckoning was wiped out.

_Sir Mart._ Then why did my landlord disguise himself, to make a fool of

us?

_Warn._ You have so little brains, that a penny-worth of butter, melted

under 'em, would set 'em afloat: He put on that disguise, to rid you of

your rival.

_Sir Mart._ Why was not I worthy to keep your counsel then?

_Warn._ It had been much at one: You would but have drunk the secret

down, and pissed it out to the next company.

_Sir Mart._ Well, I find I am a miserable man: I have lost my mistress,

and may thank myself for it.

_Warn._ You'll not confess you are a fool, I warrant.

_Sir Mart._ Well, I am a fool, if that will satisfy you: But what am I

the nearer, for being one?

_Warn._ O yes, much the nearer; for now fortune's bound to provide for

you; as hospitals are built for lame people, because they cannot help

themselves. Well; I have a project in my pate.

_Sir Mart._ Dear rogue, what is't?

_Warn._ Excuse me for that: But while 'tis set a working, you would do

well to screw yourself into her father's good opinion.

_Sir Mart._ If you will not tell me, my mind gives me, I shall discover

it again.

_Warn._ I'll lay it as far out of your reach as I can possibly.

----For secrets are edged tools,

And must be kept from children and from fools.

[_Exeunt._

ACT III. SCENE I.

_Enter_ ROSE _and_ WARNER _meeting_.

_Rose._ Your worship's most happily encountered.

_Warn._ Your ladyship's most fortunately met.

_Rose._ I was going to your lodging.

_Warn._ My business was to yours.

_Rose._ I have something to say to you that----

_Warn._ I have that to tell you----

_Rose._ Understand then----

_Warn._ If you'll hear me----

_Rose._ I believe that----

_Warn._ I am of opinion, that----

_Rose._ Pry'thee hold thy peace a little, till I have done.

_Warn._ Cry you mercy, Mrs Rose; I'll not dispute your ancient privilege

of talking.

_Rose._ My mistress, knowing Sir John was to be abroad upon business

this afternoon, has asked leave to see a play: And Sir John has so great

a confidence of your master, that he will trust no body with her, but

him.

_Warn._ If my master gets her out, I warrant her, he shall shew her a

better play than any is at either of the houses--here they are: I'll run

and prepare him to wait upon her.

[_Exit._

_Enter old_ MOODY, _Mrs_ MILLISENT, _and Lady_ DUPE.

_Mill._ My hoods and scarfs there, quickly.

_L. Dupe._ Send to call a coach there.

_Mood._ But what kind of man is this Sir Martin, with whom you are to

go?

_L. Dupe._ A plain down-right country-gentleman, I assure you.

_Mood._ I like him much the better for it. For I hate one of those you

call a man of the town, one of those empty fellows of mere out-side:

They have nothing of the true old English manliness.

_Rose._ I confess, sir, a woman's in a bad condition, that has nothing

to trust to, but a peruke above, and a well-trimmed shoe below.

_To them Sir_ MARTIN.

_Mill._ This, sir, is Sir John's friend; he is for your humour, sir; he

is no man of the town, but bred up in the old Elizabeth way of

plainness.

_Sir Mart._ Ay, madam, your ladyship may say your pleasure of me.

_To them_ WARNER.

_Warn._ How the devil got he here before me! 'Tis very unlucky I could

not see him first.

_Sir Mart._ But, as for painting, music, poetry, and the like, I'll say

this of myself----

_Warn._ I'll say that for him, my master understands none of them, I

assure you, sir.

_Sir Mart._ You impudent rascal, hold your tongue: I must rid my hands

of this fellow; the rogue is ever discrediting me before company.

_Mood._ Never trouble yourself about it, sir, for I like a man that----

_Sir Mart._ I know you do, sir, and therefore I hope you'll think never

the worse of me for his prating: For, though I do not boast of my own

good parts----

_Warn._ He has none to boast of, upon my faith, sir.

_Sir Mart._ Give him not the hearing, sir; for, if I may believe my

friends, they have flattered me with an opinion of more----

_Warn._ Of more than their flattery can make good, sir; 'tis true he

tells you, they have flattered him; but, in my conscience, he is the

most down-right simple-natured creature in the world.

_Sir Mart._ I shall consider you hereafter, sirrah; but I am sure in all

companies I pass for a virtuoso.

_Mood._ Virtuoso! What's that too? is not virtue enough without O so?

_Sir Mart._ You have reason, sir.

_Mood._ There he is again too; the town phrase; a great compliment I

wis! _you have reason, sir_; that is, you are no beast, sir.

_Warn._ A word in private, sir; you mistake this old man; he loves

neither painting, music, nor poetry; yet recover yourself, if you have

any brains.

[_Aside to him._

_Sir Mart._ Say you so? I'll bring all about again, I warrant you.--I

beg your pardon a thousand times, sir; I vow to gad I am not master of

any of those perfections; for, in fine, sir, I am wholly ignorant of

painting, music, and poetry; only some rude escapes; but, in fine, they

are such, that, in fine, sir----

_Warn._ This is worse than all the rest.

[_Aside._

_Mood._ By coxbones, one word more of all this gibberish, and old Madge

shall fly about your ears: What is this, _in fine_, he keeps such a coil

with too?

_Mill._ 'Tis a phrase _a-la-mode_, sir; and is used in conversation now,

as a whiff of tobacco was formerly in the midst of a discourse for a

thinking while.

_L. Dupe._ In plain English, _in fine_ is, in the end, sir.

_Mood._ But, by coxbones, there is no end on't, methinks: If thou wilt

have a foolish word to lard thy lean discourse with, take an English one

when thou speakest English! as, so sir, and then sir, and so forth; 'tis

a more manly kind of nonsense: And a pox of, _in fine_, for I'll hear no

more in it than I imagined.

[_Exeunt_ MOODY, MILL. _Lady_ DUPE, _and_ ROSE.

_Sir Mart._ Why do you frown upon me so, when you know your looks go to

the heart of me? What have I done besides a little _lapsus linguae_?

_Warn._ Why, who says you have done any thing? You, a mere innocent!

_Sir Mart._ As the child that's to be born, in my intentions; if I know

how I have offended myself any more than----in one word----

_Warn._ But don't follow me, however: I have nothing to say to you.

_Sir Mart._ I'll follow you to the world's end, till you forgive me.

_Warn._ I am resolved to lead you a dance then.

[_Exit running._

_Sir Mart._ The rogue has no mercy in him; but I must mollify him with

money.

[_Exit._

SCENE II.

_Enter Lady_ DUPE.

_L. Dupe._ Truly, my little cousin's the aptest scholar, and takes out

love's lessons so exactly, that I joy to see it; She has got already the

bond of two thousand pounds sealed for her portion, which I keep for

her; a pretty good beginning: 'Tis true, I believe he has enjoyed her,

and so let him; Mark Antony wooed not at so dear a price.

_Enter, to her_, CHRISTIAN.

_Chr._ O madam, I fear I am breeding!

_L. Dupe._ A taking wench! but 'tis no matter; have you told any body?

_Chr._ I have been venturing upon your foundations, a little to

dissemble.

_L. Dupe._ That's a good child; I hope it will thrive with thee, as it

has with me: Heaven has a blessing in store upon our endeavours.

_Chr._ I feigned myself sick, and kept my bed; my lord, he came to visit

me, and, in the end, I disclosed it to him, in the saddest passion!

_L. Dupe._ This frightened him, I hope, into a study how to cloak your

disgrace, lest it should have vent to his lady.

_Chr._ 'Tis true; but all the while I subtly drove it, that he should

name you to me as the fittest instrument of the concealment; but how to

break it to you, strangely does perplex him. He has been seeking you all

over the house; therefore, I'll leave your ladyship, for fear we should

be seen together.

[_Exit._

_L. Dupe._ Now I must play my part; Nature, in women, teaches more than

art.

_Enter Lord._

_Lord._ Madam, I have a secret to impart; a sad one too, and have no

friend to trust, but only you.

_L. Dupe._ Your lady, or your children, sick?

_Lord._ Not that I know.

_L. Dupe._ You seem to be in health.

_Lord._ In body, not in mind.

_L. Dupe._ Some scruple of conscience, I warrant; my chaplain shall

resolve you.

_Lord._ Madam, my soul's tormented.

_L. Dupe._ O take heed of despair, my lord!

_Lord._ Madam, there is no medicine for this sickness, but only you;

your friendship's my safe haven, else I am lost, and shipwrecked.

_L. Dupe._ Pray tell me what it is.

_Lord._ Could I express it by sad sighs and groans, or drown it with

myself in seas of tears, I should be happy,--would, and would not tell.

_L. Dupe._ Command whatever I can serve you in; I will be faithful still

to all your ends, provided they be just and virtuous.

_Lord._ That word has stopt me.

_L. Dupe._ Speak out, my lord, and boldly tell what 'tis.

_Lord._ Then, in obedience to your commands; your cousin is with child.

_L. Dupe._ Which cousin?

_Lord._ Your cousin Christian, here in the house.

_L. Dupe._ Alas! then she has stolen a marriage, and undone herself:

Some young fellow, on my conscience, that's a beggar; youth will not be

advised: well, I'll never meddle more with girls; one is no more assured

of them, than grooms of mules; they'll strike when least one thinks

on't: But pray, your lordship, what is her choice then for a husband?

_Lord._ She----is not married, that I know of, madam.

_L. Dupe._ Not married! 'tis impossible; the girl does sure abuse you. I

know her education has been such, the flesh could not prevail;

therefore, she does abuse you, it must be so.

_Lord._ Madam, not to abuse you longer, she is with child, and I the

unfortunate man, who did this most unlucky act.

_L. Dupe._ You! I'll never believe it.

_Lord._ Madam, 'tis too true; believe it, and be serious how to hide her

shame; I beg it here upon my knees.

_L. Dupe._ Oh, oh, oh!

[_She faints away._

_Lord._ Who's there? Who's there? Help, help, help!

_Enter two women_, ROSE, _and Mrs_ MILLISENT.

_1 Wom._ O merciful God, my lady's gone!

_2 Wom._ Whither?

_1 Wom._ To heaven; God knows, to heaven!

_Rose._ Rub her, rub her; fetch warm clothes!

_2 Wom._ I say, run to the cabinet of quintessence; Gilbert's water!

Gilbert's water!

_1 Wom._ Now all the good folks of heaven look down upon her!

_Mill._ Set her in the chair.

_Rose._ Open her mouth with a dagger or a key; pour, pour! Where's the

spoon?

_2 Wom._ She stirs! she revives! merciful to us all! what a thing was

this? speak, lady, speak!

_L. Dupe._ So, so, so!

_Mill._ Alas! my lord, how came this fit?

_Lord._ With sorrow, madam.

_L. Dupe._ Now I am better: Bess, you have not seen me thus?

_1 Wom._ Heaven forefend that I should live to see you so again.

_L. Dupe._ Go, go, I'm pretty well; withdraw into the next room; but be

near, I pray, for fear of the worst. [_They go out_.] My lord, sit down

near me, I pray; I'll strive to speak a few words to you, and then to

bed; nearer, my voice is faint. My lord, heaven knows how I have ever

loved you; and is this my reward? Had you none to abuse but me in that

unfortunate fond girl, that you know was dearer to me than my life? This

was not love to her, but an inveterate malice to poor me. Oh, oh!

[_Faints again._

_Lord._ Help, help, help!

_All the women again._

_1 Wom._ This fit will carry her: Alas, it is a lechery!

_2 Wom._ The balsam, the balsam!

_1 Wom._ No, no, the chemistry oil of rosemary: Hold her up, and give

her air.

_Mill._ Feel whether she breathes, with your hand before her mouth.

_Rose._ No, madam, 'tis key-cold.

_1 Wom._ Look up, dear madam, if you have any hope of salvation!

_2 Wom._ Hold up your finger, madam, if you have any hope of fraternity.

O the blessed saints, that hear me not, take her mortality to them!

_L. Dupe._ Enough, so, 'tis well--withdraw, and let me rest a while;

only my dear lord remain.

_1 Wom._ Pray your lordship keep her from swebbing.

[_Exeunt women._

_Lord._ Here humbly, once again, I beg your pardon and your help.

_L. Dupe._ Heaven forgive you, and I do: Stand up, my lord, and sit

close by me: O this naughty girl! But did your lordship win her soon?

_Lord._ No, madam, but with much difficulty.

_L. Dupe._ I'm glad on't; it shewed the girl had some religion in her;

all my precepts were not in vain: But you men are strange tempters; good

my lord, where was this wicked act, then, first committed?

_Lord._ In an out-room, upon a trunk.

_L. Dupe._ Poor heart, what shifts love makes! Oh, she does love you

dearly, though to her ruin! And then, what place, my lord?

_Lord._ An old waste room, with a decayed bed in't.

_L. Dupe._ Out upon that dark room for deeds of darkness! and that

rotten bed! I wonder it did hold your lordship's vigour: But you dealt

gently with the girl. Well, you shall see I love you: For I will manage

this business to both your advantages, by the assistance of heaven I

will; good my lord, help, lead me out.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter_ WARNER _and_ ROSE.

_Rose._ A mischief upon all fools! do you think your master has not done

wisely? First to mistake our old man's humour; then to dispraise the

plays; and, lastly, to discover his acquaintance with my mistress: My

old master has taken such a jealousy of him, that he will never admit

him into his sight again.

_Warn._ Thou makest thyself a greater fool than he, by being angry at

what he cannot help. I have been angry with him too; but these friends

have taken up the quarrel. [_Shews gold_.] Look you, he has sent these

mediators to mitigate your wrath: Here are twenty of them have made a

long voyage from Guinea to kiss your hands: And when the match is made,

there are an hundred more in readiness to be your humble servants.

_Rose._ Rather than fall out with you, I'll take them; but I confess, it

troubles me to see so loyal a lover have the heart of an emperor, and

yet scarce the brains of a cobler.

_Warn._ Well, what device can we two beget betwixt us, to separate Sir

John Swallow and thy mistress?

_Rose._ I cannot on the sudden tell; but I hate him worse than foul

weather without a coach.

_Warn._ Then I'll see if my project be luckier than thine. Where are the

papers concerning the jointure I have heard you speak of?

_Rose._ They lie within, in three great bags; some twenty reams of paper

in each bundle, with six lines in a sheet: But there is a little paper

where all the business lies.

_Warn._ Where is it? Canst thou help me to it?

_Rose._ By good chance he gave it to my custody, before he set out for

London. You came in good time; here it is, I was carrying it to him;

just now he sent for it.

_Warn._ So, this I will secure in my pocket; when thou art asked for it,

make two or three bad faces, and say it was left behind: By this means,

he must of necessity leave the town, to see for it in Kent.

_Enter Sir_ JOHN, _Sir_ MARTIN, _and Mrs_ MILLISENT.

_Sir John._ 'Tis no matter, though the old man be suspicious; I knew the

story all beforehand; and since then you have fully satisfied me of your

true friendship to me.--Where are the writings?

[_To_ ROSE.

_Rose._ Sir, I beg your pardon; I thought I had put them up amongst my

lady's things, and it seems, in my haste, I quite forgot them, and left

them at Canterbury.

_Sir John._ This is horribly unlucky! where do you think you left them?

_Rose._ Upon the great box in my lady's chamber; they are safe enough,

I'm sure.

_Sir John._ It must be so--I must take post immediately: Madam, for some

few days I must be absent; and to confirm you, friend, how much I trust

you, I leave the dearest pledge I have on earth, my mistress, to your

care.

_Mill._ If you loved me, you would not take all occasions to leave me

thus.

_Warn._ [_Aside_.] Do, go to Kent, and when you come again, here they

are ready for you.

[_Shews the paper._

_Sir Mart._ What's that you have in your hand there, sirrah?

_Warn._ Pox, what ill luck was this! what shall I say?

_Sir Mart._ Sometimes you have tongue enough; what, are you silent?

_Warn._ 'Tis an account, sir, of what money you have lost since you came

to town.

_Sir Mart._ I am very glad on't: Now I'll make you all see the severity

of my fortune----give me the paper.

_Warn._ Heaven! what does he mean to do? It is not fair writ out, sir.

_Sir John._ Besides, I am in haste; another time, sir----

_Sir Mart._ Pray, oblige me, sir; 'tis but one minute: All people love

to be pitied in their misfortunes, and so do I: will you produce it,

sirrah?

_Warn._ Dear master!

_Sir Mart._ Dear rascal! am I master, or you, you rogue?

_Warn._ Hold yet, sir, and let me read it: You cannot read my hand.

_Sir Mart._ This is ever his way to be disparaging me; but I'll let you

see, sirrah, that I can read your hand better than you yourself can.

_Warn._ You'll repent it; there's a trick in't, sir.

_Sir Mart._ Is there so, sirrah? but I'll bring you out of all your

tricks with a vengeance to you----[_Reads_.] How now! What's this? A

true particular of the estate of Sir John Swallow, knight, lying and

situate in, &c.

_Sir John._ This is the very paper I had lost: I'm very glad on't;

[_Takes the paper_.] it has saved me a most unwelcome journey--but I

will not thank you for the courtesy, which now I find you never did

intend me--this is confederacy, I smoke it now--come, madam, let me wait

on you to your father.

_Mill._ Well, of a witty man, this was the foolishest part that ever I

beheld.

[_Exeunt Sir_ JOHN, MILLISENT, _and_ ROSE.

_Sir Mart._ I am a fool, I must confess it; and I am the most miserable

one without thy help--but yet it was such a mistake as any man might

have made.

_Warn._ No doubt of it.

_Sir Mart._ Pr'ythee chide me! this indifference of thine wounds me to

the heart.

_Warn._ I care not.

_Sir Mart._ Wilt thou not help me for this once?

_Warn._ Sir, I kiss your hands, I have other business.

_Sir Mart._ Dear Warner!

_Warn._ I am inflexible.

_Sir Mart._ Then I am resolved I'll kill myself.

_Warn._ You are master of your own body.

_Sir Mart._ Will you let me damn my soul?

_Warn._ At your pleasure, as the devil and you can agree about it.

_Sir Mart._ D'ye see, the point's ready? Will you do nothing to save my

life?

_Warn._ Not in the least.

_Sir Mart._ Farewell, hard-hearted Warner.

_Warn._ Adieu, soft-headed Sir Martin.

_Sir Mart._ Is it possible?

_Warn._ Why don't you despatch, sir? why all these preambles?

_Sir Mart._ I'll see thee hanged first: I know thou wouldst have me

killed, to get my clothes.

_Warn._ I knew it was but a copy of your countenance; people in this age

are not so apt to kill themselves.

_Sir Mart._ Here are yet ten pieces in my pocket; take 'em, and let's be

friends.

_Warn._ You know the easiness of my nature, and that makes you work upon

it so. Well, sir, for this once I cast an eye of pity on you; but I must

have ten more in hand, before I can stir a foot.

_Sir Mart._ As I am a true gamester, I have lost all but these; but if

thou'lt lend me them, I'll give 'em thee again.

_Warn._ I'll rather trust you till to-morrow; Once more look up, I bid

you hope the best. Why should your folly make your love miscarry, Since

men first play the fools, and then they marry?

[_Exeunt._

ACT IV. SCENE I.

_Enter Sir_ MARTIN MAR-ALL _and_ WARNER.

_Sir Mart._ But are they to be married this day in private, say you?

_Warn._ 'Tis so concluded, sir, I dare assure you.

_Sir Mart._ But why so soon, and in private?

_Warn._ So soon, to prevent the designs upon her; and in private, to

save the effusion of Christian money.

_Sir Mart._ It strikes to my heart already; in fine, I am a dead man.

Warner--

_Warn._ Well, go your ways, I'll try what may be done. Look if he will

stir now; your rival and the old man will see us together; we are just

below the window.

_Sir Mart._ Thou canst not do it.

_Warn._ On the peril of my twenty pieces be it.

_Sir Mart._ But I have found a way to help thee out; trust to my wit but

once.

_Warn._ Name your wit, or think you have the

least grain of wit but once more, and I'll lay it down for ever.

_Sir Mart._ You are a saucy, masterly companion; and so I leave you.

[_Exit._

_Warn._ Help, help, good people! Murder, Murder!

_Enter Sir_ JOHN _and_ MOODY.

_Sir John and Mood._ How now, what's the matter?

_Warn._ I am abused, I am beaten, I am lamed for ever.

_Mood._ Who has used thee so?

_Warn._ The rogue, my master.

_Sir John._ What was the offence?

_Warn._ A trifle, just nothing.

_Sir John._ That's very strange.

_Warn._ It was for telling him he lost too much at play: I meant him

nothing but well, heaven knows; and he, in a cursed damned humour, would

needs revenge his losses upon me: and kicked me, took away my money, and

turned me off; but, if I take it at his hands,--

_Mood._ By cox-nowns, it was an ill-natured part; nay, I thought no

better would come on't, when I heard him at his vow to gads, and in

fines.

_Warn._ But, if I live, I'll cry quittance with him: he had engaged me

to get Mrs Millisent, your daughter, for him; but if I do not all I can

to make her hate him! a great booby, an overgrown oaf, a conceited

Bartlemew--

_Sir John._ Pr'ythee leave off thy choler, and hear me a little: I have

had a great mind to thee a long time; if thou thinkest my service better

than his, from this minute I entertain thee.

_Warn._ With all my heart, sir; and so much the rather, that I might

spite him with it. This was the most propitious fate--

_Mood._ Propitious! and fate! what a damned scanderbag rogue art thou,

to talk at this rate? Hark you, sirrah, one word more of this gibberish,

and I'll set you packing from your new service: I'll have neither

propitious nor fate come within my doors.

_Sir John._ Nay, pray, father--

_Warn._ Good old sir, be pacified; I was pouring out a little of the

dregs that I had left in me of my former service, and now they are gone,

my stomach's clear of them.

_Sir John._ This fellow is come in a happy hour; for now, sir, you and I

may go to prepare the licence, and, in the mean time, he may have an eye

upon your daughter.

_Warn._ If you please I'll wait upon her till she's ready, and then

bring her to what church you shall appoint.

_Mood._ But, friend, you'll find she'll hang an arse, and be very loath

to come along with you, and therefore I had best stay behind and bring

her myself.

_Warn._ I warrant you I have a trick for that, sir: She knows nothing of

my being turned away; so I'll come to her as from Sir Martin, and, under

pretence of carrying her to him, conduct her to you.

_Sir John._ My better angel--

_Mood._ By the mass, 'twas well thought on; well, son, go you before,

I'll speak but one word for a dish or two at dinner, and follow you to

the licence office. Sirrah, stay you here, till my return.

[_Exeunt Sir_ JOHN _and_ MOODY.

_Warn._ Was there ever such a lucky rogue as I? I had always a good

opinion of my wit, but could never think I had so much as now I find. I

have now gained an opportunity to carry away Mrs Millisent, for my

master to get his mistress by means of his rival, to receive all his

happiness, where he could expect nothing but misery: After this exploit,

I will have Lilly draw me in the habit of a hero, with a laurel on my

temples, and an inscription below it; _This is Warner, the flower of

serving-men._

_Enter Messenger._

_Mess._ Pray do me the favour to help me to the speech of Mr Moody.

_Warn._ What's your business?

_Mess._ I have a letter to deliver to him.

_Warn._ Here he comes, you may deliver it yourself to him.

_Enter_ MOODY.

_Mess._ Sir, a gentleman met me at the corner of the next street, and

bid me give this into your own hands.

_Mood._ Stay, friend, till I have read it.

_Mess._ He told me, sir, it required no answer.

[_Exit Mess._

Mood. reads. _Sir, permit me, though a stranger, to give you counsel;

some young gallants have had intelligence, that this day you intend

privately to marry your daughter, the rich heiress; and, in fine, above

twenty of them have dispersed themselves to watch her going out:

Therefore, put it off, if you will avoid mischief, and be advised by_

_Your unknown servant._

_Mood._ By the mackings, I thought there was no good in't, when I saw

_in fine_ there; there are some Papishes, I'll warrant, that lie in wait

for my daughter; or else they are no Englishmen, but some of your French

Outalian-rogues; I owe him thanks, however, this unknown friend of mine,

that told me on't. Warner, no wedding to-day, Warner.

_Warn._ Why, what's the matter, sir?

_Mood._ I say no more, but some wiser than some; I'll keep my daughter

at home this afternoon, and a fig for all these Outalians.

[_Exit_ MOODY.

_Warn._ So, here's another trick of fortune, as unexpected for bad, as

the other was for good. Nothing vexes me, but that I had made my game

cock-sure, and then to be back-gammoned: It must needs be the devil that

writ this letter; he owed my master a spite, and has paid him to the

purpose: And here he comes as merry too! he little thinks what

misfortune has befallen him; and, for my part, I am ashamed to tell him.

_Enter Sir_ MARTIN _laughing_.

_Sir Mart._ Warner, such a jest, Warner!

[_Laughs again._

_Warn._ What a murrain is the matter, sir? Where lies this jest that

tickles you?

_Sir Mart._ Let me laugh out my laugh, and I'll tell thee.

[_Laughs again._

_Warn._ I wish you may have cause for all this mirth.

_Sir Mart._ Hereafter, Warner, be it known unto thee, I will endure no

more to be thy May-game: Thou shalt no more dare to tell me, I spoil thy

projects, and discover thy designs; for I have played such a prize,

without thy help, of my own mother-wit, ('tis true I am hasty sometimes,

and so do harm; but when I have a mind to shew myself, there's no man in

England, though I say't, comes near me as to point of imagination) I'll

make thee acknowledge I have laid a plot that has a soul in't.

_Warn._ Pray, sir, keep me no longer in ignorance of this rare

invention.

_Sir Mart._ Know then, Warner, that, when I left thee, I was possessed

with a terrible fear, that my mistress should be married: Well, thought

I to myself,--and mustering up all the forces of my wit, I did produce

such a stratagem!

_Warn._ But what was it?

_Sir Mart._ I feigned a letter as from an unknown friend to Moody,

wherein I gave him to understand, that if his daughter went out this

afternoon, she would infallibly be snapped by some young fellows that

lay in wait for her.

_Warn._ Very good.

_Sir Mart._ That which follows is yet better; for he I sent assures me,

that in that very nick of time my letter came, her father was just

sending her abroad with a very foolish rascally fellow, that was with

him.

_Warn._ And did you perform all this, a'God's name? Could you do this

wonderful miracle without giving your soul to the devil for his help?

_Sir Mart._ I tell thee, man, I did it; and it was done by the help of

no devil, but this familiar of my own brain; how long would it have been

ere thou couldst have thought of such a project? Martin said to his

man, _Who's the fool now?_

_Warn._ Who's the fool! why, who uses to be the fool? he that ever was

since I knew him, and ever will be so.

_Sir Mart._ What a pox! I think thou art grown envious; not one word in

my commendation?

_Warn._ Faith, sir, my skill is too little to praise you as you deserve;

but if you would have it according to my poor ability, you are one that

had a knock in your cradle, a conceited lack-wit, a designing ass, a

hair-brained fop, a confounded busy-brain, with an eternal windmill in

it; this, in short, sir, is the contents of your panegyric.

_Sir Mart._ But what the devil have I done, to set you thus against me?

_Warn._ Only this, sir: I was the foolish rascally fellow that was with

Moody, and your worship was he to whom I was to bring his daughter.

_Sir Mart._ But how could I know this? I am no witch.

_Warn._ No, I'll be sworn for you, you are no conjurer. Will you go,

sir?

_Sir Mart._ Will you hear my justification?

_Warn._ Shall I see the back of you? speak not a word in your defence.

[_Shoves him._

_Sir Mart._ This is the strangest luck now----

[_Exit._

_Warn._ I'm resolved this devil of his shall never weary me; I will

overcome him, I will invent something that shall stand good in spite of

his folly. Let me see--

_Enter Lord._

_Lord._ Here he is--I must venture on him, for the tyranny of this old

lady is unsupportable; since I have made her my confident, there passes

not an hour, but she passes a pull at my purse-strings; I shall be

ruined if I do not quit myself of her suddenly: I find, now, by sad

experience, that a mistress is much more chargeable than a wife, and

after a little time too, grows full as dull and insignificant.--Mr

Warner! have you a mind to do yourself a courtesy, and me another?

_Warn._ I think, my lord, the question need not be much disputed, for I

have always had a great service for your lordship, and some little

kindness for myself.

_Lord._ What if you should propose mistress Christian as a wife to your

master? You know he's never like to compass t'other.

_Warn._ I cannot tell that, my lord.

_Lord._ Five hundred pounds are yours at the day of marriage.

_Warn._ Five hundred pounds! 'tis true, the temptation is very sweet and

powerful; the devil, I confess, has done his part, and many a good

murder and treason have been committed at a cheaper rate; but yet----

_Lord._ What yet?

_Warn._ To confess the truth, I am resolved to bestow my master upon

that other lady (as difficult as your lordship thinks it), for the

honour of my wit is engaged in it: Will it not be the same to your

lordship, were she married to any other?

_Lord._ The very same.

_Warn._ Come, my lord, not to dissemble with you any longer, I know

where it is that your shoe wrings you: I have observed something in the

house, betwixt some parties that shall be nameless: And know, that you

have been taking up linen at a much dearer rate, than you might have had

it in any draper's in town.

_Lord._ I see I have not danced in a net before you.

_Warn._ As for that old lady, whom hell confound, she is the greatest

jilt in nature; cheat is her study; all her joy to cozen; she loves

nothing but herself; and draws all lines to that corrupted centre.

_Lord._ I have found her out, though late: First, I'll undertake I ne'er

enjoyed her niece under the rate of five hundred pounds a-time; never

was woman's flesh held up so high: Every night I find out for a new

maidenhead, and she has sold it me as often as ever Mother Temple,

Bennet, or Gifford, have put off boiled capons for quails and

partridges.

_Warn._ This is nothing to what bills you'll have when she's brought to

bed, after her hard bargain, as they call it; then crammed capons,

pea-hens, chickens in the grease, pottages, and fricasees, wine from

Shatling, and La-fronds, with New River, clearer by sixpence the pound

than ever God Almighty made it; then midwife--dry nurse--wet nurse--and

all the rest of their accomplices, with cradle, baby-clouts, and

bearing-clothes--possets, caudles, broths, jellies, and gravies; and

behind all these, glisters, suppositers, and a barbarous apothecary's

bill, more inhuman than a tailor's.

_Lord._ I sweat to think on't.

_Warn._ Well, my lord, cheer up! I have found a way to rid you of it

all; within a short time you shall know more; yonder appears a young

lady, whom I must needs speak with; please you go in, and prepare the

old lady and your mistress.

_Lord._ Good luck, and five hundred pounds attend thee.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ MILLISENT _and_ ROSE _above_.

_Mill._ I am resolved I'll never marry him.

_Rose._ So far you are right, madam.

_Mill._ But how to hinder it, I cannot possibly tell; for my father

presses me to it, and will take no denial: Would I knew some way!

_Warn._ Madam, I'll teach you the very nearest, for I have just now

found it out.

_Rose._ Are you there, Mr Littleplot?

_Warn._ Studying to deserve thee, Rose, by my diligence for thy lady; I

stand here, methinks, just like a wooden Mercury, to point her out the

way to matrimony.

_Rose._ Or, serving-man like, ready to carry up the hot meat for your

master, and then to fall upon the cold yourself.

_Warn._ I know not what you call the cold, but I believe I shall find

warm work on't: In the first place, then, I must acquaint you, that I

have seemingly put off my master, and entered myself into Sir John's

service.

_Mill._ Most excellent!

_Warn._ And thereupon, but base----

_Enter_ MOODY.

_Mill._ Something he would tell us; but see what luck's here!

_Mood._ How now, sirrah? Are you so great there already?

_Mill._ I find my father's jealous of him still.

_Warn._ Sir, I was only teaching my young lady a new song, and if you

please you shall hear it.

SINGS.

_Make ready, fair lady, to-night,

And stand at the door below;

For I will be there,

To receive you with care,

And to your true love you shall go._

_Mood._ Ods bobs, this is very pretty.

_Mill._ Ay, so is the lady's answer too, if I could but hit on't.

SINGS.

_And when the stars twinkle so bright,

Then down to the door will I creep;

To my love will I fly,

E'er the jealous can spy,

And leave my old daddy asleep._

_Mood._ Bodikins, I like not that so well, to cozen her old father: it

may be my own case another time.

_Rose._ Oh, madam! yonder's your persecutor returned.

_Enter Sir_ JOHN.

_Mill._ I'll into my chamber, to avoid the sight of him as long as I

can. Lord! that my old doating father should throw me away upon such an

_ignoramus_, and deny me to such a wit as Sir Martin.

[_Exeunt_ MILL. _and_ ROSE _from above_.

_Mood._ O, son! here has been the most villainous tragedy against you.

_Sir John._ What tragedy? Has there been any blood shed since I went?

_Mood._ No blood shed: but, as I told you, a most damnable tragedy.

_Warn._ A tragedy! I'll be hanged if he does not mean a stratagem.

_Mood._ Jack sauce! if I say it is a tragedy, it shall be a tragedy, in

spite of you; teach your grandam how to piss. What! I hope I am old

enough to spout English with you, sir.

_Sir John._ But what was the reason you came not after me?

_Mood._ 'Twas well I did not; I'll promise you, there were those would

have made bold with mistress Bride; and if she had stirred out of doors,

there were whipsters abroad, i'faith, padders of maidenheads, that would

have trussed her up, and picked the lock of her affections, ere a man

could have said, what's this? But, by good luck, I had warning of it by

a friend's letter.

_Sir John._ The remedy for all such dangers is easy; you may send for a

parson, and have the business despatched at home.

_Mood._ A match, i'faith; do you provide a _domine_, and I'll go tell

her our resolutions, and hearten her up against the day of battle.

[_Exit._

_Sir John._ Now I think on't, this letter must needs come from Sir

Martin; a plot of his, upon my life, to hinder our marriage.

_Warn._ I see, sir, you'll still mistake him for a wit; but I'm much

deceived, if that letter came not from another hand.

_Sir John._ From whom, I pr'ythee?

_Warn._ Nay, for that you shall excuse me, sir; I do not love to make a

breach between persons, that are to be so near related.

_Sir John._ Thou seemest to imply, that my mistress was in the plot.

_Warn._ Can you make a doubt on't? Do you not know she ever loved him,

and can you hope she has so soon forsaken him? You may make yourself

miserable, if you please, by such a marriage.

_Sir John._ When she is once mine, her virtue will secure me.

_Warn._ Her virtue!

_Sir John._ What, do you make a mock on't?

_Warn._ Not I; I assure you, sir, I think it no such jesting matter.

_Sir John._ Why, is she not honest?

_Warn._ Yes, in my conscience is she; for Sir Martin's tongue's no

slander.

_Sir John._ But does he say to the contrary?

_Warn._ If one would believe him,--which, for my part, I do not,--he has

in a manner confessed it to me.

_Sir John._ Hell and damnation!

_Warn._ Courage, sir, never vex yourself; I'll warrant you 'tis all a

lie.

_Sir John._ But, how shall I be sure 'tis so?

_Warn._ When you are married, you'll soon make trial, whether she be a

maid or no.

_Sir John._ I do not love to make that experiment at my own cost.

_Warn._ Then you must never marry.

_Sir John._ Ay, but they have so many tricks to cheat a man, which are

entailed from mother to daughter through all generations; there's no

keeping a lock for that door, for which every one has a key.

_Warn._ As, for example, their drawing up their breaths, with--oh! you

hurt me, can you be so cruel? then, the next day, she steals a visit to

her lover, that did you the courtesy beforehand, and in private tells

him how she cozened you; twenty to one but she takes out another lesson

with him, to practise the next night.

_Sir John._ All this while, miserable I must be their May-game!

_Warn._ 'Tis well, if you escape so; for commonly he strikes in with

you, and becomes your friend.

_Sir John._ Deliver me from such a friend, that stays behind with my

wife, when I gird on my sword to go abroad.

_Warn._ Ay, there's your man, sir; besides, he will be sure to watch

your haunts, and tell her of them, that, if occasion be, she may have

wherewithal to recriminate: at least she will seem to be jealous of you;

and who would suspect a jealous wife?

_Sir John._ All manner of ways I am most miserable.

_Warn._ But, if she be not a maid when you marry her, she may make a

good wife afterwards; 'tis but imagining you have taken such a man's

widow.

_Sir John._ If that were all; but the man will come and claim her again.

_Warn._ Examples have been frequent of those that have been wanton, and

yet afterwards take up.

_Sir John._ Ay, the same thing they took up before.

_Warn._ The truth is, an honest simple girl, that's ignorant of all

things, maketh the best matrimony: There is such pleasure in instructing

her; the best is, there's not one dunce in all the sex; such a one with

a good fortune----

_Sir John._ Ay, but where is she, Warner?

_Warn._ Near enough, but that you are too far engaged.

_Sir John._ Engaged to one, that hath given me the earnest of cuckoldom

beforehand!

_Warn._ What think you then of Mrs Christian here in the house? There's

five thousand pounds, and a better penny.

_Sir John._ Ay, but is she fool enough?

_Warn._ She's none of the wise virgins, I can assure you.

_Sir John._ Dear Warner, step into the next room, and inveigle her out

this way, that I may speak to her.

_Warn._ Remember, above all things, you keep this wooing secret; if it

takes the least wind, old Moody will be sure to hinder it.

_Sir John._ Dost thou think I shall get her aunt's consent?

_Warn._ Leave that to me.

[_Exit_ WARN.

_Sir John._ How happy a man shall I be, if I can but compass this! and

what a precipice have I avoided! then the revenge, too, is so sweet, to

steal a wife under her father's nose, and leave 'em in the lurch, who

have abused me; well, such a servant as this Warner is a jewel.

_Enter_ WARNER _and Mrs_ CHRISTIAN _to him_.

_Warn._ There she is, sir; now I'll go to prepare her aunt.

[_Exit._

_Sir John._ Sweet mistress, I am come to wait upon you.

_Chr._ Truly you are too good to wait on me.

_Sir John._ And in the condition of a suitor.

_Chr._ As how, forsooth?

_Sir John._ To be so happy as to marry you.

_Chr._ O Lord, I would not marry for any thing!

_Sir John._ Why? 'tis the honest end of womankind.

_Chr._ Twenty years hence, forsooth: I would not lie in bed with a man

for a world, their beards will so prickle one.

_Sir John._ Pah!--What an innocent girl it is, and very child! I like a

colt that never yet was backed; for so I shall make her what I list, and

mould her as I will. Lord! her innocence makes me laugh my cheeks all

wet. [_Aside_.]--Sweet lady----

_Chr._ I'm but a gentlewoman, forsooth.

_Sir John._ Well then, sweet mistress, if I get your friends' consent,

shall I have yours?

_Chr._ My old lady may do what she will, forsooth; but by my truly, I

hope she will have more care of me, than to marry me yet. Lord bless me,

what should I do with a husband?

_Sir John._ Well, sweetheart, then instead of wooing you, I must woo my

old lady.

_Chr._ Indeed, gentleman, my old lady is married already: Cry you mercy,

forsooth, I think you are a knight.

_Sir John._ Happy in that title, only to make you a lady.

_Chr._ Believe me, Mr Knight, I would not be a lady; it makes folks

proud, and so humorous, and so ill huswifes, forsooth.

_Sir John._ Pah!--she's a baby, the simplest thing that ever yet I knew:

the happiest man I shall be in the world; for should I have my wish, it

should be to keep school, and teach the bigger girls, and here, in one,

my wish it is absolved.

_Enter Lady_ DUPE.

_L. Dupe._ By your leave, sir: I hope this noble knight will make you

happy, and you make him--

_Chr._ What should I make him?

[_Sighing._

_L. Dupe._ Marry, you shall make him happy in a good wife.

_Chr._ I will not marry, madam.

_L. Dupe._ You fool!

_Sir John._ Pray, madam, let me speak with you; on my soul, 'tis the

prettiest innocentest thing in the world.

_L. Dupe._ Indeed, sir, she knows little besides her work, and her

prayers; but I'll talk with the fool.

_Sir John._ Deal gently with her, dear madam.

_L. Dupe._ Come, Christian, will you not marry this noble knight?

_Chr._ Ye--ye--yes----

[_Sobbingly._

_L. Dupe._ Sir, it shall be to night.

_Sir John._ This innocence is a dowry beyond all price.

[_Exeunt old Lady and Mrs_ CHRISTIAN.

_Enter Sir_ MARTIN _to Sir_ JOHN, _musing_.

_Sir Mart._ You are very melancholy, methinks, sir.

_Sir John._ You are mistaken, sir.

_Sir Mart._ You may dissemble as you please, but Mrs Millisent lies at

the bottom of your heart.

_Sir John._ My heart, I assure you, has no room for so poor a trifle.

_Sir Mart._ Sure you think to wheedle me; would you have me imagine you

do not love her?

_Sir John._ Love her! why should you think me such a sot? love a

prostitute, an infamous person!

_Sir Mart._ Fair and soft, good Sir John.

_Sir John._ You see, I am no very obstinate rival, I leave the field

free to you: Go on, sir, and pursue your good fortune, and be as happy

as such a common creature can make thee.

_Sir Mart._ This is Hebrew-Greek to me; but I must tell you, sir, I will

not suffer my divinity to be prophaned by such a tongue as yours.

_Sir John._ Believe it; whate'er I say, I can quote my author for.

_Sir Mart._ Then, sir, whoever told it you, lied in his throat, d'ye

see, and deeper than that, d'ye see, in his stomach, and his guts, d'ye

see: Tell me she's a common person! he's a son of a whore that said it,

and I'll make him eat his words, though he spoke 'em in a privy-house.

_Sir John._ What if Warner told me so? I hope you'll grant him to be a

competent judge in such a business.

_Sir Mart._ Did that precious rascal say it?--Now I think on't, I'll not

believe you: In fine, sir, I'll hold you an even wager he denies it.

_Sir John._ I'll lay you ten to one, he justifies it to your face.

_Sir Mart._ I'll make him give up the ghost under my fist, if he does

not deny it.

_Sir John._ I'll cut off his ears upon the spot, if he does not stand

to't.

_Enter_ WARNER.

_Sir Mart._ Here he comes, in pudding-time, to resolve the

question:--Come hither, you lying varlet, hold up your hand at the bar

of justice, and answer me to what I shall demand.

_Warn._ What-a-goodjer is the matter, sir?

_Sir Mart._ Thou spawn of the old serpent, fruitful in nothing but in

lies!

_Warn._ A very fair beginning this.

_Sir Mart._ Didst thou dare to cast thy venom upon such a saint as Mrs

Millisent, to traduce her virtue, and say it was adulterate?

_Warn._ Not guilty, my lord.

_Sir Mart._ I told you so.

_Sir John._ How, Mr Rascal! have you forgot what you said but now

concerning Sir Martin and Mrs Millisent? I'll stop the lie down your

throat, if you dare deny it.

_Sir Mart._ Say you so! are you there again, i'faith?

_Warn._ Pray pacify yourself, sir; 'twas a plot of my own devising.

[_Aside._

_Sir Mart._ Leave off your winking and your pinking, with a hose-pox

t'ye. I'll understand none of it; tell me in plain English the truth of

the business; for an you were my own brother, you should pay for it:

Belie my mistress! what a pox, d'ye think I have no sense of honour?

_Warn._ What the devil's the matter w'ye? Either be at quiet, or I'll

resolve to take my heels, and begone.

_Sir Mart._ Stop thief, there! what, did you think to 'scape the hand of

justice? [_Lays hold on him_.] The best on't is, sirrah, your heels are

not altogether so nimble as your tongue.

[_Beats him._

_Warn._ Help! Murder! Murder!

_Sir Mart._ Confess, you rogue, then.

_Warn._ Hold your hands, I think the devil's in you,--I tell you 'tis a

device of mine.

_Sir Mart._ And have you no body to devise it on but my mistress, the

very map of innocence?

_Sir John._ Moderate your anger, good Sir Martin.

_Sir Mart._ By your patience, sir, I'll chastise him abundantly.

_Sir John._ That's a little too much, sir, by your favour, to beat him

in my presence.

_Sir Mart._ That's a good one, i'faith; your presence shall hinder me

from beating my own servant?

_Warn._ O traitor to all sense and reason! he's going to discover that

too.

_Sir Mart._ An I had a mind to beat him to mummy, he's my own, I hope.

_Sir John._ At present, I must tell you, he's mine, sir.

_Sir Mart._ Hey-day! here's fine juggling!

_Warn._ Stop yet, sir, you are just upon the brink of a precipice.

[_Aside._

_Sir Mart._ What is't thou mean'st now?--O Lord! my mind misgives me, I

have done some fault; but would I were hanged if I can find it out.

[_Aside._

_Warn._ There's no making him understand me.

_Sir Mart._ Pox on't, come what will, I'll not be faced down with a lie;

I say, he is my man.

_Sir John._ Pray remember yourself better; did not you turn him away for

some fault lately, and laid a livery of black and blue on his back,

before he went?

_Sir Mart._ The devil of any fault, or any black and blue, that I

remember: Either the rascal put some trick upon you, or you would upon

me.

_Sir John._ O ho, then it seems the cudgelling and turning away were

pure invention; I am glad I understand it.

_Sir Mart._ In fine, its all so damned a lie----

_Warn._ Alas! he has forgot it, sir; good wits, you know, have bad

memories.

_Sir John._ No, no, sir, that shall not serve your turn; you may return

when you please to your old master; I give you a fair discharge, and a

glad man I am to be so rid of you: Were you thereabouts, i'faith? What a

snake I had entertained in my bosom! Fare you well, sir, and lay your

next plot better between you, I advise you.

[_Exit Sir_ JOHN.

_Warn._ Lord, sir, how you stand, as you were nipped i'the head! Have

you done any new piece of folly, that makes you look so like an ass?

_Sir Mart._ Here's three pieces of gold yet, if I had the heart to offer

it thee.

[_Holds the gold afar off, trembling._

_Warn._ Noble sir, what have I done to deserve so great a liberality? I

confess, if you had beaten me for my own fault, if you had utterly

destroyed all my projects, then it might have been expected, that ten or

twenty pieces should have been offered by way of recompence or

satisfaction.

_Sir Mart._ Nay, an you be so full of your flouts, your friend and

servant; who the devil could tell the meaning of your signs and tokens,

an you go to that?

_Warn._ You are no ass then?

_Sir Mart._ Well, sir, to do you service, d'ye see, I am an ass in a

fair way; will that satisfy you?

_Warn._ For this once produce those three pieces; I am contented to

receive that inconsiderable tribute; or make 'em six, and I'll take the

fault upon myself.

_Sir Mart._ Are we friends then? If we are, let me advise you----

_Warn._ Yet advising!

_Sir Mart._ For no harm, good Warner: But pray next time make me of your

council, let me enter into the business, instruct me in every point, and

then if I discover all, I am resolved to give over affairs, and retire

from the world.

_Warn._ Agreed, it shall be so; but let us now take breath a while, then

on again. For though we had the worst, those heats are past; We'll whip

and spur, and fetch him up at last.

[_Exeunt._

ACT V. SCENE I.

_Enter Lord, Lady_ DUPE, _Mistress_ CHRISTIAN, ROSE, _and_ WARNER.

_Lord._ Your promise is admirably made good to me, that Sir John Swallow

should be this night married to Mrs Christian; instead of that, he is

more deeply engaged than ever with old Moody.

_Warn._ I cannot help those ebbs and flows of fortune.

_L. Dupe._ I am sure my niece suffers most in't; he's come off to her

with a cold compliment of a mistake in his mistress's virtue, which he

has now found out, by your master's folly, to be a plot of yours to

separate them.

_Chr._ To be forsaken, when a woman has given her consent!

_Lord._ 'Tis the same scorn, as to have a town rendered up, and

afterwards slighted.

_Rose._ You are a sweet youth, sir, to use my lady so, when she depended

on you; is this the faith of a valet de chambre? I would be ashamed to

be such a dishonour to my profession; it will reflect upon us in time;

we shall be ruined by your good example.

_Warn._ As how, my dear lady embassadress?

_Rose._ Why, they say the women govern their ladies, and you govern us:

So if you play fast and loose, not a gallant will bribe us for our good

wills; the gentle guinea will now go to the ordinary, which used as duly

to steal into our hands at the stair-foot, as into Mr Doctor's at

parting.

_Lord._ Night's come, and I expect your promise.

_L. Dupe._ Fail with me if you think good, sir.

_Chr._ I give no more time.

_Rose._ And if my mistress go to bed a maid to-night--

_Warn._ Hey-day! you are dealing with me, as they do with the bankrupts,

call in all your debts together; there's no possibility of payment at

this rate, but I'll coin for you all as fast as I can, I assure you.

_L. Dupe._ But you must not think to pay us with false money, as you

have done hitherto.

_Rose._ Leave off your mountebank tricks with us, and fall to your

business in good earnest.

_Warn._ Faith, and I will, Rose; for, to confess the truth, I am a kind

of mountebank; I have but one cure for all your diseases, that is, that

my master may marry Mrs Millisent, for then Sir John Swallow will of

himself return to Mrs Christian.

_Lord._ He says true, and therefore we must all be

helping to that design.

_Warn._ I'll put you upon something, give me but a thinking time. In the

first place, get a warrant and bailiffs to arrest Sir John Swallow upon

a promise of marriage to Mrs Christian.

_Lord._ Very good.

_L. Dupe._ We'll all swear it.

_Warn._ I never doubted your ladyship in the least, madam--for the rest

we will consider hereafter.

_Lord._ Leave this to us.

[_Ex. Lord, Lady_ DUPE, _and_ CHR.

_Warn._ Rose, where's thy lady?

_Mill._ [_above_.] What have you to say to her?

_Warn._ Only to tell you, madam, I am going forward in the great work of

projection.

_Mill._ I know not whether you will deserve my thanks when the work's

done.

_Warn._ Madam, I hope you are not become indifferent to my master?

_Mill._ If he should prove a fool, after all your crying up his wit, I

shall be a miserable woman.

_Warn._ A fool! that were a good jest, i'faith: but how comes your

ladyship to suspect it?

_Rose._ I have heard, madam, your greatest wits have ever a touch of

madness and extravagance in them, so perhaps has he.

_Warn._ There's nothing more distant than wit and folly; yet, like east

and west, they may meet in a point, and produce actions that are but a

hair's breadth from one another.

_Rose._ I'll undertake he has wit enough to make one laugh at him a

whole day together: He's a most comical person.

_Mill._ For all this, I will not swear he is no fool; he has still

discovered all your plots.

_Warn._ O, madam, that's the common fate of your Machiavelians; they

draw their designs so subtle, that their very fineness breaks them.

_Mill._ However, I'm resolved to be on the sure side: I will have

certain proof of his wit, before I marry him.

_Warn._ Madam, I'll give you one; he wears his clothes like a great

sloven, and that's a sure sign of wit; he neglects his outward parts;

besides, he speaks French, sings, dances, plays upon the lute.

_Mill._ Does he do all this, say you?

_Warn._ Most divinely, madam.

_Mill._ I ask no more; then let him give me a serenade immediately; but

let him stand in view, I'll not be cheated.

_Warn._ He shall do't, madam:---But how, the devil knows; for he sings

like a screech-owl, and never touched the lute.

[_Aside._

_Mill._ You'll see't performed?

_Warn._ Now I think on't, madam, this will but retard our enterprise.

_Mill._ Either let him do't, or see me no more.

_Warn._ Well, it shall be done, madam; but where's your father? will not

he overhear it?

_Mill._ As good hap is, he's below stairs, talking with a seaman, that

has brought him news from the East Indies.

_Warn._ What concernment can he have there?

_Mill._ He had a bastard son there, whom he loved extremely: but not

having any news from him these many years, concluded him dead; this son

he expects within these three days.

_Warn._ When did he see him last?

_Mill._ Not since he was seven years old.

_Warn._ A sudden thought comes into my head, to make him appear before

his time; let my master pass for him, and by that means he may come into

the house unsuspected by your father, or his rival.

_Mill._ According as he performs his serenade, I'll talk with

you----make haste----I must retire a little.

[_Exit_ MILL. _from above_.

_Rose._ I'll instruct him most rarely, he shall never be found out; but,

in the mean time, what wilt thou do for a serenade?

_Warn._ Faith, I am a little non-plus'd on the sudden; but a warm

consolation from thy lips, Rose, would set my wits a working again.

_Rose._ Adieu, Warner.

[_Exit._

_Warn._ Inhuman Rose, adieu!--Blockhead Warner, into what a premunire

hast thou brought thyself; this 'tis to be so forward to promise for

another;--but to be godfather to a fool, to promise and vow he should do

any thing like a Christian--

_Enter Sir_ MARTIN MAR-ALL.

_Sir Mart._ Why, how now, bully, in a brown study? For my good, I

warrant it; there's five shillings for thee. What! we must encourage

good wits sometimes.

_Warn._ Hang your white pelf: Sure, sir, by your largess, you mistake me

for Martin Parker, the ballad-maker; your covetousness has offended my

muse, and quite dulled her.

_Sir Mart._ How angry the poor devil is! In fine, thou art as choleric

as a cook by a fireside.

_Warn._ I am overheated, like a gun, with continual discharging my wit:

'Slife, sir, I have rarified my brains for you, 'till they are

evaporated; but come, sir, do something for yourself like a man: I have

engaged you shall give to your mistress a serenade in your proper

person: I'll borrow a lute for you.

_Sir Mart._ I'll warrant thee I'll do't, man.

_Warn._ You never learned: I do not think you know one stop.

_Sir Mart._ 'Tis no matter for that, sir; I'll play as fast as I can,

and never stop at all.

_Warn._ Go to, you are an invincible fool, I see. Get up into your

window, and set two candles by you; take my landlord's lute in your

hand, and fumble on it, and make grimaces with your mouth, as if you

sung; in the mean time, I'll play in the next room in the dark, and

consequently your mistress, who will come to her balcony over against

you, will think it to be you; and at the end of every tune, I'll ring

the bell that hangs between your chamber and mine, that you may know

when to have done.

_Sir Mart._ Why, this is fair play now, to tell a man beforehand what he

must do; gramercy, i'faith, boy, now if I fail thee----

_Warn._ About your business, then, your mistress and her maid appear

already: I'll give you the sign with the bell when I am prepared, for my

lute is at hand in the barber's shop.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter Mrs_ MILLISENT, _and_ ROSE, _with a candle by them, above._

_Rose._ We shall have rare music.

_Mill._ I wish it prove so; for I suspect the knight can neither play

nor sing.

_Rose._ But if he does, you are bound to pay the music, madam.

_Mill._ I'll not believe it, except both my ears and eyes are witnesses.

_Rose._ But 'tis night, madam, and you cannot see him; yet he may play

admirably in the dark.

_Mill._ Where's my father?

_Rose._ You need not fear him, he's still employed with that same

seaman; and I have set Mrs Christian to watch their discourse, that,

betwixt her and me, Warner may have wherewithal to instruct his master.

_Mill._ But yet there's fear my father will find out the plot.

_Rose._ Not in the least; for my old lady has provided two rare

disguises for the master and the man.

_Mill._ Peace, I hear them beginning to tune the lute.

_Rose._ And see, madam, where your true knight, Sir Martin, is placed

yonder like Apollo, with his lute in his hand, and his rays about his

head. [SIR MARTIN _appears at the adverse window; a tune is played; when

it is done_, WARNER _rings, and_ SIR MARTIN _holds_.] Did he not play

most excellently, Madam?

_Mill._ He played well, and yet methinks he held his lute but

untowardly.

_Rose._ Dear madam, peace; now for the song.

THE SONG[B].

_Blind love, to this hour,

Had never, like me, a slave under his power:

Then blest be the dart,

That he threw at my heart;

For nothing can prove

A joy so great, as to be wounded with love.

My days, and my nights,

Are filled to the purpose with sorrows and frights:

From my heart still I sigh,

And my eyes are ne'er dry;

So that, Cupid be praised,

I am to the top of love's happiness raised.

My soul's all on fire,

So that I have the pleasure to doat and desire:

Such a pretty soft pain,

That it tickles each vein;

'Tis the dream of a smart,

Which makes me breathe short, when it beats at my heart.

Sometimes, in a pet,

When I am despised, I my freedom would get:

But strait a sweet smile

Does my anger beguile,

And my heart does recal;

Then the more I do struggle, the lower I fall.

Heaven does not impart

Such a grace, as to love, unto every ones heart;

For many may wish

To be wounded, and miss:

Then blest be loves fire,

And more blest her eyes, that first taught me desire._

_The Song being done_, WARNER _rings again; but_ SIR MARTIN _continues

fumbling, and gazing on his Mistress_.

_Mill._ A pretty humoured song. But stay, methinks he plays and sings

still, and yet we cannot hear him. Play louder, Sir Martin, that we may

have the fruits on't.

_Warn._ [_Peeping_.] Death! this abominable fool will spoil all again.

Damn him, he stands making his grimaces yonder; and he looks so

earnestly upon his mistress, that he hears me not.

[_Rings again._

_Mill._ Ah, ah! have I found you out, sir? Now, as I live and breathe,

this is pleasant: Rose, his man played and sung for him, and he, it

seems, did not know when he should give over.

[MILL. _and_ ROSE _laugh_.

_Warn._ They have found him out, and laugh yonder, as if they would

split their sides. Why, Mr Fool, Oaf, Coxcomb, will you hear none of

your names?

_Mill._ Sir Martin, Sir Martin, take your man's counsel, and keep time

with your music.

_Sir Mart._ [_Peeping_.] Hah! What do you say, madam? How does your

ladyship like my music?

_Mill._ O most heavenly! just like the harmony of the spheres, that is

to be admired, and never heard.

_Warn._ You have ruined all, by your not leaving off in time.

_Sir Mart._ What the devil would you have a man do, when my hand is in!

Well, o'my conscience, I think there is a fate upon me.

[_Noise within._

_Mill._ Look, Rose, what's the matter.

_Rose._ 'Tis Sir John Swallow pursued by the bailiffs, madam, according

to our plot; it seems they have dogged him thus late to his lodging.

_Mill._ That's well; for though I begin not to love this fool, yet I am

glad I shall be rid of him.

[_Exeunt_ MILL. _and_ ROSE.

_Enter_ SIR JOHN, _pursued by three Bailiffs over the stage_.

_Sir Mart._ Now I'll redeem all again; my mistress shall see my valour,

I'm resolved on't. Villains, rogues, poltroons! What? three upon one? In

fine, I'll be with you immediately.

[_Exit._

_Warn._ Why, sir, are you stark mad? have you no grain of sense left?

He's gone! now is he as earnest in the quarrel as Cokes among the

puppets; 'tis to no purpose whatever I do for him.

[_Exit_ WARNER.

_Enter_ SIR JOHN _and_ SIR MARTIN (_having driven away the Bailiffs_);

SIR MARTIN _flourishes his sword_.

Sir Mart. _Victoria! Victoria!_ What heart, Sir John? you have received

no harm, I hope?

_Sir John._ Not the least; I thank you, sir, for your timely assistance,

which I will requite with any thing, but the resigning of my mistress.

Dear Sir Martin, a goodnight.

_Sir Mart._ Pray let me wait upon you in, Sir John.

_Sir John._ I can find my way to Mrs Millisent without you, sir, I thank

you.

_Sir Mart._ But pray, what were you to be arrested for?

_Sir John._ I know no more than you; some little debts perhaps I left

unpaid by my negligence: Once more, good night, sir.

[_Exit._

_Sir Mart._ He's an ungrateful fellow; and so, in fine, I shall tell him

when I see him next--Monsieur----

_Enter_ WARNER.

Warner, _a propos_! I hope you'll applaud me now. I have defeated the

enemy, and that in sight of my mistress; boy, I have charmed her,

i'faith, with my valour.

_Warn._ Ay, just as much as you did e'en now with your music; go, you

are so beastly a fool, that a chiding is thrown away upon you.

_Sir Mart._ Fool in your face, sir; call a man of honour fool, when I

have just achieved such an enterprise--Gad, now my blood's up, I am a

dangerous person, I can tell you that, Warner.

_Warn._ Poor animal, I pity thee!

_Sir Mart._ I grant I am no musician, but you must allow me for a

swordsman: I have beat them bravely; and, in fine, I am come off unhurt,

save only a little scratch in the head.

_Warn._ That's impossible; thou hast a skull so thick, no sword can

pierce it; but much good may it do you, sir, with the fruits of your

valour: You rescued your rival, when he was to be arrested, on purpose

to take him off from your mistress.

_Sir Mart._ Why, this is ever the fate of ingenious men; nothing thrives

they take in hand.

_Enter_ ROSE.

_Rose._ Sir Martin, you have done your business with my lady, she'll

never look upon you more; she says, she's so well satisfied of your wit

and courage, that she will not put you to any further trial.

_Sir Mart._ Warner, is there no hopes, Warner?

_Warn._ None that I know.

_Sir Mart._ Let's have but one civil plot more before we part.

_Warn._ 'Tis to no purpose.

_Rose._ Yet, if he had some golden friends, that would engage for him

the next time----

_Sir Mart._ Here's a Jacobus and a Carolus will enter into bonds for me.

_Rose._ I'll take their royal words for once.

[_She fetches two disguises._

_Warn._ The meaning of this, dear Rose?

_Rose._ 'Tis in pursuance of thy own invention, Warner; a child which

thy wit hath begot upon me: But let us lose no time. Help! help! dress

thy master, that he may be Anthony, old Moody's bastard, and thou his,

come from the East Indies.

_Sir Mart._ Hey-tarock it--now we shall have Rose's device too; I long

to be at it, pray let's hear more on it.

_Rose._ Old Moody, you must know, in his younger years, when he was a

Cambridge-scholar, made bold with a townsman's daughter there, by whom

he had a bastard, whose name was Anthony, whom you, Sir Martin, are to

represent.

_Sir Mart._ I warrant you; let me alone for Tony: But pray go on, Rose.

_Rose._ This child, in his father's time, he durst not own, but bred him

privately in the isle of Ely, till he was seven years old, and from

thence sent him with one Bonaventure, a merchant, for the East Indies.

_Warn._ But will not this over-burden your memory, sir?

_Sir Mart._ There's no answering thee any thing; thou thinkest I am good

for nothing.

_Rose._ Bonaventure died at Surat within two years, and this Anthony has

lived up and down in the Mogul's country, unheard of by his father till

this night, and is expected within these three days: Now if you can pass

for him, you may have admittance into the house, and make an end of all

the business before the other Anthony arrives.

_Warn._ But hold, Rose, there's one considerable point omitted; what was

his mother's name?

_Rose._ That indeed I had forgot; her name was Dorothy, daughter to one

Draw-water, a vintner at the Rose.

_Warn._ Come, sir, are you perfect in your lesson? Anthony Moody, born

in Cambridge, bred in the isle of Ely, sent into the Mogul's country at

seven years old, with one Bonaventure, a merchant, who died within two

years; your mother's name Dorothy Draw-water, the vintner's daughter at

the Rose.

_Sir Mart._ I have it all _ad unguem_--what! do'st think I'm a sot? But

stay a little,----how have I lived all this while in that same country?

_Warn._ What country?--Pox, he has forgot already!

_Rose._ The Mogul's country.

_Sir Mart._ Ay, ay, the Mogul's country. What the devil, any man may

mistake a little; but now I have it perfect: But what have I been doing

all this while in the Mogul's country?--He's a heathen rogue, I am

afraid I shall never hit upon his name.

_Warn._ Why, you have been passing your time there no matter how.

_Rose._ Well, if this passes upon the old man, I'll bring your business

about again with my mistress, never fear it; stay you here at the door,

I'll go tell the old man of your arrival.

_Warn._ Well, sir, now play your part exactly, and I'll forgive all your

former errors.

_Sir Mart._ Hang them, they were only slips of youth. How peremptory and

domineering this rogue is, now he sees I have need of his service! Would

I were out of his power again, I would make him lie at my feet like any

spaniel.

_Enter_ MOODY, _Sir_ JOHN, _Lord_, _Lady_ DUPE, MILLISENT, CHRISTIAN,

_and_ ROSE.

_Mood._ Is he here already, say'st thou? Which is he?

_Rose._ That sun-burned gentleman.

_Mood._ My dear boy, Anthony, do I see thee again before I die? Welcome,

welcome.

_Sir Mart._ My dear father, I know it is you by instinct; for, methinks,

I am as like you, as if I were spit out of your mouth.

_Rose._ Keep it up, I beseech your lordship.

[_Aside to the Lord._

_Lord._ He's wonderous like indeed.

_L. Dupe._ The very image of him.

_Mood._ Anthony, you must salute all this company: This is my Lord

Dartmouth, this my Lady Dupe, this her niece Mrs Christian.

[_He salutes them._

_Sir Mart._ And that's my sister; methinks I have a good resemblance of

her too: Honest sister, I must needs kiss you, sister.

_Warn._ This fool will discover himself; I foresee it already by his

carriage to her.

_Mood._ And now, Anthony, pray tell us a little of your travels.

_Sir Mart._ Time enough for that, forsooth, father; but I have such a

natural affection for my sister, that, methinks, I could live and die

with her: Give me thy hand, sweet sister.

_Sir John._ She's beholden to you, sir.

_Sir Mart._ What if she be, sir? what's that to you, sir?

_Sir John._ I hope, sir, I have not offended you?

_Sir Mart._ It may be you have, and it may be you have not, sir; you see

I have no mind to satisfy you, sir: What a devil! a man cannot talk a

little to his own flesh and blood, but you must be interposing, with a

murrain to you.

_Mood._ Enough of this, good Anthony; this gentleman is to marry your

sister.

_Sir Mart._ He marry my sister! Ods foot, sir, there are some bastards,

that shall be nameless, that are as well worthy to marry her, as any

man; and have as good blood in their veins.

_Sir John._ I do not question it in the least, sir.

_Sir Mart._ 'Tis not your best course, sir; you marry my sister! what

have you seen of the world, sir? I have seen your hurricanos, and your

calentures, and your ecliptics, and your tropic lines, sir, an you go to

that, sir.

_Warn._ You must excuse my master; the sea's a little working in his

brain, sir.

_Sir Mart._ And your Prester Johns of the East Indies, and your great

Turk of Rome and Persia.

_Mood._ Lord, what a thing it is to be learned, and a traveller!

Bodikin, it makes me weep for joy; but, Anthony, you must not bear

yourself too much upon your learning, child.

_Mill._ Pray, brother, be civil to this gentleman for my sake.

_Sir Mart._ For your sake, sister Millisent, much may be done, and here

I kiss your hand on it.

_Warn._ Yet again, stupidity?

_Mill._ Nay, pray, brother, hands off; now you are too rude.

_Sir Mart._ Dear sister, as I am a true East India gentleman----

_Mood._ But pray, son Anthony, let us talk of other matters; and tell me

truly, had you not quite forgot me? And yet I made woundy much of you,

when you were young.

_Sir Mart._ I remember you as well as if I saw you but yesterday: A fine

grey-headed--grey-bearded old gentleman, as ever I saw in all my life.

_Warn. aside._] Grey-bearded old gentleman! when he was a scholar at

Cambridge!

_Mood._ But do you remember where you were bred up?

_Sir Mart._ O yes, sir, most perfectly, in the isle--stay--let me see,

oh--now I have it--in the isle of Scilly.

_Mood._ In the Isle of Ely, sure you mean?

_Warn._ Without doubt, he did, sir; but this damn'd isle of Scilly runs

in his head, ever since his sea voyage.

_Mood._ And your mother's name was--come, pray let me examine you--for

that, I'm sure, you cannot forget.

_Sir Mart._ Warner! what was it, Warner?

[_Aside._

_Warn._ Poor Mrs Dorothy Draw-water, if she were now alive, what a

joyful day would this be to her!

_Mood._ Who the devil bid you speak, sirrah?

_Sir Mart._ Her name, sir, was Mrs Dorothy Draw-water.

_Sir John._ I'll be hanged if this be not some cheat.

_Mill._ He makes so many stumbles, he must needs fall at last.

_Mood._ But you remember, I hope, where you were born?

_Warn._ Well, they may talk what they will of Oxford for an university,

but Cambridge for my money.

_Mood._ Hold your tongue, you scanderbag rogue you; this is the second

time you have been talking when you should not.

_Sir Mart._ I was born at Cambridge; I remember it as perfectly as if it

were but yesterday.

_Warn._ How I sweat for him! he's remembering ever since he was born.

_Mood._ And who did you go over with to the East-Indies?

_Sir Mart_. Warner!

[_Aside._

_Warn._ 'Twas a happy thing, sir, you lighted upon so honest a merchant

as Mr Bonaventure, to take care of him.

_Mood._ Saucy rascal! This is past all sufferance.

_Rose._ We are undone, Warner, if this discourse go on any further.

_Lord._ Pray, sir, take pity on the poor gentleman; he has more need of

a good supper, than to be asked so many questions.

_Sir John._ These are rogues, sir, I plainly perceive it; pray let me

ask him one question--Which way did you come home, sir?

_Sir Mart._ We came home by land, sir.

_Warn._ That is, from India to Persia, from Persia to Turkey, from

Turkey to Germany, from Germany to France.

_Sir John._ And from thence, over the narrow seas on horse-back.

_Mood._ 'Tis so, I discern it now; but some shall smoke for it. Stay a

little, Anthony, I'll be with you presently.

[_Exit_ MOOD.

_Warn._ That wicked old man is gone for no good, I'm afraid; would I

were fairly quit of him.

[_Aside._

_Mill. aside._] Tell me no more of Sir Martin, Rose; he wants natural

sense, to talk after this rate: but for this Warner, I am strangely

taken with him; how handsomely he brought him off!

_Enter_ MOODY, _with two cudgels_.

_Mood._ Among half a score tough cudgels I had in my chamber, I have

made choice of these two, as best able to hold out.

_Mill._ Alas! poor Warner must be beaten now, for all his wit; would I

could bear it for him!

_Warn._ But to what end is all this preparation, sir?

_Mood._ In the first place, for your worship, and in the next, for this

East-India apostle, that will needs be my son Anthony.

_Warn._ Why, d'ye think he is not?

_Mood._ No, thou wicked accomplice in his designs, I know he is not.

_Warn._ Who, I his accomplice? I beseech you, sir, what is it to me, if

he should prove a counterfeit? I assure you he has cozened me in the

first place.

_Sir John._ That's likely, i'faith, cozen his own servant!

_Warn._ As I hope for mercy, sir, I am an utter stranger to him; he

took me up but yesterday, and told me the story, word for word, as he

told it you.

_Sir Mart._ What will become of us two now? I trust to the rogue's wit

to bring me off.

_Mood._ If thou wouldst have me believe thee, take one of these two

cudgels, and help me to lay it on soundly.

_Warn._ With all my heart.

_Mood._ Out, you cheat, you hypocrite, you impostor! Do you come hither

to cozen an honest man?

[_Beats him._

_Sir Mart._ Hold, hold, sir!

_Warn._ Do you come hither, with a lye, to get a father, Mr Anthony of

East India?

_Sir Mart._ Hold, you inhuman butcher!

_Warn._ I'll teach you to counterfeit again, sir.

_Sir Mart._ The rogue will murder me.

[_Exit Sir_ MART.

_Mood._ A fair riddance of 'em both: Let's in and laugh at 'em.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter again Sir_ MARTIN _and_ WARNER.

_Sir Mart._ Was there ever such an affront put upon a man, to be beaten

by his servant?

_Warn._ After my hearty salutations upon your backside, sir, may a man

have leave to ask you, what news from the Mogul's country?

_Sir Mart._ I wonder where thou hadst the impudence to move such a

question to me, knowing how thou hast used me.

_Warn._ Now, sir, you may see what comes of your indiscretion and

stupidity: I always give you warning of it; but, for this time, I am

content to pass it without more words, partly, because I have already

corrected you, though not so much as you deserve.

_Sir Mart._ Do'st thou think to carry it off at this rate, after such an

injury?

_Warn._ You may thank yourself for't; nay, 'twas very well I found out

that way, otherwise I had been suspected as your accomplice.

_Sir Mart._ But you laid it on with such a vengeance, as if you were

beating of a stock-fish.

_Warn._ To confess the truth on't, you had angered me, and I was willing

to evaporate my choler; if you will pass it by so, I may chance to help

you to your mistress: No more words of this business, I advise you, but

go home and grease your back.

_Sir Mart._ In fine, I must suffer it at his hands: for if my shoulders

had not paid for this fault, my purse must have sweat blood for't: The

rogue has got such a hank upon me----

_Warn._ So, so! here's another of our vessels come in, after the storm

that parted us.

_Enter_ ROSE.

What comfort, Rose? no harbour near?

_Rose._ My lady, as you may well imagine, is most extremely incensed

against Sir Martin; but she applauds your ingenuity to the skies. I'll

say no more, but thereby hangs a tale.

_Sir Mart._ I am considering with myself about a plot, to bring all

about again.

_Rose._ Yet again plotting! if you have such a mind to't, I know no way

so proper for you, as to turn poet to Pugenello.

_Warn._ Hark! is not that music in your house?

[_Music plays._

_Rose._ Yes, Sir John has given my mistress the fiddles, and our old man

is as jocund yonder, and does so hug himself, to think how he has been

revenged upon you!

_Warn._ Why, he does not know 'twas me, I hope?

_Rose._ 'Tis all one for that.

_Sir Mart._ I have such a plot!--I care not, I will speak, an I were to

be hanged for't. Shall I speak, dear Warner? let me now; it does so

wamble within me, just like a clyster, i'faith la, and I can keep it no

longer, for my heart.

_Warn._ Well, I am indulgent to you; out with it boldly, in the name of

nonsense.

_Sir Mart._ We two will put on vizards, and with the help of my

landlord, who shall be of the party, go a mumming there, and by some

device of dancing, get my mistress away, unsuspected by them all.

_Rose._ What if this should hit now, when all your projects have failed,

Warner?

_Warn._ Would I were hanged, if it be not somewhat probable: Nay, now I

consider better on't--exceedingly probable; it must take, 'tis not in

nature to be avoided.

_Sir Mart._ O must it so, sir! and who may you thank for't?

_Warn._ Now am I so mad he should be the author of this device! How the

devil, sir, came you to stumble on't?

_Sir Mart._ Why should not my brains be as fruitful as yours, or any

man's?

_Warn._ This is so good, it shall not be your plot, sir; either disown

it, or I will proceed no further.

_Sir Mart._ I would not lose the credit of my plot, to gain my mistress:

The plot's a good one, and I'll justify it upon any ground in England;

an you will not work upon't, it shall be done without you.

_Rose._ I think the knight has reason.

_Warn._ Well, I'll order it however to the best advantage: Hark you,

Rose.

[_Whispers._

_Sir Mart._ If it miscarry by your ordering, take notice, 'tis your

fault; 'tis well invented, I'll take my oath on't.

_Rose._ I must into them, for fear I should be suspected; but I'll

acquaint my lord, my old lady, and all the rest, who ought to know it,

with your design.

_Warn._ We'll be with you in a twinkling: You and I, Rose, are to follow

our leaders, and be paired to night.----

_Rose._ To have, and to hold, are dreadful words, Warner; but, for your

sake, I'll venture on 'em.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter Lord, Lady_ DUPE, _and_ CHRISTIAN.

_L. Dupe._ Nay! good my lord, be patient.

_Lord._ Does he think to give fiddles and treatments in a house, where

he has wronged a lady? I'll never suffer it.

_L. Dupe._ But upon what ground will you raise your quarrel?

_Lord._ A very just one,--as I am her kinsman.

_L. Dupe._ He does not know yet why he was to be arrested; try that way

again.

_Lord._ I'll hear of nothing but revenge.

_Enter_ ROSE.

_Rose._ Yes, pray hear me one word, my lord; Sir Martin himself has made

a plot.

_Chr._ That's like to be a good one.

_Rose._ A fool's plot may be as lucky as a fool's handsel; 'tis a very

likely one, and requires nothing for your part, but to get a parson in

the next room; we'll find work for him.

_L. Dupe._ That shall be done immediately; Christian, make haste, and

send for Mr Ball, the non-conformist; tell him, here are two or three

angels to be earned.

_Chr._ And two or three possets to be eaten: May I not put in that,

madam?

_L. Dupe._ Surely you may.

[_Exit_ CHR.

_Rose._ Then for the rest--'tis only this--Oh! they are here! pray take

it in a whisper: My lady knows of it already.

_Enter_ MOODY, _Sir_ JOHN, _and Mrs_ MILLISENT.

_Mill._ Strike up again, fiddle, I'll have a French dance.

_Sir John._ Let's have the brawls.

_Mood._ No, good sir John, no quarrelling among friends.

_L. Dupe._ Your company is like to be increased, sir; some neighbours,

that heard your fiddles, are come a mumming to you.

_Mood._ Let them come in, and we'll be jovy; an I had but my hobby-horse

at home----

_Sir John._ What, are they men, or women?

_L. Dupe._ I believe some 'prentices broke loose.

_Mill._ Rose, go, and fetch me down two Indian gowns and

vizard-masks----you and I will disguise too, and be as good a mummery to

them, as they to us.

[_Exit_ ROSE.

_Mood._ That will be most rare.

_Enter Sir_ MARTIN MAR-ALL, WARNER, _Landlord, disguised like a Tony_.

_Mood._ O here they come! Gentlemen maskers, you are welcome--[WARNER

_signs to the music for a dance_.] He signs for a dance, I believe; you

are welcome. Mr Music, strike up; I'll make one, as old as I am.

_Sir John._ And I'll not be out.

[_Dance._

_Lord._ Gentlemen maskers, you have had your frolic, the next turn is

mine; bring two flute-glasses and some stools, ho! we'll have the

ladies' healths.

_Sir John._ But why stools, my lord?

_Lord._ That you shall see: the humour is, that two men at a time are

hoisted up: when they are above, they name their ladies, and the rest of

the company dance about them while they drink: This they call the frolic

of the altitudes.

_Mood._ Some highlander's invention, I'll warrant it.

_Lord._ Gentlemen-maskers, you shall begin.

[_They hoist Sir_ MART. _and_ WARN.

_Sir John._ They point to Mrs Millisent and Mrs Christian, _A Lou's

touche! touche!_

[_While they drink, the company dances and sings: They are taken down._

_Mood._ A rare toping health this: Come, Sir John, now you and I will be

in our altitudes.

_Sir John._ What new device is this, trow?

_Mood._ I know not what to make on't.

[_When they are up, the company dances about them: They dance off. Tony

dances a jigg._

_Sir John._ Pray, Mr Fool, where's the rest of your company? I would

fain see 'em again.

[_To Tony._

_Land._ Come down, and tell them so, Cudden.

_Sir John._ I'll be hanged if there be not some plot in it, and this

fool is set here to spin out the time.

_Mood._ Like enough! undone! undone! my daughter's gone! let me down,

sirrah.

_Land._ Yes, Cudden.

_Sir John._ My mistress is gone, let me down first.

_Land._ This is the quickest way, Cudden.

[_He offers to pull down the stools._

_Sir John._ Hold! hold! or thou wilt break my neck.

_Land._ An you will not come down, you may stay there, Cudden.

[_Exit Landlord, dancing._

_Mood._ O scanderbag villains!

_Sir John._ Is there no getting down?

_Mood._ All this was long of you, Sir Jack.

_Sir John._ 'Twas long of yourself, to invite them hither.

_Mood._ O you young coxcomb, to be drawn in thus!

_Sir John._ You old Scot you, to be caught so sillily!

_Mood._ Come but an inch nearer, and I'll so claw thee.

_Sir John._ I hope I shall reach to thee.

_Mood._ An 'twere not for thy wooden breast-work there----

_Sir John._ I hope to push thee down from Babylon.

_Enter Lord, Lady_ DUPE, _Sir_ MARTIN, WARNER, ROSE, MILLISENT _veiled,

and Landlord_.

_Lord._ How, gentlemen! what, quarrelling among yourselves!

_Mood._ Coxnowns! help me down, and let me have fair play; he shall

never marry my daughter.

_Sir Mart._ [_Leading_ ROSE.] No, I'll be sworn that he shall not;

therefore never repine, sir, for marriages, you know, are made in

heaven; in fine, sir, we are joined together in spite of fortune.

_Rose._ [_Pulling off her mask_.] That we are, indeed, Sir Martin, and

these are witnesses; therefore, in fine, never repine, sir, for

marriages, you know, are made in heaven.

_Omn._ Rose!

_Warn._ What, is Rose split in two? Sure I have got one Rose!

_Mill._ Ay, the best Rose you ever got in all your life.

[_Pulls off her mask._

_Warn._ This amazeth me so much, I know not what to say, or think.

_Mood._ My daughter married to Warner!

_Sir Mart._ Well, I thought it impossible that any man in England should

have over-reached me: Sure, Warner, there is some mistake in this:

Pr'ythee, Billy, let's go to the parson to make all right again, that

every man have his own, before the matter go too far.

_Warn._ Well, sir! for my part, I will have nothing farther to do with

these women, for, I find, they will be too hard for us; but e'en sit

down by the loss, and content myself with my hard fortune: But, madam,

do you ever think I will forgive you this, to cheat me into an estate of

two thousand pounds a-year?

_Sir Mart._ An I were as thee, I would not be so served, Warner.

_Mill._ I have served him but right, for the cheat he put upon me, when

he persuaded me you were a wit----now, there's a trick for your trick,

sir.

_Warn._ Nay, I confess you have outwitted me.

_Sir John._ Let me down, and I'll forgive all freely.

[_They let him down._

_Mood._ What am I kept here for?

_Warn._ I might in policy keep you there, till your daughter and I had

been in private, for a little consummation: But for once, sir, I'll

trust your good nature.

[_Takes him down too._

_Mood._ An thou wert a gentleman, it would not grieve me.

_Mill._ That I was assured of before I married him, by my lord here.

_Lord._ I cannot refuse to own him for my kinsman, though his father's

sufferings in the late times have ruined his fortunes.

_Mood._ But yet he has been a serving man.

_Warn._ You are mistaken, sir, I have been a master; and, besides, there

is an estate of eight hundred pounds a year, only it is mortgaged for

six thousand pounds.

_Mood._ Well, we'll bring it off; and, for my part, I am glad my

daughter has missed _in fine_ there.

_Sir John._ I will not be the only man that must sleep without a

bed-fellow to-night, if this lady will once again receive me.

_L. Dupe._ She's yours, sir.

_Lord._ And the same parson, that did the former execution, is still in

the next chamber; what with candles, wine, and quidding, which he has

taken in abundance, I think he will be able to wheedle two more of you

into matrimony.

_Mill._ Poor Sir Martin looks melancholy! I am half afraid he is in

love.

_Warn._ Not with the lady that took him for a wit, I hope.

_Rose._ At least, Sir Martin can do more than you, Mr Warner; for he can

make me a lady, which you cannot my mistress.

_Sir Mart._ I have lost nothing but my man, and, in fine, I shall get

another.

_Mill._ You'll do very well, Sir Martin, for you'll never be your own

man, I assure you.

_Warn._ For my part, I had loved you before, if I had followed my

inclination.

_Mill._ But now I am afraid you begin of the latest, except your love

can grow up, like a mushroom, at a night's warning.

_Warn._ For that matter, never trouble yourself; I can love as fast as

any man, when I am nigh possession; my love falls heavy, and never moves

quick till it comes near the centre; he's an ill falconer, that will

unhood before the quarry be in sight.

Love's an high-mettled hawk that beats the air, But soon grows weary

when the game's not near.

[_Exeunt omnes._

[Footnote B: This song is translated from Voiture.]

EPILOGUE.

As country vicars, when the sermon's done,

Run headlong to the benediction;

Well knowing, though the better sort may stay,

The vulgar rout will run unblest away:

So we, when once our play is done, make haste

With a short epilogue to close your taste.

In thus withdrawing, we seem mannerly;

But, when the curtain's down, we peep, and see

A jury of the wits, who still stay late,

And in their club decree the poor play's fate;

Their verdict back is to the boxes brought,

Thence all the town pronounces it their thought.

Thus, gallants, we, like Lilly, can foresee;

But if you ask us what our doom will be,

We by to-morrow will our fortune cast,

As he tells all things when the year is past.

THE

TEMPEST;

OR, THE

ENCHANTED ISLAND.

COMEDY.

THE TEMPEST.

In this alteration of the "Tempest," Dryden acknowledges his obligation

to Sir William Davenant, whom he extols for his quick and piercing

imagination. Sir William was the son of an inn-keeper in Oxford, whose

house was frequented by our immortal Shakespeare; and hence an

ill-founded tradition ascribed to him a paternal interest in young

Davenant: But this slander on Shakespeare's moral character has been

fully refuted in the Prolegomena to Johnson and Steevens' edition of his

plays. Davenant was appointed poet laureat upon the death of Ben Jonson.

During the civil wars, he distinguished himself on the royal side, was

lieutenant-general of ordnance to the earl of Newcastle, and was

knighted by Charles at the siege of Gloucester. He was afterwards much

trusted by Henrietta, the queen-dowager; and was finally made prisoner

by an English man of war, in attempting to convey a colony of loyalists

to Virginia. After a long captivity in the Tower, he was liberated

through the intercession of the lord-keeper, Whitelocke; the wisest and

most temperate of the counsellors of the ruling power. Through his

countenance, Sir William was protected, or connived at, in bringing

forward certain interludes and operas, even during the rigid sway of

fanaticism. After the restoration, he became manager of a company of

players, called the duke of York's servants, in distinction to the

king's company, which was directed by Killigrew. He introduced upon the

stage much pomp in dress, scenery, and decoration, as if to indemnify

the theatrical muses for the poor shifts to which they had been reduced

during the usurpation. Sir William Davenant died in 1668, at the age of

63.

"Gondibert," his greatest performance, incurred, when first published,

more ridicule, and in latter times more neglect, than its merits

deserve. An epic poem, in elegiac stanzas, must always be tedious,

because no structure of verse is more unfavourable to narration than

that which almost peremptorily requires each sentence to be restricted,

or protracted, to four lines. But the liveliness of Davenant's

imagination, which Dryden has pointed out as his most striking

attribute, has illuminated even the dull and dreary path which he has

chosen; and perhaps few poems afford more instances of vigorous

conceptions, and even felicity of expression, than the neglected

"Gondibert.[C]"

The alteration of the Tempest was Davenant's last work; and it seems to

have been undertaken, chiefly, with a view to give room for scenical

decoration. Few readers will think the play much improved by the

introduction of the sea-language, which Davenant had acquired during the

adventurous period of his life. Nevertheless, the ludicrous contest

betwixt the sailors, for the dukedom and viceroyship of a barren island,

gave much amusement at the time, and some of the expressions were long

after proverbial[D]. Much cannot be said for Davenant's ingenuity, in

contrasting the character of a woman, who had never seen a man, with

that of a man, who had never seen a woman, or in inventing a sister

monster for Caliban. The majestic simplicity of Shakespeare's plan is

injured by thus doubling his characters; and his wild landscape is

converted into a formal parterre, where "each alley has its brother." In

sketching characters drawn from fancy, and not from observation, the

palm of genius must rest with the first inventor; others are but

copyists, and a copy shews no where to such disadvantage as when placed

by the original. Besides, although we are delighted with the feminine

simplicity of Miranda, it becomes unmanly childishness in Hippolito; and

the premature coquetry of Dorinda is disgusting, when contrasted with

the maidenly purity that chastens the simplicity of Shakespeare's

heroine. The latter seems to display, as it were by instinct, the innate

dignity of her sex; the former, to shew, even in solitude, the germ of

those vices, by which, in a voluptuous age, the female character becomes

degraded. The wild and savage character of Caliban is also sunk into low

and vulgar buffoonery.

Dryden has not informed us of the share he had in this alteration: It

was probably little more than the care of adapting it to the stage. The

prologue is one of the most masterly tributes ever paid at the shrine of

Shakespeare.

From the epilogue, the Tempest appears to have been acted in 1667.

Although Dryden was under engagements to the king's company, this play

was performed by the duke's servants, probably because written in

conjunction with Davenant, their manager. It was not published until

1670.

Footnotes.

[Footnote C: An excellent critical essay upon the beauties and defects

of Davenant's epic, may be found in Aikin's Miscellanies. Those who are

insensible to theme rits of the poem, may admire the courage of the

author, who wrote some part of it when he conceived himself within a

week of being hanged. A tradition prevails, that his life was saved by

Milton, whose life, in return, he saved at the Restoration. Were the

story true, how vast was the requital!]

[Footnote D: As, "Peace and the But," &c.]

PREFACE.

The writing of prefaces to plays was probably invented by some very

ambitious poet, who never thought he had done enough: Perhaps by some

ape of the French eloquence, which uses to make a business of a letter

of gallantry, an examen of a farce; and, in short, a great pomp and

ostentation of words on every trifle. This is certainly the talent of

that nation, and ought not to be invaded by any other. They do that out

of gaiety, which would be an imposition[E] upon us.

We may satisfy ourselves with surmounting them in the scene, and safely

leave them those trappings of writings, and flourishes of the pen, with

which they adorn the borders of their plays, and which are indeed no

more than good landscapes to a very indifferent picture. I must proceed

no farther in this argument, lest I run myself beyond my excuse for

writing this. Give me leave, therefore, to tell you, reader, that I do

not set a value on any thing I have written in this play, but out of

gratitude to the memory of Sir William Davenant, who did me the honour

to join me with him in the alteration of it.

It was originally Shakespeare's; a poet for whom he had particularly a

high veneration, and whom he first taught me to admire. The play itself

had formerly been acted with success in the Black Friars: And our

excellent Fletcher had so great a value for it, that he thought fit to

make use of the same design, not much varied, a second time. Those, who

have seen his "Sea-Voyage," may easily discern that it was a copy of

Shakespeare's "Tempest:" The storm, the desert island, and the woman who

had never seen a man, are all sufficient testimonies of it. But Fletcher

was not the only poet who made use of Shakespeare's plot: Sir John

Suckling, a professed admirer of our author, has followed his footsteps

in his "Goblins;" his _Regmella_ being an open imitation of

Shakespeare's _Miranda_, and his spirits, though counterfeit, yet are

copied from _Ariel_. But Sir William Davenant, as he was a man of a

quick and piercing imagination, soon found that somewhat might be added

to the design of Shakespeare, of which neither Fletcher nor Suckling had

ever thought: And, therefore, to put the last hand to it, he designed

the counter-part to Shakespeare's plot, namely, that of a man who had

never seen a woman; that by this means those two characters of innocence

and love might the more illustrate and commend each other. This

excellent contrivance he was pleased to communicate to me, and to desire

my assistance in it. I confess, that from the very first moment it so

pleased me, that I never writ any thing with more delight. I must

likewise do him that justice to acknowledge, that my writing received

daily his amendments; and that is the reason why it is not so faulty, as

the rest which I have done, without the help or correction of so

judicious a friend. The comical parts of the sailors were also of his

invention, and, for the most part, his writing, as you will easily

discover by the style. In the time I writ with him, I had the

opportunity to observe somewhat more nearly of him, than I had formerly

done, when I had only a bare acquaintance with him: I found him then of

so quick a fancy, that nothing was proposed to him, on which he could

not suddenly produce a thought, extremely pleasant and surprising: and

those first thoughts of his, contrary to the old Latin proverb, were not

always the least happy. And as his fancy was quick, so likewise were the

products of it remote and new. He borrowed not of any other; and his

imagination's were such as could not easily enter into any other man.

His corrections were sober and judicious: and he corrected his own

writings much more severely than those of another man, bestowing twice

the time and labour in polishing, which he used in invention. It had

perhaps been easy enough for me to have arrogated more to myself than

was my due, in the writing of this play, and to have passed by his name

with silence in the publication of it, with the same ingratitude which

others have used to him, whose writings he hath not only corrected, as

he hath done this, but has had a greater inspection over them, and

sometimes added whole scenes together, which may as easily be

distinguished from the rest, as true gold from counterfeit, by the

weight. But, besides the unworthiness of the action, which deterred me

from it, (there being nothing so base as to rob the dead of his

reputation,) I am satisfied I could never have received so much honour,

in being thought the author of any poem, how excellent soever, as I

shall from the joining my imperfections with the merit and name of

Shakespeare and Sir William Davenant.

JOHN DRYDEN.

_December 1. 1669._

[Footnote E: A task imposed on us.]

PROLOGUE.

As when a tree's cut down, the secret root Lives under ground, and

thence new branches shoot; So, from old Shakespeare's honoured dust,

this day Springs up and buds a new-reviving play: Shakespeare, who

(taught by none) did first impart To Fletcher wit, to labouring Jonson

art. He, monarch-like, gave those, his subjects, law; And is that nature

which they paint and draw. Fletcher reached that which on his heights

did grow, Whilst Jonson crept, and gathered all below. This did his

love, and this his mirth, digest: One imitates him most, the other best.

If they have since outwrit all other men, 'Tis with the drops which fell

from Shakespeare's pen, The storm, which vanished on the neighbouring

shore, Was taught by Shakespeare's Tempest first to roar. That innocence

and beauty, which did smile In Fletcher, grew on this enchanted isle.

But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be; Within that circle none

durst walk but he. I must confess 'twas bold, nor would you now That

liberty to vulgar wits allow, Which works by magic supernatural things:

But Shakespeare's power is sacred as a king's. Those legends from old

priesthood were received, And he then writ, as people then believed. But

if for Shakespeare we your grace implore, We for our theatre shall want

it more: Who, by our dearth of youths, are forced to employ One of our

women to present a boy; And that's a transformation, you will say,

Exceeding all the magic in the play. Let none expect, in the last act,

to find Her sex transformed from man to womankind. Whate'er she was

before the play began, All you shall see of her is perfect man. Or, if

your fancy will be farther led To find her woman--it must be a-bed.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

ALONZO, _Duke of Savoy, and Usurper of the Dukedom of Mantua_.

FERDINAND, _his Son_.

PROSPERO, _right Duke of Milan_.

ANTONIO, _his Brother, Usurper of the Dukedom_.

GONZALO, _a Nobleman of Savoy_.

HIPPOLITO, _one that never saw woman, right Heir of the Dukedom of

Mantua_.

STEPHANO, _Master of the Ship_.

THE

TEMPEST;

OR, THE

ENCHANTED ISLAND.

COMEDY.

MUSTACHO, _his Mate_.

TRINCALO, _Boatswain_.

VENTOSO, _a Mariner_.

_Several Mariners_.

_A Cabin-Boy_.

MIRANDA, } _Daughters to_ PROSPERO,

DORINDA, } _that never saw man_.

ARIEL, _an airy Spirit, Attendant on_ PROSPERO.

_Several Spirits, Guards to_ PROSPERO.

CALIBAN, } _Two Monsters of the Isle_.

SYCORAX, _his Sister_. }

THE

TEMPEST.

ACT I.

SCENE I.--_The front of the stage is opened, and the band of twenty-four

violins, with the harpsicals and theorbos which accompany the voices,

are placed between the pit and the stage. While the overture is playing,

the curtain rises, and discovers a new frontispiece, joined to the great

pilasters, on each side of the stage. This frontispiece is a noble arch,

supported by large wreathed columns of the Corinthian order; the

wreathings of the columns are beautified with roses wound round them,

and several Cupids flying about them. On the cornice, just over the

capitals, sits on either side a figure, with a trumpet in one hand, and

a palm in the other, representing Fame. A little farther, on the same

cornice, on each side of a compass-pediment, lie a lion and a unicorn,

the supporters of the royal arms of England. In the middle of the arch

are several angels, holding the king's arms, as if they were placing

them in the midst of that compass-pediment. Behind this is the scene,

which represents a thick cloudy sky, a very rocky coast, and a

tempestuous sea in perpetual agitation. This tempest (supposed to be

raised by magick) has many dreadful objects in it, as several spirits

in horrid shapes flying down amongst the sailors, then rising and

crossing in the air. And when the ship is sinking, the whole house is

darkened, and a shower of fire falls upon them. This is accompanied with

lightning, and several claps of thunder, to the end of the storm._

_Enter_ MUSTACHO _and_ VENTOSO.

_Vent._ What a sea comes in!

_Must._ A foaming sea; we shall have foul weather.

_Enter_ TRINCALO.

_Trinc._ The scud comes against the wind, 'twill blow hard.

_Enter_ STEPHANO.

_Steph._ Boatswain!

_Trinc._ Here, master, what say you?

_Steph._ Ill weather; let's off to sea.

_Must._ Let's have sea room enough, and then let it blow the devil's

head off.

_Steph._ Boy! Boy!

_Enter Cabin Boy._

_Boy._ Yaw, yaw, here, master.

_Steph._ Give the pilot a dram of the bottle.

[_Exeunt_ STEPHANO _and boy_.

_Enter Mariners, and pass over the stage._

_Trinc._ Bring the cable to the capstorm.

_Enter_ ALONSO, ANTONIO, _and_ GONZALO.

_Alon._ Good boatswain, have a care; where's the master? Play the men.

_Trinc._ Pray keep below.

_Anto._ Where's the master, boatswain?

_Trinc._ Do you not hear him? You hinder us: Keep your cabins, you help

the storm.

_Gonz._ Nay, good friend, be patient.

_Trinc._ Ay, when the sea is: Hence! what care these roarers for the

name of duke? To cabin; silence; trouble us not.

_Gonz._ Good friend, remember whom thou hast aboard.

_Trinc._ None that I love more than myself: You are a counsellor; if you

can advise these elements to silenuse your wisdom: if yon cannot, make

yourself ready in the cabin for the ill hour. Cheerly, good hearts! out

of our way, sirs.

[_Exeunt_ TRINCALO _and mariners_.

_Gonz._ I have great comfort from this fellow; methinks his complexion

is perfect gallows: stand fast, good fate, to his hanging; make the rope

of his destiny our cable, for our own does little advantage us; if he be

not born to be hanged, we shall be drowned.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ TRINCALO _and_ STEPHANO.

_Trinc._ Up aloft, lads. Come, reef both topsails.

_Steph._ Make haste, let's weigh, let's weigh, and off to sea.

[_Exit_ STEPH.

_Enter two Mariners, and pass over the stage._

_Trinc._ Hands down! Man your main capstorm.

_Enter_ MUSTACHO _and_ VENTOSO _at the other door_.

_Must._ Up aloft! and man your seere capstorm.

_Vent._ My lads, my hearts of gold, get in your capstorm-bar. Hoa up,

hoa up!

[_Exeunt_ MUSTACHO _and_ VENTOSO.

_Enter_ STEPHANO.

_Steph._ Hold on well! hold on well! Nip well there; quarter-master,

get's more nippers.

[_Exit_ STEPH.

_Enter two Mariners, and pass over again._

_Trinc._ Turn out, turn out all hands to capstorm. You dogs, is this a

time to sleep? Lubbord. Heave together, lads.

[TRINCALO _whistles_.

[_Exeunt_ MUSTACHO _and_ VENTOSO.

_Must. within._ Our vial's broke.

_Vent. within._ 'Tis but our vial-block has given way. Come, heave,

lads! we are fixed again. Heave together, bullies.

_Enter_ STEPHANO.

_Steph._ Cut down the hammocks! cut down the hammocks! come, my lads:

Come, bullies, chear up! heave lustily. The anchor's apeak.

_Trinc._ Is the anchor apeak?

_Steph._ Is a weigh! is a weigh.

_Trinc._ Up aloft, my lads, upon the fore-castle; cut the anchor, cut

him.

_All within._ Haul catt, haul catt, haul catt, haul: Haul catt, haul.

Below.

_Steph._ Aft, aft, and loose the mizen!

_Trinc._ Get the mizen-tack aboard. Haul aft mizen-sheet.

_Enter_ MUSTACHO.

_Must._ Loose the main-top sail!

_Steph._ Let him alone, there's too much wind.

_Trinc._ Loose fore-sail! haul aft both sheets! trim her right before

the wind. Aft! aft! lads, and hale up the mizen here.

_Must._ A mackrel-gale, master.

_Steph. within._ Port hard, port! the wind veers forward, bring the tack

aboard-port is. Starboard, starboard, a little steady; now steady, keep

her thus, no nearer you cannot come, 'till the sails are loose.

_Enter_ VENTOSO.

_Vent._ Some hands down: The guns are loose.

[_Exit_ MUST.

_Trinc._ Try the pump, try the pump.

[_Exit_ VENT.

_Enter_ MUSTACHO _at the other door_.

_Must._ O master! six foot water in hold.

_Steph._ Clap the helm hard aweather! flat, flat, flat-in the fore-sheet

there.

_Trinc._ Over-haul your fore-bowling.

_Steph._ Brace in the larboard.

[_Exit._

_Trinc._ A curse upon this howling, [_A great cry within_.] They are

louder than the weather.

_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ GONZALO.

Yet again, what do you here? Shall we give over, and drown? Have you a

mind to sink?

_Gonz._ A pox on your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, uncharitable

dog.

_Trinc._ Work you then, and be poxed.

_Anto._ Hang, cur, hang, you whorson insolent noise-maker! We are less

afraid to be drowned than you are.

_Trinc._ Ease the fore-brace a little.

[_Exit._

_Gonz._ I'll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger

than a nut-shell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench.

_Enter_ ALONZO _and_ FERDINAND.

_Ferd._ For myself I care not, but your loss brings a thousand deaths to

me.

_Alon._ O name not me, I am grown old, my son;

I now am tedious to the world, and that,

By use, is so to me: But, Ferdinand,

I grieve my subjects' loss in thee: Alas!

I suffer justly for my crimes, but why

Thou should'st--O heaven!

[_A cry within._

Hark! farewell, my son, a long farewell!

_Enter_ TRINCALO, MUSTACHO, _and_ VENTOSO.

_Trinc._ What, must our mouths be cold then?

_Vent._ All's lost. To prayers, to prayers.

_Gonz._ The duke and prince are gone within to prayers. Let's assist

them.

_Must._ Nay, we may e'en pray too, our Case is now alike.

_Ant._ Mercy upon us! we split, we split!

_Gonz._ Let's all sink with the duke, and the young prince.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ STEPHANO _and_ TRINCALO.

_Trinc._ The ship is sinking.

[_A new cry within._

_Steph._ Run her ashore!

_Trinc._ Luff! luff! or we are all lost! there's a rock upon the

starboard-bow.

_Steph._ She strikes, she strikes! All shift for themselves.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.--_In the midst of the shower of fire, the scene changes. The

cloudy sky, rocks, and sea vanish; and, when the lights return, discover

that beautiful part of the island, which was the habitation of_

PROSPERO: _'Tis composed of three walks of cypress-trees; each side-walk

leads to a cave, in one of which_ PROSPERO _keeps his daughter, in the

other_ HIPPOLITO: _The middle-walk is of great depth, and leads to an

open part of the island_.

_Enter_ PROSPERO _and_ MIRANDA.

_Prosp._ Miranda, where's your sister?

_Mir._ I left her looking from the pointed rock,

At the walk's end, on the huge beat of waters.

_Prosp._ It is a dreadful object.

_Mir._ If by your art,

My dearest father, you have put them in

This roar, allay them quickly.

_Prosp._ I have so ordered,

That not one creature in the ship is lost:

I have done nothing but in care of thee,

My daughter, and thy pretty sister:

You both are ignorant of what you are,

Not knowing whence I am, nor that I'm more

Than Prospero, master of a narrow cell,

And thy unhappy father.

_Mir._ I ne'er endeavoured

To know more than you were pleased to tell me.

_Prosp._ I should inform thee farther.

_Mir._ You often, sir, began to tell me what I am,

But then you stopt.

_Prosp._ The hour's now come;

Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember

A time, before we came into this cell?

I do not think thou canst, for then thou wert not

Full three years old.

_Mir._ Certainly I can, sir.

_Prosp._ Tell me the image then of any thing,

Which thou dost keep in thy remembrance still.

_Mir._ Sir, had I not four or five women once, that tended me?

_Prosp._ Thou hadst, and more, Miranda: What seest thou else,

In the dark back-ward, and abyss of time?

If thou rememberest aught, ere thou cam'st here,

Then how thou cam'st thou mayest remember too.

_Mir._ Sir, that I do not.

_Prosp._ Fifteen years since, Miranda,

Thy father was the duke of Milan, and

A prince of power.

_Mir._ Sir, are not you my father?

_Prosp._ Thy mother was all virtue, and she said

Thou wast my daughter, and thy sister too.

_Mir._ O heavens! what foul play had we, that

We hither came? or was't a blessing that we did?

_Prosp._ Both, both, my girl.

_Mir._ But, sir, I pray, proceed.

_Prosp._ My brother, and thy uncle, called Antonio,

To whom I trusted then the manage of my state,

While I was wrapped with secret studies,--that false uncle,

Having attained the craft of granting suits,

And of denying them; whom to advance,

Or lop, for over-topping,--soon was grown

The ivy, which did hide my princely trunk,

And sucked my verdure out: Thou attend'st not.

_Mir._ O good sir, I do.

_Prosp._ I thus neglecting worldly ends, and bent

To closeness, and the bettering of my mind,

Waked in my false brother an evil nature: He did believe

He was indeed the duke, because he then

Did execute the outward face of sovereignty----

Do'st thou still mark me?

_Mir._ Your story would cure deafness.

_Prosp._ This false duke

Needs would be absolute in Milan, and confederate

With Savoy's duke, to give him tribute, and

To do him homage.

_Mir._ False man!

_Prosp._ This duke of Savoy, being an enemy

To me inveterate, strait grants my brother's suit;

And on a night, mated to his design,

Antonio opened the gates of Milan, and

In the dead of darkness hurried me thence,

With thy young sister, and thy crying self.

_Mir._ But wherefore did they not that hour destroy us?

_Prosp._ They durst not, girl, in Milan, for the love

My people bore me; in short, they hurried us

Away to Savoy, and thence aboard a bark at Nissa's port,

Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared

A rotten carcase of a boat, not rigged,

No tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats

Instinctively had quit it.

_Mir._ Alack! what trouble

Was I then to you?

_Prosp._ Thou and thy sister were

Two cherubims, which did preserve me: You both

Did smile, infused with fortitude from heaven.

_Mir._ How came we ashore?

_Prosp._ By providence divine.

Some food we had, and some fresh water, which

A nobleman of Savoy, called Gonzalo,

Appointed master of that black design,

Gave us; with rich garments, and all necessaries,

Which since have steaded much; And of his gentleness

(Knowing I loved my books) he furnished me,

From mine own library, with volumes, which

I prize above my dukedom.

_Mir._ Would I might see that man!

_Prosp._ Here in this island we arrived, and here

Have I your tutor been. But by my skill

I find, that my mid-heaven doth depend

On a most happy star, whose influence

If I now court not, but omit, my fortunes

Will ever after droop: Here cease more questions;

Thou art inclined to sleep: 'Tis a good dulness,

And give it way; I know thou can'st not chuse.

[_She falls asleep._

Come away, my spirit: I am ready now; approach,

My Ariel, come.

_Enter_ ARIEL.

_Ariel._ All hail, great master, grave

Sir, hail! I come to answer thy best pleasure,

Be it to fly, to swim, to shoot into the fire,

To ride into the curled clouds; to thy strong bidding

Task Ariel, and all his qualities.

_Prosp._ Hast thou, spirit, performed to point

The tempest, that I bade thee?

_Ariel._ To every article.

I boarded the duke's ship; now on the beak,

Now in the waste, the deck, in every cabin,

I flamed amazement; and sometimes I seemed

To burn in many places; on the top-mast,

The yards, and bow-sprit, I did flame distinctly;

Nay, once I rained a shower of fire upon them.

_Prosp._ My brave spirit!--

Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil

Did not infect his reason?

_Ariel._ Not a soul,

But felt a fever of the mind, and played

Some tricks of desperation; all,

But mariners, plunged in the foaming brine,

And quit the vessel: The duke's son, Ferdinand,

With hair upstaring, (more like reeds than hair)

Was the first man that leaped; cried, _Hell is empty!

And all the devils are here!_

_Prosp._ Why, that's my spirit!--

But, was not this nigh shore?

_Ariel._ Close by, my master.

_Prosp._ But, Ariel, are they safe?

_Ariel._ Not a hair perished.

In troops I have dispersed them round this isle:

The duke's son I have landed by himself,

Whom I have left warming the air with sighs,

In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,

His arms enfolded in this sad knot.

_Prosp._ Say how thou hast disposed the mariners

Of the duke's ship, and all the rest o'the fleet?

_Ariel._ Safely in harbour

Is the duke's ship; in the deep nook, where once

Thou called'st me up, at midnight, to fetch dew

From the still vexed Bermoothes, there she's hid;

The mariners all under hatches stowed;

Whom, with a charm, joined to their suffered labour,

I have left asleep: And for the rest o'the fleet,

Which I dispersed, they all have met again,

And are upon the Mediterranean float,

Bound sadly home for Italy;

Supposing that they saw the duke's ship wrecked,

And his great person perish.

_Prosp._ Ariel, thy charge

Exactly is performed: But there's more work;--

What is the time o'the day?

_Ariel._ Past the mid season.

_Prosp._ At least two glasses.

The time 'tween six and now must by us both

Be spent most preciously.

_Ariel._ Is there more toil?

Since thou dost give me pains, let me remember

Thee what thou hast promised, which is not yet

Performed me.

_Prosp._ How now, moody!

What is't thou canst demand?

_Ariel._ My liberty.

_Prosp._ Before the time be out?--no more!

_Ariel._ I pr'ythee,

Remember I have done thee faithful service;

Told thee no lies; made thee no mistakings;

Served without or grudge, or grumblings;

Thou didst promise to bate me a full year.

_Prosp._ Dost thou forget

From what a torment I did free thee?

_Ariel._ No.

_Prosp._ Thou dost; and think'st it much to tread the ooze

Of the salt deep;

To run against the sharp wind of the north;

To do my business in the veins of the earth,

When it is baked with frost.

_Ariel._ I do not, sir.

_Prosp._ Thou liest, malignant thing!--Hast thou forgot

The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy,

Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her?

_Ariel._ No, sir.

_Prosp._ Thou hast! Where was she born? Speak, tell me.

_Ariel._ Sir, in Argier.

_Prosp._ Oh, was she so!--I must,

Once every month, recount what thou hast been,

Which thou forgettest. This damned Witch Sycorax,

For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries

Too terrible to enter human hearing,

From Argier, thou know'st, was banished:

But, for one thing she did,

They would not take her life.--Is not this true?

_Ariel._ Ay, sir.

_Prosp._ This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child,

And here was left by the sailors: Thou, my slave,

As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant;

And, 'cause thou wast a spirit too delicate

To act her earthy and abhorred commands,

Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,

By help of her more potent ministers,

(In her unmitigable rage) into a cloven pine;

Within whose rift imprisoned, thou didst painfully

Remain a dozen years, within which space she died,

And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans,

As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this isle

(Save for two brats, which she did litter here,

The brutish Caliban, and his twin-sister,

Two freckled hag-born whelps) not honoured with

A human shape.

_Ariel._ Yes; Caliban her son, and Sycorax his sister.

_Prosp._ Dull thing! I say so.--He,

That Caliban, and she, that Sycorax,

Whom I now keep in service. Thou best know'st

What torment I did find thee in; thy groans

Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts

Of ever-angry bears; it was a torment

To lay upon the damned, which Sycorax

Could ne'er again undo: It was my art,

When I arrived and heard thee, that made the pine

To gape, and let thee out.

_Ariel._ I thank thee, master.

_Prosp._ If thou more murmurest, I will rend an oak,

And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till thou

Hast howled away twelve winters more.

_Ariel._ Pardon, master;

I will be correspondent to command,

And be a gentle spirit.

_Prosp._ Do so; and after two days I'll discharge thee.

_Ariel._ Thanks, my great master. But I have yet one request.

_Prosp._ What's that, my spirit?

_Ariel._ I know that this day's business is important,

Requiring too much toil for one alone.

I have a gentle spirit for my love,

Who, twice seven years has waited for my freedom:

Let it appear, it will assist me much,

And we with mutual joy shall entertain

Each other. This, I beseech you, grant me.

_Prosp._ You shall have your desire.

_Ariel._ That's my noble master.--Milcha!

[MILCHA _flies down to his assistance_.

_Milc._ I am here, my love.

_Ariel._ Thou art free! Welcome, my dear!--

What shall we do? Say, say, what shall we do?

_Prosp._ Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible

To every eye-ball else. Hence, with diligence;

Anon thou shalt know more.

[_They both fly up, and cross in the air._

Thou hast slept well, my child.

[_To_ MIR.

_Mir._ The sadness of your story put heaviness in me.

_Prosp._ Shake it off.--Come on, I'll now call Caliban,

my slave, who never yields us a kind answer.

_Mir._ 'Tis a creature, sir, I do not love to look on.

_Prosp._ But, as it is, we cannot miss him: He does make our fire, fetch

in our wood, and serve in offices that profit us.--What ho, slave!

Caliban! thou earth, thou, speak!

_Calib._ [_within_.] There's wood enough within.

_Prosp._ Thou poisonous slave! got by the devil himself

Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

_Enter_ CALIBAN.

_Calib._ As wicked dew, as e'er my mother brushed with raven's feather

from unwholesome fens, drop on you both! A south-west wind blow on you,

and blister you all o'er!

_Prosp._ For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,

side-stitches, that shall pen thy breath up: Urchins shall prick thee

till thou bleed'st: Thou shalt be pinched as thick as honey-combs, each

pinch more stinging than the bees which made them.

_Calib._ I must eat my dinner: This island's mine by Sycorax my mother,

which thou took'st from me. When thou earnest first, thou stroak'dst me,

and madest much of me; would'st give me water with berries in't, and

teach me how to name the bigger light, and how the less, that burn by

day and night; and then I loved thee, and showed thee all the qualities

of the isle, the fresh-springs, brine-pits, barren places, and fertile.

Cursed be I, that I did so! All the charms of Sycorax, toads, beetles,

bats, light on thee! for I am all the subjects that thou hast. I first

was mine own lord; and here thou stayest me in this hard rock, while

thou dost keep from me the rest o'the island.

_Prosp._ Thou most lying slave, whom stripes may move, not kindness! I

have used thee, filth as thou art! with human care; and lodged thee in

mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate the honour of my

children.

_Calib._ Oh, ho! oh, ho! would it had been done! Thou didst prevent me,

I had peopled else this isle with Calibans.

_Prosp._ Abhorred slave! who ne'er wouldst any print of goodness take,

being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, took pains to make thee speak,

taught thee each hour one thing or other: When thou didst not, savage!

know thy own meaning, but wouldst gabble like a thing most brutish, I

endowed thy purposes with words, which made them known.--But thy wild

race (though thou didst learn) had that in't, which good natures could

not abide to be with; therefore wast thou deservedly pent up into this

rock.

_Calib._ You taught me language; and my profit by it is, that I know to

curse. The red botch rid you for learning me your language!

_Prosp._ Hag-seed, hence!

Fetch us in fuel, and be quick

To answer other business.--Shrug'st thou, malice!

If thou neglectest, or dost unwillingly

What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps;

Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar,

That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

_Calib._ No, pr'ythee!

I must obey. His art is of such power,

It would controul my dam's god, Setebos,

And make a vassal of him.

_Prosp._ So, slave, hence!

[_Exeunt_ PROSP. _and_ CALIB. _severally_.

_Enter_ DORINDA.

_Dor._ Oh, sister! what have I beheld!

_Mir._ What is it moves you so?

_Dor._ From yonder rock,

As I my eyes cast down upon the seas,

The whistling winds blew rudely on my face,

And the waves roared; at first, I thought the war

Had been between themselves, but straight I spied

A huge great creature.

_Mir._ O, you mean the ship?

_Dor._ Is't not a creature then?--It seemed alive.

_Mir._ But what of it?

_Dor._ This floating ram did bear his horns above,

All tied with ribbands, ruffling in the wind:

Sometimes he nodded down his head a-while,

And then the waves did heave him to the moon,

He clambering to the top of all the billows;

And then again he curtsied down so low,

I could not see him: Till at last, all side-long,

With a great crack, his belly burst in pieces.

_Mir._ There all had perished,

Had not my father's magic art relieved them.--

But, sister, I have stranger news to tell you:

In this great creature there were other creatures;

And shortly we may chance to see that thing,

Which you have heard my father call a man.

_Dor._ But, what is that? For yet he never told me.

_Mir._ I know no more than you:--But I have heard

My father say, we women were made for him.

_Dor._ What, that he should eat us, sister?

_Mir._ No sure; you see my father is a man, and yet

He does us good. I would he were not old.

_Dor._ Methinks, indeed, it would be finer, if

We two had two young fathers.

_Mir._ No, sister, no: If they were young, my father

Said, we must call them brothers.

_Dor._ But, pray, how does it come, that we two are

Not brothers then, and have not beards like him?

_Mir._ Now I confess you pose me.

_Dor._ How did he come to be our father too?

_Mir._ I think he found us when we both were little,

And grew within the ground.

_Dor._ Why could he not find more of us? Pray, sister,

Let you and I look up and down one day,

To find some little ones for us to play with.

_Mir._ Agreed; but now we must go in. This is

The hour wherein my father's charm will work,

Which seizes all who are in open air:

The effect of this great art I long to see,

Which will perform as much as magic can.

_Dor._ And I, methinks, more long to see a man.

[_Exeunt._

ACT II. SCENE I.

_The scene changes to the wilder part of the Island. It is composed of

divers sorts of trees and barren places, with a prospect of the sea at a

great distance._

_Enter_ STEPHANO, MUSTACHO, _and_ VENTOSO.

_Vent._ The runlet of brandy was a loving runlet, and floated after us

out of pure pity.

_Must._ This kind bottle, like an old acquaintance, swam after it. And

this scollop-shell is all our plate now.

_Vent._ 'Tis well we have found something since we landed.

I pr'ythee fill a sup, and let it go round.--

Where hast thou laid the runlet?

_Must._ In the hollow of an old tree.

_Vent._ Fill apace; we cannot live long in this barren island, and we

may take a sup before death, as well as others drink at our funerals.

_Must._ This is prize brandy; we steal custom, and it costs nothing.

Let's have two rounds more.

_Vent._ Master, what have you saved?

_Steph._ Just nothing but myself.

_Vent._ This works comfortably on a cold stomach.

_Steph._ Fill us another round.

_Vent._ Look! Mustacho weeps. Hang losses, as long as we have brandy

left!--Pr'ythee leave weeping.

_Steph._ He sheds his brandy out of his eyes: He shall drink no more.

_Must._ This will be a doleful day with old Bess. She gave me a gilt

nutmeg at parting; that's lost too: But, as you say, hang losses!

Pr'ythee fill again.

_Vent._ Beshrew thy heart, for putting me in mind

of thy wife; I had not thought of mine else. Nature will shew itself, I

must melt. I pr'ythee fill again: My wife's a good old jade, and has but

one eye left; but she will weep out that too, when she hears that I am

dead.

_Steph._ 'Would you were both hanged, for putting me in thought of mine!

_Vent._ But come, master, sorrow is dry: There's for you again.

_Steph._ A mariner had e'en as good be a fish as a man, but for the

comfort we get ashore. O! for an old dry wench, now I am wet.

_Must._ Poor heart, that would soon make you dry again. But all is

barren in this isle: Here we may lie at hull, till the wind blow nor'

and by south, ere we can cry, a sail! a sail! a sight of a white apron:

And, therefore, here's another sup to comfort us.

_Vent._ This isle's our own, that's our comfort; for the duke, the

prince, and all their train, are perished.

_Must._ Our ship is sunk, and we can never get home again: We must e'en

turn savages, and the next that catches his fellow may eat him.

_Vent._ No, no, let us have a government; for if we live well and

orderly, heaven will drive shipwrecks ashore to make us all rich:

Therefore let us carry good consciences, and not eat one another.

_Steph._ Whoever eats any of my subjects, I'll break out his teeth with

my sceptre; for I was master at sea, and will be duke on land: You,

Mustacho, have been my mate, and shall be my viceroy.

_Vent._ When you are duke, you may chuse your viceroy; but I am a free

subject in a new plantation, and will have no duke without my voice: And

so fill me the other sup.

_Steph._ [_whispering_.] Ventoso, dost thou hear, I will advance thee;

pr'ythee, give me thy voice.

_Vent._ I'll have no whisperings to corrupt the election; and, to show

that I have no private ends, I declare aloud, that I will be viceroy, or

I'll keep my voice for myself.

_Must._ Stephano, hear me! I will speak for the people, because there

are few, or rather none, in the isle, to speak for themselves. Know,

then, that to prevent the farther shedding of christian blood, we are

all content Ventoso shall be viceroy, upon condition I may be viceroy

over him. Speak, good people, are you well agreed? what, no man answer?

Well, you may take their silence for consent.

_Vent._ You speak for the people, Mustacho! I'll speak for them, and

declare generally with one voice, one and all, that there shall be no

viceroy but the duke, unless I be he.

_Must._ You declare for the people, who never saw your face? Cold iron

shall decide it!

[_Both draw._

_Steph._ Hold, loving subjects! We will have no civil war during our

reign. I do hereby appoint you both to be my viceroys over the whole

island.

_Both._ Agreed, agreed!

_Enter_ TRINCALO, _with a great bottle, half drunk_.

_Vent._ How! Trincalo, our brave boatswain!

_Must._ He reels: Can he be drunk with sea-water?

_Trinc._ [sings.] _I shall no more to sea, to sea,

Here I shall die ashore_.

This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral;

but here's my comfort.

[_Drinks._

SINGS.

_The master, the swabber, the gunner, and I,

The surgeon, and his mate,

Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,

But none of us cared for Kate.

For she had a tongue with a twang,

Would cry to a sailor_, Go hang!--

_She loved not the savour of tar, nor of pitch,

Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch._

This is a scurvy tune too; but here's my comfort again.

[_Drinks._

_Steph._ We have got another subject now: Welcome, welcome, into our

dominions!

_Trinc._ What subject, or what dominions? Here's old sack, boys; the

king of good fellows can be no subject. I will be old Simon the king.

_Must._ Ha, old boy! how didst thou scape?

_Trinc._ Upon a butt of sack, boys, which the sailors threw

overboard.--But are you alive, hoa! for I will tipple with no ghosts,

till I'm dead. Thy hand, Mustacho, and thine, Ventoso; the storm has

done its worst.--Stephano alive too! give thy boatswain thy hand,

master.

_Vent._ You must kiss it then; for I must tell you, we have chosen him

duke, in a full assembly.

_Trinc._ A duke! where? What's he duke of?

_Must._ Of this island, man. Oh, Trincalo, we are all made: The island's

empty; all's our own, boy; and we will speak to his grace for thee, that

thou mayest be as great as we are.

_Trinc._ You great! what the devil are you?

_Vent._ We two are viceroys over all the island; and, when we are weary

of governing, thou shalt succeed us.

_Trinc._ Do you hear, Ventoso? I will succeed you in both places, before

you enter into them.

_Steph._ Trincalo, sleep, and be sober; and make no more uproars in my

country.

_Trinc._ Why, what are you, sir; what are you?

_Steph._ What I am, I am by free election; and you, Trincalo, are not

yourself: but we pardon your first fault, because it is the first day of

our reign.

_Trinc._ Umph, were matters carried so swimmingly against me, whilst I

was swimming, and saving myself for the good of the people of this

island!

_Must._ Art thou mad, Trincalo? Wilt thou disturb a settled government,

where thou art a mere stranger to the laws of the country?

_Trinc._ I'll have no laws.

_Vent._ Then civil war begins. [VENT. _and_ MUST. _draw_.

_Steph._ Hold, hold! I'll have no bloodshed; my subjects are but few:

Let him make a rebellion by himself; and a rebel, I, duke Stephano,

declare him.--Viceroys, come away.

_Trinc._ And duke Trincalo declares, that he will make open war wherever

he meets thee, or thy viceroys.

[_Exeunt_ STEPH. MUST. _and_ VENT.

_Enter_ CALIBAN, _with wood upon his back_.

_Trinc._ Ha! who have we here?

_Calib._ All the infections, that the sun sucks up from fogs, fens,

flats, on Prospero fall, and make him by inch-meal a disease! His

spirits hear me, and yet I needs must curse; but they'll not pinch,

fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i'the mire, nor lead me in the

dark out of my way, unless he bid them. But for every trifle he sets

them on me: Sometimes, like baboons, they mow and chatter at me, and

often bite me; like hedge-hogs, then, they mount their prickles at me,

tumbling before me in my barefoot way. Sometimes I am all wound about

with adders, who, with their cloven tongues, hiss me to madness.--Ha!

yonder stands one of his spirits, sent to torment me.

_Trinc._ What have we here, a man, or a fish? This is some monster of

the isle. Were I in England, as once I was, and had him painted, not a

holiday fool there but would give me sixpence for the sight of him.

Well, if I could make him tame, he were a present for an emperor.--Come

hither, pretty monster; I'll do thee no harm: Come hither!

_Calib._ Torment me not; I'll bring the wood home faster.

_Trinc._ He talks none of the wisest; but I'll give him a dram o'the

bottle, that will clear his understanding.--Come on your ways, master

monster, open your mouth: How now, you perverse moon-calf! what, I think

you cannot tell who is your friend?--Open your chops, I say.

[_Pours wine down his throat._

_Calib._ This is a brave god, and bears celestial liquor: I'll kneel to

him.

_Trinc._ He is a very hopeful monster.--Monster, what say'st thou, art

thou content to turn civil and sober, as I am? for then thou shalt be my

subject.

_Calib._ I'll swear upon that bottle to be true; for the liquor is not

earthly. Did'st thou not drop from heaven?

_Trinc._ Only out of the moon; I was the man in her, when time was.--By

this light, a very shallow monster.

_Calib._ I'll shew thee every fertile inch in the isle, and kiss thy

foot: I pr'ythee be my god, and let me drink.

[_Drinks again._

_Trinc._ Well drawn, monster, in good faith!

_Calib._ I'll shew thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries; I'll

fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.--A curse upon the tyrant whom I

serve! I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee.

_Trinc._ The poor monster is loving in his drink.

_Calib._ I pr'ythee let me bring thee where crabs grow; and I, with my

long nails, will dig thee pig-nuts, shew thee a jay's nest, and instruct

thee how to snare the marmozet: I'll bring thee to clustered filberts.

Wilt thou go with me?

_Trinc._ This monster comes of a good-natured race.--Is there no more of

thy kin in this island?

_Calib._ Divine, here is but one besides myself; my lovely sister,

beautiful and bright as the full moon!

_Trinc._ Where is she?

_Calib._ I left her clambering up a hollow oak, and plucking thence the

dropping honey-combs.--Say, my king, shall I call her to thee?

_Trinc._ She shall swear upon the bottle too. If she proves handsome,

she is mine.--Here, monster, drink again for thy good news; thou shalt

speak a good word for me.

[_Gives him the bottle._

_Calib._ Farewell, old master, farewell, farewell!

SINGS.

_No more dams I'll make for fish;

Nor fetch in firing, at requiring;

Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish:

Ban, ban, Ca-caliban,

Has a new master, get a new man._

Hey-day! freedom, freedom!

_Trinc._ Here's two subjects got already, the monster, and his sister:

Well, duke Stephano, I say, and say again, wars will ensue, and so I

drinks. [_Drinks_.] From this worshipful monster, and mistress monster,

his sister, I'll lay claim to this island by alliance.--Monster, I say,

thy sister shall be my spouse; come away, brother monster; I'll lead

thee to my butt, and drink her health.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.--_Cypress trees and a Cave._

_Enter_ PROSPERO _alone_.

_Prosp._ 'Tis not yet fit to let my daughters know,

I keep the infant duke of Mantua

So near them in this isle;

Whose father, dying, bequeathed him to my care;

Till my false brother (when he designed to usurp

My dukedom from me) exposed him to that fate,

He meant for me.

By calculation of his birth, I saw

Death threat'ning him, if, till some time were past,

He should behold the face of any woman:

And now the danger's nigh.--Hippolito!

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Hip._ Sir, I attend your pleasure.

_Prosp._ How I have loved thee, from thy infancy,

Heaven knows, and thou thyself canst bear me witness;

Therefore accuse not me of thy restraint.

_Hip._ Since I knew life, you've kept me in a rock;

And you, this day, have hurried me from thence,

Only to change my prison, not to free me.

I murmur not, but I may wonder at it.

_Prosp._ O, gentle youth! fate waits for thee abroad;

A black star threatens thee; and death, unseen,

Stands ready to devour thee.

_Hip._ You taught me

Not to fear him in any of his shapes:--

Let me meet death rather than be a prisoner.

_Prosp._ 'Tis pity he should seize thy tender youth.

_Hip._ Sir, I have often heard you say, no creature

Lived in this isle, but those which man was lord of.

Why, then, should I fear?

_Prosp._ But here are creatures which I named not to thee,

Who share man's sovereignty by nature's laws,

And oft depose him from it.

_Hip._ What are those creatures, sir?

_Prosp._ Those dangerous enemies of men, called women.

_Hip._ Women! I never heard of them before.--

What are women like?

_Prosp._ Imagine something between young men and angels;

Fatally beauteous, and have killing eyes;

Their voices charm beyond the nightingale's;

They are all enchantment: Those, who once behold them,

Are made their slaves for ever.

_Hip._ Then I will wink, and fight with them.

_Prosp._ 'Tis but in vain;

They'll haunt you in your very sleep.

_Hip._ Then I'll revenge it on them when I wake.

_Prosp._ You are without all possibility of revenge;

They are so beautiful, that you can ne'er attempt,

Nor wish, to hurt them.

_Hip._ Are they so beautiful?

_Prosp._ Calm sleep is not so soft; nor winter suns,

Nor summer shades, so pleasant.

_Hip._ Can they be fairer than the plumes of swans?

Or more delightful than the peacock's feathers?

Or than the gloss upon the necks of doves?

Or have more various beauty than the rainbow?--

These I have seen, and, without danger, wondered at.

_Prosp._ All these are far below them: Nature made

Nothing but woman dangerous and fair.

Therefore if you should chance to see them,

Avoid them straight, I charge you.

_Hip._ Well, since you say they are so dangerous,

I'll so far shun them, as I may with safety

Of the unblemished honour, which you taugt me.

But let them not provoke me, for I'm sure

I shall not then forbear them.

_Prosp._ Go in, and read the book I gave you last.

To-morrow I may bring you better news.

_Hip._ I shall obey you, sir.

[_Exit_ HIP.

_Prosp._ So, so; I hope this lesson has secured him,

For I have been constrained to change his lodging

From yonder rock, where first I bred him up,

And here have brought him home to my own cell,

Because the shipwreck happened near his mansion.

I hope he will not stir beyond his limits,

For hitherto he hath been all obedience:

The planets seem to smile on my designs,

And yet there is one sullen cloud behind:

I would it were dispersed!

_Enter_ MIRANDA _and_ DORINDA.

How, my daughters!

I thought I had instructed them enough:

Children! retire; why do you walk this way?

_Mir._ It is within our bounds, sir.

_Prosp._ But both take heed, that path is very

dangerous; remember what I told you.

_Dor._ Is the man that way, sir?

_Prosp._ All that you can imagine ill is there.

The curled lion, and the rugged bear,

Are not so dreadful as that man.

_Mir._ Oh me, why stay we here then?

_Dor._ I'll keep far enough from his den, I warrant him.

_Mir._ But you have told me, sir, you are a man;

And yet you are not dreadful.

_Prosp._ Ay, child; but I

Am a tame man; old men are tame by nature,

But all the danger lies in a wild young man.

_Dor._ Do they run wild about the woods?

_Prosp._ No, they are wild within doors, in chambers, and in closets.

_Dor._ But, father, I would stroak them, and make them gentle; then sure

they would not hurt me.

_Prosp._ You must not trust them, child: No woman can come near them,

but she feels a pain, full nine months. Well, I must in; for new affairs

require my presence: Be you, Miranda, your sister's guardian.

[_Exit_ PROS.

_Dor._ Come, sister, shall we walk the other way?

The man will catch us else: We have but two legs,

And he, perhaps, has four.

_Mir._ Well, sister, though he have; yet look about you.

_Dor._ Come back! that way is towards his den.

_Mir._ Let me alone; I'll venture first, for sure he can

Devour but one of us at once.

_Dor._ How dare you venture?

_Mir._ We'll find him sitting like a hare in's form,

And he shall not see us.

_Dor._ Ay, but you know my father charged us both.

_Mir._ But who shall tell him on't? we'll keep each other's counsel.

_Dor._ I dare not, for the world.

_Mir._ But how shall we hereafter shun him, if we do not know him first?

_Dor._ Nay, I confess I would fain see him too.

I find it in my nature, because my father has forbidden me.

_Mir._ Ay, there's it, sister; if he had said nothing, I had been quiet.

Go softly, and if you see him first, be quick, and beckon me away.

_Dor._ Well, if he does catch me, I'll humble myself to him, and ask him

pardon, as I do my father, when I have done a fault.

_Mir._ And if I can but escape with life, I had rather be in pain nine

months, as my father threatened, than lose my longing.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Hip._ Prospero has often said, that nature makes

Nothing in vain: Why then are women made?

Are they to suck the poison of the earth,

As gaudy coloured serpents are? I'll ask

That question, when next I see him here.

_Enter_ MIRANDA _and_ DORINDA _peeping_.

_Dor._ O sister, there it is! it walks about

Like one of us.

_Mir._ Ay, just so, and has legs as we have too.

_Hip._ It strangely puzzles me: Yet 'tis most likely,

Women are somewhat between men and spirits.

_Dor._ Hark! it talks:--sure this is not it my father meant,

For this is just like one of us: Methinks,

I am not half so much afraid on't as

I was; see, now it turns this way.

_Mir._ Heaven! what a goodly thing it is!

_Dor._ I'll go nearer it.

_Mir._ O no, 'tis dangerous, sister! I'll go to it.

I would not for the world that you should venture.

My father charged me to secure you from it.

_Dor._ I warrant you this is a tame man; dear sister,

He'll not hurt me, I see it by his looks.

_Mir._ Indeed he will! but go back, and he shall eat me first: Fie, are

you not ashamed to be so inquisitive?

_Dor._ You chide me for it, and would give him yourself.

_Mir._ Come back, or I will tell my father.

Observe how he begins to stare already!

I'll meet the danger first, and then call you.

_Dor._ Nay, sister, you shall never vanquish me in kindness. I'll

venture you no more than you will me.

_Prosp._ [_within_.] Miranda, child, where are you?

_Mir._ Do you not hear my father call? Go in.

_Dor._ 'Twas you he named, not me; I will but

say my prayers, and follow you immediately.

_Mir._ Well, sister, you'll repent it.

[_Exit_ MIR.

_Dor._ Though I die for it, I must have the other peep.

_Hip._ What thing is that? [_Seeing her_.] Sure 'tis some infant of

The sun, dressed in his father's gayest beams,

And comes to play with birds: My sight is dazzled,

And yet I find I'm loth to shut my eyes:

I must go nearer it;--but stay a while;

May it not be that beauteous murderer, woman,

Which I was charged to shun? Speak, what art thou,

Thou shining vision!

_Dor._ Alas, I know not; but I'm told I am

A woman; do not hurt me, pray, fair thing.

_Hip._ I'd sooner tear my eyes out, than consent

To do you any harm; though I was told,

A woman was my enemy.

_Dor._ I never knew

What 'twas to be an enemy, nor can I e'er

Prove so to that, which looks like you: For though

I've been charged by him (whom yet I ne'er disobeyed,)

To shun your presence, yet I'd rather die

Than lose it; therefore, I hope you will not have the heart

To hurt me: Though I fear you are a man,

The dangerous thing of which I have been warned.

Pray, tell me what you are?

_Hip._ I must confess, I was informed I am a man;

But if I fright you, I shall wish I were some other creature.

I was bid to fear you too.

_Dor._ Ah me! Heaven grant we be not poison to

Each other! Alas, can we not meet, but we must die?

_Hip._ I hope not so! for, when two poisonous creatures,

Both of the same kind, meet, yet neither dies.

I've seen two serpents harmless to each other,

Though they have twined into a mutual knot:

If we have any venom in us, sure, we cannot be

More poisonous, when we meet, than serpents are.

You have a hand like mine--may I not gently touch it?

[_Takes her hand._

_Dor._ I've touched my father's and my sister's hands,

And felt no pain; but now, alas! there's something,

When I touch yours, which makes me sigh: Just so

I've seen two turtles mourning when they met:

Yet mine's a pleasing grief; and so, methought,

Was theirs: For still they mourned, and still they seemed

To murmur too, and yet they often met.

_Hip._ Oh heavens! I have the same sense too: your hand,

Methinks, goes through me; I feel it at my heart,

And find it pleases, though it pains me.

_Prosp._ [_within_.] Dorinda!

_Dor._ My father calls again; ah, I must leave you.

_Hip._ Alas, I'm subject to the same command.

_Dor._ This is my first offence against my father,

Which he, by severing us, too cruelly does punish.

_Hip._ And this is my first trespass too: But he

Hath more offended truth, than we have him:

He said our meeting would destructive be,

But I no death, but in our parting, see.

[_Exeunt severally._

SCENE IV.--_A Wild Island._

_Enter_ ALONZO, ANTONIO, _and_ GONZALO.

_Gonz._ 'Beseech your grace, be merry: You have cause,

So have we all, of joy, for our strange escape;

Then wisely, good sir, weigh our sorrow with

Our comfort.

_Alon._ Pr'ythee peace; you cram these words

Into my ears, against my stomach; how

Can I rejoice, when my dear son, perhaps

This very moment, is made a meal to some strange fish?

_Anto._ Sir, he may live;

I saw him beat the billows under him,

And ride upon their backs; I do not doubt

He came alive to land.

_Alon._ No, no, he's gone;

And you and I, Antonio, were those

Who caused his death.

_Anto._ How could we help it?

_Alon._ Then, then we should have helped it,

When thou betray'dst thy brother Prospero,

And Mantua's infant sovereign, to my power:

And when I, too ambitious, took by force

Another's right: Then lost we Ferdinand;

Then forfeited our navy to this tempest.

_Anto._ Indeed we first broke truce with heaven;

You to the waves an infant prince exposed,

And on the waves have lost an only son.

I did usurp my brother's fertile lands,

And now am cast upon this desert-isle.

_Gonz._ These, sirs, 'tis true, were crimes of a black dye;

But both of you have made amends to heaven,

By your late voyage into Portugal;

Where, in defence of christianity,

Your valour has repulsed the Moors of Spain.

_Alon._ O name it not, Gonzalo;

No act but penitence can expiate guilt!

Must we teach heaven what price to set on murder?

What rate on lawless power and wild ambition?

Or dare we traffic with the powers above,

And sell by weight a good deed for a bad?

[_A flourish of music._

_Gonz._ Music! and in the air! sure we are shipwrecked

On the dominions of some merry devil!

_Anto._ This isle's enchanted ground; for I have heard

Swift voices flying by my ear, and groans

Of lamenting ghosts.

_Alon._ I pulled a tree, and blood pursued my hand.

Heaven deliver me from this dire place,

And all the after-actions of my life

Shall mark my penitence and my bounty.

[_Music again louder._

Hark, the sounds approach us!

[_The stage opens in several places._

_Anto._ Lo! the earth opens to devour us quick.

These dreadful horrors, and the guilty sense

Of my foul treason, have unmanned me quite.

_Alon._ We on the brink of swift destruction stand;

No means of our escape is left.

[_Another flourish of voices under the stage._

_Anto._ Ah! what amazing sounds are these we hear!

_Gonz._ What horrid masque will the dire fiends present?

SUNG UNDER THE STAGE.

1 Dev. _Where does the black fiend Ambition reside,

With the mischievous devil of Pride?_

2 Dev. _In the lowest and darkest caverns of hell,

Both Pride and Ambition do dwell._

1 Dev. _Who are the chief leaders of the damned host?_

3 Dev. _Proud monarchs, who tyrannize most._

1 Dev. _Damned princes there

The worst of torments bear;_

3 Dev. _Who on earth all others in pleasures excel,

Must feel the worst torments of hell._

[_They rise singing this chorus._

_Anto._ O heavens! what horrid vision's this?

How they upbraid us with our crimes!

_Alon._ What fearful vengeance is in store for us!

1 Dev. _Tyrants, by whom their subjects bleed,

Should in pains all others exceed;_

1 Dev. _And barbarous monarchs, who their neighbours invade,

And their crowns unjustly get;

And such who their brothers to death have betrayed,

In hell upon burning thrones shall be set._

3 Dev. {--_In hell, in hell with flames they shall reign,_

Chor. {_And for ever, for ever shall suffer the pain._

_Anto._ O my soul! for ever, for ever shall suffer the pain!

_Alon._ Has heaven, in all its infinite stock of mercy,

No overflowings for us? poor, miserable, guilty men!

_Gonz._ Nothing but horrors do encompass us!

For ever, for ever must we suffer!

_Alon._ For ever we shall perish! O dismal words,

For ever!

1 Dev. _Who are the pillars of the tyrants court?_

2 Dev. _Rapine and Murder his crown must support!_

3 Dev. ----_His cruelty does tread

On orphans' tender breasts, and brothers dead!_

2 Dev. _Can heaven permit such crimes should be

Attended with felicity?_

1 Dev. _No; tyrants their sceptres uneasily bear,

In the midst of their guards they their consciences fear._

2 Dev. {_Care their minds when they wake unquiet will keep;_

Chor. {_And we with dire visions disturb all their sleep._

_Anto._ Oh horrid sight! how they stare upon us!

The fiend will hurry us to the dark mansion.

Sweet heaven, have mercy on us!

1 Dev. _Say, say, shall we bear these bold mortals from hence?_

2 Dev. _No, no, let us shew their degrees of offence._

3 Dev. _Let's muster their crimes upon every side,

And first let's discover their pride._

Enter PRIDE.

Pride. _Lo here is Pride, who first led them astray,

And did to ambition their minds then betray._

Enter FRAUD.

Fraud. _And Fraud does next appear,

Their wandering steps who led;

When they from virtue fled,

They in my crooked paths their course did steer._

Enter RAPINE.

Rapine. _From fraud to force they soon arrive,

Where Rapine did their actions drive._

Enter MURDER.

Murder. _There long they could not stay;

Down the steep hill they run;

And to perfect the mischief which they had begun,

To murder they bent all their way._

Chorus of all. _Around, around we pace,

About this cursed place;

While thus we compass in

These mortals and their sin._

[Devils vanish.

_Anto._ Heaven has heard me, they are vanished!

_Alon._ But they have left me all unmanned;

I feel my sinews slacken with the fright;

And a cold sweat trills down o'er all my limbs,

As if I were dissolving into water.

Oh Prospero, my crimes against thee sit heavy on my heart!

_Anto._ And mine against him and young Hippolito.

_Gonz._ Heaven have mercy on the penitent!

_Anto._ Lead from this cursed ground;

The seas in all their rage are not so dreadful.

This is the region of despair and death.

_Alon._ Beware all fruit, but what the birds have pecked.

The shadows of the trees are poisonous too:

A secret venom slides from every branch.

My conscience does distract me! O my son!

Why do I speak of eating or repose,

Before I know thy fortune?

[_As they are going out, a Devil rises just before

them, at which they start, and are frighted._

_Alon._ O heavens! yet more apparitions!

DEVIL SINGS.

_Arise, arise! ye subterranean winds,

More to disturb their guilty minds:

And all ye filthy damps and vapours rise,

Which use to infect the earth, and trouble all the skies;

Rise you, from whom devouring plagues have birth:

You, that in the vast and hollow womb of earth

Engender earthquakes, make whole countries shake,

And stately cities into deserts turn;

And you, who feed the flames by which earth's entrails burn.

Ye raging winds, whose rapid force can make

All but the fixed and solid centre shake,

Come drive these wretches to that part of the isle,

Where nature never yet did smile:

Cause fogs and storms, whirlwinds, and earthquakes there:

There let them howl and languish in despair.

Rise and obey the powerful prince of the air._

[Two Winds rise, ten more enter and dance. At the end of

the dance, three Winds sink, the rest drive ALONZO,

ANTONIO and GONZALO off.

ACT III.

SCENE I.--_A Wild Island._

_Enter_ FERDINAND, ARIEL, _and_ MILCHA _invisible_.

Ariel. _Come unto these yellow sands,

And then take hands,

Curtsied when you have, and kissed;

And wild waves whist.

Foot it featly here and there,

And sweet sprites the burthen bear.

Hark! hark!

Bow waugh, the watch-dogs bark.

Bow waugh. Hark! hark! I hear

The strain of strutting Chanticleer,

Cry, Cock a doodle do._

_Ferd._ Where should this music be? in the air, or earth?

It sounds no more, and sure it waits upon

Some God in the island: Sitting on a bank,

Weeping against the duke my father's wreck,

This music hovered on the waters,

Allaying both their fury, and my passion,

With charming airs. Thence I have followed it,

(Or it has drawn me rather) but 'tis gone:

No, it begins again.

MILCHA SINGS.

_Full fathom five thy father lies,

Of his bones is coral made:

Those are pearls that were his eyes;

Nothing of him, that does fade,

But does suffer a sea change,

Into something rich and strange:

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell;

Hark! now I hear them, ding dong bell._

_Ferd._ This mournful ditty mentions my drowned father.

This is no mortal business, nor a sound

Which the earth owns----I hear it now before me;

However, I will on, and follow it.

[_Exit_ FERD. _following_ ARIEL.

The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 03 · 第 1 / 9 章