_Serv._ My master had forgot this letter,
Which he conjures you, as you are his friend,
To give Aurelia from him.
_Lop._ Tell Don Melchor,
'Tis a hard task which he enjoins me:
He knows I love her, and much more than he;
For I love her alone, but he divides
His passion betwixt two. Did he consider
How great a pain 'tis to dissemble love,
He would never practise it.
_Serv._ He knows his fault, but cannot mend it.
_Lop._ To make the poor Aurelia believe
He's gone for Flanders, whilst he lies concealed,
And every night makes visits to her cousin--
When will he leave this strange extravagance?
_Serv._ When he can love one more, or t'other less.
_Lop._ Before I loved myself, I promised him
To serve him in his love; and I'll perform it,
Howe'er repugnant to my own concernments.
_Serv._ You are a noble cavalier.
[_Exit Servant._
_Enter_ BELLAMY, WILDBLOOD, _and_ MASKALL.
_2 Serv._ Sir, your guests, of the English ambassador's retinue.
_Lop._ Cavaliers, will you please to command my coach to take the air
this evening?
_Bel._ We have not yet resolved how to dispose of ourselves; but,
however, we are highly acknowledging to you for your civility.
_Lop._ You cannot more oblige me, than by laying your commands on me.
_Wild._ We kiss your hand.
[_Exeunt_ LOPEZ _and Serv_.
_Bel._ Give the Don his due, he entertained us nobly this carnival.
_Wild._ Give the devil the Don, for any thing I liked in his
entertainment.
_Bel._ I hope we had variety enough.
_Wild._ Ay, it looked like variety, till we came to taste it; there were
twenty several dishes to the eye, but in the palate, nothing but spices.
I had a mind to eat of a pheasant, and as soon as I got it into my
mouth, I found I was chewing a limb of cinnamon; then I went to cut a
piece of kid, and no sooner it had touched my lips, but it turned to red
pepper: At last I began to think myself another kind of Midas, that
every thing I touched should be turned to spice.
_Bel._ And, for my part, I imagined his Catholic majesty had invited us
to eat his Indies. But pr'ythee, let's leave the discourse of it, and
contrive together how we may spend the evening; for in this hot country,
'tis as in the creation, the evening and the morning make the day.
_Wild._ I have a little serious business.
_Bel._ Put it off till a fitter season: For the truth is, business is
then only tolerable, when the world and the flesh have no baits to set
before us for the day.
_Wild._ But mine, perhaps, is public business.
_Bel._ Why, is any business more public than drinking and wenching? Look
on those grave plodding fellows, that pass by us as though they were
meditating the reconquest of Flanders: Fly them to a mark, and I'll
undertake three parts of four are going to their courtezans. I tell
thee, Jack, the whisking of a silk gown, and the rush of a tabby
petticoat, are as comfortable sounds to one of these rich citizens, as
the chink of their pieces of eight.
_Wild._ This being granted to be the common design of human kind, it is
more than probable it is yours; therefore I'll leave you to the
prosecution of it.
_Bel._ Nay, good Jack, mine is but a mistress in embryo; the possession
of her is at least some days off; and till that time, thy company will
be pleasant, and may be profitable to carry on the work. I would use
thee like an under kind of chemist, to blow coals; it will be time
enough for me to be alone, when I come to projection.
_Wild._ You must excuse me, Frank; I have made an appointment at the
gaming-house.
_Bel._ What to do there, I pr'ythee? To mis-spend that money, which kind
fortune intended for a mistress? Or to learn new oaths and curses to
carry into England? That is not it--I heard you were to marry when you
left home: Perhaps that may be still running in your head, and keep you
virtuous.
_Wild._ Marriage, quotha! what, dost thou think
I have been bred in the deserts of Africa, or among the savages of
America? Nay, if I had, I must needs have known better things than so;
the light of nature would not have let me go so far astray.
_Bel._ Well, what think you of the Prado this evening?
_Wild._ Pox upon't, 'tis worse than our contemplative Hyde-Park.
_Bel._ Oh, but we must submit to the custom of the country for
courtship: Whatever the means are, we are sure the end is still the same
in all places. But who are these?
_Enter_ DON ALONZO DE RIBERA, _with his two Daughters_, THEODOSIA _and_
JACINTHA, _and_ BEATRIX, _their Woman, passing by_.
_Theo._ Do you see those strangers, sister, that eye us so earnestly?
_Jac._ Yes, and I guess them to be feathers of the English ambassador's
train; for I think I saw them at the grand audience--and have the
strongest temptation in the world to talk to them: A mischief on this
modesty!
_Beat._ A mischief of this father of yours, that haunts you so.
_Jac._ 'Tis very true, Beatrix; for though I am the younger sister, I
should have the grace to lay modesty first aside: However, sister, let
us pull up our veils, and give them an essay of our faces.
[_They pull up their veils, and pull them down again._
_Wild._ Ah, Bellamy! undone, undone! Dost thou see those beauties?
_Bel._ Pr'ythee, Wildblood, hold thy tongue, and do not spoil my
contemplation: I am undoing myself as fast as ever I can, too.
_Wild._ I must go to them.
_Bel._ Hold, madman! Dost thou not see their father? Hast thou a mind to
have our throats cut?
_Wild._ By a Hector of fourscore? Hang our throats: What! a lover, and
cautious?
[_Is going towards them._
_Alon._ Come away, daughters; we shall be late else.
_Bel._ Look you, they are on the wing already.
_Wild._ Pr'ythee, dear Frank, let's follow them: I long to know who they
are.
_Mask._ Let me alone, I'll dog them for you.
_Bel._ I am glad on't; for my shoes so pinch me, I can scarce go a step
farther.
_Wild._ Cross the way there lives a shoemaker: Away quickly, that we may
not spoil our design.
[_Exeunt_ BEL. _and_ WILD.
_Alon._ [_offers to go off_.] Now, friend! what's your business to
follow us?
_Mask._ Noble Don, 'tis only to recommend my service to you: A certain
violent passion I have had for your worship, since the first moment that
I saw you.
_Alon._ I never saw thee before, to my remembrance.
_Mask._ No matter, sir; true love never stands upon ceremon
y.
_Alon._ Pr'ythee be gone, my saucy companion, or
I'll clap an alguazil upon thy heels: I tell thee I have no need of thy
service.
_Mask._ Having no servant of your own, I cannot, in good manners, leave
you destitute.
_Alon._ I'll beat thee, if thou followest me.
_Mask._ I am your spaniel, sir; the more you beat me, the better I'll
wait on you.
_Alon._ Let me entreat thee to be gone; the boys will hoot at me to see
me followed thus against my will.
_Mask._ Shall you and I concern ourselves for what the boys do, sir?
Pray do you hear the news at court?
_Alon._ Pr'ythee, what's the news to thee or me?
_Mask._ Will you be at the next _juego de cannas_?
_Alon._ If I think good.
_Mask._ Pray go on, sir; we can discourse as we walk together: And
whither were you now a-going, sir?
_Alon._ To the devil, I think.
_Mask._ O, not this year or two, sir, by your age.
_Jac._ My father was never so matched for talking in all his life
before; he who loves to hear nothing but himself: Pr'ythee, Beatrix,
stay behind, and see what this impudent Englishman would have.
_Beat._ Sir, if you'll let my master go, I'll be his pawn.
_Mask._ Well, sir, I kiss your hand, in hope to wait on you another
time.
_Alon._ Let us mend our pace, to get clear of him.
_Theo._ If you do not, he'll be with you again, like Atalanta in the
fable, and make you drop another of your golden apples.
[_Exeunt_ ALON. THEO. _and_ JACINTHA.
[MASKALL _whispers_ BEATRIX _the while_.
_Beat._ How much good language is here thrown away, to make me betray my
ladies?
_Mask._ If you will discover nothing of them, let me discourse with you
a little.
_Beat._ As little as you please.
_Mask._ They are rich, I suppose?
_Beat._ Now you are talking of them again: But they are as rich, as they
are fair.
_Mask._ Then they have the Indies: Well, but their names, my sweet
mistress.
_Beat._ Sweet servant, their names are----
_Mask._ Their names are--out with it boldly--
_Beat._ A secret--not to be disclosed.
_Mask._ A secret, say you? Nay, then, I conjure you, as you are a woman,
tell it me.
_Beat._ Not a syllable.
_Mask._ Why, then, as you are a waiting-woman; as you are the sieve of
all your lady's secrets, tell it me.
_Beat._ You lose your labour; nothing will strain through me.
_Mask._ Are you so well stopped in the bottom?
_Beat._ It was enjoined me strictly as a secret.
_Mask._ Was it enjoined thee strictly, and canst thou hold it? Nay,
then, thou art invincible: But, by that face, that more than ugly face,
which I suspect to be under thy veil, disclose it to me.
_Beat._ By that face of thine, which is a natural visor, I will not tell
thee.
_Mask._ By thy----
_Beat._ No more swearing, I beseech you.
_Mask._ That woman's worth little, that is not worth an oath: Well, get
thee gone; now I think on't, thou shalt not tell me.
_Beat._ Shall I not? Who shall hinder me? They are Don Alonzo de
Ribera's daughters.
_Mask._ Out, out: I'll stop my ears.
_Beat._ They live hard by, in the _Calle maior_.
_Mask._ O, infernal tongue--
_Beat._ And are going to the next chapel with their father.
_Mask._ Wilt thou never have done tormenting me? In my conscience, anon
thou wilt blab out their names too.
_Beat._ Their names are Theodosia and Jacintha.
_Mask._ And where's your great secret now?
_Beat._ Now, I think, I am revenged on you, for running down my poor old
master.
_Mask._ Thou art not fully revenged, till thou hast told me thy own name
too.
_Beat._ 'Tis Beatrix, at your service, sir; pray remember I wait on
them.
_Mask._ Now I have enough, I must be going.
_Beat._ I perceive you are just like other men; when you have got your
ends, you care not how soon you are going. Farewell:--you'll be constant
to me?
_Mask._ If thy face, when I see it, do not give me occasion to be
otherwise.
_Beat._ You shall take a sample, that you may praise it, when you see it
next.
[_She pulls up her veil._
_Enter_ WILDBLOOD _and_ BELLAMY.
_Wild._ Look, there's your dog with a duck in's mouth.--Oh, she's got
loose, and dived again.
[_Exit_ BEATRIX.
_Beat._ Well, Maskall, what news of the ladies of the lake?
_Mask._ I have learned enough to embark you in an adventure. They are
daughters to one Don Alonzo de Ribera, in the _Calle maior_, their names
Theodosia and Jacintha, and they are going to their devotions in the
next chapel.
_Wild._ Away then, let us lose no time. I thank heaven, I never found
myself better inclined to godliness, than at this present.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.--_A Chapel_.
_Enter_ ALONZO, THEODOSIA, JACINTHA, BEATRIX, _other Ladies, and
Cavaliers at their devotions_.
_Alon._ By that time you have told your beads, I'll be again with you.
[_Exit._
_Jac._ Do you think the Englishmen will come after us?
_Beat._ Do you think they can stay from you?
_Jac._ For my part, I feel a certain qualm upon my heart, which makes me
believe I am breeding love to one of them.
_Theo._ How, love, Jacintha! in so short a time? Cupid's arrow was well
feathered, to reach you so suddenly.
_Jac._ Faith, as good at first as at last, sister; 'tis a thing that
must be done, and therefore 'tis best dispatching it out o'the way.
_Theo._ But you do not mean to tell him so, whom you love?
_Jac._ Why should I keep myself and servant in
pain, for that which may be cured at a day's warning?
_Beat._ My lady tells you true, madam; long tedious courtship may be
proper for cold countries, where their frosts are long a thawing; but,
heaven be praised, we live in a warm climate.
_Theo._ The truth is, in other countries they have opportunities of
courtship, which we have not; they are not mewed up with double locks
and grated windows; but may receive addresses at their leisure.
_Jac._ But our love here is like our grass; if it be not mowed quickly,
'tis burnt up.
_Enter_ BELLAMY, WILDBLOOD, and MASKALL: _They look about them_.
_Theo._ Yonder are your gallants; send you comfort of them: I am for my
devotions.
_Jac._ Now for my heart can I think of no other prayer, but only that
they may not mistake us. Why, sister, sister, will you pray? What injury
have I ever done you, that you should pray in my company? If your
servant Don Melchor were here, we should have you mind heaven as little
as the best of us.
_Beat._ They are at a loss, madam; shall I put up my veil, that they may
take aim?
_Jac._ No, let them take their fortune in the dark: We shall see what
archers these English are.
_Bel._ Which are they, think'st thou?
_Wild._ There's no knowing them, they are all children of darkness.
_Bel._ I'll be sworn they have one sign of godliness among them, there's
no distinction of persons here.
_Wild._ Pox o'this blind-man's-buff; they may be ashamed to provoke a
man thus, by their keeping themselves so close.
_Bel._ You are for the youngest, you say; 'tis the eldest has smitten
me. And here I fix; if I am right, happy man be his dole.
[_By_ THEODOSIA.
_Wild._ I'll take my fortune here.
[_By_ JACINTHA.
Madam, I hope a stranger may take the liberty, without offence, to
offer his devotions by you?
_Jac._ That, sir, would interrupt mine, without being any advantage to
your own.
_Wild._ My advantage, madam, is very evident; for the kind saint, to
whom you pray, may, by the neighbourhood, mistake my devotions for
yours.
_Jac._ O, sir! our saints can better distinguish between the prayers of
a Catholic and a Lutheran.
_Wild._ I beseech you, madam, trouble not yourself for my religion; for,
though I am a heretic to the men of your country, to your ladies I am a
very zealous Catholic; and for fornication and adultery, I assure you I
hold with both churches.
_Theo. to Bel._ Sir, if you will not be more devout, be at least more
civil; you see you are observed.
_Bel._ And pray, madam, what do you think the lookers on imagine I am
employed about?
_Theo._ I will not trouble myself to guess.
_Bel._ Why, by all circumstances, they must conclude that I am making
love to you; and, methinks, it were scarce civil to give the opinion of
so much good company the lie.
_Theo._ If this were true, you would have little reason to thank them
for their divination.
_Bel._ Meaning, I should not be loved again?
_Theo._ You have interpreted my riddle, and may take it for your pains.
_Enter_ ALONZO, _and goes apart to his devotion_.
_Beat._ Madam, your father is returned.
_Bel._ She has nettled me; would, I could be revenged on her!
_Wild._ Do you see their father? Let us make as though we talked to one
another, that we may not be suspected.
_Beat._ You have lost your Englishmen.
_Jac._ No, no, 'tis but design, I warrant you: You shall see these
island cocks wheel about immediately.
[_The English gather up close to them._
_Beat._ Perhaps they thought they were observed.
_Wild. to Bel._ Talk not of our country ladies: I declare myself for the
Spanish beauties.
_Bel._ Pr'ythee, tell me what thou canst find to doat on in these
Castilians?
_Wild._ Their wit and beauty.
_Theo._ Now for our champion, St Jago, for Spain.
_Bel._ Faith, I can speak no such miracles of either; for their beauty,
'tis much as the Moors left it; not altogether so deep a black as the
true Ethiopian; a kind of beauty that is too civil to the lookers-on to
do them any mischief.
_Jac._ This was your frowardness, that provoked
him, sister.
_Theo._ But they shall not carry it off so.
_Bel._ As for their wit, you may judge it by their breeding, which is
commonly in a nunnery; where the want of mankind, while they are there,
makes them value the blessing ever after.
_Theo._ Pr'ythee, dear Jacintha, tell me, what kind of creatures were
those we saw yesterday at the audience? Those, I mean, that looked so
like Frenchmen in their habits, but only became their apishness so much
worse.
_Jac._ Englishmen, I think, they called them.
_Theo._ Cry you mercy; they were of your wild English, indeed; that is,
a kind of northern beast, that is taught its feats of activity in
Monsieurland; and, for doing them too lubberly, is laughed at all the
world over.
_Bel._ Wildblood, I perceive the women understand little of discourse;
their gallants do not use them to it: They get upon their jennets, and
prance before their ladies' windows; there the palfrey curvets and
bounds, and, in short, entertains them for his master.
_Wild._ And this horseplay they call making love.
_Beat._ Your father, madam----
_Alon._ Daughters! what cavaliers are those which were talking by you?
_Jac._ Englishmen, I believe, sir, at their devotions.--Cavalier, would
you would try to pray a little better than you have rallied.
[_Aside to_ WILD.
_Wild._ Hang me if I put all my devotions out of order for you: I
remember I prayed but on Tuesday last, and my time comes not till
Tuesday next.
_Mask._ You had as good pray, sir: she will not stir till you have: Say
any thing.
_Wild._ Fair lady, though I am not worthy of the least of your favours,
yet give me the happiness this evening to see you at your father's door,
that I may acquaint you with part of my sufferings.
[_Aside to_ JAC.
_Alon._ Come, daughters, have you done?
_Jac._ Immediately, sir.--Cavalier, I will not fail to be there at the
time appointed, if it be but to teach you more wit, henceforward, than
to engage your heart so lightly.
[_Aside to_ WILD.
_Wild._ I have engaged my heart with so much zeal and true devotion to
your divine beauty, that----
_Alon._ What means this cavalier?
_Jac._ Some zealous ejaculation.
_Alan._ May the saint hear him!
_Jac._ I'll answer for her.
[_Exeunt Father and Daughters._
_Wild._ Now, Bellamy, what success?
_Bel._ I prayed to a more marble saint than that
was in the shrine; but you, it seems, have been successful.
_Wild._ And so shalt thou; let me alone for both.
_Bel._ If you'll undertake it, I'll make bold to indulge my love, and
within these two hours be a desperate inamorato. I feel I am coming
apace to it.
_Wild._ Faith, I can love at any time with a wish, at my rate: I give my
heart according to the old law of pawns, to be returned me before
sunset.
_Bel._ I love only that I may keep my heart warm; for a man's a pool, if
love stir him not; and to bring it to that pass, I first resolve whom to
love, and presently after imagine I am in love: for a strong imagination
is required in a lover as much as in a witch.
_Wild._ And is this all your receipt?
_Bel._ These are my principal ingredients; as for piques, jealousies,
duels, daggers, and halters, I let them alone to the vulgar.
_Wild._ Pr'ythee, let's round the street a little; till Maskall watches
for their woman.
_Bel._ That's well thought on: He shall about it immediately. We will
attempt the mistress by the maid: Women by women still are best
betrayed.
[_Exeunt._
ACT II. SCENE I.
_Enter_ WILDBLOOD, BELLAMY, _and_ MASKALL.
_Wild._ Did you speak with her woman?
_Mask._ Yes, but she was in haste, and bid me wait her hereabouts when
she returned.
_Bel._ Then you have discovered nothing more?
_Mask._ Only, in general, that Donna Theodosia is engaged elsewhere; so
that all your courtship will be to no purpose--But for your mistress,
sir, [_To_ WILD.] she is waded out of her depth in love to you already.
_Wild._ That's very hard, when I am scarce knee-deep with her: 'Tis
true, I have given her hold of my heart; but, if she take not heed, it
will slip through her fingers.
_Bel._ You are prince of the soil, sir, and may take your pleasure when
you please; but I am the eve to your holiday, and must fast for being
joined to you.
_Wild._ Were I as thou art, I would content myself with having but one
fair flight at her, without wearying myself on the wing for a retrieve;
for, when all is done, the quarry is but a woman.
_Bel._ Thank you, sir, you would fly them both yourself; and while I
turn tail, we should have you come, gingling with your bells in the neck
of my partridge. Do you remember who encouraged me to love, and promised
me his assistance?
_Wild._ Ay, while there was hope, Frank! while there was hope! but
there's no contending with one's destiny.
_Bel._ Nay, it may be I care as little for her as another man; but,
while she flies before me, I must follow: I can love a woman first with
ease; but if she begins to fly before me, I grow _opiniatre_ as the
devil.
_Wild._ What a secret have you found out? Why, 'tis the nature of all
mankind: We love to get our mistresses, and purr over them, as cats do
over mice, and let them go a little way; and all the pleasure is, to pat
them back again: But yours, I take it, Frank, is gone too far. Pr'ythee,
how long dost thou intend to love at this rate?
_Bel._ Till the evil constellation be past over me: Yet, I believe, it
would hasten my recovery, if I knew whom she loved.
_Mask._ You shall not be long without that satisfaction.
_Wild._ 'St, the door opens; and two women are coming out.
_Bel._ By their stature, they should be thy gracious mistress and
Beatrix.
_Wild._ Methinks you should know your cue then, and withdraw.
_Bel._ Well, I'll leave you to your fortune; but, if you come to close
fighting, I shall make bold to run in, and part you.
[BELLAMY _and_ MASKALL, _withdrawing_.
_Wild._ Yonder she comes, with full sails i'faith! I'll hail her amain,
for England.
_Enter_ JACINTHA _and_ BEATRIX, _at the other end of the stage_.
_Beat._ You do love him then?
_Jac._ Yes, most vehemently!
_Beat._ But set some bounds to your affection.
_Jac._ None but fools confine their pleasure: What usurer ever thought
his coffers held too much? No, I'll give myself the swing, and love
without reserve. If I keep a passion, I'll not starve it in my service.
_Beat._ But are you sure he will deserve this kindness?
_Jac._ I never trouble myself so long beforehand. Jealousies and
disquiets are the dregs of an amour; but I'll leave mine before I have
drawn it off so low. When it once grows troubled, I'll give vent to a
fresh draught.
_Beat._ Yet it is but prudence to try him first; no pilot ventures on an
unknown coast without sounding.
_Jac._ Well, to satisfy thee, I am content; partly, too, because I find
a kind of pleasure in laying baits for him.
_Beat._ The two great virtues of a lover are constancy and liberality;
if he possess those two, you may be happy in him.
_Jac._ Nay, if he be not lord and master of both those qualities, I
disown him----But who goes there?
_Beat._ He, I warrant you, madam; for his servant told me he was waiting
hereabout.
_Jac._ Watch the door; give me notice, if any come.
_Beat._ I'll secure you, madam.
[_Exit_ BEAT.
_Jac._ [_To_ WILD.] What, have you laid an ambush for me?
_Wild._ Only to make a reprisal of my heart.
_Jac._ 'Tis so wild, that the lady, who has it in her keeping, would be
glad she were well rid on't, it does so flutter about the cage. 'Tis a
mere Bajazet; and if it be not let out the sooner, will beat out its
brains against the grates.
_Wild._ I am afraid the lady has not fed it, and 'tis wild for hunger.
_Jac._ Or, perhaps it wants company; shall she put another to it?
_Wild._ Ay; but then it were best to trust them out of the cage
together; let them hop about at liberty.
_Jac._ But, if they should lose one another in the wide world!
_Wild._ They'll meet at night, I warrant them.
_Jac._ But is not your heart of the nature of those birds, that breed in
one country, and go to winter in another?
_Wild._ Suppose it does so; yet, I take my mate along with me. And now,
to leave our parables, and speak in the language of the vulgar, what
think you of a voyage to merry England?
_Jac._ Just as AEsop's frog did, of leaping into a deep well in a
drought: If he ventured the leap, there might be water; but, if there
were no water, how should he get out again?
_Wild._ Faith, we live in a good honest country, where we are content
with our old vices; partly because we want wit to invent more new. A
colony of Spaniards, or spiritual Italians, planted among us, would make
us much more racy. 'Tis, true, our variety is not much; but, to speak
nobly of our way of living, 'tis like that of the sun, which rises, and
looks upon the same thing he saw yesterday, and goes to bed again.
_Jac._ But I hear your women live most blessedly; there is no such thing
as jealousy among the husbands; if any man has horns, he bears them as
loftily as a stag, and as inoffensively.
_Wild._ All this, I hope, gives you no ill character of the country?
_Jac._ But what need we go into another climate? as our love was born
here, so let it live and die here, and be honestly buried in its native
country.
_Wild._ Faith, agreed with all my heart. For I am none of those
unreasonable lovers, that propose to themselves the loving to eternity.
The truth is, a month is commonly my stint; but, in that month, I love
so dreadfully, that it is after a twelve-month's rate of common love.
_Jac._ Or, would not a fortnight serve our turn? for, in troth, a month
looks somewhat dismally; 'tis a whole Egyptian year. If a moon changes
in my love, I shall think my Cupid grown dull, or fallen into an
apoplexy.
_Wild._ Well, I pray heaven we both get off as clear as we imagine; for
my part, I like your humour so damnably well, that I fear I am in for a
week longer than I proposed: I am half afraid your Spanish planet and my
English one have been acquainted, and have found out some by-room or
other in the twelve houses: I wish they have been honourable.
_Jac._ The best way for both were to take up in time; yet I am afraid
our forces are engaged so far, that we must make a battle on't. What
think you of disobliging one another from this day forward; and shewing
all our ill humours at the first, which lovers use to keep as a reserve,
till they are married?
_Wild._ Or let us encourage one another to a breach, by the dangers of
possession: I have a song to that purpose.
_Jac._ Pray let me hear it: I hope it will go to the tune of one of our
_Passa-calles_.
SONG.
_You charmed me not with that fair face,
Though it was all divine;
To be another's is the grace,
That makes me wish you mine.
The gods and fortune take their part,
Who, like young monarchs, fight,
And boldly dare invade that heart,
Which is another's right.
First, mad with hope, we undertake
To pull up every bar;
But, once possessed, we faintly make
A dull defensive war.
Now, every friend is turned a foe,
In hope to get our store:
And passion make us cowards grow,
Which made us brave before._
_Jac._ Believe it, cavalier, you are a dangerous person: Do you hold
forth your gifts, in hopes to make me love you less?
_Wild._ They would signify little, if we were once married: Those
gaieties are all nipt and frost-bitten in the marriage-bed, i'faith.
_Jac._ I am sorry to hear 'tis so cold a place: But 'tis all one to us,
who do not mean to trouble it. The truth is, your humour pleases me
exceedingly; how long it will do so, I know not; but so long as it does,
I am resolved to give myself the content of seeing you. For, if I should
once constrain myself, I might fall in love in good earnest: But I have
stayed too long with you, and would be loth to surfeit you at first.
_Wild._ Surfeit me madam? why, you have but tantalized me all this
while!
_Jac._ What would you have?
_Wild._ A hand, or lip, or any thing that you can spare; when you have
conjured up a spirit, he must have some employment, or he'll tear you
apieces.
_Jac._ Well, here's my picture, to help your contemplation in my
absence.
_Wild._ You have already the original of mine: But some revenge you must
allow me: A locket of diamonds, or some such trifle, the next time I
kiss your hand.
_Jac._ Fie, fie! you do not think me mercenary? Yet, now I think on't,
I'll put you into our Spanish mode of love: Our ladies here use to be
the bankers of their servants, and to have their gold in keeping.
_Wild._ This is the least trial you could have made of me: I have some
three hundred pistoles by me; those I'll send by my servant.
_Jac._ Confess freely, you mistrust me: But if you find the least qualm
about your gold, pray keep it for a cordial.
_Wild._ The cordial must be applied to the heart, and mine's with you,
madam. Well; I say no more; but these are dangerous beginnings for
holding on: I find my month will have more than one-and-thirty days
in't.
_Enter_ BEATRIX, _running_.
_Beat._ Madam, your father calls in haste for you,
and is looking for you about the house.
_Jac._ Adieu, servant; be a good manager of your stock of love, that it
may hold out your month; I am afraid you'll waste so much of it before
to-morrow night, that you'll shine but with a quarter moon upon me.
_Wild._ It shall be a crescent.
[_Exeunt_ WILD. _and_ JAC. _severally_.
[BEATRIX _is going, and_ MASKALL _runs and stops her_.
_Mask._ Pay your ransom; you are my prisoner.
_Beat._ What! do you fight after the French fashion; take towns before
you declare a war?
_Mask._ I shall be glad to imitate them so far, to be in the middle of
the country before you could resist me.
_Beat._ Well, what composition, monsieur?
_Mask._ Deliver up your lady's secret; what makes her so cruel to my
master?
_Beat._ Which of my ladies, and which of your masters? For, I suppose,
we are factors for both of them.
_Mask._ Your eldest lady, Theodosia.
_Beat._ How dare you press your mistress to an inconvenience?
_Mask._ My mistress? I understand not that language;
the fortune of the valet ever follows that of the master; and his is
desperate: if his fate were altered for the better, I should not care if
I ventured upon you for the worse.
_Beat._ I have told you already, Donna Theodosia loves another.
_Mask._ Has he no name?
_Beat._ Let it suffice, he is born noble, though without a fortune. His
poverty makes him conceal his love from her father; but she sees him
every night in private; and, to blind the world, about a fortnight ago
he took a solemn leave of her, as if he were going into Flanders: In the
mean time, he lodges at the house of Don Lopez de Gamboa; and is himself
called Don Melchor de Guzman.
_Mask._ Don Melchor de Guzman! O heavens!
_Beat._ What amazes you?
_Theo._ [_Within_.] Why, Beatrix, where are you?
_Beat._ You hear I am called.--Adieu; and be sure you keep my counsel.
_Mask._ Come, sir, you see the coast is clear.
[_Exit_ BEAT.
_Enter_ BELLAMY.
_Bel._ Clear, dost thou say? No, 'tis full of rocks and quicksands: Yet
nothing vexes me so much, as that she is in love with such a poor rogue.
_Mask._ But that she should lodge privately in the same house with us!
'twas oddly contrived of fortune.
_Bel._ Hang him, rogue! methinks I see him, perching, like an owl, by
day, and not daring to flutter out till moonlight. The rascal invents
love, and brews his compliments all day, and broaches them at night;
just as some of our dry wits do their stories, before they come into
company. Well, if I could be revenged on either of them!
_Mask._ Here she comes again, with Beatrix; but, good sir, moderate your
passion.
_Enter_ THEODOSIA _and_ BEATRIX.
_Bel._ Nay, madam; you are known; and must not pass till I have spoken
with you.
[BEL. _lifts up_ THEODOSIA'S _veil_.
_Theo._ This rudeness to a person of my quality may cost you dear. Pray,
when did I give you encouragement for so much familiarity?
_Bel._ When you scorned me in the chapel.
_Theo._ The truth is, I denied you as heartily as I could, that I might
not be twice troubled with you.
_Bel._ Yet you have not this aversion for all the world: However, I was
in hope, though the day frowned, the night might prove as propitious to
me as it is to others.
_Theo._ I have now a quarrel both to the sun and moon, because I have
seen you both by their lights.
_Bel._ Spare the moon, I beseech you, madam; she is a very trusty planet
to you.
_Beat._ O, Maskall, you have ruined me!
_Mask._ Dear sir, hold yet!
_Bel._ Away!
_Theo._ Pray, sir, expound your meaning; for, I confess, I am in the
dark.
_Bel._ Methinks you should discover it by moonlight. Or, if you would
have me speak clearer to you, give me leave to wait on you at a midnight
assignation; and, that it may not be discovered, I'll feign a voyage
beyond sea, as if I were going a captaining to Flanders.
_Mask._ A pox on his memory! he has not forgot one syllable!
_Theo._ Ah, Beatrix! you have betrayed and sold me!
_Beat._ You have betrayed and sold yourself, madam, by your own rashness
to confess it; heaven knows I have served you but too faithfully.
_Theo._ Peace, impudence! and see my face no more!
_Mask._ Do you know what work you have made, sir?
_Bel._ Let her see what she has got by slighting me.
_Mask._ You had best let Beatrix be turned away for me to keep: If you
do, I know whose purse shall pay for't.
_Bel._ That's a curse I never thought on: Cast about quickly, and save
all yet. Range, quest, and spring a lie immediately!
_Theo. [To_ BEAT.] Never importune me farther; you shall go; there's no
removing me.
_Beat._ Well; this is ever the reward of innocence----
[_Going._
_Mask._ Stay, guiltless virgin, stay; thou shalt not go!
_Theo._ Why, who should hinder it?
_Mask._ That will I, in the name of truth,--if this hard-bound lie would
but come from me.
[_Aside._
Madam, I must tell you it lies in my power to appease this tempest with
one word.
_Beat._ Would it were come once!
_Mask._ Nay, sir, 'tis all one to me, if you turn me away upon't; I can
hold no longer.
_Theo._ What does the fellow mean?
_Mask._ For all your noddings, and your mathematical grimaces--in short,
madam, my master has been conversing with the planets; and from them has
had the knowledge of your affairs.
_Bel._ This rogue amazes me!
_Mask._ I care not, sir, I am for truth; that will shame you, and all
your devils: In short, madam, this master of mine, that stands before
you, without a word to say for himself, so like an oaf, as I might say,
with reverence to him----
_Bel._ The rascal makes me mad!
_Mask._ Is the greatest astrologer in Christendom.
_Theo._ Your master an astrologer?
_Mask._ A most profound one.
_Bel._ Why, you dog, you do not consider what an improbable lie this is;
which, you know, I can never make good! Disgorge it, you cormorant! or
I'll pinch your throat out.----
[_Takes him by the throat._
_Mask._ 'Tis all in vain, sir! you are, and shall be an astrologer,
whatever I suffer; you know all things; see into all things; foretell
all things; and if you pinch more truth out of me, I will confess you
are a conjurer.
_Bel._ How, sirrah! a conjurer?
_Mask._ I mean, sir, the devil is in your fingers: Own it--you had best,
sir, and do not provoke me farther. [_While he is speaking_, BELLAMY
_stops his mouth by fits_.] What! did not I see you an hour ago turning
over a great folio, with strange figures in it, and then muttering to
yourself, like any poet; and then naming Theodosia, and then staring up
in the sky, and then poring upon the ground; so that, betwixt God and
the devil, madam, he came to know your love.
_Bel._ Madam, if ever I knew the least term in astrology, I am the
arrantest son of a whore breathing.
_Beat._ O, sir, for that matter, you shall excuse my lady: Nay, hide
your talents if you can, sir.
_Theo._ The more you pretend ignorance, the more we are resolved to
believe you skilful.
_Bel._ You'll hold your tongue yet.
[_To_ MASK.
_Mask._ You shall never make me hold my tongue, except you conjure me to
silence: What! did you not call me to look into a crystal, and there
shewed me a fair garden, and a Spaniard stalking in his narrow
breeches, and walking underneath a window? I should know him again
amongst a thousand.
_Beat._ Don Melchor, in my conscience, madam.
_Bel._ This rogue will invent more stories of me, than e'er were
fathered upon Lilly!
_Mask._ Will you confess, then? do you think I'll stain my honour to
swallow a lie for you?
_Bel._ Well, a pox on you, I am an astrologer.
_Beat._ O, are you so, sir?
_Theo._ I hope then, learned sir, as you have been
curious in enquiring into my secrets, you will be so much a cavalier as
to conceal them.
_Bel._ You need not doubt me, madam; I am more in your power than you
can be in mine: Besides, if I were once known in town, the next thing,
for aught I know, would be to bring me before the fathers of the
inquisition.
_Beat._ Well, madam, what do you think of me now? I have betrayed you, I
have sold you! how can you ever make me amends for this imputation? I
did not think you could have used me so----
[_Cries, and claps her hands at her._
_Theo._ Nay, pr'ythee, Beatrix, do not cry; I'll
leave off my new gown to-morrow, and thou shalt have it.
_Beat._ No, I'll cry eternally! you have taken away my good name from
me; and you can never make me recompence----except you give me your new
gorget too.
_Theo._ No more words; thou shalt have it, girl.
_Beat._ O, madam, your father has surprised us!
_Enter_ DON ALONZO, _and frowns_.
_Bel._ Then, I'll begone, to avoid suspicion.
_Theo._ By your favour, sir, you shall stay a little; the happiness of
so rare an acquaintance ought to be cherished on my side by a longer
conversation.
_Alon._ Theodosia, what business have you with this cavalier?
_Theo._ That, sir, which will make you as ambitious of being known to
him as I have been: Under the habit of a gallant, he conceals the
greatest astrologer this day living.
_Alon._ You amaze me, daughter!
_Theo._ For my own part, I have been consulting with him about some
particulars of my fortunes past and future; both which he has resolved
me with that admirable knowledge----
_Bel._ Yes, faith, sir, I was foretelling her of a disaster that
severely threatened her: And--one thing I foresee already by my stars,
that I must bear up boldly, or I am lost.
[_Aside._
_Mask._ [_To_ BEL.] Never fear him, sir; he's an
ignorant fellow, and credulous, I warrant him.
_Alon._ Daughter, be not too confident in your belief; there's nothing
more uncertain than the old prophecies of these Nostradamusses; but of
what nature was the question which you asked him?
_Theo._ What should be my fortune in marriage.
_Alon._ And, pray, what did you answer, sir?
_Bel._ I answered her the truth, that she is in danger of marrying a
gentleman without a fortune.
_Theo._ And this, sir, has put me in such a fright--
_Alon._ Never trouble yourself about it, daughter; follow my advice, and
I warrant you a rich husband.
_Bel._ But the stars say she shall not follow your advice: If it happens
otherwise, I'll burn my folio volumes, and my manuscripts too, I assure
you that, sir.
_Alon._ Be not too confident, young man; I know
somewhat in astrology myself; for, in my younger
years, I studied it; and, though I say it, made
some small proficiency in it.
_Bel._ Marry, heaven forbid!----
[_Aside._
_Alon._ And I could only find it was no way demonstrative, but
altogether fallacious.
_Mask._ On what a rock have we split ourselves!
_Bel._ Now my ignorance will certainly come out!
_Beat._ Sir, remember you are old and crazy, sir; and if the evening air
should take you----beseech you, sir, retire.
_Alon._ Knowledge is to be preferred before health; I must needs discuss
a point with this learned cavalier, concerning a difficult question in
that art, which almost gravels me.
_Mask._ How I sweat for him, Beatrix, and myself too, who have brought
him into this _praemunire_!
_Beat._ You must be impudent; for our old man will stick like a burr to
you, now he's in a dispute.
_Alon._ What judgment may a man reasonably form from the trine aspect of
the two infortunes in angular houses?
_Bel._ That's a matter of nothing, sir; I'll turn my man loose to you
for such a question.
[_Puts_ MASKALL _forward_.
_Alon._ Come on, sir. I am the quaerent.
_Mask._ Meaning me, sir! I vow to God, and your worship knows it, I
never made that science my study in the least, sir.
_Bel._ The gleanings of mine are enough for that: Why, you impudent
rogue you, hold forth your gifts, or I'll--What a devil, must I be
pestered with every trivial question, when there's not a master in town
of any science, but has his usher for these mean offices?
_Theo._ Try him in some deeper question, sir; you see he will not put
himself forth for this.
_Alon._ Then I'll be more abstruse with him: What think you, sir, of the
taking Hyleg? or of the best way of rectification for a nativity? Have
you been conversant in the Centiloquium of Trismegistus: What think you
of Mars in the tenth, when 'tis his own house, or of Jupiter
configurated with malevolent planets?
_Bel._ I thought what your skill was! to answer your question in two
words, Mars rules over the martial, and Jupiter over the jovial; and so
of the rest, sir.
_Alon._ This every school-boy could have told me.
_Bel._ Why then you must not ask such school-boy's questions. But your
carcase, sirrah, shall pay for this.
[_Aside to_ MASKALL.
_Alon._ You seem not to understand the terms, sir.
_Bel._ By your favour, sir, I know there are five of them; do not I know
your Michaelmas, your Hillary, your Easter, your Trinity, and your Long
Vocation term, sir?
_Alon._ I do not understand a word of this jargon.
_Bel._ It may be not, sir; I believe the terms are not the same in Spain
they are in England.
_Mask._ Did one ever hear so impudent an ignorance?
_Alon._ The terms of art are the same every where.
_Bel._ Tell me that! you are an old man, and they are altered since you
studied them.
_Alon._ That may be, I must confess; however, if you please to discourse
something of the art to me, you shall find me an apt scholar.
_Enter a Servant to_ ALONZO.
_Ser._ Sir----
[_Whispers._
_Alon._ Sir, I am sorry a business of importance
calls me hence; but I'll wait on you some other time, to discourse more
at large of astrology.
_Bel._ Is your business very pressing?
_Alon._ It is, I assure you, sir.
_Bel._ I am very sorry, for I should have instructed you in such rare
secrets! I have no fault, but that I am too communicative.
_Alon._ I'll dispatch my business, and return immediately; come away,
daughter.
[_Exeunt_ ALON. THEO. BEAT. _and Serv_.
_Bel._ A devil on his learning; he had brought me to
my last legs; I was fighting as low as ever was 'Squire Widdrington.
_Mask._ Who would have suspected it from that wicked elder?
_Bel._ Suspected it? why 'twas palpable from his very physiognomy; he
looks like Haly, and the spirit Fircue in the fortune-book.
_Enter_ WILDBLOOD.
_Wild._ How now, Bellamy! in wrath! pr'ythee, what's the matter?
_Bel._ The story is too long to tell you; but this rogue here has made
me pass for an arrant fortune-teller.
_Mask._ If I had not, I am sure he must have passed for an arrant mad
man; he had discovered, in a rage, all that Beatrix had confessed to me
concerning her mistress's love; and I had no other way to bring him off,
but to say he knew it by the planets.
_Wild._ And art thou such an oaf to be vexed at this? as the adventure
may be managed, it may make the most pleasant one in all the carnival.
_Bel._ Death! I shall have all Madrid about me in these two days.
_Wild._ Nay, all Spain, i'faith, as fast as I can divulge thee: Not a
ship shall pass out from any port, but shall ask thee for a wind; thou
shalt have all the trade of Lapland within a month.
_Bel._ And do you think it reasonable for me to stand defendant to all
the impertinent questions, that the town can ask me?
_Wild._ Thou shalt do't, boy: Pox on thee, thou dost not know thine own
happiness; thou wilt have the ladies come to thee; and if thou dost not
fit them with fortunes, thou art bewitched.
_Mask._ Sir, 'tis the easiest thing in nature; you need but speak
doubtfully, or keep yourself in general terms, and, for the most part,
tell good rather than bad fortune.
_Wild._ And if at any time thou venturest at particulars, have an
evasion ready like Lilly; as thus,--It will infallibly happen, if our
sins hinder not.--I would undertake, with one of his almanacks, to give
very good content to all Christendom, and what good luck fell not out in
one kingdom, should in another.
_Mask._ The pleasure on't will be to see how all his customers will
contribute to their own deceiving; and verily believe he told them that,
which they told him.
_Bel._ Umph! now I begin to taste it; I am like the drunken tinker in
the play, a great prince, and never knew it.
_Wild._ A great prince! a great Turk; we shall have thee, within these
two days, do grace to the ladies, by throwing out a handkerchief; 'life,
I could feast upon thy fragments.
_Bel._ If the women come, you shall be sure to help me to undergo the
burden; for, though you make me an astronomer, I am no Atlas, to bear
all upon my back. But who are these?
_Enter Musicians, with disguises; and some in their hands._
_Wild._ You know the men, if their masking habits were off; they are the
music of our ambassador's retinue. My project is to give our mistress a
serenade, this being the last evening of the carnival; and, to prevent
discovery, here are disguises for us too.
_Bel._ 'Tis very well; come, Maskall, help on with them, while they tune
their instruments.
_Wild._ Strike up, gentlemen; we'll entertain them with a song _a
l'Angloise_; pray, be ready with your chorus.
SONG.
_After the pangs of a desperate lover,
When day and night I have sighed all in vain;
Ah, what a pleasure it is to discover
In her eyes pity, who causes my pain!
When, with unkindness, our love at a stand is,
And both have punished ourselves with the pain;
Ah, what a pleasure the touch of her hand is!
Ah, what a pleasure to press it again!
When the denial comes fainter and fainter,
And her eyes give what her tongue does deny;
Ah, what a trembling I feel, when I venture!
Ah, what a trembling does usher my joy!
When, with a sigh, she accords me the blessing,
And her eyes twinkle 'twixt pleasure and pain;
Ah, what a joy 'tis, beyond all expressing!
Ah, what a joy to hear--shall we again!_
THEODOSIA _and_ JACINTHA _above_. JACINTHA _throws down her
handkerchief, with a favour tied to it_.
_Jac._ Ill musicians must be rewarded: There, cavalier, 'tis to buy your
silence.
[_Exeunt women from above._
_Wild._ By this light, which at present is scarce an oath, an
handkerchief, and a favour!
[_Music and guittars tuning on the other side of the Stage._
_Bel._ Hark, Wildblood! do you hear? There's more melody: On my life,
some Spaniards have taken up this post for the same design.
_Wild._ I'll be with their catguts immediately.
_Bel._ Pr'ythee, be patient; we shall lose the sport else.
_Don_ LOPEZ and _Don_ MELCHOR _disguised, with Servants and Musicians on
the other side_.
_Wild._ 'Tis some rival of yours or mine, Bellamy; for he addresses to
this window.
_Bel._ Damn him, let's fall on then.
[_The two Spaniards and the English fight: The Spaniards are beaten off
the Stage; the Musicians on both sides, and Servants, fall confusedly
one over the other. They all get off, only_ MASKALL _remains upon the
ground_.
_Mask._ [_Rising_.] So all's past, and I am safe: A pox on these
fighting masters of mine, to bring me into this danger, with their
valours and magnanimities. When I go a-serenading again with them, I'll
give them leave to make fiddle-strings of my small-guts.
_To him Don_ LOPEZ.
_Lop._ Who goes there?
_Mask._ 'Tis Don Lopez, by his voice.
_Lop._ The same; and, by yours, you should belong to my two English
guests. Did you hear no tumult hereabouts?
_Mask._ I heard a clashing of swords, and men a fighting.
_Lop._ I had my share in't; but how came you here?
_Mask._ I came hither by my master's order, to see if you were in any
danger.
_Lop._ But how could he imagine I was in any?
_Mask._ 'Tis all one for that, sir; he knew it, by----Heaven, what was I
a going to say! I had like to have discovered all!
_Lop._ I find there is some secret in't, and you dare not trust me.
_Mask._ If you will swear on your honour to be very secret, I will tell
you.
_Lop._ As I am a cavalier, and by my beard, I will.
_Mask._ Then, in few words, he knew it by astrology, or magic.
_Lop._ You amaze me! Is he conversant in the occult sciences?
_Mask._ Most profoundly.
_Lop._ I always thought him an extraordinary person; but I could never
imagine his head lay that way.
_Mask._ He shewed me yesterday, in a glass, a lady's maid at London,
whom I well knew; and with whom I used to converse on a pallet in a
drawing-room, while he was paying his devotions to her lady in the
bed-chamber.
_Lop._ Lord, what a treasure for a state were here! and how much might
we save by this man, in foreign intelligence!
_Mask._ And just now he shewed me, how you were assaulted in the dark by
foreigners.
_Lop._ Could you guess what countrymen?
_Mask._ I imagined them to be Italians.
_Lop._ Not unlikely; for they played most furiously at our backsides.
_Mask._ I will return to my master with the good news of your safety;
but once again be secret; or disclose it to none but friends.--So,
there's one woodcock more in the springe.----
[_Exit._
_Lop._ Yes, I will be very secret; for I will tell it only to one
person; but she is a woman. I will to Aurelia, and acquaint her with the
skill of this rare artist: She is curious, as all women are; and, 'tis
probable, will desire to look into the glass to see Don Melchor, whom
she believes absent; so that by this means, without breaking my oath to
him, he will be discovered to be in town. Then his intrigue with
Theodosia will come to light too, for which Aurelia will, I hope,
discard him, and receive me. I will about it instantly:
Success, in love, on diligence depends; No lazy lover e'er attained his
ends.
[_Exit._
ACT III. SCENE I.
_Enter_ BELLAMY _and_ MASKALL.
_Bel._ Then, they were certainly Don Lopez and Don Melchor, with whom we
fought.
_Mask._ Yes, sir.
_Bel._ And when you met Lopez, he swallowed all you told him?
_Mask._ As greedily, as if it had been a new saint's miracle.
_Bel._ I see 'twill spread.
_Mask._ And the fame of it will be of use to you in your next amour; for
the women, you know, run mad after fortune-tellers and preachers.
_Bel._ But for all my bragging, this amour is not yet worn off. I find
constancy, and once a night, come naturally upon a man towards thirty;
only we set a face on't, and call ourselves inconstant for our
reputation.
_Mask._ But what say the stars, sir?
_Bel._ They move faster than you imagine; for I have got me an argol,
and an English almanack, by help of which, in one half hour, I have
learned to cant with an indifferent good grace: Conjunction, opposition,
trine, square, and sextile, are now no longer bugbears to me, I thank my
stars for't.
_Enter_ WILDBLOOD.
Monsieur Wildblood, in good time! What, you have been taking pains, too,
to divulge my talent?
_Wild._ So successfully, that shortly there will be no talk in town, but
of you only: Another miracle or two, and a sharp sword, and you stand
fair for a new prophet.
_Bel._ But where did you begin to blow the trumpet?
_Wild._ In the gaming-house, where I found most of the town-wits; the
prose-wits playing, and the verse-wits rooking.
_Bel._ All sorts of gamesters are so superstitious, that I need not
doubt of my reception there.
_Wild._ From thence I went to the latter end of a comedy, and there
whispered it to the next man I knew, who had a woman by him.
_Mask._ Nay, then, it went like a train of powder, if once they had it
by the end.
_Wild._ Like a squib upon a line, i'faith; it ran through one row, and
came back upon me in the next. At my going out I met a knot of
Spaniards, who were formally listening to one, who was relating it; but
he told the story so ridiculously, with his marginal notes upon it,
that I was forced to contradict him.
_Bel._ 'Twas discreetly done.
_Wild._ Ay, for you, but not for me: What, says he, must such Boracho's
as you take upon you to vilify a man of science? I tell you, he's of my
intimate acquaintance, and I have known him long for a prodigious
person.--When I saw my Don so fierce, I thought it not wisdom to quarrel
for so slight a matter as your reputation, and so withdrew.
_Bel._ A pox of your success! now shall I have my chamber besieged
to-morrow morning: There will be no stirring out for me; but I must be
fain to take up their questions in a cleft-cane, or a begging-box, as
they do charity in prisons.
_Wild._ Faith, I cannot help what your learning
has brought you to. Go in and study; I foresee you will have but few
holidays: In the mean time, I'll not fail to give the world an account
of your endowments. Farewell: I'll to the gaming-house.
[_Exit_ WILD.
_Mask._ O, sir, here is the rarest adventure, and, which is more, come
home to you!
_Bel._ What is it?
_Mask._ A fair lady, and her woman, wait in the outer room to speak with
you.
_Bel._ But how know you she is fair?
_Mask._ Her woman plucked up her veil when she spoke to me; so that
having seen her this evening, I know her mistress to be Donna Aurelia,
cousin to your mistress Theodosia, and who lodges in the same house with
her: She wants a star or two, I warrant you.
_Bel._ My whole constellation is at her service: But what is she for a
woman?
_Mask._ Fair enough, as Beatrix has told me; but sufficiently
impertinent. She is one of those ladies, who make ten visits in an
afternoon; and entertain her they see, with speaking ill of the last,
from whom they parted: In few words, she is one of the greatest
coquettes in Madrid; and to shew she is one, she cannot speak ten words
without some affected phrase that is in fashion.
_Bel._ For my part, I can suffer any impertinence from a woman, provided
she be handsome: My business is with her beauty, not with her morals;
let her confessor look to them.
_Mask._ I wonder what she has to say to you?
_Bel._ I know not; but I sweat for fear I should be gravelled.
_Mask._ Venture out of your depth, and plunge boldly, sir; I warrant you
will swim.
_Bel._ Do not leave me, I charge you; but when I look mournfully upon
you, help me out.
_Enter_ AURELIA _and_ CAMILLA.
_Mask._ Here they are already.
[AUR. _plucks up her veil._
_Aur._ How am I dressed to-night, Camilla? is nothing disordered in my
head?
_Cam._ Not the least hair, madam.
_Aur._ No! let me see: Give me the counsellor of the graces.
_Cam._ The counsellor of the graces, madam!
_Aur._ My glass, I mean: What, will you never be so spiritual as to
understand refined language?
_Cam._ Madam!
_Aur._ Madam me no madam, but learn to retrench your words; and say
ma'am; as, yes ma'am, and no ma'am, as other ladies' women do. Madam!
'tis a year in pronouncing.
_Cam._ Pardon me, madam.
_Aur._ Yet again, ignorance! Par-don, madam! fie, fie, what a
superfluity is there, and how much sweeter the cadence is--parn me,
ma'am! and for your ladyship, your la'ship.--Out upon't, what a furious
indigence of ribbands is here upon my head! This dress is a libel to my
beauty; a mere lampoon. Would any one, that had the least revenue of
common sense, have done this?
_Cam._ Ma'am, the cavalier approaches your la'ship.
_Bel._ to _Mask._ Maskall, pump the woman; and see if you can discover
any thing to save my credit.
_Aur._ Out upon it! now I should speak, I want assurance.
_Bel._ Madam, I was told you meant to honour me with your commands.
_Aur._ I believe, sir, you wonder at my confidence in this visit; but I
may be excused for waving a little modesty, to know the only person of
the age.
_Bel._ I wish my skill were more, to serve you, madam.
_Aur._ Sir, you are an unfit judge of your own merits: For my own part,
I confess, I have a furious inclination for the occult sciences; but at
present, 'tis my misfortune----
[_Sighs._
_Bel._ But why that sigh, madam?
_Aur._ You might spare me the shame of telling you; since I am sure you
can divine my thoughts: I will, therefore, tell you nothing.
_Bel._ What the devil will become of me now!
[_Aside._
_Aur._ You may give me an essay of your science, by declaring to me the
secret of my thoughts.
_Bel._ If I know your thoughts, madam, 'tis in vain for you to disguise
them to me: Therefore, as you tender your own satisfaction, lay them
open without bashfulness.
_Aur._ I beseech you let us pass over that chapter; for I am shame-faced
to the last point. Since, therefore, I cannot put off my modesty,
succour it, and tell me what I think.
_Bel._ Madam, madam, that bashfulness must be laid aside: Not but that I
know your business perfectly; and will, if you please, unfold it to you
all immediately.
_Aur._ Favour me so far, I beseech you, sir; for I furiously desire it.
_Bel._ But then I must call up before you a most dreadful spirit, with
head upon head, and horns upon horns: Therefore, consider how you can
endure it.
_Aur._ This is furiously furious; but rather than fail of my
expectances, I'll try my assurance.
_Bel._ Well then, I find you will force me to this unlawful, and
abominable act of conjuration: Remember the sin is yours too.
_Aur._ I espouse the crime also.
_Bel._ I see, when a woman has a mind to't, she'll never boggle at a
sin. Pox on her, what shall I do? [_Aside_.]--Well, I'll tell you your
thoughts, madam; but after that expect no farther service from me; for
'tis your confidence must make my art successful.----Well, you are
obstinate, then; I must tell you your thoughts?
_Aur._ Hold, hold, sir; I am content to pass over that chapter, rather
than be deprived of your assistance.
_Bel._ 'Tis very well; what need these circumstances between us two?
Confess freely; is not love your business?
_Aur._ You have touched me to the quick, sir.
_Bel._ Look you there! you see I knew it; nay, I'll tell you more, 'tis
a man you love.
_Aur._ O prodigious science! I confess I love a man most furiously, to
the last point, sir.
_Bel._ Now proceed, lady, your way is open; I am resolved, I'll not tell
you a word farther.
_Aur._ Well then, since I must acquaint you with what you know much
better than myself, I will tell you. I loved a cavalier, who was noble,
young, and handsome; this gentleman is since gone for Flanders; now
whether he has preserved his passion inviolate, or not, is that which
causes my inquietude.
_Bel._ Trouble not yourself, madam; he's as constant as a romance hero.
_Aur._ Sir, your good news has ravished me most furiously; but that I
may have a confirmation of it, I beg only, that you would lay your
commands upon his genius, or idea, to appear to me this night, that I
may have my sentence from his mouth. This, sir, I know is a slight
effect of your science, and yet will infinitely oblige me.
_Bel._ What the devil does she call a slight effect! [_Aside_.]--Why,
lady, do you consider what you say? you desire me to shew you a man,
whom yourself confess to be in Flanders.
_Aur._ To view him in a glass is nothing; I would speak with him in
person, I mean his idea, sir.
_Bel._ Ay, but, madam, there is a vast sea betwixt us and Flanders; and
water is an enemy to conjuration. A witch's horse, you know, when he
enters into water, returns into a bottle of hay again.
_Aur._ But, sir, I am not so ill a geographer, or, to speak more
properly, a chorographer, as not to know there is a passage by land from
hence to Flanders.
_Bel._ That's true, madam; but magic works in a direct line. Why should
you think the devil such an ass to go about? 'Gad, he'll not stir a step
out of his road for you, or any man.
_Aur._ Yes, for a lady, sir; I hope he's a person that wants not that
civility for a lady; especially a spirit that has the honour to belong
to you, sir.
_Bel._ For that matter, he's your servant, madam; but his education has
been in the fire, and he's naturally an enemy to water, I assure you.
_Aur._ I beg his pardon, for forgetting his antipathy; but it imports
not much, sir; for I have lately received a letter from my servant, that
he is yet in Spain, and stays for a wind in St Sebastian's.
_Bel._ Now I am lost, past all redemption.--Maskall, must you be
smickering after wenches, while I am in calamity?
[_Aside._
_Mask._ It must be he, I'll venture on't. [_Aside_.]--Alas, sir, I was
complaining to myself of the condition of poor Don Melchor, who, you
know, is wind-bound at St Sebastian's.
_Bel._ Why, you impudent villain, must you offer to name him publicly,
when I have taken so much care to conceal him all this while?
_Aur._ Mitigate your displeasure, I beseech you; and, without making
farther testimony of it, gratify my expectances.
_Bel._ Well, madam, since the sea hinders not, you shall have your
desire. Look upon me with a fixed eye----so----or a little more
amorously, if you please----good. Now favour me with your hand.
_Aur._ Is it absolutely necessary you should press my hand thus?
_Bel._ Furiously necessary, I assure you, madam; for now I take
possession of it in the name of the idea of Don Melchor. Now, madam, I
am farther to desire of you, to write a note to his genius, wherein you
desire him to appear, and this we men of art call a compact with the
ideas.
_Aur._ I tremble furiously.
_Bel._ Give me your hand, I'll guide it.
[_They write._
_Mask. to Cam._ Now, lady mine, what think you of my master?
_Cam._ I think, I would not serve him for the world: Nay, if he can know
our thoughts by looking on us, we women are hypocrites to little
purpose.
_Mask._ He can do that and more; for, by casting his eyes but once upon
them, he knows whether they are maids, better than a whole jury of
mid-wives.
_Cam._ Now heaven defend me from him!
_Mask._ He has a certain small familiar, which he carries still about
him, that never fails to make discovery.
_Cam._ See, they have done writing; not a word more, for fear he knows
my voice.
_Bel._ One thing I had forgot, madam; you must subscribe your name to
it.
_Aur._ There 'tis; farewell, cavalier, keep your promise, for I expect
it furiously.
_Cam._ If he sees me, I am undone.
[_Hiding her face._
_Bel._ Camilla!
_Cam._ [_starts and shrieks_.] Ah, he has found me; I am ruined!
_Bel._ You hide your face in vain; for I see into your heart.
_Cam._ Then, sweet sir, have pity on my frailty; for if my lady has the
least inkling of what we did last night, the poor coachman will be
turned away.
[_Exit after her Lady._
_Mask._ Well, sir, how like you your new profession?
_Bel._ Would I were well quit on't; I sweat all over.
_Mask._ But what faint-hearted devils yours are, that will not go by
water! Are they all Lancashire devils, of the brood of Tybert and
Grimalkin, that they dare not wet their feet?
_Bel._ Mine are honest land devils, good plain foot-posts, that beat
upon the hoof for me: But to save their labour, here take this, and in
some disguise deliver it to Don Melchor.
_Mask._ I'll serve it upon him within this hour, when he sallies out to
his assignation with Theodosia: 'Tis but counterfeiting my voice a
little; for he cannot know me in the dark. But let me see, what are the
words?
Reads.] _Don Melchor, if the magic of love have any power upon your
spirit, I conjure you to appear this night before me: You may guess the
greatness of my passion, since it has forced me to have recourse to art;
but no shape which resembles you can fright_
AURELIA.
_Bel._ Well, I am glad there's one point gained; for, by this means, he
will be hindered to-night from entertaining Theodosia.--Pox on him, is
he here again?
_Enter Don_ ALONZO.
_Alon._ Cavalier Inglis, I have been seeking you:
I have a present in my pocket for you; read it by your art, and take it.
_Bel._ That I could do easily: But, to shew you I am generous, I'll none
of your present; do you think I am mercenary?
_Alon._ I know you will say now 'tis some astrological question; and so
'tis perhaps.
_Bel._ Ay, 'tis the devil of a question, without dispute.
_Alon._ No, 'tis within dispute: 'Tis a certain difficulty in the art;
a problem, which you and I will discuss, with the arguments on both
sides.
_Bel._ At this time I am not problematically given; I have a humour of
complaisance upon me, and will contradict no man.
_Alon._ We'll but discuss a little.
_Bel._ By your favour, I'll not discuss; for I see by the stars, that,
if I dispute to-day, I am infallibly threatened to be thought ignorant
all my life after.
_Alon._ Well then, we'll but cast an eye together upon my eldest
daughter's nativity.
_Bel._ Nativity!----
_Alon._ I know what you would say now, that there wants the table of
direction for the five hylegiacalls; the ascendant, _medium coeli_, sun,
moon, and stars: But we'll take it as it is.
_Bel._ Never tell me that, sir----
_Alon._ I know what you would say again, sir----
_Bel._ 'Tis well you do, for I'll be sworn I do not.----
[_Aside._
_Alon._ You would say, sir----
_Bel._ I say, sir, there is no doing without the sun and moon, and all
that, sir; and so you may make use of your paper for your occasions.
Come to a man of art without the sun and moon, and all that, sir----
[_Tears it._
_Alon._ 'Tis no matter; this shall break no squares betwixt us.
[_Gathers up the torn papers_.] I know what you would say now, that men
of parts are always choleric; I know it by myself, sir.
[_He goes to match the papers._
_Enter Don_ LOPEZ.
_Lop._ Don Alonzo in my house! this is a most happy opportunity to put
my other design in execution; for, if I can persuade him to bestow his
daughter on Don Melchor, I shall serve my friend, though against his
will; and, when Aurelia sees she cannot be his, perhaps she will accept
my love.
_Alon._ I warrant you, sir, 'tis all pieced right, both top, sides, and
bottom; for, look you, sir, here was Aldeboran, and there Cor
Scorpii----
_Lop._ Don Alonzo, I am happy to see you under my roof; and shall take
it----
_Alon._ I know what you would say, sir; that though I am your neighbour,
this is the first time I have been here.--[_To_ BELLAMY.] But, come,
sir, by Don Lopez' permission, let us return to our nativity.
_Bel._ Would thou wert there, in thy mother's belly again!
[_Aside._
_Lop._ But, sennor----
[_To_ ALONZO.
_Alon._ It needs not, sennor; I'll suppose your compliment; you would
say, that your house, and all things in it, are at my service.--But let
us proceed, without this interruption.
_Bel._ By no means, sir; this cavalier is come on purpose to perform the
civilities of his house to you.
_Alon._ But, good sir----
_Bel._ I know what you would say, sir.
[_Exeunt_ BELLAMY _and_ MASKALL.
_Lop._ No matter, let him go, sir. I have long desired
this opportunity, to move a suit to you in the behalf of a friend of
mine, if you please to allow me the hearing of it.
_Alon._ With all my heart, sir.
_Lop._ He is a person of worth and virtue, and is infinitely ambitious
of the honour----
_Alon._ Of being known to me; I understand you, sir.
_Lop._ If you will please to favour me with your patience, which I beg
of you a second time.
_Alon._ I am dumb, sir.
_Lop._ This cavalier, of whom I was speaking, is in love----
_Alon._ Satisfy yourself, sir, I'll not interrupt you.
_Lop._ Sir, I am satisfied of your promise.
_Alon._ If I speak one syllable more, the devil take me! Speak when you
please.
_Lop._ I am going, sir.
_Alon._ You need not speak twice to me to be silent: Though I take it
somewhat ill of you to be tutored.
_Lop._ This eternal old man will make me mad.
[_Aside._
_Alon._ Why, when do you begin, sir? How long must a man wait for you?
Pray make an end of what you have to say quickly, that I may speak in my
turn too.
_Lop._ This cavalier is in love----
_Alon._ You told me that before, sir; do you speak oracles, that you
require this strict attention? Either let me share the talk with you, or
I am gone.
_Lop._ Why, sir, I am almost mad to tell you, and you will not suffer
me.
_Alon._ Will you never have done, sir? I must tell you, sir, you have
tattled long enough; and 'tis now good manners to hear me speak. Here's
a torrent of words indeed; a very _impetus dicendi_; will you never have
done?
_Lop._ I will be heard in spite of you.
[_This next speech of_ LOPEZ, _and the next of_ ALONZO'S, _with both
their replies, are to be spoken at one time, both raising their voices
by little and little, till they bawl, and come up close to shoulder one
another._
_Lop._ There's one Don Melchor de Guzman, a friend and acquaintance of
mine, that is desperately in love with your eldest daughter Donna
Theodosia.
_Alon._ [_At the same time_.] 'Tis the sentence of a philosopher,
_Loquere ut te videam_; speak, that I may know thee; now, if you take
away the power of speaking from me--
[_Both pause a little; then speak together again._
_Lop._ I'll try the language of the law; sure the devil cannot out-talk
that gibberish.--For this Don Melchor, of Madrid aforesaid, as premised,
I request, move, and supplicate, that you would give, bestow, marry, and
give in marriage, this your daughter aforesaid, to the cavalier
aforesaid.--Not yet, thou devil of a man! thou shalt be silent.
[_Exit_ LOPEZ _running_.
_Alon._ [_At the same time with_ LOPEZ'S _last speech, and after_ LOPEZ
_is run out_.] Oh, how I hate, abominate, detest, and abhor, these
perpetual talkers, disputants, controverters, and duellers of the
tongue! But, on the other side, if it be not permitted to prudent men to
speak their minds, appositely, and to the purpose, and in few words; if,
I say, the prudent must be tongue-tied, then let great nature be
destroyed; let the order of all things be turned topsy-turvy; let the
goose devour the fox; let the infants preach to their great-grandsires;
let the tender lamb pursue the wolf, and the sick prescribe to the
physician; let fishes live upon dry land, and the beasts of the earth
inhabit in the water; let the fearful hare--
_Enter_ LOPEZ _with a bell, and rings it in his ears_.
_Alon._ Help, help, murder, murder, murder!
[_Exit_ ALONZO, _running_.
_Lop._ There was no way but this to be rid of him.
_Enter a Servant._
_Serv._ Sir, there are some women without in masquerade, and, I
believe, persons of quality, who are come to play here.
_Lop._ Bring them in with all respect.
_Enter again the Servant, after him_ JACINTHA, BEATRIX, _and other
Ladies and Gentlemen: all masqued_.
_Lop._ Cavaliers, and ladies, you are welcome: I wish I had more company
to entertain you:--Oh, here comes one sooner than I expected.
_Enter_ WILDBLOOD _and_ MASKALL.
_Wild._ I have swept your gaming house, i'faith; _Ecce signum_.
[_Shows gold._
_Lop._ Well, here's more to be had of these ladies, if it be your
fortune.
_Wild._ The first stakes I would play for, should be their veils and
visor masks.
_Jac. to Beat._ Do you think he will not know us?
_Beat._ If you keep your design of passing for an African.
_Jac._ Well, now I shall make an absolute trial of him; for, being thus
_incognita_, I shall discover if he make love to any of you. As for the
gallantry of his serenade, we will not be indebted to him, for we will
make him another with our guitars.
_Beat._ I'll whisper your intention to the servant, who shall deliver it
to Don Lopez.
[BEAT. _whispers to the Serv._
_Serv. to Lopez._ Sir, the ladies have commanded me to tell you, that
they are willing, before they play, to present you with a dance; and to
give you an essay of their guitars.
_Lop._ They much honour me.
A DANCE.
_After the dance, the Cavaliers take the Ladies, and court them_.
WILDBLOOD _takes_ JACINTHA.
_Wild._ While you have been singing, lady, I have been praying: I mean,
that your face and wit may not prove equal to your dancing; for, if they
be, there's a heart gone astray, to my knowledge.
_Jac._ If you pray against me before you have seen me, you'll curse me
when you have looked on me.
_Wild._ I believe I shall have cause to do so, if your beauty be as
killing as I imagine it.
_Jac._ 'Tis true, I have been flattered in my own country, with an
opinion of a little handsomeness; but how it will pass in Spain is a
question.
_Wild._ Why, madam, are you not of Spain?
_Jac._ No, sir, of Morocco: I only came hither to
see some of my relations, who are settled here, and turned Christians,
since the expulsion of my countrymen, the Moors.
_Wild._ Are you then a Mahometan?
_Jac._ A Mussulman, at your service.
_Wild._ A Mussulwoman, say you? I protest, by your voice, I should have
taken you for a Christian lady of my acquaintance.
_Jac._ It seems you are in love then: If so, I have done with you. I
dare not invade the dominions of another lady; especially in a country
where my ancestors have been so unfortunate.
_Wild._ Some little liking I might have, but that was only a
morning-dew; 'tis drawn up by the sunshine of your beauty: I find your
African Cupid is a much surer archer than ours of Europe. Yet would I
could see you; one look would secure your victory.
_Jac._ I'll reserve my face to gratify your imagination with it; make
what head you please, and set it on my shoulders.
_Wild._ Well, madam, an eye, a nose, or a lip shall break no squares:
The face is but a span's breadth of beauty; and where there is so much
besides, I'll never stand with you for that.
_Jac._ But, in earnest, do you love me?
_Wild._ Ay, by Alla, do I, most extremely: You have wit in abundance,
you dance to a miracle, you sing like an angel, and, I believe, you look
like a cherubim.
_Jac._ And can you be constant to me?
_Wild._ By Mahomet, can I.
_Jac._ You swear like a Turk, sir; but, take heed; for our prophet is a
severe punisher of promise breakers.
_Wild._ Your prophet's a cavalier. I honour your prophet and his law,
for providing so well for us lovers in the other world, black eyes, and
fresh maidenheads every day: go thy way, little Mahomet; i'faith, thou
shalt have my good word. But, by his favour, lady, give me leave to tell
you, that we of the uncircumcised, in a civil way, as lovers, have
somewhat the advantage of your mussulman.
_Jac._ The company are rejoined, and set to play; we must go to them.
Adieu; and when you have a thought to throw away, bestow it on your
servant Fatima.
[_She goes to the company._
_Wild._ This lady Fatima pleases me most infinitely: Now am I got among
the Hamets, the Zegrys, and the Bencerrages. Hey, what work will the
Wildbloods make among the Cids and the Bens of the Arabians?
_Beat. to Jac._ False, or true, madam?
_Jac._ False as hell; but, by heaven, I'll fit him for't! Have you the
high-running dice about you?
_Beat._ I got them on purpose, madam.
_Jac._ You shall see me win all their money; and when I have done, I'll
return in my own person, and ask him for the money which he promised
me.
_Beat._ 'Twill put him upon a strait to be surprised: But, let us to the
table; the company stays for us.
[_The company sit._
_Wild._ What is the ladies' game, sir?
_Lop._ Most commonly they use raffle; that is, to throw with three dice,
till duplets, and a chance be thrown; and the highest duplet wins,
except you throw in and in, which is called raffle; and that wins all.
_Wild._ I understand it: Come, lady, 'tis no matter what I lose; the
greatest stake, my heart, is gone already.
[_To_ JACINTHA.
[_They play; and the rest by couples._
_Wild._ So, I have a good chance, two quarters and a sice.
_Jac._ Two sixes and a trey wins it.
[_Sweeps the money._
_Wild._ No matter; I'll try my fortune once again: What have I here, two
sixes and a quarter?--An hundred pistoles on that throw.
_Jac._ I take you, sir.--Beatrix, the high running dice.
[_Aside._
_Beat._ Here, madam.
_Jac._ Three fives: I have won you, sir.
_Wild._ Ay, the pox take me for't, you have won me: It would never have
vext me to have lost my money to a Christian; but to a pagan, an
infidel--
_Mask._ Pray, sir, leave off while you have some money.
_Wild._ Pox of this lady Fatima! Raffle thrice together! I am out of
patience.
_Mask._ [_To him_.] Sir, I beseech you, if you will lose, to lose _en
cavalier_.
_Wild._ Tol de ra, tol de ra--pox and curse--tol de ra. What the devil
did I mean, to play with this brunette of Afric? [_The Ladies rise_.]
Will you be gone already, ladies?
_Lop._ You have won our money; but, however, we are acknowledging to you
for the honour of your company.
[JAC. _makes a sign of farewell to_ WILD.
_Wild._ Farewell, lady Fatima.
[_Exeunt all but_ WILD. _and_ MASK.
_Mask._ All the company took notice of your concernment.
_Wild._ 'Tis no matter; I do not love to fret inwardly, as your silent
losers do, and, in the mean time, be ready to choak for want of vent.
_Mask._ Pray consider your condition a little; a younger brother, in a
foreign country, living at a high rate, your money lost, and without
hope of a supply. Now curse, if you think good.
_Wild._ No, now I will laugh at myself most unmercifully; for my
condition is so ridiculous, that 'tis past cursing. The pleasantest part
of the adventure is, that I have promised three hundred pistoles to
Jacintha: But there is no remedy, they are now fair Fatima's.
_Mask._ Fatima!
_Wild._ Ay, ay, a certain African lady of my acquaintance, whom you know
not.
_Mask._ But who is here, sir?
_Enter_ JACINTHA _and_ BEATRIX, _in their own shapes_.
_Wild._ Madam, what happy star has conducted you hither to night!--A
thousand devils of this fortune.
[_Aside._
_Jac._ I was told you had ladies here, and fiddles; so I came partly for
the divertisement, and partly out of jealousy.
_Wild._ Jealousy! Why sure you do not think me a pagan, an infidel? But
the company's broke up, you see. Am I to wait upon you home, or will
you be so kind to take a hard lodging with me to-night?
_Jac._ You shall have the honour to lead me to my father's.
_Wild._ No more words, then; let's away, to prevent discovery.
_Beat._ For my part, I think he has a mind to be rid of you.
_Wild._ No: But if your lady should want sleep, 'twould spoil the lustre
of her eyes to-morrow. There were a conquest lost.
_Jac._ I am a peaceable princess, and content with my own; I mean your
heart and purse; for the truth is, I have lost my money to-night in
masquerade, and am come to claim your promise of supplying me.
_Wild._ You make me happy by commanding me: To-morrow morning my servant
shall wait upon you with three hundred pistoles.
_Jac._ But I left my company, with promise to return to play.
_Wild._ Play on tick, and lose the Indies, I'll discharge it all
to-morrow.
_Jac._ To-night, if you'll oblige me.
_Wild._ Maskall, go and bring me three hundred pistoles immediately.
_Mask._ Are you mad, sir?
_Wild._ Do you expostulate, you rascal! How he stares; I'll be hanged if
he have not lost my gold at play: If you have, confess; you had best,
and perhaps I'll pardon you; but if you do not confess, I'll have no
mercy. Did you lose it?
_Mask._ Sir, 'tis not for me to dispute with you.
_Wild._ Why, then, let me tell you, you did lose it.
_Jac._ Ay, as sure as e'er he had it, I dare swear for him: But commend
me to you for a kind master, that can let your servant play off three
hundred pistoles, without the least sign of anger to him.
_Beat._ 'Tis a sign he has a greater bank in store, to comfort him.
_Wild._ Well, madam, I must confess I have more than I will speak of at
this time; but till you have given me satisfaction----
_Jac._ Satisfaction! why, are you offended, sir?
_Wild._ Heaven! that you should not perceive it in me: I tell you, I am
mortally offended with you.
_Jac._ Sure, 'tis impossible.
_Wild._ You have done nothing, I warrant, to make a man jealous: Going
out a gaming in masquerade, at unseasonable hours, and losing your money
at play; that loss, above all, provokes me.
_Beat._ I believe you; because she comes to you for more.
[_Aside._
_Jac._ Is this the quarrel? I'll clear it immediately.
_Wild._ 'Tis impossible you should clear it: I'll stop my ears, if you
but offer it. There's no satisfaction in the point.
_Jac._ You'll hear me?--
_Wild._ To do this in the beginning of an amour, and to a jealous
servant as I am! had I all the wealth of Peru, I would not let go one
maravedis to you.
_Jac._ To this I answer----
_Wild._ Answer nothing, for it will but inflame the quarrel betwixt us:
I must come to myself by little and little; and when I am ready for
satisfaction, I will take it: But at present it is not for my honour to
be friends.
_Beat._ Pray let us neighbour princes interpose a little.
_Wild._ When I have conquered, you may interpose; but at present the
mediation of all Christendom would be fruitless.
_Jac._ Though Christendom can do nothing with you, yet I hope an African
may prevail. Let me beg you, for the sake of the lady Fatima.
_Wild._ I begin to suspect, that lady Fatima is no better than she
should be. If she be turned Christian again, I am undone.
_Jac._ By Alla, I am afraid on't too: By Mahomet, I am.
_Wild._ Well, well, madam, any man may be overtaken with an oath; but I
never meant to perform it with her: You know, no oaths are to be kept
with infidels. But----
_Jac._ No; the love you made was certainly a design of charity you had
to reconcile the two religions. There's scarce such another man in
Europe, to be sent apostle to convert the Moor ladies.
_Wild._ Faith, I would rather widen their breaches, than make them up.
_Jac._ I see there's no hope of a reconcilement with you; and therefore
I give it over as desperate.
_Wild._ You have gained your point, you have my money; and I was only
angry, because I did not know 'twas you, who had it.
_Jac._ This will not serve your turn, sir: what I have got, I have
conquered from you.
_Wild._ Indeed you use me like one that's conquered; for you have
plundered me of all I had.
_Jac._ I only disarmed you, for fear you should rebel again; for if you
had the sinews of war, I am sure you would be flying out.
_Wild._ Dare but to stay without a new servant, till I am flush again;
and I will love you, and treat you, and present you at that unreasonable
rate, that I will make you an example to all unbelieving mistresses.
_Jac._ Well, I will try you once more; but you must make haste then,
that we may be within our time; methinks our love is drawn out so
subtle already, that 'tis near breaking.
_Wild._ I will have more care of it on my part, than the kindred of an
old pope have to preserve him.
_Jac._ Adieu; for this time I wipe off your score, till you are caught
tripping in some new amour.
[_Exeunt Women._
_Mask._ You have used me very kindly, sir; I thank you.
_Wild._ You deserved it for not having a lie ready for my occasions. A
good servant should be no more without it, than a soldier without his
arms. But, pr'ythee, advise me what's to be done to get Jacintha.
_Mask._ You have lost her, or will lose her by your submitting: If we
men could but learn to value ourselves, we should soon take down our
mistresses from all their altitudes, and make them dance after our
pipes, longer perhaps than we had a mind to't. But I must make haste, or
I shall lose Don Melchor.
_Wild._ Call Bellamy, we'll both be present at thy enterprize: Then I'll
once more to the gaming-house with my small stock, for my last refuge:
If I win, I have wherewithal to mollify Jacintha.
If I throw out, I'll bear it off with huffing,
And snatch the money like a bully-ruffin.
[_Exeunt._
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_Enter_ BELLAMY, WILDBLOOD, MASKALL, _in a Visor_.
_Bel._ Here comes one, and in all probability it must be Don Melchor,
going to Theodosia.
_Mask._ Stand close, and you shall see me serve the writ upon him.
_Enter Don_ MELCHOR.
_Wild._ Now, Maskall.
_Mask._ I stayed here, sir, by express order from the lady Aurelia, to
deliver you this note; and to desire you, from her, to meet her
immediately in the garden.
_Mel._ Do you hear, friend!
_Mask._ Not a syllable more, sir; I have performed my orders.
[MASK. _retires to his Masters_.
_Mel._ He's gone, and 'tis in vain for me to look after him. What
envious devil has discovered to Aurelia that I am in town? It must be
Don Lopez, who, to advance his own pretensions to her, has endeavoured
to ruin mine.
_Wild._ It works rarely.
_Mel._ But I am resolved to see Aurelia; if it be but to defeat him.
[_Exit_ MEL.
_Wild._ Let's make haste after him; I long to see the end of this
adventure.
_Mask._ Sir, I think I see some women coming yonder.
_Bel._ Well, I'll leave you to your adventures, while I prosecute my
own.
_Wild._ I warrant you have made an assignation to instruct some lady in
the mathematics.
_Bel._ I'll not tell you my design; because, if it does not succeed, you
shall not laugh at me.
[_Exit Bel._
_Enter_ BEATRIX; _and_ JACINTHA, _in the habit of a Mulatto_.
_Wild._ Let us withdraw a little, and see if they will come this way.
_Beat._ We are right, madam; 'tis certainly your Englishman, and his
servant with him. But, why this second trial, when you engaged to break
with him, if he failed in the first?
_Jac._ 'Tis true, he has been a little inconstant, choleric, or so.
_Beat._ And it seems you are not contented with those vices, but are
searching him for more. This is the folly of a bleeding gamester, who
will obstinately pursue a losing hand.
_Jac._ On t'other side, you would have me throw up my cards, before the
game be lost: Let me make this one more trial, when he has money,
whether he will give it me; and then, if he fails--
_Beat._ You'll forgive him again.
_Jac._ He's already in purgatory; but the next offence shall put him in
the pit, past all redemption; pr'ythee sing, to draw him nearer: Sure he
cannot know me in this disguise.
_Beat._ Make haste, then; for I have more irons in the fire: When I have
done with you, I have another assignation of my Lady Theodosia's to Don
Melchor.
SONG.
_Calm was the even, and clear was the sky,
And the new-budding flowers did spring,
When all alone went Amyntas and I,
To hear the sweet nightingale sing:
I sate, and he laid him down by me,
But scarcely his breath he could draw;
For when, with a fear, he began to draw near,
He was dashed with, A ha, ha, ha, ha!
He blushed to himself, and lay still for a while,
And his modesty curbed his desire;
But strait I convinced all his fear with a smile,
Which added new flames to his fire.
O Sylvia, said he, you are cruel,
To keep your poor lover in awe!
Then once more he prest with his hand to my breast,
But was dashed with, A ha, ha, ha, ha!
I knew 'twas his passion that caused all his fear,
And therefore I pitied his case;
I whispered him softly, There's nobody near,
And laid my cheek close to his face:
But as he grew bolder and bolder,
A shepherd came by us and saw;
And just as our bliss we began with a kiss,
He laughed out with, A ha, ha, ha, ha!_
_Wild._ If you dare be the Sylvia, lady, I have brought you a more
confident Amyntas, than that bashful gentleman in your song.
[_Goes to lay hold of her._
_Jac._ Hold, hold, sir; I am only an ambassadress sent you from a lady:
I hope you will not violate the laws of nations.
_Wild._ I was only searching for your letters of credence: but methinks,
with that beauty, you look more like a herald that comes to denounce war
to all mankind.
_Jac._ One of the ladies in the masque to-night has taken a liking to
you; and sent you by me this purse of gold, in recompence of that she
saw you lose.
_Wild._ And she expects in return of it, that I should wait on her: I'll
do't,--where lives she? I am desperately in love with her.
_Jac._ Why, can you love her unknown?
_Wild._ I have a bank of love, to supply every one's occasions; some for
her, some for another, and some for you; charge what you will upon me,
I pay all at sight, and without questioning who brought the bill.
_Jac._ Hey-day! you dispatch your mistresses as fast, as if you meant to
o'er-run all womankind: Sure you aim at the universal-monarchy.
_Wild._ Now I think on't, I have a foolish fancy to send the lady a
taste of my love by thee.
_Jac._ 'Tis impossible your love should be so humble, to descend to a
mulatto.
_Wild._ One would think so, but I cannot help it. Gad, I think the
reason is, because there's something more of sin in thy colour than in
ours. I know not what's the matter, but a turkey-cock is not more
provoked at red, than I bristle at the sight of black. Come, be kinder
to me. Young, and slip an opportunity? 'Tis an evening lost out of your
life.
_Jac._ These fine things you have said over a thousand times; your cold
compliment's the cold pye of love, which you serve up to every guest
whom you invite.
_Wild._ Come; because thou art very moving, here's part of the gold,
which thou brought'st to corrupt me for thy lady: Truth is, I had
promised a sum to a Spanish lady; but thy eyes have allured it from me.
_Jac._ You'll repent it to-morrow.
_Wild._ Let to-morrow starve, or provide for himself, as to-night has
done: To-morrow is a cheat in love, and I will not trust it.
_Jac._ Ay, but heaven, that sees all things----
_Wild._ Heaven, that sees all things, will say nothing: That is all
eyes, and no tongue; _Et la lune, et les estoiles_,--you know the song.
_Jac._ A poor slave, as I am----
_Wild._ It has been always my humour to love downward. I love to stoop
to my prey, and to have it in my power to souse at, when I please. When
a man comes to a great lady, he is fain to approach her with fear and
reverence; methinks there's something of godliness in't.
_Jac._ Yet I cannot believe, but the meanness of my habit must needs
scandalize you.
_Wild._ I tell thee, my friend, and so forth, that I exceedingly honour
coarse linen; 'tis as proper sometimes in an under garment, as a coarse
towel is to rub and scrub me.
_Jac._ Now I am altogether of the other side; I can love no where but
above me: Methinks the rattling of a coach and six sounds more
eloquently than the best harangue a wit could make me.
_Wild._ Do you make no more esteem of a wit then?
_Jac._ His commendations serve only to make others have a mind to me; he
does but say grace to me like a chaplain, and, like him, is the last
that shall fall on. He ought to get no more by it, than a poor
silk-weaver does by the ribband which he works, to make a gallant fine.
_Wild._ Then what is a gentleman to hope from you?
_Jac._ To be admitted to pass my time with, while a better comes: To be
the lowest step in my staircase, for a knight to mount upon him, and a
lord upon him, and a marquis upon him, and a duke upon him, till I get
as high as I can climb.
_Wild._ For aught I see, the great ladies have the appetites, which you
slaves should have; and you slaves the pride, which ought to be in
ladies. For, I observe, that all women of your condition are like women
of the play-house, still picking at each other, who shall go the best
dressed, and the richest habits; till you work up one another by your
high flying, as the heron and jerfalcon do. If you cannot out-shine
your fellow with one lover, you fetch her up with another: And, in
short, all you get by it is only to put finery out of countenance; and
to make the ladies of quality go plain, because they will avoid the
scandal of your bravery.
_Beat._ [_Running in_.] Madam, come away; I hear company in the garden.
_Wild._ You are not going?
_Jac._ Yes, to cry out a rape, if you follow me.
_Wild._ However, I am glad you have left your treasure behind you:
Farewell, fairy!
_Jac._ Farewell, changeling!--Come, Beatrix.
[_Exeunt Women._
_Mask._ Do you know how you came by this money, sir? You think, I
warrant, that it came by fortune.
_Wild._ No, sirrah, I know it came by my own industry. Did not I come
out diligently to meet this gold, in the very way it was to come? What
could fate do less for me? They are such thoughtless, and undesigning
rogues as you, that make a drudge of poor Providence, and set it a
shifting for you. Give me a brave fellow like myself, that, if you throw
him down into the world, lights every where upon his legs, and helps
himself without being beholden to fate, that is the hospital of fools.
_Mask._ But, after all your jollity, what think you if it was Jacintha
that gave it you in this disguise? I am sure I heard her call Beatrix as
she went away.
_Wild._ Umh! thou awaken'st a most villainous apprehension in me!
methought, indeed, I knew the voice: but the face was such an evidence
against it! if it were so, she is lost for ever.
_Mask._ And so is Beatrix.
_Wild._ Now could I cut my throat for madness.
_Mask._ Now could I break my neck for despair, if I could find a
precipice absolutely to my liking.
_Wild._ 'Tis in vain to consider on't. There's but one way; go you,
Maskall, and find her out, and invent some excuse for me, and be sure to
beg leave I may come and wait upon her with the gold, before she sleeps.
_Mask._ In the mean time you'll be thinking at your lodging.
_Wild._ But make haste then to relieve me; for I think over all my
thoughts in half an hour.
[_Exit_ MASK.
_Wild._ [_Solus_.] Hang it! now I think on't, I shall be but melancholic
at my lodging; I'll go pass my hour at the gaming-house, and make use of
this money while I have tools, to win more to it. Stay, let me see,--I
have the box and throw. My Don he sets me ten pistoles; I nick him: Ten
more, I sweep them too. Now, in all reason, he is nettled, and sets me
twenty: I win them too. Now he kindles, and butters me with forty. They
are all my own: In fine, he is vehement, and bleeds on to fourscore or
an hundred; and I, not willing to tempt fortune, come away a moderate
winner of two hundred pistoles.
SCENE II.
_The_ SCENE _opens and discovers_ AURELIA _and_ CAMILLA: _Behind them a
table and lights set on it. The Scene is a Garden with an arbour in it._
The garden-door opens! How now, Aurelia and Camilla in expectation of
Don Melchor at the garden door! I'll away, least I prevent the design,
and within this half hour come sailing back with full pockets, as
wantonly as a laden galleon from the Indies.
[_Exit._
_Aur._ But dost thou think the Englishman can keep his promise? For, I
confess, I furiously desire to see the idea of Don Melchor.
_Cam._ But, madam, if you should see him, it will not be he, but the
devil in his likeness; and then why should you desire it?
_Aur._ In effect 'tis a very dark enigma; and one must be very spiritual
to understand it. But be what it will, body or phantom, I am resolved to
meet it.
_Cam._ Can you do it without fear?
_Aur._ No; I must avow it, I am furiously fearful; but yet I am resolved
to sacrifice all things to my love. Therefore, let us pass over that
chapter.
[_Don_ MELCHOR, _without_.
_Cam._ Do you hear, madam, there's one treading already; how if it be
he?
_Aur._ If it be he! that is to say his spectre, that is to say his
phantom, that is to say his idea, that is to say, he, and not he.
_Cam._ [_Crying out_.] Ah, madam, 'tis he himself; but he's as big again
as he used to be, with eyes like saucers. I'll save myself.
[_Runs under the table._
_Enter Don_ MELCHOR: _They both shriek_.
_Aur._ Oh heaven! humanity is not able to support it.
[_Running._
_Mel._ Dear Aurelia, what mean you?
_Aur._ The tempter has imitated his voice too; avoid, avoid, spectre.
_Cam._ If he should find me under the table now!
_Mel._ Is it thus, my dear, that you treat your servant?
_Aur._ I am not thy dear; I renounce thee, spirit of darkness!
_Mel._ This spirit of darkness is come to see an angel of light by her
command; and to assure her of his constancy, that he will be her's
eternally.
_Aur._ Away, infernal! 'tis not thee; 'tis the true Don Melchor that I
would see.
_Mel._ Hell and furies!
_Aur._ Heaven and angels! Ah----
[_Runs out, shrieking._
_Mel._ This is a riddle past my finding out, to send for me, and then to
shun me; but here's one shall resolve it for me: Camilla, what dost thou
there?
_Cam._ Help, help! I shall be carried away bodily.
[_She rises up, overthrows the table and lights, and runs out.
The scene shuts._
_Mel._ [_Alone_.] Why, Aurelia, Camilla! they are both run out of
hearing! this amazes me; what can the meaning of it be? Sure she has
heard of my unfaithfulness, and was resolved to punish me by this
contrivance! to put an affront upon me by this abrupt departure, as I
did on her by my seeming absence.
_Enter_ THEODOSIA _and_ BEATRIX.
_Theo._ Don Melchor! is it you, my love, that have frighted Aurelia so
terribly?
_Mel._ Alas, madam! I know not; but, coming hither by your appointment,
and thinking myself secure in the night without disguise, perhaps it
might work upon her fancy, because she thought me absent.