The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. II
Part 7 out of 11
Sir _Char_. And here's my two, because thou art industrious.
[_Gives her Money, and they go out with her_.
_Enter Lady_ Galliard _in rage, held by_ Wilding.
L. _Gal_. What have I done? Ah, whither shall I fly?
_Wild_. Why all these Tears? Ah, why this cruel Passion?
L. _Gal_. Undone, undone! Unhand me, false, forsworn;
Be gone, and let me rage till I am dead.
What shou'd I do with guilty Life about me?
_Wild_. Why, where's the harm of what we two have done?
L. _Gal_. Ah, leave me--
Leave me alone to sigh to flying Winds,
That the Infection may be borne aloft,
And reach no human Ear.
_Wild_. Cease, lovely Charmer, cease to wound me more.
L. _Gal_. Shall I survive this Shame? No, if I do,
Eternal Blushes dwell upon my Cheeks,
To tell the World my Crime.
--Mischief and Hell, what Devil did possess me?
_Wild_. It was no Devil, but a Deity;
A little gay wing'd God, harmless and innocent,
Young as Desire, wanton as Summer-breezes,
Soft as thy Smiles, resistless as thy Eyes.
L. _Gal_. Ah, what malicious God,
Sworn Enemy to feeble Womankind,
Taught thee the Art of Conquest with thy Tongue?
Thy false deluding Eyes were surely made
Of Stars that rule our Sex's Destiny:
And all thy Charms were by Inchantment wrought,
That first undo the heedless Gazers on,
Then shew their natural Deformity.
_Wild_. Ah, my _Galliard_, am I grown ugly then?
Has my increase of Passion lessen'd yours?
[_In a soft Tone_.
L. _Gal_. Peace, Tempter, Peace, who artfully betrayest me,
And then upbraidest the Wretchedness thou'st made.
--Ah, Fool, eternal Fool! to know my Danger,
Yet venture on so evident a Ruin.
_Wild_. Say,--what one Grace is faded?
Is not thy Face as fair, thy Eyes as killing?
By Heaven, much more! This charming change of Looks
Raises my Flame, and makes me wish t'invoke
The harmless God again.
L. _Gal_. By Heaven, not all thy Art
Shall draw me to the tempting Sin again.
_Wild_. Oh, I must, or die.
L. _Gal_. By all the Powers, by--
_Wild_. Oh, do not swear, lest Love shou'd take it ill
That Honour shou'd pretend to give him Laws,
And make an Oath more powerful than his Godhead.
--Say that you will half a long Hour hence--
L. _Gal_. Hah!
_Wild_. Or say a tedious Hour.
L. _Gal_. Death, never--
_Wild_. Or if you--promise me then to morrow.
L. _Gal_. No, hear my Vows.
_Wild_. Hold, see me die; if you resolve 'em fatal to my Love, by Heaven
[_Lays his Hand on his Sword_.
L. _Gal_. Ah, what--
_Wild_. Revoke that fatal Never then.
L. _Gal_. I dare not.
_Wild_. Oh, say you will.
L. _Gal_. Alas, I dare not utter it.
_Wild_. Let's in, and thou shalt whisper it into my Bosom;
Or sighing, look it to me with thy Eyes.
L. _Gal_. Ah, _Wilding_-- [_Sighs_.
_Wild_. It toucht my Soul! Repeat that Sigh again.
L. _Gal_. Ah, I confess I am but feeble Woman.
[_Leans on him_.
Sir _Char_. Good Mistress Keep-door, stand by: for I must enter.
[_Sir_ Char. _without_.
L. _Gal_. Hah, young Meriwill's Voice!
_Clos_. Pray, Sir _Charles_, let me go and give my Lady notice.
[_She enters and goes to_ Wild.
--For Heaven's sake, Sir, withdraw, or my Lady's Honour's lost.
_Wild_. What will you have me do? [_To_ Galliard.
L. _Gal_. Be gone, or you will ruin me for ever.
_Wild_. Nay, then I will obey.
L. _Gal_. Here, down the back-stairs--
As you have Honour, go and cherish mine.
[_Pulling him. He goes out_.
--He's gone, and now nethinks the shivering Fit of
Honour is return'd.
_Enter Sir_ Charles, _rudely pushing_ Closet _aside with Sir_
_Sir. Char_. Deny'd an entrance! nay, then there is a
Rival in the Case, or so; and I'm resolv'd to discover the
Hellish Plot, d'ye see.
[_Just as he enters drunk at one Door_,
Wild. _returns at the other_.
L. _Gal_. Ha, _Wilding_ return'd! Shield me, ye Shades of Night.
[_Puts out the Candles, and goes to_ Wild.
_Wild_. The Back-Stairs Door is lockt.
L. _Gal_. Oh, I am lost! curse on this fatal Night!
Art thou resolv'd on my undoing every way.
_Clos_. Nay, now we're by dark, let me alone to guide you. Sir.
Sir _Char_. What, what, all in darkness? Do you make
Love like Cats, by Star-light? [_Reeling about_.
L. _Gal_. Ah, he knows he's here!--Oh, what a pain is Guilt!
_Wild_. I wou'd not be surpriz'd.
[_As_ Closet _takes him to lead him out, he takes out his
Sword, and by dark pushes by Sir_ Charles, _and almost
overthrows Sir_ Anth. _at which they both draw, whilst
he goes out with_ Closet.
Sir _Char_. Hah, Gad, 'twas a Spark!--What, vanisht! hah--
Sir _Anth_. Nay, nay, Sir, I am for ye.
Sir _Char_. Are you so, Sir? and I am for the Widow, Sir, and--
[_Just as they are passing at each other_, Closet _enters
with a Candle_.
Hah, why, what have we here?--my nown Flesh and Blood?
[_Embracing his Uncle_.
Sir _Anth_. Cry mercy, Sir! Pray, how fell we out?
Sir _Char_. Out, Sir! Prithee where's my Rival? where's the Spark, the--
Gad, I took thee for an errant Rival: Where is he?
L. _Gal_. Whom seek ye, Sir, a Man, and in my Lodgings?
_Clos_. A Man! Merciful, what will this scandalous lying World come to?
Here's no Man.
Sir _Char_. Away, I say, thou damn'd Domestick Intelligence, that comest
out every half hour with some fresh Sham--No Man!--What, 'twas an
Appointment only, hum,--which I shall now make bold to unappoint, render
null, void, and of none effect. And if I find him here, [_Searches
about_.] I shall very civilly and accidentally, as it were, being in
perfect friendship with him--pray, mark that--run him through the Lungs.
L. _Gal_. Oh, whata Coward's Guilt! what mean you, Sir?
Sir _Char_. Mean? why I am obstinately bent to ravish thee, thou
hypocritical Widow, make thee mine by force, that so I have no obligation
to thee, and consequently use thee scurvily with a good Conscience.
Sir _Anth_. A most delicate Boy! I'll warrant him as lend as the best
of'em, God grant him Life and Health. [Aside.
L. _Gal_. 'Tis late, and I entreat your absence, Sir: These are my Hours
of Prayer, which this unseasonable Visit has disturb'd.
Sir _Char_. Prayer! No more of that, Sweetheart; for let me tell you,
your Prayers are heard. A Widow of your Youth and Complexion can be
praying for nothing so late, but a good Husband; and see, Heaven has sent
him just in the crit--critical minute, to supply your Occasions.
Sir _Anth_. A Wag, an arch Wag; he'll learn to make Lampoons presently.
I'll not give Sixpence from him, though to the poor of the Parish.
Sir _Char_. Come, Widow, let's to Bed.
[Pulls her, she is angry.
L. _Gal_. Hold, Sir, you drive the Jest too far;
And I am in no humour now for Mirth.
Sir _Char_. Jest: Gad, ye lye, I was never in more earnest in all my
Sir _Anth_. He's in a heavenly humour, thanks to good Wine, good Counsel,
and good Company.
[_Getting nearer the Door still_.
L. _Gal_. What mean you, Sir? what can my Woman think to see me treated
Sir _Char_. Well thought on! Nay, we'll do things decently, d'ye see--
Therefore, thou sometimes necessary Utensil, withdraw.
[_Gives her to Sir_ Anth.
Sir _Anth_. Ay, ay, let me alone to teach her her Duty.
[_Pushes her out, and goes out_.
L. _Gal_. Stay, Closet, I command ye.
--What have you seen in me shou'd move you to this rudeness?
[_To Sir_ Char.
Sir _Char_. No frowning; for by this dear Night, 'tis Charity, care of
your Reputation, Widow; and therefore I am resolv'd no body shall lie
with you but my self. You have dangerous Wasps buzzing about your Hive,
Widow--mark that--[_She flings from him_.] Nay, no parting but upon
terms, which, in short, d'ye see, are these: Down on your Knees, and
swear me heartily, as Gad shall judge your Soul, d'ye see, to marry me to
L. _Gal_. To morrow! Oh, I have urgent business then.
Sir _Char_. So have I. Nay, Gad, an you be for the nearest way to the
Wood, the sober discreet way of loving, I am sorry for ye, look ye.
[_He begins to undress_.
L. _Gal_. Hold, Sir, what mean you?
Sir _Char_. Only to go to Bed, that's all.
L. _Gal_. Hold, hold, or I'll call out.
Sir _Char_. Ay, do, call up a Jury of your Female Neighbours, they'll be
for me, d'ye see, bring in the Bill Ignoramus, though I am no very true
blue Protestant neither; therefore dispatch, or--
L. _Gal_. Hold, are you mad? I cannot promise you to night.
Sir _Char_. Well, well, I'll be content with Performance then to night,
and trust you for your Promise till to morrow.
Sir _Anth_. [_peeping_.] Ah, Rogue! by George, he out-does my
Expectations of him.
L. _Gal_. What Imposition's this! I'll call for help.
_Sir. Char_. You need not, you'll do my business better alone.
L. _Gal_. What shall I do? how shall I send him hence? [_Aside_.
Sir _Anth_. He shall ne'er drink small Beer more, that's positive; I'll
burn all's Books too, they have help'd to spoil him; and sick or well,
sound or unsound, Drinking shall be his Diet, and Whoring his Study.
[_Aside, peeping unseen_.
Sir _Char_. Come, come, no pausing; your Promise, or I'll to Bed.
[_Offers to pull off his Breeches, having pulled
off almost all the rest of his Clothes_.
L. _Gal_. What shall I do? here is no Witness near: And to be rid of him
I'll promise him; he'll have forgot it in his sober Passion. [_Aside_.
Hold, I do swear I will--
[_He fumbling to undo his Breeches_.
Sir _Char_. What?
L. _Gal_. Marry you.
Sir _Char_. When?
L. _Gal_. Nay, that's too much--Hold, hold, I will to morrow--Now you are
satisfy'd, you will withdraw?
_Enter Sir_ Anth. _and_ Closet.
Sir _Anth. Charles_, Joy, _Charles_, give you Joy, here's two substantial
_Clos_. I deny it, Sir; I heard no such thing.
Sir _Anth_. What, what, Mrs. Closet, a Waiting-woman of Honour, and
flinch from her Evidence! Gad, I'll damn thy Soul if thou dar'st swear
what thou say'st.
L. _Gal_. How, upon the Catch, Sir! am I betray'd?
Base and unkind, is this your humble Love?
Is all your whining come to this, false Man?
By Heaven, I'll be reveng'd.
[_She goes out in a Rage with_ Closet.
Sir _Char_. Nay, Gad, you're caught, struggle and flounder as you please,
Sweetheart, you'll but intangle more; let me alone to tickle your Gills,
i'faith. [_Looking after her_.--Uncle, get ye home about your Business;
I hope you'll give me the good morrow, as becomes me--I say no more, a
Word to the Wise--
Sir _Anth_. By George, thou'rt a brave Fellow; why, I did not think it
had been in thee, Man. Well, adieu; I'll give thee such a good morrow,
_Charles_--the Devil's in him!--'Bye, Charles--a plaguy Rogue!--'night,
Boy--a divine Youth!
[_Going and returning, as not able to leave him. Exit_.
Sir _Char_. Gad, I'll not leave her now, till she is mine;
Then keep her so by constant Consummation.
Let Man o' God do his, I'll do my Part,
In spite of all her Fickleness and Art;
There's one sure way to fix a Widow's Heart.
SCENE I. _Sir_ Timothy's _House_.
_Enter_ Dresswell, Foppington, Laboir, _and five or six more
disguised with Wizards and dark Lanthorns_.
_Fop_. Not yet! a plague of this damn'd Widow: The Devil ow'd him an
unlucky Cast, and has thrown it him to night.
_Enter_ Wild, _in Rapture and Joy_.
--Hah, dear _Tom_, art thou come?
_Wild_. I saw how at her length she lay! I saw her rising Bosom bare!
_Fop_. A Pox of her rising Bosom! My dear, let's dress and about our
_Wild_. Her loose thin Robes, through which appear A Shape design'd for
Love and Play!
_Dres_. Sheart, Sir, is this a time for Rapture? 'tis almost day.
_Wild_. Ah, _Frank_, such a dear Night!
_Dress_. A Pox of Nights, Sir, think of this and the Day to come: which I
perceive you were too well employ'd to remember.
_Wild_. The Day to come! Death, who cou'd be so dull in such dear Joys,
To think of Time to come, or ought beyond 'em! And had I not been
interrupted by _Charles Meriwill_, who, getting drunk, had Courage enough
to venture on an untimely Visit, I'd had no more power of returning, than
committing Treason: But that conjugal Lover, who will needs be my
Cuckold, made me then give him way, that he might give it me another
time, and so unseen I got off. But come--my Disguise.
_Dres_. All's still and hush, as if Nature meant to favour our Design.
_Wild_. 'Tis well: and hark ye, my Friends, I'll prescribe ye no Bounds,
nor Moderation; for I have consider'd, if we modestly take nothing but
the Writings,'twill be easy to suspect the Thief.
_Fop_. Right; and since 'tis for the securing our Necks, 'tis lawful
Prize--Sirrah, leave the Portmantle here.
[_Exeunt as into the House_.
_After a small time, Enter_ Jervice _undres'd, crying out,
pursued by some of the Thieves_.
_Jer_. Murder, Murder! Thieves, Murder!
_Enter_ Wilding _with his Sword drawn_.
_Wild_. A plague upon his Throat; set a Gag in's Mouth
and bind him, though he be my Uncle's chief Pimp--so--
[_They bind and gag him_.
_Enter_ Dresswell, _and_ Laboir.
_Dres_. Well, we have bound all within hearing in their Beds, e'er they
cou'd alarm their Fellows by crying out.
_Wild_. 'Tis well; come, follow me, like a kind Midnight-Ghost, I will
conduct ye to the rich buried Heaps--this Door leads to my Uncle's
Apartment; I know each secret Nook conscious of Treasure.
[_All go in, leaving_ Jervice _bound on the Stage_.
_Enter_ Sensure _running half undressed, as from Sir_ Timothy's
_Chamber, with his Velvet-Coat on her Shoulders_.
_Sen_. Help, help! Murder! Murder!
[Dres. Lab. _and others pursue her_.
_Dres_. What have we here, a Female bolted from Mr. Alderman's Bed?
[Holding a Lanthorn to his Face.
_Sen_. Ah, mercy, Sir, alas, I am a Virgin.
_Dres_. A Virgin! Gad and that may be, for any great Miracles the old
Gentleman can do.
_Sen_. Do! alas, Sir, I am none of the Wicked.
_Dres_. That's well--The sanctify'd Jilt professes Innocence, yet has the
Badge of her Occupation about her Neck.
[_Pulls off the Coat_.
_Sen_. Ah, Misfortune, I have mistook his Worship's Coat for my Gown.
[_A little Book drops out of her Bosom_.
_Dres_. What have we here? A Sermon preacht by Richard Baxter, Divine.
Gad a mercy, Sweetheart, thou art a hopeful Member of the true Protestant
_Sen_. Alack, how the Saints may be scandaliz'd! I went but to tuck his
_Dres_. And comment upon the Text a little, which I suppose may be,
increase and multiply--Here, gag, and bind her.
_Sen_. Hold, hold, I am with Child!
_Lab_. Then you'll go near to miscarry of a Babe of Grace.
_Enter_ Wild. Fop. _and others, leading in Sir_ Timothy _in
his Night-gown and Night-Gap_.
Sir _Tim_. Gentlemen, why, Gentlemen, I beseech you use a Conscience in
what you do, and have a feeling in what you go about--Pity my Age.
_Wild_. Damn'd beggarly Conscience, and needless Pity--
Sir _Tim_. Oh, fearful--But, Gentlemen, what is't you design? is it a
general Massacre, pray? or am I the only Person aim'd at as a Sacrifice
for the Nation? I know, and all the World knows, how many Plots have been
laid against my self, both by Men, Women, and Children, the diabolical
Emissaries of the Pope.
_Wild_. How, Sirrah! [_Fiercely, he starts_.
Sir _Tim_. Nay, Gentlemen, not but I love and honour his Holiness with
all my Soul; and if his Grace did but know what I've done for him, d'ye
_Fop_. You done for the Pope, Sirrah! Why, what have you done for the
Sir _Tim_. Why, Sir, an't like ye, I have done you very great Service,
very great Service; for I have been, d'ye see, in a small Tryal I had,
the cause and occasion of invalidating the Evidence to that degree, that
I suppose no Jury in Christendom will ever have the Impudence to believe
'em hereafter, shou'd they swear against his Holiness and all the
Conclave of Cardinals.
_Wild_. And yet you plot on still, cabal, treat, and keep open Debauch,
for all the Renegado-Tories and old Commonwealthsmen to carry on the good
Sir _Tim_. Alas, what signifies that! You know, Gentlemen, that I have
such a strange and natural Agility in turning--I shall whip about yet,
and leave 'em all in the Lurch.
_Wild_. 'Tis very likely; but at this time we shall not take your Word
Sir _Tim_. Bloody-minded Men, are you resolv'd to assassinate me then?
_Wild_. You trifle, Sir, and know our Business better, than to think we
come to take your Life, which wou'd not advantage a Dog, much less any
Party or Person--Come, come, your Keys, your Keys.
_Fop_. Ay, ay, discover, discover your Money, Sir, your ready--
Sir _Tim_. Money, Sir, good lack, is that all? [_Smiling on 'em_.]
Why, what a Beast was I, not knowing of your coming, to put out all my
Money last Week to Alderman Draw-tooth? Alack, alack, what shift shall I
make now to accommodate you?--But if you please to come again to morrow--
_Fop_. A shamming Rogue; the right Sneer and Grin of a dissembling Whig.
Come, come, deliver, Sir; we are for no Rhetorick but ready Money.
[_Aloud and threatning_.
Sir _Tim_. Hold, I beseech you, Gentlemen, not so loud; for there is a
Lord, a most considerable Person, and a Stranger, honours my House to
night; I wou'd not for the world his Lordship shou'd be disturb'd.
_Wild_. Take no care for him, he's fast bound and all his Retinue.
Sir _Tim_. How, bound! my Lord bound, and all his People! Undone, undone,
disgrac'd! What will the Polanders say, that I shou'd expose their
Embassador to this Disrespect and Affront?
_Wild_. Bind him, and take away his Keys.
[_They bind him hand and foot, and take his
Keys out of his Bosom. Ex. all_.
Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, what you please, Gentlemen, since my Lord's bound--Oh,
what Recompence can I make for so unhospitable Usage? I am a most
unfortunate Magistrate: hah, who's there, _Jervice_? Alas, art thou here
too? What, canst not speak? but 'tis no matter and I were dumb too; for
what Speech or Harangue will serve to beg my Pardon of my Lord?--And then
my Heiress, _Jervice_, ay, my rich Heiress, why, she'll be ravisht: Oh
Heavens, ravisht! The young Rogues will have no Mercy, _Jervice_; nay,
perhaps as thou say'st, they'll carry her away.--Oh, that thought! Gad, I
rather the City-Charter were lost.
[_Enter some with Bags of Money_.
--Why, Gentlemen, rob like Christians, Gentlemen.
_Fop_. What, do you mutter, Dog?
Sir _Tim_. Not in the least, Sir, not in the least; only a Conscience,
Sir, in all things does well--Barbarous Rogues.
[_They go out all again_.]
Here's your arbitrary Power, _Jervice_; here's the Rule of the Sword now
for you: These are your Tory Rogues, your tantivy Roysters; but we shall
cry quits with you, Rascals, ere long; and if we do come to our old Trade
of Plunder and Sequestration, we shall so handle ye--we'll spare neither
Prince, Peer, nor Prelate. Oh, I long to have a slice at your fat
Church-men, your Crape-Gownorums.
_Enter_ Wild. Dresswell, Laboir, _and the rest, with more Bags_.
_Wild_. A Prize, a Prize, my Lads, in ready Guineas; Contribution, my
_Dres_. Nay, then 'tis lawful Prize, in spite of Ignoramus and all his
Tribe--What hast thou here?
[_To_ Fop. _who enters with a Bag full of Papers_.
_Fop_. A whole Bag of Knavery, damn'd Sedition, Libels, Treason,
Successions, Rights and Privileges, with a new-fashion'd Oath of
Abjuration, call'd the Association.--Ah, Rogue, what will you say when
these shall be made publick?
Sir _Tim_. Say, Sir? why, I'll deny it, Sir; for what Jury will believe
so wise a Magistrate as I cou'd communicate such Secrets to such as you?
I'll say you forg'd 'em, and put 'em in--or print every one of 'em, and
own 'em, as long as they were writ and publisht in London, Sir. Come,
come, the World is not so bad yet, but a Man may speak Treason within the
Walls of London, thanks be to God, and honest conscientious Jury-Men. And
as for the Money, Gentlemen, take notice you rob the Party.
_Wild_. Come, come, carry off the Booty, and prithee remove that Rubbish
of the Nation out of the way--Your servant, Sir.--So, away with it to
_Dresswell's_ Lodgings, his Coach is at the Door ready to receive it.
[_They carry off Sir_ Timothy, _and others take up
the Bags, and go out with 'em_.
_Dres_. Well, you are sure you have all you came for?
_Wild_. All's safe, my Lads, the Writings all--
_Fop_. Come, let's away then.
_Wild_. Away? what meanest thou? is there not a Lord to be found bound in
his Bed, and all his People? Come, come, dispatch, and each Man bind his
_Fop_. We had better follow the Baggage, Captain.
_Wild_. No, we have not done so ill, but we dare shew our Faces. Come,
come, to binding.
_Fop_. And who shall bind the last Man?
_Wild_. Honest Laboir, d'ye hear, Sirrah? you get drunk and lay in your
Clothes under the Hall-Table; d'ye hear me? Look to't, ye Rascal, and
carry things discreetly, or you'll be hang'd, that's certain.
[_Ex_. Wild, _and_ Dres.
_Fop_. So, now will I i'th' Morning to _Charlot_, and give her such a
Character of her Love, as if she have Resentment, makes her mine.
Sir _Tim_. [_calls within_.] Ho, Jenkins, Roger, Simon! Where are these
Rogues? none left alive to come to my Assistance? So ho, ho, ho, ho!
Rascals, Sluggards, Drones! so ho, ho, ho!
_Lab_. So, now's my Cue--and stay, I am not yet sober.
[_Puts himself into a drunken Posture_.
Sir _Tim_. Dogs, Rogues, none hear me? Fire, fire, fire!
_Lab_. Water, water, I say; for I am damnable dry.
Sir _Tim_. Hah, who's there?
_Lab_. What doleful Voice is that?
Sir _Tim_. What art thou, Friend or Foe? [_In a doleful Tone_.
_Lab_. Very direful--why, what the Devil art thou?
Sir _Tim_. If thou'rt a Friend, approach, approach the wretched.
_Lab_. Wretched! What art thou, Ghost, Hobgoblin, or walking Spirit?
[_Reeling in with a Lanthorn in's Hand_.
Sir _Tim_. Oh, neither, neither, but mere Mortal, Sir _Timothy
Treat-all_, robb'd and bound.
[_Coming out led by_ Laboir.
_Lab_. How, our generous Host!
Sir _Tim_. How, one of my Lord's Servants! Alas, alas, how cam'st thou to
_Lab_. E'en by miracle, Sir; by being drunk, and falling asleep under
the Hall-Table with your Worship's Dog Tory, till just now a Dream of
Small-beer wak'd me: and crawling from my Kennel to secure the black
Jack, I stumbled upon this Lanthorn, which I took for one, till I found a
Candle in't, which helps me to serve your Worship.
[_Goes to unbind his Hands_.
Sir _Tim_. Hold, hold, I say; for I scorn to be so uncivil to be unbound
before his Lordship: therefore run, Friend, to his Honour's Chamber, for
he, alas, is confined too.
_Lab_. What, and leave his worthy Friend in distress? by no means, Sir.
Sir _Tim_. Well then, come, let's to my Lord, whom if I be not asham'd to
look in the Face, I am an errant Sarazen.
[_Exit Sir_ Tim. _and_ Lab.
SCENE II. _Changes to_ Wilding's _Chamber_.
_He is discovered sitting in a Chair bound, his Valet
bound by him; to them Sir_ Timothy _and_ Laboir.
_Wild_. Peace, Sirrah, for sure I hear some coming--Villains, Rogues! I
care not for my self, but for the good pious Alderman.
[_Sir_ Tim. _as listening_.
Sir _Tim_. Wonderful Goodness, for me! Alas, my Lord, this sight
will break my Heart.
_Wild_. Sir _Timothy_ safe! nay, then I do forgive 'em.
Sir _Tim_. Alas, my Lord, I've heard of your rigid Fate.
_Wild_. It is my Custom, Sir, to pray an Hour or two in my Chamber,
before I go to Bed; and having pray'd that drousy Slave asleep, the
Thieves broke in upon us unawares, I having laid my Sword aside.
Sir _Tim_. Oh, Heavens, at his Prayers! damn'd Ruffians, and wou'd they
not stay till you had said your Prayers?
_Wild_. By no Persuasion--Can you not guess who they shou'd be, Sir?
Sir _Tim_. Oh, some damn'd Tory-rory Rogues, you may be sure, to rob a
Man at his Prayers! why, what will this World come to?
_Wild_. Let us not talk, Sir, but pursue 'em.
[_Offering to go_.
Sir _Tim_. Pursue 'em! alas, they're past our reach by this time.
_Wild_. Oh, Sir, they are nearer than you imagine: some that know each
Corner of your House, I'll warrant.
Sir _Tim_. Think ye so, my Lord? ay, this comes of keeping open House;
which makes so many shut up their Doors at Dinner-time.
_Dres_. Good Morrow, Gentlemen! what, was the Devil broke loose to night?
Sir _Tim_. Only some of his Imps, Sir, saucy Varlets, insupportable
Rascals--But well, my Lord, now I have seen your Lordship at liberty,
I'll leave you to your rest, and go see what Harm this night's Work has
_Wild_. I have a little Business, Sir, and will take this time to
dispatch it in; my Servants shall to Bed, though 'tis already day--I'll
wait on you at Dinner.
Sir _Tim_. Your time; my House and all I have is yours; and so I take
my Leave of your Lordship.
[_Ex. Sir_ Tim.
_Wild_. Now for my angry Maid, the young _Charlot_;
'Twill be a Task to soften her to Peace;
She is all new and gay, young as the Morn,
Blushing as tender Rose-Buds on their Stalks,
Pregnant with Sweets, for the next Sun to ravish.
--Come, thou shalt along with me, I'll trust thy Friendship.
SCENE III. _Changes to_ Diana's _Chamber_.
_She is discovered dressing, with_ Betty.
_Dia_. Methinks I'm up as early as if I had a mind to what I'm going to
do, marry this rich old Coxcomb.
_Bet_. And you do well to lose no time.
_Dia_. Ah, Betty, and cou'd thy Prudence prefer an old Husband, because
rich, before so young, so handsom, and so soft a Lover as _Wilding_?
_Bet_. I know not that, Madam; but I verily believe the way to keep your
young Lover, is to marry this old one: for what Youth and Beauty cannot
purchase, oney and Quality may.
_Dia_. Ay, but to be oblig'd to lie with such a Beast; ay, there's the
_Betty_. Ah, when I find the difference of their Embraces,
The soft dear Arms of _Wilding_ round my Neck.
From those cold feeble ones of this old Dotard;
When I shall meet, instead of _Tom's_ warm kisses,
A hollow Pair of thin blue wither'd Lips,
Trembling with Palsy, stinking with Disease,
By Age and Nature barricado'd up
With a kind Nose and Chin;
What Fancy or what Thought can make my Hours supportable?
_Bet_. What? why six thousand Pounds a Year, Mistress. He'll quickly die,
and leave you rich, and then do what you please.
_Dia_. Die! no, he's too temperate--Sure these Whigs, _Betty_, believe
there's no Heaven, they take such care to live so long in this World--No,
he'll out-live me.
_Bet_. In Grace a God he may be hang'd first, Mistress--Ha, one knocks,
and I believe 'tis he.
[_She goes to open the Door_.
_Dia_. I cannot bring my Heart to like this Business; One sight of my
dear _Tom_ wou'd turn the Scale.
_Bet_. Who's there?
_Enter Sir_ Tim. _joyful_; Dian. _walks away_.
Sir _Tim_. 'Tis I, impatient I, who with the Sun have welcom'd in the
This happy Day to be inroll'd
In Rubrick Letters and in Gold.
--Hum, I am profoundly eloquent this Morning. [_Aside_.
--Fair Excellence, I approach--
[_Going toward her_.
_Dia_. Like Physick in a Morning next one's Heart; [_Aside_.
Which, though it be necessary, is most filthy loathsom.
[_Going from him_.
Sir _Tim_. What, do you turn away, bright Sun of Beauty?
--Hum, I'm much upon the Suns and Days this Morning.
_Dia_. It will not down.
[_Turning on him, looks on him, and turns away_.
Sir _Tim_. Alas, ye Gods, am I despis'd and scorn'd?
Did I for this ponder upon the Question,
Whether I should be King or Alderman?
_Dia_. If I must marry him, give him Patience to endure the Cuckolding,
good Heaven. [_Aside_.
Sir _Tim_. Heaven! did she name Heaven, Betty?
_Bet_. I think she did, Sir.
Sir _Tim_. I do not like that: What need has she to think of Heaven upon
_Dia_. Marriage is a sort of Hanging, Sir; and I was only making a short
Prayer before Execution.
Sir _Tim_. Oh, is that all? Come, come, we'll let that alone till we're
abed, that we have nothing else to do.
[_Takes her Hand_.
_Dia_. Not much, I dare swear.
Sir _Tim_. And let us, Fair one, haste; the Parson stays; besides, that
heap of Scandal may prevent us--I mean, my Nephew.
_Dia_. A Pox upon him now for naming _Wilding_.
Sir _Tim_. How, weep at naming my ungracious Nephew? Nay, then I am
provok'd--Look on this Head, this wise and Reverend Head; I'd have ye
know, it has been taken measure on to fit it to a Crown, d'ye see.
_Dia_. A Halter rather. [_Aside_.
Sir _Tim_. Ay, and it fits it too: and am I slighted, I that shall
receive Billet-Doux from Infanta's? 'tis most uncivil and impolitick.
_Dia_. I hope he's mad, and then I reign alone. [_Aside_.
Pardon me, Sir, that parting Tear I shed indeed at naming _Wilding_,
Of whom my foolish Heart has now ta'en leave,
And from this Moment is intirely yours.
[_Gives him her Hand, they go out followed by_ Betty.
SCENE IV. _Changes to a Street_.
_Enter_ Charlot, _led by_ Foppington, _follow'd by Mrs_. Clacket.
_Char_. Stay, my Heart misgives me, I shall be undone.
--Ah, whither was I going?
[_Pulls her Hand from_ Fop.
_Fop_. Do, stay till the News arrives that he is married to her that had
his Company to night, my Lady _Galliard_.
_Char_. Oh! Take heed lest you sin doubly, Sir.
_Fop_. By Heaven, 'tis true, he past the Night with her.
_Char_. All night! what cou'd they find to do?
Mrs. _Clack_. A very proper Question; I'll warrant you they were not
_Char_. Oh, no; they lookt and lov'd and vow'd and lov'd, and swore
eternal Friendship--Haste, haste, and lead me to the Church, the Altar;
I'll put it past my Power to love him more.
_Fop_. Oh, how you charm me!
[_Takes her by the Hand_.
_Char_. Yet what art thou? a Stranger to my Heart. Wherefore, ah why, on
what occasion shou'd I?
Mrs. _Clack_. Acquaintance, 'tis enough, I know him, Madam, and I hope my
Word will be taken for a greater matter in the City: In troth you're
beholden to the Gentleman for marrying you, your Reputation's gone.
_Char_. How, am I not honest then?
Mrs. _Clack_. Marry, Heaven forbid! But who that knows you have been a
single Hour in _Wilding's_ Hands, wou'd not swear you have lost your
Maidenhead? And back again I'm sure you dare not go unmarried; that wou'd
be a fine History to be sung to your eternal Fame in a Ballad.
_Fop_. Right; and you see _Wilding_ has left you for the Widow, to whom
perhaps you'll shortly hear he's married.
_Char_. Oh, you trifle, Sir; lead on.
[_They going out, meet Sir_ Anthony _with Musick: they return_.
Sir _Anth_. Come, come, Gentlemen, this is the House, and this the Window
belonging to my Lady's Bed-chamber: Come, come, let's have some neat,
soft, brisk, languishing, sprightly Air now.
_Fop_. Old Meriwill--how shall I pass by him!
Sir _Anth_. So, here's Company too; 'tis very well--Not have the Boy?
I'll warrant this does the Business--Come, come, screw up your
--Hold, hold a little--Good morrow, my Lady _Galliard_.
--Give your Ladyship Joy.
_Char_. What do I hear, my Lady _Galliard_ joy'd?
_Fop_. How, married her already?
_Char_. Oh, yes, he has. Lovely and false, hast thou deceiv'd my Faith?
Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, Heavens, Mr. _Foppington_, she faints.--ah me!
[_They hold her, Musick plays.
Enter_ Wilding _and_ Dresswell, _disguis'd as before_.
_Wild_. Ah, Musick at _Galliard's_ Door!
Sir _Anth_. Good morrow, Sir _Charles Meriwill_: give your Worship and
your fair Lady Joy.
_Wild_. Hah, Meriwill married the Widow!
_Dres_. No matter; prithee advance, and mind thy own Affairs.
_Wild_. Advance, and not inquire the meaning on't!
Bid me not eat, when Appetite invites me;
Not draw, when branded with the Name of Coward;
Nor love, when Youth and Beauty meet my Eyes--
[_Sees Sir_ Charles _come into the Balcony undrest_.
Sir _Char_. Good morrow, Uncle. Gentlemen, I thank ye: Here, drink the
King's Health, with my Royal Master's the Duke.
[_Gives 'em Money_.
_Fid_. Heaven bless your Honour, and your virtuous Bride.
_Fop. Wilding_! undone.
[_Shelters_ Charlot, _that she may not see_ Wilding.
_Wild_. Death and the Devil, Meriwill above!
Sir _Anth_. Ah, the Boy's Rival here! By George, here may be breathing
this Morning--No matter, here's two to two; come, Gentlemen, you must in.
[_Thrusts the Musick in, and goes in_.
_Dres_. Is't not what you expected? nay, what you wisht?
_Wild_. What then? it comes too suddenly upon me--
E'er my last Kiss was cold upon her Lips,
Before the pantings of her Breast were laid,
Rais'd by her joys with me; Oh, damn'd deluding Woman!
_Dres_. Be wise, and do not ruin where you love.
_Wild_. Nay, if thou com'st to reasoning, thou hast lost me.
[_Breaks from him, and runs in_.
_Char_. I say 'twas _Wilding's_ Voice, and I will follow it.
_Fop_. How, Madam, wou'd you after him?
_Char_. Nay, force me not; by Heaven, I'll cry a Rape,
Unless you let me go--Not after him!
Yes, to the infernal Shades--Unhand me, Sir.
_Fop_. How, Madam, have you then design'd my Ruin?
_Char_. Oh, trust me, Sir, I am a Maid of Honour.
[_Runs in after_ Wild.
Mrs. _Clack_. So; a Murrain of your Projects, we're all undone now: For
my part I'll e'en after her, and deny to have any hand in the Business.
_Fop_. Damn all ill Luck, was ever Man thus Fortune-bit, that he shou'd
cross my Hopes just in the nick? But shall I lose her thus? No, Gad, I'll
after her; and come the worst, I have an Impudence shall out-face a
Middlesex Jury, and out-swear a Discoverer.
SCENE V. _Changes to a Chamber_.
_Enter Lady_ Galliard, _pursued by Sir_ Charles, _and Footman_.
L. _Gal_. Sirrah, run to my Lord Mayor's, and require some of his
Officers to assist me instantly; and d'ye hear, Rascal, bar up my Doors,
and let none of his mad Crew enter.
[_To the Footman who is going_.
Sir _Char_. William, you may stay, William.
L. _Gal_. I say, obey me, Sirrah.
Sir _Char_. Sirrah, I say--know your Lord and Master.
_Will_. I shall, Sir. [_Goes out_.
L. _Gal_. Was ever Woman teaz'd thus? pursue me not.
Sir _Char_. You are mistaken, I'm disobedient grown,
Since we became one Family; and when
I've us'd you thus a Week or two, you will
Grow weary of this peevish fooling.
L. _Gal_. Malicious thing, I wo'not, I am resolv'd I'll tire thee out
merely in spite, to have the better of thee.
Sir _Char_. I'm as resolv'd as you, and do your worst,
For I'm resolv'd never to quit thy House.
L. _Gal_. But, Malice, there are Officers i'th' City, that will not see
me us'd thus, and will be here anon.
Sir _Char_. Magistrates! why, they shall be welcome, if they be honest
and loyal; if not, they may be hang'd in Heaven's good time.
L. _Gal_. Are you resolv'd to be thus obstinate? Fully resolv'd to make
this way your Conquest?
Sir _Char_. Most certainly, I'll keep you honest to your Word, my Dear--
L. _Gal_. You will?
Sir _Char_. You'll find it so.
L. _Gal_. Then know, if thou darest marry me, I will so plague thee, be
so reveng'd for all those Tricks thou hast play'd me--
Dost thou not dread the Vengeance Wives can take?
Sir _Char_. Not at all: I'll trust thy Stock of Beauty with thy Wit.
L. _Gal_. Death, I will cuckold thee.
Sir _Char_. Why, then I shall be free o'th' Reverend City.
L. _Gal_. Then I will game without cessation, till I've undone thee.
Sir _Char_. Do, that all the Fops of empty Heads and Pockets may know
where to be sure of a Cully; and may they rook ye till ye lose, and fret,
and chafe, and rail those youthful Eyes to sinking; watch your fair Face
to pale and withered Leanness.
L. _Gal_. Then I will never let thee bed with me, but when I please.
Sir _Char_. For that, see who'll petition first, and then I'll change for
new ones every Night.
_Will_. Madam, here's Mr. _Wilding_ at the Door, and will not be deny'd
L. _Gal_. Hah, _Wilding_! Oh, my eternal Shame! Now thou hast done thy
Sir _Char_. Now for a Struggle 'twixt your Love and Honour!
--Yes, here's the Bar to all my Happiness,
You wou'd be left to the wide World and Love,
To Infamy, to Scandal, and to _Wilding_;
But I have too much Honour in my Passion,
To let you loose to ruin: Consider and be wise.
L. _Gal_. Oh, he has toucht my Heart too sensibly. [_Aside_.
Sir _Anth_. [_within_.] As far as good Manners goes I'm yours;
But when you press indecently to Ladies Chambers, civil
Questions ought to askt, I take it, Sir.
L. _Gal_. To find him here, will make him mad with Jealousy, and in the
Fit he'll utter all he knows: Oh, Guilt, what art thou! [_Aside_.
_Enter Sir_ Anth. Wild, _and_ Dres.
_Dres_. Prithee, dear _Wilding_, moderate thy Passion.
_Wild_. By Heaven, I will; she shall not have the Pleasure to see I am
concern'd--Morrow, Widow; you are early up, you mean to thrive, I see,
you're like a Mill that grinds with every Wind.
Sir _Char_. Hah, _Wilding_, this that past last Night at Sir Timothy's
for a Man of Quality? Oh, give him way, _Wilding's_ my Friend, my Dear,
and now I'm sure I have the Advantage of him in my Love. I can forgive a
hasty Word or two.
_Wild_. I thank thee, _Charles_--what, you are married then?
L. _Gal_. I hope you've no Exception to my Choice.
_Wild_. False Woman, dost thou glory in thy Perfidy?
[_To her aside angrily_.
--Yes, Faith, I've many Exceptions to him--
Had you lov'd me, you'd pitcht upon a Blockhead,
Some spruce gay Fool of Fortune, and no more,
Who would have taken so much Care of his own ill-favour'd Person,
He shou'd have had no time to have minded yours,
But left it to the Care of some fond longing Lover.
L. _Gal_. Death, he will tell him all! [_Aside_.] Oh, you are merry, Sir.
_Wild_. No, but thou art wondrous false,
False as the Love and Joys you feign'd last Night.
[_In a soft Tone aside to her_.
L. _Gal_. Oh, Sir, be tender of those treacherous Minutes.
[_Softly to him_.
--If this be all you have to say to me--
[_Walking away, and speaking loud_.
_Wild_. Faith, Madam, you have us'd me scurvily,
To marry, and not give me notice.
--Curse on thee, did I only blow the Fire
To warm another Lover?
[To her softly aside.
L. _Gal_. Perjur'd--was't not by your Advice I married?
--Oh, where was then your Love?
[_Softly to him aside_.
_Wild_. So soon did I advise?
Didst thou invite me to the Feast of Love,
To snatch away my Joys as soon as tasted?
Ah, where was then you Modesty and Sense of Honour?
[_Aside to her in a low Tone_.
L. _Gal_. Ay, where indeed, when you so quickly vanquisht? [_Soft_.
--But you, I find, are come prepared to rail. [_Aloud_.
_Wild_. No, 'twas with thee to make my last Effort against your scorn.
[_Shews her the Writings_.
And this I hop'd, when all my Vows and Love,
When all my Languishments cou'd nought avail,
Had made ye mine for ever.
_Enter Sir_ Anthony, _pulling in Sir_ Tim. _and_ Diana.
Sir _Anth_. Morrow, _Charles_; Morrow to your Ladyship: _Charles_, bid
Sir _Timothy_ welcome; I met him luckily at the Door, and am resolv'd
none of my Friends shall pass this joyful Day without giving thee Joy,
_Charles_, and drinking my Lady's Health.
_Wild_. Hah, my Uncle here so early? [_Aside_.
Sir _Tim_. What, has your Ladyship serv'd me so? How finely I had been
mump'd now, if I had not took Heart of Grace, and shew'd your Ladyship
Trick for Trick? for I have been this Morning about some such Business of
Life too, Gentlemen: I am married to this fair Lady, the Daughter and
Heiress of Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, Knight and Alderman.
_Wild_. Ha, married to _Diana_! How fickle is the Faith of common Women!
Sir _Tim_. Hum, who's here, my Lord? What, I see your Lordship has found
the way already to the fair Ladies; but I hope your Lordship will do my
Wedding-dinner the Honour to grace it with your Presence.
_Wild_. I shall not fail, Sir. A Pox upon him, he'll discover all.
L. _Gal_. I must own, Sir Timothy, you have made the better Choice.
Sir _Tim_. I cou'd not help my Destiny; Marriages are made in Heaven, you
_Enter_ Charlot _weeping, and_ Clacket.
_Charl_. Stand off, and let me loose as are my Griefs,
Which can no more be bounded: Oh, let me face
The perjur'd, false, forsworn!
L. _Gal_. Fair Creature, who is't that you seek with so much Sorrow?
_Charl_. Thou, thou fatally fair Inchantress.
_Wild. Charlot_! Nay, then I am discover'd.
L. _Gal_. Alas, what wou'dst thou?
_Charl_. That which I cannot have, thy faithless Husband.
Be Judge, ye everlasting Powers of Love,
Whether he more belongs to her or me.
Sir _Anth_. How, my Nephew claim'd! Why, how now, Sirrah, have you been
Sir _Char_. By Heaven, I know her not.--Hark ye, Widow, this is some
Trick of yours, and 'twas well laid: and Gad, she's so pretty, I cou'd
find in my Heart to take her at her word.
L. _Gal_. Vile Man, this will not pass your Falshood off.
Sure, 'tis some Art to make me jealous of him,
To find how much I value him.
Sir _Char_. Death, I'll have the Forgery out;--Tell me, thou pretty
weeping Hypocrite, who was it set thee on to lay a Claim to me?
_Charl_. To you! Alas, who are you? for till this moment I never saw your
L. _Gal_. Mad as the Seas when all the Winds are raging.
Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, Madam, stark mad! Poor Soul--Neighbour, pray let her
lie i'th' dark, d'ye hear.
Sir _Char_. How came you, pretty one, to lose your Wits thus?
_Charl_. With loving, Sir, strongly, with too much loving.
--Will you not let me see the lovely false one? [_To L_. Gal.
For I am told you have his Heart in keeping.
L. Gal_. Who is he? pray describe him.
_Charl_. A thing just like a Man, or rather Angel!
He speaks, and looks, and loves, like any God!
All fine and gay, all manly, and all sweet:
And when he swears he loves, you wou'd swear too
That all his Oaths were true.
Sir _Anth_. Who is she? some one who knows her and is wiser, speak--you,
Mistress. [_To_ Clacket.
Mrs. _Clack_. Since I must speak, there comes the Man of Mischief:
'Tis you, I mean, for all your Leering, Sir. [_To_ Wild.
Sir _Tim_. What, my Lord?
Mrs. _Clack_. I never knew your Nephew was a Lord:
Has his Honour made him forget his Honesty?
[Charlot. _runs, and catches him in her Arms_.
_Charl_. I have thee, and I'll die thus grasping thee;
Thou art my own, no Power shall take thee from me.
_Wild_. Never; thou truest of thy Sex, and dearest,
Thou soft, thou kind, thou constant Sufferer,
This moment end thy Fears; for I am thine.
_Charl_. May I believe thou art not married then?
_Wild_. How can I, when I'm yours?
How cou'd I, when I love thee more than Life?
Now, Madam, I am reveng'd on all your Scorn, [_To L_. Galliard.
--And, Uncle, all your Cruelty.
Sir _Tim_. Why, what, are you indeed my Nephew Thomas?
_Wild_. I am _Tom Wilding_, Sir, that once bore some such Title, till you
discarded me, and left me to live upon my Wits.
Sir _Tim_. What, and are you no Polish Embassador then incognito?
_Wild_. No, Sir, nor you no King Elect, but must e'en remain as you were
ever, Sir, a most seditious pestilent old Knave; one that deludes the
Rabble with your Politicks, then leaves 'em to be hang'd, as they
deserve, for silly mutinous Rebels.
Sir _Tim_. I'll peach the Rogue, and then he'll be hang'd in course,
because he's a Tory. One comfort is, I have cozen'd him of his rich
Heiress; for I'm married, Sir, to Mrs. _Charlot_.
_Wild_. Rather _Diana_, Sir; I wish you Joy: See here's _Charlot_. I was
not such a Fool to trust such Blessings with the Wicked.
_Sir Charl_. How, Mrs. Dy Ladyfi'd! This is an excellent way of disposing
an old cast-off Mistress.
Sir _Tim_. How, have I married a Strumpet then?
_Dia_. You give your Nephew's Mistress, Sir, too coarse a Name. 'Tis
true, I lov'd him, only him, and was true to him.
Sir _Tim_. Undone, undone! I shall ne'er make Guildhall-Speech more: but
he shall hang for't, if there be e'er a Witness to be had between this
and Salamanca for Money.
_Wild_. Do your worst, Sir; Witnesses are out of fashion now, Sir, thanks
to your Ignoramus Juries.
Sir _Tim_. Then I'm resolv'd to disinherit him.
_Wild_. See, Sir, that's past your Skill too, thanks to my last Night's
Ingenuity; they're [shews him the Writings.] sign'd, seal'd, and
deliver'd in the presence of, &c.
Sir _Tim_. Bear Witness, 'twas he that rob'd me last night.
Sir _Anth_. We bear witness, Sir, we know of no such matter we. I thank
you for that, Sir; wou'd you make Witnesses of Gentlemen?
Sir _Tim_. No matter for that, I'll have him hang'd, nay, drawn and
_Wild_. What, for obeying your Commands, and living on my Wits?
Sir _Anth_. Nay, then 'tis a clear Case, you can neither hang him or
_Wild_. I'll propose fairly now; if you'll be generous and pardon all,
I'll render your Estate back during Life, and put the Writings in Sir
Anthony Meriwill's and Sir _Charles_ his Hands--I have a Fortune here
that will maintain me, Without so much as wishing for your Death.
_All_. This is but Reason.
_Sir Charl_. With this Proviso, that he makes not use on't to promote any
Mischief to the King and Government.
_All_. Good and Just. [_Sir_ Tim. _pauses_.
Sir _Tim_. Hum, I'd as good quietly agree to't, as lose my Credit by
making a Noise.--Well, _Tom_, I pardon all, and will be Friends.
[Gives him his Hand.
_Sir Charl_. See, my dear Creature, even this hard old Man is mollify'd
at last into good Nature; yet you'll still be cruel.
L. _Gal_. No, your unwearied Love at last has vanquisht me. Here, be as
happy as a Wife can make ye--One last look more, and then--be gone, fond
[_Sighing and looking on_ Wilding, _giving Sir_ Charles _her Hand_.
_Sir Charl_. Come, Sir, you must receive _Diana_ too; she is a cheerful
witty Girl, and handsome, one that will be a Comfort to your Age, and
bring no Scandal home. Live peaceably, and do not trouble your decrepid
Age with Business of State.
Let all things in their own due Order move,
Let Caesar be the Kingdom's Care and Love;
Let the hot-headed Mutineers petition,
And meddle in the Rights of just Succession:
But may all honest Hearts as one agree
To bless the King, and Royal Albany.
Written by a Person of Quality: Spoken by Mrs. _Boteler_.
_My Plot, I fear, will take but with a few,
A rich young Heiress to her first Lover true!
'Tis damn'd unnatural, and past enduring,
Against the fundamental Laws of Whoring.
Marrying's the Mask, which Modesty assures,
Helps to get new, and covers old Amours;
And Husband sounds so dull to a Town-Bride,
Ye now-a-days condemn him e'er he's try'd;
E'er in his Office he's confirmed Possessor,
Like Trincaloes you chuse him a Successor,
In the gay Spring of Love, when free from Doubts,
With early Shoots his Velvet Forehead sprouts,
Like a poor Parson bound to hard Indentures,
You make him pay his First-fruits e'er he enters.
But for short Carnivals of stain good Cheer,
You're after forc'd to keep Lent all the Year;
Till brought at last to a starving Nun's Condition,
You break into our Quarters for Provision;
Invade Fop-corner with your glaring Beauties,
And 'tice our Loyal Subjects from their Duties.
Pray, Ladies, leave that Province to our Care;
A Fool is the Fee-simple of a Player,
In which we Women claim a double share.
In other things the Men are Rulers made;
But catching Woodcocks is our proper Trade.
If by Stage-Fops they a poor Living get,
We can grow rich, thanks to our Mother-Wit,
By the more natural Blockheads of the Pit.
Take then the Wits, and all their useless Prattles;
But as for Fools, they are our Goods and Chattels.
Return, Ingrates, to your first Haunt the Stage;
We taught your Youth, and helped your feeble Age.
What is't you see in Quality we want?
What can they give you which we cannot grant?
We have their Pride, their Frolicks, and their Paint.
We feel the same Touth dancing in our Blood;
Our Dress as gay--All underneath as good.
Most Men have found us hitherto more true,
And if we're not abus'd by some of you,
We're full as fair--perhaps as wholesom too.
But if at best our hopeful Sport and Trade is,
And nothing now will serve you but great Ladies;
May question'd Marriages your Fortune be,
And Lawyers drain your Pockets more than we:
May Judges puzzle a clear Case with Laws,
And Musquetoon at last decide the Cause_.
THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; OR, A NIGHT'S INTRIGUE.
Marcella and Cornelia, nieces to Count Morosini and sisters to Julio, who
is contracted to Laura Lucretia, a lady of quality, sister of Count
Octavio, in order to avoid Marcella's marriage with this nobleman,
secretly leave Viterbo where they live, and accompanied only by their
attendants, Petro and Philippa, come to Rome, and there pass for
courtezans under the names of Euphemia and Silvianetta. Their beauty wins
them great renown in the gay world, and Sir Harry Fillamour, who loves
Marcella, and Frank Galliard, two English travellers, are keenly
attracted by this reputation. Sir Harry, however, is anxious for
matrimony, Galliard for an intrigue. Marcella in her turn is already
enamoured of Fillamour whom she has met at Viterbo. Morosini and Octavio
follow the fugitives to Rome, whilst Laura Lucretia, who loves Galliard,
disguises herself in male attire and takes a house on the Corso next door
to the supposed courtezans. Fillamour and Galliard encounter the two
ladies in the gardens of the Villa Medici, and Fillamour takes Marcella
for a courtezan, whilst Galliard engages with Cornelia. Octavio passing
with his followers spies and attacks his rival. A general melee ensues.
Julio, who has not seen his family for seven years, next appears, having
taken Cornelia for a cyprian and followed her from St. Peter's. Marcella,
in boy's attire, then gives Fillamour a letter from herself, signed under
her own name, making an appointment for that night; but at the same time
Galliard, claiming a former promise, drags his friend off to visit
Euphemia. The intrigue is complicated by the ridiculous amours of two
foolish travellers, Sir Signal Buffoon and Mr. Tickletext, a puritan
divine, his tutor. These, unknown to each other, make assignations with
the two bona robas by means of Petro, who dupes them thoroughly by his
clever tricks, and pockets their money. Whilst Galliard and Sir Harry are
serenading the ladies, Octavio, Julio and their bravos attack them. After
the scuffle Laura Lucretia coming from her house leads in Julio,
mistaking him for Galliard, and he her for Silvianetta. Next Sir Harry
and Galliard arrive in safety at the sisters' house, and Marcella, as a
courtezan, tempts her lover, who, however, refuses to yield and leaves
her, to her secret joy. Tickletext has been placed by Petro in bed to
await, as he supposes, Silvianetta, when Galliard in error entering the
room in the dark gropes his way to the bed and finding a man, closes with
him. The tutor escapes, and Cornelia coming in in the course of her
wooing by Galliard informs him she is not really a courtezan as he
supposed. In anger her gallant departs. Whilst he is telling Sir Harry
this tale Cornelia, dressed as a page, follows him and delivers Fillamour
a challenge as from Marcella's brother, Julio, summoning him to the
Piazza di Spagna. Julio himself, newly come from Laura Lucretia, meeting
Galliard relates to him how he passed the night with Silvianetta, which
confirms the opinion the Englishman had already formed of her treachery
and deceit. Laura Lucretia overhears and sends her maid to bring her
Galliard; but whilst he is with her, Cornelia, who has jealously
followed, feigning to be Julio's page, gives the amorous dame a letter as
from her betrothed. The trick fails, Cornelia is laughed at as a saucy
lad, repulsed and obliged to retire. Sir Harry is then met by Marcella
dressed as a man and calling herself Julio. Julio himself happens to be
at the Piazza di Spagna and he interrupts the quarrel. Octavio and
Morosini speedily join him, as Crapine has tracked the runaways to their
lodging. All these hurry into the courtezans' house, where they find
Fillamour and Galliard. Mutual explanations follow. Octavio nobly
renounces Marcella in favour of Fillamour who claims her hand, whilst
Cornelia gives herself to Galliard in sober wedlock. Tickletext and Sir
Signal are then discovered to be concealed in the room, and their mutual
frailties exposed. It is promised that the money of which Petro has
choused them shall be restored, and everything is forgiven, since "'twas
but one night's intrigue, in which all were a little faulty."
The plot of _The Feign'd Curfezans_; or, _A Night's Intrigue_ is wholly
original. It is one of those bustling pieces, quick with complicated
intrigue, of the Spanish _comedias de capa y espada_ school, which Mrs.
Behn loved, and which none could present more happily or wittily than
she. To quote the _Biographia Dramatics_, 'the play contains a vast deal
of business and intrigue; the contrivance of the two ladies to obtain
their differently disposed lovers, both by the same means, viz. by
assuming the characters of courtezans, being productive of great
variety.' Some incidents, indeed, recall _The Rover_; and the accident of
Tickletext being discovered in bed by Galliard is similar to that when
Carlo comes upon Fetherfool in the same circumstance, _Rover_ II, Act iv,
iv. On the whole, however, _The Feign'd Curtezans_ is the better play,
and may not unjustly claim to be, if not Mrs. Behn's masterpiece (a title
it disputes with _The Rover_, Part I, and _The Lucky Chance_), at least
one of the very best and wittiest of her sparkling comedies.
_The Feign'd Curtezans_; or, _A Night's Intrigue_ was produced at the
Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in 1679. The cast was a star one, and
Downes remarks that it was 'well acted'; but though favourably received
it does not, for some unaccountable reason, seem to have met with the
triumphant success it certainly deserved. It continued to be played from
time to time, and there was a notable revival on 8 August, 1716, at
Lincoln's Inn Fields. Galliard was acted by J. Leigh; Sir Harry, Smith;
Sir Signal, Bullock; Tickletext, Griffin; Pedro, Spiller; Julio, Bull
jun. Cornelia, Mrs. Cross; Marcella, Mrs. Thurmond; Laura Lucretia, Mrs.
Spiller. It was performed three times that season, but soon after
disappears from the repertory.
TO MRS. ELLEN GUIN.
'Tis no wonder that hitherto I followed not the good example of the
believing Poets, since less faith and zeal then you alone can inspire,
had wanted power to have reduc't me to the true worship: Your permission,
_Madam_, has inlightened me, and I with shame look back on my past
Ignorance, which suffered me not to pay an Adoration long since, where
there was so very much due, yet even now though secure in my opinion, I
make this Sacrifice with infinite fear and trembling, well knowing that
so Excellent and perfect a Creature as your self differs only from the
Divine powers in this; the Offerings made to you ought to be worthy of
you, whilst they accept the will alone; and how Madam, would your Altars
be loaded, if like heaven you gave permission to all that had a will and
desire to approach 'em who now at distance can only wish and admire,
which all mankinde agree to do; as if Madam, you alone had the pattent
from heaven to ingross all hearts and even those distant slaves whom you
conquer with your fame, pay an equall tribute to those that have the
blessing of being wounded by your Eyes, and boast the happiness of
beholding you dayly; insomuch that succeeding ages who shall with joy
survey your History shall Envy us who lived in this, and saw those
charming wonders which they can only reade of, and whom we ought in
charity to pity, since all the Pictures, pens or pencills can draw, will
give 'em but a faint Idea of what we have the honour to see in such
absolute Perfection; they can only guess She was infinitely fair, witty,
and deserving, but to what Vast degrees in all, they can only Judge who
liv'd to Gaze and Listen; for besides Madam, all the Charms and
attractions and powers of your Sex, you have Beauties peculiar to your
self, an eternal sweetness, youth and ayr, which never dwelt in any face
but yours, of which not one unimitable Grace could be ever borrow'd, or
assumed, though with never so much industry, to adorn another, they
cannot steal a look or smile from you to inhance their own beauties
price, but all the world will know it yours; so natural and so fitted are
all your Charms and Excellencies to one another, so intirely design'd and
created to make up in you alone the most perfect lovely thing in the
world; you never appear but you glad the hearts of all that have the
happy fortune to see you, as if you were made on purpose to put the whole
world into good Humour, whenever you look abroad, and when you speak, men
crowd to listen with that awfull reverence as to Holy Oracles or Divine
Prophesies, and bears away the precious words to tell at home to all the
attentive family the Graceful things you utter'd and cry, _but oh she
spoke with such an Ayr, so gay, that half the beauty's lost in the
repetition_. 'Tis this that ought to make your Sex vain enough to despise
the malicious world that will allow a woman no wit, and bless our selves
for living in an Age that can produce so wondrous an argument as your
undeniable self, to shame those boasting talkers who are Judges of
nothing but faults.
But how much in vain Madam, I endeavour to tell you the sence of all
mankinde with mine, since to the utmost Limits of the Universe your
mighty Conquests are made known: And who can doubt the Power of that
Illustrious Beauty, the Charms of that tongue, and the greatness of that
minde, who has subdu'd the most powerfull and Glorious Monarch of the
world: And so well you bear the honours you were born for, with a
greatness so unaffected, an affability so easie, an Humour so soft, so
far from Pride or Vanity, that the most Envious & most disaffected can
finde no cause or reason to wish you less, Nor can Heaven give you more,
who has exprest a particular care of you every way, and above all in
bestowing on the world and you, two noble Branches, who have all the
greatness and sweetness of their Royal and beautiful stock; and who give
us too a hopeful Prospect of what their future Braveries will perform,
when they shall shoot up and spread themselves to that degree, that all
the lesser world may finde repose beneath their shades; and whom you have
permitted to wear those glorious Titles which you your self Generously
neglected, well knowing with the noble Poet; 'tis better far to merit
Titles then to wear 'em.
Can you then blame my Ambition, Madam, that lays this at your feet, and
begs a Sanctuary where all pay so great a Veneration? 'twas Dedicated
yours before it had a being, and overbusy to render it worthy of the
Honour, made it less grateful; and Poetry like Lovers often fares the
worse by taking too much pains to please; but under so Gracious an
Influence my tender Lawrells may thrive, till they become fit Wreaths to
offer to the Rays that improve their Growth: which Madam, I humbly
implore, you still permit her ever to do, who is,
Your most Humble,
and most Obedient Servant,
THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; or, A Night's Intrigue.
Spoken by Mrs. _Currer_.
_The Devil take this cursed plotting Age,
'T has ruin'd all our Plots upon the Stage;
Suspicions, New Elections, Jealousies,
Fresh Informations, New Discoveries,
Do so employ the busy fearful Town,
Our honest Calling here is useless grown:
Each Fool turns Politician now, and wears
A formal Face, and talks of State-affairs;
Makes Acts, Decrees, and a new Model draws
For Regulation both of Church and Laws;
Tires out his empty Noddle to invent
What Rule and Method's best in Government:
But Wit, as if 'twere Jesuitical,
Is an Abomination to ye all.
To what a wretched pass will poor Plays come?
This must be damn'd, the Plot is laid in_ Rome;
Not one amongst ye all I'll undertake,
E'er thought that we should suffer for Religion's sake:
Who wou'd have thought that wou'd have been th' occasion
Of any contest in our hopeful Nation?
For my own Principles, faith let me tell ye,
I'm still of the Religion of my Cully;
And till these dangerous times they'd none to fix on,
But now are something in mere Contradiction,
And piously pretend these are not days,
For keeping Mistresses, and seeing Plays:
Who says this Age a Reformation wants,
When_ Betty Currer's _Lovers all turns Saints?
In vain, alas, I flatter, swear, and vow,
You'll scarce do any thing for Charity now:
Yet I am handsom still, still young and mad,
Can wheedle, lye, dissemble, jilt--egad,
As well and artfully as e'er I did;
Yet not one Conquest can I gain or hope,
No Prentice, not a Foreman of a Shop,
So that I want extremely new Supplies;
Of my last Coxcomb, faith, these were the Prize;
And by the tatter'd Ensigns you may know,
These Spoils were of a Victory long ago:
Who wou'd have thought such hellish Times to have seen,
When I shou'd be neglected at Eighteen?
That Youth and Beauty shou'd be quite undone,
A Pox upon the Whore of_ Babylon.
_Morosini_, an old Count, Uncle to _Julio_. Mr. _Norris_.
_Julio_, his Nephew, a young Count, contracted to
_Laura Lucretia_. Mr. _Crosby_.
_Octavio_ a young Count, contracted to _Marcella_,
deformed, revengeful. Mr. _Gillo_.
_Crapine_, _Morosini's_ Man.
_Petro_, supposed Pimp to the two Curtezans. Mr. _Leigh_.
_Silvio_, Page to _Laura Lucretia_.
_Antonio_, an Attendant to _Laura Lucretia_.
Page to _Julio_.
Sir _Harry Fillamour_, in love with _Marcella. Mr. _Smith_.
Mr. _Galliard_, in love with _Cornelia_. Mr. _Betterton_.
Sir _Signal Buffoon_, a Fool. Mr. _Nokes_.
Mr. _Tickletext_, his Governour. Mr. _Underbill_.
_Jack_, Sir _Signal's_ Man.
Page to _Fillamour_.
Laura Lucretia_, a young Lady of Quality, contracted
to _Julio_, in love with _Galliard_, and
Sister to _Octavio_. Mrs. _Lee_.
_Marcella_, Mrs. _Currer_.
_Cornelia_, Mrs. _Barry_.
Sisters to _Julio_, and Nieces to _Morosini_,
and pass for Curtezans by the names of
_Euphemia_ and _Silvianetta_.
_Philippa_, their Woman. Mrs. _Norris_.
_Sabina_, Confident to _Laura Lucretia_. Mrs. _Seymour_.
Pages, Musick, Footmen, and Bravos.
SCENE I. _A Street_.
_Enter_ Laura Lucretia, _and_ Silvio _richly drest_;
Antonio _attending, coming all in haste_.
_Sil_. Madam, you need not make such haste away, the Stranger that
follow'd us from St. _Peter's_ Church pursues us no longer, and we have
now lost sight of him: Lord, who wou'd have thought the approach of a
handsome Cavalier should have possest _Donna Laura Lucretia_ with fear?
_Lau_. I do not fear, my _Silvio_, but I wou'd have this new Habitation
which I have design'd for Love, known to none but him to whom I've
destin'd my Heart:--ah, wou'd he knew the Conquest he has made,
Nor went I this Evening to Church with any other Devotion, but
that which warms my heart for my young _English_ Cavalier, whom I hop'd to
have seen there; and I must find some way to let him know my Passion,
which is too high for Souls like mine to hide.
_Sil_. Madam, the Cavalier's in view again, and hot in the pursuit.
_Lau_. Let's haste away then; and, _Silvio_, do you lag behind, 'twill
give him an opportunity of enquiring, whilst I get out of sight.--Be sure
you conceal my Name and Quality, and tell him--any thing but truth--tell
him I am _La Silvianetta_, the young Roman Curtezan, or what you please
to hide me from his knowledge.
[_Exeunt_ Lau. _and_ Ant.
_Enter_ Julio _and Page in pursuit_.
_Jul_. Boy, fall you into discourse with that Page, and learn his Lady's
Name--whilst I pursue her farther.
[_Page salutes_ Silvio, _who returns it; they go out as
talking to each other_.
_Enter Sir_ Harry Fillamour _and_ Galliard.
_Fil_. He follows her close, whoe'er they be: I see this trade of Love
goes forward still.
_Gal_. And will whilst there's difference in Sexes. But, _Harry_, the
Women, the delicate Women I was speaking of?
_Fil_. Prithee tell me no more of thy fine Women, _Frank_; thou hast not
been in _Rome_ above a Month, and thou'ast been a dozen times in love, as
thou call's! it; to me there is no pleasure like Constancy.
_Gal_. Constancy! and wou'dst thou have me one of those dull Lovers, who
believe it their Duty to love a Woman 'till her Hair and Eyes change
Colour, for fear of the scandalous Name of an Inconstant? No, my Passion,
like great Victors, hates the lazy stay; but having vanquisht, prepares
for new Conquests.
_Fil_. Which you gain as they do Towns by Fire, lose 'em even in the
taking; thou wo't grow penitent, and weary of these dangerous Follys.
_Gal_. But I am yet too young for both: Let old Age and Infirmity bring
Repentance,--there's her feeble Province, and even then too we find no
plague like being deprived of dear Woman-kind.
_Fil_. I hate playing about a Flame that will consume me.
_Gal_. Away with your antiquated Notions, and let's once hear sense from
thee: Examine but the whole World, _Harry_, and thou wilt find a
beautiful Woman the Desire of the noblest, and the Reward of the bravest.
_Fil_. And the common Prize of Coxcombs: Times are alter'd now, _Frank_;
why else shou'd the Virtuous be cornuted, the Coward be caress'd, the
Villain roll with six, and the Fool lie with her Ladyship?
_Gal_. Mere accident, Sir; and the kindness of Fortune: but a pretty
witty young Creature, such as this _Silvianetta_ and _Euphemia_, is
certainly the greatest Blessing this wicked World can afford us.
_Fil_. I believe the lawful enjoyment of such a Woman, and honest too,
wou'd be a Blessing.
_Gal_. Lawful Enjoyment! Prithee what's lawful Enjoyment, but to enjoy
'em according to the generous indulgent Law of Nature; enjoy 'em as we do
Meat, Drink, Air, and Light, and all the rest of her common Blessings?--
Therefore prithee, dear Knight, let me govern thee but for a Day, and I
will shew thee such a _Signiora_, such a Beauty, another manner of piece
than your so admired _Viterboan, Donna Marcella_, of whom you boast so
_Fil_. And yet this rare piece is but a Curtezan, in coarse plain
_English_ a very Whore,--who filthily exposes all her Beauties to him can
give her most, not love her best.
_Gal_. Why, faith, to thy comfort be it spoken, she does distribute her
Charms at that easy rate.
_Fil_. Oh, the vast distance between an innocent Passion, and a poor
_Gal_. Innocent Passion at _Rome_! Oh, 'tis not to be nam'd but in some
Northern Climate: to be an Anchoret here, is to be an Epicure in
_Greenland_; impossibilities, _Harry_. Sure thou hast been advising with
Sir _Signal Buffoon's_ Governour, that formal piece of Nonsense and
_Fil_. No, faith, I brought the humour along with me to _Rome_; and for
your Governour I have not seen him yet, though he lodge in this same
House with us, and you promis'd to bring me acquainted with him long
_Gal_. I'll do't this very minute.
_Fil_. No, I'm oblig'd not to engage my self this Evening, because I
expect the arrival of Count _Julio_, whose last Letters assured me it
would be to night.
_Gal_. _Julio_! What, the young _Italian_ Count you made me acquainted
with last Summer in _England_?
_Fil_. The same, the Ambassador's Nephew, a good Youth, and one I esteem.
_Jul_. I hope my Page will bring intelligence who this Beauty is.
_Fil_. Hah, _Julio_! Welcome, dear Friend.
_Jul_. Sir _Harry Fillamour_! how glad am I to meet you in a Country,
where I have power to repay you all those Friendships I receiv'd when I
was a stranger in yours. Monsieur _Galllard_ too! nay, then I'm sure to
want no diversion whilst I stay in _Rome_.
_Fil_. But, pray, what made you leave _England_ so soon?
_Jul_. E'en the great business of Mankind, Matrimony. I have an Uncle
here, who has provided me Fetters, which I must put on, he says they will
be easy; I lik'd the Character of my Mistress well enough, a brave
masculine Lady, a Roman of Quality, _Donna Laura Lucretia_; till as luck
wou'd have it, at my arrival this Evening, stepping into St. _Peter's_
Church, I saw a Woman there that fir'd my heart, and whom I followed to
her house: but meeting none that cou'd inform me who she was, I left my
Page to make the discovery, whilst I with equal impatience came to look
you out; whose sight I prefer even to a new Amour, resolving not to visit
home, to which I have been a stranger this seven years, till I had kist
your hands, and gained your promise to accompany me to _Viterbo_.
_Fil_. _Viterbo_! is that your place of Residence?
_Jul_. Yes, 'tis a pretty Town, and many noble Familys inhabit there,
stor'd too with Beauties, at least 'twas wont to be: have you not seen
_Gal_. Yes, and a Beauty there too, lately, for his repose, who has made
him sigh and look so like an Ass ever since he came to _Rome_.
_Jul_. I am glad you have so powerful an Argument, to invite you back; I
know she must be rare and of quality, that cou'd engage your heart.
_Fil_. She's both; it most unluckily fell out, that I was recommended by
a Person of Quality in _England_ to a Nobleman at _Viterbo_, who being a
Man of a Temper frank and gallant, received me with less Ceremony than is
usual in _Italy_. I had the freedom of the House, one of the finest
_Villa's_ belonging to _Viterbo_, and the pleasure to see and converse at
a distance with one of the loveliest Persons in the World, a Niece of
this old Count's.
_Jul_. Very well, and cou'd you see her but at a distance, Sir?
_Fil_. Oh, no, 'twas all I durst desire, or she durst give; I came too
late to hope; she being before promised in Marriage to a more happy man,
the Consummation of which waits only the arrival of a Brother of hers,
who is now at the Court of _France_, and every day expected.
_Enter_ Petro _like a Barber_.
_Gal_. Hah! Signior _Petro_.
_Fil_. Come, Sir, we'll take a turn i'th' Gallery, for this Pimp never
appears, but _Francis_ desires to be in private.
_Gal_. Thou wrong'st an honest ingenious Fellow, to call him Pimp.
_Pet_. Ah, Signior, what his Worship pleases!
_Gal_. That thou art I'll be sworn, or what any man's Worship pleases;
for let me tell ye, _Harry_, he is capacitated to oblige in any
quality: for, Sir, he's your brokering Jew, your Fencing, Dancing, and
Civility-Master, your Linguist, your Antiquary, your Bravo, your Pathick,
Your Whore, your Pimp; and a thousand more Excellencies he has to supply
The necessities of the wanting Stranger.--Well, Sirrah--what design now
Upon Sir _Signal_ and his wise Governour?--What do you represent now?
_Pet_. A Barber, Sir.
_Gal_. And why a Barber, good Signior _Petro_?
_Pet_. Oh, Sir, the sooner to take the heights of their Judgments; it
gives handsome opportunities to commend their Faces; for if they are
pleas'd with flattery, the certain sign of a Fool's to be most tickled
when most commended, I conclude 'em the fitter for my purpose; they
already put great confidence in me, will have no Masters but of my
recommending, all which I supply my self, by the help of my several
disguises; by which, and my industry, I doubt not but to pick up a good
honest painful livelihood, by cheating these two Reverend Coxcombs.
_Gal_. How the Devil got'st thou this credit with 'em?
_Pet_. O, easily, Sir, as Knaves get Estates, or Fools Employments.
_Fil_. I hope amongst all your good qualities, you forgot not your more
natural one of pimping.
_Pet_. No, I assure you, Sir; I have told Sir _Signal Buffoon_, that no
Man lives here without his Inamorata: which very word has so fir'd him,
that he's resolved to have an Inamorata whate'er it cost him; and, as in
all things else, I have in that too promised my assistance.
_Gal_. If you assist him no better than you have done me, he may stay
long enough for his Inamorata.
_Pet_. Why, faith, Sir, I lie at my young Lady night and day; but she is
so loth to part with that same Maiden-head of hers yet--but to morrow
night, Sir, there's hopes.--
_Gal_. To morrow night; Oh, 'tis an Age in Love! Desire knows no time but
the present, 'tis now I wish, and now I wou'd enjoy: a new Day ought to
bring a new Desire.
_Pet_. Alas, Sir, I'm but an humble Bravo.
_Gal_. Yes, thou'rt a Pimp, yet want'st the Art to procure a longing
Lover the Woman he adores, though but a common Curtezan--Oh, confound her
Maiden-head--she understands her Trade too well, to have that badge of
_Pet_. I offered her her Price, Sir.
_Gal_. Double it, give any thing, for that's the best receipt I ever
found to soften Womens hearts.
_Pet_. Well, Sir, she will be this Evening in the Garden of _Medices
Villa_, there you may get an opportunity to advance your Interest--I must
step and trim _Mr. Tickletext_, and then am at your service.
_Jul_. What is this Knight and his Governour, who have the blessed
Fortune to be manag'd by this Squire?
_Fil_. Certain Fools _Galliard_ makes use of when he has a mind to laugh,
and whom I never thought worth a visit since I came to _Rome:_ and he's
like to profit much by his Travels, who keeps company with all the
_English_, especially the Fops.
_Gal_. Faith, Sir, I came not abroad to return with the formality of a
Judge; and these are such antidotes against Melancholy as wou'd make thee
fond of fooling.--Our Knight's Father is even the first Gentleman of his
House, a Fellow, who having the good fortune to be much a Fool and Knave,
had the attendant blessing of getting an Estate of some eight thousand a
year, with this Coxcomb to inherit it; who (to aggrandize the Name and
Family of the _Buffoons_) was made a Knight; but to refine throughout,
and make a compleat Fop, was sent abroad under the Government of one Mr.
_Tickletext_, his zealous Father's Chaplain, as errant a blockhead as a
man wou'd wish to hear preach; the Father wisely foreseeing the eminent
danger that young Travellers are in of being perverted to Popery.
_Jul_. 'Twas well considered.
_Gal_. But for the young Spark, there is no description can reach him;
'tis only to be done by himself; let it suffice, 'tis a pert, saucy,
conceited Animal, whom you shall just now go see and admire, for he
lodges in the house with us.
_Jul_. With all my heart, I never long'd more for a new acquaintance.
_Fil_. And in all probability shall sooner desire to be rid on't.--
SCENE II. _Draws off to a room in_ Tickletext's _lodging, and discovers
Mr_. Tickletext _a trimming, his Hair under a Cap, a Cloth before him:_
Petro _snaps his fingers, takes away the Bason, and goes to wiping his
Tickletext _and_ Petro.
_Pet_. Ah che Bella! Bella! I swear by these sparkling Eyes and these
soft plump dimpled Cheeks, there's not a Signiora in all _Rome_, cou'd
she behold 'em, were able to stand their Temptations; and for _La
Silvianetta_, my life on't, she's your own.
_Tick_. Teze, teze, speak softly; but, honest _Barberacho_, do I, do I
indeed look plump, and young, and fresh and--hah!
_Pet_. Ay, Sir, as the rosy Morn, young as old Time in his Infancy, and
plump as the pale-fac'd Moon.
_Tick_. He--Why, this Travelling must needs improve a Man--Why, how
admirably well-spoken your very Barbers are here--[_Aside_.]--But,
_Barberacho_, did the young Gentlewoman say she lik'd me? did she, Rogue?
_Pet_. A doated on you Signior, doated on you.
_Tick_. Why, and that's strange now, in the Autumn of my Age too, when
Nature began to be impertinent, as a Man may say, that a young Lady
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