The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. II
by
Aphra Behn
Part 8 out of 11
shou'd fall in love with me--[_Aside_.] Why, _Barberacho_, I do not
conceive any great matter of Sin only in visiting a Lady that loves a
man, hah.
_Pet_. Sin, Sir! 'tis a frequent thing now-a-days in Persons of your
Complexion.
_Tick_. Especially here at _Rome_ too, where 'tis no scandal.
_Pet_. Ah, Signior, where the Ladies are privileg'd and Fornication
licensed.
_Tick_. Right! and when 'tis licens'd, 'tis lawful; and when 'tis lawful,
it can be no Sin: besides, _Barberacho_, I may chance to turn her, who
knows?
_Pet_. Turn her, Signior, alas, any way, which way you please.
_Tick_. He, he, he! There thou wert knavish, I doubt--but I mean convert
her--nothing else I profess, _Barberacho_.
_Pet_. True, Signior, true, she's a Lady of an easy nature, and an
indifferent Argument well handled will do't--ha--here's your head of
Hair--here's your natural [_combing out his Hair_.] Frize! And such an
Air it gives the Face!--So, Signior--Now you have the utmost my Art can
do.
[_Takes away the Cloth, and bows_.
_Tick_. Well, Signior,--and where's your Looking-glass?
_Pet_. My Looking-glass!
_Tick_. Yes, Signior, your Looking-glass! an _English_ Barber wou'd as
soon have forgotten to have snapt his fingers, made his leg, or taken his
Money, as have neglected his Looking-glass.
_Pet_. Ay, Signior, in your Country the Laity have so little Honesty,
they are not to be trusted with the taking off your Beard unless you
see't done:--but here's a Glass, Sir.
[_Gives him the Glass_.
[Tick. _sets himself and smirks in the Glass_, Pet. _standing
behind him, making horns and grimaces, which_ Tick. _sees in the
Glass, gravely rises, turns towards_ Petro.
_Tick_. Why, how now, _Barberacho_, what monstrous Faces are you making
there?
_Pet_. All, my Belly, my Belly, Signior: ah, this Wind-Cholick! this
Hypocondriack does so torment me! ah--
_Tick_. Alas, poor Knave; _certo_, I thought thou hadst been somewhat
uncivil with me, I profess I did.
_Pet_. Who, I, Sir, uncivil?--I abuse my Patrone!--I that have almost
made my self a Pimp to serve you?
_Tick_. Teze, teze, honest _Barberacho!_ no, no, no, all's well, all's
well:--but hark ye--you will be discreet and secret in this business now,
and above all things conceal the knowledge of this Gentlewoman from Sir
_Signal_ and Mr. _Galliard_.
_Pet_. The Rack, Signior, the Rack shall not extort it.
_Tick_. Hold thy Hand--there's somewhat for thee, [_Gives him Money_.]
but shall I, Rogue--shall I see her to night?--
_Pet_. To night, Sir, meet me in the Piazza _D'Hispagnia_, about ten a
Clock,--I'll meet you there,--but 'tis fit, Signior--that I should
provide a Collation,--'tis the custom here, Sir.--
_Tick_. Well, well, what will it come to?--here's an Angel.--
_Pet_. Why, Sir, 'twill come to--about--for you wou'd do't handsomely--
some twenty Crowns.--
_Tick_. How, man, twenty Crowns!
_Pet_. Ay, Signior, thereabouts.
_Tick_. Twenty Crowns!--Why, 'tis a Sum, a Portion, a Revenue.
_Pet_. Alas, Signior, 'tis nothing with her,--she'll look it out in an
hour,--ah, such an Eye, so sparkling, with an amorous Twire--Then, Sir--
she'll kiss it out in a moment,--such a Lip, so red, so round, so plump,
so soft, and so--
_Tick_. Why, has she, has she, Sirrah--hah--here, here, prithee take
money, here, and make no words on't--go, go your way, go--But to
entertain Sir _Signal_ with other matter, pray send his Masters to him;
if thou canst help him to Masters, and me to Mistresses, thou shalt be
the good Genius of us both: but see where he comes--
_Enter Sir_ Signal.
Sir _Sig_. Hah! _Signior Illustrissimo Barberacho_, let me hug thee, my
little _Miphistophiloucho_--de ye see here, how fine your Brokering Jew
has made me, Signior _Rabbi Manaseth--Ben--Nebiton_, and so forth; hah--
view me round--
[_Turns round_.
_Tick_. I profess 'tis as fit as if it had been made for you.
Sir _Sig_. Made for me--Why, Sir, he swore to me by the old Law, that
'twas never worn but once, and that but by one High-German Prince--I have
forgot his name--for the Devil can never remember a fart these dam'd
_Hogan-Mogan_ Titles.
_Tick_. No matter, Sir.
Sir _Sig_. Ay, but I shou'd be loth to be in any man's Clothes, were he
never so high a German Prince--except I knew his name though.
_Tick_. Sir, I hold his name unnecessary to be remembred, so long as
'twas a princely Penniworth.--_Barberacho_, get you gone, and send the
Masters.
[_Ex_. Petro.
Sir _Sig_. Why, how now, Governour? how now, Signior _Tickletext_!
prithee how camest thou so transmogrified, ha? why, thou look'st like any
new-fledg'd _Cupid_.
_Tick_. Do I? away, you flatter; do I?
Sir _Sig_. As I hope to breathe, your Face shines through your pouder'd
Hairs, like you know what on a Barn-door in a frosty morning.
_Tick_. What a filthy comparison there for a man of my Coat?
Sir _Sig_. What, angry--_Corpo di me_, I meant no harm,--Come, shall's to
a _Bonaroba_, where thou shalt part with thy Pusilage, and that of thy
Beard together?
_Tick_. How mean you, Sir, a Curtezan, and a Romish Curtezan?
Sir _Sig_. Now my Tutor's up, ha, ha, ha--and ever is when one names a
Whore; be pacify'd, Man, be pacify'd, I know thou hat'st 'em worse than
Beads or Holy-water.
_Tick_. Away, you are such another Knight--but leave this naughty
discourse, and prepare for your Fencing and Civility-Masters, who are
coming.
Sir _Sig_. Ay, when, Governour, when? Oh, how I long for my
Civility-Master, that I may learn to out-complement all the dull
Knights and Squires in _Kent_, with a _Servitore Hulichimo--No
Signiora Bellissima, base le Mane de vos Signiora scusa mia
Illustrissimo, caspeto de Bacco_, and so I'll run on, hah, Governour,
hah! won't this be pure?
_Tick_. Notably ingenious, I profess.
Sir _Sig_. Well, I'll send my _Staffiera_ for him _incontinente_.--he,
_Jack_--a--_Cazo_, what a damned _English_ name is _Jack_? let me see--I
will call him _Giovanni_--which is as much as to say _John_!--he
_Giovanni_.
_Enter_ Jack.
_Tick_. Sir, by your favour, his _English_ Protestant Name is _John
Pepper_, and I'll call him by ne'er a Popish Name in Christendom.
Sir _Sig_. I'll call my own man, Sir, by what name I please, Sir; and let
me tell you, Reverend Mr. _Tickletext_, I scorn to be served by any man
whose name has not an _Acho_ or an _Oucho_, or some _Italiano_ at the end
on't--therefore _Giovanni Peperacho_ is the name by which you shall be
distinguish'd and dignify'd hereafter.
_Tick_. Sir _Signal_, Sir _Signal_, let me tell you, that to call a man
out of his name is unwarrantable, for _Peter_ is call'd _Peter_, and
_John John_; and I'll not see the poor Fellow wrong'd of his Name for
ne'er a _Giovanni_ in _Rome_.
Sir _Sig_. Sir, I tell you that one _Italian_ Name is worth any two
_English_ Names in Europe, and I'll be judg'd by my Civility-Master.
_Tick_. Who shall end the dispute if he be of my opinion?
Sir _Sig_. _Multo voluntiero_, which is as much as to say, with all my
heart.
_Jack_. But, Sir, my Grandmother wou'd never own me, if I should change
the cursen Name she gave me with her own hands, an't please your Worship.
Sir _Sig_. He _Bestia_! I'll have no more of your Worship, Sirrah, that
old _English_ Sir Reverence, let me have you call me _Signior
Illustrissimo_ or Patrona Mea_--or--
_Tick_. Ay, that I like well enough now:--but hold, sure this is one of
your Masters.
_Enter_ Petro _drest like a French Fencing-Master_.
_Pet_. Signior _Barberacho_ has sent me to teach you de Art of Fencing.
Sir _Sig_. _Illustrissimo Signior Monsieur_, I am the Person who am to
learn.
_Tick_. Stay, Sir, stay--let me ask him some few questions first: for,
Sir, I have play'd at Back-Sword, and cou'd have handled ye a weapon as
well as any Man of my time in the University.
Sir _Sig_. Say you so, Mr. _Tickletext?_ and faith, you shall have a bout
with him.
[Tick. _gravely goes to_ Petro.
_Tick_. Hum--hum--Mr. _Monsieur_--pray what are the Guards that you like
best?
_Pet_. _Monsieur, eder de Quart or de Terse_, dey be both _French_ and
_Italian_: den for your Parades, Degagements, your Advancements, your
Eloynements and Retierments, dey be de same.
_Tick_. Cart and Horse, what new-found inventions and words have we
here?--Sir, I wou'd know, whether you like St. _George's_ Guard or not.
_Pet_. Alons--_Monsieur, Mettez vous en Guard!_ take de Flurette.
Sir _Sig_. Nay, faith and troth, Governor, thou shalt have a Rubbers with
him.
[Tick, _smiling refuses_.
_Tick_. Nay, _certo_, Sir _Signal_,--and yet you shall prevail;--well,
Sir, come your ways.
[_Takes the Flurette_.
_Pet_. Set your right foot forward, turn up your hand so--dat be _de
Quart_--now turn it dus--and dat be _de Terse_.
_Tick_. Hocus Pocus, Hicksius Doxius--here be de Cart, and here be de
Horse--why, what's all this for; hah, Sir--and where's your Guard all
this while?
Sir _Sig_. Ay, Sir, where's your Guard, Sir, as my Governour says, Sir,
hah?
_Tick_. Come, come, Sir, I must instruct you, I see; Come your ways,
Sir.--
_Pet_. _Attende, attende une peu_--trust de right hand and de right leg
forward together.--
_Tick_. I marry, Sir, that's a good one indeed: What shall become of my
Head then, Sir? what Guard have I left for that, good Mr. _Monsieur_,
hah?
_Pet_. Ah, Morbleu, is not dis for every ting?
_Tick_. No, marry, is not it, Sir; St. _George's_ Guard is best for the
Head whilst you live--as thus, Sir.
_Pet_. Dat, Sir, ha, ha--dat be de Guard for de Back-Sword.
_Tick_. Back-sword, Sir, yes, Back-sword, what shou'd it be else?
_Pet_. And dis be de Single-Rapier.
_Tick_. Single-Rapier with a Vengeance, there's a weapon for a Gentleman
indeed; is all this stir about Single-Rapier?
_Pet_. Single-Rapier! What wou'd you have for de Gentlemen, de Cudgel for
de Gentlemen?
_Tick_. No, Sir, but I wou'd have it for de Rascally _Frenchman_,
who comes to abuse Persons of Quality with paltry Single-Rapier.--
Single-Rapier! Come, Sir, come--put your self in your Cart and your
Horse as you call it, and I'll shew you the difference.
[_Undresses himself till he appears in a ridiculous Posture_.
_Pet_. Ah, _Monsieur_, me sall run you two three times through de Body,
and den you break a me head, what care I for dat?--Pox on his ignorance.
[_Aside_.
_Tick_. Oh, ho, Sir, do your worst, Sir, do your worst, Sir.
[_They put themselves into several Guards, and_ Tick. _beats_
Pet. _about the Stage.--Enter_ Gall. Fill. _and_ Jul.
_Pet_. Ah, _Monsieur, Monsieur_, will you kill a me?
_Tick_. Ah, _Monsieur_, where be your Carts now, and your Horse, Mr.
_Monsieur_, hah?--and your Single-Rapier, Mr. _Monsieur_, hah?--
_Gal_. Why, how now, Mr. _Tickletext_, what mortal Wars are these? _Ajax_
and _Ulysses_ contending for _Achilles_ his Armour?
_Pet_. If I be not reveng'd on him, hang me. [_Aside_
Sir _Sig_. Ay, why, who the Devil wou'd have taken my Governor for so
tall a man of hands? but _Corpo de me_, Mr. _Galliard_, I have not seen
his Fellow.
_Tick_. Ah, Sir, time was, I wou'd have play'd ye a Match at Cudgels with
e'er a Sophister in the College, but verily I have forgotten it; but
here's an Impudent _Frenchman_ that wou'd have past Single-Rapier
upon us.
_Gal_. How, nay a my word, then he deserv'd to be chastis'd for't--but
now all's at Peace again; pray know my Kinsman, Sir _Harry Fillamour_.
Sir _Sig_. _Yo baco les manos_, Signior _Illustrissimo Cavaliero_,--and
yours, Signiors, who are _Multo bien Venito_.
_Tick_. Oh Lord, Sir, you take me, Sir, in such a posture, Sir, as I
protest I have not been in this many years.
[_Dressing himself whilst he talks_.
_Fil_. Exercise is good for health, Sir.
_Gal_. Sir _Signal_, you are grown a perfect _Italian_: Well, Mr.
_Tickletext_, you will carry him home a most accomplish't Gentleman I
see.
_Tick_. Hum, verily, Sir, though I say it, for a Man that never travell'd
before, I think I have done reasonably well--I'll tell you, Sir--it was
by my directions and advice that he brought over with him,--two _English_
Knives, a thousand of _English_ Pins, four pair of _Jersey_ Stockings,
and as many pair of Buckskin Gloves.
Sir _Sig_. Ay, Sir, for good Gloves you know are very scarce Commodities
in this Country.
_Jul_. Here, Sir, at _Rome_, as you say, above all other places.
_Tick_. _Certo_, mere hedging Gloves, Sir, and the clouterlest Seams.
_Fil_. Very right, Sir,--and now he talks of _Rome_,--Pray, Sir, give me
your opinion of the Place--Are there not noble Buildings here, rare
Statues, and admirable Fountains?
_Tick_. Your Buildings are pretty Buildings, but not comparable to our
University Buildings; your Fountains, I confess, are, pretty Springs,--
and your Statues reasonably well carv'd--but, Sir, they are so ancient
they are of no value: then your Churches are the worst that ever I saw--
that ever I saw.
_Gal_. How, Sir, the Churches, why I thought _Rome_ had been famous
throughout all _Europe_ for fine Churches.
_Fil_. What think you of St. _Peter's_ Church, Sir? Is it not a glorious
Structure?
_Tick_. St. _Peter's_ Church, Sir, you may as well call it St. _Peter's_
Hall, Sir; it has neither Pew, Pulpit, Desk, Steeple, nor Ring of Bells;
and call you this a Church, Sir? No, Sir, I'll say that for little
_England_, and a fig for't, for Churches, easy Pulpits, [Sir _Sig.
speaks_, And sleeping Pews,] they are as well ordered as any Churches in
Christendom: and finer Rings of Bells, Sir, I am sure were never heard.
_Jul_. Oh, Sir, there's much in what you say.
_Fil_. But then, Sir, your rich Altars, and excellent Pictures of the
greatest Masters of the World, your delicate Musick and Voices, make some
amends for the other wants.
_Tick_. How, Sir! tell me of your rich Altars, your Guegaws and Trinkets,
and Popish Fopperies, with a deal of Sing-song--when I say, give me, Sir,
five hundred close Changes rung by a set of good Ringers, and I'll not
exchange 'em for all the Anthems in _Europe_: and for the Pictures, Sir,
they are Superstition, idolatrous, and flat Popery.
_Fil_. I'll convince you of that Error, that persuades you harmless
Pictures are idolatrous.
_Tick_. How, Sir, how, Sir, convince me! talk to me of being convinc'd,
and that in favour of Popery! No, Sir, by your favour I shall not be
convinc'd: convinc'd, quoth a!--no, Sir, fare you well, an you be for
convincing: come away, Sir _Signal_, fare you well, Sir, fare you well:--
convinc'd!
[_Goes out_.
Sir _Sig_. Ha, ha, ha, so now is my Governour gone in a Fustian-fume:
well, he is ever thus when one talks of Whoring and Religion: but come,
Sir, walk in, and I'll undertake, my Tutor shall beg your Pardon, and
renounce his _English_ ill-bred Opinion; nay, his _English_ Churches too--all
but his own Vicaridge.
_Fil_. I have better diversion, Sir, I thank you--come, _Julio_, are you
for a Walk in the Garden of _Medices Villa_, 'tis hard by?--
_Jul_. I'll wait on you--
[_Ex_. Fil. _and_ Julio.
Sir _Sig_. How in the Garden of _Medices Villa_?--but, harkye,
_Galliard_, will the Ladies be there, the Curtezans, the _Bona Roba's_,
the _Inamorata's_, and the _Bell Ingrato's_, hah?
_Gal_. Oh, doubtless, Sir.
[_Exit_. Gall.
Sir _Sig_. I'll e'en bring my Governour thither to beg his Pardon, on
purpose to get an opportunity to see the fine Women; it may be I may get
a sight of my new Mistress, _Donna Silvianetta_, whom _Petro_ is to bring
me acquainted with.
[_Exeunt_.
ACT II.
SCENE I. _The Gardens of the Villa Medici_.
_Enter_ Morosini _and_ Octavio.
_Oct_. By Heaven, I will not eat, nor sleep, nor pray for any thing but
swift and sure Revenge, till I have found _Marcella_, that false
deceiving Beauty, or her Lover, my hated Rival _Fillamour_; who, wanton
in the Arms of the fair Fugitive, laughs at my shameful easiness, and
cries, these Joys were never meant for tame _Octavio_.
_Enter_ Crapine.
_Mar_. How now, _Crapine_! What, no News, no News of my Nieces yet,
_Marcella_ and _Cornelia_?
_Crap_. None, Sir.
_Oct_. That's wondrous strange, _Rome's_ a place of that general
Intelligence, methinks thou might'st have News of such trivial things as
Women, amongst the Cardinals Pages: I'll undertake to learn the Religion
_de stato_, and present juncture of all affairs in _Italy_, of a common
Curtezan.
_Mar_. Sirrah, Sirrah, let it be your care to examine all the Nunneries,
for my own part not a Petticoat shall escape me.
_Oct_. My task shall be for _Fillamour_. [_Aside_.
_Mor_. I'll only make a visit to your Sister _Donna Laura Lucretia_, and
deliver her a Letter from my Nephew _Julio_, and return to you
presently.--
[_Going out, is staid by_ Octavio.
_Oct_. Stay, Sir, defer your visit to my Sister _Laura_, she is not yet
to know of my being in Town; 'tis therefore I have taken a Lodging in an
obscure street, and am resolv'd never to be my self again till I've
redeem'd my Honour. Come, Sir, let's walk--
_Enter to them, as they are going out_, Marcella _and_ Cornelia,
_drest like Curtezans_, Philippa, _and Attendance_.
_Mor_. Stay, stay, what Women are these?
_Oct_. Whores, Sir, and so 'tis ten to one are all the kind; only these
differ from the rest in this, they generously own their trade of Sin,
which others deal by stealth in; they are Curtezans.
[_Exeunt_.
_Mar_. The Evening's soft and calm, as happy Lovers Thoughts;
And here are Groves where the kind meeting Trees
Will hide us from the amorous gazing Croud.
_Cor_. What should we do there, sigh till our wandering Breath
Has rais'd a gentle Gale amongst the Boughs;
To whose dull melancholy Musick we,
Laid on a Bed of Moss, and new-fallen Leaves,
Will read the dismal tale of Echo's Love!
--No, I can make better use of famous _Ovid_.
[_Snatches a little Book from her_.
And prithee what a pox have we to do with Trees,
Flowers, Fountains, or naked Statues?
_Mar_. But, prithee, mad _Cornelia_, let's be grave and wise, at least
enough to think a little.
_Cor_. On what? your _English_ Cavalier _Fillamour_, of whom you tell so
many dull stories of his making Love! Oh, how I hate a civil whining
Coxcomb!
_Mar_. And so do I, I'll therefore think of him no more.
_Cor_. Good Lord! what a damnable wicked thing is a Virgin grown up to
Woman.
_Mar_. What, art thou such a Fool to think I love this _Fillamour?_
_Cor_. It may be not at _Rome_, but at _Viterbo_, where Men are scarce,
you did; and did you follow him to _Rome_, to tell him you cou'd love no
more?
_Mar_. A too forward Maid, _Cornelia_, hurts her own Fame, and that of
all her Sex.
_Cor_. Her Sex! a pretty consideration, by my Youth; an Oath I shall not
violate this dozen years: my Sex shou'd excuse me, if to preserve their
Fame they expected I should ruin my own Quiet; in chasing an ill-favour'd
Husband, such as _Octavio_, before a young handsome Lover, such as you
say _Fillamour_ is.
_Mar_. I wou'd fain persuade my self to be of thy mind,--but the World,
_Cornelia_--
_Cor_. Hang the malicious World--
_Mar_. And there's such Charms in Wealth and Honour too.
_Cor_. None half so powerful as Love, in my opinion; 'slife, Sister, thou
art beautiful, and hast a Fortune too, which before I wou'd lay out upon
so shameful a purchase as such a Bedfellow for life as _Octavio_, I wou'd
turn errant keeping Curtezan, and buy my better Fortune.
_Mar_. That Word too startles me.
_Cor_. What, Curtezan! why, 'tis a noble Title, and has more Votaries
than Religion; there's no Merchandize like ours, that of Love, my
Sister:--and can you be frighted with the Vizor, which you your self put
on?
_Mar_. 'Twas the only Disguise that cou'd secure us from the search of my
Uncle and _Octavio_. Our Brother _Julio_ is by this too arriv'd, and I
know they'll all be diligent,--and some Honour I was content to sacrifice
to my eternal Repose.
_Cor_. Spoke like my Sister! a little impertinent Honour, we may chance
to lose, 'tis true; but our down-right Honesty I perceive you are
resolv'd we shall maintain through all the dangers of Love and Gallantry;
though to say truth, I find enough to do, to defend my Heart against some
of those Members that nightly serenade us, and daily show themselves
before our Window, gay as young Bridegrooms, and as full of expectation.
_Mar_. But is't not wondrous, that amongst all these Crouds we should not
once see _Fillamour_? I thought the Charms of a fair young Curtezan might
have oblig'd him to some Curiosity at least.
_Cor_. Ay! and an _English_ Cavalier too, a Nation so fond of all new
Faces.
_Mar_. Heaven, if I should never see him, and I frequent all publick
Places to meet him! or if he be gone
from _Rome_, if he have forgot me, or some other Beauty
have employ'd his Thoughts!
_Cor_. Why; if all these if's and or's come to pass, we
have no more to do than to advance in this same glorious
Profession, of which now we only seem to be--in which,
to give it its due, there are a thousand Satisfactions to be
found, more than in a dull virtuous Life: Oh, the world
of Dark-Lanthorn-Men we should have! the Serenades,
the Songs, the Sighs, the Vows, the Presents, the Quarrels,
and all for a Look or a Smile, which you have been
hitherto so covetous of, that _Petro_ swears our Lovers begin
to suspect us for some honest Jilts; which by some is
accounted much the leuder scandal of the two:--therefore
I think, faith, we must e'en be kind a little to redeem
our Reputations.
_Mar_. However we may railly, certainly there's nothing
so hard to Woman, as to expose her self to villainous Man.
_Cor_. Faith, Sister, if 'twere but as easy to satisfy the nice scruples
of Religion and Honour, I should find no great Difficulty in the rest--
Besides, another Argument I have, our Mony's all gone, and without a
Miracle can hold out no longer honestly.
_Mar_. Then we must sell our Jewels.
_Cor_. When they are gone, what Jewel will you part with next?
_Mar_. Then we must--
_Cor_. What, go home to _Viterbo_, ask the old Gentleman pardon, and be
receiv'd to Grace again, you to the Embraces of the amiable _Octavio_,
and I to St. _Teresa's_, to whistle through a Grate like a Bird in a
Cage,--for I shall have little heart to sing.--But come, let's leave
This sad talk, here's Men--let's walk and gain new Conquest, I love
it dearly--
[_Walk down the Garden_.
_Enter_ Gall. Fill, _and_ Jul. _see the Women_.
_Gal_. Women! and by their garb for our purpose too--they're Curtezans,
let's follow 'em.
_Fil_. What shall we get by gazing but Disquiet? If they are fair and
honest, we look, and perhaps may sigh in vain; if beautiful and loose,
they are not worth regarding.
_Gal_. Dear notional Knight, leave your satirical Fopperies, and be at
least good-humour'd, and let's follow them.
_Jul_. I'll leave you in the Pursuit, and take this Opportunity to write
my Uncle word of my Arrival; and wait on you here anon.
_Fil_. Prithee do so: hah, who's that with such an Equipage?
[_Exit_ Julio, Fil. _and_ Gal. _going after_. Marcella
_and_ Cor. _meet just entring_, Laura _with_ Silvio,
Antonio, _and her Equipage, drest like a Man_.
_Gal_. Pox, let the Tradesmen ask, who cringe for such gay Customers, and
follow us the Women!
[_Exit_ Fil. _and_ Gal. _down the Scene_, Lau. _looking after 'em_.
_Lau_. 'Tis he, my Cavalier, my Conqueror: _Antonio_, let the Coaches
wait,--and stand at distance all: Now, _Silvio_, on thy Life forget my
Sex and Quality, forget my useless name of _Laura Lucretia_, and call me
Count of--
_Sil_. What, Madam?
_Lau_. Madam! ah, foolish Boy, thy feminine Courage will betray us all:--
but--call me Count--_Sans Coeur_.--And tell me, _Silvio_, how is it I
appear?
How dost thou like my Shape--my Face and Dress? My Mien and Equipage, may
I not pass for Man? Looks it _en Prince_ and Masculine?
_Sil_. Now as I live, you look all over what you wish, and such as will
beget a Reverence and Envy in the Men, and Passion in the Women. But
what's the Cause of all this Transformation?
_Lau_. Love! Love! dull Boy, cou'dst thou not guess 'twas Love? that dear
_Englese_ I must enjoy, my _Silvio_.
_Sil_. What, he that adores the fair young Curtezan?
_Lau_. That very he; my Window joins to hers, and 'twas with Charms.
Which he'ad prepar'd for her, he took this Heart,
Which met the welcome Arrows in their flight,
And sav'd her from their Dangers.
Oft I've return'd the Vows he'as made to her,
And sent him pleas'd away;
When through the errors of the Night, and distance,
He has mistook me for that happy Wanton,
And gave me Language of so soft a Power,
As ne'er was breath'd in vain to listning Maids.
_Sil_. But with Permission, Madam, how does this Change of Petticoat for
Breeches, and shifting Houses too, advance that Love?
_Lau_. This Habit, besides many Opportunities 'twill give me of getting
into his acquaintance, secures me too from being known by any of my
Relations in _Rome_: then I have changed my House for one so near to that
of _Silvianetta's_, and so like it too, that even you and I have oft
mistook the entrance: by which means Love, Fortune or Chance, may with my
Industry contrive some kind Mistake that may make me happier than the
rest of Womankind.
_Sil_. But what shall be reserv'd then for Count _Julio_, whose last
Letters promise his Arrival within a Day or two, and whom you're then to
marry?
_Lau_. Reserv'd for him! a Wife! a Wife, my _Silvio_,
That unconcern'd domestick Necessary,
Who rarely brings a Heart, or takes it soon away.--
_Sil_. But then your Brother, Count _Octavio_, do you not fear his
Jealousy?
_Lau_. _Octavio!_ Oh, Nature has set his Soul and mine at odds,
And I can know no Fear but where I love.
_Sil_. And then that thing which Ladies call their Honour.--
_Lau_. Honour, that hated Idol, even by those
That set it up to worship! No,
I have a Soul, my Boy, and that's all Love;
And I'll the Talent which Heaven lent improve.
[_Going out, meets_ Marcella _and_ Cornelia _follow'd
by_ Gal. _and_ Fil.
_Sil_. Here be the Curtezans, my Lord.
_Lau_. Hah, _Silvianetta_ and _Euphemia_! pursu'd too by my Cavalier!
I'll round the Garden, and mix my self amongst 'em.
[_Exit with_ Silvio _and her Train_.
_Mar_. Prithee, Sister, let's retire into the Grove, to avoid the Pursuit
of these Cavaliers.
_Cor_. Not I, by these killing Eyes! I'll stand my ground were there a
thousand, all arm'd with conquering Beauty.
_Mar_. Hah--now on my Conscience yonder's _Fillamour_.
_Cor_. Hah! _Fillamour_!
_Mar_. My Courage fails me at the sight of him--I must retire.
_Cor_. And I'll to my Art of Love.
[Mar. _retires, and leans against a Tree_,
Cor. _walks about reading_.
_Gal_. 'Tis she, 'tis _Silvianetta_: Prithee advance, that thou mayst
behold her, and renounce all honest Women; since in that one young Sinner
there are Charms that wou'd excuse even to thee all frailty.
_Fil_. The Forms of Angels cou'd not reconcile me
To Women of her Trade.
_Gal_. This is too happy an Opportunity, to be lost in convincing thy
Singularity,--
[Gal. _goes bowing by the side of_ Cornelia. Fil.
_walks about in the Scene_.
--If Creatures so fair and charming as your self, had any need of Prayer,
I shou'd believe by your profound Attention you were at your Evening's
Devotion.
_Cor_. That you may find your Mistake in the opinion of my Charms, pray
believe I am so, and ought not to be interrupted.
_Gal_. I hope a Man may have leave to make his Devotions by you, at least
without Danger or Offence.
_Cor_. I know not that, I have reason to fear your Devotion may be
ominous; like a blazing Star, it comes but seldom,--but ever threatens
mischief--Pray Heaven, I share not in the Calamity.
_Gal_. Why, I confess, Madam, my Fit of Zeal does not take me often; but
when it does, 'tis very harmless and wondrous hearty.--
_Cor_. You may begin then, I shall not be so wicked as to disturb you
Orisons.
_Gal_. Wou'd I cou'd be well assur'd of that, for mine's Devotion of
great Necessity, and the Blessing I pray for infinitely concerns me;
therefore in Christian Charity keep down your Eyes, and do not ruin a
young Man's good Intentions, unless they wou'd agree to send kind Looks,
and save me the expence of Prayer.
_Cor_. Which wou'd be better laid out, you think, upon some other
Blessing.
_Gal_. Why, faith, 'tis good to have a little Bank upon occasion, though
I hope I shall have no great need here-after,--if the charming
_Silvianetta_ be but kind, 'tis all I ask of Heaven.
_Cor_. You're very well acquainted with my Name, I find.
_Gal_. Your Name! 'tis all I have to live on!
Like chearful Birds, 'tis the first Tune I sing,
To welcome in the Day:
The Groves repeat it, and the Fountains purle it,
And every pretty Sound that fills my Ear.
Turns all to _Silvianetta_.
[Fil. _looks awhile on_ Marcella.
_Fil. Galliard_, look there--look on that lovely Woman; 'tis _Marcella_,
the beautiful _Marcella_.
[_Offers to run to her_, Gal. _holds him_.
_Gal_. Hold! _Marcella_! where?
_Fil_. That Lady there; didst ever see her equal?
_Gal_. Why, faith, as you say, _Harry_, that Lady is beautiful--and, make
us thankful--kind: why, 'tis _Euphemia_, Sir, the very Curtezan I wou'd
have shew'd you.--
_Fil_. Forbear, I am not fit for Mirth.
_Gal_. Nor I in Humour to make you merry;
I tell ye--yonder Woman--is a Curtezan.
_Fil_. Do not profane, nor rob Heaven of a Saint.
_Gal_. Nor you rob Mankind of such a Blessing, by giving it to Heaven
before its time.--I tell thee 'tis a Whore, a fine desirable expensive
Whore.
_Fil_. By Heaven, it cannot be! I'll speak to her, and call her my
_Marcella_, and undeceive thy leud Opinion.
[_Offers to go, he holds him_.
_Gal_. Do, salute her in good Company for an honest Woman--do, and spoil
her Markets:--'twill be a pretty civil spiteful Compliment, and no doubt
well taken;--come, I'll convince ye, Sir.
[_Goes and pulls_ Philippa.
--Harkye, thou kind Help meet for Man--thou gentle Child of Night--what
is the Price of a Night or two ot Pleasure with yonder Lady--_Euphemia_,
I mean, that Roman Curtezan--
_Fil_. Oh, Heavens! a Curtezan!
_Phil_. Sure you're a great Stranger in _Rome_, that cannot tell her
Price.
_Gal_. I am so; name it, prithee, here's a young _English_ Purchaser--
Come forward, Man, and cheapen for your self--
[_Pulls him_.
_Phil_. Oh, spare your pains, she wants no Customers.--
[_Flings away_.
_Fil_. No, no, it cannot, must not be _Marcella_;
She has too much Divinity about her,
Not to defend her from all Imputation,
Scandal wou'd die to hear her Name pronounc'd.
_Phil_. Believe me, Madam, he knows you not; I over-heard all he said to
that Cavalier, and find he's much in love.
_Mar_. Not know me, and in love! punish him, Heaven, for his Falshood:
but I'll contribute to deceive him on, and ruin him with Perjury.
_Fil_. I am not yet convinc'd, I'll try her farther.
[_Goes to her bowing_.]--But, Madam, is that heavenly Beauty
purchasable? I'll pay a Heart, rich with such Wounds and Flames--
_Gal_. Not forgetting the Money too, good Lad, or your Wounds and Flames
will be of little Use.
[Gal. _goes to_ Cornelia.
_Mar_. He tells you Truth, Sir, we are not like the Ladies of your
Country, who tire out their Men with loving upon the square, Heart for
Heart, till it becomes as dull as Matrimony: to Women of our Profession
there's no Rhetorick like ready Money, nor Billet-deux like Bills of
Exchange.
_Fil_. Oh! that Heaven shou'd make two Persons so resembling, and yet
such different Souls. [_Looks on her_.--'Sdeath, how she darts me
through with every Look! But if she speak, she heals the Wound again.
_Enter_ Octavio, _with Followers_.
_Oct_. Hah, my Rival _Fillamour_ here! fall on--draw, Sir,--and say, I
gave you one Advantage more, and fought thee fairly.
[_Draws on_ Fil. _who fights him out; the Ladies run off_:
Gal. _falls on the Followers, with whom whilst he is
engaged, enters_ Julio, _draws and assists him, and
Laura _at the same time on the other side. Enter_
Petro _drest like a Civility-Master; Sir_ Signal _and
Tickletext_: Sir_ Signal _climbs a Tree_, Tick _runs his
Head into a Bush, and lies on his Hands and Knees_. Pet.
assists_ Gal. _and fights out the Bravoes_. Pet. _re-enters_.
_Lau_. Hah, my Cavalier engag'd amongst the Slaves!
_Pet_. My Lady's Lovers! and set upon by _Octavio_! We must be diligent
in our Affairs; Sir _Signal_, where are ye? Signior _Tickletext_.--I hope
they have not miscarried in the fray.
Sir _Sig_. Oh, _vos Servitor, vos Signiora_; miscarried! no, the Fool has
Wit enough to keep out of harm's way.
[_Comes down from the Tree_.
_Pet_. Oh, very discreetly done, Signior.--
[_Sees_ Tick, _in a bush, pulls him out by the heels_.
Sir _Sig_. Why, how now, Governour, what, afraid of Swords?
_Tick_. No, Sir, I am not afraid of Swords, but I am afraid of Danger.
_Enter_ Gal. _embracing_ Laura; _after 'em_, Julio _and_ Fil.
Fil. _looks about_.
_Gal_. This Bravery, Sir, was wondrous.
_Lau_. 'Twas only Justice, Sir, you being opprest with odds.
_Fil_. She's gone, she's gone in Triumph with my Soul.
_Jul_. What was the matter, Sir? how came this Mischief?
_Fil_. Oh, easily, Sir; I did but look, and infinitely loved.
_Jul_. And therefore were you drawn upon, or was it some old Pique?
_Fil_. I know not, Sir, Oh, tell me not of Quarrels. The Woman, Friend,
the Woman has undone me.
_Gal_. Oh, a blessed Hearing! I'm glad of the Reformation: Sir, you were
so squeamish, forsooth, that a Whore wou'd not down with ye; no, 'twou'd
spoil your Reputation.--
_Fil_. A Whore! wou'd I cou'd be convinc'd she were so; 'twou'd call my
Virtue home, and make me Man again.
_Gal_. Thou ly'st--thou'rt as weak a Brother as the best of us, and
believe me, _Harry_, these sort of Damsels are like Witches, if they once
get hold of a Man, he's their own till the Charm be ended; you guess what
that is, Sir?
_Fil_. Oh, _Frank_, hadst thou then felt how tenderly she prest my Hand
in hers, as if she wou'd have kept it there for ever, it wou'd have made
thee mad, stark mad in Love!--and nothing but _Marcella_ cou'd have
charm'd me. [_Aside_.
_Gal_. Ay, Gad, I'll warrant thee,--well, thou shalt this Night enjoy
her.
_Fil_. How?
_Gal_. How! why, faith, _Harry_, e'en the old way, I know no other. Why,
thou shalt lie with her, Man; come, let's to her.
_Fil_. Away, let's follow her instantly.
[_Going out is stopt by Sir_ Signal_.
_Enter Sir_ Sig. Tick. Petro.
Sir _Sig_. Signior, I have brought Mr. _Tickletext_ to beg your Pardon--
Sir.
_Fil_. I've other business, Sir. [_Goes out_.
_Gal_. Come, let's follow him; and you, my generous Cavalier, must give
me leave to beg the Honour of your Friendship.
_Lau_. My Inclinations, Sir, have given you more--pray let me wait on you
to your Lodgings, lest a farther Insolence shou'd be offer'd you.
_Gal_. Sir, you oblige too fast.
[_They go out_.
Sir _Sig_. Ah, _che Diavilo Ayles_, these hot-brain'd fellows, sure,
they're drunk.
_Pet_. Oh, fy, Signior, drunk, for a Man of Quality--'tis intolerable.
Sir _Sig_. Ay: why how so, Signior _Morigoroso_?
_Pet. Imbriaco_ had made it a fine Speech indeed.
Sir _Sig_. Why, faith, and so it had, as thus,--_ach Diavilo Ayles_,
these are hot-brain'd Fellows, sure they are _imbriaco_,--Now, wou'd not
I be drunk for a thousand Crowns: _Imbriaco_ sounds _Cinquante per cent_
better.--Come, noble Signior, let's _andiamo a casa_, which is as much as
to say, let's amble home.--
_Tick_. In troth, wondrous expert--_Certo_, Signior, he's an apt Scholar.
Sir _Sig_. Ah, Sir, you shall see, when I come to my Civilities.--
_Pet_. Where the first Lesson you shall learn, is, how to give and how to
receive with a Bon-Grace.
_Tick_. That receiving Lesson I will learn my self.
_Pet_. This unfrequented part of the Garden, Signior, will fit our
purpose as well as your Lodgings.--first then--Signiors, your Address.
[_Puts himself in the middle_.
[Petro _bows on both sides, they do the like_.
--Very well, that's at the Approach of any Person of
Quality, after which you must take out your Snuff-Box.
Sir _Sig_. Snuff-Box; why, we take no Snuff, Signior.
_Pet_. Then, Sir, by all means you must learn: for besides the Mode and
Gravity of it, it inviveates the _Pericranium_; that is, sapientates the
Brain,--that is, inspires Wit, Thought, Invention, Understanding, and the
like--you conceive me, Signiors--
[_Bowing_.
Sir _Sig_. Most profoundly, Signior.--
[_Bowing_.
_Pet_.--Then, Signiors, it keeps you in confidence, and Countenance; and
whilst you gravely seem to take a snush, you gain time to answer to the
purpose, and in a politick Posture--as thus--to any intricate Question.
_Tick_. Hum--_certo_, I like that well; and 'twere admirable if a Man
were allow'd to take it when he's out in's Sermon.
_Pet_. Doubtless, Signior, you might, it helps the Memory better than
Rosemary: therefore I have brought each of you a Snuff-Box.
Sir _Sig_. By no means: excuse me Signior.
[_Refuses to take 'em_.
_Pet_. Ah, Baggatelles, Signior, Baggatelles; and now, Signiors, I'll
teach you how to take it with a handsom Grace: Signior, your Hand--and
yours, Signior;
[_Lays Snuff on their hands_.
--so, now draw your hand to and fro under your Noses, and snuff it hard
up--Excellent well.
[_They daub all their Noses, and make Grimaces, and sneeze_.
Sir _Sig_. Methinks, Signior, this Snuff stinks most damnably: pray, what
scent do you call this?
_Pet_. _Cackamarda Orangate_, a rare Perfume I'll assure ye, Sir.
Sir _Sig_. _Cackamarda Orangate_; and 'twere not for the Name of
_Cackamarda_, and so forth, a Man had as good have a Sir-reverence at his
Nose.
[_Sneezes often, he crys_ bonprovache.
_Pet_. _Bonprovache_--Signior, you do not understand it yet,
_bonprovache_.
Sir _Sig_. Why, Sir, 'tis impossible to endure this same _Cackamarda_;
why Assafetida is odoriferous to it.
[_Sneezing_.
_Pet_. 'Tis your right _Dulce Piquante_, believe me:--but come, Signiors,
wipe your Noses, and proceed to your giving Lesson.
Sir _Sig_. As how, Signior?
_Pet_. Why--present me with something--that--Diamond on your Finger, to
shew the manner of giving handsomly.
[_Sir_ Sig. _gives it him_.
--Oh, fie, Signior--between your Finger and Thumb--thus--with your other
Fingers at a distance--with a speech, and a bow.--
Sir _Sig_. _Illustrissimo_ Signior, the manifold Obligations.
_Pet_. Now a fine turn of your hand--thus--Oh, that sets off the Present,
and makes it sparkle in the Eyes of the Receiver.--
[_Sir_ Sig. _turns his hand_.
Sir _Sig_. Which you have heap'd upon me,--
_Pet_. There flourish again.
[_He flourishes_.
Sir _Sig_. Oblige me to beg your acceptance of this small Present, which
will receive a double Lustre from your fair Hand.
[_Gives it him_.
_Pet_. Now kiss your fingers ends, and retire back with a bow.
_Tick_. Most admirably perform'd.
Sir _Sig_. Nay, Sir, I have Docity in me, though I say't: Come, Governor,
let's see how you can out-do me in the Art of presenting.
_Tick_. Well, Sir, come; your Snuff-Box will serve instead of my Ring,
will it not?
_Pet_. By no means, Sir, there is such a certain Relation between a
Finger and a Ring, that no Present becomes either the giving or the
receiving Hand half so well.
Sir _Sig_. Why, 'twill be restor'd again, 'tis but to practise by.
_Pet_. Ay, Signior, the next thing you are to learn is to receive.
_Tick_. Most worthy Signior, I have so exhausted the _Cornucopia_ of your
Favours, [_Flourishes_.]--and tasted so plenteously of the fulness of
your bounteous Liberality, that to retaliate with this small Gem--is but
to offer a Spark, where I have received a Beam of superabundant Sunshine.
[_Gives it_.
Sir _Sig_. Most rhetorically perform'd, as I hope to breathe;
Tropes and Figures all over.
_Tick_. Oh Lord, Sir _Signal_.
_Pet_. Excellent--Now let's see if you can refuse as civilly as you gave,
which is by an obstinate denial; stand both together--Illustrious
Signiors, upon my Honour my little Merit has not intitled me to the Glory
of so splendid an Offering; Trophies worthy to be laid only at your
Magnanimous Feet.
Sir _Sig_. Ah, Signior, no, no.
_Pet_. Signior _Tickletext_.
[_He offers, they refuse going backward_.
_Tick_. Nay, _certo_, Signior.
_Pet_. With what confidence can I receive so rich a Present? Signior
_Tickletext_, ah--Signior--
Sir _Sig_. I vow, Signior--I'm ashamed you shou'd offer it.
_Tick_. In verity, so am I. [_Still going back, he follows_.]
_Pet. Pardio! Baccus_, most incomparable.--
_Tick_. But when, Signior, are we to learn to receive again?--
_Pet_. Oh, Sir, that's always a Lesson of it self:--but now, Signiors,
I'll teach you how to act a story.
Sir _Sig_. How, how, Signior, to act a story?
_Pet_. Ay, Sir, no matter for words or sense, so the Body perform its
part well.
Sir _Sig_. How, tell a story without words! why, this were an excellent
device for Mr. _Tickletext_, when he's to hold forth to the Congregation,
and has lost his Sermon-Notes--why, this is wonderful.--
_Pet_. Oh, Sir, I have taught it Men born deaf [_Gets between 'em:
Makes a sign of being fat; galloping about the Stage_.] and blind:--look
ye, stand close together, and observe--closer yet:--a certain
Eclejastico, Plump and Rich--Riding along the Road, meets a Paver
strapiao,--un Pavaro strapiao, Paure strapiao:--strapiao--strapiao--
strapiao [_Puts himself into the Posture of a lean Beggar; his hands
right down by his sides,--and picks both their Pockets_.] Elemosuna per
un Paure strapiao, par a Moure de Dievos--at last he begs a Julio--Neinte
[_makes the fat Bishop_.] the Paure strapiao begs a Mezo Julio--
[_lean_] Neinte [_fat_]--une bacio--[_lean_]--Neinte--
[_fat_]--at last he begs his Blessing--and see how willingly the
Ecclesiastico gave his Benediction. [_Opening his Arms, hits them both
in the face_.]--Scusa, scusa mea, Patronas--
[_Begs their pardon_.]
Sir _Sig_. Yes, very willingly, which by the way he had never done had it
been worth a farthing.
_Tick_. Marry, I wou'd he had been a little sparing of that too at this
time--[_sneezes_] a shame on't, it has stir'd this same _Cackamarda_
again most foully.
_Pet_. Your pardon, Signior;--but come, Sir _Signal_,--let's see how you
will make this silent relation--Come, stand between us two--
Sir _Sig_. Nay, let me alone for a memory--come.
_Pet_. I think I have reveng'd my Backsword-beating.
[_Goes off_.]
Sir _Sig_. Un paureo strapado--plump and rich, no, no, the Ecclesiastico
meet un paureo strapado--and begs a Julio.
_Tick_. Oh, no, Sir, the strapado begs the Julio.
Sir _Sig_. Ay, ay, and the Ecclesastico crys Niente--[_snaps his nail_.]
un meze Julio!--Niente--un Bacio, Niente: your Blessing then, Signior
Ecclesastico.
[_Spreads out his Arms to give his blessing--and hits_ Tick.]
_Tick_. Adds me, you are all a little too liberal of this same
Benediction.
Sir _Sig_. Hah--but where's Signior _Morigoroso?_ what, is he gone?--but
now I think on't, 'tis a point of good manners to go without taking
leave.
_Tick_. It may be so, but I wish I had my Ring again, I do not like the
giving Lesson without the taking one; why this is picking a Man's pocket,
_certo_.
Sir _Sig_. Not so, Governour, for then I had had a considerable loss:
Look ye here,--how--how [_feeling in his Pocket_.] how--[_in another_]
how--gone? gone as I live, my Money, Governour; all the Gold _Barberacho_
receiv'd of my Merchant to day--all gone.--
_Tick_. Hah--and mine--all my stock, the Money which I thought to have
made a present to the Gentlewoman, _Barberacho_ was to bring me to--
[_Aside_.]--Undone, undone--Villains, Cutpurses--Cheats, oh, run after
him.
Sir _Sig_. A Pox of all silent stories; Rogue, Thief--undone.--
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. _The Corso_.
_Enter_ Julio _and his_ Page.
_Jul_. How, the Lady whom I followed from St. _Peter's_ Church, a
Curtezan?
_Pag_. A Curtezan, my Lord, fair as the Morning, and as young.
_Jul_. I know she's fair and young; but is she to be had, Boy?
_Pag_. My Lord, she is--her Footman told me she was a Zittella.
_Jul_. How, a Zittella!--a Virgin, 'tis impossible.
_Pag_. I cannot swear it, Sir, but so he told me; he said she had a World
of Lovers: Her name is _Silvianetta_, Sir, and her Lodgings--
_Jul_. I know't, are on the _Corso_; a Curtezan? and a Zittella too? a
pretty contradiction; but I'll bate her the last, so I might enjoy her as
the first: whate'er the price be, I'm resolv'd upon the adventure; and
will this minute prepare my self. [_Going off, Enter_ Mor. and Octa.]--
hah, does the Light deceive me, or is that indeed my Uncle, in earnest
conference with a Cavalier?--'tis he--I'll step aside till he's past,
lest he hinders this Night's diversion.
[_Goes aside_.
_Mor_. I say 'twas rashly done, to fight him unexamin'd.
_Oct_. I need not ask; my Reason has inform'd me, and I'm convinc'd,
where-e'er he has concealed her, that she is fled with _Fillamour_.
_Jul_. Who is't they speak of?
_Mor_. Well, well, sure my Ancestors committed some horrid crime against
Nature, that she sent this Pest of Woman-kind into our Family,--two
Nieces for my share;--by Heaven, a Proportion sufficient to undo six
Generations.
_Jul_. Hah? two Nieces, what of them? [_Aside_.
_Mor_. I am like to give a blessed account of 'em to their Brother
_Julio_ my Nephew, at his return; there's a new plague now:--but my
comfort is, I shall be mad, and there's an end on't.
[_Weeps_.
_Jul_. My Curiosity must be satisfied,--have patience, Noble Sir.--
_Mor_. Patience is a flatterer, Sir,--and an Ass, Sir; and I'll have none
on't--hah, what art thou?
_Jul_. Has five or six Years made ye lose the remembrance of your
Nephew--_Julio_?
_Mor. Julio!_ I wou'd I had met thee going to thy Grave.
[_Weeps_.
_Jul_. Why so, Sir?
_Mor_. Your Sisters, Sir, your Sisters are both gone.--
[_Weeps_.
_Jul_. How gone, Sir?
_Mor_. Run away, Sir, flown, Sir.
_Jul_. Heavens! which way?
_Mor_. Nay, who can tell the ways of fickle Women--in short, Sir, your
Sister _Marcella_ was to have been married to this noble Gentleman,--nay,
was contracted to him, fairly contracted in my own Chappel; but no sooner
was his back turn'd, but in a pernicious Moon-light Night she shews me a
fair pair of heels, with the young Baggage, your other Sister _Cornelia_,
who was just come from the Monastery where I bred her, to see her Sister
married.
_Jul_. A curse upon the Sex! why must Man's Honour Depend upon their
Frailty?
--Come--give me but any light which way they went, And I will trace 'em
with that careful Vengeance--
_Oct_. Spoke like a Man, that understands his Honour; And I can guess how
we may find the Fugitives.
_Jul_. Oh, name it quickly, Sir!
_Oct_. There was a young Cavalier--some time at _Viterbo_, Who I confess
had Charms, Heaven has denied to me,
That Trifle, Beauty, which was made to please
Vain foolish Woman, which the brave and wise
Want leisure to design.--
_Jul_. And what of him?
_Oct_. This fine gay thing came in your Sister's way,
And made that Conquest Nature meant such Fools for:
And, Sir, she's fled with him.
_Jul_. Oh, show me the Man, the daring hardy Villain,
Bring me but in the view of my Revenge,--and if I fail to take it,
Brand me with everlasting Infamy.
_Oct_. That we must leave to Fortune, and our Industry.
--Come, Sir, let's walk and think best what to do,--
[_Going down the Scene, Enter_ Fil. _and_ Gal.
_Fil_. Is not that _Julio_? Boy, run and call him back.
[_Ex. Boy, re-enters with_ Jul.
_Jul_. Oh, _Fillamour_, I have heard such killing news
Since last I left thee--
_Fil_. What, prithee?
_Jul_. I had a Sister, Friend--dear as my Life,
And bred with all the Virtues of her Sex;
No Vestals at the Holy Fire employ'd themselves
In innocenter business than this Virgin;
Till Love, the fatal Fever of her Heart,
Betray'd her harmless Hours;
And just upon the point of being married,
The Thief stole in, and rob'd us of this Treasure:
She'as left her Husband, Parents, and her Honour,
And's fled with the base Ruiner of her Virtue.
_Fil_. And lives the Villain durst affront ye thus?
_Jul_. He does.
_Gal_. Where, in what distant World?
_Jul_. I know not.
_Fil_. What is he call'd?
_Jul_. I know not neither,--some God direct me to the Ravisher!
And if he scape my Rage,
May Cowards point me out for one of their tame Herd.
_Fil_. In all your Quarrels I must join my Sword.
_Gal_. And if you want,--here's another, Sir, that, though it be not
often drawn in anger, nor cares to be, shall not be idle in good company.
_Jul_. I thank you both; and if I have occasion, will borrow their
assistance; but I must leave you for a minute, I'll wait on you anon.--
[_They all three walk as down the street, talking_.
_Enter_ Laura, _with_ Silvio _and her_ Equipage.
_Lau_. Beyond my wish, I'm got into his Friendship:
But Oh, how distant Friendship is from Love,
That's all bestow'd on the fair Prostitute!
--Ah, _Silvio_, when he took me in his Arms,
Pressing my willing Bosom to his Breast,
Kissing my Cheek, calling me lovely Youth,
And wond'ring how such Beauty, and such Bravery,
Met in a Man so young! Ah, then, my Boy,
Then in that happy minute,
How near was I to telling all my Soul!
My Blushes and my Sighs were all prepar'd;
My Eyes cast down, my trembling Lips just parting.--
But still as I was ready to begin,
He cries out _Silvianetta_!
And to prevent mine, tells me all his Love.
--But see--he's here.--
[Fill. _and_ Gal. _coming up the Scene_.
_Gal_. Come, lay by all sullen Unresolves: for now the hour of the
Berjere approaches, Night that was made for Lovers.--Hah! my Dear
_Sans-Coeur_? my Life! my Soul! my Joy! Thou art of my opinion!
_Lau_. I'm sure I am, whate'er it be.
_Gal_. Why, my Friend here, and I, have sent and paid our Fine for a
small Tenement of Pleasure, and I'm for taking present possession;--but
hold--if you shou'd be a Rival after all.--
_Lau_. Not in your _Silvianetta_! my Love has a nice Appetite,
And must be fed with high uncommon Delicates.
I have a Mistress, Sir, of Quality;
Fair, as Imagination paints young Angels;
Wanton and gay, as was the first _Corinna_,
That charm'd our best of Poets;
Young as the Spring, and chearful as the Birds
That welcome in the Day;
Witty, as Fancy makes the Revelling Gods,
And equally as bounteous when she blesses.
_Gal_. Ah, for a fine young Whore with all these Charms!
but that same Quality allays the Joy: there's such a
damn'd ado with the Obligation, that half the Pleasure's
lost in Ceremony.
--Here for a thousand Crowns I reign alone,
Revel all day in Love without controul.
--But come to our business, I have given order for Musick,
Dark Lanthorns, and Pistols.
[_This while_ Fil., _stands studying_.
_Fil_. Death, if it shou'd not be _Marcella_ now! [_Pausing aside_.
_Gal_. Prithee no more considering,--resolve, and let's about it.
_Fil_. I wou'd not tempt my Heart again! for Love,
What e'er it may be in another's Breast,
In mine 'twill turn to a religious Fire;
And so to burn for her, a common Mistress,
Wou'd be an Infamy below her Practice.
_Gal_. Oh, if that be all, doubt not, _Harry_, but an Hour's Conversation
with _Euphemia_ will convert it to as leud a flame, as a Man wou'd wish.
_Lau_. What a coil's here about a Curtezan! what ado to persuade a Man to
a Blessing all _Rome_ is languishing for in vain!--Come, Sir, we must
deal with him, as Physicians do with peevish Children, force him to take
what will cure him.
_Fil_. And like those damn'd Physicians, kill me for want of method: no,
I know my own Distemper best, and your Applications will make me mad.
_Gal_. Pox on't, that one cannot love a Woman like a Man, but one must
love like an Ass.
_Lau_. S'heart, I'll be bound to lie with all the Women in _Rome_, with
less ado than you are brought to one.
_Gal_. Hear ye that, _Henry_? s'death, art not asham'd to be instructed
by one so young!--But see--the Star there appears,--the Star that
conducts thee to the Shore of Bliss,--She comes! let's feel thy
[Marcella _and_ Cornelia _above_ with_ Philippa.] Heart, she comes!
So breaks the Day on the glad Eastern Hills,
Or the bright God of Rays from _Thetis'_ Lap:
A Rapture, now, dear Lad, and then fall to;
for thou art old Dog at a long Grace.
_Fil_. Now I'm mere Man again, with all his Frailties-- [_Aside_.
--Bright lovely Creature!--
_Gal_. Damn it, how like my Lady's eldest Son was that?
_Fil_. May I hope my Sacrifice may be accepted by you; by Heaven,
it must be she! still she appears more like.--
[_Aside_.
_Mar_. I've only time to tell you Night approaches,
And then I will expect you.
_Enter_ Crapine, _gazes on the Ladies_.
_Crap_. 'Tis she, _Donna Marcella_, on my life, with the young wild
_Cornelia_!--hah--yonder's the _English_ Cavalier too; nay then, by this
Hand I'll be paid for all my fruitless jaunts, for this good news--stay,
let me mark the House.--
_Mar_. Now to my Disguise.
[_Ex_. Marcella.
_Gal_. And have you no kind message to send to my Heart? cannot this good
Example instruct you how to make me happy?
_Cor_. Faith, Stranger, I must consider first; she's skilful in the
Merchandize of Hearts, and has dealt in Love with so good success
hitherto, she may lose one Venture, and never miss it in her Stock: but
this is my first, and shou'd it prove to be a bad bargain, I were undone
for ever.
_Gal_. I dare secure the Goods sound--
_Cor_. And I believe will not lie long upon my hands.
_Gal_. Faith, that's according as you'll dispose on't, Madam--for let me
tell you--gad, a good handsome proper Fellow is as staple a Commodity as
any's in the Nation;--but I wou'd be reserv'd for your own use. Faith,
take a Sample to night, and as you like it, the whole Piece; and that's
fair and honest dealing I think, or the Devil's in't.
_Cor_. Ah, Stranger,--you have been so over-liberal for those same
Samples of yours, that I doubt they have spoiled the sale of the rest;
Cou'd you not afford, think ye, to throw in a little Love and Constancy,
to inch out that want of Honesty of yours?
_Gal_. Love! oh, in abundance!
By those dear Eyes, by that soft smiling Mouth,
By every secret Grace thou hast about thee,
I love thee with a vigorous, eager Passion;
--Be kind, dear _Silvianetta_--prithee do,
Say you believe, and make me blest to Night.
_Crap. Silvianetta!_ so, that's the Name she has rifl'd for _Cornelia_, I
perceive. [_Aside_.
_Cor_. If I shou'd be so kind-hearted, what good use wou'd you make of so
obliging an Opportunity?
_Gal_. That which the happy Night was first ordain'd for.
_Cor_. Well, Signior, 'tis coming on, and then I'll try what Courage the
Darkness will inspire me with:--till then--farewell.--
_Gal_. Till then a thousand times adieu.--
[_Blowing up kisses to her_.
_Phil_. Ah, Madam, we're undone,--yonder's _Crapine_, your Uncle's Valet.
_Cor_. Now a Curse on him; shall we not have one night with our
Cavaliers?--let's retire, and continue to out-wit him, or never more
pretend to't. Adieu, Signior Cavalier--remember Night.--
_Gal_. Or may I lose my Sense to all Eternity.
[_Kisses his fingers and bows, she returns it for a while.
Exit_. Crap.
_Lau_. Gods, that all this that looks at least like Love,
Shou'd be dispens'd to one insensible!
Whilst every syllable of that dear Value,
Whisper'd to me, wou'd make my Soul all Extasy. [_Aside_.
--Oh, spare that Treasure for a grateful Purchase;
And buy that common Ware with trading Gold,
Love is too rich a Price!--I shall betray my self.--[_Aside_.
_Gal_. Away, that's an heretical Opinion, and which
This certain Reason must convince thee of;
That Love is Love, wherever Beauty is,
Nor can the Name of Whore make Beauty less.
_Enter_ Marcella _like a Man, with a Cloke about her_.
_Mar_. Signior, is your Name _Fillamour?_
_Fil_. It is, what wou'd you, Sir?--
Mar_. I have a Letter for you--from _Viterbo_, and your _Marcella_, Sir.
[_Gives it him_.
_Fil_. Hah--_Viterbo_! and _Marcella_!
It shocks me like the Ghost of some forsaken Mistress,
That met me in the way to Happiness,
With some new long'd-for Beauty!
[_Opens it, reads_.
_Mar_. Now I shall try thy Virtue, and my Fate.-- [_Aside_.
_Fil_. What is't that checks the Joy, that shou'd surprize me at the
receipt of this.
_Gal_. How now! what's the cold fit coming on? [_Pauses_.
_Fil_. I have no power to go--where this--invites me--
By which I prove 'tis no encrease of Flame that warms my Heart,
But a new Fire just kindled from those Eyes--
Whose Rays I find more piercing than _Marcella's_.
_Gal_.--Ay, Gad, a thousand times--prithee, what's the matter?
_Mar_. Oh, this false-souled Man--wou'd I had leisure
To be reveng'd for this Inconstancy! [_Aside_.
_Fil_.--But still she wants that Virtue I admire.
_Gal_. Virtue! 'S'death thou art always fumbling upon that dull string
that makes no Musick.--What Letter's that? [_Reads_.] If the first
Confession I ever made of Love be grateful to you, come arm'd to night
with a Friend or two; and behind the Garden of the Fountains, you will
receive--hah, _Marcella!_--Oh, damn it, from your honest Woman!--Well, I
see the Devil's never so busy with a Man, as when he has resolv'd upon
any Goodness! S'death, what a rub's here in a fair cast,--how is't man?
Alegremente! bear up, defy him and all his Works.
_Fil_. But I have sworn, sworn that I lov'd _Marcella;_
And Honour, Friend, obliges me to go,
Take her away and marry her.
--And I conjure thee to assist me too.
_Gal_. What, to night, this might, that I have given to _Silvianetta!_
and you have promis'd to the fair--_Euphemia!_
_Lau_. If he shou'd go, he ruins my design, [_Aside_.
--Nay, if your word, Sir--be already past--
_Fil_. 'Tis true, I gave my promise to _Euphemia;_ but that, to Women of
her Trade, is easily absolv'd.
_Gal_. Men keep not Oaths for the sakes of the wise Magistrates to whom
they are made, but their own Honour, _Harry_.--And is't not much a
greater crime to rob a gallant, hospitable Man of his Niece, who has
treated you with Confidence and Friendship, than to keep touch with a
well-meaning Whore, my conscientious Friend?
_Lau_. Infinite degrees, Sir.
_Gal_. Besides, thou'st an hour or two good, between this and the time
requir'd to meet _Marcella_.
_Lau_. Which an industrious Lover would manage to the best advantage.
_Gal_. That were not given over to Virtue and Constancy; two the best
excuses I know for Idleness.
_Fil_.--Yes--I may see this Woman.
_Gal_. Why, Gad-a-mercy, Lad.
_Fil_.--And break my Chains, if possible.
_Gal_. Thou wilt give a good essay to that I'll warrant thee,
Before she part with thee; come let's about it.
[_They are going out on either side of_ Fil. _persuading him_.
_Mar_. He's gone, the Curtezan has got the day, [_Aside_.
Vice has the start of Virtue every way;
And for one Blessing honest Wives obtain,
The happier Mistress does a thousand gain.
I'll home--and practise all their Art to prove,
That nothing is so cheaply gain'd as Love.
[_Exit_.
_Gal_. Stay, what Farce is this--prithee let's see a little.
[_Offering to go_.
[_Enter Sir_ Signal, _Mr_. Tickletext, _with his Cloke ty'd
about him, a great Inkhorn ty'd at his Girdle and a
great folio under his Arm_, Petro _drest like an Antiquary_.
--How now, Mr. _Tickletext_, what, drest as if you were
going a Pilgrimage to _Jerusalem?_
_Tick_. I make no such profane Journeys, Sir.
_Gal_. But where have you been, Mr. _Tickletext?_
Sir _Sig_. Why, Sir, this most Reverend and Renowned Antiquary has been
showing us Monumental Rarities and Antiquities.
_Gal_. 'Tis _Petro_, that Rogue.
_Fil_. But what Folio have you gotten there, Sir, _Knox_, or
_Cartwright?_
_Pet_. Nay, if he be got into that heap of Nonsense, I'll steal off and
undress. [_Aside_.]
[_Ex_. Petro.
[Tick, _opening the Book_.
_Tick_. A small Volume, Sir, into which I transcribe the most memorable
and remarkable Transactions of the Day.
_Lau_. That doubtless must be worth seeing.
_Fil_. [_Reads_.]--April the twentieth, arose a very great Storm of Wind,
Thunder, Lightning and Rain,--which was a shrewd sign of foul Weather.
The 22th 9 of our 12 Chickens getting loose, flew overboard, the other
three miraculously escaping, by being eaten by me that Morning for
Breakfast.
Sir _Sig_. Harkye, _Galliard_--thou art my Friend, and 'tis not like a
Man of Honour to conceal any thing from one's Friend,--know then I am
The most fortunate Rascal that ever broke bread,--I am this night to
visit, Sirrah,--the finest, the most delicious young Harlot, Mum--under
the Rose--in all _Rome_, of _Barberacho's_ acquaintance.
_Gal_.--Hah--my Woman, on my Life! and will she be kind?
Sir _Sig_. Kind! hang Kindness, Man, I'm resolv'd upon Conquest by Parly
or by Force.
_Gal_. Spoke like a Roman of the first Race, when noble Rapes, not
whining Courtship, did the Lover's business.
Sir _Sig_. 'Sha, Rapes, Man! I mean by force of Money, pure dint of Gold,
faith and troth: for I have given 500 Crowns entrance already, _& Par
Dins Bacchus, 'tis tropo Caro--tropo Caro_, Mr. _Galliard_.
_Gal_. And what's this high-priz'd Lady's Name, Sir?
Sir _Sig_. _La Silvianetta_,--and lodges on the _Corso_, not far from St.
James's of the Incurables--very well situated in case of disaster--hah.
_Gal_. Very well,--and did not your wise Worship know this _Silvianetta_
was my Mistress?
Sir _Sig_. How! his Mistress! what a damn'd Noddy was I to name her!
[_Aside_.
_Gal_. D'ye hear, fool! renounce me this Woman instantly, or I'll first
discover it to your Governour, and then cut your throat, Sir.
Sir _Sig_. Oh, _Doux Ment_--dear _Galliard_--Renounce her,--_Corpo de
mi_, that I will soul and body, if she belong to thee, Man.--
_Gal_. No more; look to't--look you forget her Name--or but to think of
her--farewel--
[_Nods at him_.
Sir _Sig_. Farewell, quoth ye--'tis well I had the Art of dissembling
after all, here had been a sweet broil upon the Coast else.--
_Fil_. Very well, I'll trouble my self to read no more, since I know
you'l be so kind to the world to make it publick.
_Tick_. At my return, Sir, for the good of the Nation, I will print it,
and I think it will deserve it.
_Lau_. This is a precious Rogue, to make a Tutor of.
_Fil_. Yet these Mooncalfs dare pretend to the breeding of our Youth; and
the time will come, I fear, when none shall be reputed to travel like a
Man of Quality, who has not the advantage of being impos'd upon by one of
these pedantick Novices, who instructs the young Heir in what himself is
most profoundly ignorant of.
_Gal_. Come, 'tis dark, and time for our Design,--your Servant, Signiors.
[_Exeunt_ Fil. _and_ Gal.
_Lau_. I'll home, and watch the kind deceiving Minute, that may conduct
him by mistake to me.
[_Exit_.
_Enter_ Petro, _like_ Barberacho, _just as_ Tick.
_and Sir_ Signal _are going out_.
Sir _Sig_. Oh, _Barberacho_, we are undone! Oh, the Diavillo take that
Master you sent me?
_Pet_. Master, what Master?
Sir _Sig_. Why, Signior Morigoroso!
_Pet_. Mor--oso--what shou'd he be?
Sir _Sig_. A Civility-Master he should have been, to have taught us good
Manners;--but the Cornuto cheated us most damnably, and by a willing
mistake taught us nothing in the world but Wit.
_Pet_. Oh, abominable Knavery! why, what a kind of Man was he?
Sir _Sig_.--Why--much such another as your self.
_Tick_. Higher, Signior, higher.
Sir _Sig_. Ay, somewhat higher--but just of his pitch.
_Pet_. Well, Sir, and what of this Man?
Sir _Sig_. Only pickt our Pockets, that's all.
_Tick_. Yes, and cozen'd us of our Rings.
Sir _Sig_. Ay, and gave us Cackamarda Orangata for Snuff.
_Tick_. And his Blessing to boot when he had done.
Sir _Sig_. A vengeance on't, I feel it still.
_Pet_. Why, this 'tis to do things of your own head; for I sent no such
Signior Moroso--but I'll see what I can do to retrieve 'em--I am now a
little in haste, farewell.--
[_Offers to go_, Tick. _goes out by him and jogs him_.
_Tick_. Remember to meet me--farewel, _Barberacho_.
[_Goes out, Sir_ Sig. _pulls him_.
Sir _Sig. Barberacho_--is the Lady ready?
_Pet_. Is your Money ready?
Sir _Sig_. Why, now, though I am threatned, and kill'd, and beaten, and
kick'd about this Intrigue, I must advance. [_Aside_.]--But dost think
there's no danger?
_Pet_. What, in a delicate young amorous Lady, Signior?
Sir _Sig_. No, no, mum, I don't much fear the Lady; but this same mad
fellow _Galliard_, I hear, has a kind of a hankering after her--
Now dare not I tell him what a discovery I have made. [_Aside_.
_Pet_. Let me alone to secure you, meet me in the _Piazzo d'Hispagnia_,
as soon as you can get yourself in order; where the two Fools shall meet,
and prevent either's coming. [_Aside_.
Sir _Sig_. Enough,--here's a Bill for 500 Crowns more upon my Merchant,
you know him by a good token, I lost the last Sum you receiv'd for me, a
pox of that Handsel; away, here's company.
[_Ex_. Pet. _Enter_ Octavio _and_ Crapine.]
Now will I disguise my self, according to the mode of the Roman
Inamoratos; and deliver my self upon the place appointed.
[_Ex. Sir_ Sig.
_Oct_. On the _Corso_ didst thou see 'em?
_Crap_. On the _Corso_, my Lord, in discourse with three Cavaliers, one
of which has given me many a Pistole, to let him into the Garden a-nights
at _Viterbo_, to talk with _Donna Marcella_ from her Chamber-Window, I
think I shou'd remember him.
_Oct_. Oh, that Thought fires me with Anger fit for my Revenge,
[_Aside_.
And they are to serenade 'em, thou say'st?
_Crap_. I did, my Lord: and if you can have patience till they come, you
will find your Rival in this very place, if he keep his word.
_Oct_. I do believe thee, and have prepared my Bravoes to attack him: if
I can act but my Revenge to night, how shall I worship Fortune? Keep out
of sight, and when I give the word, be ready all. I hear some coming,
let's walk off a little.--
_Enter_ Marcella _in Man's Clothes, and_ Philippa _as a Woman
with a Lanthorn_. Oct. _and_ Crap. _go off the other way_.
_Mar_. Thou canst never convince me, but if _Crapine_ saw us, and gaz'd
so long upon us, he must know us too; and then what hinders but by a
diligent watch about the House, they will surprize us, e'er we have
secured our selves from 'em?
_Phil_. And how will this exposing your self to danger prevent 'em?
_Mar_. My design now is, to prevent _Fillamour's_ coming into danger, by
hindring his approach to this House: I wou'd preserve the kind Ingrate
with any hazard of my own; and 'tis better to die than fall into the
hands of _Octavio_. I'm desperate with that thought, and fear no danger:
however, be you ready at the door, and when I ring admit me--ha--who
comes here?
_Enter_ Tickletext _with a Periwig and Crevat of Sir_ Signal's:
_A Sword by his side, and a dark Lanthorn; she opens
hers, looks on him, and goes out_.
_Tick_. A Man! now am I, though an old Sinner, as timorous as a young
Thief: 'tis a great inconvenience in these Popish Countrys, that a man
cannot have liberty to steal to a Wench without danger; not that I need
fear who sees me except _Galliard_, who suspecting my business, will go
near to think I am wickedly inclin'd. Sir _Signal_ I have left hard at
his Study, and Sir _Henry_ is no nocturnal Inamorato, unless like me he
dissemble it.--Well, _certo_, 'tis a wonderful pleasure to deceive the
World: And as a learned Man well observ'd, that the Sin of Wenching lay
in the Habit only; I having laid that aside, _Timothy Tickletext_,
principal Holder-forth of the _Covent-Garden_ Conventicle, Chaplain of
_Buffoon-Hall_ in the County of _Kent_, is free to recreate himself.
_Enter_ Gal. _with a dark Lanthorn_.
_Gal_. Where the Devil is this _Fillamour?_ and the Mufick? which way
cou'd he go to lose me thus?
[_Looks towards the Door_.
--He is not yet come--
_Tick_. Not yet come--that must be _Barberacho!_--
Where are ye, honest _Barberacho_, where are ye?
[_Groping towards_ Gal.
_Gal_. Hah! _Barberacho?_ that Name I am sure is us'd by none but Sir
_Signal_ and his Coxcomb Tutor; it must be one of those--Where are ye,
Signior, where are ye?
[_Goes towards him, and opens the Lanthorn--and shuts it strait_.
--Oh, 'tis the Knight,--are you there, Signior?
_Tick_. Oh, art thou come, honest Rascal--conduct me quickly, conduct me
to the beautiful and fair _Silvianetta_.
[_Gives him his Hand_.
_Gal_. Yes, when your Dogship's damn'd. _Silvianetta!_ Sdeath, is she a
Whore for Fools? [_Draws_.
_Tick_. Hah, Mr. _Galliard_, as the Devil would have it;--I'm undone if
he sees me.
[_He retires hastily_, Gal. _gropes for him_.
_Gal_. Where are you, Fop? Buffoon! Knight!
[Tickletext _retiring hastily runs against_ Octavio, _who
is just entering, almost beats him down_; Oct. _strikes
him a good blow, beats him back and draws_: Tick, _gets
close up in a corner of the Stage_; Oct. _gropes for him,
as_ Gal. _does, and both meet and fight with each other_.
--What, dare you draw,--you have the impudence to be valiant then in the
dark, [_they pass_.] I wou'd not kill the Rogue,--'Sdeath, you can fight
then, when there's a Woman in the case!
_Oct_. I hope 'tis _Fillarnour_; [_Aside_.] You'll find I can, and
possibly may spoil your making Love to night.
_Gal_. Egad, Sweet-heart, and that may be, one civil Thrust will do't;--
and 'twere a damn'd rude thing to disappoint so fine a Woman,--therefore
I'll withdraw whilst I'm well.
[_He slips out_.
_Enter Sir_ Signal, _with a Masquerading Coat over his
Clothes, without a Wig or Crevat, with a dark Lanthorn_.
Sir _Sig_. Well, I have most neatly escap'd my Tutor; and in this
disguise defy the Devil to claim his own.--Ah, _Caspeto de Deavilo_;--
What's that?
[_Advancing softly, and groping with his hands, meets the
point of_ Oct. _Sword, as he is groping for_ Gal.
_Oct_. Traitor, darest thou not stand my Sword?
Sir _Sig_. Hah! Swords! no, Signior--_scusa mea_, Signioir,--
[_Hops to the door: And feeling for his way with his
out-stretcht Arms, runs his Lanthorn in_ Julio's
_face, who is just entring; finds he's oppos'd with
a good push backward, and slips aside into a corner
over-against_ Tickletext; Julio _meets_ Octavio, _and
fights him_; Oct. _falls_, Julio _opens his Lanthorn,
and sees his mistake_.
_Jut_. Is it you, Sir?
_Oct_. _Julio_! From what Mistake grew all this Violence?
_Jul_. That I shou'd ask of you, who meet you arm'd against me.
_Oct_. I find the Night has equally deceiv'd us; and you are fitly come
to share with me the hopes of dear Revenge.
[_Gropes for his Lanthorn, which is dropt_.
_Jul_. I'd rather have pursu'd my kinder Passion,
Love, and Desire, that brought me forth to night.
_Oct_. I've learnt where my false Rival is to be this Evening;
And if you'll join your Sword, you'll find it well employ'd.
_Jul_. Lead on, I'm as impatient of Revenge as you.--
_Oct_. Come this way then, you'll find more Aids to serve us.
[_Go out_.
_Tick_.--So! Thanks be prais'd, all's still again, this Fright were
enough to mortify any Lover of less magnanimity than my self.--Well, of
all Sins, this itch of Whoring is the most hardy,--the most impudent in
Repulses, the most vigilant in watching, most patient in waiting, most
frequent in Dangers; in all Disasters but Disappointment, a Philosopher;
yet if _Barberacho_ come not quickly, my Philosophy will be put to't,
_certo_.
[_This while Sir_ Signal _is venturing from his Post,
listening, and slowly advancing towards the middle
of the Stage_.
Sir _Sig_. The Coast is once more clear, and I may venture my Carcase
forth again,--though such a Salutation as the last, wou'd make me very
unfit for the matter in hand.--The Battoon I cou'd bear with the
Fortitude and Courage of a Hero: But these dangerous Sharps I never
lov'd. What different Rencounters have I met withal to night, _Corpo de
me_? A Man may more safely pass the Gulf of _Lyons_, than convoy himself
into a Baudy-House in _Rome_; but I hope all's past, and I will say with
_Alexander,--Vivat Esperance en despetto del Fatto_.
[_Advances a little_.
_Tick_. Sure I heard a noise;--No, 'twas only my surmise.
[_They both advance softly, meeting just in the middle of
the Stage, and coming close up to each other; both
cautiously start back, and stand a tipto in the posture
of Fear, then gently feeling for each other, (after
listening and hearing no Noise) draw back their
Hands at touching each other's; and shrinking up
their Shoulders, make grimaces of more Fear_.
_Tick_. _Que Equesto_.
Sir _Sig_. Hah, a Man's Voice!--I'll try if I can fright him hence.
[_Aside_.
_Una Malladette Spiritto Incarnate_.
[_In a horrible tone_.
_Tick_. Hah, _Spiritto Incarnate_! that Devil's Voice I shou'd know.
[_Aside_.
Sir _Sig_. See, Signior! _Una Spiritto_, which is to say, _un Spiritalo,
Immortallo, Incorporallo, Inanimate, Immaterialle, Philosophicale,
Invisible--Unintelligible--Diavillo_.
[_In the same tone_.
_Tick_. Ay, ay, 'tis my hopeful Pupil, upon the same design with me, my
life on't,--cunning young Whore-master;--I'll cool your Courage--good
Signior _Diavillo_; if you be the _Diavillo_, I have _una certaina
Immaterial Invisible Conjuratione_, that will so neatly lay your
_Inanimate unintelligible Diavilloship_.--
[_Pulls out his wooden Sword_.
Sir _Sig_. How! he must needs be valiant indeed that dares fight with the
Devil.
[_Endeavours to get away_, Tick, _beats him about the Stage_.]
--Ah, Signior, Signior, _Mia_! ah--_Caspeto de Baccus--he cornuto_, I am
a damn'd silly Devil that have no dexterity in vanishing.
[_Gropes and finds the Door--going out, meets just entring_
Fillamour, Galliard _with all the Musick--he retires,
and stands close_.
--Hah,--what have we here, new Mischief?--
[Tick. _and he stands against each other, on either side
of the Stage_.
_Fil_. Prithee how came we to lose ye?
_Gal_. I thought I had follow'd ye--but 'tis well we are met again. Come
tune your Pipes.--
[_They play a little, enter_ Marcella _as before_.
_Mar_. This must be he.
[_Goes up to 'em_.
_Gal_. Come, come, your Song, Boy, your Song.
_Whilst 'tis singing, Enter_ Octavio, Julio, Crapine, _and Bravos_.
The SONG.
_Crudo Amore, Crudo Amore, |
Il mio Core non fa per te | bis
Suffrir non vo tormenti
Senza mai sperar mar ce
Belta che sia Tiranna,
Belta che sia Tiranna
Doll meo offerto recetto non e
Il tuo rigor singunna
Se le pene
Le catene
Tenta auolgere al mio pie
See see Crudel Amore |
Il mio Core non fa per te. | bis
Lusinghiero, Lusinghiero, |
Pui non Credo alta tua fe | bis
L' incendio del tuo foce
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