Act 1 — SCENE II.

Enter Friendly solus.

Fri. Was ever Fortune like to this of mine? Who for the Smile of a vile simple Woman, have acted thus against my very Soul, all to please a Creature, whose next Command perhaps will higher mount, it may be light on my self, as now it did on Bonvile.

Enter Clara.

Cla. Ha! Friendly here alone. Now, now, my Fears begin.[Aside. So, Sir, you are return’d I see.[To him.

Fri. Madam, I am, and like those noble Knights in former times, after subduing all their Ladies Foes, returning with the joyful News of Conquest, receive her trembling to their longing Arms, and claim her as their own, so I——.

Cla. What mean you, Sir?

Fri. Madam, You are obeyed, your hard Commands fulfilled; at your Request I’ve kill’d my Friend, nay and my best of Friends.

Cla. How? kill’d your Friend for me.

Fri. Indeed ’tis true.

Cla. Then thou art truly wretched: But say, say quickly, who’s this unhappy Man whom thy Mistake hath thus untimely kill’d?

Fri. Bonvile.

Cla. Bonvile said you? My Blood with an unusual Course runs backward from my Heart! Horror has seiz’d my Soul! A thick-black Mist has overcast my Sight, and I am not the same: but speak, O speak again, Was it Bonvile?

Fri. Why shou’d you seek to iterate my Guilt, by a Rehearsal of that dreadful Name? Too sure, alas! It was: Bonvile’s the Friend I’ve kill’d.

Cla. Curs’d be the Tongue that spoke it, but doubly curs’d the Hand that did the barbarous Fact.

Fri. Why Madam, was it not your Command to kill my Friend; nay more, my best of Friends?

Cla. Yes, and I thought my self your best of Friends.

Fri. I hope you wou’d not have had me murder’d you?

Cla. No, Monster, no.

Fri. These are Riddles.

Cla. Fool, our whole Sex is made of nothing else: Thou mayst sooner untie the Gordian Knot, expound the Problems of the monstrous Sphynx, and read what is decreed in the mysterious Book of Fate, than unfold a Woman’s sly malitious Meaning.

Fri. Very well; she first set me on to do this most accurs’d of Deeds, and now upbraids me; nay wou’d hang me for ’t: These are the Tricks of all her damning Sex. O Woman, Woman, Woman, dear devilish Woman, farewel. [Offers to go.

Cla. Stay Friendly, all I have said was only to try your Constancy; and whether you’d repent of what you’ve done. But tell me truly, is Bonvile surely dead?

Fri. Indeed he is.

Cla. ’Tis bravely done, and I adore thee for ’t. By Heaven I love thee now, even unto Dotage!

Fri. Was ever Change like this? The subtlest Labyrinth Wit cou’d ere invent, affords not half so many Turnings as a Woman’s Mind. [Aside.

What mean you, Madam, by this seeming Transport?

Cla. O Friendly, Friendly, I am all o’re Extasy! Thou hast done a Deed that ravishes my Soul. At once thou hast kill’d my dear and only Friend, and slain the fatal’st Enemy I had.

Fri. What more Riddles Madam, pray explain your self.

Cla. I will; I will declare a Secret which till now I never did disclose: I lov’d that Bonvile whom thou now hast slain, not as I ought to do, but with a Woman’s Love, which he never did know: And Yesterday when I beheld the fatal Marriage ended, then like a Merchant walking on the Downes, sees a rich Vessel of his own engaged, and after took, and born away a Prize: So I, after I’d seen my Bonvile lost, (for so he was to me) resuming all the Malice of a Woman, resolved never to entertain one Thought of Love again; but lead a Life as Lapland Witches do, only on others Ruines: Then when you approached me with the hateful Sound of Love, to dash your Hopes, and put a Period to your growing Passion, I bid you kill your best and dearest Friend?

Fri. True.

Cla. Now the best Friend to one in Love, is Love it self.

Fri. O my curs’d Stars, that wrap’d me up in such a black Mistake, What have I done?

Cla. Done! Why you have done bravely, why do you tremble?

Fri. An inward Guilt lies heavy on my Soul, and Horror with all her dreadful Forms still haunts my Sight. And did you love this Bonvile?

Cla. The Queen of Beauty never doted more on her beloved Adonis than I on him.

Fri. And now as much you hate him: O the unheard-of Inconstancy of Women! All that they have is feign’d; their Teeth, their Hair, their Blushes, and their Smiles; nay their very Conscience (if any such they have) is feign’d; all counterfeit and false: Let them wash, patch and daub themselves with all the Helps for Nature that Art cou’d e’re invent, still they are Women: And let ’em rob all India of its store to adorn themselves therewith, still are they not all that thing call’d Woman: I know not what to do, for I love and hate this Creature both at once.

Cla. What ails my Friendly?

Fri. But Bonvile yet must feel his Enemies Rage; shall he succeed in Love, whilst I am cross’d in mine? No, it must not, cannot, nay it shall not be.

Cla. What will you leave me then?

Fri. Leave thee; yes, forever: Fly thee as I wou’d a Blast from Hell: Thou art thy self a Hell; thy base detested hateful Woman’s Breath infects the purest Air:

Enter Compasse new clothed, Pettifog, and two or three Men Neighbors.

Comp. Gentlemen and Neighbours, as you have been Witnesses to our Divorce, so shall ye now be Evidences to our next Meeting, which I look for every Minute.

1st Neigh. I came for that Intent, Neighbour.

Comp. I thank you: well, I do not think but you’ll all see me come off with as smooth a Forehead, and make my Wife as honest a Woman as a Man wou’d desire sometimes, I mean of her Rank; and a teeming Woman, as you know she has been: Nay, I do not think but the Child too will be found to be as lawful a Child as any Couple of unmarried People can beget.

2d Neigh. We long to see it Neighbour Compasse, that so some of us may do the like upon the same occasion.

Comp. You’re in the right, old Stitch of the World: But soft, see where she comes with a whole Bundle of as good sound Maidens as her self.

Enter Peg new cloth’d, with three or four Women Neighbours.

Stand aside a little, and mind me I pray.

Omnes. Agreed, agreed.

Comp. Good Morrow fair Maid.

Peg. In truth Sir you are mistaken in both, for I am neither fair, nor yet a Maid.

Comp. No, what are you then I pray, a Wife?

Peg. That indeed I was, but alas,—I am now a Widow.

Comp. A Widow say you? Nay then I must make bold with you; for look you, your Case is somewhat like mine, I being a Husband without a Wife.

1st Neigh. Aye neighbour, this is something like.

Pett. They begin well, let them go on.

Comp. How long have you been a Widow, good Woman? Nay pray do not weep forsooth.

Peg. I can’t choose but cry, to think of the great Loss I had.

Comp. Why, was he an honest Man?

Peg. Honest quoth a’, I vow and protest he was as honest a Man as e’re broke Bread. O I shall never have such another. [Cries out.

Comp. By my Faith now Mistress you have had a great Loss indeed, for an honest Man is not to be found every where, nor in every Street.

Pett. The Rogue’s witty.

2d Neigh. Aye, aye, let ’em go on.

Comp. And how long is it since you lost this honest Husband?

Peg. O dear, his Memory is too fresh; and the Sight of you doubles my Sorrow.

Comp. The Sight of me, say you; why, was he so like me?

Peg. As one Apple to another; your two Hands are not more alike.

Comp. Nay then I cannot blame thee to weep: An honest Man he was I warrant him; and you have had a mighty Loss, that’s the Truth on’t: But was he proportioned like me, so well limb’d, and of such a wholesom Complexion, heh!

Peg. No Twins were ever more alike.

Comp. Well I love, his Memory is still better and better: and how many Children did he leave behind him?

Peg. Only one, Sir.

Comp. A Boy or a Girl?

Peg. A dainty fine Boy, Sir.

Comp. Just my own case still; my Wife (rest her Soul) left me a Boy too, a lusty chopping Boy of his Age (as they tell me, for I never saw it).

Peg. So is mine.

Comp. And what Profession was your Husband of?

Peg. A Seaman.

Comp. Heigh! my own Faculty too! And can you like a Man of that Profession again?

Peg. Yes surely, for his dear sake, whom I lov’d so tenderly, I shall always esteem a Sailer.

Comp. Shall you so? why then here’s your Man: What say you, Is’t a Match?

Peg. Dear me, I am so ashamed, and yet to speak the Truth, I do like you hugely, and wou’d like you better still, if it were not for one thing, which a little troubles me.

Comp. What’s that?

Peg. Why, you know sometimes we are forc’d to endure the Absence of our Husbands a long while, mehappen many Years, and then if there be any Slip in us, (as long Vacations will make Lawyers hungry) the World is apt to censure and scandalize us; and brand us with wanton Living and Incontinency; when alas! if they wou’d but consider our Condition, and the mighty Longings we often naturally have for Flesh and Blood, they wou’d not blame us, so they wou’d not.

Comp. Come, come, no Matter, canst thou love me, Widow?

Peg. Ah, if I durst but speak my Mind, I know what I wou’d say.

Comp. Durst, why who do you fear? here’s none but an honest Gentleman, some few Friends and Neighbours; let them hear a God’s Name what you wou’d say, and never blush for the Matter.

1st W. Neigh. Aye, aye, speak Neighbour, pray speak your Mind, and fear not.

Peg. I shall be thought too weak to yield at first Sight.

2d W. Neigh. Paw! paw! that’s only Nicety.

Peg. Well then I do love him dearly and dearly, so I do. [Runs and kisses him.

Comp. And I thee with all my Heart and Soul. [Comp. kisses Peg. Now we’ll be merry, and have a Song, shall we not my Neighbours?

3d Neigh. Marry will we, Neighbour Luff and Mrs. Bride, will ye give us a Song?

Peg. With all my Heart, come Neighbour.

A DIALOGUE.

Com. So, so, here now shall we be Man and Wife again to Morrow, as good as ever. What thô we met as Strangers, we may happen to love ne’re the worse for all that—Gentlemen and Neighbours, I invite ye all to my Wedding.

Omnes. We’l not fail you, and wish you Joy.

Com. Did I not tell you that I would fetch it cleverly off? Let any Man call me Cuckold if he dares now.

Petti. ’Tis slander in him I assure you who-ever does.

Com. Nay it will be Petti Lacenary at least, and without Compass of the General Pardon too: And for the Child, let me hear him that dares say, I am not the Father.

Petti. Sure none will dare dispute it.

Com. Or that my Wife that is to be, is not as honest a Woman as some other Mens Wives are.

Petti. No question of that.

Com. O how fine and smooth my Brows are now!

1 M. Neigh. Aye but when you’re married, they’ll come to themselves again I warrant ye.

Com. My Friends, if you please, you may call me Mr. Bridegroom now, for the Guests are all bidden to the Wedding.

1 M. Neigh. We know it, Mr. Bridegroom, they are Indeed, and we’ll not fail you upon our Words.

Exeunt omnes.

The End of the Fourth ACT.