Part 2 — PART II. (continued 2)

La Nu. What desperate easiness have you seen in me, or what mistaken merit in your self, should make you so ridiculously vain, to think I’d give myself to such a Wretch, one fal’n even to the last degree of Poverty, whilst all the World is prostrate at my Feet, whence I might chuse the Brave, the Great, the Rich? [He stands spitefully gazing at her.

—Still as he fires, I find my Pride augment, and when he cools I burn. [Aside.

Will. Death, thou’rt a—vain, conceited, taudry Jilt, who wou’st draw me in as Rooks their Cullies do, to make me venture all my stock of Love, and then you turn me out despis’d and poor— [Offers to go.

La Nu. You think you’re gone now—

Will. Not all thy Arts nor Charms shall hold me longer.

La Nu. I must submit—and can you part thus from me?— [Pulls him.

Will. I can—nay, by Heaven, I will not turn, nor look at thee. No, when I do, or trust that faithless Tongue again—may I be—

La Nu. Oh do not swear—

Will. Ever curst— [Breaks from her, she holds him.

La Nu. You shall not go—Plague of this needless Pride, [Aside.

—stay—and I’ll follow all the dictates of my Love.

Will. Oh never hope to flatter me to faith again. [His back to her, she holding him.

La Nu. I must, I will; what wou’d you have me do?

Will. [turning softly to her.] Never—deceive me more, it may be fatal to wind me up to an impatient height, then dash my eager Hopes. [Sighing. Forgive my roughness—and be kind, La Nuche, I know thou wo’t—

La Nu. Will you then be ever kind and true?

Will. Ask thy own Charms, and to confirm thee more, yield and disarm me quite.

La Nu. Will you not marry then? for tho you never can be mine that way, I cannot think that you should be another’s.

Will. No more delays, by Heaven, ’twas but a trick.

La Nu. And will you never see that Woman neither, whom you’re this Night to visit?

Will. Damn all the rest of thy weak Sex, when thou look’st thus, and art so soft and charming. [Offers to lead her out.

La Nu. Sancho—my Coach. [Turns in scorn.

Will. Take heed, what mean ye?

La Nu. Not to be pointed at by all the envying Women of the Town, who’l laugh and cry, Is this the high-priz’d Lady, now fall’n so low, to doat upon a Captain? a poor disbanded Captain? defend me from that Infamy.

Will. Now all the Plagues—but yet I will not curse thee, ’tis lost on thee, for thou art destin’d damn’d. [Going out.

La Nu. Whither so fast?

Will. Why,—I am so indifferent grown, that I can tell thee now—to a Woman, young, fair and honest; she’ll be kind and thankful—farewel, Jilt—now should’st thou die for one sight more of me, thou should’st not ha’t; nay, should’st thou sacrifice all thou hast couzen’d other Coxcombs of, to buy one single visit, I am so proud, by Heaven, thou shouldst not have it—To grieve thee more, see here, insatiate Woman [Shews her a Purse or hands full of Gold] the Charm that makes me lovely in thine Eyes: it had all been thine hadst thou not basely bargain’d with me, now ’tis the Prize of some well-meaning Whore, whose Modesty will trust my Generosity. [Goes out.

La Nu. Now I cou’d rave, t’have lost an opportunity which industry nor chance can give again—when on the yielding point, a cursed fit of Pride comes cross my Soul, and stops the kind Career—I’ll follow him, yes I’ll follow him, even to the Arms of her to whom he’s gone.

Aur. Madam, ’tis dark, and we may meet with Insolence.

La Nu. No matter: Sancho, let the Coach go home, and do you follow me—

Women may boast their Honour and their Pride,

But Love soon lays those feebler Powr’s aside. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Scene I. The Street, or Backside of the Piazza dark.

Enter Willmore alone.

Will. A Pox upon this Woman that has jilted me, and I for being a fond believing Puppy to be in earnest with so great a Devil. Where be these Coxcombs too? this Blunt and Fetherfool? when a Man needs ’em not, they are plaguing him with their unseasonable Jests—could I but light on them, I would be very drunk to night—but first I’ll try my Fortune with this Woman—let me see—hereabouts is the Door. [Gropes about for the Door.

Enter Beaumond, follow’d by La Nuche, and Sancho.

La Nu. ’Tis he, I know it by his often and uneasy pauses—

Beau. And shall I home and sleep upon my injury, whilst this more happy Rover takes my right away?—no, damn me then for a cold senseless Coward. [Pauses and pulls out a Key.

Will. This Damsel, by the part o’th’ Town she lives in, shou’d be of Quality, and therefore can have no dishonest design on me, it must be right down substantial Love, that’s certain.

Beau. Yet I’ll in and arm my self for the Encounter, for ’twill be rough between us, tho we’re Friends. [Groping about, finds the Door.

Will. Oh, ’tis this I’m sure, because the Door is open.

Beau. Hah—who’s there?— [Beau. advances to unlock the Door, runs against Will. draws.

Will. That Voice is of Authority, some Husband, Lover, or a Brother, on my Life—this is a Nation of a word and a blow, therefore I’ll betake me to Toledo— [Draws.

[Willmore in drawing hits his Sword against that of Beaumond, who turns and fights, La Nuche runs into the Garden frighted.

Beau. Hah, are you there?

Sanc. I’ll draw in defence of the Captain— [Sancho fights for Beau. and beats out Will.

Will. Hah, two to one? [Turns and goes in.

Beau. The Garden Door clapt to; sure he’s got in; nay, then I have him sure.

The Scene changes to a Garden, La Nuche in it, to her Beau. who takes hold of her sleeve.

La Nu. Heavens, where am I?

Beau. Hah—a Woman! and by these Jewels—should be Ariadne. [feels.] ’Tis so! Death, are all Women false? [She struggles to get away, he holds her.

—Oh,’tis in vain thou fly’st, thy Infamy will stay behind thee still.

La Nu. Hah, ’tis Beaumond’s Voice!—Now for an Art to turn the trick upon him; I must not lose his Friendship. [Aside.

Enter Willmore softly, peeping behind.

Will. What a Devil have we here, more Mischief yet;—hah—my Woman with a Man—I shall spoil all—I ever had an excellent knack of doing so.

Beau. Oh Modesty, where art thou? Is this the effect of all your put on Jealousy, that Mask to hide your own new falshood in? New!—by Heaven, I believe thou’rt old in cunning, that couldst contrive, so near thy Wedding-night, this, to deprive me of the Rites of Love.

La Nu. Hah, what says he? [Aside.

Will. How, a Maid, and young, and to be marry’d too! a rare Wench this to contrive Matters so conveniently: Oh, for some Mischief now to send him neatly off. [Aside.

Beau. Now you are silent; but you could talk to day loudly of Virtue, and upbraid my Vice: oh how you hated a young keeping Husband, whom neither Beauty nor Honour in a Wife cou’d oblige to reason—oh, damn your Honour, ’tis that’s the sly pretence of all your domineering insolent Wives—Death—what didst thou see in me, should make thee think that I would be a tame contented Cuckold? [Going, she holds him.

La Nu. I must not lose this lavish loving Fool— [Aside.

Will. So, I hope he will be civil and withdraw, and leave me in possession—

Beau. No, tho my Fortune should depend on thee; nay, all my hope of future happiness—by Heaven, I scorn to marry thee, unless thou couldst convince me thou wer’t honest—a Whore!—Death, how it cools my Blood—

Will. And fires mine extremely—

La Nu. Nay, then I am provok’d tho I spoil all— [Aside.

And is a Whore a thing so much despis’d? Turn back, thou false forsworn—turn back, and blush at thy mistaken folly. [He stands amaz’d.

Beau. La Nuche!

Enter Aria. peeping, advancing cautiously undrest, Luc. following.

Aria. Oh, he is here—Lucia, attend me in the Orange-grove— [Ex. Lucia.

Hah, a Woman with him!

Will. Hum—what have we here? another Damsel?—she’s gay too, and seems young and handsom—sure one of these will fall to my share; no matter which, so I am sure of one.

La Nu. Who’s silent now? are you struck dumb with Guilt? thou shame to noble Love; thou scandal to all brave Debauchery, thou Fop of Fortune; thou slavish Heir to Estate and Wife, born rich and damn’d to Matrimony.

Will. Egad, a noble Wench—I am divided yet.

La Nu. Thou formal Ass disguis’d in generous Leudness, see—when the Vizor’s off, how sneakingly that empty form appears—Nay ’tis thy own—Make much on’t, marry with it, and be damn’d. [Offers to go.

Will. I hope she’ll beat him for suspecting her. [He holds her, she turns.

Aria. Hah—who the Devil can these be?

La Nu. What silly honest Fool did you mistake me for? what senseless modest thing? Death, am I grown so despicable? have I deserv’d no better from thy Love than to be taken for a virtuous Changeling?

Will. Egad, ’twas an Affront. [Aside.

La Nu. I’m glad I’ve found thee out to be an errant Coxcomb, one that esteems a Woman for being chaste forsooth! ’Sheart, I shall have thee call me pious shortly, a most—religious Matron!

Will. Egad, she has reason— [Aside.

Beau. Forgive me—for I took ye—for another. [Sighing.

La Nu. Oh did you so? it seems you keep fine Company the while—Death, that I should e’er be seen with such a vile Dissembler, with one so vain, so dull and so impertinent, as can be entertain’d by honest Women!

Will. A Heavenly Soul, and to my Wish, were I but sure of her.

Beau. Oh you do wondrous well t’accuse me first! yes, I am a Coxcomb—a confounded one, to doat upon so false a Prostitute; nay to love seriously, and tell it too: yet such an amorous Coxcomb I was born, to hate the Enjoyment of the loveliest Woman, without I have the Heart: the fond soft Prattle, and the lolling Dalliance, the Frowns, the little Quarrels, and the kind Degrees of making Peace again, are Joys which I prefer to all the sensual, whilst I endeavour to forget the Whore, and pay my Vows to Wit, to Youth and Beauty.

Aria. Now hang me, if it be not Beaumond.

Beau. Would any Devil less than common Woman have serv’d me as thou didst? say, was not this my Night? my paid for Night? my own by right of Bargain, and by Love? and hast not thou deceiv’d me for a Stranger?

Will. So—make me thankful, then she will be kind. [Hugs himself.

Beau. —Was this done like a Whore of Honour think ye? and would not such an Injury make me forswear all Joys of Womankind, and marry in mere spite?

La Nu. Why where had been the Crime had I been kind?

Beau. Thou dost confess it then.

La Nu. Why not?

Beau. Those Bills of Love the oftner paid and drawn, make Women better Merchants than Lovers.

La Nu. And ’tis the better Trade.

Will. Oh Pox, there she dasht all again. I find they calm upon’t, and will agree, therefore I’ll bear up to this small Frigate and lay her aboard. [Goes to Ariadne.

La Nu. However I’m glad the Vizor’s off; you might have fool’d me on, and sworn I was the only Conqueror of your Heart, had not Good-nature made me follow you, to undeceive your false Suspicions of me: How have you sworn never to marry? how rail’d at Wives, and satir’d Fools oblig’d to Wedlock? And now at last, to thy eternal Shame, thou hast betray’d thy self to be a most pernicious honourable Lover, a perjur’d—honest—nay, a very Husband. [Turns away, he holds her.

Aria. Hah, sure ’tis the Captain.

Will. Prithee, Child, let’s leave ’em to themselves, they’l agree matters I’ll warrant them when they are alone; and let us try how Love and Good-nature will provide for us.

Aria. Sure he cannot know me?—Us!—pray who are you, and who am I?

Will. Why look ye, Child, I am a very honest civil Fellow, for my part, and thou’rt a Woman for thine; and I desire to know no more at present.

Aria. ’Tis he, and knows not me to be the same he appointed to day—Sir, pursue that Path on your right Hand, that Grove of Orange-Trees, and I’ll follow you immediately.

Will. Kind and civil—prithee make haste, dear Child. [Exit. Will.

Beau. And did you come to call me back again? [Lovingly.

La Nu. No matter, you are to be marry’d, Sir—

Beau. No more, ’tis true, to please my Uncle, I have talk’d of some such thing; but I’ll pursue it no farther, so thou wilt yet be mine, and mine intirely—I hate this Ariadne—for a Wife—by Heaven I do.

Aria. A very plain Confession. [Claps him on the back.

Beau. Ariadne!

La Nu. I’m glad of this, now I shall be rid of him. [Aside.] —How is’t, Sir? I see you struggle hard ’twixt Love and Honour, and I’ll resign my Place— [Offers to go, Ariadne pulls her back.

Aria. Hold, if she take him not away, I shall disappoint my Man—faith, I’ll not be out-done in Generosity. [Gives him to La Nuche.

Here—Love deserves him best—and I resign him—Pox on’t I’m honest, tho that’s no fault of mine; ’twas Fortune who has made a worse Exchange, and you and I should suit most damnably together. [To Beau.

Beau. I am sure there’s something in the Wind, she being in the Garden, and the Door left open. [Aside.] —Yes, I believe you are willing enough to part with me, when you expect another you like better.

Aria. I’m glad I was before-hand with you then.

Beau. Very good, and the Door was left open to give admittance to a Lover.

Aria. ’Tis visible it was to let one in to you, false as you are.

La Nu. Faith, Madam, you mistake my Constitution, my Beauty and my Business is only to be belov’d not to love; I leave that Slavery for you Women of Quality, who must invite, or die without the Blessing; for likely the Fool you make choice of wants Wit or Confidence to ask first; you are fain to whistle before the Dogs will fetch and carry, and then too they approach by stealth: and having done the Drudgery, the submissive Curs are turn’d out for fear of dirtying your Apartment, or that the Mungrils should scandalize ye; whilst all my Lovers of the noble kind throng to adore and fill my Presence daily, gay as if each were triumphing for Victory.

Aria. Ay this is something; what a poor sneaking thing an honest Woman is!

La Nu. And if we chance to love still, there’s a difference, your Hours of Love are like the Deeds of Darkness, and mine like cheerful Birds in open Day.

Aria. You may, you have no Honour to lose.

La Nu. Or if I had, why should I double the Sin by Hypocrisy? [Lucia squeaks within, crying, help, help.

Aria. Heavens, that’s Lucia’s Voice.

Beau. Hah, more caterwauling?

Enter Lucia in haste.

Luc. Oh, Madam, we’re undone; and, Sir, for Heaven’s sake do you retire.

Beau. What’s the matter?

Luc. Oh you have brought the most villainous mad Friend with you—he found me sitting on a Bank—and did so ruffle me.

Aria. Death, she takes Beaumond for the Stranger, and will ruin me.

Luc. Nay, made love so loud, that my Lord your Father-in-law, who was in his Cabinet, heard us from the Orange-Grove, and has sent to search the Garden—and should he find a Stranger with you—do but you retire, Sir, and all’s well yet. [To Beaumond.

Aria. The Devil’s in her Tongue. [Aside.

Luc. For if Mr. Beaumond be in the House, we shall have the Devil to do with his Jealousy.

Aria. So, there ’tis out.

Beau. She takes me for another—I am jilted every where—what Friend?—I brought none with me.—Madam, do you retire— [To La Nuche.

La Nu. Glad of my Freedom too— [Goes out.

[A clashing of Swords within. Enter Willm. fighting, prest back by three or four Men, and Abevile, Aria. and Luc. run out.

Beau. Hah, set on by odds; hold, tho thou be’st my Rival, I will free thee, on condition thou wilt meet me to morrow morning in the Piazza by day break. [Puts himself between their Swords, and speaks to Will. Aside.

Will. By Heaven I’ll do it.

Beau. Retire in safety then, you have your pass.

Abev. Fall on, fall on, the number is increas’d. [Fall on Beau.

Beau. Rascals, do you not know me? [Falls in with ’em and beats them back, and goes out with them.

Will. Nay, and you be so well acquainted, I’ll leave you—unfortunate still I am; my own well meaning, but ill Management, is my eternal Foe: Plague on ’em, they have wounded me—yet not one drop of Blood’s departed from me that warm’d my Heart for Woman, and I’m not willing to quit this Fairy-ground till some kind Devil have been civil to me.

Enter Ariadne and Lucia.

Aria. I say, ’tis he: thou’st made so many dull Mistakes to Night, thou darest not trust thy Senses when they’re true—How do you, Sir?

Will. That Voice has Comfort in’t, for ’tis a Woman’s: hah, more Interruption?

Aria. A little this way, Sir. [Ex. Aria, and Will. into the Garden.

Enter Beaumond, Abevile in a submissive Posture.

Beau. No more excuses—By all these Circumstances, I know this Ariadne is a Gipsy. What difference then beween a money-taking Mistress and her that gives her Love? only perhaps this sins the closer by’t, and talks of Honour more: What Fool wou’d be a Slave to empty Name, or value Woman for dissembling well? I’ll to La Nuche—the honester o’th’ two—Abevile—get me my Musick ready, and attend me at La Nuche’s. [Ex. severally.

Luc. He’s gone, and to his Mistress too.

Enter Ariadne pursu’d by Willmore.

Will. My little Daphne, ’tis in vain to fly, unless like her, you cou’d be chang’d into a Tree: Apollo’s self pursu’d not with more eager Fire than I. [Holds her.

Aria. Will you not grant a Parly e’er I yield?

Will. I’m better at a Storm.

Aria. Besides, you’re wounded too.

Will. Oh leave those Wounds of Honour to my Surgeon, thy Business is to cure those of Love. Your true bred Soldier ever fights with the more heat for a Wound or two.

Aria. Hardly in Venus’ Wars.

Will. Her self ne’er thought so when she snatcht her Joys between the rough Encounters of the God of War. Come, let’s pursue the Business we came for: See the kind Night invites, and all the ruffling Winds are husht and still, only the Zephirs spread their tender Wings, courting in gentle Murmurs the gay Boughs; ’twas in a Night like this, Diana taught the Mysteries of Love to the fair Boy Endymion. I am plaguy full of History and Simile to night.

Aria. You see how well he far’d for being modest.

Will. He might be modest, but ’twas not over-civil to put her Goddessship to asking first; thou seest I’m better bred—Come let’s haste to silent Grots that attend us, dark Groves where none can see, and murmuring Fountains.

Aria. Stay, let me consider first, you are a Stranger, inconstant too as Island Winds, and every day are fighting for your Mistresses, of which you’ve had at least four since I saw you first, which is not a whole day.

Will. I grant ye, before I was a Lover I ran at random, but I’ll take up now, be a patient Man, and keep to one Woman a Month.

Aria. A Month!

Will. And a fair Reason, Child; time was, I wou’d have worn one Shirt, or one pair of Shoos so long as have let the Sun set twice upon the same Sin: but see the Power of Love; thou hast bewitched me, that’s certain.

Aria. Have a care of giving me the ascendent over ye, for fear I make ye marry me.

Will. Hold, I bar that cast, Child; no, I’m none of those Spirits that can be conjur’d into a Wedding-ring, and dance in the dull matrimonial Circle all my Days.

Aria. But what think you of a hundred thousand Crowns, and a Beauty of sixteen?

Will. As of most admirable Blessings: but harkye, Child, I am plaguily afraid thou’rt some scurvy honest thing of Quality by these odd Questions of thine, and hast some wicked Design upon my Body.

Aria. What, to have and to hold I’ll warrant.—No Faith, Sir, Maids of my Quality expect better Jointures than a Buff-coat, Scarf and Feather: such Portions as mine are better Ornaments in a Family than a Captain and his Commission.

Will. Why well said, now thou hast explain’d thy self like a Woman of Honour—Come, come, let’s away.

Aria. Explain my self! How mean ye?

Will. —Thou say’st I am not fit to marry thee—and I believe this Assignation was not made to tell me so, nor yet to hear me whistle to the Birds.

Aria. Faith no, I saw you, lik’d ye, and had a mind to ye.

Will. Ay, Child—

Aria. In short, I took ye for a Man of Honour.

Will. Nay, if I tell the Devil take me.

Aria. I am a Virgin in Distress.

Will. Poor Heart.

Aria. To be marry’d within a Day or two to one I like not.

Will. Hum—and therefore wouldst dispose of a small Virgin Treasure (too good for silly Husbands) in a Friend’s Hands: faith, Child—I was ever a good religious charitable Christian, and shall acquit my self as honestly and piously in this Affair as becomes a Gentleman.

Enter Abevile with Musick.

Abev. Come away, are ye all arm’d for the Business?

Aria. Hah, arm’d! we are surpriz’d again.

Will. Fear not. [Draws.

Aria. Oh God, Sir, haste a way, you are already wounded: but I conjure you, as a Man of Honour, be here at the Garden Gate to night again, and bring a Friend, in case of Danger, with you; and if possible I’ll put my self into your Hands, for this Night’s Work has ruin’d me— [Speaking quick, and pushing him forwards runs off.

Abev. My Master sure not gone yet— [Peeping advancing.

Will. Rascals, tho you are odds, you’ll find hot Work in vanquishing. [Falls on ’em.

Abev. Hold, Sir, I am your Page. Do you not know me? and these the Musick you commanded—shall I carry ’em where you order’d, Sir?

Will. They take me for some other, this was lucky. [Aside.] O, aye—’tis well—I’ll follow—but whither?—Plague of my dull Mistakes, the Woman’s gone—yet stay— [Calls ’em.

For now I think on’t, this Mistake may help me to another—stay—I must dispose of this mad Fire about me, which all these Disappointments cannot lay—Oh for some young kind Sinner in the nick—How I cou’d souse upon her like a Bird of Prey, and worry her with Kindness. [Aside.] —Go on, I follow. [Exeunt.

Scene changes to La Nuche’s House.

Enter Petronella and Aurelia with Light.

Aur. Well, the Stranger is in Bed, and most impatiently expects our Patrona, who is not yet returned.

Pet. Curse of this Love! I know she’s in pursuit of this Rover, this English Piece of Impudence; Pox on ’em, I know nothing good in the whole Race of ’em, but giving all to their Shirts when they’re drunk. What shall we do, Aurelia? This Stranger must not be put off, nor Carlo neither, who has fin’d again as if for a new Maidenhead.

Aur. You are so covetous, you might have put ’em off, but now ’tis too late.

Pet. Put off! Are these Fools to be put off think ye? a fine Fop Englishman, and an old doating Grandee?—No, I cou’d put the old trick on ’em still, had she been here but to have entertain’d ’em: but hark, one knocks, ’tis Carlo on my Life—

Enter Carlo, gives Petronella Gold.

Car. Let this plead for me.

Pet. Sweet Don, you are the most eloquent Person.

Car. I would regale to night—I know it is not mine, but I’ve sent five hundred Crowns to purchase it, because I saw another bargaining for’t; and Persons of my Quality must not be refus’d: you apprehend me.

Pet. Most rightly—that was the Reason then she came so out of Humour home—and is gone to Bed in such a sullen Fit.

Car. To Bed, and all alone! I would surprize her there. Oh how it pleases me to think of stealing into her Arms like a fine Dream, Wench, hah.

Aur. ’Twill be a pleasant one, no doubt.

Pet. He lays the way out how he’ll be cozen’d. [Aside.] —The Seigniora perhaps may be angry, Sir, but I’ll venture that to accommodate you; and that you may surprize her the more readily, be pleased to stay in my Chamber, till you think she may be asleep.

Car. Thou art a perfect Mistress of thy Trade.

Pet. So, now will I to the Seigniora’s Bed my self, drest and perfum’d, and finish two good Works at once; earn five hundred Crowns, and keep up the Honour of the House. [Aside.] —Softly, sweet Don. [Lights him out.

Aur. And I will do two more good things, and disappoint your Expectations; jilt the young English Fool, and have old Carlo well bang’d, if t’other have any Courage.

Enter La Nuche in Rage, and Sancho.

La Nu. Aurelia, help, help me to be reveng’d upon this wretched unconsidering Heart.

Aur. Heavens, have you made the Rover happy, Madam?

La Nu. Oh wou’d I had! or that or any Sin wou’d change this Rage into some easier Passion: Sickness and Poverty, Disgrace and Pity, all met in one, were kinder than this Love, this raging Fire of a proud amorous Heart.

Enter Petronella.

Pet. Heavens, what’s the matter?

Aur. Here’s Petronella, dissemble but your Rage a little.

La Nu. Damn all dissembling now, it is too late— The Tyrant Love reigns absolute within, And I am lost, Aurelia.

Pet. How, Love! forbid it Heaven! will Love maintain ye?

La Nu. Curse on your Maxims, will they ease my Heart? Can your wise Counsel fetch me back my Rover?

Pet. Hah, your Rover, a Pox upon him.

La Nu. He’s gone—gone to the Arms of some gay generous Maid, who nobly follows Love’s diviner Dictates, whilst I ’gainst Nature studying thy dull Precepts, and to be base and infamously rich, have barter’d all the Joys of human Life—Oh give me Love: I will be poor and love.

Pet. She’s lost—but hear me—

La Nu. I won’t, from Childhood thou hast trained me up in Cunning, read Lectures to me of the use of Man, but kept me from the knowledge of the Right; taught me to jilt, to flatter and deceive: and hard it was to learn th’ ungrateful Lessons. But oh how soon plain Nature taught me Love, and shew’d me all the cheat of thy false Tenents—No—give me Love with any other Curse.

Pet. But who will give you that when you are poor? when you are wretchedly despis’d and poor?

La Nu. Hah!

Pet. Do you not daily see fine Clothes, rich Furniture, Jewels and Plate are more inviting than Beauty unadorn’d? be old, diseas’d, deform’d, be any thing, so you be rich and splendidly attended, you’ll find your self lov’d and ador’d by all—But I’m an old fool still—Well, Petronella, had’st thou been half as industrious in thy Youth as in thy Age—thou hadst not come to this. [Weeps.

La Nu. She’s in the right.

Pet. What can this mad poor Captain do for you, love you whilst you can buy him Breeches, and then leave you? A Woman has a sweet time on’t with any Soldier-Lover of ’em all, with their Iron Minds, and Buff Hearts; feather’d Inamorato’s have nothing that belongs to Love but his Wings, the Devil clip ’em for Petronella.

La Nu. True—he can ne’er be constant. [Pausing.

Pet. Heaven forbid he should! No, if you are so unhappy as that you must have him, give him a Night or two and pay him for’t, and send him to feed again: But for your Heart, ’Sdeath, I would as soon part with my Beauty, or Youth, and as necessary a Tool ’tis for your Trade—A Curtezan and love! but all my Counsel’s thrown away upon ye. [Weeps.

La Nu. No more, I will be rul’d—I will be wise, be rich; and since I must yield somewhere, and some time, Beaumond shall be the Man, and this the Night; he’s handsom, young, and lavishly profuse: This Night he comes, and I’ll submit to Interest. Let the gilded Apartment be made ready, and strew it o’er with Flowers, adorn my Bed of State; let all be fine; perfume my Chamber like the Phœnix’s Nest, I’ll be luxurious in my Pride to Night, and make the amorous prodigal Youth my Slave.

Pet. Nobly resolv’d! and for these other two who wait your coming, let me alone to manage. [Goes out.

Scene changes to a Chamber, discovers Fetherfool in Bed.

Feth. This Gentlewoman is plaguy long in coming:—some Nicety now, some perfum’d Smock, or Point Night-Clothes to make her more lovely in my Eyes: Well, these Women are right City Cooks, they stay so long to garnish the Dish, till the Meat be cold—but hark, the Door opens.

Enter Carlo softly, half undrest.

Car. This Wench stays long, and Love’s impatient; this is the Chamber of La Nuche, I take it: If she be awake, I’ll let her know who I am; if not, I’ll steal a Joy before she thinks of it.

Feth. Sure ’tis she, pretty modest Rogue, she comes i’th’ dark to hide her Blushes—hum, I’m plaguy eloquent o’th’ sudden—who’s there? [Whispering.

Car. ’Tis I, my Love.

Feth. Hah, sweet Soul, make haste.—There ’twas again.

Car. So kind, sure she takes me for some other, or has some inkling of my Design— [To himself.

Where are you, Sweetest?

Feth. Here, my Love, give me your Hand— [Puts out his Hand; Carlo kneels and kisses it.

Car. Here let me worship the fair Shrine before I dare approach so fair a Saint. [Kisses the Hand.

Feth. Hah, what a Pox have we here?—wou’d I were well out o’ t’other side—perhaps—’tis her Husband, and then I’m a dead Man, if I’m discover’d. [Removes to t’other side, Carlo holds his Hand.

Car. Nay, do not fly—I know you took me for some happier Person. [Feth. struggles, Car. rises and takes him in his Arms, and kisses him.

Feth. What, will you ravish me? [In a shrill Voice.

Car. Hah, that Voice is not La Nuche’s—Lights there, Lights.

Feth. Nay, I can hold a bearded Venus, Sir, as well as any Man. [Holds Carlo.

Car. What art thou, Rogue, Villain, Slave? [They fall to Cuffs, and fight till they are bloody, fall from the Bed and fight on the Floor.

Enter Petronella, Sancho, and Aurelia.

Pet. Heaven, what noise is this?—we are undone, part ’em, Sancho. [They part ’em.

Feth. Give me my Sword; nay, give me but a Knife, that I may cut yon Fellow’s Throat—

Car. Sirrah, I’m a Grandee, and a Spaniard, and will be reveng’d.

Feth. And I’m an English-man, and a Justice, and will have Law, Sir.

Pet. Say ’tis her Husband, or any thing to get him hence. [Aside to Sancho, who whispers him.

These English, Sir, are Devils, and on my Life ’tis unknown to the Seigniora that he’s i’th’ House. [To Carlo aside.

Car. Come, I’m abus’d, but I must put it up for fear of my Honour; a Statesman’s Reputation is a tender thing: Convey me out the back way. I’ll be reveng’d. [Goes out.

Feth. (Aurelia whispers to him aside.) How, her Husband! Prithee convey me out; my Clothes, my Clothes, quickly—

Aur. Out, Sir! he has lock’d the Door, and designs to have ye murder’d.

Feth. Oh, gentle Soul—take pity on me—where, oh what shall I do?—my Clothes, my Sword and Money.

Aur. Quickly, Sancho, tie a Sheet to the Window, and let him slide down by that—Be speedy, and we’ll throw your Clothes out after ye. Here, follow me to the Window.

Feth. Oh, any whither, any whither. That I could not be warn’d from whoring in a strange Country, by my Friend Ned Blunt’s Example—if I can but keep it secret now, I care not. [Exeunt.

Scene, the Street, a Sheet tyd to the Balcony, and Feth. sitting cross to slide down.

Feth. So—now your Neck, or your Throat, chuse ye either, wise Mr. Nicholas Fetherfool—But stay, I hear Company. Now dare not I budg an Inch.

Enter Beaumond alone.

Beau. Where can this Rascal, my Page, be all this while? I waited in the Piazza so long, that I believed he had mistook my Order, and gone directly to La Nuche’s House—but here’s no sign of him—

Feth. Hah—I hear no noise, I’ll venture down. [Goes halfway down and stops.

Enter Abevile, Harlequin, Musick and Willmore.

Will. Whither will this Boy conduct me?—but since to a Woman, no matter whither ’tis.

Feth. Hah, more Company; now dare not I stir up nor down, they may be Bravoes to cut my Throat.

Beau. Oh sure these are they—

Will. Come, my Heart, lose no time, but tune your Pipes. [Harlequin plays on his Guittar, and sings.

Beau. How, sure this is some Rival. [Goes near and listens.

Will. Harkye, Child, hast thou ne’er an amorous Ditty, short and sweet, hah—

Abev. Shall I not sing that you gave me, Sir?

Will. I shall spoil all with hard Questions—Ay, Child—that that. [Abev. sings, Beau. listens, and seems angry the while.

SONG.

A Pox upon this needless Scorn!

Silvia, for shame the Cheat give o’er;

The end to which the fair are born,

Is not to keep their Charms in store,

But lavishly dispose in haste,

Of Joys—which none but Youth improve;

Joys which decay when Beauty’s past:

And who when Beauty’s past will love?

When Age those Glories shall deface,

Revenging all your cold Disdain,

And Silvia shall neglected pass,

By every once admiring Swain;

And we can only Pity pay,

When you in vain too late shall burn:

If Love increase, and Youth delay,

Ah, Silvia, who will make return?

Then haste, my Silvia, to the Grove,

Where all the Sweets of May conspire,

To teach us every Art of Love,

And raise our Charms of Pleasure higher;

Where, whilst imbracing we should lie

Loosely in Shades, on Banks of Flowers:

The duller World whilst we defy,

Years will be Minutes, Ages Hours.

Beau. ’Sdeath, that’s my Page’s Voice: Who the Devil is’t that ploughs with my Heifer!

Aur. Don Henrick, Don Henrick— [The Door opens, Beau. goes up to’t; Will. puts him by, and offers to go in, he pulls him back.

Will. How now, what intruding Slave art thou?

Beau. What Thief art thou that basely, and by dark, rob’st me of all my Rights? [Strikes him, they fight, and Blows light on Fetherfool who hangs down.

[Sancho throws Fetherfool’s Clothes out, Harlequintakes ’em up in confusion; they fight out Beaumond, all go off, but Will. gets into the House: Harlequin and Feth. remain. Feth. gets down, runs against Harlequin in the dark, both seem frighted.

Harl. Que questo.

Feth. Ay, un pouer dead Home, murder’d, kill’d.

Harl. (In Italian.) You are the first dead Man I ever saw walk.

Feth. Hah, Seignior Harlequin!

Harl. Seignior Nicholas!

Feth. A Pox Nicholas ye, I have been mall’d and beaten within doors, and hang’d and bastinado’d without doors, lost my Clothes, my Money, and all my Moveables; but this is nothing to the Secret taking Air. Ah, dear Seignior, convey me to the Mountebanks, there I may have Recruit and Cure under one.

ACT V.

Scene I. A Chamber.

La Nuche on a Couch in an Undress, Willmore at her Feet, on his Knees, all unbraced: his Hat, Sword, &c. on the Table, at which she is dressing her Head.

La Nu. You can be soft I find, when you wou’d conquer absolutely.

Will. But Love and Fortune both were on my side—Come, come to Bed—consider nought but Love— [They going out, one knocks.

La Nu. Hark!

Beau. (without.) By Heav’n I will have entrance.

Will. Hah, retire!

La Nu. Heavens, here will be murder done—he must not see him. [As Beau. breaks open the Door, she runs away with the Candle, they are by dark, Beau. enters with his Sword drawn.

Will. What art thou?

Beau. A Man. [They fight.

Enter Petron. with Light, La Nuche following, Beau. runs to her.

Will. Beaumond!

Beau. Willmore! Is it with thee I must tug for Empire? For I lay claim to all this World of Beauty. [Takes La Nuche, looking with scorn on Willmore.

La Nu. Heavens, how got this Ruffian in?

Will. Hold, hold, dear Harry, lay no Hands on her till thou can’st make thy Claim good.

Beau. She’s mine, by Bargain mine, and that’s sufficient.

Will. In Law perhaps, it may for ought I know, but ’tis not so in Love: but thou’rt my Friend, and I’ll therefore give thee fair Play—if thou canst win her take her: But a Sword and a Mistress are not to be lost, if a Man can keep ’em.

Will. Nay, if thou didst forbid her loving me, I have her sure.

La Nu. See, Sir—here’s a much fairer Chapman—you may be gone— [To Will.

Will. Faith, and so there is, Child, for me, I carry all about me, and that by Heaven is thine: I’ll settle all upon thee, but my Sword, and that will buy us Bread. I’ve two led Horses too, one thou shalt manage, and follow me thro Dangers.

La Nu. A very hopeful comfortable Life;

No, I was made for better Exercises.

Will. Why, every thing in its turn, Child, yet a Man’s but a Man.

Beau. No more, but if thou valuest her,

Leave her to Ease and Plenty.

La Nu. If it were so, you should not dare believe it— [Angrily turns away, he kneels and holds her.

—But hark ye, Friend, this is not fair; ’tis drawing Sharps on a Man that’s only arm’d with the defensive Cudgel, I’m for no such dead doing Arguments; if thou art for me, Child, it must be without the folly, for better for worse; there’s a kind of Nonsense in that Vow Fools only swallow.

La Nu. But when I’ve worn out all my Youth and Beauty, and suffer’d every ill of Poverty, I shall be compell’d to begin the World again without a Stock to set up with. No faith, I’m for a substantial Merchant in Love, who can repay the loss of Time and Beauty; with whom to make one thriving Voyage sets me up for ever, and I need never put to Sea again. [Comes to Beau.

Beau. Nor be expos’d to Storms of Poverty, the Indies shall come to thee—See here—this is the Merchandize my Love affords. [Gives her a Pearl, and Pendants of Diamond.

La Nu. Look ye, Sir, will not these Pearls do better round my Neck, than those kind Arms of yours? these Pendants in my Ears, than all the Tales of Love you can whisper there?

Will. So—I am deceiv’d—deal on for Trash—and barter all thy Joys of Life for Baubles—this Night presents me one Adventure more—I’ll try thee once again, inconstant Fortune; and if thou fail’st me then—I will forswear thee [Aside.] Death, hadst thou lov’d my Friend for his own Value, I had esteem’d thee; but when his Youth and Beauty cou’d not plead, to be the mercenary Conquest of his Presents, was poor, below thy Wit: I cou’d have conquer’d so, but I scorn thee at that rate—my Purse shall never be my Pimp—Farewel, Harry.

Beau. Thou’st sham’d me out of Folly—stay—

Will. Faith—I have an Assignation with a Woman—a Woman Friend! young as the infant-day, and sweet as Roses e’er the Morning Sun have kiss’d their Dew away. She will not ask me Money neither.

La Nu. Hah! stay— [Holds him, and looks on him.

Beau. She loves him, and her Eyes betray her Heart.

Will. I am not for your turn, Child—Death, I shall lose my Mistress fooling here—I must be gone. [She holds him, he shakes his Head and sings.

No, no, I will not hire your Bed,

Nor Tenant to your Favours be;

I will not farm your White and Red,

You shall not let your Love to me:

I court a Mistress—not a Landlady. [bis.

Beau. He’s in the right; and shall I waste my Youth and powerful Fortune on one who all this while has jilted me, seeing I was a lavish loving Fool?—No—this Soul and Body shall not be divided— [Gives her to Will.

Will. I am so much thy Friend, another time I might be drawn to take a bad Bargain off thy Hands—but I have other Business at present: wo’t do a kind thing, Harry,—lend me thy Aid to carry off my Woman to night? ’tis hard by in the Piazza, perhaps we may find Resistance.

Beau. My self and Sword are yours. I have a Chair waits below too, may do you Service.

Will. I thank ye—Madam—your Servant.

La Nu. Left by both!

Beau. You see our Affairs are pressing. [Bows, and smiles carelesly. Ex. Will. singing, and Beau.

La Nu. Gone! where’s all your Power, ye poor deluded Eyes? Curse on your feeble Fires, that cannot warm a Heart which every common Beauty kindles. Oh—he is gone for ever.

Enter Petronella.

Pet. Yes, he is gone, to your eternal Ruin: not all the Race of Men cou’d have produc’d so bountiful and credulous a Fool.

La Nu. No, never; fetch him back, my Petronella: Bring me my wild Inconstant, or I die— [Puts her out.

Pet. The Devil fetch him back for Petronella, is’t he you mean? you’ve had too much of him; a Curse upon him, he’as ruin’d you.

La Nu. He has, he shall, he must compleat my ruin.

Pet. She raves, the Rogue has given her a Spanish Philtre.

La Nu. My Coach, my Veil—or let ’em all alone; undrest thus loosely to the Winds commit me to darkness, and no Guide but pitying Cupid. [Going out, Pet. holds her.

Pet. What, are you mad?

La Nu. As Winds let loose, or Storms when they rage high. [Goes out.

Pet. She’s lost, and I’ll shift for my self, seize all her Money and Jewels, of which I have the Keys; and if Seignior Mountebank keeps his Word, be transform’d to Youth and Beauty again, and undo this La Nuche at her own Trade— [Goes in.

Scene II. The Street.

Enter Willmore, Beaumond, Chair following.

Will. Set down the Chair; you’re now within call, I’ll to the Garden-Door, and see if any Lady Bright appear—Dear Beaumond, stay here a minute, and if I find occasion, I’ll give you the Word.

Beau. ’Tis hard by my Lodgings; if you want Conveniences, I have the Key of the Back-way through the Garden, whither you may carry your Mistress. Will. I thank thee—let me first secure my Woman. [Goes out.

Beau. I thought I’d lov’d this false, this jilting Fair, even above my Friendship; but I find I can forgive this Rogue, tho I am sure he has rob’d me of my Joys.

Enter Ariadne with a Casket of Jewels.

Aria. Not yet! a Devil on him, he’s Dear-hearting it with some other kind Damsel—Faith,’tis most wickedly done of me to venture my Body with a mad unknown Fellow. Thus a little more Delay will put me into a serious Consideration, and I shall e’en go home again, sleep and be sober. [She walks about.

Beau. Hah, a Woman! Perhaps the same he looks for—I’ll counterfeit his Voice and try my Chance—Fortune may set us even.

Aria. Hah, is not that a Man? Yes—and a Chair waiting. [She peeps.

Beau. Who’s there?

Aria. A Maid.

Beau. A Miracle—Oh art thou come, Child?

Aria. ’Tis he, you are a civil Captain, are you not, to make a longing Maid expect thus? What Woman has detain’d you?

Beau. Faith, my Dear, tho Flesh and Blood be frail, yet the dear Hopes of thee has made me hold out with a Herculean Courage—Stay, where shall I carry her? not to my own Apartment; Ariadne may surprize me: I’ll to the Mountebank here i’th’ Piazza, he has a Cure for all things, even for longing Love, and for a Pistole or two will do Reason.—Hah, Company: Here, step into this Chair. [She goes in, they go off just as Will. enters.

Will. Hum, a Woman of Quality and jilt me—Egad, that’s strange now—Well, who shall a Man trust in this wicked World?

Enter La Nuche as before.

La Nu. This should be he, he saunters about like an expecting Lover. [Will. peeping and approaching.

Will. By this Light a Woman, if she be the right—but right or wrong so she be Feminine: harkye, Child, I fancy thee some kind thing that belongs to me.

La Nu. Who are you? [In a low tone.

Will. A wandering Lover that has lost his Heart, and I have shreud Guess ’tis in thy dear Bosom, Child.

La Nu. Oh you’re a pretty Lover, a Woman’s like to have a sweet time on’t, if you’re always so tedious.

Will. By yon bright Star-light, Child, I walk’d here in short turns like a Centinel, all this live-long Evening, and was just going (Gad forgive me) to kill my self.

La Nu. I rather think some Beauty has detain’d you: Have you not seen La Nuche?

Will. La Nuche!—Why, she’s a Whore—I hope you take me for a civiller Person, than to throw my self away on Whores—No, Child, I lie with none but honest Women I: but no disputing now, come—to my Lodging, my dear—here’s a Chair waits hard by. [Exeunt.

Scene III. Willmore’s Lodging.

Enter Harlequin with Fetherfool’s Clothes on his Shoulder, leading him halting by one Hand, Blunt (drunk) by the other in the dark; Fetherfool bloody, his Coat put over his Shoulders.

Feth. Peano, Peano, Seignior, gently, good Edward—for I’ll not halt before a Cripple; I have lost a great part of my agil Faculties.

Blunt. Ah, see the Inconstancy of fickle Fortune, Nicholas—A Man to day, and beaten to morrow: but take comfort, there’s many a proper fellow has been robb’d and beaten on this Highway of whoring.

Feth. Ay, Ned, thou speak’st by woful Experience—but that I should miscarry after thy wholesom Documents—but we are all mortal, as thou say’st, Ned—Would I had never crost the Ferry from Croydon; a few such Nights as these wou’d learn a Man Experience enough to be a Wizard, if he have but the ill luck to escape hanging.

Blunt. ’Dsheartlikins, I wonder in what Country our kinder Stars rule: In England plunder’d, sequester’d, imprison’d and banish’d; in France, starv’d, walking like the Sign of the naked Boy, with Plymouth Cloaks in our Hands; in Italy and Spain robb’d, beaten, and thrown out at Windows.

Feth. Well, how happy am I, in having so true a Friend to condole me in Affliction— [Weeps.] I am oblig’d to Seignior Harlequin too, for bringing me hither to the Mountebank’s, where I shall not only conceal this Catastrophe from those fortunate Rogues our Comrades, but procure a little Album Græcum for my Backside. Come, Seignior, my Clothes—but, Seignior—un Portavera Poco palanca. [Dresses himself.

Harl. Seignior.

Feth. Entende vos Signoria Englesa?

Harl. Em Poco, em Poco, Seignior.

Feth. Per quelq arts, did your Seigniorship escape Cudgeling?

Harl. La art de transformatio.

Feth. Transformatio—Why, wert thou not born a Man?

Harl. No, Seignior, un vieule Femme.

Feth. How, born an old Woman?

Blunt. Good Lord! born an old Woman! And so by transformation became invulnerable.

Feth. Ay—in—invulnerable—what would I give to be invulnerable? and egad, I am almost weary of being a Man, and subject to beating: wou’d I were a Woman, a Man has but an ill time on’t: if he has a mind to a Wench, the making Love is so plaguy tedious—then paying is to my Soul insupportable. But to be a Woman, to be courted with Presents, and have both the Pleasure and the Profit—to be without a Beard, and sing a fine Treble—and squeak if the Men but kiss me—’twere fine—and what’s better, I am sure never to be beaten again.

Blunt. Pox on’t, do not use an old Friend so scurvily; consider the Misery thou’lt indure to have the Heart and Mind of a jilting Whore possess thee: What a Fit of the Devil must he suffer who acts her Part from fourteen to fourscore! No,’tis resolv’d thou remain Nicholas Fetherfool still, shalt marry the Monster, and laugh at Fortune.

Feth. ’Tis true, should I turn Whore to the Disgrace of my Family—what would the World say? who wou’d have thought it, cries one? I cou’d never have believ’d it, cries another. No, as thou say’st, I’ll remain as I am—marry and live honestly.

Blunt. Well resolv’d, I’ll leave you, for I was just going to serenade my Fairy Queen, when I met thee at the Door—some Deeds of Gallantry must be perform’d, Seignior, Bonus Nochus. [Ex. Blunt./

Enter Shift with Light.

Feth. Hah, a Light, undone!

Harl. Patientia, Patientia, Seignior.

Shift. Where the Devil can this Rogue Hunt be? Just now all things are ready for marrying these two Monsters; they wait, the House is husht, and in the lucky Minute to have him out of the way: sure the Devil owes me a spite. [Runs against Harlequin, puts out his Candle.

Harl. Qui est là?

Shift. ’Tis Harlequin: Pox on’t, is’t you?

Harl. Peace, here’s Fetherfool, I’ll secure him, whilst you go about your Affair. [Ex. Shift.

Feth. Oh, I hear a Noise, dear Harlequin secure me; if I am discover’d I am undone—hold, hold—here’s a Door— [They both go in.

Scene changes to a Chamber, discovers the She-Giant asleep in a great Chair.

Enter Fetherfool and Harlequin.

Feth. Hah—my Lady Monster! have I to avoid Scylla run upon Carybdis?—hah, she sleeps; now wou’d some magnanimous Lover make good Use of this Opportunity, take Fortune by the Fore-lock, put her to’t, and make sure Work—but Egad, he must have a better Heart, or a better Mistress than I.

Harl. Try your Strength, I’ll be civil and leave you. [In Italian he still speaks.

Feth. Excuse me, Seignior, I should crackle like a wicker Bottle in her Arms—no, Seignior, there’s no venturing without a Grate between us: the Devil wou’d not give her due Benevolence—No, when I’m marry’d, I’ll e’en show her a fair pair of Heels, her Portion will pay Postage —But what if the Giant should carry her? that’s to be fear’d, then I have cock’d and drest, and fed, and ventur’d all this while for nothing.

Harl. Faith, Seignior, if I were you, I wou’d make sure of something, see how rich she is in Gems.

Feth. Right, as thou say’st, I ought to make sure of something, and she is rich in Gems: How amiable looks that Neck with that delicious row of Pearls about it.

Harl. She sleeps.

Feth. Ay, she sleeps as ’twere her last. What if I made bold to unrig her? So if I miss the Lady, I have at least my Charges paid: what vigorous Lover can resist her Charms?— [Looks on her.

But shou’d she wake and miss it, and find it about me, I shou’d be hang’d— [Turns away.

—So then, I lose my Lady too—but Flesh and Blood cannot resist—What if I left the Town? then I lose my Lady still; and who wou’d lose a Hog for the rest of the Proverb?—And yet a Bird in Hand, Friend Nicholas—Yet sweet Meat may have sour Sauce—And yet refuse when Fortune offers—Yet Honesty’s a Jewel—But a Pox upon Pride, when Folks go naked—

Harl. Well said. [Incouraging him by Signs.

Feth. Ay—I’ll do’t—but what Remedy now against Discovery and Restitution?

Harl. Oh, Sir, take no care, you shall—swallow ’em.

Feth. How, swallow ’em! I shall ne’er be able to do’t.

Harl. I’ll shew you, Seignior,’tis easy.

Feth. ’Gad that may be, ’twere excellent if I cou’d do’t; but first—by your leave. [Unties the Necklace, breaks the String, and Harl. swallows one to shew him.

Harl. Look ye, that’s all—

Feth. Hold, hold, Seignior, an you be so nimble, I shall pay dear for my Learning—let me see—Friend Nicholas, thou hast swallow’d many a Pill for the Disease of the Body, let’s see what thou canst perform for that of the Purse. [Swallows ’em.

—so—a comfortable business this—three or four thousand pound in Cordial-Pearl: ’Sbud, Mark Anthony was never so treated by his Egyptian Crocodile—hah, what noise is that?

Harl. Operator, Operator, Seignior.

Feth. How, an Operator! why, what the Devil makes he here? some Plot upon my Lady’s Chastity; were I given to be jealous now, Danger wou’d ensue—Oh, he’s entring, I would not be seen for all the World. Oh, some place of Refuge— [Looking about.

Harl. I know of none.

Feth. Hah, what’s this—a Clock Case?

Harl. Good, good—look you, Sir, do you do thus, and ’tis impossible to discover ye.

[Goes into the Case, and shews him how to stand; then Fetherfool goes in, pulls off his Periwig, his Head out, turning for the Minutes o’th’ top: his Hand out, and his Fingers pointing to a Figure.

Enter Shift and Hunt.

Feth. Oh Heaven, he’s here.

Shift. See where she sleeps; get you about your business, see your own little Marmoset and the Priest be ready, that we may marry and consummate before Day; and in the Morning our Friends shall see us abed together, give us the good morrow, and the Work’s done. [Ex. Hunt.

Feth. Oh Traytor to my Bed, what a Hellish Plot’s here discover’d! [Shift wakes the Giant.

Giant. Oh, are you come, my Sweetest?

Feth. Hah, the Mistress of my Bosom false too! ah, who wou’d trust faithless Beauty—oh that I durst speak.

Shift. Come let’s away, your Uncle and the rest of the House are fast asleep, let’s away e’er the two Fools, Blunt and Fetherfool, arrive.

Giant. Hang ’em, Pigeon-hearted Slaves—

Shift. A Clock—let’s see what hour ’tis— [Lifts up the Light to see, Feth. blows it out.

—How! betray’d—I’ll kill the Villain. [Draws.

Feth. Say you so, then ’tis time for me to uncase.

Shift. Have you your Lovers hid? [Gets out, all groping in the dark, Feth. gets the Giant by the Hand.

Giant. Softly, or we’re undone; give me your Hand, and be undeceiv’d.

Feth. ’Tis she, now shall I be reveng’d. [Leads her out.

Shift. What, gone! Death, has this Monster got the Arts of Woman? [Harl. meets him in the dark, and plays tricks with him.

[Ex. all.

Enter Willmore and La Nuche by dark.

Will. Now we are safe and free, let’s in, my Soul, and gratefully first sacrifice to Love, then to the Gods of Mirth and Wine, my Dear. [Ex. passing over the Stage.

Enter Blunt with Petronella, imbracing her, his Sword in his Hand, and a Box of Jewels.

Pet. I was damnably afraid I was pursu’d. [Aside.

Blunt. Something in the Fray I’ve got, pray Heaven it prove a Prize, after my cursed ill luck of losing my Lady Dwarf: Why do you tremble, fair one?—you’re in the Hands of an honest Gentleman, Adshartlikins.

Pet. Alas, Sir, just as I approach! Seignior Doctor’s Door, to have my self surrounded with naked Weapons, then to drop with the fear my Casket of Jewels, which had not you by chance stumbled on and taken up, I had lost a hundred thousand Crowns with it.

Blunt. Ha um—a hundred thousand Crowns—a pretty trifling Sum—I’ll many her out of hand. [Aside.

Pet. This is an Englishman, of a dull honest Nation, and might be manag’d to advantage, were but I transform’d now. [Aside.] I hope you are a Man of Honour; Sir, I am a Virgin, fled from the rage of an incens’d Brother; cou’d you but secure me with my Treasure, I wou’d be devoted yours.

Blunt. Secure thee! by this Light, sweet Soul, I’ll marry thee;—Belvile’s Lady ran just so away with him—this must be a Prize— [Aside.] But hark—prithee, my Dear, step in a little, I’ll keep my good Fortune to my self.

Pet. See what trust I repose in your Hands, those Jewels, Sir.

Blunt. So—there can be no jilting here, I am secur’d from being cozen’d however. [Ex. Pet.

Enter Fetherfool.

Feth. A Pox on all Fools, I say, and a double Pox on all fighting Fools; just when I had miraculously got my Monster by a mistake in the dark, convey’d her out, and within a moment of marrying her, to have my Friend set upon me, and occasion my losing her, was a Catastrophe which none but thy termagant Courage (which never did any Man good) cou’d have procur’d.

Blunt. ’Dshartlikins, I cou’d kill my self.

Feth. To fight away a couple of such hopeful Monsters, and two Millions—’owns, was ever Valour so improvident?

Blunt. Your fighting made me mistake: for who the Pox wou’d have look’d for Nicholas Fetherfool in the person of a Hero?

Feth. Fight, ’Sbud, a Million of Money wou’d have provok’d a Bully; besides, I took you for the damn’d Rogue my Rival.

Blunt. Just as I had finish’d my Serenade, and had put up my Pipes to be gone, out stalk’d me your two-handed Lady, with a Man at her Girdle like a bunch of Keys, whom I taking for nothing less than some one who had some foul design upon the Gentlewoman, like a true Knight-Errant, did my best to rescue her.

Feth. Yes, yes, I feel you did, a Pox of your heavy hand.

Blunt. So whilst we two were lovingly cuffing each other, comes the Rival, I suppose, and carries off the Prize.

Feth. Who must be Seignior Lucifer himself, he cou’d never have vanisht with that Celerity else with such a Carriage—But come, all we have to do is to raise the Mountebank and the Guardian, pursue the Rogues, have ’em hang’d by Law, for a Rape, and Theft, and then we stand fair again.

Blunt. Faith, you may, if you please, but Fortune has provided otherwise for me. [Aside.] [Ex. Blu. and Feth.

Enter Beaumond and Ariadne.

Beau. Sure none lives here, or Thieves are broken in, the Doors are all left open.

Aria. Pray Heaven this Stranger prove but honest now. [Aside.

Beau. Now, my dear Creature, every thing conspires to make us happy, let us not defer it.

Aria. Hold, dear Captain, I yield but on Conditions, which are these—I give you up a Maid of Youth and Beauty, ten thousand Pound in ready Jewels here—three times the value in Estate to come, of which here be the Writings, you delivering me a handsom proper fellow, Heart-whole and sound, that’s all—your Name I ask not till the Priest declare it, who is to seal the Bargain. I cannot deceive, for I let you know I am Daughter-in-law to the English Ambassador.

Aria. Methinks you cool upon’t, Captain.

Beau. Yes, Ariadne.

Aria. Beaumond!

Beau. Oh what a World of Time have I mispent for want of being a Blockhead—’Sdeath and Hell,

Aria. Know ’twas you! no, Faith, I took you for as errant a right-down Captain as ever Woman wisht for; and ’twas uncivil egad, to undeceive me, I tell you that now.

Enter Willmore and La Nuche by dark.

Will. Thou art all Charms, a Heaven of Sweets all over, plump smooth round Limbs, small rising Breasts, a Bosom soft and panting—I long to wound each Sense. Lights there—who waits?—there yet remains a Pleasure unpossest, the sight of that dear Face—Lights there—where are my Vermin? [Ex. Will.

Aria. My Captain with a Woman—and is it so—

Enter Will. with Lights, sees Aria, and goes to her.

Will. By Heaven, a glorious Beauty! now a Blessing on thee for shewing me so dear a Face—Come, Child, let’s retire and begin where we left off.

La Nu. A Woman!

Aria. Where we left off! pray, where was that, good Captain?

Will. Within upon the Bed, Child—come—I’ll show thee.

Beau. Hold, Sir.

Will. Beaumond! come fit to celebrate my Happiness; ah such a Woman-friend!

Beau. Do ye know her?

Will. All o’er, to be the softest sweetest Creature—

Beau. I mean, do ye know who she is?

Will. Nor care; ’tis the last Question I ever ask a fine Woman.

Beau. And you are sure you are thus well acquainted.

Will. I cannot boast of much acquaintance—but I have pluckt a Rose from her Bosom—or so—and given it her again—we’ve past the hour of the Berjere together, that’s all—

Beau. And do you know—this Lady is my—Wife? [Draw.

Will. Hah! hum, hum, hum, hum— [Turns and sings, sees La Nuche, and returns quick with an uneasy Grimace.

Beau. Did you not hear me? Draw.

Will. Draw, Sir—what on my Friend?

Beau. On your Cuckold, Sir, for so you’ve doubly made me: Draw, or I’ll kill thee— [Passes at him, he fences with his Hat, La Nu. holds Beau.

Will. Hold, prithee hold.

La Nu. Put up your Sword, this Lady’s innocent, at least in what concerns this Evening’s business; I own—with Pride I own I am the Woman that pleas’d so well to Night.

Will. La Nuche! kind Soul to bring me off with so handsom a lye: How lucky ’twas she happen’d to be here!

Beau. False as thou art, why shou’d I credit thee?

La Nu. By Heaven, ’tis true, I will not lose the glory on’t.

Will. Oh the dear perjur’d Creature, how I love thee for this dear lying Virtue—Harkye, Child, hast thou nothing to say for thy self, to help us out withal?— [To Aria. aside.

Aria. I! I renounce ye—false Man.

Beau. Yes, yes, I know she’s innocent of this, for which I owe no thanks to either of you, but to my self who mistook her in the dark.

La Nu. And you it seems mistook me for this Lady; I favour’d your Design to gain your Heart, for I was told, that if this Night I lost you, I shou’d never regain you: now I am yours, and o’er the habitable World will follow you, and live and starve by turns, as Fortune pleases.

Will. Nay, by this Light, Child, I knew when once thou’dst try’d me, thou’dst ne’er part with me—give me thy Hand, no Poverty shall part us. [Kisses her.

—so—now here’s a Bargain made without the formal Foppery of Marriage.

La Nu. Nay, faith Captain, she that will not take thy word as soon as the Parson’s of the Parish, deserves not the Blessing.

Will. Thou art reform’d, and I adore the Change.

Enter the Guardian, Blunt, and Fetherfool.

Guar. My Nieces stol’n, and by a couple of the Seignior’s Men! the Seignior fled too! undone, undone!

Will. Hah, now’s my Cue, I must finish this Jest. [Goes out.

Enter Shift and Giant, Hunt and Dwarf.

Guar. Oh impudence, my Nieces, and the Villains with ’em! I charge ye, Gentlemen, to lay hold on ’em.

Dwarf. For what, good Uncle, for being so courageous to marry us?

Guar. How, married to Rogues, Rascals, John Potages!

Blunt. Who the Devil wou’d have look’d for jilting in such Hobgoblins?

Feth. And hast thou deceiv’d me, thou foul filthy Synagogue?

Enter Willmore like a Mountebank as before.

Blunt. The Mountebank! oh thou cheating Quack, thou sophisticated adulterated Villain.

Feth. Thou cozening, lying, Fortune-telling, Feetaking Rascal.

Blunt. Thou jugling, conjuring, canting Rogue!

Will. What’s the matter, Gentlemen?

Blunt. Hast thou the Impudence to ask, who took my Money to marry me to this ill-favour’d Baboon?

Feth. And me to this foul filthy o’ergrown Chronicle?

Blunt. And hast suffered Rogues, thy Servants, to marry ’em: Sirrah, I will beat thee past Cure of all thy hard-nam’d Drugs, thy Guzman Medicines.

Feth. Nay, I’ll peach him in the Inquisition for a Wizard, and have him hang’d for a Witch.

Shift. Sir, we are Gentlemen, and you shall have the thirds of their Portion, what wou’d you more? [Aside to the Guar.

Look ye, Sir. [Pulls off their Disguise.

Blunt. Hunt!

Feth. Shift! We are betray’d: all will out to the Captain.

Will. He shall know no more of it than he does already for me, Gentlemen. [Pulls off his Disguise.

Blunt. Willmore!

Feth. Ay, ay,’tis he.

Blunt. Draw, Sir—you know me—

Will. —For one that ’tis impossible to cozen. [All laugh.

Beau. Have a care, Sir, we are all for the Captain.

Feth. As for that, Sir, we fear ye not, d’ye see, were you Hercules and all his Myrmidons. [Draws, but gets behind.

Will. Fools, put up your Swords, Fools, and do not publish the Jest; your Money you shall have again, on condition you never pretend to be wiser than your other Men, but modestly believe you may be cozen’d as well as your Neighbours. [The Guardian talking with Hunt and Shift and Giant this while.

Feth. La you, Ned, why shou’d Friends fall out?

Blunt. Cozen’d! it may be not, Sir; for look ye, Sir, the Essex Fool, the cozen’d dull Rogue can shew Moveables or so—nay, they are right too— [Shews his Jewels.

This is no Naples Adventure, Gentlemen, no Copper Chains; all substantial Diamonds, Pearls and Rubies— [Will. takes the Casket, and looks in it.

La Nu. Hah, do not I know that Casket, and those Jewels!

Feth. How the Pox came this Rogue by these?

Will. Hum, Edward, I confess you have redeem’d your Reputation, and shall hereafter pass for a Wit—by what good fortune came you by this Treasure?—what Lady—

Blunt. Lady, Sir! alas no, I’m a Fool, a Country Fop, an Ass, I; but that you may perceive your selves mistaken, Gentlemen, this is but an earnest of what’s to come, a small token of remembrance, or so—and yet I have no Charms, I; the fine Captain has all the Wit and Beauty—but thou’rt my Friend, and I’ll impart. [Brings out Petronella veil’d.

Enter Aurelia and Sancho.

Aur. Hither we trac’d her, and see she’s yonder.

San. Sir, in the King’s Name lay hold of this old Cheat, she has this Night robb’d our Patrona of a hundred thousand Crowns in Money and Jewels.

Blunt. Hah! [Gets from her.

La Nu. You are mistaken, Friend Sancho, she only seiz’d ’em for my use, and has deliver’d ’em in trust to my Friend the Captain.

Pet. Hah, La Nuche!

Blunt. How! cozen’d again!

Will. Look ye, Sir, she’s so beautiful, you need no Portion, that alone’s sufficient for Wit.

Feth. Much good may do you with your rich Lady, Edward.

Blunt. Death, this Fool laugh at me too—well, I am an errant right-down Loggerhead, a dull conceited cozen’d silly Fool; and he that ever takes me for any other, ’Dshartlikins, I’ll beat him. I forgive you all, and will henceforth be good-natur’d; wo’t borrow any Money? Pox on’t, I’ll lend as far as e’er ’twill go, for I am now reclaim’d.

Guar. Here is a Necklace of Pearl lost, which, Sir, I lay to your Charge. [To Fetherfool.

Feth. Hum, I was bewitcht I did not rub off with it when it was mine—who, I? if e’er I saw a Necklace of Pearl, I wish ’twere in my Belly.

Blunt. How a Necklace! unconscionable Rogue, not to let me share: well, there is no Friendship in the World; I hope they’l hang him.

Shift. He’ll ne’er confess without the Rack—come, we’ll toss him in a Blanket.

Feth. Hah, toss me in a Blanket, that will turn my Stomach most villainously, and I shall disimbogue and discover all.

Shift. Come, come, the Blanket. [They lay hold on him.

Feth. Hold, hold, I do confess, I do confess—

Shift. Restore, and have your Pardon.

Feth. That is not in Nature at present, for Gentlemen, I have eat ’em.

Shift. ’Sdeath, I’ll dissect ye. [Goes to draw.

Will. Let me redeem him; here Boy, take him to my Chamber, and let the Doctor glyster him soundly, and I’ll warrant you your Pearl again.

Feth. If this be the end of travelling, I’ll e’en to old England again, take the Covenant, get a Sequestrator’s Place, grow rich, and defy all Cavaliering.

Beau. ’Tis Morning, let’s home, Ariadne, and try, if possible, to love so well to be content to marry; if we find that amendment in our Hearts, to say we dare believe and trust each other, then let it be a Match.

Aria. With all my Heart.

Will. You have a hankering after Marriage still, but I am for Love and Gallantry.

EPILOGUE

Spoken by Mrs. BARRY.

POETS are Kings of Wit, and you appear

A Parliament, by Play-Bill, summon’d here;

When e’er in want, to you for aid they fly,

And a new Play’s the Speech that begs supply:

But now—

The scanted Tribute is so slowly paid,

Our Poets must find out another Trade;

They’ve tried all ways th’ insatiate Clan to please,

Have parted with their old Prerogatives,

Their Birth-right Satiring, and their just pretence

Of judging even their own Wit and Sense;

And write against their Consciences, to show

How dull they can be to comply with you.

They’ve flatter’d all the Mutineers i’th’ Nation,

Grosser than e’er was done in Dedication;

Pleas’d your sick Palates with Fantastick Wit,

Such as was ne’er a treat before to th’ Pit;

Giants, fat Cardinals, Pope Joans and Fryers,

To entertain Right Worshipfuls and Squires:

Who laugh and cry Ads Nigs, ’tis woundy good,

When the fuger’s all the Jest that’s understood.

And yet you’ll come but once, unless by stealth,

Except the Author be for Commonwealth;

Then half Crown more you nobly throw away,

And tho my Lady seldom see a Play,

She, with her eldest Daughter, shall be boxt that day.

Then Prologue comes, Ads-lightikins, crys Sir John,

You shall hear notable Conceits anon:

How neatly, Sir, he’ll bob the Court and French King,

And tickle away—you know who—for Wenching.

All this won’t do, they e’en may spare their Speeches,

For all their greasing will not buy ’em Britches;

To get a penny new found ways must take,

As forming Popes, and Squibs and Crackers make.

In Coffee-Houses some their talent vent,

Rail for the Cause against the Government,

And make a pretty thriving living on’t,

For who would let a useful Member want.

Things being brought to this distressed Estate,

’Twere fit you took the matter in Debate.

There was a time, when Loyally by you,

True Wit and Sense received Allegiance due,

Our King of Poets had his Tribute pay’d,

His Peers secured beneath his Laurel’s shade.

What Crimes have they committed, they must be

Driven to the last and worst Extremity?

Oh, let it not be said of English Men,

Who have to Wit so just and noble been,

They should their Loyal Principles recant,

And let the glorious Monarch of it want.