Part 2 — THE DUTCH LOVER. (continued 2)
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Car. That Fault I my self have been guilty of, and can excuse; but the thing it self I shall never endure: you know I was forc’d to send you abroad, because I thought you addicted to that. I shall never sleep in quiet—Valiant! that’s such a thing, to be Rich, or Wise and Valiant. [Goes to Euphemia.
Lov. Colonel, pray to the business, for I fear you will betray your self.
Car. But look upon his Wealth, Euphemia, and you will find those Advantages there which are wanting in his Person; but I think the Man’s well.
Euph. I must not seem to yield too soon. [Aside.
Sir, there be many Spaniards born that are as rich as he, and have Wit too.
Car. She was ever very averse to this Marriage. [Aside.
This Man is half a Spaniard, his Mother was one, and my first Mistress, and she I can tell you, was a great Fortune—
Euph. I, Sir, but he is such a Fool—
Car. You are a worse, to find fault with that in a Husband.
Alon. Stand aside, Sir, are you to court your Daughter or I?
Car. I was inclining her—
Alon. You inclining her! an old Man wants Rhetorick; set me to her. [Goes to Euphemia.
Car. This capricious Humour was tolerable in him, Whilst I believ’d it the Effects of Folly, but now ’tis that of Valour: Oh, I tremble at the Sight of him. [Retires.
Euph. Now, I see you are a Cavalier of your Word.
Alon. Faith, Euphemia, you might have believ’d, and taken me upon better Terms, if you had so pleas’d: To marry you is but an ill-favour’d Proof to give you of my Passion.
Euph. Do you repent it?
Alon. Would to God ’twere come but to that, I was just upon the Point of it when you enter’d. But I know not what the Devil there is in that Face of yours, but it has debauch’d every sober Thought about me: Faith, do not let us marry yet.
Euph. If we had not proceeded too far to retreat, I should be content.
Alon. What shall I come to? all on the sudden to leave delicious whoring, drinking and fighting, and be condemn’d to a dull honest Wife. Well, if it be my ill Fortune, may this Curse light on thee that has brought me to’t: may I love thee even after we are married to that troublesome Degree, that I may grow most damnable jealous of thee, and keep thee from the Sight of all Mankind, but thy own natural Husband, that so thou may’st be depriv’d of the greatest Pleasure of this Life, the Blessing of Change.
Euph. I am sorry to find so much ill Nature in you; would you have the Conscience to tie me to harder Conditions than I would you?
Alon. Nay, I do not think I shall be so wickedly loving; but I am resolv’d to marry thee and try.
Euph. My Father, Sir, on with your Disguise. [To them Carlo.
Car. Well, Sir, how do you like my Daughter?
Alon. So, so, she’ll serve for a Wife.
Car. But do you find her willing to be so?
Alon. ’Tis not a half-penny matter for that, as long as my Father and you are agreed upon the matter,
Car. Well, Euphemia, setting all foolish Modesty aside, how do you like this Man?
Euph. As one, whom in Obedience to you, I am content to cast my self away upon.
Car. How seems his Humour to you?
Euph. Indifferent, Sir, he is not very courtly, something rough and hasty.
Car. I fear she has found his ill Quality of Valour too; and since ’tis certain ’tis so, why should it be said that I ruin’d a Child to satisfy my Appetite of Riches? [Aside.
Come, Daughter, can you love him, or can you not? For I’ll make but short Work on’t; you are my Daughter, and have a Fortune great enough to inrich any Man; and I’m resolv’d to put no Force upon your Inclinations.
Euph. How’s this! nay, then ’tis time I left dissembling. [Aside.] Sir, this Bounty in you has strangely overcome me, and makes me asham’d to have withstood your Will so long.
Car. Do not dissemble with me, I say do not; for I am resolv’d you shall be happy.
Euph. Sir, my Obedience shall—
Car. No more of your Obedience; I say again, do not dissemble, for I’m not pleas’d with your Obedience.
Euph. This Alteration is very strange and sudden; pray Heaven he have not found the Cheat. [Aside.
Love, Sir, they say will come after Marriage; pray let me try it.
Car. Few have found it so; nor shall you experience it at so dear a Rate as your Ruin.
Euph. But, Sir, methinks I am grown to love him more since he spoke to me, than before.
Car. The Effects of your Obedience again.
Euph. This is a strange Alteration, Sir; not all my Tears and Prayers before I saw him, could prevail with you. I beseech you, Sir, believe me.
Car. Nor should now, had I not another Reason for’t.
Euph. Oh, I fear—But, Sir—
Car. Go to, I’ll be better satisfy’d e’er I proceed farther—both of your Inclinations, and his Courage. [Aside.
Euph. Do you consider his Wealth, Sir?
Car. That shall not now befriend him.
Alon. Sir, I bar whispering; ’tis not in my Bargain, nor civil: I’ll have fair Play for my Money.
Car. I am only knowing my Daughter’s Pleasure; she is a little peevish, as Virgins use in such Cases; but wou’d that were all, and I’d endeavour to reconcile her.
Alon. I thank you, Sir; in the mean time I’ll take a Walk for an Hour or two, to get me a better Stomach both to my Dinner and Mistress.
Car. Do so, Sir. Come, Euphemia, I will give you a Proof of my Indulgence, thou shalt marry no valiant Fools! valiant, quoth ye. Come, come—had he been peaceable and rich—Come, come— [Ex. with Euphemia.
Lov. Well, now I’ll go look after my Dutchman, lest he surprize us here, which must not be; where shall I find you?
Alon. I’ll wait upon my Prince, and then on you here.
Lov. Do so, and carry on this Humour. Adieu.
Scene II. A flat Grove.
Enter Haunce in a fantastical travelling Habit, with a Bottle of Brandy in his Hand, as sick: Gload marches after.
Hau. Ah, ah, a pox of all Sea-Voyages. [Drinks.
Here, Gload, take thee t’other Sope, and then let’s home. [Gload drinks.
Ah, ah, a pox of all Sea-Voyages.
Gload. Sir, if I may advise, take t’other turn in the Grove, for I find by my Nose you want more airing.
Hau. How, Sirrah! by your Nose? have a care, you know ’tis ill jesting with me when I’m angry.
Gload. Which is as often as you are drunk; I find it has the same Effects on me too: but truly, Sir, I meant no other than that you smell a little of the Vessel, a certain sour remains of a Storm about you.
Hau. Ah, ah, do not name a Storm to me, unless thou wilt have the Effects on’t in thy Face. [Drinks.
Gload. Sha, sha, bear up, Sir, bear up.
Hau. Salerimente, a Sea-phrase too! Why, ye Rascal, I tell you I can indure nothing that puts me in mind of that Element. [Drinks.
Gload. The Sight of Donna Euphemia will— [Gload drinks between whiles too.
Hau. Hold, hold, let me consider whether I can indure to hear her nam’d or not; for I think I am so thorowly mortify’d, I shall hardly relish Woman-kind again this—two Hours. [Drinks.
Gload. You a Man of Courage, and talk thus!
Hau. Courage! Why, what dost thou call Courage?—Hector himself would not have chang’d his ten Years Siege for our ten Days Storm at Sea—a Storm—a hundred thousand fighting Men are nothing to’t; Cities sackt by Fire nothing: ’tis a resistless Coward that attacks a Man at disadvantage; an unaccountable Magick, that first conjures down a Man’s Courage, and then plays the Devil over him. And in fine, it is a Storm—
Gload. Good lack that it should be all these terrible things, and yet that we should outbrave it.
Hau. No god-a-mercy to our Courages tho, I tell you that now, Gload; but like an angry Wench, when it had huft and bluster’d it self weary, it lay still again. [Drinks.
Gload. Hold, hold, Sir, you know we are to make Visits to Ladies, Sir; and this replenishing of our Spirits, as you call it, Sir, may put us out of Case.
Hau. Thou art a Fool, I never made love so well as when I was drunk; it improves my Parts, and makes me witty; that is, it makes me say any thing that comes next, which passes now-a-days for Wit: and when I am very drunk, I’ll home and dress me, and the Devil’s in’t if she resist me so qualify’d and so dress’d.
Gload. Truly, Sir, those are things that do not properly belong to you.
Hau. Your Reason, your Reason; we shall have thee witty too in thy Drink, hah! [Laughs.
Gload. Why, I say, Sir, none but a Cavalier ought to be soundly drunk, or wear a Sword and Feather; and a Cloke and Band were fitter for a Merchant.
Hau. Salerimente, I’ll beat any Don in Spain that does but think he has more right to any sort of Debauchery, or Gallantry than I, I tell you that now, Gload.
Gload. Do you remember, Sir, how you were wont to go at home? when instead of a Periwig, you wore a slink, greasy Hair of your own, thro which a pair of large thin Souses appear’d, to support a formal Hat, on end thus— [Imitates him.
Hau. Ha, ha, ha, the Rogue improves upon’t. [Gives him Brandy.
Gload. A Collar instead of a Cravat twelve inches high; with a blue, stiff, starcht, lawn Band, set in print like your Whiskers; a Doublet with small Skirts hookt to a pair of wide-kneed Breeches, which dangled halfway over a Leg, all to be dash’d and dirty’d as high as the gartering.
Hau. Ha, ha, ha, very well, proceed. [Drinks.
Gload. Your Hands, defil’d with counting of damn’d dirty Money, never made other use of Gloves, than continually to draw them thro—thus—till they were dwindled into the scantling of a Cats-gut.
Hau. Ha, ha, ha, a pleasant Rascal. [Drinks.
Gload. A Cloke, half a yard shorter than the Breeches, not thorow lin’d, but fac’d as far as ’twas turn’d back, with a pair of frugal Butter-hams, which was always manag’d—thus—
Hau. Well, Sir, have you done, that I may show you this Merchant revers’d?
Gload. Presently, Sir; only a little touch at your Debauchery, which unless it be in damn’d Brandy, you dare not go to the Expence of. Perhaps at a Wedding, or some Treat where your Purse is not concern’d, you would most insatiably tipple; otherwise your two Stivers-Club is the highest you dare go, where you will be condemn’d for a Prodigal, (even by your own Conscience) if you add two more extraordinary to the Sum, and at home sit in the Chimney-Corner, cursing the Face of Duke de Alva upon the Jugs, for laying an Imposition on Beer: And now, Sir, I have done.
Hau. And dost thou not know, when one of those thou hast described, goes but half a League out of Town, that he is so transform’d from the Merchant to the Gallant in all Points, that his own Parents, nay the Devil himself cannot know him? Not a young English Squire newly come to an Estate, above the management of his Wit, has better Horses, gayer Clothes, swears, drinks, and does every thing with a better grace than he; damns the stingy Cabal of the two Stiver-Club, and puts the young King of Spain and his Mistress together in a Rummer of a Pottle; and in pure Gallantry breaks the Glasses over his Head, scorning to drink twice in the same: and a thousand things full as heroick and brave I cou’d tell you of this same Holy-day Squire. But come, t’other turn, and t’other sope, and then for Donna Euphemia. For I find I begin to be reconcil’d to the Sex.
Gload. But, Sir, if I might advise, let’s e’en sleep first.
Hau. Away, you Fool, I hate the sober Spanish way of making Love, that’s unattended with Wine and Musick; give me a Wench that will out-drink the Dutch, out-dance the French, and out—out—kiss the English.
Gload. Sir, that’s not the Fashion in Spain.
Hau. Hang the Fashion; I’ll manage her that must be my Wife, as I please, or I’ll beat her into Fashion.
Gload. What, beat a Woman, Sir?
Hau. Sha, all’s one for that; if I am provok’d, Anger will have its Effects on whomsoe’er it light; so said Van Trump, when he took his Mistress a Cuff o’th’ Ear for finding fault with an ill-fashion’d Leg he made her: I lik’d his Humour well, therefore come thy ways. [Exeunt.
Scene III. Draws off. A Grove.
Discovers Antonio sleeping on the Ground; Hippolyta sitting by, who sings.
Ah false Amyntas, can that Hour
So soon forgotten be,
When first I yielded up my Power
To be betray’d by thee?
God knows with how much Innocence
I did my Heart resign
Unto thy faithless Eloquence,
And gave thee what was mine.
I had not one Reserve in store,
But at thy Feet I laid
Those Arms which conquer’d heretofore,
Tho now thy Trophies made.
Thy Eyes in silence told their Tale
Of Love in such a way,
That ’twas as easy to prevail,
As after to betray. [She comes forth, weeps.
Hip. My Grief’s too great to be diverted this way. [Pointing to Antonio. Why should this Villain sleep, this treacherous Man— Who has for ever robb’d me of my rest? Had I but kept my Innocence intire, I had out-brav’d my Fate, and broke my Chains, Which now I bear like a poor guilty Slave, Who sadly crys, If I were free from these, I am not from my Crimes; so still lives on, And drags his loathed Fetters after him. Why should I fear to die, or murder him? It is but adding one Sin more to th’ number. This—would soon do’t—but where’s the Hand to guide it? [Draws a Dagger, sighs. For ’tis an act too horrid for a Woman. [Turns away. But yet thus sleeping I might take that Soul, [Turns to him. Which waking all the Charms of Art and Nature Had not the Power t’effect. Oh were I brave, I could remember that, And this way be the Mistress of his Heart. But mine forbids it should be that way won; No, I must still love on, in spite of me, And wake him quickly, lest one Moment’s thought Upon my Shame should urge me to undo him. Antonio, Antonio.
[He wakes, rises, and looks amazedly to see the Dagger in her Hand.
Ant. Vile Woman, why that Dagger in that Hand?
Hip. To’ve kill’d thee with, But that my Love o’ercame my juster Passion, And put it in thy Power to save thy self; Thank that, and not my Reason for thy Life.
Ant. She’s doubly arm’d, with that and Injury, And I am wounded and defenceless. [Aside. Hippolyta, why all this Rage to me? [Kindly smiles.
Hip. Antonio, thou art perjur’d, false and base. [In great Rage.
Ant. What said my fairest Mistress? [Goes to her looking softly.
Hip. I said that thou wert perjur’d, false and base. [Less in Rage.
Ant. My dear Hippolyta, speak it again, I do not understand thee, [Takes her by the Hand.
Hip. I said that thou wert perjur’d, my Antonio. [Sighs.
Ant. Thou wert to blame, but ’twas thy Jealousy. Which being a Fault of Love I will excuse. Give me that Mark of Anger, prithee do, It misbecomes thy Hand.
Hip. I’ve nothing left but this I can command, And do not ravish this too.
Ant. It is unkind thus to suspect my Love; Will you make no Allowance for my Humour? I am by Nature rough, and cannot please, With Eyes and Words all soft as others can, But I can love as truly my blunt way.
Hip. You were so soft when first you conquer’d me. [Sighs. That but the Thoughts of that dear Face and Eyes, So manag’d, and so set for Conquest out, Would make me kind even to another Man; Could I but thus imbrace and hide my Eyes, And call him my Antonio.
[She leans on his Bosom, he the while gets her Dagger.
Ant. Stand off, false Woman, I despise thy Love, Of which to every Man I know thou deal’st An equal share.
Hip. I do not wonder that I am deceiv’d, But that I should believe thee, after all thy Treachery. But prithee tell me why thou treat’st me thus? Why didst thou with the sacred Vows of Marriage, After a long and tedious Courtship to me, Ravish me from my Parents and my Husband? For so the brave Alonzo was by promise.
Ant. Why, I will tell thee; ’twas not love to thee, But hatred to thy Brother Don Marcel, Who made Addresses to the fair Clarinda, And by his Quality destroy’d my Hopes.
Hip. And durst you not revenge your self on him?
Ant. His Life alone could not appease my Anger; And after studying what I had to do—
Hip. The Devil taught thee this.
Ant. Yes, and you I chose, Because you were contracted to Alonzo, That the disgrace might be more eminent.
Hip. I do believe thee, for when I reflect On all thy Usage since thou hast betray’d me, I find thou hast not paid me back one Sigh, Or Smile for all that I have given thee.
Ant. Hear me out.
Hip. Most calmly.
Ant. From Town to Town you know I did remove you, Under pretence to shun your Brother’s Anger: But ’twas indeed to spread your Fame abroad. But being not satisfy’d till in Madrid, Here in your native Town, I had proclaim’d you; The House from whence your Brother’s Fury chas’d us, Was a Bordello, where ’twas given out Thou wert a Venice Curtezan to hire, Whilst you believ’d it was your nuptial Palace. [Laughs.
Hip. Dost think I did not understand the Plot? Yes, and was mad till some young Lovers came. But you had set a Price too high upon me, No brisk young Man durst venture, I had expos’d my self at cheaper Rates.
Ant. Your Price, I pray, young Sinner? [Pulls off his Hat in scorn.
Hip. Thy Life; he that durst say Antonio lives no more, Should have possest me gratis.
Ant. I would have taken care none should have don’t; To show, and offer you to Sale, was equally as shameful.
Hip. Well, what hast thou more to do? this is no Place to inhabit in, nor shall thou force me further; And back into the Town thou dar’st not go.
Ant. Perhaps I had been kinder to you, Had you continu’d still to give me that— Might have begot a Passion in me.
Hip. I have too much Repentance for that Sin, To increase it, at the Price of being belov’d by thee.
Ant. Consider what you do, this Place is silent, And far from any thing that may assist you. Come lead me to the Covert of this Grove. [Takes her rudely.
Enter Haunce and Gload drunk; Haunce seeing them, offers to go out again.
Glo. Hold, hold, Sir, why do you run away?
Hau. Thou Fool, dost not see the Reason?
Glo. I see a Man and a Lady, Sir.
Hau. Why, you Coxcomb, they are Lovers; Or some that are going to do the deed of Love.
Ant. How! Men here? Your Business.
Hau. Prithee, Friend, do not trouble your self with ours, but follow your own; my Man is a little saucy in his Drink indeed, but I am sober enough to understand how things go.
Ant. Leave us then.
Hau. Leave us then—good Words, good Words, Friend; for look ye, I am in a notable Humour at present, and will be intreated.
Glo. Yes, Sir, we will be intreated.
Ant. Pray leave us then.
Hau. That’s something—but hark ye, Friend, say a Man had a mind to put in for a share with you.
Ant. Rude Slaves, leave us.
Hau. Ha, Slaves!
Glo. Slaves said you, Sir? hah—
Hip. Oh, as you’re a Gentleman, assist me. [To Haunce.
Hau. Assist thee? this Fellow looks as he would not have his Abilities call’d in question; otherwise I am amorous enough to do thee a kindness. [Offers still to go, she holds him.
Hip. Sir, you mistake me; this is a Ravisher—
Hau. A Ravisher! ha, ha, ha, dost like him the worse for that? No, no, I beg your Pardon, Madam.
Hip. Have you no Manhood, Sir?
Glo. She is in earnest; now if I durst stay, how I would domineer over my Master; I never try’d perhaps, I may be valiant thus inspir’d. Lady, I am your Champion, who dares ravish you, or me either?
Ant. Rascal, unhand her. [He comes up to them, Gload puts the Lady before him.
Hau. How now, Gload ingag’d! nay, I scorn to be out-done by my Man. Sirrah, march off with the Baggage, whilst I secure the Enemy.
Ant. Rash Man, what mean you?
Hau. I say, stand off, and let him go quietly away with the Wench, or look you—
Ant. Unmanner’d Fool, I will chastise thy Boldness. [Goes up to him with his Dagger.
Hau. How, how, hast thou no other Weapon?
Ant. No, if I had, thou durst not have encounter’d me.
Hau. I scorn thy Words, and therefore there lies my Sword; and since you dare me at my own Weapon, I tell you I am good at Snick-a-Sne as the best Don of you all— [Draws a great Dutch Knife.
Ant. Can I endure this Affront?
Glo. The best way to make a Coward fight, is to leave him in Danger—Come, Lady— [Goes out.
Ant. Thou base unmanner’d Fool, how darst thou offer at a Gentleman, with so despis’d a thing as that?
Hau. Despis’d a thing? talk not so contemptibly of this Weapon, I say, do not, but come on if you dare.
Ant. I can endure no longer— [Flies at him, Haunce cuts his Face, and takes away, after a-while, his Dagger.
Injustice! can such a Dog, and such a Weapon vanquish me?
Hau. Beg your Life; for I scorn to stain my Victory in Blood—that I learnt out of Pharamond. [Aside.
Ant. He does not merit Life, that could not defend it against so poor and base a thing as thou: Had but Marcel left me my Sword—
Hau. O then I perceive you are us’d to be vanquish’d, and therefore I scorn to kill thee; live, live.
Ant. How the Rascal triumphs over me!
Hau. And now, like a generous Enemy, I will conduct thee to my Tent, and have thy Wounds drest—That too I had out of Pharamond. [Aside.
Ant. What if I take the offer of this Sot? so I may see Hippolyta again. But I forget— [Aside.
Hau. Will you accept my Offer?
Ant. For some Reasons I dare not venture into the Town.
Hau. My Lodging is at St. Peter’s Gate, hard by; and on the Parole of a Man of Prowess you shall be safe and free—Pharamond again. [Aside.
Ant. I’ll trust him, for worse I cannot be. [Aside.
Lead on, I’ll follow, Sir—
Hau. Not so, for tho the Captive ought to follow the Victor, yet I’ll not trust my Enemy at my backside. Politicks too.— [Aside.
Ant. You must command— [Go out.
Scene IV. The Garden.
Enter Silvio and Francisca.
Silv. Well, dear Francisca, will Cleonte come, And all alone into the Garden?
Fran. My Lord, she will; I have at last prevail’d, to what intent she knows not; this is an Hour wherein you’ll scarce be interrupted: The amorous Entertainment you have prepar’d for her, will advance your Design; such Objects heighten the Desire. Is all ready on your part?
Silv. It is, and I am prepared for all the Resistance she can make, and am resolv’d to satisfy my insupportable Flame, since there’s no other hope left me.
Fran. She’s coming, Sir, retire. [Exit Silvio into the Garden.
Oh, how he kills me! Well, at least this pleasure I have whilst I am dying, that when he possesses the fair Cleonte, he for ever ruins his Interest in her Heart, and must find nothing but her mortal Hate and Scorn.
Enter Cleonte.
Cleo. Francisca, why art thou so earnest for my coming into the Garden so early?
Fran. Because, Madam, here without Interruption you may learn what the Lady Clarinda has to tell you.
Cleo. Is that all? go wait upon her hither then.
Fran. Yes, when your more pleasant Affair is dispatch’d, I will— [Aside.
[Exit Francisca.
Cleo. Can this be Love I feel? This strange unusual something in my Soul, That pleads so movingly for Silvio there; And makes me wish him not allied to me?
[A noise of rural Musick is heard within the Trees, as Pipes, Flutes, and Voices.
Hah! what pleasant Noise is this? sure ’tis i’ the Air— Bless me, what strange things be these!
Enter Swains playing upon Pipes, after them four Shepherds with Garlands and Flowers, and four Nymphs dancing an amorous Dance to that Musick; wherein the Shepherds make Love to the Nymphs, and put the Garlands on their Heads, and go out; the Nymphs come and lay them at Cleonte’s Feet, and sing.
1 Nymph. Here at your Feet, we tribute pay, Of all the Glories of the May.
2 Nymph. Such Trophies can be only due To Victors so divine as you,
Both. Come, follow, follow, where Love leads the way, To Pleasures that admit of no Delay.
1 Nymph. Come follow to the amorous Shade, Covered with Roses, and with Jessamine.
2 Nymph. Where the Love-sick Boy is laid, Panting for Love’s charming Queen.
Both. Come follow, follow, where we lead the way, To Pleasures that admit of no delay. [Lead her out.
The Scene changes to a fine Arbour, they leave her and vanish.
Cleo. I am all Wonder.
Enter Silvio in rapture, not yet seeing Cleonte.
Silv. I’m all on Fire, till I enjoy my Sister; Not all the Laws of Birth and Nature Can hinder me from loving—Nor is’t just: Why should the charm of fair Cleonte’s Eyes, Me less than Aliens to her Blood surprize? And why (since I love Beauty every where, And that Cleonte has the greatest share) Should not I be allowed to worship her? The empty Words of Nature and of Blood, Are such as Lovers never understood. Prudence in love ’twere Nonsense to approve, And he loves most that gives a Loose to Love.
Cleo. Silvio here!
Silv. Hah—yonder she’s! [Sees her. And now my Passion knows no Bounds, nor Laws. Cleonte, come, come satisfy my Flame. [Runs to her, and takes her passionately by the hand. These private Shades are ours, no jealous Eye Can interrupt our Heaven of Joy.
Cleo. What mean you? do you know I am your Sister?
Silv. Oh that accursed Name!—why should it check me? [He pauses. Wouldst thou had rather been some mis-begotten Monster, That might have startled Nature at thy Birth: Or if the Powers above would have thee fair, Why wert thou born my Sister? Oh, if thou shouldst preserve thy Soul, and mine, Fly from this Place and me; make haste away, A strange wild Monster is broke in upon thee; A thing that was a Man, but now as mad As raging Love can make him. Fly me, or thou art lost for ever.
Cleo. Remember, Silvio, that you are my Brother, And can you hurt your Sister? [Weeps.
Silv. Shouldst thou repeat those Ties a thousand times, ’Twill not redeem thee from the Fate that threatens thee. Be gone, whilst so much Virtue does remain about me, To wish thee out of Danger.
Cleo. Sure, Silvio, this is but to try my Virtue. [Weeps still.
Silv. No, look on my Eyes, Cleonte, and thou shalt see them flame with a strange wicked Fire. [Looks wildly on her.
Yet do not look, thy Eyes increase it. —Alas! [Turns away, and hides his Eyes.
And I shall still forget I am thy Brother: Go, go, whilst I have power to take my Eyes away, For if they turn again, it will be fatal.
Cleo. Pray hear me, Sir.
Silv. Oh, do not speak; thy Voice has Charms As tempting as thy Face; but whilst thou art silent and unseen, Perhaps my Madness may be moderate; For as it is, the best Effects of it Will prompt me on to kill thee.
Cleo. To kill me!
Silv. Yes; for shouldst thou live, adorn’d with so much Beauty, So much my Passion is above my Reason, In some such fit as does possess me now I should commit a Rape, a Rape upon thee: Therefore be gone, and do not tempt Despair, That merciless rude thing, but save thy Honour, And thy Life.
Cleo. I will obey you, Sir. [Goes into the Garden.
Silv. She’s gone—and now [Walks, and talks in stopping.] my hot Fit abates—she is my Sister—that is, my Father’s Daughter—but—what if his Wife deceiv’d him—or perhaps—(which is the likelier thing) my Mother play’d the false one—for ’twas her Trade to do so—and I’m not Son to Ambrosio—Oh, that she were in being to confess this Truth, for sure ’tis Truth; then I might love, and might enjoy Cleonte—enjoy Cleonte! [In transport.] Oh that Thought! what Fire it kindles in my Veins, and now my cold Fit’s gone— [Offers to go, but starts and returns.
—No, let me pause a while— For in this Ague of my Love and Fear, Both the Extremes are mortal— [Goes into the Garden.
Enter Ambrosio and Marcel.
Amb. I’m reconcil’d to you, since your Brother Silvio would have it so.
Mar. My Blood flows to my Face, to hear him named.
Amb. Let there be no more Differences between you: But Silvio has of late been discontented, keeps home, and shuns the Conversation which Youth delights in; goes not to Court as he was wont. Prithee, Marcel, learn thou the cause of it.
Mar. I do believe I shall, my Lord—too soon. [Aside.
Amb. I’m now going to my Villa, and shall not return till Night; by the way I mean to visit your Wife, that was design’d to be, the rich Flavia, and see if I can again reconcile her to you; for your Neglect has been great, and her Anger is just.
Mar. I rather wish it should continue, Sir, for I have yet no Inclinations to marry.
Amb. No more, I’ll have it so, if I can.
Mar. I’m silent, Sir. [Ex. Ambrosio and Marcel.
Enter as from out of the Garden, Cleonte, Clarinda, Francisca, Dormida, from amongst the Trees, sadly; Silvio who starts at sight of them.
Cleo. I am satisfied you knew not of my Brother’s being in the Garden. [To Franc.
Silv. Clarinda with my Sister! and in our House! she’s very fair—and yet how dull and blasted all her Beauties seems, when they approach the fair Cleonte’s—I cannot shun a tedious Compliment; to see the fair Clarinda [Goes to Clarinda.] here, is a Happiness beyond my Hope; I’m glad to see her kind to the Sister, who always treated the Brother with so much Scorn and Rigour.
Clar. Silvio! sure I’m betray’d. [Aside. [He talks to her.
Enter Marcel, and is amaz’d.
Mar. Hah! Silvio with Clarinda in our House! Oh, daring Villain! to make this place a Sanctuary To all thy Lusts and Treachery! Now I’m convinc’d, ’twas he that wounded me, And he that fled last Night with that false Woman. [Cleonte goes to Marcel.
Silv. You need not fear me now, fair Maid, I’m disarm’d of all my dangerous Love.
Mar. It was by his contrivance that she came, [To Cleonte.] do not excuse him, but send her quickly from you, lest you become as infamous as she.—
Cleo. Oh, how I hate her now; I know my Brother Silvio loves her.
Mar. How every Gesture shows his Passion, whilst she seems pleas’d to hear him. I can endure no more—
Cleo. What will you do? [She goes to them.
Mar. Nothing, dear Sister, But if I can be wise and angry too: For ’tis not safe t’attack him in the Garden. How now, Silvio—under the Name of Brother, I see you dare too much. [Snatches away his Sister and Clarinda.
Silv. What mean you by this rude Address, Marcel?
Mar. I’ll tell ye, Sir, anon. Go get you in. [To the Women, who go in.
Silv. Well, Sir, your Business now?
Mar. It is not safe to tell you here, tho I have hardly Patience to stay till thou meet me in St. Peter’s Grove.
Silv. I will not fail you, Sir, an Hour hence. [Goes in after them.
Mar. I dare not in this Rage return to upbraid Clarinda, lest I do things that mis-become a Man. [Goes out.
ACT IV.
Scene I. Carlo’s House.
After a Noise of Musick without, enter Haunce drest as Alonzo was, follow’d by Gload, in Masquerade.
Hau. Hold, hold, I do not like the Salutations I receive from all I meet in this House.
Glo. Why, Sir, methinks they are very familiar Scabs all.
Hau. Salerimente, they all salute me as they were my old Acquaintance. Your servant, Myn heer Haunce, crys one; your servant, Monsieur Haunce, crys another.
Enter Servant.
Serv. Your servant, Sir, you come indeed like a Bridegroom all beset with Dance and Fiddle.
Hau. Bridegroom! ha, ha, ha, dost hear, Gload? ’tis true faith. But how the Devil came he to know it, man, hah?
Serv. My Master, Sir, was just asking for you, he longs to speak with you.
Hau. Ha, ha, with me, Sir? why, ha, ha, who the pox am I?
Serv. You, Sir, why, who should you be?
Hau. Who should I be? why, who should I be?
Serv. Myn heer Haunce van Ezel, Sir.
Hau. Ha, ha, ha, well guest, i’faith now.
Glo. Why how should they guess otherwise, coming so attended with Musick, as prepar’d for a Wedding?
Hau. Ha, ha, ha, say’st thou so? faith, ’tis a good Device to save the Charges of the first Compliments, hah: but hark ye, hark ye, Friend, are you sure this is the House of Don Carlo?
Serv. Why, Sir, have you forgot it?
Hau. Forgot it! ha, ha, ha, dost hear, Gload? forgot it! why how the Devil should I remember it?
Glo. Sir, I believe this is some new-fashion’d Civility in Spain, to know every Man before he sees him.
Hau. No, no, you fool, they never change their Fashion in Spain, Man.
Glo. I mean their manner of Address, Sir.
Hau. It may be so, I’ll see farther. Friend, is Don Carlo within?
Serv. He has not been out since, Sir.
Hau. Since, ha, ha, ha, since when? hah.
Serv. Since you saw him, Sir.
Hau. Salerimente, will you make me mad? why you damnable Rascal, when did I see him? hah.
Serv. Here comes my Master himself, Sir, [Enter Carlo.] let him inform you, if you grow so hot upon the Question.
Car. How now, Son, what, angry? You have e’en tir’d your self with walking, and are out of Humour.
Hau. Look there again—the old Man’s mad too; why how the pox should he know I have been walking? Indeed, Sir, I have, as you say, been walking [Playing with his Hat.] —and am—as you say, out of Humour—But under favour, Sir, who are you? Sure ’tis the old Conjurer, and those were his little Imps I met. [Surlily to him.
Car. Sure, Son, you should be a Wit, by the shortness of your Memory.
Hau. By the Goodness of yours, you should be none, ha, ha, ha. Did I not meet with him there, Gload, hah? But pray refresh my Memory, and let me know you; I come to seek a Father amongst you here, one Don Carlo.
Car. Am I not the Man, Sir?
Hau. How the Devil should I know that now, unless by instinct?
Glo. The old Man is mad, and must be humour’d.
Hau. Cry you Mercy, Sir, I vow I had quite forgot you. Sir, I hope Donna Euphemia—
Car. Oh, Sir, she’s in a much better Humour than when you saw her last, complies with our Desires more than I cou’d hope or wish.
Hau. Why look you here again—I ask’d after her Health, not her Humour.
Car. I know not what Arts you made use of, but she’s strangely taken with your Conversation and Person.
Glo. Truly, Sir, you are mightily beholden to her, that she should have all this good Will to your Person and Conversation before she sees you.
Hau. Ay, so I am; therefore, Sir, I desire to see your Daughter, for I shall hardly be so generous as she has been, and be quits with her before I see her.
Car. Why, Sir, I hop’d you lik’d her when you saw her last.
Hau. Stark mad—I saw her last! why, what the Devil do you mean? I never saw her in all my Life, man. Stark mad, as I am true Dutch— [Aside.
Car. A Lover always thinks the time tedious: But here’s my Daughter.
Enter Euphemia and Olinda.
Hau. Ay, one of these must be she: but ’tis a Wonder I should not know which she is by instinct. [Aside.
[Stands looking very simply on both.
Euph. This is not Alonzo—has he betray’d me? [Aside.
Car. Go, Sir, she expects you.
Hau. Your pardon, Sir; let her come to me, if she will, I’m sure she knows me better than I do her.
Glo. How should she know you, Sir?
Hau. How? by instinct, you Fool, as all the rest of the House does: don’t you, fair Mistress?
Euph. I know you—
Hau. Yes, you know me; you need not be so coy mun, the old Man has told me all.
Euph. What has he told you?—I am ruin’d. [Aside.
Hau. Faith, much more than I believ’d, for he was very full of his new-fashion’d Spanish Civility, as they call it; But ha, ha, I hope, fair Mistress, you do not take after him?
Euph. What if I do, Sir?
Hau. Why then I had as lieve marry a Steeple with a perpetual Ring of Bells.
Glo. Let me advise you, Sir; methinks you might make a handsomer Speech for the first, to so pretty a Lady—Fakes, and were I to do’t—
Hau. I had a rare Speech for her thou knowest, and an Entertainment besides, that was, tho I say it, unordinary: But a pox of this new way of Civility, as thou call’st it, it has put me quite beside my part.
Glo. Tho you are out of your complimenting Part, I am not out of my dancing one, and therefore that part of your Entertainment I’ll undertake for. ’Slife, Sir, would you disappoint all our Ship’s Company?—
Hau. That’s according as I find this proud Tit in Humour.
Car. And why so coy? pray why all this Dissimulation? Come, come, I have told him your Mind, and do intend to make you both happy immediately.
Euph. How, Sir, immediately!
Car. Yes, indeed; nay, if you have deceiv’d me, and dissembled with me, when I was so kind, I’ll show you Trick for Trick i’faith— [Goes to Haunce.
Euph. What shall we do, Olinda?
Olin. Why marry Don Alonzo, Madam.
Euph. Do not rally, this is no time for Mirth.
Olin. Fie upon’t, Madam, that you should have so little Courage; your Father takes this Fellow to be Alonzo.
Car. What Counsel are you giving there, hah?
Olin. Only taking leave of our old Acquaintance, since you talk of marrying us so soon.
Car. What Acquaintance, pray?
Olin. Our Maiden-heads, Sir.
Hau. Ha, ha, ha, a pleasant Wench, faith now; I believe you would be content to part with yours with less warning.
Olin. On easy Terms perhaps, but this marrying I do not like; ’tis like going a long Voyage to Sea, where after a while even the Calms are distasteful, and the Storms dangerous: one seldom sees a new Object, ’tis still a deal of Sea, Sea; Husband, Husband, every day,—till one’s quite cloy’d with it.
Car. A mad Girl this, Son.
Hau. Ay, Sir, but I wish she had left out the simile, it made my Stomach wamble.
Glo. Pray, Sir, let you the Maid alone as an Utensil belonging to my Place and Office, and meddle you with the Mistress.
Hau. Faith now, thou hast the better Bargain of the two; my Mistress looks so scurvily and civil, that I don’t know what to say to her—Lady—hang’t, that look has put me quite out again.
Car. To her, Son, to her—
Hau. Hark ye, Lady—Well, what next now? Oh pox, quite out, quite out; tell me whether the old Man ly’d or no, when he told me you lov’d me.
Euph. I love you!
Hau. Look you there now, how she looks again.
Car. She’s only bashful, Sir, before me; therefore if you please to take a small Collation, that has waited within for you this three Hours—
Hau. That’s strange now, that any thing should wait for me, who was no more expected here than Bethlehem-Gaber: Faith now, Lady, this Father of yours is very simple.
Euph. To take you for his Son.
Hau. I meant to have surpriz’d you I vow, before you had dreamt of me; and when I came, you all knew me as well as if you had cast a Figure for me.
Car. Well, Son, you’ll follow.
Euph. You will not leave me alone, Sir, with a Man?
Hau. Go your ways, go your ways—I shall know more of your Secrets before [Gload makes Grimaces to Olinda of Love.] night yet, you little pouting Hypocrite you.
Euph. You know my Secrets! why, who are you?
Hau. Ha, ha, ha, that’s a very good one faith now: who am I, quoth thou? why there’s not a Child thus high in all your Father’s House would have ask’d me so simple a Question.
Olin. Madam, I find by this Man, this is your expected Lover, whom you must flatter, or you are undone, ’tis Haunce van Ezel. [To Euphemia.
Euph. The Fop himself.
Hau. Oh, do you know me now?
Euph. ’Tis impossible.
Hau. This is an extreme the other way now. [Aside.
Impossible, ha, ha, ha! No, no, poor thing, do not doubt thy Happiness: for look ye, to confirm you, here are my Bills of Exchange with my own natural Name to them, if you can read written Hand— [Shews her Papers.
Glo. Not love you! I’ll swear you lye now, you little Jade, I am now in Masquerade, and you cannot judge of me; but I am Book-keeper and Cashier to my Master, and my Love will turn to account, I’ll warrant you.
Olin. There may be use made of him. [Aside.
I shall think of it. But pray why are you thus accouter’d?
Glo. Fakes, to entertain your Lady, we have brought the whole Ship’s Company too in Masquerade.
Olin. That indeed will be very proper at this time of the Day, and the first Visit too.
Glo. Shaw, that’s nothing, you little think what Blades we are mun—Sir, I’ll call in the Fiddles and the Company.
Hau. Well remember’d, faith, now I had e’en forgot it.
Euph. What’s the meaning of this? [Fiddles strike up.
Hau. To show you the difference between the damnable dull Gravity of the Spanish, and brisk Gaiety of the Dutch. Come, come, begin all.
Enter Dutchmen and Women dancing.
Nay, I’ll shew you what I can do too, come, Gload. [They two dance.
There’s for you now, and yet you have not seen half my good Qualities; I can sing the newest Ballad that has been made, so I can. [Sings a Dutch Song.
Euph. Be these your Friends, Sir? they look as if you had ransack’d a Hoy for them.
Hau. How! look on them well, they are all States or States-fellows, I tell you that now, and they can bear witness who I am too.
Euph. Now I’m convinced, and am sorry I doubted my Happiness so long: I had such a Character of you.
Hau. Of me! oh Lord, I vow now—as they say—I don’t know—ha, ha—
Euph. I heard you were the most incorrigible Fool, the most intolerable Fop.
Hau. Ha, ha, ha, do you hear, Gload—who, I a Fop? I vow they were mistaken in me, for I am counted as pretty a Merchant as any walks the Change; can write a very plain Hand, and cast Account as well—my man Gload—can’t I, Sirrah?
Glo. Yes indeed, forsooth, can he.
Hau. Egad, a Fool, a Fop, quoth ye— [Walks angry.
Olin. By all means flatter him, Madam.
Euph. I’m satisfy’d, Sir.
Hau. I care not whether you are or no, for I shall have you whether you will or no, mun.
Euph. ’Tis very likely; but there is a certain troublesome Fellow in love with me, that has made me vow whenever I marry to ask him leave.
Hau. How, ask his leave? I scorn to ask any Body’s leave, I tell you that, tho ’twere my Mistress—
Euph. I cannot marry you then.
Hau. How, not marry me? look here now: [Ready to cry.
Gload, can’t you marry, and let no living Soul know it?
Euph. Oh no, Sir, I love your Life better, which would be indanger’d.
Hau. Why, what a cursed Custom you have in Spain, a Man can neither marry, nor console his Neighbour’s Wife without having his Throat cut. Why, what if he will not give you leave?
Euph. Why, then you must fight him.
Hau. How! fight him, I fight him!
Glo. Why, yes, Sir, you know you can fight, you try’d but this very Morning—
Hau. Softly, you damn’d Rogue, not a Word of my Prowess aloud. Salerimente, I shall be put to fight when I am sober, shall I, for your damn’d prating, ye Rascal?
Euph. I am glad you have that good Quality.
[Olinda speaking to Gload, pushes him to speak.
Glo. Ay, Madam—my Master—has many more: But if you please to tell him his Rival’s Name—
Hau. I’ll have your Ears for this, Sirrah, the next time I’m soundly drunk, and you know that won’t be long. [Aside.
Lord, Madam, my Man knows not what he says. Ye Rascal, say I have no Courage—or I will drink my self to the Miracle of Valour, and exercise it all on thee.
Glo. I know what I do, Sir, you had Courage this Morning, is the Fit over?
Hau. Have I not slept since, you Rogue, have I not?
Glo. I have a trick to save your Honour, Sir, and therefore I will stand in’t you have Courage.
Hau. A Pox of your Trick, the Rogue knows I dare not chastise him now, for fear they should think I have Valour.
Glo. Madam, my Master’s modest, but tell him who ’tis he must fight with—
Hau. Oh, for a Tun of Rhenish—that I might abundantly beat thee—
Euph. Your Rival’s Name’s Alonzo, Sir.
Hau. Oh the Devil, a thundring Name too; but will this same—Alonzo make no allowance for necessity?—I vow ’tis pure necessity in me to marry you: the old Men being agreed upon the Matter, I am but an Instrument—alas, not I, [Crys.
A very Tool, as they say, so I am.
Glo. Lord, Sir, why do you cry? I meant no harm.
Hau. No harm, you Rascal—to say I am valiant.
Glo. Why, yes, Sir, and if you would say so too, at worst ’twas but getting Don Lovis to have fought for you; you know that’s a small courtesy to a Friend.
Hau. Faith, now thou art in the right; he’ll do his Business for him, I’ll warrant him. [Wipes his Eyes.
Nay then, Madam, I have Courage, and will to this Don—this Alonzo you speak of; and if he do not resign you, and consign you too, I’ll make him; yes, make him, do ye see—If Lovis should refuse me now— [Aside.
Glo. Shaw, Sir, he makes nothing to kill a Man, ten or twenty.
Euph. Well, since you are so resolv’d, my Brother will tell you where to find this Alonzo; and tell him, I must marry you to day, for I am resolv’d not to lie alone tonight.
Hau. What would not a Man do for so kind a Mistress?
Euph. Well, get you about it strait then, lest my Father’s coming prevent it. [Exeunt Euphemia and Olinda.
Hau. I am gone—but if Lovis should fail—
Glo. He would beat you, if he thought you doubted him.
Hau. I’ll keep my Fears then to my self. [Go out.
Scene II. The Street.
Enter Hippolyta drest like a Man, with a Paper.
Hip. Thus I dare look abroad again: Methinks I am not what I was, My Soul too is all Man; Where dwells no Tenderness, no womanish Passions. I cannot sigh, nor weep, nor think of Love, But as a foolish Dream that’s gone and past. Revenge has took possession of my Soul, And drove those Shadows thence; and shows me now Love, in so poor, so despicable a Shape, So quite devested of his Artful Beauty, That I’m asham’d I ever was his Votary. Well, here’s my Challenge to Antonio; But how to get it to him is the Question. Base as he is, he’ll not refuse to come, And since he never saw the wrong’d Alonzo, Sure I may pass for him. Who’s here?—
Enter Haunce and Gload. She stands aside.
Hau. Gload, if it were possible I could be sober, and valiant at once, I should now be provok’d to exercise it: for I cannot find Lovis, and then how I shall come off, the Lord knows. And then again, for letting the Lady go, whom I rescu’d in the Grove this Morning.
Glo. Should I disobey a Lady, Sir? for she commanded me to let her go so soon as she came into the Gate. And, Sir, look, here comes Don Lovis.
Enter Lovis and Alonzo.
Hau. Oh, Brother Lovis, where the Devil have you been all this Day? I stay’d for you to go with me to your Sister’s, as long as Flesh and Blood could forbear.
Lov. Why, have you been there without me?
Hau. Yes, marry have I, Sir.
Alon. I am undone then— [Aside.
Hau. I needed no Recommendation mun, for when I came they were all as well acquainted with me—I never saw them before; but by the way, they are all no wiser than they should be, except your Sister, who is the pretty’st loving, sweet Rogue—
Alon. How’s this?
Lov. But have you seen my Sister?
Hau. Seen her! yes, and will marry her too mun before Night, an she were a thousand Sisters—but harkye, Lovis, the business is this—you must know that before I marry her, I am to seek out a certain Fellow, they call—they call Alonzo, ay, ay, Alonzo—a Pox on him, a troublesome Rascal they say he is; and his leave, it seems, must be askt to marry your Sister.
Lov. Well, Sir, and what if he will not give you leave?
Hau. Why then, you must know I am to get him very well favour’dly beaten.
Alon. Sure this is the Coxcomb himself.
Hau. Now for your Sister’s sake, who loves me, poor thing, I will not run the danger of beating him my self, but must desire that small courtesy of thee.
Lov. How! I beat him?
Hau. You beat him, yes, you; what a Pox do you scruple such a kindness to a Friend? I know you make no more of killing a Man next your Heart in a Morning, than I do of eating a pickled Herring.
Lov. But she desir’d you to do’t.
Hau. That’s all one so it be done, mun; besides, why should I run my self into a Premunire, when I need not? Your Father is bound by Agreement to mine, to deliver me the Wares (that is, his Daughter) safe and sound; and I have no more to do, but to protest against him in case of Non-performance. ’Twill be a dear Commodity to me at this rate. [Cries.
Lov. Well, Sir, I’ll see what may be done.
Hau. Spoke like a Friend now: Well, you must about it instantly, for I must be married to day.
Alon. Must you so, Sir?—
Hau. Yes marry must I, Sir—Who the Devil’s this now? [To Lovis.
Alon. That same Alonzo whom you inquire for.
Hau. Are you so, Sir?—Why, what then, Sir,—Lovis, Lovis. [Runs behind Lovis.
Alon. What then, Sir? then I tell you, I will not be beaten.
Hau. Look ye here now—Lovis.
Lov. Ha, ha, ha, canst thou be angry with him? [To Alonzo.
Hau. I, can you be angry with me?
Alon. I know not why an Ass should have more privilege than any other rude Beast.
Lov. Ha, ha, ha, this Humour’s so pleasant in thee, I wish thou wouldst pursue it a little—Haunce, bear up to him, he’s but a mere Huff, ha, ha, ha. [Claps him on the Back, he goes fearfully forward.
Glo. I, Sir, as long as Don Lovis is here, you may say what you will.
Hau. May I so?—and why, Sir?—am I, Sir—an Ass, Sir? [Runs behind Lovis.
Alon. ’Sdeath, you Rascal, do you question me?
Hau. Oh, hold, Sir, hold, not I, God forbid I should question it, Lovis—is it, indeed, Alonzo, hah?
Lov. Yes indeed is it.
Hau. And wilt thou not do so much as to beat him for me a little?
Lov. Not I, I dare not, he’s a terrible Man.
Hau. Why look you here now, you damn’d Rogue, [To Gload.] Have not you serv’d me finely, hah?
Gload. Why, Sir, ’tis but crying Peccavi.
Hau. Peccavi, and be hang’d to you—Lord, Sir, [To Alonzo.] why are you so angry? I came but to ask you a civil Question, from my Wife that must be.
Alon. You must ask me leave, first.
Hau. Yes, yes, Sir, so she said mun; for she must marry me to night.
Alon. Yes, you shall have it with this—too. [Draws.
Hau. Why look you [Haunce runs away, Lovis stays him.] here now, here’s damn’d doings. For my part, I declare it here upon my Death-bed, I am forc’d to what I do, and you kill me against my Will.
Alon. Do’st think we are not discover’d in our Design? I’d kill the Dog if I thought we were.
Lov. I believe not; and perceive by my Sister’s Message, that we are to come to her, and prevent this Fellow’s marrying her.
Alon. Well, Sir, I’ll spare your Life, and give your Mistress leave to marry to night.
Hau. How, Sir, to Night?—But is he in earnest, Lovis?
Lov. In very good earnest.
Hau. Tan, ta, ra, ra, ra—hay, Boys, what a Night we’ll have on’t, Gload, for Fiddles and Dancing.
Alon. Tell your Mistress I will dispatch a little Affair, and wait on her.
Gload. And pray, Sir, may I have leave to marry the Maid too?
Alon. We’ll consider on’t.
Hau. I am not such a Fool to venture tho, till I know the Coast is clear, for his very Looks are terrible; but go you, Gload, and tell her what he says. [Alonzo talks to Lovis.
Enter Hippolyta from aside.
Hip. These be the Men that rescu’d me this morning, And are not to be employ’d in my Affair. But yonder Stranger has a noble Look, And from him I’ll intreat this Favour—Sir— [To Alonzo.
Alon. With me, Sir?
Hip. Yes, please you to walk a little this way, Sir. [Takes him aside.
Hau. Well, make you sure of Fiddles, for look ye, we’ll appear to night like our selves.
Gload. It shall be done, Sir.
Hip. I am a Stranger and a Gentleman, And have an humble Suit to you.
Alon. You may command me any thing.
Hip. Sir, there is a Gentleman, if I may call him so, that dares do ill; has put a base Affront upon a Lady—a Lady whom all brave Men are bound to vindicate: I’ve writ him here a Challenge, and only beg you’ll give it him; I will attend you in St. Peter’s Grove, where I desire the perfidious Antonio (for that’s his Name, to whom this is directed) to meet me.
Alon. I’m pleas’d to see this Gallantry in a Man so young, and will serve you in this, or whatever else you shall command. But where is this Antonio?
Hip. That I’ll inquire of these. Sir, pray can you give any account of the Cavalier [To Haunce, who starts as afraid.] you fought with this Morning in St. Peter’s Grove, that had a Lady with him?
Hau. So, now perhaps I shall be hang’d for that. [Aside.
I fight, Sir! I never fought in my Life, nor saw no Man, not I.
Gload. ’Sha, you may confess it, Sir; there’s no Law against killing in Spain.
Hip. How, have you murder’d him? [Takes hold of him.
Hau. This Rogue has a mind to have me dispatch’d. [Aside.
Hold, Sir, the Man’s as well and alive as you are, and is now at my Lodgings: look ye, here’s the Dagger I disarm’d him of—but that I do not love to boast. [Shews it.
Hip. It is the same.
Alon. Sir, I shall not fail to wait on you with the Answer I receive.
Hip. I humbly thank you, Sir.
Alon. So prithee, dear Lovis, go make my excuse to your Sister for a moment, and let her get all things ready against I come; let the Priest too wait, for I see my Destiny, which I can no longer prevent, draws on apace. [Exit Lovis.
Come, Sir, you must conduct me to Antonio.
[Exeunt Alonzo, Haunce, and Gload.
Hip. So now the Work’s half done, that will redeem All the lost Credit of our Family. To kill, or to be kill’d, I care not which, [Weeps. So one or both expire; be strong, my Soul, And let no feeble Woman dwell about thee. Hence Fears and Pity, such poor things as these Cannot the Storms of my Revenge appease: Those Showers must from his treacherous Heart proceed, If I can live and see Antonio bleed. [Sighs, and Exit.
Scene III. A deep Grove.
Enter Marcel alone.
Mar. The hour is almost come which I appointed, And yet no Silvio appears, the time seems long to me; But he that’s circled in his Mistress’ Arms, Forgets the hasty hours, And passes them as unregarded by, As Men do Beggars who demand a Charity.
Enter Hippolyta.
Young Man, hast thou encounter’d none within this Grove?
Hip. Not any, Sir,—Marcel! my injur’d Brother!
Mar. Why dost thou turn away, and hide thy Face?
Hip. ’Tis not my Face I hide, but Sorrow there. [Weeps.
Mar. Trust me, thou weepest; would I could do so too, That I might be less angry; And Silence best expresses Grief: But thine’s a saucy Sorrow dares approach A Face so fair and young.
Hip. If the Ingrate for whom I grieve had thought so, I might have spar’d my Tears. Farewel, Sir.
Mar. Stay, hast thou been a Lover?
Hip. A very, very passionate one.
Mar. And wert thou not belov’d?
Hip. At first, to draw me in, the cunning Artist Made me believe I was.
Mar. Oh! I could kiss thee now, for the alliance Between thy Grief and mine. Hadst thou a loose and wanton Sister too, Then thou wert perfect wretched, as I am. [Weeps. But prithee leave me, now I think of it: For shouldst thou stay, thou’dst rob me of my Anger; For since a Youth like thee can be unhappy, With such a Shape, and so divine a Face, Methinks I should not quarrel with my Star, But bow to all my faithless Mistress’ Scorns.
[Hollowing within.] So ho, ho, so ho, ho—
Mar. So ho, so ho, ho, ho—’Tis my false Rival. Now leave me, Sir, to reassume my Anger.
Hip. I will obey—farewel— My own Despair makes me neglect his Life. [Goes out.
Enter Silvio.
Mar. ’Tis Silvio.
Silv. You see I have obey’d you, Sir.
Mar. Come, Sir, your Sword.
Silv. You are my Brother, and ’twere an impious Action, To fight you unprovok’d: give me a cause, Nay, and a just one too, or I shall find it hard —To wound Cleonte’s Brother. [Aside sighing.
Mar. Thou cam’st prepar’d to talk, and not to fight. I cannot blame thee for’t, for were I Silvio, Thus I would do to save a Life belov’d: [Offers to fight, Silvio steps back. But ’twill not serve you now.
Silv. Your Reason, Sir, and I’m ready, if it be just.
Mar. Oh do not urge me to repeat my Wrongs, For if thou dost, I hardly shall have Man enough remain To fight thee fairly. [Offers still.
Silv. Surely he knows my Passion for Cleonte— [Aside.
I urge the Reason still.
Mar. Hast thou forgot thy last Night’s Treachery? How like a Thief thou stol’st into her Lodgings?
Silv. ’Tis so—’tis true, Marcel, I rudely did intrude—
Mar. Oh, quickly haste—this looks like Women’s jangling. [Offers to fight again.
Silv. Oh, is it bravely done, Marcel, to punish A Passion which you ought to pity rather? ’Tis what I cannot reconcile nor justify: And so distracted it has made me too— I will not fight in so unjust a Cause. Kill me, and I’ll embrace you whilst I die; A thousand Wounds imprinted on this Body, Will bring less Pain than that her Eyes have caus’d. Here strike—Pity my Pain and ease me. [Opens his Arms, and throws away his Sword.
Mar. I find thou hast a Charm about thy Tongue, And thou implor’st thy Death in such a way, I cannot hurt thee; and it gives me hopes Thou art not yet so bless’d to be belov’d, For then thou wouldst not be thus desperate.
Silv. Oh yes, I am belov’d.
Mar. Oh do not say thou art, Nor take me from a Calmness, that may spare thee.
Silv. Not say I am belov’d! thou canst not hire me With Life or fuller Joy, to say I am not. If there be Truth and Love in Innocence, she loves me.
Mar. Yet, yet, ye Gods, I can endure—say, but thou art not, For I would yet preserve thee.
Silv. Oh, canst thou wish that I should fall so low, To save my Life with Lyes; the poorest Sin of all the number?
Mar. Then once again thou hast debauch’d my Pity. [Takes to his Sword.
Silv. Her Passion I will justify, but not my own; Her’s is as pure as Prayers of Penitence; But mine—I cannot give a Name to.
[They fight: Enter Alonzo, and parts them.
Alon. How now, what’s here to do! Marcel?
Mar. Alonzo! the only Man I wish to shun.
Silv. I’m glad, who e’er thou be’st thou hast prevented us.
Alon. Thou hast more Wit than he, then I find: Your Quarrel, Sir, may a Man have leave to enquire into’t?
Mar. This is that Silvio, that noble Youth my Brother, whom thou hast often heard me name.
Alon. An excellent Character for an Enemy, Noble, and Brother: For shame put up your Swords, and I’ll be Judge between ye.
Mar. The Case is soon decided; I will not tell you with how tedious a Courtship I won the Heart, as I thought, of a young Beauty of this Town—and yesterday receiv’d a Billet from her, to wait on her at night, to receive the recompence of all my Pains and Sufferings—In this extasy of Joy I show’d him the Paper; and he getting thither before me, rob’d me of my Prize.
Silv. I am so pleas’d at this mistake of thine, I can forgive it freely.
Mar. Not content with this, most treacherously, hid in the shades of Night, he met me in the Hall of this false Woman, and stab’d me, which did secure his flight with her; and wouldst thou have me put this Injury up?
Alon. Faith, you must, and your Sword too, Unless you mean to keep it drawn on me. ’Twas I that wounded you i’ th’ dark; and it was I That rob’d you of Clarinda.
Mar. Thou?
Alon. I, am I so unlikely a Man to do such a feat?
Mar. How dare you, Sir, do this?
Alon. I dare do any thing, but break my Word, as thou hast basely done with me—But I am now in haste, and should be glad to know where to meet you anon.
Mar. I’ll wait on you at the farther side of this Grove by the River.
Alon. I will not fail you— [Ex. Alonzo.
Mar. Come, Sir, till I can better prove you are my Rival, I will believe you are my Friend and Brother.
Silv. When thou shalt know my miserable Story, Thou wilt believe and pity me. [Go out.
Enter again Hippolyta from out of the Wood.
Hip. I wonder this Cavalier stays so long, Pray Heaven he meet Antonio.
Enter Alonzo.
Your Servant, Sir.
Alon. The Cavalier to whom you sent me, Sir, Will wait upon you here.
Hip. I humbly thank you, Sir, and should be glad to know how I might pay my Gratitude.
Alon. My Duty ends not here; I have a Sword to serve you.
Hip. You shame me with this Generosity; but, Sir, I hope my own will be sufficient in so good a Cause.
Alon. Tho you are young, I question not your Bravery; But I must beg to stay and see fair play, And offer you my Service when you’ve done.
Hip. The Enemy appears, Sir,—and since you are so good, I beg you would retire behind those Trees; for if he see us both, since he is single, he will suspect some treachery.
Alon. You’ve reason, Sir, and I’ll obey you. [Goes aside.
Enter Antonio reading a Paper.
SIR,
I do desire you to meet me in St. Peter’s Grove, with your Sword in your Hand, about an Hour hence; you will guess my Business, when you know my name to be
Alonzo.
Alon. How’s that? [Aside.
Ant. I wish’t had been another Enemy, Since from the Justice of his Cause I fear An ill success; would I had seen Hippolyta, That e’er I dy’d I might have had her pardon. This Conscience—’tis ominous, But ne’er appears in any horrid shape, Till it approaches Death—
[Goes forward, sees Hippolyta, who justles him in passing by; he stops and looks.
Hip. You seem, Sir, to be he whom I expect.
Ant. I’m call’d Antonio, Sir—
Hip. And I Alonzo; the rest we need not ask, For thou art well acquainted with my Injuries, And I with thy Perfidiousness. [Draws.
Ant. I know of none you have receiv’d from me, If on Hippolyta’s account you fight: She lov’d me, and believ’d; and what dull Lover Would have refus’d a Maid so easily gain’d?
Hip. Ah, Traytor, by how base a way Thou wouldst evade thy Fate? Didst thou not know she was my Wife by promise? Did not Marcel, Ambrosio, all consent To make her mine as soon as I arriv’d?
Alon. Who the Devil’s that young Bully that takes my Name, and my Concerns upon him? [Aside.
Hip. But why should I expect a Truth from thee, Who after so much time, so many Vows, So many Tears, Despairs and Sighs, at last Didst gain a Credit with this easy Fool, Then left her to her shames, and her despairs?—Come, Sir— Or I shall talk my self to calmness— [Aside.
Ant. I’m ready, Sir, to justify the Deed.
[They offer to fight, Alonzo steps forth.
Alon. Hold! hold! fair Thief that rob’st me of my Name, And wouldst my Honour too; [Puts her by. If thou hast wrong’d the fair Hippolyta, [To Antonio. No Man but I has right to do her justice. Or you are both my Rivals—tell me which, Which of you is it I must kill—or both? I am Alonzo, who dares love Hippolyta?
Hip. Let not your friendship, Sir, proceed so far, To take my Name, to take my Quarrel on you.
Alon. In this Dispute none’s more concern’d than I, And I will keep my ground in such a cause, Tho all the Rivals that her Beauty makes me, Were arm’d to take my Life away.
Ant. Come, Sir, I care not which of you’s Alonzo. [They go to fight, she holds Alonzo.
Hip. This Gallantry’s too much, brave Stranger. Antonio, hurt him not; I am the wrong’d Alonzo, And this a perfect Stranger to the business, Who seeing me appear less Man than he, And unacquainted with my Deeds abroad, In Bounty takes my Name and Quarrel on him.
Alon. Take heed, young Man, and keep thy Virtue in, Lest thus misguided it become a Crime. But thou, he says, hast wrong’d Hippolyta, [To Antonio. And I am he must punish it.
Hip. Sure it is he indeed— For such a Miracle my Brother render’d him, [Aside. Hold, hold, thou Wonder of thy Sex— [They fight.
Alon. Stand by, I shall be angry with thee else, And that will be unsafe—
[As Alonzo fights with one Hand, he keeps her off with t’other; she presses still forward on Antonio with her Sword, indeavouring to keep back Alonzo.
Enter to them Marcel.
Mar. Sure I heard the Noise of Swords this way! [Draws.
Hah, two against one! Courage, Sir. [To Antonio.
[They fight all four, Marcel with Hippolyta whom he wounds, and Alonzo with Antonio, who is disarmed.
Hip. Good Heaven, how just thou art!
Mar. What, dost thou faint already?—Hah, the pretty talking Youth I saw but now! [Runs to her, and holds her up.
Alas, how dost thou?
Hip. Well, since thy Hand has wounded me—
Ant. My Life is yours, nor would I ask the Gift, But to repair my Injuries to Hippolyta.
Alon. I give it thee— [Gives him his Sword.
Mar. How, Antonio!— What unkind Hand has rob’d me of the justice Of killing thee?
Alon. His that was once thy Friend, Marcel.
Mar. Oh! dost thou know my Shame? [Turns away.
Alon. I know thou art false to Friendship, And therefore do demand mine back again, thou’st us’d it scurvily.
Mar. Thou knowst too much to think I’ve injur’d thee.
Alon. Not injur’d me! Who was it promis’d me Hippolyta? Who his Alliance, and his Friendship too? And who has broke them all, but thou perfidious? Come, ’tis Hippolyta that I demand.
Mar. By this he should not know my Sister’s Shame. [Aside.
Oh, Sir, you must not have Hippolyta.
Alon. How! not have Hippolyta! Tho every Step were guarded by a Brother, Tho she were circled round about with Rivals, Ye should not all have Power to keep her from me. Not have Hippolyta!— ’Sdeath, Sir, because I do not know my Birth, And cannot boast a little empty Title, I must not have Hippolyta.— Now I will have her; and when you know I can, You shall petition me to marry her. And yet I will not do’t. Come, Sir— [Offers to fight.
Hip. Hold, hold, brave Man, or turn your Sword on me. I am the unhappy Cause of all your Rage: ’Tis I, generous Alonzo, that can tell you What he’s asham’d to own, And thou wilt blush to hear.
Mar. Hippolyta! thou wretched wicked Woman: Thus I reward thy Sins— [Offers to kill her, Antonio steps between.
Ant. Hold, Sir, and touch her not without my leave, She is my Wife; by sacred Vows my Wife.
Alon. I understand no riddling; but whoever thou be’st. Man or Woman, thou’rt worth our Care— She faints—come, let us bear her hence. [She faints, Antonio kneels to her.
Ant. Oh stay, Hippolyta, and take me with thee, For I’ve no use of Life when thou art gone. [Weeps. Here, kill me, brave Marcel—and yet you need not; My own Remorse, and Grief will be sufficient.
Mar. I credit thee, and leave thee to their Mercy.
Hip. That Goodness, Sir, has call’d me back to Life, To pay my humble Thanks; could you have Mercy too, To pardon me—you might redeem my Soul.
Mar. Some Pity I have yet, that may preserve thee too, Provided this Repentance be not feign’d.
Ant. My Life, Sir, is Security for both.
Mar. Doubt not, I’ll take the Forfeit, Sir—Come, Hippolyta. Thy Father’s House shall once again receive thee.
Ant. Lean on my Arm, my dearest.
Mar. Sir, by the way, I’ll let you know her Story, And then perhaps you will not blame my Friendship.
Alon. And in return, I’ll give you back Clarinda— And beg your Pardon for the Wound I gave you. [Exeunt, leading Hippolyta.
ACT V.
Scene I. A Garden.
Enter Cleonte, Clarinda weeping, and Dormida and Francisca.
Cleo. Fear not, I’ll use my Interest both with your Mother and my Father, to set your Heart at rest, Whose Pain I feel by something in my own.
Clar. The Gods reward your Bounty, fair Cleonte.
Dor. I, I, Madam, I beseech you make our Peace with my good Lady her Mother, whatsoever becomes of the rest, for she’ll e’en die with Grief— [Weeps.
She had but two fair Pledges of her Nuptial Bed. And both by cruel Fate are ravisht from her. Manuel a Child was lost, And this; not holy Relicks were more strictly guarded, Till false Marcel betray’d me to debauch her. [Weeps aloud.
Cleo. Alas, had you a Brother once? [To Clarinda.
Clar. Madam, I might have had: but he was lost e’er I was born.
Cleo. Ah! would my Silvio had been so. [Aside.
By what strange Accident, Clarinda?
Dor. Madam, I can inform you best. [Puts herself between.
Cleo. Do then, Dormida.
Dor. Madam, you must know, my Lady Octavia, for that’s her name, was in her Youth the very Flower of Beauty and Vertue: Oh such a Face and Shape! had you but seen her—And tho I say it, Madam, I thought my self too somebody then.
Clar. Thou art tedious: Madam, ’tis true my Mother had the Reputation of both those Attractions, which gain’d her many Lovers: amongst the rest, Don Manuel, and Don Alonzo, were most worthy her Esteem.
Dor. Ay, Madam, Don Alonzo, there was a Man for you, so obliging and so bountiful—Well, I’ll give you Argument of both to me: for you must know I was a Beauty then, and worth obliging. [Puts herself between.
And he was the Man my Lady lov’d, tho Don Manuel were the richer: but to my own Story—
Cleo. Forward, Clarinda.
Clar. But as it most times happens, We marry where our Parents like, not we; My Mother was dispos’d of to Don Manuel.
Dor. Ay, Madam; but had you seen Don Alonzo’s Rage, and how my Lady took this Disappointment—But I who was very young, and very pretty, as I told you before—
Clar. Forbear, Madam; ’tis true, Alonzo was so far transported, That oft he did attempt to kill my Father; But bravely tho, and still he was prevented: But when at the Intreaties of my Mother, The King confin’d my Father, Alonzo then study’d a new Revenge; And thinking that my Father’s Life depended Upon a Son he had, scarce a Year old, He did design to steal him; and one Evening, When with the Nurse and Maid he took the Air, This desperate Lover seiz’d the smiling Prize, Which never since was heard of.
Cleo. I guess the Grief the Parents must sustain.
Dor. It almost caus’d their Deaths; nor did kind Heaven Supply them with another till long after, Unhappy this was born: Which just her Father liv’d to see, and dy’d. [Weeps. Then she was Daughter, Son and Husband too,
To her afflicted Mother: But as I told you, Madam, I was then in my Prime—
Clar. Now, Madam, judge what her Despair must be, Who is depriv’d of all her Joys in me. [Weeps.
Cleo. Francisca, see who it is that knocks so hastily. [One knocks.
Franc. Oh, Madam, ’tis Don Marcel leading a wounded Man.
Cleo. Oh my Fears, ’tis Silvio!
Franc. ’Tis not Don Silvio.
Enter Marcel, leading Hippolyta wounded, followed by Alonzo and Pedro.
Cleo. Alas, what Youth is this you lead all bleeding?
Mar. One that deserves your Care; where’s my Father?
Cleo. Not yet return’d.
Mar. ’Tis well; and you, Sir, I must confine till I know how to satisfy my Honour, and that of my wrong’d Sister. [To Antonio.
Ant. The holy Man will soon decide our Difference: Pray send for one, and reconcile us all.
Hip. I fear, Antonio, still thou dost dissemble.
Ant. So let me find Forgiveness when I die, If any fear of Death have wrought this change, But a pure Sense of all my Wrongs to thee, Knowing thy constant Love, and Virtue to me.
Mar. I will secure your fear—Francisca, send for Father Joseph to me, and conduct these Gentlemen to the Lodgings next the Garden.
[Exeunt Francisca, Antonio and Hippolyta.
Alon. Prithee, Marcel, are thee and I awake, or do we dream? thou, that thou art in thy Father’s House; and I, that I see those two fair Women there? Pray, lovely Fugitive, how came you hither? [To Clarinda.
Mar. I thought thou wert mistaken; ’Twas Silvio brought her hither, that false Man. But how came you to know her?
Alon. Know her! ’slife, I question my Sense. Pray, Lady, are you Flesh and Blood? [To Cleonte.
Cleo. Yes surely, Sir; for ’twere pity you should have bestow’d your Heart on a Shadow, and I well remember you gave it one of us last Night.
Alon. A Dream, a Dream! but are you indeed the same fair Person, and is this the same House too?
Cleo. I am afraid your Heart’s not worth the keeping, since you took no better notice where you dispos’d of it.
Alon. Faith, Madam, your wrong a poor Lover, who has languish’d in search of it all this live-long day.
Cleo. Brother, I beseech you, receive the innocent Clarinda, who, I fear, will have the greatest Cause of Complaint against you. [To Marcel. Gives him to Clarinda.
Alon. But pray, fair one, let you and I talk a little about that same Heart you put me in mind of just now. [To Cleonte, with whom he seems to talk.
Ped. Surely that’s my old Mistress, Dormida; twenty years has not made so great an Alteration in that ill-favour’d Face of hers, but I can find a Lover there.
[Goes to her, they seem to talk earnestly, and sometimes pleasantly, pointing to Clarinda.
Mar. Enough, Clarinda: I’m too well convinc’d, Would thou hadst still remain’d a Criminal. Now how can I reward thy Faith and Love?
Clar. I know, Marcel, it is not in thy Power, Thy faithless Story I’m acquainted with.
Mar. Do not reproach me with my Shame, Clarinda. ’Tis true, to gain thee to consent to my Desires, I made an honourable Pretence of loving. Pardon a Lover all the ways he takes To gain a Mistress so belov’d and fair. But I have since repented of that Sin, And came last Night for thy Forgiveness too.
Ped. This is News indeed; ’tis fit I keep this Secret no longer from my Master. Don Manuel being dead, my Vow’s expir’d. [Aside.]
[Pedro goes to Alonzo.
Clar. And do you mean no more to love me then?
Mar. In spite of me, above my Sense or Being.
Clar. And yet you’ll marry Flavia.
Mar. Against my Will I must, or lose a Father.
Clar. Then I must die, Marcel.
Mar. Do not unman my Soul, it is too weak To bear the Weight of fair Clarinda’s Tears. [Weeps.
Alon. Why was this Secret kept from me so long?
Ped. I was oblig’d by Vow, Sir, to Don Alonzo, my dead Master, not to restore you till Don Manuel’s Death; believing it a Happiness too great for his Rival, for so he was upon your Mother’s score.
Alon. Have I a Mother living?
Ped. Here in Madrid, Sir, and that fair Maid’s your Sister. [Pointing to Clarinda.
Alon. I scarce can credit thee, but that I know thee honest.
Ped. To confirm that belief, Sir, here are the Writings of twelve thousand Crowns a Year, left you by your Foster-Father the brave Alonzo, whose Name he gave you too. [Gives him Papers, he reads.
Alon. I am convinc’d—How now, Marcel, what all in Tears? why, who the Devil would love in earnest? Come, come, make me Judge between you.
Mar. You’ll soon decide it then, my Heart’s Clarinda’s; But my forc’d Vows are given to another.
Alon. Vows! dost think the Gods regard the Vows of Lovers? they are things made in necessity, and ought not to be kept, nor punish’d when broken; if they were—Heaven have mercy on me poor Sinner.
Enter Ambrosio.
Mar. My Father return’d! [Bows, and goes to him, and then leads Alonzo to him.
Sir, this is the gallant Man that was design’d to be your Son-in-Law.
Amb. And that you were not so, Sir, was my misfortune only.
Alon. I am glad to find it no slight to my Person, Or unknown Quality that depriv’d me of that Honour.
Mar. To convince you of that, Alonzo, I know my Father will bestow this other Sister on you; more fair and young, and equally as rich. [Ambrosio calls Marcel aside.
Alon. How, his Sister! Fool that I was, I could not guess at this; and now have I been lying and swearing all this while how much I lov’d her. Well, take one time with another, a Man falls into more Danger by this amorous Humour, than he gets good turns by it.
Mar. Pardon me, Sir, I knew not you had design’d her elsewhere—Dear Alonzo, my Father—
Alon. Ay, Sir, I am much oblig’d to him. Oh Pox, would I were well with Euphemia.
Mar. I protest I could wish—
Alon. Ay, so could I, Sir, that you had made a better Judgment of my Humour: All must out, I have no other way to avoid this Compliment else. Why look ye, Marcel—Your Sister is—Pox, I am ill at Dissimulation, and therefore in plain Terms, I am to be married this very Evening to another.
Mar. This was happy, and has sav’d me an Excuse. [Aside.
But are you in earnest, How is it possible, being so lately come into Madrid?
Alon. Destiny, Destiny, Marcel, which there was no avoiding, tho I mist of Hippolyta.
Mar. Who is it, prithee?
Alon. A Woman I hope, of which indeed I would have been better assur’d; but she was wilful. She’s call’d Euphemia.
Mar. Our next Neighbour, the Daughter of old Carlo.
Alon. The same.
Mar. Thou art happy to make so good a Progress in so short a time, but I am—
Alon. Not so miserable as you believe. Come, come, you shall marry Clarinda.
Mar. ’Tis impossible.
Alon. Where’s the hindrance?
Mar. Her want of Fortune; that’s enough, Friend.
Alon. Stand by and expect the best— [Goes to Ambrosio.
Sir, I have an humble Suit to you.
Amb. I shall be infinitely pleas’d you could ask me any thing in my Power; but, Sir, this Daughter I had dispos’d of, before I knew you would have mist of Hippolyta.
Alon. Luckier than I expected. [Aside.
Sir, that was an Honour I could not merit, and am contented with my Fate: But my Request is, that you would receive into your Family a Sister of mine, whom I would bestow on Don Marcel.
Mar. Hah, what mean you, Sir? a Sister of yours?
Alon. Yes, she will not be unwelcome—This is she.
Amb. This is the Daughter to Octavia—Her Mother was a Lady whom once I did adore, and ’twas her fault she was not more happy with me, than with Don Manuel. Nor have I so wholly forgot that Flame, but I might be inclin’d to your Proposal: But, Sir, she wants a Fortune.
Alon. That I’ll supply.
Mar. You supply, Sir? On what kind Score, I pray?
Alon. That which you’ll suffer without being jealous, When you shall know she is indeed my Sister.
Clar. How! this brave Man my Brother?
Alon. So they tell me, and that my Name is Manuel. Had you not such a Brother?
Dor. Oh ye Gods, is this the little Manuel?
Ped. Yes, Dormida, and for a farther Proof see this. [Opens his Master’s Bosom and shews a Crucifix.
Dor. This I remember well, it is Don Manuel: Pray let me look upon you: Just like my Lord—Now may the Soul of Don Alonzo rest in Peace, For making so hopeful a Man of you.
Alon. Amen. But, Sir, if you approve of my Sister, I’ll make her as worthy of Marcel, as Flavia.
Amb. I’ve lost the Hopes of her—She’s not to be reconcil’d. [Aside.
Clarinda needs no more than to belong to you, To make her valuable—and I consent with Joy. [Gives her to Marcel.
Mar. And I with Joys unutterable take her.
Alon. Pedro, there rests no more than that you wait on my Mother, and let her know all that has happen’d to my self and Sister, and that I’ll pay my Duty to her e’er I sleep.
Dor. The very Joy to find her Son again, will get my Pardon too: and then perhaps Pedro and I may renew our old Amours.
Alon. Sir, I have another Request to make.
Amb. You must command, Sir.
Alon. That is, that you will permit this fair Company to honour me this Evening at my Father-in-law’s, Don Carlo.
Amb. How, has Don Carlo married the Lady Octavia?
Alon. No, Sir, but a worse matter than that, I am to marry his Daughter.
Amb. Oh, Sir, Euphemia has too much Beauty and Virtue to make you doubt your Happiness.
Alon. Well, Sir, I must venture that. But your Company I’ll expect, the Ladies may clap on their Vizards, and make a masquerading Night on’t: tho such Freedoms are not very usual in Spain, we that have seen the World, may absolve one another.
Amb. My Garden joins to that of Don Carlo, and that way we will wait on you, as soon as I have dispatcht a small Affair.
Alon. Your humble servant, Sir. [Goes out; Ambrosio the other way.
Mar. Sister, go you and prepare my Father to receive Hippolyta, whilst I go see them married.
[Exeunt Cleonte and Clarinda.
[Marcel passing over the Garden, sees Silvio enter in Passion, followed by Francisca.
Silv. Do not, Francisca—do not blow my Flame, The Cure thou bring’st is much the greater Hell. [Offers to go, but stops.
Mar. Hah, Silvio! unseen I’ll hear the Business. [Goes aside.
Silv. I would fain shun thee, but this impious Weight Of Love upon my Soul hinders my flight: I’m fixt—like conscious Guilt it keeps me here, And I am now insensible of Fear. Speak on, thou Messenger of sacred Love—speak on.
Franc. The fair Cleonte, Sir, whose Soul’s inflam’d No less than yours; tho with a virgin Modesty She would conceal it, pitying now your Pain, Has thro my Intercession—
Silv. Oh quickly speak! What Happiness design’d me?
Franc. To admit you, Sir, this Night into her Chamber.
Mar. Death to my Soul! What’s this? [Aside.
Silv. Her Chamber? is that all? will that allay this Fever In my Blood?—No, no, Francisca, ’Tis grown too high for amorous Parleys only; Her Arms, her charming Bosom, and her Bed, Must now receive me; or I die, Francisca.
Franc. I mean no other, Sir; why, can you think A Maid in love as much as you can be, Assisted with the silence of the Night, (Which veils her Blushes too) can say—I dare not? Or if she do, she’ll speak it faintly o’er, And even whilst she so denies will yield. Go, go prepare your self for this Encounter, And do not dally as you did to day, And fright your Pleasure with the Name of Sister—
Mar. Oh cursed Witch! [Aside.
Franc. What say you, Sir?
Silv. That Name has check’d my Joy— And makes it strangely silent and imperfect. [Walks away.
Franc. Why do you go, before you answer me? [Follows him into the Garden.
Mar. I’ll follow him, and kill them. [Comes out with a Dagger. Oh, who would be allied unto a Woman, Nature’s loose Handy-Work? the slight Imploys Of all her wanton Hours?—Oh, I could rave now— Abandon Sense and Nature. Hence, all considerate Thoughts, and in their Room, Supply my Soul with Vengeance, that may prove Too great to be allay’d by Nature, or by Love. [Goes into the Garden after them.
Enter again Silvio melancholy, followed by Francisca.
Franc. But will you lose this Opportunity, Her Lodgings too being so near your own?
Silv. Hell take her for her Wickedness. Oh that ten thousand Mountains stood between us, And Seas as vast and raging as her Lust, That we might never meet—Oh perfect Woman! I find there is no Safety in thy Sex; No trusting to thy Innocence: That being counterfeit, thy Beauty’s gone, Dropt like a Rose o’er-blown; And left thee nothing but a wither’d Root, That never more can bloom.
Franc. Alas, I fear I have done ill in this. [Aside.
Silv. I now should hate her: but there yet remains Something within, so strangely kind to her, That I’m resolv’d to give her one proof more, Of what I have vow’d her often; yes, I’ll kill her—
Franc. How, kill her, Sir? Gods, what have I done! [Aside.
Silv. Yes, can I let her live, and say I lov’d her? No, she shall tempt no more vain yielding Men.
Franc. Consider, Sir, it is to save your Life she does it.
Silv. My Life! ’Twere better she and I were buried Quick in one Grave, than she should fall to this, She has out-sinn’d even me in this Consent.
Enter Marcel from amongst the Trees softly with his Dagger behind Silvio.
Mar. Oh, here they are—
Franc. My Lord, defend your self, your are undone else.
Silv. Hah, Marcel! [Draws.
Franc. Help, help.
Mar. Hell take thy Throat.
Enter Ambrosio, Clarinda, Cleonte, and the rest of the House.
Amb. Hold, Villain, hold. How dar’st thou thus rebel—ungrateful Wretch?
Mar. This cause, Sir, is so just, that when you hear it, You’ll curse me, that I let him live thus long: He loves my Sister, Sir; and that leud Woman Repays his lustful Flame, and does this Evening Invite him to her Bed—Oh, let me kill him. [Offers to go to him.
Amb. That he should love Cleonte I’ll allow, And her returns too, whilst they are innocent.
Mar. But, Sir, he does not love her as a Sister.
Amb. If that be all his Crime, I still forgive him.
Silv. Yes, Sir, ’tis true, I do adore my Sister, But am so far from that foul thing he nam’d, That could I think I had a secret Thought That tended that way, I would search it—thus— [Goes to stab himself.
Cleo. What mean you by this Desperation?
Silv. Oh, take away this Woman from my sight. [Pointing to Cleonte.
For she will finish what this has ill begun. [Holds his Dagger up.
Franc. Thus low, Sir, for you Mercy I must kneel; [Kneels. Which yet I must despair of, when you know How very very wicked I have been. [Weeps. Cleonte, Sir, is chaste as Angels are.
Silv. My Sister innocent! how soon I do believe thee!
Franc. Yes, Sir, nor knows of that vile Message which I brought you.
Silv. What Devil set thee on to tempt me then?
Franc. The worst of Devils, hopeless, raging Love; And you, my Lord, were the unhappy Object.
Mar. Oh sinful Woman, what was thy Design?
Cleo. What means all this? [Aside.
Franc. At least to have enjoy’d him once; which done, Thinking that it had been the fair Cleonte, It would have made him hate her.
Silv. Should all thy other Sins be unrepented, The Piety of this Confession saves thee. Pardon, Cleonte, my rude Thoughts of thee, [Kneels, she takes him up. I had design’d to have kill’d thee— Had not this Knowledge of thy Innocence Arriv’d before I’d seen thee next. And, Sir, your Pardon too I humbly beg, [To Ambrosio. With license to depart; I cannot live Where I must only see my beauteous Sister; That Torment is too great to be supported, That still must last, and never hope a Cure.
Amb. Since you are so resolv’d, I will unfold A Secret to you, that perhaps may please you.
Silv. Low at your Feet I do implore it, Sir. [Kneels.
Amb. Your Quality forbids this Ceremony. [Takes him up.
Silv. How, Sir!
Amb. Your Father was the mighty Favourite, the Count d’Olivarez; your Mother, Spain’s celebrated Beauty, Donna Margarita Spiniola, by whom your Father had two natural Sons, Don Lovis de Harro, and your self Don Roderigo. The Story of his Disgrace, you know, with all the World; ’twas then he being banisht from the Court, he left you to my Care then very young. I receiv’d you as my own, and as more than such educated you, and as your Father oblig’d me to do, brought you always up about their Majesties; for he hoped, if you had Beauty and Merits, you might inherit part of that Glory he lost.
Mar. This is wondrous.
Amb. This Truth you had not known so soon, had you not made as great an Interest at Court as any Man so young ever did, and if I had not acquitted my self in all Points as became the Friend of so great and brave a Man, as Count d’Olivarez: the Fortune he left you was two Millions of Crowns.
Silv. Let me embrace your feet for this blest News. Is not the fair Cleonte then my Sister?
Amb. No, Sir, but one whom long since I design’d your Wife, if you are pleas’d to think her worthy of it. [Offers her.
Silv. Without her, Sir, I do despise my Being; And do receive her as a Blessing sent From Heaven to make my whole Life happy.
Amb. What say you, Cleonte?
Cleo. Sir, I must own a Joy greater than is fit for a Virgin to express.
Mar. Generous Don Roderigo, receive me as your Friend, and pardon all the Fault you found in me as a Brother. [Embraces him.