Act 2 — Scene II. A Chamber.

Scene II. A Chamber.

Enter Mirtilla and Mrs. Manage.

Mir. Ah, let me have that Song again.

A Song by Mr. Gildon. I.

No, Delia, no: What Man can range

From such Seraphic Pleasure?

’Tis want of Charms that make us change,

To grasp the Fury, Treasure.

What Man of Sense wou’d quit a certain Bliss,

For Hopes and empty Possibilities?

II.

Vain Fools! that sure Possessions spend,

In hopes of Chymic Treasure,

But for their fancy’d Riches find

Both want of Gold and Pleasure.

Rich in my Delia, I can wish no more;

The Wanderer, like the Chymist, must be poor.

Man. Not see him, Madam—I protest he’s handsomer, and handsomer, Paris has given him such an Air:—Lord, he’s all over Monsieur—Not see him, Madam—Why? I hope you do not, like the foolish sort of Wives, design a strict Obedience to your Husband.

Mir. Away, a Husband!—when Absence, that sure Remedy of Love, had heal’d the bleeding Wound Lejere had made, by Heaven, I thought I ne’er shou’d love again—but since Endymion has inspir’d my Soul, and for that Youth I burn, I pine, I languish.

Enter George richly drest, stands at a distance gazing on Mirtilla.

Man. See, Madam, there’s an Object may put out that Flame, and may revive the old one.

Mir. Shame and Confusion.—Lejere. Turns and walks away.

Geo. Yonder she is, that Mien and Shape I know, though the false Face be turn’d with shame away. Offers to advance, and stops.

—’Sdeath,—I tremble! yet came well fortify’d with Pride and Anger. I see thou’st in thy Eyes a little Modesty. Goes to her nearer.

That wou’d conceal the Treasons of thy Heart.

Mir. Perhaps it is their Scorn that you mistake.

Geo. It may be so; she that sets up for Jilting, shou’d go on; ’Twere mean to find remorse, so young, and soon: Oh, this gay Town has gloriously improv’d you amongst the rest; that taught you Perjury.

Mir. Alas! when was it sworn?

Geo. In the blest Age of Love, When every Power look’d down, and heard thy Vows.

Mir. I was a Lover then; shou’d Heaven concern it self with Lovers Perjuries, ’twould find no leisure to preserve the Universe.

Geo. And was the Woman so strong in thee, thou couldst not wait a little? Were you so raving mad for Fool and Husband, you must take up with the next ready Coxcomb. Death, and the Devil, a dull clumsey Boor!—What was it charm’d you? The beastly quantity of Man about him?

Mir. Faith, a much better thing, five thousand Pounds a Year, his Coach and Six, it shews well in the Park.

Geo. Did I want Coach, or Equipage, and Shew?

Mir. But still there wanted Fool, and Fortune to’t; He does not play at the Groom-Porter’s for it; nor do the Drudgery of some worn-out Lady.

Geo. If I did this, thou hadst the spoils of all my Nation’s Conquests, while all the whole World was wondering whence it came; for Heav’n had left thee nothing but thy Beauty, that dear Reward of my industrious Love.

Mir. I do confess—

Geo. Till time had made me certain of a Fortune, which now was hasting on.—

And is that store of Love and wondrous Joys I had been hoarding up so many tender Hours, all lavish’d on a Brute, who never lusted ’bove my Lady’s Woman? for Love he understands no more than Sense.

Mir. Prithee reproach me on— Sighs.

Geo. ’Sdeath, I cou’d rave! Is this soft tender Bosom to be prest by such a Load of Fool? Damnation on thee—Where got’st thou this coarse Appetite? Take back the Powers, those Charms she’s sworn adorn’d me, since a dull, fat-fac’d, noisy, taudry Blockhead, can serve her turn as well. Offers to go.

Mir. You shall not go away with that Opinion of me.—

Geo. Oh, that false Tongue can now no more deceive—Art thou not marry’d? Tell me that, false Charmer.

Mir. Yes.— Holding him.

Geo. Curse on that word: wou’d thou hadst never learnt it—it gave thy Heart, and my Repose away.

Mir. Dost think I marry’d with that dull design? Canst thou believe I gave my Heart away, because I gave my Hand?—Fond Ceremony that—A necessary trick, devis’d by wary Age, to traffick ’twixt a Portion and a Jointure; him whom I lov’d, is marry’d to my Soul.

Geo. Art thou then mine? And wilt thou make Atonement, by such a charming way?—Come to my clasping Arms.

Enter Lady Blunder at the Door. Sees ’em, and offers to go out again.

L. Blun. Oh, Heavens! How rude am I?—Cry Mercy, Madam, I protest I thought you’d been alone.

Geo. ’Sdeath! my Aunt Blunder! Aside.

Mir. Only this Gentleman, Madam—

L. Blun. Sir, I beg your Pardon—and am really sorry—

Geo. That you find me with your Daughter, Madam.

L. Blun. I hope you take me to be better bred, Sir: Nor had I interrupted you, but for an Accident that has happen’d to Sir Morgan, coming out of the City in a beastly Hackney-Coach, he was turn’d over in Cheap-side, and striking the filthy Coach-man, the nasty Mob came out, and had almost kill’d him, but for a young Gentleman, a Stranger, that came to his Rescue, and whom he has brought to kiss your Ladyship’s Hands—But I’ll instruct him in his Duty, he shall wait till your Ladyship is more at leisure—alas! he’s already on the Stairs. Exit.

Mir. Let him wait there—Lejere, ’tis necessary you depart, sure of my Heart, you cannot fear the rest; the Night is hasting on; trust me but some few Hours, and then, Lejere, I’ll pay you back with Interest.

Geo. All Blessings light on thee. But will your Lady Mother make no Discovery of my being here?

Mir. She’d sooner pimp for me, and believe it a part of good Breeding:—away, I hear ’em coming. She puts him out at a back-Door.

Enter Lady Blunder peeping.

L. Blun. He’s gone—Sir Morgan, you may approach.

Enter Sir Morgan, pulling in the Prince, Sir Merlin, and a Page to the Prince.

Sir Morg. Nay, as Gat shall save me, Sir, you shall see my Lady, or so, d’ye see, and receive the Thanks of the House.

Prince. As Gat shall save me, Sir, I am sorry for it—another time, Sir: I have earnest business. Now, I am sure nothing worth seeing can belong to this litter of Fools.

L. Blun. My Daughter is a Person of Quality, I assure you, Sir.

Prince. I doubt it not, Madam—If she be of the same Piece—Send me a fair Deliverance. Sir Morgan leads him to Mirtilla, he starts.

—Ha! What bright Vision’s that?

Mir. Heav’n! ’Tis the lovely Prince I saw in Flanders. Aside.

Sir Mer. Look how he stares—why, what the Devil ails he?

Sir Morg. To her, Sir, or so, d’ye see, what a Pox, are you afraid of her?

L. Blun. He’s in Admiration of her Beauty, Child.

Prince. By Heav’n, the very Woman I adore! Aside.

Sir Morg. How d’ye, see, Sir, how do ye, ha, ha, ha?

Prince. I cannot be mistaken; for Heav’n made nothing but young Angels like her!

Sir Morg. Look ye, Page, is your Master in his right Wits?

Sir Mer. Sure he’s in love, and Love’s a devilish thing.

Sir Morg. Sa, ho, ho, ho, where are you, Sir, where are you?

Prince. In Heav’n! Puts him away.

Oh! do not rouse me from this charming Slumber, lest I shou’d wake, and find it but a Dream.

Sir Mer. A plaguy dull Fellow this, that can sleep in so good Company as we are.

Sir Morg. Dream—A Fiddle-stick; to her, Man, to her, and kiss her soundly, or so, d’ye see.

Sir Mer. Ay, ay; kiss her, Sir, kiss her—ha, ha, ha, he’s very simple.

Prince. Kiss her,—there’s universal Ruin in her Lips.

Mir. I never knew ’em guilty of such Mischiefs.

Sir Morg. No, I’ll be sworn, I have kist ’em twenty times, and they never did me harm.

Prince. Thou kiss those Lips? impossible, and false; they ne’er were prest but by soft Southern Winds.

Sir Morg. Southern Winds—ha, ha, lookye, d’ye see, Boy, thy Master’s mad, or so, d’ye see—why, what a Pox, d’ye think I never kiss my Wife, or so, d’ye see.

Prince. Thy Wife!—

Mir. He will betray his Passion to these Fools: Alas, he’s mad—and will undo my Hopes. Aside.

Prince. Thou mayst as well claim Kindred to the Gods; she’s mine, a Kingdom shall not buy her from me.

Sir Morg. Hay day, my Wife yours! look ye, as d’ye see, what, is it Midsummer-moon with you, Sir, or so, d’ye see?

Mir. In pity give him way, he’s madder than a Storm.

Prince. Thou know’st thou art, and thy dear Eyes confess it—a numerous Train attended our Nuptials, witness the Priest, witness the sacred Altar where we kneel’d—when the blest silent Ceremony was perform’d.

Mir. Alas! he’s mad, past all recovery mad.

Sir Mer. Mad, say, poor Soul—Friend, how long has your Master been thus intoxicated?

Page. He’s mad indeed to make this Discovery. Aside.

Alas, Sir, he’s thus as often as he sees a beautiful Lady, since he lost a Mistress, who dy’d in Flanders to whom he was contracted.

Sir Mer. Good lack—ay, ay, he’s distracted, it seems.

Page. See how he kneels to her! stand off, and do but mind him.

Mir. Rise, Sir,—you’l ruin me—dissemble if you love—or you can ne’er be happy. In a low Voice, and raising him.

Prince. My Transport is too high for a Disguise—give me some hope, promise me some Relief, or at your Feet I’ll pierce a wounded Heart.

Mir. Rise, and hope for all you wish: Alas, he faints— She takes him up, he falls upon her Bosom.

Page. Hold him fast, Madam, between your Arms, and he’ll recover presently. Stand all away.—

Prince. Oh! tell me, wilt thou bless my Youth and Love? Oh! swear, lest thou shouldst break—for Women wou’d be Gods, but for Inconstancy.

Page. See, he begins to come to himself again—keep off—

Mir. You have a thousand Charms that may secure you—The Ceremony of my Nuptials is every Evening celebrated, the noise of which draws all the Town together; be here in Masquerade, and I’ll contrive it so, that you shall speak with me this Night alone.

Prince. So, now let my Soul take Air—

L. Blun. What pity ’tis so fine a Gentleman shou’d be thus.

Mir. You must be bringing home your Fops to me, and see what comes of it. As she passes out.

Sir Morg. Fops! I thought him no more a Fop, than I do my own natural Cousin here. Ex. Mir. in Scorn.

Prince. Where am I? The Page has whispered him.

Sir Mer. Why, here, Sir, here, at Sir Morgan Blunder’s Lodging in Lincolns-Inn-Fields.

Prince. That’s well, he has told me—Where have I been this long half hour, and more?

Sir Mer. Nay, the Lord knows.

Prince. I fancy’d I saw a lovely Woman.

Sir Mer. Fancy’d—why, so you did, Man, my Lady Mirtilla Blunder.

Prince. Methought I slept upon her snowy Bosom, and dreamt I was in Heaven, where I claim’d her.

Sir Mer. Good lack aday—why, so you did, Sir, ha, ha, ha.

Prince. And rav’d on Love; and talk’d abundance of Nonsense.

Sir Morg. Ha, ha, ha, by my Troth, and so you did, Sir.

Prince. I ask your Pardon, Sir, ’tis an infirmity I have that ever takes me at the approach of a fine Woman, which made me so unwilling to see your Lady.

Sir Morg. Lookye, I ask your Pardon heartily, or so, d’ye see—and am sorry you are not in a Condition to visit her often.

Prince. I shall be better when I am us’d to her; ’tis the first time only affects me.

Sir Morg. Pray, Sir, be pleas’d to use your self to her, or so, d’ye see—she’s a civil Person, and a Person of Quality before I marry’d her, d’ye see.

L. Blun. My Son tells you Truth, Sir.

Prince. Madam, I doubt it not, pray beg her Pardon, and do you give me yours. Bows and kisses her Hand and goes out.

L. Blun. A most accomplish’d Person—

Exeunt.