215
216
Scene I. A Room with several Tables.
Scene II. The Council-Table.
Scene III. Surelove’s House.
Scene I. A Pavilion.
Scene II. The Widow Ranter’s Hall.
Scene III. A Sevana.
Scene IV. The Council-Table.
Scene I. The Country Court.
Scene II. The Sevana.
Scene I. A Temple.
Scene II. A Field of Tents.
Scene III. A Tent.
Scene I. The Sevana.
Scene II. Wellman’s Tent.
Scene III. A thick Wood.
Scene IV. Another part of the Wood.
Scene V. A Grove.
Bacon, General of the English in Virginia, has fought with great success against the Indians and repeatedly beaten back their tribes, although the Supreme Council, by whom the Colony is governed, have refused him a commission, and, in spite of his victories, persist in treating him as a rebel and a traitor. This Council indeed is composed of a number of cowards and rogues, who through sheer malice and carping jealousy attribute Bacon’s prowess to his known passion for Semernia, the Indian Queen, and who feign to think that he fights merely with the hope of slaying her husband, the King Cavernio. These rascals are none the less mightily afraid of the general’s valour and spirit, so they determine to entice him from his camp under various specious pretexts, and then, once he is completely in their power, to have him executed or assassinated. With this object in view they send a friendly letter asking him to attend the Council, to accept a regular commission, and to raise new forces. On his way to the town Bacon is attacked by an ambush of soldiers, whom he beats off with the help of one of his lieutenants, Fearless, backed by Lieutenant Daring and a troop of his own men, who capture Whimsey and Whiff, two very prominent justices, instigators of the plot. He accordingly appears before the Council with a couple of prisoners. The populace, who are all for their hero, realizing the treachery, raise a riot, and throw the Councillors into a state of the utmost confusion and alarm. They spur themselves to action, however, and under the leadership of Colonel Wellman, Deputy Governor, proceed to take the field against Bacon, who is declared an open and lawless rebel. When he appears the soldiers, none the less, join themselves to their hero, and as at the same moment news is brought that the Indians have risen and are attacking the town, Bacon is induced to lead the troops against the foe; and in a pitched battle Cavernio is slain. That night whilst his army is revelling after their victory the Council and their party with infamous treachery suddenly attack the camp. There are further skirmishes with a remnant of the Indian fugitives, and in one of these frays Bacon accidentally wounds Semernia, who is flying disguised in man’s attire. He recognizes her voice, and she sinks into his arms to die. As he is weeping over her body Fearless rushes in with drawn sword shouting that the day is all but lost. Bacon, his mistress dead, deeming that his men are overcome by the attack from the town and that he will himself be captured, takes poison which he carries concealed in the pommel of his sword, whilst Daring and his soldiers are heard shouting ‘Victory! Victory!’ The hero, however, expires at the moment his men have conquered, but the Council speedily come to terms, naming with a commission Daring as General, whilst Colonel Wellman announces his intention of weeding this body of rogues and cowards against the arrival of the new Governor who is expected from England.
218Daring, upon his commission, is wedded to the Widow Ranter, first mistress and then wife of old Colonel Ranter, recently deceased, a wealthy, buxom virago who has followed her soldier during the fighting in man’s attire and even allowed herself to be taken prisoner by a young gallant, Hazard, just landed from England, and who has occupied his time in an amour with a certain Mrs. Surelove. Hazard, upon his arrival, meets an old acquaintance, Friendly, who loves and is eventually united to Crisante, daughter to Colonel Downright; whilst Parson Dunce, the Governor’s chaplain, is made to marry Mrs. Flirt, the keeper of a hostelry, a good dame with whom he has been a little too familiar on a promise of matrimony.
The admirable comic scenes and characters of The Widow Ranter are original invention, but Mrs. Behn has founded the serious and historical portion of her play upon a contemporary pamphlet, Strange News from Virginia being a full and true account of the Life and Death of Nathaniel Bacon esq. London: printed for Wm. Harris, 1677. With regard to the catastrophe and Bacon’s love for the Indian Queen, Mrs. Behn has quite legitimately departed from the narrative, but otherwise she keeps fairly closely to her sources. There is also a History of Bacon and Ingram’s Rebellion in Virginia in 1675-76, written at the time but first published in 1867.
The Dictionary of National Biography gives a very ample yet concise account of Bacon, with valuable references to original documents. He was the son of Sir Thomas Bacon of Friston Hall, Suffolk. Born in 1642, about 1673 he married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Edward Duke, Bart., and shortly afterwards in a spirit of roving adventure emigrated to Virginia. Here he was elected a member of the Council, and his estates being especially exposed to Indian raids the volunteer colonists chose him General. The Governor, however, delayed to send the necessary commission, and Bacon having in this interval attacked a band of Indian marauders was promptly declared a rebel. The Governor was thereupon forced to yield by a general revolt, and in a second expedition Bacon defeated the Indians with terrific slaughter. A little later when reinforcements had arrived the Governor again declared him an outlaw, but after a brief struggle was himself obliged to take refuge at sea, whilst Jamestown fell into the hands of the victorious General, who not being able to garrison the houses, burned it to the ground. In the midst of his success, whilst he was busied with new plans for the welfare and protection of the colonists, Bacon died suddenly, 1676. He left one daughter, Mary, who married Hugh Chamberlain, M.D., physician to Queen Anne. Mrs. Behn has drawn his character with remarkable accuracy. Even his enemies were obliged to allow he possessed extraordinary ability, and he won all by the grace and charm of his manner. Oldys, in a MS. note on Langbaine (Mrs. Behn), attributes to the colonist A Historical Discourse of the Government of England (1647), but the date of publication sufficiently shows that the antiquary is palpably in error.
Langbaine in his note on The Widow Ranter abruptly and sweepingly remarks ‘Plot from the known story of Cassius,’ which the Biographia 219 Dramatica yet more erroneously expands as follows: ‘The tragedy part of it, particularly the catastrophe of Bacon, is borrowed from the well-known story of Cassius, who, on the supposition of his friend Brutus being defeated, caused himself to be put to death by the hand of his freedman Dandarus.’ C. Cassius Longinus was defeated at Philippi (B.C. 42), by Antony, and ignorant that the left wing commanded by Brutus had conquered Octavius, he straightway commanded his freedman Pindarus to put an end to his life. It is strange that both authorities should have made this mistake, the more so as Bacon expressly alludes to the fate of Hannibal, from whose history, and not that of Cassius, Mrs Behn doubtless borrowed the idea of her hero’s suicide. Cassius is indeed alluded to but casually, and not by Bacon’s self. Hannibal had fled to the court of Prusias, King of Bithynia, who, unable to resist the demands of the Romans, eventually sent troops to arrest his guest. The great Carthaginian, however, having provided himself with poison in case of such an event, swallowed the venomed drug to prevent himself falling into the hands of his enemies. Dullman, Timorous Cornet, Whimsey, Whiff, and the other Justices of the Peace who appear in this play are aptly described in Oroonoko, where Mrs. Behn speaks of the Governor’s Council ‘who (not to disgrace them, or burlesque the Government there) consisted of such notorious villains as Newgate ever transported; and, possibly, originally were such who understood neither the laws of God or man, and had no sort of principles to make them worthy of the name of men; but at the very council-table would contradict and fight with one another, and swear so bloodily, that it was terrible to hear and see them. (Some of them were afterwards hanged, when the Dutch took possession of the place, others sent off in chains.)’
When The Widow Ranter; or, The History of Bacon in Virginia was produced at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, in 1690—the year after Mrs. Behn’s death—owing to the slipshod and slovenly way in which it was put on, or rather, ‘murdered’, to use the phrase of the dedication, it did not meet with the success so capital a piece fully deserved. Such ample and needless omissions were made that the intrigue soon became hopelessly fogged, many incidents seeming absolutely disjointed and superfluous. For not only were heavier scenes, including the apparition of Cavernio, cut, but the essential comic relief was woefully maltreated. The Court House opening of Act iii was expunged in its entirety, whilst other episodes were so mangled and the speeches so pruned that they proved practically unintelligible. Again, the play was badly cast. Indifferent performers such as Barnes, Baker, Cudworth, were entrusted with rôles they were incapable of acting, whilst Daring, the dashing, gallant, and handsome young officer, who is loved by the Widow, was alloted to Sanford, of all men most supremely unfitted for the part. Indeed, it would seem that the casting was done on purpose perversely and malignly to damn the play. Samuel Sanford, who had joined Davenant’s company within a year of their opening, had been forced by nature, being low of stature and crooked of person, rather than by choice, into a line denoted by such characters as Iago, Creon in 220 Dryden and Lee’s Oedipus, Malignii, Osmund the wizard in King Arthur. ‘An excellent actor in disagreeable characters’ Cibber terms him, and old Aston sums him up thus: ‘Mr. Sanford, although not usually deem’d an Actor of the first Rank, yet the Characters allotted him were such, that none besides, then, or since, ever topp’d; for his Figure, which was diminutive and mean, (being Round-shoulder’d, Meagre-fac’d, Spindle-shank’d, Splay-footed, with a sour Countenance and long lean Arms) render’d him a proper Person to discharge Jago, Foresight and Ma’lignij, in the Villain.—This Person acted strongly with his Face,—and (as King Charles said) was the best Villain in the World.’ The performance of an actor with such a marked personality and unpleasantly peculiar talents as are thus enumerated, in the rôle of Daring must been grotesque and distasteful to a degree. In such an accumulation of unfortunate circumstances there could have been no other event than the failure of the play, which was so complete as effectually to bar any chance of subsequent revival. Indeed, there seems to have been only one feature of any merit: Betty Currer, the original Aquilina in Venice Preserv’d, acted the name part with the greatest spirit and abandon.
221Madam
Knowing Mrs. Behn in her Life-time design’d to Dedicate some of her Works to you, you have a Naturall Title, and claim to this and I could not without being unjust to her Memory, but fix your Name to it, who have not only a Wit above that of most of your Sex; but a goodness and Affability Extreamly Charming, and Engaging beyond Measure, and perhaps there are few to be found like you, that are so Eminent for Hospitallity, and a Ready and Generous Assistance to the distress’d and Indigent, which are Quallities that carry much more of Divinity with them, than a Puritannicall outward Zeal for Virtue and Religion.
Our Author, Madam, who was so true a Judge of Wit, was (no doubt of it) satisfyed in the Patroness she had pitcht upon: If ever she had occasion for a Wit and Sense like yours ’tis now, to Defend this (one of the last of her Works) from the Malice of her Enemies, and the ill Nature of the Critticks, who have had Ingratitude enough not to Consider the Obligations they had to her when Living; but to do those Gentlemen Justice, ’tis not (altogether) to be Imputed to their Critticism, that the Play had not that Success which it deserv’d, and was expected by her Friends; The main fault ought to lye on those who had the management of it. Had our Authour been alive she would have Committed it to the Flames rather than have suffer’d it to have been Acted with such Omissions as was made, and on which the Foundation of the Play Depended: For Example, they thought fit to leave out a Whole Scene of the Virginian Court of Judicature, which was a lively resemblance of that Country-Justice; and on which depended a great part of the Plot, and wherein were many unusuall and very Naturall Jests which would at least have made some sort of People laugh: In another Part of the Play is Omitted the appearance of the Ghost of the Indian King, kill’d by Bacon, and tho’ the like may have been Represented in other Plays, yet I never heard or found but that the sight was very agreeable to an Audience, and very Awfull: besides the Apparition of the Ghost was necessary, for it was that which struck a Terror in the Queen, and frighten’d her from heark’ning to the Love of Bacon, believing it a horrid thing to receive the Caresses and Embraces of her Husbands Murderer: And Lastly, many of the Parts being false Cast, and given to 222 those whose Tallants and Genius’s suited not our Author’s Intention: These, Madam, are some of the Reasons that this Play was unsuccessfull, and the best Play that ever was writ must prove so: if it have the Fate to be Murder’d like this.
However, Madam, I can’t but believe you will find an hours diversion in the reading, and will meet with not only Wit, but true Comedy, (tho’ low) by reason many of the Characters are such only as our Newgate afforded, being Criminals Transported.
This play, Madam, being left in my hands by the Author to Introduce to the Publick, I thought my self oblig’d to say thus much in its defence, and that it was also a Duty upon me to choose a Patroness proper for it, and the Author having pitcht upon your Name to do Honour to some of her Works, I thought your Protection, could be so usefull to none, as to this, whose owning it may Silence the Malice of its Enemies; Your Wit and Judgment being to be Submitted to in all Cases; Besides your Natural Tenderness and Compassion for the Unfortunate, gives you in a manner another Title to it: The Preference which is due to you upon so many Accounts is therefore the Reason of this present Address, for at the Worst, if this Play should be so Unfortunate as not to be thought worthy of your Acceptance; Yet it is certain, that its worth any Man’s while to have the Honour of subscribing himself,
Madam,
Your Most Obedient Humble,
Servant,
223
By Mr. Dryden.
Heaven save ye, Gallants; and this hopeful Age,
Y’ are welcome to the downfal of the Stage:
The Fools have laboured long in their Vocation;
And Vice (the Manufacture of the Nation)
O’er-stocks the Town so much, and thrives so well,
That Fops and Knaves grow Drugs, and will not sell.
In vain our Wares on Theaters are shown,
When each has a Plantation of his own.
His Cruse ne’er fails; for whatsoe’er he spends,
There’s still God’s plenty for himself and Friends.
Shou’d Men be rated by Poetick Rules,
Lord, what a Poll would there be rais’d from Fools!
Mean time poor Wit prohibited must lie,
As if ’twere made some French Commodity.
Fools you will have, and rais’d at vast expence;
And yet as soon as seen, they give offence.
Time was, when none would cry that Oaf was me,
But now you strive about your Pedigree:
Bauble and Cap no sooner are thrown down,
But there’s a Muss of more than half the Town.
Each one will challenge a Child’s part at least,
A sign the Family is well increas’d.
Of Foreign Cattle there’s no longer need,
When we’re supply’d so fast with English Breed,
224Well! Flourish, Countrymen; drink, swear and roar,
Let every free-born Subject keep his Whore;
And wandring in the Wilderness about,
At end of Forty Years not wear her out.
But when you see these Pictures, let none dare
To own beyond a Limb or single share:
For where the Punk is common, he’s a Sot,
Who needs will father what the Parish got.
225
| MEN. | |||
| Indian King called Cavernio, | Mr. Bowman. | ||
| Bacon, General of the English, | Mr. Williams. | ||
| Colonel Wellman, Deputy Governor, | Mr. Freeman. | ||
| Col. Downright, a loyal honest Colonel, | Mr. Harris. | ||
|
Mr. Alexander, Mr. Powell. |
||
|
Mr. Sandford, Mr. Cudworth. |
||
| Dullman, a Captain, | Mr. Bright. | ||
|
Mr. Underhill, Mr. Trefuse, Mr. Bowen, Mr. Barns. |
||
| Brag, a Captain. | |||
|
|||
| A Petitioner against Brag, | Mr. Blunt. | ||
Parson Dunce, formerly a Farrier, fled from England, and Chaplain to the Governour, |
Mr. Baker. | ||
|
Jeffery, Coachman to Widow Ranter. Cavaro, an Indian, Confidant to the Indian King. Jack, a Sea-Boy. |
|||
|
Clerk; Boy; An Officer; Messenger; Seaman; 2nd Seaman; A Highlander. |
|||
| WOMEN. | |||
Indian Queen, call’d Semernia, belov’d by Bacon, |
Mrs. Bracegirdle. | ||
| Madam Surelove, belov’d by Hazard, | Mrs. Knight. | ||
Mrs. Chrisante, Daughter to Colonel Downright, |
Mrs. Jordan. | ||
| Widow Ranter, in love with Daring, | Mrs. Currer. | ||
| Mrs. Flirt, a Tapstress, | Mrs. Cory. | ||
|
Mrs. Whimsey. Mrs. Whiff. Jenny, Maid to Widow Ranter. Nell, Maid at the Inn. Anaria, Confidante to the Indian Queen. Maid to Madam Surelove. |
|||
|
Priests, Indians, Bailiffs, Soldiers, Rabble, Negroes, with other Attendants. |
|||
226
Enter Hazard in a travelling Habit, and Jack, a Sea-Boy, carrying his Portmantle.
Haz. What Town’s this, Boy?
Boy. James-Town, Master.
Haz. Take care my Trunk be brought ashore to night, and there’s for your Pains.
Boy. God bless you, Master.
Haz. What do you call this House?
Boy. Mrs. Flirt’s, Master, the best House for Commendation in all Virginia.
Haz. That’s well, has she any handsome Ladies, Sirrah?
Boy. Oh! she’s woundy handsome her self, Master, and the kindest Gentlewoman—look, here she comes, Master.—
God bless you, Mistress, I have brought you a young Gentleman here.
Flirt. That’s well, honest Jack.—Sir, you are most heartily welcome.
Haz. Madam, your Servant. Salutes her.
Flirt. Please you walk into a Chamber, Sir?
Haz. By and by, Madam; but I’ll repose here awhile for the coolness of the Air.
Flirt. This is a Publick Room, Sir, but ’tis at your service.
Haz. Madam, you oblige me.
Flirt. A fine spoken Person. A Gentleman, I’ll warrant him: come, Jack, I’ll give thee a Cogue of Brandy for old acquaintance. Exeunt Landlady and Boy.
Hazard pulls out Pen, Ink and Paper, and goes to write.
227Enter Friendly.
Friend. Here, Nell, a Tankard of cool Drink, quickly.
Nell. You shall have it, Sir.
Friend. Hah! who’s that Stranger? he seems to be a Gentleman.
Haz. If I should give credit to mine Eyes, that should be Friendly.
Friend. Sir, you seem a Stranger; may I take the liberty to present my Service to you? Exit Nell.
Haz. If I am not mistaken, Sir, you are the only Man in the World whom I would soonest pledge; you’ll credit me, if three Year’s absence has not made you forget Hazard.
Friend. Hazard, my Friend! come to my Arms and Heart.
Haz. This unexpected Happiness o’erjoys me. Who could have imagin’d to have found thee in Virginia? I thought thou hadst been in Spain with thy Brother.
Friend. I was so till ten Months since, when my Uncle Colonel Friendly dying here, left me a considerable Plantation; and, faith, I find Diversions not altogether to be despis’d; the God of Love reigns here with as much power as in Courts or popular Cities. But prithee what Chance (fortunate to me) drove thee to this part of the new World.
Haz. Why, faith, ill Company, and that common Vice of the Town, Gaming, soon run out my younger Brother’s Fortune: for imagining, like some of the luckier Gamesters, to improve my Stock at the Groom Porter’s, I ventur’d on, and lost all. My elder Brother, an errant Jew, had neither Friendship nor Honour enough to support me; but at last being mollified by Persuasions, and the hopes of being for ever rid of me, sent me hither with a small Cargo to seek my Fortune—
Friend. And begin the World withal.
Haz. I thought this a better Venture than to turn sharping Bully, Cully in Prentices and Country Squires, with my Pocket full of false Dice, your high and low Flats and 228 Bars; or turn Broker to young Heirs; take up Goods to pay tenfold at the Death of their Fathers, and take Fees on both sides; or set up all night at the Groom-Porter’s, begging his Honour to go a Guinea the better of the lay. No, Friendly, I had rather starve abroad, than live pity’d and despis’d at home.
Friend. Thou art in the right, and art come just in the nick of time to make thy Fortune.—Wilt thou follow my Advice?
Haz. Thou art too honest to command any thing that I shall refuse.
Friend. You must know then, there is about a Mile from James-Town a young Gentlewoman—no matter for her Birth, her Breeding’s the best this World affords, she is married to one of the richest Merchants here; he is old and sick, and now gone into England for the recovery of his Health, where he’ll e’en give up the Ghost: he has writ her word he finds no Amendment, and resolves to stay another Year. The letter I accidentally took up, and have about me; ’tis easily counterfeited, and will be of great use to us.
Haz. Now do I fancy I conceive thee.
Friend. Well, hear me first, you shall get another Letter writ like this Character, which shall say, you are his Kinsman, that is come to traffick in this Country, and ’tis his will you should be received into his House as such.
Haz. Well, and what will come of this?
Friend. Why, thou art young and handsome, she young and desiring; ’twere easy to make her love thee; and if the old Gentleman chance to die, you guess the rest, you are no Fool.
Haz. Ay, but if he shou’d return—
Friend. If—Why, if she love you, that other will be but a slender Bar to thy Happiness; for if thou canst not marry her, thou mayst lie with her: and, Gad, a younger Brother may pick out a pretty Livelihood here that way, 229 as well as in England. Or if this fail, thou wilt find a perpetual Visiter, the Widow Ranter, a Woman bought from the ship by old Colonel Ranter; she served him half a Year, and then he marry’d her, and dying in a Year more, left her worth fifty thousand Pounds Sterling, besides Plate and Jewels: She’s a great Gallant, but assuming the humour of the Country Gentry, her Extravagancy is very pleasant, she retains something of her primitive Quality still, but is good-natur’d and generous.
Haz. I like all this well.
Friend. But I have a further End in this matter; you must know there is in the same House a young Heiress, one Colonel Downright’s Daughter, whom I love, I think not in vain: her Father indeed has an implacable Hatred to me, for which reason I can but seldom visit her, and in this Affair I have need of a Friend in that House.
Haz. Me you’re sure of.
Friend. And thus you’ll have an opportunity to manage both our Amours: Here you will find occasion to shew your Courage, as well as express your Love; for at this time the Indians, by our ill Management of Trade, whom we have armed against our selves, very frequently make War upon us with our own Weapons; though often coming by the worst, they are forced to make Peace with us again, but so, as upon every turn they fall to massacring us wherever we lie exposed to them.
Haz. I heard the News of this in England, which hastens the new Governour’s arrival here, who brings you fresh Supplies.
Friend. Would he were landed, we hear he is a noble Gentleman.
Haz. He has all the Qualities of a Gallant Man: besides, he is nobly born.
Friend. This Country wants nothing but to be peopled with a well-born Race, to make it one of the best Colonies in the World; but for want of a Governour we are ruled 230 by a Council, some of whom have been perhaps transported Criminals, who having acquired great Estates, are now become your Honour and Right Worshipful, and possess all Places of Authority; there are amongst them some honest Gentlemen, who now begin to take upon ’em, and manage Affairs as they ought to be.
Haz. Bacon I think was one of the Council.
Friend. Now you have named a Man indeed above the common Rank, by Nature generous, brave, resolv’d and daring; who studying the Lives of the Romans and great Men, that have raised themselves to the most elevated Fortunes, fancies it easy for ambitious Men to aim at any pitch of Glory. I’ve heard him often say, Why cannot I conquer the Universe as well as Alexander? or like another Romulus, form a new Rome, and make my self ador’d?
Haz. Why might he not? Great Souls are born in common Men sometimes, as well as Princes.
Friend. This Thirst of Glory cherish’d by sullen Melancholy, I believe, was the first motive that made him in love with the young Indian Queen, fancying no Hero ought to be without his Princess. And this was the reason why he so earnestly press’d for a Commission, to be made General against the Indians, which long was promis’d him; but they fearing his Ambition, still put him off, till the Grievances grew so high, that the whole Country flock’d to him, and beg’d he would redress them.—He took the opportunity, and led them forth to fight, and vanquishing brought the Enemy to fair Terms; but now instead of receiving him as a Conqueror, we treat him as a Traitor.
Haz. Then it seems all the Crime this brave Fellow has committed, is serving his Country without Authority.
Friend. ’Tis so, and however I admire the Man, I am resolv’d to be of the contrary Party, that I may make an Interest in our new Governor. Thus stand Affairs, so that after you have seen Madam Surelove, I’ll present you to the Council for a Commission.
231Haz. But my Kinsman’s Character—
Friend. He was a Leicestershire younger Brother, came over with a small Fortune, which his Industry has increas’d to a thousand Pounds a year; and he is now Colonel John Surelove, and one of the Council.
Haz. Enough.
Friend. About it then, Madam Flirt to direct you.
Haz. You are full of your Madams here.
Friend. Oh! ’tis the greatest Affront imaginable to call a Woman Mistress, though but a retail Brandy-monger. Adieu.—One thing more, to morrow is our Country-Court, pray do not fail to be there, for the rarity of the Entertainment: but I shall see you anon at Surelove’s, where I’ll salute thee as my first meeting, and as an old Acquaintance in England—here’s Company, farewel. Exit Friend.
Enter Dullman, Timorous and Boozer. Hazard sits at a Table and writes.
Dull. Here, Nell—Well, Lieutenant Boozer, what are you for?
Enter Nell.
Booz. I am for cooling Nants, Major.
Dull. Here, Nell, a Quart of Nants, and some Pipes and Smoke.
Tim. And do ye hear, Nell, bid your Mistress come in to joke a little with us; for, adzoors, I was damnable drunk last Night, and I am better at the Petticoat than the Bottle to day. Exit Nell.
Dull. Drunk last Night, and sick to Day! how comes that about, Mr. Justice? you use to bear your Brandy well enough.
Tim. Ay, your shier Brandy I’ll grant you; but I was drunk at Col. Downright’s with your high Burgundy Claret.
Dull. A Pox of that paulter Liquor, your English French Wine, I wonder how the Gentlemen do to drink it.
232Tim. Ay, so do I, ’tis for want of a little Virginia Breeding: how much more like a Gentleman ’tis, to drink as we do, brave edifying Punch and Brandy.—But they say, the young Noblemen now, and Sparks in England, begin to reform, and take it for their Mornings draught, get drunk by Noon, and despise the lousy Juice of the Grape.
Enter Mrs. Flirt, and Nell, with drink, pipes, etc.
Dull. Come, Landlady, come, you are so taken up with Parson Dunce, that your old Friends can’t drink a Dram with you.—What, no smutty Catch now, no Gibe or Joke to make the Punch go down merrily, and advance Trading? Nay, they say, Gad forgive ye, you never miss going to Church when Mr. Dunce preaches,—but here’s to you. Drinks.
Flirt. Lords, your Honours are pleas’d to be merry— but my service to your Honour. Drinks.
Haz. Honours! who the Devil have we here? some of the wise Council at least, I’d sooner take ’em for Hoggerds. Aside.
Flirt. Say what you please of the Doctor, but I’ll swear he’s a fine Gentleman, he makes the prettiest Sonnets, nay, and sings ’em himself to the rarest Tunes.
Tim. Nay, the Man will serve for both Soul and Body; for they say he was a Farrier in England, but breaking, turn’d Life-guard-man, and his Horse dying, he counterfeited a Deputation from the Bishop, and came over here a substantial Orthodox. But come, where stands the Cup? Here, my service to you, Major.
Flirt. Your Honours are pleased,—but methinks Doctor Dunce is a very edifying Person, and a Gentleman, and I pretend to know a Gentleman; for I my self am a Gentlewoman: my Father was a Baronet, but undone in the late Rebellion, and I am fain to keep an Ordinary now, Heaven help me.
233Tim. Good lack, why, see how Virtue may be bely’d. We heard your Father was a Taylor, but trusting for old Oliver’s Funeral broke, and so came hither to hide his Head.—But my service to you; what, you are never the worse?
Flirt. Your Honour knows this is a scandalous place, for they say your Honour was but a broken Excise-Man, who spent the King’s Money to buy your Wife fine Petticoats; and at last not worth a Groat, you came over a poor Servant, though now a Justice of the Peace, and of the Honourable Council.
Tim. Adz zoors, if I knew who ’twas said so, I’d sue him for Scandalum Magnatum.
Dull. Hang ’em, Scoundrels, hang ’em, they live upon Scandal, and we are Scandal-proof.—They say too, that I was a Tinker, and running the Country, robb’d a Gentleman’s House there, was put into Newgate, got a Reprieve after Condemnation, and was transported hither; —and that you, Boozer, was a common Pick-pocket, and being often flogg’d at the Carts-tale, afterwards turn’d Evidence, and when the Times grew honest was fain to flie.
Booz. Ay, ay, Major, if Scandal would have broke our Hearts, we had not arriv’d to the Honour of being Privy-Counsellors.—But come, Mrs. Flirt, what, never a Song to entertain us?
Flirt. Yes, and a Singer too newly come ashore.
Tim. Adz zoors, let’s have it then.
Enter a Girl who sings, they bear the Bob.
Haz. Here, Maid, a Tankard of your Drink.
Flirt. Quickly, Nell, wait upon the Gentleman.
Dull. Please you, Sir, to taste of our Liquor.—My service to you. I see you are a Stranger, and alone; please you to come to our Table? He rises and comes.
Flirt. Come, Sir, pray sit down here; these are very honourable Persons, I assure you: This is Major Dullman, 234 Major of his Excellency’s own Regiment, when he arrives; this Mr. Timorous, Justice a Peace in Corum; this Captain Boozer, all of the honourable Council.
Haz. With your leave, Gentlemen. Sits.
Tim. My service to you, Sir. Drinks.
What, have you brought over any Cargo, Sir? I’ll be your Customer.
Booz. Ay, and cheat him too, I’ll warrant him. Aside.
Haz. I was not bred to Merchandizing, Sir, nor do intend to follow the drudgery of Trading.
Dull. Men of Fortune seldom travel hither, Sir, to see Fashions.
Tim. Why, Brother, it may be the Gentleman has a mind to be a Planter; will you hire your self to make a Crop of Tobacco this Year?
Haz. I was not born to work, Sir.
Tim. Not work, Sir! Zoors, your Betters have workt, Sir. I have workt my self, Sir, both set and stript Tobacco, for all I am of the honourable Council. Not work, quoth a!—I suppose, Sir, you wear your Fortune upon your Back, Sir?
Haz. Is it your Custom here, Sir, to affront Strangers? I shall expect Satisfaction. Rises.
Tim. Why, does any body here owe you any thing?
Dull. No, unless he means to be paid for drinking with us,—ha, ha, ha.
Haz. No, Sir, I have money to pay for what I drink: here’s my Club, my Guinea, Flings down a Guinea.
I scorn to be oblig’d to such Scoundrels.
Booz. Hum—call Men of Honour Scoundrels. Rise in huff.
Tim. Let him alone, let him alone, Brother; how should he learn Manners? he never was in Virginia before.
Dull. He’s some Covent-Garden Bully.
Tim. Or some broken Citizen turned Factor.
235Haz. Sir, you lye, and you are a Rascal. Flings the Brandy in his Face.
Tim. Adz zoors, he has spil’d all the Brandy. Tim. runs behind the Door, Dull, and Booz. strike Hazard.
Haz. I understand no Cudgel-play, but wear a Sword to right myself. Draws, they run off.
Flirt. Good Heavens! what, quarelling in my House?
Haz. Do the Persons of Quality in this Country treat Strangers thus?
Flirt. Alas, Sir, ’tis a familiar way they have, Sir.
Haz. I’m glad I know it.—Pray, Madam, can you inform one how I may be furnish’d with a Horse and a Guide to Madam Surelove’s?
Flirt. A most accomplish’d Lady, and my very good Friend, you shall be immediately—
Exeunt.
Enter Wellman, Downright, Dunce, Whimsey, Whiff, and others.
Well. Come, Mr. Dunce, though you are no Counsellor, yet your Counsel may be good in time of Necessity, as now.
Dun. If I may give worthy Advice, I do not look upon our Danger to be so great from the Indians, as from young Bacon, whom the People have nick-nam’d Fright-all.
Whim. Ay, ay, that same Bacon, I would he were well hang’d: I am afraid that under pretence of killing all the Indians he means to murder us, lie with our Wives, and hang up our little Children, and make himself Lord and King.
Whiff. Brother Whimsey, not so hot; with leave of the honourable Board, my Wife is of opinion, that Bacon came seasonably to our Aid, and what he has done was for our Defence, the Indians came down upon us, and ravish’d us all, Men, Women, and Children.
236Well. If these Grievances were not redrest, we had our Reasons for it; it was not that we were insensible, Captain Whiff, of what we suffer’d from the Insolence of the Indians; but all knew what we must expect from Bacon, if that by lawful Authority he had arrived to so great a Command as General; nor would we be hufft out of our Commissions.
Down. ’Tis most certain that Bacon did not demand a Commission out of a design of serving us, but to satisfy his Ambition and his Love; it being no secret that he passionately admires the Indian Queen, and under the pretext of a War, intends to kill the King her Husband, establish himself in her Heart, and on all occasions make himself a more formidable Enemy than the Indians are.
Whim. Nay, nay, I ever foresaw he would prove a Villain.
Whiff. Nay, and he be thereabout, my Nancy shall have no more to do with him.
Well. But, Gentlemen, the People daily flock to him, so that his Army is too considerable for us to oppose by any thing but Policy.
Down. We are sensible, Gentlemen, that our Fortunes, our Honours, and our Lives are at stake; and therefore you are call’d together to consult what’s to be done in this Grand Affair, till our Governour and Forces arrive from England: the Truce he made with the Indians will be out to morrow.
Whiff. Ay, and then he intends to have another bout with the Indians. Let’s have patience, I say, till he has thrumb’d their Jackets, and then to work with your Politicks as soon as you please.
Down. Colonel Wellman has answer’d that point, good Captain Whiff; ’tis the Event of this Battel we ought to dread; and if won or lost, will be equally fatal for us, either from the Indians or from Bacon.
Dun. With the Permission of the honourable Board, I think I have hit upon an Expedient that may prevent this Battel: your Honours shall write a Letter to Bacon, 237 where you shall acknowledge his Services, invite him kindly home, and offer him a Commission for General—
Whiff. Just my Nancy’s Counsel—Dr. Dunce has spoken like a Cherubin, he shall have my Voice for General; what say you, Brother Whimsey?
Down. I say he is a Noble Fellow, and fit for a General.
Dun. But conceive me right, Gentlemen; as soon as he shall have render’d himself, seize him, and strike off his Head at the Fort.
Whiff. Hum! his Head—Brother.
Whim. Ay, ay, Dr. Dunce speaks like a Cherubin.
Well. Mr. Dunce, your Counsel in extremity, I confess, is not amiss; but I should be loth to deal dishonourably with any Man.
Down. His Crimes deserve Death, his Life is forfeited by Law, but shall never be taken by my consent by Treachery: If by any Stratagem we could take him alive, and either send him for England to receive there his Punishment, or keep him Prisoner here till the Governour arrive, I should agree to it; but I question his coming in upon our Invitation.
Dun. Leave that to me.
Whim. Come, I’ll warrant him, the Rogue’s as stout as Hector, he fears neither Heaven nor Hell.
Down. He’s too brave and bold to refuse our Summons, and I am for sending him for England, and leaving him to the King’s Mercy.
Dun. In that you’ll find more difficulty, Sir; to take him off here will be more quick and sudden: for the People worship him.
Well. I’ll never yield to so ungenerous an Expedient. The seizing him I am content in the Extremity wherein we are to follow. What say you, Colonel Downright? shall we send him a Letter now, while this two days Truce lasts, between him and the Indians?
Down. I approve it.
238All. And I, and I, and I.
Dun. If your Honours please to make me the Messenger, I’ll use some Arguments of my own to prevail with him.
Well. You say well, Mr. Dunce, and we’ll dispatch you presently.
Ex. Well. Down. and all but Whim. Whiff. and Dunce.
Whiff. Ah, Doctor, if you could but have persuaded Colonel Wellman and Colonel Downright to have hanged him—
Whim. Why, Brother Whiff, you were for making him a General but now.
Whiff. The Counsels of wise States-men, Brother Whimsey, must change as Causes do, d’ye see.
Dun. Your Honours are in the right; and whatever those two leading Counsellors say, they would be glad if Bacon were dispatch’d: but the punctilio of Honour is such a thing.
Whim. Honour, a Pox on’t; what is that Honour that keeps such a bustle in the World, yet never did good as I heard of?
Dun. Why, ’tis a foolish word only, taken up by great Men, but rarely practis’d.—But if you wou’d be great Men indeed—
Whiff. If we wou’d, Doctor, name, name the way.
Dun. Why, you command each of you a Company—when Bacon comes from the Camp, as I am sure he will, (and full of this silly thing call’d Honour, will come unguarded too) lay some of your Men in Ambush along those Ditches by the Sevana, about a Mile from the Town; and as he comes by, seize him, and hang him up upon the next Tree.
Whiff. Hum—hang him! a rare Plot.
Whim. Hang him!—we’ll do’t, we’ll do’t, Sir, and I doubt not but to be made General for the Action—I’ll take it all upon my self. Aside.
239Dun. If you resolve upon this, you must about instantly—Thus I shall at once serve my Country, and revenge my self on the Rascal for affronting my Dignity once at the Council-Table, by calling me Farrier. Ex. Dr.
Whiff. Do you know, Brother, what we are to do?
Whim. To do! yes, to hang a General, Brother, that’s all.
Whiff. All! but is it lawful to hang any General?
Whim. Lawful, yes, that ’tis lawful to hang any General that fights against Law.
Whiff. But in what he has done, he has serv’d the King and our Country, and preserv’d our Lives and Fortunes.
Whim. That’s all one, Brother; if there be but a Quirk in the Law offended in this Case, though he fought like Alexander, and preserv’d the whole World from Perdition, yet if he did it against Law, ’tis lawful to hang him; why, what, Brother, is it fit that every impudent Fellow that pretends to a little Honour, Loyalty, and Courage, should serve his King and Country against the Law? no, no, Brother, these things are not to be suffer’d in a civil Government by Law establish’d,—wherefore let’s about it.
Exeunt.
Enter Ranter and Jeffery her Coachman.
Ran. Here, Jeffery, ye drunken Dog, set your Coach and Horses up, I’ll not go till the cool of the Evening, I love to ride in Fresco.
Enter a Boy.
Coach. Yes, after hard drinking— Aside. It shall be done, Madam. Exit.
Ran. How now, Boy, is Madam Surelove at home?
Boy. Yes, Madam.
Ran. Go tell her I am here, Sirrah.
240Boy. Who are you pray forsooth?
Ran. Why, you Son of a Baboon, don’t you know me?
Boy. No, Madam, I came over but in the last Ship.
Ran. What, from Newgate or Bridewell? from shoveing the Tumbler, Sirrah, lifting or filing the Cly?
Boy. I don’t understand this Country Language, forsooth, yet.
Ran. You Rogue, ’tis what we transport from England first—go, ye Dog, go tell your Lady the Widow Ranter is come to dine with her— Exit Boy. I hope I shall not find that Rogue Daring here sniveling after Mrs. Chrisante: If I do, by the Lord, I’ll lay him thick. Pox on him, why shou’d I love the Dog, unless it be a Judgment upon me.
Enter Surelove and Chrisante.
—My dear Jewel, how do’st do?—as for you, Gentlewoman, you are my Rival, and I am in Rancour against you till you have renounc’d my Daring.
Chris. All the Interest I have in him, Madam, I resign to you.
Ran. Ay, but your House lying so near the Camp, gives me mortal Fears—but prithee how thrives thy Amour with honest Friendly?
Chris. As well as an Amour can that is absolutely forbid by a Father on one side, and pursued by a good Resolution on the other.
Ran. Hay Gad, I’ll warrant for Friendly’s Resolution, what though his Fortune be not answerable to yours, we are bound to help one another.—Here, Boy, some Pipes and a Bowl of Punch; you know my Humour, Madam, I must smoak and drink in a Morning, or I am maukish all day.
Sure. But will you drink Punch in a Morning?
Ran. Punch! ’tis my Morning’s Draught, my Table-drink, my Treat, my Regalio, my every thing; ah, my dear Surelove, if thou wou’d but refresh and cheer thy 241 Heart with Punch in a Morning, thou wou’dst not look thus cloudy all the day.
Enter Pipes and a great Bowl, she falls to smoaking.
Sure. I have reason, Madam, to be melancholy, I have receiv’d a Letter from my Husband, who gives me an account that he is worse in England than when he was here, so that I fear I shall see him no more, the Doctors can do no good on him.
Ran. A very good hearing. I wonder what the Devil thou hast done with him so long? an old fusty weatherbeaten Skeleton, as dried as Stock-fish, and much of the Hue.—Come, come, here’s to the next, may he be young, Heaven, I beseech thee. Drinks.
Sure. You have reason to praise an old Man, who dy’d and left you worth fifty thousand Pound.
Ran. Ay, Gad—and what’s better, Sweetheart, dy’d in good time too, and left me young enough to spend this fifty thousand Pound in better Company—rest his Soul for that too.
Chris. I doubt ’twill be all laid out in Bacon’s mad Lieutenant General Daring.
Ran. Faith, I think I could lend it the Rogue on good Security.
Chris. What’s that, to be bound Body for Body?
Ran. Rather that he should love no body’s Body besides my own; but my fortune is too good to trust the Rogue, my Money makes me an Infidel.
Chris. You think they all love you for that.
Ran. For that, ay, what else? if it were not for that, I might sit still and sigh, and cry out, a Miracle! a Miracle! at sight of a Man within my Doors.
Enter Maid.
Maid. Madam, here’s a young Gentleman without wou’d speak with you.
Sure. With me? sure thou’rt mistaken; is it not Friendly?
242Maid. No, Madam, ’tis a Stranger.
Ran. ’Tis not Daring, that Rogue, is it?
Maid. No, Madam.
Ran. Is he handsome? does he look like a Gentleman?
Maid. He’s handsome, and seems a Gentleman.
Ran. Bring him in then, I hate a Conversation without a Fellow,—hah,—a good handsome Lad indeed.
Enter Hazard with a Letter.
Sure. With me, Sir, would you speak?
Haz. If you are Madam Surelove.
Sure. So I am call’d.
Haz. Madam, I am newly arriv’d from England, and from your Husband my Kinsman bring you this.— Gives a Letter.
Ran. Please you to sit, Sir.
Haz. She’s extremely handsome. Aside—sits down.
Ran. Come, Sir, will you smoke a Pipe?
Haz. I never do, Madam.
Ran. Oh, fie upon’t, you must learn then, we all smoke here, ’tis a part of good Breeding.—Well, well, what Cargo, what Goods have ye? any Points, Lace, rich Stuffs, Jewels; if you have, I’ll be your Chafferer, I live hard by, any body will direct you to the Widow Ranter’s.
Haz. I have already heard of you, Madam.
Ran. What, you are like all the young Fellows, the first thing they do when they come to a strange Place, is to enquire what Fortunes there are.
Haz. Madam, I had no such Ambition.
Ran. Gad, then you’re a Fool, Sir; but come, my service to you; we rich Widows are the best Commodity this Country affords, I’ll tell you that.
This while Sure. reads the Letter.
Sure. Sir, my Husband has recommended you here in a most particular manner, by which I do not only find the esteem he has for you, but the desire he has of gaining you 243 mine, which on a double score I render you, first for his sake, next for those Merits that appear in your self.
Haz. Madam, the endeavours of my Life shall be to express my Gratitude for this great Bounty.
Enter Maid.
Maid. Madam, Mr. Friendly’s here.
Sure. Bring him in.
Haz. Friendly!—I had a dear Friend of that name, who I hear is in these Parts.—Pray Heaven it may be he.
Ran. How now, Charles.
Enter Friendly.
Friend. Madam, your Servant—Hah! should not I know you for my dear friend Hazard. Embracing him.
Haz. Or you’re to blame, my Friendly.
Friend. Prithee what calm brought thee ashore?
Haz. Fortune de la guerre, but prithee ask me no Questions in so good Company, where a Minute lost from this Conversation is a Misfortune not to be retriev’d.
Friend. Dost like her, Rogue— Softly aside.
Haz. Like her! have I sight, or sense?—Why, I adore her.
Friend. Mrs. Chrisante, I heard your Father would not be here to day, which made me snatch this opportunity of seeing you.
Ran. Come, come, a Pox of this whining Love, it spoils good Company.
Friend. You know, my dear Friend, these Opportunities come but seldom, and therefore I must make use of them.
Ran. Come, come, I’ll give you a better Opportunity at my House to morrow, we are to eat a Buffalo there, and I’ll secure the old Gentleman from coming.
Friend. Then I shall see Chrisante once more before I go.
Chris. Go—Heavens—whither, my Friendly?
Friend. I have received a Commission to go against the Indians, Bacon being sent for home.
244Ran. But will he come when sent for?
Friend. If he refuse we are to endeavour to force him.
Chris. I do not think he will be forc’d, not even by Friendly.
Friend. And, faith, it goes against my Conscience to lift my Sword against him, for he is truly brave, and what he has done, a Service to the Country, had it but been by Authority.
Chris. What pity ’tis there should be such false Maxims in the World, that noble Actions, however great, must be criminal for want of a Law to authorise ’em.
Friend. Indeed ’tis pity that when Laws are faulty they should not be mended or abolish’d.
Ran. Hark ye, Charles, by Heaven, if you kill my Daring I’ll pistol you.
Friend. No, Widow, I’ll spare him for your sake. They join with Surelove.
Haz. Oh, she’s all divine, and all the Breath she utters serves but to blow my Flame.
Enter Maid.
Maid. Madam, Dinner’s on the Table—
Sure. Please you, Sir, to walk in—come, Mr. Friendly. She takes Hazard.
Ran. Prithee, good Wench, bring in the Punch-Bowl.
Exeunt.
Discovers the Indian King and Queen sitting in State, with Guards of Indians, Men and Women attending: To them Bacon richly dress’d, attended by Daring, Fearless and other Officers; he bows to the King and Queen, who rise to receive him.
King. I am sorry, Sir, we meet upon these Terms, we who so often have embrac’d as Friends.
245Bac. How charming is the Queen! Aside. War, Sir, is not my Business nor my Pleasure: Nor was I bred in Arms, my Country’s Good has forc’d me to assume a Soldier’s Life; and ’tis with much regret that I employ the first Effects of it against my Friends: yet whilst I may—whilst this Cessation lasts, I beg we may exchange those Friendships, Sir, we have so often paid in happier Peace.
King. For your part, Sir, you’ve been so noble, that I repent the fatal Difference that makes us meet in Arms. Yet though I’m young, I’m sensible of Injuries; and oft have heard my Grandsire say, That we were Monarchs once of all this spacious World, till you, an unknown People, landing here, distress’d and ruin’d by destructive Storms, abusing all our charitable Hospitality, usurp’d our Right, and made your Friends your Slaves.
Bac. I will not justify the Ingratitude of my Forefathers, but finding here my Inheritance, I am resolv’d still to maintain it so, and by my Sword which first cut out my Portion, defend each Inch of Land, with my last drop of Blood.
Queen. Even his Threats have Charms that please the Heart. Aside.
King. Come, Sir, let this ungrateful Theme alone, which is better disputed in the Field.
Queen. Is it impossible there might be wrought an understanding betwixt my Lord and you? ’Twas to that end I first desired this Truce, my self proposing to be Mediator, to which my Lord Cavernio shall agree, could you but condescend—I know you are noble: And I have heard you say our tender Sex could never plead in vain.
Bac. Alas! I dare not trust your pleading, Madam: a few soft Words from such a charming Mouth would make me lay the Conqueror at your Feet, as a Sacrifice for all the Ills he has done you.
Queen. How strangely am I pleas’d to hear him talk. Aside.
246King. Semernia, see, the Dancers do appear;
Sir, will you take your Seat? To Bacon.
He leads the Queen to a Seat, they sit and talk.
Bac. Curse on his Sports that interrupted me, my very Soul was hovering at my Lip, ready to have discover’d all its Secrets. But oh! I dread to tell her of my pain, and when I wou’d an awful trembling seizes me, and she can only from my dying Eyes read all the Sentiments of my captive Heart. Sits down, the rest wait.
Enter Indians that dance Anticks: after the Dance the King seems in discourse with Bacon, the Queen rises and comes forth.
Queen. The more I gaze upon this English Stranger, the more Confusion struggles in my Soul: Oft I have heard of Love, and oft this Gallant Man (when Peace had made him pay his idle Visits) has told a thousand Tales of dying Maids; and ever when he spoke, my panting Heart, with a prophetick Fear in Sighs reply’d, I shall fall a Victim to his Eyes.
Enter an Indian.
Indian. Sir, here’s a Messenger from the English Council desires admittance to the General. To the King.
Bac. With your Permission he may advance. To the King.
Re-enter Indian with Dunce. A Letter.
Dun. All Health and Happiness attend your Honour, this from the honourable Council. Gives him a Letter.
King. I’ll leave you till you have dispatch’d the Messenger, and then expect your presence in the Royal Tent.
Exeunt King, Queen, and Indians.
Bac. Lieutenant, read the Letter. To Daring.
Daring reads.
SIR, the necessity of what you have acted makes it pardonable, and we could wish we had done the Country and our 247 selves so much Justice as to have given you that Commission you desired.—We now find it reasonable to raise more Forces, to oppose these Insolences, which possibly yours may be too weak to accomplish, to which end the Council is ordered to meet this Evening, and desiring you will come and take your place there, and be pleas’d to accept from us a Commission to command in Chief in this War.—Therefore send those Soldiers under your Command to their respective Houses, and haste, Sir, to your affectionate Friends—
Fear. Sir, I fear the Hearts and Pen did not agree when this was writ.
Dar. A plague upon their shallow Politicks! Do they think to play the old Game twice with us?
Bac. Away, you wrong the Council, who of themselves are honourable Gentlemen; but the base coward Fear of some of them, puts the rest on tricks that suit not with their Nature.
Dun. Sir, ’tis for noble ends you are sent for, and for your safety I’ll engage my Life.
Dar. By Heaven, and so you shall;—and pay it too with all the rest of your wise-headed Council.
Bac. Your Zeal is too officious now; I see no Treachery, and can fear no Danger.
Dun. Treachery! now Heavens forbid, are we not Christians, Sir, all Friends and Countrymen? believe me, Sir, ’tis Honour calls you to increase your Fame, and he who would dissuade you is your Enemy.
Dar. Go cant, Sir, to the Rabble—for us, we know you.
Bac. You wrong me when you but suspect for me; let him that acts dishonourably fear. My innocence and my good Sword’s my Guard.
Dar. If you resolve to go, we will attend you.
Bac. What, go like an invader! No, Daring, the Invitation’s friendly, and as a Friend attended only by my menial Servants, I’ll wait upon the Council, that they 248 may see that when I could command it, I came an humble Suppliant for their Favour.—You may return, and tell ’em I’ll attend.
Dun. I kiss your Honour’s Hands— Goes out.
Dar. ’Sdeath, will you trust the faithless Council, Sir, who have so long held you in hand with Promises, that Curse of States-men, that unlucky Vice that renders even Nobility despis’d?
Bac. Perhaps the Council thought me too aspiring, and would not add Wings to my ambitious Flight.
Dar. A pox of their considering Caps, and now they find that you can soar alone, they send for you to knip your spreading Wings. Now, by my Soul, you shall not go alone.
Bac. Forbear, lest I suspect you for a Mutineer; I am resolv’d to go.
Fear. What, and send your Army home; a pretty fetch.
Dar. By Heaven, we’ll not disband, not till we see how fairly you are dealt with: If you have a Commission to be General, here we are ready to receive new Orders: If not, we’ll ring them such a thundring Peal shall beat the Town about their treacherous Ears.
Bac. I do command you not to stir a Man, till you’re inform’d how I am treated by ’em.—leave me, all. Exeunt Officers.
While Bacon reads the Letter again, to him the Indian Queen with Women waiting.
Queen. Now while my Lord’s asleep in his Pavilion, I’ll try my Power with the General for an Accommodation of a Peace: The very dreams of War fright my soft Slumbers that us’d to be employ’d in kinder Business.
Bac. Ha!—the Queen—what Happiness is this presents it self which all my Industry could never gain?
Queen. Sir— Approaching him.
Bac. Prest with the great extremes of Joy and Fear, I trembling stand, unable to approach her.
249Queen. I hope you will not think it Fear in me, though timorous as a Dove by nature fram’d: Nor that my Lord, whose Youth’s unskill’d in War, can either doubt his Courage, or his Forces, that makes me seek a Reconciliation on any honourable Terms of Peace.
Bac. Ah Madam! if you knew how absolutely you command my Fate, I fear but little Honour would be left me, since whatsoe’er you ask me I should grant.
Queen. Indeed I would not ask your Honour, Sir, that renders you too brave in my esteem. Nor can I think that you would part with that. No, not to save your Life.
Bac. I would do more to serve your least commands than part with trivial Life.
Queen. Bless me, Sir, how came I by such a Power?
Bac. The Gods and Nature gave it you in your Creation, form’d with all the Charms that ever grac’d your Sex.
Queen. Is’t possible? am I so beautiful?
Bac. As Heaven, or Angels there.
Queen. Supposing this, how can my Beauty make you so obliging?
Bac. Beauty has still a Power over great Souls, and from the moment I beheld your Eyes, my stubborn Heart melted to compliance, and from a nature rough and turbulent, grew soft and gentle as the God of Love.
Queen. The God of Love! what is the God of Love?
Bac. ’Tis a resistless Fire, that’s kindled thus—at every Takes her by the Hand and gazes on her.
gaze we take from such fine Eyes, from such bashful Looks, and such soft Touches—it makes us sigh,—and pant as I do now, and stops the breath when e’er we speak of Pain.
Queen. Alas for me if this should be Love! Aside.
Bac. It makes us tremble when we touch the fair one; and all the Blood runs shivering through the Veins, the Heart’s surrounded with a feeble Languishment, the Eyes are dying, and the Cheeks are pale, the Tongue is faltring, and the Body fainting.
250Queen. Then I’m undone, and all I feel is Love. Aside.
If Love be catching, Sir, by Looks and Touches, let us at distance parley—or rather let me fly, for within view is too near— Aside.
Bac. Ah! she retires—displeas’d I fear with my presumptuous Love,—Oh, pardon, fairest Creature. Kneels.
Queen. I’ll talk no more, our Words exchange our Souls, and every Look fades all my blooming Honour, like Sun-beams on unguarded Roses—Take all our Kingdoms —make our People Slaves, and let me fall beneath your conquering Sword: but never let me hear you talk again, or gaze upon your Eyes.— Goes out.
Bac. She loves! by Heaven, she loves! and has not Art enough to hide her Flame, though she have cruel Honour to suppress it. However, I’ll pursue her to the Banquet.
Exit.
Enter Surelove fan’d by two Negroes, followed by Hazard.
Sure. This Madam Ranter is so prodigious a Treater —oh! I hate a Room that smells of a great Dinner, and what’s worse, a desert of Punch and Tobacco—what! are you taking leave so soon, Cousin?
Haz. Yes, Madam, but ’tis not fit I should let you know with what regret I go,—but Business will be obey’d.
Sure. Some Letters to dispatch to English Ladies you have left behind—come, Cousin, confess.
Haz. I own I much admire the English Beauties but never yet have put their Fetters on.
Sure. Never in love! oh, then you have pleasure to come.
Haz. Rather a Pain when there’s no Hope attends it.
Sure. Oh, such Diseases quickly cure themselves.
Haz. I do not wish to find it so; for even in Pain I find a Pleasure too.
Sure. You are infected then, and come abroad for Cure.
Haz. Rather to receive my Wounds, Madam.
251Sure. Already, Sir,—whoe’er she be, she made good haste to conquer, we have few here boast that Dexterity.
Haz. What think you of Chrisante, Madam?
Sure. I must confess your Love and your Despair are there plac’d right, of which I am not fond of being made a Confident, since I am assur’d she can love none but Friendly. Coldly.
Haz. Let her love on as long as Life shall last, let Friendly take her, and the Universe, so I had my next wish— Sighs.
Madam, it is yourself that I adore—I should not be so vain to tell you this, but that I know you have found the Secret out already from my Sighs.
Sure. Forbear, Sir, and know me for your Kinsman’s Wife, and no more.
Haz. Be scornful as you please, rail at my Passion, and refuse to hear it; yet I’ll love on, and hope in spite of you; my Flame shall be so constant and submissive, it shall compel your Heart to some return.
Sure. You’re very confident of your Power, I perceive; but if you chance to find yourself mistaken, say your Opinion and your Affectation were misapply’d, and not that I was cruel. Ex. Surelove.
Haz. Whate’er denials dwell upon your Tongue, your Eyes assure me that your Heart is tender. Goes out.
Enter the Bagpiper, playing before a great Bowl of Punch, carry’d between two Negroes, a Highlander dancing after it; the Widow Ranter led by Timorous; Chrisante by Dullman; Mrs. Flirt and Friendly, all dancing after it; they place it on the Table.
Dull. This is like the noble Widow all over, i’faith.
Tim. Ay, ay, the Widow’s Health in a full Ladle, Major. Drinks.
252—But a Pox on’t, what made that young Fellow here, that affronted us yesterday, Major? While they drink about.
Dull. Some damned Sharper that would lay his Knife aboard your Widow, Cornet.
Tim. Zoors, if I thought so, I’d arrest him for Salt and Battery, lay him in Prison for a swinging Fine, and take no Bail.
Dull. Nay, had it not been before my Mistress here, Mrs. Chrisante, I had swinged him for his Yesterday’s Affront;—ah, my sweet Mistress Chrisante—if you did but know what a power you have over me—
Chris. Oh, you’re a great Courtier, Major.
Dull. Would I were any thing for your sake, Madam.
Ran. Thou art anything, but what thou shouldst be; prithee, Major, leave off being an old Buffoon, that is, a Lover turn’d ridiculous by Age, consider thy self a mere rouling Tun of Nantz,—a walking Chimney, ever smoaking with nasty Mundungus, and then thou hast a Countenance like an old worm-eaten Cheese.
Dull. Well, Widow, you will joke, ha, ha, ha—
Tim. Gad’ Zoors, she’s pure company, ha, ha—
Dull. No matter for my Countenance,—Col. Downright likes my Estate, and is resolved to have it a match.
Friend. Dear Widow, take off your damned Major, for if he speak another word to Chrisante, I shall be put past all my patience, and fall foul upon him.
Ran. S’life, not for the world—Major, I bar Love-making within my Territories, ’tis inconsistent with the Punch-Bowl, if you’l drink, do, if not, be gone.
Tim. Nay, Gad’s Zooks, if you enter me at the Punch-Bowl you enter me in Politicks—well, ’tis the best Drink in Christendom for a Statesman. They drink about, the Bagpipe playing.
Ran. Come, now you shall see what my High-land Valet can do. A Scots Dance.
253Dull. So—I see, let the World go which way it will, Widow, you are resolv’d for mirth,—but come—to the conversation of the Times.
Ran. The Times! why, what a Devil ails the Times? I see nothing in the Times but a Company of Coxcombs that fear without a Cause.
Tim. But if these Fears were laid, and Bacon were hanged, I look upon Virginia to be the happiest part of the World, gads zoors,—why, there’s England—’tis nothing to’t,—I was in England about six Years ago, and was shewed the Court of Aldermen, some were nodding, some saying nothing, and others very little to purpose; but how could it be otherwise, for they had neither Bowl of Punch, Bottles of Wine or Tobacco before ’em, to put Life and Soul into ’em as we have here: then for the young Gentlemen—their farthest Travels is to France or Italy, they never come hither.
Dull. The more’s the pity, by my troth. Drinks.
Tim. Where they learn to swear Mor-blew, Mor-dee—
Friend. And tell you how much bigger the Louvre is than Whitehall; buy a suit a-la-mode, get a swinging Clap of some French Marquise, spend all their Money, and return just as they went.
Dull. For the old Fellows, their business is Usury, Extortion, and undermining young Heirs.
Tim. Then for young Merchants, their Exchange is the Tavern, their Ware-house the Play-house, and their Bills of Exchange Billet-Douxs, where to sup with their Wenches at the other end of the Town,—now judge you what a condition poor England is in: for my part I look upon it as a lost Nation, gads zoors.
Dull. I have considered it, and have found a way to save all yet.
Tim. As how, I pray?
Dull. As thus: we have Men here of great Experience and Ability—now I would have as many sent into England, 254 as would supply all Places and Offices, both Civil and Military, d’ye see; their young Gentry should all travel hither for breeding, and to learn the mysteries of State.
Friend. As for the old covetous Fellows, I would have the Tradesmen get in their Debts, break and turn Troopers.
Tim. And they’d be soon weary of Extortion, gad zoors.
Dull. Then for the young Merchants, there should be a Law made, none should go beyond Ludgate.
Friend. You have found out the only way to preserve that great Kingdom. Drinking all this while sometimes.
Tim. Well, gad zoors, ’tis a fine thing to be a good Statesman.
Friend. Ay, Cornet, which you had never been had you staid in Old England.
Dull. Why, Sir, we were somebody in England.
Friend. So I heard, Major.
Dull. You heard, Sir! what have you heard? he’s a Kidnapper that says he heard any thing of me—and so my service to you.—I’ll sue you, Sir, for spoiling my Marriage here by your Scandals with Mrs. Chrisante: but that shan’t do, Sir, I’ll marry her for all that, and he’s a Rascal that denies it.
Friend. S’death, you lye, Sir—I do.
Tim. Gad zoors, Sir, lye to a Privy-Counsellor, a Major of Horse! Brother, this is an Affront to our Dignities: draw and I’ll side with you. They both draw on Friendly, the Ladies run off.
Friend. If I disdain to draw, ’tis not that I fear your base and cowardly Force, but for the respect I bear you as Magistrates, and so I leave you. Goes out.
Tim. An arrant Coward, gad zoors.
Dull. A mere Paultroon, and I scorn to drink in his Company.
Exeunt, putting up their Swords.
255Enter Whimsey, Whiff, and Boozer, with some Soldiers arm’d.
Whim. Stand—stand—and hear the word of Command—do ye see yon Cops, and that Ditch that runs along Major Dullman’s Plantation?
Booz. We do.
Whim. Place your Men there, and lie flat on your Bellies, and when Bacon comes, (if alone) seize him, d’ye see.
Whiff. Observe the Command now (if alone) for we are not for blood-shed.
Booz. I’ll warrant you for our parts. Exeunt all but Whim. and Whiff.
Whim. Now we have ambusht our Men, let’s light our Pipes, and sit down and take an encouraging dram of the Bottle. Pulls a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket—they sit.
Whiff. Thou art a Knave, and hast emptied half the Bottle in thy Leathern Pockets; but come, here’s young Frightall’s Health.
Whim. What, wilt drink a Man’s Health thou’rt going to hang?
Whiff. ’Tis all one for that, we’ll drink his Health first, and hang him afterwards, and thou shalt pledge me, d’ye see, and though ’twere under the Gallows.
Whim. Thou’rt a Traitor for saying so, and I defy thee.
Whiff. Nay, since we are come out like loving Brothers to hang the General, let’s not fall out among our selves; and so here’s to you, Drinks. though I have no great Maw to this Business.
Whim. Prithee, Brother Whiff, do not be so villainous a Coward, for I hate a Coward.
Whiff. Nay, ’tis not that—but, my Whiff, my Nancy dreamt to night she saw me hanged.
Whim. ’Twas a cowardly Dream, think no more on’t; 256 but as Dreams are expounded by contraries, thou shalt hang the General.
Whiff. Ay—but he was my Friend, and I owe him at this time a hundred Pounds of Tobacco.
Whim. Nay, then I am sure thou’dst hang him if he were thy Brother.
Whiff. But hark—I think I hear the Neighing of Horses, where shall we hide our selves? for if we stay here, we shall be mawled damnably. Exeunt both behind a Bush, peeping.
Enter Bacon, Fearless, and 3 or 4 Footmen.
Bac. Let the Groom lead the Horses o’er the Sevana; we’ll walk it on Foot, ’tis not a quarter of a Mile to the Town; and here the Air is cool.
Fear. The Breezes about this time of the Day begin to take wing, and fan refreshment to the Trees and Flowers.
Bac. And at these Hours how fragrant are the Groves!
Fear. The Country’s well, were but the people so.
Bac. But come, lets on— They pass to the Entrance.
Whim. There, Boys— The Soldiers come forth and fall on Bacon.
Bac. Hah! Ambush—
Draws, Fearless and Footmen draw, the Soldiers after a while fighting, take Bacon and Fearless, they having laid 3 or 4 dead.
Whiff. So, so, he’s taken; now we may venture out.
Whim. But are you sure he’s taken?
Whiff. Sure! can’t you believe your Eyes, come forth; I hate a Coward—Oh, Sir, have we caught your Mightiness.
Bac. Are you the Authors of this valiant Act? None but such villainous Cowards durst have attempted it.
Whim. Stop his railing Tongue.
Whiff. No, no, let him rail, let him rail now his Hands are ty’d, ha, ha. Why, good General Frightall, what, was no body able d’ye think to tame the roaring Lyon?
257Bac. You’ll be hanged for this.
Whim. Come, come, away with him to the next Tree.
Bac. What mean you, Villains?
Whiff. Only to hang your Honour a little, that’s all. We’ll teach you, Sir, to serve your Country against Law.
As they go off, enter Daring with Soldiers.
Dar. Hah—my General betray’d!—this I suspected.
His Men come in, they fall on, release Bacon and Fearless, and his Man, and get Swords. Whimsey’s Party put Whim. and Whiff before ’em striking ’em as they endeavour to run on this side or that, and forcing ’em to bear up, they are taken after some fighting.
Fear. Did not the General tell you Rogues, you’d be all hang’d?
Whiff. Oh, Nancy, Nancy, how prophetick are thy Dreams!
Bac. Come, lets on—
Dar. S’death, what mean you, Sir?
Bac. As I designed—to present my self to the Council.
Dar. By Heavens, we’ll follow then to save you from their Treachery, ’twas this that has befallen you that I feared, which made me at a distance follow you.
Bac. Follow me still, but still at such a distance as your Aids may be assisting on all occasions.—Fearless, go back and bring your Regiment down; and Daring, let your Sergeant with his Party guard these Villains to the Council. Ex. Bac. Dar. and Fearless.
Whiff. A Pox on your Worship’s Plot.
Whim. A Pox of your forwardness to come out of the Hedge.
Ex. Officers, with Whim. and Whiff.
258Enter Col. Wellman, Col. Downright, Dullman, Timorous, and about seven or eight more seat themselves.
Well. You heard Mr. Dunce’s opinion, Gentlemen, concerning Bacon’s coming upon our Invitation. He believes he will come, but I rather think, though he be himself undaunted, yet the persuasions of his two Lieutenant-Generals, Daring and Fearless, may prevent him—Colonel, have you order’d our Men to be in Arms?
Enter a Soldier.
Down. I have, and they’l attend further order on the Sevana.
Sold. May it please your Honours, Bacon is on his way, he comes unattended by any but his Footmen, and Col. Fearless.
Down. Who is this Fellow?
Well. A Spy I sent to watch Bacon’s Motions.
Sold. But there is a Company of Soldiers in Ambush on this side of the Sevana to seize him as he passes by.
Well. That’s by no order of the Council.
Omnes. No, no, no order.
Well. Nay, ’twere a good design if true.
Tim. Gad zoors, wou’d I had thought on’t for my Troop.
Down. I am for no unfair dealing in any extremity.
Enter Brag in haste.
Brag. An’t please your Honours, the saddest News—an Ambush being laid for Bacon, they rush’d out upon him on the Sevana, and after some fighting took him and Fearless—
Tim. Is this your sad News—zoors, wou’d I had had a hand in’t.
Brag. When on a sudden, Daring and his Party fell 259 in upon us, turn’d the tide—kill’d our Men, and took Captain Whimsey, and Captain Whiff Pris’ners; the rest run away, but Bacon fought like fury.
Tim. A bloody Fellow!
Down. Whimsey and Whiff? they deserve Death for acting without order.
Tim. I’m of the Colonel’s Opinion, they deserve to hang for’t.
Dull. Why, Brother, I thought you had wish’d that the Plot had been yours but now.
Tim. Ay, but the Case is alter’d since that, good Brother.
Well. Now he’s exasperated past all hopes of a Reconciliation.
Dull. You must make use of the Statesman’s Refuge, wise Dissimulation.
Brag. For all this, Sir, he will not believe but that you mean honourably, and no Persuasions could hinder him from coming, so he has dismiss’d all his Soldiers, and is entring the Town on foot.
Well. What pity ’tis a brave Man should be guilty of an ill Action.
Brag. But the noise of his danger has so won the Hearts of the Mobile, that they increase his Train as he goes, and follow him in the Town like a Victor.
Well. Go wait his coming. Exit Brag.
He grows too popular and must be humbled.
Tim. I was ever of your mind, Colonel.
Well. Ay, right or wrong—but what’s your Counsel now?
Tim. E’en as it used to be, I leave it to wiser Heads.
Enter Brag.
Brag. Bacon, Sir, is entring.
Tim. Gad zoors, wou’d I were safe in bed.
Dull. Colonel, keep in your Heat, and treat calmly with him.
260Well. I rather wish you would all follow me, I’d meet him at the head of all his noisy Rabble, and seize him from the Rout.
Down. What, Men of Authority dispute with Rake-hells! ’tis below us, Sir.
Tim. To stake our Lives and Fortunes against their nothing.
Enter Bacon, after him the Rabble with Staves and Clubs, bringing in Whim. and Whiff bound.
Well. What means this Insolence?—What, Mr. Bacon, do you come in Arms?
Bac. I’d need, Sir, come in Arms, when Men that should be honourable can have so poor Designs to take my Life.
Well. Thrust out his following Rabble.
1st Rab. We’ll not stir till we have the General safe back again.
Bac. Let not your Loves be too officious—but retire—
1st Rab. At your Command we vanish.— The Rabble retire.
Bac. I hope you’ll pardon me, if in my own defence I seized on these two Murderers.
Down. You did well, Sir, ’twas by no order they acted—stand forth and hear your Sentence—in time of War we need no formal Tryals to hang Knaves that act without order.
Whiff. Oh, Mercy, Mercy, Colonel—’twas Parson Dunce’s Plot.
Down. Issue out a Warrant to seize Dunce immediately—you shall be carry’d to the Fort to pray.
Whim. Oh, good your Honour, I never pray’d in all my Life.
Down. From thence drawn upon a Sledge to the place of Execution—where you shall hang till you are dead—and then be cut down and—
261Whim. Oh, hold—hold—we shall never be able to endure half this. Kneeling.
Well. I think the Offence needs not so great Punishment; their Crime, Sir, is but equal to your own, acting without Commission.
Bac. ’Tis very well explained, Sir,—had I been murder’d by Commission then, the Deed had been approved, and now perhaps I am beholding to the Rabble for my Life.
Well. A fine Pretence to hide a popular Fault, but for this once we pardon them and you.
Bac. Pardon! for what? by Heaven, I scorn your Pardon, I’ve not offended Honour nor Religion.
Well. You have offended both in taking Arms.
Bac. Should I stand by and see my Country ruin’d, my King dishonour’d, and his Subjects murder’d, hear the sad Crys of Widows and of Orphans? you heard it loud, but gave no pitying care to’t, and till the War and Massacre was brought to my own door, my Flocks and Herds surprized, I bore it all with Patience. Is it unlawful to defend my self against a Thief that breaks into my Doors?
Well. And call you this defending of your self?
Bac. I call it doing of my self that right, which upon just demand the Council did refuse me; if my Ambition, as you’re pleased to call it, made me demand too much, I left my self to you.
Well. Perhaps we thought it did.
Bac. Sir, you affront my Birth—I am a Gentleman, and yet my Thoughts were humble—I would have fought under the meanest of your Parasites.
Tim. There’s a Bob for us, Brother. To Dull.
Bac. But still you put me off with Promises—and when compell’d to stir in my Defence I call’d none to my aid, and those that came, ’twas their own Wrongs that urg’d them.
Down. ’Tis fear’d, Sir, under this Pretence, you aim at Government.
262Bac. I scorn to answer to so base an Accusation; the height of my Ambition is to be an honest Subject.
Well. An honest Rebel, Sir—
Bac. You know you wrong me, and ’tis basely urg’d—but this is trifling—here are my Commissions. Throws down Papers, Down. reads.
Down. To be General of the Forces against the Indians, and blank Commissions for his Friends.
Well. Tear them in pieces—are we to be imposed upon? Do ye come in hostile manner to compel us?
Down. Be not too rough, Sir, let us argue with him.
Well. I am resolv’d I will not.
Tim. Then we are all dead Men, Gudzoors! he will not give us time to say our Prayers.
Well. We every day expect fresh force from England, till then, we of our selves shall be sufficient to make defence against a sturdy Traitor.
Bac. Traitor! S’death, Traitor—I defy ye, but that my Honour’s yet above my Anger, I’d make you answer me that Traitor dearly. Rises.
Well. Hah—am I threatned—Guards, secure the Rebel. Guards seize him.
Bac. Is this your honourable Invitation? Go—triumph in your short-liv’d Victory, the next turn shall be mine. Exeunt Guards with Bac.
A Noise of Fighting—Enter Bacon, Wellman’s Guards beat back by the Rabble, Bacon snatches a Sword from one, and keeps back the Rabble, Tim. gets under the Table.
Down. What means this Insolence?
Rab. We’ll have our General, and knock that Fellow’s Brains out, and hang up Colonel Wellman.
All. Ay, ay, hang up Wellman. The Rabble seize Well. and Dull. and the rest.
Dull. Hold, hold, Gentlemen, I was always for the General.
263Rab. Let’s barbicu this fat Rogue.
Bac. Be gone, and know your distance to the Council. The Rabble let ’em go.
Well. I’d rather perish by the meanest Hand, than owe my safety poorly thus to Bacon. In Rage.
Bac. If you persist still in that mind I’ll leave you, and conquering make you happy ’gainst your will. Ex. Bacon and Rabble, hollowing a Bacon, a Bacon.
Well. Oh villanous Cowards! who will trust his Honour with Sycophants so base? Let us to Arms—by Heaven, I will not give my Body rest, till I’ve chastised the boldness of this Rebel.
Exeunt Well. Down. and the rest, all but Dull. Tim. peeps from under the Table.
Tim. What, is the roistering Hector gone, Brother?
Dull. Ay, ay, and the Devil go with him. Looking sadly, Tim. comes out.
Tim. Was there ever such a Bull of Bashan! Why, what if he should come down upon us and kill us all for Traitors.
Dull. I rather think the Council will hang us all for Cowards—ah—oh—a Drum—a Drum—oh. He goes out.
Tim. This is the Misery of being great.
We’re sacrific’d to every turn of State.
Enter a great many People of all sorts, then Friendly, after him Dullman.
Friend. How now, Major; what, they say Bacon scar’d you all out of the Council yesterday; What say the People?
Dull. Say? they curse us all, and drink young Frightall’s Health, and swear they’ll fight through Fire and Brimstone for him.
264Friend. And to morrow will hollow him to the Gallows, if it were his chance to come there.
Dull. ’Tis very likely: Why, I am forced to be guarded to the Court now, the Rabble swore they would De-Wit me, but I shall hamper some of ’em. Wou’d the Governour were here to bear the brunt on’t, for they call us the evil Counsellors.
Enter Hazard, goes to Friendly.
Here’s the young Rogue that drew upon us too, we have Rods in Piss for him, i’faith.
Enter Timorous with Bailiffs, whispers to Dullman, after which to the Bailiffs.
Tim. Gadzoors, that’s he, do your Office.
Bail. We arrest you, Sir, in the King’s Name, at the suit of the honourable Justice Timorous.
Haz. Justice Timorous! who the Devil’s he?
Tim. I am the man, Sir, d’ye see, for want of a better; you shall repent, Guds zoors, your putting of tricks upon Persons of my Rank and Quality. After he has spoke, he runs back as afraid of him.
Haz. Your Rank and Quality!
Tim. Ay, Sir, my Rank and Quality; first I am one of the honourable Council, next, a Justice of Peace in Quorum, Cornet of a Troop of Horse, d’ye see, and Church-warden.
Friend. From whence proceeds this, Mr. Justice? you said nothing of this at Madam Ranter’s yesterday; you saw him there, then you were good Friends.
Tim. Ay, however I have carried my Body swimmingly before my Mistress, d’ye see, I had Rancour in my Heart, Gads zoors.
Friend. Why, this Gentleman’s a Stranger, and but lately come ashore.
Haz. At my first landing I was in company with this 265 Fellow and two or three of his cruel Brethren, where I was affronted by them, some Words pass’d, and I drew—
Tim. Ay, ay, Sir, you shall pay for’t,—why—what, Sir, cannot a civil Magistrate affront a Man, but he must be drawn upon presently?
Friend. Well, Sir, the Gentleman shall answer your Suit, and I hope you’ll take my Bail for him.
Tim. ’Tis enough—I know you to be a civil Person.
Timorous and Dullman take their Places on a long Bench placed behind the Table, to them Whimsey and Whiff, they seat themselves, then Boozer and two or three more; who seat themselves: Then enter two, bearing a Bowl of Punch and a great Ladle or two in it; the rest of the Stage being fill’d with People.
Whiff. Brothers, it hath often been mov’d at the Bench, that a new Punch-Bowl shou’d be provided, and one of a larger Circumference; when the Bench sits late about weighty Affairs, oftentimes the Bowl is emptied before we end.
Whim. A good Motion; Clerk, set it down.
Clerk. Mr. Justice Boozer, the Council has order’d you a Writ of Ease, and dismiss your Worship from the Bench.
Booz. Me from the Bench, for what?
Whim. The Complaint is, Brother Boozer, for drinking too much Punch in the time of hearing Tryals.
Whiff. And that you can neither write nor read, nor say the Lord’s Prayer.
Tim. That your Warrants are like a Brewer’s Tally, a Notch on a Stick; if a special Warrant, then a couple. Gods zoors, when his Excellency comes he will have no such Justices.
Booz. Why, Brother, though I can’t read my self, I have had Dalton’s Country-Justice read over to me two or three times, and understand the Law. This is your Malice, Brother Whiff, because my Wife does not come to your 266 Warehouse to buy her Commodities,—but no matter, to show I have no Malice in my Heart, I drink your Health.—I care not this, I can turn Lawyer, and plead at the Board. Drinks, all pledge him, and hum.
Dull. Mr. Clerk, come to the Tryals on the Dockett. Clerk reads.
Cler. The first is between his Worship Justice Whiff and one Grubb.
Dull. Ay, that Grubb’s a common Disturber, Brother, your Cause is a good Cause if well manag’d, here’s to’t. Drinks.
Whiff. I thank you, Brother Dullman—read my Petition. Drinks.
Cler. The Petition of Captain Thomas Whiff, sheweth, That whereas Gilbert Grubb calls his Worship’s Wife Ann Whiff Whore, and said he would prove it; your Petitioner desires the Worshipful Bench to take it into Consideration, and your Petitioner shall ever pray, &c.— Here’s two Witnesses have made Affidavit viva voce, an’t like your Worships.
Dull. Call Grubb.
Cler. Gilbert Grubb, come into the Court.
Grub. Here.
Whim. Well, what can you say for your self, Mr. Grubb.
Grub. Why, an’t like your Worship, my Wife invited some Neighbours Wives to drink a Cagg of Syder; now your Worship’s Wife, Madam Whiff, being there fuddled, would have thrust me out of doors, and bid me go to my old Whore Madam Whimsey, meaning your Worship’s Wife. To Whimsey.
Whim. Hah! My Wife called Whore, she’s a Jade, and I’ll arrest her Husband here—in an Action of Debts.
Tim. Gad zoors, she’s no better than she should be, I’ll warrant her.
Whiff. Look ye, Brother Whimsey, be patient; you know the humour of my Nancy, when she’s drunk; but 267 when she’s sober, she’s a civil Person, and shall ask your pardon.
Whim. Let this be done, and I am satisfied. And so here’s to you. Drinks.
Dull. Go on to the Trial.
Grub. I being very angry, said indeed, I would prove her a greater Whore than Madam Whimsey.
Cler. An’t like your Worships, he confesses the Words in open Court.
Grub. Why, an’t like your Worships, she has had two Bastards, I’ll prove it.
Whiff. Sirrah, Sirrah, that was when she was a Maid, not since I marry’d her; my marrying her made her honest.
Dull. Let there be an order of Court to sue him for Scandalum magnatum.
Tim. Mr. Clerk, let my Cause come next.
Cler. The Defendant’s ready, Sir. Hazard comes to the Board.
Tim. Brothers of the Bench, take notice, that this Hector here coming into Mrs. Flirt’s Ordinary, where I was with my Brother Dullman and Lieutenant Boozer; we gave him good Counsel to fall to work: Now my Gentleman here was affronted at this, forsooth, and makes no more to do but calls us Scoundrels, and drew his Sword on us; and had I not defended my self by running away, he had murdered me, and assassinated my two Brothers.
Whiff. What Witness have you, Brother?
Tim. Here’s Mrs. Flirt and her Maid Nell,—besides, we may be Witness for one another, I hope, our Words may be taken.
Cler. Mrs. Flirt and Nell are sworn. They stand forth.
Whim. By the Oaths that you have taken, speak nothing but the truth.
Flirt. An’t please your Worships, your Honours came to my House, where you found this young Gentleman: 268 and your Honours invited him to drink with your Honours; Where after some opprobrious Words given him, Justice Dullman, and Justice Boozer struck him over the Head; and after that indeed the Gentleman drew.
Tim. Mark that, Brother, he drew.
Haz. If I did, it was se defendendo.
Tim. Do you hear that, Brothers, he did it in defiance.
Haz. Sir, you ought not to sit Judge and Accuser too.
Whiff. The Gentleman’s i’th’ right, Brother, you cannot do’t according to Law.
Tim. Gads zoors, what new tricks, new querks?
Haz. Gentlemen, take notice, he swears in Court.
Tim. Gads zoors, what’s that to you, Sir?
Haz. This is the second time of his swearing.
Whim. What, do you think we are deaf, Sir? Come, come, proceed.
Tim. I desire he may be bound to his Good Behaviour, fin’d, and deliver up his Sword, what say you, Brother? Jogs Dull. who nods.
Whim. He’s asleep, drink to him and waken him,— you have miss’d the Cause by sleeping, Brother. Drinks.
Dull. Justice may nod, but never sleeps, Brother— you were at—Deliver his Sword—a good Motion, let it be done. Drinks.
Haz. No, Gentlemen, I wear a Sword to right my self.
Tim. That’s fine, i’faith, Gads zoors, I’ve worn a Sword this dozen Year, and never cou’d right my self.
Whiff. Ay, ’twou’d be a fine World if Men should wear Swords to right themselves; he that’s bound to the Peace shall wear no Sword.
Whim. I say, he that’s bound to the Peace ought to wear no Peruke, they may change ’em for black or white, and then who can know them.
Haz. I hope, Gentlemen, I may be allowed to speak for my self.
269Whiff. Ay, what can you say for your self, did you not draw your Sword, Sirrah?
Haz. I did.
Tim. ’Tis sufficient, he confesses the Fact, and we’ll hear no more.
Haz. You will not hear the Provocation given.
Dull. ’Tis enough, Sir, you drew—
Whim. Ay, ay, ’tis enough, he drew—let him be fin’d.
Friend. The Gentleman should be heard, he’s Kinsman too to Colonel John Surelove.
Tim. Hum—Colonel Surelove’s Kinsman.
Whiff. Is he so? nay, then all the reason in the World he should be heard, Brothers.
Whim. Come, come, Cornet, you shall be Friends with the Gentleman; this was some drunken bout, I’ll warrant you.
Tim. Ha, ha, ha, so it was, Gads zoors.
Whiff. Come, drink to the Gentleman, and put it up.
Tim. Sir, my service to you, I am heartily sorry for what’s pass’d, but it was in my drink. Drinks.
Whim. You hear his Acknowledgments, Sir, and when he’s sober he never quarrels. Come, Sir, sit down, my Service to you.
Haz. I beg your excuse, Gentlemen—I have earnest business.
Dull. Let us adjourn the Court, and prepare to meet the Regiments on the Sevana. All go but Friend. and Hazard.
Haz. Is this the best Court of Judicature your Country affords?
Friend. To give it its due, it is not. But how does thy Amour thrive?
Haz. As well as I can wish in so short a time.
Friend. I see she regards thee with kind Eyes, Sighs and Blushes.
Haz. Yes, and tells me I am so like a Brother she had 270 —to excuse her kind concern,—then blushes so prettily, that, Gad, I cou’d not forbear making a discovery of my Heart.
Friend. Have a care of that, come upon her by slow degrees, for I know she is virtuous;—but come, let’s to the Sevana, where I’ll present you to the two Colonels, Wellman and Downright, the Men that manage all till the arrival of the Governour.
Enter Wellman, Downright, Boozer, and Officers.
Well. Have you dispatch’d the Scouts, to watch the Motions of the Enemies? I know that Bacon is violent and haughty, and will resent our vain Attempts upon him; therefore we must be speedy in prevention.
Down. What Forces have you raised since our last order?
Booz. Here’s a List of ’em, they came but slowly in, till we promised every one a Bottle of Brandy.
Enter Officer and Dunce.
Offi. We have brought Mr. Dunce here, as your Honour commanded us; after strict search we found him this Morning in bed with Madam Flirt.
Down. No matter, he’ll exclaim no less against the Vices of the Flesh the next Sunday.
Dun. I hope, Sir, you will not credit the Malice of my Enemies.
Well. No more, you are free, and what you counsell’d about the Ambush, was both prudent and seasonable, and perhaps I now wish it had taken effect.
Enter Friendly and Hazard.
Friend. I have brought an English Gentleman to kiss your Hands, Sir, and offer you his Service, he is young and brave, and Kinsman to Colonel Surelove.
Well. Sir, you are welcome; and to let you see you 271 are so, we will give you your Kinsman’s Command, Captain of a Troop of Horse-Guards, and which I’m sure will be continued to you when the Governour arrives.
Haz. I shall endeavour to deserve the Honour, Sir.
Enter Dull. Tim. Whim. and Whiff, all in Buff, Scarf, and Feather.
Down. So, Gentlemen, I see you’re in a readiness.
Tim. Readiness! What means he, I hope we are not to be drawn out to go against the Enemy, Major.
Dull. If we are, they shall look a new Major for me.
Well. We were debating, Gentlemen, what course were best to pursue against this powerful Rebel.
Friend. Why, Sir, we have Forces enough, let’s charge him instantly, Delays are dangerous.
Tim. Why, what a damn’d fiery Fellow is this?
Down. But if we drive him to extremities, we fear his siding with the Indians.
Dull. Colonel Downright has hit it; why should we endanger our Men against a desperate Termagant; If he love Wounds and Scars so well, let him exercise on our Enemies—but if he will needs fall upon us, ’tis then time enough for us to venture our Lives and Fortunes.
Tim. How, we go to Bacon! under favour, I think ’tis his duty to come to us, an you go to that, Gads zoors.
Friend. If he do, ’twill cost you dear, I doubt, Cornet.—I find by our List, Sir, we are four thousand Men.
Tim. Gads zoors, not enough for a Breakfast for that insatiate Bacon, and his two Lieutenant Generals, Fearless and Daring. Whiff sits on the Ground with a Bottle of Brandy.
Whim. A Morsel, a Morsel.
Well. I am for an attack, what say you, Gentlemen, to an attack?—What, silent all? What say you, Major?
Dull. I say, Sir, I hope my Courage was never in dispute. But, Sir, I am going to marry Colonel Downright’s 272 Daughter here—and should I be slain in this Battle ’twould break her Heart;—besides, Sir, I should lose her Fortune. Speaks big.
Well. I’m sure here’s a Captain will never flinch. To Whim.
Whim. Who, I, an’t like your Honour?
Well. Ay, you.
Whim. Who, I? ha, ha, ha: Why, did your Honour think that I would fight?
Well. Fight! yes; why else do you take Commissions?
Whim. Commissions! Oh Lord, O Lord, take Commissions to fight! ha, ha, ha; that’s a jest, if all that take Commissions should fight—
Well. Why do you bear Arms then?
Whim. Why, for the Pay; to be called Captain, noble Captain, to show, to cock and look big, and bluff as I do: to be bow’d to thus as we pass, to domineer and beat our Soldiers: Fight, quoth a, ha, ha, ha.
Friend. But what makes you look so simply, Cornet?
Tim. Why, a thing that I have quite forgot, all my Accounts for England are to be made up, and I’m undone if they be neglected—else I wou’d not flinch for the stoutest he that wears a Sword— Looking big.
Down. What say you, Captain Whiff? Whiff almost drunk.
Whiff. I am trying, Colonel, what Mettle I’m made on; I think I am valiant, I suppose I have Courage, but I confess ’tis a little of the D—— breed, but a little inspiration from the Bottle, and the leave of my Nancy, may do wonders.
Enter a Seaman in haste.
Sea. An’t please your Honours, Frightall’s Officers have seiz’d all the Ships in the River, and rid now round the Shore, and had by this time secur’d the sandy Beach, and landed Men to fire the Town, but that they are high 273 in drink aboard the Ship call’d the Good-Subject; the Master of her sent me to let your Honours know, that a few Men sent to his assistance will surprize them and retake the Ships.
Well. Now, Gentlemen, here is a brave occasion for Emulation—why writ not the Master?
Dull. Ay, had he writ, I had soon been amongst them, i’faith; but this is some Plot to betray us.
Sea. Keep me here, and kill me if it be not true.
Down. He says well—there’s a Brigantine and a Shallop ready, I’ll embark immediately.
Friend. No, Sir, your Presence is here more necessary, let me have the Honour of this Expedition.
Haz. I’ll go your Volunteer, Charles.
Well. Who else offers to go?
Whim. A mere Trick to kidnap us, by Bacon,—if the Captain had writ.
Tim. Ay, ay, if he had writ—
Well. I see you’re all base Cowards, and here cashier ye from all Commands and Offices.
Whim. Look ye, Colonel, you may do what you please, but you lose one of the best dress’d Officers in your whole Camp, Sir.
Tim. And in me, such a Head-piece.
Whiff. I’ll say nothing, but let the State want me.
Dull. For my part I am weary of weighty Affairs.
In this while Well. Down. Friend. and Haz. talk.
Well. Command what Men you please, but Expedition makes you half a Conqueror.
Ex. Friend. and Haz.
Enter another Seaman with a Letter, gives it to Downright, he and Wellman read it.
Down. Look ye now, Gentlemen, the Master has writ.
Dull. Has he—he might have writ sooner, while I was in Command,—if he had—
Whim. Ay, Major—if he had—but let them miss us.
274Well. Colonel, haste with your Men, and reinforce the Beach, while I follow with the Horse;—Mr. Dunce, pray let that Proclamation be read concerning Bacon, to the Soldiers. Ex. Down. and Well.
Dun. It shall be done, Sir. Gentlemen, how simply you look now.
The Scene opens and discovers a Body of Soldiers.
Tim. Why, Mr. Parson, I have a scruple of Conscience upon me, I am considering whether it be lawful to kill, though it be in War; I have a great aversion to’t, and hope it proceeds from Religion.
Whiff. I remember the Fit took you just so when the Dutch besieged us, for you cou’d not then be persuaded to strike a stroke.
Tim. Ay, that was because they were Protestants as we are; but, Gads zoors, had they been Dutch Papists I had maul’d them: but Conscience—
Whim. I have been a Justice of Peace this six Years, and never had a Conscience in my Life.
Tim. Nor I neither, but in this damn’d thing of fighting.
Dun. Gentlemen, I am commanded to read the Declaration of the honourable Council to you. To the Soldiers.
All. Hum, hum, hum—
Booz. Silence—silence— Dunce reads.
Dun. By an order of Council, dated May the 10th, 1670. To all Gentlemen Soldiers, Merchants, Planters, and whom else it may concern. Whereas Bacon, contrary to Law and Equity, has, to satisfy his own Ambition, taken up Arms with a pretence to fight the Indians, but indeed to molest and enslave the whole Colony, and to take away their Liberties and Properties; this is to declare, that whoever shall bring this Traitor dead or alive to the Council, shall have three hundred pounds Reward. And so God save the King.
All. A Council, a Council! Hah— Hollow.
275Enter a Soldier hastily.
Sold. Stand to your Arms, Gentlemen, stand to your Arms, Bacon is marching this way.
Dun. Hah—what Numbers has he?
Sold. About a hundred Horse, in his march he has surpriz’d Colonel Downright, and taken him Prisoner.
All. Let’s fall on Bacon—let’s fall on Bacon, hay. Hollow.
Booz. We’ll hear him speak first—and see what he can say for himself.
All. Ay, ay, we’ll hear Bacon speak. Dunce pleads with them.
Tim. Well, Major, I have found a Stratagem shall make us Four the greatest Men in the Colony, we’ll surrender our selves to Bacon, and say we disbanded on purpose.
Dull. Good—
Whiff. Why, I had no other design in the World in refusing to fight.
Whim. Nor I, d’ye think I wou’d have excus’d it with the fear of disordering my Cravat-String else.
Dun. Why, Gentlemen, he designs to fire James Town, murder you all, and then lie with your Wives; and will you slip this opportunity of seizing him?
Booz. Here’s a termagant Rogue, Neighbours—we’ll hang the Dog.
All. Ay, ay, hang Bacon, hang Bacon.
Enter Bacon and Fearless, some Soldiers leading in Downright bound; Bacon stands and stares a while on the Regiments, who are silent all.
Bac. Well, Gentlemen, in order to your fine Declaration, you see I come to render my self.
Dun. How came he to know of our Declaration?
Whiff. Rogues, Rogues among our selves, that inform.
Bac. What, are ye silent all,—not a Man to lift his Hand in Obedience to the Council, to murder this Traytor 276 that has exposed his Life so often for you? Hah, what, not for three hundred Pound?—You see I’ve left my Troops behind, and come all wearied with the Toils of War, worn out by Summers heats, and Winters cold, march’d tedious Days and Nights through Bogs and Fens as dangerous as your Clamours, and as faithless,—what though ’twas to preserve you all in Safety, no matter, you shou’d obey the grateful Council, and kill this honest Man that has defended you.
All. Hum, hum, hum.
Whiff. The General speaks like a Gorgon.
Tim. Like a Cherubin, Man.
Bac. All silent yet—where’s that mighty Courage, that cried so loud but now, A Council, a Council? where is your Resolution? cannot three hundred Pound excite your Valour to seize that Traitor Bacon who has bled for you?
All. A Bacon, a Bacon, a Bacon. Hollow.
Down. Oh villainous Cowards!—Oh the faithless Multitude!
Bac. What say you, Parson?—you have a forward Zeal.
Dun. I wish my Coat, Sir, did not hinder me from acting as becomes my Zeal and Duty.
Whim. A plaguy rugged Dog,—that Parson—
Bac. Fearless, seize me that canting Knave from out the Herd, and next those honourable Officers.
Points to Dull. Whim. Whiff, and Tim. Fearless seizes them, and gives them to the Soldiers, and takes the Proclamation from Dunce, and shews Bacon; they read it.
Dull. Seize us, Sir, you shall not need, we laid down our Commissions on purpose to come over to your Honour.
Whiff. We ever lov’d and honour’d your Honour.
Tim. So intirely, Sir—that I wish I were safe in James Town for your sake, and your Honour were hang’d. Aside.
Bac. This fine Piece is of your penning, Parson,—though it be countenanc’d by the Council’s Names.—Oh 277 Ingratitude! Burn, burn the treacherous Town, fire it immediately.—
Whim. We’ll obey you, Sir.
Whiff. Ay, ay, we’ll make a Bonfire on’t, and drink your Honour’s health round about it. They offer to go.
Bac. Yet hold, my Revenge shall be more merciful, I ordered that all the Women of Rank shall be seiz’d and brought to my Camp. I’ll make their Husbands pay their Ransoms dearly; they’d rather have their Hearts bleed than their Purses.
Fear. Dear General, let me have the seizing of Colonel Downright’s Daughter; I would fain be plundering for a Trifle call’d a Maiden-head.
Bac. On pain of Death treat them with all respect; assure them of the safety of their Honour. Now, all that will follow me, shall find a welcome, and those that will not, may depart in Peace.
All. Hay, a General, a General, a General. Some Soldiers go off: Some go to the side of Bacon.
Enter Daring and Soldiers, with Chrisante, Surelove, Mrs. Whim. and Mrs. Whiff, and several other Women.
Bac. Successful Daring, welcome, what Prizes have ye?
Dar. The fairest in the World, Sir; I’m not for common Plunder.
Down. Hah, my Daughter and my Kinswoman!—
Bac. ’Tis not with Women, Sir, nor honest men like you, that I intend to combat; not their own Parents shall be more indulgent, nor better Safe-guard to their Honours, Sir: But ’tis to save the expence of Blood I seize on their most valued Prizes.
Down. But, Sir, I know your wild Lieutenant General has long lov’d my Chrisante, and perhaps, will take this time to force her to consent.
Dar. I own I have a Passion for Chrisante, yet by my General’s Life, or her fair self, what now I act is on the score of War, I scorn to force the Maid I do adore.
278Bac. Believe me, Ladies, you shall have honourable Treatment here.
Chris. We do not doubt it, Sir, either from you or Daring; if he love me, that will secure my Honour; or if he do not, he’s too brave to injure me.
Dar. I thank you for your just opinion of me, Madam.
Chris. But, Sir, ’tis for my Father I must plead; to see his reverend Hands in servile Chains; and then perhaps, if stubborn to your Will, his Head must fall a Victim to your Anger.
Down. No, my good pious Girl, I cannot fear ignoble usage from the General; and if thy Beauty can preserve thy Fame, I shall not mourn in my Captivity.
Bac. I’ll ne’er deceive your kind opinion of me—Ladies, I hope you’re all of that Opinion too.
Sure. If seizing us, Sir, can advance your Honour, or be of any use considerable to you, I shall be proud of such a Slavery.
Mrs. Whim. I hope, Sir, we shan’t be ravish’d in your Camp.
Dar. Fie, Mrs. Whimsey, do Soldiers use to ravish?
Mrs. Whiff. Ravish! marry, I fear ’em not, I’d have ’em know, I scorn to be ravish’d by any Man.
Fear. Ay, o’ my Conscience, Mrs. Whiff, you are too good-natur’d.
Dar. Madam, I hope you’ll give me leave to name Love to you, and try by all submissive ways to win your Heart.
Chris. Do your worst, Sir: I give you leave, if you assail me only with your Tongue.
Dar. That’s generous and brave, and I’ll requite it.
Enter Soldier in haste.
Sold. The Truce being ended, Sir, the Indians grow so insolent as to attack us even in our Camp, and have killed several of our Men.
279Bac. ’Tis time to check their Boldness; Daring, haste, draw up our Men in order to give ’em Battel, I rather had expected their submission.
The Country now may see what they’re to fear,
Since we that are in Arms are not secure.
Exeunt, leading the Ladies.
A Temple, with an Indian God placed upon it, Priests and Priestesses attending: Enter Indian King on one side attended by Indian Men; the Queen enters on the other with Women. All bow to the Idol, and divide on each side of the Stage. Then the Musick playing louder, the Priests and Priestesses dance about the Idol with ridiculous Postures, and crying (as for Incantations) thrice repeated, Agah Yerkin, Agah Boah, Sulen Tawarapah, Sulen Tawarapah.
After this soft Musick plays again: then they sing something fine: after which the Priests lead the King to the Altar, and the Priestesses the Queen; they take off little Crowns from their Heads, and offer them at the Altar.
King. Invoke the God of our Quiocto to declare what the Event shall be of this our last War against the English General. Soft Musick ceases.
The Musick changes to confused Tunes, to which the Priests and Priestesses dance, antickly singing between, the same Incantation as before; and then dance again, and so invoke again alternately: Which Dance ended, a Voice behind the Altar cries, while soft Musick plays,
The English General shall be
A Captive to his Enemy;
And you from all your Toils be freed,
When by your Hand the Foe shall bleed:
And e’er the Sun’s swift course be run,
This mighty Conquest shall be won.
King. I thank the Gods for taking care of us; prepare new Sacrifice against the Evening, when I return a Conqueror, I will my self perform the Office of a Priest.
Queen. Oh, Sir, I fear you’ll fall a Victim first.
King. What means Semernia? why are thy Looks so pale?
Queen. Alas, the Oracles have double meanings, their Sense is doubtful, and their Words Enigmas: I fear, Sir, I cou’d make a truer Interpretation.
King. How, Semernia! by all thy Love I charge thee, as you respect my Life, to let me know your Thoughts.
Queen. Last Night I dream’d a Lyon fell with hunger, spite of your Guards, slew you, and bore you hence.
King. This is thy Sex’s fear, and no Interpretation of the Oracle.
Queen. I cou’d convince you farther.
King. Hast thou a Secret thou canst keep from me? thy Soul a Thought that I must be a Stranger to? This is not like the Justice of Semernia: Come unriddle me the Oracle.
Queen. The English General shall be a Captive to his Enemy; he is so, Sir, already, to my Beauty, he says he languishes for Love of me.
King. Hah! the General my Rival—but go on—
Queen. And you from all your War be freed: Oh, let me not explain that fatal Line, for fear it mean, you shall be freed by Death.
King. What, when by my Hand the Foe shall bleed?—away—it cannot be—
Queen. No doubt, my Lord, you’ll bravely sell your Life, and deal some Wounds where you’ll receive so many.
King. ’Tis Love, Semernia, makes thee dream while waking:
I’ll trust the Gods, and am resolv’d for Battel.
Enter an Indian.
Ind. Haste, haste, great Sir, to Arms; Bacon with all his Forces is prepar’d, and both the Armies ready to engage.
281King. Haste to my General, bid him charge ’em instantly; I’ll bring up the Supplies of stout Teroomians, those so well skill’d in the envenom’d Arrow. Ex. Indian.
—Semernia—Words but poorly do express the Griefs of parting Lovers—’tis with dying Eyes, and a Heart trembling—thus— Puts her Hand on his Heart.
they take a heavy leave;—one parting Kiss, and one Love pressing sigh, and then farewel:—but not a long farewel; I shall return victorious to thy Arms—commend me to the Gods, and still remember me. Exit.
Queen. Alas! What pity ’tis I saw the General, before my Fate had given me to the King—But now—like those that change their Gods, my faithless Mind betwixt my two Opinions wavers; while to the Gods my Monarch I commend; my wandring Thoughts in pity of the General makes that Zeal cold, declin’d—ineffectual.—If for the General I implore the Deities, methinks my Prayers should not ascend the Skies, since Honour tells me ’tis an impious Zeal.
Which way soever my Devotions move,
I am too wretched to be heard above.
Goes in. All exeunt.
Shows a Field of Tents, seen at some distance through the Trees of a Wood, Drums, Trumpets and the noise of Battel, with hollowing. The Indians are seen with Battel-Axes to retreat fighting from the English, and all go off; when they re-enter immediately beating back the English, the Indian King at the head of his Men, with Bows and Arrows; Daring being at the head of the English: They fight off; the Noise continues less loud as more at distance.
Enter Bacon with his Sword drawn, meets Fearless with his Sword drawn.
Fear. Haste, haste, Sir, to the Entrance of the Wood, Daring’s engaged past hope of a Retreat, venturing too far, pursuing of the Foe; the King in Ambush, with his 282 poison’d Archers, fell on, and now we are dangerously distrest.
Bac. Daring is brave, but he’s withal too rash, come on and follow me to his Assistance— Go out.
A hollowing within, the Fight renews; enter the Indians beaten back by Bacon, Daring and Fearless; they fight off; the noise of Fighting continues a while, this still behind the Wood.
Enter Indians flying over the Stage, pursued by the King.
King. Turn, turn, ye fugitive Slaves, and face the Enemy; Oh Villains, Cowards, deaf to all Command: by Heaven, I had my Rival in my view, and aim’d at nothing but my conquering him—now like a Coward I must fly with Cowards, or like a desperate Madman fall, thus singly, midst the numbers. Follows the Indians.
Enter Bacon inraged with his Sword drawn, Fearless and Daring following him.
Bac. —Where is the King, oh ye perfidious Slaves? how, have you hid him from my just Revenge?—search all the Brakes, the Furzes and the Trees, and let him not escape on pain of Death.
Dar. We cannot do wonders, Sir.
Bac. But you can run away.—
Dar. Yes, when we see occasion—yet—shou’d any but my General tell me so—by Heaven, he should find I were no starter.
Bac. Forgive me, I’m mad—the King’s escaped, hid like a trembling Slave in some close Ditch, where he will sooner starve than fight it out.
Re-enter Indians running over the Stage, pursued by the King, who shoots them as they fly; some few follow him.
King. All’s lost—the Day is lost—and I’m betray’d;—Oh Slaves, that even Wounds can’t animate. In Rage.
Bac. The King!
283King. The General here! by all the Powers, betray’d by my own Men!
Bac. Abandon’d as thou art, I scorn to take thee basely; you shall have Soldiers chance, Sir, for your Life, since Chance so luckily has brought us hither; without more Aids we will dispute the Day: This Spot of Earth bears both our Armies Fates; I’ll give you back the Victory I have won, and thus begin a-new on equal Terms.
King. That’s nobly said!—the Powers have heard my Wish. You, Sir, first taught me how to use a Sword, which heretofore has served me with Success: But now—’tis for Semernia that it draws, a Prize more valued than my Kingdom, Sir—
Bac. Hah, Semernia!
King. Your Blushes do betray your Passion for her.
Dar. ’Sdeath, have we fought for this, to expose the Victor to the conquer’d Foe?
Fear. What, fight a single Man—our Prize already.
King. Not so, young Man, while I command a Dart.
Bac. Fight him! by Heaven, no reason shall dissuade me, and he that interrupts me is a Coward; whatever be my Fate, I do command ye to let the King pass freely to his Tents.
Dar. The Devil’s in the General.
Fear. ’Sdeath, his Romantick Humour will undo us. They fight and pause.
King. You fight as if you meant to outdo me this way, as you have done in Generosity.
Bac. You’re not behind-hand with me, Sir, in courtesy: Come, here’s to set us even— Fight again.
King. You bleed apace.
Bac. You’ve only breath’d a Vein, and given me new Health and Vigour by it.
They fight again, Wounds on both sides, the King staggers; Bacon takes him in his Arms; the King drops his Sword.
How do you, Sir?
284King. Like one—that’s hovering between Heaven and Earth; I’m—mounting—somewhere—upwards—but giddy with my flight,—I know not where.
Bac. Command my Surgeons,—instantly—make haste;
Honour returns, and Love all bleeding’s fled. Ex. Fearless.
King. Oh, Semernia, how much more Truth had thy Divinity than the Predictions of the flattering Oracles! Commend me to her—I know you’ll—visit—your fair Captive, Sir, and tell her—oh—but Death prevents the rest. Dies.
Enter Fearless.
Bac. He’s gone—and now, like Cæsar, I could weep over the Hero I my self destroyed.
Fear. I’m glad for your repose I see him there—’twas a mad hot-brain’d Youth, and so he died.
Bac. Come bear him on your Shoulders to my Tent, from whence with all the solemn State we can, we will convey him to his own Pavilion.
Enter a Soldier.
Sold. Some of our Troops pursuing of the Enemy even to their Temples, which they made their Sanctuary, finding the Queen at her Devotion there with all her Indian Ladies, I’d much ado to stop their violent Rage from setting fire to the holy Pile.
Bac. Hang ’em immediately that durst attempt it, while I my self will fly to rescue her. Goes out, they bear off the King’s Body; Ex. all.
Enter Whimsey, pulling in Whiff, with a Halter about his Neck.
Whim. Nay, I’m resolved to keep thee here till his Honour the General comes.—What, to call him Traitor, and run away after he had so generously given us our freedom, and listed us Cadees for the next Command that fell in his Army—I’m resolved to hang thee—
285Whiff. Wilt thou betray and peach thy Friend? thy Friend that kept thee Company all the while thou wert a Prisoner—drinking at my own charge—
Whim. No matter for that, I scorn Ingratitude, and therefore will hang thee—but as for thy drinking with me—I scorn to be behind-hand with thee in Civility, and therefore here’s to thee. Takes a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket, Drinks.
Whiff. I can’t drink.
Whim. A certain sign thou wo’t be hang’d.
Whiff. You us’d to be o’ my side when a Justice, let the Cause be how it wou’d. Weeps.
Whim. Ay—when I was a Justice I never minded Honesty, but now I’ll be true to my General, and hang thee to be a great Man.—
Whiff. If I might but have a fair Trial for my Life—
Whim. A fair Trial!—come, I’ll be thy Judge—and if thou canst clear thy self by Law, I’ll acquit thee: Sirrah, Sirrah, what canst thou say for thy self for calling his Honour Rebel? Sits on a Drum-head.
Whiff. ’T was when I was drunk, an’t like your Honour.
Whim. That’s no Plea; for if you kill a Man when you are sober, you must be hanged when you are drunk. Hast thou any thing else to say for thy self why Sentence may not pass upon thee?
Whiff. I desire the Benefit of the Clergy.
Whim. The Clergy! I never knew any body that ever did benefit by ’em; why, thou canst not read a word.
Whiff. Transportation then—
Whim. It shall be to England then—but hold—who’s this? Dullman creeping from a Bush.
Dull. So the Danger’s over, I may venture out—Pox on’t, I wou’d not be in this fear again, to be Lord Chief Justice of our Court. Why, how now, Cornet?—what, in dreadful Equipage? Your Battle-Ax bloody, with Bow and Arrows.
286Enter Timorous with Battle-Ax, Bow and Arrows, and Feathers on his Head.
Tim. I’m in the posture of the times, Major—I cou’d not be idle where so much Action was; I’m going to present my self to the General, with these Trophies of my Victory here—
Dull. Victory—what Victory—did not I see thee creeping out of yonder Bush, where thou wert hid all the Fight—stumble on a dead Indian, and take away his Arms?
Tim. Why, didst thou see me?
Dull. See thee, ay—and what a fright thou wert in, till thou wert sure he was dead.
Tim. Well, well, that’s all one—Gads zoors, if every Man that passes for valiant in a Battel, were to give an account how he gained his Reputation, the World wou’d be but thinly stock’d with Heroes; I’ll say he was a great War-Captain, and that I kill’d him hand to hand, and who can disprove me?
Dull. Disprove thee—why, that pale Face of thine, that has so much of the Coward in’t.
Tim. Shaw, that’s with loss of Blood—Hah, I am overheard I doubt—who’s yonder— Sees Whim. and Whiff. how, Brother Whiff in a Hempen Cravat-string?
Whim. He call’d the General Traitor, and was running away, and I’m resolv’d to peach.
Dull. Hum—and one Witness will stand good in Law, in case of Treason—
Tim. Gads zoors, in case of Treason, he’ll be hang’d if it be proved against him, were there ne’er a Witness at all; but he must be tried by a Council of War, Man—Come, come, let’s disarm him—
They take away his Arms, and pull a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket.
Whiff. What, I hope you will not take away my Brandy, Gentlemen, my last comfort.
287Tim. Gads zoors, it’s come in good time—we’ll drink it off, here, Major— Drinks, Whiff takes him aside.
Whiff. Hark ye, Cornet—you are my good Friend, get this matter made up before it come to the General.
Tim. But this is Treason, Neighbour.
Whiff. If I hang—I’ll declare upon the Ladder how you kill’d your War-Captain.
Tim. Come, Brother Whimsey—we have been all Friends and loving Magistrates together, let’s drink about, and think no more of this Business.
Dull. Ay, ay, if every sober Man in the Nation should be called to account of the Treason he speaks in’s Drink, the Lord have mercy upon us all.—Put it up—and let us, like loving Brothers, take an honest Resolution to run away together; for this same Frightall minds nothing but Fighting.
Whim. I’m content, provided we go all to the Council, and tell them (to make our Peace) we went in obedience to the Proclamation, to kill Bacon, but the Traitor was so strongly guarded we could not effect it: but mum—who’s here?—
To them, enter Ranter and Jenny, as Man and Footman.
Ran. Hah, our four reverend Justices—I hope the Blockheads will not know me—Gentlemen, can you direct me to Lieutenant General Daring’s Tents?
Whiff. Hum, who the Devil’s this?—that’s he you see coming this way. ’Sdeath, yonder’s Daring—let’s slip away before he advances.
Exeunt all but Ran. and Jen.
Jen. I am scar’d with those dead Bodies we have pass’d over; for God’s sake, Madam, let me know your design in coming.
Ran. Why, now I tell thee—my damn’d mad Fellow Daring, who has my Heart and Soul, loves Chrisante, has stolen her, and carried her away to his Tents; she hates him, while I am dying for him.
288Jem. Dying, Madam! I never saw you melancholy.
Ran. Pox on’t, no; why should I sigh and whine, and make my self an Ass, and him conceited? no, instead of snivelling I am resolved—
Jen. What, Madam?
Ran. Gad, to beat the Rascal, and bring off Chrisante.
Jen. Beat him, Madam! what, a Woman beat a Lieutenant-General?
Ran. Hang ’em, they get a name in War from Command, not Courage; but how know I but I may fight? Gad, I have known a Fellow kick’d from one end of the Town to t’other, believing himself a Coward; at last forced to fight, found he could; got a Reputation, and bullied all he met with; and got a Name, and a great Commission.
Jen. But if he should kill you, Madam.
Ran. I’ll take care to make it as comical a Duel as the best of ’em; as much in love as I am, I do not intend to die its Martyr.
Enter Daring and Fearless.
Fear. Have you seen Chrisante since the Fight?
Dar. Yes, but she is still the same, as nice and coy as Fortune when she’s courted by the wretched; yet she denies me so obligingly, she keeps my Love still in its humble Calm.
Ran. Can you direct me, Sir, to one Daring’s Tent? Sullenly.
Dar. One Daring!—he has another Epithet to his Name.
Ran. What’s that, Rascal, or Coward?
Dar. Hah, which of thy Stars, young Man, has sent thee hither, to find that certain Fate they have decreed?
Ran. I know not what my Stars have decreed, but I shall be glad if they have ordain’d me to fight with Daring:—by thy concern thou shou’dst be he?
289Dar. I am, prithee who art thou?
Ran. Thy Rival, though newly arrived from England, and came to marry fair Chrisante, whom thou hast ravish’d, for whom I hear another Lady dies.
Dar. Dies for me?
Ran. Therefore resign her fairly—or fight me fairly—
Dar. Come on, Sir—but hold—before I kill thee, prithee inform me who this dying Lady is?
Ran. Sir, I owe ye no Courtesy, and therefore will do you none by telling you—come, Sir, for Chrisante—draw. They offer to fight, Fearless steps in.
Fear. Hold—what mad Frolick’s this?—Sir, you fight for one you never saw to Ranter. and you for one that loves you not. To Dar.
Dar. Perhaps she’ll love him as little.
Ran. Gad, put it to the Trial, if you dare—if thou be’st generous, bring me to her, and whom she does neglect shall give the other place.
Dar. That’s fair, put up thy Sword—I’ll bring thee to her instantly.
Exeunt.
Enter Chrisante and Surelove.
Chris. I’m not so much afflicted for my Confinement, as I am that I cannot hear of Friendly.
Sure. Art not persecuted with Daring?
Chris. Not at all; though he tells me daily of his Passion, I rally him, and give him neither Hope nor Despair,—he’s here.
Enter Daring, Fear. Rant. and Jenny.
Dar. Madam, the Complaisance I show in bringing you my Rival, will let you see how glad I am to oblige you every way.
Ran. I hope the Danger I have exposed my self to for 290 the Honour of kissing your Hand, Madam, will render me something acceptable—here are my Credentials— Gives her a Letter.
Chrisante reads.
Dear Creature, I have taken this Habit to free you from an impertinent Lover, and to secure the damn’d Rogue Daring to my self: receive me as sent by Colonel Surelove from England to marry you—favour me—no more—
Yours, Ranter.
—Hah, Ranter? Aside. —Sir, you have too good a Character from my Cousin Colonel Surelove, not to receive my Welcome. Gives Surelove the Letter.
Ran. Stand by, General—
Pushes away Daring, looks big, and takes Chrisante by the Hand, and kisses it.
Dar. ’Sdeath, Sir, there’s room enough—at first sight so kind! Oh Youth, Youth and Impudence, what Temptations are you to Villanous Woman?
Chris. I confess, Sir, we Women do not love these rough fighting Fellows, they’re always scaring us with one Broil or other.
Dar. Much good may it do you with your tame Coxcomb.
Ran. Well, Sir, then you yield the Prize?
Dar. Ay, Gad, were she an Angel, that can prefer such a callow Fop as thou before a Man—take her and domineer. They all laugh.
—’Sdeath, am I grown ridiculous?
Fear. Why hast thou not found the Jest? by Heaven, ’tis Ranter, ’tis she that loves you; carry on the humour. Aside.
Faith, Sir, if I were you, I wou’d devote my self to Madam Ranter.
Chris. Ay, she’s the fittest Wife for you, she’ll fit your Humour.
Dar. Ranter—Gad, I’d sooner marry a she-Bear, 291 unless for a Penance for some horrid Sin; we should be eternally challenging one another to the Field, and ten to one she beats me there; or if I should escape there, she wou’d kill me with drinking.
Ran. Here’s a Rogue—does your Country abound with such Ladies?
Dar. The Lord forbid, half a dozen wou’d ruin the Land, debauch all the Men, and scandalize all the Women.
Fear. No matter, she’s rich.
Dar. Ay, that will make her insolent.
Fear. Nay, she’s generous too.
Dar. Yes, when she’s drunk, and then she’ll lavish all.
Ran. A pox on him, how he vexes me.
Dar. Then such a Tongue—she’ll rail and smoke till she choke again; then six Gallons of Punch hardly recovers her, and never but then is she good-natur’d.
Ran. I must lay him on—
Dar. There’s not a Blockhead in the Country that has not—
Ran. What—
Dar. Been drunk with her.
Ran. I thought you had meant something else, Sir. In huff.
Dar. Nay—as for that—I suppose there is no great difficulty.
Ran. ’Sdeath, Sir, you lye—and you are a Son of a Whore. Draws and fences with him, and he runs back round the Stage.
Dar. Hold—hold, Virago—dear Widow, hold, and give me thy hand.
Ran. Widow!
Dar. ’Sdeath, I knew thee by instinct, Widow, though I seemed not to do so, in Revenge for the Trick you put on me in telling me a Lady dy’d for me.
292Ran. Why, such an one there is, perhaps she may dwindle forty or fifty years—or so—but will never be her own Woman again, that’s certain.
Sure. This we are all ready to testify, we know her.
Chris. Upon my Life, ’tis true.
Dar. Widow, I have a shreud Suspicion, that you your self may be this dying Lady.
Ran. Why so, Coxcomb?
Dar. Because you took such Pains to put your self into my hands.
Ran. Gad, if your Heart were but half so true as your Guess, we should conclude a Peace before Bacon and the Council will—besides, this thing whines for Friendly, and there’s no hopes. To Chrisante.
Dar. Give me thy Hand, Widow, I am thine—and so entirely, I will never—be drunk out of thy Company:—Dunce is in my Tent,—prithee let’s in and bind the Bargain.
Ran. Nay, faith, let’s see the Wars at an end first.
Dar. Nay, prithee take me in the humour, while thy Breeches are on—for I never lik’d thee half so well in Petticoats.
Ran. Lead on, General, you give me good incouragement to wear them.
Exeunt.
Enter Friendly, Hazard and Boozer, and a Party of Men.
Friend. We are now in sight of the Tents.
Booz. Is not this a rash Attempt, Gentlemen, with so small Force to set upon Bacon’s whole Army?
Haz. Oh, they are drunk with Victory and Wine; there will be nought but revelling to night.
Friend. Would we could learn in what Quarter the 293 Ladies are lodg’d, for we have no other business but to release them—But hark—who comes here?
Booz. Some Scouts, I fear, from the Enemy.
Enter Dull. Tim. Whim. and Whiff, creeping as in the dark.
Friend. Let’s shelter ourselves behind yonder Trees—lest we be surpriz’d.
Tim. Wou’d I were well at home-Gad zoors, if e’er you catch me a Cadeeing again, I’ll be content to be set in the fore-front of the Battle for Hawks-Meat.
Whim. Thou’rt afraid of every Bush.
Tim. Ay, and good reason too: Gad zoors, there may be Rogues hid—prithee, Major, do thou advance.
Dull. No, no, go on—no matter of Ceremony in these cases of running away. They advance.
Friend. They approach directly to us, we cannot escape them—their numbers are not great—let us advance. They come up to them.
Tim. Oh! I am annihilated.
Whiff. Some of Frightall’s Scouts, we are lost Men. They push each other foremost.
Friend. Who goes there?
Whim. Oh, they’ll give us no Quarter; ’twas long of you, Cornet, that we ran away from our Colours.
Tim. Me—’twas the Major’s Ambition here—to make himself a great Man with the Council again.
Dull. Pox o’ this Ambition, it has been the ruin of many a gallant Fellow.
Whiff. If I get home again, the height of mine shall be to top Tobacco; would I’d some Brandy.
Tim. Gads zoors, would we had, ’tis the best Armour against Fear—hum—I hear no body now—prithee advance a little.
Whim. What, before a Horse-Officer?
Friend. Stand, on your Lives—
294Tim. Oh, ’tis impossible—I’m dead already.
Friend. What are ye?—speak—or I’ll shoot.
Whim. Friends to thee,—who the Devil are we Friends to?
Tim. E’en who please you, Gad zoors.
Friend. Hah—Gad zoors—who’s there, Timorous?
Tim. Hum—I know no such Scoundrel— Gets behind.
Dull. Hah—that’s Friendly’s Voice.
Friend. Right—thine’s that of Dullman—who’s with you?
Dull. Only Timorous, Whimsey and Whiff, all valiantly running away from the Arch-Rebel that took us Prisoners.
Haz. Can you inform us where the Ladies are lodg’d?
Dull. In the hither Quarter, in Daring’s Tent; you’ll know them by Lanthorns on every corner—there was never better time to surprize them—for this day Daring’s married, and there’s nothing but Dancing and Drinking.
Haz. Married! to whom?
Dull. That I ne’er enquir’d.
Friend. ’Tis to Chrisante, Friend—and the Reward of my Attempt is lost. Oh, I am mad, I’ll fight away my Life, and my Despair shall yet do greater Wonders, than even my Love could animate me to. Let’s part our Men, and beset his Tents on both sides. Friendly goes out with a Party.
Haz. Come, Gentlemen, let’s on—
Whiff. On, Sir,—we on, Sir?—
Haz. Ay, you on, Sir—to redeem the Ladies.
Whiff. Oh, Sir, I am going home for Money to redeem my Nancy.
Whim. So am I, Sir.
Tim. I thank my Stars I am a Batchelor.—Why, what a Plague is a Wife?
Haz. Will you march forward?
Dull. We have atchiev’d Honour enough already, in having made our Campaign here— Looking big.
295Haz. ’Sdeath, but you shall go—put them in the front, and prick them on—if they offer to turn back, run them thro.
Tim. Oh, horrid— The Soldiers prick them on with their Swords.
Whiff. Oh, Nancy, thy Dream will yet come to pass.
Haz. Will you advance, Sir? Pricks Whiff.
Whiff. Why, so we do, Sir; the Devil’s in these fighting Fellows. Exeunt.
An Alarm at a distance.
Within. To Arms, to Arms, the Enemy’s upon us.
A Noise of Fighting, after which enters Friendly with his Party, retreating and fighting from Daring and some Soldiers, Ranter fighting like a Fury by his side, he putting her back in vain; they fight out. Re-enter Daring and Friendly all bloody. Several Soldiers enter with Flambeaux.
Dar. Now, Sir—what Injury have I ever done you, that you should use this Treachery against me?
Friend. To take advantage any way in War, was never counted Treachery—and had I murder’d thee, I had not paid thee half the Debt I owe thee.
Dar. You bleed too much to hold too long a Parley— come to my Tent, I’ll take a charitable care of thee.
Friend. I scorn thy Courtesy, who against all the Laws of Honour and of Justice, hast ravish’d innocent Ladies.
Dar. Sir, your upbraiding of my Honour shall never make me forfeit it, or esteem you less—Is there a Lady here you have a Passion for?
Friend. Yes, on a nobler score than thou darest own.
Dar. To let you see how you’re mistaken, Sir, whoe’er that Lady be whom you affect, I will resign, and give you both your Freedoms.
Friend. Why, for this Courtesy, which shews thee brave, in the next fight I’ll save thy Life to quit the Obligation.
296Dar. I thank you, Sir;—come to my Tent,—and when we’ve dress’d your Wounds, and yielded up the Ladies, I’ll give you my Pass-port for your Safe-Conduct back, and tell your Friends i’th’ Town, we’ll visit them i’th’ Morning.
Friend. They’ll meet you on your way, Sir—
Dar. Come, my young Soldier, now thou’st won my Soul. Exeunt.
An Alarm beats: Enter at another Passage Boozer with all the Ladies; they pass over the Stage, while Hazard and Downright beat back a Party of Soldiers. Dull. Tim. Whim. and Whiff, prick’d on by their Party to fight, lay about them like Madmen. Bacon, Fearless and Daring come in, rescue their Men, and fight out the other Party, some falling dead. Bacon, Fearless and Daring return tired, with their Swords drawn. Enter Soldier running.
Sold. Return, Sir, where your Sword will be more useful—a Party of Indians, taking advantage of the Night, have set fire on your Tents, and borne away the Queen.
Bac. Hah, the Queen! By Heaven, this Victory shall cost them dear; come, let us fly to rescue her.
Enter Wellman, Brag, Grubb, and Officers.
Well. I cannot sleep, my Impatience is so great to engage this haughty Enemy, before they have reposed their weary Limbs—Is not yon ruddy Light the Morning’s dawn?
Brag. ’Tis, and please your Honour.
Well. Is there no News of Friendly yet, and Hazard?
Brag. Not yet—’tis thought they left the Camp to night, with some design against the Enemy.
Well. What Men have they?
Brag. Only Boozer’s Party, Sir.
297Well. I know they are brave, and mean to surprize me with some handsome Action.
Enter Friendly.
Friend. I ask a thousand Pardons, Sir, for quitting the Camp without your leave.
Well. Your conduct and your Courage cannot err; I see thou’st been in action by thy Blood.
Friend. Sir, I’m ashamed to own these slender Wounds, since without more my luck was to be taken, while Hazard did alone effect the Business, the rescuing of the Ladies.
Well. How got ye Liberty?
Friend. By Daring’s Generosity, who sends ye word he’ll visit you this Morning.
Well. We are prepared to meet him.
Enter Down. Hazard, Ladies, Whim. Whiff, Dullman, Tim. looking big. Well. embraces Down.
Well. My worthy Friend, how am I joyed to see you?
Down. We owe our Liberties to these brave Youths, who can do Wonders when they fight for Ladies.
Tim. With our assistance, Ladies.
Whim. For my part I’ll not take it as I have done; Gad, I find, when I am damnable angry, I can beat both Friend and Foe.
Whiff. When I fight for my Nancy here—adsfish, I’m a Dragon.
Mrs. Whiff. Lord, you need not have been so hasty.
Friend. Do not upbraid me with your Eyes, Chrisante; but let these Wounds assure you I endeavour’d to serve you, though Hazard had the Honour on’t.
Well. But, Ladies, we’ll not expose you in the Camp,—a Party of our Men shall see you safely conducted to Madam Surelove’s; ’tis but a little Mile from our Camp.
Friend. Let me have that honour, Sir.
298Chris. No, I conjure you let your Wounds be dress’d; obey me if you love me, and Hazard shall conduct us home.
Well. He had the Toil, ’tis fit he have the Recompence.
Whiff. He the Toil, Sir! what, did we stand for Cyphers?
Whim. The very appearance I made in the front of the Battel, aw’d the Enemy.
Tim. Ay, ay, let the Enemy say how I maul’d ’em—but Gads zoors, I scorn to brag.
Well. Since you’ve regain’d your Honour so gloriously, I restore you to your Commands you lost by your seeming Cowardice.
Dull. Valour is not always in humour, Sir.
Well. Come, Gentlemen, since they’ve resolv’d to engage us, let’s set our Men in order to receive ’em. Exeunt all but the four Justices.
Tim. Our Commissions again—you must be bragging, and see what comes on’t; I was modest ye see, and said nothing of my Prowess.
Whiff. What a Devil does the Colonel think we are made of Iron, continually to be beat on the Anvil?
Whim. Look, Gentlemen, here’s two Evils—if we go we are dead Men; if we stay we are hang’d—and that will disorder my Cravat-string:—therefore the least Evil is to go—and set a good Face on the Matter, as I do—
Goes out singing. All exeunt.
Enter Queen dress’d like an Indian Man, with a Bow in her Hand, and Quiver at her Back; Anaria her Confident disguis’d so too; and about a dozen Indians led by Cavaro.
Queen. I tremble yet, dost think we’re safe, Cavaro?
Cav. Madam, these Woods are intricate and vast, and ’twill be difficult to find us out—or if they do, this Habit will secure you from the fear of being taken.
299Queen. Dost think if Bacon find us, he will not know me? Alas, my Fears and Blushes will betray me.
Ana. ’Tis certain, Madam, if we stay we perish; for all the Wood’s surrounded by the Conqueror.
Queen. Alas, ’tis better we should perish here, than stay to expect the Violence of his Passion, to which my Heart’s too sensibly inclin’d.
Ana. Why do you not obey its Dictates then? why do you fly the Conqueror?
Queen. Not fly—not fly the Murderer of my Lord?
Ana. What World, what Resolution can preserve you? and what he cannot gain by soft submission, Force will at last o’ercome.
Queen. I wish there were in Nature one excuse, either by Force or Reason to compel me:—For Oh, Anaria—I adore this General;—take from my Soul a Truth—till now conceal’d—at twelve Years old—at the Pauwomungian Court, I saw this Conqueror. I saw him young and gay as new-born Spring, glorious and charming as the Mid-day’s Sun; I watch’d his Looks, and listned when he spoke, and thought him more than mortal.
Ana. He has a graceful Form.
Queen. At last a fatal Match concluded was between my Lord and me; I gave my Hand, but oh, how far my Heart was from consenting, the angry Gods are Witness.
Ana. ’Twas pity.
Queen. Twelve tedious Moons I pass’d in silent Languishment; Honour endeavouring to destroy my Love, but all in vain; for still my Pain return’d whenever I beheld my Conqueror; but now when I consider him as Murderer of my Lord— Fiercely. I sigh and wish—some other fatal Hand had given him his Death.—But now there’s a necessity, I must be brave and overcome my Heart; What if I do? ah, whither shall I fly? I have no Amazonian Fire about me, all my Artillery is Sighs 300 and Tears, the Earth my Bed, and Heaven my Canopy. Weeps. After Noise of Fighting.
Hah, we are surpriz’d; Oh, whither shall I fly? And yet methinks a certain trembling Joy, spite of my Soul, spite of my boasted Honour, runs shivering round my Heart.
Enter an Indian.
Ind. Madam, your Out-guards are surpriz’d by Bacon, who hews down all before him, and demands the Queen with such a Voice, and Eyes so fierce and angry, he kills us with his Looks.
Cav. Draw up your poison’d Arrows to the head, and aim them at his Heart, sure some will hit.
Queen. Cruel Cavaro,—wou’d ’twere fit for me to contradict thy Justice. Aside.
Bac. Within. The Queen, ye Slaves, give me the Queen, and live!
He enters furiously, beating back some Indians; Cavaro’s Party going to shoot, the Queen runs in.
Queen. Hold, hold, I do command ye.
Bacon flies on ’em as they shoot and miss him, fights like a Fury, and wounds the Queen in the Disorder; beats them all out.
—hold thy commanding Hand, and do not kill me, who wou’d not hurt thee to regain my Kingdom— He snatches her in his Arms, she reels.
Bac. Hah—a Woman’s Voice,—what art thou? Oh my Fears!
Queen. Thy Hand has been too cruel to a Heart—whose Crime was only tender Thoughts for thee.
Bac. The Queen! What is’t my sacrilegious Hand has done!
Queen. The noblest Office of a gallant Friend, thou’st sav’d my Honour, and hast given me Death.
Bac. Is’t possible! ye unregarding Gods, is’t possible?
301Queen. Now I may love you without Infamy, and please my dying Heart by gazing on you.
Bac. Oh, I am lost—for ever lost—I find my Brain turn with the wild confusion.
Queen. I faint—oh, lay me gently on the Earth. Lays her down.
Bac. Who waits— Turns in Rage to his Men.
Make of the Trophies of the War a Pile, and set it all on fire, that I may leap into consuming Flames—while all my Tents are burning round about me. Wildly.
Oh thou dear Prize, for which alone I toil’d! Weeps, and lies down by her.
Enter Fearless with his Sword drawn.
Fear. Hah, on the Earth—how do you, Sir?
Bac. What wou’dst thou?
Fear. Wellman with all the Forces he can gather, attacks us even in our very Camp; assist us, Sir, or all is lost.
Bac. Why, prithee let him make the World his Prize, I have no business with the Trifle now; it contains nothing that’s worth my care, since my fair Queen—is dead—and by my hand.
Queen. So charming and obliging is thy Moan, that I cou’d wish for Life to recompense it; but oh, Death falls—all cold upon my Heart, like Mildews on the Blossoms.
Fear. By Heaven, Sir, this Love will ruin all—rise, rise, and save us yet.
Bac. Leave me, what e’er becomes of me—lose not thy share of Glory—prithee leave me.
Queen. Alas, I fear thy Fate is drawing on, and I shall shortly meet thee in the Clouds; till then—farewel—even Death is pleasing to me, while thus—I find it in thy Arms— Dies.
Bac. There ends my Race of Glory and of Life. An Alarm at distance—continues a while.
302Bac. Hah—Why should I idly whine away my Life, since there are nobler ways to meet with Death? Up, up, and face him then—Hark—there’s the Soldier’s Knell—and all the Joys of Life—with thee I bid farewel— Goes out. The Indians bear off the Body of the Queen.
The Alarm continues: Enter Downright, Wellman, and others, Swords drawn.
Well. They fight like Men possest—I did not think to have found them so prepar’d.
Down. They’ve good Intelligence—but where’s the Rebel?
Well. Sure he’s not in the Fight; Oh, that it were my happy chance to meet him, that while our Men look on, we might dispatch the business of the War—Come, let’s fall in again, now we have taken breath. They go out.
Enter Daring and Fearless hastily, with their Swords drawn; meet Whim. Whiff, with their Swords drawn, running away.
Dar. How now, whither away? In anger.
Whim. Hah, Daring here—we are pursuing of the Enemy, Sir; stop us not in the pursuit of Glory. Offers to go.
Dar. Stay!—I have not seen you in my Ranks to day.
Whiff. Lord, does your Honour take us for Starters?
Fear. Yes, Sirrah, and believe you are now rubbing off—confess, or I’ll run you through.
Whiff. Oh, mercy, Sir, mercy, we’ll confess.
Whim. What will you confess? we were only going behind yon Hedge to untruss a point; that’s all.
Whiff. Ay, your Honours will smell out the truth, if you keep us here long.
Dar. Here, carry them Prisoners to my Tent. Ex. Soldiers with Whim. and Whiff.
303Enter Ranter without a Hat, and Sword drawn, Daring angrily goes the other way.
Ran. A pox of all ill luck, how came I to lose Daring in the fight? Ha—who’s here? Dullman and Timorous dead—the Rogues are Counterfeits.—I’ll see what Moveables they have about them, all’s lawful Prize in War. Takes their Money, Watches and Rings; goes out.
Tim. What, rob the dead?—why, what will this villanous World come to? Clashing of Swords, just as they were going to rise.
Enter Hazard bringing in Ranter.
Haz. Thou cou’dst expect no other Fate, young Man; thy Hands are yet too tender for a Sword.
Ran. Thou look’st like a good-natur’d Fellow, use me civilly, and Daring shall ransom me.
Haz. Doubt not a generous Treatment. They go out.
Dull. So the Coast is clear, I desire to move my Quarters to some place of more safety— They rise and go off.
Enter Wellman and Soldiers hastily.
Well. ’Twas this way Bacon fled. Five hundred Pound for him who finds the Rebel.
Go out.
Enter Bacon and Fearless with their Swords drawn, all bloody.
Bac. ’Tis just, ye Gods! that when ye took the Prize for which I fought, Fortune and you should all abandon me.
Fear. Oh, fly, Sir, to some place of safe retreat, for there’s no mercy to be hop’d if taken. What will you do? I know we are pursu’d, by Heaven, I will not die a shameful Death.
Bac. Oh, they’ll have pity on thy Youth and Bravery, but I’m above their Pardon. A noise is heard.
304Within. This way—this way—hay halloo.
Fear. Alas, Sir, we’re undone—I’ll see which way they take. Exit.
Bac. So near! Nay, then to my last shift. Undoes the Pomel of his Sword.
Come, my good Poison, like that of Hannibal; long I have born a noble Remedy for all the Ills of Life. Takes Poison.
I have too long surviv’d my Queen and Glory, those two bright Stars that influenc’d my Life are set to all Eternity. Lies down.
Enter Fearless, runs to Bacon, and looks on his Sword.
Fear. —Hah—what have ye done?
Bac. Secur’d my self from being a publick Spectacle upon the common Theatre of Death.
Enter Daring and Soldiers.
Dar. Victory, Victory! they fly, they fly, where’s the victorious General?
Fear. Here,—taking his last Adieu.
Dar. Dying! Then wither all the Laurels on my Brows, for I shall never triumph more in War; where are the Wounds?
Fear. From his own Hand, by what he carried here, believing we had lost the Victory.
Bac. And is the Enemy put to flight, my Hero? Grasps his Neck.
Dar. All routed Horse and Foot; I plac’d an Ambush, and while they were pursuing you, my Men fell on behind, and won the day.
Bac. Thou almost makest me wish to live again, if I cou’d live now fair Semernia’s dead.—But oh—the baneful Drug is just and kind, and hastens me away—Now while you are Victors, make a Peace—with the English Council, and never let Ambition,—Love,—or Interest, make you 305 forget, as I have done, your Duty and Allegiance—Farewel—a long Farewel— Dies embracing their Necks.
Dar. So fell the Roman Cassius, by mistake—
Enter Soldiers with Dunce, Tim. and Dullman.
Sold. An’t please your Honour, we took these Men running away.
Dar. Let ’em loose—the Wars are at an end, see where the General lies—that great-soul’d Man, no private Body e’er contain’d a nobler; and he that cou’d have conquered all America, finds only here his scanty length of Earth. Go, bear the Body to his own Pavilion— Soldiers go out with the Body.
though we are Conquerors we submit to treat, and yield upon Condition: You, Mr. Dunce, shall bear our Articles to the Council.
Dun. With Joy I will obey you.
Tim. Good General, let us be put in the Agreement.
Dar. You shall be obliged—
Ex. Dar. Dun. Dull. and Tim. as Fear. goes out a Soldier meets him.
Sold. What does your Honour intend to do with Whimsey and Whiff, who are condemn’d by a Council of War?
Enter Daring, Dullman, Tim. Fearless, and Officers.
Dar. You come too late, Gentlemen, to be put into the Articles; nor am I satisfy’d you’re worthy of it.
Dull. Why, did not you, Sir, see us lie dead in the Field?
Dar. Yes, but I see no Wound about you.
Tim. We were stun’d with being knock’d down; Gads zoors, a Man may be kill’d with the but-end of a Musquet, as soon as with the point of a Sword.
Enter Dunce.
Dun. The Council, Sir, wishes you Health and Happiness, and sends you these sign’d by their Hands— Gives Papers.
306Dar. reads.
That you shall have a general Pardon for your self and Friends; that you shall have all new Commissions, and Daring to command as General; that you shall have free leave to inter your dead General in James Town. And to ratify this, we will meet you at Madam Surelove’s House, which stands between the Armies, attended only by our Officers.
The Council’s noble, and I’ll wait upon them.
Enter Surelove weeping, Well. Chrisante, Mrs. Flirt, Ranter as before, Down. Haz. Friend. Booz. Brag.
Well. How long, Madam, have you heard the News of Col. Surelove’s Death?
Sure. By a Vessel last Night arriv’d.
Well. You shou’d not grieve when Men so old pay their debt to Nature; you are too fair not to have been reserved for some young Lover’s Arms.
Haz. I dare not speak,—but give me leave to hope.
Sure. The way to oblige me to’t, is never more to speak to me of Love till I shall think it fit— Wellman speaks to Down.
Well. Come, you shan’t grant it—’tis a hopeful Youth.
Down. You are too much my Friend to be denied—Chrisante, do you love Friendly? nay, do not blush—till you have done a fault, your loving him is none—Here, take her, young Man, and with her all my Fortune—when I am dead, Sirrah—not a Groat before—unless to buy ye Baby-Clouts.
Friend. He merits not this Treasure, Sir, can wish for more.
Enter Daring, Fearless, Dunce, Officers, and the rest, they meet Well. and Down. who embrace ’em. Dull. and Tim. stand.
Dar. Can you forgive us, Sir, our Disobedience?
307Well. Your offering Peace while yet you might command it, has made such kind impressions on us, that now you may command your Propositions; your Pardons are all seal’d and new Commissions.
Dar. I’m not ambitious of that Honour, Sir, but in obedience will accept your Goodness; but, Sir, I hear I have a young Friend taken Prisoner by Captain Hazard, whom I intreat you will render me.
Haz. Sir—here I resign him to you. Gives him Ran.
Ran. Faith, General, you left me but scurvily in Battle.
Dar. That was to see how well you cou’d shift for your self; now I find you can bear the brunt of a Campaign, you are a fit Wife for a Soldier.
All. A Woman—Ranter—
Haz. Faith, Madam, I should have given you kinder Quarter, if I had known my happiness.
Flirt. I have an humble Petition to you, Sir.
Sure. In which we all join.
Flirt. An’t please you, Sir, Mr. Dunce has long made Love to me, and on promise of Marriage has— Simpers.
Down. What has he, Mistress? What has he, Mrs. Flirt?
Flirt. Only been a little familiar with my Person, Sir—
Well. Do you hear, Parson—you must marry Mrs. Flirt.
Dun. How, Sir, a Man of my Coat, Sir, marry a Brandy-monger?
Well. Of your Calling you mean, a Farrier and no Parson— Aside to him.
She’ll leave her Trade, and spark it above all the Ladies at Church: No more—take her, and make her honest.
Enter Whim. and Whiff stript.
Chris. Bless me, what have we here?
Whim. Why, an’t like your Honours, we were taken by the Enemy—hah, Daring here, and Fearless?
Fear. How now, Gentlemen, were not you two condemn’d to be shot for running from your Colours.
308Down. From your Colours!
Fear. Yes, Sir, they were both listed in my Regiment.
Down. Then we must hang them for deserting us.
Whim. So, out of the Frying Pan—you know where, Brother—
Whiff. Ay, he that’s born to be hang’d—you know the rest; a Pox of these Proverbs.
Well. I know ye well—you’re all rank Cowards; but once more we forgive ye; your Places in the Council shall be supplied by these Gentlemen of Sense and Honour. The Governor when he comes, shall find the Country in better hands than he expects to find it.
Whim. A very fair Discharge.
Whiff. I’m glad ’tis no worse, I’ll home to my Nancy.
Dull. Have we expos’d our Lives and Fortunes for this?
Tim. Gad zoors, I never thriv’d since I was a Statesman, left Planting, and fell to promising and lying; I’ll to my old Trade again, bask under the shade of my own Tobacco, and drink my Punch in Peace.
Well. Come, my brave Youths, let all our Forces meet,
To make this Country happy, rich and great;
Let scanted Europe see that we enjoy
Safer Repose, and larger Worlds, than they.
Gallants, you have so long been absent hence,
That you have almost cool’d your Diligence:
For while we study or revive a Play,
You like good Husbands in the Country stay,
|
There frugally wear out your Summer-Suit, And in Frize Jerkin after Beagles toot, Or in Mountero Caps at Fel-fares shoot: |
Nay, some are so obdurate in their Sin,
That they swear never to come up again;
But all their charge of Clothes and Treat retrench.
To Gloves and Stockings for some Country-Wench.
Even they who in the Summer had Mishaps,
Send up to Town for Physick, for their Claps.
|
The Ladies too, are as resolv’d as they, And having Debts unknown to them, they stay, And with the gain of Cheese and Poultry pay. |
Even in their Visits, they from Banquets fall,
To entertain with Nuts and Bottle-Ale;
And in Discourse with secrecy report
Stale News that past a Twelve-month since at Court.
Those of them who are most refin’d and gay,
Now learn the Songs of the last Summer’s Play:
While the young Daughter does in private mourn
Her Love’s in Town, and hopes not to return.
These Country-Grievances too great appear;
But, cruel Ladies, we have greater here;
You come not sharp, as you were wont, to Plays;
But only on the first and second Days:
This made our Poet in his Visits look
What new strange Courses for your Time you took;
310And to his great regret he found too soon,
Basset and Ombre spent the Afternoon:
So that we cannot hope to see you here
Before the little Net-work Purse be clear.
Suppose you should have luck:—
Yet sitting up so late as I am told,
You’ll lose in Beauty what you win in Gold;
And what each Lady of another says,
Will make you new Lampoons, and us new Plays.
Dedication
p. 221, l. 1 To the much Honoured. This Dedicatory Epistle is only found in the 4to 1690.
Prologue
p. 223, l. 13 Cruse. Misprinted ‘Cause’ in 4to 1690 and in 1724. The True Widow (4to 1679), and the edition of 1720 (Shadwell’s collected works) give ‘Cruse.’ All editions of Dryden until Christie misread ‘Cause’.
p. 223, l. 16 Poll. 4to 1690 Pole. 1724 Pool. The True Widow (4to 1679) and edition of 1720 both give ‘Poll’.
Dramatis Personæ
p. 225 Dramatis Personæ. I have added to the list ‘Cavaro, an Indian, Confidant to the Indian King. Jack, a Sea-Boy. An Officer; Messenger; Seaman; 2nd Seaman; A Highlander. Jenny, Maid to Widow Ranter. Nell, Maid at the Inn. Anaria, Confidante to the Indian Queen. Maid to Madam Surelove. Bailiffs, Rabble, Negroes. I have supplied the 407 name Jeffery to the Coachman from i, III (p. 239), and also designated Mrs. Flirt ‘a Tapstress’. Daring, which name is indifferently spelt in the 4to 1690 Dareing or Daring, I have given consistently throughout. For Chrisante 1724 sometimes has Crisante. To the Scene I have added ‘James-Town, and the surrounding Country.’
Act I: Scene i
p. 226, l. 3 Jack. I have inserted this name from infra l. 20.
p. 226, l. 17 Enter Flirt and Nell. I have supplied this necessary entrance.
p. 227, l. 9 Exit Nell. I have inserted this exit. Nell’s entrance is marked later and she is certainly not on the stage during the ensuing scene.
p. 227, l. 27 I. Omitted in 4to 1690.
p. 227, l. 30 being. ‘was’ 4to 1690.
p. 227, l. 35 Cully in. ‘Cully’ as a verb. 1724 ‘Cully to’. ‘Cully’ as a substantive.
p. 228, l. 10 any thing. 4to 1690 ‘any thing any thing’.
p. 229, l. 1 fail, thou. 4to 1690 ‘fail, there thou’. This insertion of ‘there’ interrupts the sense.
p. 229, l. 26 wherever. 1724 ‘whenever’.
p. 230, l. 1 whom. 4to 1690 ‘which’.
p. 230, l. 34 stand. 4to 1690 ‘stands’.
p. 231, l. 24 Smoke. 1724 ‘Tobacco’.
p. 231, l. 28 Exit Nell. I have supplied this stage direction.
p. 231, l. 34 paulter. 1724 ‘paultry’. Vide critical note on this passage.
p. 232, l. 8 and Nell with drink, pipes, etc. I have supplied these words.
p. 232, l. 19 take. 4to 1690 ‘took’.
p. 232, l. 34 an. 4to 1690 ‘on’.
p. 233, l. 28 the Bob. 1724 ‘a Bob’. Critical note
p. 234, l. 28 Guinea. 4to 1690 ‘Guinia’.
Act I: Scene ii
p. 235, l. 17 The Council-Table. I have supplied this locale.
p. 235, l. 22 give. My own emendation: previous editions ‘be’.
p. 236, l. 12 make. 4to 1690 ‘have’.
p. 237, l. 6 Down. I say. 4to 1690 wrongly gives this speech to Dunce.
p. 238, l. 25 If we wou’d. 1724 ‘If he wou’d’.
Act I: Scene iii
p. 239, l. 25 Jeffery. I have supplied the name here from the following line.
p. 239, l. 31 Exit. Not noted in former editions.
p. 240, l. 2 of a Baboon. 4to 1690 ‘of Baboone’.
p. 240, l. 5 Tumbler. 4to 1690 misprints ‘Fumbler’. Critical note
p. 241, ll. 15, 18 Pound. 1724 ‘Pounds’.
p. 242, l. 32 Sure. reads. 4to 1690 and 1724 ‘she reads’, which is ambiguous.
p. 243, l. 16 de la guerre. 4to 1690 ‘de la gare’.
p. 244, l. 17 They join with Surelove. Only in 4to 1690.
Act II: Scene i
p. 245, l. 21 have Charms. 1724 ‘have those Charms’.
p. 245, l. 28 Mediator. 1724 ‘Meditator’.
p. 245, l. 32 would make me lay the Conqueror. 1724 ‘would lay me a Conqueror’.
p. 248, l. 12 knip. 1724 mis-spells this rare word ‘nip’. Critical note
Act II: Scene ii
p. 252, l. 36 A Scots Dance. 1724 ‘A Scotch Dance.’
p. 253, l. 28 Billet-Douxs. 4to 1690 ‘Billet-Deaxs’.
p. 254, l. 12 Drinking all this while sometimes. Only in 4to 1690.
Act II: Scene iii
p. 255, l. 16 Pulls a Bottle. 4to 1690 ‘Pulls out a Bottle’.
408p. 255, l. 28 Drinks. Only in 4to 1690.
p. 256, l. 31 durst. 4to 1690 ‘darst’.
Act II: Scene iv
p. 258, l. 26 Enter Brag. Both 4to 1690 and 1724 have ‘Enter a Messenger’, and give l. 27 speech-prefix ‘Mes.’ Both, however, give the next speech he speaks (l. 33) to Brag and have later ‘Exit Brag.’
p. 259, l. 5 Whimsey. Both 4to 1690 and 1724 here and elsewhere cut the name down to ‘Whim.’
p. 259, l. 9 wish’d that the Plot. 4to 1690 ‘wish’d the Plot’.
p. 261, l. 17 care. 1724 ‘ear’.
p. 262, l. 25 Wellman’s Guards. 4to 1690 ‘Wellman, his Guards’. But Wellman has not left the stage. The comma printed by 1690 is probably a mistake and we should read ‘Wellman his Guards’.
p. 263, l. 24 Exit. 4to 1690 gives no direction. 1724 has ‘Exeunt.’ But Timorous is left alone on the stage.
Act III: Scene i
p. 264, l. 1 hollow. 4to 1690 ‘hallow’.
p. 266, l. 15 That. Omitted in 4to 1690.
p. 270, l. 8 Exeunt. 4to 1690 gives no stage direction here.
Act III: Scene ii
p. 272, l. 28 ’tis a tittle of the D— breed. sic 4to 1690. 1724 ‘’tis little of the D— breed’.
p. 274, l. 1 haste with. 1724 ‘haste you with’.
p. 275, l. 28 stands and stares a while. 1724 ‘stands a while and stares’.
p. 277, l. 28 shall be. 4to 1690 ‘shall not be’.
Act IV: Scene i
p. 279, l. 12 Priests. 4to 1690 ‘Priest.’
Act IV: Scene ii
p. 289. l. 10 draw. 4to 1690 ‘draws’, but not as a stage direction.
p. 289, l. 21 Scene III. I have numbered this scene.
Act IV: Scene iii
p. 290, l. 14 Daring, looks. 4to 1690 ‘Daring, and looks’.
p. 290, l. 31 devote. 1724 ‘divorce’, a bad error.
p. 290, l. 33 the fittest. 1724 ‘a fit’.
Act V: Scene i
p. 295, l. 9 Exeunt. 4to 1690 ‘Ex.’ 1724 ‘Exit’.
p. 296, l. 8 Exeunt. I have supplied this necessary stage direction.
p. 296, l. 11 beat. 4to 1690 ‘beating’.
p. 296, l. 13 fight, lay. 4to 1690 ‘fight, so that they lay’.
p. 296, l. 22 All go out. Previous editions ‘Goes out.’
Act V: Scene ii
p. 296, l. 23 Scene II. I have numbered this scene.
p. 298, l. 26 All Exeunt. I have added this direction.
Act V: Scene iii
p. 298, l. 27 Scene III. I have numbered this scene.
p. 299, l. 12 submission. 1724 ‘Admission’.
p. 299, l. 17 Pauwomungian. 4to 1690 ‘Pauwmungian’.
p. 300, l. 2 After Noise. 1724 omits ‘After’.
p. 303, l. 16 They go out. Previous editions ‘Goes out.’
Act V: Scene iv
p. 303, l. 23 Scene IV. Changes to another part of the Wood. All previous editions ‘Scene changes to a Wood.’
p. 304, l. 21 are. 4to 1690 ‘is’.
p. 305, l. 12 go out. 4to 1690 ‘goes out’.
p. 305, l. 21 Whimsey. In former editions abbreviated to ‘Whim.’
p. 306, l. 9 Exeunt. Former editions ‘Exit Dunce.’
Act V: Scene v
p. 306, l. 10 Scene V. I have numbered this scene.
p. 306, l. 18 Lover’s. 4to 1690 ‘Love’s’.
p. 306, l. 20 more. 1724 omits.
409p. 306, l. 32 and the rest. Previous editions ‘and officers’, but plainly all the characters of the preceding scene assemble.
p. 307, l. 21 What has he, Mistress? 4to 1690 omits.
p. 309, l. 1 Epilogue. It will be noted that with some trifling alterations this is the Prologue to Abdelazar. Critical note
415Dedication
p. 221 Madam Welldon. This Dedicatory Epistle only appears in 4to 1690. The lady doubtless belonged to a branch of the famous Weldons, of Swanscombe, Kent, and is probably to be identified with Madam Lucy Weldon, née Necton, the wife of Colonel George Weldon.
p. 222 G. J. Almost certainly George Jenkins, of whom we have two copies of complimentary verse prefixed to La Montre, or The Lover’s Watch. vide Vol. VI, pp. 9-11.
Prologue
p. 223 Prologue. This prologue was first spoken to Shadwell’s comedy, The True Widow, produced at the Duke’s Theatre, Dorset Garden, 21 March, 1678, and it is printed with all copies of that play. It was, no doubt, used on the present occasion by permission of Dryden. It will be noticed that the Epilogue to The Widow Ranter is the Prologue to Abdelazar.
p. 223 Muss. A scramble. cf. Antony and Cleopatra, iii, 13:—
... of late, when I cried ‘Ho!’
Like boys unto a muss, Kings would start forth,
And cry ‘Your will?’
Act I: Scene i
p. 226 a Cogue of Brandy. ‘Cogue’ is a Kentish word. Kent Glossary (1887), has ‘cogue; a dram of brandy’; and Wright, Eng. Dial. Dic., who gives ‘cogue’ as exclusively Kentish, assigns precisely the same meaning. D’Urfey, however, Pills to Purge Melancholy (1719), vi, p. 351, has ‘a cogue of good ale’.
416p. 227 Groom Porter’s. The Groom Porter was an officer of the Royal Household. This post was abolished in the reign of George III. From the sixteenth century he regulated all matters connected with card playing, gambling, and dicing within the precincts of the court. He even furnished cards and dice, and settled disputes concerning the game.
p. 227 high and low Flats and Bars. i.e. Doctored dice. cf. Chamber’s Cycl. Supp. (1753), ‘Barr Dice, a species of false dice so formed that they will not easily lie on certain sides.’ This cant term is found as early as 1545. cf. Ascham’s Toxophilus. Flats are also cards. —(Grose, and J. H. Vaux, Flash Dic.)
p. 231 shier. Schire = clear; pure. A Gaelic word. cf. Herd, Scotch Songs (2nd ed. 1776), 11, Gloss.—‘We call clear liquor shire’.
p. 231 paulter. Mean; worthless. This rare form is perhaps found only here. The N.E.D. does not give it. But we have ‘paltering’ and ‘palterly’. Text note
p. 232 Hoggerds. A rare word, being obsolete for Hogherd. cf. De Parc’s Francion, iv, 3 (tr. 1655): ‘Our Regent (who had in him no more humanity than a Hoggard).’
p. 233 trusting for old Oliver’s Funeral broke. The obsequies of Oliver Cromwell, originally fixed for 9 November, 1658, owing to the extraordinary magnificence of the preparations were not performed until 23 November. For many days his waxen effigy, dressed in robes of state, was exhibited at Somerset House. The expenses totalled £60,000, and it was a public scandal that a great part of this wanton and wasteful extravagance remained unpaid, to the undoing of the undertakers. On 25 August, 1659, in the Kalendar of State Affairs (Domestic), the following occurs: ‘Report by the Committee appointed by Parliament to examine what is due for mourning for the late General Cromwell, that on perusal of the bills signed by Cromwell’s servants, and of the account of Abr. Barrington, his auditor, it appears that £19,303 0s. 11d. is still due and unpaid for mourning. Also that Nath. Waterhouse, servant to Rich. Cromwell, should be authorized to see the persons in a list [missing] annexed for that mourning. Col. Rich to make this report. Schedule of debts due to 11 mercers and drapers for the funeral of the late General Cromwell. Total £19,303 0s. 11d.’
p. 233 they bear the Bob. i.e. They join in the chorus or refrain. Text note
Act I: Scene iii
p. 240 shoveing the Tumbler. ‘Thieves’ cant for being whipped at the cart’s tail.’ —(Grose). Tumbler, perhaps = tumbril. Text note
p. 240 lifting. Filching. This slang term is very old and common.
p. 240 filing the Cly. ‘Thieves’ cant for picking a pocket.’ —(Grose). ‘Cly,’ a pocket.
p. 240 Regalio. An obsolete and, indeed, erroneous form of ‘regalo’, an elegant repast; choice food or drink. The word is very common, and the spelling, ‘Regalio’, is frequent in the second half of the seventeenth century.
Act II: Scene i
p. 246 Anticks. Quaint fantastic measures. A favourite word with Mrs. Behn.
p. 248 to knip. To clip. (Dutch ‘knippen’, to cut, snip.) N.E.D. neglecting this passage, only gives the meaning as to bite or crop (grass) of cattle. It appends two quotations having this sense—the one from Dunbar’s Poems (1500-20), the second from Douglas, Aeneis (1513). Text note
417Act II: Scene ii
p. 252 Mundungus. Shag, or rank tobacco. cf. Sir R. Howard, The Committee (folio, 1665), ii: ‘A Pipe of the worst Mundungus.’ Shadwell, The Humourists (1671), iii, speaks with contempt of ‘bottle ale ... and a pipe of Mundungus.’ Johnson in his Dictionary (1755) has: ‘Mundungus. Stinking tobacco. A cant word.’
Act II: Scene iv
p. 261 a Bob. cf. Prologue, The False Count (Vol. III, p. 100), ‘dry bobs,’ and note on that passage, pp. 479-80. Cross-Reference: The False Count
p. 263 barbicu. Better ‘barbecu’. An Americanism meaning to broil over live coals. Beverley, Virginia, iii, XII (1705), thus explains it: ‘Broyling ... at some distance above the live coals [the Indians] & we from them call Barbecuing.’ cf. Pope, Imitations of Horace, Sat. ii, 25, 26:—
Oldfield with more than Harpy throat endued
Cries, ‘Send me, Gods, a whole hog barbecued!’
Act III: Scene i
p. 264 De-Wit. ‘To De-Wit’ = to lynch. The word often occurs; it is derived from the deaths of John and Cornelius De Wit, opponents of William III (when stadt-holder). They were murdered by a mob in 1672. cf. ‘to godfrey’ = to strangle, from the alleged murder of Sir Edmond Bury Godfrey* in 1678. Crowne, Sir Courtly Nice (1685), ii, II, has: ‘Don’t throttle me, don’t Godfrey me.’ The N.E.D. fails to include ‘to godfrey’.
* It is now pretty certainly established that this melancholist committed suicide.
p. 265 Dalton’s Country-Justice. A well-known work by the celebrated lawyer Michael Dalton (1554-1620). It was long held in great repute and regarded as supremely authoritative. On a page of advertisements (Some Books printed this Year 1677. For John Amery, at the Peacock, against St. Dunstan’s Church in Fleet-street) in the Rover I (4to 1677), occurs ‘The Country Justice, Containing the practice of the Justices of the Peace, in and out of their Sessions, with an Abridgment of all Statutes relating thereunto to this present Year 1677. By Michael Dalton Esq; Fol. price bound 12s.’ cf. The Plain Dealer (4to 1676), iii, I:
Widow Blackacre. Let’s see Dalton, Hughs, Shepherd, Wingate.
Bookseller’s Boy. We have no law books.
Return to Younger Brother notes
p. 266 a Cagg. Now corrupted to ‘Keg’, a small cask. cf. Cotgrave (1611), ‘Encacquer’ to put in to a little barrell or cag. N.E.D. quotes this present passage.
Act IV: Scene i
p. 279 Agah Yerkin. The various dictionaries and vocabularies of the Indian languages I have had resource to give none of these words. There is, however, so great a confusion of Indian jargons and dialects that they cannot be pronounced fictitious. Yet Mrs. Behn would hardly, even if she had learned the language, have retained any exact knowledge of such barbaric tongues, and one may almost certainly say that these cries and incantations are her own composition. Amongst other authorities I have consulted The Voyage of Robert Dudley ... to the West Indies, 1594-5, edited by G. F. Warner for the Hakluyt Society (1889). Dr. Brinton’s Arawack Language of Guiana, an exhaustive monograph, (Philadelphia, 1871.) M. M. Crevaux, Sagot, L. Adam, Grammaires et 418 Vocabulaires roucouyenne, arrouague, piapoco, et d’autres Langues de la Région des Guyanes (Paris, 1882). Relation des Missions ... dans les Isles et dans la terre ferme de l’Amerique Meridionale ... avec une introduction à la langue des Gabilis Sauvages (Paris, 1655), by Father Pierre Pelleprat, S.J.
p. 279 Quiocto. Mrs. Behn probably meant to spell this word ‘Quiyoughcto’, the sound being identical. There is in Virginia a river which in the seventeenth century was called the ‘Quiyough’. The inhabitants of the banks of this river had mysterious or supernatural properties ascribed to them. In the Voyages & Discoveries of Capt. John Smith (1606), we have: ‘They thinke that their Werowanees and Priests, which they also esteeme Quiyoughcosughes, when they are dead, doe goe beyond the mountaines towards the setting of the sun.’ No doubt Mrs. Behn knew this passage. I owe the above interesting note to the kindness of my friend Mr. Gosse.
Act IV: Scene ii
p. 284 Cadees. The original form of ‘cadets’ from the French pronunciation. N.E.D. cites this passage as the earliest occurence of the word.
Act V: Scene i
p. 293 Cadeeing. The verb ‘to cadee’ is only found here and may be a nonce phrase. N.E.D. does not include it.
p. 293 to top Tobacco. i.e. to cultivate our tobacco plantations.
p. 295 Flambeaux. Mrs. Behn (or, haply, George Jenkins, the first editor of The Widow Ranter), here uses the ordinary form ‘flambeaux’ as a plural. In The Emperor of the Moon (Vol. III, p. 418), she writes ‘a Flambeaux’. In addition to the example from Herbert which I give in my note (Vol. III, p. 475), I find a plural ‘Flambeaux’s’ used by Mrs. Manley. cf. Secret Memoirs & Manners of Several Persons of Quality of Both Sexes from the New Atalantis (1709, the Second Edition), Vol. I, p. 88: ‘She but thinks of an expensive Funeral, white Flambeaux’s, Chariots, Horses, Streamers, and a Train of Mourners.’
Act V: Scene iii
p. 302 Starters. i.e. cowards. cf. The Double Marriage (Fletcher and Massinger, folio 1647), ii, I:—
Master. We’ll spare her our main-top-sail;
She shall not look us long, we are no starters.
Down with the fore-sail too! we’ll spoom before her.
cf. also The Lucky Chance, i, I: ‘I am no Starter.’ (Vol. III, p. 193), and note on that passage, p. 485. Cross-Reference: The Lucky Chance
p. 302 rubbing off. Very common slang still in use for ‘making off’, ‘clearing out’, cf. Shadwell’s The Virtuoso (1676), Act v, sc. III, the Masquerade, where Sir Samuel Harty says: ‘Who held my sword while I danc’d? ... A curse on him! he’s rubb’d off with it!’
p. 303 Dullman and Timorous. No entrance has been marked for these two characters, and I have not ventured to insert one owing to the fact that this fifth Act has been so cut (e.g. the omission of the Indian King’s ghost, as noted by Jenkins in the Dedication) and mutilated that it would be perilous to make any insertion or alteration here as the copy now stands. We may suppose these two coward justices to have rushed on in one of the many mêlées.
Act V: Scene iv
p. 304 Hannibal. Hannibal, when betrayed by Prusias, King of Bithynia, at whose court he had taken refuge, poisoned himself rather than fall into the hands of the Romans.
419Epilogue
p. 309 Epilogue. This Epilogue is, it will be noted, almost precisely the same as the Prologue to Abdelazer. In line 32 we have ‘Basset’ in place of the obsolescent game, ‘Beasts’ (damn’d Beasts). Basset, which resembled Faro, was first played at Venice. cf. Evelyn’s Diary, 1645 (Ascension Week at Venice): ‘We went to the Chetto de San Felice, to see the noblemen and their ladies at basset, a game at cards which is much used.’ It became immensely popular in England. Evelyn, in his famous description of ‘the inexpressible luxury and profaneness, gaming, and all dissoluteness’ on the Sunday se’nnight before the death of Charles II, specially noted that ‘about twenty of the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at Basset round a large table, a bank of at least 2000 in gold before them.’ Text note
Note to p. 261: a Bob.
False Count text:
—who will desert me,
Because they find no dry bobs on your Party
False Count note:
dry bobs. A bob was a sarcastic jest or jibe. cf. Sir Giles Goosecappe (1606), Act v, I. ‘Marry him, sweet Lady, to answere his bitter Bob,’ and Buckingham‘s The Rehearsal (1671), Act iii, I, where Bayes cries: ’There‘s a bob for the Court.’ A dry bob (literally = a blow or fillip that does not break the skin) is an intensely bitter taunt, cf. Cotgrave (1611), Ruade seiche, a drie bob, jeast or nip. Bailey (1731) has ‘Dry Bob. a Taunt or Scoff’.
Note to p. 302: Starters.
Lucky Chance note:
Starter. This slang word usually means a milksop, but here it is equivalent to ‘a butterfly’, ‘a weathercock’—a man of changeable disposition. A rare use.
311
312
Scene I. A Chamber.
Scene II. A Chamber.
Scene I. Sir Rowland’s Lodging.
Scene II. A Chamber.
Scene III. Another Chamber.
Scene I. A rich Chamber.
Scene II. A Chamber, and Alcove.
Scene III. A Garden by Night.
Scene I. The Prince’s Lodgings.
Scene II. Mirtilla at her Toylet.
Scene III. Lady Youthly’s.
Scene I. Welborn’s Chamber.
Scene II. The Dressing-Room.
Scene III. A Chamber.
Scene IV. My Lady Youthly’s.
Mirtilla, the Amorous Jilt, who had once been attached to George Marteen, the Younger Brother, married for a convenience the clownish Sir Morgan Blunder. Prince Frederick, who had seen and fallen in love with her during a religious ceremony in a Ghent convent, follows her to England. They meet accidentally and she promises him a private interview. George Marteen had recommended a page to Mirtilla, and the lad is his sister Olivia in disguise. Mirtilla, although she falls in love with her ‘smooth-chin’d boy’, receives Prince Frederick, but the house wherein she lodges catches fire that night, and it is George Marteen who, in spite of the fact that he knows his friend the Prince is with her, procures a ladder and rescues the lady at some danger to himself. The Prince is able to escape by the same way, and he then carries Mirtilla to his own lodgings, where feigning to be ill with fatigue and terror she begs her lover to leave her to repose. This is done with the idea of entertaining her page, and on Frederick’s approach she conceals Olivia, who thus creeps off unseen, beneath the train of her gown, whilst she herself retires with the amorous Prince. None the less, Mirtilla still pursues Olivia, and eventually Frederick discovers she is a wanton jilt, as he surprises her leading the page to her bed. He is, however, reconciled when Mirtilla discovering to her amaze that the lad is a woman reveals this fact to the Prince to confound him, but afterwards avowing her frailty, throws herself on Frederick’s generosity. Olivia has been promised by her old father, Sir Rowland Marteen, to Welborn, whom she has never seen. On meeting Welborn she falls in love with him, without knowing who he is, and he, also, whilst ignorant of her name, is soon enamoured of her in turn. Prince Frederick lodges in the same house as Welborn and it is hither that after the fire she attends Mirtilla. Welborn, supposing her to be Mirtilla’s page, out of kindness offers her half his bed, which for fear of arousing suspicion she is bound to accept. She slips away, however, before daybreak, leaving a letter for her companion, by which he learns that the page is none other than the lady whom he had seen in the Mall. Welborn and Olivia are eventually married. George Marteen’s elder brother, Sir Merlin, a boon companion of Sir Morgan Blunder, is a rakehelly dog, who leads a wild town life to the great anger of old Sir Rowland. George, who whilst secretly leading a gay life under the name of Lejere, appears before his father as a demure and sober young prentice, is designed for Lady Youthly, an ancient, toothless crone, palsied and blind with extreme old age, whose grand-daughter, Teresia, is to be married to Sir Rowland himself. George, however, falls in love with Teresia, who is also pursued by Sir Merlin, and finally weds her in despite of his father, brother and the beldame. But Sir Rowland shortly relents and even forgives his eldest son, who has married Diana, the cast off mistress of a gambler, whilst Lady Youthly is left to the tender consolations of her chaplain.
314The Younger Brother; or, The Amorous Jilt was written (in great part at least) by Mrs. Behn a good many years before her death, after which it was brought on the stage under the auspices of Gildon, in 1696; and in the Epistle Dedicatory he expressly says ‘all the Alterations which I made were in the first Act, in removing that old bustle about Whigg and Tory (which was the subject of most of the Second Scene) and placing the Character of a Rake-hell in its room.’ Mrs. Behn probably wrote the first Act sometime about the years 1681-3, when there was a continual ‘rout with Whigging and with Torying’, and afterwards completed the remainder at her leisure. In his notice of this comedy Langbaine’s editor (Gildon), who finds Mirtilla ‘genteel’, says that Astrea took a portion of the plot ‘from a true story of the brother of Col. Henry Martin, and a Lady that must be nameless. See the Novel call’d Hatige.’ Hattige: or, the Amours of the King of Tamaran. A Novel, by Gabriel de Brémond, was translated in 1680. (12mo. For Simon the African: Amsterdam, [R. Bentley? London.]) A biting satire on Charles II and Lady Castlemaine, the tale is told with considerable spirit and attained great vogue. Another edition was issued in 1683, and under the title The Beautiful Turk it is to be found in A Select Collection of Novels (1720 and 1729), Vol. III. This novel had first appeared anonymously at Cologne in 1676—Hattigé ou la Belle Turque, qui contient ses amours avec le roi Tamaran—and Nodier in his Mélanges d’une petite Bibliothèque describes a ‘clef’. Hattigé is, of course, Lady Castlemaine; Tamaran, Charles II; and the handsome Rajeb with whom the lady deceives the monarch, Jack Churchill. It is a wanton little book, and at the time must have been irresistibly piquant. Beyond the likeness between the characters of Mirtilla and Hattigé the novel has, however, little in common with Mrs. Behn’s play. Gildon’s comment is, of course, founded upon the passage in Oroonoko which says: ‘We met on the river with Colonel Martin, a man of great gallantry, wit and goodness, and whom I have celebrated in a character of my new comedy by his own name in memory of so brave a man.’
In D’Urfey’s The Royalist, an excellent comedy produced at Dorset Garden, 1682 (4to, 1682), the author introduces a certain damsel Philippa, who, disguised as a page, follows the loyal Sir Charles Kinglove with whom she is enamoured. At the end of the second Act her boy’s clothes involve her in the same predicament as befalls Olivia in Act iv of The Younger Brother. Although Genest prefers Mrs. Behn’s treatment of the situation, it must, I think, be allowed that D’Urfey has managed the jest with far greater verve and spirit. Honest Tom D’Urfey is in fact one of the least read and most maligned of all our dramatists. He had the merriest comic gifts, and perhaps when the critics and literary historians deign to read his plays he will attain a higher position in our theatrical libraries.
Some critics have suggested that D’Urfey, in his The Intrigues at Versailles, produced at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 1697, may have taken a hint 315 from Mrs. Behn’s Mirtilla, and Wycherley’s Olivia (The Plain Dealer) for his ‘Madame de Vandosme a right jilt in all humours’, a rôle created by Mrs. Barry. There is indeed some resemblance between all these three characters, base heartless coquettes; and D’Urfey, in making his jilt prefer Sir Blunder Bosse, ‘a dull sordid brute and mongrel, whose humour is to call everybody by clownish names’, to all her other gallants, seems not to have forgotten Mirtilla’s marriage with Sir Morgan Blunder. The very names call attention to the plagiarism. The Intrigues at Versailles is none the less a clever and witty comedy, but a little overcrowded with incident and business.
As sufficiently explained by Gildon, under whose auspices this posthumous play was produced at Drury Lane in 1696, The Younger Brother; or, The Amorous Jilt met with brutal treatment from the audience. There appears to have been a faction, particularly in evidence at its first performance and on the third day, who were steadfastly resolved to damn the comedy, and in spite of fine acting and every advantage it was hissed from the boards. Gildon attributes the failure to ‘the tedious Scenes in Blank Verse betwixt Mirtilla and Prince Frederick’ which he thinks demanded ‘another more easy Dress,’ but, in truth, it can only be attributed to the most verjuiced spite and personal malice. The plot, though somewhat complicated with perhaps a press of crowding incidents, is none the less highly interesting, and the characters are most of them excellently, all well, drawn and sustained. The fact that certain episodes had to be cut in representation in order to bring the comedy within a reasonable time limit, though it may have tended to obscure the connection of the intrigue, could not have insured in spite of its many real merits so absolute a doom for the much maltreated play, a sentence which seems to have wantonly precluded any revival.
316The unjust Sentence this Play met with before very partial Judges in the Acting, will, I’m pretty sure, be revers’d by the more unprejudiced Readers, and it’s evident, Merit will exert itself so far, as to justify my Presumption in Dedicating it, notwithstanding its small success, to you, Sir, for whom I must always profess the highest Esteem and Value, sprung from that Nobleness of your Nature that takes a God-like Delight in redressing the Misfortunes of ’em, more than fly to you for their unhappiness; a generous Soul indeed, never gives a greater Proof of her Excellence, than in her Protection of the Unfortunate; for tho suffering Merit challenges a Regard from all, yet it meets with it from none but such as you, Sir, who are so Eminent for that Vertue, which more than all the rest, commands the Esteem and Veneration of the Thinking World, your Generosity I mean, Sir, which gives the most Perfect Touches of that likeness, man can have to his Almighty Original; for those are but scurvey awkard Copies of Him that want it. ’Tis, I may say, the very Essence of God, Who with our Beings, dispenses the grateful Knowledge of Himself in the Benefits He bestows.
The narrow Virtues of the Old Philosophers, [which] were rather Vices, if winnow’d well, form’d to gratify their Proud, Lazy, Superiority, at the Expence of all the Publick Duties incumbent on mankind, whom they pretend to Purge from his Passions, to make him happy, by that means to amuse our Curiosity with Chymera’s, whilst we lost our real Good, will still naturally flow from those Springs of Pleasure, Honour, Glory, and Noble Actions, the Passions given us by Heaven for our common Good. But their own Practice generally shew’d the Vanity of their Emperic Boasts, when they Buried all the Nobler Pleasures of the Mind in Avarice, and Pedantick Pride, as Lucian has pleasantly made out in Hermotimus.
Those Notional Excellencies that divert us from, or weaken a Publick Spirit, are always False and Hypocritical, that under a gaudy out-side conceals a rotten Carcass, full of Infectious Distempers that destroy the noblest end of our Being, The doing good to one another. Vanity has always been the Refuge of little Souls, that place their Value in a False Greatness, Hyppocrisie, and great Titles. What a seeming Holiness does for the 317 Avaritious, Designing Saint; Titles do for the proud Avarice of the meer Man of Quality, cheaply Purchasing a Respect from the many; but ’tis the Generous man only that fixes himself in the Hearts of the most valuable part of mankind, when proper Merit only is esteem’d, and the Man, not his Equipage, and Accidental Appurtenances respected.
The Application of this, I shall leave to all that know you, Sir, who are all sensible what Virtues you make your Darlings, and choice of Virtue shews the Nobleness of our Temper, as much as Choice of Friends, the degrees of our Understandings; and if that be true that most Men choose those Virtues which are nearest a-kin to their Darling Vices, I’m sure ’twill be a strong proof, that ev’n your Failings (for ev’ry Man has his share of them too) are more Beneficial to the world than the Vertues of a numerous part of Mankind. In Collonel Codrington indeed, we find the true Spirit and Bravery of old Rome, that despises all dangers, that in the Race of Glory thou art the Noble Chace. Nor can the manly Roughness of your Martial Temper (Fierce to none but your Countries Foes) destroy that ingaging sweetness your agreeable Conversation abounds with, which heightened with so large a share of Wit, Learning, and Judgment, improves as well as delights; so that to have known you any way, must give us some advantage or other. This it was that encourag’d me to dedicate this Play, Sir, to you, of which I may venture to say more, and with more assurance, than if it had been my own.
Mrs. BEHN was a Woman so Accomplish’d, and of so Established a Fame among the Men of Sense, that I cou’d not suppose a very severe treatment from the Town, which has been very indulgent to the Performances of others; especially when, besides the Reputation of the Author, the Play itself had an Intrinsic Merit; for we find it full of Humour, Wit, and Variety; the Conversation Gay and Genteel, the Love Soft and Pathetic, the incidents Natural, and Easy, and the Conduct of the Plot very Justifiable. So that I may reasonably impute its miscarriage to some Faction that was made against it, which indeed was very Evident on the First day, and more on the endeavours employed, to render the Profits of the Third, as small as could be.
It suffer’d not, I’m sure, in the Action, nor in Mr. Verbruggen’s reading of some of his Part, since he lost nothing of the Force of Elocution, nor Gracefulness of Action; nor indeed can I, with Justice to my self, impute it to any part that I ventur’d to add to the Original; for all the Alterations which I made were in the first Act, in removing that old bustle about Whigg and Tory, (which was the Subject of most of the Second Scene) and placing the Character of a Rake-hell in its room, which was so little, that it could not Influence a more Capricious Audience, to the 318 Damning of the whole. There might indeed be some objections about the Plot, but not very Rational, I think; I’m sure, at least, ’tis the first Play, for some Years, could be quarrell’d at for having too much Plot. In the Edition however I have put in a great deal, which the length of the Play oblig’d me to cut out for the Action.
Here, Sir, if the Play had been my own, I should have complain’d that the Town had its favourite Fools, as well as favourite Wits, and that Comedy or Farce from any other hand wou’d no more go down with them, than their favourites will with true Judges that read, not see ’em. I should have had indignation enough, perhaps, to’ve rail’d at the Criticks of all Degrees, and Denominations of Box and Pit, nay, Galleries too, and told ’em that they were so conceited of their own Wit, that they cou’d take no pleasure in hearing that of another, or that Wit in a Play seeming to affront the Parts of the Audience, they suffer’d their Resentment to destroy their Satisfaction. This, and a great many other Satyrical Reflections, which are natural for a Disappointed Poet to make, I shou’d then have vented; but being satisfy’d, that the Reputation of Mrs. BEHN is not affected by the malicious Endeavours of some of my Enemies, I now present it under your Patronage, Sir, to the more competent Judges; Proud of the Opportunity of Offering you an occasion of so agreeable a Province, as the Protection of the unfortunate, and letting the World know how much I am, Sir,
Your Humble Servant,
CH. GILDON.
By an unknown Hand.
Spoke by Mr. Powell.
As Rivals of each other jealous prove,
And both strive which shall gain the Lady’s Love,
So we for your Affections daily vie:
Not an Intriguer in the Gallery
(Who squeezes hand of Phillis mask’d, that stood
Ogling for Sale, in Velvet Scarf and Hood)
Can with more Passion his dear Nymph pursue,
Than we to make Diversion fit for you.
Grant we may please, and we’ve our utmost Aim,
’Tis to your Favour only we lay claim.
In what can we oblige? Cou’d we present you
With Mistress young, and safe, it wou’d content you;
Then Husbands, weary’d out with Spouse alone,
And hen-peck’d Keepers that drudge on with one,
I fancy hither wou’d in Crouds resort,
As thick as Men for Offices to Court:
Who’d stay behind? the Beau above Threescore,
Wou’d hobble on, and gape for one bit more;
Men of all Stations, from the Nobles, down
To grave Sir Roger in his Cap and Gown,
Wou’d hither come. But we some time must take,
E’er we a Project of such moment make;
Since that’s laid by, for your Diversion then,
We do invite the Brothers of the Pen;
320The Courtier, Lawyer, Soldier, Player too,
Wit n’er had more Encouragement than now;
Though free, or Aliens to our Stage, we take ’em,
Not kick ’em out, but native Subjects make ’em.
The Ladies too are always welcome here,
Let ’em in Writing or in Box appear.
To that fair Sex we are oblig’d to day,
Oh! then be kind to a poor Orphan-Play,
Whose Parent while she liv’d oblig’d you all;
You prais’d her living, and you mourn’d her Fall.
Who cou’d, like her, our softer Passions move,
The Life of Humour, and the Soul of Love?
Wit’s eldest Sister; thro-out every Line,
You might perceive some Female Graces shine.
For poor Astrea’s Infant we implore,
Let it then live, though she is now no more.
| MEN. | |
| Prince Frederick, | Mr. Verbruggen. |
| Sir Rowland Marteen, | Mr. Johnson. |
| George Marteen, | Mr. Powell. |
| Mr. Welborn, | Mr. Horden. |
| Sir Merlin Marteen, | Mr. Pinkethman. |
| Sir Morgan Blunder, | Mr. Bullock. |
| Mr. Twang, | Mr. Smeaton. |
| Britton, | Mr. Kent. |
| Philip. | |
| WOMEN. | |
| Mirtilla, | Mrs. Knight. |
| Olivia, | Mrs. Verbruggen. |
| Teresia, | Mrs. Temple. |
| Lady Blunder, | Mrs. Powell. |
| Mrs. Manage, | Mrs. Willis. |
| Lady Youthley, | Mrs. Harris. |
| Diana. | |
|
Constable and Watch, Pages, Footmen, Masqueraders, Servants, Rakehells, &c. |
|
Enter George Marteen, in a rich Riding Habit, with his Valet Britton.
Geo. Were you with Mrs. Manage, Britton?
Britt. Yes, Sir; and she cries as much for her wanting room for you in her House, as she would have done some forty Years ago for a Disappointment of her Lover. But she assures me, the Lodging she has taken for you, is the best in all Lincolns-Inn-Fields.
Geo. And did you charge her to send Mirtilla’s Page to me?
Britt. I did, Sir; and he’ll be with you instantly.
Geo. ’Tis well—Then shall I hear some News of my Mirtilla. Aside.
Britton, haste thee, and get my Equipage in order; a handsome Coach, rich Liveries, and more Footmen: for ’tis Appearance only passes in the World—And d’ye hear, take care none know me by any other Name than that of Lejere.
Britt. I shall, Sir. Exit.
Geo. I came not from Paris into England, as my old Father thinks, to reform into a dull wretched Life in Wales. No, I’ll rather trust my kind Mistress Fortune, that has still kept me like her Darling, than purchase a younger Brother’s narrow Stipend, at the expence of my Pleasure and Happiness.
Enter Olivia in a Page’s Habit. She runs and embraces George.
Oliv. My ever charming Brother!
Geo. My best, my dear Olivia!
323Oliv. The same lovely Man still! Thy Gallantry and Beauty’s all thy own; Paris could add no Graces to thy Air; nor yet pervert it into Affectation.
Geo. Spare me, and tell me how Mirtilla fares.
Oliv. I think, Brother, I writ you word to Paris, of a Marriage concluded betwixt me and Welborn?
Geo. That Letter I receiv’d: but from the dear Mirtilla, not one soft word; not one tender Line has blest my Eyes, has eas’d my panting Heart this tedious three Months space; and thou with whom I left the weighty Charge of her dear Heart, to watch her lovely Eyes, to give me notice when my Rivals press’d, and when she waver’d in her Faith to me, even thou wert silent to me, cruel Sister.
Oliv. Thou wilt be like a Lover presently, and tire the Hearer with a Book of Words, of heavy Sighs, dying Languishments, and all that huddle of Nonsense; and not tell me how you like my Marriage.
Geo. Welborn’s my Friend, and worthy of thy Heart.
Oliv. I never saw him yet; and to be sold unseen, and unsigh’d for, in the Flower of my Youth and Beauty, gives me a strange aversion to the Match.
Geo. Oh! you’ll like him when you see him—But my Mirtilla.—
Oliv. Like him—no, no, I never shall—what, come a Stranger to my Husband’s Bed? ’Tis Prostitution in the leudest manner, without the Satisfaction; the Pleasure of Variety, and the Bait of Profit, may make a lame excuse for Whores, who change their Cullies, and quit their nauseous Fools—No, no, my Brother, when Parents grow arbitrary, ’tis time we look into our Rights and Privileges; therefore, my dear George, if e’er thou hope for Happiness in Love, assist my Disobedience.
Geo. In any worthy Choice be sure of me; but canst thou wish Happiness in Love, and not inform me something of Mirtilla?
324Oliv. I’ll tell you better News—our hopeful elder Brother, Sir Merlin, is like to be disinherited; for he is, Heaven be thanked—
Geo. Marry’d to some Town-Jilt, the common fate of Coxcombs.
Oliv. Not so, my dear George, but sets up for a celebrated Rake-hell, as well as Gamester; he cou’d not have found out a more dextrous way to have made thee Heir to four Thousand Pounds a Year.
Geo. What’s that without Mirtilla?
Oliv. Prithee no more of her—Love spoils a fine Gentleman: Gaming, Whoring and Fighting may qualify a Man for Conversation; but Love perverts all one’s Thoughts, and makes us fit Company for none but one’s self; for even a Mistress can scarce dispense with a fighting, whining Lover’s Company long, though all he says flatters her Pride.
Geo. Why dost thou trifle with me, when thou knowest the Violence of my Love?
Oliv. I wish I could any way divert your Thoughts from her, I would not have your Joy depend on such a fickle Creature.
Geo. Mirtilla false! What, my Mirtilla false!
Oliv. Even your Mirtilla’s false, and married to another.
Geo. Married! Mirtilla married! ’Tis impossible.
Oliv. Nay, married to that bawling, drinking Fool, Sir Morgan Blunder.
Geo. Married, and married to Sir Morgan Blunder! a Sot, an ill-bred senseless Fool; almost too great a Fool to make a Country Justice?
Oliv. No doubt, she had her Aims in’t, he’s a very convenient Husband, I’ll assure you, and that suits her Temper: he has Estate and Folly enough, and she has Youth and Wantonness enough to match ’em.
Geo. Her Choice gives me some Comfort, and some Hopes; for I’ll pursue her, but for Revenge, not Love.
325Oliv. Forget her rather, for she’s not worth Revenge, and that way ’twill be none; prostitute in Soul as Body, she doats even on me in Breeches.
Geo. On thee, her Page? doat on thee, a Youth! she knew thee not as Woman.
Oliv. No, that Secret I have kept to do you Service.—At first she said she lov’d me for your sake, because you recommended me; and when I sung, or plaid upon my Flute, wou’d kiss my Cheek, and sigh, and often (when alone) wou’d send for me, and smile, and talk, and set my Hair in Curls, to make me saucy and familiar with her. One Day she said, Endimion, thy Name-sake was thus caress’d by Cynthia: A Goddess did not scorn the humble Swain, whom by her Love she equal’d to her Deity. She found that I had Sense to understand her, and paid her Advances back with equal Ardour.
Geo. Oh, Curse! where learnt she all this Wickedness? Aside.
Oliv. But she being oblig’d to go for Flanders, to see her Sister take the holy Habit, I feign’d a Sickness to be left behind, hoping that Absence might abate her Flame; yet she return’d more amorous, and fearing the Thefts of Love might wound her Honour, she thought a Husband would secure that Shame; and luckily my Aunt arriv’d from Wales, and brought Sir Morgan with her, who lodging where we did, at Mrs. Manage’s, my Aunt (that doats on Quality in either Sex) made up this hasty Match, unknown to me, though for my sake.
Geo. What will not faithless Woman do, when she is raging?
Oliv. And now having so well prepar’d the way, she grows impatient for an Opportunity; and thou art arriv’d, most happily to succour me.
Geo. No, for some days keep this habit on, it may be useful to us; but I must see this faithless perjur’d Woman, which I must contrive with Mrs. Manage.
326Oliv. Yet pray resolve to see my Father first; for now’s the critical time to make thy Fortune: he came to Town last night, and lodges here at Mrs. Manage’s, with my Aunt Blunder.
Geo. What, in the House with thee, and not know thee?
Oliv. No more than a Priest Compassion; he thinks me at Hackney, making Wax Babies, where he intends to visit me within these three days,—But I forgot to tell you, our Brother, Sir Merlin, lodges in this House with you; and shou’d he know you—
Geo. ’Tis impossible—I’ve not see him, or my Father, these five Years. Absence, my Growth, and this unexpected Equipage, will not be penetrated by his Capacity.
Oliv. True, he’ll never look for his Brother George, in the Gallantry and Person of Monsieur Lejere—My good Father expects you home, like the prodigal Son, all torn and tatter’d, and as penitent too.
Geo. To plod on here, in a laborious Cheating, all my Youth and Vigour, in hopes of drunken Pleasures when I’m old; or else go with him into Wales, and there lead a thoughtless Life, hunt, and drink, and make love to none but Chamber-maids. No, my Olivia, I’ll use the sprightly Runnings of my Life, and not hope distant Pleasures from its Dregs.
Oliv. For that, use your Discretion; now equip your self to your present Business; the more simply you are clad and look, the better. I’ll home and expect you. Exit.
Geo. Do so, my good Sister; a little formal Hypocrisy may do, ’twill relish after Liberty; for a Pleasure is never so well tasted, as when it’s season’d with some Opposition.
Enter Britton.
Britt. Sir, I’ve News to tell you, will surprize you; Prince Frederick is arriv’d.
Geo. Is’t possible? I left him going for Flanders.
327Britt. Passing by our Door, and seeing your Livery, he enquir’d for you; and finding you here, alighted just now. But see, Sir, he’s here.
Enter Prince Frederick; they meet and embrace.
Geo. My Life’s Preserver, welcome to my Arms as Health to sick Men.
Prince. And thou to mine as the kind Mistress to the longing Lover; my Soul’s Delight, and Darling of the Fair.
Geo. Ah Prince! you touch my bleeding Wound.
Prince. Ha, Lejere! leave to unhappy Lovers those Sighs, those folded Arms, and down-cast Eyes.
Geo. Then they are fit for me; my Mistress, Sir, that Treasure of my Life, for whom you’ve heard me sigh, is perjur’d, false, and married to another. Yet what is worse, I find my Prince, my Friend, here in my native Country, and am not able to pay him what his Greatness merits.
Prince. You pain me when you compliment my Friendship. Embracing.
Geo. Perhaps you will not think me worth this Honour, when you shall hear my Story.
Prince. Thou canst say nothing I can value less.
Geo. Perhaps too my way of Living has deceiv’d you, being still receiv’d by Princes, as Companions in all their Riots, Loves, and Divertisements; where ev’n you did me the Honour to esteem, and call me Friend.
Prince. Whate’er thou art, I’m sure thy Mind’s illustrious.
Geo. My Family, I must confess, is honourable; but, Sir, my Father was the younger House, of which my unhappy self was destin’d to be last: I’m a Cadet, that Out-cast of my Family, and born to that curse of our old English Custom. Whereas in other Countries, younger Brothers are train’d up to the Exercise of Arms, where 328 Honour and Renown attend the Brave; we basely bind our youngest out to Slavery, to lazy Trades, idly confin’d to Shops or Merchants Books, debasing of the Spirit to the mean Cunning, how to cheat and chaffer.
Prince. A Custom insupportable!—
Geo. To this, to this low wretchedness of Life, your Servant, Sir—was destin’d by his Parents, and am yet this bound indentur’d Slave.
Prince. Thou hast no cause to quarrel with thy Stars, since Virtue is most valu’d when opprest—Are all your Merchants Apprentices thus gay?
Geo. Not all—but, Sir, I could not bow my Mind to this so necessary Drudgery; and yet however, I assum’d my native Temper, when out o’th’ Trading City; in it, I forc’d my Nature to a dull slovenly Gravity, which well enough deceiv’d the busy Block-heads; my Clothes and Equipage I lodg’d at this End of the Town, where I still pass’d for something better than I was, whene’er I pleas’d to change the Trader for the Gentleman.
Prince. And liv’d thus undiscover’d—
Geo. With Ease, still lov’d and courted by the Great, ever play’d high with those durst venture most; and durst make Love where’er my Fancy lik’d: but sometimes running out my Master’s Cash, (which was supply’d still by my Father) they sent me, to reform my expensive Life, a Factor, into France—still I essay’d to be a plodding Thriver, but found my Parts not form’d for dirty Business.
Prince. There’s not a Thought, an Action of thy Soul, that does not tend to something far more glorious.
Geo. If yet you think me worthy of your Favour, command that Life you have so oft preserv’d.
Prince. No more;—Thou hast increas’d my Value for thee.—Oh! take my Heart, and see how’t has been us’d by a fair Charmer, since I saw thee last—That sullen day we parted, you for England, you may remember I design’d for Flanders.
329Geo. I do, with Melancholy, Sir, remember it.
Prince. Arriv’d at Ghent, I went to see an English Nun initiated, where I beheld the pretty Innocent, deliver’d up a Victim to foolish Chastity; but among the Relations, then attending the Sacrifice, was a fair Sister of the young Votress, but so surpassing all I’ad seen before, that I neglecting the dull holy Business, paid my Devotion to that kneeling Saint.
Geo. That was the nearest way to Heaven, my Lord.
Prince. Her Face, that had a thousand Charms of Youth, was heighten’d with an Air of Languishment; a lovely Sorrow dwelt upon her Eyes, that taught my new-born-Passion Awe and Reverence.
Geo. This Description of her fires me.— Aside.
Prince. Her dimpl’d Mouth, her Neck, her Hand, her Hair, a Majesty and Grace in every Motion, compleated my Undoing; I rav’d, I burnt, I languish’d with Desire, the holy Place cou’d scarce contain my Madness: with Pain, with Torture, I restrain’d my Passion when she retir’d, led sadly from the Altar. I, mixing with the Croud, enquir’d her Name and Country; her Servant told me, that she was of Quality, and liv’d in England, nay, in this very Town: this gave me Anguish not to be conceiv’d, till I resolv’d to follow her, which is the cause you find me here so soon. Thy Aid, thy Aid, Lejere, or I am lost.
Geo. I wish to live no longer than to serve your Highness: if she be, Sir, a Maid of Quality, I shall soon find her out, and then you’ll easily conquer. You’ve all the Youth, and Beauty, that can charm; and what gains most upon a Woman’s Heart, you’ve a powerful Title, Sir, a sort of Philter, that ne’er fails to win. But you’ve not told me yet the Lady’s Name.
Prince. I had forgot that;—’Tis in these Tablets written: Gives him the Tablets.
I’m now in haste, going to receive some Bills: I lodge 330 at Welborn’s, who came over with me, being sent for to be marry’d.
Geo. I know the House, ’tis in Southampton-Square: I’ll wait upon your Highness— Exit Prince.
Let me see—Daughter to a deceas’d Lord; a Maid, and no Dowry, but Beauty; living in Lincoln’s-Inn-Fields. Opening the Tablets, reads.
—Ha!—her Name Mirtilla! Mirtilla! Pauses.
Prince, thou hast paid thyself for all the Favours done me. Mirtilla! Pauses.
Why, yes, Mirtilla! He takes but what she has given away already.—
Oh! damn her, she has broke her Faith, her Vows, and is no longer mine—And thou’rt my Friend. Pauses again.
Mirtilla’s but my Mistress, and has taken all the Repose of my poor Life away—Yes, let him take her, I’ll resign her to him; and therefore shut my Eyes against her Charms: fix her Inconstancy about my Heart, and scorn whatever she can give me.
Exit.
Enter Sir Morgan Blunder in a Night-Gown and Cap; to him Manage with a Caudle.
Man. Your Lady Mother has sent you a Caudle, Sir.
Sir Morg. Good Mrs. Manage, remember my kind Love to my Lady Mother, and tell her, I thank her for her Posset, but never eat in a Morning after hard drinking over night.
Man. Ah, Sir, but now you’re marry’d to a fine Lady, you ought to make much of your self.
Sir Morg. Good Madam, as little of your Matrimony as of your Caudle; my Stomach is plaguy squeamish, and a hair of the old Dog’s worth both of ’em. Oh! sick! sick!
331Enter Sir Merlin, singing a Song in praise of a Rake-hell’s Life.
What Life can compare with the jolly Town-Rake’s,
When in Youth his full Swing of all Pleasure he takes?
At Noon, he gets up, for a Whet, and to dine,
And wings the dull Hours with Mirth, Musick and Wine;
Then jogs to the Play-house, and chats with the Masks,
And thence to the Rose, where he takes his three Flasks.
There, great as a Cæsar, he revels, when drunk,
And scours all he meets, as he reels to his Punk;
Then finds the dear Girl in his Arms when he wakes.
What Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake’s?
He, like the Great Turk, has his Favourite She;
But the Town’s his Seraglio, and still he lives free.
Sometimes she’s a Lady; but as he must range,
Black-Betty, or Oyster-Doll, serves for a Change.
As he varies his Sports, his whole Life is a Feast;
He thinks him that’s soberest the most like a Beast.
At Houses of Pleasure breaks Windows and Doors;
Kicks Bullies and Cullies, then lies with their Whores.
Rare work for the Surgeon, and Midwife he makes.
What Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake’s?
Thus in Covent-Garden he makes his Campaign,
And no Coffee-house haunts, but to settle his Brain.
He laughs at dry Morals, and never does think,
Unless ’tis to get the best Wenches and Drink.
He dwells in a Tavern, and lies ev’ry where,
And improving his hours, lives an Age in a Tear:
332For as Life is uncertain, he loves to make haste;
And thus he lives longest, because he lives fast:
Then a Leap in the dark to the Devil he takes.
What Death can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake’s?
Sir Mer. Why, how now, Sir Morgan, I see you’ll make a Husband of the right Town-Mode: What, married but four Days, and at your separate Apartment already?
Sir Morg. A Plague of your what d’ye call ums.
Sir Mer. Rakehells you would say, Cousin, an honourable Appellation for Men of Bravery.
Sir Morg. Ay, ay, your Rakehells—I was never so muddled with Treason, Tierce Claret, Oaths and Dice, all the Days of my Life—Was I in case to do Family duty? S’life, you drank down all my Love, all my Prudence too; Gad forgive me for it.
Sir Mer. Why, how the Devil cam’st thou to bear thy Liquor so ill? Ods my Life, you drunk like a Frenchman new come to the University.
Sir Morg. Pox, I can bear their drinking as well as any Man; but your London way of Bousing and Politics does not agree with my Constitution. Look ye, Cousin, set quietly to’t, and I’ll stand my ground; but to have screaming Whores, noisy Bullies, rattling Dice, swearing and cursing Gamesters, Couz. turns the Head of a Country-Drinker, more than the Wine.
Sir Mer. Oh! Use, Cousin, will make an able Man.
Sir Morg. Use, Cousin! Use me no Uses; for if ever you catch me at your damn’d Clubs again, I’ll give you my Mother for a Maid: Why, you talk downright Treason.
Sir Mer. Treason, ay—
Sir Morg. Ah Cousin, why, we talk’d enough to—hang us all.
Sir Mer. My honest Country-Couz. when wilt thou understand the Guelphs, and the Gibelins, and learn to 333 talk Treason o’ this side the Law? bilk a Whore without remorse; break Windows, and not pay for ’em; drink your Bottle without asking Questions; kill your Man without letting him draw; play away your Money without fear of your Spouse, and stop her Mouth by undermining her Nose?
Sir Morg. Come, come, look you, Cousin, one word of Advice now I’m sober; what the Devil should provoke thee and me to put ourselves on our twelve Godfathers for a Frolick? We who have Estates. I shou’d be loth to leave the World with a scurvy Song, composed by the Poet Sternhold.
Enter at the Door Sir Rowland, hearkning.
Or why, d’ye see, shou’d I expose my Noddle to the Billmen in Flannel, and lie in the Roundhouse, when I may go to bed in a whole skin with my Lady Wife?
Sir Mer. Gad, Sir Morgan, thou hast sometimes pretty smart satirical Touches with thee; use but Will’s Coffee-house a little, and with thy Estate, and that Talent, thou mayst set up for a Wit.
Sir Morg. Mercy upon me, Sir Merlin, thou art stark mad: What, I a Wit! I had rather be one of your Rakehells: for, look ye, a Man may swear and stare, or so; break Windows, and Drawers Heads, or so; unrig a needy Whore, and yet keep one’s Estate: but should I turn Wit, ’twere impossible; for a Wit with an Estate is like a Prisoner among the Cannibals.
Sir Mer. How so, good Sir Morgan?
Sir Morg. Why, the needy Rogues only feed him with Praise, to fatten him for their Palates, and then devour him.
Sir Mer. I applaud your choice, Cousin; for what Man of Bravery wou’d not prefer a Rake to a Wit? The one enjoys the Pleasures the other can only rail at; and that not out of Conscience, but Impotence: for alas! a Wit has no quarrel to Vice in Perfection, but what the 334 Fox had to the Grapes; he can’t play away his hundred Pound at sight; his Third Day won’t afford it; and therefore he rails at Gamesters; Whores shun him, as much as Noblemen, and for the same cause, Money; those care not to sell their Carcases for a Sonnet, nor these to scatter their Guineas, to be told an old Tale of a Tub, they were so well acquainted with before.
Sir Morg. What’s that, Sir Merlin?
Sir Mer. Why, their Praise;—for the Poet’s Flattery seldom reaches the Patron’s Vanity; and what’s too strong season’d for the rest of the World, is too weak for their Palates.
Sir Morg. Why, look ye, Cousin, you’re a shreud Fellow: Whence learn’d you this Satire? for I’m sure ’tis none of thy own; for I shou’d as soon suspect thee guilty of good Nature, as Wit.
Sir Mer. I scorn it; and therefore I confess I stole the Observation from a Poet; but the Devil pick his Bones for diverting me from the noble Theme of Rakehells.
Sir Morg. Noble Theme, Sir Merlin! look ye, d’ye see: Don’t mistake me, I think ’tis a very scurvy one; and I wou’d not have your Father know that you set up for such a Reprobate; for Sir Rowland would certainly disinherit thee.
Sir Mer. O, keep your musty Morals to your self, good Country Couz; they’ll do you service to your Welch Criminals, for stealing an Hen, or breaking up a Wenches Inclosure, or so, Sir Morgan; but for me, I despise ’em: I have not been admitted into the Family of the Rakehellorums for this, Sir: Let my Father drink old Adam, read the Pilgrim’s Progress, The Country Justice’s Calling, or for a Regale, drink the dull Manufacture of Malt and Water; I defy him; he can’t cut off the Entail of what is settled on me: and for the rest, I’l trust Dame Fortune; and pray to the Three Fatal Sisters to cut his rotten Thred in two, before he thinks of any such Wickedness.
335Enter Sir Rowland in a great Rage.
Sir Row. Will you so, Sir? Why, how now, Sirrah! get you out of my House, Rogue; get out of my Doors, Rascal. Beats him.
Enter Lady Blunder.
L. Blun. Upon my Honour now, Brother, what’s the matter? Whence this ungenerous Disturbance?
Sir Row. What’s the matter! the disturbance! Why, Sister, this Rogue here—this unintelligible graceless Rascal here, will needs set up for a Rakehell, when there’s scarce such a thing in the Nation, above an Ale-draper’s Son; and chuses to be aukardly out of fashion, merely for the sake of Tricking and Poverty; and keeps company with the senseless, profane, lazy, idle, noisy, groveling Rascals, purely for the sake of spending his Estate like a notorious Blockhead: But I’ll take care he shall not have what I can dispose of—You’ll be a Rake-hell, will you?
L. Blun. How, Cousin! Sure you’ll not be such a filthy beastly thing, will you?
Sir Mer. Lord, Aunt, I only go to the Club sometimes, to improve my self in the Art of Living, and the Accomplishments of a fine Gentleman.
Sir Row. A fine Gentleman, Sot, a fine Coxcomb! Beats him.
Sir Morg. Hold, hold, good Uncle; my Cousin has been only drawn in, a little or so, d’ye see, being Heir to a good Estate; and that’s what his Club wants, to pay off old Tavern Scores, and buy Utensils for Whores in Fashion.
Sir Row. My Estate sold to pay Tavern-Scores, and keep nasty Whores!
L. Blun. Whores! ay, filthy Creatures; do they deal in Whores? Pray, Cousin, what’s a Rake-hell?
Sir Row. A Rake-hell is a Man that defies Law and good Manners, nay, and good Sense too; hates both 336 Morality and Religion, and that not for any Reason (for he never thinks) but merely because he don’t understand ’em: He’s the Whore’s Protection and Punishment, the Baud’s Tool, the Sharper’s Bubble, the Vintner’s Property, the Drawer’s Terror, the Glasier’s Benefactor; in short, a roaring, thoughtless, heedless, ridiculous, universal Coxcomb.
Sir Mer. O Lord, Aunt, no more like him than an Attorney’s like an honest Man. Why, a Rake-hell is—
Sir Row. What, Sirrah! what, you Rebel? Strikes him.
L. Blun. Nay, good Brother, permit my Nephew to tell us his Notion.
Sir Mer. Why, Aunt, I say a Rake-hell is your only Man of Bravery; he slights all the Force of Fortune, and sticks at no Hazard—plays away his hundred Pounds at sight, pays a Lady’s Bill at sight, drinks his Bottle without equivocation, and fights his Man without any Provocation.
Sir Row. Nay then, Mr. Rogue, I’ll be sworn thou art none: Come, Sir, will you fight, Sir? will you fight, Sir? Ha! Draws his Sword.
Sir Mer. Fight, Sir! fight, Sir!
Sir Row. Yes, fight, Sir: Come, spare your Prayers to the three Fatal Sisters, and cut my Thred thy self, thou graceless reprobate Rascal—Come, come on, you Man of Bravery.
Runs at Sir Merlin, who retires before him: Sir Morgan holds Sir Rowland.
Sir Mer. Oh, good Sir, hold: I recant, Sir, I recant.
Sir Row. Putting up. Well, I’m satisfy’d thou’lt make no good Rake-hell in this Point, whatever you will in the others. And since Nature has made thee a Coward, Inclination a Coxcomb, I’ll take care to make thee a Beggar; and so thou shalt be a Rake-hell but in Will, I’ll disinherit thee, I will, Villain.
L. Blun. What, disinherit your eldest Son, Brother?
337Sir Mer. Ay, Aunt, his very Heir apparent? Aunt, to show you how the old Gentleman has misrepresented us, give me leave to present you a Dance I provided to entertain your Son with, in which is represented all the Beauties of our Lives.
L. Blun. Oh! by all means, Cousin, by all means.
Sir Mer. What hoa! Roger, bring in the Dancers.
Here the Dance, representing Rake-hells, Constable, Watch, &c.
Enter Philip.
Phil. Sir, who do’s your Worship think is arriv’d?
Sir Row. My Son George, I hope, come in the Nick.
Phil. Even so, Sir, from Paris— Exit.
Sir Row. The Prodigal return’d! then kill the fatted Calf.
Enter George drest like a Prentice.
—My own dear Boy, thou art welcome to my Arms, as e’er thy Mother was; for whose dear sake I pardon all thy Follies. George Kneels.
Sir Mer. Ay, Sir, I had a Mother too, or I’m bely’d— Weeping.
Pox take him that he should come just in the nick, as the old Fellow says— Aside.
Sir Row. Yes, you had a Mother, whom in my Youth I was compel’d to marry; and, Gad, I think, I got thee with as ill a Will; but George and my Olivia in heat of Love, when my desire was new. But harkye, Boy George, you have cost me a damn’d deal of Money, Sirrah; but you shall marry, and redeem all, George.
Geo. What you please, Sir; to study Virtue, Duty and Allegiance, shall be my future Business.
Sir Row. Well said, George, here’s a Boy now.
Sir Mer. Virtue and Allegiance! Lord, Lord, how came so sneaking a fellow to spend five thousand Pounds of his Master’s Cash?
338Sir Row. She’s rich, George, but something homely.
Geo. She’ll not be proud then, Sir.
Sir Row. Not much of her Beauty—she’s of a good staid Age too, about some fourscore.
Geo. Better still, Sir, I shall not fear Cuckoldom.
Sir Row. For that I cannot answer; but she has two thousand a year. I mean to settle my Family, and then—marry my self, George.
L. Blun. What, to this old Lady’s Grand-daughter? Methinks she’s more fit for your Son, Sir Rowland, and the old Lady for you.
Sir Row. No, no, the young Rogues can help themselves with Mistresses; but ’tis well if an old Man can keep his Wife to himself—I’ve invited ’em to Dinner to day, and see, they are come.
Enter Lady Youthly, led by her Chaplain [Mr. Twang], and leaning on a Staff, and Teresia.
L. Youth. Where’s Sir Rowland Marteen? Oh, your Servant, Sir, I am come. Runs against George.
Twang. Your Ladyship is mistaken, this is not Sir Rowland, but a handsome proper young Man.
L. Youth. A young Man! I cry your mercy heartily—Young Man, I alighted in the Sun, and am almost blind.
Geo. With wondrous old Age. Aside.
L. Youth. Good lack, Sir Rowland, that I should mistake a young Man so!
Sir Row. Ay, Madam, and such a young Man too.
L. Youth. Ay, ay, I see him now. Puts on her Spectacles.
Geo. S’death, what a Sepulcher is here to bury a Husband in? How came she to escape the Flood? for sure she was not born since. Aside.
Sir Row. This is the lusty Lad, my Son George, I told your Ladyship of.
L. Youth. Cot so, cot so, is it so, Sir? I ask your Pardon, 339 Sir. Mr. Twang, take a survey of him, and give me your Opinion of his Person and his Parts.
Twang. Truly, Madam, the young Man is of a comely Personage and Lineaments.
L. Youth. Of what, Sir?—Lord, I have such a Cold. Coughs.
Geo. Which she got when the Picts went naked.
L. Blun. Madam, you have a Power over Sir Rowland; pray intreat him to take his Son, Sir Merlin, into Grace again. To Teresia.
Ter. That, Sir, you must grant me; pray let me know the Quarrel. Sir Rowland seems to tell.
Geo. By Heaven, she’s fair as the first ruddy Streaks of opening Day. Looking on Teresia.
Young as the budding Rose, soft as a Cupid, but never felt his Dart, she is so full of Life and Gaiety. Pray, Madam, who is that Lady? To Lady Blun.
L. Blun. The Grandchild of your Mistress, and your Mother that must be.
Geo. Then I shall cuckold my Father, that’s certain. Aside.
Sir Row. For your sake, Madam, once again I re-establish him in my family; but the first Fault cashiers him—Come, let’s in—Here, my Lady Youthly, take George by the hand; but have a care of the young Rogue, if he comes once to touch so brisk a Widow, he sets her Heart on fire.
Geo. Which will burn like a snuff of a Candle; no body will be able to endure it. Aside.
—So Fortune, I see, provides for me:
On this hand Wealth, on that young Pleasures lie;
He ne’er wants these, who has that kind Supply.
Exeunt.
Enter Sir Rowland, Teresia, and Lady Youthly, &c.
L. Youth. Well, Sir Rowland, if I should be inclin’d to cast away my self on your Son George, what wou’d you settle?
Sir Row. Settle! not a Souse, Madam; he carries the best younger Brother’s Fortune in Christendom about him.
L. Youth. Why, the young Man’s deserving, I confess. But he’s your Son, Sir Rowland, and something ought to be settled upon the Heirs of our Bodies, lawfully begotten.
Sir Row. All Hercules his Labours were a Jig to his that shall beget ’em. Aside.
If you like him upon these terms, to make him Master of your Fortune—
L. Youth. For that, let him trust to me, and his own deservings.
Sir Row. No trusting in these fickle Times, Madam—Why, I’ll let the young sturdy Rogue out to hire; he’ll make a pretty Livelihood at Journey-Work; and shall a Master-Workman, a Husband, deserve nothing?
L. Youth. Ay, these Husbands that know their own Strength, as they say, set so high a value on their conjugal Virtues. And if he be disloyal, again o’t’other side he gives a Wife so ill an Example—for we are all liable to Temptations.
Sir Row. Well said; if thou beest so, it must be the old Tempter himself. Aside.
Look ye, Madam, I’ll propose a fair Swap; if you’ll consent that I shall marry Teresia, I’ll consent that you shall marry George.
L. Youth. How, my Grand-daughter? Why, I design’d her for your eldest Son, Sir Merlin; and she has a good Fortune of five hundred a year that I cannot hinder her of; and is too young for you.
341Sir Row. So is George for your Ladyship; and as for his Fortune, ’tis more than likely I shall make him my eldest Son.
L. Youth. Say you so, Sir, well, I’ll consider, and take Advice of my Friends.
Sir Row. Consider! alas, Madam, my House will be besieged by all the Widows in Town; I shall get more by shewing him, than the Rhinoceros. Gad, I’ll sell the young Rogue by Inch of Candle, before he’s debauch’d and spoil’d in this leud Town.
L. Youth. Well, suppose—
Sir Row. Nothing under Teresia—Gad, I think some old Dog-Star reigns to Day, that so many old Hearts are burning in their Sockets—I’m in love with this young Tittymouse here, most damnably—Well, what say you, Widow? Speak now, or you know the Proverb.
L. Youth. Well, Sir Rowland, you are too hard for me.
Ex. all but Teresia.
Enter Olivia, runs to her and embraces her.
Ter. ’Tis as you said, Olivia, I am destin’d to your Father.
Oliv. What, the Sentence is past then?
Ter. Ay, but the Devil is in us, if we stay till Execution Day: Why, this is worse than being mew’d up at Hackney-School—my Fortune’s my own, without my Grandmother, and with that Stock I’ll set up for my self, and see what Traffick this wide World affords a young beginner.
Oliv. That’s well resolv’d; I am of the same mind, rather than marry Mr. Welborn, whom I never saw.—But prithee let’s see what we have in Stock, besides ready Money—What Toys and Knick-nacks to invite.
Ter. Faith, my Inventory is but small—Let me see—First, one pretty well made Machine, call’d a Body, of a very good Motion, fit for several uses—one pretty conceited 342 Head-Piece, that will fit any body’s Coxcomb,—when ’tis grave and dull, ’twill fit an Alderman; when politick and busy, a Statesman; turn it to Intrigue, ’twill fit a City Wife; and to Invention, it will set up an Evidence.
Oliv. Very well!
Ter. Item, One Tongue, that will prattle Love, if you put the Heart in time (for they are Commodities I resolve shall go together) I have Youth enough to please a Lover, and Wit enough to please my self.
Oliv. Most excellent Trifles all! As for my out-side, I leave to the Discretion of the Chafferer; but I have a rare Device, call’d an Invention, that can do many Feats; a Courage that wou’d stock a Coward; and a pretty Implement, call’d a Heart, that will strike fire with any convenient force: I have eight thousand Pounds to let out on any able Security, but not a Groat unless I like the Man.
Ter. Thus furnish’d, we shall ruin all the Jews, and undo the India Houses—But where shall we show? where meet with the Love-Merchants?
Oliv. What think you of the Gallery at the Play in Masks?
Ter. Shu, a State-Trick, first taken up by Women of Quality, and now run into Ridicule, by all the little common Devils of the Town; and is only a Trap for a Termer, a small new rais’d Officer, or a City Cully, where they baul out their eighteen Pence in Baudy, and filthy Nonsense, to the disturbance of the whole House, and the King’s Peace: the Men of Quality have forsaken it.
Oliv. What think you of the Mall?
Ter. As too publick to end an Intrigue; our Affairs require a Conquest as sudden as that of Cæsar, who came, saw and overcame.
Oliv. ’Tis true, besides there’s so many Cruisers, we shall never board a Prize. What think you of the Church?
Ter. An hypocritical Shift; of all Masks I hate that 343 of Religion; and it shou’d be the last place I’d wish to meet a Lover in, unless to marry him.
Oliv. And, Faith, that’s the last thing a Lover shou’d do, but we are compell’d to haste, ’tis our last Refuge; if we cou’d but see and like our Men, the business were soon dispatcht.—Let me see—Faith, e’en put on Breeches too, and thus disguis’d seek our Fortune—I am within these three days to be fetch’d from Hackney School, where my Father believes me still to be, and thou in that time to be marry’d to the old Gentleman; Faith, resolve—and let’s in and dress thee—away, here’s my Lady—
They run out.
Enter Mirtilla and Mrs. Manage.
Mir. Ah, let me have that Song again.
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?
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, 344 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 345 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 346 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.
347Enter 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.
348Sir 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.
349Mir. 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.
350Prince. 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.
Enter Olivia and Teresia, in Mens Clothes.
Oliv. Well, the Ball does not begin these three Hours, and we’ll divert our selves at my Aunt’s Basset-Table, which you see is preparing; her natural Propensity to oblige both Sexes makes her keep a Bank on purpose to bring ’em together. There we shall see the old and the young, the ugly and the handsome, Fools that have Money, and Wits that have none; and if the Table affords nothing to please the Appetite, we’ll abroad for Forage.
351Enter Sir Merlin pulling in George, follow’d by Sir Morgan, Page and Footmen to George.
Sir Mer. Nay, Sir, I am resolv’d you shall honour my Aunt’s Basset-Table—
Geo. My Aunt’s Basset-Table? There may be Money stirring among these Fools, and Fortune may befriend me. Aside.
Sir Mer. Sir Morgan, pray know this worthy Gentleman, I have the honour to lodge in the House with him. They salute one another.
Sir, this is Sir Morgan Blunder, a Person of Quality in Wales, I assure you.
Geo. I question it not, Sir, and am proud of the Honour of kissing your Hands.
Ter. Yonder’s a handsom Gentleman.
Oliv. My Brother George, as I live, ’tis as I cou’d wish. Aside.
Enter Welborn.
Wel. Lejere!
Geo. Welborn! Welcome from Paris, I heard of your arrival from Prince Frederick.
Wel. Yes, I am come to my Destruction, Friend.
Geo. Ay, thou’rt to be marry’d, I hear, to a Welch Fortune.
Wel. Though Matrimony be a sufficient Curse, yet that’s not the worst—I am fall’n most damnably in love, since I arriv’d, with a young Creature I saw in the Mall t’other Night; of Quality she was, I dare swear, by all that was about her; but such a Shape! a Face! a Wit! a Mind, as in a moment quite subdu’d my Heart: she had another Lady with her, whom (dogging her Coach) I found to be a Neighbour of mine, and Grand-Daughter to the Lady Youthly; but who my Conqueror was I never since could learn.
352Oliv. ’Slife, Teresia, yonder’s the handsom Fellow that entertain’d us with so much Wit, on Thursday last in the Mall.
Ter. What, when you chang’d your Breeches for Petticoats at my Lodgings.
Oliv. That Night, and ever since, I have felt a sort of a Tendre for him.
Ter. As I do for his Friend—Pray Heav’n he be not marry’d! I fear he has laid an Imbargo on my Heart, before it puts out of the Port.
Geo. Are you not for the Basset?
Wel. No, I’ve business at the Ball to night; besides, my Lady Blunder has a Quarrel to me for last Night’s Debauch; I’ll wait on you in the Morning. Exit Welborn.
Geo. Well, you to your Business, and I to mine. Speaks as the rest go out.
Let the dull trading Fool by Business live,
Statesmen by Plots; the Courtier cringe to thrive;
The Fop of Noise and Wealth be cullied on,
And purchase no one Joy by being undone,
Whilst I by nobler careless ways advance,
Since Love and Fortune are acquir’d by Chance.
Exeunt Omnes.
The End of the Second Act.
Though the Young prize Cupid’s Fire,
’Tis more valu’d by the Old;
The Sun’s Warmth we now admire,
More than when the Season’s cold.
Dialogues in the Masque, at the beginning of the third Act.
He. Time and Place you see conspire,
With tender Wishes, fierce Desire;
See the willing Victim stands
To be offer’d by your Hands:
Ah! Let me on Love’s Altars lying,
Clasp my Goddess whilst I’m dying.
She. Oh Lord! what hard words, and strange things d’ye say;
Your Eyes too seem closing, and just dying away:
Ah! pray what d’ye want? Explain but your mind,
Which did I but know, perhaps I’d be kind.
He. My pretty soft Maid, full of innocent Charms,
I languish to sigh out my Soul in thy Arms;
Oh! then, if I’m lov’d, deny not the Bliss,
But tell me I’m happy, with a ravishing Kiss.
She. Oh! Fy, Sir, I vow I cannot endure you;
Be civil, or else I’ll cry out I assure you;
I will not be kiss’d so, nor tumbled, not I,
I’ll tell all your tricks, that I will, if I die.
He. Nay, never dissemble, nor smother that Fire;
Your Blushes, and Eyes betray your Desire.
The Practis’d, not Innocent, dally with Bliss,
Then prithee be kind, and taste what it is.
She. Let me die now, you’re grown a strange sort of a Man,
To force a young Maid, let her do what she can;
I fear now I blush to think what we’re doing,
And is this the end of all you Men’s wooing?
He. At this Pleasure all aim, both Godly and Sinners,
And none of ’em blush for’t but poor young Beginners.
In Pleasure both Sexes, all Ages agree,
And those that take most, most happy will be.
Chorus. In Pleasure both Sexes, &c.
Enter Olivia as a Man, Teresia in Masquerade; the Scene opens, and discovers Lady Youthly, Lady Blunder, Mirtilla, Manage, Prince Frederick in a rich Habi, Welborn in one like his, with a Cloke over him, stands aside, and several others of both Sexes.
Oliv. Oh, my dear Teresia, I’m lost in Love! I’ve seen a Man,—or rather ’tis an Angel! so gay, so soft, so charming, and so witty; so dress’d! so shap’d! and danc’d with such an Air!
Ter. Hey day! Prithee where’s this Wonder to be seen?
Oliv. Why dost thou ask? Hast thou not seen a Man of Dress, and Movement of uncommon Fashion?
Ter. A great many, very odd, and fantastick, I’m sure my dear Man is none of ’em. Sighs.
Oliv. Thy Heart when fir’d burns easily, and soft, but I am all impatient, Darts, and Flames, and all the effects of Love are panting in my Heart, yet never saw his Face: but see, he comes, and I must find a way to let him know the mischiefs he has done.
Mir. Endimion, where’s Sir Morgan?
Oliv. At his usual Diversion, Madam, drinking.
Mir. Do you wait near me to Night, I may perhaps have kinder Business for you e’er the Morning.
Oliv. You heap too many Blessings on me, Madam.
Prince. Oh, turn thy lovely Eyes upon thy Slave, that waits and watches for a tender Look.
Mir. Oh, Sir, why do you press a yielding Heart too much, undone by what you’ve said already?
Oliv. Those soft Addresses must be those of Love. Aside.
Mir. My Honour was in danger when I promis’d—and yet I blush to tell you I was pleas’d, and blest the dear necessity that forc’d me.
355Oliv. Ha! ’tis the Man I love—and courts Mirtilla, and she receives him with inviting Looks. ’Sdeath, she’s a common Lover! already I’m arriv’d to Jealousy!
Enter George in Masquerade, with a Paper on his Back and Breast, goes to Mirtilla, sees one courting her.
Geo. What gilded thing is that?—I must disturb ’em—’Tis I, Mirtilla, languishing for the appointed Happiness, while you, perhaps, are taken up with different Thoughts—
Mir. Lejere! How very feeble do old Lovers charm! Only the new and gay have pow’r to warm—How shall I put him off? For now my ambitious Love declares for Frederick; ’tis great to enslave a Prince. Aside.
—Lejere—wait till I give the word—perhaps it may be late—go mix your self i’th’ Crowd, you may be else suspected— Goes from him.
Ter. I have a shreud guess that this should be my Man by his Shape, and Mein. Looking round about George.
Let me see—What’s this written on his Back?—To be lett ready furnish’d— Reading it.
A very good hearing: So ho, ho, ho, who’s within here? Claps him on the Back.
Geo. Who’s there? Exit Olivia.
Ter. Love and Fortune.
Geo. Two very good Friends of mine, prithee who art thou that bring’st ’em?
Ter. A wandring Nymph, that has had a swinging Character of your Person and Parts—if thou be’st the Man, prithee, dear Stranger, let me see thy Face; and if I’m not mistaken, ’tis ten to one, but we may go near to strike up some odd Bargain or other.
Geo. And I am as likely a Fellow for some odd Bargain or other, as ever you met with—Look ye, am I the Man?
Ter. Let me see—a very handsome Face, inclining to round; fine wanton Eyes, with a plaguy Roguish Lear; plump, round, red Lips; not tall, nor low, and extremely 356 well fashion’d. Reads all this in her Tablets.
—Ay, ay, you are the Man—
Geo. I am glad on’t, and prithee, dear Creature, let me see if thou art not the Woman—
Ter. Heav’n! what Woman, Sir?
Geo. Why, any Woman that’s pretty, witty, young, and good-natur’d.
Ter. I had rather shew anything almost than my Face.
Geo. Faith, and that’s kind; but every thing in its due time: I love to arrive at Happiness by degrees, there’s as much Pleasure in the Journey of Love, as in the Arrival to’t, and the first Stage is a handsom Face.
Ter. Where you bait a while, take a short Survey, and away.
Geo. To Wit, and good Humour; where a Man finds Pleasure enough to engage him a long while.
Ter. Then to all the small Villages, call’d little Freedoms, Kissing, Playing, Fooling, Sighing, Dying—and so on to the last Stage, where Whip and Spur laid by, all tir’d and dull, you lazily lie down and sleep.
Geo. No, I’m a more vigorous Lover: And since in the Country of True Love there remains a Terra Incognita, I shall always be making new Discoveries.
Ter. True Love! is there such a thing in the whole Map of Nature?
Geo. Yes, I once discover’d it in my Voyage round the World.
Ter. Sure ’tis some enchanted Place, and vanishes as soon as ’tis approach’d.
Enter Sir Rowland.
Geo. Faith, let’s set out for it, and try; if we lose our Labour, we shall, like Searchers for the Philosophers Stone, find something that will recompense our pains.— Lady Youthly sees her, and sends her Woman to take her from him. 357
Ha, gone—I must not part so with you—I’ll have you in my Eye.
The Spanish Dance: Whilst they dance, the Prince talks to Mirtilla.
Mir. This Night gives you an Assignation—I tremble at the thought—Ah, why will you pursue me thus to Ruin? Why with resistless Charms invade my Heart, that cannot stand their Force—alone—without my Woman?—the Enterprize with you would be too dangerous.
Prince. Dangerous to be ador’d! and at your Feet behold your Slave making eternal Vows?
Mir. If I were sure that you would pass no further—
Prince. Let the fond God of Love be my Security—will you not trust a Deity?
Mir. Whom should she trust, that dares not trust her self?
Geo. That is some Lover, whom I must observe. Aside.
Mir. Alas, the Foe’s within that will betray me, Ambition, and our Sex’s Vanity—Sir, you must prevail—
Prince. And in return, for ever take my Soul.
Mir. Anon I’ll feign an Illness, and retire to my Apartment, whither this faithful Friend shall bring you, Sir. Pointing to Manage.
Geo. Hum!—that looks like some Love Bargain, and Manage call’d to Witness. By Heav’n, gay Sir, I’ll watch you.
Ter. But hark ye, my Fellow-Adventurer, are you not marry’d?
Geo. Marry’d—that’s a Bug-word—prithee if thou hast any such Design, keep on thy Mask, lest I be tempted to Wickedness.
Ter. Nay, truth is, ’tis a thousand pities to spoil a handsom man, to make a dull Husband of: I have known an old batter’d Bully of Seventy, unmarry’d, more agreeable for a Gallant, than any scurvy, out-of-humour’d Husband at Eight and Twenty.
358Geo. Gad, a thousand times.
Ter. Know, I have Five Hundred Pounds a Year.
Geo. Good.
Ter. And the Devil and all of Expectations from an old Woman.
Geo. Very good.
Ter. And this Youth, and little Beauty to lay out in love. Pulls off her Mask.
Geo. Teresia! the lovely Maid design’d for my Mother! now, what a Dog am I? that gives me the greater Gust to her, and wou’d fain cuckold my Father. Talks to her aside. Mirtilla seems to faint.
Man. My Lady faints—help, help.
Mir. Only the Heat oppresses me—but let it not disturb the Company, I’ll take the Air a little, and return. Goes out with Manage.
Geo. Is this design’d or real?—perhaps she is retir’d for me—Mrs. Manage.— Manage re-enters, he pulls her by the Sleeve.
Man. Hah! Monsieur Lejere! what shall I feign to put him off withal. Aside.
Geo. Why dost thou start? How does my dear Mirtilla?
Man. Reposing, Sir, awhile, but anon I’ll wait on her for your admittance.
Prince Frederick puts on Welborn’s Cloke, goes out, and Welborn enters into the Company dress’d like the Prince.
Geo. Ha, she spoke in passing by that gay thing—What means it, but I’ll trace the Mystery.
Sir Row. The young People are lazy, and here’s nothing but gaping and peeping in one another’s Vizards; come, Madam, let you and I shame ’em into Action.
Sir Rowland and Lady Youthly dance. After the Dance, Olivia enters with a Letter, and gives it to Welborn.
Wel. Ha! what’s this, Sir, a Challenge?
359Oliv. A soft one, Sir.
Wel. A Billet—whoever the Lady be, Reads.
She merits something for but believing I am worth her Mirth.
Oliv. I know not, Sir, how great a Jest you may make of it; but I assure you the Lady is in earnest, and if you be at leisure to hear Reason from her—
Wel. Fair and softly, my dear Love-Messenger, I am for no hasty Bargains; not but I shou’d be glad to hear Reason from any of the Sex—But I have been so damnably jilted—Is she of Quality?
Oliv. Yes.
Wel. Then I’ll not hear any thing from her: they are troublesome, and insolent; and if she have a Husband, to hide her Intrigues she has recourse to all the little Arts and Cunnings of her Sex; and she that jilts her Husband, will her Lover.
Oliv. She is not troubled with a Husband, Sir.
Wel. What, she’s parted from the Fool! then she’s expensive, and for want of Alimony, jilts all the believing Block-heads that she meets with.
Oliv. But this is a Maid, Sir.
Wel. Worse still! At every turn she’s raving on her Honour; then if she have a Kinsman, or a Brother, I must be challeng’d.
Oliv. Sir, you mistake, my Lady is for Matrimony.
Wel. How!
Oliv. You have not forsworn it, I hope.
Wel. Not so—but—
Oliv. If a Lady, young and handsom, and Ten Thousand Pounds—
Wel. Nay, I am not positive—
Enter Sir Morgan, and Sir Merlin, drunk, singing.
Wise Coxcombs be damn’d, here’s a health to the Man,
That since Life is but short, lives as long as he can.
Sir Morg. Where is my Lady Mirtilla, Rogues?
Sir Mer. And my Mistress, Rascals? For we are resolv’d to shew our selves in Triumph to our Wives and Mistresses.
L. Youth. Your Mistress, Sir Merlin? mistake not your Mark.
Sir Mer. Ha! Art thou there, old Cathedral? Why, thou look’st as magnificiently as old Queen Bess in the Westminster-Cupboard.
Sir Morg. Lookye as de see, when Adam wore a Beard, she was in her Prime, or so, de see. Sings.
L. Youth. Sir, you are a saucy Jack, and your Father shall correct you.
Sir Mer. My Father! my Father’s an old Toast, de see; and I hope to see him hang’d.
Sir Row. Here’s a Heathen-Christian! see his Father hang’d!
Sir Mer. Ay, hang’d, and all the old Fathers in Christendom. Why, what a Pox shou’d Fathers trouble the World for? when I come to reign in Parliament, I will enact it Felony, for any Father to have so little Grace to live, that has a Son at Years of Discretion.
Sir Row. A damn’d Rogue, I’ll disinherit him immediately.
L. Blun. Is it so great a Crime, Brother, for a Gentleman to be drunk?
Sir Mer. You lye like a Son of a Whore—I have been drinking Confusion to all the Fathers and Husbands in England.
Sir Morg. How, Sir, Confusion to Husbands! Look ye, de see, Sir, swallow me that Word, or I’ll make you deposit all the conjugal Wine you have drunk.
Sir Mer. I deposit all your Wine! Sirrah, you’re a Blunderbuss.
Sir Morg. Sirrah, you are a diminutive Bully.
Sir Mer. Sirrah, you’re the Whore of Babylon, and I defy you.
361Sir Morg. Lookye, de see, I scorn to draw upon a drunken Man, or so, I being sober; but I boldly challenge you into the Cellar, where thou shalt drink till thou renounce thy Character, or talk Treason enough to hang thee, and that’s fair and civil.
Sir Mer. Agreed; and when I’m drunk enough to ravish, I’ll cuckold my old Dad, and fight him for his Mistress.
Sir Row. I have no Patience; I’ll kill the Dog, because I’ll have the Law on my side—Come on, Sir.
Draws, the Ladies run out. Sir Merlin draws. George runs in and parts ’em.
Geo. Villain! Rascal! What, draw upon thy Father!
Sir Row. Pray, Sir, who are you? that I may thank you for my Life.
Geo. One, Sir, whose Duty ’twas. Pulls off his Vizard.
Sir Row. What, my dear George!—I’ll go and cut off the Intail of my Estate presently, and thou shalt have it all, Boy, thou shalt—
Exeunt all but George.
Geo. Fortune is still my Friend: Had but Mirtilla been so! I wonder that she sends not to me: my Love’s impatient, and I cannot wait—while the dull Sot is boozing with his Brother-Fools in the Cellar, I’ll softly to the Chamber of my Love—Perhaps she waits me there—
Exit.
Prince. Oh! I am ravish’d with excess of Joy.
Mir. Enough, my charming Prince! Oh, you have said enough.
Prince. Never, my Mirtilla!
The Sun that views the World, nor the bright Moon, that favours Lovers Stealths, shall ever see that Hour. Vast, as thy Beauties, are my young Desires; and every new Possession kindles new Flames, soft as thy Eyes, soft 362 as thy tender Touches; and e’er the Pantings of my Heart are laid, new Transports, from new Wishes, dance about it, and still remain in Love’s harmonious Order. Kisses and embraces her.
Enter George, softly.
Geo. This House I know, and this should be her Bed-Chamber, because the best; and yet methought I heard another Voice—but I may be mistaken.
Prince. I faint with Pleasure of each tender Clasp; I sigh, and languish, gazing on thy Eyes! and die upon thy Lips, with every Kiss.
Geo. Surely I know that Voice! Torments, and Hell!—but ’tis impossible. Aside.
Prince. Oh! satisfy my Doubt, my trembling Doubt! Am I belov’d? Have I about me ought engaging to thee, Charmer of my Soul?
Geo. It is the Prince. Aside.
Mir. Ah, Prince! Can you such needless Questions ask, after the Sacrifice which I have made?
Geo. Hell take thee for that Falshood. Draws.
Mir. Think not the mighty Present of your Jewels, enough to purchase Provinces, has bought one single Sigh, or Wish: No, my dear Prince, you owe ’em all to Love, and your own Charms.
Geo. Oh, damn’d, dissembling Jilt! Aside.
Prince. No more, no more, my Soul’s opprest with Joy: let me unload it in thy tender Arms, and sigh it out into thy ravishing Bosom.
Geo. Death, and Damnation!—
I shall forget his Quality and Virtue, forget he was my Friend, or sav’d this Life; and like a River, swell’d with angry Tides, o’erflow those Banks that made the Stream so gay.
Mir. Who’s there?—I heard a Voice—Manage?
Geo. Yes. Softly.
363Prince. Approach, thou Confident of all my Joys; approach, and be rewarded— Prince takes his Jewel from his Hat.
Geo. Yes, for my excellent Bauding—By Heav’n, I dare not touch his princely Person.
Prince. Where art thou? take this Jewel and retire. Gropes for his Hand, gives it him.
Geo. E’en my Misfortunes have a sort of Luck; but I’ll withdraw, for fear this Devil about me shou’d raise my too rash Hand against his Life. Exit.
Prince. Come, my eternal Pleasure—each Moment of the happy Lover’s Hour, is worth an Age of dull, and common Life.
Exeunt into the Alcove, the Scene shuts.
Enter George with his Sword in his Hand, as before.
Geo. Why do I vainly call for Vengeance down, and have it in my Hand?—By Heav’n, I’ll back—Whither? To kill a Woman, a young perjur’d Woman!—Oh, ye false Fair Ones! shou’d we do you Justice, a universal Ruin wou’d ensue; not one wou’d live to stock the World anew. Who is’t among ye All, ye Fair Deceivers, ye charming Mischiefs to the noble Race, can swear she’s Innocent, without Damnation? No, no, go on—be false—be fickle still: You act but Nature—But, my faithless Friend—where I repose the secrets of my Soul—except this one—Alas! he knew not this:—Why do I blame him then?
Enter Olivia, dress’d as before.
Oliv. Fire! Fire! Fire!
Geo. Olivia’s Voice!—Ha! what art thou? Thy Voice shou’d be Olivia’s, but thy Shape—and yet a Woman is all o’er Disguise.
Enter Lady Blunder in her Night-Gown.
L. Blun. Fire! Fire! Fire! My Son, my dear Sir Morgan.
364Enter Sir Rowland, and Servants.
Sir Row. A Pox on your Son, and mine to boot; they have set all the Sack-Butts a Flaming in the Cellar, thence the Mischief began. Timothy, Roger, Jeffrey, my Money-Trunks, ye Rogues! my money-Trunks!
L. Blun. My Son, good Roger! my own Sir Moggy!
Sir Row. The ten thousand Pounds, ye Rascal, in the Iron Trunk, that was to be paid Mr. Welborn for Olivia’s Portion. Exit.
L. Blun. Oh my Son! my Son!—run to the Parson, Sam, and let him send the Church-Buckets. Oh, some help! some help!
Enter Manage.
Man. Oh, Heavens! my Lady Mirtilla’s Chamber’s all on Flame.
Enter Britton.
Geo. Ha,—the Prince! I had forgot his Danger.
Man. Ah! look up, and see how it burns.
Geo. Britton, a Million for a Ladder!
Man. Blessing on you, Sir, if you dare venture through the House; there lies one in the Fore-Garden.
Britt. The Passage is on fire, Sir, you cannot go.
Geo. Revenge is vanish’d, and Love takes its place: Soft Love, and mightier Friendship seizes all. I’ll save him, though I perish in the Attempt. Runs out, Britton after him.
Enter at another Door, Sir Rowland.
L. Blun. A thousand Pound for him that saves Sir Morgan!
Sir Row. And, do ye hear, let my Rogue lie; I’d rather he should be burnt, than hang’d on Tyburn Road, for murdering his Father.—But where’s Boy George?
Enter Men with Trunks.
Rog. Safe, Sir, I hope; he was not in the House.
365Sir Row. So, so, away with these Trunks to my Lady Youthly’s in Southampton-Square, and tell her we must trouble her to night. Come, Sister, let’s away. Ex. Lady Blunder, and Sir Rowland.
Prince Frederick and Mirtilla, appear at the Window, the Flame behind ’em.
Prince. Help, help, and save Mirtilla! Ask any Price, my Life, my Fortune! All!
Mir. Oh, Heav’ns, the Flame pursues us as we fly.
Prince. No help! Oh Gods, I shall prevent the Flame, and perish by my Fears to see you die!
Mir. Alas! Sir, you with ease may save your Life! This Window you may leap, but I want Courage.
Prince. No, my Mirtilla, if it be thy Fate, I’ll grasp thee, ev’n in Flames, and die with thee.
Mir. We die! we die! the Flame takes hold of us.
Enter George with a Ladder, and puts it to the Window.
Prince. Ha! some pitying God takes care of us. Haste, haste, my Charmer; Heav’n has sent us Aid.
Puts her on the Ladder, she descends into George’s Arms; after her, the Prince. George puts her into Manage’s Arms, she faints; he runs up to receive the Prince.
Prince. Lejere! dear Man of Luck—Some happy Star reign’d at thy glorious Birth; every thing is prosperous thou espousest.—How fares my Love, the Treasure of my Soul?
Man. Only fainting with the Fright, but she recovers.
Prince. My Chair there, quickly, that waits for me.—
Enter Chair; he puts her, and Manage into it.
Enter Olivia.
Carry ’em to Mr. Welborn’s, to my Lodgings there, and then return to me; for I am wondrous faint, and cannot walk.
Oliv. Ha! by my Life, my Man!
366Prince. But if I might impose so much, Lejere, upon thy Friendship, I beg thou wouldst see her safely carry’d to my Lodgings at Welborn’s.
Geo. You shall command me, Sir. Exeunt Chair, George and Britton.
Oliv. You seem not well, Sir, pray repose upon my Arm a while.
Prince. I thank you, Sir, indeed I am not well.
Oliv. Methinks I find a Pleasure but in touching him—Wou’d I cou’d see his Face by all this fatal Light.
Enter Constable and Watch.
Const. So, so, the Fire abates, the Engines play’d rarely, and we have Ten Guineas here, Neighbours, to watch about the House; for where there’s Fire, there’s Rogues—Hum, who have we here?—How now, Mr.—Hum, what have you got under your Arm there, ha? Take away this Box of Jewels. Sir Morgan, and Sir Merlin, creeping out of the Cellar Window.
Ha, who have we here creeping out of the Cellar-Window? more Rogues!
Sir Mer. Sirrah! you’re a Baud, Sirrah! and for a Tester will wink at the Vices of the Nation, Sirrah! Call men of the best Quality Rogues! that have stood for Knights of the Shire, and made the Mobile drunk, Sirrah!
Const. We cry you Mercy, Sir, we did not know your Worships.
Sir Morg. Lookye, de see, here’s a Crown for you; carry us to the next Tavern, and we’ll make thee, and all thy Mirmidons, as drunk as a Boat in a Storm.
Oliv. Sir, I find you have Interest with these arbitrary Tyrants of the Parish; pray will you bail me, and this Gentleman?
Sir Mer. What, Endimion! my Lady Mirtilla’s Page? He lent me Money to Night at the Basset-Table; I’ll be bound Hand and Foot for him, Mr. Constable, and, gad, we’ll all to the Tavern, and drink up the Sun, Boys.
367Oliv. Yonder Gentleman too has receiv’d some hurt by the Fire, and must go home, Sir; but you must restore him the Box, Mr. Constable.
Sir Morg. Ay, ay, lookye, de see, return the Gentleman all; they’re Gentlemen, and our intimate Friends, d’ye see. Exeunt Prince, and Olivia.
Enter a Servant.
Const. Stand: Who goes there?
Sir Morg. Philip—Lookye, d’ye see, he shall along with us to the Tavern.
Serv. Sir Morgan, I came to seek you: your Lady Mother sent me back on purpose; she has spoil’d her Beauty with crying for you.
Sir Morg. And wash’d off all her Paint?—Or so, de see! Gad sa’ me, Philip, this is ill Luck. Come, let us go drink down Sorrow.
Serv. Being sent of such an Errand, as your Safety, Sir, I dare not stay and drink now, before I’ve satisfy’d your Mother.
Sir Mer. Not drink! I charge you in the King’s Name, Mr. Constable, bring him along. The Constable and Watch seize him.
Sings.
Wise Coxcombs be damn’d, here’s a Health to the Man,
That since Life is but short, lives as long as he can.
Enter Page with Lights, sets ’em on the Table. Ex.
Enter Mirtilla, led by Mrs. Manage.
Mir. Ha! where am I, Manage?
Man. Heav’n be thanked, Madam, at the Prince’s Lodgings.
368Mir. What happy Star conducted us, and sav’d us from the Fury of the Flames?
Man. Those whose Influence are always gracious to your Ladyship.
Mir. But where’s the Prince? where’s my illustrious Lover?
Man. Waiting the Return of the Chair, Madam.
Mir. But my Endimion?—Is Endimion safe?
Man. Madam, he is: I saw him in the Garden.
Mir. Then perish all the rest—Go send to search him out, and let him instantly be brought to me—Hah—Lejere.
Enter George.
Geo. Baud, stand aside—and do your Office yonder— Puts away Manage.
Why are you frighted, Madam, because I’m not the Lover you expected?
Mir. What Lover! be witness, Heaven—
Geo. That thou art false, false as the insatiate Seas, that smiling tempt the vain Adventurer, whom flattering, far from any saving there, swell their false Waves to a destructive Storm.
Mir. Why all this mighty Rage?—Because I disappointed you to night?
Geo. No, by Heaven, I dully cou’d have waited for the Hour; have hop’d, and wish’d, and languish’d out an Age. But, oh Mirtilla! Oh thou perjur’d Fair!—But vanish all the Softness of my Soul, I will be satirical.
A Plague, a Torment, to your fickle Sex,
Those smiling, sighing, weeping Hypocrites.
Mir. And can you think my Flight is criminal? because I sav’d this worthless Life—for you—
Geo. What Innocence adorns her Tongue, and Eyes! while Hell and Furies give her Heart its motion. You know not where you are?
Mir. Perhaps I do not.
369Geo. Swear, for thou’rt damn’d already, and by what black Degrees I will unfold: When first I saw this gay, this glorious Mischief, though nobly born, ’twas hid in mean Obscurity; the shining Viper lay half dead with Poverty, I took it up, and laid it next my Heart, fed it, and call’d its faded Beauties back.
Mir. Confess’d; And what of this?
Geo. Confirm’d you mine, by all the Obligations Profuseness cou’d invent, or Love inspire.
Mir. And yet at your Return you found me marry’d to another.
Geo. Death and Hell! that was not yet the worst: You flatter’d me with some Pretence of Penitence; but on the Night, the dear destructive Night, you rais’d my Hopes to all distracting Love cou’d wish—that very Night—Oh, let me rave and die, and never think that Disappointment o’er!
Mir. What, you saw me courted at the Ball, perhaps.
Geo. Perhaps I saw it in your Chamber too. Breathless and panting, with new-acted Joys, the happy Lover lay—Oh Mirtilla!
Mir. Nay, if he knows it, I’ll deny’t no more. Aside.
Geo. There is no Honesty in all thy Kind.
Mir. Or if there be, those that deal in’t are weary of their Trade. But where’s the mighty Crime?
Geo. No, I expect thou shouldst out-face my Eyes, out-swear my Hearing, and out-lye my Senses.—The Prince! the Prince! thou faithless dear destruction.
Mir. The Prince! good Heaven! Is all this Heat for him?
Geo. Thou own’st the Conquest then?
Mir. With as much Vanity as thou wouldst do, if thou hadst won his Sword: Hast thou took care wisely to teach me all the Arts of Life, and dost thou now upbraid my Industry? Look round the World, and thou shalt see, Lejere, Ambition still supplies the place of Love. The worn-out Lady, that can serve your Interest, you swear 370 has Beauties that out-charms Fifteen; and for the Vanity of Quality, you feign and languish, lye, protest, and flatter—All Things in Nature cheat, or else are cheated.
Geo. Well said; take off thy Veil, and shew the Jilt.
Mir. You never knew a Woman thrive so well by real Love, as by Dissimulation: This has a thousand Arts and Tricks to conquer; appears in any Shape, in any Humour; can laugh or weep, be coy or play, by turns, as suits the Lover best, while simple Love has only one Road of Sighs and Softness; these to Lejere are due: But all my Charms, and Arts of gay dissembling, are for the credulous Prince.—Ha—he’s here!—and with him the dear Youth that has enslav’d me, who triumphs o’er the rest. Aside.
Enter Prince Frederick, Olivia following, sees Mirtilla, and withdraws.
Oliv. Ha! Mirtilla, and my Brother here? Oh, how I long to see that Stranger’s Face. Aside.
Prince. Mirtilla, thou Charmer of Life’s dull and tedious Hours, how fares thy Heart? Dwells any Pantings there, but those that Love, and his dear Joys create?
Mir. Or if there do, you shou’d excuse it now.
Geo. How many Devils reign in beauteous Woman!
Prince. My dear Lejere, congratulate my Joys; take all my Friendship thou—but thou my Soul. Come, come, my Friend, let us retire together; I’ll give thee leave to gaze upon my Heaven, and feed on all the Sweets that Friendship may: But all the rest of the vast Store is mine.
Man. Madam, Endimion is already here. Aside to her.
Mir. Thou hast reviv’d me—Let him wait my Call.
Exit Prince with Mirtilla, George goes out, and peeps at the Door. Olivia comes forward.
Oliv. Spite, Spite, and dire Revenge seize my fond Soul!—Oh, that I were a Man, a loose leud Man; how easily wou’d I rob him of her Heart, and leave him but the shadow of Enjoyment!
371Re-enter George.
Geo. Now, my dear Sister, if thou ever lov’dst me, revenge thy Brother on this perjur’d Woman, and snatch her from this gallant Rival’s Arms. She loves thee—Dissemble thou to love again; meet her Advances with an equal Ardour, and when thou hast wound her up to dalliance, I’ll bring the Prince a witness of her Shame.
Oliv. But what if he shou’d kill me—
Geo. I’ll take care of that.
Oliv. Then e’er the morning dawns, you shall behold it: She languishes to see me, and I wait on purpose for her Commands.
Geo. As I cou’d wish: Be sure to act the Lover well. Exit.
Oliv. As well as I can act it.
Enter Welborn, habited as last.
That all Mankind are damn’d, I’m positive; at least all Lovers are.
Wel. What have we here? the Spark that rally’d me about a Woman at the Ball to night? Who is it, Sir, you curse so heartily.
Oliv. Ha, how beautiful he is—how many Charms dwell in that lovely Face— Aside.
’Tis you I curse.
Wel. Gad, I thank you for that, you were kinder to night, when you told me of a fine Woman that was in love with me.
Oliv. Why, what have you to do with Woman-kind?
Wel. A pretty civil Question; has the Lady that sent you a mind to be inform’d.
Oliv. Or if she had, you’re not at leisure now, you are taken up, Sir, with another Beauty. Did not you swear, never to speak to Woman-kind, till I had brought her, I told you, sigh’d for you?
Wel. Right, and I have kept my word religiously.
372Oliv. The Devil you have, witness the Joy Mirtilla gave your Soul: Even now you were all Transport, all Extasy of Love; by Heaven, you had forgot you brought me in, and past triumphant in Mirtilla’s Arms, Love in your Heart, and Pleasure in your Eyes.
Wel. Ay, sure he mistakes me for the amorous Prince, and thus, perhaps, has mistook me all the Night: I must not undeceive him. Aside.
Whate’er you saw, I have a Heart unwounded, a Heart that never soundly loved, a little scratch it got the other day by a young Beauty in the Mall, her Name I know not, but I wish’d to know it, and dogg’d her Coach, I sigh’d a little after her, but since ne’er saw the lovely Vision.
Oliv. Sure this was I. Aside.
What Livery had she, Sir?
Wel. That I took notice of, ’twas Green and Gold—Since that, I trifle now and then with Love, to chase away this Image, and that’s all.
Oliv. Ha, now I view him well, ’tis the same handsome Fellow that entertain’d us in the Mall last Thursday.
Wel. Come, Sir, ’tis late, please you to take a Bed with me to Night, where we’ll beget a better Understanding.
Oliv. A better than you imagine—’Sdeath, to bed with him, I tremble at the thought—Sir, I do not love a Bedfellow.
Wel. Sir, I have lent my Lodgings to a Stranger of Quality, or I wou’d offer you a single Bed—but for once you may dispense with a Bedfellow.
Oliv. I will not put you to that trouble, Sir.
Wel. Do you design to make me your Friend, and use me with Ceremony? Who waits there?
Enter Footman.
Oliv. ’Slife, what shall I do? I cou’d even consent, to prevent his going to Mirtilla—besides, I have no home to go to—
373Wel. Come, no more Scruples—here—a Night-Gown and a Cap for the Gentleman.
Oliv. What shall I do?—I have a little urgent Business, Sir.
Wel. If there be absolute necessity, I’ll see you to your Lodgings.
Oliv. Oh, by no means, Sir. ’Sdeath, whither can I go?
Wel. Why do you pause? Deal freely with me, Sir, I hope you do not take me for a Lover of my own Sex— Come, come to bed.
Oliv. Go you, Sir, I’ll sit and read by you till Day.
Wel. ’Sdeath, Sir, d’ye think my bed’s infectious?
Oliv. I shall betray my Sex in my denial, and that at last I can but do if Necessity compel me to’t. Aside.
Go on, Sir, you have shamed me. Exeunt.
Enter Prince and George.
Prince. And thus thou hast my whole Adventure out, short was the Conquest, but the Joys are lasting.
Geo. I am glad on’t, Sir.
Prince. Why dost wear a Cloud upon thy brows, when Love’s gay Sunshine dances in my Eyes? If thou’rt her Lover too, I pity thee; her solemn Vows breath’d in the height of Love, disarm me of thy hopes, if Friendship wou’d permit thee.
Geo. I do not think it, Sir—
Prince. Not think it, not think that she has sworn!
Geo. Yes, doubtless, Sir—she’s prodigal of Vows, and I dare swear, by all she’s sworn by, she’ll break ’em all: She has less Faith than all the fickle Sex, uncertain and more wanton than the Winds, that spare no Births of Nature in their wild course, from the tall Cedar to the Flowers beneath, but ruffle, ravish, and ruin all.
Prince. I speak of my Mirtilla.
Geo. Why, so do I—of yours, of mine, or any Man’s Mirtilla.
374Prince. Away, she that with force of Love can sigh and weep—
Geo. This very she, has all the while dissembled! Such Love she deals to every gaudy Coxcomb, how will she practice then upon a Hero?
Prince. Away, it cannot be.
Geo. By all your Friendship to me, Sir, ’tis truth.
Prince. Racks and Tortures!—let her have made of me a mere Example, by whom the cozen’d World might have grown wise: No matter, then I had been pleas’d, though cullyed—Why hast thou ruined my Repose with Truths that carry more Damnation than a Lye? But Oh—thou art my Friend, and I forgive thee.
Geo. Sir, I have done, and humbly ask your Pardon. Offers to go.
Prince. Stay, stay, Lejere,—if she be false, thou’rt all the World has left me; and I believe—but canst thou prove this to me?
Geo. Perhaps I may before the Morning’s dawn.
Prince. Ha, prove it here—here, in this very House!
Geo. Ay, here, Sir.
Prince. What, in my Lodgings will she receive her Spark—by Heaven, were he the darling Son of a Monarch, an Empire’s Hope, and Joy of all the Fair, he shou’d not live to rifle me of Peace.—Come, shew me this destin’d Victim to my Rage.
Geo. No, my Revenge is only comical—If you wou’d see how Woman can dissemble, come on, and follow me.
Prince. What, disturb her Rest! Didst thou not see her fainting with the Fatigues this Night had given her, and begg’d me I would leave her to Repose?
Geo. Yes, and wonder’d at her Art; and when you begg’d to watch by her Bed-side, with what dear Promises she put you off; while every word fell feebly from her Tongue, as if’t had been her last, so very sick she was—till 375 you were gone—Hark—a Door opens—I will obscure the Lights. Puts away the Lights.
Enter Olivia. They retire a little.
Oliv. Was ever Maid so near to being undone? Oh Heavens! in bed with the dear Man I love, ready to be betray’d by every Sigh. George peeps.
Geo. ’Tis Olivia.
Enter Manage groping.
Man. I left him here—what, by dark? Endimion, young, handsome Sir, where are you? Calls Olivia.
Geo. Do you hear that, Sir?
Man. Oh, are you here?— Runs against Olivia.
Oliv. ’Slife, ’tis Manage—how shall I escape?— Aside.
Man. Come, Sir, my Lady Mirtilla has dismiss’d her troublesome Lovers, for your more agreeable Company.
Geo. D’ye hear that, Sir?
Man. Come softly on, Sir, and follow me.
Oliv. I’m all Obedience—
She cannot ravish me, and that’s a Comfort. Aside, going out.
Prince. Oh, Lejere—can this be possible? Can there be such a Woman?
Geo. Follow him, Sir, and see—
Prince. See what!—be witness of her Infamy? Hell! Hell, and all the Fires of Lust possess her! when she’s so old and leud, all Mankind shun her.—I’ll be a Coward in my own dire Revenge, and use no manly Mercy.—But oh, I faint, I faint with Rage and Love, which like two meeting Tides, swell into Storms.—Bear me a minute to my Couch within.
Geo. What have I done! now I repent my Rashness.
376Enter Manage, leading Olivia in as Endymion, who falls at Mirtilla’s Feet, whilst she’s there, sings a Song; she takes him up.
Mir. Rise,—When Lovers are alone they pardon Ceremony.—I sent for you to end the Night with me; say—how shall we employ it?
Oliv. I’ll sigh, and gaze upon your lovely Face.
Mir. Nothing but sigh, and gaze; we shall grow dull.
Oliv. I’ll tell you Tales of Love, and sing you Songs.
Mir. Thy Voice, ’tis true, can charm a thousand ways; but Lovers time their Joys, these for the Day, those for the lovely Night. And when they would be silently in love, have Musick of soft Sighs and gentler Whispers.
Oliv. Oh, Love inspires all this—What shall I do? Aside.
Mir. Nay, think not because I sent for you alone, while Night and Silence favour Lovers Stealths, to take advantage of my yielding Heart.
Oliv. I wou’d to Heaven she were in earnest now.
A Noise. Enter Manage.
Man. Oh, hide your Favourite, Madam—do you hear.
Mir. A jealous Lover only, comes in such a Storm—Dear, to my Heart, whose Safety is my Life. Submit to be conceal’d—but where—Oh Heavens, he comes—’Tis for you I fear— They search for a place.
Man. He comes—
Mir. Here, let my Train secure you—Till now I never found the right Use of long Trains and Farthingals. She kneels, Man. puts her Train over Olivia.
Enter Prince and George, at the Door.
Geo. ’Sdeath, you have made these Pauses and Alarms to give her time to jilt you.
377Prince. Pray Heaven she do—I’d not be undeceiv’d for all the Sun surveys. Enters.
Mir. My Lord the Prince! now you are kind indeed. Goes and embraces him.
—hah! what means this Unconcern?
Prince. I thought I’ad left you sick, extremely sick.
Mir. And are you griev’d to find my Health return?
Prince. No, wondrous glad of it. You’re mighty gay, Mirtilla, much in Glory.
Mir. Can he, who lays his Fortune at my Feet, think me too glorious for his Arms and Eyes?
Geo. Fifty to one the Gipsy jilts him yet. Aside.
Prince. Pray Heaven she lyes but handsomly— Aside.
—for mine, Mirtilla! Ha—ha—
Mir. Am I not yours? You cannot doubt my Vows.
Geo. She’ll do’t, and make me love her anew for her rare dexterity at dissembling.
Prince. I left you wearied, going to your Bed, but find you at your Toylet gayly dress’d, as if some Conquest you design’d e’er morning.
Mir. Manage, Sir, from the Fire, secur’d these Trifles, and I was trying several Dresses on; that this slight Beauty that you say has charm’d you, might, when you saw it next, complete the Conquest.
Geo. And that thou wilt, if Flattery can do’t.
Prince. Now, were she guilty, as I’m sure she’s not, this Softness would undo me, and appease me.
Mir. You seem as if you doubted what I say. This while, Olivia gets off unseen.
By all the Powers—
Prince. Hold, I scorn to need an Oath to fix my Faith; Oh! thou art all divine, and canst not err. Embraces her.
Curs’d be the Tongue that dares profane thy Virtue, and curs’d the listning Fool that dares believe it.
Geo. What a poor, wretched, baffled thing is Man, by feebler Woman aw’d and made a Coxcomb!
378Mir. Durst any one traduce my Virtue, Sir, and is it possible that you could hear it?—Then perish all the Beauties you have flatter’d. Tears her Head-things.
Prince. Come to my Arms, thou Charmer of my Soul! and if one spark of Jealousy remain, one of those precious Tears shall quench the Crime—Oh, come, and let me lead thee to thy Bed, and breathe new Vows into thy panting Bosom. Leads her off, she looks back on George and smiles.
Geo. Now all the Plagues of injur’d Lovers wreck thee; ’Sdeath, where has she hid Olivia? or how am I deceiv’d?—’Tis Day, and with it new Invention rise to damn this Woman to the sin of Shame; break all the Chains that hold the princely Youth, and sink her with her fancy’d Power and Vanity.
Exit.
Enter Sir Rowland half dress’d, Lady Blunder in an Undress, Lady Youthly in her morning-dress, Teresia and Mr. Twang.
Sir Row. Morrow, my Lady Youthly, and thank you for my Night’s Lodging—You are as early up as if it had been your Wedding-day.
L. Youth. Truly, Sir Rowland, that I intend.
Sir Row. But where’s the Bride-groom, Madam?
Enter Roger.
How now, Roger, what, no news yet of George?
Rog. Alas! none, Sir, none, till the Rubbish be removed.
Sir Row. Rubbish—What—what, is George become the Rubbish of the World then? Weeps.
Twang. Why, Man is but Dust, as a Man may say, Sir.
L. Blun. But are you sure, Roger, my Jewel, my Sir Moggy escap’d?
Rog. The Watch drew him out of the Cellar-window, Madam.
379L. Youth. How, Mr. Twang, the young Gentleman burnt—Oh— Falls in a Chair.
Ter. Alas! my Grandmother faints with your ill News.—Good Sir Rowland, comfort her, and dry your Eyes.
Sir Row. Burnt, Madam! No, no, only the House fell on him, or so— Feigns Chearfulness, and speaks to Lady Youthly.
L. Youth. How! the House fell on him—Oh!
Sir Row. Ah, Madam, that’s all; why, the young Rogue has a Back like an Elephant—’twill bear a Castle, Madam.
L. Youth. Alas, good Man: What a Mercy ’tis, Mr. Twang, to have a Back like an Elephant!
L. Blun. Of what wonderful Use it is upon occasion—
Sir Row. Ay—but—but I shall never see him more, Back nor Breast. Weeps.
Twang. Good Sir, discomfort not my Lady—Consider Man’s a Flower—
Sir Row. Ay, but George was such a Flower! He was, Mr. Twang, he was the very Pink of Prentices. Ah! what a rare rampant Lord Mayor he wou’d have made! And what a swinging Sheriff— Cries.
Ter. What, cry, so near your Wedding-day, Sir Rowland?
Sir Row. Well, if he be gone—Peace be with him: and, ’Ifaks, Sweet-heart, we’ll marry, and beget new Sons and Daughters—but—but I shall ne’er beget another George. Cries.
Ter. This is but a Scurvy Tune for your hymenical Song, Sir.
Sir Row. Alas! Mrs. Teresia, my Instrument is untun’d, and good for nothing now but to be hung upon the Willows.
Cry within. Murder, Murder, Murder!
Enter Footman. Sir Merlin with his Sword drawn, and Sir Morgan.
Sir Row. What’s here, my Rogue?
380Twang. What’s the matter, Gentlemen, that ye enter the House in this hostile manner?
Sir Morg. What, Mr. Twang, de see!
Sir Mer. Ay, ay—stand by Divinity—and know, that we, the Pillars of the Nation, are come, de see—to ravish.
L. Blun. Oh, my dear Sir Morgan. Embraces him.
Sir Morg. I do not intend to ravish, like a Jew, in my own Tribe—
L. Youth. What say they, Mr. Twang, ravish? Oh, save my Honour—lead me to my Bed-Chamber, where, if they dare venture to come, they come upon their Peril. Twang leads her out. Sir Morgan goes to Ter.
Sir Mer. Old Fellow, do’st hear? Sir Pandarus of Troy, deliver me my Cressida, de see, peacefully, or I am resolved to bear her off Vi & Armis.
L. Blun. Sweet Nephew, retire, we are just upon making your Peace.
Sir Mer. Ha—Old Queen Gwiniver, without her Ruff on?
Sir Merlin takes hold of her to bear her off; she cries out: Sir Rowland draws upon him. As they are going to fight, George enters.
Geo. Is there a Man in Nature’s Race so vile, dares lift a guilty Hand against his Father?
Sir Mer. Father me no Fathers; I fight for Teresia, my lawfully begotten Spouse.
Geo. That I once called you Brother, saves your Life; therefore resign your Sword here at his reverend Feet.
Sir Mer. Sirrah, you lye, Sirrah—
Geo. There, drag away this Brute. Disarms him. To the Footman.
Sir Mer. Rogues, Dogs, bring Mrs. Teresia along with you.
Ter. Sure this is my fine Fellow—and yet the very same that’s to be married to my Grandmother; nor can that City Habit hide the Gentleman. George speaks this while with his Father, who embraces him.
381Sir Morg. Burnt, say you, Mrs. Teresia, de see—my Lady Mirtilla burnt! Nay, then, ’tis time to go to sleep, get sober, and marry again. Goes out.
Sir Row. Enough, my Boy, enough; thou deserv’st my whole Estate, and thou shalt have it, Boy—This day thou shalt marry the Widow, and I her Grand-child. I’ll to my Lawyers, and settle all upon thee instantly. Goes out.
Geo. How, marry to day—Old Gentleman, you must be cozen’d; and, Faith, that goes against my Conscience—Ha, the Fair, the Young Teresia there—When a man’s bent upon Wickedness, the Devil never wants an Opportunity to present him with, that she shou’d be in my way now—Fair Creature, are you resolv’d to be my Mother-in-law?
Ter. As sure as you to be my Grandfather, Sir—And see—the News of your being come, has rais’d my Grandmother.
Enter Lettice, my Lady’s maid, and Lady Youthly.
Geo. A Pox upon her, her Ghost had been less frightful.
Ter. I cou’d have spar’d her now too; but see she advances as swift as Time.
Geo. And as old: What shall I do? I dye to speak with you—
L. Youth. Where—where’s this Young Welcome Gentleman—Oh, are you here, Sir— She sees him not, but runs upon him.
Lettice, take Teresia, and get you to your Chamber, she has her Trinkets to get ready against the Wedding anon, for we’ll make but one work of both.
Ter. Ay, ’twill save Charges, Madam—
L. Youth. Ay, ay, get you gone, Lovers sometimes wou’d be private.
Geo. Heark ye—leave me not to her mercy, by Love, if you do, I’ll follow you to your Chamber.
Ter. Leave you! No, hang me if I do, till I have told you a piece of my mind, for I find there’s no dallying.
382L. Youth. Well, Sir, I have finish’d the Great Work.
Geo. I wish you had—Teresia, once you made me hope you did not hate me.
L. Youth. What says he, Teresia?
Ter. He says, he hopes you do not hate him, Madam.
L. Youth. No, by my Troth, Sir; I feel something for you, I have not felt before.
Geo. Not these Threescore Years, I dare swear—You have too much Wit, Teresia, to have been only pleas’d with the Embroider’d Coat, and Gawdy Plume, when still the man’s the same.
L. Youth. What says he, Embroider’d Coat and Plume?
Ter. He hopes your Ladyship likes him ne’er the worse, for being without those Fopperies.
L. Youth. Marry do I not, I love not this over-finery in a Husband; those Fellows that dress, think so well of themselves, they never mind their Wives.
Geo. Are you so dull, Teresia, not to see, this Habit was put on, only to get an Opportunity to tell you my Passion?
L. Youth. Tell me of his Passion! was it so, alas, good Young Man—Well, well, I’ll defer your Joys no longer, this Night shall make you happy, Mr. Twang shall join us, Sir.
Geo. A blessed hearing—You see, Charming Maid, how very short a space there is between this and the hast’ning hour; stand not on Virgin Niceties, but answer me, our time admits of no Consideration.
Ter. I have not been this Four and Twenty hours a Lover, to need Considering; as soon as you had my Heart, you had my Consent, and that was the first moment I saw you at the Basset-Table.
Geo. Ha! at the Basset-Table!
Ter. Yes, I was the frank Youth that lent you Money—but no more—your Time and Place.
L. Youth. What are you prating to him there?
383Ter. He doubts your Love, Madam, and I’m confirming it.
L. Youth. Alas, good Gentleman!—anon I’ll convince him—for in the Ev’ning, Sir, the Priest shall make us one.
Geo. Ah, Madam, I cou’d wish ’twere not so long defer’d, for sure I love you like a sighing Swain, and as a Proof of it, I have here prepar’d an Emblem of my Love in a Dance of Country Lovers, when Passion is sincere.
L. Youth. Good-lack-a-day, indeed you’re so obliging: But pray let us have the Dance. Dance.
L. Youth. Very pretty indeed. Come, good Gentleman, don’t droop, don’t droop; come, hold up your Head—you may be allow’d one kiss beforehand.
Geo. Kisses her. Oh, what a pestilential Blast was there! Aside.
L. Youth. Come, come, Teresia, come with me.
Geo. to Teresia. I’ll send a Chair to your Back-gate anon, that shall wait you on the Field-side, and bring you whither I shall appoint. Get ready instantly.
Ter. And if I fail, may I be eternally damn’d to the Embraces of old Age.
Exeunt all but George.
Geo. Mirtilla, thus thy Scorn I will out-brave, And let my Father the kind Cheat forgive;
If I with dexterous charitable care
Ease him of Burdens he wants strength to bear. Exit.
Enter Welborn dressing himself; to him a Footman with a Letter.
Wel. Prithee what became of the Spark that lay with me last Night?
Foot. I know not, Sir, he ’rose before day—What Letter’s this, Sir? It lay upon your Toylet. Gives Welborn a Letter.
384Wel. To the dear Man whose Name I would be glad to know— Reads.
Hum—a Woman’s Hand— Opens it.
The Lady you saw last Thursday in the Mall, you had in Bed with you last Night. Adieu.
Oh! dull Divinity of Love! that by no Instinct, no sympathizing Pains or Pleasure, could instruct my Sense, how near I was to Happiness!
Enter George, fine.
—Lejere, behold me here the most unlucky Fellow breathing. Thou know’st I told thee how I was in love with a young Woman in the Mall: And this very Night I had this very Woman in my Arms.
Geo. Is this your ill Luck, Sir?
Wel. ’Sdeath, all the while I took her for a Man: But finding me asleep, she softly rose; and, by a Light yet burning in my Chamber, she writ this Billet, and left it on my Table. Gives it George, he reads it.
Geo. By all that’s good, Olivia!—And were you very honest, Sir?
Wel. To my eternal Shame, as chaste as Ice.
Geo. What will you say now, Charles, if I bring this Woman to you again?
Wel. Canst thou? Oh, let me kiss thy Lips away.
Geo. For all her Frolick, Charles, she’s very honest, a Fortune, and of Quality—and were’t not for Olivia, thou shouldst marry her.
Wel. Olivia I ne’er saw, and now ’twill be too late.
Geo. Nay then, Sir, I must fight in her Defence.
Wel. You fight in her defence! Why, dost thou love her?—By all that’s good, I will resign her to thee.
Geo. You shall not, Sir; and know she is my Sister.
Wel. Olivia thy Sister!—
Geo. Ask no more Questions, but defend your self, if you refuse to marry her; for her Honour’s mine.
385Wel. Were she an Angel, I must love this Woman.
Geo. Then thou shall have her—Haste, and get a Licence—no more—trust my Friendship—Go. Exit Welborn.
Enter Olivia.
Olivia, where did you lie last Night?—Nay do not blush, for you may yet be virtuous.
Oliv. Virtuous! Not the young Roses in the bud secur’d, nor breaking Morn ungaz’d at by the Sun, nor falling Snow has more of Purity.
Geo. I do believe you; but your dangerous Frolicks will make the World talk shamefully.
Oliv. Let him talk on, I will not humour Fools.
Geo. No more—here’s Manage—Contrive an Assignation with Mirtilla; but do not hide again where none may find you. This done, I’ll tell you more, and make you happy. How now, Manage, is the Prince stirring?
Man. He’s in his Dressing-Room, Sir.—This from my Lady, Sir. Slides the Letter into Olivia’s Hand as she passes out.
Geo. What have you there, Olivia? Takes the Billet.
Oliv. An Assignation from your perjur’d Mistress, Sir.
Geo. ’Tis well—you must obey the Summons; and wind her up to all the height of Love; then let her loose to Shame. I’ll bring her Lover in the height of Dalliance, who, when he sees her Perfidy, will hate her.
Oliv. And then the lovely Man stands fair for me. Aside.
Geo. Go write an Answer back—and wait her hour.
Exeunt severally.
386Enter George, waits till the Song is ended. The Prince sees him, comes to him with Joy, and falls about his Neck.
Ah Charmion! shroud those killing Eyes,
That dart th’ extremes of Pleasure,
Else Celidon, though favour’d, dies
As well as him that you despise,
Though with this diff’rent measure:
|
While lingring Pains drag on his Fate, Dispatch is all th’ Advantage of my State; For ah! you hill with Love, as well as Hate. |
Abate thy Luxury of Charms,
And only Part discover;
Your Tongue, as well as Eyes, has Arms
To give a Thousand fatal Harms
To the poor listening Lover:
Thy Beams, like Glorys veil’d shou’d be,
And like the Front of Heav’n, unseen, pass by;
For to behold ’em, in full force, we die.
Prince. Mirtilla, O! I faint, I die with thy Beauty’s Luxury! by Heaven, I’m all Rapture, Love, and Joy: Such a dear Night, Lejere!—Poets may fancy pressing Goddesses, on downy Beds of Clouds—But oh, Lejere!—Those Gods were never half so blest as I!
Geo. What pity ’twere to wake you from this Dream.
Prince. It is not in the power of Time nor Age: For even then Mirtilla will have Charms! Oh, how she speaks! how well she’ll grace a Story!
387Geo. How gay her Wit! how movingly she writes!
Prince. I do believe she does. A little seriously.
Geo. Would it displease you, should you see a Billet from her?
Prince. That’s as it were directed. Gravely.
Geo. You would not credit what you saw last Night.
Prince. Nor wou’d have lost that Night for all the Treasure the vast Ocean hides.
Geo. I wou’d not have a Man, so good and great, be made a Woman’s Property—There, Sir. Gives him the Billet.
Prince. I’ll not believe it her’s; there are a thousand ways to ruin Innocence; if she be false—she’s damn’d. Confirm me, and of course I shall despise her. You cure me, when you shew her worth my Scorn.
Geo. Will you be rul’d then, and believe it Friendship in me?
Prince. I will.
Geo. Give her, by Absence, but an Opportunity; feign some Excuse to leave the Town to day.
Prince. See where she comes—
Enter Mirtilla.
Adorn’d with all the beauteous Wonders of her Sex. The Gods of Love are playing in her Eyes, and give us Wounds from ev’ry graceful Motion. Ah, my Mirtilla! how shall I support the Absence of a many coming Hours, that languish, being from thee but a Moment?
Mir. I hope, my Lord, Fate is not so unkind, to let me live without you many Hours.
Prince. Can all this be dissembl’d? Aside to George.
Geo. How much more have I heard? yet all was false.
Prince. I must this Day—this tedious live-long Day, be absent from thy Sight—but shall be back i’th’ Evening: I’ll leave Lejere to wait on your Commands.
Mir. Lejere shall ever, Sir, be dear to me—But I’ll 388 retire, and sigh till your Return—that World affords no Pleasure where you are not.
Prince. Do you hear that, Sir? Aside to George.
Till Night, thou dearest Blessing of my Life—Adieu. Mirtilla going out, pulls Lejere by the Sleeve.
Mir. Thou little, mischievous informing Thing, how vainly hast thou lavish’d out Invention! Smiling. Exit.
Prince. By Heaven, methinks ’twere Sin but to suspect her.
Geo. Think so; I’ll trouble your Repose no more: I’ve done my Duty, and I wou’d not see you made a—
Prince. Property—Ha—A loath’d convenient Tool—A Woman’s Implement—’Sdeath! she that off—Loose to the nasty Love of every Fool, that will be flatter’d, cozen’d, jilted, cuckolded—No more—I will, unseen, convey my self into the Closet in my Dressing-Room; ’tis near her Bed—and if I find her wanton—
Geo. If you find her—the Youth is waiting now that shall convince you.
Prince. Where?—Oh, set the happy Slave but in my View, and—
Geo. No, faith, Sir, be convinc’d before you strike, for fear she jilt you out of Sense and Reason—
Prince. Come to my Closet, from thence we may observe all that passes in her Chamber; from whence I’ll break upon the perjur’d Fair, like Thunder from a Cloud, and more destructive.
Exeunt.
Draws and discovers Mirtilla and Manage.
Mir. Is the Prince gone?
Man. Yes, Madam.
Mir. Then bring Endimion to me.
Man. Madam, I wish you’d think no more of him; for I foresee, that this Amour must ruin you. Remember you have left a Husband for the Prince.
389Mir. A Husband! my Drudge, to toil for me, and save me the Expence of careful Thoughts: My Cloke, my Led-Horse, for Necessity to fill my Train—no more—but Endimion waits. Exit Manage.
—There is a native Generosity in me, that checks my Inconstancy to this great Man; yet I have so much Woman in my Soul, cannot pain my self to do him Justice—A new desire of humouring my wish, sways all my Interest, and controuls all my Honour. Why should I lose a Pleasure for a Promise? since Time, that gives our Youth so short a Date, may well excuse our needful Perjury.
Enter Manage, and Olivia, she runs and embraces him.
—Let the young bashful Maid, unskill’d in Love, deny the pressing Swain.
Let wither’d Age, who fondly dreams of Virtue, lose the dear Opportunities of Life.
The coming Hours present themselves to us; and are too nice, not to be snatch’d when offer’d.
Oliv. So hasty! this disarms me of Excuse. Aside.
Mir. Why are thy Eyes bent down? Why dost thou pause?
Oliv. So hot!—I must prepare to shew my Sex’s Evidence, if nothing else will do. Unbuttons her Coat.
Mir. What, not a Word!
Advance, thou bashful Youth—Love in thy Eyes, and Coward in thy Heart! The one all Fire, the other too much Ice.
Prince and George looking out.
Prince. Yet stay me, my Lejere, from my hasty Vengeance.
Oliv. Ah, Madam, how are you mistaken! ’Tis not Coldness in me—but—
Mir. What, Bashfulness!
Oh, Love will lend thee Courage;
This Trembling is the soft Effects of it.
Oliv. Oh, how vilely she’s mistaken!
390Mir. Come to my Bed, and press the Roses down; and lend more sweetness to ’em than they bring.
She leading him to her Bed, the Prince enters, with Lejere, holding his Sword in Hand; he takes hold of Olivia.
Prince. Love—thus I fling thy gaudy Fetters off, and am no more a Slave to faithless Beauty.
The Prince holding Olivia by the Bosom of her Coat, her Breast appears to Mirtilla.
Mir. Ha! what do I see?—Two Female rising Breasts. By Heav’n, a Woman.—Oh fortunate Mischance! This while George is arguing with the Prince not to hurt Olivia.
Prince. No, I will not hurt thee, cease thy trembling.
Mir. Oh, Sir, ’twere Sin to hurt the lovely Youth.
Prince. No, Madam, since I have taken back my Heart, I can present you with another Lover. Gives Olivia to her.
Mir. Ha! another Lover!—What means my Prince?
Prince. Eternally to leave you to your Frailty.
Mir. Can you so easily cancel all your Vows? Then kill me at your Feet, I do implore it. Kneels and weeps.
Prince. Away, I do forgive thee, wretched Woman.—But yet be gone—lest Love and Rage return, and I should kill you yet with your young Darling.
Mir. Whom mean you, Sir, this lovely Maid?
Oliv. Maid!—What means she? Sure she cannot know me.
Prince. Talk on, false Woman! till thou hast persuaded my Eyes and Ears out of their native Faculties, I scorn to credit other Evidences.
Mir. Try ’em once more, and then repent, and die. Opens Olivia’s Bosom, shews her Breasts.
Prince. Ha—By Heav’n, a Woman!
Mir. You that wou’d smile at my suppos’d undoing, present yourself no more before my Eyes.
391’Twas to perplex you that I feign’d this Passion.
I saw you had your Spies to watch for Mischief, To George.
And poison all my Happiness with the Prince.—
And since I am thought so criminal, I’ll take an everlasting leave of you. To the Prince.
When I am dead, may she you honour next repay your Tenderness as I have done—But may she never meet my wretched Fate. She snatches Olivia’s Sword out.
Prince. Hold, thou most valu’d Treasure of the World, or turn the pointed Weapon to my Heart.
Mir. No, I’m false, unworthy of your Love.
Geo. Yes, by Heaven. But thou hast jilted him so handsomly, thou’st vanquish’d all my Rage.
Mir. Yes, I am false; false to this Gallant Man,— To George.
false to my Husband, to my Sex’s Fame; for you more charming, I alas am perjur’d.
Prince. Lejere, have I then injur’d thee?
Geo. This is the fatal Beauty, Sir, for whom so often you have seen me languish.
Prince. Ah! wouldst thou see me on a Precipice, and not prevent my Danger?
Geo. To mightier Friendship I cou’d all surrender, and silently have born her Perjuries; but those to you, awaken’d all my Rage: but she has out-trick’d me, and I beg her Pardon—And to secure her yours, have lov’d anew, and beg Protection in your Lodgings, Sir, for a young Maid whom I design to marry.
Prince. Command my Life, my Fortune, and my Sword, for the unwilling Injury I have done thee—And is this the charming, perjur’d Fair, Mirtilla?
Geo. It is, Sir.
Prince. Since it is possible that you cou’d cease to love this Gallant Man, whom I have heard with so much tender Passion tell your Loves, what sacred Vows had 392 past, and what Endearments, how can I hope from thee a lasting Faith?—Yet on the Oaths that thou hast sworn to me—by all thy Hopes of Pardon for thy Perjuries, to ease my panting Heart—once speak the Truth—Didst thou not take this Woman for a Man?
Mir. I did—and were she so, I wou’d with Pride own all the Vows I’ve broke.
Prince. Why, this is fair—and though I buy this Knowledge at the vast Price of all my Repose; yet I must own, ’tis a better Bargain than chaff’ring of a Heart for feign’d Embraces—Thou hast undone me—yet must have my Friendship; and ’twill be still some Ease in this Extreme, to see thee yet repent, and love Lejere.
Mir. No, Sir, this Beauty must be first declining, to make me take up with a former Lover.
Geo. No, Sir, I have dispos’d my Heart another way; and the first knowledge of her Falshood cur’d me: Her Marriage I forgave—that thing of Form—but never could her Fondness to this Youth.
Prince. Who’s this Lady, Sir, whose Pardon I must beg?
Geo. My Sister, Sir, who I disguis’d on purpose to be a Guard to this suspected Fair One.
Enter Welborn.
Wel. Ha, she’s there!
Now every Feature points me out my Conqueress.—Nay, start not—I have found Thee, thou malicious Charmer, to bring me so near to Bliss, and not afford me one kind hint.
Oliv. And are not you a very dull Fellow, that lov’d and long’d, and had the Maid so near you, and yet needed a Hint?
Wel. Nay, if you conceal’d your precious Talent, how shou’d it profit any body?
Oliv. Conceal’d it!—No, Faith, I made a very fair Tender; but you refus’d it, as not being current Coin.
Wel. But if you most feloniously, and unlawfully deface 393 our Sovereign’s Image, so as it may be as soon taken for the Grand Signior’s, I may suspect the Metal too.
Oliv. What say you if I tender it before these lawful Witnesses?
Wel. I’ll take it for good Payment—I Charles Welborn—
Oliv. Ha, Welborn! Aside.
Wel. Take thee—whom?—Gad, if the Parson of the Parish knew your Name no better than I—’twill be but a blind Bargain.
Geo. Olivia Marteen—
Wel. My destin’d Wife!
Geo. The very same: Have you the Parson ready?
Wel. He waits in my Chamber.
Oliv. Madam, I beg you’ll lend me something more becoming my Sex.
Mir. Manage will furnish you from my Wardrobe. Exit Olivia with Manage.
Enter Teresia.
Geo. And see my good Genius appears too.
Ter. See, Sir, I am resolv’d to be welcome to your Arms; look, here are the Writings of the Estate my Grandfather left me, and here’s three thousand Pound my Grandmother has settled on me, upon her Marriage with you. Gives him the Writings.
Geo. And here’s my Father’s Estate settled on me—Come, let’s put them together—and go in, and let the Parson do as much for us. Puts ’em in her Case.
Ter. But have you very well considered this Matter?
Geo. Teresia, we’ll do like most Couples, marry first, and consider afterwards— Leads her in.
Enter a Footman.
Foot. Sir, here’s Sir Merlin, with a Lady mask’d, wou’d speak with you.
Wel. Carry ’em into the Dining-Room, I’ll wait on ’em anon.
Exeunt Omnes.
394L. Youth. Hold the Glass higher, Lettice; is not this Tour too brown?—Methinks it does not give a youthful Aire to my Face.
Lett. That’s not in Nature.
L. Youth. Like Nature! Ay, but Nature’s self wants Art, nor does this Fontange suit with my Complexion—put on a little more red, Lettice, on my Cheeks, and Lips. She does so.
Lett. Ay, for they are but a little too much upon the Coventry-Blue—This Tour must come more forward, Madam, to hide the Wrinkles at the corners of your Eyes— Pulls it.
L. Youth. Ay, Lettice, but there are others, that neither Tours, nor Paint, nor Patches will hide, I fear—yet altogether, Lettice— Puts on her Spectacles, and looks in the Glass.
Enter Sir Rowland.
Sir Row. What, no Bride yet, nor Bridegroom?
L. Youth. Ay, what can be the meaning of this?
Sir Row. But Teresia, Madam, where can she be gadding?
L. Youth. Why, Lettice tells me, she went to buy some Trifles to adorn her this Night—Her Governante is with her, and my Steward.
Enter Mr. Twang.
Twang. Alas, what pity ’tis; the Supper is quite spoil’d, and no Bridegroom come!
A Noise of hallowing without, and Musick.
Enter Lady Blunder.
L. Blun. Bless us! Here’s a whole Regiment of Liveries, Coaches, and Flambeaux at the Door! the Fops of the Town have heard of a Wedding, and are come in Masquerade.
395Enter Musick playing; after them, Prince Frederick, leading Mirtilla, George leading Teresia; Sir Merlin, Diana; Mrs. Manage, Britton; Pages, and Footmen, all in Masquerade. Sir Morgan comes in, all in Mourning; Welborn, and Olivia.
Sir Mer. Hearing of a high Wedding, Sir, we made bold (as the saying is) to give you Joy. Sir, are not you the Bridegroom?
Ter. Where’s your Bride, Sir? Ha! ha! ha!
Sir Mer. Ay, ay, where’s your Bride?
Sir Row. What’s that to you, Sir Coxcomb?
Sir Mer. Hum—how the devil came he to know me now?—Is this reverend Gentlewoman your Lady, Sir?
Sir Row. Ounds, they come to mock us!—Hark ye, hark ye, Tawdrums, if you are Men, shew your Faces; if Apes, play over your Monkey-Tricks and be gone, d’ye hear.—We are not at leisure for Fooling.
Geo. Be but at leisure, Sir, to pardon George kneels.
this one Disobedience of my Life, and all the rest I’ll dedicate to please and humour you. Sir, I am marry’d. Pulls off his Mask.
Sir Row. What the Devil’s that to me, Sir?
Geo. Do not you know me, Sir?
Sir Row. No, Sir, nor don’t care to know any such flaunting Coxcombs.
Geo. Look on me, Sir. Looks on him, knows him, goes away, and returns.
Sir Row. Hum, hum, hum—
Ter. It is your Son, Sir, your darling Son, who has sav’d your Life from Insolence.
Sir Row. Hum—Teresia!
L. Youth. How, Teresia! what, robb’d me of my intended Husband? Oh, undone! undone! Falls into a Chair.
Sir Row. And hast thou, after all, served me such a Rogue’s Trick, thou ungracious Varlet? What, cuckold thine own Father!
396Geo. Oh, do not frown, I cannot bear your Anger! Here will I hang for ever till you Pardon me. Clasps his Knees.
Sir Row. Look—look—now cannot I be angry with the good-natur’d young Rogue. Weeps.
Well, George—But hark ye, Sirrah, this is a damn’d Trick of yours.
Geo. Sir, I found my Youth was fitter for her than your Age, and you’ll be as fond of a Grand-Child of my begetting as you would of a Son of another Man’s perhaps.
Sir Row. Thou’rt in the Right on’t.
Sir Mer. Ha! Is Monsieur Lejere then my Brother George?
Geo. Sir, Here’s another Couple wants your Pardon; my Brother Merlin, and my Lady Diana.
L. Blun. Diana! What, Sir Harry Modish’s Mistress?
Dia. Yes, he pawn’d me at the Basset-Table; and, in Revenge, I resolv’d to marry the next Man of Fortune I met with.
Sir Row. The Fool had more Wit than I thought he had; for which I’ll give him a Thousand Pound a Year.
Geo. I humbly thank you, Sir.
Mir. Pray, Melancholy Sir, who are you in Mourning for?
Sir Morg. Alas, Madam, for a Person of Quality that was my Wife; but rest her Soul, she’s burnt. Weeps.
And I shall never see any thing again like her.
Mir. No! What think you of this Face, Sir?
Sir Morg. As Gad shall sa’ me, as like as if the same.
L. Blun. In troth, and so she is.
Prince. ’Tis true, she was once your Wife; but I have preserv’d her from the Flames, and I have most Right to her.
Sir Morg. That’s a hard Case, Sir, that a Man must lose his Wife, because another has more Right to her than himself; Is that Law, Sir?
397Prince. Lover’s Law, Sir.
L. Blun. Ay, ay, Son, ’tis the Fashion to marry one Week, and separate the next. I’ll set you a President for it my self.
In this time Welborn kneels with Olivia; Sir Rowland takes ’em up, and kisses ’em.
Sir Morg. Nay, if it be the Fashion, I’ll e’en into the Country, and be merry with my Tenants, and Hawk, and Hunt, and Horse-match.
Prince. But now, Sir, I’ll resign my Right to you, and content myself with the Honour to have preserv’d her from the Fire. Prince delivers Mirtilla to Sir Morgan, who receives her.
Sir Morg. As gad shall sa’ me, Sir, you’re a civil Person; and now I find you can endure a Woman, Sir, I’ll give you leave to visit her.
Sir Row. Well, since we’re all agreed, and that the Fiddles are here, adsnigs, we’ll have a Dance, Sweet-heart, though thou hast out-witted me.
Takes Teresia, George takes Lady Youthly, &c. After the Dance, Lady Youthly weeps.
Geo. What, weeping yet? Here, Mr. Twang, take the Lady to your Care; in these Cases, there’s nothing like the Consolation of your young Chaplain.
The Widow, with young Jointure, and old Face,
Affected Mein, and Amorous Grimace,
|
Uses to fall to th’ younger Brother’s share; But I by Fortune, and Industrious Care, Have got one that’s Rich, Witty, Young, and Fair. |
Spoken by Mr. Horden.
We’ve grown Impatient to be out of pain,
And fain wou’d know our fortune, loss, or gain:
The Merchants phrase mayn’t be Improper now,
If ye our City Character allow.
But some Spruse Criticks, I hear, swears ’tis strange,
To take a powder’d Beau off from the Exchange;
A place more fam’d for Band, and dress precise,
For greasy Cuckholds, Stockjobbers, and lies,
Than for a Spark o’ th’ town, but now a days
The Cit sets up in box, puffs, perfumes, plays,
And tho’ he passes for a Man of Trade,
Is the chief squeaker at the Masquerade,
Let him his Sister, or his wife beware,
’Tis not for nothing Courtiers go so far;
Thus for a while he holds, till Cash is found
To be a Dr. many a woful Pound,
Then off he moves, and in another year,
Turns true Alsatian, or Solicitor.
For we (except o’ th’ stage) shall seldom find
To a poor broken Beau, a Lady kind,
Whilst pow’rful Guinea last, he’s wondrous pretty,
And much the finest Gentlemen o’ th’ City,
But when fob’s empty, he’s an odious Creature.
Fough, how he stinks! h’as not one taking feature,
Then such an Awkard mein, and vulgar sence,
I vow, I wonder at his Impudence!
’Tis well Lejere appear’d, George owes the prize
To the Gay Monsieur, Footmen and Disguise,
399Charms which few English Women can withstand,
What can’t a Man of Quality command?
|
As to the faults, or Merits of the Play We leave ye to be judges of, yet say, Ye ought in justice to be kind to day. |
|
For to our Cost alas, we soon shall find, Perhaps not half the money ye design’d, Consider, Sirs, it goes to be refin’d. |
And since in all Exchanges ’tis a notion,
For what ye take to be in due proportion,
So may we justly hope no wrong is done ye
If ye have par of Wit for par of Money.
Dedication
p. 316, l. 1 The Epistle Dedicatory. This only appears in 4to 1696. It is there followed by An Account of the Life of the Incomparable Mrs. BEHN, an entirely worthless composition of some three pages, afterwards vastly expanded into Memoirs ‘by one of the Fair Sex’.
p. 316, l. 21 The narrow Virtues ... [which] were. 4to 1696 omits ‘which’ but it is necessary that this or some similar word be inserted to make the paragraph sufficiently grammatical.
Prologue
p. 319, l. 9 an Intriguer. 4to 1696 ‘the intrigues’.
p. 319, l. 17 Mistress young. 4to 1696 erroneously gives ‘young’ as a proper name ‘Mistress Young’.
Dramatis Personæ
p. 321 Dramatis Personæ. I have added ‘Philip; Diana; Pages, Footmen, Masqueraders, Servants, Rakehells, &c.’ 4to 1696 spells Britton ‘Brittone’; Mr. Pinketham ‘Mr. Pinkerman.’ Powell is indifferently spelt ‘Powell’ or ‘Powel’.
Act I: Scene i
p. 327, l. 2 he. 4to 1696 omits.
p. 327, l. 7 Prince. Here and in ll. 11 and 19 all former editions give speech-prefix ‘Fred’, but afterwards uniformly ‘Prince’ throughout the play.
p. 329, l. 31 a. 4to 1696 omits.
p. 329, l. 34 Tablets: 4to 1696 gives ‘Tablets write:’ which is obviously a misprint for ‘Tablets written:’ or, perhaps, ‘Tablets writ’.
Act I: Scene ii
p. 330, l. 23 Caudle. Here, and in the following line, 4to 1696 misprints ‘Candle’.
p. 332, l. 22 set. 1724 ‘sit’.
p. 337, l. 7 Sir Mer. 4to 1696 misprints ‘Sir Mark.’
p. 337, l. 19 George Kneels. I have inserted ‘George’.
p. 337, l. 20 Ay, Sir. 4to 1696 marks this line ‘Aside.’ An obvious error.
p. 338, l. 10 Sir Rowland. 4to 1696 ‘Sir Merlin’.
p. 338, l. 16 Chaplain [Mr. Twang], and leaning. 4to 1696 ‘her Chaplain, and leaning’. I have inserted Twang’s name and given in l. 19 speech-prefix ‘Twang’ which all former editions mark ‘Chap.’, altering, however, to ‘Twang’ later in this scene at ‘Truly, Madam’.
p. 339, l. 20 cuckold. 4to 1696 ‘Cuckhold’.
p. 339, l. 34 The End of the First Act. Only in 4to 1696.
Act II: Scene i
p. 340, l. 2 Sir Rowland’s Lodging. I have supplied this locale.
p. 340, l. 29 Lookye. 4to 1696 has ‘(Alone.) Lookye’—an obvious error. ‘(Alone.)’ is probably a misprint for ‘(Aloud.)’ which is of itself quite unnecessary.
p. 341, l. 13 Hearts. 4to 1696 ‘Heats’.
p. 342, l. 3 ’twill. 4to 1696 ‘will’.
p. 342, l. 19 India. 4to 1696 ‘Indian’.
Act II: Scene ii
p. 343, l. 13 A Chamber. I have supplied this locale.
p. 346, l. 17 Hackney-Coach. 4to 1696 ‘Hackney’.
410p. 346, l. 31 pimp. 4to 1696 misprints ‘Pump’.
p. 348, l. 8 they. 4to 1696 omits.
p. 349, l. 29 Sir Morgan Blunder’s. 4to 1696 ‘Sir M. Blun.’
Act II: Scene iii
p. 350, l. 24 Another Chamber. I have supplied this locale.
p. 351, l. 10 another. 4to 1696 adds to this stage direction ‘Sir Mer. together.’
p. 352, l. 7 a Tendre. 1724 omits ‘a’.
p. 353, l. 11 too. 4to 1696 ‘to’.
Act III: Scene i
p. 354, l. 2 A rich Chamber. I have supplied this locale.
p. 358, l. 4 Expectations. 1724 ‘Expectation’.
p. 358, l. 34 Olivia enters. 4to 1696 reads ‘Enter Olivia with a letter. Olivia gives Welborn the letter.’
p. 359, l. 33 Enter Sir Morgan. Before the couplet 4to 1696 repeats ‘Sir Morg. and Sir Merl. singing.’
p. 360, l. 10 de. 1724 here and elsewhere ‘d’ye’.
Act III: Scene ii
p. 362, l. 18 you. 4to 1696 ‘thou’.
Act III: Scene iii
p. 363, l. 17 Whither? 4to 1696 ‘Whether?’
p. 367, l. 26 Exeunt. I have added this stage direction.
Act IV: Scene i
p. 370, l. 30 Exit Prince with Mirtilla. Former editions ‘and Mirtilla’.
p. 371, l. 14 Exit. 4to 1696 ‘Exit George.’
p. 373, l. 15 Exeunt. 4to 1696 ‘Exit both.’
p. 373, l. 23 of thy hopes. 4to 1696 omits ‘of’.
p. 373, l. 32 ruffle, ravish, and ruin. 4to 1696 ‘Ruffles, Ravishes, and Ruines’.
p. 374, l. 8 Racks. 4to 1696 ‘Wrecks’.
p. 374, l. 35 feebly. 1724 ‘freely’. A patent error.
p. 375, l. 4 near to being. 1724 ‘near being’.
p. 375, l. 33 Exeunt. Not in 4to 1696.
Act IV: Scene ii
p. 376, l. 1 Scene II. I have numbered this scene, and the following (p. 378, l. 16.) Scene III.
Act I:V Scene iii
p. 379, l. 33 Sir Merlin with his Sword. 4to 1696 ‘Sir Merlin his Sword’.
p. 380, l. 19 she cries out. 1724 omits ‘out’.
p. 381, l. 17 My Lady’s maid. I have inserted these words.
Act V: Scene i
p. 383, l. 27 Welborn’s Chamber. I have marked this locale.
p. 385, l. 13 him. 1724 ‘them’.
Act V: Scene ii
p. 386, l. 18 has. 4to 1696 ‘had’.
p. 386, l. 24 Mirtilla. All previous editions here have ‘Lydia’, which makes no sense. It is probable that the original name of Mirtilla was Lydia, and Mrs. Behn, or Gildon, neglected to alter it in this passage.
Act V: Scene iii
p. 388, l. 28 Scene III. All previous editions have ‘Scene discovers Mirtilla and Manage.’
p. 388, l. 35 you have left. 1724 ‘you left’.
p. 393, l. 17 Exit Olivia with Manage. I have added Manage’s name here.
Act V: Scene iv
p. 394, l. 1 Scene IV. I have numbered this scene.
Epilogue
p. 398, l. 26 Fough, how he stinks! 4to 1696 ‘Fough, he how he stinks?’
419Dedication
p. 316 Collonel Codrington. Christopher Codrington (1668-1710) was born at Barbadoes, and thence sent to England to be educated. In 1685 he passed as a gentleman commoner to Christ Church, Oxford. Five years later he was elected as a probationer fellow to All Souls. Here he speedily became known for the catholicity and thoroughness of his studies, and ‘soon acquir’d the deserv’d character of an accomplished, well-bred gentleman, and an universal scholar’. He was already an enthusiastic bibliophile. In 1694 he followed William III to Flanders, and having fought with great gallantry at Hay and Namur in 1695, received various military distinctions. In the same year he attended the King to Oxford, and pronounced the university oration on this royal visit. There are dedications to him by Creech, Dennis, and others, but it has been pertinently remarked that ‘his fame is rather to be inferred’ hence ‘than from actually existent performances on his part’, albeit we have copies of complimentary verses (e.g. prefixed to Garth’s Dispensary) from his pen. In 1697 he succeeded his father as commander-in-chief of the Leeward Isles. He does not seem to have been popular, and resigned in 1703, retiring to a life of seclusion and study on his Barbadoes estate. He died 7 April, 1710, and his body was brought back to England to be buried in All Souls’ chapel. To this college he left £10,000, and £6,000 worth of books, a legacy which built, furnished and endowed the magnificent Codrington library there.
p. 317 Mr. Verbruggen’s reading some of his part. One may remember the incident recorded by Pepys (2 February, 1669), how, after Kynaston had been assaulted by Sedley’s bravos, and was too ill to appear, the young actor’s rôle was ‘done by Beeston, who is fain to read it out of a book all the while and thereby spoils the part, and almost the play, it being one of the best parts in it.... But it was pleasant to see Beeston come in with others, supposing it to be dark, and yet he is forced to read his part by the light of the candles: and this I observing to a gentleman that sat by me, he was mightily pleased therewith, and spread it up and down.’
Prologue
p. 319 grave Sir Roger. ‘Sir Roger’ was a common nickname for any clergyman from the well-known comic character ‘Sir Roger, Curate to the 420 Lady’, in Beaumont and Fletcher’s popular The Scornful Lady. This excellent play, a rare favourite with Restoration audiences, kept the boards until the death of Mrs. Oldfield in 1730. After the great actress’ demise it would seem that none of her successors ventured to attempt the title-rôle, hence the piece soon fell out of the repertory. In 1783, however, an alteration, made by Cooke the barrister for Mrs. Abington, was produced with great success at Covent Garden. In this meagre adaptation the Curate disappears. Shanks originally acted this part, but Lacy was the acknowledged ‘Sir Roger’ in Restoration days.
Act I: Scene i
p. 326 making Wax Babies. Playing at dolls.
p. 330 Southampton Square. The original name of Bloomsbury Square, so called from the Earl of Southampton’s town residence, afterwards Bedford House. Southampton Square was at this period, and for long afterwards, the headquarters of fashion in the metropolis: vide further, Vol. III, The Town Fop, p. 22, ‘Southampton House,’ and note on that passage (p. 476). Cross-Reference: The Town Fop
Act I: Scene ii
p. 331 Mr. Motteux. Peter Anthony Motteux was a French Hugenot who came to England upon the restoration of the Edict of Nantes (1685). He soon mixed with the gayest society, and became well known as a prolific writer of songs, prologues, epilogues, masques, and the lighter dramatic fare. Much of this work is not lacking in wit and volatile smartness, but it is all far too ephemeral to have any permanent value as literature. He edited The Gentleman’s Journal, but is perhaps best remembered for his translation of Don Quixote, and his concluding Urquhart’s version of Rabelais.
p. 331 the Rose. This celebrated house stood in Russell Street, Covent Garden, and adjoined Drury Lane. There are innumerable references to it. The greater portion of the ‘Rose’ was demolished in 1776, when a new front was being built to the theatre.
p. 331 scours. i.e. violently assaults. ‘To scour’ was to rampage the streets, breaking windows, fighting with passers-by, beating the watch, &c. Shadwell has an excellent comedy, The Scowrers (1691), which, giving a vivid picture of the times, show these drunken and blackguardly gentry in a very unamiable light. Several plays treat of their exploits. Vanbrugh’s The Provoked Wife (1696), Act iii, II, and iv, II and IV, is perhaps the locus classical for mohocking.
p. 333 the Poet Sternhold. Thomas Sternhold (ob. 1549), was the author with John Hopkins (ob. 1570), of a metrical version of the Psalms, which became a bye-word for doggerel. Sir Morgan is, of course, alluding to some pious rhymes groaned on the way to the triple tree. cf. Shadwell, The Miser (1672), i, I, ‘She would be more welcome to thee than a reprieve would, if thou wert just now trolling out Hopkins and Sternhold upon a ladder.’
p. 333 Billmen in Flannel. Bills were the common weapon of the watch. cf. The Coxcomb (folio 1647), Act i, where Ricardo says to the constable of the watch, ‘Give me the bill, for I’ll be the sergeant.’ Doctor Johnson tells us that the Lichfield watchmen carried bills as late as 1778.
p. 333 Wills’ Coffee-house. vide Vol. III, Preface, The Lucky Chance, p. 187, and note on that passage (p. 484). Cross-Reference: The Lucky Chance
421p. 334 his Third Day. vide Vol. III, Preface, The Lucky Chance, p. 187, and note on that passage (p. 484). Cross-Reference: The Lucky Chance
p. 334 old Adam. vide Vol. I, The Rover, Part II, p. 133, and note on that passage (p. 446). Cross-Reference: The Rover
p. 334 The Country Justice’s Calling. vide supra, The Widow Ranter, p. 265. Dalton’s Country Justice, and note on that passage.
Act II: Scene i
p. 341 by Inch of Candle. An auction where bids are taken so long as an inch of candle burns, the last bid before the flame expires obtaining the lot.
p. 342 a Termer. Originally a frequenter of the law courts, and as many came up from the country to London during term time on legal business, it occasionally (as here) signified an unsophisticated stranger. In Dryden’s Sir Martin Mar-All (1667), i, Mrs. Millicent, newly arrived from Canterbury, replies to Lady Dupe’s greeting, ‘I came up, Madam, as we country-gentlewomen use at an Easter term, to the destruction of tarts and cheese cakes, to see a new play, buy a new gown, take a turn in the Park, and so down again to sleep with my forefathers.’ In Mountford’s farce, Dr. Faustus (4to 1697, but produced at the Theatre Royal November-December, 1685, or very early in 1686), we have Scaramouch asking what practice the Doctor has, and Harlequin replies: ‘Why his Business is to patch up rotten Whores against the Term for Country Lawyers and Attorneys Clerks; and against Christmas, Easter, and Whitsun Holidays, for City Apprentices.’ cf. Southerne’s Oroonoko (1696), i, I, when Charlot Welldon says to her sister Lucia, ‘Nay, the young Inns-of-Court beaus, of but one Term’s standing in the fashion, who knew nobody but as they were shown ’em by the orange-women, had nicknames for us.’ More often a Termer meant ‘A person, whether male or female, who resorted to London in term time only, for the sake of tricks to be practised, or intrigues to be carried on at that period.’ —(Nares.)
Act II: Scene ii
p. 347 Sa. i.e. Save us! Sir Morgan has a frequent exclamation ‘God sa me!’ God save me! The abbreviation is early and frequent.
Act III: Scene i
p. 356 the Country of True Love. Mrs. Behn, an omnivorous reader of romances, was thinking of the celebrated Carte de Tendre (Loveland), to be found in Mlle. de Scudéri’s Clélie (1654, Vol. I, p. 399), and reproduced in the English folio edition of 1678. This fantastic map, which is said to have been suggested by Chapelain, aroused unbounded ridicule. In scene IV of Molière’s Les Précieuses Ridicules (1659), Cathos cries, ‘Je m’en vais gager qu’ils n’ont jamais vu la carte de Tendre, et que Billets-Doux, Petits-Soins, Billets-Galante, et Jolis-Vers sont des terres inconnues pour eux.’ This imaginary land is divided by the River of Inclination: on the one side are the towns of Respect, Generosity, A Great Heart, and the like; on the other Constant Friendship, Assiduity, Submission, &c. Across the Dangerous Sea another continent is marked, ‘Countreys undiscovered.’ Terra Incognita.
The extravagant penchant for romances of the Scudéri Parthenissa school was amply satirized by Steele in his clever comedy The Tender Husband (1705), and as late as 1752 by Mrs. Charlotte Lennox in The Female Quixote, an amusing novel.
422p. 360 old Queen Bess in the Westminster-Cupboard. The waxen effigies which yet remain at Westminster are preserved in the wainscot presses over the Islip Chapel. Queen Elizabeth, in her tattered velvet robes, is still one of the most famous. They were formerly far more numerous. A waxen figure of the deceased, dressed in the habit worn whilst living, was, in the case of any royal or notable personage, very frequently carried as part of the torchlight funeral procession and, after the obsequies, left over the grave to serve as a kind of temporary monument.
Act III: Scene iii
p. 366 drink up the Sun. i.e. carouse till dawn.
Act IV: Scene iii
p. 379 a Back like an Elephant—’twill bear a Castle. Dr. Aldis Wright, in his notes on Twelfth Night, draws attention to the fact that the celebrated ‘Elephant and Castle,’ at Newington, in the south suburbs of London, can be traced back to the middle of the seventeenth century.
p. 380 Old Queen Gwiniver. For ‘Queen Gwiniver’ applied as a term of abuse to an old woman cf. Dekker’s Satiromastix, or, The Untrussing of the Humorous Poet (4to 1602), iii, I, where Tucca rallying Mistress Miniver cries: ‘Now, now, mother Bunch, how dost thou? what, dost frowne, Queen Gwyniver, dost wrinckle?’ The reference is, of course, to Arthur’s queen.
Act V: Scene iii
p. 390 Ha! what do I see? cf. The incident in The Plain Dealer, iv, II, of which there are obvious reminiscences here. Olivia, making love to Fidelia, who is dressed as a boy, is surprised by Vernish. Olivia runs out, and he discovering the supposed lad to be a woman proceeds to turn the tables on his spouse.
Act V: Scene iv
p. 394 this Tour. cf. ‘your false Towers’, The False Count, i, II (Vol. III, p. 116), and note on that passage (p. 480). Cross-Reference: The False Count
p. 394 Fontange. A ‘fontange’ was a bow of ribbons, so called from the celebrated Madame de Fontanges. Her hair coming down during a hunting-party at Vincennes, she tied it up hastily with one of her garters. Louis XIV, whose mistress she was, so admired the result that he begged her to continue to wear her hair in the same way. This set the fashion, which soon spread into England and long remained popular. cf. Shadwell’s Bury Fair (1689), ii, II: ‘Milliner. What d’ye lack, Ladies? fine Mazarine hoods, fontanges, girdles, sable tippets?’
p. 394 Coventry-Blue. A kind of blue thread manufactured at Coventry and formerly much used for embroidery, &c. cf. Greene’s James IV (1592), iv, III, where Slipper ordering a doublet cries: ‘Edge me the sleeves with Coventry blue.’ Ben Jonson, Gipsies Metamorph. (1621), speaks of ‘A skein of Coventry blue’.
p. 395 Tawdrums. Fal-lals. cf. Marston’s Dutch Courtezan (4to 1605), v, ‘no matter for lace and tawdrums’.
Note to p. 330: Southampton Square.
Town Fop text:
meet me to morrow Morning about five, with your Sword in your Hand, behind Southampton House
Town Fop note:
Southampton House. Southampton House, Bloomsbury, occupied the whole of the north side of the present Bloomsbury Square. It had ‘a curious garden behind, which lieth open to the fields,’—Strype. A great rendezvous for duellists, cf. Epilogue to Mountfort’s Greenwich Park (Drury Lane, 1691) spoken by Mrs. Mountfort:—
If you’re displeased with what you’ve seen to-night
Behind Southampton House we’ll do you right;
Who is’t dares draw ’gainst me and Mrs. Knight?
Note to p. 333: Wills’ Coffee-house.
Lucky Chance text:
a Wit of the Town, a Friend of mine at Wills Coffee House
Lucky Chance note:
Wills Coffee House. This famous coffee-house was No. 1 Bow Street, Covent Garden, on the west side corner of Russell Street. It derived its name from Will Unwin who kept it. The wits’ room was upstairs on the first floor. Some of its reputation was due to the fact that it was a favourite resort of Dryden.
Note to p. 334: his Third Day.
Lucky Chance text:
I will be kinder to my Brothers of the Pen, than they have been to a defenceless Woman; for I am not content to write for a Third day only.
Lucky Chance note:
write for a Third day only. The whole profits of the third day’s performance went to the author of the play; and upon these occasions his friends and patrons would naturally rally to support him. There are numberless allusions to this custom, especially in Prefaces, Prologues and Epilogues.
Note to p. 334: old Adam.
Rover II text:
For your parts, who are the poor dependent, brown Bread and old Adam’s Ale is only current amongst ye
Rover II note:
old Adam’s Ale. A very ancient colloquialism for water. In Scotland ‘Adam’s wine’ and frequently merely ‘Adam’. Prynne in his Sovereign Power of Parliament (1648), speaks of prisoners ‘allowed only a poor pittance of Adam’s ale.’ cf. Peter Pindar (John Wolcot), The Lousiad, Canto ii, ll. 453-4:—
Old Adam’s beverage flows with pride
From wide-mouthed pitchers in a plenteous tide.
Note to p. 394: this Tour.
False Count text:
you must be a Lady, and have your Petticoats lac’d four Stories high; wear your false Towers, and cool your self with your Spanish Fan
False Count note:
Towers. The tower at this time was a curled frontlet of false hair. cf. Crowne’s The Country Wit (1675), Act ii, II, where Lady Faddle cries to her maid, ‘run to my milliner’s for my gloves and essences ... run for my new towre.’ Shadwell, The Virtuoso (1676), Act iii, mentions ‘Tires for the head, locks, tours, frouzes, and so forth’. The Debauchee (1677), Act ii, I: Mrs. Saleware speaks of buying ‘fine clothes, and tours, and Points and knots.’ The Younger Brother (1696), Act v, the last scene, old Lady Youthly anxiously asks her maid, ‘is not this Tour too brown?’ During the reign of Mary II and particularly in the time of Anne a Tower meant almost exclusively the high starched head-dress in vogue at that period.