ACT II.

SCENE I. The Street.

Enter Fetherfool and Sancho, passing over the Stage; after them Willmore and Blunt, follow’d by Ariadne and Lucia.

Willmore.

’Tis so, by Heaven, he’s chaffering with her Pimp. I’ll spare
my Curses on him for having her, he has a Plague beyond ’em.
—Harkye, I’ll never love, nor lie with Women more, those Slaves
to Lust, to Vanity and Interest.

Blunt.

Ha, Captain! [Shaking his Head and smiling.]

Willmore.

Come, let’s go drink Damnation to ’em all.

Blunt.

Not all, good Captain.

Willmore.

All, for I hate ’em all—

Ariadne.

Heavens! if he should indeed! [Aside.]

Blunt.

But, Robert, I have found you most inclined to a Damsel when
you had a Bottle in your Head.

Willmore.

Give me thy Hand, Ned—Curse me, despise me, point me out for
Cowardice if e’er thou see’st me court a Woman more: Nay, when
thou knowest I ask any of the Sex a civil Question again—a
Plague upon ’em, how they’ve handled me—come, let’s go drink, I
say—Confusion to the Race—A Woman!—no, I will be burnt with
my own Fire to Cinders e’er any of the Brood shall lay my
Flame—

Ariadne.

He cannot be so wicked to keep this Resolution sure— [She passes by.]
Faith, I must be resolv’d—you’ve made a pious Resolution, Sir,
had you the Grace to keep it— [Passing on he pauses, and looks on her.]

Willmore.

Hum—What’s that?

Blunt.

That—O—nothing—but a Woman—come away.

Willmore.

A Woman! Damn her, what Mischief made her cross my way just
on the Point of Reformation!

Blunt.

I find the Devil will not lose so hopeful a Sinner. Hold,
hold, Captain, have you no Regard to your own Soul?
’dsheartlikins, ’tis a Woman, a very errant Woman.

Ariadne.

Your Friend informs you right, Sir, I am a Woman.

Willmore.

Ay, Child, or I were a lost Man—therefore, dear lovely
Creature—

Ariadne.

How can you tell, Sir?

Willmore.

Oh, I have naturally a large Faith, Child, and thou’st
promising Form, a tempting Motion, clean Limbs, well drest, and
a most damnable inviting Air.

Ariadne.

I am not to be sold, nor fond of Praise I merit not.

Willmore.

How, not to be sold too! By this light, Child, thou speakest
like a Cherubim, I have not heard so obliging a Sound from the
Mouth of Woman–kind this many a Day—I find we must be better
acquainted, my Dear.

Ariadne.

Your Reason, good familiar Sir, I see no such Necessity.

Willmore.

Child, you are mistaken, I am in great Necessity; for first
I love thee—desperately—have I not damn’d my Soul already
for thee, and wouldst thou be so wicked to refuse a little
Consolation to my Body? Then secondly, I see thou art frank
and good–natur’d, and wilt do Reason gratis.

Ariadne.

How prove ye that, good Mr. Philospher?

Willmore.

Thou say’st thou’rt not to be sold, and I’m sure thou’rt to
be had—that lovely Body of so divine a Form, those soft smooth
Arms and Hands, were made t’embrace as well as be embrac’d;
that delicate white rising Bosom to be prest, and all thy other
Charms to be enjoy’d.

Ariadne.

By one that can esteem ’em to their worth, can set a Value
and a Rate upon ’em.

Willmore.

Name not those Words, they grate my Ears like Jointure,
that dull conjugal Cant that frights the generous Lover. Rate—
Death, let the old Dotards talk of Rates, and pay it t’atone
for the Defects of Impotence. Let the sly Statesman, who jilts
the Commonwealth with his grave Politicks, pay for the Sin,
that he may doat in secret; let the brisk Fool inch out his
scanted Sense with a large Purse more eloquent than he: But
tell not me of Rates, who bring a Heart, Youth, Vigor, and a
Tongue to sing the Praise of every single Pleasure thou shalt
give me.

Ariadne.

Then if I should be kind, I perceive you would not keep the
Secret.

Willmore.

Secrecy is a damn’d ungrateful Sin, Child, known only where
Religion and Small–beer are current, despis’d where Apollo and
the Vine bless the Country: you find none of Jove’s Mistresses
hid in Roots and Plants, but fixt Stars in Heaven for all to
gaze and wonder at—and tho I am no God, my Dear, I’ll do a
Mortal’s Part, and generously tell the admiring World what
hidden Charms thou hast: Come, lead me to some Place of
Happiness—

Blunt.

Prithee, honest Damsel, be not so full of Questions; will a
Pistole or two do thee any hurt?

Lucia.

None at all, Sir—

Blunt.

Thou speak’st like a hearty Wench—and I believe hast not
been one of Venus’ Hand–maids so long, but thou understand thy
Trade—In short, fair Damsel, this honest Fellow here who is so
termagant upon thy Lady, is my Friend, my particular Friend, and
therefore I would have him handsomly, and well–favour’dly
abus’d—you conceive me.

Lucia.

Truly, Sir, a friendly Request—but in what Nature abus’d?

Blunt.

Nature!—why any of your Tricks would serve—but if he
could be conveniently strip’d and beaten, or tost in a Blanket,
or any such trivial Business, thou wouldst do me a singular
Kindness; as for Robbery he defies the Devil: an empty Pocket
is an Antidote against that Ill.

Lucia.

Your Money, Sir: and if he be not cozen’d, say a Spanish
Woman has neither Wit nor Invention upon Occasion.

Blunt.

Sheartlikins, how I shall love and honour thee for’t—here’s
earnest— [Talks to her with Joy and Grimace.]

Ariadne.

But who was that you entertain’d at Church but now?

Willmore.

Faith, one, who for her Beauty merits that glorious Title she
wears, it was—a Whore, Child.

Ariadne.

That’s but a scurvy Name; yet, if I’m not mistaken, in those
false Eyes of yours, they look with longing Love upon that—
Whore, Child.

Willmore.

Thou are i’th’ right, and by this hand, my Soul was full as
wishing as my eyes: but a Pox on’t, you Women have all a certain
Jargon, or Gibberish, peculiar to your selves; of Value, Rate,
Present, Interest, Settlement, Advantage, Price, Maintenance,
and the Devil and all of Fopperies, which in plain Terms signify
ready Money, by way of Fine before Entrance; so that an honest
well–meaning Merchant of Love finds no Credit amongst ye,
without his Bill of Lading.

Ariadne.

We are not all so cruel—but the Devil on’t is, your good—
natur’d Heart is likely accompanied with an ill Face and worse
Wit.

Willmore.

Faith, Child, a ready Dish when a Man’s Stomach is up, is
better than a tedious Feast. I never saw any Man yet cut my
piece; some are for Beauty, some are for Wit, and some for the
Secret, but I for all, so it be in a kind Girl: and for Wit in
Woman, so she say pretty fond things, we understand; tho true
or false, no matter.

Ariadne.

Give the Devil his due, you are a very conscientious Lover:
I love a Man that scorns to impose dull Truth and Constancy on a
Mistress.

Willmore.

Constancy, that current Coin with Fools! No, Child, Heaven
keep that Curse from our Doors.

Ariadne.

Hang it, it loses Time and Profit, new Lovers have new Vows
and new Presents, whilst the old feed upon a dull repetition of
what they did when they were Lovers; ’tis like eating the cold
Meat ones self, after having given a Friend a Feast.

Willmore.

Yes, that’s the thrifty Food for the Family when the Guests
are gone. Faith, Child, thou hast made a neat and a hearty
Speech: But prithee, my Dear, for the future, leave out that
same Profit and Present, for I have a natural Aversion to hard
words; and for matter of quick Dispatch in the Business—give me
thy Hand, Child—let us but start fair, and if thou outstripst
me, thou’rt a nimble Racer. [Lucia sees Shift.]

Lucia.

Oh, Madam, let’s be gone: younder’s Lieutenant Shift, who, if
he sees us, will certainly give an Account of it to Mr.
Beaumond. Let’s get in thro the Garden, I have the Key.

Ariadne.

Here’s Company coming, and for several reasons I would not
be seen. [Offers to go.]

Willmore.

Gad, Child, nor I; Reputation is tender—therefore prithee
let’s retire. [Offers to go with her.]

Ariadne.

You must not stir a step.

Willmore.

Not stir! no Magick Circle can detain me if you go.

Ariadne.

Follow me then at a distance, and observe where I enter; and
at night (if your Passion lasts so long) return, and you shall
find Admittance into the Garden. [Speaking hastily.] [He runs out after her.]

Enter Shift.

Shift.

Well, Sir, the Mountebank’s come, and just going to begin
in the Piazza; I have order’d Matters, that you shall have a
Sight of the Monsters, and leave to court ’em, and when won,
to give the Guardian a fourth part of the Portions.

Blunt.

Good: But Mum—here’s the Captain, who must by no means
know our good Fortune, till he see us in State.

Enter Willmore, Shift goes to him.

Shift.

All things are ready, Sir, for our Design, the House
prepar’d as you directed me, the Guardian wrought upon by the
Persuasions of the two Monsters, to take a Lodging there, and
try the Bath of Reformation: The Bank’s preparing, and the
Operators and Musick all ready, and the impatient Town flockt
together to behold the Man of Wonders, and nothing wanting but
your Donship and a proper Speech.

Willmore.

’Tis well, I’ll go fit my self with a Dress, and think of a
Speech the while: In the mean time, go you and amuse the gaping
Fools that expect my coming. [Goes out.]

Enter Fetherfool singing and dancing.

Fetherfool.

Have you heard of a Spanish Lady,
How she woo’d an English Man?

Blunt.

Why, how now, Fetherfool?

Fetherfool.

Garments gay, and rich as may be,
Deckt with Jewels, had she on.

Blunt.

Why, how now, Justice, what run mad out of Dog–days?

Fetherfool.

Of a comely Countenance and Grace is she,
A sweeter Creature in the World there could not be.

Shift.

Why, what the Devil’s the matter, Sir?

Blunt.

Stark mad, ’dshartlikins.

Fetherfool.

Of a Comely Countenance—well, Lieutenant, the most heroick
and illustrious Madona! Thou saw’st her, Ned: And of a comely
Counte—The most Magnetick Face—well—I knew the Charms of
these Eyes of mine were not made in vain: I was design’d for
great things, that’s certain—And a sweeter Creature in the
World there could not be. [Singing.]

Blunt.

What then the two Lady Monsters are forgotten? the Design
upon the Million of Money, the Coach and Six, and Patent for
Right Worshipful, all drown’d in the Joy of this new Mistress?—
But well, Lieutenant, since he is so well provided for, you may
put in with me for a Monster; such a Jest, and such a Sum, is
not to be lost.

Shift.

Nor shall not, or I have lost my Aim. [Aside.]

Fetherfool.

[Putting off his Hat.] Your Pardons, good Gentlemen; and tho
I perceive I shall have no great need for so trifling a Sum as a
hundred thousand Pound, or so, yet a Bargain’s a Bargain,
Gentlemen.

Blunt.

Nay, ’dsheartlikins, the Lieutenant scorns to do a foul
thing, d’ye see, but we would not have the Monsters slighted.

Fetherfool.

Slighted! no, Sir, I scorn your Words, I’d have ye to know,
that I have as high a Respect for Madam Monster, as any
Gentleman in Christendom, and so I desire she should
understand.

Blunt.

Why, this is that that’s handsom.

Shift.

Well, the Mountebank’s come, Lodgings are taken at his
House, and the Guardian prepar’d to receive you on the aforesaid
Terms, and some fifty Pistoles to the Mountebank to stand your
Friend, and the Business is done.

Fetherfool.

Which shall be perform’d accordingly, I have it ready about
me.

Blunt.

And here’s mine, put ’em together, and let’s be speedy, lest
some should bribe higher, and put in before us. [Feth. takes the Money, and looks pitiful on’t.]

Fetherfool.

Tis a plaguy round Sum, Ned, pray God it turn to Account.

Blunt.

Account, ’dsheartlikins, tis not in the Power of mortal Man
to cozen ’me.

Shift.

Oh fie, Sir, cozen you, Sir!—well, you’ll stay here and see
the Mountebank, he’s coming forth.

[A Hollowing. Enter from the Front a Bank, a Pageant, which they fix on the Stage at one side, a little Pavilion on’t, Musick playing, and Operators round below, or Antickers.]

[Musick plays, and an Antick Dance.]

Enter Willmore like a Mountebank, with a Dagger in one Hand, and a Viol in the other, Harlequin and Scaramouche; Carlo with other Spaniards below, and Rabble; Ariadne and Lucia above in the Balcony, others on the other side, Fetherfool and Blunt below.

Willmore.

(bowing) Behold this little Viol, which contains in its
narrow Bounds what the whole Universe cannot purchase, if sold
to its true Value; this admirable, this miraculous Elixir, drawn
from the Hearts of Mandrakes, Phenix Livers, and Tongues of
Maremaids, and distill’d by contracted Sun–Beams, has besides
the unknown Virtue of curing all Distempers both of Mind and
Body, that divine one of animating the Heart of Man to that
Degree, that however remiss, cold and cowardly by Nature, he
shall become vigorous and brave. Oh stupid and insensible Man,
when Honour and secure Renown invites you, to treat it with
Neglect, even when you need but passive Valour, to become the
Heroes of the Age; receive a thousand Wounds, each of which
wou’d let out fleeting Life: Here’s that can snatch the parting
Soul in its full Career, and bring it back to its native
Mansion; baffles grim Death, and disappoints even Fate.

Fetherfool.

Oh Pox, an a Man were sure of that now—

Willmore.

Behold, here’s Demonstration—

[Harlequin stabs himself, and falls as dead.]

Fetherfool.

Hold, hold, why, what the Devil is the Fellow mad?

Blunt.

Why, do’st think he has hurt himself?

Fetherfool.

Hurt himself! why, he’s murder’d, Man; ’tis flat Felo de se,
in any ground in England, if I understand Law, and I have been a
Justice o’th’ Peace.

Willmore.

See, Gentlemen, he’s dead—

Fetherfool.

Look ye there now, I’ll be gone lest I be taken as an
Accessary. [Going out.]

Willmore.

Coffin him, inter him, yet after four and twenty Hours, as
many Drops of this divine Elixir give him new Life again; this
will recover whole Fields of slain, and all the Dead shall rise
and fight again—’twas this that made the Roman Legions
numerous, and now makes France so formidable, and this alone—
may be the Occasion of the loss of Germany. [Pours in Harlequin’s Wound, he rises.]

Fetherfool.

Why this Fellow’s the Devil, Ned, that’s for certain.

Blunt.

Oh plague, a damn’d Conjurer, this—

Willmore.

Come, buy this Coward’s Comfort, quickly buy; what Fop would
be abus’d, mimick’d and scorn’d, for fear of Wounds can be so
easily cured? Who is’t wou’d bear the Insolence and Pride of
domineering great Men, proud Officers or Magistrates? or who
wou’d cringe to Statesmen out of Fear? What Cully wou’d be
cuckolded? What foolish Heir undone by cheating Gamesters? What
Lord wou’d be lampoon’d? What Poet fear the Malice of his
satirical Brother, or Atheist fear to fight for fear of Death?
Come buy my Coward’s Comfort, quickly buy.

Fetherfool.

Egad, Ned, a very excellent thing this; I’ll lay out ten
Reals upon this Commodity.

[They buy, whilst another Part of the Dance is danc’d.]

Willmore.

Behold this little Paper, which contains a Pouder, whose
Value surmounts that of Rocks of Diamonds and Hills of Gold;
’twas this made Venus a Goddess, and was given her by Apollo,
from her deriv’d to Helen, and in the Sack of Troy lost, till
recover’d by me out of some Ruins of Asia. Come, buy it, Ladies,
you that wou’d be fair and wear eternal Youth; and you in whom
the amorous Fire remains, when all the Charms are fled: You that
dress young and gay, and would be thought so, that patch and
paint, to fill up sometimes old Furrows on your Brows, and set
yourselves for Conquest, tho in vain; here’s that will give you
aubern Hair, white Teeth, red Lips, and Dimples on your Cheeks:
Come, buy it all you that are past bewitching, and wou’d have
handsom, young and active Lovers.

Fetherfool.

Another good thing, Ned.

Carlo.

I’ll lay out a Pistole or two in this, if it have the same
Effect on Men.

Willmore.

Come, all you City Wives, that wou’d advance your Husbands
to Lord Mayors, come, buy of me new Beauty; this will give it
tho now decay’d, as are your Shop Commodities; this will
retrieve your Customers, and vend your false and out of
fashion’d Wares: cheat, lye, protest and cozen as you please, a
handsom Wife makes all a lawful Gain. Come, City Wives, come,
buy.

Fetherfool.

A most prodigious Fellow!

[They buy, he sits, the other Part is danc’d.]

Willmore.

But here, behold the Life and Soul of Man! this is the
amorous Pouder, which Venus made and gave the God of Love, which
made him first a Deity; you talk of Arrows, Bow, and killing
Darts; Fables, poetical Fictions, and no more: ’tis this alone
that wounds and fires the Heart, makes Women kind, and equals
Men to Gods; ’tis this that makes your great Lady doat on the
ill–favour’d Fop; your great Man be jilted by his little
Mistress, the Judge cajol’d by his Semstress, and your Politican
by his Comedian; your young lady doat on her decrepid Husband,
your Chaplain on my Lady’s Waiting–Woman, and the young Squire
on the Landry–Maid—In fine, Messieurs,

’Tis this that cures the Lover’s Pain,
And Celia of her cold Disdain.

Fetherfool.

A most devilish Fellow this!

Blunt.

Hold, shartlikins, Fetherfool, let’s have a Dose or two of
this Pouder for quick Dispatch with our Monsters.

Fetherfool.

Why Pox, Man, Jugg my Giant would swallow a whole Cart–Load
before ’twould operate.

Blunt.

No hurt in trying a Paper or two however.

Carlo.

A most admirable Receit, I shall have need on’t.

Willmore.

I need say nothing of my divine Baths of Reformation, nor the
wonders of the old Oracle of the Box, which resolves all
Questions, my Bills sufficiently declare their Virtue. [Sits down. They buy.]

Enter Petronella Elenora carried in a Chair, dress’d like a Girl of Fifteen.

Shift.

Room there, Gentlemen, room for a Patient.

Blunt.

Pray, Seignior, who may this be thus muzzl’d by old Gaffer
Time?

Carlo.

One Petronella Elenora, Sir, a famous outworn Curtezan.

Blunt.

Elenora! she may be that of Troy for her Antiquity, tho
fitter for God Priapus to ravish than Paris.

Shift.

Hunt, a word; dost thou see that same formal Politician
yonder, on the Jennet, the nobler Animal of the two?

Hunt.

What of him?

Shift.

’Tis the same drew on the Captain this Morning, and I must
revenge the Affront.

Hunt.

Have a care of Revenges in Spain, upon Persons of his
Quality.

Shift.

Nay, I’ll only steal his Horse from under him.

Hunt.

Steal it! thou may’st take it by force perhaps; but how
safely is a Question.

Shift.

I’ll warrant thee—shoulder you up one side of his great
Saddle, I’ll do the like on t’other; then heaving him gently
up, Harlequin shall lead the Horse from between his Worship’s
Legs: All this in the Crowd will not be perceiv’d, where all
Eyes are imploy’d on the Mountebank.

Hunt.

I apprehend you now—

[Whilst they are lifting Petronella on the Mountebank’s Stage, they go into the Crowd, shoulder up Carlo’s Saddle. Harlequin leads the Horse forward, whilst Carlo is gazing, and turning up his Mustachios; they hold him up a little while, then let him drop: he rises and stares about for his Horse.]

Carlo.

This is flat Conjuration.

Shift.

What’s your Worship on foot?

Hunt.

I never saw his Worship on foot before.

Carlo.

Sirrah, none of your Jests, this must be by diabolical Art,
and shall cost the Seignior dear—Men of my Garb affronted—my
Jennet vanisht—most miraculous—by St. Jago, I’ll be revenged—
hah, what’s here—La Nuche— [Surveys her at a distance.]

Enter La Nuche, Aurelia, Sancho.

La Nuche.

We are pursu’d by Beaumond, who will certainly hinder our
speaking to Willmore, should we have the good fortune to see him
in this Crowd—and yet there’s no avoiding him.

Beaumond.

’Tis she, how carefully she shuns me!

Aurelia.

I’m satisfied he knows us by the jealous Concern which appears
in that prying Countenance of his.

Beaumond.

Stay, Cruel, is it Love or Curiosity, that wings those nimble
Feet? [Holds her.]

[Lucia above and Ariadne.]

Ariadne.

Beaumond with a Woman!

Beaumond.

Have you forgot this is the glorious Day that ushers in the
Night shall make you mine? the happiest Night that ever
favour’d Love!

La Nuche.

Or if I have, I find you’ll take care to remember me.

Beaumond.

Sooner I could forget the Aids of Life, sooner forget how
first that Beauty charm’d me.

La Nuche.

Well, since your Memory’s so good, I need not doubt your
coming.

Beaumond.

Still cold and unconcern’d! How have I doated, and how
sacrific’d, regardless of my Fame, lain idling here, when all
the Youth of Spain were gaining Honour, valuing one Smile of
thine above their Laurels!

La Nuche.

And in return, I do submit to yield, preferring you above
those fighting Fools, who safe in Multitudes reap Honour
cheaper.

Beaumond.

Yet there is one—one of those fighting Fools which should’st
thou see, I fear I were undone; brave, handsome, gay, and all
that Women doat on, unfortunate in every good of Life, but that
one Blessing of obtaining Women: Be wise, for if thou seest him
thou art lost—Why dost thou blush?

La Nuche.

Because you doubt my Heart—’tis Willmore that he means.
[Aside.] We’ve Eyes upon us, Don Carlo may grow jealous, and
he’s a powerful Rival—at night I shall expect ye.

Beaumond.

Whilst I prepare my self for such a Blessing.

[Ex. Beau.]

Carlo.

Hah! a Cavalier in conference with La Nuche! and entertain’d
without my knowledge! I must prevent this Lover, for he’s young—
and this Night will surprise her. [Aside.]

Willmore.

And you would be restor’d? [To Petro.]

Petronella.

Yes, if there be that Divinity in your Baths of Reformation.

Willmore.

There are.

New Flames shall sparkle in those Eyes;
And these grey Hairs flowing and bright shall rise:
These Cheeks fresh Buds of Roses wear,
And all your wither’d Limbs so smooth and clear,
As shall a general Wonder move,
And wound a thousand Hearts with Love.

Petronella.

A Blessing on you, Sir, there’s fifty Pistoles for you, and as
I earn it you shall have more. [They lift her down.]

[Exit Willmore bowing.]

Shift.

Messieurs, ’tis late, and the Seignior’s Patients stay for
him at his Laboratory, to morrow you shall see the conclusion of
this Experiment, and so I humbly take my leave at this time.

Enter Willmore, below sees La Nuche, makes up to her, whilst the last part of the Dance is dancing.

La Nuche.

What makes you follow me, Sir?

[She goes from him, he pursues.]

Willmore.

Madam, I see something in that lovely Face of yours, which if
not timely prevented will be your ruin: I’m now in haste, but I
have more to say— [Goes off.]

La Nuche.

Stay, Sir—he’s gone—and fill’d me with a curiosity that
will not let me rest till it be satisfied: Follow me, Aurelia,
for I must know my Destiny. [Goes out.]

[The Dance ended, the Bank removes, the People go off.]

Fetherfool.

Come, Ned, now for our amorous Visit to the two Lady
Monsters.

[Ex. Feth. and Blunt.]

SCENE II. Changes to a fine Chamber.

Enter Ariadne and Lucia.

Ariadne.

I’m thoughtful: Prithee, Cousin, sing some foolish Song—

SONG.

Phillis, whose Heart was unconfin’d
And free as Flowers on Meads and Plains,
None boasted of her being kind,
’Mongst all the languishing and amorous Swains:
No Sighs nor Tears the Nymph could move [bis.]
To pity or return their Love.

Till on a time, the hapless Maid
Retir’d to shun the heat o’th’ Day,
Into a Grove, beneath whose Shade
Strephon, the careless Shepherd, sleeping lay:
But oh such Charms the Youth adorn, [bis.]
Love is reveng’d for all her Scorn.

Her Cheeks with Blushes covered were,
And tender Sighs her Bosom warm;
A softness in her Eyes appear,
Unusual Pains she feels from every Charm:
To Woods and Ecchoes now she cries, [bis.]
For Modesty to speak denies.

Ariadne.

Come, help to undress me, for I’ll to this Mountebank, to
know what success I shall have with my Cavalier. [Unpins her things before a great Glass that is fasten’d.]

Lucia.

You are resolv’d then to give him admittance?

Ariadne.

Where’s the danger of a handsom young Fellow?

Lucia.

But you don’t know him, Madam.

Ariadne.

But I desire to do, and time may bring it about without
Miracle.

Lucia.

Your Cousin Beaumond will forbid the Banes.

Ariadne.

No, nor old Carlos neither, my Mother’s precious Choice, who
is as sollicitous for the old Gentleman, as my Father–in–Law is
for his Nephew. Therefore, Lucia, like a good and gracious
Child, I’ll end the Dispute between my Father and Mother, and
please my self in the choice of this Stranger, if he be to be
had.

Lucia.

I should as soon be enamour’d on the North Wind, a Tempest, or
a Clap of Thunder. Bless me from such a Blast.

Ariadne.

I’d have a Lover rough as Seas in Storms, upon occasion; I
hate your dull temperate Lover, ’tis such a husbandly quality,
like Beaumond’s Addresses to me, whom neither Joy nor Anger puts
in motion; or if it do, ’tis visibly forc’d—I’m glad I saw him
entertain a Woman to day, not that I care, but wou’d be fairly
rid of him.

Lucia.

You’ll hardly mend your self in this.

Ariadne.

What, because he held Discourse with a Curtezan?

Lucia.

Why, is there no danger in her Eyes, do ye think?

Ariadne.

None that I fear, that Stranger’s not such a fool to give his
Heart to a common Woman; and she that’s concern’d where her
Lover bestows his Body, were I the Man, I should think she had a
mind to’t her self.

Lucia.

And reason, Madam: in a lawful way ’tis your due.

Ariadne.

What all? unconscionable Lucia! I am more merciful; but be he
what he will, I’ll to this cunning Man, to know whether ever any
part of him shall be mine.

Lucia.

Lord, Madam, sure he’s a Conjurer.

Ariadne.

Let him be the Devil, I’ll try his Skill, and to that end
will put on a Suit of my Cousin Endymion; there are two or three
very pretty ones of his in the Wardrobe, go carry ’em to my
Chamber, and we’ll fit our selves and away—Go haste whilst I
undress.

[Ex. Lucia.] [Ariadne undressing before the Glass.]

Enter Beaumond tricking himself, and looks on himself.

Beaumond.

Now for my charming Beauty, fair La Nuche—hah—Ariadne—damn
the dull Property, how shall I free my self?

[She turns, sees him, and walks from the Glass, he takes no notice of her, but tricks himself the Glass, humming a Song.]

Ariadne.

Beaumond! What Devil brought him hither to prevent me? I hate
the formal matrimonial Fop. [He walks about and sings.]

Sommes nous pas trop heureux,
Belle Irise, que nous ensemble.

A Devil on him, he may chance to plague me till night, and
hinder my dear Assignation. [Sings again.]

La Nuit et le Sombre voiles Coverie nos desires ardentes;
Et l’ Amour et les Etoiles Sont nos secrets confidents.

Beaumond.

Pox on’t, how dull am I at an excuse? [Sets his Wig in the Glass, and sings.]

A Pox of Love and Woman–kind,
And all the Fops adore ’em.

[Puts on his Hat, cocks it, and goes to her.]

How is’t, Cuz?

Ariadne.

So, here’s the saucy freedom of a Husband Lover—a blest
Invention this of marrying, whoe’er first found it out.

Beaumond.

Damn this English Dog of a Perriwig–maker, what an ungainly
Air it gives the Face, and for a Wedding Perriwig too—how dost
thou like it, Ariadne? [Uneasy.]

Ariadne.

As ill as the Man—I perceive you have taken more care for
your Perriwig than your Bride.

Beaumond.

And with reason, Ariadne, the Bride was never the care of the
Lover, but the business of the Parents; ’tis a serious Affair,
and ought to be manag’d by the grave and wise: Thy Mother and my
Uncle have agreed the Matter, and would it not look very sillily
in me now to whine a tedious Tale of Love in your Ear, when the
business is at an end? ’tis like saying a Grace when a Man
should give Thanks.

Ariadne.

Why did you not begin sooner then?

Beaumond.

Faith, Ariadne, because I know nothing of the Design in hand;
had I had civil warning, thou shouldst have had as pretty smart
Speeches from me, as any Coxcomb Lover of ’em all could have
made thee.

Ariadne.

I shall never marry like a Jew in my own Tribe; I’ll rather
be possest by honest old doating Age, than by saucy conceited
Youth, whose Inconstancy never leaves a Woman safe or quiet.

Beaumond.

You know the Proverb of the half Loaf, Ariadne; a Husband
that will deal thee some Love is better than one who can give
thee none: you would have a blessed time on’t with old Father
Carlo.

Ariadne.

No matter, a Woman may with some lawful excuse cuckold him,
and ’twould be scarce a Sin.

Beaumond.

Not so much as lying with him, whose reverend Age wou’d make
it look like Incest.

Ariadne.

But to marry thee—would be a Tyranny from whence there’s no
Appeal: A drinking whoring Husband! ’tis the Devil—

Beaumond.

You are deceiv’d, if you think Don Carlo more chaste than I;
only duller, and more a Miser, one that fears his Flesh more,
and loves his Money better.—Then to be condemn’d to lie with
him—oh, who would not rejoice to meet a Woollen–Waistcoat, and
knit Night–Cap without a Lining, a Shirt so nasty, a cleanly
Ghost would not appear in’t at the latter Day? then the compound
of nasty Smells about him, stinking Breath, Mustachoes stuft
with villainous snush, Tobacco, and hollow Teeth: thus prepar’d
for Delight, you meet in Bed, where you may lie and sigh whole
Nights away, he snores it out till Morning, and then rises to
his sordid business.

Ariadne.

All this frights me not: ’tis still much better than a
keeping Husband, whom neither Beauty nor Honour in a Wife can
oblige.

Beaumond.

Oh, you know not the good–nature of a Man of Wit, at least I
shall bear a Conscience, and do thee reason, which Heaven denies
to old Carlo, were he willing.

Ariadne.

Oh, he talks as high, and thinks as well of himself as any
young Coxcomb of ye all.

Beaumond.

He has reason, for if his Faith were no better than his
Works, he’d be damn’d.

Ariadne.

Death, who wou’d marry, who wou’d be chaffer’d thus, and sold
to Slavery? I’d rather buy a Friend at any Price that I could
love and trust.

Beaumond.

Ay, could we but drive on such a Bargain.

Ariadne.

You should not be the Man; You have a Mistress, Sir, that has
your Heart, and all your softer Hours: I know’t, and if I were
so wretched as to marry thee, must see my Fortune lavisht out on
her; her Coaches, Dress, and Equipage exceed mine by far:
Possess she all the day thy Hours of Mirth, good Humour and
Expence, thy Smiles, thy Kisses, and thy Charms of Wit. Oh how
you talk and look when in her Presence! but when with me,

A Pox of Love and Woman–kind, [Sings.]
And all the Fops adore ’em.

How it’s, Cuz—then slap, on goes the Beaver, which being
cock’d, you bear up briskly, with the second Part to the same
Tune—Harkye, Sir, let me advise you to pack up your Trumpery
and be gone, your honourable Love, your matrimonial Foppery,
with your other Trinkets thereunto belonging; or I shall talk
aloud, and let your Uncle hear you.

Beaumond.

Sure she cannot know I love La Nuche. [Aside.]
The Devil take me, spoil’d! What Rascal has inveigled thee? What
lying fawning coward has abus’d thee? When fell you into this
Leudness? Pox, thou art hardly worth the loving now, that canst
be such a Fool, to wish me chaste, or love me for that Virtue;
or that wouldst have me a ceremonious help, one that makes
handsom Legs to Knights without laughing, or with a sneaking
modest Squirish Countenance; assure you, I have my Maidenhead. A
Curse upon thee, the very thought of Wife has made thee formal.

Ariadne.

I must dissemble, or he’ll stay all day to make his peace
again—why, have you ne’er—a Mistress then?

Beaumond.

A hundred, by this day, as many as I like, they are my Mirth,
the business of my loose and wanton Hours; but thou art my
Devotion, the grave, the solemn Pleasure of my Soul—Pox, would
I were handsomly rid of thee too. [Aside.]
—Come, I have business—send me pleas’d away.

Ariadne.

Would to Heaven thou wert gone; [Aside.]
You’re going to some Woman now.

Beaumond.

Oh damn the Sex, I hate ’em all—but thee—farewell, my
pretty jealous—sullen—Fool.

[Goes out.]

Ariadne.

Farewel, believing Coxcomb.

[Enter Lucia.]

Lucia.

Madam, the Clothes are ready in your Chamber.

Ariadne.

Let’s haste and put ’em on then. [Runs out.]

 

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