ACT III.

SCENE I. A Street.

Enter Florinda, Valeria, Hellena, in Antick different Dresses from what they were in before, Callis attending.

Florinda.

I wonder what should make my Brother in so ill a Humour: I
hope he has not found out our Ramble this Morning.

Hellena.

No, if he had, we should have heard on’t at both Ears, and
have been mew’d up this Afternoon; which I would not for the
World should have happen’d—Hey ho! I’m sad as a Lover’s Lute.

Valeria.

Well, methinks we have learnt this Trade of Gipsies as readily
as if we had been bred upon the Road to Loretto: and yet I did
so fumble, when I told the Stranger his Fortune, that I was
afraid I should have told my own and yours by mistake—But
methinks Hellena has been very serious ever since.

Florinda.

I would give my Garters she were in love, to be reveng’d upon
her, for abusing me—How is’t, Hellena?

Hellena.

Ah!—would I had never seen my mad Monsieur—and yet for all
your laughing I am not in love—and yet this small Acquaintance,
o’my Conscience, will never out of my Head.

Valeria.

Ha, ha, ha—I laugh to think how thou art fitted with a Lover,
a Fellow that, I warrant, loves every new Face he sees.

Hellena.

Hum—he has not kept his Word with me here—and may be taken
up—that thought is not very pleasant to me—what the Duce
should this be now that I feel?

Valeria.

What is’t like?

Hellena.

Nay, the Lord knows—but if I should be hanged, I cannot
chuse but be angry and afraid, when I think that mad Fellow
should be in love with any Body but me—What to think of my self
I know not—Would I could meet with some true damn’d Gipsy, that
I might know my Fortune.

Valeria.

Know it! why there’s nothing so easy; thou wilt love this
wandring Inconstant till thou find’st thy self hanged about his
Neck, and then be as mad to get free again.

Florinda.

Yes, Valeria; we shall see her bestride his Baggage–horse,
and follow him to the Campaign.

Hellena.

So, so; now you are provided for, there’s no care taken of
poor me—But since you have set my Heart a wishing, I am
resolv’d to know for what. I will not die of the Pip, so I will
not.

Florinda.

Art thou mad to talk so? Who will like thee well enough to
have thee, that hears what a mad Wench thou art?

Hellena.

Like me! I don’t intend every he that likes me shall have me,
but he that I like: I shou’d have staid in the Nunnery still, if
I had lik’d my Lady Abbess as well as she lik’d me. No, I came
thence, not (as my wise Brother imagines) to take an eternal
Farewel of the World, but to love and to be belov’d; and I will
be belov’d, or I’ll get one of your Men, so I will.

Valeria.

Am I put into the Number of Lovers?

Hellena.

You! my Couz, I know thou art too good natur’d to leave us in
any Design: Thou wou’t venture a Cast, tho thou comest off a
Loser, especially with such a Gamester—I observ’d your Man, and
your willing Ears incline that way; and if you are not a Lover,
’tis an Art soon learnt—that I find. [Sighs.]

Florinda.

I wonder how you learnt to love so easily, I had a thousand
Charms to meet my Eyes and Ears, e’er I cou’d yield; and ’twas
the knowledge of Belvile’s Merit, not the surprising Person,
took my Soul—Thou art too rash to give a Heart at first sight.

Hellena.

Hang your considering Lover; I ne’er thought beyond the
Fancy, that ’twas a very pretty, idle, silly kind of Pleasure to
pass ones time with, to write little, soft, nonsensical Billets,
and with great difficulty and danger receive Answers; in which I
shall have my Beauty prais’d, my Wit admir’d (tho little or
none) and have the Vanity and Power to know I am desirable; then
I have the more Inclination that way, because I am to be a Nun,
and so shall not be suspected to have any such earthly Thoughts
about me—But when I walk thus—and sigh thus—they’ll think my
Mind’s upon my Monastery, and cry, how happy ’tis she’s so
resolv’d!—But not a Word of Man.

Florinda.

What a mad Creature’s this!

Hellena.

I’ll warrant, if my Brother hears either of you sigh, he
cries (gravely)—I fear you have the Indiscretion to be in love,
but take heed of the Honour of our House, and your own unspotted
Fame; and so he conjures on till he has laid the soft–wing’d God
in your Hearts, or broke the Birds–nest—But see here comes your
Lover: but where’s my inconstant? let’s step aside, and we may
learn something. [Go aside.]

Enter Belvile, Fred. and Blunt.

Belvile.

What means this? the Picture’s taken in.

Blunt.

It may be the Wench is good–natur’d, and will be kind
gratis. Your Friend’s a proper handsom Fellow.

Belvile.

I rather think she has cut his Throat and is fled: I am mad
he should throw himself into Dangers—Pox on’t, I shall want him
to night—let’s knock and ask for him.

Hellena.

My heart goes a–pit a–pat, for fear ’tis my Man they talk of.

[Knock, Moretta above.]

Moretta.

What would you have?

Belvile.

Tell the Stranger that enter’d here about two Hours ago, that
his Friends stay here for him.

Moretta.

A Curse upon him for Moretta, would he were at the Devil—
but he’s coming to you.

[Enter Wilmore.]

Hellena.

I, I, ’tis he. Oh how this vexes me.

Belvile.

And how, and how, dear Lad, has Fortune smil’d?
Are we to break her Windows, or raise up Altars to her! hah!

Willmore.

Does not my Fortune sit triumphantant on my Brow? dost not
see the little wanton God there all gay and smiling? have I not
an Air about my Face and Eyes, that distinguish me from the
Croud of common Lovers? By Heav’n, Cupid’s Quiver has not half
so many Darts as her Eyes—Oh such a Bona Roba, to sleep in her
Arms is lying in Fresco, all perfum’d Air about me.

Hellena.

Here’s fine encouragement for me to fool on. [Aside.]

Willmore.

Hark ye, where didst thou purchase that rich Canary we drank
to–day? Tell me, that I may adore the Spigot, and sacrifice to
the Butt: the Juice was divine, into which I must dip my Rosary,
and then bless all things that I would have bold or fortunate.

Belvile.

Well, Sir, let’s go take a Bottle, and hear the Story of
your Success.

Frederick.

Would not French Wine do better?

Willmore.

Damn the hungry Balderdash; cheerful Sack has a generous
Virtue in’t, inspiring a successful Confidence, gives Eloquence
to the Tongue, and Vigour to the Soul; and has in a few Hours
compleated all my Hopes and Wishes. There’s nothing left to
raise a new Desire in me—Come let’s be gay and wanton—and,
Gentlemen, study, study what you want, for here are Friends,—
that will supply, Gentlemen,—hark! what a charming sound they
make—’tis he and she Gold whilst here, shall beget new
Pleasures every moment.

Blunt.

But hark ye, Sir, you are not married, are you?

Willmore.

All the Honey of Matrimony, but none of the Sting, Friend.

Blunt.

’Sheartlikins, thou’rt a fortunate Rogue.

Willmore.

I am so, Sir, let these inform you.—Ha, how sweetly they
chime! Pox of Poverty, it makes a Man a Slave, makes Wit and
Honour sneak, my Soul grew lean and rusty for want of Credit.

Blunt.

’Sheartlikins, this I like well, it looks like my lucky
Bargain! Oh how I long for the Approach of my Squire, that is to
conduct me to her House again. Why! here’s two provided for.

Frederick.

By this light y’re happy Men.

Blunt.

Fortune is pleased to smile on us, Gentlemen,—to smile on
us.

Enter Sancho, and pulls Blunt by the Sleeve. They go aside.

Sancho.

Sir, my Lady expects you—she has remov’d all that might
oppose your Will and Pleasure—and is impatient till you come.

Blunt.

Sir, I’ll attend you—Oh the happiest Rogue! I’ll take no leave, lest they either dog me, or stay me.

[Ex. with Sancho.]

Belvile.

But then the little Gipsy is forgot?

Willmore.

A Mischief on thee for putting her into my thoughts; I had
quite forgot her else, and this Night’s Debauch had drunk her
quite down.

Hellena.

Had it so, good Captain? [Claps him on the Back.]

Willmore.

Ha! I hope she did not hear.

Hellena.

What, afraid of such a Champion!

Willmore.

Oh! you’re a fine Lady of your word, are you not? to make a
Man languish a whole day—

Hellena.

In tedious search of me.

Willmore.

Egad, Child, thou’rt in the right, hadst thou seen what a
melancholy Dog I have been ever since I was a Lover, how I have
walkt the Streets like a Capuchin, with my Hands in my Sleeves—
Faith, Sweetheart, thou wouldst pity me.

Hellena.

Now, if I should be hang’d, I can’t be angry with him, he
dissembles so heartily—Alas, good Captain, what pains you have
taken—Now were I ungrateful not to reward so true a Servant.

Willmore.

Poor Soul! that’s kindly said, I see thou bearest a
Conscience—come then for a beginning shew me thy dear Face.

Hellena.

I’m afraid, my small Acquaintance, you have been staying that
swinging stomach you boasted of this morning; I remember then
my little Collation would have gone down with you, without the
Sauce of a handsom Face—Is your Stomach so quesy now?

Willmore.

Faith long fasting, Child, spoils a Man’s Appetite—yet if
you durst treat, I could so lay about me still.

Hellena.

And would you fall to, before a Priest says Grace.

Willmore.

Oh fie, fie, what an old out–of–fashion’d thing hast thou
nam’d? Thou could’st not dash me more out of Countenance,
shouldst thou shew me an ugly Face.

Whilst he is seemingly courting Hellena, enter Angelica, Moretta, Biskey, and Sebastian, an in Masquerade: Ang. sees Will. and starts.

Angelica.

Heavens, is’t he? and passionately fond to see another Woman?

Moretta.

What cou’d you expect less from such a Swaggerer?

Angelica.

Expect! as much as I paid him, a Heart intire,
Which I had pride enough to think when e’er I gave
It would have rais’d the Man above the Vulgar,
Made him all Soul, and that all soft and constant.

Hellena.

You see, Captain, how willing I am to be Friends with you,
till Time and Ill–luck make us Lovers; and ask you the Question
first, rather than put your Modesty to the blush, by asking me:
for alas, I know you Captains are such strict Men, severe
Observers of your Vows to Chastity, that ’twill be hard to
prevail with your tender Conscience to marry a young willing
Maid.

Willmore.

Do not abuse me, for fear I should take thee at thy word, and
marry thee indeed, which I’m sure will be Revenge sufficient.

Hellena.

O’ my Conscience, that will be our Destiny, because we are
both of one humour; I am as inconstant as you, for I have
considered, Captain, that a handsom Woman has a great deal to do
whilst her Face is good, for then is our Harvest–time to gather
Friends; and should I in these days of my Youth, catch a fit of
foolish Constancy, I were undone; ’tis loitering by day–light in
our great Journey: therefore declare, I’ll allow but one year
for Love, one year for Indifference, and one year for Hate—and
then—go hang your self—for I profess myself the gay, the kind,
and the inconstant—the Devil’s in’t if this won’t please you.

Willmore.

Oh most damnably!—I have a Heart with a hole quite thro it
too, no Prison like mine to keep a Mistress in.

Angelica.

Perjur’d Man! how I believe thee now! [Aside.]

Hellena.

Well, I see our Business as well as Humours are alike, yours
to cozen as many Maids as will trust you, and I as many Men as
have Faith—See if I have not as desperate a lying look, as you
can have for the heart of you. [Pulls off her Vizard; he starts.]
—How do you like it, Captain?

Willmore.

Like it! by Heav’n, I never saw so much Beauty. Oh the Charms
of those sprightly black Eyes, that strangely fair Face, full of
Smiles and Dimples! those soft round melting cherry Lips! and
small even white Teeth! not to be exprest, but silently adored!—
Oh one Look more, and strike me dumb, or I shall repeat nothing
else till I am mad. [He seems to court her to pull off her Vizard: she refuses.]

Angelica.

I can endure no more—nor is it fit to interrupt him; for if I
do, my Jealousy has so destroy’d my Reason,—I shall undo him—
Therefore I’ll retire. And you Sebastian [To one of her]
Bravoes] follow that Woman, and learn who ’tis; while you tell
the Fugitive, I would speak to him instantly. [To the other Bravo.]

[Exit.]

[This while Flor. is talking to Belvile, who stands sullenly. Fred. courting Valeria.]

Valeria.

Prithee, dear Stranger, be not so sullen; for tho you have
lost your Love, you see my Friend frankly offers you hers, to
play with in the mean time.

Belvile.

Faith, Madam I am sorry I can’t play at her Game.

Frederick.

Pray leave your Intercession, and mind your own Affair,
they’ll better agree apart; he’s a model Sigher in Company, but
alone no Woman escapes him.

Florinda.

Sure he does but rally—yet if it should be true—I’ll tempt
him farther—Believe me, noble Stranger, I’m no common Mistress—
and for a little proof on’t—wear this Jewel—nay, take it, Sir,
’tis right, and Bills of Exchange may sometimes miscarry.

Belvile.

Madam, why am I chose out of all Mankind to be the Object of
your Bounty?

Valeria.

There’s another civil Question askt.

Frederick.

Pox of’s Modesty, it spoils his own Markets, and hinders
mine.

Florinda.

Sir, from my Window I have often seen you; and Women of
Quality have so few opportunities for Love, that we ought to
lose none.

Frederick.

Ay, this is something! here’s a Woman!—When shall I be blest with so much kindness from your fair Mouth?—Take the Jewel, Fool. [Aside to Belv.]

Belvile.

You tempt me strangely, Madam, every way.

Florinda.

So, if I find him false, my whole Repose is gone. [Aside.]

Belvile.

And but for a Vow I’ve made to a very fine Lady, this
Goodness had subdu’d me.

Frederick.

Pox on’t be kind, in pity to me be kind, for I am to thrive
here but as you treat her Friend.

Hellena.

Tell me what did you in yonder House, and I’ll unmasque.

Willmore.

Yonder House—oh—I went to—a—to—why, there’s a Friend of
mine lives there.

Hellena.

What a she, or a he Friend?

Willmore.

A Man upon my Honour! a Man—A She Friend! no, no, Madam, you
have done my Business, I thank you.

Hellena.

And was’t your Man Friend, that had more Darts in’s Eyes than
Cupid carries in a whole Budget of Arrows?

Willmore.

So—

Hellena.

Ah such a Bona Roba: to be in her Arms is lying in Fresco,
all perfumed Air about me—Was this your Man Friend too?

Willmore.

So—

Hellena.

That gave you the He, and the She—Gold, that begets young
Pleasures.

Willmore.

Well, well, Madam, then you see there are Ladies in the
World, that will not be cruel—there are, Madam, there are—

Hellena.

And there be Men too as fine, wild, inconstant Fellows as
your self, there be, Captain, there be, if you go to that now—
therefore I’m resolv’d—

Willmore.

Oh!

Hellena.

To see your Face no more—

Willmore.

Oh!

Hellena.

Till to morrow.

Willmore.

Egad you frighted me.

Hellena.

Nor then neither, unless you’l swear never to see that Lady
more.

Willmore.

See her!—why! never to think of Womankind again?

Hellena.

Kneel, and swear. [Kneels, she gives him her hand.]

Hellena.

I do, never to think—to see—to love—nor lie with any but
thy self.

Hellena.

Kiss the Book.

Willmore.

Oh, most religiously. [Kisses her Hand.]

Hellena.

Now what a wicked Creature am I, to damn a proper Fellow.

Callis.

Madam, I’ll stay no longer, ’tis e’en dark. [To Flor.]

Florinda.

However, Sir, I’ll leave this with you—that when I’m gone,
you may repent the opportunity you have lost by your modesty.

[Gives him the Jewel, which is her Picture, and Ex. he gazes after her.]

Willmore.

’Twill be an Age till to morrow,—and till then I will most
impatiently expect you—Adieu, my dear pretty Angel.

[Ex. all the Women.]

Belvile.

Ha! Florinda’s Picture! ’twas she her self—what a dull Dog
was I? I would have given the World for one minute’s discourse
with her.—

Frederick.

This comes of your Modesty,—ah pox on your Vow, ’twas ten to
one but we had lost the Jewel by’t.

Belvile.

Willmore! the blessed’st Opportunity lost!—Florinda,
Friends, Florinda!

Willmore.

Ah Rogue! such black Eyes, such a Face, such a Mouth, such
Teeth,—and so much Wit!

Belvile.

All, all, and a thousand Charms besides.

Willmore.

Why, dost thou know her?

Belvile.

Know her! ay, ay, and a Pox take me with all my Heart for
being modest.

Willmore.

But hark ye, Friend of mine, are you my Rival? and have I
been only beating the Bush all this while?

Belvile.

I understand thee not—I’m mad—see here— [Shews the Picture.]

Willmore.

Ha! whose Picture is this?—’tis a fine Wench.

Frederick.

The Colonel’s Mistress, Sir.

Willmore.

Oh, oh, here—I thought it had been another Prize—come,
come, a Bottle will set thee right again. [Gives the Picture back.]

Belvile.

I am content to try, and by that time ’twill be late enough
for our Design.

Willmore.

Agreed.

Love does all day the Soul’s great Empire keep,
But Wine at night lulls the soft God asleep.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. Lucetta’s House.

Enter Blunt and Lucetta with a Light.

Lucetta.

Now we are safe and free, no fears of the coming home of my
old jealous Husband, which made me a little thoughtful when you
came in first—but now Love is all the business of my Soul.

Blunt.

I am transported—Pox on’t, that I had but some fine things
to say to her, such as Lovers use—I was a Fool not to learn of
Fred. a little by Heart before I came—something I must say.— [Aside.]
’Sheartlikins, sweet Soul, I am not us’d to complement, but I’m
an honest Gentleman, and thy humble Servant.

Lucetta.

I have nothing to pay for so great a Favour, but such a Love
as cannot but be great, since at first sight of that sweet Face
and Shape it made me your absolute Captive.

Blunt.

Kind heart, how prettily she talks! Egad I’ll show her
Husband a Spanish Trick; send him out of the World, and marry
her: she’s damnably in love with me, and will ne’er mind
Settlements, and so there’s that sav’d. [Aside.]

Lucetta.

Well, Sir, I’ll go and undress me, and be with you instantly.

Blunt.

Make haste then, for ’dsheartlikins, dear Soul, thou canst
not guess at the pain of a longing Lover, when his Joys are
drawn within the compass of a few minutes.

Lucetta.

You speak my Sense, and I’ll make haste to provide it.

[Exit.]

Blunt.

’Tis a rare Girl, and this one night’s enjoyment with her
will be worth all the days I ever past in Essex.—Would she’d go
with me into England, tho to say truth, there’s plenty of Whores
there already.—But a pox on ’em they are such mercenary
prodigal Whores, that they want such a one as this, that’s free
and generous, to give ’em Good Examples:—Why, what a House she
has! how rich and fine!

Enter Sancho.

Sancho.

Sir, my Lady has sent me to conduct you to her Chamber.

Blunt.

Sir, I shall be proud to follow—Here’s one of her Servants
too: ’dsheartlikins, by his Garb and Gravity he might be a
Justice of Peace in Essex, and is but a Pimp here.

[Exeunt.]

The Scene changes to a Chamber with an Alcove–Bed in it, a Table, &c. Lucetta in Bed. Enter Sancho and Blunt, who takes the Candle of Sancho at the Door.

Sancho.

Sir, my Commission reaches no farther.

Blunt.

Sir, I’ll excuse your Complement:—what, in Bed, my sweet
Mistress?

Lucetta.

You see, I still out–do you in kindness.

Blunt.

And thou shalt see what haste I’ll make to quit scores—oh
the luckiest Rogue! [Undresses himself]

Lucetta.

Shou’d you be false or cruel now!

Blunt.

False, ’Sheartlikins, what dost thou take me for a Jew? an
insensible Heathen,—A Pox of thy old jealous Husband: and he
were dead, egad, sweet Soul, it shou’d be none of my fault, if I
did not marry thee.

Lucetta.

It never shou’d be mine.

Blunt.

Good Soul, I’m the fortunatest Dog!

Lucetta.

Are you not undrest yet?

Blunt.

As much as my Impatience will permit.

[Goes towards the Bed in his Shirt and Drawers.]

Lucetta.

Hold, Sir, put out the Light, it may betray us else.

Blunt.

Any thing, I need no other Light but that of thine Eyes!—
’sheartlikins, there I think I had it. [Aside.]

[Puts out the Candle, the Bed descends, he gropes about to find it.]

—Why—why—where am I got? what, not yet?—where are you
sweetest? —ah, the Rogue’s silent now—a pretty Love–trick
this—how she’ll laugh at me anon!—you need not, my dear
Rogue! you need not! I’m all on a fire already—come, come,
now call me in for pity—Sure I’m enchanted! I have been round
the Chamber, and can find neither Woman, nor Bed—I lockt the
Door, I’m sure she cannot go that way; or if she cou’d, the Bed
cou’d not—Enough, enough, my pretty Wanton, do not carry the
Jest too far—Ha, betray’d! Dogs! Rogues! Pimps! help! help!

[Lights on a Trap, and is let down.]

Enter Lucetta, Philippo, and Sancho with a Light.

Philippo.

Ha, ha, ha, he’s dispatcht finely.

Lucetta.

Now, Sir, had I been coy, we had mist of this Booty.

Philippo.

Nay when I saw ’twas a substantial Fool, I was mollified; but
when you doat upon a Serenading Coxcomb, upon a Face, fine
Clothes, and a Lute, it makes me rage.

Lucetta.

You know I never was guilty of that Folly, my dear Philippo,
but with your self—But come let’s see what we have got by this.

Philippo.

A rich Coat!—Sword and Hat!—these Breeches too—are well
lin’d!—see here a Gold Watch!—a Purse—ha! Gold!—at least two
hundred Pistoles! a bunch of Diamond Rings; and one with the
Family Arms!—a Gold Box!—with a Medal of his King! and his
Lady Mother’s Picture!—these were sacred Reliques, believe me!—
see, the Wasteband of his Breeches have a Mind of Gold!—Old
Queen Bess’s. We have a Quarrel to her ever since Eighty Eight,
and may therefore justify the Theft, the Inquisition might have
committed it.

Lucetta.

See, a Bracelet of bow’d Gold, these his Sister ty’d about his
Arm at parting—but well—for all this, I fear his being a
Stranger may make a noise, and hinder our Trade with them
hereafter.

Philippo.

That’s our security; he is not only a Stranger to us, but to
the Country too—the Common–Shore into which he is descended,
thou know’st, conducts him into another Street, which this Light
will hinder him from ever finding again—he knows neither your
Name, nor the Street where your House is, nay, nor the way to
his own Lodgings.

Lucetta.

And art not thou an unmerciful Rogue, not to afford him one
Night for all this?—I should not have been such a Jew.

Philippo.

Blame me not, Lucetta, to keep as much of thee as I can to my
self—come, that thought makes me wanton,—let’s to Bed,—
Sancho, lock up these.

This is the Fleece which Fools do bear,
Design’d for witty Men to sheer.

[Exeunt.]

The Scene changes, and discovers Blunt, creeping out of a Common Shore, his Face, &c., all dirty.

Blunt.

Oh Lord! [Climbing up.]
I am got out at last, and (which is a Miracle) without a Clue—
and now to Damning and Cursing,—but if that would ease me,
where shall I begin? with my Fortune, my self, or the Quean that
cozen’d me—What a dog was I to believe in Women! Oh Coxcomb—
ignorant conceited Coxcomb! to fancy she cou’d be enamour’d with
my Person, at the first sight enamour’d—Oh, I’m a cursed Puppy,
’tis plain, Fool was writ upon my Forehead, she perceiv’d it,—
saw the Essex Calf there—for what Allurements could there be in
this Countenance? which I can indure, because I’m acquainted
with it—Oh, dull silly Dog! to be thus sooth’d into a Cozening!
Had I been drunk, I might fondly have credited the young Quean!
but as I was in my right Wits, to be thus cheated, confirms I am
a dull believing English Country Fop.—But my Comrades! Death
and the Devil, there’s the worst of all—then a Ballad will be
sung to Morrow on the Prado, to a lousy Tune of the enchanted
Squire, and the annihilated Damsel—But Fred. that Rogue, and
the Colonel, will abuse me beyond all Christian patience—had
she left me my Clothes, I have a Bill of Exchange at home wou’d
have sav’d my Credit—but now all hope is taken from me—Well,
I’ll home (if I can find the way) with this Consolation, that I
am not the first kind believing Coxcomb; but there are,
Gallants, many such good Natures amongst ye.

And tho you’ve better Arts to hide your Follies,
Adsheartlikins y’are all as errant Cullies.

SCENE III. The Garden, in the Night.

Enter Florinda undress’d, with a Key, and a little Box.

Florinda.

Well, thus far I’m in my way to Happiness; I have got my self
free from Callis; my Brother too, I find by yonder light, is
gone into his Cabinet, and thinks not of me: I have by good
Fortune got the Key of the Garden Back–door,—I’ll open it, to
prevent Belvile’s knocking,—a little noise will now alarm my
Brother. Now am I as fearful as a young Thief. [Unlocks the]
Door.]—Hark—what noise is that?—Oh ’twas the Wind that plaid
amongst the the Boughs.—Belvile stays long, methinks—its time—
stay for fear of a surprize, I’ll hide these Jewels in yonder
Jessamin. [She goes to lay down the Box.]

Enter Willmore drunk.

Willmore.

What the Devil is become of these Fellows, Belvile and
Frederick? They promis’d to stay at the next corner for me, but
who the Devil knows the corner of a full Moon?—Now—whereabouts
am I?—hah—what have we here? a Garden!—a very convenient
place to sleep in—hah—what has God sent us here?—a Female—by
this light, a Woman; I’m a Dog if it be not a very Wench.—

Florinda.

He’s come!—hah—who’s there?

Willmore.

Sweet Soul, let me salute thy Shoe–string.

Florinda.

’Tis not my Belvile—good Heavens, I know him not.—Who are
you, and from whence come you?

Willmore.

Prithee—prithee, Child—not so many hard Questions—let it
suffice I am here, Child—Come, come kiss me.

Florinda.

Good Gods! what luck is mine?

Willmore.

Only good luck, Child, parlous good luck.—Come hither,—’tis
a delicate shining Wench,—by this Hand she’s perfum’d, and
smells like any Nosegay.—Prithee, dear Soul, let’s not play the
Fool, and lose time,—precious time—for as Gad shall save me,
I’m as honest a Fellow as breathes, tho I am a little disguis’d
at present.—Come, I say,—why, thou may’st be free with me,
I’ll be very secret. I’ll not boast who ’twas oblig’d me, not I—
for hang me if I know thy Name.

Florinda.

Heavens! what a filthy beast is this!

Willmore.

I am so, and thou oughtst the sooner to lie with me for that
reason,—for look you, Child, there will be no Sin in’t, because
’twas neither design’d nor premeditated; ’tis pure Accident on
both sides—that’s a certain thing now—Indeed should I make
love to you, and you vow Fidelity—and swear and lye till you
believ’d and yielded—Thou art therefore (as thou art a good
Christian) oblig’d in Conscience to deny me nothing. Now—come,
be kind, without any more idle prating.

Florinda.

Oh, I am ruin’d—wicked Man, unhand me.

Willmore.

Wicked! Egad, Child, a Judge, were he young and vigorous, and
saw those Eyes of thine, would know ’twas they gave the first
blow—the first provocation.—Come, prithee let’s lose no time,
I say—this is a fine convenient place.

Florinda.

Sir, let me go, I conjure you, or I’ll call out.

Willmore.

Ay, ay, you were best to call Witness to see how finely you
treat me—do.—

Florinda.

I’ll cry Murder, Rape, or any thing, if you do not instantly
let me go.

Willmore.

A Rape! Come, come, you lye, you Baggage, you lye: What, I’ll
warrant you would fain have the World believe now that you are
not so forward as I. No, not you,—why at this time of Night was
your Cobweb–door set open, dear Spider—but to catch Flies?—
Hah come—or I shall be damnably angry.—Why what a Coil is
here.—

Florinda.

Sir, can you think—

Willmore.

That you’d do it for nothing? oh, oh, I find what you’d be
at—look here, here’s a Pistole for you—here’s a work indeed—
here—take it, I say.—

Florinda.

For Heaven’s sake, Sir, as you’re a Gentleman—

Willmore.

So—now—she would be wheedling me for more—what, you will
not take it then—you’re resolv’d you will not.—Come, come,
take it, or I’ll put it up again; for, look ye, I never give
more.—Why, how now, Mistress, are you so high i’th’ Mouth, a
Pistole won’t down with you?—hah—why, what a work’s here—in
good time—come, no struggling, be gone—But an y’are good at a
dumb Wrestle, I’m for ye,—look ye,—I’m for ye.— [She struggles with him.]

Enter Belvile and Frederick.

Belvile.

The Door is open a Pox of this mad fellow, I’m angry that
we’ve lost him, I durst have sworn he had follow’d us.

Frederick.

But you were so hasty, Colonel, to be gone.

Florinda.

Help, help,—Murder!—help—oh, I’m ruin’d.

Belvile.

Ha, sure that’s Florinda’s Voice. [Comes up to them.]
—A Man! Villain, let go that Lady. [A noise.]

[Will. turns and draws, Fred. interposes.]

Florinda.

Belvile! Heavens! my Brother too is coming, and ’twill be
impossible to escape.—Belvile, I conjure you to walk under my
Chamber–window, from whence I’ll give you some instructions what
to do—This rude Man has undone us.

[Exit.]

Willmore.

Belvile!

Enter Pedro, Stephano, and other Servants with Lights.

Pedro.

I’m betray’d; run, Stephano, and see if Florinda be safe.

[Exit Steph.]

So whoe’er they be, all is not well, I’ll to Florinda’s Chamber.

[They fight, and Pedro’s Party beats ’em out; going out, meets Stephano.]

Stephano.

You need not, Sir, the poor Lady’s fast asleep, and thinks
no harm: I wou’d not wake her, Sir, for fear of frightning her
with your danger.

Pedro.

I’m glad she’s there—Rascals, how came the Garden–Door open?

Stephano.

That Question comes too late, Sir: some of my
Fellow–Servants Masquerading I’ll warrant.

Pedro.

Masquerading! a leud Custom to debauch our Youth—there’s
something more in this than I imagine.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV. Changes to the Street.

Enter Belvile in Rage, Fred. holding him, and Willmore melancholy.

Willmore.

Why, how the Devil shou’d I know Florinda?

Belvile.

Ah plague of your ignorance! if it had not been Florinda,
must you be a Beast ?—a Brute, a senseles Swine?

Willmore.

Well, Sir, you see I am endu’d with Patience—I can bear—tho
egad y’re very free with me methinks,—I was in good hopes the
Quarrel wou’d have been on my side, for so uncivilly
interrupting me.

Belvile.

Peace, Brute, whilst thou’rt safe—oh, I’m distracted.

Willmore.

Nay, nay, I’m an unlucky Dog, that’s certain.

Belvile.

Ah curse upon the Star that rul’d my Birth! or whatsoever
other Influence that makes me still so wretched.

Willmore.

Thou break’st my Heart with these Complaints; there is no
Star in fault, no Influence but Sack, the cursed Sack I drank.

Frederick.

Why, how the Devil came you so drunk?

Willmore.

Why, how the Devil came you so sober?

Belvile.

A curse upon his thin Skull, he was always before–hand that
way.

Frederick.

Prithee, dear Colonel, forgive him, he’s sorry for his fault.

Belvile.

He’s always so after he has done a mischief—a plague on all
such Brutes.

Willmore.

By this Light I took her for an errant Harlot.

Belvile.

Damn your debaucht Opinion: tell me, Sot, hadst thou so much
sense and light about thee to distinguish her to be a Woman, and
could’st not see something about her Face and Person, to strike
an awful Reverence into thy Soul?

Willmore.

Faith no, I consider’d her as mere a Woman as I could wish.

Belvile.

’Sdeath I have no patience—draw, or I’ll kill you.

Willmore.

Let that alone till to morrow, and if I set not all right
again, use your Pleasure.

Belvile.

To morrow, damn it.
The spiteful Light will lead me to no happiness.
To morrow is Antonio’s, and perhaps
Guides him to my undoing;—oh that I could meet
This Rival, this powerful Fortunate.

Willmore.

What then?

Belvile.

Let thy own Reason, or my Rage instruct thee.

Willmore.

I shall be finely inform’d then, no doubt; hear me, Colonel—
hear me—shew me the Man and I’ll do his Business.

Belvile.

I know him no more than thou, or if I did, I should not need
thy aid.

Willmore.

This you say is Angelica’s House, I promis’d the kind Baggage
to lie with her to Night. [Offers to go in.]

Enter Antonio and his Page. Ant. knocks on the Hilt of his Sword.

Antonio.

You paid the thousand Crowns I directed?

Page.

To the Lady’s old Woman, Sir, I did.

Willmore.

Who the Devil have we here?

Belvile.

I’ll now plant my self under Florinda’s Window, and if I find
no comfort there, I’ll die.

[Ex. Belv. and Fred.]

Enter Moretta.

Moretta.

Page!

Page.

Here’s my Lord.

Willmore.

How is this, a Piccaroon going to board my Frigate! here’s
one Chase–Gun for you.

[Drawing his Sword, justles Ant. who turns and draws. They fight, Ant. falls.]

Moretta.

Oh, bless us, we are all undone!

[Runs in, and shuts the Door.]

Page.

Help, Murder!

[Belvile returns at the noise of fighting.]

Belvile.

Ha, the mad Rogue’s engag’d in some unlucky Adventure again.

Enter two or three Masqueraders.

Masquerader.

Ha, a Man kill’d!

Willmore.

How! a Man kill’d! then I’ll go home to sleep.

[Puts up, and reels out. Ex. Masquers another way.]

Belvile.

Who shou’d it be! pray Heaven the Rogue is safe, for all my
Quarrel to him.

[As Belvile is groping about, enter an Officer and six Soldiers.]

Soldier.

Who’s there?

Officer.

So, here’s one dispatcht—secure the Murderer.

Belvile.

Do not mistake my Charity for Murder:
I came to his Assistance.

[Soldiers seize on Belvile.]

Officer.

That shall be tried, Sir.—St. Jago, Swords drawn in the
Carnival time! [Goes to Antonio.]

Antonio.

Thy Hand prithee.

Officer.

Ha, Don Antonio! look well to the Villain there.—
How is’t Sir?

Antonio.

I’m hurt.

Belvile.

Has my Humanity made me a Criminal?

Officer.

Away with him.

Belvile.

What a curst Chance is this!

[Ex. Soldiers with Belv.]

Antonio.

This is the Man that has set upon me twice—carry him to my
Apartment till you have further Orders from me. [To the Officer.]

[Ex. Ant. led.]

 

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