Chapter XXVII: Act IV: Scene I

_Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Galliard, _as in_ Silvianetta’s _Apartment_.

_Fil_. How splendidly these common Women live! How rich is all we meet with in this Palace; And rather seems the Apartment of some Prince, Than a Receptacle for Lust and Shame.

_Gal_. You see, _Harry_, all the keeping Fools are not in our Dominions; but this grave, this wise People, are Mistress-ridden too.

_Fil_. I fear we have mistook the House, and the Youth that brought us in may have deceived us, on some other design; however whilst I’ve this--I cannot fear--[_Draws_.

_Gal_. A good caution, and I’ll stand upon my guard with this; but see-- here’s one will put us out of doubt. [_Pulls a Pistol out of his pocket_.

_Fil_. Hah! the fair Inchantress.

[_Enter_ Mar. _richly and loosely drest_.

_Mar_. What, on your guard, my lovely Cavalier? Lies there a danger In this Face and Eyes, that needs that rough resistance? --Hide, hide that mark of Anger from my sight, And if thou wou’dst be absolute Conquerer here, Put on soft Looks, with Eyes all languishing, Words tender, gentle Sighs, and kind Desires.

_Gal_. Death, with what unconcern he hears all this! Art thou possest?--Pox, why dost not answer her?

_Mar_. I hope he will not yield--[_Aside_. --He stands unmov’d-- Surely I was mistaken in this Face, And I believe in Charms that have no power.

_Gal_. ‘Sdeath, thou deservest not such a noble Creature,-- I’ll have ‘em both my self.--[_Aside_.

_Fil_.--Yes, thou hast wondrous power, And I have felt it long. [_Pausingly_.

_Mar_. How!

_Fil_.--I’ve often seen that Face--but ‘twas in Dreams: And sleeping lov’d extremely! And waking;--sigh’d to find it but a Dream: The lovely Phantom vanish’d with my Slumbers, But left a strong Idea on my heart Of what I find in perfect Beauty here, --But with this difference, she was virtuous too.

_Mar_. What silly she was that?

_Fil_. She whom I dream’d I lov’d.

_Mar_. You only dreamt that she was virtuous too; Virtue it self’s a Dream of so slight force, The very fluttering of Love’s Wings destroys it; Ambition, or the meaner hope of Interest, wakes it to nothing; In Men a feeble Beauty shakes the dull slumber off.--

_Gal_. Egad, she argues like an Angel, _Harry_.

_Fil_.--What haste thou’st made to damn thy self so young! Hast thou been long thus wicked? hast thou sinn’d past Repentance? Heaven may do much to save so fair a Criminal; Turn yet, and be forgiven.

_Gal_. What a Pox dost thou mean by all this Canting?

_Mar_. A very pretty Sermon, and from a Priest so gay, It cannot chuse but edify. Do Holy men of your Religion, Signior, wear all this Habit? Are they thus young and lovely? Sure if they are, Your Congregation’s all compos’d of Ladies; The Laity must come abroad for Mistresses.

_Fil_. Oh, that this charming Woman were but honest!

_Gal_. ‘Twere better thou wert damn’d; honest! Pox, thou dost come out with things so mal a propo--

_Mar_. Come leave this Mask of foolish Modesty, And let us haste where Love and Musick calls; Musick, that heightens Love, and makes the Soul Ready for soft Impressions.

_Gal_. So, she will do his business with a Vengeance.

_Fil_. Plague of this tempting Woman, she will ruin me: I find weak Virtue melt from round my Heart, To give her Tyrant Image a Possession: So the warm Sun thaws Rivers icy Tops. Till in the stream he sees his own bright Face.

_Gal_. Now he comes on apace,--how is’t, my Friend? Thou stand’st as thou’dst forgot thy business here, --The Woman, _Harry_, the fair Curtezan; Canst thou withstand her Charms? I’ve business of my own, Prithee fall to--and talk of Love to her.

_Fil_. Oh, I cou’d talk Eternity away, In nothing else but Love;--cou’dst thou be honest?

_Mar_. Honest! was it for that you sent two thousand Crowns, Or did believe that trifling Sum sufficient To buy me to the slavery of Honesty?

_Gal_. Hold there, my brave Virago.

_Fil_. No, I wou’d sacrifice a nobler Fortune, To buy thy Virtue home.

_Mar_. What shou’d it idling there?

_Fil_. Why--make thee constant to some happy Man, That wou’d adore thee for’t.

_Mar_. Unconscionable! constant at my years? --Oh, ‘twere to cheat a thousand, Who between this and my dull Age of Constancy. Expect the distribution of my Beauty.

_Gal_. ‘Tis a brave Wench-- [_Aside_.

_Fil_. Yet charming as thou art, the time will come When all that Beauty, like declining Flowers, Will wither on the Stalk,--but with this difference, The next kind Spring brings Youth to Flowers again, But faded Beauty never more can bloom. --If Interest make thee wicked, I can supply thy Pride.--

_Mar_. Curse on your necessary Trash!--which I despise, But as ‘tis useful to advance our Love.

_Fil_. Is Love thy business? who is there born so high, But Love and Beauty equals? And thou mayst chuse from all the wishing World. This Wealth together wou’d inrich one Man, Which dealt to all, wou’d scarce be Charity.

_Mar_. Together! ‘tis a Mass wou’d ransom Kings: Was all this Beauty given for one poor petty Conquest? --I might have made a hundred Hearts my slaves, In this lost time of bringing one to Reason.-- Farewel, thou dull Philosopher in Love; When Age has made me wise, I’ll send for you again. [_Offers to go_, Gal. _holds her_.

_Gal_. By this good Light, a noble glorious Whore.

_Fil_. Oh, stay, I must not let such Beauty fall, --A Whore--consider yet the Charms of Reputation, The Ease, the Quiet, and Content of Innocence, The awful Reverence all good Men will pay thee, Who, as thou art, will gaze without respect, --And cry--what pity ‘tis she is--a Whore--

_Mar_. O, you may give it what coarse name you please, But all this Youth and Beauty ne’er was given, Like Gold to Misers, to be kept from use. [_Going out_.

_Fil_. Lost, lost--past all Redemption.

_Gal_. Nay, Gad, thou shalt not lose her so--I’ll fetch her back, and thou shalt ask her pardon. [_Runs out after her_.

_Fil_. By Heaven, it was all a Dream! an airy Dream! The visionary Pleasure disappears,--and I’m myself again, --I’ll fly before the drousy Fit o’ertake me. [_Going out, Enter_ Gal. _and then_ Marcella.

_Gal_. Turn back--she yields, she yields to pardon thee. Gone! nay, hang me if ye part. [_Runs after him, still his Pistol in his hand_.

_Mar_. Gone! I have no leisure now for more dissembling.
[_Takes the Candle, and goes in_.

_Enter_ Petro, _leading in Mr_. Tickletext, _as by dark_.

_Pet_. Remain here, Signior, whilst I step and fetch a light.

_Tick_. Do so, do so, honest _Barberacho_.--Well, my escape even now from Sir _Signal_ was miraculous, thanks to my Prudence and Prowess; had he discover’d me, my Dominion had ended, and my Authority been of none effect, _certo_.

[Philippa _at the door puts in Sir_ Signal.

_Phil_. Now, Signior, you’re out of danger, I’ll fetch a Candle, and let my Lady know of your being here.

[_Exit_ Phil. _Sir_ Sig. _advances a little_.

_Enter_ Petro _with a light, goes between ‘em, and starts_.

_Tick_. Sir _Signal_!--

Sir _Sig_. My Governour!

_Pet_. The two Fools met! a pox of all ill luck! Now shall I lose my Credit with both my wise Patrons; my Knight I cou’d have put off with a small Harlot of my own, but my Levite having seen my Lady _Cornelia_, that is, _La Silvianetta_,--none but that _Susanna_ wou’d satisfy his Eldership. But now they both sav’d me the labour of a farther invention to dispatch ‘em.

Sir _Sig_. I perceive my Governour’s as much confounded as my self;--I’ll take advantage by the forelock, be very impudent, and put it upon him, faith--Ah, Governour, will you never leave your whoring? never be staid, sober and discreet, as I am?

_Tick_. So, so, undone, undone! just my Documents to him.--
[_Walks about, Sir_ Sig. _follows_.

Sir _Sig_. And must I neglect my precious studies, to follow you, in pure zeal and tender care of your Person? Will you never consider where you are? In a leud Papish Country, amongst the Romish Heathens! And for you, a Governour, a Tutor, a Director of unbridled Youth, a Gownman, a Politician; for you, I say, to be taken at this unrighteous time of the Night, in a flaunting Cavaliero Dress, an unlawful Weapon by your side, going the high way to Satan, to a Curtezan; and to a Romish Curtezan! Oh Abomination! Oh _scandalum infinitum_!

_Tick_. Paid in my own Coin.

_Pet_. So, I’ll leave the Devil to rebuke Sin: and to my young Lady, for a little of her assistance in the management of this Affair. [_Exit_ Pet.

_Tick_. I do confess, I grant ye I am in the house of a Curtezan, and that I came to visit a Curtezan, and do intend to visit each Night a several Curtezan, till I have finished my work--

Sir _Sig_. Every night one! Oh Glutton!

_Tick_. My great work of Convertion, upon the whole Nation, Generation, and Vocation of this wicked provoking sort of Womankind call’d Curtezans. I will turn ‘em; I will turn ‘em, for ‘tis a shame that Man shou’d bow down to those that worship Idols. And now I think, Sir, I have sufficiently explain’d the business in hand,--as honest _Barberacho_ is my witness;--And for you--to--scandalize--me--with so naughty an Interpretation--afflicteth me wonderfully.-- [_Pulls out his handkerchief, and weeps_.

Sir _Sig_.--Alas, poor Mr. _Tickletext_, now as I hope to be sav’d, it grieves my heart to see thee weep; faith and troth now, I thought thou hadst some carnal Assignation:--but ne’er stir, I beg thy pardon, and think thee as innocent as my self, that I do--but see, the Lady’s here-- s’life, dry your Eyes, man.

[_Enter Cornelia, Phil, and Pet_.

_Cor_. I cou’d beat thee for being thus mistaken, and am resolv’d to flatter him into some Mischief, to be reveng’d on ‘em for this disappointment; go you, and watch for my Cavalier the while.

_Tick_. Is she come? Nay, then turn me loose to her.

_Cor_. My Cavalier!
[_Addressing to Sir Sig_. Tick. _pulls him by, and speaks_.

_Tick_.--Lady--

Sir _Sig_. You, Sir! why, who the Devil made you a Cavalier? most _Potentissima Signiora_, I am the man of Title, by name Sir _Signal Buffoon_, sole Son and Heir to Eight Thousand Pound a year.--

_Tick_. Oh, Sir, are you the Man she looks for?

Sir _Sig_. I, Sir? no, Sir: I’d have ye know, Sir, I scorn any Woman, be she never so fair, unless her design be honest and honourable.

_Cor_. The Man of all the World I’ve chosen out, from all the Wits and Beauties I have seen,--to have most finely beaten. [_Aside_.

Sir _Sig_. How! In love with me already,--she’s damnable handsome too: now wou’d my Tutor were hang’d a little for an hour or two, out of the way. [_Aside_.

_Cor_. Why fly you not into my Arms, [_She approaching, he shunning_. These Arms that were design’d for soft Embraces?

Sir _Sig_. Ay, and if my Tutor were not here, the Devil take him that wou’d hinder ‘em--and I think that’s civil, egad.

_Tick_. Why, how now, _Barberacho_, what, am I cozen’d then, and is Sir _Signal_ the Man in favour? [_Aside to_ Petro.

_Pet_. Lord, Signior, that so wise a man as you cannot perceive her meaning,--for the Devil take me if I can. [_Aside_.--Why this is done to take off all suspicion from you--and lay it on him;--don’t you conceive it, Signior?

_Tick_. Yes, honest Rogue,--Oh the witty Wag-tail,--I have a part to play too, that shall confirm it--young Gentlewoman.--

_Cor_. Ah, Belle ingrate, is’t thus you recompense my suffering Love? to fly this Beauty so ador’d by all, that slight the ready Conquest of the World, to trust a Heart with you?--Ah--_Traditor Cruella_.

Sir _Sig_. Poor Heart, it goes to the very soul of me to be so coy and scornful to her, that it does; but a pox on’t, her over-fondness will discover all.

_Tick_. Fly, fly, young Man, whilst yet thou hast a spark of Virtue shining in thee, fly the temptations of this young Hypocrite; the Love that she pretends with so much zeal and ardour, is indecent, unwarrantable and unlawful; first indecent, as she is Woman--for thou art Woman--and beautiful Woman--yes, very beautiful Woman; on whom Nature hath shew’d her height of Excellence in the out-work, but left thee unfinisht, imperfect and impure.

_Cor_. Heavens, what have we here?

Sir _Sig_. A Pox of my Sir _Domine_; now is he beside his Text, and will spoil all.

_Tick_. Secondly, Unwarrantable; by what Authority dost thou seduce with the Allurements of thine Eyes, and the Conjurements of thy Tongue, the Wastings of thy Hands, and the Tinklings of thy Feet, the young Men in the Villages?

_Cor_. Sirrah, how got this Madman in? seize him, and take him hence.

Sir _Sig_. _Corpo de mi_, my Governour tickles her notably, I’faith--but had he let the care of my Soul alone to night, and have let me taken care of my Body, ‘twould have been more material at this time.

_Tick_. Thirdly, Unlawful--

_Cor_. Quite distracted! in pity take him hence, and lead him into Darkness, ‘twill suit his Madness best.

_Tick_. How, distracted! take him hence.

_Pet_. This was lucky--I knew she wou’d come again--Take him hence--yes, into her Bed-chamber--pretty device to get you to her self, Signior.

_Tick_. Why, but is it?--Nay then I will facilitate my departure-- therefore I say, Oh most beautiful and tempting Woman-- [_Beginning to preach again_.

_Cor_. Away with him, give him clean straw and darkness, And chain him fast, for fear of further mischief.

_Pet_. She means for fear of losing ye.

_Tick_. Ah, Baggage! as fast as she will in those pretty Arms.
[_Going to lead him off_.

Sir _Sig_. Hold, hold, man; mad, said ye!--ha, ha, ha--mad! why we have a thousand of these in _England_ that go loose about the streets, and pass with us for as sober discreet religious persons, as a man shall wish to talk nonsense withal.

_Pet_. You are mistaken, Signior, I say he is mad, stark mad.

Sir _Sig_. Prithee, _Barberacho_, what dost thou mean?

_Pet_. To rid him hence, that she may be alone with you--’slife, Sir, you’re madder than he--don’t you conceive?--

Sir _Sig_. Ay, ay; nay, I confess, Illustrissima Signiora, my Governour has a Fit that takes him now and then, a kind of frensy,--a figary--a whimsy--a maggot, that bites always at naming of Popery: [_Exit_. Pet. _with_ Tick.]--so--he’s gone.--Bellissima Signiora,--you have most artificially remov’d him--and this extraordinary proof of your affection is a sign of some small kindness towards me; and though I was something coy and reserv’d before my Governour, Excellentissima Signiora, let me tell you, your Love is not cast away.

_Cor_. Oh, Sir, you bless too fast; but will you ever love me?

Sir _Sig_. Love thee! ay and lie with thee too, most magnanimous Signiora, and beget a whole Race of Roman _Julius Caesars_ upon thee; nay, now we’re alone, turn me loose to Impudence, i’faith. [_Ruffles her; Enter_ Philippa _in haste, shutting the door after her_.

_Phil_. Oh, Madam, here’s the young mad _English_ Cavalier got into the House, and will not be deny’d seeing you.

_Cor_. This was lucky.

Sir _Sig_. How, the mad _English_ Cavalier! if this shou’d be our young Count _Galliard_ now--I were in a sweet taking--Oh, I know by my fears ’.is he;--Oh, prithee what kind of a manner of Man is he?

_Phil_. A handsom--resolute--brave--bold--

Sir _Sig_. Oh, enough, enough--Madam, I’ll take my leave--I see you are something busy at present,--an I’ll--

_Cor_. Not for the World:--_Philippa_, bring in the Cavalier--that you may see there’s none here fears him, Signior.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, hold, hold--Madam, you are mistaken in that point; for, to tell you the truth, I do fear--having--a certain--Aversion or Antipathy-- to--Madam--a Gentleman--Why, Madam, they’re the very Monsters of the Nation, they devour every Day a Virgin.--

_Cor_. Good Heavens! and is he such a Fury?

Sir _Sig_. Oh, and the veriest Beelzebub;--besides, Madam, he vow’d my Death, if ever he catcht me near this House; and he ever keeps his word in cases of this Nature--Oh, that’s he, [_Knocking at the Door_.] I know it by a certain trembling Instinct about me!--Oh, what shall I do--

_Cor_. Why--I know not,--can you leap a high Window?

Sir _Sig_. He knocks again,--I protest I am the worst Vaulter in Christendom.--Have you no moderate danger--between the two extremes of the Window or the mad Count? no Closet?--Fear has dwindled me to the scantling of a Mousehole.

_Cor_. Let me see,--I have no leisure to pursue my Revenge farther, and will rest satisfy’d with this,--for this time. [_Aside_.]--Give me the Candle,--and whilst _Philippa_ is conducting the Cavalier to the Alcove by dark, you may have an Opportunity to slip out--perhaps there may be danger in his being seen--[_Aside_.] Farewel, Fool--

[_Ex_. Cornelia _with the Candle_, Phil. _goes to the Door,
lets in_ Gal. _takes him by the hand_.

_Gal_. Pox on’t, my Knight’s bound for _Viterbo_, and there’s no persuading him into safe Harbour again.--He has given me but two hours to dispatch matters here,--and then I’m to imbark with him upon this new Discovery of honourable Love, as he call it, whose Adventurers are Fools, and the returning Cargo, that dead Commodity called a Wife! a Voyage very suitable to my Humour.--Who’s there?--

_Phil_. A Slave of _Silvianetta_, Sir; give me your hand.

[_Ex. over the stage, Sir_ Sig. _goes out softly_.

SCENE II. _Changes to a Bed-chamber Alcove_.

Petro _leading in_ Tickletext.

_Pet_. Now, Signior, you’re safe and happy in the Bedchamber of your Mistress--who will be here immediately, I’m sure; I’ll fetch a Light, and put you to Bed in the mean time--

_Tick_. Not before Supper I hope, honest _Barberacho_.

_Pet_. Oh, Signior, that you shall do lying, after the manner of the antient _Romans_.

_Tick_. _Certo_, and that was a marvellous good lazy Custom.

[_Ex_. Pet.

_Enter_ Philippa _with_ Galliard _by dark_.

_Phil_. My Lady will be with you instantly--[_Goes out_.

_Tick_. Hah, sure I heard some body come softly in at the door: I hope ’.is the young Gentlewoman. [_He advances forward_.

_Gal_. Silence and Night, Love and dear Opportunity. [_In a soft Tone_. Join all your aids to make my _Silvia_ kind; For I am fill’d with the expecting Bliss, [Tick, _thrusts his Head out to listen_. And much Delay or Disappointment kills me.

_Tick_. Disappointment kills me,--and me too, _certo_--’tis she--
[_Gropes about_.

_Gal_. Oh, haste, my Fair, haste to my longing Arms, Where are you, dear and loveliest of your Sex?

_Tick_. That’s I, that’s I, _my Alma! mea Core, mea Vita!_
[_Groping and speaking low_.

_Gal_. Hah--art thou come, my Life! my Soul! my Joy! [_Goes to embrace_ Tick, _they meet and kiss_. ’.death, what’s this, a bearded Mistress! Lights, Lights there, quickly, Lights! nay, curse me if thou scap’st me.

[Tick. _struggles to get away, he holds him by the Crevat
and Perriwig_; _Enter_ Petro _with a Candle_.

_Gal_. _Barberacho_--confound him, ‘tis the Fool whom I found this Evening about the House, hovering to roost him here!--Ha--what the Devil have I caught--a _Tartar_? escap’d again! the Devil’s his Confederate.--

[Pet. _puts out the Candle, comes to_ Tick, _unties his
Crevat behind, and he slips his head out of the Perriwig,
and gets away, leaving both in_ Gal’s _hands_.

_Pet_. Give me your Hand, I’ll lead you a back-pair of stairs through the Garden.

_Tick_. Oh, any way to save my Reputation--oh--

_Gal_. Let me but once more grasp thee, and thou shalt find more safety in the Devil’s Clutches: none but my Mistress serve ye! [_Gropes out after him_.

[Pet. _with_ Tick, _running over the Stage_, Gal. _after
‘em, with the Crevat and Perriwig in one Hand,
his Pistol in t’other_.

_Enter_ Philippa _with a Light_.

_Phil_. Mercy upon us! what’s the matter? what Noise is this--hah, a Pistol! what can this mean?

[_A Pistol goes off_.

_Enter Sir_ Signal _running_.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, save me, gentle Devil, save me, the stairs are fortify’d with Cannons and double Culverins; I’m pursu’d by a whole Regiment of arm’d Men! here’s Gold, Gold in abundance, save me.--

_Phil_. What Cannons? what armed Men?

Sir _Sig_. Finding my self pursu’d as I was groping my way through the Hall, and not being able to find the Door, I made towards the stairs again, at the foot of which I was saluted with a great Gun--a pox of the Courtesy.

_Gal_. [_Without_.] Where are ye, Knight, Buffoon, Dog of _Egypt_?

Sir _Sig_. Thunder and Lightning! ‘tis _Gallaird’s_ Voice.

_Phil_. Here, step behind this Hanging--there’s a Chimney which may shelter ye till the Storm be over,--if you be not smother’d before. [_Puts him behind the Arras_.

_Enter_ Gal. _as before, and_ Corn, _at the other door_.

_Cor_. Heavens! What rude noise is this?

_Gal_. Where have you hid this Fool, this lucky Fool? He whom blind Chance, and more ill-judging Woman, Has rais’d to that Degree of Happiness, That witty Men must sigh and toil in vain for?

_Cor_. What Fool, what Happiness?

_Gal_. Cease, cunning false one, to excuse thy self, See here the Trophies of your shameful Choice, And of my Ruin, cruel--fair Deceiver!

_Cor_. Deceiver, Sir, of whom? in what despairing minute did I swear to be a constant Mistress? to what dull whining Lover did I vow, and had the heart to break it?

_Gal_. Or if thou hadst, I know of no such Dog as wou’d believe thee: No, thou art false to thy own Charms, and hast betray’d them To the possession of the vilest Wretch That ever Fortune curst with Happiness; False to thy Joys, false to thy Wit and Youth: All which thou’st damn’d with so much careful Industry To an eternal Fool, That all the Arts of Love can ne’er redeem thee.

Sir _Sig_. Meaning me, meaning me.
[_Peeping out of the Chimney, his Face blackt_.

_Cor_. A Fool! what Indiscretion have you seen in me, shou’d make ye think I would choose a Witty man for a Lover, who perhaps loves out his Month in pure good Husbandry, and in that time does more Mischief than a hundred Fools. You conquer without Resistance, you treat without Pity, and triumph without Mercy: and when you are gone, the World crys--she had not Wit enough to keep him, when indeed you are not Fool enough to be kept! Thus we forfeit both our Liberties and Discretion with you villanous witty Men: for Wisdom is but good Success in things, and those that fail are Fools.

_Gal_. Most gloriously disputed! You’re grown a Machivellian in your Art.

_Cor_. Oh, necessary Maxims only, and the first Politicks we learn from Observation--I have known a Curtezan grown infamous, despis’d, decay’d, and ruin’d, in the Possession of you witty Men, who when she had the luck to break her Chains, and cast her Net for Fools, has liv’d in state, finer than Brides upon their Wedding-day, and more profuse than the young amorous Coxcomb that set her up an Idol.

Sir _Sig_. Well argued of my side, I see the Baggage loves me!
[_Peeping out with a Face more smutted_.

_Gal_. And hast thou? Oh, but prithee jilt me on, And say thou hast not destin’d all thy Charms To such a wicked Use. Is that dear Face and Mouth for Slaves to kiss? Shall those bright Eyes be gaz’d upon, and serve But to reflect the Images of Fools?

Sir _Sig_. That’s I still. [_Peeping more black_.

_Gal_. Shall that soft tender Bosom be approacht By one who wants a Soul, to breathe in languishment At every Kiss that presses it?

Sir _Sig_. Soul! what a pox care I for Soul--as long as my Person is so amiable?

_Gal_. No, renounce that dull Discretion that undoes thee, Cunning is cheaply to be wise; leave it to those that have No other Powers to gain a Conquest by, It is below thy Charms. --Come swear, and be foresworn most damnably, Thou hast not yielded yet; say ‘twas intended only, And though thou ly’st, by Heaven, I must believe thee; --Say,--hast thou--given him--all?

_Cor_. I’ve done as bad, we have discours’d th’ Affair, And ‘tis concluded on.--

Gal. As bad! by Heaven, much worse! discours’d with him! Wert thou so wretched, so depriv’d of Sense, To hold Discourse with such an Animal? Damn it; the Sin is ne’er to be forgiven. --Hadst thou been wanton to that leud degree, By dark he might have been conducted to thee; Where silently he might have serv’d thy purpose, And thou hadst had some poor excuse for that: But bartering words with Fools admits of none.

_Cor_. I grant ye,--had I talk’d sense to him, which had been enough to have lost him for ever.

Sir _Sig_. Poor Devil, how fearful ‘tis of losing me! [_Aside_.

_Gal_. That’s some Atonement for thy other Sins,-- Come, break thy Word, and wash it quite away.

Sir _Sig_. That cogging won’t do, my good Friend, that won’t do.

_Gal_. Thou shall be just and perjur’d, and pay my Heart the debt of Love you owe it.

_Cor_. And wou’d you have the Heart--to make a Whore of me?

_Gal_. With all my Soul, and the Devil’s in’t if I can give thee a greater proof of my Passion.

_Cor_. I rather fear you wou’d debauch me into that dull slave call’d a Wife.

_Gal_. A Wife! have I no Conscience, no Honour in me? Prithee believe I wou’d not be so wicked-- No,--my Desires are generous, and noble, To set thee up, that glorious insolent thing, That makes Mankind such Slaves, almighty Curtezan! --Come, to thy private Chamber let us haste, The sacred Temple of the God of Love; And consecrate thy Power. [_Offers to bear her off_.

_Cor_. Stay, do you take me then for what I seem?

_Gal_. I am sure I do, and wou’d not be mistaken for a Kingdom: But if thou art not, I can soon mend that fault, And make thee so.--Come, I’m impatient to begin the Experiment. [_Offers again to carry her off_.

_Cor_. Nay, then I am in earnest,--hold, mistaken Stranger--I am of noble Birth; and shou’d I in one hapless loving Minute destroy the Honour of my House, ruin my Youth and Beauty, and all that virtuous Education my hoping Parents gave me?

_Gal_. Pretty dissembled Pride and Innocence! And wounds no less than smiles!--Come, let us in,--where I will give thee leave to frown and jilt; such pretty Frauds advance the Appetite. [_Offers again_.

_Cor_. By all that’s good, I am a Maid of Quality, Blest with a Fortune equal to my Birth.

_Gal_. I do not credit thee; or if I did, For once I wou’d dispense with Quality, And to express my Love, take thee with all these Faults.

_Cor_. And being so, can you expect I’ll yield?

_Gal_. The sooner for that reason, if thou’rt wise; The Quality will take away the Scandal. Do not torment me longer-- [_Offers to lead her again_.

_Cor_. Stay and be undeceiv’d,--I do conjure ye.--

_Gal_. Art thou no Curtezan?

_Cor_. Not on my life, nor do intend to be.

_Gal_. No Prostitute? nor dost intend to be?

_Cor_. By all that’s good, I only feign’d to be so.

_Gal_. No Curtezan! hast thou deceiv’d me then? Tell me, thou wicked honest cozening Beauty, Why didst thou draw me in, with such a fair Pretence, Why such a tempting Preface to invite, And the whole Piece so useless and unedifying? --Heavens! not a Curtezan! Why from thy Window didst thou take my Vows, And make such kind Returns? Oh, damn your Quality: What honest Whore but wou’d have scorn’d thy Cunning?

_Cor_. I make ye kind Returns?

_Gal_. Persuade me out of that too; ‘twill be like ye.

_Cor_. By all my Wishes I never held Discourse with you--but this Evening, since I first saw your Face.

_Gal_. Oh, the Impudence of Honesty and Quality in Woman! A plague upon ‘em both, they have undone me! Bear witness, oh thou gentle Queen of Night, Goddess of Shades, ador’d by Lovers most; How oft under thy Covert she has damn’d her self, With feigned Love to me! [_In Passion_.

_Cor_. Heavens! this is Impudence: that Power I call to witness too, how damnably thou injur’st me. [_Angry_.

_Gal_. You never from your Window talk’d of Love to me?

_Cor_. Never.

_Gal_. So, nor you’re no Curtezan?

_Cor_. No, by my Life.

_Gal_. So, nor do intend to be, by all that’s good?

_Cor_. By all that’s good, never.

_Gal_. So, and you are real honest, and of Quality?

_Cor_. Or may I still be wretched.

_Gal_. So, then farewel Honesty and Quality--’Sdeath, what a Night, what Hopes, and what a Mistress, have I all lost for Honesty and Quality! [_Offers to go_.

_Cor_. Stay.--

_Gal_. I will be rack’d first, let go thy hold!
[_In fury_.
--Unless thou wou’dst repent.--
[_In a soft tone_.

_Cor_. I cannot of my fixt Resolves for Virtue! --But if you could but--love me--honourably-- For I assum’d this Habit and this Dress--

_Gal_. To cheat me of my Heart the readiest way: And now, like gaming Rooks, unwilling to give o’er till you have hook’d in my last stake, my Body too, you cozen me with Honesty.--Oh, damn the Dice--I’ll have no more on’t, I, the Game’s too deep for me, unless you play’d upon the square, or I could cheat like you.-- Farewel, Quality-- [_Goes out_.

_Cor_. He’s gone; _Philippa_, run and fetch him back; I have but this short Night allow’d for Liberty; Perhaps to morrow I may be a Slave. [_Ex_. Phil. --Now o’ my Conscience there never came good of this troublesome Virtue-- hang’t, I was too serious; but a Devil on’t, he looks so charmingly--and was so very pressing, I durst trust my gay Humour and good Nature no farther. [_She walks about, Sir_ Signal _peeps and then comes out_.

Sir _Sig_. He’s gone!--so, ha, ha, ha. As I hope to breathe, Madam, you have nost neatly dispatcht him; poor fool--to compare his Wit and his Person to mine.--

_Cor_. Hah, the Coxcomb here still.--

Sir _Sig_. Well, this Countenance of mine never fail’d me yet.

Cor. Ah--

[_Looking about on him, sees his face black,
squeaks and runs away_.

Sir _Sig_. Ah, whe, what the Deavilo’s that for? --Whe, ‘tis I, ‘tis I, most _Serenissima Signiora_!

[Gal. _returns and_ Philippa.

_Gal_. What noise is that, or is’t some new design To fetch me back again?

Sir _Sig_. How! _Galliard_ return’d!

_Gal_. Hah! what art thou? a Mortal or a Devil?

Sir _Sig_. How, not know me? now might I pass upon him most daintily for a Devil, but that I have been beaten out of one Devilship already, and dare venture no more Conjurationing.

_Gal_. Dog, what art thou--not speak! Nay, then I’ll inform my self, and try if you be flesh and blood. [_Kicks him, he avoids_.

Sir _Sig_. No matter for all this--’tis better to be kickt than discovered, for then I shall be kill’d: and I can sacrifice a Limb or two to my Reputation at any time.

_Gal_. Death, ‘tis the Fool, the Fool for whom I am abus’d and jilted? ’.is some revenge to disappoint her Cunning, and drive the Slave before me--Dog! were you her last reserve? [_Kicks him, he keeps in his cry_.

Sir _Sig_. Still I say Mum.

_Gal_. The Ass will still appear through all disguises, Nor can the Devil’s shape secure the Fool-- [_Kicks him, he runs out, as_ Cor. _enters and holds_ Gal.

_Cor_. Hold, Tyrant--

_Gal_. Oh Women, Women, fonder in your Appetites Than Beasts, and more unnatural! For they but couple with their Kind, but you Promiscuously shuffle your Brutes together, The Fop of business with the lazy Gown-men --the learned Ass with the illiterate Wit--the empty Coxcomb with the Politician, as dull and insignificant as he; from the gay Fool made more a Beast by Fortune to all the loath’d infirmities of Age. Farewel--I scorn to croud with the dull Herd, or graze upon the Common where they fatten. [_Goes out_.

_Phil_. I know he loves, by this concern I know it, And will not let him part dissatisfied. [_Goes out_.

_Cor_. By all that’s good, I love him more each moment, and know he’s destin’d to be mine.--

[_Enter_ Marcella.

--What hopes, _Marcella_? what is’t we next shall do?

_Mar_. Fly to our last reserve; come, let’s haste and dress in that disguise we took our flight from _Viterbo_ in,--and something I resolve.

_Cor_. My soul informs me what--I ha’t! a Project worthy of us both-- which whilst we dress I’ll tell thee,--and by which,

My dear _Marcella_, we will stand or fall:
‘Tis our last Stake we set; and have at all.

[_Exeunt_.