Chapter XIV: Act V: SCENE I. A Garden

_Enter_ Francisco _alone_.

_Fran_. Now am I afraid to walk in this Garden, lest I shou’d spy my own natural Wife lying with the Great _Turk_ in Fresco, upon some of these fine fiowry Banks, and learning how to make Cuckolds in _Turkey_.

_Enter_ Guzman _and_ Jacinta.

_Guz_. Nay, dear _Jacinta_, cast an eye of pity on me.--What, deny the _Vizier Bassa_?

_Jac_. When you are honest _Guzman_ again, I’ll tell you a piece of my mind.

_Guz_. But opportunity will not be kind to _Guzman_, as to the Grand _Bassa_; therefore, dear Rogue, let’s retire into these kind shades, or, if foolish Virtue be so squeamish, and needless Reputation so nice, that Mr. _Vicar_ must say _Amen_ to the bargain, there is an old lousy Frier, belonging to this _Villa_, that will give us a cast of his Office; for I am a little impatient about this business, Greatness having infus’d a certain itch in my Blood, which I felt not whilst a common Man.

_Fran_. Um, why, what have we here, pert Mrs. _Jacinta_ and the _Bassa_? I hope the Jade will be Turkefied with a vengeance, and have Circumcision in abundance; and the Devil shall ransom her for old _Francisco_.

_Jac_. Hah, the old Gentleman!

_Fran_. What, the Frolick is to go round, I see, you Women have a happy time on’t.

_Guz_. Men that have kind Wives may be as happy; you’ll have the honour of being made a Cuckold, Heaven be prais’d.

_Fran_. Ay, Sir, I thank ye,--pray, under the Rose, how does my Wife please his Grace the Great _Turk_?

_Guz_. Murmuring again, thou Slave.

_Fran. Who_, I? O Lord, Sir! not I, why, what hurt is there in being a Cuckold?

_Guz_. Hurt, Sirrah, you shall be swinged into a belief, that it is an honour for the Great _Turk_ to borrow your Wife.

_Fran_. But for the Lender to pay Use-money, is somewhat severe;--but, see, he comes,--bless me, how grim he looks!

_Enter_ Carlos, _and Mutes attending_.

_Car_. Come hither, Slave,--why, was it that I gave you Life? dismiss’d the Fetters from your aged Limbs?

_Fran_. For love of my Wife, and’t please your Barbarousness.

_Car_. Gave you free leave to range the Palace round, excepting my Apartment only?

_Fran_. Still for my Wife’s sake, I say, and’t like your Hideousness.

_Car_. And yet this Wife, this most ungrateful Wife of yours, again wou’d put your Chains on, expose your Life to Dangers and new Torments, by a too stubborn Virtue, she does refuse my Courtship, and foolishly is chaste.

_Fran_. Alas! what pity’s that!

_Car_. I offer’d much, lov’d much, but all in vain; Husband and Honour still was the reply.

_Fran_. Good lack! that she shou’d have no more Grace before her Eyes.

_Car_. But, Slave, behold these Mutes; that fatal Instrument of Death behold too, and in ‘em read thy doom, if this coy Wife of yours be not made flexible to my Addresses.

_Fran_. O Heavens! I make her.

_Car_. No more, thy Fate is fix’d--and, here attend, till he himself deliver his willing Wife into my Arms; _Bassa_, attend, and see it be perform’d-- [_To his Mutes, then to_ Guz. [_Ex_. Car.

_Guz_. Go, one of you, and fetch the fair Slave hither.

[_Ex_. Turk.

_Fran_. I pimp for my own Wife! I hold the door to my own Flesh and Blood! _monstrum horrendum_!

_Guz_. Nay, do’t, and do’t handsomly too, not with a snivelling Countenance, as if you were compell’d to’t; but with the face of Authority, and the awful command of a Husband--or thou dyest.

_Enter_ Turk _and_ Julia.

_Fran_. My dear _Julia_, you are a Fool, my Love.

_Jul_. For what, dear Husband?

_Fran_. I say, a silly Fool, to refuse the Love of so great a _Turk_; why, what a Pox makes you so coy? [_Angrily_.

_Jul_. How! this from you, _Francisco_.

_Fran_. Now does my Heart begin to fail me; and yet I shall ne’er endure strangling neither; why, am not I your Lord and Master, hah?

_Jul_. Heavens! Husband, what wou’d you have me do?

_Fran_. Have you do;--why, I wou’d have ye--d’ye see--’twill not out; why, I wou’d have ye lie with the _Sultan_, Huswife; I wonder how the Devil you have the face to refuse him, so handsom, so young a Lover; come, come, let me hear no more of your Coyness, Mistress, for if I do, I shall be hang’d; [_Aside_. The Great _Turk’s_ a most worthy Gentleman, and therefore I advise you to do as he advises you; and the Devil take ye both. [_Aside_.

_Jul_. This from my Husband, old _Francisco_! he advise me to part with my dear Honour.

_Fran_. Rather than part with his dear Life, I thank ye. [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Have you considered the Virtue of a Wife?

_Fran_. No, but I have considered the Neck of a Husband. [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Which Virtue, before I’ll lose, I’ll die a thousand Deaths.

_Fran_. So will not I one; a Pox of her Virtue,--these Women are always virtuous in a wrong place. [_Aside_. I say you shall be kind to the sweet _Sultan_.

_Jul_. And rob my Husband of his right!

_Fran_. Shaw, Exchange is no Robbery.

_Jul_. And forsake my Virtue, and make nown Dear a Cuckold.

_Fran_. Shaw, most of the Heroes of the World were so;--go, prithee, Hony, go, do me the favour to cuckold me a little, if not for Love, for Charity.

_Jul_. Are you in earnest?

_Fran_. I am.

_Jul_. And would it not displease you?

_Fran_. I say, no; had it been _Aquinius_ his Case, to have sav’d the pinching of his Gullet he wou’d have been a Cuckold. [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Fear has made you mad, or you’re bewitcht; and I’ll leave you to recover your Wits again. [_Going out_.

_Fran_. O gracious Wife, leave me not in despair; [_Kneels to her and holds her_.] I’m not mad, no, nor no more bewitcht than I have been these forty years; ‘tis you’re bewitcht to refuse so handsom, so young, and so--a Pox on him, she’ll ne’er relish me again after him. [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Since you’ve lost your Honour with your wits, I’ll try what mine will do.

_Enter_ Carlos, Turks.

_Fran_. Oh, I am lost, I’m lost--dear Wife,--most mighty Sir, I’ve brought her finely to’t--do not make me lose my credit with his _Mahometan_ Grace,--my Wife has a monstrous Affection for your Honour, but she’s something bashful; but when alone your Magnanimousness will find her a swinger.

_Car_. Fair Creature--

_Jul_. Do you believe my Husband, Sir? he’s mad.

_Car_. Dog. [_Offers to kill him_.

_Fran_. Hold, mighty Emperor; as I hope to be saved, ‘tis but a copy of her Countenance--inhuman Wife--lead her to your Apartment, Sir! barbarous honest Woman,--to your Chamber, Sir,--wou’d I had married thee an errant Strumpet; nay, to your Royal Bed, Sir, I’ll warrant you she gives you taunt for taunt: try her, Sir, try her. [_Puts ‘em out_.

_Jac_. Hark you, Sir, are you possest, or is it real reformation in you? what mov’d this kind fit?

_Fran_. E’en Love to sweet Life; and I shall think my self ever obliged to my dear Wife, for this kind Reprieve;--had she been cruel, I had been strangled, or hung in the Air like our Prophet’s Tomb.

_Enter First_ Turk.

_Turk_. Sir, boast the honour of the News I bring you.

_Fran_. Oh, my Head! how my Brows twinge.

_Turk_. The mighty _Sultan_, to do you honour, has set your Daughter and her Lover free, ransomless;--and this day gives ‘em liberty to solemnize the Nuptials in the Court;--but Christian Ceremonies must be private; but you’re to be admitted, and I’ll conduct you to ‘em.

_Fran_. Some Comfort, I shall be Father to a Viscount, and for the rest--Patience--

_All Nations Cuckolds breed, but I deny
They had such need of Cuckolding as I_.

[_Goes out with the_ Turk.

_Enter_ Antonio, _and_ Clara _to_ Jacinta.

_Jac_. Madam, the rarest sport--Ha, ha, ha.

_Ant_. You need not tell us, we have been witness to all. But to our own Affairs, my dearest _Clara_, Let us not lose this blessed opportunity, Which Art nor Industry can give again if this be idly lost.

_Cla_. Nay, hang me if it be my fault, _Antonio_: Charge it to the number of your own Sins; it shall not lie at my door.

_Ant_. ‘Tis generously said, and take notice, my little dear Virago, _Guzman_ has a Priest ready to tie you to your word.

_Cla_. As fast as you please; hang her that fears the conjuring knot for me: But what will our Fathers say--mine who expects me to be the Governor’s Lady; and yours, who designs _Isabella_ for a Daughter-in-Law?

_Ant_. Mine will be glad of the Change; and, for yours, if he be not pleased, let him keep his Portion to himself--that’s the greatest mischief he can do us: and for my Friend, the Governor, he’s above their Anger.

_Cla_. Why do we lose precious time? I long to be at--I _Clara_ take thee _Antonio_,--the very Ceremony will be tedious, so much I wish thee mine; and each delay gives me a fear something will snatch me from thee.

_Ant_. No power of Man can do’t, thou art so guarded; but now the Priest is employed in clapping up the honourable Marriage between the False Count and Isabella.

_Jac_. Lord, what a jest ‘twill be to see ‘em coupled, ha, ha.

_Cla_. Unmerciful _Antonio_, to drive the Jest so far; ‘tis too unconscionable!

_Ant_. By Heaven, I’m so proud I cannot think my Revenge sufficient for Affronts, nor does her Birth, her Breeding and her Vanity--deserve a better Fortune; besides,--he has enough to set up for a modern Spark-- the Fool has just Wit and good Manners to pass for a Fop of Fashion; and, where he is not known, will gain the Reputation of a fine accomplish’d Gentleman,--yet I’m resolved she shall see him in his Geers, in his original Filthiness, that my Revenge may be home upon the foolish Jilt.

_Cla_. Cruel _Antonio_, come, lets go give ‘em Joy.

_Ant_. And finish our Affair with Mr. Vicar.

_Enter_ Isabella, _her Train borne by the great_ Page, Guiliom,
_with the other great_ Page, _and_ Francisco _bare_.

--Joy to my noble Lord, and you, fair _Isabella_!

_Isa_. Thank thee, Fellow,--but, surely, I deserved my Titles from thee.

_Cla_. Your Honour I hope will pardon him.

_Isa_. How now, _Clara_! [_Nodding to her_.

_Jac_. I give your Honour joy.

_Isa_. Thank thee, poor Creature.--

_Fran_. My Lord, this Honour you have done my Daughter is so signal, that whereas I designed her but five thousand Pound, I will this happy day settle on her ten.

_Guil_. Damn dirty trash, your Beauty is sufficient--hum --Signior Don _Antonio_, get the Writings ready. [_Aside_. Money--hang Money.

_Fran_. How generous these Lords are; nay, my Lord, you must not refuse a Father’s Love, if I may presume to call you Son--I shall find enough besides for my Ransom, if the Tyrant be so unmerciful to ask more than my Wife pays him.

_Guil_. Nay, if you will force it upon me.

_Isa_. Ay, take it, the trifling sum will serve to buy our Honour Pins.

_Ant_. Well, Sir, since you will force it on him, my Cashier shall draw the Writings.

_Guil_. And have ‘em signed by a publick Notary. [_Aside_.

_Fran_. With all my Soul, Sir, I’ll go to give him order, and subscribe.
[_Ex_. Francisco.

_Guil_. Let him make ‘em strong and sure--you shall go halves. [_Aside_.

_Ant_. No, you will deserve it dearly, who have the plague of such a Wife with it;--but harkye, Count--these goods of Fortune are not to be afforded you, without Conditions.

_Guil_. Shaw, Conditions, any Conditions, noble _Antonio_.

_Ant_. You must disrobe anon, and do’n your native Habiliments--and in the Equipage give that fair Viscountess to understand the true quality of her Husband.

_Guil_. Hum--I’m afraid, ‘tis a harder task to leap from a Lord to a Rogue, than ‘tis from a Rogue to a Lord.

_Ant_. Not at all, we have examples of both daily.

_Guil_. Well, Sir, I’ll show you my agility--but, Sir, I desire I may consummate, d’ye see,--consummate--a little like a Lord, to make the Marriage sure.

_Ant_. You have the Freedom to do so--the Writings I’ll provide.

_Guil_. I’ll about it then, the Priest waits within for you, and _Guzman_ for you, _Jacinta_,--haste, for he is to arrive anon Ambassador from _Cadiz_.

_Jac_. I know not, this noise of Weddings has set me agog, and I’ll e’en in, and try what ‘tis.

[_Ex_. Antonio, Clara, _and_ Jacinta.

_Guil_. Come, Madam, your Honour and I have something else to do, before I have fully dub’d you a Viscountess.

_Isa_. Ah, Heav’ns, what’s that?

_Guil_. Why a certain Ceremony, which must be performed between a pair of Sheets,--but we’ll let it alone till Night.

_Isa_. Till Night, no; whate’er it be, I wou’d not be without an Inch of that Ceremony, that may compleat my Honour for the World; no, for Heaven’s sake, let’s retire, and dub me presently.

_Guil_. Time enough, time enough.

_Isa_. You love me not, that can deny me this.

_Guil_. Love--no, we are married now, and People of our Quality never Love after Marriage; ‘tis not great.

_Isa_. Nay, let’s retire, and compleat my Quality, and you will find me a Wife of the Mode, I’ll warrant you.

_Guil_. For once you have prevail’d.

_Enter_ Francisco.

_Fran_. Whither away?

_Isa_. Only to consummate a little, pray keep your distance.
[_She pulls off his hat_.

_Fran_. Consummate!

_Isa_. Ay, Sir, that is to make me an absolute Viscountess--we cannot stay--farewel. [Guiliom _leads her out_.

_Fran_. Hum--this _Turkey_ Air has a notable faculty, where the Women are all plaguy kind.

_Enter_ Carlos _and_ Julia.

_Car_. By Heav’n, each Moment makes me more your Slave.

_Fran_. The Business is done.

_Jul_. My Husband! [_Aside_.

_Car_. And all this constant love to old _Francisco_ has but engaged me more.

_Fran_. Ha, Love to me? [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Sir, if this Virtue be but real in you, how happy I shou’d be; but you’ll relapse again, and tempt my virtue, which if you do--

_Fran_. I’ll warrant she wou’d kill herself. [_Aside_.

_Jul_. I should be sure to yield. [_In a soft tone to him_.

_Car_. No, thou hast made an absolute Conquest o’er me--and if that Beauty tempt me every hour, I shall still be the same I was the last.

_Fran_. Pray Heaven he be _John_.

_Enter First_ Turk.

1st _Turk_. Most mighty Emperor, a Messenger from _Cadiz_ has Letters for your Highness.

_Car_. Conduct him in; in this retreat of ours we use no State.

_Enter_ Guzman, _as himself, gives_ Carlos _Letters_.

_Guz_. Don _Carlos_, Governor of _Cadiz_, greets your Highness.

_Carlos_ reads.

High and Mighty,

_For seven_ Christian _Slaves, taken lately by a Galley of yours,
we offer you twice the number of_ Mahometans _taken from you by us.
--If this suffice not,--propose your Ransoms, and they shall be paid
by Don_ Carlos, _Governor of_ Cadiz.

--Know you this _Carlos_ offers so fair for you?

_Fran_. Most potent Lord, I do, and wonder at the Compliment,--and yet I am not jealous--I have so overacted the complaisant Husband, that I shall never fall into the other Extreme again.

_Car_. Go, let the Christian Governor understand his Request is granted.

_Guz_. The Slaves are ready, Sir, and a Galley to carry off the Christians.

_Jul_. How shall we make this Governor amends?

_Fran_. I do even weep for joy; alas, I must leave it to thee, Love.

_Jul_. To me, Sir? do you mock me?

_Fran_. Mock thee! no; I know thy Virtue, and will no more be jealous, believe me, Chicken, I was an old Fool.

_Car_. Your Wife is chaste--she overcame my unruly Passion with her Prayers and Tears.

_Enter_ Isabella _at one door_; Clara, Antonio, Jacinta,
_at another_; Isabella’s _Train carried up_.

_Fran_. Rare News,--we are all free and ransom’d! All’s well, and the Man has his Mare again.

_Isa_. You still forget your Duty and your Distance.

_Fran_. A pox of your troublesom Honour; a man can’t be overjoy’d in quiet for’t.

_Enter_ Baltazer _and_ Sebastian.

_Seb_. Sure, I am not mistaken, this is the House of my Son _Antonio_.

_Bal_. Let it be whose house ‘twill, I think the Devil’s broke loose in’t.

_Seb_.--Or the _Turks_; for I have yet met with ne’er a Christian thing in’t.

_Fran_. Hah,--do I dream, or is that my Father-in-law, and Signior _Sebastian_?

_Ant_. My Father here?

_Car_. _Baltazer_! [_Aside_.

_Bal_. Son _Francisco_, why do you gaze on me so?

_Fran_. Bless me, Sir, are you taken by the Great _Turk_ too?

_Bal_. Taken,--Great _Turk_,--what do mean?

_Fran_. Mean, Sir! why, how the Devil came you into _Turkey_?

_Bal_. Sure, Jealousy has crack’d his brains.

_Fran_. Crack me no Cracks, good Father mine;--am not I a Slave in _Turkey_? and is not this the _Grand Seignior’s_ Palace?

_Car_. So,--all will come out, there’s no prevention. [_Aside_.

_Seb_. Some that are wiser answer us: You, Son,--are you infected too?--was not yesterday to have been your Wedding-day?

_Ant_. To day has done as well, Sir, I have only chang’d _Isabella_ for _Clara_.

_Seb_. How, _Francisco_, have you juggled with me?

_Fran_. My Daughter’s a Lady, Sir.

_Bal_. And you, Mistress, you have married _Antonio_, and left the Governor.

_Cla_. I thought him the fitter Match, Sir, and hope your Pardon.

_Jul_. We cannot scape.

_Fran_. But how came you hither, Gentlemen, how durst you venture?

_Seb_. Whither, Sir, to my own Son’s house; is there such danger in coming a mile or two out of _Cadiz_?

_Fran_. Is the Devil in you, or me, or both? Am not I in the Possession of _Turks_ and Infidels?

_Bal_. No, Sir; safe in _Antonio Villa_, within a League of _Cadiz_.

_Fran_. Why, what a Pox, is not this the Great _Turk_ himself?

_Bal_. This, Sir,--cry mercy, my Lord,--’tis Don _Carlos_, Sir, the Governor.

_Fran_. The Governor! the worst Great _Turk_ of all; so, I am cozened, --most rarely cheated; why, what a horrid Plot’s here carried on, to bring in heretical Cuckoldom?

_Car_. Well, Sir, since you have found it out, I’ll own my Passion.

_Jul_. Well, if I have been kind you forced me to’t, nay, begged on your knees, to give my self away.

_Fran_. Guilty, guilty, I confess,--but ‘twas to the Great _Turk_, Mistress, not Don _Carlos_.

_Jul_. And was the Sin the greater?

_Fran_. No, but the Honour was less.

_Bal_. Oh horrid! What, intreat his Wife to be a Whore?

_Car_. Sir, you’re mistaken, she was my Wife in sight of Heaven before; and I but seiz’d my own.

_Fran_. Oh,--Sir, she’s at your Service still.

_Car_. I thank you, Sir, and take her as my own.

_Bal_. Hold, my Honour’s concerned.

_Fran_. Not at all, Father mine, she’s my Wife, my Lumber now, and, I hope, I may dispose of my Goods and Chattels--if he takes her we are upon equal terms, for he makes himself my Cuckold, as he has already made me his;--for, if my memory fail me not, we did once upon a time consummate, as my Daughter has it.

_Enter_ Guiliom _in his own dress; crying Chimney-Sweep_.

_Guil_. Chimney-sweep,--by your leave, Gentlemen.

_Ant_. Whither away, Sirrah?

_Guil_. What’s that to you, Sir?--

_Ant_. Not to me, Sirrah;--who wou’d you speak with?

_Guil_. What’s that to you, Sir? why, what a Pox, may not a man speak with his own Lady and Wife?

_Cla_. Heavens! his Wife! to look for his Wife amongst Persons of Quality!

_Car_. Kick out the Rascal.

_Guil_. As soon as you please, my Lord; but let me take my Wife along with me. [_Takes_ Isa. _by the hand_.

_Isa_. Faugh! what means the Devil?

_Guil_. Devil; ‘twas not long since you found me a human creature within there.

_Isa_. Villain, Dog; help me to tear his Eyes out.

_Guil_. What, those Eyes, those lovely Eyes, that wounded you so deeply?

_Fran_. What’s the meaning of all this? why, what, am I cozen’d? and is my Daughter cozen’d?

_Guil_. Cozen’d! why, I am a Man, Sir.

_Fran_. The Devil you are, Sir, how shall I know that?

_Guil_. Your Daughter does, Sir; and that’s all one.

_Isa_. Oh! I’m undone; am I no Viscountess then.

_Guil_. Hang Titles; ‘twas my self you lov’d, my amiable sweet and charming self: In fine, sweet-heart, I am your Husband; no Viscount, but honest _Guiliom_, the Chimney-sweeper.--I heard your Father design’d to marry you to a Tradesman, and you were for a Don; and to please you both, you see how well I have managed matters.

_Fran_. I’ll not give her a farthing.

_Guil_. No matter, her Love’s worth a million; and, that’s so great, that I’m sure she’ll be content to carry my Soot basket after me.

_Isa_. Ah! I die, I die.

_Guil_. What, and I so kind?
[_Goes and kisses her, and blacks her face_.

_Isa_. Help! murder, murder!

_Guil_. Well, Gentlemen, I am something a better fortune than you believe me, by some thousands. [_Shows_ Car. _his Writings_.

_Car_. Substantial and good! faith, Sir, I know not where you’ll find a better fortune for your Daughter, as cases stand. [_To_ Francisco.

_Guil_. And, for the Viscount, Sir, gay Clothes, Money and Confidence will set me up for one, in any ground in Christendom.

_Car_. Faith, Sir, he’s i’th’ right; take him home to _Sevil_, your Neighbours know him not, and he may pass for what you please to make him; the Fellow’s honest, witty and handsom.

_Fran_. Well, I have considered the matter: I was but a Leather-seller my self, and am grown up to a Gentleman; and, who knows but he, being a Chimney-sweeper, may, in time, grow up to a Lord? Faith, I’ll trust to Fortune, for once--here--take her and rid me of one Plague, as you, I thank you, Sir, have done of another. [_To_ Carlos.

_Guil_. Prithee be pacified, thou shalt see me within this hour as pretty a fluttering Spark as any’s in Town.--My noble Lord, I give you thanks and joy; for, you are happy too.

_Car_. As Love and Beauty can make me.

_Fran_. And I, as no damn’d Wife, proud Daughter, or tormenting Chamber-maid can make me.

_Ant_. And I, as Heaven and _Clara_ can. _--You base-born Beauties, whose ill-manner’d Pride, Th’industrious noble Citizens deride. May you all meet with_ Isabella’s _doom_.

_Guil_. _--And all such Husbands as the Count_ Guiliome.