Chapter XXII: Act IV: Scene I

_Enter_ BELLAMY, WILDBLOOD, MASKALL, _in a Visor_.

_Bel._ Here comes one, and in all probability it must be Don Melchor, going to Theodosia.

_Mask._ Stand close, and you shall see me serve the writ upon him.

_Enter Don_ MELCHOR.

_Wild._ Now, Maskall.

_Mask._ I stayed here, sir, by express order from the lady Aurelia, to deliver you this note; and to desire you, from her, to meet her immediately in the garden.

_Mel._ Do you hear, friend!

_Mask._ Not a syllable more, sir; I have performed my orders.
[MASK. _retires to his Masters_.

_Mel._ He's gone, and 'tis in vain for me to look after him. What envious devil has discovered to Aurelia that I am in town? It must be Don Lopez, who, to advance his own pretensions to her, has endeavoured to ruin mine.

_Wild._ It works rarely.

_Mel._ But I am resolved to see Aurelia; if it be but to defeat him.
[_Exit_ MEL.

_Wild._ Let's make haste after him; I long to see the end of this adventure.

_Mask._ Sir, I think I see some women coming yonder.

_Bel._ Well, I'll leave you to your adventures, while I prosecute my own.

_Wild._ I warrant you have made an assignation to instruct some lady in the mathematics.

_Bel._ I'll not tell you my design; because, if it does not succeed, you shall not laugh at me. [_Exit Bel._

_Enter_ BEATRIX; _and_ JACINTHA, _in the habit of a Mulatto_.

_Wild._ Let us withdraw a little, and see if they will come this way.

_Beat._ We are right, madam; 'tis certainly your Englishman, and his servant with him. But, why this second trial, when you engaged to break with him, if he failed in the first?

_Jac._ 'Tis true, he has been a little inconstant, choleric, or so.

_Beat._ And it seems you are not contented with those vices, but are searching him for more. This is the folly of a bleeding gamester, who will obstinately pursue a losing hand.

_Jac._ On t'other side, you would have me throw up my cards, before the game be lost: Let me make this one more trial, when he has money, whether he will give it me; and then, if he fails--

_Beat._ You'll forgive him again.

_Jac._ He's already in purgatory; but the next offence shall put him in the pit, past all redemption; pr'ythee sing, to draw him nearer: Sure he cannot know me in this disguise.

_Beat._ Make haste, then; for I have more irons in the fire: When I have done with you, I have another assignation of my Lady Theodosia's to Don Melchor.

SONG.

_Calm was the even, and clear was the sky,
And the new-budding flowers did spring,
When all alone went Amyntas and I,
To hear the sweet nightingale sing:
I sate, and he laid him down by me,
But scarcely his breath he could draw;
For when, with a fear, he began to draw near,
He was dashed with, A ha, ha, ha, ha!

He blushed to himself, and lay still for a while,
And his modesty curbed his desire;
But strait I convinced all his fear with a smile,
Which added new flames to his fire.

O Sylvia, said he, you are cruel,
To keep your poor lover in awe!
Then once more he prest with his hand to my breast,
But was dashed with, A ha, ha, ha, ha!

I knew 'twas his passion that caused all his fear,
And therefore I pitied his case;
I whispered him softly, There's nobody near,
And laid my cheek close to his face:
But as he grew bolder and bolder,
A shepherd came by us and saw;
And just as our bliss we began with a kiss,
He laughed out with, A ha, ha, ha, ha!_

_Wild._ If you dare be the Sylvia, lady, I have brought you a more confident Amyntas, than that bashful gentleman in your song. [_Goes to lay hold of her._

_Jac._ Hold, hold, sir; I am only an ambassadress sent you from a lady: I hope you will not violate the laws of nations.

_Wild._ I was only searching for your letters of credence: but methinks, with that beauty, you look more like a herald that comes to denounce war to all mankind.

_Jac._ One of the ladies in the masque to-night has taken a liking to you; and sent you by me this purse of gold, in recompence of that she saw you lose.

_Wild._ And she expects in return of it, that I should wait on her: I'll do't,--where lives she? I am desperately in love with her.

_Jac._ Why, can you love her unknown?

_Wild._ I have a bank of love, to supply every one's occasions; some for her, some for another, and some for you; charge what you will upon me, I pay all at sight, and without questioning who brought the bill.

_Jac._ Hey-day! you dispatch your mistresses as fast, as if you meant to o'er-run all womankind: Sure you aim at the universal-monarchy.

_Wild._ Now I think on't, I have a foolish fancy to send the lady a taste of my love by thee.

_Jac._ 'Tis impossible your love should be so humble, to descend to a mulatto.

_Wild._ One would think so, but I cannot help it. Gad, I think the reason is, because there's something more of sin in thy colour than in ours. I know not what's the matter, but a turkey-cock is not more provoked at red, than I bristle at the sight of black. Come, be kinder to me. Young, and slip an opportunity? 'Tis an evening lost out of your life.

_Jac._ These fine things you have said over a thousand times; your cold compliment's the cold pye of love, which you serve up to every guest whom you invite.

_Wild._ Come; because thou art very moving, here's part of the gold, which thou brought'st to corrupt me for thy lady: Truth is, I had promised a sum to a Spanish lady; but thy eyes have allured it from me.

_Jac._ You'll repent it to-morrow.

_Wild._ Let to-morrow starve, or provide for himself, as to-night has done: To-morrow is a cheat in love, and I will not trust it.

_Jac._ Ay, but heaven, that sees all things----

_Wild._ Heaven, that sees all things, will say nothing: That is all eyes, and no tongue; _Et la lune, et les estoiles_,--you know the song.

_Jac._ A poor slave, as I am----

_Wild._ It has been always my humour to love downward. I love to stoop to my prey, and to have it in my power to souse at, when I please. When a man comes to a great lady, he is fain to approach her with fear and reverence; methinks there's something of godliness in't.

_Jac._ Yet I cannot believe, but the meanness of my habit must needs scandalize you.

_Wild._ I tell thee, my friend, and so forth, that I exceedingly honour coarse linen; 'tis as proper sometimes in an under garment, as a coarse towel is to rub and scrub me.

_Jac._ Now I am altogether of the other side; I can love no where but above me: Methinks the rattling of a coach and six sounds more eloquently than the best harangue a wit could make me.

_Wild._ Do you make no more esteem of a wit then?

_Jac._ His commendations serve only to make others have a mind to me; he does but say grace to me like a chaplain, and, like him, is the last that shall fall on. He ought to get no more by it, than a poor silk-weaver does by the ribband which he works, to make a gallant fine.

_Wild._ Then what is a gentleman to hope from you?

_Jac._ To be admitted to pass my time with, while a better comes: To be the lowest step in my staircase, for a knight to mount upon him, and a lord upon him, and a marquis upon him, and a duke upon him, till I get as high as I can climb.

_Wild._ For aught I see, the great ladies have the appetites, which you slaves should have; and you slaves the pride, which ought to be in ladies. For, I observe, that all women of your condition are like women of the play-house, still picking at each other, who shall go the best dressed, and the richest habits; till you work up one another by your high flying, as the heron and jerfalcon do. If you cannot out-shine your fellow with one lover, you fetch her up with another: And, in short, all you get by it is only to put finery out of countenance; and to make the ladies of quality go plain, because they will avoid the scandal of your bravery.

_Beat._ [_Running in_.] Madam, come away; I hear company in the garden.

_Wild._ You are not going?

_Jac._ Yes, to cry out a rape, if you follow me.

_Wild._ However, I am glad you have left your treasure behind you: Farewell, fairy!

_Jac._ Farewell, changeling!--Come, Beatrix.
[_Exeunt Women._

_Mask._ Do you know how you came by this money, sir? You think, I warrant, that it came by fortune.

_Wild._ No, sirrah, I know it came by my own industry. Did not I come out diligently to meet this gold, in the very way it was to come? What could fate do less for me? They are such thoughtless, and undesigning rogues as you, that make a drudge of poor Providence, and set it a shifting for you. Give me a brave fellow like myself, that, if you throw him down into the world, lights every where upon his legs, and helps himself without being beholden to fate, that is the hospital of fools.

_Mask._ But, after all your jollity, what think you if it was Jacintha that gave it you in this disguise? I am sure I heard her call Beatrix as she went away.

_Wild._ Umh! thou awaken'st a most villainous apprehension in me! methought, indeed, I knew the voice: but the face was such an evidence against it! if it were so, she is lost for ever.

_Mask._ And so is Beatrix.

_Wild._ Now could I cut my throat for madness.

_Mask._ Now could I break my neck for despair, if I could find a precipice absolutely to my liking.

_Wild._ 'Tis in vain to consider on't. There's but one way; go you, Maskall, and find her out, and invent some excuse for me, and be sure to beg leave I may come and wait upon her with the gold, before she sleeps.

_Mask._ In the mean time you'll be thinking at your lodging.

_Wild._ But make haste then to relieve me; for I think over all my thoughts in half an hour. [_Exit_ MASK.

_Wild._ [_Solus_.] Hang it! now I think on't, I shall be but melancholic at my lodging; I'll go pass my hour at the gaming-house, and make use of this money while I have tools, to win more to it. Stay, let me see,--I have the box and throw. My Don he sets me ten pistoles; I nick him: Ten more, I sweep them too. Now, in all reason, he is nettled, and sets me twenty: I win them too. Now he kindles, and butters me with forty. They are all my own: In fine, he is vehement, and bleeds on to fourscore or an hundred; and I, not willing to tempt fortune, come away a moderate winner of two hundred pistoles.

SCENE II.

_The_ SCENE _opens and discovers_ AURELIA _and_ CAMILLA: _Behind them a table and lights set on it. The Scene is a Garden with an arbour in it._

The garden-door opens! How now, Aurelia and Camilla in expectation of Don Melchor at the garden door! I'll away, least I prevent the design, and within this half hour come sailing back with full pockets, as wantonly as a laden galleon from the Indies. [_Exit._

_Aur._ But dost thou think the Englishman can keep his promise? For, I confess, I furiously desire to see the idea of Don Melchor.

_Cam._ But, madam, if you should see him, it will not be he, but the devil in his likeness; and then why should you desire it?

_Aur._ In effect 'tis a very dark enigma; and one must be very spiritual to understand it. But be what it will, body or phantom, I am resolved to meet it.

_Cam._ Can you do it without fear?

_Aur._ No; I must avow it, I am furiously fearful; but yet I am resolved to sacrifice all things to my love. Therefore, let us pass over that chapter. [_Don_ MELCHOR, _without_.

_Cam._ Do you hear, madam, there's one treading already; how if it be he?

_Aur._ If it be he! that is to say his spectre, that is to say his phantom, that is to say his idea, that is to say, he, and not he.

_Cam._ [_Crying out_.] Ah, madam, 'tis he himself; but he's as big again as he used to be, with eyes like saucers. I'll save myself. [_Runs under the table._

_Enter Don_ MELCHOR: _They both shriek_.

_Aur._ Oh heaven! humanity is not able to support it.
[_Running._

_Mel._ Dear Aurelia, what mean you?

_Aur._ The tempter has imitated his voice too; avoid, avoid, spectre.

_Cam._ If he should find me under the table now!

_Mel._ Is it thus, my dear, that you treat your servant?

_Aur._ I am not thy dear; I renounce thee, spirit of darkness!

_Mel._ This spirit of darkness is come to see an angel of light by her command; and to assure her of his constancy, that he will be her's eternally.

_Aur._ Away, infernal! 'tis not thee; 'tis the true Don Melchor that I would see.

_Mel._ Hell and furies!

_Aur._ Heaven and angels! Ah----
[_Runs out, shrieking._

_Mel._ This is a riddle past my finding out, to send for me, and then to shun me; but here's one shall resolve it for me: Camilla, what dost thou there?

_Cam._ Help, help! I shall be carried away bodily.
[_She rises up, overthrows the table and lights, and runs out.
The scene shuts._

_Mel._ [_Alone_.] Why, Aurelia, Camilla! they are both run out of hearing! this amazes me; what can the meaning of it be? Sure she has heard of my unfaithfulness, and was resolved to punish me by this contrivance! to put an affront upon me by this abrupt departure, as I did on her by my seeming absence.

_Enter_ THEODOSIA _and_ BEATRIX.

_Theo._ Don Melchor! is it you, my love, that have frighted Aurelia so terribly?

_Mel._ Alas, madam! I know not; but, coming hither by your appointment, and thinking myself secure in the night without disguise, perhaps it might work upon her fancy, because she thought me absent.

_Theo._ Since 'tis so unluckily fallen out, that she knows you are at Madrid, it can no longer be kept a secret; therefore, you must now pretend openly to me, and run the risk of a denial from my father.

_Mel._ O, madam, there's no question but he'll refuse me: For, alas! what is it he can see in me worthy of that honour? Or, if he should be so partial to me, as some in the world are, to think me valiant, learned, and not altogether a fool, yet my want of fortune would weigh down all.

_Theo._ When he has refused you his consent, I may with justice dispose of myself; and that, while you are constant, shall never be to any but yourself: In witness of which, accept this diamond, as a pledge of my heart's firmness to you.

_Beat._ Madam, your father is coming this way.

_Theo._ 'Tis no matter; do not stir: since he must know you are returned, let him now see you.

_Enter Don_ ALONZO.

_Alon._ Daughter, what make you here at this unseasonable hour?

_Theo._ Sir----

_Alon._ I know what you would say, that you heard a noise, and ran hither to see what it might be----Bless us! who is this with you?

_Mel._ 'Tis your servant, Don Melchor; just returned from St Sebastians.

_Alon._ But, sir, I thought you had been upon the sea for Flanders.

_Mel._ I had so designed it.

_Alon._ But, why came you back from St Sebastians?

_Mel._ As for that, sir, 'tis not material.

_Theo._ An unexpected law-suit has called him back from St Sebastians.

_Alon._ And how fares my son-in-law, that lives there?

_Mel._ In Catholic health, sir.

_Alon._ Have you brought no letters from him?

_Mel._ I had, sir, but I was set upon by the way, by picarons: and, in spite of my resistance, robbed, and my portmanteau taken from me.

_Theo._ And this was that which he was now desiring me to excuse to you.

_Alon._ If my credit, friends, or counsel, can do you any service in your suit, I hope you will command them freely.

_Mel._ When I have dispatched some private business, I shall not fail to trouble you; till then, humbly kisses your hands the most obliged of your servants. [_Exit_ MELCHOR.

_Alon._ Daughter, now this cavalier is gone, what occasion brought you out so late?--I know what you would say, that it is melancholy; a tincture of the hypochondria you mean: But, what cause have you for this melancholy? Give me your hand, and answer me without ambages, or ambiguities.

_Theo._ He will find out I have given away my ring--I must prevent him--Sir, I am ashamed to confess it to you; but, in hope of your indulgence, I have lost the table diamond you gave me.

_Alon._ You would say, The fear of my displeasure has caused the perturbation in you; well, do not disquiet yourself too much; you say 'tis gone, I say so too. 'Tis stolen; and that by some thief, I take it: But, I will go and consult the astrologer immediately. [_He is going._

_Theo._ What have I done? To avoid one inconvenience, I have run into another: This devil of an astrologer will discover that Don Melchor has it. [_Aside._

_Alon._ When did you lose this diamond? The minute and second I should know; but the hour will serve for the degree ascending.

_Theo._ Sir, the precise time I know not; but it was betwixt six and seven in the evening, as near as I can guess.

_Alon._ 'Tis enough; by all the stars, I'll have it for you: Therefore, go in, and suppose it on your finger.

_Beat._ I'll watch you at a distance, sir, that my Englishman may have wherewithal to answer you. [_Aside. Exeunt_ THEO. BEAT.

_Alon._ This melancholy, wherewith my daughter laboureth, is--a--I know what I would say, is a certain species of the hysterical disease; or a certain motion, caused by a certain appetite, which, at a certain time, heaveth in her, like a certain motion of an earthquake--

_Enter_ BELLAMY.

_Bel._ This is the place, and very near the time that Theodosia appoints her meeting with Don Melchor. He is this night otherwise disposed of with Aurelia: 'Tis but trying my fortune, to tell her of his infidelity, and my love. If she yields, she makes me happy; if not, I shall be sure Don Melchor has not planted the arms of Spain in the fort before me. However, I'll push my fortune, as sure as I am an Englishman.

_Alon._ Sennor Inglis, I know your voice, though I cannot perfectly discern you.

_Bel._ How the devil came he to cross me?

_Alon._ I was just coming to have asked another favour of you.

_Bel._ Without ceremony, command me, sir.

_Alon._ My daughter Theodosia has lost a fair diamond from her finger, the time betwixt six and seven this evening; now, I desire you, sir, to erect a scheme for it, and if it be lost, or stolen, to restore it to me. This is all, sir.

_Bel._ There is no end of this old fellow; thus will he bait me from day to day, till my ignorance be found out. [_Aside._

_Alon._ Now is he casting a figure by the art of memory, and making a judgment of it to himself. This astrology is a very mysterious speculation. [_Aside._

_Bel._ 'Tis a madness for me to hope I can deceive him longer. Since then he must know I am no astrologer, I'll discover it myself to him, and blush once for all. [_Aside._

_Alon._ Well, sir, and what do the stars hold forth? What says nimble master Mercury to the matter?

_Bel._ Sir, not to keep you longer in ignorance, I must ingenuously declare to you, that I am not the man for whom you take me. Some smattering in astrology I have; which my friends, by their indiscretion, have blown abroad, beyond my intentions. But you are not a person to be imposed on like the vulgar: Therefore, to satisfy you in one word, my skill goes not far enough to give you knowledge of what you desire from me.

_Alon._ You have said enough, sir, to persuade me of your science; if fame had not published it, yet this very humility of yours were enough to confirm me in the belief of it.

_Bel._ Death, you make me mad, sir! Will you have me swear? As I am a gentleman, a man of the town, one who wears good cloaths, eats, drinks, and wenches abundantly, I am a damned ignorant, and senseless fellow.

_Enter_ BEATRIX.

_Alon._ How now, gentlewoman?--What, are you going to relief by moonshine?

_Beat._ I was going on a very charitable office, to help a friend that was gravelled in a very doubtful business.

_Bel._ Some good news, fortune, I beseech thee.

_Beat._ But now I have found this learned gentleman, I shall make bold to propound a question to him from a lady.

_Alon._ I will have my own question first resolved.

_Bel._ O, sir, 'tis from a lady.

_Beat._ If you please, sir, I'll tell it in your ear--My lady has given Don Melchor the ring; in whose company her father found her just now at the garden-door. [_In a whisper._

_Bel._ [_Aloud_.] Come to me to-morrow, and you shall receive an answer.

_Beat._ Your servant, sir.
[_Exit_ BEATRIX.

_Alon._ Sir, I shall take it very unkindly if you satisfy any other, and leave me in this perplexity.

_Bel._ Sir, if my knowledge were according--

_Alon._ No more of that, sir, I beseech you.

_Bel._ Perhaps I may know something by my art concerning it; but, for your quiet, I wish you would not press me.

_Alon._ Do you think I am not master of my passions?

_Bel._ Since you will needs know what I would willingly have concealed, the person, who has your diamond, is he whom you saw last in your daughter's company.

_Alon._ You would say 'tis Don Melchor de Guzman. Who the devil would have suspected him of such an action? But he is of a decayed family, and poverty, it seems, has enforced him to it. Now I think on't better, he has e'en stolen it for a fee, to bribe his lawyer; to requite a lie with a theft. I'll seek him out, and tell him part of my mind before I sleep. [_Exit_ ALON.

_Bel._ So, once more I am at liberty: But this astrology is so troublesome a science--Would I were well rid on't!

_Enter Don_ LOPEZ, _and a Servant_.

_Lop._ Astrology, does he say? O, cavalier, is it you? not finding you at home, I came on purpose to seek you out: I have a small request to the stars by your mediation.

_Bel._ Sir, for pity let them shine in quiet a little; for what for ladies, and their servants, and younger brothers, they scarce get a holiday in a twelve-month.

_Lop._ Pray, pardon me, if I am a little curious of my destiny, since all my happiness depends on your answer.

_Bel._ Well, sir, what is it you expect?

_Lop._ To know whether my love to a lady will be successful.

_Bel._ 'Tis Aurelia, he means. [_Aside_.]--Sir, in one word I answer you, that your mistress loves another; one, who is your friend: But comfort yourself; the dragon's tail is between him and home, he never shall enjoy her.

_Lop._ But what hope for me?

_Bel._ The stars have partly assured me, you shall be happy, if you acquaint her with your passion, and with the double-dealing of your friend, who is false to her.

_Lop._ You speak like an oracle. But, I have engaged my promise to that friend, to serve him in his passion to my mistress.

_Bel._ We English seldom make such scruples; women are not comprised in our laws of friendship. They are _ferae naturae_; our common game, like hare and partridge: Every man has equal right to them, as he has to the sun and elements.

_Lop._ Must I then betray my friend?

_Bel._ In that case my friend is a Turk to me, if he will be so barbarous as to retain two women to his private use. I will be factious for all distressed damsels; who would much rather have their cause tried by a full jury, than a single judge.

_Lop._ Well, sir, I will take your counsel; and if I err, the fault be on love and you. [_Exit_ LOP.

_Bel._ Were it not for love, I would run out of the town, that's the short on't; for I have engaged myself in so many promises, for the sun and moon, and those little minced-meats of them, that I must hide before my day of payment comes. In the mean time I forget Theodosia; but now I defy the devil to hinder me.

_As he is going out, he meets_ AURELIA, _and almost justles her down. With her_ CAMILLA _enters_.

_Aur._ What rudeness is this?

_Bel._ Madam Aurelia, is it you?

_Aur._ Monsieur Bellamy!

_Bel._ The same, madam.

_Aur._ My uncle told me he left you here: And, indeed, I came hither to complain of you. For you have treated me so inhumanly, that I have some reason to resent it.

_Bel._ What occasion can I have given you for a complaint?

_Aur._ Don Melchor, as I am informed by my uncle, is effectively at Madrid: So that it was not his idea, but himself in person, whom I saw. And since you knew this, why did you conceal it from me?

_Bel._ When I spoke with you, I knew it not: But I discovered it in the erecting of my figure. Yet if, instead of his idea, I constrained himself to come, in spite of his resolution to remain concealed, I think I have shown a greater effect of my art than what I promised.

_Aur._ I render myself to so convincing an argument: But by over-hearing a discourse just now betwixt my cousin Theodosia and her maid, I find that he has concealed himself upon her account, which has given me jealousy to the last point; for, to avow an incontestible truth, my cousin is furiously handsome.

_Bel._ Madam, madam, trust not your ears too far; she talked on purpose, that you might hear her. But, I assure you, the true cause of Don Melchor's concealment was not love of her, but jealousy of you. He staid in private to observe your actions: Build upon't, madam, he is inviolably yours.

_Aur._ Then will he sacrifice my cousin to me?

_Bel._ 'Tis furiously true, madam.

_Aur._ O most agreeable assurance!

_Cam._ Albricias, madam, for my good news! Don Melchor is coming this way; I know him by his voice: but he is in company with another person.

_Aur._ It will not be convenient to give him any umbrage, by seeing me with another person; therefore, I will go before; do you stay here, and conduct him to my apartment. Good-night, sir. [_Exit._

_Bel._ I have promised Don Lopez, he shall possess her; and I have promised her, she shall possess Don Melchor: 'Tis a little difficult, I confess, as to the matrimonial part of it: But, if Don Melchor will be civil to her, and she be civil to Don Lopez, my credit is safe without the benefit of my clergy. But all this is nothing to Theodosia. [_Exit_ BEL.

_Enter Don_ ALONZO _and Don_ MELCHOR.

_Cam._ Don Melchor, a word in private.

_Mel._ Your pleasure, lady.--Sir, I will wait on you immediately.

_Cam._ I am sent to you from a fair lady, who bears you no ill will. You may guess whom I mean.

_Mel._ Not by my own merits, but by knowing whom you serve. But, I confess, I wonder at her late strange usage, when she fled from me.

_Cam._ That was only a mistake; but I have now, by her command, been in a thousand places in quest of you.

_Mel._ You overjoy me.

_Cam._ And where, amongst the rest, do you think I have been looking you?

_Mel._ Pray refresh my memory.

_Cam._ In that same street, by the same shop--you know where, by a good token.

_Mel._ By what token?

_Cam._ Just by that shop, where, out of your nobleness, you promised me a new silk gown.

_Mel._ O, now I understand you.

_Cam._ Not that I press you to a performance--

_Mel._ Take this, and please yourself in the choice of it.
[_Gives her money._

_Cam._ Nay, dear sir, now you make me blush; in faith I--am ashamed--I swear, 'tis only because I would keep something for your sake;--but my lady expects you immediately in her apartment.

_Mel._ I'll wait on her, if I can possibly. [_Exit_ CAM.] But, if I can prevail with Don Alonzo for his daughter, then will I again consider, which of the ladies best deserves me. [_Aside_.] Sir, I beg your pardon for this rudeness in leaving you. [_To_ ALON.

_Alon._ I cannot possibly resolve with myself to tell him openly he is a thief; but I'll gild the pill for him to swallow. [_Aside._

_Mel._ I believe he has discovered our amour: How he surveys me for a son-in-law! [_Aside._

_Alon._ Sir, I am sorry for your sake, that true nobility is not always accompanied with riches to support it in its lustre.

_Mel._ You have a just exception against the capriciousness of destiny; yet, if I were owner of any noble qualities, (which I am not) I should not much esteem the goods of fortune.

_Alon._ But pray conceive me, sir; your father did not leave you flourishing in wealth.

_Mel._ Only a very fair seat in Andalusia, with all the pleasures imaginable about it: That alone, were my poor deserts according,--which, I confess, they are not,--were enough to make a woman happy in it.

_Alon._ But give me leave to come to the point, I beseech you, sir. I have lost a jewel, which I value infinitely, and I hear it is in your possession: But I accuse your wants, not you, for it.

_Mel._ Your daughter is indeed a jewel; but she were not lost, were she in possession of a man of parts.

_Alon._ A precious diamond, sir----

_Mel._ But a man of honour, sir----

_Alon._ I know what you would say, sir,--that a man of honour is not capable of an unworthy action; and, therefore, I do not accuse you of the theft: I suppose the jewel was only put into your hands.

_Mel._ By honourable ways, I assure you, sir.

_Alon._ Sir, sir, will you restore my jewel?

_Mel._ Will you please, sir, to give me leave to be the unworthy possessor of her? I know how to use her with that respect----

_Alon._ I know what you would say, sir; but if it belong to our family? otherwise, I assure you, it were at your service.

_Mel._ As it belongs to your family, I covet it; not that I plead my own deserts, sir.

_Alon._ Sir, I know your deserts; but, I protest, I cannot part with it: For, I must tell you, this diamond ring was originally my great-grandfather's.

_Mel._ A diamond ring, sir, do you mean?----

_Alon._ By your patience, sir; when I have done, you may speak your pleasure. I only lent it to my daughter; but, how she lost it, and how it came upon your finger, I am yet _in tenebris_.

_Mel._ Sir----

_Alon._ I know it, sir; but spare yourself the trouble, I'll speak for you; you would say you had it from some other hand; I believe it, sir.

_Mel._ But, sir----

_Alon._ I warrant you, sir, I'll bring you off without your speaking;--from another hand you had it; and now, sir, as you say, sir, and as I am saying for you, sir, you are loth to part with it.

_Mel._ Good sir,----let me----

_Alon._ I understand you already, sir,--that you have taken a fancy to it, and would buy it; but, to that I answer, as I did before, that it is a relick of my family: Now, sir, if you can urge aught farther, you have liberty to speak without interruption.

_Mel._ This diamond you speak of, I confess----

_Alon._ But what need you confess, sir, before you are accused?

_Mel._ You promised you would hear me in my turn, sir, but----

_Alon._ But, as you were saying, it is needless, because I have already spoken for you.

_Mel._ The truth is, sir, I was too presumptuous to take this pledge from Theodosia without your knowledge; but you will pardon the invincible necessity, when I tell you----

_Alon._ You need not tell me; I know your necessity was the reason of it, and that place and opportunity have caused your error.

_Mel._ This is the goodest old man I ever knew; he prevents me in my motion for his daughter. [_Aside._ Since, sir, you know the cause of my errors, and are pleased to lay part of the blame upon youth and opportunity, I beseech you, favour me so far to accept me, as fair Theodosia already has----

_Alon._ I conceive you, sir,--that I would accept of your excuse: Why, restore the diamond, and 'tis done.

_Mel._ More joyfully than I received it: And, with it, I beg the honour to be received by you as your son-in-law.

_Alon._ My son-in-law! this is the most pleasant proposition I ever heard.

_Mel._ I am proud you think it so; but, I protest, I think not I deserve this honour.

_Alon._ Nor I, I assure you, sir; marry my daughter--ha, ha, ha!

_Mel._ But, sir----

_Alon._ I know what you would say, sir--that there is too much hazard in the profession of a thief, and therefore you would marry my daughter to become rich, without venturing your neck for't. I beseech you, sir, steal on, be apprehended, and, if you please, be hanged, it shall make no breach betwixt us. For my part, I'll keep your counsel, and so, good night, sir. [_Exit_ ALON.

_Mel._ Is the devil in this old man, first to give me occasion to confess my love, and, when he knew it, to promise he would keep my counsel? But who are these? I'll not be seen; but to my old appointment with Theodosia, and desire her to unriddle it. [_Exit_ MEL.

SCENE III.

_Enter_ MASKALL, JACINTHA, _and_ BEATRIX.

_Mask._ But, madam, do you take me for a man of honour?

_Jac._ No.

_Mask._ Why there's it! if you had, I would have sworn that my master has neither done nor intended you any injury. I suppose you'll grant he knew you in your disguise?

_Beat._ Nay, to know her, and use her so, is an aggravation of his crime.

_Mask._ Unconscionable Beatrix! would you two have all the carnival to yourselves? He knew you, madam, and was resolved to countermine you in all your plots. But, when he saw you so much piqued, he was too good natured to let you sleep in wrath, and sent me to you to disabuse you: for, if the business had gone on till to-morrow, when Lent begins, you would have grown so peevish (as all good Catholics are with fasting) that the quarrel would never have been ended.

_Jac._ Well; this mollifies a little: I am content he shall see me.

_Mask._ But that you may be sure he knew you, he will bring the certificate of the purse along with him.

_Jac._ I shall be glad to find him innocent.

_Enter_ WILDBLOOD, _at the other end of the stage_.

_Wild._ No mortal man ever threw out so often. It could not be me, it must be the devil that did it: He took all the chances, and changed them after I had thrown them. But, I'll be even with him; for, I'll never throw one of his dice more.

_Mask._ Madam, 'tis certainly my master; and he is so zealous to make his peace, that he could not stay till I called him to you.----Sir.

_Wild._ Sirrah, I'll teach you more manners than to leave me another time: You rogue, you have lost me two hundred pistoles, you and the devil your accomplice; you, by leaving me to myself, and he, by tempting me to play it off.

_Mask._ Is the wind in that door? Here's like to be fine doings.

_Wild._ O mischief! am I fallen into her ambush? I must face it out with another quarrel. [_Aside._

_Jac._ Your man has been treating your accommodation; 'tis half made already.

_Wild._ Ay, on your part it may be.

_Jac._ He says you knew me.

_Wild._ Yes; I do know you so well, that my poor heart aches for't. I was going to bed without telling you my mind; but, upon consideration, I am come----

_Jac._ To bring the money with you.

_Wild._ To declare my grievances, which are great and many.

_Mask._ Well, for impudence, let thee alone.

_Wild._ As, in the first place----

_Jac._ I'll hear no grievances; where's the money?

_Beat._ Ay, keep to that, madam.

_Wild._ Do you think me a person to be so used?

_Jac._ We will not quarrel; where's the money?

_Wild._ By your favour we will quarrel.

_Beat._ Money, money!----

_Wild._ I am angry, and can hear nothing.

_Beat._ Money, money, money, money!

_Wild._ Do you think it a reasonable thing to put on two disguises in a night, to tempt a man? (Help me, Maskall, for I want arguments abominably.) I thank heaven I was never so barbarously used in all my life.

_Jac._ He begins to anger me in good earnest.

_Mask._ A thing so much against the rules of modesty! So indecent a thing!

_Wild._ Ay so indecent a thing: Nay, now I do not wonder at myself for being angry. And then to wonder I should love her in those disguises! To quarrel at the natural desires of human kind, assaulted by powerful temptations; I am enraged at that.

_Jac._ Heyday! you had best quarrel too for my bringing you the money.

_Wild._ I have a grudging to you for't: (Maskall, the money, Maskall! now help, or we are gone.)

_Mask._ Would she offer to bring money to you? first, to affront your poverty----

_Wild._ Ay, to affront my poverty: But that's no great matter; and then----

_Mask._ And then to bring you money, sir. (I stick fast, sir.)

_Wild._ (Forward, you dog, and invent, or I'll cut your throat.) And then, as I was saying, to bring me money----

_Mask._ Which is the greatest and most sweet of all temptations; and to think you could resist it: Being also aggravated by her handsomeness, who brought it.

_Wild._ Resist it? No; I would she would understand it; I know better what belongs to flesh and blood than so.

_Beat._ to _Jac._ This is plain confederacy: I smoke it; he came on purpose to quarrel with you; break first with him, and prevent it.

_Jac._ If it be come to that once, the devil take the hindmost! I'll not be last in love, for that will be a dishonour to my sex.

_Wild._ And then----

_Jac._ Hold, sir, there needs no more; you shall fall out, and I'll gratify you with a new occasion: I only tried you in hope you would be false; and, rather than fail of my design, brought gold to bribe you to't.

_Beat._ As people, when they have an ill bargain, are content to lose by it, that they may get it off their hands.

_Mask._ Beatrix, while our principals are engaged, I hold it not for our honour to stand idle.

_Beat._ With all my heart: Please you let us draw off to some other ground.

_Mask._ I dare meet you on any spot, but one.

_Wild._ I think we shall do well to put it to an issue: this is the last time you shall ever be troubled with my addresses.

_Jac._ The favour had been greater to have spared this too.

_Mask._ Beatrix, let us dispatch; or they'll break off before us.

_Beat._ Break as fast as thou wilt; I am as brittle as thou art, for thy heart.

_Wild._ Because I will absolutely break off with you, I will keep nothing that belongs to you; therefore take back your picture, and your handkerchief.

_Jac._ I have nothing of yours to keep; therefore take back your liberal promises. Take them in imagination.

_Wild._ Not to be behindhand with you in your frumps, I give you back your purse of gold: Take you that--in imagination.

_Jac._ To conclude with you, take back your oaths and protestations; they are never the worse for the wearing, I assure you: Therefore take them, spick and span new, for the use of your next mistress.

_Mask._ Beatrix, follow your leader; here's the six-penny whittle you gave me, with the mutton haft: I can spare it, for knives are of little use in Spain.

_Beat._ There's your scissars with the stinking brass chain to them: 'Tis well there was no love betwixt us; for they had been too dull to cut it.

_Mask._ There's the dandriff comb you lent me.

_Beat._ There's your ferret-ribbanding for garters.

_Mask._ I would never have come so near as to have taken them from you.

_Beat._ For your letter, I have it not about me; but upon reputation I'll burn it.

_Mask._ And for yours, I have already put it to a fitting employment.--Courage, sir; how goes the battle on your wing?

_Wild._ Just drawing off on both sides. Adieu, Spain.

_Jac._ Farewell, old England.

_Beat._ Come away in triumph; the day's your own, madam.

_Mask._ I'll bear you off upon my shoulders, sir; we have broke their hearts.

_Wild._ Let her go first then; I'll stay, and keep the honour of the field.

_Jac._ I'll not retreat, if you stay till midnight.

_Wild._ Are you sure then we have done loving?

_Jac._ Yes, very sure; I think so.

_Wild._ 'Tis well you are so; for otherwise I feel my stomach a little maukish. I should have doubted another fit of love were coming up.

_Jac._ No, no; your inconstancy secures you enough for that.

_Wild._ That's it which makes me fear my own returning: Nothing vexes me, but that you should part with me so slightly, as though I were not worth your keeping. Well, 'tis a sign you never loved me.

_Jac._ 'Tis the least of your care whether I did or did not: It may be it had been more for the quiet of myself, if I--but 'tis no matter, I'll not give you that satisfaction.

_Wild._ But what's the reason you will not give it me?

_Jac._ For the reason that we are quite broke off.

_Wild._ Why, are we quite, quite broke off?

_Jac._ Why, are we not?

_Wild._ Well, since 'tis past, 'tis past; but a pox of all foolish quarrelling, for my part.

_Jac._ And a mischief of all foolish disguisements, for my part.

_Wild._ But if it were to do again with another mistress, I would even plainly confess I had lost my money.

_Jac._ And if I had to deal with another servant, I would learn more wit than to tempt him in disguises: for that's to throw a Venice-glass to the ground, to try if it would not break.

_Wild._ If it were not to please you, I see no necessity of our parting.

_Jac._ I protest, I do it only out of complaisance to you.

_Wild._ But if I should play the fool, and ask your pardon, you would refuse it.

_Jac._ No, never submit; for I should spoil you again with pardoning you.

_Mask._ Do you hear this, Beatrix! They are just upon the point of accommodation; we must make haste, or they'll make a peace by themselves, and exclude us from the treaty.

_Beat._ Declare yourself the aggressor then, and I'll take you into mercy.

_Wild._ The worst that you can say of me is, that I have loved you thrice over.

_Jac._ The prime articles between Spain and England are sealed; for the rest, concerning a more strict alliance, if you please, we'll dispute them in the garden.

_Wild._ But, in the first place, let us agree on the article of navigation, I beseech you.

_Beat._ These leagues, offensive and defensive, will be too strict for us, Maskall: A treaty of commerce will serve our turn.

_Mask._ With all my heart; and when our loves are veering, We'll make no words, but fall to privateering. [_Exeunt, the men leading the women._