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The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. III by Aphra Behn

Part 2 out of 12

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[_Ex. Women_.

_Bel_. The Knight, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_;
--The Rascal mist me at the appointed place,
And comes to attack me here--
[_Turns to_ Cel.
--Brave Youth, I know not how
I came to merit this Relief from thee:
Sure thou art a Stranger to me, thou'rt so kind.

_Cel_. Sir, I believe those happy ones that know you
Had been far kinder, but I'm indeed a Stranger.

_Bel_. Mayst thou be ever so to one so wretched;
I will not ask thy Name, lest knowing it,
(I'm such a Monster) I should ruin thee.

_Cel_. Oh, how he melts my Soul! I cannot stay,
Lest Grief, my Sex, my Bus'ness shou'd betray. [_Aside_.
--Farewel, Sir--
May you be happy in the Maid you love.
[_Exit_ Cel.

_Bel_. O, dost thou mock my Griefs? by Heaven, he did.
--Stay, Sir, he's gone.

_Enter_ Charles Bellmour.

_Char_. The Rogue took Courage, when he saw there was no Remedy; but
there's no hurt done on either side.

_Lord_. 'Tis fit such as he shou'd be chastis'd, that do abuse
Hospitality. Come, come, to Bed; the Lady, Sir, expects you.

_Bel_. Gentlemen, good Night.


SCENE II_. A Bed Chamber_.

_Enter_ Diana.

_Dia_. I long to know the Cause of _Bellmour's_ Disorder to Night, and
here he comes.

_Enter_ Bellmour, Lord, Charles, _and the rest_.

_Char_. Shan't we see you laid, Brother?

_Bel_. Yes, in my Grave, dear _Charles_;
But I'll excuse that Ceremony here.

_Char_. Good Night, and no Rest to you, Brother.

[_Ex. all but_ Bellmour _and_ Diana.

_Dia_. Till now, my _Bellmour_, I wanted Opportunity
To ask the Cause, why on a joyful Day,
When Heav'n has join'd us by a sacred Tie,
Thou droop'st like early Flowers with Winter-storms.

_Bel_. Thou art that Winter-storm that nips my Bud;
All my young springing Hopes, my gay Desires,
The prospect of approaching Joys of Love,
Thou in a hapless Minute hast took from me,
And in its room,
Hast given me an eternal Desperation.

_Dia_. Have you then given me Vows ye can repent of?

_Bel_. I given ye Vows! be witness, ye just Pow'rs,
How far I was from giving any Vows:
No, no, _Diana_, I had none to give.

_Dia_. No Vows to give!
What were they which unto the Holy Man
Thou didst repeat, when I was made all thine?

_Bel_. The Effects of low Submission, such as Slaves
Condemn'd to die, yield to the angry Judge.

_Dia_. Dost thou not love me then?

_Bel_. Love thee! No, by Heaven: yet wish I were so happy,
For thou art wondrous fair and wondrous good.

_Dia_. Oh, what a Defeat is here!
The only Man, who from all Nature's store
I found most charming, fit for my Desires;
And now after a thousand Expectations,
Such as all Maids that love like me do hope,
Just ready for the highest Joys of Love!
Then to be met thus cold--nay, worse, with scorn. [_Aside_.
--Why, since you could not love me, did you marry me?

_Bel_. Because I was a Beast, a very Villain!
That stak'd a wretched Fortune to all my Joys of Life,
And like a prodigal Gamester lost that all.

_Dia_. How durst you, Sir, knowing my Quality,
Return me this false Pay, for Love so true?
Was this a Beauty, Sir, to be neglected?

_Bel_. Fair angry Maid, frown on, frown till you kill,
And I shall dying bless those Eyes that did so.
For shou'd I live, I shou'd deprive the happier World
Of Treasures, I'm too wretched to possess.
And were't not pity that vast store of Beauty
Shou'd, like rich Fruit, die on the yielding Boughs?

_Dia_. And are you then resolved to be a Stranger to me?

_Bel_. For ever! for a long Eternity!

_Dia_. O thou'st undone me then; hast thou found out
A Maid more fair, more worthy of thy Love?
Look on me well.

_Bel_. I have consider'd thee,
And find no Blemish in thy Soul, or Form;
Thou art all o'er Divine, yet I must hate thee,
Since thou hast drawn me to a mortal Sin,
That cannot be forgiven by Men, or Heaven.
--Oh, thou hast made me break a Vow, _Diana_,
A sacred solemn Vow;
And made me wrong the sweetest Innocence,
That ever blest the Earth.

_Dia_. Instead of cooling this augments my Fire;
No Pain is like defeated new Desire. [_Aside_.
'Tis false, or but to try my Constancy.
Your Mistress is not so divine as I,
And shou'd I, 'gainst himself, believe the Man
Who first inspir'd my Heart with Love's soft Flame?

_Bel_. What Bliss on me insensibly you throw!
I'd rather hear thee swear, thou art my Foe,
And like some noble and romantick Maid
With Poniards wou'd my stubborn Heart invade;
And whilst thou dost the faithful Relique tear,
In every Vein thoud'st find _Celinda_ there.

_Dia_. Come, Sir, you must forget _Celinda's_ Charms,
And reap Delights within my circling Arms,
Delights that may your Errors undeceive,
When you find Joys as great as she can give.

_Bel_. What do I hear?--is this the kind Relief
Thou dost allow to my Despair and Grief?
Is this the Comfort that thou dost impart
To my all-wounded, bleeding, dying Heart?
Were I so brutal, cou'd thy Love comply
To serve it self with base Adultery?
For cou'd I love thee, cou'd I love again,
Our Lives wou'd be but one continu'd Sin:
A Sin of that black dye, a Sin so foul,
'Twou'd leave no Hopes of Heav'n for either's Soul.

_Dia_. Dull Man! Dost think a feeble vain Excuse
Shall satisfy me for this Night's abuse?
No, since my Passion thou'st defeated thus,
And robb'd me of my long-wish'd Happiness,
I'll make thee know what a wrong'd Maid can do,
Divided 'twixt her Love and Injuries too.

_Bel_. I dare thy worst;
Shou'd Hell assist thy Aims, thou cou'dst not find,
New Plagues, unless thou shou'dst continue kind,
Hard Fate, _Diana_, when thy Love must be
The greatest Curse that can arrive to me.
--That Friendship which our Infant Years begun,
And till this Day has still continued on,
I will preserve; and my Respects shall be
Profound, as what was ever paid by me:
But for my Love, 'tis to _Celinda_ due,
And I can pay you none that's just and true.

_Dia_. The rest I'd have thee know I do despise,
I better understand my conquering Eyes;
Those Eyes that shall revenge my Love and Shame,
I'll kill thy Reputation and thy Name.

_Bel_. My Honour! and my Reputation, now!
They both were forfeit, when I broke my Vow,
Nor cou'd my Honour with thy Fame decline;
Whoe'er profanes thee, injures nought of mine.
This Night upon the Couch my self I'll lay,
And like _Franciscans_, let th'ensuing Day
Take care for all the Toils it brings with it;
Whatever Fate arrives, I can submit.


SCENE III. _A Street_.

_Enter_ Celinda, _drest as before_.

_Cel_. Not one kind Wound to send me to my Grave,
And yet between their angry Swords I ran,
Expecting it from _Bellmour_, or my Brother's:
Oh, my hard Fate! that gave me so much Misery,
And dealt no Courage to prevent the shock.
--Why came I off alive, that fatal Place
Where I beheld my _Bellmour_, in th'embrace
Of my extremely fair, and lovely Rival?
--With what kind Care she did prevent my Arm,
Which (greedy of the last sad-parting twine)
I wou'd have thrown about him, as if she knew
To what intent I made the passionate Offer?
--What have I next to do, but seek a Death
Wherever I can meet it--Who comes here? [_Goes aside_.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham _and_ Sharp, _with Fidlers and Boy_.

Sir _Tim_. I believe this is the Bed-chamber Window where the Bride
and Bridegroom lies.

_Sham_. Well, and what do you intend to do, if it be, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Why, first sing a Baudy Song, and then break the Windows,
in revenge for the Affront was put upon me to night.

_Sharp_. Faith, Sir, that's but a poor Revenge, and which every Footman
may take of his Lady, who has turn'd him away for filching--You know,
Sir, Windows are frail, and will yield to the lusty Brickbats; 'tis an
Act below a Gentleman.

Sir _Tim_. That's all one, 'tis my Recreation; I serv'd a Woman so the
other night, to whom my Mistress had a Pique.

_Sham_. Ay, Sir, 'tis a Revenge fit only for a Whore to take--And the
Affront you receiv'd to Night, was by mistake.

Sir _Tim_. Mistake! how can that be?

_Sham_. Why, Sir, did you not mind, that he that drew upon _Bellmour_,
was in the same Dress with you.

Sir _Tim_. How shou'd his be like mine?

_Sham_. Why, by the same Chance, that yours was like his--I suppose
sending to the Play-house for them, as we did, they happened to send
him such another Habit, for they have many such for dancing Shepherds.

Sir _Tim_. Well, I grant it a Mistake, and that shall reprieve the

_Sharp_. Then, Sir, you shew'd so much Courage, that you may bless the
Minute that forc'd you to fight.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, but between you and I, 'twas well he kick'd me first,
and made me angry, or I had been lustily swing'd, by Fortune--But thanks
to my Spleen, that sav'd my Bones that bout--But then I did well--hah,
came briskly off, and the rest.

_Sham_. With Honour, Sir, I protest.

Sir _Tim_. Come then, we'll serenade him. Come, Sirrah, tune your Pipes,
and sing.

_Boy_. What shall I sing, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Any thing sutable to the Time and Place.



_The happy Minute's come, the Nymph is laid,
Who means no more to rise a Maid.
Blushing, and panting, she expects th'Approach
Of Joys that kill with every touch:
Nor can her native Modesty and Shame
Conceal the Ardour of her Virgin Flame_.


_And now the amorous Youth is all undrest,
Just ready for Love's mighty Feast;
With vigorous haste the Veil aside he throws,
That doth all Heaven at once disclose.
Swift as Desire, into her naked Arms
Himself he throws, and rifles all her Charms_.

Good morrow, Mr. _Bellmour_, and to your lovely Bride, long may you
live and love.

_Enter_ Bellmour _above_.

_Bel_. Who is't has sent that Curse?

Sir _Tim_. What a Pox, is that _Bellmour_? The Rogue's in choler, the
Bride has not pleas'd him.

_Bel_. Dogs! Do you upbraid me? I'll be with you presently.

Sir _Tim_. Will you so?--but I'll not stay your coming.

_Cel_. But you shall, Sir.

_Bel_. Turn, Villains!

[_Sir_ Tim. _&c. offers to go off_, Celinda _steps forth, and
draws, they draw, and set upon her. Enter_ Bellmour _behind them:
They turn, and_ Celinda _sides with_ Bellmour, _and fights. Enter_
Diana, Bellmour _fights 'em out, and leaves_ Celinda _breathless,
leaning on her Sword_.

_Dia_. I'll ne'er demand the cause of this disorder,
But take this opportunity to fly
To the next hands will take me up--who's here?

_Cel_. Not yet, my sullen Heart!

_Dia_. Who's here? one wounded--alas--

_Cel_. 'Tis not so lucky--but who art thou
That dost with so much pity ask?

_Dia_. He seems a Gentleman--handsome and young-- [_Aside_.
Pray ask no Questions, Sir; but if you are what you seem,
Give a Protection to an unhappy Maid.
--Do not reply, but let us haste away.

_Cel_. Hah--What do I hear! sure, 'tis _Diana_.
--Madam, with haste, and joy, I'll serve you.
--I'll carry her to my own Lodgings.
Fortune, in this, has done my Sufferings right,
My Rival's in my Power, upon her Wedding-Night. [_Aside_.


_Enter_ Bellmour, _Sir_ Tim. Sham, _and_ Sharp.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, that you should not know your Friend and humble
Servant, _Tim. Tawdrey_--But thou look'st as if thou hadst not been
a-bed yet.

_Bel_. No more I have.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, then thou losest precious time, I'll not detain thee.
[_Offers to go_.

_Bel_. Thou art mistaken, I hate all Woman-kind--

Sir _Tim_. How, how!

_Bel_, Above an Hour--hark ye, Knight--I am as leud, and as debaucht
as thou art.

Sir _Tim_. What do you mean, _Frank_?

_Bel_. To tell a Truth, which yet I never did.
--I whore, drink, game, swear, lye, cheat, rob, pimp, hector, all,
all I do that's vitious.

Sir _Tim_. Bless me!

_Bel_. From such a Villian, hah!

Sir _Tim_. No, but that thou should'st hide it all this while.

_Bel_. Till I was married only, and now I can dissemble it no longer--
come--let's to a Baudy-House.

Sir _Tim_. A Baudy-house! What, already!
This is the very quintessence of Leudness.
--Why, I thought that I was wicked, but, by Fortune,
This dashes mine quite out of Countenance.

_Bel_. Oh, thou'rt a puny Sinner!--I'll teach thee Arts (so rare) of Sin,
the least of them shall damn thee.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, _Frank_, I do not like these Arts.

_Bel_. Then thou'rt a Fool--I'll teach thee to be rich too.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, that I like.

_Bel_. Look here, my Boys!
[_Hold up his Writings, which he takes out of his Pockets_.
The Writings of 3000 pounds a Year:
--All this I got by Perjury.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, a thriving Sin.

_Bel_. And we will live in Sin while this holds out.
_And then to my cold Home--Come let's be gone:
Oh, that I ne'er might see the rising Sun_.



SCENE I. Celinda's _Chamber_.

_Discovers_ Celinda _as before sitting in a Chair_,
Diana _by her in another, who sings_.



Celinda, _who did Love disdain,
For whom had languished many a Swain,
Leading her bleating Flocks to drink,
She spy'd upon the River's brink
A Youth, whose Eyes did well declare
How much he lov'd, but lov'd not her_.


_At first she laugh'd, but gaz'd the while,
And soon it lessen'd to a Smile;
Thence to surprize and wonder came,
Her Breast to heave, her Heart to flame;
Then cry'd she out, Ah, now I prove
Thou art a God, Almighty Love_.


_She wou'd have spoke, but Shame deny'd,
And bad her first consult her Pride;
But soon she found that Aid was gone,
For Love, alas, had left her none.
Oh, how she burns, but 'tis too late,
For in his Eyes she reads her Fate_.

_Cel_. Oh, how numerous are her Charms
--How shall I pay this generous Condescension?
Fair lovely Maid--

_Dia_. Why do you flatter, Sir?

_Cel_. To say you're lovely, by your self I do not,
I'm young, and have not much convers'd with Beauty:
Yet I'll esteem my Judgment, since it knows
Where my Devotions shou'd be justly paid.
--But, Madam, may I not yet expect
To hear the Story, you so lately promis'd me?

_Dia_. I owe much to your Goodness, Sir--but--

_Cel_. I am too young, you think, to hear a Secret;
Can I want Sense to pity your Misfortunes,
Or Passion to incite me to revenge 'em?

_Dia_. Oh, would he were in earnest!

_Cel_. She's fond of me, and I must blow that flame,
Do any thing to make her hate my _Bellmour_. [_Aside_.
--But, Madam, I'm impatient for your Story,
That after that, you may expect my Service.

_Dia_. The Treatment you this night have given a distressed Maid,
enough obliges me; nor need I tell you, I'm nobly born; something
about my Dress, my Looks and Mien, will doubtless do me reason.

_Cel_. Sufficiently--

_Dia_. But in the Family where I was educated, a Youth of my own Age,
a Kinsman too, I chanc'd to fall in love with, but with a Passion my
Pride still got the better of; and he, I thought, repaid my young
Desires. But Bashfulness on his part, did what Pride had done on mine,
And kept his too conceal'd--At last my Uncle, who had the absolute
Dominion of us both, thought good to marry us together.

_Cel_. Punish him, Heaven, for a Sin so great.
--And are you married then?

_Dia_. Why is there Terror in that Word?

_Cel_. By all that's Sacred, 'tis a Word that kills me.
Oh, say thou art not;
And I thus low will fall, and pay thee Thanks. [_Kneels_.

_Dia_. You'll wish indeed I were not, when you know
How very, very wretched it has made me.

_Cel_. Shou'd you be telling me a Tale all day,
Such as would melt a Heart that ne'er could love,
'Twould not increase my Reason for the wish
That I had dy'd e'er known you had been married.

_Dia_. So many soft Words from my _Bellmour's_ mouth
Had made me mad with Joy, and next to that
I wish to hear 'em from this Youth;
If they be real, how I shall be reveng'd! [_Aside_.
--But why at my being married should you sigh?

_Cel_. Because I love, is that a Wonder, Madam?
Have you not Charms sufficient at first sight
To wound a Heart tender and young as mine?
Are you not heavenly fair? Oh, there's my Grief--
Since you must be another's.

_Dia_. Pray hear me out; and if you love me after,
Perhaps you may not think your self unhappy.
When Night was come, the long'd for Night, and all
Retir'd to give us silent Room for Joy--

_Cel_. Oh, I can hear no more--by Heav'n, I cannot.
--Here--stab me to the Heart--let out my Life,
I cannot live, and hear what follow'd next.

_Dia_. Pray hear me, Sir--

_Cel_. Oh, you will tell me he was kind--
Yes, yes--oh God--were not his balmy Kisses
Sweeter than Incense offer'd up to Heaven?
Did not his Arms, softer and whiter far
Than those of _Jove's_ transform'd to Wings of Swans,
Greedily clasp thee round?--Oh, quickly speak,
Whilst thy fair rising Bosom met with his;
And then--Oh--then--

_Dia_. Alas, Sir! What's the matter?--sit down a while.

_Cel_. Now--I am well--pardon me, lovely Creature,
If I betray a Passion, I'm too young
To've learnt the Art of hiding;
--I cannot hear you say that he was kind.

_Dia_. Kind! yes, as Blasts to Flow'rs, or early Fruit;
All gay I met him full of youthful Heat:
But like a Damp, he dasht my kindled Flame,
And all his Reason was--he lov'd another,
A Maid he call'd _Celinda_.

_Cel_. Oh blessed Man!

_Dia_. How, Sir?

_Cel_. To leave thee free, to leave thee yet a Virgin.

_Dia_. Yes, I have vow'd he never shall possess me.

_Cel_. Oh, how you bless me--but you still are married,
And whilst you are so--I must languish--

_Dia_. Oh, how his Softness moves me! [_Aside_.
--But can all this Disorder spring from Love?

_Cel_. Or may I still prove wretched.

_Dia_. And can you think there are no ways
For me to gratify that Love?
What ways am I constrain'd to use to work out my Revenge! [_Aside_.

_Cel_. How mean you, Madam?

_Dia_. Without a Miracle, look on my Eyes--
And Beauty--which you say can kindle Fires;
--She that can give, may too retain Desires.

_Cel_. She'll ravish me--let me not understand you.

_Dia_. Look on my Wrongs--
Wrongs that would melt a frozen Chastity,
That a religious Vow had made to Heaven:
--And next survey thy own Perfections.

_Cel_. Hah--

_Dia_. Art thou so young, thou canst not apprehend me?
Fair bashful Boy, hast thou the Power to move,
And yet not know the Bus'ness of thy Love?

_Cel_. How in an instant thou hast chill'd my Blood,
And made me know no Woman can be good?
'Tis Sin enough to yield--but thus to sue
Heav'n--'tis my Business--and not meant for you.

_Dia_. How little Love is understood by thee,
'Tis Custom, and not Passion you pursue;
Because Enjoyment first was nam'd by me,
It does destroy what shou'd your Flame renew:
My easy yielding does your Fire abate,
And mine as much your tedious Courtship hate.
Tell Heaven--you will hereafter sacrifice,
--And see how that will please the Deities.
The ready Victim is the noblest way,
Your Zeal and Obligations too to pay.

_Cel_. I think the Gods wou'd hardly be ador'd,
If they their Blessings shou'd, unask'd, afford;
And I that Beauty can no more admire,
Who ere I sue, can yield to my Desire.

_Dia_. Dull Youth, farewel:
For since 'tis my Revenge that I pursue
Less Beauty and more Man as well may do.
[_Offers to go_.

_Enter_ Friendlove _disguised, as one from a Camp_.

_Cel_. Madam, you must not go with this Mistake.
[_Holds her_.

_Friend_. _Celinda_ has inform'd me true--'tis she--
Good morrow, Brother, what, so early at your Devotions?

_Cel_. O, my Brother's come, and luckily relieves me. [_Aside_.

_Friend_. Your Orizons are made to a fair Saint.
--Pray, Sir, what Lady's that?
--Or is it blasphemy to repeat her Name?
--By my bright Arms, she's fair--With what a charming
Fierceness, she charges through my Body to my Heart.
--Death! how her glittering Eyes give Fire, and wound!
And have already pierc'd my very Soul!
--May I approach her, Brother?

_Cel_. Yes, if you dare, there's danger in it though,
She has Charms that will bewitch you:
--I dare not stand their Mischief.

_Friend_. Lady, I am a Soldier--yet in my gentlest Terms
I humbly beg to kiss your lovely Hands--
Death! there's Magick in the Touch.
By Heaven, you carry an Artillery in every part.

_Dia_. This is a Man indeed fit for my purpose. [_Aside_.

_Friend_. Nay, do not view me, I am no lovely Object;
I am a Man bred up to Noise and War,
And know not how to dress my Looks in Smiles;
Yet trust me, fair one, I can love and serve
As well as an _Endymion_, or _Adonis_.
Wou'd you were willing to permit that Service!

_Dia_. Why, Sir?--What cou'd you do?

_Friend_. Why--I cou'd die for you.

_Dia_. I need the Service of the living, Sir.
But do you love me, Sir?

_Friend_. Or let me perish, flying from a single Enemy.
I am a Gentleman, and may pretend to love you;
And what you can command, I can perform.

_Dia_. Take heed, Sir, what you say, for I'm in earnest.

_Friend_. Command me any thing that's just and brave;
And, by my Eyes, 'tis done.

_Dia_. I know not what you call just or brave;
But those whom I do the Honour to command,
Must not capitulate.

_Friend_. Let him be blasted with the Name of Coward,
That dares dispute your Orders.

_Dia_. Dare you fight for me?

_Friend_. With a whole Army; 'tis my Trade to fight.

_Dia_. Nay, 'tis but a single Man.

_Friend_. Name him.

_Dia_. _Bellmour_.

_Friend_. Of _Yorkshire_? Companion to young _Friendlove_, that came
lately from _Italy_?

_Dia_. Yes, do you know him?

_Friend_. I do, who has oft spoke of _Bellmour_;
We travel'd into _Italy_ together--But since, I hear,
He fell in love with a fair cruel Maid,
For whom he languishes.

_Dia_. Heard you her Name?

_Friend_. _Diana_, rich in Beauty, as in Fortune.
--Wou'd she had less of both, and more of Pity;
And that I knew not how to wish, till now
That I became a Lover, perhaps as unsuccessful. [_Aside_.

_Dia_. I knew my Beauty had a thousand Darts,
But knew not they cou'd strike so quick and home. [_Aside_.
Let your good Wishes for your Friend alone,
Lest he being happy, you shou'd be undone.
For he and you cannot be blest at once.

_Friend_. How, Madam!

_Dia_. I am that Maid he loves, and who hates him.

_Friend_. Hate him!

_Dia_. To Death.

_Friend_. Oh, me unhappy! [_Aside_.

_Dia_. He sighs and turns away--am I again defeated?
Surely I am not fair, or Man's insensible.

_Friend_. She knows me not--
And 'twas discreetly done to change my Shape:
For Woman is a strange fantastick Creature;
And where before, I cou'd not gain a Smile,
Thus I may win her Heart. [_Aside_.
--Say, Madam, can you love a Man that dies for you?

_Dia_. The way to gain me, is to fight with _Bellmour_.
Tell him from me you come, the wrong'd _Diana_;
Tell him you have an Interest in my Heart,
Equal to that which I have made in yours.

_Friend_. I'll do't; I will not ask your Reason, but obey.
Swear e'er I go, that when I have perform'd it,
You'll render me Possession of your Heart.

_Dia_. By all the Vows that Heaven ties Hearts together with,
I'll be entirely yours.

_Friend_. And I'll not be that conscientious Fool,
To stop at Blessings 'cause they are not lawful;
But take 'em up, when Heaven has thrown 'em down,
Without the leave of a Religious Ceremony. [_Aside_.
Madam, this House, which I am Master of,
You shall command; whilst I go seek this _Bellmour_.

_Dia_. But e'er you go, I must inform you why
I do pursue him with my just Revenge.

_Friend_. I will attend, and hear impatiently.


SCENE II. _A Baudy House_.

_Enter Mrs_. Driver _and_ Betty Flauntit.

_Flaunt_. _Driver_, prithee call for a Glass, that I may set my self
in order, before I go up; for really my Knight has not been at home all
this Night, and I am so confus'd--

_Enter one with a Glass, and two Wenches_, Jenny _and_ Doll.

Lord, Mrs. _Driver_, I wonder you shou'd send for me, when other Women
are in Company; you know of all things in the World, I hate Whores, they
are the pratingst leudest poor Creatures in Nature; and I wou'd not, for
any thing, Sir _Timothy_ shou'd know that I keep Company, 'twere enough
to lose him.

Mrs. _Driv_. Truly, Mrs. _Flauntit_, this young Squire that you were
Sent to for, has two or three Persons more with him that must be
accommodated too.

_Flaunt_. _Driver_, though I do recreate my self a little sometimes,
yet you know I value my Reputation and Honour.

_Jenny_. Mrs. _Driver_, why shou'd you send for us where _Flauntit_ is?
a stinking proud Flirt, who because she has a tawdry Petticoat, I warrant
you, will think her self so much above us, when if she were set out in
her own natural Colours, and her original Garments, wou'd be much below
us in Beauty.

Mrs. _Driv_. Look ye, Mrs. _Jenny_, I know you, and I know Mrs.
_Flauntit_; but 'tis not Beauty or Wit that takes now-a-days; the Age
is altered since I took upon me this genteel Occupation: but 'tis a fine
Petticoat, right Points, and clean Garnitures, that does me Credit, and
takes the Gallant, though on a stale Woman. And again, Mrs. _Jenny_,
she's kept, and Men love as much for Malice, as for Lechery, as they
call it. Oh, 'tis a great Mover to Joy, as they say, to have a Woman
that's kept.

_Jen_. Well! Be it so, we may arrive to that excellent Degree of
Cracking, to be kept too one day.

Mrs. _Driv_. Well, well, get your selves in order to go up to the

_Flaunt_. _Driver_, what art thou talking to those poor Creatures?
Lord, how they stink of Paint and Pox, faugh--

Mrs. _Driv_. They were only complaining that you that were kept,
shou'd intrude upon the Privileges of the Commoners.

_Flaunt_. Lord, they think there are such Joys in Keeping, when I vow,
_Driver_, after a while, a Miss has as painful a Life as a Wife; our
Men drink, stay out late, and whore, like any Husbands.

_Driv_. But I hope in the Lord, Mrs. _Flauntit_, yours is no such Man;
I never saw him, but I have heard he's under decent Correction.

_Flaunt_. Thou art mistaken, _Driver_, I can keep him within no moderate
Bounds without Blows; but for his filthy Custom of Wenching, I have
almost broke him of that--but prithee, _Driver_, who are these Gentlemen?

_Driv_. Truly, I know not; but they are young, and fine as Princes: two
of 'em were disguis'd in masking Habits last Night, but they have sent
'em away this Morning, and they are free as Emperors--One of 'em has
lost a Thousand Pound at Play, and never repin'd at it; one's a Knight,
and I believe his Courage is cool'd, for he has ferreted my Maids over
and over to Night--But 'tis the fine, young, handsom Squire that I
design you for.

_Flaunt_. No matter for his Handsomness, let me have him that has
most Money.


SCENE III. _Another Chamber in the Brothel, a Table with Box and Dice_.

_Enter_ Bellmour, _Sir_ Timothy, Sham _and_ Sharp.

_Bel_. Damn it, give us more Wine. [_Drinks_.
Where stands the Box and Dice?--Why, _Sham_.

_Sham_. Faith, Sir, Your Luck's so bad, I han't the Conscience to play
longer--Sir _Timothy_ and you play off a hundred Guineas, and see if
Luck will turn.

_Bel_. Do you take me for a Country Squire, whose Reputation will be
crackt at the loss of a petty Thousand? You have my Note for it to my

_Sham_. 'Tis sufficient if it were for ten thousand.

_Bel_. Why, Sir _Timothy_--Pox on't, thou'rt dull, we are not half
debauch'd and leud enough, give us more Wine.

Sir _Tim_. Faith, _Frank_, I'm a little maukish with sitting up all
Night, and want a small refreshment this Morning--Did we not send
for Whores?

_Bel_. No, I am not in humour for a Wench--
By Heaven, I hate the Sex.
All but divine _Celinda_,
Appear strange Monsters to my Eyes and Thoughts.

Sir _Tim_. What, art Italianiz'd, and lovest thy own Sex?

_Bel_. I'm for any thing that's out of the common Road of Sin; I love
a Man that will be damn'd for something: to creep by slow degrees to
Hell, as if he were afraid the World shou'd see which way he went, I
scorn it, 'tis like a Conventicler--No, give me a Man, who to be certain
of's Damnation, will break a solemn Vow to a contracted Maid.

Sir _Tim_. Ha, ha, ha, I thought thou would'st have said at least--had
murder'd his Father, or ravish'd his Mother--Break a Vow, quoth ye--by
Fortune, I have broke a thousand.

_Bel_. Well said, my Boy! A Man of Honour! And will be ready whene'er
the Devil calls for thee--So--ho--more Wine, more Wine, and Dice.

_Enter a Servant with Dice and Wine_.

Come, Sir, let me--
[_Throws and loses_.

Sir _Tim_. What will you set me, Sir?

_Bel_. Cater-tray--a hundred Guineas--oh, damn the Dice--'tis mine--come,
a full Glass--Damnation to my Uncle.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, I'll do thee reason--give me the Glass, and,
_Sham_, to thee--Confusion to the musty Lord.

_Bel_. So--now I'm like my self, profanely wicked.
A little room for Life--but such a Life
As Hell it self shall wonder at--I'll have a care
To do no one good deed in the whole course on't,
Lest that shou'd save my Soul in spite of Vow-breach.
--I will not die--that Peace my Sins deserve not.
I'll live and let my Tyrant Uncle see
The sad effects of Perjury, and forc'd Marriage.
--Surely the Pow'rs above envy'd my Bliss;
Marrying _Celinda_, I had been an Angel,
So truly blest, and good. [_Weeps_.

Sir _Tim_. Why, how now, _Frank_--by Fortune, the Rogue is Maudlin--So,
ho, ho, so ho.

_Bel_. The matter?

Sir _Tim_. Oh, art awake--What a Devil ail'st thou, _Frank_?

_Bel_. A Wench, or any thing--come, let's drink a round.

_Sham_. They're come as wisht for.

_Enter_ Flauntit, Driver, Doll _and_ Jenny _mask'd_.

_Bel_. Oh, damn 'em! What shall I do?
Yet it would look like Virtue to avoid 'em.
No, I must venture on--Ladies, y'are welcome.

Sir _Tim_. How, the Women?--Hold, hold, _Bellmour_, let me choose too--
Come, come, unmask, and shew your pretty Faces.

_Flaunt_. How, Sir _Timothy_! What Devil ow'd me a spite. [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Come, unmask, I say: a willing Wench would have shew'd all
in half this time.

_Flaunt_. Wou'd she so, Impudence!
[_Pulls off her Mask_.

Sir _Tim_. How, my _Betty_!

_Flaunt_. This is the Trade you drive, you eternal Fop, when I sit at
home expecting you Night after Night.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, dear Betty!

_Flaunt_. 'Tis here you spend that which shou'd buy me Points and
Petticoats, whilst I go like no body's Mistress; I'd as live be your
Wife at this rate, so I had: and I'm in no small danger of getting the
foul Disease by your Leudness.

Sir _Tim_. Victorious _Betty_, be merciful, and do not ruin my Reputation
amongst my Friends.

_Flaunt_. Your Whores you mean, you Sot you.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, triumphant _Betty_, hear thy poor _Timmy_.

_Flaunt_. My poor _Ninny_, I'm us'd barbarously, and won't endure it.

Sir _Tim_. I've won Money to Night, _Betty_, to buy thee Clothes--hum
--hum--Well said, _Frank_, towse the little Jilts, they came for that

_Flaunt_. The Devil confound him, what a Prize have I lost by his being
here--my Comfort is, he has not found me out though, but thinks I came
to look for him, and accordingly I must dissemble.

_Bel_. What's here? A Lady all in Tears!

Sir _Tim_. An old Acquaintance of mine, that takes it unkindly that I
am for Change--_Betty_, say so too, you know I can settle nothing till
I'm marry'd; and he can do it swingingly, if we can but draw him in.

_Flaunt_. This mollifies something, do this, and you'll make your Peace;
if not, you Rascal, your Ears shall pay for this Night's Transgression.

Sir _Tim_. Come hither, _Frank_, is not this a fine Creature?

_Bel_. By Heaven, a very Devil!

Sir _Tim_. Come, come, approach her; for if you'll have a Miss, this has
all the good Qualities of one--go, go Court her, thou art so bashful--

_Bel_. I cannot frame my Tongue to so much Blasphemy, as 'tis to say kind
things to her--I'll try my Heart though--Fair Lady--Damn her, she is not
fair--nor sweet--nor good--nor--something I must say for a beginning.
Come, Lady--dry your Eyes:
This Man deserves not all the Tears you shed.
--So--at last the Devil has got the better of me,
And I am enter'd.

_Flaunt_. You see, Sir, how miserable we Women are that love you Men.

_Bel_. How, did you love him? Love him against his Will?

_Flaunt_. So it seems, Sir.

_Bel_. Oh, thou art wretched then indeed; no wonder if he hate thee--
Does he not curse thee?
Curse thee till thou art damn'd, as I do lost _Diana_. [_Aside_.

_Flaunt_. Curse me! He were not best in my hearing;
Let him do what he will behind my Back.
What ails the Gentleman?

_Bel_. Gods! what an odious thing mere Coupling is!
A thing which every sensual Animal
Can do as well as we--but prithee tell me,
Is there nought else between the nobler Creatures?

_Flaunt_. Not that I know of, Sir--
Lord, he's very silly, or very innocent, I hope he has his Maidenhead;
if so, and rich too. Oh, what a booty were this for me! [_Aside_.

_Bel_. 'Tis wondrous strange;
Why was not I created like the rest,
Wild, and insensible, to fancy all?

_Flaunt_. Come, Sir, you must learn to be gay, to sing, to dance, and
talk of any thing, and fancy any thing that's in your way too.

_Bel_. Oh, I can towse, and ruffle, like any Leviathan, when I begin--
Come, prove my Vigor. [_Towses her_.

_Flaunt_. Oh, Lord, Sir! You tumble all my Garniture.

_Bel_. There's Gold to buy thee more--

_Flaunt_. Oh, sweet Sir--wou'd my Knight were hang'd, so I were well
rid of him now--Well, Sir, I swear you are the most agreeable Person--

_Bel_. Am I?--let us be more familiar then--I'll kiss thy Hand, thy
Breast, thy Lips--and--

_Flaunt_. All--you please, Sir--

_Bel_. A tractable Sinner! [_Offers to kiss her_.
Faugh--how she smells--had I approach'd so near divine _Celinda_, what
A natural Fragrancy had sent it self through all my ravisht Senses!

_Flaunt_. The Man's extasy'd, sure, I shall take him.
Come, Sir, you're sad.

_Bel_. As Angels fall'n from the Divine Abode,
And now am lighted on a very Hell!
--But this is not the way to thrive in Wickedness;
I must rush on to Ruin--Come, fair Mistress,
Will you not shew me some of your Arts of Love?
For I am very apt to learn of Beauty--Gods--
What is't I negotiate for?--a Woman!
Making a Bargain to possess a Woman!
Oh, never, never!

_Flaunt_. The Man is in love, that's certain--as I was saying, Sir--

_Bel_. Be gone, Repentance! Thou needless Goodness,
Which if I follow, canst lead me to no Joys.
Come, tell me the Price of all your Pleasures.

Sir _Tim_. Look you, Mistress, I am but a Country Knight.
Yet I shou'd be glad of your farther Acquaintance.
--Pray, who may that Lady be--

_Driv_. Who, Mrs. Flauntit, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, she: she's tearing fine, by Fortune.

_Driv_. I'll assure you, Sir, she's kept, and is a great Rarity,
but to a Friend, or so--

Sir _Tim_. Hum--kept--pray, by whom?

_Driv_. Why, a silly Knight, Sir, that--

Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, silly indeed--a Pox upon her--a silly Knight,
you say--

_Driv_. Ay, Sir, one she makes a very Ass of.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, so methinks--but she's kind, and will do reason for
all him.

_Driv_. To a Friend, a Man of Quality--or so.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, she blinds the Knight.

_Driv_. Alas, Sir, easily--he, poor Cully, thinks her a very Saint--but
when he's out of the way, she comes to me to pleasure a Friend.

Sir _Tim_. But what if the Fool miss her?

_Driv_. She cries Whore first, brings him upon his Knees for her Fault;
and a piece of Plate, or a new Petticoat, makes his Peace again.

Sir _Tim. Why--look you, Mistress, I am that Fop, that very silly Knight,
and the rest that you speak of.

_Driv_. How, Sir? then I'm undone, she's the Upholder of my Calling, the
very Grace of my Function.

Sir _Tim_. Is she so? e'en keep her to your self then, I'll have no more
of her, by Fortune--I humbly thank you for your Intelligence, and the
rest. Well--I see there's not one honest Whore i'th' Nation, by Fortune.

_Enter_ Charles Bellmour, _and_ Trusty.

Hark ye, Mistress, what was your Bus'ness here?

_Flaunt_. To meet a Rogue!--

Sir _Tim_. And I to meet a Whore, and now we are well met.

_Flaunt_. How, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Nay, never be surpriz'd, for your Intrigues are discover'd,
the good Matron of the House (against her Will) has done me that
kindness--you know how to live without your Keeper, and so I'll
leave you.

_Flaunt_. You're too serviceable a Fool to be lost so. [_Aside_.

_Bel_. Who knows this bold Intruder?

_Char_. How, Sir, am I a Stranger to you? But I shou'd wonder at it,
since all your last Night's Actions betray'd a strange depravity of
Sense.--Sir, I have sought you long, and wish I had not found you yet,
since both the Place and Company declare, how grossly you've dissembled
Virtue all this while.

_Bel_. Take hence that prating Boy.

_Char_. How, Sir--You are my elder Brother, yet I may be allow'd to do
the Business that I came for, and from my Uncle to demand your Wife.

_Bel_. You may return, and tell him that she's dead.

_Char_. Dead! sure, Sir, you rave.
[_Turns him about_.

_Bel_. Indeed I do--but yet she's dead, they say.

_Char_. How came she dead?

_Bel_. I kill'd her--ask no more, but leave me.
[_Turns him about again_.

_Char_. Sir, this is Madman's Language, and not to be believed.

_Bel_. Go to--y'are a saucy Boy.

_Char_. Sir, I'm an angry Boy--
But yet can bear much from a Brother's Mouth;
Y'ave lost your sleep: pray, Sir, go home and seek it.

_Bel_. Home! I have no Home, unless thou mean'st my Grave,
And thither I cou'd wish thou wou'd conduct me. [_Weeps_.

_Flaunt_. Pray Heaven this young virtuous Fellow don't spoil all.
--Sir, shall I send for a Scrivener to draw the Settlement you
promis'd me?

_Bel_. Do so, and I'll order him to get it ready.

_Char_. A Settlement! On whom? This Woman, Sir?

_Bel_. Yes, on this Woman, Sir.

_Char_. Are you stark mad?--Know you where you are?

_Bel_. Yes, in a Baudy-house.

_Char_. And this Woman, Sir.--

_Bel_. A very Whore--a tawdry mercenary Whore!
And what of this?

_Char_. And can you love her, Sir?

_Bel_. No, if I did, I wou'd not gratify her.

_Char_. What, is't in Charity to keep her honest?

_Bel_. Neither.

_Char_. Is your Lust grown so high--

_Bel_. Take that-- [_Strikes him_.
For naming but so base a thing to me.

_Char_. I wear a Sword, but not to draw on Mad-men. But since y'are so
free, Sir, I demand that Fortune, which by my Father's Will y'are bound
to pay the day after your Wedding-Day; my Sister's too is due.

_Bel_. Ha, ha, ha,--Sir _Timothy_, come hither--who dost think this is?

Sir _Tim_. A Fidler, perhaps--let him play in the next Room.

_Bel_. No, my Brother--come to demand his Portion of me; he says I am in
leud Company, and, like a Boy, he wou'd correct me.

Sir _Tim_. Why, this comes of Idleness; thou should'st have bound him
Prentice in time, the Boy would have made a good saucy Taylor.

_Char_. Sirrah, y'are a Rascal, whom I must thus chastise.
[_Kicks him_.

[_They all draw, and_ Bellmour _stands foremost, and fights
with_ Charles; _the Women run squeaking out, Sir_ Tim.
Sham, _and_ Sharp _sneak behind_; Trusty _interposes_.

_Trust_. Hold, hold, I beseech you, my dear Masters! Oh, what a fight
is this? Two Brothers fighting with each other! Oh, were my old Master
alive, this wou'd break his Heart: Oh, Sir, you've kill'd your Brother!

_Bel_. Why, then his Portion's paid.
[Charles _wounded_.

Sir _Tim_. How, kill'd! Nay, 'tis time we departed then, and shifted
for ourselves.

[_Ex. Sir_ Tim. Sham _and_ Sharp.

_Trust_. Oh, Sir, shall I send for a Chyrurgion?

_Char_. No, for a Coach rather, I am not wounded much.

[_Ex_. Trusty.

_Bel_. How dar'st thou trust thy self alone with me?

_Char_. Why should I fear thee?

_Bel_. Because I'm mad,
Mad as a Tygress rob'd of her dear Young.

_Char_. What is't that makes you so?

_Bel_. My Uncle's Politicks, Hell take him for't,
Has ruin'd me, thou and my Sister too,
By marrying me to a fair hated Maid,
When I had plighted all my Faith before.

_Enter_ Trusty.

_Trust_. Sir, here's a Coach.

_Char_. Come, Brother, will you go home with me?

_Bel_. Home!--no, never to that place thou call'st so.
If, when I'm dead, thou wouldst behold thy Brother,
And take the last Adieu from his cold Lips,
(If those so perjur'd can deserve that kindness)
Inquire for lost _Celinda_, at whose Feet
Thou shalt behold me fall'n a Sacrifice.
Till then, I'll let mistaken Parents know
The mischiefs that ensue a broken Vow.

[_Ex. severally_.


SCENE I. _Covent Garden_.

_Enter_ Betty Flauntit _alone_.

_Flaunt_. Sure I rose the wrong way to day, I have had such damn'd ill
luck every way: First, to be sent for to such a Man as this _Bellmour_,
and, as the Devil wou'd have it, to find my Knight there; then to be
just upon the Point of making my Fortune, and to be interrupted by that
virtuous Brother of his; then to have a Quarrel happen, that (before I
could whisper him in the Ear, to say so much as, Meet me here again--
anon) forc'd me to quit the House, lest the Constable had done it for
me; then that that silly Baud should discover all to my Cully. If this
be not ill Luck, the Devil's in't--But _Driver_ must bring matters
about, that I may see this liberal Squire again--But here comes my
Noddy, I must pretend to be angry.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, how ye look now, as if you had committed no
Misdemeanour: Alas, good Innocent, what canst thou say for thy self,
thou Renegado thou, for being false to my Bosom, say?

_Flaunt_. False to your Bosom! You silly impudent Sot you--who dares
accuse me?

Sir _Tim_. E'en your trusty and well-beloved Friend, Mrs. _Driver_
the Baud.

_Flaunt_. She! She's an impudent confounded Lyar--and because she wou'd
have your worshipful Custom--scandaliz'd me, to breed a difference
between us.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, if you could make me believe that indeed, when she knew
Me not, nor ever saw me all the Days of her Life before.

_Flaunt_. I know that, Simpleton; but when I went to enquire for you by
your Name, and told her my Bus'ness, our Amours are not kept so secret,
nor was she so dull, as not to understand how matters went between us.

Sir _Tim_. Now though I know this to be a damn'd Lye, yet the Devil has
assisted her to make it look so like Truth, that I cannot in Honour but
forgive her.

_Flaunt_. Forgive me!--Who shall forgive you your debauch'd Whoring and
Drinking?--marry, ye had need so, you are such a Ruffler, at least if
y'are every where as you are at home with me--No, Sirrah, I'll never bed
with you more; here I live sneaking without a Coach, or any thing to
appear withal; when even those that were scandalous two Ages ago, can be
seen in _Hide-Park_ in their fine Chariots, as if they had purchas'd it
with a Maidenhead; whilst I, who keep myself intirely for you, can get
nothing but the Fragments of your Debauches--I'll be damn'd before I'll
endure it.

Sir _Tim_. Just as the Baud said; yet I am mollify'd--nay, dear _Betty_,
forgive me, and I'll be very good for the future.

_Flaunt_. Will you swear to be so?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, by Fortune, I will.

_Flaunt_. Come, what will you give me then to be Friends? for you won
Money last Night.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, that's it that appeases her highest Storms--here, my
Jewel, here's a hundred Guineas to buy thee fine things.

_Flaunt_. Yes, great store of fine things indeed, with this pitiful Sum;
let me feel in your Pockets, and see if you have no more.
[_She feels in his Pockets_.

Sir _Tim_. So, 'twas well I laid by the rest, my Peace had not been
Made under every Rag on't else; and what I was painfully cheating for
All this Night, would have been laid out at the Mercers and Lacemans
in half an Hour.
--Well, are you satisfy'd I have no more?

_Flaunt_. Have you sunk none indeed and indeed, my _Timmy?_

Sir _Tim_. No, I need not, you sink mine fast enough, I thank ye.

_Flaunt_. Well, get your self ready to go abroad with me.

[_Exit_ Flaunt.

Sir _Tim_. I have other Matters in hand--now have I four hundred
Guineas in Bank, which I won last Night of _Bellmour_, which I'll make
use of to debauch his Sister, with whom I'm damnably in love, and long
for the return of my two Setting-dogs, to bring me News of the Game.

_Enter_ Sham _and_ Sharp.

Oh, are you come?

_Sham_. Ay, Sir, with News worth the hearing; I have been diligent,
Sir, and got my self acquainted with the old Steward of the Family, an
avaricious _Judas_, that will betray for Gold.

Sir _Tim_. And that we'll furnish him with--his Master's Gold, like all
other mortal things, must return from whence it came.

_Sharp_. Not all, Sir; for _Sham_ and I have dispos'd of part.

Sir _Tim_. Indeed you are a little shabby.

_Sham_. Ay, Sir, Fools were made to repair the Breaches of us that have
Wit enough to manage 'em.

Sir _Tim_. What--the Goldsmith paid the Money at sight, without
demanding why?

_Sharp_. Readily, Sir--he's a brave Fellow, and must not be lost so.

_Sham_. By no means, we must make use of him whilst he is hot; for I
doubt the Humour is not natural, and I fear he may cool.

Sir _Tim_. But to our Business.

_Sharp_. Ay, Sir, this same Sister of his you must have;
if it be but to put this insolent Whore _Flauntit_ out of favour, who
manages this Fop intirely. [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, but art thou sure there is no danger in this Enterprize?
Shall I not have my Throat cut? and the rest.

_Sham_. We have none of that _Italian_ Humour now-a-days, I can assure
ye; they will sooner, with a brotherly kindness, assist the yielding
Sister to the willing Gallant.

Sir _Tim_. A good thriving Inclination, by Fortune.

_Sham_. And, Sir, you have all Encouragement; her Brother, you heard,
refus'd to pay her Portion, and you know the Fate of a handsom young
Wench in this Town, that relies on weak Virtue--Then because she is in
The House with her Uncle, this same Steward has contriv'd matters so,
to bring you in at the Back-door, her Lodgings being in the Garden.

Sir _Tim_. This is something--Oh, I'm impatient to be with her--Well, I
must in, and make some Lye to _Betty_ for my Absence, and be with you
[_Exit Sir_ Tim.

_Sharp_. What Design hast thou in hand? for I suppose there is no such
real thing as debauching of this Lady.

_Sham_. Look ye, _Sharp_, take to thee an implicit Faith, and believe
Impossibilities; for thou and I must cozen this Knight.

_Sharp_. What, our Patron?

_Sham_. Ay, _Sharp_, we are bound to labour in our Callings, but mum--
here he comes.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy.

Sir _Tim_. Come, let's away, my Lyoness begins to roar.--You, _Sharp_,
go seek after _Bellmour_, watch his Motions, and give us notice.


_Flaunt_. He is gone, and I believe [Betty Flauntit _peeping out_.] for
no Goodness; I'll after him, and watch him.

[_Exit cross the Stage_.

SCENE II. _Lord_ Plotwell's _House_.

_Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Charles, Trusty, _and two Servants_.

_Lord_. In a Baudy-house, with Whores, Hectors, and Dice! Oh, that I
should be so deceiv'd in Mankind, he whom I thought all Virtue and
Sobriety! But go some of you immediately, and take Officers along with
you, and remove his Quarters from a Baudy-house to a Prison: charge him
with the Murder of his Wife.

_Char_. My Lord, when I demanded her, he said indeed that she was dead,
and kill'd by him; but this I guess was the Effects of Madness, which
Debauchery, and want of Sleep has brought him to.

_Lord_. That shall be try'd; go to the Place where _Charles_ has
directed you, and do as I command you.

[_Ex. Servants_.

--Oh, sweet _Diana_, in whom I had plac'd my absolute Delight,
And gave thee to this Villain, because I wish'd thee happy.
And are my Expectations fall'n to this?
Upon his Wedding Night to abandon thee,
And shew his long dissembled natural Leudness!

_Char_. My Lord, I hope, 'tis not his natural Temper;
For e'er we parted, from a brutal Rudeness,
He grew to all the Softness Grief could dictate.
He talkt of breach of Vows, of Death, and Ruin,
And dying at the Feet of a wrong'd Maid;
I know not what he meant.

_Lord_. Ay, there's his Grief; there is some jilting Hussy has drawn
him in; but I'll revenge my self on both.

_Enter_ Page.

_Page_. A Letter for your Lordship.

Lord _reads_.


_As your Goodness has been ever great towards me, so I
humbly beseech you to continue it; and the greatest Proofs you
can give me of it, is to use all your Interest to undo that tye
between_ Bellmour _and my self, which with such Joy you
knit. I will say no more, but as you love my Life, and my
dearer Honour, get a Divorce, or you will see both ruin'd in
Your_ Diana.

[_Gives_ Charles _the Letter_.

_Lord_. A Divorce! yes, if all my Interest or Estate can purchase it--
some Joy yet that thou art well.

_Char_. Doubtless her Reasons must be great for this Request.

_Lord_. Yes, for she lov'd him passionately; when I first told her of
my Designs to marry 'em together, she could not hide her Joy; which was
one Motive, I urg'd it to him with such Violence.

_Char_. Persons so near of Kin do seldom prosper in the Marriage-Bed.

_Lord_. However 'tis, I now think fit to unmarry 'em;
And as for him, I'll use him with what Rigor
The utmost Limits of the Law allows me.

_Char_. Sir, I beseech you--

_Lord_. You beseech me! You, the Brother of the
Villain! that has abus'd the best of all my Hopes!--No,
I think--I shall grow (for his sake) to hate all that belong to him.

_Char_. Sir, how, have I offended?

_Lord_. Yes, Sir, you have offended me, and Nature has offended me;
you are his Brother, and that's an Offence to me.

_Char_. Is that a Fault, my Lord?

_Lord_. Yes, Sir, a great one, and I'll have it so; and let me tell you,
you nor your Sister (for that reason) must expect no more Friendship at
my Hands, than from those that are absolute Strangers to you: Your
Brother has refus'd you your Portions, and I'll have as little Mercy
As he, and so farewel to you--But where's the Messenger that brought
the Letter?

_Page_. Without, my Lord.

[_Ex_. Lord _and_ Page.

_Trust_. Here's like to be a hopeful end of a noble Family. My Comfort
is, I shall die with Grief, and not see the last of ye. [_Weeps_.

_Char_. No, _Trusty_, I have not been so meanly educated, but I know how
to live, and like a Gentleman: All that afflicts me in this Misfortune,
is my dear Sister _Phillis_, she's young; and to be left poor in this
loose Town, will ruin her for ever.

_Trust_. Sir, I think we were best to marry her out of the way.

_Char_. Marry her! To whom? who is't regards poor Virtue?

_Trust_. For that let me alone; and if you dare trust her to my
Management, I'll undertake to marry her to a Man of 2000 pounds a Year;
and if it fail, I'll be sure to keep her Honour safe.

_Char_. Prithee how wilt do this?

_Trust_. Sir, I have serv'd your Family these thirty Years, with Faith
and Love; and if I lose my Credit now, I'll never pretend to't more.

_Char_. Do what thou wilt, for I am sure thou'rt honest,
And I'll resign my Sister to thy Conduct,
Whilst I endeavour the Conversion of my Brother.
[_Exit_ Charles.

_Enter_ Phillis.

_Phil_. No News yet of my Brother?

_Trust_. None: The Next you'll hear is, that he's undone, and that you
must go without your Portions; and worse than that, I can tell you, your
Uncle designs to turn you out of Doors.

_Phil_. Alas! what shou'd I do, if he shou'd be so cruel? Wou'd I were
in _Flanders_ at my Monastery again, if this be true.

_Trust_. I have better Bus'ness for you, than telling of Beads--No,
Mrs. _Phillis_, you must be married.

_Phil_. Alas! I am too young, and sad for Love.

_Trust_. The younger, and the less Love, the better.

_Enter_ Page.

_Page_. Mr. _Trusty_, here's a Gentleman would speak with you, he says
his Name's Mr. _Sham_.

_Trust_. Gud's me, Mistress, put on all your Holiday Looks; for this is
the little Merchant of Love by Retail, that brings you the Husband I
promis'd you.

_Enter_ Sham.

_Sham_. Well, Mr. _Trusty_, I have brought Sir _Timothy_ as I promis'd,
he is at the Garden-door.

_Trust_. The best time in the World, my Lord's out of the way.

_Sham_. But you know our Conditions.

_Trust_. Yes, that if he marry her, you are to have all the Money that
he offers to debauch her.

_Sham_. Right.

_Trust_. Bring him in then, and I'll civilly withdraw.
[_Exit_ Trusty.

_Enter_ Sham, _bringing in Sir_ Timothy.

Sir _Tim_. Well, _Sham_, thou hast prepar'd all things, and there needs
no Ceremony.

_Sham_. None, none, Sir; you may fall down-right to the Business.

_Enter_ Phillis.

Sir _Tim_. _sings_.

_Come, my_ Phillis, _let us improve
Both our Joys of equal Love;
Whilst we in yonder shady Grove,
Count Minutes by our Kisses_.

_Phil_. What sort of Courtship's this? 'tis very odd!

Sir _Tim_. Pox on formal Fops; we have high-born and generous Souls,
and scorn the common Road--Come, let's enjoy, whilst Youth and Beauty

_Phil_. What means this Rudeness? I'll tell my Brother.

Sir _Tim_. Your Brother! by Fortune, he's so leud, that should I he so
unconscionable to leave thee a Virgin but this Night, he wou'd ravish
thee himself, and that at cheaper Rates than I design to do it.

_Phil_. How dare you talk to me at this rate?

Sir _Tim_. Talk to thee--by Fortune, I'll play the _Tarquin_ with thee,
if thou yieldest not quickly--for thou hast set me all on fire.

_Phil_. Defend me, Heaven, from such a Man.

Sir _Tim_. Then it must defend you from all the Sex; for all Mankind are
like me, nay, and all Womankind are, or wou'd be, what I must make thee.

_Phil_. What's that, a Wench?

Sir _Tim_. Fie, fie, that's a gross Name; no, a Miss, that's the Word--
a Lady of Delight, a Person of Pleasure and the rest; I'll keep thee,
not a Woman of Quality shall be half so fine--Come, dear _Phillis_,
yield. Oh, I am mad for the happy hour--come, say the word, 'tis but
inclining thy Head a little thus, thy pretty Eyes down, and thy Cheeks
all Blushes, and fetching a long Sigh--thus--with--do--what you please
--at the end on't--and I shall take it for granted.

_Phil_. That, Sir, you'll never hear me say to any thing but a Husband,
if I must say it then.

Sir _Tim_. A Husband! it is enough to spoil a Man's Appetite, the very
naming on't--By Fortune, thou hast been bred with thy great Grand-mother,
some old Queen _Elizabeth_ Lady, that us'd to preach Warnings to young
Maidens; but had she liv'd in this Age, she wou'd have repented her
Error, especially had she seen the Sum that I offer thee--Come, let's in,
by Fortune, I'm so vigorous, I shall ravish else.

_Phil_. Unhand me, or I'll call out. I assure you, this is not the way
to gain me.

Sir _Tim_. I know there is a way to gain all mortal Womankind; but how
to hit the critical Minute of the Berjere--

_Phil_. It is past your Politicks at this time, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. I'll try all ways, and the Devil's in it, if I don't hit
upon the right at last. [_Aside_.
All the soft things I've said--

_Phil_. That a Knight of your Parts ought to say.

Sir _Tim_. Then I have kneel'd--and cry'd, and swore--and--

_Phil_. And damn'd your self five hundred times.

Sir _Tim_. Yet still y'are impregnable--I'll make another Proposition to
you, which is both reasonable and modish--if it prove a Boy--I'll marry
you--the Devil's in't, if that be not fair.

_Phil_. You get no earnest of me, Sir, and so farewel to you.
[_Ex_. Phillis.

_Enter_ Sham.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, _Sham_, I am all over fire, mad to enjoy. I have done
what Man can do (without doing what I wou'd do) and still she's Flint;
nothing will down with her but Matrimony--what shall I do? for thou
know'st I cannot marry a Wife without a Fortune.

_Sham_. Sir, you know the old Cheat; hire a Lay Rascal in a Canonical
Habit, and put a false Marriage upon her.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, that this shou'd not enter into my Coxcomb before!
haste then and get one--I'll have it done immediately, whilst I go after
her to keep up my flame.
[_Ex. Sir_ Tim.

_Sham_. And I will fit you with a Parson presently.


SCENE III. _A Street_.

_Enter_ Friendlove _disguis'd as before_.

_Friend_. I find _Diana_ knows me not; and this Year's absence, since I
first made my Addresses to her, has alter'd me much, or she has lost
the remembrance of a Man, whom she ever disesteem'd till in this lucky
Dress: the price of her Favour is _Bellmour's_ Life. I need not have
been brib'd for that, his Breach of Faith both to my Sister and my self,
enough incites me to Revenge--He has not yet enjoy'd her, that Blessing
is reserv'd for me alone; and though the Priest have joyn'd 'em, that
Marriage may be disannull'd, and she has a Fortune sufficient to excuse
her other Faults.

_Enter_ Bellmour _sad_.

--Hah! the Man I seek--so near my Lodgings too--Sir!

_Bel_. Sir!

_Friend_. Traitor! thou know'st me, and my bus'ness.--
Look on this Face, if thou dar'st look on him
Whom thou hast doubly wrong'd--and draw thy Sword.

_Bel_. Thou should'st be _Friendlove_, Brother to _Celinda_.

_Friend_. And Lover of _Diana_ too--Oh, quickly draw,
Or I shall leave thee, like a Coward, dead.

_Bel_. No, rather like a Sacrifice, [_Offers to embrace him_.
And thou should'st be the Priest should offer it;
But that I have yet,
For some few moments, business for my Life.

_Friend_. I can allow no time for business now,
My Injuries are in haste, and so am I.

_Bel_. Shou'dst thou stab here a thousand gaping Wounds,
Upon this false, this perjur'd Heart of mine,
It wou'd not part with Life, unless 'twere laid
Near to the Sacred Altar of my Vows,
Low at the Feet of my fair injur'd Wife.

_Friend_. Ha!--means he his Wife? [_Aside_.
Canst thou repent thy Injuries to her,
And leave the rest of all thy Sins neglected?

_Bel_. Those I have done to thee, though foul and barbarous,
May plead the Excuse of Force--but those to her,
Not thou, nor I, nor she, or Heav'n can pardon.

_Friend_. Heav'ns!
My Sister's Wrongs, and mine, may plead Excuse,
But those to her alone can ne'er be pardon'd.
--This place, Sir, is too open--come with me,
For I've desir'd, and now resolve to kill thee.

_Bel_. And so thou shalt; defenceless, I will yield,
And leave my Bosom open to thy Sword.
--But first conduct me to my Wife;
For I will see her--nor can I die unpardon'd.

_Friend_. See his Wife!--Of whom do you demand her.

_Bel_. Of thee!--dar'st thou detain me? [_Offers to go in_.

_Friend_. Death! how shou'd he know she's here? [_Aside_.
--Stay, Sir, this way our Business lies. [_Pulls him back_.

_Bel_. I ask not thine, but mine lies only this way.
[_Offers to go in again_.

_Friend_. By Heav'n, you shall not enter here.

_Bel_. I know thou lov'st her.
And 'tis with Reason thou deny'st an Entrance
To one so much unworthy to approach her.

_Friend_. Yes, I do love her, and dare own it too;
And will defend her from one so base and treacherous.

_Bel_. Who dares deny thy Reasons?

_Friend_. Sh'has made me take an Oath, to fight with thee;
And every Wound my lucky Sword shou'd make,
She bad me say, was sent thee from her Hate.

_Bel_. Oh, I believe thee: prithee tell on, young Man,
That I may die without the aid of Wounds.

_Friend_. To break thy Heart, know then, she loves another,
And has took back the Vows she made to thee,
And given 'em to a Man more worthy of 'em.

_Bel_. Alas! I credit thee--yet--then, by Heav'n, she's false!
And I will know, why 'tis she is thus perjur'd. [_Offers to go_.
--Nay, now--nor Heaven, nor Hell, shall hinder me.
--Stand off, or to the number I'll add one Sin more,
And make my Passage to it through thy Heart.

_Friend_. And so you shall, Sir.

[_They fight_, Bellmour disarms Friend, and runs in_.

--Disarm'd! by Heav'n, you shall not so escape
A Rage that is too just here to give o'er.

SCENE IV. _Changes to the Inside of_ Friendlove's _Lodgings_.

_Enter_ Celinda, _as before, met by_ Nurse.

_Nur_. Oh, Madam, here's Mr. Bellmour; he has wounded my young Master,
who deny'd him Entrance, and is come into the House, and all in Rage
demands his Wife.

_Cel_. Oh Heav'n! Demands his Wife! Is that sad Curse
Added to all the rest?--Does he then love her?

_Enter_ Bellmour _with two Swords_.

_Nur_. Whither do you press, Sir? and what's your business?

_Bel_. To see my Wife, my Wife, Impertinence;
And must I meet with nought but Opposition?
[_Pushes her roughly away_.

_Cel_. Let him come in.

_Nur_. Marry, he lets himself in, I thank him.

_Cel_. What Man art thou thus cover'd o'er with Horror?

_Bel_. One sent from Hell to punish Perjury!
--Where's this perfidious Fair? this blushless Maid,
That has by my Example broke her Vows?
A Precedent that Fiends wou'd shame to follow.

_Cel_. Who is't you mean, Sir?

_Bel_. A thing that has no Name, she is so bad;
One who so lately gave her self to me,
And now is flown into another's Arms:
One that attacks my Life, for the same Sins
Which she her self commits--and thinks to live too.
--Yet still she is my Wife, whom I have injur'd:
Till when, she was a Saint--come, lead me to her,
Though she be false as I, yet I'll forgive it.
[_Throws by the Swords_.

_Cel_. Heav'ns! he repents his Cruelty to her,
And never mentions me! Ah then 'tis time to die.
And that I may be sure of Death-- [_Aside_.
Well, Sir, I will conduct this happy Lady to you.
[_Ex_. Cel.

_Bel_. Gods! Happy!--whilst I am wretched.
--Oh, what an Ague chills my shivering Limbs,
Turns my hot Rage to softest Love, and Shame!
Were I not here to die--here at her Feet,
I wou'd not stand the Shock of her Reproaches.
--But yet she need not speak, a Look's sufficient
To call up all my Sins to my undoing--
She comes--Oh Heav'n! she comes--

_Enter_ Celinda _and_ Diana.

--Like penitent Criminals thus--with my Eyes declin'd,
I bow my Head down, for the last sad Blow.
[_Stands bow'd_.

_Cel_. Sir, in Obedience to your Commands,
I've brought the Lady.

_Dia_. How! The perfidious _Bellmour_!
The only Object of my Hate and Scorn.

_Bel_. Say on, my angry Deity-- [_Kneels_.
Whilst I thus trembling hear my fatal Doom,
Like Sinners, conscious ne'er to be forgiven,
I dare not lift my guilty Eyes towards Heaven.

_Cel_. Can I hear this, and yet retain my Life?

_Dia_. Had I but two days since beheld this Youth
Thus prostrate at my Feet, I should have thought
My self more blest,
Than to have been that Deity he calls me.

_Enter_ Friendlove.

_Friend_. Defend me! The Traitor here! And at _Diana's_ Feet!
The fittest Altar for my Sacrifice!
--Turn, turn, from what thou lov'st, and meet my Justice.

_Cel_. Oh, hold, my dearest Brother.

[Bellmour _rises, and turns about_.

_Bel_. Nay, now I'm ready for the welcome Sword,
Since my _Celinda's_ false, and cannot pardon.

_Cel_. Oh, do not die with that profane Opinion.
_Celinda_ false! or cannot pardon thee!

_Dia_. Stay, generous Sir, my Pity has forgiven him.

_Bel_. Thou! Why, who art thou--_Diana_?

_Dia_. Yes, that _Diana_,
Whom, maugre all the Penitence thou shew'st,
Can scarce forgive the Injuries thou hast done her.

_Bel_. I shew a Penitence for injuring thee!
By Heav'n, I never cou'd do one, or other;
All that I am is the divine _Celinda's_.

_Friend_. He's stark mad! [_Aside_.

_Bel_. But since she cannot pardon, I can die.
[_Offers to fall on his Sword_.

_Cel_. Canst thou not credit me? She pardons thee.
Live--and enjoy--_Diana_.
[_Turns her Face from him_.

_Bel_. What art thou, who know'st her Heart so well?
Art thou my Rival? the blessed Youth, to whom
She has given her Vows?--Live, and enjoy, _Diana_!
--Yes, yes, thou art my Rival, and I'll kill thee.

_Cel_. Do, whilst I meet thy Sword.

[_Opens her Arms_, Diana _stays him; he lets fall
his Sword, and gazes_.

_Bel_, Dull--dull Adorer! Not to know my Saint.
Oh, how I have profan'd! To what strange Idol
Was that I kneel'd,
Mistaking it for a Divinity?

_Cel_. To your fair Wife _Diana_.

_Bel_. Oh cruel Maid!
Has Heav'n design'd me any but _Celinda_?

_Dia_. Maid! Bless me!--did I then love a Woman?
--I am pleas'd thou should'st renounce me; make it good,
And set me free from Fetters which I hate.

_Bel_. If all our Laws can do't, I will--for here
Ends all my Claim. [_To_ Celinda.

_Friend_. Was this the Wife you did demand of me?

_Bel_. Yes, I had no other.

_Dia_. Fair Maid! forgive me all my shameful Passion,
And charge my Fault upon your Beauty only.

_Cel_. Excellent Creature! I shou'd sue for that,
Which my Deceit will never make me hope.

_Bel_. And art thou true to Love, and all thy Vows?
Whilst I to save my Fortune,
(That only which you'd make me merit thee)
Gave my unwilling Hand to this fair noble Maid.
--Ah, _Friendlove_, when thou hear'st my Story told,
Thou wilt forgive, and pity me.

_Dia_. What was't you said, Sir? _Friendlove_!

_Friend_. Yes, Madam, I hope the Name can make no difference;
Or hate that still, so you but love the Man.

_Dia_. Though I'm again defeated, yet this last
Proves least offensive; nor shall an empty Word
Alter my fix'd Resolves, to love you still.

_Friend_. Then I am blest!

_Bel_. But yet the Office of the Priest has past:
What Remedy for that?

_Dia_. My Uncle's Pow'r, the Nearness of our Blood,
The Contradiction of our Circumstances.

_Bel_. And above all that, my Contract with _Celinda_.
--Methinks I feel a Joy spread o'er my Heart,
The blessed Omen of approaching Happiness.

_Cel_. I do believe thee; for by Sympathy,
Mine takes new Fire and Hope.

_Dia_. I have already writ to my Uncle, and the Messenger assur'd me,
he would gratify my Desires; that done, I will be yours.
[_To_ Friendlove.

_Bel_. But why thus drest? it might have led my Rage,
Full of Despair and Jealousy to have hurt thee.

_Cel_. Sir, when the Letter came of your being married,
I will not tell you all the Effects it had
Upon my desperate Soul;
But this I know, I had resolv'd to die,
But first to see you. Your Page inform'd the Nurse
All that had past, and of the last Night's Ball;
And much concern'd, she got this Habit for me,
And inform'd me how 'twas I was to act,
And that my Brother (describing of his Dress) was gone before.
This made me haste, lest e'er I came

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