Part 4 out of 12
_Jac_. That very look had some presaging Grandeur.
_Isa_. Do you think so, _Jacinta_? Ha, ha, ha.
_Jac_. That Laugh again, oh Heavens, how it charms!
_Cla_. And how graceful 'tis!
_Jac_. Ah, nothing but a great gilt Coach will become it.
_Cla_. With six _Spanish_ Mares.--
_Jac_. And embroidered Trappings.
_Cla_. With four Lackeys.
_Jac_. And a Page at the tail on't.
_Cla_. She's evidently design'd for a Person of Quality.
_Isa_. Besides I have so natural an Inclination for a Don, that if my
Father do force me to marry this small Creature of a Merchant, I shall
make an Intrigue with some body of Quality.
_Cla_. Cou'd you but manage it well, and keep it from _Antonio_.
_Isa_. Keep it from _Antonio_,--is it think you for a little silly Cit,
to complain when a Don does him the Honour to visit his Lady? Marry,
that were pretty.
_Enter_ Francisco, _and_ Lopez.
_Fran_. How, a Count to speak with me! with me, I say,--here at _Cadiz_.
_Lop_. A Count, Sir, and to speak with you.
_Fran_. Art sure 'tis not the Governor?--I'll go lock up my Wife.
_Lop_. Governor, Sir! No, no, 'tis a mere Stranger, Sir, a rare Count
whom I never saw all days of my life before.
_Fran_. And with me wou'd he speak? I hope he comes not to my Wife.
_Jul_. Oh Husband, the delicatest fine Person of Quality, just alighted
at the Door, Husband.
_Fran_. What, have you seen him then? the Devil's in these Women, and
there be but a Loop-hole to peep out of they'll spy a man,--I'm resolved
to see this thing,--go, retire, you Women, here's Men coming up.
_Isa_. And will Men eat us?
_Fran_. No, but they may do worse, they may look on ye, and Looking
breeds Liking; and Liking, Love; and Love a damn'd thing, call'd Desire;
and Desire begets the Devil and all of Mischief to young Wenches--Get ye
gone in, I say--here's a Lord coming--and Lords are plaguy things
_Isa_. How, a Lord! oh, heavens! _Jacinta_, my Fan, and set my Hair in
order, oh, the Gods! I would not but see a Lord for all the World! how
my Heart beats already--keep your Distance behind, _Jacinta_,--bless
me, how I tremble--a little farther, _Jacinta_.
_Fran_. Come, come, Huswife, you shall be married anon, and then let
your Husband have the plague of you--but for my Gentlewoman,--Oh Lord
_Enter_ Guiliom, Carlos, _and_ Pages, _&c_.
_Gull_. How now, Fellow, where's this old Don _Francisco_?
_Fran_. I'm the Person, Sir.
_Isa_. Heavens, what an Air he has!
_Guil_. Art thou he? Old Lad, how dost thou do? Hah!
_Fran_. I don't know.
_Guil_. Thou knowest me not it seems, old Fellow, hah!
_Fran_. Know you--no, nor desire to do,--on what acquaintance, pray?
_Guil_. By Instinct; such as you ought to know a Person of Quality, and
pay your Civilities naturally; in _France_, where I have travel'd, so
much good manners is used, your Citizen pulls off his hat, thus--to
every Horse of Quality, and every Coach of Quality; and do you pay my
proper Person no more respect, hah!
_Isa_. What a Dishonour's this to me, to have so dull a Father, that
needs to be instructed in his Duty.
_Guil_. But, Sir, to open the eyes of your understanding--here's a
Letter to you, from your Correspondent a Merchant of _Sevil_.
[_Gives him a dirty Letter which he wipes on his Cloke and reads,
and begins to pull off his hat, and reading on bows lower and lower
till he have finisht it_.
_Fran_. Cry Mercy, my Lord,--and yet I wou'd he were a thousand Leagues
_Guil_. I have Bills of Exchange too, directed to thee, old Fellow, at
_Sevil_; but finding thee not there, and I (as most Persons of my
Quality are) being something idle, and never out of my way, came to this
Town, to seek thee, Fellow--being recommended as thou seest here, old
[_Gives him Bills_.
_Isa_. Ah, what a graceful Mein he has! how fine his Conversation! ah,
the difference between him and a filthy Citizen!
_Jul_.--_Clara_ has told me all.-- [Jac. _whispering to_ Jul.
_Car_. That's she in the middle; stand looking on her languishingly,
--your head a little on one side,--so,--fold your Arms,--good,--now
and then heave your breast with a sigh,--most excellent.--
_Fran_. Bills for so many thousands.
_Jac_. He has you in his eye already.
_Isa_. Ah, _Jacinta_, thou flatterest me.
_Jac_. Return him some kind looks in pity.
[_She sets her Eyes, and bows, &c_.
_Car_. That other's my Mistress,--couldst thou but keep this old Fellow
in discourse whilst I give her the sign to retire a little.--
_Guil_. I'll warrant you I'll banter him till you have cuckolded him, if
you manage matters as well as I.
_Fran_. My Lord, I ask your pardon for my rudeness in not knowing you
before, which I ought to have done in good manners I confess; who the
Devil does he stare at so?--Wife, I command you to withdraw, upon pain
of our high displeasure.--my Lord, I shall dispatch your affairs,--he
minds me not,--Ay, 'tis my Wife, I say, Minion, be gone,--your Bills, my
Lord, are good, and I accept 'em;--why a Devil he minds me not yet,
[Julia _goes to t'other side to_ Carlos.]--and though I am not at my
proper home,--I am where I can command Money,--hum,--sure 'tis my
Daughter,--Ay, ay,--'tis so, how if he should be smitten now; the plaguy
Jade had sure the Spirit of Prophecy in her; 'tis so--'tis she--my Lord.
_Guil_. Prithee, old Fellow, Peace,--I am in love.
_Fran_. In love,--what, shall I be the Father of a Lord? wou'd it become
me, think ye?--he's mighty full of Cogitabund--my Lord,--sure his Soul
has left the Tenement of his Body--I have his Bills here, and care not
if it never return more.
[_Looks over the Bills_.
_Car_. Dear _Julia_, let's retire, our time's but short.
_Jul_. I dare not with you, the venture wou'd be too bold in a young
beginner in the Thefts of Love.
_Guil_. Her Eyes are Suns, by _Jove_.
_Car_. Oh, nothing is so ventrous as Love, if it be true.
_Guil_. Or else, two Morning Stars, All other Beauties are but Soot
_Jul_. But shou'd my Husband--
_Car_. He's safe for one dear half hour, I'll warrant you, come.
_Fran_. Um--my Wife here still, must I begin to thunder.
_Jul_. Lord, and you be so froward, I'll be gone.--
_Car_. So, her Husband, kind heart, lest she should be cruel, has
himself given me the dear opportunity.--[_Aside_.--Be sure you keep the
old Fellow in discourse awhile.
_Guil_. Be you as sure to cuckold him.-- [_Ex_. Car. _and_ Jul.
--Old Fellow,--prithee what Person of Quality is that?
_Fran_. Person of Quality! alas, my Lord, 'tis a silly Citizen's
_Guil_. A Citizen's! what clod of Earth cou'd bring forth such a Beauty?
_Fran_. Alas, my Lord, I am that clod of Earth, and to Earth, if you
call it so, she must return again, for she's to be married to a Citizen
_Guil_. Oh! I am doubly wounded, first with her harmonious Eyes,
Who've fir'd my Heart to that Degree,
No Chimney ever burnt like me.
Fair Lady,--suffer the Broom of my Affection to sweep all other Lovers
from your heart.
_Isa_. Ah, my Lord, name it not, I'm this day to be married.
_Guil_. To day! name me the Man; Man did I say? the Monster, that dares
lay claim to her I deign to love,--none answer me,--I'll make him
smoak, by _Vulcan_--and all the rest of the Goddesses.
_Fran_. Bless me, what a furious thing this Love is?
_Guil_. By this bright Sword, that is so used to slaughter, he dies;
[_Draws_.] old Fellow, say--the Poltroon's name.
_Fran_. Oh, fearful--alas, dread Sir!
_Isa_. Ah! sheath your Sword, and calm your generous Rage.
_Guil_. I cannot brook a Rival in my Love, the rustling Pole of my
Affection is too strong to be resisted.
_Runs raging up and down the Stage with his Sword in his hand_.
_Isa_. I cannot think, my Lord, so mean a Beauty can so suddenly charm a
Heart so great as yours.
_Guil_. Oh! you're mistaken, as soon as I cast my eyes upon the
Full-moon of your Countenance, I was struck blind and dumb.
_Fran_. Ay, and deaf too, I'll be sworn, he cou'd neither hear, see nor
understand; this Love's a miraculous thing.
_Guil_. And that Minute, the most renoun'd Don _Gulielmo Roderigo de
Chimeny Sweperio_, became your Gally-Slave,--I say no more, but that I
do love,--and I will love,--and that if you are but half so willing as
I, I will dub you, Viscountess _de Chimeny Sweperio_.
_Isa_. I am in Heaven, ah! I die, _Jacinta_. How can I credit this, that
am so much unworthy?
_Guil_. I'll do't, say no more, I'll do't.
_Fran_. Do't, but, my Lord, and with what face can I put off Signior
_Guil_. _Antonio_,--hy, Pages, give order that _Antonio_ be instantly
run through the Lungs--d'ye hear?
_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! run through the Lungs!
_Page_. It shall be done, my Lord! but what _Antonio_?
_Guil_. Why, any _Antonio_; all the _Antonio's_ that you find in
_Fran_. Oh, what bloody-minded Monsters these Lords are!--But, my Lord,
I'll ne'er give you the trouble of killing him, I'll put him off with a
handsom Compliment; as thus,--Why, look ye, Friend _Antonio_, the
business is this, my Daughter _Isabella_ may marry a Lord, and you may
_Guil_. Ay, that's civil,--and if he do not desist, I'll unpeople
_Spain_ but I'll kill him; for, Madam, I'll tell you what happened to me
in the Court of _France_--there was a Lady in the Court in love with
me,--she took a liking to my Person which--I think,--you will confess--
_Isa_. To be the most accomplisht in the World.
_Guil_. I had some sixscore Rivals, they all took Snuff; that is, were
angry--at which I smiled;--they were incensed; at which I laught, ha,
ha, ha,--i'faith; they rag'd, I--when I met 'em,--Cockt, thus--_en
passant_--justled 'em--thus,--[_Overthrows_ Fran.] They turn'd and
_Fran_. What, on all the sixscore, my Lord?
_Guil_. All, all; sa, sa, quoth I, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa.
[_Fences him round the Stage_.
_Fran_. Hold, hold, my Lord, I am none of the sixscore.
_Guil_. And run 'em all through the Body!
_Fran_. Oh Heavens! and kill'd 'em all.
_Guil_. Not a Man,--only run 'em through the body a little, that's all,
my two Boys were by, my Pages here.
_Isa_. Is it the fashion, Sir, to be attended by Pages so big?
_Guil_. Pages of Honour always;--these were stinted at nurse, or they
had been good proper Fellows.
_Fran_. I am so frighted with this relation, that I must up to my
Wife's Chamber for a little of that strong Cordial that recovered her
[_Going out_ Guil. _stays him_.
_Guil_. Why, I'll tell you, Sir, what an odd sort of a Wound I received
in a Duel the other day,--nay, Ladies, I'll shew it you; in a very odd
place--in my back parts.
[_Goes to untuck his Breeches, the Ladies squeak_.
_Page_. Shew a Wound behind, Sir! the Ladies will think you are a
_Guil_. Peace, Child, peace, the Ladies understand Dueling as little as
my self; but, since you are so tender-hearted, Ladies, I'll not shew you
my wound; but faith, it spoiled my dancing.
_Page comes in_.
_Page_. My Lord, now you talk of dancing, here's your Baggage brought
from a-board the Gally by your Seamen, who us'd to entertain you with
their rustick Sports.
_Guil_. Very well; Sir, with your permission, I am resolved whether you
will or no, to give the Ladies some divertisement,--bid 'em come in;
nay, Sir, you stir not. [Ex. Page.
'Tis for your delight, Sir, I do't; for, Sir, you must understand, a
Man, if he have any thing in him, Sir, of Honour, for the case, Sir,
lies thus, 'tis not the business of an Army to droll upon an
Enemy--truth is, every man loves a whole skin;--but 'twas the fault of
the best Statesmen in Christendom to be loose in the hilts,--you
_Fran_. Very well, my Lord, I'll swear he's a rare spoken man;--why,
what a Son-in-law shall I have? I have a little business, my Lord, but
I'll wait on you presently.
_Guil_. Sir, there is nothing like your true jest; a thing once well
done, is twice done, and I am the happiest Man in the World in your
Alliance; for, Sir, a Nobleman if he have any tolerable parts,--is a
thing much above the Vulgar;--oh,--here comes the Dancers.
Come, sit down by me.
_Fran_. 'Tis my duty to stand, my Lord.
_Guil_. Nay, you shall sit.
_Ant_. Good day, Sir, I hope you will not chide my tardiness, I have a
little overslept my self, and am ashamed to see my lovely Bride, and all
this worthy Company attend.
--But you, fair Creature-- [_To_ Isabella.
_Isa_. No marrying to day, Sir.
_Fran_. No, Sir, no marrying to day.
_Ant_. How, do I dream, or hear this from _Francisco_?
_Guil_. How now, Fellow, what art thou?
_Ant_. The Husband of that proud disdainful Woman.
_Guil_. Another word like that--and thou art--
_Ant_. What, Sir?
_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! _Antonio_, I must tell you, you're
_Guil_. Dost know, dull Mortal, that I am a Lord, And _Isabella_ my
_Ant_. I beg your pardon, Sir, if it be so, poor Mortals can but grieve
_Guil_. Alas, poor Mortal!
_Ant_. But, for you, _Francisco_.
_Fran_. Ah, dear _Antonio_, I vow and swear I cannot chuse but weep to
lose thee; but my Daughter was born for a Lady, and none can help
_Ant_. And is it possible thou canst use me thus? [_To_ Isa.
_Isa_. Take away that little Fellow; in pity of your life, I deign to
bid you withdraw and be safe.
_Guil_. D'ye hear, hah?--this Lady has beg'd your life.
_Ant_. Beg'd my Life!
_Guil_. Vile Wretch, dar'st thou retort?
[Draws, the Women hold him.
_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my noble Son-in-law, he shall do any thing;--
dear _Antonio_, consider, I was never Father to a Lord all days of my
Life before:--my Lord, be pacified, my Daughter shall be a Lady.
_Isa_. For my sake spare him, and be Friends with him, as far as you may
deign to be with a little Citizen.
_Guil_. Fellow, I forgive thee,--here's my hand to kiss in sign and
token I am appeased.
[_Gives him his hand to kiss, 'tis all black_.
_Ant_. A Pox of his honourable hand, 't had like to have spoiled all,
--well, since it must be so, I am content.
_Guil_. So, now Peace is concluded on, on all sides, what shall we do
to day besides eating and drinking in abundance; for to morrow I shall
get my self in order for my Marriage.
_Cla_. What thinks your Honour of taking the Air upon the Sea, in a
Galley, a League or two?
_Guil_. With Fiddles, Drums and Trumpets, Westphalia hams and Pidgeons,
and the like: Hey, Rogues, Scoundrels, Dogs.
_Isa_. Ah, how fine is every Action of a great Man!
_Guil_. Command a Galley to attend us presently.
--You shall along, old Boy. [To Fran.
_Fran_. Alas, I must stay at home with my Wife, my Lord.
_Guil_. A Wife! have I a Mother-in-law too?--she must along with us, and
take a frisk,--no denial.
--Oh, are you come? [Aside.
_Car_. Yes, and thank thee for the best moment of my Life--Hast thou
contrived the Voyage then?
_Guil_. Take no care--come, haste on board--our Honour will not lose the
Fresco of the Morning,--Follow me, Pages.
_Page_. At your heels, my Lord--
Enter, _as aboard the Ship_, Guiliom, Isabella, Francisco, Julia,
Antonio, Clara, Jacinta, Pedro _and his Wife_, Pages.
_Guil_. Ladies and Gentlemen, you are very welcome aboard--Come, put off
to Sea, Rogues, Scoundrels, Tarpaulins, to your Business, and then,
every man his Bottle,--hey, Page, Rogues, where are my Men? Come, spread
the Table--for we are very hungry.
_Isa_. Heav'ns, what a peculiar Grace there is in every word that comes
from the Mouth of a Cavalier.
_Guil_. By _Mars_, the God of Love!
_Page_. By _Cupid_, Sir. [Aside to him.
Guil. _Cupid_, Sirrah! I say, I'll have it _Mars_, there's more Thunder
in the Sound: I say, by _Mars_, these Gallies are pretty neat convenient
Tenements--but a--I see ne'er a Chimney in 'em:--Pox on't, what have I
to do with a Chimney now?
_Isa_. He is a delicate fine Person, _Jacinta_; but, methinks he does
not make Love enough to me.
_Jac_. Oh, Madam, Persons of his Quality never make Love in Words, the
greatness of their Actions show their Passion.
_Jac_. Ay, 'tis true all the little Fellows talk of Love.
_Guil_. Come, Ladies, set; Come, _Isabella_, you are melancholy,--Page
--Fill my Lady a Beer-glass.
_Isa_. Ah, Heav'ns, a Beer-glass.
_Guil_. O, your Viscountess never drinks under your Beer-glass, your
Citizens Wives simper and sip, and will be drunk without doing Credit to
the Treater; but in their Closets, they swinge it away, whole Slashes,
i'faith, and egad, when a Woman drinks by her self, Glasses come thick
about: your Gentlewoman, or your little Lady, drinks half way, and
thinks in point of good manners, she must leave some at the bottom; but
your true bred Woman of Honour drinks all, _Supernaculum_, by _Jove_.
_Isa_. What a misfortune it was, that I should not know this before, but
shou'd discover my want of so necessary a piece of Grandeur.
_Jac_. And nothing, but being fuddled, will redeem her Credit.
_Guil_. Come--fall to, old Boy,--thou art not merry; what, have we none
that can give us a Song?
_Ant_. Oh Sir, we have an Artist aboard I'll assure you; Signior
_Cashier_, shall I beg the favour of you to shew your Skill?
_Pet_. Sir, my Wife and I'm at your service.
_Guil_. Friend, what Language can you sing?
_Pet_. Oh, Sir, your Singers speak all Languages.
_Guil_. Say'st thou so, prithee then let's have a touch of Heathen
_Pet_. That you shall, Sir, Sol la me fa sol, &c.
_Fran_. Hum, I think this is indeed Heathen _Greek_, I'm sure 'tis so
_Guil_. Ay, that may be, but I understand every word on't.
_Fran_. Good lack, these Lords are very learned Men.
_Pet_. Now, Sir, you shall hear one of another Language from my Wife and
I. [_Sing a Dialogue_ in French.
_Enter the_ Captain.
_Capt_. Well, Gentlemen, though the news be something unpleasant that I
bring, yet to noble minds 'tis sport and pastime.
_Guil_. Hah, Fellow! What's that that's sport and pastime to noble
_Fran_. Oh Lord, no goodness, I'll warrant.
_Capt_. But, Gentlemen, pluck up your Spirits, be bold and resolute.
_Fran_. Oh Lord, bold and resolute! why, what's the matter, Captain?
_Capt_. You are old, Signior, and we expect no good from you but Prayers
_Fran_. Oh Lord, Prayers to Heaven! Why, I hope, Captain, we have no
need to think of Heaven.
_Capt_. At your own Peril be it then, Signior, for the _Turks_ are
coming upon us.
_Fran_. Oh Lord, Turks, Turks!
_Guil_. Turks, oh, is that all? [_Falls to eating_.
_Fran_. All--why, they'll make Eunuchs of us, my Lord, Eunuchs of us
poor men, and lie with all our Wives.
_Guil_. Shaw, that's nothing, 'tis good for the Voice.--how sweetly we
shall sing, ta, la, ta la la, ta la, &c.
_Fran_. Ay, 'twill make you sing another note, I'll warrant you.
_Enter a Seaman_.
_Sea_. For Heaven's sake, Sirs, do not stand idle here; Gentlemen, if
you wou'd save your lives,--draw and defend 'em.
_Fran_. Draw! I never drew any thing in my Life, but my Purse, and
that most damnably against my will; oh, what shall I do?
_Capt_. Ah, my Lord, they bear up briskly to us, with a fresh Gale and
_Fran_. Oh, dear Captain, let us tack about and go home again.
_Capt_. 'Tis impossible to scape, we must fight it out.
_Fran_. Fight it out! oh, I'm not able to indure it,--why, what the
Devil made me a ship-board?
_Guil_. Why, where be these _Turks_? set me to 'em, I'll make 'em smoke,
Dogs, to dare attack a man of Quality.
_Isa_. Oh, the Insolence of these _Turks_! do they know who's aboard?
for Heaven's sake, my Lord, do not expose your noble Person.
_Guil_. What, not fight?--Not fight! A Lord, and not fight? Shall I
submit to Fetters, and see my Mistress ravish'd by any great _Turk_ in
Christendom, and not fight?
_Isa_. I'd rather be ravish'd a thousand times, than you should venture
[_Seamen shout within_.
_Fran_. Ay, I dare swear.
_Sea_. Ah, Sirs, what mean you? Come on the Deck for shame.
_Ant_. My Lord, let us not tamely fall, there's danger near. [_Draws_.
_Guil_. Ay, ay, there's never smoke, but there's some fire--Come, let's
away--ta la, tan ta la, la la, &c. [Draws.
[Exit _singing, and_ Antonio _and_ Pet.
_Fran_. A Pox of all Lords, I say, you must be janting in the Devil's
name, and God's dry Ground wou'd not serve your turn. [_Shout here_.
Oh, how they thunder! What shall I do?--oh, for some Auger-hole to
thrust my head into, for I could never indure the noise of Cannons,--oh,
'tis insupportable,--intolerable--and not to be indur'd.
[_Running as mad about the Stage_.
_Isa_. Dear Father, be not so frighted. [_Weeps_.
_Fran_. Ah, Crocodile, wou'd thou hadst wept thy Eyes out long ago, that
thou hadst never seen this Count; then he had never lov'd thee, and then
we had never been invited a ship-board.
[_A noise of fighting_.
_Enter_ Guiliom, Pet. _and_ Antonio, driven in fighting
by Guzman _and other_ Turks.
_Ant_. Ah, Sir, the _Turks_ have boarded us, we're lost, we're lost.
_Fran_. Oh, I am slain, I'm slain. [_Falls down_.
_Guil_. Hold, hold, I say, you are now in the presence of Ladies, and
'tis uncivil to fight before Ladies.
_Guz_. Yield then, you are our Slaves.
_Guil_. Slaves, no Sir, we're Slaves to none but the Ladies.
[_Offers to fight_.
_Isa_. Oh, hold, rude man,--d'ye know whom you encounter?
_Guz_. What's here--one dead--
[_Looking on_ Francisco.
_Fran_. Oh, Lord!
_Guz_. Or, if he be not, he's old, and past service, we'll kill the
Christian Dog out of the way.
_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, I'm no Christian, Gentlemen; but as errant a
Heathen as your selves.
_Guz_. Bind him strait, neck and heels, and clap him under hatches.
_Jul_. Oh, spare him, Sir, look on his Reverend Age.
_Guz_. For your sake, Lady, much may be done, we've need of handsom
[_Gives her to some Turks that are by_.
_Fran_. Hah,--my Wife! My Wife ravish'd--oh, I'm dead.
_Jul_. Fear not, my dear, I'll rather die than do thee wrong.
_Fran_. Wou'd she wou'd, quickly,--then there's her Honour sav'd, and
her Ransom, which is better.
_Guz_. Down with the muttering Dog; [_He descends_.
--And takes the Ladies to several Cabins.
[_The Turks take hold of the Men_.
_Isa_. Must we be parted then?--ah, cruel Destiny! [_Weeps_.
_Guil_. Alas! this Separation's worse than Death.
_Isa_. You possibly may see some _Turkish_ Ladies, that may insnare your
Heart, and make you faithless;--but I, ah Heavens! if ever I change my
Love, may I become deformed, and lose all hopes of Title or of Grandure.
_Guil_. But should the _Grand Seignior_ behold thy Beauty, thou wou'dst
despise thine own dear hony Viscount to be a _Sultana_.
_Isa_. A _Sultana_, what's that?
_Guil_. Why, 'tis the great _Turk_, a Queen of _Turkey_.
_Isa_. These dear expressions go to my Heart. [_Weeps_.
And yet a _Sultana_ is a tempting thing-- [_Aside smiling_.
--And you shall find your Isabella true,--though the _Grand Seignior_
wou'd lay his Crown at my feet,--wou'd he wou'd try me though--Heavens!
to be Queen of _Turkey_. [_Aside_.
_Guil_. May I believe thee,--but when thou seest the difference, alas, I
am but a Chimney--hum, nothing to a great _Turk_.
_Isa_. Is he so rare a thing?--Oh, that I were a she great _Turk_.
_Guz_. Come, come, we can't attend your amorous Parleys.
_Jul_. Alas, what shall we poor Women do?
_Isa_. We must e'en have patience, Madam, and be ravisht.
_Cla_. Ravisht! Heavens forbid.
_Jac_. An please the Lord, I'll let my nails grow against that direful
_Isa_. And so will I, for I'm resolv'd none should ravish me but the
_Guz_. Come, Ladies, you are Dishes to be serv'd up to the board of the
_Isa_. Why, will he eat us all?
_Guz_. A slice of each, perhaps, as he finds his Appetite inclin'd.
_Isa_. A slice, uncivil Fellow,--as if this Beauty were for a bit and
away;--Sir, a word,--if you will do me the favour, to recommend me to be
first served up to the _Grand Seignior_, I shall remember the Civility
when I am great.
_Guz_. Lady, he is his own Carver, a good word by the bye, or so, will
do well, and I am--a Favorite--
_Isa_. Are you so? here, take this Jewel,--in earnest of greater
[_Gives him a Jewel_.
SCENE II. _A Garden_.
_Enter Don Carlos and_ Lopez.
_Car_. But, why so near the Land? by Heaven, I saw each action of the
Fight, from yonder grove of Jessamine; and doubtless all beheld it
from the Town.
_Lop_. The Captain, Sir, design'd it so, and at the Harbour gave it out
those two Galleys were purposely prepared to entertain the Count and the
Ladies with the representation of a Sea-fight; lest the noise of the
Guns should alarm the Town, and, taking it for a real fight, shou'd have
sent out Supplies, and so have ruin'd our Designs.
_Car_. Well, have we all things in readiness?
_Lop_. All, Sir, all.
_Page_. My Lord, a Barge from the Galley is just arriv'd at the
_Car_. I'll retire then, and fit me for my part of this Farce.
_Guz_. My Lord, you must retire, they're just bringing the Old Gentleman
_Car_. Prithee how does he take his Captivity?
_Guz_. Take it, Sir! he has cast himself into a Fit, and has lain like
one in a Trance this half hour; 'tis impossible for him to speak Sense
this fortnight; I'll secure his Reason a play-day for so long at least;
your Servants, in _Turkish_ habits, are now his Guards, who will keep
him safe enough from hindering your designs with _Julia_.
_Car_. Whatever you do, have a care you do not overfright the Coxcomb,
and make a Tragedy of our Comedy.
_Guz_. I'll warrant you, Sir, mind your Love-affairs,--he's coming
[_Ex_. Car. _and_ Page _and_ Lop.
_Enter some _Turks _with the body of _Francisco _in chains,
and lay him down on a Bank_.
1st _Turk_. Christian, so ho ho, Slave, awake.--
[_Rubbing and calling him_.
_Fran_. Hah! where am I?--my Wife,--my Wife--where am I?--hah! what
are you?--Ghosts,--Devils,--Mutes,--no answer?--hah, bound in chains,
--Slaves, where am I?
1st _Turk_. They understand not your Language; but I, who am a _Renegade
Spaniard_, understand you when you speak civilly, which I advise you
_Fran_. Do you know me, Friend?
1st _Turk_. I know you to be a Slave, and the Great _Turk's_ Slave too.
_Fran_. The Great Turk,--the Great Devil, why, where am I, Friend?
1st _Turk_. Within the Territories of the _Grand Seignior_, and this a
Palace of Pleasure, where he recreates himself with his Mistresses.
_Fran_. And how far is that from _Cadiz_?--but what care I? my Wife,
Friend, my own Wife.
1st _Turk_. Your own,--a true Musselman cou'd have said no more; but take
no care for her, she's provided for.
_Fran_. Is she dead? That wou'd be some comfort.
1st _Turk_. No, she's alive, and in good hands.
_Fran_. And in good hands! oh, my head! and, oh, my heart! ten thousand
tempests burst the belly of this day, wherein old _Francisco_ ventur'd
Life and Limbs, Liberty and Wife to the mercy of these Heathen _Turks_.
1st _Turk_. Friend, you need not thus complain; a good round Ransom
_Fran_. A round Ransom! I'll rot in my chains first, before I'll part
with a round ransom.
1st _Turk_. You have a fair Wife, and need not fear good usage, if she
knows how to be kind. You apprehend me.
_Fran_. Patience, good Lord.
1st _Turk_. Perhaps the _Grand Seignior_ may like her, and to be favour'd
by him in such a Glory--
_Fran_. As the Devil take me if I desire.
1st _Turk_. And then you may in triumph laugh at all the rest of your
_Fran_. Hum, and has the Devil serv'd me thus?--but no matter, I must be
gadding, like an old Coxcomb, to _Cadiz_,--and then, jaunting to Sea,
with a Pox, to take pains to be a Cuckold, to bring my Wife into a
strange Land, amongst Unbelievers, with a vengeance, as if we had not
honest Christian Cuckold-makers enough at home; Sot that I was, not to
consider how many Merchants have been undone by trusting their
Commodities out at Sea; why, what a damn'd ransom will the Rogues exact
from me, and more for my Wife, because she's handsome; and then, 'tis
ten to one, I have her turned upon my hands the worse for wearing; oh,
damn'd Infidels! no, 'tis resolv'd, I'll live a Slave here, rather than
1st _Turk_. Friend, you'll know your Destiny presently; for 'tis the
custom of the Great _Turk_ to view the Captives, and consider of their
Ransoms and Liberties, according to his pleasure. See, he is coming
forth with the _Vizier Bassa_.
_Enter_ Carlos _and_ Guzman _as_ Turks _with Followers_.
Most mighty Emperor, behold your Captive.
_Fran_. Is this the Great _Turk_?
1st _Turk_. Peace.
_Fran_. Bless me! as we at home describe him, I thought the Great _Turk_
had been twice as big; but I shall find him Tyrant big enough, I'll
_Guz_. Of what Nation art thou, Slave? speak to the Emperor, he
understands thee, though he deign not to hold discourse with
_Fran_. Oh fearful!--_Spain_, so please you, Sir.
_Guz_. By _Mahomet_, he'll make a reverend Eunuch.
_Fran_. An Eunuch! oh, Lord!
_Turk_. Ay, Sir, to guard his Mistresses, 'tis an honour.
_Fran_. Oh! Mercy, Sir, that honour you may spare, Age has done my
_Guz_. Fellow, what art?
_Fran_. An't please your Worship, I cannot tell.
_Guz_. How, not tell?
_Fran_. An't please your Lordship, my Fears have so transform'd me, I
cannot tell whether I'm any thing or nothing.
_Guz_. Thy name, dull Mortal, know'st thou not that?
_Fran_. An't please your Grace, now I remember me, methinks I do.
_Guz_. Dog, how art thou call'd?
_Fran_. An't like your Excellence, Men call'd me Signior Don _Francisco_,
but now they will call me Coxcomb.
_Guz_. Of what Trade?
_Fran_. An't please your Highness, a Gentleman.
_Guz_. How much dost thou get a day by that Trade? Hah!
_Fran_. An't like your Majesty, our Gentlemen never get but twice in all
their lives; that is, when Fathers die, they get good Estates; and when
they marry, they get rich Wives: but I know what your Mightiness wou'd
get by going into my Country and asking the Question.
_Guz_. What, Fool?
_Fran_. A good Cudgelling, an't please your Illustriousness.
_Guz_. Slave! To my Face!--Take him away, and let him have the Strapado.
_Car_. _Baridama, Dermack_.
_Fran_. Heavens, what says he?
_I Turk_. He means to have you castrated.
_Fran_. Castrated! Oh, that's some dreadful thing, I'll warrant,--
Gracious Great Turk, for Mahomet's sake, excuse me; alas, I've lost
_Car_. _Galero Gardines_?
_Guz_. The Emperor asks if thou art married, Fellow.
_Fran_. Hah--Married--I was, an't like your Monsterousness, but, I
doubt, your People have spoiled my Property.
_Guz_. His Wife, with other Ladies, in a Pavillion in the Garden, attend
your Royal pleasure.
_Car_. Go, fetch her hither presently.
1st _Turk_. This is no common Honour, that the Great Turk deigns to speak
your Language; 'tis to sign you'll rise.
_Fran_. Yes, by the height of a pair of Horns.
_Car_. Is she handsom?
_Fran_. Oh, what an Ague shakes my Heart,--handsom! alas, no, dread Sir;
what shou'd such a deform'd Polecat as I do with a handsom Wife?
_Car_. Is she young?
_Fran_. Young, what shou'd such an old doting Coxcomb as I do with a
young Wife? Pox on him for a Heathen Whoremaster.
_Car_. Old is she then?
_Fran_. Ay, very old, an't please your Gloriousness.
_Car_. Is she not capable of Love?
_Fran_. Hum, so, so,--like Fire conceal'd in a Tinderbox,--I shall
_Car_. Is she witty?
_Fran_. I'm no competent Judge, an't like your Holiness,
--This Catechism was certainly of the Devil's own making. [Aside.
_Enter_ Guzman, _bringing in_ Julia, Clara, Isabella, Jacinta,
Guiliom, Antonio, &c. _Women veil'd_.
_Car_. These, Sir, are all the Slaves of Note are taken.
_Isa_. Dost think, _Jacinta_, he'll chuse me?
_Jac_. I'll warrant you, Madam, if he looks with my Eyes.
_Guz_. Stand forth. [_To the Men_.
_Guil_. Stand forth, Sir! why, so I can, Sir, I dare show my Face, Sir,
before any Great _Turk_ in Christendom.
_Car_. What are you, Sir?
_Guil_. What am I, Sir? Why, I'm a Lord, a Lord.
_Fran_. What, are you mad to own your Quality, he'll ask the Devil and
all of a ransom.
_Guil_. No matter for that, I'll not lose an Inch of my Quality for a
King's ransom; disgrace my self before my fair Mistress!
_Isa_. That's as the _Great Turk_ and I shall agree. [_Scornfully_.
_Car_. What are you, Sir?
_Ant_. A Citizen of _Cadiz_.
_Car_. Set 'em by, we'll consider of their ransoms--now unveil the
[Guzman _unveils_ Jacinta.
_Fran_. Oh, dear Wife, now or never show thy Love, make a damnable face
upon the filthy Ravisher,--glout thy Eyes thus--and thrust out thy upper
[Guzman _presents_ Jacinta.
_Guil_. Oh, dear _Isabella_, do thee look like a Dog too.
_Isa_. No, Sir, I'm resolv'd I'll not lose an Inch of my Beauty, to save
so trifling a thing as a Maiden head.
_Car_. Very agreeable, pretty and chearful--
[_She is veil'd and set by: Then Clara is unveil'd_.
A most divine bud of Beauty--all Nature's Excellence--drawn to the life
in little,--what are you, fair one?
_Cla_. Sir, I'm a Maid.
_Fran_. So, I hope he will pitch upon her.
_Cla_. Only, by promise, Sir, I've given my self away.
_Car_. What happy Man cou'd claim a title in thee,
And trust thee to such danger?
_Isa_. Heavens, shall I be defeated by this little Creature? What pity
'twas he saw me not first?
_Cla_. I dare not name him, Sir, lest this small Beauty which you say
adorns me, shou'd gain him your displeasure; he's in your presence, Sir,
and is your Slave.
_Car_. Such Innocence this plain Confession shows, name me the man, and
I'll resign thee back to him.
_Fran_. A Pox of his Civility.
_Ant_. This Mercy makes me bold to claim my right. [_Kneels_.
_Car_. Take her, young Man, and with it both your Ransoms.
_Guil_. Hum--hum--very noble, i'faith, we'll e'en confess our loves too,
_Isa_. S'life, he'll spoil all,--hold--pray let your Betters be serv'd
_Guil_. How! Is the Honour of my Love despised?--wer't not i'th presence
of the Great _Turk_, for whom I have a reverence because he's a man of
quality--by _Jove_, I'd draw upon you.
_Isa_. Because you were my Lover once, when I'm Queen I'll pardon you.
[Guzman _unveils her, and leads her to_ Carlos, _she making
ridiculous actions of Civility_.
_Car_. What aukard, fond, conceited thing art thou? Veil her, and take
the taudry Creature hence.
_Guil_. Hum--your Majesty's humble Servant.
[_Putting off his Hat ridiculously_.
_Fran_. How! refuse my Daughter too! I see the Lot of a Cuckold will
fall to my share.
_Guz_. This is the Wife, Great Sir, of this old Slave.
_Car_. Hah! what do I see, by _Mahomet_, she's fair.
_Fran_. So, so, she's condemn'd; oh, damn'd _Mahometan_ Cannibal! will
nothing but raw flesh serve his turn.
_Car_. I'll see no more,--here I have fix'd my heart.
_Fran_. Oh, Monster of a _Grand Seignior_!
_Guz_. Have you a mind to be flead, Sir?
_Car_. Receive my Handkerchief. [_Throws it to her_.
_Fran_. His Handkerchief! bless me, what does he mean?
_Guz_. To do her the honour to lie with her to night.
_Fran_. Oh, hold, most mighty _Turk_. [_Kneeling_.
_Guz_. Slave, darest thou interrupt 'em,--die, Dog.
_Fran_. Hold, hold, I'm silent.
_Car_. I love you, fair one, and design to make you--
_Fran_. A most notorious Strumpet. A Pox of his Courtesy.
_Car_. What Eyes you have like Heaven blue and charming, a pretty Mouth,
Neck round and white as polisht Alabaster, and a Complexion beauteous as
an Angel, a Hair fit to make Bonds to insnare the God of Love,--a
sprightly Air,--a Hand like Lillies white, and Lips, no Roses opening in
a Morning are half so sweet and soft.
_Fran_. Oh, damn'd circumcised _Turk_.
_Car_. You shall be call'd the beautiful _Sultana_, And rule in my
Seraglio drest with Jewels.
_Fran_. Sure, I shall burst with Vengeance.
_Jul_. Sir, let your Virtue regulate your Passions;
For I can ne'er love any but my Husband.
_Fran_. Ah, dissembling Witch!
_Jul_. And wou'd not break my Marriage Vows to him,
For all the honour you can heap upon me.
_Fran_. Say, and hold; but _Sultana_ and precious Stones are damnable
Temptations,--besides, the Rogue's young and handsome,--What a scornful
look she casts at me; wou'd they were both handsomely at the Devil
_Guz_. Dog, do you mutter?
_Fran_. Oh! nothing, nothing, but the Palsy shook my Lips a little.
_Guz_. Slave, go, and on your knees resign your Wife.
_Fran_. She's of years of discretion, and may dispose of her self; but I
can hold no longer: and is this your _Mahometan_ Conscience, to take
other Mens Wives, as if there were not single Harlots enough in the
World? [_In rage_.
_Guz_. Peace, thou diminutive Christian.
_Fran_. I say, Peace thou over-grown _Turk_.
_Guz_. Thou _Spanish_ Cur.
_Fran_. Why, you're a _Mahometan_ Bitch, and you go to that.
_Guz_. Death, I'll dissect the bald-pated Slave.
_Fran_. I defy thee, thou foul filthy Cabbage-head, for I am mad, and
will be valiant.
[Guz. _throws his Turbant at him_.
_Car_. What Insolence is this!--Mutes--strangle him.--
[_They put a Bow-string about his neck_.
_Jul_. Mercy, dread Sir, I beg my Husband's life.
_Car_. No more,--this fair one bids you live,--henceforth, _Francisco_,
I pronounce you a Widower, and shall regard you, for the time to come,
as the deceased Husband of the Great _Sultana_, murmur not upon pain of
being made an Eunuch--take him away.
_Jul_. Go, and be satisfied, I'll die before I'll yield.
_Fran_. Is this my going to Sea?--the Plague of losing Battels light
_When ill success shall make thee idle lie,
Mayst thou in bed be impotent as I_.
_Car_. Command our Slaves to give us some diversion; Dismiss his Chains,
and use him with respect, because he was the Husband of our beloved
_Fran_. I see your Cuckold might have a life good enough if he cou'd be
[_They pull off his Chains_.
[Carlos _and_ Julia _sit under an Umbrella_.
_How strangely does my Passion grow,
Divided equally twixt two_?
Damon _had ne'er subdued my Heart,
Had not_ Alexis _took his part:
Nor cou'd_ Alexis_ powerful prove,
Without my_ Damon's _aid, to gain my Love.
When my_ Alexis _present is,
Then I for_ Damon _sigh and mourn;
But when_ Alexis _I do miss_,
Damon _gains nothing but my Scorn:
And, if it chance they both are by,
For both, alas! I languish, sigh, and die.
Cure then, thou mighty winged God,
This raging Fever in my Blood.
One golden-pointed Dart take back;
But which, O_ Cupid, _wilt thou take?
if_ Damon's, _all my hopes are crost:
Or, that of my_ Alexis, _I am lost_.
_Enter Dancers, which dance an Antick_.
_Car_. Come, my dear _Julia_, let's retire to shades. [_Aside to her_.
Where only thou and I can find an entrance;
These dull, these necessary delays of ours
Have drawn my Love to an impatient height.
--Attend these Captives, at a respectful distance.
[_Ex. all but _Isa_. who stays_ Guil.
_Guil_. What wou'd the Great _Sultana_?
_Isa_. Ah! do not pierce my Heart with this unkindness.
_Guil_. Ha, ha, ha,--Pages,--give order, I have Letters writ to _Sevil_,
to my Merchant,--I will be ransomed instantly.
_Isa_. Ah, cruel Count!
_Guil_. Meaning me, Lady! ah, fy! no, I am a Scoundrel; I a Count, no,
not I, a Dog, a very Chim--hum,--a Son of a Whore, I, not worthy
_Isa_. Oh, Heavens! must I lose you then? no, I'll die first.
_Guil_. Die, die, then; for your Betters must be served before you.
_Isa_. Oh! I shall rave; false and lovely as you are, did you not swear
to marry me, and make me a Viscountess.
_Guil_. Ay, that was once when I was a Lover; but, now you are a Queen,
you're too high i'th' mouth for me.
_Isa_. Ah! name it not; will you be still hard-hearted?
_Guil_. As a Flint, by _Jove_.
_Isa_. Have you forgot your Love?
_Guil_. I've a bad memory.
_Isa_. And will you let me die?
_Guil_. I know nothing of the matter.
_Isa_. Oh Heavens! and shall I be no Viscountess?
_Guil_. Not for me, fair Lady, by _Jupiter_,--no, no,--Queen's much
better,--Death, affront a man of Honour, a Viscount that wou'd have took
you to his Bed,--after half the Town had blown upon you,--without
examining either Portion or Honesty, and wou'd have took you for better
for worse--Death, I'll untile Houses, and demolish Chimneys, but I'll be
[_Draws and is going out_.
_Isa_. Ah, hold! your Anger's just, I must confess: yet pardon the
frailty of my Sex's vanity; behold my Tears that sue for pity to you.
[_She weeps, he stands looking on her_.
_Guil_. My rage dissolves.
_Isa_. I ask but Death, or Pity. [_He weeps_.
_Guil_. I cannot hold;--but if I shou'd forgive, and marry you,
you wou'd be gadding after honour still, longing to be a she Great
_Isa_. Break not my heart with such suspicions of me.
_Gull_. And is it pure and tender Love for my Person,
And not for my glorious Titles?
_Isa_. Name not your Titles, 'tis your self I love,
Your amiable, sweet and charming self,
And I cou'd almost wish you were not great,
To let you see my Love.
_Guil_. I am confirm'd--
_'Tis no respect of Honour makes her weep_;
_Her Loves the same shou'd I cry--Chimney Sweep.
SCENE I. _A Garden_.
_Enter_ Francisco _alone_.
_Fran_. Now am I afraid to walk in this Garden, lest I shou'd spy my own
natural Wife lying with the Great _Turk_ in Fresco, upon some of these
fine fiowry Banks, and learning how to make Cuckolds in _Turkey_.
_Enter_ Guzman _and_ Jacinta.
_Guz_. Nay, dear _Jacinta_, cast an eye of pity on me.--What, deny the
_Jac_. When you are honest _Guzman_ again, I'll tell you a piece of my
_Guz_. But opportunity will not be kind to _Guzman_, as to the Grand
_Bassa_; therefore, dear Rogue, let's retire into these kind shades, or,
if foolish Virtue be so squeamish, and needless Reputation so nice, that
Mr. _Vicar_ must say _Amen_ to the bargain, there is an old lousy Frier,
belonging to this _Villa_, that will give us a cast of his Office; for I
am a little impatient about this business, Greatness having infus'd a
certain itch in my Blood, which I felt not whilst a common Man.
_Fran_. Um, why, what have we here, pert Mrs. _Jacinta_ and the _Bassa_?
I hope the Jade will be Turkefied with a vengeance, and have Circumcision
in abundance; and the Devil shall ransom her for old _Francisco_.
_Jac_. Hah, the old Gentleman!
_Fran_. What, the Frolick is to go round, I see, you Women have a happy
_Guz_. Men that have kind Wives may be as happy; you'll have the honour
of being made a Cuckold, Heaven be prais'd.
_Fran_. Ay, Sir, I thank ye,--pray, under the Rose, how does my Wife
please his Grace the Great _Turk_?
_Guz_. Murmuring again, thou Slave.
_Fran. Who_, I? O Lord, Sir! not I, why, what hurt is there in being a
_Guz_. Hurt, Sirrah, you shall be swinged into a belief, that it is an
honour for the Great _Turk_ to borrow your Wife.
_Fran_. But for the Lender to pay Use-money, is somewhat severe;--but,
see, he comes,--bless me, how grim he looks!
_Enter_ Carlos, _and Mutes attending_.
_Car_. Come hither, Slave,--why, was it that I gave you Life? dismiss'd
the Fetters from your aged Limbs?
_Fran_. For love of my Wife, and't please your Barbarousness.
_Car_. Gave you free leave to range the Palace round, excepting my
_Fran_. Still for my Wife's sake, I say, and't like your Hideousness.
_Car_. And yet this Wife, this most ungrateful Wife of yours, again
wou'd put your Chains on, expose your Life to Dangers and new Torments,
by a too stubborn Virtue, she does refuse my Courtship, and foolishly
_Fran_. Alas! what pity's that!
_Car_. I offer'd much, lov'd much, but all in vain; Husband and Honour
still was the reply.
_Fran_. Good lack! that she shou'd have no more Grace before her Eyes.
_Car_. But, Slave, behold these Mutes; that fatal Instrument of Death
behold too, and in 'em read thy doom, if this coy Wife of yours be not
made flexible to my Addresses.
_Fran_. O Heavens! I make her.
_Car_. No more, thy Fate is fix'd--and, here attend, till he himself
deliver his willing Wife into my Arms; _Bassa_, attend, and see it be
perform'd-- [_To his Mutes, then to_ Guz.
_Guz_. Go, one of you, and fetch the fair Slave hither.
_Fran_. I pimp for my own Wife! I hold the door to my own Flesh and
Blood! _monstrum horrendum_!
_Guz_. Nay, do't, and do't handsomly too, not with a snivelling
Countenance, as if you were compell'd to't; but with the face of
Authority, and the awful command of a Husband--or thou dyest.
_Enter_ Turk _and_ Julia.
_Fran_. My dear _Julia_, you are a Fool, my Love.
_Jul_. For what, dear Husband?
_Fran_. I say, a silly Fool, to refuse the Love of so great a _Turk_;
why, what a Pox makes you so coy? [_Angrily_.
_Jul_. How! this from you, _Francisco_.
_Fran_. Now does my Heart begin to fail me; and yet I shall ne'er endure
strangling neither; why, am not I your Lord and Master, hah?
_Jul_. Heavens! Husband, what wou'd you have me do?
_Fran_. Have you do;--why, I wou'd have ye--d'ye see--'twill not out;
why, I wou'd have ye lie with the _Sultan_, Huswife; I wonder how the
Devil you have the face to refuse him, so handsom, so young a Lover;
come, come, let me hear no more of your Coyness, Mistress, for if I do,
I shall be hang'd; [_Aside_.
The Great _Turk's_ a most worthy Gentleman, and therefore I advise you
to do as he advises you; and the Devil take ye both. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. This from my Husband, old _Francisco_! he advise me to part with
my dear Honour.
_Fran_. Rather than part with his dear Life, I thank ye. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Have you considered the Virtue of a Wife?
_Fran_. No, but I have considered the Neck of a Husband. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Which Virtue, before I'll lose, I'll die a thousand Deaths.
_Fran_. So will not I one; a Pox of her Virtue,--these Women are always
virtuous in a wrong place. [_Aside_.
I say you shall be kind to the sweet _Sultan_.
_Jul_. And rob my Husband of his right!
_Fran_. Shaw, Exchange is no Robbery.
_Jul_. And forsake my Virtue, and make nown Dear a Cuckold.
_Fran_. Shaw, most of the Heroes of the World were so;--go, prithee,
Hony, go, do me the favour to cuckold me a little, if not for Love,
_Jul_. Are you in earnest?
_Fran_. I am.
_Jul_. And would it not displease you?
_Fran_. I say, no; had it been _Aquinius_ his Case, to have sav'd the
pinching of his Gullet he wou'd have been a Cuckold. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Fear has made you mad, or you're bewitcht; and I'll leave you to
recover your Wits again. [_Going out_.
_Fran_. O gracious Wife, leave me not in despair; [_Kneels to her and
holds her_.] I'm not mad, no, nor no more bewitcht than I have been
these forty years; 'tis you're bewitcht to refuse so handsom, so young,
and so--a Pox on him, she'll ne'er relish me again after him. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Since you've lost your Honour with your wits, I'll try what mine
_Enter_ Carlos, Turks.
_Fran_. Oh, I am lost, I'm lost--dear Wife,--most mighty Sir, I've
brought her finely to't--do not make me lose my credit with his
_Mahometan_ Grace,--my Wife has a monstrous Affection for your Honour,
but she's something bashful; but when alone your Magnanimousness will
find her a swinger.
_Car_. Fair Creature--
_Jul_. Do you believe my Husband, Sir? he's mad.
_Car_. Dog. [_Offers to kill him_.
_Fran_. Hold, mighty Emperor; as I hope to be saved, 'tis but a copy of
her Countenance--inhuman Wife--lead her to your Apartment, Sir!
barbarous honest Woman,--to your Chamber, Sir,--wou'd I had married thee
an errant Strumpet; nay, to your Royal Bed, Sir, I'll warrant you she
gives you taunt for taunt: try her, Sir, try her. [_Puts 'em out_.
_Jac_. Hark you, Sir, are you possest, or is it real reformation in you?
what mov'd this kind fit?
_Fran_. E'en Love to sweet Life; and I shall think my self ever obliged
to my dear Wife, for this kind Reprieve;--had she been cruel, I had
been strangled, or hung in the Air like our Prophet's Tomb.
_Enter First_ Turk.
_Turk_. Sir, boast the honour of the News I bring you.
_Fran_. Oh, my Head! how my Brows twinge.
_Turk_. The mighty _Sultan_, to do you honour, has set your Daughter and
her Lover free, ransomless;--and this day gives 'em liberty to solemnize
the Nuptials in the Court;--but Christian Ceremonies must be private;
but you're to be admitted, and I'll conduct you to 'em.
_Fran_. Some Comfort, I shall be Father to a Viscount, and for the
_All Nations Cuckolds breed, but I deny
They had such need of Cuckolding as I_.
[_Goes out with the_ Turk.
_Enter_ Antonio, _and_ Clara _to_ Jacinta.
_Jac_. Madam, the rarest sport--Ha, ha, ha.
_Ant_. You need not tell us, we have been witness to all. But to our own
Affairs, my dearest _Clara_, Let us not lose this blessed opportunity,
Which Art nor Industry can give again if this be idly lost.
_Cla_. Nay, hang me if it be my fault, _Antonio_: Charge it to the
number of your own Sins; it shall not lie at my door.
_Ant_. 'Tis generously said, and take notice, my little dear Virago,
_Guzman_ has a Priest ready to tie you to your word.
_Cla_. As fast as you please; hang her that fears the conjuring knot for
me: But what will our Fathers say--mine who expects me to be the
Governor's Lady; and yours, who designs _Isabella_ for a Daughter-in-Law?
_Ant_. Mine will be glad of the Change; and, for yours, if he be not
pleased, let him keep his Portion to himself--that's the greatest
mischief he can do us: and for my Friend, the Governor, he's above
_Cla_. Why do we lose precious time? I long to be at--I _Clara_ take
thee _Antonio_,--the very Ceremony will be tedious, so much I wish thee
mine; and each delay gives me a fear something will snatch me from thee.
_Ant_. No power of Man can do't, thou art so guarded; but now the Priest
is employed in clapping up the honourable Marriage between the False
Count and Isabella.
_Jac_. Lord, what a jest 'twill be to see 'em coupled, ha, ha.
_Cla_. Unmerciful _Antonio_, to drive the Jest so far; 'tis too
_Ant_. By Heaven, I'm so proud I cannot think my Revenge sufficient for
Affronts, nor does her Birth, her Breeding and her Vanity--deserve a
better Fortune; besides,--he has enough to set up for a modern Spark--
the Fool has just Wit and good Manners to pass for a Fop of Fashion;
and, where he is not known, will gain the Reputation of a fine
accomplish'd Gentleman,--yet I'm resolved she shall see him in his
Geers, in his original Filthiness, that my Revenge may be home upon the
_Cla_. Cruel _Antonio_, come, lets go give 'em Joy.
_Ant_. And finish our Affair with Mr. Vicar.
_Enter_ Isabella, _her Train borne by the great_ Page, Guiliom,
_with the other great_ Page, _and_ Francisco _bare_.
--Joy to my noble Lord, and you, fair _Isabella_!
_Isa_. Thank thee, Fellow,--but, surely, I deserved my Titles from thee.
_Cla_. Your Honour I hope will pardon him.
_Isa_. How now, _Clara_! [_Nodding to her_.
_Jac_. I give your Honour joy.
_Isa_. Thank thee, poor Creature.--
_Fran_. My Lord, this Honour you have done my Daughter is so signal,
that whereas I designed her but five thousand Pound, I will this happy
day settle on her ten.
_Guil_. Damn dirty trash, your Beauty is sufficient--hum
--Signior Don _Antonio_, get the Writings ready. [_Aside_.
_Fran_. How generous these Lords are; nay, my Lord, you must not refuse
a Father's Love, if I may presume to call you Son--I shall find enough
besides for my Ransom, if the Tyrant be so unmerciful to ask more than
my Wife pays him.
_Guil_. Nay, if you will force it upon me.
_Isa_. Ay, take it, the trifling sum will serve to buy our Honour Pins.
_Ant_. Well, Sir, since you will force it on him, my Cashier shall draw
_Guil_. And have 'em signed by a publick Notary. [_Aside_.
_Fran_. With all my Soul, Sir, I'll go to give him order, and subscribe.
_Guil_. Let him make 'em strong and sure--you shall go halves. [_Aside_.
_Ant_. No, you will deserve it dearly, who have the plague of such a
Wife with it;--but harkye, Count--these goods of Fortune are not to be
afforded you, without Conditions.
_Guil_. Shaw, Conditions, any Conditions, noble _Antonio_.
_Ant_. You must disrobe anon, and do'n your native Habiliments--and in
the Equipage give that fair Viscountess to understand the true quality
of her Husband.
_Guil_. Hum--I'm afraid, 'tis a harder task to leap from a Lord to a
Rogue, than 'tis from a Rogue to a Lord.
_Ant_. Not at all, we have examples of both daily.
_Guil_. Well, Sir, I'll show you my agility--but, Sir, I desire I may
consummate, d'ye see,--consummate--a little like a Lord, to make the
_Ant_. You have the Freedom to do so--the Writings I'll provide.
_Guil_. I'll about it then, the Priest waits within for you, and
_Guzman_ for you, _Jacinta_,--haste, for he is to arrive anon Ambassador
_Jac_. I know not, this noise of Weddings has set me agog, and I'll e'en
in, and try what 'tis.
[_Ex_. Antonio, Clara, _and_ Jacinta.
_Guil_. Come, Madam, your Honour and I have something else to do, before
I have fully dub'd you a Viscountess.
_Isa_. Ah, Heav'ns, what's that?
_Guil_. Why a certain Ceremony, which must be performed between a pair
of Sheets,--but we'll let it alone till Night.
_Isa_. Till Night, no; whate'er it be, I wou'd not be without an Inch
of that Ceremony, that may compleat my Honour for the World; no, for
Heaven's sake, let's retire, and dub me presently.
_Guil_. Time enough, time enough.
_Isa_. You love me not, that can deny me this.
_Guil_. Love--no, we are married now, and People of our Quality never
Love after Marriage; 'tis not great.
_Isa_. Nay, let's retire, and compleat my Quality, and you will find me
a Wife of the Mode, I'll warrant you.
_Guil_. For once you have prevail'd.
_Fran_. Whither away?
_Isa_. Only to consummate a little, pray keep your distance.
[_She pulls off his hat_.
_Isa_. Ay, Sir, that is to make me an absolute Viscountess--we cannot
[Guiliom _leads her out_.
_Fran_. Hum--this _Turkey_ Air has a notable faculty, where the Women
are all plaguy kind.
_Enter_ Carlos _and_ Julia.
_Car_. By Heav'n, each Moment makes me more your Slave.
_Fran_. The Business is done.
_Jul_. My Husband! [_Aside_.
_Car_. And all this constant love to old _Francisco_ has but engaged
_Fran_. Ha, Love to me? [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Sir, if this Virtue be but real in you, how happy I shou'd be;
but you'll relapse again, and tempt my virtue, which if you do--
_Fran_. I'll warrant she wou'd kill herself. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. I should be sure to yield. [_In a soft tone to him_.
_Car_. No, thou hast made an absolute Conquest o'er me--and if that
Beauty tempt me every hour, I shall still be the same I was the last.
_Fran_. Pray Heaven he be _John_.
_Enter First_ Turk.
1st _Turk_. Most mighty Emperor, a Messenger from _Cadiz_ has Letters for
_Car_. Conduct him in; in this retreat of ours we use no State.
_Enter_ Guzman, _as himself, gives_ Carlos _Letters_.
_Guz_. Don _Carlos_, Governor of _Cadiz_, greets your Highness.
High and Mighty,
_For seven_ Christian _Slaves, taken lately by a Galley of yours,
we offer you twice the number of_ Mahometans _taken from you by us.
--If this suffice not,--propose your Ransoms, and they shall be paid
by Don_ Carlos, _Governor of_ Cadiz.
--Know you this _Carlos_ offers so fair for you?
_Fran_. Most potent Lord, I do, and wonder at the Compliment,--and yet
I am not jealous--I have so overacted the complaisant Husband, that I
shall never fall into the other Extreme again.
_Car_. Go, let the Christian Governor understand his Request is granted.
_Guz_. The Slaves are ready, Sir, and a Galley to carry off the
_Jul_. How shall we make this Governor amends?
_Fran_. I do even weep for joy; alas, I must leave it to thee, Love.
_Jul_. To me, Sir? do you mock me?
_Fran_. Mock thee! no; I know thy Virtue, and will no more be jealous,
believe me, Chicken, I was an old Fool.
_Car_. Your Wife is chaste--she overcame my unruly Passion with her
Prayers and Tears.
_Enter_ Isabella _at one door_; Clara, Antonio, Jacinta,
_at another_; Isabella's _Train carried up_.
_Fran_. Rare News,--we are all free and ransom'd! All's well, and the
Man has his Mare again.
_Isa_. You still forget your Duty and your Distance.
_Fran_. A pox of your troublesom Honour; a man can't be overjoy'd in
_Enter_ Baltazer _and_ Sebastian.
_Seb_. Sure, I am not mistaken, this is the House of my Son _Antonio_.
_Bal_. Let it be whose house 'twill, I think the Devil's broke loose
_Seb_.--Or the _Turks_; for I have yet met with ne'er a Christian thing
_Fran_. Hah,--do I dream, or is that my Father-in-law, and Signior
_Ant_. My Father here?
_Car_. _Baltazer_! [_Aside_.
_Bal_. Son _Francisco_, why do you gaze on me so?
_Fran_. Bless me, Sir, are you taken by the Great _Turk_ too?
_Bal_. Taken,--Great _Turk_,--what do mean?
_Fran_. Mean, Sir! why, how the Devil came you into _Turkey_?
_Bal_. Sure, Jealousy has crack'd his brains.
_Fran_. Crack me no Cracks, good Father mine;--am not I a Slave in
_Turkey_? and is not this the _Grand Seignior's_ Palace?
_Car_. So,--all will come out, there's no prevention. [_Aside_.
_Seb_. Some that are wiser answer us: You, Son,--are you infected
too?--was not yesterday to have been your Wedding-day?
_Ant_. To day has done as well, Sir, I have only chang'd _Isabella_
_Seb_. How, _Francisco_, have you juggled with me?
_Fran_. My Daughter's a Lady, Sir.
_Bal_. And you, Mistress, you have married _Antonio_, and left the
_Cla_. I thought him the fitter Match, Sir, and hope your Pardon.
_Jul_. We cannot scape.
_Fran_. But how came you hither, Gentlemen, how durst you venture?
_Seb_. Whither, Sir, to my own Son's house; is there such danger in
coming a mile or two out of _Cadiz_?
_Fran_. Is the Devil in you, or me, or both? Am not I in the Possession
of _Turks_ and Infidels?
_Bal_. No, Sir; safe in _Antonio Villa_, within a League of _Cadiz_.
_Fran_. Why, what a Pox, is not this the Great _Turk_ himself?
_Bal_. This, Sir,--cry mercy, my Lord,--'tis Don _Carlos_, Sir, the
_Fran_. The Governor! the worst Great _Turk_ of all; so, I am cozened,
--most rarely cheated; why, what a horrid Plot's here carried on, to
bring in heretical Cuckoldom?
_Car_. Well, Sir, since you have found it out, I'll own my Passion.
_Jul_. Well, if I have been kind you forced me to't, nay, begged on your
knees, to give my self away.
_Fran_. Guilty, guilty, I confess,--but 'twas to the Great _Turk_,
Mistress, not Don _Carlos_.
_Jul_. And was the Sin the greater?
_Fran_. No, but the Honour was less.
_Bal_. Oh horrid! What, intreat his Wife to be a Whore?
_Car_. Sir, you're mistaken, she was my Wife in sight of Heaven before;
and I but seiz'd my own.
_Fran_. Oh,--Sir, she's at your Service still.
_Car_. I thank you, Sir, and take her as my own.
_Bal_. Hold, my Honour's concerned.
_Fran_. Not at all, Father mine, she's my Wife, my Lumber now, and, I
hope, I may dispose of my Goods and Chattels--if he takes her we are
upon equal terms, for he makes himself my Cuckold, as he has already
made me his;--for, if my memory fail me not, we did once upon a time
consummate, as my Daughter has it.
_Enter_ Guiliom _in his own dress; crying Chimney-Sweep_.
_Guil_. Chimney-sweep,--by your leave, Gentlemen.
_Ant_. Whither away, Sirrah?
_Guil_. What's that to you, Sir?--
_Ant_. Not to me, Sirrah;--who wou'd you speak with?
_Guil_. What's that to you, Sir? why, what a Pox, may not a man speak
with his own Lady and Wife?
_Cla_. Heavens! his Wife! to look for his Wife amongst Persons of
_Car_. Kick out the Rascal.
_Guil_. As soon as you please, my Lord; but let me take my Wife along
[_Takes_ Isa. _by the hand_.
_Isa_. Faugh! what means the Devil?
_Guil_. Devil; 'twas not long since you found me a human creature within
_Isa_. Villain, Dog; help me to tear his Eyes out.
_Guil_. What, those Eyes, those lovely Eyes, that wounded you so deeply?
_Fran_. What's the meaning of all this? why, what, am I cozen'd? and is
my Daughter cozen'd?
_Guil_. Cozen'd! why, I am a Man, Sir.
_Fran_. The Devil you are, Sir, how shall I know that?
_Guil_. Your Daughter does, Sir; and that's all one.
_Isa_. Oh! I'm undone; am I no Viscountess then.
_Guil_. Hang Titles; 'twas my self you lov'd, my amiable sweet and
charming self: In fine, sweet-heart, I am your Husband; no Viscount, but
honest _Guiliom_, the Chimney-sweeper.--I heard your Father design'd to
marry you to a Tradesman, and you were for a Don; and to please you
both, you see how well I have managed matters.
_Fran_. I'll not give her a farthing.
_Guil_. No matter, her Love's worth a million; and, that's so great,
that I'm sure she'll be content to carry my Soot basket after me.
_Isa_. Ah! I die, I die.
_Guil_. What, and I so kind?
[_Goes and kisses her, and blacks her face_.
_Isa_. Help! murder, murder!
_Guil_. Well, Gentlemen, I am something a better fortune than you
believe me, by some thousands.
[_Shows_ Car. _his Writings_.
_Car_. Substantial and good! faith, Sir, I know not where you'll find a
better fortune for your Daughter, as cases stand. [_To_ Francisco.
_Guil_. And, for the Viscount, Sir, gay Clothes, Money and Confidence
will set me up for one, in any ground in Christendom.
_Car_. Faith, Sir, he's i'th' right; take him home to _Sevil_, your
Neighbours know him not, and he may pass for what you please to make
him; the Fellow's honest, witty and handsom.
_Fran_. Well, I have considered the matter: I was but a Leather-seller
my self, and am grown up to a Gentleman; and, who knows but he, being a
Chimney-sweeper, may, in time, grow up to a Lord? Faith, I'll trust to
Fortune, for once--here--take her and rid me of one Plague, as you, I
thank you, Sir, have done of another. [_To_ Carlos.
_Guil_. Prithee be pacified, thou shalt see me within this hour as
pretty a fluttering Spark as any's in Town.--My noble Lord, I give you
thanks and joy; for, you are happy too.
_Car_. As Love and Beauty can make me.
_Fran_. And I, as no damn'd Wife, proud Daughter, or tormenting
Chamber-maid can make me.
_Ant_. And I, as Heaven and _Clara_ can.
_--You base-born Beauties, whose ill-manner'd Pride,
Th'industrious noble Citizens deride.
May you all meet with_ Isabella's _doom_.
_Guil_. _--And all such Husbands as the Count_ Guiliome.
Spoken by Mrs. Barry, made by a Person of Quality.
_I Come not a Petitioner to sue,
This Play the Author has writ down to you;
'Tis a slight Farce, five Days brought forth with ease,
So very foolish that it needs must please;
For though each day good Judges take offence, |
And Satir arms in Comedy's defence, |
You are still true to your _Jack-Pudding_ Sense. |
No Buffoonry can miss your Approbation,
You love it as you do a new_ French _Fashion:
Thus in true hate of Sense, and Wit's despite,
Bantring and Shamming is your dear delight.
Thus among all the Folly's here abounding,
None took like the new Ape-trick of Dumfounding.
If to make People laugh the business be, |
You Sparks better Comedians are than we; |
You every day out-fool ev'n_ Nokes _and_ Lee. |
_They're forc'd to stop, and their own Farces quit,
T'admire the Merry-Andrews of the Pit;
But if your Mirth so grate the Critick's ear,
Your Love will yet more Harlequin appear.
--You everlasting Grievance of the Boxes,
You wither'd Ruins of stum'd Wine and Poxes;
What strange Green-sickness do you hope in Women
Should make 'em love old Fools in new Point Linen?
The Race of Life you run off-hand too fast,
Your fiery Metal is too hot to last;
Your Fevers come so thick, your Claps so plenty,
Most of you are threescore at five and twenty.
Our Town-bred Ladys know you well enough,
Your courting Women's like your taking Snuff;
Out of mere Idleness you keep a pother,
You've no more need of one than of the other.
Wou'd you be quit of their insipid noise,
And vain pretending take a Fool's advice;
Of the faux Braves I've had some little trial,
There's nothing gives 'em credit but Denial:
As when a Coward will pretend to Huffing,
Offer to fight, away sneaks Bully-Ruffian,
So when these Sparks, whose business is addressing,
In Love pursuits grow troublesom and pressing;
When they affect to keep still in your eye, |
When they send_ Grisons _every where to spy, |
And full of Coxcomb dress and ogle high; |
Seem to receive their Charge, and face about,
I'll pawn my life they never stand it out.
THE LUCKY CHANCE; OR, AN ALDERMAN'S BARGAIN.