_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.
_Enter_ Julia.
_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 to Women.
_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 –they’re here.
_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 off.
_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 Vermin–here–
[_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.– [_He groans_.
_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 to her.
_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 Daughter.
_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 this Morning.
_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 _Antonio_, hum.
_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 _Cadiz_.
_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 go fiddle.–
_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 frown’d,–thus,–I drew.–
_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 this morning.
[_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_.
_Isa_. Ah.
_Page_. Shew a Wound behind, Sir! the Ladies will think you are a Coward.
_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 conceive me.
_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.
[Going out.
_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.
_Enter Dancers_.
Come, sit down by me.
_Fran_. ‘Tis my duty to stand, my Lord.
_Guil_. Nay, you shall sit.
[They dance.
_Enter_ Antonio.
_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 uncivil.
_Guil_. Dost know, dull Mortal, that I am a Lord, And _Isabella_ my adopted Lady.
_Ant_. I beg your pardon, Sir, if it be so, poor Mortals can but grieve in silence.
_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 their destiny.
_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.
_Enter_ Carlos.
–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–
[_Exeunt_.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
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 _Greek_.
_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 to me.
_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 minds.
_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 to Heaven?
_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!
[_Ex_. Cap.
_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. [_Exit_.
_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?
_Enter_ Captain.
_Capt_. Ah, my Lord, they bear up briskly to us, with a fresh Gale and full Sails.
_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?
[_Ex_. Cap.
_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 your Person.
[_Seamen shout within_.
_Fran_. Ay, I dare swear.
_Enter Seaman_.
_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 Women.
[_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_. [_Aside_.
_Guz_. Come, come, we can’t attend your amorous Parleys. [_Parts ’em_.
_Jul_. Alas, what shall we poor Women do?
[_Ex. Men_.
_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 day.
_Isa_. And so will I, for I’m resolv’d none should ravish me but the great _Turk_.
_Guz_. Come, Ladies, you are Dishes to be serv’d up to the board of the _Grand Seignior_.
_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 Favours–
[_Gives him a Jewel_.
[Exeunt all.
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.
_Enter_ Page.
_Page_. My Lord, a Barge from the Galley is just arriv’d at the Garden-Stairs.
_Enter_ Guzman.
_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 ashore.
_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 in,–retire, Sir.–
[_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 to do.
_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 redeems ye.
_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 Brother Cuckolds.
_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 enrich them.
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 warrant him.
_Guz_. Of what Nation art thou, Slave? speak to the Emperor, he understands thee, though he deign not to hold discourse with Christian Dogs.
_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 business already.
_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 my wits.
_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.
[_Ex_. Guz.
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 run mad.
_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 Ladies.
[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 lip, thus.–
[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, _Isabella_.
_Isa_. S’life, he’ll spoil all,–hold–pray let your Betters be serv’d before you.
_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. [_Unveils_ Julia.
_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 together.
_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 on thee.
_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 _Sultana_.
_Fran_. I see your Cuckold might have a life good enough if he cou’d be contented.
[_They pull off his Chains_.
[Carlos _and_ Julia _sit under an Umbrella_.
The SONG.
_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 your notice.
_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 revenged.
[_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 _Turk_ again.
_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.
[_Ex_.
ACT V.
SCENE I. _A Garden_.
_Enter_ Francisco _alone_.
_Fran_. Now am I afraid to walk in this Garden, lest I shou’d spy my own natural Wife lying with the Great _Turk_ in Fresco, upon some of these fine fiowry Banks, and learning how to make Cuckolds in _Turkey_.
_Enter_ Guzman _and_ Jacinta.
_Guz_. Nay, dear _Jacinta_, cast an eye of pity on me.–What, deny the _Vizier Bassa_?
_Jac_. When you are honest _Guzman_ again, I’ll tell you a piece of my mind.
_Guz_. But opportunity will not be kind to _Guzman_, as to the Grand _Bassa_; therefore, dear Rogue, let’s retire into these kind shades, or, if foolish Virtue be so squeamish, and needless Reputation so nice, that Mr. _Vicar_ must say _Amen_ to the bargain, there is an old lousy Frier, belonging to this _Villa_, that will give us a cast of his Office; for I am a little impatient about this business, Greatness having infus’d a certain itch in my Blood, which I felt not whilst a common Man.
_Fran_. Um, why, what have we here, pert Mrs. _Jacinta_ and the _Bassa_? I hope the Jade will be Turkefied with a vengeance, and have Circumcision in abundance; and the Devil shall ransom her for old _Francisco_.
_Jac_. Hah, the old Gentleman!
_Fran_. What, the Frolick is to go round, I see, you Women have a happy time on’t.
_Guz_. Men that have kind Wives may be as happy; you’ll have the honour of being made a Cuckold, Heaven be prais’d.
_Fran_. Ay, Sir, I thank ye,–pray, under the Rose, how does my Wife please his Grace the Great _Turk_?
_Guz_. Murmuring again, thou Slave.
_Fran. Who_, I? O Lord, Sir! not I, why, what hurt is there in being a Cuckold?
_Guz_. Hurt, Sirrah, you shall be swinged into a belief, that it is an honour for the Great _Turk_ to borrow your Wife.
_Fran_. But for the Lender to pay Use-money, is somewhat severe;–but, see, he comes,–bless me, how grim he looks!
_Enter_ Carlos, _and Mutes attending_.
_Car_. Come hither, Slave,–why, was it that I gave you Life? dismiss’d the Fetters from your aged Limbs?
_Fran_. For love of my Wife, and’t please your Barbarousness.
_Car_. Gave you free leave to range the Palace round, excepting my Apartment only?
_Fran_. Still for my Wife’s sake, I say, and’t like your Hideousness.
_Car_. And yet this Wife, this most ungrateful Wife of yours, again wou’d put your Chains on, expose your Life to Dangers and new Torments, by a too stubborn Virtue, she does refuse my Courtship, and foolishly is chaste.
_Fran_. Alas! what pity’s that!
_Car_. I offer’d much, lov’d much, but all in vain; Husband and Honour still was the reply.
_Fran_. Good lack! that she shou’d have no more Grace before her Eyes.
_Car_. But, Slave, behold these Mutes; that fatal Instrument of Death behold too, and in ’em read thy doom, if this coy Wife of yours be not made flexible to my Addresses.
_Fran_. O Heavens! I make her.
_Car_. No more, thy Fate is fix’d–and, here attend, till he himself deliver his willing Wife into my Arms; _Bassa_, attend, and see it be perform’d– [_To his Mutes, then to_ Guz. [_Ex_. Car.
_Guz_. Go, one of you, and fetch the fair Slave hither.
[_Ex_. Turk.
_Fran_. I pimp for my own Wife! I hold the door to my own Flesh and Blood! _monstrum horrendum_!
_Guz_. Nay, do’t, and do’t handsomly too, not with a snivelling Countenance, as if you were compell’d to’t; but with the face of Authority, and the awful command of a Husband–or thou dyest.
_Enter_ Turk _and_ Julia.
_Fran_. My dear _Julia_, you are a Fool, my Love.
_Jul_. For what, dear Husband?
_Fran_. I say, a silly Fool, to refuse the Love of so great a _Turk_; why, what a Pox makes you so coy? [_Angrily_.
_Jul_. How! this from you, _Francisco_.
_Fran_. Now does my Heart begin to fail me; and yet I shall ne’er endure strangling neither; why, am not I your Lord and Master, hah?
_Jul_. Heavens! Husband, what wou’d you have me do?
_Fran_. Have you do;–why, I wou’d have ye–d’ye see–’twill not out; why, I wou’d have ye lie with the _Sultan_, Huswife; I wonder how the Devil you have the face to refuse him, so handsom, so young a Lover; come, come, let me hear no more of your Coyness, Mistress, for if I do, I shall be hang’d; [_Aside_.
The Great _Turk’s_ a most worthy Gentleman, and therefore I advise you to do as he advises you; and the Devil take ye both. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. This from my Husband, old _Francisco_! he advise me to part with my dear Honour.
_Fran_. Rather than part with his dear Life, I thank ye. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Have you considered the Virtue of a Wife?
_Fran_. No, but I have considered the Neck of a Husband. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Which Virtue, before I’ll lose, I’ll die a thousand Deaths.
_Fran_. So will not I one; a Pox of her Virtue,–these Women are always virtuous in a wrong place. [_Aside_.
I say you shall be kind to the sweet _Sultan_.
_Jul_. And rob my Husband of his right!
_Fran_. Shaw, Exchange is no Robbery.
_Jul_. And forsake my Virtue, and make nown Dear a Cuckold.
_Fran_. Shaw, most of the Heroes of the World were so;–go, prithee, Hony, go, do me the favour to cuckold me a little, if not for Love, for Charity.
_Jul_. Are you in earnest?
_Fran_. I am.
_Jul_. And would it not displease you?
_Fran_. I say, no; had it been _Aquinius_ his Case, to have sav’d the pinching of his Gullet he wou’d have been a Cuckold. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Fear has made you mad, or you’re bewitcht; and I’ll leave you to recover your Wits again. [_Going out_.
_Fran_. O gracious Wife, leave me not in despair; [_Kneels to her and holds her_.] I’m not mad, no, nor no more bewitcht than I have been these forty years; ’tis you’re bewitcht to refuse so handsom, so young, and so–a Pox on him, she’ll ne’er relish me again after him. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Since you’ve lost your Honour with your wits, I’ll try what mine will do.
_Enter_ Carlos, Turks.
_Fran_. Oh, I am lost, I’m lost–dear Wife,–most mighty Sir, I’ve brought her finely to’t–do not make me lose my credit with his _Mahometan_ Grace,–my Wife has a monstrous Affection for your Honour, but she’s something bashful; but when alone your Magnanimousness will find her a swinger.
_Car_. Fair Creature–
_Jul_. Do you believe my Husband, Sir? he’s mad.
_Car_. Dog. [_Offers to kill him_.
_Fran_. Hold, mighty Emperor; as I hope to be saved, ’tis but a copy of her Countenance–inhuman Wife–lead her to your Apartment, Sir! barbarous honest Woman,–to your Chamber, Sir,–wou’d I had married thee an errant Strumpet; nay, to your Royal Bed, Sir, I’ll warrant you she gives you taunt for taunt: try her, Sir, try her. [_Puts ’em out_.
_Jac_. Hark you, Sir, are you possest, or is it real reformation in you? what mov’d this kind fit?
_Fran_. E’en Love to sweet Life; and I shall think my self ever obliged to my dear Wife, for this kind Reprieve;–had she been cruel, I had been strangled, or hung in the Air like our Prophet’s Tomb.
_Enter First_ Turk.
_Turk_. Sir, boast the honour of the News I bring you.
_Fran_. Oh, my Head! how my Brows twinge.
_Turk_. The mighty _Sultan_, to do you honour, has set your Daughter and her Lover free, ransomless;–and this day gives ’em liberty to solemnize the Nuptials in the Court;–but Christian Ceremonies must be private; but you’re to be admitted, and I’ll conduct you to ’em.
_Fran_. Some Comfort, I shall be Father to a Viscount, and for the rest–Patience–
_All Nations Cuckolds breed, but I deny They had such need of Cuckolding as I_.
[_Goes out with the_ Turk.
_Enter_ Antonio, _and_ Clara _to_ Jacinta.
_Jac_. Madam, the rarest sport–Ha, ha, ha.
_Ant_. You need not tell us, we have been witness to all. But to our own Affairs, my dearest _Clara_, Let us not lose this blessed opportunity, Which Art nor Industry can give again if this be idly lost.
_Cla_. Nay, hang me if it be my fault, _Antonio_: Charge it to the number of your own Sins; it shall not lie at my door.
_Ant_. ‘Tis generously said, and take notice, my little dear Virago, _Guzman_ has a Priest ready to tie you to your word.
_Cla_. As fast as you please; hang her that fears the conjuring knot for me: But what will our Fathers say–mine who expects me to be the Governor’s Lady; and yours, who designs _Isabella_ for a Daughter-in-Law?
_Ant_. Mine will be glad of the Change; and, for yours, if he be not pleased, let him keep his Portion to himself–that’s the greatest mischief he can do us: and for my Friend, the Governor, he’s above their Anger.
_Cla_. Why do we lose precious time? I long to be at–I _Clara_ take thee _Antonio_,–the very Ceremony will be tedious, so much I wish thee mine; and each delay gives me a fear something will snatch me from thee.
_Ant_. No power of Man can do’t, thou art so guarded; but now the Priest is employed in clapping up the honourable Marriage between the False Count and Isabella.
_Jac_. Lord, what a jest ’twill be to see ’em coupled, ha, ha.
_Cla_. Unmerciful _Antonio_, to drive the Jest so far; ’tis too unconscionable!
_Ant_. By Heaven, I’m so proud I cannot think my Revenge sufficient for Affronts, nor does her Birth, her Breeding and her Vanity–deserve a better Fortune; besides,–he has enough to set up for a modern Spark– the Fool has just Wit and good Manners to pass for a Fop of Fashion; and, where he is not known, will gain the Reputation of a fine accomplish’d Gentleman,–yet I’m resolved she shall see him in his Geers, in his original Filthiness, that my Revenge may be home upon the foolish Jilt.
_Cla_. Cruel _Antonio_, come, lets go give ’em Joy.
_Ant_. And finish our Affair with Mr. Vicar.
_Enter_ Isabella, _her Train borne by the great_ Page, Guiliom, _with the other great_ Page, _and_ Francisco _bare_.
–Joy to my noble Lord, and you, fair _Isabella_!
_Isa_. Thank thee, Fellow,–but, surely, I deserved my Titles from thee.
_Cla_. Your Honour I hope will pardon him.
_Isa_. How now, _Clara_! [_Nodding to her_.
_Jac_. I give your Honour joy.
_Isa_. Thank thee, poor Creature.–
_Fran_. My Lord, this Honour you have done my Daughter is so signal, that whereas I designed her but five thousand Pound, I will this happy day settle on her ten.
_Guil_. Damn dirty trash, your Beauty is sufficient–hum –Signior Don _Antonio_, get the Writings ready. [_Aside_. Money–hang Money.
_Fran_. How generous these Lords are; nay, my Lord, you must not refuse a Father’s Love, if I may presume to call you Son–I shall find enough besides for my Ransom, if the Tyrant be so unmerciful to ask more than my Wife pays him.
_Guil_. Nay, if you will force it upon me.
_Isa_. Ay, take it, the trifling sum will serve to buy our Honour Pins.
_Ant_. Well, Sir, since you will force it on him, my Cashier shall draw the Writings.
_Guil_. And have ’em signed by a publick Notary. [_Aside_.
_Fran_. With all my Soul, Sir, I’ll go to give him order, and subscribe. [_Ex_. Francisco.
_Guil_. Let him make ’em strong and sure–you shall go halves. [_Aside_.
_Ant_. No, you will deserve it dearly, who have the plague of such a Wife with it;–but harkye, Count–these goods of Fortune are not to be afforded you, without Conditions.
_Guil_. Shaw, Conditions, any Conditions, noble _Antonio_.
_Ant_. You must disrobe anon, and do’n your native Habiliments–and in the Equipage give that fair Viscountess to understand the true quality of her Husband.
_Guil_. Hum–I’m afraid, ’tis a harder task to leap from a Lord to a Rogue, than ’tis from a Rogue to a Lord.
_Ant_. Not at all, we have examples of both daily.
_Guil_. Well, Sir, I’ll show you my agility–but, Sir, I desire I may consummate, d’ye see,–consummate–a little like a Lord, to make the Marriage sure.
_Ant_. You have the Freedom to do so–the Writings I’ll provide.
_Guil_. I’ll about it then, the Priest waits within for you, and _Guzman_ for you, _Jacinta_,–haste, for he is to arrive anon Ambassador from _Cadiz_.
_Jac_. I know not, this noise of Weddings has set me agog, and I’ll e’en in, and try what ’tis.
[_Ex_. Antonio, Clara, _and_ Jacinta.
_Guil_. Come, Madam, your Honour and I have something else to do, before I have fully dub’d you a Viscountess.
_Isa_. Ah, Heav’ns, what’s that?
_Guil_. Why a certain Ceremony, which must be performed between a pair of Sheets,–but we’ll let it alone till Night.
_Isa_. Till Night, no; whate’er it be, I wou’d not be without an Inch of that Ceremony, that may compleat my Honour for the World; no, for Heaven’s sake, let’s retire, and dub me presently.
_Guil_. Time enough, time enough.
_Isa_. You love me not, that can deny me this.
_Guil_. Love–no, we are married now, and People of our Quality never Love after Marriage; ’tis not great.
_Isa_. Nay, let’s retire, and compleat my Quality, and you will find me a Wife of the Mode, I’ll warrant you.
_Guil_. For once you have prevail’d.
_Enter_ Francisco.
_Fran_. Whither away?
_Isa_. Only to consummate a little, pray keep your distance. [_She pulls off his hat_.
_Fran_. Consummate!
_Isa_. Ay, Sir, that is to make me an absolute Viscountess–we cannot stay–farewel.
[Guiliom _leads her out_.
_Fran_. Hum–this _Turkey_ Air has a notable faculty, where the Women are all plaguy kind.
_Enter_ Carlos _and_ Julia.
_Car_. By Heav’n, each Moment makes me more your Slave.
_Fran_. The Business is done.
_Jul_. My Husband! [_Aside_.
_Car_. And all this constant love to old _Francisco_ has but engaged me more.
_Fran_. Ha, Love to me? [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Sir, if this Virtue be but real in you, how happy I shou’d be; but you’ll relapse again, and tempt my virtue, which if you do–
_Fran_. I’ll warrant she wou’d kill herself. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. I should be sure to yield. [_In a soft tone to him_.
_Car_. No, thou hast made an absolute Conquest o’er me–and if that Beauty tempt me every hour, I shall still be the same I was the last.
_Fran_. Pray Heaven he be _John_.
_Enter First_ Turk.
1st _Turk_. Most mighty Emperor, a Messenger from _Cadiz_ has Letters for your Highness.
_Car_. Conduct him in; in this retreat of ours we use no State.
_Enter_ Guzman, _as himself, gives_ Carlos _Letters_.
_Guz_. Don _Carlos_, Governor of _Cadiz_, greets your Highness.
_Carlos_ reads.
High and Mighty,
_For seven_ Christian _Slaves, taken lately by a Galley of yours, we offer you twice the number of_ Mahometans _taken from you by us. –If this suffice not,–propose your Ransoms, and they shall be paid by Don_ Carlos, _Governor of_ Cadiz.
–Know you this _Carlos_ offers so fair for you?
_Fran_. Most potent Lord, I do, and wonder at the Compliment,–and yet I am not jealous–I have so overacted the complaisant Husband, that I shall never fall into the other Extreme again.
_Car_. Go, let the Christian Governor understand his Request is granted.
_Guz_. The Slaves are ready, Sir, and a Galley to carry off the Christians.
_Jul_. How shall we make this Governor amends?
_Fran_. I do even weep for joy; alas, I must leave it to thee, Love.
_Jul_. To me, Sir? do you mock me?
_Fran_. Mock thee! no; I know thy Virtue, and will no more be jealous, believe me, Chicken, I was an old Fool.
_Car_. Your Wife is chaste–she overcame my unruly Passion with her Prayers and Tears.
_Enter_ Isabella _at one door_; Clara, Antonio, Jacinta, _at another_; Isabella’s _Train carried up_.
_Fran_. Rare News,–we are all free and ransom’d! All’s well, and the Man has his Mare again.
_Isa_. You still forget your Duty and your Distance.
_Fran_. A pox of your troublesom Honour; a man can’t be overjoy’d in quiet for’t.
_Enter_ Baltazer _and_ Sebastian.
_Seb_. Sure, I am not mistaken, this is the House of my Son _Antonio_.
_Bal_. Let it be whose house ’twill, I think the Devil’s broke loose in’t.
_Seb_.–Or the _Turks_; for I have yet met with ne’er a Christian thing in’t.
_Fran_. Hah,–do I dream, or is that my Father-in-law, and Signior _Sebastian_?
_Ant_. My Father here?
_Car_. _Baltazer_! [_Aside_.
_Bal_. Son _Francisco_, why do you gaze on me so?
_Fran_. Bless me, Sir, are you taken by the Great _Turk_ too?
_Bal_. Taken,–Great _Turk_,–what do mean?
_Fran_. Mean, Sir! why, how the Devil came you into _Turkey_?
_Bal_. Sure, Jealousy has crack’d his brains.
_Fran_. Crack me no Cracks, good Father mine;–am not I a Slave in _Turkey_? and is not this the _Grand Seignior’s_ Palace?
_Car_. So,–all will come out, there’s no prevention. [_Aside_.
_Seb_. Some that are wiser answer us: You, Son,–are you infected too?–was not yesterday to have been your Wedding-day?
_Ant_. To day has done as well, Sir, I have only chang’d _Isabella_ for _Clara_.
_Seb_. How, _Francisco_, have you juggled with me?
_Fran_. My Daughter’s a Lady, Sir.
_Bal_. And you, Mistress, you have married _Antonio_, and left the Governor.
_Cla_. I thought him the fitter Match, Sir, and hope your Pardon.
_Jul_. We cannot scape.
_Fran_. But how came you hither, Gentlemen, how durst you venture?
_Seb_. Whither, Sir, to my own Son’s house; is there such danger in coming a mile or two out of _Cadiz_?
_Fran_. Is the Devil in you, or me, or both? Am not I in the Possession of _Turks_ and Infidels?
_Bal_. No, Sir; safe in _Antonio Villa_, within a League of _Cadiz_.
_Fran_. Why, what a Pox, is not this the Great _Turk_ himself?
_Bal_. This, Sir,–cry mercy, my Lord,–’tis Don _Carlos_, Sir, the Governor.
_Fran_. The Governor! the worst Great _Turk_ of all; so, I am cozened, –most rarely cheated; why, what a horrid Plot’s here carried on, to bring in heretical Cuckoldom?
_Car_. Well, Sir, since you have found it out, I’ll own my Passion.
_Jul_. Well, if I have been kind you forced me to’t, nay, begged on your knees, to give my self away.
_Fran_. Guilty, guilty, I confess,–but ’twas to the Great _Turk_, Mistress, not Don _Carlos_.
_Jul_. And was the Sin the greater?
_Fran_. No, but the Honour was less.
_Bal_. Oh horrid! What, intreat his Wife to be a Whore?
_Car_. Sir, you’re mistaken, she was my Wife in sight of Heaven before; and I but seiz’d my own.
_Fran_. Oh,–Sir, she’s at your Service still.
_Car_. I thank you, Sir, and take her as my own.
_Bal_. Hold, my Honour’s concerned.
_Fran_. Not at all, Father mine, she’s my Wife, my Lumber now, and, I hope, I may dispose of my Goods and Chattels–if he takes her we are upon equal terms, for he makes himself my Cuckold, as he has already made me his;–for, if my memory fail me not, we did once upon a time consummate, as my Daughter has it.
_Enter_ Guiliom _in his own dress; crying Chimney-Sweep_.
_Guil_. Chimney-sweep,–by your leave, Gentlemen.
_Ant_. Whither away, Sirrah?
_Guil_. What’s that to you, Sir?–
_Ant_. Not to me, Sirrah;–who wou’d you speak with?
_Guil_. What’s that to you, Sir? why, what a Pox, may not a man speak with his own Lady and Wife?
_Cla_. Heavens! his Wife! to look for his Wife amongst Persons of Quality!
_Car_. Kick out the Rascal.
_Guil_. As soon as you please, my Lord; but let me take my Wife along with me.
[_Takes_ Isa. _by the hand_.
_Isa_. Faugh! what means the Devil?
_Guil_. Devil; ’twas not long since you found me a human creature within there.
_Isa_. Villain, Dog; help me to tear his Eyes out.
_Guil_. What, those Eyes, those lovely Eyes, that wounded you so deeply?
_Fran_. What’s the meaning of all this? why, what, am I cozen’d? and is my Daughter cozen’d?
_Guil_. Cozen’d! why, I am a Man, Sir.
_Fran_. The Devil you are, Sir, how shall I know that?
_Guil_. Your Daughter does, Sir; and that’s all one.
_Isa_. Oh! I’m undone; am I no Viscountess then.
_Guil_. Hang Titles; ’twas my self you lov’d, my amiable sweet and charming self: In fine, sweet-heart, I am your Husband; no Viscount, but honest _Guiliom_, the Chimney-sweeper.–I heard your Father design’d to marry you to a Tradesman, and you were for a Don; and to please you both, you see how well I have managed matters.
_Fran_. I’ll not give her a farthing.
_Guil_. No matter, her Love’s worth a million; and, that’s so great, that I’m sure she’ll be content to carry my Soot basket after me.
_Isa_. Ah! I die, I die.
_Guil_. What, and I so kind?
[_Goes and kisses her, and blacks her face_.
_Isa_. Help! murder, murder!
_Guil_. Well, Gentlemen, I am something a better fortune than you believe me, by some thousands.
[_Shows_ Car. _his Writings_.
_Car_. Substantial and good! faith, Sir, I know not where you’ll find a better fortune for your Daughter, as cases stand. [_To_ Francisco.
_Guil_. And, for the Viscount, Sir, gay Clothes, Money and Confidence will set me up for one, in any ground in Christendom.
_Car_. Faith, Sir, he’s i’th’ right; take him home to _Sevil_, your Neighbours know him not, and he may pass for what you please to make him; the Fellow’s honest, witty and handsom.
_Fran_. Well, I have considered the matter: I was but a Leather-seller my self, and am grown up to a Gentleman; and, who knows but he, being a Chimney-sweeper, may, in time, grow up to a Lord? Faith, I’ll trust to Fortune, for once–here–take her and rid me of one Plague, as you, I thank you, Sir, have done of another. [_To_ Carlos.
_Guil_. Prithee be pacified, thou shalt see me within this hour as pretty a fluttering Spark as any’s in Town.–My noble Lord, I give you thanks and joy; for, you are happy too.
_Car_. As Love and Beauty can make me.
_Fran_. And I, as no damn’d Wife, proud Daughter, or tormenting Chamber-maid can make me.
_Ant_. And I, as Heaven and _Clara_ can. _–You base-born Beauties, whose ill-manner’d Pride, Th’industrious noble Citizens deride.
May you all meet with_ Isabella’s _doom_.
_Guil_. _–And all such Husbands as the Count_ Guiliome.
EPILOGUE.
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. Ladies–
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.