ACT II.
SCENE I. A Palace.
Enter Nurse with a Light.
Nur. Well, ‘tis an endless trouble to have the Tuition of a Maid in love, here is such Wishing and Longing.—And yet one must force them to what they most desire, before they will admit of it—Here am I sent out a Scout of the Forlorn Hope, to discover the Approach of the Enemy—Well —Mr. Bellmour, you are not to know, ‘tis with the Consent of Celinda, that you come—I must bear all the blame, what Mischief soever comes of these Night-Works.
Enter Bellmour.
Oh, are you come—Your Hour was Twelve, and now ‘tis almost Two.
Bel. I could not get from Friendlove—Thou hast not told Celinda of my coming?
Nur. No, no, e’en make Peace for me, and your self too.
Bel. I warrant thee, Nurse—Oh, how I hope and fear this Night’s Success!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. A Chamber.
Celinda in her Night-Attire, leaning on a Table.
Enter to her Bellmour and Nurse.
Cel. Oh Heavens! Mr. Bellmour at this late Hour in my Chamber!
Bel. Yes, Madam; but will approach no nearer till you permit me; And sure you know my Soul too well to fear.
Cel. I do, Sir, and you may approach yet nearer, And let me know your Business.
Bel. Love is my bus’ness, that of all the World; Only my Flame as much surmounts the rest, As is the Object’s Beauty I adore.
Cel. If this be all, to tell me of your Love, To morrow might have done as well.
Bel. Oh, no, to morrow would have been too late,
Too late to make returns to all my Pain.
—What disagreeing thing offends your Eyes?
I’ve no Deformity about my Person;
I’m young, and have a Fortune great as any
That do pretend to serve you;
And yet I find my Interest in your Heart,
Below those happy ones that are my Rivals.
Nay, every Fool that can but plead his Title,
And the poor Interest that a Parent gives him,
Can merit more than I.
—What else, my lovely Maid, can give a freedom
To that same talking, idle, knighted Fop?
Cel. Oh, if I am so wretched to be his, Surely I cannot live; For, Sir, I must confess I cannot love him.
Bel. But thou may’st do as bad, and marry him, And that’s a Sin I cannot over-live; —No, hear my Vows—
Cel. But are you, Sir, in earnest?
Bel. In earnest? Yes, by all that’s good, I am; I love you more than I do Life, or Heaven!
Cel. Oh, what a pleasure ‘tis to hear him say so! [Aside. —But pray, how long, Sir, have you lov’d me so?
Bel. From the first moment that I saw your Eyes, Your charming killing Eyes, I did adore ‘em; And ever since have languisht Day and Night.
Nur. Come, come, ne’er stand asking of Questions, But follow your Inclinations, and take him at his Word.
Bel. Celinda, take her Counsel,
Perhaps this is the last opportunity;
Nay, and, by Heaven, the last of all my Life,
If you refuse me now—
Say, will you never marry Man but me?
Cel. Pray give me till to morrow, Sir, to answer you; For I have yet some Fears about my Soul, That take away my Rest.
Bel. To morrow! You must then marry—Oh fatal Word! Another! a Beast, a Fool, that knows not how to value you.
Cel. Is’t possible my Fate shou’d be so near?
Nur. Nay, then dispose of your self, I say, and leave dissembling; ’.is high time.
Bel. This Night the Letter came, the dreadful News Of thy being married, and to morrow too. Oh, answer me, or I shall die with Fear.
Cel. I must confess it, Sir, without a blush,
(For ‘tis no Sin to love) that I cou’d wish—
Heaven and my Father were inclin’d my way:
But I am all Obedience to their Wills.
Bel. That Sigh was kind,
But e’er to morrow this time,
You’ll want this pitying Sense, and feel no Pantings,
But those which Joys and Pleasures do create.
Cel. Alas, Sir! what is’t you’d have me do?
Bel. Why—I wou’d have you love, and after that
You need not be instructed what to do.
Give me your Faith, give me your solemn Vow
To be my Wife, and I shall be at Peace.
Cel. Have you consider’d, Sir, your own Condition? ’.is in your Uncle’s Power to take your Fortune, If in your Choice you disobey his Will. —And, Sir, you know that mine is much below you.
Bel. Oh, I shall calm his Rage,
By urging so much Reason as thy Beauty,
And my own Flame, on which my Life depends.
—He now has kindly sent for me to London,
I fear his Bus’ness—
Yet if you’ll yield to marry me,
We’ll keep it secret, till our kinder Stars
Have made provision for the blest Discovery.
Come, give me your Vows, or we must part for ever.
Cel. Part! Oh, ‘tis a fatal Word! I will do any thing to save that Life, To which my own so nearly is ally’d.
Enter Friendlove.
Friend. So, forward Sister!
Bel. Ha, Friendlove!
Friend. Was it so kindly done, to gain my Sister Without my knowledge?
Bel. Ah, Friend! ‘Twas from her self alone That I wou’d take the Blessing which I ask.
Friend. And I’ll assist her, Sir, to give it you. Here, take him as an Honour, and be thankful.
Bel. I as a Blessing sent from Heaven receive her, And e’er I sleep will justify my Claim, And make her mine.
Friend. Be not so hasty, Friend: Endeavour first to reconcile your Uncle to’t.
Bel. By such Delays we’re lost: Hast thou forgot? To morrow she’s design’d another’s Bride!
Friend. For that let me alone t’evade.
Bel. If you must yet delay me,
Give me leave not to interest such Wealth without Security.
And I, Celinda, will instruct you how to satisfy my Fears.
[Kneels, and takes her by the Hand.
Bear witness to my Vows—
May every Plague that Heaven inflicts on Sin,
Fall down in Thunder on my Head,
If e’er I marry any but Celinda
Or if I do not marry thee, fair Maid.
Nur. Heartily sworn, as I vow.
Cel. And here I wish as solemnly the same: —May all arrive to me, If e’er I marry any Man but Bellmour!
Nur. We are Witnesses, as good as a thousand.
Friend. But now, my Friend, I’d have you take your leave; the day comes on apace, and you’ve not seen your Uncle since your Arrival.
Bel. ‘Tis Death to part with thee, my fair Celinda; But our hard Fates impose this Separation: —Farewel—Remember thou’rt all mine.
Cel. What have I else of Joy to think upon? —Go—go—depart.
Bel. I will—but ‘tis as Misers part with Gold, Or People full of Health depart from Life.
Friend. Go, Sister, to your Bed, and dream of him.
[Ex. Cel. and Nurse.
Bel. Whilst I prepare to meet this Fop to fight him.
Friend. Hang him, he’ll ne’er meet thee; to beat a Watch, or kick a Drawer, or batter Windows, is the highest pitch of Valour he e’er arriv’d to.
Bel. However, I’ll expect him, lest he be fool-hardy enough to keep his Word.
Friend. Shall I wait on thee?
Bel. No, no, there’s no need of that—Good-morrow, my best Friend.
Friend. But e’er you go, my dearest Friend and Brother,
Now you are sure of all the Joys you wish
From Heaven, do not forgetful grow of that great Trust
I gave you of all mine; but, like a Friend,
Assist me in my great Concern of Love
With fair Diana, your lovely Cousin.
You know how long I have ador’d that Maid;
But still her haughty Pride repell’d my Flame,
And all its fierce Efforts.
Bel. She has a Spirit equal to her Beauty,
As mighty and tyrannick; yet she has Goodness,
And I believe enough inclin’d to Love,
When once her Pride’s o’ercome. I have the Honour
To be the Confident of all her Thoughts:
And to augment thy Hopes, ‘tis not long since
She did with Sighs confess to me, she lov’d
A Man, she said, scarce equal to her Fortune:
But all my Interest could not learn the Object;
But it must needs be you, by what she said.
This I’ll improve, and so to your Advantage—
Friend. I neither doubt thy Industry, nor Love; Go, and be careful of my Interest there, Whilst I preserve thine as intirely here.
[Ex. severally.
SCENE III. Sir Timothy’s House.
Enter Sir Timothy, Sham, Sharp, and Boy.
Sharp. Good morrow, Sir Timothy; what, not yet ready, and to meet Mr. Bellmour at Five? the time’s past.
Sir Tim.—Ay, Pox on’t—I han’t slept to Night for thinking on’t.
Sham. Well, Sir Timothy, I have most excellent News for you, that will do as well; I have found out—
Sir Tim. A new Wench, I warrant—But prithee, Sham, I have other matters in hand; ‘Sheart, I am so mortify’d with this same thought of Fighting, that I shall hardly think of Womankind again.
Sharp. And you were so forward, Sir Timothy—
Sir Tim. Ay, Sharp, I am always so when I am angry; had I been but
A little more provok’d then, that we might have gone to’t when the heat
was brisk, I had done well—but a Pox on’t, this fighting in cool
Blood I hate.
Sham. ‘Shaw, Sir, ‘tis nothing, a Man wou’d do’t for Exercise in a Morning.
Sir Tim. Ay, if there were no more in’t than Exercise; if a Man cou’d take a Breathing without breathing a Vein—but, Sham, this Wounds, and Blood, sounds terribly in my Ears; but since thou say’st ‘tis nothing, prithee do thou meet Bellmour in my stead; thou art a poor Dog, and ’.is no matter if the World were well rid of thee.
Sham. I wou’d do’t with all my Soul—but your Honour, Sir—
Sir Tim.—My Honour! ‘tis but Custom that makes it honourable to fight Duels—I warrant you the wise Italian thinks himself a Man of Honour; and yet when did you hear of an Italian, that ever fought a Duel? Is’t not enough, that I am affronted, have my Mistress taken away before my Face, hear my self call’d, dull, common Man, dull Animal, and the rest?—But I must after all give him leave to kill me too, if he can—And this is your damn’d Honourable English way of shewing a Man’s Courage.
Sham. I must confess I am of your mind, and therefore have been studying a Revenge, sutable to the Affront: and if I can judge any thing, I have hit it.
Sir Tim. Hast thou? dear Sham, out with it.
Sham. Why, Sir—what think you of debauching his Sister?
Sir Tim. Why, is there such a thing in Nature?
Sham. You know he has a Sister, Sir.
Sir Tim. Yes, rich, and fair.
Sham. Both, or she were not worthy of your Revenge.
Sir Tim. Oh, how I love Revenge, that has a double Pleasure in it—and where—and where is this fine piece of Temptation?
Sham. In being, Sir—but Sharp here, and I, have been at some cost in finding her out.
Sir Tim. Ye shall be overpaid—there’s Gold, my little Maquere—but she’s very handsom?
Sharp. As a Goddess, Sir.
Sir Tim. And art thou sure she will be leud?
Sharp. Are we sure she’s a Woman, Sir?—Sure, she’s in her Teens, has Pride and Vanity—and two or three Sins more that I cou’d name, all which never fail to assist a Woman in Debauchery—But, Sir, there are certain People that belong to her, that must be consider’d too.
Sir Tim. Stay, Sir, e’er I part with more Money, I’ll be certain what returns ‘twill make me—that is, I’ll see the Wench, not to inform my self, how well I like her, for that I shall do, because she is new, and Bellmour’s Sister—but to find what possibility there is in gaining her.—I am us’d to these things, and can guess from a Look, or a Kiss, or a Touch of the Hand—but then I warrant, ‘twill come to the knowledge of Betty Flauntit.
Sham. What, Sir, then it seems you doubt us?
Sir Tim. How do you mean, your Honesty or Judgment? I can assure you,
I doubt both.
Sharp. How, Sir, doubt our Honesty!
Sir Tim. Yes—why, I hope neither of you pretend to either, do you?
Sham. Why, Sir, what, do you take us for Cheats?
Sir Tim. As errant, as any’s in Christendom.
Sharp. How, Sir?
Sir Tim. Why, how now—what, fly in my Face? Are your Stomachs so queasy, that Cheat won’t down with you?
Sham. Why, Sir, we are Gentlemen; and though our ill Fortunes have thrown us on your Bounty, we are not to be term’d—
Sir Tim. Why, you pair of Hectors—whence this Impudence?—Do ye know me, ye Raggamuffins?
Sham. Yes, but we knew not that you were a Coward before. You talkt big, and huft where-e’er you came, like an errant Bully; and so long we reverenc’d you—but now we find you have need of our Courage, we’ll stand on our own Reputations.
Sir Tim. Courage and Reputation!—ha, ha, ha—why, you lousy
Tatterdemallions—dare ye talk of Courage and Reputation?
Sharp. Why, Sir, who dares question either?
Sir Tim. He that dares try it. [Kicks ‘em.
Sharp. Hold, Sir, hold.
Sham. Enough, enough, we are satisfy’d.
Sir Tim. So am not I, ye mangy Mungrels, till I have kickt Courage and
Reputation out of ye.
Sham. Hold there, Sir, ‘tis enough, we are satisfy’d, that you have Courage.
Sir Tim. Oh, are you so? then it seems I was not to be believ’d—I told you I had Courage when I was angry.
Sham. Ay, Sir, we have prov’d it, and will now swear it.—But we had an Inclination to try, Sir.
Sir Tim. And all you did, was but to try my Courage, hah!
Sharp. On our Honours, nothing else, Sir Timothy.
Sir Tim. Though I know ye to be cursed cowardly lying Rogues, yet because I have use of ye, I must forgive ye.—Here, kiss my Hand, and be forgiven.
Sham. ‘Tis an Honour we are proud of, Sir.
Sir Tim. Oh, is it so, Rascallians? then I hope I am to see the Lady without Indentures.
Sharp. Oh Lord, Sir, any thing we can serve you in.
Sham. And I have brib’d her Maid to bring her this Morning into the Mall.
Sir Tim. Well, let’s about it then; for I am for no fighting to day—D’ye hear, Boy—Let the Coach be got ready whilst I get my self drest.
Boy. The Coach, Sir! Why, you know Mr. Shatter has pawn’d the Horses.
Sir Tim. I had forgot it—A pox on’t, this ‘tis to have a Partner in
A Coach; by Fortune, I must marry and set up a whole one.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. Lord Plotwell’s House.
Enter Charles Bellmour, and Trusty.
Trusty. Mr. Charles, your Brother, my young Master Bellmour, is come.
Char. I’m glad on’t; my Uncle began to be impatient that he came not, you saying you left him but a day’s Journey behind you yesterday. My Uncle has something of importance to say to him, I fancy it may be about A Marriage between him and my Lady Diana—such a Whisper I heard—
Trusty. Ay, marry, Sir, that were a Match indeed, she being your Uncle’s only Heir.
Char. Ay, but they are Sisters Children, and too near a-kin to be happy.
Trusty. ‘Twere pity my young Master shou’d be unhappy in a Wife; for he is the sweetest-natur’d Gentleman—But one Comfort is, Mr. Charles, you, and your Sister Mrs. Phillis, will have your Portions assign’d you if he marry.
Char. Yes, that he can’t deny us the very Day after his Marriage.
Trusty. I shall be glad to see you all dispos’d of well; but I was half afraid, your Brother would have married Mrs. Celinda Friendlove, to whom he made notable Love in Yorkshire I thought: not but she’s a fine Lady; but her Fortune is below that of my young Master’s, as much as my Lady Diana’s is above his—But see, they come; let us retire, to give ‘em leave to talk alone.
[Exeunt.
Enter Lord Plotwell, and Bellmour.
Lord. And well, Frank, how dost thou find thy self inclin’d? thou should’st begin to think of something more than Books. Do’st thou not wish to know the Joys that are to be found in a Woman, Frank? I well remember at thy Age I fancy’d a thousand fine things of that kind.
Bel. Ay, my Lord, a thousand more perhaps than are to be found.
Lord. Not so; but I confess, Frank, unless the Lady be fair, and there be some Love too, ‘tis not altogether so well; therefore I, who am still busy for thy good, have fix’d upon a Lady—
Bel. Ha!—
Lord. What, dost start? Nay, I’ll warrant thee she’ll please; A Lady rich, and fair, and nobly born, and thou shalt marry her, Frank.
Bel. Marry her, my Lord—
Lord. Why, yes, marry her—I hope you are none of the fashionable Fops, that are always in Mutiny against Marriage, who never think themselves very witty, but when they rail against Heaven and a Wife— But, Frank, I have found better Principles in thee, and thou hast the Reputation of a sober young Gentleman; thou art, besides, a Man of great Fortune, Frank.
Bel. And therefore, Sir, ought the less to be a Slave.
Lord. But, Frank, we are made for one another; and ought, by the Laws of God, to communicate our Blessings.
Bel. Sir, there are Men enough, fitter much than I, to obey those Laws; nor do I think them made for every one.
Lord. But, Frank, you do not know what a Wife I have provided for you.
Bel. ‘Tis enough I know she’s a Woman, Sir.
Lord. A Woman! why, what should she be else?
Bel. An Angel, Sir, e’er she can be my Wife.
Lord. In good time: but this is a Mortal, Sir—and must serve your turn—but, Frank, she is the finest Mortal—
Bel. I humbly beg your Pardon, if I tell you,
That had she Beauty such as Heav’n ne’er made,
Nor meant again t’inrich a Woman with,
It cou’d not take my Heart.
Lord. But, Sir, perhaps you do not guess the Lady.
Bel. Or cou’d I, Sir, it cou’d not change my Nature.
Lord. But, Sir, suppose it be my Niece Diana.
Bel. How, Sir, the fair Diana!
Lord. I thought thou’dst come about again; What think you now of Woman-kind, and Wedlock?
Bel. As I did before, my Lord.
Lord. What, thou canst not think I am in earnest; I confess, Frank, she is above thee in point of Fortune, she being my only Heir—but suppose ‘tis she.
Bel. Oh, I’m undone!—Sir, I dare not suppose so greatly in favour of my self.
Lord. But, Frank, you must needs suppose—
Bel. Oh, I am ruin’d, lost, for ever lost.
Lord. What do you mean, Sir?
Bel. I mean, I cannot marry fair Diana.
Lord. Death! how’s this?
Bel. She is a thing above my humble wishes—
Lord. Is that all? Take you no care for that; for she loves you already, and I have resolv’d it, which is better yet.
Bel. Love me, Sir! I know she cannot, And Heav’n forbid that I should injure her.
Lord. Sir, this is a Put-off: resolve quickly, or I’ll compel you.
Bel. You wou’d not use Extremity; What is the Forfeit of my Disobedience?
Lord. The loss of all your Fortune, If you refuse the Wife I have provided— Especially a handsom Lady, as she is, Frank.
Bel. Oh me, unhappy! What cursed Laws provided this Severity?
Lord. Even those of your Father’s Disposal, who seeing so many Examples in this leud Age, of the ruin of whole Families by imprudent Marriages, provided otherwise for you.
Bel. But, Sir, admit Diana be inclin’d, And I (by my unhappy Stars so curs’d) Should be unable to accept the Honour.
Lord. How, Sir! admit!—I can no more admit, Than you can suppose—therefore give me your final Answer.
Bel. Sir, can you think a Blessing e’er can fall Upon that Pair, whom Interest joins, not Love?
Lord. Why, what’s in Diana, that you shou’d not love her?
Bel. I must confess she has a thousand Virtues,
The least of which wou’d bless another Man;
But, Sir, I hope, if I am so unhappy
As not to love that Lady, you will pardon me.
Lord. Indeed, Sir, but I will not; love me this Lady, and marry me this Lady, or I will teach you what it is to refuse such a Lady.
Bel. Sir, ‘tis not in my power to obey you.
Lord. How! not in your pow’r?
Bel. No, Sir, I see my fatal Ruin in your Eyes, And know too well your Force, and my own Misery. —But, Sir—when I shall tell you who I’ve married—
Lord. Who you’ve married;—By all that’s sacred, if that be true, thou art undone for ever.
Bel. O hear me, Sir! I came with Hopes to have found you merciful.
Lord. Expect none from me; no, thou shalt not have So much of thy Estate, as will afford thee Bread: By Heav’n, thou shalt not.
Bel. Oh, pity me, my Lord, pity my Youth;
It is no Beggar, nor one basely born,
That I have given my Heart to, but a Maid,
Whose Birth, whose Beauty, and whose Education
Merits the best of Men.
Lord. Very fine! where is the Priest that durst dispose of you without my Order? Sirrah, you are my Slave—at least your whole Estate is at my mercy—and besides, I’ll charge you with an Action of 5000 pounds. For your ten Years Maintenance: Do you know that this in my power too?
Bel. Yes, Sir, and dread your Anger worse than Death.
Lord. Oh Villain! thus to dash my Expectation!
Bel. Sir, on my bended Knees, thus low I fall To beg your mercy.
Lord. Yes, Sir, I will have mercy; I’ll give you Lodging—but in a Dungeon, Sir, Where you shall ask your Food of Passers by.
Bel. All this, I know, you have the Pow’r to do;
But, Sir, were I thus cruel, this hard Usage
Would give me Cause to execute it.
I wear a Sword, and I dare right my self;
And Heaven wou’d pardon it, if I should kill you:
But Heav’n forbid I shou’d correct that Law,
Which gives you Power, and orders me Obedience.
Lord. Very well, Sir, I shall tame that Courage, and punish that Harlot, whoe’er she be, that has seduc’d ye.
Bel. How, Harlot, Sir!—Death, such another Word,
And through all Laws and Reason I will rush,
And reach thy Soul, if mortal like thy Body.
—No, Sir, she’s chaste, as are the new-made Vows
I breath’d upon her Lips, when last we parted.
Lord. Who waits there?
Enter Trusty and Servants.
—Shall I be murder’d in my own House?
’.is time you were remov’d—
Go, get an Action of 5000 pounds, enter’d against him,
With Officers to arrest him.
Trusty. My Lord, ‘tis my young Master Bellmour.
Lord. Ye all doat upon him, but he’s not the Man you take him for.
Trusty. How, my Lord! not this Mr. Bellmour!
Lord. Dogs, obey me. [Offers to go.
Bel. Stay, Sir—oh, stay—what will become of me?
’.were better that my Life were lost, than Fortune—
For that being gone, Celinda must not love me.
—But to die wretchedly—
Poorly in Prison—whilst I can manage this—
Is below him, that does adore Celinda. [Draws.
I’ll kill my self—but then—I kill Celinda.
Shou’d I obey this Tyrant—then too she dies.
Yes, Sir—You may be cruel—take the Law,
And kill me quickly, ‘twill become your Justice. [Weeps.
Lord. Was I call’d back for this? Yes, I shall take it, Sir; do not fear. [Offers to go.
Bel. Yet, stay, Sir—Have you lost all Humanity? Have you no Sense of Honour, nor of Horrors?
Lord. Away with him—go, be gone.
Bel. Stay, Sir. Oh, God! what is’t you’d have me do?
—Here—I resign my self unto your Will—
But, Oh Celinda! what will become of thee? [Weeps.
—Yes, I will marry—and Diana too.
Lord. ‘Tis well you will; had I not been good-natur’d now, You had been undone, and miss’d Diana too.
Bel. But must I marry—needs marry, Sir? Or lose my Fortune, and my Liberty, Whilst all my Vows are given to another?
Lord. By all means, Sir—
Bel. If I must marry any but Celinda,
I shall not, Sir, enjoy one moment’s Bliss:
I shall be quite unman’d, cruel and brutal;
A Beast, unsafe for Woman to converse with.
Besides, Sir, I have given my Heart and Faith,
And my second Marriage is Adultery.
Lord. Heart and Faith, I am glad ‘tis no worse; if the Ceremony of the Church has not past, ‘tis well enough.
Bel. All, Sir, that Heaven and Love requires, is past.
Lord. Thou art a Fool, Frank, come—dry thy Eyes. And receive Diana—Trusty, call in my Niece.
Bel. Yet, Sir, relent, be kind, and save my Soul.
[Ex. Trusty.
Lord. No more—by Heaven, if you resist my Will, I’ll make a strange Example of thee, and of that Woman, whoe’er she be, that drew you to this Folly. Faith and Vows, quoth ye!
Bel. Then I obey.
Enter Trusty and Diana.
Lord. Look ye here, Frank; Is this a Lady to be dislik’d? Come hither, Frank—Trusty, haste for Dr. Tickletext, my Chaplain’s not in Town; I’ll have them instantly married—Come hither, Diana—will you marry your Cousin, Frank Bellmour?
Dia. Yes, if it be your pleasure; Heaven cou’d not let fall a greater Blessing. [Aside.
Lord. And you, Frank, will you marry my Niece Diana?
Bel. Since you will have it so.
Lord. Come, follow me then, and you shall be both pleas’d.
Bel. Oh my Celinda!—
To preserve thee, what is’t I wou’d not do? Forfeit my Heaven, nay more, I forfeit you.
[Exit.
SCENE V. The Street.
Enter Sir Timothy Tawdrey, Sham and Sharp.
Sir Tim. Now, Sham, art not thou a damn’d lying Rogue, to make me saunter up and down the Mall all this Morning, after a Woman that thou know’st in thy Conscience was not likely to be there?
Sham. Why, Sir—if her Maid will be a jilting Whore, how can I help it?—Sharp, thou know’st we presented her handsomly, and she protested she’d do’t.
Sharp. Ay, ay, Sir: But the Devil a Maid we saw. [Aside.
Sham. Sir, it may be Things have so fallen out, that she could not possibly come.
Sir Tim. Things! a Pox of your Tricks—Well, I see there’s no trusting a poor Devil—Well, what Device will your Rogueship find out to cheat me next?
Sham. Prithee help me out at a dead lift, Sharp. [Aside.
Sharp. Cheat you, Sir!—if I ben’t reveng’d on this She-Counsellor of the Patching and Painting, this Letter-in of Midnight Lovers, this Receiver of Bribes for stol’n Pleasures; may I be condemn’d never to make love to any thing of higher Quality.
Sir Tim. Nay, nay, no threatning, Sharp; it may be she’s innocent yet—Give her t’other Bribe, and try what that will do. [Gives him Money.
Sham. No, Sir, I’ll have no more to do with frail Woman, in this Case; I have a surer way to do your Business.
Enter Page with a Letter.
Sir Tim. Is not that Bellmour’s Page?
Sharp. It is, Sir.
Sir Tim. By Fortune, the Rogue’s looking for me; he has a Challenge in his hand too.
Sham. No matter, Sir, huff it out.
Sir Tim. Prithee do thee huff him, thou know’st the way on’t.
Sham. What’s your Bus’ness with Sir Timothy, Sir?
Page. Mine, Sir, I don’t know the Gentleman; pray which is he?
Sir Tim. I, I, ‘tis so—Pox on him.
Sharp. Well, Boy, I am he—What—Your Master.
Page. My Master, Sir—
Sharp. Are not you Bellmour’s Page?
Page. Yes, Sir.
Sharp. Well, your News.
Page. News, Sir? I know of none, but of my Master’s being this Morning—
Sir Tim. Ay, there it is—behind Southampton House.
Page. Married this Morning.
Sir Tim. How! Married! ‘Slife, has he serv’d me so?
Sham. The Boy is drunk—Bellmour married!
Page. Yes, indeed, to the Lady Diana.
Sir Tim. Diana! Mad, by Fortune; what Diana?
Page. Niece to the Lord Plotwell.
Sir Tim. Come hither, Boy—Art thou sure of this?
Page. Sir, I am sure of it; and I am going to bespeak Musick for the Ball anon.
Sir Tim. What hast thou there—a Letter to the Divine Celinda?
A dainty Boy—there’s Money for to buy thee Nickers.
Page. I humbly thank you.
[Exit.
Sharp. Well, Sir, if this be true, Celinda will be glad of you again.
Sir. Tim. Ay, but I will have none of her—For, look you, Sham, there is but two sorts of Love in this World—Now I am sure the Rogue did love her; and since it was not to marry her, it was for the thing you wot on, as appears by his writing to her now—But yet, I will not believe what this Boy said, till I see it.
Sham. Faith, Sir, I have thought of a thing, that may both clear your doubt, and give us a little Mirth.
Sir Tim. I conceive thee.
Sham. I know y’are quick of Apprehension, Sir Timothy.
Sir Tim. O, your Servant, dear Sham—But to let thee see, I am none of the dullest, we are to Jig it in Masquerade this Evening, hah.
Sham. Faith, Sir, you have it, and there you may have an Opportunity to court Bellmour’s Sister.
Sir Tim. ‘Tis a good Motion, and we will follow it; send to the Duke’s
House, and borrow some Habits presently.
Sham. I’ll about it, Sir.
Sir Tim. Make haste to my Lodging—But hark ye—not a word of this to Betty Flauntit, she’ll be up in Arms these two Days, if she go not with us; and though I think the fond Devil is true to me, yet it were worse than Wedlock, if I should be so to her too.
Tho Whores in all things else the Mastery get, In this alone, like Wives, they must submit.
Exeunt.