The Works of Aphra Behn, Volume III

by Aphra Behn

ACT V.

SCENE I. Sir Cautious his House.

Enter Bellmour alone, sad.

Bel. The Night is come, oh my Leticia!
The longing Bridegroom hastens to his Bed;
Whilst she with all the languishment of Love,
And sad Despair, casts her fair Eyes on me,
Which silently implore, I would deliver her.
But how! ay, there’s the Question—hah— [Pausing.
I’ll get my self hid in her Bed-chamber—
And something I will do—may serve us yet—
If all my Arts should fail—I’ll have recourse [Draws a dagger.
To this—and bear Leticia off by force.
—But see she comes—

Enter Lady Fulbank, Sir Cautious, Sir Feeble,
Leticia, Bearjest, Noisey, Gayman. Exit Bellmour.

Sir Feeb. Lights there, Ralph.
And my Lady’s Coach there—

[Bearjest goes to Gayman.

Bea. Well, Sir, remember you have promised to grant me my diabolical Request, in shewing me the Devil—

Gay. I will not fail you, Sir.

L. Ful. Madam, your Servant; I hope you’ll see no more Ghosts, Sir Feeble.

Sir Feeb. No more of that, I beseech you, Madam: Prithee, Sir Cautious, take away your Wife—Madam, your Servant— [All go out after the Light. —Come, Lette, Lette; hasten, Rogue, hasten to thy Chamber; away, here be the young Wenches coming— [Puts her out, he goes out.

Enter Diana, puts on her Hood and Scarf.

Dia. So—they are gone to Bed; and now for Bredwel —the Coach waits, and I’ll take this opportunity.

Father, farewell—if you dislike my course,
Blame the old rigid Customs of your Force.

[Goes out.

SCENE II. A Bed-chamber.

Enter Sir Feeble, Leticia, and Phillis.

Let. Ah, Phillis! I am fainting with my Fears, Hast thou no comfort for me?

[He undresses to his Gown.

Sir Feeb. Why, what art doing there—fiddle fadling—adod, you young Wenches are so loth to come to—but when your hand’s in, you have no mercy upon us poor Husbands.

Let. Why do you talk so, Sir?

Sir Feeb. Was it anger’d at the Fool’s Prattle? tum a-me, tum a-me,
I’ll undress it, effags, I will—Roguy.

Let. You are so wanton, Sir, you make me blush—I will not go to bed, unless you’ll promise me—

Sir Feeb. No bargaining, my little Hussey—what, you’ll tie my hands behind me, will you? [She goes to the Table.

Let.—What shall I do?—assist me, gentle Maid, Thy Eyes methinks put on a little hope.

Phil. Take Courage, Madam—you guess right—be confident.

Sir Feeb. No whispering, Gentlewoman—and putting Tricks into her head; that shall not cheat me of another Night—Look on that silly little round Chitty-face—look on those smiling roguish loving Eyes there—look—look how they laugh, twire, and tempt—he, Rogue—I’ll buss ‘em there, and here, and every where—ods bods—away, this is fooling and spoiling of a Man’s Stomach, with a bit here, and a bit there—to Bed—to Bed—

[As she is at the Toilet, he looks over her shoulder, and sees her Face in the Glass.

Let. Go you first, Sir, I will but stay to say my Prayers, which are that Heaven wou’d deliver me. [Aside.

Sir Feeb. Say thy Prayers!—What, art thou mad! Prayers upon thy Wedding-night! a short Thanksgiving or so—but Prayers quoth a—’Sbobs, you’ll have time enough for that, I doubt—

Le. I am asham’d to undress before you, Sir; go to Bed—

Sir Feeb. What, was it asham’d to shew its little white Foots, and its little round Bubbies—well, I’ll go, I’ll go—I cannot think on’t, no I cannot—

[Going towards the Bed, Bellmour comes forth from between the Curtains, his Coat off, his Shirt bloody, a Dagger in his hand, and his Disguise off.

Bel. Stand—

Sir Feeb. Ah—

Let. and Phil. [squeak]—Oh, Heavens! —why, is it Bellmour? [Aside to Phil.

Bel. Go not to Bed, I guard this sacred Place, And the Adulterer dies that enters here.

Sir Feeb. Oh—why do I shake?—sure I’m a Man, what art thou?

Bel. I am the wrong’d, the lost and murder’d Bellmour.

Sir Feeb. O Lord! it is the same I saw last night—Oh!—hold thy dread Vengeance—pity me, and hear me—Oh! a Parson—a Parson—what shall I do—Oh! where shall I hide my self?

Bel. I’th’ utmost Borders of the Earth I’ll find thee—
Seas shall not hide thee, nor vast Mountains guard thee:
Even in the depth of Hell I’ll find thee out,
And lash thy filthy and adulterous Soul.

Sir Feeb. Oh! I am dead, I’m dead; will no Repentence save me? ‘twas that young Eye that tempted me to sin; Oh!—

Bel. See, fair Seducer, what thou’st made me do;
Look on this bleeding Wound, it reach’d my Heart,
To pluck my dear tormenting Image thence,
When News arriv’d that thou hadst broke thy Vow.

Sir Feeb. Oh Lord! oh! I’m glad he’s dead though.

Let. Oh, hide that fatal Wound, my tender Heart faints with a Sight so horrid! [Seems to Weep.

Sir Feeb. So, she’ll clear her self, and leave me in the Devil’s
Clutches.

Bel. You’ve both offended Heaven, and must repent or die.

Sir Feeb. Ah,—I do confess I was an old Fool,—bewitcht with Beauty, besotted with Love, and do repent most heartily.

Bel. No, you had rather yet go on in Sin: Thou wou’dst live on, and be a baffled Cuckold.

Sir Feeb. Oh, not for the World, Sir! I am convinc’d and mortifi’d.

Bel. Maintain her fine, undo thy Peace to please her, and still be Cuckol’d on,—believe her,—trust her, and be Cuckol’d still.

Sir Feeb. I see my Folly—and my Age’s Dotage—and find the Devil was in me—yet spare my Age—ah! spare me to repent.

Bel. If thou repent’st, renounce her, fly her sight;—
Shun her bewitching Charms, as thou wou’dst Hell,
Those dark eternal Mansions of the dead—
Whither I must descend.

Sir Feeb. Oh—wou’d he were gone!—

Bel. Fly—be gone—depart, vanish for ever from her to some more safe and innocent Apartment.

Sir Feeb. Oh, that’s very hard!—

[He goes back trembling, Bellmour follows in with his Dagger up; both go out.

Let. Blest be this kind Release, and yet methinks it grieves me to consider how the poor old Man is frighted.

[Bellmour re-enters, puts on his Coat.

Bel.—He’s gone, and lock’d himself into his Chamber— And now, my dear Leticia, let us fly—

Despair till now did my wild Heart invade,
But pitying Love has the rough Storm allay’d.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Sir Cautious his Garden.

Enter two Porters and Rag, bearing Gayman in a Chest; set it down, he comes forth with a Dark-lanthorn.

Gay. Set down the Chest behind yon hedge of Roses—and then put on those Shapes I have appointed you—and be sure you well-favour’dly bang both Bearjest and Noisey, since they have a mind to see the Devil.

Rag. Oh, Sir, leave ‘em to us for that; and if we do not play the Devil with ‘em, we deserve they shou’d beat us. But, Sir, we are in Sir Cautious his Garden, will he not sue us for a Trespass?

Gay. I’ll bear you out; be ready at my Call.

[Exeunt.

—Let me see—I have got no ready stuff to banter with—but no matter, any Gibberish will serve the Fools—’tis now about the hour of Ten—but Twelve is my appointed lucky Minute, when all the Blessings that my Soul could wish, shall be resign’d to me.

Enter Bredwel.

—Hah! who’s there? Bredwel?

Bred. Oh, are you come, Sir—and can you be so kind to a poor Youth, to favour his Designs, and bless his Days?

Gay. Yes, I am ready here with all my Devils, both to secure you your Mistress, and to cudgel your Captain and Squire, for abusing me behind my Back so basely.

Bred. ‘Twas most unmanly, Sir, and they deserve it—I wonder that they come not.

Gay. How durst you trust her with him?

Bred. Because ‘tis dangerous to steal a City-Heiress, and let the Theft be his—so the dear Maid be mine—Hark—sure they come—

Enter Bearjest, runs against Bredwel.

—Who’s there? Mr. Bearjest?

Bea. Who’s that? Ned? Well, I have brought my Mistress, hast thou got a Parson ready, and a License?

Bred. Ay, ay, but where’s the Lady?

Bea. In the Coach, with the Captain at the Gate. I came before, to see if the Coast be clear.

Bred. Ay, Sir; but what shall we do? here’s Mr. Gayman come on purpose to shew you the Devil, as you desir’d.

Bea. Sho! a Pox of the Devil, Man—I can’t attend to speak with him now.

Gay. How, Sir! D’ye think my Devil of so little Quality, to suffer an Affront unrevenged?

Bea. Sir, I cry his Devilship’s Pardon: I did not know his Quality. I protest, Sir, I love and honour him, but I am now just going to be married, Sir; and when that Ceremony’s past, I’m ready to go to the Devil as soon as you please.

Gay. I have told him your Desire of seeing him, and shou’d you baffle him?

Bea. Who, I, Sir! Pray, let his Worship know, I shall be proud of the Honour of his Acquaintance; but, Sir, my Mistress and the Parson wait in Ned’s Chamber.

Gay. If all the World wait, Sir, the Prince of Hell will stay for no Man.

Bred. Oh, Sir, rather than the Prince of the Infernals shall be affronted, I’ll conduct the Lady up, and entertain her till you come, Sir.

Bea. Nay, I have a great mind to kiss his—Paw, Sir; but I cou’d wish you’d shew him me by day-light, Sir.

Gay. The Prince of Darkness does abhor the Light. But, Sir, I will for once allow your Friend the Captain to keep you company.

Enter Noisey and Diana.

Bea. I’m much oblig’d to you, Sir; oh, Captain— [Talks to him.

Bred. Haste, Dear; the Parson waits, To finish what the Powers design’d above.

Dia. Sure nothing is so bold as Maids in Love! [They go out.

Noi. Psho! he conjure—he can flie as soon.

Gay. Gentlemen, you must be sure to confine your selves to this Circle, and have a care you neither swear, nor pray.

Bea. Pray, Sir! I dare say neither of us were ever that way gifted.

A horrid Noise.

Gay.

Cease your Horror, cease your Haste.
And calmly as I saw you last,
Appear! Appear!
By thy Pearls and Diamond Rocks,
By thy heavy Money-Box,
By thy shining Petticoat,
That hid thy cloven Feet from Note;
By the Veil that hid thy Face,
Which else had frighten’d humane Race:
[Soft Musick ceases.
Appear, that I thy Love may see,
Appear, kind Fiends, appear to me.

A Pox of these Rascals, why come they not?

Four enter from the four corners of the Stage, to Musick that plays; they dance, and in the Dance, dance round ‘em, and kick, pinch, and beat ‘em.

Bea. Oh, enough, enough! Good Sir, lay ‘em, and I’ll pay the Musick—

Gay. I wonder at it—these Spirits are in their Nature kind, and peaceable—but you have basely injur’d some body—confess, and they will be satisfied—

Bea. Oh, good Sir, take your Cerberuses off—I do confess, the Captain here, and I have violated your Fame.

Noi. Abus’d you,—and traduc’d you,—and thus we beg your pardon—

Gay. Abus’d me! ‘Tis more than I know, Gentlemen.

Bea. But it seems your Friend the Devil does.

Gay. By this time Bredwel’s married. —Great Pantamogan, hold, for I am satisfied, [Ex. Devils. And thus undo my Charm— [Takes away the Circle, they run out. So, the Fools are going, and now to Julia’s Arms.

[Going.

SCENE IV. Lady Fulbank’s Anti-chamber.

She discover’d undrest at her Glass; Sir Cautious undrest.

L. Ful. But why to Night? indeed you’re wondrous kind methinks.

Sir Cau. Why, I don’t know—a Wedding is a sort of an Alarm to Love; it calls up every Man’s courage.

L. Ful. Ay, but will it come when ‘tis call’d?

Sir Cau. I doubt you’ll find it to my Grief— [Aside. —But I think ‘tis all one to thee, thou car’st not for my Complement; no, thou’dst rather have a young Fellow.

L. Ful. I am not us’d to flatter much; if forty Years were taken from your Age, ‘twou’d render you something more agreeable to my Bed, I must confess.

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, no doubt on’t.

L. Ful. Yet you may take my word without an Oath,
Were you as old as Time, and I were young and gay
As April Flowers, which all are fond to gather;
My Beauties all should wither in the Shade,
E’er I’d be worn in a dishonest Bosom.

Sir Cau. Ay, but you’re wondrous free methinks, sometimes, which gives shreud suspicions.

L. Ful. What, because I cannot simper, look demure,
and justify my Honour, when none questions it?
—Cry fie, and out upon the naughty Women,
Because they please themselves—and so wou’d I.

Sir Cau. How, wou’d, what cuckold me?

L. Ful. Yes, if it pleas’d me better than Vertue, Sir.
But I’ll not change my Freedom and my Humour,
To purchase the dull Fame of being honest.

Sir Cau. Ay, but the World, the World—

L. Ful. I value not the Censures of the Croud.

Sir Cau. But I am old.

L. Ful. That’s your fault, Sir, not mine.

Sir Cau. But being so, if I shou’d be good-natur’d, and give thee leave to love discreetly—

L. Ful. I’d do’t without your leave, Sir.

Sir Cau. Do’t—what, cuckold me?

L. Ful. No, love discreetly, Sir, love as I ought, love honestly.

Sir Cau. What, in love with any body, but your own Husband?

L. Ful. Yes.

Sir Cau. Yes, quoth a—is that your loving as you ought?

L. Ful. We cannot help our Inclinations, Sir,
No more than Time, or Light from coming on—
But I can keep my Virtue, Sir, intire.

Sir Cau. What, I’ll warrant, this is your first Love, Gayman?

L. Ful. I’ll not deny that Truth, though even to you.

Sir Cau. Why, in consideration of my Age, and your Youth, I’d bear a
Conscience—provided you do things wisely.

L. Ful. Do what thing, Sir?

Sir Cau. You know what I mean—

L. Ful. Hah—I hope you wou’d not be a Cuckold, Sir.

Sir Cau. Why—truly in a civil way—or so.

L. Ful. There is but one way, Sir, to make me hate you;
And that wou’d be tame suffering.

Sir Cau. Nay, and she be thereabouts, there’s no discovering.

L. Ful. But leave this fond discourse, and, if you must,
Let us to Bed.

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, I did but try your Virtue, mun—dost think I was in earnest?

Enter Servant.

Serv. Sir, here’s a Chest directed to your Worship.

Sir Cau. Hum, ‘tis Wasteall—now does my heart fail me—A Chest say you—to me—so late;—I’ll warrant it comes from Sir Nicholas Smuggle—some prohibited Goods that he has stoln the Custom of, and cheated his Majesty—Well, he’s an honest Man, bring it in—

[Exit Servant.

L. Ful. What, into my Apartment, Sir, a nasty Chest!

Sir Cau. By all means—for if the Searchers come, they’ll never be so uncivil to ransack thy Lodgings; and we are bound in Christian Charity to do for one another—Some rich Commodities, I am sure—and some fine Knick-knack will fall to thy share, I’ll warrant thee —Pox on him for a young Rogue, how punctual he is! [Aside.

Enter with the Chest.

—Go, my Dear, go to Bed—I’ll send Sir Nicholas a Receit for the
Chest, and be with thee presently—

[Ex. severally.

[Gayman peeps out of the Chest, and looks round him wondring.

Gay. Hah, where am I? By Heaven, my last Night’s Vision—’Tis that inchanted Room, and yonder’s the Alcove! Sure ‘twas indeed some Witch, who knowing of my Infidelity—has by Inchantment brought me hither— ’.is so—I am betray’d—[Pauses. Hah! or was it Julia, that last night gave me that lone Opportunity?—but hark, I hear some coming— [Shuts himself in.

Enter Sir Cautious.

Sir Cau. [Lifting up the Chest-lid.] So, you are come, I see—
[Goes, and locks the door.

Gay. Hah—he here! nay then, I was deceiv’d, and it was Julia that last night gave me the dear Assignation. [Aside.

[Sir Cautious peeps into the Bed-chamber.

L. Ful. [Within.] Come, Sir Cautious, I shall fall asleep, and then you’ll waken me.

Sir Cau. Ay, my Dear, I’m coming—she’s in Bed—I’ll go put out the
Candle, and then—

Gay. Ay, I’ll warrant you for my part—

Sir Cau. Ay, but you may over-act your part, and spoil all—But, Sir,
I hope you’ll use a Christian Conscience in this business.

Gay. Oh, doubt not, Sir, but I shall do you Reason.

Sir Cau. Ay, Sir, but—

Gay. Good Sir, no more Cautions; you, unlike a fair Gamester, will rook me out of half my Night—I am impatient—

Sir Cau. Good Lord, are you so hasty? if I please, you shan’t go at all.

Gay. With all my soul, Sir; pay me three hundred Pound, Sir—

Sir Cau. Lord, Sir, you mistake my candid meaning still. I am content to be a Cuckold, Sir—but I wou’d have things done decently, d’ye mind me?

Gay. As decently as a Cuckold can be made, Sir.—But no more disputes, I pray, Sir.

Sir Cau. I’m gone—I’m gone—but harkye, Sir, you’ll rise before day?
[Going out, returns.

Gay. Yet again—

Sir Cau. I vanish, Sir—but harkye—you’ll not speak a word, but let her think ‘tis I?

Gay. Be gone, I say, Sir— [He runs out. I am convinc’d last night I was with Julia. Oh Sot, insensible and dull!

Enter softly Sir Cautious.

Sir Cau. So, the Candle’s out—give me your hand.

[Leads him softly in.

SCENE V. Changes to a Bed-chamber.

Lady Fulbank suppos’d in Bed. Enter Sir Cautious and Gayman by dark.

Sir Cau. Where are you, my Dear? [Leads him to the bed.

L. Ful. Where shou’d I be—in Bed; what, are you by dark?

Sir Cau. Ay, the Candle went out by Chance.

[Gayman signs to him to be gone; he makes grimaces as loath to go, and Exit.

SCENE VI. Draws over, and represents another Room in the same House.

Enter Parson, Diana, and Pert drest in Diana’s Clothes.

Dia. I’ll swear, Mrs. Pert, you look very prettily in my Clothes; and since you, Sir, have convinc’d me that this innocent Deceit is not unlawful, I am glad to be the Instrument of advancing Mrs. Pert to a Husband, she already has so just a Claim to.

Par. Since she has so firm a Contract, I pronounce it a lawful Marriage—but hark, they are coming sure—

Dia. Pull your Hoods down, and keep your Face from the Light. [Diana runs out.

Enter Bearjest and Noisey disordered.

Bea. Madam, I beg your Pardon—I met with a most devilish Adventure; —your Pardon too, Mr. Doctor, for making you wait.—But the business is this, Sir—I have a great mind to lie with this young Gentlewoman to Night, but she swears if I do, the Parson of the Parish shall know it.

Par. If I do, Sir, I shall keep Counsel.

Bea. And that’s civil, Sir—Come, lead the way, With such a Guide, the Devil’s in’t if we can go astray.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII. Changes to the Anti-chamber.

Enter Sir Cautious.

Sir Cau. Now cannot I sleep, but am as restless as a Merchant in stormy Weather, that has ventur’d all his Wealth in one Bottom.—Woman is a leaky Vessel.—if she should like the young Rogue now, and they should come to a right understanding—why, then I am a—Wittal—that’s all, and shall be put in Print at Snow-hill, with my Effigies o’th’ top, like the sign of Cuckolds Haven.—Hum—they’re damnable silent—pray Heaven he have not murdered her, and robbed her—hum—hark, what’s that?—a noise!—he has broke his Covenant with me, and shall forfeit the Money—How loud they are? Ay, ay, the Plot’s discovered, what shall I do?—Why, the Devil is not in her sure, to be refractory now, and peevish; if she be, I must pay my Money yet—and that would be a damn’d thing.—sure they’re coming out—I’ll retire and hearken how ’.is with them. [Retires.

Enter Lady Fulbank undrest, Gayman, half undrest upon
his Knees, following her, holding her Gown.

L. Ful. Oh! You unkind—what have you made me do? Unhand me, false
Deceiver—let me loose—

Sir Cau. Made her do?—so, so—’tis done—I’m glad of that—
[Aside peeping.

Gay. Can you be angry, Julia? Because I only seiz’d my Right of Love.

L. Ful. And must my Honour be the Price of it?
Could nothing but my Fame reward your Passion?
—What, make me a base Prostitute, a foul Adulteress?
Oh—be gone, be gone—dear Robber of my Quiet. [Weeping.

Sir Cau. Oh, fearful!—

Gay. Oh! Calm your rage, and hear me; if you are so,
You are an innocent Adulteress.
It was the feeble Husband you enjoy’d
In cold imagination, and no more;
Shily you turn’d away—faintly resign’d.

Sir Cau. Hum, did she so?—

Gay. Till my Excess of Love betray’d the Cheat.

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, that was my Fear.

L. Ful. Away, be gone—I’ll never see you more—

Gay. You may as well forbid the Sun to shine.
Not see you more!—Heavens! I before ador’d you,
But now I rave! And with my impatient Love,
A thousand mad and wild Desires are burning!
I have discover’d now new Worlds of Charms,
And can no longer tamely love and suffer.

Sir Cau. So—I have brought an old House upon my Head,
Intail’d Cuckoldom upon my self.

L. Ful. I’ll hear no more—Sir Cautious,—where’s my Husband?
Why have you left my Honour thus unguarded?

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, she’s well enough pleas’d, I fear, for all.

Gay. Base as he is, ‘twas he expos’d this Treasure; Like silly Indians barter’d thee for Trifles.

Sir Cau. O treacherous Villain!—

L. Ful. Hah—my Husband do this?

Gay. He, by Love, he was the kind Procurer, Contriv’d the means, and brought me to thy Bed.

L. Ful. My Husband! My wise Husband!
What fondness in my Conduct had he seen,
To take so shameful and so base Revenge?

Gay. None—’twas filthy Avarice seduc’d him to’t.

L. Ful. If he cou’d be so barbarous to expose me,
Cou’d you who lov’d me—be so cruel too?

Gay. What—to possess thee when the Bliss was offer’d?
Possess thee too without a Crime to thee?
Charge not my Soul with so remiss a flame,
So dull a sense of Virtue to refuse it.

L. Ful. I am convinc’d the fault was all my Husband’s—
And here I vow—by all things just and sacred,
To separate for ever from his Bed. [Kneels.

Sir Cau. Oh, I am not able to indure it— Hold—oh, hold, my Dear— [He kneels as she rises.

L. Ful. Stand off—I do abhor thee—

Sir Cau. With all my Soul—but do not make rash Vows.
They break my very Heart—regard my Reputation.

L. Ful. Which you have had such care of, Sir, already—
Rise, ‘tis in vain you kneel.

Sir Cau. No—I’ll never rise again—Alas! Madam, I was merely drawn in; I only thought to sport a Dye or so: I had only an innocent design to have discover’d whether this Gentleman had stoln my Gold, that so I might have hang’d him—

Gay. A very innocent Design indeed!

Sir Cau. Ay, Sir, that’s all, as I’m an honest man.—

L. Ful. I’ve sworn, nor are the Stars more fix’d than I.

Enter Servant.

Serv. How! my Lady and his Worship up?—Madam, a Gentleman and a Lady below in a Coach knockt me up, and say they must speak with your Ladyship.

L. Ful. This is strange!—bring them up— [Exit Servant.
Who can it be, at this odd time of neither Night nor Day?

Enter Leticia, Bellmour, and Phillis.

Let. Madam, your Virtue, Charity and Friendship to me, has made me trespass on you for my Life’s security, and beg you will protect me, and my Husband— [Points at Bellmour.

Sir Cau. So, here’s another sad Catastrophe!

L. Ful. Hah—does Bellmour live? is’t possible?
Believe me, Sir, you ever had my Wishes;
And shall not fail of my Protection now.

Bel. I humbly thank your Ladyship.

Gay. I’m glad thou hast her, Harry; but doubt thou durst not own her; nay dar’st not own thy self.

Bel. Yes, Friend, I have my Pardon— But hark, I think we are pursu’d already— But now I fear no force.

[A noise of some body coming in.

L. Ful. However, step into my Bed-chamber.

[Exeunt Leticia, Gayman and Phillis.

Enter Sir Feeble in an Antick manner.

Sir Feeb. Hell shall not hold thee—nor vast Mountains cover thee, but I will find thee out—and lash thy filthy and Adulterous Carcase. [_Coming up in a menacing manner to Sir _Cau.

Sir Cau. How—lash my filthy Carcase?—I defy thee, Satan—

Sir Feeb. ‘Twas thus he said.

Sir Cau. Let who’s will say it, he lies in’s Throat.

Sir Feeb. How, the Ghostly—hush—have a care—for ‘twas the Ghost of Bellmour—Oh! hide that bleeding Wound, it chills my Soul!— [Runs to the Lady Fulbank.

L. Ful. What bleeding Wound?—Heavens, are you frantick, Sir?

Sir Feeb. No—but for want of rest, I shall e’er Morning. [Weeps.
—She’s gone—she’s gone—she’s gone— [He weeps.

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, she’s gone, she’s gone indeed.
[Sir Cau. weeps.

Sir Feeb. But let her go, so I may never see that dreadful Vision —harkye, Sir—a word in your Ear—have a care of marrying a young Wife.

Sir Cau. Ay, but I have married one already. [Weeping.

Sir Feeb. Hast thou? Divorce her—flie her, quick—depart—be gone, she’ll cuckold thee—and still she’ll cuckold thee.

Sir Cau. Ay, Brother, but whose fault was that?—Why, are not you married?

Sir Feeb. Mum—no words on’t, unless you’ll have the Ghost about your
Ears; part with your Wife, I say, or else the Devil will part ye.

L. Ful. Pray go to Bed, Sir.

Sir Feeb. Yes, for I shall sleep now, I shall lie alone; [Weeps. Ah, Fool, old dull besotted Fool—to think she’d love me—’twas by base means I gain’d her—cozen’d an honest Gentleman of Fame and Life—

L. Ful. You did so, Sir, but ‘tis not past Redress—you may make that honest Gentleman amends.

Sir Feeb. Oh, wou’d I could, so I gave half my Estate—

L. Ful. That Penitence atones with him and Heaven.—Come forth, Leticia, and your injur’d Ghost.

Enter Leticia, Bellmour, and Phillis.

Sir Feeb. Hah, Ghost—another Sight would make me mad indeed.

Bel. Behold me, Sir, I have no Terror now.

Sir Feeb. Hah—who’s that, Francis!—my Nephew Francis?

Bel. Bellmour, or Francis, chuse you which you like, and I am either.

Sir Feeb. Hah, Bellmour! and no Ghost?

Bel. Bellmour—and not your Nephew, Sir.

Sir Feeb. But art alive? Ods bobs, I’m glad on’t, Sirrah;—But are you real, Bellmour?

Bel. As sure as I’m no Ghost.

Gay. We all can witness for him, Sir.

Sir Feeb. Where be the Minstrels, we’ll have a Dance—adod, we will —Ah—art thou there, thou cozening little Chits-face?—a Vengeance on thee—thou madest mean old doting loving Coxcomb—but I forgive thee—and give thee all thy Jewels, and you your Pardon, Sir, so you’ll give me mine; for I find you young Knaves will be too hard for us.

Bel. You are so generous, Sir, that ‘tis almost with grief I receive the Blessing of Leticia.

Sir Feeb. No, no, thou deservest her; she would have made an old fond Blockhead of me, and one way or other you wou’d have had her—ods bobs, you wou’d—

Enter Bearjest, Diana, Pert, Bredwel, and Noisey.

Bea. Justice, Sir, Justice—I have been cheated—abused—assassinated and ravisht!

Sir Cau. How, my Nephew ravisht!—

Pert. No, Sir, I am his Wife.

Sir Cau. Hum—my Heir marry a Chamber-maid!

Bea. Sir, you must know I stole away Mrs. Dy, and brought her to Ned’s Chamber here—to marry her.

Sir Feeb. My Daughter Dy stoln—

Bea. But I being to go to the Devil a little, Sir, whip—what does he, but marries her himself, Sir; and fob’d me off here with my Lady’s cast Petticoat—

Noi. Sir, she’s a Gentlewoman, and my Sister, Sir.

Pert. Madam, ‘twas a pious Fraud, if it were one; for I was contracted to him before—see, here it is— [Gives it ‘em.

All. A plain Case, a plain Case.

Sir Feeb. Harkye, Sir, have you had the Impudence to marry my Daughter, Sir? [To Bredwel, who with Diana kneels.

Bred. Yes, Sir, and humbly ask your Pardon, and your Blessing—

Sir Feeb. You will ha’t, whether I will or not—rise, you are still too hard for us: Come, Sir, forgive your Nephew—

Sir Cau. Well, Sir, I will—but all this while you little think the
Tribulation I am in, my Lady has forsworn my Bed.

Sir Feeb. Indeed, Sir, the wiser she.

Sir Cau. For only performing my Promise to this Gentleman.

Sir Feeb. Ay, you showed her the Difference, Sir; you’re a wise man. Come, dry your Eyes—and rest your self contented, we are a couple of old Coxcombs; d’ye Hear, Sir, Coxcombs.

Sir Cau. I grant it, Sir; and if I die, Sir, I bequeath my Lady to you—with my whole Estate—my Nephew has too much already for a Fool. [To Gayman.

Gay. I thank you, Sir—do you consent, my Julia?

L. Ful. No, Sir—you do not like me—a canvas Bag of wooden Ladles were a better Bed-fellow.

Gay. Cruel Tormenter! Oh, I could kill myself with shame and anger!

L. Ful. Come hither, Bredwel—witness for my Honour—that I had no design upon his Person, but that of trying his Constancy.

Bred. Believe me, Sir, ‘tis true—I feigned a danger near—just as you got to bed—and I was the kind Devil, Sir, that brought the Gold to you.

Bea. And you were one of the Devils that beat me, and the Captain here, Sir?

Gay. No truly, Sir, those were some I hired—to beat you for abusing me to day.

Noi. To make you ‘mends, Sir, I bring you the certain News of the death of Sir Thomas Gayman, your Uncle, who has left you Two thousand pounds a year—

Gay. I thank you, Sir—I heard the news before.

Sir Cau. How’s this; Mr. Gayman, my Lady’s first Lover? I find, Sir Feeble, we were a couple of old Fools indeed, to think at our Age to cozen two lusty young Fellows of their Mistresses; ‘tis no wonder that both the Men and the Women have been too hard for us; we are not fit Matches for either, that’s the truth on’t.

The Warrior needs must to his Rival yield, Who comes with blunted Weapons to the Field.

EPILOGUE.

Written by a Person of Quality, Spoken by Mr. Betterton.

Long have we turn’d the point of our just Rage
On the half Wits, and Criticks of the Age.
Oft has the soft, insipid Sonneteer
In Nice and Flutter, seen his Fop-face here.
Well was the ignorant lampooning Pack
Of shatterhead Rhymers whip’d on Craffey’s back;
But such a trouble Weed is Poetaster,
The lower ‘tis cut down, it grows the faster.
Though Satir then had such a plenteous crop,
An After Math of Coxcombs is come up;
Who not content false Poetry to renew,
By sottish Censures wou’d condemn the true.
Let writing like a Gentleman—fine appear,
But must you needs judge too en Cavalier?
_These whiffling Criticks, ‘tis our Auth’ress fears,
And humbly begs a Trial by her Peers:
Or let a Pole of Fools her fate pronounce,
There’s no great harm in a good quiet Dunce.
But shield her, Heaven! from the left-handed blow
Of airy Blockheads who pretend to know.
On downright Dulness let her rather split,
Than be Fop-mangled under colour of Wit.

Hear me, ye Scribling Beaus,—
Why will you in sheer Rhyme, without one stroke |
Of Poetry, Ladies just Disdain provoke, |
And address Songs to whom you never spoke? |
In doleful Hymns for dying Felons fit,
Why do you tax their Eyes, and blame their Wit?
Unjustly of the Innocent you complain,
’.is Bulkers give, and Tubs must cure your pain.
Why in Lampoons will you your selves revile?
’.is true, none else will think it worth their while:
But thus you’re hid! oh, ‘tis a politick Fetch;
So some have hang’d themselves to ease_ Jack Ketch.
Justly your Friends and Mistresses you blame, |
For being so they well deserve the shame, |
’.is the worst scandal to have borne that name. |
[See the late Satir on Poetry]
At Poetry of late, and such whose Skill |
Excels your own, you dart a feeble Quill; |
Well may you rail at what you ape so ill. |
With virtuous Women, and all Men of Worth,
You’re in a state of mortal War by Birth.
Nature in all her Atom-Fights ne’er knew
Two things so opposite as Them and You.
On such your Muse her utmost fury spends,
They’re slander’d worse than any but your Friends.
More years may teach you better; the mean while,
If you can’t mend your Morals, mend your Style.