Transcriber’s Note:
In addition to the ordinary page numbers, the printed text labeled the recto (odd) pages of the first two leaves of each 8-page signature. These will appear in the right margin as A, A2...
The play is in mixed prose and verse, but the original text was printed as if in verse throughout. This format has been retained, but prose passages are given here without capitalized line-beginnings.
A few typographical errors have been corrected. They are shown in the text with popups.

Series Five:

Drama

No. 2

Henry Nevil Payne, The Fatal Jealousie (1673)

With an Introduction by

Willard Thorp

The Augustan Reprint Society

November, 1948
Price One Dollar

GENERAL EDITORS
Richard C. Boys, University of Michigan
Edward Niles Hooker, University of California, Los Angeles
H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., University of California, Los Angeles
ASSISTANT EDITOR
W. Earl Britton, University of Michigan
ADVISORY EDITORS
Emmett L. Avery, State College of Washington
Benjamin Boyce, University of Nebraska
Louis I. Bredvold, University of Michigan
Cleanth Brooks, Yale University
James L. Clifford, Columbia University
Arthur Friedman, University of Chicago
Samuel H. Monk, University of Minnesota
Ernest Mossner, University of Texas
James Sutherland, Queen Mary College, London

Lithoprinted from copy supplied by author
by
Edwards Brothers, Inc.
Ann Arbor, Michigan, U.S.A.
1949

[Introduction]

[The Fatal Jealousie]
[Dramatis Personae]
[Prologue]

ACT I

[The Curtain drawn Discovers Don Antonio and Cælia in Morning-Gowns. Chamber and Bed.]

[The Scene changes, Discovers Jasper, as from Bed, Buttoning himself.]

ACT II

[Enter Jasper and the Witch.]

ACT III

[Enter Don Gerardo with a Book in his Hand.]

ACT IV

[Cælia on a Couch, Flora by her.]

ACT V

[Cælia Discover’d in Bed, Flora by her.]

[Epilogue]

[List of ARS titles]

[INTRODUCTION]

None of Henry Nevil Payne's plays, The Fatal Jealousie (1673), The Morning Ramble (1673), The Siege of Constantinople (1675), bears his name on the title-page. Plenty of external evidence exists, however, to prove his claim to them. John Downes, in Roscius Anglicanus (1708), has this to say: "Loves Jealousy [i.e. The Fatal Jealousy], and The Morning Ramble. Written by Mr. Nevil Pain. Both were very well Acted, but after their first run, were laid aside, to make Room for others; the Company having then plenty of new Poets" (ed. Montague Summers, London, n.d., pp. 33-34). "After the Tempest, came the Siege of Constantinople, Wrote by Mr. Nevill Pain" (ibid., p. 35). Langbaine's An Account of the English Dramatick Poets (1691) gives no author for The Siege of Constantinople, but says of The Fatal Jealousy that it is "ascribed by some to Mr. Pane" (p. 531) and of The Morning Ramble that this "Play is said to be written by One Mr. Pane, and may be accounted a good Comedy" (p. 541).

We do not have to depend on the early historians of the English drama for certain knowledge that Payne was for a time a dramatist. Though his brief excursion into the theater must later have seemed to him a minor episode in his life, Payne's enemies were aware of the fact that he was a playwright and have written their knowledge into the record of his treasonable activities. For example, the author of a burlesque life of Payne, which contains, so far as I know, the only connected account of his activities, makes this useful remark: "Then [after his return from Ireland in 1672] he composes a Tragedy of a certain Emperour of Constantinople, whom he never knew; but in whose person he vilifies a certain Prince [Charles II], whom he very well knows" (Modesty Triumphing over Impudence ... 1680, pp. 18-19).

As an agent of the Catholic party, Payne had excellent reasons for wishing to keep his affairs well veiled. What we know of his life has had to be pieced together from information found in state papers, court records, and "histories" of the branches of the damnable Popish plots.[*] The date of his birth is not known, nor of his death, unless Summers was correct in giving it (without supporting evidence) as 1710 (The Works of Aphra Behn, 1915, V, 519).

Payne's first opportunity to serve the Catholic party came, apparently, in 1670, when he went to Ireland in the employ of Sir Elisha Leighton, who was private secretary to the new lord lieutenant, Lord Berkeley. By April 1672 Berkeley's pro-Catholic rule had so alienated the city council of Dublin that he was ordered to return to England and the Earl of Essex was sent out in his place. From Essex we learn that Payne was deeply involved in the machinations of Berkeley and that he continued to stir up trouble in Ireland even after his return to England.

Back in England, possibly by mid-May, 1672, Payne must have plunged at once into work for the theater. The Fatal Jealousy was performed at the Duke's Theatre in Dorset Garden in August 1672 and The Morning Ramble was shown at the same theater three months later. Both plays were performed before the King (Allerdyce Nicoll, A History of Restoration Drama, 1923, p. 309). Payne's third and last play, The Siege of Constantinople, which reached the stage in November 1674, is of particular interest in view of his long association with the cause of James, Duke of York. Payne found his plot in the General Historie of the Turkes by Knolles, but he altered history to produce a work which would compliment James. It is significant that there is no prototype in Knolles for Thomazo (James), the brother of the last Christian emperor of Constantinople (Charles). At the end of the play the Turks conquer the city (sc., the Dutch and London) and the Emperor is slain. Here was a warning to Englishmen of what would happen if their double-dealing "Lord Chancellor" (Shaftesbury)--the villain of the piece--were to succeed in alienating the two royal brothers.

During the years 1678-1680 Payne's name dodges in and out of the thousands of words written about the Popish plot. He was pretty certainly a friend of Edward Coleman (Secretary to the Duchess of York) who was executed for treason in December, 1678. After a hearing before the Privy Council, Payne was held over for trial and imprisoned in the King's Bench. Confinement did not in the least hinder him from giving aid to the Catholic party in organizing its counter-attack. According to Mr. Tho. Dangerfields Particular Narrative (1679) he was one of the chief devisers of the Presbyterian Plot and, as "chief Pen-man" for the Catholics, the author of several "scandalous books" about their enemies. Payne was again before the Privy Council in November 1679, but eventually all the principals in the Catholic plots to discredit the government were released.

After the accession of James II Payne kept more respectable company. References to him during these years say nothing about any work for the theater, but his pen was still busy--from 1685 to 1687 in the cause of religious toleration. In 1685 the Duke of Buckingham published A Short Discourse upon the Reasonableness of Men's having a Religion or Worship of God. A portion of this pamphlet had been written as a letter to Payne. When Buckingham's work brought on a pamphlet war, Payne (together with William Penn) rushed to his defence. The debate grew hotter when James made the first Declaration of Indulgence in April 1687. Payne was one of the chief controversialists in the war of words that followed. Another literary friend of these years, and an extravagant admirer of his devotion to the Stuarts, was Aphra Behn. She dedicated her Fair Jilt to Payne in 1688 in terms which suggest that he had favored her in tangible ways.

With the deposition of James, the years of Payne's greatest activity begin. The story of his life for the next twelve years is intricate and exciting, for he has now moved out of the company of writers into the dark world of secret agents and prison-guards. Though he was confined in the Fleet by January 1688/89, Payne went boldly ahead with plans for what would be the first Jacobite conspiracy, the Montgomery Plot. By some means he contrived to escape to Scotland, where his plans had, of course, more fertile soil in which to grow. Once more in custody, he was moved from one prison to another, but the Privy Council was incapable of persuading the Scottish authorities to "put the rogue to it." As more and more evidence came out showing how deeply involved Payne was in the Montgomery Plot, the Scottish Privy Council finally was prevailed upon to put Payne to the torture. On Dec. 10, 1690, he bore the pain of two hours under thumb and leg screws with such fortitude that some of the Councilors were "brangled" and believed that his denials must be the words of an honest man. The Earl of Crawford, one of the witnesses to this, the last occasion in Britain in which a political prisoner was tortured, was so moved that he reported to the Earl of Melville that such manly resolution could come only from a deep religious fervor: "[Payne] did conceive he was acting a thing not only generous towards his friends and accomplices, but likewise so meritorious, that he would thereby save his soule, and be canoniz'd among the saints" (Letters ... to George Earl of Melville, Bannatyne Club, 1843, pp. 582-3).

For nearly eleven years more Payne was moved from one Scottish prison to another, while the Scottish Privy Council sought to turn him over to the English and the Privy Council in London endeavored to force him to trial in Scotland. The truth is that Jacobitism was so rife in high places that they whose duty it would be to prosecute him feared what might happen if he were brought to the bar.

Finally, in February 1700/01, Payne was released. He made his way to the Stuart court at St. Germain, whose incorruptible secret agent he had been for twelve years. It was fitting that the last information we have of him during his life is derived from his "Brief memorial by way of preface to some proposals for your Majesty's service," a detailed letter of advice instructing the exiled king how he might yet recapture his throne (printed in Original Papers; containing the Secret History of Great Britain, 1775, I, 602-5). When last heard from, Payne had yet another conspiracy planned and ripened, to submit to his sovereign's approval.

Payne's Fatal Jealousy has intrinsic merit. If he had written more works for the theater, he might have been remembered with Southerne and possibly with Otway. But for the scholar this tragedy will be chiefly interesting for the Shakespearean influences to be found in it. Evidently Payne held Shakespeare in great reverence, and the result is that The Fatal Jealousy is one of the earliest examples of the return to the Shakespearean norm in tragedy after the interlude of the heroic play. Payne ridicules the love and honor theme in The Morning Ramble where he makes Rose say (p. 54):

Love and Honour are the two great Wheels, on which all business moves. The Tradesman cheats you upon his Honour, and like a Lord swears by that, but that he particularly loves you, you should not have it so. No Tragedy, Comedy, Farse, Demi-Farse, or Song nowadayes, but is full of Love and Honour: Your Coffee-drinking Crop-ear'd Little Banded-Secretary, that pretends not to know more of Honour than it's Name, will out of abundance of Love be still sighing and groaning for the Honour of the Nation.

The speaker of the Epilogue to The Fatal Jealousy pointedly reminds the audience that they have listened to a genuine tragedy and not to an heroic play. Its author has not relied on the "rules of art," but hopes he may have succeeded by some "Trick of Nature."

Most obvious of the Shakespearean influences is the jealousy theme in which Don Antonio is modelled on Othello, Caelia on Desdemona, and Jasper on Iago. My colleague, Professor E.L. Hubler, who has a vast deal of the Shakespearean text in his memory, finds twenty-two possible echoes or parallels. Of these we agree that at least fourteen are certain. The influences strike in most impressively from Othello, Hamlet, Much Ado, Midsummer Night's Dream, and The Tempest. Let me cite two or three unmistakable echoes. Jasper's manner of arousing Antonio's jealousy (pp. 17-19) and even his words recall Iago's mental torturing of the Moor in Othello, III, 3. Throughout Gerardo's soliloquy on death, at the opening of Act III, there is continuous reference to Hamlet's "To be or not to be." The antecedent of "madness methodiz'd" (p. 35) is easily spotted, as is the parallel between Flora's dream (p. 63) which will not leave her head and the song that will not go from Desdemona's mind. So far as I can discover, the seekers for Shakespearean allusions in seventeenth-century writing have not located this rich mine.

It is to be regretted that when The Fatal Jealousy came to the stage the company had, as Downes says, "plenty of new poets," and so the play was laid aside after the first run. The performance must have been brilliant. The greatest of Restoration stage villains, Sandford, played Jasper. The parts of Caelia, Eugenia, and the Witch were taken by veteran actors. "Mr. Nath. Leigh" made his second appearance on the stage in this performance as Captain of the Watch. The lecherous Nurse to Caelia was played by the famous Nokes whose sobriquet of "Nurse Nokes" may have come to him with this rôle rather than from the part he took, seven years later, in Otway's Caius Marius.

The text of The Fatal Jealousy presents no special difficulties. Such slight variations as I have found among the eleven copies I have examined--chiefly dropped letters and the imperfect impression of some words--can be accounted for as accidents to be expected in the printing off of the sheets of a single edition. There seems to be no significance in the fact that the title-page in some copies shows an ornament placed between the second rule and the word London.

The copy of the play here reproduced is owned by the University of Michigan, and is reprinted by permission.

WILLARD THORP
Princeton University

[*] For this biographical sketch of Payne I have drawn on my "Henry Nevil Payne, Dramatist and Jacobite Conspirator," published in The Parrott Presentation Volume, Princeton, 1935, pp. 347-381.

THE

Fatal Jealousie.

A

TRAGEDY.

Acted at the Duke’s Theatre.

Licensed Novemb. 22, 1672.

Roger L’Estrange.

LONDON,

Printed for Thomas Dring, at the White
Lyon, next Chancery-Lane end in
Fleet-street. 1673.

[The Actors Names.]

Women.

[PROLOGUE]

By Mr. Smith.

TO you, great Sovereign Wits, that have such sway,
Without Controul to save, or damn a Play;
That with a pish, my Anthony, or so,
Can the best Rally’d sence at once or’e throw;
And by this pow’r, that none must question now,
Have made the most Rebellious Writers bow,
Our Author, here his low Submission brings,
Begging your pass, calls you the Stages Kings;
He sayes, nay, on a Play-Book, swears it too,
Your pox uppo’nt damn it, what’s here to do?
Your nods, your winks, nay, your least signs of Wit,
Are truer Reason than e’re Poet writ,
And he observes do much more sway the Pit.
For sitting there h’ has seen the lesser gang
Of Callow Criticks down their heads to bang;
Lending long Ears to all that you should say,
So understand, yet never hear the Play:
Then in the Tavern swear their time they’ve lost,
And Curse the Poet put e’m to that cost.
And if one would their just Exceptions know,
They heard such, such, or such a one say so;
And thus in time by your dislikes they rise,
To be thought Judges, though indeed but spyes.
This is not fair your Subjects to betray
To those that strive to Rival you in sway;
That will in time by your expence of wit,
Usurp or’e us, and your successors sit.
These and some other dangers to remove,
We beg that though this Play you disapprove,
Say nothing of it here, and when you’re gone,
We give that leave you’le take to cry it down;
Thus you preserve your pow’r, and we shall be
From Fopps, and Demi-Criticks Censure free.
Subdu’d by force, we Tyrants thus obey,
But Ladys, you like lawful Monarches sway,
You Rule by Love, and Pardon faults with ease,
In Subjects that do all they can to please.
By faction they condemn, you by our Peers,
And he is guilty sure such Trial fears:
And though our Author pleads not guilty now.
And to his Tryal stands, he hopes that you,
Will not too strictly his accusers hear,
For if this Play can draw from you a Tear,
He’l slight the Wits, Half-Wits, and Criticks too;
And Judge his strength by his well pleasing you.

[THE]

Fatal Jealousie.

Act the First. Scene the First.

The Curtain drawn Discovers Don Antonio and Cælia in Morning-Gowns. Chamber and Bed.

Cæl.
MY Lord, you well may blame my conduct of that bus’ness,
Since it produc’d such dismal Accidents,
As my heart trembles but to think upon;
Yet for Don Lewis’s Innocence and mine,
In the contrivance of that Fatal Meeting;
I must for ever, during Life, be Champion.
And, as he with his dying breath protested,
He ne’re meant wrong to you; so am I ready
To dye a Martyr to my Innocence.

Anto. Come, come, these are but wyles to Palliate things,
Can you believe me stupid, or an Ass?
To think my Wife should meet a Man i’ th’ Night;
Nay, more; a Man that was my seeming Friend;
Yet taken in at Window privately!
Nay, which was most, stay with him two full hours,
And in a Room made proper by a Bed,
And yet not Cuckold me; the thing’s too plain,
I do not doubt the deed, which Iv’e Reveng’d
In part, by killing him: No, I am mad,
That you should think so meanly still of me,
As to hope time may alter my belief;
Which is by such unerring Reasons fixt:
Or else that you suspect my Truth, when I have sworn
By all things sacred; nay upon my Honour
(Which I am so Jealous of) that if you would
Relate the truth of your so close amours,
I from my memory would blot it all,
And look on you at worst, but as the Widdow
Of your dead Couzen Lewis.

Cæl.Good my Lord,
Forbear to use these killing Arguments,
Which every moment give me many Deaths,
Rather be like your self, that’s Gen’rous,
And kill me once for all; torment me not
By giving no belief, either to Vows
Or Actions that have spoke my Innocence:
Reflect (my Lord) on the unwearied pains
Iv’e took to gain your pardon for his Death.
Think with what patience I’ve suffer’d still
Your often starts of Passion, which sometimes
Have ne’re produc’d th’ effects of Cruelty.
And without boast, my Lord, you well do know
My Friends were much too strong for yours at Court,
Then had I but made known your severe Carriage,
Or suffer’d your surprizal—’tis too plain;
Yoor Life had been a forfeit to the Law.
And were I but the wanton Wife you think me,
What wou’d more welcome be then that Revenge—
Here on my knees I beg again, my Lord,
You would perswade your self, that what I told you
Was cause of that close meeting, was so truly,
And no invention; and as this Day
Began our Nuptial Joys, so let it end
Our Marriage Discords; then shall I have cause
To keep it Annually a Festival;
In thanks to Heav’n for two such mighty Blessings.

Anto. Cælia, stand up, I will perswade my self.
By this —— I will as much, as e’re I can,

[Kisses her.

That thou art Innocent, for if thou bee’st not,
What Woman in the World ought to be thought so?
But prethee be discreet, mannage thy Actions
With strictest Rules of Prudence, for if not,
Like to a Bow or’e-bent, I shall start back,
And break with passion on thee: wilt thou be careful?

Cæl. Oh! I am paid for all my sufferings,
This kindness does or’e-joy me, which, my Lord,
Let me for ever lose when any Act
Of mine, shall justly make a forfeit of it.

Enter Flora.

Flor. My Lord, here’s Don Gerardo come to see you.

Anto. Admit him in.

[Exit Flora.

Cæl.I will retire, my Lord.

Anto. You need not, Cælia.

[Enter Gerardo.

Welcome, Gerardo, this is like a Friend,
That name should know no Ceremonious Laws,
Let them make formal Visits that maintain,
As formal Friendships; ours is try’d and true.

Gerar. This, as I take it, was your Wedding-day,
At which (your pardon, Madam, for a truth.)
I was a Jealous waiter; your great worth
Made me to fear I then had lost a Friend,
And in that room should an acquaintance find.

Cæl. But now, my Lord, you see how you mistook,
I was a Rival to his Mistresses,
But to his Friends, one to increase their number.

Ger. I find the truth so great, I wish you may
Live long and happy to possess that place;
Yet I’le confess I did not lose my fears,
Till my dear Friend was pleas’d to use my Sword,
As Second, in the Quarrel with your Kinsman,
The Unfortunate Don Lewis; and I protest
Such Joy I met to be employ’d by him,
That I ne’re sought to know what caus’d the quarrel.

Cæl. My Lord, I beg your pardon,
I have some little bus’ness in my Closet
Which forces me retire.

Ger. Your Lady looks as if she were displeas’d.

Anto. That Kinsman whom I slew is never nam’d,
But if she hears it she avoids the place.

Ger. I’m troubled much to be th’ occasion now.

Anto. No matter, Friend, she only knows the cause,
Why from such Friendship we grew Enemies,
And there is reason why she should be griev’d.

Ger. That sudden and so secret Quarrel
Did much amaze all Naples;
And I (as Actor in it) often have been prest
To tell the cause, which yet I never could.

Anto. No, Friend, nor never must:
The Gen’rous Lewis; so I’le call him now,
Since he so bravely dy’d, was alwayes just
During that little time he breath’d this Air;
After his mortal Wound, for he Related
A Story of it fitted us for pardon:
Yet never told that Secret, only known
On Earth, to him, to Cælia and my self.

Ger. I’me not inquisitive, nor never was,
There may be secrets fit for no Mans hearing.
And ’tis an Act of Friendship full as great
To tell a Friend I hide a secret from him,
As to Relate it, since they both shew Candor—

Anto. Happy Antonio, in a Friend so just!

Ger. Happy Gerardo, rather, that can say
He’s sure he has a Friend, that dares employ him;
For confidence in Friends makes Friendship sure.

Anto. And dearest Friend, I’le not doubt yours so much,
To think you would not use this Life of mine,
As ’twere your own in any thing concerns you.

Ger. Ne’re doubt it, Friend, I soon shall find occasion
Boldly to use the power, and to speak truth;
My coming now was chiefly to that purpose;
Though I intended to spend this day too
In Recreation with you, and to see you Bedded,
Like a new Bride and Bride-groom,
Then wishing you long: long and lasting Joys,
Retire, and wish to Copy out your Life.

Anto. Has Don Gerardo Service for Antonio,
His own Antonio and yet defers to name it?
Speak your Commands, that I as swift may flye
To put ’em into Action as I did
At first to meet those pleasures Lovers long for.

Ger. My fears perswade me I shall speak too soon,
Yet dress your self, and come into the Garden,
I with impatience there will wait to tell you.

Anto. Go then, you shall not long be silent.

[Ex. Gerardo.

Who waits there?

[Enter Pedro, and Exit.

Pedro, call my Wife—
My Wife, said I! Gerardo, didst thou know
The secret fears contain’d within this Bosome,
Thou’dst sooner pitty me, than wish my Life:
How can I think her story of the Jewels,
And other matters ’bout her Fathers Will,
Could have produc’d so scandalous a Meeting?
And yet she still avows it! Oh, Jealousie!
Where will these panting fears still hurry me?
I hourly seek to find what I wou’d give,
A thousand Worlds my heart would ne’re believe;
And yet for what do I thus vex my self?
For that, which if ’twas gone, I cou’d not miss;
No, would I could, for then I’de never fear,
But when I found her Honour gone astray,
I’d send her Life to fetch mine back again.

Enter Cælia.

Cæl. What’s your Command, my Lord?

Anto. Prethee, my Dear, do not retire too much,
But shew a merry freedom to our Friends,
That they may think us happy, themselves welcome.

Cæl. My Lord, I shall, and reason have to do it;
But I desire you would dispence my absence,
Only a little time, I being preparing
A general Confession I shall make to Morrow.

Anto. You’l be too long about it.

Cæl. No, my Lord, I take the shortest way
In writing what my thoughts can re-collect.

Ant. You would not let me read it, when y’have done?

Cæl. I do confess I should be loath, my Lord.
But yet from any Sin concerns your self,
I am as free as are the purer Angels,
Or may I find no profit by my Prayers.

Anto. I will believe thee; go, make haste and do it.

[Ex. Cælia.

Yet, if’t be possible, I’m resolv’d to see it;
’Twill Cure my fears, perhaps, or change their Natures,
And make ’em certainties the lesser evil cause sooner Cur’d:
For Jealousies with fear doth plague the mind,
But that is Cur’d when certainties we find.

[Ex. Anto.

[The Scene changes, Discovers Jasper, as from Bed, Buttoning himself.]

Jasp. Oh, plague o’this Old Bitch, she has kept me
so awake with her Coughing all Night, that I
have quite out-slept my self.

[Looks on’s Watch.

By Heav’n near Ten a Clock, and she not gone
yet—plague on her—she’l be catch’d, and I shall
be turn’d away—why Nurse—make haste, ’tis Ten a
clock and past, you will be wanting.

Nurse within. That cannot be, alas, the times but short
that I’ve been with thee, my Dear.

Jasp. No, perhaps you think so;
but let me ever want money to drink,
if I have not thought the time longer
then her Life has been, and that began beyond the mem’ry
of man. What drudgery am I forc’d to undergo to
get a little money to support me—that I may Live to
watch all apted times for my Revenge on this whole
family, who Rise upon the Ruines of our House.
This Nurse of Ninety never stayes with me but I’de as
live have been Rid by a Night-Mare.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. What’s that, Night-Mare? Am I a Night-Mare?

Jasp. No, Nurse, I said, I was troubl’d with a Night-Mare,
and should be worse, were it not for thy Company.

Nurse. Nay, I am good Friend of thine every way.

Jasp. That’s true; but Nurse make haste, for I am
damnably afraid Flora suspects us e’re since
she took me in your Chamber, and if she shou’d
take you here, and tell my Lady, I should be turn’d
away, for you know she loves me not e’re since I
gave my Lord notice of her meeting Don Lewis,
to give him the money and Jewels, her Father
left privately in her hands for him when he dy’d.

Nurse. I Chuck, but why didst thou do so?

Jasp. In hopes to have got some of the money for my
discovery, what made her tempt me with the
trust of money, and give me none to keep Counsel.
But prethee Nurse be gone.

Nurse. I, give me but one buss, and I will.

[Kisses him, and is going.

Jasp. What a belch was there to perfume it?

[She comes back.

Nurse. Sweet Rogue, I cannot go without the other kiss.

Jasp. Oh, Nurse! you will undo me; prethee no more.

Nurse. What, Rascal, slight my favours? you shall repent it.

Jasp. No, Nurse, think not so, but—

Flora within.

Why, Nurse, Nurse, my Lady wants you; come away there,
I know where you have been all Night.

Jasp. Why, there ’tis—this is what I fear’d, I am undone,
a plague of Cubbard Love—step into the Closet.

Nurse. What’s that you say, Cubbard Love?

Jasp. No, no, prethee no Arguments, but step into the Closet.

Flora within. Why, Nurse, I say! why don’t you come away?
My Lady wants you.

[Jasper goes to the Door.

Jasp. Flora, what’s the matter with you? Nurse is not here;
do but come in and see.

[Enter Flora.

Flor. Come, come, she must be here; for she
was not in her own Bed to Night, and where should
she be, but with you?

Jasp. With me! what the Devil should she do with me?
Can’t her Old Chopps mumble her Beads o’re, but I
must keep count of her Pater Nosters: No, no, she’s
gon on Pilgrimage to some Shrine, to beg Children
for my Lady; ’tis a devout Old Woman.

Flor. Devout! I, her Devotion and yours are much alike,
the Fit ne’re took you but once in your Lives, and
then, ’tis true you wept at Prayers, that was, at your
own Christnings.

Jasp. Prethee more Charity, sweet dear Flora; come, let
me kiss thee.

Flor. Pray forbear, I’de sooner kiss a Horse.

Jasp. Why so scornful, dear Flora?

Flor. That’s not my bus’ness; come, tell me, where’s the Nurse?

Jasp. Prethee, why dost ask me for the Nurse? Dost think
i am so hot to make Love to a Monument? Why, she’s
old enough to be Mother of all Mankind; her skin’s
turn’d to parchment, he that should enjoy her, had as
good lye with a bundle of Old Records. In truth, she’s
fit for nothing now, but to be hang’d up amongst the
monsters in a ’Pothecaries Shop, where, with abuse to
the Beast, she would be taken for a large Apes skin stufft
with Hay. Ah, Flora, if she were as Young as thou art,
then’t might be likely, I might find her when she was lost.

Flor. Well, if she be not here now, I’m sure it was not for
nothing you once lost your way into her Chamber,
and staid all Night.

Jasp. Meer Drunkenness, by this Light, Flora! Why, if it had
been a Vault full of Dead Carkasses, I should have slipt
into it in the pickle I was in—Nay, for ought I know,
with more pleasure too.

[Enter Nurse.

Nurse. Now out upon you for a Rogue,
there’s no enduring this.

Jasp. Do but hear me, Nurse.

Flor. Ay, hear him, Nurse, he’l be sure to recant and
swear you’re as sweet as—a—fogh—so sweet—

Nurse. What, Hussy, dare you abuse me—I that gave suck
to my Lady before thou wast born—you Young Whore.

Flor. Young Whore! why not Old Whore, Nurse, as well as
young Whore?

Nurse. You damn’d Young Slut, I’le tear out your Eyes.

Flor. My Feet shall save my Eyes, except you can out-run
me to my Lady.

[Exit Flora.

Jasp. Have not you made fine work now? I but dissembled
to take off suspition—and you must shew your self,
i’m sure I shall be turn’d away for your folly.

Nurse. But dissembled, said you? Marry, there’s dissembling indeed.

Jasp. Nay, Nurse, consider, dost think I would have spoke so
in thy hearing, had it been for any other thing? But
prethee kiss me—I protest thou’rt as sweet as Arsifettito.

Nurse. Arsifettito! What’s that?

Jasp. A Rich perfume the Chymists make, and good against
fits o’ th’ Mother. But what shall I do now? I shall
be turn’d away.

Nurse. I’le warrant thee, I’le place thee with Eugenia, she
shall take care of thee for mine and a Friends sake
of hers.

Jasp. Ay, ay, that’s Francisco; but you have promis’d me
often to tell me a secret concerns them; prethee
do’t now, Nurse.

Nurse. But will you ne’re speak on’t? If you do, I shall
get no more money for thee, Jasper; that’s the way,
i get all, Chuck; no, no, no matter what’s between them,
trust thou to me.

Jasp. Well, Nurse, I thought you had Lov’d me, but I see
you do not; you know I can keep secrets.

Nurse. Ay, but this is such a one I dare not tell it; besides,
it was not Eugenias fault at first—alas, poor
fool, she was in a sad taking, when she found
her Couzen Francisco in Bed with her.

Jasp. In Bed, sayst thou?

Nurse. Lord bless me! what have I done? If you should
tell now.

Jasp. Ne’re fear it, tell me all: I would not for the
world have mist this Story, it makes a full amends
for all my Crosses; come, Nurse, prethee quickly
tell me all passages.

Nurse. I tell no more, my mind misgives me I’ve said
too much already.

Jasp. Not tell me more, Old Beldame? Speak it quickly,
or what I know shall soon unto my Lord.

Nurse. How now! Is this dissembling too?

Jasp. No, ’tis as great a truth as what you told me of,
Don Francisco’s Bedding with Eugenia; tell me the
rest, and by it save your Life.

Nurse. Dear Jasper, be not angry, and I will.

Jasp. Come, Nurse, do it, and then we’l kiss and be Friends.
I shall have use of her.

[Aside.

Nurse. Now thou shalt have my heart; and thus it is:
Don Francisco doth often meet Eugenia i’th’
garden, who, to avoid suspition, after her Sisters
in Bed, by my means gets her Night-Gown, and
puts it on so to avoid being known, shou’d any see her.

Jasp. Oh, Excellent! when do they meet again?

Nurse. I’ve promis’d him this Night, though she was loath,
till I told her he would but take his leave, for she’s
grown a little backward, now she’s to marry Don Gerardo.

Jasp. Is she to marry him, sayst thou?

Nurse. I, sure, for he makes Love to her, and she’s so hot
upon’t, that she vows after this Night never to meet
Francisco any more; but I’le go Live with her,
and so shalt thou.

Jasp. Ay, so I will—i’th’ Garden, sayst thou, and in her
sisters Gown, no body with them!

Nurse Yes, the Lord Sebastian, he knows all, and alwayes
waits upon ’em.

Jasp. That’s well, keep thou the secret close, and ne’re fear me;
but if my Lord should ask suspitiously questions
about his Wife—name Pedro to him, say, when he’s
from Home, that Fellow stayes too long within her
chamber, and say, that Flora waits; leave me to prove
it true.

Nurse. Why, ’tis not so, I dare not tell my Lord so damn’d a Lye.

Jasp. Why? Y’are a Fool, there shall no hurt come of it,
only we’l be Reveng’d of Pedro, and that Slut, for
they’re our Enemies; besides, if you won’t, I’le swear
you told me so, and moreover, let him know all the
rest y’have told me.

Nurse. Nay, don’t be angry, and I’le do any thing.

Enter Cælia, Pedro, and Flora.

Cæl. Oh, thou Old doting Fool! what, still remain here!
What punishment is proper for thy Age? As for you,
Sirrah, I believe my Lord will find a way quickly to
send you packing.

Jasp. It may be so, but ’tis without a cause.

Cæl. Impudent Villain! how I do hate thy sight.
Follow you me.

[To Nurse.] [Ex. Cæl. Nurse, & Flora.

Ped. What, i’th’ dumps, Seignior! all a mort for your
mistress, faith man, take it not so to heart, there are others
i’th’ World as Young, though few may be as handsome.

Jasp. Ay, Sir, ’tis to be suppos’d; you can boast it by Experience,
there are Young Ladies for spruce Pedro’s—Jasper—
must be content with their Nurses.

Ped. Content, say you? I, Marry, if she content you not, the
Devil can’t; why, she’s a Dish of variety, like a huge
olio; there’s all Ages of Women in her. Thou art
the happiest man in a Mistress, Jasper—faith, I envy thee.

Jasp. ’Tis very well.

Ped. Not too well neither.

Jasp. You may laugh; you stand on the top of Favour,
have a care of falling down, I may catch you
one day.

Ped. No, never with an Old Woman; it’s worse then
committing Incest; to Cuckold, for ought I know, a dozen Generations.

Jasp. Rest you merry, I can leave you.

Ped. But I’le not quit you so.

[Exeunt.

Enter Antonio and Gerardo Discoursing.

Ger. In this dear Friend, consists my happiness;
Therefore deny me not—Why pause you, Sir?
My fears are come about—

Anto. What, hath Eugenia given her consent?

Ger. I say not so, my Lord, but her denyals
Were spoke so faintly, I Interpret well.

Anto. Dear Friend, I am afraid you do mistake
The Object of your Joyes, let me perswade
You to believe, there’s not that happiness
In Marriage-Beds, as single People guess,
No, no, so far from that, that thousands be
Flatter’d by hopes to endless misery.
And where there’s two obtain their hearts desire,
Ten thousand miss it, and in grief expire.

Ger. Were these Positions true, there’s no man, sure,
If Widdowed once, could other Wives endure.
And yet we see the first depriv’d of Life,
There’s few that seek not for a second Wife.

Anto. ’Tis true, though strange, but yet our minds are such,
As alwayes find too little, or too much;
Desire’s a Monster, whose extended Maw
Is never fill’d, tho’ it doth all things draw:
For we with envious Eyes do others see,
Who want our ills, and think they happy be,
Till we possessing what we wish’d before,
Find our ills doubl’d, and so wish for more.

Ger. Suppose all true which you wou’d have me fear,
Ills in possession still the greatest are:
And my desires to such a height do rise,
T’ attain their ends, I shou’d all else despise.

Anto. Since y’are resolv’d, I’le not your ends deny,
But pray my words prove false when e’re you try;
Though well they speak, who say the damned State,
Chiefly consists in wishing things too late:
Eugenia’s Father left her to my care,
Which trust to end so well I did despair:
Then name the day of Marriage—

Ger.No delay
My thoughts admit; I wish it were to day.

Anto. That cannot be, to Morrow I approve.

Ger. Time will flye slow, though Impt with wings of Love.

Enter Cælia and Eugenia.

Cæl. My Lord, I beg your pardon for a short interruption.

Ger. Madam, ’tis I have cause to beg your pardon,
Thus to detain your Lord, on’s Wedding-day,
A Day in Justice should be wholly yours.

Cæl. My Lord is happy so to be detain’d
And I am alwayes happy when he’s so.
Whispers Anto. he takes a paper privately out of her pocket. But good, my Lord, your Ear—

Ger. Madam, if you repent not what y’have said,
In answer to those Vows of my Affection,
I then dare hope I may in time be happy.

Eugen. Tho’ I ne’re thought your words were further means,
Then to pass time away in Raillery;
Yet were my Answers such, as if you had
Told me a real Story of your Love:
And the same Answers I’le again renew;
My Will’s confin’d; my Fathers last Commands
Left me no Choice but anothers will;
If I were free, I then durst speak my thoughts:
But I, in all, my Brother must obey.

Ger. He checks your Actions only, thoughts are free,
Suppose him willing, would you favour me?

Eugen. But to suppose without his Will’s a Crime,
If I that supposition should declare.

Ger. I do confess I should be loath to own
That Blessing which I rate above my Life,
If ’twere bestow’d by any hands but yours;
Therefore by all your hopes I do conjure you,
If you dislike my Love, Command my silence.

Eugen. Interpret well my blushes, when I say
I cannot find a thought for such Commands.

Ger. Then I am happy ’bove the reach of Envy;
For I have his consent already granted,
He nam’d the day of Marriage as you enter’d.

Eugen. You see, my Lord, that I had cause for fear,
Since I’m bestow’d, and my consent ne’re askt.
Sure my dead Father ne’re design’d it so?

Ger. Madam, I beg your pardon, for a truth
Might well excuse your Brother in this matter;
I urg’d to him I doubted not your favour,
On which Condition he did grant me his.

Eugen. I shall hear further of it from himself,
Till when, I beg your pardon.

[Offers to go out.

Anto. Sister, pray stay, for I have bus’ness with you.
I know, my Dear, you never Lov’d that Fellow,
Which since you do not, though he serves me well,
Yet I’m resolv’d for this to part with him,
Tho’ I could think a Pension for your Nurse,
To keep her at a distance, were as well.

Cæl. Though now her dotage makes her want discretion,
Her Love to us was great.

Anto. Come, trouble not your self about it, he shall go.

Cæl. My Lord, I’le trouble you no further.

Ger. I’le wait upon you, Madam.

[Ex. Gerar. and Cæl.

Anto. Sister, you know your Father was my Friend,
And was so confident that I was his,
He trusted all your Fortunes in my hands,
Though he had Brothers Living when he Dy’d,
He told you too, and left it in his Will,
That what you had was mine, if you did Marry
Without my Approbation: Is’t not true?

Eugen. Sir, ’tis a truth I’m glad of.

Anto. These things your Kindred though, did call contrivance,
Which made their hatred rise so much against me,
It makes a few’d betwixt our Families,
Which soon would come to Blood, but for Respect
They bear my Wife, their Cozen.

Eugen. Brother, I cannot answer for their Actions,
My own Respects to you were never wanting.

Anto. I do not deny it, Sister; and to prove
I never did, nor will deserve worse from you,
If you are willing now to change your State,
And know a man preferr’d in your Election,
Let him have Blood and worth, you and your Fortune
I freely will resign into his hands.
Then truly speak your thoughts.

Eugen.Surely, my Lord,
You’d scarcely think I should be worth your care,
If I should choose before you nam’d one to me.

Anto. Sister, I see your Kindreds Jealousies
Partly infects you too; but to remove them,
What think you of Gerardo, for a Husband?
My wishes meet with yours, if he’s their Object;
You know I’m no Dissembler.

Eugen. Nor shall you find me so; for I confess
In this you prove your Kindness, Care, and Justice;
And I must meet it with my greatest thanks.

Anto. I’m joyful for it; to morrow is the day,
A private Wedding will prevent all Rumour,
You’d best withdraw then to provide your self.

[Ex. Eugen.

What Paper’s this I got out of her Pocket?
Pray Heaven it be the right; it is the same,
The very same —— what makes me tremble!
Is’t horror or desire, or both assault me?
Be it what it will, ’tis Hell to live in doubt;
But stay, my Conscience sayes ’tis Sacriledge—
What’s that? A word by cunning Priests invented
To keep the Cheats they live by from our knowledge;
As the Ægyptian did with Hieroglyfficks;
But be it what it will, a Name, or thing,
I’le read it, for’t may Cure my Jealousie,
And surely that exceeds Hells misery.
But to my Closet, where no Eye can see,
All are call’d Pious, who live scandal free.

[Exit.

Enter Eugenia and Nurse.

Eugen. Since he has promis’d but to take his leave,
And neither then, nor never urge more Sin,
I am content to give him this last meeting.

Nurse. He’l be a glad man, I’m sure—but what shall poor Jasper do?

Eugen. If he will marry you, I’le keep you both.

Nurse. Thank you, Madam, I’le tell him your good will.

[Exit.

Eugen. What by this cursed Sin am I reduc’d to?
To be a Slave to Slaves; nay, worse, a Bawd,
A Name so base, profest ones do detest it,
And yet I’m one, this cursed Hellish Hagg has made me so.
The first did sell, and then betray’d my Honour,
Yet thinks she has oblig’d me by the Action.
Nay, I am forc’t to say so now to please her;
Some heavenly Angel make me Chaste again,
Or make me nothing, I am resolv’d to try,
Before I’de still live Whore, I’de choose to dye.

Enter Jasper.

Jasp. I’m come to thank your Lady-ship for the great care,
Nurse sayes, you have of me; but faith, Madam, I
was ne’re made to be Steel to a Tinder-Box; she’s
meer Touch-wood; no, I’m not for Marrying great
grannums: But if your Lady-ship knows any Young
Dame, that wants a strong back to do her drudgery,
though it be in her Lord’s absence, I’m content.

Eugen. What, is the Fellow mad?

Jasp. No, Madam, not mad at all, but can as soberly keep
councel as the best Young Gallant of ’em all; and am
as able to do the feat: Please your Lady-ship to try me,
and praise me as you find; if you dislike my work,
I’le lose my labour, and have nothing for my pains.

Eugen. Oh, strange, unheard-of Impudence! Out, Villain.

[Ex.

Jasp. So scornful! Villain! Nay, if you call me so, ’tis time
to be so; what a Devil ayls my face, that she contemns
me thus? May be my Nose is not long enough she thinks,
pox on her Pride, ’tis that or’e-comes her Leachery—I must
alter my Trade, for I was ne’re born I see to thrive by
love; then I’le set up a shop of hatred, and the Wares I
vent shall be Revenge, that may hit; but hold, my Lord.

Enter Antonio.

Anto. What have I got? Am I more satisfy’d
By this same Paper then I was before?
No, not at all; and yet why should I not?
There’s not a thought set down concerneth me—
Yet that’s her policy—
She either fear’d that I should get the Paper,
Or else on purpose did contrive I might;
But how can I know that? This Jealousie,
If it continue long, will make me mad.

Jasp. Well, the Devil has put him on this pin meerly
to do me a kindness.

Anto. And yet it must continue, who can Cure it?
Ay, there’s it, who can Cure it? Then I must be mad!
Nay, I’m mad already, stark mad!—

Jasp. My good Lord.

Anto. What’s the matter? I fear he heard me.

[Aside.

Jasp. I come to take leave of your Lordship, I have
enemies I hear have turn’d me going.

Anto. Is’t not deservedly, thou Goat?

Jasp. Yes, yes, it may be so, since they will have it so;
but if I had never seen, I had ne’re been turn’d
away for doing: If I were as ready to make
mischief, as I am fear’d to be; Nurse and I had not
been only the Sufferers.

Anto. Explain your Riddle, Sirrah.

Jasp. Nay, let my Tongue come out e’re I say any thing to
disquiet your Lordship, I love you better.

Anto. Disquiet me! What lyes within thy power to say that
can disquiet me?

Jasp. Nay, nothing it may be, my Lady is my Lady, and
you are a kind Lord, that’s all I know; so begging
your Lordships Discharge, I’m gone, and then their Fears are over.

Anto. Villain, thou’st given me poyson; my veins swell
with it, produce the Antidote, or I’le dissect thy Soul
to find it out; what is’t you know that can disquiet me?

Jasp. I know little, my Lord, to’ th’ purpose, besides, it will
but vex you, since there may be no harm in it.

Anto. Come, come, no going back, tell quickly what you know.

Jasp. I know, why, I know that my Lady hates me,
because I told your Lordship the time she was to
deliver the Jewels and Money to Don Lewis, and
still she calls me false in being true to you—but—

Anto. But what?

Jasp. But if I should say all I know—well, but let
that alone, good, my Lord, your Discharge.

Anto. Vile Dog, dost raise my Anger for to play with it?
I’le vent it upon thee then.