Chapter 37

Enter _Fetherfool_ and _Sancho_, passing over the Stage; after them _Willmore_ and _Blunt_, follow’d by _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_.

Will. ’Tis so, by Heaven, he’s chaffering with her Pimp. I’ll spare my Curses on him for having her, he has a Plague beyond ’em. —Harkye, I’ll never love, nor lie with Women more, those Slaves to Lust, to Vanity and Interest.

Blunt. Ha, Captain! [Shaking his Head and smiling.

Will. Come, let’s go drink Damnation to ’em all.

Blunt. Not all, good Captain.

Will. All, for I hate ’em all—

Aria. Heavens! if he should indeed! [Aside.

Blunt. But, _Robert_, I have found you most inclined to a Damsel when you had a Bottle in your Head.

Will. Give me thy Hand, _Ned_—Curse me, despise me, point me out for Cowardice if e’er thou see’st me court a Woman more: Nay, when thou knowest I ask any of the Sex a civil Question again—a Plague upon ’em, how they’ve handled me—come, let’s go drink, I say—Confusion to the Race—A Woman!—no, I will be burnt with my own Fire to Cinders e’er any of the Brood shall lay my Flame—

Aria. He cannot be so wicked to keep this Resolution sure— [She passes by. 136 Faith, I must be resolv’d—you’ve made a pious Resolution, Sir, had you the Grace to keep it— [Passing on he pauses, and looks on her.

Will. Hum—What’s that?

Blunt. That—O—nothing—but a Woman—come away.

Will. A Woman! Damn her, what Mischief made her cross my way just on the Point of Reformation!

Blunt. I find the Devil will not lose so hopeful a Sinner. Hold, hold, Captain, have you no Regard to your own Soul? ’dsheartlikins, ’tis a Woman, a very errant Woman.

Aria. Your Friend informs you right, Sir, I am a Woman.

Will. Ay, Child, or I were a lost Man—therefore, dear lovely Creature—

Aria. How can you tell, Sir?

Will. Oh, I have naturally a large Faith, Child, and thou’st a promising Form, a tempting Motion, clean Limbs, well drest, and a most damnable inviting Air.

Aria. I am not to be sold, nor fond of Praise I merit not.

Will. How, not to be sold too! By this light, Child, thou speakest like a Cherubim, I have not heard so obliging a Sound from the Mouth of Woman-kind this many a Day—I find we must be better acquainted, my Dear.

Aria. Your Reason, good familiar Sir, I see no such Necessity.

Will. Child, you are mistaken, I am in great Necessity; for first I love thee—desperately—have I not damn’d my Soul already for thee, and wouldst thou be so wicked to refuse a little Consolation to my Body? Then secondly, I see thou art frank and good-natur’d, and wilt do Reason _gratis_.

Aria. How prove ye that, good Mr. Philospher?

Will. Thou say’st thou’rt not to be sold, and I’m sure thou’rt to be had—that lovely Body of so divine a Form, those soft smooth Arms and Hands, were made t’embrace as well as be embrac’d; that delicate white rising Bosom to be prest, and all thy other Charms to be enjoy’d.

137 Aria. By one that can esteem ’em to their worth, can set a Value and a Rate upon ’em.

Will. Name not those Words, they grate my Ears like Jointure, that dull conjugal Cant that frights the generous Lover. Rate—Death, let the old Dotards talk of Rates, and pay it t’atone for the Defects of Impotence. Let the sly Statesman, who jilts the Commonwealth with his grave Politicks, pay for the Sin, that he may doat in secret; let the brisk Fool inch out his scanted Sense with a large Purse more eloquent than he: But tell not me of Rates, who bring a Heart, Youth, Vigor, and a Tongue to sing the Praise of every single Pleasure thou shalt give me.

Aria. Then if I should be kind, I perceive you would not keep the Secret.

Will. Secrecy is a damn’d ungrateful Sin, Child, known only where Religion and Small-beer are current, despis’d where _Apollo_ and the Vine bless the Country: you find none of _Jove’s_ Mistresses hid in Roots and Plants, but fixt Stars in Heaven for all to gaze and wonder at—and tho I am no God, my Dear, I’ll do a Mortal’s Part, and generously tell the admiring World what hidden Charms thou hast: Come, lead me to some Place of Happiness—

Blunt. Prithee, honest Damsel, be not so full of Questions; will a Pistole or two do thee any hurt?

Luc. None at all, Sir—

Blunt. Thou speak’st like a hearty Wench—and I believe hast not been one of _Venus’_ Hand-maids so long, but thou understand thy Trade—In short, fair Damsel, this honest Fellow here who is so termagant upon thy Lady, is my Friend, my particular Friend, and therefore I would have him handsomly, and well-favour’dly abus’d—you conceive me.

Luc. Truly, Sir, a friendly Request—but in what Nature abus’d?

Blunt. Nature!—why any of your Tricks would serve—but if he could be conveniently strip’d and beaten, or 138 tost in a Blanket, or any such trivial Business, thou wouldst do me a singular Kindness; as for Robbery he defies the Devil: an empty Pocket is an Antidote against that Ill.

Luc. Your Money, Sir: and if he be not cozen’d, say a _Spanish_ Woman has neither Wit nor Invention upon Occasion.

Blunt. Sheartlikins, how I shall love and honour thee for’t—here’s earnest— [Talks to her with Joy and Grimace.

Aria. But who was that you entertain’d at Church but now?

Will. Faith, one, who for her Beauty merits that glorious Title she wears, it was—a Whore, Child.

Aria. That’s but a scurvy Name; yet, if I’m not mistaken in those false Eyes of yours, they look with longing Love upon that—Whore, Child.

Will. Thou are i’th’ right, and by this hand, my Soul was full as wishing as my Eyes: but a Pox on’t, you Women have all a certain Jargon, or Gibberish, peculiar to your selves; of Value, Rate, Present, Interest, Settlement, Advantage, Price, Maintenance, and the Devil and all of Fopperies, which in plain Terms signify ready Money, by way of Fine before Entrance; so that an honest well-meaning Merchant of Love finds no Credit amongst ye, without his Bill of Lading.

Aria. We are not all so cruel—but the Devil on’t is, your good-natur’d Heart is likely accompanied with an ill Face and worse Wit.

Will. Faith, Child, a ready Dish when a Man’s Stomach is up, is better than a tedious Feast. I never saw any Man yet cut my piece; some are for Beauty, some are for Wit, and some for the Secret, but I for all, so it be in a kind Girl: and for Wit in Woman, so she say pretty fond things, we understand; tho true or false, no matter.

Aria. Give the Devil his due, you are a very conscientious Lover: I love a Man that scorns to impose dull Truth and Constancy on a Mistress.

139 Will. Constancy, that current Coin with Fools! No, Child, Heaven keep that Curse from our Doors.

Aria. Hang it, it loses Time and Profit, new Lovers have new Vows and new Presents, whilst the old feed upon a dull repetition of what they did when they were Lovers; ’tis like eating the cold Meat ones self, after having given a Friend a Feast.

Will. Yes, that’s the thrifty Food for the Family when the Guests are gone. Faith, Child, thou hast made a neat and a hearty Speech: But prithee, my Dear, for the future, leave out that same Profit and Present, for I have a natural Aversion to hard words; and for matter of quick Dispatch in the Business—give me thy Hand, Child—let us but start fair, and if thou outstripst me, thou’rt a nimble Racer. [_Lucia_ sees _Shift_.

Luc. Oh, Madam, let’s be gone: yonder’s Lieutenant Shift, who, if he sees us, will certainly give an Account of it to Mr. Beaumond. Let’s get in thro the Garden, I have the Key.

Aria. Here’s Company coming, and for several reasons I would not be seen. [Offers to go.

Will. Gad, Child, nor I; Reputation is tender—therefore prithee let’s retire. [Offers to go with her.

Aria. You must not stir a step.

Will. Not stir! no Magick Circle can detain me if you go.

Aria. Follow me then at a distance, and observe where I enter; and at night (if your Passion lasts so long) return, and you shall find Admittance into the Garden. [Speaking hastily. [He runs out after her.

Enter _Shift_.

Shift. Well, Sir, the Mountebank’s come, and just going to begin in the Piazza; I have order’d Matters, that you shall have a Sight of the Monsters, and leave to court ’em, and when won, to give the Guardian a fourth part of the Portions.

140 Blunt. Good: But Mum—here’s the Captain, who must by no means know our good Fortune, till he see us in State.

Enter _Willmore_, _Shift_ goes to him.

Shift. All things are ready, Sir, for our Design, the House prepar’d as you directed me, the Guardian wrought upon by the Persuasions of the two Monsters, to take a Lodging there, and try the Bath of Reformation: The Bank’s preparing, and the Operators and Musick all ready, and the impatient Town flockt together to behold the Man of Wonders, and nothing wanting but your Donship and a proper Speech.

Will. ’Tis well, I’ll go fit my self with a Dress, and think of a Speech the while: In the mean time, go you and amuse the gaping Fools that expect my coming. [Goes out.

Enter _Fetherfool_ singing and dancing.

_Feth._ Have you heard of a _Spanish_ Lady, How she woo’d an _English_ Man?

Blunt. Why, how now, Fetherfool?

_Feth._ Garments gay, and rich as may be, Deckt with Jewels, had she on.

Blunt. Why, how now, Justice, what run mad out of Dog-days?

_Feth._ Of a comely Countenance and Grace is she, A sweeter Creature in the World there could not be.

Shift. Why, what the Devil’s the matter, Sir?

Blunt. Stark mad, ’dshartlikins.

Feth. _Of a Comely Countenance_—well, Lieutenant, the most heroick and illustrious Madona! Thou saw’st her, _Ned_: _And of a comely Counte—_The most Magnetick Face—well—I knew the Charms of these Eyes of mine were not made in vain: I was design’d for great things, that’s certain—_And a sweeter Creature in the World there could not be._ [Singing.

141 Blunt. What then the two Lady Monsters are forgotten? the Design upon the Million of Money, the Coach and Six, and Patent for Right Worshipful, all drown’d in the Joy of this new Mistress?—But well, Lieutenant, since he is so well provided for, you may put in with me for a Monster; such a Jest, and such a Sum, is not to be lost.

Shift. Nor shall not, or I have lost my Aim. [Aside.

Feth. [_Putting off his Hat._] Your Pardons, good Gentlemen; and tho I perceive I shall have no great need for so trifling a Sum as a hundred thousand Pound, or so, yet a Bargain’s a Bargain, Gentlemen.

Blunt. Nay,’dsheartlikins, the Lieutenant scorns to do a foul thing, d’ye see, but we would not have the Monsters slighted.

Feth. Slighted! no, Sir, I scorn your Words, I’d have ye to know, that I have as high a Respect for Madam Monster, as any Gentleman in Christendom, and so I desire she should understand.

Blunt. Why, this is that that’s handsom.

Shift. Well, the Mountebank’s come, Lodgings are taken at his House, and the Guardian prepar’d to receive you on the aforesaid Terms, and some fifty Pistoles to the Mountebank to stand your Friend, and the Business is done. Feth. Which shall be perform’d accordingly, I have it ready about me.

Blunt. And here’s mine, put ’em together, and let’s be speedy, lest some should bribe higher, and put in before us. [_Feth._ takes the Money, and looks pitiful on’t.

Feth. Tis a plaguy round Sum, _Ned_, pray God it turn to Account.

Blunt. Account, ’dsheartlikins, ’tis not in the Power of mortal Man to cozen ’me.

Shift. Oh fie, Sir, cozen you, Sir!—well, you’ll stay here and see the Mountebank, he’s coming forth.

[A Hollowing. Enter from the Front a Bank, a Pageant, which they fix on the Stage at one side, a little Pavilion 142 on’t, Musick playing, and Operators round below, or Antickers.

[Musick plays, and an Antick Dance.

Enter _Willmore_ like a Mountebank, with a Dagger in one Hand, and a Viol in the other, _Harlequin_ and _Scaramouche_; _Carlo_ with other _Spaniards_ below, and Rabble; _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_ above in the Balcony, others on the other side, _Fetherfool_ and _Blunt_ below.

Will. (_bowing_) Behold this little Viol, which contains in its narrow Bounds what the whole Universe cannot purchase, if sold to its true Value; this admirable, this miraculous Elixir, drawn from the Hearts of Mandrakes, Phenix Livers, and Tongues of Maremaids, and distill’d by contracted Sun-Beams, has besides the unknown Virtue of curing all Distempers both of Mind and Body, that divine one of animating the Heart of Man to that Degree, that however remiss, cold and cowardly by Nature, he shall become vigorous and brave. Oh stupid and insensible Man, when Honour and secure Renown invites you, to treat it with Neglect, even when you need but passive Valour, to become the Heroes of the Age; receive a thousand Wounds, each of which wou’d let out fleeting Life: Here’s that can snatch the parting Soul in its full Career, and bring it back to its native Mansion; baffles grim Death, and disappoints even Fate.

Feth. Oh Pox, an a Man were sure of that now—

Will. Behold, here’s Demonstration— [Harlequin stabs himself, and falls as dead.

Feth. Hold, hold, why, what the Devil is the Fellow mad?

Blunt. Why, do’st think he has hurt himself?

Feth. Hurt himself! why, he’s murder’d, Man; ’tis flat _Felo de se_, in any ground in _England_, if I understand Law, and I have been a Justice o’th’ Peace.

Will. See, Gentlemen, he’s dead—

143 Feth. Look ye there now, I’ll be gone lest I be taken as an Accessary. [Going out.

Will. Coffin him, inter him, yet after four and twenty Hours, as many Drops of this divine Elixir give him new Life again; this will recover whole Fields of slain, and all the Dead shall rise and fight again—’twas this that made the Roman Lemons numerous, and now makes _France_ so formidable, and this alone—may be the Occasion of the loss of _Germany_. [Pours in _Harlequin’s_ Wound, he rises.

Feth. Why this Fellow’s the Devil, _Ned_, that’s for certain.

Blunt. Oh plague, a damn’d Conjurer, this—

Will. Come, buy this Coward’s Comfort, quickly buy; what Fop would be abus’d, mimick’d and scorn’d, for fear of Wounds can be so easily cured? Who is’t wou’d bear the Insolence and Pride of domineering great Men, proud Officers or Magistrates? or who wou’d cringe to Statesmen out of Fear? What Cully wou’d be cuckolded? What foolish Heir undone by cheating Gamesters? What Lord wou’d be lampoon’d? What Poet fear the Malice of his satirical Brother, or Atheist fear to fight for fear of Death? Come buy my Coward’s Comfort, quickly buy.

Feth. Egad, _Ned_, a very excellent thing this; I’ll lay out ten Reals upon this Commodity.

[They buy, whilst another Part of the Dance is danc’d.

Will. Behold this little Paper, which contains a Pouder, whose Value surmounts that of Rocks of Diamonds and Hills of Gold; ’twas this made _Venus_ a Goddess, and was given her by _Apollo_, from her deriv’d to _Helen_, and in the Sack of _Troy_ lost, till recover’d by me out of some Ruins of _Asia._ Come, buy it, Ladies, you that wou’d be fair and wear eternal Youth; and you in whom the amorous Fire remains, when all the Charms are fled: You that dress young and gay, and would be thought so, that patch and paint, to fill up sometimes old Furrows on your Brows, and set yourselves for Conquest, tho in vain; here’s that will give you aubern Hair, white Teeth, red Lips, and Dimples on 144 your Cheeks: Come, buy it all you that are past bewitching, and wou’d have handsom, young and active Lovers.

Feth. Another good thing, _Ned_.

Car. I’ll lay out a Pistole or two in this, if it have the same Effect on Men.

Will. Come, all you City Wives, that wou’d advance your Husbands to Lord Mayors, come, buy of me new Beauty; this will give it tho now decay’d, as are your Shop Commodities; this will retrieve your Customers, and vend your false and out of fashion’d Wares: cheat, lye, protest and cozen as you please, a handsom Wife makes all a lawful Gain. Come, City Wives, come, buy.

Feth. A most prodigious Fellow!

[They buy, he sits, the other Part is danc’d.

Will. But here, behold the Life and Soul of Man! this is the amorous Pouder, which _Venus_ made and gave the God of Love, which made him first a Deity; you talk of Arrows, Bow, and killing Darts; Fables, poetical Fictions, and no more: ’tis this alone that wounds and fires the Heart, makes Women kind, and equals Men to Gods; ’tis this that makes your great Lady doat on the ill-favour’d Fop; your great Man be jilted by his little Mistress, the Judge cajol’d by his Semstress, and your Politican by his Comedian; your young Lady doat on her decrepid Husband, your Chaplain on my Lady’s Waiting-Woman, and the young Squire on the Landry-Maid—In fine, Messieurs,

’Tis this that cures the Lover’s Pain, And _Celia_ of her cold Disdain.

Feth. A most devilish Fellow this!

Blunt. Hold, shartlikins, _Fetherfool_, let’s have a Dose or two of this Pouder for quick Dispatch with our Monsters.

Feth. Why Pox, Man, Jugg my Giant would swallow a whole Cart-Load before ’twould operate.

Blunt. No hurt in trying a Paper or two however.

Car. A most admirable Receit, I shall have need on’t.

145 Will. I need say nothing of my divine Baths of Reformation, nor the wonders of the old Oracle of the Box, which resolves all Questions, my Bills sufficiently declare their Virtue. [Sits down. They buy.

Enter _Petronella Elenora_ carried in a Chair, dress’d like a Girl of Fifteen.

Shift. Room there, Gentlemen, room for a Patient.

Blunt. Pray, Seignior, who may this be thus muzzl’d by old Gaffer Time?

Car. One _Petronella Elenora_, Sir, a famous outworn Curtezan.

Blunt. _Elenora!_ she may be that of _Troy_ for her Antiquity, tho fitter for God _Priapus_ to ravish than _Paris_.

Shift. _Hunt_, a word; dost thou see that same formal Politician yonder, on the Jennet, the nobler Animal of the two?

Hunt. What of him?

Shift. ’Tis the same drew on the Captain this Morning, and I must revenge the Affront.

Hunt. Have a care of Revenges in _Spain_, upon Persons of his Quality.

Shift. Nay, I’ll only steal his Horse from under him.

Hunt. Steal it! thou may’st take it by force perhaps; but how safely is a Question.

Shift. I’ll warrant thee—shoulder you up one side of his great Saddle, I’ll do the like on t’other; then heaving him gently up, _Harlequin_ shall lead the Horse from between his Worship’s Legs: All this in the Crowd will not be perceiv’d, where all Eyes are imploy’d on the Mountebank.

Hunt. I apprehend you now—

[Whilst they are lifting _Petronella_ on the Mountebank’s Stage, they go into the Crowd, shoulder up _Carlo’s_ Saddle. _Harlequin_ leads the Horse forward, whilst _Carlo_ is gazing, and turning up his Mustachios; they hold him up a little while, then let him drop: he rises and stares about for his Horse.

146 Car. This is flat Conjuration.

Shift. What’s your Worship on foot?

Hunt. I never saw his Worship on foot before.

Car. Sirrah, none of your Jests, this must be by diabolical Art, and shall cost the Seignior dear—Men of my Garb affronted—my Jennet vanisht—most miraculous—by St. _Jago_ I’ll be revenged—hah, what’s here—_La Nuche_— [Surveys her at a distance.

Enter _La Nuche_, _Aurelia_, _Sancho_.

La Nu. We are pursu’d by _Beaumond_, who will certainly hinder our speaking to _Willmore_, should we have the good fortune to see him in this Crowd—and yet there’s no avoiding him.

Beau. ’Tis she, how carefully she shuns me!

Aur. I’m satisfied he knows us by the jealous Concern which appears in that prying Countenance of his.

Beau. Stay, Cruel, is it Love or Curiosity, that wings those nimble Feet? [Holds her.

[_Lucia_ above and _Ariadne_.]

Aria. _Beaumond_ with a Woman!

Beau. Have you forgot this is the glorious Day that ushers in the Night shall make you mine? the happiest Night that ever favour’d Love!

La Nu. Or if I have, I find you’ll take care to remember me.

Beau. Sooner I could forget the Aids of Life, sooner forget how first that Beauty charm’d me.

La Nu. Well, since your Memory’s so good, I need not doubt your coming.

Beau. Still cold and unconcern’d! How have I doated, and how sacrific’d, regardless of my Fame, lain idling here, when all the Youth of _Spain_ were gaining Honour, valuing one Smile of thine above their Laurels!

La Nu. And in return, I do submit to yield, preferring you above those fighting Fools, who safe in Multitudes reap Honour cheaper.

147 Beau. Yet there is one—one of those fighting Fools which should’st thou see, I fear I were undone; brave, handsome, gay, and all that Women doat on, unfortunate in every good of Life, but that one Blessing of obtaining Women: Be wise, for if thou seest him thou art lost—Why dost thou blush?

La Nu. Because you doubt my Heart—’tis _Willmore_ that he means. [Aside.] We’ve Eyes upon us, Don _Carlo_ may grow jealous, and he’s a powerful Rival—at night. I shall expect ye.

Beau. Whilst I prepare my self for such a Blessing. [Ex. _Beau._

Car. Hah! a Cavalier in conference with _La Nuche!_ and entertain’d without my knowledge! I must prevent this Lover, for he’s young—and this Night will surprise her. [Aside.

Will. And you would be restor’d? [To _Petro._

Pet. Yes, if there be that Divinity in your Baths of Reformation.

Will. There are.

New Flames shall sparkle in those Eyes; And these grey Hairs flowing and bright shall rise: These Cheeks fresh Buds of Roses wear, And all your withered Limbs so smooth and clear, As shall a general Wonder move, And wound a thousand Hearts with Love.

Pet. A Blessing on you, Sir, there’s fifty Pistoles for you, and as I earn it you shall have more. [They lift her down.

[Exit _Willmore_ bowing.

Shift. Messieurs, ’tis late, and the Seignior’s Patients stay for him at his Laboratory, to morrow you shall see the conclusion of this Experiment, and so I humbly take my leave at this time.

Enter _Willmore_, below sees _La Nuche_, makes up to her, whilst the last part of the Dance is dancing.

148 La Nu. What makes you follow me, Sir? [She goes from him, he pursues.

Will. Madam, I see something in that lovely Face of yours, which if not timely prevented will be your ruin: I’m now in haste, but I have more to say— [Goes off.

La Nu. Stay, Sir—he’s gone—and fill’d me with a curiosity that will not let me rest till it be satisfied: Follow me, _Aurelia_, for I must know my Destiny. [Goes out.

[The Dance ended, the Bank removes, the People go off.

Feth. Come, _Ned_, now for our amorous Visit to the two Lady Monsters.

[Ex. _Feth._ and _Blunt_.