Chapter 7

Enter _Belvile_ and _Frederick_ in Masquing-Habits, and _Willmore_ in his own Clothes, with a Vizard in his Hand.

Will. But why thus disguis’d and muzzl’d?

Belv. Because whatever Extravagances we commit in these Faces, our own may not be oblig’d to answer ’em.

Will. I should have chang’d my Eternal Buff too: but no matter, my little Gipsy wou’d not have found me out then: for if she should change hers, it is impossible I should know her, unless I should hear her prattle—A Pox on’t, I cannot get her out of my Head: Pray Heaven, if ever I do see her again, she prove damnable ugly, that I may fortify my self against her Tongue.

Belv. Have a care of Love, for o’ my conscience she was not of a Quality to give thee any hopes.

Will. Pox on ’em, why do they draw a Man in then? She has play’d with my Heart so, that ’twill never lie still till I have met with some kind Wench, that will play the Game out with me—Oh for my Arms full of soft, white, kind—Woman! such as I fancy _Angelica_.

Belv. This is her House, if you were but in stock to get admittance; they have not din’d yet; I perceive the Picture is not out.

28 Enter _Blunt_.

Will. I long to see the Shadow of the fair Substance, a Man may gaze on that for nothing.

Blunt. Colonel, thy Hand—and thine, _Fred_. I have been an Ass, a deluded Fool, a very Coxcomb from my Birth till this Hour, and heartily repent my little Faith.

Belv. What the Devil’s the matter with thee _Ned?_

Blunt. Oh such a Mistress, _Fred_, such a Girl!

Will. Ha! where?

Fred. Ay where!

Blunt. So fond, so amorous, so toying and fine! and all for sheer Love, ye Rogue! Oh how she lookt and kiss’d! and sooth’d my Heart from my Bosom. I cannot think I was awake, and yet methinks I see and feel her Charms still—_Fred._—Try if she have not left the Taste of her balmy Kisses upon my Lips— [Kisses him.

Belv. Ha, ha, ha!

Will. Death Man, where is she?

Blunt. What a Dog was I to stay in dull _England_ so long—How have I laught at the Colonel when he sigh’d for Love! but now the little Archer has reveng’d him, and by his own Dart, I can guess at all his Joys, which then I took for Fancies, mere Dreams and Fables—Well, I’m resolved to sell all in _Essex_, and plant here for ever.

Belv. What a Blessing ’tis, thou hast a Mistress thou dar’st boast of; for I know thy Humour is rather to have a proclaim’d Clap, than a secret Amour.

Will. Dost know her Name?

Blunt. Her Name? No,’sheartlikins: what care I for Names?— She’s fair, young, brisk and kind, even to ravishment: and what a Pox care I for knowing her by another Title?

Will. Didst give her anything?

Blunt. Give her!—Ha, ha, ha! why, she’s a Person of Quality—That’s a good one, give her! ’sheartlikins dost think such Creatures are to be bought? Or are we provided for such a Purchase? Give her, quoth ye? Why she presented me with this Bracelet, for the Toy of a 29 Diamond I us’d to wear: No, Gentlemen, _Ned Blunt_ is not every Body—She expects me again to night.

Will. Egad that’s well; we’ll all go.

Blunt. Not a Soul: No, Gentlemen, you are Wits; I am a dull Country Rogue, I.

Fred. Well, Sir, for all your Person of Quality, I shall be very glad to understand your Purse be secure; ’tis our whole Estate at present, which we are loth to hazard in one Bottom: come, Sir, unload.

Blunt. Take the necessary Trifle, useless now to me, that am belov’d by such a Gentlewoman—’sheartlikins Money! Here take mine too.

Fred. No, keep that to be cozen’d, that we may laugh.

Will. Cozen’d!—Death! wou’d I cou’d meet with one, that wou’d cozen me of all the Love I cou’d spare to night.

Fred. Pox ’tis some common Whore upon my Life.

Blunt. A Whore! yes with such Clothes! such Jewels! such a House! such Furniture, and so attended! a Whore!

Belv. Why yes, Sir, they are Whores, tho they’ll neither entertain you with Drinking, Swearing, or Baudy; are Whores in all those gay Clothes, and right Jewels; are Whores with great Houses richly furnisht with Velvet Beds, Store of Plate, handsome Attendance, and fine Coaches, are Whores and errant ones.

Will. Pox on’t, where do these fine Whores live?

Belv. Where no Rogue in Office yclep’d Constables dare give ’em laws, nor the Wine-inspired Bullies of the Town break their Windows; yet they are Whores, tho this _Essex_ Calf believe them Persons of Quality.

Blunt. ’Sheartlikins, y’are all Fools, there are things about this _Essex_ Calf, that shall take with the Ladies, beyond all your Wits and Parts—This Shape and Size, Gentlemen, are not to be despis’d; my Waste tolerably long, with other inviting Signs, that shall be nameless.

Will. Egad I believe he may have met with some Person of Quality that may be kind to him.

30 Belv. Dost thou perceive any such tempting things about him, should make a fine Woman, and of Quality, pick him out from all Mankind, to throw away her Youth and Beauty upon, nay, and her dear Heart too?—no, no, _Angelica_ has rais’d the Price too high.

Will. May she languish for Mankind till she die, and be damn’d for that one Sin alone.

Enter two Bravoes, and hang up a great Picture of _Angelica’s_, against the Balcony, and two little ones at each side of the Door.

Belv. See there the fair Sign to the Inn, where a Man may lodge that’s Fool enough to give her Price. [_Will._ gazes on the Picture.

Blunt. ’Sheartlikins, Gentlemen, what’s this?

Belv. A famous Curtezan that’s to be sold.

Blunt.A How! to be sold! nay then I have nothing to say to her—sold! what Impudence is practis’d in this Country?—With Order and Decency Whoring’s established here by virtue of the Inquisition—Come let’s be gone, I’m sure we’re no Chapmen for this Commodity.

Fred. Thou art none, I’m sure, unless thou could’st have her in thy Bed at the Price of a Coach in the Street.

Will. How wondrous fair she is—a Thousand Crowns a Month—by Heaven as many Kingdoms were too little. A plague of this Poverty—of which I ne’er complain, but when it hinders my Approach to Beauty, which Virtue ne’er could purchase. [Turns from the Picture.

Blunt. What’s this?— [Reads] _A Thousand Crowns a Month!_ —’Sheartlikins, here’s a Sum! sure ’tis a mistake. —Hark you, Friend, does she take or give so much by the Month!

Fred. A Thousand Crowns! Why, ’tis a Portion for the _Infanta_.

Blunt. Hark ye, Friends, won’t she trust?

31 Brav. This is a Trade, Sir, that cannot live by Credit.

Enter _Don Pedro_ in Masquerade, follow’d by _Stephano_.

Belv. See, here’s more Company, let’s walk off a while.

[_Pedro_ Reads. [Exeunt _English_.

Enter _Angelica_ and _Moretta_ in the Balcony, and draw a Silk Curtain.

Ped. Fetch me a Thousand Crowns, I never wish to buy this Beauty at an easier Rate. [Passes off.

Ang. Prithee what said those Fellows to thee?

Brav. Madam, the first were Admirers of Beauty only, but no purchasers; they were merry with your Price and Picture, laught at the Sum, and so past off.

Ang.B No matter, I’m not displeas’d with their rallying; their Wonder feeds my Vanity, and he that wishes to buy, gives me more Pride, than he that gives my Price can make me Pleasure.

Brav. Madam, the last I knew thro all his disguises to be Don _Pedro_, Nephew to the General, and who was with him in _Pampelona_.

Ang. Don _Pedro!_ my old Gallant’s Nephew! When his Uncle dy’d, he left him a vast Sum of Money; it is he who was so in love with me at _Padua_, and who us’d to make the General so jealous.

Moret. Is this he that us’d to prance before our Window and take such care to shew himself an amorous Ass? if I am not mistaken, he is the likeliest Man to give your Price.

Ang. The Man is brave and generous, but of an Humour so uneasy and inconstant, that the victory over his Heart is as soon lost as won; a Slave that can add little to the Triumph of the Conqueror: but inconstancy’s the Sin of all Mankind, therefore I’m resolv’d that nothing but Gold shall charm my Heart.

Moret. I’m glad on’t; ’tis only interest that Women of 32 our Profession ought to consider: tho I wonder what has kept you from that general Disease of our Sex so long, I mean that of being in love.

Ang. A kind, but sullen Star, under which I had the Happiness to be born; yet I have had no time for Love; the bravest and noblest of Mankind have purchas’d my Favours at so dear a Rate, as if no Coin but Gold were current with our Trade—But here’s Don _Pedro_ again, fetch me my Lute—for ’tis for him or Don _Antonio_ the Vice-Roy’s Son, that I have spread my Nets.

Enter at one Door Don _Pedro_, and _Stephano_; Don _Antonio_ and _Diego_ [his page], at the other Door, with People following him in Masquerade, antickly attir’d, some with Musick: they both go up to the Picture.

Ant. A thousand Crowns! had not the Painter flatter’d her, I should not think it dear.

Pedro. Flatter’d her! by Heaven he cannot. I have seen the Original, nor is there one Charm here more than adorns her Face and Eyes; all this soft and sweet, with a certain languishing Air, that no Artist can represent.

Ant. What I heard of her Beauty before had fir’d my Soul, but this confirmation of it has blown it into a flame.

Pedro. Ha!

Pag. Sir, I have known you throw away a Thousand Crowns on a worse Face, and tho y’ are near your Marriage, you may venture a little Love here; _Florinda_—will not miss it.

Pedro. Ha! _Florinda!_ Sure ’tis _Antonio_. [aside.

Ant. _Florinda!_ name not those distant Joys, there’s not one thought of her will check my Passion here.

Pedro. _Florinda_ scorn’d! and all my Hopes defeated of the Possession of _Angelica!_ [A noise of a Lute above. _Ant._ gazes up.] Her Injuries by Heaven he shall not boast of. [Song to a Lute above.

33 SONG.

When _Damon_ first began to love, He languisht in a soft Desire, And knew not how the Gods to move, To lessen or increase his Fire, For _Cælia_ in her charming Eyes

Wore all Love’s Sweet, and all his Cruelties.

II.

But as beneath a Shade he lay, Weaving of Flow’rs for _Cælia’s_ Hair, She chanc’d to lead her Flock that way, And saw the am’rous Shepherd there. She gaz’d around upon the Place, And saw the Grove (resembling Night) To all the Joys of Love invite,

Whilst guilty Smiles and Blushes drest her Face. At this the bashful Youth all Transport grew, And with kind Force he taught the Virgin how To yield what all his Sighs cou’d never do.

Ant. By Heav’n she’s charming fair!

[_Angelica_ throws open the Curtains, and bows to _Antonio_, who pulls off his Vizard, and bows and blows up Kisses. _Pedro_ unseen looks in his Face.

Pedro. ’Tis he, the false _Antonio!_

Ant. Friend, where must I pay my offering of Love? [To the _Bravo_.] My Thousand Crowns I mean.

Pedro. That Offering I have design’d to make, And yours will come too late.

Ant. Prithee be gone, I shall grow angry else, And then thou art not safe.

Pedro. My Anger may be fatal, Sir, as yours; And he that enters here may prove this Truth.

34 Ant. I know not who thou art, but I am sure thou’rt worth my killing, and aiming at _Angelica_. [They draw and fight.

Enter _Willmore_ and _Blunt_, who draw and part ’em.

Blunt. ’Sheartlikins, here’s fine doings.

Will. Tilting for the Wench I’m sure—nay gad, if that wou’d win her, I have as good a Sword as the best of ye—Put up—put up, and take another time and place, for this is design’d for Lovers only. [They all put up.

Pedro. We are prevented; dare you meet me to morrow on the _Molo?_ For I’ve a Title to a better quarrel, That of _Florinda_, in whose credulous Heart Thou’st made an Int’rest, and destroy’d my Hopes.

Ant. Dare? I’ll meet thee there as early as the Day.

Pedro. We will come thus disguis’d, that whosoever chance to get the better, he may escape unknown.

Ant. It shall be so. [Ex. _Pedro_ and _Stephano_.] Who shou’d this Rival be? unless the _English_ Colonel, of whom I’ve often heard Don _Pedro_ speak; it must be he, and time he were removed, who lays a Claim to all my Happiness.

[_Willmore_ having gaz’d all this while on the Picture, pulls down a little one.

Will. This posture’s loose and negligent, The sight on’t wou’d beget a warm desire In Souls, whom Impotence and Age had chill’d. —This must along with me.

Brav. What means this rudeness, Sir?—restore the Picture.

Ant. Ha! Rudeness committed to the fair _Angelica!_—Restore the Picture, Sir.

Will. Indeed I will not, Sir.

Ant. By Heav’n but you shall.

35 Will. Nay, do not shew your Sword; if you do, by this dear Beauty—I will shew mine too.

Ant. What right can you pretend to’t?

Will. That of Possession which I will maintain—you perhaps have 1000 Crowns to give for the Original.

Ant. No matter, Sir, you shall restore the Picture.

Ang. Oh, _Moretta!_ what’s the matter? [_Ang._ and _Moret._ above.

Ant. Or leave your Life behind.

Will. Death! you lye—I will do neither.

Ang. Hold, I command you, if for me you fight.

[They fight, the Spaniards join with _Antonio_, _Blunt_ laying on like mad. They leave off and bow.

Will. How heavenly fair she is!—ah Plague of her Price.

Ang. You Sir in Buff, you that appear a Soldier, that first began this Insolence.

Will. ’Tis true, I did so, if you call it Insolence for a Man to preserve himself; I saw your charming Picture, and was wounded: quite thro my Soul each pointed Beauty ran; and wanting a Thousand Crowns to procure my Remedy, I laid this little Picture to my Bosom—which if you cannot allow me, I’ll resign.

Ang. No, you may keep the Trifle.

Ant. You shall first ask my leave, and this. [Fight again as before.

Enter _Belv._ and _Fred._ who join with the English.

Ang. Hold; will you ruin me?—_Biskey_, _Sebastian_, part them. [The _Spaniards_ are beaten off.

Moret. Oh Madam, we’re undone, a pox upon that rude Fellow, he’s set on to ruin us: we shall never see good days, till all these fighting poor Rogues are sent to the Gallies.

Enter _Belvile_, _Blunt_ and _Willmore_, with his shirt bloody.

Blunt. ’Sheartlikins, beat me at this Sport, and I’ll ne’er wear Sword more.

36 Belv. The Devil’s in thee for a mad Fellow, thou art always one at an unlucky Adventure.—Come, let’s be gone whilst we’re safe, and remember these are _Spaniards_, a sort of People that know how to revenge an Affront.

Fred. You bleed; I hope you are not wounded. [To _Will._

Will. Not much:—a plague upon your Dons, if they fight no better they’ll ne’er recover _Flanders_.—What the Devil was’t to them that I took down the Picture?

Blunt. Took it! ’Sheartlikins, we’ll have the great one too; ’tis ours by Conquest.—Prithee, help me up, and I’ll pull it down.—

Ang. Stay, Sir, and e’er you affront me further, let me know how you durst commit this Outrage—To you I speak, Sir, for you appear like a Gentleman.

Will. To me, Madam?—Gentlemen, your Servant. [_Belv._ stays him.

Belv. Is the Devil in thee? Do’st know the danger of entring the house of an incens’d Curtezan?

Will. I thank you for your care—but there are other matters in hand, there are, tho we have no great Temptation.—Death! let me go.

Fred. Yes, to your Lodging, if you will, but not in here.—Damn these gay Harlots—by this Hand I’ll have as sound and handsome a Whore for a Patacoone.—Death, Man, she’ll murder thee.

Will. Oh! fear me not, shall I not venture where a Beauty calls? a lovely charming Beauty? for fear of danger! when by Heaven there’s none so great as to long for her, whilst I want Money to purchase her.

Fred. Therefore ’tis loss of time, unless you had the thousand Crowns to pay.

Will. It may be she may give a Favour, at least I shall have the pleasure of saluting her when I enter, and when I depart.

Belv. Pox, she’ll as soon lie with thee, as kiss thee, and sooner stab than do either—you shall not go.

37 Ang. Fear not, Sir, all I have to wound with, is my Eyes.

Blunt. Let him go, ’Sheartlikins, I believe the Gentle-woman means well.

Belv. Well, take thy Fortune, we’ll expect you in the next Street.—Farewell Fool,—farewell—

Will. B’ye Colonel— [Goes in.

Fred. The Rogue’s stark mad for a Wench. [Exeunt.