Chapter 57

_Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Galliard, _as in_ Silvianetta’s _Apartment_.

_Fil_. How splendidly these common Women live! How rich is all we meet with in this Palace; And rather seems the Apartment of some Prince, Than a Receptacle for Lust and Shame.

_Gal_. You see, _Harry_, all the keeping Fools are not in our Dominions; but this grave, this wise People, are Mistress-ridden too.

_Fil_. I fear we have mistook the House, and the Youth that brought us in may have deceived us, on some other design; however whilst I’ve this--I cannot fear--[_Draws_.

_Gal_. A good caution, and I’ll stand upon my guard with this; but see-- here’s one will put us out of doubt. [_Pulls a Pistol out of his pocket_.

_Fil_. Hah! the fair Inchantress.

[_Enter_ Mar. _richly and loosely drest_.

_Mar_. What, on your guard, my lovely Cavalier? Lies there a danger In this Face and Eyes, that needs that rough resistance? --Hide, hide that mark of Anger from my sight, And if thou wou’dst be absolute Conquerer here, Put on soft Looks, with Eyes all languishing, Words tender, gentle Sighs, and kind Desires.

_Gal_. Death, with what unconcern he hears all this! Art thou possest?--Pox, why dost not answer her?

_Mar_. I hope he will not yield--[_Aside_. --He stands unmov’d-- Surely I was mistaken in this Face, And I believe in Charms that have no power.

_Gal_. ‘Sdeath, thou deservest not such a noble Creature,-- I’ll have ‘em both my self.--[_Aside_.

_Fil_.--Yes, thou hast wondrous power, And I have felt it long. [_Pausingly_.

_Mar_. How!

_Fil_.--I’ve often seen that Face--but ‘twas in Dreams: And sleeping lov’d extremely! And waking;--sigh’d to find it but a Dream: The lovely Phantom vanish’d with my Slumbers, But left a strong Idea on my heart Of what I find in perfect Beauty here, --But with this difference, she was virtuous too.

_Mar_. What silly she was that?

_Fil_. She whom I dream’d I lov’d.

_Mar_. You only dreamt that she was virtuous too; Virtue it self’s a Dream of so slight force, The very fluttering of Love’s Wings destroys it; Ambition, or the meaner hope of Interest, wakes it to nothing; In Men a feeble Beauty shakes the dull slumber off.--

_Gal_. Egad, she argues like an Angel, _Harry_.

_Fil_.--What haste thou’st made to damn thy self so young! Hast thou been long thus wicked? hast thou sinn’d past Repentance? Heaven may do much to save so fair a Criminal; Turn yet, and be forgiven.

_Gal_. What a Pox dost thou mean by all this Canting?

_Mar_. A very pretty Sermon, and from a Priest so gay, It cannot chuse but edify. Do Holy men of your Religion, Signior, wear all this Habit? Are they thus young and lovely? Sure if they are, Your Congregation’s all compos’d of Ladies; The Laity must come abroad for Mistresses.

_Fil_. Oh, that this charming Woman were but honest!

_Gal_. ‘Twere better thou wert damn’d; honest! Pox, thou dost come out with things so mal a propo--

_Mar_. Come leave this Mask of foolish Modesty, And let us haste where Love and Musick calls; Musick, that heightens Love, and makes the Soul Ready for soft Impressions.

_Gal_. So, she will do his business with a Vengeance.

_Fil_. Plague of this tempting Woman, she will ruin me: I find weak Virtue melt from round my Heart, To give her Tyrant Image a Possession: So the warm Sun thaws Rivers icy Tops. Till in the stream he sees his own bright Face.

_Gal_. Now he comes on apace,--how is’t, my Friend? Thou stand’st as thou’dst forgot thy business here, --The Woman, _Harry_, the fair Curtezan; Canst thou withstand her Charms? I’ve business of my own, Prithee fall to--and talk of Love to her.

_Fil_. Oh, I cou’d talk Eternity away, In nothing else but Love;--cou’dst thou be honest?

_Mar_. Honest! was it for that you sent two thousand Crowns, Or did believe that trifling Sum sufficient To buy me to the slavery of Honesty?

_Gal_. Hold there, my brave Virago.

_Fil_. No, I wou’d sacrifice a nobler Fortune, To buy thy Virtue home.

_Mar_. What shou’d it idling there?

_Fil_. Why--make thee constant to some happy Man, That wou’d adore thee for’t.

_Mar_. Unconscionable! constant at my years? --Oh, ‘twere to cheat a thousand, Who between this and my dull Age of Constancy. Expect the distribution of my Beauty.

_Gal_. ‘Tis a brave Wench-- [_Aside_.

_Fil_. Yet charming as thou art, the time will come When all that Beauty, like declining Flowers, Will wither on the Stalk,--but with this difference, The next kind Spring brings Youth to Flowers again, But faded Beauty never more can bloom. --If Interest make thee wicked, I can supply thy Pride.--

_Mar_. Curse on your necessary Trash!--which I despise, But as ‘tis useful to advance our Love.

_Fil_. Is Love thy business? who is there born so high, But Love and Beauty equals? And thou mayst chuse from all the wishing World. This Wealth together wou’d inrich one Man, Which dealt to all, wou’d scarce be Charity.

_Mar_. Together! ‘tis a Mass wou’d ransom Kings: Was all this Beauty given for one poor petty Conquest? --I might have made a hundred Hearts my slaves, In this lost time of bringing one to Reason.-- Farewel, thou dull Philosopher in Love; When Age has made me wise, I’ll send for you again. [_Offers to go_, Gal. _holds her_.

_Gal_. By this good Light, a noble glorious Whore.

_Fil_. Oh, stay, I must not let such Beauty fall, --A Whore--consider yet the Charms of Reputation, The Ease, the Quiet, and Content of Innocence, The awful Reverence all good Men will pay thee, Who, as thou art, will gaze without respect, --And cry--what pity ‘tis she is--a Whore--

_Mar_. O, you may give it what coarse name you please, But all this Youth and Beauty ne’er was given, Like Gold to Misers, to be kept from use. [_Going out_.

_Fil_. Lost, lost--past all Redemption.

_Gal_. Nay, Gad, thou shalt not lose her so--I’ll fetch her back, and thou shalt ask her pardon. [_Runs out after her_.

_Fil_. By Heaven, it was all a Dream! an airy Dream! The visionary Pleasure disappears,--and I’m myself again, --I’ll fly before the drousy Fit o’ertake me. [_Going out, Enter_ Gal. _and then_ Marcella.

_Gal_. Turn back--she yields, she yields to pardon thee. Gone! nay, hang me if ye part. [_Runs after him, still his Pistol in his hand_.

_Mar_. Gone! I have no leisure now for more dissembling. [_Takes the Candle, and goes in_.

_Enter_ Petro, _leading in Mr_. Tickletext, _as by dark_.

_Pet_. Remain here, Signior, whilst I step and fetch a light.

_Tick_. Do so, do so, honest _Barberacho_.--Well, my escape even now from Sir _Signal_ was miraculous, thanks to my Prudence and Prowess; had he discover’d me, my Dominion had ended, and my Authority been of none effect, _certo_.

[Philippa _at the door puts in Sir_ Signal.

_Phil_. Now, Signior, you’re out of danger, I’ll fetch a Candle, and let my Lady know of your being here.

[_Exit_ Phil. _Sir_ Sig. _advances a little_.

_Enter_ Petro _with a light, goes between ‘em, and starts_.

_Tick_. Sir _Signal_!--

Sir _Sig_. My Governour!

_Pet_. The two Fools met! a pox of all ill luck! Now shall I lose my Credit with both my wise Patrons; my Knight I cou’d have put off with a small Harlot of my own, but my Levite having seen my Lady _Cornelia_, that is, _La Silvianetta_,--none but that _Susanna_ wou’d satisfy his Eldership. But now they both sav’d me the labour of a farther invention to dispatch ‘em.

Sir _Sig_. I perceive my Governour’s as much confounded as my self;--I’ll take advantage by the forelock, be very impudent, and put it upon him, faith--Ah, Governour, will you never leave your whoring? never be staid, sober and discreet, as I am?

_Tick_. So, so, undone, undone! just my Documents to him.-- [_Walks about, Sir_ Sig. _follows_.

Sir _Sig_. And must I neglect my precious studies, to follow you, in pure zeal and tender care of your Person? Will you never consider where you are? In a leud Papish Country, amongst the Romish Heathens! And for you, a Governour, a Tutor, a Director of unbridled Youth, a Gownman, a Politician; for you, I say, to be taken at this unrighteous time of the Night, in a flaunting Cavaliero Dress, an unlawful Weapon by your side, going the high way to Satan, to a Curtezan; and to a Romish Curtezan! Oh Abomination! Oh _scandalum infinitum_!

_Tick_. Paid in my own Coin.

_Pet_. So, I’ll leave the Devil to rebuke Sin: and to my young Lady, for a little of her assistance in the management of this Affair. [_Exit_ Pet.

_Tick_. I do confess, I grant ye I am in the house of a Curtezan, and that I came to visit a Curtezan, and do intend to visit each Night a several Curtezan, till I have finished my work--

Sir _Sig_. Every night one! Oh Glutton!

_Tick_. My great work of Convertion, upon the whole Nation, Generation, and Vocation of this wicked provoking sort of Womankind call’d Curtezans. I will turn ‘em; I will turn ‘em, for ‘tis a shame that Man shou’d bow down to those that worship Idols. And now I think, Sir, I have sufficiently explain’d the business in hand,--as honest _Barberacho_ is my witness;--And for you--to--scandalize--me--with so naughty an Interpretation--afflicteth me wonderfully.-- [_Pulls out his handkerchief, and weeps_.

Sir _Sig_.--Alas, poor Mr. _Tickletext_, now as I hope to be sav’d, it grieves my heart to see thee weep; faith and troth now, I thought thou hadst some carnal Assignation:--but ne’er stir, I beg thy pardon, and think thee as innocent as my self, that I do--but see, the Lady’s here-- s’life, dry your Eyes, man.

[_Enter Cornelia, Phil, and Pet_.

_Cor_. I cou’d beat thee for being thus mistaken, and am resolv’d to flatter him into some Mischief, to be reveng’d on ‘em for this disappointment; go you, and watch for my Cavalier the while.

_Tick_. Is she come? Nay, then turn me loose to her.

_Cor_. My Cavalier! [_Addressing to Sir Sig_. Tick. _pulls him by, and speaks_.

_Tick_.--Lady--

Sir _Sig_. You, Sir! why, who the Devil made you a Cavalier? most _Potentissima Signiora_, I am the man of Title, by name Sir _Signal Buffoon_, sole Son and Heir to Eight Thousand Pound a year.--

_Tick_. Oh, Sir, are you the Man she looks for?

Sir _Sig_. I, Sir? no, Sir: I’d have ye know, Sir, I scorn any Woman, be she never so fair, unless her design be honest and honourable.

_Cor_. The Man of all the World I’ve chosen out, from all the Wits and Beauties I have seen,--to have most finely beaten. [_Aside_.

Sir _Sig_. How! In love with me already,--she’s damnable handsome too: now wou’d my Tutor were hang’d a little for an hour or two, out of the way. [_Aside_.

_Cor_. Why fly you not into my Arms, [_She approaching, he shunning_. These Arms that were design’d for soft Embraces?

Sir _Sig_. Ay, and if my Tutor were not here, the Devil take him that wou’d hinder ‘em--and I think that’s civil, egad.

_Tick_. Why, how now, _Barberacho_, what, am I cozen’d then, and is Sir _Signal_ the Man in favour? [_Aside to_ Petro.

_Pet_. Lord, Signior, that so wise a man as you cannot perceive her meaning,--for the Devil take me if I can. [_Aside_.--Why this is done to take off all suspicion from you--and lay it on him;--don’t you conceive it, Signior?

_Tick_. Yes, honest Rogue,--Oh the witty Wag-tail,--I have a part to play too, that shall confirm it--young Gentlewoman.--

_Cor_. Ah, Belle ingrate, is’t thus you recompense my suffering Love? to fly this Beauty so ador’d by all, that slight the ready Conquest of the World, to trust a Heart with you?--Ah--_Traditor Cruella_.

Sir _Sig_. Poor Heart, it goes to the very soul of me to be so coy and scornful to her, that it does; but a pox on’t, her over-fondness will discover all.

_Tick_. Fly, fly, young Man, whilst yet thou hast a spark of Virtue shining in thee, fly the temptations of this young Hypocrite; the Love that she pretends with so much zeal and ardour, is indecent, unwarrantable and unlawful; first indecent, as she is Woman--for thou art Woman--and beautiful Woman--yes, very beautiful Woman; on whom Nature hath shew’d her height of Excellence in the out-work, but left thee unfinisht, imperfect and impure.

_Cor_. Heavens, what have we here?

Sir _Sig_. A Pox of my Sir _Domine_; now is he beside his Text, and will spoil all.

_Tick_. Secondly, Unwarrantable; by what Authority dost thou seduce with the Allurements of thine Eyes, and the Conjurements of thy Tongue, the Wastings of thy Hands, and the Tinklings of thy Feet, the young Men in the Villages?

_Cor_. Sirrah, how got this Madman in? seize him, and take him hence.

Sir _Sig_. _Corpo de mi_, my Governour tickles her notably, I’faith--but had he let the care of my Soul alone to night, and have let me taken care of my Body, ‘twould have been more material at this time.

_Tick_. Thirdly, Unlawful--

_Cor_. Quite distracted! in pity take him hence, and lead him into Darkness, ‘twill suit his Madness best.

_Tick_. How, distracted! take him hence.

_Pet_. This was lucky--I knew she wou’d come again--Take him hence--yes, into her Bed-chamber--pretty device to get you to her self, Signior.

_Tick_. Why, but is it?--Nay then I will facilitate my departure-- therefore I say, Oh most beautiful and tempting Woman-- [_Beginning to preach again_.

_Cor_. Away with him, give him clean straw and darkness, And chain him fast, for fear of further mischief.

_Pet_. She means for fear of losing ye.

_Tick_. Ah, Baggage! as fast as she will in those pretty Arms. [_Going to lead him off_.

Sir _Sig_. Hold, hold, man; mad, said ye!--ha, ha, ha--mad! why we have a thousand of these in _England_ that go loose about the streets, and pass with us for as sober discreet religious persons, as a man shall wish to talk nonsense withal.

_Pet_. You are mistaken, Signior, I say he is mad, stark mad.

Sir _Sig_. Prithee, _Barberacho_, what dost thou mean?

_Pet_. To rid him hence, that she may be alone with you--’slife, Sir, you’re madder than he--don’t you conceive?--

Sir _Sig_. Ay, ay; nay, I confess, Illustrissima Signiora, my Governour has a Fit that takes him now and then, a kind of frensy,--a figary--a whimsy--a maggot, that bites always at naming of Popery: [_Exit_. Pet. _with_ Tick.]--so--he’s gone.--Bellissima Signiora,--you have most artificially remov’d him--and this extraordinary proof of your affection is a sign of some small kindness towards me; and though I was something coy and reserv’d before my Governour, Excellentissima Signiora, let me tell you, your Love is not cast away.

_Cor_. Oh, Sir, you bless too fast; but will you ever love me?

Sir _Sig_. Love thee! ay and lie with thee too, most magnanimous Signiora, and beget a whole Race of Roman _Julius Caesars_ upon thee; nay, now we’re alone, turn me loose to Impudence, i’faith. [_Ruffles her; Enter_ Philippa _in haste, shutting the door after her_.

_Phil_. Oh, Madam, here’s the young mad _English_ Cavalier got into the House, and will not be deny’d seeing you.

_Cor_. This was lucky.

Sir _Sig_. How, the mad _English_ Cavalier! if this shou’d be our young Count _Galliard_ now--I were in a sweet taking--Oh, I know by my fears ’.is he;--Oh, prithee what kind of a manner of Man is he?

_Phil_. A handsom--resolute--brave--bold--

Sir _Sig_. Oh, enough, enough--Madam, I’ll take my leave--I see you are something busy at present,--an I’ll--

_Cor_. Not for the World:--_Philippa_, bring in the Cavalier--that you may see there’s none here fears him, Signior.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, hold, hold--Madam, you are mistaken in that point; for, to tell you the truth, I do fear--having--a certain--Aversion or Antipathy-- to--Madam--a Gentleman--Why, Madam, they’re the very Monsters of the Nation, they devour every Day a Virgin.--

_Cor_. Good Heavens! and is he such a Fury?

Sir _Sig_. Oh, and the veriest Beelzebub;--besides, Madam, he vow’d my Death, if ever he catcht me near this House; and he ever keeps his word in cases of this Nature--Oh, that’s he, [_Knocking at the Door_.] I know it by a certain trembling Instinct about me!--Oh, what shall I do--

_Cor_. Why--I know not,--can you leap a high Window?

Sir _Sig_. He knocks again,--I protest I am the worst Vaulter in Christendom.--Have you no moderate danger--between the two extremes of the Window or the mad Count? no Closet?--Fear has dwindled me to the scantling of a Mousehole.

_Cor_. Let me see,--I have no leisure to pursue my Revenge farther, and will rest satisfy’d with this,--for this time. [_Aside_.]--Give me the Candle,--and whilst _Philippa_ is conducting the Cavalier to the Alcove by dark, you may have an Opportunity to slip out--perhaps there may be danger in his being seen--[_Aside_.] Farewel, Fool--

[_Ex_. Cornelia _with the Candle_, Phil. _goes to the Door, lets in_ Gal. _takes him by the hand_.

_Gal_. Pox on’t, my Knight’s bound for _Viterbo_, and there’s no persuading him into safe Harbour again.--He has given me but two hours to dispatch matters here,--and then I’m to imbark with him upon this new Discovery of honourable Love, as he call it, whose Adventurers are Fools, and the returning Cargo, that dead Commodity called a Wife! a Voyage very suitable to my Humour.--Who’s there?--

_Phil_. A Slave of _Silvianetta_, Sir; give me your hand.

[_Ex. over the stage, Sir_ Sig. _goes out softly_.