Chapter 14

_Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Charles, Trusty, _and two Servants_.

_Lord_. In a Baudy-house, with Whores, Hectors, and Dice! Oh, that I should be so deceiv’d in Mankind, he whom I thought all Virtue and Sobriety! But go some of you immediately, and take Officers along with you, and remove his Quarters from a Baudy-house to a Prison: charge him with the Murder of his Wife.

_Char_. My Lord, when I demanded her, he said indeed that she was dead, and kill’d by him; but this I guess was the Effects of Madness, which Debauchery, and want of Sleep has brought him to.

_Lord_. That shall be try’d; go to the Place where _Charles_ has directed you, and do as I command you.

[_Ex. Servants_.

--Oh, sweet _Diana_, in whom I had plac’d my absolute Delight, And gave thee to this Villain, because I wish’d thee happy. And are my Expectations fall’n to this? Upon his Wedding Night to abandon thee, And shew his long dissembled natural Leudness!

_Char_. My Lord, I hope, ‘tis not his natural Temper; For e’er we parted, from a brutal Rudeness, He grew to all the Softness Grief could dictate. He talkt of breach of Vows, of Death, and Ruin, And dying at the Feet of a wrong’d Maid; I know not what he meant.

_Lord_. Ay, there’s his Grief; there is some jilting Hussy has drawn him in; but I’ll revenge my self on both.

_Enter_ Page.

_Page_. A Letter for your Lordship.

Lord _reads_.

My LORD,

_As your Goodness has been ever great towards me, so I humbly beseech you to continue it; and the greatest Proofs you can give me of it, is to use all your Interest to undo that tye between_ Bellmour _and my self, which with such Joy you knit. I will say no more, but as you love my Life, and my dearer Honour, get a Divorce, or you will see both ruin’d in Your_ Diana.

[_Gives_ Charles _the Letter_.

_Lord_. A Divorce! yes, if all my Interest or Estate can purchase it-- some Joy yet that thou art well.

_Char_. Doubtless her Reasons must be great for this Request.

_Lord_. Yes, for she lov’d him passionately; when I first told her of my Designs to marry ‘em together, she could not hide her Joy; which was one Motive, I urg’d it to him with such Violence.

_Char_. Persons so near of Kin do seldom prosper in the Marriage-Bed.

_Lord_. However ‘tis, I now think fit to unmarry ‘em; And as for him, I’ll use him with what Rigor The utmost Limits of the Law allows me.

_Char_. Sir, I beseech you--

_Lord_. You beseech me! You, the Brother of the Villain! that has abus’d the best of all my Hopes!--No, I think--I shall grow (for his sake) to hate all that belong to him.

_Char_. Sir, how, have I offended?

_Lord_. Yes, Sir, you have offended me, and Nature has offended me; you are his Brother, and that’s an Offence to me.

_Char_. Is that a Fault, my Lord?

_Lord_. Yes, Sir, a great one, and I’ll have it so; and let me tell you, you nor your Sister (for that reason) must expect no more Friendship at my Hands, than from those that are absolute Strangers to you: Your Brother has refus’d you your Portions, and I’ll have as little Mercy As he, and so farewel to you--But where’s the Messenger that brought the Letter?

_Page_. Without, my Lord.

[_Ex_. Lord _and_ Page.

_Trust_. Here’s like to be a hopeful end of a noble Family. My Comfort is, I shall die with Grief, and not see the last of ye. [_Weeps_.

_Char_. No, _Trusty_, I have not been so meanly educated, but I know how to live, and like a Gentleman: All that afflicts me in this Misfortune, is my dear Sister _Phillis_, she’s young; and to be left poor in this loose Town, will ruin her for ever.

_Trust_. Sir, I think we were best to marry her out of the way.

_Char_. Marry her! To whom? who is’t regards poor Virtue?

_Trust_. For that let me alone; and if you dare trust her to my Management, I’ll undertake to marry her to a Man of 2000 pounds a Year; and if it fail, I’ll be sure to keep her Honour safe.

_Char_. Prithee how wilt do this?

_Trust_. Sir, I have serv’d your Family these thirty Years, with Faith and Love; and if I lose my Credit now, I’ll never pretend to’t more.

_Char_. Do what thou wilt, for I am sure thou’rt honest, And I’ll resign my Sister to thy Conduct, Whilst I endeavour the Conversion of my Brother. [_Exit_ Charles.

_Enter_ Phillis.

_Phil_. No News yet of my Brother?

_Trust_. None: The Next you’ll hear is, that he’s undone, and that you must go without your Portions; and worse than that, I can tell you, your Uncle designs to turn you out of Doors.

_Phil_. Alas! what shou’d I do, if he shou’d be so cruel? Wou’d I were in _Flanders_ at my Monastery again, if this be true.

_Trust_. I have better Bus’ness for you, than telling of Beads--No, Mrs. _Phillis_, you must be married.

_Phil_. Alas! I am too young, and sad for Love.

_Trust_. The younger, and the less Love, the better.

_Enter_ Page.

_Page_. Mr. _Trusty_, here’s a Gentleman would speak with you, he says his Name’s Mr. _Sham_.

_Trust_. Gud’s me, Mistress, put on all your Holiday Looks; for this is the little Merchant of Love by Retail, that brings you the Husband I promis’d you.

_Enter_ Sham.

_Sham_. Well, Mr. _Trusty_, I have brought Sir _Timothy_ as I promis’d, he is at the Garden-door.

_Trust_. The best time in the World, my Lord’s out of the way.

_Sham_. But you know our Conditions.

_Trust_. Yes, that if he marry her, you are to have all the Money that he offers to debauch her.

_Sham_. Right.

_Trust_. Bring him in then, and I’ll civilly withdraw. [_Exit_ Trusty.

_Enter_ Sham, _bringing in Sir_ Timothy.

Sir _Tim_. Well, _Sham_, thou hast prepar’d all things, and there needs no Ceremony.

_Sham_. None, none, Sir; you may fall down-right to the Business. [_Exit_.

_Enter_ Phillis.

Sir _Tim_. _sings_.

_Come, my_ Phillis, _let us improve Both our Joys of equal Love; Whilst we in yonder shady Grove, Count Minutes by our Kisses_.

_Phil_. What sort of Courtship’s this? ‘tis very odd!

Sir _Tim_. Pox on formal Fops; we have high-born and generous Souls, and scorn the common Road--Come, let’s enjoy, whilst Youth and Beauty lasts.

_Phil_. What means this Rudeness? I’ll tell my Brother.

Sir _Tim_. Your Brother! by Fortune, he’s so leud, that should I he so unconscionable to leave thee a Virgin but this Night, he wou’d ravish thee himself, and that at cheaper Rates than I design to do it.

_Phil_. How dare you talk to me at this rate?

Sir _Tim_. Talk to thee--by Fortune, I’ll play the _Tarquin_ with thee, if thou yieldest not quickly--for thou hast set me all on fire.

_Phil_. Defend me, Heaven, from such a Man.

Sir _Tim_. Then it must defend you from all the Sex; for all Mankind are like me, nay, and all Womankind are, or wou’d be, what I must make thee.

_Phil_. What’s that, a Wench?

Sir _Tim_. Fie, fie, that’s a gross Name; no, a Miss, that’s the Word-- a Lady of Delight, a Person of Pleasure and the rest; I’ll keep thee, not a Woman of Quality shall be half so fine--Come, dear _Phillis_, yield. Oh, I am mad for the happy hour--come, say the word, ‘tis but inclining thy Head a little thus, thy pretty Eyes down, and thy Cheeks all Blushes, and fetching a long Sigh--thus--with--do--what you please --at the end on’t--and I shall take it for granted.

_Phil_. That, Sir, you’ll never hear me say to any thing but a Husband, if I must say it then.

Sir _Tim_. A Husband! it is enough to spoil a Man’s Appetite, the very naming on’t--By Fortune, thou hast been bred with thy great Grand-mother, some old Queen _Elizabeth_ Lady, that us’d to preach Warnings to young Maidens; but had she liv’d in this Age, she wou’d have repented her Error, especially had she seen the Sum that I offer thee--Come, let’s in, by Fortune, I’m so vigorous, I shall ravish else.

_Phil_. Unhand me, or I’ll call out. I assure you, this is not the way to gain me.

Sir _Tim_. I know there is a way to gain all mortal Womankind; but how to hit the critical Minute of the Berjere--

_Phil_. It is past your Politicks at this time, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. I’ll try all ways, and the Devil’s in it, if I don’t hit upon the right at last. [_Aside_. All the soft things I’ve said--

_Phil_. That a Knight of your Parts ought to say.

Sir _Tim_. Then I have kneel’d--and cry’d, and swore--and--

_Phil_. And damn’d your self five hundred times.

Sir _Tim_. Yet still y’are impregnable--I’ll make another Proposition to you, which is both reasonable and modish--if it prove a Boy--I’ll marry you--the Devil’s in’t, if that be not fair.

_Phil_. You get no earnest of me, Sir, and so farewel to you. [_Ex_. Phillis.

_Enter_ Sham.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, _Sham_, I am all over fire, mad to enjoy. I have done what Man can do (without doing what I wou’d do) and still she’s Flint; nothing will down with her but Matrimony--what shall I do? for thou know’st I cannot marry a Wife without a Fortune.

_Sham_. Sir, you know the old Cheat; hire a Lay Rascal in a Canonical Habit, and put a false Marriage upon her.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, that this shou’d not enter into my Coxcomb before! haste then and get one--I’ll have it done immediately, whilst I go after her to keep up my flame. [_Ex. Sir_ Tim.

_Sham_. And I will fit you with a Parson presently.

[_Ex_.