Chapter 31

_Enter_ Leticia, _pursu’d by_ Phillis.

_Phil_. Why, Madam, do you leave the Garden, For this retreat to Melancholy?

_Let_. Because it suits my Fortune and my Humour; And even thy Presence wou’d afflict me now.

_Phil_. Madam, I was sent after you; my Lady _Fulbank_ has challeng’d Sir _Feeble_ at Bowls, and stakes a Ring of fifty Pound against his new Chariot.

_Let_. Tell him I wish him Luck in every thing, But in his Love to me-- Go tell him I am viewing of the Garden.

[_Ex_. Phillis.

_Enter_ Bellmour _at a distance behind her_.

--Blest be this kind Retreat, this ‘lone Occasion, That lends a short Cessation to my Torments, And gives me leave to vent my Sighs and Tears. [_Weeps_.

_Bel_. And doubly blest be all the Powers of Love, That give me this dear Opportunity.

_Let_. Where were you, all ye pitying Gods of Love? That once seem’d pleas’d at _Bellmour’s_ Flame and mine, And smiling join’d our Hearts, our sacred Vows, And spread your Wings, and held your Torches high.

_Bel_. Oh-- [_She starts, and pauses_.

_Let_. Where were you now? When this unequal Marriage Gave me from all my Joys, gave me from _Bellmour_; Your Wings were flag’d, your Torches bent to Earth, And all your little Bonnets veil’d your Eyes; You saw not, or were deaf and pitiless.

_Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_!

_Let_. Hah, ‘tis there again; that very voice was _Bellmour’s_: Where art thou, Oh thou lovely charming Shade? For sure thou canst not take a Shape to fright me. --What art thou?--speak! [_Not looking behind her yet for fear_.

_Bel_. Thy constant true Adorer, Who all this fatal Day has haunted thee To ease his tortur’d Soul. [_Approaching nearer_.

_Let_. My Heart is well acquainted with that Voice, But Oh, my Eyes dare not encounter thee. [_Speaking with signs of fear_.

_Bel_. Is it because thou’st broken all thy Vows? --Take to thee Courage, and behold thy Slaughters.

_Let_. Yes, though the Sight wou’d blast me, I wou’d view it. [_Turns_. --’Tis he--’tis very _Bellmour!_ or so like-- I cannot doubt but thou deserv’st this Welcome. [_Embraces him_.

_Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_!

_Let_. I’m sure I grasp not Air; thou art no Fantom: Thy Arms return not empty to my Bosom, But meet a solid Treasure.

_Bel_. A Treasure thou so easily threw’st away; A Riddle simple Love ne’er understood.

_Let_. Alas, I heard, my _Bellmour_, thou wert dead.

_Bel_. And was it thus you mourn’d my Funeral?

_Let_. I will not justify my hated Crime: But Oh! remember I was poor and helpless, And much reduc’d, and much impos’d upon.

[Bellmour _weeps_.

_Bel_. And Want compell’d thee to this wretched Marriage--did it?

_Let_. ‘Tis not a Marriage, since my _Bellmour_ lives; The Consummation were Adultery. I was thy Wife before, wo’t thou deny me?

_Bel_. No, by those Powers that heard our mutual Vows, Those Vows that tie us faster than dull Priests.

_Let_. But oh my _Bellmour_, thy sad Circumstances Permit thee not to make a publick Claim: Thou art proscribed, and diest if thou art seen.

_Bel_. Alas!

_Let_. Yet I wou’d wander with thee o’er the World, And share thy humblest Fortune with thy Love.

_Bel_. Is’t possible, _Leticia_, thou wou’dst fly To foreign Shores with me?

_Let_. Can _Bellmour_ doubt the Soul he knows so well?

_Bel_. Perhaps in time the King may find my Innocence, and may extend his Mercy: Mean time I’ll make provision for our Flight.

_Let_. But how ‘twixt this and that can I defend My self from the loath’d Arms of an impatient Dotard, That I may come a spotless Maid to thee?

_Bel_. Thy native Modesty and my Industry Shall well enough secure us. Feign your nice Virgin-Cautions all the day; Then trust at night to my Conduct to preserve thee. --And wilt thou yet be mine? Oh, swear a-new, Give me again thy Faith, thy Vows, thy Soul; For mine’s so sick with this Day’s fatal Business, It needs a Cordial of that mighty strength; Swear--swear, so as if thou break’st-- Thou mayst be--any thing--but damn’d, _Leticia_.

_Let_. Thus then, and hear me, Heaven! [_Kneels_.

_Bel_. And thus--I’ll listen to thee. [_Kneels_.

_Enter Sir_ Feeble, _L_. Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Feeb_. _Lette, Lette, Lette_, where are you, little Rogue, _Lette_? --Hah--hum--what’s here--

_Bel_. snatches her to his Bosom, as if she fainted.

_Bel_. Oh Heavens, she’s gone, she’s gone!

Sir _Feeb_. Gone--whither is she gone?--it seems she had the Wit to take good Company with her--

[_The Women go to her, take her up_.

_Bel_. She’s gone to Heaven, Sir, for ought I know.

Sir _Cau_. She was resolv’d to go in a young Fellow’s Arms, I see.

Sir _Feeb_. Go to, _Francis_--go to.

L. _Ful_. Stand back, Sir, she recovers.

_Bel_. Alas, I found her dead upon the Floor, --Shou’d I have left her so--if I had known your mind--

Sir _Feeb_. Was it so--was it so?--Got so, by no means, _Francis_.--

_Let_. Pardon him, Sir, for surely I had died, Bur for his timely coming.

Sir _Feeb_. Alas, poor Pupsey--was it sick--look here--here’s a fine thing to make it well again. Come, buss, and it shall have it--oh, how I long for Night. _Ralph_, are the Fidlers ready?

_Ral_. They are tuning in the Hall, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. That’s well, they know my mind. I hate that same twang, twang, twang, fum, fum, fum, tweedle, tweedle, tweedle, then scrue go the Pins, till a man’s Teeth are on an edge; then snap, says a small Gut, and there we are at a loss again. I long to be in bed with a--hey tredodle, tredodle, tredodle,--with a hay tredool, tredodle, tredo-- [_Dancing and playing on his Stick like a Flute_.

Sir _Cau_. A prudent Man would reserve himself--Good-facks, I danc’d so on my Wedding-day, that when I came to Bed, to my Shame be it spoken, I fell fast asleep, and slept till morning.

L. _Ful_. Where was your Wisdom then, Sir _Cautious_? But I know what a wise Woman ought to have done.

Sir _Feeb_. Odsbobs, that’s Wormwood, that’s Wormwood--I shall have my young Hussey set a-gog too; she’ll hear there are better things in the World than she has at home, and then odsbobs, and then they’ll ha’t, adod, they will, Sir _Cautious_. Ever while you live, keep a Wife ignorant, unless a Man be as brisk as his Neighbours.

Sir _Cau_. A wise Man will keep ‘em from baudy Christnings then, and Gossipings.

Sir _Feeb_. Christnings and Gossipings! why, they are the very Schools that debauch our Wives, as Dancing-Schools do our Daughters.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, when the overjoy’d good Man invites ‘em all against that time Twelve-month: Oh, he’s a dear Man, cries one--I must marry, cries another, here’s a Man indeed--my Husband--God help him--

Sir _Feeb_. Then he falls to telling of her Grievance, till (half maudlin) she weeps again: Just my Condition, cries a third: so the Frolick goes round, and we poor Cuckolds are anatomiz’d, and turn’d the right side outwards; adsbobs, we are, Sir _Cautious_.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, this Grievance ought to be redrest, Sir _Feeble_; the grave and sober part o’th’ Nation are hereby ridicul’d,--Ay, and cuckolded too for ought I know.

L. _Ful_. Wise Men knowing this, should not expose their Infirmities, by marrying us young Wenches; who, without Instruction, find how we are impos’d upon.

_Enter Fiddles playing, Mr_. Bearjest _and_ Diana _dancing_; Bredwel, Noisey, &c.

L. _Ful_. So, Cousin, I see you have found the way to Mrs. _Dy’s_ Heart.

_Bea_. Who, I, my dear Lady Aunt? I never knew but one way to a Woman’s Heart, and that road I have not yet travelled; for my Uncle, who is a wise Man, says Matrimony is a sort of a--kind of a--as it were, d’ye see, of a Voyage, which every Man of Fortune is bound to make one time or other: and Madam--I am, as it were--a bold Adventurer.

_Dia_. And are you sure, Sir, you will venture on me?

_Bea_. Sure!--I thank you for that--as if I could not believe my Uncle; For in this case a young Heir has no more to do, but to come and see, settle, marry, and use you scurvily.

_Dia_. How, Sir, scurvily?

_Bea_. Very scurvily, that is to say, be always fashionably drunk, despise the Tyranny of your Bed, and reign absolutely--keep a Seraglio of Women, and let my Bastard Issue inherit; be seen once a Quarter, or so, with you in the Park for Countenance, where we loll two several ways in the gilt Coach like _Janus_, or a Spread-Eagle.

_Dia_. And do you expect I shou’d be honest the while?

_Bea_. Heaven forbid, not I, I have not met with that Wonder in all my Travels.

L. _Ful_. How, Sir, not an honest Woman?

_Bea_. Except my Lady Aunt--Nay, as I am a Gentleman and the first of my Family--you shall pardon me, here--cuff me, cuff me soundly. [_Kneels to her_.

_Enter_ Gayman _richly drest_.

_Gay_. This Love’s a damn’d bewitching thing--Now though I should lose my Assignation with my Devil, I cannot hold from seeing _Julia_ to night: hah--there, and with a Fop at her Feet.--Oh Vanity of Woman! [_Softly pulls her_.

L. _Ful_. Oh, Sir, you’re welcome from _Northamptonshire_.

_Gay_. Hum--surely she knows the Cheat. [_Aside_.

L. _Ful_. You are so gay, you save me, Sir, the labour of asking if your Uncle be alive.

_Gay_. Pray Heaven she have not found my Circumstances! But if she have, Confidence must assist me-- [_Aside_. --And, Madam, you’re too gay for me to inquire Whether you are that _Julia_ which I left you?

L. _Ful_. Oh, doubtless, Sir--

_Gay_. But why the Devil do I ask--Yes, you are still the same; one of those hoiting Ladies, that love nothing like Fool and Fiddle; Crouds of Fops; had rather be publickly, though dully, flatter’d, than privately ador’d: you love to pass for the Wit of the Company, by talking all and loud.

L. _Ful_. Rail on, till you have made me think my Virtue at so low Ebb, it should submit to you.

_Gay_. What--I’m not discreet enough; I’ll babble all in my next high Debauch, Boast of your Favours, and describe your Charms To every wishing Fool.

L. _Ful_. Or make most filthy Verses of me-- Under the name of _Cloris_--you _Philander_, Who in leud Rhimes confess the dear Appointment; What Hour, and where, how silent was the Night, How full of Love your Eyes, and wishing mine. Faith, no; if you can afford me a Lease of your Love, Till the old Gentleman my Husband depart this wicked World, I’m for the Bargain.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--what’s here, a young Spark at my Wife? [_Goes about ‘em_.

_Gay_. Unreasonable _Julia_, is that all, My Love, my Sufferings, and my Vows must hope? Set me an Age--say when you will be kind, And I will languish out in starving Wish: But thus to gape for Legacies of Love, Till Youth be past Enjoyment, The Devil I will as soon--farewel. [_Offers to go_.

L. _Ful_. Stay, I conjure you stay.

_Gay_. And lose my Assignation with my Devil. [_Aside_.

Sir _Cau_. ‘Tis so, ay, ay, ‘tis so--and wise Men will perceive it; ‘tis here--here in my forehead, it more than buds; it sprouts, it flourishes.

Sir _Feeb_. So, that young Gentleman has nettled him, stung him to the quick: I hope he’ll chain her up--the Gad-Bee’s in his Quonundrum--in Charity I’ll relieve him--Come, my Lady _Fulbank_, the Night grows old upon our hands; to dancing, to jiggiting--Come, shall I lead your Ladyship?

L. _Ful_. No, Sir, you see I am better provided-- [_Takes_ Gayman’s _hand_.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, no doubt on’t, a Pox on him for a young handsome Dog.

[_They dance all_.

Sir _Feeb_. Very well, very well, now the Posset; and then--ods bobs, and then--

_Dia_. And then we’ll have t’other Dance.

Sir _Feeb_. Away, Girls, away, and steal the Bride to Bed; they have a deal to do upon their Wedding-nights; and what with the tedious Ceremonies of dressing and undressing, the smutty Lectures of the Women, by way of Instruction, and the little Stratagems of the young Wenches --odds bobs, a Man’s cozen’d of half his Night: Come, Gentlemen, one Bottle, and then--we’ll toss the Stocking.

[_Exeunt all but L_. Ful. Bred, _who are talking, and_ Gayman.

L. _Ful_. But dost thou think he’ll come?

_Bred_. I do believe so, Madam--

L. _Ful_. Be sure you contrive it so, he may not know whither, or to whom he comes.

_Bred_. I warrant you, Madam, for our Parts. [_Exit_ Bredwel, _stealing out_ Gayman.

L. _Ful_. How now, what, departing?

_Gay_. You are going to the Bride-Chamber.

L. _Ful_. No matter, you shall stay--

_Gay_. I hate to have you in a Croud.

L. _Ful_. Can you deny me--will you not give me one lone hour i’th’ Garden?

_Gay_. Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull kissing, and part with the same Appetite we met--No, Madam; besides, I have business--

L. _Ful_. Some Assignation--is it so indeed?

_Gay_. Away, you cannot think me such a Traitor; ‘tis more important business--

L. _Ful_. Oh, ‘tis too late for business--let to morrow serve.

_Gay_. By no means--the Gentleman is to go out of Town.

L. _Ful_. Rise the earlier then--

_Gay_.--But, Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously--sick--and should he die--

L. _Ful_. ‘Tis not a dying Uncle, I hope, Sir?

_Gay_. Hum--

L. _Ful_. The Gentleman a dying, and to go out of Town to morrow?

_Gay_. Ay--a--he goes--in a Litter--’tis his Fancy, Madam--Change of Air may recover him.

L. _Ful_. So may your change of Mistress do me, Sir--farewel. [_Goes out_.

_Gay_. Stay, _Julia_--Devil, be damn’d--for you shall tempt no more, I’ll love and be undone--but she is gone-- And if I stay, the most that I shall gain Is but a reconciling Look, or Kiss. No, my kind Goblin--

_I’ll keep my Word with thee, as the least Evil; A tantalizing Woman’s worse than Devil_.

[_Exit_.