Chapter 59

_Enter_ Falatius, Labree, _as passing by they meet_ Cleontius.

_Cle_. Your Servant, my Lord. --So coldly, stay--your reason, Sir.

[Fal. _puts off his Hat a little, and passes on_.

_Fal_. How mean you, Sir?

_Cle_. Do you not know me?

_Fal_. Yes, I have seen you, and think you are _Cleontius_, A Servant of the Prince’s; wert i’th’ Campania too, If I mistake not.

_Cle_. Can you recal me by no better instances?

_Fal_. What need of any, pray?

_Cle_. I am a Gentleman.

_Fal_. Ha, _Labree_, what means he now? By _Jove_, I do not question it, _Cleontius_: What need this odd Punctilio? I call thee to no account.

_Cle_. That’s more than I can say to you, Sir.

_Fal_. I’ll excuse you for that.

_Cle_. But shall not need, Sir; stay, I have a Sister.

_Fal_. Oh, the Devil, now he begins.

_Cle_. A handsome Sister too, or you deceiv’d her.

_Lab_. Bear up, Sir, be not huft. [_Aside_.

_Fal_. It may be so, but is she kind, _Cleontius_? [Fal. _bears up_.

_Cle_. What mean you by that word?

_Lab_. Again, Sir, here’s two to one. [_Aside_.

_Fal_. Will she do reason, or so? you understand me.

_Cle_. I understand that thou’rt an impudent fellow, Whom I must cudgel into better manners.

_Fal_. Pox on’t, who bears up now, _Labree_?

_Cle_. Beat thee till thou confess thou art an Ass, And on thy knees confess it to _Isillia_, Who after that shall scorn thee.

_Lab_. Railly with him, Sir, ‘tis your only way, and put it Off with a jest; for he’s in fury, but dares not Strike i’th’ Court.

_Fal_. But must you needs do this, needs fight, _Cleontius_?

_Cle_. Yes, by all means, I find my self inclin’d to’t.

_Fal_. You shall have your desire, Sir, farewel.

_Cle_. When, and where?

_Fal_. Faith, very suddenly, for I think it will not be Hard to find men of your trade, Men that will fight as long as you can do, And Men that love it much better than I, Men that are poor and damn’d, fine desperate Rogues, Rascals that for a Pattacoon a Man Will fight their Fathers, And kiss their Mothers into peace again: Such, Sir, I think will fit you.

_Cle_. Abusive Coward, hast thou no sense of honour?

_Fal_. Sense of honour! ha, ha, ha, poor _Cleontius_.

_Enter_ Aminta _and_ Olinda.

_Am_. How now, Servant, why so jovial?

_Fal_. I was laughing, Madam--at--

_Cle_. At what, thou thing of nothing--

_Am_. Cousin _Cleontius_, you are angry.

_Cle_. Madam, it is unjustly then, for Fools Should rather move the Spleen to Mirth than Anger.

_Am_. You’ve too much wit to take ought ill from him: Let’s know your quarrel.

_Fal_. By _Jove, Labree_, I am undone again.

_Cle_. Madam, it was about--

_Fal_. Hold, dear _Cleontius_, hold, and I’ll do any thing. [_Aside_.

_Cle_. Just nothing--

_Fal_. He was a little too familiar with me.

_Cle_. Madam, my Sister _Isillia_--

_Fal_. A curse, he will out with it-- [_Aside, pulls him by the Arm_.

_Cle_. Confess she is your Mistress. [_Aside_.

_Fal_. I call my Mistress, Madam.

_Am_. My Cousin _Isillia_ your Mistress! Upon my word, you are a happy Man.

_Fal_. By _Jove_, if she be your Cousin, Madam, I love her much the better for’t.

_Am_. I am beholding to you, But then it seems I have lost a Lover of you.

_Cle_. Confess she has, or I’ll so handle you.

[_Ex_. Labree.

_Fal_. That’s too much, _Cleontius_--but I will, By _Jove_, Madam, I must not have a Mistress that Has more Wit than my self, they ever require More than a Man’s able to give them.

_Oli_. Is this your way of Courtship to _Isillia_?

[_Ex_. Cle.

_Fal_. By _Jove_, Ladies, you get no more of that from me, ’.is that has spoiled you all; I find _Alcander_ can Do more with a dumb show, than I with all my Applications and Address.

_Oli_. Why, my Brother can speak.

_Fal_. Yes, if any body durst hear him; by _Jove_, if you Be not kind to him, he’ll hector you all; I’ll get The way on’t too, ‘tis the most prosperous one; I see no Other reason you have to love _Alcander_ Better than I.

_Am_. Why should you think I do?

_Fal_. Devil, I see’t well enough by your continual Quarrels with him.

_Am_. Is that so certain a proof?

_Fal_. Ever while you live, you treat me too Well ever to hope.

_Enter_ Alcander, _kneels, offers his Sword to_ Aminta.

--What new Masquerade’s this? by _Jove, Alcander_ Has more tricks than a dancing Bear.

_Am_. What mean you by this present?

_Alcan_. Kill me.

_Am_. What have you done to merit it?

_Alcan_. Do not ask, but do’t.

_Am_. I’ll have a reason first.

_Alcan_. I think I’ve kill’d _Pisaro_.

_Am_. My Brother dead! [_She falls into the arms of_ Oli.

_Fal_. Madam, look up, ‘tis I that call.

_Am_. I care not who thou beest, but if a Man, Revenge me on _Alcander_. [_She goes out with_ Oli.

_Fal_. By _Jove_, she has mistook her Man, This ‘tis to be a Lover now: A Man’s never out of one broil or other; But I have more Wit than _Aminta_ this bout. [_Offers to go_.

_Alcan_. Come back and do your duty e’er you go. [_Pulls him_.

_Fal_. I owe you much, _Alcander_.

_Alcan. Amimta_ said you should revenge her on me.

_Fal_. Her Word’s not Law I hope.

_Alcan_. And I’ll obey--

_Fal_. That may do much indeed. [Fal. _answers with great signs of fear_.

_Alcan_. This, if thou wert a Man, she bad thee do, Why dost thou shake?

_Fal_. No, no, Sir, I am not the man she meant.

_Alcan_. No matter, thou wilt serve as well. A Lover! and canst disobey thy Mistress?

_Fal_. I do disown her, since she is so wicked To bid me kill my Friend. Why, thou’rt my Friend, _Alcander_.

_Alcan_. I’ll forgive thee that.

_Fal_. So will not his Majesty: I may be hang’d for’t.

_Alcan_. Thou should’st be damn’d e’er disobey thy Mistress.

_Fal_. These be degrees of Love I am not yet arriv’d at; When I am, I shall be as ready to be damn’d In honour as any Lover of you all.

_Alcan_. Ounds, Sir, d’ye railly with me?

_Fal_. Your pardon, sweet _Alcander_, I protest I am Not in so gay an humour.

_Alcan_. Farewell, I had forgot my self. [_Exit_.

_Fal_. Stark mad, by _Jove_--yet it may be not, for _Alcander_ has many unaccountable humours. Well, if this be agreeable to _Aminta_, she’s e’en as mad As he, and ‘twere great pity to part them.

_Enter_ Pisaro, Aminta, _and_ Olinda.

_Am_. Well, have you kill’d him?

_Fal_. Some wiser than some, Madam. --My Lord--what, alive?-- [_Sees_ Pisaro, _runs to him, and embraces him_.

_Pis_. Worth two dead men, you see.

_Fal_. That’s more than I could have said within This half hour. _Alcander’s_ very _Orlando_, by _Jove_, and gone To seek out one that’s madder yet than himself That will kill him.

_Am_. Oh, dear _Falatius_, run and fetch him back.

_Fal_. Madam, I have so lately ‘scap’d a scouring, That I wish you would take it for a mark Of my Passion to disobey you; For he is in a damn’d humour.

_Am_. He’s out of it by this, I warrant you; But do not tell him that _Pisaro_ lives.

_Fal_. That’s as I shall find occasion. [_Exit_ Fal.

_Pis. Alcander_ is a worthy Youth and brave, I wish you would esteem him so; ’.is true, there’s now some difference between us, Our Interests are dispos’d to several ways, But Time and Management will join us all: I’ll leave you; but prithee make it thy business To get my Pardon for last night’s rudeness.

_Am_. I shall not fail.

[_Exit_ Pis.

_Re-enter_ Falatius, _with_ Alcander _melancholy_.

_Fal_. Here, Madam, here he is.

_Am_. Tell me, _Alcander_, why you treat me thus? You say you love me, if I could believe you.

_Alcan_. Believe a Man! away, you have no wit, I’ll say as much to every pretty Woman.

_Am_. But I have given you no cause to wrong me.

_Alcan_. That was my Fate, not Fault, I knew him not: But yet to make up my offence to you, I offer you my life; for I’m undone, If any faults of mine should make you sad.

_Am_. Here, take your Sword again, my Brother’s well. [_She gives him his Sword again_.

_Fal_. Yes, by _Jove_, as I am: you had been finely serv’d, If I had kill’d you now.

_Am_. What, sorry for the news? ha, ha, ha.

_Alcan_. No, sorry y’are a Woman, a mere Woman.

_Am_. Why, did you ever take me for a Man? ha, ha.

_Alcan_. Thy Soul, I thought, was all so; but I see You have your weakness, can dissemble too; --I would have sworn that Sorrow in your face Had been a real one: Nay, you can die in jest, you can, false Woman: I hate thy Sex for this.

_Fal_. By Jove, there is no truth in them, that’s flat. [_She looks sad_.

_Alcan_. Why that repentant look? what new design? Come, now a tear or two to second that, And I am soft again, a very Ass. --But yet that Look would call a Saint from th’.ltar, And make him quite forget his Ceremony, Or take thee for his Deity: --But yet thou hast a very Hell within, Which those bewitching Eyes draw Souls into.

_Fal_. Here’s he that fits you, Ladies.

_Am_. Nay, now y’are too unjust, and I will leave you.

_Alcan_. Ah, do not go, I know not by what Magick, [_Holds her_. But as you move, my Soul yields that way too.

_Fal_. The truth on’t is, she has a strong magnetick Power, that I find.

_Alcan_. But I would have none find it but my self, No Soul but mine shall sympathize with hers.

_Fal_. Nay, that you cannot help.

_Alcan_. Yes, but I can, and take it from thee, if I thought it did so.

_Oli_. No quarrels here, I pray.

_Fal_. Madam, I owe a Reverence to the Place.

_Alcan_. I’ll scarce allow thee that; Madam, I’ll leave you to your Lover.

_Am_. I hate thee but for saying so.

_Alcan_. Quit him then.

_Am_. So I can and thee too. [_Offers to go out_.

_Alcan_. The Devil take me if you escape me so. [_Goes after her_.

_Fal_. And I’ll not be out-done in importunity.

[_Goes after_.