Chapter 61

Enter _Mirtilla_ and Mrs. _Manage_.

_Mir._ Ah, let me have that Song again.

A Song by Mr. _Gildon_.

I.

_No, _Delia_, no: What Man can range From such Seraphic Pleasure? ‘Tis want of Charms that make us change, To grasp the Fury, Treasure. What Man of Sense wou’d quit a certain Bliss, For Hopes and empty Possibilities?_

II.

_Vain Fools! that sure Possessions spend, In hopes of Chymic Treasure, But for their fancy’d Riches find Both want of Gold and Pleasure. Rich in my Delia, I can wish no more; The Wanderer, like the Chymist, must be poor._

_Man._ Not see him, Madam--I protest he’s handsomer, and handsomer, _Paris_ has given him such an Air:--Lord, he’s all over Monsieur--Not see him, Madam--Why? I hope you do not, like the foolish sort of Wives, design a strict Obedience to your Husband.

_Mir._ Away, a Husband!--when Absence, that sure Remedy of Love, had heal’d the bleeding Wound _Lejere_ had made, by Heaven, I thought I ne’er shou’d love again--but since _Endymion_ has inspir’d my Soul, and for that Youth I burn, I pine, I languish.

Enter _George_ richly drest, stands at a distance gazing on _Mirtilla_.

_Man._ See, Madam, there’s an Object may put out that Flame, and may revive the old one.

_Mir._ Shame and Confusion.--_Lejere._ [Turns and walks away.

_Geo._ Yonder she is, that Mien and Shape I know, though the false Face be turn’d with shame away. [Offers to advance, and stops. --’Sdeath,--I tremble! yet came well fortify’d with Pride and Anger. I see thou’st in thy Eyes a little Modesty. [Goes to her nearer. That wou’d conceal the Treasons of thy Heart.

_Mir._ Perhaps it is their Scorn that you mistake.

_Geo._ It may be so; she that sets up for Jilting, shou’d go on; ‘Twere mean to find remorse, so young, and soon: Oh, this gay Town has gloriously improv’d you amongst the rest; that taught you Perjury.

_Mir._ Alas! when was it sworn?

_Geo._ In the blest Age of Love, When every Power look’d down, and heard thy Vows.

_Mir._ I was a Lover then; shou’d Heaven concern it self with Lovers Perjuries, ‘twould find no leisure to preserve the Universe.

_Geo._ And was the Woman so strong in thee, thou couldst not wait a little? Were you so raving mad for Fool and Husband, you must take up with the next ready Coxcomb. Death, and the Devil, a dull clumsey Boor!--What was it charm’d you? The beastly quantity of Man about him?

_Mir._ Faith, a much better thing, five thousand Pounds a Year, his Coach and Six, it shews well in the _Park_.

_Geo._ Did I want Coach, or Equipage, and Shew?

_Mir._ But still there wanted Fool, and Fortune to’t; He does not play at the Groom-Porter’s for it; nor do the Drudgery of some worn-out Lady.

_Geo._ If I did this, thou hadst the spoils of all my Nation’s Conquests, while all the whole World was wondering whence it came; for Heav’n had left thee nothing but thy Beauty, that dear Reward of my industrious Love.

_Mir._ I do confess--

_Geo._ Till time had made me certain of a Fortune, which now was hasting on.--

And is that store of Love and wondrous Joys I had been hoarding up so many tender Hours, all lavish’d on a Brute, who never lusted ‘bove my Lady’s Woman? for Love he understands no more than Sense.

_Mir._ Prithee reproach me on-- [Sighs.

_Geo._ ‘Sdeath, I cou’d rave! Is this soft tender Bosom to be prest by such a Load of Fool? Damnation on thee--Where got’st thou this coarse Appetite? Take back the Powers, those Charms she’s sworn adorn’d me, since a dull, fat-fac’d, noisy, taudry Blockhead, can serve her turn as well. [Offers to go.

_Mir._ You shall not go away with that Opinion of me.--

_Geo._ Oh, that false Tongue can now no more deceive--Art thou not marry’d? Tell me that, false Charmer.

_Mir._ Yes.-- [Holding him.

_Geo._ Curse on that word: wou’d thou hadst never learnt it--it gave thy Heart, and my Repose away.

_Mir._ Dost think I marry’d with that dull design? Canst thou believe I gave my Heart away, because I gave my Hand?--Fond Ceremony that--A necessary trick, devis’d by wary Age, to traffick ‘twixt a Portion and a Jointure; him whom I lov’d, is marry’d to my Soul.

_Geo._ Art thou then mine? And wilt thou make Atonement, by such a charming way?--Come to my clasping Arms.

Enter Lady _Blunder_ at the Door. Sees ‘em, and offers to go out again.

L. _Blun._ Oh, Heavens! How rude am I?--Cry Mercy, Madam, I protest I thought you’d been alone.

_Geo._ ‘Sdeath! my Aunt _Blunder_! [Aside.

_Mir._ Only this Gentleman, Madam--

L. _Blun._ Sir, I beg your Pardon--and am really sorry--

_Geo._ That you find me with your Daughter, Madam.

L. _Blun._ I hope you take me to be better bred, Sir: Nor had I interrupted you, but for an Accident that has happen’d to Sir _Morgan_, coming out of the City in a beastly Hackney-Coach, he was turn’d over in _Cheap-side_, and striking the filthy Coach-man, the nasty Mob came out, and had almost kill’d him, but for a young Gentleman, a Stranger, that came to his Rescue, and whom he has brought to kiss your Ladyship’s Hands--But I’ll instruct him in his Duty, he shall wait till your Ladyship is more at leisure--alas! he’s already on the Stairs. [Exit.

_Mir._ Let him wait there--_Lejere_, ‘tis necessary you depart, sure of my Heart, you cannot fear the rest; the Night is hasting on; trust me but some few Hours, and then, _Lejere_, I’ll pay you back with Interest.

_Geo._ All Blessings light on thee. But will your Lady Mother make no Discovery of my being here?

_Mir._ She’d sooner pimp for me, and believe it a part of good Breeding:--away, I hear ‘em coming. [She puts him out at a back-Door.

Enter Lady _Blunder_ peeping.

L. _Blun._ He’s gone--Sir _Morgan_, you may approach.

Enter Sir _Morgan_, pulling in the _Prince_, Sir _Merlin_, and a _Page_ to the _Prince_.

Sir _Morg._ Nay, as Gat shall save me, Sir, you shall see my Lady, or so, d’ye see, and receive the Thanks of the House.

_Prince._ As Gat shall save me, Sir, I am sorry for it--another time, Sir: I have earnest business. Now, I am sure nothing worth seeing can belong to this litter of Fools.

L. _Blun._ My Daughter is a Person of Quality, I assure you, Sir.

_Prince._ I doubt it not, Madam--If she be of the same Piece--Send me a fair Deliverance. [Sir _Morgan_ leads him to _Mirtilla_, he starts. --Ha! What bright Vision’s that?

_Mir._ Heav’n! ‘Tis the lovely Prince I saw in _Flanders_. [Aside.

Sir _Mer._ Look how he stares--why, what the Devil ails he?

Sir _Morg._ To her, Sir, or so, d’ye see, what a Pox, are you afraid of her?

L. _Blun._ He’s in Admiration of her Beauty, Child.

_Prince._ By Heav’n, the very Woman I adore! [Aside.

Sir _Morg._ How d’ye, see, Sir, how do ye, ha, ha, ha?

_Prince._ I cannot be mistaken; for Heav’n made nothing but young Angels like her!

Sir _Morg._ Look ye, Page, is your Master in his right Wits?

Sir _Mer._ Sure he’s in love, and Love’s a devilish thing.

Sir _Morg._ Sa, ho, ho, ho, where are you, Sir, where are you?

_Prince._ In Heav’n! [Puts him away. Oh! do not rouse me from this charming Slumber, lest I shou’d wake, and find it but a Dream.

Sir _Mer._ A plaguy dull Fellow this, that can sleep in so good Company as we are.

Sir _Morg._ Dream--A Fiddle-stick; to her, Man, to her, and kiss her soundly, or so, d’ye see.

Sir _Mer._ Ay, ay; kiss her, Sir, kiss her--ha, ha, ha, he’s very simple.

_Prince._ Kiss her,--there’s universal Ruin in her Lips.

_Mir._ I never knew ‘em guilty of such Mischiefs.

Sir _Morg._ No, I’ll be sworn, I have kist ‘em twenty times, and they never did me harm.

_Prince._ Thou kiss those Lips? impossible, and false; they ne’er were prest but by soft _Southern_ Winds.

Sir _Morg._ _Southern_ Winds--ha, ha, lookye, d’ye see, Boy, thy Master’s mad, or so, d’ye see--why, what a Pox, d’ye think I never kiss my Wife, or so, d’ye see.

_Prince._ Thy Wife!--

_Mir._ He will betray his Passion to these Fools: Alas, he’s mad--and will undo my Hopes. [Aside.

_Prince._ Thou mayst as well claim Kindred to the Gods; she’s mine, a Kingdom shall not buy her from me.

Sir _Morg._ Hay day, my Wife yours! look ye, as d’ye see, what, is it _Midsummer-moon_ with you, Sir, or so, d’ye see?

_Mir._ In pity give him way, he’s madder than a Storm.

_Prince._ Thou know’st thou art, and thy dear Eyes confess it--a numerous Train attended our Nuptials, witness the Priest, witness the sacred Altar where we kneel’d--when the blest silent Ceremony was perform’d.

_Mir._ Alas! he’s mad, past all recovery mad.

Sir _Mer._ Mad, say, poor Soul--Friend, how long has your Master been thus intoxicated?

_Page._ He’s mad indeed to make this Discovery. [Aside. Alas, Sir, he’s thus as often as he sees a beautiful Lady, since he lost a Mistress, who dy’d in _Flanders_ to whom he was contracted.

Sir _Mer._ Good lack--ay, ay, he’s distracted, it seems.

_Page._ See how he kneels to her! stand off, and do but mind him.

_Mir._ Rise, Sir,--you’l ruin me--dissemble if you love--or you can ne’er be happy. [In a low Voice, and raising him.

_Prince._ My Transport is too high for a Disguise--give me some hope, promise me some Relief, or at your Feet I’ll pierce a wounded Heart.

_Mir._ Rise, and hope for all you wish: Alas, he faints-- [She takes him up, he falls upon her Bosom.

_Page._ Hold him fast, Madam, between your Arms, and he’ll recover presently. Stand all away.--

_Prince._ Oh! tell me, wilt thou bless my Youth and Love? Oh! swear, lest thou shouldst break--for Women wou’d be Gods, but for Inconstancy.

_Page._ See, he begins to come to himself again--keep off--

_Mir._ You have a thousand Charms that may secure you--The Ceremony of my Nuptials is every Evening celebrated, the noise of which draws all the Town together; be here in Masquerade, and I’ll contrive it so, that you shall speak with me this Night alone.

_Prince._ So, now let my Soul take Air--

L. _Blun._ What pity ‘tis so fine a Gentleman shou’d be thus.

_Mir._ You must be bringing home your Fops to me, and see what comes of it. [As she passes out.

Sir _Morg._ Fops! I thought him no more a Fop, than I do my own natural Cousin here. [Ex. _Mir._ in Scorn.

_Prince._ Where am I? [The _Page_ has whispered him.

Sir _Mer._ Why, here, Sir, here, at Sir _Morgan Blunder’s_ Lodging in _Lincolns-Inn-Fields_.

_Prince._ That’s well, he has told me--Where have I been this long half hour, and more?

Sir _Mer._ Nay, the Lord knows.

_Prince._ I fancy’d I saw a lovely Woman.

Sir _Mer._ Fancy’d--why, so you did, Man, my Lady _Mirtilla Blunder_.

_Prince._ Methought I slept upon her snowy Bosom, and dreamt I was in Heaven, where I claim’d her.

Sir _Mer._ Good lack aday--why, so you did, Sir, ha, ha, ha.

_Prince._ And rav’d on Love; and talk’d abundance of Nonsense.

Sir _Morg._ Ha, ha, ha, by my Troth, and so you did, Sir.

_Prince._ I ask your Pardon, Sir, ‘tis an infirmity I have that ever takes me at the approach of a fine Woman, which made me so unwilling to see your Lady.

Sir _Morg._ Lookye, I ask your Pardon heartily, or so, d’ye see--and am sorry you are not in a Condition to visit her often.

_Prince._ I shall be better when I am us’d to her; ‘tis the first time only affects me.

Sir _Morg._ Pray, Sir, be pleas’d to use your self to her, or so, d’ye see--she’s a civil Person, and a Person of Quality before I marry’d her, d’ye see.

L. _Blun._ My Son tells you Truth, Sir.

_Prince._ Madam, I doubt it not, pray beg her Pardon, and do you give me yours. [Bows and kisses her Hand and goes out.

L. _Blun._ A most accomplish’d Person--

[Exeunt.