SCENE II.--OLIVIA'S _Lodging.

_Enter_ Lord PLAUSIBLE _and_ Boy _with a candle._

_L. Plau._ Little gentleman, your most obedient, faithful, humble servant. Where, I beseech you, is that divine person, your noble lady?

_Boy._ Gone out, my lord; but commanded me to give you this letter. [_Gives him a letter._

_Enter_ NOVEL.

_L. Plau._ Which he must not observe. [_Aside. Puts letter up._

_Nov._ Hey, boy, where is thy lady?

_Boy._ Gone out, sir; but I must beg a word with you. [_Gives him a letter, and exit._

_Nov._ For me? So.--[_Puts up the letter._] Servant, servant, my lord; you see the lady knew of your coming, for she is gone out.

_L. Plau._ Sir, I humbly beseech you not to censure the lady's good breeding: she has reason to use more liberty with me than with any other man.

_Nov._ How, viscount, how?

_L. Plau._ Nay, I humbly beseech you, be not in choler; where there is most love, there may be most freedom.

_Nov._ Nay, then 'tis time to come to an eclaircissement with you, and to tell you, you must think no more of this lady's love.

_L. Plau._ Why, under correction, dear sir?

_Nov._ There are reasons, reasons, viscount.

_L. Plau._ What, I beseech you, noble sir?

_Nov._ Prithee, prithee, be not impertinent, my lord; some of you lords are such conceited, well-assured, impertinent rogues.

_L. Plau._ And you noble wits are so full of shamming and drolling, one knows not where to have you seriously.

_Nov._ Well, you shall find me in bed with this lady one of these days.

_L. Plau._ Nay, I beseech you, spare the lady's honour; for hers and mine will be all one shortly.

_Nov._ Prithee, my lord, be not an ass. Dost thou think to get her from me? I have had such encouragements--

_L. Plau._ I have not been thought unworthy of 'em.

_Nov._ What, not like mine! Come to an eclaircissement, as I said.

_L. Plau._ Why, seriously then, she has told me viscountess sounded prettily.

_Nov._ And me, that Novel was a name she would sooner change hers for than for any title in England.

_L. Plau._ She has commended the softness and respectfulness of my behaviour.

_Nov._ She has praised the briskness of my raillery, of all things, man.

_L. Plau._ The sleepiness of my eyes she liked.

_Nov._ Sleepiness! dulness, dulness. But the fierceness of mine she adored.

_L. Plau._ The brightness of my hair she liked.

_Nov._ The brightness! no, the greasiness, I warrant. But the blackness and lustre of mine she admires.

_L. Plau._ The gentleness of my smile.

_Nov._ The subtilty of my leer.

_L. Plau._ The clearness of my complexion.

_Nov._ The redness of my lips.

_L. Plau._ The whiteness of my teeth.

_Nov._ My jaunty way of picking them.

_L. Plau._ The sweetness of my breath.

_Nov._ Ha! ha! nay, then she abused you, 'tis plain; for you know what Manly said:--the sweetness of your pulvillio she might mean; but for your breath! ha! ha! ha! Your breath is such, man, that nothing but tobacco can perfume; and your complexion nothing could mend but the small-pox.

_L. Plau._ Well, sir, you may please to be merry; but, to put you out of all doubt, sir, she has received some jewels from me of value.

_Nov._ And presents from me; besides what I presented her jauntily, by way of ombre, of three or four hundred pounds value, which I'm sure are the earnest-pence for our love-bargain.

_L. Plau._ Nay, then, sir, with your favour, and to make an end of all your hopes, look you there, sir, she has writ to me--

_Nov._ How! how! well, well, and so she has to me; look you there--[_They deliver to each other their letters._

_L. Plau._ What's here?

_Nov._ How's this? [_Reads out._]--"My dear lord,--You'll excuse me for breaking my word with you, since 'twas to oblige, not offend you; for I am only gone abroad but to disappoint Novel, and meet you in the drawing-room; where I expect you with as much impatience as when I used to suffer Novel's visits--the most impertinent fop that ever affected the name of a wit, therefore not capable, I hope, to give you jealousy; for, for your sake alone, you saw I renounced an old lover, and will do all the world. Burn the letter, but lay up the kindness of it in your heart, with your--Olivia." Very fine! but pray let's see mine.

_L. Plau._ I understand it not; but sure she cannot think so of me.

_Nov._ [_Reads the other letter._] Hum! ha!--"meet--for your sake"--hum--"quitted an old lover--world--burn--in your heart--with your--Olivia." Just the same, the names only altered.

_L. Plau._ Surely there must be some mistake, or somebody has abused her and us.

_Nov._ Yes, you are abused, no doubt on't, my lord; but I'll to Whitehall, and see.

_L. Plau._ And I, where I shall find you are abused.

_Nov._ Where, if it be so, for our comfort, we cannot fail of meeting with fellow-sufferers enough; for, as Freeman said of another, she stands in the drawing room, like the glass, ready for all comers, to set their gallantry by her: and, like the glass too, lets no man go from her unsatisfied with himself. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ OLIVIA _and_ Boy.

_Oliv._ Both here, and just gone?

_Boy._ Yes, madam.

_Oliv._ But are you sure neither saw you deliver the other a letter?

_Boy._ Yes, yes, madam, I am very sure.

_Oliv._ Go then to the Old Exchange, to Westminster, Holborn, and all the other places I told you of; I shall not need you these two hours: begone, and take the candle with you, and be sure you leave word again below, I am gone out, to all that ask.

_Boy._ Yes, madam. [_Exit._

_Oliv._ And my new lover will not ask, I'm sure; he has his lesson, and cannot miss me here, though in the dark: which I have purposely designed, as a remedy against my blushing gallant's modesty; for young lovers, like game-cocks, are made bolder by being kept without light.

_Enter_ VERNISH, _as from a journey._

_Ver._ Where is she? Darkness everywhere? [_Softly._

_Oliv._ What! come before your time? My soul! my life! your haste has augmented your kindness; and let me thank you for it thus, and thus--[_Embracing and kissing him._] And though, my soul, the little time since you left me has seemed an age to my impatience, sure it is yet but seven--

_Ver._ How! who's that you expected after seven?

_Oliv._ Ha! my husband returned! and have I been throwing away so many kind kisses on my husband, and wronged my lover already? [_Aside._

_Ver._ Speak, I say, who was't you expected after seven?

_Oliv._ [_Aside._] What shall I say?--oh--[_Aloud._] Why 'tis but seven days, is it, dearest, since you went out of town? and I expected you not so soon.

_Ver._ No, sure, 'tis but five days since I left you.

_Oliv._ Pardon my impatience, dearest, I thought 'em seven at least.

_Ver._ Nay, then--

_Oliv._ But, my life, you shall never stay half so long from me again; you shan't indeed, by this kiss you shan't.

_Ver._ No, no; but why alone in the dark?

_Oliv._ Blame not my melancholy in your absence.--But, my soul, since you went, I have strange news to tell you: Manly is returned.

_Ver._ Manly returned! Fortune forbid!

_Oliv._ Met with the Dutch in the channel, fought, sunk his ship, and all he carried with him. He was here with me yesterday.

_Ver._ And did you own our marriage to him?

_Oliv._ I told him I was married to put an end to his love and my trouble; but to whom, is yet a secret kept from him and all the world. And I have used him so scurvily, his great spirit will ne'er return to reason it farther with me: I have sent him to sea again, I warrant.

_Ver._ 'Twas bravely done. And sure he will now hate the shore more than ever, after so great a disappointment. Be you sure only to keep a while our great secret, till he be gone. In the mean time, I'll lead the easy, honest fool by the nose, as I used to do; and whilst he stays, rail with him at thee; and when he's gone, laugh with thee at him. But have you his cabinet of jewels safe? part not with a seed-pearl to him, to keep him from starving.

_Oliv._ Nor from hanging.

_Ver._ He cannot recover 'em; and, I think, will scorn to beg 'em again.

_Oliv._ But, my life, have you taken the thousand guineas he left in my name out of the goldsmith's hands?

_Ver._ Ay, ay; they are removed to another goldsmith's.

_Oliv._ Ay, but, my soul, you had best have a care he find not where the money is; for his present wants, as I'm informed, are such as will make him inquisitive enough.

_Ver._ You say true, and he knows the man too; but I'll remove it to-morrow.

_Oliv._ To-morrow! O do not stay till to-morrow; go to-night, immediately.

_Ver._ Now I think on't, you advise well, and I will go presently.

_Oliv._ Presently! instantly! I will not let you stay a jot.

_Ver._ I will then, though I return not home till twelve.

_Oliv._ Nay, though not till morning, with all my heart. Go, dearest; I am impatient till you are gone.--[_Thrusts him out._] So, I have at once now brought about those two grateful businesses, which all prudent women do together, secured money and pleasure; and now all interruptions of the last are removed. Go, husband, and come up, friend; just the buckets in the well; the absence of one brings the other. But I hope, like them too, they will not meet in the way, jostle, and clash together.

_Enter_ FIDELIA, _and_ MANLY _treading softly and staying behind at some distance._

So, are you come? (but not the husband-bucket, I hope, again.)--Who's there? my dearest? [_Softly._

_Fid._ My life--

_Oliv._ Right, right.--Where are thy lips? Here, take the dumb and best welcomes, kisses and embraces; 'tis not a time for idle words. In a duel of love, as in others, parleying shows basely. Come, we are alone; and now the word is only satisfaction, and defend not thyself.

_Man._ How's this? Why, she makes love like a devil in a play; and in this darkness, which conceals her angel's face, if I were apt to be afraid, I should think her a devil. [_Aside._

_Oliv._ What, you traverse ground, young gentleman! [FIDELIA _avoiding her._

_Fid._ I take breath only.

_Man._ Good Heavens! how was I deceived! [_Aside._

_Oliv._ Nay, you are a coward; what, are you afraid of the fierceness of my love?

_Fid._ Yes, madam, lest its violence might presage its change; and I must needs be afraid you would leave me quickly, who could desert so brave a gentleman as Manly.

_Oliv._ O, name not his name! for in a time of stolen joys, as this is, the filthy name of husband were not a more allaying sound.

_Man._ There's some comfort yet. [_Aside._

_Fid._ But did you not love him?

_Oliv._ Never. How could you think it?

_Fid._ Because he thought it; who is a man of that sense, nice discerning, and diffidency, that I should think it hard to deceive him.

_Oliv._ No; he that distrusts most the world, trusts most to himself, and is but the more easily deceived, because he thinks he can't be deceived. His cunning is like the coward's sword, by which he is oftener worsted than defended.

_Fid._ Yet, sure, you used no common art to deceive him.

_Oliv._ I knew he loved his own singular moroseness so well, as to dote upon any copy of it; wherefore I feigned a hatred to the world too that he might love me in earnest: but, if it had been hard to deceive him, I'm sure 'twere much harder to love him. A dogged, ill-mannered--

_Fid._ D'ye hear, sir? pray, hear her. [_Aside to_ MANLY.

_Oliv._ Surly, untractable, snarling brute! He! a mastiff dog were as fit a thing to make a gallant of.

_Man._ Ay, a goat, or monkey, were fitter for thee. [_Aside._

_Fid._ I must confess, for my part, though my rival, I cannot but say he has a manly handsomeness in's face and mien.

_Oliv._ So has a Saracen in the sign.

_Fid._ Is proper, and well made.

_Oliv._ As a drayman.

_Fid._ Has wit.

_Oliv._ He rails at all mankind.

_Fid._ And undoubted courage.

_Oliv._ Like the hangman's; can murder a man when his hands are tied. He has cruelty indeed; which is no more courage, than his railing is wit.

_Man._ Thus women, and men like women, are too hard for us, when they think we do not hear 'em: and reputation, like other mistresses, is never true to a man in his absence. [_Aside._

_Fid._ He is--

_Oliv._ Prithee, no more of him: I thought I had satisfied you enough before, that he could never be a rival for you to apprehend. And you need not be more assured of my aversion to him, than by the last testimony of my love to you; which I am ready to give you. Come, my soul, this way. [_Pulls_ FIDELIA.

_Fid._ But, madam, what could make you dissemble love to him, when 'twas so hard a thing for you; and flatter his love to you?

_Oliv._ That which makes all the world flatter and dissemble, 'twas his money: I had a real passion for that. Yet I loved not that so well, as for it to take him; for as soon as I had his money I hastened his departure like a wife, who when she has made the most of a dying husband's breath, pulls away his pillow.

_Man._ Damned money! its master's potent rival still; and like a saucy pimp, corrupts itself the mistress it procures for us. [_Aside._

_Oliv._ But I did not think with you, my life, to pass my time in talking. Come hither, come; yet stay, till I have locked a door in the other room, that may chance to let us in some interruption; which reciting poets or losing gamesters fear not more than I at this time do. [_Exit._

_Fid._ Well, I hope you are now satisfied, sir, and will be gone to think of your revenge?

_Man._ No, I am not satisfied, and must stay to be revenged.

_Fid._ How, sir? You'll use no violence to her, I hope, and forfeit your own life, to take away hers? that were no revenge.

_Man._ No, no, you need not fear: my revenge shall only be upon her honour, not her life.

_Fid._ How, sir? her honour? O Heavens! consider, sir, she has no honour. D'ye call that revenge? can you think of such a thing? But reflect, sir, how she hates and loathes you.

_Man._ Yes, so much she hates me, that it would be a revenge sufficient to make her accessory to my pleasure, and then let her know it.

_Fid._ No, sir, no; to be revenged on her now, were to disappoint her. Pray, sir, let us begone. [_Pulls_ MANLY.

_Man._ Hold off! What, you are my rival then! and therefore you shall stay, and keep the door for me, whilst I go in for you; but when I'm gone, if you dare to stir off from this very board, or breathe the least murmuring accent, I'll cut her throat first; and if you love her, you will not venture her life.--Nay, then I'll cut your throat too; and I know you love your own life at least.

_Fid._ But, sir; good sir.

_Man._ Not a word more, lest I begin my revenge on her by killing you.

_Fid._ But are you sure 'tis revenge that makes you do this? how can it be?

_Man._ Whist!

_Fid._ 'Tis a strange revenge, indeed.

_Man._ If you make me stay, I shall keep my word, and begin with you. No more. [_Exit at the same door_ OLIVIA _went out by._

_Fid._

O Heavens! is there not punishment enough In loving well, if you will have't a crime, But you must add fresh torments daily to't, And punish us like peevish rivals still, Because we fain would find a heaven here? But did there never any love like me, That untried tortures you must find me out? Others at worst, you force to kill themselves; But I must be self-murdress of my love, Yet will not grant me power to end my life, My cruel life; for when a lover's hopes Are dead and gone, life is unmerciful.

[_Sits down and weeps._

_Re-enter_ MANLY.

_Man._ I have thought better on't: I must not discover myself now I am without witnesses; for if I barely should publish it, she would deny it with as much impudence, as she would act it again with this young fellow here.--Where are you?

_Fid._ Here--oh--now I suppose we may be gone.

_Man._ I will; but not you. You must stay and act the second part of a lover, that is, talk kindness to her.

_Fid._ Not I, sir.

_Man._ No disputing, sir, you must; 'tis necessary to my design of coming again to-morrow night.

_Fid._ What, can you come again then hither?

_Man._ Yes; and you must make the appointment, and an apology for your leaving her so soon; for I have said not a word to her; but have kept your counsel, as I expect you should do mine. Do this faithfully, and I promise you here, you shall run my fortune still, and we will never part as long as we live; but if you do not do it, expect not to live.

_Fid._ 'Tis hard, sir; but such a consideration will make it easier. You won't forget your promise, sir?

_Man._ No, by Heavens! But I hear her coming. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ OLIVIA.

_Oliv._ Where is my life? Run from me already! You do not love me, dearest; nay, you are angry with me, for you would not so much as speak a kind word to me within: what was the reason?

_Fid._ I was transported too much.

_Oliv._ That's kind.--But come, my soul, what make you here? Let us go in again; we may be surprised in this room, 'tis so near the stairs.

_Fid._ No, we shall hear the better here, if anybody should come up.

_Oliv._ Nay, I assure you, we shall be secure enough within: come, come--

_Fid._ I am sick, and troubled with a sudden dizziness; and cannot stir yet.

_Oliv._ Come, I have spirits within.

_Fid._ O! don't you hear a noise, madam?

_Oliv._ No, no; there is none: come, come. [_Pulls her._

_Fid._ Indeed there is; and I love you so much, I must have a care of your honour, if you won't, and go; but to come to you to-morrow night, if you please.

_Oliv._ With all my soul. But you must not go yet; come, prithee.

_Fid._ Oh!--I'm now sicker, and am afraid of one of my fits.

_Oliv._ What fits?

_Fid._ Of the falling sickness; and I lie generally an hour in a trance: therefore pray consider your honour for the sake of my love, and let me go, that I may return to you often.

_Oliv._ But will you be sure then to come to-morrow night?

_Fid._ Yes.

_Oliv._ Swear.

_Fid._ By our past kindness!

_Oliv._ Well, go your ways then, if you will, you naughty creature you.--[_Exit_ FIDELIA.] These young lovers, with their fears and modesty, make themselves as bad as old ones to us; and I apprehend their bashfulness more than their tattling.

_Re-enter_ FIDELIA.

_Fid._ O madam, we're undone! There was a gentleman upon the stairs, coming up with a candle, which made me retire. Look you, here he comes!

_Re-enter_ VERNISH, _and his_ Servant _with a light._

_Oliv._ How, my husband! Oh, undone indeed! This way. [_Exit._

_Ver._ Ha! You shall not escape me so, sir. [_Stops_ FIDELIA.

_Fid._ O Heavens! more fears, plagues, and torments yet in store! [_Aside._

_Ver._ Come, sir, I guess what your business was here, but this must be your business now. Draw. [_Draws._

_Fid._ Sir--

_Ver._ No expostulations; I shall not care to hear of't. Draw.

_Fid._ Good sir!

_Ver._ How, you rascal! not courage to draw; yet durst do me the greatest injury in the world? Thy cowardice shall not save thy life. [_Offers to run at_ FIDELIA.

_Fid._ O hold, sir, and send but your servant down, and I'll satisfy you, sir, I could not injure you as you imagine.

_Ver._ Leave the light and begone.--[_Exit_ Servant.] Now, quickly, sir, what have you to say, or--

_Fid._ I am a woman, sir, a very unfortunate woman.

_Ver._ How! a very handsome woman, I'm sure then: here are witnesses of't too, I confess--[_Pulls off her peruke and feels her breasts; then aside_,] Well, I'm glad to find the tables turned; my wife is in more danger of cuckolding than I was.

_Fid._ Now, sir, I hope you are so much a man of honour, as to let me go, now I have satisfied you, sir.

_Ver._ When you have satisfied me, madam, I will.

_Fid._ I hope, sir, you are too much a gentleman to urge those secrets from a woman which concern her honour. You may guess my misfortune to be love by my disguise: but a pair of breeches could not wrong you, sir.

_Ver._ I may believe love has changed your outside, which could not wrong me; but why did my wife run away?

_Fid._ I know not, sir; perhaps because she would not be forced to discover me to you, or to guide me from your suspicions, that you might not discover me yourself; which ungentlemanlike curiosity I hope you will cease to have, and let me go.

_Ver._ Well, madam, if I must not know who you are, 'twill suffice for me only to know certainly what you are; which you must not deny me. Come, there is a bed within, the proper rack for lovers; and if you are a woman, there you can keep no secrets; you'll tell me there all unasked. Come. [_Pulls her._

_Fid._ Oh! what d'ye mean? Help! oh!

_Ver._ I'll show you: but 'tis in vain to cry out: no one dares help you; for I am lord here.

_Fid._ Tyrant here!--But if you are master of this house, which I have taken for a sanctuary, do not violate it yourself.

_Ver._ No, I'll preserve you here, and nothing shall hurt you, and will be as true to you as your disguise; but you must trust me then. Come, come. [_Pulls her._

_Fid._ Oh! oh! rather than you should drag me to a deed so horrid and so shameful, I'll die here a thousand deaths.--But you do not look like a ravisher, sir.

_Ver._ Nor you like one would put me to't; but if you will--

_Fid._ Oh! oh! help! help!

_Re-enter_ Servant.

_Ver._ You saucy rascal, how durst you come in? When you heard a woman squeak, that should have been your cue to shut the door.

_Serv._ I come, sir, to let you know, the alderman coming home immediately after you were at his house, has sent his cashier with the money, according to your note.

_Ver._ Damn his money! Money never came to any, sure, unseasonably till now. Bid him stay.

_Serv._ He says, he cannot a moment.

_Ver._ Receive it you then.

_Serv._ He says he must have your receipt for it:--he is in haste, for I hear him coming up, sir.

_Ver._ Damn him! Help me in here then with this dishonourer of my family.

_Fid._ Oh! oh!

_Serv._ You say she is a woman, sir.

_Ver._ No matter, sir: must you prate?

_Fid._ Oh Heavens! is there--[_They thrust her in, and lock the door._

_Ver._ Stay there, my prisoner; you have a short reprieve.

I'll fetch the gold, and that she can't resist, For with a full hand 'tis we ravish best.

[_Exeunt._

ACT THE FIFTH.