• La Vergne del. M. V.ar Gucht sc.
THE WONDER: A Woman keeps a SECRET. A COMEDY. As it is Acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane. By Her MAJESTY's Servants.
Written by the AUTHOR of the GAMESTER.
LONDON: Printed for E. CURLL, at the Dial and Bible, against St. Dunstan's Church in Fleet-street, and A. BETTES|WORTH at the Red Lyon, on London-Bridge. 1714.
TO His Serene HIGHNESS George Augustus, Electoral Prince of HANO|VER, Duke and Mar|quess of Cambridge, Earl of Milford-Haven, Vis|count North-Allerton, Baron of Tewksbury, and Knight of the most No|ble Order of the Garter.
May it please your Highness,
_THIS Dedication, which I always in|tended to Address to your HIGHNESS, and which Page [unnumbered] I was in hopes might have Congratulated you upon your being in England, must now wait for your Arri|val. I am sure I speak the Sense of every honest Briton, when I say that we expect it with the ut|most Impatience.
Your Highness, who has been hitherto a Stranger a|mong us, cannot easily con|ceive the Confidence we re|pose in you; and it will, perhaps, hardly be believ'd in future Ages, that the first Report of the Duke Page [unnumbered] of Cambridge's Design to Visit us, should raise the PUBLICK CREDIT of the British Nation.
We are fill'd with Plea|sure, to think that the most accomplish'd of Princes will perfect himself in the Arts of Government under the Eye, and Direction of the Greatest of Queens.
If it is possible there shou'd be a Sett of Men among us who can wish to see their Country become a Province of France, it is, I think, pretty evident that Page [unnumbered] your Residence in Great-Britain will soon put an End to such Impious Ex|pectations.
The Law of Nature makes it not improbable that you will one Day reign over us, and what may not our Posterity expect from a Prince who in his early Years distinguish'd himself in the Cause of Liberty, and led their Ancestors on to Victory? The Balance of Europe will doubtless be kept steady by that Hand which has already perform'd Page [unnumbered] such Wonders in order to maintain it; our Religion, our Laws, and Civil Rites can be in no Danger under a Prince, who from his Con|versation with our Nobility, and his Presence at their most important Debates, will have a perfect Insight into all the Parts of our Consti|tution.
Britain shall from hence-forward claim your HIGH|NESS intirely as her own, and endeavour by the most con|vincing Proofs of her Love and Respect, to make you Page [unnumbered] forget the Court of your Il|lustrious Father.
The Pains you have al|ready taken to acquire our Tongue, cannot fail to endear you to every Englishman; yet as the Idioms of a Lan|guage are the last Things we arrive at, I am in hopes an English Comedy will not be thought the most improper Present that could be offer'd to your HIGHNESS.
There is no doubt but you will soon be made the Sub|ject of more Correct Pens, and receive a just Tribute Page [unnumbered] from the greatest Authors of our Nation: In the mean Time, tho' I am, perhaps, the most unworthy, I have at least one Advantage, that I am the first who have shewn my Respect in this Manner, and sued for your Protection.
I am your HIGHNESS's Most Obedient, Most Devoted, Most Humble Servant SUSANNA CENT LIVRE.
I Don't pretend to write a Preface, either to point out the Beauties, or to excuse the Er|rors, a judicious Reader may possibly discover in the following Scenes, but to give those ex|cellent Comedians their Due, to whom, in some Measure the best Dramatick Writers are ob|lig'd. The Poet and the Player are like Soul and Body, indispensibly necessary to one ano|ther; the correct Author makes the Player shine, whilst the judicious Player makes the Po|et's Fame immortal. I freely acknowledge my self oblig'd to the Actors in general, and to Mr. Wilks, and Mrs. Oldfield in particular; and I owe them this Justice to say, That their inimitable Action cou'd only support a Play at such a Season, and among so many Benefits. Let this encourage our English Bards to Write, furnish but the artful Player with Materials, and his Skill will lay the Foundation for your Fame.
I must again repeat that which I meet with every where, I mean the just Admiration of the Performance of Mr. Wilks, and Mrs. Old|field, and own that they much out-did in Action the strongest of my Conceptions; for tho' Nature was my Aim in the last Act of this Comedy, yet Nature herself were she to paint a Love Quarrel, wou'd only Copy them.Page [unnumbered]
Spoken by Mr. MILLS.
- Don Lopez, a Grandee of Portugal.
- Mr. Norris
- Don Felix, his Son, in Love with Violante.
- Mr. Wilks.
- Frederick, A Merchant.
- Mr. Bickerstaff.
- Don Pedro, Father to Violante.
- Mr. Bullock, Jun.
- Colonel Britton, A Scotchman.
- Mr. Mills.
- Gibby, His Footman.
- Mr. Bullock, Sen.
- Lissardo, Servant to Felix.
- Mr. Pack.
- Donna Violante, designed for a Nunby her Father, in Love with Felix.
- Mrs. Oldfield.
- Donna Isabella, Sister to Felix.
- Mrs. Santlow.
- Flora, Her Maid.
- Mrs. Cox.
- Inis, Maid to Violante.
- Mrs. Saunders.
- Alguzil, Attendants, Servants, &c.
_MY Lord Don Lopez.
How do you Frederick?
At your Lordship's Service, I am glad to see you look so well my Lord, I hope Antonio is out of dan|ger.
Quite contrary, his Feaver increases they tell me, and the Surgeons are of Opinion his wound is mortal.
Your Son Don Felix is safe I hope.
I hope so too, but they offer large Rewards to apprehend him.
When heard your Lordship from him?
Not since he went, I forbad him writing till the publick News gave him an Account of Anto|nio's Health, Letters might be intercepted, and the place of his Abode discovered.
Your Caution was good my Lord; tho' I am impatient to hear from Felix, yet his Safety is my chief Concern. Fortune has maliciously struck a Bar be|tween us in the Affairs of Life, but she has done me the Honour to unite our Souls.
I am not ignorant of the friendship between my Son and You, I have heard him commend your Morals and lament your want of noble Birth.
That's Nature's fault my Lord, 'tis some comfort not to owe ones Misfortunes to ones Self, yet 'tis im|possible not to regret the want of noble Birth.
'Tis pity indeed such excellent Parts as you are Master of, should be eclipsed by mean Extraction.
Such Commendation wou'd make me vain my Lord, did you not cast in the allay of my Extraction.
There is no Condition of Life without its Cares, and it is the Perfection of a Man to wear 'em as easie as he can; this unfortunate Duel of my Son's does not pass without Impression. But since 'tis past Preven|tion, all my Concern is now, how he may escape the Punishment; if Antonio dies, Felix shall for England. You have been there, what sort of People are the Eng|lish?
My Lord, the English are by Nature, what the ancient Romans were by Discipline, couragious, bold, hardy, and in love with Liberty. Liberty is the Idol of the English, under whose Banner all the Nation Lists, give but the Word for Liberty, and straight more armed Legions wou'd appear, than France, and Philip keep in constant Pay.
I like their Principles; who does not wish for Freedom in all Degrees of Life? Tho' common Prudence sometimes makes us act against it, as I am now obliged to do, for I intend to marry my Daugh|ter to Don Guzman, whom I expect from Holland eve|ry Day, whither he went to take Possession of a large Estate left him by his Uncle.
You will not sure Sacrifice the lovely Isabella to Age, Avarice, and a Fool, pardon the Expression my Lord, but my Concern for your beauteous Daughter transports me beyond that good Manners which I ought to pay your Lordship's presence.
I can't deny the justness of the Character Frederick; but you are not insensible what I have suffer|ed by these Wars, and he has two things which render him very agreeable to me for a Son-in-Law, he is Rich and well Born; as for his being a Fool, I don't con|ceive how that can be any Blot in a Husband, who is al|ready possess'd of a good Estate.—A Poor Fool indeed is a very Scandalous thing, and so are your Poor Wits, in my Opinion, who have nothing to be vain of, but the inside of their Sculls; now for Don Guzman I know I can rule him, as I think fit; this is acting the Politick part, Frederick, without which, it is impossible to keep up the Port of this Life.
But have you no Consideration for your Daughter's welfare my Lord?
Is a Husband of twenty thousand Crowns a Year, no Consideration? Now I think it a very good Consideration.
One way, my Lord. But what will the World say of such a Match?
Sir, I value not the World a Button.
I cannot think your Daughter can have any Inclination for such a Husband.
There I believe you are pretty much in the right, tho' it is a Secret, which I never had the Curio|sity Page 4 to enquire into, nor I believe ever shall—Inclina|tion quotha! Parents would have a fine time on't, if they consulted their Childrens Inclinations! I'll ven|ture you a Wager, that in all the Garrison Towns in Spain and Portugal, during the late War, there were not three Women, who have not had an Inclination to every Officer in the whole Army; does it therefore follow, that their Fathers ought to Pimp for them? No, no, Sir, it is not a Father's business to follow his Childrens Inclinations till he makes himself a Beggar.
But this is of another Nature my Lord.
Look ye Sir, I resolve she shall Marry Don Guzman the Moment he arrives; tho' I cou'd not go|vern my Son, I will my Daughter, I assure you.
This Match my Lord, is more preposterous than that which you proposed to your Son, from whence a|rose this fatal—Quarrel, Don Antonio's Sister Elvira, wanted Beauty only, but Guzman every thing, but—
Money—and that will purchase every thing, and so Adieu.
Monstrous! These are the Resolutions which destroy the comforts of Matrimony—he is Rich, and well born, powerful Arguments indeed! Could I but add them to the Friendship of Don Felix, what might I not hope? But a Merchant and a Grandee of Spain, are inconsistent Names—Lissardo! From whence come you?
That Letter will inform you Sir.
I hope your Master's safe.
I left him so, I have another to deliver which requires—haste—Your most humble Servant Sir
To Violante, I suppose.
Pray Heaven he comes undiscover'd—ha! Colonel Britton!
Frederick, I rejoice to see thee.
What brought you to Lisbon Colonel?
La Fortune de la Guerre, as the French say, I have commanded these Three last Years in Spain, but my Country has thought fit to strike up a Peace, and give us good Protestants leave to hope for Christian Burial, so I resolve to take Lisbon in my way home.
If you are not provided of a Lodging Colo|nel, pray command my House, while you stay.
If I were sure I should not be troublesome, I wou'd accept your offer, Frederick.
So far from trouble Colonel, I shall take it as a particular Favour, what have we here?
My Footman, this is our Country Dress you must know, which for the Honour of Scotland, I make all my Servants wear.
What mun I de with the Horses, an like yer Honour, they will tack cold gin, they stand in the Caussway.
Oh! I'll take Care of them, what hoa Vasquez.
put those Horses which that honest Fellow will show you into my Stable, do you hear? And feed them well.
Yes Sir.—Sir, by my Master's Order, I am Sir, your most obsequious humble Servant. Be pleas'd to lead the Way.
S'bled gang yer gat Sir, and I fall follow yee: Ise tee hungry to feed on Compliments.
Ha, ha, a comical Fellow.—Well, how do you like our Country, Colonel?
Why Faith Frederick, a Man might pass his Time agreeably enough with Inside of a Nunnery; but to behold such Troops of soft, plump, tender melting, wishing, nay willing Girls too, thro' a damn'd Grate, gives us Brittons strong Temptation to Plunder. Ah Frederick, your Priests are wicked Rogues. They im|mure Beauty for their own proper Use, and show it on|ly to the Laity to create Desires, and inflame Accompts, that they may purchase Pardons at a dearer Rate.
I own Wenching is something more difficult here than in England, where Womens Liberties are subservient to their Inclinations, and Husbands seem of no Effect but to take Care of the Children which their Wives provide.
And does Restraint get the better of Inclina|tion with your Women here? No, I'll be sworn not even in fourscore. Don't I know the Constitution of the Spanish Ladies?
And of all Ladies where you come, Colo|nel, you were ever a Man of Gallantry.
Ah Frederick, the Kirk half starves us Scotch|men. We are kept so sharp at home, that we feed like Cannibals abroad. Hark ye, hast thou never a pretty Acquaintance now, that thou wouldst con|sign over to a Friend for half an Hour, ha?
Faith Colonel, I am the worst Pimp in Chri|stendom, you had better trust to your own Luck, the Women will soon find you out I warrant you.
Ay, but it is dangerous forraging in an Ene|my's Country, and since I have some hopes of seeing Page 7 my own again, I had rather purchase my Pleasure, than run the hazard of a Stilletto in my Guts. 'Egad, I think I must e'en Marry and Sacrifice my Body for the good of my Soul, wilt thou recommend me to a Wife then, one that is willing to exchange her Moy|ders for English Liberty; ha Friend,
She must be very handsome I suppose.
The handsomer the better—but be sure she has a Nose.
Ay, ay, and some Gold.
Oh, very much Gold, I shall never be able to swallow the Matrimonial Pill, if it be not well Gil|ded.
Puh, Beauty will make it slide down nim|bly.
At first perhaps it may, but the Second or Third Dose will choak me—I confess Frederick, Wo|men are the prettiest Play-things in Nature, but Gold, substantial Gold, gives 'em the Air, the Mien, the Shape, the Grace, and Beauty of a Goddess.
And has not Gold the same Divinity in their Eyes Colonel?
Too often.—Money is the very God of Mar|riage, the Poets dress him in a Saffron Robe, by which they Figure out the golden Deity, and his lighted Torch blazons those mighty Charms, which encourage us to List under his Banner.
You are always gay Colonel, come shall we take a refreshing Glass at my House, and consider what has been said.
I have two or three Compliments to discharge for some Friends, and then I shall wait on you with Pleasure: Where do you live?
At yon Corner House with the green Rails.
In the close of the Evening I will endeavour to kiss your Hand. Adieu.
I shall expect you with impatience.
For goodness sake, Madam, where are you go|ing in this Pet?
Any where to avoid Matrimony; the thoughts of a Husband is as terrible to me as the sight of a Hob|goblin.
Ay, of an old Husband, but if you might chuse for your self, I fancy Matrimony wou'd be no such frightful Thing to you.
You are pretty much in the right, Inis; but to be forc'd into the Arms of an Ideot, a sneaking, sni|vling, drivling, avaricious Fool, who has neither Per|son to please the Eye, Sense to charm the Ear, nor ge|nerosity to supply those Defects, ah Inis! What plea|sant Lives Women lead in England, where Duty wears no Fetter but Inclination: The Custom of our Coun|try inslaves us from our very Cradles, first to our Pa|rents, next to our Husbands; and when Heaven is so kind to rid us of both these, our Brothers still usurp Authority, and expect a blind Obedience from us, so that Maids, Wives, or Widows, we are little better than Slaves to the Tyrant Man, therefore to avoid their Power, I resolve to cast my self into a Monastery.
That is, you'll cut your own Throat to avoid another's doing it for you. Ah Madam, those Eyes tell me you have no Nuns flesh about you; a Monastery quotha! Where you'll wish your self in the Green-Sick|ness in a Month.
What care I, there will be no Man to plague me.
No, nor what's much worse, to please you Page 9 neither—Ad'slife Madam, you are the First Woman that e'er dispair'd in a Christian Country—Were I in your Place—
Why what wou'd your Wisdom do if you were?
I'de imbark with the first fair Wind with all my Jewels, and seek my Fortune on t'other side the Wa|ter; no Shoar can treat you worse than your own; there's ne'er a Father in Christendom should make me marry any Man against my Will.
I am too great a Coward to follow your Ad|vice. I must contrive some way to avoid Don Guzman, and yet stay in my own Country.
Must you so Mistress, but I shall take Care to prevent you.
Ha! my Father! To Church, Sir.
The old Rogue has certainly over-heard her.
Your Devotion must needs be very strong, or your Memory very weak; my Dear, why, Vespers are over for this Night; come, come, you shall have a bet|ter Errand to Church than to say your Prayers there. Don Guzman is arriv'd in the River, and I expect him ashore to Morrow.
Ha, to Morrow!
He writes me Word, That his Estate in Holland is worth 12000 Crowns a Year, which, together with what he had before, will make thee the happiest Wife in Lisbon.
And the most unhappy Woman in the World. Oh Sir! If I have any Power in your Heart, if the ten|derness of a Father be not quite extinct, hear me with Patience.
No Objections against the Marriage, and I will hear whatever thou hast to say.
That's torturing me on the Rack, and for|bidding me to Groan; upon my Knees I claim the Priviledge of Flesh and Blood.
I grant it, thou shalt have an Arm full of Flesh and Blood to Morrow; Flesh and Blood quotha, Hea|ven forbid I should deny thee Flesh and Blood, my Girl.
Here's an old Dog for you.
Do not mistake, Sir, the fatal Stroak which se|parates Soul and Body, is not more terrible to the Thoughts of Sinners, than the Name of Guzman to my Ears.
Puh, puh; you Lye, you Lye.
My frighted Heart beats hard against my Breast, as if it sought a Passage to your Feet, to beg you'd change your Purpose.
A very pretty Speech this, if it were turn'd into blank Verse, it would serve for a Tragedy; why, thou hast more Wit than I thought thou hadst, Child.——I fancy this was all extempore, I don't believe thou did'st ever think of one Word on't before.
Yes, but she has, my Lord, for I have heard her say the same Things a thousand Times.
How, how, What do you top your second Hand Jests upon your Father, Hussy, who knows bet|ther what's good for you than you do your self; re|member 'tis your Duty to Obey.
Ha, ha, very fine! Ha, ha.
Death it self wou'd be more welcome.
Are you sure of that?
I am your Daughter, my Lord, and can boast as strong a Resolution as your self; I'll die before I'll marry Guzman.
Say you so, I'll try that presently.
Bless me, Sir, What do you mean to put a Sword into the Hands of a desperate Woman?
Desperate, ha, ha, ha, you see how desperate she is, what art thou frighted little Bell. ha!
I confess I am startled at your Morals, Sir.
Ay, ay, Child, thou hadst better take the Man, he'll hurt thee the least of the two.
I shall take neither, Sir, Death has many Doors, and when I can live no longer with Pleasure, I shall find one to let him in at without your aid.
Say'st thou so, my dear Bell. Ods, I'm afraid thou art a little Lunatick Bell. I must take Care of thee, Child,
SCENE, a Room in Don Pedro's House.
WHAT must that Letter be read again?
Yes, and again, and again, and again, a thousand Times again, a Letter from a faithful Lover can ne'er be read too often; it speaks such kind, such soft, such tender Things—
But always the same Language.
It does not charm the less for that.
In my Opinion nothing charms that does not change; and any Composition of the four and Twenty Letters, after the first Essay, from the same Hand, must be dull, except a Bank Note, or a Bill of Exchange.
Thy Taste is my Aversion—
Who wou'd not have said as much to a Lady of her Beauty, and twenty Thousand Pounds.—Were I a Man, methinks I cou'd have said a Hundred finer Things, I wou'd have compar'd your Eyes to the Stars, your Teeth to Ivory, your Lips to Corral, your Neck to Allabaster, your Shape to—
No more of your Bombast, Truth is the best E|loquence in a Lover.—What Proof remains ungiven of his Love? When his Father threatned to disinherit him, for refusing Don Antonio's Sister, from whence Page 13 sprung this unhappy Quarrel; did it shake his Love for me? And now, tho' strict Enquiry runs thro' every Place, with large Rewards to apprehend him, does he not venture all for me?
But you know, Madam, your Father Don Pedro designs you for a Nun, and says your Grand-Father left you your Fortune upon that Condition.
Not without my Approbation, Girl, when I come to one and Twenty, as I am inform'd. But how|ever, I shall run the risk of that; go call in Lissardo.
Yes, Madam, now for a thousand Verbal Que|stions.
Well, and how do you do Lissardo?
Ah, very weary, Madam—Faith thou look'st wondrous Pretty Flora.
How came you?
En Cavalier, Madam, upon a Hackney-Jade, which they told me formerly belong'd to an English Colonel. But I should rather have thought she had been bred a good Roman Catholick all her Life time; for she down of her Knees to every Stock, and Stone, we came along by. My Chaps Waters for a Kiss, they do, Flora.
You'd make one believe you are wondrous fond now.
Where did you leave your Master?
Od, if I had you alone House-Wife, I'd show you how fond I cou'd be—
Is he in Health?
Oh, you counterfeit wondrous well.
No, every Body knows I Counterfeit very ill.
How say you! Is Felix ill, What's his Distem|per? Ha!
A pies on't, I hate to be interrupted—Love, Madam, Love—In short, Madam, I believe he has thought of nothing but your Ladyship ever since he left Lisbon. I am sure he cou'd not, if I may Judge of his Heart by my own
How came you so well acquainted with your Master's Thoughts, Lissardo?
By an infallible Rule, Madam; Words are the Pictures of the Mind, you know; now to prove he thinks of nothing but you, he talks of nothing but you—for Example, Madam, coming from Shooting t'other Day, with a brace of Partridges, Lissardo said he, go bid the Cook roast me these Violantes—I flew into the Kitchin, full of Thoughts of thee, cry'd, here Cook, roast me these Florellas.
Ha, ha, excellent—You mimick your Master then it seems.
I can do every thing as well as my Master, you little—Rogue, another time: Madam, the Priest came to make him a Visit, he call'd out hastily, Lissardo said he, bring a Violante for my Father to sit down on;—then he often mistook my Name, Madam, and call'd me Violante; in short, I heard it so often, that it be|came as familiar to me as my Prayers.
You liv'd very Merrily then it seems.
Oh, exceeding Merry Madam.
Ha! Exceeding Merry; had you Treats and Balls?
Oh! Yes, yes, Madam, several.
You are Mad, Lissardo, you don't mind what my Lady says to you.
Ha! Balls—Is he so Merry in my absence? And did your Master Dance, Lissardo?
Dance Madam! Where Madam?
Why, at those Balls you speak of.
Balls! What Balls Madam?
Why, sure you are in Love, Lissardo; did not you say, but now, you had Balls where you have been?
Balls, Madam! Odslife, I ask your Pardon Madam! I, I, I, had mislaid some Wash-Balls of my Master's t'other Day; and because I cou'd not think where I had laid them, just when he ask'd for them, he very fairly broke my Head, Madam, and now it seems I can think of nothing else. Alas! He Dance Madam! No, no, poor Gentleman, he is as Melancho|ly as an unbrac'd Drum.
Poor Felix! There, wear that Ring for your Master's Sake, and let him know, I shall be ready to receive him,
I shall Madam—
That Ring must be mine—Well Lissardo! What haste you make to pay off Arrears now? Look how the Fellow stands?
Egad, methinks I have a very pretty Hand—and very white—and the Shape!—Faith, I never minded it so much before!—In my Opinion it is a very fine shap'd Hand—and becomes a Diamond Ring, as well as the first Grandees in Portugal.
The Man's transported! Is this your Love! This your Impatience!
Sweet Mr. Lissardo,
Odso Madam, I ask your Pardon—Is it to me, or to the Ring—you direct your Discourse, Madam.
Madam! Good lack! How much a Diamond Ring improves one.
Why, tho' I say it—I can carry my self as well as any Body—But what wer't thou going to say Child?
Why I was going to say, that I fancy you had best let me keep that Ring, it will be a very pretty Wedding Ring, Lissardo, would it not?
Humph! Ah! But—but—but—I believe I shan't marry yet a while.
You shan't, you say—Very well! I suppose you design that Ring for Inis.
No, no, I never bribe an old Acquaintance—Perhaps I might let it sparkle in the Eyes of a Stranger a little, till we came to a right Understanding—But then like all other Mortal Things, it would return from whence it came.
Insolent—Is that your Manner of dealing.
With all but thee—Kiss me you little Rogue you.
Little Rogue! Prithy Fellow, don't be so fa|miliar,
You can, you say! Spoke with the Air of a Chambermaid.
Reply'd with the Spirit of a serving Man.
Prithy Flora, don't let you and I fall out, I am in a merry Humour, and shall certainly fall in somewhere.
What care I, where you fall in.
Why do you keep Lissardo so long, Flora? When you don't know how soon my Father may awake, his Afternoon Naps are never long.
Had Don Felix been with her, she wou'd not have thought the Time long; these Ladies consider no body's Wants but there own.
Go, go, let him out, and bring a Candle.
I fly, Madam.
The Day draws in, and Night,——the Lover's Friend advances—Night more welcome than the Sun to me, because it brings my Love.
How, now! Why dost stare so? Answer me quickly! What's the Matter?
Oh Madan! As I was letting out Lissardo, a Gentleman rushed between him and I, struck down my Candle, and is bringing a dead Person in his Arms into our House.
Ha! A dead Person! Heaven grant it do's not prove my Felix.
Here they are Madam.
I'll retire till you discover the Meaning of the Accident.
The Necessity this Lady was under, of be|ing convey'd into some House with Speed and Se|crecy, will I hope excuse any Indecency I might be guilty of, in pressing so rudely into this—I am an entire Stranger to her Name and Circumstances; wou'd I were so to her Beauty too
Violante, Senior—He is a handsome Cavalier and promises well.
Are you she Madam?
Only her Woman, Senior.
Your humble Servant. Mrs. Pray be careful of the Lady—
Two Moyders! Well he is a generous Fellow this is the only Way to make one careful; I find all Countries understand the Constitution of a Chamber|maid.
Was you distracted Flora? To tell my Name to a Man you never saw! Unthinking Wench! Who knows what this may turn to—What is the Lady dead! Ah! Defend me Heaven, 'tis Isabella, Sister to my Felix, what has be•a•…n her? Pray Heaven he's safe,—Run and fetch some cold Water,
See, she revives.
Oh! Hold my dearest Father, do not force me, indeed I cannot love him.
How wild she talks—
Ha! Where am I?
With one as sensible of thy Pain as thou thy self canst be.
Violante! What kind Star preserv'd, and lodg'd me here?
It was a Terrestial Star, call'd a Man, Madam; pray Jupiter he proves a lucky one.
Oh! I remember now, forgive me dear Vio|lante, my Thoughts ran so much upon the Danger I escap'd, I had forgot.
May I not know your Story?
Thou art no Stranger to one part of it; I have often told thee that my Father design'd to sacrifice me to the Arms of Don Guzman, who it seems is just re|turn'd from Holland, and expected ashore to-morrow, the Day that he has set to celebrate our Nuptials, upon my refusing to obey him, he lock'd me into my Chamber, vowing to keep me there till he arriv'd, and force me to consent. I know my Father to be possi|tive, never to be won from his Design; and having no hope left me, to escape the Marriage, I leap'd from the Window, into the Street.
You have not hurt your self I hope.
No, a Gentleman passing by, by Accident caught me in his Arms; at first my Fright made me apprehend it was my Father, till he assur'd me to the contrary.
He is a very fine Gentleman I promise you, Madam, and a well bred Man I warrant him. I think I never saw a Grandee put his Hand into his Pocket with a better Air in my whole Life Time; then he open'd his Purse with such a Grace, that nothing but his Manner of presenting me the Gold cou'd equal.
There is but one common Road to the Heart of a Servant, and 'tis impossible for a generous Person to mistake it.—But how came you hither Isabella?
I know not, I desir'd the Stranger to convey me to the next Monastery, but e'er I reach'd thy Door, I saw, or fancy'd that I saw, Lissardo, my Brother's Man, and the Thought that his Master might not be far off, flung me into a Swoon, which is all that I re|member: Ha! What's here
Thou art fal'n into the Hands of a Soldier, take care he does not lay thee under Contribution, Girl.
I find he is a Gentleman; and if he be but un|married I cou'd be content to follow him all the World over.—But I shall never see him more I fear.
What makes you sigh Isabella?
The fear of falling into my Father's Clutches again.
Can I be serviceable to you?
Yes if you'l conceal me two or three Days.
You command my House and Secrecy.
I thank you Violante,—I wish you wou'd oblige me with Mrs. Flora a while.
I'll send for her to you—I must watch if Dad be still asleep, or here will be no room for Felix.
Well I don't know what ails me, but methinks I wish I cou'd find this Stranger out.
Does your Ladyship want me Madam?
Ay, Mrs. Flora, I resolve to make you my Confident.
I shall endeavour to discharge my Duty, Madam.
I doubt it not, and desire you to accept this as a Token of my Gratitude.
Oh dear Senjora, I shou'd have been your hum|ble Servant, without a Fee.
I believe it—But to the Purpose—Do you think if you saw the Gentleman which brought me hither you shou'd know him again?
From a Thousand Madam, I have an excellent Memory where a handsome Man's concern'd; when he went away he said he would return again imme|diately, I admire he comes not.
Here, did you say? You rejoyce me—Tho' I'll not see him, if he comes, cou'd not you contrive to give him a Letter?
With the Air of a Duanna.—
Not in this House—You must veil and follow him—He must not know it comes from me.
What do you take me for a Novice in Love Affairs? 'Tho I have not practic'd the Art since I have been in Donna Violantes Service, yet I have not lost the Theory of a Chamber-Maid—Do you write the Letter, and leave the rest to me—Here, here, here's Pen Ink and Paper.
I'll do't in a Minute.
So! This is Business after my own Heart; Love always takes care to reward his Labourers, and Great Britain seems to be his Favourite Country.—Oh, I long to see the t'other two Moyders with a British Air—Methinks there's a Grace peculiar to that Na|tion in making a Present.
So I have done, now if he does but find this House again!
If he shou'd not—I warrant I'll find him if he's in Lisbon.
Flora, watch my Papa; he's fast asleep in his Study—If you find him stir, give me Notice.—Hark, I hear Felix at the Window, admit him instantly, and then to your Post.
What say you Violante? Is my Brother come?
It is his Signal at the Window.
Contrary to your Desire, be assur'd I never shall, but where's the Danger?
Art thou born in Lisbon, and ask that Que|stion? He'll think his Honour blemish'd by my Dis|obedience, Page 22 and wou'd restore me to my Father, or kill me, therefore dear, dear, Girl.
Depend upon my Friendship, nothing shall draw thy Secret from these Lips, not even Felix, tho' at the Hazard of his love; I hear him coming, retire into that Closet.
Remember Violante, upon thy Promise my ve|ry Life depends.
When I betray thee, may I share thy Fate.
My Felix, My everlasting Love.
My Life, my Soul! My Violante!
What Hazards dost thou run for me; Oh, how shall I requite thee?
If during this tedious painful Exile, thy Thoughts have never wander'd from thy Felix, thou hast made me more than Satisfaction.
Can there be room within this Heart for any but thy self. No, if the God of Love were lost to all the rest of Human Kind, thy Image wou'd secure him in my Breast, I am all Truth, all Love, all Faith, and know no jealous Fears.
My Heart's the proper Sphere where Love re|sides; cou'd he quit that he wou'd be no where found: And yet Violante I'm in doubt.
Did I ever give thee Cause to doubt my Felix.
True love has many Fears, and Fear as many Eyes as Fame; yet sure I think they see no Fault in thee—What's that?
What? I heard nothing.
Ha! What means this Signal at your Window?
Some Body perhaps, in passing by; might ac|cidentally hit it, it can be nothing else.
They use your Name by Accident too, do they Madam?
There is a Gentleman at the Window, Madam, which I fancy to be him who brought Isabella hither; shall I admit him!
Admit Distraction rather, thou art the Cause of this, unthinking Wretch!
What has Mistress Scout brought you fresh In|telligence? Death, I'll know the Bottom of this im|mediately!
Scout, I scorn your Words, Senior.
Nay, nay, nay, nay, you must not leave me.
Oh! 'Tis not fair, not to Answer the Gentle|man, Madam, It is none of his Fault, that his Visit proves unseasonable; pray let me go, my Presence is but a restraint upon you.
Was ever Accident so Mischievous?
It must be the Colonel, now to deliver my Letter to him.
Hark, he grows impatient at your delay—Why do you hold the Man, whose Absence wou'd oblige you, pray let me go, Madam; consider, the Gentle|man wants you at the Window. Confusion!
It is not me he wants.
Death, not you? Is there another of your Name in the House? But, come on, convince me of the Truth of what you say: Open the Window, if his Business does not lye with you, your Conversation may be heard—This, and only this, can take of my Suspicion—What do you pause! Oh Guilt! Guilt! Have I caught you, Nay then I'll leap the Balcony, If I remember, this Way leads to it.
Oh Heavens! What shall I do now, hold, hold, Page 24 hold, hold, not for the World—You enter there—Which way shall I preserve his Sister from his Know|ledge?
What have I touch'd you; do you fear your Lover's Life?
I fear for none but you—For goodness Sake, do not speak so loud my Felix. If my Father hear you I am lost for ever, that Door opens into his Apart|ment, What shall I do if he enters? There he finds his Sister—If he goes out he'll quarrel with the Stran|ger—Nay do not struggle to be gone my Felix—If I open the Window he may discover the whole In|trigue, and yet of all Evils we ought to chuse the least. Your Curiosity shall be satisfied. Whoe'er you are that with such Insolence dare use my Name, and give the Neighbourhood Pretence to reflect upon my Conduct. I charge you instantly be gone, or expect the Treatment you deserve.
I ask your Pardon Madam, and will obey; but when I left this House to Night.
It is most certainly the Stranger, what will be the Event of this Heaven knows.
No, no, he is not mistaken—Pray Madam let the Gentleman go on.
Wretched Misfortune, pray be gone Sir, I know of no Business you have here.
I wish I did not know it neither—But this House contains my Soul, then can you blame my Body for hovering about it!
Distraction! He will infallibly discover Isabella. I tell you again you are mistaken; however for your own Satisfaction call To-Morrow.
Matchless Impudence! An Assignation before Page 25 my Face—No he shall not live to meet your wishes.
To-morrow's an Age Madam! May I not be ad|mitted to Night?
If you be a Gentleman I command your Absence. Unfortunate! What will my Stars do with me?
I have done—Only this—Be careful of my Life, for it is in your keeping.
Pray observe the Gentleman's Request Madam.
I am all Confusion.
You are all Truth, all Love, all Faith; Oh thou all Woman!—How have I been deceiv'd? S'Death, cou'd not you have impos'd upon me for this one Night? Cou'd neither my faithful Love, nor the Hazard I have run to see you, make me worthy to be cheated on?
Can I bear this from you?
Oh Isabella! What hast thou involv'd me in?
Yet I resolve to keep the Secret.
Do not look so sternly on me, but believe me Felix, I have not injur'd you, nor am I false.
Not false, not injur'd me! Oh Violante, lost and abandon'd to thy Vice! Not false, Oh monstrous!
Indeed I am not—There is a Cause which I must not reveal—Oh think how far Honour can oblige your Sex—Then allow a Woman may be bound by the same Rule to keep a Secret.
Honour, what hast thou to do with Honour, thou that canst admit plurality of Lovers, a Secret? Ha, ha, ha, his Affairs are wondrous safe, who trusts his Secret to a Womans keeping, but you need give your self no Trouble about clearing this Point Madam, for you are become so indifferent to me, that your Truth, and Falshood are the same!
So I have deliver'd my Letter to the Colonel, and receiv'd my Fee.
I understand my cue Mistress, my Absence is Necessary, I'll oblige you.
Oh let me undeceive you first!
'Tis very possible if I durst.
Durst! Ha, ha, ha, durst quotha.
But another time I'll tell thee all.
Nay, now or never.—
Now it cannot be.
Then it shall never be—Thou most ungrate|ful of thy Sex, farewel.
Oh exquisite Tryal of my Friendship! Yet not even this, shall draw the Secret from me,
WAS ever Man thus plagu'd! Odsheart, I cou'd swallow my Dagger for Madness; I know not what to think, sure Frederick had no Hand in her Escape—She must get out of the Window; and she could not do that without a Ladder; and who cou'd bring it her, but him? Ay, it must be so. The dislike he shew'd to Don Guzman in our Discourse to Day, confirms my Suspicion, and I will charge him home with it; sure Children were given me for a Curse! Why, what innumerable Misfortunes attend us Pa|rents, when we have employ'd our whole Care to educate, and bring our Children up to Years of Ma|turity? Just when we expect to reap the Fruits of our Labour; a Man shall in the tinkling of a Bell, see one hang'd, and t'other whor'd—This Graceless Bag|gage—But I'll to Frederick immediately, I'll take the Alguzil with me, and search his House; and if I find her, I'll use her—by St. Anthony, I don't know how I'll use her.
The Scene changes to the Street.
Well, tho' I cou'd not see my fair Incognita, Fortune, to make me amends, has flung another In|trigue in my way. Oh! How I love these pretty, kind, coming Females, that won't give a Man the trouble of wracking his Invention to deceive them.—Oh, Portugal! Thou dear Garden of Pleasure—Where Love drops down his Mellow Fruit, and every Bough bends to our Hands, and seems to cry come, Pull and Eat, how deliciously a Man lives here without sear of Page 28 the Stool of Repentance?—This Letter I receiv'd from a Lady in a Vail—Some Duanna! Some necessary Im|plement of Cupid; I suppose the Stile is frank and ea|sie, I hope like her that writ it.
Here, an like yer Honour.
Follow me at a good Distance, do you hear Gibby?
In troth dee I, weel eneugh, Sir.
I am to meet a Lady upon the Terriero de passa.
The Deel an min Eyn gin I keen her, Sir.
But you will when we come there, Sirrah
Like eneugh, Sir, I have as sharp an Eyn tul a Bony Lass, as ere a Lad in aw Scotland, an what mun I dee wi her, Sir?
Why, if she and I part, you must watch her Home, and bring me Word where she lives.
In troth sal I Sir, gin the Deel tak her not.
Come along then, 'tis pretty near the time.—I like a Woman that rises early to persue her Inclination.
Scene changes to Frederick's House.
Your Lady run away, and you not know whe|ther! Say you?
She never greatly car'd for me after finding you and I together; but you are very Grave, methinks, Lissardo.
Ha! What, do I see a Diamond-Ring! Where the duce had he that Ring? You have got a very pretty Ring there, Lissardo.
Ay, the Trifle is pretty enough.—But the La|dy which gave it me is a Bona Roba in Beauty, I assure you.
I can't bear this—The Lady! What Lady pray?
Oh fy! There's a Question to ask a Gentleman.
A Gentleman! Why, the Fellow's spoil'd; is this your Love for me? Ungrateful Man, you'll break my Heart, so you will.
Poor tender hearted Fool.—
If I knew who gave you that Ring, I'd tear her Eyes out, so I wou'd.
So, now the Jade wants a little Coaxing; why, what dost thou weep for now, my Dear? Ha!
I suppose Flora gave you that Ring; but I'll—
No, the Devil take me if she did, you make me Swear now—So, they are All for the Ring, but I shall bob 'em: I did but Joke, the Ring is none of mine, it is my Masters; I am to give it to be new Set, that's all, therefore prithy dry thy Eyes, and kiss me come.
And do you really speak Truth now?
Why, Do you doubt it?
So, so, very well! I thought, there was an In|trigue between him and Inis, for all he has forsworn it so often.
Nor han't you seen Flora since you came to Town.
Ha! How dares she Name my Name?
No, by this Kiss I han't.
Here's a dissembling Varlet.
Nor don't you love her at all?
Love the Devil, why did not I always tell thee she was my Aversion.
Did you so, Villain!
Zounds she here! I have made a fine spot of Work on't.
What's that for? Ha.
I shall tell you by and by, Mrs Frippery, if you don't get about your Business.
Who do you call Frippery, Mrs. Trolup? Pray get about your Business: if you go to that, I hope you pretend to no Right and Title here.
What the Devil do they take me for, an Acre of Land, that they quarrel about Right and Title to me?
Pray, what right have you, Mistress, to ask that Question?
No matter for that, I can show a better Title to him than you, I believe.
What, has he given thee Nine Months earnest for a living Title? Ha, ha.
Don't fling your flearing Jests at me, Mrs. Boldface, for I won't take 'em, I assure you.
So! Now am I as great as the fam'd Alexander. But my dear Statira and Roxana, don't exert your selves so much about me: Now, I fancy, if you wou'd agree lovingly together, I might in a modest way sa|tisfie both your Demands upon me.
You satisfie! No, Sirrah, I am not to be satis|fy'd so soon as you think, perhaps.
No, nor I neither.—What do you make no difference between us?
You pitiful Fellow you; what you fancy, I warrant, that I gave my self the trouble of dogging you, out of love to your filthy Person, but you are mistaken, Sirrah—It was to detect your Treachery.—How often have you Sworn to me that you hated Inis, and only carried fair for the good Chear she gave you; but that you could never like a Woman with crooked Legs, you said.
How, how, Sirrah, crooked Legs! Ods, I cou'd find in my Heart.
Here's a Lying young Jade now! Prithy, my Dear, moderate thy Passion.
I'd have you to know, Sirrah, my Legs was never—your Master, I hope, understands Legs bet|ter than you do, Sirrah.
My Master, so so.
I am glad I have done some Mischief, how|ever.
Don't thing to Coax me, hang your Kisses.
Odsheart, here's my Master, the Devil take both these Jades, for me, what shall I do with them?
Ha! 'Tis Don Felix's Voice; I wou'd not have him find me here, with his Foot-Man, for the World.
Coming Sir, What a Pox will you do?
Bless me, which way shall I get out!
Nay, nay, you must e'en set your Quarrel aside, and be content to be mew'd up in this Cloaths Press together, or stay where you are, and Face it out—There is no help for it!
Put me any where, rather than that; come, come, let me in.
I'll see her hang'd, before I'll go into the Place where she is.—I'll trust Fortune with my deliverance: Here us'd to be a pair of back Stairs, I'll try to find them out.
Was you asleep, Sirrah, that you did not hear me call?
I did hear you, and answer'd you, I was com|ing, Sir.
Go get the Horses ready, I'll leave Lisbon to Night, never to see it more.
Hey day! What's the Matter now?
Pray tell me, Don Felix! What has ruffled your Temper thus?
A Woman—Oh Friend, who can name Wo|man, and forget Inconstancy!
This from a Person of mean Education were excusable, such low Suspicions have their source from vulgar Conversation; Men of your politer Taste ne|ver rashly Censure.—Come, this is some groundless Jealousie.—Love raises many Fears.
No, My Ears convey'd the Truth into my Heart, and Reason justifies my Anger: Violante's false Page 33 and I have nothing left, but thee, in Lisbon, which can make me wish ever to see it more, except Revenge up|on my Rival, of whom I am ignorant. Oh, That some Miracle wou'd reveal him to me, that I might thro' his Heart punish my Infidelity.
Oh! Sir, here's your Father Don Lopez com|ing up.
Do's he know that I am here?
I can't tell, Sir, he ask'd for Don Frederick.
Did he see you?
I believe not, Sir; for as soon as I saw him, I ran back to give my Master Notice.
Keep out of his Sight then.—And dear Frede|rick, permit me to retire into the next Room, for I know the Old Gentleman will be very much displea|sed at my return without his leave.
Quick, quick, begon, he is here.
Mr. Alguzil, wait you without till I call for you. Frederick, an Affair brings me here—which—requires Privacy.—So that if you have any Body with|in Ear shot, pray order them to retire.
We are private, my Lord, speak freely.
Why then, Sir, I must tell you, that you had better have pitch'd upon any Man in Portugal to have injur'd, than my self.
I understand you not, my Lord!
Tho', I am Old, I have a Son.—Alass! Why Name I him? He knows not the Dishonour of my House.
I am confounded! The dishonour of his House▪
Explain your self my Lord! I am not conscious of any dishonourable Action, to any Man much less to your Lordship.
'Tis false! you have debauch'd my Daughter.
Debauch'd my Sister! Impossible! He cou'd not, durst not be that Villain.
My Lord, I scorn so foul a Charge.
You have debauch'd her Duty at least, there|fore instantly restore her to me, or by St. Anthony I'll make you.
Restore her my Lord! Where shall I find her?
I have those that will swear she is here in your House.
Ha! In this House?
You are misinform'd my Lord, upon my Re|putation I have not seen Donna Isabella, since the Absence of Don Felix.
Then pray Sir—If I am not too inquisitive, What Motive had you for those Objections you made against her Marriage with Don Guzman Yesterday?
The Disagreeableness of such a Match, I fear'd, wou'd give your Daughter cause to curse her Duty, if she comply'd with your Demands, that was all my Lord!
And so you help'd her thro' the Window to make her disobey.
Ha, my Sister gone! Oh Scandal to our Blood!
This is insulting me my Lord, when I assure you I have neither seen, nor know any thing of your Daughter—If she is gone, the Contrivance was her own, and you may thank your Rigour for it.
Very well, Sir, however my Rigour shall make bold to search your House, here call in the Alguzile—
The Alguzile! My Lord you'l repent this.
No Sir, 'tis you that will repent it, I charge you in the King's Name to assist me in finding of my Daugh|ter—Besure you leave no Part of the House un|search'd; come, follow me.
Sir, I must first know by what Authority you pretend to Search my House, before you enter here.
How! Sir, dare you presume to draw your Sword, upon the Representative of Majesty! I am Sir, I am his Majesty's Alguzile, and the very Quintessence of Authority—therefore put up your Sword, or I shall order you to be knock'd down—for know Sir, the Breath of an Alguzile, is as dangerous, as the Breath of a Demy-Culverin.
She is certainly in that Room, by his Guarding the Door—if he Disputes your Authority, knock him down I say.
I shall show you some Sport first; the Woman you look for is not here, but there is something in this Room, which I'll preserve from your sight at the Ha|zard of my Life.
Enter I say, nothing but my Daughter can be there—force his Sword from him.
Villains stand off! Assassinate a Man in his own House.
Oh, oh, oh, Misericordia, what do I see my Son!
Ha, his Son! Here's five hundred Pounds good, my Brethren, if Antonio dies, and that's in the Sur|geons Power, and he's in love with my Daughter you know—Don Felix! I command you to surrender your self into the Hands of Justice, in order, to raise Page 36 me and my Posterity, and in Consideration you lose your Head to gain me five hundred Pounds, I'll have your Generosity recorded on your Tomb-Stone—at my own proper Cost, and Charge—I hate to be un|grate-ful.
Here's a generous Dog now—
Oh that ever I was born—Hold, hold, hold.
Did I not tell you, you wou'd repent my Lord, What ho! Within there
Gen'rous Frederick! Come on Sir, we'll show you Play for the five hundred Pounds.
Fall on, seize the Money right or wrong ye Rogues.
Hold, hold, Alguzile! I'll give you the five hundred Pound, that is, my Bond to pay it upon An|tonio's Death, and twenty Pistoles however things go, for you and these honest Fellows to drink my Health.
Say you so my Lord! Why look ye my Lord, I bear the young Gentleman no ill Will my Lord If I get but the five hundred Pounds, my Lord—why look ye my Lord—'Tis the same thing to me whether your Son be hanged or not my Lord,
Ay, well, thou art a good natur'd Fellow that is the Truth on't—Come then we'll to the Tavern, and sign and seal this Minute, Oh Felix be careful of thy self, or thou wilt break my Heart;
Now Frederick, tho' I ought to thank you for your Care of me, yet till I am satisfied about my Fa|ther's Accusation, I can't return the Acknowledgments I owe you: Know you aught relating to my Sister?
I hope my Faith, and Truth, are known to you—And here by both I swear, I am ignorant of every Thing relating to your Father's Charge.
Enough, I do believe thee! Oh Fortune! Where will thy Malice end!
Sir, I bring you joyful News, I am told that Don Antonio is out of Danger and now in the Palace.
I wish it be true, then I'm at Liberty to watch my Rival, and persue my Sister; prithy Frederick, in|form thy self of the Truth of this Report.
I will this Minute—Do you hear, let no body in to Don Felix till my return.
I'll observe Sir.
I tell you Madam Don Felix is not here.
My Stars! My Lady here!
If your Visit was design'd to Frederick, Madam, he is abroad,
No Sir, the Visit is to you.
You are very punctual in your Ceremonies Ma|dam.
Tho' I did not come to return your Visit, but to take that which your Civility ought to have brought me.
If my Ears, my Eyes and my Understanding ly'd, then I am in your Debt, else not Madam.
I will not charge them with a Term so gross, to say they ly'd, but call it a Mistake, nay call it any thing to excuse my Felix—Cou'd I, Think ye, cou'd I put off my Pride so far, poorly to dissemble a Passion which I did not feel? Or seek a Reconciliation, with what I did not love? Do but consider, If I had entertain'd another, shou'd I not rather embrace this Quarrel, pleas'd with the Occasion that rid me of your Visits and gave me Freedom to enjoy the Choice which you think I have made; have I any Interest in thee but my Love? Or am I bound by aught but Inclination to submit and follow thee—No Law whilst single binds us to obey, but you by Nature, and Education, are oblig'd to pay a Deference to all Woman kind.
These are fruitless Arguments: 'Tis most cer|tain thou wert dearer to these Eyes then all that Heaven e'er gave to Charm the Sense of Man, but I wou'd rather tear them out, than suffer 'em to delude my Reason, and enslave my Peace.
Can you love without Esteem? And where is the Esteem for her you still suspect? Oh Felix! There is a Delicacy—in Love, which equals even a religious Faith; true Love ne'er doubts the Object it adores, and Scepticks there, will disbelieve their Sight.
Your Notions are too refin'd for mine Madam. How now, what do you want?
Only my Master's Cloak out of this Press Sir, that's all, Oh! The Devil,—The Devil,
Ha, a Woman conceal'd! Very well Felix!
Discover'd! Nay then Legs befriend me.
A Woman in the Press!
Page 39How the Devil came a Woman there, Sirrah?
What shall I say now?
Now Lissardo shew your Wit to brin gyour Master off.
Off Madam! Nay, nay, nay, there, there needs no great Wit to, to, to, to bring him off Madam, for she did, and she did not come as, as, as, as a, a a Man may say directly to, to, to, to speak with my Master Madam.
I see by your Stammering, Lissardo, that your Invention is at at a very low Ebb.
S'Death Rascal, speak without Hessitation, and the Truth too, or I shall stick my Stilletto in your Guts.
No, no, your Master mistakes, he wou'd not have you speak the Truth.
Madam my Sincerity wants no excuse.
I am so confounded between one and the other, that I can't think of a Lye—
Sirrah fetch me this Woman back instantly, I'll know what Business she had here!
Not a Step; your Master shan't be put to the Blush—Come a Truce Felix! Do you ask me no more Questions about the Window, and I'll forgive this.
I scorn Forgiveness where I own no Crime, but your Soul conscious of its Guilt, wou'd fain lay hold of this Occasion to blend your Treason with my Inno|cence.
Insolent! Nay, if instead of owning your Fault you endeavour to insult my Patience, I must tell you Sir, you don't behave your self like that Man of Ho|nour you wou'd be taken for, you ground your Quar|rel with me upon your own Inconstancy; 'tis plain you are false your self, and wou'd make me the Agres|sor—It was not for nothing the Fellow oppos'd my Entrance—This last Usage has given me back my Page 40 Liberty, and now my Father's Will shall be obey'd without the least Reluctance.
Oh, stubborn, stubborn Heart, what wilt thou do? Her Father's Will shall be obey'd! Ha, That carries her to a Cloyster, And cuts of all my Hopes at once—By Heaven she shall not, must not leave me. No she is not false, at least my Love now represents her true, because I fear to lose her, Ha! Villain, art thou here!
Ah, good Sir forgive me, and I'll tell you the whole Truth.
Out with it then—
It, it it, was Mrs. Flora Sir. Donna Violante's Woman—you must know Sir, we have had a sneak|ing Kindness for one another a great while—She was not willing you should know it, so when she heard your Voice, she ran into the Cloaths Press, I wou'd have told you this at first, but I was afraid of her La|dy's knowing it, this is the Truth as I hope for a whole Skin, Sir.
If it be not, I'll not leave you a whole Bone in it Sirrah—fly, and observe if Violante goes directly home.
Yes Sir, yes.
I must convince her of my Faith, Oh! How irresolute is a Lovers Heart! My Resentments cool'd when hers grew high—Nor can I struggle longer with my Fate, I cannot quit her, no I cannot, so abso|lute a Conquest has she gain'd—Woman's the great|est sovereign Power on Earth.
Scene, the Terreiro de passa.
Then you say, it is impossible for me to wait of you home Madam.
I say it is inconsistent with my Circumstance Colonel, and that Way impossible for me to admit of it.
Consent to go with me then—I lodge at one Don Fredericks's a Merchant just by here, he is a very honest Fellow and I dare confide in his Secrecy.
Ha, does he lodge there? Pray Heaven I am not discover'd.
What say you my Charmer? Shall we break|fast together; I have some of the best Bohea in the Universe.
puh! Bohea! Is that the best Treat you can give a Lady at your Lodgings—Colonel!
Well hinted—No, no, no, I have other Things at thy Service Child.
What are those Things pray?
My Heart, Soul, and Body into the Bargain.
Has the last no Incumbrance upon it, can you make a clear Title, Colonel?
all Free-hold Child, and I'll afford the a very good Bargain.
Au my Sol, they mak muckle Wards about it, Ise seer weary with standing, Ise e'en tak a Sleep.
If I take a Lease, it must be for Life, Colonel.
Thou shalt have me as long, or as little Time as thou wilt; my Dear, come lets to my Lodging, and we'll Sign and Seal this Minute.
Oh, not so fast, Colonel, there are many Things to be adjusted before the Lawyer and the Par|son comes.
The Lawyer, and the Parson! No, no, ye lit|tle Rogue, we can finish our Affairs without the help of the Law—or the Gospel.
Indeed but we can't, Colonel.
Indeed! Why hast thou then trappan'd me out of my warm Bed this Morning for nothing! Why, this is showing a Man half famish'd, a well furnish'd Larder, then clapping a Padlock on the Door, till you Starve him quite.
If you can find in your Heart to say Grace, Colonel, you shall keep the Key.
I love to see my Meat before I give Thanks, Madam, therefore uncover thy Face, Child, and I'll tell thee more of my Mind.—If I like you—
I dare not risk my Reputation upon your Ifs, Colonel—and so Adieu.
Nay, nay, nay, we must not part.
As you ever hope to see me more, suspend your Curiosity now; one Step farther looses me for ever.—Show your self a Man of Honour, and you shall find me a Woman of Honour.
Well, for once, I'll trust to a Blind Bargain, Madam.—
That's Treu, an lik your Honour; but I thought that when ence ye had her in yer awn Honds, yee mite a orderd her yer sal weal eneugh without me, an ye keen, an like yer Honour.
Sirrah, hold your impertinent Tongue, and make haste after her; if you don't bring me some Ac|count of her, never dare to see my Face again.
Ay! This is bony Wark indeed to run three hun|red Mile to this wicked Town, an before I can weel fill my Wem, to be sent a Whore hunting after this black shee Devil.—What Gat sal I gang to speer for this Wutch now? Ah, for a ruling Elder—or the Kirks Treaserer—or his Mon.—Id gar, my Master mak twa oh this;—But I'm seer there's na sike honest People here, or there wou'd na be so muckle Sculdudrie.†
Geud Mon, did yee see a Woman, a Lady ony gate here away enow?
Yes, a great Many. What kind of a Woman is it you inquire after.
Geud troth, she's ne Kenspekle, she's aw in a Clowd.—
What, it's some High-land Monster which you brought over with you I suppose, I see no such not I, kenspekle quotha!
Huly, huly, Mon, the Deel pike out yer Eyn, and then you'll see the barer, yee English bag Pudin Tike.
What says the Fellow?
Say! I say I am a better Fellow than e'er stude upon yer Shanks—an gin I heer meer a yer din, deal a my Sol, Sir, but Ise crack your Crown.
Get you gone you Scotch Rascal, and thank your Heathen Dialect, which I don't under|stand, that you han't your Bones broke.
Ay! An ye do no understond a Scots Man's Tongue—Ise se gin yee can understond a Scots Man's Gripe: Wha's the bater Man now Sir?
I vow, Madam, but I am glad that yee, and I are foregather'd.
What wou'd the Fellow have?
Nothing, away Madam, wo worth yer Heart, what a muckle deel a Mischief had yee like to bring upon poor Gibby.
The Man's Drunk.—
In troth am I not.—An gin I had not fond ye, Madam, the Laird knows when I shou'd; for my Ma|ster bad me nere gang Heam, without Tydings of yee, Madam.
Sirrah, get about your Business, or I'll have your Bones drub'd.
Geud Faith, my Master has e'en dun that te yer Honds, Madam.
Who is your Master? Friend.
Mony e'en Spiers the gat, they ken right weel.—It is no so long sen yee parted wi him, I wish he kent yee haafe as weel as yee ken him.
Pugh, the Creature's mad, or mistakes me for some Body else; and I shou'd be as Mad as he, to talk to him any longer.
So, she's gone Home I see. What did that Scotch Fellao want with her? I'll try to find it out, perhaps I may discover something that may make my Master Friends with me again.
Are ye gaune, Madam, a Deel scope in yer Company, for I'm as weese as I was; but I'll bide and see whase House it is, gin I can meet wi ony Civel Body to Spier at.—Weel of aw Men in the Warld, I think our Scots Men the greatest Feuls, to leave their weel favour'd honest Women at Heam, to rin wallop|ing Page 45 after a pack of Gyrcarlings here, that shame to show their Faces, and peer Men, like me, are forc'd to be their Pimps; a Pimp! Godswarbit, Gibby's ne'er be a Pimp.—An yet in troth it is a threving Trade; I rememmer a Country-Man aw mi ean, that by gang|ing a sike like Errands as I am now, come to grat Preferment: My Lad, Wot yee wha lives here?
Don Pedro de Mendosa.
An did yee se a Lady gang in but now?
Yes, I did.
An dee yee ken her te?
It was Donna Violante his Daughter; what the Devil makes him so inquisitive? Here is something in it, that's certain: 'Tis a cold Morning Brother, what think you of a Dram?
In troth, very weel Sir.
You seem an honest Fellow, prithy lets Drink to our better Acquaintance.
Wi aw my Heart, Sir, gang yer gate to the next House, and Ise follow ye.—
Come along then.
Don Pedro de Mendosa.—Donna Violante his Daughter, that's as right as my Leg now.—Ise need na meer, I'll tak a Drink an then to my Master.—
SCENE, Violante's Lodgings.
MY Dear, I have been seeking you this half Hour, to tell you the most lucky Adven|ture.
And you have pitch'd upon the most unlucky Hour for it, that you cou'd possibly have found in the whole four and Twenty.
Hang unlucky Hours, I won't think of them; I hope all my Misfortunes are past.
And mine all to come.
I have seen the Man I like.
And I have seen the Man that I cou'd wish to hate.
And you must assist me in discovering whe|ther he can like me, or not.
You have assisted me in such a Discovery alrea|dy, I thank ye.
What say you my Dear?
I say I am very unlucky at Discoveries Isabella; I have too lately made one pernicious to my Ease, your Brother is false.
Some Villain has traduc'd him to you.
No, Isabella, I love too well to trust the Eyes of others; I never Credit the ill judging World, or form Suspicions upon vulgar Censures; no, I had Ocu|lar Proof of his Ingratitude.
Then I am most unhappy; my Brother was the only Pledge of Faith betwixt us, if he has forfeited your Favour, I have no Title to your Friendship.
You wrong my Friendship, Isabella; Your own Merit intitles you to every thing within my Power.
Generous Maid—But may I not know what Grounds you have to think my Brother False.
Another time.—But tell me, Isabella, how can I serve you?
Thus then—The Gentleman that brought me hither, I have seen and talk'd with, upon the Terreiro de passa this Morning, and find him a Man of Sense Generosity, and good Humour, in short he is every Thing that I cou'd like for a Husband, and I have dis|patch'd Mrs. Flora to bring him hither; I hope you'll forgive the Liberty I have taken.
Hither, to what Purpose?
To the great universal Purpose Matrimony.
Matrimony! Why do you design to ask him?
No, Violante, you must do that for me.
I thank you for the Favour you design me, but desire to be excus'd: I manage my own Affairs too ill, to be trusted with those of other People; besides, if my Father shou'd find a Stranger here, it might make him hurry me into a Monastery immediately; I can't for my Life admire your Conduct, to encourage a Person altogether unknown to you.—'Twas very Imprudent to meet him this Morning, but much more so, to send for him hither, knowing what Inconveni|ency you have already drawn upon me.
I am not insensible how far my Misfortunes have embarrrast you; and if you please, sacrifice my Quiet to your own.
Unkindly urg'd—Have I not preferr'd your Happiness to every Thing that's dear to me.
I know thou hast—Then do not deny me this last Request, which in a few Hours perhaps, may ren|der Page 48 my Condition, able to clear thy Fame, and bring my Brother to thy Feet for Pardon.
I wish you don't repent of this Intrigue. I suppose he knows you are the same Woman that he brought in here last Night.
Not a Syllable of that, I met him vail'd, and to prevent his knowing the House, I order'd Mrs. Flora to bring him by the back Door into the Garden.
The very Way which Felix comes, If they should meet, there would be fine Work—Indeed my Dear I can't approve of your Design.
Madam the Colonel waits your Pleasure.
How durst you go upon such a Message Mistress without acquainting me.
'Tis too late to dispute that now, dear Violante, I acknowledge the Rashness of the Action—But con|sider the Necessity of my Deliverance.
That is indeed a weighty Consideration, well, what am I to do.
In the next Room I'll give you Instructions, in the mean time Mrs. Flora show the Colonel into this.
The Lady will wait on you presently Sir,
Very well—This is a very fruitful Soil, I have not been here quite four and twenty Hours, and I have three Intrigues upon my Hands already, but I hate the Chase, without partaking the Game.
Are you sure of that, Colonel?
If you be not very unreasonable indeed, Ma|dam; a Man is but a Man.
Nay, We have no Time for Compliments, Co|lonel.
I understand you, Madam—Montre moy votre Chambre.
Nay, nay, hold Colonel, my Bed-Chamber is not to be enter'd without a certain Purchase.
Purchase! Humph, This is some kept Mistress, I suppose; who industriously lets out her leisure Hours.
Nay, don't give your self the trouble of draw|ing your Purse Colonel, my Design is level'd at your Person, if that be at your own disposal.
Ay, that it is Faith Madam, and I'll settle it as firmly upon thee.—
As Law can do it.
Hang Law in love Affairs, thou shalt have Right and Title to it out of pure Inclination.—A Ma|trimonial Hint again! Gad, I fancy the Women have a Project on foot to transplant the Union into Portugal.
Then you have an aversion to Matrimony, Co|lonel; did you never see a Woman, in all your Tra|vels, that you cou'd like for a Wife?
A very odd Question.—Do you really expect that I shou'd speak Truth now?
I do, if you expect to be so dealt with, Co|lonel.
Is she in your own Country, or this?
This is a very pretty kind of a Catechism; but I don't conceive which way it turns to Edification: In this Town I believe Madam.
Her Name is.—
Ay, How is she call'd, Madam!
Nay, I ask you that, Sir.
Oh, ho, why she is call'd—Pray Madam, how is it you Spell your Name?
Oh, Colonel, I am not the happy Woman, nor do I wish it.
No, I'm sorry for that.—What the Devil does she mean by all these Questions?
Come Colonel, for once be Sincere.—Perhaps you may not repent it.
Faith Madam, I have an Inclination to Since|rity, but I'm afraid you'll call my Manners in Questi|on: This is like to be but a silly Adventure, here's so much Sincerity required.
Not at all; I prefer Truth before Compliment in this Affair.
Why then to be plain with you, Madam, a Lady last Night wounded my Heart by a Fall from a Window, whose Person I cou'd be contented to take, as my Father took my Mother, till Death us doth part:—But who she is, or how distinguish'd, whether Maid, Wife, or Widow I can't inform you, perhaps you are she.
Not to keep you in suspence, I am not She, but I can give you an Account of Her; that Lady is a Maid of Condition, has ten Thousand Pounds; and if you are a single Man, her Person, and Fortune are at your Service.
I accept the Offer with the highest Transports; but say my charming Angel, art thou not she.
Once again, Colonel, I tell you I am not she.— Page 51 But at Six, this Evening you shall find her on the Terriere de passa, with a white Handkerchief in her Hand; get a Priest ready, and you know the rest.
I shall infallibly observe your Directions, Ma|dam.
Ha Felix, crossing the Garden, say you, what shall I do now?
You seem surpriz'd Madam.
Oh, Colonel, my Father is coming hither, an if he finds you here I am ruin'd!
Odslife Madam, thrust me any where, can't I go out this way?
No, no, no, he comes that way, how shall I prevent their Meeting? Here, here, step into my Bed-Chamber and be still, as you value her you love; don't stir till you've Notice, as ever you hope to have her in your Arms.
On that Condition I'll not breath.
I wonder where my Dog of a Servant is all this while.—But she's at Home I find.—How coldly she regards me.—You look Violante as if the sight of me were troublesome.
Can I do otherways, when you have the Assu|rance to approach me, after what I saw to Day.
Assurance, rather call it good Nature, after what I heard last Night; but such regard to Honour, have I in my Love to you, I cannot bear to be sus|pected, nor suffer you to entertain false Notions of my Truth, without endeavouring to convince you of my Innocence, so much good Nature have I more than you Violante.—Pray give me leave to ask your Wo|man Page 52 man one Question; my Man assures me she was the Person you saw at my Lodgings.
I confess it, Madam, and ask your Pardon.
Impudent Baggage, not to undeceive me soon|er, what Business cou'd you have there?
Lissardo and she it seems imitate You and I.
I love to follow the Example of my Betters, Madam.
I hope I am justify'd.—
Since we are to part, Felix, there needed no Justification.
Methinks you talk of parting, as a Thing in|different to you; can you forget how I have lov'd?
I wish I cou'd forget my own Passion; I shou'd with less Concern remember yours.—But for Mrs. Flora.—
You must forgive her;—Must did I say? I fear I have no Power to Impose, tho' the Injury was done to me.
'Tis harder to Pardon an Injury done to what we love than to our selves, but at your Request, Felix, I do forgive her; go watch my Father, Flora, least he shou'd wake, and surprize us.
Dost thou then love me, Violante?
What need of Repetition from my Tongue, when every Look confesses what you ask?
Oh! Let no Man judge of Love but those who feel it, what wondrous Magick lies in one kind Look.—One tender Word destroys a Lover's Rage, and melts his fiercest Passion into soft Complaint. Oh the Window, Violante, woud'st thou but clear that one Suspicion!
Prithy no more of that, my Felix, a little time shall bring thee perfect Satisfaction.
Well Violante, on that Condition you think no more of a Monastery.—I'll wait with Patience for his Mighty Secret.
Ah Felix, Love generally gets the better of Re|ligion in us Women▪ Resolutions made in heat of Pas|sion, ever dissolve upon Reconciliation.
Oh Madam, Madam, Madam, my Lord your Fa|ther has been in the Garden, and lock'd the back Door, and comes muttering to himself this way.
Then we are caught: Now Felix we are un|done.
Heavens forbid, this is most unlucky; let me step into your Bed-Chamber, he won't look under the Bed; there I may conceal my self.
My Stars! If he goes in there he'll find the Colonel.—No, no, Felix, that's no safe Place, my Fa|ther often goes thither; and shou'd you Cough, or Sneeze, we are lost.
Either my Eyes deceiv'd me, or I saw a Man within, I'll watch him close.—She shall deal with the Devil, if she conveys him out without my Know|ledge.
Bless me, how I tremble!
Oh, Invention, Invention!—I have it Madam, here, here, here Sir, off with your Sword, and I'll fetch you a Disguise.
Ay, ay, any Thing to avoid Don Pedro.
Oh! Quick, quick, quick, I shall die with Ap|prehension.
Besure you don't speak a Word!
Not for the Indies.—But I shall observe you closer than you imagine.
Humph, he'll certainly discover him.
'Tis my Mother, and please you, Sir.
Your Mother! By St. Anthony she's a strap|per; why, you are a Dwarf to her.—How many Children have you good Woman?
Oh! If he speaks we are lost.
Oh! Dear Senior, she can't hear you, she has been Deaf these twenty Years.
Alas poor Woman.—Why, you Muffle her up as if she were Blind too.
Wou'd I were fairly off.
Turn up her Hood.
Undone for ever.—St. Anthony forbid: Oh Sir, she has the dreadfullest unlucky Eyes.—Pray don't look upon them, I made her keep her Hood shut on Purpose.—Oh, oh, oh!
Eyes! Why, what's the Matter with her Eyes?
My poor Mother, Sir, is much afflicted with the Cholick; and about two Months ago she had it grievously in her Stomach, and was over-persuaded to take a Dram of filthy English Geneva.—Which imme|diately flew up into her Head, and caus'd such a De|fluxion in her Eyes, that she cou'd never since bear the Day-Light.
Say you so.—Poor Woman!—Well, make her sit down, Violante, and give her a Glass of Wine.
Let her Daughter give her a Glass below, Sir, for my Part, she has frighted me so, I shan't be my self these two Hours. I am sure her Eyes are evil Eyes.
Well, well, do so, evil Eyes, there is no evil Eyes Child.
I'm glad he's gone.
Hast thou heard the News, Violante?
What News, Sir?
Why, Vasquez tells me that Don Lopez's Daughter Isabella, is run away from her Father, that Lord has very ill Fortune with his Children.—Well, I'm glad my Daughter has no Inclination to Man|kind, that my House is plagu'd with no Suitors.
This is the first Word I ever heard of it, I pity her Frailty.—
Well said Violante.—Next Week I intend thy Happiness shall begin.
I don't intend to stay so long, I thank you, Pa, pa.
My Lady Abbess writes Word she longs to see thee, and has provided every Thing in order for thy Reception.—Thou wilt lead a happy Life my Girl.—Fifty times before that of Matrimony, where an extra|vagant Coxcomb might make a Beggar of thee, or an ill Natur'd surly Dog break thy Heart.
Break her Heart! She had as good have her Bones broke as to be a Nun; I am sure I had, rather of the two.—You are wondrous kind, Sir, but if I had such a Father, I know what I wou'd do.
Why, what wou'd you do Minx, ha?
I wou'd tell him I had as good Right and Title to the Laws of Nature, and the End of the Creation, as he had.—
You wou'd Mistress, who the Devil doubts it! A good Assurance is a Chamber-Maid's Coat of Arms; and lying, and contriving the Supporters.—Your Inclinations are on Tip-toe it seems.—If I were your Father, Housewife, I'd have a Penance enjoyn'd you, so strict, that you shou'd not be able to turn you in your Bed for a Month.—You are enough to spoil your Lady Housewife, if she had not abundance of Devotion.
Fye Flora, Are not you asham'd to talk thus to my Father? You said Yesterday you wou'd be glad to go with me into the Monastery.
She go with thee! No, no, she's enough to Debauch the whole Convent.—Well Child, remem|ber what I said to thee, next Week.—
Ay, and what am I to do this too.—
But little does he think what Change she means.
Well said Violante.—I am glad to find her so willing to leave the World, but it is wholly owing to my Prudent Management; did she know that she might command her Fortune when she came at Age, or upon Day of Marriage, Perhaps she'd change her Note.—But I have always told her that her Grand-Father left it with this Proviso, That she turn'd Nun, now a small Part of this twenty Thousand Pounds provides for her in the Nunnery, and the rest is my own; there is nothing to be got in this Life without Policy.
So now for the Colonel.
Is the Coast clear?
Yes, if you can Climb, for you must get over the Wash-House, and Jump from the Garden-Wall into the Street.
Nay, nay, I don't value my Neck if my Inco|gita Answers but thy Lady's Promise.
Good bye Violante, take Care of thy self, Child.
I wish you a good Journey, Sir.—Now to set my Prisoner at Liberty.
I have lain Perdue under the Stairs, till I watch'd the old Man out.
Sir, Sir, you may appear.
May he so, Madam.—I had Cause for my Sus|picion, I find, treacherous Woman.
Ha, Felix here! Nay then, all's discover'd.
What shall I say.—Nothing but the Secret which I have Sworn to keep can reconcile this Quar|rel.
A Coward! Nay, then I'll fetch you out, think not to hide thy self; no, by St. Anthony, an Altar should not Protect thee, even there I'd reach thy Heart, tho' all the Saints were arm'd in thy De|fence.
Defend me Heaven! What shall I do? I must discover Isabella, or here will be Murder.
I have help'd the Colonel off clear, Madam.
Say'st thou my Girl? Then I am arm'd.
Where has the Devil in Complaisance to your Sex convey'd him from my just Resentments?
Him, who do you mean my dear inquisitive Spark? Ha, ha, ha, ha, will you never leave these Jealous Whims?
Will you never cease to Impose upon me?
You impose upon your self, my Dear, do you think I did not see you? Yes, I did, and resolv'd to put this Trick upon you; I knew you'd take the Hint, and soon relapse into your wonted Error: how easily your Jealousy is fir'd, I shall have a blessed Life with you.
Was there nothing in it then, but only to try me?
Won't you believe your Eyes?
No, because I find they have deceiv'd me; well, I am convinc'd that Faith is as necessary in Love as in Religion; for the Moment a Man lets a Woman know her Conquest, he resigns his Senses, and sees nothing but what she'd have him.
And as soon as that Man finds his Love re|turn'd, she becomes as errant a Slave, as if she had already said after the Priest.
The Priest, Violante, wou'd dissipate those Fears which cause these Quarrels; when wilt thou make me Happy?
To-Morrow I will tell thee, my Father is gone for two or three Days to my Uncles, we have time enough to finish our Affairs.—But prithy leave me now, for I expect some Ladies to Visit me.
If you Command it.—Fly swift ye Hours, and bring to-Morrow on.—You desire I wou'd leave you, Violante.
I do at present.
I am glad my Brother and you are reconcil'd my Dear, and the Colonel escap'd without his know|ledge; I was frighted out of my Wits when I heard him return.—I know not how to express my Thanks Woman.— Page 59 for what you suffer'd for my Sake, my grateful Ac|knowlegements shall ever wait you; and to the World proclaim the Faith, Truth, and Honour of a Woman—
Prithy don't Compliment thy Friend, Isabella.—You heard the Colonel I suppose.
Every Syllable, and am pleas'd to find I do not Love in vain.
Thou hast caught his Heart it seems; and an Hour hence may secure his Person.—Thou hast made hasty Work on't, Girl.
From thence I draw my Happiness, we shall have no Accounts to make up after Consummation.
SCENE, Frederick's House.
THIS Hour has been propitious, I am re|concil'd to Violante, and you assure me An|tonio is out of Danger.
Your Satisfaction is doubly mine.
What Haste you made Sirrah, to bring me Word if Violante went home?
I can give you very good Reasons for my stay Sir.—Yes Sir, she went home.
O! Your Master knows that, for he has been there himself Lissardo.
Sir, may I beg the Favour of your Ear.
What have you to say?
Ha, Felix changes Colour at Lissardo's News. What can it be?
A Scots Footman, that belongs to Colonel Brit|ton, an Acquaintance of Frederick's say you; the Devil! If she be false, by Heaven I'll trace her. Prithy Frede|rick do you know one Colonel Britton a Scotsman?
Yes, why do you ask me?
Nay no great Matter, but my Man tells me that he has had some little Difference with a Servant of his, that's all.
He is a good harmless innocent Fellow, I am Page 61 sorry for it; the Colonel lodges in my House, I knew him formerly in England, and met him here by Acci|dent last Night, and gave him an Invitation home, he is a Gentleman of a good Estate, besides his Com|mission; of excellent Principles, and strict Honour I assure you.
Is he a Man of Intrigue?
Like other Men I suppose, here he comes.—
Colonel, I began to think I had lost you.
—And not without some Reasons if you knew all.
There's no Danger of a fine Gentleman's being lost in this Town, Sir.
That Compliment don't belong to me Sir. But I assure you I have been very near being run away with.
Who attempted it?
Faith I know her not—Only that she is a charming Woman, I mean as much as I saw of her.
My Heart swells with Apprehension.—Some accidental Rencounter.—
A Tavern I suppose adjusted the Matter.—
A Tavern! No, no Sir, she is above that Rank I assure you, this Nymph sleeps in a Velvet Bed, and Lodgings every Way agreeable.
Ha, a Velvet Bed!—I thought you said but now Sir, you knew her not.
No more I don't Sir.
How came you then so well acquainted with her Bed?
Ay, ay, come, come, unfold.
Why then you must know Gentleman, that I was convey'd to her Lodgings, by one of Cupids Emis|saries, call'd a Chambermaid, in a Chair, thro' fifty blind Alleys, who by the help of a Key let me into a Garden.
S'Death, a Garden, this must be Violante's Garden.
From thence conducted me into a spacious Room, then dropt me a Courtesie, told me her Lady would wait on me presently, so without unvailing modestly withdrew.
Damn her Modesty; this was Flora.
Well, how then Colonel?
Then Sir, immediately from another Door issued forth a Lady, arm'd at both Eyes, from whence such Showers of Darts fell round me, that had I not been cover'd with the Shield of another Beauty, I had infallibly fall'n a Martyr to her Charms; for you must know I just saw her Eyes, Eyes did I say? No, no, hold, I saw but one Eye, tho' I suppose it had a Fellow, equally as killing.
But how came you to see her Bed Sir? S'Death this Expectation gives a thousand Racks.
Why upon her Maid's giving Notice her Fa|ther was coming she thrust me into the Bed-Chamber.
Upon her Father's coming?
Ay, so she said, but putting my Ear to the Key|hole of the Door, I found it was another Lover.
Confound the Jilt! 'Twas she without dispute.
Ah poor Colonel, ha, ha, ha.
I discover'd they had had a Quarrel, but whe|ther they were reconcil'd or not, I can't tell, for the second Alarm brought the Father in good earnest, and had like to have made the Gentleman and I acquaint|ed, but she found some other Stratagem to convey him out.
Contagion seize her, and make her Body ugly as her Soul. There's nothing left to doubt of now,—'Tis plain 'twas she,—Sure he knows me, and takes this Method to insult me, S'Death I cannot bear it.
So when she had dispatch'd her old Lover, she Page 63 paid you a Visit in her Bed-Chamber, ha, Colonel?
No, Pox take the impertinent Puppy, he spoil'd my Diversion, I saw her no more.
Very fine! Give me Patience Heaven, or I shall burst with Rage.
That was hard.
Nay, what was worse, the Nymph that intro|duc'd me convey'd me out again over the Top of a high Wall, where I ran the Danger of having my Neck broke, for the Father it seems had lock'd the Door by which I enter'd.
That Way I miss'd him:—Damn her Inven|tion.
Faith I can't tell Sir, I had a Design to know who that Lady was, but my Dog of a Footman, whom I had order'd to watch her home, fell fast a Sleep—I gave him a good beating for his Neglect, and I have never seen the Rascal since.
Here he comes.
Where have you been Sirrah?
Troth Ise been seeking yee an like yer Honor these twa Hoors an meer, I bring yee glad Teedings Sir.
What have you found the Lady?
Geud Faith ha I Sir—an Shee's call'd Donna Violante, and her Parent Don Pedro de Mendosa, an gin yee wull gang wa mi, an't like ye'r honor, Ise mak yee ken the Huse right weel.
Oh, Torture! Torture!
Ha! Violante! That's the Lady's Name of the House where my Incognita is, sure it could not be her, at least it was not the same House I'm confident.
Violante! 'Tis false, I wou'd not have you cre|dit him Colonel.
The Deel brust my Blader, Sir gin I lee.
Sirrah, I say you do lye, and I'll make you eat it you Dog.
Not I faith Sir—I answer for no body's Lyes, but my own, if you please kick him again.
But gin he dus, Ise ne tak it Sir, gin he was a thousand Spaniards.
I ow'd you a beating Sirrah, and I'm oblig'd to this Gentleman for taking the Trouble off my Hands, therefore say no more, d'ye hear Sir?
Troth de I Sir, and feel tee.
This must be a Mistake Colonel, for I know Violante perfectly well, and I'm certain she would not meet you upon the Terriero de passa.
Don't be too positive Frederick, now I have some Reasons to believe it was that very Lady.
You'd very much oblige me Sir, if you'd let me know these Reasons.
Sir, I say I have a right to enquire into those Reasons you speak off.
Ha, ha, really Sir I cannot conceive how you, or any Man can have a right to enquire into my Thoughts.
Sir I have a Right to every Thing that relates to Violante—And he that traduces her Fame, and refuses to give his Reasons for't is a Villain.
What the Devil have I been doing; now Bli|sters on my Tongue, by Dozens.
Prithy Felix don't quarrel till you know for what, this is all a Mistake I'm positive.
Look ye Sir, that I dare draw my Sword I think will admit of no Dispute.—But tho' fighting's my Trade, I'm not in Love with it, and think it more honourable to decline this Business, than pursue it. This may be a Mistake, however I'll give you my Page 65 Honour never to have any Affair directly, or indirectly with Violante provided she is your Violante; but if there shou'd happen to be another of her Name I hope you wou'd not engross all the Violantes in the Kingdom.
Your Vanity has given me sufficient Reasons to believe I'm not mistaken, I'm not to be impos'd upon Sir.
Nor I bully'd Sir.
Bully'd! S'Death, such another Word, and I'll nail thee to the Wall.
Are you sure of that Spaniard.
By St. Anthony you shan't fight
That I will this Moment, and then Sir—I hope you are to be found—
When ever you please Sir.
S'bleed Sir, there neer was Scotsman yet that sham'd to shew his Face.
〈◊〉 Quarrels spring up like Mushrooms, in a Minute: Violante, and he, was but just reconcil'd, and you have furnish'd him with fresh Matter for falling out again, and I am certain Colonel, Gibby is in the Wrong.
Gin I be Sir, the Mon that tald me leed, and gin he dud, the Deel be my Landlard, Hell my Win|ter Quarters, and a Rope my Winding Sheet, Gin I dee no lik him as lang as I can hold a Stick in my Hond, now see yee.
I am sorry for what I have said, for the Lady's Sake, but who could divine, that she was his Mistress, prithy who is this warm Spark?
He is the Son of one of our Grandees, nam'd Don Lopez de Pementell, a very honest Gentleman, but something passionate in what relates to his Love.—He Page 66 is an only Son, which perhaps may be one Reason for indulging his Passion.
When Parents have but one Child, they either make a Madman, or a Fool of him.
He is not the only Child, he has a Sister, but I think thro' the Severity of his Father, who would have married her against her Inclination, she has made her escape, and notwithstanding he has offer'd five hundred Pounds, he can get no Tydings of her.
Ha! How long has she been missing?
Nay, but since last Night, it seems.
Last Night! The very Time! How went she?
No body can tell, they conjecture thro' the Window.
I'm transported! This must be the Lady I caught; What sort of a Woman is she?
Middle siz'd, a lovely brown, a fine pouting Lip, Eyes that roul and languish, and seem to speak the exquisite Pleasure that her Arms could give!
Oh! I'm fir'd with his Description—'Tis the very she—What's her Name?
Isabella—You are transported Colonel.
I have a natural Tendency in me to the Flesh, thou know'st, and who can hear of Charms so exquisite, and yet remain unmov'd? Oh, how I long for the ap|pointed Hour! I'll to the Terreiro de passa, and wait my Happiness, if she fails to meet me, I'll once more attempt to find her at Violante's in spite of her Brother's Jealousy.
Your humble Servant Colonel.
Gibby I have no Business with you at present.
That's weel—naw will I gang and seck this Loon, and gar him gang with me to Don Pedro's Page 67 Huse—Gin he will no gang of himsel, Ise gar him gang by the Lug Sir; Godswarbit Gibby hates a Lear.
Scene changes to Violante's Lodgings.
The Hour draws on Violante, and now my Heart begins to fail me, but I resolve to venture for all that.
What does your Courage sink Isabella?
Only the Force of Resolution a little retreated, but I'll rally it again for all that.
Don Felix is coming up Madam!
My Brother! Which way shall I get out—Dispatch him as soon as you can dear Violante.
My Passion choaks me, I cannot speak, oh I shall burst!
Bless me! are you not well my Felix?
Yes,—No,—I don't know what I am.
Hey Day! What's the Matter now? Another jealous Whim!
With what an Air she carries it.—I sweat at her Impudence.
If I were in your Place, Felix, I'd chuse to stay at home, when these Fits of Spleen were upon me, and not trouble such Persons as are not oblig'd to bear with them.
I am very sensible Madam of what you mean: I disturb you no doubt, but were I in a better Humour I shou'd not incommode you less. I am but too well convinc'd, that you could easily dispence with my Visit.
When you behave your self as you ought to do no Company so welcome—But when you reserve me for your ill Nature, I wave your Merit, and con|sider Page 68 what's due to my self—And I must be so free to tell you Felix, that these Humors of yours will abate, if not absolutely destroy the very Principles of Love.
This is not to be born—Insolent! You aban|don! You! Whom I have so often forbad ever to see me more! Have you not fall'n at my Feet? Implor'd my Favour and Forgiveness—Did you not trembling wait, and wish, and sigh, and swear your self into my Heart? Ingrateful Man! If my Chains are so easily broke as you pretend, then you are the silliest Cox|comb living, you did not break 'em long ago; and I must think him capable of brooking any thing on whom such Usage could make no Impression.
I always believed, Madam, my Weakness was the greatest Addition to your Power, you would be less Imperious, had my Inclination been less forward to oblige you.—You have indeed forbad me your Sight, but your Vanity even then assured you I would re|turn, and I was Fool enough to feed your Pride.—Your Eyes, with all their boasted Charms, have acqui|red the greatest Glory in conquering me.—And the brightest Passage of your Life is, wounding this Heart with such Arms as pierce but few Persons of my Rank.
Matchless Arrogance! True Sir, I should have kept Measures better with you, if the Conquest had been worth preserving, but we easily hazard what Page 69 gives us no Pain to loose.—As for my Eyes, you are mistaken if you think they have vanquished none but you; there are Men above your boasted Rank who have confess'd their Power, when their Misfortune in pleas|ing you made them obtain such a disgraceful Victory.
Yes Madam, I am no Stranger to your Victories.
And what you call the brightest Passage of my Life, is not the least glorious Part of yours.
Ha, ha, don't put your self into a Passion, Ma|dam, for I assure you after this Day I shall give you no Trouble.—You may meet your Sparks on the Terriero de Passa at Four in the Morning, without the least Regard of mine.—For when I quit your Chamber, the World shan't bring me back.
I am so well pleas'd with your Resolution, I don't care how soon you take your leave.—But what you mean by the Terreiro de passa at Four in the Morn|ing I can't guess.
No, no, no, not you.—You was not upon the Terriero de passa at Four this Morning.
No, I was not; but if I was, I hope I may Walk where I please, and at what Hour I please without asking you leave.
Oh, doubtless Madam! And you might meet Colonel Britton there, and afterwards send your Emis|sary to fetch him to your House.—And upon your Father's coming in, thrust him into your Bed-Cham|ber—without asking my leave. 'Tis no Business of mine if you are exposed among all the Foot-Men in Town.—Nay, if they Ballad you, and cry you about at a half-Penny a piece.—They may without my Leave.
Audacious! Don't provoke me—Don't; my Reputation is not to be sported with
Ha! I cannot bear to see her Weep.—A Wo|man's Page 70 Tears are far more Fatal than our Swords.
Were it not to clear my Fame, I would not answer thee thou black Ingrate!—But I cannot bear to be reproach'd with what I even Blush to think of, much less to act; by Heaven I have not seen the Ter|reiro de passa this Day.
Did not a Scots Foot-Man attack you in the Street neither Violante?
Yes, but he mistook me for another, or he was Drunk, I know not which.
And do not you know this Scots Colonel?
Pray ask me no more Questions, this Night shall clear my Reputation, and leave you without Excuse for your base Suspicions; more than this I shall not satisfie you, therefore Pray leave me.
Didst thou ever love me, Violante?
I'll answer nothing.—You was in haste to be gone just now, I should be very well pleas'd to be alone, Sir.
I shall not long interrupt your Contemplati|on.—Stubborn to the last.
Did ever Woman involve her self as I have done?
Now wou'd I give one of my Eyes to be Friends with her, for something whispers to my Soul she is not guilty.—
You know what I wou'd have, Violante, Oh my Heart!
Bid Sancho get a New Wheel to my Chariot presently.
Bless me! My Father return'd! What shall we do now Felix? We are ruin'd, past Redemption.
No, no, no, my Love, I can leap from thy Closet Window.
Confusion! Some Body bolts the Door within side, I'll see who you have conceal'd here if I dye for't; Oh Violante! Hast thou again sacrific'd me to my Ri|val?
By Heaven thou hast no Rival in my Heart, let that suffice—nay sure you will not let my Father find You here—Distraction!
Indeed but I shall—except You command this Door to be open'd, and that way conceal me from his Sight.
Hear me Felix—tho' I were sure the refusing what you ask would separate us for ever, by all that's powerful You should not enter here, either You do love me, or You do not, convince me by Your Obe|dience.
That's not the Matter in debate—I will know who is in this Closet, let the Consequence be what it will. Nay, nay, nay, You strive in vain, I will go in.
You shall not go in—
Hey day! What's here to do! I will go in, and You shan't go in,—and I will go in—why who are you Sir?
'Sdeath! What shall I say now!
Don Felix, pray what's your Business in my House? Ha Sir?
Oh Sir, what Miracle return'd you home so soon? Some Angel 'twas that brought my Father back to succour the Distress'd—this Ruffian here I can|not call him Gentleman—has committed such an un|common rudeness, as the most profligate Wretch wou'd be asham'd to own—
Ha, what the Devil does she mean!
As I was at my Devotion in my Closet, I heard a loud knocking at our Door, mix'd with a Woman's Voice, which seem'd to imply she was in Danger—
I am confounded!
I flew to the Door with utmost speed, where a Lady vail'd rushed in upon me, who falling on her Knees begg'd my Protection, from a Gentleman whom she said persued her, I took Compassion on her Tears, and locked her into this Closet, but in the Surprize ha|ving left open the Door, this very Person whom You see, with his drawn Sword ran in; protesting, if I refu|sed to give her up to his Revenge, he'd force the Door.
What in the Name of Goodness, does she mean to do! Hang me.
I strove with him till I was out of Breath, and had You not come as You did he must have enter'd—but he's in Drink I suppose, or he could not have been guilty of such an Indecorum.
I am amazed!
The Devil never fail'd a Woman at a Pinch, what a Tale has she form'd in a Minute—in Drink quotha, a good Hint, I'll lay hold on't to bring my self off.
Fie Don Felix! No sooner rid of one Broil, but you are commencing another—to assault a Lady with a naked Sword, derogates much from the Cha|racter of a Gentleman, I assure You.
Ay, ay, who doubts it Sir?—Open the Door Violante, and let the Lady come out,—come I war|rant thee, he shan't hurt her.
Ay, now which way will she come off!
The Devil! A Woman! I'll see if she be really so.
Get clear of my Father, and follow me to the Terreiro de Passa, where all Mistakes shall be rectifyed.
Come Sir, you and I will take a Pipe and a Bottle together.
Damn your Pipe Sir, I won't smoak—I hate Tobacco—Nor I, I, I, I won't drink Sir—No Page 74 nor I won't stay neither, and how will you help your self?
As to smoaking, or drinking, you have your Liberty, but you shall stay Sir.
Shall I so Sir—But I tell you old Gentleman I am in haste to be married—And so God be with you.
Go to the Devil—In haste to be married quotha, thou art in a fine Condition to be married truly!
Here's Don Lopez de Pimmentel to wait on you Senior.
What the Devil does he want? Bring him up he's in pursuit of his Son I suppose.
I am glad to find you at Home, Don Pedro, I was told that you was seen upon the Road to——this Afternoon.
That might be my Lord, but I had the Mis|fortune to break the Wheel of my Chariot, which oblig'd me to return—What is your Pleasure with me my Lord?
I am inform'd that my Daughter is in your House, Don Pedro.
That's more than I know my Lord, but here was your Son just now as drunk as an Emperor.
My Son drunk! I never saw him in Drink in my Life, where is he pray Sir?
Gone to be married.
Married! To whom? I don't know that he courted any Body.
Nay I know nothing of that—Within there! Page 75
She's gone out in a Chair Sir.
Out in a Chair, what do you mean Sir?
As I say Sir, and Donna Isabella went in ano|ther just before her.
And Don Felix follow'd in another, I overheard them all, bid their Chairs go to the Terreiro de passa.
Ha! What Business has my Daughter there? I am confounded, and know not what to think.—Within there.
My Heart misgives me plaguely—Call me a Alguzile, I'll persue them strait.
SCENE changes to the Street before Don Pedro's House.
I wish I could see Flora—Methinks I have an hankering Kindness after the Slut——We must be reconcil'd.
Aw my Sol, Sir, but Ise blithe to find yee here now.
Ha! Brother! Give me thy Hand Boy.
Notse fast, se ye me—Brether me ne Brethers, I scorn a Lyar as muckle as a Theife, se ye now, and yee must gang intu• this House with me, and justifie to Donna Violante's Face, that she was the Lady that gang'd in here this Morn, se yee me, or the Deel ha my Sol, Sir, but ye and I shall be twa Folks.
Justify it to Donna Violante's Face, quotha, for what? Sure you don't know what you say.
Troth de I, Sir, as weel as yee de, therefore come along, and mak no mear Words about it.
Why what the Devil do you mean? Don't you consider you are in Portugal. Is the Fellow mad?
Fallow! Ise none of yer Fallow, Sir, and gin this Place were Hell, id gar ye de me Justice,
How now! What makes you knock so loud?
Gin this be Don Pedro's House, Sir, I wou'd speak with Donna Violante his Doughter.
Ha! Don Pedro himself, I wish I were fairly off.
Ha! What is it you want with my Daughter pray?
An she be your Doughter, an lik yer Honer, command her to come out, and answer for hersel now, and either justify or disprove what this Shield told me this Morn.
So, here will be a fine Piece of Work.
Why what did he tell you, ha?
Be me Sol, Sir, Ise tell you aw the Truth, my Master got a pratty Lady upon the how de yee call't—Passa—Here at Five this Morn, and he Gar me watch her heam—And in Troth I lodg'd her here, and meeting this ill favour'd Theife, se ye me, I spierd wha she was—And he told me her Name was Donna Violante, Don Pedro de Mendosa's Daughter.
Ha! My Daughter with a Man abroad at Five in the Morning, Death, Hell, and Furies, by St. Antho|ny I'm undone.
Wunds Sir, ye put yer Saint intul bony Com|pany.
Who is your Master ye Dog you? Adsheart I shall be trick'd of my Daughter, and my Money too, that's worst of all.
Ye Dog you! Sblead, Sir, don't call Names—I wont tell you wha my Master is, se ye me now.
And who are you Rascal, that knows my Daughter so well? Ha!
What shall I say to make him give this Scots Dog a good beating?
What hoa! Where are all my Servants?
Here she comes, Senior.
Hey Day! What is here to do?
This is the Loon lik Tik, and lik yer Honor, that sent me Heam with a Lye this Morn.
Come, come, 'tis all well Gibby, let him rise.
I am Thunder-struck—and have not Power to speak one Word.
This is a Day of Jubilee, Lissardo; no quarel|ling with him this Day.
A Pox take his Fits.—Egad, these Brittons are but a Word and a Blow.
So, have I found your Daughter; then you have not hang'd your self yet I see.
But she is married, my Lord.
Married, Zounds to whom!
Even to your humble Servant, my Lord, if you please to give us your Blessing.
Why hark ye Mistress, are you really married?
Really so, my Lord.
And who are you Sir?
An honest North Britton by Birth, and a Co|lonel by Commission, my Lord.
A Heretick! The Devil!
She has play'd you a slippery Trick indeed my Lord.—Well my Girl thou hast been to see thy Friend married.—Next Week thou shalt have a better Hus|band, my Dear.
Next Week is a little too soon Sir, I hope to live longer than that.
What do you mean Sir? You have not made a Rib of my Daughter too, have you?
Indeed but he has, Sir, I know not how, but he took me in an unguarded Minute,—when my Thoughts were not over strong for a Nunnery, Father.
Your Daughter has play'd you a slippery Trick too, Senior.
But your Son shall be never the better for't my Lord, her twenty Thousand Pounds was left on certain Conditions, and I'll not part with a Shilling.
But we have a certain Thing call'd Law, shall make you do Justice, Sir.
Well we'll try that,—my Lord, much good may it do you with your Daughter in Law.
I wish you much Joy of your Rib.
Frederick, Welcome!—I sent for thee to be Witness of my good Fortune, and make one in a Country-Dance.
Your Messenger has told me all, and I sincere|ly share in all your Happiness.
To the Right about Frederick, wish thy Friend Joy.
I do with all my Soul;—and Madam I congra|tulate your Deliverance.—Your Suspicions are clear'd now, I hope Felix.
They are, and I heartily ask the Colonel Par|don, and wish him Happy with my Sister; for Love has taught me to know, that every Man's Happiness consists in chusing for himself.
After that Rule, I fix here.
That's your Mistake, I prefer my Lady's Ser|vice, and turn you over to her that pleaded Right and Title to you to Day.
Chuse proud Fool, I shan't ask you twice.
What say ye now Lass, will ye ge yer Maiden-Head to poor Gibby.—What say you, will ye Dance the Reel of Bogye with me?
That I may not leave my Lady,—I take you at your Word.—And tho' our Wooing has been short, I'll by her Example love you dearly.
Hark! I hear the Musick, some Body has done us the Favour to send them, call them in.
Waunds this is bony Musick.—How caw ye that Thing that ye pinch by the Craig, and tickle the Weam, and make it cry Grum, Grum.
Oh! that's a Guittar, Gibby.
Now my Violante, I shall Proclaim thy Vertues to the World.