The amorous prince, or, The curious husband a comedy / by Mrs. A. Behn.

SCENE II.

Enter Curtius disguis'd in a Black Perruque and Beard, with Pietro disguised also.

Curt.

Well, what hast thou learn'd?

Piet.

News enough Sir, but none good; That the Princes wounds are small, So that he intends to take the Air this evening; That he solicites Laura hard; And, Sir, that you are proclaim'd Traytor.

Curt.

So, what says the Messenger you sent to Cloris?

Piet.

Sir, he brings sad tydings back.

Curt.

What tydings? is she dead That would revive my Soul, And fortifie my easie nature with some wicked notions, As deep as those this flattering Prince made use of, When he betray'd my Sister; Prety Cloris: —Come, speak it boldly, for nothing else Will make me do her justice.

Piet.

No Sir, she is not dead, But fled, and none knows whether; Only Guilliam attends her.

Curt.

Worse and worse; but what of Laura?

Piet.

She, Sir, is kept a Prisoner by her Father. And speaks with none but those that come from Frederick.

Curt.

Laura confin'd too; 'tis time to hasten then, With my, till now, almost disarm'd revenge: —Thus I may pass unknown the streets of Florence, And find an opportunity to reach this Princes heart▪. —Oh vengeance! luxurious vengeance, Thy Pleasures turn a Rival to my love, And make the mightier Conquest o're my heart. —Cloris—I will revenge thy tears and sufferings; And to secure the doom of him that wrong'd thee, I'le call on injur'd Laura too. —Here take these Pictures—and where thou see'st

[Gives him Boxes.

A knot of Gallants, open one or two, as if by stealth, To gaze upon the Beauties, and then straight close them— But stay, here comes the only man I could have wish'd for, he'le proclaim my business Better then a Picture or a Trumpet.

They stand by.

[Curtius takes back the Pictures.

Enter Lorenzo and Guilliam drest in fineish Cloaths, but the same high-crown'd Hat.

Lor.

Did, ha, ha, ha, did ha, ha,; did ever any Mortal man behold such a Figure as thou art now? Well, I see 'tis a damnable thing not to Be born a Gentleman; the Devil himself Can never make thee truly jantee now: —Come, come, come forward; these Cloaths become Thee, as a Saddle does a Sow; why com'st thou not? —Why—ha, ha, I hope thou hast not

[He advances sowerly looking.

Hansell'd thy new Breeches, Thou look'st so filthily on't.

Gill.

No, Sir, I hope, I have more manners then so; But if I should, 'tis not my fault; For the necessary houses are hard To be met withal here at Court.

Lor.

Very well Sirrah; you begin already to be Witty with the Court; but I can tell you, it has as Many necessary places in't, as any Court in Christendom— But what a Hat thou hast?

Gill.

Why Sir, though I say't, this is accounted of In our Village; but I had another but now, Which blew off in a high wind; and I never mist it, Till I had an occasion to pluck it off to a young Squire, they call a Lacque; and Fegs I had none at all; and because I would not lose My Leg for want of a Hat, I fetch'd this; And I can tell you, Sir, it has a fashionable brim.

Lor.

A fools head of your own, has it not; The boys will hoot at us as we pass—hah,

Who be these, who be these—

[Goes towards Curt. and Piet.

Curt.

Here—this to Don Alonso—this to the English Count; and this you may show to the Young German Prince—and this—

[Gives Piet. Pictures.

I will reserve for higher Prices.

Piet.

Will you show none to the Courtiers, Sir?

Curt.

Away you fool, I deal in no such trash.

Lor.

How Sir, how was that? pray how came we to Gain your dis-favour?

Curt.

I cry you mercy Sir, pray what are you?

Lor.

A Courtier, Sir, I can assure you, And one of the best rank too; I have the Princes ear, Sir— —What have you there—hah—Pictures, let me see— What, are they to be bought?

Curt.

Sir, they are Copies of most fair Originals, Not to be bought, but hired.

Lor.

Say you so Friend; the price, the price.

Curt.

Five thousand Crowns a month, Sir.

Lor.

The price is somewhat faucy.

Curt.

Sir, they be curious Pieces, were never blown upon, Have never been in Courts, nor hardly Cities.

Lor.

Upon my word that's considerable; Friend, pray where do you live?

Curt.

In the Piazzo, near the Palace.

Lor.

Well, put up your ware, show not a face of them Till I return; for I will bring you The best Chapman in all Florence, Except the Duke himself.

Curt.

You must be speedy then, For I to morrow shall be going towards Rome.

Lor.

A subtle Rascal this, thou think'st, I warrant, To make a better Market amongst the Cardinals; —But take my word, ne're a Cardinal of them all Comes near this man, I mean, to bring you in Matters of Beauty—so, this will infalliably make

[Aside.

My peace again; look ye friend— Be ready, for 'tis the Prince, the noble generous Frederick,

That I design your Merchant.

[Goes out.

Curt.

Your Servant Sir—that is Guilliam, I cannot be mistaken in him, go call him back,

[Pietro fetches him back, who puts on a surly Face.

—Friend what art thou?

Guil.

What am I, why what am I; do'st thou not see What I am; a Courtier Friend.

Curt.

But what's thy name?

Guil.

My name, I have not yet consider'd.

Curt.

What was thy name?

Guil.

What was my name?

Curt.

Yes friend, thou had'st one.

Guil.

Yes friend thou had'st one.

Curt.

Dog, do'st eccho me? do'st thou repeat;

[Shakes him.

I say again, what is thy name?

Guil.

Oh horrible—why, Sir, it was Guilliam When I was a silly Swain.

Curt.

Guilliam—the same; Didst thou not know a Maid whose name was Cloris?

Guil.

Yes, there was such a Maid, But now she's none.

Curt.

Was such a Maid; but now she's none: —The slave upbraids my griefs.

[Aside.

Guil.

Yes, Sir, so I said.

Cur.

So you said.

Guil.

Why, yes Sir, what do you repeat?

Curt.

What mean you Sirrah? have you a mind to Have your Throat cut? tell me where she is.

Guil.

I dare as well be hang'd; Now must I devise a lie, or never look Cloris:

[Aside.

In the face more.

Curt.

Here's Gold for thee; I will be secret too.

Guil.

Oh, Sir, the poor Maid you speak of is dead!

Curt.

Dead! where dy'd she? and how?

Guil.

Now am I put to my wits; this 'tis to begin

[Aside.

In sin, as our Curate said; I must go on: —Why Sir, she came into the Wood,—and hard by a River side—she sigh'd, and she wept full sore;

And cry'd two or three times out upon Curtius, —And—then—

[Howls.

Curt.

Poor Cloris, thy fate was too severe.

Guil.

And then as I was saying, Sir, She leapt into the River, and swam up the Stream.

[Curt. weeps.

Piet.

And why up the Stream friend?

Guil.

Because she was a Woman—and that's all.

Curt.

Farewel, and thank thee.

[Ex. Guil.

—Poor Cloris dead, and banish'd too from Laura; Was ever wretched Lovers fate like mine! —And he who injures me, has power to do so; —But why, where lies this power about this man? Is it this charms of Beauty, or of Wit? Or that great name he has acquir'd in War? Is it the Majesty, that Holy something, That guards the person of this Demi-god? This aws not me, there must be something more, For ever when I call upon my wrongs; Something within me pleads so kindly for him, As would perswade me that he could not erre. —Ah, what is this? where lies this power divine, That can so easily make a slave of mine?

[Exeunt.