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

SCENE IV.

Enter Lorenzo, meets Guilliam, who passes by him, and takes no notice of him.

Lor.

How now Manners a few?

Guil.

I cry you heartily, Sir, I did not see you.

Lor.

Well, Sirrah, the news.

Guil.

Sir, the Gentlewoman whom you sent me to says, That's he'le meet you here.

Lor.

That's well, thou may'st come to be a States-man In time, thou art a fellow of so quick dispatch: But harky, Sirrah, there are a few lessons I must learn you, Concerning offices of this nature; But another time for that: but—

[Whispers.

Enter Isabella and Vallet.

Isab.

Here he is, and prethee when thou seest him in My chamber, go and tell my Lord, Under pretence of the care you have of the honour of his House.

Val.

I warrant you, let me alone for a tale, And a lye at the end on't; which shall not over much Incense him, nor yet make him neglect coming.

[Ex. Val.

Lor.

Oh are you there Mistress; what have you now To say for your last nights roguery? Are not you a baggage? confess.

Isab.

You have a mind to loose your opportunity again, As you did last night, have ye not? Pray God your own shadow scare you not, As it did then; and you will possibly believe

No body meant you harm then, nor now.

Lor.

Art thou in earnest?

Isab.

Are you in earnest?

Lor.

Yes that I am, and that Clarina shall find If I once come to her.

Isab.

Come, leave your frippery jests and come in.

Lor.

Guilliam, be sure you attend me here, And who ever you see, say nothing; the best on 'tis, Thou art not much known.

[Isab. and Lor. go. in.

Guil.

Well, I see there is nothing but soutering I'th this Town; wo'd our Lucia were here too for me, For all the Maids I meet with are so giglish And scornful, that a man, as I am, Gets nothing but flouts and flings from them: Oh for the little kind Lass that lives Under the Hill, of whom the Song was made; Which because I have nothing else to do, I will sing over now; hum, hum,

[To some Tune like him.

The Song for Guilliam.

In a Cottage by the Mountain, Lives a very prety Maid, Who lay sleeping by a Fountain, Vnderneath a Mirtle shade; Her Petticoat of wanton Sarcenet, The Amorous wind about did move, And quite unveil'd, And quite unveil'd the Throne of Love, And quite unveil'd the Throne of Love.

'Tis something cold, I'le go take a Niperkin of Wine.

[Goes out.

Enter Isab. and Lor. above, as frighted into the Balcone.

Lor.

This was some trick of thine, I will be hang'd else.

Isab.

Oh, I'le be sworn you wrong me; Alas, I'm undone by't.

[Ant. at the door knocks.

Ant.

Open the door thou naughty woman.

Lor.

Oh oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?

Ant.

Open the door I say.

Lor.

Oh 'tis a damnable leap out at this Balcone.

Isab.

And yet you are a dead man if you see him.

Ant.

Impudence, will you open the door?

Isab.

I will, Sir, immediately.

Lor.

Devise some way to let me down, Or I will throw thee out; no lader of Ropes, no device? —If a man would not forswear whoring for the future, That is in my condition, I am not true Gentleman.

Ant.

Open, or I will break the door.

Isab.

Hold the door, and swear lustily that you Are my Husband, and I will in the mean time Provide for your safety,

[He holds the door.

Though I can think of none but the sheets from the bed.

Lor.

Any thing to save my life; —Sir you may believe me upon my honour, I am lawful husband to Isabella; And have no designs upon your house or honour.

Isab. this while fastens the sheets, which are to be supposed from the bed, to the Balcone.

Ant.

Thou art some Villain.

Lor.

No, Sir, I am an honest man, and married lawfully.

Ant.

Who art thou?

Lor.

Hast thou done?

Isab.

Yes, but you must venture hard.

Isab.

'Tis Lorenzo, Sir.

Lor.

A Pox on her, now am I asham'd to all eternity.

Isab.

Sir, let me beg you'l take his word and oath to night, And to morrow I will satisfie you.

[Lor. gets down by the sheets.

Ant.

Look you make this good, Or you shall both dearly pay for't.

Lor.

I am alive, yes, yes, all's whole and sound, Which is a mercy, I can tell you; This is whoring now: may I turn Franciscan, If I could not find in my heart to do penance In Camphire Posset, this month for this: —Well, I must to this Merchant of Love, And I would gladly be therebefore the Prince: For since I have mist here,

I shall be Amorous enough, And then I'le provide for Frederick; For 'tis but just, although he be my Master, That I in these Ragousts should be his taster.

[Exeunt.