ACT. II. SCEN. IV.
WHy did you pull down the Picture?
Rather, why did you set it up, If not for that purpose? sure you know the excellence it expos'd to our Eyes; which I would now describe, but that the conversation with your Glass will do it better, which I perceive you have con∣sulted, by the price you seem to value them at; In short, I saw and lov'd you, fair one, as who do's not; I wish'd for you too, as who would not? But when I read your paper, I found the price of this Jewel too great, not for my value but my Fortune; had that been equal to my Love, you should have found at what rate I priz'd the Beauty and the Friendship of the famous and fair Angellica, that Star of Italy; who had she been as fixt as bright, a Prince might have worne such a Jewel in his Breast, and receive greatness and lustre from her; These thoughts my wounded Eyes, and ravish'd Ears, suggested to me seeing that Form, and hearing those charmes thy hand and voice dispers'd amongst the surpriz'd, and sighing multitude; When guilty of my own condition I despair'd any success with my Alms-mony, to think of purchasing your per∣son;
Yes, yes, I see it and can bear it; Yet, in these old Cloaths I am a Gentleman and a Souldier; and though my habit be ill, my heart and my sword are good, and I think my Repu∣tation, as any Souldier needs; for though I have lost my Fortune, yet I have preserv'd mine Honour still.
You wrong me, Sir; And when you know my Heart and the thoughts she labours with, you will confess it.
Nay, I have told you I can endure it, if you despise me, so you do not tell me of it; But what's all this to you, who are fair, young and lovely, and indeed Mistriss of all the Virtues depraved man seeks? Good Heaven! What faults have I seen Wealth and Beauty hide! Even Princes flatter faces, and wink at the sins and crimes they commit; and while Riches break the Nets, Beauty numbs the Fishers hands: Riches weighs down the scale, while Poverty lies open to the Law and censure, liable to the scorn and punishment; for though all are taught to know the pe∣nalty of the Law, 'tis the poor man is made the example.
What poyson is this my Ears suck in? His words shake my Soul.—
How silent the stands and hears his railing? Good Corpo∣rall, will you trot and leave your preaching? Bless us from a Capuchin in buff; have you no text to take but my Mistriss when you are to rail? Good Centry, of old St. Frank's Order, this is no broken bread, nor soure porridge, this House affords no Love for Charity; Pray pack, and search the stalls when 'tis dark, or whistle the poor Bulker.
How now, who gave you this liberty of railing? Get you gone, or lie down behind you door quickly, or I will kick thy carrion carcass out at window.
No, no, let her vent her spleen, for the same question is in your heart too, onely you can be so discreet as to hide it; What would you have? Who are you? One that scornes to play your parts; and though I dare spend my blood, I scorn to sell it for so base sallary; No, not to enjoy you, though I avow a Love and admiration for thee, and would run any hazard to purchase thee; See here the last sum I can command upon the earth, the last meal I know where to eat now in my Body, when this money is gone; Yet I am such a servant to Love and Beauty, this last, last hope, I'll freely give to enjoy thee; here, pray take it, I conjure you take it. Do not scorn me, fair one, now I have said this; For know,
Why so severe, Sir?
Not that I despise you, but to secure my self; All those flames I feel now are but so many Lusts, I know them by their suddain bold intrusion; The impatiency and the sawciness of the flame betrayes it, still devouring till it be devoured; had it been Loves pure dart, I should have pin'd at your feet in silence, ere found a daring to tell you so. Lust his bastard-brother, and born of the same Mother, can brook a denial of that which Love dares not ask, and onely grows angry for a time; But the next kind Girl quenches his flame.
After all this severe truth, what are we guilty of that you have not confess'd? What crime staines us that you would not now act? You men are strangely partial to your selves, you would not despise us else; Is the fault single in us? If not, why should we lose our Honours in the Act, when you think it an Honour to be the Actors? Who made the Law against Love? Or where will you find it obligeth women onely? If the Law be general, must not the crime be so too?
Yes, in Love; for Love 'tis equal, but not in you, because you will be paid; you sell your blood which is your guilt: 'Tis Mercenarines in you that makes the sin, Nature else would plead for you too; When I hang out my picture, and at a rate expose my self to all comers, then I will not wonder if you despise me.
And I could urge, when you'll take a House and furnish it, deliver up your Youth and Liberty a slave to our Sex, and wait like a spider in your web, for all flies that pass; When Angellica knocks at your door, and leads you to your bed, I will not wonder if you ask a price before I enjoy you; Nor ought you to wonder when we desire some satisfaction for the slavery we suffer.
I am not here to defend such baseness in men, but to condemn it in women.
You have reason, Sir; and I am pleas'd to find such Hon∣our in your heart; But your truths are a knowledge I have learn'd too late: And to afflict my self with the consideration of that which cannot be remedied is second folly; Onely (once a whore and ever) is the world adage; yet there may be degrees of ill; and I am vain enough to believe, though I am not a good woman, I am not an ill Mistriss.
Faith 'tis a very ill woman, (if she be handsome) that will not make a good whore.
Gospetto, I can suffer no longer; stab me, kill me, do, tread upon your Nurse, wound these Breasts that fed thee; All for a Vil∣lain that hath rail'd an hour; Hell upon him, Beggar; why do you talk to him? Sirrah, you know the price, either pay or begone,
Here, prithee good fore-woman of the shop serve me, and I'll be gone.
Keep your gilded Royal, and troop, good Rutter; here's no selling by small ware.
When you speak of a price, Sir, you know what 'tis; you have the Bill.
'Tis truth, Lady, and I desire no favour; let me see; the moneth is a thousand crowns, how much comes that to, for a Pi∣stol; divided by four nights in a week. I, by four nights in a week.—Heark you, Grannam; take your chalk and cast it be∣hind the door; see what it comes to, that I may have my peny∣worth out of your Lady, and I'll be gone.
I tell thee, scurvey, saucy fellow, we sell not this stuff by the yard; the whole piece, or nothing, Sirrah; I could beat him, A pox take him, h'as vex'd me into a Fever.
That's hard; must a Customer buy whole ships lading? your Shop, or nothing! faith, Lady, I can be none of the Merchant, as well as I love you, unless I could conjure; yet now I think on't I have partners, I'll see if they will joyn, we'l take off your Commodity amongst us.—('Tis a likely Girle, if we can purchase her we cannot be losers; we'l take what we use, and sell the rest of our ware,) I am thinking, Lady, how to compass this Geer, though I am out of Cash; will you truck, or venture a curtesie? Death, not a kiss, or so, for a pattern? By this light, I'll have a mouthful of kisses.
If I thought they would please you you; should could I be certain you had a kindness for me more then as I am meer wo∣man, I would not deny you a kiss.
Have I eyes, have I soul, or sence? Death, I bleed yet for your shadow; and offer you freely my last bit of bread; if af∣ter this you doubt, command me something, and try whether I can love or no; or dare frankly serve what I love.
No more, thou art a gallant fellow; put up your mo∣ney, Sir; for though I wish thy purse as great as thy heart, and thy credit as good as thy humour, or nature, yet know I would not sell thee a kindness but for kindness sake; By this and this I swear.
What will this come to? I was never struck first by a woman before.
Can you forgive a fault, and love for love? can you forget I was to be sold, and value this gift? can you tell your heart I am yours, and not remember I might have been any bo∣dies? say, can you do this? have you kindness and good nature enough left to hide such a stain? if not, yet have so much mercy, at least, to say so; and though you cannot love, yet prithee flat∣ter me.
Nay faith, out-do me with kindness, and hang me; if I be not as well natur'd as any woman of you all, the world is cou∣zen'd; inquire where I have gone; if my women rail upon me for that fault let the sex frown.
Kindness is all I ask, and, for that command me; yet know what I offer thee has been often sought, often deny'd, sel∣dom Page 341 enjoy'd; but, By heaven, never pleas'd; often a Mistriss, but never a Lover till now; if thou be'st kind, forget and forgive my faults that are past, which are crimes of the Nation, not mine; sold by a Mother, oppress'd with misery when I knew no better then to obey her; though I confess he that had the flower of my youth laid great obligations upon us, such as good nature and gra∣titude will always make me remember with love and kindness; but 'twas not like the Passion that now disturbs my breast.
If this be real, I am mortal; she weeps, sure my Pistols are not worth this trick; besides, I offer'd it with all this stir, I would fain believe her kindness real; but I have been so often bit with sighing, weeping, flattring sinners, I have no faith left for the sex; yet my Reason tells me I may venture here; her house is fair, her clothes good, here's furniture, and there are jewels, her very Baud a Matron-like woman, gravely cloath'd, and all of a piece; sure I may trust her; if the worst come to the worst, 'tis but a few Pistols lost; rob me they cannot, and beat me they shall not. Well. 'tis resolv'd, I am a proper fellow, and she loves me.—Come, no more tears, fair one; All passion but love is unseasonable, and out of tune now; and since you are a Lover you shall find I can be grateful, kind and serious too; and when you are collected, tell you 'tis not only good nature, but wit in women, thus to surprize a Lovers heart, and give, though not before 'tis ask'd, yet before he hopes, such a favour; the seasonablenss of a curtesie is the beau∣ty of the action; and Loves fruits above all expect we should ga∣ther them in season, if they hang long they rot or wither; and if neglected, Loves flowers fade and fall; what beauty had that Rose yesterday, which to morrow is only fit for the Still? such, and so seasonable was the bounty of this kindness; our Rose and fruit has now all the fragrancy and season in it; had I won it at long running, wooing still, and tasted kisses here and there, what's Angellica now would have been a dull and common joy; for such tastings dull the edge and deads the stomack of a Lover, who after such weary steps lies down by his Mistress tir'd, or without an appetite.
Do not distrust our joys then, nor my love; let me not find that curse to have my first vows doubted; if they be, here will fall in showers all those tears others have wept to me; all their treasur'd waters at once I'll pour out at thy feet; oh! that such a stream could make me as pure a Virgin as I am now a perfect Lo∣ver; then I would beg to be thy wife; but that must not be; for love bids me not ask that which honour forbids thee to grant; yet you may be my friend.
No more, the gods are merciful; and sins of youth and nature, such as ours, have their friends amongst them; come, dry those eyes whose fire those tears cannot quench; and though their beams cannot stab through those waters, yet they bruise a Lovers heart; and though Love ha• a Balsam for every wound, yet no∣thing heals love so kindly as love again; his wounds then leave no scars nor feel no pain; 'tis scarce a sin what they can do who love and are belov'd again.
Let's retire, and not only learn but practise this new Do∣ctrine, whose Rules are easie, and Laws so sweet, 'twill give the blind Lover his eyes, and the Law his feet, but they will meet.
Nay, then a Whores fortune and my curse befall thee; have we spun and stich'd, dress'd and watch'd for this? is all the honey we suck'd from so many flowers in their youth carri'd to that hive, for this Droan to waste? What curse made me consent to her vanity! a thousand Crowns, a fine plot to leave a fame be∣hind us! what a stink will this story make in Venice? a curse on this Caterpillar; by that time she hath cloath'd and fed him, we may resolve to go naked our selves; there's but one remedy left, Best rob her my self, while she hath something to steal; I may keep her when she is old; well, I begin to think this is no good trade we drive, 'twill thrive neither Whore nor Baud; I have been as painful in either calling as any she in Venice; my youth had as much beauty and as powerful friends; and my age as much thrift, Anna Garbota, says one Anna Spiritata, says another, Anna Bellama∣na, says a third, Assasina, Echephorbe, Calladora, these were my names; then Anna who had higher fame! yet see all these trophees shrunk into one poor Baud and these ruines: who admires but to mora∣lize upon them? and now to add to the afflictions of my age, in my age this curse is fall'n upon me; 'twould make one swear to be poor and honest to see such luck as follows me; Love was al∣ways fatal to our trade; but I did not fear this curious mischief, to dote upon a Beggar, a Souldier-beggar, a trade as ill as our own, as poor too, and as impossible to be made rich; one that thinks it a dishonour to get or save; we shall never eat again neither, for he'l have all in drink; nay, 'tis an English Souldier too, and one of the Kings party, three titles to perpetual poverty; a race of men who have left praying, or hoping for daily bread; and only relye upon nightly drink.
