The Princess of Cleve, as it was acted at the Queens Theatre in Dorset-Garden / by Nath. Lee ...

SCENE II.

St. Andre, Poltrot, Bellamore.

Bell.

WELL, Gentlemen, good Morrow, and remember my Counsel.

Pol.

What, to bear our selves like Men of Wit and Sense, Snub our Wives, Rally 'em, and be as Witty as the Devil?

St. A.

With all my heart, 'tis not my time of Assignation yet with my Dutchesses, and this is very Fashionable.

Bell.

I've put you in the way—And so good Morrow.

Exit.

Pol.

They come, they come,

Enter Elianor and Celia.

Walk by 'em, take no notice, and Repeat Verses. Phillis did in so strange a Posture lye Panting and Breathless, languishing her Eye, She seem'd to live, and yet she seem'd to Dye.

St. A.

I grow sick of the Wife—Prithe Poltrot let's go.

Pol.

Whither thou wilt, so we get rid of 'em—Z'life I am as weary of mine, as a Modish Lady of her old Cloaths—

Cel.

What does the Maggot bite, you must be jogging from this place of little Ease? yet I am resolv'd to know some reason, why a Wife may not be as good Company as a Wench.

Pol.

Prithe Spouse—do not provoke me, for I'm in the Witty Vein, and shall Repartee thee to the Devil.

El.

Pray, St. Andre, leave trising your Curls, your affected Nods, Grimaces, taking of Snuff, and answer me—Why are we not as plea∣sing as formerly?

St. A.

Why, Nell—Gad 'tis special—This Amarum is very pun∣gent—Why, Nell, I can give no more reason for my change of humour, than for the turning of a Weather-cock; only this, I love Whoring; because I love Whoring.

Pol.

Nay, since you provoke us, know I can give a reason; we run after Whores, because you bar us from 'em—As some take pleasure to go a Deer-steeling that have fine Parks of their own—Gad, and there I was with her—This itch of the Blood, Spouse, is nothing but a Spice of the first great Jilt ••our Grand-mother Eve; we long for the Fruit, because it is forbidden.

St. A.

Nay, that's not all, for Misses are really more pleasant than a Wife can be, Probatum est. A Wife dares not assume the Liberty of pleasing like a Miss, for fear of being thought one. A Wife may pretend to dutiful affection, and bustle below, but must be still at night. 'Tis Miss alone may be allow'd Flame and Rapture, and all that—

Cel.

Yet how do you know, but a Wife may have Flame and Rapture, and all that—

Pol.

'Tis impossible, 'tis the Nature of a Wife to be as cold as a Stone—There's Slap Dash for you—

Cel.

Yet out of a Stone a Man of Sense wou'd strike Fire: There's Slap Dash for you—

El.

Will you be Constant to us, if we make it appear by your own Confession, that we can please as well as the subtl'st She that ever charm'd you?

St. A.

Till which Miracle come to pass, since 'twas your own Propo∣sition, I St. Andre and thou Elianor come not between a pair of Sheets—

El.

How shou'd they know then?

Pol.

Nor I Antony with thee Celia.

El.

But we hope you are not in earnest, you cannot be so Inhumane.

Cel.

'Tis a Curse beyond all Curses, to have a Man that can and will not; 'tis worse than teaching a Fool, or leading the Blind.

El.

To Marry and live thus, is to be like Fish in Frosty Weather, have Water, but pine for want of Air.

Cel.

Yet, who knows but Heav'n may send some Kind Good Man, that in meer pity may break the Ice, and give us a Breathing?

El.

Can you be so hard-hearted?

Pol.

Come Bully, let's away, for fear we shou'd melt; look ye Spouses of ours, if our Wenches prove ill-humour'd, we'll come back to you.

St. A.

Agreed, rather than grow Rusty let our Wives File us— But I thank Heav'n 'tis not come to that yet—There's no such want,

I'll have you to know Nell, there's no Woman can resist me if she wou'd, no Dutchess scapes me, if I make it my bus'ness to compass her.

Pol.

Any Man of Wit and Sense like us, Charms all Women, as one Key unlocks all Doors at Court—Nay, I'll say a bold word for my self, Turn me to the sharpest Shrow that ever Bit or Scratch'd, if I do not make her feed out of my hand like a tame Pidgeon, may I be condemn'd to lye with my Wife.

Eli.

Flesh and Blood can endure no longer, you are the vainest lying Fellows that ever liv'd, you compass a Dutchess—There's not a Foot∣man but wou'd shame you.

St. A.

Z'Death and Fury, if they shou'd try—

Cel.

You pitiful, sneaking, rascally Cuckold, countenanc'd Scoundrels, that dare Bespatter Ladies of Honour thus—For Heaven sake what are you, how do you live, and where do you spend your time? in Ten∣nis-Courts, Taverns, Eating-houses, Bawdy-houses, where you quarrel in Drink for your Trulls, who while you Manfully Fight their Cause, they run away with your Hats and Belts—

Eli.

Then you come home, and swear you'll be reveng'd on this Lord, or that Duke, that assaulted you single, with all his Foot men.

Cel.

And, says my Gentleman, if I had not been the most Skillful Person alive, my Body had been by this time like an Old-fashion'd Suit, Pink'd all over, and full of Ilet-holes.

Eli.

But did he not disarm my Lord at last?

Cel.

By all means, and made him beg his Life.

Eli.

When indeed he compounded with the Constable for his own Liberty.

Cel.

You Persons of Quality—What Person of Honour wou'd keep company with such Debauches? Z'life Madam, an Orange-wench is above their Ambition.

Eli.

An Orange-wench! If they can but run in her debt, and the poor Creature come dunning 'em to their Lodgings, they'll Swear they lay with her, when they dare not be known that they are within.

Cel.

Sometimes lye Lolling upon a long Scarf in the Play-house, talk∣ing loud and affectedly, and Swear at night they had the prettiest thing just come out of the Country.

Eli.

And wish themselves Damn'd if she did not smell of the Grass.

Cel.

When in truth 'twas some disguis'd Bawd, that met 'em there ac∣cording to Assignation.

Pol.

Heark you Potiphar's Wife of mine, by Pharaoh's lean Kine thou shalt starve for this.

St. A.

And for thee Nell—Mark me, thou shalt Dream and be tor∣mented with Imagination, like one that having drunk hard is thirsty in the Night, dreams of Vessels brim-full, and drinks and drinks, yet never is satisfied.

Pol.

For my part, I'll serve my Damn'd Wife as Tantalus was punish'd the Fruit shall bob at her Lips, which she shall never enjoy.

Exeunt St. A. Pol.

Eli.

Very well, the World's come to a fine pass; if this be Marrying, wou'd I were a Maid agen. Men take Wives now as they snatch up a Gazette, look it over and then fling it by.

Cel.

They forget us in a day or two, or if they read us over agen, 'tis only to rub up Remembrance, and commonly they fall asleep so.

Eli.

What's to be done Child? for rather than live thus—

Cel.

Rather than live thus let's do any thing.

Eli.

Any thing Rogue, why Cuckolds are things.

Cel.

Perhaps they think we have no such thing as Flesh and Blood about us, but we'll make 'em know, a young Woman in the flour of her Age, is not like painted Fruit in a Glass, only to be look'd on— Perhaps you are a more Contemplative Person, and will go farther about.

Eli.

What, Dear Rogue, dost think I will leave thee? by this Kiss not I.

Cel.

Thus then we'll slip on long Scarfs, and black Gowns, put on Masks, and ramble about.

Eli.

Rare Rogue, let me Kiss thee agen—Certainly Intrigueing is the pleasantest part of Life; to meet a Gallant abroad in a Summers Evening, and Laugh away an hour or two in a Garden Bower, where no body sees nor no body knows, methinks 'tis so pretty and harmless, Lord, how it works in my Fancy—

Cel.

We must tell Madam Tournon by all means—

Eli.

I believe her Secret, and know her very good Natur'd; but for all that, methinks she has the Cant of a refin'd Florence Bawd—

Enter Tournon.

Cel.

The better for our purpose, she comes as wish'd.

Tour.

Dear Precious Rosebuds your Servant, now for all the World you look as you were New-blown; and how do ye my pretty Primroses? 'tis a whole day since I saw ye.

Cel.

Oh Madam! we have a Suit to your Ladiship.

Tour.

I grant it whate'er it be; speak my Hyacinth.

Eli.

Our Husbands are worse than ever.

Cel.

They use us as if we had neither Beauty nor Portion.

Tour.

What's this I hear? O Ingrate and Ignoble! Revenge your selves Sweetings—'Tis time to pule and put Finger in Eye, when you are past Propagation. But my Lady-birds you are in your Prime, let me touch your delicate Hands—Well, and do not these humid Palms claim a Man—Nay, and your Breasts, Lord! Lord! how swoll'n and hard they are, how they heave and pant now, by Cynthia, as if they

were ready to burst? look to't, have a care of a Cancer, draw 'em down, draw 'em down, for let me tell you Jewels, it may be dangerous for you to go thus long without Cultivation—

Eli.

What wou'd you have us do Madam?

Tour.

Do Violet? why do as all the World does beside, lose no Time, catch him by the Forelock, get a Man to your mind—I'll acquaint you with one that's as true as the day, that will Fight like a Lion, and Love like a Sparrow—He has Eyes as black as Slows, you can hardly look on 'em, and a Skin so white—and soft as Sattin with the Grain: And for thee Tulip—

Cel.

For me Madam!

Tour.

For thee Hony-Suckle, such a Man, well, I shall never forget him, such a strait bole of a Body, such a Trunk, such a shape, such a quick strength, he will over any thing he can lay his hand on, and Vaults to Admiration.

Eli.

But Madam, will you provide us Lodgings on occasion—

Tour.

The Richest in the Town, the costliest Hangings, great Glasses, China Dishes, Silver Tables, Silver Stands, and Silver Urinals—And then these Gallants are the closest Lovers, so good at keeping a Secret— Well, give me your Man that says nothing, but minds the bus'ness in hand—For a Secret Lover's like a Gun charg'd with White Powder, does Execution but makes no noise.

Cel.

Well, and let me tell you that's the Point, Madam—

Tour.

Ay, and 'tis a Precious Point, a Feeling Point, and a Pleasing Point; you shall know him, you must know him, I shall dye if you don't know him—He has the fling of a Gentleman.

Eli.

Pray Madam, how's that?

Tour.

Why thus Apricock—Into your Arms, then stops your Mouth with a double-tongu'd English Kiss, that you can't be angry with him for your Blood.

Cel.

I know 'tis my filthy Country way—But I'll assure you if he should serve me so, my Blood would rise at him.

Tour.

But then you'd repent and fall before him, for he has the most particular obliging way, and she whom he particularly loves, is so oblig'd with his Particular—Well, for my part, my Twins of Beauty, I set an infinite Value on their Charesses, Distresses and Addresses; nay, I cou'd refuse a Quilt Imperial, to be oblig'd by them, tho on the bare Boards, or the cold Stones.

Eli.

But, Madam, are they in being—

Tour.

They are my Blossoms—Then they Kiss beyond Imagination, just for all the World as when you cut a pure Juicy China Orange, the Goodness runs over—Lord! now it comes in my Cogitation, I'm just now going to take a View of'em in Luxemburg Garden, where, if you

please to walk, they shall Sun themselves in your Smiles—Come my Carnations, nay, I protest I will not go before ye.

Cel.

But, Madam, we're at home.

Tour.

O Lord, Beauties! I know not the way.

Eli.

Indeed Madam you must—or we shall use Violence—

Tour.

Well Ladies, since 'tis your command, I dare not but obey.

Exeunt.