Playes written by the thrice noble, illustrious and excellent princess, the Lady Marchioness of Newcastle.

The Second Part of the Play called WITS CABAL.

ACT I.

Scene 1.

Enter Madamoiselle Ambition, Faction, Pleasure, Superbe, Portrait, and Mother Matron enters as meeting them.

MAtron.

O Ladies, there is the rarest Beauty come to the City, out of the Countrey, that ever was seen, she sur∣passeth Hellen of Troy, or AEneas Mother Queen Venus.

Pleasure.

If she surpasseth their Appetites, as you say she doth their Beauties, she may chance to fire this City with flames of Love, or cause a War to destroy it.

Portrait.

Have you seen her, Mother Matron?

Matron.

No, but a friend of mine hath seen her.

Faction.

Perchance your friend's a fool, and knows not how to judge.

Matron.

Indeed my friend's a woman, and women have none of the best judgments.

Ambition.

But there is more probability that she hath a surpassing beauty if a woman praise her, than if a man had praised her: for men have a partial love to the Effeminate Sex, which multiplies their beauties to their sight, and makes a candle in the night seem like a Blazing Star.

Matron.

In truth and Love is dark: for 'tis said he is blind.

Portrait.

But Envy is quick-sighted, and therefore I am afraid the Lady you speak of is surpassing, since those of her own Sex can find no blemish or imperfection to cloud her from a praise.

Enter Monsieur Busie.

Busie.

Ladies, I am come to give you intelligence of a rare Beauty that is come to this City.

Ambition.

Her Fame hath out-run your Intelligence, Sir; but have you seen her?

Busie.

No Lady, not I.

Enter Monsieur Inquisitive.

Inquisitive.

Ladies, there is a rare Beauty come to this Town to increase the number of your Cabal.

Superbe.

Our Cabal is of Wit, not of Beauty.

Inquisitive.

It's a Cabal of both, Lady.

Faction.

Have you seen her?

Inquisitive.

No Lady, but I have heard of her Beauty.

Enter Monsieur Sensuality.

Sensuality.

Ladies, there is such a Beauty come to Town, that now or ne∣ver you will be out-shin'd.

Portrait.

Iupiter bless us, and grant that she may not ingross to her self all Mankind, and so leave all the rest of her Sex destitute and forlorn!

Sensuality.

It is to be hoped she will humble you, as to bring you to be more complyant to us men than you have been.

Ambition.

Have you seen her, Monsieur Sensuality?

Sensuality.

No not I.

Ambition.

Why then she is a Miracle, that every one hears of, but no bo∣dy seeth.

Faction.

May she continue a Miracle still: for I had rather that she should only be heard of, than be visibly seen.

Sensuality.

But I will do my indeavour to see her.

Busie.

So will I.

Exit Men.

Pleasure.

I long to see her as much as the men do.

Ambition.

So do I.

Faction.

And I.

Superbe.

And I.

Portrait.

And I.

Ambition.

But how shall we compass the sight of her?

Portrait.

Faith let's go to a Play, I'll warrant you she'll be there.

Pleasure.

If she be, we shall only see her Mask, not her Face: for at the common Play-houses all the Effeminate Sex sit mask'd and muffl'd.

Portrait.

Why then let us go to that Church which is most frequented, as where some Famous Preachers preach; and certainly, if she be such a Beau∣ty, she will be there: Besides, there our Sex sit to the full View, to Attract the Eyes of the Gods.

Matron.

No, no, Lady, they sit to the full View, to tempt the Appetites of men: for they think not on the Gods, nor care the Gods should think of them.

Pleasure.

Fie, fie, Mother Matron, you will make Women damnable crea∣tures, if they could be made so by your Description: But Women go to Church to present their prayers of Request, and praises of Thanksgiving, and not to shew themselves to men, nor to tempt their Appetites, as you say.

Matron.

Come, come, Ladies, search your own Consciences, and you will find I have spoke the truth: for if you only went to present your prayers to the Gods, you would go as humble petitioners, or sorrowful penitents, cloa∣thed in sackcloth, and ashes on your head; and not attir'd in gold and sil∣ver, painted, patch'd, and curl'd, unless you think the Gods are like to men, to be delighted and enamour'd with Vanity, Beauty, and Bravery: for you make the Church a Masking-room, rather than a place of Devotion.

Portrait.

No, we rather strive to make it like Heaven, which is glorious and splendrous; and the Heavenly Society is said to be beautiful.

Matron.

Yes, such a Heaven, where Maskers are instead of Saints.

Faction.

Why, Angels are describ'd by Painters to have fine-colour'd

wings, and by Preachers, to hold fine gold branches in their hands, and the Heavens are described to us to be most gloriously adorn'd, with Diamonds, Rubies, Pearl, Emeralds, Gold, and Crystal, which shows the Gods delight in braveries: Wherefore we, to delight the Gods, make our selves fine and gay.

Matron.

No, no, Ladies, you strive not to delight the Gods, but to be A∣dor'd and Worship'd as Goddesses by the Masculine Sex, whom you would have to be your Saints.

Superbe.

I know not whether we desire to be Goddesses, or not; But I am sure, if women be as irreligious as you make them to be, they will prove Devils.

Faction.

And Mother Matron here will prove the chief She-Devil amongst our Sex.

Matron.

No, no, Lady, I'm devour, for I say my prayers every night and every morning.

Ambition.

May be so you do, and all the time you are saying your prayers, you are thinking of your snarl'd Periwig, or how you shall trim up your old Gown that was given you by some of our Cabal.

Matron.

Faith I must confess I have had some such thoughts when I have been at my prayers, God forgive me for't.

Portrait.

And for all you exclame against young Beauties, for there is your spight now your beauty is gone; yet I have observed, that when you are at Church, you will cast your eyes about, and mop and mew, and simpering, bridlde in your Chin, in hopes to catch some beardless boy; and when you look up on the Preachers face, if he be a young Lecturer, it is not out of Attention, of what he preaches, but in hopes to perswade him to marry you, as thinking he would imagine you would make a good Vertuous Religious woman, sit to make a Parsons Wife.

Matron.

No faith, I will never be a Parsons Wife: for Preachers are gi∣ven so much to Contemplation, as they seldom speak but in the pulpit; but if they do, it will be of subjects I understand not, as of such subjects as they have read out of dead Authors.

Superbe.

Why then you will have the more liberty to speak your self, if your Husband speak but seldom.

Matron.

That's true; but those which love to speak much, are like drun∣kards, which is, they love company: for Questions and Answers are like drinking and pledging, and Arguing is like drinking Healths, and quarrels and friendships, and friendships and quarrels proceed from the one as often as from the other.

Faction.

Then it seems you are both kind and quarrelsome, both in your talk and drink: for you speak very experienc'd of both.

Matron.

So much experience I have, living long in the World, as to know that drink makes one talk, and talking makes one dry.

Pleasure.

Well, leaving this dry discourse, Mother Matron, you must find out some way or means whereby we may be acquainted with the rare Beauty which every one talks of,

Matron.

I will do my indeavour, and imploy the wisedom of my brain to compass it.

Exeunt.

Scene 2.

Enter Madamoiselle Bon' Esprit, and her Maid enters soon after.

MAid.

Madam, there is Monsieur Satyrical come to visit you.

Bon' Esprit.

Cupid and Venus possess him, and Pallas guard me. Conduct him hither.

Enter Monsieur Satyrical.

Bon' Esprit.

Monsieur Satyrical, you appear like a Comet to our Sex.

Satyrical.

If all your Sex had been like you, I should have been as conver∣sant as one of the Planets.

Bon' Esprit.

I hope you have not that Influence on our Sex, as the Planets have on Earthly Creatures.

Satyrical.

I wish I had, for then I might cast such an Influence of Love, as might cause you to love me.

Bon' Esprit.

But you are like the Planet of Saturn, and not of Venus: for you frown, when Venus smiles.

Satyrical.

I shall not do so when you smile.

Bon' Esprit.

You will when I quarrel with you.

Satyrical.

I hope you will not quarrel with me; but if you do, I will re∣ceive your anger, as subjects receive the punishments of Laws, obediently, although it ruins me.

Bon' Esprit.

I will make you Judge of the Cause, as of the Laws. Have I not reason to quarrel with you, when I Challeng'd you to an Honourable Fight, and you return'd my Challenge back with scorn and slight?

Satyrical.

Whatsoever my Answer was, I confess I am conquer'd, and yield my self your prisoner, to dispose of me as you please: But if you will, take a Ransome of current Love, which I have brought you in the Chest of my Heart, wherein it is so fast lock'd, that nothing but your Acceptance can open it.

Bon' Esprit.

If it be capable of being taken forth, I may leave your heart empty.

Satyrical.

Your Virtue will still furnish it with more, Your pure Chastity increase the store.

Bon' Esprit.

Your Wit is very apt to take your part, To keep your own, yet strives to steal my heart: But if you do not use it nobly well, It will complain to Gods, the truth will tell.

Satyrical.

May I be curs'd, my Wit be quenched out, If I give you a cause my Love so doubt, Or I your. Virtues highly not admire, Preferring them before a loose desire, May all the Gods their vengeance on me cast, And may their punishments for ever last.

Bon' Esprit.

I was in jest at first; but since I find Your Love so honest, and your words so kind,

I cannot doubt, nor yet my self deny The union Friendship in firm bonds to tye Of everlasting love; and if I break, May Gods be deaf when I in pray'rs do speak.

Satyrical.

Madam, the Poetical Duel hath ended in Friendship, and if you please, in Mariage.

Bon' Esprit.

I consent; but do not prize me the less for being soon won for I loved you before you asked my Love; and being ask'd, I could not de∣ny you.

Satyrical.

I value your love as Saints do Heaven, and prize it as highly as Gods their power; and for my crimes committed against you and your Sex, I offer up my heart on the Altar of Repentance, as a sacrifice to you my Goddess for an Atonement of your Anger.

Bon' Esprit.

I accept of thy Offering, and shall receive it as a Trophy of my Victory.

Satyrical.

I am your slave.

Exeunt.

Scene 3.

Enter Superbe, Ambition, Faction, Pleasure, and Portrait.

AMbition.

It is said that Women are the greatest Conquerors, because they conquer conquering men, and make them become slaves: For it is said, that Women have conquer'd the wisest man, as Solomon, the wittiest man, as David, the strongest man, as Sampson, the fairest man, as Paris of Troy, the valiantest man, as Achilles, the subtilest man, as Ulysses, the power-fullest men, as Alexander and Caesar.

Faction.

By your favour, Women never made a Conquest of the two lat∣ter, and therefore cannot be said to be absolute Conquerors: for none are absolute Conquerors but those that conquer power, that is, those that get absolute dominion over all the World, which Alexander and Caesar are said to have done by their Valour and Conduct; and never any Woman or Wo∣men conquer'd those men, as to get them to yield up their power for a wo∣mans sake, which shews they were not rul'd by women, although they lov'd women; by which it is to be proved, that women never made an absolute Conquest of men, because they could never conquer absolutely those two ab∣solute Conquerors and Masters of the World.

Pleasure.

But Livia Conquer'd Augustus Caesar, and Ruled his Power; and he was as absolute a Master of the Worlds Power, as Iulius Caesar and Alexander.

Faction.

He was rather to be said the Possessor of the Worlds power, than the absolute Conqueror of the Worlds power.

Superbe.

It is as good to be a Conqueress of the possessor of power, as to conquer the Conqueror of power.

Ambition.

It is as good for the Benefit, but not so much for the Honour of it.

Portrait.

But Alexander nor Caesar lived not so long a time, as to be Con∣quer'd by women: for women must have time and opportunity for to gain the Conquest in, as well as men have.

Faction.

If Alexander and Caesar must have been old before they possibly could have been conquer'd, it proves that women do rather conquer Age, than power weakens the strength; and the truth is, women conquer no∣thing but the vices, weaknesses, and defects of men: As they can conquer an unexperienc'd Youth, and doting Age, ignorant Breeding, effeminate Natures, wavering Minds, facile Dispositions, soft Passions, wanton Thoughts, unruly Appetites, and the luxurious Lives of men; but they cannot conquer mens fix'd Resolutions, their heroick Valours, their high Ambitions, their magnificent Generosities, their glorious Honours, or their conquering or over-ruling Powers: Nor can women conquer their moral Vertues, as their Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, and Temperance. But put the case a man had the power of the whole World, and could quit that power for the enjoy∣ment of any particular woman, or women, yet he quits not that power for the womans sake, but for his minds-sake, his pleasure-sake, as to satisfie his Fancy, Passion, or Appetites: And what Conpuest soever Women make on Men, if any Conquest they do make, is more by the favour of Nature, than the Gods.

Ambition.

Well, I wish I may be the Conqueress of one man, let the fa∣vour proceed from which it will.

Exeunt.

Scene 4.

Enter Ease, Wanton, and Idle.

EAse.

There hath been such a Skirmish, or rather a Battel.

Idle.

How, and betwixt whom?

Ease.

Why, betwixt Grave Temperance and Mother Matron.

Idle.

What was the cause of their falling out.

Ease.

Why Mother Matron had a spic'd pot of Ale in her hand, so she set it to her mouth, and drank a hearty draught of it, and finding it very good and refreshing, drank another draught. By my faith, said she, this is a cheer∣ly cup indeed, and a comfortable drink, and with that drank another draught, and so long-winded she was, as she drank up all the Ale therein: Where∣upon, Grave Temperance rebuked her for drinking so much, saying, that though a little, as one draught, or so, might refresh the Spirits, yet a great quantity would make her drunk: Whereupon Mother Matron, who could not then suffer a reproof, in anger she flung the pot, which was still in her hand, at Grave Temperance's head.

Idle.

It was a sign she had drank all the good liquor out, or otherwise she would not have throvvn the pot avvay.

Ease.

It was a sign she was drunk, or else she would not have done so outragious an act, as to have broke Grave Temperances head.

Enter Mother Matron as half drunk, and scolding.

Matron.

Reprove me! teach me! Have not I liv'd long enough in the World to be able to govern my self, but Temperance must govern me? Am I a Child? am I a Novice, that I must be governed by Temperance? No,

no, let her go to Nunneries, and let her be the Lady Prioress to govern Nuns, for yfaith she shall not Prior me.

Idle.

Not Frier you, do you say?

Matron.

No nor Nunn me neither: for I will be neither Fryerd, nor Nunn'd.

Ease.

Why what will you be?

Matron.

Why what should I be, but as I am, a wise, sober, and discreet Governess to a company of young Ladies? Ladies that love the World better than Heaven, and hate a Nunnery worse than Death; and by my Faith they have reason, for liberty is the joy of life, and the World is the place of sensual pleasures, and sensual pleasures are substantial, and in being, when the pleasures aftee death are uncertain; but if they were certain, yet I had rather have a draught of Ale in this World, than a draught of Nectar in the next.

Idle.

This Ale hath heat her into a Poetical height.

Matron.

What do you say, into a pots head?

Idle.

No, I say your head is a pot, filled with the fume of Ale.

Matron.

What have you to do with my head?

Ease.

What had you to do with Grave Temperances head?

Matron.

I would Temperances grave head were in your throat, and then there would be two fools heads one within another.

Idle.

Come, let's leave her, or she will talk her self into a fit of mad∣nesse.

Ease and Idle go out

Matron alone.

Matron.

A couple of Gill-flirts, to heat me thus.

Exit.

Scene 5.

Enter Monsieur Satyrical, and Madamoiselle Bon' Esprit.

SAtyrical.

Dear Mistris, have you freely pardon'd and forgiven me my faults?

Bon' Esprit.

Yes.

Satyrical.

But will you not reprove me for them hereafter?

Bon' Esprit.

In a pardon all faults ought to be forgiven, if not forgotten, and no repetitions ought to be made of the same: for a clear pardon, and a free forgiveness, blots out all offences, or should do so. But you imagine your offences greater than they are, and by your doubts, I to be of less good nature than I am.

Satyrical.

There are none that have offended what they love, but fears, and hopes, and doubts, sight Duels in their Minds.

Bon' Esprit.

Banish those doubts, and let the hopes remain to build a con∣fident belief to keep out jealousie, otherwise it will take possession, and de∣stroy, at least disturb affection.

Satyrical.

Not my affection to you.

Exeunt.

Scene 6.

Enter Superbe, Ambition, and Portrait.

FAction.

For Heavens sake let's go see Mother Matron: for 'tis said she's mad-drunk.

Ambition.

If she be mad-drunk, she's rather to be shunn'd than sought after.

Superbe.

Why, do not we give money to see mad people in Bedlam? and we may see her for nothing.

Ambition.

Those people are not madly drunk, nor drunkly mad: for they, poor creatures, drink nothing but water.

Portrait.

Perchance if they did drink strong drink, it might make them so∣berly in their right wits.

Enter Mother Matron as partly drunk.

Matron.

Where is Monsieur Frisk? O that Monsieur Frisk were here!

Faction.

What would you have with Monsieur Frisk?

Matron.

I would challenge Monsieur Frisk.

Ambition.

What, to sight?

Matron.

Yes, in Cupids Wars.

Portrait.

By Venus I swear, thou hast been Cashier'd from Cupids Wars this thirty years.

Matron.

Come, come, Ladies, for all your frumps, you are forced to make me General, to lead up the Train, and Generalissimo, to set the Battalia, so that though I am too old to be a common Souldier, I am young enough to be a Commander.

Superbe.

Thou art at this time but a drunken Commander.

Matron.

If I am drunk, I am but as a Commander ought to be, or as a Commander usually is.

Ambition.

Pray do not accuse Mother Matron: for though her Brain may be a little disturb'd, yet her Reason is sober, and governs her Tongue or∣derly.

Matron.

O sweet Monsieur Frisk!

Exit Mother Matron.

Faction.

If her Reason governs her Tongue, I do not perceive it governs her Humour.

Faction.

Her Humour, say you, you mean her Appetites.

Exeunt.