The hectors, or, The false challenge a comedy written in the year MDCLV, the scene, London.

SCENE II.

Enter Lovewit.

Love.

He will not out of my mind, but doth over rule my thoughts and force them to desires vaine and impossible: I impossible, for h•• must needs fix on her, she is a Lady so without exception, of so fair a Fortune and such exquisite parts improved unto the height. He cer∣tainly then is hers; me thinks the very thought of that should be e∣nough to master these desires; for usually Objects, though ne're so pleasing, if not probable, searce stir the mind; for since we all are rational, it were absurd our wills should act in vain. But on the con∣trary, when things with ease may be attained, we never give over until we are arrived at the utmost of our wishes. Thus nothing is more ordinary then for my Lady to love her Gentleman, or Mrs. Anne her fathers man. But if a Country Clowne coming up hither, and seeking for his Lawyer in Grayes Inne, should step into the Walks, and there should chance to spye some Master-piece of Nature, some fam'd Beau∣ty, that for a time hath born the name, he would stand amazed, per∣haps wish that his Ione were such, but farther would not be stirred, impossibility would stop more bold desires, and quench those sparks that else would turne to fires. But I without the remedy of hope, even in despair, begin a love that promiseth nought but grief and endlesse teares. But here he comes with my Cozen, I will stand and hear what they say.

Enter Welbred and Crisis.

Wel.

Come sweet Lady be no longer cruel, 'tis fit for vulgar com∣mon beauties to inhance the price of their Enjoyment by a long de∣nyal; such Art were vain in you, and desperate in me, since I al∣ready am wound up unto the highest, and higher cannot go but break.

Cris.

Must I answer to all this presently? that me thinks would bee the greatest inequality in the world; in all reason certainly I should have as much time as you had to study it.

Wel.

Study it? He that is inspired doth not so little deliberate; I speak my very thoughts, on you my mind doth naturally run, nor can it va∣ry, for Nature that hath in you raised Beauty to its highest pitch, out∣done her own Idea's, hath thereby made you Commandresse of my soul, and all its passions and affects to wait on none but you; there∣fore seeing you have the power, O do no longer tyrranize.

Cris.

Why, what now would you have me say?

Wel.

What would I have you say? Can that be a question? Could your breath create me owner of the world, could I have diversity of woulds? Alas my thoughts are long since fixed on you, and my desires forgot all other Objects but your self.

Cris.

My self? then that is it you would have.

Well.

O God,—Would have? I, above—

Lov.

I am lost, undone, undone:

Within.

Cris.

Nay, pray now let me go, for you have me not yet, I must first chide you a little for this kind of language. What things do you think us women to be? Or rather, what would you have us our selves to fancy? For could I, me thinks, bu•• look into the brest of some fond silly Gi••le, and see what thoughts she entertaines, by that time such a blade as you hath told her some such stories, that she gives Beauty being, and other faces to be accounted of as they partake of hers; that she can smite, wound, kill, ••as if the fate of all mankind did hang upon her will, and twenty such things more, which if the poor thing have but wit enough to u••derstand, she is (without mercy) ru∣in'd, lost, undone.

Well.

Why I pray, Lady? for this is somewhat strange.

Cris.

I'll warrant you I have a reason for what I say; for fi••st, she thinks her self somewhat (though what she cannot tell) that hath a just quarrel to Fate, that she can have nought but so poor a thing as man her mate; she fancies not this mean, she fancies not ano∣thers Discourse, she hates this mans breeding, she hates anothers face, and for that coloured hair she refuseth a thousand pounds a year. Thus she continues for some years, until at the last, about some twenty nine, she doth begin to understand herself. But now the tide of Sutors and her beauty being eb'd, she stands a Fare for the next that comes; and in all haste she makes some desperate match, proves some old mans Nurse; perchance not so well, but Will her fathers man, her Taylor, or some Reformado Captain must serve her turne; or else (if she have any spirit) in a melancholy pet, she vowes a Virgin life, and for his sake that first deceived her, turnes man-hater. Come, come, in faith Sir you are to blame, were I now some kind of Lasse, forty to one but that I were meerely cozened of a good Hus∣band.

Wel.

Did one ever see such a plaguy Wench as this?—

Aside.

Not at all, Madam, are we to be blamed for what we are forced unto, such high flowne speeches are no more then what all will challenge, Epithites not of the fair, but woman, meer Titles due by custome and long use, nor can they be denyed without breach of Civility: Al∣though I must confesse sometimes, I give them with as much regret as when I call some base poor spirited thing Right Honourable.

Cris.

Truly, Sir, in my mind, a very ingenuous confession.

Wel.

She were as fond that would believe them, as if she should give credit to her Mercer; meet words of course, a tone the tongue must run in for fashions sake.

Cris.

Say you so? I have then so little hope to make you see your fault, that I will spend no more time about it. Your servant Sir, I must be going a little way.

She ••ffers to go out, he pulls her back.

Well.

Nay deare Lady, I had as good part from my better An∣gel.

Cris.

What? these are your words of course? Pray let me go.

Wel.

Nay, but in earnest Lady, you are the only party of all the world, in whose enjoyment I could think all happinesse con∣fin'd.

Cris.

She were as fond that would belive.—

Wel.

Slid, what shall I do now?— Believe, do you say Lady? O could you but look into my thoughts: the tortured wretch speaks not a truth more credible; the latest breath of dying men is not so sincere as what I say.— Believe me? it would question your Discretion (Madam) to do otherwise; it cannot but be so in nature; it is as impossible for you not to cause these passions in me, as for fire not to burn a matter combustible.

Cris.

Language due by custom and long use.—

Wel.

••Sfoot, what shall I do? she will outwit me this way, I must try another.—

Aside.

Well Mrs. Crisis, come, the truth of it is, I love thee; thou art handsom enough in conscience; & hast a little too much wit for a wife; but I don't doubt but I should rule it wel enough: wherefore prethee keep no more fooling, but let the Parson be doing.

Cris.

Well Sir, I will be as plain as you, it is possible you may love me, although the language you have chosen to expresse your love in, hath not (in my mind) a little prejudiced it. For my part, I do hate none living, nor will I forswear to marry you; but I must needs say, I am not yet quite resolved on it, in things of such consequence I cannot too much consider. Pray let this for this time suffice.

Wel.

Well then, if it must, I will leave you to consider until annon. You will go, to Hide Park as you promised?

Cris.

I shall be ready to wait upon you.

Wel.

In the mean time, let this make you think of me.

Gives her a Ring.

Cris.

Nay, Mr. Welbred.

Wel.

'Tis but a trifle.

Exeunt.

Enter Lovewit.

Love.

As when a close besieged Town, opening a secret Sally Port to receive some scouting Spies, in rushes the pursuing enemy, and they with their Intelligence receive their ruine: So I, through my too in∣quisitive ear have let in that which cuts me to the heart. O Welbred! did I but know thee to be made miserable? Or should I have been more wretched in not knowing thee? It is impossible she should with∣stand a fresh assault; this Journey to Hide Park will end the business, and begin my wo.— But shall I like some neglected wretch, left on an unknown shore, only look and stare after my happinesse, that with full gale is flying from me? Can there be nothing done, but to pre∣vent this present threatning mischief? O what? What shall I do?

Stay,—that would go nigh to do it, if not, it will however be a hand∣som way to discover my affection, which custom hath made (in me) im∣modesty to do.—it wil be an odd kind of thing though; It is no matter, even nature bids us shun a present danger, though we future hazards run.

Exit.