Belphegor, or, The marriage of the Devil a tragi-comedy, lately acted at the Queen's Theatre in Dorset-garden / by Mr. Wilson.

ACT I. SCENE I.

A stately Room in Roderigo's House.

Enter Roderigo, followed by Crispo and Mingo.

Rod.

WE Spirits, uncompounded Essences, Not manacled, or immur'd with Walls of Flesh; We can dilate, condense, or limb our selves, As like us best; assume what Colour, Shape Or Size we please. And I have taken this; My Servants, that—my Name below, Belphegor; Here, Roderigo.—My Quality, a Merchant Come from the Indies.—O most happy Lot! Who would believe, that void and formless Mass, That fluid infinite, had e'er produc'd Such an harmonious Order?—It strikes Wonder And Ecstacy.—.

[He turns to his Servants.

And what think ye of this World? Is not this better than toasting the Soals of our Feet?

Cris.

The Air, I must confess, is somewhat better—but for the People—not a doit to chuse.

Min.

I fansie 'em the worst of the two; and more fond of the Place, than our selves.

Rod.

Can ye blame 'em?—They know what they are in this World, they know not what they may be in the next.

Cris.

Yet live here, as if they expected no other—And so exqui∣sitely practis'd in Cheating one another, that the best of us is a meer Novice to 'em.

Min.

Not a Skip-kennel, but gives you three Tricks for one.

Cris.

And for their Masters—could you believe it, Sir, I met with a Signior t'other Night, most devoutly, with his Beads in one Hand; and the other in my Pocket.

Rod.

Why didst not beat him?

Cris.

I did but challenge him for't, and the Rogue had the Impudence to kick me, for taxing a Person of his Honour.

Min.

I believe both our assumed Bodies were damn'd Cowards, while they lived here;—for my part, I had rather take ten kicks, than so much as look back to see who gave me one of 'em.

Rod.

But sure, the Women treat ye better?

Cris.

As judge your self—it is not long since I had a concern with a Signiora; and just as I had stript, and was going to Bed to her, slip, went the Trap-door, and down dropt Crispo into the Common-shore.

Min.

And mine has given me such a Remembrance of her Love, that, as Young soever as my Figure speaks me, I can hardly speak Knitting-needles, without endangering the Bridge of my Nose—And when I tax'd her for it, had the Impudence to ask me, how she could give it, when she still kept it her self?

[Rod. smiles.

Rod.

But how d'ye find Mankind in general?

Cris.

Still slandering us—As drunk as a Devil—As mad as a Devil—As poor as a Devil—As dull as a Devil—And what not!—when yet, there's not so much difference between us, as would turn a pair of Scales.

Min.

And then perpetually playing Fast and Loose with us—Ever and anon giving their Souls to the Devil; yet, at last, bequeathing them another Way, without the least thought of the pre-conveyance to us.—And therefore, I beseech ye, give me leave to return to my old Quarters.

Cris.

Not forgetting thy Excellencies, poor Crispo.

Rod.

Villiachoes!—And must ye throw up your Cards, when they play into your Hand? Peace—and be thankful—All this but makes our Game—Go—humour them—for we're restrain'd, and can do nothing without themselves—They hold the Candle to us—The Mud's their own; We only shake the Viol, and stir it up—and so—look out—and sharp.—

[Exeunt Crispo and Mingo.

Now to my own Affair—

[Rod. takes out a Paper and reads.

At the Pandaemonium, or Common-Council of the Infernal Lake—Pre∣sent —Lucifer, Abaddon, Belzebub, and others, the High and Mighty Lords, Potentates, and Princes of the Grand Abyss—Whereas, upon taking our Yearly Audits, it has been observ'd, that the Souls of such as arrive, generally agree, that their Wives sent them—And whereas, the said Board had formerly Ordered, That for the better discovery of the Truth thereof, some one of their Body (as by Lot it should fall) repair to Earth—And whereas the said Lot

fell to Belphegor, Generalissimo of the Aspaltick Lake—Resolved, as followeth.

1. That the said Belphegor forthwith take upon him that Province, and that a Million of Duccats be assign'd him; not as Advance, but his full Complement.—And well enough—no ill Encouragement.

2. That for the better carrying on of the said Service, Himself (and Two other Spirits assigned him as Servants) be at Liberty to assume, and actuate what Bodies, and settle in what Part of the World, shall like him best.—And I have don't.

3. That upon his first Choice, of his Place of Residence, he imme∣diately Marry a Wife, and live with her Ten Years (if possible) after which (pretending to die) that he return, and, upon his own Ex∣perience, make Affidavit, of the Pleasures and Calamities of Marriage.—And I have done that first.—A desperate Service, no doubt!—

[He Smiles.

4. That he lose all Qualities of a Spirit (unless, perhaps, upon some last Exigence) and become in all things as a Man; subject to all the Conditions of Humanity,—Poverty, Imprisonment, Passions, Fear, Hate, Love.—

Where there Ten Thousand more, that sweetned all. Love!—There's no Passion, but what's founded on't: Men Fear, for what they Love—Desire, Hate, Envy, And all, because they Love themselves.—But mine Carries a nobler Tincture; and I Love To that Degree, I've half forgot the Sex.

[He changes his Voice.

And, but that she has little odd Humours, and perhaps too, some Fits of her Mother; O Origen! I'd release thy Kindness, and never accept other Heaven, than here.

But see!—She comes!

[Imperia and Attendants cross the Stage, as conducting her Sister Portia to her Coach—They bow at distance—He points after her.

Such was the Infant-Morn, when it first brake And blush'd, to see the Chaos left behind her. Thence I felt Passion first—What else I view'd Wrought in my Mind no Change, no fond Desire: But there, I am transported.—I, that was High Proof 'gainst all things else, There, there alone, Weak, for to me, whate'er she Wills is Fate.

[Imp. returns, sola. He runs to her.

Sure Nature was asleep when thou stol'st forth, And all the Graces she design'd an Age, Crowded themselves together, and made thee.

Imp.

And are not you a fine Gentleman, to coax your poor Wife?— Alas, poor Fool! she cannot chuse but believe ye.

Rod.

Couldst thou but see my Heart, thou wouldst.

Imp.

You can't Dissemble—not you—you are—Mary, that you are—

[She stroaks him.

Rod.

At least would be, whate'er I thought might please thee: And were the World at my dispose, 'twere thine.

Imp.

No doubt of it—Witness the Necklace.

Rod.

I had forgot—

Imp.

And so you do every thing that concerns me.

Rod.

See—I have brought thee a better.

[He gives her a Necklace.

Imp.

But I long'd for t'other—The Set of Neapolitan Horses too—But I'm your Wife—There—

[She throws it away]

'Pray' bestow it where you intended it—I cou'd observe that Eye of yours, as my Sister past you.

[He offers to Embrace her—She turns him off.

Rod.

Fie, my Imperia, fie—Wilt thou be always thus?

Imp.

And much you care, whether I am or not—One would think a Woman of my Quality—

[She puts Finger in Eye.]

I know not why so many good Women die;—but wish I were dead too, that I might trouble you no longer.

Rod.

No—I'll die first, that thou mayst have another.

Imp.

No marvel, truly—I live so well with you.

Rod.

She crys!—By Heaven, she crys!—Poor Innocence!—My Life!—My Soul!—My Imperia!—Thou shalt have any thing;— We'll come to Articles.

Imp.

And long you'll keep 'em.

Rod.

By this Kiss—for ever.

[She receives it, still sobbing.

Imp.

And shall I have the Necklace I long'd for?

[Sobs.

Rod.

Thou shalt, my Dear.

Imp.

The Set of Horses too?

[Sobs.

Rod.

I would they were better for thy Sake.—Thou shalt.

Imp.

The broach of Diamonds would be very becoming,—and the Locket,—

[a half sob]

now 'twas so pretty.

Rod.

That, and whatever else thou wilt.

Imp.

The Pearl too—Were large, round, Oriental—and the Pendants—so delicate—I fansie how I should appear in them.

[She comes into a pleasant Humour.

Rod.

Less than thou truly art:—But thou shalt have 'em.

Imp.

And—

[She strokes him]

do what I will?

Rod.

What pleases thee, sha'n't be amiss to me—only be kind,—and love thy Roderigo.

[They strike hands upon it.

Imp.

A match, a match,—I will.

[Makes a low Reverence. Exit.

Rod.

Some techy Mortal now would have quarrell'd; but we, old Experienc'd Devils, know better things,—

[He walks.

And live with her Ten Years (if possible.)—Mistaken Fools— 'tis possible.—I will live with her,—and that, for ever.

[It Thunders. A Head rises.

Head.

Thy Articles, Belphegor; thy Articles.

Rod.

And what of them?—The Casuists are clear in the point;— They may be shifted for Advantage.—Sue 'em.

Head.

But is there not a Publick Faith, even among Devils?

Rod.

It may be broke for Empire, why not for Love then, that com∣mandeth Empire? It may, and shall—Be gone.

Head.

Be Witness, thou inviolable Styx! Thou 'ast broken thine; and I pronounce thee Mutinous.

[Sinks.

Rod.

That I could reach the Slave,—I'd make him know, I fill my Orb my self, and make my Circle Without a barrowed Light—

[Another Thunder.

Squib on—and say, I am more proud in my Imperia's Love, Than when (as Thunder-proof) I once bestrid That vast Convex of Fire; and leading up The embattled Legions of Apostate Cherubs, Plow'd the Parch'd Earth, and make th' affrighted Deep Shrink to its last Recess.

Enter Imperia running.

Imp.

O my Dear, heard you not the Thunder? I'm so afraid.—

Rod.

Of what? of thy own Shadow?

Imp.

How can you be alone?

Rod.

Yet, meditating on thee—That very Thought were Com∣pany enough.

Imp.

O, but confess; you look as you were disturb'd.

Rod.

And thou so near? Impossible.—Or were it so, The Sight of thee would reconcile my Passions, And give me to my self.

[She strokes him.

Imp.

But won't you tell me true? Are you not well?

Rod.

How can that Man be Ill, that's Happy enough To pity Caesar? And such am I in thee.

[He Embraces her.

Here will I fix my Empire—Here I'll Reign, And Reign alone.

[He leads her off. Exeunt.

SCENE II. A stately Room in Grimaldi's House.

Enter Grimaldi, Marone, Fieschi, Pansa.

Gri.

YOU cannot say, but that he paid you honestly.

Mar.

I wish I could say, I were as well satisfy'd.—I ne∣ver found such honest Payments rais'd an Estate;—if ever I deal more on single Interest, may I lose my Principal.

Gri.

Who'd have expected even that, at least, taken it from one so

honourable, that has perish'd his own Fortune, to save the Publick.

Mar.

These honourable Rags are such fine Things!—how, I pray', do you find the price currant? Does the Frippery deal in such Lum∣ber? —I think not.—Good Sir, keep your whipt-posset for your better Friends, and give me, more substantial Fare.

Fies.

His Vertue, might deserve better Language; and it may be a Question, if it had not been for him, Whether the State had been—at least, what it now is.

Gri.

And true.—When the Sun could hold no longer, and the Moon slept, his Eyes have been our Sentinels.

Mar.

But what Money has he got with all this? Or what Share in the Government?—Simple Merit Lords few Mens Horoscope.

Gri.

Greater than both,—the Conscience of Worthy Actions.

Mar.

What Credit has it in the Bank?—for my part, I can boast I have kill'd mine.—And, if you'd here me, cou'd shew you a Man has done nothing of all this, and yet, even the Senate will confess him Wise, Prudent, Virtuous,—every thing.—And, that he is not one of themselves, I believe it more his own Fault, than theirs.

Gri.

Who should this be?

Mar.

What think ye of his Brother-in-Law?—Roderigo.— There's a Man for ye! and, to my Glory, he calls me Friend.

Gri.

But whence this Meteor?

Mar.

Whence e'er he came, he darkens all our Stars: You'd swear he were descended of the Goths, Or had been at the Siege of Constantinople.

Gri.

Some Moor, or Baptiz'd Jew?

Mar.

Be what he will, Turk, Pagan, or Infidel, wou'd I'd his Wealth With his Religion.—He's a Castilian. Were I that Man!

Fies.

You'd take't for an Affront His Catholick Majesty should call you Cousin.

Mar.

And yet you hear me not complain.—I've that Which finds me Friends, or makes 'em.—That one Thing That can do all Things.—How it makes a Door— Or shut, or open.

Fies.

Or your self (perhaps) Snore o'er your Cup, or find a Fly i'th' Ceiling.

Mar.

That matters not;—I'm sure it breeds Compunction, And Fellow-feeling in a Man of Office; Makes, and remits Offences;—even Justice, More Deaf than she is Blind.—And who would want it?

Gri.

That would Grimaldi, and every Man, whose Soul Is not compos'd of the same Dirt he treads. Want it, (I mean) rather than have't, on terms Dishonourable, or Sordid.

Mar.

But d'ye think Any ones Morals can reform the World? Don't they all thus? And, which is more, Court, Follow, Adore the Rich, and spurn the Unfortunate.

Gri.

And I as much the World.

Mar.

But say, that World Spurn you agen.—Did ever wise Man chuse Him for a Friend, that was deprest by Fortune? Rats quit a falling House—and Men, a Party, When they perceive it going.

Gri.

Where's Honesty and Honour, all this while?

Mar.

Nay, if you come to that, farewel Kingdoms. Nor is it mine to Question 'em.—Your Servant.

[Exit Mar.

Gri.

Well, Fieschi,—and what thinkst thou?

Fies.

As is his Name, such is the Slave himself: Who'd expect other from a Dog, but Snarling?

Gri.

His Soul is Sence; and as he has no Knowledge of Vertue, he has no use of it.—But how have you dispos'd Montalto's Matter? Is it so order'd, that it be not known from what Hand it came?

Fies.

'Twas the last thing I did.—I left the Writings in a seal'd Box, with Bianca, who has assur'd me, she'll watch an opportunity, and con∣vey it into her Ladies Closet.

Gri.

As well as I could wish.—Good Man! He could have sooner Perish'd, than told me, Told me, his Friend, he wanted me.—Who sees His Friend's Distress, and stays till he's entreated, He comes too late.—'Tis an Extorted Kindness; Lost ere it comes, and shews he wanted Will T'ave done't at all.—But, this Marone sticks in my Stomach.— Whence truly is he?

Fies.

Pansa (I think) remembers the first Plantation.

Pan.

That do I, Sir, from the time he first came to Town in Second-Mourning; —that is, in a Livery as ragged and tatter'd as an He-Goat; —his Hat, right Beggars-block, no Crown to't;—his Doublet and Breeches so suitable, that in a dark Morning, he'd have mistaken one for t'other;—his Stockings, without Feet or Anckles, like a Chandler's drawing-sleeves; and those too he durst not trust off his Legs, for fear of crawling away.—In a word, a Thing made up of so many several Parishes, that you'd have taken him, at first sight, for a Frontispiece of the Resurrection.

Fies.

Thence, he came in as a Sub-subcollector; and thence, into S^t George's Bank; and now, being in his Nature insolent, this imagina∣ry Reputation has made him intolerable.

Gri.

And for his other Qualities, I know somewhat my self:—He never forgave beyond the Opportunity of a Revenge; or spake well of

any Man, but to his greater Disadvantage.—A pretty Gentleman.—But—'tis pity.—

Fies.

Nay worse, shall play both the Devil's Parts, of Tempter and Accuser: Provoke his Friend into a freedom of Talk, and then in∣form it.

Gri.

Enough—And for fear of any mistake, make another step to Bincaa.

[Exeunt Fies. and Pan. Manet Gri.

And this Man thrive!—O Lucian thy Gods!—The Groans of deprest Vertue, and loud Laughters of exalted Folly, gave first name to the Fortunate Islands, where Men slept themselves away in the melancholy Contemplations, between Vertue and Success.

[To him enter Montalto and Portia.

You have prevented me—I was just coming To give you joy.—The Senate have, at last, Consider'd your Services.

Mon.

And sent me a Gugaw,

[Mon. takes out a Chain and Medal, and shews it.

An empty Nothing—Pth—

Gri.

'Twas never intended Beyond a Mark of Honour, and a Pledge Of future Kindness.

Mon.

He's a Beast that serves A Commonwealth; for when he has spent his Blood, And sunk his Fortune, to support the Pride And Luxury of those few that Cheat the rest, He streight becomes the Object of their Scorn Or Jealousie.

Gri.

How odly my Friend argues Against himself.—Have you not served the State These Twenty Years? And can you think it Wisdom To quarrel now? Or now, when reasonably You might expect the Fruit of all your Hazards, Arm them against you?—Vertue, Merit, Worth, Ne'er wanted Enemies; make not you more.

Mon.

When they behold themselves through their false Opticks, They swell a Gnat into an Elephant; When others,—how they turn the Glass, and lessen A Mountain to a Mole-hill.

Gri.

Are you the only Man has been so serv'd? Who deserv'd better for a Law-giver, Than Solon? Or Captain, than Thrasibulus? Or Orator, than Demosthenes? Yet Athens, Ungrateful Athens, banish'd the two first, And slew the latter.—Unto whom ow'd Rome

More, than to Manlius; who, when her Capitol Was grown too hot for Jupiter, preserved it? Or what might not Camillus have pretence to, Who, when she was reduc'd to her last Stake, Push'd it, and won it?—What should I mention Rutilius, Scipio, Hannibal, Themistocles, Men, famous in their Ages? Yet they fell: Fell, where they most deserv'd.

Mon.

How my Blood curdles at it! And me-thinks, I feel a kind of Currishness, shot through me; And want no property of a Dog, but fawning, Tho' necessary to a rising Man.

Por.

Is this that Fortitude, my Montalto? This, that heroick Vertue you taught me? Sure, 'tis not the Montalto I have seen, When Victory sate perching on his Helm; Or that Montalto, when Opprest by Numbers He lost the Day, and yet brought Home more Glory, Than if he had been Conqueror: Yet still, Still the same even Temper; Unconcern'd At Loss, or Vict'ry.

Mon.

Wou'd it not heat a Man, To view his Wounds, which, like so many Mouths, Speak out his Wrongs the lowder? t'ave consum'd Himself, to warm Ingratitude?

Por.

The Fruit Of worthy Actions, is, to have done 'em; And every Man, that will, may give't himself.

Mon.

How can I stand my Breast, against a Torrent Of adverse Fortune?

Por.

'Tis your greater Glory, To stem that Flood.—How 're you beholding to her, That she cou'd pass the Heard, and single you, To Combate her?

Mon.

But she has cut my Sinews.

Por.

The more your Honour:—I have heard you say, That a Roman, was more Glorious in his scorch'd, Than armed Hand.—Do not distrust your self, And you must Conquer her.—The Constant Man Is Master of himself and Fortune too.

Mon.

Bless me!—Thou glorious Woman, never made Of common Earth!—I am concern'd for thee.

Por.

To the World's Fondlings, be their World,—with me, My own Montalt' out-weighs the Apparition, The Airy Dream, which, when they think a Substance,

Grasp at it, they awake, and find it nothing: Sure, had it any thing worthy our Love, It were a mind that can contemn it.

Gri.

Brave Woman! And who might'st bring Philosophy to manners.

Por.

If you call this Philosophy, 'tis what Its first Inventers meant it, ere our Pedants Had made it, rather difficult, than great. Come, my Montalto, come; and let th' Example Of others Virtue, now, engage your own; Their Glory, your imitation.

Mon.

Thou hast o'ercome my, Portia—and I'll try If that Content, the larger World denies, May be found in our selves.—Even Poverty, If it can be content, has lost its Name. He never has enough that gapes for more; Opinion was never Rich, nor Content Poor.

Gri.

Now how I love this rugged Honesty! Like the first Matter, 't'as all the Seeds of Good, Only wants Form and Order.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The first Scene agen.

Enter Quartilla, Scintilla.

Qua.

BElieve me, our Signiora has manag'd her Affair; and (if I un∣derstand any thing of the World) well.

Scin.

As how? 'Pray' instruct me against the good Time.

Qua.

Sh'as brought my Don on's Knees;—'tis all now, as she'll have it.

Scin.

That all!—a mighty Business!—Ha'n't they been married two Years?—And does not he Love her?—And she know it?—Few Women but would have done as much.—Besides, (and 'tis every days Experience) even the wisest Men, when they once come to Love in earnest, turn generally half-witted.

Qua.

You are to be instructed indeed, Scintilla.—He is good na∣tur'd, and does Love her.—But there are a many stubborn Fools in the World; and a Woman need have all her Wits about her, to keep her own.—But to get ground!—I know it may be done, but not so easie.

Scin.

I warrant ye—do but bring him to the right manage at first; humour him in every thing, you can't hinder, and the rest follows;—'tis not the point whether she Loves, but whether he believes so.—There's your Art, to get him play himself into the Nooze, and be proud of't too.

Qua.

Well, well the World is strangely alter'd since my time;—Young Girls then were not wont to be so knowing,—but now, they are even able to teach us.

Enter Pansa.

Pan.

Now Grannum,—and my pretty Convenience.

Qua.

Grannum, with a Murrain t'ye!

[Pansa colls Scintilla.

Nothing down with you, but Squab-Pigeons;—a likely Fellow, if a Woman durst him—But Men now a-days are so deceitful—

[Aside.

Scin.

Get ye to Bianca—I'll tell her—you do so mousle one.

Qua.

Fie, Signior Pansa, fie;—is there no more, but fall on, without so much as a short Grace: I'm sure it was not so—

Pan.

The Year you lost your Maiden-head;—and that was so long since, you have by this time forgotten you ever had one.

Qua.

Away, Knave,—away.

Scin.

Yet she'll not turn her Back to you now.

Qua.

Nor a better than himself.

Pan.

No anger, I beseech ye—After the dull rate Men made Love formerly, I should look upon a Petticoat, as one of the most defensible Spots in Christendom—So many Scarfes, Curtains, Portcullises, Counterworks, and what not; but now, that we'ave a shorter cut, of Surprize, Sapping, down-right Storm, or Springing a Mine; up goes Scarfe, Curtain, Portcullis—And hey da.

Scin.

Well, Pansa, thou'lt never break thy Heart for Love.

Pan.

Love!—'tis a kind of Cholick;—as long as ye keep it under Girdle, ye may linger on with't, and well enough; but if it once get Breast-high, the whole Mass is infected, and I can only say (as Phy∣sicians of their dying Patients) his Time is come; cover him up, and send for a Parson.

Enter Bianca.

Qua.

Come, Scintilla,—'tis as thou saidst,—here she comes,—he's a filthy Man,—e'en leave 'em together.

[Exeunt Qua. Scin.

Pan.

B'w'ye Grannum—And now, my best Girl—Thou hast not forgot, I hope.

Bian.

I wish I had.—My Lady was Abroad this Afternoon, and I laid the Box as you directed;—but when she came forth, she gave me such a Look,—ask'd me, who had been there,—and particularly named your Master.

Pan.

Never the worse,—she could not have done less.—But thou hadst the Grace to deny all?

Bian.

D'ye take me for a Fool?—But this I told her,—A Gen∣tleman, I never saw before, brought it, and pray'd me to lay it in her

Closet, as I had done; and I hop'd, without Offence;—if otherwise,—I was sorry.

Pan.

And that clear'd all agen?

Bian.

Quite contrary,—I saw Fire in her Eyes,—yet trembled, and could hardly speak;—at last, she commanded me to find you out,—and that you let your Master know, she must speak with him.

Pan.

Must?—my She Secretary.

Bian.

Yes, must—and out of hand.—And if I lose my Place by the Bargain, I have spun a fine Thread.

Pan.

Fear nothing:—Or if thou shouldst, my Master's a Gentleman, and my Bed will hold two.

Bian.

You Men consider nothing.

Pan.

And you Women too much.—I tell thee, my Master, the Knight, shall make his Amour to thy Lady the Princess, while I Pansa the Squire, put it in Practice with thee, Bianca, the Dam'sel.

Bian.

Well now, and that's so fine—But when will ye bring me some of those Books.—Beshrew me, but I should have broke my Heart long ere this, if 'twere not for 'em.

Pan.

Thou shalt have any thing; my Heart, my all.

Bian.

'Tis not the first time you told me so.—I—But—

Pan.

D'ye think I am bound to find ye fresh Oathes every time?

Bian.

When shall I see ye at our House?

Pan.

To morrow, without fail.—And is not this better than put∣ting all to the last?—And what's that, but singing a Psalm under the Gallows?

Bian.

But be sure now;—and, find out your Master presently, and send him to my Lady.

Pan.

Doubt not of either—

[Exit Bianca.]

'tis the best humour'd thing;—a jolly Pug, and well-mouth'd,—none of the first or second Rate, I must confess.—He that sees her by Day, would hardly break his Neck to come at her by Night.—However she's good Mer∣chantable Ware, and well Condition'd; and (how shy soever she now and then makes it) serves my turn, when a better's out of the way.

[Exit. Pansa.