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

SCENE III. Roderigo's House.

Enter Roderigo, with Letters in his Hand.

Rod.

'TIS what I fear'd—my Levant Merchant taken by the Turks—my French-man sunk at Sea—my Spaniard lost at Dice.—And what's worse? My Credit is at Stake—my Cash in my Wife's Hands, and if she prove cross, there's no more to be said—I must break.

To him Don Hircio.

Hir.

I am a Gentleman, Sir—and the King's no more.

[He strusts.

Rod.

Heaven maintain it, Sir.

Hir.

Maintain me!—I have an Estate somewhere beyond the Mountains in my own Country; and where a Pigeon House once stood; which, were it standing, as it is now fall'n, well-stock'd with Pigeons, and removed to Madrid, might be worth to me—a brace of Thousand Mareveds yearly—

Rod.

That is to say, about Twenty Shillings English.

Hir.

Maintain me!

[Cocks and struts.

Rod.

Your Pardon, Sir.

Hir.

Yet think it no Dishonour to converse with our Jews in black∣hats, here—Somewhat below me, I must confess—but I am now and then serviceable to 'em, and they thank me.

Rod.

I remember ye, Sir—Your commands to me.

Hir.

That's as you please—You are Signior, a Man of Fortune, which makes them Envy you.—In short, 'tis given out, your Ships are miscarried,—and now, one taxes this, another that, a third, your Cattamountain, (my Relation) your Lady.

Rod.

Alas, poor Fool! must she suffer too?

Hir.

I was once about to have made them eat their Words—but Prudence (as sometimes it shou'd) interpos'd.—Upon the whole, if you pay 'em not Forty Thousand Duckats, you'll be Arrested ere Night.

Rod.

Neither my Ships nor that, will much affect me.

Hir.

The more's my Joy—But, since they are such Scoundrels, name me the Man ye do but doubt—and—he's dead.

Rod.

By no means, Signior—However, as an acknowledgment of your Respect—be pleas'd—

[He gives him a small Purse.

Hir.

I beseech ye, Sir—what d'ye mean—nay—

[But takes it.

Now cou'd I quarrel you my self, in that you dare not trust my Ho∣nour —but I can take nothing ill from so Noble a Patron; and when you have any such occasion, let me oblige ye.

[Exit.

Rod.

Her Relation, he said—a worthy one!—And yet it may be true as he says; and who knows, but he might be sent to set me.—My last Comfort is, I have Cash enough in the House, but the Keys of it hang at my Wife's Girdle.

Enter Imperia.

—Never more welcom, tho' to unwelcom News.

Imp.

Your Ships you mean—'Tis every where.

Rod.

I'm happy yet in such a partner of my Cares—All will do well agen—Lend me thy Keys.

Imp.

For what, I wis'—your Wife (it seems) is not fit to be trusted?

Rod.

Thou knowest the contrary;—but I have some Bills charg'd on me, that require speedy payment, or they'll be protested; and then, where am I?

Imp.

Ev'n where you please—But Keys, you get none of me—the Fool has more Wit.

Rod.

I shall be ruin'd else.

Imp.

Better you than I—She'll provide for one.

Rod.

I have enough to bear Fourty such Losses.

Imp.

Yes—in your great Iron Chest.—Away, you pitiful Don—with what Face cou'd ye cheat me with a parcel of Stones and Brick-bats, instead of Coin?—Was this the Treasure? These the Doubleoons ye talkt of?

Rod.

I tell thee, Woman, 'tis all good Silver; and more Gold than the best of thy Family, thou so much tatlest, e'er saw together.

Imp.

My Family, Gentleman!—I was finely hope up, when all the Pride of Italy courted me, to marry a Tramontane,—a beggarly Don,—Don Roderigo Castiliano! the first of his House, and the last of his Name.—Blot my Blood with your damn'd Morisco!—That Mo∣letto Face, might have fore-warn'd me.—But, alas, poor me—I lov'd.

[She puts finger in eye.

Rod.

Thou hast a Prince Incognito in me.

Imp.

The Devil I have!—Ha, ha, hah!

Rod.

Provoke me not, for fear thou find'st me such.

Imp.

And what wou'd my poor Pug?—I have a Charm shall lay ye, good Sir Devil.—A Circle, shall cool your Courage.

Rod.

Give me my Keys, I say—

[Enter a Woman with a Bandbox.

How now—who's this?

Imp.

Who shou'd she be?—my Tire-Woman: She brings me Knots, Gloves, Ribbons, Points, every thing.

Rod.

And now and then a Letter in the bottom o'th' Box.

[He puts his hand in the Box, finds a Letter, she snatches in from him, and throws it back; the Tire-woman takes it up, and Exit running.

Mighty fine!—And from whom, I pray'?

Imp.

What's that to you—Jealous! o' my Conscience, Jealous!—I see a mousled Hood, rumpled Tippet, or tumbled Petty-coat wou'd not down with you! my Lord Dick, or my Lord Tom, stick in your stomach.—Jealous, my Life! Jealous!—Know Tramontane, Jea∣lousie is the effect of Weakness; whereas, he that's Vertuous himself, belives the same of another.

Rod.

Give me my Keys, I say agen—and that Letter—Or—

[He takes her by the sleeve.

Imp.

But, shall I have 'em agen?

Rod.

Upon my Honour thou shalt—I'll only take what will serve My present Occasion.

Imp.

Shall I indeed La?

[She Embraces him.]

And will ye never, be angry with your Wife agen?

Rod.

All, all's forgotten.

Imp.

Well then—I'll try for once—

[She whips out his Sword, and beats him about the Stage; and as she hears Company entring, she drops the Sword, and takes to her Handkerchief.

Murder! Murder! Help! Murder:

Enter Five or Six Women.

Sure all Women ha'n't such Husbands.

1 Woman.

Now fie upon him for a Villain, beat his Wife!

2 Wo.

Draw upon a Woman!

[Third Woman takes up the Sword. All fall upon him, and beat him down; and having well pomell'd him they go up to Imp. and Exe∣unt with her. Rod. rises.

Rod.

Do but hear me.

3 Wo.

That were wise work indeed.

Omnes.

I hope you are not hurt.

[To Im.]

Rod.

Nor all Men sure such Wives.—What shall I do?—Debts, threaten me Abroad—my Wife's at Home—stay here, I cannot—and return, I dare not—

[He walks.]

And live with her Ten Years (if possible)—That blest Parenthesis, if possible.

But yet, to fall thus tamely—Be outwitted; And, by a Woman!—By the drowsie Lethe, Cocytus, Acheron, or whatever worse, Than Fables ever feign'd, or Fear conceiv'd, I'll make her know me better; make her know, What an Italianated Devil can do.

[He gives a Stamp.

Hoe! Sacrapant! Adramelech!

Enter Servant, with a Letter.

Ser.

I am told, Sir, it requires no Answer.

[Exit Servant. He reads.

Rod.

Your House is beset with Bailiffs—Consult your Safety—Haste, if you're wise.—How I command, how the dull Slaves obey.

[Another stamp. A hollow voice between the Scenes.

Voice.

What would Belphegor?

Rod.

Attend me without—what shall a poor Devil do?—But—might not Friends take up the matter?—Yes—and your House be∣set.

—I'd come to any Terms,—but the Letter said, Haste.—I have a Loop-hool yet—but never more to maintain my Figure.—Haste, was the word;—but must I leave thee?—I will yet stand it.—Men and their Wives have quarrell'd, and been Friends agen—

[A noise as of the clatter of a door is heard within. He starts. Runs his Head against the Wall. Recovers, and Exit.

They're got into the House. The best of't is, I have not far to go.