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

ACT III. SCENE I.

Of Roderigo's House.

Enter Crispo and Mingo wiping their Faces.

Cris.

HEre's a Clutter with all my heart;—why sure, this Master of ours is either running mad, or never thinks of returning.

Min.

Here was a Palace, as well furnish'd as the Duke's it self,—such Hangings, Pictures, Carpets, Plate, and every thing suitable;—but it seems they were not rich enough;—we're all new from top to bottom.

Cris.

For my part, my Back's almost broke with Luggaging, and I think thine's not much better.—Wou'd 'twere her Neck, that has been the cause of all.

Min.

Yet, what wou'd not a Man do that Loves his Wife?

Cris.

Commend me to our old Home; we have no Wives there: And (I've observ'd) here, those that so gild this Pill of Matrimony, to make it go down the easier, never take it themselves.

Min.

The Truth is, neither of us need be fond of the Sex.—But every one is not our Imperia.—A Wife, if you have Money, will help to get more.

Cris.

Or rather spend what you have.

Min.

If you're at Home, she'll bear you Company.

Cris.

Or rather Scold ye out of Doors.

Min.

If you're Abroad—

Cris.

Perhaps Cuckold ye, ere ye come home.—But how now Mingo,—have ye forgot your Knitting-needles?

Min.

Nor your Trap-door—meer Accidents.

Cris.

I tell thee Brother of mine, A Devil of Clouts, wou'd ha' more Wit; and I'm afraid, our Master has spoil'd thee.

Enter Roderigo.

Rod.

So, so, ye have done well,—ye have done more in a few hours, than a dozen Lazy Block-heads wou'd ha' done in a Week.—Yet, methinks, the Rooms might have been better Perfum'd.

Cris.

We reserv'd that, till last.

Rod.

Never the worse—Is the Musick come?

Min.

They only wait your call.

Rod.

Go then, and be sure every thing be in Order.—

[Ex. Cris. Min.

My Wife and I are Friends agen, and to confirm it, I've promis'd her a Ball; and can't but laugh, to think how she'll be pleased, with the Preparation I have made for't.—She's but taking the Air, and can't be long ere she return.

Enter Imperia. She runs to him.

Imp.

O my Dear! and am not I a good Wife now? That thou'dst been with us at Duke Doria's Garden; The pretty Contest between Art and Nature: To see the Wilderness, Grots, Arbours, Ponds, And in the midst, over a stately Fountain, The Neptune of the Ligurian Sea, Andrea Dorea; the Man, who first Taught Genoa not to serve.—Then to behold The curious Water-works, and wanton Streams Wind here and there, as if they had forgot Their Errand to the Sea—

Rod.

Thou sett'st off this So well, I fansie thou'dst design a fairer.

Imp.

Dear Husband try.—And then agen, within That vast prodigious Cage, to see the Groves Of Myrtle, Orange, Gessamine, beguile The winged Quire into a Native-Warble, And Pride of their restraint—Then, up and down, An antiquated Marble, or broken Statue, Majestick, even in ruine.—

Rod.

It pleases me, To see thee pleas'd.—

Imp.

And such a glorious Palace!

Such Picture! Carving! Furniture!—my words Cannot reach half the Splendor.—And after all, To see the Sea, fond of the goodly sight, One while, glide Amorous, and lick her Walls, As who wou'd say, come follow: But repulst, Rally its whole Artillery of Waves, And crowd into a Storm.—But when (my Dear) When will ye fansie me such a Retirement?

Rod.

When I, like him that rais'd it, can command The Spoils o'th' rifled Ocean, thou shalt.

Imp.

Thou'st ever a Fetch for what thou'st no mind to—How can a Woman love ye?

Rod.

Do but consider—the House we now live in, is little inferior to a Palace; and might become my Better.

Imp.

A meer Hole—and that so damp, musty, and raw—

Rod.

You ne'er complain'd of it before;—however, Fire and Per∣fumes will rectifie the Air.

Imp.

Yes—to put a Woman into Fits.

Rod.

Bating that Palace, there's not a House in Genoa better fur∣nish'd; —and for Picture—I dare almost vie Italy.—Come—and I'll show thee.

[He offers to lead her out.

Imp.

What? Those in the Gallery?—I saw 'em as I came in—meer Sign-post work.

Rod.

How?—Tuian's Venus! and Sign-post work?

Imp.

A down-right Country Jone.

Rod.

Raphael's Paris, and the Three Goddesses?

Imp.

A Bumkin, and his Milk-maids.

Rod.

What think'st thou then of Guido Rheni's Rape of Lucrece?—Mich'el Angelo's Leda?—Or Corregio's Jupiter and Semele?

Imp.

Enough to make a modest Woman look through her Fingers.

Rod.

Wou'dst thou have nobler Actions?—What say'st thou to Car∣rachio's Perseus and Andromeda?—Pietro Testa's Iphigenia?—Or Mola's Curtius?

Imp.

What Mr. Dawber pleases.

Rod.

Or, if thou lik'st Hunting—there's Tempesta's Acteon!

Imp.

E'en keep it to your self;—for my part, I wou'd not put such an Affront on my Friends, as to have 'em seen in my House.—Picture, d'ye call 'em!

Enter Crispo.

Cris.

Sir, the Company are now lighting at Door.

Imp.

And why not Madam—Sauce-Box!—

[She strikes him.

Your Servants must disrespect me too?—Entertain them your self for me.

[She is running off. He stops her.

Rod.

Nay Wife—my dear Wife—what will our Friends say? For thy own sake, if not mine, be civil.

[She presses to go off.

Imp.

Say what they will—shall I humour a Husband that can deny me any thing.—You'd as good let me go, or I'll spoil all.—Let me go I say.

Rod.

Thou shalt have any thing—Here—take the Keys of all I have—and please thy self.—

[She takes them grumbling.

Imp.

You can make me do what you please—that ye can.

Rod.

I'll wait upon our Friends—

[Enter Persons in Masquerade.

Known or unknown, be pleas'd—

[They seat themselves. Musick begins.

Do but observe this Air. [To Imp.]

A Dance of all but Rod. and Imp.

Imp.

Scraping you mean—I'd 've made as good on a Gridiron.

Rod.

Softly, my Dear—

[The Dance ends. They seat agen.

Imp.

And such a string-halt Dance.

[After a small Intervale, another Musick.

Enter a Boy. He Sings.

WERE I to take Wife, (As 'tis for my Life) She shou'd be Brisk, Pleasant, and Merry; A lovely fine Brown, A Face all her own, With a Lip, red, and round, as a Cherry.

Not much of the Wise, Less of the Precise, Nor over reserv'd, nor yet flying: Hard Breasts, a streight Back, An Eye, full and black, But languishing, as she were dying.

And then, for her Dress, Be't more, or be't less, Not tawdry set out, nor yet meanly: And one thing beside, Just, just so much Pride, As may serve to keep honest, and cleanly.

Imp.

Whoo, ho, ho, hoo!—here's a Voice!—and a Song, I thank ye—

[A noise within, as of some Dishes breaking.

You'd have you can't tell what.

Enter Quartilla.

Qua.

O Madam, your Monkey has got into the next Room, and overturn'd all your Cupboard of China.

[She runs off in a Fury.

Imp.

Or I had don't my self, to spite my Don.

Rod.

I beseech ye Gentlemen, let this make no disturbance—I hope you'll take share of a short Regale.

Omnes.

Alas, poor Roderigo!

[Exeunt Maskers. Manet Rod.

Rod.

Poor Hen-peckt Devil, they might have said.—The very Boys will pelt me.—[He walks.] But is this Belphegor!—this, the once, Generalissimo!—Yes—[He makes a shrug.] but subjected to all the Conditions of Humanity—and I must be contented, as well as others—at least, till I get my Keys agen: For to say Truth, my Ships are longer out than was expected, and Bills come thick upon me; some of them too, begin to be importunate.—My comfort is, they're three rich Cargoes, and any on's return will pay for all.

[Exi.

SCENE II. Of Montalto's House.

Enter Pansa with a dark Lanthorn, conducting Fieschi.

Pan.

SHE's as good as her word.—The Door was unlockt.

Fies.

And I may trust her?

Pan.

My Life ye may—for she ever made it a matter of Consci∣ence, to take a Gentleman's Money, and do nothing for't.

Enter Bianca.

Bian.

What shall we do, Sir?—our Master's return'd—but in his own Apartment—Consider.

Fies.

It must be—And why not now?

Bian.

Then follow me close and softly—and do you Pansa, stay here till I return.

[Exeunt Bianca and Fieschi.

Pan.

And if it hits, I'm made—and who knows but I may marry the Jade my self, for all her Tuesday next.—O but—but what?—To be a Cuckold.—And how many are there in the World, yet live con∣tentedly? —But—your own Cuckold—forestal the Market—antidate your own Fortune—And what of that? I am not the first has don't, and sha'n't be the last.—This I am sure, I am the less deceiv'd.—What ere it be, Two hundred Pistoles, and my Masters Kindness, will make amends for all.

[Bianca returns.

Now Bianca, I was thinking, what if thou and I should join Jiblets, in an honourable Way?—What think ye of Matrimony Bianca?

Bian.

No, Pansa, no—for tho' I love ye well enough, you shall never twit me with any thing of your own Knowledge—but for old Acquaintance, I'll recommend ye—She is!

Pan.

The very Mop of Modesty! But what has she?

Bian.

Enough for you, and to spare.—The truth is—not above Sixteen or Seventeen Thousand Duckats ready Money, and as much more, after the Death of her Grannum—But for Vertue!

Pan.

The Lord knows what!—But say, she won't ha' me?

Bian.

I'll put in a good Word for ye.—This for your comfort, She'll sip Verdua—privately tho'—and then—so good natur'd.

Pan.

That's half the work: For I never knew the Devil at one end, but his Dam was at t'other.

[A noise within, as of a falling down Stairs.

Bian.

Here, Pansa, here.

[She puts him in a Closet, takes his Lan∣thorn, and Exit by one Door. Enter Fieschi running by another. He falls, and drops his Dagger.

Fies.

Where am I? Blind Fortune assist my blinder self.

[He re∣covers, and exit by the Door he first came in at. Bianca peeps in with her dark Lanthorn; sees the Dagger, takes it up, and gives both to Pansa, then likewise peeping.

Bian.

There—bolt the Door t'ye, while I look out another way.

[Exit.

Enter Montalto with a Case of Pistols (in his Night-Gown) by the same Door Fieschi ran in at.

Mon.

The last noise lay this way—within there, Ho!

[He knocks.

What's here!—methinks I see a faint glimmering of a Light within that Closet. [He endeavours to open the Door.] Bolted within too—nay then—

[He fires at the Door, Pansa slips the bolt, glares him in the Face with his dark Lanthorn. Montalto fires at him, and closes with him. Both fall. Pansa stabs him, and by that means gets from him; but not without the loss of his Dagger. Exit Pansa by the same Door as his Master: Montalto rises. Enter Servants (with Lights and Swords) undrest.

1 Ser.

Thieves, Thieves!—'waken my Lord, he may be kill'd in's Bed.

2 Ser.

Hold—where he stands!—He bleeds—a Handkercher, to keep the Wound from Air.

Mon.

What needs this noise?—One of ye stay with me—another get me a Chirurgeon.—

3 Ser.

I run, I run.

[Exit.

Mon.

The rest, look about the House—'tis almost impossible he should escape.

[Third Servant returns.

3 Ser.

The Street Door (my Lord) is open.

[He runs off agen.

Mon.

Nay, then the Bird is flown.—However, see what Servants

are wanting, or out of Bed. That Men knew when, to put on Arms.

[First Servant sees a Dagger on the floor, takes it up, and gives it Montalto. He starts.

1 Ser.

Here's some ones Bloody Dagger.

Mon.

And I know whose—I gave it him—That was unkind.

[He throws it carelesly.

Enter Portia in a Night-Gown.

Por.

My Husband Bloody!—What have I done, good Heaven!—Now, pity me—And press me not with more than I can bear, or give me strength—

[She staggers; 1 Servant supports her.

Mon.

Do not thou stab me too—

[Montalto breaks from the other.

'Tis but a scratch, and thy Montalto lives: Stay! stay my Portia!—yet one minute stay, And take me with thee.

[He runs to take the Dagger, 2 Ser. prevents him.

2 Ser.

She begins to stir, Sir.

[Montalto runs to her, and shakes her.

Mon.

Return, return! at least but give an Eye, And see who calls thee back.—

Por.

My hovering Soul Was on the Wing, and nothing, but that voice, Had checkt its flight.

Mon.

Do not torment thy self: Thou maist accuse, but canst not alter Fate. Heav'n, Earth, all Things, have their Period.

Por.

But Portia has resolv'd, she will be Portia, In not surviving you.

Mon.

Respite till then: Ev'ry Wound is not Mortal; or if 'twere, Who comes to his last Period, dies old. If l've liv'd well, it's enough; if ill, too long: Life's measur'd, not by Years, but Actions.

Por.

But to be thus rent from me—

Mon.

If I must leave the Town, what matter is't What Port I go out at? Or which way I die? Death has a Thousand Roads, but all of then Meet at the Journeys end—How happy then Is Man, that he can neither lose his Way, Nor pass it twice.

[Third Servant returns.

3 Ser.

The Chirurgeons (Sir) are coming.

Mon.

Bring them into the next Room—Come (my Dear) I hope there's no danger—However, happen what will, it sha'n't sur∣prize me.

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.

SCENE IV. A Street.

Enter Crispo and Mingo (by cross doors.) They meet, jostle, and lay their Hands to their Swords.

Min.

SIgnior Crispo?—Mio multo illustre.

[They make their drunken scrapes, and Embrace.

Cris.

Min' Here Mingo?—Vestre tres humble.—That Comerades shou'd know one another no better?

Min.

And which becomes us, least of all others.—Us, that shou'd unite against the Common Enemy, Mankind.

Cris.

Thou'rt right.—And now, that we're Pot-valiant, what think'st thou of a Frolick?

Min.

And kill the next we meet.

Cris.

My very thought.—A match—

[They shake hands.]

Our Master will not hear of our return; and if I'm hang'd, 'tis what I wou'd.

Min.

And better far, than living under the Dominion of this super∣devilified Imperia.

Cris.

Poor Belphegor—I have known him somewhat in my time, but now, so sotted on her, he's not himself; and all this to please her, that will be pleas'd with nothing.

Min.

How one may be mistaken?—I remember, while he court∣ed her, Almond-butter wou'd not melt in her mouth—so innocent, she'd have blusht t'ave seen her own Hand naked—and a Voice so low, she cou'd not hear her self.—But not Three Days married, ere (like an Alarm Clock) the House rang of her.

Cris.

I'm sure I bear her marks.—Time was, I cou'd have bolted through a Key-hole; cut Capers on the point of a Needle; giv'n the Double-Somerset on a Pins-head; felt no more blows than a Sack of Wool; but now she'as beaten me to mash.

Min.

And made me meer Gut-founder'd—and I'm afraid, our Ma∣ster (return when he will) will make but a ragged Accompt of it.

Cris.

My only hopes are, he'll be weary in time, and leave her behind him; for if ere she come among us below, we break up House for certain.

Min.

A Lion (they say) runs from a Cock; and well may the Devil from a Crowing Hen.

Cris.

I am glad to see this amendment, Friend Mingo, and hope now, you are not so matrimonially inclin'd, as once you were?

Min.

I tell thee, Crispo, I know not what to make of 'em.—Some are so skittish, no ground will hold 'em.—Others so resty, one can bring 'em to nothing.—And others agen (like a Rattle at a Dogs Tail) run where you will, and it still follows ye.

Cris.

When all's done, there's nothing like an honest private Friend: And (between our selves) I have such a piece.

Min.

As mine, I warrant ye—so loving!

Cris.

So careful of her Honour, yet so obliging!

Min.

As if I did not know your old Flora—a meer Rag of a Jade; I wonder thou durst venture on her, for fear of Navel-gauling.

Cris.

And, I think, you have not much reason to brag of your greasie Tripe-wife▪ for my part, I hate Bog-trotting.

Min.

What need this reservedness among Friends.—Upon Ho∣nour now—who shall say first.

Cris.

And wound Reputation!—Fie.

Enter Marone, and a large Watch. Crispo and Mingo run; the Watch follow.

Mar.

You may believe Neighbours, there's somewhat more than or∣dinary, that I am here in person.—Every man wou'd not have don't.—But see, who are those Fellows running there—follow, follow. There is a dangerous Plot now brewing, and I know who has a Finger in it up to the Elbow.—Follow, follow 'em.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Enter Mattheo, Roderigo (as in a Vineyard). Mattheo a Spade in his hand.

Mat.

I Have heard of your Quality, and great Losses—But your Wife say you? Alas, poor Gentleman!—I lost mine about a month since, and tho' I have no great reason to brag, find a miss of her.

Rod.

I'll change with ye; my living Wife, for your dead Wife.

Mat.

Not too much of that neither—I had, had one before; and she was well enough.—But this last!—such a—I'll tread lightly on her Grave, for fear she 'wake.

Rod.

And what difference found ye' between a good Wife, and a bad one.

Mat.

I said not, she was good, but well enough—tho' I think the difference be much the same, as between a wild Rabbet and a tame Rab∣bet. —However, at last, I found the way of beating the Devil out of mine.

Rod.

And I should ha' thought, there was more danger of beating him in.—But, Sir, you don't consider the Catch-poles; they fol∣low

upon a fresh scent; do but preserve me from 'em, I'll make ye a man for ever.

Mat.

Nor shall you repent the putting your self under my Protecti∣on —Look ye Sir—

[He takes him to the Scenes.]

you see those parings of Vines, creep under them, and I'll cover ye up.—

Rod. creeps, Mat. covers him.]

When they are gone, I'll give you notice.—A hand∣some Fellow, and wears good Clothes.—If it miscarry, I have lit∣tle to lose; and if it succeed, I'm made for ever.

Enter Officers, they beat about.

—Pray Gentlemen don't trample my Vines—Who are ye?

1 Off.

We are the States Officers, in quest of a Gentleman we are sure took this Road.

2 Off.

And cannot be far behind him.—At your Peril be it, if you conceal him.

Mat.

My House is open to ye.

[Third Officer enters, Mat. digs.

1 Off.

Pr'y thee be honest to us, and thou shalt snack.

2 Off.

We can afford him Forty Duckats—and that's more than thou'lt get in haste by diging.

Mat.

Forty Duckats Gentlemen, wou'd to me a kindness.

1 Off.

And if we take him I'll be thy Pay-master—I'm sure thou knowest me—and I'll be true to thee.

[He gives his Hand.

Mat.

Signior Bricone, if I mistake not.

1 Off.

Thou hast me right—and therefore doubt not thy money.

Mat.

Well then—he is

[Mat. describes Rod: Person and Clothes.

2 Off.

The same—And if he's about thy House, shew him us, and here's thy money down.

[He pulls out a Bag.

Third Officer returns.

3 Off.

There's nothing within.

Mat.

I rather wish he were—But d'ye see that blind side Road, on the left hand of my Vineyard, as ye came.

1 Off.

And were I to have fled for my Life, I'd have taken't my self.

Mat.

There did I see such a Person, and one other with him, ride by, about an hour since.—And now I better consider on't—he was the great Merchant, that lost some Ships t'other day.

Omnes.

The same, the same—To Horse, to Horse.

Mat.

Ride hard, and ye can't but overtake him.

[Exeunt Off. running.

—They're gone, and Roderigo's Wishes follow 'em.—He told me, he'd make me a man for ever, and (I hope) he'll be as good as his word, and not lick himself whole agen, by non-performance.—Hoe Signior! the Coast is clear, you may advance.

Enter Roderigo stalking, and looking about him.

Rod.

I fansie I hear them still—Hark! what was that?

Mat.

Nothing but the Wind among the Leaves.—I have per∣form'd

form'd my promise, and you're safe: Tho' (if you over-heard us, as you needs must) to my disadvantage.

Rod.

I did, and doubly thank you, nor shall it ever be said, that I forgot mine.—But first, 'tis requisite, that you understand my Con∣dition —Know then, I am not what I appear to you—but in few words—a very Devil.

Mat.

A Devil!

[Mat. starts.]

and afraid of Bailiffs!

Rod.

Yet so it is—I was sent to Earth by special Command, subject nevertheless to all the Conditions of Humanity; but more particularly oblig'd to marry a Wife.

Mat.

Keep your Wife to your self, I have no mind to Cuckold the Devil.

Rod.

And now, what with her insulting peevish Humour, my Losses at Sea, my Correspondence failing, and Creditors pressing, you see to what Condition I'm brought.

Mat.

Is't come to this!—The Sham wo'n't pass on me—Come, come—uncase—

[Mat. goes about to strip him.]

A man for ever!—A Devil wou'd ha'been more honest.

Rod.

Have but a minutes patience, and if I don't convince you of what I told ye, and you don't find me the most ingenuous, grateful, and as Gentleman-like a Devil, as you could wish, I am contented you deliver me up to my Creditors.—And, without your consent, part from ye I will not.

Mat.

'Tis Civil tho'.

[Rod. gives a stamp.

Rod.

Hoe! Sacrapant, Adrameleck,

[Musick is heard, Spirits rise; they Dance an Antick about Mat. and Exeunt. Mat. all the while trembling.

Paganuccio, Fortibrand!—Fear nothing, they sha'n't hurt ye.

Mat.

Fear nothing said ye?—I'm not yet secure, but my Soul may slip out at the wrong end.

Rod.

I've shewn you what I am; and now consider, what Devil of a Thousand would not such Circumstances have try'd?—But to my promise—

[A noise within. He starts.]

Huisht, huisht—my Wife—that Wife, whom now I dread, more than ere I doated on her.

Mat.

A Tittle tattle of mine; I know her Voice.

Rod.

My promise, I was saying—you know the Lady Ambrosia?

Mat.

And what of her?—She's rich—And do you but make a match for me there, I'll release you your promise.

Rod.

I am no go-between; but this I'll do—as soon as I leave this place, I'll instantly possess her; and, on the Faith of an oblig'd Devil, will never leave her, till you come and force me from my Quarters.—And so, you know how, to make the Terms.

Mat.

But which way must I go about it?

Rod.

Sputter any thing, and that shall do't—And besides, good brisk Nonsence, with a little Balderdash, and the Gravity of a gradu∣ated Goose, to set it off, will give ye the Vogue, among the greater

number; who, like Socrates's Children, take more after the Mother than the Father.

Mat.

My Noble Patron, I see you are in earnest; and, because you and I must be better acquainted, your Name (I beseech ye) and Qua∣lity in the other World?

Rod.

Belphegor; Generalissimo of the Subterranean Forces: But this Con∣dition of Humanity, has so discompos'd me, that I'm asham'd to own what I was.

Mat.

Generalissimo! a Friend at Court, may (if he please) stand a man in stead.—But pray, Sir, what do ye do below?

Rod.

Much after the rate ye do here; ever speaking well of our selves, and ill of others.—And for Friendship, as we profess not much, for what we do, we observe it as little as your selves.

Mat.

A wise People!—But how do men get thither? Have ye no Standing-Porters to attend the Service.

Rod.

By no means—No man comes thither but of himself, or his Wife's sending.—I wo'n't deny, but when a Devil meets a man with his Skates on, he may give him a push forward.—But I'm uneasie.

[He looks over his Shoulders.

Mat.

There's no danger.—What kind of People are ye?

Rod.

A Hotch-potch of all Tongues, Nations, and Languages: We speak the Lingua Franca, keep open House, and never shut our Gates to any, that had either Wit or Money; and that's the reason we have so many Wits and Usurers among us.

Mat.

And no Women?—For notwithstanding all, I am no profest Enemy to the Sex.

Rod.

They're the best Customers we have; they seldom come alone, with their own Lading—Some bring more, some less; not one in ten without a Liver and a Gizard; two Friends, at least, besides Followers.

Mat.

But have ye no Divines, Physicians, Lawyers?—What have ye?

Rod.

Of that, when we meet next.

Mat.

And you'll forget—you will.

Rod.

Upon Parole, I wo'n't—

[They shake hands.]

With this fur∣ther —when ever you hear of any Lady possest, be sure it is your Hum∣ble Servant, and no other.

[Exeunt severally.