The chances a comedy, as it was acted at the Theater Royal / corrected and altered by a person of honour.
About this Item
- Title
- The chances a comedy, as it was acted at the Theater Royal / corrected and altered by a person of honour.
- Author
- Fletcher, John, 1579-1625.
- Publication
- London :: Printed for A.B. and S.M. and sold by Langley Curtis ...,
- 1682.
- Rights/Permissions
-
To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
- Link to this Item
-
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/a39799.0001.001
- Cite this Item
-
"The chances a comedy, as it was acted at the Theater Royal / corrected and altered by a person of honour." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/a39799.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 5, 2024.
Pages
Page [unnumbered]
THE CHANCES, A COMEDY: As it was Acted AT THE THEATER ROYAL.
Corrected and Altered by a PERSON of HONOUR.
LONDON, Printed for A. B. and S. M. and Sold by Langley Curtis on Ludgate Hill, 1682.
Page [unnumbered]
Page [unnumbered]
PROLOGUE.
OF all men those have reason least to care For being laugh'd at, who can laugh their share: And that's a thing our Author's Apt to use Upon occasion, when no man can chuse. Suppose now at this instant one of you Were tickled by a Fool, what would you do? 'Tis ten to one you'd laugh, here's just the case, For there are Fools that tickle with their Face. Your gay Fool tickles with his Dress, and Motions, But your grave Fool of Fools, with silly Notions. Is it not then unjust that Fops should still Force one to laugh, and then take laughing ill? Yet since perhaps to some it gives offence, That men are tickled at the want of Sence; Our Author thinks he takes the readiest way To shew all he has laugh'd at here fair play. For if ill writing be a folly thought, Correcting ill is sure a greater fault. Then Gallants laugh, but chuse the right place first, For judging ill is of all faults the worst.Page [unnumbered]
Page 1
The Chances.
ACT I.
Scene I.
Page 2
Page 3
SCENE II.
Page 4
Page 5
SCENE III.
Page 6
SCENE IV.
SCENE V.
Page 7
SCENE. VI.
Page 8
SCENE VII.
Page 9
SCENE VIII.
Page 15
SCENE IX.
Page 11
Page 12
Page 13
SCENE. X.
Page 14
SCENE XI.
Page [unnumbered]
Page 16
Page 17
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Page 18
Page 19
Page 20
Page 21
Page 22
SCENE. II.
Page 23
Page 24
Page 25
Page 26
Page 27
Page 28
SCENE. III.
Page 29
Page 30
How now?
All's well, and better than thou could'st expect, for this Wench here is certainly no Maid; and I have hopes she is the same that our two curious Coxcombs have been so long a hunting after.
Why do ye hope so?
Why? because first she is no Maid, and next because she's hand∣some; there are two Reasons for you: now do you find out a third, a better if you can: For take this Frederick, for a certain Rule, since she loves the sport, she'll never give it over. And therefore (if we have good luck) in time may fall to our shares.
Very pretty Reasons indeed. But I thought you had known some particular that made you conclude this to be the Woman.
Yes, I know her name is Constantia.
That now is something; but I cannot believe her dishonest for all this: she has not one loose thought about her.
It's no matter, she's loose i'th' hilts by Heaven. There has been stirring, fumbling with Linnen, Frederick.
There may be such a ••lip
And will be Frederick, whil'st the old Game's afoot. I fear the Boy too will prove hers I took up.
Good circumstance may cure all this yet.
There thou hit'st it Frederick, come let's walk in, and comfort her; that she is here is nothing yet suspected. Anon I shall tell thee why her Brother came, (who by this light is a noble Fellow) and what honor he has done to me, a Stranger, in calling me to serve him. There be ••rons heating for some on my word Frederick.
Page 31
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Page 32
Page 33
Od's my witness, if ye ruffle me, I'l spoil your sweet face for you, that I will. Go, go to the door there's a Gentleman there would speak with ye.
Upon my life Petruchio; good dear Landlady carry him into the dining-Room, and I'll wait upon him presently.
Page 34
Page 35
SCENE II.
What Symptoms do ye find in him?
None, Sir, dangerous, if he'd be rul'd.
Why! what does he do?
Nothing that he should. First, he will let no Liquor down but Wine, and then he has a fancy that he must be drest always to the Tune of Iohn Dory.
How? to the Tune of Iohn Dory?
Why? he will have Fidlers, and make them play and sing it to him all the while.
An odd fancy indeed.
Give me some Wine.
I told you so.— 'Tis Death Sir.
'Tis a Horse Sir. Dost think I shall recover with the help o•• Barley water only?
Fie, Antonio, you must be govern'd.
Why Sir? he feeds me with nothing but rotten Roots, and drown'd Chickens, stew'd Pericraniums and Pi••-maters, and when I go to bed, (by Heaven 'tis true Sir) he rowls me up in lints with Labels at 'em, that I am just the man i'th' Almanack, my head and face is Aries place.
Will't please ye to let your Friends see you open'd?
Will't please you, Sir, to give me a brimmer? I feel my body open enough for that. Give it me, or I'll die upon thy hand, and spoil thy custom.
How, a brimmer?
Why look ye Sir, thus I am us'd still•• I can get nothing that I want. In how long time canst thou cure me?
In forty days.
Presently.
Page 36
Do't that's the shorter, and there's more delight in't.
You must have patience.
Man I must have business; this foolish Fellow hinders himself; I have a dozen Rascals to hurt within these five days. Good Man-mend∣er stop me up with Parsley like stuff'd Beef, and let me walk abroad.
Ye shall walk shortly.
I will walk presently Sir, and leave your Salads there, your green Salves and your Oyls, I'll to my old dyet again, strong Food, and rich Wine, and try what that will do.
Well, go thy ways, thou art the maddest old fellow I e'r yet met with.
SCENE III.
Page 37
SCENE IV.
Page 38
Page 39
Page 40
This is the maddest mischief, never Fool was so ••ub'd off as I am, made ridiculous, and to my self, to my own Ass; trust a Woman, I'll trust the Devil first, for he dares be better than his word sometimes. Pray tell me, in what observance have I e'r fail'd her?
Nay, you can tell that best your self.
Let me consider.
Let them talk, we'll go on before.
Where did'st thou meet Constantia, and this Woman?
Constantia! what are these Fellows? Stay by all means.
Why Sir, I met her in the great Street that comes from the Market-place, just at the turning by a Gold-smith's Shop.
Stand still Iohn.
Page 41
Well, Constantia has spun her self a fair thred now: what will her best Friend think of this?
Iohn, I smell some jugling, Iohn.
Yes, Frederick, I fear it will be prov'd so.
But what should the reason be dost think of this so suddain change in her?
'Tis she.
Why, truly I suspect she has been enti••'d to it by a Stranger.
Did you mark that Frederick?
Stranger? who?
A young Gentl••man that's newly come to Town.
Mark that too.
Yes Sir.
Why do you think so?
I heard her grave Conductress twattle something as they went along that makes me guess it.
'Tis she Frederick.
But who that he is Iohn.
I do not doubt to bolt 'em out, for they must certainly be a∣bout the Town. Ha! no more words; come, let's be gone.
Well.
Very well.
Discreetly.
Finely carri'd.
Ye have no more of these Tricks?
Ten to one Sir, I shall meet with 'em if ye have.
Is this fair?
Was it in you a Friends part to deal double? I am no Ass Don Frederick.
And, Don Iohn, It shall appear I am no Fool: Disgrace me to make your self thus every Woman's courtesie; 'tis boyish, 'tis base.
'Tis false: I privy to this Dog-trick? Clear your self, for I know well enough where the wind sits, or as I have a life—
No more, they are coming, shew no discontent, let's quietly a∣way; If she be at home our Jealousies are over, if not, you and I must have a farther parly Iohn.
Yes, Don Frederick, ye may be sure we shall: but where are these Fellows? Pox on't, we have lost them too in our Spleens, like Fools.
Page 42
Sir, I should be as glad of a Mistress as an other man.
Yes, o' my Conscience would'st thou, and of any other man's Mistress too; that I'll answer for.
SCENE. V.
With all my Gold?
The Trunk broke open, and all gone.
And the Mother in the Plot?
And the mother and all.
And the Devil and all: the mighty Pox go with 'em: belike they thought I was no more of this World, and those trifles would but disturb my Conscience.
Sure they thought, Sir, you wou'd not live to disturb them.
Well, my sweet Mistress, I'll try how handsomely your Ladiship can hang upon a pair of Gallows, there's your Master-piece. No imagi∣nation where they should be?
None Sir: yet we have search'd all places we suspected; I be∣lieve they have taken towards the Port.
Get me then a Water-Conjurer, one that can raise Water-Devils, I'll port 'em, play at Duck and Drake with my money? Get me a Con∣jurer I say, enquire out a man that lets out Devils.
I don't know where.
In every Street Tom Fool, any blear-ey'd people with red heads, and flat noses can perform it. Thou shalt know 'em by their half gowns, and no breeches. Find me out a Conjurer•• I say, and learn his price, how he will let his Divils out by the day. I'll have 'em again if they be a∣bove Ground.
SCENE VI.
Your Grace is welcome now to Naples; so ye are all, Gentle∣m••n.
Don Frederick, will you step in, and give the Lady notice who comes to visit her?
Bid her make haste, we come to see no curious Wench, a night∣gown
Page 43
will serve turn. Here's one that knows her nearer.
I'll tell her what you say Sir.
Now will the sport be to observe her alterations, how betwixt fear and joy she will behave her self.
Dear Brother, I must entreat you—
I conceive your mind Sir, I will not chide her.
How now?
You may Sir: not to abuse your patience longer, nor hold ye o••f with tedious circumstance; for ye must know—
What?
Where is she?
Gone Sir.
How?
What did you say Sir?
Gone: by Heaven remov'd. The Woman of the house too.
What, that reverend old Woman that tir'd me with Comple∣ments?
The very same.
Well, Don Frederick.
Don Iohn, it is not well. But—
Gone?
This Fellow can satisfie I lie not.
A little after my Master was departed, Sir, with this Gentle∣man, my Fellow and my self being sent on business, as we must think on purpose.
Hang these Circumstances, they always serve to usher in ill ends.
Now could I eat that Rogue, I am so angry. Gone?
Gone?
Directly gone, fled, shifted, what would you ha' me say?
Well, Gentlemen, wrong not my good opinion.
For your Dukedom, Sir, I would not be a Knave.
He that is, a Rot run in his blood.
But hark ye Gentlemen, are ye sure ye had her here? Did ye not dream this?
Have you your nose Sir?
Yes Sir.
Then we had her.
Since ye are so short, believe your having her shall suffer more construction.
Page 44
Well Sir, let it suffer.
How to convince ye Sir, I can't imagine, but my life shall justifie my innocence, or fall with it.
Thus then—for we may be all abus'd.
'Tis possible.
Here let's part until to morrow this time; we to our way, to clear this doubt, and you to yours. Pawning our honors then to meet again? when if she be not found—
We stand engag'd to answer any worthy way we are call'd to.
We ask no more.
To morrow certain.
If we out-live this night Sir.
Come, Don Iohn, we have somewhat now to do.
I am sure I would have.
If she be not found, we must fight.
I am glad on't, I have not fought a great while.
If we die—
There's so much money sav'd in Lechery.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
HOld Cons, hold, for goodness hold, I am in that desertion of Spi∣rit for want of breath, that I am almost reduc'd to the necessi∣ty of not being able to defend my self against the inconvenience of a fall.
Dear Mother let us go a little faster to secure our selves from Antonio; for my part I am in that terrible fright, that I can nei∣ther think, speak, nor stand still, till we are safe a Ship-board, and out of sight of the Shore.
Out o•• sight o'the Shore? why, do ye think I'll depatriate?
Depatriate? what's that?
Why, ye Fool you, leave my Country: what will you never Iearn to speak out of the vulgar road?
O Lord, this hard word will undo us.
As I am a Christian, if it were to save my honour (which is ten
Page 45
thousand times dearer to me than my life) I would not be guilty of so odi∣ous a thought.
Pray Mother, since your honour is so dear to ye, consider that if we are taken, both it and we are lost for ever.
Ay Girle, but what will the world say, if they should hear so odious a thing of us, as that we should depatriate?
Ay, there's it, the world; why, Mother, the world does not care a pin if both you and I were hang'd; and that we shall be certainly, if An∣tonio takes us, for running away with his Gold.
Protest I care not, I'll ne're depart from the demarches of a person of Quality; and let come what will, I shall rather choose to submit my self to my fate, then strive to prevent it by any deportment that is not congruous in every degree to the steps and measures of a strict practitio∣ner of honor.
Would not this make one stark mad? Her stile is not more out of the way, then her manner of reasoning; the first sells me to an ug∣ly old fellow, then she runs away with me and all his gold, and now like a strict practitioner of honor, resolves to be taken, rather then depatriate, as she calls it.
As I am a Christian, Cons, a Tavern, and a very decent Sign; I'l in I am resolv'd, though by it I should run a Risco of never so stupendious a Nature.
There's no stopping her: what shall I do?
I'l send for my Kins-Woman and some Musick, to revive me a lit∣tle; for really, Cons, I am reduc'd to that sad imbecility by the injury I have done my poor feet, that I'm in a great incertitude whether they will have liveliness sufficient to support me up to the top of the stairs or no.
This sinning without pleas••re I cannot endure; to have always a remorse, and ne'r do any thing that should cause it, is intolerable. If I lov'd mony too, which (I think) I don't, my Mother she has all that; I have nothing to comfort my self with but Antonio's stiff Beard, and that alone, for a Woman of my years, is but a sorry kind of entertainment. I wonder why these old fumbling fellows should trouble themselves so much, only to trouble us more. They can do nothing, but put us in mind of our graves. Well, I'll no more on't; for to be fright∣ed with Death and Damnation both at once is a little too hard. I do here vow I'l live for ever chast, or find out some handsome young fellow I can love; I think that's the better;
Come up, Cons, the Fiddles are here.
I come.—
Page 46
Companions will quickly make an end of all she has stollen, and then 500 New Pieces sells me to another old fellow. She has taken care not to leave me a farthing; yet I am so, better than under her conduct: 'twill be at worst but begging for my life;
And starving were to me an easier FateSCENE II.
It will not out of my head but that Don Frederick has sent away this Wench, for all-he carries it so gravely: yet methinks he should be hone∣ster than so; but these grave men are never touch'd upon such occasions: mark it when ye will, and you'll find a grave man, especially if he pre∣tend to be a pre••••••e man, will do ye forty things without remorse, that would startle one of us mad Fellows to think of. Because they are famili∣ar with Heaven in their prayers, they think they may be bold with it in any thing: now we that are not so well acquainted, bear greater Reve∣rence.
Say you so? what now if I should go up and dance too? It is a Ta∣vern. Pox o' this business: I'l in I am resolv'd, and try my own fortune; 'tis hard luck if I don't get one of 'em.
I don't know Sir.
May I have the honor to wait upon you?
Yes, if you please Sir.
Whither?
I tell ye I don't know.
She's very quick. Would I might be so happy as to know you Lady
Page 47
I dare not let you see my face Sir.
Why?
For fear you should not like it, and then leave me, for to tell you true, I have at this present very great need of you.
If thou hast half so much need of me, as I have of thee Lady, I'll be content to be hang'd though.
It's a proper handsome Fellow this; if he'd but love me now, I would never seek out further. Sir, I am young, and unexperienced in the World.
Nay, if thou art young, it's no great matter what thy face is.
Perhaps this freedom in me may seem strange; but Sir, in short, I'm forc'd to fly from one I hate, if I should meet him, will you here promise he shall not take me from you?
Yes, that I will, before I see your face, your shape has charm'd me enough for that already; if any one takes ye from me, Lady, I'll give him leave to take from me too — (I was a going to name 'em) certain things of mine, that I would not lose, now I have you in my arms, for all the Gems in Christendom.
For Heaven's sake then conduct me to some place where I may be secured a while from the sight of any one whatsoever.
By all the hopes I have to find thy face as lovely as thy shape, I will.
Well Sir, I believe ye, for you have an honest look.
'Slid I am afraid Don Frederick has been giving her a character of me too. Come, pray unmasque.
Then turn away your face; for I'm resolv'd you shall not see a bit of mine till I have set it in order, and then—
What?
I'll strike you dead.
A mettled Whore, I warrant her; come if she be now but young, and have but a nose on her face, she'll be as good as her word: I'm e'en panting for breath already.
Now stand your ground if you dare.
By this light a rare creature! ten thousand times handsomer than her we seek for! this can be sure no common one: pray Heaven she be a Whore.
Well Sir, what say ye now?
Nothing; I'm so amaz'd I am not able to speak. I'd best fall to presently, though it be in the Street, for fear of losing time. Prethee my dear sweet Creature go with me into that corner, that thou and I may talk a little in private.
No Sir, no private dealing I beseech you.
Page 48
'S Heart, what shall I do? I'm out of my wits for her. Hark ye, my dear Soul, canst thou love me?
If I could, what then?
Why, you know what then, and then should I be the happiest man alive.
I, so you all say till you have your desires, and then you leave us.
But, my dear Heart, I am not made like other men; I never can love heartily till I have—
Got their Maidenheads; but suppose now I should be no Maid.
Prethee suppose me nothing, but let me try.
Nay, good Sir hold.
No Maid? why, so much the better, thou art then the more expe∣rienc'd; for my part I hate a bungler at any thing.
O dear, I like this Fellow strangely: hark ye Sir, I am not worth a groat, but though you should not be so neither, if you'l but love me, I'll follow ye all the World over; I'll work for ye, beg for you, do any thing for ye, so you'll promise to do nothing with any body else.
O Heavens, I'm in another World, this Wench sure was made a purpose for me, she is so just of my humour. My dear, 'tis impossible for me to say how much I will do for thee, or with thee, thou sweet bewitch∣ing woman; but let's make haste home, or I shall never be able to hold out till I come thither.
SCENE III.
And art thou sure it was Constantia, say'st thou that he was lead∣ing?
Am I sure I live Sir? why, I dwelt in the house with her; how can I chuse but know her?
But did'st thou see her face?
Lord Sir, I saw her face as plainly as I see yours just now, not two Streets off.
Yes, 'tis e'en so: I suspected it at first, but then he forswore it with that confidence—Well, Don Iohn, if these be your practices, you shall have no more a Friend of me, Sir, I assure you. Perhaps though he met her by chance, and intends to carry her to her Brother and the Duke.
Page 49
Here, now go in, and make me for ever happy.
Dear Don Iohn.
A pox o' your kindness, how the Devil comes he here just at t••••s time? Now will he ask me forty foolish Questions, and I have such a mind to this Wench, that I cannot think of one excuse for my life.
Your Servant Sir: pray who's that you lock'd in just now at that door?
Why, a Friend of mine that's gone up to read a Book.
A Book? that's a queint one i'faith: prethee Don Iohn what Li∣brary hast thou been buying this Afternoon? for i'th' Morning to my knowledge thou had'st never a Book there, except it were an Almanack, and that was none of thy own neither.
No, no, it's a Book of his own he brought along with him. A Scholar that is given to reading.
And do Scholars (Don Iohn) wear Petticoats now adays?
Plague on him, he has seen her. — Well Don Frederick, thou know'st I am not good at lying, 'tis a Woman I confess it, make your best on't, what then?
Why then, Don Iohn, I desire you'll be pleas'd to let me see her.
Why, faith Frederick, I should not be against the thing, but ye know a man must keep his word, and she has a mind to be private.
But Iohn you may remember when I met a Lady so before, this very self same Lady too, that I got leave for you to see her Iohn.
Why, do ye think then that this here is Constantia?
I cannot properly say I think it Iohn, because I know it; this Fel∣low here saw her as you led her i'th' Streets.
Well, and what then? who does he say it is?
Ask him Sir, and he'll tell ye.
Sweet heart, dost thou know this Lady?
I think I should Sir, I ha' liv'd long enough in the House with her to know her sure.
And how do they call her prethee?
Constantia.
How! Constantia?
Yes Sir, the Woman's name is Constantia; that's flat.
Is it so Sir? and so is this too.
Oh, Oh.
Page 50
Now Sirrah, you may safely say you have not born false witness for nothing.
Fie, Don Iohn why do you beat the poor Fellow for doing his Duty, and telling truth?
Telling truth? thou talk'st as if thou had'st been hir'd to bear false witness too: ye are a very fine Gentleman.
What a strange confidence he has? But is there no shame in thee? nor no consideration of what is just or honest, to keep a Woman thus against her will, that thou know'st is in love with another man too; do'st think a Judgment will not follow this?
Good dear Frederick, do thou keep thy Sentences and thy Morals for some better opportunity, this here is not a fit Subject for 'em: I tell thee she is no more Constantia than thou art.
Why won't you let me see her then?
Because I can't: besides she is not for thy turn.
How so?
Why, thy Genius lies another way; thou art for flames, and darts, and those fine things: now I am for the old plain down-right way; I am not so curious Frederick as thou art.
Very well Sir; but is this worthy in you to endeavour to de∣bauch —
But it there no shame? but is this worthy? what a many buts are here? If I should tell thee now solemnly thou hast but one eye, and give thee reasons for it, would'st thou believe me?
I think hardly Sir, against my own knowledg.
Then why dost thou, with that grave face, go about to perswade me against mine? You should do as you would be done by Frederick.
And so I will Sir, in this very particular, since there's no other remedy; I shall do that for the Duke and Petruchio, which I should expect from them upon the like occasion: in short, to let you see I am as sensi∣ble of my honour, as you can be careless of yours; I must tell ye Sir, that I'm resolv'd to wait upon this Lady to them.
Are ye so Sir? Why I must then, sweet Sir, tell you again, I am resolved you shan't. Ne'r stare, nor wonder, I have promis'd to preserve ner from the sight of any one whatsoever, and with the hazard of my life will make it good; but that you may not think I mean an injury to Pe••ruchio, or the Duke, know Don Frederick, that though I love a Wench perhaps a little better, I hate to do a thing that's base, as much as you do. Once more upon my honor this is not Constantia; let that satisfie you.
All that will not do.—
No? why then this shall.
Page 51
This is an insolence beyond the temper of a man to suffer; — thus I throw off thy friendship, and since thy folly has provok'd my pati∣ence beyond its natural bounds, know it is not in thy power now to save thy self.
That's to be try'd Sir, though by your favour.
Come, Sir, are you ready?
O Lord, Sir, your Servant.
SCENE IV.
What's here fighting? let's part 'em. How? Don Frederick a∣gainst Don Iohn? how came you to fall out, Gentlemen? What's the Cause?
Why Sir, it is your quarrel, and not mine, that drew this on me•• I saw him lock Constantia up into that house, and I desir'd to wait upon her to you; that's the Cause.
O, it may be he design'd to lay the obligation upon us himself. Sir, we are beholden to you for this favour, beyond all possibility of—
Pray, Sir, do not throw away your thanks before you know whe∣ther I have deserv'd 'em or no. O, is that your design? Sir you must not go in there.
How, Sir, not go in?
No Sir, most certainly not go in.
She's my Sister, and I will speak with her.
If she were your Mother Sir, you should not, though it were but to ask her blessing.
Since you are so positive, I'll try.
You Shall find me a man of my word Sir.
Nay pray Gentlemen hold, let me compose this matter. ••hy do you make a scruple of letting us see Constantia?
Why, Sir, 'twould turn a man's head round to hear these Fellows talk so; there is not one word true of all that he has said.
Then you do not know where Constantia is?
Not I, by Heavens.
O monstrous Impudence! upon my life Sir, I saw him shut her up into that house, and know his temper so, that if I had not stop'd him, I dare swear hy this time he would have ravish'd her.
Now that is two Lies: for first he did not see her, a••d next the
Page 52
Lady I led in is not to be ravish'd, she is so willing.
But look ye Sir, this doubt may easily be clear'd; let either Pe∣truchio or I but see her, and if she be not Constantia, we engage our Ho∣nors (though we should know her) never to discover who she is.
I, but there's the point now, that I can ne'r consent to.
Why?
Because I gave her my word to the contrary.
And did you never break your word with a Woman?
Never before I lay wi••h her; and that's the case now.
Pish, I won't be kept off thus any longer: Sir, either let me en∣ter, or I'll force my way.
No pray Sir, let that be my Office, I will be reveng'd on him for having betray'd me to his friendship.
Pox on't, would they would make an end of this business, that I might be with her again. Hark ye Gentlemen, I'll make ye a fair Propo∣sition, leave off this Ceremony among your selves, and those dismal threats against me, phillip up cross or pile who shall begin first, and I'll do the best I can to entertain ye all one after another.
Now do my fingers itch to be about some bodies ears for the lo••s of my Gold. Ha! what's here to do, Swords drawn? I must make one, though it cost me the singing of ten Iohn Doryes more. Courage brave Boy, I'll stand by thee as long as this Tool here lasts; and it was once a good one.
Who's this? Antonio? O Sir, you are welcome, you shall be e'en Judge between us.
No, no, no, not I Sir, I thank ye; I'll make work for others to judge of, I'm resolv'd to fight.
But we wo'n't fight with you.
Then put up your Swords, or by this hand I'll lay about me.
Well said old Bilbo i'faith.
Pray hear us though: this Gentleman saw him lock up my Si∣ster into that house, and he refuses to let us see her.
How Friend? Is this true?
Nay good Sir, let not our friendship be broken before it is well
Page 53
made. Look ye Gentlemen, to shew ye that you are all mistaken, and that my formal Friend there is an Ass.
I thank you Sir.
I'll give my consent that this Gentleman here shall see her, if his information can satisfie you.
Yes, yes; he knows her very well.
Then Sir. go in here if you please; I dare trust him with her, for he is too old to do her either good or harm.
I wonder how my Gentleman will get off from all this.
I shall be even with you Sir another time for all your grinning.
How now? where is he?
He's run out o'the back door Sir.
How so?
Why Sir, he's ran after the Gentlewoman you brought in.
'S death, how durst you let her out?
Why Sir, I knew nothing.
No thou ignorant Rascal, and therefore I'll beat something into thee.
What, you won't kill him?
Nay come not near me, for if thou do••t by Heavens I'll give thee as much; and would do so however, but that I won't lose time from look∣ing after my dear Sweet—a pox confound you all.
What? he has shut the Door.
It's no matter, I'll lead you to a private backway by that corner, where we shall meet him.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
A Young Woman say'st thou and her Mother?
Yes, just now come to the house. Not an hour ago.
It must be they, here Friend, here's money for you; be sure you
Page 54
take 'em, and I'll reward you better when you have done.
But Neighbour how—hup—shall I now—hup—know these these Parties? for I would — hup — execute my Office — hup — like —hup—a sober Person.
That's hard; but you may easily know the Mother, for she is hup—drunk.
Nay—hup—if she be drunk, let—hup—me alone to maul her, for—hup—I abhor a Drunkard — hup — let it be man — Woman, or —hup—Child.
Ay Neighbour, one may see you hate drinking indeed.
Why Neighbour—hup—did you ever see me drunk? answer me that Question: did you ever—hup—see me drunk?
No, never, never: come away, here's the house.
SCENE II.
Oh, whither shall I run to hide my self! The Constable has seiz'd the Landlady, and I'm afraid the poor Child too. How to return to Don Frederick's house, I know not; and if I knew, I durst not, after those things the Landlady has told me of him. If I get not from this drunken Rabble, I expose my honour; and if I fall into my Brother's hands, I lose my life: you Powers above, look down and help me, I am faulty I confess, but greater faults have often met with lighter punish∣ments:
Then let not heavier yet on me be laid, Be what I will, I am still what you have made.
I'm almost dead with running, and will be so quite, but I will overtake her.
Hold Don Iohn, hold.
Who's that? Ha? is it you my Dear?
For Heaven's sake Sir, carry me from hence, or I'm utterly undone.
Phoo pox••, this is th'other: now could I almost beat her, for but making me the Proposition: Madam, there are some a coming that will do it a great deal better; but I am in such haste, that I vow to Gad Madam—
Page 55
Nay pray Sir stay, you are concern'd in this as well as I; for your Woman is taken.
Ha! my Woman?
I vow to Gad Madam, I do so highly honor your Ladyshp, that I would venture my life a thousand times to do you Service. But pray where is she?
Why Sir, she is taken by the Constable.
Constable! which way went he?
I cannot tell, for I run out into the Streets just as he had seiz'd upon your Landlady.
Plague o'my Landlady, I meant t'other Woman.
Other Woman Sir! I have seen no other Woman never since I left your house.
'S heart, what have I been doing here then all this while? Ma∣dam, your most humble—
Good Sir, be not so cruel, as to leave me in this distress.
No, no, no; I'm only going a little way, and will be back again presently.
But pray Sir hear me; I'm in that danger—
No, no, no, I vow to Gad Madam, no danger i'the World; let me alone, I warrant you.
He's gone, and I a lost wretched, miserable Creature, lost for ever.
O, there she is.
Who's this, Antonio? the fiercest Enemy I have.
Are ye so nimble-footed Gentlewoman? If I don't overtake you for all this, it shall go hard—
She'll break my wind with a pox to her. A plague confound all Whores.SCENE III.
But, Madam, be not so angry, perhaps s••e'll come again.
O Kinswo••an, never speak of her more, for she s an odious Crea∣ture, to leave me thus i'th' lurch. I that have given her all her breeding, and instructed her with my own Principl••s of Education.
Protest, Madam, I think she's a Person that knows as much of all that as —
Page 56
Knows, Kinswoman? There's ne'r a Woman in Italy of thrice her years knows so much the procedures of a true gallantry, and the in∣f••llible Principles of an honourable friendship as she does.
And therefore, Madam, you ought to love her.
No, fie upon her, nothing at all, as I am a Christian: when once a Person fails in Fundamentals, she's at a period with me. Besides, with all her wit, Constantia is but a Fool, and calls all the Meniarderies of a bonne mine, affectation.
Indeed I must confess, she's given a little too much to the care∣less way••
Ay, there you have hit it Kinswoman, the careless way has quite undone her. Will ye believe me Kinswoman? as I am a Christian, I never could make her do this, nor carry her body thus, but just when my eye was upon her; as soon as ever my back was turn'd, whip, her elbows were quite out again: would not you strange now at this?
Bless me sweet goodness! But, pray Madam, how came Constan∣tia to fall out with your Ladiship? Did she take any thing ill of you?
As I'm a Christian I can't resolve you, unless it were that I led the dance first; but for that she must excuse me, I know she dances well, but there are others who perhaps understand the right swim of it as well as she;
How's this? Constantia?
I know no reason why I should be debarr'd the priviledge of shewing my own parts too sometimes.
If I am not mistaken that other Woman is she Don Iohn and I were directed to, when we came first to Town, to bring us acquainted with Constantia. I'll try to get some Intelligence from her. Pray Lady, have I never seen you before?
Yes Sir, I think you have, with another Stranger, a Friend of yours, one day as I was coming out of the Church.
I'm right then. And pray who were you talking of?
Why Sir, of an inconsiderate inconsiderable Person, that has at once both forfeited the honor of my concern, and the concern of her own honor.
Very fine indeed. And is all this intended for the beautiful Con∣stantia?
O fie upon her Sir, an odious Creature as I'm a Christian, no Beauty at all.
Page 57
Why, does not your Ladiship think her handsome?
Seriously, Sir, I don't think she's ugly, but as I'm a Christian, my Position is; That no true Beauty can be lodg'd in that Creature, who is not in some measure buoy'd up with a just sence of what is incum∣bent to the devoir of a Person of Quality.
That Position, Madam, is a little severe, but however she has been incumbent formerly, as your Ladyship is pleas'd to say; now that she's marry'd, and her Husband owns the Child, she is sufficiently ju∣stifi'd for all she has done.
Sir, I must blushingly beg leave to say you are there in an error. I know there has been passages of love between 'em, but with a tempera∣ment so innocent, and so refin'd, as it did impose a negative upon the ve∣ry possibility of her being with Child.
Sure she is not well acquainted with her. Pray Madam, how long have you known Constantia?
Long enough I think Sir; for I had the good fortune, or rather the ill one, to help her first to the light of the World.
Now cannot I discover by the fineness of this Dialect, whether she be the Mother or the Midwife: I had best ask t'other Woman.
No Sir, I assure you, my Daughter Constantia has never had a Child: a Child! ha, ha, ha; O goodness save us, a Child!
O then she is the Mother, and it seems is not inform'd of the matter. Well Madam, I shall not dispute this with you any further; but give me leave to wait upon you to your Daughter; for her Friend I assure ye is in great impatience to see her.
Friend Sir? I know none she has; I'm sure she loaths the very sight of him.
Of whom?
Why, of Antonio Sir, he that you were pleas'd to say had got my Daughter with Child. Sir—ha—ha—ha—
Still worse and worse; 'Slife cannot she be content with not let∣ting me understand her, but must also resolve obstinately not to under∣stand me because I speak plain? Why, Madam•• I cannot express my self your way, therefore be not offended at me for it; I tell you I do not know Antonio, nor never nam'd him to you: I told you that the Duke has own'd Constantia for his Wife, that her Brother and he are Friends, and are both now in search after her.
Then as I'm a Christian, I suspect we have both been equally in∣volv'd in the misfortune of a mistake. Sir I am in the derniere confusi∣on to avow that though my Daughter Constantia has been lyable to several addresses, yet she never has had the honour to be produc'd to his Grace.
So then you put her to bed to—
Page 58
Antonio Sir, one whom my ebb of fortune forc'd me to enter into a negotiation with, in reference to my Daughter's Person; but as I'm a Christian with that candor in the action, as I was in no kind deny'd to be a witness of the thing.
So, now the thing is out. This is a damn'd Bawd, and I as damn'd a Rogue for what I did to Don Iohn: for o' my conscience, this is that Constantia the Fellow told me of. I'll make him amends what e'r it cost me. Lady, you must give me leave not to part with you, till you meet with your Daughter, for some reasons I shall tell you hereafter.
Sir, I am so highly your Obligee for the manner of your Enqui∣ries, and you have grounded your Determinations upon so just a Basis, that I shall not be asham'd to own my self a Votary to all your Com∣mands.
SCENE IV.
So, I'm once more freed from Antonio; but whither to go now, there's the question; nothing troubles me, but that he was sent up by that young Fellow, for I lik'd him with my Soul, would he had lik'd me so too.
Which way went she?
Who?
The Woman?
What Woman?
Why, a young Woman, a handsome Woman, the handsomest Wo∣man thou ever saw'st in thy life: speak quickly Sirrah, or thou shalt speak no more.
Why, yonder's a Woman: what a Devil ayls this Fellow?
O my dear Soul, take pity o' me, and give me comfort, for I'm e'en dead for want of thee••
O you 're a fine Gentleman indeed, to shut me up in your house, and send another man to me.
Pray hear me.
No, I will never hear you more after such an Injury, what would ye have done if I had been kind to ye, that could use me thus be∣••ore?
By my tro••h that's shrewdly urg'd.
Page 59
Besides, you basely broke your word.
But will ye hear nothing? nor did you hear nothing? I had three men upon me at once, and had I not consented to let that old Fellow up, who came to my rescue, they had all broken in whether I would or no.
Faith it may be it was so, for I remember I heard a noise•• but suppose it was not so, what then? why then I'll love him how∣ever. Hark ye Sir, I ought now to use you very scurvily, but I can't find in my heart to do it.
Then God's blessing on thy heart for it.
But a—
What?
I would fain —
I, so would I: come let's go.
I would fain know whether you can be kind to me.
That thou shalt presently; come away.
And will you always?
Always? I can't say so; but I will as often as I can.
Phoo! I mean love me.
Well, I mean that too.
Swear then.
That I will upon my knees: what shall I say?
Nay, use what words you please, so they be but hearty, and not those are spoken by the Priest, for that charm seldome proves fortunate.
I swear then by thy fair self, that look'st so like a Deity, and art the only thing I now can think of, that I'll adore thee to my dying day.
And here I vow, the minute thou do'st leave me, I'll leave the World, that's kill my self.
O my dear heavenly Creature! —
Well, well; why don't you go then?
Who's this, my old new Friend has got there?
O have I caught you Gentlewoman at last? Come, give me my Gold.
I hope he takes me for another, I won't answer, for I had rather he should take me for any one than who I am.
Page 60
Pray Sir, who is that you have there by the hand?
A Person of Honor Sir, that has broke open my Trunks, and run away with all my Gold; yet I'll hold ten pound I'll have it whip'd out of her again.
Done, I'll hold you ten pounds of that now.
Ha! by my troth you have reason; and Lady I ask you pardon; but I'll have it whip'd out of you then Gossip.
Hold Sir, you must not meddle with my Goods.
Your Goods? how came she to be yours? I'm sure I bought her of her Mother, for five hundred good pieces in Gold, and she was abed with me all night too; deny that if you dare.
Well, and what did you do when I was abed with you all night? confess that if you dare.
Umh, say you so?
I'll try if this Lady will help me, for I know not whither else to go.
I shall be sham'd I see utterly except I make her hold her peace. Pray Sir by your leave; I hope you will allow me the Speech of one word with your Goods here, as you call her; 'tis but a small request.
I Sir, with all my heart. How, Constantia! Madam, now you have seen that Lady, I hope you will pardon the haste you met me in a little while ago; if I committed a fault, you must thank her for it.
Sir, if you will for her sake, be perswaded to protect me from the violence of my Brother, I shall have reason to thank you both.
Nay Madam, now that I am in my wits again, and my heart's at ease, it shall go very hard but I will see yours so too; I was before di∣stracted, and 'tis not strange the love of her should hinder me from re∣membring what was due to you, since it made me forget my self.
Sir, I do know too well the power of Love, by my own ex∣perience, not to pardon all the effects of it in another.
Well then, I promise you, if you will but help me to my Gold a∣gain, (I mean that which you and your Mother stole out of my Trunk) that I'll never trouble you more.
A match; and 'tis the best that you and I could ever make.
Pray Madam fear nothing; by my love I'll stand by you, and see that your Brother shall do you no harm.
Hark ye Sir, a word; how dare you talk of love, or stand∣ing by any Lady, but me Sir?
By my troth that was a fault; but I did not mean it your way, I meant it only civilly.
I, but if you are so very civil a Gentleman we shall not be long friends: I scorn to share your love with any one whatsoever; and
Page 61
for my part, I'm resolv'd either to have all or nothing.
Well my dear little Rogue, thou shalt have it all presently, as soon as we can but get rid of this Company.
Phoo, y' are always abusing me.
Come, now Madam, let not us speak one word more, but go qui∣etly about our business; not but that I think it the greatest pleasure in the World to hear you talk, but —
Do you indeed Sir? I swear then good wits jump Sir; for I have thought so my self a very great while.
Yo've all the reason imaginable. O, Don Iohn, I ask thy pardon; but I hope I shall make thee amends, for I have found out the Mother, and she has promis'd me to help thee to thy Mistress again.
Sir, you may save your labour, the business is done, and I am fully satisfi'd.
And dost thou know who she is?
No faith, I never ask'd her name.
Why, then, I'll make thee yet more satisfi'd; this Lady here is that very Constantia—
Ha! thou hast not a mind to be knock'd o•••• the pate too, hast thou?
No Sir, nor dare you do it neither; but for certain this is that very self same Constantia that thou and I so long look'd after.
I thought she was something more than ordinary; but shall I t••ll thee now a stranger thing than all this?
What's that?
Why, I will never more touch any other Woman for her sake.
Well, I submit; that indeed is stranger.
Come Mother, deliver your Purse; I have deliver'd my self up to this young Fellow, and the bargain's made with that old Fellow, so he may have his Gold again, that all shall be well.
As I'm a Christian Sir, I took it away only to have the honour of restoring it again; for my hard fate having not bestow'd upon me a Fund which might capacitate me to make you Presents of my own, I had no way left ••or the exercise of my generosity, but by putting my self in∣to a condition of giving back what was yours.
A very generous design indeed. So, now I'll e'en turn a sober Per∣son, and leave off this wen••hing, and this fighting, ••or I begin to find it does not agree with me.
Madam, I'm heartily glad to meet your Ladyship here; we have
Page 62
been in a very great disorder since we saw you — What's here, our Landlady and the Child again?
Yes, we met her going to be whip'd, in a drunken Constables hands that took her for another.
Why, then, pray let her e'en be taken and whip'd for her self, for on my word she deserves it.
Yes, I'm sure of your good word at any time.
Hark ye dear Landlady.
O sweet Goodness! is it you? I have been in such a peck of troubles since I saw you; they took me, and they tumbled me, and they hall'd me, and they pull'd me, and they call'd me painted Iezebel, and the poor little Babe here did so take on. Come hither my Lord, come hi∣ther; here is Constantia.
For Heaven's sake peace, yonder's my Brother, and if he dis∣covers me I'm certainly ruin'd.
No, Madam, there is no danger.
Were there a thousand dangers, in those Arms, I would run thus to meet them.
O my Dear, it were not safe that any should be here at present, for now my heart is so o'erpress'd with joy, that I should scarce be able to defend thee.
Sister, I'm so asham'd of all the faults, which my mistake has made me guilty of, that I know not how to ask your pardon for them.
No, Brother, the fault was mine, in mistaking you so much, as not to impart the whole truth to you at first; but having begun my love without your consent, I never durst acquaint you with the progress of it.
Come, let the Consummation of our present joys, blot out the memory of all these past mistakes.
And when shall we consummate our Joys?
Never; We'll find out ways shall make 'em last for ever.
Now see the odds 'twixt marry'd Folks and Friends: Our Love begins just where their Passion ends.