The younger brother, or, The amorous jilt a comedy : acted at the Theatre Royal by His Majesty's servants / written by the late ingenious Mrs. A. Behn ; with some account of her life.

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Title
The younger brother, or, The amorous jilt a comedy : acted at the Theatre Royal by His Majesty's servants / written by the late ingenious Mrs. A. Behn ; with some account of her life.
Author
Behn, Aphra, 1640-1689.
Publication
London :: Printed for J. Harris ... and sold by R. Baldwin ...,
1696.
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"The younger brother, or, The amorous jilt a comedy : acted at the Theatre Royal by His Majesty's servants / written by the late ingenious Mrs. A. Behn ; with some account of her life." In the digital collection Early English Books Online 2. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A27334.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 1, 2024.

Pages

SCENE the Third. A Garden, by Night Still.
Enter George with his Sword in his Hand, as before.
Geo.

Why do I vainly call for Vengeance down, and have it in my Hand? — By eav'n, I'll back — Whether? To kill a Woman, a young perjur'd Woman! — Oh, ye false Fair Ones! shou'd we do you Ju∣stice,

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A universal Ruin wou'd ensue; Not One wou'd live to stock the World anew. Who is't among ye All, ye Fair Deceivers, ye Charming Mischiefs to the Noble Race, can swear she's Innocent, without Damnation? No, no, go on — be false— be fickle still: You act but Nature— but my faithless Friend — where I repose the Secrets of my Soul — except this one— Alas! he knew not this: — Why do I blame him then?

Enter Olivia, dress'd as before.
Oliv.

Fire! Fire! Fire!

Geo.

Olivia's Voice! — Ha! what art thou? Thy Voice shou'd be Olivia's, but thy Shape— And yet a Woman is all o'er Disguise.

Enter Lady Blunder in her Night-Gown.
L. Blun.

Fire! Fire! Fire! My Son, my dear Sir Morgan.

Enter Sir Rowland, and Servants.
Sir Row.

A Pox on your Son, and mine to boot; they have set all the Sack-Butts a Flaming in the Cellar, thence the Mischief began. Timothy, Roger, Jeffrey, my Money-Trunks, ye Rogues! my Money-Trunks!

L. Blun.

My Son, good Roger! my own Sir Moggy!

Sir Row.

The Ten thousand Pounds, ye Rascal, in the Iron Trunk, that was to be paid Mr. Welborn for Olivia's Portion.

Exit.

L. Blun.

Oh my Son! my Son!— Run to the Parson, Sam, and let him send the Church-Buckets. Oh, some help! some help!

Enter Manage.
Man.

Oh, Heavens! my Lady Mirtilla's Chamber's all on Flame.

Enter Britton.
Geo.

Ha,— the Prince! I had forgot his Danger.

Man.

Ah! look up, and see how it burns!

Geo.

Britton, a Million for a Ladder!

Man.

Blessing on you, Sir, if you dare venture through the House, there lies one in the Fore Garden.

Brit.

The Passage is on fire, Sir, you cannot go.

Geo.

Revenge is vanish'd, and Love takes its place: Soft Love, and migh∣tier Friendship seizes all. I'll save him, tho' I perish in the Attempt.

Runs out, Britton after him.

Enter, at another Door, Sir Rowland.
L. Blun.

A Thousand Pound for him that saves Sir Morgan.

Sir Row.

And, de ye hear, let my Rogue lie; I'd rather he should be burnt, than hang'd on Tyburn Road, for murthering his Father.— But where's Boy George?

Enter Men with Trunks.
Rog.

Safe, Sir, I hope; he was not in the House.

Sir Row.

So, so, away with these Trunks to my Lady Youthly's in Southampton-Square, and tell her we must trouble her to Night. Come, Sister, let's away.

Exeunt Lady Blunder, and Sir Rowland,

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Prince

Frederick, and Mirtilla, appear at the Window, the Flame behind 'em.

Prince.

Help, help, and save Mirtilla! Ask any Price, my Life, my Fortune! All!

Mir.

Oh, Heav'ns! the Flame pursues us as we fly.

Prince.

No help! Oh Gods, I shall prevent the Flame, and perish by my Fears to see you dye!

Mir.

Alas! Sir, you with ease may save your Life! This Window you may leap, but I want Courage.

Prince.

No, my Mirtilla, if it be thy Fate, I'll grasp thee, ev'n in Flames, and dye with thee.

Mir.

We dye! we dye! the Flame takes hold of us!

Enter George with a Ladder, and puts it to the Window.
Prince.

Ha! some pitying God takes Care of us. Hast, hast, my Char∣mer; Heav'n has sent us Aid.

Puts her on the Ladder, she descends into George's Arms; after her, the Prince. George puts her into Manage's Arms, she faints; he runs up to receive the Prince.

Prince.

Lejere! dear Man of Luck — Some happy Star reign'd at thy glorious Birth; every thing is prosperous thou espousest. — How fares my Love, the Treasure of my Soul?

Man.

Only fainting with the Fright, but she recovers.

Prince.

My Chair there, quickly, that waits for me.—

(Enter Chair; he puts her, and Manage into it.)

Enter Olivia.

Carry 'em to Mr. Welborn's, to my Lodgings there, and then return to me; for I am wondrous faint, and cannot walk.

Oliv.

Ha! by my Life, my Man!

Prince.

But if I might impose so much Lejere upon thy Friendship, I beg thou wouldst see her safely carry'd to my Lodgings at Welborn's.

Geo.

You shall Command me, Sir.

Exeunt Chair, George, and Britton.

Oliv.

You seem not well, Sir; pray repose upon my Arm a while.

Prince.

I thank you, Sir, indeed I am not well.

Oliv.

Methinks I find a Pleasure but in touching him — Wou'd I ou'd see his Face by all this fatal Light.

Enter Constable and Watch.
Const.

So, so, the Fire abates, the Engines play'd rarely; and we have Ten Guinea's here, Neighbours, to watch about the House; for where there's Fire, there's Rogues — Hum, who have we here?— How now, Mr.— Hum, what have you got under your Arm there, ha? Take a∣way this Box of Jewels.

(Sir Morgan, and Sir Merlin, creeping out of the Cellar Window.)

Ha, who have we here creeping out of the Cellar-Window? more Rogues!

Sir Mer.

Sirrah! you're a Bawd, Sirrah! and for a Tester will wink at the Vices of the Nation, Sirrah! Call Men of the best Quality, Rogues!

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that have stood for Knights of the Shire, and made the Mobile drunk Sirrah!

Const.

We cry you Mercy, Sir, we did not know your Worships.

Sir Morg.

Lookee de see, here's a Crown for you; carry us to the next Tavern, and we'll make thee, and all thy Mirmidons, as drunk as a Boat in a Storm.

Oliv.

Sir, I find you have Interest with these Arbitrary Tyrants of the Pa∣rish; Pray will you bail me, and this Gentleman?

Sir Merl.

What, Endimion! my Lady Mirtilla's Page? He lent me Money to Night at the Basset-Table; I'll be bound Hand and Foot for him, Mr. Con∣stable, and gad we'll all to the Tavern, and drink up the Sun, Boys.

Oliv.

Yonder Gentleman too has receiv'd some Hurt by the Fire, and must go Home, Sir; but you must restore him the Box, Mr. Constable.

Sir Morg.

Ay, ay, lookee de see, return the Gentleman all; they're Gen∣tlemen, and our intimate Friends, de see.

Exeunt Prince, and Olivia.

Enter a Servant.
Const.

Stand: Who goes there?

Sir Morg.

Philip — Lookee de see, he shall along with us to the Ta∣vern.

Serv.

Sir Morgan, I came to seek you: Your Lady Mother sent me back on purpose; she has spoil'd her Beauty with crying for you.

Sir Morg.

And wash'd off all her Paint?— Or so de see! Gad sa' me, Philip, this is ill Luck. Come let us go drink down Sorrow.

Serv.

Being sent of such an Errand, as your Safety, Sir, I dare not stay and drink now, before I've satisfy'd your Mother.

Sir Mer.

Not drink! I charge you, in the King's Name, Mr. Constable, bring him along.

(The Constable and Watch seize him.)

(Sings.)
Wise Coxcombs be damn'd, here's a Health to the Man, That since Life is but short, lives as long as he can.
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