The disappointment, or, The mother in fashion a play as it was acted at the Theatre Royal / written by Thomas Southerne.

SCENE I.

Enter Alphonso.

Alph.

TIS late, and I alone: th' hard travell'd Sun Now wantons in the Bosom of the Sea, Whilst amorous Clouds steal nearer to the Earth, And melt themselves away upon the flow'rs: The Beasts in Companies to Coverts run; And all the feather'd Kind, upon the wing, Pair to the Groves, and dream the night away.

Enter Erminia.

Erm.

Then, why art thou the loyterer of Love? Why when Erminia's Arms are opened wide, Expecting to embrace thee to thy rest; Why then does my Alphonso chuse to wander The melancholy maze of Darkness here?

Alph.

O thou too justly dost present my Crime! I own I am to blame, to call thee forth Into the rawness of a midnight Air, At this dark hour; But! O, forbear to think 'Twas from my choice, that I have staid thus long; 'Twas a rude thought, that wou'd not bo deny'd; Indeed no more: prithee to bed, my Dear.

Erm.

Alas! There is no rest for me without thee!

Alph.

O my Hearts comfort! yet a minute longer, And I'll discharge my Soul of all its load; Come trembling with my strong desires upon me,

To thy expecting arms, till thou confess I've made amends for all the faults of Love.

Erm.

I will doubt your Truth! farewel my Lord.

Exit.

Alph.

Good night, my Love: O may the softest arm Of downy slumbers rock thee to repose. Lull all thy senses fast: And may no thought (To interrupt the quiet of thy Bed) (In the loose Revel of a Dream) present Those Images, that keep me waking here.

Enter Lorenzo.

Lor.

Who's there? Alphonso?

Alph.

Ha! who calls?

Lor.

Thy Friend.

Alph.

Lorenzo! alwayes welcome to my Heart: But now thou com'st, as if my Fate design'd My Happiness should all depend on thee.

Lor.

'Tis late! my friend, how fares thy vertuous Wife?

Alph

Well, very well: just parted hence, and now Preparingg for her Bed.

Lor.

Tomorrow we shall meet: I have an idle thought to satisfie And then to rest: Good night Alphonso.

Alph.

Friend, am I to be a stranger to that thought?

Lor.

Thou hast my Soul: But now Erminia stays; Thy soft desiring Wife expects thy coming: Busie in thought, and hasty for the hour, She turns and sighs, and wishes; counts the Clock, And every minute drags a heavy pace, Till thou appear, the Champion of thy Bed, Arm'd at all points, and eager for the charge, That calls her to the Combat of thy Love.

Alph.

No: not to night, Lorenzo.

Lor.

Not to night!

Alph.

No Friend: my thoughts are strangers to repose; I'll not to bed.

Lor.

Alphonso have a care: And physick not thy health to a Disease, If once the foul infection of a doubt, But mingle with the current of thy thoughts; The subtle poison seizes on the Heart, Corrupts the very fountain of thy peace, And then the minutes of the Damn'd are thine.

Alph.

Lorenzo! no; I hope my Fate intends me To nobler purposes. Yet.

Lor.

What?

Alph.

The Letter—

Lor.

Well.

Alph.

I must be satisfy'd of that!

Lor.

You may.

Alph.

By Heaven I will.

Lor.

Time must discover it.

Alph.

O! may I be that hateful thing, I scorn! The common, ridden Cuckold of the Town; Stag'd to the crowd on publick Theatres, Nay, balleted about the streets in rhime, When for a wanton itching in my blood, I gratifie a craving appetite; And let the just resentment of a wrong, Expect to morrow for a cool revenge.

Lor.

I have a Sword, that wonnot be behind In any task of Honour, for my friend: Command me freely.

Alph.

'Tis out come to that. But thus Lorenzo, I accept thy Love! Go to my Wife, tell her some discontents Have forc'd me out to travel.

Lor.

How! Alphonso?

Alph.

Observe me out, not that I doubt Erminia; But when my absence is by all believ'd; Conceal'd in private here, I soon shall find My vigorous Lover bolting at my Wife; And I may know to thank him for the Office.

Lor.

It has a Face indeed: Erminia too, May bear a part in this.

Alph.

Lorenzo, no. Much may be gathered from her management, In my supposed absence, that may serve, Thro' the succeeding changes of my life, To fix my temper to the point of vertue.

Lor.

Where shall we meet?

Alph.

I cannot wander far.

Lor.

This is the door. Farewel.

goes in.

Alph.

So, now my Heart Be still, beat even measures in my Breast, That when the hour of Fate shall summon me The fury of my firm collected force May strike for Honour in a brave revenge. Hark, 'tis the tread of Servants coming this way: I would not be discovered.

Exit.

Enter Clara and Juliana.

Clar.

Madam, This office that I venture on, in your service Is but an ungenerous return for Alberto's bounty!

Jul.

'Tis the only way you have left you, Clara. Your Lady has disappointed you: and as I take it, Your Credit's engaged for the payment of a Sum to night, Which I must either lay down,

Or you suffer in your trading hereafter.

Clar.

Nay, I am easily perswaded; and, upon second thoughts, Imagin there may be less danger, and more Conscience, In this design, than my first undertaking.

Jul.

O! a great deal more, Clara: for so you injure no body: Your Lord will be no Cuckold, your Lady miss nothing, that Ever she had, and I shall have but my own.

Clar.

True, Madam, But how shall I be just to him?

Jul.

That I'll tell you too!

Clar.

He has paid for my Lady.

Jul.

And he shall have her, or any Lady at the same rate.

Clar.

How Madam! how? That Art were an Estate.

Jul.

'Tis but providing me a dark room, with a little of thy Direction; and the Strength of his own imagination Will carry on the Cheat.

Clar.

But if he shou'd discover!

Jul.

Why let him make the best of the discovery; He'll find me a Woman, Clara.

Clar.

Truly Madam, I begin to submit to your Arguments; I believe this Project may take.

Jul.

It has been succesful in England already: where intreagues Are carried on with less management, than the Italian Air will allow of.

Clar.

Well, I never knew the good of a strong Imagination before.

Jul.

'Tis the best comfort, I fear, of a matrimonial Amour, Clara: But when do you expect Alberto?

Clar.

'Tis near the time: Let's in and prepare to receive him.

Exeunt.

A SONG made by Colonel Sackvile.

O Why did e'er my thoughts aspire To wish for that, no Crown can buy! 'Tis Sacrilege, but to desire What she in honour will deny.

As Indians do the Eastern skies, I at a distance must adore The brighter Glories of her eyes; And never dare pretend to more.

Enter Alberto.

Alb.

Well! were there nothing more in an intreague, than barely The enjoyment, the unconscionable expence of the pleasure Would take off our appetite to the Sin; and the Devil would Soon fail of his correspondence with the World, Unless the prizes of his Commodities fell, that honest Fellows might be damnd'd at easier rates. Where am I? Hold! O 'tis Alphonso's House.

And this the very hour, that Clara promis'd, To meet me at, with all her Womans Arts, And joyn in the dear Scene of Cuckoldom. The door opens, I will observe at distance.

Enter Clara.

Clar.

My Lord gone in discontent to travel! and my poor Lady left in distress here behind him; Let me see, There are comfortable applications to be made out Of these Doctrines. And if she has not the discretion To turn 'em to their right uses; I that am wiser, Am oblig'd in conscience to provide for the family.

Alb.

And 'tis a charitable, Christian-like principle in thee, Clara.

Clar.

My Lord Alberto!

Alb.

The same, I am punctual you see.

Clar.

And that's an extraordinary vertue in a young Lover, And ought to be encourag'd in an Age, when poor Women are us'd, just like your Trees; Husbanded only Out of a vanity of having the first ripe fruit, Without the desire of tasting of 'em your selves.

Alb.

No faith. I am for enjoying the fruits of my labour Clara: Besides I have a vigorous young, craving Appetite; (with a digestion above the fear of Crudities These Forty years) that must be satisfy'd at home, Before I think of being bountiful to my Neighbours, But tell me! Alphonso gone to travel. Ha!

Clar.

Most seasonably my Lord.

Alb.

Then Love and Fortune for me: lead on Clara.

Clar.

What do you mean!

Alb.

O honestly I warrant you.

Clar.

But consider my Lord.

Alb.

I do Clara.

Clar.

My Ladies vertue!

Alb.

And my secrecy: there's vertue for her vertue: nay, if you Go to that, mine is a Cardinal vertue among the Ladies, And ought to be respected in any Court in Christiandom, Where the Love, as well as Religion is Catholick.

Clar.

But my Lord, you know decency requires—

Alb.

And I'll do't as decently as she, Or any Lady can, in reason require.

Clar.

To morrow may prove more favourable to you; My Lady has but just heard the news, and her thoughts To night will run on my Lords unkindness.

Alb.

Therefore it shall be to night: O! 'tis the natural constitution Of Womankind, upon the first suspicion of their Lovers inconstancy, To club with the next chance-comer for a revenge.

Clar.

So that who ever fasts, The sweetest meats are prudently ordered to our own Table.

Alb.

The Policy is true Machiavil, i'faith, on your sides;

And now for a stronger Testimony of this within.

Clar.

O hold, you ruine all else, I'le in before, dispose all things to the•••• proper places, and return in an instant, for scandal must be avoided.

Alb.

And 'tis but reasonable; for reputation is the fairest Face Of Virtue, and will soonest cheat the World; This brings the Physician his Patients, and the Lawyer his Clyents; and though one destroy your Body, and t'other your Estate: Opinion justifies their Knavery, and secures Their Functions from Poverty and contempt. Clara stayes long—Pox! I'm impatient—I'le 'een enter, And do my Errand my self.

[Exit.]

Enter Lorenzo.

Loren.

'Twas here I left Alphonso: I know not why: Some unseen Power directs my steps this way: Would I could find the truth of what I fear: He is abus'd: And he's so near my heart, That when I think upon his injuries, A just resentment arms within my Breast, As if my better self were wrong'd in him. I'le take another turn to find him yet.—

Goes out and returns.

Perhaps I staid too long, and he is gone To wait me at my House,—It must be so.—

Enter Clara and Al∣berto at the door.

Alb.

'Tis hard to leave my happiness so soon.

Clar.

There may be danger in a longer stay.

Alb.

I must be satisfy'd, you say.

Loren.

Ha! a Mans voice from Alphonso's House! The door too open! There may be more in this; A midnight Thief, or Murderer.—I'le venture To secure him. So brisk! have at you Sir.

They justle and draw, as they are clos'd Clara enters with a Light, and Exit:

Alberto?

Alb.

Ha! Lorenzo: 'Twas lucky that This business grew not up to cutting Throats.

Loren.

My Lord! you are the Master of your thoughts, They can inform you best.

Alb.

Of what Lorenzo?

Loren.

Whether you do deserve that Fate, or no?

Alb.

You dare not think I do.

Loren.

You know I dare All honest things: But you, my Lord! are touch't.

[Exit.]

Alb.

Y' are indispos'd, I'le leave you Sir.

Loren.

Farewell.— It must be so, else why alone? Why here Alone? And at this Midnight hour? When none But desperate Wretches wandring to their Fates, Venture abroad, uncall'd. But then Erminia! Damn her, she sins beyond a Curse! and Hell, All Hell must do her Justice. Not allow A minute for the Changing of the Scene.

She Wept! By Heaven I saw her faithless Tears, And thought I saw Alphonso in her eyes, Then, in that Minute, when the Devil and Lust Where Bawding for Alberto in her Heart! Oh Woman! Woman! Dear Damn'd deceitful Sex! 'Tis my own fault, If after this, I fall into thy Snare.

Enter Alphonso.

Alph.

Lorenzo! Welcome as the hopes of Peace, Thy presence brings to my divided Soul! O take me to thy Armes and let me hide These Guilty blushes, that at sight of thee Start, and confess the weakness of thy friend.

Lor.

What weakness! Speak Alphonso.

Alph.

Woud'st thou think it? Since last we parted, I have wandred on Through the dark journies of the desart Night; My ridden thoughts hagg'd with oppressing fears, That sunk my Spirits to the depth of Hell: And ever as I went, Erminia stood, Like a tormenting Conscience in my way. To keep me waking to the sence of pain.

Loren.

'Tis scarce an hour since we parted.

Alph.

Oh! The wretched count by years: By Heaven, my Friend, Were I to live those minutes o're agen, The horrors that attend on waking guilt Would seize upon my thoughts, and hurry 'em Into the wildness of a mad Despair.

Lor.

Despair, and Guilt and Horror. These are fit Companions for the Damn'd: The Murderer, In his last Death-bed Agonies, hears such sounds, To summon him to everlasting Woe: My Friend knows no such Crimes.

Alph.

Lorenzo! Oh Erminia!

Lor.

Well.

Alph.

Instruct my weakness here, How to begin, what I shall say to move her, How to confess my self enough her slave.

Lor.

You rave Alphonso.

Alph.

Oh to thee I do! But didst thou know what 'tis to bear about thee A heart subdu'd, devoted to desires, Which, fierce as the first appetite of Youth, Drive violently to thee Goal of Love: That would inform thee better.

Loren.

I cannot guess what you resolve on?

Alphon.

On my Happiness.

Lorenzo.

Like a Wastful Prodigal, I have long spent in folly, from my store; But there is yet behind a large Estate; The promise of Eternal joyes to come, In my Erminia's Armes, where I will run And Love in quiet all my Life away.

Lor.

'Tis well resolv'd.

Alph.

My Heart must bear me Witness With what unwillingness I entertain'd Those fears that shap'd these Monsters in my Soul; Then judge me all the World, and thou my Friend, With what a start, and Eagerness of Joy, I meet that peace, that ministers a Cure.

Lor.

You mean Erminia!

Alph.

I do: My Wife!

Lor.

Is there such healing Virtue in a Wife?

Alph.

Oh she's the kind Physician of my thoughts.

Lor.

Nay then I ask your Patdon: Faith Alphonso, I thought a Wife, like other Remedies, By often application might grow stale, And be a worthless drugg upon our hands.

Alph.

Lorenzo, Thou art alter'd in thy thoughts.

Lor.

Men are not still the same: Our Appetites Are various, and inconstant as the Moon That never Shines with the same Face agen; 'Tis Nature's Curse never to be resolv'd; Busy to Day, in the pursuit of what To Morrows elder judgment may despise.

Alph.

These are the mouldy Morals of the Dead.

Lor.

That speak the living plain: Art thou the same? Art thou not alter'd from what last I saw thee? The Hero strutting in thy pageant pride: Swell'd with thy wrongs, and bursting with resentment?

Alph.

Ha!

Lor.

Go, you would yet be more her slave.

Alph.

What mean these words?

Lor.

Your Tongue can best explain The Dictates of your heart: But now you said You wish'd you knew to be enough her slave, I think 'twas so.

Alph.

It was by Heav'n!

Lor.

And Faith I thought a Husband needed not that Prayer.

Alph.

Y' are merry friend!

Lor.

Would thou would'st be so too! And learn to think no farther of the Sex Than for thy ease and pleasure.

Alph.

Still in Riddles!

Lor.

To Morrow will unfold 'em: I must leave you, But friend, the Night's far spent, Erminia too Can live till Morn without you.

Alph.

Sayst thou Friend?

Lor.

To Night you must not see her?

Alph.

Not see her?

Lor.

No.

Alph.

Lorenzo, There is something in thy thoughts Thou dar'st not trust me with—I hope she's honest.

Alph.

O doubtless, honest.

Alph.

How did she bear thy Message?

Lor.

Faith, Alphonso, If I may count her sorrow by her Tears, She very hardly bore it: For she wept, Had not all Hell been kindled in her heart,

Aside.

Enough to have cool'd the Burning Devil there!

Alph.

Then I am satisfy'd.

Lor.

Indeed!

Alph.

Agen! Where would'st thou drive my doubts? If thou woud'st have Me think thee still the same, my Friend, and Honest, Inform me of thy thoughts?

Lor.

Then thou art Wrong'd.

Alph.

That's the Disease! and know The Poisonous Scorpion that has made the Wound, Has vertue in its Blood to work a Cure: The Man, my Friend, the Villain that hath done it!

Lor.

There I must be Excus'd!

Alph.

Not tell me? The Honour of thy Friend engag'd! and thou Conceal the Villain from a just Revenge?

Lor.

Not now! another time.

Alph.

This prostituted outside-art may pass Upon the World, where Interest is a Friendship, But is despis'd, and scorn'd by nobler Souls.

Lor.

You know me better; and I thought Alphonso My virtue had been try'd, and found sufficient To justify our Honours to the World; You might have trusted me with yours till Morn: To Morrow we shall meet on better term; Farewell.—

[Exit.]

Alph.

I was too blame: I know him honest: And know his thoughts are labouring for my Peace! Yet why he should conceal the Villains Name Confounds me? Hold! if it should prove the Duke! Confusion! All my spirits take the Alarm! Forward to do me noble justice there. Tis so — I know it now—Lorenzo too, Divided in his thoughts, betwixt his Friend, And Master, comes half-hearted to my Cause, Till Fame report my Vengeance to the World. Who's there?

Enter Rogero.

Rog.

Who's there Sir? why may be I am here Sir! may be I am not here! what's that to any man, Sir?

Alph.

Nothing at all, Friend.

Rog.

Here's a Rogue for you now, a fine embroider'd Rogue! That would scrape acquaintance for fear of a beating.

Alp.

This Fellow may be of use.

Rog.

Friend, you say, y' are very welcome Sir, but as I take it, I never saw you in my life before.

Alph.

Then down with it for a secret.

Rog.

What?

Alph.

That an old man may be wiser than his beard: mum, not a word of this, as you hope for instruction.

Rog.

I'll keep your Council.

Alph.

Wilt thou my old Lad! Thou shalt never wear Spectacles more then: Hast thou heard no news of late?

Rog.

No tidings of thy Wits! God help thee.

Alph.

Why then I'll tell thee, the Duke—

Rog.

What of him?

Alph.

Why who would think it now?

Rog.

Think! what!

Alph.

That when the Devil's in the head; the Breeches shou'd be honest.

Rog.

What's this to the Duke?

Alph.

Excuse me there: There's a method in State Affairs, which we Politicians amble in to the end of our discourse, now, Sir, if you will mortifie the vehemence of your desire, with the phlegm of your discretion, and attend with patience, much may be done, and so I may come in order to what relates to the Duke.

Rog.

Very well, very well.

Alph.

But Sir, 'twill not be very well! when y'have heard it all.

Rog.

Pray Sir, go on.

Alph.

You know the Duke.

Rog.

I think I have some reason.

Alph.

You know him well.

Rog.

Not well enough to lye with him.

Alph.

'Tis enough you know him.

Rog.

Know him! ah God help thee, and the quantity of thy Brains, by thy impertinent Catechism.

Alph.

Why then old True penny the Duke is now most violently in labour.

Rog.

In labour! Alas, I am in pain for thee.

Alhh.

And by an act of State, this very day We are oblig'd, as all good Subjects ought, To bring by turns our Wives and Daughters in As the best means of bringing him to bed. How the poor Fools, I warrant you, will strive who first shall lay him.

Rog.

How, my Daughter to be a Midwife at fifteen! God sa' me she is not come to the Criss-cross-row of her profession yet.

Alph.

Hast thou a Daughter? home, quickly home then: lock up thy doors.

Let her not see the day: Let her not draw the open Air: for if there be a pore unbarr'd about her, The bawdy Devil will get in, and then, Good morrow Grandfather.

Rog.

Gad, and it may be so, who can tell, ha! come Sir, 'tis late If you'll along with me, you'll find a hearty welcome, and poor fare.

Alph.

I thank you Sir, I'll follow you: This disguise Of Folly may conceal me for a night, And my revenge to morrow sets me right.

Exeunt.